Chapter Eleven – Unanswered Questions

Harry Potter stared at Headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore smiled back, while the rest of the adults remained silent. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His family owned the Hand of Midas? The most powerful magical object in the universe?

"Harry, you understand why this is so crucial," said Dumbledore, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "This is why Voldemort had to kill James. This is why he wants you dead. It is because this Hand is so important, and you hold the answer to finding it."

Harry cocked his head. "What do you mean, finding it? I thought I owned it."

"In a way, you do," said Dumbledore. "But…it is not in your possession. It's not in a Gringott's vault, or anything."

"Then…where is it?"

"When Midas died, the kingdom decided to rid the world of the Hand. They wished it to be banished forever. But one man, one wizard man, said that it was important for someone to know where the Hand was. For someone to be able to, once in a while, make sure no one had taken it. Someone, that is, like Voldemort. The kingdom thought this was a brilliant idea.

"The wizard concocted what they called an Oracle. The Oracle knows every answer to every question you could possibly think of. The Oracle knows what will happen tomorrow, what happened yesterday, what the meaning of life is, where wizards and humans originated…everything. But the Oracle was primarily made to hold the answer to where the Hand of Midas was.

"The wizard creator was the one to keep the Oracle. He was most trustworthy in the kingdom, and they thought he'd be the perfect keeper of the secrets of life, the universe, and most importantly, the Hand.

"The wizard passed the Oracle down to his son, and he passed it down to his son, and et cetera. No woman may own the Oracle. This answers any question you may have, of why Voldemort didn't really want to kill your mother."

"But why not?" asked Harry.

"Back then, Harry, women weren't always trusted. You know of witch burnings—the kingdom thought it best for the Oracle to be handled by a man."

Minerva McGonagall huffed angrily.

Dumbledore smiled at her. "You are quite trustworthy now, Professor," he said to her assuringly.

"Well, thank you for that assessment, Professor."

Remus Lupin suddenly piped up. "Excuse me, Headmaster, but I have a class soon…I really must be going." He stood from his chair.

Snape stood up just after Lupin. "I as well," he told Dumbledore. "Would it be possible to finish this conversation tomorrow?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Let's let all this sink into Harry before moving on, shall we?"

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed. "Headmaster, who was the wizard? Who was the one who created the Oracle? And…and where is it? What does it have to do with the Dursleys?"

"Tomorrow, my boy, tomorrow!" Dumbledore smiled, standing from his chair. "All will be explained tomorrow. Now, why don't you go to your classes, alright then?"

Harry sighed, dissatisfied with the ending of the meeting. But he couldn't believe the information he had received. He barley noticed the hug Sirius gave him before leaving, or the fact that Remus was staring at him with worried eyes. He was too busy thinking to himself, I finally know, I finally know.

For some reason, Harry had the strange notion that he was the heir to Gryffindor. It made some sense to him, except for the fact that the Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin. But it didn't, Harry had to keep telling himself, whenever he thought of how frightening those few moments under the hat were.

He wasn't sure what he would tell Hermione and Ron. He wasn't even sure if they were going to believe him. It was ridiculous sounding…the Hand of Midas! The family heirloom. Well—sort of.

Harry was dying to know more about the Oracle. What exactly was it? He wanted to go to got the library, so he could find out at that very minute, when—

"Hello, Potter."

Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy standing behind him, holding a piece of parchment in his hand.

"What's that in your hand, Malfoy? Letter from your daddy telling you about the next Death Eater meeting?"

Draco smiled. "Actually, Potter, it's a letter from Voldemort." As Harry's eyes widened, Draco laughed to himself inside. "Oh, it's not what you think. It's a notification letting me know that my father is dead, all because I decided that being a Death Eater is pointless."

Harry jumped in surprise. "Oh!" He didn't know whether or not this was good news. "I'm…sorry?"

"Don't be. I've been waiting for this day for years." After seeing the confused look on Harry's face, Draco explained. "I never much cared for my father. He forced me to become a Death Eater. Never was into the killing-the-innocent. And this year, I just got sick of it. I'm tired of seeing my parents fight over me, tired of seeing my mum constantly crying. And I was so furious with my father this summer, that I decided that it was time for me to prove my loyalty. To your side."

Harry stood, dumbstruck. He was about to laugh, thinking it could easily be a lie. But something inside told him to not laugh. He could only simply say, "Oh."

The two enemies stood in the same spot a bit longer, uncomfortably, until Draco said, "I'd better go. I should notify my mother on Lucius' death."

"Oh—yes. Bye," Harry said, still feeling awkward with the situation.