It had been three days since Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the Burrow. During that time, they had looked through number 7 Riverside Close from top to bottom. They had not found much that could help them with their task, except a few odd defence books, but had found out a lot about Lily and James Potter as people.
On the bookshelves, for instance, Hermione had found that someone had a taste for muggle adventure stories - in the study was a whole shelf devoted to Robert Louis Stephenson. Harry had a feeling this was his mum’s interest, though he couldn’t be sure...
On closer inspection, they found that the broom in the living room was a Lightning Bolt. Ron had been extremely excited by this, and had to be forcefully calmed down by Harry and Hermione. Once they had pinned him to the sofa, he explained that Lightning Bolts were one of the most sought after brooms ever because there was only around two hundred ever made.
But the most valuable thing Harry found in his two days of searching was not necessarily the most expensive. When he was looking around his parents’ room, he saw a small jewellery box on the dressing table. It was made from a very light wood and had delicate engravings of lilies on the lid. Inside was an assortment of earrings, bracelets, and necklaces. There was also a small drawer on the front. Opening this, Harry found three rings. Two were identical simple gold bands, except one was larger than the other. His parents’ wedding rings.
On the inside were small inscriptions On the smaller ring was the message: My one and only, while the larger one said, My heart and soul. Picking up the last ring with slightly shaky fingers, Harry smiled. It was simple and modest, yet beautiful in its own right, with a single ruby and two shimmering diamonds set either side. This was Lily Potter’s engagement ring.
Harry jumped when he heard someone enter the room.
“What have you got there?” asked Ron as he stepped forward.
“Ron! Harry!” he heard Hermione shout from downstairs.
“We’re in the bedroom!” hollered Ron They soon heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and Hermione entered the room.
“Found anything?” she asked curiously, looking at the rings in Harry’s open palm.
“Wedding rings,” he said, as he sat down on the edge of the bed and held them out for her to see.
She walked over and sat next to Harry, and Ron sat on her other side. He tipped the three rings into her hand for a better look.
“Oh, they’re beautiful! And those inscriptions!” she breathed, holding the engagement ring up to the light, the ruby burning crimson flames and the diamonds glittering like falling stars. Ron took one of the wedding rings from her hand. Harry saw him look at the engraved words, and then run his fingers along them.
“That’s strange, these aren’t engraved…its like they’re part of the gold…I didn’t know you could do that…” he said, his brow creased.
Hermione ran her finger along the other one, and then took the one Ron had and did the same to that. “I think it can be part of your wedding vows, or part of a wedding anyway. But, from what I can remember, it has to have some serious power behind it…” she trailed off.
Suddenly, she got a look in her eyes that clearly said she had an idea. She looked from Harry to the rings, and then placed them carefully on the bed. The boys watched her curiously as she reached behind her neck and removed her necklace, removed the heart shaped pendant from the thin gold chain, and then slid on the two gold bands.
“Turn around, Harry,” she ordered. He obliged and she clasped the chain around his neck.
“You don’t have to “” Harry started, but she interrupted him.
“No, but I want to.”
He smiled at her in thanks. She swooped over and gave him a warm hug.
“That’s what sisters are for,” she said as she pulled away. Hermione picked up the engagement ring and walked over to the dressing table. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out a small ring box and placed the ruby and diamond clad ring in it. She then gave this to Harry, and both he and Ron stood, Harry tucking the chain into his shirt.
“Where else is there to look?” asked Ron.
“Only the attic left,” answered Hermione.
In the attic they found some very interesting things. Harry found his baby book, some photo albums, a few clothes for newborn babies, a box full of odd baby toys (such as a tiny, blue rattle), and old Hogwarts textbooks.
Harry decided to take a few things with him: the rings, two defence books, a photo album, his baby book, and to keep Hermione happy, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stephenson. He carried these things down to the tent and placed them all except the novel, which he planned to give Hermione, and the rings around his neck, into the box Bill and Fleur gave him for his Birthday. He shrunk it and deposited it in his rucksack
Coming out of his small bedroom, he went over to the curtain which concealed Hermione’s bedroom, intending to put the book with her things. Not even thinking to knock or announce his presence, he swept the curtain aside to find Ron and Hermione snogging on her bed. They didn’t seem to notice him, so he turned around and closed the curtain swiftly, his cheeks burning.
