Thanks a lot for all the support again!
I hope that you are all safe and healthy.
Enjoy!
Chapter fifty-seven: The Phoenix and the Basilisk
Tentatively, Harry opened the heavy oak doors at the top of the winding staircase to Dumbledore's office, stepping inside. A lyrical trill came from the side and he spotted a flash of movement in the corner of his eyes as Fawkes ruffled his feathers. Ignoring the bird, Harry's eyes were trained on the bearded man behind the desk, who was dressed in heavy, deep purple robes today. He didn't understand the people who claimed Dumbledore had a horrid sense of style. Sure, it was more than a bit eccentric even for wizards, but it wasn't as if the man walked through the school in bright pink like Umbridge or draped an eye-hurting cyan cloak like Lockhart across his shoulders. The embroidered star constellations on the dark fabric, done in fine thread, shimmered lightly with each movement, especially so when the Headmaster rose.
''Harry, precisely on time. Or even a tad early?'' he asked, looking at one of those odd, old-fashioned wizard pocket watches that Harry still could not make sense of. He was relieved that muggle-style clocks and watches had also been accepted into wizarding society, as he still didn't know how to read the typical magical clocks. He quickly glanced down at his own watch - which had broken down during the Second Task due to it not being waterproof and which Hermione had repaired for him with a series of nifty spells as a belated birthday present. He indeed was a single minute early.
''You wished to speak to me, Professor?'' he asked, not deeming it necessary to answer the Headmaster's question. His voice was tense, he realised too late, but Harry couldn't help himself. The closer he'd grown to Voldemort, the more uncomfortable he felt in the presence of the Dark Lord's greatest enemy - even if Harry did not exactly consider Dumbledore his own enemy. He had tried to, at the start, when all of his anger and disappointment had grown into deep resentment against the old man. But Harry was older now and had learned -from Voldemort no less- to have a more nuanced look on life and on people. Throughout all of last year, the Headmaster had given him no reason to feel personally attacked anymore, nor had he been tricked or used as feared. Dumbledore thought he was righteous and in a way that was true. The man tried his utmost to protect what he believed it, be it Hogwarts or more insubstantial goals.
It was a shame that Harry also tried to protect those he loved, and that Dumbledore was currently plotting to kill the one man Harry would absolutely not watch die, even if it cost him his own life.
Not that the Headmaster should be aware of that. Without that knowledge standing in between them, they were still mentor and student. At most, there had been suspicion of Harry dabbling in the Dark Arts by himself to survive the Triwizard Tournament. Over time, Harry had learned that when Dumbledore offered him tea, the fear of it being laced or poisoned was unfounded. So when the Headmaster smiled widely and gestured for him to sit down, he had no reason to believe it was anything but genuine. Nothing but the panicked voice of Draco Malfoy in the back of his head, reminding Harry that Dumbledore may have finally dug up some dirt. He'd wait and see, there was no need to instantly get defensive.
''I am glad to see that Mr Malfoy delivered my invitation to you,'' the man said, causing Harry to stiffen. So straight to the point?
He sucked in a breath and took a sip of offered tea to stall answering. His burned tongue thought that move to be a mistake. ''I was surprised when Malfoy was the one to give your invitation to me, Sir,'' he finally answered honestly. ''Especially as both Gryffindor Prefects were apparently available at the same time.'' He quickly withdrew his hands from the cup of tea and put them under the table, very aware of the slightly off length and weight of his new arm. His friends may have been too busy to notice, anything strange about it might catch Dumbledore's eye when sitting so close. The school robes hid most of it of course, and Voldemort had added a very local, precise illusion that made it look like the scars from Harry's detentions were still there, but that was all. The shape of the nails could still be an indicator that he did not want to draw attention to.
Dumbledore leaned back and stirred his cup with a tiny spoon, expression being one of complete relaxation, even friendliness. ''I was impressed last year by how much you, Ms Delacour and the other Champions took the true purpose of the Triwizard Tournament to heart. It was a delight to find that you were attempting to not only restore harmony between various wizarding schools, but also within Hogwarts itself. As the Sorting Hat warned us in his song at the start of the year, holding on together against forces of darkness is important. With one of our dear and respected members of staff reporting to the Minister himself, I found it a relief to see some of my students trying to build bridges across age-old rivalry. What a shame then, that this had to fall apart over a single game of Quidditch.'' Blue eyes glittered as Dumbledore peered through his half-moon spectacles. ''I hope this served as an opportunity to talk things out with Mr Malfoy?''
It was all Harry could do to not openly gape. Dumbledore had tried to orchestrate a talk between Harry and Draco? That was it? His evil manipulative scheme turned out to be wanting students to mend what he thought to be a friendship that was falling apart? ''It… it did,'' he stammered. ''We're... on speaking terms again.''
''How pleasing to hear,'' Dumbledore hummed, clearly satisfied.
Harry could not leave him in his happy illusion for long though. ''Professor, just because Draco and I get along now, doesn't mean that the inner house relationships aren't threatened still. I… I count quite a few people from other Houses among my friends now, including a few Slytherins, but that might not be enough. Parkinson and a few others have made it clear that any Slytherins who are close to me or other Gryffindors are dead to her, and she was very quick to tell on me to Umbridge.''
''Professor Umbridge,'' was Dumbledore's only commentary, annoying Harry.
''What I'm trying to say, is that Professor Umbridge,'' he said through clenched teeth. ''Is succeeding in her attempts to split us up. Several students, including Cedric Diggory, have pleaded with staff members to step up, and Professor McGonagall told me that she'd do all she could. We've yet to see any results. Professor Umbridge still does as she pleases.''
