─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Hermione, however, was too quick for him.
"Expelliarmus!" Mundungus's wand soared into the air, and Hermione caught it.
Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs: Ron rugby–tackled him, and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch. "What?" he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron's grip. "Wha've I done? Setting a bleedin' 'ouse-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha've I done, lemme go, lemme go, or— "
"You're not in much of a position to make threats," said Harry. He threw aside the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus's nose. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke. His hair was matted and his robes stained.
"Kreacher apologizes for the delay, Master. Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end."
"You've done really well, Kreacher," said Harry, and the elf bowed low.
"Right, we've got a few questions for you," Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once."I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an' that was bleedin' You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there,I said all along I didn't wanna do it— "
"For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated," said Clara. Glaring fiercely at Mundungus. He was the reason Moody was dead. Clara thought he deserved a fairly gruesome punishment. At this thought, Clara suddenly became very guilty. Godric, what was wrong with her? He did deserve it, why was she being so soft?
"Well, you're a bunch of bleedin' 'eroes then, aren't you, but I never pretended I was up for killing myself— "
"We're not interested in why you ran out on Mad-eye," said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus's baggy, bloodshot eyes. "We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum."
"Well then, why the 'ell am I being 'unted down by 'ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblet again? I ain't got none of 'em left, or you could 'ave 'em— "
"It's not about the goblets either, although you're getting warmer," said Harry. "Shut up and listen." Harry's wand was now so close to the bridge of Mundungus's nose that Mundungus had gone cross-eyed trying to keep it in view. Clara wished Harry would just hex him already. "When you cleaned out his house of anything valuable," Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again. "Sirius never cared about any of the junk— "
There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony; Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan.
"Call 'im off, call 'im off, 'e should be locked up!" screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.
"Kreacher, no!" shouted Harry. Kreacher's thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft.
"Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?"
Ron laughed.
"We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading, you can do the honors," said Harry. Harry's green eyes were still focused on Mundungus, and Clara could see the anger growing in them.
"Thank you very much, Master," said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.
"When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find," Harry began again, "you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there. What did you do with it?"
"Why?" asked Mundungus, "Is it valuable?"
"You've still got it!" cried Hermione.
"No, he hasn't," said Ron shrewdly. "He's wondering whether he should have asked more money for it."
"More?" said Mundungus, "that wouldn't have been effing difficult . . . bleedin' gave it away, di'n' I? No choice."
"What do you mean?"
"I was selling in Diagon Alley, and she come up to me and asks if I've got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin' snoop.She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an' told me she'd take it and let me off this time, and to fink me self lucky."
"Who was this woman?" asked Harry.
"I dunno, some Ministry hag. "Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled."Little woman. Bow on top of her head."He frowned, then added, "Looked like a toad."
Harry dropped his wand: It hit Mundungus on the nose and shot red sparks into his eyebrows, which ignited.
"Aguamenti!" screamed Hermione, and a jet of water streamed from her wand, engulfing a spluttering and choking Mundungus. Clara's fingertips flew to her mouth and she closed her eyes in an attempt to conceal the monstrous scream that was echoing in her head.
It was now the first of September. The group had made little to no progress and Clara was feeling more anxious and angry every day. Despite this, she tried her best to maintain focus on the task at hand. At least it would keep her mind off of the anger. And why Harry was still being cold to her. And why she always seemed to sleep under a draft no matter where she moved. And why she couldn't figure out why Dumbledore had given her that blasted watch.
"I've got news, and you won't like it." called Harry. He walked into the kitchen, his unruly hair longer than ever.
"Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner," croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered. Since his return from capturing Mundungus, Kreacher had turned into an attentive, good-spirited soul. Although he did still have his reservations about the group, it really did seem like he was trying to be somewhat kind.
"What's happened?" Ron asked apprehensively. He and Hermione had been poring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry as he strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment. Clara leaned over from the corner of the table, where she had been re-reading Hermione's book from Dumbledore. It seemed as though no answers were coming to any of them.
