From the Diary of Albus Dumbledore:
One of my most vivid childhood memories is from the winter when I was nine years old. It was three days after Christmas, and I had already read all the books I had received as gifts. The glory of Christmas (Christmas still held some enchantment for me at that age) had already faded from my mind, and long, empty days lay ahead of me before I could return to school. Some remark of mine that I thought witty had so offended my brother Aberforth that he had withdrawn to his room in silence, and I found myself with only my five year old sister, Ariana, for company. I invited her to go for a walk with me. She was delighted at the prospect, and we strolled together through the village.
It was a strange winter; no snow had fallen yet, but it was bitterly cold. A thin layer of gittering frost covered the snowless landscape, but the dead, brown vegetation could still be seen. The flowers had wilted in winter, transformed into fantastic, dark shapes so utterly different from flowers in spring or summer. We walked trough the gardens of a deserted manor house. We were archaeologists searching for the shapes of living summer underneath the dead landscape of winter: These stark brown stems were once a bed of roses, and that forlorn vine that covers the pavilion was fragrant honeysuckle... We came upon a particularly deserted part of the gardens and found ourselves surrounded by leafless trees rather than the memories of flowers. But Ariana cried out: She had seen something on the ground, underneath one of the trees. Something gleamed, red, in the colorless landscape. When we came closer, we saw to our amazement that it was a small pile of bright red apples lying on the ground.
Apples in midwinter! I picked one up; it was whole and untainted by rot; it could not have been on the ground very long. But there are no apples growing in winter, and these were not apple trees, but oaks and silver linden. I looked around; had someone dropped these apples here? Impossible - we had not seen or heard a soul in the deserted manor garden that day. But while I was standing there, hesitant and fearful, my sister laughed out loud with joy. She ran over to the pile of apples and picked one up. She bit into it right away, and her eyes widened as she tasted it. She held it out to me: "You must taste this, Albus! I have never tasted an apple like this." The apple was bright red and unevenly shaped, but the inside, where she had bitten into it, was white as snow, with small, delicate threads of red running through it, as if it had some sweet lifeblood of its own. "Ariana," I told her strictly, "you shouldn't eat this. We don't know where it came from." She laughed at me then, and said sweetly: "It came from the garden, of course. It's a gift, a Christmas gift, from the garden to us."
I refused to try the apple, and she must have thought it was because it had been found on the ground. But I knew in my heart that it was not rot or disease that I feared, but the utter strangeness of the fruit. It had appeared, inexplicably, where it should not logically be, and that thought disturbed me. Oh, I knew quite a bit of magic already, and I was about to learn more in the years that followed, but even magic has an order to it; it follows rules and principles of its own. I have always found comfort in logic, in the knowledge that the world is ordered and meaningful. The world has always made sense to me, apart from that one brief moment when the sudden, inexplicable appearance of apples in winter made something unravel. I came back to the garden alone the next day, to see if the apples were still there, but I could not find even a trace of them. Even as a boy, I could think of several plausible explanations for the curious event of that day, and I have thought of many more since. But in spite of all the logical explanations I have been able to dream up, there still remains a lingering discomfort, a hollowness bordering on fear when I think back to that Christmas and to the dark red apples that appeared in midwinter.
...
"Perhaps this is the beginning of a new Order," said Dumbledore softly as he looked around at the small gathering in his office.
He had asked Harry, Ron, and Hermione to come and see him in his office right after tea. But there were others there as well: Professor McGonagall sat straight and thin in a chair by the window, as far as possible from the fluttering Professor Trelawney, who was perched like an immense iridescent insect on a purple velvet pouf Dumbledore must have conjured up for her convenience. Snape was leaning against the wall, quietly observing. Neville and Ginny were sitting together on a low window seat, while Luna was talking in low tones to Fawkes, who seemed uncommonly interested in her conversation.
"We are still waiting for two people," said Dumbledore as Harry, Ron, and Hermione found their seats. "Professor Slughorn will be coming, and by a fortunate coincidence, I just learned that Remus Lupin happens to be in this area as well."
