FIC: Any Means Necessary
Title: Any Means Necessary
Author katjad
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,194
Summary: Harry receives an unexpected package.
Warnings: rimming
Notes: Written for cmere for hp_springsmut. Betaed by the marvelous actriz_k. Takes place immediately after HBP. Originally published on April 5, 2006.
Any Means Necessary
The moment Bill and Fleur’s wedding reception was over, Harry was itching to leave. The past two days at the Burrow had been wonderful. He’d almost been able to pretend that everything was okay, that he could touch Ginny whenever he wanted to, that Bill’s face wasn’t a mass of scars, but that was exactly what he couldn’t allow himself to do. He had things he had to do, and the instant the reception ended, he was in Ron’s room packing his trunk. When Ron and Hermione followed him upstairs and began packing their own things he told them that they didn’t have to come with him and Ron said, "Mate, say that again and I’ll punch you in the face," and Harry felt so lucky to have such friends and so undeserving.
Hermione shrunk their trunks for traveling and pocketed hers.
Ron took his own trunk from her outstretched hand. "So, Godric’s Hollow?" he said.
"Yeah," Harry said. "I was thinking we could go there and head straight to the graveyard, so nobody sees us."
"Or we could spend the night at my parents’ house and then head over in the morning," Hermione suggested.
"How about we don’t, and say we did?" Harry said. He wasn’t up for any more sidetracks. He had to find the horcruxes, and something in his gut was telling him to go to Godric’s Hollow. Since he didn’t have a better idea, he figured he should go along with that feeling.
Instead of getting angry, though, Hermione said, "Actually, that might not be a bad idea."
"What?" Harry said.
"Well, Ron here wasn't going to tell his mother where we were going, were you, Ron?"
"Are you kidding? She’d have a fit at the thought of me running all over England, and when I didn’t tell her why we were doing it..." Ron didn’t need to finish the sentence: all three of them had a very good idea of how Mrs. Weasley would feel about the matter.
"Right," Hermione said. "So if you tell your mother we're at my house, and my parents think we're here..."
Comprehension dawned on Harry and Ron at the same time. "Hermione, you're a clever one, has anyone ever told you that?" Harry said.
Hermione grinned.
"And as long as I promise to owl, I'm sure Mum will let me go," Ron said. "They won't figure out we aren't there. And they don’t remember how to use a fellytone, I don’t think."
"Telephone," Harry and Hermione said in unison.
"Right."
Mrs. Weasley wasn’t enormously pleased that they were leaving the Burrow so soon after they’d arrived, but she relented eventually. "It’ll be nice to see Hermione’s house," she said. "Won’t it be nice, Ron?"
They all agreed that it would, and Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron as quickly as soon as they could extract themselves from Mrs. Weasley’s goodbye hugs. Hermione made a quick stop at Gringotts to change some of their money to Muggle money and then they took a cab to Kings Cross. From there they caught a train to Browning Hill, the nearest train station to Godric’s Hollow that Hermione could find.
It was a little after nine when they arrived in Browning Hill, and the last taxi had just pulled away from the station. Harry wished he’d brought his broom, although it would have been difficult to conceal it from the Muggles on the train.
By the time they walked into Godric’s Hollow, it was after ten and long past dark. They decided to go straight to the inn before doing anything else. Harry didn’t really mind. Much as he wanted to visit his parents’ graves, he didn’t know where they were and it would be difficult to locate them in the dark. And it had been a long day.
The innkeeper looked them over suspiciously and let them two rooms for what Harry suspected was twice the going rate; probably because they were strangers in a small village, Harry realized. He was glad Hermione had thought to change their money, although the look on the innkeeper's face at the sight of Galleons and Sickles would have been well worth seeing. But the rooms were clean, if small, and the instant Harry unlocked the first room, Ron collapsed onto one of the beds.
"I’m knackered," he said. "Completely knackered."
Harry hadn't realized quite how exhausted he was until he sat down on the other bed. It was an effort keeping his eyes open long enough even to unshrink his trunk and unlace his trainers.
"So," Hermione said, sitting down on the bed beside Harry, "I was thinking about the horcruxes. Based on what Dumbledore said, there should be six of them, right? And you've destroyed the diary and he destroyed the ring. So that leaves four. If Dumbledore was right, Hufflepuff's cup is one of them, and the snake Nagini is another. And there's that locket."
"R.A.B.," Harry said. He didn't think he'd ever stop being bitter about discovering that the locket he and Dumbledore had recovered from the cave wasn't the real horcrux. Even though that R.A.B. person had claimed he'd be dead long before anyone read the note inside the fake horcrux, Harry hoped it wasn't true, so he could kill the person himself.
"Right," Hermione said. "So we have to find out what happened to the real locket. And then there's one more horcrux we're still missing."
"It might be something of Ravenclaw's, isn't that what Dumbledore said, Harry?"
"Yeah," Harry said absently. He wanted to concentrate on this, he really did, but he was just so sleepy... "Look, Hermione, Ron, can we talk about this more in the morning?"
"Oh, right," Hermione said. "Sorry, didn't realize you were so tired. I'll see you in the morning, then. I might do some reading; I brought along a few books that might help..."
"Of course she did," Ron said as the door clicked shut behind her. "When doesn't she bring books?"
Harry pulled off his trousers and lay down on top of the bed. Much as he'd wanted to leave the conversation about horcruxes for the morning, he couldn't help his mind from turning to the ones they were missing: the cup, the snake, the locket, something else. The cup, the snake, the locket...
Harry must have drifted off to sleep, because a sharp rapping on the window made him start. "Hedwig?" he said groggily.
His owl hooted in reply. Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and stood up to unlatch the window. It was dark in the room. He must have been asleep for a while. When he replaced his glasses on his nose he saw Hedwig outside the window, a letter clutched in her talons, but behind her were four enormous eagle owls bearing a large wooden box.
Hedwig swooped through the window and deposited the letter on the bed while Harry cast a levitation charm on the box and untied the rope by which the owls had carried it. As soon as he had untied their legs, the eagle owls disappeared into the night.
Harry levitated the box through the window and onto the desk. He hadn’t a clue what it could possibly contain, or who could have possibly known he was in Godric's Hollow other than Ron and Hermione. He picked up the letter and saw his name written in a familiar, slanting script. He quickly tore upon the envelope and unfolded the letter.
Harry,
There may well be things I have neglected to mention to you, so perhaps this will prove useful in your current endeavors.
A.D.
