December 26th, 1977
I greeted the anxiety the same way my mother always greeted Aunt Muriel – with forced hospitality and sweaty palms. We sat together in prolonged silences only broken by the slurping of nearly cold tea and the tapping of my shoelace against the hardwood floor. We kept each other company as we waited for the fireplace to erupt in green flames signaling the arrival of someone new – someone with news – but nothing came. The minutes stretched into hours, and the tension seeped into my muscles locking them into place.
It was a feeling I'd become acquainted with over the course of the war – waiting for the result of a battle I'd been barred from. In their eyes I was still a child, I couldn't possibly handle myself in a battle – never mind the fact that I'd been fighting death eaters since the Ministry of Magic. The sheer panic of knowing that you couldn't do a damned thing to help was gripping. It held onto you like devils snare, wrapping you in a painful grip, and squeezing the air out of your lungs until you were left trembling and breathless. Yes, it was a feeling I knew all too well.
Moody swore he'd deliver the news as soon as the sun rose, but as the clock ticked closer to seven, and as the sky went from pitch black to pink, nothing had come. It wasn't a good sign. The moon had gone half an hour ago, and the sun was shining in through the window, and yet I sat alone in the silence. The boys were with Remus, having planned for this full moon to be spent together in a remote forest I wasn't allowed to know the name of. They were safe – or so they said. I took a sip from my teacup, wishing once again that I'd slipped something in it to relieve the chill in my bones. Where is everyone? The thought plagued me once again. They should be back by now. And there was nothing. The clock ticked, the tea grew colder and, much like Aunt Muriel, the anxiety just didn't leave.
"You should really get some rest," the tired voice of Fleamont Potter drew my attention away from the fireplace. He stood in the doorway looking dead on his feet, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing yesterday. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and a sheen of sweat littered his brow.
"You first, pot," I replied with a shaky laugh. He returned it with a weary smile.
"Touché, kettle." We both looked toward the fireplace, watching it carefully for any sign of movement. A silence settled between us, an anxious silence I didn't know how to fill. He'd been brewing all night – restorative potions, skele-grow, blood replenishing potions – anything that The Order might need. I prayed it wasn't necessary, but the lack of news told me it was. "I'm sorry, Ginny."
I turned back to look at him with a furrowed brow. "Why are you sorry?"
"This should never have been your childh-"
"Well, it was," I cut him off and turned back to the fireplace. "Too late to do anything about it now." I heard the shuffle of his shoes on the carpet as he moved closer to me and took a seat on his chair by the window.
"Your childhood shouldn't-"
"Please don't feel sorry for me," I replied tersely. "I've made my peace with my childhood."
"Was there ever-"
"Moon went down half an hour ago, the boys should've been back by now." I locked my gaze on the stone surroundings of the fireplace, etching into memory the swirled pattern surrounding it and fighting off the rage that moved through me. I focused on the bright white of the stone that glinted in the early morning light. The clean, crisp white of it with a swirling grey that spun through it like a river. I followed the twists and bends of the pattern, letting them take me away from the anger and anxiety I felt.
"I'm sorry you didn't-"
"Moody should've sent news too."
"I'm sorry that this-"
"Stop apologizing," I seethed. I could feel the cracklings of magic coursing through my veins as I finally turned my glare on him. He looked taken aback by the fire of my stare but made no move to look away.
"We never wanted any of you to have to deal with this."
"Well, we did. We all did. We do." I was shaking now, unable to bite back the rage I was feeling. "So stop apologizing. No one took him down before he got too powerful, you fucked up – live with it. I have to live with the scars of this war every day, Monty, they're etched into my back, my hands – my bloody fucking soul. And even though this war has taken everything from me, you people still make me sit in the bloody parlor while everyone else lays down their lives." When had the tears started to fall? I swiped at them angrily without turning away from the man before me. He looked tired, he looked shocked, but most of all he looked sad. "I can fight. I've proven myself time, and time again – I proved myself on Christmas Eve didn't I? I looked into the eyes of the man who tortured me without flinching – but that doesn't matter does it?"
