Disclaimer- there is quite a bit of this chapter taken from HBP. It has been bastardized slightly to fit into this story.
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Chapter 27- Memories
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He collapsed back against the desk behind him and sat there for a moment, waiting for a bit of his energy to return. It had taken more out of him than he had expected.
At least he had known in advance it would take a bit out of him, as he had the restorative potion ready and waiting on his desk. After the episode he'd had from using the Fiendfyre two days in a row he didn't want to chance collapsing in his office with only the former Head's portraits keeping an eye on him. He also did not want anyone else in the room while he practiced and perfected this experiment.
It was a very Dark form of magic that he'd found deep in the Hogwarts library. Not the student library, the one off the Headmasters office, the one with books too delicate or priceless to be available in the restricted section. This particular spell was in a book from the Medieval times about the true story of the death of Richard the Second in 1400. He had befriended a wizard named Thurston Hoyle and after the passing of Richard's wife, had tried to lay with Hoyle's wife, claiming it was his right as king. Hoyle was having none of that and had used the Dark Arts taught to him by his father to cast Richard the Second's soul out of his body and into a cat. The wife had seen it all, afterwards her husband fell into a coma for three days from performing the spell, one that was written and recorded there.
Albus had tried to replicate the spell several times, practicing different wand movements and focusing his energy on what he was trying to accomplish. The book had not record precisely how to accomplish the spell, only the incantation and will of the caster. It was exhausting work, but until he had a live object to try it out on he hadn't know just how debilitating it would be.
He had consulted a few of his past friends an colleagues about a spell, one of which being Horace Slughorn. Horace had been hesitant to assist, just as he had been about giving the true memory of a young Tom Riddle so many years ago. In the end, and after several drinks, Horace had mentioned the tale of Richard the Second as he'd heard it, which led Albus to search out that story. He'd also brought up Tom Riddle again. Horace bowed his head, linking the two subjects and morosely handed over the real memory of his conversation with his student nearly fifty years ago.
Managing to get up on his knees Albus pulled down the vial on the desk and drank down his restorative potion greedily, resting back against the wood and watching as the soul of his chickadee bird splashed around in the body of a recently made soul-less fish in a bowl on the floor. The fish soul residing in the chickadee bird that was laying on its side.
He'd done it.
It had taken a full month, but he'd done it. He had not only managed to transfer a soul but separate the two souls that had rested inside one being. He could see them both inside the bird as separate entities and chose which one he wanted to transfer.
With a sigh he rested his head back against the wood of his ornate desk. Now he knew how to transfer the Horcruxes out of the objects and could let Remus and Sirius know.
The Easter Holiday was coming up soon, Sirius had told him he wanted to get the lay of the land in Albania, then Remus had explained how he wanted to approach the wraith and it was rather ingenious, particularly if it panned out.
The next step though was to tell Harry about the Horcrux he believed lived inside of him.
It didn't seem so daunting a task now. He wouldn't be telling the boy and then letting him live with the knowledge that there was an evil presence inside him, he would be removing the presence right away. The prophesy too could be reinterpreted now. While all along he believed that it would be the power of love that was what 'He knew not', it seemed that it was the love of those around the boy fighting to bring Tom to his proper end.
There were thousands of prophesies in the Department of Mysteries, the majority of them laying unfulfilled. He wasn't being naïve; he knew that not all prophesies were to be taken verbatim and hearing that one from the mouth of Sybill Trelawny he had hoped that it wouldn't be more than the foggy foretelling of what might come to be.
When Severus came to him and explained how he had overheard it and passed it on to his former Master he knew that wasn't the case. Tom put a lot of stock into all branches of magic but hadn't understand that it was his hearing of the prophesy and acting on it that made it a reality. If only the boy had taken Divination while he was in school he might have known better.
Now though, as the energy was coming back to his body he stood up and went to sit in his chair. It had been a week since he'd told Miss Granger and Mister Potter that he would consider showing them the memories of Tom Riddle. He felt safe in doing so now.
Albus wrote out one letter for Sirius, he would want him present for Harry, and one for Miss Granger.
He had to wonder what Miss Granger's future would look like. She was a remarkably brilliant girl; studious, logical and dedicated. There was no doubt that her professors would expect her to be Head Girl next year, and she would do well in that role. She had been fair in her punishments that she had had to give out as a Prefect, even to a few of her tormentors from over the years.
