Harry Potter and the Power of the Past
Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.
Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!
S/N: This chapter's anticlimactic, but the good stuff will start soon, in two chapters, so be prepared.
S/N 2: The chapters should be around this length for now on.
Chapter 21: The light will always swell
Harry gasped awake, jolting upright in his bed. He glanced around the room, trying to remember where he was: his home, his room. His eyes flicked over to Tonks, who had stirred when he awoke, and she had an eye open to him, as if she were only half awake. "Go back to bed, sweetie." He mumbled, kissing her cheek, tenderly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up, walking over to the bathroom. He took a quick shower, as his dream ran through his mind. He needed to tell someone, tell Dumbledore, just in case it was something more than a dream. What could it be, though? Was he having some sort of prophetic visions while he was asleep? No, he said to himself, I'm not a seer, and seers don't have visions, they have prophecies. Realizing what he needed to do, he threw on some clothes, ran to the fireplace, and flooed out.
The door to Albus Dumbledore's office clicked shut, as the visitor that was just there left a second before the fire in the fireplace sprung to life with green. Stumbling out, Harry Potter appeared in the Headmaster's office, looking frazzled and worried. "Albus," He murmured, turning to the wizard who was behind his desk. "I saw something last night; in my dreams. It was Voldemort. I don't know if it was real or not, but he's…he's constructed himself a new body, I think he might…"
Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping Harry from speaking, pausing him mid-sentence. "I know, Harry: Voldemort is back." He gestured to the door, his eyes swiveling to the fine oak. "Severus has just relayed me the events of last night." He said, surprisingly relaxed, as if he wasn't worried.
Harry cocked an eyebrow, somewhat remembering Voldemort having talked to Snape during his dream. "What are we going to do?" Harry questioned, looking at Dumbledore as the aged wizard looked up at a portrait.
"Go and get Remus Lupin for me, will you, Glanmore? Tell him the basics." He asked a former headmaster, who seemed to be older than Hogwarts itself. With a simple and silent nod, the wizard left his frame, traveling down to the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts chamber, where Remus Lupin was. Dumbledore then flicked his wand out, releasing a silver bird, which disappeared as soon as it appeared. "Hagrid is needed as well." He said to Harry, answering his quizzical gaze. "You saw Voldemort's return in your dreams, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry nodded, biting his lip. "It was as if…as if I was Voldemort, himself." He instinctively reached up to his lightning bolt-shaped scar, which pricked a little; something that it had never done. "I saw everything from his point of view, from his eyes."
Dumbledore studied Harry for a few moments, before saying, "Clear out your mind before you go to sleep from now on. I believe that through the scar, you and Voldemort are now connected; you'll be able to feel what he feels and see what he sees. Likewise, it goes both ways, he'll be able to see what you see and feel what you feel. Your Occlumency is needed now more than ever. The basics, I remember, were something that we spent the most time on: remember those lessons. Remember what I taught you." Dumbledore said, knowledgably, his voice caring and soft.
Just then, the door bursted open, and in came three people: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Rubeus Hagrid. They all had looks of worry on their face, with Lupin's being the most tired and worn out of them all. "Albus, I hope you don't mind me coming along, but I was visiting Remus last night, full moon and all, and I wanted to help anyway I could." Sirius muttered, hurriedly. It seemed as if they all had sprinted up here, as they were all huffing, trying to catch their breaths; their hands were on their knees.
"No, it's good that you are here, Sirius." Dumbledore stated, looking at the man with his twinkling blue eyes. "I have an assignment for you, too." He flicked his eyes over to Harry. "Harry, I want you to recruit new Order members from your generation; those who are willing to fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. You, Sirius, I want you to go to the old gang and see who is willing and able to fight. Start with Mundungus."
"Right away, sir. Meet at my place in an hour." Sirius said, jetting over to the fireplace that was behind Dumbledore's desk. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration, a fire seemingly lit in his heart and mind. Throwing a handful of floo powder into it, the flames blasted green, and with a yell, he was gone, presumably to find Mundungus Fletcher.
"I'll start with Hermione and Shacklebolt, they'll join straight away." Harry said, biting his lip. Hermione would be a big help in gathering people, plus, with her job, she could get information that would be otherwise hidden from them. And Shacklebolt, who was a very powerful wizard in his own right, would be huge in following Voldemort's moves, what with being the head Auror and having the department at his disposal.
"Harry," Dumbledore reminded, staring at the younger wizard over his half-moon spectacles. "Make sure the people you pick are trustworthy, understand? We need to be secretive for the time being. Voldemort does not know that we know he's back." He reminded, just making sure Harry knew that: he trusted the man to no end, knowing the unimaginable powers and intelligence he had, but, when it came down to it, Harry was still young and inexperienced.
"Don't worry, Albus; I'm going to my friends first, and then I'll expand, making sure those I ask aren't willing to betray us." Harry said, entering the fireplace and flooing out.
