Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five - Lord Voldemort's Request
Dobby was unsure if he could enter the Room of Requirement while it was in use, but if anyone had the power to follow Goyle undetected, perhaps even to catch a glimpse of what he was doing in that secret room, it would be an elf. Dobby volunteered himself for the task of surveilling Goyle, in addition to his usual duties, and even enlisted Winky and Kreacher as his assistants.
Harry offered him money in exchange for this service, but Dobby resolutely declined.
"We are friends!" he said passionately, "And friends help each other. Besides, it is the least I can do after you helped me gain my freedom."
"And what about Winky and Kreacher?" asked Hermione when Harry recounted the plan to her the following day. "Did they accept the money?"
Harry shook his head. "I think it's a pride thing for them. But they said they would help. Even Kreacher, which was surprising…"
Harry and Hermione had reached an uneasy truce. While Blaise, who had finally been released from the Hospital Wing, walked a little ahead of them, chatting quietly with Nell, they lagged behind. There was much Harry needed to catch her up on, though he paused when he noted the troubled expression on Hermione's face.
"Is something wrong?"
"No…" Hermione replied, though there was confusion in her voice. "It's just… I suppose it never occurred to me that there were, well… workers at Hogwarts…"
"I know what you mean," said Harry. They were being raised in an environment where magic was the norm. It was easy to take the little things for granted, such as the way their luggage seemed to manifest in their dormitories at the start of each term, or how their school robes were always laundered and clean. But even the food that materialized on the large golden platters during mealtimes had to be prepared by someone. None of it happened on its own.
The conversation reminded him of his visit to the kitchens the night before, he he couldn't stop himself from mentioning, "I wish you could have seen Luna with them, Hermione. She was absolutely marvelous. She kept calling Dobby 'sir.' The look on his face!"
"And how are things between you and Luna?" Hermione asked rather abruptly.
Harry was so surprised by the question, he answered with perfect honesty. "I… I dunno? I mean, I like her. She's funny. We're friends and all that… But I don't know if I like her like her…"
Hermione gave him a satisfied smile and said, with an air of playful humor, "That's as well. I don't know if I could've forgiven you for getting over me so quickly."
It was the first allusion Hermione had made to their failed romance since the breakup. Harry found himself relieved that they could joke about it now, and replied with a smirk, "This coming from the girl who snogged Theodore Nott!"
"Oh for heaven's sake," said Hermione with a toss of her bushy hair, "We did not snog. Theo's nice enough, but I was never serious about him…"
"Really?" asked Harry with genuine curiosity. "Why not?"
"Well, he is the son of a Death Eater, after all. And sure, he swears up and down that his mother doesn't want anything more to do with his father, but… Well, let's just say she married the man, and I'm sure she wouldn't be pleased to hear her only son was dating a mudblood."
"Don't call yourself that," said Harry quietly.
Hermione gave him a soft smile and said, "I know…" Then she paused, nodding a little further down the hall, where Blaise and Nell were still engrossed in their tête-à-tête. "So what about them? Are you going to tell me what's been going on there?"
"I'm not really sure," said Harry, "They certainly seem to like each other…"
Blaise and Nell turned down the corridor a little ways ahead of them, caring only for their conversation and heedless of their surroundings. Almost the moment they were out of view, there came a loud, metallic clanging. Harry and Hermione jumped, exchanged a look of alarm, and jogged the last few steps until they too rounded the corner.
The disruption turned out to be nothing more than a very small girl who, judging from the set of brass scales that lay broken on the floor, had been startled by the sudden appearance of Blaise and Nell. Nell was helping the girl pick up the scales, repairing them easily with her wand before handing them back. She then turned back to Blaise, and the pair proceeded down the hall, unconscious of anything odd. Harry hesitated by Hermione's side.
They were in the seventh floor corridor, next to a large tapestry depicting dancing trolls in tutus. Harry knew it well. He had seen it countless times on his way to Marauder's meetings. They were near the Room of Requirement.
The girl continued to stare at him. Though she was silent, there was a look of hatred lurking behind her eyes. Harry was certain it must be Crabbe, or yet some other henchman of Goyle's, wearing another polyjuice-fueled disguise.
"What are you doing here by yourself?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual, though his tone rang of accusation.
