Chapter Text
Chapter 1
27 December, 1997, early morning, Forest of Dean
“HARRY! HARRY! What is it? What’s the matter?” He could hear Hermione calling to him; could hear the terror in her voice, but was unable to reply. What he was seeing was horror beyond belief. It was sick. The bile was rising in him and he knew he’d be ill when he was finally able to break the connection. Finally, it was over. The spell was complete.
Harry was free, for now. Unable to contain his nausea, he fell forward and vomited. Everything he’d consumed that day and the evening before poured out of him. Hermione and Ron both stumbled backwards, shock, dismay and concern on their faces.
Purged finally, he could only rest his feverish and throbbing head against the cool of the grass. Never again would Harry wonder how certain spells-- the ones Voldemort was so fond of, the dark ones --were performed. He now knew.
The warm voice of Ron performing the cleaning spells was like a lullaby to Harry’s tortured spirit. He clung to it.
Voldemort had just split his soul and Harry had seen the horror of it with his own eyes. And the pain--even second hand--the pain was barely bearable. The process was excruciating, even for someone like Voldemort. Was being immortal worth that much pain? In Voldemort’s mind, it must be.
“Harry? Can you speak now? Is there anything we can get you?” Hermione was on her knees next to him. Ron came to stand beside them and handed her a scrap of material that dripped. Wringing out the excess, she held the cloth to Harry’s head. It felt good, cool and refreshing. After a few moments, he rose up and sat back on his heels.
“I saw him. There’s another Horcrux we’ll need to find. He’s split his soul again.”
“What?” Both Ron and Hermione screeched and leaped to their feet.
“Harry, are you sure? Why did you let him in?” Panicked, Hermione began the usual accusations.
“Hermione! I didn’t let him in! I was in him. I don’t think he knew I was there. I’m positive he didn’t know. Maybe in the past, but this time he was too involved in what he was doing to pay attention to anything else.”
“So how – I mean. What – Was it foul?” Ron finally managed to complete his sentence.
Harry stopped and looked up at him. “Well, based on the fact that I just sicked up all over our camping area, what do you think?”
“Yeah, umm, sorry mate, I don’t know what to say.”
“Just don’t. Don’t ask me about it. Don’t ask me to describe it or explain it. I don’t think I can. It happened so fast I almost didn’t see. Wasn’t sure at first what I was seeing.”
“Then are you positive that’s what you did see?” Hermione questioned, as usual.
“I’m sure.” He grimaced as he turned the cloth around to the other side. His face still felt hot and feverish. “There’s nothing else it could have been. I can tell you this though, the pain I just went through was nothing compared to what Vo – I mean he went through. I could feel it through him, feel what he was feeling. It was agonizing. It’s ten times worse than the Cruciatus curse.”
“Do you know whose? Any chance you may have seen what it’s being housed in this time?”
Harry shook his head at Ron’s question, but fastened his gaze on Hermione. “We both know who it is, or was,” he said.
“You don’t think... Oh Harry. That’s horrible.”
“What? Who?” Ron asked looking back and forth between the two of them. They had not told him all the details of what had happened at Godric’s Hollow, just three nights previous. In the excitement of the destruction of the locket and his return, there just had not been the right time.
“It’s Bathilda Bagshot, isn’t it.” she said. It was not a question.
At Ron’s even more confused expression, they quickly told him the events of Christmas Eve. He took it better than Harry had thought he would.
After their meal Harry sat without speaking, but he knew the others knew he had something he needed to say. They knew each other so well; they waited patiently for him to speak.
“I think I saw her death before, in one of the connections with him. I mean, I didn’t know it was her, and I didn’t recognize it at the time, but since we’ve been there, I now know it was in Godric’s Hollow. There was an old woman, Dumbledore old. He kept at her. Something about how the facts had changed and she needed to update her information.”
“The History of Magic,” Hermione suggested.
Harry nodded. He took off his glasses and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. Would it always be there? Well, that was a ridiculous thing to think, of course it would be. It was part of who he was. Nothing would ever change that.
