Chapter Ten - Secrets and Promises
It took Hermione several moments to focus on her surrounding as she felt her feet hit terraferma once more as Dobby's small hand released the surprisingly firm grip he had held on her during apparition. She managed to avoid stumbling to the floor as she felt gravity reasserting it's hold on her body, although it was a close run thing. She straightened up and instantly recognised her surroundings: The Great Hall.
No, not the hall, she realised as her senses steadied themselves after what had been her first experience of side-along apparition. It had proven to be a deeply uncomfortable sensation - even more so than her first experience of portkey transportation the previous summer.
Although clearly not the Great Hall, the space she and Harry now found themselves in did bear a number of similarities to vast space that was at the very heart of daily life at Hogwarts. There were four long wooden tables arranged in rows identical to those of the four school houses, although without the long benches that the students would sit on at mealtimes. Instead there were a handful of small wooden chairs scattered around the space. The chamber in which they stood was also approximately the same size; perhaps even slightly larger than the Great Hall, although it did feel somewhat more claustrophobic owing to its much lower ceiling and lack of natural light.
"That was horrible," said Harry, who looked about as green as Hermione felt.
"Mm hmm," said Hermione distractedly as her eyes roved the familiar space, although she did wordlessly agree with Harry. Now I know what toothpaste feels like when it's squeezed from the tube, she thought, projecting the mental image across their link.
Harry's lips cracked into a smile, signifying his agreement of her metaphor. Aloud he asked; "Where's Dobby?"
"Gone back for the others I should think," said Hermione, offering the only logical conclusion she could think of for little elf's absence.
Her theory was proven accurate a moment later as another soft pop echoed around the room; a very pale, bewildered looking Ron and a beaming Sirius appeared from thin air before them, their backs to the facsimiles of the four house tables.
"Where are we?" asked Ron.
"The Hogwarts Kitchens!" proclaimed Sirius, turning slowly on the spot, drinking in every inch of the space. "I've got loads of happy memories of this place. Don't tell me you three have never been in here before?" he asked, his tone teasing.
He was still smiling broadly but Hermione couldn't help but note, as he completed his turn on the spot to face her once more, his smile did not quite extend as far as his eyes. The lack of warmth behind his grey eyes gave his sallow face the same haunted look she recalled from his wanted posters the previous year.
She didn't have time to analyse Sirius's change in demeanour further however, as Ron's eyebrows rose as he too recognised his surroundings. "Oh, yeah. We've been in here before," he said fondly, leaving Hermione in no doubt he was remembering the excellent haul of food the Hogwarts elves had provided him with on his last visit. "Found it before Christmas last year."
Sirius's expressive face took on a look of mock hurt. "A son of a marauder should have found this place first term of first year," he said, speaking directly to his godson.
Harry shrugged. "Too busy trying not to get killed by trolls or Cerberus's I guess," he dead panned, eliciting a roar of laughter from his godfather.
Sirius's mirth was cut shot as another pop signalled the arrival of the last of their party.
"I am pleased to see you are keeping abreast of the latest events," said Dumbledore without preamble. He was holding the same copies of the yellowing Daily Prophet's that Sirius had gathered from the village. Presumably he had brought them back with him.
The headmaster crossed the room in long, purposeful strides that appeared to defy his age, taking a seat at the head, of what Hermione registered, was the equivalent of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall directly above.
The headmaster, she noted, was once more exuding the same power and authority she had witnessed several times already in the last week; an authority that the rest of the group silently acknowledged by moving to positions on either side of the table. Harry led Hermione to a position on the headmasters right, whilst Sirius and Ron pulled a couple of chairs up opposite them. Only Dobby remained standing, hovering slightly behind Harry.
Dumbledore's eyes moved slowly in a semi-circle across those before him, current and former students alike. His gaze coming to rest on the diminutive elf. He regarded the house-elf with his chin lowered to his chest so that he could peer over his glasses. "Perhaps I could trouble you for some refreshments, Dobby?" he asked, evidently choosing his words carefully so as not to make his request an order.
