Chapter 24: Time
Hogwarts, April 6th 1997
"I believe we have some memories to examine," The Headmaster says, something close to anticipation in his voice. "Perhaps we could, if you may, Mr. Black, start with yours," he continues, his sharp eyes flickering to mine as he speaks.
There's a short silence, and I can feel Potter frowning at me even without looking at him.
"Mine?" I ask blankly, already having an inkling about what he is asking.
Dumbledore nods, a small smile on his lips. "Am I correct to assume that there is more to the story regarding your arrival into this time than you let on, when I briefly looked into your mind nearly two years ago?"
I nod slowly at him. "Yes," I merely say, and glance at Potter, who stares at me in confusion, before I turn back to the Headmaster. "You wish to look at my memories?"
Dumbledore beams. "Precisely." Although, I think I can detect a hint of sympathy in his features as he evidently sees my hardening jaw.
I came here with the intention of explaining everything to him. Explaining what I have learned about the Dark Lord, what had happened in the cave, and why had I kept everything from him until now. But this – this is something I hadn't expected. What the Headmaster is asking, is for me to relive one of the worst events of my life and sharing it with him. And apparently, with Potter.
I could say no. I could refuse. But I now know it wouldn't be enough to gain his trust. And if I wasn't bothered by someone else seeing me at my weakest, I would send the Headmaster and by the (unfortunate) extension, Potter, to view them by themselves. But I am, so I know I will need to accompany them.
After a short moment I incline my head and will myself to stay indifferent. To keep the mask in place. "So be it." I say quietly, keeping my eyes at the Headmaster as I draw up my wand and bring it to my temple, focusing on the memory. The dark, vast cave. The unnerving silence. The black, bottomless lake, its surface still and unmoving until it was not. The greenish light in the middle of the cave, reflecting from widened, large eyes, filled with horror. The emerald liquid and what lay in its depths. The means to reach it.
The pain. The terror. The agony.
And the dead. All of them.
There's pity in Dumbledore's eyes as the Headmaster summons a large stone basin from a corner cabinet and places it on the table between us, moments before the silvery thread breaks and flows from the tip of my wand.
I stand up, my eyes fixated on the basin as I bring my wand upon it and lower the memory into it. Instantly the silvery substance begins to swirl, shimmering slightly.
The Headmaster clears his throat. Potter stays silent as he too stands up and takes a step closer to the table.
"After you," Dumbledore says quietly.
I turn my gaze to Potter, and his green eyes are filled with anticipation as he watches me. Should I warn him? Should I tell him what to expect? As I look at him silently, worry and alarm starts to take place in his features.
I presume he knows to expect…something unpleasant.
Potter's hand twitches, moving an inch towards me, and I quickly tear my gaze away and force my focus back to the Pensieve. I take a steadying breath as I touch the contents of it with the tip of my wand.
And then I'm falling through the spinning darkness.
It's an eerie sight, watching the events to occur. Watching yourself to experience it. It is quite different than just thinking about it. I stare at my past self, at the scene ahead, but my head is empty; everything is sealed behind the tight walls of my mind. Nevertheless, I remember, I know exactly what it felt like, how utterly terrified I was. How unbearable the pain was.
I watch stonily as my past self gives orders to my elf, commanding it to force the potion down my throat if necessary, to disapparate with the object if it comes to it, saving itself if it is threatened. I watch as I drink from the goblet filled with green, shimmering potion, again and again, until I'm screaming in anguish.
Potter gasps and both him and the Headmaster stare at the past me with horror and complete surprise. Occasionally, I can feel their worried gazes flickering towards me, the present me, that is, but I keep my eyes on the scene.
It isn't until my past self is slumping to the rocks, seemingly unconscious, when the barriers of my mind start to crumble, and dread starts to slowly fill me. I watch as Kreacher wails upon my body, and then, after a short moment, it seems to remember its orders. The elf snatches the locket from the bottom of the basin, and turns back to me. Only to find my past self slowly crawling towards the lake, fingernails scraping the hard stone as silent sobs fill the still air of the cave.
