!!!! SPOILER ALERT !!!!

This is a fanfic pertaining to Deathly Hallows. If you haven’t read the book yet and plan to do so, please come back and visit here again afterward.

* * *

What if...?

What if Fred and George, not Umbridge, had taken the locket from Mundungus? What if after the Trio got it from the twins they didn’t hide out in a tent but instead headed over to Hogwarts to destroy it? They have Kreacher with them as an ally now, from their days of hiding out at Grimmauld Place, so he can easily Apparate them into the castle. This is what I imagined happens next:

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A loud crack echoed up the high ceiling and along the marble staircase when they reappeared in the spacious depths of the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts Castle. As it was the sixth of August, it was deserted. Nonetheless, Harry hurried them out of view, into the cupboard across the hall. Ron and Hermione lit their wand-tips. First order of business was to consult the Marauder’s Map.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Harry tapped the parchment with his wand. “Filch is in his office. Mrs. Norris is with him. I don’t think anyone else is here.” He examined the map of the grounds. “Hagrid is, but I doubt he’ll be coming into the castle.”

“Why’d we come to Hogwarts?” asked Ron.

“It’s where the Chamber of Secrets is. I’m sure I can open it again. With luck, there will be a fang or two with enough venom left in it to destroy this.” He held up the locket. He bent to talk to Kreacher. “You did brilliantly. I promise you we are going to destroy this as Master Regulus wanted. But for now, I want you to go to the kitchens here. I’ll call for you when I need your assistance again.”

“And don’t tell anyone about us,” added Ron.

“Right. Don’t say a word to anyone, wizard or elf, that you brought us here, or that you even know we’re here. Those were Death Eaters that broke into Grimmauld Place. They want to kill me. And if they succeed, the locket goes back to Lord Voldemort, and Master Regulus died for nothing. Understand?”

Kreacher nodded gravely. Harry patted the elf’s tiny shoulder.

“Thank you, Kreacher. You’re the best elf a wizard could have.”

Once again, Harry had gone too far, and they had to wait another fifteen minutes before the sobbing elf was in a fit state to leave the cupboard.

When the three friends emerged from the cupboard, they could not be seen. Though not anticipating running into anyone here today, they had agreed that their mission was so critical that every precaution was warranted. They headed toward the marble staircase.

“Ron, look!” said Hermione.

He and Harry saw that she was pointing at the empty niches opposite the oaken front doors. The four giant hourglasses, used to tally house points, had been taken down.

“I wonder where they went,” mused Hermione.

“They’d have to be cleaned and polished before each term, the gems counted, wouldn’t you think?” Ron reasoned.

They hurried to the second floor. A large “Out of Order” sign perpetually hung on the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Ignoring it, they entered.

The slowly decaying room was as dim and gloomy as ever. Their footsteps echoed ominously. A wail made them halt.

“Get out, you old crank! I don’t need you cleaning in here—” The ghost of a teenage girl zoomed up from her favorite cubicle but stopped her rant when she saw that she was not speaking to Mr. Filch. Something resembling happiness suddenly crossed her face and she actually smiled. “Harry!”

“Hello, Myrtle,” said Harry pleasantly.

She was watching Harry keenly.

“School hasn’t started yet,” she observed. “How did you get in the castle?”

“Special access. Have you had a nice summer, Myrtle?”

“It’s always the same...it’s all the same...but now that you’re here,” her schoolgirl simper turned to a frown, “Why did you bring them?”

“We won’t be staying long,” Ron assured her. He nudged Hermione over to occupy Myrtle with girl-talk while Harry set about opening the Chamber.

He found the sink which had a snake scratched on the side of one of the copper taps. Closing his eyes a moment to focus his mind, Harry imagined the snake was real.

“Wait!” said Hermione suddenly. “We’re forgetting how we’re going to get back out. We’ll need broomsticks.”

“No, you won’t,” said Myrtle.

“What d’you mean we won’t?” asked Harry. “Why not?”

“Because it won’t open.”

“What won’t?” he asked for clarity.

“The Chamber. It’s sealed.”

“Sealed?”

“Sealed,” Myrtle repeated.

“What d’you mean? How do you know?”

“I mean, Dumbledore sealed it. Years ago. After it was last opened. I was watching. He said he was going to make sure no one ever went down there again.”

Harry turned back to the little snake on the copper tap.

“Open up,” he said in Parseltongue.

Nothing happened. Except that Myrtle screamed.

That Harry did not respect her enough to take her at her word sent her into a tizzy of hurt feelings that launched her diving into a toilet.

“Open up,” he repeated.

Still nothing happened.

Harry looked at his friends. They were at a loss for what to do next.

Unwilling to give up so easily, Harry repeated his effort, altering the words or his inflection, still to no avail.