Harry looked at the wooden box again. Suddenly he had a very good idea of what it would contain. "Ron," he hissed. "Ron! Wake up!"
"Whuh?" Ron said groggily.
"Get up and take a look at this!"
Ron half-rolled, half-fell out of the bed and onto the floor. He got up and watched as Harry pried the box's lid open with one of his Potions knives.
"Bloody hell," Ron said. "Is that-"
"Dumbledore's Pensieve," Harry said. He pulled it out of the box, finding it far lighter than he’d expected, and set it on the desk. All thoughts of sleep disappeared from his mind at once. He wasn’t sure what Dumbledore was thinking he would be able to glean from it, but there had to be something, some detail Dumbledore hadn’t thought to share because it hadn’t seemed important or relevant. He didn’t want to grow too optimistic, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, this would be the key to hunting down one or more of the missing horcruxes.
"Brilliant," Ron said, looking almost as excited as Harry felt. But then his face twisted into a frown. "You know what Hermione would say, don't you."
Of course. "That it might have been sent by someone who wasn't Dumbledore, that it might be some kind of Dark artifact, and until we have it checked for every sort of danger ever I shouldn't look in it."
"Got it in one."
"What do you think, Ron?"
"Well, you've seen it before, haven't you? Does it look like Dumbledore's Pensieve?"
"Yeah."
"And you don't think Hedwig would have agreed to deliver something from someone she didn't know, do you?"
"Definitely not."
"I figure it's safe enough, then. Want to have a go?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Let's go."
But just then they heard a knock on the door. "Harry, Ron, are you awake?" Hermione said from the hallway. "I thought I heard you talking."
"Shit," Ron said. They exchanged glances, then Ron said, "I'll distract her. You take a look." He went to the door and slipped out into the hallway. Harry could heard him telling Hermione he'd been thinking more about the horcruxes, and could she explain her theory about the fourth horcrux being an artifact of Ravenclaw's a little better? Harry smiled. Ron knew what he was doing: that was a topic that would keep Hermione distracted for the rest of the night.
Harry went over to the desk where he'd left the Pensieve. He peered into the swirling memories and waited for one to float to the surface. A number of faces floated through the pale, misty memories, none that Harry recognized, but then a voice began to rise from the Pensieve. "...only complicated because of the different modes of thinking a wizard needs to learn," someone, a boy, was saying.
Harry looked closer at the memories and saw the voice’s owner: a handsome, dark-haired boy who wore a Slytherin tie and a superior smirk. He recognized him instantly. Tom Riddle.
"He has to be able to think like the animal he’s Transfiguring himself into," Riddle continued, his voice louder and closer than before, and Harry realized he’d fallen into the memory. He was standing at the front of the classroom beside a Dumbledore fifty years younger than Harry had last seen him. He wondered what this Dumbledore would think if he knew that, fifty years later, he’d be betrayed and killed by a man he said he trusted completely. Just thinking about it, what Snape had done, made Harry want to hurt something.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. Thinking about Snape wasn’t going to do any good. Dumbledore was dead and nothing Harry did was going to change that, especially not here, in Dumbledore’s memory. He couldn’t alter anything that happened in a memory. The people in the memory couldn’t even see or hear him. It was unnerving, though, the way people in memories could look right at him and see right through him. Most of the members of the class seemed to be staring at him right now, but then he was standing at the front of the room, right next to Dumbledore. They were staring at Dumbledore, not at him. That didn’t make it any less unnerving, though. Harry shifted to the side of the room, away from the eyes.
"You are quite correct, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said. "But there are other concerns involved with human-to-animal Transfiguration as well. Could anyone tell me what those might be?"
Riddle couldn’t quite conceal a look of displeasure. He didn’t like that he hadn’t been completely correct. He looked young in this particular memory of Dumbledore’s, fourteen or fifteen maybe. He couldn’t be any older than fifth year, Harry realized, because sixth and seventh years were in N.E.W.T. level classes that weren’t separated by House, and everyone in the classroom wore a Slytherin tie. Except for Dumbledore, that was, whose long auburn hair stood out magnificently against his maroon robes.
None of the other Slytherins seemed to know anything about human-to-animal Transfigurations. Riddle raised his hand again.
"Yes, Mr. Riddle?"
"Well, humans are sentient beings and most animals are not, so it’s important that you Transfigure the mind properly, in addition to the bones and muscles, because if you make a mistake when Transfiguring yourself between human and animal it’s similar to getting splinched, and if you’re-"
Dumbledore held up a hand. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle. Unfortunately, we’ve run out of time, so for Monday, I’d like twelve inches from each of you on the steps one must take in order to become an Animagus, including the procedure for registering one’s animal form with the Ministry. Class dismissed."
Harry glanced at Riddle, whose face had turned a splotchy, unattractive red. Dumbledore, however, seemed oblivious. He was packing up his papers in a leather briefcase and not paying the least bit of attention to Riddle.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Riddle said, standing up and walking towards the front of the room. "I was just wondering, why does the Ministry require Animagi to register?"
Riddle was at the opposite end of the classroom from Harry. As he approached the front of the room he raised his eyes to look at Dumbledore, but his gaze went past the professor and fixed directly on Harry. Reflexively Harry looked behind him but found no one there. Riddle was looking at him.
By the time Harry turned back around, however, Riddle’s eyes were on Dumbledore and Dumbledore was saying something about moral responsibilities, which Harry thought was a pretty rich conversation to be having with Tom Riddle, and then Harry felt himself pulling away from the classroom and out of the Pensieve.
He was back in his room at the inn, his pulse racing. There was Dumbledore’s Pensieve in front of him. It was just a Pensieve, he reminded himself. Everything in the Pensieve had already occurred. People couldn’t see him or speak to him or hear him because what was in the Pensieve was memory. Tom Riddle hadn’t been looking at him. He’d been looking at the blank wall behind Harry, or maybe he’d thought he’d seen something, but whatever he’d seen hadn’t been Harry because Harry wasn’t really there, not in that memory of Dumbledore’s. Harry was sure there was some sort of explanation, even if it was just that he was imagining things. He wanted to talk to Ron about it, but Ron still wasn't back from Hermione's room. He'd have to talk to Ron in the morning.
He kicked off his trainers and fell onto the bed. Before he’d even managed to push the duvet all the way back he was fast asleep.
-----
It was just before dawn when Harry awoke, and Ron was still snoring in the other bed. Harry hadn't slept well. He had dreamt of Riddle staring at him in the Transfiguration classroom over and over again. Riddle couldn't have actually been staring at him, though. It must have been some sort of coincidence.
