Part 22
Harry and Hermione were the first ones to finish their lunch. Hermione was generally a fast eater and was not particularly hungry while Harry really wanted to speak with his friends before they began with the next chapter.
But the toughest part was to get Ron away from all the food, though they finally managed it after a lot of coaxing and a fair bit of threatening from Hermione. However, Ron insisted on carrying part of his treacle tart back to the living room; which was earning him a series of dark looks from Hermione.
"So, why all this hurry?" questioned Ron, as soon as they had settled down on their patent couch. "Or are you just trying to starve me?"
"Don't be a prat, Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Harry's worried about something," she stated confidently, well versed with their best friend's moods.
Harry let out a chuckle, before turning to the dining room and casting Muffliato over it. "Hermione's right," said Harry, turning back to his friends,who looked a little surprised at his actions. "I am worried about Severus."
Ron spat out a bit of the mouthful of treacle tart that he had just taken, causing Hermione to glare daggers at him. "Why on earth, are you worried about him? He spluttered. "Because of him killing Dumbledore? Because, that's stupid. You know, if not anyone else; Dumbledore would at least back him up and everything. There's nothing to be that concerned about."
"Yes, Harry," agreed Hermione, still looking faintly disgusted by Ron's table-manners…or rather their lack. "Ron is right. That shouldn't be causing you sleepless nights." Her lips quirked into a grin. "You have told them often enough, that they should not judge things till both the books are done."
Harry shook his head. "Not that," he mumbled. "That will be hard to take, but I know that it will be alright. I am really worried about the part, where they will get to know that the Prophecy was relayed to Voldemort by Severus."
"Oh!"
"Can't we just skip it?" suggested Ron, though he didn't sound too hopeful or confident.
"You know we can't, Ron! If we do that, loads of questions wouldn't be answered. And, I don't think that they are going to let that pass." said Hermione exasperatedly. Ron mumbled something that sounded like 'just a suggestion'.
"You saw Remus and Dad, Hermione," said Harry, kneading his temples which had started to ache. "I can sense the wolf behind Remus's eyes every time someone even thinks of harming me and every time Mum and Dad's murder is mentioned. Dad might not react too badly to his death, but he is going to be livid when he gets to know that Severus betrayed Mum."
"You are not mentioning about Sirius's reaction, mate," Ron pointed out.
Harry sighed, "I don't know why, but I think that Sirius is not going to be a problem. He is going to be angry, of course, but I don't think that he would be uncontrollable."
"He knows what it is to commit a mistake," murmured Hermione, darkly. "He would be able to relate to Severus. The only difference is that, Severus was just, not as lucky as Sirius.
"Exactly! exclaimed Harry, his face brightening considerably. "You have hit the bull's eye, Mione. But, do you think he can control the other two?"
"If anyone can do it, then it will be Sirius," Ron stated, confidently. "He is one of the Marauders. They won't overlook him completely. They can't. And, don't forget, he is a Black! If he wishes to, he can force people to listen to reason."
"Absolutely," agreed Hermione. "But, we have to let him know everything before the others get to know. He needs time to get used to the idea, or he might just be too shocked, to help the others."
"Thanks guys," said Harry, getting up from the couch and stretching a bit. "Let us give it another chapter or two and then we tell Sirius. We will need some 'Sirius' help." The three of them broke out into laughter. Harry removed the Muffliato from the room and said, "Let's go and get the others. I think we have wasted enough time on lunch. We need to start reading again, if we want to finish this book anytime soon."
It took another half an hour to assemble everyone in the reading room, once again. It took some time to move Sirius and James away from the food. They were totally like Ron, when it came to food.
"So, who's next?" asked James.
"Me," said Ron, picking up the book and opening to the right chapter. He glanced at the title, "Oh! Another 'memory' chapter. 'Lord Voldemort's Request',"
"Request?" James repeated. "That evil git knew the meaning of request? That is certainly hard to believe."
"It seems, he does," said Severus, smirking at the messy-haired boy. "Maybe, he was desperate enough. Well, let's start reading. We will get to know soon enough." Ron made himself comfortable and started reading the chapter.
Harry and Ron left the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which was that Hermione was friends with Ron again.
"That's great," said Lily, smiling at the mentioned couple. "The two of you have fought enough."
Ron grimaced. "One of my worst mistakes," he said. "I was almost sure that I had blown it with Hermione. That poisoning sure helped in its own twisted way."
"That means you owe Draco, Ron," Hermione whispered in her boyfriend's ears. Ron blanched and hastened to continue reading. The mere idea of being in Draco's debt did not sound promising, in the slightest.
Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her the news that Ginny had argued with Dean. The drowsing creature in Harry's chest suddenly raised its head, sniffing the air hopefully.
"What the hell!" Harry moaned. "Why do they have to describe things in so much…detail!" He smacked his sniggering friends on the arms.
"Dr…drowsing c…creature…" Ron spluttered, completely unable to hold in the laughter. "Just wait ti…till Ginny hears this! I will make sure she does, of course."
"Don't you dare!" Harry threatened, but it seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. It took a while for Ron to compose himself enough to continue reading.
"What did they row about?" he asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.
"It's all right!" said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. "Here ..."
She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, "Reparo." The girl did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of sight; Ron glanced back at her.
There were collective sighs from around the room, especially from the Trio's end.
"I swear they're getting smaller," he said.
"Never mind her," said Harry, a little impatiently. "What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?"
