A/N: Tuesday update, yay!

I have exciting news. I've been accepted to both of my top two choices for college. Now it's just time to decide which one to go to. It's amazing, sitting here and realizing I'm going to college next fall only to remember that I'm still posting this story!

Next week will be very busy for me. Because of that, I am posting a double chapter.

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

Please review!

When Harry arrived for detention, Hermione had already recomposed herself and was seated, deep in thought. She already pulled out her most refined and compressed notes and had them spread out over her desk, and was poring over them, trying to make sense of the many variables she would have to calculate for if her ritual was to work. She had been at it for two hours before Harry's detention, and had run out of energy and ideas by the time Severus had arrived to check in with her.

She had wasted no time. She'd grabbed him and dragged him to the window at the front of the classroom, pressing him against the glass and snogging him senseless. He had wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly before spinning her around and pushing her face-down on the desk. He had then proceeded to fuck her senseless, though it was quite possible it had been the other way around, all things considered—Hermione was not a passive lover. It was a delightful way to take a break—Hermione's brain had been about ready to fizzle out from fruitless attempts to mix and match arithmantic equations on Harry's protection—Lily's protection— with her runic layouts. Now she was feeling rejuvenated and able to sit down and give her notes a fresh look.

Sex could do wonders for her thought process when she needed it most. Thank Merlin she had a husband who knew that.

Harry was looking at her oddly as he approached the desk.

"Er—what will I be doing for detention?"

Hermione waved him over to a pile of books stacked three feet high on one of the desks. "Those are for my fourth years. I need you to curse each one of them and put a lock on them. Make it challenging to break, and give them a little variety—anything from Jelly-Legs Jinx to Bat-Boogey Hex will do just fine."

Harry gave her a wan smile, and Hermione had the sense he was hiding something. "Planning to give them a bit of a shock?"

Hermione gave him a tired grin. "Something like that."

"You know you're going to put them off reading if you keep cursing books," Harry remarked, as he pulled the first one out and readied his wand. Hermione watched him closely. "Maybe you should start with socks, instead."

"I would, but I'd hate to be responsible for students walking around without proper footwear."

Harry snorted, but found a table and at once set about imbuing copies of Defensive Magical Theory with low-level curses. He found himself grimly enjoying the fact that they were all abandoned editions from Umbridge's reign. Hermione apparently couldn't let a book go to waste, no matter how theoretically useless they were. Harry doubted her students would be using the books as reading material.

Hermione leaned forward on her desk, folding her hands together and considering him thoughtfully. She needed information, and it was something that—were she on the same side as the Headmaster—she could ask him for. But she would have to settle for going about it in a roundabout manner.

"Harry, has anyone ever spoken to you about the protections Lily's sacrifice gave you?" she asked.

Harry nearly dropped the book he was about to hex, completely caught off guard. "What?"

"The protection Lily's death created for you," Hermione repeated evenly. "Has anyone ever spoken to you about it?"

"A bit," Harry admitted, lowering his wand. "My mum—my mum refused to stand aside when Voldemort told her to, so she died protecting me out of love. But it doesn't matter now," he added bitterly, dropping the book back onto the table. "Voldemort found a way to get around it."

Hermione made a noise in her throat. "But when the Dark Lord tried to possess you two years ago in Malfoy Manor, he couldn't."

"That's wasn't because of my mum's protection," Harry explained. "Dumbledore said it was because he couldn't stand to be so close to someone so full of—well— love. That's how he put it, anyway," he added, making a face. "Something about his mangled soul not being able to touch mine without pain."

Hermione frowned at this, twirling her wand as she absorbed the implications of this, but said nothing more.

In the silence that followed, Harry was tempted to ask Hermione about the Map—to pull it out and have her look at it—but something held him back. She was gazing at the pile of books with a familiar thousand-yard stare that indicated she was lost in her own head, and something—just a tiny something—told Harry that perhaps telling her wasn't the best idea. If Hermione found out the Map could dispense advice (and he had no doubt she would with a thorough examination) he was half afraid that she might confiscate it so that she could study it.

