The Lion Cub Ch116: Memories (Patreon)

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace into McGonagall’s office. He coughed and shook off the soot clinging to his robes.

“Still not mastered getting through the floo network, have you, Potter?” McGonagall glanced at him over her square glasses with a slight twitch to her lips.

“It remains an uphill battle, Professor.” he said with an impish smile.

“Hmm.” McGonagall snorted before she flicked her wand.

The ash clinging to his body and the floor vanished as McGonagall’s magic washed over him and the area near the fireplace.

“Off you go, Potter. The password for the common room is Abstinence.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry dipped his head before skipping away swiftly from McGonagall’s office.

“Oh, I almost forgot. There is one other thing, Potter.”

Harry turned back from the doorway as Professor McGonagall pulled a stack of parchments from her desk drawer and presented it to him.

“They are application forms for apparition license. Have this distributed to your peers who are interested in securing a license from the Ministry. All the relevant details are mentioned in the leaflet. Have it pinned in the common room.“ said McGonagall.

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry nodded, taking the stack into his hands.

Once outside McGonagall’s office, he took the shrunken trunk from his pocket and restored it to its original dimensions. Opening the trunk, he took out Hedwig’s cage.

“Stretch your wings, girl.” said Harry, opening her cage.

Hedwig let out a happy hoot before taking flight. The grounds outside the castle were covered in snow, and the sun dipped behind the hills, darkening the sky.

He smiled, watching his snowy white owl fly through an open window. Poor Hedwig had been cooped up in Potter Manor with nothing much to do other than dive bomb Buckbeak. The Fidelius charm surrounding Potter Manor kept out any other owls.

He had the distinct impression Buckbeak enjoyed having a rebellious owl to contend with in the sky. The poor creature must‘ve been bored out of his mind with only the house-elves to keep him company.

“What do we have here?” Peeves zoomed in from the hallway with a nasal voice, making Harry stare keenly at the playful spirit.

“Is Potty smiling? Peeves wonder why Potty smiles?”

“Hello, Peeves.” Harry waved at the resident poltergeist warily, “Had a nice Christmas, did you?”

“Much better than Potty. But now that you’re here, Peeves would happily make Potty’s…”

“No thanks.” Harry said blandly, pulsing his magic with the clear intent of banishing the troublemaker from his vicinity.

“eeeeeeee…!” Peeves screeched as Harry’s magic blew the spirit away.

“That is a neat trick.” A familiar voice said from behind Harry.

“Hello, Tracey. I hope you had fun during the holidays.” Harry said without turning around.

“Oh, it was quite the fun. Do you have eyes behind the back of your head?” Tracey asked as she walked beside him while Harry levitated his trunk behind him.

“Something like that.” Harry grinned.

“So, how was it?” Tracey asked with a sassy grin.

“What?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Meeting Daphne’s grandparents.” Tracey giggled at the face he made at the reminder.

“That bad, huh.”

“She didn’t even warn me.” Harry said with an affronted look, “I think Daphne’s grandfather thinks I’m delirious, while her grandmother thinks I should see a healer for my own good.”

Tracey laughed at that loudly, the sound echoing throughout the otherwise silent hallway.

“What is that stack of parchments?” asked Tracey, noticing the pile of parchments floating beside him with his trunk.

“Ah. They’re application forms for apparition license.”

“They’re holding tests?” Tracey asked, intrigued.

“I’m sure there will be classes for those interested.”

“Did you take a license early?” Tracey asked curiously.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen you apparate from my home with Daphne.”

“Well, no one said one can’t learn apparition without a license. Sirius taught me the skill to get myself out of a tight spot.”

“Huh. That’s nice.”

“Has Snape picked a new Slytherin prefect to replace Malfoy?” Harry asked as they rounded a corner.

“To my knowledge, no. But I have it on good authority that he might give the position to Nott.” said Tracey.

“Theodore Nott. What is he like?”

“Silent and creepy.”

“Creepy?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“He prefers to converse in a maximum of three words. If that’s not creepy, I don’t know what it is.” Tracey threw her hands out in frustration. “Somehow, all the broken ones end up in our house.”

“Too bad you didn’t ask the Sorting Hat for a different house. You’d have done well in Gryffindor.” Harry said, patting Tracey’s shoulder.

“What do you mean I could’ve asked for a different house?” Tracey asked with a frown.

That question launched a longwinded explanation about the nature of the Sorting Hat, which Tracey was too stubborn to take his word for. She believed he was pulling her leg with his ‘one can argue with the Sorting Hat’ claim.