Dobby blinked his protuberant green eyes once. "Of course Professor," he squeaked and hurried out of sight, presumably to procure whatever left overs there were from lunch.
If I'd have known we were coming back here, Hermione 'heard' Harry think. I wouldn't have lugged that bag of food around all day. It was bloody heavy.
Hermione resisted the urge to admonish Harru for his language as she realised he had not spoken aloud.
Dumbledore smiled as he watched the retreating back of the elf out of sight, before placing the newspapers on the scrubbed surface of the wooden tables in front of them.
"I assume these articles reveal at least part of your motivations for returning, Sirius?" said Dumbledore as if he were commenting on the weather.
All eyes around the table dropped to the headlines. There were three; the first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing - Minister for Magic Now Personally Involved. The third, which appeared to be a local muggle newspaper as none of the pictures were in motion, was folded over in such a manner as to highlight a small story about a gardener, Frank Bryce, who had gone missing from a village called Little Hangleton. Logically, as Hermione was certain that this newspaper had not been in Sirius's cave, this newspaper must belong to Dumbledore.
"Things are certainly getting fishier, Albus," agreed Sirius. "But what's this about Harry and Hermione being married?"
Hermione's cheeks reddened. Sirius was a difficult person to read properly, his depths often hidden behind his jovial veneer, which, Hermione felt certain, was more of an act now than it had been in his former life.
Having spent more than a decade having the joy sucked out of him by the foulest creatures known to wizard kind, how could it not be, at least partially forced.
However, despite her difficulties in getting a true reading on Sirius's feelings, right now she got the distinct impression that Harry's godfather was less than thrilled at the thought of she and Harry being married. But whether that was because they were so young or for some other reason she could not say - he had seemed truly delighted that they were a couple less than ten minutes ago after all.
"All in good time," said Dumbledore smoothly. "The relationship between our young Gryffindors here is both complicated and vital to our understanding of recent, and perhaps even future events. I ask for your patience, Sirius."
Sirius nodded his head once in acquiescence, pushing away the tangled mop of hair that had fallen over his face in that motion.
"I also think it prudent that we find you a more suitable place to hide," added Dumbledore, his expression sincere.
"You'll get no arguments from me, Albus," replied Sirius. "Anywhere with a shower and three square meals a day would be a vast improvement on my current accommodations."
At that moment Dobby returned. Or at least Hermione assumed it was Dobby. Two large silver platers of food wobbled into sight, presumably carried by the elf, who was hidden from sight, such was the size of his burden. Hermione opened her mouth to say something regarding elvish welfare, but closed it almost as promptly as she realised this was perhaps not the most opportune moment to bring the subject up. Especially in light of the fact the Dumbledore had gone out of his way to avoid giving Dobby a direct order to bring them food.
"Thank you Dobby," said Dumbledore graciously as the elf set the platters of food in the centre of the table.
"You's is most welcome, Professor Dumbledore," replied Dobby who's back seemed to spasm as if he were resisting the urge to bow. "But begging your pardons, Master Harry, but Dobby must go. Dobby has found Winky drunk again," he added by way of explanation, severely testing Hermione's resolve not to mention S.P.E.W.
"It's okay Dobby," replied Harry kindly. "Go. Take care of Winky. We'll come and find you later."
Hermione presumed that Harry wanted to find the little elf to give him their gifts; a presumption that Harry confirmed via their link.
Dobby nodded his head eagerly and scurried out of sight once more as a silence fell across the table as those assembled reached out to fill their plates with items of food.
Anyone who didn't know better, Hermione realised, would have assumed that it was Ronald and not Sirius who was suffering from malnutrition judging by the huge mound of food her best friend was piling onto his plate. She unconsciously crinkled her nose at her friends display of manner - or lack thereof.
"What?" asked Ron through a mouthful of chicken, obviously reading Hermione's expression all too well. "I haven't had lunch!"
Hermione had to admit that she was famished too, having only been able to sample a few bites of the picnic Dobby had prepared for them, she eagerly placed a selection of items on her plate and for several minutes, only the sounds of knifes and forks on crockery filled the air.
