A/N: Ah yes, hi there! *waves* I'm taking a break from my floundering NaNoWriMo attempt to post this chapter. I was going to last Wednesday on my birthday but I couldn't. Had a little trouble with an Antivirus programme that seems to think it has permission to ruin my life. *waves fist threateningly at computer* Anyway, hope you understand what I'm trying to do, cause I know what it is, the problem, as always, seems to lie in the execution.
Disclaimer: Yeah, not mine, nor some of the future references that will be made to Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian, (good book, long and sometimes rather convenient in the action, but good nevertheless).
*****
Igor the Reluctant
Very quickly, Harry, Ron and Hermione fell back into their old school routine: go to classes, get homework, sneak around the castle after hours and speculate on what the outside world was up to. It was not as if they any other choice, they had a Ministry and Voldemort to fool, not to mention that Professor McGonagall had no intention of allowing them otherwise. And as such, by the end of the first week Harry felt as if nothing had really changed.
Their first day they received their class schedules at breakfast. Professor Sprout gave them out and hand-delivered theirs; they quickly discovered why, there was a note attached from the new Headmistress. And a hasty reading revealed that they had unrestricted access to the library's Restricted Section "on the advice of Professor Dumbledore". Harry thought in that moment that Hermione had died and gone to heaven, so brightly had her eyes lit up. But it quickly went away (which disappointed him immensely) and she groaned, "But I didn't find anything the last time…."
With no small amount of pain or difficulty, Ron told her, "Well now… now you've got us to help you."
Both Harry and Hermione turned to him sceptically, and shocked. He glared at them, "What? I want to help, we have to do this together remember?" They still looked unconvinced and finally he said, "They cancelled Quidditch didn't they? What else are we supposed to do?"
Harry and Hermione turned to each other and smiled, and Hermione announced, "I'm glad to hear you say that Ron, because apparently we've all got some free time this morning, so we can go right now."
His face fell faster than a Chaser incapacitated by the Bludger a Beater missed.
Before breakfast was over though, they received two things: the post, which included the Daily Prophet with the bold headline "MALFOY HEIR DIES IN TRAGIC INCIDENT!: Distraught Mother Refuses Interviews", and their first conversation with Mafalda Weasley.
The former stunned them all, and very quickly the hall was filled with loud, angry exchanges, as one by one the other students protested the entire article, beginning with the headline. How dare they describe what happened on the Hogwarts Express an "accident"? Malfoy had clearly attacked the train in search of a student, and when he realised he could not kill her, took his own life instead. And did they forget that he was also responsible for another attack which had not only brought in very dangerous Death Eaters, but a werewolf, and led to the murder of the Headmaster?
Harry could not resist looking over to the Slytherin table, and was greeted by the sight of Pansy crying inconsolably in the arms of a rather unhappy-looking Blaise.
But he was forced to look back to his own table though, when a small, red-haired girl suddenly appeared in his line of sight. For a moment he was worried that his old fan club of the year before was back-for they certainly hadn't gone anywhere if the "unintentional" run-ins he had so far had with them were anything to go by-but closer inspection proved otherwise. It was a First Year with Weasley features but wearing the Slytherin colours: Mafalda.
And better still, the person she directed her conversation to at first was not him, but Ron.
"Hello," she said, looking directly at her cousin in a manner that suggested that she was less than impressed with what she was seeing, but speaking anyway.
"Hello… Mafalda…?" replied Ron, staring right back at her decidedly uninterested.
Undeterred, she began, "My father said that I was supposed to speak to you as soon as I got here, that you would show me around this place? We tried to contact you all during the vacation but we didn't get any response."
Ron refused to attempt embarrassment or concern, "We were… busy, your letters probably got lost in the confusion-did you say that I would?"
"He was supposed to send an… owl, to your mother this morning, and I'm new here so he didn't think you'd mind. I don't know much about wizards and magic you see-"
"-lucky you," muttered Harry in a manner someone else had once, though he couldn't be sure who.
"-so he thought you wouldn't mind showing me around," she continued, ignoring him. "After all, I am your cousin."
As far as both Ron and Ginny appeared to be concerned that was subject to further investigation on their part, but Ginny quickly took over, "Oh no, we don't mind. It's just that we didn't know about you until last night, you know, because of the confusion at the house and all…."
