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"Good evening, Pops." Deanna smiled at him as she entered the Headmaster's office.

"Hello, love. Come sit." Dumbledore greeted just as pleasantly. "I heard they've posted the Apparition lessons, have you signed up?"

"Yeah, Pops. I think I'll be needing that." Deanna frowned when she noticed his hand again. "You should really get that checked out, Pops. What if it worsens?"

"Ah, don't worry, love. I've already gotten it checked out." Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at her.

The door opened to reveal Harry who smiled at the two Dumbledores. "Hello, Dee, sir."

"Come sit, Harry." Dumbledore motioned to the seat beside Deanna. As they had all settled down, he continued. "I hear you two have met the Minister of Magic over the holidays?"

"Yes," said Harry. "He's not very happy with me."

"It'd be a miracle for that man to be happy with me," said Deanna with a roll of her eyes.

"No," sighed Dumbledore. "He is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, but battle on."

Deanna and Harry grinned at that. Harry continued speaking. "He wanted me to tell the Wizarding community that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job."

Dumbledore smiled. "It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you two, hoping that you would give him your support —"

"Is he thick?" Deanna scoffed angrily. "After what he has done the last year?"

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I arrange a meeting with you —"

"So that's why you argued!" Harry blurted out. "It was in the Daily Prophet."

"The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally," said Dumbledore, "if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

"He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through.' "

"How very rude of him."

"I told him I was."

Deanna stared at Harry, smiling softly at him, while Fawkes let out a low, soft, musical cry. Dumbledore opened his mouth then closed it again and it seemed that he was getting teary-eyed. Deanna reached over and patted his good hand.

"I am very touched, Harry." Dumbledore spoke in a steady voice with a grateful smile at Deanna.

"Scrimgeour wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts," said Harry.

"Yes, he is very nosy about that," said Dumbledore, now sounding cheerful. "He has even attempted to have me followed. Amusing, really. He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once; I did it again with the greatest regret."

"So they still don't know where you go?" asked Harry hopefully.

Dumbledore merely smiled over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "No, they don't, and the time is not quite right for you to know either. How about you, love? What happened with you and the Minister?"

Deanna sighed deeply at that. "He wanted to know what we've been talking about and what we've been doing. He said he wants us to unite with the Ministry."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him to get lost in a nice way." Deanna's comment made Harry and Dumbledore laugh. It was just like Deanna to say that.

Dumbledore grinned proudly at her. "I must say, little phoenix. That was quite amazing."

"Ah, you should have been there, Pops."

"Yes, yes. Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else — ?"

"There is, actually, sir," said Harry. "It's about Malfoy and Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, sir. I overheard them during Professor Slughorn's party... well, I followed them, actually..."

Deanna listened to Harry's story as she did before they left for the holidays. She glanced at her father who had a blank look on his face. When Harry finished, he kept silent for a few moments before speaking. "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance?" repeated Harry incredulously. "Professor, did you understand — ?"

"Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me," said Dumbledore, a little sharply. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

Deanna glanced between the two of them and kept silent. Harry was glaring at Dumbledore who had a calm look yet a sharp stare. Did it mean it was Dumbledore's orders or he had already known.

"So, sir," said Harry politely, "you definitely still trust — ?"

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already," said Dumbledore, but he did not sound very tolerant anymore. "My answer has not changed."

"I should think not," said Phineas Nigellus who was pretending to be asleep.

"And now, Deanna, Harry, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening."

Deanna nudged Harry who had his arms crossed. Dumbledore shook his head and spoke. "Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!"

"I don't think what you've got to say is unimportant, sir," said Harry stiffly.

"Well, you are quite right, because it is not," said Dumbledore briskly. "I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

"We'll talk about it later, Harry, yeah?" Deanna whispered in a reassuring tone. "Don't worry, I still believe you." Harry had calmed down a bit at that and nodded.

"So," said Dumbledore, in a ringing voice, "we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school.

"Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his secondhand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head," continued Dumbledore, waving his blackened hand toward the Sorting Hat. "How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the House could talk to snakes, I do not know — perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-importance.

"However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him."

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?" asked Harry.

"No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance."

Dumbledore paused and looked at Deanna who nodded in understanding. "You did not trust him. You were always wary with him."

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much, and he became more guarded once he began dating you, Deanna. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues.

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts.

"Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, placing his withered hand on the Pensieve. "We have those from Deanna, but few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike.

"Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family — the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.

"All he had to go upon was the single name 'Marvolo,' which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his mother's father's name. Finally, after painstaking research through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, if you will stand..."

The three of them rose and walked to the Pensieve where Dumbledore had poured the memory. "I was very lucky to collect this. As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Deanna brought her face to the surface of the pearly liquid and the familiar sensation of going into a memory washed over her, and she blinked her eyes a few times to look around.

They were at the House of the Gaunts, but it was filthier than it had been before. Cobwebs and molds all around. There was only one person inside the house, a man with hair and a beard that covered his entire face. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire. Then, a loud knock on the door made the man jerk awake, wand in his right hand and knife in his left.

Deanna's eyes widened in recognition. "Morfin Gaunt."

"Indeed, love." Dumbledore nodded and pointed to the door that opened and there stood a man who once held Deanna's heart. The teenage, handsome and dark-haired Voldemort she knew so well. Tom Riddle looked around before his eyes finally rested on Morfin Gaunt.

"YOU!" Morfin bellowed, standing up. "YOU!" And he hurtled drunkenly at Tom, wand and knife held aloft.

"Stop." Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. Morfin skidded into the table, staring at Tom.

"You speak it?" Morfin broke the silence.

