When the pressure disappeared and he found himself able to breathe again, he was standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of his third favourite building in the world: the Burrow. Privet drive had been bumped up to second place, but Hogwarts was still first.
"If you don't mind, Harry," said Dumbledore, as they passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"
Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. A little puzzled, Harry followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at Harry.
"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, 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."
"Sir?"
"It was cruel," said Dumbledore softly, "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, his eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Dumbledore's hat.
"I'm fine about it, Sir. Really. While I was home, I realized a lot of stuff, and I'm fine. Sir." He added as an afterthought, fearing that he hadn't been as polite as he should have been. Really, it was none of Dumbledore's business, but it still made him feel better knowing that he cared.
The man did not seem to think so, and swiftly continued.
"And now, Harry, on a closely related subject ... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"
"Yes, Sir" said Harry, and his heartbeat a little faster. "And for the record sir, I didn't consent to anything they have been writing."
"Indeed. There have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy. However, 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 here.
"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"
"No," said Harry.
"A wise decision, on the whole," said Dumbledore. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favour 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."
"I didn't want —"
"— to worry or frighten them?" said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued,
"On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."
"Private — with you?" said Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.
"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."
"What will you be teaching me, sir?"
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," said Dumbledore airily.
"Now, one more thing, Harry, before we part.
"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. "I understand,"
"Very well, then," said Dumbledore, 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. And I should not be surprised if you received your exam results tomorrow, or should I say, later this morning."
Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Harry could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.
"Who's there?" said a nervous voice he recognized as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"
"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry."
The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.
"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, I thought you were to be back hours ago!"
"I apologise, Molly. It would seem that I miss-calculated. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"
Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands.
"Hello, Professor," she said. " Wotcher, Harry."
"Hi, Tonks."
Harry thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile. Certainly her appearance was less colourful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.
"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly"
"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."
"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes.
"Oh come on Tonks! Please stay?" The witch looked startled, and slowly replied.
"Well, I suppose I could, if you want me to Harry …"
"Yes, yes I do. Please stay – I need to talk to you about … stuff"
Tonks just sat back down in reply, and poured herself another cup of tea.
"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Molly,"
He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and went back outside, before vanishing. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance.
"You're like Ron," she sighed, looking him up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had Stretching jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?"
"Oh, no, not really – I had a good lunch, and professor Dumbledore and I had dinner before we left."
"Well that's good then, now off up to bed with you, I've got Fred and George's room all ready for you, you'll have it to yourself."
"Why, where are they?"
"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy," said Mrs. Weasley. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dear."
"Wait! Tonks, I really do need to talk to you; come upstairs and we can talk in private." Tonks made to move out of the chair she was currently occupying, but Molly's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"I don't think –"
"Come on, Tonks!"
Harry took the confused metamorphous up to the room, completely ignoring Mrs. Weasley's cries of how inappropriate it was. Fred and George's bedroom was on the second floor. Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once, bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their perfume could not disguise the lingering smell of what Harry thought was gunpowder. A considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes; the room looked as though it was being used as a temporary warehouse.
When they were both settled on one of the beds comfortably (get your minds out of the gutter) Harry started the conversation he knew he would have to have sooner or later. It just happened to be sooner with Tonks, and later with Remus.
"Tonks, I want to talk to you … about Sirius"
An hour later, Harry bade Tonks good night, put on pajamas, and got into one of the beds. There was something hard inside the pillowcase. He groped inside it and pulled out a sticky purple-and-orange sweet, which he recognized as a Puking Pastille. Smiling to himself, he rolled over and was instantly asleep.