A/N: Ok loves – this is your third update in as many days (or your second in just one day, if you're not a European reader) … Not too much to say – except we are nearing the end of Part One! I think there will be just one more chapter in this particular story. I have already written Chapter One of the second book… and I can't wait to share it, perhaps as early as later today or on Monday. I think readers will love where it's going. Review responses below as well, as per usual. Enjoy the chapter!

babascoop: Thank you again for your review of last chapter! I'm very glad you're enjoying the story, and your comments and insights are spot-on, as ever. I did want to address the concerns about Slytherin v. Gryffindor, because it is a sensitive point for me as well… we'll see Dumbledore get into this in some part this chapter, and it will remain a source of tension and discussion throughout the books. Personally, I think JKR's late redemption of Severus Snape in canon – and Harry's ultimate reaction in his comments to his son, capture the spirit of the way the houses were originally intended to complement each other, rather than rival each other. It's something I hope to bring to resolution much earlier in my own interpretation of the story, and hopefully that will start to unfold in this instalment.

anyeshabaner: Thank you for your review! To answer your questions – we aren't finished with the Dursleys yet! I think you'll see a bit more of how that will play out in the next chapter or so, and at the start of the next book. Keep in mind – Harry still has blood protection charms in place… what will Dumbledore seek to do about that? We'll find out shortly. But the Dursleys definitely didn't get away scot-free – Severus dealt with them back in Chapter 7 (Potions, Potions Masters, and Poisons); though we do not learn all the details, his intentions are quite clear. Whether Dumbledore will take further action on that front remains to be seen, below and in the final chapter. As to the origins of the diary and the Lucius/Dobby storyline – don't worry, that is still to come. I deliberately broke up the post-Chamber discussions with Dumbledore that Harry has in canon… making the headmaster's concern for Harry's wellbeing a little more prominent, bringing a premature end to the discussions on that first night. They will continue into this next chapter.

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 29: The House-Elf and the Horcrux

Harry awoke the following morning feeling quite refreshed, in his familiar bed in Dumbledore's quarters. His first thought upon opening his eyes was for Hermione – she would be released from hospital this morning.

He hopped out of bed excitedly, tearing for his wardrobe and selecting the first set of robes his fingers touched. He dashed through his necessities in the bathroom, changed as fast as he could, and bounded down the stairs to the study. To his shock, both McGonagall and Dumbledore were sitting in armchairs in front of the fireplace, still dressed in their dressing gowns and looking just as startled to see Harry.

'You are up very early, my boy,' said the headmaster in surprise, giving Harry a critical once-over with his eyes as he set a cup of tea down upon the table.

Harry glanced at the mullioned windows. The light outside was pale and cold – dawn had clearly barely broken.

'Er – sorry, professor,' Harry said in chagrin, 'I didn't realise the time.'

'It's quite alright, Harry,' Dumbledore said with an easy smile, conjuring a third cup. 'Why don't you have a seat and some tea. It will be a little while until breakfast, I'm afraid.'

'Er – right, thank you, sir.' said Harry, taking the proffered cup and a place on the sofa.

'You're feeling better?' inquired Professor McGonagall solicitously, gazing appraisingly at him.

'Oh yes, thank you, ma'am,' he agreed immediately, sipping at the warm tea. 'I was hoping to go down and see Hermione…'

'Of course,' she said with a smile. 'I'm sure she would be delighted to see you – in an hour or so.'

Harry blushed again at the reminder of the time. Dumbledore chuckled from his chair.

'Ah, the stamina of the young,' he said admiringly. 'To bounce back so quickly from perilous adventures.'

McGonagall snorted as she refilled her own cup, apparently sceptical. Harry shrugged.

'I just wanted to make sure she's ok, professor,' he said.

'Understandable, of course, Harry,' Dumbledore replied. 'And I shall not keep you from your friends, once the hour is a little more reasonable. But as long as you are up, perhaps we could discuss in more detail some of the events of last night.'

Harry squirmed a bit, wondering if a reprimand was coming. But Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at him, and he reasoned that the headmaster could not be too angry.

'Relax, Harry,' said Dumbledore kindly, apparently reading his thoughts on his face. 'I am not plotting to put you in detention for the rest of the year.' From the other end of the table, McGonagall gave a grunt of slight disagreement; Harry rather thought her views on the matter might differ, but Dumbledore merely continued to smile. 'I recognise that you did attempt to follow my instruction, though obviously I would have preferred that you not enter the Chamber of Secrets on your own, whatever the circumstances.'

'But –' Harry began, but Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

'I know what you are going to say, Harry. And I know that no matter my feelings on the matter, your kind heart and bravery will always drive you to make these choices in the face of danger. It is both the trait I admire most in your character and the one which causes me the greatest anxiety.' Harry blushed under the scrutiny, staring down into his teacup. 'You have shown growth over the past few months,' the headmaster continued. 'At the beginning of term, you would not have gone to Severus for help at all – and that was a choice that shows both maturity and thought, Harry. There is no more I can ask of you than that. I will not ask you to change who you are, but only request that you continue to curb reckless action with intelligent forethought and recognition of your own limitations.'