Mafalda at once beamed at them both. "Wonderful, when can we begin? Is it true that you all are really poor? Daddy says that you don't have a lot of money and that Uncle Arthur's really obsessed with Muggle-things that he doesn't understand. Mum says that if you're really wizards you shouldn't be poor, can't you all just make mo-"
"Lunchtime," said Ginny, quickly cutting her off, for Ron's eyes had been narrowing steadily from the minute she asked her first question and any retort wouldn't have been pleasant, even though she was their cousin. "We have classes all morning and so do you."
Mafalda didn't look even mildly apologetic or disappointed. "Okay, see you at lunchtime then…."
And then she was gone, and Ron finally spoke, "Slytherin through-and-through that one, just when you think you've gotten rid of Malfoy, someone comes to take his place."
He forced his way around the lump that formed in his throat at the name. They had hated Malfoy and he had hated them, his death was inevitable given his father's position.
Ginny left shortly after that and Hermione dragged them both off to the library. Harry resented the sunny, clear morning out the windows as they passed, but acknowledged that they would have to give them up now to enjoy them later. And he kept repeating this to himself all the way to the library where Madam Pince greeted them frowning slightly. But Professor McGonagall's note was clear and they were ushered into the Restricted Section with nothing more than a warning glare.
He did his best, he really tried, but in the end it would take Ron all of ten minutes to get tired and give up. For Harry and Hermione then, he presented the appearance of a search, he had no less than four books open before him and he occasionally turned a page, but they weren't fooled. And especially when he stopped turning pages altogether and they heard a low snore.
Harry nudged Hermione and jerked his head towards him. But instead of looking up and grinning as he had, she sighed wistfully and said, "This is hopeless, I didn't find anything in here the last time and unless they've gotten new books, we certainly aren't going to now."
Harry pretended the optimist. "Then how about we look for something else? If there isn't anything on Horcruxes, then maybe we can find something on how… how… how I can use love as a weapon."
She turned to give him a sceptical look, but then perked up, apparently changing her mind, and said, "You know… I've never actually heard of an emotion being transferred like that, it doesn't take much emotion to perform a spell. You want something done, you will it to be done and magic bends to the purpose, like wanting a fire and creating it with Incendio."
"That helps," said Harry, glumly, forgetting at once his pretence.
"But it doesn't mean that it can't be done. Your mother certainly was not the first to sacrifice herself for her child, but something was different here. Whatever she did… she-she willed you to survive… and you did…? It can't be that simple," she muttered, more to herself than him. And suddenly she found something new to puzzle out in the Restricted Section while Ron slept and he sat wondering what to do about Horcruxes.
With Professor Dumbledore's help they may be able to find and destroy them, but without knowing how they were first created, the dangers of that were endless. He'd seen the power of the diary; would all Horcruxes act like that? He'd seen what happened to Professor Dumbledore's hand and could still vividly recall the night in the cave; would all be so elaborately hidden? He involuntarily shuddered at the thought, which earned him a curious look from Hermione, noticing the tiny movement even though she was apparently lost in her thoughts. And then there was the problem of Voldemort; how long would it take him to start noticing that something wasn't right?
"It's going to be alright, Harry. Ron and me, we're going to be with you all the way," Hermione said then, breaking into his thoughts and yet knowing them.
He looked into her eyes, bright with emotion, and gave her his best lopsided grin. "What makes you think I was worrying about Voldemort?"
His attempt at humour did not amuse. "I know you Harry. But as long as we're together, Voldemort doesn't stand a chance. We've said this before, and I'll say it again: we're going to go with you as far as we can and we're going to do as much as we can until we can't help anymore…. And, and the first thing I'm going to do, is figure out how to turn an emotion into will and magic."
Just then, in his sleep, Ron mumbled, "… Patronum… Ginny go with…."
Harry and Hermione stared at him a moment confused, and then Hermione's eyes widened and she exclaimed, "Oh but it has been done!"
"What?" Harry asked and his brow furrowed again for he was completely lost.
"To create a Patronus you need happy thoughts, you need to feel happy, and happiness is an emotion. When you say Expecto Patronum, you expel the magical representation of that, your Patronus," she explained, excitement building in her eyes.
