-Jules Renard, Journal, December, 1900

~*~

CHAPTER THREE: THE SECOND TURNING

The battered black door closed behind Harry with an ominous thud, punctuating the absolute silence of number twelve Grimmauld Place with a disturbing finality.

Harry waited a full minute in the dark, taking deep, steadying breaths of the dank, musty air in order to calm his nerves; nerves which were strung so tight it was a wonder that his heart hadn’t leapt out of his chest in protest.

He didn’t want to be here.

The last time he had been here — well, the last time his head had been here — he’d been looking for Sirius. Sirius had been alive; upstairs in this very house, taking care of Buckbeak.

Harry had been looking for Sirius. He’d demanded an answer from Kreacher as to his master’s whereabouts and Kreacher had lied to him, leading him to believe that Sirius had gone to the Ministry of Magic. Thank heavens the little beast was at Hogwarts. If he hadn’t been, Harry wasn’t entirely certain that he would have been able to control his temper. He wasn’t here however, and for a brief moment Harry teetered between wondering which was worse, being here with Kreacher, or being here alone.

"Lumos," whispered Harry, drawing his wand. The wand tip ignited instantly, casting the contents of the downstairs hall into sharp relief. He was relieved to note that Mrs. Black’s Portrait was still covered by its heavy drapes; last thing he wanted was to wake that beastly woman up. Let her snooze on for another decade or two.

Harry stepped cautiously into the Parlor, holding his wand out in front of him like a light saber. "Come to the dark side, Luke," he muttered, then shivered. Here, in this place, the reality of Dark Magic was disturbingly real.

The parlor looked exactly as it had the last time Harry had seen it, albeit a bit dustier. The de-doxied drapes still hung limp and lifeless at the grime-streaked windows (the grime was on the outside, he could testify to that. Mrs. Weasley had subjected the windows like everything else to a thorough cleaning). The writing desk stood quiet and unmoving against the far wall. And there, there on the wall hung the Black Family Tree of which Sirius had been so disparaging.

Not trusting himself with the gas lamps, Harry walked closer to the tapestry, holding his wand before him so that it illuminated the tiny embroidered names and gold connecting threads. There, the burn hole where Sirius’s Mum had removed Sirius’s name and there, next in line;

Harry traced the stitching of the name with one finger; R.A.B. "I found you!" Harry whispered into the darkness. It looked as if young Regulus had not only gotten cold feet, but had decided to undermine his previous master in the only way he knew how.

But if Voldemort guarded the slivers of his soul so carefully, how had Regulus found out about the Horcrux in the first place? More to the point, what had he done with it after he had removed it from its hiding place? And even more specifically, had he gotten around to destroying it before Voldemort had destroyed him? (And Voldemort would have destroyed him, probably personally if he suspected that the turncoat had any information that could be used against him).

Oh yes, it looked as if the ‘right little hero’ as Sirius had so lovingly called him, had been more important in the scheme of things than his big brother could possibly have imagined.

"Come on buddy," Harry whispered, rubbing his finger over the raised embroidery. "Cough it up now. Tell me where you stashed it."

As if in response to his words there was a sudden rustling slithering sort of sound from behind the baseboards. Harry took a step backwards, lowering his wand till the light was pointed at age-warped gap between the baseboard and the floor. A brief impression of eyes on a low-slung body drove him back another step. The eyes blinked, and then were gone with another shivery, slithering sound that made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand up.

"What the hell?" He turned in a complete circle, his wand falling on the chair (still stained from the bag of bloody rats Sirius had dropped there) finally lighting on a thick book standing on an end table. There, winking up cheekily at him from the cover, was a handsome blonde wizard with a dazzling smile.

"Bingo!" Harry flipped open the ornately bound book, grinning at what Ron would think when he told him that there had actually been a time he’d been grateful to see Lockhart’s ingratiating grin.

"Boomslang, Bowtruckles, Bugbear, Bandimuns, ha!" He ran his finger over the corresponding passage, reading out loud as he went. "Greenish fungus with eyes. Ergh! No wonder it seemed low to the ground! An infestation of Bundimuns can destroy a house, as their secretions rot away the foundations. This same secretion, in diluted form, is used in some magical cleaning solutions. Weird!" Following the brief description was a series of steps one could take. It looked nearly as involved as some of the potions Harry had done for Slughorn the previous year.

"I don’t have time for this!" he groaned, reading the step that would take two whole days to complete. If he didn’t take care of it (and there was no doubt in his mind that the creature he had glimpsed was indeed a Bandimuns) then it would most likely leave Grimmauld Place in a shambles. But his first priority was the Horcrux. He had to find it. He had to find it and destroy it or verify that it had already been rendered harmless.

Suppose for a minute that he ignored the Bandimuns and went after the locket. Where should he start looking? Where would Regulus have stashed a piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul? As if in response to his question, the words Sirius had uttered in this very room, almost on this very spot seemed to reverberate inside of Harry’s head;

Of course! Regulus had been just nineteen years old when he’d died, barely two years out of Hogwarts, and his parents had not only known about his being a Death Eater, but had been supportive of his cause. He would have brought home, here to Grimmauld Place! Harry threw his head back and began to laugh, the sound reverberating through the empty rooms like a dozen Harry’s all laughing together.

