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Harry Potter and the Maw by Woodrow M
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Harry Potter and the Maw

Woodrow M

(A/N: Oh no, I just looked at the calendar and realized I have a little more than two weeks to finish this fanfiction; which I said I would finished BEFORE the HBP came out. Never fear, this only means more frequent updates…and more all-night writing sessions!

And thanks for the reviews; I got a record number with the last chapter.

And I realized I said I would post an update last Friday, but better late than never!)

Harry opened his eyes, and then quickly closed them again. The lights burned his eyes. From the clean, sterile smell, and the warm blankets covering him, he knew that he was lying in the infirmary.

Someone whispered from nearby, and Harry realized that he was probably surrounded by various well-wishers.

He did not feel particularly ready to deal with everything. His head ached dully from the pain he had experienced...how long ago? How long had he been lying in the hospital wing?

Then it all rushed back to him in one, overbearing wave. Kreacher's attempted murder. Hermione's inert form. Ron's possession and subsequent subjugation to a Memory Charm by Gates. Gates' betrayal. Voldemort's invasion. The long, cold summoning of the Dementor that had done...something...to Gates that had left the Hit Wizard incapacitated and had destroyed the Pravus necklace. And, finally, the horrible, horrible memory that resided inside Gates' mind.

The Dementor had thought something about an Embrace.

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry, sensing inevitability, opened his eyes. Slowly. "Yeah, I'm here," he said. His voice sounded hoarse and strained, as though he had been shouting for hours.

"It's only me and you here," said Dumbledore. "I felt that you would be more comfortable if it was only you and I speaking. I understand that there are things that you would rather not have the Weasley's, and, indeed, anyone else, hearing about."

"Hermione," Harry said, remembering suddenly. Anxiety struck him. He fumbled for his glasses and then tried to lift himself from the bed. "Is she all right? What about Ron-" He felt a stab of pain in his gut as he swung his legs out from the covers, and his brain swam in his skull.

Dumbledore took Harry's shoulders with his wrinkled hands and gently held him in place. "You need to rest, Harry. You can't be visiting them for some time yet. I can assure you, however, that Miss Granger is on her way to a full recovery."

"And what about Ron?" Harry asked, letting himself fall back down into the bed.

Dumbledore did not answer at first. "Mr. Weasley's position is extremely delicate," he said carefully. "As you know, Alex placed a Memory Charm on Mr. Weasley, essentially erasing parts of his mind. Unfortunately, the charm was so powerful that it rendered him unconscious and eliminated an entire region of his brain."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Harry asked. "Are you saying he's lost his marbles?"

"I'm saying nothing of the sort," Dumbledore said. "We do not fully know the effects the charm has had upon Mr. Weasley yet. I am hoping you could tell me more about Mr. Weasley's state during the time of the charm's execution. Madam Pomfrey had ascertained the spell that was used, but little else. What happened?"

"Gates-" Harry hesitated. He wanted to go into excessive detail, but found that his throat would not allow him more than a few words at a time. "Gates used the charm when Ron was in one of his fits. Ron - or I guess it was Dren, really - was kneeling, distracted, and then Gates did it."

A mixture of relief and apprehension crossed Dumbledore's face. "Then it is as I had feared."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "One of the treatments the Mediwizards recommended to treat Ron's fits was a Memory Charm. If Gates used a Memory Charm-"

Dumbledore waved Harry into silence. "Using a Memory Charm on a human is dangerous in any condition. One of the reasons for this is because you can never be sure of what exactly you are erasing. For that reason, Memory Charms can only be for a last resort. And, in Mr. Weasley's case, it would have been unnecessary, as his possession would have worn off with time. Unfortunately, Alex's psychological interference prevented this from happening. Instead of becoming weaker, Ron's fits became stronger."

"What I'm trying to say, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "is that, when Gates used the Memory Charm, he did not know what he erased. Just as young Mr. Weasley's alternate personality could have been removed, his source personality could have."

Harry took a deep breath. "So what you're saying is that Ron could wake up to be Ron, fine and healthy, or he could wake up as Corlov Dren."

Dumbledore nodded.

"But wait-" Harry said, beginning to have an idea. "If you checked the Marauder's Map, it would say who Ron was. The map's with Gates. Check his pockets."

"We recovered everything from Alex," said Dumbledore. Harry nodded in return, missing the import of the headmaster's words. "And we checked the Marauder's Map. His name shows up blurred."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, gazing vacantly at the far wall. His heart quickened in his chest as it slowly dawned on him that Ron might not be around ever again. Harry would never be able to lose another game of chess to him. They would never share jokes by the common room fire, or insult Snape in such a fashion that, if the Potions master ever heard, would cause Gryffindor to lose no less than a hundred points.

"I found a collection of other items in Alex's possession," Dumbledore continued. "Some of which, I believe, most certainly do not belong with him. It was my understanding that you allowed Alex to use the Marauder's Map for reasons of security, but I can see no use in him having your family photo album."

