Angelina was easily recognisable in her bright yellow dress with huge green and purple ornaments and matching earrings.
"This place looks like some fortress now," she commented, greeting Harry warmly.
It was incredible she had graduated only a year ago. She had hardly changed with the exception of no longer wearing the Hogwarts uniform. She looked very confident, and the natural, voluminous bun she now sported instead of braids only accentuated that fact. But then again, she had looked very confident already while being the captain before him. As if reading his mind, she promptly addressed that very title.
"So, I've heard you're the captain now," she said. "Well done, Harry. Although, you're like an annoying little brother who gets to have everything anyway—if only you knew how much I want to hate you right now."
"Why?" Harry asked, perplexed.
"Let's see. Getting the opportunity to participate in the Triwizard Tournament—check. Having now the opportunity to study to be an Auror—check. I'm so jealous, you have no idea."
"You wanted to be an Auror?" Harry asked in astonishment.
Angelina shrugged. "Always loved to bust Slytherins. How different could it be?"
Just as she smiled, there were hurried footsteps, and Ron, accompanied by Fay and Hermione, was seen to rush down, both girls trying to keep up with him.
Angelina looked at them and then back at Harry, a question clear in her big dark brown eyes.
"Hi, Angelina," Hermione panted, and Ron muttered a greeting of his own.
"Hi there," Angelina responded, nodding to both of them before looking quizzically at Fay once again.
"Um, Angelina, do you remember Fay? It's she who suggested meeting up. Shall we walk?" Harry suggested.
Angelina seemed to finally recognise Fay.
"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed. "Do you know now what a hickey is?"
Ron's face broke into a smile, which promptly grew into laughter.
"You don't know what a hickey is?" He as good as giggled.
Fay's face turned bright red.
"Ron," Hermione admonished, though Harry could tell she was trying to suppress a smile of her own.
Harry looked questioningly at Angelina, who promptly explained while Fay turned away her thoroughly embarrassed face, much for Ron and Hermione's amusement.
"So, Marcus Flint had apparently had some action, and this damsel here would follow him around asking what was wrong with his neck—it was very funny," Angelina explained. "Honestly. Alicia thought it was very sweet, though."
As Ron kept laughing, Angelina urged them all on.
"Come on," she said. "We can actually have a walk around the Quidditch pitch now that the Hogsmeade visits are out of the question for you guys."
It was true. Parents were still arriving to take their children home, though less frequently than before, for most students had decided to stay at school despite the recent events. Dean's parents were Muggles, and Seamus had apparently convinced his mother not to take him away. Neville's gran thought Hogwarts was as safe as any place in the entire wizarding Britain at this point, and it was hard to argue with this point of view. Moreover, if Neville were to be believed, his gran actually thought the attacks were the very reason people had to stay where they were as it was the best way to show the Dark side that they would never be intimidated. It left only Hermione, Fay, and Lavender to share the dormitory now that Parvati was gone. Visitors were allowed in after passing the security check organised by the Aurors. That was how Angelina had been able to get in.
"I got us some tea from the kitchens," Hermione offered.
Angelina conjured several mugs, letting Hermione pour everyone some tea. They had reached the Quidditch pitch, and it was a nice Saturday afternoon, albeit a little windy.
"So I hear all of you are on the team this year—well, aside from Hermione, that is. You're any good?"
"How do you know that?" Harry asked curiously.
"Former team members keep in touch, you know," Angelina clarified. "Except for the celebrities, perhaps. How come you never wrote before now, Harry?"
Harry mumbled uncomfortably. It was true that he hadn't been keeping in touch with his former team members nor with anyone from the DA.
"It's okay," Angelina assured him. "I was merely teasing. I know you're always busy—last year, when I was captain, I had to as good as drag you to the pitch by your hair."
Again, Harry didn't quite know what to say. Hermione came to the rescue.
"You look really pretty, Angelina," she praised. "What are you up to now?"
"Well," Angelina confessed, "I already told Harry here that I really wanted to be an Auror, but my Potions mark wasn't good enough, so I knew I couldn't be one, though I wanted it nevertheless—and still do. But it's high time to think of alternatives, so that is what I'm doing. I've taken a year off to look around. In fact, you were quite lucky to catch me before my world tour; I'm leaving for the continent next Wednesday. Then I'll go to Africa, and then over the Atlantic, to America. Thank you for the compliment, Hermione. I always dress like this, though. You just never knew because we all had to wear a uniform here. But visit me sometime, and you will see that both my mum and I are quite creative with clothing."