"Aha! Curious much?" Sirius muttered, grinning at his godson who colored up.
"Shut up, Padfoot," Harry retorted back. This just made Sirius widen his grin.
"Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you," said Hermione.
"It must've looked funny," said Ron reasonably.
"It didn't look funny at all!" said Hermione hotly. "It looked terrible and if Coote and Peakes hadn't caught Harry he could have been very badly hurt!"
"That's true," said Lily. "He would have been really injured had he crashed."
"But, it must have looked funny," countered Alice. "It is not often that a captain of a team is knocked out from his own team's keeper."
Sirius burst out laughing and was soon joined in by many, including Harry himself. Though, Hermione and Lily still had disapproving frowns etched on their faces. "I am sorry," said Sirius, still chortling hard. "But, it even sounds funny. Just imagine, being knocked out be the team's Keeper. Crazy, really."
"Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it," said Harry, still trying to sound casual. "Or are they still together?"
"Yes, they are — but why are you so interested?" asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.
"I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!" he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them called, "Harry!" giving him an excuse to turn his back on her. "Oh, hi, Luna."
"Did it help?" Lily asked Harry skeptically. "I find it hard to believe that Hermione didn't already guess it. It is very obvious that you had fallen for Ginny."
Hermione gave an embarrassed smile. "I was just not sure. Harry may think up a lot of mental images, but he can hide his feelings well."
"But, you didn't act surprised…when…when I kissed her," mumbled Harry, lowering his voice.
Hermione directed a smirk at him. "What can I say," she replied. "I am just a bloody good actress." Harry looked positively gobsmacked at the declaration, not least because Hermione did actually swear.
"I went to the hospital wing to find you," said Luna, rummaging in her bag. "But they said you'd left..." She thrust what appeared to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what looked like cat litter into Ron's hands, finally pulling out a rather grubby scroll of parchment that she handed to Harry. ". . . I've been told to give you this."
It was a small roll of parchment, which Harry recognized at once as another invitation to a lesson with Dumbledore.
"Tonight," he told Ron and Hermione, once he had unrolled it.
"Nice commentary last match!" said Ron to Luna as she took back the green onion, the toadstool, and the cat litter. Luna smiled vaguely.
"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" she said. "Everyone says I was dreadful."
"It wasn't very much 'match-related'," stated James. "But, it was certainly entertaining!"
"It sure was," agreed Frank. "Even the losing team wouldn't brood too much, if she does the commentary."
"No, I'm serious!" said Ron earnestly. "I can't remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?" he added, holding the onion like object up to eye level.
"Oh, it's a Gurdyroot," she said, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into her bag. "You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies." And she walked away, leaving Ron chortling, still clutching the Gurdyroot.
"She is a good person too," Molly remarked. "Even though that Gurdy…whatever won't come to any real use."
"Nah!" said Ron, winking at Harry. "They are actually excellent in warding off the Plimpies."
"Absolutely brilliant," added Harry, laughing along with Ron and overlooking at the odd looks that the pair of them were receiving. This was their own private joke about the expression on Hermione's face when Luna showed them that Gulping Plimpies actually did exist. And this was precisely the reason why Hermione was glaring daggers at them now.
"You know, she's grown on me, Luna," he said, as they set off again for the Great Hall. "I know she's insane, but it's in a good —"
He stopped talking very suddenly. Lavender Brown was standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous. "Hi," said Ron nervously.
"C'mon," Harry muttered to Hermione, and they sped past, though not before they had heard Lavender say, "Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why was she with you?"
"She is his friend!" said Molly, glaring at the book. "Something that you could never be!"
"You are talking to the book, Mum," Ron mumbled half-heartedly. To be honest, he had himself resented that remark from Lavender. That he loved Hermione was an issue apart, but Lavender did not really have the rights to question him about his friends.
"But, Molly is right," Lily said to Ron. "Hermione is your friend, and no one can question your friendship. Not even your girlfriend." Ron nodded his agreement before continuing.
Ron looked both sulky and annoyed when he appeared at breakfast half an hour later, and though he sat with Lavender, Harry did not see them exchange a word all the time they were together.
"We fought, obviously!" Ron stated. "I wouldn't take crap from her about Hermione."
"She was your girlfriend, love," Hermione whispered. "It was her right."
"Was not!" said Ron stubbornly, and cut off Hermione's further protests by continuing with the chapter.
Hermione was acting as though she was quite oblivious to all of this, but once or twice Harry saw an inexplicable smirk cross her face. All that day she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, and that evening in the common room she even consented to look over (in other words, finish writing) Harry's Herbology essay, something she had been resolutely refusing to do up to this point, because she had known that Harry would then let Ron copy his work.
"And he is my son!" Lily moaned, causing Harry to tinge red. Minerva looked over sternly at the Trio.
Remus smirked at the morose looking red-haired girl. "I think you are forgetting a vital point, Lily," he said. "Actually two. Harry is James's son and Sirius's godson. You can be thankful that he even attempts to do his homework."
Both James and Harry directed dirty glances at Remus, though Sirius was grinning proudly causing Minerva to look further disgruntled.
"Thanks a lot, Hermione," said Harry, giving her a hasty pat on the back as he checked his watch and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. "Listen, I've got to hurry or I'll be late for Dumbledore. ..."
She did not answer, but merely crossed out a few of his feebler sentences in a weary sort of way.
"And he is still way better than Ron," Hermione added, looking distressed at the very idea. "I am glad that I don't have to do all this now."
