"Pansy, could you please explain what the hell you're on about?" Draco demanded. He'd had more than enough of the girl's theatrics recently, and he really wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace. Pansy, however, had already ensured that that wasn't going to happen, and she leaned closer once more and gave him her best glare.

"Don't play dumb, Draco, it doesn't suit you. You know exactly what I'm talking about, and you're going to explain. Now."

"For the last time, I honestly have no idea what you're-"

"Miss Parkinson, what is going on?" a smooth voice interrupted. The two Slytherins turned to face Professor Snape, who was glaring at them in a far more intimidating manner than Pansy could even hope to manage.

"Theodore Nott is in the hospital wing, Professor, and I have reason to believe that Draco Black is behind it," Pansy said haughtily as she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. Snape's eyebrows raised infinitesimally, but otherwise his expression did not change.

"Both of you will come with me to the hospital wing, now," he said curtly after a moment. "And Miss Parkinson, ten points from Slytherin for causing such a ruckus during dinner." Pansy stared at her Head of House in shock and opened her mouth to protest.

"Professor, I didn't have anything to do with this!" Draco said almost angrily before Pansy could speak. He was tired, he was hungry, and now he was beyond irritated. Couldn't Pansy just shut the hell up and leave him alone?

"With me, Mr. Black," Snape replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. Draco growled in frustration and picked himself up off the bench, grabbing a dinner roll before following Snape and Pansy from the Great Hall. Blaise and Tracey followed them with their eyes, looking concerned, and Draco could only shake his head in response. They'd heard the entire exchange, of course, and they all knew it was rubbish, but now that Snape was involved, Draco had to do what he was told.

Neither student spoke as they made the trek up to the hospital wing – Draco knew that opening his mouth would lead to him exploding at Pansy, which wasn't a good idea with Snape in such close proximity, and Pansy…well, Draco wasn't really sure why she was keeping quiet, but he was glad for it, at any rate. Merlin only knew she'd have plenty to say when Snape asked for her version of things.

In the hospital wing, they found Madam Pomfrey bent over the prone body of Theodore Nott – so Pansy had at least been right that Nott was injured. How the poisoning accusation came into effect, however, Draco still wasn't sure.

"Madam Pomfrey," Snape greeted the matron with a nod. Madam Pomfrey responded in kind.

"Severus. I'm glad to see that Miss Parkinson was prompt in fetching you."

"Oh?" Snape said, turning to Pansy. "So you were sent to the Great Hall, Miss Parkinson, but instead of fetching your Head of House, you chose to harass one of your classmates instead?" Pansy looked nervous and tried not to fidget.

"Sir, I-"

"Enough, Miss Parkinson," Snape snapped. "I will hear what each of you has to say, and I will decide how to proceed from there – doing so is not your job. I don't know what your motivation was, but I won't have students hurling accusations at each other, especially not towards those in their own house. That's another ten points you've lost." Draco felt a small sense of satisfaction as he watched Pansy hang her head in shame. Sure, she'd still ruined his dinner, but at least she'd been punished for it.

"Poppy, would you please enlighten us as to what happened?" Snape asked. Madam Pomfrey looked up from her examination of Nott and frowned.

"I'm afraid I don't know very much of it," she said. "Horace should be back shortly, however, and he should be able to tell us more." Snape nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer, and motioned for Draco and Pansy to sit down. It wasn't long before the door to the ward opened again, admitting Professor Slughorn, who was clutching a large bottle in his shaking hands.

"Merlin's beard!" he exclaimed, huffing from the effort of hauling his hefty weight up and down the stairs as many times as he had in the last half an hour. "What a disaster!" He paused and removed a large handkerchief from an inside pocket of his robes, wiping the cloth across his damp forehead.

"We're looking for an explanation sometime this evening, Horace," Snape said bluntly. Slughorn started a little, but he nodded and sank onto the nearest chair, which creaked under his bulk.

"Mr. Nott came to my office a short while ago requesting leave to make a special trip home for his birthday this weekend," he explained. "I told him I wasn't sure if that would be permissible – I told him I would have to consult with Dumbledore, actually – but in light of the birthday in question being the boy's seventeenth, I offered him a celebratory toast, which he accepted. Next thing I knew, he was convulsing on the floor and was blue in the face – it was lucky I had a bezoar in my office, or he very well could have died." Pansy gave a dramatic little gasp at Slughorn's final pronouncement, but a look from Snape silenced her before she could speak further.

