Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows (Page 150-162)

The kitchen was silent for a moment after her departure. Finally, Ron leaned across the table and whispered dramatically, "I wonder if she keeps her nose stuck so high in the air after living with Lucius and Draco for so many years? She started looking up just so she wouldn’t have to look at them."
Ginny snorted and angrily blew a stray piece of hair from her face. "Never mind her, Harry. Don’t let her spoil your party."
Conversations resumed around the table, and Narcissa’s presence was soon forgotten. Despite his best efforts, Harry’s mood was dampened, however. Said in anger or not, Narcissa’s words were true, and they renewed Harry’s worries for those closest to him. He pasted a smile on his face as he opened his gifts, but was eager to escape and clear his head.
When the dinner was finished, Mrs. Weasley shooed them all from the kitchen and insisted that she would clear the dishes. Harry tried to break away and sprint up to the room he shared with Ron, but his friends apparently knew he was feeling low, and they all followed him.
Ginny sat on his bed beside him, while Ron and Hermione sat on Ron’s bed. Fred and George plopped down on the floor and began rummaging through Harry’s pile of birthday presents.
"Here it is," Fred exclaimed at last, pulling out one of the bottles of Firewhiskey that he and George had given him earlier that day.
"Harry, mate, I think you’re in need of this," George said, handing the open bottle to Harry.
Harry looked at it silently for a moment before tossing it back and taking a long swig.
"Harry!" Hermione cried, scandalized.
"What? He’s of age," Ron said, taking the bottle from Harry, and downing his own swig. Ron handed the bottle to Fred. Each of the twins took a drink before passing the bottle to Ginny.
"Ginny’s not of age," Hermione said, warily watching the bottle. Harry suspected she was more nervous about the fact that her turn would be next rather than Ginny’s age.
Ginny rolled her eyes and took a deep swallow. She looked at them all triumphantly for a moment before her eyes began to water, and she started to cough and splutter.
Harry patted her on the back, grinning. "Have you had Firewhiskey before, Ginny?" he asked.
Still unable to speak, Ginny shook her head, her eyes streaming.
"I had it for the first time on Bill’s stag night. Speaking of which…I felt bloody awful the next morning," Harry said, still rubbing Ginny’s back.
"Ahh, yes, we’ve taken care of everything," George said, rummaging in the box that still held another bottle of Firewhiskey. He removed a phial of murky gray liquid and took a sip.
"Guaranteed to avoid a hangover," Fred said, taking his own sip and handing the phial to Harry.
Ginny handed the bottle to Hermione, who glanced warily at them all. "I really don’t think this is a very good idea. Your mother could be up here at any minute," Hermione said.
Fred lazily waved his hand at the open door. "We’ll hear her on the stairs if she comes this way. She won’t anyway. Tonks is here, and Mum was making tea. Once those two get chatting, it’ll be hours before they’re done. Bottoms up, Hermione," he said, grinning.
Hermione set her shoulders, breathed deeply and took a very dainty sip of the Firewhiskey.
"You can do better than that," Ron said when Hermione had finished coughing. "Think of it as an experiment. You can’t truly tell Harry and me off for drinking if you don’t have first hand knowledge of the full effects."
Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Ron. Without breaking eye contact, she tipped the bottle back again, this time taking a long draught and making the twins whoop with glee.
"You show him, Hermione," Fred said, delighted.
"I always thought there was more to you than that prim and proper exterior," George said, taking the bottle from her.
Hermione frowned and Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Lay off," he said to George in a low voice.
"Don’t get your knickers in a twist, little bro," Fred said, taking the bottle from Harry. "No one is picking on your Hermione."
Ron’s ears turned red, matching the color in Hermione’s cheeks.
As they passed the bottle around and listened to the twins’ amusing stories of events from their shop, Harry tried to shake his unease. The Firewhiskey felt warm in his belly, but he wasn’t as relaxed and carefree as he had the last time he’d drunk it. Narcissa’s words kept ringing in his head.
