lomonaaeren

“Professor? Could I talk to you?”

“Of course, of course, Mr. Potter! Just let me put this cauldron away.”

Harry stood patiently in the Potions classroom as Professor Slughorn Levitated a few cauldrons to their places. He didn’t remember seeing Snape doing that, but then again, he had never stuck around in Snape’s classroom unless told.

Harry hid a grin. At least he’d managed to impress Snape during Defense class. And the man had diminished the insults a bit since Christmas. It seemed actually being willing to admit to dating a Slytherin had given Harry some points in Snape’s mind.

“Now!” Slughorn turned around and clapped his hands. “What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?”

“I need the memory where you told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes, sir.”

Harry had decided that there wasn’t, in fact, much of a point to dancing around the topic. He was a Gryffindor; he did things the direct way. And Dumbledore hadn’t given him any particular instructions, just to get the memory.

Slughorn gaped at him with his jaw hanging open. Harry smiled back, calmly, apologetically.

“A-already gave it to Dumbledore,” Slughorn muttered, looking around as if he hoped a door would open and let him dart through it. “Never wanted to encourage the boy, everyone knows Horcruxes are Dark things…”

“You altered the memory you gave the Headmaster,” Harry said, firmly, pleasantly. “I need the real one.”

“You understand he would kill me?” Slughorn leaned forwards, his eyes and jaw both wobbling. “If he knew I’d told anyone?”

“I wouldn’t betray you to him,” Harry whispered. “I would never betray anyone to him. And, well, I’ve been in pretty desperate circumstances and afraid for my own life around Tom Riddle plenty of times. I still didn’t feed someone who really needed information an altered memory.”

Slughorn closed his eyes. Harry wondered if it was even worth trying to shame him, and then pushed that idea away. This was the plan he had.

And he wasn’t as good at lying as Adrian. So he might as well take the honesty he did possess as a weapon.

“I wanted to keep myself safe,” Slughorn whispered.

Harry had never really had that option, but he tried to make his voice as sympathetic as possible. “I know. But if he really does remember that you have that memory, he’s not going to care if you gave us the real thing or an altered one. He’ll kill you just for existing and possessing the memory.”

“You believe that?”

“If there’s one person I know, sir, it’s Voldemort,” Harry said, and ignored the way that Slughorn flinched hard enough to make cauldrons on the table jounce. “I know how he thinks. And even when he’s rational, he doesn’t tolerate threats to his safety.”

Slughorn looked around, this time very much as if he hoped someone would pop up and contradict Harry. But Harry remained standing where he was, and Slughorn swallowed and finally turned around to face him.

“You’ll take the memory straight to Albus.”

“Of course, sir.”

“You won’t—judge me because of what I did in it.”

Harry wondered how much of the altered memory Slughorn had given Dumbledore was really about making himself look good, rather than because he was afraid of Voldemort. He nodded. “I promise, sir.”

It wasn’t as though he really had to worry about keeping that promise. As long as he never talked to Slughorn about his judgment, the professor would never know.

Slughorn nodded and closed his eyes. Then he shuffled over to his desk to pick up a vial, and touched his wand to his temple. A silvery strand of memory stretched out and onto the end.

Then he gave the vial to Harry without a word, and turned to tidying up his classroom once more.

*

“Voldemort wanted to make seven. We already suspected that, anyway.”

Adrian snorted and lay back, stretching along the Quidditch stands, where they’d landed, as usual, after their practice. His head rested in Harry’s lap. Harry had been rather startled the first time that had happened, but then he’d decided he might as well enjoy it.

“I still think there’s another purpose behind these lessons that Dumbledore’s giving you.”

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through Adrian’s hair, down the back of his neck. Adrian closed his eyes and made a low groaning noise that was frankly the sexiest thing Harry had ever heard.

Harry bent over and kissed the back of Adrian’s neck. Adrian reached for him, groping, and drew Harry into a thick kiss. Harry was panting when they parted, and wanted nothing more than to reach out and—

“So getting that memory was a test, to see how much you obeyed him. Not an end goal in itself.”

Harry groaned and fell back, away from Adrian, because at the moment, touching his boyfriend just made him want things he couldn’t have. “I know, but I’m no closer to figuring out what Dumbledore wants than I was before.”

“Why not?”

“There are too many possibilities, Adrian! He could want me to volunteer to search out the Horcruxes, or he could want me to just show that I trust him and will do what he wants, or he could really believe that this history is important and the clue that will defeat Voldemort. I don’t know.”

“And when you ask him?”

“He dances around the subject endlessly.”

