"No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenseless as Dumbledore had been. Snape's pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore.

"You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them - I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like you filthy father, would you? I don't think so . . . no!"

Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight.

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward - "

"DON'T - " screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them - "CALL ME COWARD!" (Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, p.604)


And he slashed at the air; Harry felt thick, white ropes envelope his upper body. With a second flick of the wand more cords bound his legs together. Harry tried to yell, call for help, but found his voice silenced with another wave of Snape's hand. He desperately tried to cast a nonverbal spell and call for his own wand, but once again it was blocked, and his wand fell to the ground just in front of him. Snape laughed, sounding half-crazed.

"Forget it, Potter! You're coming with me." He waved his wand and Harry felt himself lifted into a standing potion. He glided toward the castle gates, unable to do anything to save himself, or stop Snape from escaping.

Behind him, Hagrid's hut was shooting flames high into the sky. Just before leaving the grounds, Snape stopped and uttered a spell; with a great whoosh the fire went out, leaving only smoking ruins where Hagrid's house had stood. Quickly Snape led Harry, still bound and gagged, out of the castle gates. To Harry's dismay, Draco Malfoy was waiting for them. But Malfoy looked terrified, and hardly noticed Harry, bound and bleeding and floating captive behind Snape.

"Let's go," Snape snapped at Draco.

"Where are we going?" asked Malfoy, his face white and his voice shrill. "I can't go back to headquarters, he'll kill me and my family!"

"We're not going to headquarters," replied Snape. "Not yet. Meet me at my place in Spinner's End."

With a wrench, he grabbed Harry's arm and turned to Apparate. Harry wondered where Snape lived; he had assumed the teachers lived at Hogwarts. Why wasn't Snape taking him to Voldemort? What was going to happen to Draco?

As the uncomfortable feeling of Apparation took hold of Harry, he closed his eyes. When he opened them he found himself standing outside a small, run down house in a dark, dingy village. Draco Malfoy appeared next to him with a loud pop, looking around warily.

Snape lead them up to the door, into a small sitting room covered floor to ceiling with books. Looking around, Harry was shocked when a small rat-like man suddenly appeared from behind one of the bookcases. His eyes widened, and he tried to shout through the magical gag still silencing him.

"Waiting up for me, Wormtail?" Snape mocked, moving quickly around the room as if he were looking for something. With a lazy flick of his wand, he released the silencing spell on Harry's voice, but he did not remove the thick cords that still bound Harry tight.

"What's he doing here?" shouted Harry, furiously struggling to free himself. "Where are we? Why am I here? Let me go, or - "

Snape silenced him again. "Or what? You'll think more nasty thoughts at me?" He sneered as he looked over his shoulder at Harry. "If you want me to remove the charm, then silence yourself." He lifted the spell again, and turned to Wormtail before Harry could say anything.

"Leave us," he commanded, as if Wormtail were his servant; Wormtail looked mutinous, as if he did not care to take orders. "Go!" snapped Snape, and the smaller man jumped. "Tell the Dark Lord I've got Potter. We'll be at headquarters shortly."

Wormtail smiled, a simpering, lopsided grin that made Harry livid; this was the man who had betrayed his parents, and now worked for the traitor who had just killed Professor Dumbledore. "What about Malfoy? Did he succeed?" Wormtail asked, watching the pale boy with a sneer.

"I will deal with Draco," Snape replied, his dark eyes glittering strangely.

Malfoy looked shocked and scared. Harry once again felt a measure of pity for him. Draco had been charged the near-impossible task of killing Albus Dumbledore, and had clearly demonstrated that he was unable to do so. Surely Voldemort's wrath would be great, even if Snape had completed the task and killed Dumbledore himself. But what was Snape going to do to Draco?

Wormtail gave the boys a mocking bow, and walked to the front door. Harry heard a crack outside telling him that Wormtail had Apparated out to alert Voldemort to Harry's capture.

Snape quickly cast an Imperturbable Charm, which Harry knew would seal the room from intruders who might be listening. "Go and get your mother," Snape said quietly to Malfoy. "Take what you need, but be quick. Get back here in five minutes."

Draco didn't even look at Harry. His face was pale, and his eyes flashed in fear. "What do you need my mother for? So you can kill us both? Or so you can turn us all in to the Dark Lord and claim the credit?" Draco's voice sounded both angry and afraid. "I told you, he's going to kill me, and my family. I couldn't do it, and it was my job!'

"He can't kill you if you are already dead," said Snape softly, echoing something Dumbledore had said on the tower. Harry stood there, just as frozen as he had been on the Tower, and just as confused.

"So you really are going to kill us then?" asked Draco shrilly. He looked ready to run as he eyed the door anxiously.

"Don't be a fool!" snapped Snape. "We can hide you. But you must trust me on this, Draco. Find your mother, and be quick about it. Meet me back here immediately."

Draco appeared ready to argue, but nodded and left the house. A second crack told Harry that Malfoy had gone, leaving him alone with Snape.

The anger and hatred Harry had been feeling since Professor Dumbledore had fallen from the tower swelled, and he began to struggle once more against the tight ropes still binding him hand and foot. "Let me go!" he snarled at his former potions professor.

Snape turned around, holding a small velvet bag in one hand and a potions vial in the other. "Certainly, if I knew you wouldn't try to curse me before I finished."

"Then finish it, whatever you're planning on doing to me," Harry spat. "Or let me go and fight fair."

Snape was much calmer than he was at Hogwarts, when Harry's taunting had thrown him into a towering rage. He walked up to Harry, a sneer twisting his face as he put the potions bottle in his cloak and drew his wand. "You haven't the wits to win, Potter, fair or not. But we aren't here to fight."

"Just going to kill me then?" Harry demanded, wanting to keep Snape talking and feeling a dangerous thrill in goading the older man. "Now that you've gotten rid of Dumbledore, think you'll start taking out students too? Maybe take out Voldemort next? Become the new Dark Lord?"

Harry knew he had hit a nerve when Snape viciously backhanded him, sending him flying backward, still bound. He landed hard on his shoulder, and bit his lip, drawing blood.

"How dare you, Potter!" snarled Snape. "How dare you suggest I'd kill students, or that I would ever presume to rival the Dark Lord!"

"Why did you kill him then?" shouted Harry, spitting blood. "Dumbledore was our only chance! You've handed Voldemort the opening he needs to win!" Harry wanted to scream more, take out his rage on the man who was its cause: Snape had robbed him of his only protector, his mentor, and he had killed the one man who knew the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes and how to destroy them. But Harry checked himself; revealing too much to Snape could be a deadly mistake.

Snape was glaring at him with the same mixture of hatred and revulsion which Harry had seen on the Tower, before Snape had cast the fateful Killing Curse that had sent the headmaster to his death. Harry braced himself for the jet of green light he fully expected, but it never came.

Snape just stood there, speechless, and closed his black eyes. Harry was shocked; was Snape showing signs of regret? But he pressed on, still furious.

"What do you want with me? What are you doing with Malfoy? Why - "

"Too many questions that you don't need answers to!" interrupted Snape, eyes flashing open as he motioned Harry up with his wand. "You are only here so that I can fulfill my pledge to the late headmaster. He left you a message." Snape held out the velvet bag, his face now unreadable.

Harry was stunned; Dumbledore had left him a message? With Snape? Had the headmaster known he was going to die? Had he expected Snape to betray him? Why had he left his message to Harry with Snape then? Why hadn't he left it at Hogwarts, with another professor?

Snape released the ropes pinning Harry's arms to his side and tossed him the bag. "Here. I've done my part." He turned and began looking through the room once more.

Harry opened the bag, and pulled out two small glass vials with a silvery substance in them. He immediately recognized them: they were memories for Dumbledore's Pensieve. He felt his throat tighten at the thought of never experiencing another lesson with the headmaster. But he, Harry, did not own a Pensieve; how was he to view the memories, and receive Dumbledore's message? A sense of urgency took hold of him as he thought about how to gain access to the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office.

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself," said Snape, as if he was reading Harry's mind.

"Stay out of my head," snapped Harry, disconcerted.

Snape turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows. "Believe me, I'd like to. But you broadcast your emotions far too loudly to ignore. You still have to learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed."

"Maybe I'd be able to if you'd actually taught me how," Harry said bitterly, as he fingered the glass vials and wondered what they would show him.

"Maybe you are just a poor student," Snape replied nastily. "Now, as much as I have enjoyed having you shout at me all night, I need to see to the Malfoys -"

"What are you going to do to them?" Harry interrupted. "Are you really going to hide them? Or are you just going to kill Draco for failing to murder Dumbledore?"

Snape stiffened at the sound of the late headmaster's name. "What I do next is none of your business, Potter," he said. "I suggest you simply forget most of what's happened tonight. You have more important things to worry about. You have four more Horcruxes to destroy."

Harry couldn't keep the surprise from his face. How did Snape know about the Horcruxes? Had Dumbledore shared his confidence with him? Or had Lord Voldemort?

Snape released the ropes binding Harry's legs, and Harry felt the blood rush back in as he shook the ropes off. He once again felt the urge to rush at Snape, to strike him fast and hard, but knew he couldn't take a single step without being hexed, cursed, or jinxed again.

Snape took Harry's wand from a pocket in his robes; Harry hadn't even realized that Snape had retrieved it. "When I give this back to you, I want you to Stun me as hard as you can, and escape. I'm sure you will enjoy it immensely." He gave Harry a twisted smile. "I know I would, were the situation reversed. Then go back to Hogwarts. Finish what you've started."

Harry eyed his wand in Snape's hands. The thought of using something worse than a simple Stunning Spell passed through his mind, but the smallest sliver of doubt kept it from overpowering his rational self. Harry reluctantly realized he didn't exactly understand all that had happened that night: he needed to view Dumbledore's memories, and hopefully then he would know the truth.

Harry nodded curtly, and Snape tossed him his wand. As he caught it he once more felt the desire to curse Snape, even to kill him. He felt his mouth twist into a grimace of hatred as he fought against it. Snape merely raised his eyebrows, waiting as Harry wrestled with emotions which he was no doubt broadcasting to the accomplished Legilimens across from him. Struggling to master his conflicting thoughts, and hoping he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life, Harry raised his wand and cried, "Stupefy!"

* * *

A/N: This story was inspired by an online poll. The question was: Why didn't Snape take Harry with him when he fled the grounds at the end of book six?. After voting, I thought: what if he had? And I ran with it from there, with the intention of tying up all the loose ends from Book Six, but within the context of an alternative ending. I have quite enjoyed this project, which is my first major chaptered fic, and hope you do as well. I am planning about ten chapters; the next several chapters are complete and will be posted as each one is accepted, so hopefully there will be no terribly long wait for updates.

Many thanks to Deanine for reading over this first chapter, to everyone who helped me Summon a title in the Hospital Wing, and to J.K.Rowling for leaving so much left to explore at the end of Book Six. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

The jet of red light from Harry’s wand went wide and missed as the front door was blasted in; it hit one of the bookcases lining the room, sending books toppling to the floor. Harry whirled around and was struck squarely in the chest by a stream of blue light; he was flung onto the sofa, and fell to the floor, winded. His wand flew out of his hand, and landed under a rickety chair.

Three Death Eaters strode in through the wreckage of the door, including the enormous blond man who had fought the Order at Hogwarts. Snape faced them, his wand leveled. For a brief moment Harry thought Snape was going to fight them, but then he saw Snape’s face pale; the former potions master lowered his wand, and bowed.

Voldemort had arrived.

He strode through the ruined door, his robes billowing darkly, an air of menace swirling about him like a black cloud. Bellatrix Lestrange walked just behind him, her hood pulled up, her eyes downcast; Harry could see the smallest sneer on her lips. He remembered her from the battle at the Ministry of Magic. She had been dueling Sirius, and it had been her curse that had sent his godfather through the veil. Harry had often thought about how it would feel to meet her again, what he would do. He was not prepared for the intense pain he felt, the sorrow in his heart that threatened to overwhelm him as he watched her enter the tiny, crowded sitting room. The pain of loss was followed by anger, and with an almost inhuman snarl he launched himself off floor toward her.

He was stopped in midair, frozen in place over a small coffee table by a lazy wave from the bony hand that slipped from beneath Voldemort’s black robes. The Dark Lord, however, did not even look at Harry. “I’ll deal with you shortly,” he said softly, striding past Harry. Bellatrix Lestrange leered at him, though Harry thought he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes as well.

“Severus,” Voldemort said almost conversationally as he walked up to the pale Hogwarts professor. “I was expecting you some time ago. Why the delay?”

Harry noticed that while Snape looked at Voldemort, he avoided direct eye contact. “My Lord,” replied the greasy-haired man, bowing again, “I was just about to Apparate to headquarters when you arrived, I had only to - ”

“Liar,” hissed Voldemort, cutting him off with a wave of his arm. “Chatting up Mr. Potter, were you? I know how much you enjoy teaching the Chosen One, but surely this is beyond the call of instructional duties?” Voldemort turned toward Harry, his red eyes narrowing to thin slits. Harry stared back defiantly from where he still hung in midair. He felt Voldemort brush up against his mind, and recoil. He knew that after possessing him at the Ministry of Magic the night Sirius had died, Voldemort would not try again. It had been too painful for the Dark Lord: the love Harry felt for Sirius had driven Voldemort out of his mind. Harry concentrated on that feeling to keep Voldemort out once more.

With another lazy flick of his wand, Voldemort sent Harry crashing into a bookcase instead. Harry hit his head hard, and slid down to the floor as books crashed down around him. He felt blood trickle down the side of his head.

“Keep an eye on him,” snapped Voldemort to the closest Death Eater, the large blond man who had escaped from Hogwarts. “I want him for later.” The Death Eater motioned Harry up with his wand and placed the tip at his throat. Harry could only watch helplessly as Voldemort advanced on Snape until they were face to face. The former potions master stood his ground.

“Severus, Severus,” said Voldemort, clicking his tongue and smiling darkly. “My Death Eaters have brought me good news. Albus Dumbledore is dead. Did you know that?”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “I did,” he replied, his voice level.

“It was a rather unexpected end, I admit. Do you know how it happened?” Voldemort was staring at Snape, baiting him with narrowed eyes. Harry hardly breathed as he watched the two men confront each other.

“I do,” replied Snape evenly. Harry instinctively knew that if Snape lied, he was dead; only the truth might save them both from Voldemort’s fury.

“Draco Malfoy succeeded in his task.” Voldemort turned to his followers in the room and threw his hands wide. “Against all odds, our youngest Death Eater managed to destroy one of the most powerful headmasters Hogwarts has ever seen!” He spun around suddenly to face Snape again. “Do you know how he did it?”

“I do,” answered Snape again.

“Tell me,” said Voldemort, and the friendly malice was gone from his voice; his tone implied that anything but the truth was unacceptable. Harry stared, terrified and mesmerized at the same time.

“Draco was able to sneak several Death Eaters into the castle, using a pair of Vanishing Cabinets,” answered Snape coolly. “It was very clever. I found him on the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore, defeated and wandless.” He paused, and Harry thought he saw the professor take a breath. “But I was the one who performed the Killing Curse.”

“Ah,” said Voldemort, who did not seem at all surprised. “So Draco failed after all. You killed Dumbledore.”

“I did.” The rage Harry had been feeling all night returned with Snape’s guilty admission, and Harry heard a low snarl escape his own mouth. The Death Eater guarding him laughed and jabbed Harry harder with his wand.

“He was injured, weak, and cornered,” continued Snape. “It was a perfect opportunity.”

“Of course it was �“ and now the great Albus Dumbledore is dead! Headmaster of Hogwarts, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix - who will defy us now? A mere boy of sixteen?” Voldemort laughed cruelly, and eyed Harry, who braced himself for another attack; Voldemort ignored him and took a step closer to Snape. “But it was also Draco’s task.”

Without warning Voldemort lashed out, crying “Crucio!” and Snape was hit with the torture curse. He fell to the ground, dropping his wand and writhing in agony, but making no sound as his face screwed up in pain. Harry made a motion toward him, horrified to see anyone inflicted with the curse, and felt the wand at his throat dig tighter.

“Move and you’re next,” snarled the blond Death Eater who was his guard.

Voldemort lowered his wand, and Snape lay on the floor, panting. The Dark Lord looked down almost sadly on his Death Eater. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Severus. Now tell me more. Why did you take an Unbreakable Vow?”

It took Snape a moment to answer as he recovered from the torture curse. He stood up slowly, and faced Voldemort once again. “I only wished to protect the boy, nothing more. I meant no offense, my Lord.”

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. “But offense was taken, Severus. I am disappointed that you did not trust me.” Once more he aimed his wand at Snape, and the greasy-haired man fell to the ground a second time. This time he could not stop the screams from escaping as he thrashed on the floor in pain; Harry looked away. He saw Bellatrix Lestrange watching the scene with an evil smirk.

“Where is Draco now?” demanded Voldemort, lifting the curse.

“I don’t know,” replied Snape, lying on the floor gasping for breath.

“Wrong answer!” hissed Voldemort, and he forced Snape to his feet. He glared at the greasy haired man, his eyes red slits as they bored into Snape’s black eyes. Harry guessed that the Dark Lord was trying to break into Snape’s mind; but he knew that Snape was an accomplished Occlumens. The potions master’s face showed the strain of maintaining his defenses against Voldemort; he broke out in a sweat. But he did not look away, and it was finally Voldemort who broke eye contact.

“Never mind,” said the Dark Lord with a wave of his arm, and Snape was thrown to the floor. “He was easy enough to find, and he will give me answers. Wormtail!” Voldemort shouted suddenly, and moving away from Snape he turned toward the front door. “Bring in our guests.” Harry watched as two bound figures floated into the small

It was Draco Malfoy, and his mother.

Harry saw Snape stand and make the smallest movement toward the two captives; he thought a look of fear crossed Snape’s face, but if so it was immediately suppressed. The former potions master stood quietly, hands at his side, as Wormtail directed the Malfoys to the center of the room. But Harry sensed that Snape was deeply distressed.

Narcissa was weeping; Draco had pressed his lips together so hard they were pale, but he made no sound. The two captives were stopped in front of Voldemort, who walked slowly around them, like a predator circling his prey. They watched him with fear etched in every line of their ashen faces.

“Bellatrix told me of the Unbreakable Vow that you made,” said Voldemort, addressing Narcissa. “The Carrows told me what happened Hogwarts, and Wormtail brought me word that Draco was here in Spinner’s End. So imagine my surprise when we dropped by Malfoy Manor and found you both packing. As if to run away!”

Voldemort abruptly waved his wand and Draco fell hard to the floor; his mother cried out and sobbed harder. Harry watched as Voldemort stood over Draco, his face a mixture of hatred and cruelty. Once again Harry felt sympathy for Draco; he was about to face Voldemort’s wrath for failing to kill Dumbledore on the Tower.

“Draco, my boy,” said Voldemort, looking down at the pale-faced boy. “I gave you an assignment. It was your task to accomplish, a chance to redeem your father’s failure. Instead you have added to the Malfoy family disgrace.” He shook his head. “I am dreadfully disappointed, Draco. I had faith in you, and you failed.”

Voldemort paused, as Draco cowered on the floor. And then he raised his wand and cried “Crucio!” for the third time that night.

Draco screamed as he thrashed on the floor; Narcissa Malfoy shouted at Voldemort to stop. Harry watched, horrified again by the ghastly effects of the torture curse. He had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse several times himself, and he knew the pain it caused. He remembered the first time he had tried to use the curse: he had tried to cast it on Bellatrix Lestrange at the Ministry of Magic, but had failed. He glanced over at her; she had turned away from the sickening scene on the floor, an expression of dread on her face now. After all he had been through with Draco Malfoy over the last six years, even after the events on the Astronomy Tower, Harry still didn’t think Draco deserved such horrible punishment. But even as he tried to move forward again, the Death Eater guarding him rammed his wand harder into his throat, and Harry gagged.

Voldemort released the curse, and Draco lay on the floor, curled in a ball and sobbing. “That’s for thinking you could run,” said Voldemort softly. He forced the boy up, holding him in the air at eye level and piercing him with his red-eyed stare. After several long, silent moments, Draco looked away, defeated; his mother let out a moan. Releasing Draco to the floor, Voldemort glared over his shoulder at Snape, and a twisted smile came over his face.

“'He can’t find you if you’re already dead.'” Voldemort mimicked Snape’s words to Draco, and Harry felt his eyes go wide. Snape’s face paled; what Voldemort had failed to retrieve from Snape he had succeeded in pulling from Draco’s mind. “So you thought to hide them? To save them?” Voldemort laughed cruelly. “You’ve just signed their death warrant.”

With a violent thrust of his wand, Narcissa was released from her ropes, and fell to the floor next to her son. She knelt beside him, and looked up at Voldemort with a desperate pleading expression. “Please,” she begged. “Spare Draco! The Vow was my idea, I made Severus make it. Draco had no part �““

“Be quiet, Narcissa,” said Voldemort softly, his voice deadly. “I am very unhappy with you. Your husband failed to retrieve the prophecy, your son failed to kill Dumbledore. Even your sister failed me when she kept the secret of your Unbreakable Vow.” Bellatrix looked up in surprise and fear. Voldemort ignored her and slowly advanced on Narcissa. “With that Vow, you failed me as well.”

Bellatrix suddenly appeared in front of Voldemort, her face alarmed, her dark eyes beseeching. “No - please, my Lord! I beg you, not Cissie - ” she began, reaching for Voldemort.

The Dark Lord threw her off, and pushed her out of the way. “Stand aside, Bellatrix. I am not happy with you either.” She backed away, shocked. Harry saw her glance wildly around the room; the other Death Eaters avoided her gaze as if they knew what was going to happen next. Only Snape met her eyes, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Bellatrix let out a sob and fell to her knees, reaching out toward her sister.

Voldemort stared down at Narcissa and Draco. His eyes narrowed cruelly, and his mouth curved into a twisted smile. “I would apologize, Narcissa, but I am not sorry.” He raised his wand. “Good-bye.”

The Dark Lord cried “Avada Kedavra!” and sent a jet of deadly green light straight at Narcissa Malfoy; without a sound she fell to the floor, dead.

Bellatrix Lestrange screamed and pulled at her hair; with a howl of pain Draco cradled his mother’s lifeless body on the floor. Harry pushed the large blond man guarding him aside as hard as he could, and ran. He called for his wand silently with as much concentration as he could muster, and was rewarded when it flew into his hand. Raising his wand, he aimed it at Voldemort and cried “Impedi - ”

Before he could finish, Harry saw twin streams of red light aimed at his chest by the two remaining Death Eaters in the room; somehow he managed to throw himself to the floor and avoid being knocked unconscious. He scrambled behind the sofa, breathing hard, wondering wildly what to do next as memories from his fourth year and the terrible duel in the graveyard flashed through his mind.

“Potter is mine! I want him unharmed!” the Dark Lord shouted to his followers. Suddenly the sofa flew across the room, and Harry was unprotected. Standing quickly with his wand held before him, Harry felt the panic of hopelessness threaten to overwhelm him. He could not defeat Voldemort, not without destroying his Horcruxes first, and even then he didn’t feel ready.

Glancing at Snape, Harry was suddenly struck by the older man’s words earlier that night: “Shut your mouth and close your mind.” He forced any thoughts of Horcruxes from his head, so that Voldemort could not gleam any hint of Harry’s grim task. He thought he saw Snape nod almost imperceptibly.

“Harry Potter, bleeding-heart,” jeered Voldemort as he moved toward Harry. Behind him Bellatrix was sobbing over her sister’s dead body. Draco stood, shaking with fury and grief. He looked at Snape, who shook his head as if signaling him to wait. The Death Eaters did not seem to notice their interaction but closed in around Harry and Voldemort, just as they had in the graveyard.

“Even the death of someone like Narcissa Malfoy moves him to heroics,” continued Voldemort. “How pathetic. She deserved to die!”

“No, she didn’t!” Harry shouted. “She was unarmed, and begging for her life. You’re pathetic!” Without stopping to think about it he aimed a curse at Voldemort as quickly as he could, muttering the spell quietly under his breath. He was rewarded when the Dark Lord failed to block it fast enough and staggered backwards several feet. Harry saw Snape raise his eyebrows; Draco was still watching Snape intensely; the Death Eaters did nothing but move closer.

Voldemort laughed shrilly as he caught his balance. “Excellent progress, Harry! You almost finished me with that one!” He raised his wand and sent a stream of red light at Harry. Harry barely blocked it, then sent his own back in retaliation, still trying desperately to keep his mind clear while saying the spells under his breath.

“We could do this all night, Harry!” said Voldemort, advancing on Harry once more. “You can’t win. Our wands won’t fight each other, surely you remember.” Harry certainly remembered what had happened in the graveyard: casting simultaneous spells, their wands had connected, and Harry had witnessed the rare Priori Incantatem effect as Voldemort’s wand had regurgitated its last spells. He had seen his parents come out of the Dark Lord’s wand that night; he did not care to see what came out of Voldemort’s wand now, if he had the strength to force it again.

Thinking cost Harry time; before he could even try to block it, he felt the strange empty feeling of the Imperius Curse descend on his thoughts. His mind drifted off, floating blissfully away, and he watched the scene continue as if he were detached from his own body.

“Ever killed anyone, Harry?” whispered Voldemort. “You might enjoy it.” The Dark Lord circled around Harry, like a snake coiling its victim. He raised his hand and touched Harry’s cheek, almost caressing it. Harry struggled to move, but felt the curse holding him in place, like a blanket smothering his will.

