Chapter 55: Scars of Battle
It had been several hours since Harry had left his office, but Albus hardly moved from where he sat the entire time. He leaned over in his seat, occasionally adding memories to the Pensieve in front of him before he would become lost in his thoughts.
It wasn't until noon did the flock of owls started to arrive to him; but Albus just couldn't seem to muster up the energy to answer them. He remained in a kind of stupor for a long time until; finally, he heard another knock on the door and looked up in time to see Severus walk in.
He watched as Severus glanced around the partially destroyed room and at the remains of the instruments that had been shattered and lay twinkling on the floor.
"I'm assuming that Potter was here?" he asked knowingly.
Albus merely nodded before looking back down into the bowl of swirling memories.
"I'm guessing that he did this?" Severus asked silkily.
"Correct," Albus answered, his voice hoarse from not using it for a while.
"And you let him go around and destroy everything?" Severus rolled his eyes. "I swear you'd let him get away with murder."
"After all I put him through this year, he had every right to be angry with me," Albus sighed leaning back in his chair. "This was good for him."
"Good for him?" Severus repeated coldly. "That's no reason for you to let him go on a rampage and destroy your office."
"Severus," Albus sighed. Really, the last thing he wanted to deal with was Severus insulting Harry—especially after all this. "Please… is there something you wanted to talk to me about? If it's not important, then I would prefer to be left alone."
Severus blinked, a little surprise at his firm tone, but he merely shrugged it off and said, "I only came here to tell you that there are hundreds of owls flocking here to you and I finally figured out what happened to Umbridge."
Albus looked up grimly, he had forgotten about her. "And…?"
"Apparently, she's been taken hostage by the centaurs," he shrugged as if telling him that she went shopping.
Albus sighed again. "And I guess I have to go and get her out of the forest?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"You're the only one who would be safe enough to do so," Severus answered grimly. "The centaurs seem pretty angry. I don't know what that toad had been saying to them, but they're all looking to kill. Not that I care what happens to her… but I pity the centaurs for having to put up with her."
"I see," Albus answered as he pushed himself up, his legs stiff, and feeling more tired than he had been in years. "I'll go and retrieve her then. It would be bad for them if anything happened to her. I'll address the issues from the Ministry after I get her."
He then left the office with Severus, still grimly wondering if he could take out some of this pain inside him by letting the centaurs have Umbridge… then again, he wouldn't want them to get into trouble with the Ministry for something like her.
*Later*
Albus slowly went down the stairs and passed the students, who were gossiping about the newspaper… undoubtedly talking about everything that happened at the Ministry last night. As soon as they saw him, they gasped and quickly began talking to their friends that the Headmaster was back. He didn't pay much attention to anything around him—he simply left the castle and strode across the green grass, the soft breeze and warm sunlight shining seemed to mock how he was feeling.
Alone, he walked straight into the Forbidden Forest, thankful for a chance to get out of his head and do something… even if it meant saving such an evil woman. As much as he would have loved to leave Umbridge to them, he had to keep reminding himself that now wasn't the chance to be focusing on revenge. He really didn't need to give the Ministry another finger to point at him for their mistakes.
He walked through the trees, noting how quiet they seemed at this time. He followed the deeper trees into the forest and eventually came onto a clearing where he saw Umbridge huddled by a tree shivering and scared but seemingly unharmed in her horrid pink robes. She seemed to be alone.
As soon as he took a step towards her however, he immediately heard the sound of hooves approaching, he stopped and cocked his head. A shadowy shape appeared on the path in front of him – a horses' body with a man's torso. He stepped forward, and at once the dark form of Bane appeared from the shadows… glaring at him and stomping his hooves in rage.
"Good afternoon, Bane," he responded respectfully. The other centaurs behind Bane all came from the shade of the trees as well and observed him as one would when something interesting was on display. Bane on the other hand glared fiercely at him—as if daring him to make the wrong move.
"What are you doing here, human?" Bane snarled at him.
"Bane I did not come here for a fight, as you obviously seem ready for," Albus responded politely and quietly, "I merely came to bring High Inquisitor Umbridge out of your forest before anyone gets hurt."
"You will not, human. She is to be punished for what she dared to do," Bane responded, pawing the ground in an irritated way. "She dared to threaten us with her wand. And that's not counting the horrid insults she used!"
Albus nodded and said, "Yes, I am sure she did. But if you don't mind, I will take her back. I assure you that she won't be able to insult you any longer."
"And let her escape punishment?" Ronan asked, coming from behind Bane.
"She is from the Ministry, Ronan," Albus replied, his voice light and friendly, knowing that arguing with them would only make things worse. He had to calmly explain that letting her go was in their better interest…
"Believe me, I dislike her as much as all of you do," he informed them truthfully. "She has done nothing but torture my students all year. I would have no problem leaving her here after all the trouble that she put us through since she arrived; but I'm afraid that it would cause you all problems. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare and I'm afraid that I don't have as much power over the Ministry as I used to so I cannot guarantee that they leave you alone should anything happen to her."
They all looked at him coldly before they moved back, away from him. But he could see that they were all silently thinking it over. He could tell that they wanted to punish her for what she had done and he wished he could allow that. But he also knew that they knew of all the problems it would cause for them later on.
Besides, the centaurs are not cruel or evil beings. This he knew… they preferred to be left alone and to their own devices… despite what some like Umbridge would think… they were gentle and deep beings with a distain for needless violence. But with how they had been treated by humans in the past… he could not blame them for their frustration.
He waited there patiently as they quietly talked among themselves. After a few minutes, they looked back to him and slowly back away.
"Very well," Ronan said deeply. "But sure she ever enter here again… the stars foretell that she will be a problem for everyone later on."
"I pray not," Albus answered with a polite bow. "But I swear, as long as I am alive, she will not set foot in here again. Thank you all for your kindness."
They turned and left him—Bane staying a fragment of a second longer as he gave him a sharp look—before he left with a swish of his tail. He waited until he was sure that they had left them, before he walked over and pulled her up, none-too-harshly. He then forced her to walk with him; and without another look back, they went through the forest and out into the bright sunlight.
"H-h-halfbreeds," she croaked out. "Handled b-by such b-b-beasts! And you had some nerve to c-come back here! Y-you will be arrested a-at once!"
"Those halfbreeds spared you," Albus said coldly, refusing to look at her. "All because you insulted them in the first place. And as for my so-called arrest, I've just been pardoned."
"Preposterous!" she cried out.
"You will soon see," he answered harshly. "You will recover in the Hospital Wing after that, you will leave. You are no longer High Inquisitor… your decrees have been removed… and yes, you are fired."
She glared at him, was now almost choking but didn't dare say anything else. And even if she did, he ignored her as he brought her up to the castle.
He came straight up to the hospital and was relieved to see that the other five students were there as well. Neville's nose and Ginny's ankle had already been healed, Luna was sitting up in bed with a bandage around her head; and Ron and Hermione were both fast asleep. He left her in Madam Pomfrey's care, making sure to leave before Harry arrived to see his friends.
For the next few days, he was swamped with so much paperwork from the Ministry that he hardly had time for anything else. He kept getting letters asking for information, wondering what they should do, and who they should be suspecting… while the press continued to run around, simply loving the fact that a group of children and some Death Eaters were battling it out right under the Minister's nose. The Ministry was in shambles.
But if they had taken care of this months ago like they should have done, then they wouldn't be in this mess though, now would they?
Already, the wizarding world was screaming for Fudge's to step down and Albus couldn't blame them one bit. He had done nothing less than betrayed them all for his only ambitions and lust for power. But the most insulting thing he had heard so far was Fudge sending letters, requesting a meeting with Harry.
Albus was so angry that he threw them into the fire. How low were they going to sink? After all they put that boy through this last year, they had a great deal of nerve begging for help. Not that he was one to complain…
He sighed as he wrote back, downright refusing any future meetings. He had a strong urge to add in, 'I told you so' as a p.s. but thought better than that. No, Fudge had made his choice months ago and now has to live with the consequences of those actions.
He ignored Fudge's pleas as he focused more with the Auror department, giving them advice and information as they finally started to take action.
