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Patches of bright blue sky were beginning to appear over the castle turrets, but these signs of approaching summer did not lift Harry's mood. He had been thwarted, both in his attempts to find out what Malfoy was doing, and in his efforts to start a conversation with Slughorn that might lead, somehow, to Slughorn handing over the memory he had apparently suppressed for decades.
"For the last time, just forget about Malfoy," Hermione told Harry firmly.
They were sitting with Ron in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Hermione and Ron were both clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet: Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them, for they were taking their tests that very afternoon, but by and large the leaflets had not proved soothing to the nerves. Ron gave a start and tried to hide behind Hermione as a girl came around the corner.
"It isn't Lavender," said Hermione wearily.
"Oh, good," said Ron, relaxing.
"Harry Potter?" said the girl. "I was asked to give you this."
"Thanks..."
Harry's heart sank as he took the small scroll of parchment. Once the girl was out of earshot he said, "Dumbledore said we wouldn't be having any more lessons until I got the memory!"
"Maybe he wants to check on how you're doing?" suggested Hermione, as Harry unrolled the parchment; but rather than finding Dumbledore's long, narrow, slanted writing he saw an untidy sprawl, very difficult to read due to the presence of large blotches on the parchment where the ink had run.
Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,
Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you'd have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you'd nip down for the burial later this evening. I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favorite time of day. I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the cloak. Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone.
Hagrid
"Look at this," said Harry, handing the note to Hermione.
"Oh, poor Hagrid," she said, scanning the note and passing it to Ron, who read it through looking increasingly incredulous.
"He's mental" he said furiously. "That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!"
"It's not just that," said Hermione. "He's asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if we were caught."
"We've been down to see him by night before," said Harry.
"Yes, but things are a bit different now, aren't they?" said Hermione, looking conflicted.
"You didn't meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot," Ron said.
Harry took the note back and stared down at all the inky blotches all over it. Tears had clearly fallen thick and fast upon the parchment...
"Harry, I want to be there for Hagrid as much as you, but…" said Hermione weakly.
Harry sighed.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us."
"Yes, he will," said Hermione, again, unconvincingly. "Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with us all off doing our tests... try and soften Slughorn up a bit then!"
"Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?" said Harry bitterly.
"Lucky," said Ron suddenly. "Harry, that's it-get lucky!"
"What d'you mean?"
"Use your lucky potion!"
"Ron, that's- well that would surely work," said Hermione, sounding stunned. "But maybe Harry should save it in case of something more important?"
Harry stared at them both. "Felix Felicis?" he said. "I dunno... I was sort of saving it..."
"What for?" demanded Ron incredulously.
"I suppose there's nothing more important than this memory at the moment, Dumbledore seems to think so," reasoned Hermione.
Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved Ginny splitting up with Dean; concern there'd be a time when again Ron and Hermione's friendship was on the brink; the thought of using the Potion as a weapon, when circumstances inevitably worsened with Voldemort; all these potential circumstances had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking...
"Harry? Are you still with us?" asked Hermione gently.
"Wha-?... Yeah, of course," he said, pulling himself together. "Well... okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another go this evening."
"That's decided, then," said Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. "Destination... determination... deliberation..." she murmured.
"Oh, stop that," Ron begged her, "I feel sick enough as it is-quick, hide me!"
"It isn't Lavender!" said Hermione impatiently, as another couple of girls appeared in the courtyard and Ron dived behind her.
"Cool," said Ron, peering over Hermione's shoulder to check. "Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?"
"They're the Montgomery sisters and of course they don't look happy, didn't you hear what happened to their little brother?" said Hermione.
"I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest," said Ron.
"Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St. Mungo's, they couldn't save him."
"He died?" repeated Harry, shocked. "But surely werewolves don't kill, they just turn you into one of them?"
"They sometimes kill," said Ron, who looked unusually grave now. "I've heard of it happening when the werewolf gets carried away."
"What was the werewolf's name?" said Harry quickly.
"Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback," said Hermione, her eyes downcast.
"I knew it-the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!" said Harry angrily.
Hermione looked at him bleakly.
"Harry, you've got to get that memory," she said. "It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him..."
Harry's resolve strengthened at her words.
The bell rang overhead in the castle and both Hermione and Ron jumped to their feet, looking terrified.
"You'll do fine," Harry told them both, as they headed toward the entrance hall to meet the rest of the people taking their Apparition Test. "Good luck."
"And you too!" said Hermione with a significant look, as Harry headed off to the dungeons.
There were only three of them in Potions that afternoon: Harry, Ernie, and Draco Malfoy.
"All too young to Apparate just yet?" said Slughorh genially, "Not turned seventeen yet?"
They shook their heads.
"Ah well," said Slughorn cheerily, "as we're so few, we'll do something fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!"
"That sounds good, sir," said Ernie sycophantically, rubbing his hands together. Malfoy, on the other hand, did not crack a smile.
"What do you mean, 'something amusing'?" he said irritably.
"Oh, surprise me," said Slughorn airily.
Malfoy opened his copy of Advanced Potion-Making with a sulky expression. It could not have been plainer that he thought this lesson was a waste of time. Undoubtedly, Harry thought, watching him over the top of his own book, Malfoy was begrudging the time he could otherwise be spending in the Room of Requirement.
Was it his imagination, or did Malfoy, like Tonks, look thinner? Certainly he looked paler; his skin still had that grayish tinge, probably because he so rarely saw daylight these days. But there was no air of smugness, excitement, or superiority; none of the swagger that he had had on the Hogwarts Express, when he had boasted openly of the mission he had been given by Voldemort... there could be only one conclusion, in Harry's opinion: the mission, whatever it was, was going badly.
Cheered by this thought, Harry skimmed through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and found a heavily corrected Half-Blood Prince's version of An Elixir to Induce Euphoria, which seemed not only to meet Slughorn's instructions, but which might (Harry's heart leapt as the thought struck him) put Slughorn into such a good mood that he would be prepared to hand over that memory if Harry could persuade him to taste some...
"Well, now, this looks absolutely wonderful," said Slughorn an hour and a half later, clapping his hands together as he stared down into the sunshine yellow contents of Harry's cauldron. "Euphoria, I take it? And what's that I smell? Mmmm... you've added just a sprig of peppermint, haven't you? Unorthodox, but what a stroke of inspiration, Harry, of course, that would tend to counterbalance the occasional side effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking... I really don't know where you get these brain waves, my boy... unless -"
Harry pushed the Half-Blood Prince's book deeper into his bag with his foot.
