Chapter 21: Flaws
Grimmauld Place, February 1st 1997
"Finally decided to show up, huh?" My brother says, his voice sounding weary and quiet in the cold chamber.
I move to stand up from the stone floor and run a hand though my face as I try to blink the wooziness away, still feeling the effects of the Firewhiskey I drained before I passed out.
"Sirius," I croak and narrow my eyes at him. He looks thinner, his face gaunt and greyish. But the look in his eyes is what makes my insides clench with fear.
"You look like shit," I manage to breathe, my stuttering voice betraying everything I feel inside.
Sirius's mouth twists ruefully. "You're one to talk, brother…have you actually come across with a mirror lately?" He asks, a small frown between his brows as he studies my features.
I give him a mild shrug. "It has proven to be rather difficult for me to see you," I say, aiming for an indifferent voice.
And it has. After two months of silence I decided to try to consume enough alcohol to make me pass out. It had worked before. The first time it didn't happen, I merely woke up hungover and confused, determined to try again. It wasn't until the third time when I began to feel desperate, after waking up from my bedroom floor, the room nearly destroyed, as if an Exploding Charm had gone off in there. And according to Kreacher, it had. Apparently, I was lucky to survive with only small cuts and bruises which the elf had managed to heal quickly.
Sirius huffs exasperatedly, his eyes flashing with recognition. "Reggie – "
"Don't." I interrupt him, knowing what my brother's going to say. "I'm not going to stop. You might as well accept it," I say with a warning in my voice.
Sirius clenches his jaw and gives me a conflicted look before I continue, "Harry says hi."
My brother's expression quickly turns into something between astonishment and excitement. "How is he?" He asks quickly, his eyes searching clues from mine.
I give him a small smirk. "Stubborn and predictable as ever. Wanted me to tell you that he's doing okay," I say and as I expected, Sirius's eyes widen with shock.
"You told him?" He asks slowly, his eyes now guarded and…accusing.
I arch a brow at him. "Disappointed?" I merely ask, staring straight at him, determined not to waver under his hard gaze.
Sirius scoffs. "What do you think, Reggie? I mean, are you closer to solving out how to get me the hell away from here? Are you? Because if you aren't, I have no fucking idea how could you be so stupid to drag my godson into this!" He says, his voice rising with anger.
I grit my teeth as a surge of rage flows through me. "Fuck you." I mutter and look away, trying to calm myself, trying to remember that this might be the only chance I've got, to speak with my brother, ever again. Trying to remember that he doesn't know how utterly lonely I've been for the past months; how fucking desperate I've felt because I haven't been able to see him even though I've nearly drowned myself in alcohol.
"Reggie…" Sirius says softly after a short silence. "Reggie look at me…" He says, sounding as desperate as I feel.
I finally move my gaze back to him, and all the air leaves from my lungs. He's not crying but his eyes are too bright…too sad. He looks so hopeless, so…broken. The look in his eyes tells me exactly how thoroughly desolate he must feel.
"I'm sorry," He says quietly, staring at me intently. "I shouldn't have said that," he whispers.
I swallow down the anger, pain, sickness, and all the fucking miserable feelings that try to overthrow me as I look at my brother.
"We're going to get you out, I promise. Whatever it takes." I say, my voice rough as I battle with my emotions and the dizziness I'm beginning to feel, which indicates that our time is slowly coming to an end.
Sirius gives me a half-hearted smirk. "Wasn't expecting anything less of you, brother."
I try to speak to him, try to tell him that he needs to keep fighting, that he needs to have faith, and above anything, he must not give up.
But eventually, the light-headedness takes over, leaving me into darkness.
I'm lying in my bed, hours after waking up from the dream. My throat constricts and it feels impossible to move. To continue. I stare at the canopy of my bed, seeing nothing but blurred colours, feeling numb and defeated at the same time.
It's getting difficult to open the connection, and seeing him now was harder than ever, especially when so many months have passed after the last time. So many months of suffering and loneliness. For both of us.
The look in his eyes haunts me, makes my insides twist with pain, makes it difficult to breathe.
What if this was the last time that we spoke to each other? What if last night was the last time that I saw him?
What if he's going to give up? What if he's going to let go? He looked so…hopeless. So beaten. And hell, it's been eight months, and I'm no closer to get him out as I was then. Would it be easier for him to let go? I know it sure as hell wouldn't be for me. But…is it selfish of me to demand him to hold on, to continue the misery?
If we're able to execute our plan to sneak into the Ministry next summer, after Potter's birthday, it will be another six months for Sirius to stay there and fade away.
And there's no certainty that anything I try would work. What then?
How would I be able to tell my brother that I'm going to give up on him? How would I ever tell him that?
He would never give up on me, if our roles were reversed. Not now. Not ever.