This continued for the next week until late one afternoon when he was staring out at the grounds, having just destroyed another letter from Fudge as he watched the setting sun. As he watched at the green grass swaying like waves on the ocean, he spotted a familiar figure quickly walking around the lake.
'Harry,' he thought as the black-haired boy quickly walked pass all the students that were littered across the grounds without stopping.
As he watched, he could see that they all turned back to whatever it was they had been doing in disappointment. He didn't need his portraits keeping an eye on him to know that Harry had been avoiding people a lot this last week. Then again, that is to be expected…
Albus sighed as he leaned his head against the window and watched him walk along the edge of the lake until he reached a somewhat hidden spot among the trees near the water's edge. The boy still sat there, looking out at the water…
He just sat there, even long after the sun had set and the other students had gone in for dinner. As he watched him, Albus wondered if he should go down and talk to him… he couldn't stand to see him in so much pain like this. But he had a feeling that his presence would only worsen everything.
It wasn't until it was nearing curfew did he see that he was finally getting up and striding back to the castle. But the sadness lingered. He knew that he should have come out and told him everything long ago… he knew that he had no one but himself to blame for that. And he hated himself for it.
*Leaving feast*
On the last night of the school year he gave his speech at the leaving feast—and he did his best to give words of comfort and hope to the students before he sat down. But as he took his seat, his eyes couldn't help but go to the Gryffindor table and see that there was someone missing. Ron and Hermione were both sitting on either side of an empty chair—both of which were looking upset.
He turned his attention back to Minerva, who was back where she belonged, and looked more cheerful than he had seen all year. Her attitude seemed to have changed completely since her return from St. Mungo's and Umbridge's departure the night before. Not that he blamed her; it was a wonderful sight seeing her flee from the castle as Peeves went chasing after her with the walking stick. And if he knew Minerva as well as he thought he did, then he knew that she only regretted the fact that she couldn't chase after her.
It was a relief to see that she was in much better health these days, but moving was still very painful for her. However, she was optimistic that she would be back to normal before the start of next year—which he was strongly hoping for. Hogwarts needed her now more than ever…
Sitting down to a parting meal in the school… it was easy to forget about how dangerous the outside world was at the moment. Right now, there were Death Eaters in Azkaban, Fudge has lost all his support and it seemed unlikely that he'll be in charge for much longer, and the whole world now knew the truth.
So why did everything still seem to be so dark?
"Albus?" as a familiar voice next to him.
"Hmm?" he asked, looking around at Minerva. "Oh, it's nothing."
She frowned, clearly saying that she didn't believe him. "Ok, now I know you're lying to me."
He smiled sadly. "I know… I've just been having so much trouble with the Ministry… I must have gotten at least a dozen letters in the last hour alone."
She gave him a sympathetic look. "I know," she sighed. "Now that they have to admit it that he's back, they're acting like they're the victims. If they had the brains to admit this out a year ago, we could have avoided all this."
"Yes," Albus agreed, as he looked up at the dark sky through the enchanted ceiling.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"Just a lot of stuff," he admitted. "Words… thoughts… and feelings… all of which are as confusing as the next."
"We've all done a bit of that lately, haven't we?" she asked grimly.
He chuckled bitterly before he sighed again. "I fear that now there is no longer any point in staying low, Voldemort will make his move.
"But we still have a head's start," she said hopefully.
"Yes, but we are still in for a long and brutal haul," he answered before he glanced at her worriedly. "I hope that you recover quickly, Minerva. And not just because we're friends."
She gave him a brave smile and answered firmly, "It will take more than Umbridge toad to finish me off."
*A Week later*
Albus looked down the short, neglected path cautiously. Ever since school ended a week ago, he had been looking for more places where Horcruxes might be. He knew that some of the Auror's have been keeping a close watch on him—trying to figure out where he had been going lately, but good luck trying to find him.
He didn't dare go back to Little Hangleton with the Auror's watching his every move. But today, he was confident that he had given them all the slip. Trudging down the weathered trail that he remembered viewing from Bob Ogden's memories he was certain that he was going the right way. He knew that it was a long shot, but if there was a chance… then a Horcrux just might be here.
And if there was one here… then it could be the ring…
It had to be.
So here he was, just moment ago he had Apparated into the small town in the middle of the country and continued on his way. But before he went to where the Gaunts House was he decided to make a couple quick stops.
He was now standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to the right. A hill rose above him on his left side and he could just make out the outline of the fine old house on the hillside…
So this was it…
The graveyard looked be worn and in disarray; obviously been neglected as of late. He wandered around the graves for a few long minutes… looking for the right one…
It was a full ten minutes before he discovered it. Wondering pass a stone angel with a broken wing, he crouched down low so that he could read the name:
TOM RIDDLE
So this was the place…
He placed his fingers on the ground before the grave, examining it closely. The dirt had been disturbed some time ago, but he could still make out the traces of something bursting from the ground. He glanced up at the withered tombstone and spotted that there were some tiny drops that looked slightly redder than the white…
'Harry…' he thought as his fingertips touched the spots, knowing that they were what was left of blood. So this was it. He stood up and glanced around. Yes, he could still just make out the traces of magic… the scent of Dark Magic. Something truly evil was born in this place… or perhaps re-born.
He glanced down at the grave once again and wondered just what it would have been like for that man. To have been killed by your own son…? He wondered what Tom would have been like if he had a father and a mother with him instead of growing up in a orphanage. There were just so many 'what if's' out there that he wasn't so sure on anything anymore.
But now wasn't the time. He shouldn't have to be thinking about what could have been anymore. What mattered was what is.
He turned and left the graveyard, his heart heavy. He had to try and make up for his own past sins… he had to stop Tom at whatever the cost. This one place was his only clue… it was the best lead he had and if it didn't work out he would be back to square one all over again.
He took another detour to the house where the Riddles once stood and he stepped inside the old place. It reminded him of the Shrieking Shack back at Hogsmeade as it had fallen into disrepair. Again, he could feel it…
Like electricity in the air—there were traces of more Dark Magic. Just what could have gone on here?
The Gaunt's house was further away from the town; but he hurried along the winding road as twilight crept across the land. But soon, his tired footsteps took him to the crumbling ruins of the shack. Despite it have been over fifty years since anyone had lived here, it looked very much like the memories he had seen it in. The hedges that shielded the shack at the end of it from view were overgrown and weedy, leafy tendrils spread across the path and broke under each step, and the air was silent. It truly looked as if no one had been here for decades—not that there was any reason now that the only ones who had lived here were all dead.
But now the house was overrun by the plantlife, the wood looked to be rotting and the roof seemed to have caved in from long ago. It was such a mess that, at first, he couldn't make out the front door. After a few minutes of searching, he had managed to locate what was left of it—noticing that remains of snakeskin hung from what was left of a rusty nail.
Closing his eyes he began muttering every countercharm he could think of to disable any protections that might keep out trespassers. Coming up with nothing but the few traces of magic; he examined the door carefully—pulling out his wand and muttering countercurses. Suddenly, he heard a faint, strange, hissing sound coming from the snake skin.
Albus knew that this was the final warning. As soon as he step inside the house—he could forget about any sympathy. Gritting his teeth, he took hold of his wand and caused the door to crash open with a loud BANG!
Breathing hard, he took a daring step inside over the threshold and stared around the house. He had expected some kind of curse to activate as soon as he came inside, but so far there wasn't anything. Dust covered the floor and all of the shattered furniture inside; the walls were covered in filth as the feeble rays of remaining light from the broken ceiling.
He stepped around the fallen beams, and over the smashed pottery that were lying across the floor. After crossing through the space he went over to the door that led to the next room, he saw that it was a bedroom. An ancient bed with rags for blankets and mold for pillows was what was waiting for him. Holding his breath at the disgusting smell, he searched around, trying to feel the traces of magic.
He felt like a bloodhound, trying to track down just one smell in a room that was filled with people. He got down on his knees and felt the worn-out floorboards, moving his hand over the rotting wood, trying to will himself into feeling something…
And then he did…
It was very faint, but he could feel the slight trace of something dark. Almost as if he put his hand to a hot stove for a fraction of a second, he felt the heat from underneath the floor in that bedroom. Jerking his hand away at once, he checked his fingers to see if the skin was still there before he looked back to the floor.
