Pieces of a Soul
Chapter 13
The Four Bonds
Disclaimer: These characters
and settings do not belong to me. They belong only to the genius-filled mind
of JKR. I'm just playing in her sandbox, is all.
"The Gryffindor hourglass, you say?" McGonagall asked, standing up quickly from her seat at the Head Table to go and investigate Professor Vance's claim.
"I've not seen anything like it," Emmeline Vance replied as she hurried with the Headmistress through the Great Hall and back towards the double doors at the entrance. "I thought those hourglasses were protected. You don't suppose one of the students…"
"Impossible," McGonagall said as they reached the Entrance Hall and she got her first glimpse at the cracked crystal of the hourglass. "No student could possibly tamper with any of the four hourglasses. They have been in existence since Hogwarts itself was founded." She stopped suddenly and her lips grew very thin. "Emmeline, if you please, repair or protect the hourglass to the best of your abilities. If you are unable to seal the crack in the crystal, make certain that no student is able to approach it." Without another word, she spun on her heel and hurried toward her office.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
Harry and the others received no word about the cracked hourglass in the week that followed; most of their time, in fact, was spent repairing the beams in the Grimmauld Place attic and, for the past day and a half, trying to ignore the crashes and howls from the basement where Lupin had, once again, been forced to remain after he had not been able to stomach the full week's Wolfsbane Potion for the second month in a row.
Tonks had remained uncharacteristically silent. After returning to the school, she had responded to their owls as she usually did, but her letters were rather flat and uninformative. Out of all them, this worried Ginny the most. She sensed that there was something happening that none of them knew about, but that Tonks had either been told not to speak of it, or was unwilling to talk to them about it until she had had a chance to discuss it with Lupin first. Between his illness and his transformation, and her busy schedule at the school, she just hadn't had the chance yet.
"I think we're done," Harry said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. They had cast Warming Charms on the room while they worked, as the November air outside had more than a little bit of a bite and the attic walls were thin, but even with magic the work had been hard enough that they all were rosy-cheeked and glistening with perspiration when all the beams had been repaired and put back into place.
"Right," Hermione said briskly. "Then we need to get to work, don't we?"
"Work?" Ron asked incredulously. "What do you think we've been doing for the past five days straight?"
"Ronald," Hermione snapped, "you know as well as I do that we've still got two Horcruxes to find and destroy."
"And I suppose you're going back to the library as soon as you can?" Ron asked sarcastically.
"No," Hermione said. "Not exactly. I think it's time we headed back to Hogsmeade."
"Why Hogsmeade?" Ginny asked with interest.
"I think Aberforth's been hiding something from us," Hermione said grimly.
"Aberforth?" Harry asked dubiously. "I don't think he'd hide anything from us."
"He might if Professor Dumbledore told him to," Hermione replied.
"Hermione," Ron said weakly, "Professor Dumbledore - "
"I know, Ron," Hermione said peevishly. "But I think Aberforth has something he hasn't shown any of us, and I think it's time we ask him about it."
"What do you think he has?" Ginny asked, shooting a quelling look at her brother, who looked as though he was about to argue with Hermione again. He remained silent, surprisingly enough. Ever since Ginny had saved them all after the destruction of the Hufflepuff chalice, he had been unusually nice to her, and his protests about her part in their missions had completely ceased.
"I think he has a portrait of Dumbledore," Hermione said. "I think that's where he's getting his information."
"Should we wait for Moony?" Harry asked, not questioning Hermione's deductions. He, himself, had often wondered how Aberforth seemed to know exactly what was going on at all times. Harry had wondered if Aberforth perhaps had Dumbledore's Pensieve, but a portrait made even more sense.
"He should be fine by tomorrow morning," Hermione answered, "but I think he'll probably need some rest. I doubt he'll object to us going to Hogsmeade, and he can join us when he feels better."
"I don't like leaving him alone when he's like this," Ginny said anxiously.
"What, when he's having his 'furry little problem?'" Ron asked with a chuckle, remembering that Harry's father had referred to his friend's condition that way. "Gin, there's not anything any of us can do about it, anyway."
"I know, but…" Ginny said, unable to find a good argument for that.
"I feel the same way," Harry said quietly. "We're just going to have to wait until tomorrow."
Ron's face flushed in embarrassment. He really hadn't meant to sound like such a prat. As he met Harry's eyes, though, he knew that his best friend understood that he had only been trying to lighten the mood a little.
