I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money off of the Harry Potter franchise.
Huge, bowing apologies for how late *this* chapter is. Again, no excuses. Look for Chapter 11 on 11/7.
Chapter 10: Traipsing Through Pensieves
Harry could feel sweat beading up on his forehead as he trudged through vast sand dunes, his robes covered in dust and the man walking beside him barely visible through the wind-blown sand. Since Harry did not remember falling asleep in the middle of a desert, he assumed this must be another one of his dreams as Lord Voldemort. They were becoming so frequent now that he no longer registered surprise when he found himself in one, choosing instead to pay close attention to what went on, hoping that he might learn something important from them, even if only by accident.
"Do my eyes deceive me, Septimus?" he heard his own voice call out above the howling wind. "Is that an oasis ahead? Or is it just another damned mirage?"
Septimus Prince squinted and scanned the horizon, his crimson headcloth flapping wildly in the gale. He shook his head slightly in reply. "I'm sorry, Tom Marvolo. I can't see a thing." Turning against the dust storm, he called out to a trio of men riding on camels behind them in a language that Harry didn't understand (which, admittedly, did include most of them). After a moment's conversation, he faced Voldemort again. "We should be within half a mile of it by now. That's their best guess." Septimus lowered his voice slightly. "However, I don't think our guides are very enthusiastic about going on. Maybe if we…"
"Then send them back," Voldemort interrupted dismissively. "I don't need them." Septimus hesitated, looking back and forth between the dark wizard and the three muggles uncertainly. "You speak Siwi," Voldemort continued insistently. "I don't. Tell them to turn back."
"Are you certain that's wise?" Septimus asked loudly as the wind threatened to drown out his words. "The zaggala know more about this area than…"
Without a word, Voldemort spun around, aimed his wand at one of the camels and fired a stunner at its front legs. Poor aim or the storm raging around them made the spell miss its target by a few centimeters, but both the animals and the muggles riding them were badly spooked. After several loud, fearful exchanges with each other, the three zaggala rode off in the opposite direction, leaving Lord Voldemort and Septimus Prince to finish the journey alone.
"I thought we agreed not to use magic in front of the muggles," Septimus said after a few minutes of silence, his tone more resigned than chiding.
"Easy to keep up your end of the bargain, wasn't it?" Voldemort sneered. The old man did not bother to reply. "Muggles are worthless vermin, Septimus. You're a pureblood. Why waste your time with them?"
"There are instances in which muggles can be useful," Septimus said sagely. "Perhaps in time you will see…" The old man stopped suddenly, staring with mouth agape at what stood in front of him. "Sweet mother of Merlin! I think we've found it."
Voldemort's eyes were transfixed on a small, artificially constructed cave which stood defiant in the face of the elements, an undisturbed oasis in the midst of barren nothingness. A gigantic serpent's head carved from alabaster blocked the entrance, its ruby-studded eyes seeming to gleam with menace. A small stream of water poured out from the rock floor, pooling into a small pond just below the cave's mouth. "The Shrine of the Serpent," Voldemort declared in a reverent whisper.
"There are many legends about this place," Septimus said, his own voice filled with wonder. "Some say it's the last remaining entrance to the Garden of Eden. Others claim that it's an ancient temple dedicated to the Egyptian goddess Naunet. Only one thing is certain: no living creature has ever been able to enter, with one exception."
"Snakes," Voldemort said gleefully. Indeed, snakes of all kinds and sizes slithered in and out of the cave's entrance, with some sunbathing on rocks while others swam smoothly across the still water, occasionally lingering to feast on a dead insect. Voldemort's mouth spread into a wide grin at the sight.
"I had half-convinced myself it didn't exist," Septimus muttered. He then turned to face Voldemort again. "Are you sure that you want to go through with this?" A fearful look crossed his weathered face. "The magic that protects this shrine is ancient. In all likelihood, it's older and more powerful than anything you've ever encountered before." He grabbed Voldemort by the shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Think of what you're putting at risk. There's no guarantee that the Emerald of Edessa is even here. This could all be for nothing."
Voldemort shook him off, his eyes never leaving the cave. "This," he hissed, gesturing to the alabaster serpent statue that loomed over them both, "is my dessstiny." As Septimus looked on in disgust, Voldemort metamorphosed into a serpent, his off white throbe and headcloth abandoned in the sand.
Harry found himself once again looking through the eyes of a snake, courtesy of his mental connection to Lord Voldemort. The serpent slithered its way into the water, its scales quickly rinsed clean of sand and dust. It glided along the surface of the pool, all the while ignoring the other snakes surrounding it, concentrating only on reaching the entrance of the cave. Within seconds, Voldemort's serpent form crawled out of the water and began to slither slowly up the alabaster statue. 'It looks just like the stone serpents in the Chamber of Secrets,' Harry thought to himself. The snake curled around the smooth grooves of the large red-eyed statue, searching for a way into the cave. Eventually, it found a method of entry and wriggled its way inside.
His eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness, Harry caught sight of a large gemstone of green hue sitting by itself in a dank corner. A small hole in the cave ceiling allowed sunlight to illuminate the space around the stone, making it sparkle and shine. "Do you see it, Tom Marvolo?" Septimus' voice came from below.
"Yesss," he hissed in parseltongue by way of reply. Voldemort seemed to be in no hurry to take the stone, as his serpentine body weaved its way slowly through the dirt, coming to rest only inches away from where the gem was lying. His forked tongue flicked out to smell the air around it, but did not touch the stone.
"You might want to exercise caution," Septimus warned, his distant voice echoing slightly in the cave. "Horcruxes are usually protected by very complex wards."
"I ssshould know, ssshouldn't I?" Voldemort hissed, although Harry wondered if Septimus Prince could understand him. "I've made five of them myssself." At his words, the green gem gave off a slight glow, dazzling the eyes of the snake for a moment.