"- it's just your mother's genes coming out in you!"
"Oh... yeah, maybe," said Harry, relieved.
Ernie was looking rather grumpy; determined to outshine Harry for once, he had most rashly invented his own potion, which had curdled and formed a kind of purple dumpling at the bottom of his cauldron. Malfoy was already packing up, sour-faced; Slughorn had pronounced his Hiccuping Solution merely "passable."
The bell rang and both Ernie and Malfoy left at once. "Sir," Harry began, but Slughorn immediately glanced over his shoulder; when he saw that the room was empty but for himself and Harry, he hurried away as fast as he could.
"Professor-Professor, don't you want to taste my po-?" called Harry desperately.
But Slughorn had gone. Disappointed, Harry emptied the cauldron, packed up his things, left the dungeon, and walked slowly back upstairs to the common room.
Ron and Hermione returned in the late afternoon.
"Harry!" cried Hermione as she climbed through the portrait hole. "Harry, I passed!"
"Well done!" he said, smiling. "And Ron?"
"He-he just failed," whispered Hermione, as Ron came slouching into the room looking most morose. "It was really unlucky, a tiny thing, the examiner just spotted that he'd left half an eyebrow behind... how did it go with Slughorn?"
"No joy," said Harry, as Ron joined them. "Bad luck, mate, but you'll pass next time-we can take it together."
"Yeah, I s'pose," said Ron grumpily. "But half an eyebrow! Like that matters!"
"I know," said Hermione soothingly, "it does seem really harsh..."
They spent most of their dinner roundly abusing the Apparition examiner, and Ron looked fractionally more cheerful by the time they set off back to the common room, now discussing the continuing problem of Slughorn and the memory.
"So, Harry-you going to use the Felix Felicis or what?" Ron demanded.
"Yeah, I s'pose I'd better," said Harry. "I don't reckon I'll need all of it, not twenty-four hours' worth, it can't take all night... I'll just take a mouthful. Two or three hours should do it."
"It's a great feeling when you take it," said Ron reminiscently. "Like you can't do anything wrong."
"What are you talking about?" said Hermione, laughing. "You've never taken any!"
"Yeah, but I thought I had, didn't I?" said Ron, as though explaining the obvious. "Same difference really ..."
As they had only just seen Slughorn enter the Great Hall and knew that he liked to take time over meals, they lingered for a while in the common room, the plan being that Harry should go to Slughorn's office once the teacher had had time to get back there. When the sun had sunk to the level of the treetops in the Forbidden Forest, they decided the moment had come, and after checking carefully that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all in the common room, sneaked up to the boys' dormitory.
Harry took out the rolled-up socks at the bottom of his trunk and extracted the tiny, gleaming bottle.
"Well, here goes," said Harry, and he raised the little bottle and look a carefully measured gulp.
"What does it feel like?" whispered Hermione.
Harry did not answer for a moment. Then, slowly but surely, an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity stole through him; he felt as though he could have done anything, anything at all... he looked at Hermione's expectant face, and getting the memory from Slughorn seemed suddenly not only possible, but positively easy...
He got to his feet, smiling, brimming with confidence.
"Hermione," Harry beamed at her brightly, "Is this how you feel in every class? I can see how addicting it is-"
Hermione looked at him with a bemused expression. Ron looked rather stunned.
"How addicting what is, Harry?"
"Limitless, like I can do anything! Like I know the answers will to come to me!"
"Well- I…" Hermione blushed.
"Excellent," he said without waiting for her to regain her composure. "Really excellent. Right... I'm going down to Hagrid's."
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together, looking aghast.
"No, Harry-you've got to go and see Slughorn, remember?" said Hermione.
"No," said Harry confidently. "I'm going to Hagrid's, I've got a good feeling about going to Hagrid's."
"You've got a good feeling about burying a giant spider?" asked Ron, looking stunned.
"Yeah," said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. "I feel like it's the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?"
"No," said Ron and Hermione together, both looking positively alarmed now.
"This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?" said Hermione anxiously, holding up the bottle to the light. "You haven't got another little bottle full of- I don't know -"
"Essence of Insanity?" suggested Ron, as Harry swung his cloak over his shoulders.
Harry laughed, and Ron looked even more alarmed. Hermione smirked.
"Trust me," he said. "I know what I'm doing ... or at least… Felix does-"
"Harry-" Hermione started, her tone unsure, but Harry interrupted.
"-And Felix knows you're coming with me."
Without hesitation, he took Hermione's hand, pulled her up to stand beside him, and hastily set off down the stairs, leaving Ron sitting there, alone, quite stunned.
"Harry- what!?" Hermione exclaimed as Ron realized what was happening and hurried after them.
"Wait!" he called, but at the foot of the stairs, Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over Hermione too. Her hand still held firmly in his, he led them onward.
"Ron, What were you doing up there with her! I just saw her- don't try to deny it! Where did she go!?" shrieked Lavender Brown, staring right through Harry and Hermione at Ron emerging from the boys' dormitories. Harry heard Ron spluttering behind him as they darted across the room away from him.
Getting through the portrait hole was simple; as he approached it, Ginny and Dean came through it, and Harry was able to slip between them, Hermione still in tow, apparently too stunned by his behavior to refuse, or perhaps now trusting in Felix. As they did so, Harry brushed accidentally against Ginny.
"Don't push me, please, Dean," she said, sounding annoyed. "You're always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own..."
The portrait swung closed behind them, but not before he had heard Dean make an angry retort... his feeling of elation increasing, Harry and Hermione strode off through the castle, hand in hand. They did not have to creep along, nor worry about the Cloak being to small to cover their feet, for they met nobody on their way, but this did not surprise Harry in the slightest. This evening, he was the luckiest person at Hogwarts.
Why he knew that going to Hagrid's was the right thing to do, he had no idea. It was as though the potion was illuminating a few steps of the path at a time. He could not see the final destination, he could not see where Slughorn came in, but he knew that he was going the right way to get that memory. When they reached the entrance hall he saw that Filch had forgotten to lock the front door.
"It can't be…" whispered Hermione beside him.
Beaming, Harry threw it open and breathed in the smell of clean air and grass for a moment before walking down the steps into the dusk.
It was when he reached the bottom step that it occurred to him how very pleasant it would be to pass the vegetable patch on his walk to Hagrid's. It was not strictly on the way, but it seemed clear to Harry that this was a whim on which he should act, so he directed his feet immediately toward the vegetable patch.
