Chapter Three: Requiem of Revelation

Chapter Three: Requiem of Revelation

Seven days... the time allotted by Creation to fill the Void with stars, to set the Earth spinning, to kindle the spark of Life. Seven days... a breath, an eternity... all dependent upon the perspective of those living within... or through... that span of time. For Minerva, the past seven days had been both--a dizzying flash, an endless odyssey.

Upon returning from Gwaun, she had immediately dispatched Adare, one of her personal owls, to the Healer, bearing the cryptic message, "Send word." She knew this faithful Tawny, long trusted to deliver communiqués between members of the Order, would wait patiently for Gareth's reply. Remembering the familiar Muggle adage, "No news is good news," she tried to find solace in that old saying, for no message came.

Hagrid had approached her several times each day, eyes full of his unspoken question, and she had shaken her head. "No, there is no message." It saddened her to see the changes which the war had made to her friend's face, the deep furrows and lines etched around his eyes, across his brow--tracks of worry and introspection she had not seen there before. He seemed far less inclined to pause for a chat, to ramble on about some inconsequential event of the day. She knew he carried his losses, and his newly-acquired burden of secrecy, with an altered heart.

The first several days after the Battle had been devastating and exhausting. So many wounded to be cared for and far too many memorials to be arranged. The chambers, halls, and grounds of Hogwarts Castle echoed with the sounds of weeping, words of comfort and remembrance, the mournful music of requiem. Each grieving family had received Minerva's strength as she held them sorrowing in her arms. She was the rock against which those left bereft could hurl their anger and denial, their wrenching ache. As acceptance began, she became a foundation upon which they struggled to build their first hopes for renewal, for a life no longer pillaged by terror and deceit.

In the dead of night, hours before the dawning of the second day, the decimated corpse of Tom Riddle was removed from the anteroom of Hogwarts by a delegation of veteran Aurors, accompanied by Minerva and senior members of the Wizengard. More than one Ministry official was conveniently absent, called away on 'urgent business,' shunning any association with Riddle's body. She had debated whether Harry should be present, but when the house-elves advised that he was soundly sleeping in his old room in Gryffindor Tower, she chose not to wake him. The blessing of peaceful sleep would serve him better than participating in this rite of banishment.

Once outside the school grounds, the somber group had Apparated to a clearing deep within the remote reaches of the Forbidden Forest, met there by Hagrid and a bristling Swedish Short-Snout, moon-glow reflecting from its cerulean scales. Gathered around the Dark Lord's remains, none uttered any word of eulogy, save one command spoken to the dragon in solemn unison.

"Flamma."

The dragon's fire exploded in a brilliant arc of light and heat, the most intense of all magical flame, consuming in an instant the body of He Who Must Not Be Named, leaving only a handful of black ash on the Forest floor. One Auror, a trusted veteran of his Order, stepped forward to encase the ash in a heavily-warded urn of iron. Concealing the urn within his cloak, he turned to face the others, his right hand extended to receive the touch of the wands of Minerva, his fellow Aurors, and the Wizengard, each weaving a Circle of Commitment and Protection around him. Hagrid stood apart, his great hand on the dragon's neck, his wand hidden from long habit. He would not participate openly, but his attention was no less keen when the senior Auror spoke.

"It is my Pledge, my Trust, my Vow, to carry this Vessel to the farthest regions of the Earth, to consign it to the Flames of the Core so that it should never again be opened, and its contents never again unleashed upon the Worlds."

All present nodded in silent acknowledgement, even the dragon standing quiet. Henceforth, this Auror's sacred obligation would be his Pledge. The remains of Tom Riddle's body must mirror his shattered soul--never again to be resurrected, never again to personify death and havoc, never again to be whole.

At eventide of the second day, Harry came alone to find her and together they climbed to the top of the Astronomy Tower, recalling the day when the Wizarding World had shifted, changing forever. They sat together through the long fragrant night, Minerva allowing Harry to grieve, to understand he was no longer the lamb of sacrifice, to realize that he could finally take a direction of his own choosing. She shared her memories of his parents and her reminiscences of Albus Dumbledore, the fallen members of the Order, the lost children of the Army.

