Chapter 16 - The Letter

Harry didn't see much of Hermione at Hogwarts after her appointment as Deputy-Head, and Harry couldn't help but notice that she seemed to have immersed herself in her work a bit. The few times that Harry helped with her classes her smile at him seemed a little different, and Harry even had to rectify a few mistakes that she made, which Harry tried to paper over for the class by drawing their attention to something else. Harry thought Ginny had noticed it too as he saw her frowning a lot, and Harry supposed that, as Ron's sister, she was well aware of the slight tension that was conveyed whenever eye contact was made.

All thoughts of Ron and Hermione were driven out of his head a little over a week after the funeral when he overheard a discussion between Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape by the greenhouses just after lunch. Upon hearing the word "Dumbledore", Harry, feeling a little bit ashamed of himself, transformed into a phoenix and landed silently on top of greenhouse four.

"He's still not appeared?" came Professor Snape's low voice, as the two teachers came into view.

"There's been no sign at all," McGonagall replied worriedly, "although Phinneas Nigellus claims he saw him two nights ago, but that it wasn't there the following morning."

"Phinneas is not known for his honesty," Snape said, his mouth curling slightly. "And, if this were so, he would surely address Albus?"

"That is what I asked him, but all he said was that he fell asleep a moment later," she answered, still looking nervous. "There's never been more than a week's gap."

"Albus was never one who exactly fitted with… ordinary wizards," Snape responded slyly. "And you say the pensieve was missing?"

"That's one of the most disturbing things," she affirmed, her voice definitely wobbling now. Harry was stunned not only by the news, but also by her tone of voice. "I can only assume it was gone before he left…"

"Do you not remember seeing it?" Snape's eyebrows raised themselves questioningly. McGonagall gave a most-unlike-her shrug, something Snape noticed too. "You are upset?"

"Worried," she replied. "If Hogwarts is not performing as it usually does then we are all in trouble." Harry watched as they continued into the castle, knowing he couldn't follow them.

So Dumbledore's portrait was missing? It was concerning indeed: as McGonagall had said, if Hogwarts was malfunctioning in some way then no one was safe. Had Andromidus done more than kill Dumbledore? Had he somehow tampered with its magic – was that how he escaped? The questions chased each other around Harry's head as he transformed back into human form and headed down to his cottage.

As he approached the door, no less than three owls swooped down in front of him, clasping between them a heavy looking parcel, with a small letter on top of it. They set it down in front of him with a dull thud, and Harry thought he heard a swirl of liquid. Hastening forwards he quickly untied the owls, who hooted gratefully before wheeling away towards the owlery. Harry bent down and, scooping up the heavy parcel, entered the cottage. He sat down in the living room, the item placed carefully on the table, before leaning forwards and plucking out the attached letter.

He recoiled back in terror before he'd even opened the envelope. His heart throwing itself around his chest, his eyes refusing to accept what they were seeing, Harry found himself gasping for air. He closed his eyes carefully; sure he must be imagining it, before opening them and peering at the envelope again. There was no mistaking it. The familiar, slant like writing was so recognisable to him, for so many times he had received letters from the same person. The writing belonged to Albus Dumbledore. Collecting his wits, he ripped the envelope off and, with shaking hands, held out the letter.

"Dear Harry,

If you are receiving this letter, then I have passed on to the next realm. One cannot escape one's destiny. I hope my passing was not too painful for either of us, and I hope you can take comfort from the fact that I am now with Sirius, Remus, Godric, and of course your dear parents. I know we will all be watching over you.

As you have received this letter, it also means that we did not complete our lessons together. It is crucial that you should learn to converse with us in the next realm, so that we may better form a strategy against the Secret Elite. I have complete faith in your abilities and judgement in this matter. It is to this end that I have sent you my pensieve.

It is my wish that, three weeks after my death, you use the pensieve at 9pm. I will be waiting to speak to you, even if it is only for a moment. I hope to speak to you across the Rift, as it is called, at the same time each night, until we can talk freely. I would happily converse with you from my portrait in Professor McGonagall's office if it gives you any comfort, but it is only through the pensieve that you may speak to me and Godric simultaneously.

I hope to speak to you soon,

Yours, Albus Dumbledore."

Harry sat back in chair, his eyes flicking between the letter, the parcel and the window, as if expecting that by looking at the sky the kindly headmaster's face would swim into view. Sighing deeply, Harry turned his eyes to the parcel in front of him, which he carefully unwrapped. The pensieve was glistening with memories and thoughts in a manner that was almost reassuring, as if the pensieve was trying to reach out to him and comfort him.

Resolving to make a decision as to whether or not to tell Professor McGonagall later, Harry carefully tucked the letter and the pensieve in a cupboard beside his bed. Deciding that he could, at the least, tell Hermione, Harry grabbed his thick cloak and proceeded up the Hogwarts lawn.

Winter was setting in fast, sneaking up unawares and catching out the few who had neglected to wear their warmer clothes. Harry bent his head against the chill, his face already pale as he hurried into the nice, warm entrance hall. Harry was surprised to see that the ceiling inside the main hall was crackling with thunder and lightning, something several other students had noticed, but Harry proceeded further into the castle, wending his way towards Hermione's personal study. He knocked and, a few moments later, the door was opened by a flustered looking Hermione.

