Chapter 58: Weeping Hearts

Albus already had the Pensieve ready upon the desk once more when Harry arrived for the lesson. The first thing he noticed was Harry looking at his almost as soon as he walked in, but thankfully, he didn't say anything about it as he came over.

"I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas?" he asked instead, suddenly curious to what happened with him and Rufus.

"Yes," said Harry without any trace of regret or hesitation. "He's not very happy with me."

Albus fought a smile. No, he didn't think that Rufus would. He could just imagine the look on his face if he heard that. "No," he confessed. "He is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on."

Harry grinned. "He wanted me to tell the Wizarding community that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job."

Albus couldn't help himself at that and smiled back. "It was Fudge's idea originally, you know." And then he briefly told him on how Cornelius had been so desperate to speak with him about giving him support to keep him in post. Naturally, Harry looked outraged.

"After everything Fudge did last year?" he demanded angrily, looking like he wanted to go into a rant, "After Umbridge?"

Albus nodded his head a little, fully agreeing with him. "I told Cornelius there was no chance of it," he told him, "but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I arrange a meeting with you —"

"So that's why you argued!" Harry suddenly interrupted, his eyes wide as he remembered something. "It was in the Daily Prophet!"

"The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally," Albus confessed casually, "if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

Though he knew that in the end it wouldn't have done any good. This should at least teach them to leave people alone and do some work themselves. But he really had expected Rufus should have known better than that. Harry had proven that he can be just as, if not more, stubborn as he could be.

"He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through,'" Harry informed him. Albus merely answered at how rude he was but what he said next stopped him dead. "I told him I was."

Albus had been about to speak again when his words got caught in his throat. He didn't react at all, but Fawkes let out his feelings in a single low, soft, musical cry. The conviction in Harry's voice moved him to tears—and he just didn't know how to respond to that. He had so much faith in him, despite everything he had done… especially last year.

Harry was looking away, as if he thinking he said something he shouldn't have and was looking away. Giving him enough time to compose himself, he was glad that his voice was steady as he said, "I am very touched, Harry."

That was an understatement. He just hoped that he live up to such confidence…

"Scrimgeour wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts," Harry informed him, looking at his own knees.

Feeling lighter than he had in a long time, he told him, "Yes, he is very nosy about that. He has even attempted to have me followed. Amusing, really," he added as he thought it all over, thinking of poor Dawlish. "He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once; I did it again with the greatest regret."

"So they still don't know where you go?" Harry asked him, and Albus recognized that tone anywhere. Smiling at him over the top of his glasses, he gave him the same answer that he had given him before. Though he was looking a little disappointed, Albus then asked if there was anything else he wanted to say before they went on with the lesson.

"There is, actually, sir," Harry said at once, and then he went on to explain about how he overheard Severus attempting to help Draco with something important during Horace's party and everything they said.

Albus frowned. This he was deeply concerned with. Severus did mention to him that Draco seemed to blame him for his father being sent to Azkaban, but he didn't think that it would be this bad. When Harry finished, he was very quiet for a moment before he said, "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

He knew that Harry wouldn't like this one bit, and perhaps he should've worded it better. Harry has been known to be persistent and he was right. He was looking a little put out by this. "Not of great importance?" he repeated angrily, "Professor, did you understand —?"

"Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me," Albus said a little firmly, letting him know that he wasn't going to continue this. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

This was true, he had things set up and planned out as best had he could. And he was trusting Severus to do his best to keep Draco out of trouble. However, he could tell that Harry wasn't the least bit happy about this. He just glared at him, not saying anything for a moment, and he could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out what to say. "So, sir," said Harry, in a more calm tone, but he could still detected the slight anger in his voice here, "you definitely still trust —?"

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already," Albus said, much like how a parent would tell a child to stop misbehaving any further, "My answer has not changed."

He knew that most would see this as disrespectful, but Harry is perfectly allowed to question him. And just because he was the Headmaster, and an experienced Wizard does not mean that he won't make mistakes. And after all… he was still keeping some secrets from Harry. It is not unnatural for him to be curious and question him.

"I should think not," Phineas's was more than happy to share with them what he thought; but Albus ignored him as he turned back to Harry.

"And now, Harry, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening," he answered him simply. Harry was never a good occlumens… or perhaps he was an extremely good Legilimens? Either way, he could tell that Harry was wondering if it would be worth it to just stubbornly kept arguing. Albus shook his head fondly.

"Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends!" he said almost cheerfully again. It really was tragic how things worked like this. "Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!"

"I don't think what you've got to say is unimportant, sir," said Harry stiffly.

"Well, you are quite right, because it is not," Albus said in a more business-like tone. "I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

Harry didn't say anything else, and Albus knew that the only reason he wasn't arguing any further was because he knew there was no point.

"So," he said in a louder voice, "we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school."

And when Harry nodded, he went on to explain how Tom first arrived at Hogwarts. How he had been sorted right into Slytherin House almost as soon as he sat at the sorting—how he had been a very talented and polite student—thirsty for knowledge and how everyone was so impressed with him.

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he's been like when you met him at the orphanage?" Harry asked him.

"No, I did not," he answered truthfully, "Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance."

Now Albus had wished to give him a chance. He never knew that Tom would turn himself into Lord Voldemort. He had resources… but how could he have imagined that this would happen? He never expected Tom to have broken all bounds of evil and create a new definition of Dark Arts. He looked at Harry, wondering just what he was going to say to that. Harry opened his mouth, but then he froze, as if he remembered something.

"But… you didn't really trust him, sir, did you?" he asked him, "He told me… the Riddle who came out of that diary said, 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did'."

He always had his suspicions; especially after the Chamber of Secrets was opened. He knew for a fact that, Hagrid could not have done it. But, unfortunately there was no proof at the time. And Tom was careful never to drop any clues. He was an extremely gifted boy…

"Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy," he told Harry honestly. "I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I learned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much."

