Chapter One.
-variant, Benjamin Franklin
Rousing himself from his reverie, Harry took stock. First on his list, was to hide anything important to him, that need not come under the intolerant gaze of his warders – the Dursleys. He couldn't think of them as family, not after the years he'd spent around the Weasleys. He'd not had any reference most of his life in what really constituted a family, but with their glowing memory in mind, he could not in good conscience use the word for what he Aunt and Uncle were. A single glance at his bedroom door reinforced this ideal, with it's cat-flap to allow meals, and the checkered light from the hallway, cast between the many locks.
Second, Harry took stock of his room, to see if anything had changed over his school year. Seeing only a larger collection of dust and debris from long neglect, he had to assume not. Checking his loose floorboard, Harry stowed what small precious items he could there; any snacks and food he had left, his Defense against the Dark Arts notes and textbook, as well as the photo album, his gossamer invisibility cloak, and a bundle he gingerly transported from his trunk. With a moment's hesitation, he slipped his wand back into the waistband of his trousers, pulling the oversize shirt he wore to conceal it. Snickering a bit at the look he'd likely get from Moody for such, he none the less had no better way to keep it on hand. Satisfied that his more treasured items were safe, Harry sat upon his small cot, not really a bed, and looked out of the window, still barred, across from his bed. He knew the street was below, but at the angle he couldn't see. Frowning, he looked for his curtains, but found none. Sighing heavily, he set about taking another of his school robes, this one from third year, and tearing it into makeshift curtains. Without them, he'd never get to sleep with the streetlight shining into his room each night.
Thinking about sleep caused a shudder to go through the young man, as he gazed blankly out at the steel-gray sky above Surrey. His appearance spoke of his trouble with sleep, deep rings under his eyes, and a sunken, weary cast to his otherwise handsome features. Shaking off the moment's darkness, he opened a small box that he'd kept separate from those things to be stowed under the floor.
Hedwig made small curious sound, as he set the few items from the box on his desk. The somewhat battered Pocket Sneakoscope was put back in with a sigh, as the thing sat and wobbled precariously, nearly upending itself onto the floor. "So much for that," he mused. How anyone could use one of those was beyond him, and that the poor thing worked at all after all the time Harry had owned it was a wonder.
Next out, with a smile lighting his face, was a small scale model of his own Firebolt, given to him the previous Christmas by Tonks. Setting the small stand near his desk lamp, he watched with a light heart as the miniature broom lifted off and circled the light a few minutes, until going back to recharge it's charm. Harry knew such a thing was risky to keep out, but with his own broom locked away at Hogwarts, and the reassurance that there was a repairing charm on the bauble, he figured it a safe allowance.
Harry's smile faded as his next find came into the light from his lamp. His Pocketknife, from Sirius glinted faintly in his hand, the one missing blade a reminder of that night, as if the thing itself needed more impact. Closing his eyes, Harry relived that Christmas, remembering the strained happiness he'd shared with the Order, his friends and their families. Sniffing hard, he banished those thoughts and laid the knife down, warily eyeing it. "Sirius would want me to keep on my person..." he mumbled quietly, and with a small nod, slipped it back into his pocket.
Finished with his unpacking, Harry slumped onto his cot, and listened to the various goings-on of his warders. Despite the day not nearly being done, he found himself more weary than wakeful, and with a nervous sigh, settled himself to sleep.
Above, perched on the rooftop of number 4 Privet Drive, a lone watcher sat and contemplated many things. The young man that was guarded, and veritably jailed, below. The ultimate reason for his sequestering. The man who could have changed all, but for some foresight and the strength of will to do what was right, rather than do what was good. Lastly, the figure contemplated itself. The warp and weft of the tapestry they were a part of, and how the many, many possible changes in a single thread's direction could alter it all. Nodding once, the figure pulled it's hood forward, and a book from the folds of it's cloak.
Harry came aware with a start, his breath leaping in great gasps. Shaking his aching head, the young man stole a glance around his room, only to settle with a groan back into his pillow. "Dream. Just a dream," he murmured, blurry eyes turned to the luminous disks, Hedwig's eyes, watching him from his desk. "Want to go for a hunt girl?"
Hedwig seemed to puff up at this, her pinfeathers flexing out in anticipation. "Take that as a yes. Come back by midday, I have some letters to write, ok?" Satisfied that she knew his meaning, Harry took the great owl and let her free into the still deep night. Wondering himself what time it was, he looked about and remembered he didn't own a clock of his own, for the room. Shuffling quietly through his trunk, he came upon an old wristwatch, and realized that it was likely wrong. Running a hand through his unruly hair, Harry tried to find some good in the present, scratching idly at the impression his Godfather's gift had left in his hip.
Blinking, Harry laughed at himself and pulled the knife free. "So simple," he murmured, eyeing his door with a widening grin. Fifteen minutes later found Harry outside, laying under the stars in the back garden, his father's cloak stretched out beneath him along the ground. He watched the dome of sky turn over him, wondering if somewhere there was a place for those lost. His parents. Sirius. Luna's mother. His thoughts swept over those he knew, and Harry realized that his pain wasn't unique – far from it. Many had lost much to Voldemort. Many had suffered worse fates than a simple death, he recalled, thinking sadly on Neville's parents.
Rousing himself after nearly an hour of stargazing, Harry turned and looked over his home. His rather heated talk with Dumbledore had left no question that he was under guard of the Order. Remembering that Tonk, Moody, Shaklebolt and a few other notable members were Aurors, he had to assume they'd be concealed well. Leaning against one of the trees in the back garden, he took in the property quietly. Remembering his few lessons from Hagrid involving the behavior of wild things around humans, Harry had to assume whoever it was, used magic or were very good at hiding themselves. Smirking a bit, he shook his head. "Like I am one to judge someone on their stealth," he murmured to himself.
"Oh I don't know," a voice chimed up in response, causing Harry to start and fall to the side, his arm tangled in the mat of a cloak he lay on. "Seem to do alright for yourself, mostly."
The voice resolved itself to a gray-cloaked figure, crouched attentively on the bench a few feet from Harry. His wand was in his hand, he knew not when he drew it, but as he watched the figure made a great show of it's empty hands, reaching up slowly to draw back the obscuring hood. He released a tense breath as shock-pink hair was revealed, over a pale face. "Wotcher, Harry."
"Tonks," Harry sighed, closing his eyes and trying to reign in his galloping heart. "Why'd you go and scare me like that? I could have hexed you, then where'd we be?"
