Of Butterflies in a Hurricane

*

The news of Seamus' death spread like wildfire over the school. For once, the attention from Harry's unusual presence was diminished. It was, instead, dedicated to discussions of Seamus. It had been in the Daily Prophet the next morning with a few details of what had happened. Words like "gruesome", "regrettable", and "blood-stained" stuck in Harry's mind.

He had to endure the discussions that circled everywhere he went the next day. Not that he went many places, just to the Great Hall for meals. He felt a sense of deep regret for never truly making up with Seamus the last year. They had been better near the end, but not truly friends again.

Harry wanted to grieve for Seamus, but he also felt like they needed to get a moving on the Horcruxes. He felt bad for wanting to move on so quickly, but he knew that the sooner he destroyed the Horcruxes and Voldemort, the sooner they wouldn't have to suffer through news of deaths like these.

If Harry felt guilty, he could only imagine how Dean must feel. Dean had not come out of the dorm for two days since he'd told them. Hermione, concerned for his well-being, brought him food everyday, slipping it through his hangings. Harry wondered why it had affected him so much. Yes, Seamus had been his best friend, but Harry wondered if there wasn't something more going on.

He didn't have time to ponder the worries of Dean, though, as he felt an increasingly pressing need to quit the castle and find out what Voldemort had done in that room at the Riddle House. It had been bothering him ever since they had left the memory.

There were so many unanswered questions that it posed. What had Voldemort done in that room? Harry's most avidly supported idea was that he had hidden a Horcrux there. He was extremely interested to see if he was correct. Why had Snape sounded so bitter when he'd left Voldemort in the Gaunt House? Harry thought he was one of Voldemort's most loyal followers. He had killed Dumbledore after all.

Harry knew he ought to be showing a little more sympathy towards Seamus' death, but he was just so impatient to leave so he could finish it all. He knew how it must look to people who didn't understand. "Oh, that Harry Potter, doesn't care about anyone but himself. His dorm mate dies and all he wants to do is leave."

Harry heard a few of these whisperings during the next few days whenever he dared venture out of the dorm. He tried his best to ignore them, knowing the real truth. He only wished the rest of the school understood, but he knew he couldn't tell them.

Three days after the news of Seamus' death, Harry approached Ron and Hermione in the common room. They were sitting in silence by the fireplace; Ron munching on the Chocolate Frogs that Neville had given him.

Harry sat down in the third chair and glanced out the window. Outside, the sky was dark and Harry could feel a cold draft coming in. The weather was turning colder as they lingered at Hogwarts; September had already passed into October during their time there.

"Hermione, Ron," Harry said, turning away from the window and facing them, "I think we need to go."

Ron and Hermione were silent for a moment. Hermione appeared to be thinking it over while Ron waited for the conclusion. Harry waited in apprehension, hoping Hermione would agree with him, and, if she didn't, he was going to leave anyway. He couldn't just sit around and wait for Voldemort to attack him or kill Draco.

Finally, Hermione leaned forward, as did Ron, and said to Harry in a low voice, "Are we going to go to that house?"

"I think we have to," Harry sighed. "It seems the most likely place. I'd rather not, but I doubt we have any choice."

"You think the Horcrux," Ron whispered, "is there?"

"Sounded like it, didn't it?" Harry asked in a resigned voice. Ron nodded and sat back again.

"But, Harry," Hermione injected, "it's not very safe to go there, is it? I mean, it was where V-Voldemort hid during the TriWizard Tournament."

"Yeah, but the Ministry knows about it now; Dumbledore told them. I doubt he'd go back when they’re probably watching it."

"But doesn't that mean that they would be watching us, too?" Ron asked suddenly.

Harry paused. Yes, that was probably true. How would they get into the house without alerting the Ministry of their presence? Surely, they would want to know what they were doing there. The Ministry wasn't exactly prone to Harry's side since he had refused the help them the year previously. Harry was sure they wouldn't want to help him if he couldn't tell them what he was doing.

