The Crux of the Matter


Chapter 5: The Enemy of the Enemy

Volshebnik led them down a series of long corridors with walls made of ice that glowed a phosphorescent blue and crumbling stone floors that sloped steadily downward. The air they breathed grew stale; Harry's lungs became very reluctant to continue admitting it in. He supposed they must be making their way into the very belly of the mountain, consigning themselves to the coils of the vast, underground labyrinth that Volshebnik called home. Harry tried to memorize their route, but his mind had been so rattled by the events during dinner that the turns began to pass him by in a haze.

As they walked the cheerless halls, Volshebnik pointed out objects of interest: a flowing underground river with a little silver boat moored to its bank ("Charming, yes? My wife used to sail that boat down the Volga, she loved the water..."); his collection of potions cauldrons ("Some are entirely constructed from Never-Melting Ice!"), and a massive fireplace with a mile-high chimney ("It is charmed to emit invisible smoke, for a smoke cloud billowing above my home would be too insistent an invitation for the curious to come knocking upon my doors.") Volshebnik made a very strange tour guide, for he was not so much interested in the objects themselves as he was in the complicated magic that made them possible. He kept firing off questions to make sure Harry, Ron, and Hermione understood the precise Transfigurative spellwork needed to turn ice into fire or stone into wood, and when they reached a set of retractable ice doors, Volshebnik wouldn't let anyone pass until they demonstrated how to enchant them open.

It was a lucky thing Hermione was there, for she was in her element; she answered all Volshebnik's questions correctly with increasing confidence. She delighted him to no end as she described how to charm an icicle so that it would not only refrain from dripping on the heads of passersby, but it would also grow in a perfect spiral formation.

Ron kept favoring Hermione with looks of bemused awe. He remained entirely silent for his part, though he walked the halls with his back set straight as a board, as if hoping to impress Volshebnik through good posture. Harry did not understand why the two of them were suddenly so intent on garnering Volshebnik's attention; he had experienced firsthand where that led, and could not bear the thought of having to watch Ron or Hermione attempt a torture curse.

Volshebnik suddenly turned to Harry, and it was unclear whether he was exercising his powers of penetrating observation or simply indulging in a bit of Legilimency again, but no matter the case Volshebnik seemed to know exactly what was boiling up within Harry's brain.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, what is your trouble?" he asked, as they turned the corner of a very dim, narrow corridor. "Perhaps a toothache?"

He laughed at Harry's expression. Ron and Hermione both cast Harry sympathetic looks, but he spied something tentative, almost uneasy, in their eyes.

Volshebnik reached for Harry's arm, and carefully steered him so that they were now walking next to each other, with Ron and Hermione close behind.

"There are no hard feelings between us," Volshebnik said, and though he patted Harry's arm, his voice carried the severity of a command. "You are learning the limits of your power; do not be alarmed that they may stretch further than you thought. There is no point in denying your capacity for darkness, it is like denying you are human. Here, I will show you."

They reached a striking sight: a plunging chasm with nothing but a delicate ice bridge spanning its depths. The spindly bridge shone in front of them, like a beacon in the darkness. For once Volshebnik did not comment on this feat of spellwork; instead he led Harry out to the middle of the bridge, and then stopped.

"What do you see there?" Volshebnik asked him, pointing off into the gloom.

Harry squinted at the darkness. Was this a trick question?

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Nothing?"

"Well, loads of black."

"Hmmm. Get rid of it."

Harry turned and stared at what little of Volshebnik he could see.

"Get rid of it," Volshebnik repeated.

Harry felt deeply nervous about where this was going, but he pulled out his wand and held it aloft. "Lumos!" he cried, and the shadows fled across the chasm, revealing a pitted expanse of wall built out of fantastically huge slabs of stone, arranged in near-perfect symmetry like ordinary house bricks.

"What do you see now?" Volshebnik asked.

This seemed like less of a trick, but if anything, the knot in Harry's gut seemed to double in size. "Rocks," he replied, unable to keep the questioning tone out of his voice.

Volshebnik nodded. "I am never short of rocks here," he said, his eyes glinting in the light of Harry's wand. "There is a spell I would like you to try, Mr. Potter. Lapideus Animare."

Harry's blood froze in his veins. "What does it do?"

Volshebnik smiled at him. "How wise of you to ask. It is a spell for moving rocks. Choose one that lies before you, and be sure to snap your wrist when you aim. Lapideus Animare."

Harry braced himself for an unwelcome surprise and took a breath. He focused his eyes on a giant stone along the far side of the wall. "Lapideus Animare!" he cried. And then he waited.