There was only one she would not speak about at length... Severus Snape. She withdrew from Harry's questions about the absence of the Potions master's body, the failure of his portrait to appear, the nature of his character and true intent.

"He was my student, and my colleague. He was my..." She thought to speak of him as her friend, but found the words would not come.

"I mourn him, Harry, finding that I did not truly know him."

He respected her wishes, but she knew her reticence troubled him. There seemed a compelling need in the young wizard to learn as much as possible about the man to whom he owed so much, but she dared not look in his eyes and speak to him of Severus... or she would surely relent and reveal her secret.

By sunset of the fourth day, Hogwarts was closed, awaiting the onset of repairs. The last of the students, including the Three, had gone home to the harbor of family and friends. Each day Minerva had stood at the gates as the groups departed, acknowledging all, embracing many, encouraging them to rest over the summer, urging them to keep up with their studies, but also to revel in the simple wonder of being alive. Some seventh-years had reluctantly inquired about NEWTs, and she had reassured them there would be the opportunity, before the new term began, to return and complete the process of examinations. She was heartened to witness nods of farewell, however hesitant, between students of every House, and here and there, the wordless exchange among former adversaries of a helping hand with bags and trunks.

The dead honored, the wounded transferred, her students safe, Minerva had spent the following two days walking every inch of castle and grounds with Hagrid or Filch--assessing damages, overseeing the inventory and storage of artifacts, books and equipment, insuring that wards were in place and any remaining staff and faculty comfortably settled. Only two places in the castle had not yet echoed her firm step or received her personal attention--the sanctums of the two wizards whose memory was a wound she bore silently.

As dawn colored the horizon on the morning of the seventh day, she walked alone to the staircase leading to the Headmaster's office, no longer avoiding the inevitable. Though the Ministry had begun to make carefully-worded inquiries, she had chosen not to enter either the office or Severus' personal quarters, but today she would do so. Standing before the gargoyle, she quietly spoke the name "Dumbledore" and watched the guardian statue swivel away to grant her access. Knowing who had placed that ward only a week ago was a knife in her heart.

Hesitating on the threshold, Minerva felt strangely reluctant to enter the long-familiar office from which she had been absent for almost a year. Casting her eyes about the silent room, she noted all portrait frames, save one, were empty, the occupants gone elsewhere in the castle to gossip and recover from the tumult of recent events. As the light of sunrise dispelled the shadows, her heart clenched with the realization that whenever he chose, the resident of that one frame could survey his most valued possessions, his favorite armchair, his papers and books, his trinkets and treasures. With few exceptions, all these things remained precisely as he had left them.

In the dark months past, all house-elves had been harshly denied permission to enter the Headmaster's office for any reason, upon threatened pain of torture or death. Minerva's throat closed around her sorrow. She understood now why that order had forbidden the house-elves to perform their duties, and whose hands had meticulously cared for each item, his actions no doubt cunningly concealed within some dark contrivance. She pictured him sneering with contempt if questioned for his motive, demanding to know why he should not retain these paltry trophies of his greatest kill, mere tokens of the immense victory he offered his Dark Lord.

She had been summoned only once to the Headmaster's office at the beginning of term, to be tersely given the new rules and regulations with which she, all staff, and students must comply. There had been no greetings or offers of hospitality, no discussion--only orders, delivered with cold authority. The room had been shrouded within an impenetrable veil of shadow, lit only by guttering candles. She had not lingered for pointless argument, nor had she chosen to look into the eyes of the man seated behind the great oaken desk. She had held her rage in check, but the acid of his curt dismissal had goaded her to respond in kind.

"Do not deceive yourself, Severus, that I will ever address you as 'Headmaster'. The word would be poison on my tongue."

She had dared to turn her back on him... had crossed the room and reached for the handle of the massive door before she heard his voice, as soft and biting as sand sifting across barren rock. Would she die in that moment, she had wondered, and leave her students without defense, simply because she could not curb her hatred?

