Harry and Hermione half carried, half dragged Ron through the entrance of the

Tent. The interior was exactly as Harry remembered it; a small flat, complete with

Bathroom and tiny kitchen. He shoved aside an old armchair and lowered Ron carefully

Onto the lower berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Ron whiter

Still, and once they had settled him on the mattress he closed his eyes again and did not

Speak for a while.

“I’ll make some tea,” said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from

The depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen.

Harry found the hot drink as welcome as the firewhisky had been on the night that

Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest. After

A minute or two, Ron broke the silence.

“What d’you reckon happened to the Cattermoles?”

“With any luck, they’ll have got away,” said Hermione, clutching her hot mug for

comfort. “As long as Mr. Cattermole had his wits about him, he’ll have transported Mrs.

Cattermole by Side-Along-Apparition and they’ll be fleeing the country right now with

their children. That’s what Harry told her to do.”

“Blimey, I hope they escaped,” said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea

seemed to be doing him good; a little of his color had returned. “I didn’t get the feeling

Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me

When I was him. God, I hope they made it. . . . If they both end up in Azkaban because of

us . . .”

Harry looked over at Hermione and the question he had been about to ask – about

whether Mrs. Cattermole’s lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her

husband – died in his throat. Hermione was watching Ron fret over the fate of the

Cattermoles, and there was such tenderness in her expression that Harry felt almost as if

He had surprised her in the act of kissing him.

“So, have you got it?” Harry asked her, partly to remind her that he was there.

“Got – got what?” she said with a little start.

“What did we just go through all that for? The locket! Where’s the locket?”

“You got it?” shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. “No one

tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!”

“Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, weren’t we?” said

Hermione. “Here.”

And she pulled the locket out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Ron.

It was as large as a chicken’s egg. An ornate letter S, inlaid with many small green

stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent’s canvas roof.

“There isn’t any chance someone’s destroyed it since Kreacher had it?” asked

Ron hopefully. “I mean, are we sure it’s still a Horcrux?”

“I think so,” said Hermione, taking it back from him and looking at it closely.

“There’d be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed.”

She passed it to Harry, who turned it over in his fingers. The thing looked perfect,

Pristine. He remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the

Horcrux ring had been cracked open when Dumbledore destroyed it.

“I reckon Kreacher’s right,” said Harry. “We’re going to have to work out how to

open this thing before we can destroy it.”

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 637