CHAPTER EIGHT

MURMURS

Part One

Harry sprinted up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower and caught up with Ron and Hermione just as they were about to leave for first period Charms.

“Harry!” Hermione melted with relief. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said impatiently.

“Did you get it, mate?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded, pacing back and forth in front of the portrait hole. “I just saw Malfoy,” he said at long last.

“Malfoy? Here?!”

“No, in Hogsmeade –“

“Probably with his Death Eater cronies –“

“No, alone.” Harry said and Hermione looked up in surprise.

“Did anything happen?” she squeaked nervously.

Harry shook his head and Ron swore loudly. “You ought to have hexed him into next week,” he muttered darkly, “filthy traitorous scum –“

“He was acting strangely,” Harry said, dropping into an armchair and noticing, for the first time, how exhausted he was.

“Hmmm…” said Ron, mockingly. “I wonder who he was trying to poison this time.”

“I asked him to come back to Hogwarts…”

“YOU WHAT?!”

“I did…” Harry said, feeling rather stupid. “It’s what Dumbledore would’ve done.” Harry reminded them about Dumbledore’s offer of amnesty, made to Draco Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower. “I think he might have accepted, if the Death Eaters hadn’t come,” Harry finished simply.

“Harry – are you crazy?” Ron threw aside his schoolbag and flopped into a wingbacked chair. “He tried to kill us all! He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! He was in league with Snape!”

Harry could think of no response to this. He leaned forward and peered into the fire, now burning low in its grate.

“The Malfoys have been in the news again, lately,” Hermione said with a frown.

“Yes, since Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban. He’s probably torturing Muggles left and right –“ Ron began, but Hermione cut him off.

“—No, Ron, he’s not,” she shook her head slowly. “He’s on the lam.”

“Of course he is, he’s got the entire Ministry after him!” Ron kicked off his trainers, plainly ready to forfeit an hour of Charms in exchange for an argument about the blatant evilness of the Malfoys.

Hermione waited patiently until Ron had finished his bitter diatribe before continuing. “Well, yes and no, Ron. He’s also running from the Death Eaters. Voldemort wasn’t too pleased with him…”

Harry nodded, realization dawning slowly. “Of course not – not after the fiasco at the Ministry of Magic!”

“Exactly, Harry,” Hermione said earnestly. “He’s probably lucky he was captured and thrown into Azkaban. It bought him a year’s sanctuary.”

“So where does that leave Draco and Narcissa?” Harry asked keenly.

“No one knows where they’ve been,” Hermione said in hushed tones. “So it’s really quite something that you’ve seen him in Hogsmeade, Harry.”

Something clicked in Harry’s brain: “The night Dumbledore – the night – you know,” he began awkwardly, “he said that he could hide Malfoy and Narcissa…and everyone would think they’d been killed…no one would suspect a thing…”

“But Dumbledore’s dead,” Ron said, looking dumbfounded

“And who else would have the gall – not too mention the means - to hide the Malfoys? And why?” Hermione mused. Clearly, she had completely forgotten about the Charms lesson progressing several floors below them.

Harry shrugged. “It might not be our side that’s hiding them,” he said reasonably. He could not think of a single reason why the Order of the Phoenix would expend their energy and limited manpower guarding the lives of their enemies.

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to have anything more to say on the matter, so the threesome lapsed into brooding silence.

* * * * *

Murmurs

Chapter Eight

Part Two

HERMIONE

Harry dozed off in his squashy armchair by the fire and Hermione curled up with her Charms book beside him. He slept fitfully, drowsing then stirring, murmuring incomprehensibly all the while. Waves of gratitude swept over Hermione; Harry had returned safely, but she could help but fear that he would not always be so lucky. Finally, she tore her eyes away from Harry and refocused on the Charms lesson she’d missed, waving her wand and mouthing the incantations so as not to wake Harry.

Ron crouched on the floor beside the fireplace, lazily prodding the smoldering logs with his wand so that the flames turned blue and purple in the grate.

At around noon, a Fanged Frisbee zoomed past Hermione’s head and landed in the violet fire, sending colorful embers sailing into Ron’s red hair. As he noisily cursed the third year responsible for the Fanged Frisbee, Harry awoke with a start.  

“What happened?” Harry asked sleepily, as Ron returned to his seat, spluttering angrily. His hair was singed and standing on end and the expression on his face was murderous.

“Stupid – third – years – what – the –” Ron fumed, unable to string together a complete sentence.

Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from laughing and when she trusted herself to speak once more, she turned seriously to Harry. “How did it go, Harry? Other than meeting Draco…?”

“Not bad,” Harry said truthfully. “I managed it, with a bit of help from Phineas Nigellus and Kreacher.” Harry recounted the events of the last twenty four hours in haste, and finished by patting the pocketed locket significantly.

“Let’s see it, then!” said Ron, thrusting out a hand for the locket.

“Not now!” Harry hissed; the Common room was still full of chattering students. “Wait ‘til everyone’s gone down to lunch.”

Ron sulked back against the mantel, running his fingers gingerly through his scorched hair.

“So Kreacher went with them…” Hermione mused, “…but who could the other man have been?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “Someone good at potions.”

“Snape?” Hermione wondered aloud.

Harry glared at her. “Snape?! – how can you even say that after what he did!”

Hermione fell silent.

“Too bad it wasn’t your mum, Harry,” Ron said thoughtfully. “Slughorn was always going on and on about how good she was in Potions –”

“Slughorn!” Harry exclaimed.

