Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER NINE –

A Few Words

Dumbledore half-rose from his chair. 'Are you all right, Severus?'

'I will be once Potter gets his knee off my throat!' The hated voice was full of contempt.

Staring, stunned, at Dumbledore, Harry didn't move.

Gesturing towards Snape, Dumbledore said, 'Harry, would you please be so kind as to extricate yourself from Professor Snape's person?'

Still unable to tear his eyes from Dumbledore, Harry crawled back from Snape and slowly stood on very shaky legs. How many more shocks was he going to suffer tonight?

'Don't listen to him,' shrieked Hermione. 'He's an Inferius!'

Harry stumbled on the bottom steps in his haste to get away.

'I assure you, Miss Granger, I am not an Infe … ri...' Dumbledore seemed to lose his strength over the course of this statement.

Getting to his feet, Snape hurried over to the brazier and lit it using a box of matches. Suspicious at this very Muggle method, Harry made a sudden movement, but Lupin grabbed his shoulders.

'He's telling the truth, Harry,' he said. 'Inferi don't speak.' He, too, was watching Snape warily. He pressed gently, pushing Harry down until he was sitting on the bottom step while he placed Harry's wand in its owner's numb hand, then began massaging Harry's shoulders to try to ease the uncontrollable shaking which had suddenly begun to wrack his body.

Snape, having set a kettle upon the brazier, removed a small phial from within his robes. Examining it closely, he smiled coldly. 'This must be your lucky day, Potter – you didn't break it!'

Fetching a cup from the trunk, he filled it from the boiling kettle. He then emptied the phial into the cup and stirred slowly: three times anti-clockwise, two clockwise.

'What –?'

Dumbledore cut Hermione off with a raised finger. He reached up to take the cup, but Snape refused to release it as he began to sip. Once finished, Snape placed the cup on the bed.

Dumbledore relaxed back into the chair and closed his eyes. With a shuddering breath he asked, 'Were you seen, Severus, by anyone else?'

'No, Headmaster.' Snape had returned to his side.

'Then you had best go before you are missed. Don't worry, I am quite capable of entertaining our guests.'

For a moment, Snape looked as though he wanted to argue with this, but decided against it. 'I'll see you tomorrow then, sir.' Glaring at both Harry and Lupin, he pushed past them and disappeared up the stairs.

Silence rang loudly through the cellar as they all stared at Dumbledore. After several moments, he broke it.

'Despite my assurances to Severus just now, I'm afraid I shan't be a proper host. All of you look as though you could do with some very sweet tea, lots of sugar but, unfortunately, I only have one cup. I also only have this one chair. Perhaps the bed will suffice as a sofa?' He gestured for them to fully enter the room.

Slowly, Lupin forcibly steered each of them to the bed, then turned Dumbledore's chair to face them, all the while watching the headmaster with an odd expression on his face.

Once Lupin had joined Harry, Ron and Hermione on the bed, Dumbledore gave a slight smile. 'I know you must have countless questions. I only hope I shall be able to answer them adequately. Who wants to go first?'

Lupin didn't look very sure of himself as he raised his hand. 'My question's for Harry, though.' Confused, Harry dragged his gaze from Dumbledore. 'Can you please describe for me what happened on top of the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore die –' He stopped suddenly as he realised what he had been about to say.

Harry looked from Lupin to Dumbledore. Yes, the night Dumbledore… well, he obviously didn't die, but how had he survived? Nobody survives the Killing Curse, except me. His gaze lifted to search Dumbledore's forehead, but there was no scar.

Dumbledore returned his gaze. 'Would you kindly answer Professor Lupin's question, Harry?'

'Er, of course, sir,' said Harry. 'But I already told everybody. Snape killed … he … what did happen, Professor?'

'Oh no, Harry; you're telling this story. I think Professor Lupin wants a more detailed description – minute detail.' He glanced from Harry to Remus and back.

Harry stared bewilderedly at Dumbledore. He couldn't see why this was necessary. 'I really don't know what I could say which would explain, well, you.' He shrugged, his reluctance to follow orders written all over his face.

Dumbledore offered helpfully. 'Why don't you begin with us arriving on top of the Tower?'

Harry still wasn't willing to do this.

Dumbledore continued, 'Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let the memory come.'

After another moment of those blue eyes boring into him, Harry finally closed his eyes and cast his mind back. There was so much which had happened that night that it was difficult to know exactly what was meant to be a clue, but he might as well try – he certainly had nothing else to do.

So, taking a deep breath, he began to recount Dumbledore's murder: their return, Dumbledore's order that Harry fetch Snape, not Madam Pomfrey, Malfoy's arrival and their conversation, the Death Eaters, and then Snape.