Hermione must have guessed what he was thinking, for she grabbed his elbow and dragged him after Blaise and Nell, murmuring as she did, "Just let it go… If Dobby is as devoted as you describe him, I'm sure you'll hear a full report from him soon…"
It was not merely house-elves and nefarious students that Hermione had on her mind. As soon as they were well enough away from anyone who might overhear, she suddenly stated, "Harry, there's something that I've been needing to talk to you about. This business with the prophecy… I just can't make it out! I thought if I did some researching…"
"Hang on," said Harry, amazed at her tenacity, "You mean you've been researching prophecies all this time? Even when we were… When we weren't…"
"Of course, Harry," said Hermione with a touch of impatience, "But I need you to recite it to me again… that bit about how either must die at the hand of the other…"
"For neither can live while the other survives," said Harry. "What's your point?"
"My point is… It just doesn't make any sense! When You-Know-Who tried to kill you as a baby, he was destroyed, instead. That should have fulfilled the terms of the prophecy, shouldn't it? But then he came back… But how could he, when neither can live while the other survives? You're here, and he's out there, and you're both alive… So what does that even mean?"
"It just means I have to kill him, Hermione," said Harry. "Before he kills me."
There was no hint of fear in his voice, nor any sorrow. There was only a calm conviction of a fact that Harry had been convinced of long ago. But Hermione directed her wide eyes toward him, her expression filled with both worry and uncertainty. She shook her head again as she muttered, "Doesn't make any sense… Not a word of it…"
Being on speaking terms with Hermione again and Blaise being out of the Hospital Wing placed Harry in a particularly charitable mood. Though he still couldn't quite grasp where Hermione's confusion lay, he helpfully suggested, "Maybe it has something to do with the horcruxes? We still don't know much about them…"
Hermione sighed as she admitted, "I've searched the library for those, too. I even got permission to use the restricted section from Professor McGonagall. But I couldn't find a single mention of horcruxes…"
At that moment, they caught up to Blaise and Nell. They had reached the entrance hall, where they had stopped to speak with Luna. She turned and smiled upon seeing Harry and Hermione approach, and though Harry didn't precisely feel his heart skip a beat, he was certainly happy to see her. His pleasure only increased when she handed him a small sealed scroll, announcing that it was yet another invitation from Dumbledore. Their next lesson was to take place that very night. Perhaps now he would finally get some answers.
When Harry arrived at Dumbledore's office that evening, he ran into Professor Trelawney coming down the spiral staircase.
"Aha!" she exclaimed upon seeing Harry, "So you're the reason I was thrown so unceremoniously from Dumbledore's office!"
Harry hardly knew how to respond to this accusation. He could not see the somewhat elusive Divination teacher without remembering that it was she who had made the prophecy concerning him and Voldemort. He wondered if he should dare ask about it, but the professor had continued speaking, her voice cast to a high pitch Harry was sure Dumbledore could hear behind his office door.
"I don't know why I stay on," she said dramatically, "After all the indignities I suffered last year… And now Dumbledore won't even banish the usurping nag…"
This rankled Harry. He assumed she was referring to Firenze. He held a sense of gratitude to the centaur for once rescuing both himself and Neville from the Forbidden Forest, but even if this were not the case, he would still disapprove of anyone who referred to the centaurs with such depreciating words.
"There's no need for that language," he stated coolly.
Something in his calm demeanor recalled Professor Trelawney to her audience. She seemed, if possible, slightly intimidated by the boy who stood a few steps below her. With a sniff of proud disdain, she gathered her many trailing shawls around her, sidled carefully past him, and continued to mutter to herself as she proceeded down the staircase.
Harry watched her go, waiting until she vanished around the curved stair before he continued upward and knocked upon the headmaster's door.
"Enter," called a voice from within and, Harry thought, in a rather curt tone.
"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore as he stepped into the room, "I thought perhaps… But no matter. Please have a seat, we will begin presently."
Harry accepted the chair before Dumbledore's desk that was offered to him, then stated, "You thought I was Professor Trelawney, come back again?"
Dumbledore had turned to the cabinet in his office where he kept the Pensieve, though he paused to glance curiously over his shoulder at Harry.