"You, Remus, I need you to go to the werewolf camps." Dumbledore ordered, his eyes twisting over to the werewolf. "I know this is a lot to ask for, but Severus has it on good authority that Voldemort intends to send Greyback," At this Remus gave out a shiver; Fenrir Greyback had been the werewolf who had bitten Remus, giving him his lycanthropy. "To them immediately."
"I'll leave now, Albus." Remus nodded, turning and running out of the room.
"And you, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, speaking to the only person left in the room, the half-giant known as Hagrid. "I need you to be our envoy to the giants. Voldemort has already sent out Macnair to them, intent on gaining their help just like he did during the last war."
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore, sir." Hagrid agreed, nodding his big, hairy head; his graying beard flapped up and down. "I'll call Maxime, and she'll come with me." The half-giant sprinted out of the office, his tall frame ducking underneath the threshold to fit. The rumbling of his feet hitting the cold stone floor echoed around the halls, so greatly loud that the Hufflepuffs could hear from their common room, located in a cellar two floors down.
Dumbledore gave a great sigh, feeling his age again. These moments were coming more and more frequent, a clear sign that his life was nearing its end. There was so much still to do, he knew, with Voldemort back, and he could only hope that his body would allow it. Glancing up at a portrait of a Headmistress back in the 1700's, he said, "Go to Minerva for me, would you?" The old witch nodded, knowing the situation and ran out of her frame without a fuss. Swiveling around in his seat, he threw a handful of floo powder into the flames, and stuck his head in. "Aberforth?" He called out, looking around the room.
"Cedric! Cedric!" Harry screamed, his head appearing in a greenish haze. A few seconds later, he heard the thumps of someone running down the stairs. He had decided to go to Cedric first, his best friend, because he needed to see he was okay; the vision from Voldemort's eyes leaving a haze of fear, of worry in his mind.
Cedric slid into the room, looking as if he had just woke up; he had no shirt on, and bare feet. "What? What is it, Potty?" He said, looking down at Harry with wide, somewhat nervous looking eyes.
"Get dressed and meet me at Sirius' in a half an hour." Harry ordered, his voice grim. Cedric leveled a curious gaze at his friend, asking a question with his gray eyes. Harry bit his lip, shaking his head. "Voldemort's back." Cedric gasped, but didn't get a chance to respond as Harry disappeared, leaving the man alone. Turning, he sprinted up to his bedroom, quickly took a shower, threw on some clothes, and flooed to Sirius' house.
"Hermione!" Harry said, hurriedly, as he appeared in the Krums' living room. It was a peaceful room, with earthly tones, comfortable couches, and bookshelves and windows adorning the walls. Located on the northern tip of England, their home was just an hour or two away from Scotland.
"Harry?" Viktor mumbled, wiping his eyes; they were droopy and saggy, showing nothing but tiredness. Hermione came in a few seconds later, wrapping her nightgown around her, her hair a jumbled mess. "What is it?"
"No time to explain, but get dressed and meet me at Sirius' house in a half an hour…Voldemort's returned." Harry ordered, disappearing before they could press the issues. As if it were lightning, that revelation seemed to wake Hermione, for her eyes shot open, and she turned to her husband in fear. Then, without saying a word, she turned and ran up the stairs to get ready, knowing that Harry was serious in what he said.
"Roger!" Harry yelled out, appearing in Roger's fireplace. The man he was calling for looked down from the couch he was sitting on, giving Harry a small smile, as if expecting him. Harry gave a half-hearted smile back, glad that Roger, his oldest and closest friend, was okay, was safe, as was his family.
"I already know," Roger said, knowingly. "Cedric just told me. I'll be there. Do you need me to do anything before then?" He questioned, hoping to help out anyway he could.
"No," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I…I don't know, we'll see what it is we have to do at the meeting. See you there," He said, before disappearing. Roger sighed lowly, rising to his feet and heading out of the sitting room.
Shacklebolt Kingsley munched on a bowl of cereal, as he read the daily prophet in his living room. Being a Saturday, he liked to spend the mornings resting and relaxing, allowing the week's tension to wash away from him, leaving his muscles refreshed and ready. He flipped the page, turning to the Quidditch section when the fireplace flames roared green, and Harry Potter's face came in view. "Shack." He said, grabbing the Auror's attention.
"What is it?" The bald wizard questioned, cocking an eyebrow. There was something about Harry's voice that screamed out a serious situation, which was saying something considering Harry rarely got nervous.
"Voldemort's back." Harry answered, grimly. His eyes shifted to Kingsley's attire, which was an easy and comfortable set of red robes, with muggle jeans underneath. "We're all meeting at Sirius' in a half an hour, see what we need to do to fight him. Meet us there?"
"Of course." Kingsley answered, dread rising up inside. He remembered the massacres that happened last time Voldemort was in power, and now after twenty years of peace, the menace was back, and maybe even more powerful than before. Harry nodded to him, somehow knowing just what the man was thinking before disappearing, presumably to recruit another member. Kingsley sat in his chair for a few minutes, his cereal having been forgotten. He gripped his wand, gently rolling a finger over it, hoping that whatever power it had, it would keep him and his friends and family safe from the carnage.