"Watch out Mr. Mold!" Harry called, brandishing his wand at the floorboards where he had seen the Bandimuns. "It looks as if I’ll have time for you after all!"

* * *

Harry stood upright, wincing as his back protested its change of position. He’d been bent nearly double over this damn cauldron for most of the day. And he thought Snape’s potions had been fiddly! This one had took the cake.

He’d found all of the ingredients in a shallow cupboard carved into the side of the great stone fireplace in the basement kitchen, and had gone to work, silently blessing the Half Blood Prince for having at least taught him patience in Potion-making.

The potion was just the first step in ridding the house of the Bandimuns. It now had to be injected into the walls, using a clever little charm that Lockhart had conveniently included in the footnotes. As he made his way through the house lugging the cauldron from room to room, muttering the incantation under his breath and using his wand to inject the potion into the moldering walls, Harry wondered vaguely what witch or wizard’s memory had been wiped clear so that Lockhart could take credit for this useful little household charm.

That was it then. Now all he had to do was wait for 48 hours before reversing the charm so as to remove any residue. (According to the footnotes, any residue left inside the walls would reanimate within 24 hours). The protection ingredients included in the potion would continue to work for a whole year and the potion itself could be stored indefinitely, so Harry had made sure to pour the rest of the cauldron’s contents into a stoppered bottle. He was planning on using those 48 hours to begin searching for the locket, and he knew just where to start.

* * *

With a vague sense of uneasiness, Harry surveyed the nearly empty shelves of the glass fronted cabinets in the parlor. He remembered that long afternoon he and Hermione and the Weasleys had spent cleaning out these cupboards.

He’d nearly been bitten by those damned walking tweezers, and hadn’t there been a box of wartcap powder? Sirius’s hand had looked like a nasty brown glove after coming in contact with it. And a music box that played an odd, tinkling tune that had made them all sleepy and listless; except for Ginny, who had slammed the lid on the box so fast she’d nearly caught Ron’s fingers in it. But hadn’t there been a locket? Hadn’t there been a locket that no one could open?

What had happened to all the stuff they’d mucked out of these cabinets, anyway? He’d seen Fred and George nick some of the stuff; the wartcap powder for one, and a box of small, marble like spheres that Sirius had called "tremblors," as well as a small sack of what he now knew was the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder that Death Eaters had used at Hogwarts with such effectiveness. But what on earth had happened to the locket?

"Please tell me it didn’t go in the rubbish sacks!" Harry murmured out loud.

It didn’t look promising. All that was left in the glass-fronted cupboards were a number of highly polished but rather plain looking stones in a shallow wooden bowl, a tarnished brass key ring bristling with an assortment of brass and silver keys in a variety of sizes, a number of empty crystal phials, a stack of saucer-sized wooden discs and a plain wooden box that was filled with what looked like porcupine quills.

"What the hell happened to the rest of the stuff?" It was true that a good bit had been thrown out, but those things that were not obviously cursed or related to dark magic had been put to one side. Harry had assumed that Sirius had put those items back into the cabinets, but perhaps he had stored it somewhere else.

Harry sighed, thinking of the three floors (not including the basement or attic) with all their cupboards, cabinets, wardrobes and odd niches, any of which could be housing the item he was looking for.

"Well, no time like the present," he told a fat black spider crouched on the wall just above his head. And who knew, perhaps he’d stumble across something else that could be of use to him in his search for the remaining Horcruxes; some sort of hint, or clue.

* * *

Harry awoke on his second morning in Grimmauld Place with the distinct impression that someone was watching him. He knew they were by the way all the hairs on the back of his neck and arms were standing on end. He simultaneously whipped out his wand and opened his eyes to find only the fat black spider (was it the same spider?) hanging on its thread just inches above his nose.

"What?" said Harry groggily. "You hungry or something? Go on, shoo, I’m not breakfast."

The spider retreated a ways up its thread, intent on avoiding the wand which Harry was now waving energetically above his head. He stifled a giggle at what Ron’s reaction would have been had he awoken to find such a healthy specimen hanging over his face.

"Probably would have woken up the whole dorm," Harry informed the spider, "before smashing you flat of course."

The spider retreated a few more inches.

Harry winced at the stiffness in his back. He’d spent the night — both nights - wrapped in his blanket on top of the trestle table in the kitchen — just in case (he couldn’t entirely rid his mind of that slithering, creeping piece of mold he’d spied in the parlor) — using his knapsack as a pillow.

The roaring fire he’d built in the fireplace before going to bed was now only a bed of glowing coals. How long had he slept this time? Last night he’d woken up every couple of hours, each time feeling as if he’d just closed his eyes. Harry glanced at his wristwatch, and somehow wasn’t surprised to find that it was only four in the morning. He had to wait until six that evening before he could perform the reverse charm that would remove all the Bandimunds’ residue.

"Damn!" His sense of time was all skewered in this place. He’d fallen asleep at various times during the day, feeling groggy and muddled when he woke up instead of refreshed. It was as if Grimmauld Place occupied its own place in space and time, thumbing its nose at traditional time keeping.

"No wonder Sirius was getting restless," Harry told the spider, which had now retreated to the relative safety of the kitchen light fixture, where it had a large, intricate web spread, awaiting unwary insects. "I would have gone nutters in no time cooped up in a place as fundamentally weird as this!"

