Whew - longest chapter yet. Hope we don't bore any of y'all. And the
song somewhere down the middle is included courtesy of the Fat
Chipmunk's rhyming skills. :)
Whispers… - "Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?" – Garth Nix
"Your letters are here," Mrs. Weasley announced, distributing the envelopes of yellowish parchment as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat down to lunch. Harry accepted his with slightly shaking hands, inspecting the green ink in which the letter had been addressed with something quite akin to fondness. Mr. Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley's room, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole. And to think he'd almost passed up this chance to receive his last letter.
McGonagall had dropped by the Burrow earlier that morning to tell them the board of governors had made a decision – to keep Hogwarts open. It had been nearly unanimous, with only two people voting against. Hermione had given him a knowing look as Ron and Ginny grinned at each other, and he supposed he should have known, too. Ginny was right – closing down Hogwarts would have scared more people than anything else.
Just as Harry was about to pull the first piece of parchment out, there was a very high-pitched shriek. Hermione leapt out of her chair and pulled the nearest person – a very disgruntled Ginny – into a rib-crushing hug, still screaming.
"Hermione – Hermione – Merlin's beard, GET OFF ME!" Ginny bellowed, wrenching Hermione's arms from around her waist with a Herculean effort. "Would you shut – "
Hermione brandished a shining object in Ginny's face, her face glowing radiantly. "I'm Head Girl!" she squealed, apparently trying very hard to restrain herself from grabbing Ginny around the waist again.
"Congratulations, dear!" Mrs. Weasley beamed, allowing Hermione to embrace her instead. "I'm very proud of you."
"Of course she would," Ron muttered, shaking his head as he stared at his own letter. Harry had the faintest notion that Ron was disappointed… Personally, he'd always known that no sensible teacher would ever make him or Ron Head Boy. Prefect was fine, of course, but Head Boy? There were plenty of more eligible people, like Ernie Macmillan.
"Couldn't expect otherwise," Harry said with a wry smile, sidling past Ginny ("Merlin, I swear she broke a rib!") to give Hermione a chance at squashing his lungs. "Congrats," he wheezed, after she'd released him.
"Oh, this is wonderful!" Hermione said once she settled down, admiring her badge. "I'll have to write Mum and Dad right away."
"Any ideas about who Head Boy is?" Ginny asked as Harry pulled out his letter, scanning it quickly.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock. A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor Flitwick
Deputy Headmaster
"I figured it would be Flitwick," Ron said, peering over Harry's shoulder as Hermione rattled off the names of possible candidates for Head Boy. "Charlie said he'd been teaching the longest, after Dumbledore and McGonagall. And he'll be a hit with the first years – I reckon they're the same height, don't you?" Ron snickered.
Harry shook his head as he examined the second sheet of parchment inside his envelope, which turned out to be the booklist. Many of them were the same as last year's, including Advanced Potion-Making. He narrowed his eyes – he hadn't thrown out Snape's copy yet, mainly because doing so would be a waste. Snape was fickle in his loyalties, but his knack for creating spells had been genuine. If he could master everything written in the book and use then them against the greasy traitor, it would only sweeten his revenge.
He sighed as he set the letters aside and picked up his fork, digging into the plate of mashed potatoes Mrs. Weasley had placed before him with relish. He had a long two weeks ahead of him, if he was going to memorize all the spells he'd marked off in Practical Defensive Magic.
The morning of departure for King's Cross Station was met with the usual flurry of activity. They had all packed their trunks the day before, as soon as Mrs. Weasley had returned from Diagon Alley with their supplies, but Ron had insisted on practicing Shield Charms long into the night. Harry reckoned that if he hadn't gotten overly irritated at about two in the morning, Ron would have forced him to stay up all night making cushions fly at his head.
"Are you all ready?" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs as Harry stumbled out of Ron's room, lugging his trunk behind him.
"Almost," Ron shouted back as he stuffed the last of his robes into his trunk and forced it shut. "Let's go," he said to Harry, and they staggered down the stairs with their trunks levitating before them. Ginny and Hermione were waiting beside the front door with Crookshanks' traveling basket and Hedwig's and Pigwidgeon's cages by their feet, whispering to each other.
They were ten minutes behind schedule by the time everyone had boarded the shiny black cars the Ministry had provided, and Mrs. Weasley didn't look too pleased. They were nearly silent during the entire ride, and Harry almost dozed off.
"Remember, there'll be Aurors," Mrs. Weasley warned as they began unloading their trunks at King's Cross. "No funny business, or they'll be all over you."
But no one came forward to escort them, as had happened last year. In fact, the whole place seemed more unruly and chaotic. His skin prickled with the stifling feeling that accompanied a great tension in the air. It wasn't the absence of people – the usual gaggles of students, families, and Muggles dotted the crowds. It was more like the atmosphere that had changed; the carefree excitement that had typically been associated with the start of a new term had vanished. It was in the strides of people that walked by; most of them traveled in groups now, huddled together as if the presence of others would ward away whatever evil they felt was stalking them. Despite the sporadic shouts of laughter and ubiquitous smiles, everyone's eyes held shielded looks and hands never strayed far from pocketed wands.