Dumbledore drew from his robe a leather-bound, battered book and set it on Harry's nightstand. Harry did not dare take it, but instead stared at it, not quite sure whether to believe his eyes. Then he looked towards the headmaster, saw the disappointment in his eyes, and his hear plummeted. He was now aware that he was about to have one of the worst conversations in his life.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "You have never completely forgiven me for keeping the prophecy from you, I see."

Harry found himself looking at the bed sheets, the flickering overhead lights, through the window: anywhere but Dumbledore's eyes. "If I had told you," Harry said. "Gates would've burned the whole thing."

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles and set them on Harry's nightstand. His electric-blue eyes seemed to have taken on a duller tone. "I suspected that Alex had created such an arrangement," he said. "Even before the school year began, I knew he would attempt something like this. But I never dared to think that-" He stopped, seemingly unable to find words.

"You should keep my album for now," Harry said, quickly taking the book and offering it. "I can't keep it. When Gates recovers, he might try to destroy it."

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, confused, but then his face cleared and he pulled up a nearby chair and sat in it. "That won't be necessary, Harry," he said, shaking his head. "Alexander Gates won't be recovering."

"What-" Harry sputtered. "You mean- Gates is- He's dead?"

"That's not an easy question to answer," said Dumbledore. His eyes took on their old, vibrant hue. "Certainly he's not alive, but neither is he dead. But before I go on, I would like you to tell me everything that had happened after you left the Great Hall with Alex."

In a slow monotone, Harry related the events that had passed, occasionally glancing towards the headmaster, looking for disapproval. He did not even find a reaction. Dumbledore's face never changed, even when Harry went over the darkest parts of his story, and somehow this made him feel more comfortable, more at ease. He might as well have been talking to a statue; so unmoving was the headmaster's expression.

"Then that explains many things," said Dumbledore. "And answers many questions that I had. As for Alex, well, it is now apparent that my initial reasoning was correct. He was subjected to the Dementor's Embrace."

"You mean he lost his soul?" Harry asked, the thought beginning to chill him. The very idea that one could lose his soul was terrifying.

"No," said Dumbledore. "A Dementor's Embrace is not like a Dementor's Kiss. Alex's soul was not devoured by the Dementor, but was actually imprisoned. His soul is trapped, and cannot escape." He shook his head, stroked his white beard, and then sighed. "Alex is neither alive nor dead. When the Dementor that you had summoned Embraced him, it performed a sort of transformation that I cannot even begin to understand. In a few decades, Alex will no longer be Alex. He will eventually become a Dementor."

All of Harry's unanswered questions unraveled themselves. The origin of the Dementor. "What? I've never heard of a Dementor doing that before."

"That's because there are very few people who are in such a condition as to allow such a transformation to happen," said Dumbledore. "In order for a Dementor to perform an Embrace, the victim would have to be in such a weak state of mind that the Dementor could easily ensnare it to its own purposes. Alex's unfortunate life and history made it easy for him to succumb to the Dementor's powers."

"So you're saying that all of the Dementors in the world were once human?"

"Yes," answered Dumbledore. "Every last one. How the first one was created, I do not know. But all of the successive Dementors were once incredibly depressed and pained individuals, who were twisted and corrupted into the Dementors that you know now."

Somehow, everything about this seemed wrong to Harry. He could not put his objections into words, however. "So we're going to- to let him become a Dementor?"

"The Dementor's Embrace leaves the victim incapacitated, Harry," continued Dumbledore. His voice, so soft and gentle, sounded unfit for the topic of conversation. "Alex's waking hours for the next decades will be very few. Until he becomes a full Dementor, he will remain unconscious and dead to the world. Excepting very few occasions."

"What do you mean about 'very few occasions'? You mean he can wake up?"

"During his unconscious state, Alex will be reliving his worst nightmares," continued Dumbledore. "These nightmares, in fact, are caused by the Embrace. The Dementor literally eats all of the victim's joyful memories, leaving, them with nothing but the worst horrors of their lives. As individuals with terrible pasts tend to have fewer positive memories, you can see why the Dementor's Embrace is most common among such people. To answer your question, while Alex has these nightmares, there will be - in fact, has been - periods where he will become roused, and will mindlessly wander. Sometimes these occurrences are peaceful, sometimes not. Do not ask me for the specifics. The subject is currently being studied by the best minds in the Department of Mysteries."

"I think I know what Gates is seeing," Harry said. "He's seeing what happened that night, when the Death Eaters came." The thought of the memory send shivers up and down his spine.

"Don't let that memory control you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "All forms of Legilimency and Occlumency are inherently dangerous to all parties involved. Seeing inside another's mind can be traumatic, sometimes fatal." He leaned closer to Harry as though to get a better look at him. "Do you desire to set what you saw in Alex's mind aside, into a pensieve?"

"That sounds good," Harry replied. Gates' memory...always residing in the back of his thoughts...he was not completely sure whether he could shelf it away. It seemed almost too simple.

"Once you recover I'll let you borrow my pensieve," said Dumbledore. "It can be stored there indefinitely, if you wish."