“But Harry, remember when you were trying to extract that memory from Slughorn? He was afraid to give you a memory about Voldemort…I can’t imagine him actually doing anything –”

But Harry wasn’t about to be put off so easily, “He could have done.”

“Did Kreacher actually say anything about this man?” Hermione asked.

“Kreacher just said he was ‘large’ - right Harry? - so, of course it’s Slughorn! He’s certainly no pixy!” Ron looked thoroughly convinced.

“I don’t know, Ron. I just don’t know,” said Hermione, shaking her head slowly. “Something just doesn’t fit. How was Kreacher doing, by the way?”

“Don’t start, Hermione,” said Harry warningly.

“He helped you, didn’t he?” she demanded.

“Never mind Kreacher.” Harry flopped back in his armchair and waited for the Common Room to empty.

* * * * *

Gradually, students filtered out of the Common Room and down to lunch, until finally Harry, Ron and Hermione were the only ones remaining.

“Hand it over,” said Ron and Harry fumbled obligingly for the locket and passed it over to Ron.

“Be careful!” Hermione was examining the locket suspiciously.

“Come on, Hermione – it’s harmless!” Harry said in annoyance, but Hermione wasn’t convinced.

Then, to Hermione’s horror, Ron slipped the locket over his head. He lurched forward at once, clutching his throat and gasping for air.

“RON!” Harry scrambled to his friend’s side, but Ron had already collapsed back into his chair, shaking with maniacal laughter.

“That’s not funny, Ron!” Harry snapped crossly, settling back into his armchair.

Hermione’s heart had careened to a stop when Ron began to choke and gasp, and now it thumped painfully somewhere in the region of her Adam’s apple.

Ron was still chortling and made no attempt to contain himself.  “You – two – the – looks – on – your – faces!” he gasped between spurts of laughter.

“It wasn’t funny, Ron,” Harry repeated firmly and swiped the locket away from Ron. “Ignore him,” he instructed Hermione. “We ought to go and see Slughorn.”

“I don’t know, Harry. Even if he did have something to do with it, you’re not going to force anything out of him without another bottle of Felix Felicis –”

“That’s it – Felix Felicis!” Harry leapt to his feet, running his hands furiously through his unruly black hair. “Remember what Slughorn told us?”

Hermione gasped - “He said he’d taken the potion twice – two perfect days!”

“Exactly!” A gleeful guffaw escaped Harry’s lungs. “If he helped destroy part of Voldemort’s soul – I mean, how much luckier can you get?!”

Ron, startled into silence, stared back and forth between his best friend and girlfriend - now talking and gesturing wildly.

Hermione’s doubts had evaporated. “Harry’s right, Ron. We need to go see Slughorn, it’s worth a try!”

“Never liked me much, Slughorn,” Ron said miserably and he trudged out the portrait hole in Harry and Hermione’s wake.  

* * * * *

HARRY

“Professor?” Harry stepped into the dungeon. Halfway across the room, Professor Slughorn, who had been mincing mandrake roots turned to face them with an ungainly pirouette.

“Oho,” he clapped his hands together. “Harry Potter! And Miss Granger and Roderick too! What a pleasant surprise!” Hermione thought that Slughorn scarcely looked pleased to see them; he was sweating profusely and appeared all too eager to show them to the door.

“Professor, we need to ask you something,” Harry slid into the room, pointedly locking his green eyes with Slughorn’s pouchy grey ones.

“So like Lily, you are,” Slughorn murmured distractedly, unable to look away from Harry’s blazing green eyes.

“Sir, what can you tell us about Regulus Black?”

Slughorn tittered nervously. “Regulus Black…yes, yes, of course…had him in my House, not his brother though. Like I said last year, I’d have liked to have the set.” He began rummaging in the Potions cabinet, rattling beakers together with unnecessary gusto.

“Is that all, Professor?” Harry asked politely, drawing closer to Slughorn.

Slughorn dabbed at his sweating forehead with the sleeve of his smoking jacket. He gulped and nodded.

“Well, if you can’t say anything else about Regulus Black, perhaps you can tell us something about this,” Harry reached into his pocket and drew out the locket. He swung the locket before Slughorn’s eyes, and Slughorn watched its course, mesmerized.

“Professor?” Hermione ventured.

Slughorn turned around abruptly. “No! Nothing!”

“Professor, please,” Harry said. “How did you –”

“It is destroyed – isn’t that good enough?!”

“Please, sir,” Harry began.

“No more!” Slughorn shunted them towards the door.

“But Professor!”

“NO MORE!” And with a final push, Slughorn succeeded in expelling the threesome from his room. The door slammed shut behind them.

* * * * *

“Well that was a pleasant little chat,” Ron said conversationally.

Harry slumped against the wall; he was sorely tempted to blast the door open, pin Slughorn to the floor, and pour a vial of Veritaserum down his throat. “Why won’t he tell us? What can it hurt now? Voldemort’s back in the open – anyone who knows Dumbledore or me is a target anyway–”

“Don’t say that,” Hermione whispered.

“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Hermione bit her lip. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many consolations she longed to offer. In the end, she held her tongue.

“We’re with you, mate,” Ron said with feigned disinterest. “Nothing too bad’s happened to us yet, eh? Well, Hermione got Petrified, and I almost got poisoned – kudos to you, by the way, saving my life…” He chuckled uneasily.

“And your dad got attacked by a giant venomous snake…and Ginny...” Harry’s voice trailed off.

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