It had become obvious that the snake that Tom Riddle was currently inhabiting was extremely unhappy. It had bitten Lucius, Rabastan and even Bellatrix that morning (fortunately for them all it appeared that this particular snake was not venomous) and hissed a warning when anyone else came close. The poor house elves would no longer even enter any room it was in. Nagini was slithering menacingly around the manor, lurching at everyone she passed. Clearly the Dark Lord was not pleased and was no longer willing to wait for his recalcitrant minions to provide him with even the most basic of bodies.
"I have found it my Lord," Rookwood wheezed as he ran into the Malfoy's dining room, drawing the attention of all those seated at the table. Nagini was by his side in a slithering flash, the smaller snake not far behind. Both reared up and gazed at him intently. Kneeling beside them, he withdrew a book from the satchel at his side and placed it on the floor for easier viewing, flicking to the correct page. "I believe this is the ritual you used previously. It will provide you with a homunculus."
"Well, what does it need?" Lucius demanded, bravely kneeling beside the snakes, so he too could scan the book. "Where will we find all this? We really need a potion's master."
The snake reared back and struck out once more, as Nagini slithered into a half circle around the man. Lucius fell backwards in an undignified heap, no-one commented on the odd squeak that emitted from the man as he landed on his rump.
"Perhaps, Borgin and Burkes, might know?" Rudolphus suggested, ignoring the blonde who was hastily pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wrapping it around the bleeding lesions. "They used to be able to locate the more unusual ingredients. For a fee of course."
"Well, it's certainly a better option than the apothecary in Knockturn Alley. Finished potions they may have, but their ingredients are subpar at best," Rookwood said, rising to his feet but leaving the book where it lay, for the snakes to peruse.
"Well at least we will have no problems getting the blood," Lucius mused darkly, pressing his hand over his wounds.
-o0o-
"Fuck!" Stonerune ground out, causing the three wizards by his side to look at him in disbelief, none of them having ever heard a Goblin swear before. "What? It seems appropriate. I was not expecting this." He gestured vaguely to the horde Dementors drifting their way. "You deal with those," he grunted to Bill, who was already kneeling on the ground as the Goblin began a chant to dissolve the black plague carrying clouds that were wafting nearer.
Nervously observing the conversation Amelia and Remus had cast their Patroni, hoping to buy some time. A silver badger and wolf were circling the group protectively.
"I assume we cannot just leave the way we came?" The question earnt Remus a glare from the Goblin, the look did nothing to quell the curious man nor stop his next words from falling from his lips. "What are you doing Bill? I didn't think there was anything but the Patronus to chase away dementors."
"Not now Remus," Bill said gruffly, concentrating on the equipment in front of him. He quickly carved runes into four pieces of black tourmaline and laid them at the compass points. "Stand close to Stonerune, this won't protect a large area."
Amelia and Remus stepped closer to the still chanting Goblin. With a piece of charcoal Bill drew a borderline around the group connecting the four stones, before placing a piece of clear quartz in the centre and channelling his magic into it.
"Don't let your Patroni drop," he warned as a four-sided pyramid shaped shield appeared around them, the apex extending about a foot above Remus's head.
"What is it?" Remus marvelled at the structure, causing Bill to snort in amusement.
"A ward," the red head replied drolly.
"What a surprise," Remus said sarcastically.
"It wards out pretty much everything." Bill continued pawing through his instruments as he spoke, "We'll still feel the effects of the dementors; however, they won't be able to reach us to give us a kiss."
Remus hastily recast his Patronus which he had allowed to fade.
"Not to put a dampener on things but does that not just trap us here? We'll all become magically exhausted if we have to keep this up." Amelia asked, her eyes following the passage of the silver badger as it prowled the perimeter of the ward.
"On a dig we either call for re-enforcements or figure something out ourselves," Stonerune said bluntly.
"Can we be without one of the Patroni for long enough for it to reach help?" Remus wondered.
"Things aren't that dire yet," Bill said wryly, the hint of excitement bleeding into his words had both Remus and Amelia raising a brow. "I had the pleasure a week or two ago of being called to the Department of Mysteries to examine a rune profile that had been very crudely engraved onto a plinth, it used only two points, and just three runes. I believe that one of them might be something which may help us." Seeing that Remus at least was captivated by his words, Bill continued, "Usually wards are constructed using the four cardinal points, such as the one around us and a grounding stone. They can be more complex but that was previously believed to be the minimum required for stability. The ward in the Department of Mysteries shows that the theory is wrong, and they can be simplified. Perhaps in that simplification we can find something useful as long as we don't try and attach more than one protection to it. That appears to be where the array I was investigating failed, it was trying to protect from too many things and could not hold the power that was put into it for long," He quickly glanced at his partner who had finished chanting the dark clouds of pestilence having dissipated entirely.
Remus and Amelia both nodded their understanding.
"Not only did the scheme use less points but one of the runes had either become warped by the object that it had been carved on or was so hastily drawn that it did not resemble any rune I know. Unless of course the engraver was talented enough to develop a new rune on the spot. It looked closest to one of the runes which symbolise death and I believe that it might be useful here."
He pulled a single pinkie fingernail sized and four thumbnail sized pieces of obsidian from a pocket on the outside of his bag. After carving a single rune on the smallest piece and activating it with a small pulse magic, he tossed it through the ward. There was a flash as it breached the perimeter, the black stone glinting occasionally in the dappled light as it rose in an arc, tumbling end over end to fall amongst the dementors. They moved away from it rapidly as if it had exuded a foul odour.