“I’d like your help, Harry. Kill Draco.” Voldemort stepped back and motioned Harry forward with his wand. Harry heard a voice inside his head, commanding him to move forward and kill Malfoy. You don’t want to move, said a second voice in the back of his mind. Fight it. Harry did not want to kill anyone, and struggled with all his might; but his right foot slowly moved forward, and he felt Voldemort increase the pressure on his mind. “Come, Harry,” said the Dark Lord, his voice enticing. “He’s your enemy, he tried to kill Dumbledore! Kill him!” Harry felt an unbearable weight in his mind and watched in horror as his arm was compelled to raise itself. He saw Draco’s eyes widen in fear. . .

Suddenly Harry’s mind cleared as he was reminded of something else from his fourth year, something he had learned in class, when he had been forced to throw off the Imperius Curse again and again in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The imposter Mad-Eye Moody had said it was in his eyes. Harry had his mother’s eyes, and he knew in his heart that she would never kill, not even under the influence of an Unforgivable Curse. Fight it, said the second voice in his head again. For her. You don’t really want to kill Draco.

Looking into Draco’s eyes again, Harry saw terror, and grief; Draco too had now lost his mother to Voldemort’s dark magic. Harry knew that despite any enmity he felt toward the Slytherin boy, he did not want to kill him; he couldn’t bear the thought of killing anyone. He knew what it would do to his soul, and the thought of ripping his soul apart, of becoming like Voldemort, was too much to bear. Marshalling all of his strength, Harry threw off the Imperius Curse. With a loud cry he aimed a Stunning Spell at the nearest Death Eater and sprinted for cover, narrowly avoiding a jet of green light as Voldemort screamed in fury.

Several things happened at once: Snape called his wand from where it had fallen on the floor, and motioned toward the unconscious Death Eater. That wand flew into Draco’s hand, and together they raised their wands against the two other Death Eaters in the room, knocking them unconscious. Bellatrix Lestrange did not move, but continued to sob over her sister’s body as curses flew around her; Wormtail ran and hid behind the rickety chair, aiming a curse over his shoulder at Harry. Harry ducked and threw his own curse at the small man, blowing the chair into small pieces.

Voldemort gave another inarticulate cry of rage, and sent a second jet of green light toward Harry. Snape used his wand to hurl the coffee table in front of the curse; the table exploded, sending bits of burning wood flying about the room. At the same time Harry deflected another hex from Wormtail, who scrambled about the room trying to find cover. Forgetting about casting curses under his breath, Harry cried “Impedimenta!” as Wormtail moved toward the bookcase he had first appeared behind, trying to escape. Wormtail blocked the spell and raised his wand toward Harry, but Draco cried “Stupefy!” and the rat-like man was slammed into the bookcase, unconscious. Harry nodded at Draco, and together they turned toward Voldemort; the Dark Lord was advancing on them both.

Draco cried “Serpensorstia!” and a long black snake shot from his wand toward the Dark Lord. But with an evil grin, Voldemort simply whispered something in Parseltongue and the snake turned back on Draco, hissing dangerously.

Malfoy backed toward the edge of the room as Harry moved toward the snake. Before he could say anything, Snape pointed his wand and cried “Finite Incantatem!” The snake disappeared and to Harry’s shock Snape sent a jet of purple light toward the Dark Lord. Voldemort blocked the spell with a shield charm, and Snape was sent flying off his feet when it was reflected back toward him. As Voldemort turned on Snape, now injured on the ground, both Harry and Draco raised their wands to cast spells at the Dark Lord; from the floor, Snape cast a silent spell of his own. Unable to parry all three curses sent toward him, Voldemort was hit in the chest and lifted high in the air. He flew through the window with a great clattering of breaking glass and landed in the yard outside.

“Draco, run!” Snape shouted, just as he had shouted when they had escaped Hogwarts earlier that night. He stood up gingerly, and Harry saw a horrible bloody gash across his chest. He also saw the potions master draw the small glass bottle from his robes and quickly swallow its contents. “You too, Potter �“ get out of here!”

Draco looked around wildly, at his mother, dead on the floor; at his aunt, hunched over Narcissa’s body and gaping at Snape in shock; and finally at Harry. Harry stared back, stunned and gasping for breath. “No,” he panted. “You have to come with us, he’ll kill you now - ”

“I can take care of myself, Potter!” Snape yelled, his eyes livid. “Now get out!” He waved his wand and sent both Harry and Draco flying through the ruins of the front door. They landed hard on the ground, and scrambled up. Voldemort was untangling himself from the jumble of bushes and glass he had fallen into. With an incoherent shriek of fury, he aimed a jet of green light at them. Harry shoved Draco out of the way, and barely dodged the curse; together they ran behind the house.

They stopped and stared at each other again, wide-eyed. Harry wanted to go back in; but deep down he knew that he could not save Snape and still hope to survive to destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes. He also felt a strange protective sympathy for Draco Malfoy: Snape had intended to hide him, and Harry knew the Order could carry out those wishes. Harry was forced to make a horrible choice: he had to survive and continue Dumbledore’s quest for the Horcruxes, so that he could fulfill the prophecy and face Voldemort once and for all. He would also deliver Draco to the Order so that they could protect him. He could only hope that Snape would survive on his own.

“Let’s go,” he said roughly to Draco, getting ready to Apparate back to the castle. To his surprise Draco looked just as reluctant as Harry felt to leave Snape behind; he started to protest.

“We can’t just leave him, he’s a dead if we do - ”

“We’re dead if we don’t,” snapped Harry, feeling slightly sick about it. Grabbing Malfoy’s arm, Harry made a quick turn, and for the second time that night he Apparated without a license in order to get back to Hogwarts safely.

Harry reappeared outside the castle gates, two feet off the ground with Draco Malfoy on his arm, but alive and safe. He fell hard to the dirt, landing awkwardly on his ankle. Ignoring the pain, Harry jumped up and raced through the castle gates. He was vaguely aware of Draco following behind him, but he ignored him as well; he had to know what had happened at the castle. He had to find his friends, get to Professor Dumbledore, and alert the Order.

He ran first to Hagrid’s cabin, now a charred smoking wreck. But Hagrid was gone, and Harry did not hear Fang howling; he hoped that the gamekeeper had saved the trapped dog and gotten out safely.

Running hard with a limp, Harry crossed the grounds and made for the Astronomy Tower. A large group of students still stood at the base, whispering and weeping and hugging each other for support. Harry pushed his way through them, paying no attention to anyone who called out, or exclaimed at the blood on his head and face. He had to find Professor Dumbledore, and the Horcrux they had retrieved.

But the headmaster’s body was not there: Harry found himself in an empty circle of students. Clearly Professor Dumbledore had fallen there, as the ground in the center of the circle bore the unmistakable imprint of a body. Nearby lay a crushed pair of half-moon spectacles. Seeing them, Harry stumbled and sank to his knees as the impact of the night’s events began to cave in on him. He picked up the glasses, and felt his face screw up with the effort of holding in his grief.

Covering his face with his hands, Harry drew in great gasping breaths, willing himself to shut away the sobs that threatened to tear him apart. He needed to find Ron, Hermione, and Ginny; but a heavy weight pinned him down, for the loss of Professor Dumbledore, his mentor and protector, was a loss that he did not know if he could bear after so many others.

Draco Malfoy stood near the edge of the circle, staring at the ground, at Harry. His face was pale, his eyes stunned. Whereas just moments before Harry had felt a piercing sympathy for Draco, and a strong desire to protect him, now he was struck with a sudden rage: this was his fault. Draco had brought the Death Eaters into the castle, and had forced Snape’s hand; it was his fault the headmaster was dead.

With a cry of fury and anguish, Harry dropped Dumbledore’s glasses and threw himself at Draco, knocking them both to the ground. The students around them scattered at the sudden violence of Harry’s reaction. “This is your fault, Malfoy!” he shouted, forgetting about his wand and punching Malfoy hard in the face; blood spurted from Malfoy’s nose, and Harry felt a vicious sense of payback for the fiasco on the Hogwarts Express. “It’s your fault! He’s dead because of YOU!” He pummeled wildly at Malfoy, taking out his pain and frustration on the one person he could. Malfoy held up his hands to protect himself and tried to push Harry away, but Harry felt a last desperate strength come over him and they rolled on the ground, fighting furiously. No one tried to stop them; the students around them simply stood there in shock, watching a fight that had been developing for years.

Harry felt firm hands grip his arms, stopping him, and looked up to find Remus Lupin kneeling across from him with sad, grave eyes. He was dirty and tired-looking, and a deep cut ran down the length of his arm.

“Harry, stop -” Lupin started to say, his voice rough.

“No!” Harry shouted, trying to wrench his arms free, but exhaustion kept him from breaking away from Professor Lupin’s surprising strength. “It was Malfoy, he let them in - ”

“I know, Harry,” said Lupin, as Draco scrambled up and away from Harry. He appeared ready to run, but Harry saw Lupin give Draco a piercing look that stopped him short. “It’s okay, we know. Come on, let’s go back to the castle. Both of you.”

“Where -” Harry started to ask as Lupin helped him up. He was now dirtier than ever after rolling around on the ground with Malfoy, and sore. His lip was bleeding again, and his ankle began to throb as soon as he put weight on it. The night’s events began to close in on him again, and he started to shake.

“To the hospital wing. Everyone is meeting there.” Lupin looked at Draco with a small compassionate smile. “You too, Draco. We can sort this out.”

Lupin continued to hold Harry’s arm and turned to go, leading him toward the castle doors and supporting him as they walked. Draco followed silently and sullenly behind them.

“What happened to Ron?” asked Harry as they entered the castle. The shining red rubies from the Gryffindor hourglass covered the floor like blood. More students stood around the entrance, clutching each other and sobbing. Some gasped and pointed at Harry as he entered, or perhaps they were pointing at Malfoy; Harry ignored them. “And Hermione? Ginny? Is everyone okay? Was anyone killed?” He babbled almost incomprehensibly as fatigue took hold of him.

“They’re all okay, Harry, thanks to you,” replied Lupin. “They were able to warn us that the Death Eaters had entered the castle, and they fought well.” He smiled at Harry. “I’m sure your lucky potion helped. That was very generous of you.”

“Then what about the Dark Mark?” asked Harry, still worried as he looked back through the great castle doors into the sky behind them; the evil skull had disappeared. “Draco said someone was killed.”

“A Death Eater,” replied Lupin, and Harry heard Malfoy gasp softly behind him. “Killed by a fellow Death Eater, too. Now, are you all right? Both of you?”

Draco grunted, and Harry nodded blankly. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just -” He passed a hand over his eyes as he thought about all that had happened; he was angry and upset, confused and probably in shock, and the thought of telling anyone what had happened since he had left with Dumbledore was overwhelming at the moment.

“It’s okay,” said Lupin, as if he knew what Harry had been thinking. “You don’t have to say anything yet. Just tell us all, once.”

Harry gave him a wan smile, but then remembered several things he had to tell Lupin immediately. “Professor, Voldemort killed Mrs. Malfoy. I was there, I saw it. You have to help Draco - the Order, you have to protect him.”

Lupin turned to Draco, his tired face now filled with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Draco,” he said softly. “We’ll do everything we can.” Draco didn’t say anything, he just stared at the ground as they walked, his jaw set and his eyes dead; Harry felt slightly ashamed for punching him outside.

“And Snape was there, too,” Harry continued somewhat breathlessly. “Someone needs to help him, he was hurt and Voldemort will probably kill him, because he helped us get away - ”

Lupin stopped him again, his face noticeably paler. “It’s okay, Harry. We’ll take care of it as soon as we can.”

The three of them walked the rest of the way to the hospital wing in silence. When they entered the room, Harry saw a large group of people standing around a bed, and his heart skipped a beat in panic: Lupin had said they were all alive, but was one of his friends still horribly injured? He started to run toward the bed, but found he could only hobble in exhaustion.

Hearing footsteps, Hermione turned around and exclaimed, “Harry!” She ran up to him and hugged him tightly. “We’ve been so worried, we didn’t know where you were, or what happened to you - ” She stopped abruptly when she saw Draco Malfoy come in behind them.

“I’m okay,” Harry told her, feeling drained. He glanced back at Draco. “It’s all right, we have to help him now.” Hermione looked slightly doubtful, but nodded. She helped him the rest of the way down the wing. Ron met them and clapped him on the shoulder; he was grim and didn’t say anything. “Where’s Ginny?” asked Harry, not seeing her and hoping she wasn’t the one injured. Ron motioned toward the bed, and again Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

Harry made his way to the bed. Bill Weasley lay under a blanket, unconscious. A vicious injury scarred his face almost beyond recognition. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had already arrived and were holding each other as Fleur, Bill’s fiancé, wiped his face with a wet cloth. Ginny was kneeling on the floor, holding Bill’s hand. She glanced up as Harry arrived.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, and jumping up she threw herself into Harry’s arms. Harry hugged her back, never more relieved to see anyone safe. He fought hard not to break down in tears, but smiled and kissed her on the forehead instead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchange a look. “Are you okay?” asked Ginny, gazing worriedly into his face. “You look terrible.”

Harry gave her a wan smile. “I’m all right, now. What about you?” Ginny nodded silently, and sadly turned back to Bill. Harry glanced around the hospital wing. He saw Tonks come stand next to Lupin, and to his surprise she took his hand. Neville Longbottom was sleeping peacefully nearby as Luna Lovegood watched over him. Hagrid was sitting in a chair, weeping silently as Professor McGonagall patted his huge shaking shoulders. Madam Pomfrey bustled around treating minor injuries; Harry saw Malfoy wave her away as he stood alone by the windows. Swallowing hard, Harry turned back to Ginny, who was again holding Bill’s hand. “What happened?” he asked gently.

None of the Weasleys seemed able to answer his question; it was Lupin who spoke. “He was attacked,” said Lupin quietly. “By Fenrir Greyback.”

Harry gasped in shock as he looked again at Bill Weasley lying quietly in the bed, his face a bloody mess. Still no one said anything. “What will happen?” Harry asked Lupin softly. “Will he be a - ”

“A werewolf?” Lupin shook his head. “I don’t think so. Greyback wasn’t transformed at the time, but there will probably be some contamination. It’s hard to say, we probably won’t know for sure until the next full moon.”

Harry passed his hand over his eyes, fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted more than anything to go back to his dormitory and collapse in his bed, but he had to know what had happened while he was gone. Gently he tugged Hermione off to the side; Ron joined them, but Harry nodded at Ginny to stay with Bill, and she smiled gratefully.

“Did you get a - you know? A Horcrux?” asked Hermione quietly.

“Yes,” replied Harry. “I’ll fill you in later when we’re alone. But what happened here? Are you all right?”

Ron and Hermione proceeded to tell Harry all that had happened since he had given them the Maruader’s Map and the Felix Felicis, and left for the cave with Dumbledore. As they spoke, several others, including Lupin, Tonks, Hagrid, and Professor McGonagall came over and added to their story. Draco Malfoy watched with a glowering look on his face from over by the windows, where he still stood alone; no one paid him any attention.

“Harry, what happened on the Tower?” Lupin finally asked. Harry had been dreading the question since he had entered the hospital wing. Everyone turned to watch him, even the Weasleys. Draco stared at him; Harry knew he was listening carefully, to see what Harry would reveal. Taking a deep breath, Harry began to talk.

He told them how he and Dumbledore had arrived back in Hogsmeade and seen the Dark Mark, and how they had come back to the Tower, where they encountered Draco. He told them that Draco had Disarmed Dumbledore, and that Dumbledore had frozen Harry. Several people glared at Draco, shocked and angry, and he glared back before turning away; upset or ashamed, Harry could not tell. He quickly told them that Draco hadn’t killed Dumbledore, that Dumbledore had offered to help the Slytherin boy, and that Draco had lowered his wand.

Harry told them about the Death Eaters who had arrived then, as well as Fenrir Greyback. When he got to the part where Snape arrived on the Tower and Dumbledore pleaded with him, Harry heard himself stumble. He glanced up at Malfoy; he didn’t know what to say about Snape. He had seen the former potions master kill Dumbledore in cold blood, but then Snape had risked his life to protect Draco, had delivered the headmaster’s message to Harry, and finally saved both of them in Spinner’s End. He didn’t want to say anything about Snape until he understood exactly what had happened. So he told them one of the Death Eaters had killed Dumbledore, and that Snape had fled with Draco; Harry saw Draco eyeing him strangely from over by the windows.

Harry told them how he had followed Snape back to Spinner’s End; he did not tell them that he had been captured, and he did not mention the memories which Snape had given him as Dumbledore’s final message. He saw Professor McGonagall open her mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly continued, telling them how Voldemort had arrived and tortured Snape. He told them how Voldemort had captured Draco and his mother, and learned that Snape was planning on hiding them. And he told them how Voldemort had killed Draco’s mother, right in front of him, as punishment for their treachery.

For a moment, everyone was silent; even Ron looked sadly at Malfoy. Harry ended by telling them about the fight with Voldemort, and how Snape had helped them escape.

“He saved our lives, and he’s probably dead by now,” Harry finished softly, somehow knowing that Snape’s chances of surviving Voldemort’s wrath were slim.

He saw Professor McGonagall close her eyes; now it was Hagrid who patted her on the shoulders.

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath and opening her eyes. “He was able to help, that was the point of his cover. We’ll send an Order member to check Spinner’s End. You’re sure he planned to hide the Malfoys, Potter?”

Harry nodded, once again looking at Malfoy. “Yes, but I don’t know how. He said no one would know.”

“Yes, of course,” she said to herself, as if no one were listening. “Well, then there is work to do. Potter, Malfoy, I’d like you to join me in the headmaster’s office. Remus, if you wouldn’t mind joining us, I would appreciate your help. And Hagrid, please gather the Heads of Houses and tell them to meet us in ten minutes. Ask Professor Slughorn to represent Slytherin.”

Hagrid nodded and walked out. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, who looked concerned. “It’s okay,” he told them quietly. “I’ll be back soon.” After giving Ginny a quick smile, Harry left the hospital wing with Professor McGonagall; a sinking feeling in his gut told him the long night wasn’t over yet.


* * *

Harry followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors in silence as Draco Malfoy and Professor Lupin walked behind him. When they came to the stone gargoyle that guarded the staircase leading to the headmaster’s office, Professor McGonagall seemed to hesitate; Harry saw her swallow hard before she said, “Liquorice Wand,” and the gargoyle jumped aside. They rode the revolving staircase to the door of Professor Dumbledore’s office.

Harry reluctantly stepped into the headmaster’s office. When he had been there earlier in the evening, Professor Dumbledore had been alive, and he, Harry, had yelled at him for trusting Snape. Without thinking Harry fingered the memories Snape had given him in Spinner’s End, and wondered if they would show him why Dumbledore had granted his unwavering trust to the man who had murdered him. Harry looked around for the silver Pensieve, but did not see it; he assumed that it was locked in the cabinet where the headmaster stored it.

Professor McGonagall walked to Dumbledore’s desk; behind it hung a portrait, and Harry felt his heart ache when he realized that the headmaster himself now hung on the wall among the other headmasters of Hogwarts, sleeping peacefully in a chintz chair. Professor McGonagall looked at the portrait, sighed, then turned around and addressed Harry first.

“Potter, I’d like to know exactly what happened tonight,” she said, her lips tight.

Harry frowned. “I already told you everything - ” he started to say, but McGonagall waved him off.

“Not that, Potter - before you came back to Hogwarts. Where did you go with Professor Dumbledore tonight? What were you doing?” McGonagall eyed him closely.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you,” said Harry, feeling slightly guilty.

“Potter, I need to know - I can’t help if I don’t know what Professor Dumbledore was planning.” Professor McGonagall seemed irritated with Harry’s secrecy; but he knew that he couldn’t share the secret of Voldemort’s Horcruxes yet, just like he couldn’t share the truth about Snape either. He needed to learn more about both.

“I’m sorry, Professor. Professor Dumbledore instructed me not to share our lessons with anyone.”

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes at Harry and seemed ready to retort when Lupin spoke. “Minerva,” he said softly. “Trust him. We trusted Dumbledore, now we must trust Harry. There are other things for us to do now.”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, all right then.” She turned to the pale-faced boy who watched her warily. Her face became somewhat harder. “Mr. Malfoy, I don’t think I need to explain to you how serious the situation is. You have assisted the Death Eaters in entering and attacking Hogwarts, injuring a number of people, and murdering the headmaster. By all accounts I should turn you over to the Ministry of Magic for Azkaban.”

Draco blanched and glanced nervously at Lupin. “But Professor,” Harry broke in, before Draco could speak, “the headmaster himself offered to help him, and Snape was going to - “

“I can take care of myself, Potter,” snapped Malfoy under his breath. Harry saw Lupin place his hands on Draco’s shoulders; Draco stiffened but his voice took on an anxious edge as he addressed Professor McGonagall. “The Dark Lord will kill me. Snape said he could hide us, that no one would find us.”

When Professor McGonagall was silent, Lupin took the opportunity to speak. “Draco, why was Snape going to hide you? Why does Voldemort want to kill you?”

Draco shook off Lupin’s hands and walked away from them. “Because I was supposed to kill Dumbledore.” Harry heard McGonagall gasp, and saw Lupin frown. “The Dark Lord ordered me to kill him, but I couldn’t, and he . . . another Death Eater did it instead. But it was my job, and I failed. That’s why he killed my mother, and that’s why I’m a dead man.” Like Harry, Draco did not tell them that Snape was one who had actually killed Dumbledore. And if Harry thought Draco would hang his head over his role in the night’s events, he was wrong; the Slytherin boy glared defiantly at Lupin, who exchanged a silent look with Professor McGonagall.

“Fine,” said Draco, starting toward the door with a frustrated expression on his face. “I’ll go, I don’t need your help. I can protect myself.” He opened the door but with a wave of her wand McGonagall slammed it shut.

“You’ll do no such thing, young man,” she said severely. “Regulus Black thought he could hide from You-Know-Who, and was killed within days. Remus, I think we should call Aberforth.”

Lupin nodded and drew out his wand as he walked to the window. With a cry of “Expecto Patronum!” he produced a silvery Patronus from his wand. Harry saw him talk to it quietly, as if giving instructions, and then it went off into the night toward Hogsmeade.

When Lupin turned around, Harry asked, “Who’s Aberforth? Isn’t that - ”

”Professor Dumbledore’s brother,” nodded Lupin, coming back to stand with them.

“He’s here?” asked Harry, surprised. He had only heard Dumbledore mention his brother once, and had seen him in a picture of the Order that Mad-Eye Moody had shown him at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. But even Moody seemed to know little about the reclusive member of the Order.

“He’ll be here shortly,” said McGonagall. “Meanwhile - ” before she could finish, there was a knock on the door, and Hagrid entered with the Heads of Houses. Professor Sprout was holding a handkerchief as she dotted her eyes; Professor Flitwick was twisting his hands and looked visibly upset. Even Professor Slughorn, now taking Snape’s place as Head of Slytherin House, appeared significantly deflated; his face was pale and sad.

“Potter, Malfoy �“ please step outside,” said Professor McGonagall. “We’ll be with you in a few minutes.” Looking guardedly at Malfoy, Harry left the professors and went into the corridor to wait. Malfoy reluctantly joined him, and they stood with a tense and awkward silence hanging heavily in the air between them for several minutes.

Finally Harry said something, which he was slightly taken aback to hear himself say. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

Malfoy glanced up at him in surprise, and nodded gruffly. He did not respond; there wasn’t anything to say. Harry could only imagine how Malfoy felt. Though he had witnessed it, Harry did not remember his own mother’s death. But he knew the pain of loss, and he knew that even Draco Malfoy was hurting.

Soon Harry heard footsteps coming up the stairs; as he watched, he saw a head of white hair ascending the spiral stairway. For a single second he thought �“ hoped �“ that Professor Dumbledore was returning to the headmaster’s office, alive and well and ready to continue the hunt for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. But though the man looked very much like Albus Dumbledore, he also looked quite different. Whereas the headmaster’s eyes twinkled blue behind his half-moon spectacles, this man’s eyes were a squinty green behind crooked glasses. While Dumbledore’s long white beard hid a ready smile, this man’s messy grey beard barely hid the rough planes of a scowling face. And while Dumbledore had emanated wisdom and power, this man radiated a gruff shrewdness.

Harry couldn’t help it: he stared, and the man stared right back until Harry looked away, somewhat flustered. The other man grunted, a sound Harry had certainly never heard Dumbledore make. “You must be the Potter boy.” His voice was low, and sounded like a person just waking up in the morning.

Harry nodded, wide-eyed. “Close your mouth or a wrackspurt will fly in. You Malfoy then?” he asked, turning to the other boy. There was another nod. “Where’s Lupin?”

Harry found his voice. “He’s inside, meeting with �“ “

But the familiar man ignored Harry and simply barged into the office without knocking. Harry and Draco followed.

Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn, as well as Hagrid and Lupin, were discussing the night’s events with McGonagall. They all turned and stopped mid-sentence when the strange man stumped in. Harry and Draco moved to the side, hoping to stay unnoticed.

“Aberforth!” exclaimed McGonagall, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the man’s appearance or manners. “Thank you for coming so quickly. Professors, that will be all for now. We will meet again in the morning. Thank you.” With the dismissal, Slughorn, Flitwick, and Sprout left the office; Slughorn nodded at Aberforth, who barely acknowledged him. Hagrid began to walk toward the door as well, until McGonagall stopped him. “Hagrid, this is Order business, I’d like you to stay.”