His chosen stone slowly wormed its way out of the wall and hovered uncertainly in midair beside the bridge. Harry was so grateful nothing horrible had happened that his concentration wavered, and the stone abruptly dropped into the gaping pit beneath them. There was an echoing rumble from below, then silence.

Volshebnik seemed unconcerned by this. He was smiling again. "Well done," he said. "My first attempts at creating the golems started with that spell. I even used a finer form of it to carve the design upon the door through which you first entered my home. A very fine spell. Simple, but useful, yes?"

Harry slowly nodded.

"But Lapideus Animare has other uses, too," Volshebnik said. "Look at the wall."

Harry directed his wand light back at the chasm wall. Now a dark hole lurked in the space where his brick of stone had been removed.

"You could have moved that stone there," said Volshebnik, pointing at a stone that was low and dead center. "That stone has the entire weight of the wall resting upon it. Had you removed it, my home would have come thundering down upon your head -- an avalanche, Mr. Potter, on a truly spectacular scale of destruction.

"Now, would you call my useful little spell one of the Dark Arts?"

"I -- " Harry hardly understood the question. He was too busy feeling alarmed that Volshebnik had not warned him beforehand about the removal of this fatally integral stone. Why did Volshebnik keep tricking him into wielding magic with the potential to hurt and kill? Had he passed another test? Or had he failed?

Volshebnik was still waiting for an answer. Hermione cleared her throat.

"It's not a Dark spell," she said quietly. "It can't hurt anyone, not unless you intend it to."

"Ah!" said Volshebnik, pointing one of his long brittle fingers at Hermione. "That word! 'Intend.' A good word to use, Miss Granger. A very good word!" He turned on the spot, so that the extended finger was now pointing right in Harry's face. "It all comes down to intention. You cannot happen on darkness accidentally, Mr. Potter. So you can perform a spell that has the potential to cause death and destruction -- lucky you! But if there is no death and destruction trembling in your wake, I see no reason for you to suffer from disquiet. No spell can make you a Dark wizard, if you haven't already made up your mind to become one."

"You're wrong," said Harry, who was beginning to feel the first stirrings of anger. "Some spells are evil no matter what you use them for. That Tormendenta spell for one -- and what about the Unforgivable curses?"

Volshebnik shrugged. "In my life, I have found that very little is really Unforgivable."

Harry gaped at him. "But the Killing Curse -- "

"Murders can be justified, Mr. Potter. All of mine certainly were." Volshebnik turned and gestured for Harry to follow him across the bridge.

"What about Horcruxes?" Harry asked, hurrying along beside the old wizard.

"You cannot perform the Spell of Division accidentally," Volshebnik said flatly, stomping through a doorway. "That is a spell of pure will, of intention, as Miss Granger would put it. Perform that spell and you have made up your mind to destroy your soul for all eternity. When you make your Horcrux, I expect you will drop all this squeamishness about Dark magic, and on your own soul be it."

Harry fought a nearly irrational desire to laugh. How could Volshebnik talk so matter-of-factly about committing murders one minute and lecture him on the evils of making Horcruxes the next? Volshebnik had the strangest moral compass of anyone Harry had ever met, a compass that was not broken exactly; it was just that when Volshebnik said "north," he actually meant "southwest."

They turned a corner and entered a stone hallway lined with doors made of smooth, grayish wood. The passage was so narrow that Harry had to walk slightly behind Volshebnik to ensure they would not bump shoulders.

As Harry walked, he wondered what Voldemort had made of this strange old man; certainly he wouldn't have been very happy to hear Volshebnik's views on Horcruxes, that was for sure. What had Voldemort wanted from him? Why had he come all this way? Perhaps the answer was hidden behind one of these doors...

Harry tried a probing question. "If you hate Horcruxes so much, why did you make one?"

"Hate them? No, I could never hate something so useful," Volshebnik replied. "After my wife's passing, I decided to devote myself entirely to my life's work. And my work happened to demand many lifetimes of study. So you see, for me creating a Horcrux was a necessary evil. Unavoidable. Or so I felt at the time."

Because he was walking behind Volshebnik, Harry could not see his face. But there was a new stiffness in the old man's stride, as if he were restraining himself from doing something unseemly.

They walked along in silence for a few more minutes, and then a door on Volshebnik's left suddenly swung open of its own accord.

"The lady enters first," he said, ushering Hermione inside. Harry and Ron followed her into a round room with walls, floor, and a domed ceiling made entirely of smooth blue ice. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all craned their necks to admire it, their breath hanging around them in frozen clouds. The room was empty.