The young Auror laughed, shaking her head slowly, "Oh, likely in Hopkirk's office, as it seems she's now in charge of anything pear-shaped that happens around you." Scooting to the side, she patted the bench beside her, motioning Harry to join her. "Come along then, off the ground. Going to make a mess of that fine cloak."
Grudgingly, Harry sat on the far corner, keeping the woman in the corner of his eye. He'd remember seeing her the day before, it being some time after midnight, as a small group from the Order had approached and spoken with his Uncle briefly. Unsure what was said, he thought to ask, but was pulled off soon after by the same. "Tonks, what happened on the landing, in King's Cross?"
Looking to him a moment, she seemed to find something interesting on the ground before the bench. Settling out of her crouch, she sat with a sigh and looked to the Boy-Who-Lived. "We warned them, to be civil this summer."
Face mirroring the incredulousness he felt, Harry took a few calming breaths before he could speak, his voice barely reflecting his outrage. "It wasn't your place. Things here aren't like with the Order. Dumbledore isn't here."
"What do you mean?"
Harry shook his head, sighing as he stood. The chill from the night was uncomfortable, and he didn't really fancy speaking to anyone of the Order, in all truth. "He's been aware of it all. Why would he let you change anything? I hope he doesn't find out about what you said." Without anything more of an explanation, he pulled his cloak about him and disappeared. Tonks watched, her mouth open in shock as the young man vanished, the back door to his home opening some small time later.
"What did he mean by that?" she murmured to the night. Fetching her Cleansweep 260 from her robes where it had been shrunk, she restored and pulled up her own cloak, Disillusioning the broom and herself before making her way back to the house's roof. It was nearly morning before the figure sent a message spell to whoever had breached the wards, receiving one in response. Drifting down to the back garden, she pulled alongside a faint impression of feet in the grass and caught the distinct smell of alcohol. "Dung, you're not sober. Fix it and get to watch," she hissed, barely concealing her distaste for the drunkard.
"I see you're still in a lurch, Miss Tonks. Carry on, I'm here now," with a huff and a hint of green pipe smoke, Tonks assumed Fletcher to be settling in on the bench for his watch. Grousing at his comments, she sped out to the lane, beyond the wards and Disapparated with a crack. She arrived at the 'safe point' in Grimmauld, one of the emptied pantries off the kitchen proper. She waited for the wards to let her be, seemingly stuck in a limbo of sorts till she felt gravity again and stumbled out, nearly barreling into Molly.
"Wotcher, Molly, let me help with that..." tucking an arm around the matronly Weasley, she assisted in getting a large platter of eggs and sausages settled on the table, where she'd nearly upset them by her somewhat less than graceful arrival.
Molly Weasley looked harried. She seemed to carry herself in such a way as well, and from what Tonks remembered, most of her interactions with those nearby seemed to suffer it in equal parts. "Gracious Tonk, what are you doing, jumping out of the pantry like that? Give someone a start," shaking her head, the woman continued her trip back to the cooker, retrieving more of the breakfast Tonks had to assume she was making for an early Order meeting.
Checking up on the wards herself, Tonks found Remus, Bill Weasley, Ron, Ginny and Hermione, and Elphias Doge. Figuring that would explain the late breakfast, Tonks hurried out of the woman's way, into the sitting room and a couch. Slumping out of sight of anyone, the young Auror yawned, and checked her wand for the time.
"Eight in the bloody morning," she mumbled, turning to wave at the gasp from the stairs. "Pardon, sorry."
Hermione padded around the couch, eyebrow raised at the curse the Auror had muttered. "Good morning Tonks. Were you on watch last night?"
Nodding, Tonks tried to pull her robes about and get comfortable, but discarded the idea almost immediately. She had today off, but needed to catch up on a proper stretch of sleep, rather than a fast nap on a couch. She'd just righted herself and was about to head for the fireplace when Hermione caught her by the arm, face showing her worry.
"How is he?" Biting her lip, the young Gryffindor stepped back, realizing her forward behavior and looking abashed. Tonks smiled, but gave nothing away, waving slightly.
"Orders, Ms. Granger. We're not to speak to him. Could cause problems with his family, or reveal the guards and his position." Smiling apologetically, she took a handful of floo powder, and spoke her goal quietly. "You may want to owl him though," she called in parting, as she sped to her own flat, seeking sleep and avoiding curious students.
Hermione sighed, hoping for at least some word on how Harry was managing after losing Sirius recently. Tonks made a point though, and with a letter already forming in her mind, she set off to find Ron's owl.
Harry woke, feeling less rested than he expected, but at least this time not from nightmares. He'd tried to sleep off the annoyance he felt toward Tonks and the Order, but soon gave in to his own nature, and forgave them. The few of the Order to approach his warders had only done so to try and better his situation. Just because they didn't know how things truly were, only spoke further of Dumbledore's duplicity. Harry expected him to have kept some things from his own vigilante force, but didn't expect him to have the loyalty of so many, with so little to work from.
Sighing, he pulled out one of his precious few blank notebooks, a kindness from Hermione, and set to work organizing his thoughts. He'd felt the need for this after losing Sirius, and realizing that if he let his mind continue in it's downward spiral, there would be nothing left to fight with.
He had to win. Losing, even in small ways, only managed to strengthen Voldemort. So decided, he had begun the path to mending his broken mind, and heart.
I can't really fault Tonks for what she did, he wrote, penning his thoughts so he could reread them, as he'd come upon them. He found it centering to look over his own reasonings later, and often used previous decisions to make new ones. The Order must be working on some thin information, or blind loyalty if things are as they stand.
Dumbledore finally came out and said it. Gave me everything I needed. The Prophecy is etched in my mind now, but what does it mean? "And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..." Hand? Haven't I done that once, with Quirrell? Harry shook his head and sighed. Could mean anything. A spell. An order to kill... Kill. No matter if it's Voldemort, I still have to kill him. I'll be a murderer at the end of this. If I survive. Harry mulled on this a moment, before slamming his book closed and throwing himself back on his cot. "He killed them because of me. Because of that damn Prophecy. It doesn't even say I will kill him – only that I have 'the power to'." The young man scrubbed his hands through unruly hair, upsetting it further. "Bloody Prophecies, bloody Dark Lords, and bloody damned Headmasters!"
"Boy! Be quiet!" Vernon's voice echoed about the house, reminding Harry that he was still in his prison, his personal Azkaban.