"Lord SSSlytherin," Voldemort rasped. "I am the one you have waited for. I am your Heir. The one tasssked with returning you to power. If you can hear and underssstand, then appear before me." The emerald began to shake violently. "Your humble ssservant awaits your command…"
With a loud crack, the gem burst open like an egg shell. The cave filled with pale green smoke, as an eerie glow emanated from the fissure where the emerald had broken. Instead of the spectral form of Salazar Slytherin that Harry was expecting, however, only more green smoke appeared, filling Voldemort's lungs and nearly asphyxiating him. Apart from the fact that he could no longer breathe, Harry also felt an odd draining feeling spread through him; a tingling sensation that made his entire serpentine body tremble with weakness.
Attempting to escape the smoke, Voldemort slithered from the cave, coiling around the stone snake groggily and slithering gradually downward. As he neared the base of the statue, his body began to shudder violently. Harry felt slightly sick, like a sailor who had been at sea too long and was feeling a bit wobbly as he attempted to walk on land. Falling limply on wet stone only a few meters from the water, Voldemort began to take human form once again.
"What are you doing?" Septimus Prince's frantic voice came from across the water. "You idiot! You'll be killed!"
"I'm not doing it…on purpose…" Voldemort gasped in what must have sounded like an odd combination of English and parseltongue. His energy completely sapped, he fell into the water lifelessly.
If Harry hadn't kept telling himself that it wasn't his lungs filling completely with water, he would have been in a panic. As it was, he could only watch with morbid fascination as Voldemort started to drown. Idly, Harry wondered what would happen to him if he did. He couldn't die, after all. Would his body be destroyed, as it had been when he had tried to kill Harry as a baby?
The question soon became academic, as Harry felt himself being yanked to shore by a large walking stick with a crimson headcloth tied around it. The cloth looped over his head and arms and, with a great deal of effort, Septimus Prince pulled Voldemort from the water, his body still half-human, half-snake. He coughed violently and spat up a small amount of water, his snake-like nostrils flaring as he began to breathe normally again.
"What happened in there?" Septimus asked concernedly as Voldemort slipped once again into his throbe, at last completing the transformation from his animagus form.
"The Emerald of Edessa," Voldemort said through ragged breaths, "…was there, but it wasn't…the horcrux. There was nothing left of him. Nothing…" Voldemort's clenched fist pounded the sand, much of it sticking to the wet skin on his knuckles.
"Never mind all of that," Septimus interrupted impatiently. "What of the emerald itself? Did you take it?"
"It's gone," Voldemort replied in a raspy voice. "I destroyed it." His eyes lingered on one of his footprints in the sand as every trace of it blew away slowly. "Whenever I spoke to it…in parseltongue, the stone shattered into pieces…"
Septimus swore and kicked the sand. "That bloody emerald was worth more than half the vaults in Gringotts! Did you know that? I could have been rich enough to…" Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he met Septimus' irritated glare. The hatred in the Dark Lord's eyes bade Prince to fall silent for a moment.
It was only temporary, however. As the old man looked over the fallen form of Lord Voldemort, he let out a long sigh. "Did you really think that this was going to make everything simple for you, Tom Marvolo? Solve all of your problems? Give your life direction and meaning?" Septimus shook his head sadly. "Have I taught you nothing?"
"You've taught me lies and half-truths," Voldemort snarled back, his voice fully sounding like the one Harry knew and loathed for the first time. "Damn it, Septimus, I'm tired of being toyed with! I'm sick of feeling like a pawn in a game that began centuries before I was even born." Rising to stand in one fluid motion, Voldemort rounded on Prince with fury blazing in his eyes.
"Chasing horcruxes is a game best played by fools," Septimus remarked grimly. "Immortality is a thing often desired, seldom realized, and very seldom desired once it has been realized." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Although I suppose the greatest fool is the one who makes a horcrux in the first place. Wizards have been creating them for countless millennia. Yet how many thousand-year-old wizards do you see walking around? None. It's a complete waste of time and magic."
Voldemort began to quiver in fury. "What would you know about it?" he asked angrily, his wand hand rising menacingly. "You're just a bitter, frustrated old squib!" A pained expression came over the older man's face. "Or do you think I haven't seen all of those spells you've written? There are reams of them, hidden all over your shop. Does it kill you to know that you'll never be able to cast even a single one of them?"
"Are you quite finished?" Septimus asked curtly, his voice chilly but calm. "Slytherin was no fool. He would have realized the danger inherent in relying only on a horcrux to keep him alive." Voldemort's glare must have been murderous, as Septimus flinched instinctively. "All I'm suggesting is that perhaps he found some other way of ensuring his immortality."
"And just what would that be, exactly?" Voldemort demanded, clearly still seething. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you holding something back from me, Septimus?"
"What would I be holding back?" Septimus retorted. "I'm just a 'bitter, frustrated old squib', after all."
"Indeed you are," Voldemort agreed mercilessly. "But you're also a knowledgeable bitter, frustrated old squib. And right now you're all I have."
"Very well. If you truly don't want me to hold back," he began wearily. "Pack it in, Tom Marvolo. Abandon your quest. You have the potential to be one of the greatest wizards who ever lived. But this obsession is destroying you." Voldemort turned away from him to stare at the billowing hills of sand surrounding them. "Forget about being Slytherin's Heir and find your own path to power. Seize it before it's too late."
"And if I choose not to?" Voldemort asked, his voice sounding like a pouting child's.
Septimus considered that for a moment. "Then I suggest you go back to the beginning. Retrace your steps to discover what brought you to this point and start anew. Perhaps you'll find something that you missed the first time around." Septimus moved to face Voldemort. "That means going back to Hogwarts, Tom Marvolo. Back to the Chamber of Secrets." He gave Voldemort a manly slap on the back that, in his weakened state, nearly knocked him down. "For now, though, why don't you go back into that cave and gather up the shards of the Emerald of Edessa? I'd wager I could still get a few hundred galleons a piece for them, if the buyer's gullible enough."
