August 2, 1996
Harry had never been more glad to see the Burrow. He quickly stepped away from Dumbledore and began walking towards the front door. The lights were all off, save for one in the kitchen. Harry assumed that it was either Mrs. Weasley puttering around or one of her children looking for a nighttime snack.
"Harry, my boy, I wonder if we could have a quick chat before I turn you over to Molly?" called Dumbledore. Harry paused mid-stride, bemoaning his luck. He wheeled around to see Dumbledore indicating the little shed off in the side yard.
Harry had never had reason to enter the shed in all the times he'd stayed with the Weasleys. He knew that spare brooms were kept there and that Mr. Weasley would sometimes store his various experiments on Muggle objects in the shed as well. He followed the sweeping hem of Dumbledore's cloak to the rickety entrance, almost afraid to touch the handle. The entire structure looked likely to blow over in a strong wind.
Once inside, Dumbledore lit up the tip of his wand with a silent Lumos and pinned Harry with a hard stare. Harry had to resist the urge to fidget, somehow feeling as if he'd done something wrong. Well, he reflected, he was keeping a massive secret from the wizarding world at large but that hardly qualified as something wrong in his view.
"I confess myself curious, Harry. Your birthday was several days ago - happy belated birthday by the way," Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, "and you've yet to mention an inheritance."
Harry scrambled to come up with an answer that Dumbledore would accept. The most obvious one would be that he hadn't manifested at all, but then Dumbledore might ask to see the spot where his lotus tattoo was. No, surely not, he thought, eyeing Dumbledore's steel gaze. That's pushing the bounds of propriety.
"Er, I suppose I've been a bit distracted tonight, sir. I didn't mention anything about my manifestation because I didn't get one." The only indication of surprise that Dumbledore gave was a raised eyebrow.
"You're sure?" Harry just gave the Headmaster a deadpan look.
"I meant no offence of course, a manifestation is rather hard to miss after all," the man gave a forced-sounding chuckle, "I'm merely surprised, James was a fairly talented air elemental and your grandmother, Euphemia…" Here he trailed off, seemingly lost in memories. "She was a hellion with her fire! Fleamont didn't manifest, so I would assume James got his air talent from someone more distant in their family tree."
Harry was shocked, he'd never known anything about his grandparents, not even their names! He'd known about James though, Sirius had gone on and on about how thrilled James had been to be an elemental and how he'd used his talent to make their pranks even more successful.
Harry's heart clenched at the inadvertent reminder of Sirius. He had spent countless sleepless nights playing back the battle in his mind and wondering if he could have changed anything. From the minute the six of them had arrived at the Ministry, things were out of his hands. He couldn't bring himself to regret going in the first place, though. As far as he had known, Sirius was being tortured and Kreacher had confirmed it. There was no way he could have convinced himself to stay at Hogwarts.
Coming to that realization had lifted some of the guilt he'd felt after that night. He still missed Sirius, he always would, but the ache wasn't as soul-deep as it had been before.
"I wasn't aware of that, Professor."
Dumbledore waved off the comment with an air of nonchalance. "It's no matter, these things never like to play by the rules."
Harry simply nodded at that, what else could he say?
"On the whole, Harry, I'm pleasantly surprised at how well you seem to be taking all of this. I know Sirius was dear to you, and then finding out that you didn't manifest on top of that? Lesser men wouldn't be coping as well." Dumbledore's face was the very picture of sympathy.
"Honestly? I'm not all that surprised. This is perfectly in line with my luck over the past few years." The quip relieved some of the tension that had been building and both men let out a short laugh.
"Good, very good. I also wanted to ask you for your thoughts on the prophecy. Have you told anyone of the true contents?"
"No, sir."
"That is commendable caution, but I believe you would be well served by telling Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger-"
"With all due respect, Professor, I don't think I'll be telling anybody. It's not their business."
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to dim at this pronouncement.
"Be that as it may, your friends could be a great support for you on this journey." When Harry merely shook his head in response, the twinkle went out fully.
"Very well. The last thing I wanted to tell you is that I've arranged for us to have some private lessons together during the school year." Harry snapped his head up from where he'd dropped it to observe a dirt spot on his trainers that looked eerily like Snuffles.
