A/N: This chapter marks the half way point.

Chapter 7: Horcruxes

Despite his most fervent hopes, Harry couldn't silence the little voice which resided in the dark recesses of his mind, and which told him that he hadn't had a conversation yet with Dumbledore that had made things seem better. First he was being told about the Prophecy, then he was being taken to find it, only to discover that Voldemort had in fact returned.

But really, how much worse could it get?

That cheery thought was not enough to lift the leaden weight of every step he took towards the Headmaster's office. Eventually, those steps led him to the Gargoyle guardian that marked the location of the Headmaster's office.

"Um, can you let me in?" he tried when it became clear that it wasn't simply going to jump aside for him. It remained resolutely still. What was it the Headmaster had said? "Jelly Babies?" Harry asked it, feeling distinctly stupid for doing so.

Despite the seeming stupidity of the password, the Gargoyle immediately stepped aside to allow Harry access to the stairway beyond. He started climbing.

He soon reached the top, and just as he was about to knock on the door, Dumbledore's voice issued from it. "Come in, Harry!"

After a brief moment of peering around in an attempt to locate whatever charms the Headmaster had set up to allow him to know who was outside, Harry pushed the door open. He was surprised to discover that Dumbledore wasn't alone. Snape was with him, though the Potions Professor certainly didn't seem to be happy about it.

Apart from the two residents of the room, the first thing Harry noticed was the curious marble bowl encrusted with runes. Next to it were a couple of small vials filled with a strange liquid with a mother of pearl sheen.

"Come in, Harry," Dumbledore repeated as he waved his wand languidly. A squishy pink armchair covered in brightly coloured stitched butterflies materialised. "Please, take a seat,"

Harry tried to conceal the curious look he sent Snape. What was he doing there? He'd always been Lucius Malfoy's flunky, not Dumbledore's. Snape met his eye, but had to content himself with a scowl, as Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Have you ever seen a Pensieve?" he asked Harry in a conversational tone.

"No, sir." Harry shook his head and peered closer at the bowl.

"A fascinating creation," said Dumbledore. "Capable of creating a simulacrum of a memory. Most useful when one has rather more on one's mind than can be reasonably managed."

He was interrupted in his explanation by a pointed cough from Snape. "Ah, yes, but perhaps now is not the time," said Dumbledore, his voice becoming grave. "Regretfully, the news I have is likely to be rather concerning."

As Harry settled into the conjured chair he realised two things. One, it was very comfortable indeed. Two, it was so squishy that he may as well have been laying down on the ground. He found he had to look up to meet the eyes of either of the older men. In the case of Snape that wasn't much of a hardship, though. He looked like he wanted Harry to spontaneously combust.

It almost caused Harry to miss what Dumbledore had said. When his thoughts caught up with his ears, however, his head snapped up. "Concerning?" he said incredulously. As in more concerning than everything else going on?

"Indeed," said Dumbledore as he steepled his long fingers. Suddenly, Harry realised that he was wearing some kind of brightly coloured silk glove on one of his hands. That was a bit unusual, but then Dumbledore had never been known for his sense of style. Or, rather, he was known quite well for his bad sense of style.

"The matter in question concerns the late Lucius Malfoy's last efforts before Voldemort caught up with him." As the Headmaster spoke Voldemort's name, Snape flinched slightly, and rubbed at his arm.

"Okay…" said Harry, uncertain where Dumbledore might be going.

"There is an item. A product of foul, despicable magics, which, once created, will allow a wizard to cheat death, for a time at least," Dumbledore began. "This item is called a Horcrux, and Lucius discovered some time ago that Voldemort had created at least one of the abominable things."

He pulled what looked like a lump of charcoal from a drawer of his desk, and set it down. "This was once the diary of Lord Voldemort or, as he was at the time, Tom Riddle. It had been entrusted to Lucius before the Prophecy came to light, and after Voldemort's fall, he eventually deduced its secret."

A long finger tapped against the remains of the book. "Within the pages of this diary, Tom sequestered a small portion of his own soul, split off by an act of murder, and contained by dark magics of the most ancient kind. With this anchoring him to the world of the living, Lucius realised it would be impossible for Voldemort to ever truly be vanquished."

"But it's destroyed now, right?" Harry asked as he peered at the ruined journal. Surely whatever had happened to it had broken Voldemort's spells? "He can die again?"