“What the hell happened up here, McGonagall?” demanded Aberforth as Lupin quietly shut the door. “Where’s Albus? What’s this about hiding someone? Why did Lupin - ” He stopped as he noticed the portrait behind the desk, where his brother slept peacefully. “I see,” he said softly, and for all his gruff mannerisms Harry could hear the sudden sadness in his voice. He slowly sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

McGonagall came around the desk and kneeled in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Aberforth. It just happened tonight, on the Astronomy Tower. It was a Death Eater.” Hagrid gave a great sniff from the corner and Harry walked over to him and patted him on the arm.

Aberforth Dumbledore looked at her shrewdly. “There’s more to it than that, I’ll wager. It would take more than a single Death Eater to kill my brother.” He glanced behind him at Harry. “And I’m guessing the Potter boy knows a bit more than he’s letting on.”

Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise; was Dumbledore’s brother also a Legilimens? Or had the headmaster confided in his brother at some point over the past year? Harry didn’t know what to say; fortunately McGonagall spoke instead.

“Of course he does, Aberforth, but we have other pressing concerns. We need to protect the Malfoy boy. You-Know-Who is after him.”

Aberforth snorted inelegantly. “Of course he is! Why this boy? Bad hair?”

Draco opened his mouth to retort but Lupin stopped him.

“Voldemort just killed his mother,” he said softly. “We need to hide him. Dumbledore said no one would know. We’re assuming you have something to do with that?”

Aberforth nodded slowly as he studied Draco. “Yes, yes I do. We’ll have to move quickly. Tell me what happened, so I can plan accordingly.”

Professor McGonagall began to fill him in on everything that had happened, both at Hogwarts and at Spinner’s End. Harry did not listen, but found himself watching the headmaster’s portrait, wishing he would wake up and speak to them. He wanted desperately to speak to Dumbledore one last time, to ask him the dozens of questions that were crowding his mind. As he gazed at the portrait, he found his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, and he began to doze off until he heard Aberforth ask, “What happened to Snape then?”

Shaking himself awake, Harry answered, even though the question hadn’t been put to him. “He attacked Voldemort and was hurt, badly I think. He drank some sort of potion. He threw us out and told us to Apparate back here.” Harry looked at the ground, feeling slightly ashamed at leaving Snape behind to face Voldemort’s wrath. Then he remembered what Snape had done on the tower, and he felt angry; but his outrage turned quickly to the grief and confusion he had been feeling since the headmaster’s death. “I doubt he’s still alive, Voldemort must have been furious at him for helping us escape,” he finished quietly, frustrated at his lack of understanding.

Aberforth snorted again. “You don’t know Severus Snape very well then. Six years of lessons with him and you didn’t learn much, did you?”

Harry bristled, because Aberforth was right: after what had happened that night, Harry wasn’t sure he understood anything about Snape at all. Before he could reply, however, Professor McGonagall spoke.

“Aberforth, I think we should send someone, just in case.”

Aberforth stood up. “I’m heading there myself, I’ll take care of it. But mark my word: Snape won’t be there.” McGonagall nodded as if she understood something that Harry did not. “Come on, boy, we have work to do.” Aberforth pointed at Malfoy and began to walk toward the door.

Draco seemed startled at the abrupt departure. “Where are we going?” he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. “What you going to do to me?”

“Draco, just do as he says,” said Lupin. Draco still looked wary and Lupin continued. “You can trust him, he knows what he’s doing. He’s going to help you. He �“ “

“How?” interrupted Draco.

“That’s between you and me, boy,” growled Aberforth. “If they knew, they’d be a threat. Lupin, you know what to do here. Let’s go.” He stumped out the door without another word. Malfoy looked wide-eyed at the others in the room.

“Good-luck, Draco,” said Lupin softly. Professor McGonagall nodded silently, and Hagrid grunted. Harry thought he should say something, but couldn’t think of what to say. He had a feeling he would never see the Slytherin boy again, and the thought of his enemy simply walking out of Hogwarts to begin a new life after all that had happened was something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Draco gave Harry a long look, as if he wanted to say something as well. But there was too much bad blood between them to be made up in one shared experience. Draco simply dipped his head, and Harry nodded back.

And with that last look, Draco Malfoy left Hogwarts forever.

“All right, Remus, let’s get this over with,” said Professor McGonagall with a sigh. She looked extremely reluctant about something. Glancing up at Hagrid, Harry saw a similar expression on the gamekeeper’s face as well. Lupin himself did not appear eager for whatever was coming next. He walked over to Harry, his wand out.

“Harry,” he said, as if he sensed Harry’s sudden wariness. “This won’t hurt at all, but it is necessary if Draco is going to be safe.”

Harry felt his insides tense in alarm. Was Lupin going to use some kind of spell on him? “What are you going to do?” he asked, though he was beginning to understand.

“Just a simple memory charm,” replied Lupin; he sounded desperately tired. “None of us can know that Draco is protected by the Order.”

Harry’s eyes widened in apprehension. “You mean, you’re going to erase my memory?”

“Only when it comes to Draco Malfoy,” replied Lupin. “I don’t like memory charms much, but no one can know that Draco left here safely with Aberforth.”

After his experiences with Voldemort during his fifth year, Harry hated the idea of anyone tampering with his mind, even someone he trusted. “So what will I think instead?”

“Draco left on his own. That’s all I can tell you, Harry, I’m sorry. It won’t hurt, and you won’t even know it’s happened.”

“What about everyone else who saw him? The entire castle watched us walk up to the hospital wing. What about �““

“Potter,” interrupted Professor McGonagall. “They don’t know he’s under Order protection. That’s all we need to forget. Everyone who was in the hospital wing will be charmed, including myself. Remus will be the only one who knows, until Aberforth returns.”

“But �“ “ Harry started to say, knowing it was useless to protest.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, surprising him with the use of his first name. “But it must be done. Go ahead, Remus.”

Harry swallowed and turned toward Professor Lupin. Even though he trusted his former professor completely, he still couldn’t bear the sight of Lupin’s wand pointed directly at him, and he closed his eyes. He heard Lupin take a deep breath, cry “Obliviate!” - and then he remembered no more.

* * *

A/N: I must take the opportunity here to thank the many wonderful authors in the beta forums who have helped me out with excerpts from the last several chapters. Their input has been immensely helpful and very much appreciated. What a wonderful, supportive group of writers!
And thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed the story so far �“ it is so gratifying to know that people are enjoying this spin on an already great book. Thank you

Harry slowly made his way back to the hospital wing. As he walked the dark corridors he absently rubbed his head; his brain felt foggy, as if he were forgetting something important. He decided it was probably the blow to the head he had suffered when Voldemort had sent him crashing into the bookcase at Spinner’s End, along with the extreme fatigue he felt seeping into every bone of his body. Though he longed to go back to his dormitory and collapse, Harry continued to the hospital wing to see his friends once more.

Thinking about the long night behind him, Harry was suddenly and overwhelmingly relieved to be safe at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy had just left the headmaster’s office, and Harry had little doubt that Draco was a marked man after all that had happened that night. Harry had seen Draco lower his wand on the Tower; he knew that despite his charge from Voldemort, the Slytherin would not have killed Dumbledore. Both Dumbledore and Snape had offered to help Draco, but Dumbledore was dead, and Snape either dead or captured for his traitorous actions. Draco had rejected the Order’s offer to protect him in their stead, and was now on his own. Harry felt a mixture of anger and pity when he thought about Draco Malfoy; he wondered if he would ever see Draco again, and what he would do if he did.

When he returned to the hospital wing, Harry found it the much the same as when he had left: nothing had changed, no one had moved. The Weasley family seemed overwhelmed by anxiety, and simply sat around Bill’s bed, without talking, some of them dozing. They seemed as stunned as Harry by everything that had happened. After a while, Harry found he could not bear the heavy silence any longer. He needed to leave, to go somewhere where he could clear his head and figure out what to do next. He caught Hermione’s eye, and she nodded as if she had read his mind.

Harry squeezed Ginny on the shoulder, and she looked up at him from her place beside the bed. “I’ll see you in the common room,” he said softly. She started to rise, but he stopped her. “It’s okay. You should stay, and be with your family. I’ll be all right.” She nodded gratefully, and stood anyway to kiss him lightly on the cheek; Harry was sure he heard Mrs. Weasley sigh softly.

Hermione was talking quietly to Ron, who still looked grim. She gave him a hug before joining Harry, and told him that Ron was going to stay with his brother as well. Harry and Hermione left the hospital wing together, and did not talk until they were well away from the grieving family.

“Did you really want to go back to Gryffindor?” asked Hermione quietly as they walked through empty corridors.

Harry gave her a weary smile; he wanted nothing more than to fall into his four-poster in the boys’ dormitory, but he felt like there was still so much to say and do. “Not yet. Let’s go to the Astronomy Tower. There’s something I have to tell you.”

Soon they came to the spiral staircase leading up to the Tower. It was a mess. Part of the ceiling had caved in, and Harry and Hermione had to carefully scramble over bits of rubble to climb the stairs. There were scorch marks where curses had hit the walls, and blood had dried on the floor. Harry inanely wondered if the castle elves were in charge of cleaning up wizard battles, but decided it would not be wise to ask Hermione and risk a tirade regarding elvish rights.

Harry stopped when they came to the top of the stairs, a lump in his throat. The scene from earlier that night played vividly through his mind: Dumbledore, weakened by the potion from the cave; Draco, raising his wand but unable to kill the headmaster; Snape, finishing the task as Dumbledore pleaded with him. Despite the events at Spinner’s End, Harry felt his anger begin to stir when he thought about Snape casting the Killing Curse, and about Dumbledore’s body sailing high into the air, dead.

Hermione was pale as she stepped onto the Tower. She moved quietly off to the left, and picked up a small bundle lying on the stone: it was Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, which he had left behind in his mad dash down the staircase after Snape. Silently she held it out to him, and Harry saw a tear make its way down her face.

Walking over to the ramparts, Harry gazed down at the ground where Dumbledore had fallen; the students were gone, returned to their dormitories. He looked out across the grounds to where Hagrid’s hut was a blackened husk, another cruel reminder of the horrible events that had shaken the castle.

Hermione joined him, and together they watched the sun come up. Harry heard Hermione sniffle, and saw that she was crying steadily now. He reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, and she rested her head on his. Sobs shook her body, and Harry found himself unable to hold in his own tears any longer. Through watery eyes he watched a new day begin: the first day Hogwarts would face without its headmaster, and the first day he would face, alone.

After a while Harry’s eyes were drawn to a large red and gold bird circling in the air. He recognized the animal immediately: it was Fawkes. Wiping his eyes, Harry watched as Dumbledore’s phoenix approached the Tower where he stood with Hermione. He nudged her, and together they followed Fawkes as he came to land on the ramparts next to them. The great bird let out a single, piercing note; for all its mournful beauty, it ripped Harry’s heart in half even as it filled him with hope.

“Hello, Fawkes,” he said, his voice breaking. Hermione was sobbing even harder next to him, and reached out to touch Fawkes on the head. He dipped his beak, and let out a soft chirp.

Fawkes launched himself into the air and circled around Harry and Hermione. He dropped something into Harry’s hands, and with another mournful cry, he flew off into the sky towards Hogsmeade. As Harry watched him go, he wondered if he would ever meet the phoenix again. He stared numbly into the distance, forgetting whatever Fawkes had left him, thinking only that he would never see Dumbledore again.

“Harry, look,” breathed Hermione, pointing at the object in Harry’s hands. Glancing down, Harry realized immediately what it was: it was the locket that he and Dumbledore had retrieved from the basin in the cave, and it was wrapped around one of Fawkes’ golden tail feathers. He held one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes in his hands.

“Is �“ is that one of the them, a Horcrux?” Hermione asked quietly. Harry nodded, his throat tight. This was what Dumbledore had sacrificed so much to retrieve. “Harry, what happened with Dumbledore tonight?”

Looking back out over the grounds, Harry took a deep breath and told her about the journey to the cave. He told her about the lake, and the basin, and the horrible potion Dumbledore had to drink. When he described the battle with the Inferi, she gasped and held her hands up to her mouth, her eyes wide. Harry told her how they had Apparated back to Hogsmeade, and seen the Dark Mark over the castle; and he told her the truth about what had really happened on the Tower.

Hermione’s faced paled, and her mouth moved soundlessly. Harry couldn’t blame her: he still didn’t understand everything himself. “But Harry,” she finally said. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell everyone about Snape? If he killed Professor Dumbledore, why are you protecting him? What happened when you went after him?”

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the velvet bag Snape had given him. He held it out and she took it gingerly. He told her about his capture, and the mysterious events at Spinner’s End. “That’s why Snape took me with him, to give me those,” he concluded. “They’re from Professor Dumbledore, only I don’t know how I’m going to see them without the Pensieve.”

Hermione had taken out one of the small glass vials and was turning it around curiously. “It’s a memory, then?” she asked, and Harry nodded. “What do you suppose it is? And why did Snape have it?”

“I don’t know,” replied Harry, running his free hand through his hair. “That’s what’s so frustrating! I saw Snape kill him, right here.” Harry felt his face harden at the very thought of the headmaster’s murder. “But then he risked everything to give me these memories, and to help Draco Malfoy. In fact, he saved our lives, and we left him there!” Harry sighed. “I’m hoping one of those memories will tell me why Dumbledore has trusted Snape for all these years.”

“Or maybe they will help you find the other Horcruxes,” Hermione suggested, putting the vial back in the bag and handing it to Harry. He looked at her, surprised, and she continued. “You’re the only one who can find them now, Harry. It’s your job to destroy them, so you can . . .can . . .”

“Kill Voldemort or be killed,” Harry finished bitterly. Even a year had not helped him reconcile the horrible terms of the prophecy Dumbledore had shared with him. And after being forced to almost kill Draco Malfoy under the effects of the Imperius Curse, Harry knew without a doubt that he had no desire to kill anyone, ever.

As he stood there, thinking morosely of the dark destiny he could not escape, Harry absently turned the locket over in his hands, and felt it click open. Looking down, he saw a small piece of paper flutter to the stones. He picked it up with a sudden feeling of dread. As he read the note, he felt his legs go weak, and grabbed the ramparts to stay up.

“Harry, what is it?” asked Hermione, in a worried tone of voice. “What’s wrong?”

Harry stared at her, stunned. “It’s a fake,” he whispered, unable to believe it himself. “The locket �“ it’s a fake.” He handed her the note and put his head on the ramparts, unable to comprehend the horrible truth of the situation.

To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione softly, as she touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.” She looked as miserable as he felt. There wasn’t anything else to say. The trip to the cave, the terrible potion, and the battle with the Inferi: it had all been for nothing, the Horcrux was already gone. Dumbledore had weakened himself with the potion for no reason; he had died protecting Harry for no reason. Harry felt the anger which had been coursing through him all night suddenly rise; with the anger he felt guilt, for forcing Dumbledore to drink, to protect him, to die; and finally he felt the pain of penetrating loss, just as he had felt when Sirius had died.

Harry and Hermione stood on the Tower in silence, each wrapped up in their own bleak thoughts. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the birds began their song; but the castle slept on, desperate to recover after the long hard night. Harry began to feel the effects of fatigue sweep over him; it was becoming harder and harder to stay awake. And yet he did not want to leave the place where Dumbledore had died, not yet. Hermione suggested they go back to Gryffindor and try to get some sleep, but Harry shook her off. After a while she departed alone, leaving him with a fierce hug and a gentle reminder to come in soon.

As soon as she had left, Harry sank to the ground and let his head fall to his knees. The horrible events of the past night swirled around him like a maelstrom, filling him with grief, anger, and confusion, and he knew he could not keep his feelings bottled up any longer. He wanted to rage at the world for the cruel injustice of it all, but all he could do was sob, until he fell asleep on the cold stone floor of the Tower, as the sun shined down upon the new day.


* * *

A/N: The passage from the locket is from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, p. 609. I decided I wasn’t going to change everything J.K.Rowling had given us; the locket was a great twist after all.

Harry awoke slowly, disorientation replacing the dark dreams which had plagued him all night. He was stiff, cold, and still desperately tired. He was also aware of piercing sunlight on his eyelids, and a light breeze in his hair; he realized with hazy surprise that he was not in his bed in the boys’ dormitory.

Harry felt someone shaking him, and grunted. The shaking continued, and Harry was forced to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was the blurry face of Ron Weasley, leaning over and looking at him with great concern.

“Wasgoinon?” Harry mumbled, trying to get his bearings. He groped for his glasses, sliding them on as he gingerly sat up. Glancing around, he saw that he had fallen asleep on the Astronomy Tower. The locket Fawkes had given him earlier that morning was clenched tightly in his hand.

“Harry, are you okay?” asked Ron, helping him to stand. Harry groaned again as he stretched tired and sore muscles. He couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep outside, and wondered how long he had been there.

“Yeah, I’m all right. What time is it? How long have I been up here?” Ron was still eyeing him strangely. “I’m okay, really. What’s going on?”

“It’s past lunch, Harry,” said Ron, his voice concerned. “We figured you were still asleep when you didn’t show up for breakfast, but when you didn’t come to lunch Hermione sent us to find you. We were getting worried.”

Harry noticed that Ron looked tired and dirty as well. “Did you go back to the dormitory last night?” he asked his friend. Ron shook his head.

“No, I fell asleep in the hospital wing, we all did. We just . . . well, you know.” He shrugged, and looked down.

“How’s Bill?” asked Harry quietly. He could have kicked himself for not asking sooner.

“He’s okay,” answered Ron, his face still glum. “He woke up this morning and complained about his hair, so we’re hoping that’s a good sign. But mostly he’s been sleeping.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Harry. He felt terrible for Ron’s family.

“Yeah, well, he’s alive, isn’t he?” said Ron. “That’s what matters. And Mum’s had a chance to bond with Fleur. I think she’s finally okay with them getting married now.”

“That’s great,” replied Harry, wondering how Bill’s injury had brought the two women closer together. “How’s Ginny?”

Ron shrugged again. “She’s upset, like all of us. And she’s dead worried about you. You should go see her, let everyone know you’re okay.”

Harry nodded and started toward the door. “Right. Let’s go, I’m starving.”

Ron held him back for a moment. “Lunch is over, but I brought you some food.” He held out some biscuits and fruit and a bottle of pumpkin juice. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Harry grabbed the biscuits and stuffed them in his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice before starting in on an apple. He was ravenous.

“You’re welcome.” Ron seemed hesitant about something, and Harry slowed down to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did something happen? Is someone hurt?” Harry felt his heart begin to race in alarm, and wondered how much more stress his body could take.

“Not exactly,” said Ron, taking something out of his robes. “There was an article in the Daily Prophet about last night. It’s pretty major, you might want to sit down again.” He handed Harry the paper and waited anxiously as Harry set down his belated lunch and began to read.



Murder at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Teacher, student killed in separate battle

A fierce battle took place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last night. Sources report that a large group of Death Eaters managed to make their way into the castle in spite of the complex series of charms and spells protecting the property.

Already on high alert, staff members were informed immediately about the incursion and were able to respond appropriately. The ensuing battle involved members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as numerous students. There were several injuries, and one Death Eater was killed. All other enemy combatants managed to escape.

In a shocking statement this morning, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, confirmed that the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was killed upon his return to the school. Why the headmaster left Hogwarts last night remains unknown. He was reportedly in the company of sixth-year student Harry Potter, also known as the Chosen One. The headmaster was struck by a Killing Curse on the Astronomy Tower, cast by one of the unknown Death Eaters.

“Hogwarts has lost its champion,” said McGonagall in a letter delivered by owl to the paper this morning. “We have lost our leader, our mentor, our protector, our friend. It will be a long time before the school recovers from this devastating loss.”

Albus Dumbledore was one of Hogwarts most successful and powerful headmasters. He turned down the position of Minister for Magic several times, preferring instead to tutor the next generation of magic and pass on his wisdom. He was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and served as Supreme Mugwump on the International Confederation of Wizards, as well as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He was also one of the first wizards to support Harry Potter when the Hogwarts student claimed that You-Know-Who had returned two years ago.

“He saved my life, when I had nowhere to go,” sobbed Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts. “He stood up for the little guy, believed in everyone. I don’t know what will happen to Hogwarts without him.”

Albus Dumbledore is survived by his brother, Aberforth Dumbledore of Hogsmeade. Aberforth could not be reached for comment. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall said that he was devastated by the loss of his brother and wished to mourn in private.

Following the battle at the school, a second battle was reported in Spinner’s End at the home of one of Hogwart’s professors, Severus Snape. Professor Snape had taken over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher this past year. He was cleared of all charges of being a Death Eater fourteen years ago, largely on the testimony of Albus Dumbledore.

But confidential sources tell us that it was Severus Snape who cast the deadly Killing Curse which ended the life of the Hogwarts headmaster. It has further been revealed that Snape then left the castle with Draco Malfoy, a sixth-year student, and allegedly the one responsible for allowing the Death Eaters into the castle.

Both were found dead at Spinner’s End, along with Narcissa Malfoy, wife of Lucius Malfoy, currently held in Azkaban prison for last year’s break in at the Ministry of Magic.

Ministry officials at the scene said it appeared as if Narcissa Malfoy was struck by the Killing Curse. Preliminary reports indicate Severus Snape died of injuries incurred during battle, including a particularly brutal Slashing Curse.

The death of Draco Malfoy remains more mysterious. Students at the castle recall seeing the Slytherin student later in the evening with Harry Potter, and even describe a vicious fight between the two on the grounds. But Deputy Headmistress McGonagall reported that while Draco Malfoy did indeed return to Hogwarts, he left the castle intending to return to Spinner’s End.

“We couldn’t stop him, he wanted to go back to his poor mother,” she stated. “And now he’s dead too. No matter what he did, he was a young man and a student at Hogwarts, and did not deserve to be killed.”

Harry Potter could not be reached for comment. Deputy Headmistress asked that the students’ privacy be respected during this trying time. “Harry Potter was at Hogwarts the entire night and had nothing to do with the death of Draco Malfoy,” she further stated.

But this paper questions what The Chosen One has to do with the death of Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter’s loyalty to Albus Dumbledore is well documented, and given his wont for heroics in the past, it would certainly be within reason to wonder if he felt the need to avenge the headmaster’s death. It was also common knowledge that Potter and Malfoy were enemies both on and off the Quidditch pitch, routinely engaging in verbal sparring, duels, and fistfights.

“He hated Draco,” said Pansy Parkinson, a sixth-year Slytherin student at Hogwarts. “They were always fighting. Just last month Harry Potter scarred Draco with a horrible curse using Dark Magic. I’m sure he had something to do with Draco’s death. He probably killed him and made it look like someone else had done it.”

While the Ministry of Magic refuses to name Harry Potter as a suspect, inside sources confirmed that he will be questioned in regards to events at the castle. Meanwhile, the Department for Magical Law Enforcement is investigating the deaths at Spinner’s End as an act of the Death Eaters, possibly the same who attacked Hogwarts.

“We are doing everything in our power to catch the murderers responsible, and ensure the safety of wizarding citizens everywhere,” said a spokeswizard for the department. “Anyone with any information should contact us immediately as we continue our investigation into these appalling acts.”

Whether the Chosen One speaks out about his role in the night’s tragic events remains to be seen.



Harry set down the paper as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. When he put his glasses back on he saw Ron looking at him uneasily.

“I didn’t kill him,” Harry said immediately.

“I didn’t think you did!” Ron exclaimed defensively. “But that’s a pretty serious charge - accusing you of killing Malfoy. How did Parkinson come up with that?”

Harry was silent. He didn’t believe for a second that Pansy Parkinson was clever enough to frame him without outside help. Someone else must have suggested Harry as a suspect. It could be someone with a grudge against him, someone who wouldn’t mind seeing Harry suffer the negative publicity. It could have been someone in the Ministry itself, given his rocky relationship with the government over the years.

“Scrimgeour,” he muttered, thinking wildly. Scrimgeour certainly could have planted the idea of Harry’s involvement in the night’s events; he had no love for Harry after their meeting at Christmas. But what would the Minister for Magic gain from casting doubt on Snape’s loyalty? And why would he even suspect the former potions master of murdering Dumbledore, unless someone suggested it to him?

Ron’s eyes widened. “The Minister for Magic? You think Scrimgeour is trying to frame you? What for?”

“I threw his words back at him at Christmas, remember?” replied Harry, trying to force his fuzzy brain to piece things together. “He wanted me to support the Ministry in its fight against Voldemort, and I told him off. Maybe he’s still mad, and wants to make me look bad, just like they did last year.”

Ron shuddered at the name, then looked skeptical. “Why should he even care? I know you’re the Chosen One and all that, but would the Minister for Magic really try to frame you for murder just because you refused to play poster boy for the Ministry?”

Harry shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. He might want something from me. He wanted me to help him before, maybe this is a new ploy to get my glowing recommendation of the Ministry’s policies.”

“I don’t know, Harry,” said Ron, still skeptical. “It’s a stretch, even for you.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Not really. Remember what the Daily Prophet said about me last year, when they refused to believe that Voldemort had returned? Now they get to have another go, except this time I’m not nuts, I’m a murderer. What I can’t figure out is who told them about Snape.”

