Chapter 34

Turning Point

By comparison, Winter break was relaxing. The quartet bounced around a bit working on projects in this opportunity of free time. Ron worked in the shop with his brothers working on the basilisk weapons. It was one of the first times that he actually felt they were seeing him as an equal adult so for a few days Ron was part of a different trio.

Ginny spent the time practicing occlumency. She was surprised how much she appreciated it, but it felt like she had been given tools to finally take back control of her own mind and put fear at bay. She never would have predicted it, but as it felt as if it was working and felt calming so she jumped in with both feet.

After seeing Ron's quiver Ginny had an idea. "Harry, I think a broom would fit in a quiver quite nicely."

Harry's raised eyebrows agreed with her. "You'd need one with the interior expansion charm, but yeah." You easily stow your broom when you're lowering yourself to my level." He grinned as he turned the phrase. Ginny both elbowed him in the ribs, kissed his cheek. The next day Harry stopped by Bigger in the Inside and bought two dozen quivers for the squad.

Harry and Hermione needed to give a round of visits to the Aligned Houses. Harry workied the political visits. He was already friendly to the heads, but wanted to meet with and get on good terms with their delegated managers. While doing that Hermione visited their libraries, searching for leads on Ravenclaw's diadem and crying lighting. When the political meetings were done Harry joined her to assist. Four libraries and gallons of coffee later, Harry had a stack of lightning magic notes, but none of it crying.

Finally, late in the evening two days into the new year Hermione dropped a book down. "Helena!" she yelled.

Harry stirred. "I know you don't swear all that much 'Mione, but I think you mean. 'To Hell with it'."

"I'm not swearing, though I admit I feel like it."

"Okay, what do you have?" he asked looking up from his own research.

"Harry, your ring, you inherited that right?"

Harry flashed his hand showing it on his finger. "Yes?" he replied, wondering where this was going.

"We have been trying to find a reference to Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. But what if that's not the best thing to look for?"

Harry's eyes bounced between his ring and Hermione. "So you want to look down the line of descendants to see who inherited it?"

"Why not? If I wanted to find the Potter signet ring. I wouldn't be looking for it. I'd be looking for the head of the house: your grandfather, your father, then you."

Harry nodded his head. "Okay, I follow, Helena is, then?"

"Rowena's daughter, only child from what I can determine." Hermioine said, pointing to a paragraph of reference material.

Harry rose up to pace and let the blood flow.

"What are you thinking, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Domino effects. Go with me here for a second." Hermione nodded. "Rowena was a founding witch of Hogwarts. That's why there is a house named after her, right?"

"Correct," she nodded.

"Okay, so she also was a mum. Do we know if Helena was a witch too?"

Hermione read down the entry. "'Helena was gifted in arithmancy as her mother before her' so… yes."

"Okay, logical deduction here 'Mione. If you're one of the best witches of your age-"

"Are you saying I'm not?" Hermine asked in mocked offense.

"For five minutes, I'm actually being serious," he said, wagging a finger.

"Sorry, continue."

Harry did. "If you're one of the best witches of your age, and you just founded a school for magic, and you have a talented witch for a daughter, wouldn't you enroll her?"

Hermione's eyes showed she was following her train of thought. "You want us to look into the records of the first years of Hogwarts, following Helena?"

"Or Rowena too, as a teacher. Like you suggested, follow the people, not the pieces."

Hermione nodded her head. "It's an angle we haven't explored yet. Let's try it."

Friday, 3 January, 1997

With Professor Dumbledor absent… again… Professor McGonagall sat at the head of a long table in the Great Hall as she began the closing of the staff planning meeting for the second half of the year. "I believe that takes care of the outstanding business. Is there any new business that needs to be addressed."

"Actually, yes, Minerva," a low, slow, and calculated voice said.

The Deputy Headmistress replied unphased. "And how can I help Defense Against The Dark Arts, Severus?"

Snape sat back and let his attention drift from McGonagall to the Sergeant sitting across from him. "Not yourself, specifically Minerva, but thank you. I was looking for assistance from Sergeant Tonks." Tonks raised an eyebrow to acknowledge she was listening but otherwise was unmoved.

Snape continued. "I have been quite impressed with the work of my Seventh years and with Sergeant Tonk seemingly pleased with her little band of students, I thought we might try to have a bit of inter class competition. See how they size up and can learn from each other."

"No." Tonks replied. Coldly, directly, bluntly, and clear.