I can feel myself shivering as I watch the creatures rising from the lake, an army of Inferi, and Kreacher trying to desperately pull the past me away from them, trying to disapparate. But it can't. Not with me.
Potter lets out a strained sound next to me as we watch my past self to order Kreacher to leave without me, to do as we had agreed and tell no one about it.
Kreacher struggles with the direct command, for the first time in my life. I remember how it felt to look at its grief-stricken eyes for one last time before it disapparated. I remember thinking what my brother would do, how he would act if our situations were reversed. How brave he would be, how he would face death with his head held high. I remember trying to be like him.
Potter's hand brushes mine, tentatively, and I grab it hard, trying to anchor myself, trying to brush off the flicker of hopelessness and desolation I remember feeling right before the end. Right before the dead corpses reached me. Right before I lost consciousness.
The memory ends and then we are back in present time, back in the Headmaster's office.
A second later, a chair tumbles backwards as Potter marches up to me and pulls me into a tight embrace, cursing under his breath simultaneously.
"Shit…I'm – Merlin," Potter mumbles with an uneven voice, his words muffled by my hair, while I stand rigidly in place.
My eyes are stinging slightly, and I'm surprised by the feeling. It has been a long time since I've felt like that. I blink quickly, clearing my mind before I glance at the Headmaster.
Dumbledore's standing at the window, gazing into the dark evening, his back to us.
Potter is breathing heavily against my neck, as if trying to calm himself. I pull back slightly, locking my eyes with his, and give him a reassuring look. "It's fine. I'm fine now," I say almost inaudibly, so that only he can hear me.
His face is scrunched up with confusion and worry. "What were you doing down there? Did you – did you know what would happen?" He asks, his voice wavering slightly, his tone desperate as his eyes travel across my face, trying to understand what he'd just witnessed.
I clear my throat and pull away from him. "You'll find out soon enough," I say aloofly, squeezing his arm before taking a step back to my seat.
Potter stays in place, staring at me with a mixed look of bewilderment and frustration, and before he has a chance to speak, before he can demand an explanation, Dumbledore turns back to us, a grim look in his eyes.
"I understand it must have been difficult to relive those memories, Mr. Black," he says gravely. "And I hope that you know how grateful I am that you did share them with us," he continues, before taking his seat behind his desk, eyeing me sincerely.
I sit down in my armchair and give him a curt nod.
"But – but what was the point of it? What difference did it make, to see him – to see that?" Potter asks exasperatedly, stumbling slightly in his words, looking somewhat horrified.
Dumbledore gives Potter a strained smile, "It did make a difference, I assure you, it did. Everything will make more sense after we look at the other memory. If you may, Harry?" he says, levelling Potter with a pointed look.
Potter frowns at the Headmaster for a moment before he lets out a weary sigh and pulls out a small flask, with silvery substance twirling inside of it. He clenches his jaw as he steps forward and tips the contents into the Pensieve.
"This is a memory of Professor Slughorn, some fifty years ago," Dumbledore explains, studying me as he speaks. "I had procured a similar memory from him, one we have watched with Harry earlier this year, but unfortunately, it had been tampered with."
"By whom?" I ask, feeling slightly uncomfortable. I glance at Potter, who merely gives me a determined look.
Dumbledore smiles. "Professor Slughorn."
I nod slowly. "He wanted to hide something." I say, and look at the Headmaster expectantly. I remember how the Potions professor always saw it important to give the perfect appearance of himself.
"Indeed. And now, as Harry has succeeded in the task I gave him; to acquire the original memory from Horace, I think we should see exactly what it was," the Headmaster says, and gives Potter and me an encouraging look before he gestures for us to inspect the memory.
I know that fifty-odd years ago, the Dark Lord had attended Hogwarts. I presume we are about to see him as a student.
And once again, I tumble through the darkness. As I find myself in a familiar office, and see the familiar – albeit younger – Potions professor sitting in a comfortable looking armchair, a glass of wine in one hand, while the other pushes a handful of crystallised pineapple into his mouth, I almost smile at the familiarity. The man really hasn't changed a bit.