"Now to business," said Volshebnik, closing the door behind him. "Miss Granger has asked me how to conceal a Horcrux. Well, my girl, you are in luck. There is a Horcrux concealed in this very room."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged expressions of shock. Volshebnik couldn't be serious.

"Your Horcrux...is in here?" Harry asked, staring into the empty space.

Volshebnik answered his question with a smile.

Hermione walked out into the center of the room. Harry could hear her muttering under her breath. He didn't recognize whatever incantation she was chanting, but apparently Volshebnik knew it well.

"Clever girl," he whispered, his eyes widening as he watched her.

Hermione slowly raised her wand, and speaking now with a loud and commanding voice, she cried, "Finite Incantatem!"

The hazy outlines of previously invisible objects wavered into being all around them. Harry and Ron stared in wonder as what seemed like the entire contents of an antiques shop materialized inside the room. There were ticking grandfather clocks, shining brass horns, trailing strands of pearls, tarnished silver goblets, funny-shaped candelabras with seventeen branches each, jumbled masses of old weaponry, delicate paper fans, porcelain urns, marble sculptures -- a thousand precious items lumped together in a towering stack that nearly touched the domed ceiling. Hermione had to leap out of the way to avoid being crushed by an embossed wooden trunk.

Harry felt that his jaw might have hit the floor along with the trunk. Ron silently mouthed "Ruddy hell" over and over, staring at his own reflection, which had suddenly appeared in a seven-foot tall, ornate mirror in a gilded frame.

Volshebnik applauded, his claps echoing spectacularly. "Well played, my girl! You have penetrated the first level of my protection. Clearly layering multiple Secrecy Spells and Invisibility Charms is old hat to you. I shall say no more on the subject."

Hermione was having a difficult time stopping herself from looking too pleased.

"So," said Volshebnik, as he approached her, "what is your next move? You are surrounded by potential Horcruxes. Can you find the needle in my haystack?"

Hermione bit her lip, clearly thinking very hard. She surveyed the mountain of treasure. "It would take some time, but I suppose I would have to use Specialis Revelio."

Volshebnik tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Specialis Revelio? Scarpin's Revelaspell? It has no effect on a Horcrux."

Hermione sounded breathless. "I've modified it," she said. And she turned and pointed her wand at a fine marble statue of a galloping stallion. She took a shuddery breath, but she did not shout "Specialis Revelio!" Harry knew she wouldn't; he had seen Hermione perform this spell nonverbally on several occasions.

When they were first starting out on their quest last summer, Hermione had been very keen to find a spell that could correctly uncover a Horcrux for what it really was. She first performed her modified Specialis Revelio on Slytherin's golden locket, that dark and furiously stormy night at Grimmauld Place. It was as if she had shone a black light on a dusted fingerprint -- the surface of the locket had come alive with gleaming pinpricks of green light, a fine, shimmering haze of brilliant particles shaped into intricate patterns. Harry had stared at these strange constellations of green stars for a very long time -- these were the marks of a Horcrux, the imprints that Voldemort's soul had left on the locket's surface. He had been so surprised to find them beautiful.

But in Volshebnik's lair, the results Hermione achieved on the stallion statue were quite different from that remarkable sight at Grimmauld Place. The marble shone for a moment, as if a light bulb had been switched on inside the horse's flanks -- and then a faint mist of powder appeared across the statue, not green like on the locket, and not nearly as blindingly bright. These stars were very faint and white, like an afterimage lingering on closed eyelids.

"That's odd," said Hermione, moving closer to the stallion. Volshebnik folded his arms as he moved up behind her to examine the strange mist. His mouth gave a sudden twitch, as if he was concealing a laugh.

"It's as if --" Hermione reached out a hand and touched the stallion's side. "-- as if a soul used to live here, but now it's...gone."

"Intriguing," murmured Volshebnik. "Try your clever spell on this hairbrush here. It's solid silver, you know, with an ivory handle. I had it made as a gift for my wife; I used to have excellent taste in such things." He placed the hairbrush in Hermione's hand. "Go on, my girl. Try your spell again."

Hermione held the brush up and pointed her wand at it. Again there was a flash, as if a light shone out of the hairbrush's depths. And then --

Hermione frowned. Again that faded white mist clung to the brush, like a ghostly second skin.

"Did this used to be a Horcrux, too?" she gasped. "But how?"

Harry had a sudden thought. He raised his wand. "Accio Horcrux!"

Nothing at all happened. Volshebnik turned his pale eyes upon Harry.

"You haven't got a Horcrux here," Harry told him, a hint of accusation creeping into his voice.

"But this used to be a Horcrux," said Hermione, holding up the brush. "And it looks intact! So does the statue. They lost their fragments of soul, but they haven't been destroyed. They haven't sustained any damage at all! How is that possible, sir? I don't understand."

