Chapter Nine:
Books and More Books

(Translation by annebanane)

When Harry and Ron came down for breakfast, Hermione was already sitting at the table and studying the Prophet. "Here, look at that!" she said cheerlessly.

It was all in the headline: "Power" gone – two more towns evacuated. Muggle Prime Minister contacts Minister Scrimgeour."

"Oh, gosh! The Prime Minister?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Well, yes, strange, ain't it? Somehow I always thought that Voldemort would only be interested in the Magical World."

"Here it says that they loot in the towns. The people are fleeing. The neighbouring towns are crowded with refugees. And nobody knows what's going on."

That was really scary somehow. Harry realized that, at the back of his mind, he had always clung to the hope of resorting to living in the Muggle world if bad went to worse, because things were still quite okay there.

"The Muggles think it might be terrorists," said Hermione, "but they have no idea how they could have done it – and how it can be repaired. Till now it's only been small towns. Have you ever thought of what would happen if he chose, let's say, London?"

Nobody dared to imagine that more precisely.

And I am supposed to stop him, thought Harry desperately. Me, who is not even able to open that damn book!

"I have to tell you something later on. Come to the lake with me after breakfast," he said eventually and helped himself to a cup of pumpkin juice.

"Don't keep us in suspense, Harry. What's the matter?"

"Mc Gonagall's lesson starts in fourty-five minutes," Hermione added a bit impatiently.

Harry spread jam on an unusually dry piece of toast. "I can't tell you here, not during breakfast."

"Okay then, let's go to the lake," said Hermione, "but right now!"

It was bright and sunny outside again but astonishingly cold.

"The leaves are falling already!" Hermione said, sounding surprised, when they took the path to the lake. Indeed there was a thin layer of limp leaves around the old trees on the lakeshore. But Harry had something else on his mind but the beginning of fall. He took the black book out of his bag. He had to bring himself to touch it. "I got this last night," he said. "It caused Kreacher's – Kreacher's death."

"What?!"

"I'd never thought he could die at all," said Ron. "With all that poison in him – I thought he must be preserved."

The other two gave him a punishing look. "What does that mean, the book caused his death?" asked Hermione then.

"He didn't want to give it to me. He preferred to go down together with the book. He jumped into the fireplace, but that didn't do him any harm. What really killed him was the piece he bit off here." He showed them the little hole in the leather cover where Kreacher's teeth had hit it.

Hermione looked as if she was feeling sick. "My god, what kind of book is that?"

"It belongs to the Blacks' inheritance, and that's why Kreacher didn't want me to get it. But I have no idea what it is. I can't open it."

"Oh no, not such a fishy thing again!" sighed Ron.

"Nonsense," said Hermione. "We'll get that open. There is a kind of lock, isn't it?"

They examined what Harry had thought to be something like a zipper last night. There were tiny spiral snakes coming from the borders of the front and back cover, tightly interlocking. This lock didn't move at all, no matter how many hexes Hermione used.

"We could try to destroy it," suggested Ron, "cut the lid off or so."

"Yes, and be attacked by the thing! Think of Kreacher. That wasn't by pure chance!" said Hermione.

Finally they had to give up for the moment.

"Professor Harper offered to help me getting it open," said Harry. "She and McGonagall came along, when Kreacher – had died."

"Well, let's go to her."

"I dunno. We don't know who she really is by now. And who knows what kind of book this is. By the way, she recognized the Black coat of arms."

"I wouldn't involve a teacher, either," said Ron. "On principle. You ask them for help and end up with detention on Saturday afternoon."

Harry nodded.

"In any case we have to go back now. McGonagall will get very angry if we're late."

oooOOOooo

Some minutes later they all sat in the classroom of Transfiguration, and Harry again felt that sense of irreality. It got even stronger when he saw Lavender Brown quickly turning to Ron and giving him a flirtatious smile. Apparently she still hadn't given up. Hermione, who sat beside Harry, didn't even notice.

"Good morning, class," began Professor McGonagall. "I welcome you to your last year in school. Later today I'm as usual going to talk to each of you separately about the tests and the choice of subjects you made. But before we start the lesson, I want to discuss some other topics. First of all there is your graduation ceremony. Traditionally the seventh grade bid farewell with a ball. I suggest appointing a ball committee and that everybody makes somehow a contribution to it. Previous experience has shown that there is much more work to do than it seems in the beginning. And please start early enough to take care of your dress robes," she said looking mainly at the male students.