He was sure that was why he never tried to win him over as he did to his other teachers. He had been a regular teacher's pet—truly a brilliant student and an expert in flattery.

"He was careful never to reveal as much again," he went on, "but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues." He also explained to Harry how, even as a child, he had gathered group of students who were like his followers—more that than actual friends.

And these children became some of his first Death Eaters. He told Harry this that they had earned the reputation for their dark sides; how following Tom gave them an excuse to get away with cruelty and thuggish acts. Tom had them completely under his control, and he was clever enough to keep them from getting caught. Throughout his seven years, there had been several nasty incidents—which Albus knew they were involved in. How one of these incidents cost Myrtle's death and the Chamber of Secrets to open… resulting in Hagrid's expulsion.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," he reminded Harry as he put his injured hand on the Pensieve and looked deeply into it. "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike."

Harry looked like he wanted to say something and he explained with a little regret, "It involved a lot of effort, and not to mention, quite a few illegal spells and doings. But, obviously none of them was hurt in any manner whatsoever."

He wasn't proud about what he did, but he always made sure that the memories he did obtain didn't cause any of them suffering, though it was a small comfort. Harry looked surprised by this but Albus went on, not wishing to discuss it.

"Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage," he told him, "This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. 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."

Not that that was an excuse he told himself as Harry was now looking at the Pensieve curiously. After all, Harry didn't have his parents either and was actually fed lies about them by his own relatives, at least that's what Hagrid had told him when he went to pick him up. But, he turned out to be alright, even amazing…

And a part of him knew that Tom Riddle was much better treated at the orphanage than the treatment Harry received at home.

"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," Albus informed him, "Finally, after painstaking research, through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, Harry, if you will stand…"

They both came over to the Pensieve, and Albus poured the next memory inside it. "I was very lucky to collect this," he informed him. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

He let Harry go through first but before he followed, Phineas sneered from his portrait, "You're letting that boy get away with too much you know! In my day I'd never allow someone to speak to me like that!"

"Maybe," Albus answered coolly, though he wasn't completely sure he knew to what he was answering to as he went into the memories as well. He landed besides Harry in the familiar Gaunt's House—looking very similar to how it looked when he visited it only a few short months ago.

The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet were Morfin, whose hair and beard so overgrown that his whole head was hidden beneath it all. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and when a knock came, he jerked awake, pulling out his wand and familiar knife.

Looking grimly at the door, Albus watched as Tom entered, carrying a lantern to see by. He looked around the room and found Morfin.

"YOU!" he bellowed, holding up the wand and knife as he charged at him, ready to kill him. "YOU!"

"Stop!" spoke Tom loudly in Parseltongue. At his tone, Morfin stopped dead and was staring at him, ignoring the moldy pots that he sent crashing to the floor. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other before Morfin spoke again.

Soon the two were having a long talk in Parseltongue. Here, Tom learned that Marvolo was dead and that Morfin thought that he was the Muggle that his sister ran off with and returned. And Voldemort finally got the confirmation that his father was a Muggle; the one thing that he must have willed hard to not happen.

Soon the memory faded—but it was different than how a memory normally came—the darkness fell and everything disappeared into the dark. Knowing that this was all that was to be seen here, Albus took Harry by the arm and took him back to his office, the warm light sparkled as his eyes got used to it.

"Is that all?" said Harry at once when Albus went to sit down. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," he answered as he gestured for Harry to take a seat. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. 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."

He explained that Tom had actually killed his father and his grandparents before pinning the blame on Morfin. The Muggle authorities were baffled by their deaths, but the Ministry could tell that this was a murder with magic. And they knew that Morfin had attacked one of the murdered victims before, and had been known to hate Muggles.

This always saddened him… he always knew that Voldemort had a dark side… but this wasn't normal evil. He seems to have gone far beyond any explanation and definition of normal.

Albus also informed Harry that the Ministry felt no need to question him because Morfin admitted to the murders. He gave them details on how only the murderer would know on how he killed them. He claimed that he had been waiting for a chance to kill them and how, when he had his wand examined, it proved to be the same wand that killed them. But the only thing that bothered Morfin was that after he was taken to Azkaban, his ring was lost. He remembered those words very clearly:

'He'll kill me for losing it! He'll kill me for losing his ring.'

Those were the only words he ever said. He spent the last years of his life in that terrible place and was now buried outside the prison.

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry, sitting up straight.

"That's right," Albus said with a nod. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened."

He told him how he believed that Tom stunned his uncle before he stole his wand, and proceeded across the valley to the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and killed him along with his Muggle grandparents. 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, and stole the ring before he left… it was disturbing to say the least—that a schoolboy planned and executed all of this so smoothly.

"And Morfin never realized he hadn't done it?" Harry asked him suddenly.

"Never," Albus said softly. "He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"But he had this real memory in him all the time!" Harry pointed out angrily.

"Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," Albus confessed gently, "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."

Again the Ministry acts a tad too late. Either they won't give someone a fair trial; or they don't bother to give him one at all.

"But how come the Ministry didn't realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?" Harry asked angrily, and asked him about he was being underaged at the time—that they should've been able to realize that.

"You are quite right — they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator," Albus explained, "You will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by —"

"Dobby," Harry said in a growl, clearly still fuming about that. "So if you're underage and you do magic inside an adult or wizard's house, the Ministry won't know?"

"They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic," he answered, and was actually smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on Harry's face. "They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls."

"Well, that's rubbish," snapped Harry. "Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!"

"I agree," Albus said, smiling a little wider at that, glad that there was someone else who agreed with him on this. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part."

And so Albus pulled out the memory that had puzzled him unlike any of the others, yet also the most important one of them all. He poured it into the Pensieve, and it took a usually long time to do so.

