A/N: ! IMPORTANT ! I added a few pages to the last chapter. The shorter chapter affected the structure of this chapter, so I went back and added more. Otherwise this chapter would have been WAY too long! LOL!
A/N2: DISCLAIMER: A lot of this chapter was taken from the 6th book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It is not mine. Only the interpretations are mine. (smiles)
A History Lesson
Harry, his brothers, and Sirius gathered in the sitting room on the first floor. All the furniture had been pushed against the wall except for the coffee table, which had been set in the exact center of the room. Floating a few feet above its surface was the enlarged silver Pensieve Dumbledore had given Duo and Quatre. Inside the basin swirled dozens of bright strands of light going this way and that, twirling in chaotic patterns.
Harry looked around at his brothers. Wufei stood on his right, then came Quatre and Trowa, then Sirius almost directly across from Harry, then Duo and Heero, who stood at Harry's left. Harry thought his heart should be pounding with nerves, but he felt strangely calm. These were just memories, after all, and he was determined to prove to Wufei and the others that he was strong enough to handle whatever lay inside.
"We'll place our faces in the water one at a time," Sirius explained for the second time. "Then we'll all meet inside the memories."
"I'll go first," Heero volunteered and bent forward to put his face in the liquid.
Harry watched with wide eyes as his brother seemed to stretch and get sucked inside the basin. Duo took a deep breath and followed. Harry moved to take a step forward, but Wufei held him back. Trowa and then Quatre entered the Pensieve before Wufei released his shoulder. Sirius gave him an encouraging nod, and Harry gave a little smile in return. Taking a deep breath that puffed out his cheeks, he dipped his face into the water.
It felt like falling. A startled scream caught in his throat, but then he felt his feet hit the ground – which was very disorientating since it had felt he like he was falling head first. He opened his eyes to see Heero and the others huddled together on an old-fashioned city street. Harry stared around in great interest at the strange clothing styles and the heavy English accent he could hear all around him. Wufei and Sirius arrived moments later, and it was Sirius who pointed out their target.
"There's Dumbledore!" the wizard exclaimed with a laugh. "What in the bloody hell is he wearing?"
Harry turned to look. A shockingly young, auburn-haired Dumbledore was walking away from them down the street. He wore a Muggle suit that was vaguely in the same style as everyone else around him, but it was an audacious plum color and made entirely out of velvet. Harry looked toward Duo, and as soon as he saw the open-mouthed expression on his brother's face, he burst into laughter.
Duo hooked an arm around Harry's neck and pulled him close, laughing, too. "What? His sense of style is hideous!"
They followed the young Dumbledore until he crossed the street and walked through an iron-cast gate that read Saint Mary's Orphanage across the top. Harry and Duo peeked into the bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. Their laughter died out.
"God, I hate places like this," Duo muttered.
Harry shuddered. If it hadn't been for Heero, he would have ended up in a place just like this one or, worse, an asylum.
Everyone looked about, scanning the area as young Dumbledore mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"
"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um… just a mo'… MRS. COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder. "Come in, she's on 'er way."
They all filed into a hallway tiled in black and white. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
"…and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs, and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets – chicken pox on top of everything else," she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.
"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.
Mrs. Cole simply gaped, and Duo, Harry, and Sirius snickered at her reaction.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well – well then – you'd better come into my room."
She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
They all listened intently as Dumbledore tried to give her a song and dance about a school invitation. In the end, he subtly slipped out his wand to prevent the matron from asking too many questions about where her charge would be going or why. Dumbledore even provided alcohol to get the woman talking.
"A woman in charge of children should not be allowed to drink so carelessly, especially while on the premises where the children are housed." Quatre sniffed in disapproval as the woman practically guzzled the gin.
"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"
"That's right," said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour." Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.
"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"
"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty – and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father - yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus – and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."
Mrs. Cole helped herself almost absentmindedly to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy. He was a funny baby, too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was… odd."
"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.
"Well, he…" But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass. "He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"
"Definitely," said Dumbledore.
She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."
"You mean he's a bully?" asked Dumbledore.
