A More Considered Response

Chapter 1 – The Potters are betrayed

Saturday 31st October 1981

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Albus Dumbledore frowned slightly as he looked up from his desk at the noise that was suddenly distracting him. It was nearly midnight and his cocoa had long gone cold and been removed by the castle's House-elves as he submerged himself in the infinite reams of paperwork that his job entailed.

Not for the first time he considered delegating some of it to his Deputy, Minerva McGonagall, but knew that this would be completely unfair on her; he had already prevailed upon her to act as both Deputy Head and Head of Gryffindor House, and lumping his own responsibilities on her would dilute her talent even further. Far better, he thought with certainty, that he give up one of his other posts.

The most recent conundrum to cross his desk, and which he had been busy with this late into the evening was one he would rather have avoided. Horace Slughorn had once again been intimating that with the Dark Lord still on the prowl he feared for his life, and despite the Headmaster's reassurances that he and Hogwarts would protect him to the very best of their ability, the Potions master had re-stated his intention to retire from his post at the end of the current school year.

At least he had given the school plenty of notice, and thus, the Headmaster had posted a job advertisement in the Daily Prophet for a teacher to start the following September.

Sorting through the applications for the post had been a task that Dumbledore had been putting off for a number of days, but had felt compelled to address this evening. It had taken him all evening and into the night to properly assess those applicants, only belatedly coming to the conclusion that none of them were going to be fit for the post.

Some had excellent qualifications, but their declared attitudes towards children or towards teaching had indicated a rather brusque and unfriendly demeanour – something that Dumbledore had become very familiar with over the years among the more learned of the Potions-makers community.

Others looked like good teaching candidates, but appeared to have insufficient practical experience of demonstrating (safely and successfully) the potions that they would need to teach, a key requirement in the Headmaster's mind for teaching those skills to children.

Dumbledore sighed. This wasn't what was making him frown, however.

The device that he had attuned to the wards on the Potter cottage at Godric's Hollow were making a strange whining noise.

This was a bad sign.

Dumbledore had set this device up to provide an additional level of security for the Potters when they had gone into hiding under the Fidelius. He himself had cast the charm, despite the misgivings that he had regarding the Potters' choice of Peter Pettigrew as their secret keeper.

Pettigrew had seemed an odd choice. He would have thought that Sirius Black would have been a much better option, but the Potters were adamant, perhaps thinking that if Dumbledore thought that Sirius was the obvious choice then perhaps it would be far too obvious to those serving the Dark Lord as well.

The Fidelius worked far better when the secret was held by someone that those being hidden were certain of, so he had agreed to their choice and cast the spell accordingly.

It appeared that they had chosen unwisely.

"Jinky!" he called for the Elf who he knew would be ready to attend his needs at this time of day.

"Yes, Headmaster Sir?" the Elf replied as he popped himself into Dumbledore's office.

"Please can you alert Professor McGonagall that I am leaving the castle and may not be back until the morning," he asked.

"Yes, Headmaster Sir!" Jinky said, and popped away again.

Dumbledore sighed again.

His first inclination had been to call for Rubeus Hagrid and ask him to check up on the Potters, but the bad feeling he had about it got significantly worse, as the strange tracking device made a sudden crackling sound, and emitted a large puff of black smoke, before exploding, showering the room in soot and metal particles. Whilst he trusted Hagrid absolutely, he owed it to the Potters to check on them himself.

"Headmaster Sir made a big mess very quickly," Jinky said, looking around as he popped back in again. "Jinky will clean up momentarily."

"Leave it for the moment, please, Jinky," Dumbledore said. "Instead, please can you ask Hagrid to meet me at the gates as soon as he can?" He decided that the extra pair of hands could be important, and Hagrid's were bigger than most.

The elf popped off again without a word.

Ten minutes later, Dumbledore met Hagrid at the gates to the school grounds.

"Whas' happened, Sir?" the Half-giant asked.

"I fear the worst for the Potters," he replied. "Will you come with me to Godric's Hollow and help me find out what's happened, Hagrid?"

"Of course, Perfessor Dumbledore. Though you'll know I can't Apparate myself there!"

"That's quite alright, Hagrid. I can take you directly there myself. I realise that although we managed to get your name cleared for that nasty Chamber of Secrets business, you weren't able to finish your Hogwarts education or get an Apparation License."

"You did what you could, Sir," Hagrid argued. "I was lucky they 'lowed me to keep me wand after they found out 'bout Aragog. Was me own stupid fault, Sir."

"Don't worry Hagrid. Just stay alert. I'm not sure what has occurred, but there may still be Death Eaters or other threats around, so keep your eyes peeled."

"Yes, Perfessor."

They strode out through the gates, and Dumbledore took Hagrid's arm and Apparated them away.

-MCRMCRMCRMCR-

Saturday 31st October/Sunday 1st November 1981

Godric's Hollow

They appeared a little way down the street from the cottage, Dumbledore not wanting to land them right in the middle of a firefight if one was going on at the site itself.

Immediately he knew that something terrible had happened.

Even in the dark of night and from a distance, he could see that the cottage was in ruins, a small spiral of smoke beginning to emerge from the wreckage as whatever fires had been lit began to run out of control.

The only surprise to him, given the sight, was that the Dark Mark had not been raised.