"This will not take long," he said, "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then…"

And soon, the two of them were standing in the office of a much younger Horace Slughorn—though he looked a little odd to see him with his thick straw-colored hair as he went digging through a box of crystallized pineapple. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Tom was in one of the armchairs, and he was wearing Marvolo's ring. Albus shook his head softly, even before he left school, he had committed murder.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Tom asked.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Horace with a wink as he wagged a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle. "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 —" Horace said before the room filled up with fog so that nothing could be seen but Harry standing beside him. Horace's voice then rang out, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

Suddenly the fog cleared and Harry was staring around him, trying to figure out what happened. Albus didn't say a word as the clock chimed eleven and Horace was now telling the boys it was time to leave.

But as the boys all piled out of the room, Tom stayed and waited patiently by the door to speak with Horace.

"Look sharp, Tom," Horace said once he realized that he was still here, "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?" Tom asked. And at those words, the fog filled up the room again. Harry looked questionably up at him, but he merely smiled back as Horace's voice echoed around them that he didn't know anything about Horcruxes and that he wouldn't tell him even if he knew. With all that was to be seen, Albus told him that it was time to return.

"That's all there is?" said Harry blankly, after they arrived back in his office and he nodded.

"As you might have noticed," he said, reseating himself behind his desk, "that memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Harry in confusion after he sat down as well.

"Certainly," he answered. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"But…" Harry said, not understanding, "why would he do that?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," Albus answered. "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 will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations."

If not, then they might never know what Tom had learned then. And so, he gave Harry homework, telling him that he needed to get the real memory from Horace. He knew Harry would do a better job of extracting the memories. Being a student, he had benefits of trust. And it wouldn't be too easy to trick Slughorn.

Harry stared at him. "But surely, sir," he said, his tone suggesting that he thought that he was losing his mind trusting him with something like this, "you don't need me — you could use Legilimency… or Veritaserum…"

"Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both," he informed him calmly. "He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection."

Yes, he knew that it wouldn't be easy, but Harry had a much better chance at getting it out of Horace than he did. He told Harry as much. He didn't wish for Horace to leave, and he truly believed that Harry could be the only one who would be able to get through to him. Looking taken aback, Harry quickly left the room, muttering a hurried good night.

But as the door closed, Phineas called out, "I can't see why the boy should be able to do it better than you, Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Phineas," he answered as Fawkes let out another song.

"But how do you expect for the boy to do it?" Dilys asked, now all of them waking up with Harry gone. "If you can't…?"

"Like I said, I don't believe that force is the right way," he answered, "You see, Horace was very fond of Lily. I don't think that he could ever have refused her anything if she asked… and with her son so much like her, I hope that Harry will have that same effect on him. Horace is ashamed by whatever he told Tom that night, and he does his best to forget it. But… it's all in the asking… that is the trick to it all."

*A few weeks later*

Albus was walking with Severus across the empty castle grounds during twilight. Severus had informed him a little more on Voldemort's plans and how things were not going well. Nothing that Albus wanted to hear. Apparently Voldemort had given Draco until the end of this semester to kill him… or else.

"And is there nothing that can be done about it?" he asked him softly.

"No," Severus answered him coldly, "The Dark Lord is losing patience. He made it clear that he needs to hurry and kill you or die trying. Either way… he doesn't care about the outcome."

Albus shook his head, feeling nothing but pity and sorrow for young Draco. Though he knew that this was the price that the young man had to pay for his actions, he prayed that there was some way that he can escape from Voldemort's web before he gets trapped too deeply in. But Severus had another question on his mind.

"What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?" he asked suddenly.

Albus sighed wearily as he looked over at him. He was tired… he didn't know what else he wanted him to do… there was a war going on and he wanted to ask him what he was teaching Harry. "Why?" he asked, "You aren't trying to give him more detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out."

"He is his father over again – " Severus stated heatedly.

"In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother's," Albus told him for the millionth time. He knew that trying to get him to change his mind about Harry was a lost cause, but this had become their favorite argument. "I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late."

"Information," repeated Severus enigmatically. "You trust him… you do not trust me."

"It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time," Albus reminded him firmly. Arguing with Severus sounded a great deal like how he argued with Harry about trust. "It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do."

"And why may I not have the same information?" Severus demanded.

"I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort," Albus reminded him softly.

Severus looked outraged. "Which I do on your orders!"

"And you do it extremely well," he confided in him, "Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."

"Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!" Severus hissed back.

He had a feeling that Severus would start with that. Though he knew that Harry wasn't talented at Occlumency, Severus was wrong. "Voldemort fears that connection," he explained. "Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way."

"I don't understand," Severus stated, his eyebrows rising high.

"Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's," he answered, almost to himself. Because inside Harry's mind was something that Voldemort couldn't bear to touch. Something pure and good… something that was the direct opposite of everything Voldemort represented, "Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame – "

"Souls? We were talking of minds!" Severus snapped.

He looked back to the Potion's Master and told him, "In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other." After glancing around to make sure that they were completely alone, close near the Forbidden Forest, he began, "After you have killed me, Severus – "

"You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!" Severus shot back as anger came to his face, and Albus knew that he was reaching his breaking point. "You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!"

"You gave me your word, Severus," he reminded firmly, "And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?"

Severus looked angry, mutinous, and Albus sighed at this—knowing that there was only one way to pacify him—though he also knew that this was something he was going to regret. He knew that he had to tell someone else about this… "Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…" he told him softly.

Severus looked surprised by that, but still angry as Albus turned and headed back to the castle on his own. He knew what he was going to ask him, but it was still going to be one of the most painful experiences he would ever have to do.

