The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) (64 page)

James asked in a low voice, "What's the memory about, Scorpius?"

Scorpius looked James in the eye again. He didn't blink as he answered. "Something my grandfather and Gregor call 'the Bloodline'. It's about who the Bloodline of Voldemort is, and how they came to be."

There was a long moment of perfect silence, and then, firmly, James said, "I want to see."

Scorpius nodded. "I thought you might." He gestured at the gently glowing bowl.

"How does it work?" Ralph asked, following reluctantly as James and Rose stepped forward. "Does it, like, make a film or something? How does it know what memory we want to see? Will it hurt?"

"Shut up, Ralph," James said, not unkindly. "Just hold my hand. You too, Rose. I think we just have to look. That's all."

Slowly, carefully, James, Rose, and Ralph leaned over the stone bowl. The surface of the liquid inside the Pensieve looked uncomfortably like the swirling mercury smoke in Merlin's Magic Mirror except that it glowed rather more. It lit the three student's faces. And then something began to swim up out of the depths of the Pensieve. It seemed to come from far deeper than the mere depth of the bowl. James held his breath as the light intensified. The swirling increased, becoming larger as the liquid in the bowl rose. It filled James' vision and then, swiftly and painlessly, it seemed to grab him. At once, James, Rose, and Ralph fell into the Pensieve as if it had grown to the size of a pool. It swallowed them completely, and for better or worse, there was no turning back. They were a part of the faded memories of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Each of the three experienced it uniquely and separately. When James landed in the middle of the first memory, neither Ralph nor Rose was anywhere in sight. As Scorpius had said, the memories were slightly faded; James felt more as if he was dreaming them than living them. As the world of the memory resolved around him, he found himself standing in the Headmaster's office, but not as he'd ever known it. It rippled and swam, like a scene witnessed underwater, but then it began to solidify. Fawkes the phoenix preened on his perch, proving to James that he was seeing the room as it had looked during Dumbledore's term as Headmaster.

"We must be prepared for the eventuality, Severus," Dumbledore was saying, not looking at Snape, who stood by the window, looking out at a black sky. "It cannot be assumed that Voldemort will be too proud to resort to such a tactic. If he comes to fear that his plans—and therefore his life—are in jeopardy, we must assume he will prepare a successor of some kind."

"The Dark Lord is not given to preparations for failure, Headmaster," Snape said. "His vanity will not admit the possibility of defeat. The sheer number of Horcruxes he has prepared are evidence of his assurance."

"I disagree," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers as he sat at his desk. James saw that one of the old headmaster's hands was rather horribly blackened and sickly. "One Horcrux would be enough for a confident villain. Voldemort's substantial collection of them proves quite the reverse. He lives in terror of death, believing nothing but the most extreme measures will ward it off. This is not the behavior of a man confident in his immortality. If, in time, he fears that even this collection will fail him, he will turn to even more desperate measures. You will know this when the time comes, and if it does, your duty will be clear."

Snape turned away from the window and approached the desk. "It pains me to admit it, but this task is very nearly beyond me, Headmaster. You are far better equipped to manage it than am I."

Dumbledore nodded slowly and smiled. "I will not argue that, Severus, but we both know it is unlikely that I should still be alive when the time comes. The task falls to you by default. Nevertheless, I am quite confident in your ability to do what is necessary. Despite what you believe of yourself, you are rather uniquely qualified for this type of work…"

As Dumbledore said this, the memory slowly dissolved. The room faded into obscurity and both Snape and Dumbledore vanished. An indeterminate amount of time seemed to pass, and then James found another memory solidifying around him. He was in a drawing room in a grand house, although it was apparent that the house was quite old and its best days were behind it. A large crystal chandelier lay shattered on the floor like a corpse. Bits of broken crystal lay everywhere, sparkling in the firelight.

