Chapter 53. Why Again?
The evening darkness concealed the sky, and along with it, Harry, Dumbledore, and Dudley ventured into the depths of the unknown. Every step, every breath, filled with uncertainty and danger, thickened the pitch-black darkness that enveloped their path.
Under the bright stars drifting in the sky, they were about to reach their goal. The early hours of dawn entrusted them with a secret endeavor. The picturesque village of Badly Bebberton welcomed them, enticing them into its embrace. The charming village seemed to silently invite its visitors into the elusive reality of enchanting landscapes and hidden secrets.
Only when midnight approached did the professor announce that they were close to their destination. The door lazily swung open, disturbing the silence and calmness, revealing a mature Horace Slughorn, who had long abandoned the walls of Hogwarts. The seductive melody of the wooden door's click made hearts skip a beat with an anticipation of unfathomable danger. Horace artfully staged his own scene of chaos, erasing all traces of the massacre and his own secret intentions just minutes before their visit.
Convincing the old professor proved to be even more challenging than anticipated. He vehemently resisted, pushing aside all persuasion with the sole purpose of preserving the tranquility of his advanced age. However, Harry Potter, renowned worldwide, stood before him like a phenomenon from a previous world, his eyes burning with a shimmering flame of destiny. Slughorn dissolved in front of him, surrendering without a fight to the force that controlled his fate, as he desired to add the surviving boy to his collection of favorites. Only the boy himself didn't need to know about it.
They arrived at The Burrow before dawn. Dudley, who had never been a guest at the Weasleys before, looked around in astonishment and apprehension at their wonderful house, which seemed to be made up of seemingly incompatible parts, as if the house was constantly being built from whatever could easily be found nearby. Near the house, Harry spotted a mysterious structure that reminded him of a high-voltage power line support, a water tower, and an old television tower with a rounded dome on top. Lost in thought, Harry rubbed his forehead and turned around just in time.
"Who's there?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously from behind the door.
Harry recognized Mrs. Weasley's voice.
"It's me, Dumbledore brought me," he replied.
The door immediately swung open. Mrs. Weasley, a short, plump woman in an old green robe, stood on the threshold.
"Oh, Harry, dear! Goodness, Albus, you scared me. You said not to expect you before morning!"
"We were lucky," Dumbledore smiled, allowing Harry to enter the house ahead of him. "Snape was not as difficult to persuade as I expected. It's all thanks to Harry. Oh, hello, Nymphadora!"
Harry turned around and saw that Mrs. Weasley wasn't alone in the kitchen, despite the late hour. A young witch with a heart-shaped pale face and mouse-colored hair sat at the table, holding a mug with both hands.
"Hello, Professor," she said. "Hi, Harry."
"Hey, Tonks!"
Harry thought Tonks looked tired, even sickly, and her smile seemed forced. Her whole appearance was not as flashy as usual, without the usual bright pink, chewed bubblegum-like hair.
"I should probably go," she quickly said, getting up and putting on her cloak. "Thanks for the tea and the sympathy, Molly."
"Please, don't worry about me," Dumbledore politely said. "I can't stay anyway. I need to discuss some urgent matters with Rufus Scrimgeour."
"No, no, I really need to go," Tonks said, avoiding eye contact with Dumbledore. "Goodnight everyone..."
Tonks rushed out the door, squeezing past Harry and Dumbledore. A few steps away from the threshold, she turned on her heel and vanished into thin air. Harry noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked upset.
"So, we'll see each other at Hogwarts, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Take care, Molly, your servant."
He bowed to Mrs. Weasley, walked out into the yard, and disappeared in the same spot as Tonks. Mrs. Weasley closed the door, took Harry by the shoulders, drew him closer to the lamp on the table, and looked him over carefully from head to toe.
"You're just like Ron," she sighed. "You both must have been jinxed for growth. Honestly, Ron has grown four inches since I last bought him a school robe. Are you hungry, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry answered, realizing suddenly that he was incredibly hungry.
At these words, Dudley also perked up, but Mrs. Weasley understood the need for a second portion even without his words.
