"Harry! Where have you been?"
Harry looked up as he stepped through the portrait hole to see Ron striding across the common room with a worried look on his face. "Hey, Ron. I was just coming to look for you."
"You were looking for me? I was starting to wonder if I should go bloody tell McGonagall that you didn't sleep in your bed last night."
"I'm touched, Ron," Harry grinned at his friend. "Just out of curiosity, why were you looking in my bed last night?"
Ron chucked a couch pillow at Harry's face. "Prick," he complained good-naturedly. "Why were you looking for me anyway?"
"I was up in the Hospital Wing and promised Dumbledore I'd tell you they've successfully healed Hermione."
Ron's jaw dropped open and he just stared at Harry for a moment. Shaking his head he seemed to gather himself. "I honestly don't know whether I need to be more worried that you somehow landed yourself in the Hospital Wing last night or that you agreed to do something for Hermione."
Harry felt the bottom drop out from gut. "Why is that so weird?"
"Mate, you've never said two words to the girl. Hell, you've avoided her so much I'm surprised you even know her name."
Harry wanted to protest, but the warning the Oak King had given him still rang fresh in his ears. There's no way I can make him believe me and he might suffer if I try. "Look, are you going to go up there and support her or not? She's probably awake by now and wondering where you are." Though not where I am.
"Bloody hell, mate, keep your pants on. I'm going, but you and I are having a talk later about why you're suddenly so interested in her."
Harry just waved him off tiredly. Feeling like he was wearing leaden shoes, he made his way up the stairs to his dorm where Neville, Seamus and Dean were getting ready for the day. He responded to their calls with answers he couldn't remember once they'd left his mouth and grabbed his toiletries so he could go hide under the showers. Feeling the water clattering down on his head, Harry couldn't help but feel that this was the first day in a very long rest of his life.
Scrubbing himself down turned out to have something of a therapeutic quality to it. As long as he focused on the movement of his hands to the exclusion of all else, Harry didn't have to deal with confronting the gaping chasm that was threatening to form where his friendship with Hermione had been. It helped that the water was washing the suds off as fast as he could spread them.
Unfortunately, this method of distraction proved to be somewhat less than perfect as every time Harry's hand felt the scar the Horntail had left on his shoulder, he remembered Hermione working tirelessly to teach him the Summoning Charm. When he passed over the scar the basilisk's fang had left on his forearm he remembered Hermione lying petrified in the Hospital Wing. In the end he found himself rubbing the scar on his shoulder absently while he stared off into nothing, his tears and the shower water flowing together down his body.
Admitting to himself that he had finished washing himself long ago, Harry squared his shoulders and turned the shower off. Nothing for it, but to make the best of it he thought with a grim determination. He towelled off, got dressed and marched out into the dorm like a soldier headed into battle. Thankfully his dorm-mates had already headed down to breakfast.
The walk down gave Harry a chance to collect himself. His encounters with Ron and Dumbledore had already served as warning that people were going to think it odd if he asked about the girl he still thought of as his best friend. I wonder what else they remember differently? I mean, Hermione was such a huge part of my life at Hogwarts and now…
He indulged in a melancholy sigh, regretting it almost immediately. Get a grip, Potter. The last thing you need is people asking you why you're being a mopey git. Surreptitiously scanning the corridor, Harry was grateful to see that no one had been around to notice his moment of self-pity.
He managed to make his way down to the Great Hall without any further incident and sat down to his meal. It wasn't until he was faced with plates full of food that he realised that he really didn't have an appetite. With experience born from his early quidditch matches, Harry forced himself to at least put some toast on his plate and nibble it.
He had finally managed to work his way through half a slice when his attention was drawn to the Great Hall's doors. He watched as Ron and Hermione walked in side by side, chatting together. They sat down a significant distance away from him.
Harry's gut clenched so viciously at the sight that even the toast in his hand stood no further chance of being eaten. He dropped the slice he was holding on his plate despondently and left the table without a word to anyone.
That breakfast set an ominous precedent. No matter where he went that day, if Ron and Hermione were there, they avoided him. 'The price you must pay is that which you value most'. Harry was finally starting to understand those words. I feel like I'm watching some horror parody of my own life from a distance.
He grew so desperate for a distraction that even McGonagall showing up to tell him that he had to visit the Headmaster's office felt like a blessing. Harry accepted with a nod and followed his Head of House out of the portrait hole.
As he followed her down Hogwarts' hallways, Harry wondered if there was any way he could tell McGonagall that he could make his way down by himself that wouldn't result in a point deduction. He was even considering taking the point deduction in exchange for solitude. With the Leaving Feast coming up shortly he knew it was useless in the long run; point losses on the last day tended to upset the rest of the house even more than usual and they would be sure to voice their displeasure at dinner. None would be better than one. One is still better than many.
Harry was so caught up in his musings that it took him by surprise when his teacher was the first one to speak. "Mr. Potter… I want to say that I was very surprised when the Headmaster told me what you did for Ms. Granger. I might have been less so if the victim in question had been Mr. or Ms. Weasley, but to know that you would go so far for someone you have so little connection with… you are truly an exemplar of what it means to be a Gryffindor. I can give you no higher praise than that."
"Thank you," Harry said, lacking anything more substantive to say and hoping this response would kill the conversation before it got any more painful. McGonagall's nod seemed to suggest that he had succeeded and that she now considered the subject closed.
When they got to the gargoyle, Professor McGonagall barked out "caramel cobwebs", causing the statue to jump aside. "Up you go, Mr. Potter. Don't keep Professor Dumbledore waiting."
