Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Adventures of Mister Cork
Harry reckoned if someone saw him they'd think he was insane. If his relatives walked in unexpectedly Harry knew they'd pitch a fit, but he didn't particularly care about them anymore. He'd been sneaking out for over three weeks now and they hadn't noticed a thing. If they hadn't discovered him by now he doubted they ever would. Regardless, it didn't dampen the amusement it sparked to notice their obliviousness.
Sitting on his bedroom floor, wrapped in the scratchy blanket from his bed, Harry surrounded himself with plans. Dozens of books were lying open on the floor around him, journals and yearbooks discarded near his dresser, papers strewn about rather indiscriminately. All that mattered was that he could see it all at once, no matter how mad he looked boxed in by resources collected from weeks of research.
Ever since Harry discovered Dumbledore hid the Prophecy from him - when he first realized the Headmaster wasn't as trustworthy as he thought - one thing after another was slowly convincing him that maybe Dumbledore wasn't the great man Harry always thought him to be. Once upon a time Harry might've listened to and trusted Dumbledore completely, but for the past few weeks Harry's trust was fading, replaced by wary suspicion.
If there was anything Harry was really good at, it was finding things he wasn't meant to and getting into situations he wasn't supposed to. Sure it usually led to mountain trolls and basilisks and werewolves, but what else was new? Looking at the facts of the situation at hand, Harry didn't really have a choice.
Too much was happening all at once. Dumbledore was keeping secrets, Ron and Hermione weren't writing him anymore, being alone with the Dursleys was slowly chipping away at his sanity, and the nightmares of Cedric and the graveyard only brought his grief to the surface with every day that passed. Harry was drowning. But now he'd found a way to swim.
He was going to make his own way, find his own answers, and solve his problems without caring what Dumbledore thought. If Dumbledore was content to ignore him, Harry would ignore him right back. So Harry was starting with research - research into Dumbledore himself.
“Who's next?” Harry murmured into his empty room, “Who else…”
Over the past week Harry hunted down each and every staff member he knew worked with Dumbledore during the time he was a Transfiguration Professor. He looked into when they quit, where they worked after, whether they stayed relatively close to Hogwarts, and everything in between. He learned a lot from that alone, but that wasn't all he found. Harry already knew Dumbledore's time as a Transfiguration Professor overlapped with Tom Riddle's time as a student, but new information came to light that sparked curiosity and doubt.
Tom Riddle applied to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor in 1945 shortly after graduating, but was denied by the Headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet, due to Riddle's young age. It wasn't even three months later that Headmaster Dippet resigned - and who should take his place but Albus Dumbledore? When Tom Riddle returned, older and more learned, to apply for the position again, Dumbledore turned him away without hesitation. An interesting sequence of events…
At first the facts and timeline may’ve seemed unrelated, but according to almost every person Harry interviewed so far… they very much were connected.
Seven out of the nine Professors Harry interviewed mentioned Tom Riddle as one of the students Dumbledore unfairly accused of evil deeds, and the one subjected to his attention most often. Apparently Dumbledore had an aversion to Slytherins in general, occasionally picking random students to give detention or scold for no reason, but with Riddle it was more prominent, enough so that nearly everyone noticed. It was no question to them why Dumbledore denied Riddle the position, given the terrible history between them.
A couple years ago Harry might've thought they were all crazy. Dumbledore was in the wrong and Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, was completely innocent? That just sounded wrong on so many levels!! But with evidence stacking up, too many things dropped in Harry's lap at once, suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore.
Harry didn't know what to do with all the information he was finding, or what to think about it all. He also didn't know how it fit in with his dreams and the Prophecy he recently discovered. But he knew there was something more going on beneath it all - Harry just couldn't figure out what. Not yet, anyway.
But he would. Harry was sure of it. Determination was one of his chief Gryffindor traits, and he planned to use every ounce of it to find the answers he was looking for.
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Harry looked in the bathroom mirror carefully, making sure everything was in place. The blue contacts were snugly sitting in his eyes, though they made his eyes water a little, and the square glasses he wore sat perched against his nose. He again straightened the bright red beanie that hid his hair, then double checked the foundation covering his scar was well in place. He wore the same disguise for every Professor, using the same name and everything. He wanted to become someone new for these ventures - an aspiring journalist on the hunt for the truth.