"Potter," a high, silky voice said. James turned to see a horrible cloaked figure standing in front of the hearth. It was like a man, but only just. Beneath the cowl, the face was so pale as to be nearly translucent. There was no nose, save for a pair of grotesquely flaring slits, and the red eyes glowed with thin vertical pupils. James' knees went weak with fear as the figure seemed to stare coldly at him, but then it turned its gaze away, looking askance at a woman huddled at the end of a nearby sofa.

"I thought I was quite clear," the high, cold voice went on, and James now recognized the figure for who it was. This was Voldemort himself, in the flesh. "I was not to be disturbed for anything other than Harry Potter. Bellatrix here assures me I was, indeed, rather specific about that requirement. And yet she herself is the one responsible for interrupting my work
without
any Harry Potter to present me upon my return."

Bellatrix sobbed and rolled off the sofa, throwing herself onto the floor at Voldemort's feet. "He was here, my Lord! I tell you: he was my prisoner when I summoned you; otherwise, I would never have dared! Lucius and Narcissa can attest to the fact! But we were betrayed at the last minute—" Bellatrix flung an arm toward a man James hadn't noticed yet. The man stood in the shadows, his face deathly pale and blank. His hair was long and white. "Tell him, Lucius!" Bellatrix implored. "Tell the Dark Lord that we had Potter in our grasp!" When the man didn't respond, Bellatrix's face contorted into desperate rage. "Then perhaps you should tell him how you were bested by the boy Potter! Tell him, Lucius, how you were Stunned unconscious mere moments after they burst upon us! Tell him!"

"Severus," Voldemort said, ignoring the woman's raving, sobbing protests, "this unfortunate occasion has pressed me to consider an option that I had hoped would be unnecessary."

James turned and saw Snape standing in front of the closed door of the drawing room. He knew neither Snape nor Voldemort could see him; nevertheless, he felt very uncomfortable standing between them as they spoke. He moved into a nearby corner opposite the staring figure of Lucius Malfoy. Snape merely stood and waited, looking unflinchingly at the awful, snakelike face.

"I have summoned you from your post for the same reason I have dismissed Narcissa, Greyback, and Lucius' son. No one else need know of the duty I am placing upon you. Lucius himself will have his own role if he chooses to accept it; I have every expectation that he will be eager to prove his worth after recent events. But you, Severus, will perform a very important duty in this arrangement."

"Whatever you wish, my Lord," Snape said evenly.

Voldemort went on, stepping away from the hearth. "As you know, Severus, I have prepared Horcruxes, creating an unbroken chain of immortality for my ascendance…"

As Voldemort slowly crossed the room, the broken chandelier rose silently from the floor, allowing him to pass beneath it. The shattered bits of crystal rose with it, turning and glinting in the air like water droplets.

"I am quite confident that these Horcruxes will serve me well; however, in the extremely
unlikely
event that any of them should be destroyed—"

"Never, my Lord!" Bellatrix cried, still groveling on the floor. "It is impossible!"

"—I have prepared one final Horcrux," Voldemort went on, completely ignoring Bellatrix's outburst. "It is rather unique. In fact, I am quite confident that such a thing has never before been created."

Voldemort reached the center of the room and stopped. As the broken chandelier hovered over him, he reached slowly into his cloak and produced a long, narrow dagger. It was singularly ugly, made of silver with a jewel-encrusted handle. The blade was tarnished to a dark glint, as if it had been rubbed with soot.

"This dagger," Voldemort went on, turning it slowly in the firelight, "is rather special to me. It has travelled with me long and served me on many occasions. You may be interested to know that it once belonged to my father. I took it as an inheritance from his dead hand. Thus, it is quite fitting that this dagger, Severus, is the final and perhaps most important of my Horcruxes. I am entrusting you to safeguard it within the protection of Hogwarts until the time comes for its use."

"I will guard it with my life, my Lord," Snape said, inclining his head. "I am honored to be entrusted with a task that will only add to your long life."

