A/N: Normally, I don't like including these, but I figure with a chapter that is just shy of 12k words, it might be needed. There is a lot of explaining in this chapter, because at first, I didn't want to use horcruxes in the story, but from the moment I wrote the fight scene with Bellatrix, I had envisioned this particular point in the story. I made a lot of assumptions based on conversations, questions, research, and ideas gleaned from other writers (nothing stolen, just more of an "Aha!" moment). There won't be much magic or fighting here unfortunately – but just wait, those are my favorite scenes to write. Now, last but not least, I am working on an original work, but it is only because of the support of fans that helped me here – oh and my buddy Chuck! – but I promise to finish this story first. I don't like leaving things undone. As it is, chapter 17 is nearly 50% done, extremely outlined – I'm working on scenes and imagery right now, but it will also be a long one. But, I'm excited. Drop me a review if you like. Once I reach chapter 20, I will go back and do a mass edit, because not all of my writing was quality, and I think I can clear some areas up. Also, stay safe out there.
Chapter 16: Realizations
When Will The Ministry Protect Us?
Hours after receiving the difficult news that Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge had been brutally attacked and murdered, citizens were struck with the announcement that Azkaban, home to some of the worst that our peaceful world has, had been broken into. Sadly, this marks the 3rd known occurrence of a break-in, or break-out at what was once considered one of the most heavily guarded places on earth. One must wonder, how powerful must He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really be, or just how weak the protections were. It is noted, with concern, that there had been no sign of the Dementors, the beings tasked with the defense of the island, and the restraint of the prisoners. There had been pushes by members of the Wizengamot to further enhance the defenses. Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore, at the time, believed that partnering with the Goblins and some of their legendary protections could have aided us.
"Alas, now we must be ever more vigilant in these trying times. We must be unified if we are going to beat back the forces of those that seek to terrorize us."
The damage to the facility was extensive, showing signs of continued bombardment, even after it was apparent all the prisoners had been freed. Not a single living soul remained on the island, but no bodies could be found either. Speculation is broad, but you can count on your team at the Daily Prophet to report it to you as fast as possible.
Timothy McSwain,
Beat Reporter
The headlines went crazy once the news of Azkaban came. They called it The Fall of Azkaban - in some seedier sections of town, they called it The Rise of The Dark Lord. Everyone knew that he had gone, alone, and wreaked havoc upon the ancient defenses of the keep. It had done precisely what had been anticipated by Lord Voldemort, fear. If the wards and protections at Azkaban were not enough, what good could the ones on the average home do. People were struck with a deeply rooted fear that had clenched their heart in a death grip. Even the Prophet struggled to really gasp the panic in the streets. It had been three days since that announcement.
For Tonks, the reality was far worse than the speculation. A lot of bad people had been on that island. The Aurors were already stretched thin as it was - combatting various raids and spontaneous attacks mounted by Voldemort. The seniors would never let it show, but the outlook was bleak. There was often little warning before the attacks, and in some cases, attacks could be missed simply due to the frequency.
Just this morning, though, Amelia had announced that they would be calling in retired Aurors, promoting some of the more distinguished Hit Wizards, and increasing the budget for the Auror academy. There was a class scheduled to graduate within the next month, but they'd still be green. Ultimately, it may still not be enough. It was stressful, but that was precisely she found herself in Grimmauld Place sitting in the dark, listening to nothing. It was only early afternoon, but she could be content in here, to sit in silence occasionally. Being the social butterfly that she was could be exhausting in some senses; the war didn't help, especially if she continued to lose friends and loved ones.
Sometimes, she just felt like she needed a break. The work of an Auror was non-stop, but so was the work for the Order, and even more importantly, the promise that she made to Sirius less than a year ago. He had come to her after an Order meeting, solemn and quiet and immediately had her attention. After being led to the study, she watched as the former prisoner turned and had nearly begged her to look after his Godson. It didn't take long for Tonks to find the boy dead at her feet. A quick and disastrous failure for certain. Somehow - maybe only Merlin knew - Dumbledore had brought him back. She hadn't asked questions, but had yearned too - especially, because Harry didn't know the demands that Sirius had made of her. He had been a man possessed, equal parts powerful and terrified. He had been killed less than a month later attempting to save Harry. And now, her task had begun - had begun again, technically - and she had to take it seriously.
She shook her head and hurried to catch up with Kingsley, ever so grateful to have been paired with the patient man. It helped that they served in the Order together as well. She'd figure out a way to talk more with Harry eventually - she just had to figure out what to say. In the meantime, she knew that she had to get ready for the order meeting that would happen later in the day. This news demanded one.
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Fucking horcruxes.
There was a sudden pain in his wand hand - punching a hole in the wall had a way of doing that. A whispered spell quickly corrected the mangled fingers, but he opted to leave the pain. He needed to feel something, anything, right now. At least, feel something different. Yesterday was not how he had expected his day to go, not at all.
The talk with Hermione had been going fantastically, despite his disbelief in her opinion that he could somehow lead the Wizarding world. He had likened it to the very idea that people would want to learn from him during 5th year - and yet Hermione was right, and he had taught. It had, of course, gone smashingly before Umbridge invaded their space. But that had been different than what she had been alluding to. She had been, for all intents and purposes, talking of change. It was along some of the same lines of what Dumbledore had alluded to with himself and Gellert Grindewald. He couldn't see himself going down that path. Temptation had a way of warning him off.
Then Dumbledore had come - eyes twinkling, but with a fake smile - to whisk him away. When he had been introduced to the Flamels, he had been floored. Here, in front of him, were living legends - he was certain that even Dumbledore felt like a child in their presence. Lady Flamel had been warm, kind and comforting - and he immediately relaxed around her. Lord Nicholas Flamel was a different matter altogether. His entire presence felt inquisitive as if he was always asking questions about everything. Harry had never felt more scrutinized than during their first introduction.
Throughout it all, he still felt as if the carpet was going to be pulled up from under him any moment. Meeting Nicholas Flamel probably should've happened after his first year and the dealings with the Sorcerer's Stone. It seemed odd, and he had sensed the dimming aura of Dumbledore as they continued their tour through the grounds - Perenelle indulging him with his questions on magic, and everything else - and it had unsettled him. He hadn't been brought here just for the tour. He didn't have to wait long.
In the grand scheme of things, he probably should've expected something like this. It just made sense. None of the ancient tomes that Hermione had checked had mentioned anything about wraiths, their abilities, or their subsequent creation. Even worse, only the worse books mentioned anything of creating a living memory - capable of casting magic - that was also able to drain the life force of a young girl. Thankfully, the referenced books hadn't been available to them.
