In the days following the destruction of the horcrux it took a physical effort on Harry's part to not rummage through the books in Dumbledore's office in search of information on that particular magic. For one thing, he thought that Dumbledore would take it as a sign that Harry couldn't be trusted and use that to reason his way into hiding information. For another, he was fairly certain that books on horcruxes would have been among the first that the Headmaster would have removed from his personal library before allowing Harry into the office. It didn't help that he could practically feel Dumbledore's attention on him whenever he was in the office to study.
So Harry stuck to reading Transfiguring for Trouble and Animating for Adversaries as he waited for the calendar to turn to Saturday. As such he was a little dismayed to finish the book just before the weekend. There's no way I'm going to be able to make a decent start in anything else as long as I've got that next horcrux lesson on my mind.
Resolving not to waste time or just bug Dumbledore, which he worried might make the old man dig in his heels, Harry decided to spend his Friday up in the Room of Requirement, reviewing all the spells he'd learnt from the book he'd just finished. It'd be embarrassing if I couldn't remember what I'd learnt in my next duel with Voldemort. That there would be a next duel was already a certainty in Harry's mind.
No matter how often he cast the shield of swirling debris that had been used so effectively against him at the Ministry, Harry couldn't get the hours to tick by any faster. He tried to take breaks here and there so he wouldn't completely exhaust himself, but when dinner rolled around at long last, Harry noticed that he was far hungrier than usual. Guess I may have overdone it just a bit with the expenditure of magic.
Harry made his way down to the kitchens. He had gone to the Great Hall the first day out of sheer habit and Dumbledore had joined him a few minutes later, looking rather unsurprised to find Harry there and sitting down across from him at the Gryffindor table. Breakfast had passed largely in silence until at the end of it Dumbledore had spoken up. "Harry, if you do not have a strong preference either way, might I suggest we eat our next meal in the kitchens? They are a good deal less cavernous and empty and you already know your way there as I understand it."
Harry had felt a bit of an idiot for not thinking of that himself and had quietly agreed with his Headmaster. From then on, every meal had been eaten at a kitchen table slightly smaller than the one at Privet Drive, surrounded by the warm smells of cooked food and the sound of elves popping in and out as the castle apparently underwent a summer cleaning.
That evening he found Dumbledore waiting for him with an expectant look on his face. Harry used the time needed to take his seat to gather himself for whatever was coming. Whatever it was turned out not to be pressing enough that it needed to be mentioned before they had each managed a few bites of dinner.
Harry was reaching for his pumpkin juice as Dumbledore spoke up. "Harry, I would like to tell you that I have been impressed with your self-control these past few days. It has been quite clear that you are dearly curious on the matter we last discussed and yet you have respected my request for some time to recover without a single attempt to rush me."
"We agreed we'd talk about it this weekend," Harry shrugged, trying to ignore the way his heart-rate was picking up.
"So we did. I have not known many fifteen-year-olds to stay away from temptation as successfully as you have done." Dumbledore stopped as something seemed to occur to him. "Actually, now that I think on the matter, most of your time here you have not been as successful in this endeavour as you were in recent days. Is it perhaps because school is not in session that you were able to restrain your curiosity?" the old man asked, his eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.
"Oh, piss off," Harry muttered before he remembered that he wasn't talking to one of his dorm mates and felt his face tighten as blood drained away from it.
Dumbledore though just let out the chortles he had been holding in. "Indeed, my boy, indeed. I shall leave you momentarily. I just wished to confirm with you that you will be joining me in my office after breakfast tomorrow to continue where we left off?"
"Yeah, sure," Harry muttered, wondering if he could adapt one of the spells he'd just been working on to get the floor to swallow him whole, as the returning blood heated his face.
"Excellent! I do believe I shall, ahem, 'piss off' then, was it?"
Harry just slouched lower in his chair as the Headmaster got up, the occasional chortle still escaping, and left the kitchens. With a sigh Harry let his head drop forward until it hit the wood of the table and rested there. At least he doesn't seem angry about the whole thing? It was less reassuring than Harry would have liked. While he trusted the old man in a general sense, the revelation of the prophecy had left Harry painfully aware that Dumbledore did not see them as equals. On the other hand… he was taking the piss… wasn't he?
It was just too odd an experience to take in in one go.
"Is sir wanting something else?" a squeaky voice asked from somewhere near his knees.
Speaking of odd… Harry looked down at the house elf that had cooked their dinner. "No, thanks. I think I'm done for tonight. Thanks though, it was delicious."
The elf bowed effusively as Harry got up and left the kitchen as well. I'll need to remember to call Kreacher in tomorrow. He deserves to be there after working so long to end that locket. Who knows, Dumbledore may turn out to be more right than he knew and Kreacher might even really come up with a way to help us that we didn't even think of.
He considered heading up to the Room again. No, I need to be sharp tomorrow. No point in wearing myself out. His steps turned to Gryffindor Tower which was left permanently open these days so that the Fat Lady could enjoy her holiday in a massive landscape painting on the fourth floor. He settled in his favourite chair and looked around the common room. So what do I do now?
It was too early to go to bed, he was too jumpy to read a book and expect to remember what it said in the morning and even flying just held no appeal at the moment.
As if she had felt her master's distress, a silent white figure winged its way through a window that had been opened to let some fresh air into the castle.
"Hedwig!" Harry raised his forearm for his familiar to perch on. "How have you been, girl? Glad to be free over the summer?"
Hedwig let out a little bark and bent down to nuzzle the fingers of Harry's free hand, asking for a scratch. Harry happily obliged. "You know, Hedwig, it's been a mad year and an even madder few days. Still, we've not got the Dursleys hanging over us so that's a positive isn't it?"
Prek.