He moved back into his bedroom and sat on the bed. He stared aimlessly around, looking at the low, canvas ceiling, the carpeted floor, the cream sheets, and the crimson curtain. Picking up his backpack, he rummaged around for something to eat. His fingers clasped around something cold and round. He pulled it out. It was the fake Slytherin locket; the smooth gold surface glittered in the candle light.
All the memories from Dumbledore and Harry’s visit to the cave flooded into his brain. Apparating, swimming to the cave mouth, Dumbledore cutting himself to gain entry, the boat ride across the lake, Harry force feeding Dumbledore Potion, Dumbledore collapsing, Inferi and their rotting bodies moving closer and closer...
Harry’s fist closed around the locket and he walked outside. The afternoon sunlight was warm and bright, but there were large, black clouds in the distance, hinting approaching thunderstorms.
He pushed himself gently on the swing with his legs, reading through the note from R.A.B. Who was he?
What could he tell from the note itself? Well, the writer obviously knew about the Horcruxes, and he, assuming it was a he, knew he was going to die…he used the term “Dark Lord” instead of Voldemort or You-Know-Who, so it was probably a Death Eater.
“Harry!” Hermione’s voice sounded from the tent. Harry smirked to himself.
“I’m out here!” Hermione came out, her hair decidedly bushier than usual. “Been having fun?” Harry questioned innocently.
Her cheeks burnt crimson. “Err, what? Oh, um, no, just the, uh, usual.”
Harry snorted, but managed to hide it behind a violent coughing fit. This seemed to annoy her, and she changed the topic.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“I’m looking at this note. Any idea who R.A.B. is yet?” Harry replied, passing her the note.
She shook her head vaguely, “No…not yet…” Ron appeared from the tent holding three Butterbeers.
“Anyone want a drink?”
Harry nodded, giving Ron a smirk Malfoy would have been proud of. Ron ignored him and chucked him the bottle. He sat down next to Hermione and read the note over her shoulder. Shrugging, he leant back on the grass and closed his eyes.
When Harry had finished his Butterbeer and was flipping the locket round and round through his fingers, Hermione sighed and passed the note back to him.
“I just can’t think…I have never heard of anyone with those initials that could possibly have anything to do with Voldemort, or at least have knowledge of the Horcruxes.”
“But anyone could have been on Voldemort’s side at that time, but we wouldn’t know “ I mean, who keeps a list of all the Death Eaters in the world?” said Ron.
Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Ron! You’re a genius!” she squealed in a very un-Hermione-like fashion.
“Err, I am?”
“He is?” interjected Harry.
“Yes! The ministry! They keep tracks on all the Death Eaters; they must have records of past ones as well!”
“Yeah!” said Harry. “But … but how are we going to get the records from them? I don’t think they would just let you walk in and take them as you please.”
Hermione bit her lip for a second before snapping her fingers as an idea apparently hit her. “Tonks, Kingsley - they’re Aurors and part of the Order; we could ask them to get us the records…on second thought, maybe the Order has their own copy.
Harry grinned; they were finally getting somewhere. “So, should we go to Grimmauld Place now, or go to the house of Gaunt and the Riddle house first?”
“We should go where we originally planned because if mum sees us, she will probably drag us back home by our ears.”
“That’s true. So, we go where we planned, and then we go to headquarters,” said Hermione in her business-like tone.
“So this is it?” said Ron, barely managing to detangle his lanky legs from a large bush where a path was supposed to be.
Harry nearly fell when he dragged himself onto a patch of overgrown grass in front of a large mound of brick, leaves, and moss. On closer inspection, he could distinguish holes in the bricks where windows and a door used to be, many years ago. “Yep,” he said, brushing off his jeans.