So they elected a ball committee that was presided by Lavender.

"The next topic is the year book. Each graduating class gets a year book, where every student is given recognition in an article with a picture. The management of this project usually lies in the hands of a sixth-grade student, so that the seventh-grades can concentrate better on the final exams. This year's volunteer is Luna Lovegood. Does anybody here want to support her?"

To everybody's surprise Ron agreed, blushing pretty much. "I could take over the part with the pictures," he said.

Year books and Horcruxes, thought Harry, I can't believe it!

"Some words about security. For you also the trips to Hogsmeade are cancelled for the time being. I'm sorry for you but there is nothing to do about it.

Furthermore due to the recent occurrences you will be taught a special lesson in Professor Harper's class this year: Fighting with Magical Weapons. I vouched for every one of you and I do hope you won't be a disgrace to me. Professor Harper herself will tell you more details this afternoon.

Finally I have to tell you that no Quidditch playing will take place for now. Only when it's clarified that all the Defensive Spells and Charms are still working we will decide how to go on. Believe me, I'm not delighted about that, either!" she said hearing some exclamations of indignation.

Harry was bitterly disappointed. Although he had announced his resignation from his position as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team to McGonagall before his departure this summer – he hadn't planned to return to Hogwarts at all – he had been looking forward to practising Quidditch since he had decided to return.

"Well, let's start now," continued Professor McGonagall. "The first topic this year will be the more complicated Changes of Rooms. How to enlarge a room, how to shrink it. Can you imagine something else you could do to a given room? Yes, Miss Granger?"

And so the lessons of the seventh grade began officially and unhurriedly.

oooOOOooo

After lunch and a short talk about their chosen topics with McGonagall Harry and Ron were once more strolling over the sunny grounds to the lake. They sat down under the big beech tree and kept watching the orange-red and dark ochre leaves on the backdrop of a blue sky, falling down with each flurry. Hermione had gulped her meal and dashed off to the meeting with Professor Slughorn she had already been talking about on the train. Harry and Ron on the other side had decided to enjoy their free time.

Just when they had gone down the wide stairs two sixth-grade girls passed them by, one of them angrily glancing back at Harry over her shoulder. He had been able to understand what she said to her girlfriend: Why couldn't he stay away? At least Ginny would be here then! It still went through his head.

"Let's go and visit Hagrid," suggested Ron.

"Good idea. By the way, what made you volunteer for this year book stuff?"

Ron blushed again and kept silent for a few steps. "I thought it might be fun to work together with Luna. And I think that I can handle these few pictures easily."

Harry decided not to comment this any further. Poor Hermione, he thought. I really feel sorry for her.

The bright weather had attracted many pupils to come outside on the grounds and to the lake. There were permanently balls or other flying objects to be avoided. Suddenly Harry longed for a good and real Quidditch training.

"Do you also expect to see Malfoy somewhere around here at any moment?" asked Ron.

"Nope," answered Harry, who tried to avoid thinking of Malfoy as much as possible.

"Somehow I almost miss something now that I don't have to be prepared to see his arrogant mug all the time. And Snape – too. Not that I really miss him, but –"

"Now shut up, Ron. I don't want to hear anything about Snape any more. I really hope he's sitting somewhere in a dark room and is – suffering." Harry himself was appalled at the intensity of his hatred when the words had been spoken. Ron watched him enquiringly from the side but kept silent, for they had almost reached Hagrid's cabin. Besides the blackened fundament nothing pointed to the fact that the cabin had been ablaze only some two month ago. They could see Hagrid walking around behind the house in the garden.

"Hello, Hagrid!" shouted Ron. "Your house looks like new!"

"Hello, boys! Good to see yeh! Where've yeh left Hermione?"

"She went to chat with Slughorn."

"Oh. Dam' ambitious, our Hermione, i'nt she? Well, yeh can go inside an' put the water on ter boil. I'm comin' in a minute, first have to harvest some more pum'kins. They really got ground frost las' night! In August!"