His eyes fell on the Pensieve, there on the desk. There it was, full of Dumbledore’s memories, memories that might be able to help him find the horcruxes. He wanted, too, to prove to himself that what had happened with Riddle the night before had been nothing but a fluke. It had been; he knew it had been. He just needed to be sure. He made sure his wand was secure in his back pocket and leaned over the Pensieve.
Another image of Riddle floated to the surface, this time a slightly older Riddle. It was night, and he was standing in a corridor lit by his wand. Beside him was a girl Harry recognized instantly: Moaning Myrtle. She was still alive here, alive and terrified-looking, and before he even knew it was happening Harry was standing beside her.
"...don’t know what she was doing out of bed at this hour, Professor," Riddle was saying to Dumbledore.
Harry thought he saw a bit of skepticism in Dumbledore’s eyes, but his face betrayed nothing. "Well, Miss Barnes? Do you have a good reason for being out of bed after curfew?"
Myrtle looked from Dumbledore to Riddle then back to Dumbledore. "No, sir," she mumbled.
"You’re quite sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, then. Ten points from Ravenclaw and detention tomorrow night at eight in my office."
Myrtle nodded but didn’t move, terrified.
"You may return to your dormitory, Miss Barnes," Dumbledore added, not unkindly.
Myrtle fled.
"How has your evening been, Tom?" Dumbledore said.
"Fine, sir."
"Where exactly did you say you found her?"
"Lurking around the second floor, sir." Riddle’s face was carefully blank.
"Curious," Dumbledore said. "I wonder what she was doing there at this hour."
"I don’t know, sir."
"Curious," Dumbledore said again. "Well, I’ll leave you to your rounds. Good night, Tom."
"Good night, sir."
Dumbledore turned to walk away and Harry started to follow him.
But then someone grabbed him from behind and whirled him around. "So you’re solid," Riddle said. "I've seen you before. You were in the Transfiguration classroom at the end of last year. I thought you were a ghost at first, but then I wondered why none of the others could see you. So, why don’t you start by telling me exactly who you are and what you’re doing here?"
Harry couldn’t speak. His thoughts were flying too quickly for his mouth to work. Riddle could see him? Riddle could touch him? How was he doing this, and this was a memory, and where was Dumbledore? This was Dumbledore’s memory, wasn’t it? What if this wasn’t a Pensieve he’d been entering, but some sort of Dark tool and Riddle had trapped him in it and why in the world hadn’t he let Hermione take a look at it before he decided to jump right in?
Riddle shoved him against the wall and trained his wand on Harry’s neck. "I asked you some questions," he said. "I expect you to answer them. Start with your name."
"James," Harry said. He didn’t even have to think in order to know that he absolutely mustn’t tell Riddle that his name was Harry Potter. He wasn’t so certain that this was a memory anymore, but memory or not, there were things no version of Tom Riddle ever needed to know. And where in the world was Dumbledore?
"Last name?"
"Erm, Weatherby," Harry said, faking a coughing fit to mask his hesitation.
"House?"
"Gryffindor."
"Where’s your uniform? You are aware, of course, that wearing non-regulation clothing outside of your dormitory constitutes a violation of the Hogwarts Code, and as such is-" Riddle stopped abruptly. "What year are you in, James Weatherby?"
"Seventh," Harry said. If Moaning Myrtle was still alive, Riddle couldn’t have opened the Chamber of Secrets yet, so he couldn’t be older than fifth year. He’d have to be fifth year, then, since he was a prefect... Hopefully Riddle wouldn’t know the Gryffindor seventh years that well...
"I don’t remember there being a Weatherby in Gryffindor seventh," Riddle said immediately.
Harry summoned up every bit of dignity he could muster while being shoved against a wall and said, "Well, I am, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me go back to my common room now."
"Oh, I’d be more than happy to let you go back to your common room," Riddle said. "I would be, that is, if I believed for a second that you were actually a student here." He leaned in closer so Harry could feel his breath on his face. "However, seeing as I don’t, you aren’t going anywhere until I get some answers. Let’s start with your name."
"James," Harry repeated. "It’s James." It was his middle name, anyway.
Riddle smirked. "If you lie to me, I’ll know it. You aren’t a student here, are you."
"Not anymore," Harry said, which was true, but Riddle still hadn’t backed away. His wand was jabbing into the hollow between Harry’s neck and his collarbone and Riddle was too close and breathing hot on his face and Harry was not-quite-seventeen and everything in the known world turned him on, including that one time in Transfiguration when he’d gotten hard looking at McGonagall’s ankles, which had been horrifying but was nothing compared to this: Riddle, too close and too handsome, and Harry wasn’t gay but his cock didn’t seem to care. It was straining against his trousers and if he moved so much as a millimeter Riddle would feel it. It was bad enough that this was a boy, but this was Tom Riddle, soon to be Voldemort, and Harry was hard because of him.
"Not anymore," Riddle repeated. "Did you finish school?"
"No," Harry said. He wasn’t lying, but somehow he doubted Riddle would take his word for it. He hoped against all hope that Riddle hadn’t yet mastered Legilimency because Harry was crap at Occlumency and there were so many things he couldn’t let Riddle know, because even if this was a memory, it wouldn’t be good for any version of Riddle, ever, to know what Harry knew about the horcruxes. If he’d gotten his timeline right, Riddle wouldn’t have even gone to Slughorn to ask about them yet, but it didn’t much matter because no matter when exactly in the past he was, he knew that Riddle absolutely must not be allowed to learn what Harry knew.
To his dismay, Harry felt the familiar and unpleasant distinction of another’s mind entering his own. His first thought was to yell for help. Maybe Ron would hear him if he yelled loudly enough and find some way to pull him out of the Pensieve; but no, Ron slept like the dead.
There wasn’t enough time or much of a point to yelling, so Harry did the only thing he could think to do to buy himself some time: he pushed his thoughts of horcruxes as far to the back of his mind as he could. It wasn’t much of a defense, and he was sure Riddle would see through it soon if not immediately-
Except that Riddle found something distinctly interesting at the very forefront of Harry’s mind. In his effort to hide his knowledge of horcruxes from Riddle, Harry had inadvertently laid bare the other thing he’d wanted to conceal: the part of his brain devoted entirely to thinking about his enormous erection.
"Well," Riddle said thoughtfully. "That is interesting." And then he reached down and grabbed Harry’s cock through his trousers.