''Minerva indeed did all she could,'' Dumbledore muttered, all satisfaction gone from his face. ''As did I. But the times where a Headmaster or Deputy Headmistress could carry all the weight in Hogwarts are sadly over. The Board of school Governors continues to veto my decisions, as does Cornelius personally, who surely also has a hand in the former. Hogwarts is a school, unfortunately an institution regulated by the government. I must apologise, my boy. In this matter, my hands are tied.''
The answer baffled Harry for several reasons, not least as Dumbledore wasn't prone to admit his lack of power. He'd done so only a few times before in extreme situations, such as when Hogwarts had been on the verge of closing down, or right before Sirius' escape ''So what, you're admitting that… that you and the staff have no power? That you are puppets?''
He tensed up when Dumbledore's silver beard moved in a way that indicated the man had clenched his jaw. His eyes were harder than Harry had ever seen before, and he dared only quickly glance at them for fear of the man trying to cast Legilimency. Fully blocking any attempt was possible now, but Harry did not wish Dumbledore to realise just how good he'd gotten at it if he could prevent that.
''Not officially,'' the old man said in such a way that Harry shivered lightly. ''I can promise you that I will always be there for Hogwarts and its students, even when it looks like I have abandoned this castle. Not all magic is detectable.'' His grudging respect for Dumbledore slightly grew at those words. ''What we need, is for everyone to realise that there is no future in division. I thank you for your efforts in trying to live by this principle and hope that more students will follow your example. I only ask you to not be obvious in Dolores' presence. I have a hunch as to her true plans… all of them require support from within. More than she currently has. Finite.'' Dumbledore spoke, waving his hand at something behind Harry. The Gryffindor turned around in confusion and saw at that moment that the portraits of several Headmasters started to stir. Harry hadn't even realised that they'd apparently been frozen before. Were the portraits not loyal to the Headmaster? Or did some have a mind of their own? Harry had never thought about it before, but with portraits able to move everywhere through Hogwarts, it could very well be that Dumbledore had spies hanging on his own walls.
''Onto the matter at hand, my boy.'' The Headmaster finished his tea and set the cup down on its saucer. ''I have not been absent without good reason. My findings were… worth picking apart, and I thought we might best do so together.''
It was as he'd thought, then. The prolonged pause since the first visit of this year was because Dumbledore had needed to first find new information to share. That he'd found anything at all was worrying. With each memory of Voldemort, Dumbledore came closer to revealing the secret of Horcruxes. Well, the Dark Lord was convinced that the Headmaster already knew of them, just not their number or location. But with Dumbledore's search turning up nothing but memories as time passed, the chances increased of the man turning on Harry to gain full control of at least one Horcrux. It was terrifying to not know for sure how much Dumbledore suspected -or was certain of- regarding the piece of soul in Harry's head.
Maybe he should reconsider his earlier thought about Dumbledore not being his personal enemy… there was no known way of extracting a soul once planted inside an object. The same likely applied to living Horcruxes. If Dumbledore really was serious about destroying Voldemort's means of immortality before attempting to murder the Dark Lord, he would have to strike Harry down just the same as the other pieces. Was there already a plan in place to do so?
Patiently, Harry waited for Dumbledore to float the Pensieve over to the desk and retrieve two vials with shimmering silver threads in them. The fresh label of the first read 'MG on TR'. Whose memory had the man been able to extract this time?
He found out soon enough, silently observing the scene of a young Voldemort confronting his uncle, Morfin Gaunt. Harry's opinion on Morfin already hadn't been very high after seeing the crazy man in the memory of Bob Ogden, and it plummeted further as Morfin slurred and spat. The memory went dark soon, as if the light had simply turned off, and Dumbledore led him back to the office. The purpose of being shown the memory was clear: Morfin had pushed the family ring that would later become a Horcrux in his nephew's face. Harry had held it over a year ago during one of the first rituals Voldemort had put him through, back when he didn't know the first thing about Horcruxes yet.
Instead of focusing on the object, Harry's mind was on a very different matter. Voldemort had resented his Muggle family for rejecting him, going so far as to murder them and cut all ties. He'd erased his name, changed his looks, all to be free from the people who had refused to acknowledge his existence.
Why then, was the reaction so different here? This short conversation with his half-crazed uncle was the singular conversation Voldemort had had with his magical family as far as Harry knew. Merope had died shortly after birth and Marvolo had apparently passed away in prison without ever meeting Voldemort himself. Although Morfin hadn't said it so directly, it was clear what he thought of Voldemort's parents... Both the Muggle his sister had taken a fancy to and, in his own words, 'the little slut' he considered Merope to be. So why was it that Morfin had been left alive? Why had Voldemort still taken up the cloak of the Heir of Slytherin when he had received just as much scorn from the Gaunts?
''A Knut for your thoughts,'' Dumbledore spoke, not unkindly.
Harry focused on the man in front of him. ''I was just wondering about why Voldemort didn't kill Morfin,'' he truthfully admitted. ''The conversation wasn't exactly a warm welcome home.'' As if it wasn't enough that Voldemort had been rejected by the Muggle side of his family, the Gaunts didn't want him either. If that had come as a shock, the young Dark Lord hadn't shown it.
''Ah, family can be a complicated thing,'' the Headmaster sighed. ''While related, why would Voldemort put expectations on an estranged uncle that had little to do with him?''
''He was the only living tie still to Slytherin, Voldemort used that title to gain power,'' Harry argued. ''If Morfin had said anything, to anyone…''
Dumbledore shook his head. ''Surely, you saw that the memory was incomplete? I was only able to extract this after a long, long search. I found Morfin in Azkaban, as he was the one who officially took the blame for the murder of Tom Riddle Senior, Mary Riddle and Thomas Riddle. Voldemort saw Morfin's hatred for them and used it to his own advantage. Framing others was a tactic he employed often. With Hagrid, with Morfin, and many others. One of that will be shown in the next memory as well. Are you ready?''