Knowing that I made a promise to him, and that he'd do anything to get me back to him gives me strength. It helps me to lock away all the feelings of doubt and overcome and focus on what is important. To get my brother back.
Hogwarts, February 2nd 1997
I'm sitting in a reading nook in the corner of Hogwarts library, turning the pages of a mouldy book, a book, which title has long ago faded, but which pages are still in a readable condition, as Hermione slumps in a chair opposite to me. She's holding a handful of books I know she's pulled from the restricted section.
Hermione lets out an exasperated huff as she pushes her bearings into a pile on the table, before picking up the topmost one, a book that looks as decaying as the one I'm going through.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to see Dumbledore to ask for a permission to the restricted section, assuming he'd demand to know what I was going to be looking for. I was more than surprised after he merely gave me a scrutinising look over his half-moon spectacles, before nodding and saying that he'd inform Madam Pince.
And since then, Hermione and I have been spending every spare moment in the library, where my friend has been researching Horcruxes and where I have been pretending to do the same. What I've really been looking for, is magic that could help Regulus and me in our little quest to get Sirius out from the Veil.
"I can't believe we haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!" She hisses quietly after flicking her wand to cast a Muffliato around us. "Not a single one! We've been going through the restricted section for days now, and even in the most horrible books, where they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions – nothing! All I've found was this, in the introduction to Magick Moste Evile – listen – 'of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction' …I mean, why mention it, then?" She says impatiently, slamming the old book shut.
The book lets out a ghostly wail. "Oh, shut up," Hermione snaps at it and takes another book from the pile, while I give her a shrug and move my gaze back to the book I've been reading.
It doesn't have anything about Horcruxes, of course, since I've already skimmed the book through, but it does dwell on about shaping and manipulating life-force, a force that allows life to appear and exist, grow and flourish throughout the universe. The subject itself is already interesting, but moreover, it could be something that could help us to get Sirius back. Maybe.
I can feel Hermione's gaze on me even before she speaks. "What are you reading?" She asks curiously.
I look at her, hoping that my eyes don't betray me. "Uh, nothing helpful, I reckon. Just a bunch of gibberish about spiritual and mental powers…" I trail off and move to stand up. "I'll check what is left in the shelf I've been going through," I mutter and walk towards the restricted section before Hermione can question the book further. As I reach the section I've been perusing, I quickly stash the volume into my schoolbag and pull a couple of dark looking books from the shelf before returning back to our table.
We continue reading in silence until lunch time. After lunch, Hermione goes back to the library, this time to study, while I go towards the Quidditch pitch to practice with a sullen looking Ron.
"You've been spending much time with Hermione," he mutters as we walk side by side on the narrow path, surrounded by knee-deep snow. "Hanging out in the library every moment you get…" Ron continues, giving me a suspicious look.
I lift my brows at him. "She's just helping me to research about…" I say and take a quick glance around us, "Horcruxes," I whisper. "You know, the thing Voldemort mentioned to Slughorn," I continue pointedly.
Ron's ears turn slightly red in embarrassment even as he shudders to the name. "Yeah, um, sorry if I haven't been helping you out…" He says quietly, looking down. "It's just…Lavender," He says with a weary sigh. "It's like…like she'll suffocate if I'm not spending every second with her," Ron continues, sounding guilty and annoyed.
I shake my head at him. "Remind me again, why are you with her?" I ask and eye him incredulously.
Ron sighs again. "Lately…I've been asking myself the same thing, mate…" He grumbles.
We're silent for a while before Ron stops in his tracks and turns towards me. "Is she…Hermione…is she seeing anyone?" He asks carefully, looking slightly worried, as if bracing himself for my answer.
I lift my brows, not really surprised since I reckon his feelings for our friend haven't gone anywhere even though he is currently dating another girl. "Not that I know of," I tell him with a shrug before continuing towards the pitch.
Ron looks relieved and follows me, staying silent for the rest of the way until we reach the pitch where we spot Lavender and Parvati sitting at one of the stands. Ron lets out a small groan of annoyance as Lavender shrieks my friend's 'pet name', loudly enough for the rest of the Gryffindor team to hear and snigger at.
Exasperated by Ron's cowardness to face the situation and end the relationship when he clearly doesn't want to be in it anymore, I turn towards the rest of the team and order everyone in the air with more briskness in my voice than they are used to.
After a good ten minutes of unleashing my bad mood to my teammates, Ginny hovers closer to me, giving me a narrow-eyed look.
"Who made your face look like a smacked arse today, Potter?" She asks dryly as she watches her boyfriend dodge a Bludger before sending the Quaffle towards Demelza.
I huff at her. "Just your brother, I suppose," I grunt, knowing fully well I shouldn't let it bother me as much as it does. What's going on between Ron and Hermione is none of my business, but it still affects to our friendship. It still affects everything. And there're more important things to worry over than their quarrel. There are more important things they too should focus on. Like for example, what is Malfoy scheming? Or…what secret powers has Voldemort possibly gained during his Hogwarts' years and after? Or…even though they don't know about it, at least not yet; how long can Sirius stay in the Veil, before it is too late to save him?
