Chapter 23: Light
Grimmauld Place, April 5th 1997
My head is spinning, and I know there's still a lot to be discussed, a lot to be revealed, but the only thing I can now focus on, is him. The way his breath comes out in quiet puffs, the way his lips part every few seconds, following my movements. And even though the kisses themselves are soft and innocent, both of us are panting slightly, as if we're starved for more.
Then there's a rumbling sound.
I become still and pull back slightly, frowning at him. "Was that – "
Potter bites back a grin and gives me a bashful look. "Might've skipped dinner…" He says, a little hoarsely, and doesn't move his hand away from the back of my head.
I huff out a laugh, trying to swallow down the pang of disappointment. Of course there's something interrupting us.
"Come on, let's get you something to eat," I say after a short moment and stand up from the bed.
My brother's bed. I don't even want to imagine what he'd think about this. Nothing joyful I presume.
Potter follows my lead and then we're on our way downstairs, both silent, and sharing subtle glances every now and then. I hope there's still Molly's stew left so we don't actually have to start preparing anything as Kreacher is busy carrying out Potter's orders.
Which reminds me…
"When is my elf going to be released from its duty?" I ask as we enter the kitchen.
Potter gives me an unsure look. "Do you need Kreacher to be here? I'm…I'm sorry I didn't even ask before I gave Kreacher its task…I mean…I-I didn't realise it would take all of its time, and you wouldn't have anyone here – "
"It's fine, Potter," I say tersely as I flick my wand to summon the leftovers from the dinner Molly had brought to the meeting, fixing Potter a serving at the table before moving towards the pantry in search for drinks.
There's no alcohol, which would've been a godsend, to calm my nerves that seem to always be on overdrive whenever I'm in Potter's company. There's only Butterbeer and Pumpkin juice, so I snatch a couple of Butterbeers and walk back to the table, handing Potter the other before sitting opposite to him and opening my bottle.
Potter starts to eat in silence.
"I'm sorry…" He says quietly after a short moment. "…But if it is okay for you, I'd be grateful to have Kreacher helping me for a bit longer…only if you're okay with it…?" He rambles, his voice careful.
I give Potter a long look. "I'll live." I say in a plain manner and take a sip of my drink. Potter gives me a nod.
Another silence.
I stare at the table as my thoughts drift back to our discussion in Sirius's room. The discussion about relationships.
"What is it?" Potter asks, and as my eyes move back to meet his, I notice the small furrow between his brow, the uncertain look in his eyes.
I clear my throat. "You do realise we cannot actually tell anyone about…what has happened between us?" I ask slowly, eyeing his expression warily.
Maybe it would be different if the Dark Lord was finished. And maybe if there wasn't a war going on.
Potter inclines his head. "I know," he says quickly, and then cringes slightly. "Although, I might've told Hermione…" He says with an apologetic smile.
I lift my brows in surprise. "Oh? What did she say?" I ask, feeling intrigued.
Potters shrugs. "She told me to come here. To meet you…" He says, his cheeks warming as he eats a couple of mouthfuls of beef stew.
Interesting…
I stay silent and then he scratches his neck and looks slightly uncomfortable under my stare. "She's known for a while now, actually…I reckon she's suspected it long before I told her anything…" He mutters.
I give him a noncommittal sound and take a sip from my drink. "Nymphadora knows," I say, watching his reaction carefully.
Potter splutters.
I arch a brow at him. "She did interrupt us in January, and she's proven to be very perceptive," I say pointedly, my jaw tightening as her words fill my mind again.
Potter's eyes move over my face, examining me. "What did she say?" He asks quietly.
Even though I was expecting him to inquire about my cousin's thoughts regarding…us, I suddenly find myself hesitating. Should I tell him what she said to me and what truly has been bothering me since December, or not?
What Potter said to me upstairs – it might indicate that my cousin is in fact wrong, and that Potter knows exactly what he wants. Or…it means that he is making decisions and actions his unconscious mind has determined for reasons he doesn't understand. Reasons that have everything to do with saving my brother.
I take another sip from the bottle before I fix him a scrutinising look, deciding to come clean. "She thinks that I remind you of Sirius, that you might not know what you want," I say mutedly.
Potter scoffs and gapes at me. "That's not how it is!" He says promptly, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he continues, "I mean, of course you remind me about him, how could you not? …But…whatever this thing is, between us," he gestures with his hand, "It started way before the Ministry," he says in a determined manner.
