Chapter 23 Horcruxes

Harry could feel the Felix Felicis wearing off as he creeped back into the castle. The front door had remainedun locked for him, but on the third floor he met Peeves

and only narrowly avoided detection by diving sideways through one of his shortcuts. By the time he got up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and pulled off his

Invisibility Cloak, he was not surprised to find her in a most unhelpful mood.

“What sort of time do you call this?”

“I'm really sorry—I had to go out for something important—”

“Well, the password changed at midnight, so you'll just have to sleep in the corridor, won't you?”

“You're joking!” said Harry. “Why did it have to change at midnight?”

“That's the way it is,” said the Fat Lady. “If you're angry, go and take it up with the Headmaster, he's the one who's tightened security.”

“Fantastic,” said Harry bitterly, looking around at the hard floor. “Really brilliant. Yeah, I would go and take it up with Dumbledore if he was here, because he's

the one who wanted me to —”

“He is here,” said a voice behind Harry. “Professor Dumbledore returned to the school an hour ago.”

Nearly Headless Nick was gliding toward Harry, his head wobbling as usual upon his ruff.

“I had it from the Bloody Baron, who saw him arrive,” said Nick. “He appeared, according to the Baron, to be in good spirits, though a little tired, of course.”

“Where is he?” said Harry, his heart leaping.

“Oh, groaning and clanking up on the Astronomy Tower, it's a favorite pastime of his —”

“Not the Bloody Baron — Dumbledore!”

“Oh—in his office,” said Nick. “I believe, from what the Baron said, that he had business to attend to before turning in —”

“Yeah, he has,” said Harry, excitement blazing in his chest at the prospect of telling Dumbledore he had secured the memory. He wheeled about and sprinted off again,

ignoring the Fat Lady who was calling after him.

“Come back! All right, I lied! I was annoyed you woke me up! The password's still ‘tapeworm'!”

But Harry was already hurtling back along the corridor and within minutes, he was saying “toffee eclairs” to Dumbledore's gargoyle, which leapt aside, permitting

Harry entrance onto the spiral staircase.

“Enter,” said Dumbledore when Harry knocked. He sounded exhausted.

Harry pushed open the door. There was Dumbledore's office, looking the same as ever, but with black, star-strewn skies beyond the windows.

“Good gracious, Harry,” said Dumbledore in surprise. “To what do I owe this very late pleasure?”

“Sir—I've got it. I've got the memory from Slughorn.”

Harry pulled out the tiny glass bottle and showed it to Dumbledore. For a moment or two, the Headmaster looked stunned. Then his face split in a wide smile.

“Harry, this is spectacular news! Very well done indeed! I knew you could do it!”

All thought of the lateness of the hour apparently forgotten, he hurried around his desk, took the bottle with Slughorn's memory in his uninjured hand, and strode over

to the cabinet where he kept the Pensieve.

“And now,” said Dumbledore, placing the stone basin upon the desk and emptying the contents of the bottle into it. “Now, at last, we shall see. Harry, quickly...”

Harry bowed obediently over the Pensieve and felt his feet leave the office floor... once again he fell through darkness and landed in Horace Slughorn's office many

years before.

There was the much younger Slughorn, with his thick, shiny, straw-colored hair and his gingery-blond mustache, sitting again in the comfortable winged armchair in his

office, his feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, a small glass of wine in one hand, the other rummaging in a box of crystallized pineapple. And there were the half dozen

teenage boys sitting around Slughorn with Tom Riddle in the midst of them, Marvolo's gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.

Dumbledore landed beside Harry just as Riddle asked, “Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?”

“Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you,” said Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. “I must say, I'd like to know

where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are.”

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

“What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter—thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite

right, it is my favorite —”

Several of the boys tittered again.

“— I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry.”

Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as

their leader.

“I don't know that politics would suit me, sir,” he said when the laughter had died away. “I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing.”

A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their

gang leader's famous ancestor.

“Nonsense,” said Slughorn briskly, “couldn't be plainer you come from decent wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong

about a student yet.”

The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.

“Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by in morrow or it's detention. Same

goes for you, Avery.”

One by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him

look around; Riddle was still standing there.

“Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect.. .”

“Sir, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away...”

“Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?”

Slughorn stared at him, his thick ringers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass.

“Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?”

But Harry could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.

“Not exactly, sir,” said Riddle. “I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it.”

“No... well... you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed,” said Slughorn.

“But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you—sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously—I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could

—so I just thought I'd ask—”

It was very well done, thought Harry, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. He, Harry, had had too much experience of trying to

wheedle information out of reluctant people not to recognize a master at work. He could tell that Riddle wanted the information very, very much; perhaps had been

working toward this moment for weeks.

“Well,” said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, “well, it can't hurt to give you an overview,

of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”

“I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir,” said Riddle.

His voice was carefully controlled, but Harry could sense his excitement.

“Well, you split your soul, you see,” said Slughorn, “and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one

cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form ...”

Slughorn's face crumpled and Harry found himself remembering words he had heard nearly two years before:

“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive.”

“... few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”

But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing.

“How do you split your soul?”

“Well,” said Slughorn uncomfortably, “you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against

nature.”

“But how do you do it?”

“By an act of evil—the supreme act of evil. By commiting murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his

advantage: he would encase the torn portion —”

“Encase? But how—?”

“There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!” said Slughoin shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. “Do I look as though I have tried it—do

I look like a killer?”

“No, sir, of course not,” said Riddle quickly. “I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to offend...”

“Not at all, not at all, not offended,” said Slughorn gruffly, “It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things... wizards of a certain caliber have always

been drawn to that aspect of magic...”

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle. “What I don't understand, though—just out of curiosity. I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't

it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven—?”

“Merlin's beard, Tom!” yelped Slughorn. “Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case... bad enough to divide the soul... but to rip it

into seven pieces...”

Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: he was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into

the conversation at all.

“Of course,” he muttered, “this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic...”

“Yes, sir, of course,” said Riddle quickly.

“But all the same, Tom... keep it quiet, what I've told—that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a

banned subject at Hogwarts, you know... Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it...”

“I won't say a word, sir,” said Riddle, and he left, but not before Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had

first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human...

“Thank you, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Let us go...”

When Harry landed back on the office floor Dumbledore was already sitting down behind his desk. Harry sat too and waited for Dumbledore to speak.

“I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time,” said Dumbledore at last. “It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that

I am right, and also how very far there is still to go...”

Harry suddenly noticed that every single one of the old headmasters and headmistresses in the portraits around the walls was awake and listening in on their

conversation. A corpulent, red nosed wizard had actually taken out an ear trumpet.

“Well, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom

Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal.”

“You think he succeeded then, sir?” asked Harry. “He made a Horcrux? And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of

his soul was safe?”

“A bit... or more,” said Dumbledore. “You heard Voldemort, what he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more

than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store

it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know—as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew—no wizard had ever

done more than tear his soul in two.”

Dumbledore paused for a moment, marshaling his thought, and then said, “Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul.”

“Where?” asked Harry. “How?”

“You handed it to me, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “The diary, Riddle's diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets.”

“I don't understand, sir,” said Harry.

“Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and

think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book. ... a

fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that

that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard.”

“I still don't understand,” said Harry.

“Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work—in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in

preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody

else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again.”

“Well, he didn't want his hard work to be wasted,” said Harry. “He wanted people to know he was Slytherin's heir, because he couldn't take credit at the time.”

“Quite correct,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “But don't you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to be passed to, or planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he

was being remarkably blasé about that precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the

self hidden and safe, not to fling it into somebody else's path and run the risk that they might destroy it—as indeed happened: that particular fragment of soul is no

more; you saw to that.

“The careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made—or had been planning to make—more

Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you told me, two years

later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. ’I who have gone further than

anybody along the path that leads to immortality.’ That was what you told me he said. ’Further than anybody!’ And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death

Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I don't believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldomort

has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the

realms of what we might call usual evil...”

“So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?” said Harry. “Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in

immortality?”

“Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago,” said Dumbledore. “But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less

than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.

“While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort

would be entirely dependant on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to

operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable. Of course he was prepared to drink it if it

would take him out of the horrible part-life to which he was condemned after attacking you, but only to regain a body. Thereafter, I am convinced, he intended to

continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see ... or as close to immortal as any

man can be.

“But now, Harry, armed with this information, the crucial memory you have succeeded in procuring for us, we are closer to the secret of finishing Lord Voldemort than

anyone has ever been before. You heard him, Harry: ‘Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more piece... isn't seven the most powerfully

magical numbe...’ Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number. Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort.”

“He made seven Horcruxes?” said Harry, horror-struck, while several of the portraits on the walls made similar noises of shock and outrage. “But they could be

anywhere in the world—hidden—buried or invisible —”

“I am glad to see you appreciate the magnitude of the problem,” said Dumbledore calmly. “But firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The seventh part of his

soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he

has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill Voldemort must attack—the piece that lives in his body.”

“But the six Horcruxes, then,” said Harry, a little desperately, “how are we supposed to find them?”

“You are forgetting... you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed another.”

“You have?” said Harry eagerly.

“Yes indeed,” said Dumbledore, and he raised his blackened, burned-looking hand. “The ring, Harry. Marvolo's ring. And a terrible curse there was upon it too. Had it

not been—forgive me the lack of seemly modesty—for my own prodigious skill, and for Professor Snape's timely action when I returned to Hogwarts, desperately injured,

I might not have lived to tell the tale. However, a withered hand does not seem an unreasonable exchange for a seventh of Voldemort's soul. The ring is no longer a

Horcrux.”

“But how did you find it?”

“Well, as you now know, for many years I have made it my business to discover as much as I can about Voldemort's past life. I have traveled widely, visiting those

places he once knew. I stumbled across the ring hidden in the ruin of the Gaunt's house. It seem that once Voldemort had succeeded in sealing a piece of his soul in

side it, he did not want to wear it anymore. He hid it, protected by many powerful enchantments, in the shack where his ancestors had once lived (Morfin having been

carted off to Azkaban, of course), never guessing that I might one day take the trouble to visit the ruin, or that I might be keeping an eye open for traces of magical

concealment.

“However, we should not congratulate ourselves too heartily. You destroyed the diary and I the ring, but if we are right in our theory of a seven-part soul, four

Horcruxes remain.”

“And they could be anything?” said Harry. “They could be oh, in tin cans or, I dunno, empty potion bottles...”

“You are thinking of Portkeys, Harry, which must be ordinary objects, easy to overlook. But would Lord Voldemort use tin cans or old potion bottles to guard his own

precious soul? You are forgetting what I have showed you. Lord Voldemort liked to collect trophies, and he preferred objects with a powerful magical history His pride,

his belief in his own superiority, his determination to carve for himself a startling place in magical history; these things, suggest to me that Voldemort would have

chosen his Horcruxes with some care, favoring objects worthy of the honor.”

“The diary wasn't that special.”

“The diary, as you have said yourself, was proof that he was the heir of Slytherin. I am sure that Voldemort considered it of stupendous importance.”

“So, the other Horcruxes?” said Harry. “Do you think you know what they are, sir?”

“I can only guess,” said Dumbledore. “For the reasons I have already given, I believe that Lord Voldemort would prefer objects that, in themselves, have a certain

grandeur. I have therefore trawled back through Voldemort's past to see if I can find evidence that such artifacts have disappeared around him.”