Harry's breath hitched; he couldn't help it.
"You're a queer, are you?" Riddle said. "You're a fucking pansy."
"Fuck you."
"Not likely."
Harry's hips moved forward of their own accord, pushing his cock further into Riddle's hand. He had to stop this, had to stop it before it went any further. Then he remembered: his wand was in his back pocket. Maybe he could manage to slip it out without Riddle noticing...
Riddle removed his hand from Harry's crotch, reached between Harry and the wall, and plucked the wand out of Harry's back pocket. "Nice try," he said. He tossed the wand down the hallway. It clattered to the ground far beyond Harry's reach.
"I wouldn't try anything stupid if I were you," Riddle said, jabbing his wand at Harry's collarbone again to further illustrate his point. And he was right. Harry desperately wished he'd learned something of wandless magic, but as it was he was defenseless. That and more turned on than he'd ever been in his life, which was just not okay.
And then he felt Riddle moving past the front of his mind, searching deeper. Harry didn't know what he was looking for, but that didn't matter; anything Riddle found would be too much. Harry did the only thing he could do. He didn't dare think about why it was so very important that he protect what he knew, because Riddle was in his mind; he didn't dare think about anything at all. The only thing for it was to act.
Harry lunged forward against Riddle, pressed his mouth, his entire body against Riddle, forced Riddle's mouth open with his tongue.
At first Riddle didn't so much as move, and Harry was certain that he was going to pull his wand from between their chests and kill him on the spot. But then Riddle dropped his wand arm and slammed into Harry, shoved him against the wall, and his tongue was in Harry's mouth and his hands were on Harry's trousers.
"You want this, you fucking fairy?" Riddle hissed. "It doesn't matter, I'm going to fuck you until you bleed." He shoved Harry's trousers down and ripped open his own and there was Riddle's cock against Harry's, just as hard as Harry's own, and the only thing Harry could think was that there was no stopping now, no matter what. He didn't dare let Riddle's mind wander. He pulled Riddle closer against him, because if he was doing this he wasn't going to do it halfway. He needed Riddle closer. His hips were moving and so were Riddle's and then Riddle's hand snaked down his back and there were fingers in his arse.
"Oh, fuck," Harry hissed, and realized from the way Riddle's eyes widened that he must have spoken in Parseltongue.
"You're one, too?" Riddle said, half-stepping back and examining Harry. "I've never met another one."
Shit. "Well, I am one," Harry said, grabbing Riddle's cock in a desperate attempt to keep him from thinking about it. Maybe if he were to-
"You want to suck me off, do you?" Riddle said. He must not ever have left Harry's mind. An image came to Harry, unbidden: he was on his knees with Riddle's cock in his mouth, Riddle's hands in his hair, Riddle thrusting. Riddle leaned against the wall and Harry didn't even think about what he was doing. He dropped to the floor and took Riddle's cock into his mouth, as far as he could get it without gagging, wrapped his hand around the base, and began to suck. He didn't really know what he was doing but when he began to move his tongue along the underside of Riddle's cock Riddle grabbed him by the hair and pushed him away.
"Stop," Riddle said. "I can't fuck you if I've already come." He pulled Harry up by the shoulders and turned Harry around, shoved two fingers up Harry's arse. Harry hissed; it burned; but then Riddle curled his fingers up and something exploded in Harry's mind and he barely noticed when Riddle added a third finger and then suddenly the fingers were gone, replaced by something hot and wet and Riddle was the on the floor behind him and that was his tongue up Harry's arse and one of his hands snaked around to grab Harry's cock and he couldn't help it, he was coming and coming and-
Riddle pulled away. Harry could barely stand up; his legs wobbled. "My turn," Riddle said. He whispered a charm and Harry felt his arse fill with something slick and wet and then Riddle was behind him, pressing into him. Harry braced against the wall and Riddle grabbed him around the hip and on the shoulder and pushed.
"Fuck," Harry said. It burned, worse than before, but then Riddle was all the way in and he began to move and then he hit the same place he'd hit with his fingers and if Harry hadn't just come he'd be coming again; his cock was beginning to stir already. Riddle's fingers sank into Harry's hip, moved down to his cock and stroked.
"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, till you can't fucking move," Riddle hissed. He was thrusting fast and hard into Harry, hitting that place that made Harry feel like he was exploding, and then Riddle grunted and bit down hard on Harry's shoulder.
"Shit!" Harry yelled, but Riddle didn't even notice: he was thrusting harder and faster and suddenly Harry's mind filled with an image: the orphanage, the row of beds he'd seen before. A tiny storage closet past the beds, a Riddle not much younger than he was now. Riddle hissing at a panel in the wall-"Mine, you are mine," he told it in Parseltongue-and the panel moving to reveal a stack of Dark books and grimmer things: an eye, a skull, a human hand...
And then the image was gone and Riddle was coming, hot and wet into Harry's arse. He was pumping Harry's cock and biting Harry's shoulder. Harry screamed. He was coming; he slammed his head forward against the wall and all he knew was black.
-----
When Harry awoke he was on the floor of the inn in Godric's Hollow.
"Thank goodness, you're all right," Hermione said.
"What happened?" Harry said, though even as he said it he knew. He sat up and winced at the twinge in his arse.
"Watch it, you took a nasty hit there," Hermione said. It took him a moment to realize she was referring to his head. He rubbed at it and winced again. "You must have passed out and hit your head while you were looking in the Pensieve." She shot a pointed glance at Ron.
"I had to tell her, mate," Ron said sheepishly. "I didn't know what had happened, if it was something in the Pensieve, or-"
"I can't believe you would do something like that, just go diving into what looks like Dumbledore's Pensieve without so much as checking it for hexes!" Hermione said furiously. "Actually, what am I saying, that's what you always do, but honestly, Harry, you can't possibly know if it's really Dumbledore's-"
"It is," Harry said firmly. "I'm sure of it." This was a lie; he wasn't anywhere close to sure of it, but he needed to figure it out himself. He couldn't possibly tell them what had happened in the Pensieve. You're right, Hermione, it was a Dark artifact, I was actually there in the Pensieve, physically there, and Riddle could see me and I had to-
But then he remembered something: a conversation he'd had with Dumbledore, about how he suspected that Riddle tended to hide the horcruxes in places that had meant something to him or that he'd frequented in his childhood: the cave, the Gaunt house, the orphanage. The secret panel in the orphanage closet...
"Ron, Hermione," Harry said. "I think I know where to find one of the horcruxes."
