Bones Manor was to be found in Cornwall a few miles away from the town of Falmouth. Situated in an isolated area and surrounded on all sides by the English countryside, the recently rebuilt large Elizabethan house was once full of members of the Bones family. However, in his first bid for domination, Voldemort decided to make an example of the family. As a consequence, twenty three of twenty six members of the family and all of the family house-elves were slaughtered in one night. The survivors, William, his wife, Sophia and his cousin, Amelia were alive only because they weren't around when it happened.
Devastated, the surviving members hid themselves away in Muggle Britain in a house bought through William's Muggle in-laws which they then placed under a bevy of wards.
Once Voldemort was vanquished and his Death Eaters captured or killed, William had set about renovating the ancestral manor. As a precaution, he also upgraded the previous wards (which were quite frankly, pathetic) adding in a secrecy charm which, while not as powerful as the Fidelius, was good enough to ensure that future invaders would have a hard time searching for the place.
As soon as the work on the house was done, William, Sophia and their daughter, Susan moved into the manor. His cousin, on the other hand, was still attached to her townhouse in Bradford and had opted to stay there.
However now with her election to the position of Minister, Amelia Bones decided that it would be in her best interest if she were to place herself under the family wards and added security of the ancestral house. While not as secure as the Minister for Magic's official residence, living there made it possible for Amelia to spend more time with her brother, sister-in-law and niece.
And so, it was in Bones Manor and not the Minister's official residence (located in a hidden building right in front of the Visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic) that the annual Ministry New Year's party was held.
Harry tugged a bit at his new dress robes as he observed his surroundings. The New Year's party was definitely different from the ball held in Longbottom Manor. For one, it was more relaxed with a small amount of formality present. The politicking that was prevalent in the Longbottom ball was muted here, with the party-goers mingling with each other with carefree abandon, the conversation light. The dance floor also saw more people on it with the music a lot livelier.
In short, it was a slightly more sober version of the Yule Ball held in Hogwarts two years back. Of course, that didn't make it boring courtesy of the Italian female flair bartender who was as talented at mixing drinks as she was hot.
Drinks in hand, Harry made his way back to his intended. 'Where's Neville?' he asked, looking around for the boy. Harry wanted the blond to get a drink if only to see the same he had seen.
'He's with Susan,' replied Ernie. 'So I see you got drinks,' he smirked at Harry as he nodded to the glasses in Harry's hand. 'I would love to just hang out there and watch as she makes more. It's a pity that I'm not allowed to drink yet.' He looked in the direction of the bar morosely.
'Well, she does make non-alcoholic beverages, if you want.' Harry replied. He held up his glass and continued, 'I don't really know what it is, but it looks interesting.' He took a sip, 'Tastes good too.'
'What I don't understand is why you are sticking to the non-alcoholic stuff, I mean, surely now you can drink since you are emancipated and everything?' Anthony interjected.
'Oh yeah, you can, can't you? In fact, I bet you could get us all drinks!' Ernie spoke up with a look of dawning realisation on his face, inadvertently interrupting Harry from informing them that the drink in his hand was in fact alcoholic. Michael Corner and Terry Boot who were seated at the same table perked up at Ernie's words. Soon Harry was faced with the anticipatory expressions of four boys.
'Oh don't be daft,' said Daphne coming to Harry's rescue. 'Harry would have a hard time doing that as I am pretty sure that the bartender will become suspicious if he were to ask for five drinks in a row.'
'The lady makes a good point.' Terry said grudgingly as the other boys groaned. 'But still, watching her make drinks would be fun. Too bad Harry here can't watch seeing as he is about to be married.'
Harry was not surprised to hear Terry say this as he suspected that by now his status and the contract would have been an open secret to anyone who had a family member in the Ministry of Magic. Smiling at Terry, he replied easily, 'I'm about to be married, Boot, not lose my eyesight. And while I do not deny that the woman has a lot of talent, not only is she really old, but her beauty pales in comparison to the fine specimen sitting here next to me.'
His comeback had the boys laughing and the girls rolling their eyes as Daphne blushed.
'To the soon-to-be-married couple then,' said Ernie ceremoniously as he held up his glass of Butterbeer.
After they set their glasses down, Daphne touched Harry's arm, 'Harry, could we go outside please? I want some fresh air.'
'Sure,' said Harry as he got up and followed Daphne.
Making their way out of the manor, the couple strode along the snow laden garden. Harry tentatively reached a hand out and was pleasantly surprised when she grabbed it and put his arm around her shoulders, leaning her head on his shoulders as they slowly meandered through the winding path.
It took them a while, but they soon were huddled against each other in the second private spot they could find (as the first one was already occupied by a very busy Neville and Susan).
'Your wand looks different,' said Daphne idly as Harry put the aforementioned instrument back in its sheath after casting a warming charm on the both of them.
'I had it modified,' Harry explained as he leant back. Drawing the wand out again, he cast the self-named Patronus Light Charm on his right hand to provide better light.
'Wow,' said Daphne as she looked at the silvery heatless flames on his hand. 'That's beautiful! How did you do that?'
Harry smirked, 'What this little thing? It's not much ... I can teach you how to cast it now if you want.'
'Well ...' said Daphne in a trance, looking at the flames dancing on Harry's palm. 'I ... that is to say, I cannot ... not now ...' she snapped out of her daze. Looking at Harry she continued in a clearer voice. 'Can we postpone this for another time? Perhaps when school starts again? I think I can wait three days. Right now, I just want ... to talk ...'
'Um, sure,' said Harry wondering what it was. He had a feeling that she wanted to speak to him about something in private, but he didn't think that she would get to the point so soon. Underneath her cold exterior, Daphne, he found, was pretty reserved and not very comfortable talking to other people. It also took her awhile to warm up to a person. Deciding to try something new, he conjured a jar in which he deposited the flames.