“You know, it’s mental to keep trying to do the same thing the same way when you already know it doesn’t work,” Ron felt the need to point this out to him.

“Then what’s your idea?” Harry replied a little more testily than he meant.

“My idea,” offered Hermione, “is that we step back and work out a plan, think things out. For instance, where are we going to stay if we can’t go back to Grimmauld Place?”

“Can we stay here?” Ron wondered.

Harry stared at Myrtle’s toilet with an emerging look of horror.

“I don’t think he meant here precisely!” Hermione laughed.

“We got, what, three weeks before school starts?” said Ron. “Couldn’t we squat in our old room till then? I mean, who in their right mind would think to look for us here?”

“Ron’s right,” agreed Hermione. “No one knows we’re here—” A gurgling scream erupted from the toilet. “—And no Death Eater could get in even if they did.”

It had been a tiring day, and Harry liked the prospect of relaxing in the Gryffindor common room, of having it, and virtually the whole of the castle, to themselves.

According to the map, Filch was still in his office. They climbed to the seventh floor.

“Password,” said the Fat Lady.

“Quid agis?” said Hermione tentatively.

“Wrong.”

They tried to remember what was last used.

“Tapeworm?” asked Ron.

That was wrong too.

“Toffee éclairs,” remembered Harry.

But that was not it either.

“Baubles.”

“Dilligrout.”

“Abstinence.”

The Fat Lady took offense at the reminder of how her excessive yuletide celebrating last year had been mocked.

“We don’t know the current password,” Hermione at last conceded. “But you know who we are. Just let us in.”

“Not without the password.”

“But we’re Gryffindors!”

“So was Sirius Black. I don’t open to anyone without the right password, except the Headmaster and the Head of House. Come back when you have it.”

“But we’re prefects,” Hermione gestured to herself and Ron, “Gryffindor prefects.”

“When you can give me the password, Miss Prefect, I shall let you enter.”

In a bit of a snit the Fat Lady walked out of her picture.

“This hasn’t been a very good day,” Ron lamented.

The only other common room Harry had visited was the Slytherins’ down under the lake. Assured by the map that no one would come upon them in the dungeons, they also found nothing down there but a blank stretch of wall.

“Pureblood,” Harry muttered over and over, every few feet, not remembering precisely where the hidden doorway was, yet knowing that the likelihood of the password being identical to the one used five years ago was nil.

They returned to the Entrance Hall and made the same attempt down the other staircase to the Hufflepuff dormitories. They fared worse since none of them even knew what they ought to be looking for. That left Ravenclaw.

Again consulting the map they climbed to the fifth floor and trudged to the west side of the castle. The tower was at the top of a tight spiral staircase.

Hermione had been up there once before with Luna and remembered that the eagle-shaped knocker required an answer to a question of logic before admitting someone. The boys could only observe in amazement at how Hermione’s answer got the door to open.

“Now, tell me again, why are you a Gryffindor?” insisted Ron.

The feeling of finding a safe refuge filled Harry with relief when they crossed over the threshold and the door closed behind them.

The large windows set in the tower walls of the Ravenclaw common room looked starkly denuded of any hangings. Under foot, there was evidence a carpet had been pulled up. There were tables, chairs, and bookcases, but unlike the comfortable armchairs filling the Gryffindor common room, these were plain, hard, and strictly utilitarian. The niche opposite the door, looking as if it were designed to showcase something, was vacant. The austerity of the room was mercifully relieved by the view through the windows.

“Kind of dreary,” remarked Ron. “Glad you’re not a Ravenclaw?” he asked Hermione.

She was standing quite still with a frown etched on her brow.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured. “It wasn’t like this when I was here with Luna. The furnishings were beautiful. Rowena’s statue was there.” She pointed at the niche. “Someone has gutted the place.”

The trio found the door leading up to the dormitories; the two separate staircases presumably divided them for boys and girls, as they did in Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Ron climbed the one which seem most analogous to the one leading to the boys’ dormitories in their own tower. They stopped at the first room. Five four-poster beds were arranged in the circular room exactly as they were in Gryffindor Tower. These beds all had green velvet curtains, and none of them had sheets and blankets, though they did have bare pillows.

“I thought their colors were blue and something,” observed Ron.

“So did I. Hermione’s right: Something’s really wrong here.”

The anomalies were making Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable as he chose a bed at random and dropped his rucksack on it. Ron looked out the window at the angle of the sun.

“We had no lunch. It’ll be dinnertime soon. You don’t reckon we’re going to be able to go to the Great Hall to eat, so what’s the plan?”

“I don’t see why Kreacher couldn’t serve us in the common room.”

