Chapter Three: Learner
Note about this chapter: Only the original three movie novelizations and some supplemental material are being used here from the Star Wars universes. I know much more is available, but it was not available to Harry at the Surrey Library in 1995. Remember, he hasn't even seen the movies yet, nor did he read any of what is now being called the Legends universe. He did get A Guide to the Star Wars Universe out, so he had a good visual to base his visual image of what a lightsaber should look like on. Also, the baking scene is totally me, and for exactly the reasons mentioned.
5 points to whoever gets the joke on the author of the Defense book, and to whoever can guess who Harry's quoting when he talks to Mrs. Weasley.
Harry, with Remus and Sirius's help as well as Hermione and the Weasleys, set up a workout space in the back garden with a magical treadmill and a place to work out both physically and mentally. Remembering the titles of all the books he'd gotten from the library, he gave a list of them to Remus and asked him to see if he could find them for sale, promising to give him the money for the items once he had a chance to go to Gringott's. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins started working out with him, and learning some of what he'd learned, but he was reluctant to begin sparring with anyone because he hadn't yet had a personal instructor and didn't have much idea of how to fight another person with a sword. He wanted to find them an instructor for that.
Professor Dumbledore came to destroy the cursed locket, and upon learning what Harry'd been up to, he wanted to have a chat with him. He took Harry outside to talk to him away from the prying ears of his peers. "So, I hear you've had a busy summer."
Harry grinned. "A bit."
With twinkling eyes, Dumbledore said, "I'd like to know about what you've been learning from these non-magical books, Harry, to see if there's something in them we might incorporate into the regular school curriculum."
"It's a lot of hard work, Professor. I've noticed that most magic is used to make less work for folk. I don't know if people would sign up for it. Ravenclaw might, because of the study benefits I've noticed that come with meditation, but physical exertion and sword work are probably a bit too Muggle for most wizards."
Professor Dumbledore nodded. "You're probably right. But there are often ways to get around that. Now, the running I understand. It's a great way to build endurance, and I've known many a Quidditch player to have a running regimen. But what prompted all of this?"
"Hermione gave me a book. I know, big shocker. But this was a story, purely fictional, and from the Muggle world. She just wanted to get my mind off of things. I probably won't be able to replicate everything, but magic listens to us, to what we want. That's why accidental magic can happen. I read this book, this story about a fictional order of warrior monks called Jedi, and about the perils of seeking power for the wrong reasons, and about the source of their power, which they called the Force. I think the author might be a wizard or a squib, because I realized that magic can work like he's talking about. I was even able to duplicate one of their weapons."
Harry was no longer using the cut-off non-magical broomstick but a wooden practice sword made of oak. Remus had transfigured it for him, and when he'd conjured his lightsaber it had burned the stag-at-bay symbol into the wood of the blade. He drew the sword now from the sheath on his back. "This one's oak, but I'm going to try some experiments with different woods, and with the possibility of a grip only. The lightsaber in the stories is a machine, and it's only a handle which produces a blade of high-energy plasma. I don't know if that will work for sure, or not, though."
"May I see it?"
Harry nodded and stood. He concentrated on the false vision he'd been given by the Mirror of Erised of himself with his family, knowing it was his happiest memory despite being false, and called the blade silently. The brilliant white Patronus material extended over the wood until only the handle remained. "I've been working on silent casting, as well, now that I can cast wandlessly."
The Headmaster's eyes never left the blade. "Remarkable. Can it be used by anyone else?"
"Like if I drop it? No. If it's not in my hand, the blade dissipates immediately. And you have to be able to produce a full Patronus in order to be able to do it."
The aged wizard nodded in agreement. "That makes sense. Remus mentioned you wanting to find an instructor in Muggle martial arts. Would this be why?"
"Yes, and preferably one who at least knows about the wizarding world. I shouldn't have to keep magic a secret while trying to learn something like that. I also don't want to assume I'm doing this right, learning it from books, and there be something I'm missing, and then pass on the mistake by teaching others." Harry had a thought. "Is there a magical form of martial arts?"
"Not beyond dueling. But there have been many wizards in the past who used martial arts and weaponry in dueling and magical combat." Professor Dumbledore sat back, thinking. "You know, I did make the acquaintance of a young man from South Korea at the beginning of World War II. He was quite accomplished in aikido and kung fu, but he was also a wizard, and he sought to use the discipline to his advantage against opponents who only expect spellwork. I remember him being quite accomplished in the use of the Katana sword."