"Where do you live, by the way?" Ron asked.
"Ever heard of Kilmacrennan, county of Donegal, Ireland?" Angelina asked. "That's where dad's from. I grew up right in the heart of the village; we have a small manor there. So what did you guys want to talk about? You sounded quite urgent in your letter."
"Yeah," Harry conceded. "There is something… um…"
As he looked at Fay for help, she took over.
"When I was spying on Marcus Flint— back then, you know—well, I hid in the library because I noticed that sometimes that mark on his neck would look... well, fresh after a library visit. So I climbed on a shelf, and since those shelves are quite big, there was enough space for me to lie down right on top of one, unseen by anyone, and observe what happened below. I saw you and Alicia Spinnet—the other Chaser—and I heard as she read out a word from a book before you ripped it out of her hands and told her to stay away from such things."
Wordlessly, Harry took out a piece of paper with the word Horcruxes written on it and passed it to Angelina. For a moment, the girl just stared at it. She then addressed Fay.
"Flint hung you by your ankles that time around," she said seriously. "If Alicia and I hadn't heard you scream, you would have hung there for a while; that's what happens to overly nosy brats."
"I need to know," Harry said quickly. "It's very important."
"I don't know, Harry," Angelina sighed. "I might have heard the word somewhere, but I don't remember what it means."
"But you do," Harry insisted. "I've been looking everywhere—even Hermione couldn't find the meaning of that word."
Hermione nodded. "It's true, Angelina; I only found that word in… well, in a terrible book full of Dark magic."
"Hang on," Ron said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Angelina. "If these things are so bad, how come you know about them? How come you have heard of them at all?"
Slowly, Angelina put down the piece of parchment with the word Horcruxes written on it and met Ron's accusatory gaze.
"Yes?" she said in a calm yet challenging voice.
"You are a pure-blood," Ron continued. "And if you know these things…"
"Then what? I must be a follower of You-Know-Who?" Angelina shot back. "Want to see my forearm?"
"Well," he sputtered, "well, no. But... why else would you know this stuff? Even if you're not in league with You-Know-Who, did your parents—"
"My parents are not his sympathizers," Angelina said with an eerie calm and in a tone that made it clear she would not hear any hints of the sort against her family.
"It is very important that I know what they are. I might need to fight them," Harry explained.
"Fight them?" Angelina echoed. "I doubt anyone would be bonkers enough to make several of them. Creating one is bad enough."
"But what are they?" Fay asked quietly.
"Look," Angelina said, "there's sorcery out there… terrible magic. It is not wise to get deep into this kind of stuff."
She took one more look at their determined faces, sighed and went on, "When I told you I'd grown up in Ireland, I should have mentioned my mother was from Nubia, an ancient country in Africa, rich with magic and sorcery. You can find the best of the magical arts there... and also the worst. Many stories can be found there, some of them so hard to believe that they are considered to be legends. And yet, more often than not, they only reflect the truth." She paused. "One of those stories is about a family torn apart by Dark magic and people's darkest emotions. There was a married couple and their little boy. One day, the father came home unexpected to find his wife with another man. Enraged and betrayed, he attacked them. There was no duel, for he had taken them by surprise. After killing them, he remained alone with his son, a boy at his most vulnerable age, and lost. Not a long time passed before the boy started acting oddly. It began in a mild manner. The child would speak of a presence in the house he alone could feel, a presence that frightened and unnerved him. His father wouldn't believe him at first, not until more disturbing things started happening. The boy began talking to himself, brooding and even lashing out aggressively. His magic, which he couldn't control at his age, became more and more unstable. It seemed to affect everything around them: their crop died first, and then their animals, all of their cattle. Bees were found dead in dozens near their house. When it escalated even further, the child started making blunt attempts at attacking his father, who, at last, realised how dangerous the situation was. But it was too late. One night, the villagers were woken up by screams and commotion. The wizard's house was burning, and he had never had the chance to get out. His son had been watching the inferno from the dark, his father's wand in his hand. The later investigation proved that wand had been used to ignite the house. More terrifying still was the boy's change: his dark and murderous gaze, the unnatural yellow hue in his eyes, his strength, which could only have belonged to a grown man. It took several wizards to subdue him. In the years to come, it would be compared to demonic possession—something Muggles had always feared. But this wasn't the possession by a demon, even if the guess was close. It was a piece of a Dark wizard's soul, enchanted and concealed into a vessel, that had latched itself onto the child, destroying everything on its path to gain life. It was a Horcrux."
