Chapter 8

A Place to Hide

They were squeezed through space and time, emerging on a dark residential street full of shabby houses with broken windows.  The streetlights had just flickered on, creating shadows on the sidewalk.

"Are we...?" Hermione started to ask, her voice quavering.

"Walk, just walk," Harry whispered. He led them along at a brisk pace and minutes later, they stood on a patch of dying grass and watched as the battered door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place appeared before them.

"D'you reckon it's safe to go in there, after Snape...?" Ron's voice trailed off.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Tonks and I were talking about it just before --" he could not finish the thought. "Let's get inside."

They scrambled up the worn stone steps, nearly tripping each other in their haste to get safely indoors. Harry tapped the door one time with his wand, and it creaked open. The entrance hall was dark. Harry waved his wand toward the old-fashioned gas lamps, causing them to spring into life and cast a wavering light along the length of the hallway.

It was exactly as Harry remembered it: eerie and cobwebbed with the outlines of mounted house-elf heads throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of Sirus' mother. She must have been sleeping, as she did not greet the new arrivals with her usual tirade.

"Tonks said that Snape could come back here, but he couldn't bring anyone with him, or tell anyone else how to get in," Harry explained, not knowing why he was still whispering.

"Well, before we go any farther, I think we'd better check," Hermione whispered back. She raised her wand and said "Homenum revelio."

Nothing happened.

"That's good?" Ron asked, speaking in his normal voice.

"Yes," answered Hermione, also in her regular voice. "It's a spell to reveal human presence, and there's nobody here but us. Let's go upstairs where we can sit down and think."

She led the way up the creaky staircase and pushed open the door to the drawing room on the first floor. Harry lit the lamps in this room as well, and Hermione started a fire in the fireplace to chase away the draft. Ron stood at the window, fingering the velvet drapes and glancing outside every few seconds.

The three friends stared at each other. Hermione spoke first.  "What do you suppose happened?"

Harry had begun to pace up and down along the wall that held the Black family tapestry, banging his wand against his leg nervously. "Didn't Scrimgeour say last night that he thought there were Death Eaters in the Ministry?  They must have known I'd be at the Burrow. We should split up -- it's too dangerous for you to come with me, I knew it!"

Hermione and Ron both protested at once.

"Harry, no, we aren't leaving you."

"Don't start in with that again, mate, you're not going anywhere without us."

Harry stopped in his tracks and ran one hand through his already-unkempt hair. "I know, I know. I just don't want -- if we just knew that everyone got out okay."

"Yeah," said Ron, quietly now. "Did you see how they all went after Tonks? I hope she made it."

"Ron, don't say that!" Hermione chastised him.  "Of course she did. She's a highly trained Auror. Moody was there and half the Order. I'm sure that everyone is safe." Hermione sounded as though she were trying to convince herself as much as the boys.

"If there was just a way we could find out for sure," Harry said.

Hermione gasped and opened her beaded bag, rummaging through it. "Of course! I'm so silly. There is a way." She pulled out her enchanted galleon.

Harry and Ron exchanged confused looks.

"Er...Hermione?  How's that going to help? We already know we're safe," said Harry.

"What? Oh no, not us. I...well, now don't get angry but...I shared the codes with Ginny. She's so worried about all of us you know, and I just thought --" Hermione's voice was muffled as she found herself sandwiched between the grateful hugs of Ron and Harry.

They broke apart awkwardly, exchanging embarrassed smiles.

"Go on then," urged Ron. "Send her a message."

Hermione ran her thumb around the edge of the coin, rearranging the numbers. "I'm going to send her 'arrived safely'. That's true enough, at least. If she's carrying the coin, she'll feel it growing warm and know to check for the message. Now we just have to wait for her to answer back."

Ron and Harry pulled their own galleons out of their pockets, and the three of them sat, shoulder to shoulder, on the threadbare sofa, staring at the galleons.  They weren't likely to get an answer right away, Harry knew, but he was afraid to do anything else.  If he got up he might not be able to resist the temptation to Apparate back to the Burrow and if he said his fears aloud they would be all too real.  Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who seemed to be having similar crises.  Ron had paled beneath his freckles and clutched his galleon so tightly in his fist that the knuckles were white.  Hermione was tapping one foot on the ground at a manic pace.  Her dress made a rustling noise as she tapped.  This, and the simultaneous ticking of Ron's and Harry's watches, was the only sound in the room.  They waited, coins in hand, their worries and fears remaining unspoken as first minutes, then hours ticked by. Harry yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open.  He wanted nothing more than to stay awake, and yet sleep beckoned to him.  He felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, why was he so tired?  Was it the fire too warm?  He hadn't drunk anything at the wedding...

