Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15

“I know because Voldemort knew.”

Harry’s words elicited different reactions from the adult members of the room, Hermione noticed.

Madam Bones and Prof. McGonagall both looked confused at what he meant, while The Headmaster peered at the boy intently over his half-moon glasses like he was trying to see right into his soul.

Moody meanwhile, simply said; “Be careful how you use that name, lass.”

Harry scoffed. “Or what?” he asked. “The bastard will send me a strongly worded letter?”

Harry frowned then.

“And you do know I’m a boy, right?” he asked the scarred Auror.

The wizard’s only response was to scratch his badly scarred nose.

There was a huge chunk of it missing.

“Harry,” Dumbledore called softly, pulling both children’s attentions back to him, “what do mean when you say that you know because Voldemort knew?”

Harry took a deep breath, then scratched his head, figuring out how to best word his reply.

The adults let him, keeping quiet while he thought.

Finally, Harry spoke.

“That Halloween night, when Voldemort tried to kill me, something went wrong.

“Whatever it was caused us to be... connected somehow.”

Harry paused, briefly.

Everyone in the room was spellbound, hanging on to his every word. Even Hermione was hooked, despite knowing that he wasn’t being truthful.

It was quite impressive actually.

“Connected in what way, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“I know things,” Harry said. “Things that Voldemort knew. It actually took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t just crazy. That these were someone’s memories in my head.”

“And that’s how you knew of the basilisk,” Madam Bones said.

It hadn’t been a question, but Harry nodded all the same.

“Yeah. Voldemort found it when he was a student here,” Harry said. “He opened the chamber and used the snake to kill Myrtle.

“That was also when he made his first horcrux.”

It took a second, but as comprehension of Harry’s words sank in, the members of the room all reacted in their own ways.

Dumbledore’s jaws clenched, Madam Bones paled, Prof. McGonagall looked confused, The Sorting Hat (who Hermione hadn’t even noticed till now) sighed, Mad-eye Moody muttered a “bugger”, and a general aura of unease rippled through the past Heads in the paintings on the walls.

Hermione and Harry blinked at the reaction of the room.

“Okay,” Harry said. “Apparently that’s a lot worse than I thought it was.”

“You said that was when he made his first horcrux, Harry,” Dumbledore said, and Harry nodded. “Do you know how many others he made?”

“Well,” Harry said, then began to count out on his fingers, “there was the diary, which was the first.

“I don’t really know the order in which he made the others, but there’s also the diadem, the cup, the locket, and the ring.”

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With each new item Harry listed, Hermione could see as the room grew tenser and tenser, so much so, that, by the time the boy was done, no one spoke or moved for several seconds.

Finally, Madam Bones broke the silence.

“He made five horcruxes?” the witch asked, and while it sounded like she was asking for confirmation, it also seemed to Hermione like the woman was hoping Harry would suddenly go: “psych! Got you!” And reveal everything he’d said to be one big, naughty prank.

Harry instead simply nodded.

“Do you know where they are?” Dumbledore questioned.

“Yep,” Harry said, nodding confidently, then he paused thought about it for a few seconds. “Sort of,” he amended, making a so-so gesture.

“Sort of?” Madam Bones asked.

“Yeah, he gave the goblet and the diary to two of his Death Eaters; Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy.

“He didn’t tell them what they were. And I know he told Bellatrix to keep the cup in her Gringotts’ vault, but she may have moved it without telling him.”

The adults took some time to ruminate on that information, after which Dumbledore spoke.

“And the others, Harry?” the grey wizard asked.

“Well, Voldemort hid the ring in a shack that belonged to his mother’s family, the Gaunts. The locket is being protected by inferi in a cave that’s near where he grew up. I think. And he stashed the diadem here in Hogwarts.”

Eyes widened around the room.

“Do you know where?” Dumbledore asked Harry.

“It’s in the Room of Requirement,” Harry said, then quickly continued before anyone else could speak. “But Hermione and I already found it. We destroyed it.”

Madam Bones looked taken aback. “How?” the witch asked.

Harry shrugged. “I used The Killing Curse,” he said simply.