"George, Fred!" Harry called, hoping the two were in the shop already. He couldn't spend much more time gathering people, since he had a much more delicate situation to take care of, that would surely take a good amount of time, still to do. Seeing a man with long red hair and freckles coming towards the fireplace, Harry said, "Bill, right?" Not really knowing which older Weasley was which.
"Ah, yeah," Bill Weasley nodded, wondering who it was that was floo calling his brothers. Hearing noises from behind, he turned and watched as three of his brothers came into the back room as well; George and Fred, his twin brothers; and his younger brother Charlie, who was usually away in Romania taking care of Dragons. "There's someone calling for you two." Bill told his brothers, taking a step back to allow them through.
"Harry?" Fred questioned, putting the box he was carrying down on the ground, and turning his attention to the fireplace. "What is it?"
"I need your help, guys." Harry said, solemnly. "Voldemort's back and we're rounding up people to fight him. Meet me at Sirius' in a half an hour, and I'll explain everything, okay?" Nodding to them, he disappeared, leaving them all dazed and confused. Having grown up during Voldemort's last rise to power, they all dreaded the wizard, knowing just how dangerous and destructive he was.
"I knew I came back for a reason." Charlie said, looking at his brothers. "I'm in, so you two will have to tell me where Sirius, I'm assuming Sirius Black, lives so I can go to that meeting." He had come back to Great Britain, to the Burrow in Scotland, just a few days ago, having a gut feeling that something was about to happen and that his family would need him, but didn't know what it was at the time. Now, having heard from Harry Potter, a famous wizard, that Voldemort, the most feared Dark Wizard of the age, had returned, he now understood why he had come back.
"I'm in, too." Bill nodded, knowing that he was a good enough wizard to help out whatever resistance people would put up. As a Curse-Breaker, he had dealt with dangerous curses and dark magic all of his adult life, and knew that whatever the Death Eaters would throw at him, he would be able to handle it. He had put in for a transfer t
"We're all in." George muttered, turning and walking into the shop. "Verity, you're going to have to work today by yourself, me and Fred are leaving on a few errands." A young witch with short blonde hair, wearing the magenta robes of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes looked up, nodding her head.
Harry appeared in his living room shortly after having talked with the Weasleys. He headed towards the kitchen; knowing Tonks would be there, having woken up when Harry jumped out of bed. Sure enough, she sat at the counter, reading the paper with a mug of tea close to her mouth. Zeali cleaned the table a few feet away from her, whistling a small tune happily. "Tonks, Nymphadora," Harry said, making her turn to him with worried eyes. "I'm sorry for leaving so quickly but…Voldemort has returned; I saw it with my own eyes in my dream. Then, when I went to go tell Dumbledore, he agreed, having spoken with Snape, his spy, already."
"What?" Tonks asked, shocked and confused by what he had just said. Admittedly, it was a lot to take in. "What are you talking about?" She questioned him, cocking an eyebrow.
"Voldemort is back." Harry muttered, noticing that Zeali had stopped whistling, and had turned to the wizard with wide, scared eyes. The elf fell to the floor, sitting Indian style and curling himself into a ball, placing his now tear-stricken face between his knees, and beginning to rock backward and forward. Harry cocked an eyebrow at Tonks, before inching over to his elf, kneeling beside the magical being and gingerly touching his shoulder. "Zeali, what's wrong?"
"Zeali knows of what the Dark Lord did in the past." The elf rasped out between sobs. "Zeali knows that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked Master Harry's family; he knows that it was Master Harry who triumphed over the Dark Lord last time. Zeali knows that his family will be targets. Last time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in power, House-elves were treated like vermin, Zeali's heard. Zeali does not want any of that to happen, Master Harry, sir."
Harry bit his lip, seeing just how young Zeali was. Still just a teenager in human years, it would seem. "Zeali," Harry said softly, rubbing the elf's back. Zeali pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child. "Don't worry, nothing will happen to us; and you, you will definitely not be treated like vermin, I promise you that." Zeali looked up at Harry, and wrapped his small arms around the wizard's neck, hugging him tightly. Harry patted the elf's back, leaning back and giving him a small smile. Zeali smiled back, lifted himself off the floor, and went back to his cleaning, whistling the song he was before.
Tonks, who had been watching the exchange with teary eyes, stared at Harry, asking a question silently. Then, rising from her chair, she said, "What are we going to do?"
"Well," Harry replied, coming over to her. "I've been gathering people to fight for the last half hour, and we're all meeting at Sirius' in a twenty minutes. I have another person to talk to before I head on over there, but you could get ready and meet me there, if you want." Tonks nodded, planted a kiss on Harry's lips, and headed out the door, mumbling something about Dark Lords ruining the plans she had with Gaetana. Harry waved goodbye to Zeali, then walked into the living room and stuck his head into the fire, throwing green floo powder into it. "Hey, Queenie, is he here?" Harry asked, his head appearing in the fireplace of a beautiful living room.