Author katjad
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,194
Summary: Harry receives an unexpected package.
Warnings: rimming
Notes: Written for cmere for hp_springsmut. Betaed by the marvelous actriz_k. Takes place immediately after HBP. Originally published on April 5, 2006.
Any Means Necessary
The moment Bill and Fleur’s wedding reception was over, Harry was itching to leave. The past two days at the Burrow had been wonderful. He’d almost been able to pretend that everything was okay, that he could touch Ginny whenever he wanted to, that Bill’s face wasn’t a mass of scars, but that was exactly what he couldn’t allow himself to do. He had things he had to do, and the instant the reception ended, he was in Ron’s room packing his trunk. When Ron and Hermione followed him upstairs and began packing their own things he told them that they didn’t have to come with him and Ron said, "Mate, say that again and I’ll punch you in the face," and Harry felt so lucky to have such friends and so undeserving.
Hermione shrunk their trunks for traveling and pocketed hers.
Ron took his own trunk from her outstretched hand. "So, Godric’s Hollow?" he said.
"Yeah," Harry said. "I was thinking we could go there and head straight to the graveyard, so nobody sees us."
"Or we could spend the night at my parents’ house and then head over in the morning," Hermione suggested.
"How about we don’t, and say we did?" Harry said. He wasn’t up for any more sidetracks. He had to find the horcruxes, and something in his gut was telling him to go to Godric’s Hollow. Since he didn’t have a better idea, he figured he should go along with that feeling.
Instead of getting angry, though, Hermione said, "Actually, that might not be a bad idea."
"What?" Harry said.
"Well, Ron here wasn't going to tell his mother where we were going, were you, Ron?"
"Are you kidding? She’d have a fit at the thought of me running all over England, and when I didn’t tell her why we were doing it..." Ron didn’t need to finish the sentence: all three of them had a very good idea of how Mrs. Weasley would feel about the matter.
"Right," Hermione said. "So if you tell your mother we're at my house, and my parents think we're here..."
Comprehension dawned on Harry and Ron at the same time. "Hermione, you're a clever one, has anyone ever told you that?" Harry said.
Hermione grinned.
"And as long as I promise to owl, I'm sure Mum will let me go," Ron said. "They won't figure out we aren't there. And they don’t remember how to use a fellytone, I don’t think."
"Telephone," Harry and Hermione said in unison.
"Right."
Mrs. Weasley wasn’t enormously pleased that they were leaving the Burrow so soon after they’d arrived, but she relented eventually. "It’ll be nice to see Hermione’s house," she said. "Won’t it be nice, Ron?"
They all agreed that it would, and Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron as quickly as soon as they could extract themselves from Mrs. Weasley’s goodbye hugs. Hermione made a quick stop at Gringotts to change some of their money to Muggle money and then they took a cab to Kings Cross. From there they caught a train to Browning Hill, the nearest train station to Godric’s Hollow that Hermione could find.
It was a little after nine when they arrived in Browning Hill, and the last taxi had just pulled away from the station. Harry wished he’d brought his broom, although it would have been difficult to conceal it from the Muggles on the train.
By the time they walked into Godric’s Hollow, it was after ten and long past dark. They decided to go straight to the inn before doing anything else. Harry didn’t really mind. Much as he wanted to visit his parents’ graves, he didn’t know where they were and it would be difficult to locate them in the dark. And it had been a long day.
The innkeeper looked them over suspiciously and let them two rooms for what Harry suspected was twice the going rate; probably because they were strangers in a small village, Harry realized. He was glad Hermione had thought to change their money, although the look on the innkeeper's face at the sight of Galleons and Sickles would have been well worth seeing. But the rooms were clean, if small, and the instant Harry unlocked the first room, Ron collapsed onto one of the beds.
"I’m knackered," he said. "Completely knackered."
Harry hadn't realized quite how exhausted he was until he sat down on the other bed. It was an effort keeping his eyes open long enough even to unshrink his trunk and unlace his trainers.
"So," Hermione said, sitting down on the bed beside Harry, "I was thinking about the horcruxes. Based on what Dumbledore said, there should be six of them, right? And you've destroyed the diary and he destroyed the ring. So that leaves four. If Dumbledore was right, Hufflepuff's cup is one of them, and the snake Nagini is another. And there's that locket."
"R.A.B.," Harry said. He didn't think he'd ever stop being bitter about discovering that the locket he and Dumbledore had recovered from the cave wasn't the real horcrux. Even though that R.A.B. person had claimed he'd be dead long before anyone read the note inside the fake horcrux, Harry hoped it wasn't true, so he could kill the person himself.
"Right," Hermione said. "So we have to find out what happened to the real locket. And then there's one more horcrux we're still missing."
"It might be something of Ravenclaw's, isn't that what Dumbledore said, Harry?"
"Yeah," Harry said absently. He wanted to concentrate on this, he really did, but he was just so sleepy... "Look, Hermione, Ron, can we talk about this more in the morning?"
"Oh, right," Hermione said. "Sorry, didn't realize you were so tired. I'll see you in the morning, then. I might do some reading; I brought along a few books that might help..."
"Of course she did," Ron said as the door clicked shut behind her. "When doesn't she bring books?"
Harry pulled off his trousers and lay down on top of the bed. Much as he'd wanted to leave the conversation about horcruxes for the morning, he couldn't help his mind from turning to the ones they were missing: the cup, the snake, the locket, something else. The cup, the snake, the locket...
Harry must have drifted off to sleep, because a sharp rapping on the window made him start. "Hedwig?" he said groggily.
His owl hooted in reply. Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and stood up to unlatch the window. It was dark in the room. He must have been asleep for a while. When he replaced his glasses on his nose he saw Hedwig outside the window, a letter clutched in her talons, but behind her were four enormous eagle owls bearing a large wooden box.
Hedwig swooped through the window and deposited the letter on the bed while Harry cast a levitation charm on the box and untied the rope by which the owls had carried it. As soon as he had untied their legs, the eagle owls disappeared into the night.
Harry levitated the box through the window and onto the desk. He hadn’t a clue what it could possibly contain, or who could have possibly known he was in Godric's Hollow other than Ron and Hermione. He picked up the letter and saw his name written in a familiar, slanting script. He quickly tore upon the envelope and unfolded the letter.
Harry,
There may well be things I have neglected to mention to you, so perhaps this will prove useful in your current endeavors.
A.D.