The house of Gaunt was even more derelict than when Harry had last seen it in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, as around seventy years had passed since Ogden had come to visit Marvolo Gaunt.
The two boys both spun around when they heard crunching and snapping coming from the bushes behind them. A pile of nettles sliced in half by some unseen force, and then Hermione appeared in the now clear area of the walk.
“Ever heard of a severing charm?” she asked, while putting her wand back in her jeans pocket and tugging a twig from her hair.
Ron opened his mouth, apparently to say something, but snapped it shut again.
As the three neared the squat, Harry removed his wand from the waistband of his jeans, just in case. Walking through the empty doorway, Harry looked around. Dust was inches thick on the floors that used to be stone, but now seemed almost carpeted in over half a century of grime. His footsteps seemed oddly muffled, and the very air around him was heavy with grime, scratching at his eyes and making it almost unbearably stuffy.
Just as he remembered, to his left was what used to be the kitchen and the living room. There were three other doors connecting to the entrance, though Harry didn’t know what was behind them. He heard Hermione sneeze behind him, and Ron whispered, “Lumos.” Harry turned to look at him; he had lit his wand and was stepping towards the kitchen.
“This is the place you saw in the memory, right Harry?” asked Hermione, lighting her own wand to get a better look at the dilapidated old cottage.
“Yeah,” Harry said, taking in the pots and pans on the back wall near the wood burning oven and next to a window, which had only a few beams of dusty light piercing through the layers of brambles covering it. The almost non-recognisable chair on the other side of the room, near the fireplace, was lying on its side.
Harry closed his eyes. He could virtually see the Gaunt family in the cottage, Merope cooking at the stove, Marvolo sitting on his chair in an almost stately manor, Morfin twisting his pet snake in his fingers, hissing in Parsletongue.
Slither on the floor,
You be good to Morphin,
Or he'll nail you to the-
“- are we looking for? Harry?”
Harry’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Ron’s voice. He looked over at him; he was currently looking round in circles. “Sorry, what was that?”
He looked at Harry. “What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that Dumbledore found a Horcrux here, so maybe there are some clues as to how Voldemort hides them or how to destroy them.”
As the trio made their way through the house, Harry found that the other three rooms were all bedrooms, with nothing more than a bed and a tiny trunk at the end of each of them. An hour passed and still they found nothing, making Harry frustrated.
“I just don’t know what to look for!” he spat, after the fourth search of the living room.
“Calm down, Harry, we will find …” Hermione trailed off as her eyes found the old fireplace. She stepped forward, studying each brick inside it. Ron joined Harry as he closely watched Hermione run her fingers around each brick. She had crawled onto the hearth, so her slim frame was almost fully inside.
After a few moments, Hermione’s fingers had closed around a loose brick, but just as she was about the pull it out, Harry got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Voldemort wouldn’t make it that easy. Voldemort wouldn’t make it as seemingly risk free as pulling a brick out. And with speed Harry didn’t even know he possessed, he scrambled forward and seized Hermione about the waist, pulling her back with all his might.
Then several things happened at once.
Ron’s surprised exclamation of “Harry!” and Hermione’s startled scream penetrated the thick silence, and then, as Harry fell backwards onto the cold, stone floor, Hermione landing on top of him, a deafening roar sounded through the cottage, and suddenly the trio was bathed in yellow-orange light.
Ron quickly helped Hermione up and she collapsed into his arms. Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, while he tried to get his lungs working again after having all the air forced out by Hermione’s fall.
Harry looked into the fireplace with wide eyes; it was an unbelievable sight. What used to be a completely empty, grey, and cold hearth was now overflowing with brilliant flames, reaching, flicking, grabbing for something to burn. The flames were entrancing, inviting, and Harry found himself reaching one hand forward, enthralled by the sizzling melody they were dancing to.
As his fingertips moved closer, he felt the skin start to burn with the intensive heat, but he didn’t back away or even flinch. In the back of his mind, he could hear two people, a male and female, shouting a name, but were they calling his name? What was his name? His mind was completely confused; the only thing that stayed solid in his view was that tormenting blaze. His fingers were about to touch the flames when a pair of strong hands seized him by the shoulders and pulled him back forcefully, breaking his eye contact.
