Chapter One Hundred and Thirty - Back at the Burrow

The sun had fully risen above the horizon when they returned. Rays of amber light did their best to pierce through the chill mist that clung stubbornly to the low fields surrounding them. The sky was no longer a dark gray, but a pearly white. Harry could make out a patch of pale blue peaking through the overcast sky, struggling to break free.

He turned toward the tall and crooked structure that had been his home for the past few weeks. The ground floor looked like nothing more than an ancient stone shed. But over the years, rooms had been added here and there, until the house towered several stories high. Without whatever magic was sustaining it, slight breeze was likely to send the entire pile toppling over. But to Harry, it was a welcome sight. His brief journey with Dumbledore had left him with more questions than answers, and he wanted to return to his bedroom to think. He was eager to be back under the many red rooftops, smoking chimneys and all. But before he could pass the crooked sign which read The Burrow, Dumbledore begged him to wait a moment.

"I will not keep you long," he insisted, sensing Harry's hesitation, "I have affairs of my own I must see to. But there is something I must mention before I go…"

Every fiber of Harry's being wanted to run toward the Burrow without a backward glance. But he assumed a blank expression, and patiently turned back to face the headmaster.

"Remus wrote to me before my arrival today," Dumbledore began.

"About me?" asked Harry, already knowing the answer.

Dumbledore nodded his head. "He is worried about you. He thinks you haven't been coping well with Sirius's death."

Harry nearly ended the conversation then and there. He did not want to talk about this again, much less with Dumbledore. Before he could turn back toward the Burrow, however, Dumbledore pressed on.

"It is natural for Sirius's loss to be devastating. It was cruel to have your relationship cut short, when you should have had a long and happy life together."

His voice gentle. He was neither chastising Harry, nor blaming him. He could not meet Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes. He hung his head, gritting his teeth as he fought the urge to cry. This was why he didn't want to talk about Sirius. Every time he thought his tears had dried up, leaving nothing but a hollow void in their place, sorrow threatened to overwhelm him again. He didn't want to burden Remus, or annoy Blaise, who could only partially understand what Harry was going through. It was easier to be alone.

"It's just… hard," Harry admitted at last, "I can't talk to Remus. He's suffering, too, and I can't… I haven't given up. I just need more time. I still want to fight. For Sirius. And my parents. And for everyone else Voldemort has hurt…"

He faltered, unable to find the words to describe his tumultuous feelings. To his surprise, Dumbledore rested his uninjured hand on his shoulder. He raised his head, stunned to see a look of unmistakable pride on the headmaster's face.

"Your parents would be proud to see you now, Harry. And soon, rather sooner than even you could hope, eager as you are, you may be given an opportunity to fight back. Not with wands or weapons, but in a way that will truly do some lasting good."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.

"I have told you to become friendly with Horace… Professor Slughorn, I should say," Dumbledore reminded him, "I have reasons for this which will become clear in time. To that end, it is my wish that you begin taking private lessons with me this year."

"With you?" Harry repeated, sure that he misunderstood.

"Yes, Harry. I feel it is time I took a greater hand in your education."

"But what will we be studying? Occlumency?" Harry asked. Privately, his mind had drifted to wandless magic. Though he had abandoned the practice out of necessity over the summer, he had successfully blocked and countered spells without his wand, all while facing Bellatrix Lestrange herself. Dumbledore knew this, and he now wondered whether the headmaster was encouraging the skill.

"No, no… Nothing as practical as that. We will be treading unknown waters together, I daresay," said Dumbledore airly, "Though that does remind me, your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape will no longer be required."

Harry said nothing. In some ways, Occlumency with Snape had been a complete disaster. But through those lessons he had gained a better understanding of the Potions Master… and his parents.

Behind him, Harry heard the back door of the Burrow creak open. Mrs. Weasley, wearing a pair of Wellington boots, stepped across her yard to release her flock of chickens from their coop. Harry could feel her eyes on him as he turned back to Dumbledore.

"We have tarried too long, I see," Dumbledore remarked, his eyes also following Mrs. Weasley as she returned to her back step, where she remained, her hands nervously fiddling with her flowered apron as she waited to Harry to come inside, "But there is one thing more I must mention to you. You have, no doubt, heard the rumors circulating about you following your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"

Harry nodded.