''Not yet,'' Harry spoke, filing away the questions that popped up in his head about this habit of framing people. ''Can you tell me more about this memory still? When you say that Morfin was considered the murderer, does this mean that…''
''Oh yes, this was the very same day that Voldemort confronted his Muggle family as well. Not a day of happy reunions, as you mentioned… Though that wasn't his only objective. Morfin confessed to his crime so proudly that the authorities took him instantly. There was no trial, and no suspicion of foul play being involved as he seemed sound of mind. The only detail that eluded the Aurors was why Morfin kept talking about a ring he lost… the very ring he showed Tom Riddle in the memory you just saw. It was one more trophy that Voldemort gathered throughout his life. As will also become more evident in the next memory, which is why I wished to show you these together. Come, let us move onto it.''
Not entirely satisfied with the short answer, Harry waited for Dumbledore to pour in the next silver thread, watching as it touched the rippling surface, which absorbed it. Not waiting for the Headmaster's sign, Harry already leaned forward and touched the liquid with the tip of his nose.
Harry was unfamiliar with the room they landed in, and even more unfamiliar with the woman who was doing her make-up while being complimented by her House-elf. Dumbledore joined him a moment later and quietly explained these to be Hepzibah Smith and her House-Elf Hokey, awaiting the arrival of one Tom Riddle Jr. The woman herself, who was bustling about, did not catch Harry's interest as much as the room around. It was stuffed full with glass cabinets, high-quality furniture and expensive treasures: shining orbs, ornated mirrors, boxes of a dozen different polished materials of which he could only guess the contents. Combined with the Headmaster's previous hints about Voldemort's urge of gathering priceless objects, he fully understood why this house in particular would be so attractive to the young Dark Lord. It reminded him a bit of Borgin and Burkes, if the prices there would be a thousand times more expensive.
Her guest arrived and Harry nearly did a double-take as he couldn't help but stare at the man who entered. He was about the same age as the Locket-Horcrux, perhaps a little bit younger and with a slightly healthier skin tone. What caught his attention most was that, unlike the Horcrux that had shared several with Harry, he wasn't wearing customary robes, instead dressed up in a black suit in Muggle-fashion. It completely threw him off that Voldemort of all people would ever wear something so remotely Muggle…
Bile rose in Harry throat as the woman gushed over Voldemort, the flowers he'd brought, his polite smile and smart looks. Great, so she was absolutely taken with him. Even as Voldemort tried to cut right down to business, she kept offering him iced cakes and calling him a 'naughty boy', at which Harry really could not repress his disgusted grimace. Part of him wished to deny this was a memory altogether, so he could rip her grabby hands off Voldemort. Because of how hard he was glaring daggers at her while trying to control the raging fire in his chest, he missed most of their actual conversation, up to the point where she leaned closer and whispered excitedly about a 'secret', which her House-Elf then brought in.
All of Harry's jealousy was forgotten as he gazed upon the treasures she handed over. A small, silver cup with a badger that Voldemort quickly identified as having belonged to Hufflepuff, and then there it was. Slytherin's Locket. The red gleam in Voldemort's eyes even caught Hepzibah's attention, who faltered for a bit before playing it off as a trick of the light as his eyes returned to normal.
Dumbledore grasped Harry's arm gently and drew them both back to the office.
''Ms Smith unfortunately passed away two days after,'' he spoke. ''As with Morfin before, Tom found an obvious culprit. This time in the form of the aged House-elf Hokey, who confessed to accidental poisoning by mixing up the wrong drink. Both a lethal powder and sugar supposedly were on the same shelf in the kitchen and the wrong one landed in her Mistress' cocoa. Or so Hokey was made to believe.''
''And just like last time, the Ministry did not feel the need to check for memory altering charms as she confessed?'' Harry asked wearily. ''This really does not give me much faith in the knowledge that Azkaban is pretty filled. If this happened so easily, it could have happened a dozen times more.'' He could already read the next scandal in the Daily Prophet. Maybe he should suggest it to Voldemort… ''What happened to Hokey?'' he asked in concern. ''Surely, House-Elves aren't sent to Azkaban?''
''Unfortunately, they are. Dementors have devastating effects on nearly all living creatures. Accident or not, in the eyes of the Ministry she was dangerous and not fit to serve anymore. The only other option that was spoken about was an execution, but it was cleaner for them to stow her away in prison.'' The revulsion in Dumbledores voice made it clear just what exactly he thought of either action.
''Don't House-elves have magic that can make them apparate through such wards?'' he asked, recalling the story of Kreacher, who had even reached his master after being left to die by Voldemort. The matter of House-elves was rapidly becoming a great source of unease for Harry when combined with Voldemort. Hokey was the second House-elf -that he'd heard of- being used and discarded by the Dark Lord in the quest for immortality. Harry's sympathy for Hermione's S.P.E.W. cause grew as much as his discomfort.
''They do, and Hokey could technically have escaped,'' Dumbledore mused. ''But Hokey was left without her Mistress, without credentials, and was old. Even if there would have been a family left who'd have taken her in, she was a wreck. In her mind, she had broken every single code of her kind by causing the death of the one in her care.''
''This all happened so long ago though. You said you were gone to retrieve these memories… surely, this one is much older?'' Harry questioned. He couldn't imagine a frail old House-Elf to last more than a year in Azkaban. Just when exactly had Dumbledore started his investigation on Tom Riddle?
