Chapter 7Chapter Text
The rest of the week's potions classes went as well as the first. He continued relying on the tattered books notes, and by the fourth lesson, Slughorn was raving about Harry's abilities, comparing him to his mother.
Neither Hermione nor Ron were too happy about this. Hermione still believed it to be "cheating", even though he was just following instructions like the rest of them. He had even offered to share the book with her, which she rejected due to it not being official or trustworthy.
Ron though, could barely read the small notes, and even when he could, his skill was not improved to the level Harry's had been. And Harry could only whisper so many instruction to him during one class.
Lavender had also kept up her typical bubbly conversation during the classes. Harry was now officially caught up on almost all gossip the castle had to hold.
He hadn't been able to spend quite as much time with Susan as he might have wanted to, they shared some words in the classes they had, but the study club they had discussed had not yet began in ernest.
It was finally one late night, when Harry was more intently studying the book, that he discovered something interesting.
Written in small, slanted print on the last page of the book. It said 'Property of the Half-Blood Prince'.
He had also skimmed through the book, finding out that there wasn't a single page without some type of writing made by this prince. He had scribbled everything from potions notes to even directions to spells that looked like they were made by the prince himself.
"Or herself," said Hermione, with a hint of irritation in her voice, overhearing Harry pointing them out to Ron and Ginny in the common room on Saturday evening.
"The handwriting does look pretty girly after all," Hermione pointed out.
"Well how many girl princes do you know?" Harry responded.
"Humph!" Hermione let out a sound of irritation and returned to writing her transfiguration essay. Harry rolled his eyes, Hermione's attitude about the book was annoying, yet somewhat understandable.
"It's half eight," Harry said, looking at the clock. "I better start getting ready to go meet Dumbledore."
"Oh yeah!" Hermione said, looking up excitedly. "Good luck! We can wait up, we want to hear what he teaches you" Ron nodded his head eagerly.
"Yeah mate! Maybe he'll teach you how to fly or something!" Ron said with sparkling eyes.
"I doubt it…" Harry said, amused.
Just as Harry was about to leave, Ginny also stood up. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, moving back and forth, almost unsure of which way to move.
"Hold on Harry!" Ginny said, grabbing onto his arm. "Before you go, I wanted to show you something…"
"Now?" Harry asked, confused by the timing.
"Yeah, I thought it should be now. We still have a bit of time before Dumbledore's lesson starts. Just trust me okay?" Ginny said, having made up her mind.
"Okay then… I trust you," Harry said.
Ginny led him by the arm and out of the common room.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked
"It's a surprise…" Ginny said, with a husky tone.
Harry raised his eyebrows, but followed along.
Ginny led him down quiet corridors, her warm hand around his. "Come on, almost there," she whispered into his ear.
They turned a corner and entered an empty, seemingly unused classroom. The faint smell of old parchment and dust hung in the air. Ginny paused, then dragged Harry forward into the room.
"What's this?" Harry said, trying to seem casual, but his excitement clear from his tone.
"Just a little something I found recently… It's not used and almost no one ever comes near here… I thought it could be used for that D.A idea you had, among other things." Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry when she finished, leaning into him.
Harry felt blood rush around his body, making his excitement obvious.
"I thought I could help you relax a bit before your meeting with Dumbledore. If you're okay with that?" Ginny asked, a hint of nervousness in her tone.
"That sounds like a great idea Ginny," Harry said, his hands gripping onto Ginny's waist.
Ginny leaned into him and Harry felt a shiver run through him. He leaned down and captured Ginny's lips in a slow, yet passionate kiss. Her subtle flowery warm scent spreading through the room.
"I haven't really done anything like this before Harry…" she admitted, a faint tremor in her voice. "So I hope you'll be patient with me."
"Neither have I Ginny… Let's just take this at our own pace okay? We'll figure it out together." Harry said with a gentle tone. Ginny's nervous demeanor made her look cuter than Harry thought possible.
Ginny stared into Harry's eyes, unspoken love in her gaze. Her fingers slid over him through his robes, while Harry's hand slowly guided her, encouraging her forward. Every touch made a thrill run through them - the air was charged with something magical.
