Demolished many years before. They visited its site and found a tower block of offices.

“We could try digging in to foundations?” Hermione suggested halfheartedly.

“He wouldn’t have hidden a Horcrux here,” Harry said. He had known it all along.

The orphanage had been the place Voldemort had been determined to escape; he would

Never have hidden a part of his soul there. Dumbledore had shown Harry that Voldemort

Sought grandeur or mystique in his hiding places; this dismal gray corner of London was

As far removed as you could imagine from Hogwarts of the Ministry or a building like

Gringotts, the Wizarding banks, with its gilded doors and marble floors.

Even without any new idea, they continued to move through the countryside,

Pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning they made

Sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely

And secluded spot, traveling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of

Cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly

Cove. Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between them as though they

Were playing some perverse, slow-motion game of pass-the-parcel, where they dreaded

The music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety.

Harry’s scare kept prickling. It happened most often, he noticed, when he was

Wearing the Horcrux. Sometimes he could not stop himself reacting to the pain.

“What? What did you see?” demanded Ron, whenever he noticed Harry wince.

“A face,” muttered Harry, every time. “The same face. The thief who stole from

Gregorovitch.”

And Ron would turn away, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Harry

Knew that Ron was hoping to bear news of his family or the rest of the Order of the

Phoenix, but after all, he, Harry, was not a television aerial; he could only see what

Voldemort was thinking at the time, not tune in to whatever took his fancy. Apparently

Voldemort was dwelling endlessly on the unknown youth with the gleeful face, whose

Name and whereabouts, Harry felt sure, Voldemort knew no better than he did. As

Harry’s scar continued to burn and the merry, blond-haired boy swam tantalizingly in his

Memory, he learned to suppress any sign of pain or discomfort, for the other two showed

Nothing but impatience at the mention of the thief. He could not entirely blame them,

When they were so desperate for a lean on the Horcruxes.

As the days stretched into weeks, Harry began to suspect that Ron and Hermione

Were having conversations without, and about, him. Several times they stopped talking

Abruptly when Harry entered the tent, and twice he came accidentally upon them, huddled

A little distance away, heads together and talking fast; both times they fell silent when

They realized he was approaching them and hastened to appear busy collecting wood or

Water.

Harry could not help wondering whether they had only agreed to come on what

Now felt like a pointless and rambling journey because they thought he had some secret

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 833