October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madame Pomfrey was kept busy by a sudden spat of colds among the staff and students. The Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it meant that Harri and Professor Snape spent less time researching and more time brewing for the Hospital Wing. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Harri tried multiple times to speak with Ginny that month. Despite her best efforts though, Ginny had returned to her pre-summer state. She could barely manage a word around Harri and would rush away as soon as Harri sat down near her.

It was the week before Halloween when Harri received a summons to the Headmaster's office. Handed off by Percy Weasley at breakfast it read,

"Harri,

I would appreciate your presence this evening at five o'clock.

My favorite sweet is Pumpkin Pasties.

Professor Dumbledore"

"Did you do something to get in trouble?" Neville asked, reading over her shoulder.

"Not at all," Harri replied. She couldn't think of a single toe she had stepped out of line. Ever since Ron had hexed Malfoy the four Gryffindors had done their best to stay out of trouble. Mrs. Weasley's reply had not been a howler, as Ron feared, but a fairly cordial letter.

"Ron,

While your father and I cannot say that we are pleased with your most recent actions, we also cannot say that we are surprised. After the way Draco Malfoy's father spoke to Hermione's parents, we assumed he would continue with his father's poor manners.

At the moment there is no inquiry at your father's office, but it wouldn't surprise us if one happened in the next month. Your father will be sure every i is dotted and every t crossed. In the meantime, keep your grades up, look out for your sister, and don't go near Draco Malfoy.

With love,

Mum"

With the Malfoy incident some time behind them now, Harri couldn't think why the Headmaster wanted to see her. It was with great trepidation that she road the steps up to his office. Harri came to the gleaming oak door, with the brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, and paused, What could Dumbledore want?

She rapped at the door.

"Enter," called Dumbledore.

Harri stepped into the large circular room. It was always very pleasant in this office and by far the most interesting office of any Professor. Snape's was all darkness with strange jars and bad smells. Dumbledore's office was very bright, covered in portraits, and strange silver instruments that sat whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harri asked, closing the door behind her.

"Ah yes," said Dumbledore peering at her over his half-moon glasses. He was seated at his desk looking over paperwork. "I was wondering, Harri, if you would be interested in joining me for a Samhain ritual."

"A what?" Harri asked uncertainly. Draco Malfoy had mentioned a Yule ritual, but Harri hadn't heard any mention of Samhain.

"It's a ritual that I perform every year on Halloween. I think it would be of great value for you to participate this year. Twelve years old, it's a very important age for a young witch."

Harri, who had not taken Arithmancy, had read up on the subject after her apparition act on her birthday. Day 212. It had mattered for the weakening of the wards. Why would being twelve years old matter though? It was not a strong number. It had several factors: two, three, four, and six. Four was more factors than many numbers, especially ages, had.

Higher factors meant to break down, to make weak. Having few factors, or being a prime number, meant to build up. Because a prime number could not be divided, it was a strong number to build magic off of.

Thus when a witch or wizard turned seventeen, an age without factors, something happened to the core that caused expansion. At eleven years old, school started because magic was finally easily accessible to a child. At thirteen, when more complex magic would begin to be taught, the core had a small puberty.

Why would a magically weak age, such as twelve, be one that had any value? By the arithmic standard of school ages, twelve was the magically weakest. It had the least magical expansion and the most reason for dedicated study and building on foundations.

"What would you need me to help you do, sir? Would anyone else be involved?" Was he inviting her because Snape would be there?

"Oh, no. It would just be us, Harri. And I'd show you as we went. It's not complicated, but it is important."

"That doesn't make sense." And it didn't. Why would Dumbledore, the literal Lord of Light, want a twelve-year-old to tag along on a Samhain ritual? One that he deemed important. There was not a clear added value.

"It will, give it time. It's magic you should know. It's an old tradition, not often practiced anymore. None of the old light families publicly do. Families with magic inclined towards the dark have a different ritual entirely. What I would show you is something that would be very similar to the ritual the Potter family has historically performed."

"You're… trying to teach me magic that my family practiced?"

"In a way. You won't have the opportunity to enact the specifics until you come of age. That would be in your family grimoire, which should be in your family vault. Yet, you may find that what I show you is of greater utility than even that."