"Is there any way around that?" Harry asked Hermione hopelessly. He couldn't see how they could sneak around a horde of Aurors.

"Well..." Hermione said thoughtfully, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "I guess it depends."

"On what?" Ron asked.

"On who’s doing the guarding," she said with a significant glance.

Harry was confused for a moment, and then realization hit him. "Oh."

"What? Who?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry and Hermione merely exchanged a half-amused, half-exasperated look. "If it's a member of the Order, we'd probably be able to get in," Hermione explained.

"Oh!" Ron said, finally cottoning on. "So if it's like Tonks or someone, they could get us in without questions!"

"Maybe," Hermione said seriously. "But we don't know. If there's no one from the Order there, we could be in serious trouble."

The flare of hope that had surfaced when the idea of an Order member had come up died suddenly. Harry thought again how hopeless it would be to try to get into an Auror-guarded house. In the end, though, he knew there was really no choice.

"We have to go," he said resignedly. "It doesn't matter if there's a million Aurors and Death Eaters, we have to get in there and find that Horcrux."

Neither Ron nor Hermione argued with him. Despite all their reserves and fear of what that house held, they knew Harry was right. The only way to end the war once and for all was to destroy all the Horcruxes.

They reluctantly agreed that they had to leave the castle and all its safety. That night, they retreated to their respective dormitories to pack their things and get ready to go.

As Harry was stuffing his clothes into his bag, he heard the sound of hangings being pulled back. He poked his head out of his bed and saw Dean sitting on his bed, staring resolutely at the floor. He looked in no better shape than three days ago.

"Dean?" Harry asked quietly. Dean barely reacted, just swallowed and turned his head further from Harry. "Are you okay?"

Harry knew it was a stupid question before it even left his lips. Of course he wasn't okay! His best friend had died, killed by Death Eaters, and all Harry was doing was asking about his state.

Harry didn't know what to say, feeling incredibly stupid and unequipped to help Dean handle his grief. Instead, he fell into silence and resumed packing his bag. Dean looked up at length and watched Harry stuff shirts into his bag, shrinking them to make them fit.

"You're leaving?"

Dean's voice broke the silence of the room and Harry was surprised. His voice was low and void of emotion. Harry looked over at him and paused.

"Yeah," he said finally. He knew he would have had to tell Dean and Neville. He couldn't just disappear; they would wonder.

Dean said nothing again and Harry went back to his bag, double-checking everything. He was in the process of counting how many clean shirts he had when Dean spoke again.

"Harry," he said, "kill that bastard."

Harry looked up sharply. He'd never heard Dean sound so angry and dejected.

"What?" he asked, sure he had heard wrong, or that it hadn't been Dean who had spoken.

Dean looked up, a fire blazing in his eyes. "Kill him. He deserves to die. I want you to kill him, Harry. I know you can. I know people say you're just an attention-mongering teenager, desperate for recognition, but they're wrong. I trust you, Harry. I know you'll do it. Please, for Seamus."

Harry just stared at Dean, unable to believe what he'd just heard. He'd never heard Dean utter a mean word in his entire time of acquaintance. Some of what he said gave Harry that same desperate feeling. He knew people were counting on him, but things like that just made it all seem so much more real.

"I--" Harry said, not knowing how to respond.

Dean sighed, the fire in his eyes dying almost immediately. "Don't die, Harry," he said quietly and scooted back on his bed, wrenching the hangings shut once more, leaving Harry staring at the maroon curtains that swung in the light breeze from the window.

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in Professor McGonagall's office, facing said professor. McGonagall had fixed them with a beady stare, but they held their ground.

"You're leaving?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yes," Harry said confidently. They were leaving and she couldn't stop them.

"Where are you going?" she asked pressingly.

"The country," Harry replied evasively.

McGonagall raised a skeptical eyebrow as she looked at all three of them. Ron fidgeted under her gaze but kept his eyes on the floor as she swept past him. She walked past her desk and Harry wondered what she was doing.