“The locket!” said Harry loudly, “Hufflepuff's cup!”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, smiling, “I would be prepared to bet—perhaps not my other hand—but a couple of fingers, that they became Horcruxes three and four. The

remaining two, assuming again that he created a total of six, are more of a problem, but I will hazard a guess that, having secured objects from Hufflepuff and

Slytherin, he set out to track down objects owned by Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Four objects from the four founders would, I am sure, have exerted a powerful pull over

Voldemort's imagination. I cannot answer for whether he ever managed to find anything of Ravenclaw's. I am confident, however, that the only known relic of Gryffindor

remains safe.”

Dumbledore pointed his blackened fingers to the wall behind him, where a ruby-encrusted sword reposed within a glass case.

“Do you think that's why he really wanted to come back to Hogwarts, sir?” said Harry. “To try and find something from one of the other founders?”

“My thoughts precisely,” said Dumbledore. “But unfortunately, that does not advance us much further, for he was turned away, or so I believe, without the chance to

search the school. I am forced to conclude that he never fulfilled his ambition of collecting four founders’ objects. He definitely had two—he may have found three—

that is the best we can do for now.”

“Even if he got something of Ravenclaw's or of Gryffindor's, that leaves a sixth Horcrux,” said Harry, counting on his fingers. “Unless he's got both?”

“I don't think so,” said Dumbledore. “I think I know what the sixth Horcrux is. I wonder what you will say when I confess that I have been curious for a while about

the behavior of the snake, Nagini?”

“The snake?” said Harry, startled. “You can use animals as Horcruxes?”

“Well, it is inadvisable to do so,” said Dumbledore, “because to confide a part of your soul to something that can think and move for itself is obviously a very

risky business. However, if my calculations are correct, Voldemort was still at least one Horcrux short of his goal of six when he entered your parents’ house with the

intention of killing you.

“He seems to have reserved the process of making Horcruxes for particularly significant deaths. You would certainly have been that. He believed that in killing you, he

was destroying the danger the prophecy had outlined. He believed he was making himself invincible. I am sure that he was intending to make his final Horcrux with your

death. As we know, he failed. After an interval of some years, however, he used Nagini to kill an old Muggle man, and it might then have occurred to him to turn her

into his last Horcrux. She underlines the Slytherin connection, which enhances Lord Voldemort's mystique; I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything;

he certainly likes to keep her close, and he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth.”

“So,” said Harry, “the diary's gone, the ring's gone. The cup, the locket, and the snake are still intact, and you think there might be a Horcrux that was once

Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's?”

“An admirably succinct and accurate summary, yes,” said Dumbledore, bowing his head.

“So... are you still looking for them, sir? Is that where you've been going when you've been leaving the school?”

“Correct,” said Dumbledore. “I have been looking for a very long time. I think... perhaps ... I may be close to finding another one. There are hopeful signs.”

“And if you do,” said Harry quickly, “can I come with you and help get rid of it?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry very intently for a moment before saying, “Yes, I think so.”

“I can?” said Harry, thoroughly taken aback.

“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly. “I think you have earned that right.”

Harry felt his heart lift. It was very good not to hear words of caution and protection for once. The headmasters and headmistresses around the walls seemed less

impressed by Dumbledore's decision; Harry saw a few of them shaking their heads and Phineas Nigellus actually snorted.

“Does Voldemort know when a Horcrux is destroyed, sir? Can he feel it?” Harry asked, ignoring the portraits.

“A very interesting question, Harry. I believe not. I believe that Voldemort is now so immersed in evil, and these crucial parts of himself have been detached for so

long, he does not feel as we do. Perhaps, at the point of death, he might be aware of his loss... but he was not aware, for instance, that the diary had been destroyed

until he forced the truth out of Lucius Malfoy. When Voldemort discovered that the diary had been mutilated and robbed of all its powers, I am told that his anger was

terrible to behold.”

“But I thought he meant Lucius Malfoy to smuggle it into Hogwarts?”

“Yes, he did, years ago, when he was sure he would be able to create more Horcruxes, but still Lucius was supposed to wait for Voldemorts say-so, and he never received

it, for Voldemort vanished shortly after giving him the diary. No doubt he thought that Lucius would not dare do anything with the Horcrux other than guard it

carefully, but he was counting too much upon Lucius's fear of a master who had been gone for years and whom Lucius believed dead. Of course, Lucius did not know what

the diary really was. I understand that Voldemort had told him the diary would cause the Chamber of Secrets to reopen because it was cleverly enchanted. Had Lucius

known he held a portion of his master's soul in his hands, he would undoubtedly have treated it with more reverence—but instead he went ahead and carried out the old

plan for his own ends. By planting the diary upon Arthur Weasley's daughter, he hoped to discredit Arthur and get rid of a highly incriminating magical object in one

stroke. Ah, poor Lucius... what with Voldemort's fury about the fact that he threw away the Horcrux for his own gain, and the fiasco at the Ministry last year, I would

not be surprised if he is not secretly glad to be safe in Azkaban at the moment.”

Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, “So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Dumbledore. “Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his

soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without

his Horcruxes.”

“But I haven't got uncommon skill and power,” said Harry, before he could stop himself.

“Yes, you have,” said Dumbledore firmly. “You have a power that Voldemort has never had. You can —”

“I know!” said Harry impatiently. “I can love!” It was only with difficulty that he stopped himself adding, “Big deal!”

“Yes, Harry, you can love,” said Dumbledore, who looked as though he knew perfectly well what Harry had just refrained from saying. “Which, given everything that has

happened to you, is a great and remarkable thing. You are still too young to understand how unusual you are, Harry.”

“So, when the prophecy says that I'll have ‘power the Dark Lord knows not,’ it just means—love?” asked Harry, feeling a little let down.

“Yes—just love,” said Dumbledore. “But Harry, never forget that what the prophecy says is only significant because Voldemort made it so. I told you this at the end

of last year. Voldemort singled you out as the person who would be most dangerous to him—and in doing so, he made you the person who would be most dangerous to him!”

