He sighed. “When I first saw Harry, while Poppy checked him over after Hagrid retrieved him from the wreckage of the house, I knew his scar contained something. What that was I could not determine. Trying to remove or heal it caused him great pain.
“Poppy and I tried everything we could think of, and failed. And the time we had was short, restricting our study even further. Fortunately, his mother’s love-magic was protecting him, and easily held back whatever was in the scar. I decided to leave it alone while I researched it. Which I have done for ten years.”
He turned to his Potions Professor. “Severus, show them, please.”
Scowling, Severus began pulling up his robe’s left arm.
“Severus was a member of Voldemort’s Death Eaters back then — he reformed shortly after Harry’s birth,” the Headmaster explained as the Atlanteans glared at the Professor.
“There,” Severus said, “There it is, the Dark Mark. The Dark Lord always marked his closest followers.”
Displayed on his forearm was a grey tattoo of a human skull with a snake coming out of its mouth and forming a figure-eight with the snake’s head at the bottom facing out, hissing malevolently.
“When the Dark Lord first disappeared ten years ago, it almost faded away, but it remained. A faint, thin darkening of the skin. One could almost hope it would fade away completely, with time.” Professor Snape said despondently. “It did not.”
“That’s why I’ve been telling everyone that Voldemort isn’t dead, merely gone,” said Dumbledore to Filius and Minerva.
They returned his look with bleak ones of their own.
“The Mark has been slowly getting darker until this summer when it suddenly darkened considerably,” continued the Portions Professor.
The Atlanteans all crowded close to look at the Dark Mark. They looked as if they were puzzled by it.
“He just gave you this?” asked Applejack suspiciously.
“It isn’t your special talent?” asked Rarity.
“Be a bit of a funny talent, wouldn’t it,” said Rainbow Dash. “Making snakes come out of your mouth, I mean.”
Pinkie Pie snickered. “Maybe he’s a colt-cuddler.”
The Princess face-palmed and sighed, as the others expressed varying degrees of laughter.
Severus scowled. “The Dark Lord is not one you can mock in safety! Be careful what you say.”
Pinkie Pie shrugged and poked at the mark with a finger.
Severus pulled his arm back, scowling even more.
“Yeppers, he’s still here!” she said. “Seems rather careless, though. Doesn’t he know you can trace him and all his followers with this?”
Everyone stared at her.
“Well, you can!” She said, surprised at their surprise. Then she giggled, stepped closer to Severus, and suddenly pressed her whole hand over the mark.
Severus yelped and jerked his arm away, cradling it against his chest.
“What did you do, you silly girl!?” he demanded, rubbing his arm.
She giggled again, “He was feeling a little dismayed about today, so I sent him a hello and a little bundle of happiness and joy to brighten his day. I fed it straight to him. I think he was sad to lose his snake friend.”
They continued to stare at her.
۸- ̫ -۸
The Director General of M.I. Five sighed as he examined the latest photos from the surveillance in Little Whinging. They showed Princess Luna, surrounded by her much smaller guards, heading back into the forest and, he suspected, to the portal. That she was happy was evident from her broad smile and the obvious bounce in her step. Whatever she had done, it had been quite successful.
The guards, of course, had no expressions except watchfulness on their surroundings.
What really took his attention, though, was the glowing globe hovering to one side of her as she walked. The close-ups of the globe showed what appeared to be a snake coiled inside. A very unhappy snake from the way he seemed to be hissing and striking at the globe.
Sir Walker dropped the photos and picked tapped his intercom. “James? Tell the military to step down. Things appear to be back to normal. Keep the Harriers on station for another two hours. If nothing further happens, they can return to base.
“And ask Castor to stop in, I have some new photos for him to see.”
He leaned back in his chair. Just what kind of snake would require that a ruler of the nation take part in its acquisition? Or was it containment? Had she been needed to capture it? And why had it been in that trunk? And how had she created that globe, not to mention transporting it when there was nothing visible holding it up.
He was missing some important pieces to this puzzle. The Equestrians were clearly up to more than just establishing diplomatic relations with England. And with the little “technology” the Equestrians had so willingly given to them, it appeared that what they had released so far, while ground-breaking in many ways, was merely small potatoes.
Just what were the Equestrians up to? How far could they trust them?