Ron’s eyes widened as he flinched. “So it’s true then?” he asked in disbelief. “Hermione said it was, but it seemed too horrible to be true.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” said Harry bitterly. Ron swore, calling their former professor a very unflattering name, and Harry nodded in agreement.

“I saw Snape kill Dumbledore,” he continued, “but I don’t think anyone else did. I can’t figure out how Scrimgeour would even begin to suspect Snape, or why he would bother to accuse him after he’s dead.” Supposedly dead, Harry added in his mind. A little nagging voice in the back of his brain didn’t quite believe the news about Snape’s death yet.

“Hermione says Scrimgeour likely wants to disrupt the Order, make them question themselves in the wake of Dumbledore’s death.” Ron shrugged. “She’s probably right, she usually is about those things.”

“She usually is,” he agreed, handing the paper back to Ron. “It makes sense. Scrimgeour didn’t like Dumbledore, so he probably doesn’t like the Order much either. They’re threats to his control. Accusing Snape of murder would be the perfect way of destroying the Order’s trust and credibility and get rid of the threat.”

Harry was silent as he thought about how the paper’s accusation against Snape would affect the Order. He wondered if he should tell them the truth, or if he should wait until he watched the memories and understood what had happened that horrible night.

“And the locket?” asked Ron, interrupting his thoughts. “Hermione said it was fake.”

Harry nodded wearily. “It is. I have no idea how it happened, though. It was hard enough for Dumbledore to retrieve the locket. I can’t imagine many other wizards strong enough to do what he did.” He held out the locket, and handed it to Ron. Ron examined it curiously as Harry told him about the trip to the cave.

“Any idea who R.A.B. is?” Ron finally asked, reading the mysterious note inside.

“No,” replied Harry, and shrugged unenthusiastically. He hadn’t thought about who might have switched the lockets in the cave, and found that after all that had happened, after all he had been through, he did not really care who the mysterious R.A.B. might be. “Does it matter?”

Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise as he handed the necklace back. “Of course it matters! Harry, you have to find the real locket. You have to destroy the actual Horcrux. You’re the only who can now.”

Hermione had said the same thing to him earlier on the tower. Hearing it again from Ron forced Harry to confront the reality of the situation: if he was going to vanquish Voldemort, he would have to destroy the Horcruxes the Dark Lord had scattered to preserve his soul. Two had been destroyed already, but there were still four left, including the real locket. Yet Harry had no idea where to begin searching for the locket, or the other three Horcruxes. Dumbledore himself had spent years gathering information before sharing his theories with Harry over the course of the previous year.

“I don’t even know where to start,” muttered Harry. “How am I supposed to find one, let alone four?” It seemed hopeless, that he was left to accomplish such a massive task on his own.

Ron clapped Harry on the arm and gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s what you’ve got us for. Or at least Hermione: she’s already in the library. She said she was going up there to go look for you, although I don’t know what she thought you’d be doing in the library at a time like this. But you know Hermione: she’s probably looking up R.A.B. right now.”

Harry grinned, glad to have something normal to smile about after the horrible events of the night and the grim turn events had taken with the article in the Daily Prophet “Leave it to Hermione to run to the library at the first sign of trouble. Maybe she’s found something. Come on, let’s go find her.”

Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose as he started for the stairway. When he came to the steps leading down from the tower, Harry stopped and turned around. He let his gaze sweep one last time over the place where Professor Dumbledore had died. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself. “Good-bye, Professor,” he whispered. “We won’t let you down.” Turning his back on the Tower, Harry started down the stairs, ready to face whatever the coming days would bring, knowing Ron and Hermione would be by his side.


* * *

A/N: That would make a lovely ending. . . but don’t worry, there is more to come! However, this chapter presented itself rather unexpectedly and needs to be worked into the story a bit more now. I am also rearranging the next few chapters. I’ve been trying very hard to update every other week or so, but Chapter Eight may need a little extra time �“ especially seeing as I have to send in my laptop for repairs. Apparently I’ve just worked it too hard this summer and it likes to randomly quit on me, too tired to continue. But don’t fret �“ I’ve started the next bits and will update as soon as everything sorts itself out. Then you will finally get a glimpse at those memories Harry received. You may even find out what happened to Snape and Draco. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story - thank you for reading!

Harry wandered outside alone after dinner in the Great Hall. He found a quiet spot under the beech tree by the lake and sat down, thoughts of the days and weeks ahead swirling through his mind like a whirlwind.

He could not believe that Snape was dead, even though he had known from the moment he left Spinner’s End that the potions master had little chance of surviving Voldemort’s rage. A small part of him still hoped the potions master was alive, for reasons Harry was only beginning to understand. At times he wanted more than anything to take his revenge for the death of the headmaster; but then his thoughts turned to the three memories in his pocket, and he simply wanted to know why Snape had done what he did.

Harry was also struggling to understand another death: Draco Malfoy. It was unfathomable that Draco Malfoy was dead, and that he, Harry, was a suspect in his murder. A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that Draco wasn’t actually dead. Yet whenever he tried to really listen to what the voice was telling him, Harry found his thoughts clouding over, and he was unable to concentrate. He had been hit on the head hard during the fight at Spinner’s End, but he sometimes wondered if there was more to it than that.

Harry was having a difficult a time dealing with the loss of his two greatest enemies at Hogwarts. It was as if the focus of so much of his anger and hatred for the past six years had been unexpectedly taken from him, and Harry felt a hole inside of him where those feelings had always been. It made him feel ashamed and confused to have such thoughts, and he tried think about anything else but Snape, Malfoy, and Spinner’s End.

No further mention of him had appeared in the Daily Prophet, and Harry wondered if the Ministry was still planning on questioning him about the attack at the castle and Pansy Parkinson’s ridiculous accusation. He dreaded the thought of having to speak with Rufus Scrimgeour in particular, now that Dumbledore was dead. It was one thing to be labeled insane by the Daily Prophet but quite another to be suspected of murder by the Ministry. Harry worried that Scrimgeour would try to manipulate him as he had before, but with far more dire consequences now that Dumbledore was gone and unable to protect him.

Ron and Hermione had tried to take his mind off Snape and Scrimgeour and the Daily Prophet article by plunging into the search for the mysterious R.A.B. They had spent the past two days in the library, searching through books and records, trying to find someone whose initials matched those found in the locket. Harry half-heartedly went along, at first curious about the wizard who had apparently tricked Voldemort and stolen one of his Horcruxes. But as the days wore on, he grew less interested in R.A.B. and more concerned about the overwhelming task of finding the real locket, along with three other Horcruxes.

More than anything Harry thought about the three memories he kept in his pocket, and how he was going to view them. He desperately wanted to know what they would show him; he hoped they would at last reveal the truth about Snape. He didn’t think he could move forward without knowing what they contained, because he needed to understand the former potions master’s role in Dumbledore’s murder before he could even begin his hunt for the remaining pieces of Voldemort’s soul.

Harry sighed and laid back as he watched the giant squid wave its lazy tentacles in the evening breeze. Soon he heard footsteps behind him, and felt someone sit down next to him. It was Ginny, and she smiled sadly at him. “Hi,” she said softly.

“How’s Bill?” asked Harry, sitting up and looking at her with concern.

“He’s getting better,” she replied quietly. “Madam Pomfrey said he could come down for the funeral, and then go home.” She looked down at her hands. “We still don’t know what the effects will be, though.”

Harry put his arm around Ginny, and she leaned on his shoulder. For a while they sat in silence, holding each other as they watched the sun set slowly over the lake. After a while, Ginny spoke again.

“Have you watched Professor Dumbledore’s memories yet?” she asked curiously. Harry had told her about Snape and the glass vials; he had not yet told her about Dumbledore and the locket. He wanted Ginny to know the truth about Snape, but he wanted to protect her from the horrible knowledge of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

Harry shook his head in frustration. “No, not yet. I don’t want to ask McGonagall for the Pensieve. I know she’ll want to see them too, and I’m not ready to share them yet. The only other way I can think to get it is to steal it.”

Ginny turned and looked at him. “You don’t have to steal it, you just need to borrow it, like a library book. Think of it that way, and if McGonagall gives you a detention because you borrowed it without asking �“ well, at least you saw them. It would be worth it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and laughed. “Fred and George are a bad influence on you! Do you really think I should just take it �“ I mean, borrow it?”

Ginny nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Those memories must be important for Dumbledore to leave them for you after his death.”

“I know,” said Harry, both dreading and anticipating what the Pensieve might reveal.

“Professor McGonagall was still in the Great Hall when I left,” continued Ginny, with a twinkle in her eye.

Harry smiled; he knew exactly what she was thinking. He stood and pulled out his wand, making up his mind. “Here goes then. I’m just borrowing it.” Pointing his wand at the topmost tower of the castle, he said, “Accio Pensieve!” and waited patiently.

Within moments the silver basin was flying through the sky toward the lake. Harry caught it from midair, and was knocked flat on his back, hitting the ground hard with an awkward grunt. Ginny burst out laughing. “It’s no Snitch, that’s for sure,” Harry said, laughing with her for the first time in days. “Come on, I know exactly where to go.”

Stashing the heavy basin in his book bag, he led her back to the castle and through the corridors to the seventh floor. Walking back and forth down the hallway, he thought about a room where he could use the Pensieve in secret, away from prying eyes. On his third pass, a door appeared, and together they entered the Room of Requirement.

They were standing in Professor Dumbledore’s office.

Harry stopped short and swallowed hard, gazing around the circular room. It was exactly like the headmaster’s office, from the silver instruments whirring on the table, to the portraits lining the wall, to the Sorting Hat lying on top of a shelf behind the large wooden desk. Glancing at Ginny, Harry smiled wistfully and led her inside.

He walked over to Dumbledore’s desk and placed the Pensieve next to a silver inkpot. After taking out the velvet bag containing the glass vials that Snape had given him in Spinner’s End, Harry paused. He did not know what the memories would show him, so he did not know which one he should choose first. He finally poured one into the basin and stirred it with his wand, hoping it was the right memory to start with.

“How does it work?” asked Ginny, leaning in curiously to examine the shining silvery substance swirling through the Pensieve. Harry pulled her back before she fell in; he wasn’t sure how to get himself out, let alone another person.

“You lean into it, its sort of like falling,” he said. “Ginny, I know you want to go too, but I really need you to stay. I �““

“No!” she interrupted, her eyes flashing. “I’m going with you. I have every right to know why Snape killed Professor Dumbledore �““

“Ginny,” he cut her off. “I know you do. But I’ve never done this by myself, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out. I need you here, just in case.”

She still looked determined to join him. “I don’t know how it works either,” she said somewhat resentfully. “If I go with you, we can figure it out together.”

Harry shook his head. “I really need to do this alone, and I need you here to make sure it’s safe. Please, Ginny.”

She finally sighed and nodded reluctantly. “I knew you were going to say something like that. I’ll stay, but I’m getting Ron and Hermione if something goes wrong and you’re not back in an hour.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, relieved that she was so willing to help. “All right then, here I go. See you soon.” Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the Pensieve.

* * *

Harry found himself falling through a dark night sky. He landed hard on the ground, and lay still for a moment, winded. Rising slowly, he glanced around and saw that he was in Hogsmeade. It was cold, dark, and raining, and he was standing in the middle of a mud puddle in front of the Hog’s Head Inn.

A man passed in front of him, and Harry immediately recognized Professor Dumbledore, though several years younger. Harry followed him into the Hog’s Head, shaking himself dry as he entered the dirty, stale-smelling pub.

“Good evening, Aberforth,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, smiling genially at the barman behind the counter. Harry frowned as he observed the two men: they looked remarkably similar, though there were still slight differences. The barman was also tall and thin, but his white hair was untrimmed and his beard grey. He had piercing green eyes, and scowled.

“Albus,” he acknowledged shortly. “Here to see the seer then?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I am. But I’d like a small brandy first.”

The barman snorted as he took out two dirty glasses and poured a drink for Dumbledore. “You’ll want something stronger once you meet this one. She’s a right piece of work.” He poured himself a glass of brandy as well.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Really? I would have thought better of the great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney.” He raised his glass to the barman and took a small sip; the other man tipped his back and drained the glass.

“Blood isn’t everything,” the barman replied with a barking laugh. “We’re proof of that.” Harry realized with a start that this man was Professor Dumbledore’s brother. Harry had seen him in a picture of the Order, though the headmaster had only mentioned him once.

“Aberforth,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. “Why do you bring this up so often? We may be brothers, but we are also two completely different people who have chosen quite separate paths in life, neither one more worthy than the other.”

Aberforth shrugged inelegantly. “True. I’d like to think every family needs a wizard like me to show them the more colorful sides of life.”

“Indeed we do!” Dumbledore exclaimed, laughing merrily. “And your colorful sides have proven very useful to the Order. For that I could not be more grateful. Tell me, have you heard anything about the Potters lately?”

Harry started when he heard his name. He had already realized that this was the night Sybill Trelawney made the prophecy about his birth; he hadn’t realized his parents were already a part of the picture.

Aberforth shrugged as he began to wipe the bar with a discolored towel. “Voldemort sent his Death Eaters after them again last night, and they managed their third escape in as many tries. Word is he is extremely angry about this last one.”

“I imagine he would be,” replied Dumbledore thoughtfully. “The Potters have been remarkably lucky, and I am starting to wonder just how they have managed to avoid being killed so many times.”

Aberforth grinned, showing crooked teeth through his grey beard. “Do you know who was in charge?” he asked casually.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “No, but apparently you do, and apparently it’s important. All right then, tell me your great secret.”

“Pay up first,” said Aberforth, indicating the empty brandy glass.

“When you tell me who went after the Potters,” countered Dumbledore, leaning over the counter.

Aberforth snorted once more. “Fine. It was your favorite little potions prodigy, Severus Snape.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers for payment. Harry stared at him in astonishment. Snape had been sent to kill his parents? And had failed?

“Of course.” Dumbledore stood up and pushed in his stool. “I should have guessed.” He looked at Aberforth’s hand and shook it, his eyes twinkling. “My thanks as payment, brother. You’ve done a good service for the Order. As always, I don’t know where you get your information, but it’s helped greatly.”

Aberforth stumped away. “You don’t want to know either,” he said over his shoulder. “Go interview your seer, you stingy old man. Maybe she’ll give you a prophecy.”

“Making predictions?” laughed Dumbledore. “Stick to what you know best. I’ll be down soon, I imagine.”

Harry followed Dumbledore up the stairs into a dark, narrow hallway. Dumbledore walked to the end of the hall and knocked smartly on the last door. A dreamy, ethereal voice called out “Come in,” and the headmaster entered a tiny room. Harry trailed behind, stumbling slightly as the door shut but he continued right through it.

“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore introduced himself to the woman in the room. Sybill Trelawney was sitting in a small rocking chair, draped in shawls. Her large glasses magnified her round eyes, making her appear startled. She had arranged the dingy room at the Hog’s Head much like her future classroom at Hogwarts: a roaring fire drenched the room with heat, various crystal balls and tea cups were scattered about the tables, and incense filled the room with the overpowering scent of lavender and sandalwood. Harry saw Dumbledore glance around the room and raise his eyebrows almost imperceptibly; Harry couldn’t help but grin at the headmaster’s response.

“Headmaster. I knew you would be arriving soon, of course,” said Trelawney dreamily, indicating the crystal ball on her table as she swirled a cup of tea.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Indeed,” he replied, and Harry heard the polite skepticism in his voice. “And do you know when I will be leaving?” Harry snorted to himself.

Trelawney gave Dumbledore a withering look, then returned to her tea leaves. “I only see what I need to see in the Beyond,” she said mysteriously.

Dumbledore helped himself to a chair at the table, nodding. “Of course. And the tea leaves �“ are they showing you anything tonight?”

“Of course,” she replied, rising to join him at the table. “I see many things in my future. The hat foretells a new work situation.” Trelawney paused to show him the cup, but Dumbledore only raised his eyebrows again, and she continued somewhat nervously. “The chair represents an unexpected guest, while the giraffe standing on the chair points to a misunderstanding.”

“Regarding the work or the guest?” asked Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. Harry grinned: Trelawney’s reading sounded remarkably like something he and Ron would have made up for class.

Harry knew that Dumbledore had been reluctant to hire Trelawney even before meeting her, and she certainly wasn’t making a very good impression now. As he continued to subtly question her about the art of Divination, she continued to answer with mysterious magical references that made little sense and showed no real glimpse of the future. She also mentioned her great-great-grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney, at least five times. Harry saw the exasperation on Dumbledore’s face, coupled with the smallest bit of disappointment.

Finally Dumbledore stood up to take his leave. “It has been a pleasure, Ms. Trelawney. I have enjoyed our meeting tremendously, but I’m afraid that I am unable to offer you the position at Hogwarts. I’m not sure Divination will remain a part of our curriculum. Thank you for your time, and please accept my best wishes for your success in the future.”

As Dumbledore turned to leave, Trelawney jumped up to stop him. Harry saw the desperate look in her eyes as she realized that she had not secured the job. “Wait!” she cried. “Let me do a tarot card reading for you. The cards speak strongly to me, they �““

She stopped abruptly, and Harry recognized the trance state that he had witnessed during his third year. Trelawney went rigid, her eyes rolling strangely behind her round glasses. When she spoke, it was in a deep voice.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... “

Dumbledore whirled around, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. He strode back to Trelawney, who continued in her strange voice. Harry watched closely, fascinated even though Dumbledore had shown him this very scene in the Pensieve the previous year.

“And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

Trelawney shuddered and took a deep breath, then continued as if nothing had happened. “ �“ they speak to my Inner Eye. I can do a laying for you, show you your future path.” She was completely unaware of the prophecy she had just made. She went to the table and began to lay out her cards, beginning with the Page of Swords. Dumbledore stared at her, thunderstruck.

At that moment the door to the small room flew open, and Aberforth Dumbledore stomped in, holding a pale skinny man with limp black hair by his collar. He tossed the man roughly to the floor, and Harry was shocked to see a young Severus Snape. He had forgotten that Snape had overheard the prophecy, and been the one to send Voldemort after his parents. He clenched his fists as we watched the scene unfold.

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed Trelawney, her hands flying to her mouth. “What is he doing here?”

Dumbledore looked both angry and curious. “A good question,” he said softly. “Where did you find him?” Snape looked up at him, wide-eyed with both fear and defiance.

“I caught him outside the door, eavesdropping,” growled Aberforth. “He heard it all.” He gave his brother a pointed look, and Dumbledore nodded.

“I see,” he said, and turned to Trelawney. “I apologize for the rude interruption, Ms. Trelawney. Rest assured I will deal with it immediately.” He motioned to Aberforth to take Snape from the room, and began to leave.

Trelawney simply stood there, speechless. Dumbledore stopped at the doorway and smiled tightly at the puzzled Seer. “Please accept my offer of the position of Professor of Divination at Hogwarts. I hope that you will join our exceptional staff. I will await your owl.” He left rather abruptly, shutting the door behind him. Harry trailed him out.

Aberforth pushed Snape down the hallway to an empty room. Dumbledore followed behind him, and Harry entered to find Snape already sitting in a chair, white ropes binding him as Aberforth trained his wand loosely at Snape’s chest. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at his brother.

“Really, Aberforth, he’s a spy, not a killer,” he said reproachfully. He pulled up a second chair and sat down across from Snape. He looked for all the world far more ready for a pleasant conversation about socks than for an interrogation about spying.

“We don’t know that,” Aberforth replied darkly, though he backed off toward the door. Harry stood next to Aberforth, watching the confrontation, fascinated.

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was a slight edge to his voice.

“Headmaster,” Snape replied quietly, with only the faintest hint of a sneer.

“And what brings you to the Hog’s Head this rainy night?” continued Dumbledore, leaning back and placing his heads together near his chin.

Snape narrowed his eyes as if he were thinking. “I came to speak to you,” he finally answered.

“I hardly thought you wished to speak with Sybill Trelawney,” said Dumbledore lightly. “Although she certainly rose to the occasion tonight. So tell me �“ why did you want to speak with me? Why did you follow me here tonight?” Dumbledore watched as Snape seemed to struggle with his words. Harry held his breath.

“I want to join the Order of the Phoenix,” Snape said, each word sounding more reluctant than the next. Aberforth snorted, and Harry muttered under his breath. Only Dumbledore did not seem surprised.

“You wish to join the Order of the Phoenix,” he repeated, leaning closer. “You would leave the ranks of the Death Eaters and turn against Voldemort?” Snape twitched and Dumbledore continued, piercing Snape with his blue eyes. “Why?”

Here was the question that Harry had been waiting for, the question that would finally explain why Snape had turned spy, why Dumbledore had trusted him, and perhaps even why Snape had turned and killed him. Harry stepped closer, and listened breathlessly for Snape’s answer.


* * *


A/N: I am so happy that the next few chapters sorted themselves out so quickly! It is amazing what not having constant access to a computer will do for your creativity. I can almost see why J.K.Rowling prefers a pen and paper, as my notepad didn’t crash once as I worked on this story. I hope you enjoyed your first look into the Pensieve; there is more to come!

Harry waited impatiently as Snape stared at Dumbledore, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He would finally learn the one answer Dumbledore had refused to share with him, to the one question he had been asking for years: why had the headmaster placed his trust in the Death Eater who had killed him?

Snape did not answer immediately, but continued to hold Dumbledore’s unusually intent gaze. Dumbledore was silent as well, as he stared into Snape’s glittering black eyes. Harry glanced back and forth between them, and realized with a start that one was probing the mind of the other. He suddenly wondered if he would indeed find the answers he sought, or if their silent communication would once again leave him questioning them both.

After a long while Dumbledore nodded, and broke the intense eye contact. Snape sucked in a deep breath and let his head fall to his chest. Harry thought the young Death Eater was fighting to control his emotions; but when Snape looked up again, his face was a passive mask, and only a lingering brightness in his eyes revealed any sign of an internal struggle.

“I see,” said Dumbledore softly, leaning back and adjusting his glasses. “I am so sorry, Severus. I know the pain you are feeling.” Snape inclined his head, his lips pressed tightly together.

Aberforth Dumbledore stomped over, interrupting the strange bond that had formed between the two unlikely men. “What’s going on, Albus? What’s he spinning for you?” He glared at Snape, skepticism written plainly across his face.

“It’s okay, Aberforth,” Dumbledore told his brother quietly. “He’s not spinning any tales tonight. I know his mind.” Dumbledore waved his wand and released the ropes binding Snape to the chair; Snape rubbed his arms, but did not get up, nor did he draw his wand.

Aberforth snorted loudly. “Albus, this boy was an accomplished Occlumens by the time he sat his O.W.L.S. and you know it. He just wants you to feel sorry enough to trust him.”

Snape glared at Aberforth, opening his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore stopped him with his hand. “No, Aberforth, you are wrong,” said the headmaster. “A man can hide his thoughts and feelings with Occlumency, but he cannot manufacture them. Severus has suffered a devastating loss, and I choose to accept his offer �“ and trust his reasons for it.”

Snape again inclined his head toward Dumbledore, and once more Harry thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass across the Death Eater’s pallid face. Harry wondered what had happened between Snape and Dumbledore, what terrible loss Snape had suffered that had lead him to Dumbledore’s doorstep that night and solidified the headmaster’s faith. Harry suspected this memory was not going to answer that question, and he watched in frustration as Dumbledore accepted Snape into the Order of the Phoenix.

“I don’t trust him,” grumbled Aberforth, voicing Harry’s own thoughts. “Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Voldemort won’t let him go that easily.”

“No, he won’t,” Dumbledore agreed, looking thoughtful. “Remember Regulus Black.”

Harry turned toward Dumbledore, surprised by the sudden reference to Sirius’s brother. Sirius had told him that Regulus tried to leave the Death Eaters, but that Voldemort had killed the younger Black brother himself for deserting. Was that what Dumbledore was referring to? Why?

“You aren’t suggesting - ” Aberforth began, scowling.

“No, I’m not,” said Dumbledore quickly, and Snape looked at him quizzically. “It would look suspicious. No, I think Severus is better off seen alive than presumed dead. We could use his help.”

Harry frowned, confused by the headmaster’s enigmatic words. “So what are you thinking?” asked Aberforth, apparently understanding Dumbledore better than Harry did.

Dumbledore seemed to be wrestling with his next words. “I think that it would be extremely useful to have a spy among the Death Eaters.”

Snape jumped up immediately, his eyes flashing. “I can’t go back,” he spat, his voice taut with emotion. “I won’t. Don’t ask me to, not after what they did.” He began to pace the room, obviously agitated.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Severus, but I think it’s the best plan for everyone. We can hide you, but something tells me we wouldn’t fool anyone this time, and we’d all be in danger.”

Snape glared at Dumbledore. “You must realize they won’t take me back. After all that’s happened, after speaking with you �“ the Dark Lord will kill me if I return.”

“Not if you bring him valuable information,” suggested Dumbledore. He waited for Snape’s reaction; he got Aberforth’s first.

“Albus! You can’t possible think to share - ” started the barman, his voice rising in surprise.

“The prophecy?” breathed Snape disbelievingly. “You wouldn’t.”

Dumbledore took a deep breath, and Harry held his: surely this wasn’t how it happened? Dumbledore had told him Snape had only heard the first half of the prophecy before being thrown out of the pub and reporting it to Voldemort. Yet from what Harry was now seeing, Snape had heard the entire prophecy, and Dumbledore himself was about to leak it to Voldemort.