Harry climbed the revolving staircase and mulled over the fact that McGonagall apparently hadn't been told that Harry knew the password to the office already. That's… interesting, I suppose. If Dumbledore hasn't even told McGonagall what I've been doing here, then why did he tell her about my summoning the Oak King? That must mean… well, it must mean something.
I wish I could talk to Hermione about it.
He shook the thought away. No use in wishing for what I can't have. Focus, Potter. Let's find out what the Headmaster wants this time. Harry walked up the last few steps as the door to Dumbledore's office came into view and knocked on it.
"Enter!" came the call from inside. Harry obligingly pushed the door open and stepped in, closing it behind him. "Ah, Harry. Good."
"Afternoon, sir," Harry responded, making his way over to stand in front of the Headmaster's desk. "You wanted to see me?"
"Indeed, my boy. It may have escaped your mind these past few days, but we have so far left unresolved the matter of your summer lodgings."
"Honestly? I was thinking I'd just get a room at the Cauldron, sir, like I did in third year," Harry shrugged.
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid that will not do. Your presence there would certainly endanger Tom and his patrons. No, I have decided that you may remain here at Hogwarts for the summer."
Harry couldn't help but feel suspicious. "I thought we couldn't do that because the staff need their holidays?"
"Indeed they do and we will not interrupt that. I will be the one to stay here and watch over you."
Harry cocked a sarcastic brow. "The Ministry didn't reinstate you to your positions?"
Dumbledore just inclined his head in acknowledgement. "They did not. I believe that poor Cornelius has been terrified into indecision, unwilling to dismiss me or trust me."
Harry couldn't contain a snort. "How is that different from any other week for him?"
It looked like Dumbledore was trying very much not to smile. "Hmmm," he hummed noncommittally, "at least there will be a bright side to this for you, my boy. As you will be staying in Hogwarts, you may consider yourself exempt from the Reasonable Restriction on Underage Magic while you are within her walls. You may also continue to peruse my library, but please, no more reading books that you require spells to read, if you would. I do not have sufficient space in my bed chamber to store all the works that could get you into trouble if you do not agree to that."
And if I don't agree and you can't store them, I won't be allowed in here. "Alright. I don't think I'll run into anything desperate over the hols anyway."
"I should hope not," Dumbledore agreed, his tone suggesting that he was starting to wonder exactly how desperate a situation Harry might be able to find himself in with the books that he could read. "I will also ask that you not share your summer plans with anyone if you can possibly help it. It would serve us well if no word of this reached Tom or his servants, just as an extra precaution."
"I understand." Besides, it's not like anyone's actually talking to me right now.
Aside from the constant reminder that Hermione would never remember anything that they'd been through, Harry didn't particularly mind his isolation. His time at Hogwarts had taught him that his fellow students would completely forget how they had felt about him for a year if it got them a chance to hear a good story and had frequently bothered him for yet another retelling of whatever had happened to him. With everything that was tied up in what had happened two weeks earlier, Harry was just grateful that he wasn't being forced to relive Sirius' death in public on top of everything else. He still felt that pain if he was left alone, but at least it wasn't compounded by the pain of having to hide it from others.
"Was there anything else, sir?"
"Not right now, Harry. In fact, I believe that we may wish to head down to the Great Hall for the Leaving Feast."
"Yes, sir." Harry followed his Headmaster down Hogwarts' corridors. As soon as they stepped into the Great Hall the whispers started and Harry realised that this was the first time he had entered a room at the same time as the Headmaster since they had come out with the story of Voldemort's return.
Doing his best to ignore the stares coming his way, Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table and found that people were more than a little eager to clear space for him. In fact, most seemed torn between wanting to be close enough to stare, but not close enough to catch whatever madness Harry was carrying with him. Not any different from the common room then Harry thought to himself caustically.
Sure enough, despite the revelry of the Leaving Feast, Harry felt like he was in the same position he'd been in for most of the summer the year before: out of his depth, scared and with no one to talk to. The only difference was that he was a lot less eager to encounter the forces of darkness and prove his mettle.
The twin losses of Sirius and Hermione were already heavy enough. Harry didn't want to find out what else he might lose.
With that morose train of thought taking up his attention, the evening passed in a blur and Harry was grateful when he was finally able to pull the curtains of his four-poster shut behind him. He laid down with his hands behind his head and stared up at the canopy. Sleep evaded him as his mind threw up one scenario of how he might handle the morning after another.
Not one of them left him feeling the least bit confident as he tossed and turned until eventually exhaustion simply overtook him.
:-:-:-:-:
The next morning Harry participated in the mad scramble that was five teenage boys trying to sort out their belongings after having left the packing far too late. Clothes and books were thrown haphazardly into trunks and robes were yanked over heads that still had toothbrushes sticking out of mouths. It's all smoke and mirrors, but at least the others won't be having a discussion about why I seemed to be making myself comfortable for a stay at Hogwarts.
The five boys finished together as they did every year since no one was so confident that they had all their things that they would leave for breakfast before all five trunks were latched shut. As a result they all pitched in to help each other, even going so far as to lob underwear into the proper trunks with questionably useful spells for that purpose; spells that might send underwear flying at its owner's head as much as they might land it in a trunk.
The latch on Neville's trunk clicking shut was the signal that the year was truly at an end for the fifth year boys. Laughing and joking, they made their way down together, talking about holiday plans and the year they'd just had, though Seamus and Dean had pretty much learned that Harry would refuse to answer any questions about whatever hair-raising adventure had shaped the final days of his school year. That and any talk about the goodbyes they'd soon have to say were the only topics that the boys avoided by unspoken consensus.