Horcruxes - a tool to stop death, to halt defeat, to be reborn. A tool that the Dark Lord Voldemort had implemented - and if Dumbledore was to be believed, numerous times - that had saved him once already. Voldemort had killed someone every single time that he had intended to create one.
Dumbledore had dropped another bombshell on him though. Voldemort, it seemed, had heard of the prophecy and had targeted him. He had intended to use Harry's death to create another horcrux, further cementing his immortality. Lily Potter, though, had changed all his plans. Through the magic made possible with her sacrifice, Voldemort's spell had rebounded and stripped him of his body and many of his powers. He had fled, likely because it was not a situation that one could plan for - he didn't come with any contingency plans, such was the might of his magic.
Dumbledore was certain that the sacrificial magic his mother had evoked had come from the Potter library - but he wasn't a Potter and did not have access to get all the facts. Despite that, Dumbledore had been able to recognize the presence of the magic, and the other magic that Lily had secretly placed on her sister's home. Finding only the empty cloak of Voldemort did not help any matters either. If he was dead, then where was the body? The rest of the wizarding world hadn't cared enough to ask that pivotal question.
Dumbeldore had explained that despite the wishes of the magical community at large, he had still opted to place Harry with his relatives. He had, mistakenly, believed that Lily and Petunia had still been as close as before Hogwarts, and the only sign that he had was the magic that Lily herself had placed on the dwelling. No one had been sure of anything - except that he could not be attacked there by Voldemort or his forces (who were still strong at that time). And truly, despite rumblings all over the magical world, there had been a sense of peace as well. The bulk of the dark forces had been dispersed, Harry was safe, and the world was healing. Harry coming to Hogwarts had checked another goal off the task list. Dumbledore had breathed a sigh of relief.
The first year had answered plenty of questions for the Headmaster. Towards the end of the year, he had even been able to gather magical samples from the body of Quirrell - or rather, what was left in the pile of ashes. It didn't do much, except inform Dumbledore that the spirit of Voldemort could not be killed by normal means. But, it gave him something to research, to look into, and to make subtle inquiries amongst trusted few. Still, it had been far too early to spread panic - not that the administration would've listened. They, after all, had been enjoying the fruits of a peaceful time.
Harry had been informed that Dumbledore had become curious, if not suspicious, the moment he had left his office after the incident with the basilisk. He had spent the entire summer working, researching and using aging contacts for all information available. He had run all manner of diagnostic spells on the diary, the basilisk fang, and even the Sword of Gryffindor. He had been so focused that he had allowed the placement of the Dementors on Hogwarts grounds. He regretted it, but if his suspicions were close to being true, then he could prepare the wizarding world for the next war - if not prevent it. At the time, that was far more important.
The TriWizard tournament had been taxing for the old wizard. The entire year had been suspicious, questionable and all too convenient. He had been pulled in many directions at once, never truly able to give his all to any of them. When he, Harry, had been placed in the tournament, it had made matters worse. He had completely missed the deception of Bartimus Crouch Jr. He had perfected the art of Mad-Eye Moody, but never truly spent much time around Dumbledore in a setting where Dumbledore could focus solely on him. With enough skill, Polyjuice could be detected, but torn in as many directions as he was there was little that he could do. Plus, Mad-Eye was older, and a bit crazier than he had previously been, but Dumbledore had chalked that up to the age and the drinking from the flask constantly. Mad-Eye had been well-known to keep his flask on him, so it was one less thing to be concerned about. All in all, Dumbledore had actually been reassured that another of his Order members would be in the castle with so many strange people around.
Then, Voldemort returned. Dumbledore turned to one of the few libraries that he had recently acquired access to - the Black Family Library. He had found the answer and had been disgusted. One had to commit murder in order to split their soul and imbue an object with their essence. It was painful, a horrific experience, and yet Voldemort had done it. The diary had been created young and had already been destroyed before Voldemort had been resurrected. It was that realization that was the cause of even more concern. It was at that moment when Dumbledore suspected that Voldemort had created more than one of these abominations.
His next task was to collect as much information on Tom Riddle as possible. While he had had a good start and had collected actionable information from those that remembered the charming boy, the information regarding the Horcruxes had given his search a direction. Lord Voldemort, even from a young age, had collected trophies. He hated not being recognized for being different, for being special. He had a need to stand out - to be seen, admired, and feared.
A smart person, likely, would have made a Horcrux of a rock thrown into the depths of the ocean. No one would have ever found it, and immortality could easily be attained. The diary had told a different story. Using some of the diagnostic magic described in the book, Dumbledore told him of his findings at the time - the book had recently been the host of a soul. It had been a vessel - a horcrux. It had been destroyed, the basilisk venom dissolving the disgusting magic.
Voldemort possessing him in the Ministry of Magic had thrown in another layer. For the most part, none of the records could indicate that a person could be made into a horcrux - yet none of them could say that it was impossible. The Homenum Revelio spell had been less than useful, as it had only shown that Harry had soul - which was true. The fact that Occlumency had not helped to protect Harry had spoken of a different issue, namely that the connection was far deeper. It hadn't helped that Voldemort had used Harry's own blood for the ritual either. The two of them had many magical attachments between them. It muddled the waters considerably.
All in all, it left a pretty awful picture. And Dumbledore had been struck with a feeling of time running out. Something would happen, and it would happen soon.
He was close to finding the ring, he simply had to crack the rest of the code to find the exact location. He had his notions on the location of some of the other pieces, but it was a monumental task and dangerous to poke into. It would be much worse if Voldemort knew that someone was looking for his pieces, and Dumbledore had opted to keep a hold of them as he has no way of knowing if Voldemort could feel one of his horcruxes being destroyed. It was a tricky situation all around.
It had been a lot to take in, and Harry had moments where he was certain that there had been some concern regarding his ability to retain the information. He had sat there, stoically. A statue. Magic, at times, still felt new to him – and yet, here was another branch of magic that seemed to be created entirely for the purposes of evil. Who else would want to live for forever? And why? Who else feared death in such a way? It had all come back to Voldemort – every time. However, this was different. Harry felt there was more to; something worse. He was right.
The worst part had been when Dumbledore had revealed his hypothesis that Harry had been inadvertently made into a Horcrux, likely without the knowledge of Voldemort. It would explain his ability to speak Parseltongue - though Flamel made an odd face that Harry had noticed - and his incredibly deep connection with Voldemort. No one, no matter how powerful, talented, or gifted could send dreams across miles of space without any sort of contact – usually direct eye contact. The scar being the physical container of the Horcrux explained many things. Harry was nearly always nearly incapacitated whenever Voldemort was around - not for his inability to stand before the man, but for the horcruxes sensing and reaching out to a familiar entity. As a result, Harry's own magic would flare up to protect him from a suddenly hostile force. His struggles had always been worse the closer Voldemort stood - and when he had pressed a finger into his scar, Harry had wanted to die, but the horcrux had likely leapt for joy. Dumbledore had spoken much of this factually but had trailed off. Harry didn't need to be a genius to connect the dots.