“It would get you back into his group of Death Eaters, would it not?” asked Dumbledore. “Indeed, I suspect it might even elevate you to Voldemort’s inner circle. I think he would be very interested in hearing about this prophecy, and most pleased with the wizard who delivered to him.”

“Albus,” warned Aberforth. “You can’t share that prophecy, it’s our best hope now!”

“Oh, we won’t give it all up,” replied Dumbledore. “Just a bit. Just enough to get Severus back into the fold, and Voldemort worried.”

Snape was starting to look less shocked and more understanding. Aberforth, however, continued to protest.

“You’re condemning him to death, should he even consider such a reckless idea,” declared the barman. “Voldemort is a powerful Occlumens, he would break him easily.”

Dumbledore nodded as he looked appraisingly at Snape. “He might. But you’ve come a long way, have you not, Severus? Could you hold him?”

Snape nodded confidently. “I could.”

“What about the child the prophecy is referring to?” Aberforth demanded. “The couple who has defied him three times? If you hand Voldemort this information, you’re putting them all in grave danger.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Yes, that is possible, even likely. However, it seems to me a risk worth taking. We can protect this couple and their child. But a spy so close to Voldemort would give us an incalculable advantage in the fight against him.”

Aberforth threw up his hands and walked away. “You’re placing too much faith in a Death Eater, Albus. It could be the end of us all, when we’ve just been given the advantage!”

Dumbledore acknowledged his brother with a gracious nod. “Perhaps we have been handed a second opportunity tonight as well, one that will prove just as important as the first. I am choosing to take that second chance, if it will lead to the downfall of Voldemort. What do you say, Severus?”

Snape didn’t even hesitate. “Of course I will. I’m your man.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly as he stood and held out his hand to Snape. Harry gaped, still slightly shocked to learn that Dumbledore had leaked the prophecy to Voldemort as a means to secure Snape as a spy. As Snape took the offered hand, Aberforth whirled around and growled, “Bind him!”

Both men looked up in surprise at the grizzled barman, who drew his wand and stalked back over to where they were standing. He glared at Snape. “Take an Unbreakable Vow, and I’ll trust you.”

“No - ” began Dumbledore sharply, but Snape cut him off.

“Absolutely. I will take the Vow.” Aberforth raised his eyebrows, startled. Harry was stunned. He knew that when an Unbreakable Vow was broken, it resulted in death. Snape was so willing to prove his loyalty that he was offering to take such a vow: he was prepared to die for Dumbledore.

Dumbledore dropped Snape’s hand as if it were hot. “I refuse your offer,” he said, his voice tight. “I require no such demonstration of Dark Magic to affirm your loyalty. I trust you now, Severus. I always hoped you would turn from the Dark path. You have taken the first steps, and I am proud of you.”

Aberforth reluctantly put his wand away, and Snape took a deep breath, as if he were relieved. He nodded, and once again his eyes glittered strangely. Harry was oddly moved by the scene; he never would have thought it was possible, but he was beginning to believe that Snape’s intentions might be genuine. It was his faith in Dumbledore which he now questioned.

“Now, to the details,” said Dumbledore, addressing his brother first. “Aberforth, this must remain our secret for now. I will not have Severus’s life placed in any more danger than it already is. We will also keep Sybill’s prophecy between ourselves. I have offered her the position at Hogwarts, so that she will be safe. No one else need know anything about this.”

Aberforth nodded curtly, and Dumbledore turned to Snape. “As for Voldemort, return to him tonight. Tell him you overheard the prophecy, but only share the beginning. He does not need to know about marking the chosen one, or the power which will defeat him; he will be worried enough by what you tell him.”

Harry watched Snape nod silently, still unable to comprehend what was happening in front of him.

“I will continue feeding you information about the Order which you can then report to Voldemort. It will be your job to do likewise.” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape.

“Of course,” said Snape softly.

“Good,” nodded Dumbledore. “You must be careful with what you share. You don’t want to reveal yourself, or the ruse will be over in a very deadly way. Now the last question is: which wizarding families are expecting children this July?”

“Frank and Alice Longbottom, for one,” Aberforth answered first, still looking reluctant.

“Lily Potter is expecting as well,” added Snape softly. Harry noticed that Snape did not use his father’s name, but only referred to his mother.

Dumbledore looked questioningly at Snape. “Yes, she is. That’s why you threw the fight, isn’t it?” Snape did not answer, and Harry tried to understand Dumbledore’s cryptic statement: Snape had been sent after his parents, and had failed on purpose? Harry realized that the memory Dumbledore had left him was creating as many questions as it did answers. He only hoped the other vials would provide the final pieces of the puzzle.

“We’ll have to protect them both then,” growled Aberforth. “Without alarming them, or tipping anyone off.”

“Yes, I’ll speak with them tonight,” replied Dumbledore. “I particularly want to talk to James Potter about his Invisibility Cloak.” He took a deep breath, ready to begin the charade he had just christened. “Severus, are you prepared?”

Snape smoothed his hands somewhat nervously on his robes. “I am.”

“You must protect this secret,” warned Dumbledore.

“I will,” nodded Snape, swallowing hard.

“Try,” said Dumbledore, and without warning he raised his wand at Snape and cried, “Legilimens!”

Harry saw Snape go rigid, and knew that he was fighting off Dumbledore’s attempt to break into his mind. Harry remembered his own lessons with the older man, as Snape had tried to show him how to protect his mind from Voldemort. Harry was a poor Occlumens; he was unable to set aside his feelings, and Snape had broken his weak defenses easily. It appeared Snape was indeed a strong Occlumens, and had solid defenses of his own. After a silent battle of wills, he finally threw Dumbledore out of his mind. The headmaster stepped backward, catching himself against the wall as he nodded approvingly. “Good. You can do this, Severus.”

Snape was breathing heavily. “I will not be easy,” he muttered, and Harry wondered if Snape was having regrets.

Dumbledore placed his hand on Snape’s shoulder, and smiled at him in compassion. “No, it won’t. But it will be right, in the end. Trust me.”

Snape looked at Dumbledore with the most open expression Harry had ever seen. “I do,” he said simply. Dumbledore appeared touched by Snape’s sincerity; Harry was too staggered by the scene to know what to think.

“All right, Aberforth,” said Dumbledore, gathering himself. “Let’s start this dangerous deception. Throw him out.”

Aberforth grinned, and grabbed Snape by the collar again. “With pleasure,” he growled, and dragged the young Death Eater out of the room. Snape gazed at Dumbledore one last time, his expression unreadable.

Dumbledore stayed behind. He closed his eyes and took a second deep breath, as if to reassure himself. “Merlin help me, I hope I’ve done right,” he whispered to the empty room.

Only Harry heard the headmaster’s plea, and he wanted to shout at Dumbledore that he had just made the biggest mistake of his �“ and Harry’s �“ life. Harry could hardly believe what he had just witnessed; he certainly didn’t understand any of it. Dumbledore left the room, his shoulders bearing the burden he would carry for the next sixteen years. An inky blackness descended on the scene, and Harry was left standing alone in the dark, just as confused as he had been when he entered the Pensieve.

“Oomph!”

Harry heard a startled grunt next to him, and whirled in the dark toward the sound. “Who’s there?” he asked instinctively, forgetting for a moment that he was still inside the Pensieve, and drawing his wand.

“It’s just me,” said Ginny from the shadows. “Lumos.”

Harry squinted into the sudden brightness and saw Ginny standing a few feet away from him. She was carrying a thick book and looked around curiously before her eyes settled on Harry. “So this is a memory, then? Why’s it so dark?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Harry shook his head with a smile; she sounded remarkably like Ron at that moment. “The memory is over, you missed it. What are you doing here, anyway? Has it been that long?”

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. “Yes, it’s been that long. Ron and Hermione are waiting for us, just like I said. Let’s go.”

Harry looked around the dark room once more. “I’m still not sure how.”

“I do.” Ginny grinned and indicated the large book she was holding. “While I was waiting I asked the Room for a book on Pensieves. I now know everything you could possibly want to know about them. All you have to do is this.” She took Harry’s hand and raised her wand. “Ortusio!” she cried, and Harry felt himself rising through the darkness until he landed with a hard thump on the floor in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione was studying the numerous volumes on Dumbledore’s shelves, while Ron was examining the sword of Godric Gryffindor in the glass case behind the desk. They both jumped when Harry and Ginny returned unexpectedly.

“Harry!” cried Hermione, replacing the book she had been examining carefully in its right place before hurrying over and helping them up. “What happened? What did you see?”

“Too much,” he replied, feeling emotionally drained by his trip into the Pensieve. Harry passed a hand over his eyes; he wished that the room had one of the big comfortable chairs from the Gryffindor common room for him to sink into. When he opened his eyes he was slightly surprised to see a large red chair in front of the desk. He dropped into it gratefully.

“Come on, Harry. What was the memory?” asked Ron impatiently. He perched himself on top of Dumbledore’s desk rather irreverently. Ginny sat at Harry’s feet, and Hermione pulled over a chair from one of the tables. Harry took a deep breath before beginning.

“It was the night Trelawney made the prophecy,” he finally said, watching their reactions. Ron nodded, clearly wanting to hear more, but Hermione looked puzzled.

“I thought Professor Dumbledore already showed you the prophecy,” she said. “Why would he leave it for you again?”

Before Harry could answer, Ginny interrupted. “What prophecy?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Harry saw Ron and Hermione exchange looks; Ginny noticed it too. “What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded. “Come on - I’m part of this now, too. What prophecy? Is it one from the Department of Mysteries last year?”

“Ginny - ” started Ron, apparently thinking he could head off his fiery sister. Ginny shot him a glare that stopped him silent.

“It’s okay, Ron, really,” said Harry. He took another deep breath before turning to Ginny; he had dreaded telling her about the prophecy as much as he had feared telling Ron and Hermione last summer. “Yes, it was the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore told me about it that same night, after Sirius died.” Harry felt the familiar sadness in his chest as he remembered that awful night at the Ministry.

“And it has to do with you?” she asked, the edge to her voice now tempered by concern.

“Yes, it does.” Harry swallowed hard and finally told her about the prophecy that Trelawney had made before his birth: how he was the one fated to vanquish Voldemort, marked as an equal, with a power the Dark Lord did not possess.

As he told her, her eyes grew wide, and her hand went to her mouth in shock. When he finished, they were all silent for a moment, once again reliving the terrible implications of the mysterious prophecy.

“So what does it mean?” Ginny finally asked in a quiet voice. “You have to kill Voldemort, or he will kill you?” It was one of the first questions Harry had asked Dumbledore himself. He nodded, still uncomfortable with the idea.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked after another long silence.

Harry shrugged, unsure which of a dozen reasons he should share. “At first I didn’t think I should tell anyone. Later I didn’t want to. I’m sorry Ginny, but I didn’t want you knowing I had to kill someone, or be killed instead. It’s such a horrible thing to live with.” He knew, because he still struggled with it every day.

Ginny nodded wisely, suddenly looking older. “Yes, it is. But Harry, I’ve always known you would be the one to defeat You�“Know-Who. Ever since you went into the Chamber of Secrets and destroyed Tom Riddle and his diary �“ it was meant to be you.”

Even as Harry felt her words warm his heart, he couldn’t help but glance guiltily at Ron and Hermione. The diary had been a Horcrux, though no one had known it at the time. Now Harry had four more to find and destroy before he could vanquish Voldemort - as well as another secret to keep from Ginny, thinking he could protect her.

Ginny looked knowingly at the three of them and sighed. “All right, obviously there’s more, but let’s talk about this now. Why would Dumbledore leave you the memory of a prophecy he already shared with you?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair as he thought about the late headmaster’s reasons for leaving that particular memory. “I think,” he began slowly, “it has to do with Snape.”

“That’s right!” Ron exclaimed, and Hermione nodded. “Dumbledore told you Snape heard the prophecy, and took it to You-Know-Who. Did you see him then?”

“Oh, I saw him,” Harry answered bitterly. “But he wasn’t the one who leaked the prophecy to Voldemort.”

Ron twitched. “You mean Dumbledore was lying?” he asked.

“Not really,” replied Harry, looking at them intently. “Snape was there, he heard the prophecy, and he told Voldemort; but Snape wasn’t there to spy on Dumbledore, he was there to join the Order of the Phoenix.”

Hermione looked at him sharply; Harry could tell she was starting to piece it all together.

“Snape went to the Hog’s Head to join the Order?” asked Ron incredulously. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” Harry exclaimed, frustrated. “Dumbledore’s brother was there, Aberforth - he’s the barman at the Hog’s Head. He caught Snape, and didn’t believe him. Dumbledore used Legilimency to find out why Snape left the Death Eaters, and said he trusted him. He said something terrible had happened to Snape.”

“And you don’t know what?” asked Ginny. Hermione was still quiet, listening intently.

“I have no idea,” replied Harry. “Maybe it will be in another memory. Dumbledore decided Snape was better off alive than dead. He said the Order could hide him but that they probably wouldn’t get away with it again. He said - ”

“Again?” interrupted Hermione, looking thoughtful. “That must mean they had hidden someone else already and didn’t want to risk it a second time.”

Harry and the others stared at her; of course that’s what it meant, Harry had been blind not to see it. He didn’t know how it was relevant, though. He nodded and continued. “Dumbledore said they could use a spy in the Death Eaters, but Snape told him Voldemort wouldn’t take him back, because of what had happened. Dumbledore said Voldemort would be very pleased with anyone who brought him valuable information.”

Harry paused, and saw Hermione’s eyes go wide with realization. “He didn’t - ”

“Yes!” Harry answered before she could finish, standing up and beginning to pace as he felt his anger and confusion return. “He did!” Ron and Ginny glanced back and forth between Harry and Hermione, puzzled.

“Oh, Harry,” whispered Hermione. “I’m so sorry, you must feel awful - ”

“About what?” interrupted Ron, clearly not understanding. “What valuable information?” He stopped, as Ginny gasped and they both realized the terrible answer. “You don’t mean. . . the prophecy?” Ron asked, incredulous.

“I do,” Harry replied grimly. “Dumbledore sent Snape back to Voldemort with the first half of the prophecy. He said it would get Snape into Voldemort’s inner circle. Snape was to report on the Death Eaters to Dumbledore, who would feed him information from the Order for Voldemort.”

Hermione was shaking her head, her face pale as she stared at Harry. “Do you know what this means, Harry?”

“I think so,” he replied, gazing back at her; though in truth he was not entirely sure now, having seen her reaction.

“What does it mean?” Ron asked, trying to break their eye contact.

“Dumbledore was the one who really leaked the prophecy to Voldemort, not Snape,” said Harry flatly. “Snape was just following Dumbledore’s orders.”

Now Ron’s eyes went wide as he understood the awful truth. “Why would he do that?” he demanded, aghast. “And why would he tell you it was Snape?”

Ginny was watching Hermione, who still looked pale and worried. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What else is there?”

Harry waited anxiously for her answer. She spoke in a quiet voice. “Harry, I don’t think Dumbledore gave that information to Voldemort just to get Snape into his inner circle.” She paused, as if reluctant to believe what she was about to say. “I think he wanted Voldemort to come after you.”

“What!” cried Ron and Ginny together, and Harry stopped pacing to stare at her.

“Why?” he whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Hermione looked miserable. “I think Dumbledore wanted Voldemort to come after you in order to mark you. It’s part of the prophecy, that the one with the power to vanquish him would be marked as his equal. If Voldemort didn’t know about the prophecy, he would have no reason to come after you and mark you as his equal. There would be no Chosen One to vanquish him.”

“Hermione!” exclaimed Ginny. “Are you saying Professor Dumbledore wanted Harry’s parents to die?”

“No, not at all!” said Hermione defensively. “Dumbledore knows a lot more about prophecies than we do. No one can truly predict the future, because no one can foresee the choices a person will make that affect the future. If Voldemort didn’t know about the prophecy, he wouldn’t have even had a choice in deciding whether or not to fulfill it, and the prophecy would have failed. Once Voldemort heard the prophecy, even just the first part, he chose to act on that information. I think Dumbledore was counting on Voldemort doing something, and he believed that whatever Voldemort did it would reveal the Chosen One and fulfill the prophecy.”

Harry was confused. “Wait, what are you saying? That Dumbledore gave Voldemort the prophecy so that Voldemort would come after me, kill my parents, and give me this scar?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Dumbledore didn’t know they would be killed, he probably thought the Order could protect them. He believed that Voldemort needed to know the prophecy if he was going to act in any way that would mark someone as his equal. So Dumbledore fed him just enough information to worry him.”

“And send him after your parents,” added Ginny quietly.

“And mark you as the Chosen One,” finished Hermione, her face pale.

Harry looked at Ron, stunned. Deep down he knew Hermione was right: Dumbledore had not only used the prophecy to plant a spy in Voldemort’s camp, but he had manipulated the circumstances which had determined Harry’s fate.

“He created you,” breathed Ron, and everyone looked at him in surprised silence. Ron was right: Dumbledore had created Harry Potter, The Chosen One.

Harry sank into the red chair again and let his head fall into his hands. How could this be possible? Everything he had once believed was suddenly wrong: Snape hadn’t betrayed his parents, Dumbledore had. The one person Harry had trusted above all others had been the one to give Voldemort the prophecy, in order to ensure that the Dark Lord would mark the boy destined to vanquish him. Harry suddenly felt used, more used than ever before. He felt as if his entire life had been determined on that rainy night at the Hog’s Head, and was never in his control. It was Dumbledore’s choice, Dumbledore’s decision. Harry bitterly wondered how the headmaster had lived with himself for making such a choice, when it had resulted in such tragic consequences for so many people.

“What are you going to do?” asked Hermione softly, looking concerned. Ron and Ginny were watching him anxiously. Harry glanced up in surprise at the question, and thought about it. There was only one thing he could do: he needed to know more, before he could fully understand and accept the horrible truth he had just learned.

“I’m going to watch those other memories,” he replied, feeling a grim resolve to discover the truth. “And hope to hell we’re wrong.” He stood up and poured a second vial into the Pensieve. Before anyone could stop him, he plunged into the silvery darkness, alone and determined.

Harry fell through an inky black sky, landing hard on pavement flooded in shadowy moonlight. He stood and found himself on a street that looked remarkably like Privet Drive. In front of him stretched a series of small houses, each with neatly manicured front lawns. Streetlamps illuminated the quiet neighborhood, and threw light on a dark man standing next to Harry.

Severus Snape.

Harry jumped backwards, startled. He glanced around, expecting to find Professor Dumbledore, but the headmaster was nowhere to be found. With a jolt, Harry realized he must be in one of Snape’s memories; his heart began to pound, with both excitement and dread.

With several small Pops four men suddenly appeared next to Snape. He gave them a withering look. “You’re late,” he sneered. Snape was several years younger, but Harry knew the voice only too well.

“You’re early,” snapped a tall stringy man. Harry recognized him as one of the Death Eaters who had fought at the Ministry a year ago. “They probably heard you.”

“I doubt it,” replied Snape, raising an eyebrow. “I can Apparate silently when I wish to.”

“We need to be more careful,” hissed another man whom Harry did not know. “These two have escaped twice already, and the Dark Lord wants them dead tonight.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” said Snape quietly, and Harry felt a sense of foreboding. The five men marched up to the house, wands drawn. Harry followed, instinctively pulling out his own wand even though he knew he could do nothing as a mere observer to the memory.

The Death Eaters came to the front door and without stopping blasted it in. Harry hurried after them to see who they were attacking, a sick feeling in his stomach. He rushed through the door and automatically ducked as a jet of red light flew straight at him. It hit the wall behind his head and Harry straightened to see the wizard who had cast the spell.

It was his father.

James and Lily Potter were crouched down behind a makeshift barrier of tables and chairs, obviously prepared to defend themselves. One Death Eater was already unconscious near the door, struck down as he entered; the others were ducking as more jets of light furiously criss-crossed the air. Harry simply stood in shock, watching the attack on his parents, as the curses passed harmlessly through him.

Snape rose to aim a curse at the couple. Harry saw him hesitate; a brief flash of doubt seemed to pass across the Death Eater’s face. To Harry’s astonishment Snape lowered his wand almost imperceptibly, and the curse bounced harmlessly off of a mirror behind Lily to hit one of the Death Eaters instead, sending him crashing to the floor. As the man Harry had recognized cried out in fury and turned toward Snape, he was struck down by a well placed jet of light from the wand of Lily Potter. Harry saw Snape raise his eyebrows at her, and she raised hers back.

The last Death Eater standing growled and raced toward the couch. Snape flung another curse at the Potters, and again he missed, sending a bookcase behind them toppling to the ground. Lily turned and frowned as James took out the last Death Eater and pointed his wand at Snape. Harry saw his father’s face contort with hatred as he began to fire on Snape. Lily grabbed his arm, and stopped him.

“No,” she said softly, and Harry heard a strange tone to her voice. “Wait.” James looked at her, his eyes still full of anger, but nodded stiffly. She stood up behind the barrier and faced Snape. Harry saw that she was clearly pregnant.

“Hello, Severus,” she said evenly. “You deliberately threw that fight.” James looked at her in surprise; Snape merely inclined his head.

“Perhaps,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. His dark eyes glittered strangely.

“We heard you Apparate, Severus,” she continued, pressing him. Harry was surprised at the familiar tone to her voice, as if she knew Snape fairly well.

“Sloppy work,” he replied blandly. “I apologize, we’ll sneak up on you much better next time.”

“Next time?” snarled James, furiously rounding the barrier on Snape. “There won’t be a next time, I’m tired of this - ”

“James,” Lily said tiredly. “Let me, please.” James turned to his wife, and Harry saw that his father was angry.

“Lily, he just tried to kill us and you’re practically having him over for tea! I don’t care if he was your friend, he’s also a - ”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “He didn’t try to kill us. He warned us he was coming, and he missed every shot he took. I want to know why.”

Snape had an ugly sneer on his face. “We don’t always get what we want, do we, Lily? Let’s just get this over with.”

Harry was confused �“ get what over with? Why was Snape addressing his mother as if he knew her as well? Had they really been friends? Harry saw his mother narrow her eyes as she studied Snape. She frowned again, and then nodded as if she had made up her mind. “You’re right, we don’t always get what we want, Severus. Go ahead,” she said to James, still staring at Snape.

Snape raised his eyebrows and inclined his head. Harry saw an ugly look on his father’s face as James leveled his wand. Snape did not lift his own in defense, but stood perfectly still as James cried, “Stupefy!” Snape fell to the ground, unconscious, and Harry felt a cold white fog descend on the room, obscuring the memory.

“Mum? Dad?” he called out, though he knew full well they couldn’t hear him. Disoriented, he turned around, wondering what to do next. Quickly the white fog began to clear, and Harry found himself in a dark room.

Severus Snape, who had just failed to kill James and Lily Potter, was kneeling in front of a very angry Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort glared down at the younger Snape, his eyes cold and hard, his voice soft and deadly when he finally spoke after a long, painful silence.

“Severus Snape,” he said, circling around Snape. “I gave you an assignment. It was your task to accomplish, a chance to prove yourself.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “I am dreadfully disappointed. I had faith in you, and you failed.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise: Voldemort’s words were exactly the same as those he had spoken to Draco Malfoy in Spinner’s End, before he had killed Narcissa Malfoy. Snape had been assigned to kill Harry’s parents and had failed to accomplish his task, just as Malfoy had been assigned to kill Dumbledore and had failed as well. Harry watched with a hollow feeling in his stomach, dreading what might happen next.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” replied Snape, still kneeling and keeping his eyes to the floor. His voice was steady. “They must have been warned. They were prepared for our attack and ready to defend themselves.”

Voldemort stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes at Snape. “Apparently they can predict the future then, because this is the third time that they have had warning and escaped. I am very unhappy, Severus. How do you suppose they knew of the attack?”

Snape shook his head, though Harry saw the smallest flicker of apprehension pass across his face. “I do not know, my Lord.”

“I think you do, Severus,” replied Voldemort, his voice abruptly ugly and cruel. “And you will tell me.”

Snape was forced to his feet, as Voldemort stared piercingly into the Death Eater’s eyes. Harry knew the Dark Lord was trying to penetrate Snape’s mind, just as he had in Spinner’s End. Harry also knew that Snape was an accomplished Occlumens, and could defend himself against the Dark Lord.

Small beads of sweat broke out across Snape’s forehead, but he did not break eye contact. He betrayed no other sign of tension or fright, while Voldemort’s face gradually grew dark and angry as he was unable to find what he was looking for in Snape’s mind. Finally he waved his wand and sent Snape flying into a wall behind him. Snape crashed to the floor, his wand falling from his robes; he was winded and obviously in pain.

“Crucio!” cried Voldemort as he advanced on the young Death Eater, and Snape was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. He grimaced in pain, but did not scream as he writhed on the ground at Voldemort’s feet.

“Did you warn the Potters?” Voldemort hissed at the dark haired man breathing heavily on the floor. “Did you betray me?”

“I did not, my Lord,” grated Snape. Voldemort shouted, and sent Snape rolling to the floor a second time. Snape could not stop the screams, and shrieked in agony. Harry watched in disgust and horror; the scene was remarkably like the one he had witnessed in Spinner’s End. Was this why Snape had turned to Dumbledore then? Harry felt a strange sense of pity for Snape, similar to that which he had felt for Draco Malfoy.

“I will break you,” Voldemort whispered, lifting the curse.