"Ever the lioness, Minerva, ready to die bravely for the greater good? You would do better to guard your cubs, I think. Circumstances will not change, whatever name you... or any other... should choose to call me."

Had she observed without prejudice, she would perhaps have realized--this summons to his office had been a calculated warning. The room had been skillfully staged to elicit obedience and fear, but behind that ominous facade, Hogwarts' most beloved headmaster was enshrined... honored and mourned by the man who had killed him.

The surface of the desk was devoid of books or papers, an empty altar to the authority of the Headmasters of Hogwarts. The only evidence of Severus was a worn volume of Muggle philosophy--"The Ethical Writings of Cicero"--and a single glass, bearing the smoky residue of firewhisky, set on the wide window seat. Minerva envisioned him sitting in the twilight stillness, reading and drinking--communing with his demons. To all appearances, he had laid the book aside carefully, perhaps only moments before descending the staircase, moving into the shadowed corridors--to look for Harry, to look for her--to prepare for the final confrontation with the Dark Lord. No marker held his place in the book, as though he had not expected to return. The finality of these meager fragments was another wound to her heart.

She hesitated before approaching the Pensieve, standing like a Grail, bearing the memories of two powerful wizards. Harry had shared the Potions master's secrets with her, offering each like a gift of penance, seeking some understanding of the enemy he had so long despised. The Pensieve seemed so small, to hold so much. She wondered if the memories of the man hidden in Gwaun rested peacefully within, or were they a mirror of his fate, adrift in torment, never to be recovered.

As Minerva stood tracing the pattern of the runes edging the great stone basin, she heard the whisper of robes behind her and turned to see her dearest friend, his eyes beaming, and his hand, no longer blighted by curses and pain, beckoning her to come near. A restrained smile softened her face as she approached his portrait.

"Dearest Minerva, are you well? I have heard you are officially named as Headmistress of Hogwarts."

She nodded in confirmation.

"Why have you taken so long to come to your office?" Albus Dumbledore gently chided. "You should be seated in your chair, Headmistress."

She shook her head in denial.

"I'm not quite ready to take up residence here, Albus, or sit in that chair just yet."

"I do understand, Minerva." he replied. "He usually refused to sit there, as well, unless he needed to demonstrate his authority. I believe you may recall just such an encounter. Naturally, it was pointless to argue with him. Always the same sarcasm about my murderer having no right to occupy my chair... Delivered in his usual fashion, of course... Generally, he would pace, incessantly... It was exhausting to watch..."

Minerva remained silent, for there was no question who they were discussing.

"Where have you hidden him?" The question was posed without preamble.

Because deception between them was inconceivable, she whispered without hesitation, "Within a name... Safe for the moment with a Muggle Healer."

"The one we thought to hide Harry with if there was a need?" he asked.

Minerva nodded as she motioned a wingback chair away from the fireplace to settle in front of the portrait.

"Hagrid and I are the only ones who know. I created a very plausible lie, Albus. When his body could not be found, I began to openly speculate that perhaps the werewolves had carried him off. The great amount of blood on the floor of the Shack, and a few modifications on my part, made the story most believable. Given the uproar at the moment, it's almost impossible to disprove, and it's what people choose to accept as true. There's a certain irony in that, don't you agree?"

Dumbledore nodded, saying nothing, waiting for Minerva to continue.

"There was no memorial service. It was painfully easy to persuade almost everyone that he would not have wanted one. I have arranged for a discreet plaque to be placed, without ceremony, near the Restricted Section of the Library, since he was known to have a passion for books. It will state his name, the years he served here, and that he was lost in the Final Battle of Hogwarts... nothing more. You know, of course, that no portrait has appeared, but since he's commonly believed to have deserted this school, that was readily explained away. Harry will be my greatest problem there. He will certainly try to insist on a portrait. We must find a way to prevent that.

"Most people seem relieved to simply wash their hands of him. The Ministry is trying to sort itself, frantic to avoid any recriminations. No one there is truly concerned with the ugly killing of a Death Eater turned spy. Even Harry confronting Voldemort with the facts hasn't convinced the general Wizarding public." Minerva's mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. "Quite a few Ministry officials are claiming that years as your spy do not negate his prior crimes, and that judgments against him should be meted out posthumously. So ready to place blame, even now... particularly if condemning him diverts attention from them.