"Quick, through the barrier," Mrs. Weasley said, herding the group forward. She glanced around, as if looking for someone. "Harry, why don't you and Ron go first."
Ron nodded at him, and the two of them pushed their trolleys directly at the solid barrier, and found themselves, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters. The scarlet Hogwarts Express stood before them, belching steam into the air. Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley joined them within seconds.
He turned to Ginny, about to ask her if she was going to sit with him, when he saw them.
He would never have noticed them in the first place, stationed as inconspicuously as they were – loitering like bored students in front of the train or posing as tired men and women sitting on benches – if he hadn't seen a familiarly tall, dark man chatting with a woman with mouse-brown hair not five feet away from them.
Aurors.
The others would have been virtually indistinguishable from the ordinary people if he hadn't detected the glances Kingsley and Tonks shot to their companions. And once he became aware of them, he found that they were everywhere. They stood around longer than any normal person would have, and they scanned the passersby much too keenly and much too often.
"Get straight on the train, all of you…" Harry's observation was confirmed as Mrs. Weasley shot a look in Kingsley's direction. Swiveling around to look back, he barely caught the Auror's answering nod. "…Only a few minutes left," Mrs. Weasley finished.
"Did you see them?" Hermione whispered to him as he led the group toward the train, casting about for an empty compartment.
"I saw Tonks and Kingsley," Ginny announced in a low voice from Harry's left. "I suppose Mad-Eye would be too noticeable, though, I didn't see him."
"Mmm," Harry agreed. "Anyone see an empty compartment?"
"Well, I've got to go to the Heads' carriage first and patrol with the prefects for a bit," Hermione said, fingering the glinting badge on her chest and looking slightly apologetic. "Can one of you take Crookshanks?"
"Sure," Ginny said, taking the basket from her as she hurried away toward the front of the train. "Look for Neville or Luna, we can sit with them," Ginny suggested as they pushed through the throng.
"Over here, you two," Ron shouted from Harry's right, and he and Ginny hurried toward him. They loaded their trunks and scrambled up onto the train, waving goodbye to Mrs. Weasley.
"You four be good now," Mrs. Weasley called through the window as Harry slid the door shut. "Look after yourselves, and don't get into trouble – "
The train began to move.
" – do all your homework – "
Mrs. Weasley was jogging to keep up as the train gathered speed.
" – and don't do anything dangerous!"
Harry couldn't help but snort at this last statement. He probably wouldn't be safe if he lay in bed all day. He turned to see where the others were; Hermione was most likely exchanging opinions on Russian politics or something of the sort with whichever nutter had become Head Boy, but Ron and Ginny were a little way along the corridor, talking to Neville.
"Hey, Harry," Neville greeted him. He jerked his thumb at the compartment behind him. "There's room in here."
"Hi Neville – thanks," Harry replied, hastily filing in behind Ron and Ginny. He could already feel eyes on his back. Luna was seated by the window, immersed in the latest edition of the Quibbler, whose cover announced that researchers had just discovered a new species of Long-Nosed Whicklespit.
"Hello, Harry," Luna said, smiling up at him and blinking her large, dreamy eyes.
"Hey," Harry said, taking a seat beside Neville. He set Hedwig's cage down at his feet, next to Pigwidgeon, and the two owls hooted at each other. Ginny, with Luna's consent, dug around Luna's bag until she found an extra copy of the Quibbler.
There was a sudden shriek outside their door; Harry and Ron leapt to their feet, wands in hand. Ginny stared at the window over the top of her magazine, then rolled her eyes with a loud sigh.
Harry caught a glimpse of Romilda Vane, the bold fifth-year who had tried to slip him a love potion last year, giggling at him before vanishing.
Suddenly feeling very annoyed, Harry pocketed his wand and slumped back in his seat. Apparently there were still people whose personal interests took precedence over the fate of the world.
"Why don't you just tell them to leave you alone?" Luna inquired, peering at Harry.
"Or kindly inform them that you're taken," Ginny scowled.
"You could get a Wrackspurt to plague their minds," Luna said, nodding sagely. "It's really quite disorienting."
Harry, who had no idea what a Wrackspurt looked like or where he could find one, shrugged uncomfortably. Catching Neville and Ron's eyes, he hastily began talking of potential candidates for the vacant posts on the Hogwarts staff.