"Ginny-"
"Stop apologizing for the monster who ruined my childhood – who ruined my life – and let me out of the parlor to fight him." The fireplace erupted in green flames as four bodies tumbled through it and fell onto the harsh cold of the hearth.
"Dad!" James shouted as landed
Red was staining the once white hearth, spilling out of a battered body who lay half-conscious on the hardwood. His long hair was matted to his forehead from the sweat and blood, and his normally rosy and tan skin looked pale and lifeless. My wand was in my hand as I stood up and rushed over to him.
"What happened?" Monty said quickly as he knelt over Sirius's body. His hand was steady as he waved it over his abdomen where most of the blood was coming from.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Remus was sitting with his back to the mantle and his head in his hands.
"It's not your fault Moony," James replied without looking away from Sirius. "Something was off last night, you wouldn't-"
"You kept trying to run after something," Peter squeaked from his spot on the other side of the fireplace from Sirius.
"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Remus cried as he rocked himself back and forth. Normally I would have reached out to comfort him, but my attention was solely on the boy who lay bleeding in front of me.
Sirius' eyelids were shut tightly as he grimaced in pain and groaned around the heat of the magic that stitched him back together. As Monty began to tap his wand along the long gash Sirius' eyes shot open with a groan.
"Monty he's awake," I called to the man beside me.
"Sirius, don't move. I know it hurts but you have to stay still. James, go into my office, there's a blood replenishing potion in the cupboard. Get two." James jumped up and started to run toward the office, I noticed that he was limping heavily and clutching his left side. "And calming drought!" he shouted after his son.
The wound on Sirius' side was slowly stitching itself back together with the aid of Monty's healing.
"Don't let him pass out, Ginny," Monty instructed me. "Talk to him."
"Talk to him?" I asked in a panic.
"Keep him conscious until we get the potion down his throat." I turned to find wild blue eyes staring up at me in a panic. The muscles in his jaw were tense, and he was shaking.
"It's alright," I murmured as I smoothed his hair away from his forehead. "Umm, Valentine's day is coming up, come with me to Hogsmede."
Despite his pained expression and the deep gash being healed on his torso, Sirius let out a shaky laugh, "Asking me out when I'm too weak to refuse, eh?"
"Girls gotta do what she's gotta do," I smiled a watery smile down at him.
"Madam Puttifoot's?" He asked with a grimace - though whether it was from the pain or the idea of stepping foot in the tea room was a mystery.
"Or we could skip Hogsmede altogether?"
"Ah, just using me for my body I see." If he hadn't been bleeding I might have hit him.
"You got me there, Black, can't take advantage of you with too many eyes around. There'd be rumors." James rushed back into the room carrying a handful of vials.
"Dad!" He called as he found his way back to us. Monty glanced up toward his son and nodded down at Sirius.
"Give him the blood replenishing, Ginny. Remus, I want you to drink the whole vial of calming drought."
"I'm sorry," the sobbing boy in the corner murmured. James passed me the blood replenishing vial and moved toward his friend. There was a small sound of wrestling where Remus tried to fight the liquid as it was poured down his throat, but eventually, he gave in.
"Thirsty, love?" I asked Sirius with a watery smile and he shrugged.
"Sleepy." His eyes were starting to droop and so I reached down to sharply tap his cheek with my hand.
"This will help you sleep," I lied. "Drink up." With a pout, he opened his mouth and allowed me to pour the vial down his throat. He swallowed with a face of disgust.
"Horrible vintage, Monty," Sirius groaned. The older man gave a shaky laugh as he brought his hand back to his side.
"I'll give you something better in a few hours, promise." Monty brought his hands up toward Sirius' face, pushing his hair back even further and resting his palm against the younger man's cheek. "Gave me a fright there, son."
The look that washed over Sirius' face was something akin to worship as he leaned into the soft touch of Fleamont Potter. For a second I felt like I was intruding and I started to shift away to give them some privacy, but the hand fell from Sirius' cheek and blue eyes were back on me before I could move.
