"I see," said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Harry the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"
"Well," Harry stalled, at a loss for what to say next. His single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. "Well . . . the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood ¡ª" "And did that work?" asked Dumbledore. "Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned ¡ª" "¡ª which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it."
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of Harry¡¯s head all the way down his body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but Harry would have preferred him to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything.
"Sir," he said, a little desperately, "it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other ¡ª other things . . ."
"Other things on your mind," Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. "I see."
Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence Harry had ever experienced with Dumbledore; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head. Harry felt strangely diminished, as though he had shrunk a little since he had entered the room. When he could stand it no longer he said, "Professor Dumbledore, I'm really sorry. I should have done more. ... I should have realized you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important."
"Thank you for saying that, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory."
"I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him," he said earnestly.
"Then we shall say no more about it just now," said Dumbledore more kindly, "but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry quickly. "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked ... he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes," he mumbled shamefacedly.
"Very good," said Dumbledore. "Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"
¡°Yes, sir¡±.
"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?"
Harry nodded.
But now, Harry," said Dumbledore, "now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you." Dumbledore indicated the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve. "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."
The idea that Dumbledore valued his opinion this highly made Harry feel even more deeply ashamed that he had failed in the task of retrieving the Horcrux memory, and he shifted guiltily in his seat as Dumbledore raised the first of the two bottles to the light and examined it.
"I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections, these two," he said. "This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts.
"He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he join the Ministry of Magic, offered to set up appointments, put him in touch with useful contacts. He refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, Voldemort was working at Borgin and Burkes."
"At Borgin and Burkes?" Harry repeated, stunned.
"At Borgin and Burkes," repeated Dumbledore calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time ¡ª I was one of the few in whom the then headmaster confided ¡ª but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."
"He wanted to stay here? Why?" asked Harry, more amazed still.
"I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet," said Dumbledore. "Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home."
Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts too.
"Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap.
"And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential a role a teacher can play. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."
"But he didn't get the job, sir?"
"No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach."
"How did you feel about that, sir?" asked Harry hesitantly. "Deeply uneasy," said Dumbledore. "I had advised Armando against the appointment ¡ª I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."
"Which job did he want, sir? What subject did he want to teach?"
Somehow, Harry knew the answer even before Dumbledore gave it.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years.
"So Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specializes, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."
"I'll bet he was," said Harry, unable to contain himself.
"Well, quite," said Dumbledore, with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."
Dumbledore tapped a bottle with his wand, the cork flew out, and he tipped the swirling memory into the Pensieve, saying as he did so, "After you, Harry."
Harry got to his feet and bent once more over the rippling silver contents of the stone basin until his face touched them. He tumbled through dark nothingness and landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Harry had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"
She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey.
Harry could only assume that it was down in Hokey¡¯s contract that she must lie through her teeth wh
asked this question, because Hepzibah Smith looked a long way from lovely in his opinion.
A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped.
"Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" cried Hepzibah and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things: There were cabinets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. In fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Harry had no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing as Voldemort. He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah, though Harry noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom. ... Sit down, sit down. . . . Where's Hokey? Ah ..."
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.
"Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times. ..."
Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered. .¦,!
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, bat-ring her lashes.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," said Voldemort. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair ¡ª"
"Now, now, not so fast, or I¡¯ll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Voldemort quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire ¡ª"
"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it."
"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Voldemort quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.
"I had Hokey bring it out for me . . . Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure. ... In fact, bring both, while you're at it. ..."
"Here, madam," squeaked the house-elf, and Harry saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, ***pouffes, and footstools.
"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom. . . . Oh, if my family knew I was showing you. . . . They can't wait to get their hands on this!"
She opened the lid. Harry edged forward a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah, and Voldemort stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Harry thought he saw a red gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah¡¯s face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Voldemort's handsome features.
"A badger," murmured Voldemort, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was . . . ?"
"Helga Hufflepuff 's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" said Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here. . . ."
She hooked the cup back off Voldemort's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face as the cup was taken away.
"Now then," said Hepzibah happily, "where¡¯s Hokey? Oh yes, there you are ¡ª take that away now, Hokey."
The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap.
"I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see. . . . Of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone. ..."
She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket.
Voldemort reached out his hand, without invitation this time, and held it up to the light, staring at it.
"Slytherin's mark," he said quietly, as the light played upon an ornate, serpentine S.
"That's right!" said Hepzibah, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Voldemort gazing at her locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value ¡ª"
There was no mistaking it this time: Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet at the words, and Harry saw his knuckles whiten on the locket's chain.
"¡ª I daresay Burke paid her a pittance but there you are. . . . Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe. . . ."
She reached out to take the locket back. For a moment, Harry thought Voldemort was not going to let go of it, but then it had slid through his fingers and was back in its red velvet cushion.
¡°So there you are, Tom, clear, and I hope you enjoyed that!¡±
She looked him full in the face and for the first time, Harry saw her foolish smile falter.
"Are you all right, dear?"
"Oh yes," said Voldemort quietly. "Yes, I'm very well. ..."
¡°I thought ¡ª but a trick of the light, I suppose ¡ª" said Hepzibah, looking unnerved, and Harry guessed that she too had seen the momentary red gleam in Voldemort's eyes. "Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again. ... The usual enchantments..."
"Time to leave, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly, and as the in tie elf bobbed away bearing the boxes, Dumbledore grasped Harry once again above the elbow and together they rose up through oblivion and back to Dumbledore's office.
"Hepzibah Smith died two days after that little scene," said Dumbledore, resuming his seat and indicating that Harry should do the same. "Hokey the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident."
"No way!" said Harry angrily.
"I see we are of one mind," said Dumbledore. "Certainly, then are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death ¡ª" "Hokey confessed?"
"She remembered putting something in her mistress's cocoa that turned out not to be sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison, said Dumbledore. "It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but being old and confused ¡ª"
"Voldemort modified her memory, just like he did with Morfin!" "Yes, that is my conclusion too," said Dumbledore. "And, just as with Morfin, the Ministry was predisposed to suspect Hokey ¡ª"
"¡ª because she was a house-elf," said Harry. He had rarely felt more in sympathy with the society Hermione had set up, S.P.E.W. "Precisely," said Dumbledore. "She was old, she admitted to having tampered with the drink, and nobody at the Ministry bothered to inquire further. As in the case of Morfin, by the time I traced her and managed to extract this memory, her life was almost over ¡ª but her memory, of course, proves nothing except that Voldemort knew of the existence of the cup and the locket.
"By the time Hokey was convicted, Hepzibah's family had realized that two of her greatest treasures were missing. It took them a while to be sure of this, for she had many hiding places, having always guarded her collection most jealously. But before they were sure beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes, the young man who had visited Hepzibah