Perhaps that meant that the worst had not occurred, despite the Fidelius falling. Perhaps this hadn't been an attack by Voldemort himself, but by his stooges, and they had been beaten off by the Potters.

As he and Hagrid approached more closely though, his heart sank.

No, if there were any survivors then they would be moving around in the wreckage, attempting to put out the fires and shoring up the building. Who knows what structural damage might have been done, and you didn't leave a building to go up in flames if you could avoid it, especially not one where magical people lived.

"Can you see anyone about, Hagrid?" he asked as they approached the building.

"No, sir," Hagrid replied. "You think-"

"I think we're too late," he said sadly. "Come, let us see what remains."

They got closer and began suppressing the fires that had started. Dumbledore cast some quick spells that he knew would keep the building from collapsing and doused the remaining flames he could see, and they looked in through the remains of the door.

The door itself had a large hole blasted through the centre, and the remainder of the structure had been forcibly removed from its frame, lock and all. The hallway inside was a ruin. Books and papers lay everywhere, torn from the bookcases that lined the walls and which had been upended and blown into kindling. Spell marks creased the walls, and the heat from them had seared away the wallpaper in many places, and left them charred and tattered. Some small fires were just starting to blaze higher and Dumbledore hasten to extinguish them.

"It's a mess, perfessor," Hagrid said sadly.

"I'm afraid that this won't be the worst of it, dear boy," Dumbledore responded in similarly hushed tones.

He pushed open the door to the main living room.

"Ah!" he exclaimed.

Hagrid poked his head through and looked.

"James!" he cried out, and pushed gently past to reach his friend's body, but immediately pulled back with a sob.

James Potter lay on the floor amongst the mess of a hard-fought defence. The heavy oak dining table that he and Lily had been so proud of picking up from a local antiques store lay on its side and judging from the numerous charred portions and streaks of spell residue it had been used by James as a barricade.

In here too, the bookshelves had been badly damaged, and their contents lay strewn across the carpet, which itself smouldered nastily until Dumbledore turned his wand to it. The large fireplace had clearly been activated in the intent of using it to Floo away from the building, but he could see the urn holding the Floo Powder was upturned and much of the powder dusted across the hearth, with no trace that the Floo had been successfully used as an escape route.

"Try the Floo, please, Hagrid," he suggested, as he walked across to James's body.

There was no doubt he was dead. No signs of life remained, for all that the body was still warm. The Headmaster sighed despondently. He had been too late to help, and that would haunt him for many nights to come.

Numerous burns and cuts covered James's face and arms, and his clothing was in tatters, right through to the dragon hide waistcoat he had prudently donned.

But even dragon hide couldn't stop the Killing Curse, and it was clear to Dumbledore that was how James had died even without casting the forensic spells that would tell him for certain.

"Floo won't work, Perfessor," Hagrid said from behind him.

"Hmm," he mused. "Looks like they had someone in the Floo Maintenance Office in on the job as well then. Nasty business. Explains so many other deaths, too, where people didn't just escape."

"He's dead, isn't he, Sir?"

"I'm afraid so, Hagrid."

Hagrid looked close to tears.

"There may still be worse, I'm afraid."

The Half-giant nodded sombrely.

Dumbledore took a brief look into the kitchen, which appeared to have been untouched. This was somewhat surprising to him. If a successful raid had been completed, he would expected the whole house to have been dismantled, searched thoroughly for any gold or valuables and burned to the ground.

It was unlikely that his and Hagrid's arrival had been the event that had forestalled and further vandalism, since they hadn't seen anyone departing the house as they made their approach, nor heard the tell-tale sound of Apparation. Perhaps the raiders had been interrupted by someone else before they could ransack the cottage, but if so it was odd that those who had intervened were gone already and they had not done something about James's corpse.

He backed out of the living room and headed up the stairs.

Again, Dumbledore was surprised by the lack of damage as he walked up the stairs. The main bedroom and bathroom were completely unscathed, and it wasn't until he turned to the nursery that he saw the first signs of spell fire

Here, on the landing, someone had clearly tried to force their way into the nursery, but had been repelled, if briefly. The nursery door was also in pieces, swinging precariously on its upper hinge as Dumbledore pushed it fully open and once again gazed into the face of death.

Lily Potter lay crumpled on the floor in front of her baby's cot.

As with her husband, it was clear to Dumbledore that this was the result of the killing curse.

There were signs of other spells that had been fired on both sides – streaks of blackened paint on the wall and an explosion of fluff underneath the window that might once have been a cuddly toy.

"Not Lily too!" Hagrid exclaimed, coming up behind him.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. His stomach roiled at the thought of what he might be about to find in the cot behind Lily's body. He pulled back the curtain shielding the cot from the rest of the room.

"Oh my!" he said in amazement.

"Perfessor?"

Seemingly stunned, and with a large gash in his forehead, Harry appeared to be otherwise unharmed. He cast a couple of quick diagnostic spells.

"It's a miracle," he murmured.

Gently, he lifted the toddler out of the cot and cradled him carefully.

"Harry's alive!" he said.

"Sir?"

Dumbledore turned his body, so that he could show Hagrid the youngster was still breathing.

"How can it be?" Hagrid asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "By some fashion, he has survived."