Harry looked at the wooden box again. Suddenly he had a very good idea of what it would contain. "Ron," he hissed. "Ron! Wake up!"
"Whuh?" Ron said groggily.
"Get up and take a look at this!"
Ron half-rolled, half-fell out of the bed and onto the floor. He got up and watched as Harry pried the box's lid open with one of his Potions knives.
"Bloody hell," Ron said. "Is that-"
"Dumbledore's Pensieve," Harry said. He pulled it out of the box, finding it far lighter than he’d expected, and set it on the desk. All thoughts of sleep disappeared from his mind at once. He wasn’t sure what Dumbledore was thinking he would be able to glean from it, but there had to be something, some detail Dumbledore hadn’t thought to share because it hadn’t seemed important or relevant. He didn’t want to grow too optimistic, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, this would be the key to hunting down one or more of the missing horcruxes.
"Brilliant," Ron said, looking almost as excited as Harry felt. But then his face twisted into a frown. "You know what Hermione would say, don't you."
Of course. "That it might have been sent by someone who wasn't Dumbledore, that it might be some kind of Dark artifact, and until we have it checked for every sort of danger ever I shouldn't look in it."
"Got it in one."
"What do you think, Ron?"
"Well, you've seen it before, haven't you? Does it look like Dumbledore's Pensieve?"
"Yeah."
"And you don't think Hedwig would have agreed to deliver something from someone she didn't know, do you?"
"Definitely not."
"I figure it's safe enough, then. Want to have a go?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Let's go."
But just then they heard a knock on the door. "Harry, Ron, are you awake?" Hermione said from the hallway. "I thought I heard you talking."
"Shit," Ron said. They exchanged glances, then Ron said, "I'll distract her. You take a look." He went to the door and slipped out into the hallway. Harry could heard him telling Hermione he'd been thinking more about the horcruxes, and could she explain her theory about the fourth horcrux being an artifact of Ravenclaw's a little better? Harry smiled. Ron knew what he was doing: that was a topic that would keep Hermione distracted for the rest of the night.
Harry went over to the desk where he'd left the Pensieve. He peered into the swirling memories and waited for one to float to the surface. A number of faces floated through the pale, misty memories, none that Harry recognized, but then a voice began to rise from the Pensieve. "...only complicated because of the different modes of thinking a wizard needs to learn," someone, a boy, was saying.
Harry looked closer at the memories and saw the voice’s owner: a handsome, dark-haired boy who wore a Slytherin tie and a superior smirk. He recognized him instantly. Tom Riddle.
"He has to be able to think like the animal he’s Transfiguring himself into," Riddle continued, his voice louder and closer than before, and Harry realized he’d fallen into the memory. He was standing at the front of the classroom beside a Dumbledore fifty years younger than Harry had last seen him. He wondered what this Dumbledore would think if he knew that, fifty years later, he’d be betrayed and killed by a man he said he trusted completely. Just thinking about it, what Snape had done, made Harry want to hurt something.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. Thinking about Snape wasn’t going to do any good. Dumbledore was dead and nothing Harry did was going to change that, especially not here, in Dumbledore’s memory. He couldn’t alter anything that happened in a memory. The people in the memory couldn’t even see or hear him. It was unnerving, though, the way people in memories could look right at him and see right through him. Most of the members of the class seemed to be staring at him right now, but then he was standing at the front of the room, right next to Dumbledore. They were staring at Dumbledore, not at him. That didn’t make it any less unnerving, though. Harry shifted to the side of the room, away from the eyes.
"You are quite correct, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said. "But there are other concerns involved with human-to-animal Transfiguration as well. Could anyone tell me what those might be?"
Riddle couldn’t quite conceal a look of displeasure. He didn’t like that he hadn’t been completely correct. He looked young in this particular memory of Dumbledore’s, fourteen or fifteen maybe. He couldn’t be any older than fifth year, Harry realized, because sixth and seventh years were in N.E.W.T. level classes that weren’t separated by House, and everyone in the classroom wore a Slytherin tie. Except for Dumbledore, that was, whose long auburn hair stood out magnificently against his maroon robes.
None of the other Slytherins seemed to know anything about human-to-animal Transfigurations. Riddle raised his hand again.
"Yes, Mr. Riddle?"
"Well, humans are sentient beings and most animals are not, so it’s important that you Transfigure the mind properly, in addition to the bones and muscles, because if you make a mistake when Transfiguring yourself between human and animal it’s similar to getting splinched, and if you’re-"
Dumbledore held up a hand. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle. Unfortunately, we’ve run out of time, so for Monday, I’d like twelve inches from each of you on the steps one must take in order to become an Animagus, including the procedure for registering one’s animal form with the Ministry. Class dismissed."
Harry glanced at Riddle, whose face had turned a splotchy, unattractive red. Dumbledore, however, seemed oblivious. He was packing up his papers in a leather briefcase and not paying the least bit of attention to Riddle.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Riddle said, standing up and walking towards the front of the room. "I was just wondering, why does the Ministry require Animagi to register?"
Riddle was at the opposite end of the classroom from Harry. As he approached the front of the room he raised his eyes to look at Dumbledore, but his gaze went past the professor and fixed directly on Harry. Reflexively Harry looked behind him but found no one there. Riddle was looking at him.
By the time Harry turned back around, however, Riddle’s eyes were on Dumbledore and Dumbledore was saying something about moral responsibilities, which Harry thought was a pretty rich conversation to be having with Tom Riddle, and then Harry felt himself pulling away from the classroom and out of the Pensieve.
He was back in his room at the inn, his pulse racing. There was Dumbledore’s Pensieve in front of him. It was just a Pensieve, he reminded himself. Everything in the Pensieve had already occurred. People couldn’t see him or speak to him or hear him because what was in the Pensieve was memory. Tom Riddle hadn’t been looking at him. He’d been looking at the blank wall behind Harry, or maybe he’d thought he’d seen something, but whatever he’d seen hadn’t been Harry because Harry wasn’t really there, not in that memory of Dumbledore’s. Harry was sure there was some sort of explanation, even if it was just that he was imagining things. He wanted to talk to Ron about it, but Ron still wasn't back from Hermione's room. He'd have to talk to Ron in the morning.
He kicked off his trainers and fell onto the bed. Before he’d even managed to push the duvet all the way back he was fast asleep.
-----
It was just before dawn when Harry awoke, and Ron was still snoring in the other bed. Harry hadn't slept well. He had dreamt of Riddle staring at him in the Transfiguration classroom over and over again. Riddle couldn't have actually been staring at him, though. It must have been some sort of coincidence.
