Chapter Thirty-Five: The Morning After

Harry awoke the next morning to the unfamiliar, yet pleasant sensation of having another warm body pressed up against him in the bed. With a yawn, he turned his head slightly to see Astoria sleeping peacefully beside him, her soft breathing even and unbothered. Settling back into his pillow, he shut his eyes again and thought back to the previous evening.

After leaving the hospital wing, everyone who had gone to Chateau Lestrange went to get cleaned up, and then took a trip down to the kitchens so they could eat dinner without having to answer questions from the other students. Next, at Ron's suggestion, Harry invited the entire Hogwarts Underground to the Room of Requirement to debrief. The fact that nearly everyone turned up, even on extreme short notice, was a testament to how anxious they all were to learn exactly what happened.

For the most part, Astoria stayed off to the side with Noreen and Felicity while the others were talking, although she was sure to graciously accept every time someone stopped by to offer their condolences. Even though much of his attention was focused on the Underground, Harry made sure to do a visual check on Astoria every so often, just to see how she was doing. Once an hour or so had passed and it became clear that the stress of the day was catching up with her, he called a close to their impromptu meeting and sent them all back to their common rooms.

Harry and Astoria lingered behind after, as they so often did, which was when Astoria made her request.

"I'm sure you're tired," Harry had said, as they sat down together next to the fire. "Are you sure you don't want to just go back to your common room?"

"I'm absolutely sure," replied Astoria, though she seemed distracted. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, but Harry could tell Astoria had something on her mind by the way she kept shifting in her seat every few seconds. "Harry, do you think…" she began finally, before hesitating again. After a few more moments had passed, she huffed in frustration and adjusted her position so that she was facing him.

"Can we use the Resurrection Stone to speak with Daphne?"

Harry had been expecting the question, of course. How could he not, when the same question had been playing in his own mind for the past several hours? The Stone was dangerous — both of them understood that — but at the same time, he had already admitted to himself that he would never be able to deny her the opportunity to say goodbye to her sister.

"Yes, we can use the Stone, but I think we should agree to only using it once," he replied delicately.

"Only once?" she frowned. "But what if I forget to tell her something important? What if something big happens in the future: like you defeat You-Know-Who, or break our family's curse, or if…I don't know, I get married, or something? You wouldn't let me tell my sister?"

Harry removed his glasses and polished them on his sleeve, mainly to buy himself a moment to think over how to best phrase his response.

"I know this is hard," he empathised, "but I think it's a bad idea to use the Stone in that way, and under different circumstances, I think you'd agree — at least, you did back when we used it to summon Gaunt."

"That's different," argued Astoria, although she was seemingly unable to articulate exactly how it was different.

"It's not, though," countered Harry. "This is why the Stone is so dangerous; it uses our own grief against us, tricking people into pouring their life and magic into it." He paused for a moment, not entirely sure how he had come up with that explanation — almost as if it had come to him intuitively. "The…the dead don't belong here with us, Astoria," he continued. "Forcing Daphne to keep coming back wouldn't be fair to her, or to us."

"That's easy for you to say," she replied hotly. "You're not the one who lost someone today."

Astoria immediately regretted her comment. Her eyes began watering as her hands shot up to cover her mouth, but Harry's expression had already hardened in response. Understanding that it was just her grief talking, he shut his eyes and swallowed his retort, while taking a few deep breaths to centre himself.

"The day I got the Stone, I stayed up all night debating whether or not to summon my parents," he reminded her, speaking slowly and in a measured tone. "It was hard, but I didn't do it — partially because of Dumbledore's warnings, but mostly because it didn't feel like the right thing to do."

"Harry, I —"

"Please, just let me finish," he insisted, causing Astoria to fall silent. "I realised that it would be selfish of me to bring them back just to make myself feel better, and that even if I did, the feeling wouldn't last," continued Harry, this time reaching out to take her hand. "That's because no matter what I did, they could never truly be with me — at least, not until I eventually join them, which hopefully won't be for a long time. That's the lesson we're meant to have learned from the second brother."

Astoria quickly closed the distance between them and wrapped Harry in a tight hug. "I'm sorry," she cried. "You're right; we shouldn't use the Stone. I'll…I'll just try to accept that she's really gone, and that I'll never…she'll never…"

Harry held her tightly and rubbed her back as she broke down again, not that he blamed her in the slightest.

"I'll leave the decision up to you, but I don't think giving you and Daphne a chance to say goodbye would be a bad thing. Take a few days to think about it and everything you might want to say to her, then let me know."