Another couple of wand waves, and Dumbledore was frowning again.

"Something significant has happened here, Hagrid. Harry shows all the signs of having been hit by the Killing Curse. Yet it's not possible that he would still live."

He made a quick decision.

"I think we must return to Hogwarts," he said, "and see that we get Harry into Madam Pomfrey's care."

He passed the toddler over to Hagrid to carry and smiled gently and how careful the big man was with him.

Dumbledore took one final look around the nursery, but didn't see anything else of particular note, and motioned to Hagrid to leave the room.

As they descended the stairs, he continued to look around for anything oddly amiss, but was unable to spot anything, and a sound distracted him as they reached the foot of the flight, a vehicle arriving outside.

As they stepped back out through the front door, a man came rushing up to them.

"Professor Dumbledore! What are you doing here?" he asked. "And Hagrid?"

"Good evening, Sirius. Or rather, not such a good evening I'm afraid," he replied, waving a hand at the battered cottage behind him. "I might rather ask you the same question, but I suspect that I was not the only one who left monitoring spells behind to cover James and Lily."

"What happened?"

"It's too early to say for sure, but clearly they have been betrayed."

"Wormtail!"

"Alas, I fear so, my boy. It seems improbable that there is any other explanation."

"Lily and James?"

He sighed deeply.

"I'm afraid they are dead, Sirius."

"No!"

"I'm sorry, dear boy, but it is true. I've seen their bodies."

"That bastard! I'll track him down myself!" Sirius avowed hotly.

"Perhaps later?" Dumbledore suggested. "He's not here and I suspect would be as far away as possible, so time is no longer of the essence."

"And Harry?" Sirius asked. "Please tell me that the bastards didn't kill Harry, too?"

Dumbledore signalled to Hagrid to release the child to Sirius.

"As you can see, Harry is alive."

"That wound though!" Sirius fretted.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "It was because of that we were making haste back to Hogwarts in order to entrust young Harry to Madam Pomfrey's care. Perhaps you could take Hagrid back and I'll summon the Aurors to review the crime scene."

"Of course, Professor," he replied. "Is it safe to Apparate with Harry?"

"As long as you are able to side-along he and Hagrid together, I don't foresee any issues."

"Thank you. Please let me know what the Aurors find. And if there's anything I can do to help bring the rat to justice, just let me know."

"Rat?" Dumbledore asked with a small frown. "Ah! You refer to your animagus abilities. I wasn't aware that young Peter took that particular form."

Sirius blushed.

"I didn't realise you knew about that," he said guiltily.

"Come, come, Sirius. You don't think that I was unaware that you were ignoring your curfew to help young Remus with his affliction do you? I was quite pleased that you at least acted sufficiently responsibly to find a way of ensuring your own safety during those periods."

He didn't add that his Deputy had been less than thrilled about allowing the charade to continue, but that she had eventually been persuaded that it was safe enough given that the Headmaster was monitoring them.

Sirius flushed in embarrassment at the subtle reminder of a time when he had been rather less responsible regarding their friend's lycanthropy, and had risked Severus Snape's life.

"In any case," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the reddened face of the young man in front of him, "I should say that I would be happy for you to help if there is anything that the Aurors feel would be helpful, but you should largely be leaving it for them to deal with."

"Yes, sir," Sirius replied, still somewhat abashed that he and his friends hadn't been quite as clever as they had thought.

"Anyway, off with the two of you now. I dare say I'll have something of a wait before the Aurors actually turn up."

As Sirius and Hagrid turned to depart, Dumbledore sent out two message patronuses – the first to Poppy Pomfrey to warn her of incoming patients, and the second to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

-MCRMCRMCRMCR-

Sunday 1st November 1981

Hogwarts Infirmary

"How is he, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked as he entered the infirmary several hours later and noted that Madam Pomfrey was still up and about. There was little doubt whom he was referring to.

"He's fine, as far as I can tell, Headmaster," the Hogwarts mediwitch replied. "He doesn't seem to have been hit by any spells other than the Killing Curse. How he was able to survive that is unbelievable. I'm worried about that wound though, it isn't responding to the normal potions I would used to heal it, and it's giving off something that makes me feel ill."

"It's not actually hurting him though?"

"Not in any of the ways I would be able to tell. He's woken a couple of times through the night, but has just been drowsy and hasn't complained of any pain – it's almost as though he can't even tell that there's a wound there."

"That's strange," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I'd better have a closer look. Is he awake now?"

"He wasn't when I checked in on him about ten minutes ago. I'd prefer it if you didn't wake him," she admonished lightly.

"I'll try my best not to," he replied.

He pulled the curtain aside from the bed where Harry lay and peered closely at the wound on Harry's forehead that Pomfrey had referred to.

Now that he was back in his own territory and on a more even emotional keel, he decided that he agreed with Poppy's assessment that there was something strange about the wound. He hadn't noticed it among the spell-residue and feel of dark foreboding at the Potters' cottage, but it was definitely giving him a sense of unease.

He cast a number of spells, but none of them came up with any results that he felt made sense of the situation, until one of the more obscure charms he'd learned as a young man seemed to tell him that there were two souls in Harry, rather than just the one.

He paused for a moment in thought.