Dumbledore inclined his head. ''True, but I only recently was granted access to visit Morfin, and as I already had suspicions of what it would show, I wished to leave this memory for the time when I had acquired that one. As you must see, a pattern emerges. Tom murders people, frames others, and walks out with a prize to add to his growing collection. Hepzibah Smith's family discovered not too long after her death that both the cup and locket we have seen, had disappeared without a trace. As had Tom, who'd quit his job and left without a single soul knowing where he was. At least, no soul who would have helped me discover his location. I later found out that some of his followers had been aware of his plans to travel Europe in search of deeper, darker magic. A cause he'd devote himself to for ten whole years.''
''The day of his return, that was when he applied for the Defence post once again,'' Harry realised.
''Another piece of the puzzle, yes. It's all starting to come together now, is it not?''
It had indeed, since Harry had already heard the rest from Voldemort himself without having to wait for months of carefully dropped hints and flashes of memories. Not that he betrayed any of those bitter thoughts. Harry stared at the desk for a while, wondering if he'd dare… Dumbledore held all the answers already. Dangled them right out of Harry's reach. He knew what the items had become, he knew of the Prophecy that told Harry would have to destroy Voldemort and in turn destroy the Horcruxes. It was infuriating that the other was so tight-lipped about something that was so obvious already to Harry. The Gryffindor might have focused on other things, smaller details pertaining these memories if he had been left in the dark, but the only question that burned in his mind right now was:
''Why is all of this so important for me to know?'' He wanted these games to be over with, to at long last receive a straight answer for once. ''I already knew that Voldemort killed people, that he blamed others, that he is prone to stealing.'' Stating it like this, he really wondered what was wrong with him to harbour feelings for such a person, especially since he knew that none of this would ever change. Even if he could limit Voldemort's future kill-count, he did not bear the illusion of turning the Dark Lord into a good, benevolent man. ''What is so special about these memories that you consider them vital enough to discuss with me?''
''Why do you think he stole these objects in particular?'' Dumbledore asked. Harry had to swallow his rage down at being asked a counter-question once again.
Harry shrugged helplessly. Other than picking them to be turned into Horcruxes, he actually did not know the reason why these and not other objects. He'd never thought much about it. ''I don't know,'' he admitted. ''My first guess would be that he wanted to have objects showing his status as a descendent from such old magical lines to gain more credibility. That would only count for Slytherin's locket and that family ring though. And as stated before, I'm not even sure why Voldemort would still want to be associated with them after receiving a rejection from that side of the family as well.''
''Appearances count for much in this world,'' Dumbledore spoke, his forehead creasing. ''Voldemort reclaimed his family heirlooms under the name of the Heir of Slytherin, not under the name of the Heir of Gaunt. Hardly anyone even knew the Gaunts at that time anymore as they were not exactly approachable, and Voldemort ensured that even the last living member spent the rest of his time in Azkaban, away from the public eye. He could boast the names of powerful ancestors to his followers like this without receiving questions about his closest relatives. Make no mistake, the Gaunts were just as much dead to him as the Riddles were. However, unlike with his Muggle family, he could use his mother's side to rise up in our society.''
''Yet he never grew to hate what they represented, unlike the Riddles,'' Harry said, still not fully understanding that part. ''Voldemort is strong in his belief against Muggles because of his father, isn't he? Why not turn against Pure-bloods either when receiving the same treatment from the other side? He was never good enough for them either.''
''Voldemort is at heart an opportunist. He only met either side after being a top student of Slytherin for so many years. Upon finding out that his father was a Muggle and his mother a witch who descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, he'd formed his opinions and plans already. As much as many people like to believe, Voldemort did not start the ideas of Pure-blood ideology. He himself was submitted to these beliefs for seven years here at Hogwarts before meeting both the Riddles and Morfin. Don't forget that a war was already going on revolving around exactly that while he was at school. He certainly picked up quite a bit from Grindelwald. Was he supposed to come back to his followers with his tail between his legs after facing Morfin's scorn? Of course not, he wasn't going to discredit himself. I don't doubt that he himself lost some faith in the idea of blood supremacy back then, but his followers never did.''
Harry nodded thoughtfully. Voldemort himself had admitted to only using it as a tool upon realising the belief held no credit. So this had been the moment when he'd found that out. ''I suppose it does make sense from his point of view,'' he thus told Dumbledore. ''No-one would have followed him if he'd suddenly switched his talks to giving Half-bloods and Muggleborns more rights instead. Those would not have believed him anymore, and he'd have lost all supporters he had then.''
''Correct. Keeping up the lie was easier.''
''But back to those items… Why take Hufflepuff's cup?'' Harry asked. ''It had nothing to do with his family, he couldn't flaunt them. It first of all wouldn't have brought him anything because he isn't related to Hufflepuff, and secondly, it was known that this item had been stolen. Maybe he could spin a story about reclaiming the locket from somewhere as the rightful owner, but both stolen objects appearing in his hands would have raised much suspicion, right?''
''I don't think he ever showed them to anyone. He'd felt closely connected to Hogwarts and was the heir of one of the Founders. After obtaining the locket and seeing Hufflepuffs cup, he may have decided that he wanted to start a collection.''
''What, in a trophy room?'' Harry scoffed. ''Letting them get dusty doesn't sound like him.''
''No… no, I suspect he had other plans for them. But it is getting late. We shall continue this conversation another time. I wish you good luck with your tests and wish you a merry Christmas already in case we do not cross paths again before that. Or are you staying at Hogwarts?''
''Sirius invited me,'' Harry stiffly replied, not really wishing to discuss any of his holiday plans with the Headmaster. Not after being blown off again before any mention about the actual use of the vessels in Voldemort's possession or the true purpose of these lessons. Surely, Dumbledore planned on revealing this information to him one day, otherwise there would be no point to these meetings at all… He considered pressing on about it, but Dumbledore was already busy putting the Pensieve back in its cabinet. No, he wasn't going to get anymore answers today.