"Are — are you certain?"

"I am," he replied confidently. "As long as you understand that it's a one-time thing, I don't think any harm will come from it."

"All right, then…thank you, and I'm sorry for what I said."

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied reassuringly, and then made to stand up from the sofa. "Come on," he said, extending his hand to her, "I think we're both beyond knackered, so we should probably get you back to your common room."

"No!" she practically shouted. Astoria's face turned red with embarrassment as Harry looked down at her with a puzzled expression. "I mean, couldn't we just…stay here tonight?" she added in a small voice, taking care to avoid eye contact as she said it.

"If…that's what you want," Harry replied evenly, trying hard to keep his thoughts from running away from him. "I suppose we could ask the Room for a couple of beds, or something."

Astoria looked around with a thoughtful expression. "We need to leave the Room first in order to completely reconfigure it, don't we?" she asked.

"I think so."

"All right, come on, then" she said, standing and leading him to the door. They went back out into the corridor and shut the door, which promptly disappeared. Next, Harry watched as Astoria walked back and forth three times before the blank stretch of wall, causing the door to the Room of Requirement to re-materialise in front of them.

Astoria immediately opened the door and pulled Harry in after her. The Room had been transformed into a large bedroom, complete with a large canopy bed with light blue hangings, a large vanity with a stool set in front of it, a chest of drawers, and a small table and chairs. There were two additional doors inside — one of which he assumed was a closet, with the other most likely being a connected bathroom.

"This is my bedroom at home," she explained as she walked across the room, gasping as she pulled the drapes to the side and peered out the window. "This is amazing!" she said excitedly. "The view out the window is the same, too!"

"Wow, really?"

Harry joined her at the window, and sure enough, the view matched his recollection of the open field and cobblestone path he had traversed when he first visited the Greengrass Estate. He was still gazing out the window when his attention was diverted by the sound of Astoria repeatedly opening and closing drawers.

"I was afraid of that," lamented Astoria, closing the last drawer and crossing the room to open what would turn out to be an extraordinarily large, but completely barren walk-in closet. "Would you be able to conjure some pyjamas for me?" she asked him. "I'm not totally confident that anything I transfigure will last the entire night."

"Er — yeah, I can try," replied Harry, who quickly produced a set of silk pyjamas similar in style to what he had seen Ginny and Hermione wear over the summer.

"Thanks," smiled Astoria, kissing him on the cheek as she accepted the nightclothes from him, adding, "I'll be back in just a bit," before disappearing into the bathroom.

Harry blew out a breath and looked around the room once more. The décor really did reflect its owner; particularly the expansive built-in bookshelves, which were packed nearly to the point of bursting. He idly wondered if any of the books matched what was in Astoria's actual bedroom, or if it was just a random assortment provided by the Room to fill up the space.

"Okay, your turn," said Astoria as she re-entered the bedroom. Harry's stomach did a flip when he turned and saw his girlfriend in her pyjamas — something that definitely never happened with Hermione. "What do you think?" she asked him, holding her arms out to her sides. "I had to resize them a bit, but otherwise, I'd say you did a smashing job."

"You look beautiful," he replied quietly, earning a sweet smile in return.

"Go on then, it's your turn," she repeated, pointing towards the door.

With a nod, Harry moved past her and went into the bathroom, which turned out to be more modern than he had been expecting, being well-lit, with both an oversized bathtub and a walk-in shower. After going about getting cleaned up and ready for bed, he decided to save time by transfiguring his regular clothes into pyjamas before exiting the bathroom. As he made his way across the carpeted floor, Harry stopped for a moment halfway between the door and the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of Astoria sitting up in bed waiting for him.

"Well? Come on," she instructed him, patting the other side of the bed where the covers had been turned down.

While Harry had grown accustomed to a certain degree of intimacy during their time together, a small part of him couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous as he slid into bed beside his girlfriend for the first time. If Astoria was experiencing any similar feelings, however, she didn't show it, as she calmly turned out the lights and promptly snuggled up next to him.

"I'm glad you agreed to stay with me tonight," she whispered, as they were both settling in.

"Well, I can't say I was expecting it, but I'm definitely not complaining," he returned, prompting a quiet giggle out of Astoria.

They laid there in silence for a time, with Harry attempting to clear his mind before sleep like his Occlumency book had recommended. After a while, Astoria's breath had begun to even out and Harry thought she had fallen asleep, until she suddenly spoke up.

"I never got the chance to say it earlier, but thank you for coming to rescue me," she said quietly, the emotion heavy in her voice.

