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𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍

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Why?

Why here?

Why now?

Why you?

Why did the

Cosmic winds

Sweep me here,

To this life and

This love?

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

next morning, wrapped in many blankets on the drawing-room floor. A chink of sky wasvisible between the heavy curtains: it was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between nightand dawn, and everything was quiet except for Harry, Ron, and Hermione's slow, deep breathing.

Elara glancedover at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside her. Harry still had his arms wrapped around her, and she wanted to stay little while longer. The blankets hadn't done mch to satisfy the ever growing coldness that loomed in the house. However, Harry was warm.

She looked up at the shadowy ceiling, the cobwebbed chandelier. Less than twenty-four hours ago shehad been standing in the sunlight at the center of the marquee, performing a light show. Itseemed a lifetime away. What was going to happen now? She lay on the floor and she thought of the Horcruxes, of the daunting, complex mission Dumbledore had left her and Harry ... Dumbledore ...

She sighed, not wanting to think about what had happened. Harry rustled beside her, and he rubbed his eyes.

"Morning," whispered Elara as Harry felt around the hardwood floor for his glasses.

Harry groaned in response, more than obviously hating the fact he was up so early. He tightened his hold on Elara and let his head fall back on the pillow again. She struggled for a moment to get free so she could satisfy her coffee itch, but to no avail.

"Hey, dummy, I need to make coffee."

"Five more minutes, please," mumbled Harry.

Elara snickered.

"Would you like to deal with decaffeinated Hermione yourself?"

"I'm up," said Harry as he pushed himself forward and out of his sleeping bag.

They wandered into the kitchen, sadly taking in its quiet state. It had always been busy when Sirius was alive, whether it was a meal cooking or someone wanted a snack.

Elara began the pot of coffee, sliding into a chair at the large island in the center if the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley used to call this island 'the best thing to ever be invented' before they had to abandon it.

The coffee machine beeped, indicating it was finished. Completely ready to stop feeling like a zombie, Elara poured herself some in the largest mug she could find.

The quiet house was strange. Usually Nymphie would have knocked something over by now, and Walburga's portrait would be screaming her head off. Elara slid in the chair beside Harry, nd they sat in comfortable silence until the coffee mug was empty.

"D'you wanna go take a look around?"

Elara shrugged. They had nothing better to do. She washed her mug swiftly before taking following Harry up the dark staircase. On the landing she whispered, 'Lumos,' and started to climb the stairs by wandlight.

On the second landing was the bedroom in which she, Hermione, Ginny, Aurora, and Ron had slept last time they had been here; Elara glanced into it. The wardrobe doors stood open and the bedclothes had been ripped back. Elara remembered the overturned troll leg downstairs. Somebody had searched the house since the Order had left.

Snape? Or perhaps Mundungus, who had pilfered plenty from this house both before and after Sirius died?

Elara's gaze wandered to the portrait that sometimes contained Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, but it was empty, showing nothing but a stretch of muddy backdrop. Phineas Nigellus was evidently spending the night in the Headmaster's study at Hogwarts.

Elara and Harry continued up the stairs until they reached the topmost landing, where there were only two doors. The one facing them bore a nameplate reading Sirius. Neither Elara nor Harry had ever entered Sirius's bedroom before.

Harry pushed open the door, holding his wand high to cast light as widely as possible. The room was spacious and must, once, have been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, a tall window obscured by long velvet curtains and a chandelier thickly coated indust, with candle stubs still resting in its sockets, solid wax hanging in frost-like drips. A fine film of dust covered the pictures on the walls and the bed's headboard; a spider's web stretched between the chandelier and the top of the large wooden wardrobe and as Elara moved deeper into the room, he heard ascurrying of disturbed mice.

The teenaged Sirius had plastered the walls with so many posters and pictures that little of the walls' silvery-grey silk was visible. Elara could only assume that Sirius's parents had been unable to remove the Permanent Sticking Charm that kept them on the wall, because she was sure they would not have appreciated their eldest son's taste in decoration.