"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents… Nasty things... Billy Stubbs' rabbit… Well, Tom said he didn't do it, and I don't see how he could have done, but even so it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it? But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy argued the day before. And then… on the summer outing – We take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside – Well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we every got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things…" She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady. "I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."
"Uh oh," Duo murmured.
Harry looked up to see that his brother had a very concerned look on his face. He wasn't the only one looking at Duo.
Duo shrugged lightly. "Met a few kids like that on the street. Sociopaths."
Harry wasn't quite sure what a sociopath was, but from what he knew of Voldemort from his vision, it wasn't anything good.
"We already knew he was dangerous," Heero stated, grim-faced.
Quatre looked troubled. "I never prescribed to the belief that children were born sociopaths. I always thought the environment shaped them that way."
"That's because you want to believe everyone has a chance at redemption," Duo pointed out. He flipped his braid over his shoulder and crossed his arms. "It's rare, but some kids… They're just born wrong, and it sounds like this Tom Riddle was one of them."
"Environment didn't help," Trowa added. His eyes were still locked on the matron and Dumbledore as they finished up their conversation. "This place is not ideal."
"Could'a been worse," Duo argued, but he fell silent as Dumbledore and the woman rose and made their way out of the room.
Harry was impressed to see that she was steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. They followed the pair up the stone stairs, which gave them an opportunity to check out the orphanage better. The orphans, Harry saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up. Trowa was right, but so was Duo. Harry's childhood and that of his brothers – with the exception of Wufei and Quatre – had been worse than this. It hadn't turned them into monsters.
The woman led them to a room on the second floor where Harry instantly recognized a younger version of the teenaged Dark Lord from his vision. He sucked in a sharp breath, and Trowa put his hands on his shoulders, silently offering support. Besides the child Dark Lord, the small bare room had nothing in it except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair, and an iron bedstead. Riddle was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. He was tall for an eleven year old, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.
"How do you do, Tom?" asked Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand. The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor. "I am Professor Dumbledore."
"Professor?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" He pointed at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
"Dumbledore's going to have trouble if he doesn't explain who he is quickly," Duo murmured. He was standing the closest to the pair, the group having unconsciously decided he'd be better at understanding the scene due to his knowledge of abnormal children.
"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.
"I don't believe you," said Riddle, anger growing in his face as Duo predicted. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before.
"He's using magic!" Sirius exclaimed, wide-eyed in shock.
"We already knew he was a wizard," Quatre pointed out, lifting an eyebrow curiously.
Sirius shook his head. "You don't understand. Children don't have a controlled grip on their powers. It's more like an uncontrollable force that acts up during moments of stress. It's extremely rare for a child to be able to harness and use their magic at will when they're this young."
"Just great." Harry rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide the way they shook with nerves. "Of course the villain is super powerful as well as messed up in the head."
While this was going on, Dumbledore had been calming a distraught Riddle and convincing him he was really from a school of magic and not an insane asylum.
"Magic?... It's… it's magic what I can do?" Riddle asked in a quiet whisper. His expression was so innocent and genuine that Harry almost doubted there had been anything weird about the little boy, but that doubt was about to be killed permanently.
"What is it that you can do?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as if in prayer. "I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
"Torturing and killing animals as a child, check. Sadistic urges, check. No sign of remorse, check. We've got a real winner here," Duo remarked, eyes glued to the boy who would grow up to threaten his family.
"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."
Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial. "Are you a wizard, too?"
"Yes, I am."
"Prove it," Riddle said at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said to tell the truth.
"He uses his power so perfectly," Sirius murmured. He almost looked impressed, or maybe envious.
"He doesn't recognize Dumbledore's authority at all." Quatre furrowed his brow in concern. "He is a little boy and yet he commands Dumbledore like he is a king and Dumbledore a lowly subject."
Of course, Dumbledore had noticed that, too, and quickly yet gently corrected Riddle's attitude by telling the boy to address him as professor or sir.
"He's doing okay," Duo grudgingly admitted. "He's not acting like a pushover, but he's not being too threatening, either."
That changed, however, when Dumbledore set the wardrobe on fire in response to Riddle's request for a demonstration of magic. Riddle jumped to his feet and screamed. Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.
