The Quetzal's Fire

Harry Potter

I'm trying to start a Harry Potter fanfiction message board. Email me or go to my homepage link and sign up for my totally subjective admittance process. As always: idiots need not apply. Fools, of course, are more than welcome.

A/N: I recently watched Star Wars again, kicked ass… Lord of the Rings, also. I'm bingeing on non fiction- still that Mao book and soon a study of governmental history entitled What's the Matter With Kansas. It studies the shift of Midwestern political thought from the radical left to the radical right. I'm pumped for it. Musically, I'm listening to Death Cab For Cutie… cool emo/rock band out of Bellingham that's starting to break nationally. If you can, get their album, Transatlanticism. It's a good one.
I've decided a large portion of the story will not occur in Britain and Ireland and will be about backstory… the plot is about half finished… likely it will also go into the seventh year even if it don't it will end conclusively.

Part Six: Get Through

Harry went to sleep that night angrier than he had been for some time. Initially, he'd been worried. Dumbledore was very difficult to piss off if you were on his good side, and Harry certainly was in that category. Yet as the day passed and separation appeared between the actual events of the night and Harry's meditations upon them, indignation reared its head. Why didn't Dumbledore let Harry on the inside? Wasn't Harry supposed to be told everything? Hadn't Dumbledore said last year that Harry was supposed to know Voldemort's movements? Sirius had died, as had something in Harry.

He's just like Voldemort, seethed Harry furiously to himself. He's a manipulator, he doesn't care about anyone. He's so self righteous…

The next morning Harry slept late, waking up at ten. Ron was waiting for him in the common room. He appeared to be eager to avoid any mention of Harry's meeting with Dumbledore.

"I saved you some food,"

Harry nodded. It was uncivil to be talking so soon after waking up, in his mind.

Ron knew his friend's views on mornings, so he stayed quiet while Harry belted back some tea. Fortunately for Ron, he didn't have to stick his neck out for a Potter explosion. That came on its own.

"I can't believe Dumbledore! He said that he'd tell me what Voldemort's doing! Sirius died because of that!" Ron had heard it a million times before.

"Dumbledore's angry, mate. I'd worry about that before you go exploding," said Ron cautiously.

"Oh, now you think I'm overreacting too! Don't worry, he's managed before, he'll keep managing," shouted Harry. "I can't believe this."

"I can't either, mate, because you obviously think I don't want to know anything" replied Ron in kind. "You have about as much to do with You-Know-Who's plans as Merlin's beard!"

Ron, in his forgivable ignorance, was dead wrong about that.

Harry stormed out of the Gryffindor common room and went to sit by the lake, fuming. He didn't quite wind up getting there, however.

"Hi Harry," said Ginny brightly. "How are you?"

"I'm, er, fine I guess," replied Harry, developing an appreciation for his shoes that had incredibly enough never existed before. It was embarrassing for Harry to discover that Ginny Weasley had become so attractive, despite the irony. "How about you?"

"Fine, I suppose," replied Ginny. "Where're you headed?"

"I fancied a walk around the lake," said Harry nervously. That's not all I fancy…

"Oh, brilliant. Mind if I come?"

"No, no…"

They set out. Harry had eyes locked front, but Ginny was looking at him curiously. She didn't say anything until they reached the shore.

"Lousy summer you've been having,"

"Yeah," replied Harry miserably.

"Death Eaters on your street?"

"Yeah. I was on swings when Lestrange snuck up on me. She didn't even go frontal," Harry observed bitterly. "Am I really that worthless?"

"I wouldn't say so," said Ginny matter-of-factly. "What you did in June was a good thing, even if… it didn't turn out that well." Harry turned on Ginny, but her face was mild. He flushed red and looked away again.

Ginny pretended not to notice and pressed on.

"It was brave, at least. You were trying to save someone's life, after all,"

"Yeah, well, I haven't thought of that before," replied Harry acridly. "And what a great job I did!" He sat on the grass with a thud. Ginny did the same, minus the force.

"Look, Harry," she said, "nobody wants you to keep feeling sorry for yourself. It's been two months almost. Don't act all innocent, either, because I heard you going off on Ron this morning."

Harry turned and looked at Ginny. His face was still red, but it wasn't out of bashfulness.

"Oh, so he's sent you to make me feel all guilty? Thanks but no thanks,"

"No, I came myself. Both of you were miserable the last time you got into a spat like this," Ginny replied simply. Harry noticed the way the sun outlined her hair and rested his head on the grass. She did the same.

There was more silence for awhile.