"Sirius, I come closer to understanding you by the day," he murmured, getting up to lean on the windowsill that overlooked the front garden. Doing so reminded him of last night's meeting with Tonks again, and he realized that the small time conversing was something he should not have taken for granted. Grimacing a bit at the memory, he realized it was likely the first and last time he'd get the opportunity to do so. "She won't likely talk to me again after that... and I doubt any of my other minders will break cover. Bloody hell."
Harry spent the rest of his day watching, and waiting. He didn't know for what, really till something caught his eye, in the front yard. Squinting, he picked out the faint depressions of footprints, slowly making their way around the house. Peering about the neighborhood, he saw no one paying attention, so he leaned out the window a bit, after climbing up onto his dresser.
Sure enough, the better angle let him see the footprints clearly, as well as catch the small puff of green smoke he had to assume was from Mundungus Fletcher's pipe. "So, he's on shift now," Harry pondered, shuffling off his dresser and picking up the notebook he'd just moments before tossed away.
July 1st, 9 AM – Fletcher
Harry scribed a set of rules down the page, allowing him to document days and times. He figured like most other places that worked on shifts, his guard would cycle on an eight hour system. Smiling to himself, he set about his Defense and Transfiguration books, recapping his studies from last year.
A few hours into the day, the cat flap to his room shifted and Harry noted some cold soup and crackers, likely stale, with a glass of water in a dingy cup sitting by his door. Wrinkling his nose yet hungry, he took up the tray with a polite word of thanks, said to his Aunt he supposed on the other side of the door. Eating quickly, he also shared some of the crackers and water with Hedwig, who found them nearly as distasteful as he did. After he'd let his tray be taken, he went back to his Transfiguration work, deciding that he could do with a bit more understanding of the theory involved. Secretly, even to his own logic, the reason behind his interest was the hope that perhaps he could someday assume an Animagus form like his father. Not wanting to delve too far in that hope, he kept it secreted away, hidden deep.
It was nearly five o'clock, when a bleary eyed Harry Potter put away the book and his notes, having spent a good half that time transcribing diagrams involving the flow of magical energy when transfiguring a living thing. Figuring it was just a few steps from his own goal, he wanted to understand it completely, so borrowing a page from Hermione, Harry took extensive notes. Flipping to the back of his notebook, Harry noted it was past the assumed shift change time, and peered about the front lawn for any signs of his guard. Seeing none, he frowned, and gave it another hard look, this time leaning up on the sill again, trying to use that to give him a better vantage. Still, nothing presented itself as a guard or a hint that one was there.
Settling back on his cot, Harry tried to think of some way to determine who his guard was. He knew the reason he was doing this, apologizing to Tonks, was possibly of minor importance, but the mental exercise was invigorating compared to his usual summer activities. "How to get a guard to reveal themselves," he pondered, watching Hedwig as she ate the last few crumbs of a cracker. With a slow grin, Harry decided on a course and collected the items he'd need.
A few minutes later, he was was climbing out of his window, invisibility cloak on and a robe beneath. As he hit the grass he knew whoever was watching him would likely have heard, and so he set off at a brisk pace down Privet, toward Magnolia. He made it to the corner of the street when a firm hand found his shoulder, pulling him to a stop.
"Afternoon Harry, have a moment to speak with me?" the basso voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled behind him. Smiling before he turned, Harry nodded and moved toward the curb, looking about to make sure it was fairly deserted.
"Afternoon Mr. Shacklebolt, how are things at the Order going?" Harry asked, trying to paste a somewhat depressed tone and expression on his face. He knew if he seemed happy that the older Auror had stopped him, it'd send up flags for the man, so he tried to keep his more morose face forward. Summoning images of Sirius and the fight at the Department of Mysteries, he managed well.
Kingsley Shacklebolt stared at his afternoon's charge with a sense of worry. Harry had snuck out of his Aunt and Uncle's home without much stealth, something the young man had done excellently up till this last incident. Kingsley felt it was likely due to his recent loss, clouding his mind and usual habits. Sympathy for Harry took the fore, pairing with his worry and guiding his words, "Things are going forward. The Ministry is taking more action now, but things are going slowly, we have all of Fudge's mistakes and paper trails to work over first." Smiling, the tall Auror looked out at the lane Harry was going to be traveling. "Any reason for the sudden outing?"
Harry shrugged, sighing expansively. "I guess I just wanted out a while. It's rather boring being locked up in there, and I could do with some sun and a bit of a walk."
"Locked up... you mean figuratively of course?" Kingsley's eyes narrowed as he watched Harry's reaction to this carefully. He'd heard some rather disturbing things, but didn't know first hand, as he was never really allowed much time to speak with his school-age friend's son. Harry's hesitation and sudden preoccupation with his feet were answer enough. "I see."
"It's really OK. I'm let out to the loo and for showers..." wincing at the Aurors heavy glare, Harry knew this wasn't the best subject. Sure, he'd love if the Dursleys changed, but forcing them to do so wouldn't fix anything. He'd felt Vernon's rage at being backed into a corner by the Order on the way home, and knew the more they came in contact with the intolerant man, the more likely he would be to go spare and get outright violent.
Kingsley sighed and smiled for Harry's benefit. "Alright then. If you say so. So, where were you planning on going?"
"Just around the block a bit, maybe to the park I used to go to, last summer. Good place to sit and think," Harry amended, looking wistfully down the lane. He really did like going there, it was a nice place to just sit and be. Plus, it'd give him the chance to maybe get in some running, maybe a bit of sunshine. Even he had to admit being locked away like he was, wasn't healthy.
The Auror nodded, looking thoughtful. "On Tuesdays, I'm your afternoon guard, and your morning one on Thursdays; we'll worry about those later. Say around... four to five o'clock in the afternoon, if you slip out how you did today, I might be on my rounds, and be able to keep an eye on you, while doing them. They do round the park after all, and if you happen to be there while I'm nearby, well, no reason I can't watch you there, is there?" Smiling, he rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.
For his part, Harry was ecstatic. He never planned on this gambit getting him a regular time to go and stretch his legs. "Sure thing, Mr. Shacklebolt," he nodded vigorously, as the Auror laughed quietly.
"Call me Kingsley, or Shack. Either work."
"Alright then, Kingsley it is," with a smile, Harry decided that he more than made up for his lack of knowledge for today, and with a few words, the two made their way back to number 4 Privet. Kingsley helped Harry back to his room by Apparating him there, something new to Harry as he'd never been allowed to practice or try himself. The feeling was odd, but unlike Portkeys. He decided to ask someone about it soon, if he could. Settling back into his room, and making sure he was alone, Harry took out his notebook and added notes to his plan, revising it somewhat.