"Sorry, sir," Harry apologized for his impertinence. "It's just that I met her coming down the stairs. She seemed upset."
Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh, then turned back to the cabinet, waving his wand over the Pensieve so that the heavy stone basin lifted weightlessly into the air, coming to rest against the surface of his desk. In the meantime, he selected two small phials from one of the shelves, and settled in the chair facing Harry.
"Yes," he said, "If I had forseen what difficulties continuing the study of Divination at this school would bring me… But then, having the power of foresight would have precluded any need to study the subject, I suppose. As it stands, I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, and I cannot ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. She is unaware of the danger she would be in if she left these castle walls, for she is unaware of having made the prophecy about you and Voldemort."
"She doesn't know?" Harry repeated, stupefied.
"Oh no, not in the least," Dumbledore replied pleasantly, "Her particular brand of foresight appears quite genuine, in that the visions come to her unbidden. She seemed perfectly unaware that anything had happened, and continued to submit her appeal for a position at the school as if she had not been interrupted. I thought it would be unwise to enlighten her. I thought perhaps she might take offense if I insinuated that her other demonstrations of Divination were… Less than compelling."
Harry was quite glad that he hadn't mentioned anything to the professor when he saw her just now. He made a mental note to advise Hermione not to go seeking Trelawney's advice in her quest to tease out the meaning of the prophecy. In fact, he might just hint that it would be better to ask Firenze.
"Now, then. To the matter at hand," continued Dumbledore. "Have you managed the task I set for you at the end of our previous lesson?"
Harry froze. He had not been aware that Dumbledore would demand Slughorn's memory at this meeting. He looked hopefully at the two corked phials sitting upon Dumbledore's desk, but was forced to admit, "Er… Actually, sir… I did ask Professor Slughorn about it, but… And I was going to try again, once I got him into a better mood. But then Blaise got poisoned and I…"
"Ah, I see…" said Dumbledore, "Your anxiety for your friend naturally made you forget about trying to retrieve the memory. I would have expected nothing else, while your friend was in danger. However, once it became clear that Mr. Zabini was going to make a full recovery, I expect you returned to the task at hand?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The thing is, sir… When I asked Professor Slughorn about it before, he got upset with me…"
His excuse sounded pathetic, even to him. Dumbledore did not interrupt him this time, but allowed the sentence to trail away unfinished. Silence hung suspended between them, and in that silence, Harry felt properly ashamed. When Dumbledore did at last speak, it was only to say, with some disappointment, "I have faith in you, Harry. The Sorting Hat placed you in Slytherin for a reason. I believe that you have not exercised all of your considerable ingenuity. There must be some cunning left untested. Some resourcefulness you have yet to exert to its fullest poential."
"Sir, I'm sorry," said Harry, feeling properly ashamed of himself, "I know that I should have done more. I should have realized when you asked me to do it, instead of yourself, that it was something only I could do. I'll do better, but… but it is hard to get close to him, when I don't even know what the horcruxes are…"
"Horace's memory may be the most crucial memory of all," Dumbledore interrupted, "We will be wasting our time without it. Indeed, Harry, there will be little point in meeting after tonight unless we have that memory."
"I'll get it," Harry said with determination.
"Then we shall say no more about it just now," said Dumbledore kindly. "Instead, let us continue our story where we left off. I trust you remember what that was?"
Harry, eager to prove he was not always so careless, immediately replied, "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. When he returned to Hogwarts, he asked Professor Slughorn about horcruxes… But, sir…"
"Very good," said Dumbledore, "Up until now, I believe you will agree that I have shown you relatively solid sources of fact as to what Voldemort did before the age of seventeen? Well, as difficult as it was to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone willing to talk about the man, Voldemort. In fact, those most capable of providing this information, apart from Tom Riddle himself, are almost all dead. We are now entering the realm of guesswork and speculation. I have obtained two curious memories I would like to share, but first, a summary on what occurred after Tom Riddle left Hogwarts.
"He reached his seventh year with top grades in every examination he had taken. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle: prefect, Head Boy, and winner of the Award for Special Services to the School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn included, wanted him to join the Ministry of Magic. He was given offers to put him in touch with those in power. He refused. The next anyone had heard of him, he had taken a job at Borgin and Burkes… Yes, that Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore commented, seeing the look of surprise on Harry's face, "But this was not Voldemort's first choice. He first approached Professor Dippet about remaining at Hogwarts as a teacher."
