Thank you for your reviews! I'm sorry for the long wait. I've been suffering from a severe case of writer's block. However, I went over all former chapters and started to add in important scenes. The improved version will be up soon and then there will be Luna as well. I'm glad you like the character developement so far. It's very difficult to get them where I need them for the final show down, while trying to keep it believable. A large portion of scenes for future chapters is already written as well.
This chapter you will find out a little more of just what Draco wants with Harry. I'm surprised that none of you have figured it out yet. I had thought I had left enough hints but my writing personality seems to be much more subtle than I thought.
As for muggle accomplishments: There will be more of that! However, I don't want Harry to have too many great ideas that make everything easier. There has to be some struggle to keep up the tension, which is why Harry will get the idea to use a pensieve very late in the story or not all.
Getting someone who normally does not read Slash to read my story is a great compliment. I'm glad you like it and hope you keep reading, blackpheonix.
Chapter 36
The morning after the Gathering of Wizarding importance Harry sat slightly groggy at breakfast. The night had been far too short, even though it had ended rather pleasantly. Around him the Great Hall was buzzing with excited whispers, lulling him in. Obviously, people were comparing notes on what the grape vine said had happened at the Gathering, but in his current state Harry could not bring himself to listen.
"How dare you," a voice shrieked shrilly, "You have no right! You never even tried to make it work! I would be a worthy addition to your family! And you're throwing it all away - for him!"
Harry looked up. Pansy Parkinson had clutched Draco's wrists. Only after he had asked Draco out had he been told that Draco was betrothed to her. Had Draco not called it of, officially then? How did that work anyway? Hopefully, Pansy would not be out for his blood now.
"Pansy," Draco said loudly, "You're making a scene. Let's discuss this in private, shall we," he added urgently.
"A scene?" Pansy laughed hysterically, "I'm making a scene, he says – even though it was he who has made a fool of me! How dare you!"
"Pansy!" Draco snapped and steered her out of the Great Hall. Harry groaned. He would definitely have to have a talk with Draco.
"Maybe you should offer Miss Parkinson the chance to safe grace," Neville patted Harry on the arm.
"How?" Harry asked. He had stolen her betrothed or so it would seem to her. It was not that he had intended to do so – hell, he had not even known. What could he do though?
"You can't ever speak of it. It would appear you're purposefully rubbing it in. However, you can like ... try to repair the damage done to her public image." Neville seemed to carefully measure his words, as if he feared Harry might explode in a fit of rage any momemt now.
Harry had thought he had gotten better at controlling his temper, but at least its image had not improved as of yet.
"Better to let it rest for now though," Ginny said, "Let her cool off first. Besides you can't be too obvious about it."
"Right," Harry sighed. Harry had endeavoured to hone his cunning, but some intricacies of wizarding social niceties completely eluded him. It did not help that he had come no closer to understanding the female frame of mind. It seemed illogical, petty and at the same time overly emotional – a mystery he would likely never have to investigate up close.
"Public image," Hermione shook her head, "You really think that's her top priority?"
"No," Neville shook his head, "but Harry is in no position to even acknowledge the heartbreak."
"But..." Hermione said heatedly.
"He's already taken her betrothed. Is he supposed to take her dignity as well?" Ginny hissed.
Hermione huffed.
After classes Harry steered Draco to an unused class room once again. Together they silently warded the room.
"So what has that been about at breakfast this morning?" Harry blurted out, too impatient to dance around the topic in a proper Slytherin manner.
"Of course, you've heard that," Draco pinched his nose, "Pansy had been looking forward to become the next Mrs Malfoy. Obviously, I annuled our betrothal officially after I had accepted your invitation to the Gathering of Wizarding Importance. All that gossip about who had done what at the Gathering got her started all over again."
"I had only recently become aware of the fact that you were betrothed to her, at all. Why haven't you ever told me?"
"I thought, it was common knowledge," Draco sneered distastefully, though the sneer did not seem to be dierected at Harry.