It hurt Hermione to admit this, Harry could tell. She had enjoyed impressing Volshebnik, and confessing to confusion at this critical moment was clearly costing her quite a lot.

Hermione's face fell even further at Volshebnik's response. He looked at her for one long moment, and then he threw back his head and indulged in a bout of hollering laughter.

"You have found me out!" he declared as his laughter waned. "The only piece of my soul that exists within this room is contained inside my poor old body. But I do believe you have still learned some very important lessons about concealing a Horcrux. Yes, there are powerful charms and illusions which will deflect most enemies, of course. But they, like all spells, are fallible in the end. The greatest safeguard I know is unpredictability. To that end, I would suggest keeping your external soul forever in motion."

Hermione frowned.

Harry saved her the trouble of again admitting befuddlement and quickly interjected, "I don't understand."

"You transfer your soul from one object to another, Mr. Potter. If your enemy suspects an urn, hide it in a medallion. If he suspects the medallion, he won't find it in a bell. Keep him always guessing."

"You can do that?" breathed Harry, stunned. "You can change Horcruxes like that?"

"It is tricky," said Volshebnik, "but I've become rather adept. I find it a useful skill in my experiments. I can test different Horcrux vessels and see which make the most stable containers. I've had some very fascinating findings. Your Specialis Revelio served you well. Everything in this room used to be a home to my soul."

Harry didn't respond; he was too staggered by the idea of Horcrux transference. This piece of information was very valuable, and he would have felt some measure of accomplishment if he weren't so alarmed. If Voldemort knew how to transfer his soul from one Horcrux to another, then the identity of those final two objects could change at the drop of a hat. Were Dumbledore's hunches still valid, or had Voldemort performed a switch?

Volshebnik was regarding Harry questioningly. "Have you not enjoyed my lesson? My advice is the best you shall ever receive upon this subject, Mr. Potter. Do not look so glum. You have not been cheated."

Harry looked back at the old wizard and saw him with new eyes. Was this how Volshebnik had passed the time? Had he spent more than a hundred years learning how to force his soul out of a diamond brooch and into a cuckoo clock?

Volshebnik narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I have finally discouraged you from such foolishness as Horcruxes? It is unnatural to want to commit such a monstrous act at so young an age. I cannot understand it. But then, the young have always had little regard for the soul."

"You haven't discouraged me," said Harry. "I have other questions, too."

"Oh?"

"Yes," said Harry. "You've gone to so much trouble to contain this one fragment of your soul. Have you ever considered -- I mean, instead of moving your soul about like this, you could just -- just -- make more?"

Volshebnik slowly raised one eyebrow. "More?"

"More Horcruxes," said Harry. "Instead of just splitting your soul the once, perhaps you could do it over...and over..."

He trailed off. Volshebnik had gone alarmingly still, his eyes wide, arrested. Had Harry gone too far?

He had.

Volshebnik unfroze in one heart-stopping instant, like an ice sculpture melting all at once. His ancient arm swung out, his wand pointing dead at Harry's throat.

"Why has he sent you?" Volshebnik breathed in a whisper that cut. He was a transformed man, violence thrumming in every chord of his body. His act of careful amiability had vanished.

Ron was the first to react. He drew his wand and pointed it at Volshebnik's back. Hermione took her time in copying him; she seemed utterly stunned.

Harry could do nothing at all. He stared into Volshebnik's deep cold eyes, his panic outflanked by considerable bewilderment. "Wha --" he choked, "I haven't been sent by anyone!"

Volshebnik gave his wand an impatient flick. Harry felt something harsh and cold sideswipe his face. He stumbled backwards and collided with the face of a grandfather clock. The glass of the pendulum casing cracked under his back.

Volshebnik advanced on Harry, steadily but slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. "No more games, Mr. Potter, I know you work for him. How else would you know where to find me? How else would you be able to parrot everything he said to me that first time? Very clever of him to send a boy, but then he was always a clever one, too clever for his own good, as I told him many times." He tilted his head the slightest bit, the only hint that he was aware that Ron and Hermione were armed behind him. "Put those away," he ordered, "or your leader will suffer before he dies."

Ron and Hermione stared in horror at Volshebnik's back, and slowly they let their wand arms drop to their sides.

"A wise decision," said Volshebnik, who still had not even spared them a glance. His eyes were boring into Harry's face, as if he really could exact damage that way. "And so, Mr. Potter, we finally arrive at the crux of the matter. Tell me what he wants. I have no more information he would value, nothing at all. Everything he needed he stole from me, as he should well remember."