Monday: AM shift – unknown, PM shift – unknown, Night shift – Tonks?
Tuesday: AM shift – Fletcher, PM shift – Shacklebolt, Night shift – unknown
Wednesday: AM shift – unknown, PM shift – unknown, Night shift – unknown
Thursdays, AM shift – Shacklebolt, PM shift – unknown, Night shift – unknown
Friday: AM shift – unknown, PM shift – unknown, Night shift – unknown
Saturday: AM shift – unknown, PM shift – unknown, Night shift – unknown
Sunday: AM shift – unknown, PM shift – unknown, Night shift – unknown
Content his plan was working out well, Harry spent the remainder of his day going over his Transfiguration notes. He figured having the theory he had down to memory would only help in the long run.
The week progressed, and through innocent 'accidents' and obvious means and observation, Harry had completed the schedule for his guard. He also found that the spying on the spies gave him some relative amusement. The change in pace from his usual boring summers was welcome. By the end of the week, he had the rough schedule planned, and though he knew there were to be changes occasionally, he also knew the guards well enough by the few times he'd observed them, to know which was which. He also managed, with a little guesswork, math and a hint or two, to figure out when the shifts started and ended. Overall, it was a very efficient system, allowing his guards days at a time to recoup what could be a long day or sleepless night as they had not only their normal lives, but those as his guard to maintain.
Harry also realized not everyone in the Order took part in his guard. The fact Lupin and Snape were absent made him wonder: worriedly in the former, cynically in the latter's case. He was concerned at why Dumbledore wouldn't let Lupin come guard him, when it was obvious, to Harry at least, he was most able to defend him. After all, none of the others had been Defense professors.
Looking over his list, he made sure there was room for the occasional revision. Chewing on the end of a pencil, he thought to use a calendar, but discarded the idea – if someone from the Order noticed it, then his plans would be for nothing. Smiling a bit, Harry realized his initial plan, to apologize to Tonks, had changed since taking on this project.
Shifts run: 7am – 3pm(AM), 3pm – 11pm(PM), 11pm – 7am(Night)
Monday: AM shift – Jones, PM shift – Podmore, Night shift – Tonks
Tuesday: AM shift – Fletcher, PM shift – Shacklebolt, Night shift – Moody
Wednesday: AM shift – Tonks, PM shift – Fletcher, Night shift – Vance
Thursdays, AM shift – Shacklebolt, PM shift – Diggle, Night shift – Moody
Friday: AM shift – Tonks, PM shift – Tonks, Night shift – Podmore
Saturday: AM shift – McGonagall, PM shift – Doge, Night shift – Diggle
Sunday: AM shift – McGonagall, PM shift – Vance, Night shift – Moody
Satisfied that his main outline was sound, Harry made some notes, and decided that the next Monday would be best. Smiling, he rechecked his trunk, his box and the floorboards, and settled down to study his Defense texts, making notes of the way spells were cast, and the kinds of shielding that worked to counter some curses.
Time moved quickly for Harry, as he spent most of it if not studying his texts, then studying his guards. What other time he had, he used to write to his friends, when they seemed amicable... recently things between himself and Ginny had seemed strained. He felt a fondness for her still, but the intensity of it had dulled over the summer break. It had only been a few weeks, three to be exact, this Sunday, but he couldn't really explain it any other way. The first time he'd noticed there was a dimming of his feelings, was after Hedwig had upset one of his packages and some of the charmed food he'd received from the Weasleys had been fouled, as it all resumed their normal sizes unexpectedly. The butterbeer had been smashed, and it was a near thing that he managed to hide the mess and noise and not be the recipient of a severe episode of his Uncle's wrath. What seemed to catch his attention though was the smell... the butterbeer normally had a butterscotch aroma, with a bit of tartness. But this batch had smelled different. It had aromas of wood polish, treacle tart, and something flowery, perhaps lilies. Pondering this, he subjected the other batches to the same test; smelling them before drinking. Sure enough, they all seemed to carry the same aromas. Not wanting to offend Ginny, he never mentioned it, but discarded them all the same, figuring they may have gone a bit sour. The food seemed spot on though, and he devoured what he could, saving what was extra for those long stretches where letters didn't seem forthcoming.
Hermione was her usually inquisitive and bossy self, but the news he was studying was a star in his corner to her. It seemed to appease the bookish girl, and more often than not, their letters were about her and Ron's seemingly stumbling path toward a relationship. In one letter, he'd actually come out and asked her why Ron, and the response had made more sense than he'd expected.
Hermione it turned out, simply wanted a large family. Growing up an only child had been a lonely thing for her, and she blamed her bookish tendencies, not that anything was wrong with them she firmly stated, on her lack of friends growing up. Harry had to admit, the Weasley family would definitely keep any children they had in a definite state of company. Smiling, he replied that he hoped them the best, and would be there for them. He often used this line of conversation to distract from her inquiries on how he was handling Sirius's death.
He was always wary when one of his friends asked him about that. To be honest, he had to admit he wasn't being healthy about it, at all. He never let it come to his mind, outside of nightmares, and those he kept at bay by avoiding sleep till he simply passed out from exhaustion.
Harry had found an exhausted mind didn't dream nearly as much.
The other problem he had dealing with his Godfather's death, was the lack of closure. He did feel responsible, but he also knew Bellatrix was the ultimate issue there. If she'd not fired the spell that sent him through the veil, he'd still be here. Or perhaps, not. The battle was fierce, and there was a better than passing chance, after it all that even had Sirius been alive, he'd have been captured by the Ministry or killed by either the Death Eaters or Voldemort to get to him psychologically. He knew he had been baited there with a false vision, and that Sirius showing up was just icing on the cake to them. Harry wasn't foolish – the Sorting hat had said he'd do well in any house, so he had to assume he wasn't stupid. He just didn't learn things like Hermione, and that made him second guess his own actions.
Learning by example, trial and error was Harry's way. No matter how many times he could read a spell or formula, doing always worked best for him. True, the work he'd done this summer was all beneficial, but it wasn't practical. He was learning process, not practice. Theory, not application.
Perhaps that was why he had problems just... accepting or feeling the gravity of Sirius's death. There was no body. Unlike Cedric, the first time he'd seen death up close, there wasn't anything, anything at all, to prove he was dead. He knew better than to believe Sirius to still be alive, but the proof otherwise wasn't there. Sighing, Harry scrubbed at his unruly hair and tried to organize his thoughts, failing as usual when he tried to approach this particular line. No matter how many times he tried, nothing seemed to resolve the lack in his mind, the gaping void that seemed to swell up and threaten to swallow him up. So he dodged, avoided it at all costs. There would be time enough to grieve the lost after the war.