With a sigh, Harry shifted so that he could put an arm around her and planted a light kiss on her forehead. "I've already told you; you'll never need to thank me — not for something like that," he murmured back to her. "Try to get some sleep; I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be another long day."

"Okay," sniffled Astoria, settling back in. "Good night, Harry. I love you."

"I love you, too," replied Harry, and that was the last thing he remembered before waking up that morning.

Yawning, he turned his head to the side and marvelled at the way the Room of Requirement somehow made it appear as though real sunlight was peeking through the windows. It was obviously still very early, and Harry was considering snoozing a bit longer when Astoria began to stir.

"Good morning," she said sleepily.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty good, actually. I was sure I'd have nightmares, but you must've kept them away."

"Happy to be of service," he grinned, as Astoria rolled over to give him a peck on the lips. Harry started to reach for her, but then she quickly rolled away and sat up.

"Hang on, I need the loo," she informed him, hopping out of bed and padding across the floor to the bathroom.

As tempted as he was to idle the morning away, Harry took it as a sign that he should probably get up and get moving. After swinging his legs out of bed, he grabbed his wand to transfigure his pyjamas back into his regular clothes, before standing up and stretching. When Astoria emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, Harry was somewhat surprised to see that she had also decided to get dressed.

"I see you realised it as well," she remarked, gesturing to Harry's clothes. "My father will probably be here soon, and there will definitely be questions if I'm anywhere other than Ravenclaw Tower when they send for me."

"Yeah, and I need to go see Dumbledore as soon as possible."

"That makes sense. I imagine a lot will change after yesterday."

"Definitely," agreed Harry, who was also thinking that would go double if he was right about the Horcrux.

"I suppose we should go, then. I'll write to you in the diary to let you know about the…the funeral."

"Right," he replied, the reminder of Daphne putting a damper on both of their moods. "Er — come on, then. I'll walk you back before I head to Dumbledore's office."

Curfew had technically lifted so they didn't need to go under the Cloak, but Harry still checked the map first to confirm that the corridors were empty, just in case. After an uneventful trip back to Ravenclaw Tower, Harry made his way to the headmaster's office as quickly as his feet could take him without running.

By the time Harry arrived in the office, Professor Dumbledore was already on his feet and standing next to his Pensieve, wearing violently purple robes and a bemused expression.

"I must say, Harry, you are here far earlier than even I expected," the headmaster greeted him.

"Well, I figured we have a lot to talk about, sir."

"Indeed, we do," concurred Dumbledore, nodding gravely. "As you can see, I intended to ask to see your memory of yesterday's events," he said, gesturing to the Pensieve. "However, I also recognise that reliving everything so soon may be…difficult for you, so if you'd rather —"

"It's fine, sir," Harry cut in. "I'm not going to run away from what happened. I also wanted to hear your opinion on something Bellatrix said to Voldemort."

"Oh?" replied Dumbledore, obviously intrigued. "Very well then, but if at any point it becomes too much for you, you may simply let me know and we shall exit the memory."

"That's fine," said Harry, "but before we go, I wanted to ask if you'd heard anything about Sirius."

"Alas, there is little to report — which I would consider a good thing at this juncture," explained Dumbledore. Harry seemed confused by his remark, so he continued, "He has not been returned to Azkaban, which was my greatest concern. Instead, he is being kept, along with Peter Pettigrew, in a holding cell within the Ministry of Magic to await trial."

"So, he's really going to get his trial?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Madam Bones has taken it upon herself to ensure that the proper procedures are followed this time," confirmed the professor. "I personally witnessed her overruling the Minister on the matter, which was quite amusing to watch, if I do say so myself."

Harry couldn't help but crack a smile at the visual of Fudge, blustering and red-faced, throwing a temper tantrum like a spoilt child who wasn't getting his way.

"I'll bet it was," he grinned in response. While Harry had admittedly been annoyed at Madam Bones for refusing to act after he had given her and Scrimgeour the truth about Sirius, it sounded as though she intended to do the right thing, now that the opportunity had presented itself.

"Even so, I have asked Kingsley and Nymphadora to keep watch over Sirius's cell, just to make sure nothing untoward happens while he is in custody."

"Thanks for that," replied Harry, who had to admit that he was starting to feel a tiny bit better about the situation. "Do you think I should write to Mr. Cartwright? Even with Wormtail being captured, it probably wouldn't hurt to have a good solicitor on our side."