“Hm.” Adrian smiled up at him, his face loose and lazy in a way that made Harry tense with simultaneous dread and anticipation. “When you’re not getting results one way, try another one, I always say.”

“What do you mean?”

Adrian told him, and Harry laughed with delight.

*

“I do not recall inviting Mr. Pucey to these lessons, Harry.”

“Nope, but he’s here now,” Harry said cheerfully, and plopped into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk that he usually took. Adrian took the other one, glancing around with a curled lip that made Harry want to kiss him and laugh at the same time. “And he wants to ask you some questions.”

“What are you helping Harry will take from these lessons?” Adrian asked, turning to face Dumbledore. “The memory he got from Slughorn confirmed there were seven Horcruxes, but so what? You already suspected that. Was it just to see how obedient he was?”

“I did not realize you would tell your boyfriend about the Horcruxes, Harry.”

Dumbledore sounded grieved. Harry gave him a bright smile. “And I didn’t realize that you would try to keep secrets like what you’re guarding in the Department of Mysteries from me even after I was let into the secret of Grimmauld Place. I suppose that we’ll both have to get used to a bit of disappointment from each other.”

Dumbledore swallowed and looked down at the Pensieve on his desk. It was empty at the moment, Harry thought, and wondered if Dumbledore would retrieve a memory from a vial or from his own head.

But the Headmaster did neither. He looked up and shook his head. “The lessons will not continue as long as Mr. Pucey is here, Harry.”

Harry sighed. “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to figuring out something about this. But I reckon I won’t. Come on, Adrian.” He stood up, and so did Adrian, after giving one of the silver instruments on Dumbledore’s desk that was shaped like half a globe a dubious glance.

“I cannot tell you in front of him, Harry.”

“But you don’t tell me without him, either. I keep asking you, and you don’t tell me.”

“I do believe that the ultimate means of defeating Voldemort lies in these memories.”

“Why?”

Dumbledore was silent. Harry turned back to him to see that he must have missed something, because Adrian was gaping at Dumbledore.

“What?” Harry asked, leaning comfortably on Adrian’s side for a moment.

“He looked at your scar,” Adrian said, his voice faint. “I didn’t even suspect—holy shit, you think that Harry’s a Horcrux, don’t you?”

Harry felt as though he’d just taken that Portkey to the graveyard a second time. He stared blankly at Dumbledore, who had firmed his lips and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. Harry had to hold on to Adrian so he wouldn’t fall over. There was hot, slick nausea climbing his throat.

“What?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Adrian was peering at Dumbledore as if he were interesting and nothing else, but his hand on Harry’s shoulder shook. “He knew you were a Horcrux, and I suppose he was—trying to lead you into realizing that gently? Because it would hurt you if you knew it while he was alive? He was planning to die from the curse before he had to say it?” Adrian broke off then and shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t really know that.”

“You are correct, Mr. Pucey.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm, but Harry could hear the humming, underlying tension. “I did in fact hope that I would die before I had to see this expression on Harry’s face.”

Harry wanted to ask why Dumbledore hadn’t told him before, but he knew. Because of what Dumbledore had just said, and because no matter when or where he learned about this…

It would have had the same devastating effect.

“I have to die for Voldemort to die,” he said, his lips numb.

“Yes. My dear boy, I am so sorry.”

Dumbledore’s eyes brimmed with compassion, the first time Harry had seen them do that all year, but he didn’t get much chance to look, because Adrian was twisting so that Harry had to look up at him, his eyes wild. His hands clamped on Harry’s shoulders. Harry winced. It was the first time he had ever regretted that Adrian had got so much stronger during their private Quidditch practices.

“No,” Adrian whispered. “You’re not dying. I love you and you’re not dying, do you hear?”

“But if the alternative was me dying or Voldemort living forever…”

“He would live forever.”

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. He wondered, dazedly, how he had managed to inspire such love in someone. Because Dumbledore knew about the Horcrux and still thought that Harry had to die, and he thought Ron and Hermione would at least have hesitated before saying that Harry had to live.

He leaned forwards and curled against Adrian. He was shaking. Adrian’s hand stroked his hair.

*

Harry heard little of the conversation that followed. Adrian and Dumbledore were arguing about things like “never even going to try” and “wouldn’t work” and “theoretically impossible” and “still a few months before the curse takes you.” But he woke up when Adrian marched him out of Dumbledore’s office and down the moving stairs that led to the gargoyle.

“Where are we going?” Harry whispered.

“To a place where we can talk.”

“Oh.”