They were watching him carrying tremendous pumpkins with his equally tremendous hands to a small stone wall and stacking them along the sun-heated stones. Then they noticed a new building in a bit of a distance.

"Hagrid, what's that over there?" asked Ron pointing towards the small, dome-shaped building that somehow resembled a closed garden pavilion.

"New buildin'," mumbled Hagrid, "Professor McGonagall's order."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. They had a sense of foreboding. "What's in it?" asked Harry.

"Headmaster's business," mumbled Hagrid in an even lower voice. "Jus' don't ask, you two, okay?"

"Well, it's probably better not to know," said Ron. "I will sleep better this way."

They went back to the front door when Harry stumbled over something in the high grass and fell. Angrily he picked up a tin plate that had been lying in his way, hidden from view.

"Hey, Hagrid, do you throw your plates out of the window nowadays? Did you miss this one?"

Hagrid gave only a quick glance. "Oh, there it is. Knew it mus' be 'round here somewhere. Sometimes I put some leftovers on it for a few strayin' animals. They stay outta my house this way."

Harry grimaced when he noticed the sticky remains of old meat on the plate. "Straying animals?"

"Cats," said Hagrid, "I jus' dislike them in the house, an' Fang even more."

Finally they entered the one-room house through the open door. The huge dog that was sleeping in front of the fireplace kept perfectly quiet. Fang had known them for a long time. They put the water on to boil, and Hagrid came inside just as the kettle started whistling. With his bear-like stature he seemed to fill out at least half of the room.

"Let me have a go," he said and took the tea box out of Ron's hand. "Yeh have to take a good amount of it!" He shovelled tealeaves into the teapot, and Harry and Ron changed a glance of resignation. "I've got rock cookies, too," said Hagrid cheerfully. "But there ain't many left. Grawp loves 'em, so I bring most o' them to him."

Hagrid's half-brother Grawp was a giant whose love for rock cookies was probably one of his nicest attributes. For some time now he was living in a cave in the mountains where Hagrid constantly looked after him and was keen to teach him.

"He's always askin' for Hermione, Grawp. She really gotta come 'n' visit him some time." About this Ron and Harry also had their own opinion but preferred to keep silent.

"Come on, tell us what's in this garden pavilion?" asked Ron, dipping his cookie into the steaming, dark black tea.

"Garden pavilion?" Hagrid really seemed confused. "Oh, yeh mean the basin. Aargh, said too much again."

"Basin? There's a pool inside?" asked Harry stunned.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but yeh better stay outta it."

They had suspected something like that.

"So, what kind of animal is it that's in there?"

"Gravedigger."

"Huh?"

"Gravedigger beetles? Burying beetles?" asked Harry disbelievingly.

"Naa, not beetles. Jellyfish! Gravedigger Jellyfish."

"Never heard of them."

"No loss. They're dam' toxic an' always in a dam' bad temper," grumbled Hagrid, "I'm really tryin' hard, but they never get enough. Gorgin' endlessly."

"Perhaps they're missing the sea?" suggested Ron.

"They don't live in the sea. They're freshwater jellyfish. Yeh can come an' have a look some day. But yeh mus'n't go too close."

"And they're for McGonagall?"

"Fer her an' Professor Slughorn. Need the toxin. But ey, boys, stop askin' now. I've been talkin' too much already!"

"Hagrid," Harry started on the topic that was on his mind, "have you been in the office again – Dumbledore's office, I mean?"

Hagrid gave him a sad look and nodded. "Know what yeh mean, Harry. 's still sleeping. I'd hoped he'd wake up, too. Bu' till now – nothin'. He's even got some pillows under his head now. Looks as if he wan'ed ter go on sleepin' for a while." He drank a big mouthful of his tea. "He's deserved it, ain' he, ter take a bit of a rest!"

Harry saw the tears in Hagrid's eyes and for the first time in weeks he felt that there was someone who suffered the same way as he himself.

They heard hurried steps on the path outside. Then the door was pulled open, and Hermione came in pretty breathlessly and with shining eyes. "I thought I would find you here. Hello, Hagrid! Your house looks really nice again!"

"Si' down, Hermione, and have a cup o' tea."