'Thank you, sir,' Harry mumbled, still blushing.

'Now, I would like to speak with you about Tom Riddle,' said Dumbledore, his tone more serious. Harry looked up from his cup.

'What about him, sir?' he asked warily. Dumbledore gazed very intently at him.

'You were hearing the snake in the walls for months before the events of yesterday,' he clarified, watching Harry's reaction. Harry did not deny it. 'And I must ask, why did you not say anything to me about your fears?'

Harry hesitated, glancing away from Dumbledore's piercing eyes again. 'I wanted to, sir,' he admitted. 'It was just… I didn't know it was parseltongue – not until the very end. And Ron said it's not a good sign to hear voices, even in the wizarding world. I didn't want you to think I was going mad. I didn't want to think I was going mad.'

Professor McGonagall leaned forward, laying a hand on Harry's knee.

'We would not have thought that, Harry,' she said gently. 'We would have tried to help you, if we'd known.'

'I know,' said Harry, very softly. 'I should have said something… I just…' he trailed off, embarrassed to feel his eyes prickling slightly. 'I've been worried all year,' he admitted quietly. 'First with Occlumency… then with the parseltongue… I was scared I was becoming like Slytherin; that there was something dark inside me, something wrong. The murderous voice – it was just one thing too many. I didn't want to talk about it, so I tried to ignore it instead.'

'We cannot ease our fears by pretending they do not exist, Harry,' said Dumbledore gently. 'The only way to conquer fear is to face it head-on, and, sometimes, to allow others to help us through it. I do not want you to ever feel that you must shoulder your burdens alone.'

Harry wiped a bit of moisture from the corner of his eye. 'I know,' he said softly. 'You're right, sir. I should have told you both.' He felt McGonagall squeeze his knee a little, and gave her a small smile.

'It's just… Tom Riddle mentioned it too: the parts of me that reminded me of Slytherin. It was like he knew it scared me. He talked about how alike we are – Tom Riddle and I. Both parselmouths, and everything.'

'Harry,' said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over his half-moon spectacles at him. 'You can speak parseltongue because Lord Voldemort – the last surviving heir of Salazar Slytherin, has that ability. He passed it to you, on the night he tried to murder you as a baby.'

Harry was startled, 'What do you mean, sir?' he asked in terror. 'You mean – Voldemort put some of his powers into me?'

'In a way, yes,' Dumbledore agreed, nodding. 'But that is not a horrible thing, Harry,' he added in a soothing tone, apparently catching Harry's anxiety. 'Enemies who underestimate their opponents; who give them tools they do not mean to – they are far the worse off for their carelessness.'

Harry felt ill. 'But – then the Sorting Hat was right!' he said in panic. 'It could see Slytherin's power in me, and it –'

'Put you into Gryffindor,' Dumbledore said firmly, cutting across him.

'Only because I asked it to,' said Harry, despondently. Dumbledore shook his head, still smiling serenely.

'Perhaps your choice played a role in the decision, Harry,' he acknowledged. 'Which says a lot about your character in and of itself. I have told you this before, but I will repeat it again. It is our choices, Harry, that define who we are and who we will become, far more than the abilities we are born with. Having said that, however, I have never heard of a Sorting determined by the will of the subjected student. Do you know how sorting is accomplished?'

Harry tried to remember. 'You told me, sir, that the sorting was originally managed by the founders themselves. Then the Hat was created to sort for them, after they had died. The Hat says it sorts by looking into the mind of the student – their desires and destinies, or something like that. I guess it tries to see where they'd fit best.'

'More or less,' Dumbledore agreed with a nod. 'But we do not Sort our students based on their goodness or evilness; light or dark. Sorting is achieved by determining the positive qualities in each student – they are placed where those qualities will be best enhanced and fostered. You do possess cunning and some measure of ambition – both attributes that Salazar Slytherin prized in the students he selected to instruct. You are also brave and righteous, and slightly inclined toward mischief… all qualities that prevail in Gryffindor's house. The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor because these were your most dominant positive traits, as your own choice in the matter underlies. So too does the fact that you inherited the sword of Godric Gryffindor last night. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded. 'But that still means I have Slytherin's traits too,' he pointed out miserably.

'It does,' Dumbledore said. 'And that is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. As I said, those are positive qualities in a wizard. We have allowed history's portrayal of Salazar Slytherin's less-amiable side and centuries of rivalry between the houses here at Hogwarts to cloud our vision of good and evil, but the houses are not intended to divide along those lines. Nor do they. There have been great leaders of the light who were educated in Slytherin; just as there have been formidable dark wizards that have come out of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. Wizards and witches will grow to be a sum of their choices, their skills, and the influences of those around them, whatever house they are sorted into. You should never doubt your admirable qualities, Harry, no matter which founder would have coveted them. You do yourself a disservice to dismiss them outright.'

Harry nodded again, feeling a little better. He glanced eagerly at the clock on the mantle, seeing that it was nearly half-seven.