Snape struggled to his knees. “I did not betray you, my Lord,” he gasped. “I swear it!”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Snape, then abruptly whirled around. “Bring her in,” he ordered two of the other Death Eaters in the room. Snape’s eyes went wide in terror and he scrambled on the floor for his wand. Voldemort laughed and sent a flurry of white ropes from his wand, binding Snape fast. Harry had never seen such a look of fear on Snape’s face, and wondered whom the Dark Lord was summoning that frightened the young Death Eater so much. Was it Bellatrix Lestrange?

The Death Eaters returned, and Bellatrix Lestrange was indeed with them; but she was leading a second woman, bound and gagged. Bellatrix had a triumphant look on her face as she floated the captive toward Voldemort. As they passed by Harry, he studied the woman carefully.

She was probably the same age as Snape. She was dressed in blue robes that were ripped and dirty, and Harry saw that she was clearly expecting a child. She was tall and thin with long black hair that was long and straight; it was now a tangled mess. She had startling blue eyes that were almond shaped with thick lashes. A rather crooked nose and thin lips spoiled an otherwise beautiful face, as did the deep cut above her forehead. Harry assumed the woman had put up a fight before being captured; looking closely at Bellatrix Lestrange again, he saw that the Death Eater was also scratched and dirty, and sporting a swollen lip.

The bound woman did not appear frightened, but glared hatefully at Bellatrix. Snape wore a look of panic, his face pale and his eyes trained on the woman, as he frantically struggled to free himself from the ropes that held him fast.

“Hello Maura,” said Voldemort almost seductively, circling around the captured woman. Once more Harry was reminded of Spinner’s End, and how Voldemort had spoken with Narcissa Malfoy before killing her. The feeling of dread deep in Harry’s stomach increased.

“My Lord,” the black-haired woman replied evenly, lowering her head in respect. Harry saw her glance sideways at Snape, and an expression of panic passed quickly over her face, to be replaced with a look of frightened determination as she continued looking down.

Voldemort tilted her chin up, and she met his cold gaze. “You are lovely, Maura. Severus is a lucky man.” Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. Was this woman Snape’s wife? Snape was married? “Unfortunately, he is also a foolish man,” Voldemort continued, running a thin finger down the woman’s pale cheek. “He won’t tell me what I want to know. Perhaps you can help.”

“No!” cried Snape, clearly anguished as he struggled with the ropes that bound him on the floor. Voldemort ignored him, and aimed his wand at the black-haired woman. She fell to the ground in a heap, and he cried, “Crucio!” once more. The woman screamed in pain as the Cruciatus Curse wound through her convulsing body.

“Stop!” shouted Snape, his eyes terrified as he watched the woman flail at Voldemort’s feet. “Yes, I warned the Potters of the attack. Leave her alone, she didn’t do anything!” Snape was gasping for breath, his face a desperate mask of terror.

Voldemort released the curse and left the black-haired woman lying on the floor, curled into a ball, clutching at her stomach. “I knew I could persuade you, Severus,” he said almost pleasantly. “Now why would you do such a thing? You have no love for the Potters, why betray me to save a Mudblood and traitor?” He seemed almost curious.

Snape took a deep breath before answering. “Lily Potter is expecting a child.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened in surprise, and he laughed cruelly. “That’s all?” he asked, as the Death Eaters around him began laughing as well. Bellatrix Lestrange had an almost hungry expression on her face; the woman on the floor stared at Snape with a look of both fear and love. Harry was astonished at this unseen side of Snape’s character.

“Severus,” said Voldemort quietly; all the laughter stopped. “You should have realized what would happen. Killing a woman �“ even a woman expecting a child �“ is easy.” Without hesitation he turned back to the bound woman on the floor and cried, “Avada Kedavra!”

The black haired woman collapsed in a halo of evil green light; the room went deathly still.

Harry stared in shock at the dead woman, at Voldemort, and finally at Snape. The look on the young Death Eater’s face was one of complete and utter loss; it was as if Snape had had his soul ripped out. Then his face twisted into an expression of manic fury, similar to the one Harry had seen when Snape had fled Hogwarts.

With a strangled shout, Snape broke free from the magical ropes binding him. Before Voldemort could react, he had called for his wand and was firing spells like a madman.

Voldemort was blasted into a wall; Bellatrix Lestrange was struck by a jet of red light and crumpled into a heap. Several more Death Eaters went down, unable to stop the curses thrown madly about the room. It was as if Snape were possessed, and no one could touch him. With a furious snarl, he grabbed the body of his dead wife, stepped around, and Apparated from the dark room, leaving behind a very stunned Harry.


* * *

A/N: Many thanks to the authors in the Hospital Wing for their insight into Snape’s character, particularly Grey Lady, who took the time to go over some of my thoughts with me and offer her valued opinions.
I think there is a definite reason that Snape turned on Voldemort, and I think it probably would have been a very traumatic experience that forced him to question and abandon his faith in the Dark Lord. Here I present a possible scenario. If you have any questions about this chapter, please feel free to ask. I look forward to your thoughts: thank you for reading and reviewing!

Harry picked at his breakfast in the Great Hall; he did not feel particularly hungry after the events of the previous night. He had gone into the Pensieve and viewed the memories that Professor Dumbledore had left him, and he had come out more confused than ever. Everything that he had believed about the headmaster had changed in one night �“ as had everything he thought he knew about Severus Snape.

Harry sighed and looked at his friends. They were quiet as well, no doubt wrapped up in their own jumble of thoughts when it came to prophecies and spies and traitorous potions masters. The worst part was that he still had a third memory to watch; Harry didn’t know if he wanted to see it anymore, his curiosity stifled by his first two experiences in the magical Pensieve.

Hermione finally threw down her copy of the Daily Prophet. “This is ridiculous!’ she exclaimed. “We can’t just sit here like this, we need to find out more! Harry, you should talk to someone, or just go watch the last memory already.”

Harry glanced up from his oatmeal and shrugged. “There’s no one to talk to anymore,” he said dully. It was true: Sirius was gone, and now Dumbledore. Even if Harry had dared go to Snape, he could not, because the former potions professor had died at Spinner’s End after delivering the enigmatic memories Dumbledore had left behind. Harry felt truly alone.

“You could talk to McGonagall,” Hermione suggested, a somewhat desperate look on her face.

Harry shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t understand. I don’t think she knows anything anyway.”

“What about Hagrid?” asked Ron, sliding his eggs around his plate. “He’s a member of the Order, he could help.”

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. “I doubt Hagrid knows much either,” she said. “Besides, he’s still dreadfully upset.”

“You should talk to Professor Lupin,” said Ginny quietly, taking the copy of the Daily Prophet and scanning it for news.

“That’s it!” said Ron excitedly. “He helped you out third year, and he might know something about Snape. You should definitely talk to him.” Hermione nodded her agreement.

Harry realized that they were right: Lupin had been close to Dumbledore, and might know more than he let on. He also had a history with Snape that could shed some light on what Harry had seen in the Pensieve. Finally, Lupin had helped him with the Patronus Charm during third year, and had been a loyal member of the Order since Voldemort’s return. Harry decided that of all the adults in his life, Lupin was one he could trust with the Pensieve memories. More importantly, he was still in the castle, until Dumbledore’s funeral the following day.

Lupin was sitting at the head of the hall, speaking in a low voice with Professor McGonagall. Harry decided he may as well speak to Lupin as soon as possible, and stood abruptly, startling the others.

“Here goes then,” he said shortly, and walked off toward the professor’s table before his resolve failed him.

Lupin and Professor McGonagall stopped speaking as he approached and watched him with sad, thoughtful expressions. Harry had the distinct feeling they had been talking about him. For a brief moment he questioned his decision to confide in Lupin; swallowing his doubts, he stopped in front of them and spoke. “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall �“ Professor Lupin, could we talk?”

Professor McGonagall merely nodded, indicating that she was finished with whatever they had been discussing. Lupin stood, laying his napkin down with a small smile. “Of course, Harry. Let’s go for a walk, some fresh air will do us good.”

Lupin silently led the way from the Great Hall. Harry could feel Ron, Hermione, and Ginny watching him as he left; he would have to fill them in later. As they stepped out into the bright sunshine, Lupin turned to Harry and gave him another tired smile. “What can I do for you, Harry?” he asked quietly.

Harry struggled with where to start. He hadn’t told anyone else about Snape, and felt like he was betraying some sort of trust after what the former potions master had done for him in Spinner’s End. Yet Snape was dead, and Harry needed guidance, so he took a deep breath, and began.

“I didn’t tell you everything about the night that Professor Dumbledore died,” he started. Lupin raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Of course you didn’t, Harry, but I figured you had a good reason, and would tell us in time. I’m glad you felt you could trust me. So �“ what happened that you wish to share now?”

Harry let out his breath, relieved at Lupin’s calm and supportive reaction. He gathered his thoughts, and began to tell him what really happened on the Astronomy Tower. When he got to the part about Snape casting the Killing Curse that had ended Dumbledore’s life, Lupin stopped short, and grabbed Harry’s arm.

“Snape killed Dumbledore?” he whispered, his eyes wide with shock. “Snape?” he repeated.

Harry nodded, not surprised at Lupin’s reaction. “Yes, I saw him do it, but so much happened after that I didn’t want to say anything until I understood more.” Harry felt the familiar anger in his chest, touched with even more confusion after what he had seen in the Pensieve.

Lupin let go of Harry’s arm, his face pale and upset. “I can’t believe it - Dumbledore trusted him! What happened next?” He continued walking, his hands behind his back, his eyes troubled as he listened closely.

Harry told Lupin how Snape had captured him and brought him back to Spinner’s End. Lupin grew angry, but Harry continued, and told him about the memories Snape had given him before Voldemort had arrived. They had arrived at the black lake by then, and they stopped, staring across its calm waters.

“Is everything else you told us what really happened?” Lupin finally asked, looking at Harry closely. Harry nodded.

“Yes. Snape wanted to hide Draco and his mother, but Voldemort arrived just as he was about to let me go. He tortured Snape, then killed Narcissa Malfoy. Snape helped us escape.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated again as he thought about the contradictory actions of the enigmatic Death Eater and spy. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell anyone: Snape killed Dumbledore, but he died to save our lives. I still don’t understand.” He also still questioned whether the potions master �“ along with Draco Malfoy - was truly dead.

Lupin nodded slowly, and indicated that they should sit on the grassy banks of the lake for a while. “What about the memories? Have you watched them yet?”

“I’ve watched two of them,” Harry answered, and he told Lupin about the night of the prophecy, as well as the conclusions Hermione had come to afterwards.

Lupin paused to think about it for several minutes before answering. “I knew much of that memory already, Harry, but not all of it. I don’t think anyone knew Severus was there that night to offer his services to the Order; we assumed that came much later, after your parents died.”

“That’s what Dumbledore said too,” said Harry, gazing across the lake. “He didn’t want me to know it was him and not Snape who sent the prophecy to Voldemort.”

“Yes, and I think Hermione was right as well.” Lupin sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “I see why you are so confused, Harry. Dumbledore had a terrible choice to make at that moment, a decision that has affected your entire life. I can only imagine the regrets he had to live with afterwards.”

Harry did not reply, because he had wondered the same thing.

“What about the other memories, what did they tell you?” asked Lupin.

Harry took another deep breath and told him about Snape’s memory. Lupin immediately sat up straighter and listened closely until Harry had finished telling him about how Snape had deliberately thrown the attack on Harry’s parents, how Snape had been tortured by Voldemort much like he had in Spinner’s End, and how Snape’s wife had been killed, right in front of him, as punishment. Lupin stared at Harry, even more shocked.

“I had no idea,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I don’t think anyone did, except Dumbledore.”

“It must be why he turned spy,” said Harry.

“Of course it is, something like that will drastically change anyone’s life path,” replied Lupin. “He came to Dumbledore and offered his services to the Order, and Dumbledore sent him right back to the man who had killed his wife and child.”

“With the prophecy,” Harry added bitterly.

“With the prophecy, so that Voldemort would accept Snape back into the fold.” Lupin shook his head again. “I can’t believe it. Harry, I’m surprised he left you this memory.”

Harry hadn’t even thought about why Snape had left him such a personal memory; he had just assumed it was on Dumbledore’s orders.

“Have you watched the third one then?” asked Lupin, interrupting his thoughts.

“No,” replied Harry. “It was too late, and I’m not sure I even want to know anymore. Everything I thought I knew about both Professor Dumbledore and Snape has turned out to be wrong, and I don’t know if I want to see anymore.”

“Harry,” said Lupin earnestly. “That last memory could be the final answer. It could tell us why Snape killed Dumbledore.”

“Does it matter?” asked Harry pointedly.

“Of course it does!” exclaimed Lupin. “I would certainly like to know how Snape could do such a thing after all Dumbledore did for him, how he could turn on the one man who trusted him with his life and kill him.”

“Maybe he’d had enough,” suggested Harry. Snape had seemed almost demented as Harry had chased him that night, and may have simply snapped.

“Possibly,” answered Lupin thoughtfully. “I think there is more, though, and I think your last memory will tell us the final link between Snape and Dumbledore. I would like to put Dumbledore to rest tomorrow knowing his death wasn’t in vain, so that his memory can rest in peace, wouldn’t you?”

Harry thought about it: could he really ignore the last glass vial Snape had given him? Could he really forget about the final memory, if it might explain what had happened on the tower that horrible night?

Glancing across the lake once more, Harry knew that he couldn’t. He needed to understand everything, before he could begin his hunt for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. He needed to restore his faith in the headmaster �“ and even Snape �“ before he could even hope to succeed in defeating Voldemort with the power Dumbledore had named love.

“I’ll watch it,” Harry answered quietly, then impulsively added, “Will you go with me?”

Lupin looked at him in surprise, but Harry knew he had done the right thing. Lupin was the closest person he had to a father figure, now that both Sirius and Dumbledore were gone. Harry knew he would need a guide, a mentor, as he continued his journey. He also felt that Lupin deserved to know what had happened between Dumbledore and Snape, and should experience it himself.

Lupin appeared somewhat touched by the gesture. “Of course, Harry, if you are sure you want me to. Dumbledore left those memories for you and your journey, not mine.”

Harry nodded fervently. “I’m sure. You deserve to know the truth as much as I do now, and I trust you.”

Lupin inclined his head. “Thank you, Harry. When you would like to do this?”

Harry stood up. “Now is as good a time as any,” he said, determined to be done with it.

Lupin joined him and they made their way back to the castle. “I’ll ask Professor McGonagall for the Pensieve again.”

Harry grinned. “I’ve already got it,” he admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

“Of course you do,” replied Lupin, with a light laugh. “I should have realized. Why don’t we return it to its proper place, then? I will meet you by the headmaster’s office.”

“Won’t Professor McGonagall want to know what we are doing?” Harry asked, frowning. He may have shared his thoughts with Lupin, but he was not ready to share them with anyone else.

“I’ll ask her for a bit of privacy,” answered Lupin. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her a thing. Meet me there as soon as you get the Pensieve and the memories.”

They entered the castle and Lupin left for the headmistress’s office. Harry made his way back to his dormitory, ready to finally understand what had happened on the Astronomy Tower that fateful night.


* * *

A/N: And so we begin to wrap things up! I really feel that while Harry must ultimately complete his journey alone, he would do well to take someone like Lupin into his confidence. I hope he does, as Lupin would make an excellent mentor. He is also one of Harry’s last connections to his parents. I hope to post the next chapter �“ I am anticipating it to be the penultimate chapter, but one can never be sure �“ before the holidays. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!

Harry glanced nervously around the final memory Professor Dumbledore had left for him. It was dusk, and he was standing next to Remus Lupin on a dusty overgrown track, lined by unruly hedges on either side. Dumbledore �“ the older Dumbledore whom Harry had known �“ was striding down the dirt road toward a dark copse of thick trees overrun with nettles and moss. A dilapidated house could barely be seen through the tangled overgrowth. As Harry and Lupin began to walk toward the house, Harry was startled to see the withered skin of a snake nailed to the front door, and with a sudden flash of insight he realized where they were.

It was the Gaunt house in Little Hangleton.

Harry swallowed hard as he and Lupin followed the headmaster down the dirt track to the door. Around him he heard a soft chorus of ghostly moans and eerie laughter. A fell breeze seemed to stir the trees, and Harry thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, only to turn his head and find nothing there. He glanced briefly at the older man and saw that Lupin was frowning, his face clearly puzzled as he gazed around them.

Together they watched as Dumbledore stopped at the threshold of the run-down house and studied it closely, then abruptly turned to leave. He stopped not far from the door and shook himself, and tapped his wand on his forehead before returning to the house. Harry looked curiously at Lupin, hoping for an explanation.

“Distraction Charm,” Lupin answered his unasked question. “It makes someone forget about something, in this case probably going in the house. It’s an easy enough counter-charm, though.”

Dumbledore seemed to have regained his focus and was once again examining the door, waving his wand, occasionally pausing as if expecting a violent reaction. Nothing happened, except that after one such wave, the ghostly sounds and sinister wind stopped. Harry saw Dumbledore shake his head and smile wryly as he entered the tiny hovel where the Gaunt family line had finally come to an end.

The large central room was completely covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime that had clearly not been disturbed for years, possibly decades. The rafters had fallen in and the roof was open to the darkening sky. Broken furniture was scattered about the room and covered in thick dust. It was almost unrecognizable as a house.

“What is this place?” Lupin asked quietly, gazing at the ramshackle remains around him with an expression of disgust and confusion. “What could Dumbledore possibly want here?”

Harry sighed; he hadn’t expected this memory, and hadn’t planned on telling Lupin about the Horcruxes, but he had no choice now. “This is the home of Merope Gaunt, Voldemort’s mother. Dumbledore is looking for something.” Harry paused, and plunged on, ready to trust Lupin with Voldemort’s dark secret. “He’s looking for a Horcrux.”

Lupin’s eyes went wide as he realized what Harry had said. Before he could ask more, Harry moved away toward Dumbledore, who was slowly walking around the room, once again waving his wand almost imperceptibly. He finally stopped in front of a dark oak trunk, bound with iron straps and what appeared to be a sturdy lock. He studied it for a long moment, before bending down to inspect it closer.

He reached out a hand toward the trunk, and Harry held his breath as he expected the headmaster to be launched backward by some sort of violent Dark Magic. He was surprised when there was no curse or hex, and Dumbledore opened the chest without incident. It was, however, completely empty; Dumbledore stood and frowned as he looked around the room. He kneeled once more and tried to move the sturdy trunk; it did not shift an inch. He stepped back, and began firing spells at it instead.

The spells bounced harmlessly off of some mysterious barrier protecting the trunk. Dumbledore paused, and Harry wondered whether the headmaster was trying to move the trunk or destroy it. Finally Dumbledore conjured a bolt of light at the tip of his wand, and with a cry of, “Reducto!” he cast a spell at the floor in front of the chest.

The wooden floor exploded into splinters, and the trunk went flying into the air. Lupin glanced at Harry, his eyebrows raised. “Interesting way to get around a Permanent Sticking Charm,” he commented dryly.

Harry was instantly reminded of the portrait of Mrs. Black at number 12, Grimmauld Place, and wondered why Dumbledore hadn’t removed the painting himself, considering how disruptive Mrs. Black’s rantings had been. Given the large hole in the floor, Harry concluded that Dumbledore hadn’t wanted to bring down the Black house by destroying the entire wall to just to remove a bothersome painting.

Dumbledore ignored the empty trunk and conjured a light as he moved slowly toward the gaping crack in the floorboards. Harry could hear a strange dry hissing sound, and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand as he followed Dumbledore toward the dark opening. When he finally glimpsed the source of the odd sounds, he instinctively jumped back in disgust.

The chasm in the floor was filled with snakes.

The ground was covered in them, hundreds of black serpents, writing and slithering on top of each other and hissing with angry voices. They were furious at being disturbed, and feared the sudden noise and light. Harry felt his mouth curl in disgust, but saw Dumbledore shake his head. “Not very original, Tom,” the headmaster said softly to himself.

Harry knew that Dumbledore was referring to young Tom Riddle, but saw that Lupin continued to look puzzled. He did not care to explain, and turned back to the headmaster, who was staring down at the snakes with a thoughtful look on his face. Finally Dumbledore raised his wand and began firing Stunning spells into the writing mass. After several minutes it did not seem as if the snakes had been significantly subdued, and Dumbledore stopped.

Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore began firing multiple jets of green light into the sinister nest. The snakes hit by the curse were instantly killed, and Harry stared in shock at the headmaster’s use of an Unforgivable Curse, as well as his blatant disregard for life. Yet the snakes seemed to be multiplying, and were now overflowing from the hole.

“Of course,” said Dumbledore, and he lowered his wand. The snakes appeared to back off. “Much more what I expected, Tom.”

“Why did he stop?” Harry asked Lupin, confused by Dumbledore’s mysterious statement.

“Hydra Charm,” answered older man. “Every time he killed one snake, two more appeared to take its place. It’s a very rare, difficult charm to set.”

Harry did not have time to reply, for Dumbledore had conjured some sort of defensive shield around himself and was kneeling at the foot of the deep hole. Ignoring the hideous snakes slithering over the shield, he reached a hand into the ground and groped around. His face tensed with the effort; he was obviously looking for something within the nest itself. The snakes flowed over him like murky water, until Harry could barely see the headmaster through the serpents trying to penetrate his magical shield.

Abruptly Dumbledore stood, dropping snakes onto the floor where they hissed and spit at him venomously. Harry heard Dumbledore mutter a soft incantation and saw the air around him briefly glow blue, shocking the snakes away. He moved away from the hellish pit and retreated to the far end of the room, and Harry finally noticed that the headmaster was holding a small box in his hands. Harry and Lupin crossed to the other side of the room as well, leaving the terrible nest of snakes behind them.

Dumbledore placed the box on a table that was barely standing upright. He absently conjured himself a chair and examined the object with meticulous attention to details that Harry could not perceive. Harry saw a roughly carved wooden box, littered with evil-looking runes and sealed tight with a tiny lock; he could only imagine the protections that Riddle had placed on the box, and the remnants of Dark Magic that Dumbledore undoubtedly sensed.

After a long while Dumbledore nodded to himself. With a small incantation he conjured a thin fiery serpent from the tip of his wand. The glowing snake slithered its way toward the box and crawled into the lock; with an audible click, the lid sprung slowly open.

“That’s remarkable,” Lupin whispered, his eyes wide. “I’ve never seen that spell before.”

“What is it?” asked Harry, curious in spite of the rising tension he felt as the memory pushed toward its destructive conclusion. He knew the final outcome of Dumbledore’s attempt to destroy the Horcrux hidden in the Gaunt house, and he dreaded having to witness it personally, in spite of the number of times he had asked Dumbledore about the ring.

“Serpens Signum,” replied Lupin, frowning again. “It’s the Serpent’s Seal spell. It was believed to be a legend, it’s been lost for centuries.”

Harry stared at him, then turned back to the table where Dumbledore was lifting a familiar ring from the crude box with his right hand. The heavy gold ring was set with a black stone, and Harry recognized the coat of arms engraved on its dark surface. His heart began to beat faster as he watched the dreadful scene unfold before him.

Dumbledore held the ring up to the fading light, but almost immediately dropped it as an ugly black substance began creeping from the tips of his fingers toward his palm and forearm. Harry saw the headmaster’s face contort with pain as he clutched at his arm with his good hand. The evil slime continued to advance, and Dumbledore fell to the ground, his face contorted with pain.

Lupin looked shocked. “It’s Black Fire,” he whispered, his eyes horrified. “Mauros Fotia. It can kill a man in minutes.” Harry felt sick as he watched Dumbledore thrashing on the dirty floor, the Black Fire now covering his entire hand. With an almost inhuman effort Dumbledore grabbed his wand from the table and conjured what appeared to be a magical tourniquet just above his wrist; gasping in agony, he lifted himself up, leaning against the table for support.

“Is that the Horcrux, Harry?” asked Lupin quietly, and Harry nodded, unable to take his eyes off the sight before him. Dumbledore was breathing heavily, his eyes closed. When he opened them, they were bright with the pain the Dark Magic was spreading through his arm. He aimed his wand at the cursed ring.

“Annullo horcruxa et libero anima,” Dumbledore whispered, and his voice was frighteningly weak. The ring began to glow, a dark evil green at first, growing into a blinding lurid yellow. Harry saw Dumbledore conjure his defensive shield once more; the threatening glow from the ring continued to grow until at last there was a deafening explosion of light and sound. Harry instinctively covered his head and ducked as the small room was blasted apart. Dumbledore was thrown violently backward into a wall, and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

As the dust began to settle, Harry saw that the headmaster’s magical tourniquet had come undone, and the Black Fire was beginning to advance past his wrist once more. Apparently the pain roused him, for with a strangled yell, Dumbledore jerked awake and clutched at his blackened hand. He called for his wand and replaced the magical tourniquet. Then he crawled through the rubble back toward the ruined table. He clawed through the debris with his good hand until he found the ring, then stood and stumbled outside.

Harry and Lupin followed, and watched as Dumbledore fell to the ground, his breathing ragged. He finally stood and looked back at the house. Even with his face twisted in agony, he had the presence of mind to wave his wand at the tiny hovel, and the damage righted itself. The building once more appeared as if no one had been there for years. Cradling his injured arm, Dumbledore swayed in his place, then with a final deep breath, he stepped around and Apparated away.