In the Great Hall they sat down across from the fifth year girls, though not one of the boys would admit in public that this was because they would miss the female half of their class almost as much as their dorm mates. Lavender and Parvati were looking around at the Great Hall with tearful smiles recalling fond memories that mostly seemed to revolve around interpersonal relationships, most of which Harry hadn't even been aware of. Hermione had her head down and was pushing her food around her plate.
Harry remembered that they had teased their friend about this in First Year, assuming that she was mourning her coming separation from the Hogwarts Library. They had learned that Hermione had actually been running through what she would say to her parents. If she tried to plan out her conversation with them after only what happened in First Year, I'm surprised she's even got the attention to spare for pushing her toast around after this year.
Maybe not. It is Hermione after all.
When the food disappeared from their plates, signalling the end of their last breakfast as fifth years, the young witches and wizards stood up from the table and trouped out of the Hall. Instead of heading for the stairs that would lead them to their classrooms though, they crossed the Entrance Hall and the threshold of Hogwarts giant double doors.
Harry kept his eyes open for a chance to slip away. It wasn't particularly hard in the press of students around them. A quick nudge and whispered comment to Ron about whether he was sure Hermione was alright were all it took to get the one person who might check to see if Harry was keeping up distracted.
Letting his classmates pull ahead, Harry pulled a consternated face as if he had forgotten something and wheeled around, heading back through a throng of students pushing to get into the carriages. He stepped back into the Great Hall and, making sure that the last people had filtered out into the Entrance Hall and no one was watching him, pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket. Flinging it over his shoulders, Harry stood for a moment unsure of what to do next.
An urge welled up inside of him to see his friends off, but he couldn't do that from the press of humanity outside without rendering his cloak useless. A memory surfaced from the night of the disaster at the Ministry and, with purpose in his steps, Harry made his way out of the Hall and, keeping himself pressed to the wall, headed for the stairs.
It took him fifteen minutes to climb through Hogwarts' maze-like structure up to the Astronomy Tower. Emerging onto the battlements, Harry could clearly see the plume of steam that marked where the engine of the Hogwarts Express was waiting for the students still milling about downstairs.
Even though it made little difference at this distance, Harry pulled his cloak off and stuffed it back in his pocket, unwilling to be invisible as he said goodbye to his friends.
Some twenty minutes later, a faint, reedy whistle carried up to him on the wind and the plume began to move. The bright crimson of the train became clearly visible as it emerged from among the buildings of Hogsmeade and chuffed through the surrounding hills, on its way to London. Harry watched it go, sunlight winking off the polished carriages.
Harry kept standing on the Astronomy Tower, his eyes locked on the point where he had last seen the plume of steam from the Hogwarts Express until the cloud had dissipated and nothing was left in the landscape to even hint at the departure of hundreds of magical teenagers from this place. He wondered if anyone had even noticed that he had stayed behind.
Hermione won't have.
His heart twisted as if the muscle was cramping. You made the deal, Potter, now live with it Harry tried to chastise himself. At least she still has Ron and Ginny.
Shaking himself, Harry took one last look at the place where his friends had disappeared from sight. Time to get to work. He turned around and headed inside, determined to find a new book in the Headmaster's office that would help him make Voldemort pay for this pain in his chest.
:-:-:-:-:
"Harry, I believe that this notice is of some importance to you."
Harry looked up to find the Headmaster studying him over half-moon glasses. I'm not going to get any reading done until I find out what this is about anyway Harry thought to himself as he marked his page and set the book down. As he approached the desk, Dumbledore held out a letter. Harry accepted the piece of parchment trying to ignore the warning running up his spine.
Albus,
Alberts, from the Office of the Registrar Magical, came into my office just now. He said that Black had a will that legally has to be processed! What am I supposed to do about this?! Call me as soon as you can.
Cornelius O. Fudge
Minister for Magic
Harry's heart clenched when he read Sirius' name. He forced the emotions down as best he could. I can deal with that later. "What are you going to tell him, sir?"
"I was just considering that very matter. Since I expect you to be the main beneficiary, I thought it right to ask you if you have any preference."
Harry shook his head. "I have no idea what's involved in a will. If anything, I'd like for the Ministry to apologise for what they did to Sirius, but…" he trailed off with a shrug.
Dumbledore gave him a commiserating look. "It is as you have surmised: we do not have anywhere near enough political leverage to convince Cornelius to debase himself like that, especially since Sirius' body was discovered amid the wreckage of a Ministry department."
"Then I don't care." Harry dropped the parchment back on the desk and made his way back over to his chair. He picked up his book and opened it only to stare at the page without reading a single word on it.
Beyond the shield of his book it was quiet for a little while and then Harry heard the scraping of a heavy chair across the flagstones, followed by a rush of flames, a low groan and: "Ministry for Magic, Minister's office."
Harry thought he could hear the sound of someone gibbering on the other end of the floo connection and judging by the aborted sounds Dumbledore was making he wasn't getting a word in edgewise. Eventually the old man raised his voice slightly. "Cornelius, my knees are not as young as they once were. Would you mind terribly if we continue this discussion in your office?"
There was more gibbering followed by another low groan and a loud whoosh, followed by silence. Taking a chance, Harry snuck a look over the book and saw that he was alone in the office. Closing the book again he set it back on the shelf and headed out. He didn't know where he was headed, but he just needed to get away from-… I just need to get away.