"I can totally sympathize with you," said Remus, also shaking his head wearily. "And I still have to endure this torture for two more years."
"And here we thought that Moony actually loved doing our homework," Sirius teased, in a mock-hurt voice.
"Exactly," agreed James. "He totally broke…"
"…grated…" Sirius.
"…minced…" James.
"…trampled…"Sirius
"…crumpled…"James.
"Our belief," they finished, punching Remus on the arm's simultaneously, causing everyone to break out into laughter. Even Minerva could not maintain her stern, icy façade, and gave vent to her laughter.
Grinning, Harry hurried out through the portrait hole and off to the headmaster's office. The gargoyle leapt aside at the mention of toffee éclairs, and Harry took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, knocking on the door just as a clock within chimed eight.
"Enter," called Dumbledore, but as Harry put out a hand to push the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Trelawney.
"Aha!" she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry as she blinked at him through her magnifying spectacles. "So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!"
"I wouldn't have concluded any meeting half-way," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely. "Not even for an appointment."
Minerva smiled back at the Headmaster. "But, she certainly doesn't agree. She must be annoyed for some reason."
"My dear Sybill," said Dumbledore in a slightly exasperated voice, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —"
"Very well," said Professor Trelawney, in a deeply wounded voice.
"If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it. ...
"Banish who?" questioned Sirius, in a bewildered voice. "I mean, why should the Headmaster 'banish' any teacher? If it is a teacher that she is talking about. They are all rather good…even you, Sevvie," he added as an afterthought earning a glare from the boy.
"Why don't you just let Ron read, Black?" said Severus sneeringly and a little exasperatedly. "That way, you and all of us can easily get the answer." Sirius huffed a little, but did not interrupt Ron when he started reading.
Perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated. ..."
She pushed past Harry and disappeared down the spiral staircase; they heard her stumble halfway down, and Harry guessed that she had tripped over one of her trailing shawls.
"Please close the door and sit down, Harry," said Dumbledore, sounding rather tired.
Harry obeyed, noticing as he took his usual seat in front of Dumbledore's desk that the Pensieve lay between them once more, as did two more tiny crystal bottles full of swirling memory.
"Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?" Harry asked.
"Oh!" Lily murmured. "She still doesn't want the Centaur teaching. Why can't she just accept it already!"
"It is a bit tough, I guess," said Arthur fairly. "After all, no one likes anyone else usurping or sharing their position."
"And her confidence was already broken, thanks to Umbridge," commented Ron, in a low voice. "Though, that hag for once, wasn't really wrong in Trelawney's case."
"No," said Dumbledore, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know — and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her — that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see."
"She never knew that she made a Prophecy?" questioned Alice, incredulously. "Is that even possible?"
"She never remembered any of her true Prophecies," replied Harry. "The moment she came out of the Trance, she forgot whatever she had said…i.e. Prophesied."
"Crazy!" murmured Frank. "If she knew that she makes true Prophecies just once in a while, it might have reduced her dramatics."
"I doubt that." mumbled Harry. "For all we know, it might have just worked to increase it to even higher limits." Both Hermione and Ron chuckled at this, knowing that Harry was absolutely correct.
Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, "But never mind my staffing problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly — have you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?"
"You forgot!" Lily gasped, turning to Harry. "You never even tried, I think, after the entire poisoning episode."
"You forgot Professor Dumbledore's homework!" exclaimed Sirius, smirking at his Godson. "You are so dead!" This caused a few people (who had never exactly faced the Headmaster's reprimand) to look slightly worried.
Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think I am going to kill young Harry, even figuratively, for something as trivial as Homework. That is hardly effective. I think, all that he might receive is a little reminder."
"And that's the worst," Harry groaned. "Even a fell-fledged lecture is better than that."
"Being a Headmaster does teach you the better methods," said Dumbledore smiling genially. "Especially with the Marauders as your students, a place that I believe will be successfully filled by the Weasley twins in the future." The Marauders tipped their heads, acknowledging what they clearly believed to be praise. This however caused Minerva and Lily to roll their eyes, shooting slightly disapproving looks at Dumbledore.
"Ah," said Harry, brought up short. What with Apparition lessons and Quidditch and Ron being poisoned and getting his skull cracked and his determination to find out what Draco Malfoy was up to, Harry had almost forgotten about the memory Dumbledore had asked him to extract from Professor Slughorn. "Well, I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me."
"Lame work and lame excuse," Remus stated, eyeing Harry a little sternly. It was so reminiscent to the look he had received from Professor Lupin, that Harry couldn't help squirming a little. "And obsessing about Malfoy was a really useless thing."
"It didn't seem so," said Harry defensively. "It seemed like a good idea to know what Draco was up to! Though, I shouldn't have neglected the 'Memory retrieval' too."
There was a little silence. "I see," said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Harry the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"
"Well," Harry stalled, at a loss for what to say next. His single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. "Well . . . the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood —"
"And did that work?" asked Dumbledore.
"You know it didn't, Albus," said Minerva. "Why torment the poor kid further?"
"That's not fair, Professor!" said Sirius. "You always torment us with these types of questions."
"You deserve it!" Minerva said, decisively. "Harry at least has some genuine reasons. Way better that the pathetic excuse of excuses that you come up with." Harry grinned at his Godfather, who had retorted to glaring at the Transfiguration teacher and pouting.
"Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned —"
"— which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it."
"This is not a lecture?" exclaimed Snape incredulously, glaring at Harry. "I should think that this is a lecture enough."
Harry shrugged. "It was, but Professor never raised his voice or anything. Though, I believe that the disappointment in his voice was the worst punishment that he could inflict. I would have preferred him to scream at me or something. That certainly would have been way better."
"I know what you mean," mumbled Sirius, the Willow incident on his mind once again. The one time that his friends had accused him of behaving like a 'Black'. Tha one time he himself had felt that he was no better than his other family members. Remus squeezed his shoulders gently, snapping him out of the depressing thoughts and bringing his attention back to Ron who had resumed reading.
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of Harry's head all the way down his body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but Harry would have preferred him to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything.
"Sir," he said, a little desperately, "it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other — other things . . ."
"Other things on your mind," Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. "I see."
Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence Harry had ever experienced with Dumbledore; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head. Harry felt strangely diminished, as though he had shrunk a little since he had entered the room.
"Don't drag it, Albus!" Minerva snapped…at the book.
When he could stand it no longer he said, "Professor Dumbledore, I'm really sorry. I should have done more. ... I should have realized you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important."
"Thank you for saying that, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory."
"I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him," he said earnestly.
"This will make Harry work faster," commented Remus decisively. "Maybe it will also act to reduce his 'Malfoy-Obsession'. And we can also get to know what exactly Horcruxes are."
Harry frowned at Remus. "How do you know that I will get the memory?" He muttered. "I might not manage to."
"Oh, I am sure you will," he replied, chuckling at Harry's indignant look. "You have to. Professor Dumbledore allocated that task to you .You can't keep us guessing about the Horcruxes forever. And we might just die of curiosity, and it would not be very noble of you, would it?" Harry could not help but burst out laughing at Remus's words. However he was not the only one, as everyone in the room had given vent to their laughter.
"Then we shall say no more about it just now," said Dumbledore more kindly, "but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry quickly. "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked ... he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes," he mumbled shamefacedly.
"Very good," said Dumbledore. "Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"
"It might be guesswork and speculation," said James. "But, Professor Dumbledore's guesses do not differ much from the truth, if at all."
"It might," said Dumbledore fairly. "But, in case of Tom Riddle, I am almost sure that my deductions won't be very wrong."
"Yes, sir."
"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?"
Harry nodded.
"But now, Harry," said Dumbledore, "now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort.
"Big surprise there!" said Snape, sarcastically. "He does not actually trust anyone, does he? Anybody with too much information about the Dark Lord would either be dead or have their memories modified, like Morfin. And, in the rare case that they are left alive and sane they will either be too afraid or ashamed to reveal their memories. And Professor Slughorn is a perfect example of that."
"That's right," murmured Sirius. "But it is somehow fitting, you know. After all, tracking someone like Voldemort shouldn't be easy. It may seem to be a nuisance and all but that's how it is supposed to be."
James nodded, smirking slightly. "Otherwise, he wouldn't really be one of the worst 'Dark Lords' to walk this earth."
In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you." Dumbledore indicated the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve. "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."
The idea that Dumbledore valued his opinion this highly made Harry feel even more deeply ashamed that he had failed in the task of retrieving the Horcrux memory, and he shifted guiltily in his seat as Dumbledore raised the first of the two bottles to the light and examined it.
"You go on the guilty trip too often, mate," said Ron, looking up from the book and scowling at Harry. "Almost as often as Percy pops in at the Ministry…or at least thinks that he should. It can't be healthy."
"Can't help it," Harry mumbled back, clearly unwillingly to pursue the topic further. Ron sighed resignedly and continued with the chapter. Feeling guilty was one of the few things that they had never managed to convince Harry of letting go. And, Ron really did not have the energy or the inclination of getting into one of those conversations now.
"I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections, these two," he said. "This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts."
"He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the School.
"He got it for apprehending the culprit who opened the Chamber of Secrets," said Dumbledore, guessing the question that was in his students' minds. "To be precise, for falsely accusing Hagrid when he himself was the one, who had opened the Chamber."
"But, didn't anyone question this, Professor?" Lily asked.
"I am afraid not," replied Dumbledore. "I had my doubts, of course; but no proof. As for the other Professors; well they were totally and completely charmed by Tom Riddle. And, in contrast Hagrid was always brash, with an uncanny love for dangerous creatures. And his parentage of being a half-giant also went against him. Not many would believe him next Tom Riddle."
"Stupid presumptions and Prejudices," muttered James. "It wrecks an innocent student's life and helps to make a dark lord! And still people won't let go of them." He had a personal grudge against Prejudices because of what they had cost Remus. And, will cost more in the future, as it was obvious from the books. James just could not forget that it was this Prejudice that had caused Remus to hide his condition from his friends for two years and will force his friend to live in near-poverty despite being one of the best students of Hogwarts. James concentrated on the chapter mostly to take his mind away from the dark thoughts that were filling his head.
And, he didn't want to miss out anything either. It was very important, for all of them, that the future is changed.
I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he join the Ministry of Magic; offered to set up appointments, put him in touch with useful contacts. He refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, Voldemort was working at Borgin and Burkes."
"At Borgin and Burkes?" Harry repeated, stunned.
"At Borgin and Burkes," repeated Dumbledore calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time — I was one of the few in whom the then headmaster confided — but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."