Ginny sighs as she glances at Lavender and Patil at the stands, where the former is gripping the railing and cheering for Ron, who in turn is actively trying to ignore her and focus on the practice. "Yeah. Well, my brother's an arse. You should know that by now…" She says wearily. "Just…Don't take it on the team if he's being insufferable. The rest of us don't deserve that," She says with a harsh voice, making me feel like a prat.
"Yeah. Sorry," I say guiltily, and then jerk my head towards the others. "Go on, let's see what you've got," I say and give her an apologetic smile. Ginny smirks at me before shooting towards the other Chasers, continuing the practice.
Hogwarts, March 1st 1997
It seems like February has gone in a blink of an eye, and that I haven't really succeeded to accomplish anything. At least, anything I'm supposed to do. I'm no closer to persuading Slughorn than I was in the beginning of January, and after three Apparition lessons, it feels like I haven't made any progress there either. Nothing interesting has come up in the library, which made a frustrated Hermione suggest that we'd stop the research for now, and that I should focus on getting that memory from Slughorn since that would most likely answer the question.
Instead of doing what I should do, for the past few weeks I have been trying to figure out what Malfoy is up to. During our first Apparition lesson three weeks ago, I heard Malfoy argue with Grabbe, about something that is going to happen. Something in which he needs Grabbe and Goyle to keep a lookout for him. Since I still firmly believe Malfoy to be a Death Eater, it's not like I could just ignore his comments. I need to know what he's planning.
I'm in the middle of making my habitual check on the Marauder's Map for Malfoy, something I've done nearly every morning, as Ron slowly wakes up in the next bed.
"Happy birthday, mate," I say and throw him a package that flies across the air to the foot of his bed and in the middle of a small pile of presents that are likely delivered by the house-elves of Hogwarts.
"Cheers," Ron says to my direction after a long yawn and then starts to open his presents.
There's a short silence, filled only with the rustling of paper, before Ron speaks. "Nice one, Harry!" He says with a wide smile as he admires the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves I've given him.
"No problem," I say to him before moving my focus back on the Map. "Hey…I don't think Malfoy's in his bed…" I mutter, but Ron's too busy to unwrap his presents to answer me.
"Seriously good haul this year!" He announces, and I look up to see him holding up a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. "See what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I'll come of age next year too…"
"Cool," I say and give the watch an approving nod. But something in the Map is still bothering me, drawing in my concentration. Where is Malfoy? He's not at breakfast, not in his common room, or his bed…
"Want one?" Ron asks thickly, mouth full of Chocolate Cauldron, holding out the box.
I glance at him again. "Oh. No thanks," I say and curse silently at the Map. "I swear, Malfoy's gone again!" I grumble with annoyance. Where in the hell he has vanished…again?
"Can't have done," Ron says before stuffing a second Cauldron into his mouth. "Come on. Let's go to breakfast. I don't wanna Apparate with an empty stomach. Although…I suppose it could make it easier…" he continues as he gets up from his bed and starts getting dressed.
I tap my wand at the Map and put it away before getting dressed as well. My thoughts still linger on Malfoy, on his continuous disappearances, and the best way to tail him without being spotted and being late for classes when I notice Ron's stopped in his tracks, in the middle of the dorm while I've already walked to the door.
"Ron?" I ask, and take in his appearance. He's looking out of the rain-washed window, with a strangely unfocused look on his face.
"Ron? Breakfast," I say, my voice slightly louder as I take a couple of steps towards him.
"I'm not hungry," he mutters, still staring into the distance.
What? I blink at him in confusion. "I thought you just said – "
"Well, all right, I'll come down with you," Ron says with a sigh. "But I don't want to eat," he continues plainly.
I give him a suspicious look. "You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't you?"
"It's not that," Ron says with another sigh. "You…you wouldn't understand."
I'm beginning to feel baffled, but know that if I'm not going to breakfast before it's over, I'm the one who has to Apparate with an empty stomach. "Fair enough," I say eventually and decide to head downstairs by myself.
"Harry!" Ron suddenly says, his voice filled with alarm.
I turn quickly back to him. "What is it?" I ask hastily, trying to assess him, trying to see if he's okay.
"Harry, I can't stand it!" Ron says, looking frustrated.
The bafflement only grows inside me. "You can't stand what?" I ask, now feeling alarmed. As I take a good look at my friend's features, I notice he looks like he's about to be sick.
"I can't stop thinking about her!" Ron says hoarsely.
What? I can only gape at him. Is he…is he talking about Lavender? Or Hermione? I'm really not sure if I want to engage into that conversation right now. "Okay…Why does that stop you having breakfast?" I ask instead, trying to make him see some sense.
