They all paused outside the room when they reached it, memories of Sirius and house-cleaning flooding back to them.
“God, he hated this house so much,” muttered Harry, as he surveyed the bare room before him, still smelling damp and mouldy even after all Mrs Weasley’s efforts. The dusty cupboards were empty, stripped of all their dark objects, and Harry glanced at them, trying to remember if there really had been a locket in them. But his mind was blank. Ron, on the other hand, suddenly let out a sigh of remembrance and Harry turned his head quickly, the question in his eyes.
“Yeah, I remember,” said Ron, nodding. “There was a locket. Great heavy gold thing, we tried to open it, remember? But it was like, stuck. And,” he added, looking amazed at his own brilliance, “I’ve just realised--Kreacher!”
“Kreacher?” repeated Harry, perplexed, but beside him, Hermione breathed a sigh of comprehension.
“Yes…yes!” she whispered, and suddenly turned to Ron and hugged him, hard. He went purple, either from embarrassment or because she’d cut off his air supply, Harry couldn’t tell which. When she let go, after giving him a quick kiss, Ron reeled backwards, cheeks aflame and a mixture of shock and bliss stamped on his face. As he seemed incapable of normal speech, she continued, looking slightly amused.
“Kreacher came in, remember? And he took some of Sirius’ things from the waste bags. So, what if he took the locket? Ron, you’re wonderful.” He flushed even more, his face clashing dreadfully with his hair. But Harry was still sceptical.
“What if he didn’t? Sirius threw him out before he had a chance to nick anything.” Hermione’s face fell, but Ron punched him playfully on the shoulder.
“Don’t be too optimistic, mate, all that hope is overwhelming! We may as well ask Kreacher, just in case. There’s a chance he could’ve sneaked some stuff out later.”
“But for now,” said Hermione briskly, “Let’s have a look at that tapestry.” And they crossed the dusty floorboards to the other side of the room where the ancient tapestry hung, faded and somehow sinister. More memories came surging through Harry’s mind..here Sirius had told him about his childhood…about how he hated his pureblood family…how he’d run away from home. He stared at the yellowed cloth, running his fingers over the embroidered names, and remembering…Elladora Black…Aunt Elladora, the house-elf decapitator… Narcissa Malfoy, a small burn mark beside…Bellatrix Lestrange… Harry’s fists clenched as her stared at her name--Sirius’ murderer, I swear, I’ll kill her--but was distracted as Hermione’s voice broke through his dark thoughts.
“Harry! Harry, look--” he had rarely heard her so excited, and he and Ron leant over quickly to read the name she was pointing to.
Regulus Black.
Harry’s heart missed a beat. Sirius’ brother…what had he said about him? His parents liked him, he was in Slytherin…he looked at the numbers beside Regulus’ name for more clues and saw the date of death. So young…a memory was nagging at his mind…and then it hit him. A realisation so strong he felt dizzy. His own words came back to him, “Was he killed by an Auror?” “No, he was murdered by Voldemort…he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out.” But what if Sirius had been wrong? He would have been in Azkaban when his brother died, and so few knew Voldemort’s secret…If Regulus had been killed by Voldemort, could it not have been for a deeper, more sinister reason? “I know I will be dead long before you read this...” If Regulus had known… perhaps he had not been a Death-Eater after all. Could he have been a spy?
“Harry,” said a loud and impatient voice in his ear. “You’re turning into Hermione. You going to tell us what you’re thinking, or just keep sitting there looking enlightened?”
“What? Oh--yeah, sorry,” said Harry, focusing on them. He’d almost forgotten they were there. Quickly he told them everything he could remember about Regulus, Hermione’s eyes widening with every sentence.
“Oh, Harry--if he was--if he was really a good person! Do you think so? Yes, it fits, it all fits,” she answered herself, and she began muttering inaudibly under her breath, forehead furrowed. Harry and Ron waited, not wanting to interrupt her train of thought. Finally, she looked up at them, the satisfied gleam in her eyes that she always got after solving a puzzle.