***
"Wingardium leviosa." Harry focused intently on the feather lying on the bed between Hermione and himself,
his eyes shut tightly, his whole face screwed up in concentration and his hands clutching his knees painfully. "Is
it doing anything?" he asked Hermione in a strained voice.
"It looks like it's moving," Hermione replied optimistically. Harry allowed himself a slight grin of victory at that. "On second thought, maybe not," she continued sheepishly. "I think it was just floating. There is a bit of a draft in here, you know."
Taking the setback in stride, Harry smiled at Hermione coyly. "So that's why you've been snuggling so close to me at night." He expected Hermione to hit him in the arm for that remark, but as he opened his eyes he saw that she had turned pink with embarrassment instead.
"I reckon this makes it official," Harry said, smartly deciding to change the subject. "I'm rubbish at occlumency, wandless magic and French cuisine." Here he referred to his attempt last night to give Kreacher the night off and make a cheese soufflé. Three extra-strength cooling charms and a special hex that Hermione had learned to dispel smoke later, Harry decided that perhaps he had better leave the majority of the cooking to the Black family house elf in future. "On the other hand, I'm ridiculously wealthy, good at Quidditch and I've never been more fanciable. D'you think any of those things might help me beat Voldemort?"
"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said softly, her eyes shyly examining the top sheet below them. "I suppose I'm not a very good teacher."
Harry shook his head quickly. "You're an excellent teacher, Hermione." Harry left the bed to walk over to the dresser, plucked his wand from the pocket of a set of robes he had draped there the night before and turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully. "I just don't seem to be very good at learning anything lately."
"But…Harry…" Hermione began in protest. "It doesn't make sense! Without a wand, you cast a severing charm on a net the size of this room. When you were about to destroy Slytherin's locket, you used the summoning charm without even saying a word!"
"And now I can't make a feather float," Harry grumbled. "It just doesn't add up, does it?"
"It has to," Hermione said confidently, although an anxious expression dominated her features as she looked especially thoughtful for a moment. "What if it's all tied to your emotions?" she asked, biting down on her bottom lip slightly as she sat up on the bed to face him.
"My emotions?" Harry questioned with a puzzled look on his face. "You mean I can only do wandless magic when I feel a certain way?"
Hermione seemed cautiously optimistic. "Maybe." Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "When I was growing up, there were times that the magic inside me would come out unexpectedly. There was an incident with a shelf full of heavy reference books and a snotty little brat who always called me a 'know-it-all bookworm' that comes to mind." Harry smiled at that. "Each time my emotional state helped trigger these little magical 'accidents'. I didn't need a wand to direct the flow of magic; just a strong emotion, like anger or fear…"
"Or love," Harry finished for her before he could stop himself. Their eyes met and Harry could swear he felt a spark of electricity course through his veins.
"I…suppose love would have to be in there, too," Hermione finished with an awkward laugh as she forced her eyes away from his own. "All I'm saying is that maybe wandless magic works the same way. Your emotions govern its use until you can master it."
"So all I have to do to move the feather is have strong feelings about it?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "I don't suppose really, really wanting it to float counts?" Harry collapsed on the bed and gave the feather a cross look. "I guess I could pretend it was Ravenclaw's quill. Now there's a feather that brings out my emotions. Frustration, anger, more frustration…" Harry sighed softly. "I wish I would have just hexed Brinecove and taken the ruddy thing."
"That would have been monumentally stupid, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Attacking a teacher to steal school property at a murder scene wasn't the best idea you've ever had."
"I didn't say it would have been a good idea," Harry countered cheekily. "I said I wish I would have done it. There's a difference."
"Professor Brinecove certainly has been eating up the attention," Hermione said with an air of disgust as she eyed a copy of the Daily Prophet sitting on the end of the bed. Commodus Brinecove's smiling face filled up the picture on the front page, as the headline blared, "Hogwarts Professor Captures Suspected Death Eater". The line below it read "Narcissa Malfoy to Be Charged with Murder, Conspiracy, Treason."
"I wonder if she'll end up in a cell next to her husband's?" Harry asked, but Hermione was no longer listening to him. She was reading an article further down the page about the new measure passed by the Wizengamot requiring qualifying students to either return to Hogwarts or pay a hefty fine. There was now even talk of banning truant students from Hogwarts for life. "Have you changed your mind?" Harry inquired, his demeanor suddenly very serious.
"About what?" Hermione asked, for once seemingly unable to read Harry's mind.
"About going back to Hogwarts," Harry elaborated. "I'll pay the fine, if that's what's worrying you."
"It isn't," Hermione replied with a polite smile. "And I haven't changed my mind. I'm staying with you. I'll be here as long as you need me."
Her loyalty to him couldn't help but make him smile back; however, Harry knew Hermione well enough to realize that she wasn't being entirely honest with him. "But you think we should go back."
Hermione turned away from him to place the newspaper on a small table next to the bed. "Well, we'll have to go back eventually, won't we? To get the quill."
Harry shook his head. "That's not what I mean and you know it."
"Would it really be so terrible?" Hermione snapped and the veneer of harmony that had existed between them in the days since Hogwarts had re-opened was gone in an instant. "Minister Scrimgeour might be nothing more than a longwinded political opportunist, but he was right about one thing: Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the wizarding world. That's part of the reason why Dumbledore always fought so hard to keep it open, and to keep you in school."
Harry threw his hands up in frustration. "Dumbledore's dead, Hermione, and if Voldemort has his way, I will be, too. So if safety's what you're worried about, you should probably stay as far away from me as possible!"