Dumbledore sighed and Madam Bones scowled.

“You are aware,” the monocled witch said sternly, “that simply knowing the incantation for that spell is enough to see you serving time in level three of Azkaban, correct?”

Harry, and Hermione too, bristled at the perceived threat.

Before either of them could say anything however, The Headmaster stepped in.

“Amelia,” he cautioned gently, then looked to Harry.

“Harry, I presume you know The Killing Curse in the same way you know about Voldemort’s horcruxes, yes?”

Harry nodded.

“Do you know any other dark spells?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry’s answer was a simple shrug.

“Regardless,” Dumbledore continued after Harry’s nonresponse, “you should never use them.”

“I had a horcrux to destroy,” Harry pointed out. “What was I supposed to do, ask the basilisk for help?”

“No,” Madam Bones said, “you were supposed to alert the proper authorities. And don’t think we’re not aware that that isn’t the only time you’ve used that spell; based on the account of your dormmates, you cast it repeatedly last night.”

“Yes, because a psycho killer came bursting into our common room,” Harry argued, and Hermione concurred.

“He was only trying to protect himself,” she said.

“I know,” Dumbledore agreed, cutting in before Madam Bones could speak. “However, while that is admirable, one should never do so with dark magic.”

“Why?” Harry asked. He didn’t sound petulant, he sounded genuinely curious, and, to be honest, Hermione was a little curious too.

After all, sure it was called dark magic, but what was so dark about it?

It wasn’t as though regular magic couldn’t be all kinds of nasty too. For example, there was a potion in the fourth year potions book that causes skin to fall off. Literally fall off. And yet it wasn’t considered dark magic.

So what exactly made dark magic... dark?

Surprisingly, it was Moody who answered.

“It’s a slippery slope, lass,” the wizard said, lips curled, though Hermione couldn’t tell if it was because he was annoyed now, or that was just his resting expression.

Moody continued.

“Felt the power, didn’t you? The ease.”

Harry frowned, but he nodded.

It made sense that he would. He had admitted the same thing to her when she’d asked him what it was like to use the spell, after she’d watched him destroy the horcrux with it.

He’d said the spell had felt good. That he’d felt power. Like, all he had to do was follow it, and it would give him power over all his enemies.

Hermione didn’t remember feeling anything like that the one time she’d used the spell, but, then again, she hadn’t been in the best state of mind at the time, considering she thought she’d just watched her best friend get killed.

Also, the snake had dodged. So, the girl wasn’t even sure if that one time did count.

Moody grunted, looking unsurprised at Harry’s nod.

“Thought you did,” the wizard said. “But, mark my words; it gets easier.”

“It does,” Dumbledore agreed. “And without vigilance, it will consume you.”

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” Moody barked suddenly, and Hermione jumped, immediately reaching for her wand within her sleeve.

Harry already had his out, though he’d aborted the motion to point it at the scarred wizard halfway.

For his part, Moody remained against the wall, his gaze trained on the children, his magical eye, for once, perfectly still.

He smiled.

Hermione shuddered.

A tawny owl flew into the office then, drawing all attention to itself and freeing Hermione from the horror that was Moody’s smile.

The owl perched on Dumbledore’s table, right in front of Harry.

Everyone stared at Harry. Harry stared at the owl.

“I do believe that owl is here for you, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

Harry looked at Hermione; who would send him a letter?

Hermione shrugged; she had no idea.

Finally, Harry pulled out the letter from the bird’s pouch, and Hermione leaned in as he opened it.

The name of the sender stood out in her mind like a neon sign.

Rita Skeeter.

Harry sighed.

“Bad news?” Dumbledore asked.

“Worse,” Harry replied. “Rita Skeeter.”

The Headmaster gave an amused smile at Harry’s joke.

“She’s wanting an interview, I suppose?” Madam Bones asked.

The question had been directed at Harry, but it was Hermione who answered.

She had already skimmed the letter as they spoke, and while it said a bunch of things, in the end, what Skeeter wanted was clear as day.

Rita Skeeter wanted an interview.