Author's Note: So, another chapter...and this one is basically the same as the last one...but things will be picking up soon...thanks for all the reviews and enjoy the chapter.
Summary: "...I am not your father. I will not act like your father. I do not care for you, Potter, and I will not be a parent to you..."
...Harry was more than ready to agree with that and nodded as he finished the drink he had been sipping at nervously.
It has been often said that a father and son can overcome anything, that family can overcome anything as long as there is love between them...but what if there isn't love but only hate? In a time of war most rely on their family and friends, but who can Harry rely on when he can't tell his friends that Severus Snape is his father? Especially with how curious they are of his secrets already. It isn't like he has Snape, anyway...to Snape he isn't more than just a burden after all, right? So in his time of need who can Harry turn to? Who can help him as he completes the task that was set on him?
Disclaimer: I own nothing, probably not even the plot considering how many times this plot has been done before...anywho on to the fic...
Beta: JulzPadfootMoony
Chapter Twenty Six
Horcruxes (Part 2)
January 3, 1997
Harry stepped out of the fireplace and removed the soot from his robes before walking to his room. His glasses were sitting on his bedside table. He grabbed them, but didn't put them on. Instead he walked out of his room, back to the sitting room, and then proceeded to Snape's lab.
"Was my stuff sent up to Gryffindor tower?" Harry asked.
Snape raised his hand, telling him to wait. He was muttering under his breath, counting his stirs, Harry decided. After a moment, he lifted his head and regarded Harry. "Has your lesson with Dumbledore finished already?"
"No, but dinner is in a few minutes. He didn't think it would be wise to skip the first meal since before the break. People would talk. I came to get my glasses. Professor Dumbledore and I will be continuing after dinner. He has one last memory for me."
Snape nodded. "Your house elf friend took everything back to your rooms. It interested me to see that there was something in your possession I wasn't aware of."
Harry shifted his feet and asked, "What was that?"
"A journal," Snape said, "my journal."
Harry let out a nervous laugh. "Well—it was in the box."
"What box?"
"The one that mum and James sent me. James said, well in the letter, that you wanted me to have it so I could understand you better. Is that not true?"
Snape didn't answer at once, but instead waved his wand at his potion, and then slowly turned back to Harry. "I don't know," he said "Maybe I did want you to have it."
"I thought you got all the memories back."
Snape sneered at him. "That doesn't quite mean that I remember telling either of those two that I wanted you to have it. Have you read it all?" He looked almost worried that Harry had.
"No. Only the first few entries, I didn't have enough time. It was strange, reading about you as someone my age."
"Yes, well," Snape said. "I have confiscated it. You do not need to know anything that is in that journal. Anything you need to know I will tell you if you care to ask."
Harry nodded. He didn't want to fight him about this. "We should really get going to the Great Hall."
"Yes, we should," Snape agreed.
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The other students were just entering the Great Hall when Harry got there. He had just made it through the door when he felt arms wrap around his waist. He looked down and found Imy.
"Oh, I loved the book, Harry!" She said. "I didn't know you were getting me anything. I would have gotten you something."
"No worries," Harry said. "Come on, we should head to the table."
She nodded. Harry led her to the Gryffindor table, his thoughts straying to what Dumbledore's last memory would be. What would it tell him? Would it be far more important than the rest? Harry couldn't wait to appease his curiosity on the matter. Why were the things he had stolen from Hepzibah so important?
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed when she spotted him, and she rushed towards him and Imy.
"How was your holiday? I hope you got my present. I thought you'd like it. There's this whole section on the Felix Felicis! I did some research on it, you know. I wanted to go to Sirius' house to use the library but Mrs. Weasley said it was being used and no one could go by. I wonder what they're using it for. Do you know? Anyway, I had a great break myself."
Harry smiled at Hermione, but said nothing and let her continue talking.
"I did find quite a bit in the books I did have available. The Twins tried to hide it from me many times, but you know me and my books. I think I can brew it, Harry! I mean, I did the Polyjuice Potion, how much harder could this be?"
Harry sighed. "You do realize that it will take about a month, and that this potion requires you to add ingredients at the most inopportune moments? You'll be up at all hours of the day; you'll have to miss classes."
Hermione seemed to have a way around that, too. "Not if you and Ron, and someone else help. I just need to see your schedule. See if I can figure it all out none of us will really suffer."