"I guess, I should have been able to piece it together," Harry frowned, "She's been constantly hanging on your arm and all over you."
"I didn't know you were observing our interactions that closely," Draco smirked.
"I hope, I didn't cause you too much of an inconvenience," Harry said stiffly.
"Of course not, or I would have declined your offer," Draco waved away his concerns, "I have been looking for a way out for almost as long as I can remember, although I've had little hope for an opportunity presenting itself."
"So you've never wanted to marry Pansy Parkinson?" Harry frowned.
"No," Draco stared incredeously at Harry, "Would you want to marry her?"
"No, of course not," Harry huffed. Pansy was a girl after all. That was quite beside the point though, as Harry's and Draco's views on marriage seemed to differ so greatly, anyway.
"A penchant for hysterics is a common trait with the females of the Parkinson line and it seems to get worse, the older they get. With how she is now I certainly don't want to be around to find out how she is like in – let's say - thirty years," Draco explained.
"That's your reason?" Harry asked.
"Among other things, yes," Draco confirmed, "Also ideally my spouse should be someone I can respect and who respects me in return."
"What about love?" Harry blurted out.
"How can you love someone you don't respect?. If there is no respect, even infatuation can't grow into something stronger."
"Maybe," Harry hummed, "But don't you think that sometimes one has to take a leap of faith?"
"And be stuck with someone you can't stand for what would likely be more than a hundred years?!" Draco exclaimed incredeously, " Hell no!"
Harry blinked. He tended to forget how old wizards and witches got. For muggles 60 years of marriage was a long time, but not only married wizards younger, but the average lifespann for magical people was 150 years.
"It would be nice to have a partnership where despite temporary disagreements, one can always rely on the other when it really counts." Draco said longingly.
Despite the rather rational explanation, Harry realized this was what he wished for as well. Only he would have called it true love. This was probably the Gryffindor in him speaking.
"You know, that almost sounds romantic," Harry smirked and Draco scowled.
"So what does your mother think of you breaking the betrothal? She can't be too happy about that?"
"She could not find fault with my reasoning that it would be impractical to marry someone who is supporting the opposing side of war," Draco explained, apparently quite pleased with himself.
"So now you are supposed to find a more suitable match?" Harry asked somewhat dismayed, although he did not quite know at what.
"In a way, although I have been alotted a little more time. I convinced her that I should be given time until after the war," Draco said and Harry felt relief flood him.
"Right," Harry said.
"I only hope Miss Parkinson wont give us too much trouble," Harry said after a small pause.
"Usually, dignity would dictate for her to leave us alone, but with Pansy hystercis override common sense more often than not." Draco shuddered.
Gryffindors did not seem to interpret dignity the same way as Slytherins did, Harry thought, for in his house public and highly emotional breakups were a common occurrence.
"What are we to each other, anyway?" Draco asked then.
Not long ago, Harry would have interpreted his posture as haughty, yet now he recognized it as a way to cover his insecurity. Beneath the proud and often annoying exterior was hidden a very vulnearable young man, who also possessed an inner strength and cunning that Harry had come to admire greatly. With a start Harry realized that he really and truly liked Draco Malfoy.
"I don't know," Harry said still a little dazed.
"I do like you a lot." Harry blurted out his latest realization.
"I'm glad," Draco said, "I like you as well. So are we officially dating then?"
Harry had already established that he was attracted to Draco and liked him a lot. But did he trust him? Harry found that just as his affection had gradually grown over the last months, trust had crept in as well, but could he trust him? Harry felt sure that as long as Draco's mother and, to a certain extent his father, as well, were not in danger, he could trust him. Family comes first - Harry understood that.
But was he ready for any long term committments with the war hanging over his head? Did he have time to spare on an actual relationship? Was that even fair to Draco? But Harry did not wont to give Draco up. Selfishly, he wanted, wanted something for himself, wanted to live, wanted to be with Draco. Being with Draco made him feel alive.