"Not smart." Duo sighed and rubbed at his face, the gesture tired. "He just showed a budding sociopath that magic can be even more destructive than he'd conceived on his own. Dumbledore also squarely placed himself in the category of enemy. He won't be able to influence Riddle in a positive manner at all now."
What followed was very interesting. Riddle was made to slowly reveal items he'd stolen from others. Dumbledore then made a subtle threat if Riddle did not return them. Harry could see what Dumbledore was doing without his brother's commentary. It was a power play. He was trying to impress Riddle with his power, and he wanted to make it appear as if he was omniscient. It was a tactic to make Riddle behave because he would never know when Dumbledore was watching. It made sense for Dumbledore to do that since he had a child with dangerous powers acting immorally. On the other hand, Harry couldn't help disliking Dumbledore for putting himself in the position of God and wanting to make an eleven year old boy fear him as such.
It was impossible to tell what Riddle was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box and into the wardrobe again. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly. "I haven't got any money."
"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spell books secondhand, but…"
"Where do you buy spell books?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.
"In Diagon Alley," answered Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything…"
"You're coming with me?" Riddle asked, looking up.
"Certainly, if you…"
"I don't need you," said Riddle. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go 'round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley – sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.
Dumbledore handed over an envelope containing his list of equipment and told Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage.
"I can't believe Dumbledore's just going to let this creepy kid wander around Diagon by himself," Sirius exclaimed shocked. "It's absurd!"
Dumbledore was still talking. "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name…"
Duo whistled. "Another big mistake, though it was unavoidable. Dumbledore just told Tom that the Wizarding world discriminates against normal people. Making a term like Muggles demonstrates an 'us versus them' mentality."
Then, as though Riddle could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle, too, they've told me."
"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his tone filled with sympathy.
"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So – when I've got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?"
"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there, too."
Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"
Harry could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress. "That's no big deal. I can do that, too. I talk to the snakes at the circus all the time."
Sirius whipped his head around, his mouth falling open.
Heero narrowed his eyes at the wizard and stepped closer to Harry's side.
"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face.
"What's with the dramatic reactions?" Duo demanded, also facing Sirius.
"Speaking with snakes means you can speak Parseltongue," Sirius explained, still wide-eyed. "That's a dark gift. Salazar Slytherin, founder of the darkest House at Hogwarts, was the first known Parseltongue, and a very large majority of wizards and witches who spoke it after him were infamous for very evil acts."
Harry swallowed hard and leaned into Trowa. Speaking to snakes was evil? "It just sounds like English to me…" he protested weakly.
"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."
Seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing squarely in a circular room filled with odd contraptions. The tall walls were lined with old portraits with the subjects moving and shifting like real people. Quatre and Sirius quickly identified the room as present day Dumbledore's office. A desk sat to one side, and old man Dumbledore sat there quietly sipping tea. The whole Parseltongue subject would have to wait until later because Dumbledore began speaking.
"Hello. I thought I'd put in some commentary so that you would have a more comprehensive understanding of events and a wider context to some of the memories I've provided."
"It's creepy how he stares right through us," Duo remarked, marching up to the desk. He leaned over it and waved his hands wildly in front of the old wizard's face. Dumbledore didn't flinch or give any indication that he could see or hear them, which he couldn't. They were still in a memory, after all. Harry felt goose bumps rise on his arms. Duo was right. It was creepy.
Dumbledore settled back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully out the window. "Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his secondhand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head. However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him."
Duo groaned and flopped down into the chair in front of the desk. "Oh god, how long is he going to go on?"
"Shush!" Quatre said sharply, giving Duo a repressive glare. "This is important."
Duo slouched down with a pout, but he obediently fell silent.
"As he moved up the school," Dumbledore was saying, "he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them."
"Sociopaths are incapable of feeling emotionally attached," Duo added, appearing bored the way he swung his leg back and forth and twiddled with his braid.
"This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle," Dumbledore continued right over Duo's comment. "They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts. Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. I will show you more about that later."
"Something to look forward to," Wufei murmured caustically.
"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said with a regretful sigh. "Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family – the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.