The people that get close to you have a nasty habit of ending up dead…
Harry angrily took the bottle from Ginny and took another drink, desperately trying to block the implication of the words.
Ron, Hermione and Ginny are the people closest to me now…
Ron had begun slurring his words, while Ginny had developed an uncontrollable case of the giggles. Despite his morose thoughts, Harry
couldn’t help but be amused seeing her this way. At first, she’d laugh at any nonsensical thing the twins’ would say but gradually would giggle if anyone so much as looked at her.
Surprisingly, Hermione appeared to hold it better than either of the Weasleys. She kept right up with the others, but hadn’t started acting silly. She had grown much quieter than usual, however.
Ginny turned towards Harry, frowning slightly as she studied him intently.
"What?" he demanded finally, slightly unnerved by her intense gaze.
"I don’t know where I came up with fresh pickled toad; they’re really more emerald in color. I suppose it was harder to rhyme emerald," she said, giggling so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.
The others roared with laughter, as Harry felt color flame to his cheeks, remembering that horribly embarrassing Valentine from second year.
"Er…right," he said, shifting his position so he could lean back against the wall. "Maybe you’ve had enough of that Ginny." He’d begun to worry what else she might blurt out in her drunken state. He was sitting in a small room with three of her brothers.
"Bloody Hell, Harry, lighten up," Hermione said, shocking them all. Ron’s mouth gaped open.
"Hermione," he said. "You just cursed."
"I’ve spent the last six years practically living with you, Ron. Did you think I hadn’t picked up some of your ruddy habits?" Hermione asked, taking another drink.
Fred and George forgot all about Harry’s Valentine as they turned towards Hermione with calculating expressions.
"Which of his other habits have you picked up on, Hermione?" Fred asked eagerly.
"Well, I haven’t learned how he stuffs an entire potato into his mouth at one time, but I really don’t think I want to know that," she said seriously causing the others to laugh. "But I have picked up a load of curse words and can make my face appear as if I’m listening to you intently when I’m really plotting out an entire assignment in my head. Of course, I don’t think Ron’s really thinking about assignments when he does that, more like a Quidditch roster. I’ve never seen anyone so obsessed with ruddy Quidditch. Back when we were younger — before he was on the team — he used to quote facts and records about every match in history while we watched Harry play."
"I never thought you were really listening," Ron said, stunned.
"Oh, I wasn’t paying attention, but I did like to listen to your voice. You have a very pleasant-sounding voice when it’s not cursing or
shouting about something. You do tend to shout a lot," she said seriously.
The gleeful expressions on the faces of Fred and George told Harry that they would never let Ron live this down.
The people that get close to you have a nasty habit of ending up dead… If they’re going to insist upon following me, it was more than likely that one or all could…
Harry shuddered, knowing he’d never survive their loss. Voldemort could never know that the surest way to destroy Harry would be to hurt any of them. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.
"Harry," Ginny said softly, taking his hand. Her eyes were glazed and slightly vacant, but she still appeared to sense his inner turmoil.
His head was spinning, and he suddenly felt very old and tired. He may have only just turned seventeen, but he felt as if he’d already lived several lifetimes.
"Everything will be okay," Ginny whispered, shifting so she could burrow her head under his arm. "Try not to worry so much."
"Oh, isn’t this a sight," a drawling voice said from the doorway.
Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the doorframe, an undecipherable expression upon his pale face. His blond hair was unkempt, hanging over his eyes in a very un-Malfoyish way.
"What do you want?" Ron asked, jumping to his feet and wavering slightly.
"I came to investigate the cause of all the noise. I hadn’t realized I was interrupting your pathetic little party," Malfoy sneered.
Ginny started to laugh, wrapping her arms around her waist to try and control her giggles.
Harry smiled at her, amused, while she caught her breath.
"He really does look like a ferret," she said, gasping.
"Shut it, Weaslette," Malfoy said, his gray eyes flashing. "You pathetic little blood traitor. Consorting with Potter and the Mudblood — you’re a disgrace to your heritage. Of course, you always had a thing for Potty anyway, didn’t you?"
