Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Eight - Seven

Harry clutched the glass phial in one hand as he bolted toward the castle. With the other, he frantically waved at the closed doors, shouting "Alohamora!"

Though he was becoming quite skilled at wandless magic, the sloppy movement of his arm and breathless incantation wasn't likely to result in the spell he desired. Fortunately, the charm was completely unnecessary. The doors were still unlocked, likely an oversight of Slughorn's when he left the castle to attend Aragog's burial.

Harry wasn't concerned about the school's lax security measures at the moment. His mind was bent only on one thing. He needed to see Dumbledore.

In his haste, he had completely forgotten to put his invisibility cloak back on as he raced through the empty halls. Or rather, the nearly empty halls. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Peeves, the school's resident poltergeist. He regretted not taking the bottle of Felix Felicis as Peeves turned toward him with a wicked smirk. Perhaps with a bit more luck, he could have avoided the confrontation altogether.

"Well, well… What have we here?" Peeves sneered with delight. "Potty Wotty out of bed? And doing what, I wonder? Up to no good again, are you?"

"I don't have time for this, Peeves!" Harry seethed, trying to side-step the poltergeist.

"No time!" Peeves cried in a sing-song voice. "In a hurry are we, Potty Wotty? Well, if you've got no time to play…"

The malevolent spirit never had a chance to enact whatever prank he was planning to spring on Harry, for at that moment, a sepulchral voice resonated from the end of the hall.

"Peeves? What are you doing now…?"

The expression on Peeves' face changed from one of malicious pleasure to abject terror in an instant. Harry turned, and the source of Peeves' disquiet became abundantly clear. The horrible specter of the Bloody Baron was drifting toward them.

"Peeves…" the Bloody Baron said again, his deep voice like a low moan heard carried by a chill wind.

Harry turned back to see how Peeves would react. The Baron was said to be the only entity the poltergeist feared. But Peeves had already vanished. In his absence, the Bloody Baron turned his mournful eyes toward Harry.

"Harry Potter…" he said, a look of confusion on his face as he drifted ever closer, "What are you doing here, at this time of night?"

Harry was stunned to be addressed by name. Though most of the students associated the Bloody Baron with Slytherin House, Harry could not recall exchanging a single word with the specter before, let alone an introduction. The Baron was usually known to haunt the Astronomy tower, shaking his spectral chains and moaning. Harry didn't expect a ghost like that to take any notice of him, no matter how famous he might be among the living.

He did his best to ignore the dark silver stains on the ghost's antiquated clothing. They bore an uncanny resemblance to bloodstains, a fact that had earned the Bloody Baron his macabre nickname. Clearing his throat, Harry said nervously, "I… I need to see Professor Dumbledore… It's urgent…"

The Baron raised his eyebrows, then said in a surprisingly kind voice, "Then you are in luck. The headmaster returned to the school an hour ago. He mentioned needing to attend to some business before bed. I believe he is still in his office…"

"Thank you!" Harry said quickly, already turning to race down the hall again. He knew he might regret his rudeness later, if the Baron decided to materialize in front of him while he sat alone in the common room some night, but he could wait no longer. Dumbledore was in his office, and Harry had to bring him the memory.

"Toffee eclairs!" Harry shouted at the stone gargoyle. It seemed to sense his haste, for it leapt aside with more alacrity than usual, revealing the spiral staircase climbing its way toward headmaster's office.

"Enter," said a voice in response to Harry's impatient knock. He sounded exhausted, but that fatigue vanished the moment Harry stepped across the threshold, holding the glass phial aloft.

"You've got it?" asked Dumbledore, rising from his seat and hurrying around the side of his desk.

"Just now," Harry gasped, panting from the exertion of his sprint.

"Well done, Harry!" said Dumbledore, placing the Pensieve upon his desk with a wave of his wand. "Very well done, indeed! I knew it was wise to place my faith in you!"

He took the proffered phial in his uninjured hand, emptying the contents into the stone basin in one swift move. "Now, at last we shall see… Don't be hesitant now, Harry! After you…"

Harry bowed over the Pensieve and felt his feet leave the office floor. Once again, he fell through darkness only to land in Horace Slughorn's office many years before. There was Slughorn, with his straw-colored hair and gingery-blond mustache, sitting in the winged armchair with a glass of wine in one hand while the other searched through a box of crystalized pineapple. Around him sat the half-dozen teenage boys, with Tom Riddle in their midst, Marvolo Gaunt's gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"

"Tom, Tom. If I knew, I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though he winked at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy. More knowledgeable than half the staff, you are!"