Harry was left standing in the dark with Lupin, stunned at the destruction of the Gaunt Horcrux. The enormity of the task he now faced in the wake of the headmaster’s unexpected death suddenly seemed both unspeakable and unbearable. Dumbledore had been the most powerful wizard of the century, and had still been mortally injured finding and destroying one of Voldemort’s earliest Horcruxes. How was he, Harry, supposed to find and destroy four more with only the knowledge and skills of a sixteen-year-old wizard?

Harry felt his heart sink in his chest as he fully understood what he had to do, and the risks he would have to take in order to fulfill his grim task. Yet he did not have long to dwell upon his predicament, for the dark memory soon swirled into a new surrounding, and Harry found himself standing with Lupin in front of Severus Snape.

* * *

A/N: This is not the penultimate chapter I anticipated; in fact, I had never planned on including this scene in the story at all! Yet if my goal has been to answer some of the unanswered questions from Book Six, then certainly the story of Dumbledore’s destruction of the Gaunt ring would seem appropriate. So here it is, and I hope you enjoyed it. I believe that Chapter Fourteen will be the penultimate chapter, but again one never knows what odd inspiration might strike. Look for it in the new year after the queue reopens - Happy Holidays!

Harry stared hard at Severus Snape; he felt his lip curl with hatred as he watched the former potions master move toward a bed nearby. Professor Dumbledore lay under light covers, his eyes closed. His face was pale and pinched with pain, but his breathing was regular. Snape sat down next to the bed, and Dumbledore spoke.

“It seems I owe you more than my thanks, Severus,” said the headmaster, his voice paper thin. “I owe you my life.” Dumbledore opened his eyes and smiled weakly. Harry was startled at how frail the headmaster appeared. He glanced at Lupin, who was watching Snape with narrowed eyes.

Snape merely inclined his head. “I am glad I was able to assist,” he replied quietly.

“You did more than assist,” said Dumbledore, as a light laugh turned into a cough. “Tell me, what happened after I Apparated back?”

“You sent your Patronus to the castle,” Snape began, sitting back and lacing his long fingers. “I came out to the castle gates to find you barely conscious, and I helped you back to your office. It was fairly obvious something serious had happened.” He paused, as if waiting for Dumbledore to explain.

The headmaster nodded and closed his eyes. “In good time, Severus. I will tell you my tale, once you finish yours. Continue, please.”

“I knew your physical injuries would be easily tended. It was the curse I was more concerned about. Mauros Fotia, Headmaster?” Snape raised his eyebrows. “Black Fire is extremely Dark Magic �“ difficult and rare.”

“And painful, as well,” added Dumbledore. He held up his disfigured hand and sighed. “I see you were able to stop the curse from spreading. Thank you.”

“Of course,” acknowledged Snape. “Your tourniquet prevented the curse from taking more of your arm. I am only sorry the damage was already done to your hand.”

“I did not expect such an evil curse,” said Dumbledore softly. “It was all I could do at the time. How did you stop it?”

“There is a counter-curse,” answered Snape. “Not very many wizards are even aware it exists. Many Death Eaters, however, are.”

“Ah, of course,” nodded Dumbledore. “It would make a highly useful torture tool, wouldn’t it? I have never heard of the counter-curse, though.”

“It is a secret known only to a few of the Dark Lord’s most loyal followers.”

“I am glad I happen to know one. Please go on.”

Snape shrugged. “There is not much else to tell. You have been sleeping for three days now. I should tell you that you mumbled quite a bit at first. I was able to gleam some idea of what happened.”

Dumbledore glanced up sharply. “Was anyone else in to see me?” he asked quickly.

“No,” said Snape slowly. “I did not think you would wish them to hear about the Horcrux.” He watched the headmaster intently, his black eyes glittering.

Dumbledore blew out a long breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked more tired than ever before. “I assume you’ve pieced it together then?”

Snape stood and began pacing the room. Harry was surprised at how agitated the former professor suddenly appeared. “I know that the Dark Lord created a Horcrux, and that you destroyed it at great personal risk. I assume this is how he survived fifteen years ago. What I do not understand is why you didn’t tell me!”

“I did not wish to risk your cover, or your life,” replied Dumbledore as he watched Snape continue to pace, an expression of curious concern on his face.

“A Horcrux is the most vile object a wizard can imagine! They are of such Dark Magic, attempting to destroy one alone is beyond dangerous �“ it’s suicide.” Harry was somewhat shocked at how harshly Snape was speaking to the headmaster. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled.

“I am well aware of the danger, Severus,” he reminded Snape, holding up his blackened hand. “Though I certainly did not expect this,” he added softly, almost to himself.

“You should have told me,” Snape snapped at him. “I could have helped you, I could have �“”

“ �“ leaked my knowledge to Voldemort?” interrupted Dumbledore. He slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position and pierced Snape with a much clearer gaze than he had all night. “Do you have any idea of how dangerous this knowledge truly is? Voldemort guarded that Horcrux with layer after layer of protection. If he knew I was aware of its existence, let alone preparing to go after it, the abomination would have been virtually impossible to find and destroy.”

Snape stopped and stared at Dumbledore, his face even paler than usual. “You don’t trust me,” he whispered, he voice accusing.

Dumbledore shook his head. “I don’t trust Voldemort. I simply couldn’t risk him finding out anything. I know you have worn the mask of duplicity and guarded your mind successfully for many years now, Severus, but this is just too important.” Dumbledore took a deep breath, and he plunged on. “There is more than one Horcrux.”

Snape’s eyes went wide. “What? More than one - but that’s never been done before! Even the Dark Lord wouldn’t dare attempt such a thing.”

“I’m fairly certain he has,” replied Dumbledore, his face very grave. “In fact, I believe he made several Horcruxes, and hid them away to protect his immortality should one be destroyed.”

Snape swore as he sank down in the chair once again, his face white. “How do you know?”

“I believe the first one was the diary of Tom Riddle which Harry destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets three years ago.” Harry saw Snape’s eyes narrow at the mention of his name, and Dumbledore gave the professor a reproachful look. The headmaster then picked up a heavy gold ring from the table beside the bed. “I found this one in the ruins of Voldemort’s ancestral home. As I said, the protections surrounding the ring were formidable.” Harry shuddered with Dumbledore as he remembered the evil snakes surrounding the box with the ring hidden inside, and the horrible curse placed upon the valuable object.

“But more than two?” pressed Snape. “Certainly two Horcruxes would be more than enough to assure the Dark Lord’s continued life.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Apparently not, considering they are now both destroyed. Were they the last, Voldemort would be mortal and we might win this war.” The headmaster sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “I have been studying Tom Riddle for many years now, Severus. From what I have learned, it is very likely there are still several more Horcruxes which must be destroyed before we can even hope to end Voldemort’s reign of terror.”

Snape simply stared at Dumbledore, his eyes stunned, his mouth half open, and Harry felt the smallest trace of pity for the older man’s shock. He had felt much the same way when he had learned about the Horcruxes and the almost impossible task of finding and destroying each one. He looked over at Lupin and saw a similar expression on the older man’s haggard face. Harry sighed and turned back to the scene in front of him.

“How many more?” Snape finally asked.

Dumbledore shrugged inelegantly. “I do not know. I am still looking for them,” he replied. He did not elaborate, and Snape raised his thin eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Severus. I have my suspicions, but until I know for sure I’d prefer not to say too much.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and rested for a moment, while Snape remained silent and still. Lupin leaned in closer to Harry. “Is it true? Is there more than one Horcrux?”

Harry nodded wearily. “There are several more.”

Lupin shook his head, his face pale with disbelief. “I can’t believe it, it’s monstrous. We all knew Voldemort had delved deep into Dark Magic, but Snape is right �“ Horcruxes are an abomination. Did Dumbledore share anything else with you before he died?”

“We were trying to find the others, during my private lessons,” said Harry, watching the headmaster.

“Is that where you went the night the Death Eaters attacked the castle?” asked Lupin, also gazing at the silent bed.

“Yes,” Harry replied heavily, remembering the disastrous trip to the cave. “We went after a locket, only it wasn’t a real Horcrux, it was a fake. There are still four more to find and destroy, and Dumbledore was the only one who knew how.”

Lupin did not speak, and Harry finally turned to look at him. Lupin was studying Harry with a very serious expression. “What is it?” he asked warily.

“Dumbledore must have shared his knowledge with you for a reason, Harry,” said Lupin, frowning. “It’s up to you now.”

“But I can’t -” Harry stopped his protest when Snape spoke. He and Lupin turned their attention back to the scene in front of them.

“There has been another . . . complication,” Snape said to Dumbledore. The headmaster sat up again, his eyes open and bright once more.

“Tell me what has happened,” he demanded, looking very seriously into Snape’s eyes.

“Narcissa Malfoy came to see me,” said Snape. He stood and started pacing once more. “She begged me to intervene, to speak with the Dark Lord on behalf of her son.”

“Is Draco safe?” asked Dumbledore immediately.

Snape was silent for a long moment. “No. He has taken the Dark Mark.”

Harry’s eyes widened; he had suspected it all along, but hadn’t actually believed it until that moment. He had been enemies with Draco Malfoy since their initial meeting on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of Harry’s first year. They had fought both on and off the Quidditch pitch, trading insults and curses, but always within the limited rivalry of castle life. That Draco had become a Death Eater signaled a much deadlier enemy; but with a shake of his head, Harry remembered that Draco had been killed after returning to Spinner’s End, and that his rival-turned-enemy was no longer a concern. He felt an odd pang of regret about it all, along with a whisper of doubt that continued to puzzle him.

“Ahh,” Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. “I am sorry for that. He is not one of them, no matter what he thinks he may be.”

Snape frowned at Dumbledore’s enigmatic statement. “He has also been given an assignment,” he continued, watching the headmaster closely. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, for he knew what Draco had been assigned to do. It was almost as if Dumbledore sensed it as well, because he was quiet for several moments before he finally spoke again.

“And what has Draco been told to do for Lord Voldemort?”

Snape took a deep breath and stopped pacing. “Kill you.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes. “Draco, what have you done?” he whispered softly to himself. After another long pause he opened his eyes and met Snape’s gaze. “There are ways around it, of course,” he told Snape.

“I don’t believe there is, this time,” replied Snape, sinking into the chair he had just left. “I’ve taken an Unbreakable Vow.”

Harry heard Lupin suck in a breath; he hadn’t told the older man about the vow that had forced Snape’s hand on the Astronomy tower. In fact, he had almost forgotten. Harry knew that breaking an Unbreakable Vow meant death, but in his mind Snape should have died rather than betray and murder the headmaster who had protected them all. He couldn’t imagine any reason for Snape to hold his vow to Narcissa higher than his loyalty to Dumbledore.

“What have you promised?” questioned Dumbledore, sitting up straighter.

Snape began to tell the headmaster about the vow that Narcissa Malfoy had asked of him, and how Bellatrix Lestrange had bound his words with fire. Dumbledore listened intently, and asked very specific questions about what had happened at Spinner’s End.

“Tell me the final promise again,” he said, his face unreadable.

Snape’s eyes closed briefly, and a look of dark despair passed quickly across his face before he opened them again. “Narcissa asked that should Draco be unable to perform the task assigned to him, I perform it in his stead.”

Dumbledore pierced him with his blue eyes. “So if Draco is unable to kill me �“ and he certainly won’t be able to do such a thing �“ then you will have to do it for him.” Snape inclined his head, and Dumbledore sighed as he nodded slowly. “That is quite a complication indeed.”

“It’s unthinkable!” Snape exclaimed roughly, jumping up and once more pacing the room. “I would rather die myself than be forced to do such a thing.”

“And yet,” said Dumbledore softly, watching Snape with sad eyes, “you have vowed to protect Draco. Your vow is to Narcissa, not to me. If you do not fulfill your promise, not only will you die, but they will die with you. Voldemort will kill them.”

Snape stopped and stared. “I can’t kill you to save them.”

“You can and you will,” replied Dumbledore, and his tone indicated there was no argument to be made, though Snape opened his mouth to retort. The headmaster held up his good hand. “No, Severus. What’s done is done. If by my death I can protect three people, I will be happy to surrender up my life when the time comes.”

Harry was stunned, and saw that Lupin was shocked as well. They continued to watch the confrontation with wide eyes, unable to believe that Dumbledore had agreed to such a horrible end.

“I won’t do it,” Snape snapped. “Your life is far more important than mine, or any Malfoy for that matter.” He said the last with a contempt that surprised Harry.

“My life is no more or less important than any other right now, except perhaps Harry.” Snape snorted at the mention of Harry’s name, and Dumbledore raised his eyebrow at the former potions master. “You know the prophecy, Severus. Everything we do matters little next to the words of fate. Harry, and Harry alone, will vanquish Voldemort. It is up to us to help and guide him until such time as he must meet his destiny.”

“And how will your death help Potter?” demanded Snape. “The boy doesn’t trust me, you are the only one he looks to for help. If you sacrifice yourself, you leave him vulnerable and alone.”

Harry was mesmerized, because he indeed felt vulnerable and alone. He couldn’t believe Snape was speaking almost as if he were concerned about Harry.

“He will be ready,” said Dumbledore firmly. “And he has others who will stand by his side when he needs them.”

“Weasley and Granger?” asked Snape, his voice heavy with skepticism. “A screw-up and a know-it-all? How could they possibly help him with this?” As Snape gestured toward the ring with an expression of doubt, Harry felt the anger return with Snape’s crude insults to his friends. He sensed Lupin’s hand on his shoulder, and turned to find the Order member smiling sadly.

“He’s wrong, of course,” said Lupin quietly. “He doesn’t understand the power of friendship. We’re all here for you.”

Harry nodded gratefully and returned his attention to the terrible conversation in front of him.

“Harry’s friends are as necessary to his well-being as the food he eats or the air he breathes,” Dumbledore was saying softly. Harry felt his heart skip a beat because it was true, though he had never thought of it in such a way. “I believe they will be invaluable to him in his quest to destroy Voldemort. There are others he may turn to as well �“ Remus Lupin, and the Weasley family. In fact the entire Order stands ready to protect and serve him.” Harry was humbled by Dumbledore’s words.

“Yes, but it is you whom the Dark Lord truly fears,” argued Snape. “You and only you have the knowledge and power to defeat him, whether Potter is your instrument or not.”

“I will share my knowledge with Harry,” answered Dumbledore, staring pensively at the window. “He has the power already, though he doubts himself. He will be ready, should the time come when you must fulfill your vow.”

“It’s outrageous!” exploded Snape, throwing his hands up. “I will not be your murderer, whether you and Potter are prepared or not.” He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “What about the Draught of Living Death? We could fake your death, like so many others.”

“It would never work, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “You can’t trick an Unbreakable Vow. When the time comes and you are forced to kill me �“ and it will, as I said �“ you must do so, or you will be killed yourself.”

“Then I would rather die,” said Snape simply, and Harry heard a desperation in his voice that he had never heard before.

“You can’t,” said Dumbledore decisively. “I won’t have you and Draco die to protect me. I am old, and expendable. Draco must live, to right his wrongs. And you must live, to continue your cover.” Snape blanched, and Dumbledore shook his head firmly. “I’m sorry, but I need you to stay close to Voldemort, so that when the time comes Harry can count on your support.”

“I told you he doesn’t trust me,” said Snape in disgust. “If I’m forced to kill you, he’ll probably come after me instead with his wand held joyfully high.”

Dumbledore actually smiled. “He might eventually, but I still need you in place when it’s time to reveal your true allegiance and do what’s right.”

“Murder isn’t right,” Snape insisted.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Dumbledore. “But it is necessary. Trust me, Severus. It will work out in the end. I have faith in you, and in Harry.”

Snape was silent for a long time, obviously searching for more ways to argue his way out of the dreadful obligation both the Unbreakable Vow and the headmaster had placed him under. “If I kill you, it’s entirely possible the Dark Lord will kill Draco and his family anyway, for failing,” he finally said.

“Then you know what to do,” replied Dumbledore matter-of-factly. “Aberforth can help you. Have the potion mixed and ready should it become necessary to use it.”

Harry frowned; what potion was Dumbledore referring to? Lupin seemed to understand, for he was nodding to himself. Before Harry could ask him the significance of Dumbledore’s mysterious remark, Snape walked right through him to stand at the window. He leaned on the stone sill, his shoulders hunched and his face in his hands. Once more Harry felt the stirrings of pity for Snape; the spy had made a terrible vow, and Dumbledore would force Snape to keep it, even when it involved the headmaster’s own murder. Harry could not imagine the heart-wrenching obligation that appeared to be ripping Snape in two at that moment.

“I can’t do it,” Snape whispered desperately, his pale face contorted in pain. “Don’t make me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dumbledore softly. “I must. I will not require a second Unbreakable Vow, but I would like your world that when the time comes, you will fulfill your promise to the Malfoys. I’m trusting you, Severus, as I have before. You must trust me.”

Snape’s black eyes were filled with the agony of giving his word to the one man who trusted him above all others, the man he was giving his word to kill should it become necessary. With a reluctance that was palpable, the potions master nodded stiffly before turning away. Dumbledore sighed with weary resignation.

“There is one other thing, Severus. I need your memory of tonight’s first conversation.” Snape whipped around, his eyes wide. “I cannot let even a hint of my knowledge of the Horcruxes get back to Voldemort. If you don’t know, you won’t have to protect the secret. You have enough to worry about as it is. I assume Voldemort is not to know of your vow to Narcissa Malfoy?” When Snape nodded mutely, Dumbledore continued. “Then give me the memory of our discussion. I will leave it for you should anything happen to me, and you will be able to help Harry.”

Harry was shocked that Dumbledore was asking Snape to deliberately forget about the Horcruxes. He was even was even more surprised when the potions master agreed without argument. “As you wish,” Snape replied unemotionally, moving back toward the bed.

Dumbledore took his wand from the bedside table and conjured a tiny glass vial which he held out to Snape. Snape stared at it with a look of revulsion, then grabbed it from the headmaster’s hands. He drew his own wand from his robes and raised it roughly to his head. He withdrew a silver strand of thought from his temple and placed it into the glass vial, all the while staring hard into the headmaster’s face. Dumbledore did not flinch, as Snape handed him the glass vial and turned away, returning to the window, where he stood stiff-backed and proud.

“Thank you, Severus,” murmured Dumbledore, leaning back against the pillows once more.

“For what?” asked Snape, turning around with his eyebrows raised. His eyes, however, were glittering specks of black ice.

“For trusting me,” replied the headmaster, and his face was almost unrecognizable with sadness. With those final words the scene faded out, and Harry was left standing alone with Lupin, too overwhelmed to speak. When the memory did not continue, Harry raised his wand, took Lupin’s arm, and with a silent nod, he cried, “Ortusio!”

He had now watched all three of the memories that Dumbledore had left him. While many of his questions had been answered, some still remained, and new ones were raised. He knew more about the complicated relationship between the headmaster and the spy who had killed him, though he did not understood it all. He wasn’t sure it mattered: in the end, there were still four more Horcruxes to destroy, and Dumbledore was still dead.

As Harry landed awkwardly on the stone floor of what was now Headmistress’s McGonagall’s office, Lupin helped him to stand, a look of compassion in his eyes. Dumbledore was gone, but as Harry took Lupin’s hand he realized he was not alone. Lupin now knew the terrifying secret of Voldemort’s immortality and could help in the search for the Horcruxes. Ron and Hermione would always support him, even if he asked them not to. The Weasleys and the Order could aide him when he needed them as well. The task Harry faced was grim, but he could face it knowing so many others stood with him, just as Dumbledore had said.

One man would not be there, a man Harry had never thought to trust in his life, a man he suddenly wished he could speak with one last time: Severus Snape. Harry shook his head as he pondered Dumbledore’s strange words to Snape in the Pensieve; but Snape was dead, and could not help him as the headmaster had wished. Harry only hoped he would not need the spy’s help when the time came to face Voldemort one last time.

* * *

A/N: One last chapter, unless it gets much longer than this! Thanks for your support!

Harry left Gryffindor Tower alone the morning of Professor Dumbledore’s funeral. He walked quietly through the corridors of the castle, wrapped up with thoughts of all he had learned about both the headmaster and Severus Snape. He let his feet lead him wherever they would, not really thinking or caring where he ended up. He simply wanted to explore the hallways one last time on his own, as he tried to make sense of the confused jumble of feelings inside him.

The corridors were empty; soon the students would be coming down for breakfast, and Harry knew his peace would be over. His journey took him past the Great Hall, and he looked into its dark and silent shadows. His eyes were drawn to the empty chair on the front dais where Professor Dumbledore had sat, and he was struck by a vision of the headmaster, hands spread out in welcome on his first night in the castle. Dumbledore would no longer welcome students to Hogwarts; he had given it up to save one of those students, the one who had turned on him.

As Harry stared into the Great Hall, he thought about all he had learned at Hogwarts, and wondered if it would be enough for what he had to do now. He still felt overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation: Dumbledore was gone, and he, Harry, still had four Horcruxes to find and destroy before Voldemort could finally be vanquished. Although a prophecy from long ago laid the burden on Harry, he had always thought that Dumbledore would be there to guide him. Lupin now knew the evil secret of Voldemort’s immortality, and Ron and Hermione as well; but Dumbledore had been the one to piece together the puzzle, and without him Harry did not even know where to begin looking.

With a sigh, Harry turned away from the Great Hall and climbed the staircase. He soon found himself walking down the seventh floor corridor where he had first found the Room of Requirement. He stopped outside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy where the doorway appeared for the secret room and frowned, remembering the last time he had been there. He had used the Sectumsempra curse on Draco Malfoy, and had been looking for somewhere to hide his potions book, the one in which the Half-Blood Prince had written so many helpful notes. A room full of hidden treasures had magically appeared and Harry had stashed the book inside to avoid giving it to Snape. It was the same room Draco Malfoy had then used to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died; if Harry had only been paying better attention, he thought he might have figured it out, somehow stopped Draco, so that Snape’s hand hadn’t been forced. . .

Harry walked down the corridor then absently turned back, still thinking about the room, and was not surprised when the door appeared before him. He hesitated, wondering and dreading what he would find within. Nevertheless, he opened the door and stepped inside. “Lumos,” he said, lighting his wand and illuminating the dark space. The large cathedral-like room was exactly the same as the day he had hidden the book, except for one thing: Harry noticed immediately that the large Vanishing Cabinet was gone, no doubt removed or even destroyed after the horrible events it had set in motion.

Harry remembered exactly where he had left the potions book, and his feet took him there automatically. He walked down rows of old, hidden treasures, and wondered how they had gotten there. Soon he came to a large cabinet, on top of which was the bust of an old warlock wearing a wig and a tiara. He had thrown the book inside, marking it to remember the location amidst all the clutter. Yet as Harry stood there, staring at the cabinet, he began to wonder whether or not he should take the book after all.

Snape was the Half-Blood Prince. With all that had happened over the last trying days, Harry had almost forgotten that it had been Snape’s notes which had been guiding him in Potions all year, Snape’s scribblings that had taught him the Levicorpus spell and the horrible Sectumsempra curse. Snape, who had pledged loyalty to Dumbledore, and then been forced to kill the headmaster in cold blood: why was he coming back for a book from a killer like Snape?

Harry felt angry at himself for even considering it. Snape was a conniving, hateful murderer and spy, and Harry didn’t need or want anything from the former potions master to help him on his search for the Horcruxes and his quest to destroy Voldemort. He turned his back, leaving the book shut away in the cabinet.

Remembering what he had seen in the Pensieve, Harry paused; he realized that for all Snape’s faults, Dumbledore had believed in him right to the very end. Snape had turned spy long ago, for tragic reasons, and had remained loyal to the headmaster even when it meant killing the one man who had trusted him. But did Harry trust him? Should he?

Harry turned back again and raised his hand to open the cabinet, then let it fall. Even knowing the truth, he still couldn’t understand or accept that Snape had killed the headmaster; in his mind Snape should have died rather than kill Dumbledore. How could he use a book that had been written by a murderer?

The book was also full of Dark Magic, and Harry had no wish to use such spells. Wouldn’t that make him little better than Voldemort himself, if he were to use Dark Magic against his enemy?

But, argued another small part of him, didn’t he need all the help he could muster in order to find and destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes? What if there was something �“ even Dark Magic - in the book that would somehow help Harry in his final battle to destroy the most evil wizard the world had seen?

The first part of him remembered something Professor Binns had said during his second year: that just because a wizard knew Dark Magic, did not mean that they had to use it. There was little doubt in Harry’s mind that Dumbledore knew Dark Magic; in fact he had used an Unforgivable Curse at the Gaunt house, to destroy the snakes. Yet Harry instinctively knew that Dumbledore had not used Dark Magic on another human being.

Harry decided he would not use it either, no matter the cost. He had tried to cast an Unforgivable twice, and had been unable to summon the cruel emotions needed to power the curse. He had also seen what Dark Magic did to a man’s soul as he watched Tom Riddle slowly evolve into Voldemort in the Pensieve; he would not do that to himself. Hadn’t Dumbledore told him that the power of a pure soul was stronger? Harry knew he would need all of the strength he could muster to battle Voldemort. Hate would not fuel his magic, but love. Harry turned to leave once more.

And yet there might be other spells and potions that could aide Harry over the coming months. Dumbledore had sacrificed himself not only to save Draco, but to save Snape, so that the spy could remain in place to help Harry when the time came to reveal his true allegiance. Snape was now dead, and his scribbled notes were all he could offer in place of his assistance. If Harry rejected the book, it would be as if he were rejecting Dumbledore’s hope that Snape would survive to help him. If he trusted the headmaster, the least he could do was honor Dumbledore’s sacrifice by trusting Snape and using the book as best as he could to complete his grim task.