"If only it were so simple," said Dumbledore sadly. "This was not his only Horcrux. Lucius, with Professor Snape's aid, was able to deduce that Voldemort created six Horcruxes before that fateful night sixteen years ago."

Harry tried to find some suitable response to that, but wordless horror held his tongue. There were five more of the things to hunt down? He also still didn't understand what Snape had to do with it all. Did it have something to do with the Prophecy?

"It is evident that the boy is incapable of comprehending this task, Headmaster," Snape said, speaking for the first time since Harry had entered the room. "I do not understand why you insist upon his involvement."

The crystal-blue gaze that Dumbledore turned on him forestalled any further complaints. "As you and Lucius did not see fit to involve me in your scheming, I see little reason why I should enlighten you on the reasons for my own actions," said Dumbledore with uncharacteristic coldness. He waved his gloved hand. "You may have done the right thing in coming to me with this after Lucius' death, but I think it is clear enough now that were I to abide by your demands, it would have been too little, and far too late."

Snape bristled, and despite everything, Harry couldn't help but appreciate watching one of the schools most hated professors being taken down a peg or three. Dumbledore returned his attention to Harry, and the air of poorly contained menace evaporated instantly.

"Over a number of years, Lucius was able to deduce the locations of a number of other Horcruxes. The legendary cup of Helga Hufflepuff, locked away in the Gringotts vault of his sister in law. A locket said to belong to Salazar Slytherin himself, already stolen away by another of his disgruntled followers. And, just a week ago, Professor Snape and myself uncovered another of them which we also dispatched." He threw a ring onto the table with a cracked black stone set into it.

Horror had given way to an intense desire to simply flee, and yet something kept him rooted to the chair. "Sir, why are you telling me this? What can I do? Why not tell someone in the Order? Wouldn't they be better suited to help?"

As the Headmaster contemplated his answer, Harry realised that he looked weary. More weary than Harry had ever seen. From the first time Harry had met him, and all through his Hogwarts years, Dumbledore had been like a force of nature. He'd lost a lot of his influence to Malfoy over the years, but he'd never seemed to allow that to get to him. Now, he looked old, and Harry wondered just how long he could keep the fight up.

"It is a heavy burden I must place upon your shoulders," said Dumbledore as he looked over his half moon spectacles with a sad expression. "Yet, it seems I have no choice in the matter. I have never been one to set much faith in Prophecy, preferring instead to have faith in people above all else, but even I cannot overlook it in this case. When the prophecy was first uttered, I had hoped to keep it secret, and had I been successful in doing so, perhaps you would not now be facing the task which is before you.

"I am sorry." Dumbledore shook his head, his gaze distant. "I failed you years ago, and I have failed you again. When Voldemort heard of the prophecy, the actions he took to avoid it only served to bring it ever closer to its fulfillment. It seems that the trap of hubris claimed a second victim in myself."

"But I can't fight Voldemort," Harry insisted. "I'm just a kid. I'm still in Hogwarts for Merlin's sake!"

"And yet, you will," said Dumbledore, his intense blue eyes focused on Harry once more. "Why else have you been pushing your friends away, and spending every waking hour studying?"

Harry frowned. "Well, yeah? Because you told me I'd have to."

"What if I instead told you that you did not?" Dumbledore asked him. "That you could disappear to a different country, far from here? Assume a different identity such that even Voldemort and his followers would be unable to locate you, if they even knew to look? Would you do it?"

The answer came immediately. "No!"

Dumbledore leaned back, looking a strange mixture of pleased and sad. "Just so."

"The fact remains that this boy"— the way Snape spat that last word made it clear he would have much rather have replaced it with something else —"is no match for the Dark Lord. We would be better served throwing the Longbottom boy in his way. At least Iana Malfoy has been trained for this."

"How well do you think that training is likely to avail her?" Dumbledore's expression made it clear just what he thought. Snape shut up again.

Harry was torn between bristling with indignation, and agreement. In the end he settled for sending a scowl at Snape. It was duly ignored.

"Your greatest strength, Harry, is your friends," said Dumbledore, once more ignoring Snape. "Do not underestimate them."

"If it's all very well with you, I'd rather not be the reason they end up getting wrapped up in all this," said Harry.

A derisive laugh came from Snape's direction, but was immediately silenced by a fierce look from Dumbledore.

