"You wanted to see me, Sir?" Harry asked as he wondered into the study of Grimmauld Place.
Dumbledore stood by one of the portraits, an unreadable expression on his old and weathered face. "I want to show you something, Harry." Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles, his blue gaze piercing. He took in his appearance, noting him to be wearing a heavy cloak, as though ready to go out.
"Now?" Harry said surprised, green eyes taking a curious glint. He watched as the old wizard made his way towards him.
Dumbledore smiled as Harry clutched his forearm. "No time like the present, Harry."
It was raining when they arrived, sheets and sheets of water poured down on them as they hurried under the shelter of a porch. Harry looked at the house that stood in front of him, warn and old. The sound of rain hitting the tin roof echoing loudly as Harry assed the dreary place. a square building surrounded by high railings. His green eyes wondered over the home, curious. He noted a placard on the railing by the main gate.
'Wool's Orphanage.'
"Why are we here, Sir?" He felt his curiosity pique.
"This is where Tom Riddle grew up."
Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. He noticed Dumbledore watching him, blue eyes gauging his reaction.
He pushed the feeling down and instead quirked an eyebrow, "can we go inside?"
Dumbledore nodded and they made their way towards the entrance.
"Is this still a… running orphanage?" Harry asked suddenly. His hair was stuck to his head, heavy raindrops falling down his face. His stomach twisted uncomfortably again, harder than the first time.
Again, Dumbledore nodded. "It is, yes." He eyed Harry for a long moment before the young wizard nodded. Harry watched as Dumbledore slowly pushed the door open. A wave of warmth and light greeted them, a stark contrast from the weather outside. The sounds of little feet pattering actress the old floorboards reverberated throughout the house. Harry stood awkwardly at the front door as they waited patiently to be greeted. A door to the left of them opened and a middle aged woman emerged. Her eyes widened in surprise at her new guest, eyes lingering on the silver-haired wizard and his choice of attire.
"May I help you?" She asked in a kindly voice.
"Does Mrs Hughes still live here?" Dumbledore inquired.
The woman nodded, "Aye, she does." Her eyes shifted between the two, "Just a moment."
"Thank you." Dumbledore gave a slight inclination of his head as the woman exited the room.
Harry took advantage of the pause in proceedings and took more notice of his surroundings. Children's pictures adorned the walls, brightening the place up and adding a much needed sense of cheer and happiness. His eyes scanned the wall when he stopped suddenly, one catching his eye. He felt his heart tug as he admired the drawing. It was a simple picture. A child was holding hands with their parents, the sun shining down on them as a dog walked ahead. It was such a simple drawing but it still left Harry floored. A memory of his own childhood flashed into his mind.
He was six and at school. His teacher had asked them to draw something that they wanted for Christmas that year. To six year old Harry, the answer was simple. He took extra time with his picture, choosing his coloured pencils with deliberate care and was the last person to finish. Two figures stood either side a smaller one in the middle. Hands clasped together, with smiles on their faces. He remembered walking the short distance to the car park afterwards, clutching his picture tightly in his hands when suddenly Dudley pushed him from behind. His feet slipped on the wet ground and as he tumbled forward, his hands instinctively reached in front to break his fall. He waited until Dudley had finished laughing and walked off before looking for his picture which he'd let go of. He found it close by, sitting in a puddle of water. He felt tears well in his eyes as he slowly picked himself up and retrieved it. The small raven haired boy with emerald eyes felt his heart twist, tears spilling onto his cheeks as he tried hopelessly to dry the paper on his clothing. The colours of the picture now running together.
The voice of his headmaster dragged him from his reverie.
"Pardon, sir?" Harry found his voice, tearing his eyes away from the picture. He noted the woman had returned, another older, elderly woman now beside her. The older woman looked troubled, a crease in her brow evident.
"This is Mrs Hughes. She's the matron of the home." Dumbledore informed Harry, "has been for a number of years now." He added pointedly.
"It's nice to meet you, M'am." Harry nodded politely to her, understanding what Dumbledore didn't say outright. This woman was here when Voldemort was a child.
"This is a student of mine," Dumbledore continued to introductions, "Harry Potter."
Mrs Hughes' eyes flickered slightly, "what are you doing here, Albus?"
Harry almost raised an eyebrow, surprised they were on first name terms. He admired the woman's frankness.
"I want to show Harry, Margaret." Dumbledore responded, again piquing Harry's interest. Show me what.