Sirius eyed the book with distaste and a bit of fear. "Now that's a disturbing thought," he remarked. "He could have created an army for himself and not to mention, poison the minds of so many young students."
Snape nodded. "He has already managed to do so even without being anywhere near Hogwarts. And Slytherin is not the only house that he has successfully targeted. But, being a Professor would have possibly made things so much easier for him and terrible for others."
"He wanted to stay here? Why?" asked Harry, more amazed still.
"I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet," said Dumbledore." Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home."
Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts too.
"Do you think it was the Horcrux-part of me that made me so fond of and attached to Hogwarts?" Harry asked Hermione, lowering his voice to a whisper so that only Ron could overhear.
Hermione smiled gently at Harry, fixing him with an intense stare. "Do you really believe so, Harry?" she counter-questioned. "Do you really think that your love for Hogwarts could be due to Riddle's soul? Harry, Voldemort did not know or believe in love. He wanted to use Hogwarts as his weapon. Did you ever want to exploit Hogwarts' power just for your own benefit?" Harry shook his head, a little hesitantly. "I thought so," Hermione continued. "You loved Hogwarts because it was your first home, the first place where you felt accepted. And, Voldemort or his filthy piece of soul has nothing to do with it."
"I can't believe you thought of that," Ron groaned. "The next thing you might say is that, you think we are your friends just because you are who you are." This caused Harry to flush red as the comment had almost struck home. More than once this question had struck him. But, he was saved from replying as Ron had already started reading.
"Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap."
"And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential a role a teacher can play. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."
"But he didn't get the job, sir?"
"No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach."
"How did you feel about that, sir?" asked Harry hesitantly.
"Deeply uneasy," said Dumbledore. "I had advised Armando against the appointment— I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."
"Nobody would wish for that," murmured Alice. "Thank goodness, Professor Dippet listened to Professor Dumbledore. A disaster was averted."
"Which job did he want, sir? What subject did he want to teach?" Somehow, Harry knew the answer even before Dumbledore gave it.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years."
"So, the position was not cursed at that time," commented Remus. "We would love to have a permanent Defense teacher but the positions' curse always proves to be a barrier."
"At first, I thought that it was a sort of superstition," said Hermione. "But, the record is staggering. None of the Defense teachers had stayed for more than one term. Except Quirell. And as he was harboring Voldemort, it does not hold much merit."
"So Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specializes, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."
"I'll bet he was," said Harry, unable to contain himself.
"Well, quite," said Dumbledore, with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."
Dumbledore tapped a bottle with his wand, the cork flew out, and he tipped the swirling memory into the Pensieve, saying as he did so, "After you, Harry."
Harry got to his feet and bent once more over the rippling silver contents of the stone basin until his face touched them. He tumbled through dark nothingness and landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake.
Ron could not help but stop reading and chuckle hard at Harry's description, especially the reference to a 'melting iced cake'. He was joined in by the others, including Harry himself who had just thought of that description in passing and had not registered its comicness.
She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Harry had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"
"She is dressing up and everything for Voldemort?" asked Lily, turning a sickly green at the thought. "How can she…I mean, anyone!"
"Tom Riddle was handsome," said Hermione reasonably. "And Hepzibah didn't know what a evil git he is. I don't think we can really blame her. All she saw was a handsome and charming young man."
She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey.
"As if she will…can say otherwise," remarked Alice, sharing a grin with Lily. "Hepzibah should have asked someone else for a more honest and true reply."
Harry could only assume that it was down in Hokey's contract that she must lie through her teeth when asked this question, because Hepzibah Smith looked a long way from lovely in his opinion.
"You shouldn't talk about a lady like that, Harry," Hermione scolded lightly, though she herself was grinning.
Harry made a face at her. "Sorry for giving a free rein to my own thoughts, Ma'am," he said sarcastically. "I should have acquired your permission. Even better, I should have just asked you to provide me with an entire script."
Hermione glared and struck her tongue out at him. It was not the most mature comeback but the situation demanded it, she thought firmly.
A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped.
"Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" cried Hepzibah and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things: There were cabinets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. In fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
"A collector's delight and heaven," commented Arthur. "Riddle must be there to wheedle something for Borgin and Burkes."
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Harry had no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing as Voldemort. He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.
"Perfect mannerism," said Hermione. "No doubt he won people over."
"And it must have worked wonders on an old lady like Hepzibah," added James. "It must have flattered her to no end. It is easy to work around people, who are always eager to lap up praises; especially false ones. Flatter them a bit and they will get you the moon."
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah, though Harry noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom. ... Sit down, sit down. . . . Where's Hokey? Ah ..."
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow. "Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop; I've said it a hundred times. ..."
"His paleness is for an entirely different reason," Ron mumbled to Harry and Hermione. "The work at the shop doesn't count even a tiny bit."
"The journey of Tom Riddle clearly shows that he was most desperate to create Horcruxes," said Hermione. "Even more than establishing his power."
"He tried to overcome his greatest fear," Harry reasoned. "He was confident about his abilities as a leader, but he was afraid of Death. And, he sought to take steps against its happening. But, that's what actually destroyed him at the end."
Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, battering her lashes.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," said Voldemort. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair —"
"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.
"He is," said Sirius, raising an eyebrow at the book, possibly at the absent-Hepzibah's sanity. "She must be totally crazy if she thinks that Voldemort comes there for her."
