A/N: Yet another chapter here and still none for Untitled. Don't worry, I'm working on it. ;)
In this chapter all you really need to know is right here waiting for you. You may not like me at the end, but I don't mind too much, it's a necessary evil.
Disclaimer: I'd like to think that this is mine, sometimes when I'm sitting around talking out the plans to myself and knowing that people would think I'm nuts if they heard me… but then I realise that it's best that this isn't mine. Because at least this way, it never has to end.
*****
Hogsmeade
Having never been to Hogsmeade village in the summer time Harry was to find, when they arrived the next morning that it looked rather different from the way he was used to.
Hogsmeade in August, as most places this late in the summer, was hot. The sky above was clear; a cloud-free pale blue where the sun mercilessly bore down on all unfortunate in the open beneath it and no wind blew. In the town around them, the residents were bustling about as nervously as in Diagon Alley, their heads bowed; their cloaks drawn round them protectively and any and all children in sight were jerked about by anxious mothers like frisky puppies on a short leash. More shops were boarded up than when he left school too, most prominently, The Three Broomsticks (which elicited a groan from Ron) and now Gladrags Wizard Wear. On the door of Zonko's Joke Shop though, a crudely made sign had been posted: "Coming soon, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes! The one-stop joke shop for all your funny-bone needs!"
Someone else must have made it, the slogan seemed to lack the twins somewhat lazy humour.
In the window of another a copy of Witch Weekly dated two weeks previously was still up for sale, slightly yellowed but the headline bold: "Rita Skeeter Comes to Witch Weekly!" Harry could see no good in that, the sneaky, under-handed gossip-loving, well… witch, would be in the Wizarding press' equivalent of heaven. Her new employers lived on gossip, and ominously, her first exclusive was scheduled for release that day.
But beyond this Harry was glad to find that at least one thing had not changed in Hogsmeade… well, maybe "glad" was a strong word, but he was relieved to see that the Hog's Head Inn was still open. For today they were going to collect on Dumbledore's Will.
"You will find a fifth item in the keep of the bartender of the Hog's Head Inn. I should not expect its retrieval to be difficult, and you may find that it will be most useful in the days ahead."
After their stop there they would go on to Hogwarts Castle, which now loomed silent and dark but still welcoming in the distance. As requested, Professor McGonagall would be waiting for them, having been owled by Hermione almost as soon as she had left Harry and Ron for bed. She did not entirely trust the owl post service, but she did her best to encode the message as a letter requesting confirmation on the school's reopening and had jinxed it so that it would not be read by any other but the intended. Hagrid would let them in at the gate, and they were strongly advised against having him linger too long, for with Dumbledore gone they were sure that Voldemort would be coming after the school eventually.
Walking along the village's main street to the Inn with its familiar but nevertheless gruesome sign of a decapitated hog, Harry heard Ron grumble, "The Three Broomsticks… The Three Broomsticks had to close, but Madam Puddifoot's still here… why…? Of all places… why The Three Broomsticks…?"
Harry smiled, and then remembering Hermione's reaction to Ron's apparent interest in the pub's owner, quickly said, "I hope no one recognises us in there… this time it's more than Umbridge we'll have to worry about."
That seemed to do it… for only a few moments before they passed the offending tea shop, which was also synonymous with the date and make-out spot for Hogwarts' teenage couples, and Ron peered in at an older pair already going at it. At once he started up again, "The Three Broomsticks had to close but this… this… this dump is still here!"
Harry attempted to distract him again, but was cut off by Hermione, who said first, and surprising him, "Madam Rosmerta had been put under the Imperius Curse by Malfoy last year, the way the Ministry's going nowadays they probably forced her to do it…. And besides, even Voldemort would not go near this place… unfortunately."
That elicited a smile from Ron, and Harry promptly looked off to the Hog's Head Inn and declared, "We're here. But I wonder why Dumbledore left whatever it is he wanted me to have in this place… I mean, he surely knew what happened the last time…."
Ron and Hermione said nothing, they knew full well what, and even before that, one dark night in its upper rooms when a Sightless Seer was overheard….
They had now gotten to the front entrance of the pub where the battered wooden sign with its picture of a wild boar's severed and still bleeding head, still hung on rusty brackets above the door. But the sign was not the only thing that looked battered and derelict about the shop, the interior, which they now peered nervously in at, was just as unappealing.