"I like it when you take the lead…" Ginny whispered, almost embarrassed to admit it. But growing bolder by the second.
Harry's eyes were locked on hers, his breathing heavy, his gaze almost predatory. "Then don't hold back now," he said firmly. "I want to feel you."
Ginny nodded, a small shy laugh escaping her. "Okay… Okay, then," she whispered. Her hand moving deliberately now. Further and further down his robes. Confidence blooming with Harry's encouragement.
She finally reached his member, which pulsed with heat and excitement. Ginny seemed to jump slightly, almost surprised by it, before grabbing hold firmly. Harry sighed as he felt Ginny's firm grip wrap around him. Her eyes staring into his.
"Am I doing it right?" She asked with a trembling tone.
"Yeah, that's perfect Ginny, you can start moving," Harry said with a groan, it felt better than he could have predicted.
Ginny began moving up and down Harry's length, at first unsure, but growing in both confidence and speed by the second. She even looked down to examine him fully after a minute or two
Harry's groans seemed to excite her more and more, and soon she was back to her cocky, confident self.
"You like that?" Ginny whispered into his ear.
"God yes!" Harry groaned out, enjoying every sensation.
"Just relax Harry, let me take care of you…" Ginny whispered.
It wasn't long before Harry had reached his limit. "Ginny… I'm so close…"
Ginny increased her speed, excitement clear in her bright eyes. Finally, Harry released, it felt dizzying, leaving him breathless and flushed.
The floor was now covered, and Ginny couldn't help but stare at the result of their 'little fun'. She rested her head on his chest, eyes twinkling with satisfaction and awe.
"Wow… That was…" She said, speechless.
Harry gave her a small smile and kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth. "Yeah, wow."
They stayed wrapped in each others arms, letting the empty classroom hold them still for a few moments longer. Their breathing finally returned to normal, and the flushes covering their faces disappeared.
Finally, Ginny pulled back slightly, giving him a playful nudge. "We should probably clean up… get ready for Dumbledore."
Harry nodded, still smiling, brushing a hand over her hair. "Yeah… but I'm glad we had this time first. We needed it."
"Definitely," Ginny whispered, her eyes shining with affection and satisfaction. "Definitely."
They managed to return the classroom back to it's old boring self via a few cleaning charms, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.
"You know when mom told me I'd need these spells one day this isn't quite what I imagined." Ginny said with a humorous tone.
Harry laughed, the atmosphere changing back into the relaxed yet intimate tone they were used to.
It wasn't long before Harry was trouncing his way through deserted corridors, trying to find his way to Dumbledore's office. Though he had to step behind a statue of what appeared to be a mermaid playing a harp when Professor Trelawny appeared around a corner, holding a pack of playing cards and muttering to herself.
"Ace of hearts: union," she murmured, eyes narrowing as the cards whispered under her fingers. "Seven of spades: conflict. Ten of spades: danger in the dark. King of clubs: a looming shadow…
She stopped as if frozen, right next to the statue Harry was hiding behind.
"Well that can't be right!" She huffed, annoyed. Harry could hear her vigorously reshuffling her cards as she walked away. Leaving a scent trail that reminded Harry of cooking sherry behind her as she walked. Her large round glasses shimmering from the torchlight.
Harry quickly made his way through a couple more corridors and staircases until he finally reached that familiar tall gargoyle.
"Acid Pops" Harry spoke, and the gargoyle shifted aside. Leaving a wall behind it that quickly shifted aside, a spiral staircase was revealed, onto which Harry quickly stepped.
Harry made his way up the stone steps, reaching a grand wooden door with a brass knocker on it.
Harry knocked, the thumping noise echoing in the staircase.
"Come in," Dumbledore's voice said from within.
"Good evening sir," said Harry, walking into the headmaster's office. The space was littered with old tomes and strange magical artifacts and machines that whirred every now and then.
"Ah! Good evening, Harry. Sit down," said Dumbledore with a smile, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him. "I hope you've had an enjoyable first week back at school?"
"Yes, it's good to be back, sir" Harry said, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.
"And busy too I see, already a detention under your belt!" Dumbledore said with a teasing smile.
