Chapter 2 – A Measured Truth
AN
Chapter 2 is the last chapter that survived from my original draft of this story, and as such follows the original plot of 'Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince' quite closely, to the point you will notice quite a few lines have been taken directly from the book (UK edition). This chapter is quite important for how it sets up the relationship between Harry and Dumbledore for the rest of the story. As you'll see, I'm being quite kind to the old bugger this time. Hell, I'm being kind to nearly every character I normally have a bit of a pop at. Apart from Draco, obviously.
Huge thanks to Arnel for beta reading. Arnel: for when it absolutely, positively must be checked overnight!
The next few days proved to very difficult ones for Harry. He found himself constantly second guessing himself and analysing every thought or action that he had. His blunt warning to his aunt and uncle that he was capably of Transfiguring them into pigs and selling them for bacon especially worried him, even though he firmly believed he would never have actually gone through with such an act in a million years. Even so, he was beginning to think that the whole conversation he'd had with them was somewhat out of character for him, even if the end results had turned out to be exactly what he'd desired.
Perhaps this was what Tom had meant when he'd told him that he had to start thinking more like a Slytherin. Vernon had agreed to his demands through a stick and carrot approach. The implied threat of what Harry might do once he came of age had been tempered by the promise of financial reward, and had worked perfectly. He had to admit, it was a more sensible approach then the raging anger with which he'd addressed his problems over the last year.
Feeling a little reassured, Harry had returned to his summer homework. As he'd first thought, he wasn't suddenly able to access the vast wealth of magical knowledge that Voldemort had possessed. Instead, information seemed to come to him in dribs and drabs, normally requiring some form of trigger to enable it. This could take the form of a sentence or even a single word written in his school text books, or sometimes even a hazy memory was enough. Even so, he found that with four days of solid work he was able to complete all his summer assignments, and to a much higher standard than he would have normally have done.
From here, he started to pour over his text books in detail. The Standard Book of Spells, Grades one to five, proved most enlightening. Spells that Harry would have sworn that he'd never attempted to cast in his life seemed familiar to him, and reading about other spells often triggered memories of other, more complex ones. After spending another three days re-reading every book on magic he possessed, his head seemed to be positively humming with new information. His fingers itched to have a wand in them so he could practice his new-found knowledge, although he knew better than to try anything while still at Privet Drive. It was time, he believed, to get out of this hated place.
He'd initially wanted to write immediately to Professor Dumbledore and demand that the old man present himself to him at once, but his new-found rationality urged him to show more caution. He soon realised that in his current mood a face-to-face meeting with the old wizard would probably end up resulting in something similar to his last one where he'd nearly destroyed half the headmaster's office. As tempted as he was to vent his rage at him, Harry knew he needed Dumbledore on his side. This also gave him cause for thought on how he should explain the sudden disappearance of the Horcrux within him. The idea that he'd merged his soul with the most evil wizard of modern times was unlikely to sit well with the distinguished old wizard.
In the end, Harry had decided to use exactly the same approach that Tom Riddle had used on him. He would admit that he'd permitted their souls to merge, but that as Tom's was just a tiny fragment, Harry had absorbed it without any harmful effects. He'd have to be careful in displaying his new found knowledge, however, and claim that his newly expanded repertoire of spells was a result of his improved work-ethic.
In the end, it had also proved to be unnecessary to request a meeting with Dumbledore. The venerable wizard had actually written to him several days previously informing him that he would be arriving at the end of the week to escort him to the Burrow for the rest of the holidays. Harry had actually intended to leave it a little longer than that, but as it fit in perfectly with his plan he made no effort to postpone his leaving.
In fact, the last week had been an incredibly busy one for Harry. Aside from all the studying he done, he'd also cleaned up the pigsty of a room that he'd been living in, and also started to look after himself a bit better. The Dursleys had been unhappy to see him making a regular appearance at the dinner table, but had grudgingly kept to their agreement. With Dudley still being ordered to lose weight, the meals Harry took could hardly be called a feast, but they were far better for him than his previous diet of crisps and Chocolate Frogs. He'd even taken up jogging in the mornings, and was pleased to discover that he wasn't a bad runner. No doubt all that practice fleeing from evil wizards and monsters had something to do with it, he surmised.
