47.

BREAD

There was a loaf of bread in the oven, and Dumbledore had been kneading the

dough for the next one. He looked over at Harry, and it occurred to him that Harry

had grown. It felt like yesterday, the first time he had entered Hogwarts, so young

and uncertain. All he had to do was turn, and look into those powerful eyes. He was

no longer a child, but in a sense he would always be so.

"Harry," Dumbledore asked, "A personal question, if I may?"

"Sure," Harry said, watching Dumbledore's hands. They were

so white, kneading the dough. Again, he was amazed how such

an old man could possess so much energy.

"How many times have you seen me...intoxicated?"

"Just once," Harry said.

"Did I behave like a fool?"

"No," Harry said. "I remember, your face got really red. But you didn't run around

with a lampshade over your head or anything."

Dumbledore grinned.

"What about me?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Hagrid kissed you on the cheek."

She smiled. Then she took a sip of water.

"I've seen worse," Harry said. "Dudley and his friends get loaded

every Saturday. He hit this girl-"

At the mention of Dudley-

"Did I say something?"

"No, no, Harry." Suddenly, Dumbledore looked tired. "It's not something you did."

"There's something you need to know," McGonagall said. "About Dudley-"

"What about Dudley?"

"Harry, he and his friends...well, as a way to alleviate boredom, they've resorted

to murder."

Harry almost wished this news was surprising. In a way, it was.

"But...Dudley and his friends aren't smart enough to get away with murder."

"Be that as it may, Harry, they have."

"Who have they killed?"

"They've killed two children, an elderly man and someone's goldfish."

"A goldfish?"

A small laugh escaped Harry, and he quickly covered his mouth. "I don't mean to

laugh...but that's just like them. A goldfish?"

"Undoubtedly, a very special goldfish to someone. I suppose someone they especially

wanted to hurt. Harry, I'm afraid they've marked you and Hedwig as their next

victims."

"They have?" Harry asked, suddenly glad he hadn't taken them all on that night.

"As it stands, I cannot allow you to return to that house."

Harry felt a surge of joy, mixed with panic. "But that's-"

Dumbledore held up his hand. "How would you like it if Dudley never bothered anyone

ever again?"

"That would be great, but...what are you going to do?"

"Well, Harry, tomorrow...I must ask you to stay away from Springfield Elementary."

"Dudley will be there?"

"Yes, he will."

And Dumbledore told him exactly what was going to happen. By the time he was done,

there was a joy in Harry's eyes and also a silly grin on his face that Dumbledore

was glad to see.

"It's brilliant," Harry said.

"I thought you'd like it. Would you like to knead the dough?"

"Sure."

Dumbledore's fingertips brushed against his.

Harry had worked with dough before; he liked shaping it, and the feel of it

shifting against his hands.

"Am I allowed to give you advice?"

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall.

"I wouldn't discourage it," he said.

"Neither would I," McGonagall said. "What do you have to say, Potter?"

"Oh...well...nothing, really. I don't have any problems with either of

you...I did, once, with you, Professor-"

"Oh?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows, but her lips didn't thin. She was curious.

"At first, I thought you were too strict. But now I know why. You want us to be challenged.

It builds character."

McGonagall actually smiled.

"I know I'm a lot stronger," Harry said. "The only issue I have is why Draco was

ever a prefect."

"I'm sure you can guess," Dumbledore said.

"Daddy's money, right?"

"Exactly. Fudge blew it. But surely you've noticed he's not a prefect this year."

"I noticed."

"That's because he was punished, along with the other students on Umbridge's

Inquisitorial Squad."

"He was?"

"They were all given official reprimands from the Ministry. He's still on probation. He's

out of the running for Head Boy, as well."

"I don't want to be Head Boy, either."

"You lie well."

"Ron's the one who wants it. It's all he's ever wanted."

"I agree...he'd make an exemplary head boy. But you would too, no matter how many

detentions you have. If Fudge brings that up-"

"-just tell him he got most of them from an incompetent," McGonagall said, then caught herself.

"I shouldn't speak ill of the dead," she said cattishly. "But I just can't resist it."

Dumbledore grinned.

She smiled back at him.

Something occurred to Harry.

"Are you two married?" he asked.

The two professors closed their eyes. Dumbledore took McGonagall's hand.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We are."

"Good," Harry said. "I'm glad. Am I the only one who knows?"

"You and a few others," McGonagall said.