She looked sceptically at the tar-like brewage in Ron's cup, in which cookie crumbs were floating around as well. But because she liked Hagrid so much she took her cup, thanked him and even sipped at it. "You never guess what Slughorn wanted!" she started.

"A – date?" said Ron.

She gave him a deathly glare. "He said he wanted to propose me for a scholarship! At the Academy of Padova, for the next year, right after graduation!"

"Hey, that's fantastic!" said Harry.

"Yes, it is! That's one of the oldest Wizarding Schools in Europe! Of course that means I have to work a lot to get it, besides everything else. I have to prepare an essay about the project I want to work on while I'm there. Oh, I haven't got the slightest idea about what – there are so many interesting topics!"

"But you won't forget that you have to prepare for the exams, too, will you?" said Ron teasingly.

Hermione sighed. "I wish I had the Time-Turner again, you remember, like back then?"

"Sure," said Harry and let his mind wander back in their third year when they had saved Sirius by employing the Time-Turner.

"Talking about time," said Hermione, "we have to go back to the castle for Harper's first lesson. I'm so curious!"

Running up the path to the school she added, "Oh, Harry, Slughorn told me to remind you of the party tonight. Eight o'clock in his office."

"Oh, no! I hoped he'd – forgotten it somehow."

"Honestly, you don't think he would forget he's invited the Chosen One," snorted Ron.

oooOOOooo

Professor Harper came into the room with resolute steps and turned full of verve towards the class, making her carelessly draped cloak flutter. That almost reminds me of her predecessor, thought Harry and grimaced a bit.

The fourteen students around him were as curiously as he was, waiting for what this new teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts would tell them. She glanced with cool eyes at the students that were facing her. "As Professor McGonagall has already told you, we will – due to the special situation – place emphasis on an unusual topic within the Defence Against the Dark Arts, which is incidentally my special subject, too: Magical Weapons." She paused and seemed to be content with the attention she'd attracted.

"Fighting with Magical Weapons," she continued, "aims at hurting the opponent severely or even killing him. It's mainly Dark Arts. Studying this topic is normally part of the advanced Auror training. An exception is made for you because of the current endangerment, so that I can teach you some basic skills this year which you might need some day."

When Harper stopped, Hermione put her hand up. Harper nodded to her.

"But there are Magical Weapons in White Magic, too?"

"Yes, there are, and their main purpose is to help you defend yourself against the Dark Weapons. And some surround the holder with a protection similar to a Patronus that you don't have to evoke but carry along already. But such a protection isn't as multifunctional as a Patronus. The main advantage, however, is that Magical Weapons usually are a lot smaller and less noticeable than a wand and can be used instead of it while fighting.

The producing of and the fighting with Magical Weapons is an ancient art which rightly has an ambivalent reputation. They might cause tremendous harm. The Ministry and the Wizengamot have to approve the studies of this art in each individual case. The applicant has to undergo a Legilimentation to prove his good intentions. He has to repeat this examination every now and then to assure that he didn't go astray in the meantime."

"And what if the applicant himself is a good Occlumens?" Hermione blurted out.

"Good question, Miss – Granger, I suppose," said Harper with a hesitation that was clearly pretended. "I see, you're thinking along. The applicant has to undergo the examination in a, let's say, unprotected state. There are means to make it impossible for him to use his ability of Occlumentation."

"How do you ensure that the Legilimens himself doesn't have bad intentions?" asked Harry.

Harper gave him a piercing glance. "In better times we can rely on the wisdom of the Wizengamot. In times like these, you're right about that, Mr Potter, nobody can guarantee for the integrity of anyone." Taking big steps she went back to her desk and sat down on its edge.

"Have you noticed that she knows our names?" said Hermione excitedly to Harry in a low voice.

"Legilimency! What did you expect?" whispered Harry back.

But Hermione shook her head and was close to replying something but then decided that it would be better to go on listening.

"In these lessons," Harper continued, "each student will learn to build a Magical Weapon for his own use. This art is always passed on verbally only, so you won't have a book to look things up. Therefore I urgently suggest you pay close attention." She didn't coincidentally look at Ron while saying these words.