so regularly and charmed her so well, had resigned his post and vanished. His superiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at his disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time.
"Now," said Dumbledore, "if you don't mind, Harry, I want to pause once more to draw your attention to certain points of our story. Voldemort had committed another murder; whether it was his first since he killed the Riddles, I do not know, but I think it was. This time, as you will have seen, he killed not for revenge, but for gain. He wanted the two fabulous trophies that poor, besotted, old woman showed him. Just as he had once robbed the other children at his orphanage, just as he had stolen his Uncle Morfin¡¯s ring, so he ran off now with Hepzibahs cup and locket."
"But," said Harry, frowning, "it seems mad. . . . Risking everything, throwing away his job, just for those . . ."
"Mad to you, perhaps, but not to Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "I hope you will understand in due course exactly what those objects meant to him, Harry, but you must admit that it is not difficult to imagine that he saw the locket, at least, as rightfully his." "The locket maybe," said Harry, "but why take the cup as well?"
"It had belonged to another of Hogwarts¡¯s founders," said Dumbledore. "I think he still felt a great pull toward the school and that he could not resist an object so steeped in Hogwarts history. There were other reasons, I think. ... I hope to be able to demonstrate them to you in due course.
"And now for the very last recollection I have to show you, at least until you manage to retrieve Professor Slughorn's memory for us. Ten years separates Hokey¡¯s memory and this one, ten years during which we can only guess at what Lord Voldemort was doing. . . ." Harry got to his feet once more as Dumbledore emptied the last memory into the Pensieve.
"Whose memory is it?" he asked. "Mine," said Dumbledore.
And Harry dived after Dumbledore through the shifting silver mass, landing in the very office he had just left. There was Fawkes slumbering happily on his perch, and there behind the desk was Dumbledore, who looked very similar to the Dumbledore standing beside Harry, though both hands were whole and undamaged and his face was, perhaps, a little less lined. The one difference between the present-day office and this one was that it was snowing in the past; bluish flecks were drifting past the window in the dark and building up on the outside ledge.
The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after their arrival, there was a knock on the door and he said, "Enter."
Harry let out a hastily stifled gasp. Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Harry had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ag They were not as snake-like, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet masklike, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Harry knew they would become. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders.
The Dumbledore behind the desk showed no sign of surprise. Evidently this visit had been made by appointment.
"Good evening, Tom," said Dumbledore easily. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," said Voldemort, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured ¡ª the very seat, by the looks of it, that Harry had just vacated in the present. "I heard that you had become headmaster," he said, and his voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been. "A worthy choice."
"I am glad you approve," said Dumbledore, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome," said Voldemort. "I have come a long way."
Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where he now kept the Pensieve, but which then was full of bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk. . "So, Tom ... to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine.
"They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he said. "These days, 1 am known as ¡ª"
"I know what you are known as," said Dumbledore, smiling, pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort¡¯s chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Harry could tell that Voldemort took it as such.
"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."
"I see it still," said Voldemort. "I merely wondered why you ¡ª who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister ¡ª"
"Three times at the last count, actually," said Dumbledore. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."
Voldemort inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with a look of pleasant expectancy, for Voldemort to talk first.
"I have returned," he said, after a little while, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected . . . but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."
Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking.
"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
Voldemort's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."
¡±You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.
"Certainly," said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed ¡ª"
"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain . . . forgive me . . . woefully ignorant."
For the first time, Voldemort smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.
"The old argument," he said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.
"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" said Voldemort. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves ¡ª or so rumor has it ¡ª the Death Eaters?"
Harry could tell that Voldemort had not expected Dumbledore to know this name; he saw Voldemort¡¯s eyes flash red again and the slitlike nostrils flare.
"My friends," he said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."
"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," said Dumbledore. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."
"You are mistaken," said Voldemort.
"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them ¡ª Nott, Rosier, Muldber, Dolohov ¡ª awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."
There could be no doubt that Dumbledore's detailed knowledge of those with whom he was traveling was even less welcome to Voldemort; however, he rallied almost at once.
"You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."
"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen," said Dumbledore lightly. "Now, Tom . . ."
Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture.
"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"
Voldemort looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."
"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"
Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job ¡ª"
"Of course I don't," said Dumbledore. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."
Voldemort stood up. He looked less like Tom Riddle than ever, his features thick with rage. "This is your final word?"
"It is," said Dumbledore, also standing.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."
"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom. ... I wish I could. . . ."
For a second, Harry was on the verge of shouting a pointless warning: He was sure that Voldemort's hand had twitched toward his pocket and his wand; but then the moment had passed, Voldemort had turned away, the door was closing, and he was gone.
Harry felt Dumbledore's hand close over his arm again and moments later, they were standing together on almost the same spot, but there was no snow building on the window ledge, and Dumbledore's hand was blackened and dead-looking once more.
"Why?" said Harry at once, looking up into Dumbledore's face. "Why did he come back? Did you ever find out?"
"I have ideas," said Dumbledore, "but no more than that."
"What ideas, sir?"
"I shall tell you, Harry, when you have retrieved that memory from Professor Slughorn," said Dumbledore.
"When you have that last piece of the jigsaw, everything will, I hope, be clear ... to both of us."
Harry was still burning with curiosity and even though Dumbledore had walked to the door and was holding it open for him, he did not move at once.
"Was he after the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again, sir? He didn't say. ..."
"Oh, he definitely wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job," said Dumbledore. "The aftermath of our little meeting proved that. You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort."

Chapter 21: The Unknowable Room

Harry wracked his brains over the next week as to how he was to persuade Slughorn to hand over the true memory, but nothing in the nature of a brain wave occurred and he was reduced to doing what he did increasingly these days when at a loss: poring over his Potions book, hoping that the Prince would have scribbled something useful in a margin, as he had done so many times before.
  
"You won't find anything in there," said Hermione firmly, late on Sunday evening.
  
"Don't start, Hermione," said Harry. "If it hadn't been for the Prince, Ron wouldn't be sitting here now."
  
"He would if you'd just listened to Snape in our first year," said Hermione dismissively.
  
Harry ignored her. He had just found an incantation ¡°Sectum-sempra!" scrawled in a margin above the intriguing words "For enemies," and was itching to try it out, but thought it best not to in front of Hermione. Instead, he surreptitiously folded down the corner of the page. They were sitting beside the fire in the common room; the only other people awake were fellow sixth years. There had been a certain amount of excitement earlier when they had come back from dinner to find a new sign on the notice board that announced the date for their Apparition Test. Those who would be seventeen on or before the first test date, the twenty-first of April, had the option of signing up for additional practice sessions, which would take place (heavily supervised) in Hogsmeade.
  
Ron had panicked on reading this notice; he had still not managed to Apparate and feared he would not be ready for the test. Hermione, who had now achieved Apparition twice, was a little more confident, but Harry, who would not be seventeen for another four months, could not take the test whether ready or not.
  
"At least you can Apparate, though!" said Ron tensely. "You'll have no trouble come July!"
  