The sleeping bags were used again for the night. Harry slept restlessly. Just last night he had the comfort of sleeping in Sirius’s room; now he had doubts of ever being able to go back there again. Last night he and Ron and Hermione had been up late discussing tactics for getting the locket from Fred and George. That, at least, was accomplished. But Ravenclaw Tower was the last place he could have predicted he would be tonight. He could only wonder would he be sleeping here tomorrow night or would fate place him somewhere else?

Without morning sun to wake them, Harry and Ron overslept. When they wandered down to the common room they were surprised to find not Hermione but a note there.

I borrowed the Cloak to explore a little.
I’ll be back with some breakfast.

“Did she take the map too?” asked Ron.

“No. I keep it in Hagrid’s pouch. She couldn’t have gotten it out.”

“Do you think she’ll be safe?”

“She has the Cloak, and there’s no one here but us. I wouldn’t worry.”

Harry could not help but gaze out of one of the many windows. Under other circumstances it would have been the ultimate adventure to have the castle all to themselves. But Harry continued to feel uneasy. He was actually looking forward to when the locket would be destroyed and they would get out of here. Though where they were to go to next was also a troubling thought. Hagrid always said there was no safer place than Hogwarts, but for Harry that would cease once the new term started.

The rap on the common room door made him jump. From its other side, he and Ron heard the knocker ask the person on the other side another mind-bending question.

They exchanged a look, each thinking the same reply: “no idea.”

Again Hermione’s answer received the compliments of the knocker.

Hermione looked pleased with herself as she entered the common room, Cloak draped over her arm, with a large linen napkin laden with breakfast rolls.

“I didn’t expect they’d have much in the way of breakfast down there, but they do have to feed themselves and Mr. Filch. Dobby sends his regards, Harry. If there is anything you need from him he wants you to ask.”

“I’m not sure it was wise, Hermione,” said Harry, “letting the elves see you.”

“Who said I let the elves see me? I had the Cloak. I only let Dobby know I was there. I didn’t think that would unravel your underwear!” She unceremoniously dumped the rolls on the table and tossed the Cloak at Harry. “Do you want tea or not?”

Ron’s “Yes” was followed by questions leading her to tell of her adventure. Instead, she rummaged through her beaded bag for the kettle and marched to the bathroom for water.

After a tap of her wand brought the kettle to boiling, she pulled teacups from her purse and dropped teabags in them. She served the cups, distributed the rolls, then sat at the table to eat. When she spoke, it was with an affected casual air.

“Dobby said that if we want, he can get us into Gryffindor Tower. He can Apparate in and then open the Fat Lady’s portrait for us from the inside.” She took another sip of tea.

Harry almost choked on his roll. He felt completely stupid. The solution was there, so obvious, and he had not seen it. He forced the mouthful down his throat.

“Dobby!”

A crack accompanied the arrival of an elf much younger than Kreacher. Unlike Kreacher, Dobby wore a miniature suit of clothes.

“Harry Potter,” squeaked the elf, “it is a pleasure to see you.”

“Hello Dobby. I’m very glad to see you too. Hermione says you can get into Gryffindor Tower.” This was obvious, as the elf was presently standing before him in Ravenclaw Tower, but it was a polite preface to his request, “Would you do that and let us in?”

“Of course, Harry Potter, whenever you wish.”

“Now,” said Ron.

“Give us about a half hour to tidy up here and get over there,” requested Hermione.

“Yes, a half hour would be good and we’ll meet you there,” agreed Harry. “How will we let you know we’re there?”

“I will hear your voices, sir, when she asks you for the password.”

“Brilliant. Thanks. We’ll see you there soon.”

In about a half hour’s time, the three had said their grateful but glad good-byes to Ravenclaw Tower and made their way to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Password?” she inquired.

“No,” replied Ron.

“Dobby,” said Harry.

“Our friend,” said Hermione.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” said the Fat Lady.

“No, you are,” retorted Harry. “You’ll open right now.”

The corpulent woman in the pale pink dress looked at her suppliants without amusement. However, she could do nothing about the hand that swung her frame out from within. Triumphantly the three Gryffindors scurried through the portrait hole.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood completely still, completely aghast.

The round common room they had come to love for six years had been stripped of everything cozy. All the red and gold hangings and the tapestries of lions and unicorns had been removed, along with the hearthrug. Most distressing was the loss of the squashy armchairs. All that stood before the fireplace now were tables and chairs which were plain, hard, and strictly utilitarian.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione slowly walked forward, as if treading through the aftermath of some horrific disaster, looking at the wreckage in disbelief.

“What’s going on here?” whispered Hermione, her throat too constricted to speak louder.

“It’s not just Ravenclaw,” said Ron, his sympathy for the condition of their common room swelling.

The foreboding Harry had felt at Ravenclaw had just increased exponentially.