"What do you know about soul magics, Poppy?" he asked quietly as the medi-witch came alongside him.

"Not very much, I'm afraid, Headmaster," she replied. "It's not the sort of thing that healers are generally trained to deal with."

"Who would you go to for an expert opinion, then?"

She thought for a second.

"You might try Healer Mullard at St Mungo's," she suggested. "He's about the only person I can think of that might be able to help – he had a patient come through with some soul issue that I didn't even vaguely understand a few years back. Even then, I think he had to seek help from the Unspeakables."

Dumbledore frowned slightly at that. His experience with the Unspeakables was less than ideal – they tended to want to keep any information they had to themselves rather than sharing it with those who needed to know. He'd had to confess to hearing the Prophecy that Sybil Trelawney had given during her job interview when they had approached him about it, and found that they were very interested in his interpretations, but extremely reticent on whether they agreed with him.

"Would Healer Mullard come here if you asked him?"

"I would think so, Headmaster. Probably as soon as he was able, if I remember him at all."

"Please could you contact him and ask him to join us at his earliest opportunity then, Poppy. I think this could be important.

As Pomfrey left to Floo call to St Mungo's, Dumbledore reflected back on what the Aurors had been able to tell him about the crime scene at the Potters' Cottage.

Sheer hubris had apparently been the impetus behind Lord Voldemort's attack at Godric's Hollow. He had entered the building alone, expecting that he would be able to overwhelm James and Lily without any difficulty. Two Death Eaters had accompanied him to the village, according to the recent Apparation signatures the Aurors had identified, but they had remained outside the building even after James and Lily had died.

James had apparently died defending at the bottom of the staircase, having sent Lily upstairs to protect their child and to try and escape. They had largely been taken unprepared, not knowing that the Fidelius had fallen, and the brief failed effort to get the Floo working had been the only chance they had of escaping. Anti-apparation wards had apparently been set at some point, but had been pulled down or dissipated prior to Dumbledore and Hagrid arriving.

The Dark Lord had apparently toyed with James somewhat, saving his use of the Killing Curse until he had his prey well pinned down. The Unforgivable was only used twice here, he was told, one attempt missed and tore out a huge chunk of the wall by the bottom of the stairs, and the second despatched James for good.

Clearly Voldemort had not been seeking information – he hadn't used the Imperius or Cruciatus at all, and it had been a straightforward battle, won by the wizard with more power and greater knowledge.

Upstairs, he had driven Lily back into the Nursery and here he had been brutally efficient. A couple of nasty cutting curses had forced her back in defence of her baby, a bludgeoning hex had seen her body blown to the floor, and he had finished her off with the Killing Curse.

In response, she had gotten off a few nasty hexes herself, including a blood-boiling curse that Dumbledore had not thought she would have known or dared to use, but it was woefully insufficient to save her life.

The one remaining spell was the one that Voldemort had cast at Harry – the Killing Curse – and then no more spells had been cast at all until Dumbledore himself had arrived some fifteen minutes later.

"Is that not strange?" he had asked the lead investigator. "Surely there must have been signs of an Apparation out of the building?"

The reply had been negative. The scene reconstruction wizard was adamant that there were no further spells cast inside the house at that time.

"In fact," he noted, "it seems that another person did enter after the final curse was cast, but cast no magic themself before leaving again – there are remnants of a separate magical signature, but no actual spells. The next magic came from outside, when the two presumed Death Eaters Apparated away."

"It wasn't one of those two who entered the cottage?"

"No, definitely someone different."

"Why did this other person not Apparate from inside the house, then?" Dumbledore wondered.

"The only explanation that we can come up with is that they presumed that the Anti-apparation wards were still in place, but actually they fell at approximately the same time as the Killing Curse was cast at young Harry."

Dumbledore had thought that particularly odd. The Dark Lord had not Apparated away, yet his Anti-apparation ward had fallen allowing him to do so, and neither of his minions had entered the building to find him when he didn't reappear, presumably leaving the scene when they assumed their master had already gone.

And who was this additional person who had entered and left the cottage? Was it Peter Pettigrew, investigating the scene? If so, why did he not Apparate away? Had he still been there when Hagrid and he arrived from Hogwarts?

Something definitely didn't add up here.

Madam Pomfrey's voice broke into his reverie.

"Healer Mullard is coming through momentarily, Headmaster," she informed him.

"Thank you Poppy," he replied.

The man who came through the Floo looked the quintessential academic. Grey hair flew away at odd angles to his head and receded slightly at the temples. A pair of fashionable glasses rested on his nose and he peered curiously over the top of them at his latest victim... er... patient.

"Headmaster Dumbledore!"

"Ah! Healer Mullard! Thank you for seeing me so promptly," Dumbledore said. "Madam Pomfrey recommended you as the person to talk to regarding soul magics. I'd like you to take a look at the wound on young Harry's head here, if you will. Something is amiss, and I'm not sure quite what."

"Hmm, yes. Well if you'll give me a few minutes," Mullard said.

"Of course."

Dumbledore moved away slightly to give the Healer room to examine Harry whilst still being close enough to see what the Healer was doing.

Mullard made a few non-committal noises as he performed a visual inspection, before running his hand across Harry's brow. The latter made him pull his fingers away quickly, as though feeling a shock.

