Chapter 22 â“ Number 12 Revisited
The darkened corridor filled with chill, weak moonlight as the heavy door swung creakily open. Hermione crossed the threshold, her shadow preceding her, thin and gantry-like, closely hemmed in by two slightly taller ones.
âLumos,â Harry muttered on her left, and she and Ron echoed the charm. The lights at the tips of their wands did little to penetrate the thick darkness of the hallway. The door was sighing closed on its hinges.
âDonât let that door slam!â she hissed, âItâll wake Siriusâ mum!â Ron caught it with the tip of his dirty trainer, and eased it shut.
âTâso dark in here, what gives?â Ron whispered, and Hermione heard the edge in his voice.
âPlace seems so different without Order members running around,â Harry responded. Hermione realized they were all huddled unconsciously together, standing in the feeble golden light cast by their wands. She could feel the house working on her unease and turning it into quiet terror. This is ridiculous, itâs just a house, she thought, shaking her head, thereâs nothing here that can hurt us. She wasnât really sure of that, but she knew something that would make she and her friends feel a bit better.
âFlamarae Restrictae!â she called softly, and several glowing orange balls of light flew from her wand and ignited the iron sconces lining the shabby corridor. The hallway came into dim focus, the faded striped silk wallpaper unraveling in dirty curls. Several portraits lined the walls, the inhabitants muttering angrily as the light hit their painted faces. One of them, thankfully, remained silent.
Hermione stared with revulsion at the portrait of Mrs. Black. Her head, clad in its tight black cap, nodded gently on her chest, emitting tiny sleeping sounds. The chair she sat in rocked slowly back and forth, making her emaciated frame sway slightly. The tattered curtains that once shielded the portrait were no longer in place. Hermione wondered briefly who â“ or what â“ had removed them.
âCâmon, letâs get away from it,â Harry said, a look of mild disgust on his face. He headed down the corridor, towards the door that led down into the kitchen. Hermione saw Ron make an effort and tear his gaze away from the gigantic portrait, and follow Harry down the hall. She hurried to keep up and slipped her hand into Ronâs. He squeezed it tightly, turned and gave her a lopsided grin as they descended the stone stairs and entered the kitchen.
Hermione muttered the restricted flame charm again, and the overhead lanterns and various candles came to life and bathed the kitchen in a warm glow. The long wooden table that dominated the room reflected their mellow light, as did the battered copper pots hanging from the eaves. Ron sat down on one of the benches and rested his chin in his hand. Harry wandered over to the standing cupboard and surveyed the boxes and cans sitting on the dusty shelves. Hermione sighed and walked towards the stove. She saw a box of tea on the counter and reached out for it, realizing as she did her hand was shaking.
She thought back to her other memories of this kitchen, the low dim place filled with chatter and laughter; Tonks switching up noses for she and Ginny, all three of them giggling into their cupped hands; Mundungus Fletcher telling off-color jokes to Ron and the twins; Mrs. Weasleyâs ever-comforting figure at the stove, creating an endless supply of delicious meals; Sirius, eyes shining, clapping Harry on the back after his successful appearance before the Wizengamot the summer before fifth year.
âAnyone want some tea?â She lit the burner under the worn teakettle and turned towards her friends, her voice wobbling. Harry had joined Ron at the table, and the two of them were passing a box of chocolate biscuits back and forth and, she noted, getting crumbs all over the table.
âThis place is bullocks, Harry. Sorry, mate,â Ron said, spraying cookie pieces everywhere. He crammed another one into his bulging cheek. âYouâd be well shed of it, I think. It doesnât have â“ erm, whaddyâcallit â“ âhomey charmâ.â Ron shook his head, and the three of them burst into uneasy laughter. Hermione joined the boys at the table. Ron handed her a biscuit. She chewed thoughtfully.
âItâs different being here alone, isnât it?â she said.
âYeah,â Harry replied, âYeah, now I know why Sirius was mad to get out sometimes â“ can you imagine being cooped up in this house for very long?â Harry turned his gaze upwards, âI can almost feel the house on top of us.â He finished, and Ron whitened and choked on his cookie.
âGod, you put it that way, mate, and I donât really fancy being in this kitchen too long,â he jumped a little at the teapotâs shriek.
âItâll probably be better in the morning,â Hermione reasoned, and got up to fix the tea.
They had, in fact, planned on arriving here earlier in the day, but time seemed to have gotten away from them. First, it was mundane traveling issues, such as whether to bring the animals (they had decided against it â“ Crookshanks would only get into trouble and Harry couldnât very well use Hedwig here, itâd draw too much attention to them). But it soon became very clear to Hermione that they were all loath to leave the safety and comfort of the Burrow. Staying for breakfast became staying for lunch became staying for tea. Ron had hovered close to his motherâs side, being uncharacteristically solicitous. Harry and Ginny had wandered away from the house hand and hand, and had been gone for over an hour.