"Think I'll look rugged now?" He asked through gritted teeth. I let out a breath I didn't realize that I'd been holding.
"Very rugged, you'll have all the girls throwing themselves at you," I laughed.
"What about the one I want?"
"Gemma Davis is with that Ravenclaw boy now," James interrupted with a wry grin. Sirius let out a bark of a laugh that dissolved into a wince just as soon as it came out.
"Don't make me laugh Prongs." He tried to sit up, but Monty pushed him back down against the stone.
"Don't move just yet, stitching hasn't quite taken," he said as he inspected the magic again.
"Moony?" Sirius called to the boy whose sobs had quieted. I looked up to find Remus staring over at Sirius with wide and fearful eyes, eyes that flashed up to mine in a panic. "Moony, I'm fine."
"I'm so sorry, Pads," Moony whispered but made no move.
"Wasn't your fault," Sirius shook his head fast and craned his neck to look over at the other Marauder. "It's that damn wolf, you should get that thing checked out – can't be normal." The four boys shared a shaky laugh like this was an old inside joke they'd been in on for years. Remus seemed to relax slightly under the familiarity and his eyes met Sirius' for the first time. "Mates?"
"Yeah, alright," Remus acquiesced.
"What the hell happened out there?" James asked him as Monty moved toward his son to check him for injuries.
"I don't know," Remus shook his head, the pain of what he'd done still evident on his face. "It was like I was being called somewhere, and I couldn't fight it."
"Being called?" Monty asked quietly as he prodded his son's ribs earning a wince from the bespeckled boy.
"I can't explain it, it was – I don't know – primal. Like if I didn't go I would die?"
"You wouldn't listen," Peter added in a small voice. "James and Sirius kept trying to wrangle you back into the clearing but you just kept fighting them off."
"Tried to fight you," Sirius said like it was a joke. When neither Monty nor I laughed he looked up sheepishly.
"Threw me into a tree," James winced. "Ow, dad!" Fleamont gave him a sharp look and his protests quieted.
"I can't explain it," Remus shook his head again. "Something – someone was calling me. I can still feel it." He shuddered. Monty moved toward him and began to check him for injuries. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding," the other man rolled his eyes and gestured toward a glowing bit of blood on Remus' right pant leg.
"I'll survive."
"What was calling you?" I asked Remus as Monty began to seal the gash on his leg with white magic.
"Another wolf?" James asked him.
"Had to be," Remus replied through gritted teeth. "I've heard other wolves before though, none like this."
"What do you mean?" Monty asked as he turned his attention away from Remus' bleeding thigh and toward his arm that hung at an odd angle.
"When other wolves have called it's been more like an invitation like I could say no. But this time." Monty whispered an incantation under his breath that sent the arm popping back into the socket and Remus' eyes bulged. "Ow! FUCK!"
"Sorry, son, almost done. What about this time?" Monty continued to heal Remus bit by bit, sealing his smallest cuts and prodding his wand into bruises to accelerate their healing. Remus eyed him warily before continuing.
"This time it was impossible to say no," he breathed through gritted teeth. "It was like a – a – I don't know."
"An alpha's call?" Peter asked him casually. In a second, all of our eyes were on him.
"A what?" James prompted him.
"An alpha's call to join the pack, we read about it fourth year – don't you remember?"
"We're his pack," Sirius declared firmly.
"But not really," Peter shrugged. "The call of the alpha is irresistable."
"Alpha? As in Sire?" Monty asked quietly, eyeing Remus warily who looked at Peter in wide-eyed horror.
"Greyback?" Remus murmured.
"Who else?" Peter replied.
"I'm lost." I looked back and forth between Remus and Peter both of whom seemed to be having a silent conversation held only with wide eyes and twitching mouths.
"Greyback called for you last night – didn't he?" Peter prompted the other boy, but Remus made no move to respond.
"That's enough, Wormtail," James warned the smaller boy.
"It was him who called, that's why you couldn't fight it."
"Enough, Pete!" Sirius tried again but he continued on.