"So then what, when I face Voldemort I have to find some way to channel that emotion into a force that will protect me and kill him?" asked Harry, catching on, feeling the excitement building in his chest as well.
"Exactly, so all we have to do is figure out how to do that, come up with a spell that you can use and you win," she said excitedly, grinning now.
Harry could not bring himself to join her, "But Hermione, I don't think I'll be looking to Voldemort with thoughts of confetti-throwing Cupids and singing Valentines in my head."
"That's where Occlumency and Legilimency come in," she told him.
"But I never learned Occlumency… and you want me to learn Legilimency too?" he asked in reply.
She sighed in exasperation, "Then you're going to learn Harry, somehow, someway, you're going to have to learn."
He was about to voice another problem when they were interrupted by the arrival of Madam Pince, glowering at them now as she said, "I believe you all have classes at this time-is Mr Weasley asleep on my books?"
Ron shot up immediately, protesting, "No ma'am!"
Harry and Hermione steered clear of him all the way out of the library, laughing all the while as Madam Pince set the books snapping at the back of his head.
*****
Despite their fears, their first class with Professor Percy Weasley was not the remake of Dolores Umbridge they assumed. As it was, Percy was more than a little nervous about having Seventh Years so early on his first day and initially struggled to maintain control. He had long lost Harry and Ron, for obvious reasons, but Hermione tried to pay attention, and angrily shushed all around her who didn't. His pleas of: "I'm the teacher, please be quiet!" "Settle down now, you won't understand unless you do!" "I'll report this to the Headmistress!" fell on deaf ears until Harry, entirely by accident, silenced them.
He had been shushing back Hermione for interrupting his and Ron's rather exciting Quidditch conversation, but the class had simultaneously silenced then and they all heard him. No one spoke after that, even the Slytherins, and Percy begrudgingly spared him a grateful look before attempting to resume the lesson again.
He began, "On the advice of the Headmistress, we will be reviewing your knowledge of non-verbal spells. (The groans arose immediately and increased in volume as he struggled on.) This is just to see how far you came before… before the incident last term. Once we know how far along you are, then we'll get into Occlumency."
The groans subsided abruptly as the class all looked to one another, some wondering what Occlumency was, others explaining and Harry, Ron and Hermione just turned to each other surprised. The Ministry was allowing him to teach the entire class Occlumency?
But Percy, when next he spoke, did not choose to elaborate, and instead spent the rest of the class putting them all to the test. And by the end of it he had determined that Hermione was best and Neville was possibly the worst. They would then have remedial classes for the rest of the month, or at least until he was sure that they could handle Occlumency. Why this was a requirement for learning Occlumency given past experience Harry could not tell, but they had to go along with it. He could then chalk it up to Ministry interference, unsure of what he would do with it but unwilling to allow him to learn as easily nevertheless. What did Percy know of Occlumency anyway?
At lunch they met Luna, after taking care to avoid Ginny and Mafalda. True to her word and interest Mafalda had appeared at the Gryffindor table the moment she spied them in the hall. It probably wasn't fair then to abandon her to Ginny but they had more pressing concerns, like Hermione filling in Ron on what they had come up with.
And it was in the midst of this whispered conversation-which Harry sat across from them and carefully observed, noting not only Ron's initial confusion that mirrored his own, but also their closeness-that Luna appeared. He had been so busy with Ginny the last few weeks of school the year before that he hadn't noticed if they had done anything about their situation after Ron and Lavender broke up. He hadn't noticed anything either during the vacation, but that meant nothing, and now that they were in school again with possibly weeks of free time until they found Hufflepuff's Cup… well, anything could happen. And then Luna's voice broke into his thoughts, asking, "What are they talking about?"
Ron and Hermione separated immediately; Ron jerked away from Hermione almost guiltily and said loudly, "Nothing, nothing! H-hello Luna… didn't see you come over…."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other in mild bewilderment, while Luna replied, "You looked like you were having an important conversation, don't stop on my account."
"Oh no it's fine, Luna. Um… where were you going?" he asked, apparently completely forgetting the presence of Harry and Hermione. Or, for that matter that what Hermione had been trying to tell him was anything but "nothing".
"Nowhere really," she replied, but then her gaze wandered down the table to Ginny and Mafalda and she asked, "Is that girl your cousin?"