"I don't think she knows how I feel," Ron says, looking desperate…and…besotted.
He must be talking about Hermione. Because Lavender definitely knows how he feels. Or does she? Although, I reckon Hermione's the one who doesn't really know how Ron feels. I clear my throat uncomfortably. "She probably does," I say tentatively, deciding it could mean either of them. "I mean, you've been hanging around with her for the past five years?"
Ron blinks at me. "Who the hell are you talking about?"
"What?" I ask in confusion. "Who are you talking about?" I say, and can't help but stare at my friend incredulously, as if he's lost his mind.
"Romilda Vane," Ron says softly, and his expression turns into a dreamy one, as if the mere name of the girl has brought him immense happiness.
I stare at Ron for a long time, trying to figure out if my friend's joking. "This is a joke, right? You're joking," I say with a frown. Still, it doesn't feel like a joke and that's what alarms me the most.
"I think…Harry, I think I love her," Ron breathes, looking desperate.
What the hell?
"Okay," I say and shake my head unbelievingly before walking up to Ron to take a better look at his glazed eyes. "Okay. Say that again with a straight face."
Ron merely looks at me, and if eyes could be shaped into hearts, his definitely would. "I love her," he says breathlessly. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky…and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her –"
"This is really funny and everything," I say, starting to feel irritated. "But joke's over, all right? Drop it."
I turn to leave and then Ron hits me at the back of my head. He fucking hits me!
Staggering, I turn around. "What the hell?" I yell, and then see the look on Ron's face. The rage in his eyes. His fists are drawn up, and he looks like he's going to take a swing at me again. Before he manages to move, I pull my wand and fire the first incantation that comes into my mind.
"Levicorpus!" I yell and Ron lets out a surprised roar as he's being yanked from his feet, to hang upside-down from the ceiling.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell at him.
Ron's face is quickly turning into a purple one. "You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!" He shouts back stubbornly.
"What?" I snap incredulously. "This is insane!" I say angrily. "You're insane! What's got into – "
And then I notice the box of Chocolate Cauldrons lying open on Ron's bed, realising what is going on. Remembering what Hermione warned me about before Christmas.
"Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?" I ask suspiciously from my friend.
Ron gives me an annoyed huff. "They were a birthday present!" He insists, struggling in mid-air. "I offered you one, didn't I?"
I suppress a frustrated growl. "You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?"
"They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!" Ron says, sounding confused.
I pinch the bridge of my nose before looking back at my mate. "They didn't fall off your bed, you prat, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was looking for the map. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and they're all spiked with love potion!"
But only one word of this seems to interest Ron.
"Romilda?" Ron says hastily. "Did you say Romilda? Harry…do you know her? Can you introduce me?"
I stare at my friend with disbelief, taking in the tremendously hopeful look in his eyes. After mulling over the situation and deciding what to do, I finally speak to him. "Yeah, I'll introduce you," I say. "I'm going to let you down now, okay?"
I flick my wand, making Ron crashing back to the floor, since, well, the bloody twat managed to get a sore lump to the back of my neck. Ron simply stands up to his feet again, grinning at me.
"She'll be in Slughorn's office," I say confidently, leading the way to the door.
"Why will she be in there?" Ron asks anxiously, hurrying to keep up with me.
I quickly think of a reply. "Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him."
Ron seems to be okay with my lies. "Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" Ron says eagerly.
"Yeah, great idea," I say as we step into the common room, where I spot Lavender, waiting beside the portrait hole.
Shit…
"You're late, WonWon!" Lavender says with an exaggerated pout. "I've got you a birthday –"
"Leave me alone," Ron says impatiently, barely glancing at her. "Harry's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane," he says and pushes his way out of the portrait hole.
I grimace inwardly and glance at Lavender, who now looks close to tears. I give her an apologetic look before quickly following Ron through the portrait hole, hoping that Slughorn will be able to sort this out.
Hogwarts, March 8th 1997
"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," a dreamy voice speaks, echoing over the grounds. "He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he's playing them — oh, look, he's lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she's very nice…"
I whirl around to stare at the commentator's podium. Surely nobody in their right mind would have let Luna Lovegood commentate? But even in high above the stands there is no mistaking that long, dirty blonde hair, nor the necklace of butterbeer corks. My eyes shift to look beside Luna, at Professor McGonagall, who's looking very uncomfortable, seeming to be having doubts about appointing Luna as a commentator.
"…but now that big Hufflepuff player's got the Quaffle from her, I can't remember his name, it's something like Bibble — no, Buggins —"
"It's Cadwallader!" Professor McGonagall yells with irritation. I let out a quiet snort before moving my focus back on the search for the Snitch.
Moments later, I hear McLaggen shouting instructions and criticism at Ginny for allowing the Quaffle out of her possession, and the next second, Cadwallader scores.