A tiny part of Harry had already decided he wanted to be the one to uncover the secrets behind his father's map.

So he kept his lips sealed and continued hexing books until Hermione finally dismissed him.

~o~O~o~

Hermione returned to their quarters that evening to find Severus and Selenius sitting in front of the fire, a game of chess laid out between them. She smiled at unwittingly stumbling across one of the rare stolen moments between father and son, retreating to the bedroom to pull on a nightrobe before returning to the living room. Crookshanks was there as well, lying curled up in front of the fire, as content as a cat could be.

She kissed her son on the top of his head and then kissed her husband in greeting before sitting down between them, magicking a kettle to heat up and begin pouring the boiling water into summoned teacups. She added the leaves, stirring as they continued their game. She was surprised to find Selenius here, but more than pleasantly so. He didn't even push her away with his usual gruff complaint of "Mum!" when she laid an arm around his shoulder and kissed him again.

Instead, he said, "Missed you."

Hermione looked up at Severus, unable to speak, but when their eyes met, they spoke volumes: Hermione's heart melted, and she could see that her husband's eyes had turned uncharacteristically soft.

They played chess until long past curfew.

It was not until after Selenius left, with an excusatory note in his hand should Filch catch him, that Hermione curled on the rug next to Severus.

"I see him in class nearly every day, and I still miss him," she said quietly. "How do you stand it?"

Severus was silent for a moment that stretched painfully, and then he said, "I try to put him out of my mind." He stroked her hair, and then let out a resigned sigh. "Under the constant scrutiny of the Dark Lord, I cannot afford to think of him…"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then he continued:

"This year, I have decided to try and spend more time with him, and have more faith in my Occlumency skills. We will try." He nuzzled her cheek. "It took me long enough to learn that time is too precious to squander away hoping for better moments to spend it. Last year was painful, in this regard."

"Don't I know it," Hermione whispered.

He wound his fingers through her curls, giving them a slight tug; Hermione shifted, moving until he was in his lap, and then he rested his chin atop her head. "We must be careful not to pay him too much attention. Mustn't show overt favoritism. But… in private… where we can—" he broke off, and then said rather heavily, "I am tired of letting my duties as a spy get in the way of my duties as a father."

Hermione felt the same, but bit her lower lip in uncertainty. On one hand, she badly—so badly that it hurt—wanted to put Selenius first in everything. But if she did, in the long run, how would that harm his future? If either of them slipped up, or made a tiny but fatal mistake, it would be all over. Even Severus couldn't talk his way out of severe repercussions from the Dark Lord, no matter what kind of silver tongue he had.

And they were adamant that they would never force their son to stand before the Dark Lord. They would run, they would hide, would secret him away to the other side of the earth before they would let that happen.

But surely… in the privacy of their quarters, where they could compartmentalize their memories of him and squirrel them away… surely they could have their stolen moments as a family?

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek against his. "I understand." She felt him relax ever so slightly, and with the air of wanting to get something over with as quickly as possible, she quickly switched track. "On another note, Harry's detention was a success. I grabbed the opportunity to ask him about Lily's protection."

"I thought you were merely planning to observe him," Severus rumbled.

"Oh, I was, and I found out a few interesting things—but the most important thing by far is that I don't think the protection will have any impact on the ritual."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here," Severus muttered.

"There is." Hermione stroked his cheek with a finger, and sighed. "Right now, Lily's protection has been rendered negligible. It's still there, but it no longer works, because the Dark Lord found a way around it. But you're right—there is something else." She took a moment to gather herself, and then continued, "I spent quite a bit of time trying to interpret something else Harry told me. We know the Dark Lord can physically touch Harry, but he cannot touch his mind too deeply without incurring grievous pain—and I finally understand. Harry is…" she waved a hand. "He is naïve. He's everything the Dark Lord is not. He's whole—whole in a way even normal people aren't. Harry is emotionally connected. Capable of love. Highly empathetic. He's extremely sensitive to the feelings of others and his own."

