Metamorphosis
Chapter 5: Confusion
The streets of Hogsmeade lie still as a cemetery; no signs of life or opened businesses could be seen. It was as if the once happy and crowded area became a ghost town. Five cloaked figures walked down the streets passed stores that were once buzzing with customers. Their destination was The Hog's Head—at least that's where the message they received told them to go. It was the only place that wasn't completely locked up and shut down. The figure in front stopped and knocked on the door to the pub. They heard clunky footsteps as someone from within approached the door. It swung open and an elderly man with a long grey beard and familiar eyes appeared.
"Hello again Albus," the man said.
Dumbledore nodded politely, "It's been a while Aberforth."
Aberforth smiled ever-so-slightly and moved a bit to allow them in. "She's already here—over there," he gestured to a table in the back.
Dumbledore nodded once more and proceeded to the back with the others following him. As they approached the table the Daily Prophet, which was in the hand of the woman sitting there idly, was pulled down. Rita Skeeter smiled casually, "I've been expecting you gentlemen and woman," she glanced at Minerva. "Please, sit down we have much to discuss."
The five of them: Minerva, Dumbledore, Arthur, Moody and Remus all sat down quietly as Rita sat up, her infamous notebook and quill resting beside her.
"Now where shall we begin?" she smiled, leaning forward and resting her chin on top of her hands.
"If I may, Rita," Dumbledore started. "We don't have much time. The war has already begun."
"Yes and we must know why you've called us before we give the Death Eaters time to stir up more chaos," Minerva piped in.
Rita sighed and leaned back. "I will tell you everything I know on one condition."
"Of course," Moody grumbled.
Rita cast him a look but continued. "I want a story like no other—something that not even The Quibbler or The Seer Informer can compete with. I'm sure you've heard since a little while ago when The Quibbler printed young Harry Potter's story about you-know-who coming back and I…well, I didn't, my Daily Prophet has been going downhill."
"That's because you made it appear like Potter was crazy," Moody said, eyeing her strangely.
Rita ignored his comment. "The Quibbler has been doing outstanding lately—so good that I'm about to be put out of business. Even The Seer Informer is doing better than I am and it never came close before. I need something spectacular!" she exclaimed, banging her fist on the table.
Dumbledore folded his hands together patiently. "We understand your distress, Rita. However, what you are asking is for us to give you classified information that could jeopardize our entire future if the wrong people read it just so you can do better than Mr. Lovegood."
Rita crossed her arms but didn't respond.
"We can not under any circumstances jeopardize the lives of everyone for one good article," Dumbledore continued. "However, if you're interested I may have just the thing that will at least put you back into business."
Rita wrinkled her nose in thought then uncrossed her arms. "All right I suppose that will do. What is this 'thing' you speak of?" she asked as her magical quill stood up above the notebook ready to write.
"You may have the first chance to interview young Mr. Potter once this is over with."
Rita stared at him suspiciously. "Excuse me, Dumbledore, but isn't the Potter kid deceased, to put it mildly?"
Dumbledore closed his eyes for a second before opening them.
"I have full confidence in my student. He has been trained well."
Rita sat in thought as the quill tapped in response. Finally, she leaned forward, "Very well. And if he is in fact dead?"
"Then you will have your classified information," he answered and Rita grinned in response. "However, that's only if a body is found and brought to me."
Rita nodded as she opened her notebook, "Yes, yes, of course. Now, the reason why I brought you all here is because I know a few facts that might be of help."
"Why were you at the game?" Moody demanded gruffly.
She stopped flipping through her notebook, a sly smile crossing her face. "Ah yes. That is because I have found the Death Eaters' hideout."
Minerva stared at her in shock, "How is that possible?"
Rita held up a hand, "Let me explain everything. Since the Daily Prophet has started to go downhill I had disguised myself more often as a beetle to find out anything I could. I really don't know how but I must've landed on a portkey while I was buzzing around and I ended up in this strange cemetery. Anyway, I heard some voices and followed them where I found many figures dressed in black robes wearing Death Eater masks. They were climbing up an incredibly steep hill toward a large run-down house. I was incredibly intrigued as you can imagine and buzzed past them to get a good look at the house. There was no address or sign of whose house it was.
As I was observing," she continued, crossing one leg over the other, "some idiot tried to squish me. Luckily enough I got away in time. Unfortunately, I couldn't get inside because I had flown away and the door closed on me before I could slip in. I tried to find an open window but I noticed the house seemed to be guarded by magic and I wasn't about to transfigure back into my human form and try to figure out the counter curse—I'm not that foolish," she said taking a sip of her drink.
Moody tapped his fingers impatiently waiting for her to continue. After a slow breath she spoke again.