Harry asked, "Would he help us against Voldemort, do you think?"
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, his eyes twinkling madly. "I think it would be an excellent idea to ask him, at the very least. I might even ask him for help in another area, namely the yet-vacant Defense Professorship."
"Rumor has it that position's cursed."
"Rumor has it right, but if he only signs on to serve in that capacity for a year, it shouldn't harm him. I want to commend you, Harry, both for your kindness toward Kreacher, and for your emerging ability to innovate. It gives me great hope in the coming conflict."
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Harry continued his routine, using the magical treadmill in the back garden for his running, and the space of the garden for his kata and meditations. He also sent a few business letters to Gringott's, ensuring that the Dursleys received their prize money and that Remus got his money back for the books. He asked Gringott's to send the money to the Dursleys as if it were the prize for the contest and they had simply missed it, and to send it through regular post. He also worked on his summer homework.
Then one day, while in the middle of his sword kata, there was suddenly a man standing in front of him with an oaken sword much like his own. Burned into the wood was the image of a crane with outspread wings. He was a small man, not much taller than Harry, but he was aged, with weathered golden skin and crinkled almond eyes. His eyebrows were black, but he had no other hair on his head, nor a beard. He said nothing, but slowly brought his sword into the first position. Not sure what was going on, Harry did the same, then watched as the man brought went to the second position, that of the attacker. Harry opened his mind to the magic around him, then nodded his readiness, and there was no further warning or communication. The man was on Harry hard and fast, the hollow bark of wood on wood echoing off the anti-Muggle wards and fences.
They sparred for twenty minutes, the magic flowing through Harry and giving him warnings and guidance as to where and how his opponent would strike. Strike upon strike was exchanged, going beyond the forms of aikido into the testing of a master against an amateur in mock battle. Nor did the master confine himself to the sword, but he tested him with foot, fist and wand, as well. Harry did not come out unscathed, receiving solid hits and a swift kick to the ribs, but he didn't get skunked either, landing a few of his own hits on the master's body, twice with the sword and once with the fist. Neither landed a hex on the other, however, even though Harry did surprise his opponent with his use of wandless magic.
Then suddenly the old man did a back-summersault to put some distance between them. Harry didn't take his eyes off of him, and what he did next made Harry grin. The old man had learnt Harry's trick, and now his sword was a lightsaber. Harry lit up his own blade with the Patronus light, and then the old man re-engaged, this time, much more slowly by mutual consent. Neither was used to this form of fighting, and it made sense to use caution with a weapon that could cut bits off of you without even trying. This time they weren't sparring, but testing their weapons, and Harry grinned with satisfaction at the buzzing that they made as they clashed against one another.
And then the old man had one more trick up his sleeve. He pulled a wand from somewhere in his robes and fired a stunner at Harry, but he was so deep into the magic that he quickly moved the blade to intercept the spell. It was rebounded off of the blade to strike the fence and knock a board loose. The old man's eyebrows flew upward, and he deactivated his blade. Observing duel courtesy, Harry did the same, and the two bowed to each other in respect.
The man returned his sword to its scabbard, which was resting samurai style across the small of his back, and Harry to his more ninja style setup, diagonally across his spine from the right shoulder to the left hip, which was more convenient for moving through tight spaces. "Dumbledore told me I would find a good student in you, Harry Potter. For having done this on your own, with no instruction, you have done very well. And we both of us have much to learn with your new technique. But you still have plenty to learn from the sword before you light it on fire, young one. I will gladly teach you, if you agree to be my student in this. He has asked me to teach your defense class, as well, and I will do so, for one year only, because it will help him keep the Ministry out of his school. But you will be my only true student. In the parlance of the Jedi, I will be the Master, and you will be the learner, though in many things we will be learning together. Do you accept?"
Harry felt the man out with his magic, searching through his aura. Most adults he had done this with had at least a little darkness; guilt, regret, anger, even vengeance. This man had much less of it than any of them, even Dumbledore. While he was nowhere near as powerful as Dumbledore, he was a much lighter soul. "Before I answer, may I have your name?"
"Kang Pitei-Kusan."
"I would be glad to have you as my teacher, Master Kang."
"You are wise for one so young. How did you know that my first name is my family name?"
Here Harry blushed a bit, though. "Um, from the telly, Master."
But Kang laughed out loud. "Much you have taken from the world of the non-magical, and you are wise enough not to boast. You and I will do well together, my student. Another question. Why do you trust me? Could I not be from this dark lord of yours?"
"No one with an aura that full of light could be his, Master."