'That works! ... Didn't think it would...' he muttered to himself. Turning to Daphne, he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.
Daphne stared into the distance, thinking about the past few months. Ever since she had found out about the marriage contract, things had been confused. She had known of the existence of the contract, of course, but neither she nor her parents had imagined that it would need fulfilling. After all, the only male Black was Sirius Black, and when he was alive, he was a criminal, a person living outside the law. It was both a relief and sad to find out about his posthumous exoneration. Sad, because not only did the man never get a taste for freedom, but also because the Black name, after so many centuries, had ended with his death. It was also a relief because that terrible and ill thought out contract would never need fulfilling.
So it was a shock to the family when they found out that not only was there someone who was head of House Black, but also that the contract was still valid and now included this new Lord Black. The initial suspects had been either an ancient codger who had somehow managed to cling to life after so long, or Draco Malfoy, as he was the next male with the closest blood ties to Sirius Black.
None of these options were desirable to Daphne. Not that she was any happier when she found out that it was Potter.
Daphne's initial thoughts about Harry Potter were not charitable. From what she had heard about the boy, he seemed to be of the self-righteous, egoistical, holier-than-thou kind. In other words, a black haired, green eyed, Gryffindor version of Draco Malfoy.
Armed with this knowledge, she decided her course of action. From what other people said, when she stared at a person without any expression in her ice blue eyes which were even more noticeable thanks to her black hair, it intimidated them. So it was something she did with regularity as it did keep idiots away from her and also got her what she wanted, as far as her peers were concerned, that is. It did not work on her parents. Her close friend, Tracey Davis and her sister, Astoria had mentioned to her on separate occasions that she could be very assertive to the point of aggressive when she wanted to. They had never said that again after Daphne had told them very empathically that she was not like that at all (she might or might not have used the stare when saying that).
And so, it was a completely non-assertive Daphne Greengrass who decided to take over the first meeting with her future husband Harry Potter. She started off the meeting with a lovely speech about how much she did not appreciate being married off to him. It was a speech that she was particularly proud of as she had been working on it for two whole days and incorporated many jabs at the Gryffindor. So she was understandably not amused when the prick decided to break down and start laughing in the middle of the speech.
But that was when Harry Potter started changing her view of him. As soon as he had managed to get her to agree to something, even if it was the absurdity of calling him the "Gryffindor Golden Boy", Harry had swiftly taken control of the meeting. Daphne soon found out that he wasn't pompous and stuck up as Malfoy and most of the other Slytherins and quite a few of the Ravenclaws had made him out to be. He really was a nice person, almost, dare she say it, sweet. Although he was still a reckless idiot with subtlety on par with Hagrid, but that could be changed ... hopefully. So she really shouldn't have gone ahead with her initial plan. She really should have just left it at the warning that he change his ways or else. Because she really didn't want a husband who talked before he thought. Such boorishness was meant for the lower classes.
Daphne was a practical girl. She knew that there was no escaping that contract. She also did not expect any love to come out of this union. After all, she barely knew the boy, and what she knew of him wasn't great. And so, she decided that if she couldn't get the love bit, at least she could ensure that the sex bit was good. So it was with this idea that she had also told Potter to gain some experience in performing his marital duties. After all she might as well get some pleasure out of it.
But now, looking back at it, she had to concede that her initial decision was a bit rash. Harry was a really nice person. Not only that, but he seemed to have changed a lot this year. He no longer hung out exclusively with that ginger nitwit Weasley and that bossy little know-it-all Mudblood, choosing to expand his social circle instead. She was acquainted with the Ravenclaws in her year and did approve of them. The Hufflepuffs weren't too bad either. Indeed it was quite a surprise to hear that Blaise Zabini had started to approve of him.
By the beginning of the Winter Holidays, she knew that her feelings for the boy had changed.
It had taken her some time, but after the Longbottom Ball, she tracked down her mother and confessed everything. Her mother understood everything. 'When I was first betrothed to your father,' the older woman had said, 'I was initially unhappy. I thought that I would never love him, as we had never met before. Your father is two years older than me, as you know. And there I was, about to be married to him at twenty-one. But you know what? After spending a year as his wife, we started to slowly like each other. And that feeling soon turned into love. You are lucky that you have started loving your fiancé before you got married. If I could change the past, I would only wish that I had met your father in school before we were to be married. That would have given us more days to be together!' she smiled at her daughter. 'You made a decision based on what you knew, and you made it without getting all the facts straight. In other words, my dear daughter, you made a mistake. However, I don't think it is that bad a mistake. Both of you are so young. It is a good thing that one of you managed to test the waters as it were. Although, I wish it were you as well, my dear.' Her mother looked at her slightly disapprovingly. 'But now that you realise your feelings for him, I suggest that you make your intentions clear. Be brave daughter, just like the Gryffindor your soon-to-be husband is.'
And so it came down to this moment. Taking a deep breath, Daphne looked into her fiancé's vibrant green eyes and then, unable to hold his gaze for long, looked at the ground as she began to speak. 'When I first heard that I was getting married to you, I was initially unhappy. I thought that I wouldn't be happy with you. So I thought that it would be a good idea that at least if I couldn't have love, I could be happy having a good shag now and then. But then, I got to know you... And I don't think I can bear seeing you with all those girls now. I shouldn't have asked you to do that in the first place. I realise that now. Can you forgive me?'
'Forgive you for what?' Harry said softly.
Daphne felt her eyes prickle, 'For not accepting you as my future husband, and for implying that you weren't good enough for me.' She sniffed, dragging a sleeve across her eyes.