"Well, what do you know, I didn't actually think that it would work," Bill said clearly chuffed, grabbing one of the other stones to begin his carving, taking a great deal more care than he had on the original.
-o0o-
"Lumos."
Dumbledore's wand-tip ignited, casting a beam of light up a narrow hallway. To the left another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry right behind him. Dumbledore was slightly surprised at the amount of nervous trepidation he felt from the boy, perhaps he needed to give the boy something to increase confidence or to inhibit anxiety on top of the elixir. It would need a delicate balance, too much confidence, combined with the recklessness compulsion from the memories and the boy was likely to go off on his own. Albus pushed the thought aside, for now his pawn was following commands like a good little lamb, he could deal with the rest later.
As they entered the next room a scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little further away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown onto the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore look round.
"Not pretty, is it," he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."
"But V…V…he's gone, sir. Surely the Death Eaters would not have attacked someone now?!" Harry widened his eyes and risked looking directly at his Headmaster, in apparent shock.
Dumbledore revelled in the boy's exclamation, oh yes, Harry was clearly hanging on his every word. Things were just as they should be. The headmaster moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinising the wreckage at his feet. Harry followed, shuffling his feet cautiously to avoid stepping on shards of glass, as he gazed around, half expecting to see a mannequin posed as a corpse upon on the floor in the clearly staged room.
"Maybe there was a fight and–," Harry improvised quickly, "- and they dragged him off, Professor?" Blood splatters halfway up the wall, really? With a cutting hex to the throat maybe but there were no pools of blood on the floor to indicate where a body had fallen, or tears in the wallpaper, from the overcast of the spell.
"I don't think so," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.
"You mean he's-?"
"Still here somewhere? Yes."
"But what about the attackers sir? They could be here or nearby as well…"
Without warning, Dumbledore, swooped dramatically, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"
"Good evening, Horace," the bearded man said, straightening up again.
Harry's jaw dropped, having not expected such an elaborate disguise. He had honestly thought the man must have been hiding in another room. Magic still amazed him at times. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.
"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."
The wand-light sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous walrus-like moustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pyjamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.
"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.
"My dear, Horace," said Dumbledore, Harry noticed how the corners of the man's eyes tightened slightly at that, "if Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house.
The wizard clapped a pudge hand to his vast forehead.
"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something. Wouldn't have had time anyway. I'd only just put the finishing touches on my upholstery when you entered the room."
He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his moustache flutter.
"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" said Dumbledore.
"Please," said the other.
They stood back-to-back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.
The furniture flew back to its original place, ornaments re-formed in mid-air; feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared on to side tables and re-ignited; a vast collection of splintered picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks and holes healed everywhere; and the walls wiped themselves clean.
"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly un-smashed grandfather clock.
"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the wizard called Horace as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.
There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.
"Yes, dragon," repeated the wizard conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."
He stomped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid.
"Hm. Bit dusty."
He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.
"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!" Harry rather felt like an exhibit in a zoo under that gaze. He wondered if there was anyone in the wizarding world who did not make assumptions about him based on the scar on his forehead, well…apart from Percival and Sirius.
"This," said Dumbledore, moving forward feigning nonchalance to make the introduction, "Is Harry Potter. Harry this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."
Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd.
"So, that is how you thought to persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's still no, Albus." Harry was impressed that the man spoke so determinedly in the face of Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.
Slughorn pushed past Harry, his face resolutely turned away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.
"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Dumbledore. "For old times' sake."
Slughorn hesitated.
"All right one drink then," he said ungraciously.
Harry had picked up the bottle of dragon's blood and was inspecting it intently, ignoring the older wizard's chatter.
"Harry!" Dumbledore smiled at the boy as he turned compliantly and directed him to a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside a newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Harry took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore wanted to keep him as visible as possible. Certainly, when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes immediately fell upon Harry.
"Humph," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here-" he gave a drink to Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at Harry and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short that they did not touch the floor.
"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.
"Not so well," said Slughorn at once. "Ah, weak chest. Wheezy, rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."
"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Dumbledore. "You can't have had more than three minutes warning?"
Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Barely two. Didn't hear my intruder alarm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I am an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."
He certainly had those, thought Harry, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable. In fact, looking around at the soft chairs, footstools and plump cushions, Harry would have guessed that a fussy old lady lived there.
"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling madly.
"Well maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Slughorn bluntly. Harry hid a smile behind his glass.
"Hmmm. So all these precautions against intruders, Horace … are they for the Death Eaters benefit or mine?" asked Dumbledore, there was something oddly dark about the question.
"Pft," Horace Slughorn, sprayed his drink all over Harry. "Are you aware that they have lost their only Potions Master, Albus?"
Harry noticed that Slughorn did not immediately say that Tom Riddle had been killed, and he wondered if the man had some inside knowledge. At least if it was general knowledge that Severus was no longer a Death Eater, then Dumbledore could no longer force him to act as a spy and he might not have to use Seraphina's escape plan after all. Harry could admit, at least to himself, that there was something comforting about having the Potions Master nearby.
"I imagine they would want to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture and murder," said Dumbledore.
