Anne attended Jill's funeral, it was a simple, quiet affair. The fire had devoured so many lives, and in the end, all that remained for the living was a charred skeleton of a building and a row of twisted bodies.
"Pain is not punishment. Death is not failure. And living is not necessarily a reward."
Dumbledore placed a cup of honey lemon tea on the table in front of Anne. She sat with her head bowed, idly playing with a silver earring in her hand, without looking up.
He didn't say anything more. Silence settled heavily in the headmaster's office.
"You sure have a way with words," Anne said cryptically. "That second line, were you talking about yourself?"
Dumbledore sipped his mead patiently. "You'll understand one day, Anne."
"Funny, I thought I had understood. Do you know how much Harry will grieve when you're gone? He's already lost his parents, his godfather, and soon, you."
Her voice faltered slightly when she mentioned Sirius.
"We don't get to choose," Dumbledore replied with the same calm patience. "As the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, I believe you understand better than anyone, we are up against foes that are cunning and powerful beyond belief. If Harry is ever to become the one who stands against Voldemort, then this... this is a trial he must face."
Anne's fingers stilled on the earring. She paused, then slowly exhaled a breath from deep within her chest.
"So this is your way of reaffirming your resolve," she said at last, then downed the rest of the tea in one gulp. "Alright, I'm leaving."
As she stood up, Dumbledore spoke again, his voice slow, deliberate, sincere.
"Anne, you must understand… this was an accident."
Anne narrowed her eyes slightly and answered just as deliberately,
"I know."
As she neared the door, Fawkes let out a cheerful trill in her direction. Anne smiled faintly in response.
"Oh, by the way," Dumbledore added. "Miss Granger may be waiting outside."
Anne paused.
"She's asked about you several times… after breakfast, lunch, and dinner these past few days."
Anne nodded and opened the door.
She descended the moving staircase, and the stone archway swung open.
Sure enough, Hermione was waiting by the stone gargoyle. As soon as she saw Anne, she pulled her into a tight hug.
Anne laughed softly, hugging her back. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I knew you'd be back today," Hermione said.
"How did you know?"
"I asked."
"Why not just write me a letter?"
Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Wanted to surprise you. Come on, let's go. You know, I've never actually walked you back to the Slytherin common room. Also, all the classes you missed while you were away, I'll help you catch up. The rest of your free time is mine."
Anne grinned. "Alright, then I'll leave myself in the hands of Miss Know-It-All, top of the year."
Hermione pinched Anne's cheek. "Don't mention it…"
"Mmm, no, that's not enough," Anne teased mischievously. "I think you deserve a reward."
"Ooh, what kind of reward?" Hermione asked curiously.
Anne let go of her, turned around, and bent slightly at the knees.
"Hop on. Premium service, just for you."
Laughing, Hermione wrapped her arms around Anne's neck, and Anne effortlessly hoisted her onto her back.
Moonlight streamed through the giant stained-glass windows on the eighth floor, casting silver patterns along the corridor. From the upper levels of the castle, the view outside was crisp and clear.
"Hermione…"
"Hmm?"
Anne smiled, revealing a pair of tiny tiger-like teeth.
"Don't you feel like you're standing tall, looking farther, and the scenery is especially nice?"
Hermione blinked, then playfully ruffled Anne's soft hair.
"Are you saying I'm short?"
"Haha, and that I'm taller than you, indirectly showing off."
Anne carried Hermione slowly down from the highest tower to the first floor, deliberately taking the long way through lesser-used, winding staircases. Along the way, they chatted about the stories behind the portraits they passed, magical history, and the quirks of the painted figures in Hogwarts.
When they finally arrived at the Slytherin common room, Anne gently set Hermione down.
Hermione immediately reached up to wipe the sweat from Anne's forehead with a handkerchief.
"Tired?"
"I wanted to," Anne said, pecking her on the lips. "Besides, you're not heavy. Maybe I should cook you something nice more often."
Hermione giggled.
Inside the dormitory, Fanny was still awake, engrossed in a copy of Advanced Quidditch Tactics.
When Anne walked in, Fanny's eyes lit up. She closed the book, set it on her nightstand, and shuffled over in her slippers.
"Hermione went back?"
"How'd you know?" Anne asked, slipping off her shoes and heading to the washroom.
Leaning against the doorframe, Fanny smiled.
"I had a feeling. I was thinking of doing something similar myself, you know. But I must admit, Gryffindors have guts. Hermione cornered Dumbledore on the very first day you were absent."
A vivid image of that flashed through Anne's mind, and she chuckled.
"Judging by that smile, I made the right choice waiting here tonight," Fanny said, satisfied, and returned to her bed.
For the rest of March, life at Hogwarts gradually returned to its familiar rhythm. Younger students were still full of curiosity and wonder about magic, you could often see tiny bursts of silver light or little explosions from their wands in the hallways.
Fifth-years were buried in their O.W.L. preparations. Any student rushing past with a mountain of books and a face full of misery was likely one of them.
In Dumbledore's office, Skool was reviewing a piece of parchment filled with figures. He nodded in approval.
"Looks fine overall. Transfers between Gringotts London and Gringotts Paris are always efficient. With this setup, the Ministry will have a hard time tracing these particular expenses if they ever investigate your inheritance."
Stretching, Skool placed the parchment into a large envelope.
Just as he was about to stand, there was a knock at the office door.
Skool and Dumbledore exchanged a glance. Dumbledore spoke.
"Come in."