She could tell her husband was patiently waiting for her to get to the point.

"Two years ago, when Harry was unhappy, frightened, and severely demoralized… the connection between them strengthened. Last year, Harry led a comparably normal and emotionally healthy life, and the Dark Lord never once broke through."

"That's because the Dark Lord was specifically trying to Occlude himself against Potter—"

"He's still doing that, but he does occasionally leak through, if unintentionally," Hermione riposted. "We saw that just a few weeks ago, and even so, Harry was able to force him out. But during that year, Harry—Harry was happy. There was a lot going on, to be sure, but everything was going well for him. Classes, Quidditch, Ginny—"

"Spare me the mental imagery, if you please."

Hermione tapped his lips with a finger, indicating he should shush. "And the Dark Lord never once broke through, not even when he was frustrated or enraged. As we know he was, many times over the last year."

Severus's eyes glittered as he took this in. "What does this have to do with the ritual?"

"I'm getting to that. The piece of the Dark Lord's soul that's attached to Harry—I'll be looking up a diagnostic spell to get a better look just to be sure, mind—but if the Dark Lord himself couldn't bear to touch Harry's mind except when Harry's unbearably unhappy—"

"Souls? I thought we were speaking of minds."

"But they're the same with Harry, don't you see?" Hermione said, her face flush with excitement. "As long as Harry's happy, as long as his emotional needs are met—friendship, love, the pursuit of dreams or goals—so long as he has those, the Dark Lord won't—can't— touch him, and quite possibly, the piece of soul latched onto him will be weakened as well!"

"That's quite a leap of logic," Severus said slowly, curling his hands around her shoulders. "And even if its hold on Potter is weakened—what does that mean?"

"It means," Hermione said, not quite meeting Severus's eyes. "It means… that if Harry were aware of it… if he wanted to… he could theoretically affect the piece of soul latched onto him."

"I'm not following."

"We both read the book on Horcruxes," Hermione reminded him.

Severus scoffed. "You think Potter could convince the Dark Lord to feel remorse for the atrocities he's committed?"

"No," Hermione admitted slowly. "It would be a wonderful plan if I thought Harry could, and it would be ever so convenient. But I rather think that perhaps… it's Harry's turn to exploit the link. And now that we have a better idea of what it entails, I'm sure we can do it without strengthening it in the process."

Severus stared at her for a long moment. Hermione saw his expression fluctuate between incredulous and stupefied, before settling on sneering disdain.

"You're out of your mind," he said flatly.

His wife gave him a wicked grin.

"Want to find out?"

~o~O~o~

"It's very simple," Hermione said, after they had spent a full hour compiling their notes. "I'm working on the ritual, we're waiting for the Philosopher's Stone to mature, and in the meantime, Harry can make himself a thorn in the Dark Lord's side."

"He already is," Severus muttered.

"Moreso. Harry had difficulty blocking out the Dark Lord, but he had very little trouble getting inside. Now," Hermione said, tapping a sheet of parchment. "When the Dark Lord invaded Harry's mind, it always gave Harry the mother of all headaches—now, if I'm right, if Harry tries to get inside the Dark Lord's head… and if he does exactly what we tell him to…"

"He'll get a taste of his own medicine," Severus said, still eyeing Hermione's outline warily.

"The Dark Lord can't touch Harry when he's happy, so if Harry does this while focusing on the same things that he would use to ward of Dementors, he'll manage." Hermione beamed at him. "Fitting, isn't it, that Harry is particularly talented at casting a Patronus?"

"Fascinating," Severus said coldly, "but this plan is still reckless, dangerous— unnecessary."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much to tell him. The truth was that this was far from unnecessary, it was their vital ace in the hole. Severus might be in a high position within Voldemort's ranks, but Hermione had not quite made him entirely privy to the situation within the Ministry—information that the Dark Lord was also blind to, given that his spy network had been almost entirely expunged.