"Don't be an idiot," Hermione countered, emotion heavy in her voice. "I'm thinking about your safety, too. I always do." Her expression became stormy. "There are things that you need to learn, Harry, things that could actually help you defeat him. Things that, as hard as I try, I can't teach you."
"What?" Harry scoffed. "Occlumency and wandless magic? Funny, I've never seen those offered as classes at Hogwarts before."
"Professor Chambers could…" Hermione began.
"And what about the horcruxes?" Harry demanded, not caring to hear what Professor Chambers could do. "Are we just supposed to forget about them?"
"Of course not," Hermione answered, sounding a little hurt by the accusation. "But we could always keep researching them from Hogwarts. I think we've more or less exhausted the Black family library and I'll bet Headmistress McGonagall would let us have access to the restricted section, if we told her what it was for. There might be loads of new books to look through."
Harry left the bed to stand and face the doorway, his eyes glassy and distant. "Harry, talk to me. Tell me why this is bothering you so much." As he kept giving her the silent treatment, Hermione began to make Harry's side of the bed, as much to give herself something to do as out of a penchant for neatness. She hated not knowing what to say to Harry; hated this awkward silence that was now a barrier between them. "I, erm, found a reference in one of the Leach guides to a vampire collector in Romania who might have ended up with some of the items from Septimus Prince's estate. However, the article doesn't make it very clear whether the collector is a vampire or someone who collects vampires, so I don't really know who to..." Harry did not seem to be paying attention to what she was saying. "This is about Dumbledore, isn't it?"
Harry did not turn around to face her as he spoke. "Dumbledore didn't collect vampires, Hermione. And if he ever lived in Romania, he never told me about it."
"The reason that you don't want to go back to Hogwarts has to do with Dumbledore," Hermione corrected him with a look of grim determination on her face. "Hogwarts has always been more than just a school to you, it's been your home. But without Dumbledore…"
"It's just a castle," Harry finished for her, his voice oddly flat. "Full of reminders of things that don't exist anymore."
Hermione nodded, a look of understanding crossing her face. "Are you sure you're up to seeing him again?" They had made arrangements with the goblin in charge of Gringotts' probate accounts to view Dumbledore's pensieve will in only a few hours' time.
"I won't exactly be seeing him, will I?" Harry asked bitterly, finally turning to face Hermione. "It'll just be a memory. I might as well have a conversation with his chocolate frog card."
Hermione shot him a look that said that she saw right through him. "It's alright to be nervous about it, but I know you're expecting him to tell you something important. You get that hopeful look on your face every time you talk about it."
"I don't have a hopeful…" Harry started to reply indignantly, but Hermione's hand reached out to touch his face before he could stop her.
"It's your eyebrows, see?" she remarked as she brushed his forehead with her fingers. "They rise up ever so slightly…"
Harry caught Hermione's hand in his own, holding her wrist gently with his fingers. He took a moment to relish how her hand felt in his own, how they seemed to fit together just so. Harry was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were to each other, their lips only inches apart, her breath warming his cheek. "Hermione, I…"
With a loud bang, the door to their bedroom slammed open, nearly making a crack in the wall as it did so. Both Harry and Hermione instinctively reached for their wands. "What was that?" Harry asked breathlessly.
"There's nothing here," Hermione assessed after doing a few quick detection spells to make sure nobody was hiding under an invisibility cloak or using a disillusionment charm. "Do you think maybe you could have done it? By accident, of course."
"Yeah, I reckon it's a possibility," Harry answered her, his voice betraying a lingering sense of apprehension. "My emotions were running pretty high there for a minute."
"Listen, Harry," Hermione began, as she eyed the floor apologetically, "about going back to school…"
"You were right about Dumbledore's pensieve will," Harry interrupted. Hermione's head shot up and her eyes met his questioningly. "I don't want to get your hopes up, but I think there might be something important he didn't have time to tell me while he was alive. Something that might help us find the remaining horcruxes. If there isn't…" Harry swallowed and brought his hand up to cup Hermione's chin. "If there isn't, then we'll go back to Hogwarts."
Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "Alright, Harry," she said acquiescently. "I think I can live with that. But I don't want you to feel like I've forced you into anything."
"You haven't," Harry assured her as he put his hand on her shoulder soothingly, giving it a reassuring rub. "It may be a bit awkward at first, but going back to Hogwarts does make a good deal of sense. I just wish we weren't going back without…"
"Ron," Hermione said at the same time Harry did. "I know what you mean. Everything's so uncertain right now." She brought her head to rest in the crook of Harry's arm as his hands slid slowly down her back. "It's times like this I wish I could talk to…" She let out a small gasp and pushed herself away from him. "My parents!"
"I don't see any reason why you couldn't," Harry pointed out, a bit perplexed (and more than a little disappointed) by Hermione's abrupt departure from his arms. "You can apparate over there any time you like, you know. Or there's a telephone booth a few blocks down if you just want to give them a ring. I could even send Hedwig…"
"No, Harry," Hermione corrected him through clenched teeth. "My parents. Are here. Now!"
A feeling of immense dread filled Harry as he spun slowly around, putting what he hoped was a safe distance between himself and Hermione. In the doorway stood Hermione's parents, looking much the same as they had all the times he had briefly caught their eye while at King's Cross, except they were now glowering at him furiously. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger! N…nice to see you again."
"Mum, Dad," Hermione began, her voice conveying her total shock at the situation. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be…"
"We're not supposed to be here?" her father, a tall, brown-haired man wearing a business suit and otherwise looking completely nondescript demanded incredulously. "Oh, that's rich. That's a bloody laugh riot, that is."
"Headmistress McGonagall paid us a visit yesterday," Mrs. Granger continued tersely, her own angry face looking uncannily like an older version of Hermione's when she was on the warpath. "She informed us that you were no longer attending Hogwarts and expressed deep concern over your academic future. She said you were a 'very bright witch' and actually asked us if we'd had you transferred to another wizarding school. As if we have any control over what you do anymore."
