A Sluggish Memory

A few days after New Year, late in the afternoon, Arthur, Mike, David and Mary lined up beside the kitchen fire so that they could return to Hogwarts.

The Ministry had arranged a one off connection to the Floo Network so that students can return to school quickly and safely.

Martha was the only one to say goodbye as Ben, the twins, Sam, Rob and Fleur were all at work.

"I want all of you to be careful, okay?" She said as she finished hugging and kissing all of them before they left.

"Don't worry, we'll be careful." Arthur assured her.

"Yeah, you know that we like a quiet life." David remarked, making his mother chuckle before she stood back.

"Be good, all of you."

Arthur stepped forward into the emerald flame, shouting "Hogwarts!"

He made one last fleeting look at the kitchen of Merlon Manor before the flames engulfed him, spinning very fast while catching glimpses of other wizarding rooms, whipping out of sight before even getting a proper look.

He finally slowed down until he stopped squarely in the fireplace of Professor McGonagall's office. She had barely glanced up from her work as he came out over the grate.

"Evening, Pendergast. Try not to get too much ash on the carpet."

"No problem, Professor." Arthur said as he flattened his hair and turned to see Mike spinning into view. Then came David and then Mary.

All four made their way out of the office and off to Gryffindor Tower.

Arthur was able to glance out of the corridor windows to see the sun almost sinking over the grounds that were carpeted in deeper snow than even Merlon Manor. And in the distance, he saw Hagrid feeding Buckbeak in front of his cabin.

They finally reached the Fat Lady, who looked more pale than she normally did.

"We'll just have to wait until someone says the new password." Mike said.

They all waited for a few minutes until they heard someone approaching.

"Hey, guys!"

Chrys hurried towards them, pink faced and wearing a cloak, hat and gloves.

"I got here a couple of hours ago. I just went down to visit Hagrid and Witherwings." She said breathlessly. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"It was eventful, Rufus Scrimgeour -"

"I've got something for you, Arthur." Chrys cut David off, not even acknowledging he was there. "Oh! Abstinence."

"Precisely." The Fat Lady said in a feeble voice before swinging forwards to reveal the portrait hole.

"What's wrong with her?" Mike asked.

"She overindulged during Christmas." Chrys replied as she led the way into the packed common room. "She and Violet drank their way through all the wine in the picture of the drunk monks in the Charms corridor. Anyway…."

She pulled out a scroll of parchment from her pocket that had Dumbledore's writing on it.

"Thanks." Arthur said, unrolling it instantly to see that his next lesson will take place the following night. "There's so much to tell him, and you. Let's sit down."

"I'm gonna go and meet Dean." Mary said before leaving them, though she seemed to be not too thrilled.

They made their way to a spare table that was free and they all sat, except for David, as Chrys took the remaining seat left. David stood there flabbergasted but hurt and left for the dormitory.

Arthur and Mike looked at each other. David was ready to apologise to Chrys for his behaviour, but it seemed that Chrys wasn't ready to do the same.

"So… what is it you want to tell me?" Chrys said, acting like nothing happened.

Arthur went on to explain the conversation he overheard between Snape and Draco first, so that he can see what she thinks. As well what Lupin thought about this.

"This is interesting. He pretty much admitted he was behind what happened to Katie. And if he has Crabbe and Goyle involved, he must be desperate to involve them in his mission." She said. "And when will Lupin realise that he's wrong?"

"I don't know, perhaps Snape going against the Order." Arthur said. "Also, he's not doing well. He's been underground with some werewolves, who are being led by Fenrir Greyback."

"The one that Draco mentioned at Borgin and Burkes?" Chrys asked.

"The very same. He's also the one who made Lupin a werewolf." Mike said, shocking her even further.

"Oh, God."

"And that's not the only thing you need to know…." Arthur said before he explained the exchange he had with Scrimgeour.

Like David and Mike, Chrys was mad at Scrimgeour and the Ministry for asking him for help after all they put him through the previous year.

The new term started the next morning. And it was kicked off with a surprise for all sixth years: a large sign was pinned to the common room notice board.

APPARITION LESSONS

If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before 31st August, you are eligible for a twelve week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition Instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons.