As it had been in their Fifth Year, its bar consisted of one small and dingy room, lit by the stubs of candles on the rough wooden tables on a floor so covered in filth it look as if its walls had merely been set in the ground and nailed together. The room smelled strongly of goats, the windows were covered in grime-which accounted for the candles burning in broad daylight-and the regulars-the few of them that were around today-were all wearing dark hoods.
More prepared than they had been the last time, Harry, Ron and Hermione had all come dressed in robes onto which Mrs Weasley had sewn hoods. The moment they entered Hogsmeade they had drawn them over their heads and tried to mimic the dodgier residents of the village slinking their way along to their destination. As hoped, no one paid them any mind, too busy were they trying not to be noticed themselves, and save for a stop as soon as they had arrived by a curious Auror, their walk in had been uneventful.
Now they needed the hoods to work again. Harry wanted to get to Hogwarts Castle and back again with the least amount of trouble as possible.
Harry was first into the pub; stepping onto the unwashed floor and feeling his trainers sink to stone. No one looked up; the two men that currently made up all of the customers were deeply engrossed in some sort of card game, tall glasses of a smoking brew that Harry immediately recognised as Ogden's Old Firewhiskey at their side. It seemed to be the select brew of those who frequented the establishment.
With Ron and Hermione behind him then, he marched over to the bar where the bartender (and owner), a grey-haired, blue-eyed and bespectacled man, who looked vaguely familiar stood cleaning his glasses.
The sight immediately reminded Harry of Hermione's warning, "I've spoken to Professor Flitwick… he said to bring your own glasses" and then at the same time of Professor Dumbledore confessing, and rather reluctantly at that, of being overheard by Snape. He pushed both thoughts from his mind though, as he took a seat on a stool before him, cleared his throat and said, "Profess-Albus Dumbledore left something here… for us-me…?"
The man stopped polishing the rather dirty-looking glass in his hands with an equally soiled cloth and stared at the three. Then a moment later, resumed his work and replied, "The only room available is the first one on the right upstairs. Two beds, so you and your friend there might have to share or someone sleep in the tub. I'm sorry I can't make better arrangements for the Miss."
Harry was only vaguely aware of their Order guard taking up a position at a table beside them as he protested, "What? I don't-"
Hermione cut in, "We'll take it."
He did not respond, only finished with the glass, set it down at the counter and then said, "Follow me."
After pausing to apply a jinx to his register, he walked round the counter and led them away to a backdoor Harry had not noticed before. It seemed to have materialised there, but they safely walked through it and then up a set of creaking, battered wooden stairs that seemed to stand only on a promise.
Upstairs, the upper rooms did not smell as strongly as those below, but they were nevertheless just as dingy, grimy and dank. Unseen creatures could be heard scurrying around just out of sight and of those that could be seen, tiny insects that looked very unfamiliar, they boldly clung to walls and doors stirring a rising discomfort in his chest. But again he suppressed it as the bartender took them immediately to the first room, opened it, and then stopped them with a hand.
Harry, who had just been about to enter, looked up at him confused, but he put a finger to his lips, shook his head and then shut it again. Quietly then, he led them away down the hall to the last room on their left, and after gently prying the door open, allowed them to file in before joining them and shutting this one as silently as he could. He then cast two quick spells, one an Imperturbable Charm and the other a Silencing one, apparently to dampen the sound of their voices, and then turned and ushered them further into the room.
They didn't have to go far. This small room had a single bed with moth-eaten, yellowed covers, fungus-covered and water-stained walls, a single night table with another of the stub candles, an unstable-looking chair near the door, and on the sole window a pair of old sun-bleached lace curtains. Harry, Ron and Hermione took a cautious seat on the bed, which creaked unnecessarily noisily as they sat down and the bartender took the chair. When they had all settled, as best as they could under the circumstances, he said, "I'm Aberforth Dumbledore, so you must be Harry Potter; I've been waiting for you."
Harry, in the act of removing his hood, felt his heart leap into his throat, as something in his mind clicked and he realised why the man looked so familiar. He was Professor Dumbledore's brother, whose picture he had seen, who he had heard about from many others, nothing really promising, and yet still had never recognised.
But he could not be blamed. Though certain aspects of his features were similar, Aberforth Dumbledore was not much like his brother.
For example, he barely waited until Harry had recovered from his shock to demand, "So, why did my brother leave you a bag of gold?"
"What?" Harry asked, confused.
