Percy Jackson and the Locket of Salazar [Book 6]

29) This Chapter Is NOT Happy

Katie was transferred to St. Mungo's the following day, and, while the rumor mill was working its way through the student body, Draco and I got to work with his plan.

I wouldn't be able to do much until later, admittedly. I sat on one of the desks in the unused classroom we were holed up in, watching him point his wand at a book, saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!" and getting frustrated when the book levitated.

"Did you curse Katie?" I asked tiredly, noting the stiffness in his shoulders.

"I didn't mean to," Draco grumbled. "She was supposed to bring the package to Dumbledore."

"Did you put her under the Imperius Curse?"

"No. I confunded her then healed her, but not all the way."

I sighed. At least she hadn't been controlled.

"I don't want to look at him when I kill him, Percy," Draco said, voice wavering, exhausted. I wanted to tell him to just not kill Dumbledore, but I knew he wasn't going to back down. Dumbledore had to die, they'd both made the decision.

"Poison him or something," I muttered.

"Maybe," Draco said, throwing another spell at the book then getting more frustrated as it did what it was supposed to do.

I couldn't understand why Dumbledore was so willing to die. I understood that, given how things were played, it was his choice, not Draco's. If Draco were to have it his way, he'd probably have just denounced Voldemort's name and joined the good side. Dumbledore seemed more certain that it couldn't turn out that way. It made sense, but I didn't like it. I couldn't imagine how it felt to be Draco, who had to kill the man.

It was strange, realizing that Dumbledore could very well have died if Katie hadn't accidentally touched the opal necklace.

I didn't see my friends again that day, avoiding them so I wouldn't have to discuss the matter of the necklace, but on Monday it was time to head to Dumbledore's office for a lesson. Harry was already in there when I arrived fashionably late (I'd been debating not going), looking frustrated.

It seemed everyone around me was frustrated as of late.

"Ah, Mr. Jackson," Dumbledore said warmly, though he seemed more subdued than usual, "it is good to see you. Shall we begin?" Without waiting for an answer, Dumbledore poured fresh memories into the Pensieve on his desk.

"You will remember, I am sure," Dumbledore said, "that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Rom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

Harry asked, "How do you know she was in London, sir?"

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke, who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace you and I have just been discussing."

Swirling the contents of the Pensieve, Dumbledore stared at the man that rose from the waters, silver as a ghost with hair that completely covered his eyes. The man spoke. "Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along... going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Once Dumbledore shook the Pensieve and sent the man back into the depths, Harry snapped, "He only gave her ten Galleons?"

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," Dumbledore said dryly. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms."

"But she could do magic!" Harry barked. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, "perhaps she could. But it is my belief — I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right — that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?"

"No," Harry said quickly, "but she had a choice, didn't she, not like my mother —"

"Your mother had a choice, too," Dumbledore said softly. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand..."

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to tramp down my thoughts of sympathies for Voldemort.

"This time," Dumbledore said, "we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, boys..."

Harry bent over the Pensieve first, and I saw by the way his body relaxed that he was in the memory.

I looked up at Dumbledore and said, voice low, "There's nothing wrong with sympathy for the villain, you know. Villains are people, too. It's when you let your sympathy cloud your judgement that there's a problem."

"I believe you are quite right, Mr. Jackson," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I often find myself sympathizing... wishing his life had been different. I don't think that boy deserved the childhood he had."

"Draco doesn't want to kill you, you know."

Dumbledore stared at me. The twinkle in his eyes had vanished, replaced with a look that reminded me of how unbelievably old the man before me was. He'd lived my life time over and over again. "I know. But he can't let his sympathies, his morals, his apprehensions cloud his judgement. I cannot let my desire to live cloud mine. Death comes for us all, Mr. Jackson, and I am no master of death."

"Your morals can't cloud your judgement," I said quietly, looking into the water of the Pensieve. "They're the foundations of your judgement."

And then I was falling into memory.

Sorry there was not a chapter last week. I forgot about it, then it was Monday, and I decided to just write later. Also, sorry this chapter is short, I am hungry and wanted to get it done. The night I last posted, I was sleeping peacefully, cozily, a comfortable ball of dreams. Then my phone started blaring: uh oh, tornado warning. It was actually pretty bad. My house and family is all fine, but our willow tree did get uprooted. Our neighbor's barn is torn to shreds, and another neighbor had a tree fall on his roof. Someone not far from us had their whole house picked up and thrown. A lot of the trees on my road are unsalvageable. I don't remember how many people died, but one of them was a mother who'd just had a baby, and another was a guy helping cleanup the morning after who had a branch fall on him. It was pretty bad. Things are much better, though. I find out my AP scores in a month — that's nerve-wracking. My nephew turns one in a week. In the book I'm reading, my favorite character died with more than two-hundred pages left, and I'm miffed. I spent nine-hundred pages falling in love and then he died?!? I went mini-golfing with my dad and sister yesterday. I lost but I was also the only one who got a hole in one which makes me the best. I think a friend of mine will also be doing the early start for college, so I won't be alone for that first week, hopefully.

Anyway, I hope you guys have had a happy time, and I'll see you soon. Love ya!