Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All characters and settings of Potterverse are the property of J.K. Rowling and other sundry entities. Only the plot belongs to me. I am making no money. I play in this universe for the sheer joy of it. My only payment is the kind reviews and comments of those who read and enjoy my tale. This story is canon-compliant through HBP. DH has, for the most part, been happily disregarded, especially that sappy epilogue!

Special thanks go to my beta reader, JuJuJenn. She makes sure I stay focused.

Six

It was well after midnight when Snape entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He was exhausted; he hadn't slept at all the previous night and had now been awake for nearly forty hours. He was also in quite a lot of pain. The medication that Hermione had given him at his hideaway had worn off hours ago, and there'd been no opportunity to take more. There hadn't even been the opportunity to use the loo, and after swallowing four of the ibuprofen tablets with a small sip of water, he headed to the second floor and the bathroom there.

Voldemort had kept all of his followers standing for hours while he made an example of one of his lowlier minions who had been overheard complaining about having to stand overnight guard duty outside Borgin and Burkes. And while watching someone else being punished was infinitely preferable to being punished himself, he had never enjoyed the spectacles of pain and degradation as so many of his 'brothers' did.

By the time the quivering lump of flesh on the floor in front of them had finally died, he'd been hard-pressed to keep his stomach from rejecting what little food he'd managed to get into it that day.

Snape stripped out of his blood-spattered clothes and looked longingly at the shower. If he turned it on now, the clanging and banging of the old pipes would wake up the entire household, and he was too damned tired to talk to anyone. He sighed and settled for casting a quick cleansing charm on his hair and body. He donned the dressing gown that Molly kept hanging on the back of the door for him and padded down the hallway carrying his boots and dirty clothes.

He sat on the edge of his bed glanced at the bedside table. Most nights he could resist the siren call of the liquor. Oh, he had a glass of wine with dinner on occasion, or a small glass of cordial afterwards, but he stayed away from the hard stuff. He'd seen what the booze had done to his father, and he'd determined early on in his life that he would never become what Tobias Snape had. Yes, most nights he could resist – but not tonight. He opened the drawer, pulled out the bottle of Firewhisky he kept there, and unscrewed the cap. He didn't bother with a glass, but merely tipped the bottle up and swallowed. The liquor burned a fiery trail from his mouth to his stomach, and he felt its warmth begin to radiate outward. He recapped the bottle and returned it to the drawer. He never drank more than a mouthful.

He stood and removed his dressing gown. He slipped naked between the sheets and punched his pillow into a more comfortable configuration. He closed his eyes and thought about what he had learned that evening. There had never been a guard posted at Borgin and Burkes until very recently. He added this information to a remark Riddle had made to him the previous evening and knew that one of the bastard's Horcruxes – probably Helga Hufflepuff's cup – was now being kept at the Dark arts emporium. He would have to meet with Potter in the morning to formulate a plan to get in and find it.

He tried to think, but ibuprofen, Firewhisky, and utter exhaustion combined to drag him into sleep before he could come up with anything.

Hermione was sitting on the couch in the drawing room, one leg tucked up under her, and her head bent over the large book open on her lap. Harry and Ron were sprawled on the carpet in front of the fireplace. They also had books open, and Harry was actually reading his. Ron, however, was reading his dog-eared copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Every few minutes he'd call Harry's name and read a passage from the book out loud.

"Listen to this," Ron said, interrupting Harry for the third time in twenty minutes.

Before he could continue, Harry spoke.

"Ron, you know I love Quidditch, but I really think we should be studying like Snape told us to." He returned his attention to his book.

Ron snorted softly. "Bloody waste of time," he muttered. But he closed his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and stuck it into his back pocket.

Hermione shook her head and wondered if Ron would ever grow up.

They studied in silence for several minutes, and then the old pipes overhead began clanging.

Hermione closed her book and stood up.

"I'm going to make coffee," she said.

"Could you bring me some pumpkin juice?" Ron asked.

"I suppose," Hermione replied.