“Someone’s messing with the school.” He turned to Dobby. “What do the elves know? Why the change to the school?”

“The elves have not been told, Harry Potter.”

“Honestly?”

The elf looked hurt.

“I’m sorry, Dobby. I’m just feeling very confused.”

“Honestly, sir, they do only what they are told. No one explains orders to elves.”

“Of course not,” muttered Hermione acidly, her onus on the arrogance of wizards.

Looking around, the same idea struck Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the same time, and they raced up to see how their own dormitory had fared. Harry and Ron found it untouched except that the deep-red velvet curtains had been removed from the beds.

“D’you reckon You-Know-Who has taken over the school?” asked Ron.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry replied. “The only one standing in his way before now was Dumbledore. He can take away our banners but he’ll never stop us from being Gryffindors.” He turned back to the door and called for Dobby. “Dobby, could you fix up this room so it’s livable? You know, sheets and things. And do the same for Hermione?”

“Gladly, Harry Potter!”

Harry tossed his rucksack onto his bare bed. He did not want to remain here in the bedroom, but he wanted to go downstairs even less. He turned to the window. The grounds, at least, looked unspoiled. Harry heaved a sigh and let his mind work on other thoughts. He still had to come up with a way to get the snake on the tap to open the Chamber of Secrets again.

* * *

Hermione had remedied the password problem. As a prefect she had the authority to set new passwords. The word she chose was Horcrux.

For the first time this summer—a month spent cooped up at Privet Drive, then pleasant exile at the Burrow, being trapped inside Grimmauld Place, and even being too intimidated to leave Ravenclaw Tower—Harry, at last, felt empowered to attack his mission on his own terms. From his command post at Gryffindor Tower, where he belonged, given the tools of password and Cloak, he could now commence in earnest his search for Horcruxes and the means to destroy them. Hermione was not happy about the newfound liberty exercised by Undesirable Number One, but at every turn she was outvoted two to one.

It threatened rain on Monday but would not deliver. Since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry had spent several hours each day in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, trying to get the Chamber open. He had even broken into the locked library to study texts on advanced charms to see if he could determine what spells Dumbledore had cast and how to undo them. This afternoon he was out of ideas. As he sat in the uncomfortable, straight-backed chair in the dreary common room, he tried not to think that today was Ginny’s birthday, Sweet Sixteen, he tried not to think of her at all, though his desire kept wanting to give her a present as nice as the one she gave him.

“I miss Crookshanks,” Hermione broke the silence. She too was sitting uncomfortably in one of the new chairs, thinking longingly of the pleasure of curling up in a cozy chair with her beloved ginger cat nestled on her lap, before a friendly fire on this gloomy afternoon.

“Don’t worry: Lupin and Tonks will take good care of him,” said Ron. He sat at the table absently paging through the Marauder’s Map. He had taken upon himself the duty of tracking the whereabouts of Hogwarts’ other inhabitants who were beginning to return from holiday. Madam Pince the librarian had returned. So had Madam Pomfrey the nurse.

“Snape!”

Harry, already forced to sit bolt upright by the chair, also snapped to attention.

“Where?”

“Here! In Dumbledore’s office. It wasn’t enough for him to kill him, now the bugger has to ransack his office!”

Harry and Hermione crowded around him, their own faces now pressed close to the map, and read the name SEVERUS SNAPE standing in the headmaster’s office.

Harry swore, then blurted, “How’d he get in there?”

Ron was now on his feet beside Harry. Hermione held them back.

“You’re being rash.”

“Hermione, it’s SNAPE. I’m not sitting here picking my teeth while—”

“What’s the password?” she challenged. “To Dumbledore’s office? What’s the password to get past the gargoyle?”

Harry looked to Ron and smiled.

“Dobby.”

Ron grinned.

“Wrong,” said Hermione flatly.

“That’s what you think!” said Ron.

She threw herself to block the progress of both boys.

“We ought to alert Hagrid. He can alert the Order. I’m sure Kingsley will be able to handle a mature Death Eater better than you two.”

Harry could not comprehend how she could not comprehend that the man in question was Dumbledore’s cold-blooded killer!

“I don’t want anyone ‘handling’ Snape but me! And, you know, I think I’ve proven I can handle ‘mature’ Death Eaters by now. I think I’ve earned the right to take him on.”

Ron grinned. He picked up the map and was scanning it again.

“No. You are being rash, Harry. Listen to me. Charging up to Dumbledore’s office presents two problems: First, how do you get in? We couldn’t even access the password to our own common room—”

“Dobby,” Harry repeated.

“That was already established, Hermione,” Ron scolded.“You got to keep up. Dobby is better than any password.”

“Where’s my Cloak?” Harry’s eyes scanned the nearby chairs.