"If any Death Eaters manage to evade the Aurors, they'll surely want vengeance and should they ever suspect, they'll not rest until they've found him. Of course, Rita Skeeter can scarcely contain herself; she's so eager to market one of her heinous fictions... my lie will certainly add grist to her mill. Albus, your spy was feared and mistrusted far too many years, and I'm sorry to say, often justifiably. I'm doubtful whether forgiveness and perspective where he's concerned will ever come."

Dumbledore nodded his understanding as she continued.

"After the Battle, when it was safe to leave the students, I asked Hagrid to come with me to recover his body before anything dreadful might happen to it. I actually was afraid the werewolves would drag him off, or the Ministry would want to take possession of his remains. It was only proper that we be the ones to bring him home for a respectful burial. From what Harry had said, we were prepared for an awful sight, but we did not expect to find him lying on that filthy floor... still alive." Her hands clenched into fists, her face a mask.

Dumbledore sat musing for a time before responding.

"I know how very angry you are, Minerva, and that you feel betrayed, but you must accept what was necessary. He and I were one another's Secret Keepers for so very long, with no Fidelius Charm required between us."

The witch stood abruptly, confronting the portrait, her eyes lit with a furious flame. "No, Albus! This was not necessary! One of you should have trusted me enough to reveal the truth!"

Her eyes welled with unshed, angry tears. She rarely allowed herself to cry in front of anyone, even this most trusted friend and confidant. Frustrated and anguished, she repeated the terrible confession she had made to Gareth.

"Albus, I cursed him as a coward and a murderer. I was prepared... eager... to destroy him, even to kill him if I had the chance! This entire dreadful year, I have battled him in every conceivable way, instigating rebellion, undermining his authority. I despised him! How could you allow it, Albus? Surely, if he refused to trust me, at least you might have done so..."

Dumbledore turned his head to gaze from the window painted into his portrait before shifting in his chair to face her, his voice gentle and reminiscent, a tiny smile flickering in his eyes.

"You know he missed your company a great deal, Minerva. Sometimes he would speak of you, remembering your old quarrels over the merits of the Houses. Make no mistake--he was well aware of your covert activities. He would complain bitterly about you and berate me that spying on Tom should have been your job... that you would have relished the task. If the opportunity had presented itself, he was quite certain that you intended to kill him without a second thought, and he swore you were more a wand at his throat than Riddle himself. But he always held profound respect for you, Minerva. He would have welcomed you as an ally, had the cost not been so great."

The witch looked away, remembering the soft and chilling resonance of the Potions master's voice, slicing through all resistance, a gleaming scalpel of logic and intellect, wielded with unerring accuracy. She recalled the few times she had seen him smile, or heard him laugh--the smile, a wasp's sting--the laugh, a punishing lash. Rarely had either reached his shadowed obsidian eyes. Yet, in the years they had been colleagues, she too had reveled in their verbal duels, their endless sparring. The knife in her heart twisted again, for she had missed his company as well.

Dumbledore remained silent, allowing her time with her thoughts, before he spoke again.

"The night I told him what Harry's fate must be, he was furious. I was deliberate and cruel, asking him quite off-handedly just how many men and women he had watched die. In that moment, I believe he truly hated me. His eyes were desolate, as if I had cast the Cruciatus on him, but he answered so quietly. 'Lately, only those whom I could not save.' He counted me among them, it would seem.

"He summoned his Patronus that night... I doubt he had done so in years. Still, I had already asked my terrible question. That was my clear and calculated intention, you see... to pierce his heart, to make him recall every terrible deed and force him to fulfill the Vow he had made. When I accepted his promise to cast the Killing Curse I would require, I positioned him as methodically as Tom Riddle had ever done."

"Tom Riddle!" the witch fairly spat. "How can you even bear to speak his name?"

The great wizard's eyes grew stormy, his face seared by anger.

"Because he is only Tom Riddle now. I hope that I will never hear him spoken of as 'Lord' again. He was lord of nothing."