"If you can figure out a way, Hermione," Harry said, "I'll help, but you need to have a schedule that fits with everything else. Quidditch practice, my nights with Snape, my apprenticeship; everything…otherwise I can't help you."
"Thank you!" Hermione squealed.
Harry nodded and allowed himself to smile at her.
"She's told you, has she?" Ron asked, sitting down. His arm was around Lavender's waist and she was smiling all around.
Harry couldn't help but notice that Ron too seemed happy. He was glad for his friend and for Lavender. They were perfect for each other. He smiled at them and couldn't help but feel the slight stirring of jealousy for what Ron had. He shook himself. He knew he couldn't, not when he could very well die at Voldemort hands; when he could become a murderer himself.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Harry said. "Just remembering something."
"What?" pressed Hermione.
"Nothing important," Harry said and found himself Occluding his mind even though he knew Hermione would not be able to read his thoughts.
Hermione harrumphed and turned away as if offended. Ron, across from Harry, rolled his eyes. Harry smiled faintly. He hadn't told them about the Prophecy. He knew he would have to eventually and yet he didn't know if he could burden them with that knowledge…and what if what Dumbledore was going to show him after dinner was much worse than the Prophecy? He couldn't very well share that with them either. He hated keeping secrets. It was for the best, he decided. They needn't be so involved with everything.
Before Harry knew it, dinner was over, and Hermione was pulling at his arm. She had decided it wasn't worth it to fight with him over his not wanting to share something and was now talking to him. Harry walked with her, Ron, and Lavender out of the Great Hall and up the stairs.
"Ah, I have to go to Dumbledore's office," Harry said as she tried to lead him in the direction of the Gryffindor common room.
Hermione stopped and turned to him, excited. "Harry! Why didn't you say so? Is he continuing your lessons? Oh, I'll wait up for you Harry. You have to tell me everything!"
Harry decided it was better to not tell her had been with Dumbledore all afternoon, instead he said, "Don't wait for me, Hermione; I don't think I'll be back tonight."
The truth was that Harry didn't know if he could handle going back to the common room that night after whatever it was that Dumbledore was going to tell him.
Hermione looked put out. "But you will tell me tomorrow, right?" She asked.
"What I can," Harry said to appease her.
"Alright," Hermione said. "See you tomorrow, then."
"It's nothing personal, Hermione. I would tell you if I could."
"Yeah, alright."
Harry watched her go and turned to walk to Dumbledore's office.
"Toffee éclairs," Harry said to the gargoyle and got on the winding staircase.
He was nervous and yet curious and elated and just about everything at the same time. Harry knocked on the door to the office as soon as the stairs had taken him up and he heard Dumbledore call him to enter. He stepped inside and found Dumbledore seated behind his desk waiting for him. A glass vial containing the last memory sat in front of him, next to the pensieve.
"This will not take long," Dumbledore said. He poured the memory into the pensieve and motioned for Harry to once more go first.
They were in his father's office, but it was different. The jars with nameless things were gone, and instead the shelves held picture frames of a man with thick, shiny, straw-colored hair and gingery-blond mustache and people whom Harry knew to be important in the Wizarding world. The creator of the Wolfsbane Potion for one; Marcus Belby stood next to the man, holding a potion. They were both grinning.
The same man in the pictures was sitting in a comfortable winged armchair that Harry would never have seen in Snape's office. His feet rested upon a velvet pouffe, a small glass of wine in one hand, the other rummaging in a box of crystallized pineapple. There were half a dozen teenage boys sitting around this man with Tom Riddle in the midst of them, Marvolo's gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.
Dumbledore landed beside Harry just as Riddle asked, "Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"
"Who is he?" Harry thought to ask.
"That, my boy, is Professor Horace Slughorn. He was the old Potions Master before your father, in fact both your parents studied under him. Horace never liked Severus, I'm afraid, but he cherished Lily and James—Lily in particular. He always knew she would be great, and she would have done great things had not the events of Halloween so many years ago taken place."
Harry nodded and said nothing more, looking back at the memory. Slughorn seemed to have answered Tom, and finished with, "…I'd like to know where you get your information, boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."
Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.
"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter—thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite."
Harry listened as Slughorn praised Voldemort in every way, even pushing that he should go into politics.
"Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly to Tom's protestations. "No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet."