"I don't understand."

Dumbledore gave her a small smile, clearly amused at her blunt answer. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. In time, Harri, in time."

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harri was to be found, late on a stormy Saturday afternoon, a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

As Harri squelched along the deserted corridor she came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as she was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "... don't fulfill the requirements… half an inch, if that…"

"Hello, Nick," said Harri.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking around. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harri could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," said Harri.

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance… It's not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'-"

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the beck with a blunt az would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh- yes," said Harri, who was obviously supposed to agree.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However-" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted completely with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away. "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my new on, Harriet! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir. Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said in a far calmer tone, "So- what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"

"No," said Harri. "Not unless you know anything about participating in a Samhain ritual. I've been invited by-"

The rest of Harri's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near her ankles. She looked down, almost expecting to see Gulliver, but instead saw a pain of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against the students.

"You'd better get out of here, Harriet," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood- he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place-"

"Oh," said Harri. "Right, Scourgify," she said, pointing her wand down at the puddle that had formed. It quickly evaporated. She was about to cast on the tracks that she had made, when Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harri's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

"No spellcasting in the corridors! And look at that filth you've tracked in. Follow me, Potter!"

"Sir, I'm really happy to clean this up. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"Wasn't thinking," Filch seethed. "They never think do they."

So Harri waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints of the floor. Filch's sharp glare at her wand made her hesitate to finish scouring her robes.

Harri had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil land dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harri could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. And there in the bottom drawer was "Black, Sirius, Lupin, Remus, Pettigrew, Peter, and Potter, James."

A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment. He sneezed loudly.

"Mr. Filch, Professor Snape and I just brewed a fresh batch of Pepper-Up Potion last night. Have you been to the Hospital Wing for one?"

"You brew with Professor Snape?" the weasley looking man asked. He looked very suspicious.

"Well, yes. He's my guardian. So he gets me to help out with a lot of the extra brewing."

"Hmm…"

"I'd even be happy to go and get you one if you like. I really am sorry about tracking mud. I just don't understand why a quick spell couldn't clean it up, it's just mud."

Filch now looked very angry. He went back to looking for parchment. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I've had enough of it… make an example… where's that form… yes."

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot."

"Name… Harriet Potter. Crime… befouling the castle… suggested sentence…"

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harri, who waited with bated breath for her sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! On the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backward glance at Harri, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harri didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harri.

Thinking that she should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harri sank into the moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing apart from her half-completed form: a large glossy purple enveloped with silver lettering on the front. Harri picked it up, and almost opened it. But that felt rude, so she set it back down.

Harri turned instead to the filing cabinet. There was her father's name, written alongside his friends. Harri thought of the picture she had from her parent's wedding, and of the four men who looked so happy. At school, it appeared that they had been real trouble makers. She wondered what they had gotten up to. Harri wanted to slide open the drawer and rifle through the papers. Would Filch let her if she asked? Probably not. He wasn't known for doing a kindness to a student.

What if she peaked in now?

Before she could do anything, she heard shuffling footsteps outside. Filch was returning. When he opened the door, he looked triumphant.

"That Vanishing Cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet-"

His eyes fell on Harri and then darted to the purple envelope, which Harri realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.

Filch's pasty face went brick red. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you- did you read-?" he sputtered.

"No," Harri told him firmly. "I wouldn't. I'm sorry, I picked it up because I thought the purple envelope was a nice brand of stationery," she fibbed.

Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.

"If I thought you'd read my private- not that it's mine- for a friend- be that as it may- however-"

Harri was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked crazier. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Very well- go- and don't breathe a word- not that- however, if you didn't read- go, now, I have to write up Peeves' report- go-"

Amazed at her luck, Harri sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

"Harriet! Harriet! Did it work?"

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harri could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him-"

"Was that you?" said Harri gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"

They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harri noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.

"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harri said.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harri walked right through him. She wished she hadn't' it was like stepping through an icy shower.

"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harriet- would I be asking too much- but no, you said you were doing something on Samhain."

"Oh… well yes, I am. I'm meeting the Headmaster at four."

Nick's face fell. "Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth death day. I'm having a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would have been such an honor if you could have attended."

