A/N) I am sorry to say that I still haven't finished chapter 66, BUT, I have finished the difficult part of the chapter that I have been struggling with. Two more scenes to write and then that chapter will be done. I am not following my plan any more as the chapters seem to have a mind of their own. They are also going to get longer and longer so they will take me longer to write. I will try to keep to my schedule of updating twice weekly, but I cannot promise to keep it all the time. At the moment, I fully intend on updating on Thursday. If I do not, look for an update next Monday. I'd rather be ahead of myself by a few chapters, so that if I do get stuck, I do have a back-log to post. It's been good that while deadlocked with chapter 66, I have been able to keep on posting. I hope this can continue, but in the course of my writing I am now getting into Deathly Hallows territory, and I do not know that book very well, so it is difficult to write the chapters I am now, without having a good knowledge of it.

Please bear with me. I do not intend on disappearing for three years like I did before. I want to finish this fic by the end of the year. I think I can do it.

Without further ado, I present chapter 61...

Chapter Sixty-One: A Sluggish Memory

Monday 18th January 1996

The first week of the new term had passed quickly, yet Harry, Ron and Hermione found them-selves elbow-deep in school work. Their O. were coming up in May and all the teachers were piling on the work for the fifth years, however Harry, Ron and Hermione had more work to contend with than anyone else in the school, what with Quidditch practice and the various lessons from Sirius and Remus continuing.

The whole school (apart from the Slytherins) had been shocked about Professor Snape's appointment as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; they had also been the only house table to clap. Harry, who had been expecting Snape's appointment, hadn't reacted at all, just bowed his head. Slughorn's appointment was met with polite applause. Fortunately, Snape's Defence Against the Dark Art's lessons were not as bad as they had been expecting. The trio's training with Sirius was paying off well and they applied their knowledge to practical and theory work in all their classes, but more so in Snape's lessons. The former Potions Master could not find anything critical to say about their work, which Harry was sure he was angry about. He was certain that Snape had no idea that Sirius was training them; considering Snape's closeness with the Dark Lord, it would be unwise for him to learn what Harry was being taught. It might bring Voldemort out of hiding quicker then they wanted to.

Potions, on the other hand, Harry found he enjoyed. It helped that Snape wasn't breathing down his neck and constantly criticising his work. He also realised that he did have a talent for Potions once he understood the basic workings of the ingredients and what each potion was for. He wasn't as good as Hermione, but his work had improved. He wasn't a natural, like his mother had obviously been, but he was much better at the subject when his least favourite Professor was no longer teaching. Horace Slughorn had taken an immediate fondness to him but Harry had met his expectations, so far. His homework for Potions had also improved, albeit it had been only one week back, he had already received his first Outstanding for a Potion he had brewed and also for the accompanied essay describing the effects of the concoction.

"Snape has been holding you back, Harry, that's obvious," said Ron, shrugging his shoulders.

Harry looked down at the essay that he had received that mark on. "I guess so..."

"Still," continued Hermione, "at least your Defence Against the Dark Arts marks aren't falling because of Snape. Now, that would be bad."

Harry grimaced. "I know. Especially since I will be the one to end up fighting him..." he shrugged, "I just hope what I'm learning now will help me survive." He looked at his watch. "I suppose I'd better get going. Sirius said he would meet me in Dumbledore's office."

"Good luck," whispered Hermione.

"I'll tell you what I learn when I get back," said Harry as he walked towards the Portrait entrance, wondering what he would be shown tonight regarding the past of Lord Voldemort.

Sirius had been waiting outside the stone gargoyle for five minutes when Harry came rushing up, panting for breath. His hair was tousled and sticking up at the back, even messier then it usually was. He grinned. James had always made sure his hair had been like that.

"Sorry! I ran into Filch, quite literally," explained Harry, placing his palms on his knees and bending over, trying to catch his breath.

Sirius chuckled. "At least you didn't purposefully do that."

Harry glanced up at him, his right eyebrow raised. "You didn't?"

"Oh we did!"

"Let me guess, it was a dare, right?"