"All he had to go upon was the single name Marvolo, which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his mother's father's name. Finally, after painstaking research thorough old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line: the Gaunts, one of the last recorded decedents being Marvolo Slytherin Gaunt. This is what drove him to discover everything he could about Slytherin and which lead him to opening the Chamber of Secrets. It was this incident that ended in the death of a student that I had mentioned earlier."
Harry cried out as Dumbledore's almost hypnotic monologue abruptly ended. The room went dark instantly with no warning, and he was again falling head first. Landing heavily on the ground, the shock reverberating up his legs, Harry fell on his butt, still yelling. Trowa was instantly at his side, helping him up.
"Are you all right?"
Blushing, Harry pulled away from Trowa's supportive hands. "I'm okay. It just startled me."
"Shut up, Heero! I'm not a klutz!" Duo yelled. As soon as he was on his feet, he punched his lover on the shoulder.
Harry snickered. He wasn't the only one who'd fallen. Looking around the room, he noticed they were in Dumbledore's office still, but it looked different somehow.
"That's Headmaster Dippet," Sirius said, pointing to the tiny man behind the big desk. "I never met him, but I've seen his portrait. He was headmaster before Dumbledore."
The wizard was frail-looking, bald except for a few wisps of white hair. He was reading a letter by candle light. There was a knock, and the wizard immediately straightened. "Enter," he called in a feeble voice.
"That's what the Dark Lord looks like now!" Harry exclaimed as Tom Riddle, about sixteen years old, strode into the room. This instantly got his brothers' attention and they examined this version of Riddle closely.
"How the hell does he look sixteen?" Sirius wondered, eyebrows furrowed. "He was past middle age during the first war, and that was twelve years ago."
The following conversation between the teenaged Riddle and Headmaster Dippet was interesting. Harry watched in growing awe as Riddle played at being a nervous, desperate teenager. There were no hints of his darker nature. Harry could find no evidence of the commanding, arrogant, creepy eleven-year-old kid they had just seen.
"He's learned to hide it." Duo sighed, his breath fluffing his bangs. "He's had time to perfect his image and hide what's broken inside him. The fact that he cares to do so shows how conniving he is."
Harry knew Duo was right, but it was still hard not to feel bad for Riddle as he practically begged not to go back to the orphanage. Harry wouldn't have wanted to go back either. Not when he had Hogwarts to compare it to.
Dippet must have felt the same because he clucked his tongue sympathetically. "The thing is, Tom, special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…"
"You mean all these attacks, sir?" asked Riddle.
"Precisely," said the Headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl… You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the – er – source of all this unpleasantness…"
"A girl was killed?" Wufei, who had been quiet for a long while, asked in a cold voice. "What are they still doing here? The school should have been closed instantly for an investigation!"
"Are all the headmasters at this school incompetent?" Duo added, agreeing. He shot the feeble headmaster a venomous look.
Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Duo and Wufei rarely ever agreed, but lately they seemed to be agreeing on everything. Before he could say anything about it, the memory lurched, and they were plunged in darkness for a brief second before reappearing in a dimly lit castle hallway. What appeared to be a very large man wearing student robes was crouched in front of a doorway. He was messing with a large wooden box on the floor. Inside the room, in the dark shadows, something chittered and scuttled along the stone floor.
"C'mon… gotta get yeh outta here… C'mon now… in the box…" the big man muttered.
"That's Hagrid, a half-giant! This must have been when he was a student at Hogwarts!" Sirius called out in recognition, a fond smile on his lips. "Wow. He's so small."
Harry exchanged a wide-eyed glance with his brothers. This Hagrid character was the size of an American football player, and that was small? Harry didn't want to know how big Hagrid grew up to be.
Teenaged Riddle suddenly entered through the door at the big man's back. "Evening, Ruebus," he said sharply.
Hagrid slammed the door to the adjoining room closed, leapt to his feet, and faced Riddle. "What are you doin' down here, Tom?"
Riddle stepped closer. "It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop. I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and…"
"It never killed no one!" said Hagrid, backing against the closed door.