"I could not agree more," nodded Dumbledore. "In fact — and I do hope you forgive me for overstepping — I have already been in contact with Reginald Cartwright, who has kindly agreed to take on Sirius's case."

"Brilliant! It's sounding more and more like Sirius might finally be able to clear his name."

"I cannot yet guarantee anything, but I believe your optimism is warranted," asserted Dumbledore, which was good enough for Harry — at least for the time being. "Shall we proceed into the Pensieve?"

Harry nodded and touched his wand to his temple to extract the memory. Assuming Dumbledore would want to see everything, he started from just before they had seen Crabbe and Goyle accosting the girls in Hogsmeade. As a result, the silvery thread of memory was so long that Harry had to raise his wand high into the air just to prevent the delicate, gossamer strand from touching the desk as he deposited it in the Pensieve.

"After you, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore politely. "As it is such a long memory, I believe we should wait until it is over before engaging in any discussion."

After a moment's hesitation, where he briefly second-guessed his decision to come along, Harry took a deep breath and plunged his face into the Pensieve. The first gut punch came only seconds into the memory, when Harry observed how happy and content he and Astoria looked together, knowing how it would all come unravelled within a matter of seconds.

Harry glanced uncomfortably at Dumbledore during the part where his memory self brutally extracted the information from Draco, but the headmaster appeared unfazed and made no comment. Even more surprisingly — at least to Harry — Dumbledore neither reacted to his and Daphne's use of Dark Magic, nor to Harry's moment of temptation where he considered killing a defenceless Theo Nott. In fact, the only time the professor reacted at all was a slight raising of the eyebrows during Voldemort and Bellatrix's brief conversation, where she mentioned something of obvious value to the Dark Lord being well-hidden.

Watching himself duelling Voldemort was a surreal experience — or it would have been, had Harry been paying more than a modicum of attention by that point. Instead, he spent the latter part of the memory lost in a sea of his own thoughts, as his mind replayed the moment of Daphne's death over and over again. It had all happened so fast, and yet watching it again through his own memory made it seem as though he were watching in slow-motion. He vividly recalled his moment of terror when he believed the Killing Curse had struck Astoria, which was soon replaced by a combination of near-euphoric relief and soul-crushing guilt when he realised it had been Daphne instead.

Part of him wished he had heeded Dumbledore's warning and stayed behind instead of forcing himself to relive that moment, but if the past year had taught him anything, it was that it was much healthier to confront these sorts of things head-on, instead of trying to bury everything deep down inside.

Once they exited the Pensieve, Harry plopped down in his usual chair and held his head in his hands until he was able to collect himself. Dumbledore must have understood Harry's need, because he did nothing more than sit down behind his desk wait patiently until Harry was ready. After a few minutes had passed, Harry finally looked up at Professor Dumbledore and spoke.

"Are you angry with me, sir?"

"Angry?" replied Dumbledore, seemingly surprised by Harry's question. "No, my dear boy, I am not angry with you. If anything, I am sad that you were, once again, placed in a nearly impossible situation, and more than a little proud that you so deftly rose to the challenge, as you so often do."

"But…"

"Harry, what you and your friends accomplished yesterday is nothing short of miraculous," maintained Dumbledore. "I sincerely doubt that a team of fully trained Aurors would have fared much better than you did. Granted, I would have preferred that you waited for the adults before rushing into danger, but as you understandably believed that time was of the essence, I can hardly fault you."

"But sir…Daphne… If I hadn't…"

"Believe me, Harry, I understand why you feel responsible for her death. The fact of the matter is that I can sit here and try to convince you that you are not to blame — which is my sincere belief, mind you — but that would not stop you from feeling responsible, would it?"

Harry thought about it for a moment before shaking his head.

"Of course not," Dumbledore replied gently. "As a leader, you will always feel at least partially responsible when something goes wrong — even when others hold you blameless." The professor paused to allow a moment for his words to sink in. "I shall not tell you not to feel guilty," he continued. "Instead, I encourage you to try to accept what happened, grow from it, and continue moving forward."

Harry nodded and looked down at his lap. He understood what Dumbledore was trying to say, although actually doing so would be easier said than done.

"I'll try, sir," he said after a moment.

"I sincerely hope that you do," said Dumbledore, his demeanour shifting ever so slightly. "Now," he continued, in a serious tone, "I would be remiss if I did not mention your use of Dark Magic."