“He seemed to have a memory of the place as well. My mum and dad were there – in his thoughts I mean - and me. It made him angry.”
“Anyway, this old woman had a book in her hand. The more he yelled the more she just shook her head at him, and said she would not make any revisions. She’d rather die first. He told her that could be arranged. Then he killed her.”
30 December, 1997, mid-morning, Hermione’s parents’ house
She grabbed what looked to be a small pamphlet of tennis instructions from the bookcase in her parents study. A touch of the wand and it increased to the size of a huge book, large and fat, just the kind Hermione loved.
Harry had had another brief but informative connection with Voldemort in the past evening. He’d shared that he’d seen Voldemort crossing a very large body of water and arrive at a destination that was very unpopulated.
Voldemort had spoken to one other person, but it had not been in either English, or Parseltongue, or any other language Harry recognized.
They had Apparated directly into the Granger’s living room for Hermione to check her sources. She cast a strong disillusionment charm on them, and instructed them to be as quiet as possible. Having the neighbors think someone was burgling her parents’ home was not an option.
Just as the book began its transformation a small envelope fell out. Ron picked it up and then chuckled softly. “Not much of an artist, were you?”
Hermione froze. “What?” she cried and slapped her hand over her mouth. She spun around. “What is that? Where did you get it?” She snatched it out of Ron’s hand. Her own hand trembled as she did.
“Hermione? Are you okay?”
“I swear I didn’t do anything. It fell out of the booklet.” Confused and frustrated, Ron snapped.
“How could I have been so stupid, so careless? I can’t believe this.” She sank to the floor, her tears flowing freely.
Ron looked stricken. Harry didn’t know what was wrong either. “Hermione talk to us.” Harry cast Silencio, something that should have been done when they first arrived.
“Don’t you understand? I was so careful to take everything away, change everything, Obliviate everyone and anything that was from me, that was part of me.”
“We know. We understand how hard that was.”
She turned on him. “No you don’t. What would have happened if one day my dad decided he wanted to review these instructions and this fell out?” She thrust the small envelope and the card inside at him. It was a handmade card with a child’s drawing of a large tooth and a toothbrush on it. It read:
“Happy 30th Birthday Daddy” I brushed and flossed extra special for your birthday. And it was signed, I love you daddy, Hermione.
“Don’t you think they’d start to wonder who Hermione was? They could spend the rest of their lives trying to figure out who this is. My mum might even think my dad maybe had a secret life with another family. Or maybe there would be just enough memory left somehow; that they did remember someone, a daughter maybe, but where is she? Where has she gone?” She was sobbing uncontrollably now.
Harry wasn’t sure what he should do or say, but he did know Ron needed to be the one by her side. To have never had a family was one thing, but to consciously and intentionally give up a family that loved you and you loved, that was just something Harry could never imagine. A choice he could never willingly make.
Luckily, Ron too recognized that he should be the one to offer her comfort. He knelt down beside her and wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.
Harry thought it interesting that for all their strength and courage and perseverance, it is the smallest things that can finally break them.
He sat and waited. There was nothing else more important than this right now. This was Hermione’s broken moment. Everything else could wait.
After a while she began more sniffling then sobbing. She wiped her hands across her face, saw Ron’s sodden shirt and half-laughed and half-cried out loud. “Sorry, let me get that for you.” A quick drying spell followed and Ron’s shirt was not only dry, but appeared to have been newly pressed as well. It looked better than it had when he’d first put it on.
“Better?” Harry asked her.
She smiled and nodded giving him a quick kiss. “Better.”
She picked up the large volume and began to read, flipping through the pages. “Can you remember what it was you heard? I mean exactly.”
Harry always found it an interesting, but not always pleasant, fact that he could generally remember most everything he saw and heard in his visions with Voldemort. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to go back to his “dream” from last night. Everything that had occurred and had been said came back to him as if he was watching it all over again. He nodded and began speaking.