“But it comes to the same —”

“No, it doesn't!” said Dumbledore, sounding impatient now. Pointing at Harry with his black, withered hand, he said, “You are setting too much store by the prophecy!

”

“But,” spluttered Harry, “but you said the prophecy means —”

“If Voldemort had never heard of the prophecy, would it have been fulfilled? Would it have meant anything? Of course not! Do you think every prophecy in the Hall of

Prophecy has been fulfilled?”

“But,” said Harry, bewildered, “but last year, you said one of us would have to kill the other —”

“Harry, Harry, only because Voldemort made a grave error, and acted on Professor Trelawney's words! If Voldemort had never murdered your father, would he have imparted

in you a furious desire for revenge? Of course not! If he had not forced your mother to die for you, would he have given you a magical protection he could not

penetrate? Of course not, Harry! Don't you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the

people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back! Voldemort is no

different! Always he was on the lookout for the one who would challenge him. He heard the prophecy and he leapt into action, with the result that he not only handpicked

the man most likely to finish him, he handed him uniquely deadly weapons!”

“But —”

“It is essential that you understand this!” said Dumbledore, standing up and striding about the room, his glittering robes swooshing in his wake; Harry had never seen

him so agitated. “By attempting to kill you, Voldemort himself singled out the remarkable person who sits here in front of me, and gave him the tools for the job! It

is Voldemort's fault that you were able to see into his thoughts, his ambitions, that you even understand the snakelike language in which he gives orders, and yet,

Harry, despite your privileged insight into Voldemort's world (which, incidentally, is a gift any Death Eater would kill to have), you have never been seduced by the

Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of Voldemort's followers!”

“Of course I haven't!” said Harry indignantly. “He killed my mum and dad!”

“You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!” said Dumbledore loudly. “The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like

Voldemort's! In spite of all the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven, when you

stared into a mirror that reflected your heart's desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord Voldemort, and not immortality or riches. Harry, have you any

idea how few wizards could have seen what you saw in that mirror? Voldemort should have known then what he was dealing with, but he did not!

“But he knows it now. You have flitted into Lord Voldemort's mind without damage to yourself, but he cannot possess you without enduring mortal agony, as he discovered

in the Ministry. I do not think he understands why, Harry, but then, he was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused to understand the incomparable

power of a soul that is untarnished and whole.”

“But, sir,” said Harry, making valiant efforts not to sound argumentative, “it all comes to the same thing, doesn't it? I've got to try and kill him, or —”

“Got to?” said Dumbledore. “Of course you've got to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you've tried! We both know it!

Imagine, please, just for a moment, that you had never heard that prophecy! How would you feel about Voldemort now? Think!”

Harry watched Dumbledore striding up and down in front ol him, and thought. He thought of his mother, his father, and Sinus. He thought of Cedric Diggory. He thought of

all the terrible deeds he knew Lord Voldemort had done. A flame seemed to leap inside his chest, searing his throat.

“I'd want him finished,” said Harry quietly. “And I'd want to do it.”

“Of course you would!” cried Dumbledore. “You see, the prophecy does not mean you have to do anything! But the prophecy caused Lord Voldemort to mark you as his

equal... In other words, you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy! But Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will

continue to hunt you... which makes it certain, really, that —”

“That one of us is going to end up killing the other,” said Harry.

“Yes.”

But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the

death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew—

and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents—that there was all the difference in the world.

哈利能感到随着蹑手蹑脚地走进城堡时，飞力飞思的药力已经开始消退了。前门仍然没有锁上，但是他在四楼遇见了皮皮鬼，他赶紧躲进了一条他的捷径之中，才勉强没有被察觉。当他赶到胖

夫人的画像，扯下了他的隐形斗篷时，并不惊讶地发现胖夫人此时的心情对他进去毫无帮助。

 

　　“你觉得现在是什么时候了？”

 

　　“我真的很抱歉——我有很重要的事情得出去做——”

 

　　“很好，口令在午夜改了，因此你得睡在走廊里了，知道吗？”

 

　　“你在开玩笑！”哈利说。“为什么要在午夜改口令？”

 

　　“就是要这样，”胖夫人说。“如果你很生气，去找校长说吧，是他要加强安全措施的。”

 

　　“好极了，”哈利悻悻地说，看着周围坚硬的地板。“真是太棒了。是的，如果邓布利多在的话，我会去找他说的，因为是他要我去——”

 

　　“他在学校，”哈利身后的一个声音说。“邓布利多教授一个小时前回到了学校。”

 

　　差点没头的尼克向哈利滑了过来，他的脑袋和往常一样在环形领上晃动。

 

　　“我从血人巴罗那儿知道的，他看到邓布利多回来了，”尼克说。“根据巴罗说的，邓布利多教授似乎心情不错，不过有点累，那是当然的。”

 

　　“他在哪儿？”哈利的心脏剧烈地跳动起来。

 

　　“哦，他正在天文塔上呻吟和发出叮叮当当的响声，这是他最喜欢的消遣——”

 

　　“不是血人巴罗，是邓布利多！”

 

　　“哦——在他的办公室里，”尼克说。“根据血人巴罗说的，我相信他在上床睡觉之前还有事情要做——”

 

　　“是的，他有，”哈利一想到将要告诉邓布利多他已经获取了那份记忆，心中的激动就熊熊燃烧了起来。他转过身又开始跑了起来，没有理会胖夫人在他的身后呼喊。

 

　　“回来！好吧，我扯了谎！我被你叫醒了所以很气恼！口令还是‘绦虫’！”

 

　　但是哈利已经在沿着走廊飞奔了，几分钟后，他就停在了邓布利多的石兽前，说完口令“太妃手指饼”，石兽跳到了一边，让哈利走进了螺旋楼梯。

 

　　“请进，”哈利敲门的时候邓布利多说。他听起来已经精疲力尽了。

 