Sirius seemed to have gone out of his way to annoy his parents. There were several large Gryffindor banners, faded scarlet and gold, just to underline his difference from all the rest of the Slytherin family. There were many pictures of Muggle motorcycles, and also (Elara had to admire Sirius's nerve) several posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls; Elara could tell that they were Muggles because they remained quite stationary within their pictures, faded smiles and glazed eyes frozen on the paper.

This was in contrast to the only wizarding photograph on the walls,which was a picture of four Hogwarts students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.

"Harry, look," said Elara, gently grabbing his elbow and gesturing to the photograph.

Harry stared at it for awhile, looking at his father; his untidy, black hair stuck up at the back like Harry's and he, too, wore glasses. Beside him was Sirius, carelessly handsome, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than Elara had ever seen it alive. To Sirius's right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On James's left was Remus, even then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding himself liked and included ... or was it simply because Elara knew how it had been, that she saw these things in the picture?

Harry tried to take it from the wall – but it would not budge. Sirius had taken no chances in preventing his parents from redecorating his room. Elara looked around at the floor. The sky outside was growing brighter: a shaft of light revealed bits of paper, books and small objects scattered over the carpet.

Evidently Sirius's bedroom had been searched too, although its contents seemed to have been judged mostly, if not entirely, worthless. A few of the books had been shaken roughly enough to part company with their covers, and sundry pages littered the floor. Elara bent down, picked up a few of the pieces of paper and examined them. She recognised one as part of an old edition of A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot, and another as belonging to a motorcycle maintenance manual. The third was handwritten and crumpled: she smoothed it out.

Dear Padfoot,

Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favourite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was so funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going. We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also, Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard. Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore

Elara's extremities seemed to have gone numb.

"Harry," she whispered, turning to find him rifling through old vinyl records, "this is from your mother."

She handed the torn letter to Harry, who took it as if the piece of paper was only a figment of imagination. He sat on the bed as Elara looked around for the other half of the letter, and possibly the photograph that Lily had supposedly enclosed as well.

At last, lying face down on the floor she spotted what looked like a torn piece of paper under the chest of drawers. When she pulled it out, it proved to be most of the photograph Lily had described in her letter. A black-haired baby was zooming in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, and a pair of legs that must have belonged to James were chasing after him.

Elara's heart panged at the utter joy Harry had on his face. She quietly handed the photograph over to Harry before searching around for the second half of the letter.

'Harry? Elara! Harry!'

'We're here!' called Harry. 'What's happened?'

There was a clatter of footsteps outside the door, and Hermione burst inside.

'We woke up and didn't know where you were!' she said breathlessly. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, 'Ron! I've found them!'

Ron's annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.

'Good! Tell them from me they're gits! And next time, don't just go barging in, 'Mione, what if they were snogging?!'

"I don't think you cared last year when you snogged Lavender!" shouted Elara.

A faint laugh was heard from below.

"We've already established not to speak of last year!"

Elara, Harry, and Hermione laughed.

'Seriously, you two, don't just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here, anyway?'

She gazed around the ransacked room.

'What have you been doing?'

'Look what Lara's just found," said Harry.

He held out his mother's letter. Hermione took it and read it while Elara and Harry watched her. When she reached the end of the page, she looked up at Harry.

'Oh, Harry ...'

'And there's this, too.'

He handed her the torn photograph, and Hermione smiled at the baby zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom.

'I've been looking for the rest of the letter,' Elara said, 'but it's not here.'

Hermione glanced around.

'Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?'

'Someone had searched before us,' said Harry.

'I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What were they after, do you think?'

'Information on the Order, if it was Snape," said Elara bitterly.

'But you'd think he'd already have all he needed, I mean, he was in the Order, wasn't he?'

'Well then,' said Harry, apparently keen to discuss his theory, 'what about information on Dumbledore? The second page of this letter, for instance. You know this Bathilda my mum mentions, you know who she is?'

'Who?'

'Bathilda Bagshot, the author of –'

'A History of Magic,' said Hermione, looking interested. 'So your parents knew her? She was an incredible magical historian.'

'And she's still alive,' said Harry, 'and she lives in Godric's Hollow, Ron's Auntie Muriel was talking about her at the wedding. She knew Dumbledore's family too. Be pretty interesting to talk to, wouldn't she?'