It all sounded like a bunch of consonants clacking and thumping against each other like when the Dursleys would get a flat tire and there would be this thump, thump, thump sound, or when one of the trains he had ridden so often the summer after fifth year clickety-clacked over rails that were past their time. None of the sounds he was repeating made any sense to him.
But they seemed to Hermione, by the time he’d finished she had her finger on a section in the book and she was nodding. “It’s as I thought. The language was part of the original languages of the South America, specifically those of the Andes Mountains. I’m almost positive it’s Quechuan. Of course I’d have to hear more of it to know for sure, and do more research. Something I know we don’t have time for. But I feel very safe in saying that’s what it is.”
“I thought they only spoke Spanish there,” Ron said. “And how do you know this? Why do you have all these books on South America?”
“Some of the original languages are still spoken in certain parts. This is most likely found in Ecuador, Bolivia or Peru, where the Incas had their greatest influence. I wasn’t sure Australia was the right place for them. I thought perhaps they might prefer one of the countries of South America. Research was required.”
“Oh fucking great! That’s just bloody fucking wonderful. That really narrows it down." Harry snapped. "I mean we only had a small island to look for the Horcruxes here, and that’s been a total and unmitigated disaster. Now, we're supposed to go and look for one in an area that’s what, ten, twenty, even thirty times larger than all of Great Britain put together? In a place where we don’t know the language, we don’t know if Voldemort has any followers or if there’s a wizarding community, and we have no way of finding out. HOW IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIND THE HORCRUX THERE?” Harry’s anger and frustration and fear, fear that he was going to fail everyone, overcame him.
Probably fearing that his anger was about to spike out of control, Hermione put a firm hand on his arm. “Harry James Potter don’t you dare blow up my parent’s home. This is not your Aunt Marge.”
The picture of his Aunt Marge, bitter old bat, as she had flown down the back gardens of Privet Drive made Harry smile and then start to giggle. Hermione joined him as did Ron a few seconds later. Soon they were laughing hard enough that tears were flowing and they were fighting over first dibs on the loo.
She made them all tea. “Now, if you’ll let me finish what I started to say earlier. Since Harry also mentioned seeing and I quote: “Fucking huge turtles, turtles the size of a small car.” I’d say our best place to start is Ecuador. It’s where the Galapagos Islands are and in the mountains they do still speak Quechuan.”
Once their tea was finished she put everything back the way it was and grabbed a few extra books to add to the ever-growing mobile library in her bag.
The three grasped hands and Disapparated.
30 December, 1997, early evening, camping
“Oh, this is very interesting,” Hermione whispered.
Harry ignored her. Hermione was always finding something “very interesting" in her reading.
“Oi! What was that for?” he snapped after she had elbowed him.
“Listen. Professor Charlie Darwin, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor during his tenure at Hogwarts, was also a very famous Muggle scientist. When an opportunity presented itself for him to travel on an expedition around the world to study and catalogue the different species of the world, he took it. Two assistants from Hogwarts traveled with him. Their job was to document and catalogue any previously undiscovered magical creatures.”
“Darwin was a wizard,” Harry stammered interrupting her. They had discussed him briefly in Year Six at Muggle Primary School, his last year before learning he was a wizard. Harry couldn’t remember what he was famous for, but he recognised the name.
“Yes, apparently, but that’s not the interesting part.”
“Nice try Harry, but you should know by now to just let her keep going.” Ron rolled his eyes and then grinned at Harry.
She glared at them both and continued her reading. “Only one of the two assistants remains known at the time of this writing. Edward Potter, who suffered from extremely poor eyesight but made up for it with his clear and concise handwriting, was the one assigned with the task of making sure all the discoveries were properly scribed.”
Hermione held up her hand before Harry had even begun to think about interrupting her.
“Mr. Potter, however did not finish the work because while exploring on his own, he fell under the spell of a young, and assumedly, beautiful native of the Amazon. He did not return to England with the rest of the expedition, instead choosing to remain there.