He’d stayed up until nearly one in the morning in order to complete his search of the house. He had encountered some downright bizarre things — including a mantle clock whose hands ran backwards, a pair of fire tongs which, when he had knocked them over by mistake, tried to bite his ankles and had to be stunned, a large cardboard carton filled to the brim with something that looked like snow, smelled like toasted coconut, but tasted like cardboard, and, in the attic, two large, round-topped, intricately carved trunks that had proven to be locked tight.

Harry had gotten very excited when he found that the trunks were locked; certain at last that he had found the hiding place he’d been searching for, but was disappointed upon opening them to find them full of nothing but ancient robes, high-heeled slippers and hats of all shapes and sizes.

"To be perfectly honest, I don’t know where else to look!" Harry confessed as the Spider began wrapping a small flying bug that had blundered into its threads. The spider paused in its task, as if considering his words. A second later Harry was completely distracted from this oddity as a voice spoke from directly behind him.

"If I knew what it was you were looking for, perhaps I could help."

Gulping for breath, Harry spun on his heels, his wand already in his hand, to find Remus Lupin standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the door, his arms crossed and a look of mild curiosity on his face. He was struck at once by how much better Lupin was looking. While still haggard and gray, at least some of the worry lines around his eyes had smoothed out and he looked as if he’d put on at least ten pounds. It looked as if Tonks were taking very good care of him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" ejaculated Harry, stowing his wand back in the pouch.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "And hello to you too," he said mildly.

"Sorry," said Harry hastily, "it’s just . . .you startled me!"

"That much," said Lupin coolly, "is obvious."

"Yeah, well . . ." Harry grinned sheepishly. "How did you know where I’d be?"

Lupin shrugged. "Wasn’t difficult actually. You asked me how to get to your parents’ house in Goddric’s Hollow. Then Arthur and Molly said that you just disappeared right after the wedding. Anyway, I figured once you’d seen where your parents lived you’d probably come here, and then, when I received your school letter-"

"You received my school letter?" interrupted Harry. "I thought owls could find anyone anywhere they happened to be?"

"In most cases, yes," explained Lupin patiently. "But there seems to be a shielding charm in effect around you, for no less than three school owls have been returned as ‘undeliverable’."

"A shielding charm?" Harry’s hand went automatically to the pouch around his neck. Hadn’t Ginny said that it was enchanted? Figures Hermione would include something like a shielding charm. He hesitated only momentarily before drawing it out and holding it up so that Lupin could see. "Do you think this could have something to do with it?"

Lupin took the pouch from Harry, turning it over in his hands and squinting at the runic symbols etched into the leather. "Where did you get this?"

"Ginny," said Harry simply, then added, "I keep stuff in it that I don’t want found. She gave it to me, Ginny I mean. Ron made it, and Ginny said that Hermione charmed it so that Muggles couldn’t see it. "

"She did more than that," said Lupin admiringly, tracing an odd looking symbol near the bottom left-hand corner. "See this sigil? That’s a shielding charm, and this one? That’s a tracking spell that has all three of their names worked into it."

"And that means what, exactly?" asked Harry, squinting at the tiny gold threads Lupin was pointing to.

"What it means is that as long as you have this pouch on your person only the three of them will know exactly where you are."

"But you found me."

"It’s not like the Fideleous Charm, Harry. You can still be found — if someone knows where to look. But it makes it damned near impossible to trace you using any form of magical tracking."

"But you said there was a tracking charm worked into it too."

"Yes, but it’s exclusive, see?" Lupin was pointing to a connecting line between two of the sigils. "It bypasses the shielding charm, but only for Ron, Hermione and Ginny, because this links their names to the tracking charm."

"Sneaky," smirked Harry, once again amazed at Hermione’s ability to complex spellwork.

"But brilliant," said Lupin, smiling. "She really is the smartest witch I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, well, except for one."

"Tonks," said Harry, nodding. He didn’t know if he’d consider Tonks to be smarter than Hermione, but she was an Auror after all, and what with Lupin’s fancying her, it was natural to think that . . .

"No, actually, I was talking about Lily."

Harry blinked. "My Mum?"

"Everyone thought your Lily should have been in Ravenclaw," said Lupin reminiscently. "Top of her class in everything. I think that was one reason James was so attracted to her. I mean, precious few people could show James up in anything. He was easily the best in our class at Transfiguration, well, he and Sirius, and he was pretty damned good in Herbology. But Lily consistently beat them both in Charms and Potions."

"What about Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Harry wondered.

"I’d call it a tie," said Lupin cheerfully. "Lily and James were always vying for top position in Defense classes. Some of the hexes they used on each other during practice. . .!" He chuckled at the memory. "There was one afternoon at the end of our sixth year when they both refused to back down during the practical, talk about disastrous!"

"What happened?"

"They hexed each other so bad that they ended up in the hospital wing. As an extra punishment Professor McGonagall made certain that Madam Pomfrey put them in beds right next to each other."

"My Mum must have hated that!" said Harry wincing as he remembered Snape’s memory and how Lily had seemed to absolutely detest James early on in their acquaintance.

"Especially since neither of them were allowed visitors for the duration of their confinement," Lupin added.

"How long were they in there?"

"Three days," said Lupin, smirking, "they went in yelling, and by the time Madam Pomfrey discharged them three days later they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other."