It was here…
Raising his wand again, he pointed it to the floor and cast out, "Diffindo…"
With a horrible crashing sound the floorboards burst apart and a black smoke began to billow out. Yes, if he had touched the spot directly over the Horcrux, he was sure that he would have been severely burned.
Feeling the heat below him as if he was above an inferno, sweat began to pour down his face as the suffocating smoke began to fill the room. Raising his wand, he caused the smog to drift away from him and used all the countercharms he could think of to remove the spells. After about fifteen minutes of hard work and concentration, the smoke died out and the heat slowly lessoned.
Breathing hard, drenched in sweat, he slowly approached the hole in the floor. Looking down he could see it…
There it was; the ring that had been passed down through generations—the ring that held the black stone bearing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. The Resurrection Stone.
Breathing harder than ever, he stared at the stone as if transfixed. All thoughts to the reason he came here in the first place were erased from his mind as he stared—not even noticing the red-hot metal of the golden ring.
Without thinking about what he was doing—simply acting on impulse—he reached down and took hold of the ring and placed it onto his finger. For that brief moment he truly believed that he would get his one dearest wish. That he would see his dear little sister and his parents again. Just once more… once so that he could tell them how sorry he was… how he longed for forgiveness…
But it wasn't until after he saw the ring on his hand did he realize what he had done and what a fool he had been.
For as soon as he put the ring on his finger, it immediately shrank back, constricting his finger, and all the while Albus could feel long-suppressed memories being brought to the surface. Pain came to him; feeling as if his hand had been dipped into hot, molten iron he began to scream as memories from his youth came flooding back to him.
Images of his frail sister staring out the window and the bright blue sky… her face constricted in misery to being trapped inside the house at all times… his brother shouting at him with Grindelwald growing angrier by the second… the sight of those dead, blue eyes staring at him as Aberforth held her broken body.
A voice echoed from the Stone, a voice at once was familiar to him. "I have seen your heart, and it is mine."
Albus suddenly felt as if he was unable to breath. Ariana's voice was inside his head and she was crying… "Al… why? Why didn't you help me? You couldn't protect me…"
"Stop…" Albus croaked out, gripping his head tears of pain and anguish falling from his face as his hand continued to burn…
"Are you happy now?" Aberforth's voice screamed out, loud and clear. "She's dead! DEAD YOU HEAR ME? AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!"
"No…" Albus cried out, "That's not true… I didn't…"
"You got what you wanted didn't you?" Aberforth yelled. "You're free from us! She's gone and it's all your fault! YOU KILLED HER!"
Albus was on his knees as he cried from guilt. "THAT'S NOT TRUE! THAT CAN'T BE TRUE! I DIDN'T… I COULDN'T…"
Was this a nightmare? Was it hell? The pain was so great that he couldn't think straight… he forced his eyes open and his glasses were gone. His vision was blurred and was darkening… he could feel his strength leaving him…
His siblings screams still in his ears, he looked to his hand to where the pain was coming from and was dimly aware of the ring that now rested on a hand that he didn't recognize. His ring finger on his right hand was turning black and it was creeping up to the rest of his fingers…
Gritting his teeth, he forced his body up to his feet and stumbled from the room. He had to get out of here. The thick cloud that covered his mind cleared slightly as he reached the next room and he knew that what happened to him didn't matter anymore. He didn't care if it used all the energy to rid himself of this ring, he didn't care if he died… all that matter was that he at least kill this part of Voldemort's soul. He had to do this…
He could still move—he could still fight… he wasn't going to die here if he could help it. Feeling as if a great weight was attached to his finger, Albus stumbled through the shack, gripping hold of his arm as the pain continued to burn. By some miracle he managed to find his way through the house and back outside… he ran from the house to the road and called to Fawkes, asking him to come.
"Fawkes…" he croaked out and the scarlet and golden bird appeared in a ball of fire. Fawkes screeched in fear as he saw his master, back on his knees, struggling to breathe. He could feel his heart racing, and on his finger he felt a separate, inhuman heartbeat and hearing screaming around him. Albus merely reached up with his uninjured hand and gripped his tail feathers—disappearing in the fire.
He hit the floor of his office, not realizing that the screaming was coming from him. His portraits all awoken with shouts of fear and panic, but he wasn't aware of anything that was happening around him. Breathing now painful, he looked up—his vision going dark as he struggled to find it…
There… a flash of ruby… the Sword of Godric Gryffindor…
Seeing the sword, his head cleared a little more. Gasping for air, he got back to his feet and threw himself upon the glass case and forced it open as he reached in and took the sword with trembling hands. He closed his left hand over the hilt, and raised the blade over his hand… seeing death spreading from the tips of his other fingers. He raised the sword above the Stone and swung it down.
He swung the sword, cracking the Stone down the middle, and a horrible wail of pain came from behind him. The voices of his brother and sister inside his head had vanished with screams as the smoking ring cracked and expanded and the ring released his hand.
Shaking from head to foot, he looked to Fawkes, and croaked out, "Severus… Get… him."
As Fawkes disappeared, he glanced down to his hand, which was now mangled and disfigured… the skin looking burned as the blood-like substance was dripping from the ring and coated his hand… the deadness spreading… with the last of his energy he stumbled to his desk and collapsed in his chair.
Dropping the sword, he used his good hand to wrench the ring off his finger—but knew that it was now too late. Throwing it aside, he fell back against his chair, the pain now growing up his wrist and spreading to his arm.
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he collapsed and fell into dark dreams.
*Later*
Albus couldn't remember anything…
He didn't know where he was, who he was, or what he had been doing until a few moments ago. He couldn't think straight, it was as if he had been adrift in the sea of darkness without a care in the world.
But soon he could feel pain coming from his arm and he kept his eyes tightly shut for he could see bright light shining through his eyelids. He groaned softly, not wanting to come back from this warm and safe darkness into this painful world of light. But it finally became too much to bear and he opened his eyes. Blinking in the bright light, he realized that he was back in his office and was in his chair with a familiar figure beside him.
Breathing hard he looked to see that Severus was waving his wand around the blacken object that—until a while ago—had been a perfectly working hand. "Severus?" he croaked out softly.
"Headmaster," Severus whispered, looking paler than usual.
Albus was still having trouble breathing as he watched Severus mumble a quiet spell, red sparks went from his wand and landed on his burned appendage that was dangling over the arm of his chair. Then Severus picked up a goblet full of a thick golden potion and helped to tip the liquid down his throat. At once, the hot substance filled his insides as if he had just sunk into a warm bath and the terrible pain had lessened to a dull ache.
"Thank you Severus," he said quietly as Severus removed the goblet from his mouth—but he wasn't sure if he heard him.
"Why," Severus hissed at him as if they had been in the middle of an argument, "why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?"
Albus looked to the ring and sword that still lay in front of him before he grimaced, his memories to what happened coming back to him. "I… was a fool," he answered honestly, "Sorely tempted…"
Severus stared at him incredulously. "Tempted by what?"
Albus couldn't bring himself to answer. Too ashamed to admit it—unable to tell anyone the weight of guilt that he had carried around for years.
"It is a miracle you managed to return here!" Severus went on, now sounding like an angry parent whose teenager had been out too late. "That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being – "
Albus had a feeling that would be the case. Not in the mood to hear him criticize him, he merely raised his now dead hand and examined it with interest—as if it was a very clever experiment. He then sighed and asked how much time he had left.
Severus hesitated, as if he didn't want to answer him. But soon told him that he had at least a year at most…
That didn't surprise him. He knew that it would be something like that since the moment after he placed that cursed hand on him. "I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus," he answered sincerely.
"If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!" said Severus furiously. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword before glaring up at him and demanding, "Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?"
Albus hesitated for a second before he answered, "Something like that… I was delirious, no doubt…" He knew that it was a terrible excuse, but it was all that he could think of at the moment. With an effort he straightened himself in his chair. "Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward."
Severus looked utterly perplexed as Albus gave him a small smile and explained, "I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me."
Severus blinked in surprise before he sighed and took the seat across from him. Albus followed his gaze back to his cursed hand and knew that he wanted to continue talking about it. But this was no longer important. He merely held up his good hand to let him know that now wasn't the best time.
