Harry stared out at the dozen or so students looking at him expectantly and he was instantly reminded of the meeting that created the DA. The scene was nearly identical given that they had chosen the Hog’s Head again. The only difference was the amount of listening students. Ron and Hermione had done as agreed and passed messages to the Head Boy and Girl of the other houses, asking any students that were being affected daily by visions, headaches, and tumultuous emotions to meet in the Hog’s Head during the Hogsmeade visit to hear a solution.

There weren’t many, but he wasn’t surprised. The Mind Magic, while slowly fading, was still extremely strong and keeping everyone angry and distrustful. He couldn’t help but feel nervous. Was he prepared to lead again? Prepared to enlist others' help and potentially put them in danger to fight the ultimate evil?

He took a deep breath and took a step forward to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, so, if you’re here, it’s because you’ve been affected by visions and uncontrollable emotions, and you’ve been wondering about the comas,” he said. “We know what’s going on.”

He paused, taking in the intense stares that all had a touch of skepticism in them.

“The castle is under strong Mind Magic,” he announced, “but it’s also failing which is why we feel out of control and students are in comas.” He watched the faces in front of him change, becoming a mixture of astonishment, doubt, confusion, and fear. A murmur ran through the group.

“How do you know?” Seamus asked, clearly unsure if he should believe such a claim and Harry understood the doubt. Mind Magic wasn’t common and to hold it over an entire school would take an insane amount of power, a power unheard of in almost anyone.

“Process of elimination mostly,” Harry said honestly. “We’ve researched what we can, talked to others, compared experiences. There’s not a lot of information on Mind Magic, but it is the only thing that explains everything.”

As expected, a few students walked out. He had known it would be hard for people to trust what he was saying when he couldn’t tell them anything with one hundred percent knowledge or certainty.

“Let’s say you’re right and it is Mind Magic,” a seventh year Hufflepuff said, “who cast it?” They crossed their arms, indicating pessimism.

Harry sighed. He had known this question would be asked and he didn’t have an answer. “We don’t know,” he admitted. “We’re trying to find out.”

More students left, leaving just nine remaining.

“Look, we don’t know who or why, but we can fix it, at least for some of us,” Harry said. “There’s a way to break the magic on ourselves, find what’s real, what we’ve forgotten or had hidden from us. It’s dangerous though.”

“What is it?” Ginny asked.

“Legilimency,” Harry said, “with Professor Snape.”

“Are you insane? Snape?” Seamus snapped, his eyes narrowing with the hate he obviously felt at the mere mention of the man’s name.

Harry sighed again. “Maybe, but haven’t you been feeling like you’re going crazy? Don’t you want to know why it’s happening and want it to stop? This is how we do that.”

Seamus didn’t respond, but Harry could tell the Irishman was taking Harry’s words seriously.

“If you want it all to stop, but not end up in a coma, Snape’s our only option. He’s a master of Legilimency and he’s had the same things happening to him that we have, so we can trust him,” Harry told them. “The way I see it, we have three options: trust Snape, live with fake memories and feelings, or fall into a coma and die, because that’s what’s happening to those kids in the Hospital Wing.”

He knew it was harsh, but he needed them to understand. He needed them to know what they were fighting against and that they needed to fight. They needed to keep weakening the Mind Magic, but they had to do it safely and together.

“If you’re okay with either of the last two options, then leave,” Harry said, “because we need people willing to take the risk to find the truth so we can fight.”

There was a heavy silence during which a couple more walked out. He was left with seven: Seamus, Dean, Neville, Ginny, Dennis Creevey, Luna, and Malfoy. Dennis stepped forward, his eyes shining.

“I’m in,” he said. “I want to know why my brother is dying and why no one’s talking about it.”

Harry’s heart ached for the younger boy, taking a moment to remember the overly excited Colin he knew. A murmur of agreement moved through the others.

“We don’t know who we can trust. Whoever is doing this is watching us,” Harry said. “How else would they know when to increase the magic and make us fight anytime things settle down?”

“So, what can we do?” Luna asked.

“We can’t be seen together so we’re going to use the Room of Requirement just like last year with the DA,” Harry said. “We’ll get messages to everyone when we get things sorted.”

“Another army,” Ginny said.

Harry nodded seriously. “We need one.”

Harry knocked on the door to the Potions office, watching a couple Slytherins pass while shooting him hate-filled glares. He just shook his head and turned back to the office as the door opened.

“Ah, Harry, good evening,” Slughorn greeted.

“You asked to see me, Professor?” Harry said, referring to the note Slughorn had passed him in class. He had been confused, but also wondered if he’d have another chance to get Slughorn’s real memory. He hadn’t had another meeting with Dumbledore since he instructed Harry to get Slughorn’s memory, but he didn’t want to show up empty-handed when they did meet again.

“Yes, yes, come in,” Slughorn said, motioning for Harry to enter the office. Once inside, Slughorn closed the door and walked around Harry to be in front of him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation at my party.”

“I apologize if I upset you or made you uncomfortable, sir,” Harry said, remembering the man’s almost startled reaction when he started asking about Tom Riddle. “I hope you understand, I just want to know more. I hope to discover why the things I’ve gone through had to happen.” He wasn’t really lying. He did want to know why his parents died and why Voldemort wanted him dead, despite just being a child.