He was gliding along a twilight street. The buildings on either side of him had high, timbered gables; they looked like gingerbread houses. He moved with purpose and a certain satisfaction in his step. Everything was progressing as planned. At the end of the street was a low-roofed building with a small engraved sign in front reading: Die Handbibliothek. The door swung open before him. The building had but one room, and it contained nothing but stacks and stacks of musty boxes, piled up to the ceiling. Dumbledore and Grindelwald, he thought. Show me Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Sheets of parchment slid out of the boxes and wafted down to the ground. He reached for one that had fallen at his feet and felt a burning in his hand...

Harry woke with a start. He blinked at his unfamiliar surroundings. He'd been dreaming; something about Dumbledore and pieces of parchment. He'd tried to touch one and it burned his hand. No, his hand was warm now, that wasn't part of the dream. He looked down at his tightly closed fist. The galleon.

Harry opened his fingers cautiously. He hardly dared to look. The numbers on the coin read 2227; to his great relief, he recognized the sequence. Hermione's code for 'all clear'. 

Harry did not know whether to laugh or cry. Ginny was safe.  He turned to his right. Ron was on the far side of the sofa, his head lolled back and mouth open, sound asleep. Hermione sat between them. Her head was resting on Ron's shoulder, and her hand had slackened in sleep; her coin had fallen out of her grasp and onto the folds of her dress.

Harry nudged Hermione with his elbow; gently at first, then giving her a slightly more aggressive prod as she continued to doze.

She opened her eyes, looking around the room in confusion. Like Harry, she seemed to have forgotten where they were. "What is it, what's happened?" she asked.

Harry held up his coin. "All clear."

Hermione's eyes widened and a smile dawned on her face. She turned to Ron and began shaking him roughly. "Ron! Ronald! Wake up! They're all right, Ginny answered our message!"

Ron's eyes flew open. "Okay, okay!  Get off me Hermione! I'm awake! What are you going on about?"

Harry showed Ron the message and they were silent for a moment, basking in the knowledge that all was apparently well at the Burrow. Ron was the first to speak.

"D'you reckon there's anything to eat around here? Shall we have a look round the kitchen?"

They trooped back downstairs, but found the kitchen as dark and abandoned as the rest of the house. Hermione lit another fire, and Ron located a rather moldy loaf of bread. He and Harry tried various methods of removing the mold while Hermione scrounged up a pot, and filled it with a thick, red liquid that poured from her wand.

"Tomato soup," she explained. "It's the only one I can make, I'm afraid."

"I thought you couldn't Conjure food," Harry said.

"Well liquids are the one exception to Gamp’s Third Law aren't they? I can do water, of course. And wine. But we aren't having that for breakfast. Who wants a cup of tea?" She pulled cups and saucers off the shelf, inspecting them to see if they were clean.

As they ate their makeshift breakfast, they discussed their next step.

"I'll never forgive myself for being so unprepared," Hermione said.  "I should have had our bags packed and on hand, just in case."

"We'd have looked a bit silly seating all the wedding guests with rucksacks on our backs," reasoned Ron.

"Of course you wouldn't have been wearing them," said Hermione, in an exasperated tone.  "I could have shrunk them so you could fit them in your pocket, or put an extension charm on my handbag. I did that with my rucksack, of course, so I'd have room for all the books and things we'll need."

"Books?" Ron smacked a hand to his forehead mockingly.  "That's right, I forgot. We'll be hunting down You-Know-Who in a mobile library."

"We'll just have to find a way to get back to the Burrow, that's all there is to it," Harry said, heading off the inevitable argument.  "I'll go."

"You can't Harry, what if the Death Eaters have the house under surveillance?" Hermione pointed out.  "It'll have to be Ron. He's the one whose presence at the Burrow can be easily explained."

Ron looked up from his soup. He was not the best when it came to Apparition, and they all knew it. Still, Hermione had a point. Ron's appearance at his own home would raise far fewer suspicions than Hermione's or Harry's.

Hermione dug a bit of parchment and a quill out of her beaded bag and began to make a list. "You'd better just bring all of these, and I'll sort through them here. Oh and the book from Dumbledore, too. I hadn't even had a chance to look at it yet. At least we already have this one from Viktor." She tapped her fingers on the small book Krum had given her at the wedding.

The word 'Dumbledore' and the sight of the parchment made Harry remember his dream. He searched his mind to recollect it now. He'd been Voldemort, he was sure of that, walking along a picturesque street full of houses and shops. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain. He’d been looking for a particular building, one with a low roof and a sign out front. 

"Die Handbibliothek" Harry suddenly said out loud. 

"Hmmm?" asked Hermione, looking up from her list.

"Er...I saw that written down somewhere.  Do you know what it means?"

"Saw it written down where?" Hermione gave him a suspicious look. "You haven't been dreaming about Voldemort again, have you?"

"I can't help what I dream Hermione," retorted Harry. "And it doesn't matter anyway. Lupin's going to teach me how to control the connection between me and Voldemort, so we can use it to our advantage. Do you know what the words mean or not?" he finished, holding up a hand, for Hermione had already opened her mouth to protest.