"You're kidding," Harry said, unable to hold back his astonishment. Whenever he thought of a teacher, he invariably thought of Remus, who had always been his favorite. He could not picture two people so wholly unalike one another as the gentle, quiet Remus and the cruel, ruthless Lord Voldemort. He couldn't even imagine Voldemort instructing a class of eleven-year-old children.
"Voldemort was more attached to this school than he had ever been to a person," Dumbledore explained. "Hogwarts was where he had been happiest. The only place he ever felt at home."
This silenced Harry. A part of him understood the feeling. Eleven years spent under his Aunt and Uncle's roof had shown him no kindness in the world. His first true home had been Hogwarts. But it was uncomfortable to draw similarities between himself and Voldemort, just has he hadn't liked making comparisons between the Dark Wizard and Remus. He reminded himself that he had found other homes, with Mrs. Zabini and at Grimmauld Place and even the Burrow.
Dumbledore continued, "The castle is also a stronghold of ancient magic. Voldemort may have felt that there were more secrets to unravel within its walls. Or perhaps he merely wanted to influence young witches and wizards to join his cause. Either way, Professor Dippet told Tom Riddle that he was too young, and advised him to reapply in a few years."
"What job did he want?" Harry asked abruptly, though he was certain that he already knew the answer.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore replied. "At the time, it was taught by Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts nearly fifty years."
"Fifty?" Harry repeated, astonished. He had never heard of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher lasting beyond one school year.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a nod, "And so, Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. He was given particular jobs involving objects with unusual and powerful properties. He was often sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this.
"And now," concluded Dumbledore, rising from his seat as he uncorked the first of the phials, dumping the shimmering contents into the Pensieve, "We turn to our first memory. It comes from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey, who worked for a wealthy witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith. After you, Harry."
Harry stood and bent over the rippling silver contents of the stone basin. He felt the tip of his nose touch the smokey surface, then he was tumbling through darkness again. He landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig. Her brilliant pink robes flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Harry had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four. It's only a couple minutes to, and he's never been late yet!"
She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair. Her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey.
Harry could only assume that Hokey had been ordered to lie through her teeth when asked this question. In his decided opinion, Hepzibah Smith looked far from lovely.
A tinkling doorbell rang, and both the mistress and elf jumped.
"Quick, quick! He's here, Hokey!" cried Hepzibah.
The elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things. There were cabinets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. The room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Harry had no difficulty in recognizing. Tom Riddle was dressed in a plain black suit. His hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him. He looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before. He bowed low over Hepzibah's hand, brushing it with his lips.
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah. Harry noted that she had an empty vase standing ready at the nearest little table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom… Sit down, sit down… Where's Hokey? Ah…"
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carry a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.
"Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times…"
Riddle smiled mechanically. Hepzibah simpered.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," said Riddle. "Five hundred Galleons. He feels it is a more than fair…"
"Now, now. Not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Riddle in the same quiet voice as before, "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire…"
"Oh, Mr. Burke! Phooey!" said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling! Not to Mr. Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom… You'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it…"
"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Riddle. Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.
"I had Hokey bring it out for me… Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure… In fact, bring both, while you're at it…"
"Here, madam," squeaked the house-elf. Harry saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, pouffes, and footstools.
"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom… Oh, if my family knew I was showing you… They can't wait to get their hands on this!"
She opened the lid. Harry saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles, like a miniature trophy.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up. Have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah. Riddle stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Harry thought he saw a hungry gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah's face, only her tiny eyes were fixed upon RIddle's handsome face.
"A badger," murmured Riddle, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was…"
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" declared Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching one of his hollow cheeks. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess, too… But I haven't tested them thoroughly. I just keep it nice and safe in here…"
She hooked the cup back off Voldemort's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it back into position to notice the shadow that passed Riddle's face as the prize was taken away.
"Now then," said Hepzibah happily. "Where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are. Take that away now, Hokey."
The elf obediently did as she was told, and Hepzibah turned next to the much flatter box in her lap.