If he survived it.
Sighing, he settled down and watched the setting sun, Monday dying in vivid, beautiful colors outside his window. Soon night would fall, and he'd put his next plan in motion. Till then... with a weary groan Harry flopped onto his cot and cleared his mind of all thoughts, focusing only on a single idea. What Occlumency training he had with Snape seemed a waste, but he tried regardless. In the blankness of his mind, the words of the Prophecy hovered, rearranged themselves, changed into other words and meanings. He still had no idea how specifically the Riddle of Riddle would play out. It seemed too vague. Too open-ended. Frustrated, his concentration broke and Harry sat up into the now early night, grumbling to himself about greasy, good-for-nothing Potion Masters.
The night drew on and Harry fought sleep, glancing at his watch again and again as he waited for eleven o'clock to pass. Finally, with his cloak on and his wand in his pocket, Harry popped the locks on his door with Sirius's knife, and made a quiet retreat to the back garden.
His cloak settled about him like a blanket again, Harry lay on the ground and watched the stars turn overhead. He picked out his Godfather's namesake easily, watching it glint merrily above him. His smile grew when he felt a slight weight settle a small distance to the side, and a muffled sigh.
"Wotcher, Tonks," he hazarded, knowing it was her shift tonight.
Hands reached up and pulled back the hood of her cloak, breaking it's charm. Tonks stared back at the Boy-Who-Lived, a smirk settling on his lips. "Lovely night, isn't it?" was her only reply for many moments, as her head spun at being picked out from her guard so easily. Perhaps it wasn't wise to join the young man in stargazing. Curiosity getting the better of her, she turned to Harry again, "How did you know it was me, Harry?"
The young man smiled, shaking his head a bit as the stars reflected back from his eyes. "You're the only one I was never able to really spot." Chuckling a bit, he turned back to the sky with a sigh. "I'm sorry, about the other night."
Tonks lay back and took in the night sky, riddles of her own gnawing at her mind. "It's alright, I know why you were cross with me. We really did mean well."
"I know. Meaning well has gotten me a lot of bad situations, is all. I just seem to do better when left to my own devices, I suppose," shaking his head, Harry considered the young Auror beside him for an uncomfortably long moment. "Why do you do it?"
Rousing herself with a small noise, Tonks looked back into Harry's eyes. "Do what?"
"Work for the Order." He prompted simply.
"Never a simple one, you," she quipped, but seemed to quiet in thought. A minute passed, and Harry wondered if he'd asked something wrong, when she answered. Her voice was quiet – almost a whisper. He leaned a bit closer to make sure he didn't miss it. "You know my family. My mum was disowned by that horrible woman, Walburga. You know her, she's the loudmouth blood-purist who's painting is in Grimmauld."
"Ugh. Why doesn't someone just take that hideous thing down?" Rolling his eyes, Harry sat back, his face a mask of distaste at the memories of the painting's rants.
"Permanent sticking charm. Plus, she's so loud up close it's painful." Laughing at a memory, Tonks sat up a bit, leaning back on her elbows. "Well, to continue... I suppose Sirius was also a part of it." Smiling sadly, she looked back up to the sky. "I knew he was innocent. Knew he'd never betray your parents. But no one did anything to stop what happened..." she trailed off there, quiet sobs stealing her words. She shook her head, sighing as the tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. "I miss him."
Harry didn't expect someone else to break down like this, at least in front of him. It broke all the usual molds he'd imagined and assumed that adults took. He was the emotionally unstable one. He was the one that needed support and comfort. He was the one with the loss... yet here was Tonks, sobbing alone in the dark under the light of her cousin's namesake.
Summoning up what made him Gryffindor, Harry leaned over and wrapped an arm around Tonks's shoulder, pulling her to sit beside him gently. "Shh, hey it's ok. You're not alone in this. Everyone misses him, but..." He fell silent, realizing that his stumbling comforting of the young woman had pushed him to his own realization.
"B-But what?" Sniffling back her tears at being comforted by the young man whom she'd resigned to be a shoulder to, Tonks watched as the thoughts mirrored in his eyes, played across his face.
Harry smiled sadly, taking a stilling breath. "He'd not want us to mourn him. He'd want us to live."
Nodding, Tonks quirked her lip and reached up, ruffling the rampant mop that sat atop Harry's head. "Not just survive either. Live. I know how he'd react to seeing us moping about, sighing and throwing ourselves onto couches dramatically-"
"I've never thrown myself dramatically, or otherwise I think, onto a couch," Harry argued, trying to stifle a laugh. He failed when Tonk cast a tickling and cheering charm on him, only managing to silence him after a few peals of laughter. She kept up the silly jinxes for a few minutes, till he was kneeling and making begging motions with his hands.
"You wicked witch, I thought my sides would split," gasping, Harry grinned and fell back to the side, lazing on the cool grass. "But you're right. He'd want us to actually live our lives. He'd had so little chance to, for so long."
Tonks smiled, and felt a weight of worry she'd not realized she'd born lift from her heart. "I know he would. And you're right, he'd be so cross with us, he'd likely hex us to Sunday for being so morose." Stretching from her lazing, Tonks peered at Harry thoughtfully, causing the young man to fidget under her intense gaze.
"Er, Tonks? What is it?" He finally asked, unnerved by the long focus on him.
Snapping herself from her reverie, Tonks smiled and reached into her robes for a moment. "I think then, that it's time I gave you something."
Harry watched with some anxiety, as the somewhat older woman reached into her robes with a small smirk on her lips. He didn't know if he was being teased or just reading something into the action, but his eyes tracked immediately to the exposed rise of her collarbone, the delicate joining of her shoulder and neck. He swallowed, trying to soothe a suddenly dry mouth as the Auror took a small package from an internal pocket of her robe. "Take it, and don't open it till I'm gone. As much as I know he wanted you to have it... I can't get into this much trouble yet, OK?"
"I... yeah. No problem," Harry managed to stutter, snapping his eyes back up to Tonks's, seeing in them a playfulness he'd not expected.
She noticed his slight preoccupation, and only her Metamorph abilities kept her blush from rivaling the afternoon sunset. "Ah. Anyway," pulling her robes back in place, she handed him the skin-warmed package. "He wanted you to take this. I found the note and package in his room after... but he asked that you be ready. I guess he wanted to make sure you didn't do anything hasty or too rash."
