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mhalachaiYou know what would be really mean? If the reason Dumbledore had Snape do the Occlumency lessons in OotP wasn't to teach Occlumency to Harry, but to have a situation where Snape read Harry's mind.
Okay, this is a pivotal chapter. Eyes peeled.
Inevitable Sixty-Five: The Crux of the Matter
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: This chapter contains more stuff from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I'm rewriting one scene to fit my purposes, so the dialogue from the Pensive scene comes directly from chapter 20 of HBP, but I'm taking a different angle on it. While I am using material from that book, this story is AU from HBP, as the timelines diverged after the end of OotP. Any questions? 5,973 words.
Previous parts here. This chapter takes place the day after chapter 64. The Ron and Luna outtake from April 23 takes place during this chapter.
~~~~~~~
Harry munched on his bacon, tired. His Sunday stretched out ahead of him, annoyingly full. He had piles of homework due in the coming week, which had been pushed to the side by his trip to Edinburgh the previous day. Not that he regretted calling Anita on the telephone. He had to hear her voice, to know she was going to be okay.
She'll be just fine, Harry thought, trying to ignore the smidgen of doubt in the back of his head. She and Nathaniel and Damian will all be fine. They have to be. I'll see them at Christmas and we can talk about it then.
Harry looked across the table at Hermione, bent over the Daily Prophet. Her hair was threatening to fall in the butter, but Harry didn't say anything. She had a prefects' meeting that morning, so he couldn't ask her for any homework help. Maybe he and Ron could see if anyone else in their year wanted to work together.
Ron shambled up to the table, still looking half asleep. He slumped at the table next to Hermione, automatically reaching for food. Harry watched idly as Ron grabbed the remaining sausages from under Neville's fork. Neville glared at Ron, but reached down the table for another sausage platter.
Hermione sighed and put down her paper. "How are you?" she asked.
Ron nodded, his mouth already full. Harry had to hide a laugh behind his teacup.
"Hrm." Hermione picked up her paper again. Ron and Neville both went back to their breakfasts, but Harry looked around the Hall. It wasn't early, and the place was pretty full. Some of the Aurors were sitting at the head table with a smattering of the teachers. Dumbledore was absent, as were Snape and Hagrid, but a green-haired Tonks was sitting on the end of the table, talking to Professor Sprout.
Harry set down his cup and stared into the tea's amber depths. Normally he liked tea, but today he was restless. Maybe he wanted something else to drink. He remembered how much Anita liked coffee, and how he started to drink coffee on his own, that last week in Anita's house.
He didn't know if there was a specific spell to change tea to coffee, but it had to be pretty basic, right? Harry tapped the side of his cup with his wand as he thought hard. Maybe he could make up a spell. Tonks had made that spell to pack clothes into a trunk, just by saying "Pack". Maybe Harry could do the same thing, if he wanted it hard enough.
Sticking the end of his wand into the tea, Harry wished for coffee with all his might. "Coffee," he muttered, and twirled his wand.
Nothing happened.
"Damn."
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked over her paper.
Harry pulled his wand out of his cup and wiped the tip on his robe sleeve. "Trying to invent a spell."
"For what?" Neville asked.
"Change tea into coffee."
Hermione put the paper down and held out her hand for Harry's cup. He gave it to her, and watched as she waved her wand over the liquid in an intricate fashion and spoke an unfamiliar word. A thick coffee smell wafted up, reaching Harry even before Hermione handed back the cup.
"Oh, thank you," Harry said with feeling, breathing in the steam off the cup, then taking a tiny sip. It tasted heavenly and it made him so homesick that for a second he wanted to cry. He swallowed those feelings down with the coffee, and gave Hermione a brilliant smile. "Can you teach me that spell?"
"Did you just make that up?" Ron asked, resting his head on his hand. "She does that," he said to Harry. "Spells and stuff."
"No, I didn't make it up," Hermione said, looking a little bit flustered. "It was in one of your mum's magical cookbooks, I saw it over the summer."
"It's brilliant," Harry said, still smiling. "How about making up a spell to do my homework for me?"
Ron laughed at the expression on Hermione's face, while Harry pretended to cower. Hermione opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. "Oh, you two!" was all she said.
Neville was watching the scene with a tiny grin. He'd been hanging out with the three of them more in the last month, and Harry was glad. Neville was a good guy. He'd been talking to Ginny the previous night when Harry got back from his phone call trip, and had stuck around while Harry tried to regain his composure. Ginny and Neville had gotten into quite the argument about plant ingredient for potions, to which Harry had gratefully listened.
Of course, then Neville left, and Harry realized how close he was sitting to Ginny, his thigh touching hers on the couch, so close he could have kissed her...
They sat like that for a long time.
Harry took another sip of his coffee. He hadn't seen Ginny all morning. She had that prefects' meeting later on, so he probably wouldn't see her until the afternoon. That realization made his stomach twist unhappily.
She's probably busy, Harry thought. She's a prefect and she's got homework and all kinds of other friends.
A few late post owls began to flit into the hall. One landed in front of Harry and dropped a letter on his plate. The bird took off before Harry could even offer it a bit of toast.
Harry opened the letter and recognized Dumbledore's spidery handwriting on the parchment. Come to my office after breakfast. No need for your cloak. The letter was unsigned.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What's up?" Ron asked, his lazy tone belying the quick gleam in his eyes. Harry handed over the note. Ron read it a few times, then gave it to Hermione. "Dumbledore?" he asked quietly.
With a nod, Harry took the parchment back from Hermione. "Guess you're on your own for homework, Ron," Harry said.
"It's all right, me and Neville can work together," Ron said hopefully.
"Sorry, I've got a herbology project," Neville said. "I'll be in the greenhouses all day."
Harry slipped the note deep into his pocket. "I'll see you guys later," he said as he stood up.
"Tell us how it goes," Ron said. Harry gave a wave as he walked down the halls.
Up ahead, Harry saw Luna walking out of the Hall. He broke into a run to catch up with her. "Hey, where are you going?" he asked once he reached her side.
Luna gave him a sidelong glance. "It's a nice day, I was going to go for a walk."
"Sounds fun," Harry said, staring at her necklace. "Is that made of vines?"
Luna nodded, dancing back to avoid being run over by a herd of sturdy Hufflepuff boys. "I was out early this morning."
"It looks really neat," Harry said as they left the Great Hall. The wave of sound faded as they stopped in the Entrance Hall. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Luna said. She gave Harry a tiny smile. "Do you want to go for a walk?"
"I can't," Harry said. "I have to go see a professor."
Was he imagining the disappointed look in her eyes? "On a Sunday?" Luna asked.
"Yeah," Harry said, suddenly wishing he could blow off Dumbledore and go walk around with Luna. "Have fun, okay? Think of me when you're out there in the sun, with me in this stuffy castle."
"I will," Luna promised.
Harry supposed he had to get moving, but he couldn't make himself walk away. "Luna, about the other day..." She stared at him. "When you kissed me?"
She blinked, but didn't look away. "Yes?"
A thousand words were on the tip of his tongue, like how he thought she liked girls, or he wondered what she was thinking, or how the kiss had been so incredible and he wanted to know if she'd do it again, but he settled on saying, "It was nice."
Luna looked relieved. "It was," she said quietly.