"Maybe you're aware of the danger that lies in giving a part of yourself to an inanimate object. For that's the final aim of a Magical Weapon: it's a part of you – and you made it that way. You've chosen an object that has a certain meaning for you, and only you. With all your abilities you've made it to a magical object that only becomes a weapon in your hands. If other people get hold of it, it will be useless – in the best case. In the worst case it might be used against you."

That reminds me of a Horcrux, Harry thought. And he decided to pay very close attention. Hermione turned to him, and in her meaningful glance he saw that she thought exactly the same.

"I want to tell you one more thing before we start the lesson," said Harper, and this time the glance from her grey eyes definitely went towards Harry, who clearly recognized a derisive twinkle in them. "Some of you may have heard that I work as a Legilimens from time to time. But I can assure you that I do so only in certain cases – let's say when I get adequately paid for it. Thus you can safely look into my eyes."

oooOOOooo

Harry was standing in the common room at five to eight and was waiting for Hermione. Ron was sitting at one of the tables and listlessly browsing through a book about Quidditch. Harry had decided to use this party and the relaxed atmosphere to sound out Slughorn a bit about Horcruxes again. He wished he could finally get started and done with it, even more because Ron had been making scathing and – what he thought to be – humorous remarks about parties in general and the Slug Club in particular during the last fifteen minutes.

But Hermione let them wait mercilessly, and it took her until ten minutes past eight to enter the room in a neat cloak, all spruced up, with lip gloss and a distinct hint of perfume. This appearance put Ron over the edge. "Well, I'll go on writing to Fabienne," he said and stood up.

"This one is getting old, Ron," answered Hermione. "What about a walk with Luna?"

Harry sighed. "Let's go now! Otherwise we won't even get anything to eat!"

On the corridor Harry and Hermione could already hear the buzzing of voices in Slughorn's office, accompanied by the bright sounds of baroque music for strings.

At least no Christmas carols today, thought Harry. He entered Slughorn's office with mixed feelings, together with Hermione.

The office must again have been enlarged, by which means whatsoever. It was a lot roomier than the teachers' rooms used to be. Otherwise there could never have been all these people inside. Although – there was not much room for everyone. People were standing in small groups as close together as the glasses in their hands would allow. It wasn't easy to make one's way through the room without being blotted with all kinds of alcoholic drinks.

What were all these people doing here? And who were they? Of course Harry recognized some of them being his school mates, for example Blaise Zabini or Cormac McLaggen.

"What's he doing here?" Harry asked Hermione at a low voice. "He wrote his final exams last year!"

Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "No, he didn't. Harry, don't you notice anything around you? The final exams last year didn't take place at all! What do you think is the reason for so many students being here right now? The last year's grade seven have to write their exams during the following two days!"

Just now a silver plate on legs – as it seemed – passed by. The little pastries on the plate looked slightly burned, and the parsley in between was definitely wilted. Harry felt frustrated and helped himself to an as pale as possible looking piece. "But the tables in the Great Hall – there were lots of empty places left!" he said.

"Yes, of course, the tables were enlarged," she answered looking sceptically at the ham pie in her hand. "Do you think he made them himself?"

Harry felt his optimism fade away. How could he talk to Slughorn in this crush, especially about Horcruxes? Maybe it would be better to try it in his office in a quiet moment? But somehow he was sure that Slughorn would get rid of him then. No, this familiar atmosphere of the party, where everybody was feeding his vanity, was the better choice. After all he couldn't make Slughorn drunk each time he wanted some information from him.

"Do you have any idea who all these people are? And what they are doing here? I mean, somehow we are under supervision, state of emergency so to say, aren't we?"

They were watching the hustle and bustle around them. In a corner some young people had made themselves comfortable on the various footstools and seat cushions, which were usually spread across the whole room. Harry thought to himself that they were looking dauntingly successful and self-confident with their well-fitting party clothes, with their expensive haircuts and the abundantly interspersed, tooth-twinkling laughter.

"They're almost always present. Alumni of Slughorn. Oh, and there is Rosemary Johnson, too. She got the same scholarship last year which I want to apply for! I must talk to her!" said Hermione excitedly and had already disappeared.