*Later*

Albus sat there in his office. He knew that, when he told Severus what he was to tell Harry, about him being a Horcrux, Harry would come to resent him, hate him for what he had planned. Even would come to hate him. But he knew that he didn't deserve any less.

He had set him up… for his death. Of course he would hate him. Their relationship had been rocky ever since last year… which had been his own fault he knew. Rather than come out and tell Harry everything, he kept it quiet, trying to give the boy more time without having to worry. But in the end, it only hurt him more.

But this? He knew that he would never forgive him for this and neither should he. All that he had done was sentence him to the life of a murderer or to be murdered, and then set him on a journey in which he had to destroy Voldemort by sacrificing himself first.

Of course, his biggest hope was that he knew there was a chance that Harry would survive, but that didn't mean it wouldn't stop Harry's hurt, the betrayal he would feel, and he wouldn't even be around to explain why it had to be. He felt so selfish for just thinking about it, yet he couldn't help but be glad that he would soon die and be saved from the job of explaining it to him face-to-face. That he would not have to be here to witness Harry's reaction to what he would learn about the seventh Horcrux. At least, not in person…

He had taken so much from him. His childhood… his godfather… his dreams… his future… and now… his life.

There would be no other reaction deserved towards him other than loathing. It no longer mattered how he felt about the boy—it could never make up for what he was planning. The pain that was going to be caused…? He didn't deserve forgiveness… not from anybody.

"Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?" he said softly to himself, hiding his face behind his hands as Severus paced the room in an impatient way.

"But what must he do?" Severus questioned in annoyance.

"That is between Harry and me," he answered a little coldly, "Now, listen closely, Severus. There will come a time – after my death – do not argue, do not interrupt!" he added when he saw Severus's mouth open angrily. This was already hard enough, and he didn't want to be stopped, "There will be a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."

"For Nagini?" Severus sounded startled.

"Precisely," he said firmly, "If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him, under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."

"Tell him what?" Severus asked, his anger slowly fading as he wondered just what it was he was trying to say. Albus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It took an enormous amount of effort to continue.

"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building," he said, his heart sinking fast at those words, feeling sick of himself at speaking it out loud.

"Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die," he finished, and it was as if his own heart was being torn to pieces. There was a pause, in which he breathed deeply, trying to control the emotions raging inside, the ones that conflicted with the choice fiercely, and what he knew what had to be done.

Severus, still in shock, clarified calmly, "So the boy… the boy must die?"

Those words were some that he never wanted to hear—that he wished he never had to be true. "And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus," he confirmed, hardly knowing what he was saying anymore. "That is essential."

Of all the fatal mistakes that Voldemort has made in his obsessive quest for immortality, Albus wanted to believe that taking Harry's blood was the most foolish of them all. It is the blood that runs through Voldemort's veins, Harry's blood, which will enable him to be able to destroy Voldemort but still survive in the end.

Voldemort has Harry's protection in his blood, but he also has something else in his veins that runs through Harry's, and that is love. Voldemort cannot even bear to come in contact with this powerful force. His Horcruxes will keep him alive, keep him tied to this earth, but once the Horcruxes are destroyed - that's it for Voldemort. Whether Harry will survive or not is beyond his knowledge. However when the destruction of the last bit of Voldemort in Harry takes place, it will be all that is needed to destroy Tom.

If Harry does defeat the Dark Lord, it is Voldemort's fault that he will do so. Voldemort has set all of these events into motion through his blind ambition for immortality. Voldemort is blind to the pain and destruction that he has caused to so many others. How fitting it is that he has been blind to the pain and destruction that he has brought upon himself. He has created a seventh Horcrux, which is the tool that will make his greatest fear, and the thing he will stop at nothing to avoid, come to pass… his own death.

Another long silence before Severus choked out, "I thought… all these years… that we were protecting him for her. For Lily."

Albus always knew that, for all these years, Severus had helped to protect Harry merely for that reason. He closed his eyes, and answered him, fighting back the misery, "We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength. Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself."

This was all true. Slowly but surely, that piece of Voldemort's soul had taken root inside Harry's soul. But the light in that boy had been holding that darkness at bay. Harry had no idea to what it was inside him, but he wondered if he did know… deep down inside. But the Harry he knew wouldn't back down if he knew what he had to do. "If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will, truly, mean the end of Voldemort."

Finally opening his eyes, Severus was staring horrified at him. "You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?" he questioned harshly. Even the portraits on the walls were all staring at him, as if they couldn't believe what they were hearing.

Albus didn't show any emotion, but those words hurt worse than a knife to him. Yes, it did seem that way…

"Don't be shocked, Severus," he said softly, "How many men and women have you watched die?"

He knew that his words were harsh, but he couldn't help himself. He knew that he should be blamed for all this, but he just couldn't take hearing the implication that he didn't care at all for Harry. Did Severus honestly think that this was easy for him to just know about it? If he could go back in time and stop this from ever happening, he would. He would've warned James and Lily about Pettigrew's betrayal… that they'd both still be alive and Sirius would be free…

How he wished that he could've stopped that Halloween night from ever happening—but he knew that he couldn't. He knew how much suffering Harry had gone through in his life. That the only year of true happiness he had was when he was an infant and with his parents; but then those ten miserable years of neglect and abuse… to these last six years of hardships at a place that was supposed to be safe for him…

"Lately, only those whom I cannot save," Severus spoke up again before he stood up in fury. "You have used me."

Albus knew what he was speaking about, but he asked anyway, "Meaning?"

Severus's voice was cold, as he ranted, "I have spied for you, and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter – "

"But this is touching, Severus," he said with a serious tone, but he couldn't stand what Severus was saying—even if parts of it were true. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?" he asked.