"How about some dinner?" Ginny suggested brightly. "I've got a new recipe I've been wanting to try."
They all brightened. As unlikely as it might have seemed to them three months ago, Ginny seemed to have inherited her mother's culinary skills and had been progressing rapidly over the past week after borrowing one of Molly's cookbooks. She had confessed to Harry that she actually enjoyed cooking. She found it to be calming, and it was nice to be able to create something useful.
Half an hour later, they all found themselves seated around the large wooden table in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, clean plates, goblets and silverware in front of them, and a delicious-smelling chicken stew bubbling in a large pot at the center of the table, kept warm by one of Hermione's special, portable fires.
"Smells great, little sister," Ron said enthusiastically, standing to dish a large portion onto his plate.
Hermione suddenly narrowed her eyes at him as she realized something: Ginny, though she had been practicing for some time, had made her first successful meal the night they had destroyed the Horcrux in Hufflepuff's cup. She bit her lip and tried not to giggle, wondering if Ron's sudden acceptance of Ginny as part of their group was because she had saved all of them, or because they were eating well again after nearly three months of sandwiches and tinned vegetables.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
"Didja find anythin' out, 'ermione?" Ron asked, his mouth full of scrambled eggs, the next morning. Hermione had taken Harry's Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map and gone to Hogwarts the night before, not able to relax even though they had decided not to go to Hogsmeade until Lupin had transformed back into his human form and they had made sure he was well.
"Nothing I didn't already know," Hermione said irritably; she was never at her best when she had not gotten sufficient sleep, and she wasn't sure how to broach the subject of what she had seen on her way into the castle. "And don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald. That's disgusting."
Ginny barely hid a snicker underneath a small cough. "More eggs, Professor Lupin?" she asked.
"No thank you, Ginny," Lupin said tiredly, the bags under his eyes standing out as though someone had painted them on with fireplace soot.
"Are you okay?" Harry whispered.
"I'm fine, Harry," Lupin answered. "I've looked much worse, believe me."
Harry did not reply - he had, of course, heard his guardian make the same claim before - but he secretly wondered how much worse Lupin could possibly have looked without having sustained serious bodily injury. Lupin's skin was the color of parchment, and both his face and his forearms were covered in long gashes. Harry suspected that if they could have seen under his robes, they would have seen more of the same injuries on his chest and legs.
"Harry!" Ron said suddenly, surprising them all. "The sword!"
Everyone at the table stopped eating and stared at him. "Gryffindor's sword," Ginny breathed. "Of course! Why didn't we think of it before? Dumbledore told Harry that only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the Sorting Hat!" For the first time ever, Ginny did not cringe as she remembered that night at the end of her first year at Hogwarts.
"This was when you were in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry?" Lupin asked. He had heard the story of what had happened during Harry's second year, of course, but for reasons of his own, he wanted to be absolutely clear on what had happened. "Fawkes brought you the Sorting Hat, and you got the sword out of it. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Harry said, starting to feel excited himself. The sword would be easy to find; it still resided in a glass case in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Maybe this one wouldn't be so difficult.
"It can't be," Hermione said flatly, hating to contradict them, but not wanting to waste any time.
"Why not?" Ron asked, looking offended. He had been rather proud of himself for coming up with the idea.
Hermione looked at him kindly, her morning coffee starting to make her feel a bit more charitable towards the world in general. "I had the same thought awhile back," she confessed, "but there's simply no way Voldemort could have laid hands on the sword. It was too well protected. He would have had to breach the Dumbledore's office to get to it, and you know that wouldn't have gone unnoticed. All those portraits, not to mention the wards. But it was a good thought, Ron," she added, trying to appease him.
"Yeah, thanks a lot," Ron muttered, his ears turning red.
Lupin's eyes were narrowed. "A true Gryffindor…" he murmured, but nobody heard him.
"There is something we need to take into consideration," Hermione said suddenly, looking at them all in turn. "What we did last week had consequences outside of what we intended."
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, leaning forward. She had heard Lupin muttering something about breaking the bonds, but she wasn't sure what that meant.
"The Gryffindor hourglass is cracked," Hermione told them. "A great big crack along the whole length of it. I saw it on my way in last night."
"The Gryffindor hourglass?" Harry said, frowning. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would that have anything to do with us?"
