Harry as good as sprinted towards the spiral staircase where Dumbledore's office was located. He dearly hoped the password hadn't changed yet. There was something about this sorcery that made him feel as though he was being pursued.

His wish was granted as the stone gargoyle yielded at the mention of Acid Pops, and he ran up the moving staircase, taking three steps at a time. Panting heavily, he raised his hand to knock on the door to Dumbledore's office; but his hand froze before it even touched the wood. Voices were coming from the office, and he had no trouble recognising them. Why was Snape nearly yelling? Despite his impatience and pounding heart, Harry pressed his ear against the door. He only made out a few insubstantial words before the voices grew louder, as if approaching the door. Quickly, he flung himself away to hide behind a pillar. A moment later, Snape stalked out, his robes billowing. Harry only caught a glimpse of his face, but there was no mistaking the towering fury in the man's expression. Despite himself, Harry was grateful for remaining unseen, for Snape looked as though he might murder the first person who got in his way.

"Professor?" he breathed as soon as Snape disappeared.

"Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed, shocked.

"I got the memory," Harry said quickly before Dumbledore could add anything else.

Harry pulled out the tiny glass bottle and showed it to Dumbledore. For a moment or two, the headmaster looked stunned. Then his face split in a wide smile.

"Well done, Harry! Come on in."

Once inside, Dumbledore wasted no time.

"Now, Harry," he said, placing the stone basin upon his desk and emptying the contents of the bottle into it, "now, at last, we shall see..."

Harry bowed obediently over the Pensieve and felt his feet leave the office floor. He had millions of questions burning in his mind.

What was happening? Why had Snape left the office in such a fury? There was no time, though. Not right now. Suppressing all his questions, Harry leaped into the memory, falling through the darkness, and landed in Horace Slughorn's office from many years before.

What he witnessed there left him speechless. After Angelina's grave warning about the Horcruxes, it absolutely disgusted him to see how lightly both Slughorn and Riddle took these things. They were talking about splitting souls much like children would talk about breaking toys, never truly realising how unnatural it all was. What was worse, Slughorn might as well have had signed his own death sentence that day without realising it.

No wonder the man was scared witless.

By the time Harry and Dumbledore stepped out of the basin, neither could bring himself to say a word. Even the portraits were silent.

"Seven?" Harry croaked out at last. "Did he really create seven of them?"

Dumbledore remained silent, lost deeply in thought, so Harry reasoned out loud.

"Angelina said it's not wise to dabble in this kind of magic. The Horcrux that possessed Ginny… it was Tom Riddle—just like in this memory—it wasn't Voldemort. Professor, if… if Ginny had died… would there have been two Voldemorts? Tom Riddle and Voldemort?"

It was difficult for Harry to wrap his head around it.

"You've spoken to Miss Johnson, I see," Dumbledore commented. "Yes, she would know to be cautious with such sorcery."

Harry bit his lip. He had blurted it out about Angelina without thinking. He didn't want to get her in trouble. Dumbledore, however, appeared to have guessed his thoughts.

"All the magical children born in the Commonwealth are welcome at Hogwarts. Their names are registered at their very birth, even though they are free to choose any other school. Miss Johnson is no exception. She, too, was born in the Commonwealth, and as to the origins of her family—children are innocent of any crimes their relatives might have committed; nor should they be affected by any burden their parents leave behind. I desperately tried to shield you for as long as I could, Harry, and I've certainly never had any prejudice against Miss Johnson, no matter her parentage. Fortunately for Miss Johnson, magical communities are highly secretive, and no one has ever suspected her maternal family in Nubia to be quite notorious. I take it Miss Johnson explained to you what a Horcrux was?"

Harry nodded. "Did Voldemort ever know he was creating… a… a version of himself?"

"An excellent question, Harry. He might have known, but perhaps, in his arrogance, he thought that whatever version of himself he would create would end up helping him; or else, he never considered this possibility and saw the Horcruxes simply as a way of gaining immortality. I suspect the latter, but it is only a guess."

"I understand now," Harry said, "why Professor Slughorn is terrified. If anyone knew Voldemort to depend on his Horcruxes, they would start looking for them. And… he is bound to have enemies. People want to fight."