The rest of the voyage was uneventful; Harry fell asleep against the wall and woke up an hour or so later with a horrible crick in his neck. Massaging the tense muscles with one hand, he looked around; everyone else had fallen asleep, too, including the owls. Ron, who looked as if he would start drooling if he didn't close his mouth soon, shifted in his seat; his foot knocked into Ginny's, and the copy of the Quibbler that had been in her lap slid to the ground. Moving carefully so as not to disturb anyone, he reached down and picked the magazine up. It had been opened to a page dedicated to conspiracy theorists that claimed several members of the Wizengamot were smuggling dragon eggs into London. Grinning to himself, he settled back to read the article.
A breathless Hermione dropped in only once as the others slowly came awake and the lunch trolley trundled by. She rambled on nearly incoherently for all of five minutes, waving around a Licorice Wand as she related several topics of discussion she'd had with the Head Boy – who was, incidentally, none other than Ernie Macmillan ("Go figure!") before rushing out the door again, calling out something like "corridor patrol" over her shoulder.
"Looks like she's having fun, doesn't it?" Ron grumbled, slouching back and glaring moodily out the window.
Ginny shrugged. "Well, we better change into our robes, we're almost there," she said, returning her copy of the Quibbler to Luna.
"Yeah," Harry said, standing up to retrieve his trunk.
The train began slowing just as they had all straightened out their robes. All five of them leaned over to look out at the tall spirals of the towers that punched through the murky clouds. Harry peered at the lake over Luna's head, determined not to let his gaze stray toward the Astronomy Tower.
"See Hagrid?" Ron asked him, speaking a bit louder to be heard over the usual racket as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets ready for departure.
Harry squinted into the darkness, but the feeble moonlight allowed little visibility. He shrugged.
The compartment door slid open; they all jerked around in surprise, but it was only Hermione again.
"Could one of you grab Crookshanks? I'll see you at the feast!" she said quickly. With that, she popped back out.
"Anything for our dear Head Girl," Ron grumbled, swinging Crookshanks' traveling basket off the luggage rack. There was a muffled yowl, which Ron pointedly ignored.
The train finally screeched to a stop. After checking to see that they hadn't forgotten anything, the five of them shuffled out of the compartment.
Breathing in the fresh smell of pine trees that lined the path down to the lake, Harry looked around, listening for the familiar call of "Firs' years over here…firs' years…"
But it never came. Instead, a brisk female voice was calling, "First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!" Harry didn't need the lantern swinging around in the darkness to tell that the voice belonged to Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"It's that woman," Ron hissed in his ear as they were shunted off the platform and out through the station.
"I noticed," Harry replied, frowning. He had also noticed that there were far fewer people jostling around them. It seemed that many parents had ultimately decided to withhold their children from Hogwarts this year.
"You don't think he's sick?" Ron was saying.
"He'd better be okay," Neville said, shaking his head.
He can't have left, Harry told himself as he espied the thestral-drawn carriages and began moving toward them. McGonagall wouldn't have let him.
"Harry! Ron!"
Harry turned around just as he was handing Ron Hedwig's cage to load onto the carriage; Hermione emerged from the crowd, red-faced and panting.
"Did you see Professor Grubbly-Plank?" she asked, taking Crookshanks from Ron with a nod of thanks.
"No, really? Where was she?" Harry asked scathingly. Hagrid's absence was, a bit irrationally, rather worrisome. The gamekeeper had never failed to greet the first years at the station – except for that time in fifth year when he'd attempted an alliance with the giants. But obviously no one would risk trying that again, so where would he be?
"I hope he's okay," Hermione said anxiously, taking no notice of Harry's sarcasm as she climbed up into the carriage. "What with Dumbledore being gone."
Harry grimaced as he clambered in after her. If there was anyone who had respected Dumbledore more than Hagrid, he would have eaten his shoes. He reckoned Hagrid had never imagined a time when Dumbledore would not be there for him.
The ride up to the stone steps leading to the oak front doors was silent. Hermione fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves and opened her mouth several times, but thought better of whatever she'd been planning to say each time and shut it with an audible click of her teeth.
When the carriages jingled to a halt, Harry got off first. He turned again to look for the glow of lit windows down by the forest, but there was no sign of life within Hagrid's cabin.
"Let's go," Ron said heavily from beside him, also casting a troubled look in the direction of the dark forest.
"Yeah," Harry said, tearing his gaze away and hurried joining the crowd pushing their way up the stone steps into the castle.
The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall. Harry slipped his hand into his pocket and clenched his fist, trying to prepare himself for the sight of the Hall.
The change in the air was tangible as soon as he set foot upon the threshold. Everything was enveloped in a thick silence that made his throat go dry. Besides the scrape of benches, there was almost no sound; several whispered discussions were being held here and there, but for the most part, the usual shouted greetings and exchanges of summer news were nonexistent.
The diminished number of students was even more apparent as people shuffled to their respective tables; empty seats dotted the benches like the gaping holes in a troll's mouth. It was particularly noticeable at the Slytherin table, where nearly all of the older students – especially those in Harry's year – were absent. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw both had decent showings, but Gryffindor was by far the most impressive – everyone in his year and Ginny's year was present, as well as a good number of the younger students.