Kang nodded. "So you can see auras? This is a marvelous gift, and one that will serve you well in such dark times."
"I can see them because of the ambient magic. Seriously, I'm ready to start calling it the force, because that's how it acts. George Lucas must either be a Squib or a Muggle family member, because once I learned what to look for, that's exactly what it acts like."
"And yet, no wizard would use magic the way you have been using it. I do not say you are wrong, but there is a piece missing from that puzzle, and to be frank, it is not the most important puzzle on your table. Now, with a student of martial arts, under normal circumstances, I would be called sensei. However, since it is a Jedi you wish to become, I will accept you calling me Master instead. I make but one stipulation, and that is that while I am teaching you among your peers in the school you must call me Professor along with everyone else. My giving you private instruction must not become known to the student body."
Harry understood that perfectly. "Yes, Master."
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Harry knew that it would be different learning from a human instructor than it had been learning from books. He'd hung around Hermione for too long not to realize that. But what he didn't realize is just how much better it would be for him. There were times when he thought he would collapse from exhaustion working with Master Kang, and others where he did nothing but teach him better meditation techniques. He introduced him to the art of Occulmensy, and started teaching him strategy and tactics. He brought Ron in to those discussions, given Ron's ability at chess, knowing he would be able to help Harry in a lot of ways.
But he couldn't take the lessons very far due to the fact that the school year was about to start. He had to leave for Hogwarts and get his lesson plans ready for the rest of the student body, and he had to do it before the Ministry could insert their own teacher into the position. On the day he left, he said, "At the school, I will not be able to show you partiality, my student. So I will give you your instructions now. Take your runs around the lake, and continue to increase your difficulty every week to stay in shape. I will set aside a sparring time for us on the weekends, but you must find a time and place to practice in between times. Meditate and practice Occulmensy every night. Use those exercises both to protect your mind from the Dark One and to help you to control your emotions. Since we believe that Mr. Lucas is aware of magic, and because you are using magic as if it were the force, we should be wary of his warnings. Beware fear and anger, especially while using magic, but even while you are not. Never use magic in anger. Remember that fear and anger will come, but only you can prevent them from becoming hatred and darkness.
"And now I must leave you with one last caution. The Ministry is going to attempt to take over Hogwarts School this year. The Minister fears Dumbledore and you, that you want his power and are using these rumors of Voldemort to grab that power. It does not matter to him that what you told him is the truth. He cannot believe you because he fears it so, and so he will try to discredit you and suppress you through his agent. Be mindful of your feelings and of your surroundings, and take comfort in your friends and in the knowledge that they are not stopping you from preparing for the battles you face." He bowed at the waist, and Harry bowed as well. "May the Force be with you, my student."
Harry grinned. "And with you, my master."
His eyes twinkling with merriment, Master Kang Apparated out of Grimmauld Place, presumably to the Hogwarts Apparation point. Harry left the garden then, and went to help Mrs. Weasley with lunch. She pointed him to the ingredients for the stew she was building for dinner instead. "Would you mind chopping these for me, Harry? Kingsley is bringing in a small arm roast, and I thought I'd build a nice stew."
Harry nodded and got to work on the vegetables. "Would you like me to make some bread as well?"
"You know how to do that?"
Harry shrugged. "Aunt Petunia taught me how to bake and cook." He didn't want to talk about why she had taught him, but he was willing to use that knowledge.
Mrs. Weasley looked at him as if she were trying to figure him out, but finally nodded and went back to the sandwiches she was building for lunch. Once the stew was in the cauldron and hovering over the fire, Harry started the bread by mixing yeast, warm milk, olive oil and honey in a stone bowl. When the mixture started bubbling a little, he started adding flour to it until he had a soft, slightly sticky dough. He sat it on the counter to rise while he started mixing the ingredients for a cake.
He got another, smaller stone bowl out, and a small sauce pan and went to work, boiling water, butter and cocoa on the stove, and mixing flour, sugar, cinnamon and baking powder in the bowl. He mixed the two together, then added milk, salt and eggs, then poured it into a cake pan and put it in the oven.
By then the dough was ready for its second go, so he punched it down, split it into two pieces, and kneaded each one on the floured counter. Then put each piece into a bread pan, took the cake out of the oven and turned the temperature down to about 38C and put the two bread pans in with a pan of hot water to proof the dough.
