Chapter Thirteen—Armed against the Dark Lords
Now Harry had even more work to do. It had always been that when he wasn't doing homework, he was training for Quidditch. A newly added dimension, however, was that when he wasn't doing either of those things, Link had taken to hauling him outside to train with a bow and the Master Sword. Where he had gotten bows for each of them from remained a mystery, though Harry suspected Dumbledore had something to do with it. That didn't matter, though; what was important was the Harry was learning to use the two magical weapons necessary to defeat Ganondorf and Lord Voldemort.
"I thought I just needed the sword," Harry said in confusion the first time Link handed him a bow and quiver of arrows.
"No, the Master Sword's just half of the battle. The more famous half, but still just half. You also need the Light Arrows, and for that, you've gotta use this." He nodded towards the projectile weapon.
"I don't know how to shoot a bow," Harry objected, frowning at it. "I've never even held one."
Link shrugged. "It's not hard."
"Of course not for you, you're an elf."
"A…what? You mean one of those little things that lives in the kitchen?"
"No," said Harry, surprised. "Those are house-elves. I mean normal elves… Aren't you one?"
Link inclined his head in curious bewilderment. "I don't think so… Am I? What's an elf?"
Each of them was clearly at a complete loss to understand what the other was talking about. Harry had assumed, since Link dressed in green, had pointed ears, used a bow, and lived in the forest, that he was an elf. But then, he thought, Link was a Hylian; not all Hylians acted that way, and much of his behaviour was carried over from growing up among children in the forest as a Kokiri. So apparently the two races, elves and Hylians, weren't synonymous.
"Oh," said Harry slowly, "I guess not. Don't worry about it, then."
Though he continued to frown thoughtfully, Link consented to let it go. "All right. So let's see your archery skills."
Harry gave a snort of laughter at the word "skills." Just so long as Malfoy or Snape didn't see him, he wouldn't be too embarrassed. He hoped.
The first lesson consisted mostly of Link finding out what Harry could already do, both with a bow and a sword. They had already discovered by the time Link handed Harry the former that he was much more proficient with the latter, having apparently awakened some unknown talent within himself the first time he held the legendary blade in combat against the Basilisk; however, it also seemed that he harboured a similar long-hidden gift regarding archery. The first few arrows he shot flew almost randomly, but after a few attempts, he found he had a reasonable degree of control over his weapon. Of course, he was nowhere near as swift as Link, who hit a large pinecone hanging from a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest at a distance of fifty feet, and then muttered that he was out of practice because he hadn't struck it dead centre.
"What?" he asked, seeing Harry gaping at him.
"You expect me to get that good?" Harry demanded.
Link laughed. "No, I don't expect you to devote your life to this stuff. I did, see, so by now you can imagine I've gotten the hang of it. You, on the other hand, I just expect you to get proficient. When I was your age, I'd never held a bow, either. Slingshot, yes, and that was a good introduction, but that's it. Anyway, some pointers. Let me fix your grip here…"
Besides being a good warrior, Link was also a good teacher. He had, of course, passed on his knowledge to both of his daughters, as well as countless soldiers in Zelda's army, and so he definitely knew what he was doing. Occasionally he could be tough, when the military leader in him started to show through, but generally he managed to remember that he was dealing with a typical teenage boy who was more used to seeing a bow in movies, television or video games than in real life. It helped that Harry definitely found something appealing about the idea of learning to use medieval weapons. How many sixteen-year-old, even wizards, could boast that skill? And imagine the look on Dudley's face if he pointed a bow at it!
The sun was just passing its zenith in the sky when Link declared that Harry had practiced enough for one day. Though it was the hottest part of the day, it was still quite cool out, because it was mid February. All in all, however, this winter had been a mild one thus far.
"I guess we should go in, then," Harry said, imitating Link by slinging his own bow and quiver onto his back.
For a moment, Link didn't answer as he looked out over the grounds.
"Er…Link?" Harry asked, stepping in front of him. "Are we going in?"
"Not quite yet," said Link slowly. "The lesson's not over."