"Don't be so mean, Sirius," Lily scolded. "She is just too trusting. Not her fault. And I believe better wizards have been hoodwinked by Voldemort." Harry did the smallest of double-takes. The words were so similar to the one that Dumbledore had said to Ginny after the Chamber incident, that he could not help it. But, he did not comment. He avoided bringing up the Chamber incident whenever possible, even in the absence of Ginny. It was a type of 'Taboo' topic for all of them.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Voldemort quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire —"
"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it."
"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Voldemort quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.
"I had Hokey bring it out for me . . . Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure. ... In fact, bring both, while you're at it. ..."
"This does not sound good," Lily murmured.
Frank looked at her with questioning eyes. "But, what would Voldemort want with a few trinkets?" he asked. "As Hepzibah said, he did not really care about the money."
"Those trinkets are supposed to have a history, Frank," Snape added.
"Maybe for that reason…" Snape trailed off, contemplating the entire thing.
"Please continue reading, Ron," said Frank. "I don't think we can guess the answer by ourselves." Ron grinned at him and resumed reading.
"Here, madam," squeaked the house-elf, and Harry saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, pouffes, and footstools.
"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom. . . . Oh, if my family knew I was showing you. . .
They can't wait to get their hands on this!"
She opened the lid. Harry edged forward a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.
At this point, Harry could see Dumbledore's forehead creasing further. He, at least, seemed to be making the connection.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom. Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah, and Voldemort stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Harry thought he saw a red gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah's face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Voldemort's handsome features.
"A badger," murmured Voldemort, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was . . . ?"
"Hufflepuff's cup!" Alice shrieked out. The Trio had to smother their chuckles at the looks of utter amazement on everyone's faces. "Merlin's pants! She wasn't kidding when she said that she possessed priceless relics!"
"Bloody hell!" Sirius murmured. "And she is actually showing it to Voldemort! Why didn't anyone just…just stop her or something? It won't…just won't end well."
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" said Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here. . . ."
She hooked the cup back off Voldemort's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face as the cup was taken away.
"I don't think it would have helped even if she had noticed it," remarked Harry. "It's Voldemort we are talking about!"
"Now then," said Hepzibah happily, "where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are — take that away now, Hokey."
The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap.
"I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see. . . . Of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone. ..."
She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket.
Voldemort reached out his hand, without invitation this time, and held it up to the light, staring at it. "Slytherin's mark," he said quietly, as the light played upon an ornate, serpentine S.
"His Mother's locket," Remus murmured, a little unnecessarily as comprehension had drawn on everybody's faces. "She must have brought it form Borgin and Burkes."
"This is something that Voldemort won't let slip," commented Frank. "After all, it is his legacy."
"And Slytherin's Locket!" Snape added. "I mean, that's a relic by itself. And Tom Riddle is the last heir of Slytherin."
"That's right!" said Hepzibah, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Voldemort gazing at her locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value —"
"Oh Hell!" James cursed. "No one deserves to hear about their Mother like that; even Voldemort."
"I don't think he really cared Dad," said Harry, softly. "He despised his Mother's weakness. He didn't understand love, or the hurt that comes from it. Maybe because he had never received it, but it didn't matter at the end. He never tried to seek it. I believe he was afraid of the insecurity that came along with it."
There was no mistaking it this time: Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet at the words, and Harry saw his knuckles whiten on the locket's chain.
"— I daresay Burke paid her a pittance but there you are. . . . Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe. . . ."
She reached out to take the locket back. For a moment, Harry thought Voldemort was not going to let go of it, but then it had slid through his fingers and was back in its red velvet cushion.
"So there you are, Tom, clear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"
She looked him full in the face and for the first time, Harry saw her foolish smile falter. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Oh yes," said Voldemort quietly. "Yes, I'm very well. ..."
"I thought — but a trick of the light, I suppose —" said Hepzibah, looking unnerved, and Harry guessed that she too had seen the momentary red gleam in Voldemort's eyes.
"His Occlumency still needed work," remarked Dumbledore, chuckling softly. "It wasn't refined as yet. His emotions still made themselves known."
"Did Voldemort learn Occlumency and Legilimency by himself, Professor?" Remus questioned.
"He did," Dumbledore replied. "It could be easily learned by oneself. I believe, even Severus is successfully teaching himself." Severus flushed slightly and nodded, earning appreciative glances from the Marauders and the others. Though, it was a bit weird being appreciated for something that Voldemort had also accomplished.
"Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again. ... The usual enchantments... "
"Time to leave, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly, and as the little elf bobbed away bearing the boxes, Dumbledore grasped Harry once again above the elbow and together they rose up through oblivion and back to Dumbledore's office.
"Hepzibah Smith died two days after that little scene," said Dumbledore, resuming his seat and indicating that Harry should do the same.
"Poor dear!" mumbled Lily, quite unsurprised. That was expected. James wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to the safety and comfort of his arms, which she gladly accepted. Harry was a little surprised to note that, though Snape still held a disgruntled look whenever James touched Lily it was lessening a bit. Maybe, their love was actually getting through to him. Or maybe, it was something else entirely…
"Hokey the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident."
"Again an innocent is accused!" remarked Minerva, her nose flaring in temper. "This time an old house-elf, who was always faithful to her Mistress."
"No way!" said Harry angrily.
"I see we are of one mind," said Dumbledore. "Certainly, then are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death —"
"Hokey confessed?"
