"Gods, professor!"
Harry was quiet on our way to Dumbledore's office. I guess those words had been shoved in his stomach like they were carbonated, each step shaking them a little more until he got here.
It wasn't a question, not a real one, so Dumbledore could hardly answer. The Headmaster sat behind his desk, smiling at us, with the Pensieve perched there. His warm reception wasn't shared by the portraits on the wall.
"Make the boy address you properly, Dumbledore! He's giving the office of headmaster a bad name," said Phinneas Nigellus Black, wet blanket extraordinaire.
Funnily enough, I didn't even have to say anything to shut him up— one wave did the trick. He glared at me, wanting to get out of my presence but knowing that his escape route had been cut off, given the treatment his other frame got. I might've felt bad for him if he hadn't utterly earned it.
Harry was blushing now. Not because Phineas complained (we'd all gotten used to brushing him off) but because he felt like he'd made a fool of himself. He walked to his chair and sat down. Once his butt was planted (and I'd joined him in the neighboring chair) he started again with a lot more poise.
"Percy told us something incredible, sir. He talked about gods, the kind that the Greeks used to worship, and he said they were real. As real as magic is."
"I see. And now, you don't know whether to believe him," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.
"I believe him."
Harry spoke before he'd fully thought about it. He realized he might've cut the headmaster off and rushed to explain, missing the way Dumbledore's lips turned toward a smile.
"He didn't just tell us that— he controlled the whole lake, professor, without using his wand. I don't think there's a spell that can do that. It was second nature to him, and it reminded me of meeting Hagrid. I couldn't believe magic was real until I saw him give my cousin a tail. Now, I know magic is real. Why couldn't the gods be, too?"
"You're a remarkably open-minded young man," Dumbledore said.
"I don't think Percy is tricking me," Harry said quickly.
"Nor was it my intention to imply that. Being open-minded does not mean being gullible. In fact, I would describe one as a shortcoming, and the other as a virtue. Never underestimate the importance of being open-minded as a wizard. The first step to any spell is believing that it's possible."
Harry made a funny face, almost crosseyed. His pupils unfocused. Whatever he was thinking about, it sucked him in so deep that he took half a minute before shaking himself, remembering what we'd been talking about.
"It's really true then, sir? About the gods being out there? Hermione was sure that if anyone would know, it's you."
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "They're real. You'll want to know more than that, I imagine? Of course you will. Truthfully, the one sitting next to you could answer more of your questions than I can. All the same, I've met Hecate on a handful of occasions. We're descended from her, if one looks far enough back. In a very, very, very distant fashion, that makes all wizards family."
Harry furrowed his brow and I jumped in. "Greek gods don't have DNA the way that a human does. And if you're going that far back, you aren't really related."
He let out a little sigh, probably feeling better again about the last time he kissed a witch
"From what I've gathered, we are quite distant from the divine, as Percy has said," Dumbledore admitted. "In other cases, we should be almost completely ordinary. Somehow, grandmother's blood mutated us in a way that has persisted through time. The gift can even appear in children whose parents were quite ordinary, such as was the case for your dear friend or your mother. Our innate power could be considered weak compared to a true demigod. That hasn't stopped us from honing it."
A glimmer entered Dumbledore's eye, lighting his pupils like they'd been plugged into a power outlet. "Year by year, generation by generation, new spells were created. Potions, charms, transfiguration— all of them began as a thought and an attempt. Those who came after refined the ideas. Every spell we use is the result of a multitude of adjustments, corrections, and of course an original moment of brilliance. We wizards and witches work with what we are given as well as anyone can."
I thought of the children of Hecate that I'd met. They didn't need wands to use their magic, and they could generally bring bigger guns to the table. I was yet to see a wizard match what some of the powerful demigods were throwing around in the second war— there was a reason Lou Ellen was one of the worst kids in camp to piss off.
But wizards were versatile. The good ones could do so many different things. They could wield the elements, create things from nothing, change the things around them, teleport, set off explosions, and even pull off weirder tricks. Hermione talked about a potion that could let you shapeshift into someone else. The cursed amulet Rosmerta tried to give me could kill with a single touch. Flexibility was a kind of power itself.
"I think I get it," Harry said.
He didn't look like he fully did, but I don't blame him. Even if he believed me, this was a lot to take in. Dumbledore smiled and swirled his Pensieve.
"If that's the case, allow us to begin our meeting in earnest. I think you'll find many of tonight's memories insightful, Harry."
At first, his meaning wasn't clear— which isn't to say that what he showed us didn't matter.
First, Dumbledore shared an important clue. We watched a wizard with long greasy hair talk about buying a priceless necklace from a pregnant girl who didn't know what she had. His name was Cactus, or something like that. Dumbledore said he founded the store we snooped around outside of over the summer. Cactus was the Burke half of Borgin and Burkes.
"A young woman, pregnant and nearly destitute, possessing a necklace once belonging to Slytherin himself. Perhaps one she inherited — or stole — from an uncle who treasured it. Does that ring any bells?" Dumbledore asked.
"It was Merope. It had to be!" Harry said.