"What are we going to do with Kreacher?" Harry asked. He never heard of what they did with lawbreaking house-elves. Did they go to Azkaban with wizards? Hermione would know...

To Harry's great unease, Dumbledore took an unusually long time to answer. The headmaster looked unsure as to how to proceed.

"I didn't...kill him, did I?" All of the memories of the hate and anger that he had felt in Kreacher's mind resurfaced, and he wondered whether, in a fit of rage, he had actually murdered the house-elf. He remembered wanting to, but since then, his anger had cooled, and he no longer desired to see Kreacher's death.

"No," answered Dumbledore quickly. "You did not kill him." He sighed. "When we brought Kreacher into the infirmary, he was badly hurt. He was half-awake, and was muttering unintelligible phrases. After his condition had stabilized, Professor Snape fed him a draught of Veritaserum. What we learned was incredible." Dumbledore paused to replace his spectacles, and then continued. "We learned everything regarding Tom's repeated attempts on your life this past year. Kreacher had learned through indirect means many of Voldemort's plans and operations."

"What happened then?" Harry said. "Is he dead or not?" His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wanted badly to know the fate of one of his worst enemies.

"Alex, whose bed was not far from where we were interrogating Kreacher, was roused," said Dumbledore. "It is now apparent that one of the fits we had discussed earlier had seized him, and, when he saw Kreacher, he turned violent. I think something in particular infuriated him. Among the possessions Kreacher had on his person was what I believe was Alex's bracelet. Alex at once tore it from Kreacher's grip, and then, well..."

"And no one could stop him?"

"We tried, Harry, we tried," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "But the transformation into a Dementor makes the victim resistant to every known curse. We could not stop him, even as he took Kreacher and tore him apart. He did it all with his hands."

Harry remembered Gates' words. I'LL KILL THAT DEATH EATER! I SWEAR THAT I WILL! I SWEAR IT ON MY HONOR AND ON MY FAMILY'S HONOR!

And he did, didn't he?

"And that's how..." Harry stopped. Kreacher's death was worse than anything he could have imagined.

Dumbledore continued. "Alex calmed down on his own, but not before he thoroughly pulverized Kreacher. Since then, we have locked Alex in a heavily charmed and reinforced room in the dungeons. He still has his bracelet, I believe." He said this all so calmly, so evenly, that Harry could scarcely believe that Dumbledore was not talking about anything more than a rather boring Quidditch match.

"Does he still have to follow the magical bond?"

"No. As he is not alive in our sense of the word, the magical bond is broken. He has been released from fulfilling the favors he owes Sirius."

Harry let out a breath of relief. Gates was gone. Truly, fully gone. His shoulders slackened, and felt the tense muscles in his lower back slowly loosen. But still, there was a question in the back of his mind.

"How did he do it?" Harry said. "How did Kreacher get in?"

Dumbledore nodded as though he had been expecting this question all along. "He managed to sneak into Hogwarts because of hubris, Harry. The hubris of wizards. The hubris of the ministry. The hubris of our ancestors." He paused, seeming to gather his breath. "Hubris is pride, arrogance. The word is derived from a Greek goddess named Hubris, who embodied those traits. Greek plays oftentimes had the hero suffering from hubris, and he would be punished by the gods for it."

"What do you mean?"

"I am saying, Harry, that wizards never considered house elves as equals," continued Dumbledore. "Wizards use house elves as servants, and never for an instant consider the risks. Wizards look down upon them as creatures. Inferior. You saw this in Hagrid's class, I believe. Did you not think it odd that the nature of a house elf would be taught in Care of Magical Creatures?"

Harry was too deep in reflection to respond.

"Our hubris has finally caught up with us, it seems," said Dumbledore. "The wards surrounding Hogwarts are among the strongest in the world. As you might know, they only detect artifacts passing into Hogwarts grounds. While it would be a relatively simple matter of preventing anything from entering Hogwarts grounds, we cannot restrict the movements of creatures in the Forbidden Forest. So instead we focus on recording the objects inherently associated with every wizard. Wands and other magical artifacts."

"House-elves don't need wands," Harry muttered.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "The wards around Hogwarts were built to prevent wizards from coming into Hogwarts, not house elves. Once Kreacher was safely inside Hogwarts' walls, he could move about freely. We have so many house elves in Hogwarts that they are not monitored or even counted. Not even I know exactly how many there are. The house elves themselves would not if an outsider joined their midst. Indeed, they believe that social activities are a waste of time."

Dumbledore's words were echoing Hermione's from the S.P.E.W. meetings. Harry was mentally cursing himself for missing the obvious.