۸-ꞈ-۸
Lunch had been surprisingly good, Harry thought. No doubt due to the house-elf in the kitchen, as the barman hadn’t moved from behind the bar the entire time. He had used his wand to float their meals to them. And drinks to his other customers, who seemed a bit discomfited by the presence of so many children. Several newcomers had stopped on their way in to step back and take a look at the sign over the door, as if they thought they had entered the wrong building.
While the students gathered outside the door after lunch to discuss where they should go next, one of the twins made sure that none of the tables or chairs they had used were still clean. The barman did not seem pleased about that. But, then again, his scowl as the others had left before the twin had started dirtying the tables had been even worse. Maybe his scowl was his normal expression.
“Now,” said the other twin to them, “is the time to visit Honeydukes, while everyone else is still either having lunch or waiting to start!” He started off, “Come along, now!” They followed, like a gaggle of goslings following a gander.
True enough, Harry saw, the lines outside Madam Puddifoot’s and the Three Broomsticks were much longer than before. Even some of the homeowners had set up tables outside their doors and were serving a bit of food to hungry students.
Honeydukes, by comparison, was merely moderately crowded, with plenty of room for the Gryffindors. It helped that the inside was much bigger than the outside. Which meant, if the other places did the same thing, that the other restaurants were really crowded inside.
It appeared some students had decided that Honeydukes qualified as a restaurant and ordered accordingly, as they were seated outside on conjured tables and chairs stuffing themselves on the sweets. The Gryffindors worked their way inside.
It did not disappoint. Mouth-watering treats covered every surface. Harry recognized many from Ponyville: chunks of creamy nougat; juicy coconut ices; fat, honey-coloured toffees; chocolate varieties in countless columns and rows. There were the sweets he had seen on the train: barrels of Every Flavour Beans, Fizzing Whizzbees; levitating sherbet balls Chocolate Frogs. One wall was devoted to sweets that did things! Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum (which could fill a room with coloured bubbles that lasted for days), Toothflossing Stringmints for the fastidious — Hermione bought a box, Pepper Imps (‘breathe fire for your friends!’), Ice Mice (‘make your teeth squeak and chatter!’), toad-shaped peppermint creams (like Chocolate Frogs, except they hopped in the stomach!), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons. One glance was all that Harry needed to know where Ron would be spending most his remaining sickle and knuts!
Harry and the fillies were impressed. This was a candy shop, not unlike the store in Ponyville run by Bon Bon, but with a much larger variety of candies and flavours. The selection of fudges wasn’t nearly as extensive as in Bon Bon’s though.
He was surprised that the shelves were so full after so many students had been through the shop this morning. Then he overheard Mr. Flume say to his wife — both were looking rather frazzled — “Give a few galleons to the house-elf and have him get us a box each off this list.” The man handed her a list as she handed him a box of Pepper Imps to replace the nearly empty box on the shelf. She hurried into the backroom.
It was amazing, Harry thought later, how much time you could spend in a candy shop — and money.
The twins, oddly enough, were the voices of reason. “Don’t spend all you knuts here,” they said. “You’ll want to save a few for Zonko’s Joke Shop. If you don’t you’ll regret it! And we can always stop in on our way back to the castle later this afternoon.”
After most of the students had finished stuffing their pockets with sweets to take back to the castle, they headed off to Zonko’s.
Zonko’s was a prankster’s paradise. There were exploding quills (“after the third word, BANG”), stacks of Exploding Snap decks, fake mice (“they look and sound REAL, they even poop chocolate sprinkles!”), winged catapults, Fanged Frisbees, Ever-Bashing Boomerangs, screaming yo-yos, dungbombs, stink pellets, blood-quills that wrote in fake blood, insulting mirrors, chocolate-flavoured laxatives, and much, much, more. And their fireworks took up almost one entire wall by themselves.
All-in-all, it was an easy place in which to spend an hour or so perusing the inventory. Harry made sure to snatch one of the dwindling supply of catalogues at the counter after making a few purchases. Pipsqueak would be thrilled at getting some of the fireworks. And the insulting mirror would be the hit of the school-playground, he was sure.
۸- ̬ -۸
The Headmaster closed his eyes and thought. “When I left Harry with his relatives . . . ,” he finally said, almost a minute later.
The Atlanteans suddenly stiffened.
He looked up at Princess Sparkle’s suddenly hostile expression. He felt he had better explain.