"Er…" Harry began, disappointed that Dumbledore had realised.
"I have arranged with Professor Snape for your detention to be served next saturday, instead."
"Right, too bad..." Harry said, turning his attention onto the matter at hand.
The office looked normal, the strange whirring machines in their place, portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed off in their frames, Fawkes stood on his perch and watched Harry with interest. Not even any place had been cleared for dueling.
"So, Harry," Dumbledore said in a businesslike tone. "I'm sure you're wondering what our plans are for our - for lack of a better word - lessons?"
"Yes, sir. That did cross my mind."
"Well I have decided, it is time for you to be given certain information, for you to know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try to kill you fifteen years ago, and for you to learn what Voldemorts secrets truly are."
There was a pause.
"You said, at the end of last term, that you were going to tell me everything…" Harry said, annoyance clear in his voice. Dumbledore was once again hiding things, playing games. "Sir," he added.
"And so I did," Dumbledore said, trying to placate. "I told you everything I know, and from this moment on, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and entering into the murky marshes of memory and into thickets of guesswork." Dumbledore said with a poetic flare.
"But you must at the very least think you're right if you're showing me this." Harry added, his voice still a bit tense.
"Naturally, I do, but as time has shown, I can be wrong from time to time, even if I am - forgive me - more clever than most." Dumbledore said.
"And what you're going to tell me will help me to survive? to fight?" Harry said.
"I certainly hope so, I do hope you never have to fight again though… but should the situation come to it, I want you to be prepared."
Dumbledore got up and walked around his desk, past Harry, and over to a cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore emerged, he was holding a familiar stone basin with odd markings around the rim. A Pensieve.
"It's time we enter the pensieve together Harry. This time with permission though." Dumbledore said, lifting the Pensieve onto a table.
"And where will we be going to, sir?"
"A trip down Bob Ogden's memory lane…" Dumbledore said, pulling a crystal bottle containing a silvery-white strand.
"Who's Bob Ogden?" Harry asked, confused by the unfamiliar name.
"A former employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Dumbledore. "He died some time ago, but I managed to get this memory before his passing. We are about to accompany him during one of his visits during his course of duty."
Harry got another look at Dumbledore's injured hand, while he held the bottle. It was black, almost rotting and cracked. It seemed completely dead, yet somehow still seemed to retain some functionality.
"Sir - is your hand okay? How did you injure it?" Harry asked, somewhat concerned.
"Now is not the time, Harry, not yet. We have an appointment with Bob Ogden."
Harry felt that familiar tinge of irritation. A tinge of worry at Dumbledore's health and frustration that he was once again deflecting.
Dumbledore tipped the silvery-white strand into the Pensieve, where it swirled and shimmered.
"After you," Dumbledore said, gesturing to Harry.
Harry bent forward, took a deep breath, and plunged his face into the silvery substance. He felt his feet leave the office floor, falling through whirling darkness until suddenly he was blinking in dazzling sunlight. Dumbledore landed beside him.
They stood in a country lane bordered by high hedgerows beneath a brilliant summer sky. A short, plump man with enormously thick glasses stood reading a wooden signpost. He wore a bizarre combination of frock coat and spats over a striped bathing costume - clearly a wizard trying to dress like a Muggle.
"That must be Ogden," Harry muttered as the man set off down the lane.
They followed, passing signs pointing to Great Hangleton and Little Hangleton. The lane curved and sloped steeply downhill, revealing a valley with a village nestled between hills and a handsome manor house on the opposite slope.
But they weren't heading for either. Ogden turned through a gap in the hedge onto a narrow, rocky dirt track that led toward dark trees. Hidden among the tangled trunks was a ramshackle cottage, its walls mossy, roof tiles missing, nettles growing up to grimy windows. A thin wisp of smoke suggested someone lived there, and a dead snake was nailed to the front door.
Suddenly a man in rags dropped from a tree, landing in front of Ogden. He had matted hair, missing teeth, and eyes that stared in opposite directions. Most unnervingly, he held both a wand and a bloody knife.
"You're not welcome," the man said, though Harry realized whoever the man was, he was speaking in Parseltongue.
"Er - good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic-" Ogden began nervously.