It had taken about a week to collect his full disguise, slowly nabbing a few sterling from Petunia's purse to collect enough money to afford the Muggle supplies and inconspicuous clothes. He didn't dare touch his uncle's wallet - Vernon counted his money, so that was a sure way to get caught. Regardless, Harry eventually had his whole disguise in order and wore it when interviewing every Professor. It wasn't perfect, but it did stop them from immediately clocking him as ‘The Great Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived,’ and that was the biggest part, really.
With a deep breath, Harry left the bathroom and headed to Apartment Number 65 and knocked soundly. He waited. A moment later a man answered the door; he was rounded and wide like uncle Vernon, but bald to the point of his head being shiny, his expression pleasant and joyous. Overly so, in Harry's opinion.
“Professor Horace Slughorn?” Harry prompted, dramatically flipping through a few pages on the clipboard he had in hand.
“Yes.” The man confirmed with a laugh. “Though I haven't been a Professor in many years, ha! What can I do for you?”
“I'm Roland Cork, an aspiring Wizarding journalist.” Harry said, grinning brightly at Slughorn. “I've been interviewing retired Professors from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, mostly regarding their careers and notable moments while teaching. I'd just like a moment of your time, perhaps 15 to 20 minutes, to ask you a few questions.”
“How interesting!” Slughorn exclaimed. “And which of my old colleagues have you interviewed?”
“Several, actually.” Harry told him. Again he flipped a few pages on the clipboard, trailing his fingers along the words as if referencing the information he'd already memorized backwards and upside down. “Two of them mentioned and recommended I visit you personally. Healer Merrythought, the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor that shared her time at Hogwarts with you, and Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes Professor that overlapped with you more briefly.”
“Mentioned me, did they?”
“Yes sir, they spoke very highly of you. And they told me about an interesting club you ran while you taught.” Harry said enthusiastically. “The Slug Club? I was wondering if I could ask you about that as well! I hear you had a variety of talented students over the years.”
“That I did, my boy!” Slughorn laughed. “I'm still in contact with the majority of them, I'll have you know. They still greatly rely on me, and all regularly update me on their lives and careers!”
“How exciting!” Harry gasped. “Tell me everything!”
“Well, not everything, of course. A man's gotta have some secrets now.” Slughorn said with a wink. “But I'd love to tell you about it.”
“Great!” Harry enthused. “I'd like to ask you about a few specific students as well, if you don't mind. Including, but not limited to: Miranda Goshawk, Lyall Lupin, Tom Riddle, and Tiberius Nott. They were all in your famous Slug Club, right? The other Professors really sang their praises as well, and I was just wondering if you'd weigh in on their academic accomplishments and personal successes.”
As he spoke, Harry noticed Slughorn suddenly go still. His cheer slowly faded into a more tense smile, that joyful attitude melting away. Harry tilted his head, examining the man. What could've caused that?
“Professor?” Harry prompted.
“Oh yes, they were.” Slughorn said, clearing his throat loudly. “All lovely, lovely students.” He seemed tight-lipped regarding that, which Harry filed away in his brain for later. He moved on smoothly.
“In any case, I'd also like to discuss your relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore. I believe you attended Hogwarts together as students? And he was the Transfiguration Professor for a long while before transitioning to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Harry again flipped some pages, pausing with a hum. “Professor Merrythought cited you two were quite close back in the day. Would you mind telling me more about that as well, in the interview?”
“Uh, well, Dumbledore and I had a… working relationship.” Somehow Slughorn had grown even more tense. “If you've come to talk to me about Dumbledore specifically, I can't help you on that front.”
“That's alright, I have plenty of other questions.” Even as he said it, Harry realized he'd hit a wall in the conversation. So he improvised. “Oh! Is now a bad time?” Harry asked, painting concern across his face. “I'm so sorry! I didn't even ask, how rude of me. How about I come back at a later date? We can continue some other time. How does that sound? We'll get this sorted in no time, I'm sure of it.”