"Greyback wants you to join him."
"Peter!" James shouted.
"And you couldn't resist."
I'd heard the phrase 'deafening silence' before but never quite understood what it meant until then. As Remus stared at Peter Pettigrew in wide-eyed, guilty, horror, I'd never heard a silence quite so loud.
"Were you close to Mousehole?" I asked quietly.
"No, I made sure we were far away," Sirius assured me.
"How far?" I asked him.
"The Forest of Kent, it's got to be, what? 70 kilometers or more," James looked at Sirius for an answer.
"The call of an Alpha can span across continents," Peter replied.
"Memorized the whole bloody textbook, did you?" Sirius sneered at the smaller boy. James glared down at Sirius before flashing his eyes toward Remus.
"Did it feel like an Alpha's call?" James asked him quietly.
"I don't know," Remus whispered, burying his head in his hands. "No – maybe – I'm not sure."
"We need to talk to Albus," Monty said quietly when he'd finished his inspection of Remus. "He'll know what to do."
Remus looked up at the older man with a solemn nod and the conversation seemed to have reached its end. The sound of apparition could be heard from the area of the front door and I instinctively stood up to move toward it. There was muffled shouting coming from the other side of the door and I turned toward the boys asking for permission to go. Sirius was the only one who looked at me to offer an encouraging nod.
The walk toward the front door was far too long. The feeling of nervous anticipation was back and again I found myself wishing that I'd slipped something stronger than sugar into my tea. Before I could reach it, the door opened to reveal Alastor Moody and Euphemia Potter looking exhausted and battle-worn, in the heat of an argument.
"You can't be serious," Euphemia raged.
"I'm just telling you what Dumbledore told me."
"You both make me sick."
"It's a war, Effie."
"They're children."
I tried to back around the corner without being seen, to understand what it was they were fighting about but Moody caught me first and we met each other's eyes with raised wands leveled at the other's chest.
"The name of your father?" He spoke first.
"Arthur," I replied without lowering my wand. "The night we met, what did I call you?"
"Professor." We lowered our wands.
"You look like shit."
"Who's blood is that?"
"Sirius'," I replied. Effie gave a squeak of panic and rushed into the parlor where the boys were still gathered leaving Moody and me alone. He fixed me with a look.
"It was bad," he grunted.
"How many new wolves?" I asked quietly, straining to remember Binns' lesson on Mousehole.
"1." I gasped – no that wasn't right. It should have been half a dozen or more with even more casualties.
"Dead?"
"2 wolves. One of my Aurors." I felt the room start to spin and I had to lean against the wall behind me. My heart was racing, and I couldn't catch my breath. 2 dead wolves, no that was WRONG. It was called the Mousehole massacre for a reason. There were dozens dead, there were 8 new wolves, and there should have been a fire.
"And the fire?"
"What fire?"
"That's not right," I murmured through the spinning room around me.
"Of course, it's right, took down one of the wolves myself."
"No it's supposed to be more, no wolves died." Suddenly I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't stand. The wall slid along my back then the cool hardwood of the ground caught my weight as I sank into it. My head was between my knees as I gasped for air and the rough hand of Alastor Moody was on my shoulder. This was wrong, this was different this was- "I changed it," I whispered. The room stopped spinning as I brought my eyes up to meet Moody's bright blue gaze. He looked at me with a wild fascination and a grin. I mirrored it. "I changed it."
"You changed it," he replied. Without pause I launched myself into his arms, nearly knocking over the crouched man with the weight of my embrace. I let out a loud cackle of a laugh and felt the tears stream down my cheeks in utter joy.
I changed it. It could be done. The future could be changed. Wrongs could be righted. Lives could be saved. I could change the course of the war forever. It could be done. We were both laughing, Moody, clutching me tightly as he tried to right us.
"Do you know what this means?" I asked him.
"That you need to remember more."
"It means it was for more than just a fucking book." The weight of the revelation hung between us as we stared at each other in wide-eyed wonder. Something flashed behind Moody's eyes as he stood to peak into the parlor again.