"Mr. Potter did eventually return to England, but not to Hogwarts, when he arrived some two years later with his barely over a year old son with him. The boy’s mother had died of a disease for which they were unable to find a cure, as had many other members of her tribe. Mr. Potter and the son did manage to survive.
"A strange but persistent rumour is that many of the members of this small tribe had the ability to communicate with serpents through a form of sibilant hissing and guttural noises. It is a believed to be an inherited trait, but can and does skip generations. The ability often shows itself at unusual and unexpected times.” She stopped reading.
Harry could only gape at her. Could this be? Was this his family? He tried to remember what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised, his first year. Had any of those faces been this exotic native of the Amazon? He could not remember. There had been so many faces he had not known. Realising now, he should have paid more attention. At the time he’d only had eyes and heart for his parents.
“Blimey, Harry. That could be yours. I meant your family. It’s got to be. I mean the talking to snakes. Who else could it be?”
“Dunno,” Harry said. “I don’t know anything about my family, especially on my father’s side. Needless to say he wasn’t a popular topic of conversation around the Dursley’s, at least not anything that was the least bit positive.”
That night as he lay in his sleeping bag Harry hugged the information to his spirit.
31 December, 1997, early morning, camping
“You’ve had another contact with him, haven’t you?” Hermione questioned the next morning.
“It’s not a contact Hermione. He doesn’t know I‘m there,” Harry snarled back at her. “And how do you know it’s happened again?”
Before she could answer, Ron interrupted. “Mate, you still talk in your sleep, not to mention all the thrashing around you do.”
Harry ran his hand through his hair. It needed cutting again, but he’d grow it Lucius Malfoy length before he’d have Hermione cut it again. Not that she’d done a bad job, but he didn’t think Ron would recover if he did.
“What was it this time?” they both asked. It was a bit like stereo.
“He knows the locket’s been destroyed.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe he felt it. But he does, of that I am one hundred percent sure. And he’s angry. Really fucking angry! He’s even more intent on finding and stopping us.”
“Do you think he suspects that we know there’s a new Horcrux and we have a good idea of where he’s hidden it?” Ron asked.
“I don’t think so. After he finished screeching about the locket, he spoke to Nagini saying that at least the other ones were safe, and that no one even knew of the newest one. “
“Well that is good for our side. When do we go to South America?” Ron questioned as he began to gather up their belongings shrinking them down to size before handing them off to Hermione
2 January, 1998, arrival in Galapagos Islands
Harry wasn’t sure he would ever recover from the journey to just outside the small Baltra airport on Santa Cruz Island. The delay while they learned the coordinates of each leg of the trip caused them to not leave until late in the afternoon of first day of January. It was too far to Apparate in one go, and had to be done in stages. None of them having ever been there before they had to learn the exact coordinates, one wrong destination in mind could have been disastrous.
One thing he had learned; apparition sickness did not improve with repetition. Ron too looked exceedingly green; only Hermione seemed to have survived this latest bout.
Harry looked more closely at her. She had been just as queasy as they were when they had finally made an overnight rest in Western Canada, somewhere south of Vancouver. Unsure how far the Dark Lord’s influence may have spread outside of England, they had been careful about landing in more populated areas.
All three of them had had to spend a few minutes losing their lunch. That, plus the time difference, and accompanying jet lag from Great Britain to Western Canada had really upset their equilibrium. While he and Ron were still recovering, barely able to think of food again, Hermione had left them saying she’d be back in a few minutes.
When she’d returned she had a small packet of pills with her. She said they were supposed to help with Muggle motion sickness, and she was going to see if they helped with multiple Apparition sickness.
Ron, of course, had laughed and told her that nothing but time and experience cured Apparition sickness, everyone knew that.
Harry was feeling alright by then and had thought he might be over it. He turned down the offer of the pills. Turned out he was wrong; he wasn’t over it.