Riddle smiled. The other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter… Thank you for the pineapple, by the way. You're quite right, it is my favorite…"

Several of the boys tittered again.

"I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple. I have excellent contacts at the Ministry…"

The others laughed again. Tom Riddle smiled, and Harry found himself smiling with him. So this is what Slughorn wanted to hide. The memory certainly painted a different picture than before. Rather than condemn Riddle's behavior, Slughorn had been encouraging.

Harry continued to watch with rapt attention as Riddle said, "I don't know that politics would suit me, sir. I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."

A couple of the boys smirked at each other. They seemed to be sharing a private joke, undoubtedly about what they suspected, or what Riddle had told him, about his famous ancestor. Harry noticed that while Riddle was by no means the eldest of the boys, he was already viewed as their leader.

"Nonsense," Slughorn said briskly. "Couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours… No, you'll go far, Tom. I've never been wrong about a student yet."

The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" exclaimed Slughorn, looking around. "You'd better get going boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

One by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around. Riddle was still standing there.

"Look sharp, Tom. You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect…"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy. Ask away."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?"

Once again, the memory was different from before. There was no white fog to obscure the scene. No oddly booming voice of Slughorn in irate tones. Instead, Slughorn merely stared at Riddle, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass.

"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

Harry could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.

"Not exactly, sir," admitted Riddle. "I came across the term while reading, and I didn't fully understand it."

"No… Well, you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom. That's very Dark stuff. Very Dark, indeed."

"But you obviously know all about them, sir?" Riddle insisted, "I mean, a wizard like you… Sorry… I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously… I just knew that if anyone could tell me, you could… So I just thought I'd ask…"

It was a fine performance, thought Harry. The hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery… Personally, he thought it was a bit overdone, though it seemed to work well on Slughorn.

"Well," said the professor, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystalized pineapple. "Well… It can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is a word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle. His voice was carefully controlled, but Harry could sense his excitement. Very likely, he had been waiting for this information for nearly as long as Harry had been working to get this memory.

"Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form…"

Slughorn's expression darkened, and Harry recalled the words he had heard spoken nearly two years ago, from the mouth of Voldemort himself: "I was ripped from my body, less than a spirit… But I survived. The steps I took to achieve immortality… to conquer death itself… They worked…"

"... few would want it, Tom," Slughorn concluded. "Very few. Death would be preferable."

It was evident that Riddle disagreed. His expression was greedy. His mind was made up.

"How do you split your soul?"

"Well," said Slughorn with obvious discomfort, "You must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation. It is against nature."

"But how do you do it?" Riddle persisted.

Harry was astonished that Slughorn did not end their conversation then. Was he blind to the look of hunger in Riddle's eyes? And yet the professor continued, heedless of the warning signs.

"By an act of evil," he said, "The supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage. He would encase the torn portion…"

"Encase? But how…?"

"There is a spell. Do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughorn, anticipating Riddle's next question. "Do I look as though I have tried it? Do I look like a killer?"

"No, sir, of course not," said Riddle quickly, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to offend…"

"Not at all, not at all… Not offended," said Slughorn gruffly. "It's natural to feel some curiosity about these things… Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…"

"Yes, sir," said Riddle. "What I don't understand though… Just out of curiosity… I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better… Make you stronger… To have your soul in more pieces? I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number? Wouldn't seven…"

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case… Bad enough to divide the soul… but to rip it into seven pieces!"

Slughorn looked deeply troubled. He was gazing at Riddle as though he were seeing him for the first time. Harry could tell he regretted entering into this conversation at all.

"Of course," he muttered, "This is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"

Riddle must have sensed he was on thin ice, for he quickly stated, "Yes, sir. Of course."

"But all the same, Tom… Keep it quiet, what I've told… That's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know… Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it…"

"I won't say a word, sir," said Riddle.

He turned to leave, but not before Harry glimpsed the expression on his face. It was full of the same wild happiness it had worn when he had first learned that he was a wizard. The sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them somehow less human.

"I believe that will be all," said Dumbledore next to Harry's side. "Let us be off, Harry."