He ate his sandwiches in the kitchen while it was working, then turned the oven back up to bake the bread. He then noticed that Mrs. Weasley had made several sheets of biscuits, and as he pulled out the bread, she slid the biscuits in, grinning at him. He thumped each loaf, pleased with the hollow sound. They were perfectly done.
Three hours from the time they'd started, everything was finished, and dinner was ready. "What brought this on, Harry?" asked Mrs. Weasley.
He smiled at her, tired, but happy. "I like baking. It's kind of the opposite of meditation, a chance to let your brain just rest for a while. And then you get to eat what you made!"
She just laughed at that, pleased with the honest answer.
That night, those of the Weasleys and the Order, along with Harry and Hermione, who were staying at Headquarters ate the stew, one loaf of Harry's bread and the cake for desert. The meal got rave reviews from the whole table, especially the hungry teenaged boys. They fried slices of the bread in the morning with eggs and served it with biscuits, tea and jam.
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On the thirtieth, the school owls finally arrived, and there were only two new books on the list: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk and Defense and Magic, by Peter Caine. Ron and Hermione's letters also contained prefect badges. Hermione's was expected by all and sundry, but Ron's met with his brothers' utter shock. Harry just smiled for his friend. "Congratulations!" Once certain that Harry was okay with it, Ron grinned as well, and thanked him.
Of course, Fred and George had to tease their brother, once they got over the shock of the badge not having gone to Harry, but Mrs. Weasley was ever so pleased. When she went to Diagon Alley to buy everyone's school books, she also bought Ron a new Cleansweep. She made a special dinner to congratulate Ron and Hermione.
Moody gave him a picture that night, a wizarding photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix, including both his and Neville's parents. He went on about how people in the photo had been killed, injured, or cursed into insanity, and Harry couldn't help but notice Peter Pettigrew standing next to his parents.
Mrs. Weasley had a great deal of trouble that night dealing with a boggart that had moved into the writing desk in the drawing room. It kept showing her family, dead. Harry came upon her cowering in the corner of the room, and facing a very dead Ron. But Harry could see the magic, knew it was a boggart. He raised his hand at the creature and shouted, "Riddikulus!"
With a loud crack the boggart became Harry, only it was a Harry dressed all in black, his face thin and sallow with a look of cruelty that he had never actually expressed, and eyes that had turned a virulent yellow, rimmed in red. Harry understood, though. This was his own dark side, if he ever allowed himself to fall. He understood the dangers, and knew that, should this ever happen, he would be as dangerous as Voldemort. But he also understood that this was a boggart, not a vision of the future, and not actually dangerous. He said it again, his hand once again flashing with the magic of the spell, and suddenly the phantom Harry was wearing a clown outfit, complete with a big red nose.
Remus had come in behind him and saw the whole thing. This time he distracted the boggart, which became a full moon, then a balloon, then the clown was holding the balloon, then it vanished in a puff of smoke. Harry went to Mrs. Weasley, who was now crying, and pulled her into a hug, which she obviously needed, because for a moment she couldn't let go of him. Remus knelt down next to them. "Molly? Molly, it was just a boggart," he said soothingly.
"I see them d-d-dead all the time!" Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. "All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it . . ."
Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the boggart, pretending to be Harry as a dark wizard had stood. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze. He had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed him all the way out of the kitchen, and he had therefore seen what Harry feared the most; himself following the same path as Voldemort, as Darth Vader.
"D-d-don't tell Arthur," Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. "I d-d-don't want him to know. . . . Being silly . . ."
Remus handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.
"Harry, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me?" she said shakily. "Not even able to get rid of a boggart . . ."
"Don't be stupid," said Harry, trying to smile.
"I'm just s-s-so worried," she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. "Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this. . . . and P-P-Percy's not talking to us. . . . What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"
"Molly, that's enough," said Remus firmly. "This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—"
Mrs. Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name. "Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it—look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time, you weren't in the Order then, you don't understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one. . . ."
Harry thought of the photograph again, of his parents' beaming faces. He knew Moody was still watching him.
"Don't worry about Percy," said Sirius abruptly. "He'll come round. It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology," he added bitterly.
"And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," said Remus, smiling slightly, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"
Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously. "Being silly," she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
"We all have fears, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "We just have to make sure we don't give in to them or let them control us."
"What did yours mean, Harry, the way it looked as your fear …."
He suppressed a shudder. "That's me, if ever I follow the path of either Tom Riddle or Anakin Skywalker."
Remus nodded in understanding. "You'll never do what they did, Harry."