"Harry- I thought we were-"
"Just trust me, Hermione," he breathed in her ear. She nodded and followed him.
When they arrived at the vegetable patch, he was pleased, but not altogether surprised, to find Professor Slughorn in conversation with Professor Sprout. Harry and Hermione lurked behind a low stone wall, and Harry was reminded of a time when she had guided him in much the same way, after using the time turner. This time, however, he felt at peace with the world. They listened to their conversation.
"... I do thank you for taking the time, Pomona," Slughorn was saying courteously. "Most authorities agree that they are at their most efficacious if picked at twilight."
"Oh, I quite agree," said Professor Sprout warmly. "That enough for you?"
"Plenty, plenty," said Slughorn, who, Harry saw, was carrying an armful of leafy plants. "This should allow for a few leaves for each of my third-years, and some to spare if anybody over-stews them... well, good evening to you, and many thanks again!"
Professor Sprout headed off into the gathering darkness in the direction of her greenhouses, and Slughorn directed his steps to the spot where Harry and Hermione stood, invisible.
Seized with an immediate desire to reveal himself, Harry pulled off the cloak with a flourish.
"Good evening, Professor."
"Merlin's beard, Harry, Miss Granger, you made me jump," said Slughorn, stopping dead in his tracks and looking wary. "How did you two get out of the castle?"
"Well-" started Hermione, but Harry felt he should be the one doing most of the talking this evening.
"I think Filch must've forgotten to lock the doors," said Harry cheerfully, and was delighted to see Slughorn scowl.
"I'll be reporting that man, he's more concerned about litter than proper security if you ask me... but why are you out then?"
"Well, sir, it's Hagrid," said Harry, who knew that the right thing to do just now was to tell the truth. "He's pretty upset... but you won't tell anyone, Professor? I don't want trouble for him..."
Slughorn's curiosity was evidently aroused.
"Well, I can't promise that," he said gruffly. "But I know that Dumbledore trusts Hagrid to the hilt, so I'm sure he can't be up to anything very dreadful..."
"Well, it's this giant spider, he's had it for years... it lived in the forest... it could talk and everything-"
"I heard rumors there were Acromantula in the forest," said Slughorn softly, looking over at the mass of black trees. "It's true, then?"
"Yes," said Harry, and Hermione nodded fervently. "But this one, Aragog, the first one Hagrid ever got, it died last night. He's devastated."
"He wants company while he buries it, and we said we'd go," Hermione added.
"Touching, touching," said Slughorn absentmindedly, his large droopy eyes fixed upon the distant lights of Hagrid's cabin. "But Acromantula venom is very valuable... if the beast only just died it might not yet have dried out... of course, I wouldn't want to do anything insensitive if Hagrid is upset... but if there was any way to procure some ... I mean, it's almost impossible to get venom from an Acromantula while it's alive..."
Slughorn seemed to be talking more to himself than Harry and Hermione now.
"... seems an awful waste not to collect it... might get a hundred Galleons a pint... to be frank, my salary is not large..."
And now Harry saw clearly what was to be done. Glancing at Hermione's expression, he could see she'd had an epiphany too.
"Well," he said, with a most convincing hesitancy, "well, if you wanted to come, Professor, Hagrid would probably be really pleased... give Aragog a better send-off, you know …"
Hermione nodded encouragingly, "He'd be so grateful."
"Yes, of course," said Slughorn, his eyes now gleaming with enthusiasm. "I tell you what, I'll meet you down there with a bottle or two... we'll drink the poor beast's-well - not health-but we'll send it off in style, anyway, once it's buried. And I'll change my tie, this one is a little exuberant for the occasion..."
He bustled back into the castle, and Harry, seizing Hermione's hand again, sped off to Hagrid's, delighted with himself.
"Harry, that was brilliant!" She exclaimed breathlessly.
"Felix," Harry replied simply.
"Yeh came," croaked Hagrid, when he opened the door and saw Harry and Hermione emerging from the Invisibility Cloak in front of him.
"Ron couldn't, though," said Hermione. "He's really sorry."
"Don'-don' matter... He'd've bin touched yeh're here, though, Harry Hermione,…"
Hagrid gave a great sob. He had made himself a black armband out of what looked like a rag dipped in boot polish, and his eyes were puffy, red, and swollen. Harry patted him consolingly on the elbow, which was the highest point of Hagrid he could easily reach.
"I'm so sorry, Hagrid," Hermione said, her eyes softening, "It's not easy to lose someone you care about."
"Definitely," agreed Harry, glad Hermione seemed to be fully on board now. "Where are we burying him?" he asked. "The forest?"
Hermione looked to Harry in alarm.
"Blimey, no," said Hagrid, wiping his streaming eyes on the bottom of his shirt. "The other spiders won' let me anywhere near their webs now Aragog's gone. Turns out it was only on his orders they didn' eat me! Can yeh believe that, Harry?"
The honest answer was "yes"; Harry recalled with painful ease the scene when he and Ron had come face-to-face with the acromantulas. They had been quite clear that Aragog was the only thing that stopped them from eating Hagrid.
"Never bin an area o' the forest I couldn' go before!" said Hagrid, shaking his head. "It wasn' easy, gettin' Aragog's body out o' there, I can tell yeh-they usually eat their dead, see... but I wanted ter give 'im a nice burial... a proper send-off..."
He broke into sobs again and Harry resumed the patting of his elbow, saying as he did so (for the potion seemed to indicate that it was the right thing to do), "Professor Slughorn met us coming down here, Hagrid."
"Not in trouble, are yeh?" said Hagrid, looking up, alarmed. "Yeh shouldn' be outta the castle in the evenin', I know it, it's my fault -"
"No, no, when he heard what we were doing he said he'd like to come and pay his last respects to Aragog too," said Harry. "He's gone to change into something more suitable, I think... and he said he'd bring some bottles so we can drink to Aragog's memory..."
"Did he?" said Hagrid, looking both astonished and touched. "Tha's-tha's righ' nice of him, that is, an' not turnin' yeh in either. I've never really had a lot ter do with Horace Slughorn before... comin' ter see old Aragog off, though, eh? Well... he'd've liked that, Aragog would..."