He could see her rising through the ranks at the Ministry quickly and becoming Minister, probably by the time she was forty. And, he would have no qualms about putting his own recommendation forward for her to start out in any position she chose.
For Harry though, he wasn't sure what his future career path held, but he knew it would involve Miss Weasley. It was lovely seeing the two of them together. They reminded him of his parents so much. James Potter had been smart but uncontrollable, until Miss Evans took him by the ear and made him focus on what was important.
Though, Harry had been as reserved as his two best friends until the Weasley siblings came along. Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom were not one's to break the rules and given his unfortunate childhood and home life the stability of his friends had done him good. The Weasley's though had made him relax and begin to become his own man. Sirius and Remus too had helped with that quite a bit in the last few months.
It killed him to find out that Harry's aunt and uncle had been so neglectful. He should have been paying closer attention to him. Arabella had reported back to him a few times a year, but that was as much as he had done to check up on the boy. The school and medical records that the Auror's found, and what Sirius had told him about Harry's 'bedroom' until he received the Hogwarts letter, it was heartbreaking.
There wasn't anything he could do to change the past though. He could only work to make Harry's future, and the rest of the Magical World's, a better place.
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"Mmm," Ginny moaned against his lips. "You have to leave for your meeting in a minute."
"Yeah," he said as he kissed his way down her neck, "that's a full sixty seconds from now." He ran his thumb over the slip of skin above her trousers where her shirt rode up. They were sitting in the Common Room, her in his lap in one of the large chairs by the window. No one was paying them any mind. Hermione hadn't even shown up yet and gotten his attention through her exasperated and impatient huffing, he had plenty of time for a few more kisses.
"How long do you reckon you'll be?" she asked him, her hand running up his arm and into his hair.
"Could be a while. Hopefully I'll be out of there before dinner." His hand went up under her shirt to trace up and down her side. They'd had Quidditch practice that morning and he could smell her shampoo clearly. It was a lovely floral scent that didn't overwhelm his nose. He slipped his hand out from under her shirt and took one of her long locks in his hand. It felt so silky and smooth, he loved running it through his fingers.
"You think he's going to show you the memories that he showed Sirius over the holidays?"
"Dunno. We'll have the meeting with the Goblin's first, then I guess we'll just see how much time he has after that." He wasn't really interested in talking just then, he would have preferred to keep their mouths otherwise occupied. They'd been so busy with school work lately, he cherished any time they could get and wasn't interested in talking, they could talk to each other when their friends were around.
Ginny had other ideas. She shifted back from him and started rubbing along his hairline by his forehead. She knew that that made him incapable of doing anything besides enjoying the sensation. "Think we can sneak away this evening? Or do you have a pile of assignments you've been neglecting?"
His eyes were closed as he enjoyed her touch. He didn't give two shits about homework just then. "Can do it tomorrow." he mumbled.
"Me, or your homework?" she teased, whispering in his ear.
"Mmm, both."
Her body shook slightly with laughter and she pulled her hand away. "Hermione's just come down the stairs."
Harry groaned. That had been feeling amazing, he wouldn't care what the Goblin's or the Headmaster had to say if she just kept giving him that massage. Regretfully he placed his hands at her hips and shifted out from under her. "Tonight," he kissed her nose, "we will pick up where this left off. Think we both might enjoy a back rub."
Her eyes were dancing as she bit her lip in a grin. "You just want a front rub." she whispered.
He leaned into her ear, "We'll just have to see what happens." He placed his hand on her thigh as he pushed away, making sure to trail it up slightly. Turning away from her he went over to Hermione. "All set?" though he knew he never had to ask when it came to his friend. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, and he had to wonder if she knew whether or not one could take notes while witnessing a memory. From the way Sirius described it, it had been an immersive experience, but all in your head in a way.
"All set," she patted her shoulder strap. "I have the contracts for the Goblins and notepads for the memories." Her eyes were nearly bugging out of her head in excitement. "I hope you understand how major this is. I mean, him deciding to show you the memories, well, it's kind of your right."
"How do you figure?" he asked as they went through the portrait hole and closed it behind them. He knew that Tom Riddle had killed his parents, so in that respect, sure, but Riddle had ruined the lives of so many that Harry having a 'right' to view them over anybody else didn't make sense. These memories weren't going to be of that night. At least, he hoped not. He wasn't really interested in seeing his parents slain down in their home. He was having a hard-enough time having to see the house where it all happened in a few weeks over Easter.