"What exactly is in that bottle, and where did you acquire it?" Snape asked.

"Well, it's a bottle of Rosmerta's finest mead, isn't it? Delightful stuff, it really is – when it hasn't been tampered with, that is."

"Have you identified the poison?" Snape questioned.

"Not yet, no – I was a bit preoccupied with getting young Mr. Nott to Poppy as soon as I could, wasn't I? Besides, I was hoping you could take a look at it anyway, Severus – your skills in identifying poisons are second to none, are they not?"

"Very well." Snape accepted the bottle gingerly and sniffed the mouth of it. "Obviously something odorless, as all I smell is mead. I will have to take this with me to test it properly. Poppy, is Mr. Nott stable?"

"He's fine now," Madam Pomfrey replied. "The bezoar did exactly what it was supposed to do – he's very much drained of energy but otherwise healthy. Barring any unusual results in the diagnostics later, he should be cleared for release in the morning."

"I don't quite understand what these two are doing here," Slughorn said, nodding towards Draco and Pansy.

"Miss Parkinson seems to think that Mr. Black was somehow involved in this little incident," Snape said. "Would you care to explain, Miss Parkinson?" All three adults looked expectantly at the dark-haired girl, who looked suddenly uncertain and nervous under all the scrutiny.

"Well…Draco was the last person I knew Theo had seen before he went to meet with Slughorn," Pansy attempted.

"And what happened when they saw each other last?" Snape continued.

"We were studying for our upcoming Charms exam," Draco replied, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. "Silencing Charms – that's what we reviewed today."

"And did Mr. Nott seem out of sorts when he left your presence, Mr. Black?" Snape asked.

"No!" Draco cried exasperatedly. "For the last time, I studied with Nott for an hour at most, and that was it! We went our separate ways afterwards, and that was the last I heard from him until Parkinson got in my face during dinner! So unless you're suggesting that I somehow planted the poisoned mead-"

"And why is that so impossible?" Pansy sneered. "We both know you're good at Potions; you could've easily looked up odorless poisons that dissolve in liquid…"

"Miss Parkinson, hold your tongue!" Snape demanded. "That is quite enough from you. Both of you, out!" The two Slytherins hurried to obey and soon reached the main staircase, where Draco made his way upstairs to the Room of Requirement while Pansy headed back down to the dungeons.

Draco used the solitary walk to the seventh floor to think about what had just transpired. For a Slytherin, Slughorn certainly offered up a lot of information – Draco now knew quite a bit more than he probably should about the situation, and it gave him a lot to think about. Who had poisoned the mead? What poison had they used? Obviously it was something that could be counteracted by a bezoar, but since bezoars were effective against all but a small handful of extremely rare poisons, that didn't narrow it down much. What was the motive – had Slughorn even been the intended target? And arguably the most important question of them all – why was Nott so adamant about going home? Draco knew that things like birthdays, even milestone ones, weren't enough to get you leave to go home on a random weekend in the middle of term – he doubted that even Harry could have gotten such a pass, had his birthday been during the school year. No, there was a reason that Nott was trying to go home, and Draco was determined to find out what it was.

The weeks leading up to the Easter holidays were largely uneventful. Harry successfully managed to Apparate during their lesson in the first week of March, and Hermione created a weak but passable string of false memories in an Occlumency session not long after that. Ravenclaw faced Hufflepuff in the last Quidditch match of the term, and the D.A. staged another mock duel that left them all sweaty and tired but ultimately satisfied. A few days before the holidays began, Harry received another missive from Dumbledore, the note requesting that all six teenagers meet in his office that evening. Though they all had plenty of homework, they knew that these meetings were extremely important, and so they all met at the gargoyle promptly at eight o'clock.