McGonagall fought a smile from forming on her rigid face.

"No?" Snape repeated. "Really? No further explanation. No confidence at all in your precious cadets."

Tonks folded her hands and looked directly at her accuser unflinchingly. "Again I will remind you Professor Snape, I am an auror and I know what you are trying to do. For the students' safety I could not recommend a cross engagement."

"Oh, don't worry, Tonks I'd have my student go easy. I acknowledge they are a year ahead." Snape smiled as he offered mercy.

Tonks took a moment to look away from Snape to the other teachers watching at the meeting and it was clear they were the center of attention. She turned to the head of the table. "I believe the Professor is suffering from several misunderstandings."

"Please enlighten us, Sergeant." McGonagall replied, gesturing to the table as a whole.

"The Professor's first misunderstanding was that I was concerned for my students' safety." Her eyes drifted back to Snape and stared daggers. "I was not." Then she returned to addressing McGonagill. "I believe the second misunderstanding is that I am following the traditional sixth year material. As you are well aware, I am not. The Professor's third misunderstanding is that I am training my cadets to simply defend themselves against typical muggings or assaults. I am not."

Slughorn raised a hand and asked. "Forgive me but this is my first year returning from retirement. What are you teaching then?"

Tonks smiled. "I am following my orders from Captain Moody, under the D.M.L.E. By any means necessary, establish a battle ready auror squadron." Her eyes came to settle squarely on Snape. "You train your students how to duel. I have trained my cadets how to kill. You are teaching self defense. I have made trained soldiers. You are teaching students to pass their N.E.W.T.s. I am training this squadron to survive and win this war. We are not the same."

McGonagall, folded her hands and sighed before she addressed the table. "Sergeant Tonks, for your reference I agree with every word you said." Then sighed very heavily. "Unfortunately, I do not believe we have a choice in this matter. When I returned to the school from break I received a letter from the Office of the Minister of Magic. It seems after reading the reports of the cadets they want a first hand demonstration of their abilities." McGonagall passed the letter to Tonks.

The auror read through it unphased. "Very well, the Minister has requested so the Minister shall receive."

"That quick a turn around?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Tonks replied coldly. "I took an oath of service and I follow my orders. You want a fight, congratulations Professor, the Minister says I have to give you one. Good luck."

Snape smiled very smugly having gotten what he wanted and apparently triumphing over the auror. The meeting closed shortly thereafter with McGonagall asking Tonks to remain. The two witches waited for the door to close behind the hast departed and with a flick of her wand McGonagall charmed the room to privacy.

"Well?" the elder asked.

Tonks threw paper on the table as she rose. "This is insane!" She walked down and back the length of the table. "I have trained a squadron to engage the Riddle's Death Eaters, and whatever else he decides to throw at us. I have proven as such in battle. Now the Minister wants me to throw them up against children for demonstration purposes?"

"The true irony is that your squadron are the younger students."

Calming down, Tonks did nod to McGonagall in appreciation. "Thank you for not calling my cadets 'children'."

"If I did that, I would have to have further conversations about sending children to war. I am already beyond my comfort levels. I am maintained by the reality that you, and if I may be so bold, Mr. Potter, have been excellent teachers."

Tonks shook her head. "I will not deny Potter is the linchpin of that damn team. But sending him or Crimson after some Seventh years, that doesn't sit right. We'll need to have Poppy on stand by."

"I will see to that personally." McGonagall nodded. "Crimson?" she repeated with a smile.

"I have both her and her brother on my team, the nicknames make communication more efficient sometimes."

"Sergeant, if I may ask, and strictly for my own civilian understanding, academically speaking where would you rank your cadets?

Tonk smiled. "All of them are N.E.W.T. ready. I haven't bothered to have them sit for those as I still have plenty of Auror material I can still teach. In Auror training terms, most of them I would rank at first year graduate. A few, most of the Marauder team, second year. Their skill and ability to work as a team is astounding. Most aurors teams take years to develop the camaraderie they have."

"They've had years, unfortunately." McGonagall said, remembering the events of the school over recent history. "Harry?"

Tonks looked to her former teacher with an expression of pride and concern. "I thank Merlin Harry is on our side. As much skill as has, as much power as he has…"

McGonagall smiled and reached for the letter from the Ministry again. "Sergeant, If I may?" Tonks nodded. "You have been ordered to provide a demonstration of your squadron's ability against the Hogwarts graduating class. Nowhere does it specify which cadets you are to represent your squadron."