Sirius grinned. "Your father always dared me to do that. He thought it would be fun. Of course, I always got back at him when he least expected it. We were quite immature at your age, very irresponsible. Certainly, if throwing a dung bomb at Filch and then making sure James got the blame classes as revenge..." He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

"I bet dad tried to contest that," said Harry.

"He tried but always failed; he always got back at me in one way or another." He glanced towards the statue, trying to ignore the pressing surge of memories that had welled up beneath the surface. Every now and again they would hit him; he had to fight the sadness he felt at failing his best friend, his brother. "I guess we had better go up, we are here for a reason after all."

Harry nodded and followed Sirius up the winding staircase once his godfather had said the password. Dumbledore was waiting for them, sitting behind his desk, as always.

"Sorry, Professor," said Harry, "I got delayed."

"That is alright, Harry," said Dumbledore, standing from his chair and walking around the desk. "Tonight, I have two memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

Harry and Sirius shared significant looks. Are we going to learn what Harry's task is tonight?

"We meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school. Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quite boy in his second hand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head," continued Dumbledore, indication with his blackened and ruined hand towards the Sorting Hat upon the shelf above his head, where it sat unmoving. "How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the House could talk to snakes, I do not know – perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-important."

Sirius snorted. "At a guess, I'd say he learnt that very day. Most of the old families knew of Salazar's skill. Even though I wasn't a Slytherin, I distinctly remember being told by my parents on the day I left for Hogwarts that I would hear the 'Great Speech' that all new Slytherin students were subjected to. If that speech was around when Riddle attended Hogwarts, then I wouldn't put it past him hearing it that day and learning that Slytherin was a Parselmouth."

"Thank you, Sirius," said Dumbledore, "I was unaware of this tradition."

Sirius shrugged. "I may not have heard it myself but Regulus talked about it at Christmas after his first term at Hogwarts. He was full of praise for it."

"If your parents were aware of it and your brother knew of it, then I expect that young Tom Riddle did hear this," mused Dumbledore, "however, back to our story, shall we? If Riddle was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favourably impressed by him."

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

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

Sirius glanced at his godson as he saw his mouth open to speak.

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

"When did you learn this?" asked Sirius.

"End of my second year," said Harry. "The Chamber of Secrets was opened and it was Voldemort operating from a diary he wrote when he was sixteen."

"Ah." A nasty thought ran through Sirius' mind. He hasn't done what I think he has done, has he? A Horcrux? Maybe that explains why he survived Godric's Hollow...He had been researching this theory for a while now, though not having had much time, he hadn't found a lot of information, but this was the first piece of evidence that Sirius' theory could possibly be correct. If I'm right, Voldemort has to have more... otherwise there would be no point to these lessons. That has to be Harry's task. And that frightened him. He caught the older man's eyes and Sirius suspected that the Headmaster thought as he did, and knew that Sirius had guessed what he had as well. A small shake of the head told Sirius all he needed to know; Harry couldn't know yet. Dumbledore didn't know for sure either.

"I did not take for granted that Riddle was trustworthy," said Dumbledore. "I had resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues. As he moved up the school, he father about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts."

Sirius sniffed. "The Lestrange family for a start, and let's not forget the Dolohov's and Avery's either. They were forever lecturing Regulus and I whenever they visited for formal dinners. I was, I must say, bored out of my mind. That led to some interesting arguments that," he mused, though realising that now was the time to be thinking about that.

"Thank you, Sirius," said Dumbledore. He didn't know whether the Headmaster appreciated his comments but he hadn't told him to stop, he figured he would be alright to continue if other things came up. "Controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, as you mentioned about earlier, Harry; that resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Harry, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime."

"Ah, something I have in common with him then," grated Sirius, low enough so that the Headmaster didn't hear him.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," continued Dumbledore. "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike. Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family – the woman whom he had thought could not be witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death. All he had to go upon was the single name 'Marvolo', which he knew had been his mother's father's name. After painstaking research, through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, Harry, Sirius, if you will both stand..."

They both stood up and walked towards the Pensieve that Dumbledore was now leaning over. He held in his hand one of the small crystal bottles. "I was very lucky to collect this, as you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Sirius nodded and pushed Harry in front. As soon as his godson had fallen through into the Pensieve, Sirius followed, landing in the middle of the Gaunt's house, the one memory that Sirius had not seen, whereas Harry had visited it before.