Ron took over, "Why should we tell you? And what right do you have to go through Harry's stuff?"
Aberforth refused to look ashamed, "I've been keeping it for nearly a month now, and if it's on my property I have every right."
"No you don't," declared Ron, his ears reddening as he grew angry. "Professor Dumbledore didn't leave it for you; he gave you to hold for Harry. You had no right to go nosing about!"
"Nevertheless, he left you a bag of gold and I want to know why," said Aberforth, and levelled what he must have thought were authoritative glares at them.
Harry ignored it, "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, sir."
Aberforth kept up his glare for as long as he could after this, and then finally, as if bored, said, "Look in the top drawer of that night table there. You'll find what you're looking for."
Ron at once rose and went for it, while Hermione asked, and with slight alarm, "It's been in that drawer this whole time? What if… what if someone had-?"
"This room is never rented out," he replied, somewhat irritably.
Harry turned just as Ron returned then with the bag, opened it, peered in, went strangely white, and then set it down beside them on the bed. Harry opened it and peered in himself. Just as Aberforth had told them, Professor Dumbledore had left him a bag of gold. There was nothing else in the bag save what looked like hundreds of Galleons… well, nothing else; save what was probably a note half-buried at a side.
Everyone was leaving him money, why couldn't they leave themselves instead.
He turned back to Aberforth and asked, with some politeness, "Is this all?"
Aberforth intentionally ignored it, and demanded instead, "Do you want to tell me where you and my brother were the night he died?"
"Was murdered," corrected Ron, but Harry shook his head.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," said Harry.
"So you were with him?" said Aberforth, sitting up in his seat and looking at them curiously. "What were you looking for?"
Harry could not respond though, for he was too busy trying to recover from the shock of how easily he had been tricked. But once he did, he angrily snapped, "That's none of your business!"
"I would think that it is. My brother has spent more than the past seventeen years tied up in something to do with you and You-Know-Who, it's killed him and I have a right to know why," he told him, glaring again.
Hermione cut in now, and angrily so, "Don't you dare blame Harry for this!"
"I wasn't," he said, turning to her with gritted teeth.
"I don't like your insinuation then!" she snapped. "Harry can't tell you what happened because Professor Dumbledore told him not to, not even to you."
"But you know," he prodded.
"No, we don't!" she lied at once.
At this he scoffed, and leaned forward with his hands on knees again, the nails dirty, the robes worn, "Such friends are these to blindly follow you about? I don't believe it."
"I don't care," said Harry, without missing a beat and all the earlier respectfulness gone.
Aberforth was glowering now, strangely reminding Harry of Viktor Krum, and then sat up again, and said, "Fine then, you may leave… Albus knew what he was doing."
It was said with such a defeated tone, tinged with sadness that all three looked up to him surprised. He noticed this, and asked, "Does it surprise you that I cared for my brother?"
"What? No! No… it's just…" tried Harry until he gave up when Hermione put her hand on his arm.
She replied then, "Thank you."
"It was nothing, don't mention it, I was just doing my service to the Order…. But some of the people you're going to meet are not going to give up as easily, I'm sure you know that," he replied, rising from his place on the chair and moving to open the door for them.
"We know," said Harry, as he shrunk the bag and slipped it into his pocket. And with one last look up at him, pulled his hood up again, and followed Ron and Hermione out of the room.
*****
Leaving the Hog's Head Inn was not as incident-free as their entrance. No sooner than had they stepped out of the room and were heading down the stairs again with Aberforth, than did they spot a dark-cloaked figure rushing away from the door of their original room to the stairs. Just as Aberforth had been expecting, someone was attempting to spy on them.
This made Harry immediately uneasy, but Aberforth appeared unconcerned, "I doubt they recognised you. I know that one; he just likes to have information on hand if he needs it."
"He just likes to have information?" asked Hermione, appalled.
"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him… but you three should leave Hogsmeade as soon as possible. Unless you've got something more to do?" he asked.
Harry didn't fall for it this time, "Don't worry, we will."
Once out of the Inn Harry turned and headed out as if adhering to his advice, walking along the street that would take them out of the village. Ron and Hermione followed behind wordlessly, and even stopped with him as he looked into the window of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was today's copy of Witch Weekly, knowing that he was waiting for the Order guard to arrive.