"And…I would want to…you know…even if he was here…" He adds, his cheeks colouring as he stumbles in his words before averting his eyes to the table.
I suppress a smile. "You'd want to snog me even if my brother was here?" I ask simply, feeling slightly amused as the redness in Potter's cheeks only darkens and he starts to stammer.
"I-I mean, not in front of him, or anything…" He says and rolls his eyes at me as he realises that I'm merely taking the mickey out of him.
Potter finishes his stew and then we start discussing the findings he has done in the Hogwarts library, regarding our own mission – the mission to get Sirius back. We move upstairs into the library where we go through Potter's notes and take a look at a couple of books which he has brought with him, as well as my observations from the past months.
"Have you seen him more than that one time?" Potter asks after we've finished and merely lounge on different ends of the sofa.
I shake my head slightly. "No. I haven't."
Potter hums and watches me carefully. "Have you tried? Seeing him?"
I clench my jaw as I feel a sting of resentment. If only he knew how much I've tried. How fucking desperate I've been.
Supposedly, Potter notices my hardening features as he hastily continues, "I'm only asking because the last time you said…you said that you'd need to drink…and I don't think – "
"Occasionally," I interrupt him, and then let out a weary sigh. "Unfortunately, it seems that even that is not helping as it once did…" I say and rub my neck, feeling stiff for sitting in the same position for too long.
Potter frowns at me but remains quiet.
"It was February. The last time," I say resignedly, the images of my brother seeping into my mind. The desperateness in his voice, the desolation in his eyes. "He looked…weaker. Hopeless. And broken," I whisper, unable to look at Potter and meet his wide, empathy-filled green eyes that I know are staring straight at me.
"I told him that we will get him out, but…"
Potter clears his throat silently. "But what?" He asks tentatively.
I wish I had Firewhiskey now. Or anything that could numb these…feelings inside me. I empty my mind and turn my gaze to him, finally. "What if he'll give up before we even try to get him out?"
Potter's brow furrows, and he looks away, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.
"I have hope," he says quietly, staring at the empty fireplace facing the seating area. "You know, I've survived many things. Succeeded when it seemed impossible. I mean, I did duel Voldemort when I was fourteen and lived to tell about it," he adds and glances me with a dry smirk. "So I have to have hope. For Sirius," he says matter-of-factly, and fixes me a stubborn look.
I swallow hard, feeling too stunned by his words, too overwhelmed by them. Then I clear the tightness away from my throat and give him a wry smile. "It would have been something to see his face after you outsmarted the– him. For the tenth time…" I mutter, consciously not paying attention how Potter's brows lift in surprise at my words. Potter's eyes have always darkened somewhat, whenever I've called him that; the Dark Lord. And I don't really blame Potter, as only his Death Eaters do so.
But I'm not one of them anymore.
"He must have been disappointed," I continue, my mouth twitching.
Potter blinks at me before he snorts and shakes his head. "It was the fourth time. And I haven't outsmarted anyone. I've been lucky," he says offhandedly. "…And believe me, he was." He continues, a mix of amusement and darkness in his voice.
There's a short silence, and Potter yawns widely.
"Bed then?" I ask, feeling rather tired myself. It is nearing midnight already.
Potter chews his lower lip before he replies, with a thoughtful look, "Yeah."
As we reach the topmost floor, there's tension in the air. We stare at each other, and then glance towards the two doors in the landing. It hasn't been voiced, but both of us know that Potter will stay in my brother's room for the night. And even though I certainly wouldn't kick Potter off my bed if he'd decided to stay there, I am discreet enough not to ask him.
Potter actually might be thinking along the same lines, if the small blush on his cheeks is anything to go by. He hesitates only for a moment before taking a couple of steps towards me.
"Good night, then," He says quietly, his hand slowly reaching up to touch my waist, his impossibly green eyes wide and watching carefully my reaction.
I can already feel how dry my throat is, and how uncomfortable my slacks suddenly are. And I swear to Salazar, I have never reacted like this with anyone else.
I lean closer to him and incline my head until our lips are nearly touching, but not quite. I can feel Potter's warm breath against my lips and for a moment, I wish I'd had the audacity to pull him with me to my room. To my bed. The mere thought of it makes me somewhat hard and it is all the more difficult to stay calm and respectful towards him.
I know I should stop this before I do something we both might regret later. For Merlin's sake, he is not even of-age yet…
But then he moves his hand up a couple of inches, his fingers pressing against my side more firmly, and I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him closer until our lips meet.