Harry marched through the halls, head down, just looking for an escape, for any kind of chance to leave behind him the memories of Sirius' death. His feet carried him, once again, to the top of the Astronomy tower. Standing high atop the battlements he looked up and realised that he longed to be higher still; he wanted to fly and leave his cares on the ground.
"Accio Firebolt," he murmured melancholically. Moments later his broom soared up to him like a faithful bird returning to the falconer. Catching it, Harry felt a brief pang as he remembered that it had been a gift from Sirius. Forcing the thought away, he mounted and leapt into the air. In the back of his mind it occurred to him that he had been spending so much time training to face Voldemort that he hadn't been out on his broom even once since his classmates had gone home for the summer.
Harry lost himself, soaring through the sky and kept going until he could no longer ignore the way the unceasing wind had burrowed a chill into his bones. Doubting that he could entirely trust his grip if he couldn't feel it, Harry landed back on the tower he had taken off from. Unwilling to completely abandon the peace he had felt in the skies, he stayed out on the tower, enjoying the wind.
Sometime later his peace was interrupted by a familiar voice. "I thought I might find you here."
Harry didn't respond or look behind him. While he didn't think that the Headmaster would leave if ignored, he wasn't entirely prepared to forego the tactic regardless. A slight scrape told him that a chair, probably a luridly patterned one, had appeared on the stones beneath his feet.
"Are you willing to hear the results of my meeting with Cornelius?"
Taking a deep breath, Harry turned around and eyed the man sitting in front of him. "If you came all the way up here, I'm guessing it's important?"
"I very much believe that it may be."
"Alright. Hit me."
Dumbledore nodded and steepled his fingers. "Very well, I shall be brief. My initial supposition that you are designated Sirius' primary heir was correct. Your own, that Cornelius is unwilling to clear Sirius' name, even posthumously, was also disappointingly accurate. He insists that he cannot face the electorate without first conducting an investigation into why Sirius would leave you all his earthly belongings if he were your relentless hunter."
"Idiot," Harry growled lowly. "Does he expect to finish that investigation this century?"
"While Cornelius did not confide in me, I should be very doubtful that we will see any results whilst he remains in office," Dumbledore agreed. "I would like to draw your attention to a matter that may have understandably escaped your attention…"
Harry quirked an eyebrow at his teacher.
"Among the worldly possessions Sirius left you is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."
"You want to keep using it for the Order," Harry realised.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Quite so. However, without permission from the homeowner, the Fidelius will not last."
Harry decided immediately that he would give his permission, if only to honour Sirius' memory by thumbing his nose at the Blacks. Besides, what else am I going to do with a house that's filled with creepy artefacts, dangerous knowledge and a batty, bigoted- "Kreacher!" The name escaped Harry in a vicious hiss.
A pop near his knee started Harry out of his fury, until he saw the gnarled being that had appeared next to him.
"Filthy Half-Blood calls for Kreacher? Kreacher will not serve it! Kreacher will not!"
"Be quiet!"
"Harry," Dumbledore spoke up with some concern, "we must remember that Sirius' treatment of Kreacher is likely one of the more immediate reasons for his betrayal. This being may still prove to be helpful to us, if we can only show him kindness and give him a chance."
Harry was in no mood to be placated though. "Oh really?" he sneered. "Well then, tell me Kreacher, how can you help me destroy Voldemort?"
"Kreacher has the locket Master Regulus stole from the Dark Lord." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Kreacher's gnarled old hands clasped over his mouth and his face turned pale. Without twitching from his pose, the old elf popped away from the Astronomy Tower.
"Kreacher, get back here!" Harry called out immediately. A second later the elf reappeared with a pop, hopping from foot to foot as if he needed to use the loo. Harry opened his mouth and paused for a moment to review his command. "Kreacher, bring me the locket that Master Regulus stole from the Dark Lord."
Kreacher let out a tortured howl before disappearing. He was back seconds later, a golden chain spilling out from his hand. Harry was tempted to demand that he hand it over, but checked the impulse. "Kreacher, answer me honestly. Did Master Regulus give you any orders with regards to that locket?"
"Master told Kreacher to destroy it. Master told Kreacher not to tell anyone from the family." The words sounded like they were being dragged out of the poor old elf.
Harry was stunned. That doesn't sound anything like what a Death Eater should be doing. "Why did he ask you to destroy it? Do you know?"
"Master asked Kreacher because Master was dying!" Kreacher wailed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "Many years ago, Master took Kreacher to a cave. There was a lake and an island and a bowl. Master drank what was in the bowl and took out the locket. Master was weak and thirsty and Master drank from the lake. The dead walkers came out of the lake and Master ordered Kreacher to take the locket and destroy it. Master ordered Kreacher never to tell…"
Anything else the old elf was saying was lost in sobs for his dead Master. Harry felt his heart wrench for the miserable creature in front of him. He knelt down. "Kreacher?" He waited for the elf to look at him. "Kreacher, if that locket belonged to the Dark Lord and needs to be destroyed, I'll help you with that."
Kreacher's eyes widened as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Young Master will help Kreacher?" The elf sounded afraid to hope.
"I will. As much as I can," Harry promised firmly. "May I see the locket?"
Kreacher looked at his own clenched fist. Slowly he extended his arm until, with a look of someone tearing off a plaster, he abruptly turned his hand and dropped the locket into Harry's waiting palm.