It was almost with disappointment that the day of his departure from Privet drive arrived, such was his sense of accomplishment that he felt at what he had achieved in such a short space of time. His books were all packed away, along with virtually all his other possessions. His trunk, which he'd taken the trouble to clear out, was ready and waiting upstairs in anticipation of his move to the Weasley household. First, however, he needed to have a good, long talk with his headmaster.
As the hands on the clock sitting on the mantelpiece both reached twelve, there was a quiet knock on the front door. Harry had already positioned himself in the front room of the house, awaiting the old man's arrival. Smiling at Dumbledore's precise timekeeping, Harry stood and hurried to the door. He opened it to reveal the man in question, wearing a long, billowing cloak and with a kindly expression on his face.
"Ah, good evening, Harry. It is most delightful to see you again, so soon," Dumbledore said by way of greeting.
"Good evening to you, too, sir. Please do come in," Harry responded politely.
"Thank you, my dear boy. I must say that…" Dumbledore began before he was interrupted by a gruff shout coming from half-way up the staircase.
"Who on earth is it calling at this time of night?" Vernon's voice called out irritably.
"Don't worry about it, Uncle, it's for me," Harry replied calmly. "I'm being collected. I'll be leaving in a short while and you probably won't see me again."
"That's not one of your type, is it?" Vernon snarled. "I won't have…"
"Uncle, go back to bed," Harry said firmly. "When you get up in the morning, I'll be gone and no one will have even seen me leave. I'll arrange to send you the money I promised as soon as I get to the bank."
"Yes, well…" Vernon muttered. "Just don't wake everyone up when you go, that's all."
And with that scant farewell, Vernon headed back upstairs to bed.
"Hmm, I see your uncle's attitude has not improved much," Dumbledore noted. "Perhaps I should have a little chat with him before we depart."
"It wouldn't do any good," Harry disagreed. "In a way, I don't really blame him for his hostility, either. Tell me, did you actually ever ask my aunt and uncle if they were okay with looking after me, or did you just drop me on their doorstep?"
"They are your family, Harry. Even if they were reluctant to take you in, it was their responsibility as your last surviving relatives," the old man said firmly.
"Maybe, and maybe not. You could have at least asked them," Harry countered. "Besides, they knew I was magical from the start and that's not an easy thing for Muggles like them to cope with, is it? Especially when the reason I was put with them in the first place was because my parents were killed by an evil wizard. Not much of an incentive for them, was it?"
"Even so, they could have treated you better," Dumbledore pointed out.
"I guess I can't argue with that. Mind you, you could have checked up on me occasionally. Arranging for a half-mad old Squib to keep an eye on the place wasn't much of plan, was it? You do know Mrs Figg thinks her cats talk back to her, don't you?" Harry said sharply.
"I must concede that point," Dumbledore admitted reluctantly. "Poor Arabella had a hard time of it during the last war, and I am afraid the experience unsettled her more than I realised. I admit I stayed away because I knew that my presence generally upset the Dursleys, which perhaps should have given me a clue as how they would treat you. I fear it is another item on an increasingly long list of errors I have made concerning you, Harry, and I must once again beg your forgiveness."
"Oh, you don't know the half of it, sir," Harry replied resolutely. "We need to talk. Can I suggest we go up to my bedroom? You can cast a Silencing Spell on the room so we're not overheard."
"Harry, the night is passing and we have places we must go…" Dumbledore began.
"Headmaster, I guarantee you need to hear what I have to say," Harry interrupted. "Trust me, this is something that won't wait."
"Very well, my boy, you've managed to pique my curiosity. Please, lead on," Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile.
Harry led the old wizard up the stairs to his bedroom. He then firmly closed the door behind them and gestured for Dumbledore to take a seat on the only chair in the room, which was situated in front of his damaged desk. Harry then sat himself down on his bed.
"Well, Harry, what is it that you so urgently need to discuss with me?" Dumbledore asked in a polite voice after the venerable wizard had cast the requested charms to ensure their privacy.
Harry had given this moment a lot of thought. He had decided that a dramatic gesture would be the best way to convince his headmaster that things had completely changed. To achieve this, he pulled out a piece of A4 paper from his pocket and handed it to the old man.