Again, Dumbledore nodded.

"Very good, Harry. Indeed, I fear that had we come a few weeks too late, Horace wouldn't have been with us any longer."

Harry looked up guiltily.

"I'm afraid, professor," he confessed. "And ashamed. I… I… I don't know to explain it. I've been reading up on psychological analysis. I asked Colin to get me a few books a while ago, when I got closer to Fay. There was a stroke of inspiration, so I convinced professor Slughorn to help me console Hagrid. One of his animals was sick, and… well, in the end, I promised I'd help him hide."

Harry stopped talking, unable to look at Dumbledore. He had once heard Tonks's colleague, Spot-Cat, say jokingly that Aurors were probably the greatest liars among all witches and wizards, for it was their job to gain intelligence by any possible means. But this didn't make him feel better.

"I see," Dumbledore said. "You mustn't blame yourself, Harry. Horace should have known better than to delve into such a topic, no matter how much he liked the student."

Harry nodded. He knew there had been no other way and that this memory was vital, but it still didn't feel right.

"You will help him, Sir, won't you?" he asked. "You'll hide him, won't you?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "At Hogwarts, help shall always be given to those who need it. But let us focus on the Horcruxes. As ill-advised as their creation is, for a Horcrux is an extremely evil object fully capable of thinking for itself, Tom had the imprudence of creating not one but six of them. What do you think of that, Harry?"

Harry considered it.

"He created a Horcrux," he reasoned slowly. "Maybe even several Horcruxes. But how do we know for sure how many? He asked Professor Slughorn if it was possible to create seven, but—"

"Ah, but pay attention to what Horace said, Harry—what is the point of a Horcrux?"

"To… to keep a fragment of one's soul concealed so that the wizard to whom it belonged could… come back in another form," Harry said.

"Exactly, Harry," Dumbledore agreed. "But did you pay attention to what Tom was wearing in the memory? On his index finger?"

"The ring!" Harry exclaimed. "Marvolo's ring—the one you wore too! Except… it wasn't cracked in the memory. I don't understand."

Dumbledore smiled behind his half-moon spectacles, letting Harry reach the conclusion by himself.

"He staged the whole conversation with Slughorn, didn't he, sir?" the boy asked. "He had already created a Horcrux."

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded, "I believe he had already created a Horcrux: the very ring he was wearing. I believe you've noticed the way he would occasionally look at it, as if liking its presence. In its own, twisted way, this unnaturally undead object must have felt like a family member to him in these early days. This aside, however, it would seem as though it wasn't merely immortality he was after. I believe he also wanted to create a weapon, and young as he was, he never truly realized the danger Horcruxes presented. Wizards who opt for creating a Horcrux tend to make sure the object finds its way into innocent hands and is never destroyed. Often, as perhaps Miss Johnson has already told you, they target innocent children: impressionable and sometimes even orphaned children make the perfect victims for the Darkest of wizards. Tom had already created a Horcrux, however, and as we've agreed, he must have neglected to delve deeper into the nature of the Horcruxes; he merely wanted to know whether he could create another one. And this was precisely what he was asking Horace about, for no book would have ever given him such information."

"Why, though?" Harry asked. "It seems…"

"Rash?" Dumbledore suggested. "Imprudent? Stupid? Yes, it most certainly was, but I would think his youth was to blame. That, and the fact that he'd had a quarrel with one of his fellow students he'd had high hopes for. Now, I don't believe Tom ever craved friendship as such, but he did want influence. He started cultivating his influence as soon as he got to Hogwarts. Everything went very smoothly until he was betrayed. In hindsight, I believe this is what made him change his mind about trusting other people, and he started doing everything by himself whenever possible. This fallout with a fellow student made him think it was better to have good control over the people who would follow his orders, and what better way than a Horcrux? It is in the very nature of a Horcrux to submit its victim to its will, slowly killing the victim in the process."

Harry considered it. It was weird to imagine. It made sense, but… it was almost as if Voldemort had been human once upon a time. Hurt by a betrayal, making stupid mistakes. Absurdly, Harry thought of Ron and the way Ron would sometimes get jealous about petty things. It was bizarre.