The kiss is instantly frenzied and excited, vibrating with energy. Potter's other hand finds its way to my hair, fingers tangling in it, pulling me towards him. And I try to stop the breathy sigh escaping from my lips, try to suppress the warm shiver that racks through me, but end up failing brilliantly. I can feel him smile briefly against my lips, and I want to tell him off for it, but my words get stuck into my throat and all my thoughts vanish as he slips his tongue into my mouth, the tip of his touching mine, slowly, tentatively.
Fuck.
Both of us groan to the intensity, too caught up in the taste of the other, and every time our lips meet and our tongues touch, it becomes rougher and more passionate. I move my hands down and take a hold of Potter's waist while his grip stays relentless; the fingers of his other hand pressing into my skin through my shirt, while his other hand is buried into my hair, angling my head for his mouth, his lips and tongue giving no mercy to mine. And fuck, how this determined, bold behaviour of his only makes me want him more…
Neither of us slow down, and instead hold on to the other more securely, as if the mere thought of breaking the kiss would somehow make it stop.
It isn't until Potter starts to walk backwards to one of the rooms – Sirius's room – while still holding me in a tight grip and kissing me desperately, when I quickly break the kiss.
"Circe. Potter," I pant as press my forehead against his. "We really fucking shouldn't."
"I know," He whispers, but makes no move to pull back, and instead drags me closer to meet his pelvis.
If there's still blood in my brains, it will surely travel down to my dick after I feel exactly how fucking aroused he is. "Fuck," I wheeze. "You're killing me, Potter," I groan and move back an inch or two, enough not to be pressed against him.
Potter lets out a nervous, breathless laugh and swallows hard. "I'm sorry…so…I guess…I guess this is good night, then?" He says quietly.
I try to clear my head while slowly pull away from him. "Yeah." I manage to say, my voice hoarse, which instantly brings a smile on Potter's lips.
"Stop grinning," I say as I narrow my eyes at him, still unable to sound nothing but wrecked.
"Good night. No wandering in the halls. And no leaving the house, or McGonagall will undoubtedly make my life very unpleasant," I grumble, while Potter lets out a quiet snort before he salutes me, turns his back on me and walks into my brother's room.
I swallow deeply, my eyes still on the closed door of my brother's room. It is likely that Potter is going to be the death of me…
I let out a small huff of irritation, mainly a reaction to my own impulsiveness, before I walk into my own room and close the door behind me, knowing that I have several things to accomplish before I can even think of retiring to my bed and allowing myself to give in and fuck my fist while thinking of nothing else but Potter's lips and tongue.
Grimmauld Place, April 6th 1997
I wake up with a cold sheen of sweat covering my body, my jaw aching, supposedly after gritting my teeth together in my sleep. The dream I had last night…it felt very real. Horrifyingly so.
It is still early, so I lie still in my bed for a moment, gathering my thoughts, trying to separate the actual memories apart from the vivid visions I dreamt about last night.
The cave. The poison. The Inferi.
A memory.
The Dark Lord standing over my curled-up body. No…he never tortured me. I always did what he asked, and never disappointed him. Until I did.
It has to be a dream.
Shocked, piercing green eyes, now lifeless, staring upwards. Bodies around me, unmoving. A cold laugh before the Dark Lord turns his deadly stare towards me and lifts his wand to end the final piece of those who had resisted him.
…A dream.
"Circe," I mutter and press the heels of my palms against my eyes, so hard that I begin to see stars instead of the images that are still lingering in the forefront of my mind.
Eventually, I get up from bed, wash myself and get dressed before I walk slowly downstairs, feeling worn-out. On the first landing, delicious scents of breakfast reach me, and I blink in confusion before I remember that Potter's here.
Making breakfast. Merlin forbid, I've become the worst host there probably is.
The door creaks slightly as I slip into the kitchen. My brows pull into a small frown as I see him. Potter's standing at the stove, wearing an interesting set of Quidditch themed pyjama, his posture relaxed as he turns strips of bacon, mushrooms and scrambled eggs in the frying pan. Without magic.
"Good morning," I mutter and walk closer to him, the frown deepening between my brows.
"Morning," Potter says, glancing at me with a bright smile before turning his focus back to the task in hand.
I watch his ministrations curiously. "Why didn't you summon Kreacher? Or me?"
Potter gives me a funny look. "Why would I have done that?"