I curse under my breath and fly closer to McLaggen. "McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you're supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!" I yell at him with frustration.
"You're not setting a great example!" McLaggen shouts back, his face read with annoyance.
"And now Harry Potter's having an argument with his Keeper," Luna speaks serenely, while both Hufflepuff and Slytherin students below in the crowd make cheering and jeering sounds. "I don't think that'll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse…"
"Bloody fuck!" I swear quietly and turn around from McLaggen, focusing again to what I'm supposed to be doing, trying to scan any sight of the tiny, winged golden ball. Minutes go by, and Ginny and Demelza both score a goal, earning cheers from Gryffindor supporters in the stands. Then Cadwallader scores again, making things level, but Luna doesn't even mention it, and instead babbles something about interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that Zacharias Smith, who had so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a minute, was suffering from something called 'Loser's Lurgy'.
"Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!" Professor McGonagall barks into Luna's megaphone.
"Is it, already?" Luna wonders dreamily. "Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats."
What?!
I spin quickly around to see that McLaggen, for some fucking reason, has pulled Peakes's bat from him and seems to be demonstrating how to hit a Bludger towards an oncoming Cadwallader.
Fucking hell.
"McLaggen!" I yell angrily. "Give him back his bat and get back to the goal posts!" I roar as I fly towards him. McLaggen takes a swipe at the Bludger just as I'm closing in, and in a fraction of a second, I realise he's sent the Bludger straight at me, before it hits home.
A blinding, sickening pain fills me, I can hear distant screams, and then, it's nothing but darkness…
The next thing I know, I'm lying in a warm and comfortable bed, a small lamp shedding light into what looks like the Hospital wing in Hogwarts. It's dark outside. I wonder what time it is, and how long I've been here? I let out a soft groan as I try to get rid of the bleariness in my eyes.
"Nice of you to drop in, mate," a familiar voice says.
I turn my head slightly, and see Ron in the next bed, grinning at me. "Hey mate," I croak and lift my hand to my head, which feels strangely heavy. There's a stiff turban of bandages around it. "What happened?" I mutter groggily as I try to sit up.
"Cracked skull," Madam Pomfrey says softly as she appears out of nowhere, gently pushing me back to lean against my pillow. "Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I'm keeping you in overnight. You shouldn't over exert yourself for a few hours."
I feel a surge of rage as I remember what happened. "I don't want to stay here overnight," I grit out through my teeth and sit up. "I want to find McLaggen and kill him."
Madam Pomfrey actually rolls her eyes at me before she pushes me back more firmly. "I'm afraid that would come under the heading of 'overexertion,'" she says sternly, and lifts her wand, pointing it at me. "You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster," she says finally and then turns to go back into her office.
I curse under my breath while Ron eyes me with amusement. "D'you know how much we lost by?" I ask him bitterly, hoping to wipe that annoying giddy look from his face. And succeeding in it.
Ron frowns at me, his expression turning into a sour one. "Well, yeah I do," he says apologetically. "Final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty."
"Brilliant," I say through clenched teeth. "Just fucking brilliant," I growl, and Ron – who usually swears like a sailor – gives me a startled look. "When I get hold of McLaggen —"
"You don't want to get hold of him, he's the size of a troll," Ron says reasonably. "Personally, I think there's a lot to be said for hexing him with that toenail thing of the Prince's. Anyway, the rest of the team might've dealt with him before you get out of here, they're not happy…"
Ron's words don't help me feel better – I know he's partly glad that McLaggen messed up so badly, since he probably now thinks he doesn't have any trouble getting back to the team. But he wouldn't have had any trouble. I mean, even if McLaggen had played well, I still would've wanted Ron back. He's a good Keeper, at least when he doesn't let his nerves get the best of him. He fits better with the whole team, and he actually listens instructions.
Our discussion moves towards Malfoy, when I tell Ron I was almost late from the game. "I just want to know what he's up to," I tell Ron. "And don't say that it's all in my head, not after what I overheard between him and Snape —"
"I never said it was all in your head," Ron says quickly, hoisting himself up on an elbow and frowning at me, "but there's no rule saying only one person at a time can be plotting anything in this place! You're getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him…"
"I want to catch him at it!" I say hotly, feeling frustrated. "I mean, where's he going when he disappears off the map?"
"I dunno…Hogsmeade?" Ron says, yawning widely.
"I've never seen him going along any of the secret passageways on the map. I thought they were being watched now anyway?" I say pointedly.
"Well then, I dunno," Ron mutters with a sleepy voice.
I stay silent as I try to figure out how to follow Malfoy without missing classes or, well, Quidditch. If I only had the Minister's power, and I could just assign people to tail upon Malfoy.
There's a low, rumbling snore from Ron's bed. After a while Madam Pomfrey exits from her office to check on her patients, and I close my eyes to let her think I'm asleep in order to avoid her scolding me to be awake still.