Once again, Dumbledore seemed to guess Harry's thought.

"I understand, Harry. It must be difficult to imagine."

"No," Harry said quickly. "It's just… who was he? That student he had a quarrel with? Did he kill him too in the end?"

"I believe he did," Dumbledore confirmed. "But regardless of what had been going on in young Tom Riddle's mind, let us think of the consequences of his actions. Do you know what frightens me in this whole situation?"

"What?" Harry asked, breathless.

"The careless way in which Voldemort regarded his first Horcrux. We will never know how much Tom knew about Horcruxes at the time, but based on everything we have seen, we can conclude that he must have made more."

"But what happens if you make more?" Harry asked.

"Exactly, Harry," Dumbledore praised. "That is the vital question. One you might guess the answer to. You've seen what happened to his appearance; what do you think it means?"

"In the graveyard, he said that he had gone further than anybody else along the path that leads to immortality..."

Harry shuddered, recalling that terrible night.

Dumbledore seemed to understand.

"To my knowledge, no wizard had ever gone this far, for creating even one Horcrux takes a terrible toll," he explained gravely. "The conversation with Horace that you have witnessed took place after Tom had already created a Horcrux. Sometime later, I visited Wool's orphanage again, and after much investigation, I crossed paths with a certain Muggle doctor, a general practitioner. Mrs Cole had called him one night when one of the orphans had got strangely ill. A mortally high fever, nausea, delirium… Nobody knew what the cause was. What was even more bizarre, however, was the fact that just when the doctor expected the orphan to die from that mysterious illness, the boy miraculously recovered, and no traces of that illness could be found. Can you guess who this boy was, Harry?"

"Voldemort," Harry said immediately. "What happened to the doctor?"

"He was an elderly man," Dumbledore answered. "He died of a heart failure."

"Voldemort's doing?" Harry guessed.

"It is impossible to know for sure," Dumbledore admitted. "I have never met the man. The only way I could learn about this whole incident was tracking down everyone Tom had come in contact with. After his quarrel with another student, I became quite alert. I observed him. I had seen enough of Tom's vindictive nature when I'd first met him, and I felt I should be ready for possible retribution attempts on Tom's part. So I tracked him. I even went as far as to innocently drop in on the other Muggle children at his orphanage, and through the general gossip, I became aware of Tom's health problems, which seemed to have appeared as suddenly as they had later disappeared. By the time I located the doctor himself, the man was dead. But even supposing the doctor died of natural causes, what matters to us now is that we know what happens after the creation of even a single Horcrux."

"Could Voldemort have died back then?" Harry wondered.

"Oh, absolutely; such magic is no joking matter. Many wizards fail at it, losing their lives in the process."

"But he succeeded," Harry continued. "It took a toll on him, but he succeeded."

"He did," Dumbledore agreed again. "And later, quite a few portraits confidently informed me there had been a few changes in young Tom Riddle's behaviour. He appeared to need less sleep and less food, and yet, he was as healthy as ever. Can you already guess what the other side-effects of creating a Horcrux are, Harry?"

"You become less human," Harry concluded quietly.

It was yet another proof of how dangerous that magic truly was.

"Sir, what can we do?" he asked, a note of desperation clear in his voice. "Is there a way to destroy the Horcruxes?"

"And that is the other vital question I expected you to ask, Harry—well done!"

Harry allowed himself a timid smile. For some reason, it was nice to be encouraged for once.

"First, however, one has to find the Horcrux," Dumbledore reminded him. "Based on your two first guesses, what do you think Tom chose as vessels for his Horcruxes?"

"He took the ring," Harry reasoned. "And he also had a diary..."

There was silence as Harry thought about it. The portraits were dead-silent, and Harry had the distinct feeling he was being tested. He wished he were good at these things. Like Fay. Dumbledore didn't rush him, however.

"He chose the items he had a connection with," Harry said at last. "He chose the ring because it belonged to his maternal grandfather and—oh, the locket!"

"And?" Dumbledore urged.

"Helga Hufflepuff's Cup?" Harry offered.

"Precisely," Dumbledore said appreciatively. "Do you remember how badly he wanted to stay at Hogwarts and teach here?"