"What time does it start?"

"Oh… at seven," said Nick, looking very disappointed.

"Well… I could ask my friends if they would be interested?"

This seemed to perk up Nick. "Yes, I suppose that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom are from very well known families… perhaps. And word of their bravery along with Miss. Granger has spread about the community. What with that nasty business at the end of last year."

"I'll ask them. I'm sure they'd rather attend a deathday party instead of the feast." Harri mentally hoped this was true because in reality Ron might be annoyed and not want to go at all. Ron did love a good feast.

"Do you think you could get them to mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you all find me?"

"Of-of course," said Harri.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at her.

"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harri had changed at last and joined her, Ron, and Neville in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those- it'll be fascinating!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" asked Neville, looking a bit pale at the idea of being around so many ghosts.

Surprisingly, Ron also looked interested in attending. "Luna might like going to that," he said. "She's a strange bird. That's the kind of thing she'd write about for her dad's magazine."

Harri noticed the slight look of hurt on Hermione's face. But it passed quickly. "You should invite her, Ron."

"Yeah, I think I will. Shame about missing the fest. Do you think they have any good food at these types of things."

"Last I checked, the dead don't eat," said Neville. "We should pack food." He gave Harri a mocking glare, "How are you getting out of this again?"

"I told you, I have to meet with Dumbledore. He wants me to do something with him for Samhain."

"That's right strange," said Neville. "I haven't heard of any Light Families celebrating Samhain before. Gran only cares about Yule and Summer Solstice."

"But a Deathday Party will be nearly as good," said Hermione with conviction. "And Harri will tell us everything about Samhain."

"As much as I can," said Harri, certain that she had the better event to attend.

By the time Halloween arrived, Harri had a permanent nauseated feeling in her stomach at the thought of joining the Headmaster for the Samhain ritual. Everyone around her was very cheerful and didn't understand her dampened demeanor.

The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

It was with heavy feet, that Harri made her way to the Headmaster's office just before four. Dumbledore had instructed her to wear the most simple light-colored clothing that she owned. Homespun if she had it. Harri didn't own anything as basic as that, but she did own a thick linen robe in cream and a woolen cloak in grey.

Walking only gave Harri time to think. She felt as if she was missing something. She just couldn't puzzle out why Dumbledore would want her to join him this evening. The only answer that she could think of was ridiculous. It was a crazy thought, and one that she hoped was very wrong.

Dumbledore was waiting for her in front of his Gargoyle. Its ugly grin was as sickening as her own nervous thoughts.

"Ah, good. Harri. Right on time. We need to get to the grounds before sunset. It will be a long night for us, I'm afraid. It's good you dressed warmly."

Dumbledore was wearing a thick woolen white cloak. His usual flamboyant robes were eschewed in favor of homespun undyed robes. He looked rather modest, except for the belt around his waist which was a rope of unicorn hair.

Here then was the Lord of Light.

It was usually so easy to forget that Dumbledore was not just a typical wizard. Sure, the students all knew the titles. They all knew that he had defeated Grindelwald, that he was the Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock. Most of the time he seemed like a doddering old man who was a little mad.

Tonight, he was radiating a slight aura. Harri could feel his power bumping against her. Her eyes began to prickle, her nose began to itch, and her magic felt like it was pushing out from under her skin.

Something about the rush of power eased her nerves. She managed a nod at the Professor, and let her mind get lost in the swirling push and pull of magic as they walked towards the Great Hall. It was a familiar and yet alien sensation all at once.

When they stepped out into the brisk evening it was nearly sunset. The orange and pink of the sky felt somehow heightened. Like her prickling eyes could see more clearly than they ever had before. She didn't have long to meditate on this though, Dumbledore's pace was quick and she had to move fast to keep up.

Dumbledore led the way down to the village, and once they were past the gates of Hogwarts reached for her hand.

"We will be apparating tonight. It's all prepared at the site, so we will begin at once. As soon as the sun fully sets, we will begin." That couldn't be more than five minutes from now. "I should warn you, Harri, there is no metal allowed in the ritual circle. Take off your wrist covering before entering. I'll explain the rest as we go."

The sick feeling in her stomach grew. She had made a personal vow to never look at those words again.