He did some time later appear from the Hog's Head with a slight stagger as if drunk, but Harry barely noticed. He was too busy staring at the headline of the magazine in shock, "VIKTOR KRUM EXCLUSIVE with Rita Skeeter on Quidditch, Love and Plans for the Future!"
And though it was some distance away, through the glass and all, he could still make out the opening paragraph:
"Viktor Krum has returned, three years after the Quidditch World Cup, and the ill-fated Triwizard Tournament, in which he was a member alongside an unexpected three other champions, to play, what else, Quidditch. But we here at Witch Weekly can't help but wonder if there will be more than one reunion in store for the handsome young and unattached Seeker. Case in point: Harry Potter, against whom he was rumoured to be competing, not only for the Triwizard Cup, but the attentions of one-time girlfriend Hermione Granger.
He laughs as I ask him this particular question…"
Knowing the repercussions of either Ron or Hermione noticing the article, he quickly turned and headed off again, but this time back the way they came, to the castle.
"I wonder if Professor McGonagall got the message alright?" asked Hermione, adjusting her hood and having apparently noticed nothing.
Harry stifled a relieved sigh, and replied, "I'm sure she did, you fixed the message."
"And even if she didn't, Dad said that she's been at the school most of the summer, making preparations for this year," added Ron. "They don't expect a high turnout but they're going to make sure that it's safe enough for those who will come."
"That's good, they shouldn't let Voldemort have control," said Harry, absently.
He was still thinking about the article, and as it had been doing all day, his mind went back to Fourth Year and a growled inquiry: "I vont to know… vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny." And beyond that, why that was the first thing, of the whole time that he knew Krum that came to him.
The road to Hogwarts Castle was deserted. Harry could clearly hear the sound of the loose pebbles and small stones being crushed under their trainers. Beads of sweat were beginning to trace down their backs again, and more than once did Harry hear his friends exhale slightly, at the heat. But they had to keep their hoods up, no matter how uncomfortable, or their journey would be over before it began.
Despite the advantage of going there first, so that the dodgy Hog's Head Inn would have been the last place they were before a speedy departure, Harry had decided to take the Inn first. The school bore too many memories and quite a few were still quite raw in his mind: a burned out hut, a 'Lightening-Struck Tower', a slumbering portrait in the Headmistress' office….
But then there was also the fact that after the trip to Godric's Hollow he was hanging onto the hope that this might be more fruitful. By retracing the events of that night, as he now sought to do, he might have an idea of what to do next, where to go next… for at the moment, as much as he hated to admit it, he had no idea.
There was one question though, that he absolutely had to ask, no matter how painful, and it would help if Dumbledore's portrait could answer it: Why, of all people, did he trust Severus Snape?
It took them nearly half an hour to arrive at the towering front gates of the school, where the warthog statuettes mounted on the walls stared serenely out at them, and the castle calmly beckoned from its perch on the hill. How strange it was to see it standing there alone, drenched in sunlight and not hear the sounds of the excited students within. How strange it was to walk to the gates, (though Harry had done so last year, and after Hogsmeade visits) to feel like an intruder now that they were here and not planning on returning to school. But that was how they felt, and Harry suppressed it as best he could, while looking around anxiously for Hagrid.
"Where is he? They told us not to let him linger, but we shouldn't be lingering here…" he began, walking to a gate and reaching a hand to the black wrought metal.
To his surprise and alarm, they immediately opened out away from his grasp to allow them entry. But no one moved forward, they had not been expecting this, and frightfully, it seemed like a trap.
Had the Death Eaters taken the school? But no, the Order would have known, someone would have told them. So, had Professor McGonagall arranged this? And if she had, why, where was Hagrid?
There was only one way to find out though, and with wand drawn, Harry led the way through.
Almost immediately after Ron was safely past them, the gates slammed shut and locked firmly behind them. They turned for only a moment to look at it, and then turned to look at each other. And then Harry shrugged and said, "I guess we better make a run for it then?"
In reply, and very childishly at that, they turned and raced up the path to the school, cloaks billowing behind them, hoods swept off their heads and bouncing over their backs and shoulders. And they did not stop until they were standing within sight of the great double doors that was the castle's entrance and could look over to the lake, glittering metallic blue-grey, and the solemn white marble tomb that glistened at its bank. They stopped running then, and walked silently up to the front doors.
Professor McGonagall was waiting for them on the front steps. Or rather, a small grey cat with square-shaped rings round its eyes was lazily sunning itself at the top of the stairs, giving the impression of awaiting them. But after six straight years of having her as Transfiguration Professor, they would know her Animagus form anywhere.