My amusement quickly vanishes as I look over the scattering of students surrounding Slughorn, and see him. The Dark Lord. He looks…young. Somewhat carefree – and innocent. Nothing like he was when I met him. But there is still something familiar in his features…almost an imperceptible hint of that vicious man I began to loathe the moment I took his mark.
Then the Dark Lord's past self speaks, making me cringe with discomfort. It is too familiar.
"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"
"Tom, Tom…if I knew, I couldn't tell you," The Potions professor says lightly, somewhat scolding him. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are..."
Tom…I know that the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle in his youth. Not many of us – of them, his followers, knew that.
In the memory, the boy – Tom Riddle, gives a pleased smile at the professor, while the other students laugh admiringly at their comrade.
"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favourite. I confidently expect you to rise to Minister for Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple. I do have excellent contacts at the Ministry," The professor says with amusement twinkling in his eyes, and while the other students chuckle, I inspect closely at Tom Riddle's features as he looks even more pleased of himself.
Their conversation goes on, until a small golden clock on the professor's desk chimes. The Potions professor then orders the students to their beds, and one by one, they leave. All but one.
"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you are a Prefect – "
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something." The Dark Lord – Tom Riddle – interrupts with an apologising smile.
Slughorn looks surprised, but then nods at his student, "Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away."
Tom Riddle's eyes sharpen slightly. "Sir, I wondered what you know about…about Horcruxes?"
My eyes widen slightly, and what the hell? Surely the Dark Lord hasn't received his knowledge from a Hogwarts' Professor? I quickly walk closer, to examine the pair more carefully, ignoring the curious looks Potter and Dumbledore throw at my direction.
Professor Slughorn stares at Tom Riddle, a wary look in his eyes. "Project for Defence Against the Dark Arts, is it?" He asks, but his voice betrays him. It is certain that the professor knows exactly what is and what is not included in the Defence curriculum.
Tom Riddle gives the Potions professor a bashful look. "Not exactly, sir. I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."
Slughorn seems to be contemplating his answer for a bit. "No…well…you'd be hard pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," he says finally.
Tom Riddle inclines his head in agreement. "But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd…"
It is apparent that Tom Riddle knows already how to use people, how to have someone in the palm of his hand. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it to wield Slughorn. The professor's expression changes into a hesitant one, and I know that Tom Riddle has succeeded, even without seeing it in his eyes.
"Well…" Slughorn says, his eyes fixated on his box of crystallized pineapple, "…well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."
"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," Tom Riddle says, his voice innocent, but his eyes, his eyes flashing with sharpness and excitement when the professor does not look at him.
What an oaf...How can he not see past the charm and flattery, past the potential success of a student?
"Well, you split your soul, you see," Slughorn says, glancing at Tom Riddle, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form…" Slughorn's voice trails off as he grimaces at the thought. "…few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."
Tom Riddle looks more and more like the man I met and once served, as hunger and greed fill his expression. I suppress a shiver as his eyes flash with something dark. "How do you split your soul?"
The Potions professor looks uncomfortable. "Well…you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature," he says, a frown appearing between his brows.
"But how do you do it?" Tom Riddle asks quietly, his voice soft, even though the intent in his eyes is evident.
Slughorn swallows hard. "By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing will rip the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —"
"Encase? But how — ?"
"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" Slughorn says sharply, shaking his head as he stares at his student with widened eyes. "Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?" He stammers, looking somewhat horrified.
"No, sir, of course not," Tom Riddle says quickly, an apologising look in his eyes. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to offend…"
Slughorn lets out a deep breath. "Not at all, not at all, not offended," he says weakly. "It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things. Wizards of a certain calibre have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…"
"Yes, sir," Tom Riddle says quietly. "What I don't understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven — ?"