　　哈利推开了门。邓布利多的办公室看上去和以前一样，不过窗外是撒满星星的漆黑夜空。

 

　　“天啊，哈利，”邓布利多惊奇地说。“我应该把这份深夜的快乐归因于什么呢？”

 

　　“教授——我拿到它了。我已经从斯拉霍恩那儿拿到了记忆。”

 

　　哈利拿出了那个小玻璃瓶并把它展示给邓布利多看。在那一瞬间，校长看很震惊。然后他的脸上绽放出了微笑。

 

　　“哈利，这是一个激动人心的消息！的确干得漂亮！我知道你能做到！”

 

　　他显然已经忘记现在很晚了，急匆匆地走过办公桌，用没有受伤的那只手接过装有斯拉霍恩记忆的瓶子，大步地走到了放冥想盆的橱柜前。

 

　　“现在，”邓布利多把石盆放到办公桌上并把瓶子里的东西全倒了进去。“现在，我们终于要看到了。哈利，快……”

 

　　哈利顺从地把脸弯向了冥想盆，他感到自己的脚离开了办公室的地板……他再一次掉入了黑暗中，并降落在许多年以前的贺瑞斯·斯拉霍恩的办公室。

 

　　斯拉霍恩比现在年轻得多，他长着一头光亮的稻草色头发和姜黄色的胡须，又一次坐在了办公室的那张舒适的带翼扶手椅里，他的脚搁在一块天鹅绒垫子，一只手拿着一小杯葡萄酒，另一

只手则在一盒菠萝蜜饯里摸索。有半打男生围坐在斯拉霍恩身边，汤姆·里德尔也在其中，马沃罗的黑金戒指在他的手指上闪闪发光。

 

　　邓布利多降落在哈利身边，这时里德尔问，“教授，梅利索特教授真的要退休了吗？”

 

　　“汤姆，汤姆，我就是知道也不能告诉你，”斯拉霍恩责备对里德尔摇着一根手指，不过同时还眨了眨眼。“我必须说，我想知道你是怎么得到消息的，孩子；你的消息比一半的教员都要

灵通。”

 

　　里德尔露出了微笑；其他男孩也笑了起来，还向他投去了钦佩的目光。

 

　　“考虑到你打听不该知道的东西的那种离奇才能，和你对重要人物周到细致的奉承——顺便谢谢你送我这些菠萝，它们确实是我的最爱——”

 

　　几个男孩又吃吃地笑了。

 

　　“——我自信地预计你将在二十年内爬上魔法部部长的职位。如果你一直给我送菠萝的话，就只要十五年，我在魔法部里有极好的熟人。”

 

　　汤姆·里德尔只是和其他人那样又笑了笑。哈利注意到他绝对不是那群男孩中年龄最大的一个，但是他们似乎全部都把他当作了首领。

 

　　“我不知道从政是否适合我，教授，”当笑声散尽之后，他说。“首先，我没有合适的家庭背景。”

 

　　他身边的几个男孩冲彼此傻笑了一下。哈利确信他们正在讲一个私人笑话：无疑是出于他们所知道或者猜测的，和他们首领的著名祖先有关的笑话。

 

　　“胡说，”斯拉霍恩轻快地说，“像你这样有能力的人一定出自正派的巫师世家，这个再清楚不过了。你错了，你会大有作为的，汤姆，我还从来没看错过一个学生。”

 

　　斯拉霍恩身后的办公桌上的一只金色小钟报起了时，十一点了，他回头看了看。

 

　　“天哪，已经那么晚了吗？”斯拉霍恩说。“你们最好回去，孩子们，否则我们大家就都有麻烦了。莱斯特兰奇，我希望你明天交上论文，否则就只好关禁闭了。你也一样，埃弗里。”

 

　　男孩们一个接一个地走出了房间。斯拉霍恩从扶手椅里站了起来，并把空玻璃杯放回到办公桌上。他身后的一声响动令他回过头看了看；里德尔仍然站在那儿。

 

　　“快走吧，汤姆，你不想在这种时候被抓到不在床上吧，而且你还是个级长……”

 

　　“教授，我想问你件事。”

 

　　“那么问吧，我的孩子，问吧……”

 

　　“教授，你知不知道……灵魂碎片的事？”

 

　　斯拉霍恩盯着他看，肥厚的手指心不在焉地抚摸着葡萄酒杯的柄角。

 

　　“黑魔法防御术的课题，是吗？”

 

　　但是哈利看出斯拉霍恩知道得很清楚，这不是作业。

 

　　“不完全是，教授，”里德尔说。“我看书时偶然碰到了这个词，我不是很理解它。”

 

　　“是啊……嗯……你很几乎不可能在霍格沃茨找到一本书能够详细地描述灵魂碎片，汤姆。那是充满了黑魔法的东西，确实充满了黑魔法，”斯拉霍恩说。

 

　　“但是你显然完全懂得它们，先生？我的意思是，一个像你这样的巫师——对不起，我的意思是，你不能告诉我，显而易见——我本来觉得如果有谁能告诉我，那就是你了——所以我以为

可以来问——”

 

　　他做非常好，哈利想，他的踌躇、不经意的语气和细致的恭维，都掌握得恰到好处。他——哈利——已经有了太多经验从不情愿的人那儿套出话而不被人察觉。他看得出里德尔非常非常想

获得这些资料；也许已经为了这片刻的时间而准备了好几个星期。

 

　　“嗯，”斯拉霍恩没有看里德尔，而是拨弄着菠萝蜜饯盒顶上的丝带，“嗯，让你了解个大概当然不会有什么危害。仅仅是为了让你理解这个词。灵魂碎片这个词描述的是一件被人隐藏了

一部分灵魂的物品。”

 

　　“不过我还是不太理解那是怎么做的，教授，”里德尔说。

 

　　他小心地控制着自己的声音，但是哈利可以感觉到他的兴奋。

 