A woman looked up from the paper she was reading with a smile, and nodded her head. She had brown hair, hazel eyes, a small nose, some freckles on her face, and pink lips; she was of a pale color, though she made it look magnificent. "He's in his study, Harry." She said, gesturing to the hallway across from the couch she was sitting on.
Harry flooed the rest of his body in, stumbled forward, and landed with a thud as he fell onto the hardwood floor. Rising to his feet, he shrugged to the woman, who was watching him with an amused grin on her face. "I'll talk to you later," Harry said, walking out of the living room and into the study that was across the hall. He gave a slight knock on the opened door, announcing his presence.
The man looked up from behind his big oak desk, and nodded. "I know why you're here. There's no need to ask, I'll do it." He said, quickly and quietly, motioning Harry into the room. Papers were scattered around on his desk, and he made a move to clear them off, but instead just left them, not worrying about it.
"How did you know?" Harry asked, taking a seat in the chair that was in front of the desk. He glanced about the room, noticing the different colors and rich woods that gave the office a homey feel.
"My father came to me this morning, a little over an hour ago, and told me that I would be receiving the mark; no questions about it." The man sighed, rolling up his left sleeve. Harry's eyes gazed over the vivid blood red skull tattoo that had a snake for a tongue. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you came and asked me, so I took it; no questions asked."
"Get up, I want to test you." Harry said, rising from his chair, and walking into the center of the room. The man followed Harry, and stopped a few feet away, cocking an eyebrow up to him. "Lie to me." Harry ordered, making eye contact with the man. He perused his mind, searching for the memory of when they first met. He found it after a few seconds, and watched as it played within his mind's eye. It, unsurprisingly, was much different than what had really happened. Instead of being friendly like the truth, the memory showed that the two were very hostile to one another, insulting one another with a scowl and a sneer. "Good." Harry said, nodding in satisfaction. "Now, block me out completely." He raised his wand, and called out, "Legilimens!" He bombarded the man's mind, full on attacking his memories and emotions. A grin formed on Harry's face as he felt himself being repelled, slowly but surely being pushed away. Then, with one great burst, he was forced to occlude his own mind, as the man threw him out.
"He tried it this morning; I could feel the ting in the back of my head." The man said, once Harry had completely left his mind. Having been taught the basics of Occlumency and Legilimency by Harry, after Dumbledore taught Harry, he studied the two practices even further by himself, becoming extremely proficient in both. He knew that this was one of the reasons they had been friends: to help each other out if dark days were to come. He could give Harry much needed information from the dark side, while Harry could protect him and his family when the judgments came down.
"You…you don't have to do this, you know." Harry told him, hoping he wasn't just doing this because Harry was asking him to. It would be a shame if the man risked his life in a cause, in something that he didn't believe in, and only did it because he felt forced. They both went back to their chairs, sitting down and looking at each other, their eyes locked.
"No," He shook his head, frowning. "I do. My father stained my name, and I want to wipe it clean for my children to grow up with, even if no one knows about it. Plus, I owe you from way back in Hogwarts." He said, scowling at the thought of his father; he loved him, he truly did, but he was disgusted by his father's weakness, his susceptibility when it came to being swoon, being charmed by dark wizards like Voldemort.
Harry nodded, knowing he wouldn't change the man's mind. "You don't owe me anything, we both helped each other out." They were both silent for a few minutes, each going over that clear fact: they both helped each other out. "Are you busy?" Harry questioned, breaking the silence. "Because I want to bring you to Dumbledore, have him discuss things with you."
The man shrugged, rising to his feet. "No, I'm free for the time being. Shall we?" He asked, gesturing to the door. Harry nodded, and followed him out to the sitting room, where the floo-connected fireplace was. "I'll be back in a little while, hunny." The man told his wife, who looked up from her paper and blew him a kiss goodbye; he smiled back at her, and put his black hood on. Harry waved to her as he disappeared in a flash of green flames, appearing in Dumbledore's office just a few seconds later.
Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at the pair as they stumbled out of the fireplace; gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk, he watched as they respectively took them. "Harry," He nodded to the wizard, and then flicked his eyes over to the other wizard with him, who was hiding behind his black hood; a shadow covered his face. "I trust you had something to tell me that couldn't wait for the meeting?"
"Albus," Harry replied, gesturing to the wizard next to him. "What we say stays with us, okay?" Albus gave Harry a curious glance, before the younger wizard continued. "We have another spy within Voldemort's ranks. The catch is, however, no one besides you and me will know who it is, understood? He is my friend and is doing this as a favor to me, I will not risk the Dark Lord finding out just who it is that is feeding us information."