"I have to go back."
"Alright." His eyes flashed to mine again and he gave me a stare that was filled with wonder – with possibility. "This changes everything."
"We'll talk again soon." With a sharp squeeze on my shoulder, Moody stood, walked out of the door, and popped away.
I stayed on the floor for a while longer, the ecstasy of the revelation reeling through me. I'd resigned myself to be a spectator on the wheel of time, prepared myself to bury Lily and James, to watch Sirius be carted away to Azkaban, but with the news, those thoughts moved away from me. Things could be changed, history rewritten, all because of me.
I stood up on shaky legs to join everyone back in the parlor and the weight of exhaustion from the past 48 hours hit me like a bludger to the chest. I had changed something, I had saved lives – and I was going to do it again.
December 27th
I found myself sitting on the stairs once again as I waited outside of Fleamont's office for the second time in four days. Sirius, James, and Peter slept upstairs with the aid of a sleeping draught and a wild night of werewolf taming behind them. The Potters were asleep too, but I'd woken with the sun this morning and was the only one who'd heard the floo flare to life at 7 am. I couldn't explain how, but I knew the headmaster was here and when I'd peeked into the room Sirius and Remus were sharing to find Remus missing, I knew why – which is how I found myself waiting outside the oak doors once again. There was no tea clutched between my trembling fists, and instead of nerves, I was awash with an eerie calm that made me patient as I waited for the two of them to finish.
It took nearly an hour, but when the door clicked open and Remus walked out, I moved toward the office hardly sparing Remus a greeting, and stepped inside. Dumbledore turned to face me, his eyes were bright with curiosity at the intrusion. With a flick of my wand, the door was shut and the room silenced. We eyed each other for a moment before he moved toward the desk where a tea service was waiting.
"Good Morning, Ms. Cole. Tea?" I didn't spare the teapot a fleeting glance as I leveled the old man with a glare.
"You've asked him to join them, haven't you?"
"I find that tea is a form of magic in and of itself, it has the power to calm, to invigorate, to deceive." He reached for the pot as he spoke, pouring himself a cup that he slowly doctored with milk and sugar.
"Haven't you?" I repeated with more force.
"To distract."
"I don't want any bloody tea. Are you sending a child to join Greyback's pack or not?"
"What Mr. Lupin chooses to do is none of your concern, Ms. Cole."
"Chooses?"
"If he chooses to join Fenrir Greyback and his pack to gain intelligence on their movements for the Order – then forgive me for taking advantage of his desires." His blue eyes leveled me with a look that served to say fuck off. It sent a fire of rage coursing through me.
"You think he had a choice?" I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my lips as I stared at him in shock.
"We all have made our choices, Ms. Cole, you more than anyone must know that."
"It's not a choice when you've been bred to make it your entire life. How many children has Greyback turned over the years?"
"Ms. Cole-"
"How many?" His lips pursed together as his brow furrowed in anger.
"Several."
"How many did you let into Hogwarts?" Through the thick beard, I could see his jaw tense and watched his fingers tighten around the teacup in his hand.
"One."
"Why?" It was a rhetorical question and we both knew it, when he made no move to answer I continued as I released the bottled-up rage in my chest. "What kind of life would Remus have had if you hadn't intervened? Warm and cushy, lots of chocolate and friendship?" Dumbledore's scowl deepened but I made no move to stop my admonishment. "No, don't think so. He would have been a pariah, but Albus Dumbledore came to the rescue didn't he? You brought him to Hogwarts, brought him to friends - family. You changed his life. Now, it's time for you to collect your favor owed, isn't headmaster?"
He stared at me with wide eyes, not shocked at the accusation but shocked that I had the gall to make it. The cup in his fingers shook ever so slightly as he watched me.
"I'm sure you're mistaken, Ms. Cole."
"I'm sure I'm not, professor," I spat his title as if it were a curse. "Isn't that the same thing you did to me?"
"You wish to hold me accountable for sins I have yet to commit?"
"I'll hold you accountable for sins you're committing – Remus is not a pawn in your war."