Harry thought privately that what Aragog would have liked most about Slughorn was the ample amount of edible flesh he provided, but he merely moved to the rear window of Hagrid's hut, leaving Hermione to take over elbow-patting duty, where he saw the rather horrible sight of the enormous dead spider lying on its back outside, its legs curled and tangled.
"Are we going to bury him here, Hagrid, in your garden?"
"Jus' beyond the pumpkin patch, I thought," said Hagrid in a choked voice. "I've already dug the - yeh know-grave. Jus' thought we'd say a few nice things over him-happy memories, yeh know -"
His voice quivered and broke. There was a knock on the door, and he turned to answer it, blowing his nose on his great spotted handkerchief as he did so. Slughorn hurried over the threshold, several bottles in his arms, and wearing a somber black cravat.
"Hagrid," he said, in a deep, grave voice. "So very sorry to hear of your loss."
"Tha's very nice of yeh," said Hagrid. "Thanks a lot. An' thanks fer not givin these two detention neither..."
"Wouldn't have dreamed of it, my two best students," said Slughorn. "Sad night, sad night... where is the poor creature?"
"Out here," said Hagrid in a shaking voice. "Shall we-shall we do it, then?"
The four of them stepped out into the back garden. The moon was glistening palely through the trees now, and its rays mingled with the light spilling from Hagrid's window to illuminate Aragog's body lying on the edge of a massive pit beside a ten-foot-high mound of freshly dug earth.
"Magnificent," said Slughorn, approaching the spider's head, where eight milky eyes stared blankly at the sky and two huge, curved pincers shone, motionless, in the moonlight. Harry thought he heard the tinkle of bottles as Slughorn bent over the pincers, apparently examining the enormous hairy head.
Harry noted Hermione was reluctant to leave his side as she eyed the deceased creature wearily.
"It's not ev'ryone appreciates how beau'iful they are," said Hagrid to Slughorn's back, tears leaking from the corners of his crinkled eyes. "I didn' know yeh were interested in creatures like Aragog, Horace."
"Interested? My dear Hagrid, I revere them," said Slughorn, stepping back from the body. Hermione gestured meaningfully toward Slughorn, and Harry saw the glint of a bottle disappear beneath his cloak, though Hagrid, mopping his eyes once more, noticed nothing. "Now... shall we proceed to the burial?"
Hagrid nodded and moved forward. He heaved the gigantic spider into his arms and, with an enormous grunt, rolled it into the dark pit. It hit the bottom with a rather horrible, crunchy thud. Hagrid started to cry again.
"Of course, it's difficult for you, who knew him best," said Slughorn, who like Harry could reach no higher than Hagrid's elbow, but patted it all the same. "Why don't I say a few words?"
He must have got a lot of good quality venom from Aragog, Harry thought, for Slughorn wore a satisfied smirk as he stepped up to the rim of the pit and said, in a slow, impressive voice, "Farewell, Aragog, king of arachnids, whose long and faithful friendship those who knew you won't forget! Though your body will decay, your spirit lingers on in the quiet, web-spun places of your forest home. May your many-eyed descendants ever flourish and your human friends find solace for the loss they have sustained."
"Tha wa... tha wa... beau'iful!" howled Hagrid, and he collapsed onto the compost heap, crying harder than ever.
"There, there," said Slughorn, waving his wand so that the huge pile of earth rose up and then fell, with a muffled sort of crash, onto the dead spider, forming a smooth mound. "Lets get inside and have a drink. Get on his other side, Harry... that's it... Miss Granger, would you get the door…up you come, Hagrid... well done..."
They deposited Hagrid in a chair at the table. Fang, who had been skulking in his basket during the burial, now came padding softly across to them and put his heavy head and slobbering jowels into Harry's lap as usual. Hermione, as if hoping to stay within Felix Felicis' aura, sat close to Harry's side, their arms touching, Fang's slobber trickling onto her leg as well. Slughorn uncorked one of the bottles of wine he had brought.
"I have had it all tested for poison," he assured Harry, pouring most of the first bottle into one of Hagrid's bucket-sized mugs and handing it to Hagrid. "Had a house-elf taste every bottle after what happened to your poor friend Rupert."
Harry managed a glance at Hermione despite Felix Felicis' better judgment, and recognized her physical exertion as she repressed the urge to reprimand Slughorn's abuse of house-elves. He was amazed at her restraint, but then he remembered that she'd been the one stressing the importance of retrieving Slughorn's memory.
"One for Harry and Hermione each..." said Slughorn, dividing a second bottle between three mugs, "... and one for me. Well,- he raised his mug high, "to Aragog."
"Aragog," said Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid together.
Both Slughorn and Hagrid drank deeply. Hermione took a sip from her mug. Harry, however, with the way ahead illuminated for him by Felix Felicis, knew that he must not drink, so he merely pretended to take a gulp and then set the mug back on the table before him.
"I had him from an egg, yeh know," said Hagrid morosely. "'Tiny little thing he was when he hatched. 'Bout the size of a Pekingese"
"Sweet," said Slughorn.
"Lovely," Hermione agreed, although Harry could tell she did not think it quite so lovely. He tried not to grin.
"Used ter keep him in a cupboard up at the school until... well..."
Hagrid's face darkened and Harry knew why: Tom Riddle had contrived to have Hagrid thrown out of school, blamed for opening the Chamber of Secrets. Slughorn, however, did not seem to be listening; he was looking up at the ceiling, from which a number of brass pots hung, and also a long, silky skein of bright white hair.
"That's not unicorn hair, Hagrid?"
"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid indifferently. "Gets pulled out of their tails, they catch it on branches an' stuff in the forest, yeh know ..."
"But my dear chap, do you know how much that's worth?"
"I use it fer bindin' on bandages an' stuff if a creature gets in jured," said Hagrid, shrugging. "It's dead useful... very strong."
Slughorn took another deep draught from his mug, his eyes moving carefully around the cabin now, looking, Harry knew, for more treasures that he might be able to convert into a plentiful supply of oak-matured mead, crystalized pineapple, and velvet smoking jackets. He refilled Hagrid's mug and his own, and questioned him about the creatures that lived in the forest these days and how Hagrid was able to look after them all. Hagrid, becoming expansive under the influence of the drink and Slughorn's flattering interest, stopped mopping his eyes and entered happily into a long explanation of Bowtruckle husbandry.