Harry couldn't look away. "Who?" he asked.

Volshebnik took one final step, so that he was right in front of Harry.

"Mr. Potter," he said, "you know who."

And of course Harry did. "Voldemort!" he gasped.

"Voldemort," Volshebnik agreed, twisting his mouth as if the name tasted funny.

Harry didn't understand what was going on. He thought Volshebnik had been Voldemort's instructor, his trusted mentor. But then why was he holding Harry at wand point? If he thought Harry was Voldemort's servant, shouldn't he be shaking his hand and asking after his former pupil's health?

"I don't work for Voldemort," Harry very firmly told Volshebnik.

Up jumped the disbelieving eyebrows. "And yet you know his name. His foolish French invention of a name. Your master never told me his real one, though I am sure it is something very solid and English, just like yours."

"He -- is -- not -- my -- master!" Harry ground out. "He will never be my master!"

"Fool," Volshebnik spat. "How many of your lies do you think I can stomach? I should have let my golems rip you limb from limb the moment you blundered through my doorway. But I was starved for company; you knew that, didn't you? Your master told you everything about me, about how easily I trust, how to play me for a fool just as he did."

Harry was paralyzed where he stood, pinned against the broken clock. Volshebnik shook his wand in front of Harry's face, and his hand was so long and pale that the ivory wand could have been a sixth finger wagging dangerously at Harry, scolding him. "Well done, well done indeed -- but look who the fool is now!"

"I know you're not a fool!" shouted Harry. "Listen to me! I know about his Horcruxes, I know he made six! If I were his servant, you really think he'd tell me about them -- about his only weaknesses? If you knew him at all, you'd know there was no way he'd ever do that. I bet he didn't even really give you a straight answer when he was your student, on how many Horcruxes he planned to make, on what he'd already done! You know him, Volshebnik! You know he'd never tell me anything, not if I worked for him!"

His words were making an impact. He could see a gleam of hesitation in Volshebnik's eyes.

"Yes," he whispered, "I know him well. But apparently...so do you. If you are not his servant, then who are you?"

"I'm his enemy," said Harry, staring point blank into Volshebnik's face. "He murdered my parents when I was a baby. He tried to kill me too, but he failed. Now he's trying to take over England, but I won't let that happen. My friends and I are out to kill him first."

Volshebnik's eyes were still narrowed, as if with suspicion, but Harry could not help but notice that his eyebrows were slowly rising, as if suspended by increasing wonder. Over Volshebnik's shoulder, Harry could see Ron and Hermione watching him questioningly, their wands again at the ready.

Volshebnik stared at Harry for one interminable moment, and then -- quite suddenly -- his mouth cracked open and he positively cackled.

"Kill him?! Kill him?! Are you the best defense England could muster? Or is this some experimental new Hogwarts program: Dark Wizard Slaying for the Beginner?"

It was Ron who responded. He had drawn himself up to his full height, and his back bristled with outrage. "We've destroyed four of his Horcruxes already," he declared.

Volshebnik's laughter abruptly ceased. He took a step back from Harry, his wide eyes now riveted to Ron.

"That is impossible," he whispered.

"We had help," said Harry. "And one of them was destroyed for us by a friend. But they're still gone. Only two Horcruxes to go and Voldemort's mortal again."

Volshebnik stared at Harry. He turned his head and bestowed his look of wonder upon Ron and Hermione, too. He whispered, "Mortal again..."

"It's true," Hermione piped up. Her face was shining with earnestness; she looked near tears.

"I would despair if it were not!" cried Volshebnik. "Oh, how fitting! How wondrous! How I dreamed -- how I hoped he would finally meet his match. But this is more inglorious for him than I could have ever hoped! That he should be dealt his end by the hands of three children! Oh, it is positively just!"

"'Just' isn't exactly how I'd describe it," said Harry slowly.

Volshebnik's jubilant look abated. He stared around at all three of them, his eyes greedily bright.

"Why didn't you tell me this from the start?" he asked. "Why all the games, the false names, the flimsy lies?"

"We didn't think we could trust you," Harry said.

"We still don't," said Ron flatly. "We thought you were You-Know... his teacher, we thought you two were mates. Why are you so eager to see him dead?"

Volshebnik sighed. "A worthy question," he said. "If only we could know friend from foe on sight. How much easier things would become. I thought Voldemort was a friend. He came to me a young man, eager -- like you -- for knowledge. He had heard that I accepted powerful young wizards as pupils if they could prove their worth to me. He was...more than worthy. He was a challenge such as I had never known. He had such power, such intellect. He had stirring plans for himself -- for the world! I thought at first that they were the typical boyish fantasies, but I was very mistaken.

