16: Untangling the Web

There was little hope of an inconspicuous entrance after Ondossi caterwauled the entire length of the grounds, but fortunately the Great Hall had just opened for breakfast and only a few groggy faces had pressed against the windows for the spectacle. Hagrid's was among them, and Harry could hear his great booming laughter long before he threw open the oaken doors of the entrance hall.

To Harry's surprise, however, Ondossi was nowhere to be found. He had closed his eyes but a few seconds, groaning inwardly at the ribbing he knew was soon to come, and in that time she had simply vanished. Harry tapped his pocket reflexively for his Invisibility cloak, wondering if she might have nicked it, but it was there. He considered donning it himself, but he knew quite well that his entrance was expected, and the cloak was still a secret from the rest of the student body. Grunting in displeasure at Tura's mysterious, if timely, escape, Harry gritted his teeth and went inside to face the cheers and jeers.

Hagrid nearly plowed him over, rushing out the oak front doors just as Harry stepped in. "All right, Harry!" he bellowed heartily, clapping Harry on the shoulder enthusiastically but delicately. "Tha' was the funnies' thing I've seen in ages. Dunno how yeh got her on it, she's scared to death of flying."

Harry smiled grimly and nodded, feeling it unnecessary to acknowledge that obvious fact. He grinned and waved to one and all who aimed a loud remark at him, regardless of the content; playing it cool seemed the best approach at this point. He plopped into a red chair at an empty table and promptly wolfed down an entire loaf of toast and jam. Hermione presently sauntered in, grinning smugly at him. "The view from the girls' dormitory is simply amazing," was, thankfully, all she said about it.

Ron, it turned out, had filled Hermione in about their meeting with Hagrid, and she was quite interested in tagging along. Harry intercepted Hagrid as the professor headed out of the Hall, and Hermione followed from her neighboring table, snatching a scone for the road. On the way to Hagrid's cabin, Harry explained his other encounter with Ondossi that morning, and that she might be able to recover Hagrid's original memory. Hagrid frowned. "Gee, Harry, whoever did it--erased the memory, that is--might'a had a bloody good reason for it, eh? 'Specially if it was as tough ter do as Tura says."

They had reached the cabin at that point and were immediately aware of a considerable commotion coming from inside. Fang seemed to be both barking and laughing. Hagrid threw open the door in alarm, but it was only Ondossi once again; she and Fang were rough-housing on the floor, each looking most entertained by the process. "Hi, Hagrid," she chirped, attempting to get Fang into a sort of half-nelson. Fang simply put his head under her belly and flipped her off her feet.

"Hey, now, easy aroun' the new furniture," said Hagrid, though his beetle-black eyes sparkled cheerfully.

Hagrid had to shove Fang outside to restore some peace in the cabin, and the mood sombered immediately as they sat down to discuss the issue again. "I'm sure there was an important reason," said Hermione, "but Hagrid, without knowing who did it, we can't know if it was a good reason or a bad reason." Hagrid's jaw fell at that comment; apparently it had not occurred to him that his memory might have been modified by someone with ill intent.

Ondossi chewed her lip again. "I don't like this, Hagrid. Someone took the truth from you and left a lie. And not on just any old thing--on one of the most significant events of this era. Even if it was for 'your own good,' as they say, it's your truth, your knowledge. I'd like to look for it." She gazed up at Hagrid, genuine concern in her empty black eyes.

"But yeh've always said yeh can't do yer Legilimency on me," said Hagrid almost plaintively.

"I can, Hagrid, it's just an effort. Besides, Harry and I will do this together. He sounds like he's ready for something new. Your mind will be the laboratory for our experiments," she added in a tone reminiscent of an old Muggle monster movie, most likely from a character named Igor.

Hagrid looked back and forth at the two of them several times. "Well, I suppose whatever happened, there's little sense in keepin' it hidden anymore. 'Specially if it might'a been the other side that hid it. All right," he said in grim resolution. "What'll I need to do, then?"