"We have just under a year before we can remove the piece of the Dark Lord's soul from Harry's," Hermione finally said, with forced calm. "Let's make the most of it."

Severus gritted his teeth. "It is a foolhardy endeavor. And if the Headmaster caught wind of it—"

"He won't."

"Potter will go running off to Dumbledore at the merest suggestion—"

"He won't," Hermione insisted.

"For Merlin's sake, woman, why?"

Hermione considered him for a moment.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she said at last. "Satisfaction brought him back."

She held up a finger, pressing it to Severus's lips to stop him from responding, and then slowly kissed him.

"But, of course, I have a few things to check before I finalize this particular… plan."

~o~O~o~

"…And don't forget, your essay on music-based curses is due next Friday!" Hermione called, as her seventh-years left the classroom. "Ha—Oi, Potter! Stay behind for a moment, if you please."

Harry stumbled and did a double-take before turning around and walking to the front of the classroom. "Yes, Professor?"

"You have Potions next class, don't you?"

Harry grimaced. For some inexplicable reason, Snape had managed to find ways to assign him a detention every other week, for the past six weeks. And always with Hermione. He had begun to suspect that something was up, given that she always watched him like a hawk, but Hermione never assigned him anything more tasking than hexing books or cleaning desks. He had written it off as Snape being particularly vindictive, and Hermione making sure he didn't try to get out of doing detention because of their friendship.

"Today, I want you to do something detention-worthy in class."

Harry frowned at her, wondering if she had finally lost her mind.

"He'll assign you a detention with me. I have something to show you."

"And you couldn't have shown me the last few times I was in detention?" Harry asked sullenly.

Hermione laughed. "Nope. But it's worth it, I promise you."

She paused for a moment, and then said, "And bring Ron with you. Ginny, too."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously. He trusted Hermione, but he had long since learned that Hermione Snape occasionally had plans that rivaled the Headmaster's in sheer battiness.

But Hermione merely waved him off. "Go on, don't be late. That'll just earn you point loss, instead of a detention." Harry turned to leave, and she called, "And eat plenty of chocolate at dinner!"

Ron waited until they reached the stairs to interrogate him. "So what'd she want?"

"I've no clue, but I've got to earn my detention with Snape this time," Harry said grimly.

"What, you've been getting them on purpose?"

"Apparently." The stair gave a lurch beneath them, and began to rotate toward the next landing. "She wants me to bring you and Ginny with me, tonight. She's got something up her sleeve, I just can't figure out what."

"I've been meaning to ask you about the Map," Ron said, keeping his voice down as they made their way into the dungeons. "Got anything else off it?"

Harry paused for a moment, glancing around the corridor before leaning in to Ron.

"The Map's noticed something's up in the Library."

"What?" Ron asked, frowning.

"The Map—the Marauders know no one's supposed to be out past curfew, but this morning, it told me that some students have been skulking around the library at night for the past few weeks." Harry quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming, and then added, "I'll watch it tonight."

"Unbelievable," Ron breathed, as they continued their descent. "We should have tried this ages ago."

The minute they entered the classroom, it became immediately apparent to Harry that Snape had it out for him. There was an edge of cruel glee in the tilt of his thin smile, as he informed them that they would be receiving their first major grade upon the completion of their attempted Amortentia. Harry sank low in his seat, knowing that while his was a perfectly acceptable shade of color for its current stage—and given that he had been ruthlessly guarding it for the past six weeks, carefully checking all ingredients and covering his cauldron whenever Snape or another student passed by, he intended for it to stay that way—he was still certain that Snape would give him a less than satisfactory grade for it if it was the slightest bit off.

When Snape had turned his back to them to spell the day's instructions on the board, Ron elbowed him and muttered into Harry's ear:

"If he fails me for this, I swear I'm poisoning him."

"Seconded," Harry whispered.