When he described Snape performing the Killing Curse, Lupin stopped him. 'Say that last part again, please?'

'Snape pointed his wand at Dumbledore and said "Avada Kedavra".'

'And the spell definitely hit him; it didn't deflect off the stone?'

Harry's frustration showed in his voice. 'Yes, it definitely hit him. A jet of green light shot from Snape's wand –' (Dumbledore quietly murmured 'Professor' in the background) '– and hit Professor Dumbledore in the chest.'

Lupin blinked. 'A – jet – of green light?' His eyes darted to Dumbledore and narrowed. 'Not a flash?'

'No!' Harry was struggling not to shout. 'It was definitely a –'

And suddenly stopped as he thought more closely over this realisation. Memories came rushing at him: Yaxley, Cedric, Moody's spider; the old man in his dream at the start of his fourth year at Hogwarts, very distantly, his mother – all of them, flashes. There had been jet Curses performed by a Death Eater fighting that night at Hogwarts, and Voldemort trying to kill Harry the night he was reborn, but neither of those curses had connected. Was that what had happened with Dumbledore?

But Snape's spell had definitely made contact with his intended victim.

Then another memory, from the night Sirius died, made its way to the surface: Bellatrix Lestrange explaining how Unforgivable Curses worked, and offering to teach him.

And suddenly Harry was staring at Dumbledore, whose twinkling eyes challenged him to spell it out for Ron and Hermione. 'Snape didn't mean it.' He felt stunned by the discovery.

'Professor Snape, Harry,' the quiet voice corrected. 'Pro-fes-sor.'

'How would that make a difference?' asked Ron.

'You need to really mean an Unforgivable Curse for it to work,' Lupin explained.

'Hang on,' cried Ron. 'How high is the Astronomy Tower? Even if you were still alive when you fell, the landing would have killed you.'

Ron had a point. Harry glanced at Dumbledore and was surprised to find him smiling.

'The landing would have killed me,' he said, 'had I indeed fallen, but I did not. I floated to the ground, as light as the feather Harry bought from Mr Ollivander on his eleventh birthday.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'So that's what Fawkes was doing outside.'

Harry was getting confused again. 'But Hagrid and I were among the first people to reach you after you fell, and you were dead. You were dead!'

'And Madam Pomfrey would surely have noticed if you were still alive while she was preparing your body for burial,' added Hermione. 'No one's that good an actor.'

Dumbledore leaned back into his armchair, his fingers steepled in the familiar pose. 'Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

'Draught of Living –' Harry and Hermione answered automatically, and broke off at the same point as they both realised what they were saying.

Ron's brow creased. 'I've heard that question before.'

'We all have.' Harry was staring at Dumbledore. 'First year, first-ever Potions class: it's one of the questions Snape threw at me trying to make me look stupid in front of the Slytherins.'

'Isn't Draught of Living Death that stuff we had to cook up for Slughorn, and you won that Luck potion?' Ron glanced at Harry, who nodded. 'But there isn't any wormwood in that,' he continued. 'I know! 'I'm allergic to it! Makes whatever part of me touches it blow up really huge and purple.'

Harry cast his mind back, trying to remember exactly what the recipe in Advanced Potion-Making had called for and he could tell, by the look of concentration on Hermione's face, that she was doing the same.

Dumbledore smiled at Ron. 'That is correct, Ron, there is no wormwood in the recipe in Advanced Potion-Making; most of that book is incorrect and has been for the longest time. I understand Professor Snape has carried out extensive experiments to correct the errors,' (Harry felt his face start to redden at the thought of Snape's old book) 'but he has been reluctant, as yet, to notify the publishers of the corrections.'

Ron snorted. 'Snape hasn't jumped at the chance to be famous for doing something clever?'

'Of course he wouldn't want to share the information,' said Harry bitterly. 'Couldn't possibly risk any students passing because they were being taught properly.' He stopped at the disappointed look on Dumbledore's face.

'I had hoped, Harry,' he sighed, 'that your less than favourable opinion of Severus would change in light of the evidence that he did not, in fact, murder me, but I see now that such hope was in vain.'

'He'll come round, sir,' Lupin spoke in Harry's defence. 'He just needs time to get used to everything. We all do. I'm not saying what you've said isn't believable, but you have to admit it's a lot to try to take in. And we haven't reached the best part yet, have we?' He threw Dumbledore a knowing look.

Harry wondered what he was hinting at.

'How did you manage to escape from your tomb? I thought it was impossible to Disapparate from within the castle or grounds and you were sealed in.'

Dumbledore reached up and began to stroke Fawkes's magnificent plumage. 'It is impossible for witches and wizards to Apparate or Disapparate at Hogwarts. But that restriction does not apply to other magical beings.'