Harry grinned widely, his heart beating hard in his chest. "I'll see you later," he promised. Then, before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed Luna on the cheek. She smelled like flowers, and Harry had to catch himself before he nuzzled her neck.
He pulled back, feeling his beast more than usual. Luna's smile faded when she saw his face. Somberly, she nodded. "I'll see you tonight," Luna said, and it sounded like a promise.
Harry fled before he did something stupid and impulsive.
~*~
Dumbledore's office was bright with sunshine. The headmaster greeted Harry, and directed him to the chair across from the desk.
"Your note didn't say anything about what you wanted," Harry said as he sat down.
"No, it did not," Dumbledore agreed. "It is a delicate matter."
"So why am I here?"
Dumbledore sighed, a tired sound. "Today, I will attempt to destroy one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
Harry stopped breathing for a moment. "I'm coming with you," he said after he got his voice back, sure that Dumbledore would tell him no.
Dumbledore smiled. "I was hoping you would say that, Harry."
"You were?" Harry blurted out.
"Indeed." Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. "I may have been able to destroy the Horcrux contained in the Gaunt ring, but you destroyed the diary, Harry. I suspect that the other objects will be much harder to destroy, and so I will need your help."
"What kind of help can I give?" Harry demanded. "And why would they be harder?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "We have three of the Horcruxes," he said.
"The diary and the ring, which are destroyed, and that locket, yeah," Harry interrupted. "You said you thought there were seven? So where are the other four?"
"I believe I know where one other is," Dumbledore said. "Two of the Horcruxes resided in objects belonging to Salazar Slytherin, the ring and the locket. Years ago, it came to my attention that soon after he left Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, was seeking out objects famed to belong to the other founders of Hogwarts."
"Like what?" Harry said, almost bouncing off his seat. "The school was founded over a thousand years ago, there can't be many things left!"
"Very true." Dumbledore walked over to where Godric Gryffindor's sword hung on the wall. "This," he said, picking up the sword, "Is all that is left from Gryffindor. I have tested it in several ways. It is not a Horcrux."
"So that leaves us with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." Harry stood up and began to walk around the room, able to think better when he was on his feet. "Are there any of their things here at the school? No, wait," he contradicted himself immediately. "Would Voldemort have been able to get into the school to make one, kill someone for it, then sneak out? He wouldn't hide his Horcruxes here, how would he get them again?"
"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "I do have information on one object belonging to Helga Hufflepuff. A cup."
Harry spun around. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Are you sure it's hers? Did Voldemort use it as a Horcrux?"
"I believe he did," Dumbledore said. "And I can show you why."
"How?" Harry asked quickly.
Dumbledore laid the sword on his desk and walked to a cupboard in the wall. He pulled back the doors to reveal his pensive, which he picked up and placed on a small table. "A memory," Dumbledore murmured. "Taken from a house elf, shortly after Tom Riddle vanished. Before Voldemort came into being."
"You can take a memory from a house elf?" Harry asked, standing across the table from Dumbledore. "I never thought of that."
"Few do," Dumbledore said. "There are not many wizards who would consider a house elf to be a viable witness, which, in my experience, is short-sighted. House elves see much more than many think."
"But can they tell things?" Harry asked. "Do they need their master's permission?"
"Usually," Dumbledore said. "But not if their master is dead."
Harry frowned. "So this house elf, his master died?"
"Her master," Dumbledore corrected. "The house elf's name was Hokey. First, see the memory, then I will tell you what happened to her and to her mistress, a very rich old witch named Hepzibah Smith."
Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, then bent over the pensive. He felt himself falling into the memory, then with a bump he was in the most overcrowded parlour he had ever seen.
In the centre of the room, a fat old lady, with an immense red wig and far too much makeup, dabbed more rouge on her cheeks while a tiny and ancient house elf laced her swollen feet into satin shoes. "Hurry up, Hokey!" the woman shouted. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"
The house elf tied faster, then straightened up. Hepzibah Smith looked at herself in the mirror, side to side.
"How do I look?"
"Lovely, madam!" the elf responded as the doorbell rang. The woman snapped to attention, her eyes lighting up with glee as she urged the house elf to answer the door.
Looking at the heavily made-up woman, watching the entranceway with a simpering sort of happiness, Harry suddenly felt old. He didn't want to watch this memory, didn't want to know what happened to Hepzibah Smith in her pink silk dress.
About a minute later, the house elf came back into the room, leading a tall young man. A thrill went through Harry. It was Tom Riddle, looking almost the same as he had in the Chamber of Secrets. This Tom was a bit taller, his hair a touch longer. His cheeks were hollow, and it made him look even more handsome in a cold way.
Harry clenched his fists and made himself stand still. It was just a memory, and there was nothing Harry could do. Voldemort stepped through the crowded room as if he'd been there before, and stopped in front of Hepzibah, taking her fat hand in his and brushing his lips to her skin.
"I brought you flowers," Voldemort said quietly, much to Hepzibah's delight. She admonished him playfully as she put the flowers into a waiting vase. Voldemort sat down while Hepzibah offered him cakes, asking after his health with a not-quite motherly concern.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" Hepzibah asked, batting her eyelashes at Voldemort.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," Voldemort said. "Five hundred Galleons; he feels it is a more than fair--"
"No, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" Hepzibah said, pouting.
Voldemort blinked slowly, almost bored. "I am ordered here because of them," he said quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to enquire--"
"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" Hepzibah interrupted. "I've got something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom?" She kept talking, not noticing how Voldemort sat up a little bit straighter, a look of impatient waiting on his face. The next second, the expression was gone.
Hepzibah sent Hokey to fetch what she called her "finest treasure," then amended that to include another object as well. Harry waited as the elf dashed from the room, then returned carrying two small boxes on her head.
The witch took the boxes from the elf and laid them on her lap, and prepared to open the top case. "Now," she said, "I think you'll like this, Tom... oh, if my family knew I was showing this to you! They can't wait to get their hands on this!"
She lifted the lid. Harry leaned over a table to get a good look into the case, and saw a small golden cup with two delicately carved handles.
"I wonder if whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!"
Voldemort reached a pale hand forward and lifted the cup by one of the handles, his eyes gleaming red for a moment. Harry knew by his expression of greed and curious triumph that Voldemort wanted this cup.
"A badger," Voldemort murmured with barely hidden satisfaction as he looked the cup over. "Then this was...?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah pinched Voldemort's cheek, startling Harry. He half-expected Voldemort to hex her, but the man just sat there, as if Hepzibah was a buzzing fly that had no importance. The witch blathered on happily about the cup, taking it back from him after a minute. She was so intent on putting the delicate object away carefully that she didn't see the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face.
The house elf took away the first box, and Hepzibah adjusted the other case on her lap. "I think you'll like this even more, Tom," Hepzibah said in a stage whisper. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see... of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back from when I'm gone."
She slid back the clasp on the box, and lifted the lid. On the blood-red velvet inside the box lay a heavy golden locket.
Harry swore out loud. It was Slytherin's locket, the Horcrux that Dumbledore already had. This must be why the headmaster was so certain the cup was a Horcrux too! If Voldemort had taken the locket, it would be just as easy to take the cup, too!