"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…"
"It wasn't him!" roared the very large boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"
"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand. His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked Riddle into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream.
His brothers moved in an instant. Quatre and Trowa stepped in front of Harry, blocking the teen from the monster, while Heero, Duo, and Wufei all pointed various weapons at the threat. A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers, it was an enormous spider.
Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, "Noooooo!"
The memory cut out, sending the seven of them falling through space once more. Harry managed to keep his feet this time as they landed back in present day Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was standing at the window this time, his hands folded at the small of his back.
"They pinned the crime on Rubeus Hagrid, snapped his wand, and expelled him from the school. Hogwarts was deemed safe and Tom got his wish. He was allowed to stay an extra three weeks after the school closed for the summer holiday. That meant he would only have to spend about a month and a half at the orphanage." Dumbledore sighed, his face looking tired. "Unfortunately, the time he spent in the Muggle world was used for great evil. In the summer of his sixteenth year, Tom left the orphanage to find his Gaunt relatives." Dumbledore turned around to face the rest of the office, expression grim. "I was very lucky to collect this next memory. Brace yourselves."
Harry felt the familiar sensation of falling through nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness.
"Geez," Duo groaned. "I never thought I'd complain about being motion sick, but this is ridiculous."
From what Harry could see, they were in a filthy shack. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown that Harry could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked away, rising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left. The door cracked open. There on the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood teenaged Riddle: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome.
Riddle's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds, they looked at each other, and then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor. "You!" he bellowed. "YOU!" And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.
"Stop," Riddle spoke.
"Did he just hiss?" Duo asked in a whisper.
"Harry?" Heero looked down at Harry.
"Must be Parseltongue," Harry shrugged. "Sounds like English to me." And he translated the strange conversation between the two wizards.
"Where is Marvolo?" Riddle asked.
"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"
Riddle frowned. "Who are you then?"
"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"
"Marvolo's son?"
"Course I am, then…" Morfin pushed he hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore a black-stoned ring on his right hand. It stood out because it was the only clean thing on his person or in the filthy house. "I thought you was that Muggle," he whispered. "You look mighty like that Muggle."
"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.
"Oh man," Duo groaned and slapped his forehead. "Tell me this idiot doesn't tell Tommy where to find his father. The kid will freak!"
"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it…" Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He came back, see," he added stupidly.
Riddle's expression became sharp and vicious, shedding the wholesome appearance he'd maintained so far. He moved a little closer and said gently, coaxingly, "Riddle came back?"
"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?" Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit… It's over…" He looked away, staggering slightly, and Riddle moved forward. As he did so, an unusual darkness fell, signaling the abrupt end of the memory.
When they landed in Dumbledore's office once more, only Heero had managed to keep his feet. Harry and Duo were once again on their butts, while Wufei and Trowa were on one knee, and Quatre and Sirius had fallen to all fours. Duo and Wufei grumbled nasty comments as they pulled themselves back to their feet, and they shot Dumbledore dark glances, blaming him for the violent arrival.
"Bet old Tommy's daddy is dead as dead can be," Duo added, huffing and crossing his arms. "Wouldn't surprise me if Morfin is dead, too."
"Sorry about the rough transition," Dumbledore said from his seat behind his desk. "Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward. When he awoke the next morning, he was lying on the floor quite alone and Marvolo's ring had gone. Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father. The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage. The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people."
Quatre nodded. "Makes sense. Riddle seems very keen on cleaning up after himself. His image clearly matters a great deal to him at this point in time."
"So the Ministry called upon Morfin," Dumbledore continued with a quiet sigh. "They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls.
"We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way.' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."
"Sounds about right," Duo agreed. He shook his head and cast Heero a glance containing all his worry.
Harry shivered. The enemy was becoming more frightening not less the more they learned about him and his methods.
"Morfin had this real memory in him all the time," Dumbledore lamented. "But it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him, and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."
"Probably for the best," Wufei said into the quiet. "Morfin did not seem sane even before Riddle's arrival."