"I've only done it once," Harry reminded him; he had finally managed to disappear and rematerialize inside his hoop during their previous lesson.
  
Having wasted a lot of time worrying aloud about Apparition, Ron was now struggling to finish a viciously difficult essay for Snape that Harry and Hermione had already completed. Harry fully expected to receive low marks on his, because he had disagreed with Snape on the best way to tackle dementors, but he did not care: Slughorns memory was the most important thing to him now.
  
"I'm telling you, the stupid Prince isn't going to be able to help you with this, Harry!" said Hermione, more loudly. "There's only one way to force someone to do what you want, and that's the Imperius Curse, which is illegal ¡ª"
  
"Yeah, I know that, thanks," said Harry, not looking up from the book. "That's why I'm looking for something different. Dumbledorf says Veritaserum won't do it, but there might be something else, a potion or a spell. . . ."
  
"You're going about it the wrong way," said Hermione. "Only you can get the memory, Dumbledore says. That must mean you can persuade Slughorn where other people can¡¯t. It's not a question of slipping him a potion, anyone could do that ¡ª"
  
"How do you spell 'belligerent'?" said Ron, shaking his quill very hard while staring at his parchment. "It can't be B ¡ª U ¡ª M ¡ª"
  
"No, it isn't," said Hermione, pulling Ron's essay toward her. "And 'augury' doesn't begin O ¡ª R ¡ª G either. What kind of quill are you using?"
  
"It's one of Fred and George's Spell-Check ones, but I think the charm must be wearing off."
  
"Yes, it must," said Hermione, pointing at the title of his essay, "because we were asked how we'd deal with dementors, not 'Dug-bogs', and I don't remember you changing your name to 'Roonil Wazlib¡¯ either."
  
"Ah no!" said Ron, staring horror-struck at the parchment. "Don't say I'll have to write the whole thing out again!"
  
"It's okay, we can fix it," said Hermione, pulling the essay toward her and taking out her wand.
  
"I love you, Hermione," said Ron, sinking back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. Hermione turned faintly pink, but merely said, "Don't let Lavender hear you saying that."
  
"1 won't," said Ron into his hands. "Or maybe I will, then she'll ditch me."
  
"Why don't you ditch her if you want to finish it?" asked Harry.
  
"You haven't ever chucked anyone, have you?" said Ron. "You and Cho just ¡ª"
  
"Sort of fell apart, yeah," said Harry.
  
"Wish that would happen with me and Lavender," said Ron gloomily, watching Hermione silently tapping each of his misspelled words with the end of her wand, so that they corrected themselves on the page. "But the more I hint I want to finish it, the tighter she holds on. It's like going out with the giant squid."
  
"There," said Hermione, some twenty minutes later, handing back Ron's essay.
  
"Thanks a million," said Ron. "Can I borrow your quill for the conclusion?" Harry, who had found nothing useful in the Half-Blood Prince's notes so far, looked around; the three of them were now the only ones left in the common room, Seamus having just gone up to bed cursing Snape and his essay. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Ron scratching out one last paragraph on dementors using Hermione's quill. Harry had just closed the Half-Blood Prince's book, yawning, when ¡ª
  
Crack!
  
Hermione let out a little shriek; Ron spilled ink all over his freshly completed essay, and Harry said, "Kreacher!"
  
The house-elf bowed low and addressed his own gnarled toes. "Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give--"
  
Crack!
  
Dobby appeared alongside Kreacher, his tea-cozy hat askew. "Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!" he squeaked, casting Kreacher a resentful look. "And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together!"
  
"What is this?" asked Hermione, still looking shocked by these sudden appearances. "What's going on, Harry?" Harry hesitated before answering, because he had not told Hermione about setting Kreacher and Dobby to tail Malfoy; house-elves were always such a touchy subject with her.
  
"Well. . . they've been following Malfoy for me," he said.
  
"Night and day," croaked Kreacher.
  
"Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!" said Dobby proudly, swaying where he stood. Hermione looked indignant.
  
"You haven't slept, Dobby? But surely, Harry, you didn't tell him not to ¡ª"
  
"No, of course I didn't," said Harry quickly. "Dobby, you can sleep, all right? But has either of you found out anything?" he hastened to ask, before Hermione could intervene again.
  
"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of¡ª"
  
"Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!" squeaked Dobby angrily. "A bad boy who ¡ª who ¡ª" He shuddered from the tassel of his tea cozy to the toes of his socks and then ran at the fire, as though about to dive into it. Harry, to whom this was not entirely unexpected, caught him around the middle and held him fast. For a few seconds Dobby struggled, then went limp.
  
"Thank you, Harry Potter," he panted. "Dobby still finds it difficult to speak ill of his old masters." Harry released him; Dobby straightened his tea cozy and said defiantly to Kreacher, "But Kreacher should know that Draco Malfoy is not a good master to a house-elf!"
  
"Yeah, we don't need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy," Harry told Kreacher. "Let's fast forward to where he's actually been going."
  
Kreacher bowed again, looking furious, and then said, "Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, he sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends his classes in a variety of¡ª"
  
"Dobby, you tell me," said Harry, cutting across Kreacher. "Has he been going anywhere he shouldn't have?"
  
"Harry Potter, sir," squeaked Dobby, his great orblike eyes shining in the firelight, "the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but he is still keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor with a variety of other students, who keep watch for him while he enters ¡ª"
  
"The Room of Requirement!" said Harry, smacking himself hard on the forehead with Advanced Potion-Making. Hermione and Ron stared at him. "That's where he's been sneaking off to! That's where he's doing¡­ whatever he's doing! And I bet that's why he's been disappearing off the map ¡ª come to think of it, I've never seen the Room of Requirement on there!"
  
"Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there," said Ron.
  
"I think it'll be part of the magic of the room," said Hermione. "If you need it to be unplottable, it will be."
  
"Dobby, have you managed to get in to have a look at what Malfoy's doing?" said Harry eagerly.
  
"No, Harry Potter, that is impossible," said Dobby.
  
"No, it's not," said Harry at once. "Malfoy got into our headquarters there last year, so I'll be able to get in and spy on him, no problem."
  
"But I don't think you will, Harry," said Hermione slowly. "Malfoy already knew exactly how we were using the room, didn't he, because that stupid Marietta had blabbed. He needed the room to become the headquarters of the D.A., so it did. But you don't know what the room becomes when Malfoy goes in there, so you don't know what to ask it to transform into."
  
"There'll be a way around that," said Harry dismissively. "You've done brilliantly, Dobby."
  
"Kreachers done well too," said Hermione kindly; but far from looking grateful, Kreacher averted his huge, bloodshot eyes and croaked at the ceiling, "The Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher, Kreacher will pretend he cannot hear ¡ª"
  
"Get out of it," Harry snapped at him, and Kreacher made one last deep bow and Disapparated. "You'd better go and get some sleep too, Dobby."
  
"Thank you, Harry Potter, sir!" squeaked Dobby happily, and he too vanished.
  