Albus moved forward in his chair as though to be near her, as though he missed the comforting touch of a friend's hand. Sighing deeply, he continued.

"Imagine, Minerva, my Keeper's life after he honored that promise. To be so hated and feared--with no advocate or friend, other than me. He could confide in no one, unless he wished to condemn them, and himself, to Riddle's horrors. He secretly obtained another frame for my use and hung it himself in his personal quarters. That was the only place he felt assured we could speak more openly. In this office, he held himself in tight control, knowing he was constantly under scrutiny from Riddle and the Ministry, but when he was away from here and alone, he would sink into such rage and despondency that I feared for his sanity.

"In the night, if he had not been summoned by Riddle, he would prowl the grounds, unseen by the rest of you on your patrols. I pleaded with him to rest, but he rarely slept other than for an hour or so just before dawn. He ate almost nothing, relying on his firewhisky and potions to sustain himself."

There was grief, and a degree of anger, in Dumbledore's voice as he proceeded.

"Did none of you notice how pale and thin he had become, even for him? When he sent students to detention in the Forest with Hagrid, did none of you consider that odd, so unlike his usual behavior?"

Minerva's sharp response echoed the grief and anger of his tone.

"No, Albus, we considered his appearance nothing out of the ordinary, and we hated him too much to be concerned with unusual behavior. We believed perhaps he meant to direct the Carrows' attentions towards Hagrid, just for some vicious sport. And I would remind you that neither of you intended us to see clearly, did you?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again, as if willing himself to continue with such awful revelations.

"Several months after he had returned as Headmaster, I came to the portrait in his quarters to hear his report. He was well into his firewhisky when I arrived, and I was shocked at how badly his hands were shaking, though he tried to conceal that from me. Apparently, Riddle had been especially adept in casting the Cruciatus that night, for some perceived failure on his part. When he had made his report, I wanted to give him some measure of comfort. I knew he was struggling not to collapse from pain... that he was fighting to keep his composure. He was always so proud. I tried to steady him by saying his perceptions were always as keen as the point of a dagger. He actually smiled when he answered... as weary and resigned as a prisoner bound for the gallows, knowing no reprieve will come...

"'How fitting...' he said, '... to be compared with the tool of assassins and spies. But I ask you, Headmaster, which blade has always come to your hand readily and served you faithfully?'

"He turned his back to me then, refusing to even look at me or accept any comfort other than his own. I had not intended it, but I had wounded him yet again, irreparably I think...

"So many times, wanting him to sleep for even an hour, I would bring Fawkes to sing to him in his quarters. He tried to forbid it, but what could he do to prevent me?" Dumbledore shook his head, sadly recalling this small kindness he had attempted. "He would snarl at me to leave him in peace and take my 'bothersome bird' out of his sight, but when he had no will to fight with me, we would remain to watch over him if he fell asleep."

Minerva nodded, wishing she could take her friend's hand, knowing these revelations were torturous for him to share.

"Leave him in peace... I wanted so much to do just that. Peace has always been my greatest wish for him. There were times when he might sit reading, or even allow me to coax him into a game of Wizard's Chess. He would seem calm without his firewhisky or the potions. But then, his Mark would burn, and he would go to take his place beside Riddle. I grieved for him, and for you also, Minerva. Knowing what you believed about him, that your wands might someday be raised against one another, my heart broke for both of you. But there could be no stopping what had already begun..."

Dumbledore stood then, leaning on his portrait chair, his face stricken with grief and guilt.

"This entire desolate year, he was preparing himself for this final battle, in service to me. Seeing him grow ever thinner and paler, I knew he was attempting something terrible. I began to slip unannounced into the frame in his quarters. That was a cruel irony... to be spying on my spy. What I learned was devastating. He was turning his wand against himself... curses and hexes... Merlin forgive us both, even the Cruciatus... to ever-increasing degrees. He was using dangerous potions, things he had once crafted for Riddle, even though he knew they instilled vicious dependencies. It was all meant to reinforce his defenses against whatever would be leveled at him if his duplicity should be discovered.