The locket was heavier than Harry had expected. He picked it up by the chain and let it dangle so that he could get a look at the whole thing. The sound of a slight intake of breath behind him was so quiet that less suspicious ears might have missed it. Harry whirled around to find Dumbledore wearing a calm, mildly curious expression that just about screamed at Harry that the older man was not sharing some kind of important information. "You know what this is." It wasn't a question.
"I do not believe that I could claim to know, Harry," Dumbledore demurred.
"Play cute with semantics for someone else," Harry growled. "What do you know?"
"I do not believe that this is a suitable location, nor a suit-"
"Fine. We'll do this in your office, but we're doing it now. Kreacher, you want to come along? The Headmaster is about to tell us what this thing is so that we can destroy it."
"Kreacher would be honoured, Young Master," the elf said with a bow so low that his nose almost touched the ground.
"Harry, I am not sure this is wise," Dumbledore protested.
Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. If he was right about Kreacher, maybe he has a point here. "Okay. Why not?"
Dumbledore looked troubled. "Harry, these matters are Dark; very Dark. What you know, you cannot unknow and, between your rather rudimentary grasp on occlumency and the disappearance of the blood wards, I would dearly prefer that you not know this. Will you trust me to see to the matter of the locket?"
Rage welled up in Harry; rage born from the hurt that the Headmaster had unwittingly prodded. How can you say that people can't unknow things when Hermione's forgotten everything?! "Not good enough," he snarled. "In case you missed it, Headmaster: I have to face the creature that made this!" He rattled the locket in Dumbledore's face. "How can you tell me that I have to face him, but not what he might use?!" The words hurt as soon as they left his mouth. "How?" he asked more quietly and more desperately, unsure of exactly which 'how' he meant.
Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his forehead. Harry could see that his plea had had at least some effect. "Very well," the old wizard agreed at last. "I will tell you the nature of the object you are holding and how I believe it may be destroyed. Kreacher may join us if you give him a command that he may never repeat what he hears today."
"Are you alright with that, Kreacher?" Harry checked, not wanting to make more decisions for anyone else than he strictly had to.
"Kreacher is, Young Master."
"We're ready to go then, Headmaster."
Dumbledore only raised a hand. "One moment, Harry. I have a condition: that you trust me to decide how much to reveal or that you agree not to leave the castle without me until you are able to fend off my legilimency attack for at least ten minutes."
"I was planning on staying here the whole summer anyway so you can just tell me everything."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry, I mean that this agreement shall extend until either you have sufficiently mastered occlumency or until Tom is defeated once and for all. Should you remain unable to keep me out for ten minutes by the beginning of the new school year, I shall be revoking your Hogsmeade privileges until such time as you are able to protect the secrets you are asking for."
"What?!" Harry felt the locket digging into his palm as his fists clenched.
"This is not some game, Harry," Dumbledore answered, coming to his feet, his face implacable. "If you wish to be granted privileges, then you should understand that there are duties that accompany them. You cannot demand one and neglect the other."
Harry gritted his teeth and glared at the older wizard. It had precisely no effect on Dumbledore who merely stood there and waited. "Fine!" Harry ground out in the end. "If I can't figure occlumency out before school starts again I'll give up my Hogsmeade privileges until I do but you are damn well telling me everything you know."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Very well. Come to my office then."
The walk down to the Headmaster's office was clouded over with a tense silence. When they entered Dumbledore's domain, he made his way straight for the chair behind the desk and settled down in it, looking perfectly at ease, like this had been his plan all along.
Harry levitated a pair of chairs over from the reading nook to face the desk. Taking one of the seats he cast a glance at the house elf still standing dutifully at attention. "Would you like to sit down, Kreacher?"
Despite having seen Harry levitate over two chairs, the old elf still seemed to be caught off guard. "Kreacher will stand, Young Master."
"Alright. Feel free to sit down anytime if you want to," Harry agreed, not wanting to push anything just yet. Not with Kreacher at any rate. Harry turned his eye on Dumbledore, looking for any sign that he was being led around by the nose. "Where do we start, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore steepled his fingers and eyed Harry back. "I want to lead off by making something clear, Harry: what we are about to discuss is not a matter of fact, but guesswork and speculation. I may not be able to answer every question you have, and it may in fact turn out to be a good thing if I cannot, as it might open up a new avenue of inquiry."
"Yeah, right," Harry scoffed.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Flattering as it is that you believe me to be omniscient, Harry, I am not. I do not enjoy Tom's confidence any more than you do and, like you, I can only attempt to unravel his machinations to divine his intentions."
"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled. "Consider your ass covered. What do you know about this thing?" He held up the locket that Kreacher had brought them.
"I believe, Harry, that that locket may be part of the reason that Tom did not die on the night he gave you your most famous scar."
Harry blinked, a little surprised that the Headmaster had answered in such a straightforward manner; straightforward for him at least. "Okay. I can see how destroying it could be critical to killing him then."
"Indeed. What you hold in your hand is, if I do not miss my guess, a device that is known as a horcrux."
Harry felt the weight of that unknown word settle on his shoulders like a mantle. With great effort he refrained from asking the obvious question, determined to see how much Dumbledore would say before he interrupted. Dumbledore's eyes flicked over Harry's face, reading it in ways Harry didn't even want to guess at.
"As for what a horcrux is… well, that is what I would have preferred you never know. Horcruxes are the darkest magic I have ever come across. They are the reason the Killing Curse exists."
"What?!" Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this was not it.