Finally when they had all eaten their fill, Dumbledore stood. "Now that we are suitably fed and watered so as our minds can focus on something other than the growls of our stomachs, I suggest we begin," he announced as Ron set down his cutlery with a clatter.
When no one objected, Dumbledore sent all of the dirtied plates back in the direction that Dobby had brought them with a nonchalant flick of his wand.
Slipping his wand into his sleeve he reseated himslef and knitted his fingers together, settling his joined hands on the table before him. To Hermione he looked to be steeling himself for whatever he was about to say and, in the artificial light of the basement kitchen, Hermione noted he had lost some of his aura of authority. He looked almost as frail and weary as he had that night they had been taken to the infirmary.
"Whilst the unexplained illness of Bartemius Crouch and Bertha Jorkins disappearance - " began the headmaster without preamble indicating the Daily Prophet's " - and that of a muggle by the name of Frank Bryce - " he gestured to the muggle paper " - all appear unconnected, I am convinced that they are linked in some manner. Furthermore, when coupled with the information I have garnered from my sources and the pain Harry suffered in his scar last summer - "
How did he know that? wondered Harry idly to Hermione.
Sirius probably told him, she thought back. I doubt you're the only person Sirius writes to.
" - leave me in no doubt," continued Dumbledore, unaware of their non-verbal conversation. "Lord Voldemort will soon succeed in his plans to return himself to corporeal form."
A hushed silence fell.
Hermione noted that the fear and worry she expected to experienced in response to such a blunt and frightening statement never came, making her wonder if she was once more drawing on Harry's strength in that regard.
She shot a look to her side to find Harry sitting ramrod straight. His gaze hard and his lips had thinned to the narrowest of lines. It was at that moment that she realised what this meeting was; it was a council of war.
Although, for the time being at least, Hermione could not fathom Dumbledore's reason for including an escaped convict and three teenagers in such a meeting.
Sirius was the first to speak. "Are you going to reform the order?" he asked.
"With immediate effect," said Dumbledore without hesitation.
"The order?" asked Ron curiously.
"The Order of the Phoenix," explained Sirius, tipping his chair back onto it's rear legs and scratching at his stubbly beard. "We were the resistance against Voldemort in the first war."
No one in the room could fail to notice Sirius's very deliberate reference to the first war. His implication was clear; there was going to be a second war if they couldn't put a stop to it.
If it hasn't started already, Hermione thought morosely.
"I would like you to set up headquarters for the order, Sirius," continued Dumbledore.
"Consider it done, Albus," replied Sirius looking thoughtful. "We could always use Grimwald Place," he continued, obviously thinking aloud. "No one has lived there since Mother died. It's well protected."
"Excellent," agreed Dumbledore. "I'll ask you to begin making arrangements as soon as our business here is completed. Perhaps you could even reside there yourself? We could connect you to the fireplace in my office so that you could remain close at hand as it were."
Sirius considered the suggestion for all of two seconds before agreeing. "I never thought I'd be pleased to be going back there," he murmured to no one in particular.
From the depths of the basement kitchen came the unmistakable sounds of dozens of pots and pans tumbling to the floor. Their metallic crashes echoing loudly around the cavernous space, the muffled high pitched squeaks of countless hidden house-elf's joining the cacophony of noise a few moments later. Some voices, although too far away to discern, clearly barking out orders, whilst others clearly abashed, acknowledged those commands.
As the din faded away, Hermione took advantage of the lull in the conversation. "If you don't mind me asking headmaster. What sources?" It was certainly not the case that she doubted the validity of Dumbledore's theory (most people would happily accept a theory from Albus Dumbledore over the facts of almost any other) but her curiosity refused to be contained.
Dumbledore chuckled, a little of his usual good humour visible in his eyes. "No Miss Granger, I do not mind. As you know first hand, I am not immune to making mistakes, and, as the coming months are no doubt going to ask much of each of us, it is only fitting that I should share with you everything I have learnt to see if you reach the same conclusions as I."