"Just sit there and look beautiful," Ondossi said with a wink, but then her smile disappeared. She put her elbow on the table and leaned on it a moment, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"Here's the deal," she said abruptly. "Memories can't be erased. Each one represents a change in the brain itself, in the structure of its cells. The only way to erase them is with tissue damage. But even that's not easy. Memories aren't just stuffed into one cell like sardines in a tin. They're made of connections, how one cell reacts with another with the touch of a particular dendrite. Thousands, maybe millions of cells each hold part of any given memory. Really important things like your name have an anchor in every single cell; the only way to erase them is to kill the entire brain.

"But memories can be ignored. That's also built in. Think of how many things happen to you in a day--every touch, every sound, everything you see, smell... You don't even notice most of them. You don't remember every footstep, but you know you've gone for a walk, that sort of thing. That's one way to hide a memory--to reclassify it as 'just one of those things,' too unimportant to bring to the surface." She turned to Hagrid. "Are you ready for this?"

Hagrid squared his shoulders. "Aw, it can't be all that bad," he said gamely.

"All right, well, open him up, Harry, and we'll see what we can find."

Harry nodded and motioned to Hagrid to come closer. He grinned encouragingly at Hagrid and set his hand gently on his friend's forehead.

Harry was able to head straight to the memory of interest without even having to get his bearings. He ran through it, wondering if Tura was keeping up with him. Harry became dimly aware of Tura knitting her fingers with his own on Hagrid's brow, but he had no sense of her presence in Hagrid's mind until her words formed.

"Show me the gaps." Harry called the memory forth slowly, spotting even more inconsistencies than the first time--for one thing, the baby (himself!) was wrapped in one blanket when he was pulled from the wreckage, and a completely different blanket when he was presented to Dumbledore. Unless Sirius had routinely kept a fleecy blanket with teddy bears on his chopper, there was no explanation for this change.

As Harry watched, the memory slowed of its own apparent accord, though he suspected Tura must be doing it. Hagrid glanced away from the baby wrapped in a yellow blanket, then it was blue with teddy bears the next time he looked.

The blanket seemed to grow, filling the entirety of Harry's vision as though it had been placed over his head, and yet not so, because it seemed to grow dimmer or thinner. It felt almost as though he was using Occlumency to push back out of Hagrid's consciousness, yet it seemed he was getting closer to the memory, if anything. Harry could feel Hagrid's forehead, Tura's fingers--he was slipping out of Legilimency, and yet the blanket was all he could see. He broke out in a cold sweat after a sudden rush of vertigo; the discrepancy between the vision of his mind's eye and the feelings from his nerves disoriented him. For a moment, Harry's knees became so wobbly he nearly had to break the link to steady himself.

Suddenly the blanket shrank away and Harry was gazing down at Sirius Black from Hagrid's height. He didn't know if they were in Godric's Hollow anymore, but they were certainly not at the site of his parents' home. Sirius had been crying and looked quite worn, but Harry could see the determination in his bearing. This was the man who would track down and confront Peter Pettigrew and be blamed for the Potters' murder, all within the next twenty-four hours. Harry had to fight the urge to call to him from the future, to warn Sirius of the extent of Wormtail's treachery, to save him from his inevitable fate.

"I don't want to give him up, Hagrid," said Sirius. "But you're right. There's something I need to take care of, and little Harry can't go with me." Don't do it, Sirius. It won't bring them back. Sirius looked up at Hagrid. "Did you say you came here on a thestral?"

A thestral? What thestral? Where are they? Harry thought. Tura seemed to recognize that this was only a fraction of the missing piece, as Sirius's face abruptly disappeared, replaced by the destruction in Godric's Hollow. Hagrid was speaking. "Maybe he oughter come with me, to Hogwarts. Dumbledore might--"

"I'LL take him!" said Sirius, glaring at Hagrid with such strength and defiance that the giant flinched. Harry thought that Sirius looked almost as powerful as Dumbledore at that moment; a fearsome wizard, no longer the boy Harry had seen in the Pensieve toying with Snape, not yet the emaciated shadow that would emerge years later from the horrors of Azkaban. "I'm his godfather. I'm all he has left. He's all I--" Sirius's throat constricted, apparently from grief, and he began stuffing the baby into his leather jacket.

Harry heard Tura again. "It's there now. Study if you wish. I'm leaving." Harry needed no further prompting.