A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read:
SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER
"No!" said Ron and Hermione loudly. Clara let out a scoff. Hermione was quickest; she snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud."'Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrows will will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 'I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values— ' Like committing murder and cutting off people's ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster! Snape in Dumbledore's study—Merlin's pants!" she shrieked, making both Harry and Ron jump. Clara flinched, but remained on her feet. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room shouting as she went, "I'll be back in a minute!"
"'Merlin's pants'?" repeated Ron, looking amused. "She must be upset." He pulled the newspaper toward him and perused thearticle about Snape. Clara read it slowly over his shoulder. She shook her head in disapproval.
"The other teachers won't stand for this. McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won't accept Snape as headmaster. And who are these Carrows?" said Clara.
"Death Eaters," said Harry. "There are pictures of them inside.They were the people at the top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so it's all friends together. And," Harry went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, "I can't see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape it'll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban— and that's if they're lucky. I reckon they'll stay to try and protect the students."
Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large tureen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.
"Thanks Kreacher. Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now."
"I remembered this," Hermione panted. She rushed into the kitchen carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside, and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much else, into the bag's capricious depths.
"Phineas Nigellus," Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.
"Sorry?" said Ron, but Clara understood. The painted image of Phineas Nigellus Black was able to flit between his portrait in Grimmauld Place and the one that hung in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts: the circular tower-top room where Snape was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledore's collection of delicate, silver magical instruments.
"Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him," Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. "But let him try now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag."
"Good thinking!" said Ron, looking impressed.
"Thank you," smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her."So, Harry, what else happened today?"
"Nothing," said Harry. "Watched the Ministry entrance for seven house. No sign of her. Saw your dad, though, Ron. He looks fine." Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. They had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers.
"Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work," Ron said. "That's why we haven't seen Umbridge, she'd never walk, she'd think she's too important."
"I think we should go tomorrow," said Harry suddenly. "We can't keep putting it off."
"You can't be serious." said Clara. Harry looked up at her and she knew he was. "But... are we really ready?"
"No," said Hermione and Ron together.
"Yes." disagreed Harry. "If we get our plan solidified, it will work. We can't procrastinate this any longer. The more time we waste thinking, the more time Voldemort has to kill people. Families, innocent people, children..." Harry trailed off. "We need to do this now."
Clara squinted her eyes at Harry. She could tell something was wrong. His fists clenched tightly and his skin was sickeningly pale. "Fine," she said. "If that's all right with you two?"
Ron and Hermione nodded sullenly. The group gathered closer and pushed pens, paper, and their brains together to formulate their plan.
They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over their plan until they could recite it, wordperfect, to each other. Harry, who was now sleeping in Sirius's room, lay in bed with his wandlight trained on the old photograph of his father, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew. Clara tiptoed to the side of the bed and tapped his shoulder.
Harry jumped, his body moving further into the bed.
"Godric, Clara, don't scare me like that!"
"Sorry," whispered Clara. She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands into her lap. "I just- I wanted to know if you were okay."
"What do you mean?"
"This initiative to take action... it just seems very sudden. Did something happen, something that's making you want to move quicker?"
"No." said Harry firmly. He sat up and pulled his blankets upward. He rubbed his hands over his face as if to showcase his exhaustion. "Look, it's really late, you should get some rest."
"Right, yeah. I just," said Clara. She paused. Harry looked at her, waiting for her to finish her thought. She sighed before continuing, "I want you to know that you can talk to me. About anything."
"Right," said Harry, nodding his head. "Right, yeah, thanks. Well, seeing as we're not fucking anymore and we're not in love I don't really see a point in talking if it's not about getting these bloody horcruxes. Goodnight, Clara."
Clara sat stunned for a few seconds as Harry vanquished the light from his wand, filling the room in complete darkness. A scoff echoed into the darkness as Clara rose from the bed. "Yeah, goodnight."
Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste, and Clara was not pleased to be alive and awake. Nevertheless, she had to act like everything was fine, because today was important. And like hell was she going to be the one to screw up this mission.