At first, Dumbledore regarded the creased piece of paper with indulgent amusement, before the smile gradually slid off his face. It was replaced by a look of complete and utter shock, an expression Harry had never seen on the old man's features before.
"Harry, how did you come by this information?" Dumbledore demanded in a shaky voice.
"Would you believe it was all inside my head?" Harry replied with smug amusement.
Dumbledore's expression clouded and his face became stern. "This is a matter of the utmost seriousness, my boy, and I need you to give me a straight answer," he said in a firm voice.
"Were you aware that Horcruxes are sentient, sir?" Harry asked, his voice as cold as ice.
A genuine look of fear came into Dumbledore's eyes and he began to reach into his robes, presumably for his wand. As he did so Harry noticed the man's hand was blackened and shrivelled, as if the flesh had been burnt away.
"Put your wand away, sir, I haven't been possessed by Voldemort," Harry said sharply.
"Then how, may I ask, do you appear to know of the existence of his Horcruxes, and manage to write down the exact location of each one?" Dumbledore demanded, waving the piece of paper in Harry's direction.
"Oh, not all of the Horcruxes Voldemort created are listed there," Harry replied casually. "I didn't bother to mention the diary, for instance, as it has already been destroyed. Neither did I mention the Horcrux that was in my scar."
Dumbledore flinched as if he had been physically struck. To drive home his point, Harry lifted his fringe to display his faded scar.
"How…" Dumbledore gasped.
"As I said; Horcruxes are sentient. The one inside me, once it heard the prophecy in full, began to realise its prospects didn't look too good. For Voldemort to be killed, I would have had to die, and it would have been destroyed along with me. Likewise, if Voldemort managed to kill me, it would perish, too. It quickly realised that its only chance of survival would be to merge with my soul. To aid my, and now his, chances of survival, he gave me this information about the Horcruxes. It seemed like a good trade-off to me," Harry explained.
"A good trade-off?" Dumbledore repeated in horror. "You allowed your soul to be merged with that of the most foul, evil being to walk this planet in centuries and you call that a good trade-off? Harry, do you realise what you have done?"
"Evidently better than you do, sir," he growled. "Remember, that piece of Voldemort's soul inside me was just a tiny splinter. It was miniscule compared to my own soul. I've absorbed it completely, and it's made very little difference to me. Oh, I guess I'm a bit more cautious and rather less trusting than I was before. Of course, that might just be a result of discovering that the man I trusted and respected more than anyone else in the world was preparing to sacrifice me so Voldemort could be defeated."
Dumbledore's anger instantly vanished and his head drooped. He suddenly looked his age. His eyes were misty as he looked imploringly at Harry.
"I never wanted it to be that way, my boy," the old wizard explained in a broken voice. "For years, I have sought out ways to remove that accursed soul fragment from you, but I found nothing. 'Neither can live while the other survives' the prophecy said, and it seemed clear to me that if the Horcrux within you could only be destroyed by your death, then the power you had to vanquish Voldemort would be your own willingness to die for your friends. There did not seem to be any other way."
"When were you planning on telling me?" Harry demanded harshly.
"At the last possible moment. It seemed the kindest thing to do," Dumbledore said sadly.
Harry stood abruptly and walked over to the window. The streetlights outside cast an orangey glow about the darkened drive. Keeping his eyes firmly pointed into the blackness, Harry took a deep breath.
"I wanted to hate you, you know," Harry began softly, his temper rigidly in check. "I wanted to rage and scream at you. You've kept secrets hidden from me all my life. First, Sirius died because you didn't tell me about the prophecy, and then I learn that I was going to have to throw myself in front of Voldemort's wand if there was any chance of him being defeated. Tell me, sir, who made you god? Who said that it was your choice what information to give out, and to decide who had to die?"
The old wizard remained silent and made no effort to defend his actions.
"I was quite prepared to take my wand and try to curse you," Harry continued.
"But I see that you have made no such attempt," Dumbledore noted carefully. "In truth, Harry, I would not blame you if you did, but, tell me; why are you so calm about this?"
"Simple, I started asking myself what else you could have done. I assumed you didn't know of any way to safely remove the Horcrux, and you confirmed that a moment ago. Try as I might, in those circumstances I couldn't think of another course of action you could have taken. Oh, and you were right, by the way; I would have died to try and save my friends," Harry confirmed sadly.