"And maybe some toast?" he added hopefully. "I'm starving."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron was always starving!

"Come into the kitchen, then," she said. "I'll make the toast but I won't wait on you."

Ron closed his book and got to his feet. Harry stood as well and the three of them walked out of the drawing room.

When Snape entered the kitchen ten minutes later, he found Potter, Weasley, and Granger sitting around the battered old table sipping coffee and munching toast.

"The coffee's fresh, Professor Snape," Hermione said.

Snape nodded and moved to the counter to fill a mug.

"Toast?" Hermione held up a plate that held a single piece of buttered toast.

"Hey!" Ron said. "I was going to eat that."

"You've had four pieces already," Hermione said.

"It's all right, Miss Granger. I'm not hungry," Snape said.

Ron snatched the piece of toast from the plate Hermione still held and stuffed it into his mouth. He shot Snape a triumphant look.

In truth, Snape was hungry, but he wasn't about to get into a pissing match with Weasley over a piece of toast. He ignored the younger wizard's dark look.

Hermione glared at Ron, but he was oblivious.

Snape leaned against the counter and took a sip of his coffee.

"When you've all finished your breakfast, we have something to discuss," he said.

"What is it?" Harry asked, pushing his empty plate aside.

"I have reason to believe that one of the Horcruxes has been moved to Borgin and Burkes."

"Why would he put it there?" Ron asked.

"It doesn't matter why it's there, Ron," Harry said. "All that matters is finding it and destroying it."

"Today's Thursday," Ron said. "All the shops on Knockturn Alley close early on Friday. We can go in there, snatch the Horcrux, and be back ..."

"... in plenty of time to attend my funeral on Saturday morning," Snape said.

"What?"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said. "You're supposed to be the strategist. We can't just go barging in and grab it."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Do you think he might notice that it's missing?" Snape asked with exaggerated patience.

"Well, yeah."

"And just who do you think he would suspect of taking it?"

"Us, I guess."

"Since only he and I know about the Horcrux, and he's not here drinking coffee and eating toast, how long do you think it will take him to figure out that I'm the one who passed on the information?"

Ron swallowed hard.

"I ... I didn't think of that."

"Obviously."

"So what do we do, then?" Ron asked.

"That's what we need to discuss," Snape said. "Although the Horcrux is being guarded, it is being guarded from outside Borgin and Burkes. And while I believe that the Horcrux we're looking for is in Helga Hufflepuff's cup, I don't know how we'll find it inside the store. I don't even know what the cup looks like."

"I know what it looks like," Harry said.

Snape arched a brow at him.

"It was in the memories that Dumbledore shared with me. Voldemort stole the cup from Hepzibah Smith while he was working at Borgin and Burkes."

"We could make a duplicate cup and switch it for the real one," Hermione said.

"That's what Regulus Black did with the locket," Harry added.

"I hope you were paying attention in Minerva's classes," Snape said as he put his empty coffee mug down on the table in front of Harry.

"Me, too," Harry said as he drew his wand.

Harry made several attempts to transfigure the mug into a duplicate of the gold, two-handled cup he'd seen in Hokey's memories, but none of them seemed quite right to him.

"And if it doesn't look right to me," Harry said in a resigned tone, "it certainly won't fool Voldemort."

"Is it your memory of the cup that's hazy?" Snape asked.

"My memory is fine; it's my Transfiguration that's pants," Harry replied. "I can't seem to get all the fussy little details right."

"Miss Granger's Transfiguration skills are somewhat more refined than yours. Perhaps you should let her try to recreate the cup."

"I don't know what it looks like," Hermione protested.

"Look into his mind and find out," Snape said. "This is an excellent opportunity to practice your Legilimency skills, as well."

"I'll try not to block you," Harry said with a smile.

Hermione smiled back and drew her wand.

"Potter, open your mind and bring the image of the cup to the forefront of your conscious thought," Snape instructed. "And you, Miss Granger, should concentrate on finding that image, while at the same time being careful not to push too forcefully. Since he won't be trying to keep you out, you could easily overwhelm him."

