CHAPTER SIX

“In Search of R.A.B.”

HARRY

Ron and Hermione returned from Transfiguration bickering fiercely. Hermione was very red in the face, her already bushy hair stuck out sideways, lending her a somewhat crazed look.  Ron looked much worse for the wear – his fingers had sprouted two inch talons and his nose looked somewhat beaky.

“It was a simple charm, Ronald,” Hermione said scathingly. “It isn’t McGonagall’s fault you’re not up to NEWT level!”

“Just because you’re so perfect –“ Ron stopped suddenly at the sight of Harry’s amused _expression. “Oh, hello Harry,” he said stiffly.

Hermione wasn’t about to be diverted. “Ronald Weasley! Don’t you think you ought to –“

“Hermione,” Ron sighed, “are you going to help me get rid of these talons or not?”

Hermione harrumphed angrily, but the next moment had settled herself beside Ron and pulled out her Transfiguration book to look up the counterspell. “Manicuris,” she said lazily, and Ron’s fingernails shortened immediately.

“Thanks,” he muttered, still nursing his hurt pride. “So, Harry, what have you been up to?”

“Well, I haven’t been turning myself into half-a-hawk --” Harry started laughingly; Ron glowered at him. “I’ve just been doing some research…”

“Have you?” Hermione studied him keenly. “What have you found out?”

“Oh, let him be, Hermione!” Ron exclaimed in exasperation, pulling a deck of Exploding Snap cards out of his pocket.

“Oh…nothing much…you know, the Horcruxes…” he felt his face growing hot.

“And…?” Hermione was tapping her foot impatiently.

“Well, Dumbledore said two were already disposed of – Riddle’s diary and the ring,” Harry paused, remembering the cracked ring and Dumbledore’s blackened hand. He hoped that the other Horcruxes wouldn’t have such toxic effects.

“You’re forgetting about the locket,” Hermione said sharply.

Struck by a sudden remembrance, Harry rummaged around in the pocket of his robes until his hand brushed against a crumpled piece of paper. He’d almost forgotten about it – the note that had come inside the imposter locket.

“R.A.B.” he repeated the initials, waiting for some burst of inspiration. “R.A.B. – we don’t know anyone by those initials.”

Hermione rattled off a list of names at breakneck speed – “Rosalind Antigone Bungs, Rupert Axebanger Brookstanton…” She cycled through them, as though turning the names over and over in her mind.

Suddenly, something clicked in Harry’s brain – “Regulus!”

“’Scuse me?” Ron looked up from his teetering card tower.

“Regulus – Sirius’ brother!”

“Of course! How could we have forgotten?!”

“But –“ Ron looked bemused. “—but Harry, Regulus Black is dead – Sirius said so.”

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently and snatched the crumpled letter out of Harry’s hands. “But the letter-writer is dead, too, Ron! See here – ‘I know I will be dead long before you read this’!”

Harry’s mind was racing. How long ago had Regulus Black penned this note? Sirius said he’d died fifteen, sixteen years ago.

“Harry!” Hermione cried excitedly. “D’you remember, when we were dedoxying the parlor - the locket! The one Kreacher kept trying to sneak off with –”

“– and when we had a go at it, we couldn’t get it to open!”

“Has it really been destroyed then?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“You don’t suppose Grimmauld Place could be home to any more Horcruxes, do you?” Ron asked hopefully, clearly feeling left out of the conversation.

Harry’s heart sank. The locket could be anywhere now, thanks to Mundungus Fletcher’s pilfering.

Hermione seemed to read his thoughts. “We could always ask Kreacher, he should know, shouldn’t he?” she said brightly.

“Oh, right,” said Harry dully, who preferred to have as little contact with the house elf as possible. “Kreacher?”

The house elf appeared with a pop and spun dizzily on the spot. “Master called Kreacher?”

”Kreacher, I need you to tell me about Regulus Black.”

“Kreacher does not speak about his former Master to blood-traitors and Mudbloods,” he said spitefully.

Harry resisted the temptation to strangle Kreacher; “Fine. Do you remember that locket…the one you kept trying to hide from us two summers ago?”

Kreacher pursed his lips.

“Kreacher!” Harry said warningly.

“Kreacher cannot say. Kreacher has nothing from his Master and Mistress’ house anymore.” He wiped his moist eyes on the hem of his filthy loincloth.

Harry cursed Kreacher under his breath. “That was loads of help,” he muttered sarcastically. For once, Hermione didn’t leap to Kreacher’s defense. The elf stood before them, absently plucking hairs out of his ears.

“That leaves us with one option,” Harry looked seriously from Ron to Hermione.

Hermione nodded stoically, but Ron looked clueless, as usual.

“I’m going back to Grimmauld Place.”

Ron did a double-take and Kreacher flung himself to the ground at Harry’s feet. “Kreacher beseeches Master –”

“You can come,” said Harry roughly, “but only if you help me.”

Kreacher nodded frantically, “Kreacher will oblige Master’s every –“

“That will do.” Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. “You two don’t have to come – I reckon I can do this alone.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“Don’t look like that, Hermione,” said Harry bracingly. “I’ll be fine. Grimmauld Place is Unplottable, remember? Even they won’t be able to find me there.”

Hermione nodded reluctantly and then threw herself into Harry’s arms. “Be careful, Harry!”

“We’ll come see you off,” Ron said, putting a comforting arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

“And Ginny?” Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione dashed up to the girl’s dormitory to fetch Ginny, and the two returned moments later. Together, the foursome set off for the edge of the grounds.

“Don’t reckon they have enchantments to keep you from getting out, d’you?” Harry asked, studying the heavily chained gates.

“Leg up?” Ron asked, bending over so that Harry could climb onto his back.

Harry scrambled nimbly over the fence and toppled to the grass on the other side. Kreacher slipped through the bars.

“Harry, oh Harry,” Hermione murmured frantically.

“Don’t worry about me,” Harry reassured Hermione, reaching through the bars to take her hands. Ginny drew closer to the bars and reached out to touch his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, Harry.” Ron said, though he looked nervous.

Harry wrenched himself away from Hermione’s grasp and stepped onto the winding road to Hogsmeade. He seized Kreacher’s grimy hand in his. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he thought, visualizing himself landing on the grubby doorstep.

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