"That is the one thing I was always sure about," Dumbledore confirmed despondently. "You are a remarkably selfless boy, Harry, and you have proved you would risk your life for others many times."
Harry turned and looked the old wizard in the eyes. "So, how do we move forward from this?" he demanded. "Now you know that my death isn't a requirement to defeat Voldemort, what are you going to do?"
"This invaluable list seems as good a place to start as anywhere," Dumbledore noted. "I can vouch for its accuracy, too, as I have already dealt with Marvolo Gaunt's ring. It was in the exact location described on this paper."
A light went on in Harry's head. "Your hand…" he began.
"Yes, I regret that I foolishly fell prey to one of the curses that Tom placed on the ring," he confirmed, gazing at his withered hand.
"How serious is it?" Harry demanded in an uncompromising voice. Dumbledore looked up at him sharply, before sighing.
"The wound is fatal. I have a year at most, I suspect," he confirmed.
Harry nodded, satisfied that Dumbledore, for once, had told him the truth. The fact that the old man had so little time left to live shocked deeply, but now was not the moment to dwell on it.
"Then we don't have any time to waste," Harry said firmly. "We need to deal all the Horcruxes on the list, and I don't think that will be easy. The soul splinter was only guessing that Voldemort's pet snake had been turned into a Horcrux, for instance."
"No, I agree with that assessment. I came to the same conclusion, myself," Dumbledore interrupted.
"That's good," Harry nodded, "but the Horcruxes are only part of it. It will still have to be me that has to take down Voldemort, and if I'm going to do that I need training. By that I don't just mean sitting in a classroom studying for my NEWT exams, I mean proper one-on-one training. I'd want you to start teaching me everything you can think of that will help me in a duel with Voldemort. We might need to bring some others in, too. I was thinking Professor Moody would be a big help in preparing me."
"You are quite right, my boy. We need to start giving you some real help. I must confess that it is a bitter blow to me to realise that I could have been personally training you all this time and it might have made a real difference. Now, I have but a year to teach you all that I can. I agree that Alastor Moody will be a good choice to be involved, too. I shall contact him as soon as possible," Dumbledore confirmed.
"Excellent. I think I might have to change my timetable a bit, when we get back to Hogwarts. Divination and History of Magic aren't going to help me much, are they? I was thinking of dropping Herbology, too, to free up more time," Harry pondered.
"Indeed, I think concentrating on Defence, Transfiguration and Charms would be a very wise move, although I would suggest you keep up your Potions studies. There are many useful things to be learnt in that field, Harry."
"If Professor Snape lets me back into his class, that is," Harry snorted.
"Ah, I think there might be some changes afoot in that department," Dumbledore smiled mysteriously, causing Harry to frown. More secrets?
"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked in cool tone. "Is Professor Snape not returning to Hogwarts next term?"
"Oh, no. Professor Snape will still be in attendance, but I rather hope that it will be in a different capacity than he is presently engaged in. In fact, I was rather hoping you could help with that, Harry," Dumbledore smiled.
"Please explain," Harry said firmly, irritated by the old wizard's habit of providing as little information as possible. The look on Dumbledore's face seemed to suggest that he had picked up on Harry's annoyance.
"Before taking you to the Burrow, I was planning on making a side-trip to visit an old colleague of mine, one Horace Slughorn. Horace has been retired for some time, but I am hoping to persuade him to return to teaching to fill a gap in our staff roster that current exists. While Horace is a fine fellow, he does rather have a liking for mentoring famous or influential pupils. I suspect the idea of teaching you would be a great incentive for him to return," Dumbledore explained cheerfully.
"So, this Slughorn bloke teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts, does he?" Harry pressed, thinking that this was the only reaching position not filled.
"Ah, no. Horace is in fact a highly skilled Potions Master," the Headmaster replied.
Harry frowned. Why would Dumbledore need another Potions Master unless…
"Oh, bloody hell, no!" Harry exclaimed. "No way in hell!"
"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore said in alarm, clearly surprised by Harry's sudden outburst.
"You want to give Snape the Defence position, don't you?" Harry nearly spat. "There's no way that I'm going to do anything to help you do that."
Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, I know that you and Professor Snape have never been on good terms, but…"
"This isn't about me!" Harry interrupted. "Don't you understand? Voldemort is back and now everybody is in danger. The Defence classes have never been more important and that means you have to have the most competent teacher in that position that you can find."
"I assure you, no one knows more about the Dark Arts then Severus Snape," Dumbledore responded, a touch of irritation in his voice.
"Bully for him!" Harry snorted angrily. "Only that wasn't my point. I said we needed a 'competent teacher.' That is the last thing that Snape is. He can't teach for toffee! He might know how to make every potion there is, or even know how to defeat every Dark curse out there, but that's useless unless he can impart that knowledge onto others, and he can't! He'll just do what he always does; write a few lines on a blackboard, sneer at anyone who doesn't instantly understand what he means, and be blatantly bias in favour of his Slytherins. War is coming, sir, and if you put Severus Snape in charge of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, you will be putting the life of every boy and girl in that class at risk."
"Harry, you are exaggerating," Dumbledore began again.
"No, I'm not!" Harry cut him off. "Have you ever watched Snape teach a class? It's pathetic! He never gives any help or support, he never explains anything properly, and he's just bloody mean to everyone. He clearly hates all children, not just me, so why he ever became a teacher is beyond me!"
Dumbledore sighed. "That was my doing, I'm afraid. Severus needed a job after Voldemort was defeated the first time, and I wanted to keep him close at hand as I knew I would need his talents again one day. While I know he can be unpopular, I would ask you to reconsider, Harry. Professor Snape has a veritable goldmine of information he can dispense regarding the Dark Arts, and I promise to talk to him about his teaching methods. Besides, we do need Horace at Hogwarts. He has vital information that will aid us to defeat Voldemort."
"What information?" Harry demanded, not now prepared to take anything Dumbledore said at face value.
"He was one of Tom Riddle's professors and it is my belief that…" Dumbledore began, but then his voice trailed off. He stared at the A4 piece of paper in his hand. "Now I come to think about it, maybe the information Horace possesses isn't of such importance, after all. Not now."
"Did he know about the Horcruxes?" Harry asked in surprise.
"I believe so," Dumbledore confirmed. "It is my understanding that Horace knew the exact number of the foul things that Voldemort created, but as he was inadvertently of help to Riddle in their making, his great shame led him to deny everything. I have to admit, Harry, that I had hoped to get Horace to confess what he knew, if only for his own sake. The poor man has carried around a great burden of guilt for many years, and finally admitting what he had done would help alleviate that. Horace wasn't the only person to be fooled by Tom, after all."
Harry thought for a moment. "If you want my help trying to get this Slughorn bloke to talk, then fair enough. But I stand by what I said; I won't do anything that will result in Professor Snape getting the Defence job. You need to get someone decent in that role, sir, an Auror, or something. I promise, this isn't just me saying this just because I don't like Snape. You can ask anyone who has had a Potions class with him. Anyone other than a Slytherin, of course."
"I can see your mind is made up, Harry," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Let me give the whole matter more thought. I might still ask you to come and visit Horace with me at some point, anyway. Your mother was one of his favourite pupils and I'm sure he could tell you many interesting tales about her."
"Then I'd very much like to meet him, sir," Harry nodded in agreement.
"Excellent. Now, before we head to the Burrow, we have one more task that needs to be taken care of. Around a week ago, Sirius's will was discovered and it appears that he left you everything he owned."
"Oh, right," Harry replied, unable to think of anything to say. Although the pain of his godfather's loss had dulled somewhat, the mention of his name brought it surging back.
"In addition to adding a reasonable amount of gold to your vault at Gringotts, Sirius also left you 12 Grimmauld Place," Dumbledore explained. "This, however, might prove problematical."
"In what way?" Harry asked, not particularly caring for the idea of inheriting that gloomy old building.
"The Black family was most traditional in outlook, and it is quite possible that they would not want their property to fall into the hands of anyone not of pure blood. While Sirius made it quite clear he wanted you to inherit the house, it is possible that there are enchantments or spells to prevent you, a half-blood, from doing so. We have taken the liberty of vacating the building until ownership can be established. Our fear is that is you cannot have the place, ownership will pass to the next eldest of Sirius's relatives, which would be his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange," the old wizard told him.