He trudged inside, wondering how the atmosphere could change so drastically with the absence of one man. The staff table was all but unbearable to look at. Someone had removed the throne-like golden chair that the Headmaster had always occupied. There was no authoritative blue-eyed man with a crooked nose and long silver beard watching the incoming flood of students with a broad, fatherly smile.
In his place sat McGonagall, surveying the Hall with an indecipherable expression. Her mouth was thinner than he'd ever seen it, set with a firmness and strain that suggested it was taking all she had not to flee.
The other professors – teachers he had become so used to over the years, whose faces he regarded both fondly and resentfully – now sat in gloomy contemplation of the students before them. Even Slughorn was somber as he stared off into space.
Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table, and Ginny's fellow sixth years motioned for her to join them as they reached Gryffindor's. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville found seats together halfway down the table next to Nearly Headless Nick. Not far away, Dean and Seamus were sitting with Lavender and Parvati.
Harry squirmed in his seat as he watched the last of the students take their places. It didn't feel right, sitting here awaiting the start-of-term feast without Dumbledore. It rather felt like they were breaking some sort of tradition.
"Hagrid's not there," Hermione whispered.
"He can't have left," Ron said, in the tones of someone who was hoping he sounded much more persuasive than he felt.
"He hasn't," Harry said firmly, willing to think of anything, however depressing, other than Dumbledore.
"I don't think the Order would have let him – where would he go?" Hermione asked.
"Maybe he's sick," Ron suggested.
"Look," Hermione said, pointing toward the staff table, where two unfamiliar people sat. "Those must be the new Defense and Transfiguration professors. And there's Professor Grubbly-Plank." Harry watched as she worked her way along to the very end to the chair that ought to have been Hagrid's.
A few seconds later, the doors from the entrance hall opened and a line of scared-looking first years entered; Harry noted that even their numbers had been depleted. They were led by Professor Flitwick, who levitated before him a stool on which sat an ancient wizard's hat.
"The stool's taller than he is," Ron said, smirking.
The first years lined up in front of the staff table and Professor Flitwick set the stool carefully in front of them. They didn't have long to wait for the Sorting Hat's new song.
There was once a time
That is hardly recalled
When magic was great
And held the world enthralled;
When wizards were friendly
And cause for learning united
When simple tricks and games
Had little children delighted.
But that time has passed by
And our carefree lives are no more,
For a great and terrible evil
Has come knocking on our door.
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united
As they once were meant to be.
Then, over half a century ago
He sat within these walls;
With hopes for brilliant powers,
He traversed these same halls.
But as his ancestor before him
He strayed from the path of light
And departed from this
school
With tainted dreams of might.
And I repeat:
Never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united
As they once were meant to be.
Now this new iniquity
Threatens the Hogwarts dream again
And I fear more than ever
To split you will haunt me again.
But that is what I'm for,
What I was made to do,
So I will conclude my song
With one more warning for you.
Steel yourselves for
what is to come
Read the cautions history shows,
For without your faith and power,
Hogwarts will fall to deadly foes.
Gryffindor must combine its nerve
With Slytherin's cunning ways;
Hufflepuff will reveal the truth,
Ravenclaw will have their day.
We must come together now
Or we'll crumble from within
I have warned you one last time…
Let the Sorting now begin.
The motionless hat was met with rather hollow applause.
"More advice," Ron muttered with a sigh.
"And heed it you should," Nearly-Headless Nick declared. "Why, when – "
But Professor Flitwick, who was waiting to read out the list of first years' names, was looking around at the whispering students with a disapproving glare. He cleared his throat loudly; it came out sounding like a strangled squeak, but it got everybody's attention. Nick gave a silent harrumph and sat primly upright again. Professor Flitwick grimaced as he held out the long piece of parchment and called out, "Ashbaum, Kelly!"
A little blonde girl stumbled up to the stool and carefully placed the hat on her head. After a moment's consideration, the rip near the brim opened wide and bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor House as Kelly Ashbaum sat down upon a bench, looking as though she would like very much to have an Invisibility Cloak in her hands.
The line of first years thinned relatively quickly; "Zabinski, Ethan" was soon sorted into Ravenclaw, and Professor Flitwick picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Professor McGonagall rose to her feet.
"To our newcomers – welcome to Hogwarts!" she announced, nodding at the first years now scattered about the Hall. "To all our old acquaintances – welcome back, and please, let us retain our proper behavior as we begin the feast!"
There was an appreciative laugh at this effort to lighten the mood, and soon everyone was digging into the mountains of food that had just appeared.
"Excellent," Ron said with a contented sigh, grabbing the nearest plate of roast beef and piling great slabs of it onto his plate.
"Sorting Hat sounded ominous, didn't it?" Dean was saying as he took a swig of pumpkin juice.
"Yeah, my mum tried to stop me from coming this year," Seamus growled.