"You're just making me really curious Tonks, but if you really mean for me to not open it with you on guard, I'll do it." Harry eyed the small package and barely contained his anxiety and excitement. Sirius had left him something, something important.
Nodding as if that was the end of it, she handed him the parcel. "Just read the note. I know what is says already, and will do what I can to help." Peering at the sky, she used her wand to conjure a small time display. "Oh hells, half an hour behind on patrol, Figg'll be sending a cat over any minute to check on me," wringing her hands and looking not at all the official Auror, Tonks yanked Harry up on to his feet and wrapped an arm around him. "Hang on."
Harry did just that, but the surprise of it all had him stumbling out of the sudden Apparation and topping the two onto his bed with a muffled thump. Fearing the wall being too close to his head, and an imminent impact, Harry had closed his eyes. The sound of a slight chuckle and the feel of something warm and soft under his hands brought him back to the moment, and his eyes snapped open in shock.
"Well, seems we're not afraid to take the first step at all. No wonder you were in Gryffindor," Tonks teased, easing Harry's hands off rather sensitive areas as she sat up upon his cot. To his credit, the young man blushed soundly and looked anywhere but at her for many moments. "No harm done Harry, but I'll remember to be a bit more careful Apparating with you in the future. Landing like that in public would cause quite a scene."
Tonks laughed as Harry sputtered apologies and tried to regain his composure, but failed at both as she stretched and bounced back to her feet. "Tonks," Harry stalled, noticing her looking out to the garden and street from his window.
"Hrm?"
Harry, took a calming breath and smiled slightly, "Thanks. For talking with me. For helping Sirius."
The young Auror stifled a snort and shook her head. "I should be thanking you. And besides, he was my favorite cousin." Straitening her robes and cloak, Tonks winked at him, causing his blush to rise again. "Be good, and failing that, don't get caught," and with a muffled crack of Apparation, she was gone. Smirking slightly, she nearly tripped on one of Figg's cats – Kneazle mixes the lot it seemed, and set about her patrol. She almost felt bad about leaving Harry sitting there with a sleep charm on his head set to go off in about... well now. Almost.
He was the heir to the Marauders after all. No sense tempting fate.
With a start, Harry woke the next morning and blinked at his ceiling. "What? Uhh, why did I sleep in my clothes?" Glancing around, he found the parcel Tonks had left, as well as an unturned bed and himself, just as he'd come in from the garden. "Doesn't make any sense – wait. Oh you evil witch!" Rolling his eyes and grousing, he sighed what he felt had to be the explanation, "Sleep charm."
Rolling to his side, he ran a finger along the dyed-black paper that wrapped the thin parcel. It was about the size of a telly remote, albeit a large one. Unwrapping the parcel, Harry found himself staring at a small folded note, and a lacquered box that seemed to have no opening. Fumbling with it, even shaking it gently did nothing to reveal it's secrets, and hoping that it wasn't magically sealed, Harry turned to the note, which in his hands, resolved to a long parchment.
To my wayward Pup,
Ah lad, were it not so you had to read this! Each time, every time I went on some Order mission I worry that this note should find you. Know, son that I wish were mine, it isn't a fear of death that chills me. It's a fear of leaving you in the dark. Leaving you to the machinations of those that would use you, use you up till there's no Harry left! Gentle boy, I remember so long ago. Watching you smile at James and Lily, taking you up on brooms as she chased us about the estate and grounds like a harridan. Oh, her hexes on us were legendary! But enough memories. As you will learn soon, there's more than enough of them. Trust me, Pup. I know you want them, any part and memory and trace of them. Trust me!
This box – a curiosity of sorts. It's a wizard's safe, lad. Keyed to you. Only you should be able to open it, as it works off a Law ancient and beyond the abilities of all but of a few. The lock is canny, and you will be some time in opening it. Forgive a Marauder his last prank, but know that in learning this one trick, you'll be much better armed for the future.
You may be wondering why I've taken such pains to secure such puzzles, find such traps and tricks. My boy, if there's a lesson that each of us in the Order could teach you, mine would be Question All! Moody's of course, his constant barmy rant about Vigilance! Regardless Pup, this one thing will serve you well. Give your trust where it is earned. Question all things. In those questions, find your own truths. I questioned, and during my long absence, while you were being deceived by the Triwizard cup, I found a great many things, things I wanted to share with you but could not. Always we were under another's eye. Always with that constant press of another's will! Oh, don't take me for a fool, I know Dumbledore's power. Political, Magical, Personal. The man is a force to be reckoned with, and were I a better man, I could have spared you this war, spared the horrible futility of fighting it as we have. Attrition! How meaningless. Perhaps he only knows this way, we get set in our thoughts and actions as time tempers us. Dumbledore could be so, simply a blade made too brittle over many temperings. Unable to bend, unable to turn from his ways.
Ah, forgive a man his rambling thoughts. While wandering, a man without a name, home or wand, you find a great many things different. I happened upon a man, one who knew me from Azkaban. All did not go how I expected, and instead of a Dementor's Kiss, I received some words of advice, and some knowledge. Whether by accident or chance, your parents and I have set you on a path that will change this world. I know you are more than capable of this task.
Believe in yourself, as we believe in you.
My darling cousin Nymphadora sadly was tasked the delivery of this parcel, and no doubt has read this letter herself. Don't worry Pup, it's bewitched to show each reader a different missive. Ah to have seen Snivellus's face were he to read his personal message... ah well. Sometimes we must be content in knowing our misdeeds go unseen.
Now, for those that must be seen. Harry, with all gravity I must implore you to be wary. The reading of... or rather challenging of, my Will shall occur on the day before your birthday, at Gringott's of course. My Will would be void if it relied on the Ministry to be handled, I'm sure. One last thing Harry, and this is the most important part of this entire Will fiasco; do whatever the Goblins ask! Many do not trust them, but they are inviolate in their dealings with gold. Forgive me, but it's the last present I can give to you, and I wanted it done in such a way that none could contest what I was to do. Indulge an old dog one final trick my boy.
And now, for the Riddle,
A key to any door you'd find,
Yet from man to man, locked apart.
Made of skin of treant kind,
A hair or string, perhaps my heart.
A duel will show my master true,
Yet I need not attend his test.
Skilled with me, some often rule,
Yet skill without, an arduous quest.
To me this lock will stand unyielding,
But yet I hide within, to be sure.