He spent the lesson focusing on completing his potion, with Snape watching him like a hawk. At last, when Snape finally turned his attention away from Harry to check Malfoy's potion, he pounced. He stuffed his wand underneath the table, pointing it directly at Malfoy's jar of pickled oysters, and silently banished it. The jar slammed into the opposite wall, smearing oysters everywhere. Snape wheeled around.

Here goes, Harry thought, as Snape locked onto him.

When Harry left the classroom twenty minutes later, Gryffindor was short fifty points, and he had earned himself another detention, Ron chortling by his side as they headed off to Herbology.

~o~O~o~

Whatever Harry had been expecting, this was not it.

"You want me to what?"

Hermione leaned back in her chair, fingertips pressed together.

"I have this remarkably mad idea that your psyche is as painful for the Dark Lord to come into contact with as it is for him to invade yours," she replied, her face masked by utter calmness. "Thus far, everything that's happened supports my hypothesis, and what better way to confirm it than to try it out?"

"I spent my entire fifth year trying to keep him out—" Harry spluttered.

"—and now it will be his turn to keep you out. It's different, don't you see?" Hermione continued patiently. "Before, you were on the defensive. It was your mind that was at stake. Now I'm asking you to go on the offensive."

Ron and Ginny were standing stock still on either side of Harry, listening to their heated exchange, too gobsmacked to speak.

"It was exceptionally easy for the Dark Lord to access your mind in your fifth year because of the mental state you were in at the time," Hermione explained, twisting Gaunt's ring around on her finger. "You were depressed, unhappy, demoralized, experiencing a dearth of negative emotions— that was what you had going on at the surface. But when the Dark Lord tried to directly take over your mind back at Malfoy Manor, he went straight for the core of who you are, and he didn't like it one bit."

Harry's mouth fell open, and then shut with a snap.

"But—it's too dangerous," Ginny finally managed to squeak. She was looking at Hermione as though she rather did not know what to make of her. "Couldn't he—you know—turn on Harry while Harry's attacking his mind?"

"Not if Harry follows my instructions to the letter," Hermione said. There was a secretive smile playing around her lips. "It's also the reason I've called you here. The Dark Lord is incapable of tolerating close contact with manifestations of love, and if love is what Harry is focused on while completing this task, I have no doubt the Dark Lord will be at his mercy."

"I don't like this," Ron said uneasily.

"Neither do I," Harry said firmly. Even so, he couldn't help mulling over Hermione's words—they did make a perverse sort of sense to him. Part of him was itching to try it.

Hermione was stroking her lips with one finger, chewing on the tip, frowning in a combination of consternation and consideration.

"You once said… you wanted to use your link… to save lives," she said slowly.

"That was before I found out what it was like to have him try and possess me," Harry muttered defensively.

"That was when we hardly had a good grasp of the true nature of the link," Hermione said quietly. "Our priority then was keeping you safe, giving you the tools you needed to defend yourself."

Ron shuffled his feet, looking down at the floor. "There are other ways to go on the offensive," he said, not meeting Hermione's eyes.

"At this stage in the game, there really isn't," Hermione confessed. "We're trying to keep it hushed, but the truth is that the Dark Lord is growing in power. Soon, the Ministry won't be able to handle the onslaught." She bit down on her finger in a nervous sort of jerk. "Our best bet is to steal what information we can from him, and provoke him into an early attack before he's finished bulking up his forces. To do that, we need to hit him directly."

The three Gryffindors gazed at her silently, their faces lined with suspicion and fear.

"It won't be easy, and the rewards will be small at first," Hermione admitted. "It will take time to figure out how to invade the Dark Lord's mind without drawing attention to yourself, and will require exacting patience. If I had a choice, I would find a way to do it myself, going through you to get to him—but I'd rather not do that unless absolutely necessary."

"Why not?" Ginny pressed. "You'd be much better at it than Harry, he's got all the grace of a bull in a china shop."

"Thanks, Ginny."

Hermione smiled in faint amusement, but then her expression turned serious as she gave the youngest Weasley her answer.