“Yes, quite.” Slughorn nodded, clearing his throat again. “Perhaps a later date would be preferable. I'll check my schedule and see when might be able to–”
“Oh don't even worry about it, Professor!” Harry exclaimed. “I'll figure something out. Next time I'll have the questions all sketched out, so we can just get started instead of standing around in the doorway. We can go over them together then, don't you fret! Bye Professor, it was lovely meeting you. Have a lovely day!”
Without waiting and completely ignoring Slughorn's sputtered protests, Harry promptly left with a skip in his step until he rounded a corner and Slughorn was out of sight. Then Harry paused, frowning as he made his way out of the apartment building more slowly, turning the interaction over in his head. It was interesting how Slughorn flipped his attitude so quickly…
According to the other Professors, Slughorn had sorta played favorites with Tom Riddle - mentoring him and putting him on a pedestal above his other students. Harry didn't expect Slughorn to get so skittish at the mere mention of him. And Harry thought throwing in a bunch of other Slug Club members would help mask the specificity! Damn. He hadn't been subtle enough, unfortunately. Well, at least that wasn't the only thing Harry learned.
It seemed Dumbledore was a sensitive topic for Slughorn, but in a different way than it was for the other Professors.
Healer Merrythought had full-on bashed Dumbledore, accusing him of blatant discrimination based on House without any sort of discretion; it was obvious she was both disdainful and unafraid of Albus Dumbledore. Professor Babbling was a bit more delicate regarding her viewpoint, but again Harry was told Dumbledore was the type to play favorites, whether it be positive or negative favoritism. Herbert Beery, the Herbology Professor of that time, said Dumbledore was a powerful yet prejudiced man; he did not sound fond of Dumbledore, though Beery did seem to respect him. Overall, none of them were loyal to Dumbledore, and none of them even liked him. It made Harry wonder how in the world he became Headmaster in the first place. Especially the convenient timing of the switch happening directly after Riddle's graduation…
But for Slughorn it seemed he was possibly afraid of Dumbledore in a way the others weren't. That struck Harry was odd, especially considering Slughorn and Dumbledore went to school together and were quite close. They should've been on relatively even footing without too much of a knowledge or even a power imbalance, especially with them being the same age. But, then again, Harry was beginning to understand there was far more going on than he'd previously guessed, and lots more he just couldn't see yet.
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Harry waited five days before approaching Slughorn again. In those five days he sketched out exactly what questions he wanted to ask in which order, and how to steer the conversation if Slughorn became skittish or vague in answering. There was only so much preparing he could do, so eventually Harry just mustered his confidence and headed to see Slughorn again.
Upon answering the door, Harry could already see the difference in how the Professor planned on greeting him. His smile was less joyous, eyes less bright, and posture more strict as he stood in the doorway.
“Hello again.” Slughorn said. “Mister Cork, was it?”
“Exactly sir!” Harry said brightly. “I've got everything all set up. And don't worry, I'll run this exactly as I did the other Professors, and they said it wasn't a hassle at all. May I come in?”
“Uh, why yes of course!” Slughorn stammered a little, but he did move aside enough for Harry to squeeze by him.
“Thank you sir.” Harry smiled widely. “You have a lovely home.” Just from a glance, Harry deduced Slughorn was very… showy.
The room was simple yet tastefully expensive, an ornate lampshade or embellished cushion adding a richer atmosphere, and the walls were decorated with Slughorn's successes. Certificates and awards and trophies, some from his years as a student and even more from after. It was immediately obvious he prized himself on his accomplishments and very little else.
And not just his accomplishments, but those of his students as well. That was telling in and of itself - it told Harry that Slughorn was the type to thrive off other people's successes, maybe even more so than his own.
“Ah yes, I see you're drawn to my collections.” Slughorn laughed as Harry paused, looking over the shelves upon shelves of photos and frames and faces smiling wide. “Those are some of my brightest students. Greatly talented, I'll proudly say.”
“I imagine you helped them reach their highest potential, sir.” Harry said. “You must've been very loved as a Professor.” Even as he said it, and even as Slughorn laughed, Harry got a slimy sort of feeling from it all.