"What? But you just said…"
Smiling widely, Link corrected him, "Your lessons are over. But I still have a few things to learn."
Completely confused, Harry asked cautiously, "Such as?" If he knew Link, this was going to be something bizarre…
"How to fly."
Or not.
Harry laughed. "You want a go on my Firebolt?"
"Damn straight," Link agreed, still grinning.
Even if Harry had wanted to, there was no way he could have said no to the irascible, stubborn and superlatively amiable Hero of Time. No one ever could; he just had that effect on people.
"Okay, sure." Pointing his wand towards the window he knew to lead to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry called, "Accio Firebolt!"
Moments later, the Summoned broom zoomed into sight from the window in question, and came to a halt right before Harry, who looked at Link.
"There you go."
"Thanks!" Link said, grabbing it and throwing off his weapons to mount. Before he took off, he paused to ask, "Anything I should know about this? Like how to do it?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't think so. I figured it out on my own, so you should be fine. You know how to ride a horse, right, so it can't be that different."
"Good point," Link agreed with a nod. "I like the way you think, Harry…mostly because it results in me getting what I want."
As Harry laughed, he took off, and soared away over the trees with a whoop of elation. Nothing could beat the adrenaline rush of that first flight, and Harry wished for a moment that he could have been Link just to feel it again.
Momentarily, the Hylian swooped down near Harry, rolling upside down and laughing, "I don't know why we never—oops…"
He reached to try to grab his hat as it fell from his head, but missed. It was probably the first time he had ever not cared, as he simply shrugged, righted himself, and darted off again.
"You're letting someone else on your Firebolt?" came a disbelieving voice behind Harry. He knew who it was, and his stomach knotted strangely when he turned to see Ginny standing there with her own broom slung over her shoulder and one eyebrow raised sceptically in Link's direction.
"Sure," Harry agreed with a shrug. "I've let Ron on it before."
"And I never understood that."
Harry gave a short laugh. "I trust him. Don't you trust your own brother?"
Ginny made a face. "If I had a Firebolt, I wouldn't let him within fifty feet of it. And he is an accident looking for a place to happen," she added, nodding towards Link as he looped repeatedly in the air. The corners of her mouth twitched.
"He knows what he's doing," Harry told her confidently. He surprised himself at how much he believed this, but Link really didn't seem to be having the slightest difficulty flying. Maybe it really was like riding a horse. "Anyway, what are you up to?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Practice," Ginny replied, shrugging and still watching Link. "You've got the key to the shed, right? I need a Quaffle."
"Oh, yeah, sure," Harry muttered absently, patting his pockets down to find the keys that he, as a Quidditch captain, had earned. "Here you go," he said when he found them.
"Thanks… Hey, you wanna practice with me?" she suggested as she took them from him.
"I can't, Link's got my broom," Harry pointed out.
But, as if on cue, Link swooped down and dismounted before the Firebolt had come to a complete stop (reaching as he did to grab up his hat off the grass and replace it where it belonged), then handed it back to its owner with a grin.
"Nope, I'm done."
"Oh…thanks," said Harry, slightly bewildered, as he accepted the broom.
"Besides, I couldn't get in the way of your practice. I'm rooting for you, right?"
Somehow, Harry doubted that Link was just referring to Quidditch, but he tried to not let his irritation show. Not that he really understood why he was irritated to begin with. He and Ginny were friends, so there shouldn't have been anything awkward or embarrassing about spending time with her. Right?
"Right," he said shortly.
"Great," Link agreed, beaming as he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I'll go in, I guess. Zel's gonna be wondering where I am."
"Let's hit the pitch," Ginny said, taking Harry by the arm, and leading him away as Link, too, headed off, but not before giving a last wink in Harry's direction. "I don't really know how I can help you practice, but you can Keep for me while I shoot." She flashed him a grin. "Ever played Keeper before?"
"Er…no, actually."
"You'll be fine. Can't be that hard, if Ron does it."
Harry laughed, but also asked, "Are you always this insulting to him, and I just haven't noticed?"