"And am I right to conclude that with everything else on your mind, you have neglected to tell anyone about the true prophecy?"

Harry was still, but his silence gave him away. With a smile Dumbledore concluded, "Your discretion is admirable, but allow me to suggest, Harry, that you would do well to confide in your friends, Mr. Blaise Zabini and Miss Millicent Bulstrode."

Harry flinched at the mere suggestion. "But I don't want…"

"To frighten them? To cause them more worry? You do yourself a disservice by not confiding something as important as this. You need your friends, Harry. Sirius would not want you to shut yourself away. Talk to them. And if I could press you further, tell Remus, as well."

Harry could only mutter something with the words "think about it" barely discernible. It was enough for Dumbledore, for he sent Harry on his way, waving to Mrs. Weasley before he disapparated. Harry stalked past the chickens pecking in the yard toward the back door of the Burrow, were Mrs. Weasley stood waiting next to an old rusty cauldron.

"Bless me, Harry!" she said as she ushered him inside, "He certainly took his time about it! I was watching you from the window for ten minutes before I stepped outside, I'm sure!"

Mrs. Weasley was not alone. Seated at the kitchen table was Remus, a copy of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet open before him. He had a deep scowl on his face. Across from him sat Tonks, whose usually vibrant pink hair was a muted brown today. She appeared to be studying Remus's expression with a keen interest, though she turned to smile at Harry as he came into the room.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said with her customary cheerfulness, though something in her manner seemed forced.

A metallic clank caused her to jump in fright. Mrs. Zabini had just set a carafe of coffee down an old iron stove with rather more force than necessary. Holding a mug between both her hands, she directed a disapproving glance at Tonks before turning to Harry with a more warm expression.

"Just in time. Breakfast is ready."

"How did it go with Dumbledore?" Remus asked, setting the paper aside so he could give Harry his full attention.

He thought briefly of the advise Dumbledore had given him, but now did not seem like the best time to confide in Remus. Not with so many others around. Instead, he took one of the open seats by Remus's side as he said, "He wanted me to help him recruit Professor Slughorn for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"Slughorn!" Remus exclaimed, "But he was my potions master!"

"Potions?" Harry repeated, "But we already have a potions master."

"Perhaps Dumbledore really is desperate," Tonks interjected, "After all, he can't seem to hold on to professors these days."

Remus sighed thoughtfully and remarked, "Perhaps I should have asked for my old job back…"

"No!" shouted Harry, Mrs. Zabini, and Tonks at the same time.

There was a palpable pause, then Remus rubbed the back of his head. Looking rather amused, he said, "Oh dear, I wasn't aware that my teaching was that awful."

"It isn't that!" Harry argued.

"Everyone knows that job is cursed!" Tonks added.

"How could you even consider going back?" asked Mrs. Zabini.

Harry agreed with Tonks wholeheartedly, but he wondered about Mrs. Zabini. Though it was true she had seemed more kindly disposed toward Remus in recent weeks, Harry could not forget her old prejudices. Was she truly worried for Remus, or did she not approve of a werewolf teaching her children?

"Nymphadora, are you staying for breakfast, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, waving her wand casually through the air. Immediately, several plates plucked themselves from a nearby cabinet, soaring onto the long dining table in even intervals.

Tonks was looking rather pink after her passionate outburst. The familiar bubblegum color had returned to her hair, and it hadn't stopped there. Her cheeks and even the tip of her nose had taken on a rosy glow. She stood up quickly just as a plate landed before her, stammering, "Oh, no… Thank you, Molly. I really shouldn't… I should be going…"

"You've only just arrived," Remus observed casually, "Surely you won't leave without something to eat?"

Mrs. Zabini eyed the two of them over her mug of coffee as she took a long, loud sip. Tonks glanced her way, but then turned her hopeful gaze back to Remus.

"I… I only came to deliver the paper…" she said, "Give you the latest from Kingsley… But I can't stay long…"

Harry thought that even a troll would be able to understand the signs Tonks was giving. It was obvious that she wanted Remus to invite her to stay, to insist upon it. He couldn't understand how Remus could turn his eyes back toward the paper and politely reply, "Well, if you must be getting on... Thanks for stopping by."