"There's nothing to be worried about, really," Hermione said knowledgeably. "The Ministry's got Aurors posted everywhere around the school and in Hogsmeade – "
The conversation gradually progressed from school security to the identities of the two new faces at the staff table to the recent attacks and arrests, which were the most serious subjects of discussions Harry had ever heard at a feast. He himself contributed his opinion only when asked directly; he found it much more interesting to listen to the opinions and arguments bandied about.
When all feasting had come to an end and the noise level began creeping slightly upward, Professor McGonagall stood up again. The talking ceased immediately. Harry thought she looked terribly small and alone and weary as she gazed around the Hall. But when she addressed the students, her voice rang with clarity and strength.
"As all of you should know by now," she said heavily, "the end of our last semester was marred by a great tragedy. Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts for a great many years, was murdered by one of his former colleagues."
Many of the older students bowed their heads in the short pause that followed, while the first years looked either bewildered or solemn.
"Though we are all distraught and troubled by his absence, time stops for no one," Professor McGonagall continued firmly. "I am Hogwarts' new Headmistress, and, as such, expect full cooperation from every single one of you with the changes this year has brought.
"First years should keep in mind that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds – to all our students, regardless of age or ability.
"We also have two changes in staffing – we are pleased to introduce Professor Drake, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Professor Blackthorn, who will be taking over Transfiguration."
Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron as the two teachers stood up. Both looked relatively young, with easy-going dispositions. Hopefully neither would be as demanding or forbidding as Professor McGonagall.
"Hogsmeade trips will be fewer in number and strictly supervised," she went on as Professors Drake and Blackthorn took their seats. "Also, we have decided not to hold the Quidditch Cup this year."
There was a collective gasp from the majority of the students, but they were quickly shushed as Professor McGonagall glared the protests down. Ron gaped at Harry in shock, but Harry just shrugged; this was one of the things he had expected. Even if Professor McGonagall had allowed Quidditch to continue, he would have resigned as Captain. There wasn't time for things like that; not anymore.
"This is due to a variety of security reasons concerning student safety during matches," Professor McGonagall said in a tone that brooked no argument. "And now, before we send you off to your beds, I would like to repeat the warnings: stay safe. Although magical reinforcements have been heightened over the summer, we must still be on the lookout for any signs of carelessness on the part of any student or staff. Should you notice anything suspicious within the bounds of the castle, report it to a prefect, the Head Girl or Boy, or any staff member immediately. We are relying on your mutual aid to keep the school – and each other – secure. It is time we put our petty differences aside and work as one unit – as the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"But for now, I'm sure you have heard enough, and as I suspect only half of you are hearing what I'm saying – I bid you good night!"
There were a few chuckles as everyone stood up. Stifling a yawn behind his hand, he stood up with the rest of the school. However dire the circumstances of the world at the moment, he was too tired to make much of it.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning, the first thing they saw was the enormous Hogwarts banner hanging above the staff table.
"Really focusing on House unity this year, aren't we?" Ron said as they walked toward to the Gryffindor table, where Dean and Seamus waved them over.
"New seventh year course schedules," Seamus informed them as Dean passed over three sheets of parchment. "Pretty lax, compared to past years."
Harry examined his schedule, noting that he had been given quite a few free periods.
"Blimey, look at that," Ron said, eyes wide with shock. "We've got two – no, three free periods today! Two in a row right now and one after Herbology. Excellent!"
"Those are for studying," Hermione told him crossly, "not playing chess and sleeping in."
"I'll do whatever I want," Ron said, reaching for the nearest plate of sausages. "What d'you reckon we should do first, Harry?"
Hermione rolled her eyes as she went back to scrutinizing her schedule. "Visit Hagrid," Harry said, downing his glass of milk in one gulp. "I want to know why he wasn't at the feast yesterday."
"Oh, yeah," Ron said, his expression turning somber.
"What do you three think about Professor Drake?" Dean asked, spreading marmalade on his toast. "I heard he's an Auror."
"An Auror?" Ron said, perking up.
"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Seamus shrugged. "It's about time we had a decent bloke teach that class."
"We've had decent teachers," Hermione said defensively.
Seamus snorted. "You can't be serious, Hermione. The first one had You-Know-Who coming out the back of his head, the second one's in the loony bin, the third one was a werewolf – "
"Professor Lupin was one of the best teacher's I've ever had," Harry said quietly, taking a bite of scrambled eggs. "I learned a lot from him."
"Yeah, he was pretty good," Dean agreed, licking marmalade off his fingers. "Mad-Eye wasn't bad, either."
"Of course he was, except for the minor setback of being a Death Eater in disguise – but we've all got our problems, haven't we?" Harry said sarcastically.
Dean shrugged uncomfortably. "Anyway, the Umbridge woman isn't even worth mentioning" – Ron shuddered – "and well, last year…"
He trailed off uncertainly, frowning down at the marmalade-covered toast in his hand.