But Harry shook his head. "Aside from the decidedly wooly subject of Divination, no one can know the future. I fear it because I know it is possible. But I don't fear it so that I will let that fear rule me. Instead, I will do everything in my power to prevent it, by being prepared. And that's what you must do as well, Mrs. Weasley. Help your family to be prepared, so that your fear doesn't come true."
"You mean tell them everything and teach them how to fight, don't you?" Mrs. Weasley said, somewhat bitterly.
He shrugged. "'Those who have not swords can still die upon them.' Look, we both have to be aware of the possibility of our fears coming true, but the point of knowing is to stop it happening. I know that it is possible for me to be turned. You know that it is possible for your family members to be killed. So we do everything we can to stop it from happening. Preventing them from fighting won't stop them from dying, and it won't stop me from turning. Instead, we all have to be prepared to defend ourselves, be it from offensive magic or from emotions like fear and anger."
"I know you're right, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, "but that does not make it easy for me to see my family fighting."
"So we end this as soon as possible."
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That night, sitting on his bed in the room that he and Ron were sharing, Harry meditated long on the coming school year, and on the battles they would soon face. He thought of Voldemort, and of what could make a young man go dark like he had done, of what could cause him to go dark. Luke had almost turned, his fear for his friends and his sister making him lash out in anger against his father. It was certainly a fear he shared. The thought of Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself, getting hold of any of them was more than enough to chill his blood, and he knew that he could get that angry if they were to come to harm.
As if the thought had summoned it, Harry's scar flared to life. He frowned, even in meditation, and opened his senses to the scar, to what was causing the pain. He saw it, that another person's magic was sitting there. Comparing it to colors, his own golden aura had been invaded by an acid green tumor, and little tendrils of energy had escaped the main mass to connect to him in various ways. He also saw that the mass had a massive cord that was leaving Harry and extending off into the distance, somewhere to the northwest. That had to be where Voldemort was at that moment.
Harry wondered, looking the mass of foreign magic over, if he would be able to remove the mass. In his mind, he isolated one of the invading strands of magic. Then he sent a filament of pure magic into it and cut it. Pain flared through his scar as the mass reacted, but that actually encouraged Harry. He watched the mass carefully, and it did not snake out another tendril to replace the one he'd cut.
Emboldened, Harry cut another strand, and another. He was vaguely aware that he was screaming from the pain of it, but he didn't want to stop. He knew that this part of Voldemort connected him somehow, and he wanted no part of the other man's darkness. He just kept cutting the strands, until finally he came to the last and thickest of them.
Suddenly Voldemort's voice was in his head. How dare you attack me!?
Surely you can't want to remain connected to me? This thing hurts us both! I'm not arguing with you. Good bye, Tom. And with a final snip of his mental sheers, he severed the cancerous mass of magic. Then he passed out.
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Harry woke slowly, still groggy and with a massive headache. He remembered what he had done, though, and he focused his magic inward to examine the place where the link had been in his scar. He was quite pleased to see that it was gone completely.
"He's awake!" came Ron's voice, loud to his sensitive head. "Harry, what the bloody hell happened? You woke me up screaming, and your scar had split wide open, bleeding and oozing this black pus. Honestly, it looked almost like ink!"
"Ron, back off," came the voice of his mother. "He just woke up. "Harry, how are you feeling, dear?"
"Headache," he said, but his own voice was very rough and hoarse from screaming. "Got it all out, though."
"Got what out?" asked Dumbledore. When had he gotten here?
"The part of him he left behind, the link that was in my scar. I cut it away, inside, where it mattered. I just checked, and I got every bit of it." Harry smiled despite the pain.
Ron handed Harry his glasses, and he put them on just in time to see Dumbledore's shocked expression. "That is extraordinary! This changes everything!"
"What was that thing, sir? What was it that linked us? It was like a tumor on my magic!"
Dumbledore nodded. He looked at the others in the room. "I'll need everyone else to leave, please. What I say next is for Harry's ears alone." Everyone understood, and soon they were alone in the bedroom. "What I'm about to tell you is the product of a great deal of guesswork, though it is an educated guess. When Voldemort went after your parents on that Halloween night, he came prepared to perform a ritual so dark that almost all knowledge of it has been destroyed. The ritual is a way to become effectively immortal."
Harry started talking, thinking out loud, "We already knew he was after me for some reason. His name means 'flight from death', so we know that is what he fears, his followers called Death Eaters, because that is what he fights. He dreams of immortality, not through an heir or notoriety, but actual physical deathlessness. Has he magic that would prevent it? Of course, or he'd have been killed when he tried to kill me. What else do we know?" He looked up at the Headmaster. "What else do you know, or think you know?"