"I would not like to live here, that's for sure," muttered Sirius, as his eyes took in the ceiling that was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; food rotting upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Sirius could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire. There came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked aware, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

The door creaked open and on the threshold of the house stood the teenage Voldemort, tall, pale, dark-haired and handsome. They watched as Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and found the man in the armchair. The two scrutinised one another and then the man staggered upright bellowing: "YOU! YOU!" And the man hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

"Stop."

"Parseltongue," whispered Sirius. He could not understand a word of the following conversation but he knew Harry could. It wasn't until that he saw the ring on the man's finger that he realised who the man was. Morfin Gaunt. And then the conversation turned to English as Morfin broke into a tirade about his sister, Merope Gaunt, determined to know what she had done with Slytherin's locket.

The man, Morfin was working himself into a rage, brandishing his knife and yelled: "Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... It's over..."

And then an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing everything they could see. Sirius felt a hand on his shoulder and he souring upwards until he landed in Dumbledore's office once more.

"Is that all?" asked Harry at once. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Sirius.

Dumbledore nodded. "Correct. When Morfin awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone. Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton –"

Sirius shivered, remembering what had happened at the graveyard to Harry a year and a half ago. Now he knew why Voldemort had chosen to rebirth himself there.

"-there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father. The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far asI am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage... The exception sits before me," added Dumbledore, indicating Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people. So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, or to use Veritaserum of Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles, and he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring. And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

Sirius shivered. That could have been me. And very nearly was.

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry.

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was about to speak again when Sirius said: "May I take a guess?" At Dumbledore's smile, Sirius turned to Harry.

"I'm guessing Voldemort stunned his uncle, took his wand, where he then went to the big manor house and murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother and because they were there, his Muggle grandparents, thereby killing the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. He then returned to the hovel and implanted a false memory into Morfin's mind, laid the wand beside its unconscious owner, and stole the ring before leaving." Sirius glanced at Dumbledore, feeling relieved that the Headmaster was still smiling. I theorised correctly then.

"And Morfin never realised he hadn't done it?"

"Never," said Dumbledore sadly. "He gave a full and boastful confession."

"But he had this real memory in him all the time?"

"Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him and why should, one wonder, anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

"But how come the Ministry didn't realise that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?" asked Harry angrily. "He was underage at the time, wasn't he? I thought they could detect underage magic!"

"They can," said Sirius, "but not the identity of the wizard."

"You will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by –"

"Dobby."

"Who?" asked Sirius, sounding confused.

"A house-elf," answered Harry.

"A house-elf came to your aunt and uncle's house?" Sirius looked and sounded incredulous.

"Yes. I'll tell you about it later," said Harry. And then he remembered a conversation he had, had during the summer with his friends regarding under-age magic. "Morfin was the only Wizard who lived in that area. George told me that the Ministry relies on parents of Wizarding families to enforce the no magic rule before you are seventeen, don't they?"

"They do," Sirius said, "and my parents did not enforce it. James' parents on the other-hand did."

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

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did; blamed for murders he had not committed. You were lucky, Sirius, that we did discover the truth about you..."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was grateful about that too. He hadn't wanted to die in Azkaban but he had thought he had deserved it after being the cause of James and Lily's death. He would have escaped sooner if he had known where Pettigrew had run off to. I was very lucky that day that he was in that paper I asked Fudge for. If I hadn't asked for it, I'd still be there and not here with Harry.

"It is getting late, and I would like both of you to see this other memory before we part," said Dumbledore, pulling out another crystal phial from his pocket. He poured it in the Pensieve, indicating for the two of them to join him beside it. "This will not take long; we shall be back before you know it."

Sirius went first, falling into an office he had rarely visited during his time at Hogwarts: Professor Horace Slughorn's. Harry joined him, quickly followed by Dumbledore. The Slughorn that sat before them was younger then Sirius had ever seen him. He had thick, shiny, straw-coloured hair, though there was already a bald patch on his crown. His moustache was less massive then it was these days, was gingery-blond. Not as large as he was now, his little feet resting upon a velvet pouffee, he was sitting in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystallised pineapple. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens, one of them Voldemort. His right hand lay upon the arm of his chair.