Horcruxes had to be destroyed. So far, it had been proven that destroying the piece of the soul also destroyed the vessel itself. A problem. Outside of being immensely fond of the boy and wishing no ill will towards him - the fact that he was a horcrux was an issue in and of itself. Voldemort was essentially immortal unless all horcruxes were destroyed. Harry then, logically, would have to die. This had been something of a hot debate between the two elderly wizards, all of them chewing over the details to figure out an innate path. No one had been able to come up with any answers - and little by little, Dumbledore had found his heart breaking. How could he tell a young man that he ultimately had to die in order to stop the evil plaguing the world. A young man that had lost everything already - and was being asked to give more. No, not asked, demanded.
But then, Bellatrix happened.
Bellatrix, according to Snape - who told Dumbledore - had attacked Harry without permission from Voldemort. He had been livid and had tortured several, but had been skeptical about the boy - Harry, Dumbledore managed to point out unhelpfully - being dead. Harry would have been dead had it not been for the timely aid of Albus Dumbledore. Here, in the retelling of the tale by Lady Flamel, Harry had a chance to shelve some of his anger towards the venerable Headmaster. He would've died without the Headmaster.
With Harry being a Horcrux, he had two souls in him. One, trapped within the warped confines of the scar on Harry's forehead. It was a soul trapped by magic, and so did not behave in the usual fluidness of what researchers had determined to be the soul. Bellatrix. Killing Curse. Horcrux. Prophecy. Bellatrix, without knowing, aimed her killing curse directly at Harry's forehead. Dumbledore could not be sure but had theorized that anywhere else on his person and the curse could have been fatal, well more fatal. Sheer dumb luck, and the always impressive magical acumen of the Headmaster had been enough to ensure that Harry's soul had not been lost. Only Harry had known just how close he had been to staying with his parents.
As it was, the Killing Curse, arithmetically, only had the power to render one soul free of its mortal confines. The reason Harry had needed to be revived, then, had to do with the length of time that the Horcrux had been attached to Harry. Even magical confines weakened, especially when Harry's blood was used in order to resurrect Voldemort. Only then could he begin to actively influence his dreams, send him visions, and ultimately possess him. Dumbledore - again with the speculation - figured that Voldemort hadn't had enough time in the Ministry to ascertain that there was a more familiar piece of magic in Harry. It was a lucky coincidence, then, that Harry had loved Sirius so deeply. With the magical confines weakened, Voldemort back in power, and Umbridge, it was no wonder that his emotional range was so short during 5th year.
Dumbledore was unsure of what would have happened to Harry had the horcrux been able to reconnect with Voldemort - or if it had been possible. After all, the reason a horcrux was not usually used on a living human being, was because they possessed a sufficient soul of their own. The magic saturating the small house had been enough to make nearly anything possible.
He had wondered - well, had been afraid, if he were to be honest - about how he had survived. Since the day he had woken up, he could confidently say that he felt nothing of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had examined him before Pomfrey could, but not for normal injuries. The concern had been that even if she had missed by an inch, Harry would be dead but Voldemort's Horcrux would likely have been able to take over the corpse. What would have happened then was anyone's guess.
After all of that had been said, Lady Flamel explained to Harry that despite the Horcrux being ejected and destroyed in the process, Dumbledore had had to literally wager his own soul in order to be an anchor for Harry to return to his body. Too much time being an anchor and the Headmaster would have died. As it were, he was exceptionally powerful, gifted, and talented.
'The greatest sorcerer to walk this planet since Merlin.' Lady Flamel had exclaimed proudly. They really did think of Dumbledore as their child, having had none of their own. Harry had been instantly reminded of the moment that Dumbledore had, in so many words, told him that he would kill for him. Now, Harry knew, Dumbledore would die for him as well. It had curbed some anger, but not all. It was still a lot to take in.
Lord Flamel had interjected and told the story of how they had chewed Dumbledore out for not simply telling Harry everything that he knew, or even suspected. 'Being extremely intelligent does not stop you from being extremely dumb, Dumbledore.' Flamel had said with a tone that was still bathed in warmth. The Headmaster had the good grace to blush, but otherwise kept silent. Flamel had agreed that it would have been better for Harry to know - if not during his first year, than certainly after his 3rd year, when it was proven that Pettigrew still lived and served Voldemort, and without a doubt after Voldemort had been resurrected. There had been no excuses, and Harry had every right to be angry - it was his life.
Harry had the good nature to send a nod towards the professor but was still too overwhelmed to appropriately categorize his emotions and feelings.
After an awkward silence, Lady Flamel had continued, and Harry had remembered every word:
"The horcrux was never intended for a human target, and combined with your mother's magic, was quite easily locked away. As you grew, and likely a result of non-magical surroundings as no one would have noticed, it had begun to leach a bit of your magic away. Not enough to make it dangerous - not at first at least. But with every year that Voldemort grew stronger, and every time they came into close contact with one another, it could leach his magic to feed itself. You no longer have such a drain Mr. Potter. Albus tells me that he had begun to instruct you in the finer aspects of magic. Your magic has changed, warped, but has grown significantly. Our belief is that the Horcrux was closer to taking over the host than we had originally thought. While you are quite adept, for your age and circumstances, at defending yourself from magic causing you immediate harm, matters of the soul are a different kettle of grindelow altogether. You were dying Mr. Potter. And now, you are not. And you have such potential. Brian says that you are friends with the brightest witch of your age - but does she know that she is friends with potentially the greatest sorcerer of her age? One to potentially rival Brian, Tom Riddle, Grindewald and others? Think of that Mr. Potter, as you realize that very few get a second chance in life. Use it wisely."
She hadn't seemed to blink during the entire exchange, and Harry had been riveted. It was true, he mused now, his magic did feel different. Dying, obviously, put things into perspective, but now - his mind just seemed clearer, more focused, the spells he was learning and teaching himself effortless, and now he knew why. His magic was replenishing, the potions that Pomfrey gave him had started to chase away some of the evidence of malnutrition, he had grown, he was eating better, he was sleeping better - or rather, less violently, and with the absence of the horcrux, he was a normal wizard finally starting to come into his own.