Looking thoughtful, but smiling, Ginny replied, "No, I think it's just something I picked up as a habit since Fred and George moved out. Ron might complain, he always did, but he'd really miss it if no one was around to say 'I care' by saying 'You're stupid.' What else are siblings for?"
They came to a halt by the equipment shed, and as Ginny dug around in one of the boxes for a Quaffle, it occurred to Harry that she was really quite smart like that sometimes, about feelings and everything. This seemed to be a girl thing in general, but still, Ginny in particular paid attention to the people closest to her—
"Heads up!"
His train of thought was interrupted by a Quaffle flying at his head, which he just managed to catch before it made contact.
"Whoa! A little warning might be nice!"
She smirked at him, casually tossing another Quaffle in her hand. "But then I wouldn't get to see that look on your face."
Though he had been getting hungry when his practice with Link ended, Harry quickly forgot about his stomach once he got into Quidditch. They practiced for about an hour before he remembered it…or rather, it reminded him of itself by loudly announcing its displeasure at being denied food.
"Oh, haven't you had lunch yet?" asked Ginny in surprise.
"No," Harry said. "I was practicing with Link all morning."
"Practicing? Practicing what?" she inquired curiously, following as he swooped down to land. He was feeling sort of tired, now that he thought about it. Probably just hunger.
"He was teaching me some of that fighting stuff," Harry answered vaguely, not really thinking about his words as he said them. More of his attention was on the strange dizziness that had sudden sprung into his mind when he had touched the ground… He definitely didn't feel well…
"Cool! Like what?"
Harry brought a hand to his head… Strange… This headache wasn't from his scar…
"Are you okay, Harry?"
His broom slipped from his fingers, but he didn't notice… He staggered, the world blinking in and out of focus…
"Harry? What's wrong?"
He was hardly aware of himself hitting the ground, or Ginny's scream as she grabbed him, before his consciousness was overtaken by other things.
The scene wasn't a cohesive one; it flowed blurrily, and Harry couldn't understand it. A man was sitting at a large, mahogany desk in a large, dark room. His long-fingered, thin, pale hands held letters written in code, and his violently red eyes looked them over. A few phrases jumped out as he flipped through them.
S: HW leaders half-moon twice
…centre full…
…going with nothing…
Rs: Darling active; QR angry…
With a sigh, Voldemort dropped the papers to his desk, apparently displeased with this information, or perhaps simply bored by it.
"Useless idiots," he muttered in his high, cold voice, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.
Wham.
The imposing door to the room entered, and the heavy footsteps of a dark figure with a sweeping cape approached the desk firmly.
Thump.
Two large, tough-skinned, leather clad fists dropped onto the desk's dusty surface on their knuckles and ground against it. Voldemort looked up from the hands to the arms to the face.
"What are we waiting for?" growled Ganon's deep voice. His teeth were bared in a snarl of anger, his red eyes flashing. The dim firelight caught the gem set in his forehead and made it glimmer angrily, as though it were growling. His image was certainly an aggressive, physical elaborate one, in contrast to the clean, distant elegant danger that Voldemort preferred.
"I have already told you, we can do nothing while the boy is at Hogwarts," Voldemort replied, an edge of irritation in his otherwise calm voice.
"Then why did you even bring me here? You expect me to sit quietly and wait 'til you're ready—"
"I am focusing my attention on other tasks. If you are willing to help, I would be glad to let you."
Ganon punched the desk. "Other tasks! You'd like me to be one of your lapdogs, too? Your Death Eaters, or whatever it is you call them? I am not that weak! I'm not like you, you who sit here in your manor like a king, not fighting your own battles against a mere child—"
Voldemort rose to his feet. He stood taller than Ganondorf, but not enough that his height was intimidating to the King of Evil. "And, by contrast, you did fight your battle against a child, and lost!"
"You failed to kill an unarmed baby!"
"You have, time and again, been defeated by mere Muggle weapons!"
"Weapons forged for the sole purpose of defeating me! And I have never died! I live on!"
"As do I!"
"But you've given up control of your conflict with your infernal waiting and inactivity! You brought me here to end the battle with the child who is the bane of your existence, but now it's shaping up to a conflict involving the entire Triforce!"