For a second Harry felt angry, hot, boiling anger, but then the haze that had taken over his mind suddenly disappeared, and his actions slammed into him with full force. His heart was beating somewhere around his Adam’s apple, and his breathing was coming in short gasps. He scrambled to his feet and Hermione threw her arms around him, shaking and crying. Then suddenly she pulled back and whacked his arm with surprising force
“Don’t you ever do that again, Harry Potter! You scared me so much!” she shouted, tears still streaming from her eyes. Ron picked himself up off the floor and stepped forward to punch him on the arm as well. He looked pale and Harry noticed his hands were shaking ever so slightly.
“You gave us a bit of a shock there, mate. What was up with you? You looked like you were in a trance or something!”
Hermione wiped her eyes and looked over at the now innocently burning flames “Enchanted Flames,” she stated. “Look too close and they enchant you, hypnotise you, make you want to move closer, and then…you can guess the rest.” She bravely strode forward, stopping when she was still five feet away from the fireplace She stretched her arm forward, keeping her eyes fixed on a point to the left of the fire, but jerked her hand back when it was still some two feet away. “And apparently very hot. Much hotter than usual flames anyway.”
Harry looked down at his fingers, which by now were hurting like hell. The skin on the tips of all four of his fingers was red and swollen, and small blisters were starting to erupt. When he tried to flex them, he grimaced; it felt like his skin was being stretched beyond its limits.
“Can’t it be put out?” asked Ron.
“Yes, I suppose it can, but I don’t know how. Enchanted Flames are seriously complex, ancient magic. Water can’t put these fires out; in fact, I think it makes them worse,” Hermione paused, looking thoughtful. “What if…” she muttered to herself more than to anyone else.
“What if…?” said Ron, with raised eyebrows.
She looked pensive for a moment longer and then continued. “I think the Horcrux was behind those flames before Dumbledore got to it …so maybe those flames were the cause of Dumbledore’s dead hand last year. If he was caught off guard with those flames like me, he must have gotten his arm burnt.” Hermione looked Harry straight in the eye. “Thank you so much, Harry, for pulling me away from there; who knows what could have happened if you hadn’t gotten me out of the way.”
Harry smiled through the pain from his hand “No problem, and thank you two for stopping me.”
“Come on, I think we should get out of here before anyone else nearly gets burnt to a crisp,” said Ron, leading the way back outside.
Harry’s eyes watered when bright sunlight reached his eyes. According to his watch, it was now half-past three in the afternoon.
Hermione sat Harry down on a moss-covered rock and carefully examined his fingers.
“Well, I think I can fix them,” she said, conjuring a large porcelain bowl and filling it with cold water.
“You think you can fix them?” said Harry, startled.
She ignored him and placed his hand in the water. “Stay there for five minutes.” Ron sat down next to Harry while Hermione rummaged round her rucksack, eventually pulling out a book titled Hilda Hodshawk’s Guide to Healing. After flipping through the pages at an alarming speed, Hermione came to an abrupt halt and read through what Hilda advised.
“Right, you can take your hand out of there now, Harry, and show it to me, please.” Harry did as she ordered. Hermione then performed several spells and conjured a roll of bandage. The final spell removed most of the pain, and the redness in his fingers was already lessening. After bandaging his hand, Hermione announced that was all she could do for now, put her book back in her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. The boys did the same, and Harry took one last look at the house of Gaunt before continuing on to their second destination of the day.
The trio was walking down a steep, dirt track that led down the side of the Valley into little Hangleton at the bottom. The dirt beneath their feet was very loose and full of stones, so every time the wind blew Harry got a face full of dust and nearly lost his footing on the near vertical track.