"Mum, I can explain," Hermione said, although she did not sound very convinced of that herself. Harry ached to close the distance between them and lend her some support, but his fear of making the situation worse kept him frozen in place.
"Oh, I'd wager I can explain it fairly well myself," her mother said with a cold smile. "Here you are, living in a mansion with a rich and handsome young man. He's made you forget all about going to school and getting good grades. He's swept you off of your feet and you're madly in love with him. Unless I'm misreading the fact that both your things and his are in this room, I'm going to hazard a guess and say that you're sleeping with him, too."
"We had such high hopes for you, Hermione," Mr. Granger threw in, a heavy sadness evident in his voice. "How did it come to this? Do you have any idea how disappointed we are in you?"
Hermione wasn't doing a very good job of fighting back tears. "Please don't do this to me. Not here, not like this."
"You're right," Mrs. Granger agreed with a thin smile that did not match the cold glare in her eyes. "There really isn't any reason to embarrass you further in front of your boyfriend. You're coming home with us."
Having had quite enough of the three of them talking as though he wasn't there, Harry stepped in front of Hermione, putting himself squarely between her and her parents. "That isn't going to happen," he informed them matter-of-factly. "Hermione's of age now. She doesn't have to go anywhere with you if she doesn't want to."
"She's only of age in the wizarding world," Hermione's father pointed out with a triumphant smirk. "We're still her guardians in the muggle world for a few more weeks. Unless you managed to slip a rock on her finger before jumping in the sack with her, we're completely within our rights to take her home with us."
"We're not sleeping together," Harry replied in a self-righteous tone. The Grangers shot him a look of disbelief. "Alright, so we are sleeping together, but it's not what you think. Everything is…complicated, right now. Trust me, Hermione's helping me do something vitally important to the survival of our world." As Hermione's parents still looked skeptical, Harry's own temper was reaching the boiling point. "You know what? Bugger trusting me. If you don't trust your daughter, then you obviously don't know her as well as I do. She's the most caring, compassionate, and kind-hearted person I've ever known. I trust her with my life." Harry reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "And I'm not about to let you take her from this house without Hermione's say so."
As all three of them slowly turned their attention to Hermione, he noticed that her eyes were now free of tears. "That's not yours anymore," she said, pointing to a red checked tie that her father was wearing.
The Grangers seemed confused, while Harry looked chagrined. "I don't think this is helping," he whispered to her nervously. "You're sounding like Luna Lovegood."
Hermione ignored him as she stepped in front of him to confront her parents. "I gave you that tie as a birthday present when I was seven years old. You told me you loved it, but as soon as I went away to Hogwarts, Mum repackaged it and gave it to my cousin Clarence as a Christmas present. You didn't think I would notice, but I did." Hermione froze suddenly. "Mum, how's Crookshanks?"
"Crookshanks is fine, dear," Hermione's mother answered, seemingly befuddled by the question. "Although he's been anxious for you to come home for weeks now…"
Harry watched in fascination as Hermione shook her head incredulously. "That's a bit odd, don't you think? Considering that I left him with Susan Bones over the summer. I'd imagine he's probably back at Hogwarts by now, even though I'm not." Her confidence and poise had returned and she was now looking at the figures in front of her with contempt in her eyes. "I don't know who you are, but you're not my parents."
Harry almost let out a sigh of relief, until he realized only a split second later that if these people were not Hermione's parents, they were impersonating them for a reason, quite possibly a very dangerous one. "So I suppose the only question left to be answered is: who are you really and what are you doing here?"
In one of those incredibly rare moments of fortuitous timing, Kreacher entered the room. "Is Master Potter and his…unfortunately parented miss alright? Kreacher heard strange voices…" As soon as the blue-skinned house elf entered the room and faced the Grangers, their image began to transform. Harry was flabbergasted to see the black dress that Hermione had looked so stunning in at Bill and Fleur's wedding now being worn by its former owner. Walburga Black stood where the image of Hermione's parents had once been, brandishing a pair of charcoal gray socks and trying to hand them to Kreacher.
"No," the house elf pleaded pitifully. "Please Mistress, no. Kreacher never meant to betray you by serving blood traitors! Please don't set Kreacher free!"
Harry walked up to the image of Sirius' mother and leveled his wand at her. "Riddikulus," he intoned evenly, flicking his wand and pointing it at the boggart. In an instant, it became a ridiculously oversized sock puppet, still wearing that much maligned black dress. Nobody could muster up a laugh.
"Get rid of it, Harry," Hermione pleaded. Her eyes looked weary and her demeanor frazzled, as though she had been up all night studying for an exam. Harry knew that he probably didn't look much better.
"It's just a boggart, Hermione," Harry assured her. "What could it possibly…?" But the look on her face told him everything. She was embarrassed; embarrassed that she was still so afraid of failure, of disappointing others, just as she had been in third year when they had to face a boggart during their final in Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Harry had faced the boggart, too, and had seen the same thing Hermione had. How was that possible? Did it mean that Harry now feared Hermione's parents more than dementors, Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort himself? 'No,' he answered himself quickly. 'What I fear the most is Hermione being taken away from me by something I can't fight. More than anything else in the world, I'm afraid of losing Hermione.' With that thought fixed in his mind, he ushered the boggart into a dusty old cabinet downstairs, vowing to banish it whenever he felt like laughing again. Judging from his melancholy mood, that would be a very long time from now.