'Hey now,' said Harry putting an arm around her and bringing her close to his chest. He rubbed circles on her back hoping with all his might that she wouldn't start bawling like Cho Chang. 'Don't cry,' he said comfortingly while his mind was having a meltdown trying to figure out what to do. While he was far more confident than last year, he still had no idea about how he should go around comforting a crying girl. Especially when the said girl was as reserved and calm as Daphne, seeing her cry was pretty shocking. Scrambling for an answer, his mind finally came up with something.
'I cannot forgive you,' he finally said, causing Daphne to stiffen. 'After all, while you told me to gain experience, it didn't mean that I had to do what you said. I had a choice too, and I chose to go out with all those girls even though I knew that I was engaged to you. So, how can I forgive you when I myself was just as wrong?'
Daphne was silent for a moment before she tightened the grip her arms had around Harry as she choked out a small sob.
Harry grunted at the sudden increase in pressure. Laying his head on hers, he kissed the top of her head and said. 'At first, I will admit that I was happy to be given the opportunity to go out with so many girls, despite being engaged to you. But then after a while I realised one thing; all the girls I went out with paled in comparison to you. None of them were capable of making me laugh the way you do. And few still are capable of treating me as an equal. I don't really know if what I feel for you is love, but it certainly is something. Truth to be told, I was planning on bringing this subject up myself soon.'
After a moment, Daphne finally pulled away, embarrassed although she did not object to Harry's arm around her. Harry silently handed her a handkerchief he conjured with his wand, which she accepted with a grateful smile as she wiped away some of the dampness in her eyes. Looking at her through the ghostly light of the silvery fire, he couldn't help but think that she was beautiful. She wasn't pretty in the way he preferred (for one, Harry wished that she was a bit more busty), but she had a certain allure about her. Her svelte figure reminded him of a large cat and her ice blue eyes and clear, pale skin were a striking contrast to her black hair. But the one thing Harry appreciated the most about her was that she had her head screwed on straight. Her personality wasn't abrasive, although he did wish that she would talk more. Then again, it only encouraged him to listen to her more when she did speak up. Her tongue was as exceptionally sharp as her wit.
A major plus point was that she did not seem to be the human hosepipe that was a certain Ravenclaw he had gone out with last year.
As he gazed at the lit manor in the distance, Harry came to the conclusion that there definitely was a future for the two of them. That Daphne would be a good wife. It wasn't going to end up being boring that was for sure.
'How about we no longer speak about this little incident?'
'Deal,' said Harry. They lapsed into silence.
They were soon jolted out of their thoughts by cries of 'Happy New Year!' coming from within the manor along with the sound of fireworks going off.
Smiling, Harry turned to the witch next to him and pulled her closer. 'Happy New Year, Daphne,' he said before kissing her.
'Happy New Year, Harry,' Daphne replied with a smile after they broke apart. Snuggling against his chest, she watched the fireworks thinking that while Harry was still a brash and reckless idiot (even if he was less of a brash and reckless idiot than he was before) she wouldn't mind him being her brash and reckless idiot. He was pretty good looking too. She especially loved his eyes.
As the couple looked into the distance at the display in front of them marking the beginning of a new year, both of them were of the same thought that with the change in year came a change in their relationship.
'So ...' said Daphne minutes later as the last of the fireworks ended. 'Did you ever manage to gain some experience?'
With an enigmatic smile, Harry turned to her and said, 'I can't tell you that. You didn't want to talk about that after all.'
Standing in front of the fireplace in Longbottom Manor a few days later, Harry idly reflected that this had been the most interesting Winter Holidays he had had so far. Other than the incident at Sandringham House, the party at the Longbottoms' and the New Year's party at the Minister's residence, the rest of his time with the Longbottoms had been tranquil. So far, the Winter Holidays he had spent (and he did not count the years before Hogwarts) had been a noisy affair spent in the company of a lot of people, so it was definitely new for Harry to spend it in the type of quietness that comes from lazing about.
Harry didn't really know if he liked this experience or not. In the end, he just decided that it was different. Not good or bad.
'Thank you for having me over, er, Aunt Augusta.' Harry said as he turned to Neville's grandmother, still not used to calling her that. 'And thanks for, you know, everything else.'
Over the course of the holidays, Augusta Longbottom had warmed up to Harry and had insisted a few days after their trip to Godric's Hollow to call her such saying that it was the same thing her godson used to call her.
'It was my pleasure, Harry,' said Lady Longbottom. 'I hope that you will come over during the Summer Holidays or at least the next Winter Holidays?'
'Well, I am not too sure about summer, but I definitely know that I will not be coming over for the next Winter Holidays,' said Harry with a smile. 'Because by then, if everything goes according to schedule, I will be able to spend my first and last Winter Holidays from school in the fully renovated Potter Castle!'
'I see,' replied Lady Longbottom with a small smile of her own. 'In that case, I hope that things progress as planned.'
'Erm, this might sound a bit premature, but I was hoping that Neville could come over to my house for the Winter Holidays,' Harry said hesitantly looking at both grandson and grandmother. Seeing Augusta nod and Neville smile, Harry grinned. 'Excellent! Also, I was sort of hoping to have a New Year's party or a Yule ball or something to break the house in as it were. I was hoping you could help...' he looked at Augusta tentatively.
Augusta smiled at Harry and said, 'I will be glad to help. Let's talk about this in a few months time. Making plans now is a bit too early, especially in the present climate. As it is, I wasn't too sure that what I had planned would be possible till the very last minute. Anyway, Che Sara Sara, as the saying goes. We will take it as it comes.'
Nodding, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it in the fireplace. Bidding Neville's grandmother a final goodbye, he picked up his bag and stepped into the emerald fire and shouted 'McGonagall's office!' He caught one final glimpse of the drawing room and a smiling Lady Longbottom before the flames engulfed him; spinning very fast, he caught blurred glimpses of other Wizarding rooms, which were whipped out of sight before he could get a proper look; then he was slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office. She barely glanced up from her work as he clambered out over the grate.