"Yes, I speak it," said Tom. As he moved forward, the door shut behind him, his face expressing disgust and disappointment. "Where is Marvolo?"

"Dead," said Morfin. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

Tom frowned. "Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

"'Course I am, then..." Morfin pushed his hair out of his face, flashing a black-stoned ring on his hand, the same ring Marvolo and Dumbledore wore. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I thought you was that Muggle. You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" said Tom sharply. Deanna knew he hated what he just heard by the change in his tone.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."

Morfin swayed and clutched the table for support. "He come back, see."

After a moment of contemplation, Tom moved a little closer to him. "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

When Tom did not answer, Morfin became raged and he brandished his knige, shouting. "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... It's over..."

Morfin looked away, staggering slightly, and Tom moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Tom's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything...

Deanna felt Dumbledore wrap an arm around her and they were soaring back into the present. She blinked her eyes to adjust to the sudden light of the office.

"Is that all?" said Harry at once. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing them back into their seats. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone. Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father.

"The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage... The exception sits before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people.

"So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

"Tom Riddle stole his wand and used it?" asked Deanna, crossing her arms.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."

"And Morfin never realized he hadn't done it?" asked Harry, sitting up straight.

"Never," said Dumbledore. "He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"But he had this real memory in him all the time!"

"Yes, Harry, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," said Dumbledore, "and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

"But how come the Ministry didn't realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?" Harry asked angrily. "He was underage at the time, wasn't he? I thought they could detect underage magic!"

"You are quite right — they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: You will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by —"

"Dobby," growled Harry. "So if you're underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard's house, the Ministry won't know?"

"They'll be unable to tell who performed the magic since they entrusts the parents to discipline their children," said Deanna, patting Harry's hand to calm him down. "It's still horrible though, what happened to Morfin."

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part..."

Dumbledore took out another crystal phial, and the two students fell silent, remembering it was the most important one he collected. Deanna saw how it was more difficult to empty the contents into the Pensieve compared to the others.

"This will not take long," said Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then..."

Deanna dove in once more and landed in front of a very familiar Professor. A younger Horace Slughorn that was quite different from the present one. She noticed they were in Professor Slughorn's office and saw that there were six boys sitting around Slughorn. Deanna frowned at the young Tom who was wearing a gold and black ring. Him wearing the ring meant only one thing.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Tom asked.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Tom, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Tom smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks. The present Deanna rolled her eyes at that. They were treating him like a god.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite —"

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, and Deanna could only see the faces of Harry and Dumbledore. Suddenly, Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and nobody looked like something unusual had happened. The golden clock upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock. "Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn. "You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

As the boys filed out, Slughorn stood up and put his empty glass on his desk. However, Tom Riddle stayed behind, and Deanna knew it was intentional.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect..."

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away..."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?"

And it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room so that Deanna could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside her and a confused Harry. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before. "I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"Well, that's that," said Dumbledore placidly between the two students. "Time to go." Deanna was lifted up and she fell back on the floor a few seconds later in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That's all there is?" said Harry blankly. Deanna frowned as she thought about it. There was the fog, and the memory felt like it was cut into pieces. It wasn't complete.

"As you might have noticed," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk, "that memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Harry, sitting back down too with Deanna.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"But why would he do that?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," said Dumbledore. "He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations.

"And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all."

Harry stared at him. "But surely, sir," he said, keeping his voice as respectful as possible, "you don't need me — you could use Legilimency... or Veritaserum..."

"Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both," said Dumbledore. "He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection.

"No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that you are the one person who might be able to penetrate his defenses. It is most important that we secure the true memory, Harry... How important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing."

"B-But why not Deanna, sir?" Harry's question made Deanna wonder a little, but she knew if she was the one he sent, they would get caught immediately.

"If I send Deanna, he will find out immediately what I am trying to do. So, good luck... and good night."

Harry still looked confused and taken aback, but nonetheless, he still got to his feet. "Good night, Deanna, sir." He made his way out of the study.

"I can't see why the boy should be able to do it better than you, Dumbledore. Or even little Dumbledore here."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Phineas," replied Dumbledore, and Fawkes gave another low, musical cry.

"You think he'll be able to get it, Pops?" Deanna asked him when the door had slammed shut.

"I know he will, but if he can't, we have you, love." Dumbledore smiled softly at her. "Horace has a soft spot for you, and as much as possible, I would not like to attack that weakness of his."

"If you need me, I'll do it immediately, Pops. I'm ready to do anything," said Deanna determinedly. "I shouldn't have gotten into detention that night. I could have found out more."

"Well, you can't resist fighting Black, can you?" The portrait of Armando Dippet suddenly said, making the two Dumbledores laugh loudly. "Always in this office, you two were."

"You would've been confused if we weren't here." Deanna said teasingly.

"That I would've been." Dippet nodded in acknowledgement.

"Well, we should turn in for the night. Good night, little phoenix." Dumbledore walked over to her and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Night, Pops." Deanna hugged him back before going to her room with Fawkes behind her. As they settled into the room, Deanna smiled widely at the phoenix, remembering how they were bound to each other.

"We're bound to each other, Fawkes." Deanna patted Fawkes' feathers, letting him lie down beside her. "You saved me that day. It's always you who's saving me. When will I have a chance to give back to you?"

Fawkes just let out a cry and nuzzled his beak into Deanna's neck. Deanna hugged him back and smiled. "One day. I'll save you, one day. So, let's stay together for a long time, yeah?"

Fawkes let out another cry that Deanna took as his agreement.

"Good night, Fawkes."

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