"I DON'T CARE! Nobody deserves to die this way…"
Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Order were meeting in the new location selected for Headquarters: Dumbledore's home.
Harry was surprised, although he really shouldn't have been, at the assortment of furniture and knick-knacks around the sitting room, where they were meeting. Dumbledore seemed to have decorated his house using a mix of fine antiques, modern Muggle furnishings, and items that could only have come from rummage sales.
The mantel was not spared from this treatment; Harry identified several spindly, silver instruments as twins of some from the Headmaster's office, mixed among an assortment of Muggle garden gnomes, of all things.
Prime, who had once again been magically shrunk to keep the Muggles in Godric's Hollow from noticing, held up a hand for calm. The argument had been going back and forth for at least fifteen minutes; Harry wanted retribution for the Dursleys, as horrible as they'd always been to him, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was urgently reminding him that a commando assault on Voldemort – even if they knew where he was, which they didn't – would inevitably fail.
"Harry," Prime rumbled, in the naturally authoritative voice that could bring the rowdiest soldier back in line, "We all understand what you're feeling; while by all accounts the Dursleys treated you as something less than human, they were still your family, and human beings, and they deserved better than what they got. But there are other things to be taken into consideration, including Albus' current condition."
Harry looked out the window to where Gearbox was waiting in vehicle mode on the street; the hyperactive Autobot had produced a holographic driver and was making occasional patrols of the nearby streets with Bumblebee and another pair of Autobots Harry hadn't properly met. In the excitement, he'd forgotten about Dumbledore's "illness."
After his arm had fallen off into the ocean, Dumbledore had consulted with both Madam Pomfrey and Ratchet, the Autobot medic, about a replacement. Between them, they had come up with a rather ingenious solution: Since it was his wand arm that had been damaged, why not replace it with a sort of living wand? Working with Cybertronian technology and highly complex Transfiguration and Charms work, they had transformed Dumbledore's wand into the shape of an arm, then added articulation, attached it to the stump of his old arm, and keyed it to respond the same as his old arm had.
However, as a result of the sheer volume of magic being introduced to his system, as well as his own natural magic needing to recover from the addition of the technological components to his body, Dumbledore required plenty of bed-rest and was in no fit state to kick Miss Norris, let alone lead an attack on Voldemort.
"Can I see him? Dumbledore?"
"Of course. In fact, he's asked to speak to you in private, I was just about to mention it."
Together, Prime and Harry went into Dumbledore's bedroom. If the rest of the house was eccentric, the bedroom was simply bizarre. Not so much due to the furnishings, although Harry definitely recognized the chairs nearest the fireplace from an IKEA catalogue Aunt Petunia had left lying about once, but more due to the enormous loading bay door that dominated one wall. Looking back and forth from it to Optimus Prime, who he knew could become a large truck, Harry tried desperately not to think more than he had to about the nature of the robot's relationship with his Headmaster.
As they approached the bed, Dumbledore saw who was approaching and sat bolt upright in bed. "Harry, dear boy! So good to see you!" he exclaimed, moving to stand.
"No, Professor, you have to rest!" Harry protested, but Dumbledore simply waved his hand, which appeared to be exquisitely carved from handsome rowan wood.
"Sometimes, it is necessary to mislead others for the greater good. I am quite well, Harry, I simply needed an excuse to speak to you alone." Putting his flesh-and-blood hand on Harry's shoulder, he said softly "I know that you wish to avenge the Dursleys, as well as everyone else Voldemort has killed, but never forget that we must destroy all the Horcruxes first."
Harry became visibly excited. "You mean, we know…?"
"Yes, Harry. We know exactly where Voldemort's Horcruxes are, and more than that, we know where to find Voldemort himself.
"The war is nearly won, Harry."