Scowling, Severus said, "The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius's recent failures. Slow torture for Draco's parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price."
Yes, Severus had mentioned this mere days ago. Tom was furious for the failure to retrieve the prophecy and for the rest of the Ministry discovering that he was back. He wasn't surprised by Tom's anger… and like any small child, he does his best to make sure that everyone is just as miserable as he was. But to take it out on a child? A child who still doesn't have the slightest clue as to how the world is?
"In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have," Albus asked him calmly, "Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"
Severus looked uneasy, as if he rather do anything at the moment then answer him—but nonetheless did so anyway. "That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan."
Yes, since he can't punish Lucius at the moment, he's taking his anger out on his son. But he knows full well that Draco wouldn't be able to do so, and instead plans for Severus to do so instead. "Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?" Albus asked.
Severus nodded and told him how Voldemort believes that the school would be his in the near future.
"And if it does fall into his grasp," Albus asked him at once, his weak voice already sounding a little stronger, "I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at Hogwarts?"
Severus gave a stiff nod.
"Good," he said in relief. Whatever else he may say, he knew that Severus wouldn't let harm come to the children. "Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself." He knew that a lot of people could end up getting hurt this upcoming year, and they had to make every effort to prevent it. "Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you – "
" – much less since his father has lost favor," Severus interrupted darkly. "Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius's position."
Albus raised his eyebrows. Yes, Draco would try to find a scapegoat to pin the blame on even though Severus wasn't responsible for this. Lucius had long since lost favor with Voldemort ever since he discovered that the diary that he entrusted to him had been destroyed. But that is neither here nor there. "All the same, try," he pleaded with him. "I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort's wrath."
Severus raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, "Are you intending to let him kill you?"
"Certainly not," he said slowly, knowing that what he was about to say, he would not take well. "You must kill me."
There was a long silence, broken only Fawkes gnawing on his dinner of cuttlebone.
A muscle was going in Severus's forehead as he asked, his voice thick with sarcasm, "Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"
"Oh, not quite yet," he answered, smiling at Severus's dark humor. "I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight," he held up his destroyed hand before he finished, "we can be sure that it will happen within a year."
"If you don't mind dying," Severus asked him roughly, "why not let Draco do it?"
Albus gave him a sad look—both of them thinking the same thing. "That boy's soul is not yet so damaged. I would not have it ripped apart on my account."
But now Severus was looking angry at him. "And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?" he demanded harshly.
"You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation," he told him as Severus stopped his rant. "I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year's league."
He then went on how he would prefer a quick and painless death at his hands, than at someone like Greyback or Bellatrix do it. At last Severus finally nodded—looking as if this was going against everything he ever believed in.
"Thank you, Severus…" Albus said, his voice full of gratitude.
Severus gave him one more sharp look before he turned and left with a swish of his cloak. "I will see you tomorrow to check that hand," he added as he reached the door. "There is not much else I can do about it now."
Albus nodded and gave him another quiet 'thank you' as he watched Severus leave.
"Dumbledore you can't honestly mean that can you?" Dilys asked almost as soon as the door shut behind the Potions Master. "You can't really think that you're…?"
"I'm afraid that this is my own fault, Dilys," he answered grimly.
"What happened?" Dexter demanded. "You just showed up screaming something awful. What the hell is that ring?"
"A former dark object," Albus told him. "Listen…" he added when all the other portraits began to argue at once. "I am tired… I cannot tell you all now… let us leave it for morning at least?"
Perhaps they were so shocked by his sudden appearance that they didn't dare disagree, even stubborn Phineas kept his mouth shut as Albus reached into his desk for some parchment and a enchanted quill.
So he had about a year left before he finally died; only one more year of pain, suffering, and confusion to go through before he would be allowed to rest. To be honest, he wasn't afraid… a part of him was actually looking forward to it. He knew that he was to die someday, and he was long since prepared for it.
He had one year left to finish everything he had to before he would be free of this world. A year wasn't much time, but it would have to do… he had to plan on what was to come and hope for the best. He knew that this war would never end before his death came so he would have to plan for everything.
Setting the quill onto the parchment he quietly told it what to write as he slowly got up from the chair. Ignoring what the other portraits were saying, he finished his letter and decided to send it the first thing in the morning.
Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p. escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays. If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.
Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,
I am yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
*A couple days later*
It had been several days since his desperate struggle for his own survival and Albus was still paying for it. His right hand was now almost completely useless… just picking something up and holding it felt like holding onto thousands of hot needles.
Severus had done well on his word and had given him several potions to keep the pain under control. But he made it very clear that while it will help him from feeling the pain, it wasn't going to prevent the curse from getting worse.
It was just after ten that night when he had forced himself to swallow one of the sickening potions, relishing in the way it made his hand almost numb. As he set the empty goblet down on his desk, he glanced over at the two articles that he had been reading until a few minutes ago.
HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?
And…
SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE
The new minister was confirmed last night as none other than Rufus Scrimgeour. There was a wide range of speculation about this previous head of the Auror department. He has proven to all who hadn't supported him, how he seems to be the best man for the job. There is a circulating rumor going round that Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was offered the position first but had refused.
We, at the Daily Prophet, were granted an interview with the new minister. He was more than willing to answer our questions, quite different from how Cornelius Fudge had handled everything. Does this minister have what it takes to lead us through such troubled times? We can only hope.
Most of this front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lion-like mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. Albus shook his head; remembering the talk he had with Rufus last night. Really, it was quite galling to be demanded to arrange an audience with 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' or as everyone is calling him these days… 'The Chosen One.'
He glanced at his watch and decided that it was time to leave. As he left his office, following the familiar hallways that were usually filled with the sounds of lessons and children laughing and talking with their friends… he couldn't help but feel sad at how lifeless the castle seemed to be… especially these days…
He couldn't help but wonder just how Harry had been holding up these last few weeks. The new minister was going to try to use Harry and Albus knew he could not allow it. Harry's faith in him had been pretty much destroyed and he wanted to rebuild it back up…
But with his time now running out…?
He sighed, knowing that Harry must still be angry with him. But hopefully, this time to himself had calmed him down and he'd be more willing to talk. By the time that he reached the grounds, it was already fifteen to eleven. He passed underneath the cover of darkness, wondering just how many more times he would be able to take walk in peace.
He reached the Hogwarts gates just as it was thirty seconds before it chimed eleven and he disapperated to Number four right on the dot. He opened his eyes and stared at the dark, plain streets…
Looking around he realized just how nostalgic it was… not much has changed in those years. Well… he glanced up to number four and reminded himself that people have changed a great deal since then.
He cautiously made his way up the walkway and knocked at the door. Almost at once he could hear muffled yells from inside before it opened to reveal a red-faced and ill-tempered man in a puce dressing gown who could only be Vernon Dursley. As soon as he saw him, he stopped dead in his tracks and his tiny eyes widened as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Good evening," Albus said politely. "You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?"
Vernon stared, as if he forgot how to speak and Albus knew that this wasn't so.
"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming," he answered back pleasantly, trying hard not to laugh. "However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."
And without waiting for an answer, he simply stepped into the house and closed the door with a snap behind him.
"It is a long time since my last visit," he said politely, trying for small talk. "I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing."
Vernon Dursley said nothing at all as he continued gapping like a fish—but Albus had a feeling that speech would return to him sooner or later. Just then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw something move on the stairs and looked up in time to see that a familiar figure was there.
"Ah, good evening Harry," he said, truly glad to see him. "Excellent, excellent."
Harry was looking almost ghostly under his shock of black hair, and he seemed to look thinner than usual… grimmer… but that was to be expected. He knew that these last few weeks couldn't have been easy for him.
"I don't mean to be rude —" Vernon Dursley interrupting his thoughts.
"— yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Albus then finished for him gravely, silently letting him know that he wasn't the kind of man who couldn't be bullied or told what to do easily. "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man."
Just then another door opened and a thin woman wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over a pink nightdress had entered, obviously wondering what the noise was about. "Ah, and this must be Petunia."
As soon as she saw him, she stopped dead in her tracks, like her husband, as she stared at him in shock. So this was Lily's older sister…
"Albus Dumbledore," he said when no one spoke and thought that it would be best to introduce himself."We have corresponded, of course. And this must be your son, Dudley?"