'I think I ought to go and change,' said McGonagall to the pair of them, heading for the fireplace. 'You may head down to the hospital wing, Harry, if the headmaster is agreeable.'

'Of course,' said Dumbledore with a smile for Harry. Harry jumped up at once, setting his teacup down. But he had no sooner turned for the door than it burst open, a tall blond-haired man sweeping into the room.

Harry backed toward the headmaster again as he recognised the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy. The man looked as though he'd arrived in quite a hurry. His sleek blond hair was only half-combed, and his robes looked slightly wrinkled. And, bobbing around his half-shined shoes with a ragged polishing cloth was –

'Dobby?' asked Harry in surprise, staring at the little elf. The house-elf gave a sharp, terrified glance up at Harry. Then Mr Malfoy's unpolished boot swung into his tiny body, sending him squealing back toward the entryway. He looked furiously between the elf and Harry, but apparently the nature of his visit was more pressing than the need to determine how the pair were familiar with one another.

'Lucius,' Dumbledore said in a pleasant tone, rising from his chair and turning to greet Mr Malfoy. Harry could see that, though his tone was cordial, the headmaster's eyes were not twinkling in the slightest anymore. Professor McGonagall discarded her handful of floo powder back into the jar, sweeping over to lay a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.

Lucius Malfoy smirked at the sight.

'Dumbledore,' he acknowledged with an inclination of his head. 'And Minerva,' he added, with a nod for the Transfiguration professor as well. 'Interrupting a little scene of domestic bliss, I see. I do apologise – I should have taken more care with the hour.'

'No offence taken,' said Dumbledore easily, moving a step closer to Harry and McGonagall. 'We were just having a quick word with Harry about the events of yesterday. I take it you have heard the news?'

Lucius scowled, running a surreptitious hand over the snake's head that crowned his elaborate walking stick. 'Yes,' he said with a sneer. 'I have heard word that Potter was instrumental in the conclusion of these unfortunate events. So lucky he was around to rescue the little girl.'

Harry scowled back, hating the man with all his heart.

'Indeed,' Dumbledore agreed, still in that tone of utmost civility. The tightening of the hand on Harry's shoulder told him that McGonagall was a little less easy in keeping with the charade.

'I see you saw fit to return, Dumbledore,' continued Lucius Malfoy coldly. 'Even though the school governors were clear on your suspension.'

'Well, you see,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, 'All eleven of the other school governors contacted me last night, as soon as they were informed that Arthur Weasley's daughter was taken by the heir of Slytherin. They were quite insistent on my immediate return, as was the Minister when I paid him a call. Some of the governors had most interesting stories as well, Lucius… it seems several were operating under the delusion that you might curse their loved ones, if they did not agree to my suspension in the first place.'

Mr Malfoy's scowl deepened, but he did not comment on Dumbledore's words. 'So, did you discover the culprit then, Dumbledore?' he asked, tearing his cold grey eyes away from Harry's face.

'We did,' Dumbledore said with a nod. 'It was the same person as last time, Lucius. Only this time around, Lord Voldemort chose to act through another, by means of this diary.'

He bent down to retrieve the black book from the table, holding it up to show Mr Malfoy while Harry gave his own smirk at Lucius's flinch upon hearing Lord Voldemort's name.

Mr Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the little book in Dumbledore's hand. Behind him, Harry saw Dobby acting very strangely. The elf was pointing from the diary to his master, then smacking a fist against his head. Harry stared, confused by the odd display. Then, suddenly, he understood. He nodded quickly to the little elf, who stopped his gesturing but stepped back from Mr Malfoy, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

'Of course, it was very lucky that Harry here was able to discover the diary,' said Dumbledore with a smile. 'Or poor Ginny Weasley may have been blamed for all those terrible attacks. And just imagine what effect that would have had on the Weasley family? A terrible mark upon the history of a house as old and pure as any in our world, I dare say, and a deadly blow to Arthur Weasley's attempts to secure pro-Muggle legislation in the Ministry…'

'Quite,' growled Mr Malfoy between clenched teeth. 'Well, I suppose there is little left to say then, Dumbledore,' he said, sweeping for the door with a nod of farewell.

'But, Mr Malfoy,' Harry called after him. McGonagall clenched tightly down on his shoulder again in warning, but he ignored it. Lucius Malfoy turned on the threshold, staring coldly at Harry.

'What is it, Potter?' he asked carelessly.

'Wouldn't you like to know how Ginny got the diary, sir?' Harry asked, in a deliberately innocent voice. Mr Malfoy took a few steps back toward Harry, his eyes blazing with fury.

'And how,' he spat, 'Would I know how the foolish brat got hold of it?'

'Because it was you who gave it to her,' said Harry brightly, smiling even while his eyes sang his anger. 'In Flourish and Blotts last August, when you took her Transfiguration book and fought with her father. You slipped it inside the cover, didn't you?'

Mr Malfoy looked ready to curse them all. His hand wrapped reflexively around the head of his walking stick again, but with a supreme effort he pulled his face into a smooth, blank mask, straightening up.