"They will be wrapped up in it regardless," said the Headmaster after he returned his attention to Harry. "None of them will be left alone should Voldemort realise his ambitions, surely you understand that? Would it not be better that they be allowed to prepare themselves for what is to come?"

Harry wanted to ask just how you could prepare yourself for stepping into a war with someone like Voldemort, but knew it was a stupid question. You couldn't prepare for something like that. Not in a million years, and certainly not in a few months. Besides, it wasn't like Dumbledore had told them either.

"Is that all?" he asked, his mind spinning from everything he'd been told.

"Alas, it is not," Dumbledore replied as he shook his head. "It is our belief that Voldemort opted for creating six Horcruxes, and as you will no doubt appreciate, only four have so far been accounted for."

And wasn't that just lovely news? They'd apparently had years to prepare, and despite all that they'd only found two thirds of them?

The weariness settled heavy over Dumbledore's face again, burying a moment of something else. Had that been pain? He shifted his gloved hand down behind the desk. "I will do everything in my power to destroy the Horcruxes that remain, if we are able to deduce their form and location, but the fact remains that I may not be successful. Should I prove unable to dispatch them, it will fall to you, and whatever allies you might gather for the purpose."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, staring at the aging Headmaster. "Are you dying?"

"We are all dying, Harry," said Dumbledore, a small smile causing his beard to twitch. "It does us no good to fear it, but I have no intention of doing so before my task is done. Nevertheless, it would be remiss of me if I did not at least consider the possibility of my failure."

A glance over at Snape gave Harry nothing to work with. His face was not blank, but the grimace he was sporting was common enough that Harry couldn't hope to interpret it.

"We believe there are two more Horcruxes remaining," said Dumbledore, leaning forward again. "The first, we believe to be a relic of Rowena Ravenclaw, though we do not know what it might be. The second, however, eludes us. It is possible that he has not yet had the chance to create his sixth."

"You want me to try and find it?" Harry asked, unable to hide his incredulity. "Me?"

"And perhaps your friends," said Dumbledore with a nod. "I will continue to do what I can, of course, but you should at least consider it. You have demonstrated a certain admirable latitude of thought in your time at Hogwarts, after all." He chuckled.

"But, sir, you're… well… you. I'm just me. Prophecy or not, I'm nowhere near as good as you."

"No!" Dumbledore chuckled as he shook his head. "You are, I think, a great deal better. If I am to fail, then I shall do it alone. When you emerge victorious, you will do it beside your friends, family, and loved ones. I merely implore you, Harry, to heed the warning I give you now. Do not shy away from your friends, or allies. They are the strength that will not desert you, even in the most dire of circumstances. It is a warning I myself failed to heed, to my great detriment. Do not repeat my mistakes."

Once again, Harry had no idea what to say. He stared at the Headmaster, as if he was hoping that he'd suddenly change back into a highly amused Sirius Black, but it was not to be. This was Dumbledore, and he'd just laid an even greater burden at Harry's feet.

"It is a lot, I know," said Dumbledore, seemingly reading Harry's mind. "Yet I find myself without other recourse should the worst come to pass. I ask only that you consider carefully whom you wish to tell. Should Voldemort become aware that we know of this he will surely take actions to further protect himself."

Harry was almost in a dream as he was excused. He drifted from the room, barely even aware of the brief few words of apology which followed him. It was only when the door snapped closed behind him that he emerged from the daze. He paused as he heard a voice through the doorway.

"Are you sure about this, Dumbledore?" Snape's voice asked in low, barely audible tones. "The curse is—"

He was cut off suddenly, and even when Harry pressed his ear up against the door, he could hear nothing.

Then Dumbledore raised his voice and called to Harry. "That will be all, Mr. Potter. You may go."

As Harry descended the stairs he reflected on just how wrong he'd been. It could always get worse.

o-o

The next day, Harry checked out a copy of Hogwarts: A History. Pince had eyed him with poorly concealed suspicion, but remained otherwise quiet. As he trailed through the stacks in search of his familiar table, he was sure he could feel her attention on him.

As a result, he was even less pleased to discover Iana Malfoy sitting at his table. As he rounded the corner she looked up and fixed him with a withering glare. Harry very nearly turned right back around to find somewhere else to sit, but after a brief hesitation, he forged ahead.