"I would like that," Harry smiled wistfully, then carded his fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to say that he did not want to commit himself, yet did not want to let Draco go, without sounding like the prat, he felt he was? "I think, it would only be fair to tell you that I don't know, whether I'm truly ready to have a relationship at present with all that's going on. I don't even know, whether I've got the time for all that comes with that."
Harry thought of visits to Madam Puddifoot's, strolling hand in hand through Hogsmeade and other activities couples at Hogwarts typically indulged in.
"Like what?" Draco looked at Harry, his shoulders squared, his jaw firmly set. Apparently, he was expecting to be set up for a gentle rejection.
"Oh, you know," Harry desperately waved his hands, "All that typical couple stuff."
"I have been quite pleased with the way things were," Draco said, "I was just wondering, whether we would continue to have episodes of random sex, or if we're having something a little more permanent. As for all that's hanging over your head, I'll stand by you every step of the way, anyway, that is, if you let me. I would think that would sufficiently qualify as couple stuff."
"Oh", Harry blinked, "I'd like that."
"Good," Draco closed in on him, yanked the front of his robes and pulled Harry into a heated kiss.
What was left of the time until dinner, when Harry finally left the unused class room, Harry busied himself with the homework that had accumulated during the last week. He had simply been too preoccupied by the feeling of doom brought on by the ever nearing Gathering of Wizarding Importance to get anything done. Now that was finally over, he should have been able to concentrate again, but Harry found that his thoughts tended to always drift back to Draco, his boyfriend. Boyfriend. He liked the sound of that. It was new and exciting and he could not quite believe it, yet.
Hermione had joined him in the Gryffindor common room, but instead of vanishing into one of her books as she usually did, Harry caught her frowning thoughtfully at him, whenever he looked up, day dreaming or mulling a question over in his mind. It seemed that Harry himself had become Hermione's most recent research project.
In the evening Harry was scheduled to meet up with Dumbledore. On one hand, Harry hoped to finally weedle the final pieces concerning of the puzzle concerning Voldemort's horcruxes out of Dumbledore. On the other hand, he dreaded seeing the man so soon after his controversal speech at the gathering of Wizarding Importance. Surely, Dumbledore would have a lot of things to say to him.
When Harry slipped into the seat in fornt of the Headmaster's desk, he was greeted with the usual congenial twinkle he had come to recognize as Dumbledore's mask. If the man was indeed displeased with Harry's behaviour at the Gathering of Wizarding Importance he did not let it show but then Dumbledore usually hid his thoughts behind that jovial mask.
"Are you prepared to move on with our lessons then?" Dumbledore asked.
"Of course," Harry answered.
"Now I have already told you that I think, Tom Riddle would have made objects that have a certain grandeur of themselves into Horcruxes. Now I think you are also aware that he considered Hogwarts his real home and that he took great pride in being a decendant of Salazar Slytherin. It is therefore my belief that he has made historical relics connected to the founders into Horcruxes."
Harry nodded slowly as he processed this. He could understand the sentiment of Hogwarts as home. He quite felt the same. Incasing pieces of his very soul into Horcruxes might have also felt to Tom Riddle like it made himself more noble, more connected to his wizarding roots as well – negating his muggle upbringing and muggle father somewhat. He had killed his muggle family in the process of making Horcruxes. So from Tom Riddle's point of view his Horcruxes had been more than a way to immortality but also one to 'purify' himself from his muggleness and to improve himself. It was almost scary how well he sometimes felt he could connect with the future Dark Lord. It was not that Harry himself felt the need to get rid of anything muggle in himself but rather that he could possibly imagine the thought process even behind something so vile as the creation of Horcruxes.
"I do believe you are right, Sir," Harry said at last.
"With that in mind are you ready for another trip down memory lane?"
"Yes, Sir," Harry nodded.