She went to the cabinet on one wall and threw open the doors without a word. She rummaged around for a bit while Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged dubious looks behind her back. She finally came out with something in her hand. She came back in front of them and looked at them almost fondly.

"Well, Potter, you won't tell me and I suppose it is no longer my place to tell you what to do. My only advice is to stick to what you know and follow your instincts. They will rarely lead you astray." She glanced at Harry and held out the object in her hand. It was a ruby stone that glimmered in the light of the office. "I'm giving you this as a token. Don't forget where you come from, Potter."

Harry nodded and took the stone she offered. He slipped it into his pocket and took a step back. For a fleeting second, Harry could have sworn McGonagall gave him a flash of a sad smile but it was gone before he could look again.

"Alright then, Potter. You'd best be off," she said and ushered them towards the door. They had decided to Apparate to cause, hopefully, fewer problems.

They took their leave of the castle slowly and reluctantly. They looked around as they left; Harry thinking that, maybe the next time he had to see the castle, it would be in better spirits. Once out the oak front doors, Harry hustled the other two past the lake and down the road to the gate.

Coming upon it, he had a sudden flash of memory; Draco being shoved through it to the other side, Snape right on his tail. There was no time to reach him. He was trapped and there was no way out. Harry wanted to catch him, to save him, bring him to safety, but Snape would not allow it. Draco was lost, and Harry knew it. In that last second, Harry had seen his life flash and disappear in a crack that had echoed in his ears for months after.

Harry shook himself and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. They were nearly to the gate and once they reached it, were no longer in the protection of the castle. Harry felt a growing sense of dread but disregarded it, knowing there was no going back now.

He stopped just as they reached the gate and looked at the other two. "You ready?" he asked.

"No," Ron said, "but let's go."

Harry gave him a small smile and Hermione tried to look hopeful but was failing miserably. She moved around Harry and raised her wand to the lock. It glowed red for a moment and Harry heard a click. Quickly, they slid out and shut it behind them, Hermione setting the wards once more.

They hesitated for a moment, knowing they would be safe no longer. Harry took a breath and let it out resignedly. "Okay," he said. "Let's go."

In three simultaneous Cracks, they Disapparated from the school. Harry concentrated hard on their destination and felt his feet hit solid ground seconds later.

He opened his eyes carefully and found himself looking up at the Riddle House on top of its large hill. He heard Ron and Hermione join him and hastily moved off to the side of the road. He didn't know if they were being watched but wanted to be safe either way.

Harry had the feeling that their arrival had been too conspicuous for his comfort. He ushered them to the edge and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and threw it over the three of them. It was much more difficult to cover them all now, given that they all had grown precipitously since they had all been able to use it.

Harry backed further into the bush, knowing their coming couldn't have been unnoticed. He didn't like the odd silence of the grass and trees around him. He, Ron, and Hermione stood still and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that they weren't alone.

Sure enough, there was a small crack behind him; the sound of a twig being stepped on. Underneath the cloak, Hermione let out a small gasp and Harry quickly trod on her foot in an effort to silence her. They all turned toward the sound, backing up slowly and carefully as they did so.

Harry couldn't see anything, no sight of a person. He could feel his heart rate increasing as they continued to back out onto the road. He stumbled a little on a hidden root behind him and, at once, felt himself seized by a pair of strong hands.

The cloak was ripped from their heads and thrown to the side haphazardly. Harry stared wildly around him, still unable to see anyone; they must have been invisible, he surmised.

"Harry!" A deep, rich voice came from the air in front of Harry and he felt himself released.

In a second of wild deliberation, Harry stumbled back, trying to force his legs to work and run. He saw a flurry of movement and, in a moment, a man materialized in front of him.

"Kingsley!" Harry cried in surprise.

"Shh!" He was quickly silenced by the tall black man that stood in front of him. Kingsley Shacklebolt grabbed Harry's robes, along with Ron and Hermione, and dragged them farther into the forest, away from the road. He waved his wand and, immediately, a quiet fell over them.