Ron was wrong as well and it happened that once more Hermione was correct. She seemed to get more pleasure than was decent over having the last laugh on this subject.
“Mate, when are we ever going to learn not to doubt her?” Ron said as he once again wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How many of those nacho things did I eat anyway?” A loud burp escaping as he asked.
2 January, 1998, mid-afternoon, Puerto Ayora, Santa Cruz Island, Galapagos Islands
They were finally settled into their hotel. Harry had said no to any more camping. He’d had quite enough of that, thank you. If a situation arose that forced them to return to their vagabond lifestyle, fine. Until then, he wanted a soft bed on which to rest.
There was no argument from either Ron or Hermione.
They confirmed two doubles. Harry was sure he’d be spending most nights alone, but they got the extra double in case Ron did something Ron-like and had to return to sleeping in the room with Harry. Hermione seemed to have forgiven Ron, and Ron was doing all he could to help that along, but things sometimes changed. They’d decided on the Estrella de Mar. It was an inexpensive small hotel and close to the center of town, near restaurants for their evening meals as well as clubs and bars for after hours. Not that he expected there to be much use of those. But if they found a chance to take advantage, they would.
“What’s the plan now?” Ron asked once they had all unpacked and taken brief naps. Jet lag was not pleasant and the time difference was brutal. Luckily the previous Apparition sickness had passed. They were starved; food was next on the agenda.
Settling back, each with a cup of tea, they discussed their plans. Since Harry had seen tortoises in his vision of Voldemort it was decided to try and visit all the islands that had a large tortoise population. After that, if necessary, they would visit the islands where sea turtles lived in case Harry had mistaken the one for the other. Finally, every island that had any tortoises or turtles of any kind would be checked out. After that, well, they hadn’t a clue.
3 January, 1998, mid-afternoon, a small unnamed island in the Galapagos Islands
Laughing in a way Harry had not seen her laugh for longer than he cared to remember, Hermione reached into her never-ending bag and pulled out a small camera. Harry recognized it as one of the cheap kind the Dursley’s had always used.
“What are you doing? What is that?” Ron asked.
“It’s a camera. I picked it up at the Apparition point when we arrived in Guayaquil. I’m taking a picture. We may never get an opportunity like this again. These are the most significant non-magical islands in the world.”
“Really?” Ron looked around. “Beside, that is really cute. Unusual, but cute.” She pointed at a giant tortoise that was lumbering across the terrain. A medium sized bird with the largest and bluest feet Harry had ever seen rode on its back as if it was a monarch and the tortoise its private, royal carriage. Harry half way expected it to start waving at its subjects.
He had to agree with Hermione, it was rather charming.
The three of them relaxed, watching as the giant tortoise made its way across the clearing. Hermione clicked away as it came closer. It took a while, but it moved faster than Harry would have expected. When it was about five feet from them the bird on its back seemed to notice them for the first time. It lifted its head and looked at each of them in turn. When it got to Harry it cocked its head first one direction, then the other. A sudden and sharp movement, it looked back at Ron and Hermione and then back at Harry. Its head moved back and forth in surprise, Harry thought, and then sharply forward. As if it wanted to make sure it was really seeing what it thought it was.
“Well, that’s a bit unusual. Isn’t it? You don’t suppose we’re the first humans it’s seen, do you?” Ron questioned.
“Got it!” Hermione said as she took the final snap. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” she said as she was putting the camera away. “Look around you.” She pointed to the few other people who had come on to the island from one of the tour boats. The bird promptly flew off the back of the tortoise and come to stand directly in front of Harry.
The tortoise, in turn, let out a small hiss and turned to lumber away.
The three friends sat gingerly on the ground in front of the bird, unsure what it was going to do. But it did nothing, just looked at them, concentrating on Harry. Harry had thought he’d be able to avoid all the staring he normally suffered here on these islands away from wizarding society. Who knew it would be a damned bird doing the staring.