“Indeed I did, I'll admit!” Slughorn said, his stiffness melting away a little as he laughed loudly. “I take great pride in my students, as you must've noticed. And I'm still in contact with many of them to this day! So many great minds out there these days, you know.”
“How wonderful.” Harry replied. “Shall we get started then? I don't want to take up too much of your time, sir.”
It felt like too long before they were seated comfortably in the stuffy sitting room, Slughorn having quickly made tea while chatting to Harry about mindless subjects and boasting about his students as if he'd also accomplished what they had along with them - his hubris and blatant arrogance made Harry want to leave and not come back. Unfortunately, Slughorn had valuable information Harry needed and he wasn't leaving without it.
“Ah, that's enough from me.” Slughorn finally paused, clearing his throat. He nodded towards Harry with his cup of tea. “Now then, what was it you needed from me?”
“Oh, I just have a handful of questions.” Harry said, smiling.
“Ask away.” In the process of small talk and making of tea, Slughorn had relaxed enough to seem genuinely receptive to Harry's questions, which was a massive relief. Still, Harry started off easy.
“To start, tell me a little about how you came to teach at Hogwarts.” Harry said, turning a page on his clipboard as he did. “Looking into it, I found you started there when you were around fifty years old. Is that correct?”
“You've done your research!” Slughorn laughed. “Yes, when I graduated from Hogwarts I went on to become a Potioneer, for a time. I traveled around and saw the sights, absorbing what I could while I was still in my prime years. You wouldn't believe how many talented individuals I mentored at the time, many of them are so famous you'd blanch knowing it was I who trained them! But when Dumbledore reached out to me with news that he'd been offered a position at Hogwarts, suddenly I wondered if teaching could be my new passion.”
As Slughorn spoke Harry flipped to his notebook at the back of the clipboard, scribbling down short-hand of what he was hearing. He wasn't worried about Slughorn reading it - Harry's penmanship with a quill was so bad sometimes he couldn't read it himself. And he wrote it!
“It was about two years after that, about 1931, I believe, that I applied to be the Potions Master at Hogwarts.” Slughorn continued. He was smiling wide, genuine and fond. Despite the ick of how he spoke about some of his students, it seemed he really did enjoy teaching. “The previous Potions Master was stepping down, you see, so really it was perfect timing!”
“How wonderful!” Harry looked up from his writings to say. “It seems you found teaching very fulfilling, correct?”
“That's just right.” Slughorn agreed brightly. “Truly, those were the best years of my life.” Harry decided this was a great time for his next angle.
“And how has your retirement been?” Harry asked, flipping through some pages absently. “From what I've read, and heard from your fellow Professors, you departed in 1981 just after He-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. Do you miss it at all?”
“To tell you the truth, yes, I do.” Slughorn admitted. “It is a sad thing to know current and future students will never know my name, never understand the brilliance my Slug Club held. But I'm getting on in years. I recently celebrated my 114th birthday, I'll have you know.”
“Wow! That's amazing!” Harry exclaimed dramatically. “I imagine a man such as yourself threw a brilliant part to celebrate.”
“That I did, my boy!” Slughorn chuckled. “All my students and important peers attended, it was an amazing occasion.”
“Yours and Headmaster Dumbledore's birthdays are only four months apart, did he attend?” Harry asked. “I can't imagine he wouldn't, after so many years of friendship.” Immediately Slughorn's cheer turned sour, his smile tightening.
“Ah, well, no. Not exactly.” Slughorn set down his tea, signing. “Mister Cork, I am happy to discuss my career, my accomplishments, and especially my students, but if you're here about my relationship with Albus Dumbledore… I'm afraid I cannot help you.” Harry had to conceal a smile.
“Oh sir, I'm here for so much more than that!” Harry assured him with false concern. “I don't mean to offend or push you. My interest is purely academic and professional. Though I'd love to hear about how you and Headmaster Dumbledore became friends, and how you get on now, you needn't feel pressured to share!”