Harry landed back on the office floor beside Dumbledore. He remained standing as the headmaster walked around his desk, settling heavily into his chair with a deep sigh.

"It is as I feared," Dumbledore said quietly, more to himself than to Harry. "I have been hoping for this final piece of evidence for a very long time. Now that I have it… It only reveals how very far there is still to go…"

Harry was keenly aware that every single one of the portraits lining the walls was no longer feigning sleep. Each previous headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts was listening attentively to their conversation.

"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore after a brief pause, as though reminding himself that there was another person in the room, and not merely nosy portraits, "I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. Voldemort, at nearly the same age you are now, set out to make himself immortal. He was prepared to murder many times… To rip his soul apart over and over again… So that he might store the pieces into separately concealed Horcruxes. And now, thanks to Horace, we know his end goal. Not satisfied with one or two… He intended to split his soul into seven pieces."

"Are we sure he stopped there?" Harry asked. He was thinking of the number of lives lost during the height of Voldemort's power. Of the disappearances that were happening even now. "Surely Voldemort has killed more than seven people…?"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "Remember that Voldemort has followers to carry out his bidding. He has rarely performed the Killing Curse with his own hand. I believe he only commits murder when it involves a personal connection to him. His father and grandparents, for instance. Or when he tried to kill you."

Harry wasn't comforted by this assurance.

"That still leaves five Horcruxes!" Harry exclaimed, "And they could be anywhere…. How are we supposed to find them all?"

"Three," Dumbledore corrected gently.

"What?"

"There are only three Horcruxes remaining, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "If I am correct, and I usually am about such things, then the seventh piece of Voldemort's soul resides in his current body. It was the part of him that lived a spectral existence all those years of exile, before the misguided Professor Quirrell brought him back, attached to his own soul and body."

"I still don't understand," said Harry. "Sirius destroyed the locket. You destroyed the ring… Wouldn't that still leave four Horcruxes? Unless… Unless you've found another?"

"Not I, Harry," said Dumbledore. "You."

"Me?"

"Yes. You see, my suspicions that Voldemort had succeeded in splitting his soul did not begin with Sirius's tragic accident. No… I received certain proof that Voldemort had made at least one Horcrux about four years ago…"

As he spoke, he opened one of the drawers of his desk. Reaching inside, he withdrew a leatherbound book, its white pages stained with black ink. He sat it upon the surface of his desk, and Harry could clearly see a jagged hole in the cover, pierced by a serpent's tooth.

"The diary?" Harry asked in shock. "Tom Riddle's diary was a Horcrux?"

"Indeed, I think I may safely make that assertion now," replied Dumbledore. "You see, Harry, the phenomenon you described to me was something I had never heard of before. A mere memory, acting and thinking for itself? Capable of sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, there had to be something more sinister hidden within those pages. A fragment of a soul, I was almost sure of it. But what intrigued me even more was that the diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard. Much as the locket that came after it."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, in some respects, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work. The fragment of the soul concealed inside was kept safe and prevented Voldemort from meeting his final end the night his curse rebounded. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read. He wanted a piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again."

"But why wasn't I cursed when I destroyed the diary?" Harry asked. "Sirius was cursed for destroying the locket, and your hand…"

"Ah, it would seem that basilisk venom did what no spell could accomplish as easily," Dumbledore remarked airily. "It is a particularly potent poison. Unfortunately, basilisks are hard to come by, and their venom even more difficult to extract safely. If only there was a way to obtain a sample to test its efficacy on the remaining Horcruxes…"

Something about the smile beneath Dumbledore's mustache suggested that he already had some idea of what really happened to the basilisk Harry claimed to have slain four years ago. Harry was glad that he had spared the beast, after all. He merely wondered what Hagrid had done with the poor creature.

"First we have to find the others," Harry remarked, "How do we do that? Couldn't they be anything?"

