To Kill You With a Kiss

Chapter 24

"We were wondering if we could borrow your Pensieve, sir," said Harry weakly.

"My Pensieve? Yes, of course." If Dumbledore thought this was an odd request, he certainly didn't show it. Dumbledore got up from his desk and opened an old cupboard on the far wall to reveal the familiar rune-edged stone basin. "Did you bring your own memory, or do you wish to borrow one of mine? I have an excellent collection, if you are interested, including my recollection of the spectacular match between Puddlemere United and the Wigtown Wanderers in 1937. There is a reason why they tightened up on ball regulations in the years that followed; the poor Bagman kid was never quite right after that gyrating bludger hit him."

"We brought our own memory." Harry pulled the vial from his pocket.

"Then go right ahead, Harry. Don't mind me; I'll be here working when you come back from the past."

"We are going to the future, Professor." Harry unstoppered the vial and poured its glittering contents into the waters of the Pensieve.

"Ah. Visiting someone's memories of things that haven't happened yet? Good luck, Harry." Dumbledore scratched his nose with his quill and bent down over his work again. "And you too, Tom," he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

"Thank you." Tom and Voldemort spoke together, and Harry saw a slight smile hover behind Dumbledore's beard.

...

It was night in Little Hangleton. A boy of about eighteen stood in front of a tall wrought iron gate and looked up at the manor house that lay half-hidden behind the darkened trees. The boy was dressed in dark robes, and the moonlight cast a silver sheen over his long, black curls. The boy turned anxiously and looked behind him for a moment, as if he had been startled by some slight sound from the bushes.

Harry's breath caught in his chest as he gazed at the boy's pale face. He had not realized that Regulus Black had looked so very much like his brother Sirius.

Footsteps sounded in the still night air, and a stooped, dark-clad figure could be seen walking down the dim garden path towards the gate. The figure held up a flickering lantern and regarded Regulus Black through the iron bars for a moment. Then he muttered in an odd creaky sort of voice: "The master is expecting you. Follow me."

The gate swung open with a hollow groaning sound, and Regulus Black stepped hesitantly into the garden.

Harry, Tom, and Voldemort followed the servant and Regulus up the garden path. They moved silently, like ghosts; their footsteps made no sound against the gravel path.

"Who is he?" whispered Tom. "The servant. I don't recognize him."

"I do." Harry regarded the all too familiar form of the squat bandy-legged little wizard with a great deal of dislike. "It's Mundungus Fletcher, isn't it? I thought he worked for the Order of the Phoenix, but it appears that he was Voldemort's man after all."

Voldemort laughed. "Mundungus? Oh, that two-faced little rat was no more loyal to me than he was to Dumbledore and his Order. He was a double agent for me for a while, until the day he disappeared with half the antique silver the Riddle family owned. I let him go; the idea of old Mrs. Riddle's precious silver sold for a few sickles on the black market amused me."

Regulus and Mundungus' footsteps crunched against the gravel path, and an owl hooted somewhere nearby. Tom glanced up at the moon-washed facade of the imposing manor house and swallowed. Harry reached out for Tom's hand and squeezed it softly.

"Feels odd, doesn't it, Tom? To be back here?" Voldemort's voice was surprisingly gentle. Tom nodded wordlessly.

Harry glanced over at the dark-cloaked man by his side. "Why did you choose this place as your headquarters? Your father's ancestral home?"