By the time she finished, there was silence.
"But it's just a story, right?" Ron asked in the end. "A story to frighten children."
"If only," Angelina uttered softly.
"So, that child—the Horcrux—who…?" Harry started.
"Who was it?" Angelina finished for him. "Maybe the family of the wizard the father had murdered, who knows. It doesn't matter. What matters is what happened. It is not just a story to frighten children, or do you think Muggles made it all up about demonic possession? No, the truth is far more terrifying. Someone created a Horcrux. Someone made sure the child found it."
"And the presence was the Horcrux," Fay concluded while Hermione stayed silent.
"You said that the Horcrux took over," Harry reasoned carefully. "Is it the only way a Horcrux can take over? Can it gain life for itself without taking over a person?"
"It's possible," Angelina said. "It is very old magic, and very Dark. It originated somewhere in Africa, but nobody knows where."
Harry frowned, deep in thought. He remembered all too clearly Ginny's cold and nearly immobile body lying on the cold floor in the Chamber of Secrets and a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle looming above her, looking far more solid than a ghost yet not completely human.
"Did he create a Horcrux?" Angelina asked quite unexpectedly. "Is that why he survived after attacking you?"
"I never said that," Harry said quickly.
"It was just out of hypothetical interest," Hermione added.
Angelina rolled her eyes. "Please, I'm not an idiot. This brand of magic is not known in this part of the world. Even in Nubia, many witches and wizards have never heard about it."
"So the story you told us about this boy isn't commonly known?" Fay asked.
"No. This type of magic is highly dangerous. Many agree it is best not to breathe further life into such unnatural evil by repeating stories."
"So how does your mother know about it?" Ron asked again, his tone a little too accusatory for Harry's liking.
Angelina met the boy's eyes evenly. "It so happens that my mother knows magic—and yes, including this type of magic. If it bothers you, Weasley, then it's your problem."
"Ron," Harry said warningly.
Ron didn't say anything else, but there was now clear frost in the air that had nothing to do with the cold April breeze. The tea they'd been drinking had long since gone cold. It was as if Angelina's story had chilled the very air around them.
If such things were really possible, then what else was? The very notion was positively terrifying.
"You be careful, Harry," Angelina said seriously. "And tell no one about our conversation. Wizards and witches who even consider dabbling in this kind of magic are the worst of the worst. Should he get wind of your suspicion, however vague, many will die a terrible death. Such wizards stop at nothing. Nothing at all."
"Potter." The sudden glacial voice behind them made them all jump.
Fay actually gave a little scream. The empty tea cup she had been holding fell onto the grass as she clutched at her chest.
Right behind them, as if having appeared right out of the thin air, Snape was standing, as ugly and sallow-faced as ever, and even more menacing than usual.
"Professor," Harry acknowledged coldly.
"The visiting hours are over, Johnson," Snape informed them. "I suggest you leave the premises. As for you, Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Dunbar, you just lost your House ten points each. No food or drinks are allowed on the Quidditch pitch."
"Where else were we supposed to go?" Harry challenged him, giving Hermione a questioning glance. "The Three Broomsticks are closed thanks to your dear Malfoy."
He had asked her to cast Muffliato just before their meeting with Angelina in case anyone happened to eavesdrop. The possibilities of that happening were slim as Harry had chosen the Quidditch pitch for a reason. The place was empty of students and contained no watchful portraits, yet apparently, Snape had thought the same, for Harry didn't believe for a second the man had come there without a reason.
Hermione, reliable as she was, had executed everything perfectly, as a small nod of her own confirmed. Harry's cheek, however, did not go unnoticed by the former Potions professor.
"Detention, Potter," the man breathed. "And if Johnson doesn't get herself out this instant, you can trust me to make sure you will serve that detention until summer break."
Angelina did not need telling twice.
"You look after yourself Harry," she said. "And you guys too. It was nice seeing you."
As she left, Snape followed her with his eyes for a long time, almost as if suspecting something. With Snape, one could never know.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::
Their walk towards the castle was slow. None of the teens knew what to say.