"Maybe someone from one of the other houses broke it," Ron suggested. "I know I've wanted to blow the Slytherin hourglass to pieces more than once."
"Ron, no one could have done," Hermione said patiently. "Those hourglasses have been in existence as long as Hogwarts itself."
"You don't think when we destroyed the cup…" Ginny said uncertainly.
"That doesn't make any sense," Harry repeated, more forcefully this time. "We unbound the cup using Slytherin's blood, right? So why would the Gryffindor hourglass break?"
"I may have an idea about that, Harry," Lupin said contemplatively, "but I have a few things I have to check on first. I would suggest that you four keep your appointment with Aberforth today and spend some time in Hogsmeade if you need to. I'll do some research on my own." With a deep breath, he got up from his chair, clapped Harry on the shoulder as he often did, and said, "Be careful today. Harry, please make sure you are wearing your amulet and keep me apprised of anything you find out."
"You do the same," Harry told him, exchanging glances with Ron, Hermione and Ginny. He wasn't at all certain what Lupin was on about, but he felt an uncomfortable twisting in the pit of his stomach as he watched his guardian leave the room and head up the stairs. Whatever it was, Harry had the distinct feeling that he would not like it at all.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
Remus Lupin glanced around as he walked briskly down Privet Drive, dressed shabbily in a pair of wrinkled corduroy trousers and a frayed Oxford shirt, looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary.
As he walked, he noted that everything was as perfect as it always was: gleaming cars were parked neatly in the driveways of gardens, which were immaculate even if they were dull and brown from the winter cold. Windows were perfectly clear and clean, the curtains of most drawn back to let in the afternoon sunshine, and every few houses, he spotted a housewife peering through the window at him.
Everything was as it always was. Everything, that is, until he reached Number Four.
Lupin stopped at the entrance to the garden path. He remembered the house well; he remembered the first time he had seen it, two years before, when they had come to retrieve Harry from the Dursley's house to take him to Headquarters after he had been attacked by Dementors. Tonks had described the house as "too neat," and Lupin had privately agreed.
Today, however, no one could call the house too neat. Actually, no one could call the house neat at all.
The windows were filthy, curtains crooked and haphazard behind them. The lawn had obviously not been cut since the summer; though it was brown and dead, the grass was overgrown and weedy, and the flowering shrubs had already started to try to take over the once-pristine garden beds. The front stoop was caked with dirt and mud, and it appeared that someone, possibly the same teenaged hooligans that had once been Dudley's gang, had spray-painted some random symbols on the front door.
Blinking sadly, Lupin strode quickly up the walk, reminding himself that it was expected for someone who had lost as much as Petunia Dursley had to fall into depression and not care as much for the things that had once been important to them. He reproached himself for not having checked in on her before; regardless of what she had told the Order at the end of the summer, Lupin suddenly realized that they should have at least made sure she was okay.
He raised his hand and knocked smartly on the front door, noting with some discomfort that the curtains on the upstairs window across the street seemed to be shifting to accommodate the watchful eyes of Mrs. Number Seven. He knocked again, but he heard no sound from within the house. Looking around carefully, Lupin discreetly drew his wand from his pocket, holding it directly in front of him to reduce the chance that it would be seen. "Alohomora," he whispered, and he heard the front-door lock of Number Four, Privet Drive click open.
The inside of the house was no better than the exterior had been. On the floor directly in front of the front door lay a large pile of correspondence. With a rueful sigh, Lupin bent to pick the letters up, recognizing the bold typeface of bill collectors who were at the end of their patience. He had seen many such notices throughout his adulthood when, forced to live in the Muggle world, he had had difficulty in paying his own bills. Judging from the dates of the postmarks on the letters and the dark, bitingly cold state of the house, all services had long such been cut off.
"Mrs. Dursley?" Lupin called quietly, suddenly afraid of what he might find.
No answer.
He proceeded to the back, to the kitchen, noting that the furnishings in the lounge and the banister on the stairwell were covered in a thick layer of dust. Judging by the lack of fingerprints or disturbance in the dust, paired with the amount of unopened mail in the entry, Lupin was beginning to suspect that he was not going to find Petunia Dursley in this house; or, if he did, that she would not be alive.
A glance into the filthy, smelly kitchen told him that she was not in there, and with a sigh, he proceeded up the stairs. As he ascended, his hand on the banister released a large cloud of dust; one more piece of evidence that he would not find Petunia upstairs, either.