"Because if the Dark Lord discovered it was me rummaging through his mind—and he would most certainly be able to tell—the price of damage control might be too high."

There was a moment of silence, and then Harry finally made a decision.

"I'll do it."

~o~O~o~

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed. Ginny was holding his right hand in both of hers, watching him with care and concern as he slowly meditated. Ron was sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Hermione knelt directly in front of him, her hands braced on the floor. Harry's eyes blinked open twice, glancing around at three of the many people who meant the world to him.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Hermione's expression was surprisingly gentle.

Harry nodded.

"Go."

And Harry did. He began feeling around for the same wispy connection that he had often grappled for, during the months he had been sharing obsessive dreams with Voldemort about the Department of Mysteries. It was difficult to locate at first, like finding a quill that someone had taken from the inkwell and stuffed under a rock, but after several minutes of searching, he found it and latched on.

The words that escaped him were barely a whisper. "Found it."

"Good," Hermione murmured. "Go gently, Harry. Move with caution."

Harry did, slowly moving forward along the link. It made him think of the rope-climbing sessions he had been forced to take at school. The teacher would stand at the base of the rope, yelling at them to get a move-on as they tried to climb the thick weave to the ceiling. It would get harder the further up they climbed. The rope would dig into their hands. Their palms would sweat and loosen their grip, making them terrified of falling and hitting the ground below. Their arms would ache and they would feel ridiculous, clinging to the rope with all four limbs like a frightened monkey. This was not so different. Harry's side of the link was easier to exploit, but as he neared Voldemort's consciousness, it became harder.

It hadn't been this difficult before, but that was because Voldemort had not been trying to keep him out, and—as soon as he became aware of the link—had made it all the easier by trying to hand-feed it to him. Still, Harry thought that this was probably the closest anyone had come to touching the despot's mind. He reached the end, and then began to slide forward, feeling as though he were gliding through a watery window.

The window was deceptively solid. It was like bumping one's head against a wall of ice. Harry pushed against it without success, and remembering Hermione's earlier instructions, began to think of Ginny. How much she meant to him. How lucky he was to have her. All those crazy, silly things she did to make him feel like a normal person instead of a celebrity, now that she was old enough to understand that all he wanted was to be treated like a person. And then there was Ron, who was always by his side when he needed him the most—

The ice began to melt, and Harry slowly pushed through the mushy mess that had been Voldemort's defense against him before it could reharden.

"And what of the Stone?" Harry demanded, his voice high and cold as he gazed down at Avery, who was kneeling at his feet.

"My lord, there's been no word on the Stone." The man dared glance up at him, and added, "We interrogated the Goblins… they said no one has attempted to deposit anything resembling its description."

Harry could feel his jaw tense as rage slowly began to set in, but when he spoke, his words were deceptively soft. "And the Giants?"

"The Giants—the Giants have… declined to ally themselves, my lord," Avery said, with a glance at the other man in the room with him. Mulciber was similarly prostrated, though silent; a gash on his cheek was the only evidence that he had already delivered a report that the Dark Lord had not been pleased to hear. "They don't realize what a generous offer you gave them—"

"And you simply allowed them to walk away?" Voldemort asked, as though he were inquiring about the weather, but there was a sense of underlying danger to his tone. "After two years of bargaining?"

"They—they are extremely grateful for your patience, my lord, as they went through a… an extremely difficult political time." Avery winced. "We had to renegotiate with six different Gurgs before the seventh became the—the final and stable one."

"I see." Voldemort turned away, and the two men—understanding they were dismissed—quickly scrambled up to leave.

Harry sensed it was time to go before Voldemort became too introspective, and slowly pulled away, sliding back down the link the way he had come. It was easier coming out than going in, now that he knew the trick, and he found himself feeling rather light and unburdened as he left, this time thinking of his godmother. What a brilliant woman she was, to come up with this. The mental ice resealed, and Harry slowly moved back down the link, sliding faster and faster until he hit his body again.

His eyes snapped open. All three of them were peering forward at him, their faces lit with unmistakable eagerness and curiosity and a touch of concern.