"I decided to just wait until they came out again to see if I could overhear anything interesting. I waited there nearly five hours and I was ready to give up when a few came out. That's when I overheard one speaking about some disaster in Ireland that was going to take place during the match so of course I had to attend."
"Did you hear anything else?" Minerva asked.
Rita sat in thought, "Well, something about a Black Hag or whatever but that's all I caught."
Moody rolled his eyes, "So where's this precious information you have?"
Rita glared at him, "It just so happens, Alastor that I heard about Kingsley Shaklebolt being tortured."
"We know this," Moody grumbled.
"He's safely back with us though in terrible condition," Arthur spoke up.
"Yes, but what you don't know is the person I heard it from was none other than Peter Pettigrew," Rita smiled triumphantly. "So I now know he's alive and since it was rumored you were helping Sirius Black I assume that's good news for you. After all, with at least one witness he'll have a better chance of getting his name cleared."
Everyone's eyes but Dumbledore's dimmed. Rita had no idea of course but they remained silent about what happened to Sirius. Dumbledore's expression remained passive though his eyes gleamed unnaturally.
"That is good news," he said. "Do you remember where the portkey is?"
"I remember it's somewhere south in Auldale, right outside of Hogsmeade."
Dumbledore nodded and stood up. "Thank you for your time, Rita. We will get in touch with you later."
"I should hope so," she answered, before she stood up and walked out.
"Great, that was a waste of time," Moody scowled.
Dumbledore turned toward him, "Quite the contrary. She told us much more than she knows."
"What did she give away?" Remus asked.
Arthur sighed, "I hope some good news. Molly really needs it."
Minerva put a hand on his arm in a silent show of comfort.
"I will explain everything on the way back," Dumbledore said, heading out to leave and casting one last glance at the bartender.
The two exchanged secretive looks and Aberforth nodded with a subtle smile on his face. Dumbledore's eyes gleamed gratefully before he headed out. As the door closed behind them the pub was left empty—the bartender having strangely vanished.
XXXXXX
The King's Cross station was at least a mile or two away. Harry was jogging in the dark as quickly as he would allow himself. He was afraid that Voldemort's wish would come true if he went there.
But if I try to hide out his wish might come true anyway.
He knew he already made up his mind but it made him feel better to think things over in his head. His feet were beginning to feel sore and he was afraid a Dementor might pop out of no where, but for some reason he kept running. His pace slowed as he reached the station, keeping a firm grip on his wand just in case. He looked around for platform 7. He hid behind one of the pillars to wave his wand to see the time. He was ten minutes early. He didn't know what to expect but he was ready for anything. Cautiously he moved toward the train tracks searching around for any signs of a trap.
He stopped still when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew this feeling all too well. He whipped out his wand and wheeled around, pointing his wand at the figure behind him Harry's eyes widened. The figure illuminated before him in the dim light looked like Dumbledore, only younger and with a shorter beard.
"Dumbledore?" Harry whispered, staring at the familiar image.
The man took a step forward as if prepared to greet him then without warning he whipped out his own wand and pointed at him. Even without words the disarm spell had been cast and Harry's wand flew out of his hand.
Harry stared back in shock noting that the man's eyes appeared almost fierce. Harry could feel his heart pounding as he realized he let his guard down too easily. Dumbledore would be disappointed in him. Suddenly he wished he could at least say goodbye to him. Perhaps there was a way to reason with the stranger.
The man stood up straight then unexpectedly threw his wand back to him. Harry just barely caught it and he stared at the man in surprise. Did he want to duel? Did he think that had been too easy against the supposedly powerful Harry Potter? To Harry's shock the man put his wand back inside his robe.
"You shouldn't let your guard down so easily," the man said smoothly, approaching him. "You never know if you're being deceived—if the person you see if really a mirage set up as bait."
Harry stared at him uncertainly as he came within two feet of him. His mind was screaming at him to disarm the man, like when he had wanted to kill Sirius in his third year, and again he hesitated. Thoughts of Sirius clouded his concentration and the voice screaming at him began to fade. A warm hand touched his shoulder and Harry looked up at him, not realizing he had put his head down in defeat.
A soft smile graced the man's features and Harry suddenly didn't feel scared anymore.
"Come now, Harry Potter you can't give up that easily. You have a war to win. You're still young though so you have plenty of time to learn. I'm sure you've had enough excitement by now. I assume you're exhausted and hungry."
Harry's eyes widened as he remembered where he saw the man. He was the man who was the bartender at The Hog's Head when he went with his friends almost a year ago to start the DA club. When Harry first saw him he thought he looked like a grumpy old man who looked familiar, but now he looked different—powerful and kind, just like Dumbledore.
"Who…?" Harry whispered, unable to finish his sentence.
"Oh forgive me, my name is Aberforth Dumbledore. I am also a spy for the Order but the only one who knows that is my brother Albus. After all, what happened to poor Kingsley could happen to any of the other Order members. If Voldemort found out I was alive and helping the Order…Well I'm sure you could see what problems that could cause," he looked down at him.