　　“嗯，你要使自己的灵魂分裂，”斯拉霍恩说，“再把其中的一部分藏到身体以外的某个物品上。然后，即使你的身体受到攻击或者被毁灭，却死不了，因为你的一部分灵魂仍然完好无损

地留在这个世界上。不过，当然是以那样一种形式存在着……”

 

　　斯拉霍恩的脸上泛起了皱纹，哈利想起了自己在大约两年前听到过的那些话。

 

　　“我被从自己的身体里剥离，比不上幽灵，比不上最低劣的鬼魂……但是，我活下来了。”

 

　　“……极少有人想要这样，汤姆，极少。死亡是更可取的。”

 

　　但里德尔的欲望已经写在了脸上；他的表情贪婪，已经无法再掩饰自己的渴求了。

 

　　“怎么去分裂灵魂？”

 

　　“嗯，”斯拉霍恩不安地说，“你一定能理解，灵魂本应该是保持完整无缺的。分裂灵魂是一种悖逆，它与自然界背道而驰。”

 

　　“但那是怎么做到的呢？”

 

　　“通过一种邪恶的行为——最邪恶的行为。通过杀人！杀人能够撕裂灵魂。决意要制造一个灵魂碎片的巫师会利用这种破坏使自己得利：他会把撕裂出来的那一部分封装起来——”

 

　　“封装起来？怎么——？”

 

　　“通过一个咒语，别问我，我不知道！”斯拉霍恩摇着头，就像一只被蚊子困扰的年迈大象一样。“我看起来像试过的人吗——我看起来像一个杀人犯吗？”

 

　　“不，教授，当然不是，”里德尔迅速说。“对不起……我不是故意要冒犯你……”

 

　　“没关系，没关系，没有冒犯我，”斯拉霍恩粗声说。“对这些事情感到好奇是正常的……有才干巫师总是被那方面的魔法所吸引……”

 

　　“是的，教授，”里德尔说。“可我不明白的是——仅仅是出于好奇——我是说，一个灵魂碎片能用很多次吗？只能分裂一次灵魂吗？把灵魂分成很多块，这样不就更强大了吗，这样不是

更好吗？我是指，举个例子，7不是最有魔力的数字吗，会不会7块——？”

 

　　“我的天哪，汤姆！”斯拉霍恩叫道。“7！杀一个人还不够坏吗？无论如何……分裂灵魂已经够坏了……还要撕裂成7块……”

 

　　现在斯拉霍恩看起来陷入了深深的不安：他凝视着里德尔，好像自己以前从来没有把他看透，而且哈利看得出他对开始这次谈话非常懊悔。

 

　　“当然，”他喃喃自语，“我们讨论的这些都只是假定，对不对？都只是理论上……”

 

　　“是的，教授，那是当然，”里德尔马上说。

 

　　“尽管如此，汤姆……不要对别人说起我刚才告诉你的——也就是说，我们讨论的内容。人们不会认为我们只是在闲扯灵魂碎片。你知道这在霍格沃茨是个禁忌的话题……邓布利多对此的

反应尤其激烈……”

 

　　“我一个字也不会说的，教授，”里德尔说，随后就离开了，哈利瞥见他的脸上洋溢着狂喜的表情，和他第一次知道自己是巫师时一样，这种快乐并没有使他的容貌变的更加英俊，却不知

怎么地，让他变得有些丧心病狂……

 

　　“谢谢你，哈利，”邓布利多平静地说。“我们走吧……”

 

　　当哈利降落在办公室地板上时，邓布利多已经在他的办公桌后面坐下了。哈利也坐了下来，等待着邓布利多开口说话。

 

　　“我希望得到这个证明已经很久了，”邓布利多终于说话了，“它证实了我一直以来的推测，它告诉我，我是正确的，也表明我们还任重道远……”

 

　　哈利突然注意到墙上每一幅画像里的前任校长都醒着，并且听着他们的对话。一个肥胖的红鼻子巫师竟然已经拿出了一个助听器。

 

　　“嗯，哈利，”邓布利多说，“我敢肯定你能理解我们刚刚听到的那些话的重要性。就在你现在这样的年龄，汤姆·里德尔已经在竭尽全力地寻找使自己长生不死的方法了。”

 

　　“那么你觉得他成功了，教授？”哈利问。“他制造了一个灵魂碎片？这就是为什么他攻击了我之后并没有死的原因？他把一个灵魂碎片藏在了某个地方？他的一小块灵魂安然无恙？”

 

　　“一小块……或者更多，”邓布利多说。“你听到了伏地魔说的话：他尤其想从斯拉霍恩那儿了解到，如果一个巫师创造出了不止一个的灵魂碎片将会获得什么结果。一个如此坚决地逃避

死亡的巫师——他甚至准备好了去不断地杀人，不断地撕裂灵魂，以便把它们分别隐藏在多个灵魂碎片之中——将会获得什么结果。没有一本书能告诉他。就我所知道的——就伏地魔所知道，

我敢肯定——没有一个巫师曾经把灵魂撕成两片以上。”

 

　　邓布利多短暂地停顿了一会儿，整理了一下他的思路，然后说，“四年前，我得到了一样东西，它证明伏地魔已经分离出了他的灵魂。”

 

　　“在哪里？”哈利问。“怎么得到的？”

 

　　“你把它交给我的，哈利，”邓布利多说。“那本日记，里德尔的日记，那本指挥了重新打开秘室的日记。”

 

　　“我不明白，教授，”哈利说。

 

　　“嗯，虽然我没有看到里德尔从日记里走出来，但你给我描述的现象是我从来没有见过的。仅仅一段记忆就能独立地行动和思考吗？仅仅一段记忆，就能吸取那个女孩的生命并据为己有吗