A chubby, young man had peered around a door that must've led to the living room. He could see the family resemblance as he too stared at him in astonishment and fear. Albus waited politely, waiting to see whether anyone else was going to say something—but as the silence stretched on—he smiled and asked, "Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"
It was clear from the looks on the Dursley's faces that it never would have happened in a million years; but he didn't care. He walked passed them all as he wandered passed Dudley and into the living room. Harry, carrying telescope and a pair of trainers, jumped the last few stairs and followed right behind him
"Aren't — aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously as he settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire. He noticed that Harry's tone seemed to be very tense; as if uncomfortable around him.
"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," Albus answered graciously. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."
"You will, will you?" Vernon Dursley demanded with his wife and son behind them.
"Yes," Albus answered with a finality in this voice that they couldn't hope to ignore; it was about time that someone gave them a taste of their own medicine. "I shall."
He decided to have a little fun, and he drew his wand and with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap.
"We may as well be comfortable," he answered pleasantly as he caused the sofa to return to its spot against the wall. But as he put his wand away, he spotted Harry staring at his hand.
"Sir — what happened to your —?" Harry began cautiously.
"Later, Harry," he interrupted him, momentarily forgetting how observant Harry was. "Please sit down." Harry looked like he wanted to argue, but seemed to decide against it as he took the remaining armchair, refusing to look at his relatives as he waited.
"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment," Albus said to Vernon, knowing that he was thinking of no such thing, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."
So he decided to show off a little more magic, and hopefully make everyone feel a little more comfortable, he conjured up a bottle of oak-matured mead and passed some around for everyone.
"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," he answered Harry's questioning look and raised his glass to him. Predictably, the Dursleys refused to touch their glasses and they were now trying to persuade them into do so. He had to fight hard to keep himself from chuckling as the glasses were becoming more and more persistent.
Once he had finished his glass, he took a deep breath and finally turned back to Harry. "Well, Harry, a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius' will was discovered a week ago, and that he left you everything he owned."
At the mention of Sirius's name, Harry seemed to freeze up, but all he said was, "Oh. Right…" in a tone that was clear to him that he still hadn't recovered from the fight at the Ministry.
"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Albus went on, a little more gently. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions." But Harry didn't seem to be the slightest bit interested in any of this—he knew that none of it was worth Sirius's life. "The slightly problematic part of the legacy —"
"His godfather's dead?" said Vernon Dursley loudly from the sofa. The two of them turned to look at him as he tried to beat his glass of mead away from him. "He's dead? His godfather?" he repeated as if he wanted to make sure that he heard them right.
"Yes," he said simply, glaring at his insensitivity towards his own nephew's feelings before he turned back to Harry and went on as if he hadn't spoken, "Our problem is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."
"He's been left a house?" said Vernon Dursley greedily.
'Yes, but it has nothing to do with you,' he thought darkly, but Harry suddenly spoke, "You can keep using it as headquarters. I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it."
He knew that he would say something like that. "That is generous," he nodded. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."
"Why?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Well," he went on, explaining to Harry how the house would most likely be passed onto another pureblood since Sirius and Regulus never had any children while at the same time, ignoring the mutterings of Vernon Dursley, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the unrelenting glass of mead.
"I bet there has," Harry said absentmindedly.
"Quite," he nodded softly. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."
Suddenly Harry sprang to his feet; the telescope and trainers in his lap rolled across the floor. "No," he said, for the first time, sounding furious.
"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," he continued on calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."
Naturally, he had already come up with several ways to keep Bellatrix, or anyone else uninvited for that matter, from stepping inside. But he hoped that there wouldn't be any need for it.
"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?" Harry asked him uncertainly.
"Fortunately," Albus answered him, "there is a simple test."
He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Vernon Dursley shouted, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"
He looked up to see all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their heads, the mead now spilling everywhere.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," he answered politely, and he raised his wand again and made all three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."
Vernon glared at him, but seemed too afraid to say anything as his eyes went to the wand—terrified that he would curse him if he said something wrong. Though Albus would never admit to it, but a part of him was secretly hoping that he would go too far and he would be forced to curse him. Mastering the nasty impulse, he looked back to Harry and went on speaking as if no one interrupted, "You see, if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited-"
He flicked his wand one more and brought the reluctant house-elf here. Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek as Dudley drew his feet off the floor; not wanting to be anywhere near Kreacher while Vernon Dursley bellowed out, "What the hell is that?"
"Kreacher," he finished.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears—unable to believe what was happening. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't —"
"As you can see, Harry," he went on loudly as Kreacher continued to yell out. "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."
"I don't care," said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."
"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange?" he asked with Kreacher screaming out the word won't over and over again. "Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"
Harry stared at him.
"Give him an order," Albus pressed him. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."
"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"
Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream and Harry suddenly cried out, "Kreacher, shut up!"
It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.
"Well, that simplifies matters," he said happily, knowing that it was safe. "It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."
"Do I — do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher continued to thrash around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to," he reassured him by letting him know that he could just as easily send Kreacher to work in the kitchens.
"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er — Kreacher — I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."
Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished. Once he was gone, they finished discussing the matters concerning Buckbeak, and how Hagrid was looking after him. Once that was cleared up and everything was settled, he asked if Harry was ready to go.
"Doubtful that I would turn up?" he asked him shrewdly when Harry looked down at the fallen telescope and trainers.
"I'll just go and — er — finish off," said Harry hastily, picking up his things and almost running from the room.
Albus sat back and hummed to himself as he stared up at the ceiling. The Dursleys were staring at him in fear, but he ignored him as he thought. He had expected Harry to be a little more colder to him than he had been… it's true that he no longer seemed comfortable around him, and he was being a little formal… but he was still polite as he always was.
Why? Was it simply because he was leaving this house and didn't care who it was who was escorting him so long as he was free? Or was it because he had begun to forgive him after everything that had happened last year?
He wasn't so sure anymore. The two of them hadn't spoken once since the morning after Sirius's death…
He wished that he knew…
About ten minutes later, he heard Harry dragging his trunk downstairs and he reentered the room.
"Professor — I'm ready now," he asked awkwardly.
"Good," Albus answered, getting up and holding his wand. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more. "As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time —"
"No," said Petunia, speaking for the first time.
"I'm sorry?" he asked civilly.
"No, he doesn't," she said at once. "He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah," he said, a little surprise that she didn't already know this, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."
He heard Vernon Dursely mutter under his breath, "Preposterous," but Albus overlooked him. Honestly, he could care less what he had to say. "Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."
He paused here, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, he couldn't stop the anger coming through and he was pleased to see how scared they look. How any of them were able to look at themselves in the mirror was beyond him… he still couldn't bring himself to do so after all…
"You did not do as I asked," he said, rather mechanically. "You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands." He stopped there for a moment, his heart heavy with guilt, "The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."
Though that was a small comfort compared to all the pain that he had been put through because of it.Both of the Dursleys however looked around instinctively at their son… while they were terrible excuses for parents, they did love their son. But he couldn't think of anything sadder… they didn't even realize just what they had done to Dudley. He couldn't bring himself to blame the young man for what he was. Though he couldn't help but feel angry at the Dursleys for how they chose to raise him.
"Us — mistreat Dudders? What d'you —?"Vernon cried out furiously, but Albus merely raised a finger for silence.
"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom," he stopped for a brief second but grew even angrier when Vernon showed no signs of remorse.
"This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time," he finished. None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, clearing thinking about his words.
Albus shook his head sadly; hoping that Dudley hadn't gone too far that there was no hope for him.
"Well, Harry…" he said at last, turning back to Harry. "Time for us to be off." He straightened his cloak and added to the Dursleys, "Until we meet again…" though he knew that moment would never come in this life.
"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed after him, who paused beside Harry's trunk in the hallway, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched. The white owl glared up at him in annoyance, as if angry that he had disturbed her.
"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again, ready to send it ahead of them to the Burrow. "I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak… just in case."
He waited patiently as Harry kept his head down and pulled out the cloak from the mess inside before he caused them to disappear. Using his wand once more to open the door, he put it away before he added to Harry, "And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
And he stepped outside into the cool, misty darkness; Harry close behind him. They walked down the street, abet a little awkwardly. At least it seemed to be that way for Harry—who still seemed to be very tense around him.