'Afternoon Professor,' said Harry cheerfully.
'Good evening, Potter,' said the Transfiguration teacher, acknowledging him with a minute nod. 'Do try not to get too much ash on the carpet.'
In response, Harry drew his wand out and with a sweep of his arm, vanished the smudges of ash that he assumed came from previous students.
In light of the current situation, the Ministry had authorised a one-time Floo connexion to Hogwarts from various wizarding homes so that students could get to school safely. Those students who didn't have a Floo connexion or a wizarding fireplace had the option of either using the fireplace at Gringotts for a nominal fee of five Knuts, or the one in the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was complimentary provided that they bought a product from the store and felt like risking Fred and George before stepping through.
'Thank you, Potter,' said McGonagall gratefully. 'A point to Gryffindor, it really is nice to see that common courtesy hasn't escaped all of today's youths.'
'It was no trouble, Professor,' replied Harry with a smile. Straightening his robes that were still immaculate due to the impervious charms placed on them, he waited for Neville to come through. The blonde wizard soon appeared in a flash of green fire tinged with blue. Seeing Harry's questioning look, Professor McGonagall explained, 'The fireplaces have been warded to detect any dark objects so that nothing untoward is brought in. Hence the blue glow.'
'What happens if someone does bring in something dark?'
'The wards will flare red, and the individual will be unable to step out of the fireplace until he is released by a teacher.' Professor McGonagall replied briskly. 'Now, unless you have anything else to ask, I suggest you two make yourself scarce. I do have work to do.'
'Oh, and Potter?' Hearing Professor McGonagall call him, Harry turned around at the doorway. Seeing her holding a roll of parchment out, he came forward to take it with an enquiring expression on his face. 'The announcement for the upcoming Apparation classes,' McGonagall explained. 'Do put it up on the notice board tomorrow morning.'
'Sure professor, first thing.' Taking the roll of parchment, Harry left her office with Neville.
Looking at the announcement in front of him, Harry began debating about what to do with the lessons. He had no idea that there would be classes for the sixth years! In fact he hadn't really given much thought to getting a licence for Apparation. Which considering his emancipated status was easily available to him.
'Put my name in, won't you?' Neville's voice broke into Harry's thoughts. 'We might as well get it done now and save ourselves the hassle of doing it with the others.'
'Good idea,' said Harry as he put the parchment up against the wall and taking Neville's self – inking quill wrote down both their names figuring that it would be a good idea to put his name down to avoid suspicion. He might have to hold back in the class though. 'It's good to be the captain!'
As they were about to turn into the corridor leading to the tower, they heard a loud grating noise that took them a moment to recognise as someone's voice singing at the top of their lungs, and doing it terribly.
'I'm forever blowing bubbles,
Pretty bubbles in the air,
They fly so high, nearly reach the sky,
Then like my dreams they fade and die-'
'Alright, alright I'll open, I'll open, just shut the hell up!'
'Hey, Dean!' said Harry as he spotted the boy who was standing outside the open entrance to the common room with a triumphant expression on his face.
'Harry, Neville, how was your holiday?'
'Great, what's with the singing?' said Neville as he and Harry reached the entrance.
At the question, Dean grinned broadly and said, 'Oh that, well, the Fat Lady wasn't opening, apparently the password's changed. So, since she wouldn't let me in and I wasn't about to wait to be let in, I told her that I didn't bloody know the password since I wasn't here and to let me in, but she wouldn't budge! Then I noticed that she was hung over, so I threatened to sing loudly till she let me in!' he smirked, 'I didn't even get to finish the first verse!'
Chortling, the three of them entered the common room.
'Oh, come on!' said Harry incredulously. For standing there, locked in a kind of vertical wrestling match were Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown.
'Well, they aren't doing anything too inappropriate,' said Neville warily as if ready to close his eyes at a moment's notice.
'Thank Merlin for small mercies,' said Harry sarcastically. He was interrupted by a squeal of 'Harry!' as Hermione came up to him.
'Hey Hermione, how was Christmas?'
'I think I'll be going now, see you later Harry!' said Neville. 'Hermione,' he said with a pleasant smile that Harry knew, thanks to being with his friend for the past week, was patently fake. After all it was the same smile he pasted on when talking to someone boring. 'Coming, Dean?' The blond boy said to Dean, the smile on his face turning genuine.
'Oh it was fine, didn't do too much. Anyway I have something for you Harry.' Hermione said as she handed him a roll of parchment.
'Another one of Dumbledore's lessons, I see,' said Harry softly as he opened the parchment and read the contents. Pocketing the letter, Harry looked up at Hermione who had an expectant look on her face. 'What?'
'Oh, nothing, Harry, how was your Christmas?'
Harry just lifted a shoulder as he casually said, 'Fine. Spent it at The Burrow, met Remus and Tonks, had some eggnog, listened to some boring old music ... nothing too special. Oh I was named godfather to Remus' unborn child! So I guess it was more special than what I said initially.'
Hermione, who looked to be on the verge of saying something, suddenly changed track as she closed her mouth before asking incredulously, 'They named you godfather?'
'Yeah, isn't that brilliant?' said Harry with a big smile. 'I guess that this makes me wise and all – knowing now...'
'Right,' said Hermione, giving Harry a disapproving look. 'So, is that all you did, Harry?' she folded her arms as she asked the question and looked up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.
'Uh, yeah,' Harry gave her a puzzled look.
'Nothing else?' seeing Harry nod at this, Hermione continued, 'Because Ginny told me that you weren't at The Burrow the whole time and that you left the Weasleys'.'
'Yes I did,' said Harry.
'So why didn't you tell me that?' Hermione fairly exploded.
