Chapter 7

"Ah, Professor Gandalf, I'm glad I bumped into you," said Dumbledore, in a hushed tone that indicated that this was hardly coincidental. Gandalf noticed this immediately, along with a look in the headmasters' eyes that held great concern, and determination. Gandalf also perceived well-hidden sorrow.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, it is indeed good to catch up with you," said Gandalf, in a knowing tone.

"I think there are some things we need to discuss in my office," said Dumbledore quickly. Gandalf nodded, but otherwise didn't respond.

They walked in silence, nearly jogging, the only noise being the constant clack of Gandalf's staff, and murmurs from students and staff, some about them, most about other things. They reached Dumbledore's office in a few short minutes, ignoring the occasional looks teachers and students gave them.

"Please, take a seat," said Dumbledore, waving a hand at the chair, which slid out to greet Gandalf, which he took. Dumbledore eased into his own chair, leaning on his left hand. The headmaster sighed, sitting up straight.

There was a long silence, as Dumbledore chose his words. While he waited, Gandalf noted that the headmasters' right hand was shrivelled as though long dead, the effect of some curse, possibly from a duel. That may have been the strain he was under when Gandalf talked to him last.

At last, Dumbledore spoke. "I suppose you're wondering what sort of spell is upon the student Harry Potter," he said, slowly, carefully measuring his words.

"Yes," answered Gandalf. "I've been searching rather vigorously in the library, and although it is early days yet, I have not found any hint to the mystery, much to my frustration."

"Yes, I imagine you wouldn't," said Dumbledore. "There are two reasons for this: firstly, because the magic that you seek, and believe to be the answer, is purely theoretical, and secondly, because the actual answer to your question is not only forbidden, barely known among the magical community, I have removed it from the library."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. His suspicions were confirmed, then. "And why is that?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It's a long story. Hagrid told you about the night Voldemort died?" Gandalf nodded. "Well, I did not know it at the time, although I suspected something might have occurred, but that night something terrible happened.

"It requires a knowledge of magic that I suspect you don't possess, as you have not yet had the time to do enough research, and it is, as I said, little known amongst the magical community. It was years before I even knew Voldemort had put it into use. I do not know how it is in your world, but here, murder, not in self-defence, nor in a battle, but premeditated murder, fractures the soul. It is possible, though extremely difficult, and unbelievably dangerous, to, at the moment of fracturing, split the soul completely, and place it inside of something. Or someone, as it would appear. If one is exceptionally skilled, and exceptionally willing, one can split one's soul into multiple different pieces. Objects and beings cursed like this are known as horcruxes."

Gandalf grew grim, and it seemed to him that the air grew cold. "And Harry is a horcrux."

"Yes," lamented Dumbledore. "I had not known until recently, and I do not know how to tell him. The simple fact is that as long as the soul remains inside of him, Voldemort can come back. And when he does, it will most certainly kill Harry."

"And it is impossible to remove a horcrux without doing harm to the one that carries the soul," said Gandalf, coming to the unspoken conclusion. Dumbledore didn't speak, bowing his head.

After a while, Dumbledore spoke. "Ever since Harry's second year, I have been searching. And I have concluded that Voldemort has created seven horcruxes. What they all are I have recently discovered, but where they lie is another question. It is a dangerous thing, a horcrux, though the dangers vary from horcrux to horcrux, depending on the soul in there, and how much of it is there. Some may be that the holder becomes changed, often emotionally, and always in a bad way, whilst others may just," he raised his right hand for emphasis, showing the dead hand, "kill you."

"That is what happened to you," Gandalf realised.

"Yes, though it is more my own stupidity that killed me than the curse." Dumbledore sighed, and hid his hand.

"An interesting tale, I suppose," said Gandalf.

"Yes, if I do say so myself," said Dumbledore. "However, it's tainted by the ending. I'll tell you it later, though."

The old mortal wizard sighed, and seemed for a moment to become weary and aged, and careworn, and he reminded Gandalf a great deal of himself. But a second later, the weariness was pushed aside, and another, far more confident manner took over. "However, as it stands there are now five horcruxes left, as I have recently destroyed one, and Harry, in his second year, destroyed another, which prompted my search for these horcruxes."

Dumbledore took a breath, as to speak, but hesitated as if unsure of what to say, all of a sudden, and that great deal of confidence seemed to abandon him.

"I… in regard to Harry," he said, speaking slowly, "It is a rather long and complicated tale. And it is a sad one. For years now, I've been at work, ever since he came to Hogwarts. In order for him to defeat Voldemort once and for all, for he is the only one, really, who can defeat him, Harry needs to grow into the right person. He needs to be selfless, to care for the little people. He needs to love, to be know how to forgive, to know how to be kind. He needs to be humble. So, I worked hard to make sure he would grow up to be everything Voldemort was not.