"I will not stop an adult from choosing to fight in a war of which the outcome will affect him."
"But it's not a choice, is it? It wasn't for me, and it won't be for Remus. You raised me like a pig for slaughter – you didn't tell me what would happen here or who I'd meet or when I'd arrive – you dangled my heart's greatest desire in front of me: fight for the order. There wasn't a choice. You're either a fool or a liar if you say there was. And the Albus Dumbledore I know is no fool."
"Ginevra-"
"I respected you, I trusted you – I always thought that you knew best and that we should follow you."
"I won't apologize for things I have yet to do."
"I'm not asking for an apology. You leave Remus Lupin alone."
"Remus will do as he wishes, and if he wishes to aid the order in the fight against Lord Voldemort I will not stop him."
"So you'll lead him into a den of murderers and beasts?"
"Did you not enter into the same den on Christmas Eve?" He quirked his head to the side, lowering me with a fiery glare. "I seem to remember you entering into it willingly. The view from that hill you're on must be quite fine, but there are more factors at play here than Mr. Lupin and yourself. I gave Remus what I thought was best."
"So he would fight for you in the end!" He paused, staring at me with anger swirling in his eyes. If I weren't so brave, or so damn stubborn, I might have cowered or relented, but I held my ground. He placed the teacup he'd been cradling down onto the desk before taking a careful step toward me.
"There are some things that are bigger than just you, and just Mr. Lupin."
"For the greater good?" I scoffed.
"Everything I have done, every choice I have made, has been what I thought best."
"Best for who?" I spat.
He didn't answer.
"We can fight this war without sacrificing each other. We can defeat him without losing our humanity." My words came out in a whisper, no longer was I shaking with anger as I stared up at the man I had been raised to trust. This was the man I was taught to blindly obey, whose words I took as law, and whose plan I would have followed to the letter a month ago. But now I'd seen his hand, I'd been the pawn that he moved around the board and practically thanked him when he sacrificed me to his opponent's knight.
"Tell me, Ms. Cole, did you know Remus Lupin? Is he a part of your past?" I didn't respond and he took that as his answer. "Then why do you condemn me?"
"The man I knew, and that," I took in a shaky breath as tears began to fall down my cheeks, "boy in the hall are two different people. Whatever you do to him in this war, and in the years after, destroys him. The man I knew was a shell of that boy, broken and haunted by what happened here. Being alive, and living are two very different things, professor."
"You are still a student, and I am still your headmaster. I would suggest you remember your place."
"Fuck you." The words shot out of my mouth before I could think better of it and, like a woman possessed, my wand was out and pointed at him a split second after I spoke. If he was surprised by the threat he didn't show it. Instead, he quirked his head to the left narrowing his eyes in a way that reminded me of dark, cold nights in the Chamber of Secrets.
"Are you going to curse me, Ginevra?" He asked quietly. It wasn't a taunt or a jeer, but it served to boil my blood and made me tighten the grip on the yew wand in my hand. "I have made mistakes in my life, far too many to count, and I may be making some now, but we do not have the luxury of time on our side. This war is growing worse every day, just this morning the Selwyn family was found dead in their home." I gasped. "We have to make our moves quickly, and we have to play to our advantages – those advantages include Mr. Lupin and yourself. I will not apologize for acts I have yet to commit, because I do not regret having you here. I do not regret asking Mr. Lupin to infiltrate the packs. There is a war going on, a war that is bigger than you or Mr. Lupin or even me. It was never my intention to draft children, and yet I must. So, I ask again, are you going curse me? Or can we put our wands away and discuss what needs to happen next?"
"And what needs to happen next?" I asked without lowering my wand.
"We need to discuss this." He pulled a simple black leather book from the pocket of his robe and placed it on the desk next to him. For a second I warred between lowering my wand and picking it up, but eventually, my curiosity won out and I lowered it.