'Because you didn't ask,' said Harry in a neutral tone, trying not to let the annoyance show in his voice. 'I believe your question was "how was my Christmas." I left for Longbottom Manor after Christmas. Thus that bit of information did not come under the purview of the question you asked me.'
With a smug grin on his face, he left Hermione standing there spluttering as he headed towards the sixth year dorm.
'Oh, and Hermione, do be a dear and supervise Won-Won and his girlfriend. We don't want another repeat of hormones getting the better of people, now do we?' With that parting shot, Harry disappeared up the boys' staircase.
The next day, Harry and Neville walked outside onto the grounds surprised to find that Susan was waiting for them alone without Hannah
'Where's Hannah?' Neville asked as he looked around.
'She can't come because her dad pulled her out of school,' Susan said sadly.
'What?' Harry asked in shock. 'But I thought that she had managed to convince her father to let her stay after her mother was murdered by the Death Eaters?'
'Apparently he changed his mind,' said Susan between puffs as they started jogging. 'Not that I blame him. Hannah was pretty down most of the time she was here even though she hid it from the rest of the world.'
Saying nothing, the teenagers finished their morning routine and then headed back to their respective dormitories.
As soon as Harry finished with his bath, he walked back down to the common room with the roll of parchment in his hand announcing the upcoming Apparation classes. It wasn't the first thing in the morning, but Harry felt that it was close enough. After all, the common room was still empty.
The Apparation classes were the only thing the other sixth years could talk about. And after word got out that Harry had been taken by someone via Side-Along-Apparition (thanks to a certain ginger), the teen soon found himself inundated by questions from the other sixth-years asking about how it felt.
'Well, you feel this squeezing sensation as if you are being forced through a tube,' Harry said to his rapt audience consisting of all his fellow Gryffindor sixth-years. 'But I am sure that you all know that,' he added in on impulse putting on a casual air.
'What do you mean?' Parvati asked curiously.
'Well, it's nothing much, but I used to Apparate all the time when I was a kid. Didn't know what I was doing though at that time. But I used to pop around my neighbourhood a lot after I found out I could do that when I once accidentally appeared on the roof of my old primary school. This was before I got my acceptance letter to Hogwarts and knew of the existence of magic ... I think I was six?'
Seeing the gobsmacked look on their faces, Harry put on a confused expression. 'Isn't that common? I mean I am sure that most of you must have done it a lot.'
'Mate, nobody has consciously Apparated before getting their Hogwarts letters. Sure some of us may have done it as accidental magic, but you are the first person I have heard of that has done something like that.' Seamus said carefully as the others nodded slowly, some with sceptical looks on their faces.
'Oh,' said Harry. He put on an expression similar to the one he had on his face from the time when he found out in his second year that talking to snakes wasn't a common gift.
And so by the end of the day, the whole school knew that Harry Potter was capable of Apparating from the time he was a small child. Though by then, the whole student population was certain that Harry was four when he first Apparated.
The news had garnered a lot of mixed reactions. Some were in awe of him while the others wondered if this made Harry eligible for an immediate licence. Most, however, were sceptical about this fact.
Harry really didn't mind the scepticism. He knew that he could prove them all wrong by the time the first class started up. It was a stroke of genius on his part. This way, he wouldn't have to worry about picking it up too fast.
Although, he really didn't care much for the added popularity and attention he was getting, but he had to bear with it. It was the trappings of fame. At least this time it was for something he had supposedly done.
As the day ended, Harry sneaked off and reluctantly headed to Dumbledore's office. As he muttered the password, he couldn't help but feel a bit of trepidation along with the anger and resentment that the old man's name elicited in him. He hadn't met Dumbledore ever since their eventful meeting after that fateful Hogsmeade trip, so he did not know what the old man was planning or had planned. It had not escaped Harry that Dumbledore was powerful: both magically, and politically. And Bathilda's story of his childhood had not exactly given him a ringing recommendation of the old man's morality. So he knew that the conniving old man could do something sneaky.
'Ah, Harry, come in,' said the old headmaster genially.
Smiling politely, and not saying anything, Harry sat down in front of Dumbledore. He looked at the Pensieve placed on the desk and the phials containing memories before looking back at the headmaster blandly.
Harry had noticed that Dumbledore had not called him to his office after he had basically shouted at the man and had accused him of being all those things. He was initially relieved about this as he thought that the old man had decided not to pursue Harry or had realised that Harry wasn't going to take any excuses. However, after observing the headmaster sitting there at the teacher's table every mealtime, that initial feeling of relief was replaced by the thought that the headmaster really did not care what Harry thought of him. And if he did not care about that, he did not care about Harry at all and never did. The thought festered and over time, it had the effect of burning away any hatred Harry had towards Dumbledore.
For the longest time, Harry thought that hatred was the opposite of love, but now he realised that it was indifference. Because when it boiled down to it, hatred, like love, was an emotion. Since the headmaster did not really care about Harry, Harry decided that he shouldn't care either. So, over the course of the Winter Holidays, he had decided to adopt a mien of polite aloofness towards the headmaster. Their relationship was one of business, brought about by war. There wasn't anything personal about it.
Not that it would stop him from finding an opportunity to exact revenge on the headmaster.
Albus looked at the young man in front of him curiously. Initially he wanted to summon the boy back to his office the very next day after their tiff to try to calmly explain things to him. He knew that Harry would have calmed down sufficiently enough to be reasonable. However, with Miss Perks' being admitted to hospital and her subsequent death had lead to a long discussion with the Board of Governors and the Auror department about the future of the school and subsequent security measures. Then a sudden development in a new lead into Tom Riddle's past had cropped up. Thanks to these events, Dumbledore had to postpone meeting with the boy to this day, more than a month after they had last met.