With a sigh of both resignation and disgust, Harry wrenched open the cabinet and seized the hateful book. He turned his back on the cabinet and quickly made his way toward the door. He was still unsure of his decision to retrieve the book; it felt contaminated now, and heavy with the guilt he was experiencing for even considering opening it again. As he neared the door it became almost unbearable; the book seemed to be almost burning his hands. He walked faster, stubbornly determined to leave the room with the book; but he tripped over a dusty set of ten pins and went sprawling, and it flew from his grasp to land several feet away.

Harry sat up and grumbled to himself, staring at the loathsome object and wondering if there wasn’t something strange going on. He grabbed it, irritated with how difficult his decision had become, and once more contemplated leaving it behind. His eyes absently glanced across an open page: it was a picture of a wizard, lying deathly still in a canopied bed. The caption below read: “The Draught of Living Death.” The ingredients and directions for brewing the potion were listed underneath.

He stared at the page, his mind suddenly numb: hadn’t Snape suggested using the Draught of Living Death to Professor Dumbledore, as a way around the terrible vow he had taken for Narcissa Malfoy? Was it possible that Snape hadn’t really killed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, but that Dumbledore was even now simply locked in a deep sleep, waiting to awaken?

Harry jumped up, his heart suddenly racing with excitement. He hurried toward the door, determined to find Lupin; but then he remembered the rest of the scene in the Pensieve, and his heart sank. Dumbledore had shaken his head at Snape’s suggestion, reminding him that the potion couldn’t trick an Unbreakable Vow, and that the only course of action was for Snape to perform Draco’s task, and kill the headmaster when the time came for the promise to be upheld.

His sudden hope vanished, and Harry almost dropped the book again, disgusted with his childish naiveté. Dumbledore was dead, Snape had been forced to kill him, and no potion was going to change that. Yet something about the Draught continued to tickle at the back of his mind. Unable to put his finger on it, Harry snapped the book shut and resolutely made his way from the Room of Requirement, the book firmly tucked under his arm. He would figure it out later; for now, it was enough that he had retrieved the book. He only hoped that it would indeed prove useful on his coming journey, and that he would not regret his troubled decision.

* * *

A/N: And so we come to the third penultimate chapter! I realized once I began that Harry needed some closure on the book, and decided this scene should make its own short chapter, since the next jumps ahead to the funeral. So yet again something unexpected sneaks in; apparently this story just doesn’t want to end!
Some of you may recognize a good deal of this chapter. One of my first stories was called The Room of Rejection. In that story, which I tried to fit to canon, Harry returned to the Room of Requirement for the potions book, but left it behind. I transcribed a fair amount of that story here at the beginning, but Harry knows much more about Snape now and this changed his decision. So not only have I rewritten JKR’s lovely ending, but I have now given one of my own stories an alternate ending! I do not want to see Harry use Dark Magic, but I do think that it might be wise for Harry to retrieve the book, for any other number of reasons.
I won’t say the next chapter is the last one this time, although perhaps if I keep saying it this story will finally wrap itself up. Thank you for reading, I hope you are enjoying the extended version of what was supposed to be a much shorter tale.

Harry walked slowly toward the lake, his mind numb with the crushing realization that had come upon him during the funeral: Professor Dumbledore was truly dead. His fleeting hope in the Room of Requirement had been completely destroyed when the headmaster’s body had erupted into startling flames; then the fire had cleared, and a white marble tomb had stood in its place as silent testament to the headmaster’s life, as well as a sorrowful reminder of his tragic death.

The witches and wizards who had come to the funeral were slowly dispersing. Hagrid continued to wail in his giant half-brother’s arms, and those passing by continued to give them scandalous looks. Harry saw Ginny walking away to join her parents and the twins; she turned to look at him sadly before making her way back toward the castle. Remus Lupin joined the sorrowful group, holding hands with Nymphadora Tonks. Ron still had his arm around Hermione’s shoulder as tears slid down both their faces.

Harry glanced miserably toward the tomb, and then turned to continue his mournful walk, hoping for a few more moments alone before he left the castle. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving within the hour, and more than ever Harry dreaded the trip that marked the end of the school year. He knew he had to return to Privet Drive in order for the magic which protected him there to continue until his seventeenth birthday; but his journey beyond that was hidden in a bleak fog of uncertainty now that Professor Dumbledore was gone. He had to find four Horcruxes, and had only the slightest idea of where to begin.

As he walked, Harry noticed a familiar looking man striding purposefully toward him. For a moment, his heart stopped: the old wizard looked remarkably like the headmaster. He quickly realized that this man was taller, thinner, and far more gruff looking, and his heart sank once more. He waited silently for the stranger to join him, curious yet strangely indifferent at the same time.

“Potter,” the mad said brusquely. Harry inclined his head and said nothing; apparently the stranger knew him, though he had no idea who the older man was.

The gruff wizard must have recognized the blank look on Harry’s face. “That’s right, we haven’t officially met, have we?” He held out a knarled hand, which Harry simply looked at for a moment, still silent. “Aberforth Dumbledore. Albus was my brother.”

With a start of recognition, Harry realized where he had seen the man: he was the barkeep at the Hog’s Head. Other hazy images floated through his mind, but he was unable to place them. Harry shook the man’s hand, suddenly feeling awkward. He did not know how to offer his condolences to this stranger, who looked so much like the headmaster, but was so different. He merely nodded, his throat tight.

“I expect you’re rather confused right now,” said Aberforth Dumbledore. “Let’s walk. We have some things to talk about.”

Harry nodded again, still silent, and followed the headmaster’s brother around the lake. He did not want to admit that the smallest bit of hope had unexpectedly appeared deep inside him: Aberforth Dumbledore might not be the powerful wizard his brother was, but it was possible he could still help Harry with the tremendous task he now faced. He also remembered something Professor Dumbledore had said in the final memory from the Pensieve; perhaps the curt barkeep could help him understand all that he had seen and heard.

“I understand my brother left you something,” Aberforth began.

Harry glanced at him in surprise, unsure of how much he could share with this stranger. The barkeep nodded as if he could ready Harry’s thoughts.

“I was an original member of the Order, you know,” he said as they walked, his gruff voice softening slightly. “I know I may not look like much compared to my more studied brother, but we all have our roles to play in this fight. I’m well aware of yours, Potter, and what you have to do. I can help.”

Harry recalled the first scene he had viewed in the Pensieve: Aberforth had been present at the Hog’s Head when Sybill Trelawney had made the prophecy. “So you know I have to kill Voldemort,” he finally replied, deciding to trust the man, as the headmaster certainly had.

Aberforth raised his eyebrows. “I also know you have to destroy his Horcruxes first,” he said bluntly. “I know just as much if not more than you do about this, Potter, so what do you need to talk about?”

Harry struggled with the questions still running through his muddled mind before finally settling on the one he needed answered the most. “Snape,” he said, turning to face the barkeep and watching his reaction. “What really happened, and whose side is he really on?” For some reason Harry did not feel that he could move on without that single answer.

A look of pain and anger flashed across Aberforth Dumbledore’s wrinkled face; then he snorted and continued walking. “Snape. Always stuck in the middle of things. Albus trusted him until the end, but you’ll have to make up your own mind about Severus Snape.” He nodded his head toward the lawn in front of them, where Harry noticed two other wizards walking toward them.

The newcomers appeared to be related, possibly father and son. The taller man looked slightly older than Remus Lupin; he had long brown hair streaked with grey that was pulled back by a leather clip. He was thin and sickly looking, with a pallid face and features thrown into sharp relief by the shadows under his pale cheeks and the slight stubble framing his pointed chin. He had glittering black eyes that once again seemed oddly familiar to Harry. He frowned, trying to place the stranger’s face. The man smirked at him, and cocked a delicate eyebrow in dry amusement.

“Confused as usual, I see,” the man said, and his voice was smooth but sarcastic. Harry struggled to place the inflection, but he couldn’t focus; he was already overwhelmed by his visit to the Room of Requirement, by the funeral, and by Aberforth Dumbledore’s unexpected appearance; he didn’t think he couldn’t deal with much more mystery.

“Come on, Potter,” taunted the young man, his voice soft and low. “Even you should be able to figure it out without the Mudblood’s help.” The stranger was sneering, his grey eyes flashing in grim satisfaction at the confusion written plainly on Harry’s face. He too had dark brown hair, cropped short around his pale face.

“Didn’t you watch the memories?” snapped the older man, staring into Harry’s eyes with a sneer of his own.

Harry took a step backward, stunned. “How did you - ?” he began, and the man laughed. Harry felt his face flush in anger.

“You still need to learn how to close your mind, Potter.” The stranger watched Harry’s eyes widen, and laughed again before turning to Aberforth. “Thank you for your assistance. I think we are set now. I appreciate the opportunity to pay our respects.”

Aberforth glared at the man through narrowed eyes. “I didn’t do it for you; I did it for my brother. You had your orders, and I had mine. Albus was a very insistent man.”

For the briefest moment, Harry thought he saw a look a deep regret pass quickly across the stranger’s face. Then the man set his jaw and nodded. “He was indeed,” he said softly. “I am sorry, you know.”

“So you said,” snapped Aberforth, and Harry heard the bitterness in his voice that told him the barkeep was grieving deeply for his brother. “That doesn’t change what happened, though, does it?”

Harry was slowly starting to put it all together. He turned toward the brown haired stranger, his eyes wide, and felt his heart begin to beat faster. “You �“ “ he stuttered. “You’re not �“ you’re supposed to be �“ how did you �““ he couldn’t get the words out, as his brain worked frantically to accept the impossible.

“About time, Potter,” the stranger drawled. “I was beginning to worry about the headmaster’s faith in you.”

“Leave him alone, Snape,” growled Aberforth under his breath. “The boy’s been through a lot.”

Snape grimaced. “We all have, Aberforth. That’s no reason to coddle him.”

Harry found his voice. “I don’t need to be coddled,” he snapped. “But I could use an explanation. What the hell is going on? How did you get away? When Malfoy and I left, you were almost dead.” The impact of his words hit him, and he turned to stare at the younger man standing next to Snape, where he instantly recognized the cold look in the grey eyes staring back at him. “And you’re supposed to be dead, as well. The Daily Prophet reported it days ago.”

Snape laid his hands on Draco’s shoulders before the Slytherin boy could offer the retort on his lips. “Yes, well, for all its faults, the Prophet has its uses. However, that story is neither important nor any of your business. Did you watch the memories or not?”

Harry looked away, suddenly unwilling to trust the man who had killed Dumbledore, in spite of all he had seen in the Pensieve. Finally he turned back and looked Snape in the face, deciding to challenge him. “I did.”

“And?” pressed Snape, clearly impatient.

“I don’t know that I need to share that information with you,” replied Harry stiffly.

“Fool!” spat Snape. “I practically died to deliver those memories to you, and you still won’t listen to me. I told the headmaster you would never trust me, no matter how many vials he left for you. I shouldn’t have even bothered coming.” He turned his back on Harry and began to stride off, clearly angry.

“Wait,” called Aberforth, his voice sounding reluctant; apparently he was loath to trust the former Death Eater as well. “You have to help him understand what he saw.”

Snape stopped, his shoulders rigid, and strode back to where they stood. Draco stared back and forth between Snape and Aberforth. Harry watched the charged confrontation as Snape hurled his anger at the late headmaster’s brother instead of at him.

“I’m tired of explaining things to wonder boy here,” he hissed in the barkeep’s face. “I’ve had enough of him and his playing the hero, only to be saved at the last minute by others who are both smarter and stronger. If he can’t lower himself to accept what I have to offer, then I won’t offer it again.”

Snape’s anger was venomous, but Harry knew it was not directed at Aberforth Dumbledore; with a peculiar insight, he realized that Snape wasn’t even angry with him as much as the spy was furious with himself and the situation he now faced. Harry took a deep breath. “What are you offering?” he forced himself to say.

Snape whirled on him, his black eyes narrowed. He was silent as he stared at Harry; Harry defiantly held the spy’s cold gaze. “Do you have the Horcrux?” Snape asked. “I can help you destroy it.”

Harry absently fingered the gold locket he carried in his robes, trying to figure out what was bothering him about Snape’s question. After a moment, it came to him. “How do you know about the Horcruxes? You gave that memory to Dumbledore, I saw it in the Pensieve.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “So you are paying attention, Potter. Good. Then it should not surprise you to learn that the headmaster left it for me should he. . .” Snape trailed off, his jaw tight. “Should the situation warrant it. Did you find it?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Harry finally admitted after another pause. “But it was a fake. The real Horcrux was gone.”

Aberforth let out an explosive breath, and Snape frowned. “How is that possible? The headmaster was sure no one else knew.”

Harry shrugged, and held out the locket. “Look for yourself. Someone knew about it, and he switched it for this.”

Snape snatched the locket and opened it, his eyes flickering over the mysterious note inside. He handed it to Aberforth and looked at Harry, his glittering eyes somewhat dulled. “Did the headmaster know?” he asked.

“No,” said Harry, taking the locket back from Aberforth Dumbledore and replacing it in his robes as a reminder of what he still had to do. “I don’t think so. I don’t think he would done what he did if he had known it was all for nothing.” The thought still burned, that they had endured so much in the cave only to retrieve a useless trinket.

Snape rubbed his stubbled chin. “It appears you still have to find the real locket then. Any ideas on where to begin?”

Harry returned to the question he had been turning over for days: he not thought much beyond returning to Privet Drive, let alone how to begin his search for the real locket. He had only vaguely considered traveling to Godric’s Hollow, hoping it might somehow set him on his path. He still had no idea who R.A.B. was, and in truth he had given the initials little attention; Hermione had searched the library and hadn’t found many clues to help them. Harry shook his head, and Snape sneered again.

Before the former potions master could offer his typical blunt criticism, Aberforth Dumbledore spoke up. “I might have an idea or two,” he said, and waited for Harry and Snape to turn toward him, listening. “Seems to me that you need to figure out who R.A.B. was before you can figure out what he did with the real locket.”

“Did you know him?” asked Harry, a breathless hope constricting his chest.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was Regulus Black �“ Regulus Arcturus Black,” offered Aberforth with a shrug. “He was a Death Eater, and he tried to leave the ranks. Maybe the locket you’re searching for is the reason why.”

Harry felt his heart drop back into his stomach again: Regulus Black? Sirius’s brother? Was it even possible? He tried to think back on everything Sirius had ever said about his brother, but could recall little beyond what Dumbledore had just said. Something else tugged at his mind, something he thought he might have heard Professor McGonagall say, but he couldn’t place it.

Snape was nodding slowly, as if he agreed. “It’s possible. I remember Regulus. He was not an exceptionally powerful wizard, but he was clever. He could have done this. It would explain why he died before we could help him.”

Harry glanced at Snape in surprise. “Yes, Potter,” Snape drawled, rolling his eyes. “The Order tried to help him, but the Dark Lord got to him first. At least, that’s what I was told.” He gave the barkeep a questioning look. Aberforth shrugged again.

“I wouldn’t say anything even if I could. We were going to put him into hiding, but he was killed before we could finish the plan. Shame, really. He had really come around. Sirius was devastated.”

Harry swallowed hard at the mention of his godfather and his family. The death of Professor Dumbledore had brought back the keen loss of Sirius, and Harry wondered how many more people would die before he finally defeated Voldemort. “If R.A.B. is Regulus Black, and if he’s dead, how do I find the real locket?” he asked, hearing a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I should think that’s obvious, Potter,” replied Snape, with the same condescending tone he had used in class. “Are you not the sole owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, now?” Silent through the entire conversation, Malfoy snorted, and Harry glared at him. Aberforth Dumbledore answered before Harry could say anything.

“It’s as good a place to start as any,” he said. “Hopefully it wasn’t tossed out with the trash - or lifted by Mundungus Fletcher.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what the barkeep was implying. The summer the Order had moved in, he had spent weeks with the Weasleys cleaning out the house, and had thrown away dozens of old and antique belongings that Sirius had no longer wanted. Just months ago Harry had run into Mundungus Fletcher in Hogsmeade, where he had been furious to discover that the dirty thief had been stealing what was left of the valuables from the Black house. If Regulus Black had taken the locket back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry would be lucky to find it still there. Yet as Aberforth had said, it was a place to start.

“Uh-oh,” the barkeep muttered under his breath, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Looks like Scrimgeour wants to butter up Potter some more.” Harry glanced at him, surprised to find that the headmaster’s brother knew about his run-in with the Minister over Christmas. Aberforth shrugged, apparently a common form of expression for him. “Albus kept me informed. You’d be surprised at some of the things I know.” He wagged his head toward the approaching Minister and his party of attendants. “You should leave, Snape. You don’t want to run into Scrimgeour here.”

Snape grinned wickedly. “Actually, I’d very much like to meet him.” His black eyes glittered expectantly, and Harry wondered what the former spy had in mind.

Rufus Scrimgeour approached their small group alone, his limp more pronounced on the uneven ground. Harry was slightly surprised when he offered his hand to the barkeep with a sympathetic expression.

“Aberforth,” he said, his voice affecting a note of insincere sorrow. “I am so sorry about what’s happened. It is a loss for us all.”

Aberforth Dumbledore reluctantly shook hands, stepping back quickly as if offended. “You have no idea,” he replied curtly. Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes, before turning to Harry.

“Harry,” he acknowledged, inclining his head. “I am sorry for your loss as well. I know you were particularly close to the headmaster, and that he was fond of you as well. Perhaps we might have a talk �“ in private?” He glanced pointedly at Snape and Malfoy, obviously not recognizing the brown-haired strangers. Snape smiled again, this time an uncharacteristically flattering grin, and eagerly stepped forward to extend his hand.

“Nathan le Carre, Minister,” he offered, and Harry was surprised to hear a slight change in his accent, as well as a note of excited subservience. He threw Aberforth a questioning look, and received the smallest nod to remain quiet and listen carefully. “I am so pleased to meet you, Minister,” continued Snape in a simpering voice. “Even at such a trying time, though of course not all of us see it as so. I am confident that your distinguished leadership will continue to guide us well.”

Scrimgeour frowned slightly. “Have we met?” he asked indifferently. “I seem to recognize your name.”

Snape smiled with false modesty; Harry was astounded at the spy’s ability to affect such a completely different persona. “My family is well-known in France, Minister. I myself have been in London for several months now, hoping to join the Ministry.”

“Is that right?” asked Scrimgeour, disinterested. “I wish you luck, then. The Ministry can always use talented wizards.” He turned away, obviously wishing to dismiss this strange wizard and speak to Harry once more; but Snape was persistent.

“They could certainly use a man of my talents,” Snape said softly, dropping the fawning tone in his voice. Scrimgeour looked back at him in surprise.

“And what talents might those be, Mr. le Carre?” he asked, watching Snape closely. Snape’s body language had completely changed; he radiated confidence as he gave the Minister a challenging look with raised eyebrows.

“The kind that men in power covet, because it can keep them in power,” he answered quietly. Harry saw Scrimgeour narrow his eyes at Snape; but there was also a hungry gleam in them as he slowly smiled. Snape had known exactly what to say to bait the Minister into listening.

“I should like to hear more, I think,” said Scrimgeour. He turned to Harry and offered him a small tilt of his head. “Harry, we will meet again soon, I’m sure.” He motioned to Snape to walk with him, and Draco followed, trailing behind. He threw Harry one last sneer over his shoulder; Harry wondered if he would ever see the Slytherin boy again, or if he would disappear into his new identity forever. Something told him Snape had a plan, however, and that both Snape and Draco still had a role to play in the fight against Voldemort. Harry turned back to Aberforth.

The grizzled barkeep was watching Snape walk away with the Minister with narrowed eyes. Abruptly he threw back his head and laughed. “Wily bastard,” he snorted. “He’ll worm his way into Scrimgeour’s camp faster than a dragon chasing mooncalves.”

Harry glanced back at Snape and Scrimgeour, talking with their heads bowed close together, and realized Aberforth was right: Snape had effortlessly hooked the Minister and would undoubtedly soon be well-placed within the Ministry to continue his dangerous role as spy. He briefly wondered which side Snape would offer his services to, but he finally realized that after all he had seen, even after all Snape had said and done, the former potions master was truly loyal to Dumbledore, and thus to the Order and the fight against Voldemort. While he did not feel ready to trust the man as Dumbledore had, at least he had some answers, and the thought that Snape was on his side was not as unsettling as he might have expected.

“Well, Potter,” Aberforth was saying. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, but you’ve got help where you need it. Have Lupin show you how to cast your Patronus to send messages before you go. When will you start?”

Harry shrugged, reluctantly brought back to the reality of the grim months ahead. “I have to go back to Privet Drive first,” he replied. “I suppose I’ll head to Grimmauld Place after that.”

Aberforth was watching him through narrow eyes. “You’re not planning on doing this by yourself, are you?” he asked bluntly.

“Of course I am,” Harry replied, surprised at the question. “It’s my job, my destiny. You heard the prophecy - I’m the one who has to do this, alone.”

The barkeep snorted, and in a strange gesture of compassion highly reminiscent of something the headmaster might have done, he put his arm around Harry’s shoulder, and gently turned him around. “You’re not alone, Harry. Always remember that.” Strolling toward them were Ron and Hermione, looking concerned.

“Good luck, Potter.” Aberforth Dumbledore clapped him on the back, and stomped off around the lake, hurrying toward the castle. Harry watched him go, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then he turned back and waited for Ron and Hermione to join him.

“Who was that?” Ron asked curiously, watching the grizzled barman lope away. “He looks familiar.”

Harry was silent a moment, then turned and began walking toward the beech tree where they had often sat on happier days. “That was Professor Dumbledore’s brother,” he finally said, sitting down and gazing across the lake. Hermione gasped, while Ron glanced back toward the castle with a startled look on his face.

“What did he want?” Hermione asked, sitting down next to Harry and watching him with concern.

Ron threw himself down to join them. “Who cares about him, what did Scrimgeour want?

“And who is he walking off with?” added Hermione.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at his two friends’ eager faces. Quickly he filled them in on his conversation with Aberforth Dumbledore, and the real identity of the brown haired strangers who had joined them. Hermione gasped again and Ron shook his head in disbelief. Harry told them about the locket Horcrux and how Snape had suggested he begin his search at Grimmauld Place for the real locket.

“Of course!” exclaimed Hermione. “It makes perfect sense. Think of all the stuff we found while we were cleaning, it could still be there.”

“If we didn’t toss it away,” Ron said glumly.

“Or if Mundungus Fletcher didn’t lift it,” added Harry, remembering his run-in with the disreputable Order member in Hogsmeade.

Hermione waved them away. “At least it’s a place to start,” she said, echoing Dumbledore’s words. “So what did Scrimgeour want?”

“Probably wanted to talk me into taking his side now that Dumbledore’s gone,” said Harry dully. “Fortunately, he walked off with Snape.” He told them about the spy’s conversation with the Minister and how they had left together, engaged in deep discussion.

“What’s Snape playing at now?” Ron asked, frowning.

“If I had to guess,” replied Harry, “I’d say he’s trying to wiggle his way into the Ministry. He had Scrimgeour wrapped around his finger almost immediately.”

“Whose side is he working for then?” asked Hermione. “The Order or the Death Eaters?”

“Or maybe his own,” muttered Ron darkly, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, thinking back on all he had experienced in the Pensieve. “I don’t completely trust him, but I don’t think he’s working for Voldemort either. I think we’ll just have to keep our eyes open.” They all lapsed into their own quiet thoughts.

“So what’s next?” Ron finally asked, breaking the oppressive silence.

Harry stood up and brushed the grass from his robes. He began to walk back toward the castle. “I have to go back to Privet Drive, because Dumbledore wanted me to. Then I’m going to Grimmauld Place to find that locket. I’d like to go to Godric’s Hollow as well.” He didn’t know why, but he felt it was someplace he needed to go before he began his long, dark journey into a new and different reality of life.

“What about Hogwarts?” Hermione asked softly, gazing sadly at the castle’s tall towers.

“I’m not coming back,” answered Harry, avoiding their eyes. Although he had made up his mind, it was still difficult to say. “I have to find the rest of the Horcruxes. There are still four left to destroy, and then I have to find Voldemort and kill him as well. I’m the only one who can, it’s my job.” It was a fate he was determined to meet head on, and alone. For a while they walked in silence, until Hermione sighed and looked at Ron. Ron nodded and finally spoke.

“We’re with you whatever happens,” said Ron. “But mate, you’re going to have to come round my mum and dad’s house before we do anything else, even Godric’s Hollow.”

“Why?”

“Bill and Fleur’s wedding, remember?”

Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful.

“Yeah, we shouldn’t miss that,” he said finally.

His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione. (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, p. 651-652)


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A/N: And so this story is complete, after a few unexpected but fun detours. When I began this tale, I wanted to answer some of the questions I had at the end of book six: what really happened the night Dumbledore died? What happened to Snape and Draco? Was Snape good or evil? Why? How did he become a spy? How did Dumbledore injure his hand? Who was R.A.B.? I hope that I have presented a series of entertaining and enjoyable answers to these questions, wrapped up in a story that jumps off from one simple alternate action.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story, and to everyone who has left so many wonderful reviews! I am thrilled with the response this story has received, and your warm reviews are appreciated more than you know! I enjoyed writing this story and hope you have enjoyed the final chapter. Thank you for all your support!