Dumbledore stood and came around his desk, making Quatre and Wufei back up to give him room. "Now this next memory I managed to obtain is from one of Tom's other teachers and perhaps touches on how Voldemort has managed to escape death. When Voldemort resurrected, leaving behind the body of a first year student, I naturally grew intensely curious on how this was done. Only the darkest of magic could do such a thing, and I reasoned that Tom had to have learned it somewhere. At the time Tom was a student, Horace Slughorn had been head of Slytherin House as well as Tom's potions teacher. He has always been noted to be a very informed individual, even pertaining to things better left untouched. I had hoped he would have insight into Tom's method of resurrection, and I managed to convince him to turn over this memory."
Again they fell through blackness. Harry thought it should get easier each time, but it seemed to be growing more disorienting instead. They all managed to keep their feet, but Harry had to close his eyes a long second to let a dizzy spell pass. Looking around at his brothers, he noticed they all looked paler than normal. Even Sirius.
Sirius caught Harry looking at him and he gave Harry a wan smile. "I've never spent so long in a Pensieve before."
"Is it dangerous?" Heero asked, eyes scanning the scene.
Sirius shrugged. "I don't think so. I think the worst that can happen is that we all become tired."
They were in a large office, most likely in Hogwarts. A portly man in green robes, presumably the Horace Slughorn Dumbledore had mentioned, sat in a fat armchair, his feet propped on a cushioned foot rest. Around him sat several male students, one of which was the teenaged Riddle. Riddle was positioned at the man's right and possessed a respectful demeanor. On the table they were gathered around, sat dozens of exotic treats, including what looked like frozen pineapple.
"The students are all on harder, lower seats than the man," Wufei noticed as he stalked around the gathered circle. "He must enjoy holding a position of power."
"Dumbledore did say he is known for being knowledgeable in questionable areas," Quatre said, eyeing the man in distaste.
"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Riddle asked in a soft, respectful voice.
Duo made gagging noises as he stood behind the teenager. "Laying it on thick, ain't he?"
"Slughorn doesn't seem to think so," Quatre said to Duo in response to his earlier comment. "Riddle knows how to play people perfectly. He'd never overdo it."
"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are. What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't," he continued, giving Riddle a fond look, "and your careful flattery of the people who matter – thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite…"
"This man is disgusting," Wufei growled. "How can he consider himself a teacher of children?"
As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Harry could see nothing but the faces of his brothers and Sirius. They all pulled together in a tight group, eyeing their surroundings warily.
"I don't know what's happening," Sirius whispered nervously. "Maybe the memory was altered? It's all I can think of."
Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words!"
The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared. An ornate, golden clock on the desk behind the group chimed eleven. Slughorn turned to stare at it in surprise. "Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."
Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Riddle, however, stayed behind. Slughorn gave him a smile. "Look sharp, Tom. You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect…"
Riddle put on a demure expression. "Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"
"Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?"
Sirius gasped and literally staggered. Trowa had to grab his arm to keep the wizard from falling over. And then the room filled with the dense fog once more, and again Slughorn's voice rang out unnaturally.
"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!"
And Harry's feet left the floor, another spin through absolute darkness, and they were back in present day Dumbledore's office. They all stood there, regaining their bearings, and waited to be told what had just happened.
"As you might have noticed," the ancient wizard said. "The memory was tampered with. The parts with fog and Slughorn's amplified voice indicated where the original had been doctored. I suspect Professor Slughorn altered his own memories because he is ashamed of what he remembers. He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you saw, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations. I am still in the process of trying to persuade Horace to give over an undoctored version of the scene, but I haven't yet made any progress."
"And what is a Horcrux?" Quatre asked, turning his attention to Sirius. "It clearly means something significant."
Sirius stared back at them, pale-faced and silent. It was Dumbledore who unknowingly answered the question.
