That night Harry dreamed that he was walking through a forest in the silvery light of the moon. The night was still, and the air smelled of spring. He realized that he was in the Forbidden Forest, but for once he was not afraid of what might lurk in the shadows. He stepped out from among the darkened trees out into a small moonlit clearing. The gray-green leaves of wild artemisia gleamed in the moonlight. He saw that someone was there, a black silhouette against the pale shimmering foliage: It was a wolf. But Harry was not afraid; he went up to the wolf with a beating heart and flung his arms around it. As he buried his head in the silver fur, he felt a strange sensation of pleasure, and he clung to the monster with a fierce and impossible longing.
"You are dreaming, Harry." The stranger's voice was soft in his ear.
All at once, Harry realized that he was not in the Forbidden Forest, but in Gryffindor Tower, and that it was not the wolf from his dream that he was caressing so tenderly. He felt himself flush. Thankful that the stranger could not see his face, he pulled away. What had he done? He whispered a horrified apology. "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to touch you like that. I was dreaming..."
"It's all right, Harry. All humans dream." The stranger stroked Harry's face tenderly. Surely, he must feel how Harry's face burned under his fingers?
"What were you dreaming, Harry?" There was no accusation or sternness in his voice, only a gentle curiosity. "Were you dreaming of her? The red-haired girl?"
It took Harry a moment to understand. "Ginny?" How did the stranger know about Ginny? "No, I didn't dream of her. I like her, but not like that. Sometimes I wish I could. She is so innocent and sweet..."
"Is that what you think?" Was that amusement in his voice? "I think you would be surprised, Harry. There is more to her that meets the eye... But enough of Ginny. Tell me who you dreamed about."
"A wolf." Harry buried his head in his pillow.
"A wolf?" A moment's silence followed. "So you are dreaming of wolves as well, then?"
"No." Harry found, in spite of his embarrassment, that the dark made it easier to talk. "I dreamed of meeting a wolf in the forest, but it wasn't really a wolf. I just didn't know what other shape to give it. It was... you..."
"You dreamed of me-?" The stranger's voice was a whisper now.
Harry wondered if he was angry. "I'm sorry... Please don't leave me!" He could hear the edge of panic in his own voice.
"Leave you?" Harry felt a hand caress his face again and a finger trace the outline of his lips. It made him shiver. "I will never leave you. You are precious to me. I - I like that you dream of me..." There was a hint of wonder in his voice.
Reassured, Harry nestled into the stranger's arms, his face buried against the other's neck. "What do you dream of, then?" he asked sleepily.
"Oh..." The stranger's embrace tightened. "I do not sleep much. But if I did, perhaps I would dream of meeting you in the forest."
...
The next day, Dumbledore called for Harry. Time for another look in the Pensieve, no doubt. Harry's heart beat furiously as he knocked on the headmaster's door. The voice that called out, inviting him to enter, was warm and pleasant, as always.
"Ah, there you are, Harry. Have a seat, my dear boy."
How could Dumbledore look so unchanged? Harry had not seen the headmaster up close since the day that he had learned that Dumbledore wanted him dead. Somehow, he had imagined that the headmaster's face would look different to him now that he knew, but the old man's blue eyes were just as kind behind his half-moon glasses. Harry looked at his snow-white beard, his twinkling eyes and his benign smile, and felt a chill run through him when he realized that Dumbledore had not changed at all. The was nothing sinister about his smile, no glint of hidden evil in his gentle glance. Harry wished there had been. The knowledge that the Dark Lord wanted to kill him had been terrifying enough, but Harry suddenly realized that it would be far, far easier to be murdered by an enemy than by a friend.
"You all right, Harry?" How kind Dumbledore's voice was! His kindness seemed far worse to Harry at that moment than his betrayal. Was that the shadow of a dementor falling over the room, chilling his heart? No, no dementors, only the terrifying kindness of an old man...
But something stirred in his memory, the recollection of warmth and a stranger's touch, and Harry found that he could look Dumbledore in the eye after all.
"I'm all right, headmaster," he said quietly. "What do you have in store for me today?"