"Yeah, yeah, I won't forget to scratch under your wings." Harry forgot all about his earlier lassitude as his attention was rather effectively demanded by the snowy owl on his arm. He talked to her about what had happened since she had last flown up to meet him, almost as if to enquire why they weren't heading down to Surrey. He told her about his meetings with Dumbledore, though he didn't actually come out and mention the horcruxes. He couldn't explain, even to himself, why he was keeping secrets from an owl who couldn't possibly tell anyone else about them. Maybe it's just so I can have one thing in my life that isn't tainted by Voldemort. If anyone should be free from that, it should be Hedwig.
When he ran out of things to tell her, Harry just sat there and stroked Hedwig, listening to her hoots and barks, imagining that she was telling him of a ferocious hunt through the Forbidden Forest that ended with her swooping down and capturing the vole that had been trying to elude her.
Eventually, Hedwig had apparently had her fill of attention and ruffled her feathers to make Harry pull back a little so she could fly over to the window sill.
"Had enough of me already, huh, Hedwig?" Harry asked with a smile.
Prek. Hedwig flapped her wings twice at the falling night outside and took off.
"Time to hunt, I suppose." Harry moved over to the window so he could watch his owl fly towards the forest. "Stay away from the Acromantula!" he called out after her. Turning back to the common room, Harry got the feeling that he'd forgotten about something that had been weighing on him.
Tomorrow's lesson! I can't believe I forgot about it. It's even starting to get dark out. Shaking his head in fond appreciation for his familiar and murmured a quiet "thank you, Hedwig," in the direction of the open window. Feeling lighter than he had all day, Harry headed up to bed.
:-:-:-:-:
"Welcome, Harry. Are you feeling prepared to delve deeply into the mind of Tom Riddle?"
Harry closed the door to Dumbledore's office behind him. "Almost. Kreacher?"
The old elf appeared next to Harry in a deep bow. "Master calls Kreacher?"
"Hey Kreacher, are you doing alright?"
Kreacher looked up at Harry like he couldn't quite figure out what the human was trying. "Kreacher is being well, Master."
"Good. The Headmaster is ready to continue explaining about the things Master Regulus was trying to destroy. You want to listen in?"
"Kreacher will, Master."
"Good." Harry turned back to his teacher. "Ready, sir." He felt a flash of satisfaction when he turned back to Dumbledore and saw the older wizard looking so carefully neutral that Harry just knew his teacher had been hoping he would forget about the elf. He also knew that Dumbledore was honestly including him in the war at this point, but that didn't make it easy to forget about a year of being ignored.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said, pulling a silver bowl that Harry recognised from his fourth year to the centre of the desk. "Today, Harry, Kreacher, I want to start delving into the history of Tom Riddle. I am hopeful that if we understand his thoughts and history that we will be able to deduce which objects Tom may have chosen to turn into horcruxes."
"You have Voldemort's memories in that thing?" Harry asked, torn between being impressed and disgusted.
"No, no. I would never have been able to convince Tom to part with memories for my sake. No, the memories we shall be viewing are from witnesses on the periphery of Tom's life."
"'Periphery'? As in 'not close enough to be of any actual help'?"
"I am afraid, Harry, that Tom has been quite thorough in eliminating anyone who knows more than smidgen about his life. These witnesses are the ones who were able to slip through the cracks of his attention through luck or guile, or those whom I was able to reach before Tom could silence them."
Harry resisted the urge to grumble.
"I did warn you that we would be firmly in the realm of speculation, did I not?"
"You did, but… I was kind of hoping for just a bit more than half remembered maybes."
Dumbledore nodded his head. "Alas, all too often our hopes are dashed on the rocky shores of reality and all that is left to us is a desperate struggle to stay afloat. Shall we?"
Harry blew out his cheeks, feeling a lot less enthusiastic about this whole endeavour already. Still, if I don't go through with this I'm never going to get him to share anything about Voldemort ever again. If you were hoping I would just give up because you started rambling on about memories, you have another think coming, old man. "Sure. Let's do this."
"Very well. Since I am unsure of the effects of a pensieve's magic on house elves, I shall have it play the memories out for us on its surface. It is not ideal, but very much better than not viewing them at all." The Headmaster tapped the rim of the pensieve and the silvery scene of a man standing in a country lane rose from its depths.
Harry watched as the man walked and the scenery scrolled around him. There weren't many landmarks Harry could use to judge the figure's progress, so for a while it looked like he was walking on a particularly elaborate treadmill.
A lush, tall hedge came into view and Harry perked up as it was the first change he'd seen since the memory had started playing. The man they were following checked a piece of parchment and stepped through the hedge. On the other side was a garden, overgrown with weeds and a ramshackle shack with a snake nailed to the door.
The man the memory was following looked around, his face betraying a hint of horror. Harry watched as the wizard squared his shoulders and marched through the high grass, nettles and weeds. When he'd gotten within a few feet of the door there was a loud creak and form dropped down from one of the trees, landing right next to the man they'd been following, causing him to leap away from the sudden appearance, drawing his wand to cover the possible threat.
The new figure straightened up and Harry could see that it was a man as filthy and matted as Sirius had been when he'd first met Harry after more than a decade in Azkaban and a year on the run. I wonder if this bloke's been eating rats? Harry wondered, trying to distract himself from the empty sensation at the bottom of his stomach that had nothing to do with the meal he'd just eaten.
The memory continued on, heedless of Harry's discomfort. The man who'd dropped from the tree pointed a wicked looking knife and a glare that intimated that he might use it at the visitor. "You're not welcome here," he hissed out menacingly.
"I-I-I'm from the Ministry," the first man stammered out, not really managing to inject any authority into the statement. "My name's Bob Ogden. I've come to-"
"Not. Welcome." A rather stubby wand appeared in the dirty man's other hand as the knife started weaving through the air like a snake waiting to strike.
"I'm sorry? I-I don't… I can't understand what you're-"
"Leave!" the dirty man screamed, causing Bob Ogden to flinch back. What followed were some of the most disturbingly graphic descriptions of what one human might do to another with a knife and a wand.
"I'd have taken the dirty one's warning by now," Harry muttered, feeling a bit confused at this oddly cowardly courage Ogden was displaying.