Frustrated, he returned to Gryffindor tower and headed straight to bed, mulling over the memories he'd seen for a good while still. The revelations of today bothered him greatly. Seeing the trail of victims that the Dark Lord had left in his wake for selfish gain made him once again question his own feelings. Why could he not have fallen in love with someone easy? One of his friends at Hogwarts, or even one of the admirers he'd had last year? Harry buried his head in his pillow, trying to stifle a frustrated cry. It didn't help, whenever he tried to think of Voldemort, his mind only provided him with unhelpfully positive thoughts: grasping his hand while walking through the forest, lying next to him in bed, sharing discussions in dreams, teaching during those hot summer days…
How was it that one person could show so many different aspects? Most people he knew, himself included, could quite easily be categorised into characters. Not so much Voldemort. Maybe he should try to speak to the man himself… he probably shouldn't wait in the first place to tell the Dark Lord about the memories that Dumbledore had gathered. Harry evened out his breath and turned his attention inwards, opening up his mind. He still wasn't sure if calling out like this ever worked, he never received a direct response, but it made him feel better to announce his attempts to contact the other.
Voldemort… Voldemort… He let his thoughts fly out as he tried to not think of anything else. Not even his own mindplace appeared, a weightless blackness spreading as he cast his mind out into a void.
''Evan.''
Harry's eyes flew open and he sat up, eyes instantly falling on a familiar figure. ''Voldemort,'' he breathlessly spoke. They were in a room he'd never seen before, with cream-coloured walls and soft rugs. Light streamed through the open window, two light curtains billowing on either side of it in the wind. The man himself was lounging in a large wicker armchair. It wasn't something he'd ever associate with Voldemort, and yet all signs were there that this was his dream. ''Where are we?''
''My mind, as usual.''
''I figured that,'' Harry said, standing up. Looking down, he realised he'd woken up in a bed, a rather small bed with fluffed up pillows and nondescript beige blankets. ''But sometimes you make these places up and in others, they are memories.''
Voldemort's brow furrowed while Harry calmly walked up to him. Another chair materialised, a simple one of wood that Harry sat down upon, facing the Dark Lord. ''A future I perhaps could have had,'' the man whispered quietly, gazing pensively at the bed. ''It matters not.''
As he was closer to the window now, Harry looked outside, surprised by a view he knew well: the backyard of Riddle house, the grass far more tamed than Harry had ever seen it, and much greener. Dropping the subject of their exact location, Harry spoke up: ''I always wanted to ask you… whenever I meet you at night, you always seem to be there already. Do I keep you waiting?''
The man chuckled. ''Oh no, you were bound to already have had a few hours of sleep before I joined you today to connect our minds. These visions are merely so intense that regular dreams pale in comparison… you forget them as soon as you enter this state. So, I trust you have been well since our last meeting? Any troubles arising?''
''The same as usual. Umbridge hasn't really made any progress or put out any major Decrees. I have been able to keep a low profile and avoid further punishment. Which reminds me, what does happen if she would make me use the blood quill again, with my new arm?''
''The same as it did before. That your new arm was grafted from a centaur bone does not make the flesh or blood less human. Well, it did, yet insignificantly so when it comes to spellwork. The curse that rested previously on your arm is gone, so it would be as the very first time that you used the item. It would do as designed, draw blood to write with.''
''So technically, exactly the same could happen again?'' Harry worriedly asked.
''I doubt that she would interfere with the healing process once again. She has larger things to focus on now and could not play another purposefully wrongful healing spell off as easily as the first one. Repetition would give you leverage to report it with more credibility. It is because of this, that I suspect your case to be an isolated one, caused by how much you aggravated her. You did humiliate her in front of the entire school last year. Not many students would be able to top that feat.''
''Careful, it almost sounds as if you're complimenting me,'' Harry grinned.
Voldemort leaned over, coming closer to Harry. ''Perhaps I am.''
Harry hastily looked away from the penetrating gaze he was being challenged with. ''A…anyways. While the general state Hogwarts is in hasn't changed, I did have another trip to Dumbledore's office again. He showed me two more memories.'' Harry was quite happy that he could give this news through a dream. Had they been physically in the same room, he would surely have been submitted to another painful Legilimency intrusion. The Dark Lord did not look so relaxed anymore, his skeletal fingers gripping the armrests tightly.
~Tell me everything,~ he hissed, slipping into Parseltongue.
Harry recounted what he'd seen as well as he could, as well as some of Dumbledore's comments on it. Voldemort did not comment once as Harry ranted, only nervously tapped a single finger during the entirety of the monologue. ''He thinks you're showing patterns,'' Harry finished. ''He was rather clear about getting me to see that at least. Murder, framing, stealing, in that order.'' He hesitated, then spoke with as little accusation in his voice as he could muster: ''Why the House-elf? I can understand that you framed Hagrid once as you thought him to already be guilty of another crime punishable by expulsion, and your Uncle also wasn't the greatest person… but an old House-Elf?''
''I need not explain myself to you,'' the man dispassionately said.
''Need to? No, most certainly not. But communication is an important social skill that you seem to forget about,'' he heatedly spoke, thinking of Regulus. ''If you do have an explanation I can accept, then maybe my mind won't jump to the worst possible one.''
''And if you cannot accept it, you will resent me for it without the nagging doubt that you might be wrong in doing so,'' Voldemort countered.
Harry wouldn't have it. He was not going to play psychology games with Voldemort. ''I already know you were wrong in doing many things. I'm still here, aren't I?'' he harshly said, slightly satisfied when Voldemort's eyes widened. He wasn't going down the same road as Regulus had, talking only about what Voldemort wanted, staying quiet and taking everything in stride. ''You said you wanted my advice, that you enjoy my ability to talk openly to you,'' he pushed. ''So tell me. Why frame an Elf?''