"So, now that he was inside Hogwarts, Kreacher received his first order," said Dumbledore. "He was told to sneak into your dormitories. House elves with masters receive a bond that prevents them from attacking wizards, so Voldemort had to have Kreacher make an indirect assassination. Did you not wonder, for example, why, when Kreacher was obviously so close to you, he did not kill you? He could not. Even if Kreacher's master, whom I presume to be Lucius Malfoy, had ordered it, he could not have harmed you. The bond embedded into his brain would have prevented it. Additionally, Kreacher had nearly no experience with magic. How was he supposed to perform such a complicated jinx on his first try? So Voldemort had to possess Kreacher using the power that resides in every Dark Mark, and jinxed the wand himself. He could not attack you directly, Harry. Though Voldemort was controlling Kreacher, he was still governed by the elf's bonds."

"But still, some of the portraits must've seen Kreacher. Even the Fat Lady should have."

"House-elves do not use the same modes of transportation that wizards do," explained Dumbledore. "There are tunnels throughout Hogwarts which house elves use to quickly transport themselves around the castle. While they could potentially use apparation, I discourage them from doing so, as the process, as you know, creates a good deal of noise, and this would disturb many sleeping students and staff. One of these tunnels leads directly to the Gryffindor dormitories."

"Wait," Harry said, beginning to remember some of Hermione's S.P.E.W. lesson. "The elves that use those tunnels have to have you as their master, right? If Kreacher snuck in, you aren't his master."

"You are quite right, Harry," said Dumbledore, and for the first time weariness entered his voice. "We suffered a betrayal from inside. Wizarding hubris repeats itself, manifesting itself in yet another soul. Winky led Kreacher through the tunnels."

Harry was shocked beyond words. The implications of Dumbledore's words were enormous. "That can't be right," he said. "Dobby was always telling us how happier Winky was. He said that she must have been getting used to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that's not true. At least not for the reasons Dobby gives. It seems that Rita approached Winky earlier in the year, before Kreacher was even in Hogwarts, and offered a chance to work for those described as 'Winky's master's relatives.' The Crouch's were pure blood, and were related to other, less reputable families. Families such as the Malfoy's."

"It was an easy matter for Miss Skeeter to convince the broken and depressed house elf to work for her master's relatives," Dumbledore continued. "As Hogwarts does not regulate its elves, and Winky never had any particular sense of loyalty to me, she was ensnared. This, I believe, is why she appeared to be happy. She was once again working for those who she viewed as her true masters. What elf wouldn't be happy?"

Harry's brain struggled to process the information. By Merlin, she was given the access of an elf belonging to Hogwarts, but really served the Malfoy's.

But suddenly, it made sense. Now Harry knew how Draco managed to tamper with Neville's food before his duel...

"So you're saying that Winky led Kreacher into my dormitories through the tunnels, Voldemort possessed Kreacher, and then he jinxed my wand?" Harry said, amazed at the ingenuity of it all.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore. "Voldemort's presence in the Nemesis mirror confirms this. It showed not Kreacher's face, but the mind controlling it."

"But what about the Quidditch match?" Harry asked. "Gates said that Voldemort apparated out of thin air."

"That's what Alex saw on the Marauder's map," said Dumbledore. "And the Marauder's map shows the name of the consciousness, not the body."

"But Voldemort's name and dot still couldn't have come out from nowhere," Harry countered.

"The answer is simple," said Dumbledore. "House-elves do not appear on the Marauder's Map. When Voldemort possessed Kreacher to jinx your wand, however, the map no longer registered Kreacher as a house elf, but as the entity controlling the elf. Voldemort. You have to understand the original reason for the creation of the Marauder's map, Harry. It was meant to help your father and his friends to sneak out of their dormitories late at night. It showed only what would be a threat to them. House-elves would not have been a threat, and your father would not have bothered to enchant the matter so that they were tracked."

Harry nodded. It was true. He had never noticed it before, but he had never seen a house elf on the Marauder's map.

"Did Kreacher have anything to do with the attack on Gates manor?"

"I do not believe so," said Dumbledore. "And Kreacher knew nothing about it, it seems, which is not surprising. We may never know how the Death Eaters broke through the Fidelus Charm. It might not have been a result of Voldemort's planning at all, though it seems like it."

"However," Dumbledore continued. "In the spring we captured Rita Skeeter and learned of her involvement with the Dark Lord. Kreacher's link to Voldemort was severed, and he did not know what to do. He was still connected through the Dark Mark, but possession is not an efficient mode of communication, and he could not receive orders. So, unsupervised, Kreacher did whatever he desired."

"He attacked Gates," Harry said slowly.

"Not directly," corrected Dumbledore. "He used Winky for his own purposes. Creating a fictitious order from Voldemort, he told Winky to attack Alex. To stun him and steal his silver bracelet. Winky, who feared that if she disobeyed she would lose her master, had no choice. Using the stealth and powers that every house elf is born with, she snuck up behind Alex, stunned him, and then took the bracelet."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why attack Gates?"

"Kreacher learned a long time ago from his mistress that one of the Black treasures had fallen down an obscure branch of the family," said Dumbledore. "He must have somehow learned of Alex's possession of it, and, remembering his old mistress' ravings, he set out to retrieve it."

"But, as soon as Winky returned the bracelet to Kreacher, she had to punish herself," said Dumbledore. "And there is only one punishment harsh enough to reach atonement. Death. She, quite literally, killed herself."