"What?" Voldemort demanded.
Ganon sneered victoriously. "Your loyal Death Eaters are useless at gathering information that matters. If my Gerudo warriors were here, you would have learned long ago that the Hero of Time and his damn queen have returned."
Striding around the desk in two steps and toppling his chair in the process, Voldemort snapped, "What? When did this happen? Where are they now? Who did this? As if I don't know."
"Your enemies at Hogwarts, of course, raised them under the last full moon."
Voldemort let out a serpentine hiss. "You mean their souls have risen, thanks to Dumbledore and that horror of a child." He swore angrily, and Ganondorf let out a grunt of agreement.
"So, your lordship, or whatever you call yourself, I would advise you to rethink your priorities. This is the crisis at hand. It we can't touch them at the castle, as you say, then get them the hell out of there."
Through gritted teeth, Voldemort said, "What do you think I have been working on? I cannot simply extend them an invitation. This will require careful planning, as they have both known me long enough to grow wise to some of my most brilliant plans. My schemes are rarely simple. They can't be when so much is at stake."
"All I know is, Link will go anywhere if he thinks there's heroics to be done… stupid kid."
With a bitter laugh, Voldemort said, "And the Potter boy is the same way. But Dumbledore will have advised them both that we are likely to manipulate this fact. Indeed, we have both already done so." He chuckled. "Harry has learned from me that that saving people doesn't always work out."
He laughed aloud, as did Ganon, who said, "There are some things…"
But his voice was fading out, as were the images, to be replaced by darkness and Ginny's panicked voice as she shook Harry by the shoulders.
"Harry! Harry! Harry, answer me!"
Realizing his eyes were closed, he opened them, and the light of the clear blue sky overhead caused a wave of pain to sear through his head. As he squinted them closed again and tried not to feel so nauseous, he heard Ginny continue to speak, her voice cracking with relief.
"Oh, thank God you're okay! What happened, Harry? Was it your scar?"
Risking opening his eyes again, he accepted Ginny's help in sitting up and muttered, "No. It wasn't."
"Really? That's weird."
Harry mumbled something in the affirmative.
"What was it, then?"
"I dunno…" Now that he thought about it, it was very strange. Besides having none of the usual symptoms connected to his scar, besides knocking him unconscious in the middle of the day instead of slipping into his mind when he was already asleep, it had been in the third person, not from Voldemort of even Ganondorf's point of view, and it had been blurry and unclear, as if he himself were struggling to hold onto consciousness as he watched it…which was ridiculous, because he had been completely unconscious. "I just…I saw Voldemort. And Ganon."
Ginny gave a quiet gasp. "Did…did they hurt someone?" she asked, in a terrified whisper. Harry could see the dark fear in her eyes, the memory of the attack on her father about a year before.
"No," he assured her. "They were talking. Planning something. I'm not sure exactly… I have to talk to Dumbledore," he blurted when it occurred to him. "And Link and Zelda! I have to tell them…"
His strength came to him with his resolve, and he clambered to his feet.
"Are you sure, you're okay?" Ginny asked, still looking worried. He couldn't blame her, but the fact was that he had returned to normal at a remarkable pace, and now had much more important things to worry about than whether or not he was going to collapse.
"Yes, I'm fine," he said shortly. "Dumbledore… Ginny, can you bring my Firebolt back up to Gryffindor Tower and everything?"
"Yeah, sure—"
"And if Link and Zelda are there, can you send them up to Dumbledore's office?"
"Yes—"
"Thanks."
Without waiting further, he sprinted off to the castle. He was barely aware of the halls, doors, people that flew past him as his feet traced the familiar path to the gargoyle, and the word "Chocolate" flew out of his mouth automatically. He didn't slow down, running up the moving staircase, and barely remembered to knock before charging into the Headmaster's office.
"Come in."
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry shouted, looking around wildly. It took him a moment to spot the object of his search descending from the balcony that circled the top of his office behind his desk.