Hermione has finally put her foot down. She felt for her friends (and herself, for that matter) but all this maudlin behavior was going to make people suspicious, especially Mrs. Weasley, whom Hermione suspected saw and heard and understood pretty much everything going on around her. She was afraid theyâd give themselves away â“ as far as the Weaselys were concerned, this was supposed to be an interesting overnight excursion for them and no reason for, say, Ron to attach himself inexplicably to his mumâs elbow for an entire day. They had finally left with the sun very low in the sky and with a reluctance none of them wanted to admit.
Now, sitting in the dank gloom of this horrible house, Hermione cupped her hands around her warm teacup and looked across the table at her friends. They both looked as dubious as she felt.
âThis place is a mess! Looks like it hasnât been cleaned in ages!â Ron exclaimed suddenly, running his hand across the dusty tabletop. Hermione got the distinct impression he was trying to lighten the mood.
Harry, who had his tea mug to his mouth, gasped, choked on his mouthful of liquid. âYou guys!! I know â“ I hope I know â“ where that locket is!â He wiped his hand hastily across his face. âHermione, Ron, donât you see?â He got to his feet.
âHarry, what is it â“ oh!â Hermioneâs stomach began bouncing in anticipation. âKreacher!! You think Kreacher took the locket when we were cleaning, right Harry? â She was a bit put out that she hadnât thought of it first.
âRight, Hermione. Remember when you gave him that blanket at Christmastime during fifth year? He had a bunch of portraits and stuff squirreled away â“ right over there,â Harry pointed his finger towards a tiny door just to the left of the cupboard. Hermione remembered with pity Kreacherâs dirty little nest under the pipes. The three of them had gotten to their feet instinctively, looked tensely at the shabby little door.
âWell letâs not just stand here! Letâs go check it out,â Harry seemed impatient to begin the search.
âHarry â“ wait. We need to think about this. If the locket is in there, if itâs the real Horcrux, we have to figure out how weâre going to destroy it. I â“ Iâm not sure exactly whatâll happen, but think of what happened to Dumbledoreâs hand when he destroyed a Horcrux â“ and he was one of the most powerful wizards that ever lived. If he had a hard time destroying one, we certainly will,â Hermioneâs brain was working top speed through every spell she knew.
âFair enough. But â“ but â“ Iâve got to know if itâs there Hermione. One thing at a time. Destroying it is the next step,â Harry explained as the three of them closed in on the door to Kreacherâs old lair. Hermione clutched her wand tightly and saw that Ron was doing the same. Harry glanced back at both of them and pushed the shabby door open with one final nod.
The cubby-sized room was pitch black. Hermione pivoted and grabbed a lantern off the kitchen table. The orange flame illuminated the sagging bed covered with rags and the sooty pipe that hung over it. Several portraits, including small prints of Bellatrix Lestrange and Siriusâ dad, were stuck haphazardly to it. She felt terrible that anyone lived like this, even a creature that had muttered and cursed at her, treated her with scorn because of who she was.
âWhaddya reckon?â Ron asked. âUnder the, erm, bed, you think?â He moved forward, hunching his tall frame to avoid hitting the ceiling. He knelt, rummaged around, and with a grunt, revealed a tied-up sack made from a ratty, moth-eaten tablecloth. He heaved it up onto the bed.
âOpen it, Ron,â Harry said, his voice tight with tension. Ron complied, tearing the make-shift sack open. The three of them gasped.
Hermione had known that Kreacher had been rescuing Black family heirlooms from destruction, but she hadnât known to what extent. A glittering array of jewelry, silverware, knickknacks and objets dâart were now sprawled across the worn bedspread. She couldnât begin to estimate their value.
Harry moved forward and began rooting through the stolen booty with determination. Ron and Hermione exchange glances. There was a fierceness to his search that neither of them had ever witnessed in him before. âItâs not here! Dammit!â He swore, swiping his hand through the stash, scattering things to the floor. âI just thought â“ it could be anywhere â“ how are we-â he stopped mid-sentence, reached out with one hand and tore away the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her image sneered at him as he tossed the picture to the floor. The picture had been fixed over a hole in the pipe. Before she or Ron could even react, Harry reached his hand in. A look of triumph crossed his face.
âIâve got something!â He pulled his fingers out. They, as well as the object from the pipe, were covered in greenish sludge. It was a large gold locket. As it twirled on Harryâs tented fingers, Hermione could see, etched in muck, an ornate âSâ across itâs gleaming face.
Hermioneâs heart leapt with fear and excitement. She grinned over at Ron. Harryâs yelp of pain surprised her. He had dropped the locket and was clutching his hand to his chest. She looked down at it. It was emanating a molten glow.
âIt got hot. Very very hot,â Harry gasped, revealing an angry red oval burned into his palm. The three of them stared at the pulsing locket.
The sudden crack startled them all.
âMaster deserves what he gets! Master shouldnât have sneaked, oh no, he certainly shouldnât have. Master was bad, nasty Master with a blood traitor and filthy Mudblood for friends,â Kreacher laughed maliciously, and in one smooth motion, had scooped the locket from the floor.
The Time is Now by Hermione816
Chapter Notes: Number 12 just isn't the same as the Trio remembers it. What ghosts - or creatures - lurk in it's shadowy gloom?