Despite Winky's betrayal, and despite everything else, Harry felt nothing but pity for her. For years she wanted her master back, and, when she finally got a substitute, she was faced with the choice of fulfilling an order and dying or disobeying her master. She chose the former. Misplaced loyalty; the greatest tragedy of them all.

"If Voldemort wasn't sending Kreacher orders, where did the Grendel come from?"

"You don't know it, Harry, but Voldemort is afraid of you," said Dumbledore. "Terrified, in fact. With every plan of his that fails, his fear grows. Unnerved by the sudden loss of communication with Kreacher, he likely became impatient and angry. So, not bothering to attempt to warn Kreacher beforehand, he initiated a possession through the Dark Mark, and then, using every ounce of power that he had, conjured a Grendel. It failed, and Voldemort was too drained to attack further."

"There's one thing that's been bothering me, professor," said Harry awkwardly. "How did I fight off Voldemort's possession and then summon a Dementor? I mean, a moment before that I was exhausted."

Dumbledore turned his blue eyes onto Harry. "You should know that answer to that by now. It saved you before in the Ministry of Magic. The-Power-He-Knows-Not. Voldemort couldn't stand being with it. Alex, for all of his strength, could not even fight it. The Power gave you the energy to use the single spell that would result in his destruction."

Harry's agitation would not cease. "But a Dementor..."

"You conjured it in self-defense, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly. "Normally, you need a license to summon such a creature, but due to the nature of the scenario, I doubt Madam Bones will allow the ministry to press charges. I believe Auror Alverton will be especially opposed to prosecution. This, of course, includes your unlicensed use of the Edward Skinner Curses."

"What's going to happen to Gates?"

Dumbledore took a long time to answer. "He will not be leaving Hogwarts. I...knew Alex's mother, Casseopeia, decades ago. When she was arranged to be married Yegor Gates, she knew that she was going to be endangered. Back then, the family Gates was desperately trying to stay neutral in the war, not publicly taking sides with either Voldemort or the ministry. It was well known that Voldemort would oftentimes attack neutral families to...help them make up their minds. Casseopeia foresaw that she and her family could die in the conflict. When she had children, she contacted me and made me swear that, should she die, I would protect them. I agreed, and to seal the promise, she had given me a ring of the family Gates. With it, I could access any part of Gates manor, should the need arise."

Harry remembered the ring that the Sorting Hat had given him. It must be the same one...

"I have never forgotten it," continued Dumbledore. "I tried, once, to save Alex from himself, but when I did so, he fled east, where I could not follow. When he came back, he would not listen. But now, I will keep him securely in Hogwarts for as long as I can, perhaps in one of the many sealed areas that were once used to hold prisoners before the castle became a school. I could not afford to risk him coming loose among the students."

"If I was like that," said Harry. "I'm not sure I would want to live."

"He's not alive, Harry," Dumbledore said. "He merely exists. Nothing could possibly destroy him now. His body is like granite, and poisons have no apparent effect on him. No known curses could hurt him while he is in the transition stage. Like a Dementor, he can no longer be vanquished by normal means."

"At least the necklace is gone. What happened to all of the...people that were on it?"

"They continued into whatever afterlife there is," said Dumbledore. "The Dementor could not snatch the souls when they were in such a form. How precisely the Pravus necklace was destroyed I do not quite understand, as there are precious few references on the artifact, but it is possible Severus could give more insight."

Destroyed, Harry thought. He remembered reading a passage on how to destroy a Pravus necklace over winter break. Something to do with a wand's core…

"It's also becoming apparent that the Pravus necklace played a greater role this year than we previously believed," said Dumbledore. "Don't you think it strange the sense of timing Kreacher had, and, indeed, the other Death Eaters had as well? I believe Voldemort was observing you throughout the year. Not through your own mind, as your Occlumency training was too good, but through an alternate source. I believe the Pravus necklace held so many Death Eaters that it actually allowed Voldemort to experience Alex's senses. If you remember, the energy from the Pravus necklace is fed directly into Alex's body, so why, theoretically, could Voldemort not see into his mind? Alex's powers of Occlumency were weak due to the amount of painful memories to exploit, and it would be an easy matter for Tom to sneak into the mind without Alex even being aware of it."

"That could explain how Dolohov knew exactly where I was in Hogsmeade," said Harry.

The headmaster nodded. "It would also explain how Alex was so easily taken unawares by Winky."

Dumbledore drew a bag of lemon drops, popped one in his mouth, and then offered the bag to Harry. After Harry declined, he put it back into his robes and said; "Now I must leave you to your rest. I have to retrieve Professor Whams so that we may better assess young Mr. Weasley's condition."

"Professor Whams?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Why him?"

A look of real confusion crossed Dumbledore's face. "Because Henry Whams is very qualified, Harry. You know as well as I that Professor Whams would insist on being present."

"I don't follow you."