？不，那本日记里存在着更邪恶的东西……一个灵魂的片断，我几乎能肯定就是这样。日记是一个灵魂碎片。但是它带来的问题和它解答的一样多。最令我着迷和警觉的就是那本日记不仅被当

作一个安全措施，而且还被当成一项武器在使用。”

 

　　“我还是不明白，”哈利说。

 

　　“也就是说，它不仅承担着灵魂碎片的本职工作——换句话说，这一段封存于其中的灵魂被安全地保存着，并且毋庸置疑地发挥着防止它的拥有者死亡的作用。但是毫无疑问伏地魔真的想

让日记被人读，想让他的一片灵魂占据或者拥有某个人的身体，这才导致了斯莱特林的怪物再次被释放了出来。”

 

　　“是啊，他不希望自己辛苦的工作没有用武之地，”哈利说。“他想让人们知道他是斯莱特林的继承人，因为那时他没办法自己做到。”

 

　　“非常正确，”邓布利多点了点头说。“但是没有注意吗，哈利，如果他想要把日记传给，或者栽赃给某个将来的霍格沃茨学生，那就说明他已经对隐藏在里面的宝贵的灵魂片断感到非常

厌倦和麻木了。正如斯拉霍恩教授所解释的，灵魂碎片的关键在于把自身的一部分安全地藏匿好，而不是把它扔给别人去冒被人毁灭的危险——事实上也发生了：这个灵魂的片断已经灰飞烟灭

了；你一定也留意到了。

 

　　“伏地魔如此粗心地对待灵魂碎片，这在我看来似乎是一个不祥之兆。它表明他一定制作了——或者正计划制作出——更多的灵魂碎片，所以损失掉他的第一个并没有什么妨害。我不愿相

信这一点，但是没有别的解释能说通。

 

　　“两年之后你告诉我，伏地魔重回自己身体的那个晚上，他对食死徒说了那一番如此有启发性和警示性的话。‘我在长生的路上走得比谁都远。’你把他说的那些话告诉了我。‘比谁都远

。’我认为自己懂得了它的含义，尽管食死徒们不懂。他指的是他的灵魂碎片，不止一个的灵魂碎片，哈利，我不相信其他任何巫师可以做得到。然而它与推测相吻合：过去的几年里伏地魔的

人性越来越少，而且他还遭受了那些变形，只有一个解释在我来看是合理的，那就是他的灵魂已经支离破碎，他已经超越了我们通常所称之为一般邪恶的领域……”

 

　　“所以他就通过杀人来让自己变得不可能被人杀死？”哈利说。“如果他这么喜欢长生不老，为什么他不去制作一块魔法石，或者去偷一块？”

 

　　“嗯，我们知道他五年前就这样尝试过，”邓布利多说。“但是我想，有几个理由能让一块魔法石对伏地魔的吸引力小于灵魂碎片。”

 

　　“要想让长生不老药真正地延续生命，就必须定期地服用它，如果服用者想获得永生的话，就必须永远服用下去。因此，伏地魔将完全地依赖于长生不老药，如果它用光了，或者被污染了

，或者魔法石被偷了，他就会和其他人一样死去。记住，伏地魔喜欢独自行动。我相信他会发现依赖于其他事物是不可容忍的，即使是依赖于长生不老药也一样。在他攻击了你之后，被迫陷入

了半死不活的可怕状态，如果能摆脱这种境地，他当然是愿意喝下它的，但仅仅只是为了收回自己的身体。在那之后，我确信他还是会继续依赖他的灵魂碎片：只要能获得人形，他就什么都不

需要了。他已经长生不死了……或者比任何人都更接近长生不死了。

 

　　“但是现在，哈利，我们获得了这个信息，你成功地拿到了这份至关重要的记忆，我们比其他任何人在任何时候都更接近了终结伏地魔的秘诀。你听到他说了，哈利：‘把灵魂分成很多块

，这样不就更强大了吗，这样不是更好吗……7不是最有魔力的数字吗……’7不是最有魔力的数字吗。是的，我认为把灵魂分成七块的想法深深地吸引了伏地魔。”

 

　　“他制作了七个灵魂碎片？”哈利惊恐万分，墙上的几幅画像也发出了同样震惊和愤慨的声音。“可是它们可能在世界上的任何地方——被藏了起来——埋了起来或者是不引人注目——”

 

　　“我很高兴你认识到了问题的严重，”邓布利多平静地说。“但是首先，不，哈利，不是七个灵魂碎片：是六个。他的第七部分灵魂，尽管受了重伤，但仍然留在他重生的身体里。这一部

分在他那么多年的流亡生涯里就像鬼怪一样存在着；没有它，他根本没有自己。对于想要杀死伏地魔的人来说，第七块灵魂将是他们攻击的最后一块——他身体里的那一块。

 

　　“但是还有六个灵魂碎片，”哈利有点儿绝望地说，“我们怎么才能找到它们？”

 

　　“你忘了…你已经毁灭掉了其中一个。而我已经毁灭了另一个。”

 

　　“你已经毁了另一个？”哈利急切地说。

 

　　“确实如此，”邓布利多说，他举起了发黑、烧伤的手。“那枚戒指，哈利。马沃罗的戒指。它上面还有一个可怕的诅咒。如果不是我——原谅我缺乏适当的谦虚——拥有强大的本领，如

果不是当我回到霍格沃茨时斯内普教授及时的行动，我就会遭受极其严重的伤痛，也许就不能活着告诉你这个故事了。不管怎样，一只干瘪的手却换来了伏地魔七分之一的灵魂，还是很划算的

。那枚戒指已经不再是一个灵魂碎片了。”

 

　　“但你是怎么发现它的呢？”

 

　　“嗯，正如你现在所知道的，很多年来我一直尽可能多地去努力发掘伏地魔的过去。我到处旅行，拜访那些他熟悉的地方。我无意中发现那枚戒指就藏在刚特家的废墟之中。似乎伏地魔在