"Good evening," Dumbledore said, welcoming them into his office and bringing forth their usual armchairs. He conjured up a tea tray and motioned for them to help themselves, then said, "My reasons for asking you here tonight are twofold. Firstly, I would like to hear if you've made any progress with the contract, and secondly, I need to speak to these four" – he gestured to the Gryffindors plus Draco – "about the prophecy." Neither Blaise nor Tracey questioned the second piece of Dumbledore's agenda – they were well aware of their friends' meetings concerning the prophecy and knew that the information exchanged was highly sensitive in nature.

"Nothing new regarding the contract, I'm afraid," Blaise began. "We found a law book in the library that's been immensely helpful in translating some of the more obscure legal text, but the contract itself is fairly straightforward, and we haven't been able to find a loophole as of yet."

"I've been thinking that we might need to take a second look around my house," Tracey added. "The contract itself isn't giving us the answers we need, and I have a feeling that my house is the next best place to try."

"You must be careful, Miss Davis," Dumbledore cautioned. "You already told us that it was your father who petitioned for the arrangement, and as a result, he's likely going to want to keep that alliance at all costs."

"Oh, I don't plan on asking him about it directly unless I have to," Tracey said immediately. "If there is anything in the house that might help me break the contract and my father gets wind of what I'm trying to do, he'll just make sure that I never find what I'm looking for."

"I think somebody should go with you, Trace," Harry said. "This sounds like it could potentially be dangerous, and two heads are better than one, anyway."

"But who's going to go?" Hermione argued. "Yes, two heads are better than one, but wouldn't that make Mr. Davis even more suspicious? It would look rather odd if someone he barely even knew was seen searching through his house for something."

"No offense, Harry, but my father's not about to let a Gryffindor into the house anytime soon," Tracey said with an apologetic glance. "And even if you weren't Gryffindors, you're all too recognizable – Harry and Hermione have featured in the papers too many times for my father not to know who you are, and Ginny has the unmistakable Weasley red hair."

"I can't go, either," Blaise said. "Tracey's father doesn't know who I am, since we always met up somewhere outside of our homes during the holidays, but what could be more suspicious than an engaged woman having another man in her house?" His tone was slightly bitter, and they didn't blame him in the slightest. Just as with Draco and Hermione, Blaise and Tracey didn't openly show their affection – relationships could easily be weaknesses used against you, especially in Slytherin – but the friends still knew that Blaise cared for Tracey deeply and wanted nothing more than to help her out of this horrible predicament. The fact that he could essentially do nothing was obviously getting to him.

"I could go," Draco said suddenly, looking as if everything had unexpectedly fallen into place. "I could go, and it wouldn't look suspicious at all – if we're betrothed, wouldn't it make sense for me to visit with the intent of a proper introduction? Your father couldn't possibly begrudge you spending time with your supposed fiancé, could he?"

"Draco, that's it!" Tracey exclaimed. "Father wouldn't question your presence at all – in fact, he'd probably be thrilled." She paused and frowned. "But that means taking time out of your holidays – are you sure you want to do that?"

"Trace, even if neither of us wants this engagement, you're still my friend," Draco said. "If it means finding what we need to break the contract, I'll gladly take a day or two out of my holidays to do so."

"It sounds like you have a plan, then," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Miss Davis, I might suggest sending Mr. Black a Portkey to your home, as neither of you have yet passed your Apparition tests."

"I think I could do that," Tracey agreed.

"Splendid. I truly do hope that you find what you're looking for. Now, Miss Davis and Mr. Zabini, unless you had anything further you wished to discuss, you may return to your common room."

"I think that's everything, sir," Blaise said. "Thank you for all your help."

"Hardly help, my dear boy. Just a spot of guidance – the credit for the hard work goes to all of you." Nevertheless, Blaise thanked the headmaster again before he and Tracey bid their friends goodnight and left the office.

"Now, I do believe it's been some time since we last discussed our friend Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said once he had the remaining teenagers' undivided attention. "We have so far only seen Bob Ogden's memory, in which we met Riddle's maternal family, such as they were. I would like to show you a few more memories this evening, memories which, I think, will prove extremely important in our understanding of Voldemort and what to do next."

"Whose memories are we seeing tonight, Professor?" Harry asked.

"The first memory is my own," Dumbledore replied. "It is the memory of the day I first met Tom Riddle, the day he first found out he was a wizard." Dumbledore removed the Pensieve from its cabinet and added the proper vial of silvery thoughts.

