“We are down to the last Horcrux,” Harry started as he sipped his tea. It was a perfect cup, not too strong, hot, very milky and sweet. He felt more hopeful than he had in quite a while. They had finally made some progress; they were being proactive and they had more help now than they’d had the entire school year (funny, Harry still thought in school years, even though he hadn’t been to Hogwarts for months now).

 Then his head started throbbing painfully. He didn’t want to tell Hermione, but Voldemort was angry. Furious, in fact.

At some point, the pain got so bad that she noticed and her frown deepened.

 “Is it your scar again, Harry?”

 “Yes, I… He is so angry. Something didn’t go well for him.”

 Hermione rubbed her nose thoughtfully and bit her lip. “Severus has several books on Occlumency here. I have read that… if you cannot clear your mind, try and focus on an emotion your intruder cannot cope with. Just try it. I will go upstairs and talk to Dumbledore.”

 “What?” Harry asked, feeling left out again.

 “There is a portrait of him upstairs. He can maybe help us figure out the last Horcrux or maybe he can tell us what to do for a change.”

 Harry nodded. He didn’t really feel like talking to the old man anyway.

 An emotion. Harry tried love. It wasn’t too easy to feel something so powerful, so positive, and it didn’t work because Voldemort knew love in a way. He loved magic and power too much. Something else… grief. He thought about his mother, Cedric, Sirius… Sirius. Hedwig. The pain slowly subsided and Harry felt like a human being again, albeit a very miserable one.

 Someone knocked on the door. Firmly. Once, twice. Then again. Hermione’s bushy head appeared on the stairs and she signed for him to be quiet. It couldn’t be Snape, and Harry was sure as hell that he didn’t want to see the man’s pals right now.

 They froze, hoping the house was protected enough and only now realised that they actually had no clue as to where they were.