"I took it upon myself to search for objects of that kind that have disappeared around young Mr Riddle at that time. After leaving Hogwarts Tom Riddle started as a shop assistant at Burgin and Burkes to the surprise of many, seeing as he had top marks and could have chosen a much more prestigious career. But Tom Riddle was no mere shop assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Burgin and Burke's, which specialises, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade peeople to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this." Dumbledore said.
"I'll bet he was," Harry said. The Tom Riddle in the diary had been incredibly charming, after all. Harry also knew that he was unscruplous – the ideal traits for the job.
"We will now visit the memory of Hepziabah Smith's houseelve Hokey," Dumbledore concluded as he tipped the memory into the pensieve.
"After you, Harry," Dumbledore made a sweeping motion to enter the pensieve before him.
Harry stuck his head into the basin and felt the typical falling sensation that went along with entering a memory. Then Harry took a look at his surrounding. The space was even more cluttered than Slughorn's quarters. Stuffy armchairs almost hidden under the pink and rose frill and lots of antique looking objects were arranged in a way that made it impossible to overlook them, as one was always prone to fall over them. Then Harry saw an enormously fat old woman dressed in a sea of pink frill. She also wore a rather ugly wig. Harry suddered.
Apparently, the women went to great lengths to make herself more presentable. However, her efforts were not rewarded with success. The rouge she dabbed on her already scarlet cheeks made her look like a clown.
Together with her houseelf, Hokey, she prepared for the arrival of Tom Riddle, who she was clearly besotted with.
The houseelf looked sick, her skin almost transparent, wrinkly and dry like parchment, a far cry from the exuberant magical being Harry had come to consider houseelves.
Tom Riddle definitely had his way with women. He had even brought flowers. Mrs Smith made a show of pretenting to be surprised but had Hokey place them in an empty vase conveniently placed at the nearest table.
Tom Riddle had not yet lost his handsomeness but was by now clearly recognizable as Voldemort. His cheeks had hollowed, making him appear less boyish and more quietly sinister – a look that certainly suited him, Harry had to admit.
Tom Riddle layed the charm on thick, playing the humble shop assistant and flirting with the enarmoured witch. Thus Mrs Smith ordered Hokey to show him her finest treasure, which turned out to be Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket.
Harry took careful note of what they looked like. The cup was golden with two handles. It was ornamented with runes Harry did not recognize and a badger which Tom had identified as Hufflepuff's crest. Slytherin's locket was golden as well, adorned with an ornate serpentine S. Harry attempted to imprint those images to his memory.
He also noted Tom Riddle's unwillingness to part with the locket. Tom must have felt that it was his by right. When Mrs Smith told him of how it came into her possession, Harry could emphasize with Tom's darkening expression. Burgin had hoodwinked his mother, who had also been poor and naïve – clearly not someone Tom would be proud of but his mother nonetheless.
"Time to leave, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts. Together they left the pensieve and Harry settled back into his chair in fornt of the desk.
"Hepzibah Smith died two days after that little scene," said Dumbledore, resuming his seat behind his desk as well, "Hokey was convicted by the ministry of poisening her mistress' evening cocao by accident."
"But it was Tom Riddle who killed her, obviously," Harry said. He was no longer astonished by the injustice towards magical beings when it came to the ministry or wizarding society in general. Nevertheless, he felt sorry for the poor elf.
"I see we are of one mind," said Dumbledore, " Certainly, there are many similarities between this death and the death of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death."
The poor elf had to have been overcome by guilt. Houseelves aimed to protect what they considered their family, even if to them they were no more than convenient slaves. However, Harry kept his thoughts to himself.
"So Voldemort modefied her memory like he did with Morfin?" Harry more stated than asked.
"Very good," Dumbledore beamed proudly at him, "Yes, I concluded that as well."
"By the time Hokey was convicted Hepzibah's family had realized that two of her greatest treasures were missing. It took them a while to be sure of this, for she had many hiding places, having always guarded her possessions most jealously. But before they were beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Burgin and Burke's, the young man who had visited Hepzibah so regularly and charmed her so well, had resigned his post and vanished. His supperiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone else at his disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time." Dumbledore concluded.