Slughorn took a step closer to him, his expression intense and serious. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I do not believe those things had to happen.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand.”

Slughorn moved even closer as though he had to make sure no one else would hear him even though they were alone. “The Tom Riddle you described to me did not exist,” he said in a low voice, gesturing somewhat wildly with his hands.

Harry frowned, even more confused. “What do you mean?”

“Tom was a wonderful boy when I knew him. He showed no signs that he would become what he did. He was hurt and troubled, certainly. Understandably, considering his life before Hogwarts, but the longer he was here, the more he healed. He found himself, made friends, created a home,” Slughorn explained. “I daresay he was happy.”

Harry couldn’t seem to make sense of what the professor was telling him, especially not in the context of all he knew about Voldemort.

“Professor, what are you saying?”

Slughorn looked at him with wide, serious eyes. “He was made into what he became; he did not choose it.”

Harry stared into Slughorn’s eyes, trying to understand. What could the man possibly mean? His mind was racing, trying to find the lie because there had to be one. What Slughorn was telling him was in direct conflict with what he knew and what Dumbledore was telling him. He had no idea what to say.

His eyes widened when Slughorn held up a vial with a familiar liquid. Was he about to succeed and get the memory Dumbledore desperately needed?

“Please, look and understand,” Slughorn said.

Harry nodded and followed the professor to the very back of the room. There was a wooden box, about the same height as Harry’s upper abdomen, tucked into the corner. Slughorn slid off a top slab of wood, revealing a Pensieve sat underneath. He watched the memory pour into the basin and swirl around, an image of a young Tom Riddle rising to the surface. He glanced at Slughorn who nodded and gestured for him to enter the memory. He did so, bending until his face submerged into the Pensieve and he was pulled into the memory.

Once on his feet, he gazed around. It was just like the second half of the fake memory Dumbledore had shown him. He was in the Potions office and the table was still there, only it was empty except for Slughorn and Tom Riddle. There was something different, however. Looking at Tom, instead of cockiness and well-planned manipulation, he saw what seemed to be worry or even fear.

“Tom, are you quite alright?” Slughorn asked, putting his gift of candied pineapple from Tom to the side. “You’ve been fairly quiet since the others left.”

Tom didn’t respond for a bit. He seemed to be contemplating what to say to the professor, if anything. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “Professor, can I confide in you?”

“Of course, my boy, you know you can,” Slughorn said kindly, making Harry wonder what kinds of things Tom had confided to the man. How close had the two become before Slughorn realized what the boy was becoming?

Tom stared at the tabletop, his finger scratching at a non-existent nick in the wood. He had never seen any version of Voldemort act this way. It was so strange.

“I…found something, a chamber built by Salazar Slytherin. I entered it and there was…”

Tom trailed off, apparently unsure how to explain. Slughorn just waited patiently, watching Tom with a gentle, patient expression.

“There was something in there, something that I felt settle over me,” Tom continued. “It’s…it’s in me and I can’t get rid of it.”

Harry frowned. What had Tom encountered? What could have been in the Chamber of Secrets when Tom opened it? There had been no strange magic when he found the Chamber, so was Tom lying or had whatever it was been absorbed by him completely? Why would Slytherin have cursed the Chamber? There was already a Basilisk down there and you had to be a Parselmouth to enter in the first place.

“What do you mean, Tom?” Slughorn asked.

Tom looked at the professor with a very worried expression. “I think there was a curse or something evil, Professor. It’s like every negative feeling I have has been amplified and I can’t control them.”

“Oh dear,” Slughorn said, sounding concerned.

“I explored and I found a book,” Tom said. “I read about a strange piece of magic and I can’t stop thinking about it. I asked Dumbledore, but I thought you might be able to tell me more.”

“I’ll do my best, my boy, but should you really have touched anything down there after what you just told me?” Slughorn asked.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Tom said.

“Very well. What was the piece of magic you found?”

“It was called a horcrux.”

Slughorn’s eyes widened in shock and fear. “Horcruxes?” he exclaimed. “Merlin’s beard! What did Professor Dumbledore tell you?”

“Nothing, but he told me to learn more if it was something I found interesting. He said it was good to be interested in exploring different areas of magical academia,” Tom said, looking surprised at Slughorn’s reaction. Harry frowned again. He had no idea what a horcrux was, but it clearly wasn’t anything good, so why would Dumbledore have encouraged Tom to learn about them? Could Tom be lying?

“I do not agree,” Slughorn declared firmly. “Horcruxes are a dark form of magic, one of the darkest.”

“What are they, sir?” Tom asked.

Slughorn hesitated. “It is a vessel to hold a piece of a human soul. While it survives, so does the person, even if at death’s door.”

“How are they made?” Tom asked, seeming to have a suddenly strong desire to learn more.

Slughorn’s eyebrows came together, concerned at Tom’s odd interest. “Murder, Tom, the most evil of acts.”

“Is there a limit on how many times a soul can be split?”