"I haven't given them the chance to ask! I've been on the move since I heard, never staying anywhere more than a week. Going from one Muggle house to the next while the owners are on holidays. The owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands. It's been very pleasant; I'll be sorry to leave," Slughorn pouted causing his gelatinous chin to wobble. "It's quite easy once you know how, one simple freezing charm on those absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbours don't spot you bringing in the piano."
"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "But it sounds rather a tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now were you to return to Hogwarts-"
"If you are going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might be in hiding, but it won't be for long now 'You-know-who' is gone." And there was the protest, made as a challenge, in the hopes of gleaning information. "I just need to wait for them to lose interest."
"I rather think you know as well as I the amount of truth in that statement, Horace." Again, there was almost a rumble of thunder at the words.
Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.
"Are you leaving." asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.
"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," said Dumbledore.
"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."
Dumbledore crossed the room. Once the door had closed behind him there was silence. After a few moments Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then strode to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.
"Don't think I don't know why he's bought you," he said abruptly.
Harry merely looked at Slughorn blankly feeling no need to try and help Dumbledore's cause. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.
"You do look very like your father."
"I've been told," agreed Harry baldly.
"Except for your eyes," the old man sighed.
"I've got my mother's eyes, yeah." Harry had heard it so often that he found it a bit wearing, was there really no other similarity that could be commented on.
"Humph, yes well not only her eyes you know. You shouldn't have favourites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. One of the brightest I ever taught, vivacious; you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my house. Very cheeky answers I used to get back, too."
"No sir, I don't actually know," Harry said flatly, causing the rotund man to frown. "Which house was yours, sir?"
"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh now," he went on quickly seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging stubby finger at him, "don't go holding it against me. You'll be in Gryff…"
"You misunderstand, sir. I was thinking about what it would have been like to have been a Muggleborn in Slytherin back then."
"Oh," Slughorn stopped in surprise, "Yes I suppose I hadn't thought about it like that. I couldn't believe that she was one when I found out. Thought she must have been pureblood she was so good."
"I don't believe that blood matters to how good a wizard you are," Harry said sticking out his chin.
Slughorn looked down on him in surprise. "You mustn't think I am prejudiced! No, no, no. Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favourite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too - now Head of the Globlin Liason office, of course…" As he rambled on about his past students, he sounded like an enthusiastic collector, showing off his trophies. He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photographs on the dresser, each with tiny moving occupants.
"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabus Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always…"
"Ah, he's the man that Sirius is suing for slander," Harry could not help but say, causing the round man to stammer to a halt in his babbling, his smile sliding off his face.
"Is it wise to have all these people knowing where to find you?" Harry asked.
"Ah, well, I have been rather out of touch," Slughorn admitted sadly.
Harry had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn himself, he looked quite unsettled. Then he shrugged.
"Still the prudent wizard keeps his head down at such times."
Comments about the safety within the wards at Hogwarts were left unsaid as Harry knew just what sort of lies, they were, instead he lifted the bottle holding the dragon's blood.
"You know muggles have developed very fine filters that I am sure you would be able to pass this through to remove the dust. Or there is a means of using centrifugal force to cause blood to separate into is constituent parts, that might also be useful. I do wonder whether their red blood cells are the same as ours-" Harry said softly as he gently swirled the blood contained within.
"Really," Slughorn's eyes lit, and his hand practically snatched the bottle out of Harry's hands. "Muggles you say…"
"Well," Harry shrugged. "I lead a rather sheltered life myself so I wouldn't know where to find them, but perhaps one of the Muggleborn Ravenclaws could help you out. It would need to be someone who has kept up with their Muggle education you see. I would guess a lot of the things used in chemistry could be useful in potion making."
Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two; he seemed to be thinking over Harry's words. Dumbledore re-entered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.
"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"
"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Dumbledore. "I do love the knitting patterns. Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."
Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry stepped to follow the Headmaster. Slughorn seemed taken aback.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."
"Lost…?"
Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fastening his travelling cloak and Harry zipping up his jacket.
"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job Horace," said Dumbledore, raising his hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security not-withstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."
"Yes…well…very gracious…as I say…"
"Goodbye, then."
"Bye," said Harry.
They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them, and a shark like grin, which Harry pretended not to see, slid fleetingly across Dumbledore's face.
"All right, all right, I'll do it!"
They turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.
"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore confirmed.
"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."
"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."
"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.
As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them.
"I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore…and…and time off for my own experiments!"
Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.
"Well done, Harry," said Dumbledore, a little positive re-enforcement went a long way after all.
"I didn't do anything," protested Harry.
"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"
Harry thought it was a decidedly odd question, "Er…."
Liking or not liking Slughorn was beside the point if he was going to be professor, Harry would have to put up with him either way.
"Horace," said Dumbledore, relieving Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the back seat – more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favourites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition, sometimes for their charm or talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favourites with himself at the centre, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favourite crystallised pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison office."
Harry had a sudden and vivid mental image of a great swollen spider, spinning a web around him, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a bit closer. He hastily strengthened his Occlumency shields, before realising that perhaps he did not want Dumbledore to realise just how far he had progressed and relaxing them just a touch. He alllowed his feelings on Slughorn to seep through.
"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry's efforts, "not to turn you against Horace-, or as you must call him now, Professor Slughorn- but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection: the Boy Who Lived!"
Harry wondered whether Dumbledore wanted Slughorn to collect him or not.
Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.
"This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm."