For the second time in a little over a week, Hermione found herself rendered mute by the headmasters words. In truth she was stunned at how open the headmaster was offering to be. As much as she had always admired and respected the august wizard, being bonded to Harry had given her a new perspective. She now knew that as well as being extremely powerful and uncommonly kind, the headmaster was also a rather cagey individual, on many occasions giving Harry, and therefore indirectly, her, the impression that he knew far more than he was willing to reveal. What had motivated Dumbledore's change of heart, she did not know, however she did note that his willingness to share did appear to be genuine.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore had extracted a small wooden box from the front pocket of his robes which he placed on the table. Extracting his wand with his other hand, he silently cast what Hermione recognised as the counter-charm to the Reducio charm. A moment later the box had expanded to the size of a small crate.
Grasping the lid with his free hand, Dumbledore swung the top of the box open on it's hinges to reveal a shallow stone basin surrounded by small corked bottles containing a silvery substance.
"A pensieve?" asked Sirius.
"I felt it would prove more expedient," agreed Dumbledore.
"What's a pensieve?" Ron wanted to know.
"It's an object which allows you to view someone else's memory," quoted Hermione verbatim.
"That's correct Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, briefly sounding as if he were planning to award Hermione ten house points. "And I have a number of memories that I believe will prove illuminating," he concluded, uncorking one of the tiny glass bottles and pouring the contents held within into the pensieve.
Unknowingly, everyone gathered around the table lent forward slightly as Dumbledore gave the silvery substance a prod with the tip of his wand. As if attracted magnetically, a ghostly figure rose out of the basin, coalescing into the image which was unmistakably that of professor Snape. With his feet still firmly hidden in the pool of silver, the hook nosed Slytherin head-of-house began to slowly rotate on the spot. His left sleeve was rolled up and he appeared to pointing at something that looked like a tattoo on his forearm, although the image was too small and indistinct for Hermione to make out what it was.
"It's coming back...Karkaroff's too...stronger and clearer than ever..." Snape's voice echoed around the room as if he were speaking to them from the bottom of the stone basin.
With another prod from his wand, the miniature Snape sank back into the basin.
"Confused?" asked Dumbledore. "I'd be astounded if you weren't." he took a steadying breath. "You see, both Igor and Severus were, at one time, Death Eaters."
The cacophony of noise that met the headmasters statement made the earlier clatter of pots and pans pale into insignificance.
Dumbledore held up both of his hands placatingly in an attempt to quell the tumultuous noise that had erupted around the table. Sirius was on his feet yelling something incoherent, his chair lying on its back on the floor where it had fallen when he had sprung to his feet in outrage. Ron's jaw was set square, his teeth grinding against one another, as he managed to spit out one sentence; "I knew it!"
Harry said nothing. His eyes had taken on a glazed look as if he were no longer seeing anyone in the room.
Hermione bit her lip as she attempted to assemble the incomplete jigsaw in her mind. They had long believed that Professor Snape was, at best, fascinated by the dark arts, and at worst a supporter of Voldemort himself - a suspicion that had refused to completely evaporate even after the potion masters actions in saving Harry's life in their first year. But now Dumbledore was telling them that they had been right all along; Severus Snape was a Death Eater. One of Voldemorts most trusted lieutenants.
"But you still trust him?" she said aloud, voicing the only conclusion she could come to as the initial hubbub died away.
Whilst it was true that Professor Snape was undoubtedly an excellent potion maker, he was clearly ill suited a position in education. His cruel taunting of Harry in their last lesson had proven that much - if further proof were needed. Logically then, Professor Dumbledore had to have another reason for keeping him around.
"Yes Miss Granger. I trust Severus implicitly," replied Dumbledore. "With my life if need be."
"Why?"
Harry had not shouted, but his voice, which had taken on a distant, monotone quality, rang out across the low ceilinged room. It was at that moment Hermione realised that she could no longer sense Harry's feelings. He's shutting me out, she realised in frustration and worry in equal parts and she attempted to reach out with her mind to him but was met with a mind scape that the headmaster had once described as 'a blank sheet of obsidian'.