The Felix Felicis gave Harry a little nudge at this point, and he noticed that the supply of drink that Slughorn had brought was running out fast. Harry had not yet managed to bring off the Refilling Charm without saying the incantation aloud, so he nudged Hermione, glancing meaningfully at the emptying bottles. Understanding dawned on her face immediately, and he grinned to himself as, unnoticed by either Hagrid or Slughorn (now swapping tales of the illegal trade in dragon eggs) she pointed her wand under the table at the emptying bottles and they immediately began to refill. Harry figured this must be why Felix had urged him to bring Hermione along tonight.
After an hour or so, Hagrid and Slughorn began making extravagant toasts: to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine, and to-
"Harry Potter!" bellowed Hagrid, slopping some of his fourteenth bucket of wine down his chin as he drained it.
"Yes, indeed," cried Slughorn a little thickly, "Parry Otter, the Chosen Boy Who-well - something of that sort," he mumbled, "And Miss- Miss Granger- the brightest witch of her age!" and he promptly drained his mug too.
Harry looked to Hermione and saw that she'd decided now was the perfect time to take another long sip from her oversized mug, conveniently obscuring her reddening cheeks. He grinned.
Not long after this, Hagrid became tearful again and pressed the whole unicorn tail upon Slughorn, who pocketed it with cries of, "To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!"
Hermione took another purposeful sip form her mug, saying nothing, and again, Harry was awed by her restraint this evening.
And for a while after that, Hagrid and Slughorn were sitting side by side, arms around each other, singing a slow sad song about a dying wizard called Odo.
"Aaargh, the good die young," muttered Hagrid, slumping low onto the table, a little cross-eyed, while Slughorn continued to warble the refrain. "Me dad was no age ter go ... nor were yer mum' an' dad, Harry..."
Great fat tears oozed out of the corners of Hagrid's crinkled eyes again; he grasped Harry's arm and shook it.
"Bes' wiz and witchard o' their age I never knew... terrible thing... terrible thing..."
Harry felt another prod from Felix. He reached over and took Hermione's hand in his, ensuring their entwined fingers were in plain view.
Slughorn sang plaintively,
"And Odo the hero, they bore him back home
To the place that he'd known as a lad,
They laid him to rest with his hat inside out.
And his wand snapped in two, which was sad."
"... terrible," Hagrid grunted, and his great shaggy head rolled sideways onto his arms and he fell asleep, snoring deeply.
"Sorry," said Slughorn with a hiccup. "Can't carry a tune to save my life."
"Hagrid wasn't talking about your singing," said Harry quietly. "He was talking about my mum and dad dying."
At that moment, whether prompted by Felix Felicis, the wine, or something else entirely, Hermione leaned into him, gently resting her head atop his shoulder.
"Oh," said Slughorn as he looked on at Harry and Hermione, his eyes wide and sympathetic. "Oh dear. Yes, that was-was terrible indeed. Terrible... terrible..."
He was quite at a loss for what to say, and resorted to refilling their mugs.
Harry leaned his head atop Hermione's, and tried to ignore the pleasure of feeling her hair on his cheek. Slughorn then found the words to say, "I don't-don't suppose you remember it, Harry?" he asked awkwardly.
"No-well, I was only one when they died," said Harry, his eyes on the flame of the candle flickering in Hagrid's heavy snores. "But I've found out pretty much what happened since. My dad died first. Did you know that?"
He felt Hermione squeeze his hand tightly, now understanding she had a greater part to play in Felix's plan.
"I-I didn't," said Slughorn in a hushed voice.
"Yeah... Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body toward my mum," said Harry.
Slughorn gave a great shudder, and tore his horrified gaze away from Harry's face only to stare at Hermione's.
"He told her to get out of the way," said Harry remorselessly. "He told me she needn't have died. He only wanted me. She could have run."
"Oh dear," breathed Slughorn. "She could have... she needn't... that's awful..."
"It is, isn't it?" said Harry, in a voice barely more than a whisper. Hermione neither moved nor spoke, for which Harry was grateful. He found himself squeezing her hand for strength as he said, "But she didn't move. Dad was already dead, but she didn't want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort... but he just laughed..."
"That's enough!" said Slughorn suddenly, raising a shaking hand. "Really, my dear boy, enough... I'm an old man... I don't need to hear... I don't want to hear..."
"I forgot," lied Harry, Felix Felicis leading him on. "You liked her, didn't you?"
"Liked her?" said Slughorn, his eyes brimming with tears once more. "I don't imagine anyone who met her wouldn't have liked her... very brave... very funny... brilliant…" his eyes flashed to Hermione momentarily. "It was the most horrible thing..."
"But you won't help her son," said Harry, reluctantly removing his head from atop Hermione's. He did not let go of her hand. "She gave me her life, but you won't give me a memory."
Hagrid's rumbling snores filled the cabin. Harry looked steadily into Slughorn's tear-filled eyes. The Potions master seemed unable to look away.
"Don't say that," he whispered. "It isn't a question... if it were to help you, of course... but no purpose can be served…"
Harry felt a chill run down his spine as Hermione removed her head from his shoulder.
"It can," said Hermione quietly, but clearly. "Dumbledore needs information. Harry needs information."
Harry knew he was safe: Felix was telling him that Slughorn would remember nothing of this in the morning. He knew Hermione, on the other hand, would, but he was okay with that. In fact, it felt right right for her to be here, right for her hand to be entwined in his. He had no time to ponder it. Looking Slughorn straight in the eye, Harry leaned forward a little.
"I am the Chosen One. I have to kill him. I need that memory."
Slughorn turned paler than ever; his shiny forehead gleamed with sweat.
"You are the Chosen One?"
"Of course I am," Harry managed to say calmly, and he leaned back next to Hermione. He thought he could hear her heart racing, or maybe that was his own.
"But the... my dear boy... you're asking a great deal... you're asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy-"
"You don't want to get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans?"
"Harry, please-"
"You remember I'm Muggle-born, Professor. You don't want to help Harry destroy the wizard who would be glad to kill me too?"
Fear sliced through the warm embrace of Felix Felicis like a hot knife, and, despite the urges of Hermione and Dumbledore, only now did Harry truly feel the weight of the importance of retrieving Slughorn's memory.
Slughorn's gaze searched their faces desperately, from Harry to Hermione, then back again.
"Hermione, Harry, of course I do, but -"
"You're scared he'll find out you helped me?"
Slughorn said nothing; he looked terrified.
"I couldn't save my mother, so help me protect Hermione… be brave like my mother, Professor..."