The eyes that Voldemort usually had in these dreams were much harder to read than his regular ones, but the fury in them was undeniable. Harry straightened his spine and glared back just as hard. What was the worst the Dark Lord could do to him right here and now? Throw him out of the dream? He'd be back. Harry waited for the man to regain his composure without saying another word
When he continued speaking, it was with an even, tight voice. ''I couldn't stand my job at Borgin and Burkes,''' Voldemort admitted. ''It was low pay and Borgin was a horrid man even back then. The front I had to put up for the clients I had to visit was possibly even worse. I stayed in that job only because I had been searching for my last family heirloom, the Locket of Slytherin, and Borgin was the only person I knew who dealt in such artefacts. Of course, he lied to me about having had and sold it. When I saw that it was in Hepzibah's possession, I acted impulsively. Finding it meant that I would finally be able to get away from London and continue my journey in becoming worthy of the title of Dark Lord. My sudden disappearance was suspicious enough without leaving a murder scene behind that I could have been a suspect of. I needed someone to instantly step up as the clear culprit. The Elf was there, so I took my chance. The memory I implanted wasn't even incriminatory from my point of view. A simple mix-up in the kitchen, mostly caused by Smith herself as she really did keep potion materials and food in the same cabinets. I didn't think much of it afterwards, hearing now that the House-Elf got thrown into Azkaban for that... it sounds rather excessive. I refuse to take the blame for it.''
''And this is why it's always good to hear both sides of the story,'' Harry mused. ''I'm not sure if it is any consolidation, but Dumbledore's anger was also mostly directed at the Ministry for their poor handling.'' His own bitterness over Voldemort's actions faded a bit too. Although murdering someone to steal their possessions wasn't great either, Harry's anger at the way Mrs Smith had leered at Voldemort clouded his judgement. Knowing that the Elf's misery that followed afterwards hadn't been intended was at least something. ''Thank you for the explanation. To get back to the topic at hand, the Headmaster was once again very frustratingly tight-lipped. It's as if he wants me to take in all of this information without actually doing something with it. I really don't understand.''
''He's waiting for the perfect moment to reveal the grander scheme behind it,'' Voldemort spoke disdainfully. ''I suspect he has a number of reasons for not saying too much unless he has to. It is clear that he knows what I turned these objects into. As we have discussed before, he likely suspects by now that you are a Horcrux and wishes to observe whether you are in any way aware of this fact or not. You did not give him much to work with thankfully, keeping your visions of me to yourself even before we were acquaintances. However, your scar hurting when you came near me, as well as your ability to speak Parseltongue point into the obvious direction. Following this line of logic, his study of both you and the diary could give him valuable clues as to how Horcruxes act, as well as the differences in living and non-living ones. Considering that he has not yet told you of the Prophecy either, I conclude that he is hoping to have you destroy the Horcruxes without ever becoming aware of what they exactly are other than 'dangerous objects I enchanted'. As we already discussed at length before, the other memories you are being shown are further attempts to guide you away from even considering my viewpoint in all of this.''
The idea had some merit, though Harry thought it was a bit of a stretch to jump to such conclusions. Dumbledore had not mentioned anything about the purpose of the objects or the need to destroy them yet. Voldemort was always irate when it came to Dumbledore, so he did not mention those thoughts, determined to simply keep all possibilities in mind to judge by himself when things became clearer.
''Speaking of moments to reveal information,'' Harry said, studying the Dark Lord. ''Draco Malfoy told me something rather interesting today. Something about students from Slytherin being proven wrong soon if they currently think Draco is switching sides by talking to me?''
From Voldemort's puzzled look, it became clear that the man didn't know what he was talking about. At least, for a moment. The expression morphed into understanding. ''As always, Lucius seems to be feeding his son both over-exaggerated and confidential information,'' he hissed in displeasure. ''He's tried to claw his way back up to being my right hand, yet he'll never succeed as long as he is so loose-lipped towards his own family.''
''He'll have to pry that position from Barty's cold, dead hands, won't he?'' Harry spoke in amusement.
''As if I'd let him.''
''Sooo… is this information also confidential to me?'' he curiously asked, getting a withered glare that told him 'yes'. Not giving up, Harry pretended not to understand and kept up an expectant look until Voldemort heaved a long sigh.
''It did not concern you, but if you insist… Your Occlumency barriers should be sufficient now. I will have to come out of hiding sooner than anticipated, at least towards a select group. Most parents of the current Slytherin students are amongst that group. It became a necessity after last week's murder on Seraphine Delacour and-''
''Murder? Fleur's grandmother?'' Harry blurted out in shock. Voldemort hissed lowly at the interruption.
''I would appreciate it if you'd let me speak.''
''Right. Sorry.''
''Yes, Delacour was found murdered, with a message to the Hand of Magic. More concerning than the murder itself was that I found out that the culprit was once part of my ranks… not very high tiered, but still part of it. I have not reached out to this follower since my resurrection. Their motives are yet unclear to me, as I was not quiet about mending creature rights back then too. It is strange that one who stood behind me back then would disagree to many of the same points I made then.''
''Apart from the fact that people do change, not all of your followers might have agreed with that part,'' Harry suggested. ''I mean, you had many goals, focusing on the whole blood purity for a long time. Some of your followers might have joined you for that and simply overlooked the fact that you also rallied for causes they didn't wholeheartedly agree with. From what I've seen, many people from dark families don't like creatures any more than light mages do.''