-o0o-
The cellar or perhaps more aptly the dungeon, was cold. The stones of the floor hard, rough, and uncomfortable. Sleep was a fleeting doze, between the terrifying moments when the door was opened, and the men appeared. Thus far she had prevented them from harming Michael at least in a physical sense, offering her own body in his place. Despite the pain hurting more than anything she had felt in her life. Just as any mother would, she would sacrifice everything to prevent harm befalling her son, and at least they did not do it in front of him.
At a guess it had only been a few days, but it felt like a life age had passed since they had been dumped unceremoniously into the box shaped room. Every moment in the darkness she prayed that someone would find them, rescue them, help them! For her son she put on a brave face reassuring him, that someone would come, but in her heart, she knew that as each hour passed the chances of them being rescued diminished. If she had no idea who these men where, then how would the local constabulary? No in the blackness, when her boy was asleep in her arms, she admitted to herself that it was likely that they would both die in this cell. She tried to keep her body still as she wept so as not to wake her son.
With a harsh squeal of rusting metal upon metal the door opened again, and she dragged her wounded body forward placing herself in front of her son, effectively screening him from the intruders. The light was near piercing to her eyes now, but she briefly made out the silhouettes of three figures. all male before they dragged her away. They laughed as they taunted her and she involuntarily shivered in fear when they said that at the very least they could have some fun with her, and that she should be honoured because she and her son were the only mudbloods to ever have been useful to the Dark Lord. What a mudblood was she did not know but the mention of a 'Dark Lord' sounded ominous in the extreme. She could only close her eyes and pray that someone…anyone would come for Michael.
The shrill screams that echoed through the stairwell caused Narcissa to pause, nearly stumbling as she hesitated in her step. That they had started this early in the day did not bode well, for either woman or boy. The only a thing that she could think was that the Dark Lord had finally revealed why they had been abducted in the first place and set his minions some horrific task. She pushed the thought away, and turned around, hurrying away. It would not do to be found near the dungeons while they were…working. Bitterly she hoped her Lucius was not one of the men in that room.
Hours later Narcissa returned, ignoring the whimpering coming from the dungeon, she peered through the bars at the small boy crying in his sleep before moving to look through the now open door to the second cell. A glance was all it took before her vomit joined the pools of fluids soaking the floor. Not one surface of the room was clean. Weak knees failed her, and she fell. The grime covering her hands and the front of her dress.
Desperation ate at her core; she had left it too late! There was no chance for Draco now, her part of the vow was unachievable. Her mind whirred, as she used the wall to clamber upright, with sweaty palms slipping, trying to find a solution that would ensure the life of her son. Finally managing to steady her legs, she shook herself. Perhaps there was still a way, something else that the other side was missing. She cast a Scourgify to clean the grime off her. She could not be seen to be affected by this, by rights she should not even know what the men had done, and on one hand she supposed that she did not. The only thing that was certain was that she did not want her beloved Draco to become a monster such as the men who had invaded her home. The longer he was exposed to them the more likely it was to occur.
In the other cell, Michael awoke to a cold emptiness, and being frightened gave in to his instincts and began to wail in earnest. The sound haunted Narcissa as she made her way up the staircase. She doubted she would ever fall asleep without hearing it again.
-o0o-
Braced this time, Harry was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and he found himself able to breathe again, he was standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of the Burrow. In spite of the feeling of dread that had just swept through him, his spirits could not help but lift a little at the sight of it. It wasn't Grimmauld Place, but he knew Ron was in there, and perhaps the twins. Not to mention from there he would be able to send messages to Percival and Sirius, reassuring them that he was safe. Hopefully they were still awake and would be able to reply with how Remus and the others were after their visit to the Gaunt shack.
"Please excuse the extra walk, but it seems that Bill has set the wards to prevent anyone apparating onto the property at all. I shall have to have a word to him about it."
Harry ignored Dumbledore's disgruntled musings as they walked up the lane towards the garden gate.
"If you don't mind Harry," Dumbledore continued, as they passed through the gate, "I'd like to have a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"
Dumbledore pointed towards a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks, and Harry could not help but be reminded of the horrible interview with Rita Skeeter before the Triwizard Tournament. Feeling a little apprehensive, Harry followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard and Harry had to draw in his Occlumency shields in an attempt not to think about the cupboard at Privet Drive, wondering if Dumbledore had chosen this location deliberately to discomfort him. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch and smiled down at Harry.
"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry."
"Why?"
"Sometimes when one has had a lot of power or celebrity, such as you have enjoyed Harry. They find it hard to watch someone else step into the spotlight," Dumbledore said sagely. "It just goes to show that your aunt and uncle raised you to have a firm understanding of your place in the world. I'm also pleased that you have forgiven Hermione for her little …indiscretion. It speaks well for you."
Harry only just stopped himself from snorting, instead he settled on saying "I never wanted to be famous anyway. Even if Hermione and I aren't that close anymore," there that should keep the old man happy, best if he ignored the comment about the Dursleys, "she took the shot so should get the fame if she wants it." He ended with a nonchalant shrug.
Dumbledore was pleased at Harry's humble reply. "Spoken like your mother's son. Your father was of course all for the attention. I take my hat off to you – or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders."
Huh, the bearded fool was worried about the spiders, nice of him to pretend to care now.