They went to the pitch, of course, despite the fact that it was deep night now and only the stars shone overhead. Harry had the impression that a few people tried to stop them along the way, maybe prefects, but Adrian growled at them until they went away. Then they were on the pitch, and Harry was leaning back so he could stare up at the stars. Adrian sat beside him, shielding him from everything.

“What did you and Dumbledore talk about?” Harry asked at last.

Adrian didn’t act incredulous, or ask why Harry didn’t know when he’d been in the bloody meeting. Adrian must have been able to sense how withdrawn he’d been. He caressed Harry’s hair now and said in a low, fierce tone, “Transferring the Horcrux into something else.”

Harry felt his breath catch, and he turned around to look up at Adrian. “That would be possible?”

“He kept saying it was theoretically impossible, but then, so was a human Horcrux before you.” Adrian was hunched over Harry with silent ferocity, looking around as if he thought someone would come up and try to off Harry to kill Voldemort right here. “And he admitted that he hadn’t done any research on it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he thought it was impossible, and he also thought he was going to die before it ever became a concern.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, as nearly as Harry could judge, and then he stirred and murmured, “I never thought Dumbledore was a coward.”

“He’s not, when it comes to spells or fighting injustice—what he sees as injustice. But when it comes to emotionally hurting someone? Yes, he is.”

Harry just nodded, accepting that. He didn’t hate Dumbledore, although maybe that would come later, after he was no longer so numb. But he did think that it was possible the Headmaster was indeed a coward.

Adrian turned to him another timeless time later and leaned forwards to kiss his scar. Harry blinked back tears.

“We are going to help you one way or another,” Adrian vowed quietly. “I’ll do it myself if he’s too cowardly to help. We’re going to get you the help you need.”

“Thank you,” Harry breathed, and he reached up and twined his fingers in Adrian’s hair.

*

“I saw you and Adrian in the library the other day.”

Harry blinked and glanced up from the chess game that he was playing against Ron. At usual, he was losing, but maybe not as badly as he’d lost sometimes in the past. “Hmmm? Oh, yeah, we were researching.” He turned back to the board and carefully moved a pawn.

“Checkmate!”

Harry groaned as he studied the board again and saw the way that he’d left a path open for Ron to win. Possibly even more than one. “Why can I never see that before I make the move that lets you win, but it’s perfectly clear afterwards?” he complained.

Ron was obviously trying to hide a grin as he swept the pieces off the board. “Don’t know, mate.”

“What were you researching, Harry?” Hermione had sat down in a chair to the side of the chessboard.

“Oh, a few things related to one of Dumbledore’s lessons.” There, that sounded better than soul magic and ways to move the piece of soul that a Dark Lord accidentally left in me between me and another object.

“And you still can’t tell us what that is?”

Harry sighed. “Dumbledore is pretty insistent that we keep the subjects of these lessons just between us.” And that was true. Harry had simply brought Adrian to the latest lesson in defiance of what Dumbledore felt about it.

And it’s a bloody good thing I did, too.

“But if you can tell Adrian…”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

Ron and Hermione stared at him as if waiting for something else. Harry stared back, and finally decided that he would have to be the one to explain. He shook his head a little. “Hermione, you tell Ron things that you don’t tell me, right?”

Hermione blushed.

Harry turned to Ron. “And you tell Hermione things that you don’t tell me, right?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Ron said blankly, and then blinked. “Oh.”

Harry nodded. “It’s a different kind of relationship. You’re my friends, of course, but Adrian is my boyfriend.”

“So you’re saying the relationship is closer.” Hermione’s voice was stiff, her eyes locked on the book in her lap as if she were going to lift it to hide her face any moment.

“I’m saying that it’s different.”

Ron and Hermione seemed to want to say something, but not to know what to say. Harry just shrugged a little. If they wanted to bring up the whole fact of his concealing his relationship with Adrian, then they would have to start talking about how they had stayed in Grimmauld Place and written meaningless letters to him, and that Hermione hadn’t even told him about being inducted into the Order of the Phoenix when she’d come of age. It was better to avoid the subject.

“All right,” Hermione said at last, reluctantly, when she seemed to realize that Harry wasn’t going to yield. “But you’ll tell us if you need our help, right?”

“Of course.” Harry smiled at her. “I know there are things you can do better than Adrian.”

Hermione perked up, and the rest of their conversation for that evening flowed smoothly. Harry hid inside his mind the fact that he didn’t really think anything would come up in their Horcrux research that Hermione and Ron could do better than Adrian could.

If only because Adrian wouldn’t pause for questions and lectures and worries about morality.