My blood runs cold. What in the name of fucking Merlin? No…It can't be. It can't fucking be…
Images of the cave run in my head, spinning, mixing with whispered conversations behind masks, with a cold voice, his voice, boasting how he has pushed the boundaries of magic further than anyone ever has…
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" Slughorn yells, interrupting my internal turmoil. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case…bad enough to divide the soul…but to rip it into seven pieces…"
Slughorn stares at Tom Riddle with his eyes widened in shock, as if he is deeply regretting their conversation. "Of course," the professor then says quietly, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"
Give me a fucking break…I glance at Potter as Tom Riddle quickly assures his professor. Potter's expression is something between livid and worried. I move my gaze to Dumbledore as the Potion's professor asks Tom Riddle to keep his mouth shut; the Headmaster stares at the scene stonily, only a small furrow between his brows.
I give the younger version of the Dark Lord a final, searching glance, and swallow down the unpleasant feeling rising in my throat as I see how his face fills with some kind of distorted, cold happiness. He has what he wanted. He received the information he needed. And the Potions professor, utterly unaware, has helped one the most dangerous wizards there is to become immortal.
"Thank you, Harry, Mr. Black," Dumbledore says quietly. "Let us go…"
Moments after we land back in the Headmaster's office, and my mind is reeling. The Dark Lord did not intend to create only one Horcrux, but several…seven. Did he succeed? Presumably he did…
I stand in place, in the middle of the circular office, unable to suppress the feelings of failure and shock. What I did, what I thought I would accomplish, was…foolish. Of course the Dark Lord would make sure there would be more safeguards than merely one. How in the name of Salazar did I not see it?
"Mr. Black?" Dumbledore says softly.
I move my gaze towards him, and only then notice that both him and Potter are back in their seats, both watching me attentively.
I swallow down the bitter thoughts swirling in my head. "There's more than one?" I ask quietly, my voice muted, and even though I already know it to be true, someone fucking may as well say it to me.
Dumbledore inclines his head, and there's something close to triumph in his eyes before it is replaced with sympathy. "I'm afraid so," he says gravely.
Potter gapes at me. "You knew?" He asks, surprise written all over his features. "All this time, you knew and you didn't say anything?" He asks quickly, his voice becoming sharp, accusing, as a deep frown takes place between his brows.
"Harry…" Dumbledore says, his expression kind, but a hint of warning in his voice. He turns to me, and adds, "Please, sit, Mr. Black."
Feeling resigned, feeling weary about it all, I force myself to move towards the others and take the seat next to Potter.
The Headmaster crosses his fingers at his table. "I understand your hesitance, Mr. Black. Considering that the subject is rather…sensitive, I think the matter is too dangerous to be confided to people you might not fully trust. But, as I said before, I hope that you know how grateful I am that you did share it with us today," he says, and I give him a nod.
"As for the memory we saw – I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time," Dumbledore says after a short silence. "It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that I am right, and also how very far there is still to go…but…it also tells how much we have accomplished already."
I stare quietly at the Headmaster as Potter speaks. "What do you mean? What have we accomplished? Did he actually make one? A Horcrux?" He asks, his voice filled with confusion.
In any other situation, I would definitely point out how slowly Potter comprehends the details given to him.
I share a blank look with the Headmaster, before he answers. "You heard Voldemort. What he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know — as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew — no wizard had ever done more than tear his soul in two."
There's a small pause in his speech as he seems to be contemplating his words. "Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul," Dumbledore continues.
"What – " I say, but I'm interrupted as Potter speaks the same time.
" – Where? How?" Potter asks hastily, glancing at me, still a hint of wariness in his eyes.
Dumbledore gives us both a calm look. "You handed it to me, Harry. The diary, Riddle's diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets."
I'm taken by surprise, and then hit with a memory.
'Voldemort possessed a friend of mine with his old diary, opened the Chamber of Secrets in Hogwarts with her help and unleashed a Basilisk to prey on Muggleborns.'
It seems that Potter has had one as well…A diary so powerful that it could open the Chamber of Secrets and set free a Basilisk to finish Salazar Slytherin's work. Why did I not realise it then? My eyes move between Potter and the Headmaster expectantly, waiting for one of them to explain more.
"I don't understand, sir," Potter says, gnawing the inside of his cheek anxiously.
"Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book…a fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard."
"What?" I ask quietly. It seems odd for the Dark Lord to part with one of his most priced possessions, as it most likely wasn't a simple task to create them.