And so, Albus Dumbledore fully expected to be met by a sullen and defiant teenager. What he was unprepared for was the bland look on the boy's face. There wasn't even a look of challenge or triumph in the boy's eyes. He had heard that the boy had gone over to the Longbottoms' place for the second half of his holidays after Christmas, and wondered if this was in a way a challenge towards the instructions he had given Harry all those months back at the Burrow.
Harry spent the next long minute of silence looking around at the room. He absently noticed that the instruments and their tables had been repaired.
'I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas?' Dumbledore finally broke the silence.
Harry answered the half-question half-statement with only a nonchalant 'yeah' before lapsing into silence. After all, his new attitude towards the headmaster didn't mean that he had to participate in, or initiate, a conversation with the man.
Dumbledore sat there considering the teenager in front of him. It always is so hard to get information from teenagers he thought, not for the first time in his long life. 'She wanted to meet you ever since she came into office,' he finally said. 'I felt that it wasn't prudent to grant her wish seeing as it came very close on the heels of Cornelius's scheme to use your name to boost his ratings and keep him in office in the last few days of his life as Minister. You do have to admit that it is very suspicious.'
'True,' said Harry. 'However,' he continued, almost reluctantly, 'Your suspicions were unfounded. She did not attempt to recruit me. Her words were somewhat along the lines of "I am not desperate enough to use a sixteen year old schoolboy to keep myself in office" I believe.'
'Then what did she talk about?' Dumbledore asked curiously after another pause.
'Nothing really, I just had a ten minute pleasant conversation with the Minister of Magic. She did not have anything of great import to tell me or share with me.' Upon seeing the look of polite incredulity on Dumbledore's face, Harry said defensively, 'What, it's true!'
Dumbledore still had his eyebrows raised when he replied. 'So the Minister has wanted to meet you for so many months just so she could have a small chat?' he said slowly. 'Forgive me, Harry, but I find that a trifle hard to believe.' A thought slipped into his mind as he asked with concern, 'I think it's best you tell me exactly what she said, because I fear that she might have another motive in talking to you. Something you may not have picked up.' Dumbledore cursed himself for not seeing the possibility that Amelia would be crafty enough to ambush Harry at the Burrow. Who knows what information the woman could have collected? And the worst part of it was that Harry, being so young and un-exposed to politics or people from the Law Enforcement Department, would have inadvertently given that information freely without thinking twice.
'I don't really remember the conversation,' said Harry. 'But what I do know is that she never did ask me about you, the Order, Voldemort, or anything of import. She did not even mention those subjects at all! It was like talking to someone on the street, really. I actually think that she wanted to get Percy talking to his family again.'
There was a pregnant pause as Dumbledore thought of Harry's words. 'Very well,' he finally said, hoping that it actually was the case, strange as it was. Just to be sure, he would poke about and find out just what the Minister wanted from Harry. After all, while the Minister was wily and had excellent barriers preventing an unnoticeable egress into her mind, her assistant and Cornelius were quite vulnerable.
'Well, the night grows long and we do have business to attend to,' Dumbledore said with a sigh as he looked at his pocket watch with the odd markings on its face. 'Over the course of the holidays, I managed to recover this one important memory.' He waved his injured hand towards one of the phials. 'However, this memory isn't as important as the second one, which I shall be showing you afterwards. So without further ado...'
He picked up the phial on the desk and looked at it for a moment briefly thinking about the fate of the poor man he had obtained it from, before he set it back on the desk.
'Now before we begin, I think it best that I provide some background information. So if you will bear with me Harry.' Dumbledore paused to gather his thoughts before launching into a detailed history of what Voldemort had done in his formative years in Hogwarts as Tom Riddle.
'...Finally, after painstaking research through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, Harry, if you will stand …'
Dumbledore rose, 'I was very lucky to collect this,' he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. 'As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?'
Harry stepped up to the stone basin and bowed obediently until his face sank through the surface of the memory; he felt the famil iar sensation of falling through nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness.
Several minutes later, both headmaster and student were ejected from the Pensieve. Contemplating the memory Harry had seen in the Pensieve, he said, 'I guess that the unnatural darkness that came about near the end was Voldemort's doing?'
'Indeed,' said Dumbledore with an approving nod. 'Voldemort evidently erased the memory of the what happened next from Morfin's mind before continuing to do whatever it was he planned to do.'
'Let me guess,' said Harry drily. 'He then waltzed into town, walked up to the manor in the village, rang the doorbell and said "hi" to his dear old dad. Oh and he also showed him his uncle's wand and what it could do.'
'Quite,' said Dumbledore feeling his lips quirk upwards despite himself. 'The next morning, the maid working for the Riddles was seen running down High Street screaming about the triple murder. The Muggle authorities do not know what or who killed the family to this day I believe. However, the Ministry of Magic knew of a Muggle-hater that lived near the village, so the first person they came to visit was, naturally Morfin Gaunt. They did not need to even question him, or even use Veritaserum since he was ready to admit to killing the Muggles, giving details only a murderer would know. And as you have guessed, Morfin's wand also was proven to have killed the Riddles. He even went along quietly without much of a fuss, seeming completely unconcerned except for the loss of his father's ring.'
'I take it that Tom modified Morfin's memory,' Harry said. He couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration for the complex magic Voldemort pulled off at the age of sixteen. He did not need to question why the Ministry wasn't able to detect Voldemort's use of underage magic, as he knew that there were ways to get around The Trace. After all, he himself employed one of those methods.