'An active imagination you have, boy,' he said patronisingly. 'But I think you'll find your theory impossible to prove.'

'Indeed,' Dumbledore agreed gravely, while Minerva uttered an expletive that caused Harry to jump a bit in shock. 'It will be impossible to prove anything – now Riddle is gone from the diary. But I think you will find, Lucius, that my tolerance for such antics has quite reached its limits. If any more of Tom Riddle's artefacts find themselves in the hands of my students, there will be grave consequences indeed for those responsible for putting them there.'

Dumbledore smiled benignly at Lucius as he finished. He had never raised his voice. He did not even look angry. But Harry felt the temperature of the room drop about ten degrees, as Dumbledore's aura of terrible power permeated the study. Lucius Malfoy shivered slightly in spite of himself.

'Come, Dobby!' he spat at the house-elf. And he swept for the door without another word, the little elf following with his shoulders slumped.

'Professor?' asked Harry quickly, an idea forming in his head as he watched the door swing shut behind Malfoy and Dobby. 'Er – could I give that diary back to Lucius Malfoy?'

Dumbledore twinkled down at him. 'Certainly, Harry,' he agreed, passing over the book.

'Albus!' Minerva said in shock. 'He should not go near him – the man is dangerous, and possibly working for You Know –'

But Harry did not wait for her to finish her protest. He hurriedly grabbed the diary from the headmaster's hand, racing out the door of the study and down the moving spiral staircase. He shucked off a shoe as he waited for the stairs to stop, pulling off his sock and praying that his scheme might work.

'Mr Malfoy!' he called, bringing the blond man at the end of the corridor to an abrupt halt. Lucius swung round to glare at him, hand on his walking stick again.

'What do you want, Potter?' he asked in a scathing voice.

'To give you this back,' said Harry quickly, pressing the book into Lucius's chest.

Lucius grasped the package with a sneer, tearing back the sock and flinging it carelessly aside. He glared down at the ruined book in his hand, his eyes blazing, then his eyes travelled to Harry's again, an oddly contemplative expression on his face.

'It is too bad you've chosen as you have, Potter,' he said with a smirk. 'You could have known greatness – in another life. Instead, you will meet the same fate as your parents, one of these days. You cannot know the power of your choices, Harry Potter. And you will never defeat the enemies you have so unwisely created.'

Harry stared back defiantly, smiling darkly into Lucius Malfoy's sneering face.

'Come, Dobby!' the man called, sweeping toward the grand staircase again. Dobby did not move. 'Now – Dobby!' the man cried impatiently, one hand on the bannister as he whirled to glare at the elf.

But Dobby was holding Harry's discarded sock up before his face, his eyes alight with wonder.

'Dobby got a sock,' he said squeakily. Lucius Malfoy looked as though someone had punched him.

'What?!' he spat, staring at the elf.

'Master gave Dobby a sock,' Dobby said, turning his transported gaze on his erstwhile master. 'Master threw it, to Dobby. And now… Dobby is free!'

There was one moment where Harry thought Mr Malfoy might vomit. And then the wizard drew his wand – drew it right out of the tip of that horrible snake's head cane, like a gladiator might unsheathe a sword. He pushed back off the staircase in the same graceful movement, pointing his weapon straight at Harry's heart. And Harry realised, with a sudden wave of horrified panic, that this man was much older, much darker, and much more skilled than the second-year boy who bore such a resemblance to him.

'You lost me my servant, you insolent brat,' he growled, advancing slowly toward Harry. Harry backed away a few steps, eying the wand with trepidation. 'You may have survived Him once, Harry Potter,' Lucius Malfoy continued. 'But you have no idea how quickly I can reunite you with your useless father and your mudblood mother.'

He raised the wand, mouth open to deliver a curse. Harry prepared to dodge, but at that moment there was a loud crack, and Lucius Malfoy toppled back toward the staircase, his wand flying loose from his grip as he fell.

Dobby stood in front of Harry, his hand still outstretched, one long mottled finger pointing threateningly at Lucius Malfoy. 'You shall not harm Harry Potter!' the elf shouted in his squeaky voice, glaring down at his disarmed master.

Lucius Malfoy pulled himself to his feet again, spitting hair out of his mouth and glaring at the pair of them. Harry braced himself for a second attack, but the man merely swore under his breath, recovering his wand from its place on the steps and sheathing it once more. With one last, contemptuous look, he swept away down the stairs and out of sight.

'Thanks, Dobby!' Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief as Mr Malfoy left. To his surprise, the little elf threw himself around Harry's middle, crying openly into his robes.

'Harry Potter saved Dobby!' the elf sobbed. 'Harry Potter freed Dobby, and Dobby can never repay him for his kindness!'

'It was the least I could do, Dobby,' Harry said, patting him awkwardly on the back. 'You – er – were trying to help me all year… even if your methods weren't always, erm, quite on.'

Dobby pulled back, brushing the remaining tears from his eyes. 'Harry Potter is a great wizard,' he said with a watery smile. 'He is good, and brave, and he cares for those who are lowly. Dobby will always remember this, Harry Potter.'