把灵魂封印到里面之后就再也不想戴着它了。他把它藏了起来，用许多强有力的魔法保护它，放在他的祖先曾经居住的小屋里（摩芬当然已经被带到了阿兹卡班），从来没想到我可能有一天会

自找麻烦去参观这座废墟，或者没有想到我会密切留意用魔法掩藏东西的蛛丝马迹。

 

　　“无论如何，我们不能沾沾自喜。你毁灭了日记而我毁灭了戒指，但是如果我们关于七块灵魂的推论是正确的话，那就还有四个灵魂碎片呢。”

 

　　“并且它们可能是任何东西，”哈利说。“它们可能是旧的马口铁罐头，或者，我不知道，空的魔药瓶子……？”

 

　　“你是在考虑选择门钥匙吧，哈利，那些都是普通的物品，容易被忽视掉。但是伏地魔会用马口铁罐头和旧魔药瓶去守卫自己珍贵的灵魂吗？你忘了我给你看的那些事情。伏地魔喜欢收集

战利品，他偏爱的是充满了魔法历史的物品。他的骄傲，他对自己优越性的信仰，他要为自己在魔法史上刻下惊人印记的决心；这些都暗示我伏地魔会慎重地挑选他的灵魂碎片，更喜爱那些配

得上这个荣誉的物品。”

 

　　“那本日记并没有那么特别。”

 

　　“那本日记，就像你自己所说的那样，证明了他是斯莱特林的继承人；我敢肯定伏地魔认为它惊人地重要。”

 

　　“那么，其他的灵魂碎片呢？”哈利说。“你知道它们都是什么吗，教授？”

 

　　“我只能猜测，”邓布利多说。“根据我所说的那些理由，我相信伏地魔会用那些本身就十分伟大的物品。因此我才会搜索伏地魔的过去，看看是否有证据表明曾有这种物品在他的周围消

失过。”

 

　　“那个盒式坠子！”哈利大声说。“赫奇帕奇的杯子！”

 

　　“是的，”邓布利多微笑着说。“我可以用——也许不是我另一整只手——两根手指来打赌，它们成为了灵魂碎片的三号和四号。剩下的两个——再次假定他一共制作了六个——就难猜了

，但是我可以大胆猜一下，在获得了赫奇帕奇和斯莱特林的物品之后，他就开始追查起属于格兰芬多和拉文克劳的物品了。我敢肯定四个物品来自四个创始人的想法，强有力地震撼了伏地魔的

脑海。我不能回答他是不是已经得到了拉文克劳的东西，但是我相信格兰芬多唯一已知的遗物仍安然无恙。”

 

　　邓布利多用他发黑的手指示意了一下他身后的墙，一柄镶着红宝石的剑正静静地躺在玻璃盒子里。

 

　　“你认为这就是他真正想回霍格沃茨的原因，教授？”哈利说。“为了找出剩下的某个创始人的东西？”

 

　　“正是我所想的，”邓布利多说，“但不幸的是，虽然他被我们了学校之外，没有机会搜寻这所学校，或者我相信如此，这也并没有给我们带来更多的优势。我不得不断定，他从未去实现

集满四个创始人之物的野心。他肯定拥有两个——也许找到了三个——那就是眼下我们能做的最好的事了。”

 

　　“就算他拿到了拉文克劳或格兰芬多的东西，也还剩第六个灵魂碎片，”哈利扳着手指算。“除非他两个都拿到了？”

 

　　“我不这样认为，”邓布利多说。“我想我知道第六个灵魂碎片是什么。我得承认，我曾经一度很好奇那条蛇，纳吉尼，我想知道你对此有什么看法？”

 

　　“那条蛇？”哈利惊讶地说。“能用动物作灵魂碎片吗？”

 

　　“嗯，这样做很不明智，”邓布利多说。“因为把灵魂的一部分托付给某个能独立思考和行动的东西是个极大的冒险。不管怎样，如果我的考虑是正确的，伏地魔在进入你父母家打算杀死

你的时候，他距离制作六个灵魂碎片的目标，至少还差一个需要完成。

 

　　“他似乎把制作灵魂碎片的过程保留给了具有特殊意义的谋杀。你就属于那种具有特殊意义的谋杀。他相信一旦杀了你，就可以将那段预言勾勒出的危险摧毁。他相信这会让他变得不可战

胜。我敢肯定他要用你的死亡来制作最后一个灵魂碎片。

 

　　“正如我们所知道的，他失败了。然而，隔了一些年之后，他用纳吉尼杀死了一个麻瓜老人，这可能让他想到了把它变成自己最后的一个灵魂碎片。它凸现了伏地魔和斯莱特林的联系，加

强了伏地魔的神秘感。我认为他对它的喜爱已经超过了任何事物；他显然喜欢把它带在身边，即使作为一个蛇佬腔，他对其的控制程度也是很不同寻常的。”

 

　　“那么，”哈利说，“日记没了，戒指没了。杯子、坠子和那条蛇都还完好无损，而且你认为还有一个灵魂碎片是拉文克劳或者格兰芬多曾经用过的东西？”

 

　　“一个极为简洁和正确的总结，是的，”邓布利多颔首作答。

 

　　“那么……你仍在寻找他们吗，教授？你离开学校的时候就是去找它们了吧？”

 

　　“正确，”邓布利多说。“我已经找了很久。我想……也许……我已经快找到另外一个了。有一些乐观的迹象。”

 

　　“如果你找到了，”哈利迅速地说，“我可以和你一起去，并帮你毁灭它吗？”

 

　　邓布利多非常认真地凝视了哈利好一会儿，然后才说，“是的，我想可以。”

 

　　“我可以？”哈利大吃一惊。

 

　　“哦，是的，”邓布利微微地笑着。“我认为你已经挣得了那个权利。”

 

　　哈利觉得他的心被提了起来。没有听到那些警告和保护的话