"You're funny," she said. Harry looked over and noticed she was smiling a little. She returned the gaze and grinned.

Dammit, Harry, think of something to say, he thought desperately. Nothing came, so he went to the standby.

"No clouds."

"No," replied Ginny, bemused. "The sky's nice, though,"

"Not much fun looking at it without clouds, though," Harry observed.

"A little pointless,"

"Comfortable, though," added Harry frantically. "The grass is good."

"Yeah," said Ginny. Harry watched her chest rise as she inhaled. He didn't try and say anything more, though. They just sat there for awhile.

It wasn't until Harry reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office that afternoon that he realized that he didn't know the password. He was, however, spared the problem of trying to guess it by the Headmaster's arrival.

"Ah. Hello, Harry," said Dumbledore cordially. "Blood pops." The stone escalator made itself visible as the professor gestured for the student to go first.

Harry sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk feeling more foolish than anything. The Headmaster sat across from him and leaned forward in his chair.

"Harry, I would be lying if I were to say that I understood what you are feeling. At the same time, however, it would be advantageous if you stopped resenting all who show concern for your welfare." Harry looked at the floor, embarrassed. "Harry, let me make it clear that I am not doing any of this to spite or punish you. Your anger towards me is puzzling, to say the least."

"Puzzling? Even after June?" Harry shot back. The embarrassment was fading fast.

"Yes, Harry. It has been almost two months," said Dumbledore apologetically. "I myself lost my parents at an early age, and I do not recall being so angry as you yourself are now. Of course, it was over one hundred fifty years ago, so I could be forgetting the details of the affair,"

Harry was stunned. He had no idea Dumbledore's sympathy wasn't that of someone who misunderstood and never gone through the same thing.

"I… I had no idea, Professor."

"That is quite alright, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "You didn't know. You also don't know the things I feel obligated to tell you right now. But let me impress upon you this: be selective of what you tell your fellows. The information I have chosen to tell you and will tell you in the future is sensitive and has been chosen carefully. It is only what will pertain to you. Lives are risked procuring it and it is not with a light heart it should be absorbed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," replied Harry gravely.

"Very well. Now, the thing I will be discussing with you today is your mental state." Dumbledore was businesslike once again. "I know you have not mentioned any visions in your correspondences to Order members over the summer, but are there any you did not mention to them?"

"No, Professor," replied Harry.

Dumbledore regarded him for a moment. "Very well. I have considered the matter recently and I very much believe that you are not in the forefront of Voldemort's thoughts. He seems to be focused on amassing his army and equipping it with who knows what. How he is arming himself is the main question we are dealing with at the moment. His group of followers is unlikely to expand beyond what it was in the first war. Lord Voldemort is now a very experienced general."

"Were there any battles in the last war, Professor?" Harry asked after a pause.

"No, not in the way you are used to them, Harry. This would not so much a war as a 'cold' war. I believe even describing the strife in question as a guerilla war would be incorrect. There are significant events, of course, and large fights between several wizards. Beyond that, it is mostly a spy game. The best connection I can draw between muggle warfare and that of Lord Voldemort is of a terror cell fighting an established government."

"I say best because I cannot tie this 'war' to a conflict in the muggle sense. There are supporters of Voldemort in the very society he is trying to defeat. It is a paradoxical situation, to say the least." Harry was not assuaged.

"Were there any specific events?"

"Yes, of course. His killings and the pursuits of his Death Eaters were the main thing. But I do not believe that this war will be fought in the same way. It will probably be the kind of war you are more familiar with."

The machines whirred and the clocks ticked. The sun shone on the floor of the Professor's office; it was truly a brilliant summer day. War could not have seemed farther away to Harry.

"Why is that, Professor?"

"Lord Voldemort is enraged, Harry. He was struck down at the very height of his power, the moment when his triumph should have been complete. The murder of your parents was just the beginning of the campaign that would have eliminated the Order of the Phoenix through the spywork of Peter Pettigrew.

"With such a trusted and strategically placed mole, there was nothing that could have prevented his ascension. He had moles in the Ministry of Magic, of course, but the Ministry did not ever really do as much as the Order," said Dumbledore sadly. "I am afraid we were preparing to fight a defensive war when the Dark Lord encountered you."

They sat in silence for awhile. "Is that all, Harry?"

"Yes, Professor." Harry made to leave.

"Harry, I have more to say. Please sit again. It will not take long." Harry nodded, and sat.