"You’re kidding!" said Harry incredulously. "You mean that’s all it took?"

"It appeared so," said Lupin comfortably. "Oddly enough, James would never go into detail about what exactly went on while they were in there, and I can’t say how unusual that was. Normally he would regal Sirius and Peter and me with stories of his assorted conquests."

"Assorted conquests?"

"Harry, your dad was young, good looking, rich, smart and an excellent Quidditch player. Trust me, he had girls throwing themselves at his head; him and Sirius both." Lupin looked sideways at Harry, then innocently added, "from what I’ve heard, you haven’t been exactly lacking for admirers yourself."

Harry smirked, remembering Romilda Vane’s thwarted attempts to trick him into taking her love potion.

"Yeah, I suppose, but with most of them it’s because I’m the bloody boy-who-lived, isn’t it?" He paused, then added, "except for Ginny of course."

"Of course." Lupin remained silent for several minutes as he busied himself in making a cup of tea for the both of them from a tin of ancient leaves tucked into the back of one of the cabinets. It wasn’t until he had seated himself across from Harry, his back to the fireplace that Lupin spoke again.

"Harry, I want to apologize to you for how I behaved after Sirius . . ." he cleared his throat. "This whole last year and then, with Dumbledore and . . .well . . .I couldn’t deal with it."

"Who could?" muttered Harry, staring intently into his own cup of tea, wondering idly what the tea leaves would show now if he were to turn over his cup.

Lupin’s head snapped up at Harry’s words, he looked angry; angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "The point is, Harry, I should have! I had no right wallowing in self pity when I needed most to be strong."

"Don’t give me that shit!" Harry snapped, forgetting entirely that he was dealing with an Adult; a man who he respected; a man who was old enough to be his father.

"You’re my responsibility now Harry and I-"

"I am not yours or anyone else’s’ responsibility," said Harry flatly, cutting across Lupin with a tone that seemed to stop the older man in his tracks. Lupin stared at him, but Harry was not about to be deterred. "All my life people have been taking responsibility for me. My parents, Sirius . . ." Harry swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat, " . . .Dumbledore."

"Harry, I know you’ve been hurt-"

"No Remus. I haven’t been hurt." Harry felt the change in his voice; the icy, steel-like quality that had crept into it’s timbre. "I haven’t been hurt because every single person who has stepped between me and Voldemort has been killed protecting me. That stops, now. Today. No one else is going to be hurt because of me Remus. I am going to take care of this once and for all."

"Harry-"

"No." Harry took the older man by the shoulders. "Don’t you see? It’s time for me to take responsibility for myself."

Lupin closed his eyes and took several deep shuddering breaths before speaking again. When he opened his eyes, Harry was more than a little startled to see that he was crying.

"Professor . . .what is it?"

Lupin gave a ragged laugh and wiped his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. "You just — you just remind me so much of your father Harry. When you talk like that, the look in your eye . . .that was just how he sounded whenever he talked about Voldemort . . .about fighting him. . ." his voice broke and he pulled Harry into a bone-cracking hug. "Harry, I don’t want to loose you too!"

Harry remained silent. What could he say? Lupin had lost as many people to Voldemort as Harry had; people he was close to; people he loved just as much as Harry loved Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Not for the first time Harry felt the stirrings of a hot, bubbling anger at the man (if he could still be called a man) who was responsible for causing this kind of pain and suffering.

* * *

"Like I was saying, Harry, it was most likely the shielding charm that kept the school owls from finding you."

It was two hours later and Harry and Lupin were both sopping up the remnants of a beef stew from the bottom of their bowls with large chunks of bread. Harry simply nodded, not bothering to speak. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until Lupin’s thrown together stew had begun to simmer in the great cauldron over the fire.

"Only those owls who have been put under the corresponding finding charm will be able to find you with any accuracy. That would explain why they ended up sending the letter to me."

"What letter?" said Harry thickly around the last bit of bread he had just stuffed into his mouth.

"Your school letter; haven’t you been listening to me?"

"Well yeah, but . . .hey, I thought they weren’t going to open Hogwarts this year?"

"It was a close thing, let me tell you!" said Lupin, rummaging in the pockets of his jacket and finally extracting a thick yellow envelope with a fat wax seal on the back.

Harry wiped his hands on his jeans before slitting open the seal with a fingernail and shaking out the creamy sheets of parchment. He felt a distinct pang as he remembered the first time he had received a letter. Hagrid had done copious amounts of magic in order to get it to him, finally breaking down the door to the hut-on-the-rock in order to hand it to him in person.

The unusual thickness of the letter proved to be not only the usual welcome-back note and book list, but a letter of the precautions being taken to ensure the safety of the students and staff of Hogwarts, as long as several permission forms to be signed by the parents of those students still under seventeen.

"The board of governors had a rough time of it; took them nearly a month to decide," said Lupin, nodding at the forms Harry was holding. "But they finally agreed to allow those who wish to return to do so, provided that those under age have the appropriate release and permission forms signed."

"Doesn’t matter," said Harry, shrugging as he tossed the letter and forms onto the table.

"Well no, of course it doesn’t, not now that you’re almost of age."

"No," interrupted Harry, tapping the slightly creased parchment pages with one finger. "It doesn’t matter because I won’t be going back, at least not until I’ve settled this business."