Hermione closed her mouth and looked at him for a moment with a hurt expression on her face.  Harry knew he'd spoken too harshly; even Ron was looking at him indignantly, arms folded tight across his chest.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you. But Dumbledore wanted me to use this connection with Voldemort, I'm sure of it."

Harry outlined the conversation he'd had with Lupin, Moody, Hagrid and Arthur, but his voice faltered as he realized that most of what they'd discussed was pointless now. Moody couldn't get inside the Death-Eater controlled Ministry and they didn't even know where Lupin was at the moment.  Harry thought of the motorbike; it wasn't likely that Ron could bring that to Grimmauld Place via Apparition. And the Sword; Harry suddenly realized. Scrimgeour was dead; he'd never get the Sword now. A rush of hopelessness came over Harry.  All the plans and progress he thought he'd made were gone in an instant. He stared bleakly past Hermione's shoulder at the filthy black stove.

"It's German," said Hermione, softly.

"What?" Harry said, refocusing on Hermione's face.

"That word. Die Handbibliothek. 'Die' is the German article 'the'. A Bibliothek is a kind of library.  Does that help?"

"Not more books," said Ron, standing up and rolling his eyes.  "Give me that list, Hermione. Let's get our stuff and find out what's really going on."

Harry and Hermione followed Ron to the front door. Mrs. Black had evidently been waiting for them, as she began screaming as soon as they entered the hallway.

"Filth! Scum! Mudbloods and blood traitors defiling the house of my fathers!"

"OH SHUT UP!" all three of them chorused, aiming their wands in unison and sending a burst of sparks at her portrait. The curtains shuddered under the force of the triple spell, and Mrs. Black fell instantly and ominously silent.

"Maybe we blasted her out of the frame!" said Ron, cheerfully. He opened the front door of Number 12 and peered out. "Just a few Muggles. D'you reckon they can see me if I Disapparate from the steps?"

"No," answered Hermione.  "Just make sure you land on the steps when you come back, too."

Harry and Hermione watched as Ron turned and vanished, with a crack.  They looked at each other foolishly for several minutes. It seemed ridiculous to just stand there staring at the spot where Ron had once been. Neither of them moved to close the door. The sun felt good on Harry's face: it relieved much of the gloom of Number 12. Harry thought of Sirius, who loved the outdoors, Andromeda had said.

"How do you know German?" Harry asked, more to break the silence than real curiosity.

"My parents took me to Bavaria on holiday once."

"And you went to a library?"

"For your information, many libraries are historical and architectural points of interest." She made a face at him, but Harry knew that she wasn't really angry.  "Do you want to tell me about the rest of the dream?"

Harry was surprised to find that he did. There was not much to tell, however. Knowing that Voldemort had entered a library didn't make his purpose any clearer to Harry.

"You said he asked for Dumbledore and Grindelwald...." Hermione was thinking out loud.  "Of course they had a very famous duel. Maybe he wants to read about it."

"Why?"

"I can't imagine.  Voldemort was a young man when it happened; surely he would have heard about it at the time.  Maybe there was something special about the duel that he wants to learn more about. Some spell that either Dumbledore or Grindelwald used. Did Dumbledore ever tell you about the duel?"

Harry shook his head.  He did not want to admit that he'd never asked, either.

"Still, it's good to know that Voldemort is out of the country, isn't it?  I think you may be right about using that connection." 

Harry gave her a small smile; he knew it was difficult for Hermione to admit it when she was wrong. He stared at the floor, rubbing at a spot of dirt with the toe of his shoe. His dress robes were hot and itchy: he'd be glad when Ron came back with his Muggle clothing. Thinking about his clothes and other belongings made Harry remember his mother's letters. He'd left them under the spare bed in Ron's room and it didn't seem likely that he'd get them back now. Harry only hoped that Mrs. Weasley would realize what they were before throwing them away.

With another sharp crack, Ron appeared out of thin air, balancing precariously on the top step. He had a rucksack over each shoulder and carried one in his arms. He had a sticky bun stuffed in his mouth, so he did not speak, but simply flung the luggage at Harry and Hermione before turning and disappearing again.

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks of disbelief: both were too surprised to say anything.

Seconds later, Ron was back, this time carrying a large purple box emblazoned 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' and with Harry's Firebolt and Ron's own Cleansweep tucked under one arm.

"Give us a hand, Harry," said Ron. "This weighs a ton."

Harry reached out and grabbed the box: Ron had not been exaggerating.

"What's in here, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Everything they've ever invented, I expect," answered Ron. He handed the broomsticks to a bewildered Hermione.  "One more trip, be right back."

"Ron! What do you mean 'one more trip'? What else are you bringing?" Hermione cried, but he had already Disapparated again.

He was gone longer this time, and when he finally returned (carrying a large hamper of food, the Daily Prophet and a slender cookbook entitled Simple Soups and Sauces for Stressed Sorceresses) Lupin was with him.

"Remus!" Harry and Hermione called at once. Lupin tried to smile, but Harry could see past it to his grim expression.

"Someone's been killed." Harry said. It was not a question.