"I figured as much," replied Harry, refusing to meet Dumbledore's gaze. "I honestly haven't practiced spells like that for months — ever since the night we went to Godric's Hollow. It's just that we were fighting, and…"

"I understand, Harry," the headmaster responded in a tired voice. "While I was not especially fond of some of yours, and particularly the late Miss Greengrass's spell choices, I find it difficult to fault you too much for resorting to such measures in a clear life or death situation."

"Sir?"

"However," continued Dumbledore, "l could not help but notice how much better you fared when you relied on your creativity, as opposed to using simple Dark curses. That much was particularly evident during your duel with Lord Voldemort."

Thinking back, Harry had to admit that Professor Dumbledore had a point. Merely flinging curses at Voldemort had been an exercise in futility. For all the talk of Voldemort's power and knowledge of the Dark Arts, his defensive capabilities were equally as formidable, which meant the odds of winning by taking him head-on were practically nil.

"I see what you mean," admitted Harry, finally lifting his eyes to meet the headmaster's. "There was a moment there at the end where I thought I'd at least land a blow on him, but he was just too good.

"Brief though it may have been, you pushed him perhaps harder than anyone else has in a very long time," stated Dumbledore. "And he will not soon forget it."

"Pushed him?" repeated Harry, disbelief clear in his voice. "Sir, he practically wiped the floor with me! If you hadn't broken through when you did, I'd be dead right now. I mean, I lasted…what? Five minutes, tops?"

"Which is nearly five minutes more than almost any other wizard alive would have lasted," the professor asserted. "Both Lord Voldemort's raw magical power and his prodigious skill are far beyond what most witches and wizards have the ability to even comprehend. There is a reason why very few have ever shown the courage to face him in the first place."

Harry slumped in his seat. "Sir…how am I supposed to compete with that?" he asked meekly, distractedly running a hand through his hair. "I — I don't see how I'm ever going to beat him."

"You must remember, Harry, that the prophecy does not require you to defeat Voldemort in single combat," Dumbledore reminded him, and not for the first time. "I am confident that you will find the answer when the time comes. Until then…"

"The Horcruxes," Harry responded knowingly.

"Indeed," nodded Dumbledore. "I assume, from your earlier comments, that you are also under the impression that Bellatrix Lestrange was entrusted with one of Voldemort's Horcruxes?"

"It would make sense," nodded Harry. "I mean, he gave one to Malfoy, so why wouldn't he give one to Bellatrix, too, if she's supposed to be his favourite? If he was talking about a Horcrux, though, I'm surprised he would mention it in front of us."

"A mistake he may wind up regretting," agreed Dumbledore, rising to his feet. "Bellatrix has been returned to Azkaban, along with David Mulciber. This time, they were joined by Lucius Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe, Sr., in case you were curious."

"What about Nott?"

"As he is a still juvenile, Theodore Nott is being kept at the Ministry until his fate is decided, as are Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Jr., and Gregory Goyle."

"I suppose that makes sense," frowned Harry. "But sir, the Death Eaters have already broken out of Azkaban once before. What's to stop them from doing it again?"

"Very little, which is why time is of the essence," replied the professor, as he crossed the room and removed a heavy travelling cloak from the small closet next to the bookshelves. "An emergency meeting of the Wizengamot was held last night, where, amongst other business, I was reinstated as Chief Warlock."

"That's great, sir."

"The timing is most fortuitous, because now I intend to use the authority of that office to pay Madam Lestrange a visit in Azkaban," explained Dumbledore. He then made his way to the fireplace, where he grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fire. "Severus, could you please come through," Harry heard him say, "and also bring some Veritaserum with you, assuming you have some prepared."

While they were waiting, Dumbledore turned back to Harry. "How would you say you are progressing with your task to retrieve the memory from Professor Slughorn?" he asked.

"Not great," he confessed. "I may have come on too strong at the beginning, and he's been avoiding me ever since."

"Perhaps a change in strategy is required," the professor replied pointedly. "I believe that now more than ever, the knowledge hidden within that memory is of the gravest importance."

"I'll get it, sir," promised Harry, not enjoying the feeling of disappointing his mentor.

"I trust that you will."

Less than a minute later, Professor Snape stepped through the floo and into the office. If he was surprised to see Harry there, he didn't show it. Instead, he ignored his presence entirely and handed Dumbledore a small crystal phial filled with a clear liquid.

"Thank you, Severus. How is Voldemort's mood, after yesterday's events?"

"Are you sure you wish to discuss this now?" Snape replied slowly, glaring at Harry as he spoke.

"Harry has my full confidence, Severus."