When the cool leather binding touched my fingers I felt the all too familiar feeling of dread overcome me, accompanied by a feeling of overwhelming power. With trembling hands, I inspected it further. It was an unassuming book with faint gold lettering that swirled across the center of the cover in the small barely noticeable script: L'oscura Arte Della Magia. No author, no illustration, just words. I opened it.
An unparalleled sense of horror overcame me as I read the words on the dedication page.
For those who seek the truth, the power, and the knowledge to behold them.
My tongue was like sandpaper along the roof of my mouth as I turned to the index. And there in plain ink, I saw the reason for my mission written on the front index page.
Immortality….147
I felt faint. I felt nauseous. I felt drunk. Immortality. That's what he was after. Tom Riddle had discovered a way to make himself immortal. Of course. How else could he have come back during the Triwizard Tournament? How else was he able to terrorize me through a diary during my first year? He had discovered the secret to eternal life. It was with a sick curiosity that I turned to the one hundred forty-seventh page.
Tom Marvolo Riddle….I am Lord Voldemort
There it was, written in the tight perfectly neat writing I had become all too familiar with at age 11. In the top right-hand corner of page 147, a boy became a nightmare that still haunted my dreams to this day.
I lifted my head to find Dumbledore sipping his tea and watching me with knowing eyes. "Immortality."
"Keep reading," He murmured, his eyes flashing down toward the page.
The Horcrux: the concept, the execution, and the price
The pursuit of immortality has driven both magical and muggle beings for as long as consciousness has existed. For who not would like to live forever? To live for all time is to conquer death, and none have ever been so successful save for the legend of the brothers 3 which most have decided is little more than fairy tale, told to scare the young away from attempting to master death. Yet, the concept of immortality is one that has puzzled scholars for centuries.
As the pursuit of unending life has driven many to madness, and more to an untimely death, it should be noted that the methods listed in this book are for little more than academic debate or hypothetical theory. Any acts written hereafter should be considered with the utmost caution and care or considered to be ill-advised altogether.
There are few known ways of extending life. The first, a legend mentioned earlier, would be to claim all three deathly hallows and become the master of death. Though many argue that the hallows do not now nor have they ever existed, it is important to note that all legends are based in fact. The Peverell family is said to have been the subject matter of The Tale of the Three Brothers, see The Tales of Beetle the Bard for more information. To surmise, the story states that three brothers met death and walked away with an unbeatable wand, a stone of resurrection, and death's own cloak of invisibility. The theory states that any man who is in possession of all three at once is said to be the master of death. But, as has been previously stated, the Hallows have not been seen in centuries and are little more than myth at the time of writing this.
The second way of extending life, and the least relevant to this collection of dark arts, is the Philosophers stone. Through a complex alchemy practice, a philosopher's stone can be created and used to turn any metal into pure gold, and can also produce the Elixir of Life which, when consumed regularly, can extend the life of the drinker. As this is not a history of alchemical practices, and only one such stone has ever been created, it should be noted that, should one be interested in pursuing a Philosophers stone as a means of extending their life, information on it can be found elsewhere.
The third means of attaining immortality, and most relevant to this collection, is the Horcrux. The first Horcrux was created by Herpo the Foul, in the early 9th century. Known for being the father of the dark arts, Herpo succeeded in his goal of immortality by splitting his soul into two halves. One half stayed in his body, while the other was stored in an unknown object ensuring that, should his body perish, his soul would be earth-bound. Many scholars argue that the use of a Horcrux ensures the longevity of a soul's life, but does little to ensure the durability of the host, hence the creation of the resurrection ritual that allows for the rebirth of the being in the event of untimely death (see page 164 for more information). Though no one can know for sure what happened to Herpo the Foul, as he disappeared sometime during the 14th century, the records of his living are so long as to prove that the creation of a Horcrux does ensure that life is extended for both host and soul. For Herpo to have been rendered dead, both pieces of his soul must have been permanently destroyed.
I tore my eyes away from the text in my hands and found blue eyes staring back at me passively. Dumbledore sipped his tea as if he hadn't just handed me the secret to the Dark Lord's resurrection and subsequent destruction of my childhood. My stomach twisted into knots and I knew, that had I eaten anything this morning, I would've puked it up by now. Flashes of the night I was sent here spun through my mind.