“I appreciate that.” Slughorn nodded tersely. “If you have questions unrelated to Dumbledore, I'd be happy to–”
“If I may, I just have one question regarding Headmaster Dumbledore.” Harry said quickly. “I assure you, it's nothing too personal. I asked all of the Professors I've interviewed a similar question, so it's not just you! I'm looking to better my understanding of Hogwarts, and people like you help more than you could ever know.” Slughorn stared at Harry for a moment, contemplating.
“Just one question?”
“Just the one.”
“I see.” Slughorn pursed his lips for a moment. “I suppose… Well alright. One question.”
“Oh, thank you!” Harry enthused. “Okay. Now. I asked the previous Professors what their current relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore was, and whether they still entertained his company after they left Hogwarts. From your previous answers, I can estimate that you have the same answer for me that all the others did.” Slughorn's eyebrows went up at that. Harry pushed on. “None of them are still in contact with Headmaster Dumbledore, nor do they maintain any significant friendship with him. If asked, I believe you would give me the same answer. So that's not my question for you.”
“And what is your question, dare I ask?” Harry took a deep breath. He really hoped Slughorn didn't kick him out for asking this…
“Would you say that your relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore is negative, or perhaps tense?” Harry said, carefully controlling his expression. “I've noticed you don't want to talk about him, and tend to skate around questions regarding him. Is this because you have an unsteady relationship that keeps you at odds?”
“... It is.” Slughorn said slowly. “You are correct. Dumbledore and I were once very close, but as years went on our relationship was… strained. We had a disagreement that led to resentment, and that resentment still separates us to this day.”
“I see, that's unfortunate.” Harry said seriously. He was definitely asking more than ‘one question’ at this point. Harry just hoped Slughorn wouldn't notice. “If I may be so bold, was that ‘strain’ you mentioned due to the presence of a certain student?”
“Why do you ask?” Slughorn suddenly looked immensely nervous. Harry pretended not to notice and just kept going.
“It's just something a couple of your fellow Professors referenced, a student who you and Headmaster Dumbledore were at odds about. A student named Tom Riddle.” Harry continued. “Tom Riddle, as described to me by multiple sources, was a brilliant student with top marks and a chivalrous personality. Healer Merrythought stated Tom Riddle was one of your favorite students back in the day, Professor. She confided that you spoke often of his talents, and you hoped he'd pursue a career in the Ministry for his intelligence and ambition. I heard similar stories from the Herbology Professor you worked alongside for many years, Herbert Beery? He fondly recounted to me how Mister Riddle was a star at Hogwarts, a real prodigy, one whom you were more than happy to openly support and encourage.” Slughorn opened his mouth, clearly meaning to steer the conversation off-course, but Harry wasn't done.
“According to your old coworkers, Tom Riddle was one of your favorite students, and you saw fit to be a sort of mentor during his time at Hogwarts. But I was also told Headmaster Dumbledore saw Riddle in a much different light - he thought Riddle was a troublemaker. Despite Headmaster Dumbledore's accusations, which were made rather frequently and without any visible evidence, you and the other Professors continued to support Riddle through his years at Hogwarts. He went on to win many awards, as I understand it.
“Knowing this, it's sensible to theorize that Headmaster Dumbledore's disdain towards one of your favored students would cause tension.” Harry said. Slughorn seemed to be growing more and more still as Harry spoke. “So, to bring us back to my question. Was your falling out with Headmaster Dumbledore related at all to Tom Riddle?”
Slughorn was silent for a moment when Harry finished. Which made sense. It probably wasn't every day a random ‘journalist’ interrogated him about the past he'd buried deep behind him. From the sounds of it, Slughorn was running from whatever happened between him, Dumbledore and Tom Riddle. If Harry could just figure out what went down, maybe he'd finally have the answers he needed and how it was tied to his current situation with the dreams and the Prophecy and Dumbledore's secrecy.
“Let me ask you one question.” Slughorn's voice wasn't cheerful anymore. His eyes were sharp and his voice was serious. “Are you reporting back to someone? Dumbledore, perhaps? Or is this just a sham of an interview trying to dig into my personal business? Why are you really here, Mister Cork? Tell me the truth.”