"But — you’ve got to finish you’re schooling!" stammered Lupin, spluttering over the last bit of bread he had nearly inhaled at Harry’s revelation.

"You sound like Ron’s mum! Honestly, Professor, what do you think I’ll learn this year that could be of any possible use to me in what I’m about to face?"

"Well, I . . ."

"Exactly. Dumbledore . . .he was working with me last year," said Harry carefully, weighing each word before he spoke. "He, Dumbledore, he wanted me to understand Voldemort so that I would have an idea of what I was up against. He showed me — memories; memories from people who knew Voldemort from before, when he was just Tom Riddle. Things about him that he thought I should know, that he thought might help."

"Is that what you’re looking for?" asked Lupin, watching Harry through narrowed eyes. "Memories?"

"You could say that," said Harry, smiling slightly. Then, without thinking added, "actually, I’m looking for objects; objects of power that may have been of particular significance to Voldemort, things he may have used to store . . ." Harry looked sideways at Lupin, who was staring intently into the fire, his forehead creased. "Memories," he finished lamely, standing up suddenly and taking his bowl to the sink to cover the sudden rush of color to his cheeks.

Damn but he was going to have to watch himself. He couldn’t be letting things slip. Dumbledore had told him to let Ron and Hermione in on the secret, but he hadn’t said anything at all about Lupin. Still, he owed Lupin something, didn’t he? Didn’t Lupin have a right to understand what it was Harry was trying to do? Or would Lupin try to take the responsibility for finding the Horcruxes on himself?

To his surprise, Lupin’s slightly horse voice began speaking in a dreamy, rhythmic chant, his eyes very nearly closed, as if he were repeating something he had learned by heart a long time ago.

The silence when Lupin finished speaking was deafening. Harry was so amazed that he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

"What?"said Lupin curiously, opening his eyes at last and noting Harry’s intense stare.

"That — that poem," said Harry gruffly, clearing his throat and starting again. "That poem. Where did you hear it?"

"It’s just a nursery rhyme," said Lupin, shrugging. "My sisters would sing it when they skipped rope."

"Who wrote it!" Harry insisted. He had Lupin by the shoulders now, his fingers gripping the older man so tight that he winced.

"Let go Harry, you’re hurting me. I have no idea who wrote it, weren’t you listening? It’s a nursery rhyme; something that’s been around forever. It doesn’t mean anything."

"Then why did you repeat it?" said Harry, rounding on Lupin as if he were under attack.

"I don’t know, probably what you said earlier, about objects of power."

"My god," whispered Harry, sitting down heavily on a nearby chair. "That’s it! The cup, the locket, something of Gryffindor’s, something of Ravenclaw’s, but not the snake; never the snake. It never was the snake! Couldn’t have been!"

"Harry, what are you on about?"

Lupin’s horse, gravelly voice seemed to be coming from a very long ways away. Harry blinked, shook his head. He had to focus. The song, it had named them. . .it had named all four of the objects. Harry looked about wildly, grabbed a sheet of parchment from a stack at the far end of the table and rummaged in the drawer beside the sink until he found a bedraggled looking quill and a bottle of ink.

"Harry?"

"Say it again," Harry demanded, loading up his quill and looking expectantly at Lupin. "The nursery rhyme, say it again."

* * *

"So you’re telling me that Voldemort has split his soul seven times?" asked Lupin, looking rather sick.

"Yeah," said Harry, grimacing. "That’s what Dumbledore thought, anyway."

Harry had ended up telling Lupin everything about the night that he and Dumbledore had gone looking for the locket, about the theories that Dumbledore had concerning the identity of the other Horcruxes.

"Horcruxes," said Lupin, shaking his head. "I think I heard something about them once, ages ago. But I never paid it any mind. I didn’t realize what they were."

"Who would?" said Harry, shrugging. "They’re not exactly something you’re going to find described in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six."

"So he can’t be destroyed until all seven pieces have been found?"

"Six pieces," corrected Harry. "According to Dumbledore, one of the pieces has to be in Voldemort himself."

"Makes sense," said Lupin. "That would also explain how he was able to survive after the curse he was aiming at you rebounded on himself. If it wasn’t his entire soul that was destroyed then he couldn’t actually die." Lupin paused, considering. "So you’re thinking that he used these four objects of power?"

"We know he had access to at least two of them," said Harry. "Those memories Dumbledore showed me? One of them was when he discovered that one woman, this little old witch named Hepzibah, that she had both Hufflepuff’s cup and Slytherin’s necklace. According to Dumbledore she died not more than a couple of weeks after Voldemort discovered she had them."’

"So there are six Horcuxes floating around."

"Four actually," said Harry. "Two have already been destroyed. Dumbledore destroyed one, the ring, a big signet ring that belonged to the Riddles. That’s how he hurt his hand. And then that diary, Tom Riddle’s diary that I destroyed in the Chamber of secrets? That was one of the Horcruxes, that’s how come he was sapping the life right out of Ginny, he was going to use her body to come back."

"And then the fake Horcrux you found in the cave," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Someone replaced the real Horcrux that Voldemort had hidden there with a fake one."

"Yeah, the fake locket had this in it." Harry withdrew the note and handed it to Lupin.

" R.A.B.? So you’re thinking it was Regulus?"