"The bitch that killed him? Sirius would turn in his grave!" Harry spat.
"Quite. There is, fortunately, a simple test to establish ownership. In addition to inheriting the house, you have also inherited Kreacher, the Black's house-elf. If Kreacher is prepared to accept orders from you, then it proves you are indeed the owner of Grimmauld Place. If I may, I would like to summon him here so we can test that theory," Dumbledore said.
Harry gritted his teeth. He'd rather face one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts then see that horrid little vermin, but Dumbledore was right: the house was too useful to allow it to fall into the hands of Bellatrix. Grimly he nodded his approval, and Dumbledore flicked his wand. A loud crack signalled the arrival of the small elf, who immediately started wringing his hands and mumbling to himself.
"Kreacher won't obey the filthy Potter brat. Kreacher wants to belong to Miss Bellatrix, he does! Kreacher won't, won't, won't…"
"Kreacher, shut up!" Harry snapped, his temper rising at the sight of the miserable traitor who had helped lead him into the trap at the Department of Mysteries.
The elf was immediately silent, although he looked like he was choking with the effort of trying to speak.
"I rather think that clears up the matter," Dumbledore noted cheerful, but Harry wasn't finished.
"You know that you have to take orders from me now, don't you?" he asked the elf in a cold voice.
Kreacher reluctantly nodded.
"As I understand it, I could order you to throw yourself off a tall building, or to slit your own wrists. You understand that, don't you?" he continued with barely supressed anger in his voice.
Kreacher nodded again, but looked fearful this time.
"Well, you can relax for the moment; I'm not going to order you to do anything like that," Harry admitted grimly, "providing you do exactly what I tell you to do. You're not to do anything that would hurt me or any of my friends, in any way, whatsoever. You will do nothing that will aid Voldemort or any of his supporters, at all. Got that? From this point onwards, you will be totally loyal to me and to the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Is that clear, and, yes, you can speak to confirm that?"
"Kreacher understands," the elf croaked, although he looked far from happy.
"Good, because this is your final warning. If you do anything that results in anyone I care about getting hurt, I will make sure it's the last thing you ever do," Harry snapped. "Now, go back to Grimmauld Place and start clearing it up. Do a proper job this time."
Kreacher nodded curtly, and vanished from sight.
"Very well done, Harry," Dumbledore congratulated him. "I suspect Kreacher will not dare to try any shenanigans from this point on. I would recommend that you favour him with the occasional kindness, however. Sirius was rather unpleasant to him, and I suspect that was one of the reasons Kreacher was willing to betray him."
"Oh, I won't treat him badly," Harry confirmed gruffly. "Can you imagine what Hermione would say if I did?"
"Quite right. Miss Granger would be very disapproving, I believe. I would also remind you that Buckbeak is still in the house…" Dumbledore started.
"Can he go back to Hogwarts now?" Harry interrupted. "A cramped room isn't the best place for a Hippogriff."
"I will make the necessary arrangements with Hagrid. Well, I think we had better make our way to the Burrow. The hour is late and the chances of finding anyone still awake in the Weasley household lessen by the moment. Come, Harry, grab your trunk and we will be off," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
Harry needed no encouragement. He firstly hurried over and opened the window, so Hedwig could fly to the Burrow herself, before grabbing her cage and his trunk. Between the two of them, they managed to manoeuvre the items downstairs without making any noise, and were soon outside.
"Now, Harry, I don't believe you have ever Apparated before, have you?" Dumbledore asked.
"No, sir," Harry admitted.
"Take my arm and hold on tight," Dumbledore advised him. "This can be rather unpleasant the first time you try it."
It was indeed an extremely unpleasant experience, but Harry did manage to avoid throwing up once it stopped. A fleeting memory of doing this before came to his mind, but he realised this memory was one of Tom's. Once he gained his wits, he looked around him and found himself in a dark country lane, with the Burrow silhouetted in the pale moonlight ahead of him.