"I believe that you and I should continue your occulmency lessons. Just because Lord Voldemort has not sent you any visions for several months does not mean that you should not try and shield yourself from him. In fact, his constant interference is probably disadvantageous while you are trying to learn such a skill. Even if he does not try and plant things in your mind, it is still a useful skill to have," Dumbledore smiled. "Also, Professor McGonagall discussed your ambition to become an auror with me. It is hardly a surprise, I suppose, but it presents challenges to you. Here—" Dumbledore reached into his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper "—are your grades from the Ordinary Wizarding Level. Outstanding in defense against the dark arts and care of magical creatures." Harry grinned as Dumbledore gave him a bemused look. "Exceeds expectations in transfiguration and charms. You earned an average grade in potions, which is the problem. History of magic and divination were parents of failing grades." Dumbledore's beard twitched. "If it were not for the very high academic standards I and my faculty impose upon the school—" Harry resisted the urge to laugh "—I would simply say that your grades do not reflect your aptitude or skill. However, I must say, but only to save face, of course, that your grades are disappointing." Harry's cheer vanished quickly. "But, of course, the circumstances of the last year were extraordinary for the student body and especially for yourself."

Harry was shocked. Dumbledore, it seemed, was willing to look over anything for Harry's benefit.

"Of course, since your arrival at Hogwarts, it has probably been the most chaotic five years of my tenure. Perhaps anyone's tenure," Dumbledore said circumspectly. "But. Your grades. Certainly, chaos is not the most likely of things to interfere with Severus Snape's class for most students. Yet, in your case, Harry, last year may have been the hardest of your life."

"I wouldn't say that, Professor," replied Harry wearily.

"Perhaps not. But I have spoken with Professor Snape, and he sees no… er… real reason why you should not study potions with him for the rest of the month in order to prepare you for NEWT level potions." Harry positively leapt up from his chair. Dumbledore may have been subjective, but he was Harry's hero once more.

"Thank you Professor! I won't fail you!"

"Harry, I would be more concerned about Professor McGonagall than myself," said Dumbledore, laughing. The old wizard was touched. "You may go, Harry." Despite himself, Dumbledore had become to love Harry Potter as the son he had never had.

Harry's next order of business was to apologize to Ron. Professor Dumbledore's words and, in particular, Ginny's, were enough to convince Harry he needed to stop being a malcontent. His thoughts wandered to Ginny. It was incredibly ironic that he should be falling for Ron's kid sister; especially it was the opposite way just a few years ago. More than anything the situation was pathetic. Harry arrived at the Fat Lady and swore there and then that he would do better than he did with Cho.

"Oh, hello dear," said the Fat Lady. She swung her painting open; the portraits didn't have to ask for passwords over the summer.

Harry found Ron in the dormitory, unpacking. Ron didn't look up as Harry came in.

"'Lo, Ron," said Harry. Ron nodded. "I'm sorry about what I said this morning. I was mad at the wrong person."

"Yeah, I'd reckon so," replied Ron. "Apology accepted." Harry told Ron about the meeting with Dumbledore.

"He says that I can take NEWT potions but I have to study with Snape,"

"Don't worry, he won't try and kill you with the whole Order here," said Ron with a grin.

"Oh, thanks, Ron," replied Harry. "You're a great comfort,"

"What're friends for?" asked Ron gravely.

Suddenly, however, Fred and George burst into the room.

"Harry's here without an explosion!" exclaimed Fred.

"What's wrong?" inquired George.

"Surely our hero isn't ill?" wondered Fred in mock concern. George produced something that looked remotely like a car jack and made to put it in Harry's mouth.

"Oh, come off it Harry, we're just trying to give you a checkup," said Fred wickedly.

"You two are the embodiment of evil on this Earth," declared Harry good naturedly while trying to push George back with a pair of tweezers. It wasn't going so well.

"We take it very seriously," said George.

"Yes, You-Know-Who has nothing on us," added Fred pompously.

"We even placed ourselves in Gryffindor Tower after we graduated."

"You can't be serious!" moaned Ron.

"Oh yes, dear brother, we've been placed here to look after you. I still can't believe we pulled that one off," said George impishly.

"But, that is not the reason of our visit," Fred said. "We were in fact wondering if you lot would break the monotony with a spot of quidditch."

The twins were indeed carrying their brooms in hand.

"When am I not ready for quidditch?" demanded Harry.

"Let's see… how about…"

"…the '91 final?"

"Unconscious in the hospital…"

"…'95 final…"

"You were banned, as you might remember,"

"Same with you two," said Harry, glaring.

"Last one to the top of the tower has to keep!" bellowed Fred, and they sprinted out of the room and pushed off the roof in earnest.