"Yes," Harry responded immediately. "But he couldn't. So he came back and asked again. But professor, didn't you say he knew you wouldn't let him teach and that he actually wanted something else?"

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But one doesn't exclude the other, Harry. Hogwarts must have been the closest place to a home Tom had ever had, and seeing how he convinced himself from an early age that he was special, I think he found it exciting to try and gather all the relics that had once belonged to the founders of the school and to turn them into Horcruxes."

"That's sick!" Harry declared, feeling weirdly insulted for the first time. Hogwarts was his home too. It irked him to no end that Voldemort would so egoistically take something so precious and taint it with the Darkest of magic. "Did he succeed? I mean, there is the locket, the cup—that makes already two Horcruxes. And then there are the diary and the ring. So, in total, we have four Horcruxes. What about the rest?"

"The only known relic that belonged to Godric Gryffindor is right here," Dumbledore assured him, motioning towards the sword that Harry had pulled out of the Sorting Hat in his second year. "And as to the relic that used to belong to Rowena Ravenclaw, there was a diadem. Whether Tom got hold of the diadem, I am not sure; it is possible, and if so, it will have become the fifth Horcrux."

"And the sixth one?" Harry questioned.

"What would you think if I said I am quite curious about the behaviour of his snake, Nagini?"

Harry stared. It couldn't be.

"But it's an animal," he said slowly. "It lives, it thinks, it—"

"It is ill-advisable," Dumbledore said seriously. "But it is possible to use animals for such purposes."

"But why?" Harry asked. "Why would he do that?"

"I can only guess, Harry. Perhaps he was just lonely and Nagini was his only companion. You must find it difficult to believe, but feeling lonely is possible... even for him."

Harry decided not to address the issue. Dumbledore's habit of seeing only the best in people really astounded him sometimes.

"What about the seventh Horcrux?" he asked instead.

"Again, I can only guess, but I do believe the seventh piece of his soul remains in his body."

"So he only created six instead of seven, against his expectations?" Harry specified.

"It does require an investigation. But most importantly, we now know his secret, Harry, and this knowledge is the key to our victory."

"Is that what you have been investigating, sir?" Harry asked, a little awed.

"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled. "I have been on the lookout for a very long time. Finding a Horcrux is no easy task, Harry. Wizards who create such unnatural objects take great care to keep them hidden until it is time to plant them into the hands of their intended victims. I think, however, I may be close to finding another one. There are hopeful signs."

Harry looked at Dumbledore's withered and decayed arm, finally understanding something.

"Sir," he said, "I am no match for him. Even... even if we find all the Horcruxes, I don't know how to destroy them. I don't know how to fight him, or even his Death Eaters. If they catch me, they'll kill me. I'm not the Chosen One, like they call me. I'm nothing special."

"You are mistaken, Harry. You are special—you can love."

Harry said nothing.

"Harry, this is of the utmost importance," Dumbledore said earnestly. "After everything you've been through, you could have turned out very different. Yet you never once considered joining Voldemort. This, in itself, is remarkable. You keep fighting no matter how hard it is; you always keep fighting. You are too young yet to understand how unusual you really are, Harry."

"I would never join him—he killed my mum and dad!" Harry said seriously, but the wave of icy fear swept through his chest as he finally reached an inevitable conclusion. "But what will I do when it comes to fighting him? Tonks tried to teach us. She taught us only a little, but it was enough for me to see how little I knew. And when Fay got injured... if it hadn't been for Dean—I didn't even know how to stop the bleeding. I don't even know simple things. Hermione knows some, but I don't. "

Dumbledore sighed.

"I will teach you, Harry." He promised.

"You—you will?" Harry gawked, unable to believe it.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore promised. "Tomorrow morning, I will have to go to Azkaban to see Rosmerta. Her trial begins the day after tomorrow, and it is the only way I can have a conversation with her beforehand."

"You will try to get her out, won't you?" Harry asked hopefully. "She doesn't deserve to be in Azkaban. She really was bewitched."

"And that is exactly what we will prove," Dumbledore promised.

Harry knew he was pushing his luck, but he had to ask.