"I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see… Of course, Burke knows I've got this one. I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone…"
She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket. Harry gasped as Riddle reached out his hand, holding it up to the light.
"Slytherin's mark," Riddle said while the light played across the ornate, serpentine S.
"That's right!" said Hepzibah, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Riddle gazing at her locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass. Not a real treasure like that. Had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value…"
There was no mistaking it this time. Riddle's eyes had flashed at her words, and Harry saw his knuckles whiten on the locket's chain.
"... I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are… Pretty isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe…"
She reached to take the locket back. For a moment, Harry thought Riddle would not let it go, but then it had slid through his fingers without resistance, and was placed back in its velvet cushion.
"So there you are, Tom, dear. And I hope you enjoyed that!"
She looked him full in the face, and for the first time, Harry saw her foolish smile falter.
"Are you all right, dear?"
"Oh, yes," said Riddle, his quiet voice never changing. "Yes, I'm very well…"
"I thought… But a trick of the light, I suppose…" said Hepzibah. She looked unnerved. Harry guessed that she, too, had seen something lurking in Riddle's dark eyes. "Here, Hokey. Take these away and lock them up again. The usual enchantments…"
"Time to leave, Harry," said Dumbledore. He grasped Harry above the elbow, and together they rose up through oblivion, back into Dumbledore's office.
"Hepzibah Smith died two days after that interaction," Dumbledore advised, resuming his seat and indicating that Harry should do the same, "Hokey the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident."
"What? That's ridiculous!" Harry said angrily.
"I see were are of one mind," said Dumbledore, "Certainly, there are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame. Someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death."
"Hokey confessed?"
"She remembered putting something in her mistress's cocoa that turned out to be not sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison. It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but being old and confused…"
"And I suppose Hepzibah just happened to keep lethal poisons stored in her kitchen cabinets?" Harry said, exasperated by yet another example of the Ministry doing a very poor job of dispensing justice, particularly where house-elves were concerned. "Voldemort must have modified her memory, just like he did with Morfin!"
"Yes, that was my conclusion, as well. It was very likely Hokey did carry out the assassination, though under the Imperius Curse, with her memory altered when Voldemort returned to the house."
"He went back?"
"I believe so. You see, by the time Hokey was convicted, Hepzibah's family had realized that two of her greatest treasures were missing. Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket were both gone, and the assistant who had visited Hepzibah's home so regularly had resigned his post and vanished. And that was the last anyone saw or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time.
"Now, if you don't mind, I want to pause once more to draw your attention to certain points of our story. Voldemort had committed another murder. This time, as you will have seen, he killed not for revenge, but for gain. Just as he had once robbed the other children at his orphanage, just as he had stolen his Uncle Morfin's ring, so now he ran off with Hepzibah's cup and locket."
"You mean Hufflepuff's cup," said Harry, thinking over what he had just witnessed, "And Slytherin's locket. He was collecting relics from the four founders?"
Dumbledore smiled at him, pleased Harry was catching on so quickly. "As I have stated, Voldemort cherished the time he spent at this school. Its founders, I believe, held a sort of mystique in his mind. Perhaps he aspired to create a legacy as long-lasting as theirs. In any case, he could not resist an object steeped in Hogwarts history. There were other reasons, and I think I may be able to demonstrate them to you in due course.
"Which brings us to our very last recollection. That is, until you manage to retrieve Professor Slughorn's memory. Ten years separates Hokey's memory and this one. Ten years during which we can only guess at what Lord Voldemort was doing."
Harry got to his feet as Dumbledore emptied the last memory into the Pensieve.
"Whose memory is it?" he asked.
"Mine," said Dumbledore simply.
Harry dove after Dumbledore through the shifting silver mass, landing in the very office he had just left. There was Fawkes slumbering happily on his perch. Behind the desk sat Dumbledore, looking very similar to the Dumbledore standing beside Harry, though both of his hands were whole and undamaged.
The younger Dumbledore appeared to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after Harry's arrival, there was a knock on the office door.
"Enter," said the younger Dumbledore.
Tom Riddle was no longer the handsome boy of his youth. Ten years of practicing Dark Magic had altered him. Though his face was not as grotesque as the snakelike visage Harry had encountered in the cemetery almost two years ago, there was a waxy, distorted look to his features. The whites of his eyes had a reddish, bloodshot look, and his face was as pale as snow. He wore a long black cloak, and his hollowed cheeks were more gaunt than ever, giving him rather the appearance of a Grim Reaper.