This he knew was far from true, despite all that he had hoped. Severus couldn't stand Harry because of his parents. Harry was a living reminder of what he lost. Lily's child… proof that she loved someone else. And Severus blamed the boy for everything that had gone wrong with his life. Though it sadden him greatly, in Severus's eyes… it was almost as if he believed that if Harry never existed, then he could've ended up with Lily. To the Potion's Master—he was James.

But Albus and the other teachers all knew better. They learned from day one that though Harry looked just like James—and inherited his talent for breaking rules—he was truly his mother's son. James had always been mischievous and ready to pull a prank… but Harry wasn't like that. He was always a very solemn child with a lack of confidence, especially during his first few years here.

"For him?" Severus demanded before he cast his Patronus… a beautiful doe soared out of his wand and bounded softly around the room before it danced out the window.

Albus gazed at it forlornly, realizing, truly, just how much Severus had loved her. His Patronus had remained true to her, just as he had. He turned back to him to see the tears that were in his black eyes.

"After all this time?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Always," he answered back softly.

Albus stared at him sadly. "Does Harry truly mean so little you?" he asked quietly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Severus retorted and Albus looked away, tears in his own eyes. "The way you always took his side…" Severus went on, "I was under the impression that you cared deeply for him, not that I can understand why you would."

"Don't you dare say that again," Albus said quietly, unconsciously touching his burnt hand. "You think I wanted it this way? Don't you realize how much I wish I can stop it?"

"If you care so much, why do this?" Severus demanded.

Albus looked up at him, trying to find the words to explain it. He knew that he had made a lot of mistakes in his long lifetime. After he lost his sister, he swore that he wouldn't let anything like that happen again. He came here to Hogwarts—in truth, he ran away here because he felt safe. He didn't trust himself with power. Even after he was made Headmaster, he feared the thought of becoming too powerful again. He had seen what power can do to him, and never wanted to go near it again. That was why he always refused the offers to become Minister even though a part of him was sorely tempted to.

Would it have been possible that he would have become like Cornelius? So obsessed with power and desperate to cling to it he would've been just as paranoid and power-hungry as he was? The thought scared him out of his mind.

He knew that he had always been selfish… it was true. He hadn't learned a thing since he was a child—in many ways, he was still that young man whose little brother was so much wiser than him. He loved Aberforth and Ariana of course… just as he loved his mother and father… but he was egotistic.

It was a hard lesson he learned long ago… you can't have everything.

He admitted that he cared for Harry… much more than he should. Probably more than a headmaster/student relationship, and yet he couldn't help it. He had watched him grow up and soon became fascinated as well as amazed. The words he spoke to him last year were all still true. More than anything else, he feared Harry's reaction when he learned the truth.

But what he said just a few weeks ago…?

Those words meant more to him than anything else. More than he could ever deserve. He was desperately clinging to the hope that his theory was right. That Harry would not die… and that when this war ended, Harry would live on to lead a full and happy life. He knew that he couldn't forgive him for this, but that he would learn to forget about him.

Severus was right. He had used them… he knew that nothing he said could excuse him for his actions, but what else could he do? For some reason, he remembered reading the Muggle book 'The Wizard of Oz'… possibly one of his most favorite books of all time given how incorrect that everything was in it. But he felt himself sympathizing with the characters in it more than ever.

Harry survived because of his mother's love and definitely loves his friends while Dorothy definitely loves all her family and her friends that she met in Oz. Love was ultimately the thing that got her back home. Harry against Voldemort and Dorothy against the Wicked Witch… the similarity here is quite strong. Harry cannot be touched by Lord Voldemort because his mother died for him, protecting him. Dorothy cannot be touched by the Wicked Witch because Glinda protected Dorothy. The only difference here is who supplied the protection.

He, himself, was acting like the man behind the curtain… the one behind everything and controlling the others.

The whole time he was lost in thought, Severus was looking at him. Sighing, he turned back to face him, not trying to hide the tears in his own eyes. "Because this is the truth," he answered him simply. "The fact breaks my heart more than you know. But what else can I do?"

The stood there like that for a long time.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Severus asked softly.

Albus retreated to his seat and sat back. "I don't know," he confessed. "I truly don't know…"

*Just a few days later*

What if all this, everything they've done, is all for naught? What if everything they had worked so hard to achieve, to prevent, doesn't mean a thing? These dark thoughts had been haunting his mind for some time now. These days it felt like he was running around in circles in the dark to find the answers he already knew.

But now this happened.

He knew from the beginning about the Malfoy boy and the choice he would have to make. He knew that he would join Voldemort, but why? Could it be because he wishes to avenge his father's imprisonment? Or could it be simply because he was too naïve to determine his fate for himself?

He knew that Voldemort would want someone as young as Draco in his ranks because he would be at Hogwarts. Ready to send back any information he heard there. But now…? Did Voldemort honestly believe that he could force a boy to commit murder at sixteen? While Tom had proven that he could do such a thing here, Draco wasn't anything like that.

Harry retold the story of what happened to both him, Minerva, Madam Pomfrey, and he was sure he was now telling his friends this.

He told him that they had gone to see Horace and when he offered them a little bit of mead, Ron stopped breathing. There was poison in the drink, and he could thank the heavens that Harry thought of the bezoar while Horace went for help. It was a great relief to know that Ron was now being treated and doing well.

After speaking with the Weasleys, and assuring them both that their son would make a full recovery, he met with Severus who delivered the grim news.

"It was poison all right," Severus told him bluntly, "A quick-acting poison. Crude, but effective. The Weasley boy is lucky to have survived it. The bezoar shoved down his throat did the trick, but I'm afraid there's still poison in his system. And that will take some more time of taking the antidote before it's completely cleared up.

"Though I'm afraid to ask, do you know who it was who is responsible?" Albus asked him, already knowing the answer.

Severus didn't say anything for a moment. "Draco…" he confessed, "I know he is behind it. Though I am not sure I know how."