Dumbledore's eyes shifted over to the cloaked wizard, as the aged man gazed into the shadow, as if trying to decipher whom it was. Then, with a gentle push, he was forced out of the man's mind, preventing him from gathering any information. "Understood." He gave the pair a small smile, already having an idea on just who it was. His suspicions were correct as the man pulled down his hood, revealing himself. "Now will you be attending the meetings or will you be communicating with Harry directly?" He questioned, wondering just what it was the two had in mind. Another spy, another informant, would be great for the Order and help out things immensely.
Ten minutes later, all three occupants of the room rose from their chairs, each heading towards the fireplace. "I figured we'd communicate through the journals for the time being." Harry said, as his friend and new spy for the Order grabbed a handful of floo powder. "You still have yours, don't you?" Harry questioned, hoping he still had his charmed journal from their Hogwarts days.
Harry had charmed twin journals so they could talk to each other wherever they may be during their sixth year. It was simple really: whatever one wrote in one journal would appear in the other. And when writing did appear, the usually blank cover would change into having a title, usually saying 'The Writing on the Wall', though it could be changed if so desired. The only catch was that one had to know the password to unlock the journal, making it all but impossible to read if you didn't have the password. It was a simple, but brilliant charm of Harry's own invention that allowed people to talk over great distances, much quicker than it would take if they were using an owl to send letters, and much more convenient than having to stick your head in a fireplace to talk through the floo network.
"Of course." He nodded, knowing that the said journal was in his top draw, safely tucked away. "Write me later and tell me when the next meeting is." The man smiled, throwing the floo powder into the flames and disappearing back to his house. Harry stared at the fireplace for a few seconds, taking in all that had happened during the day, then, with a swift motion, entered the flames and flooed to Sirius' house; Dumbledore flooing right behind him.
When they appeared in Grimmauld Place, they could hear an assortment of voices coming from the basement, and headed that way. Walking down the creaky steps and coming into view of the group, they were both pleasantly surprised to see all who had come: there were all of the people Harry had asked (including Bill and Charlie Weasley), and members from the old gang like Dedalus Diggle; Elphias Doge; Hestia Jones; Mundungus Fletcher; Sturgis Podmore; and Minerva McGonagall. Then there were the new people that weren't asked by Harry, but by Sirius and other Order members, presumably. There was Emmeline Vance, looking stately as ever; Broderick Bode, a known Unspeakable; and, last but not least, Gaetana Robards, friend and bridesmaid of Tonks—presumably on vacation from the Italian Ministry. There were a grand total of twenty-seven wizards and witches there, not including both Harry's spy and Severus Snape who both weren't in attendance.
As soon as everyone saw that Dumbledore had arrived, their whispering stopped, and each turned towards the grand wizard, staring at him in anticipation. He gave them a warm smile, recognizing all of the faces in the room; he went to school with some of them, taught some others, and watched over the last as their Headmaster while they attended Hogwarts. His eyes ran over them, noticing that they all had a certain look of defiance in their eyes, except Mundungus, who was gazing around the room, licking his lips at all the wonderfully expensive things he could sell on the black market. The dinning room table, he noted, had been pushed off into the corner, making more room for all to stand comfortably; though, even with the table in the center, there was plenty of space.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as another guest tramped down the stairs, somewhat lazily. Emerging from the shadows was an aged man, with long wire-gray hair, and moon-shaped glasses. He nodded tensely to Dumbledore, and then threw his hood over his head, as if his very presence was risky. He maneuvered through the crowd, each as silent as they were before he had come; passing Harry, he reached up and gripped the wizard's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Harry smiled, having been fond of the man ever since they met during his third year when he had went into the wrong pub during a Hogsmeade trip. Though, even with the exchange that had just happened and the brief glimpse that they saw of his face, no one but a select few knew just who it was: Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge being the main ones, having been friends with Albus since their Hogwarts days.
"Right," Dumbledore shook his head, regaining his wits. His eyes lingered on the man that had just come down, somewhat sizing him up. His brother, Aberforth, was a wizard who knew Albus better than anyone; he knew how the great wizard worked, knew of his past, and knew what he was like before he took center stage in the war against darkness. Though they were brothers, they were complete opposites from one another, and their relationship, though somewhat loving, was a rocky one. There was a time, back when Aberforth was still in Hogwarts, when the pair hadn't spoken with each other for ten years. "As you all have almost certainly heard, Voldemort," There was a shudder that ran through the group, but Dumbledore paid no mind to it: fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. "Has returned."
"All of you are very brave to have come, for that means you will fight against this terror." Dumbledore continued, looking at each and every person in the room. "This fight will not be an easy one; sacrifices, unfortunately, will have to be made. But know that all we do is for the greater good." The hooded Aberforth Dumbeldore gave a grunt, laughing for a few seconds and rolling his unseen eyes. "This, the Order of the Phoenix, must be kept a secret for the time being for Voldemort does not know that we know he's back. Secrecy and surprise will be our friends. Honestly, we have not gathered anymore information as of yet, so there really is nothing else to say right now, but by tomorrow we will know what it is we have to do."