"Professor McGonagall wouldn't have hired an incompetent Auror to teach here," Hermione said at last. "We've got to trust the staff's judgment."
"How do we know he's not connected to the Ministry?" Harry said, suddenly struck by the thought. "He might be here under orders, like Umbridge was."
"I wouldn't put it past them," Seamus said darkly.
Dean shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see."
The discussion turned toward homework and N.E.W.T.s, and Hermione seemed to be torn between participating in the conversation and scolding Ron as he polished off his third helping of eggs and sausages. Harry finally got up, dragging Ron with him ("Just one more, Harry!") and waving to Dean and Seamus as he made his way out of the Great Hall.
"D'you reckon we can just walk out?" Harry asked, eyeing the two Aurors standing guard on either side of the oak front doors.
Hermione looked around disapprovingly at the milling students before turning her attention to the Aurors. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt to try," she said, starting forward.
Harry followed her with Ron in tow. They had almost made it to the doors when a sharp, commanding voice called out, "Potter!"
Wincing, he spun around to see Professor McGonagall sweeping down the marble staircase toward them, an almighty frown on her face. "Potter, where do you think you're going?"
Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione. "Er…to see Hagrid, professor," he said.
She had reached the front doors and was now staring severely at him, although she had to tilt her head back a bit because he was about an inch taller. Harry resisted the urge to take a step back. "First of all, Mr. Potter, no one is allowed outside for any reason unless they have the permission of a staff member and an escort," she said, nodding at the two Aurors by the doors, "neither of which, I believe, you have obtained. Second, I am afraid your trip would be in vain. Hagrid is not here."
"Not here?" Harry demanded. "Why not?"
Professor McGonagall gave him an icy look. "That, Mr. Potter, is something you are not qualified to know. However, I do require your presence in my office. If you would follow me."
Harry exchanged bewildered looks with Ron and Hermione before hurrying to keep up with Professor McGonagall. She led him back up the marble staircase to the second floor, where they strode down the empty corridor until they arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmistress' office. It sprang to one side as Professor McGonagall tapped it with her wand, and they ascended the moving spiral staircase up to the door with the griffin doorknocker. It, too, swung open when Professor McGonagall tapped it with her wand, and she stepped inside.
"Well, come in," she said impatiently, taking a seat at her desk.
Harry slowly entered the room, remembering the last time he had set foot in it. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it didn't seem much different from the night Dumbledore had died. Professor McGonagall had kept all of his whirring and puffing silver instruments in what seemed to be their exact same locations; Gryffindor's sword still rested in its glass case beside the Sorting Hat, which lay on a shelf behind the desk. But Fawkes' perch was gone, as well as the bowl of Lemon Drops Dumbledore had always had; it had been replaced with a tin of Ginger Snaps.
And there was the newest addition to the ranks of past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts – but today, the golden frame was empty. Dumbledore had evidently stepped out.
"Have a seat," Professor McGonagall said, indicating the chair before her. Harry took it, determinedly meeting the headmistress' steely gaze. "Mr. Potter, there are several things I would like to have a word with you about," she began, resting her elbows upon the desk and leaning forward. It was strange seeing her sitting there instead of Dumbledore. In one aspect, she seemed incredibly out of place, and yet she still retained the same powerful aura commanding respect and deference that Dumbledore had always had.
"I haven't changed my mind," Harry said defiantly, "if that's what you're talking about." Professor McGonagall might be headmistress now, but that didn't change the arrangements he'd made with her predecessor.
Professor McGonagall's eyes acquired a flinty edge. "Mr. Potter, you know better than anyone else what kind of situation we are in. I have a school full of children to watch over, children whose parents have trusted me with their lives. The information you have may be crucial – "
"It is," Harry said. "But I promised Professor Dumbledore that I wouldn't tell anyone." He realized, even as he said this, that he'd already broken his promise – he'd told Ginny about the Horcruxes. But he trusted her, as much as he trusted Ron and Hermione.
But didn't he trust Professor McGonagall? She was also part of the Order – an original member, in fact, and high enough in Dumbledore's circle of trust to have been promoted to deputy headmistress. Despite her severity and her ruthless façade, Harry couldn't imagine Hogwarts without her, just as he couldn't have imagined Hogwarts without Dumbledore. He reckoned she had done more for the school than most people – including him – gave her credit for. So why couldn't he tell her?
Because she might tell other people. If she knew, what would stop her from informing other staff members, Order members? They would obviously be people she believed were trustworthy, but how trustworthy, in turn, would those people be? This was the way rumors spread, and Harry definitely didn't want the entire world – and Voldemort – knowing that he was destroying bits of Voldemort's soul.
But she can help. She probably knew things he didn't, things he'd never be able to find out on his own – things like who the bartender at the Hog's Head really was and if he was really Aberforth. And there were many other areas in which he could do with assistance.