"Did it work?" Ron demanded.

"Yes," Harry breathed, sitting up. "Hermione, you're amazing."

"It worked?" Ginny said, looking astonished. "You mean you were really in—in You-Know-Who's mind?"

"He's looking for the Philosopher's Stone," Harry said, blinking several times, as though to make sure he was back in his own body. He moved his hands, closing them and feeling their warmth around Ginny's smaller ones. Ron looked at him as though he was crazy, but he ignored it. "And the Giants told him no—looks like none of the other Gurgs lasted long enough for an agreement to last until now, and the current one wants nothing to do with them."

"Brilliant," Hermione whispered. She seemed awed. "Merlin—it really did work." She was chewing on her thumb in earnest now. "We already knew he was looking for the Stone, but we had no idea about the giants. We knew he was courting them."

Ginny had pulled her hands free of Harry's and wrapped both her arms around his neck, looking both shocked and relieved. Ron was shaking his head, but he couldn't hide the grin on his face. Hermione, unable to stop herself, pulled Harry into a hug.

"You are bloody amazing, you know that?" she asked, squeezing tightly.

~o~O~o~

"Pepper Imps."

The Gargoyle jumped aside, and Harry strode up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. He had received a missive for his first private lesson earlier that day, and was looking forward to seeing what Dumbledore had to show him.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said, when Harry stepped in. "I trust you've been enjoying yourself this term?"

"Erm," Harry said, unsure of how to answer.

"Aside from your many detentions, of course."

"Oh—well, yes," Harry said. He wasn't about to tell Dumbledore exactly what the detentions were being assigned for. Hermione had indicated, in no uncertain terms, that it was to be kept a secret between the four of them. He wasn't even supposed to tell Sirius, whom he normally owled everything he could fit into a letter. And Harry could see the logic in it—Dumbledore wanted him to keep Harry as far away from Voldemort as possible, and would not be happy with Hermione's private sessions designed to subvert this.

"You haven't done anything to upset Professor Snape, have you?" Dumbledore chided gently. "I haven't seen him this worked up since the occasion he was given double duty on a Hogsmeade visit."

"When was the last time that happened, sir?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"About ten years ago," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Minerva hasn't assigned him since. But enough of Professor Snape and his propensity for detentions," he declared, standing up and moving over to the cabinet, where Harry knew he kept the pensieve. "Tonight I have something far more interesting to show you."

He pulled out the pensieve, and motioned for Harry to come over. He retrieved a small phial filled with silvery-blue wispy memories, and with a snap of surprisingly nimble fingers, had popped it open.

"You are aware, of course, that through your and Hermione's combined efforts, you've whittled down Voldemort's horcruxes to two," Dumbledore said, as the memories slipped out of the bottle and landed into the basin. They began to swirl, and Dumbledore gestured for Harry to go ahead.

"Once more into the Pensieve, Harry."

Harry leaned forward, and the world was sucked away; shapes began to form. It took him several moments of squinting into the filthy gloom to recognize Gaunt's shack, but it was Hermione's voice that snapped his attention to the pair standing by the worn, dusty table.

"Don't!"

Dumbledore was holding Gaunt's ring up to the light, and at Hermione's words, he froze. He was gazing at Hermione like an old, blinking owl caught in unnaturally bright light. Hermione's face was pale, and though his vision was obscured by the gloom, he could see her trembling in the low wandlight.

"Marvolo Gaunt never understood what he had, for all that he wore this ring for years," Dumbledore said at last, looking both yearning and resigned. "The ring is set with a valuable artifact—a legendary stone that is said to wake the dead, so that one may speak them again."

Harry saw Hermione inhale sharply, and before he could quite register it had happened, she had snatched the ring out of Dumbledore's fingers. For a terribly moment, Harry though it was to put it on herself, but her intentions became clear when she merely held it out of reach.

"It's dangerous," she said firmly. She looked both surprised and frightened at her own daring, but her conviction remained firm. "You can't put it on."