"Watch your mouth," Ron snarled, clenching his fists.
"Leave her out of it, Malfoy," Harry snarled, jumping off the bed and raising his wand. He’d been looking for an outlet for his tension all evening, and the blonde represented the perfect opportunity. "Don’t let me ever hear you speak to her that way again."
Ginny had stopped giggling and was desperately trying to focus on what was happening.
"Leave her out of it? She’s already at the center of it, Potter. God, you really are naïve, aren’t you? Snape already told the Dark Lord all about your little girlfriend. It’s no more likely she’ll survive this war than you will," Malfoy said.
The people that get close to you have a nasty habit of ending up dead…
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry demanded through clenched teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing that his words had any effect on Harry. "I’m certain you were only too happy to confirm that before Voldemort turned on you."
"I was just wondering why the Light’s precious Chosen One is holed up in a bedroom getting pissed with his little band of cronies while everyone is waiting for him to save the world. I don’t think their faith would be that strong if they could see you now, Potter."
"Why not?" Ron asked belligerently, moving to stand in front of Harry. "I think it would do everyone some good to see that Harry isn’t letting V-Voldemort interfere with him living his life."
Malfoy flinched at the name, his eyes widening slightly that Ron had said it. Harry thought it was the first time he’d ever heard Ron actually say it, and wondered how much of that was the Firewhiskey talking.
"In these dark times, everyone needs a few laughs," Fred said, standing up next to Harry.
"Harry told us that a few years back, and he was right. He will win, and he’ll survive. And we’re all going to be right there alongside him making certain he does," George said, flanking Harry’s other side.
Harry’s heart swelled with pride. Looking over at Malfoy, he could see the uncertainty on the blonde’s face. It occurred to Harry how similar his and Malfoy’s situations were. Each was assigned the impossible task of destroying the powerful leader of an opposing force. But their choices had differed greatly. Now, Harry was surrounded by a fiercely loyal group of friends prepared to die with him if they had to, while Malfoy was alone and in hiding from the very people to whom he had sworn his allegiance. Their choices and consequences were so very different.
"Then you’re all going to die," Malfoy spat. "You prats have no idea what you’re getting into. The Dark Lord doesn’t fool around, he won’t tolerate your little jokes."
"Maybe that’s his problem," Fred said.
"Everyone needs a good joke," said George.
Harry spied Ginny out of the corner of his eye. Scowling, she’d stood up on the bed and wavered precariously while holding her wand on Malfoy.
"Ginny, don’t," he said, reaching toward her. He was afraid that in her inebriated state, she’d only end up cursing herself. She fell back, and he managed to catch her before she landed. In the distraction, Harry heard the distinctive whoosh of a spell being cast, although he knew it hadn’t come from Ginny’s wand.
He turned around to see Ron, Fred and George staring in shock at the doorway where a white ferret squealed and scurried up the hallway.
They looked at each other, stunned speechless before turning as one to face Hermione. She sat on Ron’s bed, calmly polishing her wand. "Ginny was right," she said simply. "The bloody wanker does look like a ferret."
The twins roared with laughter, as Ron dropped to his knees in front of her. "I love you, Hermione," he said.
"It’d be nice if you could say that once in awhile when I hadn’t done your homework for you or performed a brilliant piece of Transfiguration," Hermione said primly.
Ron’s ears burned. "I’ll work on it," he said in a low voice.
"On that note, brother dear, I think it’s time we bade them farewell," George said.
"Yeah. Mum should be up here any minute now, and I don’t want her to think we had anything to do with the condition this lot is in," Fred said.
They wished Harry a Happy Birthday and bade them all farewell.
Harry turned to see Ginny curled up on his bed like a cat, sleeping soundly. He covered her with a blanket and softly kissed her head.
"Come on, Ron. Let the girls sleep in here, and we’ll bunk in their room. We’ve got to get an early start," Harry said.
"Right," Ron replied, still staring at Hermione with a curious expression.