"And now on a closely related subject… I gather you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"
"Yes," said Harry, wondering what Dumbledore was getting at. In truth he had not really paid much attention to what had been written in that rag, except for the fact that they were no longer writing about him.
"Then you will have seen that someone has uncovered the story of your misadventure in the Ministry."
"Ah, yes?" said Harry again, after all Dumbledore himself had given interviews about the events.
"And it appears that someone has let it slip that you might be the subject to a prophecy."
"What? You …" Harry bit his tongue to keep the accusation from being spoken. "So what? Do they think I am some sort of Chosen One or something? Does it matter now that V…Voldemort is gone?"
"No, they do not," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "There are only two people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing in this smelly, spidery, broom shed. It is true, however that many have guessed, correctly that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal the prophecy and that the prophecy concerned you. Many now believe that the Death Eaters will rally together following their Lord's death and you and Hermione will be the figureheads of the resistance against them. Now I hope I am correct in assuming that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"
"No," said Harry. Technically he supposed it was true, Percival and the others had all heard it for themselves directly from the orb, he had not told them, and it was Sirius who had discussed it with Seraphina.
"A wise decision," Dumbledore praised. "Although as I said when we were discussing it, I do believe that you ought to relax it in favour of your friends Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued as Harry practically swallowed his own tongue to withhold his protest about Hermione being his friend. "I think they ought to know about both the return of Lord Voldemort and the prophecy. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."
"I don't want–"
"- to worry or frighten them?" said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. You should not shut yourself away."
Harry said nothing about Percival or Sirius, but Dumbledore did not seem to require any response.
"I would like to remind you about our private lessons this year," Dumbledore continued after a moments silence.
"Yes sir, I remember. You said something about understanding your enemy. What else will you be teaching me?"
"Oh, a little of this and a little of that. It will be a good opportunity for you and Hermione to bond again."
"If Hermione is there, shouldn't Ron be invited as well?"
Dumbledore frowned, "Unfortunately I doubt that the formidable Molly Weasley would allow her son to be included in these particular lessons."
So, it was okay to tell Ron about the prophecy and Riddle but not for him to be included in the lessons? Something about that seemed very odd to Harry.
"If I am having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?" Harry asked in hopeful voice, more to divert Dumbledore's attention from his obvious unease at doing lessons alone with the Headmaster and Hermione. He would have to ensure he did not eat or drink anything during the lessons and ask Ron or Percival to check him for spells afterwards. The diversion worked.
"Professor Snape, Harry, and yes, I am afraid you will. He will take the lead in giving you the background information it might encourage you to take his lessons seriously. Who knows when Lord Voldemort will return, and when he does, you must be ready. Oh, and Harry, I do believe all fifth years should be expecting a certain delivery later today. You might want to inform Miss Granger. I am sure she will be appreciative."
Dumbledore pushed open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard said, "I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are."
-o0o-
They each had a stone threaded onto a strap of leather tied around their necks.
"Right, I guess I should get going then," Remus said straightening his shoulders resolutely, wand clenched in his fist.
"Hang on!" Bill protested. "Why do you think you should test it? I engraved it I should take the risk."
"If it isn't successful you will need to re-work it. As you are the only one of us who has that depth of knowledge of runes, you cannot be risked. I am also not politically important like Amelia, I am easily the most disposable of the group and I can cast a patronus," Remus shrugged.
"Don't argue, just let him go if he wishes," Stonerune ground out, sometimes humans debated the most inconsequential things. The werewolf was right, and no amount of arguing would change it.
"Okay," Remus said, swallowing hard. With a deep breath he stepped outside of the confines of their wards. Taking two steps forward, he allowed his patronus to fade and watched the dementors back away, that was good, very good. While he could still feel their pervasive coldness at least it was clear that they would not kiss him. Seeing a glint in the grass Remus bent to pick up the first stone that Bill had carved. As he leant forwards a dementors swept closer and he straightened, instinctively flicking his wand and casting his patronus once more.
The results were incredible, the new casting was somehow boosted by the rune around his neck, a massive wolf of light exploded from his wand and tore into the creatures. Black wisps floated down on to the grass, like soot from a campfire.
"I…I guess that means it's safe for us to approach the house?" Remus said quietly, brushing one of the drifting pieces away from his face. He turned to face the others who were staring at him in dumbfounded silence.
"That was unexpected," Stonerune said blandly, causing Bill to snort.
Bill quickly disrupted the ward lines and gathered up the tourmaline pieces, tucking them back into his bag, to be cleansed and polished later. They slowly approached the house, each casting a myriad of detection spells.
"So, the next challenge appears to be how to enter. Does it seem odd to anyone else that there are spells on the door but not the walls or roof?" Remus asked with a frown. "Unless there are some in Parseltongue?" he looked to Stonerune, who shook his head.
"Do they seem rather simple to you?" Amelia asked.
"Hmm, perhaps he was very much younger when he placed this one here?" Bill suggested.
"I believe that is the case," Stonerune agreed. "This animation spell," he waved a stick near the door, causing the snake that was nailed there to rise up and hiss, "is barely intact. I would say it was placed as many as fifty years ago. I believe the outer defences were placed at a later time."
"Do we go in through a window or the roof?" Remus looked at the building consideringly.
"We don't go in at all just yet," Bill said firmly. "It seems more than a little odd that this one should be protected by so little. There has to be more to it. Perhaps you go through the window and as soon as you land on the floor, the ceiling falls in or something."