Harry patted Hermione when he remembered how to raise his arm, to thank her for staying with him all afternoon in the cabin. He had no idea when Ondossi had left, and vaguely recalled Hagrid announcing he needed a long walk and departing some time earlier. He wasn't ready to speak for another hour, and by the time the numbness completely wore off, it was nearly dinner time.

Harry held off describing what he'd seen until he, Ron, and Hermione were gathered comfortably around the hearth in the common room. "It's almost worse, knowing Hagrid's full memory," he concluded miserably. "I mean, what did we learn? We already knew that Sirius carried me off on the motorcycle, Everett told us that!"

Hermione peered at him reproachfully. "Now, Harry, you can't get all unwound because Hagrid didn't have all the answers on a silver platter. You may not have learned everything, but you learned a lot. You learned that Sirius took you to Wales. You spent nearly twenty-four hours with him there. Now that you have a place to look, maybe someday you can snoop around a bit, like we did in the Hollow. Sirius must have picked Gwynedd for a reason; maybe there's still someone there that knows it."

Harry didn't find her comments particularly comforting. "Yeah, another mystery," he grumbled. "I may or may not live long enough to solve it. We were just unspeakably lucky that it happened to be Everett walking by that night in the Hollow, you know. If it were anyone else in town, we never would have known about the Ministry car, or Sirius keeping me. You think we're going to have that same kind of luck in Gwynedd?"

"That's not true at all, Harry! We would have tried harder at the Green Dragon until Uther talked to us," said Hermione. "Or maybe we would have needed more time to learn what we wanted. I expected all along that we'd have to comb through Muggle records to find your parents' old address, and then chat with the neighbors on all sides until we found one that knew what happened. Which would have put us at the Gamidges' doorstep anyway, it just would have taken a bit more work and time."

Harry stared at the tabletop, sulking, until Hermione sniffed in annoyance. "Honestly, Harry. You get discouraged too easily. You know, Lupin may already know the connection Sirius had to Gwynedd. Maybe he had a relative there--perhaps that uncle that took him in when his parents disowned him? And if Lupin doesn't know, maybe we can find the answer in some of Sirius's papers--Lupin kept everything Sirius owned up in the attic. It will just take a little legwork... Harry?"

Hermione abruptly stopped speaking. Ron, who had been ignoring her in favor of watching the fire, noticed the unexpected quiet and looked up. Harry was gripping the edge of the table with both hands turning white from the tension, and staring fixedly off into space. "What is it?" asked Ron, his brows drawn in concern.

"The attic. Of course. Hermione, you're brilliant!" Harry looked up at them with rekindled excitement.

"Oh, great, encourage her," grumbled Ron. Hermione cast a dagger at him with her eyes, but then they regarded one another and shrugged; neither had any idea what Harry was going on about.

"Lupin put everything in the attic," said Harry. "He even told me so himself, gah, how could I have forgotten? Come on, we're going there right now." Harry leapt to his feet and headed for the fireplace, but stopped and whirled back around to face them. "Drat! I forgot, school's in session, the Floo won't work. We'll have to Apparate."

Ron and Hermione didn't budge. "Harry, what are you thinking?" said Ron. "It's after dark, and you not only want to leave the castle, but the grounds? Unless your Cloak has suddenly grown, how are we supposed to get past Filch?"

"Oh, who cares for Filch?" Harry said crossly. "This is much more important than some stupid curfew."

"What is, Harry?" said Hermione. "You haven't even told us what you want to do!"

Harry sighed impatiently, but sat back down at last. "The mirror. Sirius's mirror... the mate of the one we fixed. Lupin put it away, he said so. It must be in the attic with everything else." Ron and Hermione continued to stare at him so vacuously he wondered if he had accidentally spoken in Parseltongue. "Don't you see? We might not have to snoop around to find out what Sirius did that night. Maybe we can get it straight from him!"

Both Ron and Hermione rolled their eyes at this proposal; Harry expected as much from Hermione, but he was ready to kick Ron in the shins. To his further dismay, it was Ron who spoke up first to dissuade him.