Kingsley turned to them, an expression of mingled surprise worry crossing his features. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, what are you doing here?" he asked them, all the while keeping a watch around them.

"It-- I-- We..." After months of explaining his sudden appearances to people, Harry still didn't know what to say.

"Dumbledore's task, is it?" Kingsley asked briskly, taking over for Harry.

"I-- yeah," he said, surprised that Kingsley seemed to business-like about it.

"Alright, Harry," he said in his deep voice. "What do you need?"

Harry was taken aback at his unquestionable acceptance of Harry's reason. Even Ron and Hermione looked surprised that he wasn't questioning further.

"I need to get into the house," Harry said quickly, seizing the opportunity while he could. "And we'll need some time alone in there, no disturbances. It would probably be best if no one knew we were there. I don't think Scrimgouer would be too pleased to know we were poking around in Voldemort's old hide-out."

Kingsley looked thoughtful for a moment. "You have got a point. I'm sure some of my colleagues are in his pocket and would let him know immediately. I might be able to help you here."

"That would be great," Harry said, feeling relieved. It would be nice to know that the entire task would not be an incredible difficulty.

"Are you on duty?" Ron asked interestedly.

"For the Ministry, yes," Kingsley replied. "But the Order has some interest in this as well. It's in both their interests."

Ron didn't question Kingsley any further and Harry engaged him in discussion about how they would get into the house. Half an hour later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were once again under the Invisibility Cloak and creeping up to the back door of the Riddle House.

Kingsley had gone to find the other Aurors stationed around the house and distract them momentarily. Harry praised his good luck as they made it to the house unscathed and unspotted. They opened the creaky back door just as the man in the memory had done.

Once inside, they didn't dare to take off the Cloak as they climbed the dust-covered stairs to the first floor landing. Harry didn't like the feel of the house as he climbed; it felt like the darkness was pressing in upon them; like it was aware they were intruders.

Uneasily, they made it up the stairs and went down a dark hallway to their left. At the end of it, Harry finally allowed the removal of his cloak. He stuffed it back into his bag and exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione.

"This is it," he said, his voice trembling just slightly. He almost didn't want to know what was on the other side of the door. He knew it couldn't be good. The air of the house told him so.

Ron looked apprehensive as Harry placed a hand on the door and pushed. When nothing happened, Ron peeked in cautiously along with Harry and Hermione.

Inside the room was a single armchair that stood on a hearth rug before the empty fire grate. The walls were grey and the entire room seemed lifeless. They moved inside it carefully, jumping slightly as the door shut with a snap.

The room seemed very ominous and dark as they stood in the middle, silent for the moment. Harry was thinking how the room never seemed to change. It was the same in dreams, memories, everything.

"Now what?" Ron asked dubiously, glancing around the room like the Horcrux might pop out of thin air and into their hands.

"Now, we find out what's in here."

It was a fairly plain room and, if it was as Harry suspected, the Horcrux must be hidden by magic. He glanced at the fireplace for a moment but disregarded the idea almost as quickly. Voldemort surely wouldn't use the same trick twice. That would be far too low, even for him.

Hermione and Ron were prowling the perimeter of the room, feeling blindly with their hands like they might come upon a magically concealed place. Harry thought it was useless. Even if he did know how to sense magic, it would be difficult to discover how to uncover it.

Harry had gone all around the room and found absolutely nothing. He just knew the Horcrux was there, though; he was sure of it!

On the other side of the room, Ron gave a heavy sigh and made for the armchair that stood in the middle of the room. He started to sit down but Harry stopped him.

"I wouldn't sit there if I were you," he said warningly and Ron stopped midway in lowering himself into the chair.

"Why not?" he asked naively.

"Voldemort sat there," Harry said simply.

Ron gave a yelp and leapt away from the chair. He backed away, now giving it a wide berth. He was not keen on coming near anything Voldemort may have touched.