"Sir, why do you think Snape is on our side? In that memory I saw two years ago, you never once claimed he'd been bewitched or anything of the sort. You said that he'd started spying for our side before the first war was over. Why are you certain he's really come to our side? What if he continues to work for Voldemort?"

"I trust Severus Snape, Harry," Dumbledore said firmly.

"And how do you know whom to trust, sir?" Harry questioned.

"I think you know the answer to that, Harry. You trust Ron and Hermione, don't you? As well as your new friend, Fay? You trusted Miss Johnson enough to ask her about the Horcruxes."

Harry nodded, letting it go.

"So, next time, you will teach me? To destroy the Horcruxes and fight."

"I will," Dumbledore promised.

It was dawn. Only a little while ago, the blackness behind the windows had been absolute, but now, mist was visible. The silhouettes of the trees were clearly showing as the birds started chirping. Just a tiny bit of hope was creeping into Harry's heart. All this time, he had been feeling hopeless, and only Ginny and Hagrid had managed to alleviate his concerns. But now that Dumbledore had promised to teach him... maybe, just maybe—despite the horrific magic that had made Voldemort so inhumane—it was possible to defeat the Darkest of wizards after all.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was not the first time that Albus Dumbledore came to Azkaban; in his pursuit of the wizards who still possessed memories of Tom Riddle, he had visited several prisoners in the recent past. Yet even if had made a habit of coming to this fortress, it would have been impossible to get used to it; the sheer horror the island inspired was indescribable. Even in the absence of the Dementors, the sense of chill, dread and despair enveloped Azkaban like an immense opaque cloud. Having advocated against their presence since the days of his youth, Dumbledore felt a sense of regretful irony that it had taken Lord Voldemort's return to force the Ministry to dispense with the remaining creatures, who, after the mass betrayal of their kind, could no longer be trusted. He knew that even with the Dementors gone, the fortress would never gain any air of hospitality. Punishments for any crimes in the wizarding world were far more severe than those in the Muggle world.

Silently, he proceeded towards the stone anti-chamber, which served as the reception area, and approached the sickly and tired-looking security wizard to identify himself. A silent Auror emerged to take him upstairs towards the cells. Rosmerta now lingered in one of them, sharing the woes of the numerous incarcerated wizards and witches for a crime she had committed unwillingly and against her will. Stairs and doors succeeded each other, bleak and indented by hundreds of hands and feet, the complete silence alternating with shrieks and growls of the prisoners. At last, the Auror directed him towards the door of a nondescript cell, which he unlocked. As Dumbledore entered, the man seemed to vanish, but the headmaster paid him only cursory attention. His eyes were scanning the dark corners of the cell, which... was empty. A rotten blanket and an empty jar of water rested by a wall, upon which someone had scribbled symbols in dark substance that could be blood or worse. But Rosmerta was not there. And then he felt it.

With a silent billowing of cloaks, two shadows emerged behind him, their silhouettes barely standing out against the dark corridor. Turning on the spot, his wand at the ready, Dumbledore only needed a glance at the hooded and cloaked figures to recognise one of them as Severus—there was no mistaking the tall thin form with his characteristic, spider-like movements. He could not identify the other figure, but it was that one who attacked first. With a speed reminiscent of a cobra's attack, a wand flashed in the air, and a streak of red light illuminated the dark cell. Dumbledore's own wand flew out of his hand and landed in the figure's gloved hand.

And he understood who the other figure was before she even lowered her hood.

"Narcissa," he greeted, "good morning."

Narcissa Malfoy didn't greet him back, but she entered the cell, Severus right behind her.

"The Dark Lord found it amusing that you should perish here, alone and in prison. He seems to consider it fitting in a way."

Dumbledore smiled, understanding dawning on him. She was alluding to his friendship with Gellert Grindelwald. Tom must have investigated it at one point or another. Just like he, Albus Dumbledore, had investigated Tom. But he knew better. This wasn't Tom's style.

"A very nice touch, Narcissa, and very elegant if I may say so. I see you have managed to convince Lord Voldemort that it would be best if you did the deed yourself."