"But—"
"No time for explanations, Harry. The Dementors can still sense you. Once we get out of here I will answer any questions you have," he said.
Harry immediately closed his mouth and didn't say another word as he led him over to platform 7 and gripped his arm tightly. He touched the pillar between platforms 7 and 8 and muttered something under his breath. Harry stared up at him just before he felt a fluttery sensation in his stomach and he was pushed forward through the pillar. A few seconds later they appeared in Hogsmeade. Harry glanced around noting the dead silence. Aberforth led him to The Hog's Head. Once inside he closed and sealed the door with a charm before gesturing towards a seat.
"Now then, before I send you off on your way with the portkey Dumbledore gave me, what would you like to know?"
"Um…well, if you don't mind Sir—"
"Please call me Aberforth, Harry. I'm not your Headmaster after all," he smiled.
"Well, how come I've never met you before?"
He smiled kindly as he leaned back in his seat, summoning butterbeers for the both of them.
"It is as I mentioned before. Lord Voldemort doesn't know I exist right now. He thinks I died during the first war. In fact, no one but Dumbledore knows I'm alive. I couldn't very well show up at your school when I'm presumed dead."
"Wouldn't people recognize you since you work here?"
"Ah, so you did notice me here?" he smiled. "Then you know I'm the same person that is the bartender here even when I had a disguise on the day you saw me. You are an exceptional student, Harry, just like Dumbledore told me," he stated sincerely, the familiar twinkle lighting his eyes.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean by disguise?"
"Well sometimes when I'm out of this pub I have no beard or a dreadfully long one like my brother. Sometimes I have gray hair and sometimes I have brown hair. Do you understand?"
Images of Tonks changing her appearance came to mind. Aberforth suddenly flickered and Harry had to blink to make sure he hadn't imagined it. Surely he had. It was almost like he had…faded for a split second.
"Is everything alright, Harry?" the elderly man gazed at him curiously.
Harry blinked and ignored the question. "You have the same ability as Tonks?"
Aberforth smiled, "Indeed, only I daresay she is only half metamorphic. I on the other hand am fully one and have learned to completely master it. It's the only thing I've ever been good at, unlike my brother who has mastered in everything he tried."
"What is that ability?" Harry asked curiously.
"A metamorphmagus is someone who has the ability to change their appearance of course. The ability is very rare nowadays I'm afraid," he answered.
"If you don't mind me asking, what's the full power?"
"Ah, it's the ability to transfigure yourself into any human being you want. Most metamorphmagus wizards and witches can only transfigure into people they've met, but I have a very rare gift of being able to turn into anyone I imagine."
Harry stared at him in awe. "So…is that how you spy for the Order?"
"Indeed. They think I'm a new member—a Death Eater who is Dolohov's son."
"But…wouldn't Dolohov…"
He chuckled, "Know that I wasn't his twenty something year old son? Sure, if he wasn't placed under a mind spell. Without Lord Voldemort knowing it we captured Dolohov and managed to get a little bit of information out of him, but not much. Voldemort is very good with keeping his information protected. However, Dumbledore placed a powerful mind spell on him so that he would think I was his son. Well, stepson technically. Everyone believes I'm the son of his second wife, but anyway, I don't need to bore you with technicalities."
Harry hesitated, after taking a sip of his butterbeer, and glanced up at him. "How does one become a metamorphmagus?"
Aberforth blinked at him curiously then smiled. "My boy, anyone can become one if they truly desire. Look what Lord Voldemort became because he desired so much dark power. It's in us all innately, though it's easier to access the ability if it's passed through the family genes, but it's not impossible for just anyone to learn it, or anything for that matter. Most witches and wizards nowadays rely solely on their wands and wands alone. They don't remember the power that comes from within. After all, it's not really the wand that makes you a wizard it's the gifts you are born with."
Harry nodded thankfully and took one last swig of his butterbeer.
"Come now, I suppose it's time for you to get going. And Harry," he said, his expression darkening. "You must keep in mind one thing. That this conversation we had isn't real in the sense that it's actually happening, but yet what I say is the truth. It won't make sense to you now, but know that there are more dangers to what is going on than you can imagine so far. Now…here's your portkey," he said holding a jade coin out to him. "Take good care of it—it's a family heirloom."
Harry nodded, still baffled by his words. "Thanks for saving my life."
He smiled in return, "You don't need to thank me, Harry. What you've suffered through for everyone else is enough. I'll be seeing you again…in the near future."