'But Fawkes wasn't with you at your funeral,' said Harry.

'True,' Dumbledore replied. 'But one of his tail feathers was.'

'So that was a phoenix rising through the smoke over your tomb.' Lupin shook his head, astounded. 'I thought I was imagining it.'

'You saw that too?' Harry asked.

'What phoenix?' Ron looked confused.

'You weren't watching; you had your face buried in Hermione's hair,' Harry reminded him. Ron turned bright red, which Harry found surprising considering his very public performance earlier with Hermione.

'And Madam Pomfrey didn't find Fawkes's tail feather?' Hermione sounded slightly sceptical.

'It was very well hidden, along with the empty potion bottle, in the one place I knew nobody would be irreverent enough to examine closely. My right hand.' And he held up the blackened, dead limb which was the price he had paid for destroying one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

'Let me get this straight,' said Harry. 'You got Snape to pretend to kill you, fell from the Astronomy Tower, got Fawkes to catch you mid-fall, drank a dose of Living Death which you just happened to have on you, and grabbed one of Fawkes's tail feathers so you could disappear from your own funeral?'

Dumbledore's head inclined fractionally.

'How long were you planning this for?' asked Lupin.

'Almost a year.' Harry thought Dumbledore looked very pleased with himself.

'But why?' asked Hermione. 'Why stage your death?'

'For my protection,' he said simply.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked confused. Lupin, however, started chuckling.

'Oh, that's brilliant,' he cried, laughing even harder as three very blank faces turned towards him. 'I'm sorry,' he apologised, trying to bring himself under control. 'What Professor Dumbledore means is, as long as he was still alive, Voldemort would do everything he could to kill him, becoming more and more desperate, to the point where he might be lucky enough to succeed. And then Dumbledore would be dead.

'But by faking his death, especially at Snape's hands, he stops Voldemort's attempts on his life, allowing him to quietly direct things from the sidelines, as well as ensuring Snape doesn't lose his standing with Voldemort, possibly even moving him deeper into his confidence and therefore able to supply more important information to our side.'

Dumbledore nodded his confirmation.

'There's only one problem,' Lupin continued. 'Our side wants Snape dead.'

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. 'We are well aware of that - that is why Severus is spending most of his time close to Voldemort. He only ventures out once a day, very briefly, to minister to me.'

As they absorbed these revelations, Dumbledore watched Harry closely. 'You still have more questions,' he prompted.

Harry's head was spinning. 'Er, yeah ...' He looked down at his wand. 'Why couldn't I produce a Patronus before?'

'You were within the house boundaries.'

'Yes.'

'You misunderstand me; I wasn't asking a question. The reason you were unable to perform magic was because you were here, in this house. Because of the atrocities which occurred here – not so much your parents' deaths, but Voldemort's diminishment – this house is now devoid of all magic. I believe the Muggle term is Dead Zone.'

Harry noticed a look of understanding dawn across Hermione's face. 'So that's why Professor Snape didn't try to repel Harry's attack,' she said.

'No,' said Dumbledore. 'Professor Snape no longer has a wand – for the present, at least.'

Lupin looked up sharply.

Dumbledore explained. 'When he returned to Lord Voldemort to report his success at murdering me, Severus did so in such a way so as to make Voldemort angry that Draco Malfoy had been unable to follow orders. Young Mr Malfoy, seeing the dangerous position he had been placed in (or so he perceived), attacked Professor Snape, during which Severus's wand was broken. As a result, he was unable to physically prove to Voldemort that he had killed me; however, the testimony of the other Death Eaters who had been on top of the Astronomy Tower, as well as the many following reports in the media, were sufficient to satisfy Voldemort that Severus had indeed murdered me.'

Once again silence fell, as they took in this information. It was finally broken by Ron.

'I bet Malfoy's mum isn't so keen on You-Know-Who now.'

Dumbledore raised a brow. 'Why?'

'Well, I mean, with him killing Malfoy.'

'Draco Malfoy is not dead, though he is possibly wishing he was. I understand Lord Voldemort's anger was most extreme.'

Ron grinned maliciously. 'Why, what did he do to him?'

'That,' Dumbledore replied, 'is between Lord Voldemort and Mr Malfoy.

'Now,' Dumbledore addressed all of them as Ron scowled his displeasure at being denied a treat. 'Remus, if you would kindly take Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron (you'll find some gold in the trunk), I would like to have a few words with Harry in private. I have little doubt that you will be the Cauldron's only patrons, so you will only need to alter Tom's memory to think that Harry was with you, if anyone asks. We should need no more than one hour. If you could return then to collect Harry, I would be grateful.' He smiled behind his moustache.