Hermione was first to the stairs and therefore the first to greet her, "Good day, Professor, I hope we didn't keep you too long."
In response the cat stood up, stretched and then before their eyes transformed back into the familiar, small, thin and now greying witch now in charge of the school. Today she wore robes of dark grey, trimmed with tartan and though her hair was in its characteristic bun, they could see that she was wearing some rather fluffy shoes.
She gave a short smile, and replied, "I expected you to be here sooner, but otherwise, no, you didn't keep me waiting long. And besides, the Auror under the cloak who let you in made it easy for you. Let's go in quickly, we may be protected by the wards now but anyone looking in can still see us, and as I understand it Mr Potter, you wish to be as discrete as possible?"
She did not wait for them to reach her before she turned to the doors, pushed them open and walked in. They scurried in after her, and once more as they entered doors shut and locked firmly behind them. Harry did not bother to look back, choosing to ask after Professor McGonagall instead, "Um… Professor… where's Hagrid?"
She was heading down the corridors to the stairs, on her way up to her office. The paintings in the hall were all looking down at them, some suspiciously, some scowling, while others waved and greeted them with smiles. A ghost floated by above them, paused to have a look, and then floated off again. Somewhere in the distance they heard a purring that could only be Mrs Norris, the pet cat and assistant of Argus Filch, the Squib caretaker of the school. And now that they were inside Harry noticed that the intruder feeling had gone away, as if as long as they were in here and with Professor McGonagall's sanction, they were welcomed.
She did not reply until they were on the first landing, "Hagrid… is off on official business… he'll be back before the school term begins. I've actually been watching that hippogriff and his dog… of course; you're not in his class anymore are you?"
Harry shook his head, "I was just-"
"You're allowed to wonder, Mr Potter. As I understand it, you are off on official business yourself," she replied. Harry said nothing, and she continued, "I would have preferred, if you had consulted more level heads before you made your decision. We can't do much to protect you if you're not here."
"I'll be fine, we'll be fine," he replied, quietly.
She said nothing to this, and they were silent for the rest of the way. Well she was, the closer they got to the office with its stone gargoyle guardian Harry found his mind flooded by a surge of questions. If he could get anything out of Dumbledore's portrait, for his was surely as active as the others around him had been, he knew he would probably ask them all at once. And then there was his anxiety, the feeling of anticipation mixed with a rising fear, as he realised that he would be seeing him again. Even though it was just a portrait, he would be seeing Dumbledore and he would not be dead.
This was why he had chosen to go to Hogwarts last. If he had had to face the portrait first, when he met Aberforth after he would have spilled all that he had been strictly told to keep to himself. There was no portrait of Sirius, as Nearly-Headless Nick had told him, he was truly gone.
He felt an uncomfortable clenching in throat, and he swallowed trying to alleviate it. It went away slightly, but not for long for as he looked up it was to find that they were there and Professor McGonagall was speaking.
"-leave you to your own devices. I trust that you will not destroy the office; I've already laid out everything that you were supposed to receive…. I should warn you though, you may not be able to take it all at once-are you sure you won't reconsider your decision, Mr Potter?"
Harry looked up at her, swallowed again and said with as much resolve as he could muster, "Yes."
"I'll be back in half an hour… I have to find Sybill," she said, and then turned to leave.
Hermione stopped her with a question, "Wait, Professor… is Professor Trelawney still here?"
Professor McGonagall's mouth became a thin line, as it often did when she was upset, "Yes. Professor Dumbledore declared in his Will that she was not to leave, though he did not give a proper reason why. Of course, with this assurance she's become a bit of nuisance…. I don't know where she gets it but just yesterday I found her in the Great Hall half-soaked in cooking sherry, playing with her cards and babbling to herself."
The three looked at her surprised, since when did Professor McGonagall speak ill of a fellow teacher… and to students no less?
As if reading their minds then, she replied, "I feel no qualms telling you this… after all, you are no longer students."
And then she was gone.
It was a while still, before the three teenagers turned to the gargoyle. And then Ron said, "Well, might as well get this over with-Golden Snitch."
Of course Professor McGonagall had changed the password; Harry's expression of surprise was merely because he hadn't heard her tell it to Ron and Hermione.