Voldemort had, essentially, poisoned Harry at birth. The stronger Harry grew, the stronger the horcrux could grow - albeit slowly. Without the mental, emotional, and magical drain - and with an increased focus on learning, it was no surprise that he was picking up magic at an alarming rate. He failed of course, and having Dumbledore helped a lot, but ultimately, he rarely needed more than three concerted attempts.
He realized that he owed the man - but that the man owed him too. At one point, it had seemed that Dumbledore's plan had been to bank on a few calculations and offer Harry as a willing sacrifice. Harry didn't like any part of that narrative - he was no one's sacrifice. Ever.
He stopped pacing around his room at Grimmauld Place, locked away from others. After being at the Flamels for more than 24 hours, discussing, asking questions, and trying to come to grips with everything - they had portkeyed him back to England, stating that more talks could be held soon. He had been exhausted, and immediately collapsed.
So. he found himself staring at the pieces of paper littered around him, news articles that had been in the kitchen for his return, but that were now the only piece of information that he had on the happenings in the wider world.
Harry sat on his bed, frustrated at the headlines in front of him. He had heard that this war would be different, and Voldemort was constantly proving it to him. Attacking the Minister's home and Azkaban. Wards, specifically, were not a strong suit of his - and he had never looked into them before - but it was hard to imagine just how powerful both sets of wards had to have been.
'Just how powerful is this monster?' Harry thought. He had been training with his friends, as best as they could in the rooms that the house held - he had yet to resume his morning meetings and training with Dumbledore. As such, despite feeling as if he was making good progress in his overall magical capabilities - he still had to fight Voldemort. He still had a very long way to go; it was humbling to know despite his progress, it might not be enough.
Voldemort, now, had undisputed access to the Dementors - a weapon extremely potent because the vast majority of witches and wizards were not well versed in the Patronus charm - and for those that were, most could only conjure a light mist, decent against one Dementor potentially. The real trouble was the difference between practicing the spell, and then being about to use the spell in the presence of the creatures. He knew just how difficult it could be. Whenever Voldemort chose to deploy them, it would likely be a massacre. There was no telling - Harry presumed - of exactly the number of forces that Voldemort had control over. Not to mention, the headstart he had been able to create by moving in the silence that Fudge had provided.
Despite not meeting with Dumbledore, he had not stopped his own training - often spending untold hours in a locked, warded room, throwing his magic around. He worked on some of the concepts that the Headmaster had explained, but ultimately, he was rudderless. Once could figure out a good idea of how to combat the dark forces that Voldemort had under his control but preparing went a bit smoother where he knew what to focus on with Dumbledore. In their discussions, preparations had been made to further Harry's basic understanding of his own magic. Just the conversations with the professor had helped him more than any spellbook, ever.
Eventually, they would have to talk - he and the headmaster. He would not be manipulated but would be a fool if he thought that he could fight this war on his own.
A flash of fire had him draw his wand and put it away just as quickly. Not only would his wand likely be ineffective, but Fawkes was always welcome wherever Harry was. A brief trill from the creature was enough to wash away the grogginess of his sleep and make him feel as if he had been embraced by love itself. He'd make a fortune if he could somehow bottle that!
The bird was gone as quickly as he (or she?) had come. The envelope felt light and airy in his hands, and he immediately recognized the looping handwriting of the headmaster.
Dear Harry,
Much more needs to be said than possible in this letter. Alas, it does serve two purposes. One is a message that I would ask of you to relay to Ms. Greengrass. I have been contacted by her Father. I had Fawkes deliver them a message once I had found out about the attack. Aurors had been sent to the scene as quickly as they could be - but were too late to prevent the deaths of Grace Greengrass, and William Greengrass - her grandmother and grandfather. Her father had been grievously injured, and only the actions of their house-elf and the manor kept them alive. A discussion for another time, but something you should always make note of. Lord Cyrus Greengrass and Lady Anabelle Greengrass are currently recovering at their summer home in France - well hidden. They are safe. The young children that had been present suffered light physical wounds, but several of them had been scraped and scratched by the werewolves present. It is unlikely that they are afflicted with the Lycan disease, however their health was fragile for some time. They are believed to make a speedy recovery and are back home with their parents - again safe.
Cyrus included a letter that, I have not opened, that is to be passed to the elder Greengrass daughter as soon as you are able. I hate to ask you to do this, but she'd likely shy away from contact with anyone else in the home. I do not know the extent of the relationship between the two of you, but please let me know if I should send Severus to speak with her. I have been intentionally keeping his presence a secret from her - as the less she knows, the better, but he is a familiar and trusted face for her.
The second part of this letter - than, is to ask if you and your friends would join our Order meeting in a few hours. As promised - I want to include you in as much as possible. The more you know, I feel, the better you can respond to situations that seem to be attracted to you. If you wish to attend, I do not expect a reply - your presence will be enough. If you need Professor Snape to arrange a visible visit, please do not hesitate to write to me. Miss Greengrass - Daphne that is - has a certain upbringing that may make it difficult to speak with her, but she's less likely to recoil from you.
In any event, I hope to see you at the meeting - and we can set some time aside to speak briefly. A lot of changes are happening in the world.
Thankfully,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry re-read the letter twice before breathing a sigh. Being the bearer of bad news did not fit him well, but Dumbledore had a point, he had personally declared their protection in his home. He opened the curtains in his room to still be greeted with pitch blackness. It was nighttime - or at least early enough in the morning that it was still very dark outside.
He had slept most of the day away - and knew that sleep was unlikely to be available any time soon. He checked to make sure he had his wand, grabbed his cloak and left his room silently - trusting the charms to lock it until he approached again. Today was shaping up to be a long day.
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Abruptly, she sat up in bed - chest heaving, body soaked in sweat, oddly shivering.
Another night, another nightmare. She was probably looking toward another day with no news. It was starting to get to her, truly. She got out of the sweat drenched sheets, her shirt clinging to her frame. Shakingly, she slipped out of the offending piece of cloth and threw herself into the shower - forever grateful, at least, that she could shower in peace. The air in the room felt tainted, as if the nightmares were ready to embrace her once more. She grabbed her wand and hurriedly left the room, breathing a deep sigh once she was on the other side of the door.
Suddenly, she had a dilemma. It was late enough that the house appeared to be uninhabited, but she did not think that she could stand up to the visions of her dreams. She started walking, absently enjoying the cool darkness presented by the hallway.
"Lumos." She whispered softly - willing the light to dim so as to not shine under anyone's door. It didn't help with ability to see, but it allowed some comfort that she wouldn't suddenly trip on the staircase. Besides that, some darkness was too much.