“It was the only safe place for him, at the time. His mother’s sister provided an anchor for the protection his mother’s love gave him. I was able to extend it to the entire household. As long as he lived there, he, and they, were safe from Voldemort’s followers — the Death Eaters, as they fashioned themselves, couldn’t harm him.
“As a result, Harry could grow up in a normal household without having to fear that he, and his family, would be attacked at any moment.
“And Voldemort had followers who I knew,” he said gently, “would try to find him. And, in fact, are still trying.” He shook his head sadly.
“If I hadn’t acted as I did, when I did, the Wizengamot would have gotten involved. They would have turned the boy into a political quaffle as the various factions fought over whose home he should go to. And gain access to his family’s wealth. It is entirely possible he would have been placed with a family that surreptitiously supported Voldemort — and then the boy might have had a ‘regrettable accident’ one day. Or, just as dangerous, be turned into one of his supporters.”
He shook his head at the thought.
“And even if he went to a neutral family, or one of my supporters, that family would have been the target of reprisals from unrepentant Death Eaters. Eventually, one of the Death Eaters would have succeeded in getting to Harry.”
He paused to consider his next words.
“Placing him with a family outside England was just as problematic. Voldemort’s supporters would have easily tracked down my foreign friends and acquaintances. And then tracked down their friends, looking for a toddler with messy black hair who suddenly appeared as a foster child. Or a child with a cosmetic charm or two.
“His mother’s sister was the only real choice. And, being muggles, they would not be able to access and plunder his family’s wealth.”
He sighed tiredly. “I did put up spells to monitor the boy’s physical and mental health, as Minerva can tell you, but, unfortunately, I made a mistake and the spells failed to work as I had intended. Minerva has always said I should have personally checked on his welfare, but I trusted my spells to keep me apprised. That was a mistake — one I deeply regret. The spells I had so carefully built to protect him actually prevented me from noticing the things that would have warned me to take a closer look.”
He looked into Princess Sparkle’s eyes. “I shall never forgive myself for that failing, and what it meant to Harry Potter. I don’t know how I can redress the grave wrong I have done. But I shall spend the rest of my life trying.”
Twilight slowly nodded, still unhappy with the situation, but recognizing, he hoped, that he was sincere.
He took a deep breath.
“I knew Voldemort had explored into some very dark magic. He had told his followers he had made himself immortal, that he couldn’t die. But I didn’t know exactly what he had done. There are many ways to extend one’s life, to become, for all intents and purposes, immortal. The Flamels have done so with the Philosopher’s Stone. But what had Voldemort done? After years of research, and Professor Snape’s assistance,” He nodded towards the wizard, “I suspected one path he might have taken, but the evidence was insufficient, and flimsy at best. And to visit Harry while he was at the Dursleys for another study of his scar would possibly expose him to danger. So I chose to wait.”
He looked down at Ravenclaw’s diadem. “This shows me which path he actually took. Whether Harry’s scar was an accident or deliberate we shall probably never know for sure. Although, I think it was accident as there were no signs of any sort of ritual in the nursery where Harry and his deceased mother were found.”
The Headmaster shook his head. “We call things that contain pieces of a person’s soul horcruxes,” he said slowly as Severus shook his sleeve back down, “Harpo the Foul was the first European to use one, at least that we know of.” He shook his head. “As long as part of your soul remains on this plane, you cannot pass on to the next great adventure. You can hold off Death forever.” He looked over at Professor Snape, who was rubbing his arm. “Thus, the Dark Mark has never faded. And the more powerful Voldemort becomes, the darker the mark becomes.”
He looked back at Princess Sparkle. “To cut a piece off of your soul is a great evil, it makes you a bit less than human, a bit less than sane. To do so more than once is unthinkable. Had he so splintered his soul with casually killing innocents, something he was known to do, that part of his soul had accidentally split off and attached to Harry? Or had he done it deliberately and the ritual had gone wrong?” He paused. “I suppose it does not matter.” He stroked his beard lightly.
“We know two fragments of his soul have been released.” He took a deep breath. “And he, himself, has the remainder. So he has done this once on purpose. At least.” He pursed his lips and stroked his beard as he stared up at Twilight.
“And, then, the question becomes, how many times has he done this? Was the fragment in Harry an accident? Or had he already created one and wanted Harry for his second, to make three? Or was Harry to be the fifth? Or the seventh? Or the eleventh? All are magical numbers. Which did he select?”
“Oh,” said the princess, “He’s made at least three on purpose. Counting himself and Harry, that makes five pieces.”