Ron turned to Mafalda and frowned, "Yeah… didn't find out about her until we got here."
"Oh," said Luna, and she turned back to them, "Well, just wanted to say hello…."
Harry and Hermione both returned her greeting and she quietly left. But she wasn't to be the first to visit them at lunch, for shortly thereafter they were visited by Romilda Vane, (who swiftly left again with a murderous glare from Ron) a group of Fourth Year Ravenclaws, (Ron was this time joined by Hermione) and a Hufflepuff who hastily asked, even through the Ron and Hermione's looks, "Is everything alright with you and Ginny Weasley?"
Harry, in response, stood up sharply and said to Ron and Hermione, "I think we should go back to the library, it's too noisy in here."
They quickly followed, and together hid in the library until Transfiguration. He should have answered though, for by the end of the day the entire school was abuzz with rumours that Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley had broken up. No one attempted to speak directly to either one, but it was a much debated topic for days to come.
In Transfiguration, Tonks turned out to be a much better teacher than they feared. It seemed that all their concerns were being refuted that day, which was good. Though terrible teachers were furthest from their concern, when they disappeared the worse the teacher the more the fuss stirred up over it.
She greeted them all with her characteristic "Wotcher!" but then, catching herself, began again, "Good afternoon everyone, I'm Tonks, your Transfiguration professor for the time being…. Um, guess I should get this out of the way seeing that we'll be continuing from where the Headmistress left off in human transfiguration. I'm a Metamorphagus."
There was a moment of silence after this where those who didn't know this were stunned speechless… and then there was a surge of voices speaking at once, "No way!" "Prove it!" "You can't be a Metamorphagus!"
At the last she stopped them by turning her shocking pink hair a lurid yellow and streaking the ends orange. All protest stopped, and then restarted again with demands for her transfigure other parts of her body. She firmly refused, "I can do as many as I want to naturally, but you can't. Well, according to Professor McGonagall, you can, but not to NEWT standard… and that we can't have, now can we?"
Harry was more than a little concerned then, when she winked at him and gave the rest of the class a very bright smile.
By the time class had ended she had them all transfigure their hair colour, and Harry left a blonde, Hermione a redhead and Ron a brunette. They left it that way too, for the rest of the day and Harry and Ron both had quite a laugh at their bemused teachers wondering where both had gone. Ending the day on a light note was much better than the school year had begun, and Harry was glad for it.
The next morning their first class was Potions and Slughorn was once again very happy to have them. With an air that
simply exuded joviality he began the class, "Still here Harry my boy, you're disappointing many a
newspaper."
Harry smiled weakly, "I don't think it would kill them, sir."
Hermione scoffed, "Don't they have anything better to do?"
Slughorn beamed at them both, and said, "Ah Miss Granger, we can't be serious all the time. It's bad for the funny bone and even worse for the health."
She didn't look convinced, but Slughorn didn't give her a chance to say anymore as he announced to the class, "I think I want us to do something special today, in light of the horrible event that precipitated the beginning of the term and the ending of the last: we're all going to brew Wolfsbane."
At once Hermione's hand shot up, and without prompting, she asked, "But sir, isn't that a terribly precise solution… and some of the ingredients hard to come by?"
He smiled at her still, in response, "So they are, but I've managed to acquire some, and since this is the NEWT-level class, we're going to be getting into some serious potions, longer brewing times and all."
Harry, Ron and Hermione gave each other significant looks; as long as they were at school their lives were going to get increasingly complicated.
But like their first, their second day ended light-heartedly, and in this case with Ginny ranting for half-an-hour about how awful Mafalda was. It appeared that the girl had a habit for repeating what she heard from both sides-which earned Ginny more than a few reproachful looks all day-and seemed to hold the Burrow and all in it in low regard-which understandably upset her. Harry had to be grateful then, that they had yet managed to avoid a conversation with her. Though he at this point didn't much care what the Slytherins thought of him, he didn't want them to know any of his.
*****
Wednesday night, shortly after curfew, no one noticed when Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Gryffindor Common Room. Under the safety of the Invisibility Cloak and guided by the Marauder's Map-though they had permission-they were on their way to the Headmistress' Office. The message had been relayed at lunch that day by a First Year; Professor Dumbledore was ready for them.
Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be found when they arrived. The Pensieve was out and two small vials awaited them on the Headmistress' desk beneath Dumbledore's portrait. He greeted them with a brief smile as they entered, though they were still under the cloak, and once they had shut the door behind them said, "Mr Igor Karkaroff, the belated Headmaster of the Durmstrang Academy, as you know, was once a Death Eater."
Harry swept out from under the cloak and said, "I saw him in this same Pensieve, in your memory of the Wizengamot hearings."
Ron and Hermione came out from under it after him and walked to the desk where the memories were. Hermione picked up one of the vials and peered curiously at the silver-white strand that swirled inside. Harry reached over and took it from her, "Is this his memory?"
Professor Dumbledore nodded, "One of them. I believe you have the second there though and unless you see the first you may not understand it."
Ron took up the second and squinted at it, "Not sure I really want to get into that slimy git's head."
"Yeah, well I have no choice," said Harry, staring at the vial in his hand.
Professor Dumbledore looked over the two for a moment and then began, "Igor Karkaroff was a student of the Durmstrang Academy. As you know the school has a reputation for teaching the Dark Arts and I guess it was inevitable that Tom Riddle would be drawn there. Karkaroff at the time was a recent graduate of the academy, and according to what he told me, couldn't resist him… much like almost anyone else he ever tried to charm…."
Harry thought of Hephzibah Smith, and the way she had prepared herself for his visit, the way she had stared longingly after Voldemort and the fact that he coldly disposed of her once he was sure he had located what he wanted. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be, when he needed to be.
"But didn't You-Know-Who get him last year?" asked Ron.
"Yes, unfortunately… but Igor knew that refusing to return was fatal. I'm beginning to suspect though, that he was killed for more than simple insubordination," replied Professor Dumbledore. "And that is what we're here to figure out tonight."
"You think he knew where one of the Horcruxes was?" asked Hermione.
Professor Dumbledore shook his head, "No, Tom would have never risked it; I don't think he trusted him enough. As I've told Harry, on principle he would not trust any of his followers; merely let them believe that he did. Igor was not a part of the Inner Circle, of the ones he was supposedly closest to, therefore I don't think he knew exactly what or where it was, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't know something that might help us."
"So what are we supposed to do, just go in there and hope one of us sees something useful?" asked Ron.
"Precisely, now as I cannot go with you-for obvious reasons-I expect that you will be careful, don't be afraid to follow your own intuition and, to quote my old friend Alastor, be ever vigilant," said Professor Dumbledore, smiling slightly. "Where you, or rather the memory will take you, is a small magical village on the outskirts of the town of Vratsa, in the Balkan Mountains in north-western Bulgaria. This is where Igor came from, and this is where he stumbled upon Tom a few years after he left England with his ill-gotten treasure. In the Muggle world all that area was under the Iron Curtain, but, as you may see in the memory, someone may have forgotten to tell the wizards. Good luck."
The stop was so sudden that for a moment they stood waiting for more, but presently they realised that there was none and Ron handed the vial to Harry. The Pensieve awaited them across the room, glowing brightly, inviting them over and they didn't hesitate to oblige it. Harry led the way, drew his wand, opened the vial and poured the memory into the luminescent solution of the Pensieve. Then, standing together round the stone basin, the light reflecting off their eager, anxious faces, they joined hands and dove in.
They descended into twilight on a craggy dirt road leading into a village that was clearly a good way above sea level. They were thankfully protected from it, but they could almost feel the thin, chilly air around them, a fixture in a landscape of jutting cliffs and sharp peaks. But the villagers didn't seem to mind, of the ones they could see as their eyes fell away from the mountains and descended upon the village ahead. They bustled, staggered and hurried about as if this were Diagon Alley and the day had just begun. Ron couldn't help himself, he had to ask: "I wonder if Vicky came from a place like this?"
Hermione glared, but said nothing.
They were not the only ones standing on the dirt path staring at the collection of derelict, lop-sided wooden buildings and the curiously dressed people who lived in them though. A tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed youth, dressed in thick woollen dark brown robes lined with what looked like wolf fur and black boots, stood in the path before them. They needed no help to identify him, it was Igor Karkaroff.