There was a little too much understanding in the look Elara and Hermione exchanged. Harry took back the letter and the photograph and tucked them inside the pouch around his neck.

'I get why you'd love to talk to her about your mum and dad, and Dumbledore too,' said Elara. 'But, we would probably be walking into a trap, don't you think?'

Harry did not answer, and Hermione decided rushed on, 'Harry, I know you really want to go to Godric's Hollow, but I'm scared ... I'm scared at how easily those Death Eaters found us yesterday. It just makes me feel more than ever that we ought to avoid the place where your parents are buried, I'm sure they'd be expecting you to visit it.'

'It's not just that,' Harry said, still avoiding looking at either of them. 'Muriel said stuff about Dumbledore at the wedding. I want to know the truth ...'

'Shall we go down to the kitchen?' Hermione suggested after a little pause. 'Find something for breakfast?'

Without another word, Hermione set off, Harry following after. Elara hesitated before beginning to follow, and she there she saw deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small sign that he had not noticed in the dark. She paused at the top of the stairs to read it. It was a pompous, little sign, neatly lettered by hand, the sort of thing that Percy Weasley might have stuck on his bedroom door:

Do Not Enter

Without the Express Permission of

Regulus Arcturus Black

Excitement trickled through Elara, but she was not immediately sure why. She read the sign again. Harry and Hermione were already a flight of stairs below her.

"HOLY SHIT!" she yelled, turning and flying after Hermione and Harry. "HOLY SHIT!"

Within seconds, she collided into Harry at the top of the landing. He looked alarmed, as if he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

"What? What's wrong?" asked Harry worriedly, grabbing Elara's arm and scanning the halls.

"R.A.B! It's Regulus!"

"Sirius's brother?!"

Hermione stood rooted to the stair below Elara and Harry, her eyes wide.

'He was a Death Eater,' said Elara to Hermione, 'Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave – so they killed him.'

'That fits!' gasped Hermione. 'If he was a Death Eater, he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!'

She spun on the spot, leaned over the banister and screamed, 'Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!'

Ron appeared, panting, a minute later, his wand ready in his hand.

'What's up? If it's massive spiders again, I want breakfast before I –'

He frowned at the sign on Regulus's door, to which Hermione was silently pointing.

'What? That was Sirius's brother, wasn't it? Regulus Arcturus ... Regulus ... R.A.B.! The locket –you don't reckon –?'

'I don't know, but I'm finding out,' said Elara.

She pushed the door: it was locked.

Hermione pointed her wand at the handle and said, 'Alohomora.'

There was a click, and the door swung open. They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus's bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius's, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his difference from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasise the opposite. The Slytherin colours of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, Toujours Pur. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage.

Hermione crossed the room to examine them.

'They're all about Voldemort,' she said. 'Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters ...'

A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings. Elara, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph; a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. Harry joined at her side as she moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests: Slytherins. Regulus was instantly recognisable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row: he had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.

'He played Seeker, didn't he?' asked Elara.

'What?' said Hermione vaguely; she was still immersed in Voldemort's press clippings.

"Never mind,' said Elara, realising that nobody was listening: Ron was on his hands and knees, searching under the wardrobe.

"Did you actually learn something about Quidditch?" asked Harry.

"Ah, well, if I'm going to be dating Hogwarts most famous Seeker, I suppose I should know a thing or two."

"Would you two save the flirting for later?" said Ron, although there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Elara snorted and looked around the room for likely hiding places and approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers' contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out of date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.

'There's an easier way,' said Hermione, as Elara wiped her inky fingers on her jeans. She raised her wand and said, 'Accio locket!'

Nothing happened. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed.

'Is that it, then? It's not here?'

'Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments,' said Hermione. 'Charms to prevent it being summoned magically, you know.'

'Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave,' said Elara, remembering how Harry had been unable to Summon the fake locket.

'How are we supposed to find it, then?' asked Ron.

'We search manually,' said Hermione.

'That's a good idea,' said Ron, rolling his eyes, and he resumed his examination of the curtains.

They combed every inch of the room for over an hour, but were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there. The sun had risen now; its light dazzled them even through the grimy landing windows.