Harry and Hermione both nodded.

Hermione pointed her wand at Harry. "Legilimens," she said.

Because Harry wasn't trying to block her intrusion into his mind, she found the memory quickly. She studied the cup as it rested in its velvet-lined box, and she watched as Harry relived the memory of Tom Riddle turning the cup over and over in his hands before he reluctantly gave it back to Hepzibah Smith.

She withdrew from Harry's mind, turned, and aimed her wand at Snape's erstwhile coffee mug.

"Do you have it?" Ron asked. "Can you do it?"

"Quiet, fool!" Snape hissed as he saw the look of intense concentration on Hermione's face.

Ron glared at Snape, but rather than comment, he jumped to his feet and moved to the counter to pour himself another cup of pumpkin juice. He peered into the toaster and scowled when he discovered it was empty. He opened a cupboard and began rummaging around.

Hermione meanwhile, was muttering under her breath, her brows drawn together intently. A moment later, the transfigured coffee mug was once again shifting shape, but subtly this time – a ridge added here, a curlicue subtracted there.

When she lowered her wand, she turned to Harry.

"Well?"

"That's it, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "You did it!"

Snape picked up the transfigured cup and examined it.

"I've never seen Helga Hufflepuff's cup, but this certainly appears to be something that could easily be of that era," he said.

"We don't need to duplicate the box, do we?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Now all we have to do is get into Borgin and Burkes, find the original cup, and make the switch," Hermione said.

"And then figure out how to destroy the Horcrux inside," Harry added.

Getting into the Dark arts emporium turned out to be easier than any of them expected.

As Ron had stated, the shops on Knockturn Alley closed early on Friday night. The only activity on the street had been at the Underbelly, a tavern located at the end of Knockturn Alley closest to Gringotts. The Underbelly was a favourite Death Eater gathering place, and Snape had made sure at least three people had seen him there within the last hour – or at least they'd say they'd seen him there. And should he ever be questioned, the man guarding the back door to Borgin and Burkes would state just as emphatically that he hadn't seen Snape anywhere near the place. The Imperius was such a useful tool, especially when combined with a Confundus Charm and a Memory Charm.

It was a little before midnight when Snape Apparated into a shadowed alcove behind Borgin and Burkes.

One minute after he arrived, he heard the distinctive sound of an owl's hoot.

"Whoo ... whoo." There was a short pause, then, "Whoo."

The Golden Trio had arrived, hidden under Potter's invisibility cloak.

Snape lifted his hands in a casual gesture and adjusted his cloak slightly. This was the pre-arranged signal to let them know he was aware of their presence.

He stepped out of the alcove's concealing shadows and approached the man guarding the door.

"Snape," the man said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I just came to see how you're doing, Farrell," Snape replied.

Farrell shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"He doesn't want to see me, does he?"

If Voldemort wanted to see him, that could only be bad news. The image of his predecessor's twitching body and the sound of his screams rose in the man's mind.

"No, he doesn't want to see you."

The man breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is the door secure?" Snape asked.

"Of course," Farrell replied. He turned to rattle the doorknob and didn't see Snape raise his wand.

"Imperio," Snape whispered.

Five minutes later, Farrell was conveniently looking the other way as Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked past him and through the now-open back door of Borgin and Burkes.

"We have approximately four hours before Farrell's replacement is scheduled to arrive. I want to be out of here in three," Snape said a few minutes later as he watched the three of them slip out from under the invisibility cloak.

"How will we find it?" Hermione whispered as she looked around the crowded shop.

"He'll have put it someplace pretty easy to get to, but not out in the open where a customer might see it and think it was for sale," Harry said.

"Look behind other things on the shelves closest to the floor," Ron offered. "No one gets down on their hands and knees to look for stuff there."

"Check the storage areas under the display cases, as well," Snape said.

Two hours later, they had checked every dusty shelf and every drawer under the glass display counters, but they had not found Helga Hufflepuff's cup.