Albus sighed. "So that mead was meant for me?" he asked.

"Horace did say that he had been planning to give it to you for Christmas," Severus answered.

"Then Draco should've known better," Albus sighed. "Horace was sure to keep something like that for himself. Two students were almost killed here. We have got to do something about it."

"I'm keeping as close an eye on him as I can," Severus said stiffly. "But if I look any closer, I will be following him around everywhere. There are some moments that seem as if he just disappears and no matter what I do, he just doesn't seem to want my help."

"I trust you, Severus," Albus answered softly as he looked to his hand again. "But my time is almost up isn't it? The pain has become more severe for the last few weeks."

"Yes," Severus admitted, also glancing at it, "A couple more months perhaps? Either way, you're almost out of time."

Albus sighed, but not the least bit surprised. "Thank you, Severus," he confessed and allowed him to leave. He leaned back in his chair, feeling more tired than ever before. If his hand didn't kill him, his lack of sleep would.

"Albus?" asked Dilys softly, "Are you really going to die?"

He smiled wearily. "Yes, Dilys. I am afraid so," he said opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. "I have no complaints about it. While it is not how I had planned on dying… it is to be my fate."

He smiled before he forced his aching body to get back up and head to bed. He was determined to get a few hours of sleep in before he left to search the countryside again.

*A couple more weeks later*

This was not what he wanted to deal with. He had only returned to the castle last night and spent most of the day sleeping. Just when he was starting to feel back to normal, and getting ready for the lesson with Harry, Sybill came bursting into his office, smelling of Sherry and demanding to talk.

She had come asking that he would find a way to remove Firenze. While she was grateful to him for filling in her post last year, she wanted to know why he couldn't go back to the forest. Albus had a strong feeling that she had a little too much to drink this evening.

Albus tried again and again to tell her that of course he would let Firenze go back to the forest if he could, but now, the rest of his heard made it clear that they didn't want anything more to do with him and going back could get him killed. It turned into an argument and Albus was growing more tired with every word spoken. Finally, as it neared eight, he had asked her to leave and that they would talk about it another time.

But this didn't seem to work because she seemed like she couldn't care less even if it was the Minister of Magic coming as she continued to argue. Thankfully there was a knock at the door that caused her to stop talking.

"Enter," he called, but Sybill went marching to the door herself and threw it open to see Harry.

"Aha!" she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry as she blinked at him through her magnifying spectacles. "So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!" she yelled back at him.

"My dear Sybill," Albus said exasperated, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —"

"Very well," she interrupted, in a deeply wounded voice. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it. Perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated."

But he wasn't worried. He knew that her threat was empty—she wouldn't leave the castle that easily, but he hoped that she wouldn't give it much thought. He made a mental note to send a house-elf to check on her later tonight. Sybill walked passed Harry and went down the stairs with Harry watching.

"Please close the door and sit down, Harry," he said, his feelings of exhaustion back in full swing. He leaned back, wishing that he could fall asleep more than ever as Harry closed the door and walked over to take his seat.

"Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?" Harry asked him inquisitively.

"No," Albus said wearily, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself."

He smiled a little at the joke before he went on, "I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know — and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her — that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see."

If word got out about that, it would only put her in even more danger than ever before. If she learned that she had made that prophecy, he knew that she would never be able to keep something like that to herself. But returning to the matter at hand, he heaved a deep sigh and asked Harry if he had managed to retrieve the memory.

"Ah," said Harry, and at that, he could tell that he didn't. "Well, I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me."

There was a little silence. "I see," he said, giving him an emotionless look over the top of his glasses. "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"

"Well," Harry said, and he knew that he was stalling as he tried to find something to say. He then explained that he had tried to get Horace into a good enough mood when they went to see him the day that Ron had swallowed love potion by mistake…

"And did that work?" he asked.

"Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned —"

"— which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory," he nodded in understanding, "I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it."

Harry looked away shamefully. Once again, Albus was struck by amazement at how disappointment always seemed to have a bigger effect over shouting.

"Sir," he spoke up, a little desperately, "it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other — other things…"

"Other things on your mind," he finished the sentence for him. "I see."

Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence between them—including the one last year when he had told him about the prophecy. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't really noticed it then however.

He didn't say anything, waiting for Harry to say something. Finally, Harry seemed to have had enough and apologized, saying that he should've done more.

"Thank you for saying that, Harry," he told him quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory."

"I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him," he said earnestly.

"Then we shall say no more about it just now," he said kindly. This will make Harry work faster. Maybe it will also act to reduce his 'Malfoy-Obsession'. "But continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"

"Yes, sir," he said quickly and recited what they learned last time, and looked ashamed once again when he mentioned the part where Tom asked Horace about the Horcruxes.

"Very good," Albus said. "Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"

It might be guesswork and speculation but his guesses do not differ much from the truth, if at all. But, in case of Tom Riddle, he was almost sure that his deductions won't be far off from the truth.

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?" Albus asked and when he nodded, he went on. "But now, Harry, now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you."

He jerked his head to the two last bottles of memories and finished, "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."

He noticed that Harry shifted guiltily in his seat as he took one of the bottles but he pretended he didn't see this as he picked poured it in. "I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections," he said, trying to make him feel a little better. "This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts."

He also explained that, out of everything, he chose to work at Borgin and Burkes.

"At Borgin and Burkes?" Harry repeated in a stunned voice.

"At Borgin and Burkes," he confirmed calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time — I was one of the few in whom the then headmaster confided — but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."

"He wanted to stay here? Why?" Harry asked startled.

Albus gave him a soft look. "I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet. Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home."

He could see that Harry was looking uncomfortable at these words. And he could understand… Hogwarts truly was a special place where even misfits and outcasts can find home. This place had been his own home for most of his lifetime after all and he could never imagine another place he would rather be.

"Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic," he went on, "Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap."

Especially since his discovery of the Chamber of Secrets; it worried him greatly just what else Tom had learned of this place.

"And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards," he finished, and that frightened him most of all. "Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential a role a teacher can play. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."

No, and he thanked whatever deity out there that Armando agreed that Tom was too young to teach.

"But he didn't get the job, sir?" Harry asked.

"No, he did not," he reassured him, grateful for small miracles, "Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach."

"How did you feel about that, sir?" asked Harry hesitantly.

"Deeply uneasy," he answered truthfully. "I had advised Armando against the appointment— I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."

Nobody would wish for that.

"Which job did he want, sir?" Harry asked, but judging from the look on his face, he had already guessed the answer, "What subject did he want to teach?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," he told him and he didn't seem at all surprised, "It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years."

The position was not cursed at that time. At first, he thought that it was a sort of superstition. But, the record has now become staggering. None of the Defense teachers had stayed for more than one term. Except Quirrell. And as he was harboring Voldemort, it does not hold much merit.

"So Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop," he explained. He then told him about how Voldemort had been given particular jobs to try and persuade people to part with their treasures. And how he unusually gifted at doing this.

"I'll bet he was," Harry added.

"Well, quite," he told him, another smile on his face. "And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."

And soon, the two of them went back through the memories into the home of Hepzibah Smith. At the moment, she was looking into a small mirror and adding a touch of rouge to her face while Hokey the house-elf came over to lace up her slippers.

"Hurry up, Hokey!" she commanded, as if she were a queen on a throne, "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 as Hepzibah asked how she looked while she looked at her face in the mirror.

"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey. Albus was a little amused at that. As if she will… can say otherwise. Hepzibah should have asked someone else for a more honest reply.

A tinkling doorbell rang and caused them both to jump. She then ordered Hokey to get the door, making her way through the all the treasures that were stacked everywhere. Hokey came back a few minutes later with Tom… looking as handsome as he ever did.

'Perfect mannerism,' he thought as he watched him kiss Hepzibah's hand. No doubt he won people over. And it must have flattered her to no end. It is easy to work around people, who are always eager for praises… even if they are fake.

"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.

"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" she cooed, though it was hard to notice the empty vase sitting nearby on a table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom. Sit down, sit down… Where's Hokey? Ah…"

Hokey came back and Hepzibah offered Tom some cakes and commented on just how pale he was looking. But Albus knew better. His paleness is for an entirely different reason besides work.

"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, battering her lashes.

"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," he told her. "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!" she pouted back and Albus fought a sigh. He was… she was too trusting. Not that he blamed her… better wizards have easily been hoodwinked by Voldemort.

"I am ordered here because of them," he said with quiet politeness. "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."

In the end, he and Harry watched Hokey bring back two boxes that held the Hepzibah's treasures. First was the Cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff and the locket that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin… as well as Tom's own mother. As the locket was taken away from him, Albus saw, for a fraction of a moment, Tom's eyes shown red.

Hepzibah looked Tom full in the face and frowned a little. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh yes," Tom lied. "Yes, I'm very well…"

"I thought — but a trick of the light, I suppose —" she said, looking a little intimidated by the brief red gleam in Tom's eyes.

"Time to leave, Harry," he told Harry quietly as they watched the elf take the boxes away. When they were back in the office, Albus explained that Hepzibah Smith died a mere two days after that; and how Hokey was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning the tea by accident. Again an innocent is accused, this time an old house-elf, who was always faithful to her Mistress.

"No way!" said Harry angrily.

"I see we are of one mind," Albus stated. "Certainly, then are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death —"

"Hokey confessed?" Harry interrupted, unable to help himself.

"She remembered putting something in her mistress's cocoa that turned out not to be sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison," he told him. "It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but being old and confused —"

But Harry had already figured it out. "Voldemort modified her memory, just like he did with Morfin!"

"Yes, that is my conclusion too," he agreed. "And, just as with Morfin, the Ministry was predisposed to suspect Hokey —"

"— because she was a house-elf," Harry finished, sounding bitter.

"Precisely," Albus sighed. "She was old, she admitted to having tampered with the drink, and nobody at the Ministry bothered to inquire further. As in the case of Morfin, by the time I traced her and managed to extract this memory, her life was almost over — but her memory, of course, proves nothing except that Voldemort knew of the existence of the cup and the locket." He also told him about how that by the time Hokey was convicted the cup and locket had gone missing. Not long after that, Tom had left the shop and disappeared… and for many years, he was not seen or heard from by anyone.

"Now," he went on, "if you don't mind, Harry, I want to pause once more to draw your attention to certain points of our story. Voldemort had committed another murder; whether it was his first since he killed the Riddles, I do not know, but I think it was. This time, as you will have seen, he killed not for revenge, but for gain. He wanted the two fabulous trophies that poor, besotted, old woman showed him. Just as he had once robbed the other children at his orphanage, just as he had stolen his Uncle Morfin's ring, so he ran off now with Hepzibah's cup and locket."

"But," Harry interrupted again, now frowning in disbelief, "it seems mad. Risking everything, throwing away his job, just for those…"

"Mad to you, perhaps, but not to Voldemort," Albus reminded him softly. "I hope you will understand in due course exactly what those objects meant to him, Harry, but you must admit that it is not difficult to imagine that he saw the locket, at least, as rightfully his."

"The locket maybe," said Harry with a shrug. "But why take the cup as well?"

Albus told him about how it had also belonged to another of Hogwarts's founders. And he strongly believed that Tom never would've let something like that slip away when he took it as well. He suddenly felt weary to the bone about everything he had told him. But there was still one last memory for them to see. It was ten years after that last memory had happened.

"Whose memory is it?" Harry asked.