"I must admit, I had intended to have a little chat with you before we parted, but in the circumstances I think that talk can wait," Dumbledore said looking at Harry gravely. "You have already managed to completely alter my plans this night, and I have much to think about. I will offer one piece of advice before I go, however. The press are in a frenzy concerning the recent events at the Ministry, and are already referring to you as the 'Chosen One'. While this title is surprisingly apt, it is little more than guesswork on their part. Guard the contents of the prophecy closely, Harry, and share it with no one, other than perhaps your friends Ron and Hermione. They, at least, deserve to know what they are up against."
Harry nodded curtly, but privately thought more people should be told than just his two best friends. The prophecy put lives at risk, and others should at least know why they were in danger.
"Good, although I trust that you will use your best judgement in that regard. Come, let us see who is still awake at this hour," Dumbledore announced cheerfully before striding towards the back door of the Burrow. He knocked three times before Harry heard Mrs Weasley's nervous voice demand to know who was there.
"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry," he called.
The door opened and Mrs Weasley hurried out, wearing an old green dressing-gown.
"Albus, Harry! You gave me a fright! I thought we weren't to expect you until morning," Molly exclaimed.
"The events of the evening unfolded in a rather unsuspecting way," Dumbledore explained, ushering Harry into the kitchen. "Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"
Harry looked over and was surprised to see the young witch sitting at the kitchen table clutching a large mug in her hands. To Harry's eyes, Tonks didn't look at all well. Her normally colourful hair was brown and lank, while her normally cheerful expression was notably absent.
"Hello, Professor," she said with a rather forced smile. "Wotcher, Harry."
"Hi, Tonks. Is everything alright?" he asked.
"They could be better," she admitted.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked in concern.
"Not really, Harry, unless you're skilled at talking sense into stubborn idiots," she replied. "I'd better be off, anyway. Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."
"I must go, too," Dumbledore announced. "Much has happened this evening and I must consider the implication of it all. Harry, I promise to be in contact soon. We have much left to discuss."
"We do indeed, Professor," he agreed. "I'll wait to hear from you."
"I'll visit again in a couple days, at most," he promised. "Molly, your servant."
A moment later it was just him and Molly Weasley left standing in the kitchen. She turned to regard him closely.
"Well, I'm pleased to see you look to be in good health, Harry. I was so worried about you being stuck over there with those Muggle relatives of yours. I can't believe how tall you're getting! Just like Ron, I'd swear the pair of you had Stretching Jinxes cast on you. Are you hungry, Harry?"
"Yes, I must admit I am a bit peckish, Mrs Weasley," Harry admitted with smile.
"Sit yourself down at the table and I'll rustle something up for you," she smiled.
Harry took a seat at the old, battered wooden table. Unbidden, a wide grin crept onto his face as he looked around the cluttered kitchen. Despite his initial reluctance to abandon his studies back at Privet Drive, he couldn't suppress the feeling of happiness he felt at being back in the Burrow. This place had always felt more like a true home to him than the Dursley's house ever had.
His thoughts were interrupted by a squashed face, ginger cat jumping into his lap and wiggling itself into a comfortable position. Harry's fingers involuntarily began to stroke its fur and it began to emit a loud purring noise.
"Is Hermione here already?" he asked, massaging the cat's neck in such a way that it sent Crookshanks into ecstasy.
"Oh, yes, she arrived the day before yesterday," Mrs Weasley confirmed. "Everyone is tucked up in bed, of course. We really didn't expect you until the morning. Here you go."
Mrs Weasley Levitated a large, metal pot towards him, and pushed a bowl in front of him just in time to catch a generous helping of thick onion soup into it as the pan tipped over, seemingly of its own volition. She then added several thick slices of home baked bread to the side of his bowl. Harry sniffed the delicious aroma coming from the soup and felt his stomach rumble. He grabbed a spoon and began to dig in.
He grinned as he savoured the rich, sharp taste of the soup. Mrs Weasley was definitely the greatest cook he knew. This was a million times better than that foul, watery gruel they served him back at the orphanage. He dipped a slice of bread into the soup and ate it with an expression of joy on his face.
"You're here much earlier than Albus said you would be. Didn't you visit Horace Slughorn, in the end?" Mrs Weasley asked.
"No, Professor Dumbledore and I had a bit of a disagreement on that point," Harry replied between mouthfuls. "While I don't know anything about this Slughorn bloke, I most definitely didn't like the idea of Professor Snape taking over the Defence Against the Dark Arts role."