"How good is this?" said Harry enthusiastically, turning to Ron and Hermione the moment the room was elf-free again. "We know where Malfoy's going! We've got him cornered now!"
  
"Yeah, it's great," said Ron glumly, who was attempting to mop up the sodden mass of ink chat had recently been an almost completed essay. Hermione pulled it toward her and began siphoning the ink off with her wand.
  
"But what's all this about him going up there with a variety of students'?" said Hermione. "How many people are in on it? You wouldn't think he'd trust lots of them to know what he's doing---"
  
"Yeah, that is weird," said Harry, frowning. "I heard him telling Crabbe it wasn't Crabbe's business what he was doing... so what's he telling all these... all these..." Harry's voice tailed away; he was staring at the fire. "God, I've been stupid," he said quietly. "Its obvious, isn't it? There was a great vat of it down in the dungeon. . . . He could¡¯ve nicked some any time during that lesson. . . ."
  
"Nicked what?" said Ron.
  
"Polyjuice Potion. He stole some of the Polyjuice Potion Slug-horn showed us in our first Potions lesson¡­ There aren't a whole variety of students standing guard for Malfoy¡­ it's just Crabbe and Goyle as usual. ¡­Yeah, it all fits!" said Harry, jumping up and starting to pace in front of the fire. "They're stupid enough to do what they're told even if he won't tell them what he's up to, but he doesn't want them to be seen lurking around outside the Room of Requirement, so he's got them taking Polyjuice to make them look like other people¡­ Those two girls I saw him with when he missed Quidditch ¡ª ha! Crabbe and Goyle!"
  
¡°Do you mean to say," said Hermione in a hushed voice, "that that little girl whose scales I repaired ¡ª ?"
  
"Yeah, of course!" said Harry loudly, staring at her. "Of course! Malfoy must've been inside the room at the time, so she ¡ª what am I talking about? ¡ª he dropped the scales to tell Malfoy not to corne out, because there was someone there! And there was that girl who dropped the toadspawn too! We've been walking past him all the time and not realizing it!"
  
"He's got Crabbe and Goyle transforming into girls?" guffawed Ron. "Blimey¡­ no wonder they don't look too happy these days. I'm surprised they don't tell him to stuff it."
  
"Well, they wouldn't, would they, if he's shown them his Dark Mark?" said Harry.
  
"Hmmm... the Dark Mark we don't know exists," said Hermione skeptically, rolling up Ron's dried essay before it could come to any more harm and handing it to him.
  
"We'll see¡± said Harry confidently.
  
"Yes, we will," Hermione said, getting to her feet and stretching. "But, Harry, before you get all excited, I still don't think you'll be able to get into the Room of Requirement without knowing what's there first'. And I don't think you should forget" ¡ª she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and gave him a very serious look ¡ª "that what you're supposed to be concentrating on is getting that memory from Slughorn. Good night."

Harry watched her go, feeling slightly disgruntled. Once the door to the girls' dormitories had closed behind her he rounded on Ron. "What d'you think?"
  
"Wish I could Disapparate like a house-elf," said Ron, staring at the spot where Dobby had vanished. "I'd have that Apparition Test in the bag."
  
Harry did not sleep well that night. He lay awake for what felt like hours, wondering how Malfoy was using the Room of Requirement and what he, Harry, would see when he went in there the following day, for whatever Hermione said, Harry was sure that if Malfoy had-=- been able to see the headquarters of the D.A., he would be able to see Malfoy's, what could it be? A meeting place? A hideout? A ston room? A workshop? Harrys mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy, who turned into Slughorn, who turned into Snape¡­
  
Harry was in a state of great anticipation over breakfast the following morning; he had a free period before Defense Against the Dark Arts and was determined to spend it trying to get into the Room of Requirement. Hermione was rather ostentatiously showing no interest in his whispered plans for forcing entry into the room, which irritated Harry, because he thought she might be a lot of help if she wanted to.
  
"Look," he said quietly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the Daily Prophet, which she had just removed from a post owl, to stop her from opening it and vanishing behind it. "I haven't forgotten about Slughorn, but I haven't got a clue how to get that memory off him, and until I get a brain wave why shouldn't I find out what Malfoy's doing?"
  
"I've already told you, you need to persuade Slughorn," said Hermione. "It's not a question of tricking him or bewitching him, or Dumbledore could have done it in a second. Instead of messing around outside the Room of Requirement" ¡ª she jerked the Prophet out from under Harrys hand and unfolded it to look at the front page ¡ª "you should go and find Slughorn and start appealing to his better nature."
  
"Anyone we know ¡ª ?" asked Ron, as Hermione scanned the headlines.
  
"Yes!" said Hermione, causing both Harry and Ron to gag on their breakfast. "But it's all right, he's not dead ¡ª its Mundungus, he's been arrested and sent to Azkaban! Something to do with impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary, and someone called Octavius Pepper has vanished. Oh, and how horrible, a nine-year-old boy has been arrested for trying to kill his grandparents, they think he was under the Imperius Curse."
  
They finished their breakfast in silence. Hermione set off immediately for Ancient Runes; Ron for the common room, where he still had to finish his conclusion on Snape's dementor essay, and Harry for the corridor on the seventh floor and the stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet.
  
Harry slipped on his Invisibility Cloak once he had found an empty passage, but he need not have bothered. When he reached his destination he found it deserted. Harry was not sure whether his chances of getting inside the room were better with Malfoy inside it or out, but at least his first attempt was not going to be complicated by the presence of Crabbe or Goyle pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl.
  
He closed his eyes as he approached the place where the Room of Requirement's door was concealed. He knew what he had to do; he had become most accomplished at it last year. Concentrating with all his might he thought, ¡°I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here...¡±
  
Three times he walked past the door; then, his heart pounding with excitement, he opened his eyes and faced it ¡ª but he was still looking at a stretch of mundanely blank wall. He moved forward and gave it an experimental push. The stone remained solid and unyielding.
  
"Okay," said Harry aloud. "Okay... I thought the wrong thing..." He pondered for a moment then set off again, eyes closed, concentrating as hard as he could. ¡°I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly... I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly...¡± After three walks past, he opened his eyes expectantly.
  
There was no door.
  
"Oh, come off it," he told the wall irritably. "That was a clear instruction. Fine." He thought hard for several minutes before striding off once more. ¡°I need you to become the place you become for Draco Malfoy...¡±
  
He did not immediately open his eyes when he had finished his patrolling; he was listening hard, as though he might hear the door pop into existence. He heard nothing, however, except the distant twittering of birds outside. He opened his eyes.
  
There was still no door.
  
Harry swore. Someone screamed. He looked around to see a gaggle of first years running back around the corner, apparently under the impression that they had just encountered a particularly foulmouthed ghost.
Harry tried every variation of "I need to see what Draco Malfoy is doing inside you" that he could think of for a whole hour, at the end of which he was forced to concede that Hermione might have had a point: The room simply did not want to open for him. Frustrated and annoyed, he set off for Defense Against the Dark Arts, pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his bag as he went.
  
