Harry did not reply; he had loathed being the Object of Professor Trelawney’s continual predictions of doom.
“I am afraid,” she went on, “that the nag — I’m sorry, the centaur — knows nothing of cartomancy. I asked him — one Seer to another — had he not, too, sensed the distant vibrations of coming catastrophe? But he seemed to find me almost comical. Yes, comical!”
Her voice rose rather hysterically, and Harry caught a powerful whiff of sherry even though the bottles had been left behind.
“Perhaps the horse has heard people say that I have not inherited my great-great-grandmother’s gift. Those rumors have been bandied about by the jealous for years. You know what I say to such people, Harry? Would Dumbledore have let me teach at this great school, put so much trust in me all these years, had I not proved myself to him?”
Harry mumbled something indistinct.
“I well remember my first interview with Dumbledore,” went on Professor Trelawney, in throaty tones. “He was deeply impressed, of course, deeply impressed. . . . I was staying at the Hog’s Head, which I do not advise, incidentally — bedbugs, dear boy — but funds were low. Dumbledore did me the courtesy of calling upon me in my room. He questioned me. . . . I must confess that, at first, I thought he seemed ill-disposed toward Divination . . . and I remember I was starting to feel a little odd, I had not eaten much that day . . . but then . . .”
And now Harry was paying attention properly for the first time, for he knew what had happened then: Professor Trelawney had made the prophecy that had altered the course of his whole life, the prophecy about him and Voldemort.
“. . . but then we were rudely interrupted by Severus Snape!”
“What?”
“Yes, there was a commotion outside the door and it flew open, and there was that rather uncouth barman standing with Snape, who was waffling about having come the wrong way up the stairs, although I’m afraid that I myself rather thought he had been apprehended eavesdropping on my interview with Dumbledore — you see, he himself was seeking a job at the time, and no doubt hoped to pick up tips! Well, after that, you know, Dumbledore seemed much more disposed to give me a job, and I could not help thinking, Harry, that it was because he appreciated the stark contrast between my own unassuming manners and quiet talent, compared to the pushing, thrusting young man who was prepared to listen at keyholes — Harry, dear?”
She looked back over her shoulder, having only just realized that Harry was no longer with her; he had stopped walking and they were now ten feet from each other.
“Harry?” she repeated uncertainly.
Perhaps his face was white to make her look so concerned and frightened. Harry was standing stock-still as waves of shock crashed over him, wave after wave, obliterating everything except the information that had been kept from him for so long. . . .
It was Snape who had overheard the prophecy. It was Snape who had carried the news of the prophecy to Voldemort. Snape and Peter Pettigrew together had sent Voldemort hunting after Lily and James and their son. . . .
Nothing else mattered to Harry just now.
“Harry?” said Professor Trelawney again. “Harry — I thought we were going to see the headmaster together?”
“You stay here,” said Harry through numb lips.
“But dear . . . I was going to tell him how I was assaulted in the Room of —”
“You stay here!” Harry repeated angrily.
She looked alarmed as he ran past her, around the corner into Dumbledore’s corridor, where the lone gargoyle stood sentry. Harry shouted the password at the gargoyle and ran up the moving spiral staircase three steps at a time. He did not knock upon Dumbledore’s door, he hammered; and the calm voice answered, “Enter” after Harry had already flung himself into the room.
Fawkes the phoenix looked around, his bright black eyes gleaming with reflected gold from the sunset beyond the windows. Dumbledore was standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black traveling cloak in his arms.
“Well, Harry, I promised that you could come with me.”
For a moment or two, Harry did not understand; the conversation with Trelawney had driven everything else out of his head and his brain seemed to be moving very slowly.
“Come . . . with you . . . ?”
“Only if you wish it, of course.”
“If I . . .”
And then Harry remembered why he had been eager to come to Dumbledore’s office in the first place. “You’ve found one? You’ve found a Horcrux?”
“I believe so.”
Rage and resentment fought shock and excitement: For several moments, Harry could not speak.
“It is natural to be afraid,” said Dumbledore.
“I’m not scared!” said Harry at once, and it was perfectly true; fear was one emotion he was not feeling at all. “Which Horcrux is it? Where is it?”
“I am not sure which it is — though I think we can rule out the snake — but I believe it to be hidden in a cave on the coast many miles from here, a cave I have been trying to locate for a very long time: the cave in which Tom Riddle once terrorized two children from his orphanage on their annual trip; you remember?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “How is it protected?”
“I do not know; I have suspicions that may be entirely wrong.” Dumbledore hesitated, then said, “Harry, I promised you that you could come with me, and I stand by that promise, but it would be very wrong of me not to warn you that this will be exceedingly dangerous.”
“I’m coming,” said Harry, almost before Dumbledore had finished speaking. Boiling with anger at Snape, his desire to do something desperate and risky had increased tenfold in the last few minutes. This seemed to show on Harry’s face, for Dumbledore moved away from the window and looked more closely at Harry, a slight crease between his silver eyebrows.
“What has happened to you?”
“Nothing,” lied Harry promptly.
“What has upset you?”
“I’m not upset.”