Disappointed, Tonks took her leave. Mrs. Zabini, on the other hand, turned to Mrs. Weasley with a satisfied smile on her face, and offered to help her serve breakfast.

Mrs. Zabini's help came in the form of her house-elf, Torsh. From Blaise, Harry had learned that the elf had been inherited from one of Mrs. Zabini's former husbands. Mrs. Weasley, whose family had never owned a house-elf, had not quite gotten used to Torsh's officious servitude. She gave a nervous laugh as Torsh bobbed about her knees, snapping their fingers and plating their food on the dishes in an instant, just the platters at Hogwarts were filled at every mealtime.

The sight of the little elf brought to mind the scene so recently played out with Kreacher. Although Harry had always appreciated Torsh's efficient hospitality, he didn't like to think of yet another elf in forced servitude. He tried reading over Remus's shoulder for a bit to take his mind off the subject, but there was nothing in the morning news to interest him. He wished Dumbledore had brought him back sooner. He might have heard whatever news Tonks had to say about Kingsley.

At that moment, Percy Weasley entered the kitchen. He had moved back into his mother's home soon after his father died. Perhaps it was a comfort to Mrs. Weasley to have more of her children at home, but in Harry's opinion, Percy's attempts to take on the role as "man of the house" were insufferable.

Fortunately for him, Percy was dressed in his office robes today. He merely grabbed a piece of toast off the table and headed straight toward the door, saying something about being late for a meeting. Percy was never late for anything, and so Harry was sure this was a mere ploy for attention.

"But Percy, surely you can stay for breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley protested.

"No time mother," Percy replied, puffing himself up, "There's important work to be done at the Ministry."

Percy had been placed in charge of the newly developed Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects - a role he took very seriously. Mrs. Weasley fussed over him, straightening the collar of his robes and adjusting the knot of his tie. Though Percy acted as though he was impatient with her officiousness, Harry could tell that his ego was inflated by the attention. Percy gave him a brief, pompous nod before he was out the door.

Mrs. Weasley, still sighing over her son, turned back and took notice of Harry's untouched plate of food.

"Harry, eat your eggs before they go cold!" she demanded.

He jumped to comply with the order. He had learned from both their time at Grimmauld Place and his current residence at the Burrow that it was not wise to argue with Mrs. Weasley. Besides, he had suddenly realized he was ravenous. With more of an appetite than he had demonstrated in weeks, he fell to his food with enthusiasm.

Mrs. Weasley watched his progress with a satisfied expression for a few seconds, before she asked, "Well, and what did you think of Professor Slughorn?"

Harry's mouth was too full to immediately reply, but Mrs. Weasley did not need much encouragement. She seemed as though she merely wanted an opportunity to say, "Arthur never liked him, you know. He was our potions master, as well. Slughorn always had his favorites, back in our day, but he never seemed to have time for Arthur. Must have thought he wouldn't amount to anything special…"

She paused to fondle a little charm hanging around her neck. Harry recognized it instantly. It came from a rather curious clock that Mrs. Weasley had taken to carrying about the house with her. Rather than numbers, it listed various locations or activities. The seven hands held the names and likenesses of each of her children. Harry glanced at it now, poised on top of a basket containing a pile of freshly folded laundry. The hand bearing Percy's name and picture had clicked over to "travelling." A moment later, it snapped back into its former position, joining the rest which pointed stubbornly at "mortal peril." It had been that way for days.

The charm which Mrs. Weasley now wore about her neck was the only exception. Though disguised from his view, Harry knew it bore the name of Mr. Weasley.

Harry swallowed his mouthful of food and replied firmly, "Well, then. Slughorn was wrong, wasn't he?"

Mrs. Weasley turned her glance away from the clock and smiled at Harry, dashing a tear away from her eyes as she said, "Yes, he was indeed!"

Harry had finished all of his breakfast, and was being urged by Mrs. Weasley to take seconds just as Blaise sauntered into the room, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Harry greeted with a smile. Blaise looked back at him blearily.