"Late again, Potter," said Snape coldly, as Harry hurried into the candlelit classroom. "Ten points from Gryfrindor." Harry scowled at Snape as he flung himself into the seat beside Ron. Half the class were still on their feet, taking out books and organizing their things; he could not be much later than any of them.
  
"Before we start, I want your dementor essays," said Snape, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-five scrolls of parchment soared into the air and landed in a neat pile on his desk. "And I hope for your sakes they are better than the tripe I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now, if you will all open your books to page ¡ª what is it, Mr. Finnigan?"
  
"Sir," said Seamus, "I've been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the paper about an Inferius ¡ª"
  
"No, there wasn't," said Snape in a bored voice.
  
"But sir, I heard people talking ¡ª"
  
"If you had actually read the article in question, Mr. Finnigan, you would have known that the so-called Inferius was nothing but a smelly sneak thief by the name of Mundungus Fletcher."
  
"I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side," muttered Harry to Ron and Hermione. "Shouldn't he be upset Mundungus has been arrest ¡ª"
  
"But Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject," said Snape, pointing suddenly at the back of the room, his black eyes fixed on Harry. "Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost."
  
The whole class looked around at Harry, who hastily tried to recall what Dumbledore had told him the night that they had gone to visit Slughorn. "Er ¡ª well ¡ª ghosts are transparent ¡ª" he said.
  
"Oh, very good," interrupted Snape, his lip curling. "Yes, it in easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. 'Ghosts are transparent."'
  
Pansy Parkinson let out a high-pitched giggle. Several other people were smirking. Harry took a deep breath and continued calmly, though his insides were boiling, "Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren't they? So they'd be solid ¡ª"
  
"A five-year-old could have told us as much," sneered Snape. "The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard's spells. It is not alive, it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard's bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth, and of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent. "
  
"Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we're trying to tell them apart!" said Ron. "When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be having a look to see if its solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking, 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'" There was a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gave the class.
  
"Another ten points from Gryffindor," said Snape. "I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room."
  
"No!" whispered Hermione, grabbing Harrys arm as he opened his mouth furiously. "There's no point, you'll just end up in detention again, leave it!"
"Now open your books to page two hundred and thirteen," said Snape, smirking a little, "and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse."
  
Ron was very subdued all through the class. When the bell sounded at the end of the lesson, Lavender caught up with Ron and Harry (Hermione mysteriously melted out of sight as she approached) and abused Snape hotly for his jibe about Ron's Apparition, but this seemed to merely irritate Ron, and he shook her off by making a detour into the boys' bathroom with Harry.
  
"Snape's right, though, isn't he?" said Ron, after staring into a cracked mirror for a minute or two. "I dunno whether it's worth me taking the test. I just can't get the hang of Apparition."
  
"You might as well do the extra practice sessions in Hogsmeade and see where they get you," said Harry reasonably. "It'll be more interesting than trying to get into a stupid hoop anyway. Then, if you're still not ¡ª you know ¡ª as good as you'd like to be, you can postpone the test, do it with me over the summer ¡ª Myrtle, this is the boys' bathroom!"
  
The ghost of a girl had risen out of the toilet in a cubicle behind them and was now floating in midair, staring at them through thick, white, round glasses. "Oh," she said glumly. "It's you two."
  
"Who were you expecting?" said Ron, looking at her in the mirror.
  
"Nobody," said Myrtle, picking moodily at a spot on her chin. "He said he'd come back and see me, but then you said you'd pop in and visit me too" ¡ª she gave Harry a reproachful look ¡ª "and I haven't seen you for months and months. I've learned not to expect too much from boys."
  
"I thought you lived in that girls' bathroom?" said Harry, who had been careful to give the place a wide berth for some years now.
  
"I do," she said, with a sulky little shrug, "but that doesn't mean I cant visit other places. I came and saw you in your bath once, remember?"
  
"Vividly," said Harry.
  
"But I thought he liked me," she said plaintively. "Maybe if you two left, he'd come back again. We had lots in common. I'm sure he felt it."
  
And she looked hopefully toward the door. "When you say you had lots in common," said Ron, sounding rather amused now, "d'you mean he lives in an S-bend too?"
  
"No," said Myrtle defiantly, her voice echoing loudly around the old tiled bathroom. "I mean he's sensitive, people bully him too, and he feels lonely and hasn't got anybody to talk to, and he's not afraid to show his feelings and cry!"
  
"There's been a boy in here crying?" said Harry curiously. "A young boy?"
  
"Never you mind!" said Myrtle, her small, leaky eyes fixed on Ron, who was now definitely grinning. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, and I'll take his secret to the ¡ª"
  
"¡ª not the grave, surely?" said Ron with a snort. "The sewers, maybe." Myrtle gave a howl of rage and dived back into the toilet, causing water to slop over the sides and onto the floor. Goading Myrtle seemed to have put fresh heart into Ron. "You're right," he said, swinging his schoolbag back over his shoulder, "I'll do the practice sessions in Hogsmeade before I decide about taking the test."
  
And so the following weekend, Ron joined Hermione and the rest of the sixth years who would turn seventeen in time to take the test in a fortnight. Harry felt rather jealous watching them all get ready to go into the village; he missed making trips there, and it was a particularly fine spring day, one of the first clear skies they had seen in a long time. However, he had decided to use the time to attempt another assault on the Room of Requirement.
  
"You'd do better," said Hermione, when he confided this plan to Ron and her in the entrance hall, "to go straight to Slughorn's office and try and get that memory from him."
  
"I've been trying!" said Harry crossly, which was perfectly true. He had lagged behind after every Potions lesson that week in an attempt to corner Slughorn, but the Potions master always left the dungeon so fast that Harry had not been able to catch him. Twice, Harry had gone to his office and knocked, but received no reply, though on the second occasion he was sure he had heard the quickly stifled sounds of an old gramophone.
  
"He doesn't want to talk to me, Hermione! He can tell I've been trying to get him on his own again, and he's not going to let it happen!¡±
  
"Well, you've just got to keep at it, haven't you?"
  
The short queue of people waiting to file past Filch, who was doing his usual prodding act with the Secrecy Sensor, moved forward a few steps and Harry did not answer in case he was overheard by the caretaker. He wished Ron and Hermione both luck, then turned and climbed the marble staircase again, determined, whatever Hermione said, to devote an hour or two to the Room of Requirement.
  
Once out of sight of the entrance hall, Harry pulled the Marauder's Map and his Invisibility Cloak from his bag. Having concealed himself, he tapped the map, murmured, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and scanned it carefully.
  