A villager hailed him from the distance with a bottle of something possibly alcoholic, "Igor!"
He raised a hand to return it, but then said something in a stream of Bulgarian that left Harry, Ron and Hermione staring on confused.
Ron groaned at once, "Oh no, we won't understand a word they're saying!"
Thinking quickly, Hermione conjured a quill and a sheet of parchment and set it to work much like Rita Skeeter's Quik-Quotes Quill, recording the conversation. Ron made to praise her, realising her intentions, but when he saw the transcript was still in Bulgarian, said, "Hey, we still can't read it."
"I know that, but we can get it translated later," she explained.
Ron was still upset and looking around contemptuously, asked, "Why'd Professor Dumbledore send us in here? Didn't he know that no one in this memory actually speaks English?"
Hermione sighed, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore knew that they wouldn't be speaking English… or Parseltongue, Ron, but that doesn't matter. We're supposed to be looking as well as listening, the quill will copy what we can't understand and in the meantime we'll look-"
She stopped so suddenly that Harry and Ron both sharply turned back to her, wondering what was the matter… and found her standing stock still staring straight ahead. Following her line of sight revealed why, Voldemort was there. Walking towards the village under the cover of dusk, dressed similarly to Karkaroff still standing with them staring forlornly at his village home, he already looked much like a shadow of his handsome youth. In fact, he looked just as he did in Dumbledore's memory of when he had come to apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, though, according to Professor Dumbledore, chronologically this had taken place just a few years after his disappearance from England. Karkaroff apparently hadn't noticed him yet, but the future dictated that he would soon, and until then Ron and Hermione took the time to see the young Voldemort as they had never known him.
Tall, pale as porcelain and handsome as ever, he moved slowly along the path into the village, looking for no one, missing nothing. His clothes were patched and worn, his boots regrettable and his sleek black hair hung limply about his head, sharply contrasting with the elegant visage beneath. He looked at once exhausted and determined, and Harry, Ron and Hermione began to wonder if this meeting was planned. He may have appeared the lost stranger, but he was clearly walking on a determined path to Karkaroff. But more curious than that was the fact that he was alone, of course, that didn't mean that his companions, if he'd already acquired any, weren't waiting somewhere.
Finally Karkaroff noticed him, and after a puzzled moment, he hailed him in Bulgarian.
Voldemort looked up at once, his dark red eyes narrowing immediately onto Karkaroff, and then he asked, "Do you speak English?"
Karkaroff's eyes widened, and he called, this time with a smile, "You are not from here, vat brings you here stranger?"
Now it was Voldemort's turn to smile, and he called back, "I'm looking for a friend."
"A friend, here?" asked Karkaroff, somewhat surprised.
"Yes, and I just found him," he replied.
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and turned back just in time to see Voldemort and Karkaroff walking off towards the village.
Karkaroff had apparently not figured this out yet though, and asked, "Vu is your friend? I did not know that anyone here has friends away from here."
"No one, you've never left this place?" asked Voldemort, at once looking unsettled by this news.
Karkaroff hurried to correct him, "No, no, I've just returned from school, the Durmstrang Academy, you see."
Voldemort relaxed at once, "Well then, let's have a drink to celebrate that. You know, I've always wanted to attend the Academy…."
For the fact that he had never met him before, as they walked on into the village, Karkaroff almost couldn't tell Voldemort about himself fast enough. Speaking with an accent that would vanish by the time of their Fourth Year, by the time they had reached the village centre, Voldemort, and by default, Harry Ron and Hermione, knew when he was born, who his parents were, where he lived-a large, ancient stone fortress to the south east-and of course, that he was the pureblood heir of an old, respected family. At this he finally stopped and asked, "Say stranger, I do not know your name but you now know much of me… what, is your name?"
Voldemort smiled, "Don't you trust me?"
Karkaroff shrugged, "I don't know, ve do not haff strangers here often."
"I am Lord Voldemort," said Voldemort, relenting. "I come from England, and I am here in search of, as I said, friends…. But more important than that… I wonder, what can you tell me of Vlad Dracul?"
"The Romanian Muggle king?" asked Karkaroff with clear distaste. His distrust and dislike of those associated with Muggles already deep-seated.