Hermione’s beaded bag lay on the table. They both lunged for it, but she reached it first and snatched it to her chest.

“It’s mine, Hermione. You have no right to keep it. Give it here.”

“I think we should alert Hagrid.”

“By the time we do that, Snape will be gone.”

“Or not alone, mate,” announced Ron. “Who are,” he squinted at the names, “ALECTO CARROW and AMYCUS CARROW?”

He set the map before them to see for themselves.

“Death Eaters,” said Harry. “They were on the Astronomy Tower with Snape when he killed Dumbledore.”

Ron grimaced.

“Now will you listen to me?” Hermione tossed Harry’s Cloak to him. “Please, let’s go down to Hagrid at once!”

* * *

A great deal of surprised clattering met their ears when in answer to Hagrid’s “Who’s there!” came Harry’s voice urging, “It’s us, Hagrid! Open up!”

Three disembodied faces greeted him when he cracked open the door, faces showing more body as Harry let the Cloak slip back more.

“Blimey! What in ruddy runespoors are yeh three doin’ here! How d’yeh—”

“Let us in and we’ll tell you,” said Harry as he led the others across the threshold.

“We know where Snape is!” Ron blurted before they were even asked to sit.

“You have to alert the Order!” added Hermione.

From the look on Hagrid’s face, he had not advanced beyond his bewilderment that they had gotten onto school property.

“Did you hear us?” Hermione pressed. “You have to alert the Order: Snape is here!”

“ ’Course he is. The Order knows it. Everyone does, ’ceptin’ yeh three.”

Now it was the three friends who gaped in bewilderment.

“He’s the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. It was announced days ago. Had a ceremony at the Ministry an’ everythin’. I’m s’pposed ter go up ter his office an’ see him in abou’ an hour. I expect I’ll be keepin’ me job.” He said this without sounding a hundred percent convinced.

Harry’s face had gone ashen. Snape as headmaster—now the changes in the school made sense. But still, the man was a murderer!

“After what he did to Dumbledore!”

“Think, Harry,” reasoned Hermione, “with You-Know-Who running the Ministry now, why wouldn’t he be rewarded?”

“There’s dark days ahead, I don’t mind sayin’ ter yeh. Now, how’s abou’ yeh tellin’ me what yeh’re doin’ here so early. An’ how yeh got in.”

Ron and Hermione made an effort not to exchange glances and not to stare at Harry. They would follow his lead, should he be able to think up something convincing. When he did not say anything, Hermione spoke up:

“Hagrid, could I help you make some tea? Oh! Look at your new kitchen! How lovely!”

“Professor McGonagall fixed the cabin up fer me good as new. Better, even. Gave it some homey improvements only a lady would think up.”

The distraction allowed Ron’s eyes to make a silent inquiry. Harry’s expression confessed having no idea what excuse to give for being at a school he had no plan to attend, twenty days before the gates would open. Coming down to the cabin to talk to Hagrid, revealing their presence, had not been his idea in the first place.

“I think, Hermione, you should tell him about your little problem,” Harry stated gravely.

“My—?”

“You were so desperate to talk to Hagrid you dragged us here with you,” Ron played along. “You owe him your explanation.”

Hermione exploited the embarrassed silence in which she stood to heighten Hagrid’s interest and sympathy.

“It’s about my mum and dad. I’m so afraid...”

She told an elaborate tale of how Death Eaters almost captured her parents after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and of Ron and Harry’s aid in getting them out of the country, their flight to Australia, and now she was hearing reports out of Sidney that Wollongong Fomori were actively drowning Muggles who have Wizarding relatives, and she hasn’t been able to sleep a wink for fear, and does Hagrid know what she could tell them to help them evade the clutches of the Fomori, for she is planning to go to Australia herself and won’t be at Hogwarts this year, so she came to see him now, couldn’t wait a day longer, even to the point of flying in on a thestral. And in her shame at fibbing so egregiously to their friend she shed real tears. When she finished, even Harry and Ron would have been willing to believe every word she said had they not known differently.

Hagrid patted her back, assuring her that Fomori sightings were likely highly exaggerated, and if her folks were in a house with modern plumbing, they had nothing to worry about. Weeping now at receiving his affection, she threw her arms around as much of his middle as she could span, and hugged him with a return of heartfelt affection.

Harry cleared his throat.

“We’ll need to be getting back to London now.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, pulling herself together, “we need to get Ron home. He wasn’t feeling too well this morning.”

Ron feigned a cough and a groan that could be the onset of spattergroit.

Hagrid seemed just as glad that the visit was ending: He had to get ready for his interview with Snape.

“I’ll see yeh in a couple o’ weeks,” he said to them. “ ’cept yeh. Young lady, I’m goin’ ter miss yeh!” He gave Hermione a hug of farewell. “Yeh take good care of yehself.”