"I imagine that the ability to understand the warning might lead one to take it more seriously," Dumbledore agreed. "Poor Robert never had your talent for languages I'm afraid."
"Languages? He's speaking-... he's not speaking English?"
Dumbledore just shook his head and cocked a meaningful eyebrow at the door.
Not the door, the snake! "Parseltongue?"
"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed with a satisfied nod.
"Master can speak Parseltongue?" Kreacher asked, his large eyes sparkling with an awe and wonder Harry had never seen there before.
"Yeah, I can."
Kreacher nodded thoughtfully to himself and Harry just hoped that he hadn't made a mistake in revealing that to his elf. Worry about that later. You've got a memory to witness.
The dirty figure issuing the steady stream of threats in Parseltongue had started advancing on Ogden when the door to the decrepit little shack flew open with a bang, startling everyone except Dumbledore. A man who managed to look like a greying, hairless orang-utan sloped out of the shadows of the hut. "Enough!"
"I'm Bob Ogden from the Ministry of Magic's Department of-"
"I said enough!" the man in the doorway roared. He cast a glare at the wild-eyed knife waver until the dirty man lowered his weapons. "₰Get in the house₰," the orang-utan hissed out. This time Harry didn't need Ogden's confusion to know that the two men were communicating in Parseltongue.
After the dirty one had scuttled into the shack, the orang-utan in the doorway turned his glare back on Ogden. "Why're you still here?"
The pause in hostilities seemed to have given Ogden a chance to gather his wits, and when he spoke this time his voice was unwavering. "As I was saying before you interrupted me, I am Bob Ogden from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm here to see Morfin Gaunt."
"Well, you seen 'im, so be on your way."
Ogden just looked unimpressed. "I am sure that you understand that I mean more than visual confirmation of his existence." The wizard pulled a scroll from inside a pocket of his muggle frock coat that never would have been able to hold it when the coat was first sold. "I am delivering this."
"An' wha' migh' tha' be?" the old man asked with a suspicious squint.
"Bring Morfin out here or let me in and you'll find out."
The growl that came out of the old man's throat sounded more animal than human. "Fine. Get in here, much good it'll do ye."
"Thank you," Ogden replied politely, more politely than Harry felt he would have managed in the same situation. The Ministry man stepped through the doorway and the memory watchers were drawn into a small, dingy hut that seemed to consist mostly of shadows. Harry could just make out where Morfin was sitting in a corner crooning a lullaby to a small snake in a voice like sandpaper.
"₰Hissy hissy little snakey
Slither on the floor
You be good to Morfin
Or he'll nail you to the door. ₰"
Right, so he's far enough round the twist to get a view of his own ass Harry thought to himself, revulsion gripping his throat.
There was a metallic clang from one of the shadows and Ogden's shifting attention revealed a woman setting pots on an old wood stove.
"M' daughter, Merope," the old man grunted, as if he was admitting to something distasteful. It was a tone Harry knew well; Aunt Petunia had only ever called him her nephew in that tone of voice.
"Good morning," Ogden greeted, tipping his sailor's cap.
Merope just looked between him and her father in fear, before turning back to the stove. It was by far the politest response Harry had seen Ogden receive so far. Harry watched as the woman, who was probably of a similar age to Morfin under all that grime, crouched down next to the stove and began striking a pair of stones together to create a spark.
"What are you doing, you useless lump?!" the old mean screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "Use your wand, you worthless squib!"
Harry caught the way his eyes darted over to a shocked looking Ogden. Poor girl. It's always easier to get away with your freakishness if no visitors are around.
Merope meanwhile had pulled her wand out of a pocket in her dress with a trembling hand. Her grip wavered so much that Harry thought he could hear her wand rattling off of the stove's walls as she stuck it in. She muttered something inaudible and was blasted halfway through the room in a shower of splinters.
"You pointless lump! You muggle-fucking pile of muck!" Merope's father seemed to have completely lost it. Judging from the way her face had gone white as a sheet, even the young woman herself was not used to this level of yelling or perhaps it was the way he was looming over her as if torn between hitting and kicking her.
Before any violence could occur the splinters that had scattered through the room lifted up and swarmed through the air, passing between father and daughter and taking them both aback. They turned as one to gape at their visitor who was clearly controlling this storm as he reformed the splinters into logs in mid-air before sending them flying gracefully in the stove. Ogden finished it up with a sharp jab and flames licked out of the stove with a warm crackle that seemed thoroughly out of place in this gloomy cabin.
"Perhaps we might continue?" Ogden asked, his voice carrying a pointed warning.
The shock on the old man's face slipped into a sneer. He spat on the ground next to his daughter. "Well? Get going. Or do you need this Ministry Mudblood to do the cooking for you as well?"
Merope scrambled to her feet and fled towards the stove, her head down so that she wouldn't have to meet anyone's eye.
Ogden's expression was flinty as he turned back to the two men. "As I mentioned outside, I've come to deliver this to Morfin Gaunt," he began. The gleefully murderous glint in Morfin's eye didn't promise anything good. "Mr. Gaunt, you've been summoned to appear before the Wizengamot on charges of-"
"Summoned?!" the old man interrupted. "What gives you the right to summon any member of my family anywhere?!"
"I am the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," Ogden said sternly, "and Morfin stands accused of breaking the law."
"Breaking the law? How?"
"If you'd stop interrupting, you would already know," Ogden reminded him. "As it stands, Morfin Gaunt is accused of assaulting a muggle yesterday night at eleven forty-three, causing grievous bodily harm to said muggle."
"And?" the elder Gaunt asked.
"And now he will face trial for his crime."
"For giving a muggle what he deserves you mean," Gaunt snarled as Morfin lurched to his feet. "You would put a pureblood descendent of the Peverells on trial for a muggle?" the man demanded, his voice rising further as he brandished his middle finger at Ogden. For a moment Harry thought it was only the latest rudeness from this family, until Gaunt jabbed the finger of his other hand at the ring he was wearing. "Been in the family for centuries!"