Slughorn raised a pudgy hand and pressed his shaking fingers to his mouth; he looked for a moment like an enormously overgrown baby.
"I am not proud..." he whispered through his fingers. "I am ashamed of what-of what that memory shows... I think I may have done great damage that day..."
"You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory," said Harry. "It would be a very brave and noble thing to do."
Hagrid twitched in his sleep and snored on. Slughorn, Harry, and Hermione stared at each other over the guttering candle. There was a long, long silence, but Felix Felicis told Harry not to break it, to wait.
Then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He put his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small, empty bottle. Still looking into Harry's eyes, Slughorn touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it, so that a long, silver thread of memory came away too, clinging to the wand tip. Longer and longer the memory stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the wand. Slughorn lowered it into the bottle where it coiled, then spread, swirling like gas. He corked the bottle with a trembling hand and then passed it across the table to Harry.
"Thank you very much, Professor."
"May you both live…" Slughorn said, his eyes again searching thiers. This time, Harry leaned into Hermione's side, their fingers still entwined, relief washing over him.
"You're a good boy," said Professor Slughorn, tears trickling down his fat cheeks into his walrus mustache. "And you've got her eyes... just don't think too badly of me once you've seen it..."
And he too put his head on his arms, gave a deep sigh, and fell asleep.
/
/
/
"Thank you," Harry whispered to Hermione under the Cloak as they left Hagrid's, he and Slughorn still snoring soundly.
"You don't have to thank me, Harry. I'm- I'm just glad I was there."
Harry could feel the Felix Felicis and the thrill of their success wearing off as he and Hermione crept back into the castle. He found it exceptionally more difficult to look Hermione in the eye, and noticed she kept as much distance as was possible under the Cloak. He ignored the way his fingertips tingled in his now cool and empty hand, and he tried not to think about the crippling horror he'd felt at Hermione's mention of being killed.
The front door had remained unlocked for them, but on the third floor they met Peeves and only narrowly avoided detection by diving sideways through one of his shortcuts. By the time they got up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, he was not surprised to find her in a most unhelpful mood.
"What sort of time do you call this? And you, a Prefect!"
"I'm really sorry-I had to go out for something important-"
"Well, the password changed at midnight, so you'll just have to sleep in the corridor, won't you?"
"That's not true! It was my turn to change the password tonight," Hermione argued, hands on her hips.
"Well- no- another Prefect stepped in," said the Fat Lady. "If you're angry, go and take it up with the Headmaster, he's the one who's tightened security."
Hermione glared at the Fat Lady skeptically.
"Fantastic," said Harry bitterly, looking around at the hard floor. "Really brilliant. Yeah, I would go and take it up with Dumbledore if he was here, because he's the one who wanted me to -"
"He is here," said a voice behind Harry. "Professor Dumbledore returned to the school an hour ago."
Nearly Headless Nick was gliding toward Harry, his head wobbling as usual upon his ruff.
"I had it from the Bloody Baron, who saw him arrive," said Nick. "He appeared, according to the Baron, to be in good spirits, though a little tired, of course."
"Where is he?" said Harry, his heart leaping.
"Oh, groaning and clanking up on the Astronomy Tower, it's a favorite pastime of his -"
"Not the Bloody Baron - Dumbledore!"
"Oh-in his office," said Nick. "I believe, from what the Baron said, that he had business to attend to before turning in -"
"Yeah, he has," said Harry, excitement blazing in his chest at the prospect of telling Dumbledore he had secured the memory.
He looked to Hermione.
"Go," she said encouragingly, "I'll be okay."
Perhaps evoked by a final flair of Felix Felicis, Harry hugged Hermione tightly before he wheeled about and sprinted off again, grinning to himself as the sound of Hermione's argument with the Fat Lady faded away.
Harry hurtled back along the corridor and within minutes, he was saying "toffee eclairs" to Dumbledore's gargoyle, which leapt aside, permitting Harry entrance onto the spiral staircase.
"Enter," said Dumbledore when Harry knocked. He sounded exhausted.
Harry pushed open the door. There was Dumbledore's office, looking the same as ever, but with black, star-strewn skies beyond the windows.
"Good gracious, Harry," said Dumbledore in surprise. "To what do I owe this very late pleasure?"
"Sir-I've got it. I've got the memory from Slughorn."
Harry pulled out the tiny glass bottle and showed it to Dumbledore. For a moment or two, the Headmaster looked stunned. Then his face split in a wide smile.
"Harry, this is spectacular news! Very well done indeed! I knew you could do it!"
"Hermione helped me," Harry said, feeling obligated to let the Headmaster know he hadn't been alone.
Dumbledore merely grinned, his eyes twinkling, and all thought of the lateness of the hour apparently forgotten, he hurried around his desk, took the bottle with Slughorn's memory in his uninjured hand, and strode over to the cabinet where he kept the Pensieve.
"And now," said Dumbledore, placing the stone basin upon the desk and emptying the contents of the bottle into it. "Now, at last, we shall see. Harry, quickly..."
Harry bowed obediently over the Pensieve and felt his feet leave the office floor... once again he fell through darkness and landed in Horace Slughorn's office many years before.
/
When Harry landed back on the office floor Dumbledore was already sitting down behind his desk. Harry sat too and waited for Dumbledore to speak.
"I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time," said Dumbledore at last. "It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that I am right, and also how very far there is still to go..."
Harry suddenly noticed that every single one of the old headmasters and headmistresses in the portraits around the walls was awake and listening in on their conversation. A corpulent, red nosed wizard had actually taken out an ear trumpet.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, "I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal."
"You think he succeeded then, sir?" asked Harry. "He made a Horcrux? And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of his soul was safe?"
"A bit... or more," said Dumbledore. "You heard Voldemort, what he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know-as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew-no wizard had ever done more than tear his soul in two."
Dumbledore paused for a moment, marshaling his thought, and then said, "Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul."
"Where?" asked Harry. "How?"
"You handed it to me, Harry," said Dumbledore. "The diary, Riddle's diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets."
"I don't understand, sir," said Harry.
"Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book. ... a fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard."
"I still don't understand," said Harry.
"Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work-in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again."
"Well, he didn't want his hard work to be wasted," said Harry. "He wanted people to know he was Slytherin's heir, because he couldn't take credit at the time."
"Quite correct," said Dumbledore, nodding. "But don't you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to be passed to, or planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he was being remarkably blas about that precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the self hidden and safe, not to fling it into somebody else's path and run the risk that they might destroy it-as indeed happened: that particular fragment of soul is no more; you saw to that.