"In we go." In the blink of an eye, the group found themselves standing on the pavement outside a nondescript orphanage. Before them stood a much younger Dumbledore, and the teenagers had to cover their mouths to hide their snickers at his flamboyantly cut purple suit.

"I'd quite forgotten about that suit," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Welcome to 1930s London. Follow me, please." They all climbed the building's front steps, where the younger Dumbledore was already being ushered inside by a skinny girl in an apron. The orphanage itself was clean but very shabby, and they found memory-Dumbledore speaking to the matron of the establishment, whom he addressed as Mrs. Cole. Mrs. Cole talked at length about the boy called Tom Riddle – he was a rather odd boy, she said, and he often did things that frightened the other children – and then finally led Dumbledore upstairs, where she left him outside the first of many doors on the second landing.

There was no mistaking who the room's occupant was – even if they hadn't already seen a slightly older version of him in the enchanted diary, this boy's resemblance to Tom Riddle Senior was almost uncanny. His features were no less handsome at eleven than they'd seen him at seventeen, his dark hair was impeccably combed, and even though he sat on his bed, they could tell he was tall for his age. Tom looked up when Dumbledore entered, suspicion evident on his face.

To an unsuspecting Muggle, the ensuing conversation would have made almost no sense at all, but to Harry and his friends, it was more than a little unnerving. The young Riddle spoke with a haughty, almost commanding tone, yet he seemed to know precisely how to change his mannerisms and speech to get Dumbledore to do exactly as he wanted. He spoke almost excitedly about the things he was able to do, his 'special abilities', which, to Harry's horror, included making others hurt if they annoyed him and controlling animals' actions with his thoughts – at the tender age of eleven, Tom Riddle's magic was manifesting itself in versions of the Unforgivable curses. Tom also revealed that he could speak to snakes, and there was no mistaking the gleam in the boy's eyes when Dumbledore said this was an unusual ability – clearly, Tom liked the idea of having something that distinguished him even from his fellow wizards.

Harry continued to listen as Dumbledore demonstrated magic for the enraptured youth, then thoroughly chastised him for stealing from the other orphans and insisted that he return the items at once. Hogwarts, Dumbledore said, not only taught its students how to do magic, but also how to control it, and that all pupils – Tom himself included – had to accept the Wizarding world's laws or face expulsion should they use their magic in improper or illegal ways. After giving Tom directions to the Leaky Cauldron – at Tom's insistence; he made it very clear that he neither wanted nor needed Dumbledore's assistance even with acquiring his school things – Dumbledore pulled Harry and his friends from the memory.

"What did you take from that memory?" Dumbledore asked them.

"Riddle liked the fact that he was special," Hermione said at once. "He positively lit up when you told him what he could do was magic – that gave him something his fellow orphans didn't have – and when you mentioned that being a Parselmouth is unusual, that differentiated him from even his fellow wizards."

"Very good," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Voldemort does indeed prefer to keep himself on a pedestal independent of other people – he always has. Those he was close with in school were far more followers than friends – I don't think he ever had a true 'friend', nor did he want one, as he viewed any sort of dependence on others as a weakness. No matter how many Death Eaters there are, we must always remember that Voldemort ultimately operates alone – only he knows the full extent of his plans."

"Which is definitely a weakness, I think," Harry said. "He might think it important to keep his cards close to his chest, but how does he know that his followers are truly loyal if they don't know all that he plans to do?"

"Oh, they know the basic idea," Dumbledore assured him. "But you're right, Harry – that lack of communication definitely has the potential to cause a lot of problems, especially when we're talking about individuals as ruthless as the Death Eaters, many of whom have their own selfish and sinister reasons for joining."

"And what about that box of things he stole from the other orphans?" Ginny asked. "You made quite a big deal about that one in the memory, sir."

"I did indeed, Miss Weasley, and I am very glad you mentioned it. That portion of the conversation shows us that even as a child, Voldemort liked to collect trophies, little tokens that he'd taken from the victims of his bullying. Please keep this information in mind as I show you these last two memories." He emptied a second vial's contents into the Pensieve, and in they went.

