"Hard to know what to believe these days," muttered Dirk.















　　　"I know Harry Potter," said Dean. "And I reckon he's the real thing-the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it."















　　　"Yeah, there's a lot would like to believe he's that, son," said Dirk, "me included. But where is he? Run for it, by the looks of things. You'd think if he knew anything we don't, or had anything special going for him, he'd be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the Prophet made a pretty good case against him-"















　　　"The Prophet?" scoffed Ted. "You deserve to be lied to if you're still reading that much, Dirk. You want the facts, try the Quibbler."















　　　There was a sudden explosion of choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping, by the sound of it. Dirk had swallowed a fish bone. At last he sputtered, "The Quibbler? That lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood's?"















　　　"It's not so lunatic these days," said Ted. "You want to give it a look, Xeno is printing all the stuff the Prophet's ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they'll let him get with it, mind, I don't know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who's against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter their number-one priority."















"Hard to help a boy who's vanished off the face of the earth," said Dirk.















　　　"Listen, the fact that they haven't caught him yet's one hell of an achievement," said Ted. "I'd take tips from him gladly; it's what we're trying to do, stay free, isn't it?"















　　　"Yeah, well, you've got a point there," said Dirk heavily. "With the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for him, I'd have expected him to be caught by now. Mind, who's to say they haven't already caught and killed him without publicizing it?"















"Ah, don't say that, Dirk," murmured Ted.















　　　There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the back or retreat back up















the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.















　　　Harry, Ron, and Hermione reeled in the Extendable Ears. Harry, who had found the need to remain silent increasingly difficult the longer they eavesdropped, now found himself unable to say more then, "Ginny-the sword-"















"I know!" said Hermione.















　　　She lunged for the tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit.















　　　"Here . . . we . . . are . . ." she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled at something that was evidently in the depths of the bag. Slowly the edge of an ornate picture frame came into sight. Harry hurried to help her. As they lifted the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus free of Hermione's bag, she kept her wand pointing at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.















　　　"If somebody swapped the real sword for the face while it was in Dumbledore's office," she panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, "Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!"















　　　"Unless he was asleep," said Harry, but he still held his breath as Hermione knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its center, cleared her throat, then said:















"Er-Phineas? Phineas Nigellus?"















Nothing happened.















　　　"Phineas Nigellus?" said Hermione again. "Professor Black? Please could we talk to you? Please?"















　　　"'Please' always helps," said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait. At one, Hermione cried:















"Obscura!"















　　　A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus's clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.















"What-how dare-what are you-?"















　　　"I'm very sorry, Professor Black," said Hermione, "but it's a necessary precaution!"















　　　"remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?"















　　　"Never mind where we are," said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.















"Can that possible be the voice of the elusive Mr. Potter?"















　　　"Maybe," said Harry, knowing that this would keep Phineas Nigellus's interest. "We've got a couple of questions to ask you-about the sword of Gryffindor."















　　　"Ah," said Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head this way and that in an effort to catch sight of Harry, "yes. That silly girl acted most unwisely there-"















　　　"Shut up about my sister," said Ron roughly, Phineas Nigellus raised supercilious eyebrows.















　　　"Who else is here?" he asked, turning his head from side to side. "Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolhardily in the extreme. Thieving from the headmaster."















"They weren't thieving," said Harry. "That sword isn't Snape's."















　　　"It belongs to Professor Snape's school," said Phineas Nigellus. "Exactly what claim did the Weasley girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the idiot Longbottom and the Lovegood oddity!"















"Neville is not an idiot and Luna is not an oddity!" said Hermione.















　　　"Where am I?" repeated Phineas Nigellus, starting to wrestle with the blindfold again. "Where have you brought me? Why have you removed me from the house of my forebears?"















　　　"never mind that! How did Snape punish Ginny, Neville, and Luna?" asked Harry urgently.















　　　"Professor Snape sent them into the Forbidden Forest, to do some work for the oaf, Hagrid."















"Hagrid's not an oaf!" said Hermione shrilly.















　　　"And Snape might've though that was a punishment," said Harry, "buy Ginny, Neville, and Luna probably had a good laugh with Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest . . . they've faced plenty worse than the Forbidden Forest, big deal!"















　　　He felt relieved; he had been imagining horrors, the Cruciatus Curse at the very least.















　　　"What we really wanted to know, Professor Black, is whether anyone else has, um, taken out the sword at all? Maybe it's been taken away for cleaning-or something!"















Phineas Nigellus paused again in his struggles to free his eyes and sniggered.















　　　"Muggle-born," he said, "Goblin-made armor does not require cleaning, simple girl. Goblin's silver repels mundane dirt, imbibing only that which strengthens it."















"Don't call Hermione simple," said Harry.















　　　"I grow weary of contradiction," said Phineas Nigellus. "perhaps it is time for me to return to the headmaster's office.?"















　　　Still blindfolded, he began groping the side of his frame, trying to feel his way out of his picture and back into the one at Hogwarts. Harry had a sudden inspiration.















"Dumbledore! Can't you bring us Dumbledore?"















"I beg your pardon?" asked Phineas Nigellus.















　　　"Professor Dumbledore's portrait-couldn't you bring him along, here, into yours?"















Phineas Nigellus turned his face in the direction of Harry's voice.















　　　"Evidently it is not only Muggle-borns who are ignorant, Potter. The portraits of Hogwarts may commune with each other, but they cannot travel outside of the castle except to visit a painting of themselves elsewhere. Dumbledore cannot come here with me, and after the treatment I have received at your hands, I can assure you that I will not be making a return visit!"