Arthur, Mike and David joined the crowd that formed around the notice, taking it in turns to write their names underneath.

"I just hope none of us get splinched." David said as Chrys was signing her name.

"Yeah. I just hope it's better when done by yourself. I hated it when Dumbledore took me along." Arthur replied, shuddering.

"Oh, yeah, that's right, you'd already done it." Mike said.

"When does the actual test start?" Arthur then asked.

"I don't really know. All I know is that I turn seventeen in March." David shrugged.

"And where would we Apparate, because we can't exactly do that in Hogwarts." Arthur then pointed out.

"I honestly have no clue." Mike replied to his question.

Many of the sixth years that signed up expressed excitement at the prospect of learning Apparition all throughout the day, even in lessons.

This resulted in Seamus flicking his wand too enthusiastically, making a jet of water ricochet off the ceiling and knocking Professor Flitwick on his face during that day's Charms lesson, when he was supposed to produce a fountain of pure water from his wand.

Eventually, by ten to eight, Arthur left the common room for his next lesson with Dumbledore.

The lamps in his office were lit and the portraits of previous headmasters snorted gently in their frames while the Pensieve was ready on the desk once more.

Dumbledore' hands were on either side of it, the right still black and burned as before. It didn't heal, which truly suggested that it was some kind of curse. Arthur hoped he would eventually tell him how he got such an injury.

He was then about to tell Dumbledore about Snape and Draco when Dumbledore spoke.

"I hear that you met the Minister for Magic over Christmas?"

"Yes. Let's just say he isn't happy with me."

"No." Dumbledore sighed. "He is not happy with me, either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Arthur, but battle on."

This made Arthur grin.

"He wanted me to lie to the wizarding community, saying that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job."

Dumbledore smiled.

"It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you, hoping that you would give him your support -"

"Really? After all that he did last year? After Umbridge?" Arthur said with venom and contempt.

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that arrange a meeting with you -"

"So that was why you two argued, according to the Daily Prophet." Arthur said.

"The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally, if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

"He also accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through'."

"How very rude of him."

"I was just telling the truth, sir."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to talk, but he then closed it again. Over his shoulder, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low and soft musical cry. Arthur then realised that he touched Dumbledore so much that he was crying as his eyes were welling up.

Dumbledore then spoke, his voice being quite steady.

"I am very touched, Arthur."

"He wanted to know where you've been going when not at Hogwarts." Arthur then revealed.

"Yes, he is very nosy about that." Dumbledore said, sounding cheerful. "He has even attempted to have me followed. Amusing, really. He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once. I did it again with the greatest regret."

"So they still don't know where you go?" Arthur asked.

"No, they don't, and the time is not quite right for you to know either. Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else -?"

"Yes, sir. Snape and Draco."

"Professor Snape, Arthur."

"I'm still not going to call him that. Either way, I overheard them during Professor Slughorn's party. I… actually followed them."

Dumbledore then listened to his story with an impassive look.

When Arthur finished, he didn't speak for a moment or two until he said "Thank you for telling me this, Arthur, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that is of great importance."

"Don't you understand -?"

"Yes, Arthur, blessed as I am with extraordinary brain power, I understood everything you told me." Dumbledore said sharply. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

Arthur was left completely seething, glaring at Dumbledore. How is he not understanding how serious this was?

"So you still trust -?"

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already." Dumbledore said, not sounding tolerant. "My answer has not changed."

"I should think not." Phineas Nigellus said, having only pretended to be asleep and Dumbledore ignored him.

"And now, Arthur, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening."

Arthur sat there, feeling frustrated. How is it he can't be allowed to refuse a change in subject? Especially with his case against Draco. Like Dumbledore read his mind, Dumbledore shook his head.

"Ah, Arthur, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!"

"I'm not suggesting what you have to say is unimportant, sir." Arthur said stiffly.

"Well, you are quite right, because it is not." Dumbledore said briskly. "I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

Arthur didn't say anything to this, still bitter that his confidences was shrugged aside, though he knew he couldn't argue further.

"So…" Dumbledore said in a ringing voice. "...we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school. Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his second hand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be Sorted. He was placed in Slytherin house almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head." He waved his blackened hand to the shelf over his head where the Sorting Hat sat, ancient and unmoving. "How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the house could talk to snakes, I do not know - perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self importance. However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good looking orphan, he naturally drew the attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favourably impressed by him."