Everyone stared at Twilight.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s obviously a simple geometric progression.”
They stared at her.
She sighed. “Harry was the last one he . . . created. Whether on purpose or not doesn’t matter. Harry was the last one. The piece I examined was tiny. That alone, of course, doesn’t help.
“If you assume he started with an intact soul, then Harry’s piece is the last one in the series. With only two data points, however, you cannot draw any conclusions. The tiara, however gives us a third point.”
She started pacing. “Unfortunately, we don’t have an absolute size for the soul, but we can assume that the value of one represents an intact soul. Now, I have no experience with soul-splitting, and haven’t read any books that covered the subject, or even mentioned it. Nonetheless, I have seen these two soul-fragments, and their relative sizes.”
She stared at the Headmaster for a moment.
“One might assume that the average soul-fragment is the size of the one that was in the tiara. However, Harry’s was demonstrably smaller, so the tiara-size can’t be the default.”
The wizards and witch exchanged puzzled looks. Severus slowly nodded in understanding.
“And neither can Harry’s soul-fragment be considered the default fragment-size, as then you have to explain why the tiara’s fragment was so much larger. So, a simple linear slope describing Voldemort’s remaining soul-size is contra-indicated. Unless he has done this at least thirty times on purpose, if the tiara fragment was his first horcrux.”
The wizards and witch look staggered at that conclusion.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and slowly said, “Creating a horcrux is supposedly extremely painful. I’m not sure one could remain sane after that much pain.”
She nodded at him. “So, again, that is contra-indicated as a possible solution. Assuming that is true, of course.” She started pacing again.
“The next most likely progression is a geometric progression, where each data point is the remaining size of both Voldemort’s soul and that horcruxes’ soul-fragment. That is, each time he did it, it split his soul in half. Again assuming that one represents an intact soul, based on the size difference between the tiara’s and Harry’s soul-fragments, we can place Harry’s fragment at one position and see if the tiara fragment would fit any of the remaining positions. If we start with three, the tiara doesn’t fit in the second position, the tiara is too small. Moving to five, however, works perfectly if you assume that the tiara is the very first split. Meaning, after including Harry’s accidental fourth fragment, that Voldemort has only one-sixteenth of a soul remaining. And that there are only two more fragments to locate.”
They stared at her. She stopped and looked at them a moment before she returned to pacing.
“Unless the fragments are random in size when the soul is split. In that case, I would expect the ritual used would seize upon the smallest fragment available. That would preclude accidentally sealing the main soul away and rendering the wizard a mental vegetable.
“If the fragment sizes are random, then it is impossible to predict where the tiara sits on the slope. And impossible to determine the number of horcruxes that might exist. Nor determine how big Voldemort’s remaining soul is.
“If the next horcrux we find doesn’t fit any of the available positions in a geometric progression, then the ritual must create random-sized pieces. That leaves us no way to determine how many horcruxes he has made, or the order in which they were made.
“However, if we find a fragment that is larger than the diadem, but still fits in a geometric progression, with all the other fragments shifted down one or more places, then we similarly can’t determine how many times he has done this because we don’t know the size of the very first horcrux.
“In either of those cases, our task becomes significantly more difficult.
“Nonetheless, given the relative sizes of the two horcruxes, the odds that the two soul-fragments I have seen would fit a geometric progression, out of a possibly infinite number of permutations of random splits, are so low as to preclude that as a reasonable assumption. Especially given the presumed low-number of times that the ritual can be executed without destroying the creator’s sanity in its entirety, which would mean he would be incapable of creating more.”
She shrugged. “We need to find another soul-fragment and see how big it is. If it fits any of the open slots on the geometric slope, then the geometric progression is confirmed as the most likely solution. If so, then we know that Voldemort has split his soul three times, on purpose, making four horcruxes.
“If the soul-fragment is larger than the other fragments, but still fits a geometric progression, then we need to determine which number of splits he desired, or which piece was his very first horcrux.
“Whether Harry was intended to be his fourth horcrux, leaving his soul split into five pieces, is unknown, but not likely based on that soul-fragment’s lack of any protection spells.” She nodded her head at Dumbledore, “And the lack of any evidence of a ritual at the Potter home.”
She tilted her head slightly and waited for their reactions.