Harry took a deep breath. He'd prepared to answer that question, luckily. Professor Merrythought asked him the same one. With her he'd stumbled through embarrassment, unable to answer confidently, but Merrythought just laughed and said she was messing with him. But it was different this time. Harry was glad he had an answer ready to go, because Slughorn was dead serious.
“Professor, I'm just here to learn. I don't work for anyone, I'm unaffiliated with any individual, corporation, or business, and I certainly don't report back to anyone what I hear or learn.” Harry met Slughorn's eyes and tried to properly convey his sincerity. “There are so many secrets at Hogwarts, yet so few answers. I chose to be a journalist, one of the least respected positions out there, because I have this gnawing urge inside me to know. I don't spend my free time talking to people like you because someone paid me to. I ask questions because I'm curious, I interview people because I want to listen, and I keep asking until I get my answers. Professor, I am an individual seeking the truth, that's all.”
For a moment they just stared at each other.
“You remind me of him just a bit.” Slughorn said softly. Harry blinked.
“Of who?”
“Tom.” Slughorn sighed, running a hand down his face tiredly. “Tom Riddle. He was such a marvelous student. He had talent I'd never seen before, and there's not been a single student I've taught like him since. Tom was a once in a lifetime student, and I'm afraid I wasn't the best mentor for him as I could've been. I did not see where he was headed…”
Slughorn fell silent for a time. Terrified he'd somehow break the fragility of the moment, Harry said nothing and waited. He could scarcely breathe with how carefully he was listening.
“It is not something I am proud of, you understand.” Slughorn said finally. “But I… Well, to put it vaguely, I discussed a piece of dark magic with Tom that I should not have. He was curious, and educating students is what a good teacher and supportive mentor does. So when Tom asked me… I answered. It was quite possibly the worst mistake of my life, and I regret it to this day. I've buried it in my memories, smothered it, but still it haunts me…” Harry didn't even dare write notes, though he desperately wanted to remember every word, fearing the gentle scratching of his quill would snap Slughorn out of whatever trance he was in.
Slughorn blew out a breath. “Albus, many years later, brought up the conversation I'd long since buried and tried to erase. Why, I was so aghast by the suddenness I panicked. I nearly Obliviated myself with shame. That may seem dramatic to you, but when Albus asked me for the exact memory of that day, of that very conversation, I genuinely feared for my life. After that conversation, I retired. I left Hogwarts, teaching, and Dumbledore, behind me. I've worked so hard since then to keep my distance, to protect my mistake and prevent anyone from knowing it, but… I suppose it was bound to come out one way or another.
“You see, after a meeting with my Slug Club, Tom stayed after to ask me a question.” Slughorn chewed his lip anxiously as he spoke. “He wanted to know about a particularly rare, practically unheard of magic. A very evil, unstable, dangerous type of magic. I thought it odd he was asking, but never did it occur to me that he would use the knowledge to do evil.”
“... What was the magic?” Harry asked, soft and breathless.
“Horcruxes.” Slughorn's eyes fell shut. To Harry's surprise, his expression was filled with grief. Sad, longing, grieving lines cut into his face like tears in aged seams. “I told him, a Horcrux is a magical object that contains a piece of one's very soul. One would split their soul and hide a fragment outside of their body, to keep it safe. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. Looking back, I realize now that he was afraid. Tom was terrified of death, and what might happen if he were vulnerable.
“But I warned him, to create a Horcrux was to damn yourself forever. To exist in such a state, split into so many pieces, would be a fate worse than death. If all that is left of a person is a tiny fragment of themselves, tucked away in a book or carried inside jewelery, the pain it dealt would have them wish for death, mercy, to save them from the unending agony. That person would be little more than a wraith, cursed to remain alive but untethered, aware but unable to again be really human.
“There are very few times in my life where I've truly regretted something I'd done, but that conversation was one of them.” Slughorn opened his eyes. Harry was stunned to see tears glistening there. “I don't know what happened to Tom after he left Hogwarts and flew off on his own, but I've heard rumors. I don't want to believe them, for if they're true his fate was partially my fault. I should not have shared that information with him, and if Albus knew what I'd done…” Slughorn shuddered. He then wiped his damp eyes, facing Harry with a sniff. “So there you have it. I do apologise, I've forgotten what your actual question was.”