"Where've you been?" he asked, "You were already gone when I woke up…"

Harry knew where Blaise's confusion lay. It had been nearly impossible to coax him out of the room he and Blaise shared. He rarely even joined the rest of the household for meals, preferring to sneak food when he could and bring it back to the solemn solitude of the bedroom.

Glancing at Remus, he received a nod, and replied with feigned unconcern, "Professor Dumbledore came by this morning. Wanted me to run an errand with him."

Blaise went from drowsy to alert in an instant. His eyes were locked on Harry as he took a seat across the table and asked, "Errand? What sort of errand?"

Harry briefly summarized the facts of the mission, advising his friend that he had been recruiting a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher.

Blaise shook his head sadly and muttered, "Poor soul. Who'd he manage to dupe this time?"

"His name is Horace Slughorn…" Harry began just as Ron and Ginny entered the room. He could tell that his presence at the table this early in the morning came as a shock to them both, but they had the grace not to mention it as they tucked into the breakfast, listening with interest at Harry's description of the professor.

"You said he's been hiding out from Death Eaters?" Ginny asked, buttering a slice of toast. "But what would they want to go attacking a retired professor for?"

"I don't think they want to attack him, necessarily," Harry said, recalling the tone of the professor's conversation, "I think… I think they're probably trying to recruit him…"

"That's even more mad," Ron opined, "What's You-Know-Who want with some old professor, anyway?"

Harry was thinking about the additional task Dumbledore had set for him. He had told the others, briefly, of Slughorn's odd fascination with the powerful and elite, but he had not mentioned Dumbledore's desire that he court the man's favor. He was pondering Ron's question when the final member of their bizarre household arrived.

Draco Malfoy, dressed in a set of hand-me-down robes once owned by one of Ron's older brothers, stepped into the room and sat comfortably at the table, looking very much like he had always lived there.

"Who are we talking about?" he asked casually, helping himself to the cup of tea offered by Mrs. Weasley.

"You mean you don't know?" Ron asked, rather cheekily, "From the sound of it, I figure your father would have been one of his favorites."

This required a bit of explanation. After Harry briefly summarized his early morning meeting with the new, or rather old, professor, Harry was forced to admit, "He mentioned my mum. Said she was one of his favorite students. I guess she'd have been part of his little clique."

"The Slug Club," said Remus.

He had been rather quiet since Tonks left, but now he had the attention of every young person in the room. Remus seemed rather embarrassed to have interrupted the flow of their chatter, and he quickly explained, "That's what it was called. The group of his favorite students. He'd invite them to private dinners, lectures from previous students of his, that sort of thing…"

"Were you a part of the Slug Club, too?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no!" Remus said with a laugh, "Only Lily had that privilege. I was a prefect, sure, but I don't think Slughorn thought much of werewolves."

Harry's gaze darted toward Mrs. Zabini, but she was busy chatting with Mrs. Weasley as they cleared away the dirty plates, swishing their wands absently as the dishes cleaned themselves. She didn't appear to hear Remus.

"I never took offense," Remus said in response to several cries of protest from his former students, "None of the Marauders were invited, if I'm honest. Sirius went to a party once, but after he revealed that he was on terrible terms with the rest of the prestigious Black family, Slughorn quickly forgot all about him and favored his brother Regulus instead."

Harry was impressed. When had Remus been able to talk about Sirius without paroxysms of grief? He seemed to be making better progress than Harry.

Mrs. Zabini had finished her conversation with Mrs. Weasley. Nursing what must have been her fourth or fifth cup of coffee, she joined them at the table, taking the open seat on Remus's left hand side. Harry thought he saw her give his shoulder a light squeeze as she sat down.

In a way, he was glad that Remus had Mrs. Zabini to care for him, but he didn't want the conversation to drift toward Sirius now. While Remus could now utter his name without pain, Harry wasn't ready to talk about his godfather in front of Ron, Draco, and all the rest. Instead, he found himself asking rather abruptly, "Why isn't Millie here yet? I thought she'd be joining us before the start of term."

"I had an owl from her parents yesterday," Mrs. Zabini confirmed, "The arrangements have been made. They'll escort her to the Burrow tomorrow, and she'll leave for Hogwarts with the rest of you."

"Are we still going to Diagon Alley for our school supplies?" Ron asked eagerly, turning to his mother with wide, pleading eyes.