"Who else could it be?" said Harry, shrugging. "Who else with those initials would have been able to find out where he’d hidden it?"

"Talk about hiding your light under a bushel," said Lupin grimly. "I always considered Regulus a right little idiot."

"So did Sirius," said Harry, nodding.

"And you think he would have brought it here?"

"Where else?" said Harry, shrugging. "Sirius himself said that his dad had put all sorts of charms and stuff on this place. And then, we were going through the cupboards in the parlor when we found a locket — a big, heavy gold locket that wouldn’t open."

"You think that was it then?"

"I guess I’ll never know. It’s not here now, anyway."

"You’ve looked everywhere?"

"Feels like it. But from the looks of it, someone else has gone through this place with a fine tooth comb. Anything of any real value is gone."

"Mundungus," said Lupin, grimacing. "Filthy little thief. He was doing right well for himself for a while there."

"Was?"

"Didn’t you hear about that? He was killed just last week, the day after Bill and Fleur’s wedding; that raid on Diagon Alley. The Death Eaters killed four shop keepers and dozens of shoppers in cold blood."

"What raid on Diagon Alley?"

"You really have cut yourself off from the magical world, haven’t you?" said Lupin, suddenly serious. "It was an attempt to take Gringotts, at least that’s what the Ministry thinks."

"Did they-"

"Didn’t even come close," said Lupin, smiling coldly. "The goblins have their own methods of security; very effective, especially against wizards. No, they were rebuffed, that’s why the Death Eaters turned on the shops. They were furious that they’re plan didn’t work. They completely leveled half the shops in the street and burned the Leaky Cauldron to the ground."

"But why?"

"They’re Death Eaters Harry! Since when do they need a reason to cause as much mayhem and destruction as possible?"

"Yeah, I know, but — what about Fred and George?" asked Harry, suddenly feeling incredibly sick.

"They’re fine, they and Lee dis-Apparated just minutes before the Death Eaters got to their shop. They even managed to save everyone who happened to be shopping in their store as well as most of their merchandise."

"Figures," said Harry, snorting. "Glad they’re okay though."

"So’s Molly, trust me. She’s still berating them about taking the time to save their merchandise."

"Sounds like her." Harry paused, considering. "Who was killed? Anyone we know?"

"Tom, the bartender in the Leaky Cauldron. He died in the fire. And Madam Malkin’s assistant, the tall thin girl? Then there was Lawrence Weatherby, the Cauldron shop’s proprietor, and Madam Mince, the owner of Eylops."

"Damn. Anyone else? What about the shoppers?"

"You know Susan Bones?"

"Oh god, not Susan!"

"No, no, her family. Susan was in Fred and George’s, she got out okay, along with Neville, who was there for the day with his Grandmother. Susan’s family was killed outside of Madam Malkin’s and Neville’s grandmother nearly died herself trying to pull old Tom from the Leaky Cauldron."

"Poor Neville!" groaned Harry. "Is she okay, his grandmother I mean?"

"She was pretty badly burned but she’ll pull through."

"And Susan lost her whole family?"

"Mother, father and two younger sisters. They were twins, supposed to be starting at Hogwarts this year, they were being fit for their robes."

"What’s the Ministry done?"

"Publicly condemn the attacks."

"That’s it?"

"So far, yes."

"And people thought they’d be safer with Scrimgeour in office," murmured Harry.

"I don’t think there was anything the Ministry could have done. The attacks came with absolutely no warning. And speaking of safer," said Lupin, giving Harry a sideways look. "Molly is absolutely frantic to find you. There were rumors that you’d been seen in Diagon Alley just before the attacks."

"Load of rubbish."

"Yes, well, that doesn’t stop Molly from being frantic."

Harry stood staring at the fire for several minutes, thinking hard. Mundungus had died in the attack on Diagon Alley. Lupin had said he’d been doing fairly well for himself these last few months.

"So you think Dung cleaned us out?" Harry wondered. It wouldn’t surprise him. He’d seen Dung with the goblin wrought silver goblets that had been emblazoned with the black family crest. He’d felt like killing him right then and there. Perhaps it would have been better if he had. What if he’d had the Horcrux on him right then?

"Good silver’s gone," Lupin was saying, motioning towards the stainless steel flatware they’d been using for their impromptu supper. "And most of the knickknacks. He probably figured that with Sirius dead and Dumbledore — gone . . ."

"That no one would care? I have to find that locket, Remus! It’s important! If Dung did get a hold of it he could have sold it to anyone! I supposed he might have tried to sell it in that second hand shop, or maybe Brogin and Burke’s."

"You’d be dead in minutes if you showed up in Knockturn Alley Harry. Half the shopkeepers down that way are in league with Voldemort or supply his Death Eaters without asking too many questions. And, well, you can’t exactly go strolling into Diagon Alley at the moment asking if anyone’s seen a gold locket with Slytherin’s insignia on it. You’d probably end up in a cell in Azkaban, right next to Stan Shunpike!"

"They still haven’t let him out?"

"Haven’t even given the poor bloke a trial."

"That is so stupid! Stan’s no more a Death Eater than I am!" growled Harry.

"Yes, well, they have to appear to be doing something to protect us all now, don’t they?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then promptly closed it again. What was there to say? He’d come here looking for answers, and he’d gotten one all right. The locket had most likely been sold to some little country witch looking for a trinket to take home from her day’s shopping in Diagon Alley.