Dumbledore returned to his seat, the first impressions of understanding beginning to enter his wrinkled face. "You don't know that Professor Henry Whams is an Unspeakable from the ministry?" he asked slowly.

Harry's eyes widened with shock. "How would I know that? After what happened last year you let another ministry official in here?"

"The ministry would never have let Ronald Weasley back into the school without some sort of supervision," said Dumbledore. "The ministry also wished to have an agent within our school for security reasons. Madam Bones herself requested it when she headed the Office of Magical Law Enforcement."

"They had an agent in our school before," said Harry heatedly.

"Professor Whams, unlike Dolores, is not a representative from the ministry," responded Dumbledore. "For many reasons, Professor Whams was a suitable candidate, not the least being the recent scarcity of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers."

"But he's senile!"

"Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Professor Whams is a professional, and his apparent incompetence was an act. Only myself, Madam Bones, a few key Department of Mystery officials, Minister Fudge, and one other individual is aware of it. And now you, of course. He came to Hogwarts to monitor Ronald Weasley and to play the part of a free hand."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Free hand?"

"Yes, he would not be restricted in any, way, shape, or form," said Dumbledore. "No one, especially possible undercover spies to Voldemort, would believe him to be any sort of threat. They would therefore become careless around him, and say and do things that they might not normally do. After all, there were spies before in Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Professor Whams looked in all the wrong places. He went as far as to break into one of Professor Snape's storage rooms and ransack it to ensure that Severus was not working for Voldemort, I believe."

"Percy never knew?"

"As I said before, Professor Whams is a professional," said Dumbledore. "And Percy's ignorance is testimony to his skill. Percy tends to believe only what he's told be his superiors. It never occurred to him that Professor Whams was more than what he seemed, especially when he spent long hours during the night shuffling through the papers that Henry intentionally spilled. Percy's presence was necessary not only to aid with the disguise, but also to help Ronald through his difficult time. Strained relationships with other family members only serves to increase the stress of the mind, and when there is a second personality fighting for control, the strain could easily develop into something dangerous."

"I still find it hard to believe that you never knew," said Dumbledore, twirling his white beard.

"How could I have known? You should have told us! Told Ron!"

"The last individual that knew..." continued Dumbledore. "The one that I left unnamed…it was Ronald himself. He spent many hours with Henry practicing Occlumency. I expected that he would tell you and Miss Granger himself, as I never expressly forbidden him to do so, but it seems that I miscalculated. I cannot tell you how unusual that is."

Harry felt his mouth go dry. How could Ron not trust him with something so important? Though, admittedly, he should be the last one to think that way, considering what he had kept from Ron and Hermione for so long. He knew what Ron had hid it from them. He was afraid of what they would think.

"Well, Henry is probably waiting," said Dumbledore. "Do you still wish to borrow my pensieve, Harry?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"Then I'll bring it here this evening, provided you're feeling well," He paused, scrutinizing Harry closely. "Are you?"

"I'm fine, professor."

Apparently satisfied, Dumbledore softened his gaze. "Good. I'll be back in a few hours."

"If Hermione or Ron wakes up, you'll get me, right?"

"Of course."

When the door clicked into place behind Dumbledore, Harry laid back in his bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew that if he closed his eyes, the nightmares would return. The replay of Gates' worst memory, a relic from when the Dementor had pried open the Hit Wizard's brain.

Irresistibly, his eyes closed, and, as if the very scene was playing out on the back of his eyelids, the nightmare unraveled itself.

Harry was standing in room that could only be described as aristocratic. It was staffed with Louis the XI chairs, a heavy, four-poster bed with a dark red, velvet curtain. An ancient desk, made out of perhaps oak, sat in the corner. It was neatly organized, with paper, ink, a quill, and a letterbox all carefully and methodically placed. On top of the dark, deeply lacquered hardwood floor was a Persian Rug, the exotic designs on it painstakingly preserved with some sort of charm. A portrait of a rocky cliff hanging over a whitewashed sea hung over a side desk, its frame carved to match the regality of the surrounding furniture.

Despite the change from the last time he saw it, Harry knew where he was. It was the forbidden room inside of Gates manor, and he was seeing it before it was warped out of proportion by the Hit Wizard's unbridled anger.

A young boy was sitting at the foot of the bed, shaking, his arms wrapped around his knees. He seemed too petrified to move. It was hard to believe that inside of that young boy was the potential to become a monster. The soft, round cheeks and full black hair betrayed no notion that this boy would one day become a ruthless Hit Wizard, who, driven by madness, would perform unspeakable deeds. There was not a trace of the arrogance or cruelty that Harry would normally have associated with Alexander Gates.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and three figures strode in, their wands at their sides, looking vastly different from one another. Death Eaters, though none of them wore masks. None of them saw Harry, of course, as he was viewing nothing but a memory.

"The man and the woman are dead, correct?" asked the first one. He wore formal robes with purple lining, and his expression was relaxed, almost bored. His sleek black hair was combed to one side, and he could probably have passed himself off as a politician had it not been for his shoes, which were stained with blood.