To command me let your magic sing,
And become a key to your own future.
No doubt you felt the pulse of magic after that. No cheating on this test, my boy! You cannot utter a word of this to your friends, it'd ruin the surprise. It's also a way to make sure this is your prize alone. This Geis will break when you solve the Riddle. Win this, and you've earned your freedom.
That is what my final gift to you shall be, and this is but the first step. We've both been locked away, forgotten or used up, for too long, Pup. My last breath was likely taken, trying to make sure you were able to stay free. Free of terror, free of too early a fall to darkness.
And I would do it again.
All my love, son.
Sirius.
Harry ignored the small pulse of magic that stole over him at the reading of the Riddle, and only knew the world through tear-filled eyes for many minutes. Damn the Prophecy! Damn Dumbledore and Tom and all of it, he raged silently. With fumbling hands and a face lined with tears Harry sat and imagined and read the letter again. He could hear Sirius's voice. Feel his mirth-filled eyes on him. Feel the warm embrace of his arm across his shoulders. "Why did you have to go, Padfoot?"
Rereading the letter again and again, Harry set back his tears, locked them away. He would grieve another day. The task his Godfather had set before him was still there, and he would not leave the effort he put into this unanswered. Settling down with the nondescript box on his desk, and the letter in his hand, Harry pulled out his notebook and went to work.
Grudgingly, he thanked Snape for his few Occlumency lessons, while in the same thought cursing him for being so weak a teacher. The few exercises he knew let him focus his will alone on the Riddle, yet there was little to be gained from his first reading. Not close to giving up, Harry pulled out his previous books, looking for hints to the various lines. As he was pulling out the various texts, his hand knocked against the box his wand had come in, the Ollivander's crest on the side catching his eye.
Brow furrowed, Harry turned and reread the first passage. "...skin of treant kind, a hair or string perhaps my heart." Pulling out his copy of the Monstrous Book of Monsters, he stroked it's spine and unlatched the many belts holding it closed. Flipping to the indices, he found a list in alphabetical order, and when he reached "T", located his target. Finding the passage he noted, Harry realized what he'd needed. "Treants. Trees. Skin of a tree... would be bark? Bark or wood. If that's right then..."
Taking up the box, Harry bit his lip and took a breath. "Wand," he said loudly, not quite a shout.
The box, unimpressed, sat quietly in his hand.
Frustrated, Harry set the thing back on his desk and set about cleaning up Hedwig's cage, changing her water as he grumbled to himself about how he had too many Riddles in his life, one was quite enough thank you very much.
Tuesday came and went with much poring over his texts, trying to find some references to the Riddle that sat, it's lacquered black faces quiet on his desk. He spent a few minutes rereading Sirius's note, preparing himself mentally for the Will reading that was also mentioned. Oddly, he'd not received a letter as such, but figured that to be one of many things he'd be kept in the dark about. Or perhaps, a simple enough mistake. Who knew how Goblins handled their mailing.
The next morning, after his Uncle had made his way huffing and puffing all the time to work, Harry stole out of his room being careful to relock his door with the back of his knife, and snuck past his Aunt to the back garden. Choosing a place by the shade of a tree that was mostly hidden from the house and prying eyes, he dropped the hood of his cloak and leaned against the cool bark of the Ash tree, smiling at the lovely day spread out before him.
Not soon after, he felt rather than heard or saw, the presence beside him and turned a smile on his visitor. "Wotcher, Tonks."
"One day, Harry, I'll have you tell me how you do that," the Auror groused, sighing as she leaned against a hedge. Knowing there were still muggles in the house, she kept her hood up and voice down, not wanting to cause the Harry any more difficulty than he already had.
Laughing silently, he shook his head. "To be honest, I can't really say. No one else really... well feels like you."
Harry couldn't see the smirk, but he could hear it in the voice that answered him, "Oh, and I suppose you'd know that very well after Monday night, eh Mr. Potter?"
Stuttering and sputtering, he reddened under Tonks's laughter. "Oh relax Harry, I was simply putting one over on you. Was an accident, I know."
Huffing a bit, he regardless smiled, looking in the rough direction she seemed to be in. "Thank you for delivering his note, Tonks. I means a lot to me, to read what he had to say."
"Not at all, but I'm dead curious what's in the box. What was it?"
Smirking a bit, Harry shook his head. "Not sure, I can't open it yet." When he was met with silence, he figured Tonks to be in the same state he had been in after his failed attempt. "I'll get it open, just can't yet. There's a... complex lock." Grimacing, he realized the Geis kept him from even mentioning the Riddle.
Tonks thought this through a moment, then sighed. "Well if there's anything I can do to help, let me know." Still somewhat sleepy from her less than restful night at Grimmauld, she leaned back against the hedge with an audible yawn.
"Long night?" Harry inquired simply, his eyes unfocused but in her direction.
Nodding, she snorted and answered, forgetting for a second he wasn't able to see her. "Yes, somewhat long. Had to catch up on some paperwork regarding a few of our more productive hunts. Kept me at the Ministry well into the night."
"I'm sorry my guard detail is so bothersome to people's lives. Why does he insist on such?" As he spoke, Harry's voice dropped, all kindness and warmth fading. Tonks was surprised at the rancor in his voice, as he spoke of who had to be Dumbledore.
"Harry, what is it between you and the Headmaster? What am I hearing in your voice?"
With a grim smile, Harry shook his head, "I'm sorry Tonks, but that's for me alone, right now. I know you're concerned, but you're also Order. His Order."
Tonks looked away, not wanting to see the disappointment in Harry's eyes, especially when she was in such an ill-suited place to dispel it. "As you say, Harry," she replied simply, quietly. Their silence stretched on, only broken by the occasional bird or insect choosing to sing. That reminded him of his Riddle, and frustrated anew, he pored over the final passage.
Watching his face change with his focus, Tonks smiled to herself, wondering what had the young Gryffindor struggling so. "Knut for your thoughts, Harry?"
Looking up, startled from his pondering he laughed quietly, "Oh, just this... idea. I've been around Wizards since I was eleven, yet so much of the magical world is still beyond me. Like... well magic itself. When you use it, how does it feel? How is it supposed to feel?"
Thinking on this, she shrugged, sighing as she again remembered the motion would be lost, her cloak still in place. "Hard to say. It's different for everyone, but the one standard I guess, is that you feel it when you do magic. It's like a reserve of water, sometimes unseen, that you draw on."
"Always? What about if you never feel... well like it's there?"