"The ring," breathed Harry, noticing the ring that had once belonged to Marvolo Gaunt now adorned the finger of his grandson, Tom Riddle.

"Well spotted, Harry," praised Dumbledore.

They listened as the young Voldemort enquired about a Professor who was retiring, Slughorn going on to praise Riddle, and as several of the boys laughed, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Sirius could see nothing but the faces of Dumbledore and his godson. Then, through the fog, echoed out Slughorn's voice. "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words!"

He's altered his memory... was Sirius's first thought as the fog cleared and the chiming of a small golden clock began.

Slughorn told the boys that it was getting late, asking two of them for essays tomorrow, otherwise they would get detention. As the boys filed out, Voldemort stayed behind, waiting until they were gone before shutting the door behind him.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something," began Voldemort.

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away..." encouraged the younger Slughorn.

"Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes."

And the bomb drops... thought Sirius.

And it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room so that Sirius could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Harry and Dumbledore who was smiling serenely beside him. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"Well, that's that," said Dumbledore placidly beside Sirius. "It's time to go."

Sirius' feet left the floor and seconds later, he was back on the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That's all there is?" asked Harry blankly.

"You said that memory was the most important one..." swallowed Sirius, "but it has been tampered with."

"You can tamper with a memory?" asked Harry, turning to face his godfather.

Sirius nodded. "It's complicated magic but if you don't want people to find out the truth you can obliterate various parts of a memory or alter it enough to hide the real memory. Professor Slughorn, by my own estimation, hasn't done a good job of it, as it was crudely done and it tells me that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations."

"I believe he is ashamed of what he remembers," explained Dumbledore. "He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. However, the true memory is very important, and so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all."

"If he didn't give you the full memory, why would he give it to Harry?" asked Sirius, not convinced. He had faith in Harry's abilities, but it seemed a bit much to ask that of him.

"Because I believe Harry can convince him of the urgency of it all," said Dumbledore.

"You can't use other methods?" continued Sirius, referring to Veritaserum.

The Headmaster shook his head. "No, I cannot. Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both. He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection. No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that Harry is the one person who might be able to penetrate his defences. It is most important that we secure the true memory… How important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing."

"It is okay, Sirius," said Harry, raising a hand to stop his godfather from replying. "I'll do it. If Professor Dumbledore believes I can, then I can get this memory from him, right?"

"Thank you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "And now, it is late. I think it is best if we part ways for this evening."

Sirius wanted to stay to talk to the Headmaster however he also wanted to talk to Harry before he reached Gryffindor Tower so he followed his godson from the office. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Sirius reached forward and grasped Harry by the shoulders. "Little piece of advice for you, much as I hate to say this, but you'll have to let Slughorn collect you... and add you to his little club."

Harry did not look happy about that.

"Also... as you know, he was very fond of your mother... she might be what you need to coerce him into giving you the true memory," said Sirius. "It is as I suspected though... he's made a Horcrux."

Harry's eyebrows crinkled. "What is a Horcrux?"

"Very old and dark magic and I shouldn't have even mentioned that to you... I don't want to say more, in case I'm wrong... but you mentioning that diary earlier has got me thinking. I'm sure the true memory will reveal more of my suspicions... but I do need to talk to Dumbledore first."

"I trust you if you say you can't tell me yet," said Harry.

"Thanks. I'm glad you do but I'll tell you one thing. If I'm right about my suspicions, then I don't like where this is going, not at all," said Sirius, sighing. And if I am right, how many Horcruxes did Voldemort make? Is that why Dumbledore doesn't want Harry to know what they are yet, just in case the diary was the only one?

Whether he was right or not, something bugged Sirius, telling him that no matter what, Harry would have to hunt down Horcruxes. And I'll be there every step of the way, he vowed.

To be continued...

Please let me know what you think!

Next chapter: Comfort - in which Harry talks to Slughorn, and Ron and Hermione have a heart-to-heart.

Very small preview below...

"I think this is a very bad idea."

"The sheer cheek of it all!"

"You can fight for us, for our future..."

Hopefully will be posted Thursday.

the-writer1988