'Right,' said Harry, feeling his face burn. 'Take care of yourself, Dobby.'

'And you, Harry Potter, sir,' said the elf. He gave Harry a low bow, and, with a crack, he was gone.

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Albus waited until after the feast that evening to do what he knew he must.

He smiled and rejoiced with all the rest, giving an embarrassed Harry and a completely thrilled Ron Weasley two hundred points apiece for their heroic rescue mission (and ignoring Snape's sour look beside him); announcing that Professor Lockhart would not return to teach the following term; and cancelling the school examinations, with the exception of O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level testing, to general applause from the celebrating students. He looked on in fervent approval as Hermione Granger was hugged and doted upon by her two best friends, as Penelope Clearwater received an enthusiastic welcome back by the usually stoic Percy Weasley – much to his twin brothers' astonishment and amusement, as Ginny Weasley shyly offered a plate of pasties to Colin Creevey, and as Ernie MacMillan started a round of cheering at the Hufflepuff table when Justin Finch-Fletchley reclaimed his usual seat. Best of all was Hagrid's appearance, halfway through pudding, looking hale and hearty despite his weeks in wizard prison. Albus led the school in a resounding round of applause and greetings, happily conjuring an extra-large chair at his left for the returning gamekeeper, and pouring Hagrid a generous goblet of mead from his own private stores.

All was right at Hogwarts again, as Albus had hoped and expected.

But now… now there were things that must be seen to.

'Minerva,' Albus said quietly at the professor's ear, as the last of the students finally headed off to bed. 'I have business I must attend to this evening, my dear. Will you keep an eye on things here for a few hours?'

'Of course, Albus,' Minerva said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. He nodded reassuringly at her, and slipped quietly from the Great Hall, back toward his quarters.

Severus was waiting for him, pacing back and forth in front of the desk with a look of distinct irritation.

'I do hope you are not still cross with me about the events of last night,' Albus said mildly as he shut the office door behind him. 'You know that Poppy or Minerva would have tracked you down anyway, even if I had not insisted. And concussions are not to be trifled with.'

'No, Albus,' said Severus, waving an impatient hand. 'It is not that. I am a little irritated that you saw fit to reward Potter and Weasley for their insufferable recklessness, but I suppose I should not be surprised.'

Albus chuckled a bit. 'Ah, Severus,' he said, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. 'They acted somewhat foolishly, of course, but at least they came to you first. And you cannot deny that both were instrumental in bringing an end to these unfortunate events.'

'Indeed,' Severus forced out, looking as though he'd been forced to offer his hand to Professor Trelawney. 'But that is not my primary concern at the moment either, Albus,' he insisted, stopping his pacing to face the headmaster. 'The diary,' he said pointedly.

Albus sighed. 'Yes,' he agreed, turning for the desk and seating himself behind it. He gestured that Severus should take the chair opposite, and the Potions master sat stiffly on the edge of the cushion. 'That is why I called you here tonight, Severus,' Albus admitted. He tapped lightly on the front of the second drawer in the desk, and it sprang open. From within, he retrieved the book in question, setting it out on the polished wood between them. Severus looked down at the diary in some surprise.

'I was under the impression from Minerva that you had given this back to Potter,' he said, raising an eyebrow. Albus shook his head.

'A copy only,' he admitted. 'Though an excellent one, if I do say so myself. Harry does not know, and I would prefer the information be kept between us for the time being.'

Severus nodded slowly, his eyes still on the book. 'I have never heard of magic like what Potter described in this, Albus,' he said apprehensively. 'Even in my time with… with the Dark Lord. A mere memory that can think and act independently? A memory that can possess the mind of another? A memory that can drain the life of a child?'

'Not life,' Albus disagreed. 'At least… not exactly, although I believe Ginny Weasley would certainly have been killed at the end. Her soul is what Tom Riddle was feeding off of.'

Severus looked confused. 'Is there much of a difference?' he asked. 'If the girl would have perished anyway? It seems the effects are much the same.'

'In some ways,' Albus acknowledged. 'But I think the difference is essential.' He paused for a moment, running a hand over the charred centre of the book. He worded his next query very carefully. 'Did Lord Voldemort –'

'Please do not speak the name, Albus,' said Severus tensely.

Albus ignored him. 'Did he ever speak of the diary in your presence?'

Severus shook his head. 'No, not that I can recall,' he said. 'But if Lucius was truly responsible for its keeping, it was not likely to be information shared with the larger group. The Dark Lord, as you know, was not well-known for his confidences. He did not boast of his secrets openly with all his Death Eaters. He always preferred to confide only what was absolutely necessary, and only to those he needed for his immediate plans. The Malfoys were part of the inner circle – I was not. I was quite young, and a half-blood by birth. My only true value lay in the information I had given him and – potentially – in whatever information I might have gleaned from my connection to you… which was not long in existence before the Dark Lord fell. I would not have been privy to the information, if there had indeed been a scheme surrounding the use of this diary.'