The Headmaster gives a small nod. "Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work — in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again."
…And if Potter hadn't ended the monster – he fucking killed a basilisk, for Merlin's sake – what would be left of Hogwarts now?
"What happened to the diary?" I ask, after clearing the sudden tightness away from my throat.
"I destroyed it," Potter says quietly, and as I turn to look at him in utter disbelief, he gives me a searching look. "I stabbed it with a basilisk fang."
I blink at him, all the research I've done in the nearly past two years whirling in my mind, and there hasn't been anything about it, I'm sure of it. But it makes sense. The King of Serpents has immense powers, and its venom is rumoured to be an extremely poisonous substance, one of the few poisons that are not curable by Bezoars. It probably would be able to damage the object containing the soul fragment to a point beyond any and all physical or magical repair…
"The venom…" I mutter, almost inaudibly, watching Potter nod in confirmation.
All this time, the solution has been at Hogwarts. All that research. All of it has been for nothing. I don't even try to suppress the feelings of bitterness, anger and regret when they finally find their way into my consciousness and taint my every thought.
"Quite correct," the Headmaster says, taking note of my disgruntlement and gives me an understanding look before he continues, "And the careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made — or had been planning to make — more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you, Harry, told me, two years later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. 'I who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality'," Dumbledore explains, and I will myself not to twitch to the words, as I can almost hear them in my head, only, they are spoken with the cold, malicious voice belonging to the Dark Lord.
Dumbledore continues after a small moment, looking at Potter, "That was what you told me he said. 'Further than anybody!' And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. Well…not all of them, at least," He says and gives me a furtive look.
I merely stare blankly back.
"I believe he was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, which I don't believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldemort has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call 'usual evil'…"
That explains a lot. Although, I thought only one Horcrux had been the reason for his transformation. Potter asks about a Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance – a stone with astonishing powers, one of which that produces an Elixir that makes the drinker immortal.
Dumbledore looks thoughtful. "I am convinced that he intended to continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see…or as close to immortal as any man can be. And we all heard him; 'Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces…isn't seven the most powerfully magical number.' Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort," the Headmaster says.
Of course it would…the Dark Lord is many things, but meagre is not one of them.
"He made seven Horcruxes?" Potter gasps, his voice rising. "But they could be anywhere in the world — hidden — buried or invisible —"
The Headmaster lifts a calming hand and Potter becomes quiet. "I am glad to see you appreciate the magnitude of the problem. But firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The seventh part of his soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill Voldemort must attack — the piece that lives in his body."
Potter gives the Headmaster an incredulous look. "Fine, six Horcruxes, then. How are we supposed to find them?" He asks with a hint of exasperation in his voice.
"You are forgetting…you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed another," the Headmaster says simply.
"You have?" I ask quickly. Both Potter and I watch the Headmaster curiously.
"Yes indeed," Dumbledore says, lifting up his blackened hand. "I'm afraid we need to fill you in some of the details we have been discussing with Harry during the past year, Mr. Black, but after a quite immense research regarding Voldemort's past life, I was fortunate enough to stumble across a ring that once belonged to the Gaunts. To Voldemort's relatives," he explains, and then glances at his withered hand. "What I did not foresee, was that there was a terrible curse placed upon it. And without Professor Snape's quick reaction and exceptional skill, I wouldn't be now here to tell you about any of it."
"Severus…Severus knows?" I ask carefully.
Dumbledore shakes his head slightly. "No, he does not know the full extent of the events. I am confident that the only people who know about the Horcruxes, besides Lord Voldemort, are now sitting in this room."
"And the ring…it is destroyed?" I ask slowly.
"Yes." Dumbledore says. "As is the diary."
"But there are still four left! And they could be anything, couldn't they?" Potter asks hastily, looking a bit desperate.
Dumbledore's eyes flicker to mine before he gives Potter an obscure look. "Ah, indeed they could, but as we learned only moments ago, there is one more that Mr. Black is undoubtedly aware of," He says and turns to look at me expectantly.