But Voldemort was ready for him, "Forgive me, friend, I meant of his home. What would I want with a Muggle, self say a Muggle 'king'."
And then suddenly it was over, as if someone had reached in and yanked them out by the collars of their shirts. Harry very nearly fell over, managed to catch Hermione just in time and despite his own dizziness, but in doing so couldn't help Ron who ended up flat on his rear.
He didn't seem to mind though, for he was too busy yelling at Professor Dumbledore. "What the bloody hell just happened?"
Professor Dumbledore looked only slightly troubled as he said, "I take it you were ejected… well, yes, Igor had warned me that that might happen."
"Why didn't you warn us then?" demanded Ron, scrambling to his feet and gingerly rubbing his bruised rear. "And since when does that happen?"
"Voldemort," said Harry, simply. "What did he do, erase the rest of their conversation?"
Professor Dumbledore nodded. "As much of the conversation as he needed to, or blocked it completely, in case he needed to retrieve it, for you see a foreign wizard asking about that bloodthirsty Muggle king is not as suspicious as you would think. If you must research vampires, as he probably posed to young Igor shortly after this, then you must ask of him."
"The stories are true then, he was a vampire?" asked Hermione.
"No, just another psychopath I'm afraid. But the wizard he gave shelter to was, and he made sure that the stories never died. Quite a partnership that was," Professor Dumbledore replied, distaste now etched unto his painted features.
"Does this mean that the Horcrux, that Hufflepuff's Cup is in Bulgaria?" asked Harry.
"No, Vlad III Dracul was of Romania, of Transylvania or Wallachia as it was called then," replied Hermione, and turning to Professor Dumbledore, asked, "You think it's in Transylvania?"
"Tom always liked symbols of greatness… and if my theory is correct, then he must have placed it in Dracula's (he chuckled softly) castle," replied Professor Dumbledore.
Harry was so angry in that moment he wanted to kick something, "Surrounded by vampires, and who knows what else… just like in the cave!"
Professor Dumbledore spared him a sad look, and then said, "All things considered, that should be the easiest part of your hunting expedition."
Harry scoffed, "'Easiest', what could be worse than a castle full of vampires in a foreign country?"
"Not being able to get into the foreign country in the first place," said Hermione. "The Ministry's not just going to let us walk in there and use the International Floo, we're supposed to be at school."
"Well, yes, there is that," agreed Professor Dumbledore. "But that's not quite it, have a look at his second memory, which I managed to retrieve shortly before he was killed. It took me quite some time to find him, but… well; when you see it you shall see why I was so insistent."
Hesitating only slightly, Ron retrieved the second memory and poured it into the Pensieve. Then, after they all took a moment to steel their reserve in the event of another forceful ejection, the three once again joined hands and tumbled headfirst into the past.
This was now the Igor Karkaroff that they knew and distrusted… and then, yet still, was not. However he had heard of Voldemort's return, he had not taken it well and it showed.
Gone were the furs and stiff boots and threatening air that had made him such an imposing figure at Krum's side. Gone was the pretence of calm, controlled composure, gone was the man who protested vehemently at Harry's selection by the Confunded Goblet of Fire, gone for good and never to return. Whatever Voldemort had done to him, he had almost completely destroyed the "innocent" trusting village boy in his quest to create the intimidating loyal man.
Professor Dumbledore was standing before them in the memory, alone with Karkaroff in what was possibly an abandoned house much like the one he and Harry had found Slughorn hiding in. But this was nowhere near the intentional dishevelment of Slughorn's design, this place was actually run down and torn up: pictures and mirrors smashed, furniture rotting away and fabric ripped, the carpet a memory and the curtains nonexistent, replaced with sturdy wooden boards. It looked like the Shrieking Shack, which was probably why Karkaroff had chosen it. No Death Eater would be insane enough to come in here if they thought a werewolf had recently been resident. But Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't notice any of this. No, their eyes were focused on Dumbledore and his clearly unburned hand. This was before the injury with the ring, but not by much, Karkaroff had been found dead before they started their Sixth Year.
The conversation began without preamble; Karkaroff was midway through one in fact, as the sound reached their ears, "… can't tell you, I can't show you, that part of my past is gone!"