"You recognize the significance of those objects, steeped deeply in Hogwarts' history. He could not resist them. I think, he still felt a strong pull towards the school, his true home as he saw it. There were other reasons as well, I think. I hope to be able to demonstrate them to you in due will be the last memory I will have to show you." Dumbledore paused.
"Ten years seperate Hokey's memory and this one, ten years during which we can only guess at what Lord Voldermort was doing."
Harry stood up and stepped towards the pensieve, while Dumbledore exchanged the last memory with a new one.
"Whose memory is it?" Harry asked.
"Mine," said Dumbledore.
Harry dove into the memory after Dumbledore and landed in the very room he had just left but with two Dumbledore's in the room with him, one of them a mere memory. The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something. Then there was knock on his door.
"Enter," Dumbledore said, his tone of voice oddly severe and very far from its usual joviality.
The reason became clear only a moment later, when Harry saw just whose arrival the headmaster had been waiting for. Voldemort!
Indeed this man was no longer Tom Riddle but far closer to the present day Voldemort. His features appeared blurred, almost melted, twisted. Tom Riddle had already given up huge parts of himself. Surely, his appearance was largely caused by the creation of horcruxes. Bellatrix Lestrange was a dark witch, evil and insane, and yet her appearance had not been altered by the darkness, except for a distinct gauntness and that mad feverish glint in her eyes.
"Good evening Tom," Dumbledore said, his tone friendly, yet slightly condescending in the way of older people towards those they had seen grown up, unable to grasp that they had long since reached adulthood and should be met on equal ground,
"Won't you sit down?" Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
"Thank you," said Voldemort, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured. Harry felt an uncanny sense of déjà vue creep up on him, raising the hairs on his neck. The seat seemed to be the very seat Harry himself had sat on only moments ago and so many times before.
"I heard that you had become headmaster," Voldemort said, once he was properly seated, "A worthy choice."
"I'm glad you approve, "said Dumbledore smiling, "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome," said Voldemort, "I have come a long way."
Even his voice seemed to have changed. It sounded colder, higher, more empty, yet still very powerful, maybe more so than before.
Dumbledore served the two of them a goblet of wine from his cabinet.
"So, Tom to what do I owe the pleasure."
"They do not call me Tom any more," Voldemort said after having taken a sip of his wine, "These days I am known as -"
"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore interrupted him, "But to me you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one irritating thing about old teachers, I am afraid, that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
"Irritating indeed," Harry thought, not that he himself would want to change his name or anything like that, but Dumbledore rarely acknowledged that at some point in life children matured and gradually became adults. At his age almost everyone was probably still a child in the headmaster's eyes. He could emphasize with Voldemort's annoyance in regards to that, which was quite disconcerting. Lately, Harry found that more often than not he got an inkling on Voldemort's thoughts and feelings in a given situation. Surely, this was taking the motto of know thy enemy a little too far?
Dumbledore raised his glass to a silent toast, while Tom's face remained expressionless. Harry felt a shift in the atmoshere of the room. Tom Riddle was far more experienced in those Slytherin verbal dances than Harry. Therefore, he had easily recognized Dumbledore's refusal to use his chosen name for what it was – a refusal to let Voldemort dictate the terms of the meeting.
"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort then, "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," said Dumbledore, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds."
Dumbledore surely did more than hone young minds in an accademic sense. At Hogwarts he was in the position to influence impressionable young minds as he saw fit. Dumbledore had quite the political clout as well as a member of the Wizengamot, power which he could comfortably direct from behind his desk at the headmaster's office at Hogwarts,
"If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching, too."
"I see it still, "said Voldemort, "I merely wondered why you – who is so often asked for advice by the ministry and who has twice, I think been offered the post of minister - "
"Three times at the last count, actually," said Dumbledore, "But the ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."