Gaunt stormed across the cabin in a sudden burst of movement and swiped a clawed hand at his daughter. She let out a choked scream as she stumbled backwards towards Ogden. As she got closer, Harry noticed that her father had grabbed a golden necklace she was wearing. "And this," Gaunt thundered. "Look at it, you filthy mudblood! Slyherin's!"
"I see it! I see it!" Ogden exclaimed, his eyes on the way Merope was scrabbling at the spot where the chain was digging into her throat.
"You see it?" Gaunt wheezed out, flinging the locket and his daughter away from him. "You see it and you still think you have the right to put blood as pure as ours on trial?!"
"The law is the same for everyone, regardless of their ancestors."
Gaunt spit at Ogden's feet. "That sounds like the talk of a dirt-veined muggle-lover," he snarled. Behind Gaunt, Morfin loomed up cackling in a way that reminded Harry of Belatrix Lestrange's demented giggling. "It's time for you to leave, mudblood. There's none of you what has a right to speak to us, let alone summon us."
With a gleeful cry, Morfin leapt past his father, a sickly yellow curse launching from the tip of his wand.
Ogden threw himself to the side to get out of the way of the attack and rolled up to his feet. Harry expected a return curse or a shield, but instead the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad pulled a stone from his pocket and fired a spell into it.
"What's he doing?"
"Ah, I believe that it is about to get noisy here, Harry," Dumbledore smiled.
In front of them a fight was developing between Ogden and the Gaunts. It took Harry a few seconds to realise that the Ministry wizard was taking pains to protect Merope from stray spells that her father and brother were casting. Even so, he was able to keep the two Gaunts at bay, though he could never quite corner them enough to end the fight.
That abruptly changed when the air outside erupted with apparition pops and the door of the shack was blasted off its hinges. A wave of uniformed wizards poured through the opening where the door had been and overwhelmed the Gaunts within seconds.
As the Gaunts were getting carried out of their home, the image in the pensieve faded back into the currents of memory. Harry slumped against the backrest from where he'd leant forward to get a better look at the scene inside the shack. As he mulled over everything he'd seen, Harry realised that he was left with a single question: "what did any of that have to do with Voldemort?"
Dumbledore just smiled as if he'd been waiting for that question all along. "That, Harry, was the very beginning of the story; most stories begin before they start after all."
Harry couldn't restrain a groan and an eyeroll.
"The muggle that Morfin Gaunt, son of Marvolo Gaunt, assaulted was named Tom Riddle."
Hearing the name Marvolo so close to the name Tom Riddle, Harry had no trouble remembering exactly where he had last heard it before. "So, Morfin was hacked off that his sister had a kid with a muggle?"
"Not entirely, though you make a good guess. No, Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt may never even have met at this point. Morfin told his interrogators at the Ministry that he had attacked Tom Riddle because Merope thought he was handsome and Morfin had wanted to change that impression."
"So, how'd they end up together? Did they run away?"
"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore said with approval. "Yes, though it may not have been entirely voluntary on Tom Riddle's part."
Harry felt a headache building and massaged the bridge of his nose in an effort to help it dissipate. "How'd she manage that?"
"Merope was a witch." Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall Harry's next question. "You are wondering about her powers, given what happened in that cottage, correct? Well, there are two interlocking points that may go a ways to explaining that. First of all, I believe that Merope's fear of her father and brother may have suppressed some of her magical ability. That fear is likely to have dissipated somewhat when her family were sent to Azkaban for attacking a Ministry official."
Harry thought about the difference he'd seen in Neville over the course of the year and nodded his agreement.
"Second of all, not every type of magic requires a surplus of magical ability. There are more passive magics like runes, herbology… and potions."
"You think Merope used a love potion?"
"I think it is distinctly possible since Tom Riddle returned several months after they ran away, without Merope and claiming that he had been ensorcelled and compelled."
"Right," Harry sighed out in resignation. "That worked out well."
A smile or a smirk quirked Dumbledore's beard slightly to one side. "Indeed. Shall I show you part of the eventual aftermath?"
"Sure," Harry agreed, shaking himself. "Can't be worse than what we just saw."
Dumbledore gave no sign of agreement, but tapped the pensieve summoning a new scene to its silvery surface.
This time Harry watched as a younger Dumbledore met with an eleven year-old Voldemort and told him about magic. Harry tried to be as objective as he could when studying the kid, but couldn't help being hyper aware of what this child would grow into.
"Did you know?" he asked when the memory ended.
"Did I know that I had just met a future Dark Lord? No," Dumbledore said, still staring at where his young student had faded from view. He shook himself and met Harry's gaze. "I do believe that Tom, in his excitement, allowed me to see a side of him he might have preferred to keep hidden. At least he never attempted to charm me as he charmed some of my colleagues."
Harry nodded, mulling over everything he'd seen. After only two memories his mind was awhirl.
"Harry?" Dumbledore called out gently in the tone of one who's repeated the name a few times.
"Yes, sir?"
"I think that perhaps it would behoove us to take a small break and breathe some fresh air. Would you be amenable to continuing after lunch?"
"I think that might be a good idea, sir."
"Excellent. I shall see you in the kitchens in an hour or so then."
"Yes, sir." Harry got up and noticed Kreacher falling into step beside him as he left the room. "Can I do something for you, Kreacher?"
The elf looked at him oddly. "Kreacher thought Master might be needing something."
"Not right now," Harry assured him with a tired smile. "I'll call you before we start up again. Until then you are free to do whatever you like. I think I'm going to head down to the lake for a walk if you want to come along."
The elf seemed to be seriously considering the invitation, but ended up shaking his head. "Kreacher will go and clean Master's house." With a dignified pop, Kreacher was gone.
Harry just shrugged at the space where his elf had been. To each their own I suppose.