"To use magic?" I say wryly, flicking my wand a couple of times to set the table and prepare tea for us.
"I thought I could use magic in here, since it's not a Muggle house, and I'm close to a Wizard or a Witch who is of-age?" He asks pointedly.
I've always assumed it would be so, but since I'm not actually alive, officially, I wouldn't push my luck. I tell him so, and Potter merely shrugs.
"Whichever it is, I decided not to. I like the Muggle way," he says and becomes slightly aloof. "…Do it at the Dursleys whenever I'm there…" He continues, more silently now, keeping his eyes at the stove.
I arch a brow at his back and retreat to sit at the table. "I'm sure you do," I reply expressionlessly, and wonder briefly what else the poor Muggles are making him do. From what I've heard from Sirius, they are not exactly what you'd call pleasant people.
"Oh, those came earlier," Potter says and points at the Daily Prophet and a small letter on top of it, both unopened. He gives me a scrutinising look as he brings the pan to the table and loads the contents of it into a platter. "Why is Dumbledore writing to you?" He asks, his voice nonchalant but his eyes betraying his curiosity.
I lift my brows at him, and Potter blushes slightly before he turns and steps towards the counter to drop the pan there. "Why are you reading my letters?" I ask blankly, watching with mild amusement as his ears turn red.
"I'm not!" He says quickly and walks back to sit at the table, opposite to me, giving me a sincere look. "I swear to Merlin, I'm not – "
"Okay, fine. You're not." I say and stare at him intently.
Potter chews the inside of his cheek as I flick my wand and pour us both some tea.
"Thanks. And, well, I just recognise his hand writing, is all," he says casually and begins to load his plate.
I give him a noncommittal sound, not wanting to discuss the topic further. Even though I know it has everything to do with Potter. If he truly is the one who has to be the end of the Dark Lord, then he should know. He should know what is hidden in this house. What needs to be destroyed. But I need to speak with Dumbledore before that.
I take a sip of my tea and reach out to pull both the letter and the paper closer, dumping the latter one on the table between us, and opening the letter instead.
Potter gives me a hesitant glance before he takes the Daily Prophet and starts rifling through it.
The letter from Dumbledore is short, as I already assumed it would be. Last night, after retiring to my room, I sent a letter to him, explaining that I have urgent matters to discuss with him, and that I have information regarding the unfortunate place I had visited nearly two years ago. His response is what I expected.
Dear Mr. Black,
Thank you for your letter. I would most certainly be interested to hear your thoughts and the information regarding the matter.
If it is not too much of an inconvenience for you, I hope you are able to join me in my study today, on Sunday, the 6th of April, at nine p.m.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
So…It seems that I'll be visiting Hogwarts today. As I glance up at Potter, I notice him watching me attentively, his bright green eyes filled with interest. The corners of my mouth lift up slightly as I flick my wand to vanish the letter, and a small frown appears between Potter's brows.
"What time are you expected to return?" I ask, moving his focus away from the letter.
"Hm?" Potter hums, looking puzzled before he realises what I've asked. "Oh! McGonagall said she'd be here before lunch. So…I reckon before noon…?" He says unsurely.
I nod and glance at the old timepiece on the wall; it is not yet half nine in the morning. "Is there something you wish to do? I suppose we did look over the material thoroughly enough yesterday, but we can view it again," I say, giving him a questioning look.
Potter mulls over my suggestion for a moment, before there's a mischievous smile curling his lips. "I have a better idea…"
I certainly hadn't predicted this to be Potter's 'better idea'. I hadn't even thought that he knew, before he outright suggested it, explaining how my brother had once shared the information with him.
So, for the better part of the last two to three hours, we've been situated in the drawing room seating area, where Potter has watched me silently, occasionally rifling through The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, and requesting me to perform simple charms wandlessly.
It is awfully strenuous, to perform magic without a wand, even if it is only an easy spell to be cast. So far, I've levitated books and small items, severed and mended pages of parchment, made Potter's feet dance, disarmed him, frozen him, and made him ticklish. And he's only eager to see more. And to learn how.
Unfortunately, my ability to perform wandless magic is only so extensive.
"I have some literature about wandless magic if you are interested," I say as we take a break and lean back in our respective armchairs. "You also need to be able to clear your mind for it."
As Potter's excited grin fades noticeably, I give him an amused look. "That a problem?"
Potter lets out an irritated huff. "That's putting it mildly…" He grumbles.