But only because Dumbledore felt more comfortable manipulating things from behind the scenes without the hassle of proper ministry procedure, as he was mostly acting in an inofficial capacity, Harry thought, which indeed was Voldemort's reason as well. However, Voldemort was far more focussed on destruction than on changing the wizarding world. Politics would only slow him down. He would suddenly have to concern himself with laws, gaining majorities in the Wizengamot, instead of simply scaring or killing his opposition off.
"I have returned," said Voldemort, "after a little while, later perhaps than Professor Dippet expected... but I have returned nevertheless, to request again what he had once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."
Dumbledore regarded Voldemort quitely, his gaze measuring, evaluating, judging. It was the very same look he had given the eleven year old Tom Riddle at the orphanage when they had first met. As if he had known all along what would become of the boy. Dumbledore had indeed been proven right but for how much of it was Dumbledore to blame?
"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," Dumbledore finally said, "rumours of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore," Voldemort retorted his mask firmly in place.
"You call it greatness, what you have been doing, do you?" Dumbledore said, his tone of voice plainly showing that he disagreed.
"Certainly," said Voldemort, I have experimented, pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed."
"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him, "Of others, you remain ... forgive me ... woefully ignorant.
Love. It was always love with Dumbledore. Obviously, with his upbringing Voldemort did not know love, did not understand the strength of friendship, the power of love. Voldemort's mother had not survived the birth of her son, while Harry's mother had sacrificed her life for Harry out of love and had thus managed to save her son. It always saddened Harry, that he had no memory of being loved so deeply. His only memory of his mother were the moments before her death. Harry himself had yet to feel a love so deep, so fierce. Yet, he cared deeply for his friends. He had also seen the dynamics of a loving family, craved it and could see its value. The twins had even hinted that body armours relied on those very emotions.
It was partly Dumbledore's fault that Harry was mostly ignorant when it came to the power of love as well, even if contrary to Tom he acknowledged, craved it even. He did not know love - the most powerful magic of all according to Dumbledore, even, also according to Dumbledore the power that would help Harry defeat the Dark Lord. Of course, the Dursleys were to blame as well, but It had been Dumbledore who had condemned him to grow up with the Dursleys. To what degree was Dumbledore at fault for Tom Riddle's – Voldemort's disregard for love?
"The old argument," Voldemort leered at Dumbledore, "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncement that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
Harry disagreed. He saw prove everywhere, once he had started looking. Love was more likely to create and protect, which to Voldemort held little appeal, Harry thought. It was only natural that Voldemort felt that kind of magic had nothing to offer him, that is, if he even acknowledged the excistence of such magic. Surely, Voldemort was too far gone to change his mind. It would be too risky to appeal to 'The Dark Lord's" most probably non excistent conscience. Harry doubted that the with the prophecy coming into play that even was an option.
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," Dumbledore suggested.
"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here at Hogwarts?" said Voldemort, "Will you let me return. Will you let me share my knowledge with your students. I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
"And what will become of those whom you command?" Dumbledore gave Voldemort that mildly concerned look, Harry himself had come to know so well, as he had seen it directed at himself so often recently.
It was that look that suggested Dumbledore in his wisdom knew better and felt pity for those who did not agree with him. It was the very same look Harry had seen directed at himself, when he had voiced his opinion that muggles were the equals of wizards but dangerous on their own merits. No, Harry did not agree with Voldemort's world views. He was glad that Dumbledore had not let Voldemort return to Hogwarts. However, he had a very good idea just what must have gone through Voldemort's head at the time.
Dumbledore then insinuated that Voldemort had never actually wished to teach. He was probably right. Being a teacher was only a pretext for returning to the one place Voldemort had considered his true home. Then again, Harry frowned, it seemed very likely that he would hide at least one Horcrux at Hogwarts to anchor a part of himself to his home so to speak, even more so when Voldemort was denied to return there in the flesh.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other," Voldemort said as a parting shot, which sounded almost like a declaration of war. In Harry's opinion it was a rather stupid thing to do, childish even. Why not delay that confrontation, why give Dumbledore a warning? Harry had known that Voldemort held grudges like no other. He had thought the creation of horcruxes had limited Voldemort's ability to feel emotions, but then the man was so prone to temper tantrums. Voldemort was also, yet rarely, feeling happy, in a wild, rapturous way. Maybe the horcruxes had simply stiffled his emotional growth, his maturity?