Voldemort plucked the locket off the cushion without asking permission, and held it up to the light. "Slytherin's mark," he said quietly.
"That's right!" Hepzibah said. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value--"
Voldemort's eyes glowed red again, his fingers going white as he clutched hard at the chain at Hepzibah's words.
She prattled on. "I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are. Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, thought I just keep it nice and safe." She reached to take the locket back from Voldemort, but for a moment it looked as if he wasn't going to let it go. Finally, the chain slid through his fingers, back to the red cushion.
Harry had seen enough. He pulled out of the memory, deeply uneasy. "Voldemort had the locket, he must have taken the cup at the same time," he said to Dumbledore. "Did he steal them?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "Two days after his visit, Hepzibah Smith was poisoned. It seems that Hokey added something to her mistress's hot chocolate that was not sugar, but a rare and very deadly poison. The Ministry's view was that the house elf was old and had been confused--"
"And no one looked closer?" Harry demanded. "But the cup! The locket!"
"Hepzibah's heirs did not discover the missing artifacts until they were cataloging her belongings, after the funeral. By then, the charming and well-liked shop assistant from Borgin and Burkes had resigned and vanished without a trace. No one saw Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he was to become, for a very long time," Dumbledore said. He placed the pensive back into the cupboard.
Harry stared down at the empty tabletop. He wanted to ask why Voldemort had killed the woman when he didn't need to: Just a quick memory modification, or maybe making some fake replacements so she wouldn't have missed them.
He was unable to shake the memory of the look on Hepzibah's face, of complete adoration. She was old and she was foolish. Voldemort didn't have to kill her, she wasn't a threat. But then, that was what Voldemort did. Kill people just because he could, people like Hepzibah Smith who weren't valuable to him.
Harry took a deep breath and made himself move on. "So Voldemort killed Hepzibah Smith and stole the cup and the locket to make the Horcruxes," he said. "That makes four. We've got the locket, but do you know where the cup is?"
"Not at this time, but since I found out about the Horcruxes, I have been searching for it," Dumbledore said. "I have several promising leads, but I have had to be careful about my search. If it is truly lost to Voldemort, as I suspect it is, we cannot risk him finding it before we do."
Harry gripped the side of the table. "What about the other three?"
"I do not know," Dumbledore said heavily. "I am searching. We must find them before Voldemort does, and destroy them."
Harry glanced up. He hated seeing Dumbledore this serious. It meant things were bad, and probably only going to get worse. "Let's go destroy the locket, then."
Dumbledore nodded. "Before we go, I will tell you, Harry, that I do not know what sort of protection exists on the locket. The diary Horcrux was made when Voldemort was sixteen, and the ring when he was seventeen. The locket did not fall into his hands until some years later. I cannot be certain that Voldemort did not add layers of protection, traps of some sort, to prevent its destruction. It might be dangerous."
"Then it's dangerous," Harry said. "We have to do this. Voldemort has to be stopped!"
"Agreed," Dumbledore said. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then reached into the candy dish on his desk, and held out his hand with a small, rough stone. "Come and take a hold on this rock," he said.
"What is it?" Harry asked, coming over. He touched the rock with his thumb and forefinger, leaving it to sit on Dumbledore's palm.
"It is a timed portkey," Dumbledore said. "It will take us to where I have hidden the Horcruxes. It is charmed to transport every half-hour when it is touching human skin, or cloth"
"What happens if it's not touching skin?" Harry asked. "Does it go off?"
"No. So it will not leave us stranded."
Harry supposed Dumbledore meant that to be encouraging, but nevertheless, a chill went down his spine at the words.
~*~
The portkey deposited them in a huge, dim cavern. Harry let go of the stone to gawk at the surroundings. The place was even bigger than the Chamber of Secrets, with only a few magically burning torches hanging on the walls. Looking up, he couldn't see the ceiling.
"So," Harry said, his voice made tiny and insignificant by the empty space. "We're under Hogwarts?"
"Why do you say that?" Dumbledore asked. When Harry turned around, he saw Dumbledore place the portkey stone in a pile of similarly shaped rocks.
"Because you said before that you needed to keep the Horcruxes safe, and you were going to keep them at the school," Harry said with a frown. "Are you sure that's wise, sir?"
Dumbledore straightened up. "It would be most unfortunate if the portkey were to go off in my pocket, leaving you here," he said with a barmy smile. He picked his way carefully across the rocky floor. Harry waited for a moment, then gave up on getting an answer to his first question. They had to be under Hogwarts, or else Dumbledore would have denied it.
As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Harry saw that the smooth rock walls gave way to fitted stone blocks in one corner of the room. Are we at the base of the castle? Harry wondered. Maybe even under the lake?
Dumbledore led Harry over the rocky floor, around a small still pool, to a small indentation in the rock. On the make-shift shelf lay three cloth-wrapped bundles.
"Stand back, Harry," Dumbledore cautioned as he pulled out his wand and began to whisper incantations at the rock. He spoke too quietly for Harry to make out the words, but the air in front of the shelf shimmered with blue and purple lights for a moment before vanishing.
Dumbledore picked up one of the bundles and carried it over to a sheared stalagmite. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal Slytherin's locket.
"Who was the woman who sold that to Burgin and Burkes?" Harry asked, remembering the look of anger on Voldemort's face when Hepzibah Smith had spoken of the woman who may have stolen it.
Dumbledore held the locket up, letting it spin around on its chain. "That was Merope Gaunt Riddle," he said. "Tom Riddle's mother. She sold it for a small amount before her son was born. She died shortly after his birth."
"Is that why he grew up in a muggle orphanage?" Harry couldn't take his eyes off the slowly revolving locket.
"Yes." Dumbledore laid the locket on the top of the stalagmite. "When I first met Tom Riddle, to deliver his Hogwarts letter to him, he did not know anything about the wizarding world, but he knew magic. He knew he was different."
All this talk of an eleven-year-old Voldemort was too weird. "What was he like, back then?" Harry asked. "Was he like-- like anyone else you know?" He had almost asked if Voldemort had been like him. Harry had always known he was different from the Dursleys, and had wanted to desperately to believe in magic as a child, like snakes talking to him in zoos and suddenly being up on top of the school kitchens.
"He was not like you, Harry, in any way," Dumbledore said quietly, as if he was reading Harry's mind. "There was no kindness in Tom Riddle. He was cruel and distant. He did not make friends; he used people, even at such a young age. You could not be like him, even if you tried."
"But I've killed people," Harry said, eyes burning but unable to stop talking. The very air seemed to be listening to him. "Quirrell, and Bellatrix Lestrange."
"While they were trying to kill you," Dumbledore reminded him. "Voldemort kills people without provocation."
"Like Cedric," Harry muttered. "Wormtail killed him, but only because Voldemort said so. He treated Cedric like a weed, or something that you'd just pull out of the ground because it was inconvenient."
Harry felt Dumbledore's hand settle on his shoulder. Taking deep breaths, Harry made himself calm down. After a minute, Harry stepped away and gave Dumbledore a nod.
"Ready when you are, sir."
Dumbledore nodded back. "On this one, Harry, I will show you what I am going to do. I will use the spell I created to destroy the Horcrux that was in the ring, but there are modifications that must be made. It is a matter of feeling the magic and responding to it."
"Why are you going to show me?" Harry asked.