"The careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made-or had been planning to make-more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you told me, two years later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. 'I who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.' That was what you told me he said. 'Further than anybody!' And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I don't believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldomort has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call usual evil..."
"So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?" said Harry. "Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in immortality?"
"Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago," said Dumbledore. "But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.
"While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort would be entirely dependent on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable. Of course he was prepared to drink it if it would take him out of the horrible part-life to which he was condemned after attacking you, but only to regain a body. Thereafter, I am convinced, he intended to continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see ... or as close to immortal as any man can be.
"But now, Harry, armed with this information, the crucial memory you have succeeded in procuring for us, we are closer to the secret of finishing Lord Voldemort than anyone has ever been before. You heard him, Harry: 'Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more piece... isn't seven the most powerfully magical number...' Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number. Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort."
"He made seven Horcruxes?" said Harry, horror-struck, while several of the portraits on the walls made similar noises of shock and outrage. "But they could be anywhere in the world-hidden-buried or invisible -"
"I am glad to see you appreciate the magnitude of the problem," said Dumbledore calmly. "But firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The seventh part of his soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill Voldemort must attack-the piece that lives in his body."
"But the six Horcruxes, then," said Harry, a little desperately, "how are we supposed to find them?"
"You are forgetting... you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed another."
"You have?" said Harry eagerly.
"Yes indeed," said Dumbledore, and he raised his blackened, burned-looking hand. "The ring, Harry. Marvolo's ring. And a terrible curse there was upon it too. Had it not been-forgive me the lack of seemly modesty-for my own prodigious skill, and for Professor Snape's timely action when I returned to Hogwarts, desperately injured, I might not have lived to tell the tale. However, a withered hand does not seem an unreasonable exchange for a seventh of Voldemort's soul. The ring is no longer a Horcrux."
"But how did you find it?"
"Well, as you now know, for many years I have made it my business to discover as much as I can about Voldemort's past life. I have traveled widely, visiting those places he once knew. I stumbled across the ring hidden in the ruin of the Gaunt's house. It seem that once Voldemort had succeeded in sealing a piece of his soul in side it, he did not want to wear it anymore. He hid it, protected by many powerful enchantments, in the shack where his ancestors had once lived (Morfin having been carted off to Azkaban, of course), never guessing that I might one day take the trouble to visit the ruin, or that I might be keeping an eye open for traces of magical concealment.
"However, we should not congratulate ourselves too heartily. You destroyed the diary and I the ring, but if we are right in our theory of a seven-part soul, four Horcruxes remain."
"And they could be anything?" said Harry. "They could be oh, in tin cans or, I dunno, empty potion bottles..."
"You are thinking of Portkeys, Harry, which must be ordinary objects, easy to overlook. But would Lord Voldemort use tin cans or old potion bottles to guard his own precious soul? You are forgetting what I have showed you. Lord Voldemort liked to collect trophies, and he preferred objects with a powerful magical history His pride, his belief in his own superiority, his determination to carve for himself a startling place in magical history; these things, suggest to me that Voldemort would have chosen his Horcruxes with some care, favoring objects worthy of the honor."
"The diary wasn't that special."
"The diary, as you have said yourself, was proof that he was the heir of Slytherin. I am sure that Voldemort considered it of stupendous importance."
"So, the other Horcruxes?" said Harry. "Do you think you know what they are, sir?"
"I can only guess," said Dumbledore. "For the reasons I have already given, I believe that Lord Voldemort would prefer objects that, in themselves, have a certain grandeur. I have therefore trawled back through Voldemort's past to see if I can find evidence that such artifacts have disappeared around him."
"The locket!" said Harry loudly, "Hufflepuff's cup!"
"Yes," said Dumbledore, smiling, "I would be prepared to bet-perhaps not my other hand-but a couple of fingers, that they became Horcruxes three and four. The remaining two, assuming again that he created a total of six, are more of a problem, but I will hazard a guess that, having secured objects from Hufflepuff and Slytherin, he set out to track down objects owned by Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Four objects from the four founders would, I am sure, have exerted a powerful pull over Voldemort's imagination. I cannot answer for whether he ever managed to find anything of Ravenclaw's. I am confident, however, that the only known relic of Gryffindor remains safe."
Dumbledore pointed his blackened fingers to the wall behind him, where a ruby-encrusted sword reposed within a glass case.
"Do you think that's why he really wanted to come back to Hogwarts, sir?" said Harry. "To try and find something from one of the other founders?"
"My thoughts precisely," said Dumbledore. "But unfortunately, that does not advance us much further, for he was turned away, or so I believe, without the chance to search the school. I am forced to conclude that he never fulfilled his ambition of collecting four founders' objects. He definitely had two-he may have found three-that is the best we can do for now."
"Even if he got something of Ravenclaw's or of Gryffindor's, that leaves a sixth Horcrux," said Harry, counting on his fingers. "Unless he's got both?"
"I don't think so," said Dumbledore. "I think I know what the sixth Horcrux is. I wonder what you will say when I confess that I have been curious for a while about the behavior of the snake, Nagini?"
"The snake?" said Harry, startled. "You can use animals as Horcruxes?"
"Well, it is inadvisable to do so," said Dumbledore, "because to confide a part of your soul to something that can think and move for itself is obviously a very risky business. 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.
"He seems to have reserved the process of making Horcruxes for particularly significant deaths. You would certainly 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 that he was intending to make his final Horcrux with your death. As we know, he failed. After an interval of some years, however, he used Nagini to kill an old Muggle man, and it might then have occurred to him to turn her into his last Horcrux. She underlines the Slytherin connection, which enhances Lord Voldemort's mystique; I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything; he certainly likes to keep her close, and he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth."
"So," said Harry, "the diary's gone, the ring's gone. The cup, the locket, and the snake are still intact, and you think there might be a Horcrux that was once Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's?"
"An admirably succinct and accurate summary, yes," said Dumbledore, bowing his head.
"So... are you still looking for them, sir? Is that where you've been going when you've been leaving the school?"
"Correct," said Dumbledore. "I have been looking for a very long time. I think... perhaps ... I may be close to finding another one. There are hopeful signs."
"And if you do," said Harry quickly, "can I come with you and help get rid of it?"
Dumbledore looked at Harry very intently for a moment before saying, "Yes, I think so."