On the upper landing, Lupin stopped once again, remembering the night of the battle, when Harry had Disapparated from this very spot, carrying Petunia's limp, bloody form to Grimmauld Place.
The first door he opened looked as though it had belonged to Dudley Dursley. The floor was littered with brightly-decorated boxes and some silvery disks that Lupin did not recognize, next to a small television set with a pad full of letters and numbers in front of it. On the other side of the room, an unmade bed and a large television set with a wide screen were covered with the same amount of dust as everything else.
The next door was Harry's room, Lupin remembered with a small flash of anger. It was almost completely bare but for some broken toys in one corner and the blankets on the bed were old and threadbare. The room, like the others, was filthy with disuse, and he noted that the locks that Vernon Dursley had installed on the door were rusting through.
Finally, after discovering a rust-stained washroom with a dripping faucet, Lupin reached the end of the hall and the room that Vernon and Petunia Dursley had shared. With a deep breath, he pushed it open, not at all certain of what he would find.
It was empty.
Sighing with mixed relief and frustration, Lupin ran a hand through his hair, wondering where Petunia had gone. He believed he would have heard if she had been captured, but now, in the face of this empty and obviously abandoned house, he was forced to reconsider. If she hadn't been captured, then where could she be?
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
"Welcome back, Mr. Harry Potter," Kibbly said courteously. He was standing barely a foot away from the spot onto which Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had Apparated.
"Kibbly!" Harry answered, startled. "Don't do that! We could have landed right on top of you!"
"Kibbly is familiar with the Apparation points here," the house elf answered, ignoring the amused stares coming from Ginny's direction. "Kibbly knows Harry Potter is familiar with them as well, so Kibbly was not worried." His elfin voice, low and scratchy as always from the smoky haze of the Hog's Head, was kind and Harry was glad to note that he had once again donned his tiny white wizard's robes, indicating that he trusted all four of the teenagers.
"Kibbly?" Hermione asked tentatively, determined to get down to business. "Is there a portrait of Albus Dumbledore here?"
"Kibbly is a free elf, miss," Kibbly answered, sounding respectful but stern at the same time, "but Kibbly still holds himself to be honor-bound to keep the secrets and the silence of the great and noble house of Dumbledore."
"Of course," Hermione murmured.
"Where's Aberforth?" Ginny asked, deciding it would be wise to change the subject before Kibbly got irritated.
The house elf gazed at her, and Harry could see doubt cloud his eyes. Remembering how Kibbly had met Ron and Ginny, Harry decided to step in quickly. "Kibbly, you remember my girlfriend Ginny, right? And my best friends Ron and Hermione?" He gestured to each of his friends in turn.
"Kibbly remembers the red-haired ones," Kibbly said, bowing a little sarcastically at Ron and Ginny, who he had interrupted in the middle of a row in the garden several weeks before. "And of course, he remembers Miss Granger," he added, nodding his head more politely at Hermione.
"I think Aberforth's expecting us," Harry explained.
"Master is in the pub," Kibbly said, still looking a bit suspiciously at Ron and Ginny. "He wants Harry Potter and his friends to wait in Harry Potter's room until he is available. He asked Kibbly to bring Harry Potter and his friends a light lunch."
"That would be great," Ginny said cheerfully, taking Harry's hand and leading him towards the garden door to Albus Dumbledore's old room. They heard a small 'pop' from behind them as Kibbly disappeared, ostensibly to bring them the light lunch that Aberforth had requested.
"I don't think Kibbly likes us," Ron said as they trudged up the dark staircase to the room Dumbledore had used when he was alive. As always, it looked and smelled as though it had just been cleaned.
Harry, smelling the familiar, clean pine smell, didn't answer Ron at first as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "He misses Dumbledore," Harry muttered. "The robes, the room, everything is his attempt to deal with it." He was surprised that he'd never thought about it before.
"Poor Kibbly," Hermione whispered. "He's been with the Dumbledores for over a century, wasn't he?"
"Why does he hate everyone?" Ron asked persistently. No matter what Hermione or the others said, he could just not see house-elves as creatures with real feelings.
"He doesn't hate everyone, Ron," Harry said. "He's just really protective of the Dumbledores, and now because he knows me, he's a little like that with me as well." He said the last part more quietly, embarrassed by this though he knew it to be the truth. "Besides," Harry added, "he trusts you lot."