The second memory was extremely short, and judging by Voldemort's slightly older appearance, looked to take place roughly five years after the first one. The group found themselves back in the Gaunt shack, which was even filthier and more dilapidated than before, and they listened as Voldemort conversed with his uncle Morfin, Dumbledore's translation charms allowing them to understand the Parseltongue. Having never seen his nephew before, Morfin initially mistook him for Tom Riddle Senior – when Voldemort demanded to know what he was talking about, Morfin explained all he knew about the 'filthy Muggle' from the big house on the hill and how Merope had run off with him.

"Where's the locket?" Morfin demanded. "Where's Slytherin's locket?" He brandished his fist as he spoke, and they could all clearly see the ugly old ring that had once belonged to Marvolo resting on one of his large fingers. The memory ended rather abruptly after that, and the viewers were almost forcibly ejected from the Pensieve.

"What happened?" Harry asked as he grabbed the nearest chair for support.

"The memory was tampered with," Dumbledore explained. "Thanks to a powerful Memory Charm, Morfin could no longer recall what happened afterwards. Armed with the newfound knowledge of the 'big house on the hill', Voldemort Stunned his uncle, stole his wand, and used it to murder all three remaining members of the Riddle family – his father, of course, and his paternal grandparents. He then returned to the shack, modified Morfin's memory so that Morfin thought he'd committed the murder, stole his ring, and left. When the authorities arrived, Morfin readily confessed to the crime, his wand collaborating his tale, and was carted off to Azkaban. I uncovered the truth when I was granted a visit with Morfin some years ago, but he died in prison before anything could be done about it."

"And it seems Voldemort's thieving tendencies hadn't stopped after all," Draco pointed out. "You said he took his uncle's ring right after he murdered his father's family."

"Very good, Mr. Black. Keep that in mind as we view this last memory, please."

The final memory featured a man they all knew well, though his past version was neither quite so round nor quite so bald – Professor Slughorn was holding court in his office, a group of older Slytherin boys gathered around him on cushions or little chairs. They discussed a number of inconsequential things, from Slughorn's love of crystallized pineapple to the rumors of another professor's impending retirement, but it was the moments when the memory went fuzzy that interested them the most – it seemed that this memory had been tampered with as well.

"Here is where you need to pay attention," Dumbledore said quietly as all of the boys except Voldemort rose to leave. As soon as his classmates were gone, Voldemort spoke.

"Professor, what do you know of Horcruxes?"

Immediately following this came a blur so thick it was like bad static on a radio or a television – hearing any part of Slughorn's response was next to impossible. In fact, they only heard one other phrase at all, and it came from Voldemort: "For instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven-" Whatever came after that was a mystery, as the memory immediately came to a halt.

"Professor, what's a Horcrux?" Ginny asked as they all took their seats once more. "And why was that memory such a mess?"

"I believe that Professor Slughorn was ashamed to reveal the real memory and deliberately altered it to show himself in a better light," Dumbledore explained. "It doesn't much matter, as what little we saw told us what we needed to know. As for what a Horcrux is, it is Dark magic, very Dark indeed. A Horcrux is an object that stores a piece of your soul, independent from the rest of it."

"A piece of your soul?" Harry repeated, looking shocked. "But…why would you ever need to split your soul?"

"Do you recall what was kept at Hogwarts during your first year here, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"The philosopher's stone," Harry said immediately.

"And what could the philosopher's stone do?"

"Provide the owner with unlimited riches and immortality."

"The unicorn," Draco said at once. "There was a unicorn killed in the forest just before we went after the stone, remember? Unicorn blood is used in longevity potions, Dark ones."

"You really did do your research, didn't you?" Dumbledore said with an amused look. "Yes, it is the longevity and immortality aspect we should examine here – if you'll recall from my conversation with the young Voldemort in the orphanage, he initially thought his magical blood came from his father's side, as his mother had so easily succumbed to the 'weakness' that is death."

"And so Voldemort's after immortality," Hermione said with a shudder. "What does that have to do with Horcruxes?"

"Everything, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "You see, so long as a piece of your soul lives, you cannot truly die. And so, if Voldemort had a Horcrux…"

"He could be resurrected, even if his body had been killed," Harry concluded.