Dumbledore just gave a grave nod. "I shall endeavour to give you an overview without delving too deeply into this matter. A horcrux is a vessel that contains a part of a human soul. As long as the vessel is not destroyed beyond repair, the soul remains attached to this world and its owner will not die. The ritual to make this abomination involves killing another to fracture one's own soul."
"How would that work though?" Harry wondered. "I kept up with the news last summer, just in case I could catch a hint of what Riddle was doing. There are tonnes of people killing each other around the world. Are all their souls fractured?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, that is unlikely. I mentioned earlier, did I not, that this ritual is the reason the Killing Curse was invented? Did Barty Crouch ever explain what it truly is to you?"
"Not really. He just said that it took tremendous hate and magical power."
"True enough. What sets the Killing Curse apart from other methods of causing death, Harry, is the way that it does so. You may have heard that hate is a two-edged sword that causes as much damage to the one who holds on to it as the one at whom it is directed. The Curse tears into the caster's soul, ripping off a piece and using it to unseat the soul of the target from its mortal home. Such damage to the soul, which is meant to be whole, requires significant power. In making a horcrux, this tear is taken advantage of. The caster will direct the torn soul fragment into a separate object and seal it there."
Harry felt vaguely nauseated as he listened to the description. "That's… who even comes up with something like that?"
"If the historical records are accurate, and while they may not be they are all we have, the same person who first bred a basilisk."
"Charming," Harry muttered sarcastically.
"Quite," Dumbledore agreed, deadpan. "Tom, however, may have been more ambitious."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Dumbledore sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "I believe that Tom may have made more than one horcrux."
Harry felt like the chair had dropped out from under him. "How many? How immortal is he?"
The Headmaster was already shaking his head. "I am afraid I do not know, Harry. I would guess that it will turn out to be an arithmantically significant number, but that might mean three or seven or thirteen or even forty-two."
"Then how will we ever know that he's done for good?" Harry despaired.
"I know of a man with whom Tom discussed the concept of horcruxes at least once; Professor Snape's predecessor. If we can convince him to share his memory of that conversation, there is a chance that we may learn more; if the subject of multiple horcruxes actually came up between them that is."
"Somehow, even though you're already making it sound like a long shot, that's going to be easier said than done isn't it?" Harry sighed out, dropping his head against the backrest of his chair and staring at the ceiling. "How do you even know that Riddle talked to this guy about horcruxes?"
"Ah, I have already received the memory from the man in question. Unfortunately it has been quite clearly and crudely edited."
"You can do that?"
Dumbledore showed just the faintest smirk. "If one is sufficiently skilled in occlumency, it is possible to fabricate a memory or part of one."
"You don't have to rub it in," Harry muttered, embarrassed. Giving himself a mental shake he tried to find some solid footing for his thoughts. "Let me see if I've got this. Riddle made objects that keep him immortal as long as at least one of them exists. It's up to us to destroy these objects despite having no idea of what or where they are. Does that about cover it?"
"Admirably so, for as far as we'd gotten," Dumbledore agreed, inclining his head.
"So there's more and it's bad news."
"Not all of it. Certainly you should also know that destroying a horcrux is not an easy endeavour. The horcrux ritual imbues the object it affects with a certain amount of protection that makes it exceedingly difficult to destroy and destruction of a horcrux beyond the ability of magical or mundane means to repair it is the only way to release the soul fragment it holds from this plane of existence."
"So chucking this thing in a fire isn't going to work?"
"Perhaps it might if we use Fiendfyre, but that comes with its own considerable risk," Dumbledore agreed. "The fire in my hearth on the other hand? No, that will not suffice."
Harry took a moment to process that. "You said there was also some good news?"
"So there is. Indulge an old man as he keeps to his promise to give you the whole story. I will have to start at the point where I first realised that Tom might have used horcruxes at all."
Harry rolled his eyes. Should've seen this coming.
"It was back in your second year at Hogwarts that I first gained a hint that Tom had chosen to walk this path. The night you rescued Ms. Weasley in fact. You will remember that you retrieved not only Molly and Arthur's youngest child from the Chamber of Secrets that night, but Tom's diary. A diary that was capable of independent thought and even possession."
"That thing was a horcrux?!" Harry exclaimed in disgust. Something else occurred to him in almost the same moment. "Is Ginny okay after writing in something like that for a year?"
"Your concern is admirable, Harry" Dumbledore soothed. "St. Mungo's healers have assured us that she will not suffer any lasting harm from the possession itself."
"Okay," Harry breathed out in relief. After what he'd just learned about horcruxes, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be convinced Ginny was okay until he saw her again, but it was good to hear that she had been medically cleared.
"To resume the tale, upon confirming as far as I could that you had indeed unearthed a horcrux, I was led inevitably to the conclusion that Tom must have made more than one a year later. You told us about his continued existence the summer before that business with the Tournament; specifically you described his use of a homunculus body. That is one of the few magics equal to the horcrux in its darkness, or nearly so. For him to have transferred his soul, that is to say he removed it from one body to enter another without vanishing despite you having destroyed his horcrux, meant that there must still be something tying him to this plane."
"How many psychotic rituals has Riddle used?" Harry asked, trying for flippant sarcasm, but sounding worried, even to his own ears.
"We may never truly know," Dumbledore admitted with a shrug. "At this moment I would like you to focus on another matter though. Is there anything in what I've told you so far that jumps out at you? Anything to give you hope?"
Harry thought it over for a moment. "I don't know that it necessarily gives me hope, but at least that diary's gone."