Ron didn't stand.

'Come on, Ron.' Hermione nudged him rather hard to get him to move as Lupin tried to refuse financial assistance. ('I insist, Remus. My treat. It is my way of showing my appreciation for your swift understanding of all of this.')

Once they had departed with a large quantity of Galleons, Harry glanced nervously at Dumbledore.

'I don't blame you for being angry, Harry –'

'I'm not angry.' This was true; Harry felt confused, shocked and even (a tiny bit) elated, but he did not feel angry … not yet.

'I'm also certain you are starting to feel the pangs of hunger,' Dumbledore continued stoically, 'especially with our talk of food just now. You will find some Muggle treats in the trunk.' His eyes twinkled. 'Please, Harry, help yourself. Then we may embark upon our discussion without having to compete with the increasingly thunderous volume of an anticipatory digestive system.'

Harry found himself grinning at Dumbledore's description of his rumbling stomach. Inspection of the trunk's contents revealed several packets of crisps and bars of chocolate. Choosing a chocolate bar, Harry settled, cross-legged, on the bed, and tore the wrapper with his teeth.

'So, what did you want to talk about, sir?' Harry took a bite.

'I understand Professor McGonagall has offered you a teaching position.'

Harry choked. 'How did you know about that?' he sputtered, rapidly blinking his watering eyes. 'Does Professor McGonagall know about you?'

'No, Minerva is currently ignorant of the fact that she has been unnecessarily mourning my passing … and shall remain so.' Dumbledore fixed Harry with a significant look.

'So how did you know?'

'I have my sources.' Dumbledore again stroked Fawkes's tail. 'I also understand that you refused Minerva's offer,' he added. 'Why?'

Harry frowned. 'Because I'm dropping out.'

Dumbledore tilted his head to one side. 'I'm certain your parents would have been rather surprised that you decided not to complete your studies and graduate a fully qualified wizard.'

'Yeah, well, I felt I had slightly more pressing matters to take care of first. I think we're both pretty much agreed that I'm the one who has to destroy Voldemort, and the sooner I do that, the fewer people will get hurt or killed in the meantime.'

'An admiral sentiment and one which should ordinarily be acted upon …'

'But?' Harry didn't like the look in Dumbledore's eyes.

'But I feel it would be to our advantage for you to accept the offer.'

'And when am I supposed to work on destroying Voldemort?' Harry wanted to know. 'Between studying for my NEWTs, teaching and correcting homework, not to mention not being able to come and go easily because of the security at Hogwarts, I won't have time to go looking for any Horcruxes.'

'Exactly!' The silver moustache twitched again at Harry's confusion. 'If you seem to be too busy following Professor McGonagall's instructions, nobody will realise what you are really getting up to. Secrecy is going to be your most powerful ally in your quest – not just secrecy of what you are doing, but secrecy that you are doing anything at all.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore. 'So you want me to just go up to McGonagall and tell her I've changed my mind? What if she's found someone else?' argued Harry.

'She hasn't.'

'And you don't think she won't be a tiny bit suspicious?'

'No.' Dumbledore looked surprised at Harry's protest. 'You are an adolescent, so are therefore prone to the changing whims which mark that period of a person's life. Professor McGonagall will not find your change of mind unusual in the least.'

'But how am I supposed to find time to chase after Voldemort?'

Dumbledore didn't immediately answer this question but allowed his gaze to drop to Harry's hand. 'Good, I see Professor McGonagall passed your inheritance on to you without any problems.'

Harry raised his hand, allowing the ruby to catch the candlelight. 'Do you want it back?'

'Only for a moment.' He waited as Harry removed the ring.

Once it lay in his open palm, Dumbledore turned it slowly, as if searching for something within its depths. Harry held his breath.

'Do you like it?' asked Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged. 'It's OK. I've never really been one for jewellery. Why, is it valuable?' He didn't really have a need for more wealth with the combined inheritance from his parents and Sirius's estates, but surely Dumbledore knew this.

'A little.' Dumbledore still gazed deeply into the gem. 'But that is not its true worth.'

'And what's its true worth, sir?' Harry wondered if it was, perhaps, one of Voldemort's heirlooms.

'This, Harry,' Dumbledore gazed over the half-moon spectacles, 'is a Portkey.'

'It is not,' said Harry before he could stop himself, a grin starting to spread across his face.

The silver brows rose. 'Are you correcting me?' Dumbledore allowed himself a slight smile as Harry's face grew warm. 'Just because you have touched this ring without promptly vanishing doesn't mean it isn't a Portkey; it merely means that it hasn't been activated yet.'

'And you activate a Portkey with one, two, three, right?'