"I can levitate you so that you can cast through the window," Remus suggested.
Bill banished the glass from the window, then nodded to Remus who elevated him with a simple swish and flick. After received permission from the Goblin, Amelia levitated Stonerune, beside his teammate.
"There is naught on the floor, or the wall opposite. However, there is one spot on the floor that shows a strong concentration of magic. It must be hidden there. I believe it will be safe to enter through the window. From there I believe I can unravel the spells on the door."
In surprisingly short period of time, they were all inside in the cramped room. It was completely devoid of furniture or furnishings. The only thing that was intact was the floor and there was the smell of rotten wood in the air. A quick cutting spell removed the floorboards from over the area that they could all sense concealed the horcrux.
The source of the smell that pervaded the room was revealed. In the space that was revealed were the skeletal remains of several long dead snakes. Each carcass of skin and bone was entwined like a lover around a silver box set at the very centre on a bed of decaying wooden slats. A moment after it was uncovered, Stonerune was again muttering under his breath, hands flicking every now and then towards the macabre shrine. Bill watched his mentor closely, when the Goblin's murmurs had subsided, he raised his wand and began to cast.
"Well," Amelia said as Bill finished, "I can think of no other detection spells to cast. Do we simply remove it from its resting place?"
"There is something…" Remus muttered, causing the other three to turn to him. "I don't know what it is but…" his nose crinkled instinctively.
"No, there is nothing else to try," Stonerune said, "When I open that box…."
"When you open that box," Amelia said with a snort. "It is coming back to the Ministry with me! When I open…."
"No, I came up with the runes that got us passed the Dementors," Bill said. "I'm taking that box back to Gringotts. I can use it and the runes to show that I am ready to be promoted to Master Cursebreaker."
"Ha. The day they make you a Master, I'll run and hide in the catacombs," Stonerune scoffed, reaching forward. "I was the one who banished the plague therefore…"
-o0o-
Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old wellington boots and rusty cauldrons (Harry could practically hear Severus complaining about that), the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden movement from behind the kitchen window.
"Who's there?" said a nervous voice that he recognised as Mrs Weasley's. "Declare yourself."
"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry…" the headmaster said pompously.
The door opened at once. There stood Mrs Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing-gown.
"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"
Harry wondered if Dumbledore enjoyed the anxiety, he caused by turning up at people's houses unannounced so late at night. Aunt Petunia would have been horrified at the lack of manners and refused to open the door. Though she probably would have refused to open the door, just because it was Dumbledore, regardless of the time of day.
"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Harry over the threshold. "Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"
Harry wondered darkly what Dumbledore would have done if Slughorn had not been so easily persuadable as he looked around and saw that Mrs Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy-brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug. Until she spoke, Harry did not recognise her.
"Hello, Professor," she said. "Wotcher, Harry."
"Hi, Tonks."
Harry wondered what was wrong with her, she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile. Certainly, her appearance was less colourful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum pink hair.
"I'd best be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly. I know I shouldn't have …"
Harry looked away with a frown, the way she said it made Harry wonder why she had not talked to her mother or father. She had seemed close to them at Christmas. It was odd.
"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously. "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."
"No, no, I need to get going, I've got to work in the morning," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "Night-"
"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Bill will be home then?"
"No, really, Molly … thanks anyway … goodnight, everyone."
Tonks hurried past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard, pulling her cloak around her shoulders as she went; a few minutes later the sound of a faint pop echoed across the yard as she apparated away. Glancing away from the open door Harry noticed that Mrs Weasley looked troubled.
"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself, Molly."
He made Mrs Weasley a bow and followed Tonks out the door and up the road, vanishing as soon as he had cleared the wards. Mrs Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance. He assumed it was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the grip was too tight.
"You're like Ron," she sighed, looking him up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron has grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Not that you appear to have grown at all, just gotten thinner," she tutted under her breath, "what would a man know about feeding a boy!" More loudly she said, "Are you hungry, Harry?"
Harry's stomach twisted; he could hardly say no when he was pretending to be in Dumbledore's thrall, but what if she put something in his food. He had not realised he had become accustomed to having someone he trusted making his food. "Yeah, I am," he forced himself to say.
"Sit down, dear, I'll knock something up."
As Harry sat down a furry ginger cat with a squashed face jumped on his knees and settled there, purring.
"So, Hermione's here?" he asked as he tickled Crookshanks behind the ear.
"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday. Dumbledore bought her, it's safer for her here. Well as safe as anywhere except …"
Harry was grateful that Molly could not finish the sentence as there was no way he was going to be manipulated into offering Hermione a room at Grimmauld Place.
"Hogwarts," he supplied helpfully.
Mrs Weasley hummed a vague response as she rapped her wand on an iron pot: it bounced on to the stove with a loud clang and began to bubble at once. "Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't expect you for hours. Here you are-"
She tapped the pot again, it rose into the air, flew towards Harry and tipped over; Mrs Weasley slid a bowl neatly beneath it just in time to catch the stream of thick, steaming onion soup.
"Bread, dear?"
"Thanks, Mrs Weasley."
She waved her wand over her shoulder; a loaf of bread and a knife soared gracefully on to the table. As the loaf sliced itself and the soup pot dropped back on to the stove, Mrs Weasley sat down opposite him.
"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"
Harry nodded, his mouth full of hot soup, so he could not speak.