"Lessons? With you?" Harry was excited at the prospect but also skeptical of the timing. Dumbledore had known since his first year of the prophecy and his destiny, why only start training him now?
"Indeed. I have some information that I feel it is time to pass on." The damnable twinkle was back and Harry suddenly had the strongest desire to curse Dumbledore just to see it wither away. Information? That was hardly specific. Was it information on battle strategies, on fighting techniques, on other subjects not taught at Hogwarts?
"I look forward to it." Harry ground out from between his teeth.
"Excellent! Let's get you into the house, I'm sure Molly is eager to see you."
With that, Dumbledore extinguished the Lumos and stepped out of the shed. Harry followed, wrapping his jacket tighter around his body. The light in the kitchen was still on. Dumbledore rapped three times on the front door and waited.
"Who is it?" Mrs. Weasley's voice was recognizable at once.
"Albus Dumbledore, with Harry."
"Oh, hang on one moment Albus." Rapid footsteps could be heard followed by the disengaging of multiple locks and the front door swung open at last, revealing Mrs. Weasley.
"Harry, dear! Come in, come in, it's so lovely to see you," said Mrs. Weasley, waving Harry inside. "Would you like to come in as well, Albus?"
"I'm afraid not, it's late and there's still much to do," he refused. With a parting smile, he walked back off across the lawn and Disapparated with a sharp crack. Mrs. Weasley closed the door and turned to examine Harry closer.
"You're looking a bit peaky dear, would you like a bit of toast before heading upstairs?"
"I'd love some toast, thank you," said Harry gratefully, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
"It's not a problem, I always fix up some toast for Arthur after his shifts too," she said, bustling around the kitchen. "Ever since his promotion he's been coming home quite late."
"Mr. Weasley got promoted?" Harry asked. He was thrilled, he knew that Mr. Weasley was very hard-working and his family certainly deserved the extra money.
"Yes, he's now the head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects."
Harry privately thought that that sounded like an unnecessary mouthful, probably on purpose in the Ministry's attempt to make it sound more important than it was.
"That's wonderful!"
Mrs. Weasley turned and beamed at Harry. "Thank you, Harry. He's very pleased with his new job. It keeps him busy of course, chasing down false amulets and purported protective devices, but he's enjoying himself."
Just then the door swung open, admitting a harassed looking Mr. Weasley. His hair was mussed and his tie was askew. Mrs. Weasley placed a plate of toast in front of Harry and hurried to welcome her husband. Harry let himself look around the kitchen, finding the clock with each member of the Weasley family on it. Each hand was pointing to mortal peril. He supposed that was true, with Voldemort openly back, every wizard in Britain was in danger. The regular clock that sat next to the family clock read as one-thirty in the morning; an ungodly hour if Harry had ever seen one.
"Arthur!" The man in question gave a tired grin and kissed his wife, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes to the side of the door. He glanced around and his eyes fell on Harry, who had just taken his first bite of toast.
"Hello, Harry, it's lovely to see you." Mr. Weasley clapped Harry on the shoulder and sank into the seat next to him. "I wouldn't mind some toast as well, Molly."
The two men shared a grin as Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes fondly and went back to the counter.
"How've you been, Harry? How did your manifestation go?" asked Mr. Weasley. He leaned forward in his seat, eager to hear Harry's answer.
Harry nearly choked on his toast and coughed a few times to clear his throat. Merlin, was everyone expecting him to have manifested? Well, they aren't wrong, he thought wryly. He didn't mind lying, not really. It was easier than telling people about something that he didn't quite understand himself.
"Oh, I didn't manifest, actually." Harry said casually. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a startled glance at that.
"Really? Albus seemed to think it was a sure thing," commented Mrs. Weasley.
"Dumbledore's been wrong before." Harry shrugged. There was nothing either of the Weasleys could think to say to that and Harry continued to eat his toast in silence. Mrs. Weasley passed another plate of toast to Mr. Weasley and joined them at the kitchen table. Once Harry had cleared his plate, he stood and pushed his chair in. His day - or night, really, - had been exhausting and he was about ready to collapse.