“Tom, you can’t be serious,” Slughorn said, aghast. “This isn’t you.”

Tom shook his head as though pulling himself from a daydream or deep thought. “I…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what’s happened to me,” he said, his face drawn and his eyes darting around before they settled on Slughorn, shining with emotion. “Sir, I…I’m afraid.”

Slughorn’s expression gentled. “You are not evil, Tom. I know you and I believe in you. You can fight this, whatever it is.”

The memory faded then and he was removed from the Pensieve. Back in the current day, he gripped the sides of the Pensieve’s stand, staring down at the image of Tom Riddle as his mind whirled. Was this what Dumbledore wanted? Slughorn told Tom about horcruxes, but he seemed afraid for Tom. Had Dumbledore really encouraged Tom to learn about horcruxes? Why would he do that?

Was Tom telling the truth about something happening to him in the Chamber? He had looked sincerely scared and he seemed to imply that he was being pulled to the dark magic he’d discovered. Could Tom have been manipulated into falling into the Dark Arts? If so, what did that mean for…everything he knew and had experienced?

“Tom changed after that, after finding that chamber,” Slughorn said and he turned to face the man. “Whatever was in that chamber drew him to the Dark Arts, took over his mind, convinced him it was what he wanted. He’d had interest in dark magic before, but by his sixth year, he had dropped that interest, and he’d certainly never had an interest in pursuing or using the Dark Arts.”

How could that be?

“What was it, in the Chamber?” Harry asked.

“I honestly do not know,” Slughorn said, shrugging and shaking his head. “It could have been anything from a Compulsion Charm or potion to Mind Magic.”

Harry looked at him sharply. “Mind Magic?”

“It’s possible,” Slughorn said.

Harry’s thoughts ran faster. Could Mind Magic have been over Hogwarts for all this time, for decades? Was that possible? Why would anyone keep a school under Mind Magic for so long? How could anyone have gotten any kind of magic into the Chamber of Secrets? It had to be Tom so he had to have been lying, or Slughorn had faked another memory. Except it wasn’t hazy like the false memory Dumbledore had shown him.

The only thing that made a slight bit of sense was that someone was lying. But who?

He thought about something else Tom had said.

“Tom said he’d gone to Dumbledore,” Harry said, hating to even consider the theory. “Would Dumbledore really have encouraged Tom to learn about horcruxes?”

“I never would have believed it, but I also never knew Tom to lie, at least not to me,” Slughorn said and Harry gave him a curious glance. “Tom had a lot of trust in me and we had a very close relationship. He confided in me about his childhood, his fear, any problems he had…” he trailed off, pulled into reverie.

“Could Dumbledore have been involved in Tom’s changes?” Harry asked.

“I find it hard to believe, but he did have a strange fascination with Tom and anything is possible, I suppose,” Slughorn said.

Harry leaned heavily against the Pensieve’s stand. Could Dumbledore have done something to Tom? Could it all have been Dumbledore? But why? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense if Dumbledore were involved. It couldn’t be…

Slughorn sighed sadly and Harry lifted his eyes to the professor again. “I regret I could not help Tom, help save him from what he became,” he said.

Harry was stunned at how affectionately Slughorn talked about Tom. No one had ever expressed such care towards any version of Tom.

Slughorn met his gaze, the man’s eyes shining with tears. “You must understand, Tom was truly remarkable before he was changed.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the professor. “You seemed to care a lot about him.”

Slughorn nodded. “I never admitted it then, and I’ve felt too much guilt and shame all these years to admit it, but I truly cared for him as though he were my own.”

Harry gazed at Slughorn compassionately. He had a hard time believing that the man could be lying. He seemed sincere. Had Tom been that manipulative, able to make his professor come to love him like a son just to extort information about an obscure piece of dark magic from him years later? What would Tom have gained from such a con? Was it Dumbledore all along? What would the headmaster have gained from any it?

He sighed and pushed away from the Pensieve he’d been leaning on the whole time. “Thank you for showing me this, Professor,” he said. “I should be getting back to the Tower.”

“Yes, of course,” Slughorn said, pulling himself out of his sad memories. “I hope this has helped you in some way.”

Harry nodded. “It has, thank you,” he said even though it was a lie. He had far more questions than understanding. “Good night, sir.”

“And you, my dear boy.”

Harry left the office and made the entire trip up to Gryffindor Tower completely on autopilot. He could not make his thoughts slow down or settle into any kind of comprehension. He walked directly to his dorm and was about to drop onto his bed when something broke through his dazed state.

An envelope with his name in a sweeping scrawl in the front lay casually on his pillow.

His forehead creased and he frowned, confused. He didn’t recognize the writing and he didn’t understand why a letter would have been left on his pillow.

He reached for it and turned it over. There was a blob of red wax sealing it, but nothing had been pressed into the wax. There was nothing indicative of the sender on the envelope. He considered tossing it in the trash or even the fire, but there was a part of him telling him to open it. He ripped it open and pulled out the short letter. His eyebrows nearly touched with his deep frown.

H.,

I believe it is time for us to meet. There is much you need to know. Meet me at the Bronze Dragon in three days after dark. Do not let him know.

T.