As it was Sunday morning, nearly all the students were inside their various common rooms, the Gryffindors in one tower, the Ravenclaws in another, the Slytherins in the dungeons, and the Hufflepuffs in the basement near the kitchens. Here and there a stray person meandered around the library or up a corridor. There were a few people out in the grounds, and there, alone in the seventh-floor corridor, was Gregory Goyle. There was no sign of the Room of Requirement, but Harry was not worried about that; if Goyle was standing guard outside it, the room was open, whether the map was aware of it or not. He therefore sprinted up the stairs, slowing down only when he reached the corner into the corridor, when he

began to creep, very slowly, toward the very same little girl, clutching her heavy brass scales, that Hermione had so kindly helped a fortnight before. He waited until he was right behind her before bending very low and whispering, "Hello¡­you're very pretty, aren't you?"
  
Goyle gave a high-pitched scream of terror, threw the scales up into the air, and sprinted away, vanishing from sight long before the sound of the scales smashing had stopped echoing around the corridor. Laughing, Harry turned to contemplate the blank wall behind which, he was sure, Draco Malfoy was now standing frozen, aware that someone unwelcome was out there, but not daring to make an appearance. It gave Harry a most agreeable feeling of power as he tried to remember what form of words he had not yet tried.
  
Yet this hopeful mood did not last long. Half an hour later, having tried many more variations of his request to see what Malfoy was up to, the wall was just as doorless as ever. Harry felt frustrated beyond belief-=Malfoy might be just feet away from him, and there was still not the tiniest shred of evidence as to what he was doing in there. Losing his patience completely, Harry ran at the wall and kicked it.
  
"OUCH!"
  
He thought he might have broken his toe; as he clutched it and hopped on one foot, the Invisibility Cloak slipped off him.
  
"Harry?"
  
He spun around, one-legged, and toppled over. There, to his utter astonishment, was Tonks, walking toward him as though she frequently strolled up this corridor.
  
"What¡¯re you doing here?" he said, scrambling to his feet again; why did she always have to find him lying on the floor?
  
"I came to see Dumbledore," said Tonks. Harry thought she looked terrible: thinner than usual, her mouse-colored hair lank.
  
"His office isn't here," said Harry, "it's round the other side of the castle, behind the gargoyle ¡ª"
  
"I know," said Tonks. "He's not there. Apparently he's gone away again."
  
"Has he?" said Harry, putting his bruised foot gingerly back on the floor. "Hey ¡ª you don't know where he goes, I suppose?"
  
"No," said Tonks.
  
"What did you want to see him about?"
  
"Nothing in particular," said Tonks, picking, apparently unconsciously, at the sleeve of her robe. "I just thought he might know what's going on. I've heard rumors¡­ people getting hurt."
  
"Yeah, I know, it's all been in the papers," said Harry. "That little kid trying to kill his ¡ª"
  
"The Prophet's often behind the times," said Tonks, who didn't seem to be listening to him. "You haven't had any letters from anyone in the Order recently?"
  
"No one from the Order writes to me anymore," said Harry, "not since Sirius ¡ª¡° He saw that her eyes had filled with tears.
  
"I'm sorry," he muttered awkwardly. "I mean... I miss him, as well."
  
"What?" said Tonks blankly, as though she had not heard him. "Well. I'll see you around, Harry.¡±
  
And she turned abruptly and walked back down the corridor, leaving Harry to stare after her. After a minute or so, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak on again and resumed his efforts to get into the Room of Requirement, but his heart was not in it. Finally, a hollow feeling in his stomach and the knowledge that Ron and Hermione would soon be back for lunch made him abandon the attempt and leave the corridor to Malfoy who, hopefully, would be too afraid to leave for some hours to come.
  
He found Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, already halfway through an early lunch.
  
"I did it ¡ª well, kind of!" Ron told Harry enthusiastically when he caught sight of him. "I was supposed to be Apparating to outside Madam Puddifoots Tea Shop and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshafts, but at least I moved!"
  
"Good one," said Harry. "How'd you do, Hermione?"
  
"Oh, she was perfect, obviously," said Ron, before Hermione could answer. "Perfect deliberation, divination, and desperation or whatever the hell it is ¡ª we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should've heard Twycross going on about her ¡ª I'll be surprised if he doesn't pop the question soon ¡ª"
  
"And what about you?" asked Hermione, ignoring Ron. "Have you been up at the Room of Requirement all this time?"
  
"Yep," said Harry. "And guess who I ran into up there? Tonks!"
  
"Tonks?" repeated Ron and Hermione together, looking surprised.
  
"Yeah, she said she'd come to visit Dumbledore."
  
"If you ask me," said Ron once Harry had finished describing his conversation with Tonks, "she's cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry."
  
"It¡¯s a bit odd," said Hermione, who for some reason looked very concerned. "She's supposed to be guarding the school, why she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he's not even here?"
  
"I had a thought," said Harry tentatively. He felt strange about voicing it; this was much more Hermione¡¯s territory than his. "You don't think she can have been... you know... in love with Sirius?"
  
Hermione stared at him. "What on earth makes you say that?"
  
"I dunno," said Harry, shrugging, "but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name, and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now. I wondered whether it hadn't become... you know... him."
  
"It's a thought," said Hermione slowly. "But I still don't know why she'd be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that's really why she was here."
  
"Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?" said Ron, who was now shoveling mashed potato into his mouth. "She's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women," he said wisely to Harry, "they're easily upset."
  
"And yet," said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, "I doubt you'd find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia."
  
Ron scowled.

Chapter 22: After the Burial

Patches of bright blue sky were beginning to appear over the castle turrets, but these signs of approaching summer did not lift Harry's mood. He had been thwarted, both in his attempts to find out what Malfoy was doing, and in his efforts to start a conversation with Slughorn that might lead, somehow, to Slughorn handing over the memory he had apparently suppressed for decades.
  
"For the last time, just forget about Malfoy," Hermione told Harry firmly.
  
They were sitting with Ron in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Hermione and Ron were both clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet ¡ª Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them ¡ª for they were taking their tests that very afternoon, but by and large the leaflets had not proved soothing to the nerves.
Ron gave a start and tried to hide behind Hermione as a girl came around the corner.
  
"It isn't Lavender," said Hermione wearily.
  
"Oh, good," said Ron, relaxing.
  
"Harry Potter?" said the girl. "I was asked to give you this."
"Thanks..."
Harry's heart sank as he took the small scroll of parchment. Once the girl was out of earshot he said, "Dumbledore said we wouldn't be having any more lessons until I got the memory!"
  
"Maybe he wants to check on how you're doing?" suggested Hermione, as Harry unrolled the parchment; but rather than finding Dumbledore's long, narrow, slanted writing he saw an untidy sprawl, very difficult to read due to the presence of large blotches on the parchment where the ink had run.
  
Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione!
Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him and you know how special he was.
Hermione, I know you'd have liked him.
It would mean a lot to me if you'd nip down for the burial later this evening.
I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favorite time of day.
I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the cloak.
Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone.
Hagrid
  
"Look at this," said Harry, handing the note to Hermione. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she said, scanning it quickly and passing it to Ron, who read it through looking increasingly incredulous. "He's mental" he said furiously. "That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!"
  