"I never thought Angelina was a Dark witch," Ron commented. "How come she's been sorted to Gryffindor? And I thought she was actually okay."
"We finally know what these things are," Harry stated, referring to the Horcruxes and unwilling to discuss Angelina. The burden of her tale hung in the air even now.
"Yeah, but doesn't it bother you?" Ron insisted, turning towards the girls. "What do you think?"
"What bothers me is that these things are possible," Hermione said wisely. "It's just… wrong. It's not natural."
Fay said nothing. She looked very uneasy, though.
"I thought Inferi were bad enough…" Ron muttered, disgusted.
"This must be how he got away with it the first time," Fay reasoned. "Back then when Harry's mum and dad…"
She never finished. She didn't have to.
"Slughorn has to know more about it," Harry said, now truly sensing the time pressure.
"Shall we go and see Daphne?" Fay offered, uncertain.
"Ew, why would we do that?" Ron asked, again in disgust, though due to completely different reasons.
Harry, however, looked at Hermione.
"Hermione, you don't have to," he mumbled uncomfortably.
"There's nothing she can say to hurt me anymore," Hermione assured Harry, though the look she gave him clearly indicated they needed to talk about the whole house-elf affair.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, perplexed.
"The last meeting we had with Daphne Greengrass wasn't particularly nice."
"Oh, you mean about Malfoy?" Ron asked, recalling it. "What of it? You said the stupid Greensnake didn't really know anything. So why do we need to see her again?"
"She has this petition in Slughorn's defence, and I need to talk to Slughorn."
"Right," Ron sighed in defeat as they took a turn towards the right end of the Great Hall.
Luckily, the Slytherin table was not so full yet. The girl with mousy brown hair was the first to notice them approach. Daphne Greengrass was too busy exchanging jokes with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.
"Daphne," the girl said, nudging her blonde companion. "I've… bad news."
Daphne Greengrass looked up.
"Oh, hello! Can't say I expected to see you again so soon," the blonde witch said with a perfectly nice smile already in place.
"We're here to sign your petition," Fay clarified swiftly. "Give us the parchment, and we'll be on our way."
"So soon?" Daphne wondered. "Aren't you even going to tell me how aunt Moira is doing? I barely had the chance to say hi to her the other day."
Fay stared, her fists clenched.
"Do you even have that petition?" Harry demanded before the situation could escalate. It didn't escape his notice that Nott and Zabini's postures had tensed as if they were getting ready to grab their wands.
Daphne Greengrass, however, answered his aggressively posed question with complete calm.
"Of course I do. Tracey, we have it somewhere here, don't we?"
"We do," the other girl nodded.
"I'm curious, though: what made you change your mind?"
Harry ignored her, he merely stared, waiting for the parchment to be handed over.
"Give us that parchment, stupid Greensnake," Ron sputtered boldly.
Harry looked at him, and he wasn't the only one; now that Ron had got closer to their Beaters and Demelza, he would sometimes speak his mind more openly.
Nott and Zabini weren't going to take Ron's attitude in good spirit, however.
"Mind your tone, Weasley," Zabini warned him.
"Shall I call professor Snape, Daphne?" Nott asked. "These Gryffindors are clearly trying to spoil our meal."
"That's quite all right, boys," Daphne Greengrass smiled. "Potter obviously needs something from professor Slughorn, and what better way to get into the Potions master's good graces than to appear to care about his future? Of course, Gryffindors—noble as they are—would never use such cheap tricks, would they now? So it's certainly better not to answer my innocent question. Your silence says it all, Potter. Please leave your signature right here."
And with that, the other Slytherin girl—Tracey—placed the parchment in front of them. Indeed, there were many signatures already. Greengrass hadn't lied. Many students truly wanted Slughorn to stay.
Hermione carefully looked at the parchment.
"May I?" she asked.
"Oh, I haven't hexed it," Daphne assured her.
Hermione ignored her and just observed the parchment, examining it. Finally, she nodded and gave it to Harry while the Slytherins waited patiently. Harry signed. So did Fay. Silently, Harry looked at Hermione. With a sigh, Hermione signed as well.
"Ron?" she asked.
"No," Ron declared. "I will not sign anything they do."
He motioned towards the Slytherins, animosity clear in his stature. Daphne Greengrass and the rest of the Slytherins remained perfectly calm, though Zabini's lips curved into a sneer that rivalled Malfoy's.