"You're not welcome." The man hissed again.
Before Ogden could respond, there was a bang and he was on the ground, yellow goo squirting from his nose where he'd been hexed.
"Morfin!" shouted a voice from the cottage.
An elderly man emerged - short, oddly proportioned with broad shoulders and overlong arms. His scrubby hair and wrinkled face gave him the look of an aged monkey.
"Ministry, is it?" he said, looking down at the fallen Ogden.
"Correct!" Ogden said angrily, dabbing his face. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"
"That's right. Should've made your presence known, shouldn't you? This is private property."
After healing his nose, Ogden explained he was there about Morfin's attack on a Muggle. Gaunt's response was to demand whether Ogden was pure-blood and sneer about his "muggle nose."
"I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl-"
"I've no use for owls. Don't open letters."
After a few minutes of back and forth bickering, Gaunt grudgingly led them inside the squalid cottage. Morfin sat by a smoking fire, twisting a live snake between his fingers and crooning to it in Parseltongue. In the corner, nearly invisible against the dirty stone wall, stood a girl in a ragged gray dress. Her lank hair hung around a plain, defeated face, and like her brother, her eyes stared in opposite directions.
"My daughter, Merope," Gaunt said grudgingly when Ogden glanced at her.
She didn't respond, just continued shifting pots on a grimy shelf with frightened, trembling hands.
When Ogden explained about Morfin performing magic on a Muggle, Merope dropped a pot with a deafening clang.
"Pick it up!" Gaunt bellowed. "Grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle! What's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"
Merope's hands shook so badly that when she tried to repair the pot magically, it shot across the room and cracked in two. Morfin cackled with laughter while Gaunt screamed at her to mend it. Ogden finally had to fix it himself.
"Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here," Gaunt jeered. "Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs-"
As Ogden tried to continue his business, the sound of horses and laughing voices drifted through the window. Gaunt froze, Morfin's expression turned hungry, and Merope raised her head, her face going stark white.
"My God, what an eyesore!" rang out a girl's voice. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"
"It's not ours," replied a young man. "That cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt. The son's quite mad-"
The girl laughed as the sounds grew louder.
"Tom, I might be wrong, but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"
"Good lord, you're right! Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling."
As the voices faded, Morfin whispered in Parseltongue, "'Darling,' he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway."
Merope looked ready to faint.
"What's that?" Gaunt snapped, also switching to Parseltongue. "What did you say?"
"She likes looking at that Muggle," Morfin said viciously, staring at his terrified sister. "Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge. And last night, hanging out the window waiting for him to ride home."
"Hanging out the window to look at a Muggle?" Gaunt said in a deadly voice, advancing on his daughter. "My daughter - pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin - hankering after a filthy Muggle?"
Merope pressed herself against the wall, shaking her head frantically.
"But I got him!" Morfin cackled. "I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him!"
"You disgusting little Squib, you filthy blood traitor!" Gaunt roared, lunging forward and closing his hands around his daughter's throat.
"No!" both Harry and Ogden yelled. Ogden raised his wand. "Relashio!"
Gaunt was thrown backward, tripping over a chair. With a roar of rage, Morfin leaped up and ran at Ogden, brandishing his knife and firing hexes wildly.
Ogden ran for his life, with Dumbledore indicating they should follow. Merope's screams echoed behind them as they fled up the path onto the main lane, where Ogden collided with the chestnut horse ridden by a handsome, dark-haired young man - Tom Riddle Sr. Both he and the pretty girl beside him roared with laughter at the dust-covered, fleeing Ministry official.
"I think that will do," said Dumbledore, taking Harry's elbow. They soared through darkness back to the office.
"What happened to the girl?" Harry asked immediately as they landed back in Dumbledore's office. "Merope?"
"She survived," said Dumbledore, reseating himself and gesturing for Harry to sit. "Ogden returned with reinforcements, and arrested both men after a fight. Morfin got three years in Azkaban for his record of Muggle attacks, while Marvolo received six months for injuring ministry workers."
"Marvolo," Harry repeated, the pieces clicking together. "That was Voldemort's grandfather, wasn't it?."