"So if you come across another of the Horcruxes, you can destroy it," Dumbledore said calmly.
Harry stared. "There's no way I can do that!" he exclaimed. "You made the spell, you have to cast it! How can I know how to deal with the magic if it's changing?"
"You must," Dumbledore said, his voice becoming more powerful. Unconsciously, Harry straightened up. "If something happens to me, then you must carry on, to find the Horcruxes and destroy them, stop Voldemort--"
"No!" Harry shouted, panic growing in his chest. "I can't do that! You have to do that! You're the most powerful wizard we have, you stopped Grindelwald and you can stop Voldemort!"
Dumbledore waited until Harry was finished. "Harry, this is the way it must be," he said softly.
Harry shook his head, trying to shake loose Dumbledore's words. "No, it's not!"
"Even if nothing happens to me, then someone else needs to be able to destroy the Horcruxes," Dumbledore continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "We cannot afford to presume that it is safe for this knowledge to remain in only one person."
Dumbledore was right, Harry knew, and even as he thought those words, he felt like he was betraying Dumbledore in some way. "All right," Harry choked out. "I'll try and learn it."
"Thank you, Harry."
Don't thank me, Harry thought bitterly as he stood beside Dumbledore. Breathing deeply, Harry made himself pay close attention as Dumbledore started to explain the spell in intricate detail.
The explanation took time, but every word burned into Harry's brain. Finally, Dumbledore told Harry to stand back.
"I need to cast the spell," Dumbledore said. "If you are next to me, I may not be able to respond to the nuances of the magic."
"How far away should I be?" Harry asked, gripping the end of his wand in a futile attempt to reassure himself.
"Just over there." Dumbledore waited as Harry walked about ten feet away. In the dim flickering light from the torches, Dumbledore looked older and more tired than usual, and Harry shivered again. "I will begin now."
Dumbledore raised his wand, and began the intricate incantation. Magic pulsed in the air like a hot wind, blowing Dumbledore's robes and hair back. Any hint of the barmy old headmaster was gone. The most powerful wizard Harry had ever seen was molding the magic to his will, sculpting it in the air and pushing it back at the locket.
The locket began to glow red hot as the magic swirled around it. Dumbledore's voice raised above the whirl of the burning wind, pushing harder on the Horcrux.
The magic had almost reached the locket, when suddenly something twisted and magic exploded off the locket. Harry ducked instantly, but the main force of the explosion hit Dumbledore full in the chest, throwing him backwards into the air. He landed on the rocky floor like a rag doll.
"No!" Harry screamed, scrambling up and dashing over to Dumbledore's side. He rolled the unconscious man onto his back, feeling desperately on his neck for a pulse. A tiny beat against his fingers, and a shallow breath, told Harry that Dumbledore wasn't dead, not yet.
Harry drew his hand back, and nearly gagged as he finally saw the gaping wound in Dumbledore's side, burned around the edges, with the smell of blood and charred flesh.
"Sir, can you hear me?" Harry demanded, pulling the cloth of Dumbledore's robe away from the wound. Blood ran out of the wound, coating Harry's hands. "Hold on, I'll get you out of here!"
Harry pulled off his robe and pushed the fabric against Dumbledore's chest. The man was so still, so pale, so much like a corpse already...
NO! Harry used his wand to conjure some ropes to hold the robe against the wound, to slow the bleeding. He's not dead! We need him too much for him to be dead!
"Sir, you have to listen to me," Harry pleaded as he felt again for a pulse. "The wound's not over your heart, but it's close, you have to concentrate and stay with me, I'll get you out of here and Madam Pomfrey will fix you up as good as new in no time, I promise!"
Dumbledore's heartbeat and breathing were shallow and fading. Harry couldn't think. He couldn't apparate out, he didn't know how. He didn't know if there was a way out of the room on foot, and that would take too long.
Harry jumped up as something finally occurred to him. "I'll be right back, I promise, just hold on!" He bolted past the stalagmite and the innocent-looking locket, stumbling over the dark rocks until he arrived at the pile of rocks where Dumbledore had left the portkey.
How could anyone find it? Harry pawed through the rocks, all looking identical in the half-light. How could anyone except to find the portkey to get them out of there?
Harry screamed, hitting the rocks with his fists. He had to do something, or else Dumbledore was going to die and it was going to be all his fault, there was nothing he could do to save him, no magic he could do--
With a gasp, Harry realized what he could do. He changed into his Animagus wolf form and dropped his nose to the pile of rocks. He could smell his blood on some of the rocks, but he ignored that, drawn instead to the smell of human hands, Dumbledore's hands, Dumbledore's office, of tea and old books and sugar.
Picking up the rock in his mouth, Harry dashed back toward Dumbledore, his paws surefooted on the stone floor. His human panic was gone, and the animal fear was easier to deal with. It was purer and had a simple, single solution -- save Dumbledore.
Back at Dumbledore's side, Harry spat out the portkey rock and changed back to his human form. "Sir, I've got the portkey," he said in a hurry, making sure Dumbledore was still breathing. "I'm not sure when it'll go off, but it'll be soon and it'll get us out of there soon and you'll get better, I promise."
"Of... course..." came the rasping reply. Harry looked up, startled, as Dumbledore opened his eyes and tried to draw a deeper breath.
"Hold on, you're hurt," Harry said, not flinching from the pain on Dumbledore's face. "But you're going to be okay, I promise."
"I know... you will..." Dumbledore rasped. He coughed, closing his eyes as blood ran out of the side of his mouth.
"Don't talk," Harry said quickly. He grabbed the portkey again, clenching his palm around the sharp edges. "Once this goes off..." His voice fell silent. He didn't know when it was going to activate, what if he wasn't touching Dumbledore? He could put the rock in Dumbledore's pocket, but then that might leave him down here.
Grabbing Dumbledore's hand and pressing the rock between their palms, Harry conjured ropes to bind their hands together. "See?" he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll both get out of here soon, I promise."
Dumbledore didn't respond. His hand went slack against Harry's, and his breathing grew too quiet.
"No!" Harry shouted. "You can't die! We need you, everyone needs you!" His eyes blurred, then hot tears slid down his cheeks. "I can't do this alone!"
The world was starting to go grey. Harry made himself breathe deeply, ignoring the blood and burnt meat smell, until things were more solid. When was the portkey going to go off?
Needing something to do, Harry raised his wand with his free hand and shouted into the darkness, "Accio Dumbledore's wand!"
The thin stick flew at Harry and he caught it, curling his hand around both wands.
The next moment, the portkey grabbed at him and pulled him bodily out of the cave. Something wooden crunched under him as he landed in Dumbledore's office, but he didn't care. All that mattered was how Dumbledore's body had fallen like Cedric's, pulled back by the portkey, no movement at all.
"Sir? SIR?" Harry shouted. Dumbledore wasn't breathing.
He looked up at the empty room. The portraits of the past headmasters craned to see what was going on, horrified.
"Get help!" Harry shouted at the portraits, not letting go of Dumbledore's hand. "Get Madam Pomfrey, get McGonagall, get someone!"
He bent over Dumbledore, not wanting to think about how slack the man's face was, how the lines of pain were smoothing out. "It's going to be okay, we're back, someone's going to get help, please don't die, we're back, you have to be okay, please, please..."