"Harry, you know I'm always right there with you, but mate, you need to think this through. Assuming we can get off the grounds without getting caught, and manage to find this thing in Headquarters, AND get into the Ministry (which is the second-most guarded place in the UK after Hogwarts, since the attacks), it's a very, very, very long stretch that Sirius will... that this plan will work. That's a lot of risk and effort, Harry, for something that stands a good chance of going nowhere."

Harry smacked the tabletop with his fist and jumped up, but even as he pushed his chair back, he realized he had nowhere to go. Ron was right. The odds of it working were astronomically low, while the obstacles to get there were both large and numerous. He exhaled, closing his eyes and trying to think calmly.

"All right," he finally said, returning to his seat for the third time in five minutes. "It can wait until tomorrow. We get permission from Hagrid to leave the grounds first thing in the morning, then head to London--"

"Where we can spend a whole Sunday in a dusty old attic, just after spending Saturday in Hagrid's cabin," said Hermione crossly. "I have a better idea. Why don't we wait until the next time Lupin checks in, and then ask where the mirror is. Perhaps he can even bring it here. Then at least we can face the Ministry with a fresh start--although Merlin forbid we make up a plan for getting in the building... Hello? Harry?" He was staring off into space with a look of inspired concentration once again, but when she called his name, he turned to her with an even wider smile than the first time.

"We don't need to get it ourselves, or ask Lupin. Kreacher can do it!" Hermione glowered at him, but Harry ignored it. "Come on, you know he's got a tally of every little thing in that house now, after that business with Mundungus Fletcher. Think of it as: now we don't have to bother poor Remus. Kreacher," Harry called out to thin air. "Come here! Can you hear me? Kreacher!"

There was no appearance, no reply, no acknowledgement of any kind. Harry frowned, glancing between Ron and Hermione. Ron shrugged, but Hermione wouldn't even look at him. "Well that's odd, isn't it," said Harry, quite stunned that the house-elf did not show up immediately. "Think we ought to nip off to the kitchen, then?" he asked Ron.

Ron nodded gamely, then patted his belly. "Could pick up a little cake or something for later, too. What about you, Hermione?"

Neither expected her to come along, or even answer them for that matter, given her opinion on the rights of house-elves. However, she crossed her arms and leveled them both with an angry glare. "You're wasting your time, you know. Even if you can find him, he won't obey you. He doesn't have to anymore. You're not the Master of The Most Noble House of Black anymore, Harry. Remember? You gave it to Lupin--and Kreacher went with it." Hermione grimaced in distaste at the whole notion, then sat back into her armchair with an angry huff and resumed ignoring them.

"Oops," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I forgot about all that." He slumped in his chair.

Ron looked up with a sly grin. "Imagine--Lupin owns a house elf, and the Malfoys don't. What's the world coming to, eh?"

Now Ron received the delighted grin that had twice been given to Hermione. He caught on immediately; Harry and Ron said "Dobby!" at the same time.

There was a loud crack, and Dobby appeared promptly, wearing, to their surprise, a sweater that was obviously knitted by Ron's mother. "Harry Potter! Dobby is so happy you called! It has been ages since Dobby has visited his best friend, Harry Potter!"

The sudden appearance of a house-elf in the middle of the common room produced an immediate hush among all present, and Dobby's exuberant greeting carried to every corner. Harry shrank in his chair and motioned to Dobby to keep his voice down. Dobby understood and leaned in conspiratorially, with the result that all they could see of him were his big bulbous eyes peering over the tabletop. A muffled "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter?" issued up from around their knees.

"Hi, Dobby," said Harry quietly. "We were wondering if you could lend a hand with something." Dobby's eyes somehow managed to grow even wider, and Harry quickly brought a finger to his lips, in anticipation of another loud, enthusiastic outburst from the elf. The eyeballs began bobbing up and down gleefully, but made no sound.

"I'm not sure what exactly you can do," said Harry, thinking hard. "Here's the rub: We need to find something that belonged to Sirius. I know it's somewhere at Headquarters, probably the attic. Kreacher would undoubtedly know, but I don't... I don't think he'll cooperate with me. I was wondering--" Harry paused. Dobby was already shaking his head, something Harry had never seen him do before. Hermione had taken an immediate interest in this apparent refusal, but Harry could tell by the dejected look in Dobby's eyes that there was more to it than a simple "no." "What is it, Dobby?" he asked gravely.