"Really?" Ron asked, looking suspicious. "He doesn't act like it, though, does he?"
"He wouldn't wear his robes if he didn't trust you. He'd wear his pillowcase. He doesn't let everyone know he's a free elf."
"He sounds like a bit of a nutter if you - "
"Ronald!" Hermione interrupted. "He's not a nutter!"
"That's what you said about Kreacher, too," Ron replied.
"What is it with you two lately?" Ginny broke in before the argument could really get started. "You sound like you did back when you were third- and fourth-years. Aren't things going well?"
Harry, who had noticed the same thing, turned towards them from his examination of an ordinary-looking mirror on the wall.
"Things are fine," Hermione said finally. "It's just - " She broke off, looking embarrassed.
"Just what?" Harry asked.
"It's just that all we ever do is work," Ron broke in, his face turning red. "We haven't had any time apart lately, and we haven't had any real time together, either. It's a bit wearing."
"We've got to, Ron," Hermione said sharply. "We don't have forever, you know."
"I know, but - " Ron began, but Harry interrupted.
"We all need a break," he said firmly. "I need one, you two need one, and I bet Ginny could use one as well."
"Harry, we don't - "
"I know time is running short, Hermione, but Professor Dumbledore once told me not to forget to live in the middle of all of this. He said we'll lose sight of what we're fighting for. Looking at the two of you, I think we're getting to that point."
"So, what do we do, then?" Ginny asked. "Go on holiday?"
"Not exactly," Harry answered. "First of all, I think we should split up and take a stroll down the High Street in the fresh air while we wait for Aberforth. After that, I think it's time we get our business done here and then head to the Burrow for a good Christmas holiday." He looked at Ginny. "Your mum won't mind, will she?" he asked quickly, realizing that he had just invited himself into their family celebration without so much as asking first.
"Are you joking, Harry?" Ginny asked incredulously. "She'll be thrilled!"
Hermione looked doubtful, but Ron went over to her quickly and took her hand. "Harry's right, Hermione," he said quietly, squeezing her hand with his. "Besides, it's not like we have anything concrete to go on now, anyway. A little holiday would do us all good."
"Holiday?" asked a gravelly and serious voice from behind the wooden partition that kept anyone from the hallway from seeing into the room. "Harry Potter wishes to go on holiday?" Kibbly appeared around the corner, holding both of his hands above his head. Balanced precariously on each was a large tray containing what looked like much more than a "light lunch."
"Not really, Kibbly," Ginny said, rushing over to take one of the trays from him and motioning to Ron to do the same. "Just a family Christmas."
To everyone's surprise, Kibbly's large, ugly eyes filled with tears as she said this. "Family," he sniffed. "This will be the first Christmas without - "
"Albus?" Hermione said shyly, not sure how Kibbly had differentiated between the two Dumbledore brothers.
"Mr. Aberforth, he's having no one," Kibbly said forlornly, wiping his eyes with an edge of the bedcovers.
"He's got us," Ginny said resolutely. "Kibbly, would you and Aberforth like to spend Christmas at my house with us?"
Kibbly looked up at her, his eyes glistening. For the first time, he seemed to respect and even trust Ginny, and his next words were gentler than any he had yet spoken to her. "Kibbly will ask Master, but the pub stays open every day."
"Close it for Christmas," Ron suggested, hoping to win the house elf's approval as well.
Kibbly looked at him witheringly. "Master never closes the Hog's Head," he said with an air of superiority. "How do you believe that Master finds out the things that he finds out? It has always been the plan - " He stopped, seeming to realize what he had been saying, and turned to hurry out the door.
"What was that all about?" Hermione asked wonderingly as they all sat down to enjoy the rather large lunch Kibbly had provided.
"No idea," Harry said thickly, his mouth full of bread, and they all settled into their food.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
"They have arrived safely," the painted version of Albus Dumbledore informed his brother lightly, settling back on the perfectly-brushed replica of the bed in his room at the Hog's Head.
"Good," Aberforth grunted, busying himself in the small kitchen at the back of the pub. Though it seemed an odd place for a portrait, after moving his brother's likeness several times, he had found that he himself was more likely to be in the kitchen than anywhere else. Besides, Albus spent more time in his portrait in McGonagall's office at the school than he did in the greasy kitchen of his brother's pub.