His eyes fell on the Pensieve, there on the desk. There it was, full of Dumbledore’s memories, memories that might be able to help him find the horcruxes. He wanted, too, to prove to himself that what had happened with Riddle the night before had been nothing but a fluke. It had been; he knew it had been. He just needed to be sure. He made sure his wand was secure in his back pocket and leaned over the Pensieve.
Another image of Riddle floated to the surface, this time a slightly older Riddle. It was night, and he was standing in a corridor lit by his wand. Beside him was a girl Harry recognized instantly: Moaning Myrtle. She was still alive here, alive and terrified-looking, and before he even knew it was happening Harry was standing beside her.
"...don’t know what she was doing out of bed at this hour, Professor," Riddle was saying to Dumbledore.
Harry thought he saw a bit of skepticism in Dumbledore’s eyes, but his face betrayed nothing. "Well, Miss Barnes? Do you have a good reason for being out of bed after curfew?"
Myrtle looked from Dumbledore to Riddle then back to Dumbledore. "No, sir," she mumbled.
"You’re quite sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, then. Ten points from Ravenclaw and detention tomorrow night at eight in my office."
Myrtle nodded but didn’t move, terrified.
"You may return to your dormitory, Miss Barnes," Dumbledore added, not unkindly.
Myrtle fled.
"How has your evening been, Tom?" Dumbledore said.
"Fine, sir."
"Where exactly did you say you found her?"
"Lurking around the second floor, sir." Riddle’s face was carefully blank.
"Curious," Dumbledore said. "I wonder what she was doing there at this hour."
"I don’t know, sir."
"Curious," Dumbledore said again. "Well, I’ll leave you to your rounds. Good night, Tom."
"Good night, sir."
Dumbledore turned to walk away and Harry started to follow him.
But then someone grabbed him from behind and whirled him around. "So you’re solid," Riddle said. "I've seen you before. You were in the Transfiguration classroom at the end of last year. I thought you were a ghost at first, but then I wondered why none of the others could see you. So, why don’t you start by telling me exactly who you are and what you’re doing here?"
Harry couldn’t speak. His thoughts were flying too quickly for his mouth to work. Riddle could see him? Riddle could touch him? How was he doing this, and this was a memory, and where was Dumbledore? This was Dumbledore’s memory, wasn’t it? What if this wasn’t a Pensieve he’d been entering, but some sort of Dark tool and Riddle had trapped him in it and why in the world hadn’t he let Hermione take a look at it before he decided to jump right in?
Riddle shoved him against the wall and trained his wand on Harry’s neck. "I asked you some questions," he said. "I expect you to answer them. Start with your name."
"James," Harry said. He didn’t even have to think in order to know that he absolutely mustn’t tell Riddle that his name was Harry Potter. He wasn’t so certain that this was a memory anymore, but memory or not, there were things no version of Tom Riddle ever needed to know. And where in the world was Dumbledore?
"Last name?"
"Erm, Weatherby," Harry said, faking a coughing fit to mask his hesitation.
"House?"
"Gryffindor."
"Where’s your uniform? You are aware, of course, that wearing non-regulation clothing outside of your dormitory constitutes a violation of the Hogwarts Code, and as such is-" Riddle stopped abruptly. "What year are you in, James Weatherby?"
"Seventh," Harry said. If Moaning Myrtle was still alive, Riddle couldn’t have opened the Chamber of Secrets yet, so he couldn’t be older than fifth year. He’d have to be fifth year, then, since he was a prefect... Hopefully Riddle wouldn’t know the Gryffindor seventh years that well...
"I don’t remember there being a Weatherby in Gryffindor seventh," Riddle said immediately.
Harry summoned up every bit of dignity he could muster while being shoved against a wall and said, "Well, I am, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me go back to my common room now."
"Oh, I’d be more than happy to let you go back to your common room," Riddle said. "I would be, that is, if I believed for a second that you were actually a student here." He leaned in closer so Harry could feel his breath on his face. "However, seeing as I don’t, you aren’t going anywhere until I get some answers. Let’s start with your name."
"James," Harry repeated. "It’s James." It was his middle name, anyway.
Riddle smirked. "If you lie to me, I’ll know it. You aren’t a student here, are you."
"Not anymore," Harry said, which was true, but Riddle still hadn’t backed away. His wand was jabbing into the hollow between Harry’s neck and his collarbone and Riddle was too close and breathing hot on his face and Harry was not-quite-seventeen and everything in the known world turned him on, including that one time in Transfiguration when he’d gotten hard looking at McGonagall’s ankles, which had been horrifying but was nothing compared to this: Riddle, too close and too handsome, and Harry wasn’t gay but his cock didn’t seem to care. It was straining against his trousers and if he moved so much as a millimeter Riddle would feel it. It was bad enough that this was a boy, but this was Tom Riddle, soon to be Voldemort, and Harry was hard because of him.
"Not anymore," Riddle repeated. "Did you finish school?"
"No," Harry said. He wasn’t lying, but somehow he doubted Riddle would take his word for it. He hoped against all hope that Riddle hadn’t yet mastered Legilimency because Harry was crap at Occlumency and there were so many things he couldn’t let Riddle know, because even if this was a memory, it wouldn’t be good for any version of Riddle, ever, to know what Harry knew about the horcruxes. If he’d gotten his timeline right, Riddle wouldn’t have even gone to Slughorn to ask about them yet, but it didn’t much matter because no matter when exactly in the past he was, he knew that Riddle absolutely must not be allowed to learn what Harry knew.
To his dismay, Harry felt the familiar and unpleasant distinction of another’s mind entering his own. His first thought was to yell for help. Maybe Ron would hear him if he yelled loudly enough and find some way to pull him out of the Pensieve; but no, Ron slept like the dead.
There wasn’t enough time or much of a point to yelling, so Harry did the only thing he could think to do to buy himself some time: he pushed his thoughts of horcruxes as far to the back of his mind as he could. It wasn’t much of a defense, and he was sure Riddle would see through it soon if not immediately-
Except that Riddle found something distinctly interesting at the very forefront of Harry’s mind. In his effort to hide his knowledge of horcruxes from Riddle, Harry had inadvertently laid bare the other thing he’d wanted to conceal: the part of his brain devoted entirely to thinking about his enormous erection.
"Well," Riddle said thoughtfully. "That is interesting." And then he reached down and grabbed Harry’s cock through his trousers.