Eventually Harry spotted Slughorn, and his courage fell definitely. He stood amongst a group of elderly wizards and was apparently introducing to them the woman next to him: Hekate Harper. As far as Harry could recognize, she wasn't wearing frayed hems today but a black coat over a black dress and, probably to make something like a party outfit of it, she wore a dark blue, fluffy scarf around her neck, which would have matched Sybill Trelawney's style perfectly. At that moment Harry noticed that Trelawney was standing in this group, too, and was staring at Professor Harper through her reflecting eyeglass lenses.

Suddenly Harry asked himself with a grin how weird a meeting between a Seer and a Legilimens would be. Who would feel more penetrated?

Eventually he pulled himself together and squeezed his way through to Slughorn's group.

"… unfortunately everything is done so sloppy today!" said Slughorn, sounding pretty disgusted just then. He held a cheese skewer with a radish on top in the air, with the root still attached, and watched it accusingly.

"I think there was an incident in the kitchen last night," Harper remarked in her deep voice.
"One of the house-elves had a fatal accident. I assume that this is the reason why they are a bit agitated today."

But now Slughorn had spotted Harry, and he started beaming. "Harry, my dear boy! Come and join us!" he shouted and waved with the radish. "Here are some people whom I would like you to meet!"

Hesitantly Harry approached the group. Trelawney was watching him banefully as always.

"You still remember Eldred Worple, I suppose. You met him at my Christmas party. And here are Ignatius Sparkle, a famous pyrowizard, and Theodorus Mortar, a colleague of mine, but a lot more successful than I ever was. It obviously pays off to be with a private enterprise than to choose teaching!"

Mortar, whose large hands were covered with deep chemical burns and discolourations, shook his pretty bald head. "No, no, Horace – I'd say you've made a very good name for yourself this way, too!" And then he turned to Harry with a friendly smile. "Well, I think I knew your grandfather, Alexander Potter. He was your grandfather, wasn't he?"

Harry nodded.

"We worked together for some years. But you know, back then he got really wealthy very fast by –"

Suddenly Slughorn interrupted him a bit hastily. "Well, yes, yes, of course. And now, Harry, may I introduce you to your new teacher for Defence, Miss – no, I now have to say Professor Hekate Harper! Hekate was an extremely gifted student of mine. A Ravenclaw through and through!"

Professor Harper greeted him with a cool gaze from her grey eyes. Having a closer look at her, her face appeared even younger, and the contrast to her white hair automatically had everybody's attention.

That's probably the reason why she doesn't have it dyed, thought Harry resentfully. "We've already met," he replied somewhat curtly.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, we have. I think Professor Harper would have had to subject me to a Legilimency by order of Scrimgeour, but in the end it didn't take place though."

"Tsk, tsk," Slughorn said indignantly. "Why does the Ministry always overreact? But you shouldn't grieve over that, Harry. I'm sure that you will find Hekate's lessons absolutely fascinating. You don't have the chance to meet experts very often that have concentrated in exploring Dementors."

"Of course I've read your books, Ms Harper," Worple now interjected. He seemed unusually pale, almost bloodless"But I'd really like to know better how you actually managed to stay close to a Dementor unharmed for such a long time!"

Normally Harry would have thought that very interesting, too, but today his brain was only set on Horcruxes. He had to talk to Slughorn alone for a while, though not too alone but still wrapped in the vibes of his party. But at the moment there was no way of getting him away from this group. So Harry obediently stayed a little longer and was listening to Professor Harper lecturing about advanced Occlumency. Reluctantly he had to admit that she wasn't completely unappealing to him. Her way of talking was pleasingly straight and without squiggles. Besides that, he liked her apparent lack of respect for dress codes. Absent-mindedly he watched the house-elves still balancing their collection of rather burnt pastries through the crowds and shivering inside, he wondered whether or not they had buried Kreacher yet. Then he pulled his thoughts away from Kreacher and the previous evening. Kreacher's painful death had shaken him to the core and had opened a door inside of him he had not even wanted to look through. Eventually he had enough of the fuss of the party and tried to find a way to clear off.

Harry squeezed through the crowds picking up snatches of excited conversations, from which, among other things, he learned that later in the evening a reading was planned – the well-known writer Queenie Stephens would read from her just finished opus Dark Towers – but he didn't join any of the chats.

He realized that for most people here and especially for Slughorn this must be a successful party. Apart from the Horcruxes, he was having difficulties thinking of Dumbledore – was this really the right time to have parties? He saw Hermione bright-eyed, having boarded the circle of the successful and obviously enjoying herself tremendously.