Dobby was so upset his ears drooped, making him look like a drowned rabbit more than anything else. "Oh, Harry Potter," he said mournfully, "Dobby would gladly do anything for his friend, but no one can speak to Kreacher any more. Kreacher is dead."

"Dead?" gulped Harry. "What happened?"

Dobby shrugged, his shoulders poking briefly up over the tabletop. "Kreacher was very old. One night after his supper, Kreacher went to his nest off the kitchens, and did not wake up again. That is the usual way with my kind, Harry Potter."

Harry felt rather disconcerted, although he was not saddened by the news. Kreacher had schemed with the Malfoys, betrayed the Order, and set into motion the events that led to Sirius's death, and Harry had never forgiven him for that. Nonetheless, Dumbledore had impressed upon him a sense of responsibility for Kreacher, and it was giving him a nagging sense of guilt. Harry hadn't even realized he'd passed Kreacher on to Lupin, much less that the elf was dead, and he felt as though he'd failed somehow as a caretaker.

"When did this happen?" Harry asked Dobby somberly.

Dobby's eyes tipped upward as he concentrated. "Let Dobby think a moment... It was June, the third week... June 19?" He peeked around anxiously, as though worried he had offended Harry by hesitating.

Harry's stomach turned to lead for a moment. He recalled his brief intention to summon Kreacher to cook dinner for him back on Privet Drive; the elf had been dead for a month at that point. Well, it's not like he would have known--or cared--if I died, thought Harry stubbornly, but it didn't make him feel any better.

"Well, I guess that shoots down that plan," said Ron. "Any other ideas?"

Hermione thwapped Ron's knuckles with her wand, apparently too fed up to bother berating him anymore. Dobby, however, perked up at Ron's remark; of all of them, he seemed the least upset by the notion of Kreacher's death. "Dobby would still like to help Harry Potter. Perhaps Dobby could find the thing you want. Dobby knows some of Kreacher's hiding places, you know," the elf said confidentially. "Dobby never trusted him. He was always squirreling things away, Dark things from that Dark house."

Harry sighed. "This wasn't a Dark thing, Dobby. This was just a mirror. It was magical, but it belonged to Sirius. Lupin most likely packed it away."

Dobby stood up so straight and proud that his chin crested over the table. "Dobby would be delighted to check the attic for this mirror. Dobby would check a hundred attics; nothing is too much for Harry Potter to ask."

Harry waved at Dobby before he went off on another extended praising; those embarrassed him under the best of circumstances, and he felt particularly undeserving right then. "I'd be grateful, Dobby, if you could have a look around for it," Harry said sincerely. Dobby looked ecstatic, but Harry again put a finger to his lips to hush the elf. Dobby ducked down again below the table and settled for casting Harry an adoring gaze, then disappeared with another loud crack.

Hermione peered kindly at Harry, which surprised him. He had expected her to be outraged about this latest exploitation of house-elves. "I'm sorry about Kreacher, Harry," she said gently. Ron made a face, but fortunately her attention was on Harry and thus Ron's other hand went unsmacked.

Hermione soon set to work on some Arithmancy problems and Ron attempted to build a house of cards without using any magic, but Harry was so sure that Dobby would return any moment that he couldn't concentrate on any sort of project. After fifteen minutes passed with no sign of Dobby, however, Harry began to fidget and tap his fingers. After an hour, Ron and Hermione were fidgeting as well; Harry was driving them crazy. "Will you stop pacing, already?" grumbled Ron. "I'm about ready to take your Cloak and get down to Headquarters myself, just to get this bloody well over with!"

"Why is he taking so long?" Harry fretted for the millionth time.

Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book shut and shot Harry a glare that could fry an egg. "I don't know, but stomping in circles around the hearth isn't going to speed up the process! Here's a thought, Harry: Do some homework. You didn't get any done last night, or today, and if Dobby turns up with the mirror, you won't get any done tomorrow either. It's our last year here, after this we're on our own. Don't you think you ought to be taking advantage of it while you can?"