"You were the one to 'finish him off' fifteen years ago. I would think you would be more interested in it all." Hermione scoffed.
"I am interested, but it isn't like it's occupied my every waking moment over the past fifteen years. These past few months have been enlightening. And helping hunt down all of the Horcruxes with Sirius and Remus-"
"The what?" Hermione stopped and put her arm out to stop him as well.
He stared at her in confusion for a moment, then realized what he'd just said. "Shit." He couldn't believe he'd slipped up like that. She just knew so much about Riddle already that he forgot just then that she didn't know about how Riddle had made himself immortal. "Hermione," he started.
"What is a Horcrux?" Her eyes were wide and demanding.
"I shouldn't have said that."
"Well, wasn't I just about to find out about them anyways? Isn't that part of what these memories we are going to see are going to be about?" she implored.
"I don't know." he admitted. "Sirius didn't tell me what they all were. And I don't know if Dumbledore was going to be showing us all of them, or if they were going to be about… shit. I can't believe I just let that slip." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. For months he'd managed to hold her off and keep it to himself, now as they were about to discuss it all he let it slip.
"But, what is it?"
"It's… it's not for me to say. Can you please just pretend that I didn't tell you? I really don't want to disappoint Sirius. Maybe they'll tell you about it, maybe they won't." He pleaded.
"If they don't tell me in the meeting, will you? You know I am going to look it up anyways."
He did know that. She probably wouldn't sleep until she'd gone through every book in the library in search of what it was. For the sake of her sanity he probably should tell her what it was. For the sake of adding accuracy to her articles too. But since the Horcruxes were still a problem they were dealing with, and they didn't know if they'd found them all, it could be a dangerous part to add to her articles as well.
"Look. A Horcrux is a dangerous thing, if they don't tell you about it in the meeting then," he stared at her brown eyes and didn't want to hide it from her anymore. She was his first friend, she'd been killing herself tracking down all of this information, including breaking and entering government facilities and disregarding her own moral compass in the search for the truth about him. She deserved to know. "Yes. I'll tell you later. Then you'll understand why there's been all the cloak and dagger about it all."
"Really?!" she beamed.
"Really. But after I tell you we are going to go over every potential outcome that could arise from you adding anything about it to your stories."
"Article's." she corrected.
"Right. Article's." She'd corrected him about that a few times before, "stories are fabrications, my articles are fact. And I've worked hard to make sure of that." she'd lectured him over that one. "Either way, we're making one of your pro-con lists."
"Completely understood." She put both of her hands up as a show of her agreement.
They kept on their way to the Headmasters office, Hermione was practically vibrating with excitement the whole way. He really hoped she could manage to keep her calm once they got there, or simply pass it off as being related to the meeting with the Goblins or anticipation at viewing the memories.
"Harry!" Sirius greeted him with a hug when they got to the office. Harry beamed at his guardian. It was still new to him to be cared for like this by an uncle type figure, someone older that held an interest and took responsibility for him.
The Goblin Farnook was seated at his desk he'd transfigured. It looked like an elementary school students desk due to its size and made him want to chuckle, but knew that would be considered bad form and managed to internalize his amusement.
The meeting with the Goblin went quickly, they only discussed profits, distribution of the materials removed, and how Hermione had a vault opened in her name. The Basilisk had been completely taken apart now, the Goblin's had worked round the clock to drain it and separate the parts that had magical properties and usefulness. They had searched the remaining tunnels down there with their teams, not trusting that the wizards had done the job appropriately, but they too found nothing else. No secret passageways, no hidden rooms, nothing else of value.
Dumbledore thanked the Goblin and after Farnook left he focused his attention on Harry and Hermione. "You both understand that this is privileged information that I will be sharing with you?"
"We understand." Hermione spoke for the both of them. "Anything you show us, I won't be adding it to my articles unless it can be validated through another source."
Harry glanced over at Sirius, so far as he knew the only memory that Dumbledore had shown him was the one of Tom Riddle and Slughorn in his office, and that hadn't been a 'complete' memory, whatever that meant. He wondered just how many memories they were going to be shown today. He really hoped there wouldn't be one of the night his parents died.