"Look – Oh, hi Harry," she sounded flustered, which made Harry curious.

"Everything alright?" There was a brief pause during which Hermione looked anywhere but at Harry.

"Oh, just a couple of students from Hufflepuff have found out that I can transform into an owl and are badgering me to show them it," she sighed a little, before her face crinkled into a small smile. "Hmm, badgering," she said, almost to herself, "appropriate for a Hufflepuff." Unsure quite what to make of this Harry stayed silent until she seemed to regain herself and beckoned him into the room.

Having visited it in Professor McGonagall's days as head of Gryffindor, and with Hermione having a similar penchant for orderliness and structure, Harry was a bit surprised at the slightly untidy nature of the room. A small bed was crammed into the corner just around from the main office, which Hermione sat on, gesturing for Harry to sit on the soft chair she had just conjured. Her desk was crammed not just with quills, parchment and books (the latter of which seemed to circumvent the entire room), but also with spare robes, crockery, cutlery, and even some bathroom materials.

"Hermione," Harry started cautiously, "I thought you went back to the apartment with Ron at weekends…" he trailed off, slightly embarrassed by the sentence he had just uttered, but more concerned by the possibility of it being true.

"Oh, yes I spend some weekends here," she said, in a voice that was far too cheery to be truthful, "working too hard I suppose!" The silence that followed signalled the falsehood and they both knew it. Harry could almost hear Hermione's mind at work. "Has Professor Dumbledore's portrait appeared yet?"

"No," Harry answered, keen to move the conversation along. "In fact, that's partially why I'm here." Harry told Hermione about what he had overheard and then about the posthumous letter from Dumbledore, which he had brought with him. Hermione read it in silence, her eyebrows rising as she reached the end.

"He needs Godric's help?" Hermione asked, her voice little more than a whisper. "Dumbledore needs help?"

"I think it is more to do with Sirius than Godric," Harry responded, frowning. "He probably thinks that gathering as much information as possible about Andromidus and Regalus is a good idea." Hermione nodded gratefully.

"That's a relief, I wouldn't want to think about Dumbledore requiring assistance…" she trailed off, and Harry knew that she too was dwelling on the duel with Andromidus.

"I still get moments where I expect him to turn up again," she said unexpectedly. "Like nothing happened and it's all forgotten. And then it all hits you again and you're left wondering where you are." She gazed off into the distance, apparently unaware of Harry's deepening mystification. She shook herself a little. "Would you like to help with this afternoon's class? It's not a particularly complicated one, fourth years, but I could do with the company." She looked directly at him and Harry could see nervousness that he'd never seen before, and he could also see a distinct lack of sleep. He agreed instantly and, after Hermione had collected her things, they left for the class.

*

A couple of days following this meeting Harry entered the welcoming warmth of the Three Broomsticks, its restorative fire crackling merrily in the hearth as Ron beckoned from a table in the corner. Stamping snow from his boots Harry hastened across the room and sank into the chair nearest the fire.

"You look bloody cold," Ron said bluntly.

"You look bloody awful," Harry responded, initially meaning it as a caustic, not particularly mature response, but looking more closely Harry could see a mark of distinct weariness across his pale face. "Are you ok?" Ron gave a mute nod, taking in a sip of his butterbeer, and Harry took his cue to continue. "I expect Hermione has told you about the letter and the pensieve?"

Ron shook his head, frowning with a combination of confusion and disquiet. "I haven't spoken to her this week. Why, what happened?" Gliding carefully over the lack of discourse between his two best friends, Harry recounted the events between sips of Firewhisky, the hot liquid shaking his body into life.

"Have you told McGonagall or Snape?" Ron asked after a moment of stunned silence.

"I don't know how, but Snape found out," Harry answered, brow furrowed in confusion. "He came down to my cottage and spotted it immediately. Snape never visits me. He must have known."

Ron let out a low whistle. "Could Dumbledore have sent him a letter too? Or has his portrait appeared?"

"Certainly not the portrait, unless it appeared and Snape nicked it. But I can't see how or why he would do that. As for a letter… I don't think so, or why wouldn't Dumbledore have mentioned it in his letter?" Harry paused for a moment. "And Hermione swears she didn't tell him."

"Maybe he heard you telling her," Ron mused.

"That's the only explanation I can come up with that sounds possible," Harry agreed, although he wasn't entirely convinced. "Unless he saw the owls landing, but why wouldn't he have come down immediately?" There was a pause while they both considered the matter, until Ron shrugged.

"You won't know unless you ask him, and I somewhat suspect that you won't." Harry let out a small laugh, before Ron gave a snap of his fingers. "Oh, I meant to tell you something. Don't tell anyone else but, according to George, Fred is considering proposing to Angelina!"

Harry was stunned. "Really? I didn't know it was that serious!"

"Well they have been dating for quite a while haven't they? Since before you and Ginny got married anyway." Ron pointed out.

"George could be pulling your leg," Harry responded, "but it would be a weird thing to joke about."

"That's what I thought," Ron said, shrugging, before checking his watch. "Blimey, I'm going to be late for my shift."

"Hard work I expect?" Harry asked as they both got to their feet and headed for the door. Ron didn't say anything, just giving Harry a muted look, and Harry watched sadly as Ron apparated out of sight, leaving only a couple of footprints in the snow.