"I threw myself into the task of instructing him. I revealed to him more of my secrets than I had ever dared with other students. It was my hope that many of his more...alarming...plans would be abandoned as he learned, that he would shift his focus with all the fickleness of youth. But he never did. When he had learned all he cared to from me, he left this place, but not before he stole all the information he knew I was keeping from him. My journals," he clarified, at their looks of confusion. "My research. A lifetime's worth of conclusions, all stolen by that upstart. Some of that material I have never been able to reconstruct. It was a devastating loss."

There was a ringing silence as his words slowly sunk in. Then Harry cleared his throat. "Let us pay him back for you," he said. "We can help each other, if you'll only tell us everything you know about Voldemort, about what you taught him, about anything he might have mentioned to you of his plans. Anything at all that can help us to find those last two Horcruxes and destroy them."

Volshebnik still looked lost in the past, but his voice was firm when he spoke. "You will need all the help I can give you. And you shall have it. However, I must warn you, I do not take kindly to betrayal. Therefore you must promise me that no one, not even Voldemort, learns of my continued residence here. I have retired from the world for a reason, Mr. Potter. I do not want this war of yours invading my home any more than it already has. I prefer anonymous revenge, and peaceful, uninterrupted living."

"You'll have it," said Harry.

Volshebnik smiled. "I hope so." He heaved a deep sigh, raised his wand, and repaired the grandfather clock behind Harry. "So tell me," he intoned, "how can I be of service to you?"

Harry spoke up first. "Those journals Voldemort stole, was there stuff about Horcruxes in them?"

"Yes," said Volshebnik. "At the time, I had just perfected the spells for transferring soul fragments from one Horcrux to another, so that information is certainly in Voldemort's possession. The journals also contained the research I had conducted in the hope of recreating a body for myself had my own been attacked or destroyed."

"Voldemort definitely put that research to good use," said Harry.

"What else?" Hermione asked.

Volshebnik sighed. "Notes on my restructuring of the murder ritual, I suppose, but Voldemort already knew about that."

Most of this sentence meant nothing whatsoever to Harry. "Huh?"

Volshebnik leaned forward, placing his palms together. "There are usually three steps to creating a Horcrux: the Vessel Binding, which must be performed upon the chosen object prior to the rest of the ritual; then the murder itself, where the soul is torn in two, and then the final, necessary, and most difficult step in the process, the Spell of Division, when the torn fragment is divided from the body and embedded in the bound vessel. Are you following me?"

Harry nodded. Hermione had taken him through a similar explanation some months ago.

"The Spell of Division is very difficult; it has enormous potential to go awry. It places an incredible amount of physical strain on its caster, and the longer one waits between committing the murder and performing the spell, the more painful the process of creating a Horcrux becomes. I heard tell of a Finnish wizard who attempted to make a Horcrux three years after he murdered a bellhop. When he performed the Spell of Division, he spontaneously combusted, and that was that."

"Okay," said Harry, determinedly passing this over. "So if you want to make a Horcrux, you have to do it directly after you commit murder?"

"It certainly decreases your chances of failure," nodded Volshebnik.

"So why were you attempting to restructure the ritual?" asked Hermione, frowning.

"Because Voldemort asked me to," said Volshebnik. "He wanted to perform the rites multiple times, as you know. But he found that the Spell of Division was exponentially more damaging to his body the more times he performed it. In the creation of his second Horcrux, he very nearly died, and he cast the spell mere hours after a murder. He was concerned that if he were to try again..."

"He'd meet the same end as the Finnish bloke," said Ron, nodding.

Volshebnik's lips quirked. "Precisely. The spell could not really kill him, of course, because he already had two Horcruxes safe and undamaged. But the destruction of his physical body would have set him back considerably."

"So what exactly did he want you to do about it?" Harry asked.

"He wondered if there was a way to decrease the time span between the murder and the Spell of Division, to maximize his chances for success. I gave him one better. I found a way to create a Horcrux simultaneously with a murder. I used the momentum generated by the splitting soul to actually propel a fragment out of the body and into the vessel." He looked at each of them eagerly, searching for praise.

He found what he was looking for in Hermione, who was on the edge of her seat. "That's fascinating!" she breathed. "That certainly would make the spell less likely to cause physical harm. So you taught this to Voldemort?"

Volshebnik nodded grimly. "He was overjoyed. It was exactly the method he needed to continue with his plans. It was after I had perfected this process that he abandoned me and stole my work."

"Just great," sighed Harry. "So that's what Voldemort wanted from you. The quick and simple way to make a Horcrux."