''That won't do,'' Voldemort resolutely spoke. ''I will have to unite our kind if we are going to separate ourselves from Muggles. Especially those who consider themselves my followers will have to accept every part of my plans. This is why I need to reveal myself, put them back in line by showing that it is I who runs this organisation and not a new nameless face. It is less than ideal considering my plans are long-term, but I have already achieved much since returning. Also, Draco is perhaps a bit over-eager, I wish to start with my campaign to reveal the atrocities done to muggle-born children first. Put the Hand of Magic more solidly on the map before showing myself… I expect to do so earliest around Ostara.''
''Won't you ostracise more people if your newfound group of vigilantes tries to include Muggle-borns?'' Harry asked.
''No, I will be focusing on other aspects than pity. The incapability of Muggles to handle magical children and the necessity of separation to be specific.''
Harry grimaced, not liking that his words would be used for that. He hated that he hadn't found a different, better solution. Surely, there had to be one… Unfortunately, for now he had to admit that Voldemort's idea sounded better than what went on currently: Muggle-borns being isolated, left to their completely uninformed families and being dropped into the magical world suddenly. If they even survived till turning eleven. At times, Harry had come close to not making it himself. In retrospect, Petunia had been the most humane of his three family members, and only because she had likely been threatened by the magical community. She was the only one with ties to the wizarding world after all, as Snape had made him realise.
He thought of commenting about his own views on the Muggle-born, then thought different. They'd already had thorough conversations about it which hadn't really gone anywhere. It was always walking on thin ice with Voldemort when it came to topics they fundamentally disagreed on. Unless Harry had a realistic solution to pitch, it would be like talking to a brick wall. If he never found a solution… well, Harry had come to the point of where he'd come to realise that not everything could go the way he wanted it to. Like Voldemort's other followers, who disliked creatures but took the increased rights for them in stride if it meant dark magic would be more accepted too. There was never one perfect leader, as much as Voldemort strived to present as such.
''How is the current project developing?'' Harry asked instead. Better to focus on the here and now. ''With the slave rings, you had a clear goal and created the Hand of Magic to wipe those out before the governments lifted a finger. What will you do about lack of hospital funding though? It does not seem like a problem which can be solved through violence.''
''That also was not my intention. You have to think back to the first time I introduced these projects to you, Evan. I took charge of the press to spread information. I picked topics that had been hushed by the government, to uncover their misdeeds and incompetence. Fixing those problems instantly was never my primary focus. It was different with the Creature operation once we met Delacour. I had a select group of individuals who came forth with their stories in exchange for revenge. Working with them instead of only recording their stories benefited me. This is not the case now. For all Diggory knows, I am nothing but a news reporter, who does exactly as promised: bring forth the truth.''
''Wait, so you are not going to… fix anything?'' Harry asked, appalled. ''I thought you sent Barty to various hospitals around the world!''
''To gather information and find out who is in on this conspiracy, yes,'' Voldemort evenly replied. ''Sorting out the mess of our medical care right now would be highly ineffective as opposed to doing so later. First of all, all current solutions would most likely involve Muggle resources in some way, which we shall be separate form when I rule. Secondly, the revelation of information will disgruntle the public and shift their opinion towards the current system as this is a fault created by the way we run society as a whole right now. That leads me to my third point: I can use this as leverage to gain public support for separation if I can offer a solution then. I know that neither our Ministry of Magic nor International Mage associations can do so now.''
''People are dying because of this!''
''That is currently not my responsibility. Barty has uncovered data on several diseases that are supposedly incurable, so I will use that to develop healing methods myself for private use on my followers. That will at least lower the amount of deaths of mages who already accepted dark magic. As for the rest… it will be interesting to see if it's something they are willing to convert for.''
Harry was at a loss for words. Voldemort held the power in his hands to help people and didn't because it would give him more political power in the long run? ''Magic chose you to protect our kind!'' he animatedly exclaimed. ''If you have the ability to save the lives of even a handful of ill people, it is your responsibility!''
''I was chosen to restore the balance of magic,'' the man replied, frowning. ''There is a difference. Directly taking the lives of my people affects me, but not this. I know that killing off light mages won't do much, but it won't harm my cause either. I save those who deserve it, those who swear themselves to me in the end. I cannot have saboteurs from the inside. Enough now about this. You are clearly getting emotional.''
Harry clenched his hands and stood. ''You are not emotional enough about this,'' he decided. ''Do not forget that it is people you will rule. There need to be actual people left to do so.''
Perhaps it was because of his own anger, or perhaps Voldemort had thrown him out at that point, but Harry woke abruptly. It was still the middle of the night, and he stewed on the conversation. He got where Voldemort was coming from, but it was so frustrating that the man would rather sit by idly to let the government fail for a while longer than take matters into his own hands now. Harry would never be able to make such a decision. If he could save even a single life, he'd do so, long-term plans be damned. Maybe that was why he should not be in charge, Harry thought bitterly. He cared far more about individuals in need than the greater good.
His mood did not improve much over the next days. Harry could only imagine that Voldemort was displeased, as no more dreams followed. Instead, his nights were filled with regular odd dreams about homework, friends, flying and teachers. On the last Tuesday before the Christmas holidays, he had one very pleasant dream where he just ate chocolate cake for an entire hour, which finally lifted his mood somewhat when waking up.
On Wednesday, he hoped to see the cake again when he crashed in bed after an exhausting day. Umbridge had given them a theoretical test that had clearly been pulled out of some Ministry archives from a century ago, and it had taken all of Harry's energy to not protest at the poor quality of the 'exam'. His marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts had never been so low, not even when Lockhart had taught them. It greatly annoyed Harry, as he had read the textbook they'd had to buy, it just didn't look like any of the questions matched up to that book, being about Ministry regulations on dark magic instead. When he asked Hermione, who still good grades in the course, she admitted that she could only answer the questions because of many other books she'd read, which made him feel a little better about his poor performance. He was actually very happy that this was his OWL year, meaning that none of Umbridge's tests would influence whether he passed this year or not.