I bite back a grin. "So I've heard," I say and give him a teasing smirk.
Potter narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, okay, I'm bloody awful at it," He says eventually, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. "Although, I remain to be convinced that my teacher was rubbish…" He continues sourly.
Knowing how Sev feels about Potter, and how difficult he is to work with even if he isn't holding a grudge, I incline my head. "I might not use the exact wording, but I recognise your problem," I merely say, and Potter shakes his head as he lets out a huff of laughter.
We spend the rest of the morning in the seating area, entertained by unimportant chit-chat, until McGonagall arrives to escort Potter back to the castle.
As soon as the green flames of the drawing room fireplace disappear, I call out for Kreacher, summoning it.
There's a loud crack, and a sullen looking elf – my elf – appears at my feet. "Master Regulus summoned?" Kreacher grunts, looking as if it is torn between feeling grateful and morose.
I give the elf a small smile before I nod at it. "Yes. I need you to open the drawer in my bedside table."
Kreacher gapes at me for a good while, its large eyes widening in terror, while it becomes frozen in fear. I give the elf a stony look, and it understands I'm not to be questioned.
A second later, Kreacher snaps its long fingers and disapparates.
Hogwarts, April 6th 1997
I walk out from the Headmaster's office with McGonagall moving briskly in front of me. Dumbledore's nowhere in sight, yet again. Is he even in the castle?
As soon as we reach the Great Hall, I nod at my Head of House and head quickly towards Hermione and Ron, who are situated at the Gryffindor house table, a bit further from the handful of our housemates who have stayed in the school during Easter break.
"Harry!" Hermione says quietly, a bright smile on her face – a bit strained around the edges, and I can only assume she's had an argument with Ron.
"Hey, mate," Ron greets me, giving me a lopsided grin. "Guess who managed to Apparate?" He says, lifting his brows slightly.
"Really?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise. "That's great, Ron!" I quickly continue, grinning at my friend and patting him on the back as I sit down next to him.
Ron rolls his eyes good naturedly. "Always the tone of surprise…" He mutters, and then eyes me more carefully. "What is it?"
The anxiousness and resoluteness must be readable from my expression. After last night, after Regulus told me about the rumours, and after he told me about his brother…I just knew I needed to do something. And fast. I need that memory. I need to destroy Voldemort. So, before I left Grimmauld Place today, I decided that I'd do it today. Use the Felix, like Ron suggested some weeks ago.
"Okay," I say and glance around us. "I'm doing it. Tonight. Take the Felix," I whisper and watch my friends intently.
Hermione lets out a small gasp while Ron's hands twitch against the table.
"I think you're doing the right thing, Harry," Hermione says quickly, and Ron nods in agreement.
"Yeah, yeah. There's something else you need to know…but not here," I say and cringe inwardly as I notice McGonagall giving me a narrow-eyed look. "Later," I grunt.
My friends seem to understand and swiftly move our discussion into non-secretive topics.
"WonWon!" A high-pitched sound yells some time later, and Ron actually flinches before turning to look at the approaching Lavender, a tense expression taking over his face.
Hermione and I share a subtle roll of our eyes. Ron is such a coward. He obviously doesn't want to be with her anymore, but doesn't have the bollocks to end it…
"Hey, Lavender," Ron says steadily, while Lavender taps her foot and looks slightly frustrated.
"We were supposed to meet at the library, like, twenty minutes ago!" Lavender says and gives Ron a wounded look.
Ron clenches his jaw. "Yeah, sorry, I forgot. Shall we go then?" He asks, forcing a smile at her.
When Lavender merely gives him an inpatient lift of her brows, Ron stands up and grunts a resigned "later then," to Hermione and me.
As soon as they are out of our hearing distance, Hermione scoffs. "I can't believe him," She says disbelievingly.
I shake my head. "Yeah."
"Okay, so, what are you going to do? …With Slughorn?" Hermione asks, whispering the last part.
"I dunno," I shrug. "I reckon I'll take the potion later at night and then just…go to see him."
Hermione nods slowly. "Okay. I think, just to be on the safe side, you should go right after dinner – just so you won't get caught wandering the halls or anything."
I give Hermione an incredulous look. "Hermione…I'm taking liquid luck. I doubt that I'm gonna be caught by anyone…" I say, and when Hermione merely purses her lips, I quickly continue. "Okay, fine. I'll do it after dinner."