Mrs Hughes frowned slightly, she eyed Dumbledore uncertainly before turning on her heels and walking out of the room, beckoning the others to follow.
"That wing is no longer in use." Mrs Hughes spoke as they wove in and out of different rooms. "No one is permitted to be in this area of the building." She took out a key from her pocket as they reached their destination. An ordinary looking wooden door.
"Why?" Harry couldn't help but ask as they passed through the doorway. Harry noted the atmosphere to dramatically change. The warmth from earlier disappearing, making way instead for a more bleak and cold corridor.
Mrs Hughes levelled him with a troubled look, "you'll see."
The rest of the walk went quietly. Finally, they walked through a small corridor and came up to an another wooden door. Harry eyed it with interest, his fingers involuntarily coming up and brushing against the crooked writing that had been etched into it.
T. M. Riddle.
"His room?" His voice was quiet, no more than a whisper.
Mrs Hughes nodded, "something's not right in there." She frowned, pulling her grey cardigan close to her chest. Harry nodded in understanding, the air in the corridor seemed tainted. Dark.
Harry looked to Dumbledore before turning the handle.
Harry wasn't at all surprised by what lay beyond, considering he had seen Dumbledore's memory of coming to visit a young Riddle. There was a bed. Wardrobe. Small window. Desk and chair.
He and Dumbledore entered the room slowly, eyes taking in every detail. A small framed picture on his desk caught Harry's attention. It was so old and faded that Harry could hardly make it out. it was of a group of boys though, and they were at a cliff, smiling for the camera. Harry couldn't look away from the dark, uncaring eyes of a young Tom Riddle.
"He was always… odd." Mrs Hughes' voice caught him by surprise. He raised his gaze to her as she watched him from the doorway. Harry inwardly flinched at her choice of words. Odd. How many times at the Dursley's told him that?
"In what way was he odd?" Harry asked, hoping to clarify what she meant.
"Detached." Mrs Hughes' eyes took on a faraway look, "cold. He scared people. Made them.. do things. Not nice things."
Harry nodded slowly as he placed the frame back on the desk. "Why don't you get rid of it?" He asked, "the room?"
"A parting gift from Tom." Dumbledore was the one to answer him, "he ensured it was indestructible." As a demonstration he pointed his wand at the wardrobe, causing it to burst in flames. Harry watched fascinated as the wood appeared untouched, the flames simmering out having had no impact.
"But, why?" He asked again, "he hated this place."
"Hate and love often draw similar responses, Harry." Dumbledore spoke quietly, "He did hate this place, yes. But also, he could never forget it." He moved around the room, "Tom was always obsessed with leaving his mark. Ensuring those who he left behind were never to forget him."
"So, we're adding narcissistic to his long list of appealing traits?" Harry muttered. He eyed the room thoughtfully and without even giving it a second thought, dropped to his knees. His heart began to race as he felt around, until he finally found what he was looking for.
"All orphans think alike." Harry murmured aloud as he lifted up the loose floorboard. He retrieved a small shoebox, black and faded. Harry stood up, clutching it to his chest as an uneasy feeling about the similarities with him and a young Riddle churned in his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight.
He vaguely registered the old woman leave the room, the door clicking quietly shut behind her.
He felt the weight of the box in his hands, his hands trembling slightly. He felt the bed shift, Dumbledore now sitting beside him.
Without uttering a word, Harry lifted the lid and peered inside. There were a few more black and white photos, perhaps taken from the same excursion as the photo on his desk. He flipped through him slowly, taking them all in.
He fingered a folded paper carefully, lifting it up. He unfurled it slowly and was surprised by the drawing he saw.
"Not all orphans are alike, Harry." Dumbledore spoke quietly. "It does not do you well to think as such."
Harry nodded, his eyes still drawn to the drawing in front of him. It depicted a morbid sight. Harsh, dark colouring. A small figure, standing over one that was on the ground. Their eyes marked by crosses. He noted a scrawled date in the corner of the picture.
"Six years old." Dumbledore noted his gaze, "even at his young age. Tom had already developed a dangerous disposition."
He felt himself nod again as he placed the paper back in its place and closed the box.
"I need to ask you something, Sir." Harry started quietly. It had been something that had been troubling him for months. Something that he wanted to understand.
"Yes?" Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, curious.
"And I need you to be honest. Please." Harry continued.
Dumbledore's look turned weary as he responded, "I will be honest, Harry."