After she's dimmed the lights and returned back to her office, I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, recalling the previous times I've been in the hospital wing after a Quidditch injury. The last time I'd fallen off my broom because of the Dementors, and the time before that, all the bones had been removed from my arm by the berk, Lockhart…That had probably been the most painful injury by far…I still remember the agony of re-growing an armful of bones in one night, a discomfort not eased by the arrival of an unexpected visitor in the middle of the —
I sit up abruptly, my heart pounding, my bandage turban moving to the side slightly. I know how to tail on Malfoy. I know how to have him followed without missing my classes or Quidditch.
I frown into the darkness as I whisper quietly. "Kreacher?"
There is a silent crack, and Ron groans softly in his sleep, but by the sounds of him, he doesn't fully wake up.
I quickly point my wand at the curtains surrounding my hospital bed. "Muffliato!" I whisper, and then light my wand silently. Kreacher's standing on the floor, near the foot of my bed.
"Master called me?" Kreacher croaks quietly, sinking into a bow even as it gives me an annoyed look.
"Yeah, I did," I say quickly, not wanting Ron or Madam Pomfrey to wake up – I can explain everything to Ron later on. "I've got a job for you."
"Kreacher will do whatever Master wants," Kreacher says, sinking so low that its nose almost touches its gnarled toes, "because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a master, yes —"
"Thank you, Kreacher," I grit trough my teeth. Hell, apparently the elf can maintain a polite behaviour only when I'm in Regulus's presence. "Keep your opinions about me to yourself," I say warningly, before I continue. "I want you to tail Draco Malfoy. I want to know where he's going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want you to follow him around the clock."
Kreacher gives me an alarmed look. "Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?" The elf asks slowly. "Master wants me to spy upon the pureblood cousin of my…my old Master?"
"That's the one," I say blankly, knowing already I have to specify my request to cut off any loopholes. "And you're forbidden to tip Malfoy off, Kreacher, or to show him what you're up to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or…or to contact him in any way. Got it?"
The elf seems to mull over my request for a while before it gives a sullen bow and speaks with a voice oozing of resentment, "Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey him, even though Master wills bad to the pureblood cousin of Master Regulus, even though Master brings filth to his house, even though – "
"That's settled, then," I hiss sharply. "I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not surrounded by people when you turn up. Ron and Hermione are okay."
After Kreacher's left, I turn off the light from my wand and realise how tired I am. I only manage to put my wand back to the nightstand and settle against the soft pillow, before sleep takes me away from reality.
As soon as I've drifted off, I feel a presence near me, and blink wearily.
Regulus is there, standing next to my bed, his eyes flashing with worry and curiosity.
"Hey," I mutter drowsily. "Am I dreaming?" I ask, because he can't have come here, in the middle of the night. This has to be a dream.
Regulus's mouth twitches. "And what if you were?" He asks with a low voice, his eyes studying mine.
I yawn and my eyes don't seem to want to stay open. "I'd say it's nice to see you," I mutter, my eyes drawing closed, a small grin spreading my lips.
"Thought you promised not to do anything stupid," Regulus says quietly, although, I think I detect a hint of amusement in his voice.
I let out a small huff of laughter. "You think I cracked my skull willingly, huh?"
There's silence again, and I try to open my eyes and fight against the slumber. Then I feel his fingertips lightly brushing against the back of my hand.
Realising that he really must be here since I'm definitely not dreaming that, the weariness leaves me immediately, and my eyes snap open.
"You're here?" I whisper, gaping at him in amazement.
Regulus's lips curve upwards. "How hard did you hit that head of yours, Potter?" He asks and moves his hand away from me.
I can't focus on the disappointment I feel by the lack of his touch when other, more pressing thoughts fill my head. He's really here. Inside Hogwarts. Shit, he shouldn't be here. Ron could wake up any moment, or Pomfrey…What if he's seen by someone?
"Relax." He says softly, evidently seeing my panicked expression. "I'm not going to stay for long," He continues and gives me a searching look. "As soon as you tell me why are you expecting my elf to follow my cousin, I will not burden you any longer," he says blankly, his eyes now speculative and wary.
"W-What?" I stammer, feeling startled, and then let out a frustrated groan. That conniving little creature. The elf's snitched on me. I clench my jaw and huff, "Kreacher wasn't supposed to say anything…"
Regulus arches a brow at me. "Did you actually forbid it to tell anyone, or just my cousin?" He asks dryly, seeming to know the answer.
Shit…of course. I knew the elf accepted the task too willingly. Brilliant. So, Kreacher must've gone to see Regulus.
"Didn't think so…" Regulus continues with a wry smile. "My elf came to me, and told that its Master has given it an assignment. To follow my cousin around the clock, to find out who he's meeting, and what he's doing when he's not in class. Sound familiar?" He asks, his gaze hardening.