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry before turning back to Dumbledore. "He is furious, as one would expect," he drawled. "Yesterday's…operation…was done without his knowledge or approval, and seven Death Eaters wound up being killed — including several members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Add in the four that were captured, and he has lost a significant portion of his most loyal followers all at once, with apparently nothing to show for it."

"Yes, those who were captured may secretly be glad to be in Azkaban, rather than having to suffer his wrath," mused Dumbledore, as he thoughtfully stroked his beard. "I also have it on good authority that his return will be confirmed to the public in this morning's Daily Prophet, which I assume will not improve his mood."

"I should think not," Snape responded dryly.

"And how is Slytherin House reacting to the news?"

Snape again glanced over at Harry, but this time refrained from commenting on his presence. "It is still early, but reactions so far have been…mixed," he replied delicately. "Assuming that Malfoy and Nott, at least, do not return —" Dumbledore returned a subtle nod at his comment. "— then I would expect far less overt support for the Dark Lord within the House going forward, especially after this year's crop of seventh years have moved on."

"I see. Anything else?"

"To my knowledge, Daphne Greengrass did not have many close relationships in the House, but the death of another student seems to have had an effect on the younger years, in particular," continued Snape. "You may advise Madam Pomfrey that I am brewing several batches of Calming Draught, if she finds herself in need."

"Thank you, Severus, I am sure that will be appreciated," Dumbledore replied earnestly. "Now, I must be off. I will be calling together the Order later this evening, if you find yourself available," he added, before turning to address Harry. "While it is still the weekend, I imagine you have another busy day in front of you nonetheless, so off you go. Depending on the results of my errand, I may end up summoning you back to my office to discuss."

Suddenly finding himself being dismissed, Harry stood and left through the door just as Dumbledore and Snape were taking the floo. Checking the time, he confirmed that it was still early enough for breakfast in the Great Hall, so he made that his first order of business. Right after that, he was going to find a copy of the Daily Prophet to see if Dumbledore had been right about the day's front-page story.

As he approached the doors to the Great Hall, the first thing Harry noticed was how unusually loud it was for that time of day. The noise was soon explained when he turned the corner into the Hall and saw that it was nearly full, with most of the students gathered at their House tables or standing in the aisles in small clusters. Even at the staff table, most of the teachers were still gathered and locked in conversation with one another, their expressions deadly serious.

Having spotted Ron and Hermione near the centre of the Gryffindor table, Harry started cutting a path across the Great Hall to join them. The noise in the room dropped considerably the further he progressed into the room, and he could feel dozens of eyes following him as the murmuring began to pick up. Realising that he should have been expecting that reaction, Harry sighed to himself and kept his own eyes trained on his friends, who were quickly shuffling to make room for him at the table.

"There you are, Harry," said Hermione, a bit crossly. "Where have you been? We were worried about you! Ron said you didn't make it back to the dorm last night."

"I was with Dumbledore this morning," replied Harry, ignoring the latter part of her query. "I take it the news is out?" he added, gesturing to the folded-up copy of the Daily Prophet on the table.

"You might say that," answered George, tossing a newspaper to Harry.

Upon opening the paper, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the large moving photograph depicting Professor Dumbledore's duel with Voldemort. The headmaster was facing away from the camera when it was taken, but there was no mistaking the sinister visage of Lord Voldemort, his face twisted into a mask of fury as he unleashed an unknown spell at Dumbledore. The photo was so captivating that he watched it loop back to the beginning three times before even bothering to glance up at the headline.

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

Dark Lord Spotted at Lestrange Residence — Boy Who Lived Present at Scene

"They don't mention Daphne anywhere," Harry muttered aloud as he skimmed through the article.

"She's mentioned in another article further down," Hermione informed him. "Her and Astoria being involved is a story on its own, since their father is on the Wizengamot. There's one about Sirius, too."

Harry nodded and continued reading. "It sounds like Fudge is already fighting to keep his job," he remarked, as he got near the end.

"I don't see how he survives this, to be honest," said Hermione. "Especially after murdering you and Dumbledore in the press for months. The next article mentions Astoria's father tearing Fudge to shreds during a meeting of the Wizengamot."

"Yeah, Dumbledore mentioned there was an emergency session last night. They reinstated him as Chief Warlock," Harry informed them, as he searched for the article on his godfather.

"The paper mentioned that, too," noted Ron.

"The article about Sirius is a lot fairer that I expected, all things considered," said Hermione. "Did Professor Dumbledore have anything to say about it?"