The walk around the lake did a lot to reinvigorate Harry and by the time he returned to the castle for lunch the storm in his mind had calmed and he even felt like he was breathing easier. Sitting down to lunch Harry also couldn't help but notice that his Headmaster looked like the break had been equally good to him.
Lunch passed cheerfully and soon Harry was once again seated in the Headmaster's office, eager to learn more about his enemy, with Kreacher standing dutifully by his side.
"We will continue," Dumbledore announced, "with a memory which took me no little effort to obtain."
Harry fixed his eyes on the memories swirling in the pensieve. In a relatively short scene he learned that the Gaunt shack could, in fact, get more dilapidated, that Morfin could get dirtier and that he was, at the time of this memory, still perfectly willing to rant in Parseltongue at visitors who looked cleaner than he did. He raged at his nephew that Marvolo had died, that Merope had taken Slytherin's Locket with her. The Tom Riddle in the memory apparently learned for the first time that his father was a muggle who had abandoned Merope. After Morfin had finished speaking, the memory abruptly went dark.
"What happened, sir, at the end there?"
"That, Harry, is a sign that the memory has been obliviated beyond retrieval starting at the point where all fades to black."
"I see what you mean about this one taking effort."
"Thank you. It is always gratifying to have one's work appreciated," Dumbledore chortled. "Now, what did you notice?"
"Riddle seemed… upset that his dad was a muggle."
"Quite so. You must realise that he had spent six years in our world by this point. He had won much acclaim from his peers owing to his similarities to the founder of their house. I do not know whether that, his experiences in the orphanage or some other factor caused his distaste for those who cannot provide a full genealogy at the drop of a hat. I do believe that this evening is the one that cemented that for him in more ways than one."
"How do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, sensing that Dumbledore was trying to make a bit of a presentation of the whole thing.
"I mean that the day after this conversation took place, Tom Riddle Sr and his parents were found dead in their home. The muggle healers and aurors noted that there was not a mark on them, save for an expression of extreme terror on their faces. The Ministry knew these symptoms of the Killing Curse for what they were and soon arrested a known muggle-hater who lived less than a mile away. Morfin confessed to the crime and no one thought to look any further than that."
"Except you."
"Not for many years, Harry. It wasn't until I began tracing Tom's history that I came across his connection to the Gaunts. By that time, Morfin had spent those years in Azkaban and was close to expiring. It was a stroke of luck that I managed to unearth this connection and speak to the man a mere matter of weeks before his death."
"Damn," Harry muttered to himself, realising how close they had come to never hearing this memory at all. "I'm not sure how this relates to Riddle's horcruxes though."
"Perhaps it will come to you with a few more memories," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye, tapping the pensieve to bring up the next memory.
This time, Harry saw that they were in the potions classroom at Hogwarts. He might not like the place, but the amount of time he had spent avoiding looking at Snape left him well qualified to recognise the room itself.
A small group of boys, all of whom looked to be at least fifth years, were sitting around a portly man with a walrus moustache. One of the boys was Tom Riddle, just about the same age as he had been in the previous memory. It was Riddle who spoke first. "Professor Slughorn? Is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"
"Tom, Tom… if I knew, I couldn't tell you," the fat professor chortled, wagging a finger and winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, m'boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff you are."
Harry saw that several of the boys sitting around the professor were casting Riddle awe-struck looks. It's like being surrounded by seven Creevey brothers, only a lot creepier. Actually… this reminds me of Dudley and his gang. If one of these pricks calls Riddle 'Big V' I'm going to sick up all over this memory.
The comparison also gave Harry the sudden, sneaking suspicion that Riddle wasn't interested in the answer to his question and only mildly interested in impressing his teacher. He was trying to impress his classmates with that question, I'm almost sure of it. It's kind of like Dudders punching a ten-year-old; he's not doing that for himself, but for his mates.
A small golden clock on Slughorn's desk chiming eleven brought Harry's attention back to the memory.
"Good gracious, is it that time already? Best shake a leg, boys, or we'll all be in trouble." The teacher stood up, clearly dismissing the gathering and walked over to his desk. "Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."
Lestrange? Avery? I was right. This is Riddle's gang.
The boys started filing out one by one, with Riddle the last in line. Harry could tell that Riddle was purposely hanging back from the way the boy's eyes kept flicking over to Slughorn. Slughorn eventually noticed it as well. "Look sharp, Tom. Don't want to be caught out and about after hours, and you a prefect…"
"Sir, I- I had a question." Riddle's voice slithered over Harry's ears, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Slughorn apparently had no such premonition. "Ask away, m'boy," the fat man chortled. "Curiosity is the water of our growth, after all."
"I wondered, sir… what do you know about Horcruxes?"
A wall of silver smoke rushed in until all Harry could see in the depths of the pensieve was swirling agitated grey. For a split second he thought that the memory had ended abruptly, but then Slughorn's voice boomed out of the bowl, far louder than before and with an echoing, hollow quality that Harry hadn't heard from any voice before. "I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"
As the voice faded, the currents in the pensieve settled back to their usual movements.
Harry blinked in shock at the place where he had just been witnessing an interaction between Riddle and one of his professors, unable to process what had just happened. "Sir…" he began, before trailing off as he remembered something. "I take it that was the 'crudely and obviously edited' memory?"
"It is."
"This Slughorn bloke wanted to hide that he'd been talking about horcruxes? Why give you the memory to begin with then?"
"The human heart is a strange thing, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes going distant. "To many, how they are thought of is of paramount importance. I believe that Horace gave me this memory so that he would not have to live with the chiding thought that he would not stand against the dark. At the same time he could not bear to have his full complicity revealed, nor the fact that he had been so easily hoodwinked by one of his students."
"Is this what you meant by Riddle charming your colleagues, sir?"
"I did. In fact, I fear that this particular professor may have been something of an easy mark for Tom. Horace Slughorn had a fondness for gathering around himself students in whom he saw a great deal of potential. Tom was one such student, Professor Snape and your mother were two more."