"Thank you for the compliment." Narcissa nodded in acknowledgment. "The Dark Lord desires absolute power, and you are standing in his way. He agreed that in the light of his own ambitions, it would be far more useful for him to have Draco's name clean of any alleged murder charges in the future. Draco is the heir to the Malfoys as well as the Blacks, and as such, he holds considerable power. You, on the other hand, need to disappear as soon as possible. Time is pressing. It overweighs the need for Lucius's slow punishment."

"I pity you, my child," Dumbledore objected. "You think that by offering Lord Voldemort a bargain, you are saving Draco. But you are not. You are just digging your son's grave."

Narcissa levelled his gaze, the effect of his piercing blue eyes, which would usually reach the depths of a wizard's soul, entirely lost on her.

"It is over, old man," she said quietly. "It is too late for you now."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore sighed. "But it does not have to be too late for you. It does not have to be too late for Draco. You know what Voldemort is. You know how he toys with people. You know first-hand what he has done to your family. Bellatrix is what she is today because of him. All of your family members are dead because of him. And now, you have shown him you can be as strategic as your forefathers before you. You have challenged him. You offered him your services in exchange for Draco's life. He will not leave you alone now. But what will happen when you disappoint him? And trust me, that time will come. Do you really think he will spare your new family then? That he will spare Draco? Spare you? Spare Lucius?"

"Draco will be safe after tonight," Narcissa assured him. "The rest does not matter for now."

She looked sideways at Snape, who had not uttered a word. Dumbledore noticed. His gaze locked with that of the other wizard. When he spoke, however, he only addressed Narcissa Malfoy.

"You love your son; that is why you came to Severus for help," he stated. "For his sake, I implore you to listen to me."

"To listen to you?" Narcissa echoed. "The Potters listened to you. The McKinnons listened to you. Every single witch and wizard who ended up on the Dark Lord's personal hit list had listened to you."

"I do not deny it," Dumbledore sighed. "But the solution you are offering will not save you either; it will not save Draco. You are only fulfilling his plans. Moreover, you are painting yourself as a target. Have you thought of what would happen to Draco if Voldemort killed you? What would happen to Lucius? Voldemort has as little pity for his followers as he does for his enemies; you know this as well as I do."

"Indeed," Narcissa agreed. "But make no mistake: I am not my cousin Sirius. I do not have the luxury of fighting a lost battle and dishonouring my name in the process. In fact, since you seem to be so concerned about my family, why is it that you never used your influence to try and give my dear cousin a fair trial? No, you prefer to manipulate that silly child, Harry Potter. You singled him out in the first place, made sure his name would be known and that he would become the Dark Lord's target. All to have your own name clean and uninvolved... because it was convenient. Because it fitted your plans of presenting yourself as a benevolent wizard without any apparent influence and with nothing but authority. You have always pushed your agenda through the others' deeds, never lifting a finger, always working from the shadows. Forgive me if I don't fall for the same promises as everyone else does. I—unlike those fooled by you—follow my own agenda. Any last words?"

"Severus?" Dumbledore breathed.

Snape slowly lowered his hood. Hair was falling into his face, but his expression was visible. The inscrutable mask had given way to a look of hatred as his hand rose, his wand pointing towards Dumbledore's heart.

"Now, Severus," Narcissa commanded.

There was only a second of silence before a cold Avada Kedavra punctured it. The room all but shook from the surge of destructive green magic, which reflected in the attackers' eyes. When it subsided, Albus Dumbledore lay dead on the floor, his eyes staring vacantly at the stone ceiling. Wordlessly, Narcissa wiped his wand on her cloak and let it fall right beside the corpse.

It was over.

It was time to leave.

An: Dumbledore is dead. Are you shocked? As to Narcissa, then many seem to regard her as a trophy wife. I disagree. I tend to think that all members of the Black family were taught Dark magic and dueling and Narcissa definitely has it in her to arrange a murder and even commit a murder herself. She is also a politically aware person, so it wouldn't have been very difficult to take the risk and convince Voldemort that he could achieve his goals more effectively if Dumbledore was out of the way sooner.

This also means, however, that Harry is more vulnerable now and the story can turn very dark very quickly.

Big thanks to my beta Tarpeia and reviews are welcome.