Autumn rolled over the countryside as they moved through it: they were now pitching the tent on mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the Dementors; wind and rain added to their troubles. The fact that Hermione was getting better at identifying edible fungi could not altogether compensate for their continuing isolation, the lack of other people’s company, or their total ignorance of what was going on in the war against Voldemort.

  ‘My mother,’ said Ron one night, as they sat in the tent on a riverbank in Wales, ‘can make good food appear out of thin air.’

  He prodded moodily at the lumps of charred, grey fish on his plate. Harry glanced automatically at Ron’s neck and saw, as he had expected, the golden chain of the Horcrux glinting there. He managed to fight down the impulse to swear at Ron, whose attitude would, he knew, improve slightly when the time came to take off the locket.

  ‘Your mother can’t produce food out of thin air,’ said Hermione. ‘No one can. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfigur—’

  ‘Oh, speak English, can’t you?’ Ron said, prising a fishbone out from between his teeth.

  ‘It’s impossible to make good food out of nothing! You can Summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you’ve already got some –’

  ‘– well, don’t bother increasing this, it’s disgusting,’ said Ron.

  ‘Harry caught the fish and I did my best with it! I notice I’m always the one who ends up sorting out the food; because I’m a girl, I suppose!’

  ‘No, it’s because you’re supposed to be the best at magic!’ shot back Ron.

  Hermione jumped up and bits of roast pike slid off her tin plate on to the floor.

  ‘You can do the cooking tomorrow, Ron, you can find the ingredients and try and charm them into something worth eating, and I’ll sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see how you –’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Harry, leaping to his feet and holding up both hands. ‘Shut up now!’

  Hermione looked outraged.

  ‘How can you side with him, he hardly ever does the cook—’

  ‘Hermione, be quiet, I can hear someone!’

  He was listening hard, his hands still raised, warning them not to talk. Then, over the rush and gush of the dark river beside them, he heard voices again. He looked round at the Sneakoscope. It was not moving.

  ‘You cast the Muffliato charm over us, right?’ he whispered to Hermione.

  ‘I did everything,’ she whispered back, ‘Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, all of it. They shouldn’t be able to hear or see us, whoever they are.’

  Heavy scuffing and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs, told them that several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where they had pitched the tent. They drew their wands, waiting. The enchantments they had cast around themselves ought to be sufficient, in the near total darkness, to shield them from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. If these were Death Eaters, then perhaps their defences were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the first time.

  The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group of men reached the bank. Harry estimated that their owners were less than twenty feet away, but the cascading river made it impossible to tell for sure. Hermione snatched up the beaded bag and started to rummage; after a moment she drew out three Extendable Ears and threw one each to Harry and Ron, who hastily inserted the ends of the flesh-coloured strings into their ears and fed the other ends out of the tent entrance.

  Within seconds Harry heard a weary, male voice.

  ‘There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d’you reckon it’s too early in the season? Accio salmon!’

  There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. Somebody grunted appreciatively. Harry pressed the Extendable Ear deeper into his own: over the murmur of the river he could make out more voices, but they were not speaking English or any human language he had ever heard. It was a rough and unmelodious tongue, a string of rattling, guttural noises, and there seemed to be two speakers, one with a slightly lower, slower voice than the other.

  A fire danced into life on the other side of the canvas; large shadows passed between tent and flames. The delicious smell of baking salmon wafted tantalisingly in their direction. Then came the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the first man spoke again.

  ‘Here, Griphook, Gornuk.’

  Goblins! Hermione mouthed at Harry, who nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the goblins together in English.

  ‘So, you three have been on the run, how long?’ asked a new, mellow and pleasant voice; it was vaguely familiar to Harry, who pictured a round-bellied, cheerful-faced man.

  ‘Six weeks … seven … I forget,’ said the tired man. ‘Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company.’ There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tin mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground. ‘What made you leave, Ted?’ continued the man.

  ‘Knew they were coming for me,’ replied mellow-voiced Ted, and Harry suddenly knew who he was: Tonks’s father. ‘Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I’d better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be OK, she’s pure-blood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said another voice, and Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at each other, silent but beside themselves with excitement, sure they recognised the voice of Dean Thomas, their fellow Gryffindor.