“Yes. He’s got to be R.A.B. He was killed for finding out Voldemort’s secret, he found the Horcrux but must have hidden it here before Voldemort hunted him down. He was either always on our side, as a spy, and didn’t tell his parents, or he was a Death Eater but turned traitor to Voldemort. I’m sure of it.” Harry and Ron nodded all the way through her speech. So, Sirius’ brother was R.A.B, marvelled Harry, but then his spirits sank as he thought again of the locket.
“Well, it’s great we’ve worked it out, but I still think it’s unlikely the locket’s still here,” he said, standing up and brushing some old, dry Doxy droppings off his robes. “We may as well have a look in Kreacher’s room now, though, just in case.”
Kreacher’s old room, the little space in the kitchen that enclosed the boiler, looked much the same as ever, though with a forlorn, disused feel about it. The same filthy nest of tattered sheets covered the floor--Hermione’s face fell as she looked in vain for the patchwork quilt she had given the elf--and tucked away behind a bundle of dirt-smeared rags which seemed to have served as a pillow, lay some small objects…part of a wooden photo-frame stuck out, and something else, gleaming gold. Harry heard Hermione’s excited gasp in his ear as he reached out quickly, heart thumping, and pushed aside the pillow to reveal the items entirely.
There was no locket.
All three groaned quietly in disappointment. The gold object was just an ordinary brooch, stamped with the Black crest. Ron pushed aside a silver music box, an Order of Merlin, and the photograph, searching in vain.
“Accio locket!” said Hermione firmly, pointing her wand inside the den. Nothing happened.
Harry shut his eyes, concentrated on the locket as hard as he could, and waved his wand to the house in general, “Accio locket!” They all strained their ears, hoping against hope to hear an object come zooming out of one of the rooms. But after a few minutes of tense silence, all three had to admit defeat.
“Okay, so it’s not here,” said Harry resignedly. “Where do we try next?” But before anyone could answer, they were interrupted.
“What are you doing?” said a suspicious voice at the doorway, and they looked all jumped and glanced round guiltily. Ginny was standing there, still in her nightdress, looking at them all as though they had lost their minds. Harry and Hermione both had their wands drawn from the Summoning Spells and Ron had been leaning back on his haunches, staring gloomily into Kreacher’s den. Mrs Weasley appeared behind her, peering curiously into the kitchen. Ron hurriedly slammed shut the door of Kreacher’s den and Harry and Hermione hastily pocketed their wands, as Ginny and her mother entered the kitchen.
“Nothing, Ginny, nothing,” said Ron evasively. I just, um, got the wrong door, Mum, I, er--I thought it was the pantry,” he added lamely, for she was looking at him shrewdly.
“I hope you three aren’t up to anything dangerous again,” she said, hands on hips, and Harry could see she hadn’t swallowed Ron’s pathetic story for one minute. “Because I know you lot, can’t stay out of trouble for five minutes, you’re worse than Fred and George for making me worry, sometimes!”
“Aw, Mum, we’re all right,” said Ron vaguely. “Just messing around, you know. Want to go to your room, Harry? Um, we could learn some magic from Hermione’s books!” he said, glancing at Mrs Weasley who was now looking even more suspicious, and the three of them hurried out before she could ask any more questions.
Halfway up the stairs, Harry felt rather than heard someone close behind him, and turned to see Ginny stealthily following him, a determined look on her face. He sighed, knowing a confrontation was coming, but didn’t try to stop her coming into his room.
“What were you really doing?” she demanded, the minute the door closed and they were out of range of Mrs Weasley’s hearing.
Harry sighed. “Look, Ginny, it’s to do with what I told you about earlier--”
“What you didn’t tell me, you mean!” she shot back, hair looking redder that ever and her dark brown eyes flashing. She looks so beautiful when she’s angry, thought Harry, for a second, before concentrating on the matter at hand.