"What do you want now, Potter?" Iana hissed, her eyes flickering over his shoulder to where she clearly expected Pince to materialise like a heavily bespectacled avenging angel.

"Can I sit?" Harry asked politely. His voice might have wavered just slightly with the effort it took to not throw some insult at her, but he managed it.

She wasn't having any of it. "Why?"

When Harry held up the heavy book under his arm by way of explanation, she just looked more suspicious. "There are other tables, you know?"

"This one is out of the way," Harry returned. "I'll be quiet. I promise. You don't bother me, I won't bother you."

"I very much doubt that," Iana grumbled with obvious reluctance. She didn't protest when he sat down, though.

Harry cracked open the huge volume and started to read through the sections specifically relating to the founders. At least Bathilda Bagshot had some idea of how to retain a reader's interest. There was still a lot to get through, though. It seemed as if she was intent on covering every event in their lives which had led up to their choice to create Hogwarts Castle, and being some of the most powerful and famous witches and wizards of the time, there was no shortage of them.

As he was reading through a somewhat rambling story on the topic of just which of the founders had been the one to come up with the idea, with reference to sources claiming each of the founders in turn, Harry heard someone clear their throat.

He looked up to find Iana staring at him pointedly.

"Are you truly just going to sit there with that gormless look on your face?" she whispered at him, clearly as aware as he was that Pince was just waiting for an opportunity to throw them out again.

"I'm reading," Harry replied tersely. He tried to keep in mind what Effie had said, but it was hard not to rise to the bait. Long habit of the last six years was hard to break.

"Is that what that looks like?"

It was obvious she wasn't going to leave him be and was likely spoiling for a fight, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

He marked his place with his finger and met her eye. "Look," he began. "I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. I was out of line. Now, can I please get back to this?"

If only Colin's camera had survived the first few weeks of his first year. Harry remembered how excited he'd been to finally meet the Iana Malfoy, and she'd even allowed him a few pictures. It hadn't taken long, however, for her to get bored. By the third week of term Goyle had 'accidentally' broken the camera, and it had never returned. The expression on her face, though, would have been worth the effort of repairing it.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked once her mouth started working again.

"What I said about your parents," said Harry patiently. Who knew it was so easy to get her to shut up? "It was out of line. A lot of what I said probably wasn't warranted, to be honest. So, I'm sorry about that. Can I do my research now?"

"You think you can just apologise and it'll be all okay?" she asked, leaning forward. "That it just all goes away?"

"Well, no," Harry admitted, "but what else can I do? Look, we both have much bigger problems than each other right now, right?"

She nodded, her surprise evident in the fact that it was simply a nod, not some kind of smart mouthed cutting remark.

Harry mirrored her nod. "Well, my friends don't get that, and I thought maybe you did. If you still want me to go, I can?"

The silence that followed that question stretched out even longer than the previous ones. Eventually, she replied, "You can stay. What do you mean you have bigger problems?"

"You already know exactly what I mean." She'd seen that Harry had a Prophecy. Whatever else she might be, Harry knew she wasn't stupid.

"The Prophecy," she breathed. "So it was real, then? Not some kind of trick by Dumbledore?"

"I guess it could be," Harry said, feeling momentarily uncertain. "If it is, I'm not in on it."

"So it's to do with you and the Dark Lord?" she asked, eyes wide. "What did it say?"

"Nothing good," said Harry, scowling at the absolute mess it had made of his otherwise happy life. "You don't really think I'm gonna tell you, do you?"

Iana leaned back, and her face closed down once more. "No. No, of course not," she said quickly.

"You have your secrets and I have mine," said Harry evenly.

"Right."

For a moment Harry thought she was going to pursue it further, but then she simply sighed and returned to her own book. Harry glanced at the cover and saw that it was some kind of genealogy book. What did that have to do with fighting Voldemort?

Or maybe it was just her idea of some light reading. Nothing could warm the cockles like reading about how your great great great great gand-father had once killed an entire village full of muggles for letting their sheep graze on his land. Probably did just the trick when she was feeling down.

As he returned to his book, Harry started to wonder just how he was going to break the news to his friends. In a way talking to Iana about it might actually have been easier, at least she'd be coming into the discussion with some inkling of what Harry would have to deal with. He tried to envisage how his friends would deal with it, but came up pretty much completely blank.

If they stuck with him after they found out, Harry thought it would be a minor miracle.