I gape at him, not really knowing how to answer. My look gives me away, naturally.
"Potter," Regulus grits out, looking exasperated. "Why the hell would you do that?"
I lift my brows in bewilderment. He sounds so…upset. "So…you reckon there's something? That I could find something?" I ask quickly.
Regulus gives me an incredulous look. "Of course there fucking could be something. He's a son of a Death Eater. Didn't it occur to you that you'd better stay away from him?" He says forcefully, looking angry all of a sudden.
I roll my eyes at him. That's old news. Malfoy's not his father. "Malfoy's no danger, believe me. He's a coward." I grunt and look away.
"Then why have him followed?" Regulus asks sharply.
That's just it…I reckon Malfoy himself wouldn't be a danger to the others, but if he's in a middle of a Death Eater plan, where there are others, to whom he can provide information of Hogwarts…or if he's doing something for them…I have no idea. I just know that I don't trust Malfoy. I eventually give Regulus a casual shrug. "Dunno. Just…have a feeling, I suppose."
Regulus looks away, his expression contemplative. "If Kreacher is to follow him, you keep your distance. You do not go near him," He says after a short moment, or, well, more like demands.
I give him an incredulous look. "Why wouldn't I? Why are you talking like he's, I dunno, Voldemort, or something?"
Regulus twitches at the name, and turns his eyes back to me. They're cold, and furious. "Because I knew his father. And his mother."
I stare at him, trying to read him, mulling over his words. What were they like in Regulus's time? Did the Malfoys kill and torture innocents? And if so, are they still the same people they were? At least, Lucius Malfoy's actions speak against that. He's had several chances to kill me and my friends. But he hasn't.
As Regulus's gaze gives nothing away, I let out an annoyed huff and change the subject. "How are you even here? You cannot Apparate into Hogwarts…I bet Dumbledore's noticed the moment you stepped through the boundaries of the school," I say, a freckle of worry colouring my voice.
Regulus eyes me with an infuriatingly knowing look. "Wouldn't he have noticed that you summoned Kreacher here in the first place?" He asks calmly. When a deep frown takes place between my brows and unease fills my stomach, he continues, "No, I do not think that Kreacher Apparating here would alert the Headmaster, since the anti-Apparition wards do not exactly apply to elf-magic."
"And as for me being here, well…perks of being a dead man," he says indifferently. "…Kreacher brought me here," he says after seeing my disbelieving look.
There's another short silence, and then he speaks again, his eyes fixated to mine, "Stay out of trouble?" He asks quietly. "Otherwise my brother will murder me once he gets out, and then I'll be sad not be able to bother him anymore," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, looking much like his brother.
I lean back on my pillow and grin at him, my eyes moving over his face, stopping at his lips.
"Oh, I'm sure he'll murder the both of us…" I mutter quietly, swallowing hard as Regulus licks his lower lip in thought, and then hums in agreement.
"Yeah, I think he actually might," he says, leaning closer to me, his right hand resting next to my head, and then his mouth is inches away from mine.
His eyes sweep over my face, as if trying to memorise it before he speaks. "Better be good then…" He whispers, and slowly straightens up, amusement flickering in his expression as he hears the quiet, frustrated groan escaping from my throat.
"I have to go," He says, and evidently sees the disappointed look in my eyes as his mouth turns slightly downwards.
I give him a nod, trying and failing to say anything to him, knowing that this is not the time or place to discuss anything I need to.
The next moment, Regulus slips between the curtains surrounding my hospital bed, and then I hear a silent crack, signifying that he's left with Kreacher.
I don't really know how long I stay awake after that, and when I finally fall asleep, I dream about intense grey eyes, a faint touch of fingertips against my skin, and a warm breath ghosting across my lips.
In the morning, Ron and I are discharged from the Hospital wing, and even though I go over the details of last night several times in my head, I'm still not entirely sure if Regulus had actually been there, or if I was simply dreaming.
Hogwarts, March 10th 1997
I walk quickly towards the Headmaster's office, not wanting to be late from our meeting. I give the gargoyle the password Dumbledore had provided in his letter, and the stone figure leaps aside, revealing the spiral staircase.
As soon as I've stepped onto the topmost step, Professor Trelawney pulls the door open from inside and gives me an incredulous look.
"So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!" She says with a dramatical voice, a wounded expression behind her magnifying spectacles.
"My dear Sybill," Dumbledore says, sounding a bit exasperated, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —"
"Very well," Professor Trelawney sniffs. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it. Perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated…" She says indifferently, and then pushes past me, disappearing into the staircase, stumbling slightly on her way.
"Please close the door and sit down, Harry," Dumbledore says wearily.
I quickly obey him and then move towards Dumbledore's desk, where I take my usual seat, opposite to him.
"Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?" I ask curiously.
"No," Dumbledore says with a small sigh, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know — and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her — that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see." He says resignedly.