***
Vault 1764 was buried deep within the heart of Gringotts, with the only way to access it a long and grueling cart ride
through the underground tunnels beneath the wizard's bank. The goblin occupying the seat next to Harry, who bore
the unlikely name of Taperlobe, sprang from his seat in a bounce, while Hermione had turned an unpleasant shade of
green. Ever the gentleman, Harry helped her from the cart as it ground to a halt, all the while thinking rather
ungentlemanly thoughts about how to vomit up his breakfast without anyone else seeing.
Taperlobe jangled his keys in search of the one which would open the vault. As the three of them approached the large metallic door with the number '1764' seared on it, a cold shiver of anticipation ran up Harry's spine. He felt as though he were visiting Dumbledore's tomb all over again and a mournful, somber expression came over his face.
As the goblin's bony hand turned the key, Hermione tried in vain to make small talk. "Do you think most of the goblins will side with Voldemort, when the time comes? Or with the Ministry?" Taperlobe ignored her with little difficulty. "I know it might be hard to talk about now, but it really is rather important…"
"Here we are," the goblin's squeaky voice interrupted coldly. "Vault 1764. Personal effects of departed Hogwarts staff members and faculty."
The interior of the vault was as large as the one which stored Harry's wealth only a few hundred meters of track away, but was nearly empty, containing only a handful of items that were randomly scattered about the room. While Hermione examined a curious-looking foe glass, Harry felt oddly drawn to a vacant part of the room, as if some invisible force were beckoning him there. Taperlobe meanwhile gestured to an old hatbox which stood in the middle of the room, gathering dust. "This is the pensieve will of the deceased, Mr. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the goblin declared airily. "The two of you have been brought here per his final request, although there was also a Mr. Ronald Weasley who…"
"He couldn't make it," Harry told the goblin, his eyes never leaving the pensieve and his tone of voice deceptively calm and even.
"Very well," Taperlobe replied gruffly. "I shall leave you two alone to view the will. Bear in mind, however, that this vault is monitored constantly both by Gringotts security and by pre-authorized personnel at Hogwarts. Look at nothing, touch nothing, interact with nothing." As the goblin exited the vault, Hermione moved to stand closer to the pensieve will.
Cautiously, Harry removed the lid from the box and stared down at the swirling white mist inside for a few long moments. Despite his expressed indifference, he was a little nervous about seeing Dumbledore again. "Would you rather do this alone?" Hermione asked softly. She was standing beside him with a brave look on her face, her arm casually interlocked with his own.
Harry shook his head forcefully. "No. I need you with me." He looked up from the pensieve to meet Hermione's gaze and flashed her a winning smile. "Besides, I might forget something. You won't." She smiled shyly back in reply. "Are you ready for this?" he asked her, although he was unsure if he would ever be ready for it himself. When Hermione nodded, they both plunged into the pensieve.
Harry and Hermione were suddenly no longer standing in the middle of a cavernous Gringotts vault but in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, surrounded by Dumbledore's collection of knickknacks and the various portraits of Headmasters' past. Fawkes sat on his perch in a cage near the stair, stretching lazily and looking as though he might have to go through a burning day in a few weeks' time. Behind the large desk in the middle of the room was the man whose memory they were reliving right now, the greatest wizard Harry had ever known and the best mentor and friend he could have asked for, although at times he could also be the most frustrating.
Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk looking over a thick stack of parchment, his half-moon shaped glasses reflecting the soft glow of candlelight. "You may come closer if you like, Harry," his deep voice advised gently, although his eyes never left the parchment. "I would offer you a seat and a lemon drop, but you see, you're not really here." Dumbledore looked up thoughtfully. "Although I suppose from your point of view, I'm the one who's not really here. Perspective really does count for a great deal, doesn't it?"
As Harry and Hermione moved closer to the Headmaster's desk, they noticed that both of Dumbledore's hands were perfectly normal. 'This must be a memory from before I started sixth year,' Harry thought dispiritedly. 'Before we even began looking for the horcruxes, or going through Tom Riddle's memories. What could he possibly have to say to me now?' Harry frowned in thought. 'Or would that be 'then'? This perspective business is bound to give a bloke a splitting headache.'
"I apologize for meeting you like this, Harry," Dumbledore said as he rose from behind his desk to stand over them, his shadow falling just where Harry and Hermione would have been if they were really standing in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. "This is not how I imagined our last meeting. However, these are dangerous times, and I am a very old man. Death is an inevitable fact and war only makes it that much more likely. Still, I've lived a long and happy life. My only regret is that I did not live long enough to see you through the difficult times that are to come. Although you have endured much, I'm afraid there are still more trials ahead for you. Greater trials than any young man your age should have to go through. For that, I truly am sorry."
Dumbledore walked around them to stand in front of his desk. "I have had the great sorrow and the great joy of watching my two most promising young students grow to become something that I myself never would have expected. Tom followed an ancient path of evil, losing the most important part of himself in a quest to preserve his own life for all eternity, making it a purposeless effort in the process.
"But you, Harry, have chosen to reject evil, time and again. Your choice has been clear from the first time you stepped through these doors. From the moment you chose Ron Weasley as a friend instead of Draco Malfoy; Gryffindor House rather than Slytherin. A decision the Sorting Hat still adamantly opposes, by the way." With an amused expression, he pointed to the weathered hat sitting on the shelf, a surly look etched on its face. " My one great hope for you is that you never forget that choice, nor what was going through your mind when you made it. For sometimes, Harry, the greatest evil we face lies not behind a Death Eater's mask or a dementor's cloak, but in ourselves.
"I have accomplished many things in the course of my life. Vanquishing Grindelwald, discovering the twelve uses of dragon's blood and, of course, getting my own chocolate frog card that will allow posterity to know that I vanquished Grindelwald and discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood. Memories fade and the memories of Professor Binns' History of Magic lectures fade more quickly than most, but chocolate frog cards are forever." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "However, a part of me fears that the only thing I have truly bequeathed to the world is this war. I once held the future of Tom Marvolo Riddle in my hands. I could have let him remain in a muggle orphanage, cut off from the rest of wizardkind forever. But I chose to give him a chance in our world, because I sensed greatness in him. However, I could not still the fire that burned in his heart, nor end his hatred with my displays of mercy, understanding and kindness. Tom could never truly appreciate goodness and love, as he had never experienced either himself. It took me far, far too long to realize that.