Dumbledore stared at her for several moments, sighed, then shrugged. “It will take some time to research and track where Tom Riddle went after he left Hogwarts, and what he might have done.” He looked up at the strangled gasp that he heard from Minerva. “Oh, yes, that is his name, his original name, before he adopted the moniker Voldemort — Steal from Death in French.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “Tom Riddle was such a promising student. He soaked up knowledge like a sponge, and was powerful beyond his years. His time here at Hogwarts was exemplary. He was at the top of every class. He was made a Prefect, then Head Boy. He graduated with honours and friends in all the houses — although I suspect he considered them as nothing more than tools for his use.
“He even received an award for special service to the school for catching the instigator of a series of attacks and one death.” He looked out the windows at the thin trail of smoke still visible in the sky. “We now know from the basilisk that that was wrong, that the student he accused was innocent. It was quite likely that it was Tom Riddle who released the basilisk all those years ago.”
He sighed. “I suspected that Tom wasn’t what he portrayed to the school, but he had several teachers quite enamoured of his talent and glib tongue.” The Headmaster shrugged. “But there was a darkness in his soul. I could sense it. And his actions at the orphanage he lived at were telling. Unfortunately, I was merely the Transfigurations Professor. Headmaster Dippet, and many of the other professors, would have nothing of my suspicions. I could only watch and hope I was wrong.” He leaned back in his chair. “After Tom graduated, I lost track of him. I’d hear a rumour that he was working here or there, and then all word of him vanished.
“He applied for the job of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts in 1971, five years after I became Headmaster.” Dumbledore looked out the window. “He left after he was unable to explain why he wanted the position when he clearly had no interest in teaching. Since that interview, Hogwarts has been unable to keep a Professor in the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts for more than a year.”
“I suspect that he placed a curse on the position after his interview was over and he was leaving the castle, but I have been unable to find its anchor.” He shook his head wryly. “I checked the classroom, office, and quarters assigned to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for hidden runes or Dark Artefacts repeatedly, to no avail. For three years, I changed the name of the class to Dark Arts Defence. I even changed the rooms and office to new locations. Nothing worked.”
He looked at the restored tiara that Filius held. “Perhaps that was the anchor. We shall discover if that is so either this year or next.”
He sighed and stroked his beard. “No matter.” He looked the frowning professor. “I am afraid we shall have to put that away. We don’t want to alert any of Voldemort’s followers that we have discovered his secret. Or him, when he does return,” He held out his hand, and Filius, reluctantly, handed him the tiara. Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk and placed the circlet into it. He closed the drawer and tapped it with is wand.
He looked up at them and smiled. “There, only I can open that drawer, and it cannot be forced without destroying what is in it. It shall remain our secret until this matter with Tom is resolved. Later, I shall place a fidelius charm on it and none shall know Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem’s location.”
They all nodded.
“I shall begin going through my memories to see what clues I may find there.” He looked over at his pensieve, then to his Transfigurations Professor. “I know how busy you are already, Minerva, but I shall have to depend on you more while I am preoccupied with that.”
She grimaced. “I understand, Albus.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Twilight, “You could have three of your Seventh Year students take over teaching one class a week for the First, Second, and Third Year students. Or have them check the assignments the children hand in. You could call them Professorial Assistants. It’s what we do at Celestia’s School for Gifted Students.”
The professors looked at her in surprise.
“An excellent suggestion,” the Headmaster said. “Minerva, do you think you could select your three best students? We could offer them an honorarium as an incentive.”
She frowned thinking, and slowly nodded. “Yes, I think that would work.” She paused, then added, “And we could do the same for the things the house-elves find. A bit of challenging extra-curriculum work that would look good on their resumes. Anything they can’t handle, they can refer to me.”
“Oh, yes,” said Filius, energized at the idea. “That would be excellent experience for the Seventh Years.”
“What about the enchantments on Hogwarts?” queried the Princess. “And hunting for other objects that shouldn’t be here?”
Dumbledore looked at her. “What would you have me do? I can either focus on discovering what Tom has done, or on Hogwarts. And getting the Ministry involved would require telling them things we wish to keep secret.”
He sighed. “Plus, having the Ministry involved in Hogwarts enchantments would open us to Tom’s supporters building holes in the coverage or sabotaging what the others do.”
She stood quiet for moment. “Would you object to having a few of the Professors from Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Students come here to examine the enchantments?”
۸- ̬ -۸
A.N. * italics followed by an asterisk are paraphrased quotes from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J. K. Rowling.