"It's all right," Daphne said. "It's not obligatory. If you don't want to sign, you don't have to. To the rest of you, I say thank you—professor Slughorn is a very good teacher. Far better than any replacement we could have got."
Harry didn't say anything to that, and nor did Fay, Ron or Hermione. Wordlessly, Harry took the parchment from Hermione's hands and gave it to Tracey, who accepted it with a smile. Then he turned around, the others on his heels.
It was time to speak to Slughorn.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::
Harry knocked on the door to the Potions master's office right after dinner.
"Professor?"
Slughorn opened promptly.
"Harry? Is something wrong?" he asked, alarmed.
"No, professor; I just wanted to see you."
Slughorn seemed to relax a little. "Oh... Oh well, come in, my boy."
He made room for Harry to step in.
"How are you holding up, professor?" Harry asked. "I hope you're not in trouble."
Slughorn sighed, letting himself slide into an armchair and offering the other seat to the boy. "As well as can be, Harry." He shook his head wearily. "I'm not in trouble, no. Though I suspect it's largely thanks to Miss Greengrass's intervention. It's more than I can could have asked or hoped for."
"I signed the petition," Harry said quietly. "Many students did. Hermione signed too."
Slughorn looked up, and a faint smile made its way to his tired face. "Thank you, Harry. I appreciate it more than I can tell. I only wish..." He sighed again and changed the topic. "How are you holding up, my boy—you and your friends?"
"Everybody's leaving," Harry sighed. "Professor Dumbledore's very sad."
"Oh, I've never seen him this sad before," Slughorn agreed, though a hint of curiosity had crept into his eyes. "Have you spoken to him?"
Harry nodded.
"Professor," he asked, "the last time around, was it this bad?"
Slughorn's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Harry?" he asked, though he seemed to guess the answer.
"The last time around. When mum was a student here. I never knew anything; not even the small things. I only found out mum had been good at Potions when you told me. I can't even imagine what it was like, how bad it was then… How bad it is now."
The teacher didn't speak for a moment, eying Harry seriously.
"It was... very tense and frightening," he admitted. "On one hand, we knew Hogwarts was one of the safest places around. On the other hand, it felt like hiding in a fortress and waiting for the enemy to come to attack us any time... or for someone to attack us from within. Your mother, however, was immensely brave. The presence of the likes of her made it easier for everyone. And you are very much like her."
"I'm not brave," Harry sighed. "I wish I were, but I'm not. I feel so useless. I wish there was something I could do, at least for one person. But I can't. I came here to ask for your help."
Slughorn hesitated. "My boy, I would do anything, but... you know, we are not to break the rules—"
"It's Hagrid," Harry said quickly, a stroke of inspiration in his mind. "One of his animals is sick, and you know what Hagrid is like… He's very sad. I figured that if anyone could help, it'd be you."
"Oh," Slughorn sighed, looking somewhat relieved. "Well, if it's safe. I... I don't know, my boy. It's past dinner, soon to be past curfew, and you know, with all the security rules..."
"Please, Sir," Harry said quietly.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure, nor did he have a plan, but what he had already understood was that Slughorn wouldn't be talking about any incentive. He knew he had to make him talk. It was important. Especially now that Angelina had told them what Horcruxes were. And if Hermione's guess was correct—and Harry was certain it was—then the Horcrux that had possessed the little boy had caused the presence to be unable to leave. Riddle's ghost stood clearly in Harry's mind.
Slughorn had to show him the memory.
"We won't be in trouble, Sir. Not if we go now. I trust only you, Sir."
"Oh, all right," Slughorn sighed. "If there is anything I can do… Salazar, I wish I could have helped poor Mr Belby. It all happened so quickly. Miss Greengrass has been of such a great support, such a great support indeed… Let us go, my boy."
Harry could barely hide his excitement; he couldn't afford appearing too happy. He was nervous, though, and hopefully, it covered everything nicely.
It wasn't long before they approached Hagrid's hut. Hagrid looked equally downcast as he opened the door.
"Harry," he said thickly before the sight of the teacher caught his attention. "P-professor?"
"Hi, Hagrid," Harry greeted quickly. "I asked professor Slughorn to come with me—to see if something can be done for Aragog."
"Good evening, dear friend," Slughorn greeted as well.