“By the way, Hagrid,” said Harry at the door, “ it would probably be best if you didn’t tell anyone we came by. Technically, we aren’t allowed on the grounds yet. You know how Snape is: any excuse to give me detention.”

Hagrid nodded with a conspiratorial wink.

Under the cover of the Cloak they headed back to the castle.

“You were brilliant, Hermione!” Ron gushed.

“I was shameful.”

“Do you think Hagrid will keep quiet?” asked Ron. “You know how he is at keeping secrets.”

“As long as he thinks we’re going back to London, we should be okay,” said Harry. “By the way, what are Wooliegang Formies?”

“Wollongong Fomori. Descendants of the Irish Fomorians. An ancient race of monstrous, warrior creatures counter to the Tuatha Dé Danann. In the 1830s, some Fomorians latched on to boatloads of convicts bound for Australia.”

“How on earth do you know all this?” Harry demanded.

“Unlike you two, I actually read The Monster Book of Monsters.”

“And good thing too,” said Ron in praise.

She began to walk faster, forcing them to keep up.

“We have to clear out our stuff from our rooms. If Hagrid lets on and Snape gets suspicious, our only hope is to leave no clues behind.”

“We should be safe in the tower,” suggested Ron. “Look how much trouble the Fat Lady gave us. She’s not going to let Snape in.”

“She’s obligated to let the headmaster in on demand, Ron, remember?”

“Oh right.”

Ron’s long legs now took the lead.

In greatest haste they cleared out all indications that they had moved into Gryffindor Tower and positioned themselves outside the Fat Lady’s portrait, under the Cloak, with the map open. By this time Hagrid’s dot had arrived in the headmaster’s office. Harry could only imagine what was being said. Ten minutes later Hagrid’s dot left and made its way back to his cabin. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, holding their breath. Now it would happen, now Snape would investigate. They waited as Snape’s dot moved around his office a bit. Then it went behind the desk. Sitting, they wondered? There the dot remained, minutes dragging into a quarter hour, then a half. Snape’s dot remained still. When an hour lapsed and no investigation was launched, a collective sigh of relief was breathed by the friends: Hagrid had been able to get through his interview without giving them away.

“Horcrux,” said Hermione to the Fat Lady.

Out swung her portrait to let them enter.

* * *

In the next few days, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Trelawney and several others had arrived back at Hogwarts and had interviewed with Snape. And Harry had a new plan. He chided himself for not thinking of it sooner, as it was the obvious solution.

He summoned Kreacher.

“Take me into the Chamber of Secrets, into the main chamber where the pillars and the huge statue of Salazar Slytherin are.”

Harry grabbed hold of Kreacher’s hand and closed his eyes. This was it! He felt himself compressed and squeezed and then he could breathe again. His feet were on a hard floor again. The odor of dank decay entered his nostrils. He opened his eyes—and let out a gasp of alarm when his own face was looking wide-eyed back at him.

He was looking in the mirror over the sink with the snake on the tap in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“This is as close as I can get, Master. There is nothing beyond here I can locate.”

“Didn’t I tell you!” Myrtle shrieked dramatically. “It’s sealed! It’s sealed! But no one listens to dead, weeping, moaning Myrtle!”

With a resounding splash she dove into her favorite toilet.

Harry dropped heavily to sit on the floor in defeat.

“Go back to the kitchens, Kreacher. And, thank you for helping, for trying. It’s not over yet. I’ll find a way to destroy the locket.”

Now sitting there alone, Harry felt his last words jeer at him. How on earth was he supposed to accomplish it now! A basilisk fang was the only way. But if Dumbledore had sealed the Chamber years ago, how did he destroy the ring last year? There was another way, but what? Why did he never tell Harry? Surely, it was important! If only he could talk to Dumbledore, ask him...There would be a portrait of him in the headmaster’s office.

Harry pulled out the map and unfolded it to display the portion containing the headmaster’s office. SEVERUS SNAPE was there. Harry cursed in annoyance. Two dots on the move caught Harry’s attention. ARGUS FILCH and LUCIUS MALFOY appeared to be walking up the marble staircase together. Harry leapt to his feet. He had the Cloak instantly over himself and was running to intercept them, for there was only one destination Malfoy could have: the headmaster’s office.

Harry caught up to them on the third floor staircase and trailed them, trying hard not to give himself away with his labored breathing. Louder still was Filch’s wheezing, and Malfoy, eyes sneering down his nose, took notice only of the pale, rheumatic caretaker. The gargoyle standing guard at the entrance to the headmaster’s study leaped aside when Malfoy spoke the password, “Asphodel.” The wall behind it split and revealed a moving staircase much like a spiral escalator. Harry darted on after Malfoy, leaving Filch in the corridor as the wall closed and the staircase moved them upward.

