“Harry!
”
He opened his eyes, panting, his forehead throbbing. He had passed out against the side of the tent,
had slid sideways down the canvas, and was sprawled on the ground. He looked up at Hermione,
whose bushy hair obscured the tiny patch of sky visible through the dark branches high above them.
“Dream,” he said, sitting up quickly and attempting to meet Hermione’s glower with a look of
innocence. “Must’ve dozed off, sorry.”
“I know it was your scar! I can tell by the look on your face! You were looking into Vol –“
“Don’t say his name!” came Ron’s angry voice from the depths of the tent.
“Fine,” retorted Hermione, “You-Know-Who’s mind, then!” “I didn’t mean it to happen!” Harry
said. “It was a dream! Can you control what you dream about, Hermione?”
“If you just learned to apply Occlumency –“
But Harry was not interested in being told off; he wanted to discuss what he had just seen.
“He’s found Gregorovitch, Hermione, and I think he’s killed him, but before he killed him he read
Gregorovitch’s mind and I saw –“
“I think I’d better take over the watch if you’re so tired you’re falling sleep,” said Hermione coldly.
“I can finish the watch!”
“No, you’re obviously exhausted. Go and lie down.”
She dropped down in the mouth of the tent, looking stubborn. Angry, but wishing to avoid a row,
Harry ducked back inside.
Ron’s still-pale face was poking out from the lower bunk; Harry climbed into the one above him,
lay down, and looked up at the dark canvas ceiling. After several moments, Ron spoke in a voice so
low that it would not carry to Hermione, huddle in the entrance.
“What’s You-Know-Who doing?”
Harry screwed up his eyes in the effort to remember every detail, then whispered into the darkness.
“He found Gregorovitch. He had him tied up, he was torturing him.” “How’s Gregorovitch
supposed to make him a new wand if he’s tied up?”
“I dunno. . . . It’s weird, isn’t it?”
Harry closed his eyes, thinking of all that he had seen and heard. The more he recalled, the less
sense it made. . . . Voldemort had said nothing about Harry’s wand, nothing about the twin cores,
nothing about Gregorovitch making a new and more powerful wand to beat Harry’s. . . .
“He wanted something from Gregorovitch,” Harry said, eyes still closed tight. “He asked him to
hand it over, but Gregorovitch said it had been stolen from him . . . and then . . . then . . .”
He remembered how he, as Voldemort, had seemed to hurtle through Gregorovitch’s eyes, into his
memories. . . .
“He read Gregorovitch’s mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a windowsill, and he fired a
curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he stole whatever You-Know-Who’s
after. And I . . . I think I’ve seen him somewhere. . . .”
Harry wished he could have another glimpse of the laughing boy’s face. The theft had happened
many years ago, according to Gregorovitch. Why did the young thief look familiar?
The noises of the surrounding woods were muffled inside the tent; all Harry could hear was Ron’s
breathing. After a while, Ron whispered, “Couldn’t you see what the thief was holding?”
“No . . . it must’ve been something small.”
“Harry?”
The wooden slats of Ron’s bunk creaked as he repositioned himself in bed.
“Harry, you don’t reckon You-Know-Who’s after something else to turn into a Horcrux?”
“I don’t know,” said Harry slowly. “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be dangerous for him to make another
one? Didn’t Hermione say he had pushed his soul to the limit already?”
“Yeah, but maybe he doesn’t know that.”
“Yeah . . .maybe,” said Harry.
He had been sure that Voldemort had been looking for a way around the problem of the twin cores,