'Ordinarily, yes. But this is no ordinary Portkey. To activate it, you shall need to go to my tomb at Hogwarts. On the surface is carved the outline of a phoenix. Place the ring into the eye socket, touch it with your wand, and recite a few words.' He held Harry's gaze.

Harry allowed the grin unhindered growth this time. 'Nitwit, oddment, blubber and tweak, right?'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'At least you paid attention to one of my speeches, even if you are a little off. Those words, in that order, will return you to the school. To leave Hogwarts, you need to quote my words of six years ago exactly: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" You're welcome to check your memory in the Pensieve but you will find that I am correct.' The moustache twitched.

Harry frowned. 'But the other way is how I remembered it at your funeral. How did you know I was going to remember it that way?'

'Who do you think made those words flash through your head, in that order, when they did?'

'You used the Imperius curse on me?' Harry felt shocked that Dumbledore would stoop to such a level. 'No, hang on, you couldn't have; I know what it feels like, and anyway, I can fight it off. But then … how …?'

'You are correct; I didn't use the Imperius curse. What I did was make a suggestion using the Hint Tint charm. The rest, your own memory did.

'Hint Tint?'

'A useful little spell designed to help the recipient see points of view other than their own, or to make clues and conclusions more obvious. It is not as powerful as the Imperius curse, but then it doesn't need to be. A quiet whisper can often achieve more, for the listener tends to strain their ears to catch every word, whereas a booming shout usually sees people covering their ears in protest.'

He took Harry's hand in his and pushed the ring back onto his finger, closing his hand over Harry's.

'The Portkey travels between my tomb and the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Now that Remus knows my secret, he can help me transfer to London.'

Harry's stomach lurched. 'Er … you might want to choose a better destination than the kitchen, sir. Kreacher left it … well, he didn't do a very good job cleaning it.'

'That's unusual for a house-elf.' Dumbledore looked mildly surprised. Harry couldn't understand why; he must have known what Kreacher was like. 'How bad is it?'

'It's bad, sir. All three of us were throwing up like crazy, and Hermione … There were some skeletons of house-elves …'

'And Miss Granger was, understandably, quite distressed.' Dumbledore gazed at Harry sympathetically. 'So nothing has been done to restore it to a habitable state?'

Harry shook his head. 'But there is a way. Fred and George have got these sweets … they stop you from tasting or smelling anything. Ron and I used them so we could drink Polyjuice –'

Too late, he tried to bite back his words, but Dumbledore was already eyeing him suspiciously. Briefly, he explained about the practice sessions leading up to their Apparition tests.

'And that's how Mr Weasley came by that bump?'

'Yeah. How did you know that?'

'As I recall, Ron wasn't the most successful Apparator amongst the students – certainly able, but lacking confidence – so it seemed logical that his renewed attempts would be dotted with some failures.' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'What did he hit?'

'He didn't hit anything; it hit him.' Harry shut his eyes against the memory of Ron struggling against him in panic. 'He Apparated into a shop, set off the alarm, and everything in the shop started attacking him. We think it was Borgin and Burkes; there was a story in the Prophet about it next day and Mr Weasley was talking about it at breakfast.'

'And which particular item did the damage?'

Harry dragged his attention from three weeks before. 'What?'

'You said it hit him. What was the it?'

'Oh,' Harry tried to remember Mr Weasley's description. 'A statue of a … hawk, I think … solid gold … oh, yeah – it had sapphire eyes. According to Mr Weasley, it was the only thing in the shop which didn't seem to have been touched, but Ron definitely said it was a bird which really laid into – Are you OK?'

Dumbledore had gone quite pale, even paler than he had been already, and was sitting up stiffly, staring unseeing at the wall behind Harry.

'Professor?' Harry reached out nervously and touched Dumbledore's hand, causing his former headmaster to start. Fawkes gave a squawk and ruffled his feathers, then sang a single low note which hung unwavering in the air between them. The phoenix's music seemed to restore Dumbledore a fraction; a little colour returned to his cheeks and there was definitely a gleam in his eye.

'I'm sorry, Harry. You just reminded me of something I heard once and had long since forgotten.'

'And what was that, sir?'

'Many years ago, I overheard a conversation between two students. One was rather upset that a treasured family heirloom had been sold – her family had fallen on hard times – and the other student was consoling her. I thought it a little unusual at the time because they were in different houses and weren't even particularly well known to each other, let alone close friends; but Tom Riddle could be quite the charmer when he wanted to be.'

Now it was Harry's turn to jerk up straight. 'Tom Riddle?'

'Yes.' Dumbledore frowned. 'It was during his seventh year, when he was Head Boy. Even though there has never been quite as much animosity between Slytherin and the other houses as there has been with Gryffindor, my curiosity was still aroused by this coupling, especially when Tom promised that, as soon as he had earned enough gold after he graduated, he would buy back the heirloom and present it to her himself.