Harry opened his mouth for a snappy comeback, but the words stuck in his throat as he recalled his earlier conversation with Ondossi. People have died because I've been out playing Quidditch and dancing at weddings. Hermione was right (again, blast it); if he was going to stay at Hogwarts, he ought to soak up every bit of knowledge he could hold.

The common room quieted as students filed off to their dormitories or the library. Ron completed his house of cards and grudgingly opened his Charms textbook as well, when it became obvious that Harry was as determined to finish his homework as Hermione. By the time Dobby returned to the common room, it was nearly midnight, and Harry was caught up on more homework than he'd ever been on a Saturday night. One look at Dobby's dejected face, however, and he knew he'd have plenty of time to keep working on it tomorrow.

"Did you have trouble, Dobby?" Harry asked gently, knowing that the elf had undoubtedly berated himself far more harshly than Harry would ever dream of. There were tears welling up in his enormous eyes.

"Dobby is so ashamed, Harry Potter. The mirror could not be found."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed with disappointment, but he didn't blame Dobby. He knew the elf would leave no stone unturned; if Dobby couldn't find it in the attic, then it wasn't in the attic. He would just have to wait until Remus checked in. "It's alright, Dobby. Remus must have put it away somewhere else."

Dobby looked even more miserable. "There is more to tell, Harry Potter. Dobby spoke with Master Lupin. The attic at Headquarters, you see... Dobby did not think Master Lupin left it that way. It looked fine at first glance, Harry Potter, but beyond the first row of nice neat shelves, many things were strewn about, pulled from their boxes. Dobby went to find the Master of the House right away, and brought him to the attic." The elf pulled his ears down beside his head and began twisting them, an old reflex from his service with the Malfoys. Hermione clicked her tongue and gently tugged the ears from Dobby's hands, then pulled a rubber band from her hair and gave it to him. Dobby beamed at her in gratitude and began snapping it around his fingers instead.

"Well, what did Lupin say?" asked Ron.

"Master Lupin was most upset," said Dobby meekly. "He had worked very hard to put things away neatly. Master Lupin became quite angry that someone had gone through the boxes, especially since they had tried to conceal what they had done. He spoke with Dobby for a long time." Dobby paused, puffing up his chest with pride. "He even asked Dobby for his opinion about the culprit! Harry Potter has such lovely friends, they treat Dobby with the same respect as Harry Potter! Dobby is so lucky to have met Harry Potter; Dobby would be curled up miserable in the basement of Malfoy Manor right now if it weren't for Harry Potter."

"It wasn't all up to me, Dobby," said Harry firmly, hoping to stem the oncoming tide of compliments. "You had to find the courage to defy your master and come to me, you know. I couldn't have done it without you."

Dobby's mouth fell open and the rubber band twanged as it flew, forgotten, across the common room. Oops. So much for that idea, thought Harry. He had to endure a long geyser of raw, bubbling praise from Dobby before the little elf could return to his story.

"Dobby of course suspected Kreacher was the thief. There were many valuable things left behind, and besides, who else would be so cunning about disguising his mischief? That horrible Mundungus Fletcher would not. He would take anything he could sell from every box, not leave two whole shelves untouched. Master Lupin agreed with Dobby on that score." Dobby blushed, his thin ears suddenly glowing red in the firelight.

"Dobby helped Master Lupin put things back in their boxes, but there was no mirror. Master Lupin found the box he'd packed it in, and it had been opened." Dobby's high spirits evaporated once again, and he regarded Harry mournfully. "Kreacher must have taken it, Harry Potter. He always favored shiny things. But Dobby looked through every hiding place he knew and did not find any mirrors." He looked so crestfallen that Harry feared he'd go after the ears once more.

"Thanks, Dobby," said Harry. "I know you tried." Though Harry was careful to mask it in front of the house-elf, he felt completely crushed. He'd come to think of the mirror as a linchpin in this final, desperate crusade against that mystical veil under the Ministry. Without it, without the capacity to prove with his own two eyes whether Sirius was held somehow within that cursed thing, Harry knew he would be haunted, tormented, enslaved by the question of whether his godfather still lived.