Note: Phew! This Monday update nearly didn't come! It's a long story. I was planning to get this chapter finished on Sunday, but at the last minute (half past nine on Saturday evening) I decided to go and see the seventh film instead. This would not be so much of a problem, but in order to see the seventh film in English (I am currently resident in Germany) necessitates an hour and a half train journey to the next city, so the trip took most of the day… Anyway, I greatly enjoyed the film, and as such, have a double bill because I am in a generous mood.
Note2: I don't particularly like writing in flashback so I avoid it as much as I can, but I had a very specific idea for how I wanted this chapter to end, and to that end I have used flashback. It will not be a regular feature.
Probably self-explanatory but the flashback sequences are italicised.
Chapter Ten
Birthday Surprises
Harry was inclined to say that this had perhaps been one of the worst birthdays that he had ever experienced in his seventeen years of being, and that was saying something. On the face of it, it should have been pretty good. Yes, there was a war going on, a war that, ostensibly, he was at the heart of. Yes, he was wanted dead by the most evil being to walk the planet. Yes, he had been set the seemingly impossible task of finding and destroying four horcruxes, and his only allies in this mission were Ron, Hermione and Professor McGonagall. Not that Professor McGonagall really counted as an active ally, but at least she was aware of the situation.
Despite all of the negative points, however, Harry's coming-of-age in the magical world should not have been quite as turbulent as it had been. He thought back to the other birthdays that he had experienced. His eleventh was, of course, a high point. There were still times when Harry wondered if his first visit to Diagon Alley had been a dream, even after all these years and so many return visits to the street. He could still clearly recall the wonder and amazement with which he had looked in the windows, immersing himself completely in the strange and fantastical new world that he had just been told, in a rather spectacular fashion, that he was a part of. It was a memory that never failed to make him smile and marvel; one of the strongest ones that he could fall back on to conjure his patronus with.
The next year had not been quite so brilliant, what with Dobby's impromptu visit and all the repercussions that it had entailed, but in hindsight, after everything that Harry had experienced and survived since that fateful day, it paled into insignificance. None of his other birthdays spent at the Dursleys were particularly pleasant, but even they had not been like this one.
Oh yes, it should have been a fairly good birthday despite the tentative and tremulous situation that was going on beyond the protection that the Burrow afforded him. He was a legal adult in the magical world now, and he was celebrating with friends, no, people he honestly considered to be family. Mrs Weasley had baked him a cake in the shape of a Snitch. (He wasn't supposed to know about that but Ron, made suspicious by his mother's squirreling herself away in the kitchen and refusing entrance to everyone, had roped him into a joint espionage mission and they had found out as a matter of course. Thankfully, pure coincidence had meant that Hermione had called them back before Mrs Weasley had caught them snooping; Harry did not like to think of the consequences that would arise if Mrs Weasley knew that he knew that she had baked him a cake in the shape of a Snitch.)
Harry should have known that his birthday was not going to be quite the celebration that he had anticipated from the moment that Hermione had forcibly reminded him of their tenuous mission. Having woken up fairly early, something that was not quite excitement preventing him from going back to sleep, Harry and Ron had spent a happy hour and a half taking full advantage of the fact that Harry was a 'free wizard' as Ron called it, summoning and banishing and lifting and descending and performing all number of banal and nigh-on useless spells in a brilliant, colourful and noisy display of magic that was no longer being monitored by the Ministry, which would have woken the entire house had it not been for Harry's timely remembering of a silencing spell before the fanfare had begun in earnest. They could quite happily have gone on like that all day, but then Hermione had entered to tell them breakfast was ready.
"Can't you knock?" asked Ron, shooting his bedroom door a pointed look, as if it was all its fault that Hermione had been able to enter unannounced. "I mean, we might not be dressed."
"I am sure, Ron, that such an occurrence would be far more damaging to Hermione than you," called Ginny as she passed, but she was already down the stairs before Ron had a chance to make any sort of reply.
"We need to start planning," Hermione said, ignoring Ron's indignation and settling herself on the end of his bed. "Now that Harry's of age…"
"Steady on! Let him enjoy being seventeen for a bit first!"
Hermione looked around at the magically-created mess that covered every available surface in the room, no doubt coming to the conclusion that Harry had been enjoying being seventeen far too much already.
"The problem is," she continued, unperturbed, "is that we really don't know all that much about horcruxes. There was nothing in the library when I looked."
"Well that's probably because Dumbledore took all the relevant books out of the library to stop anyone else having similar ideas to Tom Riddle," said Harry. Hermione gave him a look that she had been patenting for most of the time that he had known her. It was part exasperation and part incredulity.