Tonks smiled. "Thank you, Minerva."

"This is not the first time the Ministry has interfered with this school. Be it monsters, management, or the Ministry, I will always place student safety first."

Sunday 5 January, 1997

All too soon winter break came to an end. Having done their duty for the train ride down, Ron and Hermione had been given permission to skip the return Express in favor of flame. Harry emerged from his trunk room after the last load was left there. If the system worked, why break it.

"Are you actually going to wear that to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

He looked down briefly to understand what she could possibly be on about, then realized it was the tactical belt around his waist. "Yes." he confidently replied, as he turned to latch and lock his halfstack.

"That's not part of the uniform." She reminded.

"C'mon Mione, it looks, bl- pretty cool on 'em." Ron said in support. All three of them were surprised at Ron's attempted control, but Hermione wasn't about to let it go.

"Are you sure you want to stir up trouble?"

"Hermione," Ginny interrupted, "Have you read the dress code?"

Hermione shook her head in surprise. "Of - of course, annually."

Ginny smiled. "Good then you'll remember the only mention of belts in the rules is, 'Students should tuck shirts in so that belts are visible.'

"Yep," Harry agreed. "In fact, the combat boots Sarge issued us," he raised his foot up to show he was wearing them underneath his uniform slacks. "These are technically against school rules."

Hermione crossed her arms and looked at them both. "Let me guess you guys gave up a snogging session to actually look for loopholes in the dress code."

The shared unashamed smile from both Harry and Ginny showed Hermione guess right. Ginny confirmed it saying, "It was still a fun evening."

That got all four of them laughing.

Late in the afternoon, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry lined up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. Harry took his wand out to link in as he threw a handful of power into the floo. "Hogwarts Training Hall," he commanded, and the flames roared to life showing the link was made.

Much as Molly and Arthur were there to say good-bye, Molly dissolved into tears at the moment of parting. Admittedly, it took very little to set her off lately.

"Thank you for another wonderful holiday, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." Hermione smiled warmly.

"Hermione, we mean what we said," Molly reminded, reaching out and pulling the bright witch. "You're family too and you're even of age. You qualify for Molly and Arthur now."

"I'll - I'll work on that. Thank you." she replied as hugged Arthur.

"Please do," he replied. "And remember every once in a while, stop and smell the roses while you can."

"Oi, thought that's why she keeps me 'round." Ron smiled.

"Proving how bright she is." Molly said, hugging her son. She broke apart and cupped his cheeks to look at him in admiration. "Last year you were a practical joker. Now… Water Wizard. I am very proud of you, Ronald Weasley."

"Thanks Mum," Ron replied, permitting his mother to plant a very wet kiss on his cheek. He rolled his eyes but did catch Hermione smiling very brightly at the scene.

Arthur squeezed him next. "You take care of that young lady. Or you'll have hell to pay."

"Yes, Dad." Ron agreed with a grin. Then he broke away and took Hermione's arm. "See you on the other side." he said to the other couple then they flamed back to school.

"Well.. I suppose I should get used to calling you 'Crimson'." Molly said with a smile to her daughter.

"Na," Ginny said, shaking her head and hugging her. "I'm always going to be your Ginny."

"True," Molly admitted, "But there's nothing little about you any longer. You have grown into such a fine young lady."

When it was Authur's turn he squeezed her tightly. "I've no idea how we ever got so lucky for a daughter like you, We never could have hoped you would be so amazing."

"Thanks, Dad." Ginny replied. "I love you both." She parted and smiled over to Harry. She gave him a wink. "I expect my boyfriend shortly," and she flamed away.

All three of them chuckled. "Harry, I sometimes wonder if even you can keep up with her." Arthur joked.

"Oh no question, I can't." Harry grinned. "But she's worth the chase."

Molly straightened out Harry's tie and collar. "Harry… so are you." Then she pulled Harry into a warm hug, then whispered into his ear. "And by the way, I did hear you at Christmas."

Harry was speechless, not sure how to move forward. Blessedly, Molly understood. "Harry, don't worry. I don't expect it always, or often. Even if it's the only time, it was priceless and precious to me. Thank you."

He was pretty sure if he said anything, he'd just ruin the moment. So for once he kept his mouth shut and hugged Molly back.

Arthur was smiling when Harry came to him. The elder put his hand out. "Master Potter, I will repeat myself. Keep an eye on Ginny. You keep her safe, and we won't worry about much else."

Harry grinned, "Yes sir, I promise."