"Alas, Severus," Voldemort said, pulling the dagger away, as if reluctant to give it up. "This is not that sort of Horcrux. With this relic, I am thinking only of future generations. Never let it be said that your Lord is not gracious, for this Horcrux is not to be used for myself. As I have already told you, this Horcrux is
special
. The part of my soul that it contains is shut off from me forever. I cannot reclaim it. Thus, if, in the remarkable and unimaginable event that every Horcrux but this were destroyed, this dagger would not assure my survival."

Bellatrix gasped, but her eyes were huge and avid as she watched Voldemort. Her gaze never left the dagger as it flitted and glinted in his pale hand.

"The part of my soul locked within this dagger is a gift, my friends. It is meant to be passed on. Lucius, my loyal servant, I have asked you to remain because I know your desperate—and justifiable—desire to prove yourself to me. It shall be your duty and honor to bestow the gift of the dagger should that day ever come."

For the first time, Lucius Malfoy's face flickered with life. He blinked at Voldemort, and then stumbled forward, not quite daring to touch his master.

"Thank you, my Lord! It is my honor! I will not fail you!"

"I am certain of that, Lucius," Voldemort said smoothly, almost kindly. "For if, for some reason, you fail the dagger, it will find you. I have bound it to you, and your family. In the event that something unfortunate befalls Headmaster Snape, you must retrieve the dagger from him. It will be waiting for you. And in the event that the time passes for its use and you have not fulfilled your role, it will seek you with its own intent. It will come for you, and your family. I do trust that you understand."

"I do, my Lord," Lucius rasped, nodding. "I will perform whatever duty you entrust to me. I vow my oath, Master!"

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Then your work begins this day, Lucius. Find for me a worthy vessel. Find a family whose blood is pure but whose loyalties will never be suspect. When the time comes, go to the woman in that family who is with child. She must take the dagger unto herself, and by her own hand, use the dagger to trace my symbol—the first initial of my name—upon the swell of her unborn son, drawing it in her own blood. Let her willingness infuse the life of the dagger into that mother's blood, taking it to the child. Thus, this relic of my soul will be passed on. The boy will carry my essence, made anew, ready to serve yet another generation. This is your duty and your oath to me, Lucius. Swear it."

"I swear, my Lord!" Lucius rasped, falling to one knee.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix cried breathlessly, crawling to her knees and imploring with one hand. "Choose me! Let me be the vessel of your gift to future generations! I will raise the boy to be your perfect image! I am willing! I am eager!"

"Yes, loyal Bellatrix," Voldemort said softly, not turning to her. Bits of the floating crystal chandelier revolved in the air between them. "But your loyalties are your most damning quality for this task. No one must guess in whose womb my soul is to be reborn. Despite your greatest wish, this duty cannot fall to you."

Bellatrix sobbed. "Then why have you kept me here, my Lord?" she wailed desperately. "Why have you retained me only to see my greatest desire plucked from my grasp?"

Voldemort sighed indulgently. "Your very question contains the answer, dear Bellatrix. But do try to look on the bright side: I had considered simply killing you for allowing Harry Potter to slip through your grasp this night. Instead, I have merely killed your greatest dream."

"Nooooo!"
Bellatrix shrieked, crumpling, and James' hair stood up. He'd never heard a more despairing, hopeless cry.

Voldemort strode forward, smiling as if Bellatrix's wail of agony was the sweetest music. He held the dagger out to Snape. As Snape took the dagger, the suspended chandelier fell again. It crashed noisily to the floor behind Voldemort, shattering like a bomb and drowning out the pitiful wail of Bellatrix Lestrange.

The memory shattered as well.

There was a flash of swirling smoke, and then one more scene materialized, swimming out of the mists like a fever dream. In this memory, James saw Severus Snape again. He was pacing in the Headmaster's office, which was his own office by this time.

"You seem to misunderstand, Albus," Snape said, speaking apparently to the portrait of Dumbledore on the office wall. "It will not be a request. Slughorn is the man responsible for the Dark Lord's ability to create Horcruxes in the first place. He understands them better than I do. He owes his service to the world to render this one useless."