'Indeed,' said Dumbledore. 'It took a lot of skilled Legilimency to extract this one snippet we just experienced. I tried to use it to secure Morfin's release, but before the decision to release him could be made, Morfin died in Azkaban.' Dumbledore bowed his head as he thought about the innocent man that had languished in Azkaban for more than half a century, only to die there just before he was to be declared a free man. He quickly dismissed these thoughts. He could not afford to dwell on them as they, along with thoughts of Sirius Black's imprisonment, always led to thoughts of his own father. Albus remembered the two instances where he had been able to see his father before the man had died. It was because of this that he hated Dementors with a passion and also became unbearably depressed when thinking about Sirius and now, Morfin Gaunt.
'Now, to get back on track, I have one other memory to show you. And this is the most important memory that I shall show you tonight. In fact, it could be the most important of all our little jaunts into this Pensieve.'
Saying this, Albus took the other phial, watched as the sludgy contents sluggishly went into the Pensieve. He would have to clean the Pensieve after this viewing, playing corrupted memories was not good for the Pensieve and if he did not perform the necessary spells, the rare magical device could get spoiled. And considering that it wasn't his Pensieve to begin with, he could not afford such a thing. He was already on shaky ground with Harry as it is. It was a surprise that the boy hadn't mentioned anything about the Pensieve being his. Perhaps he had not realised that fact yet? Albus knew that it would probably help his relationship with Harry if he told the boy about this, but at the same time this revelation could also drive the teenager away. And there was little to no time left before he left for his next great adventure. He hoped that the fact that he was dead and gone by then would help soothe any ruffled feathers when Harry found out. At any rate, he had to show Harry the tainted memory given by his old friend. While Albus had gained a great deal of information from this memory, tainted as it was, he still needed the full memory just to ensure that he had not missed anything. Also, this would be an ideal way for Harry to hone his cunning. Something the teenager would need if he had any hope of beating Voldemort.
Harry noted the congealed nature of the memory that Dumbledore claimed to be extremely important. He guessed that this was due to the memory being spoilt or tainted somehow. Bending his head over the Pensieve, he preceded his headmaster into the Pensieve.
'As you can see, the memory has been tampered with,' said Dumbledore as he reclaimed his seat behind the desk after they viewed the memory. 'Horace has meddled with his own recollections, no doubt ashamed about the information he inadvertently gave Voldemort ... Harry are you alright?'
Albus looked at his student with concern. The young man had his head in his hands and looked decidedly unwell.
'Ugh,' Harry fairly moaned out. 'I don't think so,' he finally said.
'You look fairly wrung out, my boy,' said Albus. Leaning forward, he examined the face of the boy in front of him. 'You are quite pale. I think that a visit to the hospital wing would be prudent. Perhaps I should have left it for another day. It seems that adding this to the stress of returning to school life has not agreed with you. I shall call Madame Pomfrey...' saying this, he got up and moved towards the fireplace.
'No, no,' said Harry standing up. 'It is fine, professor, I think I can make it there by myself.'
Dumbledore looked at the teenager in concern as though doubting his words. 'Are you sure? It will be easier and faster if you went by Floo...'
'No, no Floo. I don't think I will be able to survive one right now!' said Harry frantically.
Albus opened his mouth as if to argue. Changing his mind, he said, 'Very well, if you are sure.'
'Oh I am sure,' said Harry as he shuffled towards the door. 'See you later, sir.'
'Take care, my boy, oh and one last thing, before you go, as you can see, this information is very valuable. Therefore it is imperative that we retrieve the correct memory. I am sure that the true recollection lies within Horace's mind. It has not been fully erased yet. So for the first time, I must leave you with homework, Harry. I want you to retrieve the correct memory from Horace Slughorn.'
'Yes sir,' said Harry as he opened the door, really not in the mood to argue with the professor or ask why Dumbledore himself couldn't do this. 'Goodnight.'
Albus' answering 'Goodnight,' was heard only by the closed door of his office. It was sad that he could not talk to Harry about their argument from before, but he doubted that such a prickly subject would be well received by the boy as ill as he seemed to be. Oh well, perhaps another time...
Stumbling downstairs, Harry barely noticed the gargoyle behind him close. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up and, getting himself under control, he headed towards the Gryffindor Tower. He had no intention of heading to the hospital wing. He knew what the problem was, and he also knew that no potion or spell would be able to fix this.
The tainted memory he had seen of Slughorn's had triggered another reaction within him, his biggest one yet. Only this time, he had to keep the flood of memories at bay. He knew that Dumbledore might suspect something should he actually succumb to the memory, so he felt it prudent to hold it back.
However, holding the vision at bay was taxing. Halfway to the dorm, he called out for a house-elf and had it transport him to his bed in the dorm.
Sighing in relief at the thankfully empty dorm, Harry finally let the memories wash over him.
It seemed that the memories left behind had one trigger, a password of sorts; Horcruxes. The minute Harry had heard the word being spoken in Slughorn's memory, it unlocked a door that he had no idea even existed, despite having practised Occlumency for such a long time.
'No … well … you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hog warts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed,' said Slughorn as he looked at him.
The hesitancy, casualness and careful flattery all came naturally to him as he said his prepared speech. 'But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd ask —'
'Well,' said Slughorn, not looking at him, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, 'well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course, just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a per son has concealed part of their soul.'
Perfect, now for the next line in the script. Carefully controlling the thrill of excitement he felt coursing through him, he said.
'I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir.'
'Well, you split your soul, you see,' said Slughorn, 'and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form … few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be pre ferable.'
As he felt the anticipation of being so close fill him, a small voice spoke, 'Who's Tom?' ignoring that voice, he asked the next question.
'How do you split your soul?'
'Well,' said Slughorn uncomfortably, 'you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature.'
'But how do you do it?'
'By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creat ing a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —'
'Encase? But how —?'
'There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!' said Slughorn, shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. 'Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?'