"I confronted him... I fought with him bitterly, forbidding him to continue. I threatened to reveal everything to you, to the Order. He scorned my threats and demanded to know why I would presume to forbid him anything... He had chosen his own path and he would finish it in any way he saw fit.

"Of course it was true... He had chosen, so long ago. But I had always readied that path for him. Harry had the company of two trusted friends to give him courage, even when he was separated from all of you. My Secret Keeper had only me, and he knew I would not hinder whatever final preparations he chose to make. Insuring Harry would succeed was all that truly mattered." Overwhelmed by emotion, unable to speak, the ancient wizard bowed his head, his tears dropping unchecked onto his folded hands.

Minerva sat rigid and silent, waiting for this tide of grief to subside. What words could comfort her friend when she herself bore the same weight of sorrow and shame? Choices made, words spoken, terrible wounds left unhealed. She waited for his account to resume, and it soon did, spoken in an anguished voice.

"When he fled from you, I fought to stay connected with him, though he remained firmly Occluded. When Nagini struck, those barriers collapsed. I felt him fall, and I shared the memories he gave to Harry. When he was alone on the floor, I was able to hear Riddle's voice returning, saying his name, calling him. He was in pain and shock, slipping into unconsciousness, and he answered... he had been trained always to answer. Riddle's hiss came again.

"'Ecce in Tenebrae, Severus Tobias Snape, Quidam Derelictus. Behold in Darkness, Severus Tobias Snape, the One Forsaken. I cast him from me into the Abandonment. His name is dust, scattered into the Void. Suffering shall be his only companion and despair his only shelter. He shall wander always and be forever lost.'"

Dumbledore shuddered at the memory, and Minerva turned pale as death, not wishing to hear, but knowing she must.

"All these years, he had been invaluable, but Riddle had hated him. Afraid that his intelligence and cunning might give him greater magic, even in death, Riddle cast the Abandonment, an ancient Unforgivable that had been long hidden."

Dumbledore sank back into his seat, shielding his face from Minerva.

"I could not reach him... could not prevent it. When he answered to his name, Riddle's curse fastened onto him as swiftly as Nagini had done. He tried to find me... tried to tell me... 'Albus... I am afraid'..."

Twisting her hands together in agitation, Minerva rose to pace the room, just as her predecessor had done.

"Albus... I don't recall him ever speaking to you except as Headmaster or Dumbledore, and he never would admit he was afraid of anything, not even after Remus..."

Dumbledore shook his head, remembering.

"He never thought it proper to call me Albus, not even privately... Always so rigid about such things. But, Minerva, I have always known that fear was there. It was his own duality that frightened him, and the shame of all that he had done for Riddle... even before Riddle... The Dark Arts came so easily to him. He asked me once, long ago, whether I thought he still had a soul that might survive. I told him that only he could say for certain, but that I believed he did. My poor dark boy... He did not agree with me. So he stayed apart, and hid his fear behind his rage...

"Some months ago, I stopped to visit the Fat Lady, and she seemed very troubled. When I questioned her, she said 'that awful Headmaster' had been standing night after night, near the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, keeping to the shadows, and she was quite sure that she had seen tears on his face...

"Naturally, I convinced the dear lady she was certainly mistaken, that such a thing was not possible, some trick of the light... But in that moment, I had discovered his Boggart... A simple doorway... the portrait hole where he stood alone and ashamed after Lily left him without even turning to look back. She was not the first, you see. Such a small thing. How deeply he buried that awful secret all these years, concealing it even from me."

Minerva scarcely dared speak, tears fogging her bright eyes.

"I am so sorry... for all of us. But, Albus, he is alive... I have had no message otherwise. How can this awful curse manifest itself, if he still lives, and Riddle is dead? Harry threw that in Riddle's face at the end... that he no longer held power, that his curses were weak. Surely, this curse will fail as well."

Dumbledore shook his head, his face still marred with the pain of all he had revealed.