'Already being highly suspicious of Tom's involvement in the murder of a student two years earlier, I kept a close eye on the young lady but, as far as I was ever able to discover, Tom never contacted her after he left Hogwarts – in fact, I don't believe he ever spoke to her other than on that one occasion – and the girl later went on to marry a Muggle. To my knowledge, she never regained ownership of the artifact whose loss she had lamented so miserably that day.'

'And you think the bird which attacked Ron was that artifact?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'The description certainly fits; Tom plied the girl thoroughly for details concerning the heirloom; its appearance, properties … and even the merchants to whom it had been sold.' He eyed Harry shrewdly.

'But if Borgin and Burkes bought that statue when Voldemort was in seventh-year, surely it must have been sold long before now.' Harry knew that more than fifty years had passed since Voldemort left school.

'Not if there was a special ward placed upon it to prevent it being sold, and thus removed, from its hiding place.'

'But why hide a gold statue in the middle of a junk shop? Anyone might have seen it, and they did. The Ministry people who investigated the break-in had no trouble.'

'But did they remove it?'

'No, Borgin convinced them that it wasn't a plant like they thought and that he'd had it for years. Why, did you want to try to buy it and give it back to that girl?' Harry realised he didn't know her name.

'That would be quite impossible, for she died a year before your parents.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unsure whether he had understood him correctly.

'She was murdered?'

'I believe so, though whether on Lord Voldemort's orders or not has always been in question. He had supposedly promised her protection for her son's sake.'

Harry found the idea of Voldemort protecting anybody impossible to believe. 'Who was her son?'

'One of the Death Eaters.'

Harry felt cold. What was so important about this girl that Voldemort would try to protect her? Had they been …

He quickly squashed down that thought. Dumbledore had said she had married a Muggle and Voldemort, despite being half-blood, wouldn't have allowed himself to get close to anyone who had a connection to the Muggle world. He would view them as unclean, all the while wallowing in the hypocrisy of his pure-blood ancestry. No, his only interest in this girl, whoever she was, would be that bird. But why promise her son he would protect her if he had tracked down the bird years before; no doubt he had come across it when he worked at Borgin and Burkes.

'What's so special about a statue of a hawk, sir?' Harry felt he needed to learn more about that bird to work out its connection to all of this.

'If it is indeed the heirloom Tom Riddle learned about that winter's day many years ago, it is not a hawk. It is an eagle.'

'An eagle?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Yes. I could be mistaken, but I believe the golden bird which attacked your friend Ronald is none other than the Ravenclaw Horcrux.'

Harry was so stunned, he actually stopped breathing. Only when he finally tried to speak did he remember that his body needed a constant supply of oxygen.

'Why would Voldemort hide something that important in an old junk shop?'

'For the same reason he hid a ring in an abandoned old hovel; because it related to part of himself.'

'Why, because he used to work there?'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'Partly, but I would say it was more to do with the fact that his former employer had been responsible, at least in part, for his mother's death.'

Harry was confused. 'I thought Merope died in childbirth.'

'And so she did. But her inability to survive the labour was greatly assisted by physical weakness. She had been living on very meager means for some time and ten Galleons wouldn't have gone very far, even back then. So yes, I would say it isn't too much of a stretch of the imagination to see that Tom blamed his former employer.' He reached up to stroke Fawkes's tail absentmindedly.

'There is also the matter of Mr Burke's … demise. Two years before Voldemort came to me asking for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, Caractacus Burke vanished from wizarding society, never to be seen or heard from again. The Daily Prophet did speculate some time later, after they became more commonly known, that he had joined Lord Voldemort's forces as a Death Eater. He had dealt with dark matters for most of his life, so would be perfect stock for their ranks. The Prophet also dismissed the possibility that he had fallen foul of Voldemort – there had been no Dark Mark hovering in the sky above the shop, no sign of a struggle, no body and nothing missing from the shop, which also ruled out the possibility of an interrupted burglary.

'The only thing missing was Burke himself. Personally, I always suspected that he had not removed himself willingly because the mirror in his room was newly cracked and all of his belongings were still present, right down to his gold pocket watch, and he never went anywhere without that. But as you have yourself witnessed, Harry, my opinion is not always accepted where matters involving Voldemort are concerned.'

'But if Burke's murder was revenge for his mum, then Voldemort would have killed him personally, wouldn't he?'

'Almost certainly. He was only starting to build up his followers and it would be some time before he would step into the background and allow the Death Eaters to do most of his work for him (his Reign of Terror did not begin for almost fifteen years). Also, this was to be a Horcrux-making murder, so he would definitely have taken charge of the task.'