"Keep your wand at the ready, Harry," Albus mentioned to him, his eyes looking cautiously around him.
Harry looked up and asked hesitantly, "But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?"
"If there is an attack," he informed him, "I give you permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you." He looked up again and continued to look around them vigilantly, "However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."
"Why not, sir?" he asked.
"You are with me," Albus answered simply. "This will do, Harry."
He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive. "You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said, already knowing the answer.
"No," said Harry at once. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"
"You do," he agreed. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind —" he added, holding up his one good arm. "As you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment."
Harry gripped his proffered forearm and they stepped into the suffocating darkness. Once they came out at their destination, Harry was coughing and choking next to him.
"Are you all right?" he asked kindly as Harry gasped for air. "The sensation does take some getting used to," he added. Perhaps he should have warned him…
"I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears as he got his breath back, "But I think I might prefer brooms…"
He smiled, understanding the feeling all-to-well as he drew his traveling cloak a little more tightly around his neck, and said, "This way."
After a few minutes, he then asked, "So tell me, Harry… your scar … has it been hurting at all?"
Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark. "No," he confessed curiously, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."
But Albus knew better. After what happened at the Ministry, he knew better than to try something like that again—which he was silently grateful for.
"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," he answered and explained how Voldemort had finally realized the danger of going into his mind and how it seems that he was now using Occlumency to keep Harry out.
"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry at once. They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter before Harry asked, "Professor?"
"Harry?" he responded politely.
"Er — where exactly are we?"
"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton," he answered as if he was answering a question in class.
"And what are we doing here?" he continued.
"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," he said in amusement. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."
"How can I help with that, sir?" he asked worriedly as if expecting a written exam.
"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," he responded vaguely. "Left here, Harry."
He didn't tell Harry that just being in the room with Slughorn would be star-struck simply by being in the room. After walking a little ways Harry then asked, "Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"
"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," he smiled. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —"
"— you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Harry quickly. "Hermione Granger told me."
"And she is quite right," Albus smiled again. "We turn left again."
It wasn't until when the clock from the nearby churched chimed midnight did Harry speak again. "Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked. …"
"Correct," he nodded, now turning up a steep side street."He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office." He made sure not to mention Fudge and his last-ditch plan to remain in power.
"Is he… Do you think he's good?" asked Harry him.
"An interesting question," Albus said softly. Yes, he had wondered that himself. Rufus was certainly a talented Auror and knew better than anyone how Dark wizards worked… yet at the same time, his leadership skills were lacking. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."
"Yes, but I meant —" Harry began but he interrupted, "I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not under estimate Lord Voldemort."
*Flashback*
Albus had been looking over the newest leaflet that the Ministry was issuing out.
— — ISSUED ON BEHALF OF — —
The Ministry of Magic
PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES
The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack;
1. You are advised not to leave the house alone.
2. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.
3. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.
4. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).
5. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbor is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).
6. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.
7. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.
He rolled his eyes. Did they really think that these would help? Most people were now too scared to leave the house these days… did they really think that they were stupid? Albus was sitting in the Minister's office at the Ministry; it had only been a few hours since Rufus had been made Minister, but he was already demanding an audience to see him. Soon though, the door opened and the Minister himself walked into the room.
"Good afternoon, Rufus," said Albus, as he watched Rufus limp over to his new desk and sit opposite him. Albus didn't pay him too much mind as he paced the room, looking around at everything. "So… what is it that you summoned me for?"
Rufus replied, "Not beating around the bush are you? I simply wish to speak with Harry Potter."
"And why would you ask that?" Albus asked him politely. "Cornelius had been asking me for the last two weeks and I'm afraid that my answer hasn't changed."
"But this is important," Rufus tried to reason. "I believe that it would help us all…"
"What do you mean by that?" Albus asked him with his eyebrows raised. "It sounds like you want to try and rope Harry in for something. It has to do with the Ministry doesn't it?"
"It's just that the papers have been going around with this 'Chosen One' story lately," Rufus explained. "They believe that he's a hero—which he is now isn't he?"
"What does that have to do with you wanting to meet him?" Albus demanded.
"My point is that he's become a symbol of hope for most of the wizarding world," Rufus told him.
"Yes, it's quite a change from what they were thinking of him last year," Albus responded coldly.
"Well, just the idea that he might be able, or destined, to face off with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named — well, naturally, it gives more hope," he finished. "I believe that it would be of enormous comfort to the rest of the community…?"
"After everything that you and the Ministry put him through last year, you all have a great deal of nerve asking for his help now," Albus responded. "I told you all again and again, to leave him alone. He has nothing to do with any of this now does he?"
"I did nothing of the sort," Rufus barked back.
"That doesn't change the fact that he's been through so much because of the Ministry," Albus retorted lightly. "Cornelius made sure to do his best to see to that. He's been through so much that I doubt that he'll listen to anything that you will say. I cannot do that to him."
"I'm sure that if you just talk to him…" Rufus tried to explain. "It's a duty for every citizen…"
"Duty you say?" Albus repeated. "You realize what you are asking? It's the Ministry's duty to protect the citizens, not the other way around. Harry isn't even of age yet and you want to try and take advantage of him. You expect this from a young man who you were so adamant to disbelieve until a couple weeks ago and went to all extents possible to discredit him."
"See here now Albus, Wouldn't it be prudent for us to work together?" Rufus asked.
"I warned you again and again for a year what was happening, but because you all refused to listen, we are now in this situation," Albus stated.
"But if Potter is the only person who can…" he began but Albus had enough.
"You want to ask a sixteen year old boy for help to keep everyone believing that the Ministry is doing an amazing job," Albus said. "I know what this is all about. No one knows anything about any prophecy. There's no guarantee that Harry's can or can't fight Voldemort. Whatever this prophecy says, I'm sure that it doesn't mean that Harry should be helping out the Ministry, especially when they are wrong. Instead of forcing a teenager to help you, you should all be thinking for yourselves on what you should be doing to protect the people. He's a teenage boy, not a solider that you can use."
"I see that you won't change your mind?" Rufus asked coldly.
"No, I won't," Albus responded. "But in all honesty, I think that I'm being kind. I doubt that Harry would take this as calmly as I am.
*End of Flashback*
It had only been a few days since then, and Rufus hadn't mentioned it since. But he knew that he wasn't going to give up that easily. He was so lost in thought that he almost forgot who was with him.
"And… sir… I saw about Madam Bones," said Harry's voice, which brought him back to the matter at hand.
"Yes," Albus said tiredly, "A terrible loss. She was a great witch." He held up his hand instinctively to point and he had to pay for it. "Just up here, I think — ouch."
A sharp pain rang through his whole arm and he had to grip hold of his wrist, breathing hard through his nose as the pain faded little-by-little.
"Professor, what happened to your — ?" Harry asked, looking at the burnt appendage.
"I have no time to explain now," Albus said at once, not wishing to go into details—suddenly feeling more ashamed than ever by his actions that night. "It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice."
He smiled at Harry, letting him know that while he didn't want to talk about it, he was still allowing him to ask questions.
"Sir — I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters…" Harry said, understanding what he was saying, and changing the subject at once.
"Yes, I received one myself," Albus stated, still smiling. "Did you find it useful?"
"Not really," Harry admitted embarrassed.
"No, I thought not," Albus said good-naturedly. "You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor."
"I didn't…" Harry began, looking startled and stopped walking, as if worried he was in for a scolding.
"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry…" he smiled gently, "although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."
"Er … right," said Harry, raising his eyebrows at him, and Albus wondered just what he was thinking to that. "Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi," he went on. "What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."
"They are corpses," he answered calmly and Harry's curiosity quickly turned to disgust. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here…"
They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden; so this was where Horace had been hiding out for the last few weeks. But as he approached the house, he stopped dead… for the front door was hanging off its hinges. "Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear," he muttered at once, his mind running away with the worse thoughts. Were they too late?
He could fee Harry peering around him to see what he was looking at, while he glanced up and down the street as he pulled his wand out—readying himself for a fight.