Harry left the pensieve with Dumbledore. Harry sighed, letting the information sink in.
"Do you have any idea what other objects he could have made into horcruxes?" Harry finally asked, tousling his hair, "So far we know of the diary, the ring, the cup and locket. That leaves three unaccounted for. Going with your theory that he'd collect relics of the founders, that leaves Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, as Slytherin and Hufflepuff are already accounted for," Harry frowned, "What other known objects are there?"
"I could not find any hints, while I was digging in the past, but I came to the same conclusion as you. We are looking for something from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw," Dumbledore smiled proudly at him, "However, I can assure you that the only known relic of Gryffindor remains safe in this office." He pointed to Gryffindor's sword which leaned at his desk.
"That still leaves one unaccounted for then," Harry said thoughtfully.
"I think, I know what the sixth Horcrux is. I wonder what you will say when I confess I have been curious about the behaviour of the snake, Nagini?"
"Is it even possible to make a living being into a horcrux? Snakes can talk, they've got a mind, so they should already have a soul," Harry paused, "But it could explain why I have seen through Nagini's eyes, when Mr Weasley was attacked. I am connected to Voldemort through my scar and if Nagini's a horcrux this connection might extend to her as well. I say, I'd rate Nagini as a definite maybe."
"Well, it's inadvisable to turn something that can think of its own into a horcrux. However, if my calculations are correct, Voldemort was still at least one horcrux short of his goal of six, when he entered your parents' house with the intention of killing you."
"Creating horcruxes is already 'inadvisable' as you've put it," Harry said, "So that would not deter him."
"He seems to have reserved the process of making horcruxes for particularly significant deaths. You certainly would have been that. He believed that in killing you, he was destroying the danger the prophecy had outlined. He believed he was making himself invincible. I am sure he was intending to make his final horcrux with your death."
"I should probably feel special," Harry snorted gloomily. It was so unfair. Why did it have to be him. Why couldn't he be gifted with an ordinary, boring life?
"Sorry, Sir," Harry sighed, "It's just – it's a lot to take in."
After all, for this, at least, Dumbledore could not be blamed, and even if their relationship was likely to get even more strained than it already was, Harry felt he should attempt to remain cordial for as long as possible. Dumbledore would make quite the formidable enemy, which would be more than Harry would like to take on at once.
Voldemort making his last horcrux with Harry's death, the child prophesized to have the power to defeat him. He sure liked his symbolisms. However, it fit. It again showed the childlike attitude Harry had marvelled at ever since he had started his lessons with Dumbledore. While the symbolism surely had no impact on the effectiveness of the horcruxes, Tom Riddle had also recreated himself by splitting, rearranging his soul into horcruxes. So the symbolism behind what obejcts, what hidding places and what deaths had gone into their creation had had an influence on Voldemort's ego and self perception, not on a magical but purely psychological level – as far as Harry could tell.
Now that was a lot to take in, a lot of information to process at once. He would need to write everything down and think it through. Now was not the time to ponder the purposes of his own murder. He would need to confront this alone, come to terms with the emtional part of that topic before he could start to analyse it. For now he would milk the headmaster for as much information as he could. The more he knew, the better he could plan.
"So how does one destroy a horcrux?" Harry fired his next question. After all that was one of the most important questions they had not touched upon as of yet.
"Well, I think we should concern ourselves with finding them, scouting out possible hiding places, before we strategize on how to destroy them."
"Sir," Harry said lowly. His nerves were already stretched thin. He was not up for those evading games Dumbledore liked to play, "With what I know no I could already gather the Horcruxes by myself. Soon our world will be openly at war and we can't make any definite plans for times as insecure as that. Therefore , I think it would be best, if at least the two of us knew all the facts, when it comes to the means to defeat Voldemort."