“No, that answered my questions perfectly.” Harry heard himself say. “Thank you, Professor.”
Vaguely, Harry knew Slughorn said something like “Goodness, look at the time!” and ushered him out immediately, blubbering about something to distract himself or Harry or both as he pushed Harry out. Harry knew he thanked the man at some point for entertaining the interview, but his motions were on autopilot as he tried and failed to comprehend the information offered to him.
Horcruxes. Split souls. Wraiths. Alive but not really human. Tom Riddle. Voldemort. Horcruxes.
It made so much sense. The Diary! Tom Riddle's Diary was a Horcrux! It quite literally contained a piece of his soul and kept Voldemort tethered to life, even in death. That also explained why he was a parasite living off Quirrell's head back in first year, and why he just evaporated into a hazy smoke when Quirrell died! He had no form, no substance, no life. It wasn't until Wormtail dropped him in that gruesome mixture of magic that Voldemort was able to be anything close to human again - not that looking more like a snake than human really counted, but still.
But there was another thing scratching at Harry's thoughts. It was an itch in the back of his mind that he just couldn't quite reach to identify. But Harry knew once he figured it out… nothing would be the same.
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It wasn't even two days later that Harry ended up in Knockturn Alley, looking around for the library. He'd been in Knockturn a time or two before, but he'd been exploring more than actively searching for something. Harry, though he had to ask directions from a very sketchy looking vampire, eventually found a massive library that looked straight out of a dark fairytale.
During his time researching, Harry constantly battled his prejudiced thoughts that nagged at him whenever a banshee or vampire or otherwise suspicious figure strolled along beside him between the aisle of the vast library. He had to remind himself that ‘dark’ and ‘evil’ weren't the same. Sure there was some overlap correlation, but Harry hadn't looked into that enough to really know the facts. So he just tried to put it on the back burner and remember to look more into what ‘dark’ and ‘light’ really meant - it seemed an important thing to learn, in Harry's opinion.
Harry spent three days scouring that library. He searched every aisle, every shelf, every spine in his search. In the entire place, he found only two books that had information on Horcruxes. Slughorn wasn't kidding when he said it was rare and dangerous. Apparently not even the evil people had a lot of information on it. Wait, no, not evil, Harry reminded himself, just dark. In any case, the information was hard to come by.
But that didn't mean he didn't find anything. In fact, Harry found exactly what he was looking for.
Not only is it magically and physically dangerous for the caster, it is legally dangerous as well. Creating Horcruxes is an illegal act worldwide, and if discovered will result in life in Azkaban. Being unable to die, the jailed witch or wizard would live forever in torment of the Dementors standing guard.
In addition to that fate, the Ministry of Magic would send out a team of Unspeakables to hunt down any and all Horcruxes created by the guilty individual. They will destroy any Horcrux objects and kill any Horcrux hosts, not stopping their search until the jailed witch or wizard is without their evil, severed protections. Oftentimes, the jailed witch or wizard perished soon after as well. Creating a Horcrux, if caught, is a death sentence.
And there it was. One sentence in some random book in a dark library on the wrong side of the Leaky Cauldron led Harry to the worst realization of his life.
He was a Horcrux.
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Harry didn't know how he managed it, but he very calmly dressed in his disguise, straightened his beanie, donned those horrid blue contacts, and knocked on Slughorn's door. He carried no clipboard, no notebook, not even a pen. He came to ask one question and one question only.
“Mister Cork?” Slughorn blinked in surprise when he answered the door. “I thought we'd spoken enough the last time you were here!”
“Sir, I just have one question.” Harry, despite his outward calmness, couldn't mask the pleading in his voice. “It's about the Horcruxes. I looked into them to get more information, to widen my knowledge to properly understand the story you were telling of course, and I came across a terrifying thing. I was only wondering if you could confirm what I've read.”
“And what is it that you have read?”