"At the same time, when I realized that a part of Voldemort resides within Harry, I had to go to some lengths to ensure that as few people know about this as possible, so that Voldemort does not himself know. As is, I have achieved that goal."

Gandalf mused for a while, and it seemed as though he looked far off. At last, he spoke at length. "I see. So, Voldemort did not place his soul in Harry intentionally, and does not know of it." Dumbledore nodded. "And for Voldemort to die, Harry must also die."

"Not particularly," said Dumbledore, hastily. "There is a chance, and if all goes as planned, a moderate chance, even, that Harry Potter will survive. However, it is a delicate thing, this chance, and things won't always go as planned." Dumbledore sat there, sullen. But then, a fire shone in his eyes, as though a sudden idea came to him. He leaned forward. "Unless it can be removed."

"Removed? And how would that be achieved?" asked Gandalf, and he feared the course this conversation was taking.

"I do not know," answered Dumbledore. "However, I think that it might just be possible for you to remove it, Gandalf."

Gandalf sighed. He wished desperately to help Dumbledore, and to help Harry Potter. But such a task would be impossible, for him at least. Had another come, a Maiar of Námo, perhaps, then they might've accomplished this. And yet, even they might not, for souls here were evidently not the same as in Arda.

"I know this is not your world, Gandalf," said Dumbledore. "And I know you have other things to worry about. But I also remember what I saw, Gandalf. I remember those small pieces of your adventures, that one, brief moment of the Music. If anyone could remove that dark, tainted bit of soul from Harry, it would be you."

Gandalf looked at Dumbledore, and he saw a small light, very faint, of desperation, and Gandalf felt pity, and sorrow. He wished greatly to help this old man, and that young child. And yet, he had little knowledge or control over spirits and souls. He had not spent much time in the Halls of Mandos, with Námo, who of the Valar was concerned chiefly with souls and spirits.

"No, I cannot accomplish this, Dumbledore," he said. "I am sorry, truly. While my memory of Valinor does fade, I remember still the Valar I learnt under. Manwë, Varda, Irmo, and Nienna, they were, chiefly. But in my youth I seldom dwelt in the halls of Mandos, and I did not spend much time with Námo, whose chief concern is over souls. And I fear that even if I had, the difference between souls here, and souls thither, may prove too great. For no soul can ever be broken in Arda, much less torn asunder. I am truly, and terribly, sorry, Dumbledore. But you have my word that I will aid you in whatever way I can, and will endeavour to find some way to free Harry of this curse. You need not doubt that my friend."

Dumbledore sank back into his chair, his excitement dissipated. "I see. I suppose I shall have to continue with my original plan then."

A silence grew then, and the two might wizards sat in deep thought. Until at last, Dumbledore stirred.

"I've asked for Harry to come here. I'd like to speak to him alone." His face was grim, and his eyes sorrowful yet determined.

"Of course," said Gandalf. He rose, taking his staff. "I think I shall find Professor McGonagall. I wish to learn more about this 'Transfiguration'. It seems an interesting subject."

"She's an excellent teacher," remarked Dumbledore. "I found it a most fascinating subject myself. If I could be a teacher again, I would teach transfiguration once more."

Gandalf nodded, then turned to leave. As he reached the door, he stopped and turned. "Dumbledore."

"Yes, Gandalf?"

"When the chance arises, would you be so kind as to introduce me to this Order of yours?" asked Gandalf, slightly amused at the headmasters raised eyebrows. Evidently, he had not thought Gandalf knew of this Order.

"Certainly," he replied, nevertheless.

"Thank you, Albus," said Gandalf, turning again, and leaving, this time properly.

The rest of the night passed peacefully. Gandalf enjoyed a pleasant dinner, then spoke to McGonagall about learning transfiguration. She obliged, but asked him to read up on the theoretical side of it, including the spells, and she would teach him the practical side on the weekends. After getting very upset at the ridiculous outlay of the castle, and its false doors, he then spent a few hours out by the lake. He found a large hill, looking over the forest. He sat there and smoked for a time, pondering.

He now had the facts, or at least the overall facts, regarding the young child Harry Potter, and they disturbed him deeply. That anyone should have another's soul in themselves, and especially a malicious one, would be a curse. Oh, how he regretted not spending time with Námo. But of course, it would only avail him a little here. He stilled had power against spirits, and those who walked in the unseen wraith-world, though it seemed that the two realms, seen and unseen, mixed together, though now he feared his powers may not be as great against dementors and the like. He would still have some measure of strength against them, but he was doubtful that his authority in this world would work as it does in Middle-Earth.