The house was huge - even she could admit that. She'd gotten lost a few times already - but it could've simply been because everything seemed to share the same dusty, old, and battered look. She had already accidentally walked into a room that housed a Hippogriff at all times. She'd immediately closed the door as quickly as she could, not even looking long enough to realize that the creature had been sleeping peacefully. There had been other areas of the house as well - a hallway full of elf heads of all things! - and she never felt comfortable. On the other hand, she was not in her own home, relaxing away the summer months, idly having lunch with her dormmates. She was in a house so dark, that even the daytime looked like evening. No, this building could never match the splendor of Greengrass Manor. Unfortunately, this was all that she had.
Her walk took her to an area that she didn't immediately recognize, but she saw a door that was cracked open a bit. She decided to check it out - the house was quiet, and most doors were either closed, or left completely open entirely. This was different. She pushed it open and stepped inside of the room, and in the darkness could not see much.
"I should probably get used to you sneaking around." A voice that she immediately recognized sounded behind her. She'd never let the voice know that she had been startled - she was a Greengrass, and did not succumb to such foolishness. But he did sneak up on her. Or, had he always been there - she had just walked into the room, and the door was immediately behind her, but he was in front of her - it didn't matter. It wouldn't do for her to be startled.
"Potter!" Came the attempt at a snarl. She really couldn't manage it - she was sleeping, living, and safely residing in his home. The school matron, Madame Pomfrey, had even come by to check on her and Astoria - apparently at the request of her host.
"Good evening Daphne…. Or would it be, good morning? It's late enough that it's early." The Boy-Who-Lived spoke. She rolled her eyes. He came into view as a dim light sparked in front and above her, and grew in brilliance slowly, so as to not be too harsh on the eyes. It rapidly outshined her own light, and so she extinguished it – keeping her wand out.
"That was awful." She spoke to him - but, in truth, it did relax her. Just a bit. It meant that he wasn't going to address the awkwardness of her barging into a room in his home, and in the middle of the night to boot. The light was a good touch to the room - it had obviously been recently cleaned and smelled of fresh scents. It was a study of all things - she hadn't thought that Potter would find himself in one, though wasn't surprised that the manor held such a room. The room had dark wood aplenty- ebony, if she had to guess - and included quite the beautiful desk. It dominated the room in an understated manner but showed the wealth of the owner with its gold trimmings. Currently, it was littered with what seemed to be several books and journals. Potter had one such in his hand.
"I know, I couldn't help myself," He spoke, a faraway look in his eyes. Placing the book facedown - from the distance, she could not read the title, "But still, it's rather late - later than usual for you."
Her eyes snapped to his, knowing that he was looking, waiting for an answer that he would most likely judge. The seconds between his last word and the beginning of her first seemed to stretch into the end of time.
"I..I have trouble sleeping." She spoke, surprising herself. 'Shit! I didn't mean to say that!'
"I know the feeling." And looking at him, she could see that he did. He looked much like she imagined she did, eyes bloodshot, heavy bags under the eyes, hair untamed 'Well, it is always untamed.'
"What keeps you up?" She asked - shocking herself. In an alternative life, she would already be back in her room, silently cursing herself. Instead, she was in front of her host, making idle conversation.
"Would you like to have a seat?" He asked, after a moment of giving her a calculating look. She hesitated for a few moments but then relented. The chair in front looked inviting, and she had asked the question in the first place. He at least deserved to be able to answer it. She sat down. The chair was comfortable. Almost as if someone had taken their time to enchant the item as lovingly as possible. She approved grudgingly.
"Dobby." Potter said softly. And with a 'POP' a bouncy house elf came into being. Even at this hour he seemed to be shimmering with excitement.
"The great Master Harry Potter has called on Dobby! What can Dobby be doing for the great Harry Potter." The house elf practically yelled; it was a wonder that the house hadn't woken up. Potter had the good nature to blush and look away briefly.
"Could you grab us some tea and biscuits from the kitchens, please?" Harry asked. With hardly a moment between the request, the elf had popped away and returned with a full tea set, complete with an assorted array of edible treats.
"Is there anything else that Dobby is to be doing for the great Harry Potter?" Dobby asked excitedly.
"Not at the moment Dobby, thank you though." Potter responded; the elf bowed so low that his nose touched the ground before disappearing.
"Is he your elf then?" She found herself asking.
"Ah, not technically - he's a bit different really. Would you like some tea? It's from the kitchens of Hogwarts." He prompted towards the tea set in question. She was a bit taken aback.
"Wait, you just had an elf from Hogwarts bring you tea from Hogwarts, just because?" She was truly confused.
"Well, Dobby is a free elf. Let me explain a bit. I met Dobby right before second year, and long story short he was the reason I missed the opening feast. He caused mayhem at home, blocked the entrance to the train, and throughout the year broke my arm in the midst of a quidditch match - remember the "rogue" bludger? The one that seemed to hone onto me perfectly? Yeah, that was Dobby. Supposedly, he did all of this to protect me from the things that he knew would be happening at Hogwarts that year - remember the kids being petrified? Well, it was all tied together. His master had given a book to a student, and that student in turn opened the Chamber of Secrets, which unleashed the basilisk upon the school. Luckily, miraculously, no one died - but still." Potter spoke, pausing to lean forward and pour himself a cup of tea. She took the time to ask a question.
"The student," she started slowly. "That was the Weasley girl, right? Ginny?" There had been rumors in the school of course, a seventh year had worked an internship in the hospital wing and heard some rumblings. You left the name out and it seems like you'd only do that for a friend - 2 and 2 together gets you four." He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Tea?" He asked again. She nodded this time, and in moments a steaming cup was placed in front of her gently. "It was Ginny. I wasn't sure of what you might have already known. Anyway, it was a basilisk, and we didn't find that out until Hermione was petrified. She went looking for it, you see? Anyway, Ron and I tracked down the entrance to the chamber with Lockhart of all people - absolutely rubbish of a wizard by the way - but Lockhart wanted all the glory, and tried to obliviate us, but he used Ron's broken wand and it backfired. He's in St. Mungo's if you ever had a crush on him. Anyway, the spell also caused a portion of the cave to collapse, and I made it through to the other side. I… fought some strange magic that seemed to give the basilisk orders. Long story short - I killed the basilisk, saved Ginny and we managed to escape." He finished with a shrug.
"You killed a basilisk?" She asked. While she would like to believe that she had managed the words without sounding disbelieving, but his raised eyebrow let her know that she missed the mark.
"Yep." His response was simple, but he sampled his tea after, giving her a sign to keep asking questions if she wanted to.
"In your second year, at the age of 12, in Hogwarts no less - with some of the most talented professors to be found and Albus Dumbledore - and killed a basilisk?" She asked again.