He pulled his wand out and repeated some of the detection spells that Dumbledore had previously cast on Harry, and apparently got a similar result. A further series of complex spells followed, leaving the Healer umming and ahhing at the results.

One final spell, and the Healer sat back, his face ashen.

"Are you aware that this child has... somehow... survived the Killing Curse, Headmaster?"

"Yes, that was what my scans showed, too. The crime scene investigator also identified that the Killing Curse was cast at Harry, though I didn't mention the fact that he still lives."

"No, I can see why you wouldn't. I think we've got a problem, though. Or, more truthfully, two of them."

"Tell me."

"Pomfrey was right to call me in for this – I've seen something similar, though not in relation to the Unforgivables. It appears that whomever cast the Killing Curse on Harry here failed to account for runic protections that had been laid upon him.

"Rather than simply snuffing out Harry's brain and bodily functions, it seems that the protections have absorbed some of the energy and reflected some of it.

"The reflected energy seems to have killed the caster, but something has prevented the caster's death – we'll come back to that in a moment – and a piece of the caster's soul has embedded itself in poor Harry's head here, making the wound difficult to treat."

"That's astonishing," Dumbledore said.

"Indeed."

"What are the problems? Can Harry be safely treated?"

Mullard sighed heavily.

"Well," he began, "the first problem is that you've got somebody out there – probably only in existence as a spirit right now, but that might be subject to change – who had tried to forestall his own death by hiving off a part of his soul elsewhere. I don't claim to know how that's possible, other than through what appears to have happened right in front of us, but a former colleague of mine referred to the process as 'creating a Horcrux'"

Dumbledore drew a sharp breath.

"Quite. And you haven't said as much, but to achieve this, my understanding is that the caster must have exceptional power, which limits the possibilities significantly..."

"Which means that we've got the spirit of a not-actually-dead Dark Lord wandering around," Dumbledore acknowledged, "which is good news along with the bad news."

Mullard quirked his head at the Headmaster.

"Good news?"

"Well, at least he's no longer alive and leading his Death Eaters in terrorising Wizarding Britain, although people may not realise that for a while."

"You're not going to release this to the Ministry and the Prophet?" Mullard asked in surprise.

"No. What would I tell them? That a toddler killed the Dark Lord, but don't celebrate too much because we don't think he's completely dead yet? I realise that the people of Wizarding Britain are at least moderately believing of the unlikely, but that seems to be a little beyond even what the most gullible would accept.

"Not only that," he continued, "but it would place all their focus on poor Harry here, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. The adulation following my defeat of Grindelwald was sickening enough, but for that to be piled onto a child, who the public would then no doubt expect future miracles from? That would be beyond the pale."

"Ah. I understand now."

"And meanwhile we still have the shade floating around somewhere."

"Yes, which brings us to the second problem, which is linked into treating young Harry," Mullard stated.

"Yes. Rather to the point, isn't it – if Voldemort has inadvertently made a Horcrux out of Harry, how do we remove and destroy it without harming him."

"Exactly. And I'm afraid that's where I previously came up short, Headmaster. Perhaps you might have a wider range of contacts who may have previous experience of such things, or know how they are dealt with?"

"That's a good question, Healer. The only methods I am aware of are fiendfyre and the Killing Curse, and I can't see any way that using either of those on Harry would be sensible. Even if we were absolutely certain that we could target the Killing Curse solely at the Horcrux, how could we ask it of the poor boy."

Mullard shuddered.

"Indeed. We could hardly ask him just to sit there whilst we fired it at him."

The two men sat thinking quietly for a moment.

"Very well," Dumbledore said finally. "I'll have to investigate further. Is the Horcrux in Harry's head likely to hurt him at all in the short term?"

"There's no way of knowing. It doesn't seem to be affecting him at all at the moment, but who knows what might happen if he came into close proximity to the remnant soul, or even to someone with the Dark Mark. The affinity between the soul piece and You-know-Who's magic could do anything, from a headache or nasty dreams at the least to an outright possession or death at the worst. It isn't something I'd want to experiment with."

"What happened to your previous patient?"

Mullard snorted.

"Got himself run over by a bus about three months after I met him, unfortunately. Couldn't have been less helpful to us."

Dumbledore thought that the Healer sounded more disgruntled at the loss of data and the possibility of experimentation than at the man's demise for his own sake, but cautiously chose not to comment on it.

"Well, thank you for your time, Healer Mullard. If I think of any other questions, I'll let you know."

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore. And if you come across a viable solution, do tell me – not just for curiosity's sake, but just in case we ever come across any future examples."

Dumbledore nodded his agreement as he escorted the Healer back top the Floo.

"Oh! One last thing," he added. "You mentioned a 'former colleague' who knew about 'creating a Horcrux'. Who was that?"

"Oh yes. It was Horace Slughorn. Isn't he your Potions Professor at the moment?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes. Slughorn had evidently been collecting all sorts of dark knowledge alongside the successful alumni that he carefully cultivated.

"Yes. Yes he is. I shall have to speak to him."

-MCRMCRMCRMCR-

Monday 2nd November 1981

Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic

"Auror Coppenhall! My office, please!"

"What have you done now, Coppenhall?" the poor target's colleague teased him.