Hermione was striding ahead of the two boys, used to walking in such conditions as her parents apparently both loved walking while on their holidays. Harry had to walk behind her as the path was only wide enough for one person, and Ron came in behind him, hardly able to keep track on his gangly legs
“How far to- ahhh!” Ron was cut off when he tripped on a rock and went flying forwards, straight into Harry, who landed on his stomach with Ron on top. Hermione turned round and looked down at the pitiful pair.
“Will you boys stop messing around and hurry up? It would be greatly appreciated if we get there some time before Christmas.”
Harry and Ron disentangled their limbs. “Gods, Hermione, I fell!” said Ron, brushing dirt off his jeans.
Hermione sighed, “I’m sorry, I’m still on edge from that fire.”
Ron walked over and hugged her, before kissing her cheek and continuing down the path. Looking over his shoulder, he grinned and shouted, “Any time today, Harry!”
Harry just scowled at the red head.
“Whoa.”
“Ron, close your mouth.”
“But…look at the size of it!”
Hermione and Harry laughed at Ron’s reaction to the Riddle house. Harry had to admit, this house was huge. It had large, slightly unkempt, red brick walls. It would take him and his two friends hours to search, and he didn’t even know what he was looking for
After four stops, three different directions, many questions, and countless curious looks, they had finally gotten there two and-a-half hours after they set off. The Valley was much larger than they had expected.
“Does anyone live in there?” asked Ron.
“Doesn’t look like it. The garden’s overgrown and there isn’t any sign of life anywhere. Plus, remember how all the locals whispered when we asked for directions? They are scared of this place,” answered Hermione, as they made their way through the long grass towards the back of the building.
“You can’t really blame them. Four people have died here, all from unknown, mysterious causes,” added Harry, sidestepping a large patch of nettles. “Well, unknown to them.”
After forcing their way through the back door, the teens split up. Hermione went to the ground floor, Harry to the first floor, and Ron to the second. Harry climbed the dusty, rickety stairs and had the most uncomfortable feeling he’d been there before. He got to the top of the stairs and walked down the corridor, following this strange feeling. He came to the last door on the left. He slowly pushed the door open, and with a jolt, suddenly realised why things seemed so familiar.
Stepping into the room, he saw the old, threadbare winged-back chair and the ragged hearthrug in front of the large, cold grate. Voldemort had been here, three years ago, hiding in his only part-human form Wormtail had milked Nagini, Voldemort’s snake, in this house to keep his master alive. Voldemort had killed a Muggle here, in the doorway, and Harry had watched it all in a dream.
Harry turned slowly on the spot, not knowing where to start. He decided to check the fireplace first. Well, he thought, it’s worth a try.
Harry woke suddenly from his vivid dream. They didn’t bother him all that much anymore; he was used to them. Harry lay in his warm bed thinking about the day before.
They had spent hours searching through the large manor; until the sun set and they were forced to retire to the tent so as not to draw unwanted attention to themselves. They had gained no more than several sneezing fits, dirty clothes, and dust in the most inconvenient of places.
Harry took a quick, but refreshing shower before dressing and going outside. It was a cloudy day, warm, with a cooling breeze. Looking up at the old house, Harry could almost imagine it without the boarded or smashed windows; without the tattered paintwork and overgrown garden. Almost.
Harry could just see a small building peeking out between two large hedges further in the garden. Ron and Hermione were both still asleep, so he made his way between the unkempt hedges. He managed to earn himself a cut on his arm from moving too close to a rose bush, and nearly fell flat over a tree root, but he eventually got to the front door.
With the second jolt in his stomach in less than twenty-four hours, Harry knew this place. The Muggle who had been murdered by Voldemort - this was where he lived. Looking back over in the direction of the house, Harry could just see through a gap in the thick branches, a plain view of the back windows.
Harry tried the door, and it opened with a loud, grating screech of rusty hinges. Stepping inside, it was as if time had been put on hold. If it wasn’t for the thick layer of dust covering everything, Harry would have thought someone still lived here.
He was standing in a kitchen. On the cooker was a kettle, and on the worktop beside, a faded hot water bottle. In the corner were several gardening tools, and under the table, a pair of old leather boots. Harry felt as if the owner of this house was going to walk in the door at any moment and tell him to get out of his home.