"Wand out and follow me, Harry," he said quietly. Without another word, he opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry at his heels, then pushed what was left of the front door very slowly, half-expecting someone to appear from the darkness and attack.
"Lumos."
His wand cast its light up a narrow hallway and he followed it into the sitting room. A scene of total devastation was all he could see… a grandfather clock lay broken in pieces, its hands and pendulum lying on the other side of the room while a piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The little glass fragments of a chandelier were lying in the center of the room, clearly having fallen from a great height as broken glass and feathers from the pillows covered everything else.
Albus raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where he could see what could only be blood on the walls. He looked back when he heard Harry's small intake of breath.
"Not pretty, is it?" he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."
He moved carefully into the middle of the room, having a feeling that something was wrong, but unable to figure out what it was.
"Maybe there was a fight and — and they dragged him off, Professor?" Harry suggested weakly.
"I don't think so," he told him quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side, suddenly having an idea. He thought that it was strange… he had gotten carried away with the first thoughts when he saw the damage, but now that he calmed down he realized that something had been missing. Meaning, that this couldn't have been a Death Eater attack… and even if it had been, he knew that Horace was able to keep himself alive.
"You mean he's — ?" Harry began.
"Still here somewhere?" he finished for him, "Yes."
And without warning, he swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled out, "Ouch!"
Relief flooding through him, now understanding what this was truly about, he simply said, "Good evening, Horace."
He stood back so that Horace could stand up and return to his normal form. He looked very much like he always did… bald head, big eyes, his great mustache… Horace Slughorn…
"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he said gruffly, glaring accusingly at him, "It hurt."
"What gave it away?" he grunted, rubbing the spot where Albus had dug his wand into his belly.
"My dear Horace," Albus said amused, and letting him know that what tipped him off was the fact that the Dark Mark wasn't above the house.
"The Dark Mark," he muttered, clapping a hand to his forehead in stupidity. "Knew there was something … ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."
He heaved a great sigh as Albus offered to help clean up.
They stood back to back, with Harry watching them, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion, cleaning up the great mess and leaving the place spotless. "What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" Albus had to cry loudly as the grandfather clock began to chime loudly.
"On the walls? Dragon," shouted Horace over the sound of the chandelier reattaching itself to the ceiling.
"Yes, dragon," he repeated conversationally, once the noise had died down and he was looking in a small bottle that was up on a sideboard and was examining the liquid inside it. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."
He frowned at the liquid before he said in a brighter tone, "Hmm. Bit dusty."
But as soon as he set it back down, he finally noticed that Harry was in the room as well. As soon as he saw him, Horace's large eyes widened. "Oho," he said eagerly, his eyes looking towards the scar on his forehead and Harry unconsciously looked back down to the floor so that his bangs covered the mark.
"This," Albus said at once, moving forward to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."
Horace turned to him, his expression shrewd—already guessing his intentions. "So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."
"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" Albus asked, not the least bit surprised that Horace still didn't want to accept his old job. "For old time's sake?"
Horace hesitated. "All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.
Albus smiled at Harry, who was looking baffled, and directed him toward the chair by the fire and the bright lamp. They just needed a little more time…
"Hmpf," Horace said after getting drinks, still looking irritated at him as he passed out the drinks and took his seat to join them.
"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" he asked.
"Not so well," said Horace at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."
"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," Albus asked knowingly. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"
Horace snorted, but there was a hint of pride in his annoyed tone, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added, as if trying to convince himself this fact as well as him, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."
"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," Albus informed him, which was true—Horace was still at least a decade younger than he was.
"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Horace bluntly, glancing at his injured hand, "Reactions not what they were, I see."
"You're quite right," Albus serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers, noticing Harry was staring at it as well. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand…"
He shrugged and spread his hands wide, reminding himself that old age did have a lot of advantages as well. But as he stretched out his arm, no watched as they both stared at the ring. Horace's eyes lingered for a moment on the ring so that a thoughtful frown on his face. Albus wondered if Horace remembered… for he had seen this ring before.
"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace…" he asked, trying for some small talk, "Are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?"
"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Horace, but he could detect the slight hint of uneasiness in his voice.
"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," Albus nodded thoughtfully. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"
Horace eyed him balefully for a moment, then confessed, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."
"Ingenious," Albus chuckled. Indeed it had been quite a chore trying to track him down over the countryside—he had been one of the few people to believe the story that Voldemort had returned and had been in hiding ever since then. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts —" he added hopefully.
"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus!" Horace interrupted darkly. "I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days —"
"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd," Albus informed him, still not at all sorry for what happened to Dolores—for she had brought that upon her for insulting the centaurs in the first place. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy half-breeds.' "
"That's what she did, did she?" said Horace, his eyes widening, as if he couldn't believe anyone could be that stupid. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."
Harry was laughing to himself at those words and turned red when they looked at him.
"Sorry," Harry said hastily. "It's just — I didn't like her either."
Having an idea, he stood up.
"Are you leaving?" asked Horace at once, looking hopeful.
"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," he lied easily.
"Oh," said Horace, clearly disappointed as he gestured carelessly to the door. "Second on the left, down the hall."
Bowing his head in a silent 'thank you' he left the room, and made sure to close the door behind him. But rather than leave, he leaned against the wall and listened hard. For a few moments there was nothing but the sound of Horace's footsteps pacing the room. But then he heard Horace finally speak, "Don't think I don't know why he's brought you."
If Harry said anything, he couldn't hear anything. But he knew that Harry didn't have any clue to why he was here anymore than Horace did.
"You look very like your father," Horace's voice then went on.
"Yeah, I've been told," he heard Harry answer.
"Except for your eyes. You've got —"
"My mother's eyes, yeah," now sounding tired. Albus smiled. Yes, Lily had always been one of Horace's favorite students.
"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother…" he added and Albus smiled a little wider. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."
"Which was your House?" Harry asked.
"I was Head of Slytherin. Oh, now," his voice added quickly, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done — been in the papers for the last couple of years — died a few weeks ago —"
Albus winced. That was not the best thing to say at the moment.
"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."
Albus sighed, willing for Horace to shut up about Sirius. He could tell at once that Horace hadn't lost his habit of talking about students as if they were part of his collection.
"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course," Horace's voice went on. "Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."
"One of my best friends is Muggle-born," Harry said, "and she's the best in our year."
"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Horace.
"Not really," said Harry coldly in a rather cold voice.
"You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" Horace said in response. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"
Albus rolled his eyes in amusement as Horace went on and on about his ex-students and their successful careers. But then Harry asked him, "And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?"
He got him there.
"Of course not," Horace said, sounding grim. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year. Still… the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hog warts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate —"
"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," Harry said at once. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he de served seeing as he was working with Voldemort."
He could hear Horace give a slight squawk of protest at the name but Harry went on, "I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?"
"Well, yes," Horace said as Albus looked down, his heart suddenly feeling full at those words, "it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," Horace muttered grudgingly."And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend … in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me. If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection …"
Albus smiled, knowing that the battle had been won and decided that it was a good idea to reenter the room. As soon as he stepped inside, Horace jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.
"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"
"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," he lied effortlessly. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."
Harry jumped up, looking eager to leave and Horace was looking taken aback as he asked, "You're leaving?"
"Yes, indeed," Albus said, trying to sound disappointed, "I think I know a lost cause when I see one."
"Lost…?" he repeated, now sounding agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched them get ready to go.
"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," Albus answered, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."
"Yes… well… very gracious… as I say…" Horace said, unable to finish a complete sentence, now looking deeply conflicted. "Good-bye, then."
"Bye," said Harry politely as they headed to the front door. Albus fought to keep his mouth straight… wait for it…
"All right, all right, I'll do it!"
Albus turned to see Horace standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.
"You will come out of retirement?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, yes," said Horace impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."
"Wonderful," Albus said, clapping his hands together and beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."
"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Horace. But even as they set off down the garden path, Horace's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"
Albus chuckled as they. Once they were far enough away, he then said to Harry, "Well done, Harry."
Harry looked up at him in surprise and said, "I didn't do anything."