"Who knows!" he replied testily. "I finished my report on the Potter murders. What can he want now?"

"Best not make him wait. You know what Scrimgeour's like."

"True."

Adam Coppenhall levered himself out of his desk chair and ambled over to the Head Auror's office, the usual feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach when called to a superior's office accompanying him all the way.

He poked his head around the door.

"Sir?"

"In!" Scrimgeour ordered.

Coppenhall slinked into the office and closed the door behind him. Bad enough that the whole office heard him being called in to see the Head Auror, but he certainly wasn't going to give them the chance to eavesdrop on any chewing out he was about to get. That would keep them in material for months!

"Sit!"

He did as told, biting back a retort about being treated like a dog.

"This is your report on the Potter murders, Coppenhall," Scrimgeour said, waving the offending paperwork in the air. "You were lead investigator. I've read the report, but it doesn't ring true. Tell me what happened."

"It's all there in the report, sir," he replied.

"Yes, but I want your verbal take on it. Something's not right. Run me through it."

Coppenhall sighed.

"Okay, sir. The call came across from the Auror bullpen in the normal way – a report had come in from someone that we needed to get out to Godric's Hollow as the Potters had been attacked."

"Who put the call in?"

"I didn't know at the time, but the bullpen manager told me afterwards that it came via messenger patronus from Albus Dumbledore, and that matched up with what he told me at the scene."

"So Dumbledore was already at the scene when you arrived?"

"Yes. He said he'd been there for a couple of hours, waiting for us."

"Hmm. I'll be having words with the bullpen about their response times. Continue."

"Not entirely their fault, sir," Coppenhall admitted. "It wasn't flagged as a priority mission, and I needed a scene reconstruction officer as well since it wasn't a live scene, which meant I was waiting a while until one became available."

Scrimgeour grunted in acknowledgement.

"Anyway, we Apparated in at the property edge. Dumbledore was there waiting. He told us that the Potters had been killed. We had him hold off on any explanations until we'd done most of our work.

"A well-cast Fidelius had fallen within the previous six hours. Dumbledore later confirmed that he had been the caster and Peter Pettigrew the secret keeper.

"A total of six inward Apparation signatures were identified within the previous four hours – along with our own. Dumbledore accounted for his own and for those of Rubeus Hagrid and Sirius Black whose presence there he vouched for.

"One was that of You-know-Who. The other two were Geoffrey Goyle and Leonard Flint, both suspected of being Death Eaters and among those whose Apparations and spell fire had been identified at other murder scenes."

"So already on our wanted list, then," Scrimgeour said with a nod, then gestured for the Auror to continue his report.

"The cottage had been entered by force – the front door had a hole blown right through it and was barely hanging onto its hinges. The hallway was strewn with debris and had spell fire residue all over, as was the living room. Almost all the spell-work was by three wands: James Potter's, Lily Potter's, and one registered to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dumbledore had cast some spells to quell the fires that had apparently broken out but otherwise had tried to retain the integrity of the scene for us. Details of the exact spells are in the appendix and have been certified by Stallman, the reconstruction officer."

Scrimgeour snorted.

"Really? His wand was still on record? And registered to 'Lord Voldemort'?"

Coppenhall shivered at the mention of the forbidden name.

"Yes, sir."

"Continue."

"An attempt had been made to activate the Floo, but it appears to have been unsuccessful. The Floo Regulation Office records show that the Potters' Floo connection was down for 'routine maintenance' for a window of three hours at the time."

"Yes. How convenient," Scrimgeour remarked. "Shows to premeditation and to collusion with someone inside the Ministry though – we still need to sort that out."

"Yes, sir. Also, it's consistent with other attacks by You-Know-Who or his Death Eaters. Anti-apparation wards had also been raised over the property for a period that almost perfectly matched the time during which the attack took place.

"James Potter's body was at the foot of the stairs. He'd been hit with a few hexes, but his death was a result of the Killing Curse. It looked like a deliberate 'last stand' to give time for his wife and son to escape. Another Killing Curse had apparently missed and torn out a large chunk of wall.

"Upstairs there was residue of a further, short, exchange. Again, spell details are in the appendix. Lily Potter had been forced backwards into the nursery, where the door had been blown apart. She had been bludgeoned to the ground in front of the child's cot, and died via the Killing Curse.

"Almost immediately afterwards, You-Know-Who cast the Killing Curse again, this time at young Harry, who had been asleep in the cot."

Scrimgeour looked up at him.

"Indeed. That's what your report says. But then what?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Well, your report also mentions the Disapparation of Goyle and Flint, but not of Voldemort himself. I can't imagine that he was still there and simply let you and Stallman run your scans over the place in peace. Nor that Dumbledore wouldn't have known if he was there, either. So where was he?"

"I don't know, sir." Coppenhall admitted. "The scans don't show any signs of him Apparating away. Perhaps he just walked out the front door?"

Scrimgeour rolled his eyes.

"Does that sound likely to you?"

"No, sir. But I can't think of any other explanation given the evidence of the scans."

"And what of the body of the child, Harry? You've mentioned the bodies of the adult Potters, but not their son."

"Umm, he wasn't there to do so, sir. Dumbledore told me he'd had the boy taken to Hogwarts."