"Precisely, Harry. Well done," Dumbledore beamed at him. "Not only did you find a horcrux, you also found one of the few substances that might be corrosive enough to overcome its inherent protections."
"Basilisk venom? So we need to take the locket down to the Chamber and stab it with a basilisk fang?"
Dumbledore shook his head and levered himself to his feet with the help of his desk. "Not entirely. There is quite a bit of risk associated with handling those fangs, risk that was made unnecessary by something else you brought back." Opening a cupboard, the Headmaster pulled out a familiar length of silver.
"The Sword of Gryffindor!" Harry gasped out, before frowning. "Wait, how does that have anything to do with basilisk venom?"
A chortle escaped Dumbledore. "I see that you are susceptible to a distressingly common habit among Hogwarts' students, Harry: falling asleep in Professor Binns' class."
"By common you mean 'everyone except Hermione'," Harry huffed out.
"Perhaps. I will endeavour to enlighten you with regards to what you may have missed. This sword was forged by Goblins. They have knowledge of metallurgy that they have so far not deigned to share with humans. Among the characteristics of their blades, they are more durable than tempered steel despite being made from silver, they will never lose their edge and, most relevant to our discussion, they reject all impurities and absorb that which strengthens them."
"It absorbed the basilisk's venom when I stabbed it?" Harry asked sceptically.
"I believe so and now we have a method with which to test that hypothesis."
Harry looked down at the locket he was still holding and then glanced at Kreacher before bringing his eyes back up to Dumbledore's. "Is there anything else I should know before we do this?"
Dumbledore thought that over for a moment. "While I do not believe it matters greatly whether I do so before we dispose of the horcrux in your hand or after, I will finish the tale. As we established: ever since Sirius informed me of the dreams you were having in the summer after your third year, I had reason to believe that Tom might have made more than one horcrux. I have been searching, since receiving that fateful message, for any clues that might tell us how many horcruxes there are and where we might find them. I have some ideas, though I believe they are better saved for another time as you already have much new information to digest and the continued existence of that horcrux calls us to action in the here and now."
An hour earlier, Harry might have demanded the full story. Now he couldn't help but feel that Dumbledore might have a point. Besides, if I have some time to mull things over I may come up with some questions about things he's skipping over here. "Alright. Will Kreacher be invited again?"
"If you insist," Dumbledore agreed neutrally.
"Good. Then let's get rid of this thing. You want it on the desk or on the ground?"
Dumbledore seemed to consider that for a moment. "Given the level of destructive force we are hoping to apply, I would prefer if you'd place the locket on the ground for now."
Harry placed the locket at Dumbledore's feet and took a few steps back. "Have at it."
The old wizard touched the tip of the sword to the locket, apparently judging his swing, before lifting the blade over his head, rising up on his toes and then bringing it crashing down into the locket which shot off with a loud ping. Harry shook his head and made his way over to where the horcrux had skittered to a halt. "Guess you were wrong, Headmaster."
"Perhaps, perhaps not," the old man mused.
Harry cocked an eyebrow in sceptical amusement. "Alright, but that looked pretty convincingly unconvincing."
Dumbledore studied Harry over the top of his half-moon glasses for a moment. "I thought we might perhaps look to the function of the object."
"What do you mean by that, sir?"
"I realise that they may not be as popular as they once were, but surely you know what lockets are generally used for?"
"Wearing?"
"Well, that too," Dumbledore admitted. "Those who choose to wear a locket, rather than any other particular hanger, on their necklaces generally do so because of a memory they wish to keep near."
Harry considered the piece of jewellery in his hand for a moment. "The thing in the diary called itself a memory when I wrote in it. If you write in a diary… you think we need to open this thing first."
"Precisely."
Harry eyed the locket a little more closely. "I'm not seeing a latch on this thing," he murmured trying to grip the two halves of the locket and pull them apart. He only succeeded in dropping it as his fingers slipped off the gold. He crouched down to pick it back up.
"I believe that we will not be able to open that locket with physical force, Harry."
Harry froze mid-crouch, his hand resting on the locket. Deliberately he stood back up. "You know something."
"It is merely a suspicion about the original owner of that locket; one I have yet to confirm beyond the claim of a former owner who may well have been trying to exaggerate her own grandeur at the time," Dumbledore prevaricated.
"I think I'll write the Chocolate Frog Company a letter suggesting they change your card to include 'not getting to the point' among your hobbies."
Dumbledore just looked amused. "If you do not learn to reason out Tom's thoughts how would you continue on if some unforeseen misfortune were to befall me?"
Harry rolled his eyes at his teacher. "Alright, what did I miss?"
"Look closely at the locket. Is there any identifying detail that jumps out at you?"
"Aside from the fact that it doesn't have a latch?" Harry studied the thing for a moment. "It has a big S on the front."
"Indeed. And is there no connection between Tom Riddle and an S that jumps to mind?"
"Slytherin? You think this belonged to Salazar Slytherin when he was alive?"
"Quite possibly. I know that Tom was told so at a young age and I certainly believe that he took that claim to heart."
"Okay… how does that help us though?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore cocked a bushy eyebrow and Harry felt like he'd just disappointed the old man. "Think of the connections between Tom and Salazar and I believe a path will occur to you."
Connections between them? Well, they're family, pure blood bigots, have over inflated egos if that damn statue in the Chamber of- "Parseltongue… you think the locking mechanism on this is the same as on the Chamber."
"I believe it to be likely," Dumbledore agreed, radiating approval. "I would like to suggest that you command the locket to open in parseltongue and I will strike it with the sword."