Okay, this is a pivotal chapter. Eyes peeled.
Inevitable Sixty-Five: The Crux of the Matter
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: This chapter contains more stuff from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I'm rewriting one scene to fit my purposes, so the dialogue from the Pensive scene comes directly from chapter 20 of HBP, but I'm taking a different angle on it. While I am using material from that book, this story is AU from HBP, as the timelines diverged after the end of OotP. Any questions? 5,973 words.
Previous parts here. This chapter takes place the day after chapter 64. The Ron and Luna outtake from April 23 takes place during this chapter.
Harry munched on his bacon, tired. His Sunday stretched out ahead of him, annoyingly full. He had piles of homework due in the coming week, which had been pushed to the side by his trip to Edinburgh the previous day. Not that he regretted calling Anita on the telephone. He had to hear her voice, to know she was going to be okay.
She'll be just fine, Harry thought, trying to ignore the smidgen of doubt in the back of his head. She and Nathaniel and Damian will all be fine. They have to be. I'll see them at Christmas and we can talk about it then.
Harry looked across the table at Hermione, bent over the Daily Prophet. Her hair was threatening to fall in the butter, but Harry didn't say anything. She had a prefects' meeting that morning, so he couldn't ask her for any homework help. Maybe he and Ron could see if anyone else in their year wanted to work together.
Ron shambled up to the table, still looking half asleep. He slumped at the table next to Hermione, automatically reaching for food. Harry watched idly as Ron grabbed the remaining sausages from under Neville's fork. Neville glared at Ron, but reached down the table for another sausage platter.
Hermione sighed and put down her paper. "How are you?" she asked.
Ron nodded, his mouth already full. Harry had to hide a laugh behind his teacup.
"Hrm." Hermione picked up her paper again. Ron and Neville both went back to their breakfasts, but Harry looked around the Hall. It wasn't early, and the place was pretty full. Some of the Aurors were sitting at the head table with a smattering of the teachers. Dumbledore was absent, as were Snape and Hagrid, but a green-haired Tonks was sitting on the end of the table, talking to Professor Sprout.
Harry set down his cup and stared into the tea's amber depths. Normally he liked tea, but today he was restless. Maybe he wanted something else to drink. He remembered how much Anita liked coffee, and how he started to drink coffee on his own, that last week in Anita's house.
He didn't know if there was a specific spell to change tea to coffee, but it had to be pretty basic, right? Harry tapped the side of his cup with his wand as he thought hard. Maybe he could make up a spell. Tonks had made that spell to pack clothes into a trunk, just by saying "Pack". Maybe Harry could do the same thing, if he wanted it hard enough.
Sticking the end of his wand into the tea, Harry wished for coffee with all his might. "Coffee," he muttered, and twirled his wand.
Nothing happened.
"Damn."
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked over her paper.
Harry pulled his wand out of his cup and wiped the tip on his robe sleeve. "Trying to invent a spell."
"For what?" Neville asked.
"Change tea into coffee."
Hermione put the paper down and held out her hand for Harry's cup. He gave it to her, and watched as she waved her wand over the liquid in an intricate fashion and spoke an unfamiliar word. A thick coffee smell wafted up, reaching Harry even before Hermione handed back the cup.
"Oh, thank you," Harry said with feeling, breathing in the steam off the cup, then taking a tiny sip. It tasted heavenly and it made him so homesick that for a second he wanted to cry. He swallowed those feelings down with the coffee, and gave Hermione a brilliant smile. "Can you teach me that spell?"
"Did you just make that up?" Ron asked, resting his head on his hand. "She does that," he said to Harry. "Spells and stuff."
"No, I didn't make it up," Hermione said, looking a little bit flustered. "It was in one of your mum's magical cookbooks, I saw it over the summer."
"It's brilliant," Harry said, still smiling. "How about making up a spell to do my homework for me?"
Ron laughed at the expression on Hermione's face, while Harry pretended to cower. Hermione opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. "Oh, you two!" was all she said.
Neville was watching the scene with a tiny grin. He'd been hanging out with the three of them more in the last month, and Harry was glad. Neville was a good guy. He'd been talking to Ginny the previous night when Harry got back from his phone call trip, and had stuck around while Harry tried to regain his composure. Ginny and Neville had gotten into quite the argument about plant ingredient for potions, to which Harry had gratefully listened.
Of course, then Neville left, and Harry realized how close he was sitting to Ginny, his thigh touching hers on the couch, so close he could have kissed her...
They sat like that for a long time.
Harry took another sip of his coffee. He hadn't seen Ginny all morning. She had that prefects' meeting later on, so he probably wouldn't see her until the afternoon. That realization made his stomach twist unhappily.
She's probably busy, Harry thought. She's a prefect and she's got homework and all kinds of other friends.
A few late post owls began to flit into the hall. One landed in front of Harry and dropped a letter on his plate. The bird took off before Harry could even offer it a bit of toast.
Harry opened the letter and recognized Dumbledore's spidery handwriting on the parchment. Come to my office after breakfast. No need for your cloak. The letter was unsigned.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What's up?" Ron asked, his lazy tone belying the quick gleam in his eyes. Harry handed over the note. Ron read it a few times, then gave it to Hermione. "Dumbledore?" he asked quietly.
With a nod, Harry took the parchment back from Hermione. "Guess you're on your own for homework, Ron," Harry said.
"It's all right, me and Neville can work together," Ron said hopefully.
"Sorry, I've got a herbology project," Neville said. "I'll be in the greenhouses all day."
Harry slipped the note deep into his pocket. "I'll see you guys later," he said as he stood up.
"Tell us how it goes," Ron said. Harry gave a wave as he walked down the halls.
Up ahead, Harry saw Luna walking out of the Hall. He broke into a run to catch up with her. "Hey, where are you going?" he asked once he reached her side.
Luna gave him a sidelong glance. "It's a nice day, I was going to go for a walk."
"Sounds fun," Harry said, staring at her necklace. "Is that made of vines?"
Luna nodded, dancing back to avoid being run over by a herd of sturdy Hufflepuff boys. "I was out early this morning."
"It looks really neat," Harry said as they left the Great Hall. The wave of sound faded as they stopped in the Entrance Hall. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Luna said. She gave Harry a tiny smile. "Do you want to go for a walk?"
"I can't," Harry said. "I have to go see a professor."
Was he imagining the disappointed look in her eyes? "On a Sunday?" Luna asked.
"Yeah," Harry said, suddenly wishing he could blow off Dumbledore and go walk around with Luna. "Have fun, okay? Think of me when you're out there in the sun, with me in this stuffy castle."
"I will," Luna promised.
Harry supposed he had to get moving, but he couldn't make himself walk away. "Luna, about the other day..." She stared at him. "When you kissed me?"
She blinked, but didn't look away. "Yes?"
A thousand words were on the tip of his tongue, like how he thought she liked girls, or he wondered what she was thinking, or how the kiss had been so incredible and he wanted to know if she'd do it again, but he settled on saying, "It was nice."
Luna looked relieved. "It was," she said quietly.
Harry grinned widely, his heart beating hard in his chest. "I'll see you later," he promised. Then, before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed Luna on the cheek. She smelled like flowers, and Harry had to catch himself before he nuzzled her neck.