"For what purpose? If Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at him, surely he was dead? Or are you suggesting that he missed his aim at a sleeping child from point blank range and then simply walked away?"

"Umm. No, sir."

"So what are you suggesting, Coppenhall?"

"I don't know, sir," he admitted. "With respect, sir, I've reported the facts of what we found, and it's for more senior officers to draw conclusions from them."

That didn't go down well with the Head Auror.

"Perhaps when you've brought us a complete investigation, we might be able to do so."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean, young man, that your job isn't done. Go to Hogwarts. Get a full statement from Dumbledore. Find out what's happened to the child's body. If he's dead, find out why Dumbledore removed him from the cottage. If he's not, find out how the hell not, given he's supposedly the victim of a Killing Curse. Get statements from Rubeus Hagrid and Sirius Black. Put the order out again for Goyle and Flint to be brought in if it can be done safely.

"Is that enough for you to be going on with?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Scrimgeour tossed the report gently at him.

"Good. Then when you've done that and followed up all the leads, you can re-write that report. I can't sign it off like it is – there are too many loose ends and unanswered questions."

-MCRMCRMCRMCR-

Monday 2nd November 1981

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts

"Ah! Come on in, Horace," Dumbledore welcomed, as the Potions master knocked on the door of his office. "Have a seat, won't you. I needed to have a chat."

Horace Slughorn eased himself down into the comfortable chair that the Headmaster had provided and crossed his legs and arms.

'Already on the defensive,' Dumbledore thought, looking at his posture, 'and we haven't even started. This could be hard work!'

"What can I do for you, Headmaster," Slughorn asked. "If this is about my resignation again, then I'm afraid I'm adamant on that point. I just don't feel safe, even here at Hogwarts, and with the way that You-Know-Who has been attacking over recent weeks, I want to get myself out of the country. It's only due to your promises of safety that I've even agreed to see out the school year!"

"No, no, my dear fellow, not at all," Dumbledore replied. "Though you might want to reconsider again in a few days once things have settled down.

"No, I wanted to ask you about a consultation you did with Healer Mullard some time ago – we were talking yesterday and he mentioned your name as someone who might be able to point me in the right direction."

"Mullard?" Slughorn said with a frown. "Do you mean Jericho Mullard at St Mungo's? It's been quite some time since I last spoke with him. I trust he's well, and still the same, slightly over-focused fellow I remember?"

"He seemed quite well, yes," the Headmaster said, "though like all of us he's getting on in years."

"Oh, that's good. Always seemed a decent chap. I'm not sure I recall a consultation with him, though – what was this about?"

"He seemed to think that you might be able to help me with a question I had regarding a Horcrux," Dumbledore said, and winced as the shutters immediately came down across the face of the man sat opposite him.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Headmaster."

"Really, Horace. I'm not accusing you of anything here. I'm just trying to find out some information that might help us finally be rid of the Dark Lord."

"You must be mistaken, sir. I'm sure I don't have any knowledge of the sort of think you are talking about! This is dark magic of the foulest nature!"

"Do you not want to see the back of the Dark Lord, Horace?" the Headmaster asked.

"Of course I do-"

"Then this information could be vital in ensuring his defeat. Surely you understand that it's important we do everything we can? After all, he was once – back in the days when he was Head Boy here at Hogwarts – one of your favourite pupils, was he not?"

"This is preposterous, Albus!" Slughorn blurted out. "I will not stand for you making such accusations against me! What are you trying to achieve here?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"Let me lay my cards on the table, Horace," he said. "I have come to conclude that Voldemort has created not just one, but multiple Horcruxes. One of them was created merely days ago. In order for us to be able to defeat him, we need to know more about the subject. Specifically, we need to know when and how he might have come across such information. And we need to know how many he may have created.

"That Healer Mullard could tell me that you knew of such things decades ago only leads me to believe that you might have had some information that could help."

Slughorn wilted in front of him.

"It was a long time ago, Headmaster, and I curse myself that I even responded to his questions," he admitted. "It's why I still fear for my life, since if he recalls that I am aware of the process, I'm sure he would want to ensure I was eliminated."

"Please, Horace. What do you know?"

Slughorn hesitated.

"I'm not prepared to say how I found the information out myself," he protested.

Dumbledore sighed.

"That's fine, Horace. Just tell me what you know that might help."

"Very well. Looking back, I see that I was well-played," he admitted with a faint blush to his cheeks. "The lad flattered me well and appealed to my academic and inquisitive nature. He assumed I already knew so much, yet in retrospect it was clear he already had many of the answers and was simply priming me and getting through my horror at what he proposed.

"He must have been sixteen, or maybe seventeen. He asked how one would make a Horcrux but, as I think about it now, I would say that it wasn't new to him. Perhaps he had already, even then, committed murder and created his path to immortality."

"I suspect he had," Dumbledore interjected, the memory of a memory he had once acquired in pursuit of justice coming to his mind. "Did he wear a golden ring with a black stone?"

"Yes. Yes, he did," Slughorn replied thoughtfully.

"Then I think it possible he had already created his first Horcrux in that very ring with the murder of his Father and Grandparents the previous summer."

Slughorn blanched.

"Then I was more foolish than I even thought," he admitted guiltily. "He proceeded to shock me completely, by asking if it were possible to make multiple Horcruxes... and then whether seven wasn't the most magically powerful number and therefore it made most sense to have seven Horcruxes!