"As you've likely inferred, the topic of Horcruxes is very shocking." Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, took off his glasses, and rubbed at his forehead. "It is an ancient and vile art created centuries ago by a previous Dark Lord. This dark magic was banned, and very few know the meaning of the word. A Horcrux is basically a piece of someone's soul stored in an inanimate object. It takes a dark ritual to create one and a human sacrifice. Possessing one would explain Voldemort's immorality. Even should his body become mortally wounded or destroyed, he still cannot die because his soul lives on. Thus after his destruction that night in the Potter home, he managed to survive as a spirit, until he could be fully resurrected through the use of Ginny Weasley's life force and magic one year ago. A Horcrux must have been used at that moment and then was reunited with his more ancient spirit. It would also explain Voldemort's long silence since his resurrection. Young Ginny's sacrifice would only sustain his new body temporarily. Adding the strain of his original spirit possessing that body and reuniting with that soul shard, he must have been very close to destroying his new form, but I'm certain with Voldemort's knowledge base he would be able to correct any weakness in time."
Complete silence descended as they considered this information. Harry felt sick even imaging what would be involved in such a process.
"So if he's killed again, he'll stay dead?" Duo finally asked. "His Horcrux thing was used?" He looked around at everyone with entreating eyes.
No one had an answer, at least until Dumbledore began to speak once more.
"Considering Voldemort's penchant for trophies, his love of murder and the darkest arts, and his extreme fear of dying, I fear however that he made more than one Horcrux." Dumbledore put his glasses back on and tugged at his beard, staring blindly past them all. "I hope that Horace will eventually be able to give a clue as to the number of Horcruxes Voldemort may have made, and I will of course inform you whenever I do get that information."
"That's nice," Duo drawled, but his usual attitude was missing. It seemed even he was subdued by this news.
"As for what I know regarding Tom after he left Hogwarts, my knowledge is spotty at best. Tom left Hogwarts with top grades in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he join the Ministry for Magic and offered to set him up with important contacts."
Duo gave a tired laugh. "Talk about a fox in a hen house. That would've been a nightmare!"
"Tom refused all offers," Dumbledore explained. "Instead, Dippet informed me that Tom asked for a job teaching at Hogwarts. He wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, considering Professor Merrythought had decided to retire, but Dippet refused him on the basis that Tom was too young at eighteen to hold such a position. So Tom left Hogwarts and in a few weeks secured a position at Borgin and Burkes, a shop on Knockturn Alley."
"That's where all the seedier shops are," Sirius supplied. He'd regained a little color, but he definitely didn't look completely steady. "A lot of illegal stuff goes down there, though not explicitly enough for the Aurors to shut it down completely."
"Interesting choice for a teen who up to this point has put a lot of effort into appearing perfect and upstanding," Quatre remarked. He too looked a little worn around the edges.
"However," Dumbledore continued. "Tom was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specializes in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Tom was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."
"I'll bet he was." The sarcastic comment surprisingly came from Wufei. All eyes turned to him, and he gave them a superior look as if asking them why they were staring.
"Tom stayed with the shop for a handful of years. He returned to Hogwarts, again asking for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but Dippet was no longer headmaster. I was. I denied him the job, and he cursed the position before taking his leave." Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Then Tom was no more. He disappeared. Most likely to travel abroad to continue his studies into the Dark Arts. He was gone decades, and when he returned, he was Lord Voldemort with Death Eaters in tow. Now you know all that I do about Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Harry felt numb and tired. He wanted out of the Pensieve, and he was glad it was over. But then Dumbledore lifted his head. The tired look in his eyes had disappeared. He looked cold and determined, almost fierce.
"And now I will give you a few memories of Voldemort."
The way Dumbledore said that made Harry's stomach drop. He had no idea what that meant, but before he could voice a worried question, they were falling into another memory. Harry's feet had barely touched the ground before he was yanked hard against someone's chest, a hand clamping down on his eyes. Then he became aware of screaming, and a heavy sense of power hanging in the air. It was smothering. The muscular arm around his chest, pinning him to someone's body didn't help, either, but he didn't dare move.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness of his brother's hand. The screams went on forever. It wasn't like a movie. The hair along his arms and neck stood on end. He could smell the terror of the victims. It sent his heart racing, made his knees weak. He clung to the arm holding him close, and when he felt another body press up against his front, he grabbed a handful of t-shirt and held on tight.