With a slight squeeze of the hand, Dumbledore apparated. It felt like being squeezed through a very small straw. Her ears popped, and they appeared on a narrow land bridge. On both sides there was sea, and in front of them, a henge.

A large circular henge. There were about 30 large stones, all several meters from each other. It was a little lighter here, Harri assumed that they had come further south. Sunset was probably ten minutes away.

"Welcome to the Ring of Brodgar," Dumbledore told her. He began to make his way into the circle.

Harri gripped her wrist and pulled off the silver covering. Bracing herself, she looked down. She never took off the covering on her wrist, even to shower. In the fading light, she could just make out the words Lord Voldemort had left on her.

She looked around for a place to leave her covering and found a large flat stone not too far from the henge. It would have to do. Otherwise, she wore no jewelry.

Unadorned, she followed Dumbledore into the ritual circle.

He was in the center and was building up a fire. There was a large pile of firewood beside him, as well as a basket, several candles, and several pillows. The light from the flames grew as Dumbledore built the fire by hand, and darkness finally fell.

"We come to pay tribute to the dead. We come to pay homage to those who are lost in the night. We come to bring light. Spirits, find our circle and find your way through the veil," Dumbledore said in a calm voice.

He took a bone knife from a pocket in his cloak and sliced across his hand. He allowed blood to fall into the fire.

It sparked and turned blindly white. There was a rush of wind, a howl that seemed to echo around the entire henge.

"Let the offering of the living help to stir the dead," Dumbledore said. The fire faded back to its usual color, but it was still very bright. He then passed the bone knife to Harri.

"No need for much blood," he told her. "Yours is far more precious than mine. A small nick will be plenty," he explained.

Normally the idea of blood sacrifice would be daunting, but it felt very natural to take the knife and let it graze against her palm. It was very sharp and did not hurt more than a slight sting. Blood welled easily to the surface of her split skin. Harri lifted her hand over the fire and let her blood flow into it.

Once again it sparked and turned hot white. The words came out of their own accord, "Let magic move you, come and find the veil, find your peace."

"Oh very good," Dumbledore told her with a smile. He seemed jubilant. Harri herself could feel a slight giddiness bubbling up inside her. She felt the desire to dance around the fire. It was too tempting to resist. She felt herself leap and bound around the bonfire. She felt like a gleeful doe. Dumbledore let out a carefree chuckle and clapped for her when she stopped, out of breath.

"Sir, what's going on?" Harri asked between gasps for air.

"One of my duties is to help the dead move from this realm to the next," he told her. "On Samhain, the veil between our world and the next becomes the thinnest."

"So the fire is to help light the way?"

"Yes, and the blood is to give spirits grounding."

"And the magic…. Why is my magic like this, sir?"

"Hmmm," Dumbledore hummed. "I'm afraid that has something to do with it reacting to mine. The magic acts as a beacon. The spirits of the dead can be pulled toward the convalescence. I'm sure you heard me referred to as the 'Light Lord' a time or two."

"Yes, sir. Remus Lupin explained it to me over the summer."

"Well, there is some truth to the title. It isn't to say that I am somehow a fully light wizard. My magic is just as capable of darkness as anyone else. However, my magic has a natural pull on magic users. It can act as an expander of an individual's light magic."

"So… my magic is acting this way because your magic is having acting as a magnet?"

"A bit."

"And because you're the Light Lord you have to come out here and do this ritual? Ron and Neville told me that you weren't at the Halloween feast last year."

"No, but hold on for a moment Harri. Our fire is dying down. We must keep it built up. The next part of the ritual won't take place until after midnight. Until then we are stewards of the fire."

Harri helped Dumbledore put more logs on the fire. The bonfire was built up into a pleasant roar. Dumbledore moved towards one of the pillows and sat. It was nice and warm near the fire, and Harri was glad to sit as well. Dumbledore pulled open the basket.

"I had the house elves prepare a little something for us. It's usually a night for feasting. How do you feel about meat pie?"

Pie sounded very good to Harri, who happily accepted a slice from the aged Professor.

"Now, to answer your questions, Harri. Yes, I do this ritual every year. It is of utmost importance that I am at this henge at Samhain. Everything should come second to that. There are other henges though, for other magical moments. For Samhain, Yule, the Spring Equinox, and the Summer Solstice."