"I believe Hermione Granger has worked out that I am here," Albus Dumbledore persisted, wrinkling his nose as Aberforth began to cut a raw goat liver into slices, blood and bile seeping into the wooden cutting board as he did so. "Really, must you continue to serve food like - "
"Stay out of it, Al," Aberforth said good-naturedly. "This ain't Hogwarts, and my clientele ain't the cream of the crop, are they? Useful, though," he added as an afterthought.
"I am not in the least tempted by that," the painted Dumbledore commented as he watched Aberforth garnish the sliced liver with a handful of tiny rat spleens, a lemon wedge and a sprig of parsley. "Now, Minerva's biscuits, for example…I do wish she wouldn't eat those in front of me. They are so very tempting."
"This ain't fit for most people, but I got a couple of hags out there," Aberforth admitted, slouching and adopting the stomping gait he always used when there were customers in the Hog's Head. "Be right back," he grunted as he went through the swinging door. "Stay there, won't ya?"
"Indeed," the painted Dumbledore replied, leaning back on the soft, oil-brushed pillows and sighing with contentment. He much preferred this portrait if he was to be completely honest, but he felt honor-bound to remain at the school and assist McGonagall as much as he was able to do.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
Harry and Ginny split off from Ron and Hermione nearly immediately after they had finished their lunch. Donning winter cloaks with large hoods, they set out into the bitingly cold winter air and into Hogsmeade.
"You know, we really ought to start thinking about Christmas presents," Harry commented as they strolled quickly past Zonko's Joke Shop, trying to keep warm. "I want to get something for your Mum and Dad this year, something special."
"Like what?" Ginny asked curiously.
"I don't know. What do they want?" Harry asked.
"For the war to be over and everyone to come home and be safe," Ginny replied before she could stop herself. The wistful note in her voice made Harry's heart skip a beat. He stopped right on the street, relieved that it seemed to be empty, and pulled her into his arms.
"I wish I could give them that," Harry said softly, kissing her cold cheek. "And I will, Ginny. I will."
"Harry, I didn't mean - " Ginny began, but was stopped when he put a finger to her lips.
"I know what you meant, Ginny," Harry assured her. "Let's not talk about it for now. Let's think of the best present in the world, and we'll give it to them together. What do you think?"
"I know Mum's been wanting…" Ginny said, trailing off. "But it's much too big."
"What is?" Harry asked her, his eyes brightening. He would have given the Weasleys the world if he could have managed it.
"Her old kitchen," Ginny said. "I finally understand it now, what she means by the draughty stove and the leaky sink. I feel the same way about the Grimmauld Place kitchen. It's hard to cook properly."
"She wants a new kitchen?" Harry asked dubiously, thinking hard. "But why doesn't your dad just repair the old one? It would be easy with magic, wouldn't it?"
"Well, you know transfigured objects don't last very long," Ginny said, "and you can't make something from nothing. The materials have to be there. Dad's done small repairs to keep it all running, but it's all so old…but, Harry, she'd never accept such a big gift from you and you know it."
"How much would it cost?" Harry asked curiously.
"I don't know. A lot," Ginny replied. "She really needs a new stove, and all the countertops are cracking, and the sink leaks."
"Where do you get those kinds of things?" Harry asked, not ever having thought about shopping for furniture or appliances in the magical world.
"There's a shop on Diagon Alley," Ginny replied. "Magical Kitchens and Baths, it's called. It's on the end near Gringotts."
"Yeah," Harry said contemplatively, "I've seen it, but I never really thought about going in."
Ginny giggled. "I've been in there hundreds of times with Mum," she said.
"Would you know what she wanted?" Harry asked, getting a little excited.
"Harry, we couldn't - "
"And why not?" Harry demanded. "I've got the money; it's just sitting there, and I can't help but think of all those meals your mum cooks for all of us when we're there. It's not right that she doesn't have a decent kitchen."
"Mum wouldn't like it; it's too big," Ginny persisted.
"It's not," Harry said firmly as they continued strolling.
After a few minutes, they stopped in front of Honeydukes, the best sweet shop in all of Wizarding Britain. "How about some sweets?" Harry asked eagerly, fingering the small bag of gold in his pocket. They had been unable to purchase sweets last time they had been in Hogsmeade; it had been a Hogwarts weekend and the store had been much too crowded.