"Mum was?" Harry felt that familiar hunger for a story about his parents well up inside of him.
"She was, though that is perhaps a story best left for another time." Dumbledore wore a slightly sympathetic expression as he brushed aside Harry's hope for a story. "Tom used Horace's eagerness to bond with his chosen against him, I fear. This memory certainly suggests that he may have been able to push Horace beyond prudence at least once."
Harry just shook his head. I can't believe it might have come down to something as simple as this. Would my parents still be alive if this teacher had really given the answer he's pretending he did? The thought made Harry's head and heart hurt and caused a shudder run down his spine.
"If I may ask a little more of your endurance, Harry," Dumbledore's voice cut across his musings, "there is a final memory I should like to share with you today."
Harry nodded and shifted himself to get more comfortable in his chair, grimly determined to focus as much as he could on this last memory.
The last memory that Dumbledore showed Harry was of an adult Riddle visiting an old biddy who showed him a pair of expensive heirlooms. In the context of the situation, it was almost impossible to miss Dumbledore's point that he thought these two objects would be horcruxes by now; especially once one of the two proved to be Slytherin's Locket.
"And that brings us to the end of our research as it stands," Dumbledore announced when the memory sank back into the pensieve. "Hepzibah Smith was found murdered the next day; a murder her house elf confessed to. It was good fortune on our part that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures is not possessed of more integrity. One of the members claimed Hokey for himself and had her work on his Acromantula ranch, collecting their silk. It allowed her to at least survive long enough that I was able to find this memory."
"That's turning into a pattern, isn't it?" Harry grumbled. He decided not to comment on the fact that the poor elf had apparently suffered and died despite the Headmaster's knowledge of her innocence. Hermione would have a fit if she knew… and could remember what a house elf is. "So, what do we do now?"
"There are a few things we need. The complete memory from Horace would be a good step towards confirming an aspect of Tom's plan; I suspect it will concern the number of horcruxes he intended to make. He was clearly well aware of what a horcrux is and any source that brought him that information would have led him to ways of discovering the method for their creation, so it is unlikely he was asking about that. For him to risk asking a teacher about this magic means that he had an idea that he could not test with written resources alone. Aside from that we will have to do our best to determine where Tom might have hidden his treasures."
"Any idea where we might start?" Harry asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. A tug on his trouser-leg drew his attention to where Kreacher was looking up at him anxiously.
"Kreacher knows that cup, Master," the old elf said. "Mistress Bella asks Kreacher to go to her vault and tell her if the cup is still there. Kreacher finds it there."
"It's at Gringotts?" Harry felt the tender hope that had sprouted at hearing that Kreacher knew where the cup was wither away as fast as it had come.
"Hmmm, that does pose a challenge," Dumbledore hummed in agreement. "It would prove difficult to obtain the goblins' cooperation. They distrust humans and may even work against us on principle."
"Wouldn't they see that having Voldemort running things would be even worse?"
"Not necessarily," Dumbledore replied, rubbing at his forehead as if he was trying to dispel a banger of a headache. "Their politics are just as fractious and contentious as ours and, just as in our world, there will be voices arguing that Tom's vision for the magical world is more beneficial than the status quo."
Harry slumped back in his chair wondering if Dumbledore's headache might be contagious when he felt another tug on his trousers.
"Master? Kreacher can get the cup."
"What?! Kreacher, I can't ask you to rob Gringotts," Harry protested, sitting up straight and looking at the elf in concern. "I've heard that they are vicious to anyone caught stealing things there."
"The goblin definition of theft is not exactly commensurate with our own, Harry," Dumbledore's voice intruded. A quick glance revealed that the Headmaster was leaning forward every bit as attentively as Harry. "If Kreacher has permission to be in the Lestrange vault, then it is very possible that the goblins will not consider it theft if he takes an object from there."
"And what about Bellatrix?" Harry demanded angrily. "Kreacher… if we do this, is there any way for you to avoid her summoning you?"
"If Master orders Kreacher not to answer, Kreacher cannot."
"In that case, I believe it will come down to Kreacher's own willingness to take the risk if you will not order him to retrieve the cup," Dumbledore said as if he was musing to no one in particular.
"You're damn right I'm not sending him there if he doesn't want to go," Harry snapped angrily. Taking a deep breath to calm himself he turned back to his elf. "What do you think, Kreacher?"
"Mistress Bella has betrayed Master Regulus," Kreacher growled with a hint of menace. "She betrayed the family. Betrayal of the family is always punished."
"Alright," Harry agreed hesitantly, seeing that Kreacher was going to do something drastic either way. "Your health and safety come first though, understand? If you find yourself in danger, get out of there and we'll figure something else out."
Kreacher bowed low and when he straightened up there was something Harry couldn't quite read in the old elf's eyes. "Master is so like Master Regulus; so very much like Master Regulus."
Before Harry could ask for an explanation, Kreacher had popped out of the office.
"Well, you certainly seem to have won Kreacher's devotion," Dumbledore said with a smile hiding in his voice.
"Yeah," Harry murmured distractedly, hoping for the elf to reappear soon. "I can't believe he actually decided to go to Gringotts for us."
"Unless you happen to be referring to yourself and Regulus Black when you say 'us' I doubt that you are being wholly accurate, Harry. He would not have even spoken up for my sake. Kreacher is following his own morality."
"I know," Harry agreed. "He would have done something if I hadn't let him go, but… I'm worried."
"Quite the turn-around in a single week, Harry."
"Yeah, yeah, no need to rub it in. You were right: Kreacher's been a treasure in hunting these things down."
"I will admit that I did not anticipate that he would prove to be quite as valuable an asset as he has proven himself."
Harry just nodded and silence settled between the two wizards as their attention turned to listening for the pop that would signal Kreacher's return. When it finally sounded, both leapt to their feet.
"Do you have it?"
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, frowning at the Headmaster as he heard the older wizard's question, asked at the same time as his own.