"Yes, well, I'm not sure I can blame you for that," she replied doubtfully. "I know Albus trusts him implicitly, but he can be a rather prickly character, can't he? Percy is the only one of my boys who's ever really liked him."
"That's a surprise," Harry muttered under his breath.
"What was that, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked.
"Just agreeing with you, that's all," he said quickly.
"Well, never mind that, I have some good news to tell you about," Mrs Weasley beamed. "I don't know if Ron mentioned it in any of his letters, but Arthur has been promoted!"
"Really?" Harry said with some surprise. As much as he liked Mr Weasley, he'd always got the impression that the man was considered something of a joke within the Ministry.
"Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has created several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job and he's got ten people reporting to him now."
"Big name, too," Harry smirked. "Still, that's great news, Mrs Weasley. Mr Weasley definitely deserves it."
"Oh, you sweet boy," Mrs Weasley smiled, and added a few extra slices of bread to the side of his bowl.
As Harry continued to eat, he pondered the significance of Mr Weasley's promotion. He didn't doubt that Arthur would be well suited to the job, but having a staff of ten people was definitely a step up in the world. Was it just a coincidence that someone so close to Harry had just been handed a plum new job? He probably wouldn't have even thought about it before, but his new, more cynical world-view made Harry suspicious.
"So, what's the new Minister like?" Harry asked casually.
"He's a great improvement on Cornelius Fudge, I must say. He used to be Head Auror, and Tonks speaks quite highly of him. I'm sure he'll be more effective at standing up to You-Know-Who, anyway," Mrs Weasley said happily.
Harry nodded and returned to his soup. Silently, he wondered if the new Minister might be making contact with him soon. Fudge had been keen to use Harry's fame for his own ends, and he doubted Scrimgeour would be any different. Still, maybe it would be more advantageous to play the game a little, this time. Dumbledore's alienation of Fudge had only created problems, and if Scrimgeour turned out to be a man he could work with, Harry was quite prepared to offer his support to him, providing he got something in return. Arthur's promotion hinted that might be something the new Minister was amenable to.
A sudden shout of happiness roused Harry from his thoughts.
"Arthur's on his way home," Mrs Weasley declared as she examined a large clock that was perched precariously on a pile of newly-laundered sheets. The clock was a remarkable piece of magic, Harry had to admit, even if he would have been uncomfortable with the idea of someone knowing where he was and what he was doing every second of the day.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the back door and Mrs Weasley scrambled to answer it.
As was the Ministry's recommended guidelines these days, Arthur and Molly exchanged personal information to identify each other before the door was opened. Harry successfully managed to stifle a snigger when he learned that Arthur's pet name for his wife was 'Mollywobbles'. Besides, he really didn't want to think about how she earned that nickname.
The second Arthur laid his eyes on Harry, he broke into a wide smile. "Harry! We didn't expect you until the morning."
"Yeah, in the end the headmaster decided we wouldn't be making the detour he'd planned," Harry explained. "It's good to see you again, sir. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way."
"Pah, what's with all this 'sir' nonsense? You've known us long enough to call us by our given names; Arthur and Molly," the older man said dismissively, "and thank you, although I'm beginning to think that this new job is a curse, not a blessing. I'm worked off my feet at the moment."
Arthur broke into a long description of the various suspect items that he and his team had been forced to confiscate. Harry tried to concentrate, but his full stomach and the late hour made it difficult. He tried to suppress a yawn, but failed.
"It's time you were tucked up in bed," Molly decided. "I've got Fred and George's room all ready for you. They're sleeping in a little flat over their new shop at the moment. Ever so busy, they are. Come along, dear, your trunk's already up there."
"Thanks, Mrs Weasley. Good night, Mr Weasley, perhaps we'll have a chance to chat tomorrow?" Harry asked.
"I hope so, Harry. Good night," the man replied with a kind smile.
With Crookshanks happily trotting alongside, they made their way up the stairs to the room that Harry had been allocated on the second floor. Despite the room's cluttered appearance, it looked a lot more comfortable than his room back at Privet Drive. He quickly changed for bed, and was asleep nearly before his head hit the pillow.