"Correct in a single go. Do you know what this means?"
"That she was in London," I said. "That's probably where she gave birth. You wouldn't have shown us this if it happened somewhere else."
Dumbledore just smiled. When he showed us Burke's bragging, he'd done it by stirring the Pensieve and making an image appear in the air. This time, he invited us to fully enter a memory.
"Originally, I intended to show you a trip of my own, visiting a London orphanage in order to deliver a young wizard's Hogwarts letter. I've thought better of the order of things now," Dumbledore said. "Go ahead Harry, Percy. We'll see what you make of this scene."
We all dunked our heads, shooting through time like we had when watching Ogden visit the Gaunt Shack. This time, we were back at the second place I'd seen in these memories: Wool's orphanage.
Even if the memory took place outside, it was clearly the same place. Tom was there, for one, looking older than when I last saw him. He was sitting in one corner of a courtyard full of dirt and loose bricks. A matron sat on the front step, her head propped on her hand, watching children play with a bored look.
Tom was watching them too. The other kids were playing some kind of tag game, running around and jumping and dodging. Tom just observed them. Next to me, I saw Harry's eyes lock on.
"That's him," Harry said.
He recognized Riddle instantly. Dumbledore confirmed his suspicions.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, ten years old and soon to turn eleven," Dumbledore said. "I believe his birthday was days away. Watch! He's about to act."
Tom lifted his hand. The look on his face was pure concentration, so intense that he started squinting. He turned his wrist over, flexing his fingers like he was grabbing something.
A few things happened.
First, across the courtyard, the matron on duty had her eyes glaze over. After a few seconds, they closed. She'd been put to sleep.
Next, in the middle of the running kids, one went down hard. It was one of the girls. She tried to dodge the tagger, only for her plant foot to shoot out from under her, leaving her falling face-first. She slipped… except I saw it. Her ankle had been pulled by an invisible force.
The girl's head hit the hard ground. Her nose started pouring blood. When she raised her face, there was a heavy bruise in the middle of her forehead.
The noise of her fall woke the matron, who jerked her head up, but not before one last strange thing happened. A loose brick shot into the air, nestling seamlessly into a boy's hand.
I recognized him.
It was John, the boy that tried to pick on Tom right before Hecate revealed herself. John had seen better days. There were two stitches on the corner of his lip, he had a rash of painful pimples across his face, and his hair had been buzzed, but whoever did it messed up, carving two different bald spots along his scalp.
The matron saw the girl on the ground, spotted the blood, and noticed the boy standing over her with a brick. "John!" she shrieked.
"No—! I didn't—!" John stammered.
The matron ran over to him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the orphanage, calling for the girl to follow them. The whole time, John stammered protests. "The brick flew there! I didn't hit her! She fell!"
All the orphans had seen what happened. They knew John didn't do it. Not a single one told the matron. They looked at Tom, then looked at the ground.
"They're scared of him," Harry said.
"Terrified," I agreed.
Dumbledore said nothing. A wind blew through the courtyard, making the orphans' hair fly around. A woman materialized. Hecate looked like her adult self from the start this time.
At once the other orphans, who all froze like statues, turned the door and robotically walked inside. Tom actually smiled.
"You remain interesting," Hecate said.
"Is that all?" Tom asked. He sounded a little cocky.
"Is there something else you wished to hear?"
"By now, I should at least be promising!"
"Those who interest me are always promising," Hecate said. "You're concerning yourself with useless things." She looked at the spot of blood next to her foot. When she looked up there was no judgement, no anger, not even an accusation. "Your powers have come far."
"I've been practicing," Tom boasted. "Every day I try bigger things. A month ago, I couldn't lift a brick. Before that, I could only make people drowsy, not put them to sleep. Soon, I'll be strong. Like you!"
Hecate tilted her head.
"Uh-oh," I said.
Harry looked between me and the goddess. "I don't get it. Who is that?"
"That would be the one whom I call grandmother," Dumbledore said. "And I believe Percy is worried because, as a rule of thumb, gods do not take it well when mortals compare themselves to them."
Sure enough, gravity lost control of Hecate's hair. Her head remained at an angle and her face never changed. Around her, every brick in the courtyard floated into the air.
That's not all. The fence surrounding the Wool's orphanage disassembled, the bricks that made it up joining their friends in the air. Discarded toys floated, clods of dirt ascended toward the clouds, and finally so did Tom. He cried out, his exclamation half-angry and half-afraid.
Young Voldemort threw his hand toward the ground. For a second, he pulled himself back down. His magic only lasted seconds before Hecate overwhelmed him.
"When will you be strong like me?" Hecate asked.
"L-Let me down!" Tom's voice quivered the way they do when someone who's used to getting his way, doesn't. He didn't sound dignified at all, and I could tell that bothered him, but he was helpless to stop himself.
Everything fell. The bricks knitted back into a flawless wall, including the ones that had come loose from disrepair. Hecate didn't just return them, she fixed the fence, cleaned the courtyard, and set Tom down without bruising his butt. Perfect finesse is always harder than raw power.
Tom looked around himself, breathing hard, clearly blushing. For a moment, he'd lost control. And he knew it.