"Did ya?" Hagrid asked, tears of emotion springing to his eyes. "Thank you, 'Arry. It's very kind of ya to come, professor. Please come in."
Harry held the door respectfully, letting Slughorn in first.
"Is Aragog still in the forest?" Harry asked. "Will they let you bring him here?"
"'E's still there, alright," Hagrid sniffed, hurrying over to his little kitchen corner. "But the other spiders are getting restless. They can sense the death comin', see. And if 'e dies..." He gave a more pronounced sniff. "They eat their dead, they do. But I can't let 'em. My oldest friend, he was, Aragog." Wiping at his eyes, he turned towards Slughorn. "Can I get you something, professor? Tea? Brandy?"
"Brandy will do. How well I understand you, Hagrid. I wish I could do something for you. Count on me; Harry's friends are my friends."
"I'll have tea, Hagrid," Harry said modestly.
"What sort of spider is Aragog?" Slughorn asked.
"Ac-acr-acromantula," Hagrid sobbed out, glass clicking as he brought a bottle of brandy and two glasses to the table before putting the kettle over the heat. "Have ya met any, professor?"
Slughorn all but sputtered, nearly choking on his brandy.
"A-a-acromantula?" he echoed. "Sweet Salazar... And you are saying the… the poor creature is dying? Oh, I am so sorry, my friend. As soon as you have him, call me immediately. A real-life Acromantula—that's not something a wizard sees every day."
"I'm so glad you will help, professor," Harry intervened.
Truth be told, something in the way Slughorn had spoken about Aragog made Harry think Slughorn rather considered getting some profit than truly helping Aragog or even Hagrid.
Claiming his attention worked, though, for Slughorn got a grip.
"Of course, of course, my boy," he amended quickly. "There has to be some potion that helps. If only I could take a look… Let us not be sad, Hagrid. Let us drink to Aragog's health tonight."
Hagrid grunted in what was clearly grateful emotion before bringing Harry's tea onto the table and sitting down himself.
"I've 'ad 'im from the egg, ya know," he said reminiscently. "A tiny little thing, 'e was. I kept 'im in the school cupboard. When 'e moved to the forest, I tried to find 'im a lady. It wasn't easy; the rules for regulation of dangerous creatures were tightened at that time. But I found one in the end. They were 'appy together."
"There, there," Slughorn placated him.
Harry poured them more brandy, unsure what to do. He looked at Slughorn, much like a student seeking guidance. Hagrid, who had already been a little drunk before their arrival, was progressively getting more so by each minute. Slughorn seemed to be in a sentimental mood.
"I know how you feel my friend," the Potions professor lamented, proceeding to talk about how good his students were.
Hagrid, on his part, went on about Aragog and his lady. It was obvious they were talking in monologues, not really listening to each other. Both agreed, however, that Hogwarts would withstand it all. It wasn't long before Hagrid, sentimental as he was, started making gifts, namely the unicorn hair he had lying around his hut.
"Everythin for 'Ogwarts. 'Ogwarts is me 'ome... never 'ad no other 'ome. Me dad died, me mum left, she left Grawp too..."
"My parents left me too," Harry commented, unsure why.
"Great wizard, 'Arry," Hagrid sniffed, tears pouring out of his eyes. "Terrible… terrible thin'…good die youn'"
Slughorn looked at him, also quite drunk.
"Have no fear, friend; Hogwarts will withstand it all. Aradog... fascinating creature, very valuable..."
"No," Harry said as Hagrid more or less passed out. "Professor Hagrid meant it was terrible how I've grown up without my parents. Because they were killed."
Slughorn gaped at him, appearing only a fraction soberer than Hagrid.
"Oh... it's... it's terrible indeed," he sighed. "I... I don't suppose you remember it?"
"When there were Dementors around here, I heard them every time they approached me," Harry confessed. "My mum screaming, my dad trying to stall him, to buy mum some time. So he killed dad first."
"Oh, my dear boy," Slughorn sighed brokenly.
"It's all right. Many people died. I saw Cedric Diggory die too; he was killed right in front of me. I sometimes think about Mr and Mrs Diggory... And now, also Mr and Mrs Belby. They didn't see it happen, but... what if it was meant for me? Voldemort wants me dead..."
"Please, speak not his name." Slughorn shuddered. "I'm an old man."