"I won't exactly be resting easier knowing he can do that," agreed Ron. "What else can you tell us?" he asked Volshebnik, in what Harry thought was an oddly aggressive voice. "You'll have to make it something more useful than that."

Hermione gave Ron a sidelong look before once again hanging her attention upon Volshebnik. The old wizard for his part seemed unmoved by Ron's hostility. "Tell me about your search," he said. "I cannot provide you with useful information until you give me some idea of the shape of things you've faced."

And so they told him. Harry retold the old stories about the diary in the Chamber of Secrets and the dummy locket in the cave. He reconstructed what he remembered of Dumbledore's encounter with Morfin's ring at the House of Gaunt. And Ron and Hermione helped him relate the tales of the destruction of the genuine locket at Grimmauld Place and Hufflepuff's cup at Gringotts.

Volshebnik listened to their stories very keenly, every now and then probing them for further details. "His family's degraded house, a seaside cliff from his boyhood holidays, a heavily protected goblin bank, and the slippery hands of his own follower -- interesting places, all of them, but I see no pattern. Voldemort loved symbolism, significance -- I always thought..." Volshebnik trailed off.

"Yes?" Harry prompted him eagerly.

Volshebnik looked very thoughtful. "After Voldemort left, I had the golems comb every inch of my home. I peered into every nook and corner, even stuck my head inside the stove."

"Errr, why?" Ron asked, his eyes wide.

"I knew Voldemort. I knew it would give him no end of pleasure to conceal a precious and deadly object right under his enemy's nose. But perhaps I underestimated him, or perhaps I simply underestimated my worth in his eyes."

This revelation passed through Harry's body like a wave of heat. His eyes automatically found Ron's and then Hermione's, and Harry could see that they had all gleaned the same unsettling implication from Volshebnik's words. Could the "enemy's nose" he was referring to possibly be the long crooked one that had belonged to Albus Dumbledore? But this was impossible -- how could there be a Horcrux hidden at Hogwarts?

Volshebnik watched their silent interaction very closely. "You agree with my reasoning," he said, nodding. "I thought you might. Then I have been of some use to you after all."

All three of them nodded absently, still lost in thought.

Volshebnik shifted his weight and began counting off their discussion points on his fingers. "So you have destroyed the diary, the ring, and the founders' locket and cup. You think the final two Horcruxes are also relics belonging to these ancient wizards?"

"No," Harry corrected him. "Only one of them. The other is a snake."

Volshebnik frowned. "A snake made of gold?"

Harry blinked. "Errr, no, I mean a real snake. What?" he added, for Volshebnik was giving him a most peculiar look.

"You believe Voldemort has made a living Horcrux?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Harry slowly. "What's wrong with that?"

Volshebnik rubbed one finger across his lips, his brow furrowed. "I am merely surprised. A living Horcrux. Hmmm."

"We heard it could be done," said Hermione quickly.

"Oh, it can," said Volshebnik. "I just never would have expected Voldemort of all people to attempt it."

"Why not? Because it's risky?"

"The risk is enormous, certainly," Volshebnik agreed. "Animals have souls of their own, of a sort. They make very unpredictable vessels; their bodies are often damaged permanently by the spells involved, and they can even reject the soul fragment entirely. Voldemort knew all this. I was investigating living Horcruxes during his tenure here, and he sneered at my work. He did not understand the point of my attempts. He thought me silly, sentimental -- he accused me of simply desiring a pet."

"That's odd," said Hermione. "I wonder why he changed his mind."

"He really likes that snake," said Harry. "And he's got enormous control over her. He uses her to attack people, to infiltrate places he can't reach himself. For him she's dead handy."

Volshebnik considered this. "Living Horcruxes do have their uses. But I would think that the obvious disadvantages would make Voldemort very nervous about attempting such a thing. After all, you do not need your Specialis Revelio spell to identify a living Horcrux."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, intrigued.

Volshebnik opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly, he stopped himself. "I -- I can show you, if you like," he said, his voice low, almost tentative.

"Show us? Show us what?" Hermione asked eagerly.

Volshebnik turned and looked at her for a long moment. It was as if he was evaluating her mettle. Finally he spoke, his voice now very decisive. "Not you. Just Mr. Potter."

Hermione's mouth fell open and Ron made a funny choking noise.

Volshebnik ignored them both. He levelled his calculating gaze upon Harry, who was instantly certain that this was another test. "Why just me?" he asked.

"You will understand me fully when we reach our destination," Volshebnik said, and the amusement in his voice was maddening.

"No way!" Ron cried, taking a furious step forward. "He's not going off with you alone. We're coming, too!"