"Harry, is something wrong?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
"Professor, something just happened to me…I don't know, it wasn't really like my dreams or anything…it just came over me…"
"Lord Voldemort?"
"Yes, him and Ganon! I saw them, plotting something. Ganon told Voldemort that Link and Zelda are back!"
"And?" asked Dumbledore sharply.
"And…that's all I saw. But now we have to do something, don't we? Aren't we ready?"
"In a way, we are," Dumbledore said slowly. "We have enough members of the Order amassed that we could go into battle. However…"
"However?" Harry asked sharply. "What, however? What don't we have?"
"We have encountered a problem in locating their headquarters. Obviously Lord Voldemort has taken as many precautions with his own as we have with ours in London. Anti-Muggle Charms, of course, and it's Unplottable, to name some of the more basic ones. There is one much more complex spell which he has used, called the Ilmeura Charm, in conjunction with the Fidelius Charm, which ensures that no one can find the headquarters unless they already know where it is. In other words, anyone seeking his location must first be told where it is by Lord Voldemort himself, the Secret Keeper, and then personally shown where it is by someone who has already been there. If either one of these requirements is not fulfilled, the place will be invisible to us."
"Don't we have spies within the Death Eaters?" Harry asked carefully. He had, over the course of a few years, become convinced that Snape was working within Voldemort's organization to deliver information to the Order.
"We do," Dumbledore said, "but they can only meet the requirements of the Ilmeura Charm. We still must find a way for Lord Voldemort to violate his oath as Secret Keeper."
Harry racked his brain. He had seen the place in his dreams, he knew where it was, but…those dreams weren't real, they were just insights into Lord Voldemort's mind…
That was the answer! "Professor Dumbledore," he said, crossing the room to his usual chair and thinking hard as he spoke, "when I have my dreams, or when I used to, that was me getting into Voldemort's head, right? So if I saw his headquarters in my dreams, wouldn't that be the same as having him tell me where it is?"
Dumbledore frowned slightly, but Harry could see that he was thinking. "Have you ever had a dream in which you saw the specific location? Enough of the surrounding area that the place could be possible to identify?"
Tearing through memories, Harry blurted, "Yes! One dream, I flew into the window on an owl, I saw the whole neighbourhood! It's this big old mansion, just outside this little town…"
He let his voice fade out, realizing that this information was still all but useless. How could a vague mental image help the Order of the Phoenix hunt down Voldemort's base of operation? And even if it did, they wouldn't be able to see it once they got there, because Voldemort had only betrayed the secret to Harry.
But Dumbledore didn't seem discouraged. He was looking intensely at Harry, as though trying to see through his face into his mind. Then he abruptly stood up and walked over to one of his larger cupboards; Harry realized what he had gone to retrieve as soon as he held it out.
The basin of stone that Dumbledore placed down on his desk swirled with a silvery, liquidy substance that still boggled Harry's mind to describe, though he knew very well what it was.
"The process is simple," Dumbledore said. "Simply think about the scene which showed you this place, and when you have the image clearly enough that thinking about it any harder would cause you to lose the picture, touch your wand to your temple and draw it back slowly. You will feel yourself lose it, which may be bothersome, but I assure you it's normal. When the memory is completely detached, simply deposit it into the Pensieve. Do you have any questions?"
Harry shook his head.
"Whenever you're ready, then."
Harry closed his eyes and focused, trying to slip back into the dream.
Flying on the back of an eagle owl, over a small hamlet, towards a crumbling, decrepit manor covered in ivy, with a few broken windows, unkempt gardens…
Inside one of the rooms, a fire burned in the grate. It seemed there was always a fire in every dream Harry had ever had, and it was always the only source of life and light in the otherwise dim room. On the floor before the hearth was an old, rich rug, and curled upon this was a snake of such size that Harry would have been terrified to meet it in real life, if not for the fact that he had already faced so much worse. Facing the fire was a large, soft armchair, damaged by age and neglect, like everything in this house, but once of good quality. The rest of the room was less certain in Harry's mind. He knew there was a mirror on one wall, age spotted and dirty, and a door which opened in to face the back of the chair. Reds and browns were the dominant colours of the space, and the fire cast distorted and frightening dancing shadows over everything.