"Okay," Ginny agreed, and they walked into the shop, not surprised when they found Ron and Hermione near the large chocolate fountain, dipping wedges of apple into the melted confection and feeding them to one another.
"Looks like you two have made up," Ginny said, giggling. "Where'd you get those apples?"
"Would you like one, dear?" the small, elderly witch asked kindly.
"How much - " Ginny began to ask; she didn't have much pocket change and really didn't want to spend any of it on an apple.
"The apples are complimentary, my dear," the witch told her. "We had a right good harvest this year, and you can't preserve them forever, can you?"
Ginny accepted the apple, and the four teens dipped and munched on their snack for the next few minutes without saying much. Harry even allowed Ginny to feed him a bit of apple, well aware that he was blushing furiously as she did so. When they left the shop, Harry's pockets were considerably lighter, but they had enough chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, and various other magical sweets to last them until well into the Christmas holiday.
"Ginny," Hermione said suddenly as they passed the small, satellite storefront for Flourish and Blotts bookshop, "have you got all of your study materials?"
"Yes, Hermione," Ginny said, with a glance at Harry. "I just haven't had much of a chance to study."
Hermione looked stern. "Ginny, you've got to be more diligent! Remember, if you want to be a Healer - "
"I know, Hermione, okay?" Ginny said. "I'll get to work over the holidays, I promise."
Hermione looked like she wanted to say more, but a sharp look from Ron reminded her not to nag. Feeling much better, the four teens walked back to the Hog's Head in the late afternoon, ready to find out what Aberforth knew.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
"Aye," Aberforth conceded as they sat together in the back garden. Kibbly had been charged with letting Aberforth know if any customers came into the pub. "I've got Al's other portrait."
"You keep up with what's going on at the school that way, don't you?" Hermione asked.
"Aye."
Harry was wrestling with a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure at all what it would be like to have a real conversation with a portrait version of Professor Dumbledore. He had seen the one in McGonagall's office, of course, and had even talked with it a bit, but he had never had a one-on-one conversation with it. "Has it, I mean has he told you anything that wasn't in his notes?" he asked.
"No, lad," Aberforth replied sadly. "Remember, a portrait is merely an echo of the person it portrays. Al's portrait has knowledge, that's certain, but no more than he himself had at the time of his death, and all of that was in the notes he gave to you."
"Could we talk to him?" Ginny asked more bravely than she felt. She, too, had mixed emotions about conversing with Dumbledore's portrait.
Aberforth nodded, but Harry caught something strange in the old barkeep's eye as he turned away from him. "Are you sure, Aberforth?" Harry asked. It seemed as though Aberforth was rather sorry that the teens now knew about Professor Dumbledore's portrait in his kitchen. Harry suddenly wondered if he had been keeping it to himself as a way of keeping his brother alive; maybe he resented the fact that the teens wanted to prod the portrait for advice and information.
Aberforth turned back to them and forced a smile onto his face. "It's fine," he said gruffly, pointing to the back door from the garden into the pub. "Go on, now."
Looking at each other hesitantly, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione filed into the door and, following Aberforth's instructions, took the third door to the left and into the small kitchen.
"It's clean!" Hermione commented in surprise as they entered the kitchen.
"Yeah, Aberforth doesn't really like dirt," Harry replied. "It's all part of the front."
"Worked that out, haven't you?" a familiar voice said from the opposite wall. They all turned to find Albus Dumbledore's portrait, larger than the one in McGonagall's office, its occupant lying comfortably on a bed in what Harry recognized as his room at the Hog's Head.
"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed nervously; she had not had occasion to meet the portrait at Hogwarts, and this was something of a shock to her system even if she was expecting it.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied, inclining his head at her as he sat up and replaced his half-moon glasses, which he had set on the bedside table. "Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley and, of course, Mr. Potter," he continued, nodding at each of them in turn. "I see you have discovered my little secret. I will admit, however, that this kitchen is not where I would have most craved to be placed. The dishes Aberforth concocts! Well, each has his own taste, I suppose. Did you know that raw liver is actually quite good for the circulation? Why, Merlin himself - "
"Erm, sir?" Harry ventured as soon as he realized that the portrait would keep talking until someone interrupted. "I was wondering, I mean…we were wondering if we could talk to you."
"Certainly, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "You do know that my door is always open to you. First, however, would you care for a spot of tea?"