Dumbledore placed a hand on his forehead and ran it down the length of his lined face. "Forgive me, Harry. That, I cannot tell you," he said, his sapphire eyes looking deeply saddened by his admission. "Whilst I have agreed to be forthcoming with my own secrets with you all, I gave Severus my word I would never speak of his reasons for turning. You would have to ask him that yourself, although I can not promise you he would be forthcoming with that information. What I can tell you is that, in the days before Voldemorts apparent demise, whilst he was at the very height of his powers, Severus turned spy for the Order at great personal risk to himself. He has never given me reason to doubt his loyalty in the fifteen years since."
"You really trust him?" asked Ron, who was sitting with his head in his hands staring at his knees.
"As I have said, Mr Weasley. Implicitly."
"What was he showing you on his arm?"
Hermione was pleased to note that the deadened quality that Harry's voice had taken on a few moments previously had softened somewhat. That pleasure swelling in her chest as she 'felt' the tendrils of Harry's mind brushing against hers once more.
Sorry, he projected to her. I didn't want you to feel that too. I nearly lost control again. Hermione could almost hear the sheepish tone in his 'voice'.
You don't have to protect me, Harry, she thought back. Just don't shut me out. Let me help you. I'll always be there for you.
Hermione felt Harry mentally nod and they returned their attention to the head of the table once more.
"The dark mark," said Dumbledore in answer to Harry's question. "A sort of magical tattoo Voldemort used to brand his supporters. Both Severus's and Igor's have apparently been growing clearer for months. Since last summer in fact, Harry. When your scar hurt after your dream."
"So you think the dream was real?" asked Harry in astonishment.
"Possibly," said Dumbledore resting his chin atop his steepled fingers. "Probably in fact."
"And that's how you know he's getting stronger again?" added Ron thoughtfully.
Dumbledore nodded his agreement. "Although the disappearances alone would have had me concerned, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "The years of Lord Voldemort's first rise to power were marked by many unexplained disappearances."
"It certainly feels like before," agreed Sirius. "We know Bertha Jorkins vanished into thin air in a place Voldemort was last known to be, but I do not see the connection between that and the strange absences of Barty Crouch or the disappearance of that muggle gardener."
"My brother is Crouch's personal assistant," interjected Ron. "Percy says he's just suffering from overwork."
"That doesn't jibe with I know of Crouch," said Sirius, a trace of bitterness in his tone. "If he's ever taken a day off sick in his life I'll eat Buckbeak."
"Whilst your opinion of the man may have been somewhat clouded by your previous run-ins with Bartemuis, Sirius, I can not dispute your assertion," agreed Dumbledore.
"You knew Crouch?" asked Hermione.
Sirius's face darkened. Hermione forced herself not to flinch as his shadowed lifeless eyes settled on her. He looked quite as disturbed as the first time they had met him when they still believed him to be a murderer. "You could say that," Sirius replied quietly, the bitterness of his tone now evident to everyone in the room. "He was the one who sent me to Azkaban without a trial."
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.
"Back then, Crouch was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. He was, what you could call, a man of the times. He fought violence with violence; became almost as ruthless as many on the Dark side. I wasn't the only one handed to the tender embrace of the Dementors without a trial," continued Sirius with a chuckle that held not a trace of mirth. "He gave orders to aurors to kill and not capture; even went as far as authorizing the use of unforgivable against enemy combatants."
"He'd likely be Minister for Magic by now if his own son hadn't been caught with a group of Death Eaters."
Hermione was shocked. Not that she had given any consideration to the matter before, but now that she had, she pictured any son of Bartemius Crouch to be someone not at all dissimilar to Percy Weasley. She was about to say as much aloud when Dumbledore steered the conversation on a different track.
"All true, Sirius," he said. "However, I have as yet been unable to explain how Bartemius fits into all of this. Frank Bryce on the other hand has a more direct connection which convinces me that these disappearances are not mere coincidences. Mr Bryce lived in the village where Voldemorts own father was raised. In fact he still tended to the gardens of what the locals still referred to as the Riddle house to the date of his disappearance."
