HP/LOTM: Visionary - 419

Chapter 419: Rising Tension, New Information

During their wandering, the three of them began taking turns wearing the Horcrux, swapping it roughly every twelve hours. It felt like playing a twisted, slow-motion game of pass the parcel.

No one wanted to be holding it when the music stopped, because the forfeit was twelve straight hours of sharpened fear and gnawing anxiety.

Whenever it was Harry’s turn, his scar throbbed viciously. The pain showed in his face and his body, no matter how he tried to hide it. Every time Ron saw Harry’s brow knotting, he would rush over, agitated.

"What did you see?"

"The thief. The one who robbed Gregorovitch," Harry would answer, frowning, always the same.

Ron would turn away, making no effort to hide his disappointment. What he wanted to hear about was his family.

Harry knew that. He desperately wanted some trace of the Order as well. But he was not an aerial; he could not twist the connection like a dial to pick a different channel. He was fairly sure Voldemort did not know much more than he did. In the days that followed, Harry’s scar kept burning. The cheerful blond boy haunted his mind over and over.

He learned, slowly, to cover up the pain. Whenever he mentioned the thief, his two friends grew visibly impatient. Harry understood. Everyone was desperate for news of the Horcruxes’ whereabouts.

Days dragged past. The tension only thickened. Harry began to suspect in turn. More than once, when he stepped into the tent, Ron and Hermione broke off their conversation at once. It left him with the uncomfortable conviction that they were doubting his ability to lead.

He racked his brains and still could only reach one conclusion: to find more Horcruxes, they had to go back to Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione shot the idea down every time he raised it.

As late autumn settled over Britain, the cold wrapped around them. Life on the road grew even harsher.

One night, they sat by a riverbank, chewing on charred fish. The gem at Ron’s throat flickered black again.

“My mum,” Ron said, leaning against the tent, “could get a proper meal out of nowhere.”

Harry’s eyes went at once to the glitter of the stone at his neck. The sight made him swallow back the urge to shout at Ron. Once Ron took the Horcrux off, he would be himself again.

"Your mum cannot," Hermione said. "No one can make food from nothing. It is the first of Gamp’s Five Exceptions."

"Try that in plain English?" Ron said, picking a fishbone out from between his teeth.

"You cannot create food out of thin air. You can only call it if you know where it is and summon it here, or multiply what you already have," Hermione said.

"Multiplying this stuff is the last thing I want," Ron muttered.

That did it. Hermione shot to her feet. A few chunks of fish slid off her tin plate into the dirt.

"Harry catches it. I cook it. Funny how I am always the one sorting meals out. Must be because I am a girl," she said, voice soft as silk and just as sharp.

Ron bristled. "Or because you are the best at magic."

"Fine. You cook tomorrow, Ron. You can go and find the ingredients and figure out how to make them edible while I sit here pulling a long face and whinge, and you can see how you—"

"Stop. Just stop," Harry cut in.

Hermione thought, for a second, that he was about to side with Ron and pile on. Instead, he stepped forward and clapped a hand over her mouth.

There was movement outside the tent. It sounded like other wanderers had met by chance.

"Who is there?" Harry heard a familiar voice. His roommate, Dean.

"Ted Tonks. I refused to register as a Muggle-born and legged it," an older-sounding man said first, giving his name.

"Dean Thomas. My dad died years ago. No way to prove my blood status," Dean said with a sigh.

"I was reported by Albert and escaped on the way to Azkaban," another man said.

Harry’s mind leapt back at once to the man he had pretended to be in the Ministry.

"Goblin. Griphook."
"Goblin. Gornuk."

Two goblins spoke up in turn. The little group made a fire just outside Harry’s tent, clearly planning to spend the cold autumn night there.

They shared out a bit of food and began to talk.

"Damned Prewett. If not for them, we goblins would not be in this mess," Griphook said, biting into a hunk of black bread and swearing.

"That Ravenclaw boy. Ginny told me about him. What did he do?" Dean asked, curious.

"Five years ago, Prewett opened the financial war with us. Forced us to let large numbers of wizards into Gringotts’ operations. Now You-Know-Who is using his position as overseer to try to make goblins submit," Gornuk said, when Griphook stayed silent.

"Have the great goblins been reduced to house-elves? Not a chance," Griphook said, stiff-backed, then shot the wizards present a smug look.

"And there is more. Some Hogwarts students tried to nick Gryffindor’s sword from the Headmaster’s office. The new Headmaster sent it to Gringotts after. I saw straight away it was a fake, but I never told the Death Eaters," he went on, cackling as he recounted his little revenge, secretly praying someone would run the real sword through Voldemort’s heart.

"It was Gryffindors, right? Do you know how they are now?" Dean asked, voicing the question the trio inside the tent most wanted answered.

"How would I know? I do not work at Hogwarts," Griphook said with a shrug.

"But they have probably been dealt with harshly by Severus Snape by now," he added, as if remembering, a slightly malicious smile curling his lips.

In the tent, the three of them tensed. Hermione dug into her beaded bag and pulled out a portrait from the old Black house.

"Headmaster Phineas," she called.

"Hm? Who calls me?" a figure stepped into the frame. When he saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s faces, he snorted.

"So it is you three little runaways. Well? What do you want?"

"We heard Gryffindors tried to steal the sword and were punished. How are they?" Harry asked for them all.

"Dead," Phineas Nigellus Black said at once.

Ron’s eyes went red. He snatched up his wand and almost bolted for the tent flap.

"Whoa, whoa. I was joking. They are fine. Severus just gave them detention, helping Hagrid with heavy planting work on the edge of the Forest," Phineas said quickly.

"No wonder you are remembered as the least popular Headmaster," Hermione said coolly, snapping the portrait shut.

The canvas still let out a muffled wail, but for once all three of them silently agreed to ignore it.