𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇

Chapter 35

“So shall I meet you at the Three Broomsticks after I’ve done this?” Harry asked as Hermione handed over the book. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

 “I... I’m meeting Ron there,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Will you still come?”

Harry thought about it for a moment as he tucked the book into his bag. “Do you think I should?”

She rocked her hand uncertainly. “Perhaps not yet.”

“Oh well, fine. I’ve got... um... homework I can finish.”

Hermione leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m glad you understand.”

Harry felt himself blush. “The sooner things are back to normal, the better.”

He watched as Hermione left the common room along with several other Gryffindors who were chattering excitedly. A moment later Malfoy came into the common room, putting on a heavy cloak.

“Not going to Hogsmeade, Potter?” he asked.

“I’m snowed under with homework so I’m going later,” Harry replied. “Besides, Hermione is meeting Ron and I don’t think I’d be very welcome.”

“Doesn’t the hero of the wizarding world have any other friends?” Malfoy targeted Harry with his very best Slytherin sneer.

Harry chose to ignore the jibe. “Enjoy your trip, Malfoy. Say hello to Mummy.”

Malfoy’s smirk changed very rapidly to a confused glare. Without another word, he left the room.

After a minute, Harry picked up his books and went up to the dorm. He stashed his own books away, keeping the Dark Arts book in his bag, then he went to Malfoy’s bedside. A quick unlocking spell later, he had one of the seven memories in his hand. He looked at the silvery stuff within, wondering if he really should do this. After all, they were Malfoy’s private memories – and who knew what was in here? It could be the memory of a lovely family Christmas for all he knew, or a Quidditch match. It could be anything.

But Harry got the feeling that Malfoy would not store just any old memory away. He was sure that any memory here would have something to do with his time with Voldemort - probably not a nice memory either. For some reason that he just couldn’t explain to himself, Harry wanted to see what it was like for him. He wanted to understand Malfoy’s mind, what made him make the choices that he had. He wanted to know if Malfoy was telling the truth.

With a decisive nod to himself, he pocketed the vial, shouldered his bag, shoved away his guilt, and left the room.

**********

Grimmauld Place was silent. Even the portrait of Sirius’s mother had been silenced by a permanent spell that made the painting as still and as lifeless as any Muggle portrait. Kreacher was at Hogwart’s. Not even the rustle of some magical annoyance disturbed the house.

Taking the book from his bag, Harry went to the room that had once been his Godfather’s but was now his own when he stayed here. He looked about, wondering if he should hide it, or, considering the various constraints that protected the house, not bother and just put it in the bookcase.

Eventually, he decided that it would be safe enough in plain sight and put it on the bookcase along with books with similar bindings.

Now it was time to look at Malfoy’s memory. The pensieve was in the drawing room where it had been placed during one of Kreacher’s manic cleaning sessions. Harry went downstairs and looked around the room. It was clean and tidy; the furnishings and curtains dust free, the heavy, old-fashioned furniture shone with a soft gleam in the light from the window. Now that Kreacher was happy and well-treated, he kept the house in good order. It would make a nice home if it wasn’t for the strangely oppressive atmosphere and the memories Harry had of Sirius.