"Harry," Professor McGonagall said softly, "Dumbledore is gone. Not even he could have prepared the way of things in the event of his death."
"No," Harry said fiercely, quietly. "Dumbledore will never be gone. He will never be gone as long as I'm here, as long as students keep coming here to learn, as long as Hogwarts stands."
"Well said, Harry, well said," said a familiar voice.
Harry and Professor McGonagall both whirled toward the source of these words, which happened to be the golden-framed portrait on the wall – which now held the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore.
"Professor!" Harry said in a rather strangled voice. Dumbledore seemed so real, so alive…it was almost as if he could step out of his painting and walk around his office, eat another Lemon Drop, and go down to greet the students like nothing had changed.
"It heartens me to see you are well," Dumbledore said, still beaming at him. Harry noticed that the twinkle in his blue eyes was gone – no artist could have captured that in a painting. It pained him to see the emptiness there, the only true indication that this was not Dumbledore; not really.
"It's, er, good to see you, too, professor," Harry mumbled.
"I must apologize, but I couldn't help but overhear your lovely conversation," Dumbledore went on, seemingly oblivious to the odd look Professor McGonagall was giving him. "Quite an interesting topic, I daresay."
"Albus, Mr. Potter has steadfastly refused to tell me what two were up to," Professor McGonagall said edgily. "I find it highly – "
" – highly impressive that he would obey my instructions even now, yes," Dumbledore said genially. "I imagine you are dreadfully curious about these matters, Minerva."
If paintings could have twinkling eyes, Dumbledore's would have had them right then. Professor McGonagall looked slightly miffed. "Albus, will you please tell the boy that it is no longer necessary for him to keep his promise, as You-Know-Who is all but sitting upon our doorstep?" she demanded.
"Voldemort, Minerva," Dumbledore corrected. "I find it exceedingly strange that a woman of your aptitude and competence continues to call him You-Know-Who. And as Harry was the one to make this promise, it is not for me to decide whether he keeps it or not."
Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who had suddenly become quite serious. "No one can force you to say things you do not wish to," he said quietly. "But there is a time for everything. No man is an island, Harry. This is not, and never was, a fight for one man. I imagine that you will find thousands of people willing to help you, if only you let them. You must make your own judgments now, but there will always be someone to support you."
And with that, Dumbledore vanished.
Harry stared, openmouthed, at the blank portrait. But it clearly wasn't the first time Dumbledore had done this, because Professor McGonagall was looking at him again.
"Well, Mr. Potter?"
Harry sighed. Dumbledore had, very obviously, just told him that it was all right to divulge the information they had gleaned to Professor McGonagall. And if Dumbledore thought it was right, then how could he disagree?
"Horcruxes," he said. Her eyes immediately narrowed; apparently she had heard of them before. "The night Professor Dumbledore died, we went out to find a Horcrux."
"So it's true," she said, sounding more resigned than surprised. She, like so many others, knew more than she had been letting on. "You- Voldemort made Horcruxes?"
Harry nodded, grimacing. "Seven of them. Well, six of them, really. The seventh one is himself. Professor Dumbledore told me he'd found the location of another Horcrux, and asked me if I wanted to go with him. I did."
"And you got one?" she asked tensely.
Harry took a deep breath before answering. "No," he said heavily. "We got a fake. Someone named R.A.B. had already taken the real one and left a fake one in its place."
"A fake?" she said incredulously. "That's impossible."
Harry shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore already destroyed another one," he said. "That's why his hand was black and dead-looking. Riddle's diary was a third, which I destroyed five years ago."
Professor McGonagall looked perturbed. "And the other ones?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Professor Dumbledore thought they might be things the Founders once owned. The Horcrux we were looking for was a locket, an heirloom of Salazar Slytherin's, and the one Professor Dumbledore destroyed was Slytherin's too – a ring. I don't know about the other ones."
"The Founders," Professor McGonagall mused. "Something of the Founders'…"
"He said it probably isn't anything of Gryffindor's," Harry added. "The sword and the Sorting Hat are his only remaining relics, and they've both been here for a long time."
"Yes," she said slowly, nodding. "That would make sense... I'm afraid I can't think of anything at the moment, but I'm sure Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw had some fairly important artifacts that could have fallen into You- Voldemort's hands." She suddenly turned to look at him straight on. "Thank you for telling me, Harry," she said softly. "For trusting me. The Order will do as much as it can to help you."
He nodded, noticing that she didn't ask him whether or not she could tell the rest of the Order about the Horcruxes, but he figured she knew which ones were reliable. And it felt much better to have the weight of the secret off his shoulders.
She let out a long sigh and rubbed her temples. "The other thing I brought you here for is your N.E.W.T.s," she said. "Especially after what you have told me, I believe that your exams should not be your first priority this year. However," she added severely as Harry began smiling, "this does not mean you are exempt from attending class and completing your homework. There are many valuable things you have yet to learn."