"I don't know where else to look," Harry said as he rubbed his dirty hands on his jeans.

"It's here; I know it is," Snape said in an irritated tone. "We're simply not looking in the right place."

"We've looked everywhere," Ron said.

"What about in there?" Snape asked as he pointed to an ornately carved dresser. The top of the dresser was crowded with silver candlesticks, porcelain spittoons, and ugly china figurines.

"There's nothing in those drawers but some mouldy old table linens and an ancient silverware box," Ron said.

"Did you look in the box, Ron?" Harry asked. "The cup was stored in a velvet-lined box."

"No one said anything about a box," Ron said.

"We most certainly did!" Hermione snapped. "You were too busy drinking pumpkin juice and looking for food to pay attention to what we were saying."

"I would've remembered if you talked about a box."

"Honestly, Ron ..."

"Enough!" Snape hissed as he strode over to the dresser.

"Weasley, which drawer?"

"The bottom one," Ron replied. "On the left."

Snape pulled the drawer open and peered down into its depths, lighting the tip of his wand to better examine the contents. He pushed aside a pile of yellowed linen napkins to expose a battered-looking mahogany box.

"I think that's it!" Harry said as he and the others moved to stand next to Snape. "See that round dent near the edge? And the little nicks on each side of it? When I saw them in the Pensieve memory, I remember thinking that they looked like a Snitch in flight."

Snape gave a soft snort. Trust Potter to see everything in Quidditch terms.

"I saw that in your memory as well," Hermione added. "I don't think it looks like a Snitch, though."

"I don't care if it looks like Merlin's athletic supporter," Snape hissed. "Is this it or not?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

Snape waved his wand over the box, murmuring softly under his breath.

"There doesn't appear to be a warning charm on the box," he said.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment.

"He doesn't know we're anywhere near it," Harry said. "Besides, he doesn't believe anyone can get close to it – at least not anyone who knows what it is."

"Regulus Black managed to switch the locket without alerting him," Hermione commented.

"True," Snape conceded. "Very well, let's get it done."

He reached into the drawer, lifted the box out, and set it on the floor near the dresser.

He slowly opened the lid of the box.

A moment later the four of them were staring down at Helga Hufflepuff's cup.

Snape used his wand again to check the cup itself for any warning charms or protective spells.

He detected nothing.

Harry reached down and grasped one of the cup's finely wrought handles.

"Ready, Hermione?" Harry asked.

Hermione had the duplicate cup in her hand.

"Ready."

Harry lifted the Hufflepuff cup from its velvet nest, and Hermione fitted the duplicate into place. It was done in less than three seconds.

Snape closed the lid of the wooden case and put it back into the drawer. He moved the linen napkins so that they were once again covering the box, and then he pushed the drawer shut and stood up.

"You three get back under the invisibility cloak. As soon as we step outside, Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. I'll make sure that Farrell remembers what an uneventful watch he had."

"Be careful, sir," Hermione said.

"What are you, his mother?" Ron muttered.

Hermione turned on Ron. "If you were the one going out every day and putting your life on the line, I'd even tell you to be careful!"

Snape held up a hand and spoke before Ron could reply.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, Miss Granger, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. If I don't make it back to Headquarters tonight, I'll be there by eleven. We have much more work to do at my lab."

"I'll be ready," Hermione replied.

"I've no doubt of that," Snape said. "Now, get under the cloak and prepare to leave."

Harry shook out the cloak and the three of them huddled under it. They were adults now, and the cloak didn't cover them as completely as it had when they were first-years, but they shuffled out the door that Snape was holding open.

"Snape," Farrell said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gone before they heard Snape's response.

Author's note: This story was written in response to the Post DH Challenge on The Petulant Poetess.

I chose prompt #5: Harry touches his scar; it hasn't pained him in 19 years. He hears hooting, rolls over in bed to see Hedwig sweeping in the open window at Privet Drive, and realizes that his 17th birthday isn't far off. Go for it... a new seventh year for the lot.