He headed back to the floo, then grinned back at his new parents. "And yes, I will remember to write."

He had one last fleeting view of the Weasleys' kitchen Molly's tearful face and Arthur's look of pride before the flames engulfed him; spinning very fast, he caught blurred glimpses of other Wizarding rooms, which were whipped out of sight before he could get a proper look; then he was slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in the Training Room.

As soon as he stepped out, he drew his wand again to lock it down. For the first time he actually felt a slight longing for home, and 'home' wasn't Hogwarts. He didn't know when, but somewhere in the last six months the Burrow became 'home', one he knew he'd miss occasionally.

Then he felt Ginny wrap an arm around him. He looked down over to his smiling girl, and everything was fine.

They headed to the Gryffindor Tower and off loaded the trunks where they needed to be. Harry wasted no time in getting his trunk room set back up. Then they met each other in the commons and headed to the Great Hall for the Returning Feast. Harry was legitimately surprised to see Professor Dumbledor, actually in his seat, speaking to McGonagall.

He stood in awe for a moment when Colin came up to him. "Harry?"

"Oh, hey mate, what's up?"

"Well first, thank you both for the camera, and case." He said smiling ear to ear.

"No problem Colin." Ginny said.

"Thank you for the photos. Some of my favorites." Harry said.

"More importantly, I need to give you this." Colin stretched out and handed him a note.

Harry accepted and hung his head.

"I don't need divination to know what that is." Ginny said. "When?"

Harry opened the note and read, "Tonight, bloody hell."

"I'll get the quivers set on the auror's brooms. After that, you know where I'll be."

"Yeah, yeah I do." he smiled.

The lamps in Dumbledore's office were lit, the portraits of previous headmasters were snoring gently in their frames, and the Pensieve was ready upon the desk once more. Dumbledore's hands lay on either side of it, the right one as blackened and burnt-looking as ever. It did not seem to have healed at all and Harry wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, what had caused such a distinctive injury, but did not ask; Dumbledore had said that he would know eventually and there was, in any case, another subject he wanted to discuss. But before Harry could say anything about Snape and Malfoy, Dumbledore spoke.

"You had a busy Christmas, Harry, I hope it was pleasant?"

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

"Yes," said Harry. "He doesn't know if he can trust me."

"No," sighed Dumbledore. "He is not very happy with me either, Harry, but battle on."

Harry grinned.

"He never expect the cadets to be any good, or the Houses to Align"

Dumbledore smiled. "I admit you surprised even me with the Houses, Harry. But in recent history I have come to… respect your battle prowess."

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised, "Thank you, sir". Harry took his seat and looked at his professor. "I don't suppose tonight is the night I hear the tale of your arm? You know, the one that hasn't healed for six months now? "

"The time is not quite right for you to know. Also, if I do not miss my guess you have changed Grimmauld's Secret Keeper."

"Yes." Harry replied, simply and flatly.

The elder wizard smiled. It is good to see you come into your own. Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else — ?"

"There is, actually, sir," said Harry. "It's about Malfoy and Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes strongly. "Yes, sir. I overheard them during Professor Slughorn's party . . . well, I followed them, actually. . . ."

Dumbledore listened to Harry's story with an impassive face. When Harry had finished he did not speak for a few moments, then said, "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance!?" repeated Harry incredulously. "Professor, did you understand — ?"

"Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me," said Dumbledore, a little 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."

"I am well aware, very little causes you disquite… sir." Harry spat out through gritted teeth and clenched fists.

That statement seemed to sting Dumbledore. As Harry sat in seething silence, glaring at the Professor, Harry found he didn't care. He wanted to scream that he was trying to protect him. That he was trying to keep the headmaster alive, despite his shortcomings. But as Dubledore had clearly made his decision. Whatever these 'Know Thy Enemy" lessons were, Harry would take what he could get. That was something he had experience with.

"Now, Harry, I must insist that we press on. 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."

Harry did not say anything to this; he still felt angry at the reception his confidences had received, but could not see what was to be gained by arguing further.

"So," said Dumbledore, 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 secondhand 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," continued Dumbledore, waving his blackened hand toward 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 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 favorably impressed by him."

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?" asked Harry.

"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 inquiringly at Harry, who had opened his mouth to speak. Here, again, was Dumbledore's tendency to trust people in spite of overwhelming evidence that they did not deserve it. But then Harry remembered something. . . .