Dinner comes and goes quickly, and then Hermione, Ron and I vacate the empty boys' dormitory. After I've shared everything I learned about yesterday's Order meeting with them, I dig the small bottle from my trunk and eye it cautiously.
There's no time like the present…
I feel my hands trembling slightly as I unstopper the vial. I take a deep breath before tipping it into my mouth, careful to take only a bit. If the potion is as valuable as we all believe, I know I'll need it for other purposes later. Hermione and Ron sit tensely on my bed and watch me with alarmed looks, waiting as seconds go by.
Hermione lets out a deep breath. "How does it feel?" She asks, worry edged into her eyes.
Ron gives me a knowing grin. "It's a great feeling when you take it. Like you can't do anything wrong."
Hermione gives him an incredulous look. "What are you talking about? You've never taken any!"
Ron shrugs offhandedly. "Yeah, but I thought I had, didn't I? Same difference really…"
"Harry?" Hermione asks again, her voice barely a whisper.
The potion itself tasted rather sweet, like honeyed water. I frown as I feel nothing, and I'm about to say so, when suddenly an exciting sense of invincibleness courses through me, a powerful surge, making my insides glow with control, like I could do anything, like I could achieve everything.
Suddenly, getting the memory from Slughorn feels like a mundane task, like it could be done by merely snapping my fingers. I let out a small huff of breath and grin at my friends.
"I feel great! I feel brilliant!" I beam at them, my chest expanding with resoluteness. I know what I need to do. "I'm going to down to the kitchens."
Ron and Hermione gape at me for a moment, and it really looks a bit funny. "W-What?" They both stammer, looking utterly bewildered by my plans.
"Harry, you were supposed to go to Slughorn's office," Ron says edgily, as both he and Hermione stand up quickly.
I nod slowly. "I know what I need to do. Don't worry, mate." I pat Ron on the shoulder before I collect my Invisibility Cloak from my school bag and throw it over me. "I'll see you in a bit," I say, cheerfully, and make my exit.
The common room is quiet, and there's only Lavender there, waiting again impatiently. I pass her quietly and exit through the portrait hole, walking energetically towards the ground floor, towards the school kitchens.
I hum a soft tune under my breath as I walk through a door in the Entrance Hall and take the stairs downwards. As I reach the familiar painting of a bowl of fruit, situated in a brightly lit, broad stone basement corridor, I lift a hand to tickle the pear on the painting. Instantly, the pear starts to giggle and turns into a large green door handle, revealing the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens.
I step quietly inside, into the enormous, high-ceilinged room, located right under the Great Hall, with matching set of house tables, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. And then I spot Slughorn in the seating area at the fireplace, sipping wine and beaming at the elves that carry a large tray of different sorts of cakes and pastries onto the coffee table.
I move quickly closer, clearing my throat lightly as reach the seating area. "Professor! Good to see you!" I greet good-naturedly, beaming at the man in question.
Slughorn jumps slightly as he sees me. "Harry! You nearly gave me a fright!" He says, a bit breathless as he peers at me. "What brings you here, m'boy?" He asks warily and places his goblet on the table.
Wheels start to turn in my head, and I know exactly what to do. I give the Professor a meaningful look, as if I'm letting him in on some secret. "I suppose we both like to enjoy a little late-night snack, every now and then," I say with a wink.
Slughorn chuckles and nods agreeably. "Right you are, Harry."
"May I sit with you, professor, or would you prefer to be by yourself? I don't mind, really," I say politely, and Slughorn merely beams at me and gestures for me to sit into the armchair closest to him.
Slughorn lifts the bottle of wine and gives me a questioning look. "I have had it tested for poison," he says with an assuring voice.
"Thanks," I say with a nod, and then he flicks his wand and an empty goblet and plate appear on my side of the coffee table.
Slughorn waves his wand again to fill my goblet with wine. The Felix in my head tells me to be mindful of it, that I'm not allowed to drink much of it, and instead have to make sure that Slughorn's goblet is never empty.
"So, what brings you down here, Harry, other than to enjoy a little late-night snack?" Slughorn asks as he lifts his cup to salute me before he takes a generous gulp from his goblet. I follow his lead and lift my cup, but only pretend to take a sip from it.
I hum thoughtfully, knowing that he's still cautious of me, and probably suspects that I'm here merely for the memory. "Well, it has been a bit taxing lately, with everything happening in Hogwarts and in the Wizarding world…I suppose I just needed to relax a bit."