The stone gargoyle, upon receiving the password lazily rolled aside to reveal the staircase that led up to the office. Harry again, was first one up, with Ron and Hermione close behind and therefore the first into the room. And once he was in there, he paused, slightly shocked and yet still telling himself that he should not be.
This was Professor McGonagall's office now; of course there would be a few changes.
And there really were few changes. Like her previous office there was an assortment of items covered in tartan, and she had possession of both the Quidditch and House Cups, (though those were won, and not being kept to be awarded to the winner) but now, they shared space with some of the strange spinning and whirling silver instruments of Professor Dumbledore's day, the portraits of the former heads and in a glass case by the door, the sword of Godric Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat.
Harry took his time to look around, purposely avoiding turning to the desk, which was the same, noting that Fawkes' stand was gone and that the room felt… well, to put it simply, different.
It was just as he had felt when they walked to the school before. It was as if they were intruders.
And then, as if to immediately disprove this, a familiar voice said cheerily, "Good day to you three, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. I know this isn't my office any more but I feel obligated to offer you a seat and um… ah yes, Minerva has biscuits."
They all turned to the portrait now, and Harry realised one of two things: one, Ron and Hermione had been avoiding the portrait almost as much as he had, and two, though he was dead, in his portrait Professor Dumbledore was just as lively as he had been… alive.
So lively, that Ron went chalk-white and dropped heavily into a nearby chair. Hermione did not move, but she did spare Ron a quick glance before turning her worried eyes to Harry. He barely noticed her though, for he was walking towards the portrait until he was stopped by the desk.
Professor Dumbledore continued, "Don't look so alarmed, I don't think I look that much different, but I suppose I must slightly… these portraits tend to be flattering."
Flattering? To Harry, Dumbledore looked as if he were capable of stepping right out of the painting and sitting with them.
In his robes of iridescent lilac and cobalt blue, spangled by tiny moons and stars at the hem and cuffs, he sat staring out at them with twinkling kindly blue eyes, through half-moon glasses while his long, white hair and beard tumbled gently down his back, shoulders and chest. If they had not seen his funeral, and known the portrait for what it was, he would not have believed it.
And just then they were interrupted by Phineas Nigellus, another of the former Headmasters and Sirius' great-great grandfather, "What's this… what are you three doing here?"
"I'm afraid that is none of your concern Phineas," said Dumbledore, wearily. His tone though, was more from annoyance than exhaustion.
"You have no more authority here," said Phineas, trying to turn to Dumbledore, "I was speaking to the boy."
Harry spoke up at once, "'The boy' is speaking to Professor Dumbledore. Sir… I…."
But he could not finish, and Dumbledore smiled, "That's quite alright Mr Potter, why don't you and Miss Granger join Mr Weasley on a few of the chairs here, and properly recover before we continue."
They did as they were told, but when Harry was seated, he noticed what was on Professor McGonagall's desk. Waiting there for him, as Hermione had guessed, were the Pensieve, over a dozen tiny bottles in which something silvery-white-memories-swirled slightly, and the gilt and ruby-encrusted sword of Gryffindor.
"Am I to assume, from your general lack of surprise, that you figured out my letter? What a shame, I was hoping to surprise you. Oh well, I hope you thanked Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, and smiled.
Hermione blushed, and Harry went inexplicably red as well, before stammering, "You left me something else, sir… I'm not exactly sure why…."
"Of course you know that the goblins have been restricting access to the vaults at Gringotts, I just thought to make it easy for you to get around should anything happen to me. I know you're going to need it in the days ahead," Dumbledore explained, and then added, "In light of your decision as well…."
Harry now felt that he needed to explain, "I have to do this, sir. I can't stay here while he's out there, I have to have the freedom to move when necessary, the school… doesn't have everything, and if there's a fight-"
"Oh, I can understand that," said Dumbledore, "And there will be fights, that is guaranteed, but I find myself agreeing with the Headmistress that you are better off here, than out there. From what I can gather, Voldemort is convinced of his victory now that I am gone… he will not refrain from directly attacking you."
"Then I think it is best to have as few people between him and me as possible," said Harry.
At this Dumbledore smiled, "Indeed. And especially now that we have lessened his chances by one."
As if on cue, Harry, Ron and Hermione dropped their heads and looked determinedly to the floor. Dumbledore took one look at them and said, "Should I amend my statement… what is the matter?"
Ron found his voice first, "It was a fake."
"What?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.