The snake was prowling, and the trembling, snivelling figure of Wormtail was curled helplessly on the floor in front of the chair. Voldemort, in his weak, all but useless body, was sitting in that chair, and he was going to torture his servant. Harry could see it all quite clearly now…
He touched his wand to his temple and drew it away, feeling something tugging as though he was sliding a hair out of the middle of his mind; at the same time, the image of the house was fading. He could remember it, but he couldn't picture it.
Strangely relieved, Harry deposited the thread of his thoughts into the Pensieve, which began to swirl, but soon settled.
"Thank you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I will return momentarily."
With that, he prodded the calm silver with his wand, and Harry saw the village appear as it swirled rapidly. Dumbledore looked into it, and without hesitation leaned down so that his face touched the water. He was instantaneously pulled into the Pensieve, leaving Harry alone.
Dumbledore's office was never completely silent. Several of the witches and wizards whose portraits hung on the walls breathed evenly as they slept, some unknown instruments hummed and whirred, and Fawkes the phoenix let out quiet, peaceful calls from his perch. Harry smiled at him; that phoenix had helped him out almost as much as Dumbledore himself.
"If it isn't Harry Potter."
Harry recognized the voice, the very slow but very cultured and slightly less bitter and sarcastic than usual voice, of Phineas Nigellus; the former Headmaster was also Sirius' great-great-grandfather, though by far not as friendly.
"If it isn't Phineas Nigellus," Harry answered symmetrically.
"How has life been treating you, Potter?" asked Phineas, reclining in the chair on which he had been painted.
"Life hasn't treated me well since…the Hallowe'en when I was one year old."
Phineas raised his eyebrows. "I have never yet met a teenager who could pinpoint the date on which their angst was founded."
Smiling wryly, Harry said, "Well, you've never met a teenager like me."
After a giving a short laugh, Phineas regarded Harry considerately. "You know," he said after a pause, "you must be a remarkable young man. I've heard of all your accomplishments from my little spot on this wall, and those I haven't have come my way through the other portrait, at Grimmauld Place."
Harry felt something in his stomach clench. Oh, please don't mention Sirius, please…
"Dumbledore holds you in very high esteem," Phineas went on thoughtfully. "Yes… And your godfather…"
No, please…
"As much as I never understood him, frankly, I could tell that you meant the world to him. He couldn't have loved his own son more."
Harry looked away from the portrait, staring straight ahead of him. He couldn't think of what to say. Phineas fell silent for a moment, but soon began to speak again.
"And you—"
"I loved him, too," Harry said shortly. "So don't ask."
"I wasn't going to," Phineas said delicately. "I was going to comment that you were his heir… Did you know?"
"I found out at Christmas," Harry answered dully.
"Ah," Phineas said, nodding. "So do you think you'll be wanting the house, then?"
Harry frowned. "What? You mean at Grimmauld Place?"
"Where else?"
"But…he just left me his money, not his property…"
Phineas raised his eyebrows. "That's not exactly true. He simply hasn't given you his property yet. The old Black house is currently in the possession of Albus Dumbledore, but after your graduation you will be allowed to take it, if you choose. Apparently he promised you something about living with him, and this is as close as he'll come to fulfilling that promise. He is a man of his word, even now, despite all the screaming his mother does about his being a blood traitor."
Snorting, Harry was about to say exactly how much her opinion was worth, but he was interrupted when the door to the office burst open; he jumped in his chair and whipped around, but it was only Link and Zelda.
"Sorry we're late," Link explained, as he and Zelda hurried into the room, looking stressed. "One of the staircases decided we should take a detour… Where's Dumbledore?"
"In there," said Harry nodding towards the Pensieve. "He'll be back in a minute."
Link looked as if he would have liked to ask more questions, but Zelda was already speaking, "Ginny told us what happened to you, Harry. I've had those types of visions before, I used to get them all the time when Link was fighting to awaken the Sages, I used to see what he was doing." Though Link did a double take at what was apparently news to him, Zelda didn't seem to notice or care. "Never had them before or since. They happen when the goddesses want to tell you something important," she went on. "What was it telling you? What did you see?"