"So you didn't tell them what he was like when you met him in the orphanage?" Arthur frowned.

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

Dumbledore paused and looked at Arthur inquiringly. Arthur thought about what he just said, thinking of his wording when he remembered something from second year.

"You didn't really trust him. When he came out of the diary, Riddle told me that you never seemed to like him as much as the other teachers did."

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

Arthur sat there, wondering what going to Hogwarts would've been like if he was a student the same time as Voldemort and he felt a chill up his back, not really wanting to think what would've happened.

"Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime."

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

The two rose and Arthur saw that Dumbledore held another small crystal bottle filled with a swirling, pearly memory.

"I was very lucky to collect this." He told Arthur as he poured the contents into the Pensieve. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Arthur stepped forward to the stone basin and bowed until his face sank through the surface of the memory and felt the familiar sensation of falling through nothingness until he landed on a dirty stone floor into almost pitch darkness.

It took him a short while to realise that he was back in the Gaunt house as Dumbledore landed beside him.

It was now even more filthy than anywhere Arthur had ever seen in his life. The ceiling was now thick with cobwebs, the floor was coated in grime with mouldy and rotting food laying on the table among a mass of crusted pots.

The only source of light was a single guttering candle that was placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard that was so overgrown that Arthur couldn't see his eyes and mouth. He was also slumped in an armchair by the fire, Arthur thinking that he looked dead.

Then there was a loud knock on the door and the man had jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

The door then creaked open and on the threshold with an old fashioned lamp in his hand was a boy that Arthur recognised instantly: tall, pale, dark haired and handsome - Tom Riddle, the teenage Voldemort.

His eyes moved slowly around the hovel until he found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other until the man staggered upright, the many bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"YOU!" He bellowed in rage. "YOU!"

He then hurtled himself drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

"Stop."

Riddle spoke in Parseltongue, which made the man skid into the table, sending the mouldy pots crashing into the floor. He then stared at Riddle, leading to a long silence while the two contemplated each other.

The man then broke it in Parseltongue.

"You speak it?"

Arthur realised that this was Morfin Gaunt.

"Yes, I speak it." Riddle replied, moving forwards into the room. He allowed the door to shut behind him.

Arthur begrudgingly admired Riddle's lack of fear. Riddle's face merely expressed disgust and disappointment, clearly having expected much more than this.

"Where is Marvolo?" He asked.

"Dead." Morfin said. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

This made Riddle frown.

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

"Course I am, then…."

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, to better see Riddle. Arthur finally noticed that he wore Marvolo's black stoned ring on his right hand.

"I thought you was that Muggle. You look mighty like that Muggle." Morfin whispered.

"What Muggle?" Riddle asked sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way." Morfin said, spitting unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older 'n you, now I think on it…."

Morfin then looked slightly dazed and swayed a bit, still clutching the edge of the table for support.

"He come back, see." He then said stupidly.

Riddle gazed at Morfin, like he was appraising some possibilities. He then moved closer, saying "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" Morfin spat on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

Riddle didn't answer him. Morfin worked himself into a rage once more, brandishing his knife and shouted "Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over innit… it's over…."

He then looked away, staggering slightly as Riddle moved forwards. As he did, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Riddle's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything….

Dumbledore's fingers closed tightly around Arthur's arm and they soared back to the present again. The soft golden light of Dumbledore's office now dazzled Arthur's eyes after the overwhelming darkness.

"What the heck happened?" He asked, not understanding why it all went black.

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onwards." Dumbledore replied as he gestured Arthur back into his seat. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone. Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the high street, screaming there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house. Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father. The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died for the Avada Kedavra Curse does not usually leave any signs of damage… the exception sits before me." Dumbledore said, with a nod to Arthur's scar.

"The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle hater lived across the valley from the Riddle's house, a Muggle hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people. So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring' he told his captors, over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing it'. And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

"Then Voldemort stole his wand, used it and modified his memories." Arthur said as he sat straight.

"That's right." Dumbledore said. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way'. There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore and departed."

"And Morfin never realised that he didn't really do it?"