The room settled into silence once more, the only sounds coming from the unseen cooking area beyond where, judging by the wonderful aromas wafting through the air, the house-elves were already busy preparing diner for the thousand or so students that would crowd into the Great Hall that evening.
Harry, who had been sitting silently whilst the others were talking, his brow knit together in concentration, suddenly spoke. "Professor? Do you know why my scar hurts? Why I saw Voldemort in my dreams?"
Dumbledore regarded Harry intently for a moment. It was the same kind of look Hermione remembered the headmaster giving her in the moments before he had attempted to read her mind last month.
"I do have a theory," he admitted. "But only that. We have spoken before of my belief that your scar is no ordinary scar. I believe that you can sense when Voldemort is near, or feeling a particularly strong wave of hatred because you and he are connected by the curse that failed the night of Halloween nineteen-eighty-one."
He's not telling us something, Hermione thought, feeling Harry's agreement travel back across their link. But before either of them had a chance to voice that belief, Sirius spoke.
"You said that Harry and Hermione's marriage has something to do with all this?"
"True," agreed Dumbledore. "But first, perhaps it should fall to them to explain the nature of their relationship?" he added turning his blue eyes towards Harry and Hermione.
"We-we're bonded, Sirius," Harry stammered out.
"A soul bond? But that's - that's - " Words appeared to fail him and Sirius turned his gaze towards Dumbledore.
"Most uncommon," he finished, punctuating his point with a single inclination of his head. "But even that, perhaps, is not the most remarkable part of the story," explained Dumbledore, who promptly launched into the explanation of Hermione's dual cores and how their bond was formed between an older Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. A bond which had somehow re-established itself in the present day.
Sirius ran a hand through his tangled mop of hair as Dumbledore finished his revelations. "You're from the future?" he managed sounding completely dumbfounded as he regarded Hermione as if he was seeing her for the first time.
"Part of me I guess," she admitted. "I get flashes of memories sometimes."
"I've seen them too," added Harry. "Something to do with our bond I guess," he added with a shrug.
"And it is these memories that I hope we will be able to access," put in Dumbledore. "To offer us a glimpse into the future and thus potentially provide the Order with a huge advantage over Lord Voldemort's forces. You may recall I told you both I would require you both to undertake additional lessons?"
Both Harry and Hermione nodded.
"I have taken the liberty of excusing you from your divination classes for the remainder of the year, Harry," Dumbledore continued, subtly ignoring both the wide beaming grin that formed on Harry's features and the equally deep scowl that Ron now wore that evidently spoke of his disappointment that he too had not managed to forego several months stuck in the sweltering hot tower that Professor Trelawney taught in.
"And Miss Granger. Professor Vector tells me you have already completed the year four arithmancy course, so I have cleared it with her that you may also be excused."
Hermione's facial expression warred somewhere between excitement and disappointment. She was of course thrilled to be offered the opportunity to explore a new branch of magic; an area of study which could provide an invaluable weapon against Voldemort, but she could not hide her disappointment that she would not be able to continue her studies into what had quickly developed into one of her favourite subjects. She had been hoping to get a head start on her O.W.L studies.
"Do you really think we'll be able to remember anything useful?" asked Harry, pulling Hermione's attention back to the moment.
"We must at least try," replied Dumbledore. "Mrs Potter, née Granger, obviously had some reason to wish to send us her memories, and as Voldemort has demonstrated something of an obsession with you, Harry, I believe it is fair to expect that the memories transferred to Miss Granger here will feature Voldemort's future actions to some extent."
"He's never going to leave me alone is he?" said Harry sounding totally dejected. "I never asked for him to kill my parents and loose his power. Why couldn't he just leave me alone."
Hermione, who had been watching their exchange carefully noted that, at Harry's last words, Dumbledore had appeared to visibly deflate before her eyes. She regarded the headmaster in silence for a moment; gone was the aura of power and command the headmaster had exuded when they had commenced their meeting. In fact even the weariness he had projected as their conversation had progressed had been replaced with something else; something Hermione read as defeat in his slumped shoulders.