After a few moments, when nothing else happened, they began to relax and talk, discussing the journey, their plans and what had happened at the Lovegood’s in greater detail. The bird appeared to be listening intently.
Eventually Ron and Hermione were ready to return to the hotel, but Harry decided he wanted to stay. It was peaceful and relaxing. When he awoke from an unexpected but wonderful nap some twenty minutes later, the bird was gone. Harry was strangely disappointed. He hoped to see it again. It had made him feel, oddly enough, comforted.
7 January, 1998, sunset and early evening, the same small island in the Galapagos Islands
Harry landed in the small clearing. It had become the place they Apparated in and out of when they came to the island. He had started to think of it as Blue’s Island in his mind. The bird was usually there when they were. He and Hermione had gone to some of the other islands again, looking for anything they might have missed, even going so far as to ask questions of those that lived in the area. As they could not say what they were looking for or where it might be, it was hard for them to get any real answers. Not that he could blame them, but he did hear most of them refer to him and Hermione as loco when they left.
One thing they had discovered. If there was a wizarding community here, it was well hidden and no one, absolutely no one had ever heard of Lord Voldemort.
Hermione had said she wanted to go back to the bookstore and also wanted to pick up some more bottled water from the super Mercado. Harry was to get Ron and they’d all meet at the hotel.
Once his stomach had stopped churning, Harry went in search of Ron. He could hear Ron talking, but who he was talking to or what he was saying he could not determine at first. Then as he got closer he saw Ron sitting on a fallen log and the blue-footed booby, Blue, was standing in front of him. Ron was telling the bird about their past autumn. About how the three of them had been running from a really bad person and about how he, Ron, had allowed himself to get really angry at their situation. He told the bird about the locket and the dark magic in it. How the magic affected him, made him feel it was all hopeless, and how he had left his best friend and the woman he loved most in the world alone. Left them when they needed him more than they ever had.
Blue sat and, as before, seemed to be listening; maybe that was why Ron felt it was okay to voice what had happened as well as how he felt about it. Ron kept talking.
Harry listened and felt for his friend. Coming back and facing them could not have been easy, yet Ron had done it.
10 January, 1998, 11:55 A.M., Machu Picchu
Nothing, Harry felt nothing. No pull of the Horcrux, no slight whispering in his head, no sudden blinding headache. None of the reactions he’d come to associate with the Horcrux. It wasn’t here.
Unsure as to whether he was more disappointed or relieved, he let loose a sigh. They needed to find it. What they were going to do with it once they found it, he didn’t know. He remembered the locket. No matter how they had tried, the only thing that had destroyed it had been the sword. He doubted there would be an extra one of those hanging around. Nor were they likely to find the fang of a basilisk, although that was probably more likely than the other.
He joined Hermione and Ron in gawking at the ruins. They were magnificent. Built with no mortar or cement, even now the information had said a knife’s blade could not be inserted between the stones. Wanting to test it for himself, Harry pulled out the small knife he carried with him. It was true; you couldn’t.
Ron and Hermione were arguing about something, as usual. Harry paid them no mind; that also was usual. He only paid attention when things grew heated, which this one had not, at least not yet.
“Hermione, of course, this place was built by wizards. Do you think Muggles could have done this?” Harry looked over in time to see the grand sweeping gesture of Ron’s arms indicating all of Machu Picchu.
“Ron, not everything fantastic and wonderful and beyond belief in this world has been created or built by wizards. Muggles are very ingenious and able to do things you can only imagine. Especially when kings or gods are involved. ”
“But Hermione, how can you even doubt--” Harry heard him start, and tuned him out. He didn’t need to hear anymore to know it would have the same outcome it always did. Hermione’s irritation that Ron refused to listen and Ron’s frustration that his own arguments never quite measured up to Hermione’s even when he knew he was right. Harry had heard it all before.
Instead he concentrated on enjoying the ruins.
Wait! What? Standing in the middle of one of the green terraces --the ones that looked like giant landscaped stair steps-- stood a tall and slender man. There was something terribly familiar about him. The shock of white blond hair and the pointy features which were visible even from a distance just clarified it. Draco Malfoy, it had to be. No one else looked like Malfoy.
