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)
* * *
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!