"But never mind my staffing problems," Dumbledore continues with a wave of his blackened hand. "We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly — have you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?"
Shit.
"Um," I say, feeling guilty as Dumbledore gives me an expectant look. I've been so busy with everything else; with Apparition lessons, Quidditch, Ron being poisoned, getting my skull cracked and the quest of finding out what Malfoy is up to, I have almost forgotten about the memory. "Well…I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me." I say, knowing how feeble it all sounds.
Dumbledore is silent for a while, before he speaks. "I see."
He gives me a scrutinising look over his half-moon spectacles before continuing, "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"
Bloody hell.
"Well," I mutter, trying to think how to justify my actions, or the lack of them, I reckon. "Well…the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood…"
"And did that work?" Dumbledore asks after I fall silent.
"Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned…" I say and grimace inwardly.
Dumbledore gives me a small nod. "Which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it," he says, sounding disappointed, even though there's a small smile on his lips.
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spreads from the top of my head all the way down my body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but still, I think I'd rather have him yell at me, since the disappointment feels even worse.
The silence between us makes my insides clench uncomfortably, and then I have to say something, to make it better. "Sir…I'm really sorry. I should have done more…I should have realised you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important."
Dumbledore's eyes soften a bit before he speaks. "Thank you for saying that, Harry," he says quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meetings after tonight unless we have that memory."
I give him a determined look. "I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him."
"Then we shall say no more about it just now," Dumbledore says, his voice kinder now, "and instead continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"
"Yes, sir," I say quickly. "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin had done it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked…he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes," I say, feeling a pang of shame.
"Very good," Dumbledore says. "Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"
"Yes, sir".
"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?" He says, looking at me expectantly.
I nod at him.
"But now, Harry," Dumbledore says, "now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you," Dumbledore says and gestures at the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve that is positioned at the table between us. "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."
Hearing his words, that he actually wants my opinion, makes me feel even more ashamed and all the more determined to acquire the memory from Slughorn. Dumbledore merely lifts the first of the two bottles into the light and examines it.
"I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections, these two," he says, looking thoughtful. "This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts," he says and fixes me a grave look.
"He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he join the Ministry of Magic, offered to set up appointments, put him in touch with useful contacts. He refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, Voldemort was working at Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore says simply.
I lift my brows in surprise. "At Borgin and Burkes?" I say, feeling stunned.
"At Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore says calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time — I was one of the few in whom the then Headmaster confided — but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."
"What? He wanted to stay here? Why?" I ask quickly, not able to mask the bafflement in my voice.
Dumbledore makes a low humming sound and looks contemplative. "I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet," Dumbledore eventually says. "Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home."
I can't stop the uncomfortable feeling spreading in my stomach by his words. This isn't the first time I've felt there's too much similarity between Voldemort and me.
Dumbledore eyes me with a knowing look before continuing, "Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap. And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential a role of a teacher can be. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."
I scoff quietly. That sounds about right. "But he didn't get the job, sir?"
"No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach," Dumbledore says simply.
"How did you feel about that, sir?" I ask hesitantly.
Dumbledore gives me a wry smile. "Deeply uneasy," he says. "I had advised Armando against the appointment — I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."
Even though I already feel like I know the answer to it, I have to ask. "Which job did he want, sir? What subject did he want to teach?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years," Dumbledore says, his expression not giving much of anything away.
"So, Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specialises, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."
I let out a small huff. "I'll bet he was," I say dryly.
"Well, quite," Dumbledore continues with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."
Dumbledore taps the bottle with his wand, and the cork flows out before he pours the swirling memory into the Pensieve. "After you, Harry."
Two memories later, I walk back to my dormitory, my head swirling with newly acquired information, buzzing with the jigsaw of Voldemort's schemes and goals. The first memory showed us Voldemort meeting with an old lady, Hepzibah Smith, who made the mistake of trusting the wrong man. Smith showed Voldemort two of her greatest treasures while having tea with him, and two days later, she was found dead in her home, while her house-elf had taken the blame. Voldemort had left the scene with Hepzibah's cup and locket – artefacts that had both once belonged to Hogwarts's founders – before vanishing from the wizarding community for some time.
The second memory was one of Dumbledore's, where Voldemort had come, once again, to apply for a job, ten years after murdering Smith. I can't say seeing him didn't make me shudder inwardly. His appearance hadn't yet been snakelike or his skin pearly white as it is today, but he hadn't been the handsome Riddle from his schoolyears anymore. His features seemed burned and blurred, and the whites of his eyes had acquired a permanently bloody look – the same eyes that would become entirely scarlet in the future.
I know I need to form a plan to acquire the memory from Slughorn. Dumbledore couldn't have made it more clear how essential it is for us to see. A final, missing piece of the puzzle we need before we can know for sure, and before everything will be clear.
And this time I'm determined to get it.