"Consider what we know about Voldemort," said Dumbledore, "He collected trophies, and he preferred objects with a powerful magical history. His pride and his belief in his own superiority would not have allowed him to hide the precious pieces of his soul in any ordinary vessel. Slytherin's locket, an heirloom of his great ancestor. The Gaunt family ring, which linked him to that same notorious Hogwarts founder… Even the diary, which proved he was the Heir of Slytherin. All of these held significant meaning for Voldemort. I believe he would have selected items of similar importance for the other Horcruxes. Indeed, I suspect we have already seen another item matching this description in one of the memories I showed you previously…"

Realization broke upon Harry. He knew what Dumbledore was referring to. In the house-elf's memory, the old witch had presented two artifacts belonging to a Hogwarts founder. Two items that had mysteriously disappeared after she died. One had been the locket. And the other…

"Hufflepuff's cup!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, smiling, "I would be prepared to bet that Hufflepuff's cup joined the ranks of Slytherin's relics. The remaining two Horcruxes, assuming again that Voldmort was successful in creating six, are a bit more elusive. I would hazard a guess that he set out to track down objects owned by Gryffindor and Ravencalw. Four objects from the four Hogwarts founders would, I am sure, have exerted a powerful pull on Voldemort's imagination. I cannot answer for whether he ever managed to find anything of Rowena Ravenclaw's, but I can confirm that the only two known relics of Godric Gryffindor remain safe."

Dumbledore pointed his blackened fingers to the wall behind him, where a ruby-encrusted sword rested beneath the tattered and patched Sorting Hat.

"That's why he wanted to come back to Hogwarts!" Harry said with sudden inspiration. "He wanted to find something from one of the other founders! Something he could use to create another Horcrux!"

"I see we are of one mind," Dumbledore replied, "But, unfortunately, that does not advance us much further. I myself turned Voldemort away before he had a chance to search the school. He may have found something belonging to Ravenclaw in his travels, but even so, that would still leave a sixth Horcrux unidentified."

"Do you know what the sixth Horcrux might be, sir?" asked Harry.

"I have given the matter considerable thought, as you might imagine… What do you say to the snake, Nagini?"

"The snake?" repeated Harry, incredulous, "You can use an animal as a Horcrux?"

"Oh, yes. Though it is inadvisable to do so. To confide a part of your soul to something that can think and move for itself is obviously taking a huge risk. However, if my calculations are correct, then Voldemort was still one Horcrux short of his goal the night he entered your parents' home, intending to kill you. He seems to have reserved the process of making Horcruxes for particularly significant deaths. He believed that in killing you, he was destroying the danger the prophecy had outlined. He believed that after your murder, he would be invincible. I am sure he intended to make his final Horcrux with your death. As we know, he failed. But after the interval of some years, he used Nagini to kill not once, but twice. The deaths of a Muggle man and Arthur Weasley were her doing, though on Voldemort's orders. It might have occurred to him then to turn the snake into his last Horcrux. She underlines his connection to Slytherin, a famed parselmouth. It enhances his mystique, you see?"

Harry nodded. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Voldemort would keep the snake near him at all times, but the cup, and something else… A possible relic of Ravenclaw…

"Have you been looking for them, sir?" he asked, "Is that where you've been going when you leave the school?"

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "I have been looking for a very long time. I think, perhaps, that I may be close to finding another."

"And if you do," said Harry with perfect calm, "Can I come with you? Can I help destroy it?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry intently for a moment before he replied, "Yes, I think so."

Harry was astonished. He hadn't expected his request to be granted so easily. Not wanting to give Dumbledore an opportunity to change his mind, he quickly asked, "Does Voldemort know when a Horcrux is destroyed, sir? Can he feel it?"

"A very interesting question, Harry. Fortunately, I think not. Voldemort has split his soul so many times, and is now so immersed in evil, that I do not believe he feels as you or I do. He was not aware, for instance, that the diary had been destroyed until he forced the truth out of Lucius Malfoy. It is fortunate that Draco left his father's home when he did. Severus tells me that when Voldemort discovered that the diary had been mutilated and robbed of its powers, his anger was terrible to behold. The Malfoys have been out of favor ever since."

Harry considered everything he had learned so far: the prophecy, the Horcruxes, Voldemort's magpie-like tendencies… Then he asked, "So once all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, then Voldemort can be killed? For good?"

"Yes, I think so," said Dumbledore. "Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Do not forget, however, that he is still a powerful sorcerer. It will take a wizard of equal cunning and skill to kill Voldemort, even without his Horcruxes."

"But I haven't got any cunning or skill," Harry remarked before he could stop himself.

"Yes, you have," said Dumbledore firmly. "You have a power that Voldemort has never had. You can…"

"Love?" Harry interrupted. He couldn't prevent a note of derision from seeping into his voice.