'No, sir, of course not,' he said quickly even though he felt trifle disappointed. Oh well, it wouldn't be that satisfying if it were so easy. 'I'm sorry … I didn't mean to offend …'
'Not at all, not at all, not offended,' said Slughorn gruffly. 'It's natural to feel some curiosity about these things. … Wizards of a certain calibre have always been drawn to that aspect of magic. …'
'Yes, sir, what I don't understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven —?'
'Merlin's beard, Tom!' yelped Slughorn. 'Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case … bad enough to divide the soul … but to rip it into seven pieces …'
Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: He was gazing at him as though he had never seen him plainly before and he could tell that the professor was regretting entering into the conversation at all. Not that it mattered much to him; he had all the information he needed. Besides, a few days later and things with the old duffer would be back to normal.
'Of course,' Slughorn muttered, 'this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic …'
'Yes, sir, of course,' he said quickly. It looked like he wouldn't have to work at easing the old codger's mind that much.
'But all the same, Tom … keep it quiet, what I've told — that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know. … Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it. …'
'I won't say a word, sir,' he said before he turned around to leave.
Harry had barely a moment to register his current surroundings before he was assaulted with snippets of new memories.
...He finally had researched the spell. Performing it non-verbally, he thought of the death of his father. He actually saw himself standing over the man, looking into the feckless Muggle's eyes as he blindly pointed his wand at his bare chest. A grey wisp of smoke slowly erupted from the centre. Unable to keep his stoicism, he let a scream echo throughout the large chamber he was sitting in. Panting, he focused on the ring he had stolen from his squib of an uncle, and with another scream, pushed the mist into the stone...
...the death of the mudblood was unfortunate, but it served his purpose well. Once again, he was transported back to the memory of her death, the look of shock on her face was exquisite ... smiling slightly, he blindly pointed the wand at his chest again. The pain was slightly lesser, and the mist that rose was a deeper grey, but he didn't care. He pushed it into his diary...
...he panted as he looked at the diadem in front of him. He finally had his revenge on the old bastard who fleeced his mother, worthless as she was anyway. This diadem would be hidden in Hogwarts, in The Hidden Room. The one room he was confident that nobody knew of. Right under Dumbledore's crooked old nose...
...he looked into the green eyes of the baby who was prophesised to destroy him. The little brat's death would help cement his immortality. He was surprised when the curse, as green as the brat's eyes came back at him, ripping him in two and out of his body. He felt himself dissipating; his only hope was the living thing in the same room as he was in ... the thing that destroyed him. He acted...
Gasping, Harry found himself back in the present. So that is what a Horcrux is! He thought silently as he got his breath under control. He instantly felt revolted. To think that Voldemort would go to such lengths to achieve immortality was pretty nauseating. He truly had delved in the darkest of dark arts.
It certainly explained the significance of the items that had triggered those visions in the past. Hufflepuff's Cup ... Slytherin's Locket ... the Gaunt Ring, (or was it the Peverell Ring?) ... they were all Horcruxes ... and aside from the ring, Harry had the rest in his possession.
Well, aside from the ring and the diadem... and the ring really did not count as it had been destroyed already. After all, the stone was whole when Voldemort had converted it into a Horcrux.
Of course, the most distressing bit was the fact that a piece of the bastard's soul was lodged in him ... even if it no longer was within him, the thought that he had carried such a taint for so long wasn't pleasant. Unconsciously, Harry moved toward a mirror. It was a long time since he had last looked at his scar in a mirror and observed it. The scar which in years past had always been so vivid and clear had become rather faint in the past few months. In fact, he actually had to struggle to find it in the low light of the empty dorm room. This was a visual confirmation of what he had suspected all along. The scar was no longer cursed and he was fully free of any fragment of Voldemort's soul. What was more, Voldemort was no longer immortal because of him!
Or at least he was less immortal ... if that was possible.
From what he understood, Voldemort had split his soul in half seven times. Or was that eight? Somehow, Harry doubted that Voldemort knew that he had made him a Horcrux. So there was a distinct possibility that the man had split his soul once again after regaining his body ... Harry did the math in his head; that meant that Voldemort had 1/256th of a soul left in his body ... if Harry's calculations were right, that was a tiny amount of soul to have in a body.
Suddenly Harry's eyes flew open. Dumbledore knew! He knew about the Horcruxes. And he knew what they were. After all, it was too much of a coincidence that Harry had seen memories involving an item that was later on turned into a Horcrux. And that meant that Dumbledore knew, or suspected that Harry was one himself! The thought sent chills down his spine. Unbidden, a conversation he had with the ancient headmaster four years ago came back to him;
'...unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure. …'
'Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?'
'It certainly seems so...'
Dumbledore knew then. All this time, the man knew. And he did not see fit to tell Harry. So much for being open and divulging all secrets, Harry thought bitterly. Not that he was surprised; all he had to do was remember what he had found out over the summer that the old man hadn't told him.
But this was big. It meant that Dumbledore had known all along that Harry was a Horcrux, and from what Harry knew of them so far, to make Voldemort mortal, one had to destroy the vessels his soul fragments were in, as in the Horcruxes that he had made. At least conventionally, the thing with the possession and whatever it was that he had done definitely fell in the unconventional category. So that meant that Dumbledore had been plotting his death all this time! Harry's mind whirled with different scenarios. Was this why he was dumped out in the cold with magic hating Muggles? So that if the cold November night didn't get his one year old body, the Muggles would? Was the circus that was his first year, the potentially lethal detention and finally the thing with the stone, an attempt to finish him off? Did Dumbledore encourage the events in the following year? Did he stop when he realised that there was a possibility of Voldemort having more than one Horcrux?
Harry shook his head. Thinking about this wouldn't help any. It was all in the past. What mattered now was the present. And presently, there were two people who would love to see him dead ... two people who had the common goal of killing him off ... Dumbledore and Voldemort. And he needed to kill them first before they got him.
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