All four of the teens stared in bewilderment.
"Of course, I can't make it for you," Dumbledore continued sadly. "But you are certain to find a large teakettle on the trivet above the fireplace and several spotlessly clean mugs in that cupboard over the sink. I believe Aberforth has also stored some delicious almond biscuits…"
"We're fine, sir," Ginny said quietly.
"We've destroyed the locket and Hufflepuff's cup," Harry said, not sure how up-to-date the portrait would be.
"Yes, Aberforth told me," Dumbledore said gravely. "I am quite proud, Harry. But am I to assume you did not come out of either one unscathed?"
Harry looked at the others then turned back to the portrait. "I'm okay," he said. "But I was wondering…I mean to say…not that I would have wanted the others to…but I just wanted to know…"
"Why you must be the one to destroy the Horcruxes yourself?" Dumbledore asked gently, leaning forward, his face as concerned as it had always been. Harry couldn't help but notice, however, that the twinkle he had always found so reassuring was gone. He wondered if the painter simply hadn't captured it, or if the painted Dumbledore was feeling unusually grave.
"Yes," Harry muttered, not looking at his friends.
"But Harry, you are not the only person who has destroyed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes," the painted Dumbledore pointed out.
Harry looked up at him in surprise. "That's right," he said. "You took care of the Gaunt ring! But if you can do it and I can do it, why can't anyone else?"
"I can't do it, Harry," the painted figure told him solemnly. "And I never have. You must remember that you are not talking to the same person you knew. I am but a reflection, an echo…" His voice trailed off.
Harry looked away, his eyes stinging uncomfortably.
"We know that," Hermione said quietly. "But sir, you…I mean, Professor Dumbledore…could destroy a Horcrux. And Harry can. And, of course, you were a very powerful wizard…" She stopped, flustered.
"Harry has much power of his own," the portrait said gravely, looking at all of them seriously. "As do the rest of you - "
"But why - " Ron interrupted.
"I'm afraid I do not know, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied. "I received news of the cracked hourglass at Hogwarts. What do you make of that?"
"We were rather hoping you would tell us," Ginny said boldly. "Hermione said that Harry was able to destroy the Hufflepuff cup because of his link with the Heir of Slytherin. Why would the Gryffindor hourglass crack? Was it even related?"
"Remus Lupin is looking into the possibilities," Dumbledore said. "Suffice it to say that yes, I do believe it was related."
"Lupin said something about breaking the bonds," Ginny responded. "Was the cup that important in the chartering and bonding of Hogwarts?"
"And there we have it," Dumbledore said heavily. "Hogwarts was bound using four objects; one from each of the founders: a locket from Salazar Slytherin, the cup from Hufflepuff, an enchanted quill from Ravenclaw, and a golden dagger from Gryffindor."
"Of course," Hermione breathed. "Those items are the ones we're searching for. We've found two of them."
"But if they were so important," Harry argued, "why were they lost? And, sir, these objects weren't in your notes."
"Alas, Harry," the portrait sighed, "I myself was not even aware of the objects' continued existence."
"But you said -" Ron began.
"It was thought by many that the dagger and the quill had been lost, as such heirlooms have a tendency to be with the passage of generations over so long a time," Dumbledore interrupted.
"But you no longer think that's true," Hermione said slowly.
"I am not certain," Dumbledore said. "But it is a place to begin. Voldemort's choice of Harry as a the wizard who would pose the greatest threat to him combined with some quite ancient Hogwarts history leads me to believe that Voldemort was even less random in his selection of objects for his Horcruxes than I had originally believed."
"But where…" Hermione said. "They're certainly not at the school."
"I would suggest that you begin to trace the generational lines of Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor," Dumbledore said, taking his half-moon spectacles off once again and placing them on the painted table next to the bed. "It should be quite enough to keep you busy as both lines are believed to have ended generations ago."
The four teens looked at one another, stunned, as the painted figure of their former Headmaster unfolded his long form, lay on the bed, and dropped calmly and serenely into sleep.
Author's Notes: Okay! So here it is. This chapter fought me more than a little bit, so it took a bit longer than I planned. There is a lot of information here, though...even more than meets the eye, so I hope you read carefully. I'd love it if you'd review. I want the constructive criticism as well as I would like to know if some of you are still out there! I hope you enjoyed it, and 14 is on its way!