"Pretty much Dumbledore had been ousted by the board, remember - mostly at the urgings of Lucius Malfoy if I remember correctly." Potter responded.
Something clicked for her. All purebloods were likely to be related at some point in history - the same could be argued for muggles as well. That meant, for some of the elite the rubbed shoulders often. Her parents were in that circle, or had been at one point in time, and had always attended parties and gatherings with other families - namely the Malfoys. During the time, she remembered flashes of an elf. No one really paid attention to them anyway. But she did remember the name, because it was one of the odder names. Dobby.
"So, you're telling me that the Malfoys had something to do with what happened during second year?" She asked, nearly spilling her tea as her mind raced.
"I don't think Draco Malfoy had anything to do with it - except for being nasty as always, and a bigot. His father, though, definitely. He tried to kill me after I tricked him into freeing Dobby once it was all over and Dumbledore was back. Dobby blasted him clear down the hallway, and Lucius walked off in a right mood. Good times." He smiled with the last words, the look on his face full of fond memories. She had never heard that aspect but knowing Draco to be proud and vain - she imagined that such a story would be a closely tight secret.
"That...answered a lot of questions that I had." She responded, but was still skeptical of the basilisk story. They had visited the topic briefly under Professor Lupin back in 3rd year, and if she remembered correctly, it usually took a team of accomplished wizards to track and trap such a beast. He, apparently, claimed to be the victor over one of the most dangerous creatures in the magical world.
"Don't worry - if I don't forget, I'm pretty sure the shell of the body is still there. I can certainly show you." He said easily. She nodded. She had difficulty - not knowing him, truly - to see if he was a liar or not. He didn't seem to be boasting, almost as if slaying a basilisk was a task for an ordinary Monday. She, very carefully, began to quietly reassess Harry Potter. The one thing that her parents had instilled in her was that there was an opportunity waiting behind every door. When young, she had been asked - tasked more like it - to report back on this Boy-Who-Lived who had come out of nowhere. The Potter line had always been influential - and being friends with a child celebrity wouldn't hurt.
The Harry Potter that the magical world had been introduced to had been a shell of the image expected of him. Despite being only 11, a world of children had followed all his supposed exploits in the books following the defeat of the Dark Lord. She had been one of the frequent readers - her parents still kept the darned things - and had grudgingly admitted to being excited at the prospect of meeting such a hero. She had even pictured them as housemates - if not more.
He was disappointing - short, skinny, no extra magical talents to speak of, and he hung out with a muggleborn and a blood-traitor. It was almost as if he did not know where he belonged. And as if no one had thought to explain to him his station in life. The last of his name, a powerful name in all circles - with business ventures still doing very well - and he did not show it. He was often in tattered clothing, on the weekends when the robes were done away with, and never seemed too sure of himself. Granted, not everyone needed a self-levitating, lightweight, custom-commissioned, black and silver trunk like Malfoy. But still. This was Harry Potter - the savior of the wizarding world. A disappointment to the social circles. Even her parents hadn't known what to make of it - either he was very skilled at hiding his wealth, or he just didn't know about it.
And yet, not long ago - she had stood on the opposite of his wand. Though she liked to view herself as accomplished for her age, and had a fair hand at dueling, the look of those eyes would have frozen boiling water. And not too many hours after, she had been left alone, and Potter had declared that they were there under his protection, and then had reamed her a new one, took her wand from her as if she was an infant, and walked out of the room like nothing happened. She had realized, in her hours since, that she knew less than she thought - and that Potter was a difficult person to read.
"Thank you." She found herself speaking - unsure of where the urge came from. At his raised eyebrow, she continued. "Thank you for taking in my sister and I."
"Ah, you're welcome." The response came easily to him it seemed. Had it been an easy decision for him to make? She wasn't sure that she would have reciprocated.
"Are you, like, in charge here?" She asked. It was a good question. After all, he had declared their safety and just knew that Dumbledore wouldn't say anything against it. His chuckle took her off guard, but so did the time it took for him to answer the question. He surveyed her as if grading her worth - she only hoped that he didn't find her lacking. She had heard the hustle and bustle of people and knew that enemies of the Dark Lord frequented this house - it hadn't taken her long to bring a name up from her memory.
"That's a tough question, I think." He started, but she cut him off, thinking it better to expose the ideas that she thought were true - after all, he had shared fairly sensitive information himself, and she was living in his house, eating his food, under his protection.
"The Order of the Phoenix, right? My parents mentioned them from the old war - some sort of shadowy organization that fought the Dark Lord in the first war." He sat back in his chair and observed her a bit closer.
"How much do you think you know?" He asked, and she found that the question wasn't aggressive - he was merely curious.
"Not a lot to be honest. That's kind of the point with a covert organization. No one seemed to know all their members - just that they were always there. Dumbledore, of course, was mentioned, but he's mentioned everywhere. On the other hand, I can't help but notice droves of interesting people popping in and out of here. I mean, come on Potter, you have the Headmaster of Hogwarts stop by to see how my sister and I were doing. Before that day, I could count on less than 3 fingers the number of times I had been close enough to reach out and touch him. And since I've been here, I've glimpsed him no less than five times. Something had to be going on here."
"Well, in the beginning it was a worry that you would likely betray me - never considering this resistance you speak of. As a Slytherin - and I don't think you are all bad - I had to be careful. Hermione calls it my "saving people thing", and all I could think of was that at one point, your family had been trusted with this information - and that it was still good enough for me. On the other hand, you would have found it on your own eventually - but the reception at that point could have been...dangerous, for you. I solved two problems and made a few points along the way."
It made sense - in a way. She assumed the place was under a Fidelius charm, and by having the paper - she had the address, even if she couldn't share it with someone else. She could, though, ask to be dropped off near the address. Potter was right though, she was known to be in the house of Slytherin and had received some weird looks one the times that she had ventured out. No one, though, had said a thing about her presence there.
"To answer your question - I am not the leader here, really. I mean, it's my house, and I have put my foot down in a few places, but Dumbledore does lead the Order of the Phoenix. I feel comfortable giving that information out because he would hardly be in danger if ever attacked, and because I don't know all the members anyway. It's safe here and that's all that should matter at the end of the day."
"And your relationship with the Headmaster?" Daphne asked, truly curious. Dumbledore's prowess with magic was a myth and a legend. There was nearly consensus, even amongst the most powerful of magic-users, that he was just a step above the rest, and it was hardly close. "I mean, it's fairly obvious that there is more than a teacher-student relationship, and everyone says you get special - "
"You're right," Potter spoke, cutting her off. "It's tough to put a term on it. I'm not big on titles, ever. I respect people and what they do, and for who they are. Dumbledore, the man, is flawed but overall a good human being. When it comes to magic, no one knows it better - I can tell you that much for certain. We've had our differences, but he's been very helpful to me. I wouldn't call it special treatment so much as him seeing the bigger picture, all the time."