The group started to whisper amongst each other as Dumbledore turned, and walked over to the stairs, where Harry stood, leaning against the wall; his arms were across his chest, looking casual. "You will tell me when our mutual friend contacts you, right?" He asked quietly, making sure no one else could hear.
"Of course," Harry answered, nodding his head to emphasize the fact. "I'm sure he'll be attending our next meeting; though hidden, masked, I would presume." Dumbledore glanced around the room, absentmindedly studying all of the Order Members; some of them were great wizards, some were in high positions and could gather information, and others were braver than anyone he had ever met or seen. All of their flaws and strengths ran through his mind, thinking about ways where they would be safest, yet still be able to help the Order.
Dumbledore watched Sirius make his way towards them, weaving in and out of the crowd. "Ah, thank you for allowing us to use your home, Sirius." Dumbledore smiled as Sirius stopped about five feet away from him.
"It's ideal for headquarters," Sirius shrugged, indifferently, willing to do anything to help the cause. "My father put every security measure known to Wizard-kind on it; it's unplottable so muggles could never come and call." His eyes shifted over to Harry, and he gave his godson a wide smile. "Or at least that's what Harry told me when he checked the wards."
"Yes, well," Dumbledore replied, his blue gaze moving about the basement, as if seeing the magic that was entwined within. "I would like to add more to the house, if you don't mind. A Fidelius charm being the main one."
"No, no, of course not." Sirius said, shrugging again. Then, looking into Dumbledore's eyes, he said, "Though, I have a request: I want to be the secret keeper. I…I don't trust anyone to do it, including you. Bad experience, you know?"
"Sure," Dumbledore agreed, not seeing the harm in it. Sirius Black was an honorable, noble, and powerful wizard, who was devoted to the side of good. He was a man who tragically lost a part of his life due to lies and deceit, yet still kept his innocence about him; a feat that not many could accomplish. "I'll come by later tonight and perform the magic. Harry, you'll need to be here with me and Sirius as well; it'll be good to show you some more powerful wards that I've never gotten around to." Harry nodded, knowing he still had a lot to learn about wards. "Good day, then, gentleman. I shall see you both tonight." Dumbledore smiled, walking up the stairs, leaving the rest of the Order.
When Dumbledore left, Aberforth leaving a few minutes after his brother, the group turned towards Harry, staring at him in curiosity. "Harry, you came to us, do you know how You-Know-Who came back?" Roger questioned, stirring the crowd as they buzzed with whispers. They all wanted to know just how it was possible for Voldemort, a wizard that had supposedly been dead for the last twenty years, to resurrect himself.
"I…" Harry stuttered, looking around the room. "I don't want to step on Dumbledore's toes, I think he was going to tell you all about it tomorrow." Seeing their un-amused faces, he sighed, and took a seat in one of the chairs that was usually situated around the dinning room table. "It all started with Barty Crouch, jr. He's somehow done something that has only been accomplished by one other person, and that someone is standing right next to me." His eyes flicked up to Sirius, who looked down at his godson quizzically. "He somehow faked his death, and escaped Azkaban. No one knew about it, of course, because they all assumed he was dead, so he was free to search for Voldemort in the forests of Albania. Once he found his master, they traveled back to England together, and prepared a potion that would grant Voldemort a new body. They kidnapped Mad-Eye Moody, and used his blood, Barty's flesh, and the bone of Voldemort's father to fuel the ritual. Once it was done, out came Voldemort, looking like the snake he is. He then summoned his Death Eaters, and gave them his orders. Mad-Eye Moody died, too, that's why he's not here." Harry finished, sadly, remembering the old and powerful Auror. In his hey-day, not many could have matched the man's wondrous powers.
"To Mad-Eye," Bill Weasley cheered, raising an invisible glass. The others did, too, honoring their fallen comrade: a wizard who was a renowned Auror, and a fighter for light. A few minutes later the room filtered out, everyone except a select few returning to their homes.
Hermione was the only one sitting at the table, her face blank and expressionless, though her eyes were watery. "Are you okay?" Viktor questioned his wife, coming over to her and rubbing her back. Cedric, Roger, Harry, Tonks and Sirius stopped at the door, turning and looking at the pair with worried eyes.
"You guys don't understand how scared I am. How scared I am for being a muggleborn. You don't know what its like to have that fear, the fear that bigots like Death Eaters are going to come after me just because I was born into a non-wizarding family." Hermione cried, overcome with emotion. "I love you all, you're all my best friends. Viktor, you're my husband and my best friend, but you don't know what its like. Harry, we've been friends since the very first train ride to Hogwarts, all those years ago when we were in the same compartment. Roger, your wife, Lisa, who I spent all those days and nights in the library with, we know each other like the back of our hands, but this…this you and her don't know what its like. Not because you're ignorant or anything, but you're not muggleborn." Her eyes flicked to each and every person in the room. "You're all purebloods."