The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.
"Good gracious is it that time already? You'd better get going boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."
Harry watched as one by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around; Riddle was still standing there.
"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a Prefect…"
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"
"Sir, I wondered what you know about…about Horcruxes?"
Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass.
"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?
But Harry could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.
"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."
"No…well…you'd be hard-put to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.
Harry didn't doubt that Tom already knew that and that it was the reason he was asking for this information.
"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you—sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously—I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could—so I just thought I'd ask—"
It was very well done, thought Harry; the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. He, Harry, had had too much experience of trying to wheedle information out of reluctant people to not recognize a master at work. He could tell that Riddle wanted the information very, very much; perhaps had been working toward this moment for weeks.
"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course, just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."
Harry nearly gasped. What did Voldemort want to do with this information? How could it help him? What did it mean to Harry?
"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle.
His voice was carefully controlled, but Harry could sense his excitement.
"Well you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body was attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form…"
Slughorn's face crumpled and Harry found himself remembering the words he had heard nearly two years before. "I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost…but still I was alive."
"…few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."
But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he would no longer hide his longing.
"How do you split your soul?"
"Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."
"But how do you do it?"
"By an act of evil—the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage. He would encase the town portion—"
"Encase? By how…?"
"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" Slughorn shook his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it—do I look like a killer?"
"I did not mean to offend," Riddle said and continued with, "What I don't understand, though—just out of curiosity—I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven…?"
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case…bad enough to divide the soul…but to rip it into seven pieces…"
Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: He was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all.
Dumbledore pulled at Harry's elbow as the scene finished, but not before Harry had glimpsed at Riddle's face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, once they were back in his office, "I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal."
"You think he succeeded then, sir?" asked Harry. "He made a Horcrux? And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of his soul was safe"—and then it dawned on Harry—"or more pieces. Not just one—seven."
Dumbledore nodded. "Four years ago," he said, "I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul."
"Where?" Harry asked. "How?"
He was almost frantic. Voldemort was practically immortal, and what with the Prophecy and everything else—
"You handed it to me, Harry," said Dumbledore, "in the form of Tom Riddle's diary. I was sure almost as soon as you told me—it was a phenomenon. I knew it had to be something more than just a memory. What was inside that diary was a fragment of his soul."
"And there must be others," Harry said in a whisper. "He wouldn't have come back otherwise, right?"
Dumbledore shrugged, showing Harry that even Dumbledore did not have all the answers.
Dumbledore spoke again after a pause, "After the evidence that you offered me, Harry, I felt that the careless way in which Voldemort regarded his Horcrux meant he must have made more. Then two years ago, you told me of his claim once he had come back, 'I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.' This cemented my suspicions.
"Much about Voldemort's character helped me in this. I knew after some time that he must have made Horcruxes. And so my quest began. This last memory was the hardest to get. I only just managed it with it the help of Lucius this past summer, and it has led us to being closer than anyone on the path of destroying him."
Harry, who was now on the verge of hyperventilating, something he had never once considered doing in his life, decided it would be best to concentrate on the matter at hand and spoke, "But, surely, sir, we cannot know how many he has made, or where they are. He is—he has achieved what he wanted to achieve. I cannot destroy him."
"Ah, but we do know how many he has," Dumbledore said. "Think back to our memory, Harry, you even said it yourself mere moments ago."
"Seven," Harry said in a small voice. "He made seven Horcr uxes," he continued horror-struck, while several of the portraits on the walls made similar noises of shock and outrage. "But they could be anywhere in the world—hidden—buried or invisible—"
"I am glad you see the magnitude of our problem, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Firstly, no, Harry, not seven. Six. The seventh part resides within his regenerated body. That is the last piece to attack."
"Six, then," Harry said, a little desperately. "How are we supposed to find them?"
"You are forgetting…you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed another."
"You have?" Harry said eagerly.
"The ring, Harry," was all explanation that Dumbledore gave him.
"Your hand, it caused it," Harry said.
Dumbledore nodded, but added nothing more.
"Alright, well, there are four then. They could be anywhere. He could not have just left them lying around now, would he?" And then it dawned on him. "The cup and locket, he would have used them, wouldn't he have? Then what about the other two—what could they be?"