　　　Slightly crestfallen, Harry watched Phineas redouble his attempts to leave his frame.















　　　"Professor Black," said Hermione, "couldn't you just tell us, please, when was the last time the sword was taken out of its case? Before Ginny took it out, I mean?"















Phineas snorted impatiently.















　　　"I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring."















　　　Hermione whipped around to look at Harry. Neither of them dared say more in front of Phineas Nigellus, who had at least managed to locate the exit.















　　　"Well, good night to you," he said a little waspishly, and he began to move out of sight again. Only the edge of his hat brim remained in view when Harry gave a sudden shout.















"Wait! Have you told Snape you saw this?"















Phineas Nigellus stuck his blindfolded head back into the picture.















　　　"Professor Snape has more important things on his mind that the many eccentricities of Albus Dumbledore. Good-bye, Potter!"















　　　And with that, he vanished completely, leaving behind him nothing but his murky backdrop.















"Harry!" Hermione cried.















　　　"I know!" Harry shouted. Unable to contain himself, he punched the air; it was more than he had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry anymore. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus's back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry.















　　　"The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them-Harry, that sword's impregnated with basilisk venom!"















　　　"And Dumbledore didn't five it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket-"















　　　"-and he must have realized they wouldn't let you have it if he put it in his will-"















"-so he made a copy-"















"-and put a fake in the glass case-"















"-and he left the real one-where?"















　　　They gazed at east other Harry felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalizingly close. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realized it at the time?"















"Think!" whispered Hermione. "Think! Where would he have left it?"















"Not at Hogwarts," said Harry, resuming his pacing.















"Somewhere in Hogsmeade?" suggested Hermione.















"The Shrieking Shack?" said Harry. "Nobody ever goes in there."















"But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn't that be a bit risky?"















"Dumbledore trusted Snape," Harry reminded her.















"Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords," said Hermione.















　　　"Yeah, you're right!" said Harry, and he felt even more cheered at the thought that Dumbledore had had some reservations, however faint, about Snape's trustworthiness. "So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d'you reckon, Ron? Ron?"















　　　Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realized that Ron was lying in the shadow of a bunk, looking stony.















"Oh, remembered me, have you?" he said.















"What?"















Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk.















"You two carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."















　　　Perplexed, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, apparently as nonplussed as he was.















"What's the problem?" asked Harry.















　　　"Problem? There's no problem," said Ron, still refusing to look at Harry. "Not according to you, anyways."















There were several plunks on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain.















"Well, you've obviously got a problem," said Harry. "Spit it out, will you?"















Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself.















　　　"All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know."















"I don't know?" repeated Harry. "I don't know?"















　　　Plunk, plunk, plunk. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark. Dread doused Harry's jubilation; Ron was saying exactly what he had suspected and feared him to be thinking.















　　　"It's not like I'm not having the time of my life here," said Ron, "you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something."















　　　"Ron," Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the loud tattoo the rain was beating on the tent.















"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for," said Harry.















"Yeah, I thought I did too."















　　　"So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations?" asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defense now. "Did you think we'd be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to Mummy by Christmas?"















　　　"We thought you knew what you were doing!" shouted Ron, standing up, and his words Harry like scalding knives. "We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"















　　　"Ron!" said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.















　　　"Well, sorry to let you down," said Harry, his voice quite calm even though he felt hollow, inadequate. "I've been straight with you from the start. I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in the case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux-"















　　　"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them-nowhere effing near in other words."















　　　"take off the locket, Ron," Hermione said, her voice unusually high. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."















　　　"Yeah, he would," said Harry, who did not want excuses made for Ron. "D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D'you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?















"Harry, we weren't-"















　　　"Don't lie!" Ron hurled at her. "You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than-"















"I didn't say it like that-Harry, I didn't!" she cried.















　　　The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione's face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived















firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The sword of Gryffindor was hidden they knew not where, and their were three teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.















"So why are you still here?" Harry asked Ron.















"Search me," said Ron.















"Go Home then," said Harry.















　　　"Yeah, maybe I will!" shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. "Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter doesn't care what happened to her in there-well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff-"















"I was only saying-she was with the others, they were with Hagrid-"















　　　"Yeah, I get it, you don't care! And what about the rest of my family, 'the















Weasleys don't need another kid injured,' did you hear that?" "Yeah, I-"















"Not bothered what it meant, though?"















　　　"Ron!" said Hermione, forcing her way between them. "I don't think it means anything new has happened, anything we don't know about; think, Ron, Bill's already scared, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I'm sure that's all he meant-"















　　　"Oh, you're sure, are you? Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's all right for you, isn't it, with your parents safely out of the way-"















"My parents are dead!" Harry bellowed.















"And mine could be going the same way!" yelled Ron.















　　　"Then GO!" roared Harry. "Go back to them, pretend you're got over your spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to feed you up and-"















　　　Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner's pocket, Hermione had raised her own.















　　　"Prestego!" she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparentbarrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time. Harry felt a corrosive hatred toward Ron: Something had broken between them.















"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said.















　　　Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione.















"What are you doing?"















"What do you mean?"















"Are you staying, or what?"















　　　"I . . ." She looked anguished. "Yes-yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help-"















"I get it. You choose him."















"Ron, no-please-come back, come back!"















　　　She was impeded by her own Shield Charm; by the time she had removed it he had already stormed into the night. Harry stood quite still and silent, listening to her sobbing and calling Ron's name amongst the trees.















After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face.















"He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"















She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry.















　　　Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron's bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.

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