Harry nodded. He had been wondering how he would bring up the subject of N.E.W.T.s to her, but seeing as she'd brought it up for him, he had one less problem to worry about. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"Which brings me to my last point," Professor McGonagall said, taking a deep breath. "Dumbledore has repeatedly made it his point to tell the Order that all matters concerning you take precedence over any other issue. Given that this consists, as of now, of locating and destroying these Horcruxes and defeating Y- Voldemort, we think it best that you begin taking private lessons."
Harry sat up a bit straighter, listening intently. "Although the Order will do all it can to keep you safe," she continued, "I'm sure that you know we will not always be able to help you. We believe, therefore, that it is in your best interests to begin learning more advanced magic, including nonverbal spells."
"Yeah," Harry said, trying to keep his eagerness from showing too much. "I've been reading up on some useful curses this summer."
"Well, that's a good start," Professor McGonagall said approvingly. "We will be sending you owls periodically to arrange dates and times. Members of the Order will take turns teaching you."
"What about Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked. "Can they come too?"
"If they wish," she answered. "And in addition to spells, we would prefer that you resume learning Occlumency."
Harry looked down guiltily. It hadn't really been his fault for ditching it. Honestly, who had Dumbledore been kidding? Snape teaching Harry was like a wolf trying to teach a rabbit to hunt. But he did want to learn Occlumency. It would block Voldemort and any future nightmares, for one, but being able to barricade his mind would also prevent Voldemort from inviting himself into his thoughts, especially wayward ones about Ginny.
"We would also prefer that you learn it properly this time," she said sternly. "I doubt you'll find it pleasurable, having Y- Voldemort reading you like a picture book."
"Yes, professor," Harry said solemnly. He'd do it right this time around, especially with a more sincere teacher.
"I believe that's all for now," Professor McGonagall declared. A rare smile lighted her face as she looked at him. "You may leave, Mr. Potter."
Harry related everything McGonagall had told him to Ron and Hermione in Herbology.
"Oh my God, Harry, that's great!" Hermione squealed when he'd finished, earning herself a glare from Professor Sprout. "I told you she'd understand," she said in quieter tones.
"I can't believe she let you off N.E.W.T.s," Ron said, looking disgruntled. He flicked his finger at the Fanged Whikklepod before him, which promptly tried to bite his finger off.
"She didn't let him off," Hermione reproached. "They're just not top priority."
"Which essentially means he doesn't have to study," Ron retorted.
"You're missing the entire point, Ron," Hermione said angrily. "He's not being excused from anything, and even if he was, it wouldn't be so that he could go and stuff himself with Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes."
"Because Sugar Quills are a lot better," Harry put in, making Ron grin. Hermione turned her glare on Harry. "Er, anyway," he continued hastily, changing the subject, "what've you two been doing?"
But Professor Sprout had approached their table, and the three of them hastily abandoned the discussion as they took up the pretense of studiously examining their plant specimens.
"We tried to find out where Hagrid went," Hermione said in an undertone as Professor Sprout walked back out of earshot, "but no one's seen him."
"And there're already rumors going around about you, mate," Ron said, attempting to prevent his Fanged Whikklepod from strangling Harry's.
"Rumors?" Harry demanded as he seized his own Fanged Whikklepod and struggled to pull it away from Ron's. "What rumors?"
"Not bad ones," Hermione assured him hurriedly, donning a pair of dragonhide gloves before joining the fray.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"They're…er, well – "
"Don't be a prat, Ron," Hermione sniffed. "All the girls are talking about you. They think – well, they think you're cute."
Ron stuck his finger down his throat and pretended to gag. Harry stared at her.
"Cute?" Harry stipulated. "Me? I'm not – don't they have better things to talk about?"
"Apparently not," Ron said, smirking. "Honestly, I dunno what they see in you…"
"I don't either!" Harry said in consternation. With a last great effort, he managed to wrench his Fanged Whikklepod away from Ron's, only to have them both go after his fingers. "Does Ginny know?"
"Probably not. They're most likely keeping quiet around her, especially since most of these girls are in her year," Hermione said.
Ron shook his head. "They're all mental. What girl in her right mind would fancy you?"
"Your sister," Harry retorted, holding the fanged part away from him as Hermione tied up the roots.
"I repeat: What girl in her right mind would fancy you?" Ron sniggered.
"The point is moot," Hermione said, turning to help Ron with his roots. "But you should really be more careful, Harry. Like I've said before, you've never been more fanciable. You just might have girls tailing you to get a glimpse of you in the loo."
Ron cracked up, nearly losing his grip on the fangs.
"Shut up, you," Harry growled at him. "And wipe that bloody smirk off your face."
Up Next: The first Horcrux and stage one of Harry's revenge.
Humor is not one of our strong points. Forgive us for that ending. And please, say something. Anything. Everything you've ever wanted to blurt anonymously to the world. :)