Suddenly they dropped into another horrific memory without warning. Harry landed on his knees, still wrapped in Heero's arms. He knew it was Heero because he heard his brother grunt, though his grip never wavered. There was heat and smoke in this memory. He could even feel wet blood soaking the knees of his pants. And this time the screams were the terrified wails of a child somewhere to the left. It was Trowa in front of him, who he clung to, because Trowa was whispering in his ear, telling him he was safe. That it would be over soon.
They fell into memory after memory. Each lasted only minutes, only small glimpses into hell, but it felt like eternity. Harry had started crying somewhere along the way, but had soon fallen silent. The things he was hearing were worse than tears. The things he smelt; what he felt against his skin; it brought to life that horrible scroll Snape gave him and the vision he'd had of destroying the space port. It brought back to life the horrific memories of being trapped under the Dursleys' thumb.
The screams went on forever. His own, other people's; they just went on and on. There'd be no end. Because there was no end. This was the end. What was the point of struggling? Why when no matter what you did you'd end up dead?
Something wet and sticky sprayed across his face. It tasted of copper and raw meat, and the scream that reached his ears literally tore at him. Vaguely he could hear Heero mutter a low, heartfelt curse. Harry just couldn't take anymore. He closed his eyes and ears; he closed everything off, took himself away and curled up where it was dark and silent within himself.
xXxXxXx
They were falling again, but this time was different. It felt more like being pushed than being pulled. A quick glance showed his team sprawled around the Pensieve back in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. He was the only one who'd landed on his feet, but no one seemed injured so he turned his attention to Harry. The teen was limp in his arms; the only thing keeping him upright was Heero's palm across his eyes and his arm across Harry's chest. Trowa rose to his knees in front of them and pulled Heero's hand away from Harry's eyes. Heero bit back a curse when he saw those green orbs staring glassy and blind.
Trowa gently tapped Harry's cheeks. "Wake up, little one. We're home."
There was no response, and Heero bent and hefted Harry into his arms bridal style. "Quatre," he called.
The blond was pulling himself to his feet, head snapping up at the urgency in his voice. His eyes widened in dismay to see Harry cradled lifeless in his arms.
"What's wrong with him?" Sirius demanded.
Heero ignored him, striding from the room and moving to the stairs. Quatre and Duo followed at his heels, leaving Trowa and Wufei to deal with the wizard's concern. Like it or not Sirius was a part of their team for the foreseeable future, and he would be taken care of as such. Heero entered the bedroom he and Duo had claimed and gently laid Harry down on the bed. Quatre instantly put a faintly glowing hand on Harry's forehead, his pale face tight with strain and exhaustion. Duo grabbed Heero's arm. His whole body was tense as he stared down at their boy, who still stared off into nothing.
"He's completely disconnected," Quatre said into the tense silence. "I'm going to put him to sleep. Hopefully he'll wake on his own in the morning. If not, I'll try to jolt him out of it."
"Why don't you do that now?" Duo questioned.
"He needs rest," Heero answered for Quatre. "We all do."
Quatre nodded and straightened. "I feel like I could sleep for a week."
Duo moved from Heero to Quatre and gave the blond a tight hug. "You look like crap, Cat."
"Thanks, Duo," he said with a wry smile. Quatre brushed his hands over the teen's temple, and they watched as Harry's eyes slid closed. "Good night," he said before taking his leave, silently shutting the door behind him.
Duo sat on the bed, brushing Harry's hair away from his face. "What a clusterfuck."
Heero agreed, but he didn't want to talk about the memories right now. "Strip. It's time for bed."
Duo gave a rueful laugh, a sparkling rising in his eyes. "But, Heero, we can't! Harry's in bed with us tonight."
Heero smacked him on the chest.
In silence, they stripped out of their clothes. Duo had merely stripped to his underwear and did the same with Harry, and Heero pulled on a sleep shirt and some spandex shorts. Soon enough they were all three in the bed and under the covers.
"Good night, Hee-chan, Harry-chan," Duo whispered into the darkness.
Heero reached his arm across Harry's chest and rested his hand on Duo's hip. He stayed awake a few minutes longer, just listening to his lover and child breathe. Before allowing sleep to steal him away, he made a promise to himself. He wouldn't let the hell they had witnessed in the Pensieve become a reality once more. They were going to fight this war their way.
Chapter end.