He pulled back, feeling his beast more than usual. Luna's smile faded when she saw his face. Somberly, she nodded. "I'll see you tonight," Luna said, and it sounded like a promise.
Harry fled before he did something stupid and impulsive.
Dumbledore's office was bright with sunshine. The headmaster greeted Harry, and directed him to the chair across from the desk.
"Your note didn't say anything about what you wanted," Harry said as he sat down.
"No, it did not," Dumbledore agreed. "It is a delicate matter."
"So why am I here?"
Dumbledore sighed, a tired sound. "Today, I will attempt to destroy one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
Harry stopped breathing for a moment. "I'm coming with you," he said after he got his voice back, sure that Dumbledore would tell him no.
Dumbledore smiled. "I was hoping you would say that, Harry."
"You were?" Harry blurted out.
"Indeed." Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. "I may have been able to destroy the Horcrux contained in the Gaunt ring, but you destroyed the diary, Harry. I suspect that the other objects will be much harder to destroy, and so I will need your help."
"What kind of help can I give?" Harry demanded. "And why would they be harder?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "We have three of the Horcruxes," he said.
"The diary and the ring, which are destroyed, and that locket, yeah," Harry interrupted. "You said you thought there were seven? So where are the other four?"
"I believe I know where one other is," Dumbledore said. "Two of the Horcruxes resided in objects belonging to Salazar Slytherin, the ring and the locket. Years ago, it came to my attention that soon after he left Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, was seeking out objects famed to belong to the other founders of Hogwarts."
"Like what?" Harry said, almost bouncing off his seat. "The school was founded over a thousand years ago, there can't be many things left!"
"Very true." Dumbledore walked over to where Godric Gryffindor's sword hung on the wall. "This," he said, picking up the sword, "Is all that is left from Gryffindor. I have tested it in several ways. It is not a Horcrux."
"So that leaves us with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." Harry stood up and began to walk around the room, able to think better when he was on his feet. "Are there any of their things here at the school? No, wait," he contradicted himself immediately. "Would Voldemort have been able to get into the school to make one, kill someone for it, then sneak out? He wouldn't hide his Horcruxes here, how would he get them again?"
"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "I do have information on one object belonging to Helga Hufflepuff. A cup."
Harry spun around. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Are you sure it's hers? Did Voldemort use it as a Horcrux?"
"I believe he did," Dumbledore said. "And I can show you why."
"How?" Harry asked quickly.
Dumbledore laid the sword on his desk and walked to a cupboard in the wall. He pulled back the doors to reveal his pensive, which he picked up and placed on a small table. "A memory," Dumbledore murmured. "Taken from a house elf, shortly after Tom Riddle vanished. Before Voldemort came into being."
"You can take a memory from a house elf?" Harry asked, standing across the table from Dumbledore. "I never thought of that."
"Few do," Dumbledore said. "There are not many wizards who would consider a house elf to be a viable witness, which, in my experience, is short-sighted. House elves see much more than many think."
"But can they tell things?" Harry asked. "Do they need their master's permission?"
"Usually," Dumbledore said. "But not if their master is dead."
Harry frowned. "So this house elf, his master died?"
"Her master," Dumbledore corrected. "The house elf's name was Hokey. First, see the memory, then I will tell you what happened to her and to her mistress, a very rich old witch named Hepzibah Smith."
Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, then bent over the pensive. He felt himself falling into the memory, then with a bump he was in the most overcrowded parlour he had ever seen.
In the centre of the room, a fat old lady, with an immense red wig and far too much makeup, dabbed more rouge on her cheeks while a tiny and ancient house elf laced her swollen feet into satin shoes. "Hurry up, Hokey!" the woman shouted. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"
The house elf tied faster, then straightened up. Hepzibah Smith looked at herself in the mirror, side to side.
"How do I look?"
"Lovely, madam!" the elf responded as the doorbell rang. The woman snapped to attention, her eyes lighting up with glee as she urged the house elf to answer the door.
Looking at the heavily made-up woman, watching the entranceway with a simpering sort of happiness, Harry suddenly felt old. He didn't want to watch this memory, didn't want to know what happened to Hepzibah Smith in her pink silk dress.
About a minute later, the house elf came back into the room, leading a tall young man. A thrill went through Harry. It was Tom Riddle, looking almost the same as he had in the Chamber of Secrets. This Tom was a bit taller, his hair a touch longer. His cheeks were hollow, and it made him look even more handsome in a cold way.
Harry clenched his fists and made himself stand still. It was just a memory, and there was nothing Harry could do. Voldemort stepped through the crowded room as if he'd been there before, and stopped in front of Hepzibah, taking her fat hand in his and brushing his lips to her skin.
"I brought you flowers," Voldemort said quietly, much to Hepzibah's delight. She admonished him playfully as she put the flowers into a waiting vase. Voldemort sat down while Hepzibah offered him cakes, asking after his health with a not-quite motherly concern.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" Hepzibah asked, batting her eyelashes at Voldemort.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," Voldemort said. "Five hundred Galleons; he feels it is a more than fair--"
"No, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" Hepzibah said, pouting.
Voldemort blinked slowly, almost bored. "I am ordered here because of them," he said quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to enquire--"
"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" Hepzibah interrupted. "I've got something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom?" She kept talking, not noticing how Voldemort sat up a little bit straighter, a look of impatient waiting on his face. The next second, the expression was gone.
Hepzibah sent Hokey to fetch what she called her "finest treasure," then amended that to include another object as well. Harry waited as the elf dashed from the room, then returned carrying two small boxes on her head.
The witch took the boxes from the elf and laid them on her lap, and prepared to open the top case. "Now," she said, "I think you'll like this, Tom... oh, if my family knew I was showing this to you! They can't wait to get their hands on this!"
She lifted the lid. Harry leaned over a table to get a good look into the case, and saw a small golden cup with two delicately carved handles.
"I wonder if whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!"
Voldemort reached a pale hand forward and lifted the cup by one of the handles, his eyes gleaming red for a moment. Harry knew by his expression of greed and curious triumph that Voldemort wanted this cup.
"A badger," Voldemort murmured with barely hidden satisfaction as he looked the cup over. "Then this was...?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah pinched Voldemort's cheek, startling Harry. He half-expected Voldemort to hex her, but the man just sat there, as if Hepzibah was a buzzing fly that had no importance. The witch blathered on happily about the cup, taking it back from him after a minute. She was so intent on putting the delicate object away carefully that she didn't see the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face.
The house elf took away the first box, and Hepzibah adjusted the other case on her lap. "I think you'll like this even more, Tom," Hepzibah said in a stage whisper. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see... of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back from when I'm gone."
She slid back the clasp on the box, and lifted the lid. On the blood-red velvet inside the box lay a heavy golden locket.
Harry swore out loud. It was Slytherin's locket, the Horcrux that Dumbledore already had. This must be why the headmaster was so certain the cup was a Horcrux too! If Voldemort had taken the locket, it would be just as easy to take the cup, too!
Voldemort plucked the locket off the cushion without asking permission, and held it up to the light. "Slytherin's mark," he said quietly.
"That's right!" Hepzibah said. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value--"
Voldemort's eyes glowed red again, his fingers going white as he clutched hard at the chain at Hepzibah's words.