"Do you know what Potter is hunting?" Snape said.
"And so what if I do?"
"He's hunting Horcruxes."
Harry knew about the Horcruxes – Dumbledore knew. I felt a wave of elation wash over me as if the news that my mission had been for something – that my sacrifice counted – but it was squashed when I realized what that meant.
"Horcruxes," I whispered in shock and horror.
"So it would seem," Dumbledore nodded.
"When he rose to power, the Dark Lord split his soul into many pieces and hid them in mundane objects. It makes him difficult to kill."
"I don't believe you," I replied.
"He put them into little trinkets he deemed worthy, a family ring, an old diary."
"A diary?" I asked, "Like the one from-"
"The very same."
"There's at least two." Dumbledore's eyes widened and his bushy gray eyebrows rose to meet his hairline.
"More than one?"
"I think there's more than two." We stared at each other for a moment before he set his teacup down on the desk. For the first time in my life I watched the most powerful wizard in modern history – the only wizard Lord Voldemort was scared of – fracture for just a second. His eyes closed and he brought a hand up to his face, running it tiredly across his mouth as if he could wipe away the information like a stray droplet of tea.
"Oh Tom," he whispered.
"There's an old diary," I started quietly, "and a family ring."
"Why do you think there's more than two?"
"Because there's more than two. Harry wouldn't have gone hunting for Horcruxes if those were the only two."
"Who's Harry?"
"Another pawn," I spat at him. He flinched slightly under my accusation but did not move to disagree, instead, he nodded slowly.
"At least three."
"I think the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw might be one too," I added, remembering the way that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been so interested in it when they arrived in the room of requirements.
"It's been lost for generations," Dumbledore waved me off as if it couldn't possibly be one of them.
"If Voldemort split his soul into more than 3 pieces don't you think he could have found Rowena Ravenclaw's bloody diadem?"
He took a moment to regard my words before shrugging, "I don't know."
"This is bad, isn't it?" I asked him quietly.
"It's not good."
"What do we do?"
"I suppose we hunt Horcruxes," Dumbledore's wide blue eyes regarded me carefully. "A diary, a ring, and the diadem?"
"Maybe more."
"Maybe more," he agreed. His eyes flashed down to the book that lay abandoned on Monty's large antique desk, before glancing back to mine. "This conversation never happened, right Ms. Cole?"
"Right," I nodded. He looked up at me with tight eyes that didn't quite trust me at first before he picked up the book and made his way back toward the door. "Professor?" I called.
"Yes?"
"This doesn't change anything," I turned to find him gazing at me curiously from the door. "It's too late for me – but Remus stays out of your games, do you understand?"
"Ginevra-"
"I'll help you find them, help you destroy them, but Remus is not your pawn. None of them are. You can have me, but not them."
"You would ask your friends not to fight?" He murmured.
"I'm not a fucking hypocrite. I won't ask them not to fight," I chuckled without humor. "But I won't let you use them in your little game. They're not your pawns. You can have me, but not them. Those are my terms."
"I don't-"
"Take them or leave them."
He studied me for another moment, seeing me for who I was for the first time, and finally nodded. "You have my word."
"Forgive me if I don't put too much stock in it."
He gave me a solemn nod, resigned to his fate, and stepped through the door. In the moments of solitude his exit left me I realized the task I'd just agreed to – and the gravity of the situation. We'd found his secret, and now we had to put an end to Lord Voldemort's reign of terror. It would be a difficult task – may be impossible – but it had to be done. If I'd been sent back before then the childhood I remembered meant that we didn't succeed in our hunt for Horcruxes and the task would inevitably be passed to Harry. But there was a nagging thought in the back of my mind that made me think that maybe – somehow – this time might be different. I'd changed Mousehole. Who's to say I couldn't change this too?
I steeled my nerves and left the office knowing that though my mission of finding the book had been completed, there was still so much more to do. This was only the beginning.