"If it is my lot to be forever remembered as the wizard who allowed Tom Marvolo Riddle to become Lord Voldemort, then I hope I shall also be remembered as the one who gave Harry Potter what he needed to fulfill his destiny, to become the Chosen One. After your parents were killed, I was unsure of what would become of you, orphaned and abandoned on your aunt and uncle's doorstep as an infant. Would you become bitter, isolated and angry, just as Tom had? I had reason to believe that you would. Your Aunt and Uncle were certainly not kind to you. It was when I saw you in the hospital wing, after you had defeated Professor Quirrell and saved the Philosopher's Stone, that I knew I had been wrong to doubt you. In the years since, you've proven yourself to be a great wizard on countless occasions. Your parents would have been quite proud of the man you've become, Harry, just as I am. Just as I always will be, no matter where the next great adventure takes me."
Hermione entwined the fingers of her left hand with those in Harry's right. "I could stand here and reminisce with you all day, Harry, but what would be the point? Sooner or later, this memory will come to an end and there are several things we need to discuss first. First and foremost are the horcruxes." Hermione's eyes brightened noticeably and Harry's pulse quickened in anticipation. "They are Tom's Achilles heel, his greatest weakness. You have already destroyed one during second year, when you drove a basilisk's fang through Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets. I have reason to believe that he made six more and that he may have placed particular emphasis on items owned by the founders of Hogwarts. Finding and destroying the horcruxes is essential to defeating Voldemort. You must never forget that."
"The next matter I wish to discuss," Dumbledore began, but Harry had stopped paying attention.
"That's it?" he asked Hermione in a disappointed whisper. "That's all he's going to say about the horcruxes?"
"Be patient, Harry, and listen. Maybe he's not finished," Hermione replied, which was the politest way of saying 'shut up' that Harry had ever heard.
"…Snape," was what Dumbledore was saying whenever Harry began listening again. "I know your animosity toward him runs deep and that you have many valid reasons to hate him. You must put your personal feelings aside, however, and learn to trust Severus Snape, as I have, for he possesses the key to your very survival."
"Snape killed you!" Harry yelled at the image of Dumbledore, as if warning him of his impending fate could somehow bring him back. "He nearly killed Ron! How am I supposed to…"
Hermione pressed her palm against Harry's chest. "Remember where you are, Harry," she said, her voice oddly serene, although Harry heard a note of sadness in it. "This isn't why we're here."
"The Order of the Phoenix will likely be thrown into chaos by my death," Dumbledore continued, oblivious to Harry's outburst. "In my own vanity, I fear I have made myself the indispensable man in the Order. Please do not stand on ceremony as a tribute to me. The Order of the Phoenix is only a tool in the larger war against Voldemort. If it no longer functions as such, feel free to do away with it and start again, with yourself, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger as charter members, of course. I leave this matter to your good judgment, which brings me rather nicely to a confession I'd like to make.
"For the last several months, I have been administering something called carpe diem potion to you in your food and drink." As Harry's jaw dropped, Dumbledore calmly drank an orange-colored solution from a goblet. "It has no distinctive taste or smell, imbues the drinker with additional courage and is otherwise completely harmless. I often drink it myself." Hermione frowned deeply and appeared to be mulling something over in her mind. "I urge you to continue taking it, as I find it a convenient cure for the natural timidity having to make a life-or-death decision instantaneously can cause. Providing leadership in a time of war has driven men to find solace in any number of horrible things. Carpe diem potion is far from the worst.
"And that, I believe, is the most terrible part of the legacy I have left you, Harry. The burden of waging and winning the war is now completely on your shoulders. It will take a combination of wisdom, intelligence, strength and good fortune that few men have ever possessed to be able to do so. Happily, I have seen each of these qualities in you. Even more fortunately, you have friends who have demonstrated them as well. Miss Granger in particular, I think, will be most helpful to you in this regard." Harry looked at Hermione with an appreciation that had very little to do with the fact that he was in love with her.
"Do not forget the words of the prophecy, Harry. You have a power the Dark Lord knows not. I believe that it is a willingness to forgive those who have wronged you, the ability to inspire trust and loyalty in others, the power to love unconditionally. Put simply, it is a desire to embrace what makes us mortal, rather than run from it." Dumbledore's face shone brightly in that moment, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and hope. "When the final battle comes, it is those qualities in you, Harry, that will ultimately defeat Voldemort."
Harry was silent as he stood over the pensieve, his hands still gripping the sides of the box after pulling his head from the white mist. Hermione was giving him her trademark look of concern. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, although this time there was nothing awkward about the silence. "So that's it, then," Harry finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said, the anguish she felt for him bleeding from her voice. "I know you were expecting more than that…"
Harry threw the hatbox-shaped pensieve will across the room, his hands balling themselves into fists. "You're bloody well right I was expecting more than that!" Harry began pacing around the room anxiously. "The last thing I needed was a great load of rubbish about trusting Snape and what a great wizard I am! Why didn't he just give me a pat on the head and tell me to eat my sodding vegetables?"
"Harry, stop," Hermione advised, her voice purposely calm and rational.
Deciding to ignore her for the moment, Harry continued ranting. "How exactly am I supposed to trust Snape, anyway? He's in a coma and, here's an interesting side note, he's a Death Eater! If I'm such a great wizard who has this power to beat Voldemort, why haven't I used it already? Why won't anybody tell me what it is? And what the bloody hell is carpe diem potion?"