"Respectfully, sir, you forget. I was down in the Chamber with Ginny and the Ghost of Riddle who came out of that diary. If my memory serves me his own words were, 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did.' "

Dumbledore sat back and smiled. "Auror work truly does suit you Harry. 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 toward 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."

"So I will ask you again, sir. Did you suspect anything at that time?"

"Of what they would become?" Dumbledor asked, looking over his glasses. "If I were to be suspicious of every gathering of students, I would be a very busy wizard indeed. In fact, I would have had to have paid closer attention to the Marauders… both sets of them."

Harry shrugged. "Ginny's idea. I support it. Clearly Sergeant Tonks does too."

"Returning to tonight's listen," Dumbledore smiled. "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."

"As I just stated, I am very aware of the events of my second year… sir." Harry said curtly. He was surprised at his level of anger. But after hearing Ginny's confession of what it truly was like. Dumbledore's response felt… shortcoming to say the least.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, placing 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."

"I bet Hermione would have cut that time in half." Harry couldn't resist a grin.

Dumbledore shook his head as he rose, and Harry saw that he was again holding a small crystal bottle filled with swirling, pearly memory. "And now, Harry, if you will stand . . ."

I was very lucky to collect this," he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Harry stepped up to the stone basin and bowed obediently until his face sank through the surface of the memory; he felt the familiar sensation of falling through nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness. It took him several seconds to recognize the place, by which time Dumbledore had landed beside him. The Gaunts' house was now more indescribably filthy than anywhere Harry had ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Harry could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old fashioned lamp, stood a boy Harry recognized at once: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome — the teenage Riddle.

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

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft, "Stop."

Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. Harry began to translate out of courtesy for Dumbledore's benefit

There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it. "You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Harry could not help but feel a resentful admiration for Riddle's complete lack of fear. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?" Riddle frowned.

"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, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand.

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

"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.

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

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Riddle was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

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

Riddle did not answer. Morfin was working himself into arage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored 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 looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Riddle's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything. . . .

"Thank you for the translation, Harry. It is what I had already deduced."
Dumbledor said as his fingers closed tightly around Harry's arm and they were soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Harry's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.

"Is that all?" said Harry at once. "Why did it go dark, did he die?"

"No, rather because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing Harry back into his seat.

"When he awoke the 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 that 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 sign of damage. . . . with one notable exception," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar.

"I'm getting used to being the exception." Harry said curtly.

"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 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 it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' 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."

"So Riddle stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry, sitting up straight.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Riddle 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 realized he hadn't done it?"

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

"With this real memory in him?!"

"Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," said Dumbledore, "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 Riddle'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."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from making another comment of Dumbledore's late timing.

"I want you to see this other memory before we part. . . ." Dumbledore took from an inside pocket another crystal phial and Harry fell silent at once, remembering that Dumbledore had said it was the most important one he had collected. Harry noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go bad?

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

And Harry fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man he recognized at once.

It was a much younger Horace Slughorn. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.

Harry looked around as Dumbledore appeared beside him and saw that they were standing in Slughorn's office. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Harry recognized Riddle's voice at once. He was the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Harry saw that he was wearing Marvolo's gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his father.

"Is that-" Harry began to ask.

"Yes." Dumbledore replied.

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

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. "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 —"

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened.

The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Harry could see nothing but the face of Dumbledore, who was standing beside him. Then Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened. Bewildered, Harry looked around as a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock. "Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn. "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 his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Riddle, however, stayed behind. Harry could tell he had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding 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?"

Harry froze. Not wanting to reveal his knowledge in front of Dumbldore. Not knowing precisely how pensives worked, Harry quickly brought up his occlumency skills.

And it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room so that Harry could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside him. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done 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," said Dumbledore placidly beside Harry.

"Time to go."

And Harry's feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That's all there is?" said Harry blankly.

Dumbledore had said that this was the most important memory of all, but he could not see what was so significant about it. Admittedly the fog, and the fact that nobody seemed to have noticed it, was odd, but other than that nothing seemed to have happened except that Voldemort had asked a question and failed to get an answer.

"As you might have noticed," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk, "that memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Harry, sitting back down too.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"But why would he do that?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," said Dumbledore. "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, Harry. 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."

Harry stared at him. "But surely, sir," he said, keeping his voice as respectful as possible, "you don't need me — you could use Legilimency . . . or Veritaserum. . . ."

"Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both," said Dumbledore. "He is 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.