Dumbledore showed no sign of surprise. Evidently, this visit had been made by appointment.
"Good evening, Tom," said Dumbledore easily. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," said Voldemort, for in truth, his father's name no longer seemed to suit him. He took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured. "I heard that you had become headmaster," he continued. His voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been in the last memory. "A worthy choice."
"I am glad you approve," said Dumbledore with a smile. "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome," said Voldemort. "I have come a long way."
Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where Harry knew he now kept the Pensieve. In this memory, it contained only bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and pouring one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk.
"So, Tom… To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Voldemort did not answer at once. Silence reigned as he sipped his wine. "They do not call me Tom anymore," he said after this pregnant pause. "These days, I am known as…"
"I know what you are known as," said Dumbledore. He was still smiling pleasantly, but Harry couldn't help but notice something mocking in the expression. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained emotionless. Nevertheless, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly.
"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "To a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching, too."
"I see it still," said Voldemort. "I merely wondered why you, who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister…"
"Three times at the last count, actually," said Dumbledore. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."
Voldemort inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them. He waited, a look of pleasant expectancy on his face, as he waited for Voldemort to speak.
"I have returned," he said, after a little while, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected… But I have returned nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."
Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his own goblet before speaking.
"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
Voldemort's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."
"You call it greatness, what you have been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.
"Certainly," said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. "I have experimented. I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed…"
"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbldore corrected. "Of some. Of others, you remain… forgive me… woefully ignorant."
For the first time, Voldemort smiled. It was a taut leer, more threatening than any look of rage.
"The old argument," he said softly, "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.
"Well then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" said Voldemort. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves… or so rumor has it… The Death Eaters?"
Harry could tell that Voldemort had not expected Dumbledore to know this name. He saw Voldemort's eyes flash again. His slit-like nostrils flared.
"My friends," he said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."
"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," said Dumbledore. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."
"You are mistaken," said Voldemort.
"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them… Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov… awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."
There could be no doubt that Dumbledore's detailed knowledge of those with whom he was traveling was even less welcome to Voldemort, however, he rallied at once.
"You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."
"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen," said Dumbledore lightly. "Now, Tom…"
Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture. "Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"
Voldemort looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore. I want it very much."
"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"
Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job…"
"Of course I don't," said Dumbledore. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here. You asked. You must have had a purpose."
Voldemort stood up. He looked less like Tom Riddle, less like a human, than ever. His features were suffused with an animalistic rage as he said, "This is your final word?"
"It is," said Dumbledore, also standing.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."
"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, though a great sadness filled his face at the words. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom… I wish I could."
Voldemort's hand twitched toward his pocket, where Harry was sure he kept his wand. But then the moment passed. Voldemort turned away. The door closed behind him. He was gone.
Harry felt Dumbledore's hand close over his arm again. Moments later, they were standing together on the same spot they had just left.
"Why?" asked Harry at once, "Why did he come back? Was he… Was he looking for something…"
Harry's gaze moved away from Dumbledore's wizened face to the shelves behind his desk. He found the item he was looking for immediately. An old, tattered hat rested on a shelf beneath a shining silver sword, its gilt handle encrusted with rubies.
Dumbledore followed the trend of Harry's gaze and said, "Ah…" He must have guessed at what Harry was thinking, for he then stated, "No… Voldemort may have aspired to attain relics from all four house founders, but as near as I can tell, the Sorting Hat... and I may as well mention the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, which you see above it, never fell into his hands."
"Then what did he want?" asked Harry again, "Did you ever find out?"
"I have ideas, but no more than that," said Dumbledore. "When you have retrieved that memory from Professor Slughorn, everything will, I hope, be clear… to both of us."
Harry was still burning with curiosity as Dumbledore walked him to the door. He paused on the threshold, voicing his thoughts aloud as he said, "Then was he really after the Defense Against the Dark Arts job? He didn't say…"
"Oh, he most certainly was," said Dumbledore. "The aftermath of our meeting proved that. You see, since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort, I have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year."