“That Horcruxes don't have to just be objects. They can be within hosts.” Harry's throat closed. His voice came out slightly choked as he continued. “Is it possible… Can a person be a Horcrux? At first I thought they meant animals, pets maybe, but now I'm not so sure. Could a human being be forced to carry a shard of someone's soul without their knowledge? Could a person, a living breathing human, be a Horcrux?”
Slughorn looked confused, but there was also pity in his eyes. Honesty, Harry could take some pity if it meant he got his answers. He needed to know - this was quite literally a life or death situation.
“Yes, it is possible.” Slughorn confirmed, voice soft yet damning. “Though I don't know what kind of effects it would have on the host, I can't imagine it would be a good kind of connection. It might even kill them eventually.”
“Oh God.” Harry choked. His heart raced in his chest. The worst part? Dumbledore knew. He just about told Harry as much after the Basilisk incident! Dumbledore told him that Harry carried a sliver of Voldemort inside him, and that was where he got his Parseltongue ability. Harry remembered so vividly because at the time he worried it meant he was destined to walk in Voldemort's footsteps - and maybe it was true, if Harry's fate was so tied to Voldemort.
“If I may, Mister Cork…” Slughorn stepped forward and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, offering him a weak smile. “Perhaps, you'd best find a different thing to research.”
“Yeah…” Harry swallowed thickly. “That sounds like a good idea.”
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Dumbledore,
I know you're ignoring me, but this is important. I have learned I am a Horcrux. I've been having strange dreams of rituals and dark hallways and laughter, and assumed they were just dreams.
Eventually, Lord Voldemort was speaking to me. Whispering in my ear and telling me I was a Horcrux and that I was a mistake and needed to die for him to create more.
I want an explanation for this. Do I really have to die? Did you know? Is this why you haven't been writing to me? Do you think I'm cursed or tainted?
Respond this time,
Harry Potter
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My dear boy,
A Horcrux is a powerful object that holds the soul of another person, giving them immortality. Yes, you carry a piece of Voldemort's soul. It is a heavy burden you must bear.
When it is time, all the Horcruxes must be destroyed. You must understand Harry, your sacrifice will save thousands of lives. Once you have destroyed all the Horcruxes, you must give yourself up. Only then, can this war be ended.
Do not worry for your friends. They are safe with me, and you are safe at the Dursleys. The wards here prevent them from sending owls, but they will see you at King's Cross in September. Stay vigilant.
With love and faith,
Dumbledore
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After that, so much changed so quickly Harry could barely keep up. Before he knew it, he was running away from Privet Drive yet again. Though, this time Harry was sure there was no going back.
Harry, underneath his Invisibility Cloak, watched the Dursleys eat their dinner. Petunia was smiling at Dudley, though he looked to be complaining about the dinner she served, while Vernon discussed an important work meeting coming up and how investors would be there and how looking good in front of them could get them to fund a new thing they were trying to do. They weren't putting aside a pitiful can of soup to squeeze through the catflap on Harry's door, they weren't complaining about how annoying Harry's owl was when Hedwig wasn't given enough time to fly around, they weren't shouting for Harry to clean up the plates. He literally didn't exist to them.
Looking down at his hands, Harry tried to ignore the faint trembling now present. It was an accident. Harry hadn't meant to erase himself. He didn't mean it. He was just scared, he hadn't even been holding his wand. It was supposed to be safe! Nobody did Wandless magic! Except for Dumbledore and Voldemort, but knowing what he did now Harry didn't want to be like either of them!
What was worse, Harry was felt true fear take root deep in his chest as he collected his things and left Privet Drive behind him. What would Dumbledore say? Not that Harry was going to tell him. Ever. That was also why Harry was taking Muggle transportation to London instead of the Knight Bus; if he didn't use any magical means, Dumbledore couldn't find him. In theory, anyway.
So much had changed, Harry didn't know what he was going to do. Dumbledore wanted him dead, Voldemort wanted him dead, Ron and Hermione were ignoring his owls, and apparently he was Horcrux on top of it all. He just felt so alone…
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Not even two months later Harry Potter ended up at the center of a revolution, and his Wraiths would ensure he was never alone again.