"She remembered putting something in her mistress's cocoa that turned out not to be sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison," said Dumbledore. "It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but being old and confused —"
"Voldemort modified her memory, just like he did with Morfin!"
"Yes, that is my conclusion too," said Dumbledore. "And, just as with Morfin, the Ministry was predisposed to suspect Hokey —"
""Of course!" snapped Hermione, her voice reaching shrill proportions. "She is just a House-elf! Not worth anything, and can be easily blamed and disposed off."
"Almost makes me want to work harder for S.P.E.W," murmured Ron, rubbing Hermione's shoulders slightly to calm her down.
"You never worked an ounce for it!" giggled Hermione, losing her temper. "You can't work harder. You have yet to start working."
Ron huffed and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Then maybe, I will just start on that 'one ounce of work'." Hermione smacked his arm lightly and kissed him gently.
"— because she was a house-elf," said Harry. He had rarely felt more in sympathy with the society Hermione had set up, S.P.E.W.
"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "She was old, she admitted to having tampered with the drink, and nobody at the Ministry bothered to inquire further. As in the case of Morfin, by the time I traced her and managed to extract this memory, her life was almost over — but her memory, of course, proves nothing except that Voldemort knew of the existence of the cup and the locket. 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 collection most jealously. But before they were sure beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes, the young man who had visited Hepzibah so regularly and charmed her so well, had resigned his post and vanished. His superiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at his disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time.
"Again a blank phase of his history," said Dumbledore. "Tom's life is filled with these blank phases. But, the memory should be my own." He looked over at Harry for confirmation, who nodded.
"Now," said Dumbledore, "if you don't mind, Harry, I want to pause once more to draw your attention to certain points of our story. Voldemort had committed another murder; whether it was his first since he killed the Riddles, I do not know, but I think it was. This time, as you will have seen, he killed not for revenge, but for gain. He wanted the two fabulous trophies that poor, besotted, old woman showed him. Just as he had once robbed the other children at his orphanage, just as he had stolen his Uncle Morfin's ring, so he ran off now with Hepzibah's cup and locket."
"So, Voldemort is a thief in addition to being a Dark Lord?" James mused. "That's convenient!"
"Yeah," Sirius agreed, smirking. "Glorifies his image further. At least, it was the lesser of the two crimes though keeping his victims alive might have helped to further lessen the impact."
"But," said Harry, frowning, "it seems mad. . . . Risking everything, throwing away his job, just for those . . ."
"Mad to you, perhaps, but not to Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "I hope you will understand in due course exactly what those objects meant to him, Harry, but you must admit that it is not difficult to imagine that he saw the locket, at least, as rightfully his."
"The locket maybe," said Harry, "but why take the cup as well?"
"It had belonged to another of Hogwarts's founders," said Dumbledore. "I think he still felt a great pull toward the school and that he could not resist an object so steeped in Hogwarts history. There were other reasons, I think. ... I hope to be able to demonstrate them to you in due course.
"The curiosity is damningly overbearing," Snape groaned. "Just get that stupid memory already, Harry."
"Welcome to my world…Sixth year," muttered Harry. "And also Fifth year, I guess. At least, you will probably get to know things within a couple of hours. It was days for me…actually, us. Especially Hermione, who hated not knowing an answer."
"Like you two were any better," Hermione snapped, making a face at her friend.
"And now for the very last recollection I have to show you, at least until you manage to retrieve Professor Slughorn's memory for us. Ten years separates Hokey's memory and this one, ten years during which we can only guess at what Lord Voldemort was doing. . . ." Harry got to his feet once more as Dumbledore emptied the last memory into the Pensieve.
"Whose memory is it?" he asked.
"Mine," said Dumbledore.
And Harry dived after Dumbledore through the shifting silver mass, landing in the very office he had just left. There was Fawkes slumbering happily on his perch, and there behind the desk was Dumbledore, who looked very similar to the Dumbledore standing beside Harry, though both hands were whole and undamaged and his face was, perhaps, a little less lined. The one difference between the present-day office and this one was that it was snowing in the past; bluish flecks were drifting past the window in the dark and building up on the outside ledge.
The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after their arrival, there was a knock on the door and he said, "Enter."
"Voldemort?" Lily murmured, questioningly; Dumbledore nodded.
Harry let out a hastily stifled gasp. Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Harry had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ago: They were not as snake-like, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet mask like, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle.
"What's happening to him?" Remus said, more to himself than anyone else. "He is changing so rapidly."
"Maybe because he is committing so many murders?" Alice suggested, not sounding entirely sure.
"That can't do that to you," said Sirius. "It can and will change you on the inside but not your physical features." Alice shrugged, and motioned Ron to go on with the reading.
It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Harry knew they would become. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders.
The Dumbledore behind the desk showed no sign of surprise.
Evidently this visit had been made by appointment. "Good evening,
Tom," said Dumbledore easily. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," said Voldemort, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured — the very seat, by the looks of it, that Harry had just vacated in the present. "I heard that you had become headmaster," he said, and his voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been. "A worthy choice."
"He really thought so?" asked Arthur, sounding skeptical.
"He did!" Dumbledore replied. "He didn't like it, obviously but he never undermined talent."
"I am glad you approve," said Dumbledore, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome," said Voldemort. "I have come a long way."
Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where he now kept the Pensieve, but which then was full of bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk. . "So, Tom ... to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine. "They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he said. "These days, 1 am known as —"
"I know what you are known as," said Dumbledore, smiling, pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid; you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
"You knew it would infuriate him," said Minerva, looking at Dumbledore in exasperation.