Harry nodded and took a deep breath, ""Why didn't he die?" Harry chewed his bottom lip.
"Pardon?"
"When I was one." Harry clarified, "Why didn't he die? Why a spirit, if that's what he was?"
Dumbledore nodded, eyes thoughtful.
"When I first asked you about my connection with him, you said that when the spell backfired, a little bit of him transferred to me."
"Harry…"
"He's in me… a part of him. Is inside me, isn't he?" His eyes sparkled.
"There are many theories, Harry…"
"What's your theory?" He interrupted the headmaster, suddenly impatient.
"It was not what he intended." Dumbledore peered at him, "but yes. I believe you're right, Harry." He paused thoughtfully, eyes troubled. "In failing to kill you that night, Harry - he inadvertently created what is known as a Horcrux."
"A Horcrux?" Harry had never heard the term before.
"A Horcrux, Harry, is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul... You split your soul, you see, and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. To create a Horcrux, a wizard first has to deliberately commit murder. This act, said to be one of supreme evil, would result in the murderer metaphysically damaging their own soul. If the maker was later killed, he or she would continue to exist in a non-corporeal form, although there were methods of regaining a physical body."
"So, when the spell backfired… I was made into one of these things? A Horcrux?"
"I fear so, Harry. I'm not sure if he is even aware of it himself."
He felt his chest tighten again. "Then even if I beat him, even then. He won't be dead will he? As long as I live, so does he." He stood up and started to pace, "I'll never be free of him. Ever."
He was met with silence, Dumbledore, for once in his life, speechless.
Harry closed his eyes, fighting an onslaught of emotion that was threatening to spill out. "I have to die, don't I?"
"Harry…"
He felt his eyes well with tears, a sudden rush of emotion hitting him. Anger. Frustration. Helplessness.
"This prophecy. This training. All of it. For a suicide mission."
"You were never meant to survive that night."
The words were quietly spoken, but to Harry they sounded as though Dumbledore had shouted them. They reverberated around the room. The reality of it. The finality of it. He was never meant to live. And because he did so, he would be forever linked to the man that sought to destroy him.
He thought of the conversation he'd just had with Hermione. The fierceness in her eyes, the genuine belief that he would survive this war. Her desire for him to fight for a life and future for himself.
"I'd like to go back now, sir." Harry finally found his voice.
As soon as they'd returned to Grimmauld place, they were greeted by a flurry of activity.
"There you are!" Tonks' eyes widened in relief upon seeing them.
Harry attempted to push down the newest revelation from his mind and focus on the situation in front of him. "What's happening?" They followed Tonks into the kitchen where the brunt of the noise was coming from. He sought out Hermione's eyes and found her easily.
"The Ministry's fallen." It was Kingsley who spoke. The tall wizard striking an imposing figure in the small, cramped kitchen.
"Fallen?" Mrs Weasley paused in her ministrations, tea-towel clasped in her hands.
Harry look toward Dumbledore. The old wizard looked weary, the old lines of his face taut.
"The Minister's gone into hiding. His entire cabinet has gone." Mr Weasley rubbed at his eyes tiredly, Mrs Weasley's hands resting on his shoulders. "The place is crawling with Dementor's. Not to mention the Prophet." He pulled out a folder paper from his cloak, placing it on the table before Molly's hand reached towards it, preventing anyone else from reading it.
"Hogwarts is the only remaining place. The safest." Mrs Weasley spoke, holding the prophet tightly.
Harry couldn't help the divisive snort that escaped him, eyes rolling skyward. "Yeah, completely safe, it is." He folded his arms across his chest, some of his earlier emotion slipping out. "A veritable fortress."
"Harry…" Tonks sighed quietly.
He shook his head, irritated. He held out his hand and without a word, summoned the prophet that was clutched in Mrs Weasley's hands. It shot towards him quickly and he caught it with ease. He flipped it upon, the front page coming into view. The Dark Mark soared high above the ministerial building. Death Eater's parading around, Dementor's lurking sinisterly on the outskirts.
He read the accompanying article. A short piece detailing the Death Eater's decisive victory and calling the Minister a coward, fleeing in a time of need.
"Hogwarts isn't the safest place," He corrected Mrs Weasley's earlier statement with one of his own, "it's the next target." He placed the paper on the table before exiting the room without another word. He couldn't stand to be in there another moment, particularly after his conversation with Dumbledore.