Potter whirls towards me, a small frown of confusion between his brows before his eyes fill with realisation. "The cave? There was something? The…the locket! The Slytherin locket! Kreacher had it, didn't it?" He asks urgently, the betrayal in his eyes long since vanished, replaced by excitement and intent. "Where is it now? Is it destroyed?" He adds after taking a quick breath.
I'm surprised that he knew about it, but I assume it is one of those 'details' the Headmaster and Potter have discussed before.
"No. But I have it."
After a long discussion, and a long explanation, I've learned many things about the Dark Lord's past. We've come to the presumption that there are three remaining Horcruxes to be found, and four to be destroyed. The Slytherin locket, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, the Dark Lord's pet snake Nagini, and the fourth object, supposedly something that has perhaps once belonged to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.
"Now…" The Headmaster says after a short silence, his eyes fixed to mine. "Seeing as you have brought the object with you to our meeting, would it be possible for us to examine it?" He asks, a kind, and…knowing look in his eyes.
My lips twitch involuntarily. Of course he knows I brought it. I briefly wonder if going through my memories was truly necessary, but…at least my intentions are now clear to everyone.
Potter gapes at me. "You – you have it with you?"
I give Potter a grim look as I pull out my wand and wave it over the pocket of my robes. A small box emerges from it, floating slowly towards the table and then landing softly in the middle of it. I flick my wand once more and the box opens, revealing a heavy golden locket, engraved with an ornate, serpentine S – Salazar Slytherin's mark.
"Merlin…" Potter whispers, as he stares at the locket, green eyes blown wide. "I can…I can feel it," he says, grimacing.
The Headmaster's eyes narrow at Potter for a moment before he hums thoughtfully. "Magic always leaves traces, and when it is something this dark, this evil…I presume most people would feel it," He says, almost expressionlessly. He then levels me with a searching look. "You have tried to destroy it?" He asks, even though it sounds more like a statement.
I give him a small nod. "I was…quite unsuccessful," I say blankly, forcing the memories of the incident to stay hidden in the furthest corner of my mind.
The Headmaster's eyes move over my face, until his gaze flickers to my left forearm.
"What?" Potter asks sharply, following the Headmaster's gaze. "What happened?" He prompts.
There's a short silence as I contemplate my answer.
"It seems that the Dark Lord's mark holds features I had not anticipated. There is a possibility that I may be unable to destroy a Horcrux," I say, rather stiffly.
"W-What?" Potter stammers, and then, for once in his life, he actually grasps something when there really is no need to. "Show me."
I give him an exasperated look, and when both he and the Headmaster stare at me silently, the former with defiance, and the latter with a hint of curiosity, I let out a sharp huff of breath and pull my sleeve up.
Potter lets out a horrified sound while Dumbledore's eyes widen with surprise.
"But…I don't understand," Potter says, his voice slightly thick as his eyes keep drifting down to my arm, even as I draw my sleeve back down. "If you knew you couldn't destroy it, why did you…or were you still going to –" he mutters, and then realisation hits him, " – You were, weren't you? You were still planning to destroy it?" Potter demands sharply.
"Yes. And I still intend to," I say darkly, speaking to the Headmaster.
Dumbledore shakes his head to Potter, who is undoubtedly in the process of disagreeing.
Potter then huffs loudly. "I want in. I want to get rid of it. Of them. I need to get rid of them," He says forcefully.
And to my ultimate surprise, the Headmaster merely gives Potter a thin smile before he nods. "Yes. I think you have earned that right."
As Potter gives the Headmaster a surprised but pleased look, I want to point out how audacious that is, letting him participate in something so dangerous. Potter is still a student, and even if he has fought the Dark Lord, and has faced many dangers, and even if he is the one who needs to be the end of him, shouldn't the boy be kept out of harm's way until that moment? Shouldn't he be trained to protect himself, preferably in a safe environment?
But I say nothing. I say nothing, because there's fire in those bright green eyes, unwavering resoluteness, and I know that any objecting word would be pointless.
The Headmaster seems to guess my line of thought, and his mouth twitches slightly before he clears his throat and levels us with a serious look. "I suggest we form a plan to destroy the locket," he says and glances at the artefact on the table. "As the school is unfortunately understaffed at this moment, I propose we will gather in two weeks' time to carry out the plan."