Harry glanced quickly at Ron, but Ron's expression of serene indifference to the news of Lupin's arrival suggested that he knew perfectly well already that Remus would be coming to Hogwarts to see the headmaster that afternoon.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. His intense blue gaze scrutinized each face in turn. "I might as well fill you in while we are waiting," he said quietly. "I have gathered my most trusted friends - yes, I do count my young students among my friends - " He smiled at Neville, who gaped incredulously back at him. "As I said, I have gathered my most trusted friends here today because I need your help to solve two mysteries, which may be interrelated. I must ask you not to repeat a word of what I am about to say to anyone. The secrets I am about to divulge must remain within the confines of this room."
He paused for a moment, then said in a near-whisper: "Some dark power is at work within this castle. One magical object has vanished without trace, and another has appeared for no discernible reason: A stone has vanished, and a cursed locket has appeared. The magical stone that was stolen from this very office is an immensely powerful object that has the ability to raise the dead: The resurrection stone."
Professor Trelawney let out a little squeal, but the others merely looked confused.
Dumbledore glanced around the room, and something in his voice made Harry shiver as he spoke: "I must ask you first: Did any of you who are present here today steal the stone? Is there one among you who would attempt to call some poor soul back from the land of the dead?"
He looked them, one by one. Professor Trelawney shook her head rapidly, whispering: "Oh, good heavens, no! One does not disturb the eternal rest of those who have passed on. Their revenge... their revenge would be terrible..."
"Really?" Luna sounded genuinely interested. "Even if they were sick of resting?"
Ginny smothered a giggle, and Harry could have sworn that there was a hint of approval in the glance Professor McGonagall shot in her direction.
"Oh, I don't think this is your doing, Sybill," said Dumbledore gently, and Professor Trelawney responded gravely: "Indeed not, headmaster. I would hope that I have too much respect for the Otherworld to attempt such a thing. But of course, I cannot speak for everyone in this room..."
The familiar faraway look in her eyes was replaced by an expression of shrewd suspicion. Harry noticed that her glance seemed to linger on Hermione. Hermione Granger, the dark necromancer? Somehow, Harry didn't think so, unless it was possible to get an A in necromancy.
Dumbledore's penetrating blue glance studied them all again. "There are many reasons why someone may wish to call a person back from the grave," he said quietly, "but none as powerful as love. How terribly tempting it would be to awaken a loved one that has been lost! Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"
He seemed to expect some kind of reaction from Snape, but Snape merely shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. The dead are gone, headmaster, and love is for the living." His voice was pleasant and polite, but Harry thought he could hear a challenge in it as well.
Dumbledore grew pale, but did not reply. He stared at Snape with such disbelief that a casual observer might well have imagined that he had just seen an undead ghost instead of a living potions master.
"Severus is right. The dead need to rest, and the living need to live." Hermione looked at Snape as she spoke. His dark eyes met her glance, and Harry thought to himself: Even Dumbledore knows it now. It is not possible to be in the presence of a tenderness like this and not understand how they feel about each other...
He saw the look of comprehension dawning in Dumbledore's eyes, and then the headmaster turned his glance away quickly, as if he had seen something indecent, something embarrassing.
Dumbledore's voice was trembling slightly as he addressed Luna: "How about you, my dear? Would you call your dear mother back from the dead if you had the power to do so?"
Luna put her head to one side and pondered the question for a moment. "I don't think that would be possible," she declared finally. "You see, she has already been reborn. I recognized her last summer when I saw our neighbor's two year old laughing hysterically at a porcupine. My mother always thought porcupines were hilarious; they made her laugh until she cried. So if I call my mother's soul back, little Selena will be left completely without a soul, and that would be a terrible thing to do to a poor little girl, wouldn't it?"
Dumbledore blinked. "Er... Yes, I suppose so," he said. He spoke gravely, but there was a little twinkle behind his half-moon glasses.
He turned to Ginny. "I don't think there is anyone you want to call back from the land of the dead for your own sake, my dear," he said gently. "But I wonder... yes, I wonder, if you would want to do it for someone else's sake?" His glance traveled innocently to Harry, and then back to Ginny. Ginny blushed hard, the fierce color of her face clashing horribly with her flaming hair. She did not respond.