Go on as usually, McGonagall had said. Dumbledore would have liked the party, thought Harry, and he remembered having seen all the books of Queenie Stephens on a shelf in his office.

Suddenly he found himself in front of Slughorn's desk. Next to it there was a cupboard full of wine bottles, and some of them were rather dusty. Evidently the experience of last springtime, when he had almost poisoned Ron with his oak-matured mead, hadn't taken away his appetite for drinks. Just when he started glancing at Slughorn's not less filled bookcase – he decided he might as well have a look around by himself – he heard Slughorn's voice behind him.

"Harry, you don't want to leave the party already, do you?" he asked menacing impishly.
"You definitely shouldn't miss Queenie Stephens! I never before succeeded in inviting her because she is normally always completely booked out. I don't think I will be successful again. Actually I await her every minute."

"Professor, there's something else I wanted to ask you, too," Harry began, suddenly deciding he would just have to try it. "Well, last year you told something about – er – Horcruxes." It was totally clear to him that Slughorn had never talked about them and especially not to him, Harry. Promptly he could see the instantaneous disappearance of the beaming look as the Potions Master closed down. Like a slug drawing in its horns, thought Harry ironically.

"Please, it is really very important!" he continued hastily. "Just tell me in which books I can find some information about this topic."

"M'boy, this is nothing you will find in the books that you can look through here in Hogwarts," said Slughorn coolly. "By the way I haven't forgotten how you – let's say – obtained my memory concerning this matter by fraud. But under the circumstances," he continued with a sigh, "in view of all the terrible things that have happened I want to connive at this fact. And I would even help you if I could, Harry. But there are only very few books dealing with this topic, and as I told you before you won't find any of them here in Hogwarts or anywhere else where they might be easily accessible."

"If you could tell me just one book, that would help me a lot," urged Harry, noticing the change in Slughorn's mood, and he wanted to strike while the iron was hot.

Slughorn pursed his lips and watched him thoughtfully. "Well, first of all there is the ancient opus De Caligine Mundi written by Salazar Slytherin himself. It only exists in very few copies, and I've never ever heard of someone who has really seen one of them." He paused. "Evidently Grindelwald must have had access to this book. He edited parts of it and added comments to it and published it under the title Nightworlds. This book is easier to get but I don't have it. But it would be a good source for this topic," he added hesitatingly, "if you really have to cope with such Dark Arts."

Harry nodded.

"It's really very unfortunate that the name of Slytherin is always being mentioned only in such a dark context. Salazar Slytherin not only stood for De Caligine Mundi, he was an ingenious wizard to whom we owe numerous other writings, too. It's not appropriate to reduce him to the topic of the Dark Arts, although it obviously fascinated him a lot, but that didn't automatically make him a Dark Magician."

Slughorn turned to his bookcase and took out a thick book, which Harry recognized immediately. It was Nature's Nobility. "Look here, I just want to show you how much – well, let's say nobility and genius come together in his dynasty. It's not a shame to call oneself a Slytherin, and this shouldn't be forgotten even or especially in these days!"

Harry knew exactly where Slughorn would open the book now, and so it was kind of a déjà-vu for him when he showed him the very page he had stared at stunned only a few days ago.

"Have a look yourself, he married a Norman princess, so to say, and their descendants and the descendants of her family became a famous dynasty here, after they had settled down in Great Britain. Lots of able and brilliant heads in the families of Peverell and Slytherin, even among the Gaunts." Slughorn looked up smilingly. "How amusing! I showed this book, yes, even this very section to your mother a long time ago! That was – let me think – at a Christmas party many years ago. She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years then. After all her snappish answers she used to give me, I think I wanted to show her what the house of Slytherin really can be proud of."

Slughorn's look went somewhere over Harry's head becoming almost lyrical for a moment. "Oh, well, Lily Evans! She was a beauty, but what is more important, she really was – well, bright. Not only in her head, Harry. She had something so cheerful and clear on her, everybody around her could feel that." Slughorn now watched Harry so unhappily that with his moustache he looked like a sad walrus. "What a pity, what a horrible, everlasting shame that she had to die in this way!"