His enthusiasm reminded Harry that while his sequestration had been self-imposed, his fellow residents of the Burrow were just as isolated. They had been restricted to the house and its immediate environs all summer. While this suited Harry's present mood just fine, his compatriots were suffering from cabin fever.

This was, however, not the sole cause of Ron's interest. Fred and George Weasley had officially opened their joke shop in Diagon Alley, having magnificently dropped out of Hogwarts last year. The bedroom Harry and Blaise currently occupied was their old room. The twins had rented a small flat above their new premises, and were now living there full-time. Not one of the Weasley family had seen their new home.

The joke shop was an object of interest to Harry, as well. Perhaps the first thing he felt an interest in since Sirius died that was not related to Voldemort's return, prophecies, or his own destiny. His gaze flickered between Remus and Mrs. Zabini, wondering what each of them would say.

But it was Mrs. Weasley who answered for all as she said, "Well, we'll see… For now, finish your breakfast! I want you to de-gnome the garden once you're done."

Ron groaned and cried, "But we did that last week!"

"And not a very good job of it, because they've already come back!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

Ron and Ginny loudly voiced their complaints, but Harry caught a smile on Draco's face. He noticed Harry's glance, and muttered, "I don't really mind… They're kind of funny…"

Before anyone could attend to their chores, however, a flock of owls arrived all at once. Four of them, to to precise. In the talons of each was clutched a large envelope.

"That'll be the results of your OWLs, I expect," Remus observed mildly as he pushed aside his cup of tea to make way for a rather large brown owl that had skittered to a halt in front of Harry.

He felt his stomach drop. He had entirely forgotten about his exam results!

"What happens if I failed?" he blurted in his sudden anxiety.

"I'm sure you did fine, Harry," Remus replied with a kind smile, "But if you have failed any subjects, it's not the end of the world. You'll just have to discuss your options for the next term with your head of house."

Harry directed a dubious glance at Remus. He hadn't seen Snape since Sirius's funeral. He certainly didn't want their first conversation to be about his failing grades.

Remus must have understood what he was thinking, for he quickly said again, "I'm sure it'll be fine," before tearing into Harry's envelope for him.

Before Harry could protest, Remus had quickly glanced over his scores. With a satisfied smile that instantly put Harry more at ease, he passed the list toward him with a quiet, "Well, done."

Harry's eyes quickly scanned the page.

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Herbology A

History of Magic P

Potions E

Transfiguration E

Wandmaking O

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had always known he would fail History of Magic. He'd collapsed halfway through and couldn't finish the test. But he had passed everything else, and even scored top marks in two subjects!

He turned to Blaise, and they immediately swapped letters. Blaise had surpassed Harry, earning a total of three "Outstanding" scores in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Muggle Studies. But Harry was pleased to note that he had only scored an "Acceptable" in Potions, a step lower than Harry's "Exceeds Expectations."

Across the table, Ron let out a sigh.

"Well, I've failed Divination and History of Magic, and I haven't got a single O. But at least I haven't scored any 'Trolls.'"

"But this is wonderful, Ronnie!" Mrs. Weasley cried, ripping the paper from his hands and running her eyes over the results herself, "That's seven OWLs! More than Fred and George put together! And what about you Draco, dear?"

Draco flinched, though he shyly handed his report card to Mrs. Weasley. With another cry of joy, she happily ruffled his hair. He no longer wore it in the perfectly manicured style it had always been before. Perhaps because the sleek, swept-back look was out of keeping with the Weasley's more rustic way of life. He still lowered his face, however, as Mrs. Weasley praised him. Harry observed his rather pink cheeks, and wondered which he liked better, de-gnoming Mrs. Weasley's garden, or being treated as another one of her very large family.

Harry had a glimpse of his scores before Ron snatched them away from the table to get a better look himself. Like him, Draco had earned two "Outstandings." One was in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Harry could flatter himself that this was due to his participation in the Marauder's group the previous year. But the second O in Potions could only be attributed to Draco's own skill, or else Snape's decided preference. Harry felt a little jealous. He would have liked to rub a high score in Snape's face. As it stood, he would have to find other ways of annoying the Potions Master that year.