When he parted ways with Tracey, he was a bit thoughtful about the true nature of the Sorting Hat. He made a mental note to inquire among the students to see whether the Hat engaged them in a conversation during the sorting.

“Abstinence.”

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, allowing Harry entry into the Gryffindor common room. He was immediately greeted by Dean and Ginny on the other side of the portrait.

“Hey, Harry.” Dean waved at him and looked at the floating stack of parchments warily. “Please don’t tell me that has something to do with our assignments.”

“No, nothing of that sort. These are application forms for an apparition license.” said Harry, handing over one to Dean.

“Apparition license? Can I have one of those?” Ginny reached out to take a parchment, but Harry pulled it back.

“Aha! Sorry, Ginny.” Harry shook his head. “This is only for sixth years. You’ll get yours next year.”

“That’s not fair. There is a war going on. What if I wanted to escape?” Ginny huffed.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.” said Harry before a conspiratorial look adorned his face, “While you can’t gain a license, nothing is barring Dean from teaching you the skill.”

Dean looked put on the spot as his girlfriend turned her fiery eyes on him.

“Well, maybe it could be covered in the next Knights’ meeting.” Dean weakly suggested.

 “No one can apparate in or out of Hogwarts.” Hermione suddenly piqued up coming into the common room. “Harry won’t be able to teach apparition even if he wants to.”

“That means I can’t teach it as well.” said Dean with obvious relief.

“Indeed. Let’s not forget, no one here is knowledgeable enough to heal someone who splinches if the apparition fails.” Hermione followed up with more reasons for the relief of Dean but also raised more concerns.

“Splinching? That doesn't sound fun.” Dean said with a concerned look.

“It’s not fun at all.” Harry agreed as he put up the flyer on the noticeboard of the common room with a sticking charm.

“Splinching happens when a wizard only partially apparates, leaving behind a chunk of their body.” Hermione explained to the horrified looks of Ginny and Dean.  

“It’s not that bad. So long as someone knows where the missing part of the body is, St. Mungo’s can patch up any such injuries.” Hermione hastily added, but if it was to alleviate the fears of Dean and Ginny, it didn’t work.

“That… I think I’m going to be sick.” Dean said, looking green while the horror on his face only worsened.

“Harry does it often enough, and he doesn’t splinch.” said Ginny, adopting a sceptical look. “He came to the Burrow this Christmas by apparition, and he had Daphne with him.”

“You apparated without a license!” Hermione hissed, “You could get fined by the Ministry.”

“Not unless someone tattles on me.” Harry said with a pointed look, which only made Hermione sigh in exasperation.

“It says here that we’ll get an instructor from the Ministry.” said Dean, distracting himself from some vivid images of splinching by directing his attention to the flyer on the noticeboard.

“And it costs ten galleons.” said Ginny with a roll of her eyes, “There goes my allowance next year. I haven’t even become an adult, and already the Ministry is poking at my purse.”

“I suppose we could ask Luna to publish an article about the evil Ministry and their evil plan of stealing young witches’ allowance. I’m sure she can spin it into a conspiracy by the Ministry and the Goblins to make wizards and witches indebted from an early age or something.” Harry suggested with a wicked grin.

“You spent too much time with the Weasley twins.” Hermione said with a huff.

“Actually, I think it is not a bad idea.” said Ginny while looking thoughtfully weighing the pros and cons.  

The rest of the evening passed by with them making up ludicrous conspiracy theories just for the fun of it with the Ministry at the centre.

But before Harry turned in for the night, Fawkes came to the dorm and dropped a scroll in his hand. The rest of his dormmates were spooked by the sudden flare-up of flames in their little corner of the tower.

“What in the name of sweet Merlin!” Seamus shouted, jumping from his bed and falling spectacularly on his ass on the floor.

The rest of his dormmates weren’t any better. Nevile knocked over a few candlesticks in his rush to get hold of his wand, which made the curtains catch fire. Ron jumped out of bed but had the misfortune of getting entangled in the sheets and fell face-first against the nightstand. Dean stood in fright against a corner in the room with his wand pointed at Fawkes.

“Relax everyone. Fawkes is a friendly phoenix.” said Harry.

Fawkes let out a soft trill before flaming away, leaving Harry with a scroll and a room full of scared teenagers. Unsurprisingly, the scroll contained the time for the next ‘lesson’ with Dumbledore and the password for the Headmaster’s office.

*****

Harry frowned in concentration as he carved the last few runes into his runestone. His usual method of carving runes using his wand was prohibited in the class as it was an advanced method.

Instead, he was forced to chug along with the rest of his classmates using a hammer and chisel to do the work by hand.