He sighed while thoughts were spinning around in Harry's head. It had been him, Slughorn – Slughorn had given her the clue. Suddenly he knew that his mother had gotten all the answers to the questions she might have asked herself for several years then unwittingly from Slughorn during that conversation.

Slughorn thoughtfully ran his hand over the heavy book he had closed again. "This book should have been reprinted with amendments a long time ago," he said regretfully. "But this case has met its fate, too. Another student of mine, a real talent in this field, had already begun with it while still here in Hogwarts. But listen, you might even know his name, Regulus Black. He was the younger brother of Sirius Black. He was murdered, too, after his – well, somewhat unfortunate excursion into the world of extremism. Well, and since then I haven't heard of anybody working on this project." He carefully put the book back in the narrow gap in the bookcase.

"Yes, Harry, your mother, your father, Regulus, Sirius, Dumbledore – all ravened by the horrors of these times! Betrayal, murder – it's unspeakable." With a sigh he turned to the party goings around them and continued seemingly incoherently. "Love is a terrible power. It makes us to murderers and traitors. It plays an important role in all big crimes. It's like a huge maelstrom that pulls everything along that gets too close to it. You have no idea, Harry, what love can cause in a – well, let me say brooding character. An isolated character, without the talent to make friends, who's always ruminating about his desire, his yearning, the object of his dreams –"

"But I thought Voldemort couldn't feel love," Harry dared to object.

"What? Oh yes. No, I wasn't talking about – er – Voldemort," said Slughorn continuing hastily. "Anyway, these were the reasons why I never engaged in this power but always stayed nicely aside as an observer."

Just now a square-built, dark-haired witch with black-framed, notedly ugly glasses entered the room, and Slughorn jumped up and hurried to her with his arms wide open. "Queenie, my dear, finally! We're all expecting you longingly!" And taking her by her arm he escorted her into the room.

Harry took his chance and got out unseen, closely followed by Hermione, who caught up with him in the corridor.

"Just wait, Harry! Anything new?"

"We need Nightworlds by Grindelwald. And what about you? Don't you want to listen to the reading?"

"I don't go for lurid tales," said Hermione. "Oh, gosh, is there nothing but Nightworlds? We'll never get that book!"

Harry nodded cheerlessly. They arrived at the portrait. "Vibrissae trimmer," he said and paused then. "Er – can that be true, or is it one of Ron's jokes again?"

But the Fat Lady swung open with a grim look on her face.

"Someone has complained about the passwords again," explained Hermione climbing through the hole into the common room. "I think it's her way to take revenge."

They found Ron sleeping in an armchair in front of the fireplace. Besides him there were only a few fifth-grades sitting at a table in the corner engrossed in a discussion about examination questions. Harry shook Ron. "Wake up!"

"Do you think he's faded –?"

But Ron moved and got up yawning. "Oh, back again already? Did he run out of quail eggs, or what?"

"Stop that nonsense. The food was terrible, so you didn't miss anything."

"Well, you both don't look that easy and party-like!" he noticed cheery seeing their crestfallen faces. "No news?"

"Yes, we've got news. We only need Grindelwald's book Nightworlds, and then we can read everything about Horcruxes," grumbled Harry.

"The book isn't that easy to get though," explained Hermione.

"But yes, it is," said Ron and a tremendous grin started to beam on his face. "It's that very book, Nightworlds, yes, indeed. It's in Mrs Black's glass cabinet! Gee, finally I can remember what happened! I saw the book up in the cabinet and took a look inside – awful pictures by the way. I had just opened the chapter with the Horcruxes and wanted to call Hermy to show it to her. But then this stupid musical box fell down and began to play. And then," he closed confusedly, "I can't remember anything else!"

Harry and Hermione had listened breathlessly. Now they stared at each other and then fell into each others arms.

"Wow, that's unbelievable!"

"Ron, you're just – crazy!"

"Come on, where is the portkey?"

"Oh, does it work here inside the castle?"

"Let's give it a try!"

"Shall we go all together?"

"No, that's not really reasonable. Somebody should hold the fort."

"I'll stay voluntarily!" said Ron generously. "A little nap at the fireplace –"

"But don't forget to take care of the portkey!"

"Sure!"