His mind turned later to the issue of the forest. Who knew what creatures lived in there? What dangers lay in wait? Hagrid knew, of course, but the gentle half-giant would never truly be able to tell which creature in there was good or bad. The library would be full, but it's likely to have missed somethings. Books and scrolls were very handy, but they, if written properly, relayed only the objective facts. And they could be biased if the person who wrote them were unable to relay only the facts, or unwilling.

Perhaps the Centaurs could, but Gandalf knew very little of them, and they might not trust him, if Hagrid was right. No, Gandalf would have to find another source for his information. The birds were chiefly concerned with the dying of Aragog. Perhaps one of the teachers could inform him. Or at least point him in the direction of some helpful books. If all else failed, he could talk to Dumbledore.

The sickle moon shone brightly as Gandalf gazed at it. That was another interesting thing he'd noticed. The moon was never the same shape, as it was in Middle-Earth. It seemed to phase. Though if Gandalf strained, he could see the faintest outline of the rest of the moon. He supposed that unlike in Arda, the moon did not give off its own light, but rather… reflected, perhaps, the light of the sun. After all, the sun hither felt different to the sun in Arda. As did this world.

The Istar gazed at the stars, and noticed their patterns. They were quite similar to the stars of Elbereth, as the Elves say. Gandalf noticed Menelvagor, and to his confusion the Valacirca, and the Wilwarin. That was rather curious. He might do some research on the topic, if he had a chance. He was curious as to the many similarities and differences of the two worlds, and the nature of the universe beyond this planet was certainly an intriguing one.

Gandalf returned his gaze to the Forbidden Forest, and blinked. A silvery shape had appeared. Gandalf stood up, and strained his eyes; it was a horse, but it had a horn on its head. There was something particularly magical about it; it shone brightly, in a purely magical sense, as if a spell had been placed upon it. Gandalf began to walk down towards it, hoping it wouldn't disappear. Fortune was on his side, for the creature was grazing, and did not seem to notice him.

Some ten meters away from the animal, Gandalf stopped and spun around. There came a crack, and Dumbledore, standing mysteriously, his hands behind his back, suddenly appeared.

"Interesting," thought Gandalf. In Eä, only the Ainur could travel so, for they could shed their bodies, and travel as spirits. It seems that too was different here.

Dumbledore raised a finger to his mouth, and looked behind Gandalf. Gandalf turned and saw the creature coming up to him. It stopped right next to Gandalf, its left flank towards him.

"Hello," whispered Gandalf. He placed a careful hand on the beings' flank. "And what manner of creature are you?"

"A unicorn," said Dumbledore, quietly. "This quite remarkable. Adults rarely let a man touch them, not without weeks, if not months, of acclimatising to their presence, and gaining of trust. They often prefer the touch of a women."

"Indeed?" said Gandalf. Then, something more remarkable happened. The unicorn knelt down, offering Gandalf a chance to mount it. Tentatively, Gandalf stepped over onto it. The unicorn remained as it was. Gandalf looked towards Dumbledore, who was still standing there, silent. "It seems you're meant to come along, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and strode forth, climbing behind Gandalf. As soon as he was settled, the unicorn was off, heading into the dark forest as swift as one of the Mearas of old. The unicorn deftly wove between the trees.

The riders were silent for the journey. The unicorn made no sound, before coming to a stop in sight of a field, with a few trees, and a dying creature, horse-like, but it was too dark to make it out. The forest, cold already, had become frosty, and the unicorn had become nervous, though it stayed silent. Fear gripped Gandalf, and a chill went through his body; Dumbledore shivered behind him, and his breathing hitched.

Frowning, Gandalf tried to move the unicorn, hoping to investigate, but it remained stubbornly where it was. Gandalf sighed. Whatever killed this being was frightening the unicorn and Dumbledore. And himself. This fear was supernatural. The wizard behind him whispered.

"Gandalf, there are Dementors about," he whispered. His breathing steadied.

Of course. Dementors. He'd come across it in his studies regarding dangerous magical creatures. So, these were the most dangerous beings in the Forbidden Forest. Their nature was abhorrent to Gandalf. And yet he still felt a need to investigate. He whispered in the unicorns' ear, hoping the meaning would get across to the unicorn.

"Níralyë harhí, málo?" he asked in Quenyan. Will you stay here, friend? The unicorn stamped its hooves, and snorted, but stayed where it was. "Thank you."