He supposed there was a therapeutic element to work like this instead of waving his wand and carving runes through a varied powered-down version of the gouging spell.

Rune carving was an art. There was something primal about it that made it a special discipline of magic.

Perhaps it was the way in which old languages interacted with magical energy. Modern English script couldn’t make so much of a spark if he carved some fancy letters into a runestone, but any dead language would function almost immediately. Celt, Sanskrit, Egyptian Hieroglyphs, Norse, Latin, Sumerian and even the old language unearthed by the Flamels all worked splendidly as runes.

The exact reason why this was so eluded him. The only explanation he could come up with was that these old languages, in their raw forms, were used to carve into stone tablets and caves. Thus, these ancient languages were forced to interact with the planet’s magic in some way from man’s awakening. No one was carving modern English script into caves anywhere other than maybe some idiot spray-painting some nonsense on buildings.

Finally, he finished his work and set aside the tools on his work desk. He swivelled the vice holding the runestone to inspect the carved script. Seeing that his script was intact, he looked up at Professor Babbling to signal her that he was finished.

Professor Babbling came by his work desk and inspected his work.

“This seems to be in order.” Babbling nodded before casting a small repelling shield around the runestone, “You may charge the runes.”  

Harry charged the runes with his magic, which was followed by a brief flareup of magical energy from the runestone. The runes powered down after the brief flare-up of magic, followed by a wide array of detecting charms being cast on the runestone by Professor Babbling.

“Hmm.” Babbling hummed before nodding at him. “You may test the runestone.”

Harry pointed his wand at the runestone and cast a mild fire spell. A thin jet of fire shot out of the tip of his wand, which consumed the runestone on his work stand. Instead of burning down the desk, the runestone absorbed the fire, keeping the desk safe.

“Splendid work, Mr Potter. Take 10 points for Gryffindor.” said Babbling before she moved to inspect the works of other students.

He was hardly the first one to finish the work in the class. He could already see Hermione and Tracey had finished their work. Tracey was secretly making an origami crane under the desk while Hermione was staring intently into a book, looking as if she might jump into it if she could. Daphne was doodling down something in a parchment.

Seeing as he didn’t have much to do in the last ten minutes of the hour, Harry pulled out the transfiguration book Dumbledore gave him from his backpack and decided to read a new chapter. By the time the bell rang, he was halfway into the chapter on a treatise on wide-area transfiguration spells.

“Next class, we’ll have water-absorbing runes. So, read up on Frisian runes beforehand.” Professor Babbling said while Harry quickly bagged everything to leave for the Charms lesson, “Also, as an assignment, write a short essay on spatial tethering runes not exceeding 350 words. You’ll have till the end of this month to submit the assignment.”

“Oh, come on. This is the first day, and we’re already getting assignments.” Harry muttered after leaving the class.

“Please don’t jinx it, Harry. We have Charms with Flitwick next.” said Tracey as they climbed a flight of stairs to the next level for their Charms lesson.

*****

“How were your holidays this Christmas, Harry?” Dumbledore asked as Harry settled into a seat across from Dumbledore.

“It was fun.” she said shortly.

“I take it you had no trouble at home from Voldemort or the Death Eaters.”

“Oh, no. I’ve placed the Fidelius over my home.” Harry said distractedly as his eyes fell on the Gaunt ring sitting inconspicuously on Dumbledore‘s table.

“Good.” Dumbledore nodded and promptly started without further ado,

“Now, today’s lesson starts with where we left off last time. The tale of Tom Riddle truly started with his arrival at Hogwarts. You’ll remember how excited Tom was to learn that he was different from the other children at the orphanage. He went shopping all alone in Diagon Alley after my warning not to steal anything further. The more he interacted with the wizarding world the greater was his hunger for knowledge and an uncanny desire to find his roots.”

It was by no accident that the ring was on the table. Nothing Dumbledore ever did was by accident. Every seemingly inconspicuous act had a larger meaning and intent. This was the second time Dumbeldore was flashing him the Gaunt ring.  

He could feel no malice from the ring as the Horcrux was no longer infecting the ring. He suspected the ring was also a new addition as there was no possible way the original would have survived if Dumbledore had used the Sword of Gryffindor. The basilisk venom on the sword would‘ve undoubtedly annihilated the ring band, leaving the stone intact since it was a Hallow.

Still, Harry listened to Tom Riddle's ridiculous backstory.

