Chapter Three

The Will, the Papers, the Numbers, and the Stolen Sword

Dumbledore's office was even more different than when Harry had been inside it the night before. Everything was swathed in black velvet, the clocks and mirrors were covered with thin, black silk cloths, and the only thing that was not gloomy, was not strange and alien to Harry, was the portrait of Dumbledore hanging near what was once Fawkes's perch. The portrait looked up from a book that had been painted in the portrait and smiled.

"Ah, Harry. Professor McGonagall, if you would be kind enough to excuse us?" McGonagall smiled, her face somewhat pinched, and left the room. The portrait smiled down at Harry. "Pray, take my chair. I shan't be needing it." As Harry made himself comfortable, unsure as to how he should feel, he fidgeted with the ruby ring and the little book of poetry. "Ah," said Dumbledore's portrait, eyeing both the jewelry and the literature. "I see Ophelia has spoken with you."

Harry sat up a little straighter, his mind racing. "You know her? Who is she? How did she get Sirius's knife back for me? How do you know her? Why does she look so familiar? Why are her eyes the same color as mine? And why-"

"Slow down, Harry, gracious. All in good time, all in good time. Green eyes aren't that unusual, you know. Several people have green eyes. Why, Miss Granger-"

"Mione's eyes are hazel," Harry stated flatly.

"Well, all right. Yes, I know Ophelia. She is one of our top spies for the Order. As for how she retrieved Sirius's knife, it is a secret, and not my secret to tell. I know her because I am well acquainted with her mother and father. She has been helping us since she reached the age of twelve. My, that was a long time ago.

"Ophelia is a gifted witch, a half-blood like yourself. She can be a little wild at times, but in a fix, there are few I would rather have protecting my back."

At these words, a strange, leaden feeling swamped Harry, and he gasped as it weighed down on his chest. "But she didn't… she didn't protect you."

"That is because I told her not to. I also told another young woman, Winter Ice Tostare, not to help me, because there was nothing she could do. I didn't bother telling Winter's sister, Ember, because she wouldn't have helped me, anyway."

"Why not?" Harry demanded furiously. "Why wouldn't she?"

"Harry, I would not and do not expect that a pregnant woman whose only concerns should be for her baby and herself to go gallivanting off to protect one old wizard. Ember's involvement would have made things much, much worse for everyone. As it was, I couldn't stop her from entering Snape's mind as he prepared to hit me with the Avada Kadavra curse. I can tell you, that moment may have broken her spirit forever. She collapsed maybe ten minutes after you left the Wing with Professor McGonagall. Even now, Madame Pomfrey is tending to her in the Hospital Wing, desperately trying to stave off what looks like will become a bout of delirium."

"Definitely not good for a baby," Harry muttered.

"Indeed not," said the portrait.

"How old are they?" Harry asked suddenly. He wanted to know if they were young, like him.

"Ophelia is a year and a few months older than you. Ice-she prefers going by her middle name- is eighteen years old. Ember is eight years her senior, despite the fact that they are twins." Harry tried to process that and couldn't quite manage it. "Ember used a time turned to be three different places at once for the last four years of her schooling. Thus, in those four years, she aged twelve. She looks great for her age, still very young looking. Minerva has often asked for her secret, as even I don't know how she manages it….

"Now, others are one their way, others less friendly to our cause. I want you to do something for me before they get here. Do you see that large bin of papers and things? Shrink it down and put in the pocket of your robe. The Gryffindor ring as well." Harry slipped the ring into his pocket, pulled out his wand, pointed it at the large, cardboard box full of stacks and stacks of papers, and muttered, "Reducto!" The box shrank, and Harry put it in his pocket.

"Now, Harry, take that piece of parchment and that quill there. I need you to write down a series of numbers and such. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. The series was as follows:

1.5"1.21"1.33"1.36"1.52"2.19"2.21"2.282.41"2.50"3.22"3.23 "3.36"4.7"4.13"4.14"4.20"5.48"6.1"6.16"6.13"6.32"6.33"6.35"-8.4"8.6"8.7"8.16"8.37"8.42"8.52"9.1"8.29.9"9.15"9.26"9.30"10.9"

10.25"10.31"10.33"13.5"12.6"13.17"13.36"14.2"14.12"15.14"15.15"

16.18"16.19"16.39"17.1"18.1"18.6"

Omniscient-Gamma50116-Baudelaire

"Sir," said Harry, flexing a cramp from his wrist. "What does that mean?"

"When you are at the Burrow, look inside the box of papers. There is a folder, the Baudelaire folder. It is very big, and spans almost sixteen years. You will find, if you look in the 50-section, that message in its code. You must decode it, Harry. That is why Ophelia gave you the book, remember? To decode those papers. Trust no one with that information except the Weasleys, Miss Granger, the Longbottoms, and the Lovegoods, and those whom they believe can be trusted. And I mean no one. No adults."

"Tonks."

"No, not even her, I think. Good bye, Harry. I shan't see you soon, but I shall see you. Oh, and when I said the Gryffindor sword, lying safe in its case, was not a Horcrux? I was wrong. Voldemorte has stolen the sword, and left no clue as to where he has hidden it. That is all I can say for now. Good bye, Harry. Keep your friends and loved ones close to you. Don't try to protect them, merely try to love them.

"One last thing before you go. Write this down as well, to give to the woman you plan on visiting." How had Dumbledore known? "I have my ways." After Harry had written down the message, the portrait said, "Any information you have on Professor Snape, Harry, must remain with you, and only with you. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded jerkily.

"Good man. Good bye, Harry."

"Good bye, Professor," Harry whispered, sick at heart over the loss of the sword and the death of the headmaster. He wanted to do one more thing before he left for the train- he had about half an hour- and then he would go back to the Dursleys.

He wondered if Ophelia would be waiting for him.

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Next Chapter

"Because it's Snape's baby, isn't it?"

"And just how do you know that, young Potter?"

"I can add two and two."

"So can the Ministry, Harry," she whispered, her voice weak, but Harry heard the trace of fear in it. He blinked, crying, "What do you mean?"

"If it becomes common knowledge to any besides Hogwarts staff who fathered my baby, the Ministry will use me as bait for him." Harry almost said, "Good, I hope they do," then thought of Umbridge and Scrimgeour, who seemed to have no scruples and wouldn't hesitate to throw a pregnant woman into Azkaban. Ember had done Harry no harm. Her baby had certainly done no harm to anyone.

"I have reasons to see Snape caught," he said carefully. Ember turned her eyes on Harry again, and they were a brilliant gold.

"No you don't, as soon as you check Omniscient-Gamma-five-oh-one-one-six-Baudelaire and the rest of the Baudelaire Five-Oh file." Ember's voice was sure and steady, but Harry saw the desperate hope in her eyes.

"H-how do you know about that?"

"I work for Dumbledore. Have for years. He trusts me."

"He trusted Snape, too."

"With good reason, as you'll soon discover."

"I know why Dumbledore thought Snape was his man-" Ember interrupted with, "Pray forgive my rudeness, but no you don't. You think you do, but remorse over your parents' deaths is not the reason. I know the reason, Snape knows the reason, and Dumbledore knows the reason. Soon you will, too. Read the damn file before you pass anymore judgment."

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