"Alright then." The Headmaster still looked hesitant as he went over to a large stone basin.
Hermione had filled Harry in on how one 'view's a memory', it was confusing to try and imagine exactly how she'd described it. At least he had a general knowledge of what was expected of him, and he knew it was called a Pensive. It would have been preferable to have a screen projection of the memory rather than becoming part of the background.
"What memories will we be viewing?" Hermione asked as she stood beside him at the basin.
"I have selected a few carefully. The first will be my first meeting with Tom at the Muggle Orphanage he was raised in, when he found out that he was a wizard. The second is of young Tom Riddle with his Potions Professor, which Mister Black has already viewed part of."
Harry glanced over and saw Sirius had a raised eyebrow about that. Apparently he didn't know that Dumbledore had the full memory in his possession now. That had been what he'd been asked to do over Christmas, perhaps Dumbledore had tracked Slughorn down since and managed to get it.
"The last is a memory I retrieved from a House Elf after her owner's untimely passing. It shows Tom in his early twenties, before he started truly gathering his 'loyal followers'."
"And why have you chosen these three particular memories?" Hermione asked.
Harry could gather why these three in particular were chosen. They would paint the proper picture of his development and manipulative skills over his life. From what he'd been told, the Slughorn memory meant that Harry's earlier slip up in the hallway would be moot. That was a load off his mind. He wanted her to know. She had insights about these things that he wouldn't have caught on to, like with Tom's school records and the bit about Dumbledore giving him the bare minimum for his reports.
"These will give you an understanding of the gravitas that Tom Riddle projected. No doubt you will realize from the way he held himself just how a boy who came from nothing was able to gather followers and corrupt our world." With that he took a few glass vials by his side and unstoppered them, pouring the shimmering mist into the liquid in the bowl and lowered his face, disappearing into it.
Hermione's eyes lit up in amazement and followed suit. Harry cast Sirius a curious glance.
"I know. It was really weird. It'll feel like you're falling, but it won't hurt you in any way." He sighed. "Come on. Don't want to keep them waiting." He gave a squeeze to Harry's hand and put his face in the bowl, disappearing as well.
Harry took one more sigh and lowered his face. The sensation of falling was immediate, but his landing was just as sudden. He was standing outside in the rain on a dark day in what he assumed was London. Dumbledore, Hermione and Sirius were beside them.
It was a relief to see that they could share the experience like this. He was worried they would each be going through the memory by themselves. Sort of like a virtual reality game that re-set the scene for every player.
"This is Wool's Orphanage." Hermione pointed out to him. The sign above the door of the building in front of him relaying that information clearly enough. "It isn't standing any more. They tore it down and put up office buildings."
Harry exchanged a glance with Sirius. They both had the expression of assuming Hermione was going to yammer away about all the knowledge she'd collected through the entire experience.
"Oh look!" She pointed to the man coming down the walk towards the gate. "There's a young Headmaster Dumbledore!"
"Yes. Don't I look spry?" The current Headmaster beside her mused.
Harry snickered alongside his Godfather. Truthfully there wasn't too much of a difference between the men, aside from the fact that the younger one was wearing a Muggle Suit, and the older one was wearing his robes, which would have made the Matrons at the Orphanage think he was walking around in sleeping gowns. His beard was shorter too and had a few streaks of dark hair in it still. All in all though, he looked pretty much the same.
They followed on behind him as he knocked on the door and greeted by a girl wearing an apron that called to the matron. They all heard distant shouting about before the matron, a skinny and harassed looking woman came scurrying towards them She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked towards the young Dumbledore. It appeared many of the children had broken out in Chicken Pox.
"Good Afternoon," the young Dumbledore said, holding out his hand.
She simply gaped.
"This is Mrs. Cole, she is in charge of the orphanage," the current Dumbledore told them all.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore," the younger one told Mrs. Cole. "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. Yes." 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.
The rest of them filed in unnoticed against the back of the office, Hermione looking captivated and mercifully silent as she observed everything. Sirius was standing close enough that their shoulders were touching. He kept nudging and pinching Harry's side slightly. Harry elbowed him just below his ribs to get him to stop, trying not to laugh. Seeing these memories was supposed to be a privilege, one he didn't want revoked for misbehaving.
"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said the young Dumbledore.
"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.
"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."