Harry snuggled into Ginny’s bed that night, taking a deep breath and smelling that intoxicating floral smell that was all Ginny. Their quest would begin tomorrow, but lying here now, he felt strangely comforted.
Chapter Ten
Delays, Disappointment, and Dating
Harry awoke with a start, momentarily panicked because he didn’t recognize his surroundings. Slipping his glasses on his nose, he stared wildly at the bright yellow walls and abundance of flowers and cosmetics and well…girly stuff. Then he remembered switching rooms with Ginny and Hermione the night before. He’d set an alarm to wake him at dawn, then had cast a silencing charm around the bed so no one else would be alerted.
He could hear Ron snoring heavily, and he had to bite back a laugh seeing his tall friend’s feet sticking off the end of the other bed while the rest of his body was wrapped in a fluffy pink-flowered blanket. He wished he had a camera; Fred and George would pay a huge sum for that picture.
Harry lay back for a moment and stretched, breathing in the scent on his pillow…Ginny’s pillow. He let his eyes wander across the room, now alert and able to focus on his surroundings. It was easy to distinguish Ginny’s side of the room from Hermione’s. One half was neatly organized with everything in its place, large stacks of books precisely tucked in both corners. The floor on the other half was covered with clothing, gum wrappers, stray quills and several copies of Witch Weekly. Harry was disgruntled to see his own likeness winking from a picture in the top corner of one of the magazines.
He shifted uncomfortably, feeling something lumpy underneath his back. He reached down under the covers and pulled out a ragged stuffed animal. It looked as if it had once been a bear, but was now a sorry sight indeed. He grinned, knowing he’d have something to use to take the mickey out of Ginny later.
Yanking back the covers, he put his feet on the floor and immediately stepped on something. He reached down to lift it off the floor. His face flushed brilliantly when he realized he was holding Ginny’s bra.
"What’s that?" Ron mumbled, squinting at him across the room.
"Nothing," Harry squeaked, his voice sounding very high. He guiltily shoved the bra behind his back and tried to change the subject. "You’ve got to get up. We need to move quickly."
"What are you on about, Harry? What’s that behind your back?" Ron asked, fully rousing at the sight of a flustered Harry.
Harry tried to inconspicuously tuck the offending garment beneath Ginny’s covers. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but notice how soft and silky the material felt, and he rubbed his thumb along the edge as he tried to hide it.
Ron leaped out of bed and reached around to grab the bra from Harry. "What are you trying to hide?" he demanded.
"It’s nothing," Harry said, panicked and trying to get the evidence away from him.
At that moment, the bedroom door swung open revealing Hermione and Ginny. The two girls stood there, their faces a mixture of surprise and amusement, staring at Ron and Harry who were facing each other in the middle of the floor, Ginny’s bra stretched between them.
"Well," Ginny said at last. "I hadn’t realized you two had such pervy tendencies. I do have other bras, you know. You don’t have to fight over that one."
Hermione roared with laughter. "Do you have any of our knickers on, as well?" she asked, doubling over at the scarlet hues that suffused Ron and Harry’s faces.
"I- What- He- What are you doing with my sister’s bra?" Ron bellowed, glaring at Harry.
Harry’s eyes widened as all three of them turned to look at him. "Nothing," he stammered. "I stepped on it when I got up, and I tried to put it back, and that’s when you woke up."
"Will you two be quiet," Hermione hissed. "Do you want to wake up the whole house?"
Laughing, Ginny walked over and took her bra from Harry and Ron. She lightly pecked Harry on the nose. "You’re cute when you’re embarrassed," she said.
Suddenly realizing he was standing there in his boxers, Ron grabbed the pink flowery blanket and wrapped it around himself. "What are you two doing in here?" he asked. "We’re not dressed yet."
"I can see that," Ginny said dryly. "I wouldn’t suggest wearing that color though, Ron. It clashes with your hair. That’s why I gave it to Hermione."