"Hermione," Harry said softly, taking a step closer to her. "Nymphadora and I aren't…"
Hermione put her hand up to stop him. "I know, Harry, I know. But you have the Potter name to hide behind, and you haven't been very forthcoming with the fact that you're mother was a muggleborn. It's not your fault, really, because it wasn't like you were hiding it, but still…how many people, besides us and a few others, know that you're not a pureblood?"
"I…." Harry floundered, not knowing how to respond.
"No, Harry, you have nothing to be ashamed of, so don't be." Hermione said, sighing. "I'm just nervous, that's all. I've been considered a good witch, and now I, unfortunately, am going to have to prove myself, and I'm just worried about failure, because that equals death, and I can't stand the thought of losing any of you." Viktor wrapped his wife in a hug, whispering something in her ear inaudibly to the rest of the group; whatever it was that he said it made her smile, relax.
A few hours later, Harry sat in Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster sitting behind his desk, the portraits all looking down at them curiously, hoping they talked about something interesting. "You still don't know why Voldemort tried to kill you as a child, do you, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, his voice soft. "Over the years, that is a question that has not come out of your mouth while in my presence, has it? No," Dumbledore gave a small laugh. "Never, not once, have you asked, knowing that whatever the answer was, it wouldn't change anything. That, however, couldn't be farther from the truth, my boy."
"What are you talking about? I thought Voldemort attacked my parents because they annoyed him or something—what with escaping from him as many times as they did." Harry replied, not really knowing where this was going; nonetheless, however, a knot was tying itself around the pit of his stomach, slowly clenching it down.
"There was a prophecy, Harry." Dumbledore said, slowly. "A prophecy that was made over twenty years ago in my presence. It is a prophecy that came just after you were born, the same one that Voldemort knows of, but not its entirety. It is the very reason why he attacked you, Harry, not your parents: you. That night he went to your house, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy, but discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired."
"What does it say?" Harry asked, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "What does the prophecy say?" A nudging feeling was in his heart and mind, like he already knew what the prophecy said; as if what it would tell him wasn't something he didn't know.
Dumbledore rubbed his forehead, speaking in a voice that carried both wisdom and age. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can life while the other survives…The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
"How many other people know of this prophecy, Albus?" Harry muttered, his voice venomous. His eyes were closed tightly, and his left foot was tapping the floor, quickly, in either nerves or anger.
"I am the only person who knows its full contents, other than you, Harry." Dumbledore answered. "Voldemort knows only part of it, as he was told of it by a Death Eater who only heard part of it, himself."
"How could you do this?" Harry growled; he rose to his feet and finally allowed the anger that was boiling up come out. "What would have happened if you would have died before Voldemort returned, huh? We would be fighting a battle that the fates had already written that we couldn't possibly win."
"I took the proper precautions to make sure you would have known in case of my death, Harry." Dumbledore replied, staring at the boy with his normally twinkling eyes. The twinkle was gone, and for the first time since Harry knew him, the great wizard Albus Dumbledore was showing his age. "Even now, Harry, those precautions are still in effect. When I pass from this world, you will be informed about all that you need to know to fight Voldemort."
"All this time." Harry mumbled, remembering his teenage years: there always seemed to be someone guarding him or otherwise protecting him—Mrs. Figg, Tom the barman, Dedalus Diggle, and even Remus. "You've been watching over me since I was left at the Dursleys. You've been protecting me from Death Eaters, knowing that one day I would have to live up to this prophecy."
"I've protected you, Harry, because I care. Maybe even too much." Dumbledore replied, solemnly. "I think of you as a grandson, a member of a family I never had."
Harry's eyes flashed for a second, startled by what the Headmaster had said. "Okay," Harry took a breath, rubbing his eyes and suppressing his anger. Being angry wouldn't do him or the wizarding world any good, after all. "So I have to kill Voldemort or he'll kill me and become immortal, right?"
"That could be one interpretation." Dumbledore nodded. "Another could be that, due to the nature of the prophecy—since it's a self-fulfilling one—that he could still die if he kills you."
"How did he survive the first time his body was destroyed?" Harry questioned, wondering just what it was that Voldemort had done to make himself immortal. He knew the basics when it came to Voldemort, his real name, what he did while in school, and his actions as Lord Voldemort, but the two never went into depth before.
Dumbledore looked down at Harry, biting his lip slightly. Closing his eyes, he mentally debated with himself about something. Then, without opening his blue eyes up, he said, "Horcruxes, Harry."
"A receptacle for the soul?" Harry questioned, having only read about them once in a book that Dumbledore had given to him just weeks ago. He didn't know anything about them other than their purpose, so his knowledge was very rudimentary. Although, even so, he knew more about them than most wizards did.
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, adding, "A Horcrux is an item wizard's store a piece of their soul in as a way to attain immortality. In order for them to tear their soul, Harry, one must commit the darkest of all dark: one must kill someone." He said, knowledgably, disgusted at the thought of the darkest magic in existence. He hated it so much that, when he became Headmaster, he banned it from the halls of Hogwarts, preventing anyone from learning about the process all together.