"Mine," he answered simply as they stood up. And when they went into the memory, they found themselves back in the office they left. Fawkes was on his perch, sleeping peacefully, as his past self was glancing at the window with the thoughtful expression. Albus could remember clearly just what he was thinking at this time. It was here, he was thinking about Tom, and wondering just how things could have gone so wrong with such a promising young man. A minute later, there was a knock at the door. And when Tom entered, he heard Harry try to stifle a surprised gasp.

He couldn't blame him. For Tom was no longer Tom Riddle here. Here, it was Voldemort had entered the room. It had only been ten years, yet he had changed so rapidly. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, and he was so pale, that his skin was as white as the snow outside. If you looked at the teenage Voldemort and this one walking in, you never would've guessed that they were one and the same.

His past self wasn't the least bit surprised to see him as he greeted him and offered him to sit down.

"Thank you," Voldemort said as he did so, his voice higher and colder than it had once been. "I heard that you had become headmaster. A worthy choice."

With his past self smiling, he said graciously, "I am glad you approve. May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome," said Voldemort. "I have come a long way."

After pouring them both some wine, he returned to his desk and asked just what it was that he wanted. Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine. "They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he said coldly. "These days, I am known as —"

"I know what you are known as," his past self smiled pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid; you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

That was true. Sad as it may be, Voldemort will always be Tom to him, never 'Lord Voldemort'. And seeing how he has turned out, he found it easier to remember him as Tom and not as Voldemort.

His past self raised his glass at Tom, whose face was looking very ugly indeed by it. The temperature in the room felt as cold as it did then… he knew that when he used Voldemort's real name, he had taken charge of the meeting.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," he answered politely, still smiling, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

Albus fought the urge to chuckle at his past self. Yes, for an old fossil like him it was important to pass his knowledge onto another generation—to help them learn from his mistakes and hopefully ensure that they don't learn from it again.

"I see it still," Voldemort hissed softly. "I merely wondered why you — who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister —"

"Three times at the last count, actually," he answered back. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Yes, but for very different reasons.

"I have returned," Voldemort answered after a long stretch of silence, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected… but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students' things they can gain from no other wizard."

Albus nodded his head very slowly at that. That was indeed true, but what Voldemort had to teach wasn't anything he ever wanted his students to learn. His past self was also thinking the same thing as he said, "Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Knowing just what kind of child he had been, Albus had made it a duty to keep a close eye on him even after he left school. Voldemort's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

"You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" he asked, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"Certainly," said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed —"

'And almost destroyed yourself in the venture,' Albus thought grimly. Not to mention, lots of other lives. But as far as Tom was concerned, he wasn't affected by all that.

"Of some kinds of magic," his past self corrected softly, "Of some. Of others, you remain… forgive me… woefully ignorant."

Voldemort leered at him, as if he highly doubted it. "The old argument," he said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

No, but he had thought that he would have learned his lesson by now. Voldemort couldn't master love, even if he accepts it as a powerful form of magic. To understand love, he needs to understand both hurt and hate. And, he didn't believe that Voldemort understands or has felt any of them. Not even hate, for he does not deem anyone worthy enough for even that.

"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," memory Albus asked.

"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" said Voldemort. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

Albus sighed, knowing that even if that were true, Tom took orders from no one. His past self raised his eyebrows. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves — or so rumor has it — the Death Eaters?"

Now here, Voldemort didn't seem to expect him to have heard of this part. His eyes flashed dangerous and he was breathing hard. He was trying to think of an excuse and came up with one as he answered that his 'friends' will carry on without him.

"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," he said, but he didn't believe it for a moment. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken," Voldemort said at once.

Past Albus then asked that if he were to go to the Hog's Head he'd find a group of men waiting for him to come back. Voldemort looked annoyed at this but he merely said, "You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen," he answered and his current self smiled again. He had asked Aberforth to keep an eye on them should they come to his pub. Before Voldemort came here for the interview, his brother contacted him and told him that 'Tom' had brought several guests with him that looked fishy to him.

"Now, Tom…" his past self said as he put aside his glass and sat up straight. "Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Voldemort looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

Albus shook his head, knowing that was only half true.

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen," he said, "What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job —"

"Of course I don't," he said, and his politeness seemed to vanish completely. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

But like a child who had been told to come out and tell the truth when he had been caught lying, Voldemort stood up, his face with rage. "This is your final word?"

"It is," he said, standing up.

They looked at each other long and hard before Voldemort said through gritted teeth, "Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

Albus felt the same sadness that his past self did as he confessed his desire that he could frighten him and force him to repent for his crimes… how he wished that he could. But he knew that it was true… he could no longer frighten him with a burning wardrobe and have him return the things he stolen… but how he wished he could.

Harry made a slight noise next to him, as if he was going to say something, but Albus ignored him for the moment as he watched Voldemort leave the room and he sighed sadly again before he took Harry's arm and brought him back to his office.

"Why?" said Harry at once, looking up at him. "Why did he come back? Did you ever find out?"

"I have ideas," he told him quietly, "but no more than that."

"What ideas, sir?"

Forcing a smile he wasn't feeling, he told him that he would tell him everything when he managed to bring the memory to him. Harry merely looked at him even as he walked to the door and politely held it open for him. As much as he enjoyed Harry's company, at the moment, he was suddenly longing for some time to himself.

Harry didn't move for a moment before he asked, "Was he after the Defense against the Dark Arts job again, sir? He didn't say…?"

Albus figured that it would be alright to tell him that much. "Oh, he definitely wanted the Defense against the Dark Arts job. The aftermath of our little meeting proved that. You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort."

(How was it? It's all finally reaching the end here. What do you all think? I didn't put as much details in this chapter as I had in the past, at least I don't think I did, but I think it turned out alright. Hope you enjoyed it.)