"I can?" said Harry, thoroughly taken aback.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly. "I think you have earned that right."
Harry felt his heart lift. It was very good not to hear words of caution and protection for once. The headmasters and headmistresses around the walls seemed less impressed by Dumbledore's decision; Harry saw a few of them shaking their heads and Phineas Nigellus actually snorted.
"Does Voldemort know when a Horcrux is destroyed, sir? Can he feel it?" Harry asked, ignoring the portraits.
"A very interesting question, Harry. I believe not. I believe that Voldemort is now so immersed in evil, and these crucial parts of himself have been detached for so long, he does not feel as we do. Perhaps, at the point of death, he might be aware of his loss... but he was not aware, for instance, that the diary had been destroyed until he forced the truth out of Lucius Malfoy. When Voldemort discovered that the diary had been mutilated and robbed of all its powers, I am told that his anger was terrible to behold."
"But I thought he meant Lucius Malfoy to smuggle it into Hogwarts?"
"Yes, he did, years ago, when he was sure he would be able to create more Horcruxes, but still Lucius was supposed to wait for Voldemorts say-so, and he never received it, for Voldemort vanished shortly after giving him the diary. No doubt he thought that Lucius would not dare do anything with the Horcrux other than guard it carefully, but he was counting too much upon Lucius's fear of a master who had been gone for years and whom Lucius believed dead. Of course, Lucius did not know what the diary really was. I understand that Voldemort had told him the diary would cause the Chamber of Secrets to reopen because it was cleverly enchanted. Had Lucius known he held a portion of his master's soul in his hands, he would undoubtedly have treated it with more reverence-but instead he went ahead and carried out the old plan for his own ends. By planting the diary upon Arthur Weasley's daughter, he hoped to discredit Arthur and get rid of a highly incriminating magical object in one stroke. Ah, poor Lucius... what with Voldemort's fury about the fact that he threw away the Horcrux for his own gain, and the fiasco at the Ministry last year, I would not be surprised if he is not secretly glad to be safe in Azkaban at the moment."
Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, "So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?"
"Yes, I think so," said Dumbledore. "Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes."
"But I haven't got uncommon skill and power," said Harry, before he could stop himself.
"Yes, you have," said Dumbledore firmly. "You have a power that Voldemort has never had. You can -"
"I know!" said Harry impatiently. "I can love!" It was only with difficulty that he stopped himself adding, "Big deal!"
"Yes, Harry, you can love," said Dumbledore, who looked as though he knew perfectly well what Harry had just refrained from saying. "Which, given everything that has happened to you, is a great and remarkable thing. You are still too young to understand how unusual you are, Harry."
"So, when the prophecy says that I'll have 'power the Dark Lord knows not,' it just means-love?" asked Harry, feeling a little let down.
"Yes-just love," said Dumbledore. "But Harry, never forget that what the prophecy says is only significant because Voldemort made it so. I told you this at the end of last year. Voldemort singled you out as the person who would be most dangerous to him-and in doing so, he made you the person who would be most dangerous to him!"
"But it comes to the same -"
"No, it doesn't!" said Dumbledore, sounding impatient now. Pointing at Harry with his black, withered hand, he said, "You are setting too much store by the prophecy!"
"But," spluttered Harry, "but you said the prophecy means -"
"If Voldemort had never heard of the prophecy, would it have been fulfilled? Would it have meant anything? Of course not! Do you think every prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy has been fulfilled?"
"But," said Harry, bewildered, "but last year, you said one of us would have to kill the other -"
"Harry, Harry, only because Voldemort made a grave error, and acted on Professor Trelawney's words! If Voldemort had never murdered your father, would he have imparted in you a furious desire for revenge? Of course not! If he had not forced your mother to die for you, would he have given you a magical protection he could not penetrate? Of course not, Harry! Don't you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back! Voldemort is no different! Always he was on the lookout for the one who would challenge him. He heard the prophecy and he leapt into action, with the result that he not only handpicked the man most likely to finish him, he handed him uniquely deadly weapons!"
"But -"
"It is essential that you understand this!" said Dumbledore, standing up and striding about the room, his glittering robes swooshing in his wake; Harry had never seen him so agitated. "By attempting to kill you, Voldemort himself singled out the remarkable person who sits here in front of me, and gave him the tools for the job! It is Voldemort's fault that you were able to see into his thoughts, his ambitions, that you even understand the snakelike language in which he gives orders, and yet, Harry, despite your privileged insight into Voldemort's world (which, incidentally, is a gift any Death Eater would kill to have), you have never been seduced by the Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of Voldemort's followers!"
"Of course I haven't!" said Harry indignantly. "He killed my mum and dad!"
"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!" said Dumbledore loudly. "The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like Voldemort's! In spite of all the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven, when you stared into a mirror that reflected your heart's desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord Voldemort, and not immortality or riches. Harry, have you any idea how few wizards could have seen what you saw in that mirror? Voldemort should have known then what he was dealing with, but he did not!
"But he knows it now. You have flitted into Lord Voldemort's mind without damage to yourself, but he cannot possess you without enduring mortal agony, as he discovered in the Ministry. I do not think he understands why, Harry, but then, he was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused to understand the incomparable power of a soul that is untarnished and whole."
"But, sir," said Harry, making valiant efforts not to sound argumentative, "it all comes to the same thing, doesn't it? I've got to try and kill him, or -"
"Got to?" said Dumbledore. "Of course you've got to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you've tried! We both know it! Imagine, please, just for a moment, that you had never heard that prophecy! How would you feel about Voldemort now? Think!"
Harry watched Dumbledore striding up and down in front of him, and thought. He thought of his mother, his father, and Sirius. He thought of Cedric Diggory. He thought of all the terrible deeds he knew Lord Voldemort had done. A flame seemed to leap inside his chest, searing his throat.
"I'd want him finished," said Harry quietly. "And I'd want to do it."
"Of course you would!" cried Dumbledore. "You see, the prophecy does not mean you have to do anything! But the prophecy caused Lord Voldemort to mark you as his equal... In other words, you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy! But Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will continue to hunt you... which makes it certain, really, that -"
"That one of us is going to end up killing the other," said Harry.
"Yes."
But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew-and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents-that there was all the difference in the world.
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A/N: The first half of this chapter was my favorite to modify. I left the second half untouched, it's so important to the overall plot. Again, I take no credit for this work, just adding and editing here and there for the fun of H/Hr. Thanks for reading!