Slughorn nods slowly. "Yes, you might be right…It has been rather stressful for us teachers as well. At least, compared to my old days…" He says, watching the dancing fire with a reminiscent look.
"Were those days a lot different from today?" I ask softly.
There's a short silence, and then Slughorn chuckles. "Well, I was mainly stressed out by a roguish quartet, always causing mischief when the teachers weren't looking," He says lightly, turning to look at me meaningfully.
"My father and his friends," I say with a smile.
Slughorn nods at me, a wistful smile on his lips. "Your father was very talented, succeeding in almost anything he did," He says kindly, but then I detect a small hint of amusement in his expression.
"Almost?" I ask with a small grin, and while Slughorn lets out a hearty laugh, I use the opportunity to fill his goblet.
After wiping tears of joy from his eyes, Slughorn fixes me a knowing look. "Your mother. She was a spitfire, a force of nature. One of the most talented witches I've seen brewing potions in my class. And one of the most kind-hearted persons I've known," he says fondly, and then chuckles. "But she wasn't fooled by your father, at first, at least…No, she gave back in kind to his teasing during the years, until…Well, I reckon, until they both grew up and fell in love," Slughorn says with a grin and reaches out to grab a small pastry from the tray, and swallows it in one mouthful.
"She was in the Slug club?" I ask, feeling intrigued. Of course, I'd seen the photographs in Slughorn's office, but he hasn't really spoken about my mother earlier.
"Oh, yes! I mean, along with many other talented witches and wizards," He mutters, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
I know I need to be careful, and not to bring her up…at least not yet. But at the same time, I can clearly see that she is a sore spot for him. "Who else? Was Sirius there?" I continue, speaking with a light tone.
Slughorn chortles, his double chin wavering. "No, Mr. Black seemed not to care about his connections as much as his brother did."
I lift my brows at Slughorn, and he continues with a nod, "Yes, Regulus was one of the students in my 'collection' if I might say so…Shame what happened to him…" He says with a pitiful look. "He was destined to become a great wizard…" He says, and empties his goblet with a large gulp, filling it immediately after.
Our conversation flows onward, and Slughorn, who becomes expansive under the influence of the drink and by my interest regarding his selected students, happily jumps into a long explanation about various members of the Slug Club over the years.
Slughorn becomes so absorbed in his stories, that he fails to notice when I refill his wine bottle and goblet, performing the charms flawlessly without saying the incantation aloud.
An hour or so later, Slughorn is speaking with a thick voice, reminiscing my parents again, telling me how great they were.
"I wish I'd known them," I say softly, staring at the fire. "I wish I'd known them before they died…"
Slughorn represses a large belch. "Oh dear. Yes, that was…that was terrible what happened. Terrible…terrible…" He mumbles, filling his goblet and taking a long gulp. "I don't suppose you remember it, Harry?" he asks quietly, squinting at me slightly.
I give him a sad smile. "No. I was only one when it happened…But I've found out pretty much what happened since. My dad died first. Did you know that?" I ask, looking at him intently.
"I — I didn't," Slughorn stammers, looking surprised.
"Yeah…Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body towards my mum," I explain plainly.
Slughorn shudders to the name, but doesn't avert his eyes from mine.
"He told her to get out of the way," I say blankly, knowing what I need to say to break him. "He told me – Voldemort told me – that she needn't have died. That he only wanted me. She could have run," I say, not trying to hide the sadness crossing my expression.
"Oh dear," Slughorn whispers, looking horrified. "She could have…she needn't…that's awful…"
"It is, isn't it?" I say quietly, watching Slughorn closely. "But she didn't move. Dad was already dead, but she didn't want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort…but he just laughed at her."
"T-That's enough!" Slughorn says suddenly, hiccoughing slightly. "Really, my dear boy, enough…I'm an old man…And I don't need to hear…I don't want to hear –"
"I forgot," I interrupt him, a kind smile on my lips. "You liked her, didn't you?"
"Liked her?" Slughorn repeats, his eyes glassy from the wine and sadness. "I don't imagine anyone who met her wouldn't have liked her. Like I said, one of the most kind-hearted persons I've known. She was so brave. And very funny…It was the most horrible thing…"
"But you won't help her son," I say curtly. "She gave me her life, but you won't give me a memory."
A tear escapes from the corner of Slughorn's eye and I don't move my gaze away. And neither does he.