"God, Remus, what am I going to do?"

"About the locket? There’s probably nothing else you can do, well, short of hunting down whoever Dung sold it to. No, you’re best bet right now is probably to start reading up on the other two objects, what were they?" He picked up the piece of parchment Harry had scribbled the nursery rhyme down on. "Gryffindor’s mirror and Ravenclaw’s harp."

"Great," snarled Harry, kicking the large iron cauldron sitting stolidly on the hearth and receiving nothing more than a pain in his foot for his efforts. "Just great. Two mythical items that might not even exist for all we know. I don’t have a clue Remus, not a clue! What do they look like? Where would he have hidden them? I don’t even know where to start!"

"Then why not start with the one you do know about," said Lupin mildly, watching Harry nurse his injured foot with raised eyebrows.

"Which is that?"

"The cup."

"But I don’t know where he stashed it!"

"Think Harry, Slughorn said that Horcruxes were made by splitting one’s soul — and that it required a murder to activate it."

"Yeah."

"Well, we’ve agreed that he most likely killed his Father to turn the ring, his Uncle’s ring, into a Horcrux."

"Probably, yeah."

"Did Dumbledore tell you where it was hidden, how he found the ring, who had it?"

"No, I saw it in the Pensieve, and then I saw it in his office, and then it was gone."

"And most likely he turned the diary into a Horcrux when he killed Myrtle. Probably the first Muggle-born he’d killed. That would be a big step for him. And from what we can tell, he had given the diary to Malfoy for safekeeping, someone just like him who can’t abide Muggle-borns."

"It was Mr. Malfoy that slipped the diary into Ginny’s cauldron," said Harry, nodding. "After he and Mr. Weasley had the fight in Flourish and Blots."

"And the Locket, the fake Horcrux, the one that was supposed to have been Slytherin’s locket, for some reason Regulus was able to find out where it was. Is it possible that he had been told where the Horcrux was? I mean, he was a pureblood after all, from a family who staunchly supported a pureblood’s superiority. Perhaps there’s a trend here."

"You think that he only told one other person about each of the Horcruxes?" wondered Harry. "You know, that feels right somehow. That’s something he’d do, isn’t it? He’d try to cover all his bases, spread the Horcruxes out as far as possible; only tell one other person where it was. Someone would have to know after all. Someone besides himself would have to know where each of the pieces were in case he was incapacitated, like what happened when he tried to kill me and the spell rebounded."

"I think you might be on to something Harry," said Lupin, nodding in agreement. "And he chose the person to guard the Horcrux based on the object itself and how it tied Voldemort to that particular Death Eater."

"So he chose Malfoy to guard the diary because Malfoy hated Muggle-borns as much as Voldemort himself, and the diary had been created with the intent of ridding Hogwarts of Muggle-borns. And then he made Regulus the guardian for the Locket because his family were big supporters of the Purebloods right to rule. But what about the others?"

"Well, maybe we’re asking the wrong questions," said Lupin, frowning slightly. "Perhaps we should be asking who his most loyal Death Eaters are? Those closest to him? Would they be the logical choices to guard the pieces of his soul?"

"Yeah, but Regulus is already dead, and the locket is gone, lost. Malfoy is in prison and the Diary has been destroyed."

"What about Barty Crouch?" asked Lupin. "I mean, he was definitely a faithful Death Eater."

"Yeah, but his father had him locked up. Voldemort didn’t even know he was alive until he got a hold of Berth Jorkins," Harry pointed out.

"Okay then, what about Avery, or Nott maybe?"

"They were groveling!" sneered Harry, his lip curled. "When Voldemort confronted his Death Eaters in the graveyard, they were groveling at his feet."

"You’re right, someone who had been close enough to him to be entrusted with a bit of his soul wouldn’t grovel. Well, who else was close to him?"

"What about Wormtail?" suggested Harry.

"Peter? Oh please!"

"No, Remus, listen, he was the only one to go looking for Voldemort, don’t you see? Voldemort himself said that he rewards those who are faithful to him."

"But with something that important? You don’t know Peter like I do, Harry, he’s a self-absorbed, conniving little-"

"Voldemort trusted him with his life," Harry pointed out grimly. "Not that he had much of a choice, mind you, but still, he brought him back from Death’s door, he nursed that foul slimy thing from a bottle Remus, I’ll never forget the sight of it’s arms wrapped around Pettigrew’s neck." Harry shuddered uncontrollably.

"All right. You could be right. We know for certain that two have been destroyed and one has been taken from its hiding place, and I’ll concede that Peter may be guarding the fourth, whichever one that might be. But that still leaves three more."

"The cup," said Harry firmly, still staring into the fire. "Wormtail’s guarding the cup."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Healing powers," said Harry, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Hufflepuff’s cup was supposed to possess all sorts of powers. I bet healing is just one of the things it does."

"But why would you think that Peter would be guarding the cup particularly?"

"It just feels right. Besides, I saw the cup, in the Pensieve," said Harry, "it was just a small golden goblet with two finely wrought handles and a badger engraved on it. But it contains powers, Hepzibah said that herself, and the poem, that nursery rhyme says that it contains the fountain of youth. But who’s to say that it always looks like a cup?"