"Yes, Harry. You can love. Which, given everything that has happened to you, is a great and remarkable thing."

Harry did not want to contradict the headmaster, but he couldn't refrain from saying, "If that's all the prophecy meant by 'a power the Dark Lord knows not,' then I think we might be in trouble, sir."

Dumbledore stared at him, and Harry could tell he had made a grave error. When the headmaster spoke, there was a harshness to his tone that had not existed before.

"You are setting too much in store by the prophecy."

"Me?" said Harry, "But I thought… But you said…"

"If Voldemort had never heard of the prophecy, would it have been fulfilled? Would it have meant anything? Of course not! Do you think every prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy has been fulfilled?"

Harry might have reminded Dumbledore that they would never know the answer to that question, as Harry and his friends had done a fair job of smashing most of the prophecies the night they visited the Department of Mysteries. Instead, he fought to keep his voice neutral as he countered, "You said that one of us would have to kill the other. Neither can live while the other survives… That's why you've told me about the Horcruxes, isn't it? So I can be prepared to really kill Voldemort when the time comes?"

"Yes, Harry. I want you to be prepared. But not because of the prophecy. Don't you see? Voldemort made a grave error when he chose to act on Professor Trelawney's words! If he had never murdered your father, would he have imparted in you a furious desire for revenge? If he had not forced your mother to die for you, would he have given you the magical protection that caused his own downfall? No! Voldemort, in believing the prophecy, created his own worst enemy. By attempting to kill you, Voldemort selected you as the person most likely to destroy him. It is his fault that you were able to see into his thoughts, his ambitions… That you even understand the snakelike language in which he gives orders! And yet, Harry, despite your privileged insight into Voldemort's world, you have never been seduced by the Dark Arts. Never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of his followers…"

"Why would I want to join the man who killed my parents?" asked Harry, "Who is responsible for the death of my godfather?"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, "You are protected, in short, by your ability to love. It is the only protection that can possibly work against the lure of a power like Voldemort's. In spite of all the temptation you have endured, the suffering… You remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven, when you stared into a mirror that reflected your heart's desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord Voldemort, not immortality or riches…"

Harry shook his head. Pure of heart? Dumbledore didn't know who he was speaking to. Harry could not remember the night Sirius died without recalling the taunting voice of Bellatrix Lestrange as he chased her through the Ministry's atrium. He had wanted to kill her that night. He might have, if he'd had a wand. If he had been as skilled at wandless magic then as he was now…

Dumbledore was still speaking, despite Harry's signs of protest. "You have flitted into Lord Voldemort's mind without damage to yourself, but he cannot possess you without enduring mortal agony, as he discovered at the Ministry. I do not think he understands why, Harry. But then, he was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused to understand the incomparable power of a soul that is untarnished and whole."

"Untarnished?" Harry repeated, still thinking of that feeling. That sick, twisted desire to take another human life.

They were talking, after all, about murder. Whether Voldemort was evil, whether he deserved it… None of that mattered. Dumbledore was telling Harry that it was his responsibility, no… It was his fate to murder Voldemort. And as Harry had just learned, it would be an act against nature. Even if he was successful, even if he managed to kill Voldemort before Voldemort killed him, it would mean ripping his soul apart in the process, just as Voldemort had done to create his Horcruxes.

Dumbledore had risen from his desk. He was pacing now, striding up and down his office in front of Harry, his hands behind his back.

"You must understand this, Harry," he said in quick, urgent tones, "Regardless of what the prophecy states, Lord Voldemort believes it to be true! For this reason, he marked you as his equal . For this reason, he will continue to hunt you. This makes it certain that eventually…"

"One of us will end up killing the other," said Harry at last, "I do understand, professor."

He was beginning to have a presentment that even now, even after viewing Slughorn's unaltered memory, there was more that Dumbledore was not telling him. Still, he knew that he would be the one to defeat Voldemort, in the end. Not because Dumbledore told him to, but for his parents, and for Sirius, and for everyone else that Voldemort had hurt.

As for the prophecy, Harry had reached a very different sort of conclusion. For all his talk of love, and Harry's talents, and his untarnished soul, it was Harry's decided opinion that if anyone was putting too much stock in Professor Trelawney's words, it was Dumbledore, himself.