Hermione giggled, her cheeks very pink. "We’ve got the stuff all ready. We’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes. Hurry up," she said, staring pointedly at Ron. "Your mother is usually the first one awake."
The girls went downstairs while Ron and Harry quickly dressed. They met Hermione and Ginny in the entrance hall.
"Are we ready to do this?" Hermione asked. Now that the time had come, she looked wary and uncertain.
"Yeah," Harry said, infusing his voice with a confidence he didn’t really feel. Hunting the Horcruxes would feel better than waiting to do it, he was certain. Putting his hand on the door, he took a deep breath, and the four of them stole quietly into the gray pre-dawn light.
They soon reached the address that Mrs. Granger had given them for the orphanage, but it was still too early to enter. They bought some muffins at a nearby café and sat down at a table on the sidewalk with a clear view of the orphanage. Harry narrowed his eyes, studying it. There was a vague resemblance to the building he remembered seeing in the Pensieve, but there was something different that he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
"It’s definitely the right address," he said slowly, "those steps going in are the same, but-"
"It’s been renovated," Hermione said. "The article my mother forwarded to me said it was completely redone in 1972. They kept some of the old building and added that section over there." Hermione pointed to the
other side of the building that stretched further down the block than Harry had realized.
"They’ve renovated it? How do we know they even kept the section where Riddle lived?" Harry asked, alarmed.
"We don’t," Hermione said, shrugging. "But we have to check anyway, don’t we? It’s not like there’s anything we can do about the fact they renovated, Harry. After all, it’s been ages since Riddle was here. There would have to be some changes for it still to be open."
"Yeah, well, even the renovations were done before we were all born. They’re probably due for more," Ron said around a mouthful of muffin.
Harry shrugged. Hermione was right; he didn’t know why he hadn’t even considered the possibility. Riddle would have first been here over sixty years ago, everything couldn’t stay the same."
"How are we going to get in?" Ginny asked. "They’re Muggles, but they must have security."
"Yeah, but I think I can get past it," Harry said. "Dumbledore used a blank piece of paper to convince the headmistress that Tom Riddle was supposed to go to Hogwarts. I think I can do the same charm. Once I’m inside, I just need to find a secluded spot where we can Apparate later. I think it’ll be better if we go back tonight with the Invisibility Cloak."
"That’s a good idea," Hermione said. "We’ll go rent a couple of rooms for the night. It’ll give us a place to wait."
"All right," Harry said. "I’ll meet you back here in two hours, and you can show me where to go. I want to walk around the building and see if I can recognize anything before I go inside."
Hermione, Ron and Ginny departed, and Harry walked up and down the street in front of the orphanage. He had a strange sense of déjà vu as he passed the stone entrance. This was definitely the same place, and the brick front remained intact. He waited to enter the building until there was some activity on the street.
It had obviously been updated, but Harry found it recognizable. He could see the stone steps that led up to the offices behind a comfortable sitting area decorated in calming blues. A large wooden desk guarded the stairs, and a gray-haired receptionist sat flipping through some papers. She pursed her lips and lifted her reading glasses onto her nose. Something on the paper she held displeased her for she scowled as she pulled the page from the stack and placed it to the side.
Something in the woman’s face reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia. She had the same disapproving look he remembered seeing so many times while growing up on Privet Drive. His aunt always assumed that everyone was out to take advantage of her.
Harry strode confidently up to the desk. Going with his instincts, he approached her as he would his aunt.
"Good morning, Mrs…Hatcher," Harry said, pretending to read from the paper he carried. He’d actually simply glanced at the nametag she wore affixed to her jacket. "I was sent to look at a problem you’re having with one of your computers. I understand you’ve been having a lot of trouble with it lately."
Mrs. Hatcher, who had looked at Harry with extreme suspicion when he first approached her, puffed out her chest. "Why, yes, we have, young man. Those infernal contraptions are always breaking down and making us lose all our data. I don’t know how you people get away with selling such inferior equipment."
"I’m sorry, ma’am," Harry said, nodding his head stiffly. "If you’ll just direct me to where the malfunctioning equipment is, I’ll be on my way without disturbing your work further."