That night regretfully was not filled with another wonderful dream about chocolate. Instead, Harry found himself in a cold, narrow hallway with walls that looked incredibly tall as he slithered forwards over the dark stone floor.
His body felt as if he'd been training for months: powerful and muscular. A reflection of green scales shimmered on the walls in the dim light of wall torches high above. He heaved himself up from the floor as a human-shaped figure came into view with red hair, which scrambled away from him. He lazily followed, doing as instructed to: scare the humans and make them think there was anything of interest in need of protecting here. The man was backed up against the wall now, and the fear smelled delicious. He had to resist, there should be no biting… Reluctantly, he stilled and was about to turn around again when the man made a mistake. The human drew forth a stick and pointed it. Instantly, Harry was on alert, the danger of these sticks having been drilled into him. They could hurt, they could kill. He had no choice. He shot forwards to be faster, sinking fangs deeply into skin so that it would let the stick go. The delicious blood that filled his mouth only slightly calmed the sudden fear.
Tremors came from behind, and before he could release the first victim, a second human came into view, brandishing another stick. Not fast enough, he couldn't be fast enough…
A flash, and he blacked out.
''Nagini!'' Harry yelled as he sat up with a shock, wide awake. And then, as memories flooded in: ''Mr Weasley!'' He drew open the bed curtains, shattering the silencing spell, and stumbled out of bed and straight into the bathroom as the panic settled in. Sweat dripped down his forehead. That had not been a dream, he felt exactly as disoriented about the sudden excess of limbs as the other time that Nagini and he had been connected. The implications of that… Why had he seen through Nagini's eyes? And why now? The random joining with Voldemort's mind had stopped as the Dark Lord had seized control over the mind link they shared. He'd never before accidentally slipped into the mind of one of the other Horcruxes either. Not Nagini, not with the Locket, certainly not with the Diary back then…
A knock sounded on the door behind him, and Ron shouted through it: ''Harry? Are you okay?''
Not wanting to shut his friends out, Harry took a couple of deep breaths, then opened the door. ''I don't know,'' he truthfully admitted. ''I saw… I dreamt something strange.'' He felt a wave of nausea hit him at the taste of Mr Weasley's blood. ''Ron, your dad!'' he spoke, gripping his friend's arm. ''I can't explain it, but your dad is in danger somehow. He got attacked!''
''Whoa, Harry, calm down. It was just a dream,'' his friend said in concern, guiding him back inside. The other boys were all watching him a bit warily. Harry opened and closed his mouth, the reality of the situation catching up to him. Mr Weasley had been in a strange, dark place, perhaps guarding something from the way he'd been sitting before Nagini had approached him. The snake had wanted to show herself as a sort of sign before retreating, then attacked when a wand had been drawn and she'd been afraid. Lastly, a second person had appeared. He hadn't been able to identify that one. Was it someone who was friendly to Mr Weasley? An Order member? Or someone from the Ministry or even Voldemort's side? The latter was unlikely as the person had turned their wand on Nagini also.
His heart sank. What had that spell been? He'd only seen a flash, unable to identify the colour clearly. Nagini's vision was so strange that he couldn't make out much else than the man definitely having been Arthur Weasley.
The only facts that he knew now, was that his best friend's dad was hurt badly, in the company of another human whom Harry could not identify, and that something had happened to Nagini. Harry was in the very middle now between the loyalties he'd carefully tried to balance for over year. Both Nagini and Mr Weasley needed help. Whoever side the man had been on that had approached after the attack, it was a fact that Harry was possibly the only person around who had the best interest of both in mind. Contacting Voldemort right now was out. After this, his friends would not let him out of sight long enough to try calling Barty through the two-way mirror. That left turning to the one person he absolutely did not want to give any more clues about Horcruxes and their connections: Dumbledore.
But if he would just let this go to protect his own hide, if he'd let Mr Weasley bleed out or humans hurt Nagini, he wasn't any better than Voldemort. He could help… so he would. ''I had a vision,'' he tried explaining to Ron, who'd guided him to sit back down on his bed. ''Not a dream. Your dad was attack by… by a giant snake.'' He swallowed the name 'Nagini' just in time. Voldemort hadn't shown himself to anyone but a few trusted followers. Dumbledore might already have the information that Voldemort held Nagini as a pet from Snape, but Harry shouldn't even know the Dark Lord had a pet, and certainly not know her name.
Seamus and Dean started muttering to each other in hushed voices, while Neville looked concerned and slipped out of the door as soon as he'd thrown on some robes.
''Visions?'' Ron asked incredulously. ''Mate, since when do you have visions? And why do you look so calm?''
''I'm not calm,'' Harry exclaimed angrily. ''I'm just trying not to freak out because that won't help anybody! Look, can you-'' he broke off, another wave of nausea hitting. It looked like the vision's usual negative effects were catching up to him. He sprinted back to the bathroom just in time.
''You're ill. Harry, it was maybe a fever dream or something,'' his friend tried to rationalise.
''It's not the first time,'' Harry ground out, heaving now. ''Trust me, please. We need to tell Dumbledore. I saw the attack happen!''
Neville returned in that moment, with a pale McGonagall in tow. Harry took a second to rinse his mouth before facing his Head of House and repeating what he saw in an urgent tone, hoping she'd believe him. She curtly asked for a couple of details such as the surroundings, and as soon as Harry mentioned a long dark corridor, she said: ''We need to see the Headmaster. Now.''
Thank you so much for reading!
hehe, things are starting to roll again... poor Nagini.
Please leave a review if you liked the chapter :)
xx GeMerope