"You mean it could look like something else?"

"Well, in the Grail legends the writers would describe it, but sometimes it was a cup or a goblet, sometimes it was a bowl, and sometimes, sometimes it was a cauldron!"

"And that is supposed to mean what exactly?"

"Well, the night Voldemort came back, Peter was using the biggest damned cauldron I’ve ever seen, it was big enough for a grown man to sit in. He put that deformed proto-person thing in it, and Voldemort came out."

"Healing powers," whispered Lupin, his eyes getting big. "It would make sense!"

"He told the Death Eaters that it was a charm," said Harry excitedly. "Peter recited a little incantation; bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy, but what if the real magic was in the cauldron itself, especially if it already contained a bit of his soul?"

Lupin remained silent for several moments, digesting this latest bit.

"Damn. I think — no, Harry, I think you just might be right. He would have had to use one of the Horcruxes in order to come back. Until he could get his hands on one of them he was powerless, just a weak proto-human. So he had to come back, back to where he knew one of the Horcruxes was hidden."

"The Riddle House," said Harry. Then stopped short. He hadn’t realized he was going to say that until he had actually said it. He hadn’t even been aware that he was even considering the Riddle House as one of the places where a Horcrux could be hidden.

"But if he’s used it, then why would he put someone to guarding it?" Lupin wondered.

"Unless he made it back into a Horcrux," said Harry "Dumbledore says that he doesn’t think Voldemort can feel when one of the Horcruxes has been destroyed. But Voldemort knew he’d used that particular Horcrux, so he’s remade it, which means he’s killed someone else. Or maybe he just used Bertha Jorkins, or the old man, Frank."

"Either way, he probably would have left it where he had hidden it initially. I mean, it stayed hidden and undetected for thirteen years after all, and most likely whoever he had initially set to guarding it was killed, or sent to Azkaban," Lupin pointed out.

"Which means that the cup would need a new guardian." Harry stopped short, remembering, remembering what he’d seen, how Voldemort had told Wormtail that he would be as useful as Bertha Jorkins, that his part would come at the very end, that it would be a task many of his followers would have given their right hands to perform.

Harry had been given plenty of opportunities to think over Voldemort’s words since that horrid night in the graveyard, and he’s always assumed that Voldemort had been referring to Wormtail’s cutting off his own hand to activate the potion. But what if that had only been a part of it? What if he had been referring to something else altogether?

"Well," said Harry, shrugging slightly. "At least I have an idea of where I need to go next."

"We’ll start first thing in the morning-" began Lupin, but Harry cut him off.

"We won’t be doing anything, Remus. I’ve told you before, no one else is going to be put in danger because of me."

"Harry, you can’t just walk up to the Riddle House and ring the doorbell!"

"Why not?"

"Because, you have to take precautions. This could be exactly what Voldemort is expecting!"

"I very much doubt if Voldemort is anywhere near any of his stored souls," said Harry acidly. "He wouldn’t want to take that sort of chance, would he?"

"Probably not."

"Then it’s most likely just Peter," said Harry, a cold smile sliding slowly into place across his face. "And I don’t think that he will be a problem."

"But what if it’s booby trapped, cursed or something, like this last one."

"I’ll deal with that when I come to it," said Harry, still smiling.

"When we come to it, Harry, you’re not going by yourself!"

"Watch me!"

"You can’t stop me coming."

"Can’t I?" said Harry coolly, raising his wand. "This is my fight now, Remus. I’m going alone, that’s all there is to it, and if you show up I just might jinx you myself, if Peter and his silver hand doesn’t get to you first!"

"Harry-"

"Beside s that, I need you to take a message to Ginny for me."

"A message?"

"Yeah, a letter. She gave me a note you see, just before I left. I haven’t had a chance to reply yet."

"I’m not a messenger boy, Harry, send it with an owl, why don’t you?"

"Because I also want to make certain that she’s all right," said Harry slowly. He’d been avoiding Lupin’s gaze ever since he started talking about Ginny, but now he finally made eye contact. "I love her Remus, I’ve just figured that out for myself, it’s what I have to tell her, and if I’ve figured it out, chances are Voldemort himself has figured it out, and he already used her once . . ."

"Harry . . ."

"I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to her. I can’t stay and protect her myself. Not only would it be too dangerous, but I have to do this, I have to trace these Horcruxes. But I’d feel a whole lot better about what I have to do if I know that she’s got someone looking out for her."

"She’s fairly capable of looking out for herself," said Lupin dryly.

"Damn it, Remus! I’m scared for her! I don’t want to loose her!" his breath caught on a hitch, then he added, "I don’t want to loose you! Please, for my sake — for my sanity, please take care of Ginny."

Lupin stared at him for a full minute before finally inclining his head. "I’ll do it Harry. It’s against my better judgement, but I’ll do it — on one condition."

"What’s that?"

"We take you down to the Ministry tomorrow and get your Apparition test taken care of. Can’t have you arrested for Apparating without a license when there’s so many other laws you’re intent on breaking."

"But I can’t take the test until I turn seventeen," Harry pointed out, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Check your calendar mate, tomorrow’s the 31st unless I’m sorely mistaken, so Happy Birthday, and may you live long enough to see another year."

"Amen," said Harry fervently. "Amen and Amen."