Mrs. Hatcher appeared mollified that he considered her work important. "We have a family coming in for an adoption later today, and Mrs. Thompson will be quite upset if there is a problem getting all the paperwork ready. Now, which machine is it? Who put in the service call?" Mrs. Hatcher asked.
"I believe the name was Mrs. Thompson," Harry lied smoothly.
Mrs. Hatcher picked up one of the papers in front of her, frowning slightly. "You’re not on the Visitor List," she said, reading it again.
Harry schooled his features into a look of confusion. "I’m not?" he asked, leaning over the paper. Keeping his wand hidden beneath his hand, he wordlessly cast a spell.
"Oh! Here it is. It is Mrs. Thompson; you’d best hurry then. Her office is right up the stairs and to the right. I believe she’s here already," Mrs. Hatcher said, waving him through.
"Thank you," Harry replied, quickly hurrying up the stairs.
As he moved away, he heard Mrs. Hatcher mutter in a very disapproving voice, "They get younger every time."
He quickly walked down the corridor, taking in the sterile walls and worn carpeting. He could see some classrooms down one corridor, and assumed the living quarters were on the other side of the facility. The children inside the classroom again looked well cared for, but Harry thought the sadness and loneliness of the place was palpable.
Uncle Vernon had regularly threatened to send him to an orphanage, and he’d often thought he’d have been better off. Now, he knew he wouldn’t have enjoyed this life, either. He might have been better off physically, but he would have hated the forced conformity. He was certain he would have ended up in loads of trouble, and he shivered at the strange similarity he once again felt with a young Tom Riddle.
He didn’t like the place and wanted to get out as soon as possible. He needed to find a quiet spot that was likely to be unoccupied in the
evening hours. Peering into one office, he saw a janitor fixing a broken shelf on a bookcase.
"You here to fix the computer?" the man asked, glancing only briefly at Harry. He was old and grizzled, reminding Harry slightly of Mad Eye Moody.
"Er…yeah," Harry said uncertainly.
"Ruth said she’d sent you along. This one just mucked up as well," the man said, banging on the bookcase. "Can you take a look at it, too?"
"That looks like a really old bookcase," Harry said, sitting at the desk and pretending to examine the computer. "I imagine they don’t get new furniture here very often."
"Nah, we make do with what we have. They stored a bunch of the old furniture from before they renovated the place downstairs in the storeroom. We bring it up whenever some of the new stuff breaks. They just don’t make furniture the way they used to. The old stuff might look rough, but it’s much sturdier than the crap they make nowadays," the man said.
Harry nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner. "Do they keep any old computers down in that storeroom? Ones that could be used for spare parts?" Harry asked, thinking fast. "It might save you something on the invoice."
The man shrugged. "I dunno. You can check. The door at the end of the corridor leads down there. Can you fix that one?" he asked.
Harry looked at the computer, having no idea what was wrong with it or how to repair it. He glanced over at the janitor, whose back was to him. He discreetly waved his wand and wordlessly cast a Reparo spell.
The computer hummed almost happily.
"It’s all set," Harry said. "Nice to meet you."
The man nodded gruffly but didn’t reply. Harry hurried down the corridor and slipped inside the door to the storeroom. Thankfully, it was unlocked.
Harry was overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of the underground storage space. Rows and rows of metal-framed beds and wardrobes were stacked over every bit of available space. Searching them would likely take all night.
Harry slipped the Spell Detectors out of his pocket and placed them on the end of his nose. He got lucky getting down here; maybe he’d be lucky again. He quickly perused the room, but could see no trace of red that would indicate Dark spells. They’d have to return tonight and look more carefully. For now, he had to get back to the others.
***
That night, Harry side-along Apparated with Hermione into the dusty storeroom, giving her a chance to look around and get familiar with the layout. Then they Apparated back to the small inn where they’d rented a couple of rooms and brought Ron and Ginny back with them.