"Wait," Hermione said slowly, speaking for the first time in a while, "Harry, is that armchair always in the same spot?"

"I think so," Harry said. "Why?"

Hermione shook her head for a second and walked closer to the chair, looking at it closely. The rug underneath it was a dark red color but so filthy it was difficult to tell. Under the rug, the floor was an old hardwood, graying from its many years of use.

"Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously as she crouched down and fingered the dirty rug.

She looked up at him, a determined expression on her face. "Did you ever read any Poe before you came to Hogwarts?" she asked him.

"You mean Edgar Allen Poe, the poet?" Harry asked, confused how this related at all.

"Oh yeah," Ron said brightly, momentarily forgetting about the chair. "Poe is a great wizard poet. Muggles never knew he wasn't one of them!"

"He was a wizard?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Sure," Ron shrugged. "You didn't think all that stuff he wrote was made up? No! A lot of it was true back when there weren't laws about murder."

Harry was incredibly surprised at this revelation but was still unsure as to how it related to the situation. "So what about him?"

"Poe was a greatly revered poet in both wizard and Muggle societies,” Hermione said. “Voldemort was drawn to powerful figures. Poe had a lot of influence on those around him. I would imagine Poe would be something of an inspiration for him. The way his poetry and stories are so dark, full of regretless killings, I'm willing to bet that Voldemort looked to him as a model."

"He used a mad poet to tell him to kill innocent people?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Not to tell him what to do, just that he liked the way it was done in the stories; the way they were written."

"Okay, so what does this have to do with anything?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Well," Hermione said slowly, still looking at the floor intently, "one of Poe's most famous works was The Tell-Tale Heart where a man was murdered and his body hidden underneath the floorboards. If Voldemort envied him as much as I think, it's possible that he would be particularly interested in that gruesome tale and that the Horcrux is right there."

Harry and Ron looked down Hermione's finger to where she was pointing to the armchair. Harry moved closer to it, half-expecting the thumping of a dead heart to sound at any moment. When none such thing happened, he turned to Hermione.

"You think it's under the floorboards?" he asked skeptically. He glanced once more at the old armchair and the dirty rug, wondering if Hermione had finally gone 'round the bend.

"Yes," she responded adamantly, as though insulted that he didn't agree.

"If it is, then how do we get it out?" Ron asked interestedly. He was slowly approaching the armchair once more but still remained cautious.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "Why I do I always have to be the one who figures it out?"

"Because you're all-knowing?" Ron asked brightly and when Hermione frowned, added, "and we're stupid gits."

"That's better," she agreed, and then gave him a small smile.

Harry merely rolled his eyes and walked up to the chair, grabbing it by the arm and tugging it off the rug and away next to a wall. The grimy rug was left; the indent of the chair legs remaining where it had always stood.

He reached down carefully and grabbed the end of the rug, beginning to roll it towards him. Ron hesitated but then joined at his side and helped rolling. Hermione stood anxiously above, peering down as the rug was rolled back to reveal a darker wood than the rest of the floor.

Finally, Harry and Ron finished pulling up the rug and set it into a corner. Harry came back and stared down at the floor, wondering if Hermione's theory was right and there was a Horcrux underneath it.

Hermione got to her knees on the floor, her wand out and began scouring the circle of dark wood. Harry heard her whispering fervent spells under her breath but didn't recognize any. Occasionally, she would remove the wand and press on the floor with her hand.

Finally, Harry just had to ask. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"I'm finding the Horcrux," she said in an annoyed voice.

"It's there? Really?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up. If they had managed to find another one, they were that much closer to destroying Voldemort.

"Yes, Harry, really," Hermione muttered distractedly, returning to her scouring of the floor.

After a few tense moments, she sat back in her knees and bit her lower lip. Then she turned to Ron and Harry seriously. "It wants payment."

Harry's mind immediately flew to the cave when Dumbledore had cut himself to pay in blood for entrance. "What kind of payment?"

"It wants something valuable... like a promise."


~~**~~

A/N: Another update, please review!