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Author: CJS Story: Harry Potter and the Ghosts of the Past Rating: Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 6 Words: 39,145
As the meeting began to break up and people started moving towards the door, Harry became aware of a whispered argument going on behind him. “I can’t, Ron—” “Well, you can’t leave her like that. Not after what she just said.” “What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry I hexed you for trying to get us all expelled’?” “Oh, honestly, MARIETTA!” Marietta paused halfway out of the doorway and looked around. “Can we have a word?” asked Ron, gesturing toward a corner of the room. Marietta looked at him and Hermione uncertainly for a moment, before nodding and making her way over to them. Harry felt a stab of impatience as he watched them go, and he wondered what Ron was up to. He was anxious to get to Grimmauld Place as soon as possible; he didn’t know how long they would be, and Mr Weasley would only be able to placate Mrs Weasley for so long. Trying to distract himself while he waited, Harry turned to talk to Neville. “I still can’t believe you managed to pull this off,” he said. Neville gave him an embarrassed grin. “Well, it was sort of an accident, really,” he replied. “Me and Luna started talking about what happened in the tower. We wanted to understand why it was just us that showed up, and it just seemed to all grow from there.” Harry nodded, still trying to keep one eye on Hermione and Marietta, who were now talking quietly in the corner. Ron was standing off to one side, but it didn’t escape Harry’s notice that he was holding his wand surreptitiously. “So, Neville,” he said casually, “is there, uh, is there anything going on between you and Luna?” “What do you mean?” responded Neville, looking puzzled. Harry shrugged. “Well, she helped you down to Dumbledore’s funeral, even though Madam Pomfrey was worried that you were still too weak. Then you sat together all the way back on the train. Now this....” He stopped as Neville shook his head. “We’re just friends, Harry.” Neville suddenly looked worried. “At least I think that’s all we are. You don’t think Luna...?” Harry grinned at Neville’s obvious discomfort. “I think you’d know if she did. Luna’s never had a problem with speaking her mind—” Harry stopped as an alarm bell went off in his head. Over in the corner, Hermione had pulled her wand out. Harry started to walk towards them, but Ron, sensing Harry’s approach, looked around quickly and shook his head. Harry paused, watching as Hermione muttered something under her breath before lightly touching each side of Marietta’s face with the tip of her wand. Almost instantly, the letters etched across her face faded away, leaving nothing but unblemished skin behind. Marietta tentatively touched her cheeks, almost as if she couldn’t believe that the marks had gone. Some more quiet words were exchanged, and then the two girls hugged briefly, before Marietta straightened up and left the room. Harry stowed his wand away as Ron and Hermione walked back over to him. “What was that all about?” he asked curiously. Ron shrugged his shoulders. “Just something that I thought should be done,” he replied meaningfully. “I mean, she did pretty much swing the argument.” Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t want Ron to know just how accurate his assessment was. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the task ahead. This was it. It was time to see if any of the information Dumbledore had given him over the past year was any good. He walked over to the door and took a deep breath as he held it open for them. “Ready?” he asked. They both nodded nervously. “Let’s go destroy a Horcrux.” ______________ Three loud cracks echoed across the rubbish-strewn square. Sadly, gunshots were not uncommon in this part of London, and the only reaction the noise caused was to frighten a cat that had been scavenging in an overturned dustbin. Several moments passed before Ron, Hermione, and Harry emerged from underneath their new Invisibility Cloaks. Ron and Hermione looked around nervously as Harry faced the row of houses in front of them. Positioning himself in front of the wall that divided number eleven from number thirteen, he concentrated hard. The weatherworn front of number twelve slowly emerged, elbowing the neighbouring houses aside. Remembering Lupin’s advice, Harry approached the door, pulled out his wand, and rapped it against the peeling paintwork. There were several clicks and rattles, and then the door swung slowly open. The three of them peered into the hallway. Ron was the first to find his voice. “Well,” he said, “it looks like Tonks has made herself at home.” Harry thought that was a bit of an understatement. He knew that Tonks and Lupin had been living together at Grimmauld Place when they weren’t both doing work for the Order, but no-one had told him they had been redecorating, and he would bet his Firebolt that it had been her that had painted the hallway that eye-watering shade of yellow. Against the bright background, the dusty and faded curtains that covered Mrs Black’s portrait stood out even more. Harry pointed to it, and then placed his finger against his lips. Ron and Hermione silently followed Harry as he crossed the hallway and headed down the steps to the basement kitchen. As he and Ron lit their wands, Hermione conjured up several lit candles and placed them on the