"This place is kind of creepy," Ron said, glancing warily at all the old furniture stored in piles. The air was dank and musty, and the dim light from their wands cast long shadows on the walls. "I wonder why this room is so deep underground."
"I think it might have been used as a bomb shelter during the war," Hermione said absently, looking around.
"This is a Muggle building, Hermione. They didn’t know about the war," Ron said, puzzled.
"Not with Voldemort. Honestly, Ron, you should have been the one to take Muggle studies. Around the time Grindelwald was terrorizing wizarding Britain, the Muggles were involved in a huge war, as well. During the Blitz, when London was being heavily bombed, people used bomb shelters to try and protect themselves."
"They hid the children down here?" Ron asked, shuddering.
"I’d imagine," Hermione said.
"This place is kind of creepy," Ron said again.
"There’s a lot of sadness here," Harry said quietly. "Come on, I noticed some wardrobes over here."
He saw Hermione lock eyes with Ron for a moment before following him.
"You really think that if there is a Horcrux here, he would have hidden it in the wardrobe, Harry?" Hermione asked. "How can you be certain he would have been able to find the same one he used when he was here?"
Harry shrugged, feeling daunted by the large number of places to look. "If he came back to hide one here, I’m certain that’s where he would have put it. It’s just a hunch, but it’s all we’ve got. He would have been able to find the right wardrobe — I’m certain of it. But, the longer I’ve been here today, the less likely I think he would have left a Horcrux."
"Why?" Hermione asked, startled.
Her brows had knit at his words. Hermione always wanted solid reasons for doing things. Harry suspected much of this quest would involve simply going on gut instincts, and he wondered how she would cope. He knew she wouldn’t like his answer to this question, either.
"It doesn’t feel right; I can’t explain it," Harry said.
"Harry, you’re going to have to do better than that. We can’t base our entire search on your instincts," Hermione said.
"His instincts have got him out of sticky situations in the past," Ginny said, weakly smiling at Harry.
"His instincts have also got him into plenty of sticky situations," Hermione snapped. "We can’t afford any mistakes. We can’t simply act on gut feelings."
"We’re going to have to, Hermione," Harry said. "It’s exactly what Dumbledore did that night in the cave. It was more sensing something than knowing it."
"How did he know it, though?" Hermione demanded, stamping her foot.
Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, this place would hold bad memories for Riddle, not powerful ones. He was helpless here. That memory we saw in the Pensieve — where he stored the first tokens he took in that wardrobe, that’s what made me think he might put one back in there. But, I don’t think so. He likes power and the feeling of control. When he first learned he was a wizard…it was Dumbledore who held all the power. Dumbledore had all the answers, and Tom was at his mercy. Voldemort wouldn’t have liked that memory. He wouldn’t have liked feeling that way."
"So, you don’t think there’s anything here? Then what are we looking for?" Ron asked, unable to hide his eagerness at not having to search all the wardrobes.
"Just because that’s what I think doesn’t mean it’s true," Harry replied. "It’s certainly possible that he hid something here. Even if we don’t find anything, I’m certain it won’t be the last dead end we chase before this is over."
"It’ll give us some practice," Ginny said brightly. "Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky."
"You said you didn’t feel anything, Harry. What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked.
Harry sighed. "I can’t explain it exactly. With the diary and again when I was at the cave with Dumbledore… I could sense something. I hadn’t really given it much thought until Moody told me how to sense magic with these," Harry said, holding up the Spell Detectors. "I’m hoping that when we do manage to locate a Horcrux, it’ll happen again, and I’ll be able to explain it better."
Hermione frowned, obviously not satisfied with his answer, but she let it drop for the moment.
Standing in front of row after row of broken-down old wardrobes, Ron looked overwhelmed. "Are we supposed to go through every one of these? It’ll take ages. They’re all empty, anyway."
"Well, he’s not going to leave anything right where you can see it," Hermione said scathingly.
"Here, use these," Harry said, handing the Spell Detectors to Ron. "I don’t know if they’ll still be able to pick up any magic after sixty