"And if it doesn't open?"
"Then more research will be required," Dumbledore seemed singularly unconcerned. "We have the locket, which is already half the battle won. The rest will come in time, and when it does it will be immediately applicable to any other horcrux we manage to retrieve."
That… kind of sounded like something Hermione would say. Well, the bit about more research being the answer, no matter what, did at any rate. "Alright then. Ready?" Harry asked, placing the locket on the ground in front of Dumbledore again.
The Headmaster lined up his strike for a moment. "If you would, Harry?"
Harry focused on the embellished S and tried to imagine it writhing like a snake. "₰Open₰".
With a dry click the locket snapped open. Dumbledore raised the sword in the air, but stumbled back as a dark cloud erupted from the locket. The cloud appeared to have a pair of glowing red eyes hovering in it. The apparition gave Harry the feeling of an arctic wind sweeping into his mind and rushing right back out. "I have seen your heart, Albus Dumbledore, and it is mine!"
Harry saw the way his teacher's face hardened, leaving no trace of the jovial grandfather. Instead there stood the implacable wizard who had defeated the last Dark Lord to terrorize Europe. Dumbledore steadied his stance, raised the sword and swung.
"Reviled by the family that chained you… hated by the lover you forsook… you who murdered your-" The cloud's taunts devolved into a tortured scream as the Sword of Gryffindor sliced through it and slammed into the locket that was its source.
The screaming continued as the cloud got torn apart, like smoke in the wind, until there was nothing left except a panting old wizard and a molten lump of tarnished gold on the floor before him. Harry's attention was drawn away from the scene in front of him when he heard a hoarse sob and a light thump next to him.
"Master Regulus, it is done. Master's work is done," Kreacher sobbed under his breath as he knelt on the floor.
Harry knelt down next to his house elf, awkwardly rubbing its back. He kept one eye on his Headmaster who seemed to be recovering somewhat from what had just happened.
"You are not the first to use that trick, Tom; not the first at all," Dumbledore muttered, sounding shaken.
Harry felt like he had a long way to go if that was his teacher's reaction. He hadn't expected the horcrux to actively attack them, but Dumbledore seemed to be taking it more or less in stride. "Is it…?"
"Yes, it is destroyed," Dumbledore agreed, flicking the sword and dispassionately watching several black globs of… something, fly off the blade. "A fruitful, if unexpected, day's work." The Headmaster turned a considering gaze on his pupil. "I realise that you may yet have questions for me about this whole affair, Harry, and I would not blame you for feeling a burning desire to pose them. However, I must ask that we end our session here for today. It is no minor thing to destroy a horcrux."
"Yeah, I think I got that," Harry murmured. "When's the next 'lesson' then?"
"I would like a few days to recover. Shall we agree to continue this on the weekend?"
"Sure," Harry, agreed. "I'll stay out of your hair until then." He helped Kreacher to his feet, and began guiding him to the door.
"A moment, Harry. Would you give Kreacher the order we agreed upon before we began?"
Harry blinked in surprise. I'd forgotten about that. Turning to the elf at his side he felt his gut give a guilty clench. "Kreacher?"
"Yes, Master?" Kreacher sniffled in response.
"I-… I'm sorry, but we did promise the Headmaster. I order you not to talk to anyone about what you heard here today without permission from Professor Dumbledore or myself, understood?"
"Yes, Master."
Harry shot Dumbledore a look and received an accepting nod in return. "C'mon, Kreacher. Let's go get you a cup of milk or something," Harry tried to soothe the still clearly upset elf as he led him from the office, wondering if every step on the way to defeating Voldemort was going to be this surreal.
AN:
Two horcruxes down, four (or five, really) and a psycho to go.
You may have noticed that Harry is rather worried about other people seeing too much of his emotions. I'm not necessarily arguing that that is a good thing, but I do think that someone who was raised in an environment where he was seen as nothing but a nuisance, who has had the expectations of a whole society thrust on his shoulders and is feeling abandoned like never before after having lost both his godfather and best friend in one go might have some trouble figuring out healthy ways to deal with the emotions that brings with it.
The idea of splitting a soul requiring a lot of energy only to release a lot more tracks rather neatly with what we know of chemistry (being a basic description of the atomic bomb). The nuclear bomb comparison becomes even more apt to me when you consider that there are many ways to kill in the magical world (Cutting Curse to the throat, Piercing Curse to the brain or heart, banishing someone off a cliff) but only one method of killing is deemed 'unforgivable'. That means to me that there is something about this method that is worse than every other. This notion of playing billiards with part of your soul is my answer to that.
Forty-two is probably only arithmantically significant to wizards who have read their guidebooks.
House elves appear to be very strongly based on brownies, a kind of fairy in English folklore that performs chores around the house while the owners are asleep (Brownies are also the equivalent of Girl Scouts in Britain. I remember one of my sisters being a very unenthusiastic Brownie back in the day). Brownies aren't bound the way house elves are though, and are in fact generally described as easily offended. They will leave a house forever if they feel taken advantage of. What are humans supposed to do as their part of the bargain? Leave out a bowl of milk. This is why Harry offers Kreacher a cup of milk at the end of the chapter (or at least why I wrote that in there; Harry's just completely out of his depth with an emotional anything).
Side note about Regulus Black: Regulus is a star in the constellation Leo. Specifically it is the one star that connects it to the Ecliptic, which is the line the zodiac signs are (supposed to be) on. JKR told you that he was a 'lionised' Black, more Gryffindor than Slytherin, from the first time you saw his name.