And another hour passes by as we discuss the details; the means to destroy the Horcrux – apparently Potter had slayed the Slytherin beast with a sword, a relic once belonged to Gryffindor, that now carries the powers of the snake venom; the suitable place where we will execute the plan – which is decided to be an uninhabited area outside of school borders, on the other side of the Forbidden Forest, far away from the village of Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts. We also decide to leave the Horcrux with Dumbledore as he will most likely be the one of us to actually destroy the object. At least I hope he will.
It is pitch dark outside when our conversation reaches to its end. I assume it is close to midnight.
"Now, as I believe we have successfully considered all the necessary aspects regarding our plan, I must insist that we end this meeting, so that we may all enjoy a good night's rest before the chores of the next morning," Dumbledore says, looking somewhat tired as he gives Potter and me a small smile.
Potter nods obediently, evidently taking note of the lateness of the hour, and stands up. He gives me an incomprehensible look and seems to hesitate.
The Headmaster clears his throat quietly. "I was planning to retreat to my quarters for a little while before closing the floo connection," he says airily, a meaningful look in his eyes as he peers at us over his half-moon spectacles.
Then, without another word, the Headmaster tips his head as if to wish a good night. He turns and makes his way to the door in the wall behind his desk, and disappears through it.
There's a silence, and both Potter and I blink at each other.
"That was…" Potter mutters, an amused frown taking over his features as he glances at the door the Headmaster disappeared trough. "Think he knows what we'd do?" He asks, looking a bit bothered.
My lips curve slightly upwards. "Oh? We're about to do something?" I ask quietly, feigning surprise even as I walk closer to him.
Potter stays silent for a moment, his eyes moving across my face, darkening a notch. Then he leans towards me, grasping the back of my head and pulling me close for a lingering kiss.
As the kiss ends, moments later, Potter's eyes are closed but he stays where he is, his breath ghosting against my lips. "Something I wanted to do since this morning…" He murmurs.
I give him a smile when he peers at me between his lashes. "The feeling might be mutual," I say with a low voice, and Potter lets out a quiet snort.
"Might?" He asks, pulling back a bit, a grin spreading across his face.
Truthfully, it's not even close to what I have wanted to do since morning, or since last night. But as we are situated in the middle of the Headmaster's office, surrounded by a wall filled with portraits, with most of them eyeing our situation with interest, I decide not to enlighten Potter.
"It is," I merely say, feeling rather captivated by the way his green eyes lighten up at my words.
His eyes trail down my body, stopping at my left forearm. His lifts his free hand and gently brushes the fabric of my robes. "Potter," I say with exasperation, knowing already what goes on in his mind as deep lines appear on his forehead.
"It's Harry," He says quietly, his eyes moving back up to meet mine, his fingers lightly closing over my wrist.
Amusement and excitement mix up in my stomach as I give him a small nod. "I know. Harry."
Potter's mouth quirks up but then he becomes sombre. "When we go there…to destroy that – that thing…could you try not to risk your life in there?"
My brows lift with a mild disbelief. "Would you make such promise?" I ask simply, and Potter shakes his head stubbornly.
"That's not the same thing, you've got that mark – "
"And you don't have the skill or the powers I do, and yet there's no stopping you, is there?" I ask, my voice calm, but my eyes give him a look of warning.
Potter lets out a weary sigh and looks at me sincerely, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw, making the situation a hell of a lot more intimate than it had been. "I just…I don't want anything to happen to – "
"Don't worry about it, Harry," I say softly, interrupting him, not wanting to go there.
Potter drops his hand as I look away and clear my throat to get rid of the tightness in it. "I have to go," I say as I look back at him.
He gnaws his bottom lip in thought, and then inclines his head slightly. "Yeah. Me too," he mutters, seeming a bit chagrined.
"Come here," I mutter, and pull him into a soft embrace, touching my lips against his temple, before whispering to his ear. "Good night, Harry."
I feel him smiling against my neck as his head drops slightly. "G'night."