Snape welcomed his visitor into the beautiful circular room with a grand gesture that offered Malfoy first a seat, then a drink. Harry stood himself near the black cabinet where the Pensieve was stored. Snape poured a drink for himself as well and then took his place in the high-backed golden chair behind the magnificent desk. There the Half-Blood Prince sat like a man enthroned. Harry’s attention, however, was drawn to the golden-framed portrait positioned behind and above Snape’s head. Dumbledore was not presently there, and Harry wondered where he was and when he would return.

“You must be glad, Severus,” said Malfoy after taking a sip from the small crystal glass, his long, white-blond hair neatly tied back, “to be spared one onerous duty this term: the annual orientation for the Muggle parents.”

“It’s about time Mudbloods were banned from attending. But why was it for only the new first-years? Why am I to be burdened with the older ones?”

“Undersecretary Umbridge met with the board of governors and persuaded us that having them corralled together under the control of the school was preferable to having them scattered about, that it will make things easier for the Ministry when all the new directives are in place. You are not anticipating that the Mudbloods will pose any problems for you?”

“Problems? None. Only irritations which I shall be glad to see behind me.”

“This will be a difficult year for us all. Transitions are never tidy. But next year you will preside over a student body purged of contaminants. Which, naturally, will extend to the teaching and support staff, as well. Understand that the governors appreciate Filch’s years of service to the school but do not be surprised if he is gone before Easter. The Ministry is drafting a new policy regarding Squibs.” Malfoy smiled coldly with anticipation. “Hogwarts is going to be the most important institution in Wizarding Britain. The Ministry will believe itself preeminent, yes, but Hogwarts will be the center where young minds are trained properly, where the best will be selected to join our brotherhood.” The slight motion he made with his left arm conveyed his meaning clearly to both Snape and Harry. “The others will serve. And those unwilling or incapable of conforming to the new regime will be relocated to the Apple Orchard.” He took another sip. “Any progress in locating the sword, Severus? What was McGonagall hoping to gain,” Malfoy drawled rhetorically, “by stealing the sword of Gryffindor?”

Harry looked over at the glass case beside the shelf where the ragged Sorting Hat sat. The case was empty. Harry’s scar started to prickle.

“She thought she was protecting her House’s most precious heirloom, though whether from me, or us Slytherins, or from the Dark Lord himself, I could not determine, but she did remove it before I became installed here,” Snape’s nod was to the office in general. “The goblins discovered it was a fake?”

“Yes, when Travers took it to Gringotts. The appraising goblin said it was Wizard-made—an excellent copy, true—but a fake nonetheless. Evidently Dumbledore had it commissioned before his death and hid the genuine artifact. She told you nothing?”

“By Legilimency I confirmed that she was unaware it was a fake and therefore has no knowledge of where the real sword is now.”

“I don’t have to tell you how unhappy the Dark Lord is to hear that it is missing and how strongly he wishes it recovered.”

Mr. Malfoy’s eyes flicked up toward the previous headmaster’s still-vacant portrait; Snape understood Malfoy’s thought.

“When he is there,” Snape’s hand slightly gestured back and up toward the picture, “he only dozes, seems to enjoy furthering the Dark Lord’s exasperation. With a mind as mad as his, there’s no limit to the places he may have hidden it. I have been conducting a search of Hogwarts personally. The goblins were well-paid to search the vaults of Gringotts. So far it has not turned up there. And I have assigned Jugson the old Order headquarters to search. Quite recently, by good fortune, he was able to breach the Fidelius Charm and get inside. He and Loring are stationed there both to search and to stand watch in case Potter shows up.”

“He has not been sighted, then?”

Even Harry could tell that Malfoy’s casual tone was a poor cover for his eagerness to sound out information from Snape.

“The usual unconfirmed, rumored sightings. Nothing new. Hoping to collect the reward money, are you?”

“That pittance? By Circe’s Loom, never will the day dawn when the house of my fathers is impoverished. However, speculation is as rampant as the rumors as to where he is hiding. Even the home of the Muggle Grangers is covered by Death Eaters. There is no safe hole for the fox which the hounds will not track down. He will either be found or will emerge on his own. As you know, Severus, the Dark Lord has every confidence the boy will try to duel him before too long.”

“That would guarantee Potter’s death.”

Harry put his fist to his mouth: The pain in his scar was burning hotter.

“Yes, it will,” Malfoy agreed. “And put an end to a sticky set of difficulties.”

Malfoy set down his glass and stood up.

“How are you managing without a wand, Lucius?”