"What school's this, then?"
"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.
"And how come you're interested in Tom?"
"We believe he had qualities we are looking for."
"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one."
"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth-"
"Who registered him? His parents?"
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.
Hermione made a tisking sound seeing that.
"Remember how you found his orphanage records?" Harry asked her with a raised eyebrow.
She blushed slightly and turned back to the scene while Sirius raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but Harry shook his head in response. Now wasn't the time to explain that one.
"Here," said young Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear."
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment. "That seems perfectly in order," she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before. "Er- may I offer you a glass of gin?" she said in an extra refined voice.
"Thank you very much," said Dumbledore, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin-drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
"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."
Hermione clutched at Harry's arm then. He shot a look over at her. She was captivated with the interaction, and he had no doubt that she was going to go back and alter her Merope story to include this bit.
"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 absent-mindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheek-bones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I thought he might be."
"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.
"And nothing I say can change that?'
"Nothing," said Dumbledore.
"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"
"Whatever," repeated Dumbledore gravely.
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 is 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…"
Dumbledore did not press her, though Harry could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still.
"Billy Stubb's 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?"
"I shouldn't think so, no," said Dumbledore quietly.
"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then-" Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time, "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 ever 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 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."
"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" said Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."
"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccough. She got to her feet and Harry was impressed to see that she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"
"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.
She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Harry saw, were all wearing the same kind of greyish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared-for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.
"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered. "Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton- sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you- well, I'll let him do it."
Harry and the rest of the group entered the small room behind the younger Dumbledore, Mrs. Cole closing the door behind them. The invisible bunch of them stood shoulder to shoulder as they took in the room. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the grey blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.
He was a handsome boy, tall for eleven years 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?" said Dumbledore, walking forwards 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 the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and a 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 was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.
"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "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. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything warier still. "Who are you?"
"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school- your new school, if you would like to come."
Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, towards the rest of them, looking furious. "You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor', yes, of course- well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"
"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you-"
"I'd like to see them try," sneered Riddle.
"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities-"
"I'm not mad!"
"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."
There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.
"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.
"That's right," said Dumbledore.
"It's… it's magic, what I can do?"
"What is it that you can do?"
"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 forwards and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though 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."
"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," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said 'tell the truth'.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"
"Of course I am!"
"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'Sir'."
Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant- please, Professor, could you show me-?"
Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner and gave the wand a casual flick.
The wardrobe burst into flames and Hermione nearly leaped into Sirius' arms in shock, forgetting that she couldn't possibly be hurt in the memory.
Riddle jumped to his feet and howled in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must have been in there' but even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.
Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore, then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"
"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."
And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.
"Open the door," said Dumbledore.
Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a railing of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.
"Take it out," said Dumbledore.
Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.
"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.
Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.
"Open it," said Dumbledore.
Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents on to his bed without looking at them. There was a small mess of everyday objects that fell out; a yo-yo, a silver thimble and a tarnished mouth-organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.
"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
Riddle did not look remotely abashed' he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."
"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "We teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure- been using you powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide our laws."
"Yes, sir," said Riddle again. His face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he 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 spellbooks and so on second-hand, but-"
"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money-bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.
"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything-"
"You're coming with me?" asked Riddle, 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 Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and, after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "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-'
Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.
"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"
"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Riddle. Then, as though he 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 voice gentle.
"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?"
"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door. "Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."
The scene in front of them swirled and Harry instinctively reached out to grab for Hermione and Sirius' arms.
There were half a dozen boys sitting around someone that looked like a younger Horace Slughorn in this new room, the boys were all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Harry recognized Riddle at once. He had the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair. This young Riddle had some jewelry on him that looked out of place considering the situation he had been in in the previous memory.
"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Riddle asked.
"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy' more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."
Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.
"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, 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 – I confidently expect you to rise to Minister for Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple. I have excellent contacts at the Ministry."
Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. "I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."
A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader's famous ancestor. It made a shiver run up Harry's spine. These boys must have known the kind of genocide he was hoping to inflict on their world even at the young age he was then.
"Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet."
The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.
"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."
One by one the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look round' Riddle was still standing there.
"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect…"
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"
"Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?"
Harry heard Hermione suck in a deep breath through her nose beside him.
Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absent-mindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"
"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."
"No, well, you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom. That's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.