"No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts. However, 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 defenses. It is most important that we secure the true memory, Harry. . . . How important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing. So, good luck . . . and good night."

Harry rose to his feet by will and self control. His jaw was set firm as it had been since Riddle spoke. Harry was enraged but he strained to keep himself controlled. Damn to hell if he wasn't trying to be better about his temper.

Harry marched his way out of the office and all the way back to the Gryffindor common room. He wasn't surprised Ginny was there, but he was surprised to see her awake and reading on the couch by the fire. He rounded the corner and saw her reading on occulemncy again.

"You're really getting into that, aren't you?" He greeted with a hug from behind and a kiss to her hair.

Ginny smiled and nodded her head as she closed the book. "It helps. I never would have guessed it, but it helps. I won't lie, I think Tonks teaching does wonders."

"She's an angel compared to Snape. I am so glad you never went through it with him." he said as he came around and sat on the edge of the couch.

Ginny grew concerned when she saw the electric arcs around his clenched fingers. "How bad?" she asked with a rub to his back.

"Dumbledore is studying Horcruxes."

"What?!" Ginny said, forcing herself to be quiet.

"That's what Slughorn is about. Apparently back when he was Riddle's teacher the two of them had a conversation about Horcruxes. Dumbledore wants the memory. But I think the old man tried, and failed, to persuade him for a legitimate version of it. Apparently Slughorn is so… I don't know scared or ashamed or something, he gave Dumbledor an altered memory."

"You can alter memory?"

"You're learning this like five minutes after me, babe. But it makes sense. In occlumency we're protecting memory. All of us have imagination. I suppose the trick would be passing your imagination off as good enough for the memory, which Slughorn didn't. Which means my assignment is, and has been, to charm the memory out of him."

"And Dumbledore waited literally four months before telling you?" Ginny's jaw was squaring and her eyes started to flicker with embers.

"I know Gin."

"Three whole meetings."

"I know Gin."

"He could have been done in the first month. Hell he could have been done in the first week!"

"I know… Gin."

"Did he at least tell you what the hell he's been doing this year? Because, talk to McGonagall, it hasn't been his job! ARGH" Ginny looked to the ceiling and clenched her fists in flame. "

"Crimson!" Harry yelled back to cut through, "I know!" Ginny looked over to Harry whose eyes were filled with sympathy more than anything else. "I've been living this school year with you babe, right by your side," he said, taking her hand, without even thinking about Ginny dropped her flames before their skin touched.

"Sorry."

Harry gently pulled her back to the couch and left his left arm over her shoulders and held her right hand with his. Ginny snuggled into the embrace. "Babe, I'm not mad. I fully admit that man frustrates me to hell. Always has. When I was younger he just had more 'pop' and 'wow' I could forgive him easier. I guess part of growing up is looking past that and seeing people for who they are."

Harry took a moment's comfort in their embrace. "If I'm going to keep doing this, pensives and memories and crap, I need to double down my occlumency practice. Study partners again?"

Ginny smiled. "Rule 3, partners, always."

They both took another moment to calm and just enjoy each other's presence. Ginny hated every time the headmaster requested private time with Harry, and Harry knew it. So Harry just tried to take the moment to rub her cheek and neck to physically let her know he was there, safe and sound.

"Harry, I want to help you with Slughorn."

"I thought you hated him?"

"Initially, yes, but after the love potion and the Christmas party, maybe not so much. Besides, my feelings are irrelevant. If he has information regarding the Horcruxes, we need it. And I think in the last few weeks he's taken a shine to us, like us, as a couple. So let me help you use that."

"Okay, Gin, you've been part of the team for a while now. You want it, you got it. We work Slughorn together. We get Dumbledore his damn memory."

"Be careful, please. Rule 5."

Harry smiled. "Rule 5, I promise."

"Thank you. I'm sorry Harry, but I will never trust Albus Dumbledore. Not with you. And you deserve to have someone watching out for you."

"You taking the job?" Harry asked with a grin.

"Yes," she said without hesitation or shame. "At least that's part of what I felt that locket represented. I'm not running to the wedding Harry, but I'm not running from it either. I know what the vows are; love, honor, cherish. I already believe in those."

"Me too, Gin. Me too."

Author's Note:

Full disclosure. This almost became the beginning of Book 3 but as so much of HP is based on the school year, I have opted to continue with that. Expect tonal shift as to me in this Riddle-verse, 1997 will be the Year of Hell. I've let the couples come together early because, frankly, war is hell and they are going to need each other.