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands grabbing his shoulders and her eyes meeting his with a look of stern determination. "Calm down. Take deep breaths. Pretend like this is an occlumency lesson." As Harry closed his eyes, he could already feel his heartbeat slow and his breathing beginning to return to normal. Hermione always seemed to know how best to deal with his anger. "Carpe diem potion was a product that was supposed to make those who drank it exceptionally brave. It was taken off of the market years ago because it tends to accelerate the production of male hormones and, in rare cases, causes hallucinations. Why Dumbledore thought you needed it I have no idea. You've never been short on bravery."
Harry opened his eyes and smiled at her widely. "The power he knows not…that's something you're going to have to figure out for yourself, Harry. Right now, you probably know Tom Marvolo Riddle better than anyone." 'Now there's a depressing thought,' Harry said to himself. "As for Snape…" she began tentatively.
"Don't tell me you're going to defend him," Harry said, his anger beginning to flare again.
"Of course not," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "Not after he killed Dumbledore. But perhaps we should examine his motives more closely. Remember what Mundungus said."
Harry thought back to how certain Mundungus Fletcher was that Dumbledore couldn't have been murdered, that he couldn't have died unless he wanted to. Harry shook his head slowly. "Mundungus trusted Snape, too. Look where it got him."
"I'm not saying that we should trust Snape, I'm just saying…" Her voice trailed off suddenly, her eyes fixing on something across the room. "That's Professor Brinecove."
Harry's worried expression deepened. "What?"
"In the foe glass," Hermione elaborated as she walked over to the old device sitting not far from the vault door. Harry followed her without hesitation. "You see? There. It's Commodus Brinecove."
Indeed, the face in the glass was Brinecove's, the chiseled features and peppered black and gray hair now all too familiar. "All that means is that Brinecove is someone's worst enemy, which I don't find very hard to believe, by the way. I don't see…"
"Let's talk about what we don't see for a moment," Hermione cut in. "Remember when Taperlobe said that someone from Hogwarts was monitoring this vault. Have you given any thought as to how they're doing it?"
The light dawned on Harry. "Through the foe glass. It's some sort of two-way mirror or something."
"Exactly," Hermione responded anxiously. "And he's already seen us."
Harry's shoulders slumped. "To tell you the truth, Hermione, I don't care. We're going to Hogwarts anyway. It doesn't much matter to me whether or not we go back at wandpoint."
"Well, it matters to me," Hermione replied insistently. "In fact, maybe we should delay going back to Hogwarts. At least for a little while."
"What?" Harry wondered aloud, completely perplexed by Hermione's behavior. "What changed your mind?"
"You," she answered quickly, "and Dumbledore. I'm not sure I know quite how to explain it, but Dumbledore always made me feel so completely safe and sure of myself. There's only one other person who's ever made me feel that way." The intensity in her eyes left no doubt in Harry's mind that she was talking about him. "Somehow, I think we have everything we need to defeat Voldemort already. It's just a matter of learning what it is and how to use it." Hermione had begun idly playing with the buttons of Harry's shirt as she spoke. "Besides, we're only a few solid leads away from finding Hufflepuff's cup, and I've been working on putting the remains of the Animus Signatus potion back to…" Hermione gasped suddenly. "He's gone!"
"Who?" Harry asked reflexively. When Hermione indicated the foe glass, Harry nodded in understanding. "Brinecove. He won't waste a lot of time making his way here."
Hermione bit her lip. "I'll bet he's authorized to use the two-way portkeys the Ministry installed at Hogwarts, too." She grabbed Harry by the hand and began leading . "Come on. Let's get out of here." Upon exiting the vault, however, they found that the goblin who had brought them there was long gone. Harry swore under his breath. "Accio cart!" Hermione said, pointing her wand in the direction of the track. After a few moments of waiting, nothing happened.
"Here's an idea," Harry announced suddenly as he led Hermione by the hand back into the vault. "Hide."
"Hide where?" Hermione wanted to know. "Behind a shoebox? There's nothing in here!"
"Maybe," Harry mused thoughtfully. He suddenly withdrew his wand and cast a revealing charm on the blank wall. A thick, cobweb-laden red curtain appeared, obscuring a doorway. "Then again, maybe not."
Hermione took the time to check the curtain for harmful jinxes and curses. After she was completely satisfied that there were none, the two of them pulled the curtain aside and crossed the threshold, only to see…yet another odd-looking brown box with a white glow around the top. "Another pensieve?" he wondered aloud.
"Strange, isn't it?" Hermione assessed quickly. "There are other pensieve wills out there. Why all the secrecy surrounding this one?"
Harry smiled mischievously at her. "Curious to see what's in it?"
"No," Hermione replied automatically. Harry shot her a look of disbelief. "Alright, yes. But Harry we were strictly forbidden from…"
"I'm going in," Harry announced confidently as he strode over to the pensieve and removed the lid. His eyes searched hers expectantly. "Are you coming?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, the things you talk me into doing."
A moment later, they were inside a luxuriously decorated room, filled with more precious antique items than you were likely to see in your average museum. Harry caught himself watching his step a bit, despite the fact that he could not touch anything here. Standing in the middle of the vast array of valuable items was a slight man with a pale complexion who wore a turban on his head and looked strikingly familiar. "I, Janus Quirrell, being of sound m-mind and body, leave everything here to my Uncle M-M-M-Mordred."
"Harry, look," Hermione explained, pointing frantically at something just over Professor Quirrell's shoulder. "Isn't that…"
It was just as Harry remembered it. "Hufflepuff's cup."
This was a long one, so thanks to everyone just for reading it all the way through. Chapter 11 is the one you've all been waiting for...the one where Ginny comes back! Also H/Hr might kiss or something. It's called "Something Off His Chest", so draw from that what you will. All reviews are appreciated!
ITL