Harry burst through the door, face glowing, holding up a small glass vial.
"Sir, I got it, I got Slughorn's memory!"
Dumbledore froze for a moment, then broke into a beaming smile.
"Oh, Harry, that's marvelous! Absolutely wonderful!"
Skool also froze, then stood with a strange look on his face.
Harry didn't notice. He strode straight to the Pensieve, where Dumbledore was already waiting. The Headmaster took the vial from Harry and gave Skool a look. Skool nodded and stepped forward as well.
Harry bent eagerly over the Pensieve and plunged in.
The memory showed Slughorn's office, years ago. A younger Slughorn reclined in a winged armchair, his thick, sandy blond hair shining, ginger mustache well-groomed. One foot rested on a velvet cushion. He held a small glass of wine in one hand, and picked at a tin of sugared pineapple with the other. Six or seven teenage boys sat around him. Among them was Tom Riddle, wearing Marvolo's black onyx and gold ring, which glinted on his finger.
As Dumbledore arrived beside Harry, Riddle was asking,
"Sir, is Professor Meloth retiring?"
Slughorn wagged a sugar-coated finger at him.
"Tom, Tom, you know I can't tell you that. Honestly, I'd like to know where you get your information. You're better informed than half the staff."
Riddle smiled slightly. The others laughed, looking at him with admiration.
"You sly one, always digging up secrets and flattering the right people. And thank you for the pineapple, by the way. You guessed right, it's my favorite."
The group chuckled again.
"I wouldn't be surprised if you become Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen if you keep sending me pineapple. I've got quite a few friends in the Ministry."
Riddle's smile remained faint.
"I'm not sure politics is the right path for me, sir," he said when the laughter faded. "I don't have the background."
Two of the boys exchanged knowing looks.
"Nonsense!" Slughorn boomed. "A wizard with your talents is clearly from a respectable magical family. That's obvious. You have a bright future, Tom. I've never been wrong about a student."
The golden clock on Slughorn's desk chimed eleven.
"Heavens, is that the time? Off you go, boys, or we'll be in trouble. Lestrange, I want that essay tomorrow or it's detention. Same for you, Avery."
The boys filed out. Slughorn heaved himself from the chair and carried his empty glass to the desk. A sound behind him made him turn, Riddle was still there.
"Hurry along, Tom. You don't want to be caught out after curfew. You're a prefect…"
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
"Well, be quick, child, be quick…"
"Do you know anything about… Horcruxes?"
Slughorn stared. His chubby fingers absently traced the rim of his glass.
"A Defense Against the Dark Arts topic, is it?"
But Harry could see he knew it wasn't schoolwork.
"No, sir. I read about it somewhere and didn't understand."
"Ah… yes… You'd have a hard time finding a detailed explanation in Hogwarts, Tom. That's very dark magic. Very dark indeed."
"But you seem to know, sir? I mean, someone like you, sorry, I didn't mean to offend, but if anyone could explain it, it would be you…"
Perfect delivery, Harry thought. The hesitance, the charm, the subtle flattery, it was masterful. He recognized a skilled manipulator instantly. Riddle had probably been preparing for this conversation for weeks.
"Well," Slughorn said, avoiding eye contact, fiddling with the ribbon on the pineapple tin, "a brief explanation wouldn't hurt. A Horcrux is an object in which a person hides a fragment of their soul."
"I don't quite understand, sir."
"You split your soul," Slughorn explained, "and hide part of it outside your body. So even if your physical body is destroyed, the soul fragment survives. But to live like that…"
Slughorn's face twisted in discomfort. Harry remembered words from years ago:
"I was ripped from my body, less than a ghost, less than the meanest spirit… but I was still alive."
"…Very few would choose such a path, Tom. Death is cleaner."
But Riddle's thirst for knowledge was now naked and clear, his expression greedy, his desire no longer hidden.
"How does one split the soul?"
"Oh…" Slughorn shifted uneasily. "You must understand, the soul is meant to remain whole. Splitting it is a violation. Unnatural."
"But how, exactly?"
"Through a truly evil act, murder. Killing rips the soul. A dark wizard who wants to make a Horcrux uses that rupture… to store the fragment."
"And how do you store it?"
"There's a spell, but don't ask me, I don't know it!" Slughorn waved his arms like a swatted elephant. "Do I look like someone who's tried it? Do I look like a killer?"
"No, sir, of course not," Riddle said quickly. "I didn't mean, sorry…"
"No offense taken," Slughorn muttered. "Curiosity is natural… especially in talented wizards…"
"Yes, sir," Riddle said. "But what I don't understand, just academically, can the soul only be split once? Would splitting it multiple times make you more powerful? Seven's the most magical number, after all. Could you make… seven Horcruxes?"
"Good heavens, Tom!" Slughorn shouted. "Seven! Isn't one murder evil enough? Splitting your soul is already horrific… Seven pieces…"
Now he truly looked disturbed, staring at Riddle like he was seeing him clearly for the first time. Harry could tell he deeply regretted the conversation.
"Of course," he added quickly, "this is all theoretical, right? Purely academic…"
"Yes, sir. Of course," Riddle replied smoothly.
"But Tom… this conversation, we must keep it between us. Talking about Horcruxes… it's forbidden at Hogwarts. Especially with Dumbledore…"
"I won't tell anyone, sir."
With that, Riddle turned and left. But Harry caught a glimpse of his face, awash in twisted delight. Like the first time he learned he was a wizard, but darker… far darker.
"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Come. Let's go."
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