She prattled on. "I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are. Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, thought I just keep it nice and safe." She reached to take the locket back from Voldemort, but for a moment it looked as if he wasn't going to let it go. Finally, the chain slid through his fingers, back to the red cushion.
Harry had seen enough. He pulled out of the memory, deeply uneasy. "Voldemort had the locket, he must have taken the cup at the same time," he said to Dumbledore. "Did he steal them?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "Two days after his visit, Hepzibah Smith was poisoned. It seems that Hokey added something to her mistress's hot chocolate that was not sugar, but a rare and very deadly poison. The Ministry's view was that the house elf was old and had been confused--"
"And no one looked closer?" Harry demanded. "But the cup! The locket!"
"Hepzibah's heirs did not discover the missing artifacts until they were cataloging her belongings, after the funeral. By then, the charming and well-liked shop assistant from Borgin and Burkes had resigned and vanished without a trace. No one saw Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he was to become, for a very long time," Dumbledore said. He placed the pensive back into the cupboard.
Harry stared down at the empty tabletop. He wanted to ask why Voldemort had killed the woman when he didn't need to: Just a quick memory modification, or maybe making some fake replacements so she wouldn't have missed them.
He was unable to shake the memory of the look on Hepzibah's face, of complete adoration. She was old and she was foolish. Voldemort didn't have to kill her, she wasn't a threat. But then, that was what Voldemort did. Kill people just because he could, people like Hepzibah Smith who weren't valuable to him.
Harry took a deep breath and made himself move on. "So Voldemort killed Hepzibah Smith and stole the cup and the locket to make the Horcruxes," he said. "That makes four. We've got the locket, but do you know where the cup is?"
"Not at this time, but since I found out about the Horcruxes, I have been searching for it," Dumbledore said. "I have several promising leads, but I have had to be careful about my search. If it is truly lost to Voldemort, as I suspect it is, we cannot risk him finding it before we do."
Harry gripped the side of the table. "What about the other three?"
"I do not know," Dumbledore said heavily. "I am searching. We must find them before Voldemort does, and destroy them."
Harry glanced up. He hated seeing Dumbledore this serious. It meant things were bad, and probably only going to get worse. "Let's go destroy the locket, then."
Dumbledore nodded. "Before we go, I will tell you, Harry, that I do not know what sort of protection exists on the locket. The diary Horcrux was made when Voldemort was sixteen, and the ring when he was seventeen. The locket did not fall into his hands until some years later. I cannot be certain that Voldemort did not add layers of protection, traps of some sort, to prevent its destruction. It might be dangerous."
"Then it's dangerous," Harry said. "We have to do this. Voldemort has to be stopped!"
"Agreed," Dumbledore said. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then reached into the candy dish on his desk, and held out his hand with a small, rough stone. "Come and take a hold on this rock," he said.
"What is it?" Harry asked, coming over. He touched the rock with his thumb and forefinger, leaving it to sit on Dumbledore's palm.
"It is a timed portkey," Dumbledore said. "It will take us to where I have hidden the Horcruxes. It is charmed to transport every half-hour when it is touching human skin, or cloth"
"What happens if it's not touching skin?" Harry asked. "Does it go off?"
"No. So it will not leave us stranded."
Harry supposed Dumbledore meant that to be encouraging, but nevertheless, a chill went down his spine at the words.
The portkey deposited them in a huge, dim cavern. Harry let go of the stone to gawk at the surroundings. The place was even bigger than the Chamber of Secrets, with only a few magically burning torches hanging on the walls. Looking up, he couldn't see the ceiling.
"So," Harry said, his voice made tiny and insignificant by the empty space. "We're under Hogwarts?"
"Why do you say that?" Dumbledore asked. When Harry turned around, he saw Dumbledore place the portkey stone in a pile of similarly shaped rocks.
"Because you said before that you needed to keep the Horcruxes safe, and you were going to keep them at the school," Harry said with a frown. "Are you sure that's wise, sir?"
Dumbledore straightened up. "It would be most unfortunate if the portkey were to go off in my pocket, leaving you here," he said with a barmy smile. He picked his way carefully across the rocky floor. Harry waited for a moment, then gave up on getting an answer to his first question. They had to be under Hogwarts, or else Dumbledore would have denied it.
As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Harry saw that the smooth rock walls gave way to fitted stone blocks in one corner of the room. Are we at the base of the castle? Harry wondered. Maybe even under the lake?
Dumbledore led Harry over the rocky floor, around a small still pool, to a small indentation in the rock. On the make-shift shelf lay three cloth-wrapped bundles.
"Stand back, Harry," Dumbledore cautioned as he pulled out his wand and began to whisper incantations at the rock. He spoke too quietly for Harry to make out the words, but the air in front of the shelf shimmered with blue and purple lights for a moment before vanishing.
Dumbledore picked up one of the bundles and carried it over to a sheared stalagmite. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal Slytherin's locket.
"Who was the woman who sold that to Burgin and Burkes?" Harry asked, remembering the look of anger on Voldemort's face when Hepzibah Smith had spoken of the woman who may have stolen it.
Dumbledore held the locket up, letting it spin around on its chain. "That was Merope Gaunt Riddle," he said. "Tom Riddle's mother. She sold it for a small amount before her son was born. She died shortly after his birth."
"Is that why he grew up in a muggle orphanage?" Harry couldn't take his eyes off the slowly revolving locket.
"Yes." Dumbledore laid the locket on the top of the stalagmite. "When I first met Tom Riddle, to deliver his Hogwarts letter to him, he did not know anything about the wizarding world, but he knew magic. He knew he was different."
All this talk of an eleven-year-old Voldemort was too weird. "What was he like, back then?" Harry asked. "Was he like-- like anyone else you know?" He had almost asked if Voldemort had been like him. Harry had always known he was different from the Dursleys, and had wanted to desperately to believe in magic as a child, like snakes talking to him in zoos and suddenly being up on top of the school kitchens.
"He was not like you, Harry, in any way," Dumbledore said quietly, as if he was reading Harry's mind. "There was no kindness in Tom Riddle. He was cruel and distant. He did not make friends; he used people, even at such a young age. You could not be like him, even if you tried."
"But I've killed people," Harry said, eyes burning but unable to stop talking. The very air seemed to be listening to him. "Quirrell, and Bellatrix Lestrange."
"While they were trying to kill you," Dumbledore reminded him. "Voldemort kills people without provocation."
"Like Cedric," Harry muttered. "Wormtail killed him, but only because Voldemort said so. He treated Cedric like a weed, or something that you'd just pull out of the ground because it was inconvenient."
Harry felt Dumbledore's hand settle on his shoulder. Taking deep breaths, Harry made himself calm down. After a minute, Harry stepped away and gave Dumbledore a nod.
"Ready when you are, sir."
Dumbledore nodded back. "On this one, Harry, I will show you what I am going to do. I will use the spell I created to destroy the Horcrux that was in the ring, but there are modifications that must be made. It is a matter of feeling the magic and responding to it."
"Why are you going to show me?" Harry asked.
"So if you come across another of the Horcruxes, you can destroy it," Dumbledore said calmly.
Harry stared. "There's no way I can do that!" he exclaimed. "You made the spell, you have to cast it! How can I know how to deal with the magic if it's changing?"