"Ganon told Voldemort that you're back," Harry explained simply. "So now we're getting ready to launch an attack. Dumbledore just went to find out where the Death Eaters headquarters are."
"What is that thing?" Link asked, approaching the Pensieve and frowning at it.
Harry explained briefly how it worked, including how it would help fight the Ilmeura and Fidelius Charms. "And I guess Dumbledore's idea is that getting into my memories of Voldemort's thoughts would be the same as getting straight into Voldemort's thoughts," he concluded with a shrug.
"Well, then, we need to get in there, too," said Zelda. "All of us who are going to be a part of the attack, we all need to go into that memory first."
"Yeah, you're right," Link agreed, unconcerned. "So how do we get in there? Just dive in?"
"Ye—Well, I don't know if you should," said Harry, slightly startled by how completely willing Link was to fling himself into the unknown. But then, he'd definitely faced worse.
"He's right, we should wait for Dumbledore," Zelda agreed.
Link shrugged, apparently willing to take this course of action as well, though he clearly would have preferred to scope out the territory of their opponents.
Unexpectedly, Dumbledore burst out of the Pensieve, flipping head over heels quickly and landing on his feet.
"Do you know where it is, sir?" Harry asked eagerly.
"I do," Dumbledore answered briskly. He was already seated behind his desk and pulling out parchment, quills and some small and complicated-looking instruments. "Thank you very much, Harry."
"Well—What are we going to do?" asked Harry, bewildered by how fast Dumbledore was suddenly working.
"I'm making arrangements," the Headmaster said. "We need to assemble the Order for battle… Link, Zelda, you'll need to visit Harry's memories as well."
"Now?" asked Link.
"Certainly," Dumbledore agreed, nodding towards the Pensieve. "Go right ahead. Simply touch the liquid, and you'll be transported."
Link didn't hesitate to plunge his arms into the bowl, and he was sucked away. Zelda was right behind him.
"What do I do, Professor?" Harry asked.
Looking up at him closely, Dumbledore considered a moment before answering. "For now, you must just behave normally. No one must know what we're planning."
"Not…not even Ron and Hermione?" Harry blurted in alarm. "And what about Ginny? She saw the vision happen, what am I supposed to tell her?"
"You can tell them the truth of the vision, but it is imperative that they not know our plan."
"But we can trust them!" Harry insisted angrily.
"I know we can," Dumbledore agreed. "However, it is never wise to give strategic information to those who are not directly concerned with it."
There was no way Harry could argue with this. Whatever he said, Dumbledore was right about that point, and he also had years of experience to back up his opinion. Albeit with dissatisfaction, Harry swallowed the stream of counterarguments he wanted to launch and simply nodded mutely.
"Thank you. I'm sorry to have to ask you to conceal information from your friends, but…" He paused to sigh. "Sometimes there is no other way."
Peter Pettigrew, Harry suddenly thought, as though his mind had tossed him this example to shatter any doubts he might have had that Dumbledore was right. As sure as Harry was that Ron, Hermione and Ginny would never betray him—and he was completely sure—he couldn't help remembering that the whole world could have been better if no one had decided to trust crucial information to someone who didn't need it.
Yet he remembered as well the trip to the Department of Mysteries the year before; they had supported him in a chore he couldn't have done alone, but they had also suffered the consequences, as Tonks had vividly reminded them all in that first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The images of his friends faces—Ron's skin lacerated and scarred deeply from an assault of thoughts that weren't his own—Ginny's face so twisted in pain from her broken ankle that she couldn't find words to speak—Luna unconscious where Death Eaters had brutally knocked her across the room—Neville screaming as the people who had tortured his parents gave him the same treatment—and the horrifying second when he had watched Hermione fall, bright terror in her wide eyes, and believed her dead. And it was this, more than anything else, that convinced him that it was not worth bringing them into this battle. He would fight with the Triforce—for them, not beside them.