It was a weird way to answer the question and while she could not claim that he was lying, it didn't seem as if he had put all of the answer forward. That was fair, she was digging, and knew the question had been a bit of a reach. It was hard to reconcile the stories she had been told of Dumbledore's most famous duel, and even some of the duels he'd participated in, for sport, in the years before. He had never lost, ever. And even to her young mind, having been around magic the entirety of her life, she still felt as if he was a mythical figure to her. Before she could ponder further, she was once more interrupted by the Potter scion.
"But, as delighted as I have been with our, uhm conversation - I was hoping to run into you." She looked at him closely and realized that he seemed uncomfortable. She likely wouldn't like what she would hear next. "I have a letter from the Headmaster in regard to the situation at your home. I can give you privacy if you wish?" Potter asked, almost gently. She shook her head slowly, her heart starting to race with anticipation. She could feel a pit developing in her stomach - and she hadn't even taken the proffered envelope from him yet.
Before she had considered her actions, the envelope had been ripped open, its contents fumbled with before she steadied herself. Her eyes were unfocused, and the words seemed blurry - she rapidly blinking, before forcing herself to take a deep breath. And then another. And then one more. Her rudimentary Occlumency kicked in and she felt a bit of order return to her thoughts. If Potter had noticed anything, he didn't speak - his only move to lean forward to grasp his cup of tea, steam still rising from the heat. She started to read.
My dearest Daphne,
Your mother and I received word that you are safe - fiercely protected by Harry Potter of all things. While I am sure there is a story there, I am relieved that the contents of the vault still held to be true. You deserve a brief explanation - our family history has been that of neutral in nearly every magical conflict. We worked to remain neutral in order to survive. We had no great titans of magic to protect us in the past, no great achievers for many generations - but we remained respectable. You grandfather changed that towards the end of the last war, and I have chosen to stay the course as I lead the family. While still neutral in many great respects, we do not stand for the systematic persecution of Muggleborns, and Halfbloods. This is undoubtedly a dangerous position to hold, and with the attack on the Manor - which I will not stand for! - we have been effectively trapped to one side.
Harry Potter is still an enigma. I would caution against making an enemy of him - despite his age, I have heard rumors of his magical potential, recklessness, and thoughtless rushing into danger. I have also heard that he has, obviously, lived through these ordeals. Some of these tales, if to be believed, are impressive. I am not asking you to befriend the boy - but be cautious. He had access to very powerful people all over the world, and barely seems to know it. Even here, his name is whispered amongst the elite with a sort of fondness.
Warnings aside, your mother and I will return to the continent once the damage to the Manor has been repaired and the additional wards are added. It was nearly destroyed in the battle, and one of the Deatheaters let out a bit of Fiendfyre before it spiraled out of control. Now that they have shown their hand, I can activate the more aggressive protective rune schemes, and they will never be able to set foot in our home again. However, this will not be until after the new school year has started. Headmaster Dumbledore assures us that all of your living needs will be attended to, and that he will ensure that you are able to gather all necessary items before returning. Do not worry about the cost, sign it to the family vault and I will countersign from here. Ensure that you and your sister have all that you need.
Unfortunately, to cross wands with the minions of the Dark Lord is to hurt, badly. Grandpa and Grandma were murdered in front of my very eyes and I could do nothing for them. Your mother was injured grievously, and it is only through considerable skill that the matrons here have been able to hold her to this side. As of this writing, things are looking up, but one can never be too cautious. Our house elf was killed as well, loyal to the end and helped buy us a few precious seconds. The Fiendfyre claimed the lives of your Owl. I am sorry my daughter, I know how you loved her. I do not know how to mourn with my family scattered as is, and I am counting on you, Heiress of the Greengrass family, to keep our ideals front and center, to honor our agreements, to protect your sister, and to do well at school.
Your mother and I love you.
Lord Greengrass
P.S.
Trusting Potter will mean that your own house may be dangerous for you and your sister. She is young yet, and likely won't be bothered. You're coming into adulthood and there is never a grace period before you are thrown into the war willingly or not. Dumbledore assures me that Harry Potter will ensure the safety of you and your sister, and I have to believe him - as Dumbledore may be old, but he is no fool. The upcoming years have an awful feeling to them, a storm approaches. I, for one, still don't know if Potter is the savior the papers are claiming him to be. Be careful.
Love,
Father
She didn't know how long she had been standing there - or even at which point of the reading that she had even stood up in the first place. Faster this time, she read through the letter again, her heart hammering in her chest. A third time, certain passages this time - her grandmother, her grandfather.
She could hardly breathe, her vision seemed to swim once more, and she felt the hot wetness cascading down her cheeks - her brain not understanding that she was crying just yet. She fumbled with the piece of paper - suddenly it seemed to alternate between weighing a million pounds and being feather light. She started to feel cold - the suppressed nightmares surging forward with renewed vigor - and vivid images flared to life in her mind's eye. She knew them all by heart, but they were still impactful. Each felt like a blow to her gut, forcing whatever breath she had been holding to escape aggressively. The cold continued to creep into her, freezing her into inaction.
Suddenly, she felt a warmth - unfamiliar and yet comforting encircled her. The images slowed down, their quality becoming fuzzy - almost as if they were fighting back. There was stillness and then a pulse, and the fight was over, the images dissipated the cold fell from her like a cloak. Even better, she could breathe again - stale air rushed into her lungs as her heart started to slow from its marathon. Her tears, though, did not - and her body shook from an internal pain that no light could force away. It would be minutes before she realized that Harry Potter had just hugged her.
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Harry stood silently in the corner of the enlarged meeting room, tucked away in the shadows. With the shades drawn and the candles lit, he could scarcely be seen. Well, Dumbledore had noticed him as soon as he had entered, but that was a given. A simple nod was exchanged between the two before the headmaster got to work. Dumbledore really was a fantastic wizard. It had taken him but moments, and a few sweeps of his wand, to conjure enough seating for the expected members. Refreshments in the form of hot tea, water, butterbeer and some fruit juices seemed to pop into existence, the same as enough snack food to feed an army. It was apparent to him that Dumbledore planned each meeting carefully and catered to his people. It was a stark difference from the way he noticed Voldemort interacted with those loyal to him.