As if reading her thoughts (although Hermione knew that to be impossible) Dumbledore whispered to himself; "It is time."
Dumbledore regarded each one of them in turn, his gaze settling on Harry last. "I am ashamed to admit that I have concealed certain facts from each of you; a pattern of behaviour I have come to realise to be foolish and counter-productive to say the least. If you would permit me Harry, I would like to answer a question you asked me long ago. A question I now realise I should have answered then. There can be no justification for my actions, however I hope that you will be able to forgive the foolish mistakes of an old man in the light of the fact that my motivations were pure, albeit, as I now realise, misguided."
Harry nodded his agreement, but Hermione could sense his deep confusion.
"Very well," said Dumbledore with half hearted approximation of a smile. "I presume you will want everyone to hear what I have to tell you?"
"I believe we would all like to hear what you have to say sir," said Harry. "I don't want any secrets."
Now Dumbledore did manage a true smile. "And that, Harry, is why you are a far better man that I."
Dumbledore took a cleansing breath. "Do you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing having confronted Voldemort for the second time in your short life, why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby?"
Harry nodded once more, his confusion replaced by what Hermione read as something bordering on excitement. An emotion she could well understand. Harry had lived his entire life never knowing the truth: As a child he had been told that his parents were worthless layabouts who had been killed in a car crash when he was just a baby. Even when he had re-entered the magical world as an eleven year old he had known he had been told only part of the story. It was something Hermione had never needed a mind link with her best friend to know that that knowledge ate away at him a little every day.
But now it seemed, after fourteen long years of waiting, Harry was finally going to learn the truth.
"I ought to have told you then, but I convinced myself that eleven was far too young to burden you with the knowledge that I held. I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question that I knew I would one day need to give a terrible answer to. But I did not."
The Headmaster let out a long, slightly theatrical, sigh, before drawing breath and continuing; "And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts, and once more you met challenges that most grown wizards could not have risen to; once again you acquitted yourself yourself beyond even my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again why Voldemort had left that mark on you although we did skirt around the subject, but once more I chose not to tell you everything. Why?"
Dumbledore paused. His explanations did seem to be proving cathartic to him, some of his old aura visible once more in his sparkling blue eyes. Eyes he once more locked with every person seated around the table, his gaze finally coming to rest on Hermione.
"Because you cared about Harry. Perhaps a little too much?" she said, realising the headmaster had silently encouraged her to answer. "You didn't want to cause him any more pain."
As Hermione spoke the words she knew them to be the truth. Dumbledore had obviously taken a very special interest in Harry and cared for him deeply. Perhaps even loved him.
"Precisely Miss Granger. What did I care if countless of nameless and faceless individuals were slaughtered in some vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, well and happy?
But as we entered your third year my conscience grew uneasy as you proved time and time again that you were exceptional. Young though you were; though you still are, my excuses were running out. I knew I must tell you soon."
Dumbledore paused apparently lost in thought.
"So what's changed?" Sirius prompted. "Why tell Harry now?"
Dumbledore tipped his chin in Sirius's direction. "In truth I had no intention of telling Harry the truth any time in the near future," he admitted. "But when Harry and Miss Granger became romantically involved I realised that the time had come."
Obviously important to his explanation, the headmaster was fumbling to open a different stoppered bottle of memories, but his hands were shaking so severely that he proved unable to complete the task. An instant later, Ron had lent over to gently remove the cork, leaving the bottle still clasped in Dumbledore's trembling hand.
He tipped the contents into the basin and once more gave the liquid a faltering prod with his wand tip.
A second ethereal figure rose out of the memory, draped in shawls, her eyes cartoonishly magnified behind her thick glasses. Sybil Trelawney, like Severus Snape before her, began to revolve on the spot, but when she spoke, it was not in her wispy, mystic voice; but a harsh, rough tone that most definitely did not match her slight frame.