Gandalf leapt of the unicorn, landing softly. He stalked over to the body as quietly as he could, though the frost on the grass made that difficult. The light of the moon was blocked by the trees, so Gandalf risked a little light from his staff.

Behind him, Dumbledore had also climbed off, and cast the lumos spell. He stood straight, and any signs he was afraid were gone. They both knew that the light would not attract the dementors any more than their mere presence would. The only thing they were concerned about was

"Spiders," hissed Gandalf. This was the body of a unicorn, one which had two very large holes in its breast. Holes that appeared frightfully similar to the wounds from spiders of Greenwood he'd seen in centuries past. Silvery liquid oozed from it, the unicorns' blood.

"So, a lone Acromantula, having delved further from its nest than most, killed this unicorn," said Dumbledore, as icily as the frost on the grass. "But it didn't consume it. This body is far too full for that."

Indeed, there was too much of this unicorn for the spider to have made a meal of it. So, what happened?

"The dementors must have come by, and made a meal of this unicorn, and quite possibly the spider," summarised Gandalf. To the left of the unicorn, by its head, were a set of tracks, leading away. There was also signs of a struggle. Gandalf pointed to the tracks leading away, and rose to follow them.

Slowly, and brandishing his wand in his right hand, Gandalf made his way deeper into the forest. Dumbledore was soon by his side, a fierce light in his eyes. They came upon the lonely figure of a dead, monstrously sized spider. Gandalf moved to examine it.

Looking it over, Gandalf could find no signs of wounds. But it was frosty, and its fangs looked like icicles. This was undoubtedly the work of a dementor.

He turned to speak to Dumbledore, but the air around them froze, and Gandalf's heart faltered. Spinning around, the wizard saw four dementors bursting out of the forest.

In an instant, Gandalf thrust his staff into the air, and a bright light burst forth, encircling the two, and pushing the dementors backwards. The dementors circled the light, not daring to touch it. Dumbledore raised his wand, ready to cast a spell.

Hope spilt forth from Narya, and Dumbledore smiled. There was a grimness to it, if only a little. The wraiths screeched at it, and agitated they flew around the two, before vanishing the way they came. With Narya still at work, Gandalf and Dumbledore made their way swiftly back to the unicorn. The two leapt on, for it did not kneel again. The unicorn span around and sped off at a cantor.

They came to a stop at the edge of the forest, and Gandalf thanked the unicorn for its help ere it dashed off into the dark forest once more.

"Interesting," muttered Dumbledore, looking onto the forest. "There shouldn't be any dementors in the Forbidden Forest. They should all be back at Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" queried Gandalf.

"The worst place in the wizarding world," answered Dumbledore. "The dementors are prison guards there. And executioners."

"That sounds remarkably unpleasant and inhumane," remarked Gandalf. "What do you mean, they should be back in Azkaban? Is this regarding the issue with Sirius Black?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, a little worriedly. "I'd thought they'd all returned. Evidently, some of them stayed behind. I'll have to inform Hagrid."

"A wise decision," said Gandalf. "Myself, I shall return to my room. I think this event is worth thinking over."

"In which case, I shall bid you, once again, goodnight," said Dumbledore.

"Yes," muttered Gandalf, thoughtfully. "Goodnight. Dumbledore, wait."

Dumbledore, who had turned to leave for a cottage far off to the left of them, turned back again. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"What made you come?" asked Gandalf. "It was certainly not for the privilege of meeting a unicorn, not with your method of travel. How were you certain it would not run off?"

Dumbledore smiled briefly. "I think you might've met my phoenix, Fawkes. I do wonder, though, whether he's mine, or I'm his. He has a rather demanding demeaner, when the fancy strikes him. And he's quite knowledgeable."

Gandalf nodded. "Thank you. Fair well, and goodnight once again, Albus." He bowed slightly.

"And you, Gandalf," said Dumbledore, returning the bow.

They both turned, and went their ways.

Thank you all for your infallible patience. I've found myself worrying about this one, particularly in the beginning, with Dumbledore and Gandalf talking about Harry and the horcruxes. But at this point I'm just biting the bullet. Also, I think I might be butchering timelines a little, so you'll have to forgive me for that. I'll try and fix it up, but for now, sorry.

I like to think that characters like Dumbledore and Snape would be more open to Gandalf, or open up quicker to him. He does, after all, have a very grandfather like quality to him, and he is a fair judge, and merciful. And I think that if anyone could change Snape's demeaner towards Harry, it's him.

Thank you for your reviews and comments. They are greatly appreciated. Please don't stop. Any ideas or constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. They won't all be implemented, but I'll appreciate them nonetheless.