'And do you suspect there was?' asked Albus, considering Severus's reaction closely. Severus frowned.

'I… imagine so,' he said finally. 'Or, rather, I doubt Lucius would have worked out on his own how to use the diary. He was never much for patience to decipher a puzzle. I would be surprised, however, if the Dark Lord intended Lucius to act on his own in this.'

'No,' Albus agreed. 'That is my suspicion as well. I had been toying with the theory that Lord Voldemort –' he ignored Severus's renewed growl –'left the diary in Lucius's possession before he fell from power, probably for safe-keeping until he decided to reopen the Chamber of Secrets. Lucius believes the Dark Lord finished, does he not?'

Severus nodded curtly in reply.

'So then, perhaps, he decided he might as well use the diary to his own advantage. It would have served a dual purpose, with the Ministry currently increasing their raids on the older wizarding houses known to have an ancient affinity for illegal magics, and Arthur Weasley's attempts this past year to secure Muggle-friendly legislation in the Ministry.'

'That would seem to make sense, Albus,' Severus acknowledged. 'But what, exactly, is this diary? Did you run the usual detection spells?'

'I did,' said Albus, carefully. 'But there is no way to access the original spell. The basilisk venom Harry injected has damaged the diary beyond repair – there are no traces of dark magic left within it.'

Severus scowled. 'I did not recognise it,' he repeated, looking seriously at Albus over the blackened remains of the book. 'I do not like it.'

'Nor do I,' Albus said heavily. He rose to his feet, stowing the ruined diary in his pocket.

'I must step out for a time, Severus,' he said, retrieving his travelling cloak from a hook. 'Minerva will be watching the school for me. Was there anything else, before I go?'

'No, headmaster,' said Severus, looking as curious as Minerva had as he watched Albus pull on the cloak.

'Very well then,' said Albus. 'Make sure you rest up now,' he added with a twinkling smile, and he swept from the room before Severus could retort.

The weight of the diary was heavy in his pocket as he made his way silently across the grounds and through the gates. He did not particularly wish to make this journey again, but he knew it was the necessary course of action. With a sigh, he turned on the spot, feeling his way into nonbeing as he apparated to Nurmengard once more.

The air in Germany was far thicker and warmer than the late spring of Scotland had been. Albus found he was growing hot in his travelling cloak, as he made the slow walk up to the fortress.

The aged house-elf met him at the door. This time, Albus's visit was expected. He had sent word late last night, once Harry and Minerva had gone up to bed. Lakai showed him up to the highest tower, and Albus let himself inside.

'Good evening, Albus,' Grindelwald greeted him, seated at the little sitting table this time. Albus nodded his own head in greeting and chose the seat farthest from his companion. Gellert gave a predatory smile, clearly aware of Albus's unease.

'You might as well be comfortable,' he insisted, lounging back a bit in his own chair. 'Why don't you take off your cloak, at least. I imagine this visit will not be particularly quick.'

Albus frowned, but unclasped the cloak, draping it over the back of his chair. Lakai arrived with tea and crumpets, and this time Albus allowed Gellert to pour and serve. He took his cup with a muttered word of thanks, sipping at the warm comfort. Gellert did not press him for an explanation on his visit, though Albus could feel the intensity of his interest. He knew that the headmaster would come to it in time.

At last, Albus set the teacup aside, and withdrew the ruined diary from his pocket. He placed it carefully upon the table, pushing it a bit toward his companion. Gellert snatched it up eagerly, rifling the blackened pages. He stared up in confusion at Albus when he realised the book was blank.

'Gifting me a cast-off diary, Albus?' he said, sarcastically. 'This is rather unexpected. I am not so good with dates, having little variance in my monotonous routine… but I remember well enough that my birthday is in November.'

Albus gave a slight smile. 'This is the object of which we spoke last time, Gellert,' he said softly. 'Until yesterday, I believe it played host to a portion of Voldemort's soul.'

'Indeed?' asked Grindelwald with renewed interest. He closed the book, fingering the peeling gold letters on the front cover. 'T. M. Riddle,' he read out. 'A token, I gather, from his Hogwarts years? The dates are quite old.'

'He created the horcrux at sixteen,' Albus confirmed darkly. He saw Grindelwald's momentary surprise.

'So young,' the wizard mused, still running a finger across the diary's cover. 'I would not have thought it possible – to split the soul so successfully while one's magic was still immature.'

'The usual rules of good and evil do not seem to apply to Tom Riddle,' Albus acknowledged heavily, leaning back in his chair. 'And sixteen is not so young… some wizards' magic matures quite early, and Tom Riddle was already fairly advanced when he arrived at Hogwarts. Before then, even.'

'But you have destroyed it,' Gellert pointed out, his fingers burying into the hole at the centre of the book. 'There is no trace of darkness within its pages now. What did you use, Albus?' he asked curiously.

'Basilisk venom,' Albus replied. 'Directly from the fang of the basilisk itself. Slytherin's monster, in fact.'