"Just the initial thought of him planning to commit seven murders shocked me to the core, not realising of course that he had already taken steps down that road, and I admonished him for thinking of it, and warned him that the knowledge of Horcruxes was particularly tightly held; that if he let it slip to others that he knew of them he would be a very closely watched young man."

"Seven Horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked, "Or seven parts of the soul?"

Slughorn huffed slightly.

"Really, Headmaster. Six murders? Seven murders? I was more concerned about him committing one at the time!"

"But still – it makes a difference as to how many pieces of his soul we may have to track down."

Slughorn paused before responding.

"Magically, I would say the seven pieces of soul would be much more stable, but I'm not sure how much difference that would make when you are ripping off parts of it."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. Pieces of memories that he had collected when first trying to understand Voldemort had been starting to come back to him as the conversation with Professor Slughorn drew on. He needed to spend some time with his Pensieve sorting through some of those to see if there was anything that could lead him towards other items that the Dark Lord may have used to house a Horcrux.

"Thank you, Horace," he said eventually. "I'm sure that can't have been easy for you to re-live. I don't suppose you know any methods that might be used to destroy a Horcrux, should I come across one?"

"Short of the Killing Curse, I don't know anything that could, Headmaster. What does one use to kill a soul? A Dementor, perhaps?"

They both shuddered, just at the thought of the horrible creatures, and Dumbledore paled even further when he considered that feeding a Horcrux to a Dementor might end up with the Dark Lord being re-embodied in such a form. Now that was real nightmare fuel!

-MCRMCRMCRMCR-

Monday 2nd November 1981

Hogwarts Infirmary

Dumbledore walked into the ward to see young Harry laughing and playing with his Godfather Sirius Black.

"How is he doing, Sirius?" he asked.

"Very well, I think," Black responded with a smile. "He seems happy enough, even with that wound on his head. Are you sure it's not going to cause any problems?"

"As sure as I can be, but I've never seen it's like before either, so anything is possible."

"Can I take him home? Madam Pomfrey says that as long as you approve it, he can leave."

There was a challenge in Black's voice that Dumbledore heard immediately. As the child's Godfather, he had as much right to decide where Harry should live as anyone, and certainly more than the Headmaster did.

"I was going to suggest that you take him to live with his Aunt and Uncle, actually," Dumbledore suggested. "With him living amongst blood family, I could set up wards that would provide the ultimate in protection for him there."

"No!" Black said firmly. "He's not going to Petunia. That sad bitch did enough to make Lily's life a misery that I'm not inflicting her on Harry."

"They are his closest relatives," the Headmaster suggested gently.

"They could be his only relatives and I'd rather see him in an orphanage! If you're that concerned about his protection you could set those wards up around my flat. He's only one generation further removed from Black blood than he is from Petunia."

"I hadn't thought of that," Dumbledore admitted. "And of course it's your decision as Harry's Godfather, so I wouldn't presume to insist.

"However, as an alternative, might I suggest that you talk to the Longbottoms about seeking house room for him there? Their family home is well protected and certainly large enough to accommodate extra people, and it would give Harry chance to know his Godmother, as well."

Black thought for a moment.

"That's not a bad idea, actually," he admitted. "Plus it would give Harry a brother to get to know. Neville is only a day or so older."

"Indeed."

"And provide an extra wand in the household should there be anyone still seeking to pin Neville down as the child of the Prophecy."

"I didn't realise that James had shared that with you?"

"Yes – and with Frank and Alice, too. Why do you think they moved back into the family home so suddenly when Lily and James went under the Fidelius. I don't know how much you really believe in the damned thing, but nobody's taking chances if they can afford it."

"And with Voldemort gone?"

"It's hard to believe he's just gone all of a sudden, Headmaster. And with what you said about Horcruxes, it may only be a temporary reprieve. I don't care what the guys tracing the spells at Godric's Hollow say, he can't just have vanished into thin air like that. Something's up, and I'm not sure that I like the feel of it."

"And the Horcrux?"

Black made a face.

"Horrible thing. Just the sort of thing my parents would have loved."

"Would they have any lore on it?"

"In the Black library, perhaps," he replied. "Not that my parents made much use of it. You might ask my Grandfather, though. He was always a little bit more academic than my parents, and would be much more sympathetic to you than dear old Mum. For Merlin's sake don't ask her about it!"

Dumbledore silently agreed. Walburga Black was the ultimate harridan these days. Her husband's death a couple of years ago hadn't tamed her in the slightest, and it was only her Father-in-law's firm grasp of the Black household that restrained some of her nastier impulses. He'd had to explicitly threaten her to prevent her simply going out into Grimmauld Place on a Saturday evening and cursing the Muggle families in the neighbourhood.

Arcturus was a much more level-headed character. He'd held the Black seat in the Wizengamot for many years now, and although he was still a firm believer in pure-blood rights and privilege, he didn't hold that it meant you had to be outright nasty to anyone who was of lesser birth or who held opposing views.

"Very well. Well I have no objection to Harry leaving. I've got a few people to try and contact who might be able to help him, but I'll let you know if I come up with anything."

"Thanks, Headmaster."