"You look dead on your feet, Harry. You're in Fred and George's room this time around; they've got their own little flat above their shop." Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly and gestured for Harry to go on upstairs.
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. Good night."
The two elder Weasleys responded in kind and Harry made his way up to the second floor where he knew Fred and George's bedroom to be. The door was painted an eye-watering shade of magenta with a bright orange W emblazoned in the center.
Harry choked out a laugh, imagining Mrs. Weasley's reaction when she laid eyes on the twins' handiwork for the first time. Trust Fred and George to pick two colors that clashed in such a violent way.
He carefully pushed the creaky door open and laid his eyes on utter chaos. There were numerous boxes scattered around the floor with various products stuffed in them. Harry recognized a few Extendable Ears and Skiving Snackboxes among the lot.
His trunk and Hedwig's cage sat underneath the window with Hedwig herself preening atop a bedpost. She hooted at him in greeting and Harry gave her a fond smile. He crossed over to the window, nudging his trunk out of the way, and undid the latch on the window. He pushed the window out and stood back to watch Hedwig gracefully swoop out into the night.
Leaving the window open for her return, Harry opened his trunk and dug around for a pair of pajamas. He quickly changed and unceremoniously fell onto the nearest bed, throwing his glasses on the nightstand and slipping into sleep almost instantly.
Harry was woken by a red-headed blur bouncing on the bed.
"Harry, mate! I was beginning to think Dumbledore had kidnapped you!"
Harry groaned, not awake enough to deal with a hyper Ron Weasley. Jamming his glasses on revealed a grinning Ron and a reproachful looking Hermione standing next to his bed.
"Morning, guys. What's going on?" asked Harry.
"Not much. It's been pretty quiet 'round here, but what about you? Going off with Dumbledore must've been fun!" Ron babbled. Harry pulled himself up to rest against the headboard and wondered how much of the previous night's events he should relate to them.
"It wasn't all that entertaining, really. He stopped by an old friend's house to chat and then we came straight here," shrugged Harry. It was true in the strictest sense of the word.
Ron seemed to deflate and looked over at Hermione as if asking for what to say next.
"Did he mention anything about… you know, the prophecy?" she asked. There it was. Harry hadn't expected to be questioned about it so quickly, but Hermione's curiosity knew no bounds nor propriety.
"There's not much to mention about it, it got smashed at the battle, remember?" said Harry.
"Yeah, but come on, it's Dumbledore. He's got to know something!" Ron urged.
"He doesn't seem to be in the habit of sharing important information with me, though." Harry said bitterly. Ron and Hermione both shared a nervous glance and looked back at Harry.
"He did mention something about having private lessons with him this year," he threw out in an attempt to placate them. It seemed to mollify Ron but Hermione's jaw dropped and two spots of color rose in her cheeks.
A knock sounded on the door and Mrs. Weasley entered the room bearing a breakfast tray. Harry's stomach rumbled of its own volition and he and Ron gave a tense laugh.
"You slept through breakfast, I thought you might like some food to tide you over until lunch." Mrs. Weasley gave him a warm smile and carefully passed the tray over to his hands.
"Thank you." Harry returned the smile and Mrs. Weasley backed out of the room, perhaps sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere. The door clicked shut and the trio was left alone once more. Harry awkwardly ate some of the eggs while he waited for someone else to speak.
"What - but - I…" Hermione squeaked, "private lessons?" She looked absolutely stunned, as if she'd been brained with a Beater's bat.
"Yeah?" Harry said cautiously.
"That - that's absurd!" sputtered Hermione. "Why just you? If anything, he should be offering them to everyone who fought at the Ministry!"
Harry was blindsided; he'd thought that Hermione would be happy that he was getting some extra training at last, but it sounded like she was just unhappy that she wasn't privy to the same information that he was.
"Yeah, well, you're not the one Voldemort is after, are you?" Harry snapped. Rage was rising in his chest at the - as he saw it - betrayal. He picked up his half-eaten breakfast and left the room, letting the door close on a gaping Ron and a fuming Hermione.
Some time apart would do them all good. He intended to finish his breakfast in the sanctuary of the kitchen. At least there, no one would attack him for something out of his control.