  ‘Muggle-born, eh?’ asked the first man.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Dean. ‘My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.’

  There was silence for a while, except for the sounds of munching; then Ted spoke again.

  ‘I’ve got to say, Dirk, I’m surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was you’d been caught.’

  ‘I was,’ said Dirk. ‘I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it, Stunned Dawlish and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t reckon he’s quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life.’

  There was another pause, in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on. Then Ted said, ‘And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole.’

  ‘You had a false impression,’ said the higher-voiced of the goblins. ‘We take no sides. This is a wizards’ war.’

  ‘How come you’re in hiding, then?’

  ‘I deemed it prudent,’ said the deeper-voiced goblin. ‘Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy.’

  ‘What did they ask you to do?’ asked Ted.

  ‘Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race,’ replied the goblin, his voice rougher and less human as he said it. ‘I am not a house-elf.’

  ‘What about you, Griphook?’

  ‘Similar reasons,’ said the higher-voiced goblin. ‘Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognise no wizarding master.’

  He added something under his breath in Gobbledegook and Gornuk laughed.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ asked Dean.

  ‘He said,’ replied Dirk, ‘that there are things wizards don’t recognise, either.’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Dean.

  ‘I had my small revenge before I left,’ said Griphook in English.

  ‘Good man – goblin, I should say,’ amended Ted hastily. ‘Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?’

  ‘If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,’ replied Griphook. Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle.

  ‘Dean and I are still missing something here,’ said Ted.

  ‘So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it,’ said Griphook, and the two goblins roared with malicious laughter.

  Inside the tent Harry’s breathing was shallow with excitement: he and Hermione stared at each other, listening as hard as they could.

  ‘Didn’t you hear about that, Ted?’ asked Dirk. ‘About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?’

  An electric current seemed to course through Harry, jangling his every nerve as he stood rooted to the spot.

  ‘Never heard a word,’ said Ted. ‘Not in the Prophet, was it?’

  ‘Hardly,’ chortled Dirk. ‘Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.’

  Harry glanced towards Hermione and Ron, both of whom were clutching the Extendable Ears as tightly as lifelines.

  ‘She and a couple of friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.’

  ‘Ah, God bless ’em,’ said Ted. ‘What did they think, that they’d be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?’

  ‘Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was,’ said Dirk. ‘Couple of days later, once he’d got the say so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead.’

  The goblins started to laugh again.

  ‘I’m still not seeing the joke,’ said Ted.

  ‘It’s a fake,’ rasped Griphook.

  ‘The sword of Gryffindor!’

  ‘Oh, yes. It is a copy – an excellent copy, it is true – but it was wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts Bank.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ted. ‘And I take it you didn’t bother telling the Death Eaters this?’

  ‘I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,’ said Griphook smugly, and now Ted and Dean joined in Gornuk and Dirk’s laughter.

  Inside the tent, Harry closed his eyes, willing someone to ask the question he needed answered, and after a minute that seemed ten, Dean obliged; he was (Harry remembered with a jolt) an ex-boyfriend of Ginny’s too.

  ‘What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?’

  ‘Oh, they were punished, and cruelly,’ said Griphook indifferently.

  ‘They’re OK, though?’ asked Ted quickly. ‘I mean, the Weasleys don’t need any more of their kids injured, do they?’

  ‘They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware,’ said Griphook.

  ‘Lucky for them,’ said Ted. ‘With Snape’s track record, I suppose we should just be glad they’re still alive.’

  ‘You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?’ asked Dirk. ‘You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?’

  ‘’Course I do,’ said Ted. ‘You’re not going to sit there and tell me you think Potter had anything to do with it?’

  ‘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 muck, 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 fishbone. At last he spluttered, ‘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 away 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 publicising 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 bank 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 than, ‘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 fake 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 centre, 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 once, Hermione cried, ‘Obscuro!’

  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 possibly 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 foolhardy 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 thought that was a punishment,’ said Harry, ‘but 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 – or something?’

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

  ‘Muggle-borns,’ he said. ‘Goblin-made armour does not require cleaning, simple girl. Goblins’ silver repels mundane dirt, imbibing only that which strengthens it.’