"I think, this is where we can only hazard to guess. Having secured objects from Slytherin and Hufflepuff, I can only say that he must have wanted to use one of Gryffindor's objects, or one of Ravenclaw's. We cannot be sure on whether he ever found a relic of Ravenclaw's but as to Gryffindor's – The only known relic of Gryffindor is well protected."
Dumbledore pointed the hand that Harry knew to be under a glamour, to the wall behind him, where a ruby-encrusted sword reposed within a glass case.
"Then he could have gotten something of Ravenclaw's, which leaves just one more. Do you know what it is, sir?"
"I have had my suspicions for a while that Voldemort thought to make a Horcrux from your death, Harry, and of course that entire plan backfired."
"Then he would be one short," Harry said, excited.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I believe the last one, resides in his pet, Nagini."
"The snake!" Harry said. "You can use animals for this?"
"Of course. It is unadvisable, seeing as they too are living, and moving species of this planet, but it would underline the Slytherin connection, which enhances Lord Voldemort's mystique; I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything; he certainly likes t o keep her close, and he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth."
Harry, who had by this point calmed down somewhat, nodded before speaking, "so," he said, "the diary is gone, the ring's gone. The cup, the locket, and the snake are still intact, and you think there might be a Horcrux that was once Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's?"
"An admirable succinct and accurate summary, yes," said Dumbledore, bowing his head.
"So…are you still looking for them, sir? Is that where you've been going when you've been leaving the school?"
"Correct," said Dumbledore. "I have been looking for a very long time. I think…perhaps…I may be close to finding another one. There are hopeful signs."
"And if you do," said Harry quickly, "can I come with you and help get rid of it?"
Dumbledore looked at Harry very intently for a moment before saying, "Yes, I think so."
"I can?" said Harry, thoroughly taken aback. He hadn't expected him to say he could, especially after how it was Snape that had begun to involve him in things rather than Dumbledore.
"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly. "I think you have earned that right."
Harry grinned, but his joy faded at the thought of everything that had fallen on his shoulders. It was as if the fate of the entire Wizarding world had settled there and he was supposed to lift it and not only that, he was supposed to run for hundreds of miles with it.
"So, if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?"
"Yes, I think so," said Dumbledore, "Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes."
"But I haven't got uncommon skill and power," said Harry, before he could stop himself. And it was true—what was an increase in the strength of his magic. Not even that could work against Voldemort.
"Yes, you have," said Dumbledore firmly. "You have a power that Voldemort has never had. You can—"
"I know!" said Harry impatiently. "I can love!" Before he could stop himself he added, "Big deal!"
"Yes, Harry, you can love. Which given everything that has happened to you, is a great and remarkable thing. You are still too young to understand how unusual you are, Harry. Take your relationship with your father. This time last year you hated each other—look at you now."
But Harry didn't love Snape, right? He and Snape did more than tolerate each other, sure, but he didn't love him. He liked him sometimes, but he didn't love him and Snape just as surely as would love Lucius Malfoy, as he would love Harry.
"Harry, it is your ability to love that separates you from him. It is what makes this task all the harder, but that also protects you—the only protection against Voldemort's power."
Harry almost snorted.
"I still have to kill him, don't I?" Harry said. "It doesn't matter that my only protection is love because it will lead to the same thing. I must become a murderer."
Dumbledore did not answer.
Harry stood up. "Are we done, sir?" Harry asked. "I know what I have to do, now. I have to kill him. You will take me with you when you find the Horcrux. I think all I'll have left to do is just to continue on as I have and to work on finding them. Good night, sir."
Harry stood and walked to the door. He had just reached for the doorknob when Dumbledore stopped him by speaking. "I will remind you, Harry, what I said last year. Voldemort chose to mark you as his equal. Voldemort chose to follow the Prophecy just as you can choose to ignore it."
Harry did snort at this, and turning to face Dumbledore, his hand still on the doorknob, he said, "It makes no difference. Even if there were no Prophecy—even if I had never heard it, I'd want him finished, and I'd want to do it."
With that said Harry opened the door and left the room.
Author's Note: Hope you guys all enjoyed this chapter, even though obviously all of us have seen most of this stuff before. It was needed, however. Um...I guess that's it...next chapter should be up friday or saturday depending on how much I have to do...I have updated my profile with chapter pictures for this fic, if anyone is interested...so check that out...other than that questions are always welcome and please review.
-Erika