"Its not just that," said Hermione. "He's asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if we were caught."
  
"We've been down to see him by night before," said Harry.
  
"Yes, but for something like this?" said Hermione. "We've risked a lot to help Hagrid out, but after all ¡ª Aragog's dead. If it were a question of saving him ¡ª"
  
"¡ª I'd want to go even less," said Ron firmly. "You didn't meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot."
  
Harry took the note back and stared down at all the inky blotches all over it. Tears had clearly fallen thick and fast upon the parchment. . . .
  
"Harry, you can't be thinking of going," said Hermione. "It's such a pointless thing to get detention for."
  
Harry sighed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us."
  
"Yes, he will," said Hermione, looking relieved. "Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with us all off doing our tests. . . . Try and soften Slughorn up a bit then!"
  
"Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?" said Harry bitterly.
  
"Lucky," said Ron suddenly. "Harry, that's it ¡ª get lucky!"
  
"What d'you mean?"
  
"Use your lucky potion!"
  
"Ron, that's ¡ª that's it!" said Hermione, sounding stunned. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it?"
  
Harry stared at them both. "Felix Felicis?" he said. "I dunno . . . I was sort of saving it. ..."
  
"What for?" demanded Ron incredulously.
  
"What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?" asked Hermione.
  
Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved Ginny splitting up with Dean, and Ron somehow being happy to see her with a new boyfriend, had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking. . . .
  
"Harry? Are you still with us?" asked Hermione.
  
"Wha ¡ª ? Yeah, of course," he said, pulling himself together. "Well. . . okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another go this evening."
  
"That's decided, then," said Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. "Destination . . . determination . . . deliberation . . ." she murmured.
  
"Oh, stop that," Ron begged her, "I feel sick enough as it is ¡ª quick, hide me!"
  
"It isn't Lavender!" said Hermione impatiently, as another couple of girls appeared in the courtyard and Ron dived behind her.
  
"Cool," said Ron, peering over Hermiones shoulder to check. "Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?"
  
"They're the Montgomery sisters and of course they don't look happy, didn't you hear what happened to their little brother?" said Hermione.
  
"I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest," said Ron.
  
"Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St. Mungos, they couldn't save him."
  
"He died?" repeated Harry, shocked. "But surely werewolves don't kill, they just turn you into one of them?"
  
"They sometimes kill," said Ron, who looked unusually grave now. "I've heard of it happening when the werewolf gets carried away."
  
"What was the werewolf's name?" said Harry quickly.
  
"Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback," said Hermione.
  
"I knew it ¡ª the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!" said Harry angrily.
  
Hermione looked at him bleakly.
  
"Harry, you've got to get that memory," she said. "It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him. . . ."
  
The bell rang overhead in the castle and both Hermione and Ron jumped to their feet, looking terrified.
  
"You'll do fine," Harry told them both, as they headed toward the entrance hall to meet the rest of the people taking their Apparition Test. "Good luck."
  
"And you too!" said Hermione with a significant look, as Harry headed off to the dungeons.
  
There were only three of them in Potions that afternoon: Harry, Ernie, and Draco Malfoy.
  
"All too young to Apparate just yet?" said Slughorh genially, "Not turned seventeen yet?"
  
They shook their heads.
  
"Ah well," said Slughorn cheerily, "as we're so few, we'll do something for fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!"
  
"That sounds good, sir," said Ernie sycophantically, rubbing his hands together. Malfoy, on the other hand, did not crack a smile. "What do you mean, 'something amusing'?" he said irritably. "Oh, surprise me," said Slughorn airily.
  
Malfoy opened his copy of Advanced Potion-Making with a sulky expression. It could not have been plainer that he thought this lesson was a waste of time. Undoubtedly, Harry thought, watching him over the top of his own book, Malfoy was begrudging the time he could otherwise be spending in the Room of Requirement.
  
Was it his imagination, or did Malfoy, like Tonks, look thinner! Certainly he looked paler; his skin still had that grayish tinge, probably because he so rarely saw daylight these days. But there was no air of smugness, excitement, or superiority; none of the swagger that he had had on the Hogwarts Express, when he had boasted openly of the mission he had been given by Voldemort. . . . There could be only one conclusion, in Harry's opinion: The mission, whatever it was, was going badly.
  
Cheered by this thought, Harry skimmed through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and found a heavily corrected Half-Blood Prince's version of "An Elixir to Induce Euphoria," which seemed not only to meet Slughorn's instructions, but which might (Harry's heart leapt as the thought struck him) put Slughorn into such a good mood that he would be prepared to hand over that memory if Harry could persuade him to taste some. . . .
  
"Well, now, this looks absolutely wonderful," said Slughorn an hour and a half later, clapping his hands together as he stared down into the sunshine yellow contents of Harry's cauldron. "Euphoria, I take it? And what's that I smell? Mmmm . . . you've added just a sprig of peppermint, haven't you? Unorthodox, but what a stroke of inspiration, Harry, of course, that would tend to counterbalance the occasional side effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking. ... I really don't know where you get these brain waves, my boy . . . unless ¡ª"
  
Harry pushed the Half-Blood Prince's book deeper into his bag with his foot.
  
"¡ª it's just your mother's genes coming out in you!"
  
"Oh . . . yeah, maybe," said Harry, relieved.
  
Ernie was looking rather grumpy; determined to outshine Harry for once, he had most rashly invented his own potion, which had curdled and formed a kind of purple dumpling at the bottom of his cauldron. Malfoy was already packing up, sour-faced; Slughorn had pronounced his Hiccuping Solution merely "passable."
..;.
The bell rang and both Ernie and Malfoy left at once. "Sir," Harry began, but Slughorn immediately glanced over his shoulder; when he saw that the room was empty but for himself and Harry, he hurried away as fast as he could.
  
"Professor ¡ª Professor, don't you want to taste my po ¡ª ?" called Harry desperately.
  
But Slughorn had gone. Disappointed, Harry emptied the cauldron, packed up his things, left the dungeon, and walked slowly back upstairs to the common room.
  
Ron and Hermione returned in the late afternoon.
  
"Harry!" cried Hermione as she climbed through the portrait hole. "Harry, I passed!"
-
"Well done!" he said. "And Ron?"
  
"He ¡ª he just failed," whispered Hermione, as Ron came slouching into the room looking most morose. "It was really unlucky, a tiny thing, the examiner just spotted that he'd left half an eyebrow behind. . . How did it go with Slughorn?"
  
"No joy," said Harry, as Ron joined them. "Bad luck, mate, but you'll pass next time ¡ª we can take it together."
  
"Yeah, I s'pose," said Ron grumpily. "But half an eyebrow ¨C like that matters!"
  
"I know," said Hermione soothingly, "it does seem really harsh. ..."
  