A bodiless voice that no one but Harry could hear said; "Lodrick Regeal." To Harry, the voice was vaguely familiar, but he could not identify it. The name it spoke of, however, was clear enough. It was the name of the wizard that he was watching; one of the killers that had invaded Gates manor.

"Oh, yes," said another. Harry did not need the voice to tell him who was speaking. He had seen him once before in a previous memory. His robes, hands, and face were soaked and dripping with blood. It looked demonic against his pale skin. "The woman put up a bit of a fight, but I got her eventually. The man, however, I made quite a mess of."

Harry felt as though he was going to be sick.

"Corlov Dren," said the familiar voice. Harry struggled to place the voice with a name, but failed. It seemed so close; on the tip of his tongue.

"That's a pity, some of the artwork were copies of classics," said the third Death Eater in a foreign accent.

This one was the strangest yet, and Harry did not know what to make of him. Unlike the other Death Eaters, he was spotless, impeccably aristocratic in manner and dress. He wore a muggle Brooks Brothers suit with a white silk shirt and matching gloves. His shoes were Italian, and his slacks and jacket were hand-cut. A gold chain fell stylishly out of his pocket, which Harry assumed to be attached to some sort of timepiece. At his side was a curved sword and scabbard, and, unlike others Harry had seen, it seemed to belong with the man. In fact, Harry suspected that the Death Eater would look very out-of-place without it. Lastly, Harry came to his eyes, and his breath hitched in his throat. They looked as though they were made out of glass, and the pupils seemed to change color as they darted around the room.

"Nori Katashi," said the voice, and Harry agreed. The wizard's short, white beard and eyes betrayed an Asian descent.

Then, in an instant, a name surfaced in Harry's mind, one that he had not thought of for a long time. A long time indeed. The voice belonged to Sirius Black.

And Sirius' speaking the three names could only mean a single thing, Harry realized with growing shock.

"Let's finish this," said Lodrick Regeal. His voice was refined, educated. "The Dark Lord wishes him dead, then so shall he be."

Dren stepped forward. "It would be a pleasure. Look at him. He's too terrified to move."

"Patience," said Katashi. His polished shoes squeaked as he moved to place his hand on Dren's shoulder. "There is no need to be hasty."

"What do you have in mind?" Dren asked. Respect and awe entered his eyes like a light.

"This is not a fooling matter," said Regeal, losing some of his composed manner. "The Dark Lord disapproves of his Death Eaters wasting time on their kills. He deemed the boy a threat! He needed a Seer to break the prophecy, and he has rewarded you well for it!"

"I am not one of Voldemort's Death Eaters," said Katashi calmly. "And this will be the last time I do this for him. I don't enjoy being hurried, nor do I enjoy being ordered around by a subordinate."

Regeal blanched, but said; "Just make sure the job is done properly, that's all!"

"We don't necessarily need to kill the boy to break it," said Katashi. "My job may already be finished." He drew an oval mirror from his pocket and raised it into the air. He seemed to be looking for something. "Is Alexander Gates a threat to Voldemort?"

Satisfied, he lowered and pocketed the mirror.

"What did it say?" rasped Dren.

"We've already accomplished our work," said Katashi softly. He was eyeing Gates up and down, as though appraising a piece of art. "The boy is far too traumatized to become any sort of threat anymore. He'll probably spend the rest of his days in St. Mungo's."

"Not if we do what we're ordered," said Regeal through gritted teeth.

Katashi ignored him. "Corlov, you say you killed the mother? She wasn't...vaporized, was she?"

"She's in one piece, if that's what you're asking."

"Excellent," Katashi said, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. "Could you be so good as to retrieve her?"

Dren nodded deferentially and went through the door and out of sight. Katashi drew an old-fashioned timepiece on a chain, checked it, and then put it away again.

"Don't take too long," warned Regeal. "We're already overdue, and the Dark Lord-"

"Shut up," said Katashi, and Regeal fell silent.

Throughout this exchange, Gates had not moved. He remained motionless on the bed, his jaw opened slightly, his eyes wide and staring. His face looked bleached, drained of all color. Fear was rocking him back and forth.

"I hate doing this to children," Katashi muttered under his breath. Then, louder, "This is the first and last time Voldemort so much as mentions attacking a child in my presence. If I knew he was only - what, ten years old? - I would've never agreed to this."

"What are you planning to do to him?" Regeal asked quietly.

"Not kill him."

Lodrick looked ready to argue again, but Dren passed through the door, silencing everyone in the room, carrying a body that dripped with blood.

"Is she in adequate condition?" Dren asked.

"Enough to suit our purposes," replied Katashi passively. "Set her down on the rug - wait - charm the rug first. We don't want to needlessly dirty it."