"Anyway, back to Draco. I didn't want to hate him. I would have been his friend if he

wasn't-"

"-a nasty little sociopath?" McGonagall asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, staring at McGonagall.

"He tried to make me choose between him and Ron and there was just no choice, you know?"

"I can imagine," Dumbledore said. "You shouldn't have punched him last year. That's what

he wanted. Instigate and blame, he learned it from his father. He's good at it. He only has

one detention, did you know that?"

"The one you gave him in first year," Harry told McGonagall.

"He's very careful," McGonagall said. "Rest assured, Potter, most of the professors see

through him. Except, of course, Professor Snape. But you have to see it from his angle,

I suppose. Many children who get sorted into Slytherin come from broken homes, or

badly abused-"

"And Professor Snape knows what's that's like," Harry whispered.

"How do you know that?"

"Occlumency lessons, I'd gather," Dumbledore said. "How much did you see?"

"Not much," Harry said. "His father terrorizing his mother."

"Thank God that's all you saw," Dumbledore said. He paused.

"Don't tell Snape I told you. I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"We won't say a word."

The three of them were silent for a moment. Then:

"How did it feel?"

"What?"

"Slugging Draco Malfoy."

"It felt great."

(Hermione punched him. I punched him. Now RON better deck him soon-)

"I'm sure it did. But Harry...listen...if he changed for the better...would you consider

being friends?"

"That'd take some kind of a miracle," Harry said.

"Miracles happen," Dumbledore said.

"He'd have a lot of apologies to make," Harry said. "To Hagrid, for what he tried to do

to Buckbeak, for one. How is Buckbeak?"

"Oh, well..."

"Is he all right?"

"He's fine, Harry. Buckbeak is just fine. The thing is..."

"What did Kreacher do to him this time?"

"Reverse positions."

"Buckbeak did something to Kreacher?"

"My fault, I'm afraid. I don't know how I did it, but I locked Kreacher in Buckbeak's room,

and you know how Buckbeak can be..."

"I've seen how he gets."

"Well, he must have been aching for five minutes alone with Kreacher after their...last

encounter, and he...well, he ate Kreacher."

Harry didn't know what to say.

"Did Kreacher give him indigestion?"

"Well, there was a terrible amount of vomit on the floor...we only knew it was Kreacher

by the teeth..."

Harry looked down at the dough. "I think this is ready for the oven."

Dumbledore opened the oven door. He took the loaf out and set it on top of the stove.

"Another question," Dumbledore said. "Have you seen Grawp lately?"

"You know about Grawp?"

"Well, you saw the state Hagrid was in last year. Don't think I didn't notice. How

do you think I got Umbridge out of the tree?"

"I haven't seen Grawp at all," Harry said. "I hope he's okay."

"I'm sure he is."

There was a rustle of wings at the window.

"Ah, Hedwig," Dumbledore said, and opened the window for her.

She flew into the room, and landed on the table. She had been holding a newspaper in her

claws, and she dropped it right in front of Harry.

Harry looked down at it.

"Oh, great," he said.

"What is it?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Harry showed her the front page.

There was a picture of him; an awful, covert angle taken from far away; he knew it was

from Wednesday morning, as he dressed in the bathroom. Over that, there were bold letters

that read HAS HARRY POTTER DEFECTED TO AMERICA?

"Looks like I'll have to talk to the Quibbler again," Harry said, resting his chin against

the table, his arms out as if calling for alms.

Professor McGonagall took one of his hands, warming it with her own.

"I realize you don't ask for these things, Potter," she said. "They sort of rush at you

from out of nowhere, don't they?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "But you know, I don't have such a bad life."

In the hall, the front door opened. "Is Harry here?"

"Oh, no. Mrs. Weasley probably saw it-"

Mrs. Weasley stormed into the kitchen.

"Have you seen this garbage?" she yelled, brandishing a Prophet."Oh...I see that you

have, Albus. Harry, I don't know what to say."

"How about 'Oh, bugger.'?" Harry asked.

Mrs. Weasley laughed, despite her anger. "The things I'd like to say to these people would

make a sailor cry. I guarantee you, Hermione's probably talking to Luna Lovegood right

now and we'll get this straightened right out."

"She probably is," McGonagall said.

Mrs. Weasley sat next to Harry.

"All they do is lie about me," Harry said.

Mrs. Weasley pulled him up from the table and hugged him.

"What's with all this hugging? We're supposed to be English."

"I'm Irish," Mrs. Weasley said. "Which means you get kisses, too." And she

kissed him on the cheek.