“Here he was, a poor orphaned boy with phenomenal magic skills and a stellar student in classes. The Hogwarts staff had a soft spot for him, and he was quite resourceful in using his status and abilities to get what he wanted. It didn’t take too long for Tom to realise that he was also even more special among wizarding children. His ability of Parseltongue undoubtedly made him connect his ancestry to Slytherin. Thus, Tom’s quest to find his family roots began in earnest.”  

“I suppose he was less than impressed when he learned about his family. Voldemort didn’t sound particularly happy about his parents when he monologued in the graveyard of Little Hangleton.” Harry commented.

“Yes, indeed. Tom assumed the nobility of Slytherin’s blood extended throughout the generations, and something must’ve happened to his family that left him orphaned.” Dumbledore sighed wearily, “Needless to say, he was very wrong, and he had living relatives in Little Hangleton. The circumstances behind his birth only made him angrier. It didn’t help that the Gaunt family was not particularly wealthy and wallowed in mediocrity when Tom tracked them down. I suspect Tom would’ve been happy if his family had died off, but when he found them in poverty and mediocrity, it brought forth a searing hatred within him that detested any sort of weakness.”

“He didn’t take the news of his muggle parentage well, did he?” Harry asked.

“No, he did not. He only had the name Marvolo to track down his family. But that was more than enough for someone like Tom Riddle. What happened after that… well… it’s better that I show you.” said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore rose from his seat with a small crystal bottle taken from the drawer towards the Pensieve cabinet.  

That particular memory launched a long, arduous tale of Tom Riddle finding the Gaunt family and subsequently unearthing the secrets behind his birth. The memory was from the point of view of Morfin Gaunt which showed his heated conversation with Tom Riddle until the Dark Lord was in a dark rage after finding the truth.

The memory was unsurprisingly corrupted, evident by the blackened tint towards the end.

“Ah, you noticed, did you not?” Dumbledore said knowingly after they came out of the memory.

“Yes, it was manipulated. A memory charm perhaps.” said Harry.

“A combination of memory charm and fake memories. Tom had already become a master of the mind arts. It was almost easy for him to plant false memories into Morfin’s mind.” said Dumbledore, his eyes distant, “Tom slaughtered his father’s family and framed Morfin for the murders he committed in Riddle Manor that day.”

“He left no trails either.” Dumbledore hunched over the cabin in disappointment, “When the Ministry heard of the murder of the Riddle family, they obviously suspected Morfin, who had a reputation for muggle baiting. The Aurors came to Morfin, and to their surprise, Morfin didn’t deny the charge. He was extremely cooperative and confessed to the murders. Morfin was sentenced to Azkaban for life for his crimes.”  

“You pulled this memory from his psyche even if he had forgotten it, didn’t you, sir?” Harry asked.

“We truly never forget anything. Everything is right here,” Dumbledore pointed at his forehead, “…waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. The continued exposure of Dementors and Morfin’s own character suppressed the truth. I was merely fortunate to know there was more to the case than what was reported, especially after Tom’s transformation into the Dark Lord we see today.”

“What happened to Morfin?” Harry asked curiously.

“He passed away before his innocence could be proven. I had attempted to get the man out of Azkaban and commute his sentence based on the memory I extracted. But time was an enemy that I, in my hubris, never factored into account.” Dumbledore rubbed his eyes in discomfort, “Before I could make any progress with the Ministry, Morfin passed away in a cold cell of Azkaban for a crime he never committed.”

“I see.” Harry said, caring not one whit about the supposed sob story of Morfin Gaunt.

It was not a particularly heart-wrenching story Dumbledore was making it out to be. Sure, the guy didn’t deserve to be chucked in Azkaban, but that was life.

The story's moral was: never keep your doors open for a scorned nephew and learn to read the room before running off your mouth.

“Now, before you return to your dorms, there is one more memory that I wish to show you. This one is perhaps more important than the one we saw, but know that all these memories are connected.” Dumbledore said gravely before pouring a vial of glowing silver strand of memory into the Pensieve.

“After you… Harry.” said Dumbledore.

Harry fell into the memory and came to face a familiar man. It was none other than a much younger Horace Slughorn. The Potion master was no longer bald or sported a pot belly. Dumbledore also appeared beside him in the memory as the imagery became clear, and they found themselves standing inside Slughorn’s office.

It was the infamous conversation between Slughorn and Tom Riddle about Horcruxes. The mental gymnastics Tom Riddle went through to get Slughorn to open up about the Herpo’s worst creation.

“I don’t know anything about such foul magic, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did! Now, leave my office and never speak of such dark magic in my presence!”