"Very astute, Harry. Yes, the Gaunts were Voldemort's maternal family - the last of an ancient wizarding line that had deteriorated through generations of inbreeding and violence."
Harry's mind raced ahead. "And the man on horseback - Tom Riddle Senior. He was Voldemort's father." He paused, frowning. "But how did someone like Merope end up with him? She was terrified of her own shadow."
"An excellent question. What do you think happened once her father and brother were safely in Azkaban?"
Harry considered what he'd seen - Merope's desperate longing as she watched Tom ride past, her family's obsession with blood purity, her obvious magical ability despite appearing so defeated. "She was free for the first time in her life. And she was a witch." His eyes widened with understanding. "She enchanted him somehow. Imperious curse? A love potion?"
"I believe the latter. Easily administered - a cool drink on a hot day from a seemingly harmless girl."
"But it didn't last…" Harry said
"I believe she stopped dosing him. Perhaps she hoped he'd learned to love her genuinely, or would stay for their child's sake. She was tragically wrong. He left her while pregnant and never looked back."
Harry felt the weight of it. "So Voldemort was born from a lie. False love created through magical coercion."
"Indeed. His mother died shortly after his birth, choosing death over a world without the love she thought she'd found."
"Sir," he said finally, "is it important to know all this about Voldemort's past?"
"Very important, I think."
"And it's got something to do with the prophecy?"
"It has everything to do with the prophecy." Dumbledore's voice was gentle but certain.
Harry nodded slowly, feeling both confused and oddly reassured. He stood to leave, then paused.
"Sir, am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you've told me?"
Dumbledore considered this. "Yes, I think Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. But Harry, ask them not to repeat any of this to anybody else. It would not be wise if word got around how much we know about Lord Voldemort's secrets."
Harry hesitated. "What about Ginny, sir? She's... well, she's important to me, and I trust her completely."
A knowing smile played at the corners of Dumbledore's mouth. "Ah, the fervor of young love. Yes, Harry, I believe Miss Weasley has proven herself quite trustworthy. It's good to see you've found real companionship, even in these trying times."
Harry felt his cheeks burn. "I... yes, sir."
As Harry turned to go, he spotted something that made him freeze. Sitting on one of the spindle-legged tables was an gold ring set with a large, cracked black stone.
"Sir," he said, staring at it. "That ring - you were wearing it when we visited Slughorn. But isn't it the same one Marvolo Gaunt showed Ogden?"
"The very same," Dumbledore confirmed.
"How did you get it? Have you always had it?"
"No, I acquired it very recently. A few days before I came to fetch you from your relatives, in fact."
Harry's eyes moved to Dumbledore's blackened hand. "That would be around the time you injured your hand."
"Around that time, yes."
"So what exactly is it-"
"Too late, Harry!" Dumbledore said with a smile. "You shall hear that story another time. But before you go..." His expression grew more serious.
"I'm sure you've noticed the comet that has been gracing our skies recently."
Harry paused. "The bright one? Yes, sir."
"The Celestial Wanderer, at least that's what some records call it, appears roughly every seventy years, and its presence is... significant. Though I must confess, our understanding of its influence remains incomplete." Dumbledore steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "What we do know is that it seems to affect certain individuals more than others - those with particular magical gifts or bloodlines, though the pattern is not entirely clear."
"What kind of effects, sir?"
"Amplified emotions, heightened magical abilities, sometimes prophetic dreams or visions. The last time it appeared was in the early 1920s, just before Grindelwald began his rise to power. Whether there was a connection..." Dumbledore trailed off meaningfully.
Harry felt a chill. "Do you think it's affecting me?"
"I suspect it may be, though in what ways, I cannot say. The comet's influence is subtle and often goes unrecognized until after the fact."
Dumbledore's blue eyes studied Harry carefully. "Simply be aware that strong feelings - whether love, anger, or ambition - may feel more urgent than usual in the coming months."
"I'll try to keep that in mind, sir."
"I'm sure you will. Good night, Harry."
"Good night, sir."
Harry left the office with his mind spinning, the weight of Voldemort's twisted origins heavy on his thoughts, and Dumbledore's warning about the comet echoing in his ears.