"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you – sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously – I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could – so I just thought I'd ask-"
"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "Well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."
"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle. His voice was carefully controlled, but there was a sense of excitement coming off him.
"Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But, of course, existence in such a form, few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."
Riddle's expression had turned greedy, "how do you split your soul?"
"Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."
"But how do you do it?"
"By an act of evil- the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: he would encase the torn portion-"
"Encase? But how-?"
"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughorn, shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it – do I look like a killer?"
"No, sir, of course not," said Riddle quickly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to offend…"
"Not at all, not at all, not offended," said Slughorn gruffly. "It's natural to feel some curiosity about these things… wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic..."
"Yes, sir," said Riddle. "What I don't understand, though – just out of curiosity – I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces? I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven -?"
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case… bad enough to divide the soul… but to rip it into seven pieces…" Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: he was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all. "Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"
"Yes, sir, of course," said Riddle quickly.
"But all the same, Tom… keep it quiet, what I've told- that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know… Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it…"
"I won't say a word, sir," said Riddle and he left.
Again the scene dissolved. Harry's brow was furrowed over the behaviour of the previous Potions Professor, how could he have shared that information with a student like Tom Riddle. He was obviously a suck up who was looking for power. And he'd been hesitant through out their entire one on one, the regret for sharing the information was nearly instant. It was a good thing he retired before he managed to lead any more kids down the path of attempting world domination.
When the darkness cleared away they found themselves in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge on her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Harry had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
Harry cringed at the ostentatious sight of her. He exchanged the look with Sirius, who looked like he was fighting back a bark of laughter himself.
"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!" She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" asked Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
"Lovely, madam," squeaked they lying Hokey.
A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped.
"Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" cried Hepzibah and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things, there were cabinets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes and many flourishing pot plants in brass containers; in fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Harry had no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing as Tom Riddle. He was plainly dressed in black suit; his hair was longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him: he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom… sit down, sit down… where's Hokey… ah"
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.
"Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times…"
Riddle smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered. "Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, batting her lashes.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," said Riddle. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair-"
"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Riddle quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire-"
"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it…"
"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Riddle quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.
"I had Hokey bring it out for me… Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure… in fact, bring both, while you're at it…"
"Here madam," squeaked the house-elf, and she produced two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, pouffes and footstools.
"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom… oh, if my family knew I was showing you… they can't wait to get their hands on this!" She opened the lid. Harry edged forwards a little with Hermione and Sirius to get a better view and saw the same golden cup he'd found in Sirius' family vault.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah, and Riddle stretched out a long- fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Harry thought he saw a red gleam in Riddle's dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah's face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Riddle's handsome features.
"A badger," murmured Riddle, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was…?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" said Hepzibah, leaning forwards with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess, too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here…"
She hooked the cup back off Riddle's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Riddle's face as the cup was taken away.
"Now then," said Hepzibah happily, "Where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are- take that away now, Hokey-"
The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap.
"I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see… of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone…" She slid back the fine, filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket. It was the same golden locket that Dobby and Kreacher had been fighting over at Christmas. It looked like Riddle managed to swindle two of his Horcrux containers from this woman.
Riddle reached out his hand without invitation this time and held it up to the light, staring at it. 'Slytherin's mark," he said quietly, as the light played upon the ornate, serpentine 'S'.
"That's right!" said Hepzibah, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Riddle gazing at her locket, transfixed "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value-"
There was no mistaking it this time: Riddle's eyes flashed scarlet at her words and Harry saw his knuckles whiten on the locket's chain.
"I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are… pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe…"
She reached out to take the locket back. For a moment Harry thought Riddle was not going to let go of it, but then it had slid through his fingers and was back on its red velvet cushion.
"So there you are, Tom, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!" She looked him full in the face and, for the first time, they saw her foolish smile falter. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Oh yes," said Riddle quietly. "Yes, I'm very well…"
"I thought – but a trick of the light, I suppose –" said Hepzibah, looking unnerved, and Harry guessed that she, too, had seen the momentary red gleam in his eyes. "Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again… the usual enchantments."
They were all pulled out of the Pensive and it took Harry a few blinks to re-calibrate himself and come back to reality.
"Hokey the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident." Dumbledore told them.
"That was," Hermione started. "So… a Horcrux, that is how Tom Riddle survived so many years ago? Why you are convinced he did, anyhow?"