'So why didn't he leave the Dark Mark?'

'Because it would have had people looking more closely at the murder and wondering what Caractacus Burke had done to cross the dark shadow which was starting to creep across the land. Remember, very few people realised that the sinister Lord Voldemort had once been the debonair Tom Riddle; I don't think even Borgin knows, though I imagine Mr Burke was forced to face that fact before he died. No, this murder needed to be kept very secret. Voldemort could not lay the blame elsewhere as he did with Hagrid, Morfin and Hokey; the most likely suspect would be Burke's partner, Borgin, and if he was sent to Azkaban, the shop would close. And where would Voldemort's followers purchase their less-than-legal items then?' The moustache twitched again. 'Also, if people became aware that Riddle was Voldemort, someone might realise just what was going on.'

'That he was making Horcruxes?' Harry asked.

'Yes. Even the Death Eaters, some of whom have witnessed the changes throughout the years at close quarters, haven't properly understood the evidence before their eyes and seem to have concurred with the general wizarding community that Voldemort's physical deterioration is a direct result of his evil mind. I doubt if any of them has even heard the word Horcrux, let alone knows what it means. If they had, they would be creating their own Horcruxes in an attempt to be as powerful as their master.'

Harry felt a jolt deep in his stomach. 'Actually, one of the Death Eaters did twig to his secret –'

'Professor Snape is no longer a Death Eater, Harry,' Dumbledore sighed tiredly.

'I wasn't referring to him.' Harry dug in the pocket of his jeans. 'I meant this bloke,' he said as he fumbled with the locket. Finally releasing the latch, he prised out the scrap of parchment with Regulus's message and passed it to Dumbledore.

'I must confess I am a little disappointed by your decision to carry Salazar Slytherin's locket upon your person. I would have thought you would find a more secure hiding place such as Grimmauld Place; you can take possession of it properly now that you have had your birthday.' Dumbledore raised the note, the better to examine it in the flickering candlelight.

'R. A. B?' he whispered softly, a stillness passing over him like a shadow. He held out a hand for the locket, but gave it little more than a cursory glance, realising almost instantly that it was neither as large nor as heavy as Slytherin's.

'We reckon R. A. B. stands for Regulus Alphard –'

'Black.' Dumbledore once again gazed into the distant past. 'That certainly explains a lot,' he murmured quietly. He glanced up at Harry.

'As you no doubt know from the tapestry at Grimmauld Place, Sirius's brother, Regulus, passed away shortly after you were born. We always believed he developed cold feet regarding his duties as a Death Eater and had tried to back out of his commitment to Lord Voldemort. Voldemort would not have taken kindly to that and so would have ordered the other Death Eaters to dispose of him.

'Regulus turned up at Sirius's late one night, shaking like a leaf and, according to Sirius, "extremely weak and in great pain". He barely had the strength to speak, let alone stand but, I am sorry to say, Sirius offered his brother no assistance, suspecting the performance was part of a trap.'

'What did Regulus want?'

'To tell Sirius that he had taken care of it and we would now be able to get him at last. Neither Sirius nor I were able to decipher the cryptic message, though when we heard of his death a few days later, I did suggest that it had been a form of goodbye. Unfortunately, Sirius's bitterness towards his family meant he felt no forgiveness or loss, and never mentioned his brother again until a year before his own death.'

'So how did Regulus die?'

'At Grimmauld Place. Both his body and bedroom were apparently found quite the worse for wear, and it was always assumed that he had been tortured most terribly before finally being murdered. Sirius suspected Bellatrix Lestrange had a prominent hand in the execution, and given her involvement in the torture of Neville's parents, it certainly would not have been beyond her scope.

'Mrs Black's reaction didn't offer us any more clues for she refused to believe that a second son had shunned the forces of darkness, nor was she willing to feel anger towards Voldemort or his followers who had so brutally brought about her loyal son's death. She was adamant members of the Order of the Phoenix were responsible, even though it was impossible for them to gain access to her house.'

'Couldn't Sirius have gotten in?' Harry frowned slightly.

'He could, but his mother did not believe that he possessed the strength of mind required to murder anyone, let alone his own brother, as she spent several days telling him in her dulcet tones when he first offered the house to the Order.'

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for his godfather and determined, even more strongly, to rid number twelve, Grimmauld Place of Mrs Black's portrait.

'But in light of this,' Dumbledore waved the piece of parchment, 'it would seem that Sirius's brother was not murdered by Death Eaters after all, but by the curse protecting the Horcrux. I wonder what became of it?' His brow gained more creases as he pondered the question.