"Yes, yes, my boy," Dumbledore twinkled tiredly, "You are right, of course. Yet, today it is getting rather late. I suggest, we meet, again next weekend? I have found a possible hiding place for a horcrux an dI feel you have earned the right to accompany on my quest."
"All right," Harry sighed. He would not allow himself to be deterred from information as important as the means to destruct the horcruxes. "However, before we depart on a mission as important as that, you should tell me on how to destroy them! Something could happen to either of us and then ..."
"I have the utmost faith in you, Harry," Dumbledore brushed him off.
"Sir, you must know that I am aware that the hand where you have put on the former ring horcrux looks severely damaged. It therefore has to be really tricky..."
"My boy, let us discuss this further when we meet next time. It is well past curfew. Should I indeed become injured, I ask you to call for Professor Snape. He will know how to treat me."
"Snape?" Harry frowned, "Why do you trust him?"
"That is between Professor Snape and myself, Harry," Dumbledore said his tone reprimanding.
"Right, sorry professor," Harry sighed, "It's just that I don't trust him and I don't feel inclined to entrust him with my life."
"Then you'll have to put your faith in me, my boy," Dumbledore smiled gently at him.
"Right," Harry muttered. That was the heart of the matter. He did not trust Dumbledore, not anymore.
"You've held quite the speech yesterday, my boy," Dumbledore said then, "However, I am concerned that you might not have thought things through. I imagine, you've also heavily relied on the advice of some of your recent associates?"
"In part, however, more in regards to style and gestics than anything else. Every opinion I have voiced I have formed through my own research."
"They have taught you well. You looked quite the upper class Pureblood."
"It was no easy feat to get down the most basic mannerisms of my world that I have been kept so woefully ignorant of for so long," Harry tried to keep that sharp edge out of his voice, but even to his own ears he sounded accusing.
"Then you are aware that you are testing dangerous waters among this crowd." Dumbledore said sternly.
"Indeed," Harry pinched his nose.
"My boy do you think it wise to get that close with young Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore peered at Harry over his half moon glasses. Finally, Dumbledore had gotten to the point.
"I've got my reasons," Harry said testily. His friends and even class mates he barely knew had pestered him about Draco, ever since he had publicly asked Draco to be his date for the Gathering of Wizarding Importance. And now Dumbledore was butting in as well. There had never been that huge a rift between them as now, and they had never shared a closeness that would have entitled Dumbledore to give his opinion on personal matters without being asked. The man was so infuriating!
"I didn't mean to imply that you haven't," Dumbledore twinkled, "I'm just wondering how he has managed to gain your trust."
"That is between Draco Malfoy and myself," Harry threw Dumbledore's earlier phrase back at him.
As it happens youth can cloud one's judgement," Dumbledore sighed. He seemed to be lost in thoughts, memories? Was that remorse? Guilt?
"As can old age," Harry countered sharply. Dumbledore, that annoying old codger, was attempting to meddle with Harry's life, again. How dare he! The fewer he knew, the less he could meddle, as far as Harry was concerned. And even if, suddenly, he had felt the inexplicable urge to confide in Dumbledore, he would not betray Draco's trust.
Just when Harry had been about to angrily storm out of the office, a thought struck him. Youth can cloud one's judgement – right – the expression on his face, the remorse, had they maybe touched a little too closely towards the dark spots in Albus Dumbledore's past? Harry settled back into his chair and folded his hands.
"But it seems you are speaking out of personal experience?" Harry left the sentence hanging, an effective interrogation technique he had picked up from Blaise.
"I do, my boy, I do," Dumbledore said gravely, "I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did."
"Then tell me," Harry said, schooling his features into those of a compassionate listener. While he might be able to learn from Dumbledore's mistakes, the knowledge would also give him an insight into what made the man tick. So far the man was a complete mystery to him.