"Never. He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"Yet he had this real memory in him this whole time!"

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

"But why didn't the Ministry realise that Voldemort did all that to Morfin?" Arthur asked, very much flabbergasted. "He was under age then, I thought they could detect under age magic!"

"You are quite right - they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: you will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by -"

"Dobby." Arthur said, having let any resentment from that incident go for a long while. "So… if you're under age and do magic in a house owned by a wizarding family, the Ministry wouldn't know?"

"They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic." Dumbledore said with a slight smile at the indignation look on Arthur's face. "They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls."

"Now that's just incredibly flawed! Look at what happened to Morfin!" Arthur snapped in disbelief.

"I agree. Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part…."

Dumbledore pulled out another crystal phial from an inside pocket and Arthur wondered what made this the most important memory he collected. He then noticed how the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, like it was congealed slightly. It made him wonder if the memory was tampered with.

"This will not take long." Dumbledore said when he finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then…"

Arthur fell again through the silver substance, now landing in front of a man he recognised right away.

A much younger Horace Slughorn.

Arthur was so used to him having a bald head that the sight of him having thick, shiny strawberry coloured hair jarring. It made him look like his head was thatched, though there was a shiny Galleon sized bald patch on his crown. His moustache this time was less massive than it was in the present, and was gingery blonde.

He wasn't as rotund as well, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat took a fair amount of strain.

His little feet rested upon a velvet pouffe, sitting back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand with a glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystallised pineapple, which Arthur realised must be his favourite sweet.

He then looked around as Dumbledore showed up beside him, seeing that they were in Slughorn's office.

There were also half a dozen boys sitting around Slughorn, all on harder and lower seats than his, all in their mid-teens.

Arthur recognised Riddle at once, being the most handsome of them, as well being the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair and Arthur saw that he wore his grandfather's gold and black ring; this is after he killed his father and Muggle grandparents.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Riddle asked.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you." Slughorn said, wagging a reproving, sugar coated finger at him, though he winked, weakening any stern effect that would've been there. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Riddle smiled and all the other boys laughed, casting 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 favourite -"

As some of the boys tittered, something odd happened. The whole room was now filled with a thick white fog, making Arthur see nothing but Dumbledore's face, who stood beside him.

Then he heard Slughorn's voice through the mist, unnaturally loud: "- you'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

The fog cleared away as suddenly as it appeared and no one acted like anything happened. This just confirmed Arthur's suspicions that this memory's been tampered with.

He looked and saw a golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk, chiming eleven o'clock.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" Slughorn said. "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."

Slughorn pulled himself out of the armchair, carrying his empty wine glass over to his desk as the boys all filed out, except for Riddle, who stayed behind.

Arthur knew he dawdled deliberately, wanting to be with Slughorn on his own.

"Look sharp, Tom." Slughorn said, turning to find him still present. "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?"

It happened again: the dense fog filled the room, making Arthur not see Slughorn and Riddle, only Dumbledore being the one visible, smiling serenely beside him. He then heard Slughorn's voice boom out again, like before.

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

"Well, that's that." Dumbledore said beside Arthur. "Time to go."

Arthur's feet soon left the floor and fell, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That was a tampered memory, wasn't it?" He asked for confirmation.

"It was." Dumbledore said as he reseated himself behind his desk. "Professor Slughorn meddled with his own recollections."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers. He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations. And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Arthur. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all."

Arthur stared at him, realising the weight of what he's been tasked to do. He must make Slughorn give him the real memory to properly learn whatever these Horcruxes were and what Slughorn told Voldemort.

"Sir, did you try to get the memory yourself?" He then asked.

"I have. Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both Legilimency and Veritaserum. He is also much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection. He has his weaknesses like the rest of us and I believe that you are the one person who might be able to penetrate his defences. It is most important that we secure the true memory, Arthur… how important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing. So, good luck… and goodnight."

A bit surprised by the abrupt dismissal, Arthur got to his feet.

"Goodnight, sir."

As he closed the study door behind him, he heard Phineas Nigellus say "I can't see why the boy should be able to do it better than you, Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Phineas." Dumbledore replied before Fawkes gave another low, musical cry.

Let's hope Arthur does a better job at trying to persuade Slughorn than Harry did.