Harry was suitably impressed by Slughorn’s ability to construct such a memory within his mind and conjoin it with the rest of the real memory before giving it to Dumbledore. Even though the small discolouration of the memory gave it away as a fake, it was still a masterful attempt at deception.

“Professor Slughorn was not being entirely honest. This memory is tampered.” Harry said as soon as he came out of the memory before Dumbledore could go on in circles.

“Indeed. Horace was extremely reluctant to part with this memory and I’m afraid he is being dishonest out of misplaced fears.” Dumbledore said with a tired sigh.

Harry watched the aged old headmaster sagged into his chair. Fawkes trilled softly to lift the spirit of Dumbledore, which earned the phoenix a grateful smile.

Harry plucked the bowl of candy from Dumbledore’s desk and offered it to Fawkes, who happily plucked one from the bowl with his beak. Surprising Harry, Fawkes jumped onto his shoulder and seemed content to feast on the candy from the bowl.

“Ah, do be careful, Harry. Fawkes has a bit of a sweet tooth. It is one vice he cannot overcome.” Dumbledore said with a grin.

Harry merely smiled at the headmaster before turning serious as he decided to push ahead.

“Horcrux, it is magic related to the soul, isn’t it?” Harry asked almost noncommittally.

The absolute shock on Dumbledore’s face was immensely satisfying. He could almost read Dumbledore’s thoughts just by the sheer fright and horror shown on the man’s face.

“How…? How did you…?” Dumbledore stuttered, his grip on the table tightening almost as if the headmaster was holding on to the table desperately.

“You said to me long ago that my mother’s love protected me from the Killing Curse. I, of course, never believed what you said and thought there was more to the story. As I delved deeper into the Killing Curse, I realised it was a spell that reaps the soul off from a body. Such a curse could only be defeated if there was something else that mimicked the properties of a soul or a physical barrier shielding me.” Harry explained as he took a seat from across Dumbledore, with Fawkes settling happily on his shoulder.

“But I know the curse was not absorbed but deflected. Whatever my mother and father did, it reflected the Killing Curse at Voldemort and reaped his soul. But neither Voldemort nor I died that day. I survived because of my parents, but something caused Voldemort to survive as well. This made me look into any type of magic that keeps the soul safe from the clutches of death.” Harry regaled to the growing horror of Dumbledore.

Oh, he was enjoying the look on the man’s face. He could see why Dumbledore was so horrified. The old man was worried that the secret of the soul shard was out, but Harry had no intention of showing his hand this early. There was a time and place for such things, but this was not the time.

“I ransacked the Restricted section of the library here to find out why Voldemort was capable of transcending death, but I didn’t find much. However, in the Black Library, I found my answer in the works of an ancient dark wizard named Herpo the Foul. Horcrux – a magic so foul that it grants a wizard immortality by splitting one’s soul and keeping it tethered to an inanimate object. The moment I read it, I knew I found Voldemort’s secret to immortality. I immediately realised Tom Riddle’s diary was a Horcrux because it fit with the ritual passingly mentioned in the book. Myrtle was Voldemort’s sacrifice to shear off his soul, right?”

Dumbledore stared at him slack-jawed for a few minutes.

The headmaster shook his head and regained his bearings.

“How long have you known about this, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, looking intently at him.

“Since last Christmas.” said Harry.

“Ha! I had told you, Mr Potter. Slytherin would’ve suited you far better. The resourcefulness, the cunning, the thirst for knowledge – it’s all there in your head.” the Sorting Hat suddenly chimed in, surprising Harry and Dumbledore.

“Well, it’d have been a load of help if I were in Slytherin since Daphne is also there, but that’s water under the bridge. Besides, I don’t think I’d have made it past a year in Slytherin with Malfoy’s hysterical screams about his father and all the pureblood nonsense.” Harry said with a shrug.

“I need not tell you the danger of this kind of knowledge, Harry.” said Dumbledore, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “It’s only natural to feel curious about the Dark Arts. It’s in our nature to seek the unknown and the peculiar. The Dark Arts is addictive as it changes our perception of the world and reality if we continuously use it. The raw, primal emotions that fuel dark spells leave us hollow, which tempts us to seek raw power.”

Harry merely nodded.

“It’s important that we gain the real memory from Professor Slughorn. If I force the issue on him, he’ll leave Hogwarts. However, I believe there is another way. You can succeed where I failed. I believe Professor Slughorn will share the real memory with you.” Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat with his blue eyes shining like stars, “Harry, I don’t have to tell you how important this piece of information is. We need to know what Horace said, leading Voldemort to split his soul. We need that memory and when you have secured that memory, we’ll talk more about this subject. So, good luck… and goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir.”