"Don't say that," he mumbles. "It isn't a question…If it were to help you, of course – but no purpose can be served…"
"It can," I say firmly. "Dumbledore needs information. I need information."
I know I need to give him more. And I know he will not remember our conversation in the morning, given his state of inebriation. I give him a serious look. "I am the Chosen One. I have to kill him. I need that memory," I whisper grimly.
Slughorn gasps, and stutters, "Y-You are the Chosen One?"
"Of course I am," I say coolly, watching him expectantly.
"But then…my dear boy…you're asking a great deal. You're asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy – "
"You don't want to get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans?" I interrupt him, my voice hard.
Slughorn seems so shrink in his seat. "Harry, Harry, of course I do, but —"
"You're scared that he'll find out you helped me?" I ask quickly, and it is evident that we both know it to be true, when Slughorn merely stays quiet and stares at me with an alarmed look.
"Be brave like my mother, Professor," I say with a pleading look.
Slughorn shudders and a couple of tears trickle down his plump cheeks. "I am not proud…I am ashamed of what — of what that memory shows," he whispers thickly. "I think I may have done great damage that day."
I nod slowly. "You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory," I say, my voice still firm while my eyes beseech him. "It would be a very brave and noble thing to do."
There's a long silence, and only the sound of the fire crackling fills the air around us. I briefly wonder where all the house-elves have gone, but keep my eyes fixated on him. Then, very slowly, Slughorn puts his hand into his sleeve and pulls out his wand. He fishes out a small, empty bottle from the pocket in his robes.
Time seems to go slower and I hold my breath when scared eyes gaze into mine before Slughorn brings his wand to his temple, pulling it out slowly, extracting a long, silver thread of memory, and then lowering it into the bottle. Hands quivering, Slughorn reaches out and gives me the stoppered bottle.
I give him a grateful look. "Thank you very much, Professor."
"You're a good boy, Harry," Slughorn says with a teary voice. "And you've got her eyes…Just…don't think too badly of me once you've seen it," he whispers dejectedly.
"I won't. I promise," I say quietly, and before I've even finished my sentence, Slughorn is passed out in his armchair.
I let out a deep sigh, brushing the angry tears away from my eyes, as feelings of bitterness and unfairness find their way back to my mind. The Felix is wearing off.
I glance at the large timepiece on the wall as I tuck away the small bottle of memory. It is nine in the evening. It is not too late to meet with Dumbledore and show him my achievement. The faster I get the memory to him, the better. I glance at Slughorn, who is snoring peacefully in the armchair, and then take my leave.
Nearly sprinting towards the third floor, thrilled that the password to the gargoyle is the same as it was the last time I visited the Headmaster, I take two steps at a time in the moving stone staircase, reaching the top very quickly, and a little out of breath.
I knock sharply into the double wooden door, hoping that the Headmaster has returned to the school, as I haven't seen him in a couple of days. There's a small moment, and then, I hear a quiet 'enter'.
Feeling anxious, I push through the doors, only to freeze in place.
Dumbledore's there, standing behind his desk, looking weary and severe.
With Regulus. He is standing on the other side of the Headmaster's desk.
They are both watching me curiously.
"Wh –"
"Harry. To what do we owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore says attentively.
"Sir, I've…" I mumble, glancing at Regulus and then back to Dumbledore. "I've got it," I say pointedly, knowing that Dumbledore will understand immediately what I'm talking about.
I do trust Regulus, and I want to tell him everything, but…for some reason, I feel like I need to have the Headmaster's approval first.
Dumbledore stares at me behind his half-moon spectacles, looking rather stunned for a moment. Regulus's eyes flicker over my face but he says nothing.
Then Dumbledore smiles brightly. "Harry, this is spectacular news! Very well done indeed! I knew you could do it!"
I reply to his smile, and then Regulus clears his throat.
Dumbledore turns towards him, his smile shrinking slightly but not disappearing. "And now, I believe we have in our hands another piece of the puzzle," he says mysteriously and gives Regulus a scrutinising look.
"Um, sir?" I ask hesitantly, not wanting to intrude, but still very, very curious to hear what Regulus is doing here.
Dumbledore gestures at the two armchairs facing his desk. "Please, sit. Both of you," He says kindly, and takes his own seat before steepling his fingers on his desk, excitement crossing his features.
As soon as both Regulus and I have taken our seats – and exchanged a pair of dubious looks – Dumbledore speaks.
"I believe we have some memories to examine."