Gellert nodded pensively, crossing his legs in the chair. He stared hard at Albus for a moment. 'And how did that go?' he asked.

'Pardon?'

'What happened, when you stabbed the soul from the book? Did it try to deter you? Did it prey upon your weaknesses and whisper siren songs to your desires? Did the horcrux die quietly, Albus? Or did you witness death and destruction at its most terrible?'

Albus swallowed, forcing himself to return Grindelwald's shrewd stare. 'The diary was possessing a young girl – a first-year student at the school. By the time it was discovered, Tom Riddle's soul had managed to feed off of the child's enough to leave the pages of the book, even enough to wield some amount of independent magic. When the diary was destroyed, the shade of Riddle was likewise vanquished, and the child's life-force returned to her. She has recovered, physically, and will be whole again mentally as well, with time.'

Grindelwald smirked a little as he considered Albus. 'You did not destroy the horcrux, Albus.'

'It has been vanquished,' Albus repeated, frowning.

Gellert nodded his head. 'It has,' he agreed. 'But not by your hand.'

Albus felt uneasy. Here again, the wizard was showcasing his uncanny ability to see through to the truths Albus would rather keep buried – to guess, correctly, at the heart of the matter.

'It is unimportant,' he insisted, straightening his robes. 'The salient point is that the horcrux is no more, nor is the monster of Slytherin. The Chamber of Secrets has been sealed forever.'

'Perhaps,' Gellert allowed. He turned the diary over in his hands, still contemplating it. 'But I think you know that it is very important who had a hand in destroying this evil,' he countered. 'And I wonder that you could be so protective of the hero… to conceal his identity in this manner. Taking undeserved credit for another's accomplishments was never your vice, Albus. I wonder… was it, perhaps, your Harry Potter? The Golden Child?'

Albus hesitated a second too long, and Gellert's smile widened. 'I see…' he said. 'I see. Well, perhaps you are right to hold him in such high regard, my friend. Perhaps he will be your Saviour after all. It would have taken uncommon skill to successfully defeat such a powerful magical artefact, and no doubt to destroy the basilisk of Slytherin, as I presume was also his doing?'

Albus nodded stiffly. He did not see the point in prolonging the charade. Grindelwald set the diary aside at last, leaning casually back in his chair.

'So… why is it that you are come tonight, Albus? It cannot be merely a chance to confirm the theory on which we have been working since your last visit.'

'No,' Albus agreed. 'Not entirely. I find myself considering what you spoke of at our last meeting with renewed concern – the possibility that Tom Riddle may have created more than one horcrux; split his soul on multiple occasions.'

Gellert nodded. 'I think it more than likely,' he said quietly. 'You cannot have failed to notice, especially now, in knowing about this diary, that this was meant to be as much a weapon as a safeguard. Certainly the nature of the horcrux itself reinforces that understanding. It is clear it had an intended purpose – to reopen your Chamber of Secrets. Such a mission would have had to be deliberately imparted when the horcrux was created.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed, inclining his head. 'Which begs the question – how many did Lord Voldemort seek to create? What are they? And where are they hidden now?'

'An excellent set of postures,' said Grindelwald, as lightly as if he and Albus were debating the theory of cross-time apparition over Sunday pints. 'And, luckily for you, I have not been idle in my solitude since you last condescended to appear in my prison.'

'Oh?' asked Albus, intrigued. 'And what have you discovered?'

Gellert did not seem in a hurry to share, as he selected a second crumpet and refilled his tea. Albus could tell that he was enjoying keeping the headmaster enthralled – waiting to impart his information. It was a solid three minutes before Grindelwald spoke again.

'Tell me, Albus,' he said quietly, between mouthfuls of crumpet. 'Why do you think you were able to defeat me, all those years ago?'

Albus was startled by the question. And he was quite wary of the direction this conversation was headed. There were things he did not want to know… doors he never wanted to reopen. He knew that Grindelwald was aware of his fears.

Trying for lightness, Albus smiled pleasantly. 'Oh, a bit of this and that,' he said airily. 'You were an excellent opponent, I will say. But, perhaps, I was just a shade more skilful, in the end.'

Grindelwald, to his surprise, gave a small, mirthless laugh. 'Hardly, Albus,' he disagreed. 'We were evenly matched. It should not have been possible, you know. I had the wand. I had the power. But I had grown arrogant – complacent, in my years of supremacy. I was not unprepared for the idea that we might one day face each other in battle… oh no, I expected it, I think. But I did not prepare for it, as you had done. I placed my faith in my superior weaponry, rather than my superior preparation. And that made the difference.'

'How so, in your theory?' asked Albus, intrigued.

Gellert gave a half-smile. 'You knew me, Albus. We had once known each other, of course. We were quite intimately acquainted, in our youth and our shared aspirations. And I like to think that I understand the way you think, the way your magic works; but perhaps more now than I did back then. Now, I have endless hours to consider the matter, and little ambition left in me. When we met that day, you had years of knowledge and understanding that I did not deem important – to my detriment, and your triumph. You understood my desires and my dreams… my strengths and my weaknesses… even my family history.'