Dumbledore smile back at her. "I was just speaking the truth, Minerva," he said. "He will always be Tom to me, never 'Lord Voldemort'. And seeing how he has turned out, I would desire to remember him as Tom and not Voldemort."
The Trio flinched at the hurt in Dumbledore's tone. Maybe, it did hurt when your former students took the wrong alley.
He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Harry could tell that Voldemort took it as such.
"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."
"I see it still," said Voldemort. "I merely wondered why you — who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have 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."
"Though for entirely different reasons!" Harry and Ron chorused, grinning at their ex-headmaster. The others, except for Hermione, looked at them with curious expressions but they did not elaborate.
Voldemort inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with a look of pleasant expectancy, for Voldemort to talk first.
"I have returned," he said, after a little while, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected . . . but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he 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."
"Things they do not need to know!" James said, firmly once again looking revolted at the idea of Voldemort was a Hogwarts teacher. His sentiment was mirrored by everybody, as was evident from their faces.
"Even Trelawney's a better teacher," remarked Sirius. "At least, she does nothing to corrupt the young minds. All she does is providing a perfect resting time."
Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking. "Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
Voldemort's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."
"You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.
"Certainly," said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed —"
"And almost destroyed yourself in the venture," said Dumbledore, shaking his head sadly. "Not to mention, lots of other lives."
"He wasn't affected by all that," Harry said. "He saw them as a fair compensation for his triumphs."
"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain . . . forgive me . . . woefully ignorant."
For the first time, Voldemort smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage. "The old argument," he said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
"It is," Hermione said softly, pulling Harry into a hug. "And it destroyed you." It was obvious that she was talking about Lily's sacrifice.
James tightened his arm around Lily. "Voldemort couldn't master love, even if he accepts it as a powerful form of magic," he said. "To understand love, he needs to understand both hurt and hate. And, I don't think he understands or has felt any of them. Not even hate, for he does not deem anyone worthy enough for even that."
"You hate only those you love," Molly said, repeating the words that her Mother had told her long back. "They are not mutually exclusive. Usually, most of the feelings of hate that we experience is usually Dislike. Hate is too strong an emotion to be felt so often." Ron grinned at his Mother. He had heard these words from his Mother ever since a very young age. It felt oddly refreshing to hear them once again.
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.
"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."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves — or so rumor has it — the Death Eaters?"
Harry could tell that Voldemort had not expected Dumbledore to know this name; he saw Voldemort's eyes flash red again and the slit like nostrils flare. "My friends," he said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."
"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," said Dumbledore. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."
"And to think I lower myself enough to join them," Snape murmured, glaring at the book distastefully. "I must have lost my marbles for an instant."
"You are going to be okay, Sev," Lily comforted her friend, while desperately praying that she turned out to be right. Severus would otherwise be devastated. "I just know it!"
"You are mistaken," said Voldemort.
"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them — Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov — awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."
There could be no doubt that Dumbledore's detailed knowledge of those with whom he was traveling was even less welcome to Voldemort; however, he rallied almost at once. "You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."
"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen," said Dumbledore lightly. "Now, Tom . . ." Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture. "Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"
Voldemort looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."
"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"
Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job —"
"Of course I don't," said Dumbledore. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."
"You really thought he would let you know the real reason?" Minerva queried, once again sounding dubious.
"There was no harm in trying," Dumbledore replied. "And no. I never thought that he would let me know the real reason."
Voldemort stood up. He looked less like Tom Riddle than ever, his features thick with rage. "This is your final word?"
"It is," said Dumbledore, also standing.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."
"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom. ... I wish I could. . . ."
"And I still do so," Dumbledore murmured. Minerva laid a comforting hand on her friend and colleague's shoulder.
For a second, Harry was on the verge of shouting a pointless warning: He was sure that Voldemort's hand had twitched toward his pocket and his wand; but then the moment had passed, Voldemort had turned away, the door was closing, and he was gone.
Harry felt Dumbledore's hand close over his arm again and moments later, they were standing together on almost the same spot, but there was no snow building on the window ledge, and Dumbledore's hand was blackened and dead-looking once more.
"Why?" said Harry at once, looking up into Dumbledore's face. "Why did he come back? Did you ever find out?"
"I have ideas," said Dumbledore, "but no more than that."
"What ideas, sir?"
"I shall tell you, Harry, when you have retrieved that memory from Professor Slughorn," said Dumbledore." When you have that last piece of the jigsaw, everything will, I hope, be clear ... to both of us."
"Just give a hint, Professor," groaned Remus who was growing more agitated by the minute.
Harry pulled a sad face at him. "He does not," he said. "I am afraid, you will have to wait till I get the memory."
Harry was still burning with curiosity and even though Dumbledore had walked to the door and was holding it open for him, he did not move at once. "Was he after the Defense against the Dark Arts job again, sir? He didn't say. ..."
"Oh, he definitely wanted the Defense against the Dark Arts job," said Dumbledore. "The aftermath of our little meeting proved that. You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort."
"So, he is the reason for the cursed post!" Snape exclaimed. "Stupid git! Made our student life so miserable. We could have done with a permanent teacher. And a decent one at that."
"Well, tough luck," said Ron. "And, that's the end of the chapter. So, who reads next?"
"I do," said Molly, taking the book from her son…well…future one. "The Unknowable Room."