A/N: Some direct quotes from HBP. I own nothing.

Chapter 3 - Horcruxes

Harry didn't sleep well that night, but he didn't feel drowsy when Dumbledore came to pick him up. His mind was finally alert.

Every other time he'd done something to aid in the fight against Voldemort or other threats against the school, it seemed like he'd had to break rules to do it. Now, he didn't just have permission to do something that mattered—he was being asked to. The closest thing he had to a father had given him permission and even encouragement, and a bit of potion for nausea, "Just in case," though Harry wasn't sure exactly why.

It felt surreal to see Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place, which didn't make a lot of sense—Harry had always known this was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but thanks to this summer, he'd come to see it as a home, a place separate from school. And Dumbledore looked exactly like he always did at school. The long robe and beard, the twinkle in his eyes, the kind but severe expression. The only thing different was that one of his hands was shriveled and darkened, as though he had some sort of nasty skin condition. Remus had told Harry to insist on honesty, but Harry doubted that was any of his business. He'd save his questions for things that mattered.

"Take my wrist," Dumbledore said, holding out his good arm.

Harry did, and immediately felt a horrible yanking in the pit of his stomach and squeezing of his whole body, as if he were being forced through a tight rubber tube. Grimmauld Place disappeared, and it took him a couple of moments to take stock of his surroundings. It was a village square, with a war memorial and a few benches, though it was completely deserted.

He'd just Disapparated for the first time in his life. Suddenly the nausea potion made sense.

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at him. "The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine," Harry said, rubbing his ears. "But I think I might prefer brooms."

Dumbledore gave him a slight smile. "This way," he said, and they began to walk through the village, passing several houses, an old telephone box, and empty inn, and a bus shelter.

Harry remembered what Remus had said, and he asked, "Where exactly are we?"

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," Dumbledore said. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mind to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can I help with that, sir?"

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," Dumbledore said. "Left here, Harry."

Harry frowned. He wasn't really comfortable going into some stranger's house with a vague idea that he was supposed to be helpful somehow. He'd never heard of a student coming along to try to persuade a retired staff member to take a school job; it seemed very strange to him. It was something he wouldn't have even thought about if not for the talk he'd had with Remus. "I don't understand, sir. What am I supposed to do?"

Dumbledore sighed, stopping and turning to Harry. "It seems likely that Horace Slughorn will take a liking to you, Harry."

"Me?" Harry frowned. "Because I'm the Boy who Lived?"

"Yes."

"So . . . that's why you're bringing me along, sir?"

Dumbledore gave him a slight nod.

It was clear to Harry that Dumbledore wanted to continue to walk in the direction of the house, but Harry wasn't ready quite yet. "Why is it so important to get . . ." He had already forgotten the name.

"Professor Slughorn."

"To get him to come back to Hogwarts?" Harry knew it had been pretty difficult to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position in the past few years, but Dumbledore had made some pretty awful hiring decisions out of desperation. He sort of wished they could just do what they'd done the year before. "Why do we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? I learned loads from all the guest speakers last year." More than in any year except the one where Remus taught, he wanted to add, but seeming disrespectful wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Dumbledore looked over his shoulder, as though he were concerned someone might be listening.

"There's no one around," Harry said.

Dumbledore took out his wand for a moment, muttering under his breath, then slipped it back into the pocket of his robe. "Can't be too careful. Horace Slughorn has information I need," he said.

"Couldn't you just ask him?"

"I believe you may be more suited to procuring that particular information, Harry."

"Why me? And . . . why does he need to be a professor at Hogwarts to do it?"

"I believe that, by building a relationship with Professor Slughorn, you may be able to earn his trust in a way I cannot, and he might supply the information to you."

"Information about Voldemort?"

"Yes, Harry."

Harry swallowed. "Is Slughorn dangerous? Is he a Death Eater?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"What does he know about Voldemort? Can you tell me?"

Dumbledore was silent for a very long time—Harry was sure he was going to refuse to tell him, and Harry was going to have to choose between trusting him implicitly or pushing harder—but then he finally said, "Harry, have you heard of a Horcrux?"

"No, sir."

"A Horcrux is a piece of a dark wizard's soul that has been split off and joined to another object or living thing."

Harry still didn't understand what this had to do with Slughorn. "Why would someone want to do that?"

"If the wizard dies, a piece of their soul lives on. The wizard can be revived from the piece leftover."

It didn't seem like a terrible idea to Harry. "Why is that dark magic?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. "It requires dark magic to damage one's soul to the point where it splits into pieces. Murder, among other atrocities."

"Oh." Harry's stomach shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think Voldemort made a Horcrux?"

"I suspect he may have attempted to make seven."

"Seven?"

"It is the most powerful magical number. I believe Voldemort sought immortality through making Horcruxes of various objects. My suspicion is that he attempted to make his seventh the night he killed your parents."

"So he has six." Harry could understand why it would be important to confirm that number, as well as to make sure Voldemort had actually made the Horcruxes in the first place. "What do we need from Slughorn?"

"Confirmation. Professor Slughorn taught Tom Riddle when he was at Hogwarts. I have a partial memory in my pensieve from Professor Slughorn, a brief conversation between Horace and Tom, but it's been tampered with. I need the full memory."

"You think Voldemort made a Horcrux in Slughorn's class?"

"No, but I believe Professor Slughorn may have given him information about what a horcrux is. They may have discussed numbers."

Harry blinked. He'd expected whatever information Slughorn had would be a lot more helpful, if Dumbledore was going to these extremes to get it. "That's all?"

"Nothing is more important than finding out—"

"Why can't you just ask him?"

"He won't talk to me about it, Harry. I've tried many times."

"If you already know they talked about Horcruxes, couldn't you just . . . ask whether he mentioned the number seven? Then promise to leave him alone if he doesn't want to talk to you any more?"

"Seeing the memory would confirm—"

"No, I get it, it would be better if you could, but . . . you want me to spend all year earning Slughorn's trust so that I can get a memory of him talking to Tom Riddle about the possibility of making horcruxes. It just seems like . . . if I'm going to work on something this year, it should be, I dunno, training to fight him? Something more useful? There have to be more certain ways of finding out whether Voldemort made Horcruxes and how many he made."

Dumbledore stared at him a long while. "You may very well be right." Dumbledore sighed. "Even so, come along, Harry."

Harry didn't follow right away. "Why?"

Dumbledore turned back toward him. "Horace Slughorn is still the most qualified candidate for the open position at Hogwarts, Harry, and time is limited before school begins. If you're willing to help . . ."

Harry hesitated. That was a very different request; it gave him room to back out if he wasn't comfortable with it. Somehow, it actually made him feel better about the whole thing. Like his opinion mattered. It was a good feeling.

"Okay," Harry said finally. "Why not?"