"It was a fake, the H-Horcrux…" said Harry, "Someone else had already taken the real one, sir. There was a note inside the locket, I wrote it down-"
"-you will have to read it to me-" said Dumbledore.
"-oh, right. Um… er… here it is… here… (He fumbled through the folds of his robes to his pocket until he drew out a crumpled sheet of paper.) '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."
Ron barely waited for him to properly assess this, before saying, "We think it might be a Death Eater, or at least someone close to him, they called him the 'Dark Lord', like all his followers do."
Dumbledore seemed to agree, "A Death Eater… or a close follower… R.A.B…. I wonder who that is…. He discovered his secret and removed the Horcrux…. R.A.B…."
"Do you know anyone with those initials?" asked Hermione.
He looked down at her with a smile and said, "As a matter of fact I do… I know many… unfortunately… I taught them."
The ray of hope that had begun to form in her eyes immediately died, but he quickly reassured her, "But that is quite alright, if this person was a Death Eater I can assure you that the field is considerably narrowed. I think though, that you all should focus your attentions on finding another, while I sort through my memories."
Harry's eyes fell to the table again, and the small bottles lined up beside his Pensieve. "This is going to take longer than one visit."
Dumbledore smiled, "I'm glad you noticed that. These are merely the select memories I could provide in hopes of locating another, the Cup."
"How did you know where to look for the locket?" asked Hermione.
Professor Dumbledore almost laughed, "Your thirst for knowledge is insatiable my dear. But, as I'm sure Mr Potter has told you, as the Horcruxes are made of objects of significance, the heirlooms of the Hogwarts Four, I believe they were concealed in places of significance as well, but of significance to Tom himself. The ring, in his family's ancestral home, the diary… well, we don't know where that was originally, but it was definitely in the hands of his followers, the locket, in that cave… but the Cup, and the others… they were concealed after he left Hogwarts and they are much harder to find because of it."
"They could be anywhere," said Ron, sounding distinctly disheartened.
"Oh no, Mr Weasley, not anywhere… and you're going to find them," Professor Dumbledore told him.
"So… when do we begin?" asked Harry, rising from his seat and going to the table.
And just then they heard the sound of the stone gargoyle rolling aside, Professor McGonagall was coming.
"Unfortunately, not today," said Professor Dumbledore.
"What?" the three asked, simultaneously.
"In light of your new information I need some time…" he replied, simply.
"But sir," began Harry, still shocked.
"And the Headmistress requires use of her office. I have a lot to tell you, and believe me, it cannot all take place in one day," he continued. "I'm afraid this will have to go back where they came from."
Ron's ears were turning pink again, and he shot a disgruntled look to Hermione, who looked equally as stunned. But when they began to hear footsteps on the steps, they knew they had to concede defeat.
Harry though, had to ask one last question before they were joined by the Headmistress.
"Sir! Sir, one question… about Snape…?" he began.
Dumbledore, who had been smoothing his robes turned to look at him, "Severus…? What about Severus?"
Harry looked worriedly to Hermione, who asked, "Sir… do you remember… how you died…?"
He gave her a sad smile, "Of course I do."
Harry took over again, "Sir… why did you trust him?"
Dumbledore looked at Harry, and then looked away, for a time saying nothing, and then he asked, "Have you been to Godric's Hollow?"
Harry nodded impatiently; Professor McGonagall was surely almost upon them.
"I cannot tell you why I trusted Severus… you have to see it for yourself. Find out what happened that night, and it will lead you to that answer," he replied, not looking at them.
Harry could barely contain his irritation as he said, "Would it be so hard to just tell us?"
"I fear, Mr Potter… no, I know that you would not believe me if I did," he said, just as the door opened behind them and Professor McGonagall re-entered.
She was still grumbling about Professor Trelawney, but stopped when she saw them, "All done?"
Ron and Hermione looked at Harry, who looked at Professor Dumbledore's portrait and replied, "Yeah… all done."
"Well then… if you don't mind, I think one of the house elves has provided you with lunch. You can have it in the Great Hall, and afterwards, if you like, I can provide the Floo back to the Burrow…" she told them.
Harry was too upset to speak, and Ron agreed with him, so Hermione spoke for them, "Yes, thank you. We flew in this morning and it was kind of cold…."
And then she had to lead the way out of the room. But just as the door shut behind them, they all heard Professor McGonagall's voice clearly through it, filled with exasperation, "Oh Albus…."
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