"Oh yes, you did," Albus disagreed. "You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"
"Er …" was all Harry could say, as if wondering just how to put his thoughts into words; but Albus understood. Horace was charming and he did grow on you after awhile, but at the same time it could be difficult to find his company bearable.
"Horace," he told him, saving him the job of answering, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystallized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office."
He looked over at him and softly added to him to be wary of Horace if he could help it. As Harry thought over everything he told him, he decided that no was a good a place as any to leave. "This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm."
After they appeared at the familiar-looking house, Harry was eagerly looking towards the country lane that led up to the Burrow. There was an unusual look of peace in his eyes at that and Albus couldn't help but feel happy for him. He didn't say anything until they reached the gate and asked, "If you don't mind, Harry. I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"
Albus pointed toward a run-down stone house in the yard broomsticks.
Harry looked surprise at the request, but he didn't say anything as he followed him to a small, stone house in the yard that served as a broomshed. Once inside, he illuminated the tip of his wand, so that they could see, and smiled down at Harry.
"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry," he said softly, hoping that it would be ok to talk about this particularly painful topic, "but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you."
Harry suddenly swallowed and looked down at his feet as if he hoped that he could sink through the floor and disappear.
"It was cruel," he said gently, wanting him to know that it was ok to feel this way, "that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."
Harry nodded, but he wasn't sure if he was truly listening to what he was saying. Not that it mattered, for he knew that these last few weeks couldn't have been easy for him.
"It's just hard," Harry said finally, in a low voice, thick with emotion, "to realize he won't write to me again."
His eyes looked rather watery and he looked away as if ashamed.
"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," Albus told him in a comforting way, "Naturally, the loss is devastating…"
"But while I was at the Dursleys'…" interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, "I realized I can't shut myself away or — or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he?"
No, he wouldn't… Sirius had fought for his future.
"And anyway, life's too short. … Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance… It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is," he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."
Albus smiled, he sounded like a real leader here. "Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson!" said Albus with an approving pat on Harry's back. "I take my hat off to you — or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders."
For the first time, Harry smirked.
"And now, Harry," he went on, "on a closely related subject… I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"
"Yes," said Harry, turning grim again.
"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?" he asked.
"Yes," said Harry again, now sounding upset. "And now everyone knows that I'm the one —"
"No, they do not," he interrupted, knowing where he was going. "There are only two people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed."
Harry still didn't looked convinced at his words, so he decided to tell him, "It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you. Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"
"No," said Harry at once.
"A wise decision, on the whole," Albus said, but guessing that it would be best if they made a couple exceptions in this case. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued, when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."
Harry's eyes widened but then he looked away, "I didn't want —"
"— to worry or frighten them?" he asked knowingly. He knew the real reason… he didn't want to see the horrified looks on their faces, or the idea they might desert him. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away."
Harry said nothing, but he did not need him to answer. Instead, he let him in a little secret… "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."
"Private — with you?" said Harry, so surprised that he didn't seem able to believe his ears.
"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education," Albus said, taking great care not to mention what these lessons would be about.
"What will you be teaching me, sir?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," he answered airily. He only had a little time left before he would be forced to die and he knew that he had to fill Harry in as much as he could before that day he greeted Death.
Harry looked put out for a moment before he asked, "If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"
"Professor Snape, Harry —" he correctly carefully. No, he had seen enough to know that Harry was just someone who would be unable to learn it. His magic was directly tied to his emotions, so being able to simply shut it out was impossible. He smiled at him and finished, "And no, you will not."
"Good," said Harry, his face flooded with relief, "because they were a —"
He stopped himself, as if wondering what he could call it without getting scolded.
"I think the word 'fiasco' would be a good one here," Albus nodded and to his surprise, Harry had laughed.
"Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on," he said, now sounding more upbeat "because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't."
"Don't count your owls before they are delivered," he answered gravely, thinking that it wouldn't be a good idea to inform him that Horace was once the Potions Master. "Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part."
Harry looked up, curious to what he had to say. "Firstly," he said firmly, "I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?"
Harry nodded.
"And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide," he informed him. He let him know the measures that the Ministry had put on the Burrow for his safety, and how he shouldn't risk his life while here.
"I understand," said Harry quickly.
"Very well, then," said Albus, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. "I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are."
The two of them passed the boots and rusty cauldrons; before he knocked three times at the worn door. Almost at once, he heard the nervous voice of Molly Weasley ask, "Who's there? Declare yourself!"
"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry," he called to her, letting her know that there was no danger. Almost at once, the door opened, and Molly was standing there in a nightdress, looked reassured.
"Harry, dear!" she said to Harry in delight before looking up at him, "Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"
"We were lucky," he smiled, ushering Harry over the threshold. "Horace proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course." He then noticed that she wasn't alone in the kitchen. "Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"
Nymphadora Tonks was sitting at the kitchen table with a large mug of tea in her hands. He fought a frown when he saw how sick she looked.
"Hello, Professor," she said with a rather forceful smile. "Wotcher, Harry."
"Hi, Tonks," Harry answered, looking confused by her glum appearance. Albus sighed, knowing that Dora hadn't been feeling like her usual self for the last week or so.
"I'd better be off," she said quickly, as if thinking she was interrupting something, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."
"Please don't leave on my account," he said courteously, knowing that Molly would be of good comfort to her right now. "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."
'In other words, continue to argue with him,' he added in an afterthought.
"No, no, I need to get going," she said, refusing to look at him. "'Night —"
"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming — ?" Molly began but Tonks refused before she hurried past him and disapperated—both of them sharing a quick glance at each other at the mention of Remus's name.
Albus smiled sadly before he looked back to Harry and said, "Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry…" he looked up to Molly and added, "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant."
He made Molly a bow and followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot and returning to just outside the Hogwarts gates as if he never left.
*Early Next Morning*
"So you were successful in getting Slughorn to come back?" Severus asked him as he came in with a few more potions to help his condition.
"With a little persuasion on Harry's part, yes," Albus answered, taking his medicine with the usual grain of salt. "You know as well as I do how fond Horace was of Lily, I think that seeing Harry had helped him to see just how much he stood to gain by coming back. And this also means that you will finally be able to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts like you always wanted."
Severus shifted uncomfortably. "You haven't bothered to inform me to why you feel it is so important that Slughorn returns? I doubt that he's changed since he left."
Albus chuckled. "No, he hasn't. It was very nostalgic to be honest. But just know that by being here, he is safe, and he might be able to help us out in more ways than we know."
"Like how?" Severus asked, raising his eyebrow at him curiously.
"We shall soon see," Albus smiled, "That's all I have to say."
Severus was still frowning at him as he paced the office, as if agitated. Albus watched him as he continued taking the potions. After a few minutes he asked, "Now, why do you seem so uneasy, Severus? After all, now that Horace has agreed to come back, you finally have the job that you had been working so hard to teach for years. Shouldn't you at least try to pretend to be a little bit pleased?"
"I just can't help but feel as if you had other motives for giving me the job," Severus answered silkily.
Albus merely smiled, "Well, there is one more condition you have to agree to if you still want the job."
"I knew it," Severus said grumpily. "And what is that?"
"Merely that you have to allow students who have achieved Exceeds Expectations in their Defense O.W.L's," he informed him.
"And why would I want that?" he demanded. "What's the point in teaching those who obviously show no talent in the subject?"
"Because I'm afraid that there's only been one person who got an Outstanding in their O.W.L exam," he answered lightly. "So you have to be able to allow Exceeds Expectations as well. Besides, in a war, I think that we need to allow as many students as we can to learn how to defend themselves."
"Wonderful," Severus hissed. "Of course, only Miss Granger would pass…"
"Actually, I believe that she also achieved an Exceeds Expectations," Albus disagreed cheerfully. "Apparently she had a bad case of nerves during the practical part of the exam and couldn't focus. That's all I have to say on the matter."
Severus raised his eyebrows again. "So someone finally beat Granger?"
"Be nice for once, Severus," Albus scolded softly.
"Fine, I'll accept them," Severus responded gruffly. "But who was the one who beat her?"
Albus smiled once more as he finished his medicine before he answered, "Harry of course…"
(What do you all think? I hope that I did justice on this chapter. We finally reached the sixth year. The next chapter will be about the first lesson! Hope you all enjoyed this.)