Harry's breath hitched; he couldn't help it.
"You're a queer, are you?" Riddle said. "You're a fucking pansy."
"Fuck you."
"Not likely."
Harry's hips moved forward of their own accord, pushing his cock further into Riddle's hand. He had to stop this, had to stop it before it went any further. Then he remembered: his wand was in his back pocket. Maybe he could manage to slip it out without Riddle noticing...
Riddle removed his hand from Harry's crotch, reached between Harry and the wall, and plucked the wand out of Harry's back pocket. "Nice try," he said. He tossed the wand down the hallway. It clattered to the ground far beyond Harry's reach.
"I wouldn't try anything stupid if I were you," Riddle said, jabbing his wand at Harry's collarbone again to further illustrate his point. And he was right. Harry desperately wished he'd learned something of wandless magic, but as it was he was defenseless. That and more turned on than he'd ever been in his life, which was just not okay.
And then he felt Riddle moving past the front of his mind, searching deeper. Harry didn't know what he was looking for, but that didn't matter; anything Riddle found would be too much. Harry did the only thing he could do. He didn't dare think about why it was so very important that he protect what he knew, because Riddle was in his mind; he didn't dare think about anything at all. The only thing for it was to act.
Harry lunged forward against Riddle, pressed his mouth, his entire body against Riddle, forced Riddle's mouth open with his tongue.
At first Riddle didn't so much as move, and Harry was certain that he was going to pull his wand from between their chests and kill him on the spot. But then Riddle dropped his wand arm and slammed into Harry, shoved him against the wall, and his tongue was in Harry's mouth and his hands were on Harry's trousers.
"You want this, you fucking fairy?" Riddle hissed. "It doesn't matter, I'm going to fuck you until you bleed." He shoved Harry's trousers down and ripped open his own and there was Riddle's cock against Harry's, just as hard as Harry's own, and the only thing Harry could think was that there was no stopping now, no matter what. He didn't dare let Riddle's mind wander. He pulled Riddle closer against him, because if he was doing this he wasn't going to do it halfway. He needed Riddle closer. His hips were moving and so were Riddle's and then Riddle's hand snaked down his back and there were fingers in his arse.
"Oh, fuck," Harry hissed, and realized from the way Riddle's eyes widened that he must have spoken in Parseltongue.
"You're one, too?" Riddle said, half-stepping back and examining Harry. "I've never met another one."
Shit. "Well, I am one," Harry said, grabbing Riddle's cock in a desperate attempt to keep him from thinking about it. Maybe if he were to-
"You want to suck me off, do you?" Riddle said. He must not ever have left Harry's mind. An image came to Harry, unbidden: he was on his knees with Riddle's cock in his mouth, Riddle's hands in his hair, Riddle thrusting. Riddle leaned against the wall and Harry didn't even think about what he was doing. He dropped to the floor and took Riddle's cock into his mouth, as far as he could get it without gagging, wrapped his hand around the base, and began to suck. He didn't really know what he was doing but when he began to move his tongue along the underside of Riddle's cock Riddle grabbed him by the hair and pushed him away.
"Stop," Riddle said. "I can't fuck you if I've already come." He pulled Harry up by the shoulders and turned Harry around, shoved two fingers up Harry's arse. Harry hissed; it burned; but then Riddle curled his fingers up and something exploded in Harry's mind and he barely noticed when Riddle added a third finger and then suddenly the fingers were gone, replaced by something hot and wet and Riddle was the on the floor behind him and that was his tongue up Harry's arse and one of his hands snaked around to grab Harry's cock and he couldn't help it, he was coming and coming and-
Riddle pulled away. Harry could barely stand up; his legs wobbled. "My turn," Riddle said. He whispered a charm and Harry felt his arse fill with something slick and wet and then Riddle was behind him, pressing into him. Harry braced against the wall and Riddle grabbed him around the hip and on the shoulder and pushed.
"Fuck," Harry said. It burned, worse than before, but then Riddle was all the way in and he began to move and then he hit the same place he'd hit with his fingers and if Harry hadn't just come he'd be coming again; his cock was beginning to stir already. Riddle's fingers sank into Harry's hip, moved down to his cock and stroked.
"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, till you can't fucking move," Riddle hissed. He was thrusting fast and hard into Harry, hitting that place that made Harry feel like he was exploding, and then Riddle grunted and bit down hard on Harry's shoulder.
"Shit!" Harry yelled, but Riddle didn't even notice: he was thrusting harder and faster and suddenly Harry's mind filled with an image: the orphanage, the row of beds he'd seen before. A tiny storage closet past the beds, a Riddle not much younger than he was now. Riddle hissing at a panel in the wall-"Mine, you are mine," he told it in Parseltongue-and the panel moving to reveal a stack of Dark books and grimmer things: an eye, a skull, a human hand...
And then the image was gone and Riddle was coming, hot and wet into Harry's arse. He was pumping Harry's cock and biting Harry's shoulder. Harry screamed. He was coming; he slammed his head forward against the wall and all he knew was black.
-----
When Harry awoke he was on the floor of the inn in Godric's Hollow.
"Thank goodness, you're all right," Hermione said.
"What happened?" Harry said, though even as he said it he knew. He sat up and winced at the twinge in his arse.
"Watch it, you took a nasty hit there," Hermione said. It took him a moment to realize she was referring to his head. He rubbed at it and winced again. "You must have passed out and hit your head while you were looking in the Pensieve." She shot a pointed glance at Ron.
"I had to tell her, mate," Ron said sheepishly. "I didn't know what had happened, if it was something in the Pensieve, or-"
"I can't believe you would do something like that, just go diving into what looks like Dumbledore's Pensieve without so much as checking it for hexes!" Hermione said furiously. "Actually, what am I saying, that's what you always do, but honestly, Harry, you can't possibly know if it's really Dumbledore's-"
"It is," Harry said firmly. "I'm sure of it." This was a lie; he wasn't anywhere close to sure of it, but he needed to figure it out himself. He couldn't possibly tell them what had happened in the Pensieve. You're right, Hermione, it was a Dark artifact, I was actually there in the Pensieve, physically there, and Riddle could see me and I had to-
But then he remembered something: a conversation he'd had with Dumbledore, about how he suspected that Riddle tended to hide the horcruxes in places that had meant something to him or that he'd frequented in his childhood: the cave, the Gaunt house, the orphanage. The secret panel in the orphanage closet...
"Ron, Hermione," Harry said. "I think I know where to find one of the horcruxes."