table. “So, where do we start looking?” Ron asked. Harry pointed to the cupboard in the corner that held both the boiler and Kreacher’s old nest. “I thought we’d try there first,” he said. “I saw some bits and pieces in there when Hermione left that Christmas present for Kreacher.” They crossed over to it, and Harry shone his wand light inside. The beam lit up the same jumble of broken photographs and tarnished ornaments that he remembered from before. Shoved into the far corner, and still unopened, Harry could just make out the patchwork quilt that Hermione had left. Worried that she would get upset if she saw it, he shifted his body slightly to block it from her view and reached out to try and find something to put in front of it. “Ow!” Harry cursed as he jerked his hand away. “What is it?” Ron and Hermione asked in unison. Harry was still cursing fluently as they examined the angry red weal that had appeared on his palm. “He must have put a stinging hex on the doorway. KREACHER,” he bellowed. With a loud crack the aged house-elf appeared and gave a very unconvincing bow. “Master summoned Kreacher?” he asked, adding in a mutter, “And he has the blood traitor and the Mudblood with him. Oh, what would Kreacher’s mistress say if she saw such filth in her house?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed in anger, and Ron’s face turned red, but before either of them could say anything, Harry moved in front of the elf. “Enough of the insults,” he snapped. “Did you put a curse on this doorway?” Kreacher nodded. “Kreacher must protect his old mistress’s heirlooms from the thieves and traitors that Master allows into this house,” he cackled. Using his good hand, Harry fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the fake Horcrux. “Do you have anything like this in there?” he demanded. Kreacher’s eyes bulged in surprise as Harry waved the locket in his face. “The Master knows about young master Black’s locket?” he asked, seemingly too shocked to add any insults. “The young master told nobody but Kreacher about it.” “Well, I know about it and I want to see it. Now!” Harry demanded. Muttering something that sounded like an incantation, Kreacher reached into the cupboard and rummaged around for several seconds before standing back up. In his hand, battered and dusty, was the locket that two summers previously had been in the drawing room cabinet. Harry gingerly picked it up and examined it; it was almost the twin of the one he was holding. Without knowing how he knew, he knew straight away that it was the Horcrux; he could almost feel the magic emanating from it. He looked down at the house-elf. “Do you know where it came from?” he asked. Kreacher shook his wrinkled head. “The young master brought it here shortly before his death,” he said. “He would not tell Kreacher where it had come from, only that Kreacher must keep it safe.” Harry nodded absently, still examining the Horcrux in the candlelight. “Well, thanks, Kreacher,” he said. “You can go back to whatever you were doing now.” Giving Harry his usual hate-filled glare, the house-elf Disapparated. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione and held the locket up for inspection. “What do you think?” he asked. Hermione shook her head. “It’s too dark in here with just the candles, Harry. Why don’t we take it up to the drawing room?” she suggested. Harry thought this was a good idea, so the three of them trooped back up the stairs, easing themselves carefully past the portrait, and made their way up to the room on the first floor. Ron and Hermione headed over to the sofa that sat in front of the grimy windows as Harry set the Horcrux down on a small table. For a moment the three of them looked at it in silence, before Hermione voiced what they were all thinking. “So, Harry,” she said hesitantly, “do you have any ideas how to destroy it?” Harry was silent for a moment as he assembled his thoughts. “This is just a thought,” he said slowly, “but I think it might not be possible to put protective spells on a Horcrux itself.” He held up the fake Horcrux. “There weren’t actually any spells on this; they were all around it. Dumbledore said the injuries to his hand were caused by the spells protecting the ring; he never gave any indication that the injuries came from the ring itself, and it was the contents of Riddle’s diary rather than the diary itself that hurt Ginny.” Hermione, typically, had started nodding halfway through his explanation. “That would make sense,” she said. “I imagine that a Horcrux would be pretty fragile; you wouldn’t want to risk damaging it with extra spells.” “So if that’s the case,” said Ron thoughtfully, “to destroy this one,” he indicated the locket on the table, “we just need to get it open?” Harry nodded. “That’s what I think,” he replied. Ron shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.” He took out his wand and carefully took aim. “Ron, no—!” Hermione and Harry both shouted in unison, but it was too late. “Reducto!” bellowed Ron. A beam of red light shot out of his wand. It hit the locket and rebounded, narrowly missing a frozen-to-the-spot Ron before hitting one of the windows, blowing the glass out of the frame and setting fire to the curtains. For a moment there was a stunned silence as Harry and Hermione picked themselves up from off of the floor where they had dove for cover. As Harry brushed shards of glass out of his hair, Hermione advanced murderously on Ron. “RONALD WEASLEY,” she