"He taught Arthur and me," said Mrs Weasley, a little misty eyed at the memories. "He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"
Again, Harry was puzzled by the question, fortunately he was saved from replying as his mouth was now full of bread, so he shrugged and gave a non-committal jerk of the head.
"I know what you mean," said Mrs Weasley wisely. "Of course, he can be quite the charmer when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry is littered with Slughorn's favourites, he was always good at giving leg-ups, but he never had much time for Arthur – didn't seem, to think he was enough of a high-flier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters – it's only just happened – but Arthur's been promoted."
It could not have been clearer that Mrs Weasley had been bursting to say this. Harry quickly swallowed a large amount of very hot soup and thought he could feel his throat blistering.
"That's great!" he gasped, regardless of what he thought of Mrs Weasley, he was happy for Arthur.
"You are sweet," beamed Mrs Weasley, possibly taking his watering eyes for emotion at the news. "Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices since he has taken charge of the Ministry, and Arthur's the Office for the Detection and Destruction of Banned Appliances and Liabilities Liaison now. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him, and has to meet with people from all different departments."
"What exactly-?"
"Well Rufus determined that a more cautious approach was needed with …well Muggle things. Arthur has to investigate Muggle items and determine if they are dangerous. If they are he instigates a rule to have them added to the banned list and destroys them."
"And the liaison?"
"He needs to talk to various people in the Muggle world to find out what the items do."
As much as he liked Mr Weasley Harry nearly cringed at the thought of the somewhat dotty man, running around the Muggle world asking questions like, 'what is the purpose of a rubber duck?' He wondered why they had not employed a Muggleborn for the job. Loyalty kept his mouth shut as he noticed Mrs Weasley had continued speaking.
"So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark-pulgs and toasters. Now he'll be getting rid of all that Muggle rubbish," Mrs Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark-plugs.
"Is Mr Weasley still at work?" Harry asked vaguely concerned for the man.
"Yes he is as a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late … he said he'd be back around midnight …"
She turned to look at a large clock that was perched awkwardly on top of a pile of sheets in the washing basket at the end of the table. Harry recognised it a once, despite its odd location; it had nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member, and usually hung on the Weasleys' sitting room wall, though its current position suggested that Mrs Weasley had taken to carrying it around the house with her. The penny dropped, Dumbledore must have told the Weasleys that Riddle would return, or at the least that the Death Eaters were coming after them.
"Oh," with a sudden exclamation she pointed at the clock's face. Mr Weasley's hand had switched to travelling.
"He's coming!"
And sure enough a moment later there was a knock on the back door. Mrs Weasley jumped up and hurried to it: with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood she called softly," Arthur is that you?"
"Yes," came Mr Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"Oh honestly…"
"Molly!"
"All right, all right … what is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how aeroplanes stay up."
Mrs Weasley nodded and turned the doorknob, opening the door to reveal her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long dusty travelling cloak.
"I don't see why we have to go through that every time you come home," said Mrs Weasley. "I mean a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!"
"I know dear, but it is the best we have. Something smells good - onion soup?"
Mr Weasley turned hopefully in the direction of the table.
"Harry! We didn't expect you until morning!"
They shook hands and Mr Weasley dropped into the chair beside Harry as Mrs Weasley set a bowl of soup int front of him, too.
"Thanks Molly. It's been a tough night, the Counterfeit Items Agency were a man down so I got called in to help with a raid. Some idiot was selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them round your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises all for ten Galleons!"
"And what really happens when you put them on?"
"Mostly you turn a fairly unpleasant orange colour and start to smell like boiled cabbage, though a couple have also sprouted tentacle-like warts all over their bodies."
"It sounds like the sort of thing that Fred and George would find funny," Mrs Weasley sniffed. And though Harry agreed that they would find it amusing he could not help thinking that if they had set out to make something like that it would really work, however they were smart enough to realise the potential for misuse especially after their conversations with Percival. "Are you sure they -?"
"Of course, I am!" said Mr Weasley defended the twins staunchly. "The boys would not do anything like that. If they were selling something that turned you orange it would be sold along with the Whoopee cushions as a known gag, they wouldn't pretend it was something else."
Harry stifled a yawn behind his hand.
"Bed," Mrs Weasley ordered at once and Harry could not find it in himself to argue. "I've got Fred and George's room ready for you. You'll have it to yourself."
"Why, where are they?"
"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop, as they're so busy," said Mrs Weasley. "I don't approve of them of them dropping out of Hogwarts but at least they seem to have a flair for business," she admitted grudgingly. "Come on, dear, your trunk's already up there."
"Night, Mr Weasley," said Harry, pushing back his chair, Crookshanks leapt lightly from his lap and slunk out of the room. Harry thought Mrs Weasley's comment was odd given what Ron had said in his letter, but it was something to worry about in the morning.
"G'night, Harry," said Mr Weasley, before turning his attention back to the bowl in front of him.
Fred and George's bedroom was on the second floor. Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once, bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their fragrance could not disguise the lingering smell of what Harry thought was gunpowder. A considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes, amongst which stood Harry's school trunk. The room looked as though it was being used as a temporary warehouse.
Mrs Weasley looked around the room with a frown, "I'll make sure those boys come by and take all this rubbish away."
"Not to worry Mrs Weasley. I'm not staying that long, and I don't want to be a hassle," Harry shrugged.