Harry quickly exited the way he came in and returned to the tent to find Hermione inside, eating a breakfast of toast and jam. She seemed to be deep in thought, as she usually was. When Harry placed himself on the chair opposite her and took a piece of toast from her plate, she came out of her reverie and rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, you’re as bad as Ron.”
Harry grinned over his toast. “Never.”
She laughed. “Where have you been, anyway?”
“Exploring,” he said, between mouthfuls.
“Okay, and what did you find?” she asked, putting more jam on her last slice of toast, before cutting it in half and offering Harry a piece.
“The old gardener’s house,” said Harry, accepting the offered toast and taking another large bite, having not noticed how hungry he was until now. “It’s creepy. Exactly how he left it before…” Harry trailed off.
Hermione was silent for a moment, realising the implications of what he said. “So to the graveyard this morning?” she said, changing the subject.
“Yep.” This was the place Harry had secretly been dreading the most; the place Voldemort had gotten his body back over two years ago, where Harry had faced him for the first time since he was a baby; the place Cedric was murdered.
“Where about is it, Harry?” Hermione asked, as they walked past headstone after headstone. They were now on the opposite side of the Valley Harry could see the Riddle Manor and would know when he was in the right place from the angle he saw it at.
“Not far, just a little more up this hill.”
Not long after, Harry stopped dead in his tracks, causing Ron to slam into his back.
“Harry?” he asked, obviously curious as to why he had stopped walking so suddenly. But Harry couldn’t have answered if he had tried - there was a lump the size of a snitch stuck in his throat.
Taking several steps forward, Harry came to a halt in front of a towering headstone made of white marble. It had a name engraved on the moss-covered face:
Harry could remember how terrified he was that night two years ago; how he was so sure he was going to die. He could hear that high, cold voice: Kill the Spare.
He looked around at his friends. Ron was looking at several headstones that had large holes blasted out of them or were completely smashed, but Hermione was looking at something at the foot at Tom Riddle senior’s grave, her eyes wide. Harry looked down and soon knew why she looked so shocked. There were thick ropes - the ropes with which Wormtail had tied him to Voldemort’s father’s grave. Hermione crouched down and picked one up. She looked at Harry with the traces of tears in here eyes.
“Did they “” she started, but Harry cut her off.
“Yes,” he said, not meeting her eyes, walking towards a clearing in the graves. He closed his eyes and he was here, holding onto his wand for dear life, the shadows of his parents in front of his eyes, the phoenix song in his ears, surrounded by a golden cage, Voldemort opposite him, so desperate to kill him Now Harry knew why…
He opened his eyes, and they automatically landed on a piece of grass opposite Riddle’s gravestone, the place where the spare had been killed. Unwanted pictures and memories of Cedric’s dead body filled his mind. His expressionless grey eyes, wide open, his face as pale as chalk, his mouth half open, looking slightly surprised. Harry shook his head of these pictures and looked off into the distance, down towards the village.
He could see a white bird, flying quickly but with grace. It was only a small speck in the distance, but it was getting closer…
“Harry,” said Hermione, from the other side of the clearing. She opened her mouth to say something, but her brow furrowed as she squinted into the distance. Harry looked over and saw she had spotted the white bird too. It was getting closer now. But, now that he thought about it, that bird looked very familiar…
“Hedwig?” Harry heard Ron question.
Harry felt his stomach drop and his heart shoot somewhere about his Adam’s apple, as he remembered the word he had with Ginny the morning he left The Burrow. He had told her to look after Hedwig, and only use her to get in touch with them if there was a serious emergency.
Harry ripped his eyes away from his snowy owl and looked over at Ron and Hermione, who both looked pale and nervous.
The seconds seemed to take eternity, but Hedwig finally reached them and dropped a scrap of parchment at Harry’s feet. With somewhat shaky fingers, he picked it up. The writing was barely legible; it seemed to have been written in a hurry.
Get to you-know-where NOW.
Wards being breached at Burrow
-Ginny