"The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches ... Born to those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the dark lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of another for neither can live whilst the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies ... "
The silence in the kitchen was absolute. No one crowded around the table made a sound, not even to drawn breath; and even the distant clattering of the house elves moving pots and pans around had faded to nothing. Even, Hermione noted, her link to Harry was near silent, although not deliberately like before. On that occasion Harry's mind had appeared to her as a solid impenetrable wall, his emotions buried deep inside, but this time Harry was definitely not blocking her deliberately. It was more like nearly every thought, every feeling in his body had suddenly been drained away. Harry's usually active mind now projected only numbness and two very faint, warring emotions across their link; emotions she read as part anger and part pity direct towards the headmaster
Ron found her voice first. "It means Harry?"
Dumbledore nodded apparently unable to reply, as a single tear traced it's way along the deep lines on his ancient face.
"And it's got to be Harry that ends it?" prompted Sirius. "Neither can live whilst the other survives?"
Again Dumbledore merely nodded, his usually twinkling blue eyes now appeared haunted.
"And what about this power he knows not business?" added Ron. "No offence mate, but your not even top of our year."
Hermione could sense that Harry was on the verge of reply with his agreement to Ron's statement when Dumbledore refound his voice.
"Love."
The headmaster had forced the word past his lips in the merest of whispers, but somehow it carried to every pair of ears around the table.
"A force that is more powerful than any in our world," he continued, his voice stronger and more assured. "A power Harry possesses Voldemort knows nothing of. A power which, despite his difficult upbringing, Harry gives freely: To his friends; to his family; and to his wife," Dumbledore punctuated each statement by looking at Ronald, Sirius and Hermione in turn. "It is a power that has linked him with his bond mate in ways I have yet to fully understand, but I do know this; love will be Voldemort's undoing."
Hermione felt a wetness on her cheek and she realised she was crying. Suddenly it all made sense. The formerly incomplete puzzle in her mind slotting together effortlessly in a cascade; each new revelation shedding light on events that had so far been shrouded in darkness.
It wasn't Harry's parent's that had been targeted that night. It was Harry. Voldemort, having learnt of the prophecy, had decided to kill Harry before he could ever become a threat to him.
But he had failed in that endeavour. Thwarted by the selfless act of love of his mother who had died trying to protect him.
The very protection which destroyed the Dark Lord also leaving Harry scared and forever linked to his nemesis.
It also explained why the headmaster had chosen this moment to reveal the truth. If 'the power he knows not' truly was love, then the love that she and Harry shared; a love that had already made them both more powerful than they had any right to be as teenagers, was the very tool that would allow them to end the second war before it could ever start.
Dumbledore pushed up to a standing position, his chair legs scraping loudly on the stone floor. His tired eyes sought out Harry's and seemed to take a measure of comfort from the fact that Harry did meet his gaze. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive a foolish old man, Harry, I promise I will personally aid you in whatever way I am able."
"I will of course understand if that proves impossible for you, but I will ensure that the full power of the Order is available to you in either event. Know only this; you do not have to face Voldemort alone. You are stronger with the support of those closest to you than alone."
The headmaster appeared to be on the verge of saying something more, but apparently thought better of it. Instead he quickly bade the group farewell, turned on his heel and walked slowly towards the stairs to exit the kitchen, leaving those who remained alone with their thoughts.
A/N Welcome back everyone. Hope you enjoyed Chapter ten. Personally I felt it went on to the page a lot easier than the previous few; hopefully that is reflected in it's quality. Fingers crossed.
My only tiny concerns are its length – easily the longest chapter so far, and the last lines - the chapter just seemed to end rather abruptly.
Aside from the change of location this chapter obviously covers a lot of the information from the Chapter 'Padfoot Returns' in GoF, but as I wanted this to be the last explanation chapter, and also the last time we followed canon (except for major events like the third task etc) I've included snippets from 'The Pensieve' from GoF and chapter 37 from OotP to get all the revelations of importance out in the open in one hit.
As so much of the material for this chapter comes from canon this seems to be an appropriate place to give a nod to JKR, who's brilliance I can not hope to come even vaguely close to.
Also one of my reviewers commented that the lag between updates made it hard to remember the details of past events in the story, so I'll add a little chapter by chapter recap at the bottom of each newly posted chapters from here on out.