He looked the same as he had two days ago, when Harry had thought he’d seen him at Easter Island. Now, he knew, he had. The clothing was different now. Malfoy was wearing a brightly coloured, hand woven poncho of purple and green and other colours which were less visible. There was a design on it as well, but from this distance, it was impossible to make out. It was very striking. Malfoy looked good in it. He was also wearing one of those black hats that the local inhabitants wore. Harry had no idea what they were called, but was sure Hermione would. The ends of Malfoy’s hair, which had grown quite long, curled along the nape of his neck, under the hat. The contrast between the two was striking.
Harry was not going to let him get away a second time.
“Hermione, Ron look!” he pointed at Malfoy, who looked straight at Harry. What happened next made Harry wonder about the state of the universe. Malfoy looked directly at him and instead of scowling or frowning, which would have been normal and perfectly understandable, he first gave a look of surprise and then, bizarreness on top of strangeness, he actually smiled at him. Harry looked around to make sure it was him Malfoy had smiled at. There was no one else. There was then a look of bewilderment followed by one of extreme disappointment, which was a reaction Harry was more used to from Malfoy, and Malfoy disappeared.
“Did you see?” He turned back to Ron and Hermione who were still arguing and had never turned to look.
“See what, Harry?” Ron stammered.
“It was Malfoy. I just saw Draco Malfoy. It’s not the first time either.”
“What?” Hermione said, “You never said anything.”
Ron too spoke, “That’s daft Harry, Malfoy’s at the Manor, or he’s back at Hogwarts after Christmas break.”
“No, he’s not at the Manor. I’d have seen him in my -- don’t start Hermione,” he turned and snapped at her, knowing what she was about to say, “when I have the visions of Voldemort. And since I’ve now seen him twice in less than a week’s time, I’d say he’s not at school either.”
“What do you mean, you’ve seen him twice?” Ron asked with a questioning scowl.
“Exactly what you think it means. I saw him first at Easter Island. You two were arguing about space aliens being the ones that brought the Giant Heads, or some such nonsense. I really don’t recall and it’s not important. I thought I had to be off my nut to think it could possibly have been him. But now I’ve just seen him again.”
“Okay, sorry mate. Well, where is he?” Ron began turning his head and then body all around, looking for Malfoy.
“He’s gone. Disappeared. Poof. Gone.”
“He Disapparated?” Hermione questioned.
“No. I’ve become quite familiar with that and that is not what happened. He literally disappeared. The even stranger thing was. He looked almost pleased to see me.”
“Then that couldn’t have been Malfoy,” Ron laughed. “Must have been one of those, what do you call it, dopplegangly?”
“Doppelganger,” Hermione and Harry spoke at the same time.
“Yeah, that’s it. Must have been one of those. So did he still look like the superior git he always was?”
“No,” Harry shook his head. “He looked sort of – lonely.”
“Harry. Now don’t be upset,” Hermione started which really, when he thought about it, was almost a sure-fired way to guarantee that he would be upset. “Are you sure you’re not obsessing over him again? You thought you saw him once and now you’re going to start seeing him everywhere.”
Harry sighed. He was right. It had worked. He was now upset, or rather, more irritated than upset. He made every effort to calm down, “Hermione I’m not obsessing over him, I’ve had no reason to even think of him here. I was right to have obsessed about him before.”
“Are you sure, he just vanished? Did anyone else see him?” Hermione looked around; concern on her face, that Malfoy had possibly broken the rules.
“I don’t know, but no one else has run screaming to the authorities which are guarding this place, like the Dementors guard Azkaban.”
The rest of the morning and early afternoon had been spent with Harry looking for Malfoy, while the other two had spent their time telling him he had been mistaken. He knew he hadn’t. It had been Malfoy.
Of course there had been no luck with the Horcrux either.
TBC.