yelled, sounded amazingly like one of Mrs Weasley’s Howlers, “I AM NOT GOING TO TELL YOU HOW UNBELIEVABLY STUPID THAT WAS—” “Er, Hermione?” said Harry quietly, eyeing the still smouldering curtains. “—BECAUSE I’LL RUN OUT OF BREATH LONG BEFORE I RUN OUT OF WAYS TO DESCRIBE JUST HOW MUCH OF AN IDIOT—” “Hermione,” Harry repeated, more loudly this time. Hermione spun round. “What?” she snapped, clearly struggling to keep her temper in check. Harry pointed to the window. “Can you kill Ron later, please? I’d quite like to put that fire out.” Hermione’s cheeks coloured as she looked in the direction that Harry was indicating. “Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry,” she muttered, looking highly embarrassed. As she and Harry started repairing the damage, Ron sidled over to Harry with a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry, mate,” he apologised. He looked over at the locket still sitting innocently on the table. “I guess this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.” _______________ Three quarters of an hour later, the three of them sat slumped on the sofa. Around them the room looked as if a wild Hippogriff had been allowed to rampage through it. After the failure of Ron’s solo Reducto, all three of them had tried together, Ron and Harry diving out of the way of their rebounds whilst Hermione somehow managed to snap off a Shield Charm quickly enough to divert hers into the ceiling, covering them all in plaster dust. After that she’d tried Bombarda, a much more powerful version of the Reductus Curse. The ricochet from that one hit the old writing desk, reducing it to splinters and causing a slight diversion while they battled the enraged Boggart that, apparently unknown to the Order, had taken up residence inside it again. Several versions of Alohomora had followed, before Harry and Hermione had tried using repelling charms to force the two halves apart. Finally Ron, in a mixture of anger and frustration, had thrown it across the room. It now sat in the middle of the floor where it had landed, not even scratched despite all of the magic that had been thrown at it. Hermione used the handle of her wand to push her sweat-ridden fringe out of her eyes. “You know what?” she announced. “I think we might be going about this the wrong way.” Ron gave her one of his trademark looks of disbelief. “You don’t say,” he said, sarcastically. “Would you like to tell us where we’re going wrong now, or do you want to wait until we’ve destroyed the other half of the room?” Ignoring him, Hermione turned to address Harry. “If you’re right, Harry, then this is Slytherin’s locket,” she paused as Harry nodded, “so maybe you need to be Slytherin, or related to Slytherin to be able to open it.” “Get to the point, Hermione,” sighed Harry. Like Ron, he was in no mood for cryptic clues. For a moment a hurt look flashed across her face before she spoke again. “Well, you said that Tom Riddle and the Gaunts could use Parseltongue in normal conversation.” “I can’t,” Harry interrupted, seeing at once where she was going. “Every time I’ve done it, it’s been to a snake, or something that at least looked like one.” “It must be possible, though,” Hermione persisted. Harry knew better than to bother arguing. Walking over to the locket, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Concentrating hard, he tried to recall the way he had felt the few times he’d spoken to snakes, tried to find the part of his mind that knew how to form the strange sounds that the reptiles understood. “Open up.” Those were the words that went through his mind, but what his ears heard was a strange mixture of clicks and hisses. “Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Look, it’s working!” Hesitantly, Harry opened his eyes. In front of him, the locket was cocooned by a strange green glow. As Harry watched, the casing bulged and twisted as it slowly morphed into what was undeniably the same locket that Harry had seen in the Pensieve. Finally the glow died away, there was a sharp click as the clasp released, and the locket slowly unfolded itself. Three loud gasps filled the room as they all craned to see inside it. Inside the cover was what appeared to be a miniature portrait of a wizard, and Harry had no trouble identifying the face that was leering threateningly at him; it was Voldemort, but a Voldemort not yet fully transformed into the nightmare that Harry had confronted in the Little Hangleton graveyard. Although the eyes were the same blood-red colour, the nose was still recognisably human, and the skin was a pallid grey rather than white. It seemed that Dumbledore had been right; the ring and the locket were among the earliest of the Horcruxes. Trembling, Harry took a step backwards and pulled out his wand. “Hermione, Ron?” “We’re ready, Harry,” Hermione answered. She and Ron were crouching behind the sofa, their wands drawn. Harry took a deep breath, and then concentrated hard, clearing his mind of everything except one word. “Incendio!” A tongue of flame shot from Harry’s wand, hitting the locket and engulfing the picture. A high-pitched scream echoed through the room, getting higher and higher as the fire ate away at the locket, and then, suddenly, there was silence. The partially melted lid of the locket slowly collapsed on its twisted hinges, covering the few ashes that were all that was left of the picture. The third Horcrux had been destroyed.
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