"You must," Dumbledore said, his voice becoming more powerful. Unconsciously, Harry straightened up. "If something happens to me, then you must carry on, to find the Horcruxes and destroy them, stop Voldemort--"
"No!" Harry shouted, panic growing in his chest. "I can't do that! You have to do that! You're the most powerful wizard we have, you stopped Grindelwald and you can stop Voldemort!"
Dumbledore waited until Harry was finished. "Harry, this is the way it must be," he said softly.
Harry shook his head, trying to shake loose Dumbledore's words. "No, it's not!"
"Even if nothing happens to me, then someone else needs to be able to destroy the Horcruxes," Dumbledore continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "We cannot afford to presume that it is safe for this knowledge to remain in only one person."
Dumbledore was right, Harry knew, and even as he thought those words, he felt like he was betraying Dumbledore in some way. "All right," Harry choked out. "I'll try and learn it."
"Thank you, Harry."
Don't thank me, Harry thought bitterly as he stood beside Dumbledore. Breathing deeply, Harry made himself pay close attention as Dumbledore started to explain the spell in intricate detail.
The explanation took time, but every word burned into Harry's brain. Finally, Dumbledore told Harry to stand back.
"I need to cast the spell," Dumbledore said. "If you are next to me, I may not be able to respond to the nuances of the magic."
"How far away should I be?" Harry asked, gripping the end of his wand in a futile attempt to reassure himself.
"Just over there." Dumbledore waited as Harry walked about ten feet away. In the dim flickering light from the torches, Dumbledore looked older and more tired than usual, and Harry shivered again. "I will begin now."
Dumbledore raised his wand, and began the intricate incantation. Magic pulsed in the air like a hot wind, blowing Dumbledore's robes and hair back. Any hint of the barmy old headmaster was gone. The most powerful wizard Harry had ever seen was molding the magic to his will, sculpting it in the air and pushing it back at the locket.
The locket began to glow red hot as the magic swirled around it. Dumbledore's voice raised above the whirl of the burning wind, pushing harder on the Horcrux.
The magic had almost reached the locket, when suddenly something twisted and magic exploded off the locket. Harry ducked instantly, but the main force of the explosion hit Dumbledore full in the chest, throwing him backwards into the air. He landed on the rocky floor like a rag doll.
"No!" Harry screamed, scrambling up and dashing over to Dumbledore's side. He rolled the unconscious man onto his back, feeling desperately on his neck for a pulse. A tiny beat against his fingers, and a shallow breath, told Harry that Dumbledore wasn't dead, not yet.
Harry drew his hand back, and nearly gagged as he finally saw the gaping wound in Dumbledore's side, burned around the edges, with the smell of blood and charred flesh.
"Sir, can you hear me?" Harry demanded, pulling the cloth of Dumbledore's robe away from the wound. Blood ran out of the wound, coating Harry's hands. "Hold on, I'll get you out of here!"
Harry pulled off his robe and pushed the fabric against Dumbledore's chest. The man was so still, so pale, so much like a corpse already...
NO! Harry used his wand to conjure some ropes to hold the robe against the wound, to slow the bleeding. He's not dead! We need him too much for him to be dead!
"Sir, you have to listen to me," Harry pleaded as he felt again for a pulse. "The wound's not over your heart, but it's close, you have to concentrate and stay with me, I'll get you out of here and Madam Pomfrey will fix you up as good as new in no time, I promise!"
Dumbledore's heartbeat and breathing were shallow and fading. Harry couldn't think. He couldn't apparate out, he didn't know how. He didn't know if there was a way out of the room on foot, and that would take too long.
Harry jumped up as something finally occurred to him. "I'll be right back, I promise, just hold on!" He bolted past the stalagmite and the innocent-looking locket, stumbling over the dark rocks until he arrived at the pile of rocks where Dumbledore had left the portkey.
How could anyone find it? Harry pawed through the rocks, all looking identical in the half-light. How could anyone except to find the portkey to get them out of there?
Harry screamed, hitting the rocks with his fists. He had to do something, or else Dumbledore was going to die and it was going to be all his fault, there was nothing he could do to save him, no magic he could do--
With a gasp, Harry realized what he could do. He changed into his Animagus wolf form and dropped his nose to the pile of rocks. He could smell his blood on some of the rocks, but he ignored that, drawn instead to the smell of human hands, Dumbledore's hands, Dumbledore's office, of tea and old books and sugar.
Picking up the rock in his mouth, Harry dashed back toward Dumbledore, his paws surefooted on the stone floor. His human panic was gone, and the animal fear was easier to deal with. It was purer and had a simple, single solution -- save Dumbledore.
Back at Dumbledore's side, Harry spat out the portkey rock and changed back to his human form. "Sir, I've got the portkey," he said in a hurry, making sure Dumbledore was still breathing. "I'm not sure when it'll go off, but it'll be soon and it'll get us out of there soon and you'll get better, I promise."
"Of... course..." came the rasping reply. Harry looked up, startled, as Dumbledore opened his eyes and tried to draw a deeper breath.
"Hold on, you're hurt," Harry said, not flinching from the pain on Dumbledore's face. "But you're going to be okay, I promise."
"I know... you will..." Dumbledore rasped. He coughed, closing his eyes as blood ran out of the side of his mouth.
"Don't talk," Harry said quickly. He grabbed the portkey again, clenching his palm around the sharp edges. "Once this goes off..." His voice fell silent. He didn't know when it was going to activate, what if he wasn't touching Dumbledore? He could put the rock in Dumbledore's pocket, but then that might leave him down here.
Grabbing Dumbledore's hand and pressing the rock between their palms, Harry conjured ropes to bind their hands together. "See?" he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll both get out of here soon, I promise."
Dumbledore didn't respond. His hand went slack against Harry's, and his breathing grew too quiet.
"No!" Harry shouted. "You can't die! We need you, everyone needs you!" His eyes blurred, then hot tears slid down his cheeks. "I can't do this alone!"
The world was starting to go grey. Harry made himself breathe deeply, ignoring the blood and burnt meat smell, until things were more solid. When was the portkey going to go off?
Needing something to do, Harry raised his wand with his free hand and shouted into the darkness, "Accio Dumbledore's wand!"
The thin stick flew at Harry and he caught it, curling his hand around both wands.
The next moment, the portkey grabbed at him and pulled him bodily out of the cave. Something wooden crunched under him as he landed in Dumbledore's office, but he didn't care. All that mattered was how Dumbledore's body had fallen like Cedric's, pulled back by the portkey, no movement at all.
"Sir? SIR?" Harry shouted. Dumbledore wasn't breathing.
He looked up at the empty room. The portraits of the past headmasters craned to see what was going on, horrified.
"Get help!" Harry shouted at the portraits, not letting go of Dumbledore's hand. "Get Madam Pomfrey, get McGonagall, get someone!"
He bent over Dumbledore, not wanting to think about how slack the man's face was, how the lines of pain were smoothing out. "It's going to be okay, we're back, someone's going to get help, please don't die, we're back, you have to be okay, please, please..."
to be continued...
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Date: 2006-04-25 10:32 pm (UTC)I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you
Did I mention that I really really I love you? Cause I do, you make my day.