"Just that him and Wormtail are being held at the Ministry awaiting trial," replied Harry, as he skimmed the write-up on his godfather. Sure enough, the Prophet seemed to be sticking to the narrative of 'Ministry incompetence', with the son of a prominent pure-blood family apparently being falsely imprisoned, as evidenced by the one who he had supposedly murdered being found alive. "I'm just glad they didn't stick him back in Azkaban," he added. "If all goes well, Sirius will have his trial and finally get to start living his life again."

"Hope so, mate," Fred chimed in. "Merlin knows he's earned it."

Harry nodded and went back to reading, eventually setting down the paper and filling his plate with food from the picked-over platters at the centre of the table.

"So…how's Astoria?" Hermione asked him.

"As well as could be expected, I suppose," he answered noncommittally. "Her father was set to pick her up this morning. I reckon she'll be home for at least the rest of this week."

"I can't even imagine how she must be feeling. I'm sure having you be there for her at the funeral will help, though. You are going, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied distractedly, as his eyes were focused on the staff table, where Professor Slughorn was excusing himself and preparing to leave out the side door. "Excuse me for a minute," he said to the others, suddenly standing up from the table. "There's something I need to take care of."

Walking at as brisk a pace as he could manage without appearing conspicuous, Harry hustled out of the Great Hall and took off down the corridor in hopes of intercepting Slughorn. As luck would have it, he caught up to the professor just as he was beginning to climb the stairs that led in the direction of his office.

"Professor Slughorn," Harry called out, causing the portly Potions master to stop mid-step and turn around.

"Ah, Harry," came Slughorn's unenthusiastic reply. "I'm surprised to see you out and about so soon after your ordeal. You made quite the stir, m'boy — quite the stir, indeed."

"You know me, Professor," replied Harry, putting on a winning smile.

"Cheeky lad," chortled Slughorn as he resumed his climb. "You certainly inherited your mother's quick wit. If only she had passed along her talent for Potions, as well — not that you don't have your own areas of expertise, of course."

"Believe it or not, I've done loads better in Potions since you became our teacher, so maybe there's hope for me yet," laughed Harry.

"Is that so? Then I very much look forward to finding out," Slughorn proclaimed, just as they were reaching the third floor. "Well, I suppose you should be running along now. After all, having no classes to attend is a poor excuse to remain idle."

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you in private."

Slughorn stopped and looked up and down the corridor to find that he and Harry were alone. "Is that so?" he replied, suddenly anxious. "Well, I am very sorry, but I'm afraid I have quite a lot to do. Yes, quite busy, I'm afraid. Perhaps next week."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm afraid it can't wait," countered Harry, stepping in front of Slughorn. His words were cordial, but there was definitely something in his tone that brooked no argument.

"Now see here, Harry," bristled Slughorn, who was now visibly perspiring. "I am your teacher. You can't just go around making demands like —"

"Yesterday, I had to duel Voldemort only minutes after one of my friends was killed right in front of me," snapped Harry, cutting across Slughorn. "So, forgive me if I'm a little short on patience at the moment. You've been avoiding me, Professor, and I really need five minutes of your time."

Slughorn gave Harry a calculating look before looking around one more time in hope that someone would come along and interrupt them.

"Very well, very well," grumbled the professor. "For all the good it will do. Come along then, we're not far from my office."

If Slughorn's plan was to stall by suggesting his sixth-floor office as the venue for their discussion, then he wound up being very disappointed. Neither said a word to one another as they ascended the remaining flights of stairs, nor did they come across anyone else on their way — not even a ghost. It soon became clear that the conversation was going to happen one way or another, so taking one last glance up and down the corridor, Slughorn reluctantly opened the door to his office and ushered Harry inside.

Slughorn's office was significantly more lavish than what Harry had seen from the other professors. On top of being quite a bit larger than most, it was equipped with an ornate fireplace surrounded by two sofas, as well as a large dinner table that could easily seat ten people. The office even appeared to have its own private balcony, though Harry doubted he'd be invited back to enjoy it anytime soon.

"Well, get on with it, then," said Slughorn impatiently, as he sat down in a plush velvet armchair and lifted his feet onto the matching stool. "I really am quite busy, you know."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on wasting either of our time," Harry assured him. "Here's the deal," he continued, "Dumbledore seems to think I can figure out a way to convince you to do the right thing, but frankly, I've got enough on my plate as it is. What will it take for you to give up the real memory?"

"Once again, I've no idea what you're talking about. If that will be all —"

"Let's not play games, Professor," interrupted Harry. "We already have a pretty good idea what your memory will show us, but we need to be absolutely positive if we're ever going to beat him. Now, what do you want in exchange for the memory?"

