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 each 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?”