Albus refilled his own cup, contemplating the truth of the words. 'You may have a point, Gellert. But are you suggesting,' he asked, judiciously, 'That I do not understand Tom Riddle in such a way?'

'I am sure that you do understand him,' Gellert disagreed. 'But you did not grow up with Tom Riddle, as you did with me. You understand him as a teacher might a closely-watched pupil. As the older generation contemplates the follies of the next… and that will not be enough. You will have to go deeper, if you wish to defeat him. If you wish your boy to triumph at the last.'

Albus sipped at his tea, thinking it over carefully.

'And what is it that you have discovered, Gellert?' he asked at last.

Grindelwald smiled, crossing his arms over his thin chest.

'You say that Riddle created this horcrux at sixteen,' he said, pointing a finger at the diary again. Albus nodded in agreement. 'Do you know what he did that summer, after leaving your school?'

Albus frowned. 'I have no idea,' he admitted. 'I assume that he returned to the Muggle orphanage where he grew up. That is where he usually spent his summers.'

Gellert shook his head. 'It is… possible,' he admitted. 'But I rather doubt it, in light of the present information. There was a curious incident that July, in a small town called Little Hangleton in the north of England. I ran across the information as I was looking into this Tom Riddle more carefully. Do you know of what I speak?'

Albus thought back, his fingers pressed together as he considered… 1943 was many years ago.

'The name of the village rings a bell,' he admitted. 'I believe there was something in the Prophet, actually – a treble murder of three Muggles, if my recollection is correct. The Ministry arrested a local wizard for the crime, a man who had apparently long hated one of the victims. He is probably still in Azkaban, if he remains alive today. The paper did not mention much in the way of specifics… there were far worse crimes happening on the continent, at that time.'

He gave his companion a significant look. Grindelwald merely shrugged his acknowledgement.

'Did you catch the names of the murdered Muggles?' he asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

'They were not published,' said Albus with a frown.

Grindelwald smirked. 'Not in the wizarding Prophet, no,' he clarified. 'But the Muggle papers covered the same story in some depth. Your Ministry did not bother feeding some explanation to the Muggles in the village, you see, and they were quite enthralled by the mystery. A local caretaker was blamed for the murders in the court of public opinion… but, of course, Avada Kedavra leaves no trace that Muggles can detect, does it?'

'Enough, Gellert,' said Albus wearily. 'You have made your point. Who were the Muggle victims?'

Gellert smirked at Albus's uncharacteristic show of impatience. 'An elderly couple and their grown son,' he explained. 'Quite wealthy, apparently, though disliked for their lack of local generosity. The son's name… was Tom Riddle.'

Albus felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. Gellert's smile widened as he watched the significance register with the headmaster.

'He created a horcrux…' Albus said slowly, 'With the death of his father and grandparents?'

'So it would appear,' Gellert acknowledged with a nod. 'It seems fitting, in a way. The father had abandoned him to an orphanage… he was a Muggle – worthless in his son's eyes. It was a sort of poetic vengeance.'

And even in the wizard's tone of derision, Albus could tell that Gellert Grindelwald held a certain respect for the young Tom Riddle's style.

The revelation unnerved him.

'I should be going,' he said, rising from his seat. 'I will be missed at Hogwarts. But thank you for your information, Gellert. It is a good lead, at least.'

Gellert did not rise from his seat immediately, but continued to scrutinise Albus. 'One other matter I wished to speak on,' he said, his gaze intensifying. 'What of your Golden Boy, Albus?'

'What of him?' Albus asked, a little more sharply than he had intended. He did not want this man any more informed on Harry than he already seemed to be.

'It is nearly the end of your term, surely,' Gellert pointed out.

'Yes,' said Albus. 'Term will end in just a few weeks.'

'And what will you do with him then, Albus?' Gellert asked, his violet eyes glittering slightly. Albus hesitated, and Gellert nodded again, as though he had just proved an undefeatable point.

'His mother's sacrifice was his salvation,' he said. It was a statement, not a query, and Albus did not bother to contradict.

'Her protection flows in his veins,' Gellert continued. 'It is old magic – and strong magic. It gives him some measure of defence… a shield against Voldemort.'

'Yes,' Albus acknowledged. There was hardly any point in denying it.

'Then there is only one option now, isn't there?'

'I cannot do that, Gellert,' said Albus quietly. 'I will find another way. You have no idea of the harm that child suffered before I came for him.'

'Do you wish to ensure his protection?' Gellert asked bluntly, his violet eyes boring into Albus's blue ones. 'Or will you deny him his mother's gift?'

Albus looked away, unable to hold the gaze.

'You know what you must do, Albus,' Gellert murmured softly. 'You just do not wish to do it.' He smirked at Albus's frown, a knowing look in his eyes. 'It is difficult isn't it, my friend? Making such a choice. It eats away at you… callouses your precious soul – the sacrifices you have to make for the Greater Good.'

Albus turned for the door; hating himself for knowing, in his heart, that Gellert Grindelwald had an excellent point.