"Not staying long! Harry, you're staying here until school goes back," Mrs Weasley said. How had Harry forgotten! He was already missing Percival. Molly took a deep bracing breath and said, "Well we'll see. Goodnight," and she stepped out of the room, pulling the door behind her with such a sharp click that Harry assumed that it had been locked.
Hedwig's happy hoot drew Harry's attention to where she was perched on top of a large wardrobe; Harry got the distinct impression she had been waiting to see him before she went hunting.
"Go hunting Hedwig," Harry murmured, moving close enough to stroke her feathers. "When you're done, I'll have a letter waiting for you. I don't suppose it matters too much if Sirius doesn't get it until morning. He'll probably be asleep now anyway."
With a gentle hoot, she took wing, batting his head gently as she passed by on her way out the window. Harry watched her go for a moment before retrieving the necessary utensils from his trunk. Noting as he did so that it looked like Dobby had finished all his packing for him.
"Thanks for keeping an eye on me and packing Dobby," Harry said to the empty room.
Dear Dad Sirius,
The task that was so important tonight was to drop in unexpectedly on an old colleague of Dumbledore's. One Horace Slughorn, have you heard of him? Anyway, he wanted me there to persuade the old man to come and teach at Hogwarts. Though from the look of him I doubt the man would make a very good Defence Professor, which as usual, is the only position vacant. He seemed more interested in hiding as a means of defence. As we managed to convince him it looks like we will have another dud this year. Can you get Mooney to recommend a text? Thanks.
Oh and Slughorn was already aware that the Death Eaters have lost their Potion's Master, which is why he was hiding. He also seemed to know that Riddle is not truly gone. Do you think this will mean our favourite Professor won't have to go back to his old activities and will be able to stay around? I hope so.
Sirius, I'm worried. Hermione is here! I had thought it would just be the Weasley's so that I only would really only have to act around Molly. What happens if I can't keep my temper with her here? What happens if she tries to give me some sort of potion again? I don't want to have lessons with just her and Dumbledore, it isn't right! Also can you check with Andy if there is anything wrong with Tonks? She was here, at the Burrow, tonight when I arrived, and was acting very strangely. Her hair wasn't even pink!
I'm missing you guys and the old place already, I don't think I can survive until school goes back without seeing you or the Professor or Perce! I know it makes me a sap, but I've never had a family before and… I think I'm homesick! Molly has put me in Fred and George's old room and it looks like they have left all the stock for their shop behind. I hope Mooney and the others are ok after their adventure tonight, you will let me know that they are ok, won't you?
Anyhow, I had best get to bed.
Love you
Harry
Perhaps it was not the most eloquent letter, but it would have to do. Harry raised his wand to cast a Patronus, "tell Percival, I'm ok, but I miss him heaps. Just got in to the Weasley's, and about to go to bed. At this point Dumbledore seems none-the-wiser."
Turning away as the silver light disappeared through the window, Harry retrieved his pyjamas and changed for bed, by the time he had pulled back the sheets, there was an answering silver light.
"Nothing to note here, though Remus and the others are not back. Sirius does not seem worried as yet. Miss you too, it is going to be hard to sleep in a cold bed tonight."
Harry could not help but agree, even as the warmth of Percival's presence faded with the Patronus, but there was nothing to be done. Laying his head down on the pillow he found something hard in the pillowcase. He groped inside it and pulled out a sticky purple and orange sweet, which he recognised as a Puking Pastille. Smiling to himself, he rolled over and was instantly asleep.
-o0o-
Dear Harry,
Horace Slughorn! He was the Potion's professor before Severus. There is no way the man is teaching anything but potions. Sev was here when your message arrived, and he is furious. Though it possibly means that 'our favourite' professor might get to teach you defence this year. So while he might not enjoy that at least you will learn something.
With regards to your concerns. Check your trunk, I had Dobby pack a couple of special cleansing potions for you and he will replace them as needed. I know Addison said that the Basilisk venom will destroy any potions you are given, but we don't know how long that will take. He made these ones especially with your issues in mind, and they are safe and gentle enough to take nightly. As Dumbledore still thinks that Dobby is a Hogwarts elf, he should still be allowed to be at Hogwarts. Meaning he can keep an eye on the 'lessons' you will be having and once you are back at school he will make sure your food is not contaminated in any way. Trying to avoid Hermione might be your best option there and if you happen to blow up at her, blame it on hormones, you are a teenager after all.
You were spot on with your assessment, something is wrong with Tonks. At the moment she has been avoiding her parent's after they had a fight about it. We have spoken to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he is going to try and have her go through an early medical test and cleansing at work. If he needs to, he will bring Moody in on it. I don't want you worrying about it though, we will take care of it. Rest assured she will be ok and back to her usual self soon.
At the time I am writing this, the team are not yet back from the hunt, though I hope that they will not be long. Waiting has always been a problem for me, though I have given Amelia my word that I will not head out there, until at least midday if they haven't returned by then, and that I will take Moody with me. I promise I will let you know as soon as they are back.
Sev wants me to let you know that he will be coming round to the Burrow, every Tuesday, to continue your Occlumency practice. So be prepared for that, he will bring Percival with him and hopefully we can coax Molly into allowing Percival to stay overnight. So you won't be completely cut off from us.
Well, I had best hurry up and get back to waiting.
Missing you too kiddo.
Love
Dad Padfoot