And indeed, Dumbledore greeted them all by name, jovially addressing everyone in a personal manner. It was clear that he treasured the friendships that kept the glue together. Harry could feel the camaraderie in the air with each member's entrance. While it was clear that not everyone knew each other of a deep level, there was a consistent level of trust within the group as a whole. He'd felt the same thing when he was teaching the D.A - the learning, collectively, had brought them all much closer. Despite their differences, there was a common denominator within them all. The feeling was amplified. He noticed members that he'd seen in the communities he'd visited - shop owners, patrons, ministry employees, just to name a few. Many of them likely had children attending Hogwarts, and many of them were all of age to truly have fought in the First War. These people were bonded by purpose as well - it made for a tense atmosphere as they all gathered, made themselves comfortable, and engaged in quiet pleasantry.
From his vantage point - still miraculously unseen - he noticed his friends enter the room and a quiet hush fall over the gathered, before the whispers picked back up. From the corner of his eye he noticed a blur of red moving forward - but before the Weasley matron could even get halfway across the room, her husband had redirected her to a nearby seat, before whispering quietly but rather aggressively. It was unusual, Mr. Weasley was the calm one - and Mrs. Weasley had the furious reputation. However, his musings were cut short as the doors closed of their own accord and the meeting began.
"Friends - thank you for giving me a few hours of your time. I know that we are not all here, but appropriate information shall be given as soon as possible. Indeed, it is rare that we are all gathered, but I trust that many of you have kept abreast of the happenings in the country. There are dark times before us, and I urge you all to keep vigilant." Dumbledore spoke. Harry listened, but still continued to survey the room before him. These would be the people he would be fighting side by side with, and if his hunch was correct - they would need to trust him to lead.
"Before we begin - I know you all have questions in regard to the very young witches and wizards in the room. I thank you for your patience in this matter. We shall be voting tonight to extend memberships to those present and absent. None of you should be surprised by the presence of Messers Fred and George Weasley - they have recently completed their first year of membership. Both are fiercely protective, genius-level creativity, and a positive influence amongst us all. They have been great assets in many ways." Here, Dumbledore beamed at the young troublemakers.
"Mister Ronald Weasley is the youngest son of Arthur and Molly, and a courageous young man to boot. He is yet young, but has displayed bravery on a level that most seasoned adults will find hard pressed to replicate. Due to his age - I wish to offer him a limited- membership until such a time that he is of age. His parents agree, and after speaking with him, all that remains is a vote. Miss Ginevra Weasley is too young to even extend a limited-membership to, and yet, she is no stranger to the war at hand. With the trust of her friends, her parents, and myself, she will be included in a junior-role where she will have limited access to information.
"Miss Hermione Granger is quite simply the brightest witch of her age - excerpts of her essays have been featured in several major and celebrated works. Her analytical mind is second to none, and she is steadfast friend. She too, however, is also an underage witch, would only be eligible for a limited membership, similar to the two individuals before her. Are there any here, before us, that deny membership to these three that seek to join the fight against the darkness? There are two more - Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood who I will also be offered conditional memberships to. Speak now."
Harry stayed quiet while the wheels turned in everyone's head. No one seemed to want to be the first to speak up against their addition. He, himself, did not consider whether or not his friends would be accepted, he was more curious about the absence of his name in the proceedings so far. Surely, Dumbledore hadn't forgotten about him.
It did not take long for the silence to be interrupted, again by the headmaster, as he brought the attention back to him.
"War is a terrible thing. It drains the life, not even from those that perish, but from those that survive as well. This next candidate is no stranger to us all and has been fighting in this war since he was just a young child. Circumstances not only stopped the war but took his parents from him. Each of us are aware of his story. Many of you may not know that he has faced Lord Voldemort directly, several times and survived. Many of you may not know that he had the biggest heart full of courage, and is a leader amongst his peers, respected, humble, and brave. He embodies the very intangibles that the original members decreed to be on import. Nevertheless, I would like to expect full, active membership to one, Harry James Potter." Dumbledore spoke, his last sentence being directed to the room at large, while his eyes remained on Harry.
The silence from this declaration was deafening, but even amongst the whispers, Harry looked closely at the venerable wizard across the room from him, and simply nodded.
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"I can't believe we're members of the Order!" Hermione exclaimed. Ron simply rolled his eyes, but his body language spoke of his excitement.
"Reckon, you know why Dumbledore gave you full membership, Harry?" Ron asked.
"I'm an orphan. There's no one to say that I can't." Harry stated with a shrug, his thoughts on some of the words from the meeting not too long before. It had been long, with plenty of updates, questions, answers, repeated questions, and debated topics. Yet, it had been informative.
"Harry…" Hermione started, a sad look developing on her face.
"Hermione, don't. You know it's true. Besides, it's not as if he's going to send me on missions or into any fights. I don't even know what it means to be a full member. He didn't ask me beforehand." Harry commented.
"He sat both of us down one morning after the two of you returned and asked. We didn't know that he was going to move forward with it or ask our parents." Hermione responded. Harry nodded, it made sense. His friends had a choice in the matter, where he himself did not.
"What do you reckon we can do about the warnings he gave us?" Ron asked after some silence filled the space. Harry heard but was barely listening now and simply shrugged, it hadn't affected him too much - but Dumbledore had gently reminded everyone that they should always check in with family, that they should cherish those that they love, and to be forever vigilant (Mad-Eye had snorted at this version). "Mum says we may go to the Burrow for the weekend - just feel at home again. No offense, mate, but this place still feels weird."
"I think I will go visit my parents as well. Professor Dumbledore said that he could arrange it for me, but I hadn't given it much thought, but now that we know more of what's going on out there, I don't know when it'll be safe again." She looked at both of them as she said this, but Harry still remained quiet.
'Why not? I've never been - and maybe it could help?' He mused. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality.
"Mate? You okay?" Ron asked, concerned.
"Yeah, yeah. I think… no, I want to go to Godric's Hollow." Harry spoke, looking at his best friends, his face with a forced blank look on it. He immediately saw the reason he loved these two humans more than anything - even Ron, whose understanding of most socially sensitive situations was limited - looked a touch pained.
"Harry… do you, would you like for us to go with you?" Hermione asked, slowly. Ron nodded his head immediately, indicating agreement. Harry shook his head slowly, still allowing his thoughts to race. After a moment, he spoke up, looking them briefly in the eye.
"No, you two need to spend quality time with your families. I will be okay - it's not like they'll let me go alone. Besides - I need to do this." There was silence, before a rush of movement and Hermione had thrown herself at Harry. Seconds later, another person joined the hug, and the three best friends stood there, embraced. Harry couldn't help but to smile.
Even though he was returning to where it had all begun, he was already here with his family.