'It's at Grimmauld Place,' said Harry, making Dumbledore jerk his head up suddenly. He explained about Ginny's comment, and his and Hermione's subsequent journey into the Pensieve.

A glimmer of his former strength spread across Dumbledore's face. 'I knew bequeathing the Pensieve to you was the right thing to do. I'm pleased you have wasted no time putting it to good use. So the Slytherin Horcrux has been right under our noses all this time.' He slowly shook his head.

'Why didn't Mrs Black give it back to Voldemort?' Harry would have thought that would have been the logical thing to do.

'She probably never knew he was Slytherin's heir; like I said, very few people realised he was Tom Riddle.' He glanced at Harry. 'So the locket is in Kreacher's bedroom?'

Harry nodded.

'In the kitchen?'

Harry's stomach tightened as he nodded again.

Silence stretched between them for several minutes as Dumbledore considered the problem.

'I presume, Harry that I am correct in believing that Molly Weasley has been more protective of you than ever despite your now legally being an adult?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'You should have heard her when Lupin told me I had to spend three days at Grimmauld Place. She was really –'

Dumbledore's brows shot up. Harry quickly swallowed the word he had been about to use.

'– Er … unhappy' (the silver moustache twitched again), 'when I said I didn't want her there. I'm just glad I hadn't told her yet that I was going to quit school. I know she means well, but sometimes her mollycoddling can be a bit much.' He slumped back against the wall feeling very disgruntled.

'And she would, no doubt, insist upon taking charge of restoring your kitchen to a presentable state.' Dumbledore frowned. 'Therefore, I think it would be best not to enlighten her as to its condition.

'It would also be best to let everyone think that you are unsure just what your plans for the house will be. Part of you will deplore it, especially in the face of all the Black memorabilia there; so you'll probably end up selling it, or even going so far as having it demolished. But part of you will be thrilled at the thought of owning your own property, seeing it as a mark of your coming of age, and you will feel protectiveness towards it, unwilling to share it with anyone but your closest friends.

'So it will be with a certain amount of undecided regret that you shall inform Professor McGonagall that number twelve, Grimmauld Place will no longer be available for use as headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Minerva will, no doubt, point out that if you are not living in the house yourself, continuing to use it as headquarters should not pose a problem (and may even offer to purchase the property from you), but I shall need you to stand firm. After all, it wouldn't do to have a constant stream of witches and wizards passing through its door and stumbling upon me, would it?'

Harry grinned back at Dumbledore. 'And what excuse do I give Mrs Weasley for spending all my time there?'

'You won't be spending any time there. Uh, uh,' Dumbledore forestalled Harry's protest. 'Even though you are now an adult, I doubt either the Ministry or Voldemort's allies would have ceased their distant monitoring of your movements; in fact, I would be greatly surprised if it hasn't intensified, given that both parties are very keen to learn what you are doing in your efforts to defeat Voldemort – the Dark side to prevent their master's destruction, and the Ministry to snatch your success for themselves.'

'You can add the Order of the Phoenix to that list too,' Harry told him. 'McGonagall has tried a couple of times now to get me to tell her what we were up to the night you didn't die, and what I'm going to do now. And she wasn't happy when I didn't tell her. If she knew about the Horcruxes, she would definitely pass the task onto the Order and keep me stuck at Hogwarts for my own protection. Either that or assign me a twenty-four hour guard, making it impossible for me to do anything unnoticed.'

Dumbledore frowned slightly. 'Yes, Minerva can find it difficult to switch from protective teacher to proud associate, tending to always see her former students as small, frightened first-years and not notice them grow into mature, able adults, capable of facing life's challenges. And she will be especially protective towards you given the losses you have suffered and the horrors you have seen. Even though she has offered you a job, I suspect it is less to do with her acceptance of your maturity and more to keep you too busy to chase after Voldemort. We shall have to be careful how we operate outside her notice, but it can be done, thanks … to that.' He nodded towards Harry's ring.

'And you're OK with that? Tricking McGonagall?' Harry wasn't certain he had heard correctly.

'Oh, we won't be tricking her.' Dumbledore looked almost scandalised at the thought. 'We will merely be preventing her from being distracted from her own task of providing leadership to the Order.'

'So we'll have to feed misinformation to the Order?'

'No.' Dumbledore breathed deeply. 'The Order shall still operate as it always has – keeping an eye on and gathering evidence against the Death Eaters, as well as anticipating and forestalling both theirs and Voldemort's activities.

'Your task, though sharing a common goal – the abolishment of the Dark side – is quite separate from the Order's: you need to track down and help destroy the remaining Horcruxes, thus enabling you to successfully fulfil Professor Trelawney's prophecy by then destroying Lord Voldemort.'