Volshebnik's eyes narrowed. "Impossible. I reveal my secrets only to those with the capacity to appreciate their worth."

"We'll appreciate your secret," Hermione gasped. "We really will! There's no need to --"

"There is need," said Volshebnik firmly. "My mind is made up. And convincing me to change it is a tricky business. Mr. Potter can attest to that. So unless you too would like a lesson in persuasive torture, I suggest you wait here until we return."

This promptly shut Hermione up. She stared at Volshebnik in horror, and then turned to Harry, her eyes pleading. Ron was also looking at Harry expectantly, no doubt waiting for him to refuse Volshebnik, to insist on bringing his friends.

"Mr. Potter," Volshebnik commanded.

Harry looked at his two best friends, and saw that they were staring at him with an unnerving desperation. They wanted him to say that he couldn't go on without them. The problem was that Harry knew he could. He must. He didn't like this new development any more than they did, but Volshebnik's lair was teeming with secrets, and Harry wanted to unearth as many of them as he could reach.

"I have to do it," he told them baldly.

The words were as effective as a Full-Body Bind. Ron and Hermione stood frozen. There was a long pang of silence. Harry did not look at Volshebnik, but he somehow knew that the old man was smiling.

Ron broke the silence. "No," he said, his voice low.

"We're coming with you, Harry," Hermione agreed, sneaking a frightened glance at Volshebnik as she said it. "We're going wherever you go, that's what we agreed to do."

"Not this time," said Harry. "I'm sorry."

Hermione gaped at him, her eyes wide and betrayed, her face slowly leeching itself of color.

"You're sorry?" hissed Ron, and Harry saw that his face was developing an angry flush, as if he had somehow stolen all the color Hermione had lost. "You're sorry? We don't care how sorry you are! You're not getting rid of us! No way! We're coming with you, and that's all there is to it!"

"I cannot allow that," said Volshebnik, his voice light with grating cheer. He turned to look at Harry, his mouth curling in a smile. "Your followers must stay behind."

"We're not his followers!" Ron shouted, scandalized. "We're his friends!"

"You can't leave us behind!" Hermione said shrilly. "Anything you show Harry we should see, too! We're all in this together, aren't we?" She looked at Harry urgently. "Harry, for heavens' sake, don't go off with him alone. He could have anything hidden in this mountain, anything at all. Something dangerous, something deadly--"

"No harm will come to him," said Volshebnik flatly.

Ron gave a horrible, mirthless laugh. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say."

Volshebnik raised his eyebrows, looking politely offended.

"Ron," said Harry slowly, "It's okay. We can trust him."

Ron's head swivelled jerkily around. He looked at Harry with narrowed eyes, as if he couldn't see his face plainly anymore. "What is wrong with you?" he asked, in a voice husky with shock. "What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing," Harry said automatically, unnerved by the question. "He's just trying to help us. What's your problem with that?"

"My problem!" Ron exclaimed, his ears suddenly glowing blood red. "Well, I don't know, Harry, maybe my problem is that he tricked you into torturing him!"

Ron's shout echoed all around them, booming down from the ceiling, reverberating off the icy walls. Harry couldn't look at any of the others, but he was painfully aware that all the eyes in the room were on him, judging and condemning him. "I get it, " he muttered, "I see!" And suddenly he could look Ron squarely in the eye again. "Who is it you don't trust, Ron? Be honest! Is it him? Or is it me?"

There was a long moment of electric silence. Then Ron broke Harry's stare and looked down at the floor. He had lost his nerve.

"Harry-- " It was Hermione who spoke, her voice soft and trembling. "Harry, you must see -- we do trust you. We've always trusted you to -- to do the right thing. And when it comes down to it, you do. You know you do."

Harry stared at her, his resolve wavering.

"Do the right thing," Hermione whispered. "Don't leave us behind."

Harry looked between his two best friends, and then he turned and regarded the Dark wizard. Volshebnik no longer looked amused by the situation; indeed his expression had become deadly serious. And Harry knew, looking at him, that this was definitely another test; he could see that much in Volshebnik's cool, questioning eyes, in the challenging quirk of his thin mouth. Volshebnik wanted to see if he had the guts to go on alone, to make the agonizing choice that one day Harry knew he would have to make again -- to leave Ron and Hermione behind, for their own good. Possibly for good.

"You're staying here," Harry told his friends. "That is an order."

And he turned to follow Volshebnik from the room.

Ron's sulky voice drifted after him. "We're not your followers, Harry. You can't order us around."

Harry stepped through the icy threshold into the darkened hallway. Then he said, "I just did, " and Volshebnik shut the door between Harry and his friends.