"Precisely."

"And how exactly does one create a Horcrux?" Ginny asked.

"The splitting of one's soul is no simple thing, and it cannot be done by the pure of heart," Dumbledore explained. "You see, the quickest way to split your soul – a very unnatural thing to do – is to commit murder, the darkest act of them all."

"But Voldemort's murdered dozens, if not hundreds of people," Harry protested. "How are we to know that he didn't make more than one Horcrux?"

"An excellent observation, Harry!" Dumbledore said approvingly. "You see, I do believe we have proof that he did make more than one Horcrux."

"And what's that?"

"The diary, of course, the one that you destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets."

"You think that was a Horcrux?" Ginny asked.

"I am almost positive it was so," Dumbledore said. "Creating a Horcrux is no easy feat on its own, and of course Voldemort would have done so with the intention of protecting the soul fragment inside – why, then, did he choose a vessel that was clearly meant to be found by someone else? Voldemort wanted someone to find and use that diary to finish what he'd started with the Chamber of Secrets, and yet he chose a precious fragment of his own soul as the means of controlling it. Had his plan succeeded, of course, that fragment of soul would have been reborn when it took the remainder of Mr. Weasley's life force, but it failed, and the diary was destroyed."

"The soul bit as well?" Draco questioned.

"Given Harry's explanation of what happened when he stabbed the diary, I would say yes," Dumbledore said. "That particular Horcrux is well and truly gone."

"And so you think Voldemort made at least one other to make up for the fact that the diary's first purpose was as something else," Hermione said.

"The ring," Harry said at once. "Voldemort stole his uncle's ring, didn't he? And he killed his Muggle relatives right after – who's to say he didn't make the ring a Horcrux, as a symbol of besting his 'filthy Muggle father'?"

"And what about the locket?" Draco added. "You never did say what happened to the locket, Professor."

"Once again, I believe you both have the right idea," Dumbledore said. "The evidence supporting the ring's transformation into a Horcrux is strong. As for the locket, Merope sold it in desperation not long before she died – where it is now, I don't know, but I'm sure that Voldemort went searching for it when he learned it was a Slytherin heirloom."

"So he likes important things," Ginny said. "The diary was important because it contained the key to the Chamber of Secrets, and the ring and the locket are both family heirlooms – Wizarding family heirlooms."

"Astute as always, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore beamed. "If there are others, what they are remains to be seen, but we can safely guess that they are artifacts of equal importance."

"Six," Harry said suddenly, his eyes wide with revelation.

"Sorry?" Dumbledore asked.

"The prophecy – the first line of the prophecy," Harry said. "'Three join four when six are gone' – we already know the 'four' refers to the rings, and though we don't know the 'three' or the 'six', I think the 'six' refers to the Horcruxes – after all, six Horcruxes plus Voldemort himself, assuming there's any soul left in him, makes seven fragments of soul, and didn't he mention seven in that last memory?"

"He did – he said that seven is the most powerfully magical number," Hermione said, looking excited.

"And he would want to prove himself more magically powerful than anyone," Ginny concluded.

"Assuming we're right, that leaves us with three Horcruxes that we have no idea what they are," Draco said with a frown. "And that's also assuming that our guesses for the first three are correct."

"At least we're on the right track," Hermione said soothingly. "Professor, you'll keep us informed if you learn anything further?"

"Of course, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "After all, if we're correct about what Voldemort has done, then finding these Horcruxes is critical to our success. Until the Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort himself cannot die. It is a lot to take in, of course, but I will continue to research and hunt for more memories that might give us more clues. In the meantime, as much as I'm sure you'd all like to continue discussing this, I must insist that you all return to your common rooms – it is long past curfew, and I know you still have things to do before the holidays. Think on what you've learned, but don't fret – though it may not seem like it, we've made a great deal of progress tonight, and I truly believe we can only go forward from here."

A/N: Hot damn - I don't think I've written a chapter this long since the Yule Ball! (Lulu, this one's for you. You're welcome.) I did take a few quotes directly from HBP, so credit to JKR for those. Next chapter, we go to Tracey's house - what will we find there? Hmm...

Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, & for reading!

JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)