"I'd already guessed that, but when I tried to get the books out of Dumbledore's office…"
"You tried to steal books out of Dumbledore's office?" Ron's voice held both admiration and worry.
"They're library books anyway, Ronald! And besides, there was no sign of any horcrux books in there, so we're back to square one. We don't know where they are and we don't know how to destroy them." Hermione paused for breath but before Harry could interject that he knew how to destroy a horcrux because he had done it before already, she began again. "Yes, I know that you used a basilisk fang, but we don't exactly have any of those to hand at the moment, do we?"
"That's a point," said Ron, vanishing the last of the coloured streamers with a flick of his wand. "Do we know how Dumbledore managed to destroy the ring? I mean, he'd be unlikely to be able to get into the Chamber of Secrets for a basilisk fang, unless there's something he's not been telling us all these years."
Harry thought it was perfectly plausible that there was something that Dumbledore was not telling them; after all, this mission that they had been tasked with was looking to be virtually impossible, with new hurdles springing up at every opportunity. But, despite everything, despite the enormity of what they had undertaken and the challenges that they were going to face, Harry still trusted Dumbledore implicitly. There had to be a reason for everything, and if there was a reason for Harry to find out these things on his own, without Dumbledore's guiding hand, then so be it. He would do so.
He shook his head in answer to Ron's question, and his friend shrugged his shoulders with a telling expression. Harry knew that Ron would not regret or go back on his decision to join him on the quest, but he knew that he would be the one to keep them firmly grounded in grim reality – there were four horcruxes out there somewhere, which they had no idea how to get to and no idea how to destroy. The words were true, however unpleasant.
"Are you three coming down for breakfast or not?" Mrs Weasley appeared in the doorway, looking a little exasperated. "The eggs are going cold and we've got company." Her expression softened slightly when she saw Harry, still with wand in hand. "Happy birthday Harry dear."
They had gone down to breakfast after that, resolving to return to planning later, and Ron had earned himself a clip round the ear from his mother when he suggested that they could simply keep the eggs warm by magic and no-one would be any the wiser. Harry had been surprised to find Professor McGonagall sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea; indeed he had almost forgotten that she was a part of the Order, much less the person at its head. He had not seen her since the night in which she had brought him to the Burrow, and he had presumed that Hogwarts matters had taken up her time. As he had seen her serious expression though, he had known that perhaps that was not all she had been doing in the intervening two weeks.
"Happy birthday, Harry," the headmistress began as Mrs Weasley piled eggs and bacon onto his plate and offered the same to the professor, who declined politely. "I take it that you are enjoying being of age?"
She was staring at a point somewhere around his left ear, and it was only then that Harry realised there was pink fluff still growing out of it as a result of one of Ron's spells. He hastily got rid of it and tried to ignore Professor McGonagall's amused smile. All too soon, however, that twitch had faded and the grave visage had returned.
"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger; there is something that I would like to discuss with you, but first and foremost with Mr Potter. I am sorry that it has to be today, ostensibly a day for celebration, but I fear that it cannot wait."
The slight feeling of foreboding that had been settling in the pit of Harry's stomach ever since he had first entered the room to find his professor there began to grow exponentially larger with every word that she spoke. When the tight feeling in his throat finally allowed him to choke down the majority of his breakfast, they left the room by mutual consent and settled in the living room.
Professor McGonagall did not begin immediately, as if she was taking a moment to gather her thoughts and choose her words carefully.
"Mr Potter," she finally began, "Professor Dumbledore has left you something in his Will. As the Executrix, I feel duty bound to give it to you."
Harry did not have to wonder long about what Dumbledore might have left him and why, because at that point a long, slim package appeared in Professor McGonagall's hands.
It was the sword of Gryffindor. Even obscured by the layers of soft cloth and leather that it was wrapped in for safekeeping, its shape was obvious.
"I trust that you know what this is, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall began again. Harry went to take it, his heart beating fast in his mouth. This must be it. This must be what Dumbledore had used to destroy the ring. He thought about the ruined artefact, with the crack up the centre of the stone that could have been caused by the blade of the sword striking it. This was what he needed to destroy the horcruxes, and this was why Dumbledore had left it to him. He gripped a hand around the sheathed blade, but the headmistress did not relinquish her hold.
"Potter, this is not a birthday present. It is not a toy. It is not even merely a sword. It is a magical artefact with power that neither you nor I could ever hope to fathom. Albus… Professor Dumbledore left it to you for a reason, a reason that I only realised myself this morning, and I expect you to use it sensibly for that reason." She tugged the sword away from his grip. "To that end, I am going to keep it in the head's office in Hogwarts, for the time being at least."