Professor Dumbledore was stern but gentle, "I need your help, Igor, and I know that you are afraid-"
Karkaroff cut him off, furious, "I am not afraid!"
Professor Dumbledore must have given him something of a sceptical look, because he quickly corrected, "I have every right to be! This monster has killed hundreds, and I refuse to be a part of it anymore!"
Soothingly came Professor Dumbledore's response, "I understand that, and I respect that, but there are those who are capable of stopping him-"
"A boy?" spat Karkaroff, disbelieving. "A little boy, Albus? Surely you know that the Dark Lord has killed hundreds of little boys before-"
"He failed to kill this one, and with your help he'll fail again. If you say you can't show me, tell me what I want to know and this boy… no, he's almost a man now, this young man will stop him," said Professor Dumbledore, his tone still soothing, his manner still calm, and his very air placating.
Karkaroff though, had degenerated to frenzy and frantically paced the open space in the floor before Professor Dumbledore. He was clearly debating whether he should do it or not, they could all see it behind those wild blue eyes which had once been so cold and penetrating. And then at last, he stopped and said, "Go to Transylvania-take the boy with you if you must-and there you will find a former student of mine, half-vampire by the name of Casimir Å¢epeÅŸ. He will take you to the place where the dark prince lies, from there you will find your own way… now go, I can tell you no more and in the interest of my own safety it is best you leave."
Professor Dumbledore remained though, reluctant still even though he now apparently had what he wanted. He tried to start again, "Igor, are you-"
"GO Albus!" he yelled, turning on him with the wild eyes of a trapped animal. "Go now, before they come here! Forgive me but you are not as young as you used to be and if they find you I have no doubt it would please them greatly to take your wand to the Dark Lord! Go!"
"What is this 'place where the dark prince lies'? Is it not his castle?" asked Professor Dumbledore.
"Castle?" asked Karkaroff, confused. "Why would you want to go there? There is nothing there for anyone but death. I thought you wanted to make allies among the vampires, not go to-"
"I have my reasons, I need to find that castle," said Professor Dumbledore simply.
"Ask Casimir then," said Karkaroff. "And tell him I sent you, for there is a rumour now that any wizard who asks to go there is to be killed on sight. Maybe… maybe he'll spare you if you say I sent you. Now please… please go!"
Professor Dumbledore didn't hesitate a moment longer, he turned at once and left. But before he left the house and the memory ended, he made a backward glance and found that Karkaroff had sunk into his seat with his head in his hands. He was dead already; his body just didn't know it yet.
When Harry, Ron and Hermione came out of the Pensieve this time they landed on their feet and turned to Professor Dumbledore. And it was Hermione who stated the obvious, for once, "That was your memory."
Professor Dumbledore looked down from his portrait and sighed, "Yes. I set aside quite a few for you, so if you are going to be startled I suggest you prepare yourselves."
Harry brought them back to the main topic, "They'll kill anyone who asks for it… Voldemort's orders no doubt, now he has vampires on his side…."
He trailed off with a grim expression, remembering the Inferi and forcefully suppressed a shudder. He did not even want to think of them again… but no doubt they were used here too, they and their more dangerous cousins who would do more than just drag you back to their resting places.
"That's the problem, and I'm afraid I can help you no more. Karkaroff is dead now, and there is no way of knowing if his name still holds weight. Remember what happened to the school's reputation after his death," said Professor Dumbledore.
Harry looked to Ron and Hermione and asked quietly, "Still want to follow me now?"
They both looked ghostly white and slightly ill, no doubt thinking along the same lines as he. But at his voice they shook it off as a bird shaking water from its back, and Hermione said, "Absolutely. We'll just have to figure out how to get around this little problem and we'll have the cup."
He liked how she called it "little", trying her best to trivialise it not only for him but for herself as well.
He turned to Professor Dumbledore then, who had been looking on at the exchange with interest, and said, "Well then, what do we do first?"
Professor Dumbledore smiled, "Go to bed."
Stunned, they asked, "What?"
He nodded towards the clock behind them, "It's late and you have classes tomorrow. But I suggest you use that time wisely, and even though I'm gone you can still use my name. I've kept quite a few healthy relationships and over the years, as I'm sure you all should have as well, and I'm sure they'll prove quite useful now."
Not sure of what to make of that, they left the office as ordered.
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