It was apparent that Snape could not resist asking this, his own black eyes as malicious as Malfoy’s grey pair were icy. Malfoy kept his pale face placid. A knock on the door made him turn toward the sound, it made Harry jump.

Both Carrows, brother and sister, entered. Malfoy took their arrival as his cue to leave.

“Good day, Severus.”

Harry was striding out with Mr. Malfoy, afraid to be trapped in this room with these Death Eaters while Voldemort’s ire was heating inside his head. He kept several steps behind Mr. Malfoy, enjoying the man’s complete oblivion.

When Malfoy emerged into the corridor he immediately called for Filch to show him out, his voice ringing through the nearly-empty castle. Harry ran off in the other direction. He had so much to tell Ron and Hermione.

He got as far as the bust of Paracelsus when the pain in his scar flared to scorching. If he did not sit down he would collapse. It was another horrible venture into Voldemort’s mind. Against his will his vision focused through those red eyes and watched Voldemort kill someone, a person Harry had never seen before, making Harry feel it was his hand raising the wand that issued the deadly curse. Now feeling Voldemort’s double wrath and satisfaction, his scar searing like a brand, Harry screamed out his distress.

“Harry Potter!”

Harry’s green eyes snapped open and he saw he was lying sprawled on the corridor floor, panting, the Cloak half off him, now being pulled fully back. He looked up at Dobby.

“Are you all right, Harry Potter?”

“How’d you know I was here?” asked Harry as he staggered to his feet.

“You screamed. A terrible scream.”

Panic like he had not felt in years gripped Harry. Losing control like this was dangerous; his only consolation was that Hermione had not witnessed it.

“Thanks, Dobby! I got to get back!”

He took the Cloak from Dobby’s hand and threw it over himself.

“Elf—!”

Dobby, and Harry under the Cloak, turned toward the commanding voice. Snape stood in the corridor. Harry’s heart was hammering—if Snape had arrived just moments earlier he could have seen Harry without the Cloak!

“—I heard a scream. Was that you?”

“Yes, Headmaster. Peeves likes to torment elves. He frightened Dobby.”

“A fright well-deserved: Your employment here does not extend to this corridor. Get back to the kitchens now or be discharged.”

A scurry of footsteps brought Professor McGonagall on to the scene.

“I heard a shriek. What’s happened?”

“It was this elf,” Snape informed her. He ordered Dobby, “Go.”

Dobby snapped two fingers and Disapparated.

Harry stood as still as Paracelsus, looking at Snape and McGonagall who continued to stare at where Dobby had been standing. Harry dared not move a muscle until they moved on. The pale, blank face was inscrutable as it studied the corridor; McGonagall’s anxious one was studying Snape’s.

“Go back to what you were doing,” he ordered her.

He then turned and strode briskly down another corridor, his black robe billowing, out of Harry’s view. Harry pulled out the map. Snape was heading down the staircase, and McGonagall back to her classroom. Harry ran flat out back to Gryffindor Tower, the Cloak fluttering behind him.

“Harry! You’re as white as a sheet!” exclaimed Hermione when he climbed through the portrait hole and staggered to her and Ron.

“What happened, mate?” asked Ron, jumping from his chair and easing Harry into it.

Hermione hurried to prepare him some tea.

Harry told them about his failure to get into the Chamber, Mr. Malfoy’s interview with Snape, and the vision he had of Voldemort’s latest murder (pointedly neglecting to mention the effect it had on him, or Dobby’s aid, or Snape’s arrival).

“It’s significant that the real sword is missing and You-Know-Who wants it,” Hermione said. “Where would Dumbledore have hidden it?”

“You think maybe he used it to destroy the ring?” Harry spoke his own suspicion.

“I do. You slew the basilisk with it: It probably still has venom contaminating it. Since we can’t get into the Chamber it’s imperative that we find the sword.”

“Where do you suggest we look?” asked Ron, feeling daunted.

“Here. I’d bet anything it’s hidden at Hogwarts.”

“Snape hasn’t found it yet, and he said he’s looking personally,” said Harry.

“Then, we must find it before he does!” declared Hermione.

Ron was working through ancillary thoughts. “Do you reckon he’s right?—you know, Mr. Malfoy, about us not being able to find a safe hideout? I mean, what are we supposed to do when school starts?”

This question had been bothering each of them since their arrival at Hogwarts. Time was moving along: Very soon they would have to come up with a viable answer.

“We could go to the Lupins’,” Harry considered. “But I’d rather we didn’t. I can’t see that we’ll be able to do what we have to do from there. He’ll mean well, but he’ll interfere.”

“Hermione, didn’t you say you packed a tent or something?” asked Ron.

A smart little smirk was on Hermione’s face.

“A safe hideout where the ‘hounds’ won’t find us...Would you say it’s what we require?”