"Kreacher has brought the cup and is not harmed, Master," the old elf said, bowing and holding the object out with two hands.
As soon has he took the cup from Kreacher, Harry felt that same chill that had accompanied the revelation of the smoky apparition from last time wash through his mind before retreating like the tide. He quickly set it down on the ground near the cabinet which he knew housed the Sword of Gryffindor. "Definitely feels like one," he said, wiping his hands on his trousers to get rid of the feeling of wrongness that came with touching a horcrux.
He noticed that Dumbledore had raised one bushy eyebrow at that observation. That means something… what though?
Harry wasn't given time to ponder what the changes in Dumbledore's expression might mean as the Headmaster got up and opened the cabinet to pull out the sword. "If you are correct, my boy, then it would behove us to be rid of that thing sooner rather than later."
Harry considered demanding that he be allowed to wield the sword. No, better not. Somehow that feels like a trap that'll suck me deeper into a quicksand I can't quite see. Instead, Harry watched as Dumbledore once again lined up his swing, reminding him of the way Vernon would sometimes practice in the back garden before he took a client out to the local golf course for a big contract negotiation.
A deep inhalation warned Harry that the next swing would be the real one and in the next moment Dumbledore brought the sword down on the cup with a grunt, cleaving the thing clean in two. A tooth-jarring scream ripped through the air as the two halves of the cup curled up and shrivelled into a tarnished mess on the floor. For a moment Harry wondered which elf was going to be tasked with cleaning up that mess.
He chanced a look up at Dumbledore and noticed that there was none of the stress he'd seen in the old man's expression after the destruction of the locket. "Feeling alright there, sir?"
"Indeed, Harry," Dumbledore agreed with a nod. He turned around and replaced the sword in the cabinet, closing it deliberately.
"After the last time I thought that this was going to be more difficult, sir."
"If we had allowed even a drop of liquid to enter that cup I am sure the trial would have been more arduous," Dumbledore agreed as he settled back into his chair.
Okay, maybe that look he gave me was because he was worried I'd left some sweat in the cup with the way I was rubbing my hands. I wish I could be sure. Shaking off his doubts for the time being Harry refocused on the task at hand. "That makes three horcruxes we've destroyed, sir. Does that mean he's mortal now?"
"I fear it to be very unlikely, Harry," Dumbledore said with a troubled look.
"But you said he might have made it three or seven. Why don't you think we're done yet?"
"You've forgotten to count the primary part of Tom's soul, which resides in his current body, my boy."
It only took Harry a moment to do the maths. "You meant that there's fourth part still out there, which means that Voldemort can't have focused on a three-part soul as being his ideal."
"Precisely. I strongly believe that as of this moment we must assume that Tom created at least six horcruxes."
"At least we're halfway? Maybe?" Harry couldn't really put any enthusiasm into his words.
"Perhaps. I certainly believe seven to be the most likely number."
"Why's that?"
"Without treading on Professor Vector's area of expertise overmuch, seven is the most arithmantically significant number. Tom achieved an O on both his O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. in that subject and would most certainly have been aware of this most basic of facts."
"You seem to have this all figured out," Harry said grouchily as he sat back down in his chair.
Dumbledore gave him a look over the rims of his half-moon glasses. "It is merely a hypothesis on the basis of the memories you have just witnessed, Harry."
"Which is?"
Something stern entered Dumbledore's gaze which made Harry think that his cheek was beginning to push the boundaries of what the Headmaster was willing to tolerate. "You have noticed Tom's attraction to certain objects. What pattern do they follow?"
"They belong to the Hogwarts founders? Well… some of them."
"Precisely. Slytherin's Locket. Hufflepuff's Cup. A diary that recorded his most primal connection to Salazar Slytherin."
"So we're looking for things that belonged to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor? Or at least things that have a connection to them." Harry totted up the objects and felt his shoulders drop. "That leaves us one short, doesn't it?"
Dumbledore inclined his head. "That was well-reasoned, my boy; well-reasoned indeed. I do not think that Tom had quite such an easy time collecting his treasures though."
"Oh?"
"The only known artifacts that can be reliably traced to Godric Gryffindor are his sword and hat. You have held both. Do you perceive the taint of a horcrux on either?"
"Hat? The Sorting Hat?"
"The very same."
Harry certainly hadn't felt that inhospitable chill from the Hat at any point he'd touched it. "No, sir."
"Neither have I. Of course, that does not mean that Tom has not found another object related to Gryffindor but it would have been difficult. Similarly what few artifacts we know to have been significant to Rowena Ravenclaw in her lifetime have not been seen for centuries."
"So what do you think we ought to be looking for?"
Dumbledore leaned against the backrest of his chair with steepled fingers in what Harry was beginning to think of as his teaching pose. "I have first sought to identify objects that, while not as strongly connected to the founders of Hogwarts, might still have exerted a pull over Tom's imagination. Did you notice anything in the original part of Slughorn's memory? A particular treasure?"
Harry cast his mind back to what he had seen in the pensieve before that thundering cloud had overtaken everything, but he was coming up blank. A tap on his knee drew his attention to Kreacher.
"Master, the enemy of Master Regulus was playing with a ring on his hand in the memory," the elf whispered, clearly trying to help without being caught.
"The ring… the one Morfin and Marvolo wore?!" Harry tried to clarify.
"Indeed so, Harry," Dumbledore said, studying his pupil. "That was well-spotted Kreacher."
The elf bowed perfunctorily towards the Headmaster and Harry thought that Kreacher was just being polite, since his expression clearly let everyone know that he didn't care one whit what Dumbledore thought of him.
"So the ring, the cup and-… and this'd be a lot easier if you'd just come out and tell me what objects we're hunting for," Harry groaned in frustration. "But yeah, that was a good job, Kreacher. Well done."
This time Kreacher bowed deeply and his chest was thrust out when he straightened up again.