"So he tore his soul in two?" Harry asked, knowing that Voldemort's Horcruxes would have to be destroyed if the Dark Lord were to perish, truly perish, unlike last time. If they attacked Voldemort's body, without touching his Horcruxes, his soul would stay on this plain of existence, immortal, eternal, though without body.
"I believe," Dumbledore replied, rising from his chair and heading to the cabinet that was across the room. Opening it up, he reached into it and grabbed a large stone basin covered in mystic ruins. Inside the basin was a silver substance that was neither liquid nor smoke; it seemed to be a mixture of both. He carried the pensieve, for that's what it was, over to his desk, placing it down in front of Harry. "That he has created six Horcruxes, with the seventh part of his soul being connected to the body he inhabits."
"Seven?" Harry gasped, eyes bulging out. From what he knew, it was extremely difficult magic to accomplish one Horcrux, but seven? He couldn't even dream of something like that before today. "How do you know? I mean I know the magical connotations of the number seven, with it being a very, very powerfully magical number, but how do you know he's split his soul in seven?"
"Does the name Horace Slughorn mean anything to you, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, wondering if that name would stir in Harry's mind. Harry bit his lip in thought, then shook his head, not knowing who that was. "He was a teacher here at Hogwarts for a very long time. He taught potions for over forty years, and was head of the Slytherin house for half that time. Just before he died over three years ago, he gave me a memory of a conversation that he had had with a student. That student was, of course, none other than Tom Riddle. Now," He said, stirring the contents of the pensieve with his wand. "This was no ordinary conversation. No, instead it was a conversation that gives us almost undeniable proof of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes."
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and prodded the silvery substance with its tip. Two figures rose out of the pensieve, each revolving slowly, their feet were still in the basin. "…Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven--?" A young voice said, cautiously.
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" Yelped another, much older voice. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case…bad enough to divide the soul…but to rip it into seven pieces…"
"He really did it, then?" Harry muttered as the figures subsided back into the pensieve, allowing Harry to see Dumbledore's face again. "Seven, wow." Harry whispered; amazed at the length Voldemort was willing to go for immortality. "How did you find out that he even made one, though? Surely there must have been a reason for you to know that he had made some."
"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, reaching into the top drawer of his desk and pulling out a brown leather-bound diary, with gold lettering on the front. In neat, elegant cursive, it said: T.M. Riddle. "If you remember during your second year, a note was written on the wall saying the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened. There was that one attack on Mrs. Norris—Caretaker Filch's cat—but none other; the Chamber must have been resealed. A week after that note was left, Argus found a girl's wash room flooding, and found this lodged inside one of the toilets." He gestured to the journal, shifting his gaze back to it. "I happened to be lucky enough to see it one day, and took it back to my office, examining it, allowing me to view one of Voldemort's Horcruxes for the first time."
"That's one of them?" Harry questioned, taking the journal in his own hands. It looked ordinary; the pages were yellow, and no writing was on them. "Why would he pick a journal?" Harry asked, putting the diary back onto the desk. Then, adding, "Why haven't you destroyed it yet?"
"I believe, Harry, that Voldemort picked items in which showed his own superiority or trophies from his victims to be used as Horcruxes. This shows the world that he rose from a completely muggle upbringing, to being known as one of the greatest and most feared wizards of the age. It also shows that he is the heir of Slytherin, and that it was he who opened the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago; likewise, it was him that opened the Chamber during your second year, albeit through a possessed proxy." Dumbledore gave a sigh, patting the journal with his right hand. "As for your other question, why I haven't destroyed it yet: well, I've been wheedling information out of it for a while now, a long and tedious task, making sure the Tom inside doesn't realize anything."
"So Tom Riddle, Voldemort, is descended from Slytherin, for he is the heir if he opened the Chamber of Secrets, correct?" Harry mused out loud, asking Dumbledore the question that was on his mind, though he knew the answer already. "Riddle, though, isn't a pureblooded name, is it? I've never heard of the name Riddle before."
"No, Harry, it's not." Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. "Tom Marvolo Riddle is a half-blood—son of muggle Tom Riddle and witch Merope Gaunt."
"He's related to the Gaunts?" Harry questioned, knowing that name. It was an old pureblood name that lost its clout over a hundred years ago, and, to his knowledge, had died out in the early nineteen hundreds.
"And it is through them that he hails directly from Salazar Slytherin. It is through them that he inherited the power of speech with snakes, as well." Dumbledore said, knowing Harry's train of thought.
"His Horcruxes, do we have any idea of where they could possibly be?" Harry inquired, his eyes flicking down to the journal that was on Dumbledore's desk.
"Ah," Dumbledore mumbled, smiling. "That is a discussion for another day, Harry. It is time that we went to Grimmauld Place and fortified the house." He said, rising to his feet, and walking over to the fireplace.