"You're right," Dumbledore said, and his voice was very faint, as though he were far away. "Of course… I have been so very foolish…"

The scene melted away; this time, they were in a small room in a home Harry did not recognize. Two men were kneeling on the floor—one was fair, the other with fiery auburn hair that rivaled any Weasley's. A strange symbol had been carved into the floor. It looked like some kind of eye—a triangle, with a circle in the center, and a line that went down the middle. There was a book open between them, and the large title of the chapter jumped out at him—The Tale of Three Brothers.

A young girl was lingering by the doorway. She had hair the color of corn silk, and blue eyes that looked both oddly intelligent and absent. She said nothing, but when another boy—younger than the two kneeling on the floor, by the looks of it—tugged on her shoulder, she turned to look at him.

"Come on," the boy said, eyeing the two on the floor with transparent bitterness. "It's time to feed the goats."

Without another word, she vanished from the doorway. The two boys looked over their shoulder, as though to check that she was gone, and then one of them pointed his wand at it, causing it to snap shut. Harry heard the lock click.

"The Stone, the Cloak, the Wand," the blond-haired boy said, pointing to different parts of the eye-like symbol they had carved into the floor. "They make up the Deathly Hallows. Can't find much else on them, but it seems no one really knows what happened to any of them."

"We'll find them," the red-haired boy asserted. His blue eyes were locked onto his friend, and they sparkled with hopeful, determined ambition. "We'll share them, too."

"Masters of Death," the other boy agreed. He pumped his hands into the air, eyes alight with determination. "Rulers of Britain—to a new order!"

The memory dissolved, and Harry pulled away, feeling his feet land on the office floor as he exited the pensieve.

"As you can see, even I am capable of making lapses in judgment," Dumbledore said heavily, "but the point of the first memory was not to show you the horcrux, but the ring."

"Is it true, sir?" Harry asked, thinking about the ring Hermione always wore. "Does it work? These—these Deathly Hallows?"

"Alas, I cannot say for certain," Dumbledore admitted, "but the surviving literature suggests it is so."

"So that means…" Harry swallowed. "I could talk to my parents again?"

"The stone embedded in the ring is very much like the Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore cautioned. "It is good for a viewing or two, but it is easy to waste one's life away in front of it. The stone's creator is said to have committed suicide when the pain of being unable to touch his deceased lover became too great to bear."

"Then why show me this?" Harry wondered.

"Because the Stone is an important member of a magical triad," Dumbledore responded patiently. "They are said to have been gifted to three brothers by Death himself, though it is much more likely that they were simply very clever inventors. But nonetheless, their creation marks the birth of the legend of the Deathly Hallows."

"And why is this important, sir?" Harry was interested, but at the moment, he could not see how this was remotely relevant to the task of defeating Voldemort.

"Because the individual who has mastered all three objects will be able to master death itself," Dumbledore said.

"So there's a stone that can bring back the dead…"

"A cloak that grants uncompromised invisibility to the wearer," Dumbledore continued, "and a wand that is reputed to be unbeatable—the Elder Wand."

Harry looked at him in astonishment.

"Last year, I taught you everything you needed to know about Tom Riddle's past and his horcruxes," Dumbledore explained. "This year, I will teach you what you need to know about the Deathly Hallows. To be continued in our next lesson, Harry."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, getting to his feet. "Good night."

As he walked toward the door, something occurred to him, and he turned to look at the Headmaster.

"Sir… who were those two we saw in the second memory?"

"Two young and foolish boys with grandiose plans," Dumbledore said with a sigh, "that inevitably went very wrong."

"And the girl…" Harry hesitated. "Where is she now?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"She died, I'm afraid—and it will forever be their greatest regret that they were responsible for it."

Harry thought he saw the slightest glimmer of a tear in the Headmaster's eyes, but he couldn't be certain. And it was only once he had gone to bed that he realized Dumbledore had not really told him who the two boys were.

Please review!

-Anubis