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry muttered. "I know it was terrible for you. You remember all of your students. Mum too. It's just, she tried to save me at the cost of her own life and... it's hard. He only wanted me. She could have run, did you know that? She didn't, though... and now, every time the Dementors are near, I hear her scream."
"Please, my boy, I'm an old man—I don't need to hear—"
"I'm afraid, professor," Harry said suddenly. "I just have no-one to talk with. He wants me dead. We keep thinking Hogwarts is untouchable, but Belby… Please help me, professor."
"What can I do? I could never—"
"Dumbledore thinks you can help," Harry overrode him again. "You were right; it was he who sent me to you. He thinks that conversation you had with Tom Riddle was important."
"I... I... I could never—"
"Are you afraid too?" Harry asked. "Is that why you were in hiding before professor Dumbledore found you?"
"My boy... I'm just an old man... just an old man. All I want is to live the rest of my days in peace. And now… oh, poor Mr Belby. I couldn't do anything. Anything at all."
Slughorn started crying in earnest, and Harry pleaded with him again.
"Please, professor, help me. Help me for Belby, for my mum, please... I won't ask you for anything again."
"How could I possible help? This... this... conversation... long time ago…Not important…"
"If it's not important, then why not tell me?"
"You don't understand," Slughorn insisted. "There is magic out there, magic few even believe possible."
Harry's eyes widened. Finally, he had made the connection.
"Oh! Do you mean they... they were trying to get you and not Belby? Is that why you're so afraid? Because you know about that... that rare magic?"
"Merlin's beard!" Slughorn exclaimed, truly terrified for once.
Harry could tell that while the teacher felt sorry about the whole incident with Marcus Belby, it hadn't occurred to him that whoever had laced the mead with poison could as well have been after him. Now, the existence of such a possibility had left him paralyzed with fright.
And indeed, Slughorn's pupils were dilated as he stared at Harry, not truly seeing him, or perhaps seeing someone else in his place: the tall, handsome dark-haired boy he had once doted on. Silence would have been complete, were it not for the disconcerting sounds that came in from the window: the rustling of the trees, the hooting of an owl, the distant thunder of what could be an approaching storm. The air inside the hut felt heavy, expectant. And still, Slughorn's blood seemed to have turned to ice; ice was also in his heart, weighing it, making it difficult to breathe, to think straight. All he knew was that death was lurking in the dark, biding its time, waiting for a chance to snatch him. The Dark Lord had no mercy, and he would kill him for carrying the dangerous secret that Dumbledore wanted so much.
"I will help you, professor—I will hide you—and professor Dumbledore will help too, but please... Every time the Dementors are nearby, I hear my mum's terrified screams. Please... I need to know. I am the Chosen One."
"It—it is true? You are—" Slughorn gulped, absolutely shaken, then sobbed out, "He will kill me. I have been hiding from him all this time. He has killed everyone; everyone who ever knew. If… if… I tell you..."
"But if you don't, we will all die," Harry said seriously.
They stared at each other. Finally, with a trembling hand, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He slid his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small empty bottle; as a true Potioneer, he always seemed to have one on him. He was afraid, Harry could see it.
"Don't... don't let him know. I don't want to die. You must think me a coward, Harry, but I don't want to die..."
"Thank you very much, Professor," Harry breathed as the long silvery thread of the memory made its way into the small glass bottle.
"You're a good boy," Slughorn said, tears starting to fall. "And so brave. So very brave. You've got her eyes. Just please… don't think too badly of me; I never knew. I've been afraid ever since. He kills everyone—anyone who might have known the truth is dead by now. I…I must be the only one left."
And then, like Hagrid before him, he collapsed.
Harry looked at the glass vial in his hand, which now contained the memory. Something terrible hung in the air: it was as if Angelina's horror story had come to life.
There really was terrible magic in the world, and what was worse, it was real.
An: In the end, I thought Slughorn wouldn't speak without the help of alcohol after all. And speaking of Horcruxes, then many writers on this site take them far too lightly. I tend to think these things are quite terrifying. Material worth of the scariest horror movies, honestly. Speaking of, I want to thank my beta Tarpeia for really bringing the horror out in this chapter. Slughorn is lucky to be alive—something I've always wondered, by the way. Given the fact that Voldemort hid his past so carefully, his old Potions teacher should have been one of the first people on his hit list—could it be something of a plot hole? It's only elementary for someone like Voldemort to have hidden his tracks. After all Bertha Jorkins was killed for that precise reason too.