"Sit down, dears. I'll come up with something for you right away."
Harry sat down. Immediately, a fluffy ginger cat with a squashed face jumped onto his lap, curled up, and purred.
"So, Hermione is here too?" Harry asked happily, scratching Crookshanks behind the ear.
"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday."
Mrs. Weasley knocked sharply on the large cast iron pot with her wand. The pot leaped onto the stove with a loud clang and immediately began to boil and bubble.
"Everyone is still asleep, we weren't expecting you for a while. Well, help yourself," she said.
She touched the pot again with her wand, it rose into the air, flew to Harry and tilted; then it did the same in front of Dudley. Mrs. Weasley barely had time to place a bowl under the stream of thick onion soup, which was steaming.
"Bread?" she asked.
But at that moment they were interrupted: a tall figure descended slowly from above. This tall figure seemed impenetrable. The stranger had a whirlwind of black hair, his face looked like that of a philosopher, and his height, over six feet, was impressively commanding. But the most striking thing about him was his incomprehensible attire - like that of a walking robot from science fiction movies, his leg was clad in a mechanical shell while on his right hand there gleamed a massive, heavy, metal glove from which bright electric discharges ran from his shoulder. Around his neck shone an ornament made of lavishly folded metal plates, unbelievably shimmering under the rays of light. Underneath all these incredible contraptions, Harry saw an old-fashioned blue suit and a white silk glove on the other hand. The stranger's eyes shimmered in all shades of a night luminary, and with these two fires he pierced the souls of the astonished guests.
Looking into them, Harry saw the burning enthusiasm of a young man who had dedicated his life to great goals and devoted his life to electricity. He built huge towers, impressed the audience, and gave everything to his dream. In the face of this man, Harry saw the reflection of a great thinker and inventor who lived in the first half century. A rational and focused face, but now no longer with imposing mustaches, stared intently at Harry.
"Hello..." Harry stammered.
Further words got stuck in Harry's throat, who was stunned by such a meeting gaze. Mrs. Weasley, turning to him in amazement, unexpectedly turned around to see the newcomer. At that moment, Harry noticed that the man had placed his right hand on his chest and neatly placed his left hand behind his back, demonstrating nobility and respect with his whole manner. Then he bowed to them, waist-deep.
"I apologize for interrupting your early breakfast, young guests. I had to make sure that nothing unexpected had happened," he said with dignity and seriousness.
"Nikola, everything is fine. Allow me to introduce you to the young men – Harry Potter and his cousin Dudley Dursley," Mrs. Weasley said to this mysterious stranger, then added with a smile, "Won't you have an early portion of soup?"
"I apologize, Mrs. Weasley. In these difficult times, as a Servant, it is my duty to protect my Master and those close to him."
With these words, he politely bowed to Mrs. Weasley and returned upstairs with noble grace.
"Wow!" exclaimed Harry. "I didn't think anyone from Hogwarts would be able to summon a Servant."
"And what's his name?" Dudley wondered.
"Nicola Tesla, he's Hermione's Servant," Harry answered.
The boys fell silent at these words, and Dudley let out a surprised whistle. He had drawn his Summoning Circle in his father's garage, but no Servants had appeared.
"Maybe it's not the right time yet," he said thoughtfully.
"Not the right time for what?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice carrying a hint of concern.
"Well, we... I mean, I tried to summon a Servant too, but it didn't work," Dudley sadly admitted, pouring the contents of his spoon back into the bowl before scooping up more soup.
"Well, you know..." Mrs. Weasley replied, her voice tinged with thoughtfulness and displeasure.
Could something unpleasant have happened at the Burrow in the past two weeks, and another Servant had caused trouble? Harry couldn't help but feel like a hostage to circumstances, where all the news reached him last. However, he didn't feel any resentment towards his friends for this—after all, an owl carrying a message about Servants could easily be intercepted, and a phone conversation could be overheard—instead, he felt a strong desire to uncover all the secrets as soon as possible. And preferably, for time to fly by like an invisible arrow until morning...