Tonk's quiet laughter rang out on the yard. "Only Squibs and muggles wouldn't be able to feel their magic, Harry."
"But I don't," he argued, looking more distressed as they talked. "I mean, when I do it, I like the feeling, but there's no... well reservoir as you said. I don't know where it comes from. It's just there."
Considering this, and her three years of Auror training, Tonks asked him another question, hoping to clarify their misunderstanding, "So, when you do a lot of magic, say... and I'm sorry to bring it up, but like at the Ministry last year, did you feel like you were running low? Like you were weary and the casting of each spell got harder?"
Harry shook his head, sighing. "No, not at all. If anything, by the time it was all over, the only thing I felt was rather beat up. I've never felt my magic, so maybe that's why I was so disbelieving of Hagrid when he came for me that first year."
"Harry, everyone should be able to feel their magic. It's like your endurance; you know when it's about at the end, when you're running a long time. You feel weary, your energy is low and unsteady." Pausing, Tonks remembered her training, how the advanced magic books described it. "Aurors train hard during their second year to recognize that wearying, and to pace themselves. There's nothing worse than feeling yourself go dry of magic when you're in the middle of a long fight."
Brow knit in thought, Harry considered her words for a long time. "Maybe I just feel it differently. One more thing, then... ah well."
"Why the sudden worry on it?" Worried herself now, Tonks leaned down and knelt by the young man, reaching out with a hand to his arm, to warn him of her presence. "Do you feel ill, maybe? Something I should tell Poppy?"
Shaking off her worry and hand, he regardless grinned at the young Auror. "No, nothing like that. Just a question I need to answer on my own."
Unconvinced, Tonks still lingered by his side. "Well, if you say so. Still, if you need anything that I can help with, I'll be glad to. Just give me some notice so I can arrange the time if it'll take a while," grinning, she pulled Harry into a hug. "I should get to my patrol."
Returning the sudden embrace, Harry thankfully leaned into it. He'd come to remember his small moments with Sirius as the happiest of his life, and they always showed him that to share just a bit of kindness, something as small as a hug or smile, could do much for one. "Alright, I'll head back inside," Harry replied, but stopped as he stood. "Tonks, did you get a letter of some sort from Gringott's?"
"I know I'm a bit late on that one loan, but Merlin, are they asking you now, Harry?" Seeing the young man's eyebrows rise in surprise, she laughed and cuffed him on the shoulder. "Yes, I got a letter, for the day before your birthday." She expected Harry to be a bit melancholy at the news, but not the anger she noticed in his eyes. "Ah, would you rather I not be-"
"No, I mean. I'd like to see you there," Running a hand through his hair, Harry sighed and leaned against the tree where he stood. "Damn him, manipulative old bastard..."
Tonks worried at Harry's reaction, and apparent rage, so she moved so the tree was between herself and the house, and dropped her hood. "Harry, what is it?"
Harry took in Tonks's sudden appearance with a small guilty smile, as he'd missed seeing her as they spoke. It was, in part at least he admitted to himself, that she was a very pretty young woman, but also he was used to her appearance being a barometer of sorts for him. Today, her hair was a dull, shineless blue that matched her eyes, almost the color of the summer sky. "I just feel like someone is working against me is all. I didn't get a letter, in fact I almost get the feeling my mail is being misdirected."
"Who would... it's illegal to so such a thing!" Tonks railed, her hands curled into fists in her cloak as she thought about the repercussions of such a thing. "It... I see." Her own face and voice going cold, Harry wondered for a moment a the similarity between Tonks and her aunts. Narcissa and Bellatrix seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Sirius, the high aristocratic cheeks and clean features of all three almost seemed lost on Tonks. Until, at least, she was angry. Then the resemblance became uncanny, as the Black family features seemed most predominant in her when she was upset.
Harry nodded, eyes turned skyward, as if pleading for a sign that he was wrong. "So it would seem."
"Tell me what you need, Harry. You know I'll help. If the bond we share through Sirius wasn't enough, then let me assure it as a friend in some way, at least," turning her fathomless eyes on him, Harry nodded once, solemnly.
Regarding those deep eyes, Harry felt that connection, that bond through Sirius strongly. The mettle in him reflected in Tonks, his will and determination. "At Grimmauld, there is a library, if there is a book there on wands, bring it to me. Also anything on magical theory... like how it dwells in people." Tonks nodded in return and stood to go on her patrol, her smile gone in favor of a grim focus. Harry, unwilling to part so, chased after her and drew her back into the shade of the tree, before she raised her hood. "And Tonks, there's no need to prove anything. I know you're a true friend." Smiling, all be it hesitantly, Harry hugged the Auror and felt her relax a bit into his arms.
"Thank you, Harry. Again, you know just what to say..." leaning back, she cuffed him on the arm again. "Perhaps that's the power he knows not eh?" Turning to leave, she missed the look of shock on Harry's face.
Wednesday passed slower after his meeting with Tonks. Too much had happened to think on, in such a small time. All in one small slice of morning he had learned that Sirius's Will was being kept a secret, and possibly from not just him. The fact that his magic was likely too weak to be felt like another's also was telling on him, but the simple realization made much sense. He'd assumed most magical people knew, in some way, that they were so. Even Hermione had more awareness of her nature, and she was muggleborn and raised.
Then there was the bombshell that Tonks dropped on him in parting. "She knows. She knows the Prophecy. How does she know it?" Wracking his brain, he wondered if perhaps Dumbledore had spoken to the Order of it, but discounted it. He'd not show his hand to Snape, regardless. Some slip, some mistake could have Voldemort with the knowledge, and then what? All of last year's sacrifices, for nothing.
No, not even Dumbledore would make that error. He relied on the Prophecy too much for that same thing to be out of his control. He needed it, like he needed Harry. Pausing, the Boy-Who-Lived ran that last thought through his mind again. He, Dumbledore, needed Harry.
His mind running in pointless circles, Harry slumped into his desk chair and stared unseeing at the box, the Riddle, upon his desk. It was a surety that Dumbledore had manipulated, guided, even confided in Harry since he'd met him. It was also a surety he was responsible for the horrible years he'd suffered at the hands of the Dursleys. But was he so ill intentioned that he'd have done it all, knowingly? Did he simply trust his Aunt, blindly, like most of Wizarding kind would have? Sighing, Harry nodded, answering his questions in it's asking.
He had no idea about the Headmaster's family, but perhaps his faith reflected it. Questions upon questions shuffled about in Harry's mind as the day wore on to night, and he slipped into his cot with troubled and noisome thoughts.