They spent most of their dinner roundly abusing the Apparition examiner, and Ron looked fractionally more cheerful by the time they set off back to the common room, now discussing the continuing problem of Slughorn and the memory.
  
"So, Harry ¡ª you going to use the Felix Felicis or what?" Ron demanded.
  
"Yeah, I s'pose I'd better," said Harry. "I don't reckon I'll need all of it, not twenty-four hours' worth, it can't take all night.... I'll just take a mouthful. Two or three hours should do it."
  
"It's a great feeling when you take it," said Ron reminiscently. "Like you can't do anything wrong."
  
"What are you talking about?" said Hermione, laughing. "You've never taken any!"
  
"Yeah, but I thought I had, didn't I?" said Ron, as though explaining the obvious. "Same difference really ..."

As they had only just seen Slughorn enter the Great Hall and knew that he liked to take time over meals, they lingered for a while in the common room, the plan being that Harry should go to Slughorn s office once the teacher had had time to get back there. When the sun had sunk to the level of the treetops in the Forbidden Forest, they decided the moment had come, and after checking carefully that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all in the common room, sneaked up to the boys' dormitory.
  
Harry took out the rolled-up socks at the bottom of his trunk and extracted the tiny, gleaming bottle.
  
"Well, here goes," said Harry, and he raised the little bottle and look a carefully measured gulp.
  
"What does it feel like?" whispered Hermione.
  
Harry did not answer for a moment. Then, slowly but surely, an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity stole through him; he felt as though he could have done anything, anything at all... and getting the memory from Slughorn seemed suddenly not only possible, but positively easy. . . .
  
He got to his feet, smiling, brimming with confidence.
"Excellent," he said. "Really excellent. Right. . . I'm going down to Hagrid's."
  
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together, looking aghast.
  
"No, Harry ¡ª you've got to go and see Slughorn, remember?" said Hermione.
  
"No," said Harry confidently. "I'm going to Hagrid's, I've got a good feeling about going to Hagrid's."
  
"You've got a good feeling about burying a giant spider?" asked Ron, looking stunned.
  
"Yeah," said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. "I feel like it's the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?"
  
"No," said Ron and Hermione together, both looking positively alarmed now.
  
"This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?" said Hermione anxiously, holding up the bottle to the light. "You haven't got another little bottle full of¡ª I don't know ¡ª"
  
"Essence of Insanity?" suggested Ron, as Harry swung his cloak over his shoulders.
  
Harry laughed, and Ron and Hermione looked even more alarmed.
  
"Trust me," he said. "I know what I'm doing ... or at least" he strolled confidently to the door¡ª "Felix does."
  
He pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head and set off down the stairs, Ron and Hermione hurrying along behind him. At the foot of the stairs, Harry slid through the open door.
  
"What were you doing up there with her!¡± shrieked Lavender Brown, staring right through Harry at Ron and Hermione emerging together from the boys' dormitories. Harry heard Ron spluttering behind him as he darted across the room away from them.
  
Getting through the portrait hole was simple; as he approached it, Ginny and Dean came through it, and Harry was able to slip between them. As he did so, he brushed accidentally against Ginny.
  
"Don't push me, please, Dean," she said, sounding annoyed. ; "You're always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own. ..."
  
The portrait swung closed behind Harry, but not before he had heard Dean make an angry retort.. . . His feeling of elation increasing, Harry strode off through the castle. He did not have to creep along, for he met nobody on his way, but this did not surprise him in the slightest. This evening, he was the luckiest person at Hogwarts.
  
Why he knew that going to Hagrid's was the right thing to do, he had no idea. It was as though the potion was illuminating a few steps of the path at a time. He could not see the final destination, he could not see where Slughorn came in, but he knew that he was going the right way to get that memory. When he reached the entrance hall he saw that Filch had forgotten to lock the front door. Beaming, Harry threw it open and breathed in the smell of clean air and grass for a moment before walking down the steps into the dusk.
  
It was when he reached the bottom step that it occurred to him how very pleasant it would be to pass the vegetable patch on his walk to Hagrid's. It was not strictly on the way, but it seemed clear to Harry that this was a whim on which he should act, so he directed his feet immediately toward the vegetable patch, where he was pleased, but not altogether surprised, to find Professor Slughorn in conversation with Professor Sprout. Harry lurked behind a low stone wall, feeling at peace with the world and listening to their conversation.
  
"I do thank you for taking the time, Pomona," Slughorn was saying courteously, "most authorities agree that they are at their most efficacious if picked at twilight."
  
"Oh, I quite agree," said Professor Sprout warmly. "That enough for you?"
  
"Plenty, plenty," said Slughorn, who, Harry saw, was carrying an armful of leafy plants. "This should allow for a few leaves for each of my third years, and some to spare if anybody over-stews them. . . . Well, good evening to you, and many thanks again!"
  
Professor Sprout headed off into the gathering darkness in the direction of her greenhouses, and Slughorn directed his steps to the spot where Harry stood, invisible.
:
Seized with an immediate desire to reveal himself, Harry pullet I off the cloak with a flourish.
  
"Good evening, Professor."
  
"Merlin¡¯s beard, Harry, you made me jump," said Slughotn, stopping dead in his tracks and looking wary. "How did you get out of the castle?"
  
"I think Filch must've forgotten to lock the doors," said Harry cheerfully, and was delighted to see Slughorn scowl.
  
"I'll be reporting that man, he's more concerned about litter than proper security if you ask me. . . . But why are you out then, Harry?"
  
"Well, sir, it's Hagrid," said Harry, who knew that the right thing to do just now was to tell the truth. "He's pretty upset. . . But you won't tell anyone, Professor? I don't want trouble for him. ..."
  
Slughorn's curiosity was evidently aroused. "Well, I can't promise that," he said gruffly. "But I know that Dumbledore trusts Hagrid to the hilt, so I'm sure he can't be up to anything very dreadful. ..
."
"Well, it's this giant spider, he's had it for years. ... It lived in the forest. ... It could talk and everything ¡ª"
  
"I heard rumors there were acromantulas in the forest," said Slughorn softly, looking over at the mass of black trees. "It's true, then?"
  
"Yes," said Harry. "But this one, Aragog, the first one Hagrid ever got, it died last night. He's devastated. He wants company while he buries it and I said I'd go."
  
"Touching, touching," said Slughorn absentmindedly, his large droopy eyes fixed upon the distant lights of Hagrid's cabin. "But acromantula venom is very valuable ... If the beast only just died it might not yet have dried out. . . . Of course, I wouldn't want to do anything insensitive if Hagrid is upset. . . but if there was any way to procure some ... I mean, its almost impossible to get venom from an acromantula while its alive. ..."
  
Slughorn seemed to be talking more to himself than Harry now. ". . . seems an awful waste not to collect it... might get a hundred Galleons a pint. ... To be frank, my salary is not large. . . ."
  
And now Harry saw clearly what was to be done. "Well," he said, with a mos