"The point of this exercise is not to have you blindly accept the conclusions I arrived at as an absolute truth," Dumbledore said in a slightly lecturing tone, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "Rather you should learn to follow reason to get as close to the truth as possible, even when you do not have as much information as you might like. In times like this we may not always be in a position to wait for all the information to reveal itself, but the quality of our thinking can still make the difference."
"But it's going to take longer and I thought speed was of the essence?"
"It is, but not to the degree that we must count every minute's passing. We have no time to waste hurrying after all."
"That doesn't even make sense!"
"Does it not? A task hurried to completion is seldom done well, Harry, and we must do this task well or Tom will simply resurrect again and again and the cost to dispatch him will be severe each time that he does."
Harry crossed his arms and glared at Dumbledore.
The older wizard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose over his half-moon spectacles. "I believe that showing you all these memories in one sitting may have been a mistake on my part, Harry, as we are both getting tired and accordingly short-tempered. Let us conclude for today with the summation you had admirably started. The ring of the Gaunts and a currently unknown object that has a strong connection to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw are our best guesses for the remaining horcruxes."
Harry frowned. "Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, you mean."
"No, I do not think that I do," Dumbledore disagreed. "Do you remember your experience shortly before Christmas?"
"You mean that whole thing with Mr. Weasley being bitten?"
"Indeed. I am curious, do you think that there are many wizards who would attempt to use a familiar to infiltrate the Ministry? Even if Tom does have the advantage of being able to speak with his familiar?"
Harry thought he could see what Dumbledore was going for here. "You think that he turned Nagini into a horcrux and that he was talking to his soul piece?"
"I believe that is a possibility," Dumbledore replied, inclining his head.
He's hiding something. That isn't really what he thinks, or not all of it at least. "Wouldn't it be silly to use a living thing as a horcrux though?" Harry asked, wondering if he could get the Headmaster to reveal more of what he was thinking. "That part of his soul will die when she does and most snakes don't live that long… or is she like the basilisk?"
"I doubt that she will prove to be long-lived for the same reasons as the basilisk you defeated. While I have not been able to investigate much, I believe that was the result of the magic that hid the Chamber of Secrets, not an innate ability of its inhabitant."
"But you don't think she'll just die like a normal snake either."
"I suspect," Dumbledore began carefully, "and mind you, this is a guess I have only minimal confidence in, that Tom realised that it will be lonely for him throughout the untold aeons that he intends to live if he does not have a companion. He may be gambling rather heavily on the idea that a living being as a horcrux will live as long as he does, just as he will live as long as it does."
"How do we get rid of it if they're both keeping each other alive? Do we have to do something other than killing it?"
"No, my boy, I am afraid that we will still need to kill her. Remember the conditions for breaking the connection between a horcrux and the parent soul."
"You mean that bit about having to destroy the horcrux beyond the ability of magical or muggle repair?"
"Indeed. And for a living being the only condition that meets those requirements is death." Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh. "Allow me to reiterate though that Tom has developed an unprecedented magic here and even he probably doesn't understand its every consequence."
"I guess that makes sense," Harry agreed. Damn it, that wasn't really as much as I'd hoped he'd tell me. Is this really all he knows? "Back to what we do if Nagini manages to stick around somehow after we kill her?"
Dumbledore nodded in acquiescence. "Even if she might resurrect through her connection with Tom, that will not be immediate. If we can unhouse both souls from their physical confines, I am confident that both will have to pass on."
"So the ring, the snake and something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's? And we want to save the snake for last and kill it at roughly the same time as Riddle?"
"As succinct an overview of our strategy in the coming conflict as could be given, I believe," Dumbledore agreed.
"Not really much of a strategy, is it?" Harry asked. "It's a lot easier said than done."
"Most strategies are, Harry." Dumbledore looked like he was about to say more, but closed his mouth as he apparently decided against it. "Like I said a moment ago: we have been almost stiflingly productive. I think your best course of action at this point is perhaps to take your broom and go outside. Spending some time moving your body will get the blood flowing and make you feel better."
"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, remembering how much his walk before lunch had helped. I think that really would be a good idea. My brain feels like it'll turn to mush in a minute. Just one more thing to do before we end this. "Kreacher? You are forbidden from answering any summons from Bellatrix, understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Actually," Harry corrected himself, realising the loophole in the order, "you are forbidden from answering the summons of anyone serving Master Regulus' enemy. I think that includes the Malfoys and Lestranges in addition to Bellatrix, right?"
Kreacher's expression turned thoughtful. "Kreacher thinks so, Master."
"Good. You are also to let me know what you would like as a reward for this excellent service."
"Reward, Master?" Kreacher sounded like he had never come across the concept before.
"Yeah, you deserve it, so if you come across something you want to have or do just let me know, okay?"
"Kreacher… Kreacher will, Master," the old elf agreed tentatively, before quickly popping out of the room as if he was trying to get away from people who were dangerously odd.
"That was kind of you, Harry," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "I will admit a certain curiosity towards what Kreacher decides to ask for."
"I'll let you know if he ever does," Harry replied, noticing that he was feeling tired after what now felt like a very long day.
"Go, my boy. Give your mind a chance to relax."
"Yeah, sure."
"Would you be so good as to return here on Monday afternoon? Now that you know all you do it is time to begin your occlumency training."
Harry just nodded as he got up and shuffled out of the office. Maybe instead of flying I'll just take a nap.
AN:
I just had to rewrite some of the memories. I tell you, for as much grief as Dumbledore gets from some parts of the fandom for not just showing all the memories in one go, there's nothing like trying to write them all into a single scene to let you know exactly how tedious that would have been.
I also decided to cut the job interview memory entirely as I don't feel it adds enough to the story and by the point I remembered that it existed I was about as done with this scene as could be.
It's possible that Dumbledore is slightly overestimating Harry. After all: as far as the Headmaster knows, Harry solved a lot of tricky riddles over the years with no help at all…
On the other hand, Harry and Dumbledore are cracking on at a good pace. That's three down and, though Harry cannot know it yet, four plus the man himself to go.