"I want nothing in exchange, because there's nothing to exchange," the professor argued back. "I told you the same thing I told Dumbledore — there is nothing more to that memory!"

"Oh please, there's no way you could possibly expect anyone with more than two brain cells to actually believe that," Harry replied mockingly. "Unless you simply didn't know that seeing it in a Pensieve would make it ridiculously obvious that the memory's been modified."

"Well, you see…that is, I —" the professor started to bluster, so Harry cut him off again.

"Come on, Professor, please," he insisted, deciding on the fly to swallow his irritation and try a different approach. "This is really important. I honestly just need the number — can you at least tell me how many Horcruxes Tom Riddle intended to make?"

Slughorn's eyes widened comically at the question, which told Harry that Dumbledore's assumptions were at least somewhat close to the mark. Sensing an opportunity, he decided to press his advantage.

"Don't you see? If we're ever going to defeat Voldemort, then first we need to find and destroy his Horcruxes — all of them," reiterated Harry. "Because if not, then everything will be lost: the country, Hogwarts…everything. That would also mean that my mother's sacrifice — Lily Evans's sacrifice would have been in vain — all because you were too scared to share a mere memory with her son."

Professor Slughorn suddenly looked ill, almost as if he had swallowed something unpleasant. Staring down at his lap, he mopped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief before speaking.

"You don't understand," he muttered, while shaking his head. "If he ever finds out I helped you, he will almost certainly kill me."

Harry had to fight the urge to laugh. "Professor, do you honestly believe Riddle's forgotten about your conversation?" he asked, causing Slughorn to look up with something like fear in his eyes. "You're a loose end, Professor," continued Harry, "and one thing I know from experience is that Voldemort doesn't like loose ends. It doesn't matter what you do; he will come for you eventually…unless, of course, you help us defeat him once and for all."

For a solid minute, the only sounds were those of the fire crackling in the fireplace. For the first time since Harry had begun pursuing the memory, Slughorn actually seemed torn, and the façade he'd been maintaining about the false memory finally began to crumble.

"It's no use," said Slughorn, in a defeated tone. "I fear I may have done terrible damage that day. I — I'm ashamed of what that memory shows. If I thought there was actually any hope…"

"But there is hope, Professor," insisted Harry. "I can't tell you everything, for your own safety, but Dumbledore believes he can be defeated, and so do I." He paused for a moment, realising that was actually true. "But before that can happen," he continued, "we need to know — beyond any doubt — exactly how many Horcruxes he has left."

"Has left?" repeated Slughorn, obviously picking up on Harry's implication. "You mean to say…" He trailed off thoughtfully as he took a moment to process what he had heard, while Harry remained silent. "If you've already…then, I could hardly be held responsible," muttered Slughorn, mostly to himself, and after another minute of silent debate, he cleared his throat and spoke directly to Harry.

"It's clear to me now that you and Dumbledore are already quite well informed," he stated. "It sounds as though any information I give you would serve only as confirmation of what you already know, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'd say so," nodded Harry, "but either way, if you do give me the memory, I promise that nobody besides the two of us and Dumbledore will ever know about it."

Slughorn nodded to himself, and Harry allowed the silence to linger between them while the professor worked up the courage to take that final step.

"Very well," sighed Slughorn, taking out his wand and conjuring a small glass jar before slowly extracting the uncorrupted memory. "The number you are looking for is seven — on that horrible day, Tom expressed interested in the idea of having a seven-part soul." He hesitated for a moment and handed the jar containing the memory to Harry. "Now, do you understand why I say there is no hope?"

Harry managed to keep his expression neutral as he slipped the jar into his robes, but on the inside, he was wildly celebrating. Dumbledore's theory had indeed been correct, which meant that there really were only two left to find. On top of that, if Harry was right about Bellatrix, then they would know not only what the last Horcruxes were, but they would have at least a decent idea of where to find them.

"Thank you, Professor," he said gratefully. "And without saying too much, what you've just told me doesn't make me feel any less confident."

"Is that so?" replied Slughorn, his eyes widening yet again. "Then I wish you luck, Harry Potter. And please, don't think too badly of me after you see it."

"Never," Harry reassured him, even though he wasn't entirely convinced. "And you shouldn't be too hard on yourself, either. Even back then, Riddle was a master manipulator. You've done a lot of good today, Professor — my mother would be proud."

"I hope you're right, Harry. I do hope you're right."