"And you, Neville... No, I think not."
"Not unless your stone has the power to awaken the living as well as the dead," said Neville harshly. Harry remembered the empty expression he had seen on Neville's mother's face, and he shuddered.
"What about you, Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was soft, but the softness seemed to have an edge to it that Harry couldn't quite understand. "Earlier today, a terrified student informed me that he had seen your dead godfather, Sirius Black, walking the halls of Hogwarts."
Snape laughed. "Well, I guess that exonerates me, then, doesn't it? Good God, don't tell me that the insufferable git is back! Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, no doubt, trying to make his curls fall casually over his eyes the way the girls seem to like... Oh, sorry Harry. I forget, you were fond of Sirius, weren't you?"
"And so was I, Snivellus." The growl that came from the doorway made them all jump. Lupin was standing there, looking greyer and more ragged than ever, but with a fierce glint in his eyes. But Lupin's voice turned gentle as he spoke to Harry.
"Harry, is this true? Sirius - Sirius is back? Back from the dead?"
Harry merely nodded.
"Harry, did you -?" Lupin broke off. "No, of course you wouldn't," he said quietly. "Much as you loved him, you would let him move on, wouldn't you? But then, who?"
He paused for a minute, then burst out abruptly: "Oh. I talked about how much I missed my best friend... Ron, you didn't -?"
"Ron?" Dumbledore's voice was sharp. "What on earth do you mean, Remus? Have you gone insane? Why would Harry's best friend..." His voice died away as Ron turned and looked at Remus.
Ron shook his head and said softly: "No, Remus. I didn't. But that's only because I didn't know there was a stone that could bring him back."
Lupin looked at Ron's flushing face for a moment, then said thoughtfully: "Perhaps I was wrong, Ron. Perhaps there is a touch of wolf in you after all..."
"I don't understand. Remus, what is going on here-?" Dumbledore began. He broke off as the door to his office opened again. "Finally, the last member of this trusted circle of friends... But what is the matter with you, Horace? You look as if you have seen a ghost..."
And Professor Slughorn, who had just appeared in the doorway, did have strange, absent look about him. He moved slowly, like a man walking in his sleep. Lupin grasped his arm and steered him quickly to a deep armchair. Slughorn sank down in it, trembling.
"You have seen a ghost, haven't you, Horace?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle. "And I think I can guess who it was, too. Sirius Black..."
But Slughorn merely shook his head and wiped a few drops of perspiration from his forehead with a delicate little lilac handkerchief. "Sirius Black? The escaped death eater? Oh, no headmaster, I have seen something far more miraculous than an undead death eater..."
He dabbed his forehead again and whispered, his voice almost inaudible: "I saw him, out on the grounds right now, strolling past me under the trees."
"Him who?" Dumbledore was tugging at his beard.
Slughorn smiled a little. There was a faraway look on his face. "Tom Riddle of course. Voldemort. Except that he was not Voldemort; he was Tom, just as he was when I last saw him, fifty years ago."
"You saw Tom Riddle? You saw Voldemort on the Hogwarts grounds?" Dumbledore stood up now, but clutched his desk as if he needed its support.
"Yes, exactly." Slughorn spoke softly. "He came walking toward me, you see, and as he passed me, he... he simply bowed his head a little and said, ever so politely, "Good afternoon, Professor." Just like that, as if the fifty years in between had been nothing but a dream. And I just looked at him and said: "Good afternoon, Tom." And then we smiled at each other, and we both walked on. Odd, isn't it, headmaster?"
"Odd? Voldemort strolls past you on the Hogwarts grounds, and you smile at him?" Dumbledore was shouting now. He made a fist with his remaining healthy hand and slammed it into his desk. "What is happening? What has come over all of you? Harry, Ron, Hermione, Severus, Remus, Horace - What terrible change has come over all of you? Have you all been bewitched? What is happening?"
Minerva McGonagall sighed and put her hand on the irate headmaster's arm. "What is happening, Professor Dumbledore," she said gently, "is that the Order you were dreaming of is falling apart."