He pushed the door open quickly and was met with a wall of rain and wind. He closed his eyes, walking out on the rooftop. The rain quickly soaked into his shirt, sticking to his skin. He threw his head back and breathed in, relishing in the sensation.
He felt her presence a moment later, hovering by the doorway.
"Harry?" She stepped towards him, unfazed by the now pouring rain. "talk to me." Hermione tried coaxing him. She wore one of his old checkered shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "Tell me what's wrong. What happened with Dumbledore? Where did you go?"
Instead of answering her, he cupped her face in his hands and crashed his lips to hers. He felt her gasp in surprise and slipped his tongue into her mouth, seeking hers. She met him eagerly, small hands grasping as his waist and pulling him closer. A groan of pleasure escaping her. He felt his entire body heat up, despite the rain. Each kiss, harder and more desperate than the last. He wondered if she could taste the anger and frustration in the kiss.
"Harry…" She was breathless as they parted, lips bruised and red. He couldn't help but kiss her again. He guided them to the door, pushing up against it.
"Hermione." He gasped, his voice full of need and desperation. His hard body pressing into Hermione's softer one caused all other thoughts to drift from his mind. She rolled her hips against his instinctively, urging him closer. He almost growled in response, green eyes darkening considerably. His fingers fumbled with the zip of her jeans whilst her hands worked his buckle. Their breathing uneven and rapid.
"Harry…" She whispered, catching her breath and pulling back. "Harry, wait."
Harry stopped in his ministrations immediately. The top of her jeans unzipped. He remained in between her, chest heaving. They stood like that for a long moment, both attempting to regain their composure. As their breathing settled and the rain continued to pelt down, Hermione cupped his face in her hands, eyes imploring.
"Tell me."
He searched her eyes for a moment before replying, "I'm a Horcrux."
She opened her mouth to respond before snapping it shut. Her eyes widened,"what does that mean?"
"It means while I live…as long as I live. So will Voldemort." He pulled back from her, walking out to the edge of the roof. The rain so fierce that he could hardly see a foot in front. "When the spell backfired, he transferred some of his power to me right? Like how I can speak parseltongue. How I can see into his mind." He tilted his head back, tasting a few drops as they fell into his mouth. "Well, a little bit of his soul, or whatever is left of it. Transferred too. Split from his body." He levelled Hermione with a look, green eyes exhausted. "That's why he didn't die. That's why he won't die. Because a part of him will remain in me. Even if I defeat him. He'll come back. He'll keep coming back, Hermione."
"No." She shook her head, eyes bright. "No. I don't accept that. That's bullshit."
"Hermione…" He was startled by her use of words.
"Did Dumbledore know?"
Harry frowned, "he had his theories."
"Dumbledore and his bloody theories." Her brown eyes flashed brightly, angrily.
"Hermione, It's ok.." Harry tried, only to be interrupted.
"No. It's isn't ok. Not in the slightest." She shook her head, "After all you've been through. After all he's put you through."
He felt her anger, as surely as she'd felt his moments before. Knowing how passionate she was tore at his heart, warmed his entire body. They slowly made their way to a sheltered section, Hermione absently casting a drying spell on both of them.
"When was the last time a Horcrux was made?"
Harry merely shrugged, watching as the rain continued to fall. "I don't know."
"Right. So you don't know when the last one was made. What about how they were destroyed, if they can be destroyed?"
"I don't know…" He sighed, "Hermione. How else would you do it? What other way could you possibly get rid of him from being inside me, without killing me?"
"And why would anyone make a person a Horcrux?" She ignored his question, eyes now turning thoughtful. "That's fairly unstable. I'd imagine you'd use an object. Something inanimate. Definitely not a human."
"He didn't do it on purpose." Harry muttered.
Hermione eyed him sadly, her voice lowering. "no. He didn't." She pulled him towards her, clasping his hands in hers. She bought them to her mouth, her lips kissing his knuckles. "I'm going to figure this out." She whispered, resolute. "I promise, Harry."
"Hermione..." His heart aching. "I was never meant to survive that night." He echoed Dumbledore's earlier statement.
"Rubbish." Hermione shook her head, "If there is one thing I'm sure of in this mad, crazy world." She met his eyes, golden eyes bright, "you were meant to live, Harry."
A/N
Thanks to those who take the time to review. I absolutely appreciate every and each one. Please keep them coming. Stick with me; I don't intend on abandoning this fic.