"The four magical holidays. I've heard some of the other students talk about Yule and the Summer Solstice."

"Yes. Some families have their own rituals. The one that I perform, and the one that the Dark Lord preforms, are the ones that have the most, if any, importance."

"So the Dark Lord should be here too?"

"Yes. As far as I know, Voldemort is the current Dark Lord. Despite his wraith-like state. He should be performing his own ritual in tandem with ours. Another fire burning in the night."

"What happens if he doesn't perform the ritual?"

Dumbledore looked very grave. "Balance is an important thing in magic. Peace between light and dark needs to be achieved. Without light and dark functioning in tandem, the pull of my magic is diminished for those who are called to the light. You only have to look at our Ministry to see that things are not in balance."

Harri was stunned to hear Dumbledore describe it like that. "You need to work with Voldemort?"

Dumbledore grimaced. "No. Not I. When I was young there was another Dark Lord of another time. We were two sides of the same coin. "

"Grindelwald."

"Yes. We tried to work together the way magic called us to. Or maybe it doesn't truly call for working together. It felt as if magic was ripping us apart as well. Either way, it wasn't possible. We both made mistakes that ripped us apart. I believe you know the rest."

"You bound his magic."

"Thus the next Dark Lord was called."

"Why wouldn't you need to work with Voldemort? If you're the Lord of Light and he's the Dark Lord."

"It wasn't my tasking. My job was to keep the dark at bay until the time of my successor." He fixed Harri with that piercing blue gaze of his.

Harri felt the sinking feeling in her gut. It was almost an answer to her question. She couldn't bring herself to ask it though. She asked a different question then, one that suddenly occurred to her.

"I thought Voldemort attacked my family on Halloween. Why would he do that if he was supposed to be here?"

It was not the question Dumbledore had been expecting. "Oh Harri, how to explain Lord Voldemort to you. He was not always mad you know. Once he was the most promising student to ever walk through the doors of Hogwarts. He came into his power soon after I bound Grindelwald's. I had suspected that he might be Gellert's successor. I was quickly proven correct. He always had a natural affinity for the Dark, and many of his school mates felt pulled to him. He was young, handsome, and full of promise.

Then after graduation, instead of pursuing his position in magic, he took a job at a shop. He began to travel. He did not return to our territory to perform the rituals as he should have."

"Wait," Harri interrupted, "your territory?"

"Surely you didn't think that Voldemort and I are the only magical beings called to represent balance? Europe has its hinges and magical mythology. But we would not be able to touch the magic of Africa, Asia, or the Americas. It's very different. A different belief went into building it. Layers upon layers of faith and history twist together on those soils. It would have nothing of me."

"This hinge then, it represents a corner of your territory?"

"Indeed. There are three others. I will be showing them to you this year."

There was the opening again. The moment where she should be asking the question he obviously wanted her to. She couldn't. Instead, Harri got up and threw a few more logs on the bonfire.

"You were saying that Voldemort didn't attend to the rituals?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, continuing. "He would come some of the time, but he had little issue with missing. He was quite firm with me that it wasn't important as long as it was me representing the light.

Then he heard something that chilled him to the bone. Do you know what Voldemort translates to in French, Harriet?"

"No, I didn't realize that it meant anything."

"It means, 'Flight from Death'. Voldemort has never been interested in dying. I've never been sure of the exact means he has used to prevent his death, but as we can see, he was successful in preventing it.

In August of 1981, Voldemort heard something that frightened him. A rumor of a child that would bring about his downfall. On Samhain that year, the night he should have been here, he took the opportunity to find and attack you."

Harri rubbed her wrist. She thought of the question that might answer what Dumbledore was baiting her to ask. Soulmates were the center of all this, weren't they? She and Voldemort were tied together somehow. What if Dumbledore had once been tied together with someone just as tightly. Just as horribly.

"Was Gellert Grindelwald your soulmate?"

He didn't look surprised by Harri's question. Or annoyed. He just mildly replied, "You should ask the real question, Harri. It does you no good to bait for the truth."

"Am I your successor to the Light?"

"Yes."