"The Abandonment remains manifest because it was cast with Riddle still in the fullness of his power, before Harry fully understood what was needed. The curse was immense in its strength, powered by such consuming hatred. Because my Secret Keeper believed himself worthy of nothing more than to be forever forsaken, he has accepted it as his due.

"From within the confines of this portrait, I dared divert no one from the Battle. The tiny thread of even one person's absence might have been spun into a fabric of defeat. Beyond the Veil, I needed to stand ready to give Harry the final tools to defeat Riddle. In both Worlds, I was forced to do what had always been demanded of me... leave my Secret Keeper... alone but not in peace."

Minerva's voice trembled in response.

"Why do you call him only Secret Keeper...? You've not spoken his name, not even here where it would be safe... I've not said his name because I am the one who has hidden him, but you..."

She had returned to stand before the portrait, tears shimmering in her eyes. The ancient wizard bowed his head, pondering.

"Minerva, there are dire consequences to his actions, and they are devastating when coupled with Riddle's curse."

Minerva haltingly asked the question she would have given anything not to voice.

"Albus, if he lives... will he be forever broken? The Healer says his suffering is close to madness..."

The prospect of her colleague's brilliant mind torn to shreds was dreadful. She would wish him the peace of the Veil if recalling him to the living would condemn him to insanity.

Dumbledore raised his eyes to hers. "His disciplines have always been strong. The Healer must help him overcome Nagini's venom and his dependency on the potions he has been using. It is a blessing that it was you and Hagrid who found him, and I am grateful you were so wise in choosing the place to conceal him. You and Hagrid must be his Secret Keepers now, and in time, I believe there will be one other.

"You must help him recover his past no matter how painful, for without it he is empty. Riddle's curse holds him obtunded--his mind is darkened. His true name has been taken from him, and you must not attempt to use it to call him back. At what should have been his last breath, Riddle bound the curse to his name. It was the intention that he would sink deeper into the Abandonment whenever his name was spoken. No doubt Riddle would have taken great pleasure in saying his name, over and over again.

"If he lives, I do not know the outcome. No one in recorded magical history has lived to return from the Abandonment. Tell the Healer, that until he wakes... and even after... he must never be left without someone nearby. Speak to him even if he seems not to know that you are there. Place familiar objects in his hands, but not his wand... That is far too dangerous for now. His memories may surface in powerful dreams and flashes of recognition, but those may be shattering. Once discovered, the third Keeper must agree to remain close, to help him understand. If his magic awakens, he may have little control of his ability, and it will seem foreign, as though someone is whispering to him in a language not his own. You must tell no one, not even Harry. He would offer to be the third, but our dear boy must have the chance to live without another heavy burden on his shoulders. He may have a role to play someday, but this is not the time."

Sitting in rapt attention, Minerva noted everything she was told before answering.

"Hagrid and I will go to him as soon as possible. The Castle is about to go into repairs, and the summer holidays will allow us to slip away unnoticed. Certainly, no one will question our need for rest and retreat. Albus, you must help us keep close watch to determine the Third Keeper, and I will need your knowledge to seek every possible way to overcome this horror."

Minerva felt strengthened by the opportunity to perform some meaningful atonement for her failure to see what should have been so apparent. Looking up at Dumbledore, she faltered at the sadness still swimming in his eyes, and her heart froze.

"Albus... What have you not told me?"

Rising again to gaze out his portrait window, Dumbledore remained silent, his head bowed. At last, he turned back to face her.

"Minerva, I have already said that there are terrible consequences to the preparations my Secret Keeper attempted when coupled with the Abandonment... with its manifestation of unending darkness... never again to know the light..."

At his hesitation, a terrible truth began shaping in her mind, and she pulled her robes close around her, shrinking into her chair like a child seeking shelter from unseen monsters.

"Albus? Oh... no, this must not be... This is cruelty for nothing but its own sake..."

His face etched in sorrow, Dumbledore answered.

"Cruelty was Tom Riddle's greatest delight... his legacy to us all."

The ancient wizard would not meet her eyes, dreading the final revelation he must make.

"Minerva, you and Hagrid must be ready. If he should survive and wake... my Secret Keeper... my dark and angry boy... will never see the light... He will be blind."