“Well, yeah--Ginny, look--”
“No, I’ve changed my mind,” she said, her chin up defiantly. “You’re not keeping me in the dark any longer, I mean it. Either you tell me, right now, or our relationship’s over. Spill it.” Ron and Hermione glanced at each other nervously, while Harry swallowed. She didn’t mean that--she couldn’t mean it! Ginny stood there, adamant, glaring at him, and suddenly, he laughed. She looked startled, as if that wasn’t quite the reaction she had been expecting.
“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” he said lightly. “You’ve got me. Sit down, I’ll tell you everything.”
Ginny sat, her face still stunned, but beginning to show signs of excitement. As Harry told her the story of the Prophecy, the memories Dumbledore had shown him, and finally the Horcruxes and the task he had to complete, her expression changed from horror, to fear, and finally to determination as he finished. She didn’t speak after he ended, rather lamely, “--And, well, that’s it really.” She looked up into his face, the old wonderful blaze in her eyes, and simply hugged him, hard.
Then she whispered in his ear, for only him to hear, “That’s it, really--and I’ll be with you all the way.”
Hermione and Ron had been watching silently, Ron already looking anxious, about, Harry guessed, the battle with Mrs Weasley later when they told him her daughter wasn’t going back to Hogwarts, but was going with them to places even they didn’t yet know. Hermione was smiling slightly--Harry knew she had never been entirely happy about his keeping Ginny in the dark. But what other choice did he have. Yet some part of him was proud to have such a brave, determined girl by his side, ready to fight for him, and he smiled too. It looked like he couldn’t have stopped her anyway.
“Well, I’m glad to see you change your mind, Harry,” said Hermione gently. She understood their feelings on both sides, Harry knew.
“But now we’ve sorted that out, we’d better not waste any more time. We know what we have to do next. Ask Kreacher--Harry, call him here, he might be able to tell us something.”
“Do I have to see that wretched little elf again?” muttered Harry darkly. Part of him still blamed Kreacher for Sirius’ death. The foul creature had lied to him--it had been his fault Harry had gone to the Ministry in the first place. But Hermione gave him a stern look, and he gave in, throwing up his hands. “Fine, fine… Kreacher!” he said firmly, focusing his mind on the elf, and the next moment there was a loud Crack! and Kreacher appeared, filthy as ever, bent low and glaring up at Harry through his yellowed eyeballs in greatest loathing.
“Master called?” he whined, bowing to the floor, his face mutinous.
“Yeah, I did,” said Harry, looking down at Kreacher in repulsion. “We want you to tell us everything you know about a golden locket that was in one of the cupboards upstairs.”
Kreacher bowed again. “Master wants to know about the locket, yes he does, the locket that was mine, I kept it, I saved it for my mistress and young dead master, and now it’s gone, he stole it he did, yes, and he had no right to tough young dead master’s property, filthy tramp of a Mudblood that he was, oh if my mistress knew, she’d be furious--”
“Yeah, yeah, we don’t need to know about Sirius’ mum thanks, Kreacher, we hear enough from her portrait as it is,” said Ron, cutting across the elf’s rambling. “Who took it?”
Kreacher stared at Ron in utmost detestation and began muttering again, “The blood-traitor is trying to order Kreacher around, Kreacher will not answer, no, my mistress would be ashamed to see Kreacher talk to such a blood-traitor, oh yes…”
“Alright, that’s enough!” said Harry loudly, ignoring Hermione’s reproachful glace. “Kreacher, who took the locket?” The elf tried rebelliously to keep his mouth shut, ears quivering in effort, but then as though he couldn’t help himself, reluctant words came tumbling out.
“That Mudblood took it he did, the filthy thief of a halfblooded traitor…”
And then Harry realised, and knowing him to be out of their reach, in Azkaban, breathed out the name in dismay. “Oh, God--Mundungus…”