"I am afraid we know that for a fact, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore.
Hermione's complexion paled.
"We've found a few of the vessel's that he used," Harry told her. "Those two in the last memory."
"Do you think he made SEVEN of them?" she asked in a panic.
"I believe there were seven pieces of his soul in the end, yes." Dumbledore told her.
Harry's forehead creased in thought as he went over the number that they had come across already. 'Locket, Diary, Ring, Tiara, Cup and the actual piece of him that was still out there in wraith form.' He kept repeating them over in his head. He didn't remember another that had been found.
Perhaps there was still one that they had to track down somewhere. Harry looked over to Sirius and found Sirius was already looking at him with a sad, contemplative expression. Dumbledore was looking at him sadly as well.
"Miss Granger, were those memories sufficient?" the Headmaster asked her in a dismissive tone.
"A-absolutely. And I promise I won't be adding anything I can't verify through other sources. I don't know if putting anything about a Horcrux in my articles will do anyone any good," she told him, "it would be a horrible idea actually."
"I agree," nodded Dumbledore.
"Hermione," Sirius interjected, "would you mind heading back to Gryffindor? Your headmaster and I have to talk to Harry about something else."
Hermione exchanged a look with Harry, who wasn't sure what they needed to talk to him about alone, but shrugged and nodded at her. "Of course, thank you for sharing that with me," she told Dumbledore and left the office.
()()()
Life Begins for a Young Orphan by George H.M. Rannier
It wasn't exactly a hard life, living in an orphanage. There were lots of other kids to play with, the nurses were nice enough, lessons were the same there as they were everywhere else. The problem for one little orphan boy is that all the other kids seemed to think he was different. But that was okay, because he thought he was different too.
It was confusing, because he didn't know why or how exactly it was that he was different.
See, this little boy could do things with his mind if he concentrated really hard. Other kids saw him doing things too, they called him names because of it and it made all the other kids at the orphanage not like him. They were even slightly scared of him because in times of anger he didn't always have control of these little things he could do.
He was lonely.
Because he was lonely he spent all of his time on his studies and reading until he had read everything that the orphanage had for him to read, and his studies were well above those of the other children around him his age. This too did not help him make any friends.
While the other children at the orphanage had spent all of their time playing kickball and getting in trouble, this little boy stopped trying to join in. He regressed into himself and his own little world so much that even the adults running the orphanage noticed he stood out. He was so much smarter than the other children his age, his elocution and vocabulary were exemplary, and it was because of that that the adults began thinking him odd, they started leaving him to his own devices as well.
It had been when he was seven that he realized he was truly different from the children around him. They couldn't do things with their mind like him and none of them had the special talent that he had discovered one day down at the coast.
The little boy had begun to grow wistful about his oddities. He'd read comics and fairy tales about orphaned children who were whisked away to worlds they didn't know existed, and he thought he was like those children. He was special. Being different was a good thing, and he was going to keep practicing his special skills until he was amazing at them.
As he practiced moving things about his room through sheer will he also started to play on the feelings of the people around him, checking to see how they would respond to certain situations. If he cried for help, who would come? If he said someone was being mean, what would happen? And if he broke the rules at the orphanage, what would be his punishment? And, what would he have to do to make sure that the other kids wouldn't snitch on him when he stole from them?
He tested himself and those around him for years to figure out how people ticked, find out what they were motivated by. He was also getting leverage on those around him so that he could use certain material for future favors.
He'd begun going exploring too. He was being raised in Central London which allowed for quite a bit of sight seeing. No one paid attention to little orphan boys so he could pass along street ways and alleys completely unnoticed. All the while he searched around for someone who might be like him. Someone superior.
When he turned eleven, he learned that, yes, there had been a reason for his differences. His fantasized moment of some long lost relative or such coming to claim him and take him away from the sad orphanage had at long last come about. A professor from a far-off place had come to the orphanage to tell him about it all.
He was a wizard!
That was the reason he could do things, why he had his special skill! He was doing magic! He was going to go off to a school to learn how to do even more magic and he was going to be with people who were like him! People who liked him. People who he could look up to.
For once his lonesome heart felt hope, his clouds of depression were parting and he could see the sun shining down upon him.
He was a wizard and he was going to go to Hogwarts, and his whole life would be so much better.