"Very good, Mr. Potter. I know from records in the Restricted Section that he was researching soul magic. I believe you have read J. R. R. Tolkien's work?"
Harry blanched. "The One Ring, or something like it?"
"Or several somethings. They are called Horcruxes, or soul jars, and it is my belief that he made more than one. They are the most vile kind of magic, requiring the person using them to split off portions of their own soul and place them in the jars. Doing this requires that the person commits murder, which injures their soul, and then use magic to finish the cut, as it were."
Harry shuddered. "No truer words were said than this, that fear leads to the dark side."
Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Very true. I believe that he was attempting to create another Horcrux the night he tried to kill you as a baby."
"And the piece of himself that he sliced off attached itself to me instead of the thing it was meant to because of Mum's sacrifice." He looked into the old man's eyes. "If I had not just cut that thing out of my head—"
The Headmaster nodded. "You'd have had to die to kill it." Then he grinned. "But you, my dear boy, have never been one for following the rules! You beat it, and by a method no one would ever have guessed!" Harry smiled at him, though there were yet a few things about that which were upsetting. They could wait. Dumbledore sobered. "What we still don't know is how many he made, and what he made them of. I'm fairly certain that the diary which you fought in your second year was one of them, probably the earliest, and made while he was still at school."
"Well, that makes three pieces, if you include the one that's still a part of him, and three is a magically stable number. Could that be what he was after?"
Dumbledore's eyebrows flew into his hairline, then he frowned. "No, I don't think that would have been enough for him, but there is another magically significant number, and I think it would have made sense to him; seven."
Harry nodded. "So there are four more of them out there that we'll have to destroy before he can be defeated." He sighed.
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "You're right, of course. But as he does not know that we know about them, we have time to find and destroy them."
Harry smiled at the old man. "That said, it's time we got to the school, isn't it?"
"So it is."
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Harry had already packed his trunk, and shrunk his sword and broom, but he took the time to help Ron pack his trunk and shrink his own new broom. He promised that he'd tell him and the others once they were on the train what Dumbledore and he had worked out, but he didn't want Mrs. Weasley to hear any of it. Much as he knew she needed to face her fears, he wasn't going to force her to. Besides, on the train, he'd be able to put up a good silencing ward. "There's a lot I need to tell you, but I'm not doing it here. Just have patience, Ron."
Fred and George were floating their trunks down the stairs, and knocked Ginny off of them. She might have snapped her neck at the bottom, if Harry hadn't caught her in the grip of the force. He would have told the twins off, but their mother took care of that for him. Unfortunately, her screaming set off Mrs. Black's portrait. It took a full ten minutes to get her shut again. "Sirius," Harry started, "Would you like to get rid of this picture?"
"Love to, but nothing we've tried works. We think she used a Permanent Sticking Charm on the canvas."
"Have you tried cutting out the wall behind her?"
Remus and Sirius looked at each other, their eyes going wide. Obviously, they hadn't. They grinned at one another, and in a fit of childish joy, Remus bowed to his best friend. "Mr. Mooney defers to Mr. Padfoot in this endeavor, as it is most personal to him."
Sirius bowed in return. "Mr. Padfoot thanks Mr. Moony most graciously, but requests he help with the heavy lifting."
"Mr. Moony gladly agrees to acquiesce to Mr. Padfoot's request."
Then Sirius drew his wand from inside his robes and aimed it at the wall just an inch to the left of the portrait and shouted, "Diffendo!" Then he did the same to the top, bottom and right sides, cutting out a rectangle of wall that framed the portrait and her curtains. Then Remus levitated her out of the space, screaming all the while.
In the wall behind the portrait was a safe. It was as tall as the floor to the ceiling, and was made of solid black steel, with golden pin striping along the edges and gold lettering pronouncing it to be a product of Liberty Safes, Payson, Utah, Est. 1988. Sirius's eyes bugged out. "Mother never did trust the goblins. I'm shocked. That thing was made by Muggles, and Americans to boot!"
Harry looked at it. "It might have been Muggle originally, but it's certainly not without its Charms." Dark magic permeated the knobs and buttons. "I'd be careful with that thing if I were you."
Sirius nodded. "I'll have Bill look at it for me." He then looked at his mother's shrieking portrait. "Until then, I've got a barbecue to plan."
Note: Thank you to TicklishHoneyBee and Guest for pointing out what should have been obvious to me. This fixes the inconsistency.