"But it's mine!" Harry protested, fully and horribly aware of how much like a spoilt child he was sounding.
"Technically Mr Potter, it is still Godric Gryffindor's and can be wielded or used by anyone of his family; anyone of his house being included within that purview, but I'll overlook that fact. Besides, I only said that I would keep it with me for the time being." She paused for a moment, lost in a deep thought, before calling Ron and Hermione into the room. They settled themselves on the sofa, one either side of Harry like peculiar bodyguards.
"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, I am fully aware that you intend to aid Mr Potter in carrying out Professor Dumbledore's last instructions to him, and that you are planning on spending the foreseeable future hunting for horcruxes. However, I would like to take this opportunity to try and dissuade you from such a course of action." She paused. "You are two wizards and a witch, and despite your brilliance and capability, you are barely of age and you will be three against an army of hardened fighters with hardly any moral reservations. You must also think of the repercussions for your families if you disappear into the wilderness. What will happen to them?"
She paused, and Harry tried to formulate something coherent to say from the angry jumble of thoughts in his head. On seeing his no-doubt indignant expression, Professor McGonagall seemed to soften slightly.
"Harry, I know that this is your fight, but no-one said that you had to fight it alone."
She rose to leave and the sword vanished.
"Please consider what I have said carefully. If, after everything, you believe that going off on your own is the only way, then I cannot stop you, and I will let you have the sword to aid you in your quest. But please, for everyone's sake, think."
So, melancholied by the foreboding words, Harry had thought. He had considered all the possible outcomes that he could think of, he had considered the advantages and drawbacks, but as dinner time rolled around, he had been unable to come to any sort of a conclusion.
There was something different about the dinner table, and it took a moment for Harry to realise that it was the lack of Mr Weasley. This was, from the almost palpable air of tension in the room, not an expected absence. They waited for a while before Mrs Weasley had served, but no-one had been in the mood to eat, not with such an unknown hanging over them.
An hour and a half later, there was the sound of an apparition in the garden, but it was not Mr Weasley. Moody had stumped into the kitchen with Lupin, panting heavily.
"The Death Eaters have got him," he said gruffly. "Arthur's been taken."
Harry's insides turned to ice. He thought about Mr Weasley, about all the conversations on mundane aspects of the muggle world that had so fascinated him…
Gradually, Harry managed to drag himself back to the terrible present, and he looked around at the gathered Weasleys. Fred and George were arguing vehemently with Moody, trying to convince him to let them go on a rescue mission that evening, but Harry could not hear the words. It was as if he was watching a television on mute. Ginny had run from the room with her face buried in her hands after the news had come through, and Harry had been in two minds about running after her when Hermione's hand on his arm had stopped him, and he trusted her warning look that, as a fellow girl, she knew what Ginny was feeling and that she would not want to see anyone whilst she was feeling it.
Ron had not moved for the past few minutes. He was simply looking grey, staring straight ahead but not seeing, his face a sickly mask of horror, but it was Mrs Weasley who caused him the most pain. She was pacing up and down the kitchen, waving her wand in various directions but achieving nothing more than creating more disorder out of the once-cheerful chaos that had reigned in the Burrow. Her face was nothing short of tragic, and presently she stopped what she was doing to hug her arms around her chest, as if she was physically trying to hold herself together for the sake of her family and friends. Harry thought about everything that she had endured, of all the hardships that she had had to lead her family through: first Ginny in the chamber of secrets, then the loss of Percy to the Ministry machine, then Arthur's attack, Ron's poisoning, Bill's face… There seemed to be no end to the trauma that the Weasleys had suffered in the time that Harry had known them, but this undoubtedly had to be the worst.
Arthur's been taken.
Not only did they not know where he was or whether he was dead or alive, they did know that he had been taken by the Death Eaters, and he had been taken with a purpose in mind.
Harry felt sick. Too many people had died on his account already – Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore… He was not going to let anyone else die, especially not Arthur Weasley. He thought back to Professor McGonagall's words earlier in the day. Perhaps it would be safer for everyone if he went back to Hogwarts. But on the other hand, if he didn't find the horcruxes, then Voldemort would simply get stronger and stronger until no-one would be safe anymore, no matter where he went.
Arthur's been taken. Arthur's been taken. Arthur's been taken.
The words seemed to play themselves on a loop in his head as he continued to take in the devastated expressions of the family.
Yes, this had definitely been one of the worst birthdays that he had ever experienced.
Note3: Can someone please explain to me how come the hardest chapters to write (IE this one) always end up being the longest? But I am rather impressed with myself; I managed to write 2,000 words in two hours this morning.
I'd better get on lest the author's notes be longer than the chapter itself. Onwards to chapter eleven!