Dren did so, and then gingerly set down the body, as though setting down a doll. The corpse rolled onto its back, and she - as the body was female - stared vacantly up in the ceiling with white orbs for eyes. Harry turned away, clasping his hand over his mouth. Her face was torn and scabbed, and looked like it was subjected to some sort of burning multiple times. Pearly white teeth pushed out of charred gums. Bones poked through broken skin at some parts, and around the eyes and mouth the flesh curled back, revealing the veins and arteries underneath. Harry did not want to see what the rest of the body looked like. All he saw was the face...

"Body bind the boy," said Katashi.

Dren obeyed immediately, taking a step towards Gates, and then incanted the necessary spell. For the first time, Gates seemed aware of his surroundings. He shrieked and scampered away across the bed, raising his hands defensively.

Dren laughed and waved his wand. The curse struck Gates directly in the chest, straightening his legs and making him as stiff as a board.

"Very good," said Katashi. He went over to the bed, picked the boy up with his hands, and then leaned down to his ear. He spoke words meant for Gates and Gates alone.

"Don't worry, child," said Katashi softly. "You'll live. The next days will haunt you for a while, but you'll live."

He placed Gates next to his dead mother, and then arranged the two so that they were facing each other, the future Hit Wizard's eyes staring directly into his mother's sightless ones. Due to the Body Binding curse, Gates' face betrayed no change in his expression, but his eyes rolled frantically in their sockets, and he seemed to be silently screaming.

"Ingenious," Dren said in an awestruck voice.

"Cast a charm on him to make sure he doesn't starve," said Katashi. If Harry had been less alert, he would have missed the slight tinge in the Death Eater's voice. Pity. "The Aurors will find him in a week or so."

"Are you two finished?" Regeal demanded. "We'll be fortunate to be spared the Cruciatus Curse-"

Katashi waved his hand dismissively. "Don't be absurd."

Muttering, Lodrick left the room, followed closely by Katashi. Reluctant to leave, Dren stole one last glance at the two - mother and son - and then left.

Time flew forward, and days passed as Gates watched his mother decay before his eyes. Her eyes sunk deeper into her skull, and then the worms and maggots came, and the smell...

Who could look into their mother's face after seeing that? Harry knew now why Gates removed all of her portraits, and kept only her bracelet in memory. Who could not develop a mortal fear of blood after walking through meter after meter of their father's remains to go into the kitchens to find help after the Binding curse wore off weeks later? Everything began to make more and more sense. But with every revelation, Harry wanted it to end. He had never felt so sick in his life.

"Harry?" said a voice gently, breaking from his vision. Dumbledore. "Harry? Madam Pomfrey told me you've been screaming."

Harry shook out from his dream, feeling sweat down his back and on his forehead. "I'm fine. I'm all right now. I mean, I'll be all right."

"I've brought my pensieve," said Dumbledore, motioning to Harry's nightstand. The stone bowl sat there, a faint glow issuing from it.

"Before we do that," Harry said. "I want to ask you something."

Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback. "Yes?"

"Why did Sirius tell Gates the names of his parents' killers?"

"How did you learn of that?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "How long have you known?"

"I realized it in a dream," said Harry. "In Gates' memory. Sirius' voice spoke all of their names. Lodrick Regeal. Corlov Dren. Nori Katashi."

"Then I see there's no point of hiding it from you any longer," said Dumbledore, sighing. "Sirius' brother, Regalus, had joined with the Death Eaters while he was still in school. Sirius once told me that his brother had a tendency to tell stories of what the Death Eaters did, and one of these stories apparently was about what had been done years ago. It was a popular tale among Voldemort's underlings. Regardless, Sirius heard it all, and memorized the names. At graduation, Sirius told Alex the names, hoping it would bring him some closure. It had the opposite effect. I believe that this is why, over the past year, Alex has called your godfather a liar. Alex believed that Sirius had been hiding this information from him."

Dumbledore continued: "Sirius did not wish to have any favors, but Alex, being obsessed with honor, grudgingly gave them anyway. One for each name."

"Sirius didn't know what he was getting into."

"No, indeed he did not," said Dumbledore. "Are you ready for the pensieve?"

Harry nodded, and grabbed his wand. Dumbledore showed him the technique required for drawing the memories, and then handed the pensieve to Harry.

Taking a deep breath, concentrating on the memory he wished to be purged of, he took his wand to his temple and drew it from his head. He tapped the tip of his wand on the seemingly liquid surface of the pensieve, and then waited.

Dumbledore took the pensieve from him and looked at him questioningly.

Harry nodded.

The memory was no longer there.

(A/N: There's the explanation for Gates' hate. Hopefully this didn't leave anyone disappointed, but the sheer cruelty of what was done to him is enough to explain his quasi-insanity.

This chapter should also have answered every question in regards to the main plot. I've examined it several times, and there shouldn't be any plot holes (God help me if there is) but if anyone stumbles across one, post a review and I'll address it (in other words, bs my way out), but there really shouldn't be any.

For those who want to know, approximately two chapters left!

Next chapter: The nightmares return, which results in Harry getting a view of the wrath of Voldemort as well as dire hints of the Dark Lord's future plans in the form of a child's poem. Hermione and Ron's fates are decided as this fanfic works its way to a closing.