With that he dropped the coin into Harry's hand. Before he knew it, without even the familiar tug behind his nasal, he was back at the house he wished he'd never see again. Harry's eyes nearly started to water as he saw the sign: 12 Grimmauld Place. The coin had mystiously vanished, but Harry took no notice as he walked unsteadily to the door. It was almost as if he thought it was a mirage. He reached out to touch the doorknob and stopped centimeters away. It was like he could sense it. He turned it, feeling his heart racing and pushed it open.
The inside was just how he remembered it from the last time he was there. The memory of Sirius was so much stronger now that it overwhelmed him. For several minutes he couldn't move and stood staring at the room. Wiping at his eyes, he made his way upstairs. He assumed if anyone was here most of them would be in the meeting room, but he was hoping his friends would be upstairs. He walked across the creaky floorboards stopping when he thought he heard whispering. He realized it must've been late so perhaps everyone was asleep. It felt like his walking had slowed greatly as he neared the room he and Ron shared the last time. Harry sucked in a deep breath and cracked the door open.
The room was dark proving that either no one was there or they were asleep. Harry stepped inside quietly, blinking in the dark to see if he could make out an outline in the bed. Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck lifted.
"Hi Harry." Ron said.
Harry swiveled around, blinking through the darkness. A figure shrouded in shadow was standing before him and it sounded like Ron. How come he didn't at all sound surprised to see that his best friend had come back from the grave?
The room was suddenly illuminated with brightness and Harry lifted a hand to shield his eyes. Ron was standing right in front of him and soon Fred, George, Hermione and Ginny stepped into the room.
"Hi guys," Harry said awkwardly.
Hermione gazed at him and then turned to Ginny. "We should probably go downstairs and eat."
All their eyes locked onto Harry who was standing rigidly in front of them. Why weren't they jumping with joy?
"It's time for dinner!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she walked by. "Oh hello Harry, do join us for dinner."
Harry nodded silently, unsure of what to do. Even Mrs. Weasley didn't seem surprised to see him. Did they not get the paper? Had they not heard about the Dursleys' house? Fred glanced over at Harry and gestured for him to follow. Silently, Harry followed them down the stairs into the dining area.
The table was full of the delicious meal Mrs. Weasley had cooked. It was the exact feast she had made during Harry's fifth year when he had first stepped foot inside Sirius' old house. Strangely, no one really seemed to pay him any heed. It was almost like he hadn't disappeared off the face of the earth. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so egotistical to think that they'd cry or hug him to death or anything, but the papers had said he had died, so why didn't any of them seem ecstatic to see him? It was all too…normal. It was just like he had been with them all along or something.
The door opened and Dumbledore entered followed by a small recognizable group.
"Dumbledore," Molly smiled. "Please eat."
"There's no need," Dumbledore said calmly. His head turned until his eyes landed on Harry. He smiled—the familiar twinkle in his eye. "Welcome back Harry."
He said it as if he had expected him back around that time. Mr. Weasley's eyes drifted over to him, not looking surprised either.
"Hello Harry."
"Er, hi," Harry answered.
"Alright eat up," Molly said.
All of them sat at the table, except for Dumbledore who just stood there watching. Mad-Eye Moody was there too, but they remained oddly quiet. Now and again Fred and George exchanged discussions and Harry overheard one about their Extendable Ears.
"Wait, but you already made those, I thought," Harry interrupted.
The twins glanced in his direction, but neither one of them responded. As Harry put the tasteless food in his mouth, he remembered the first time he had entered the house. Sirius had been full of energy but it pained him too much to think about his Godfather. It was strangely quiet and the conversations he overheard from his friends were bits and pieces.
"Harry, remember you have that hearing tomorrow and we must make your hair look nice," Molly said suddenly.
He nearly dropped his fork. Had she just mentioned the hearing—the same one from his fifth year? That couldn't have been right.
"Wha-?" Harry began but was interrupted.
"It's time for bed now kids. It's been an incredibly long day and after having such a late dinner you're probably exhausted," she said, patting Harry's arm as he passed her. "Keep your doors shut tight and go straight to sleep. You hear me Fred, George?"
"Yes mum," George sighed.
"We hear you," Fred said.
Harry followed them up the stairs and Ginny, Hermione and Ron followed him. They went to their respective rooms to go to sleep and not a word was passed to him. Although he was finally back where he wanted to be—in the wizard world and with his friends—it didn't seem like things were looking up much, except for the fact that there weren't Dementors roaming close by ready to suck out his soul. Still…something felt weird. The food he had eaten didn't seem to fill him up like it normally did. Sighing heavily, Harry climbed into bed knowing full well he wouldn't sleep much that night, not with everything that happened and being in the house that still held too many memories of Sirius. Still, he took off his glasses and set them aside.
Goodnight Sirius.
Harry's eyes closed and he allowed his body to relax even if it was for a short while. Hopefully by the time morning came he'd have a little more energy to deal with all that was going on.
TO BE CONTINUED…