Dumbledore smiled. "I thought, Harry, that we should continue the tale of Tom Riddle. You will recall that we saw him abandoned at the orphanage by his dying mother; you will remember that he had discovered even before he came to Hogwarts that he had certain powers, and that he used them cruelly. But when he entered Hogwarts, he had learned to hide the darkness that was in his heart. He was such a talented and good-looking boy, and the teachers felt a great deal of sympathy for him."
"But you saw him for what he was?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I did not know, of course, what he was to become. But there was something about him that disturbed me; I recognized a darkness in him."
Harry looked at him. "And how was it, Sir, that you were the one to recognize the darkness and cruelty that others couldn't see? What was it about you that allowed you to see it?"
"What - ?" Dumbledore blinked, clearly taken aback. Then he smiled. "Oh, I don't think it had anything to do with me, Harry. What an odd notion! No, I think it was just my experience with human nature at that point in my life that made me see him for what he was."
He held his arm out to Harry. "Shall we?"
Harry nodded, and they stepped together into the swirling waters of the Pensieve. Harry watched curiously as the handsome Tom Riddle flattered a younger Slughorn. Harry had seen Tom as a small child in the Pensieve, and he had seen Tom as a shadow, arising from the pages of a diary. But this was the first time Harry noticed how very beautiful he was. He looked at Tom's dark curls and the shape of his handsome features and wondered at the sense of familiarity. Then Tom began to speak of horcruxes. But just as Tom was asking Slughorn about them, the memory blurred and became hazy.
As Harry and Dumbledore emerged from the Pensieve again, Dumbledore said gently: "Did you see what happened there, Harry? Slughorn tampered with his own memory, changed it so it wouldn't reveal what he told Riddle about the horcruxes. Harry, you must find out what he said. Slughorn likes you; if anyone can get him to reveal the true memory of what was said that day, it is you. I need you to retrieve the real memory from Slughorn."
"Retrieve the real memory?" Harry thought about it for a moment. He didn't need Slughorn's memory to know what had been said: The professor had told Tom Riddle what horcruxes were and how they are made. He looked up and saw that Dumbledore was watching him intently. Of course, Dumbledore thought that Harry must do this, discover the truth gradually... Harry wondered if he should refuse. He didn't think Slughorn would care to talk about horcruxes, and he himself had no need for partial truths anymore. But there was something else, something that made him hesitate. Perhaps he should go and speak to Slughorn after all. For Harry had noticed something odd when visiting Slughorn's memory. He didn't think Dumbledore had seen it, since the headmaster's glance had been on Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort, the entire time they had been inside the memory. But Harry, already suspecting what Riddle was going to ask, had let his eyes wander a little. And he had seen something very strange...
Harry made up his mind. "Yes, of course, professor," he said. "I will do my best to get that memory from professor Slughorn."
"Ah." Dumbledore beamed. "I knew I could count on you, Harry!"
...
Perhaps he should try to write his potions essay first. Much as Slughorn liked him, Harry thought that he might be more inclined to talk if Harry did not neglect his potions homework entirely. He found Hermione and Ron in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was just putting her books away and rolling up a finished parchment that must have been several feet long. She caught sight of Harry.
"Oh, did you want to look at my potions essay, Harry? If you haven't started yours yet, you may find a few helpful pieces of information in mine."
Harry brightened. "Oh, thank you, Hermione. That would be wonderful. What is the essay about? I forget."
Hermione smiled. "Amaranth, and its use in love potions."
"Sounds useful."
Hermione shook her wild hair out of her eyes. "Oh, who needs love potions?" Then her smile faded. "Oh. Perhaps Ron does."
Harry followed her glance. Ron was sitting in the window seat, looking miserably into the distance.
"Do you know what's wrong with him, Harry? He won't talk to me."
Harry thought that he might know exactly what was wrong with Ron, but he he merely shook his head. "Don't worry, Hermione. I'll talk to him."
"Good." She put the last ink bottles away and headed to the door. Harry wondered where she was going at this time of night, but the slight flush on her cheeks warned him not to ask.
"You all right, Ron?" He sat down next to his friend.
Ron shrugged and kept staring out the window.
Harry understood. "No reply to your note yet?" he asked gently.
"No."
"Don't worry, Ron. It will come. If he was traveling, it would have taken the owl a while to find him."
"You think so-?" There was a faint hope in Ron's eyes as he turned to Harry.
"Yes. I do." Harry hoped with all his heart that he was right.