"Between us, there is an unbridgeable gap," Hecate said. "Devote yourself. Commit everything you have. Realize your potential, and perhaps you will come close enough to merit my notice."
She left in the most mundane way possible, walking out the front gate. She was wearing a long coat and boots that a mortal might wear. Watching her leave, I felt like I was seeing a dissatisfied customer, departing the orphanage empty-handed instead of bringing a son home.
Tom watched her, then watched the open gate she'd strolled through. He was still breathing hard. Over the course of a minute, we watched his expression change. Instead of catching his breath, he was panting with rage. He spun, punching the brick wall hard enough that Harry and I winced. Something definitely broke.
Tom stumbled back, hissing through clenched teeth and gripping his wrist.
"But you visited again," he said. "You already noticed me!"
Even though they were spat with anger, his words started to calm him down. He slowly stood up straight. Tom hid all his emotions. Letting the hand he'd hurt fall down by his side, he faced the wall.
Suddenly, with a surge of magic, he shattered a part five feet wide. The bricks rained down on the sidewalk on the other side. If anyone had been walking by, they would've been buried. Tom's eyes flitted side to side, sizing up the rest of the wall.
"Soon."
He turned his back, marching into the orphanage. Before the memory froze, I looked at the damage he'd done.
Even I knew how impressive it was for a wizard to do that without a wand, before coming to Hogwarts. If they didn't see it happen, most wizards would claim it was impossible. And despite all that, he'd missed the point.
There was no finesse. Hecate could unmake and remake, but he could only destroy. If you asked me, the trick he pulled earlier had been closer to Hecate than his final outburst was.
We were ejected from the Pensieve, returning to Dumbledore's office. The first thing Harry asked was, "Why would Hecate do that?"
"Why did she encourage him? Why didn't she rebuke his behavior? Why did she visit at all?" Dumbledore asked.
"All of them!"
"Gods aren't like people," I said. "They live for so long, us mortals seem like toys to them. They're selfish, even the nicer ones, and they don't tend to think about regular people. Hecate knew Voldemort could be powerful. Compared to him, the other orphans were nothing. To her, toying with them would be the same as tearing down the wall. It was just like moving bricks."
"She should know better!" Harry said.
I got the feeling I shouldn't let him meet many gods. The first time one said something he didn't like, he was liable to tell them that to their face.
So, you know, he was like me. Just without an overprotective dad or a prophecy to stop immortals from vaporizing his mortal form.
"Grandmother sees the world differently from what we do. I don't say this to excuse her past actions or encourage any future ones, merely to explain it to you," Dumbledore said. "Gods are different from us the way that we are different from house elves or goblins. To understand them takes time and a dash of imagination."
Harry crossed his arms. I got the feeling he understood, but he was still angry. Finding out there was a goddess of magic, then watching her groom your worst enemy into the monster he would become was sure to be a sour first impression.
"There's something I've been wondering," I admitted. "You said that originally, you were going to show us one of your memories."
"That's correct," Dumbledore said. "My first meeting with Tom, on the day when I delivered his Acceptance Letter."
"But you didn't show us that day. You showed us this one. From how Pensieves are supposed to work, you'd need to get the memory." I leaned forward, looking into Dumbledore's eyes. "There were only two people in the courtyard."
I heard an intake of breath as Harry realized what that meant. Last time, too, when Dumbledore and I watched Hecate's first meeting with Riddle, they'd been alone.
"Gods see the world differently," Dumbledore said. "We can't always understand them, but that doesn't mean they are immune to our emotions. Gods can change their minds. Gods can think better of the way they've done things. Gods can even regret."
"It's true, then," Harry said. "We're watching Hecate's memories?"
"I asked her to share the past. Ultimately, she agreed."
Dumbledore put his hands on the table, leaning his weight forward and fixing Harry with an intent look. Dumbledore's immense age (by mortal standards) was completely visible for a moment. He barely even hid his gnarled hand, a few black fingers peeking out of the sleeve, but Harry was too focused on his insistent eyes to notice.
"Make the most of what you see here, Harry." Going against his serious look, Dumbledore's voice was tender. "The past is a lesson, and you are the only one who can learn its message. Help him, if you would, Percy."
"Percy's already helping me, sir," Harry said.
But he didn't understand. I did. Dumbledore just smiled, because he wasn't talking about now. He was talking about once he died.
"We'll do what we have to," I said.
Dumbledore relaxed. Just for a second, his strength faded so much that I worried he'd pass away now. Even Harry noticed, starting to rise and ask the headmaster if he needed help, but Dumbledore recovered in time to cut him off.
"It's heartening to hear an assurance like that," Dumbledore said, following it with a chuckle. "Goodness, perhaps my age is showing. I'll end tonight's lesson here, and invite you back two weeks from now. There is yet more for us to learn together. I admit that I'm looking forward to it."
"Me too, professor," Harry said.
When we left, Fawkes returned to his perch from somewhere else in the school. The headmaster embraced him. You could tell it wasn't the usual way you embrace a pet, because the whole time the headmaster held him… the phoenix was shedding tears.