Chapter Nine: Aftermath

As Harry slowly returned to consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was the sound of muffled voices nearby. He didn't understand what they were saying, only that the voices were familiar. His next realisation was that he was laying on something soft — a bed, he supposed, although he wasn't yet able to open his eyes and confirm.

What happened?

His recollection was a bit fuzzy, but the one thing he was clear on was that there had first been pain, and then there was nothing. Slowly but surely, the fog inside his mind began to recede, allowing Harry enough clarity to listen in on the hushed conversation around him.

"How am I supposed to know, Ron? Professor Dumbledore said he'll wake up when he's ready!"

"Yeah, I know, but are they sure he's really all right? I mean, look at him."

"He looks fine, Ronald."

"Come on, he looks all...pale...and skinny!"

"He always looks skinny..."

"Yeah, but still, don't you think he looks paler than usual? Any worse and he'd look like a bleedin' vampire!"

"Better than being a freckly git," groaned Harry, his eyes still closed.

"Harry!"

Sitting up slightly, Harry propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed his eyes. He could tell from the décor that he was still at Grimmauld Place, but it wasn't the room he'd been sharing with Ron. Instead, he was laying on a four-poster canopy bed set along the back wall of a large bedroom, which was decorated all over in green and silver.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Okay, I guess..." he replied, still getting his bearings. "What happened? Wait — the locket!"

"Easy, mate," said Ron soothingly, urging his suddenly wide-awake friend to relax. "Whatever was in that locket, it's been taken care of. Dumbledore saw to it himself."

"Voldemort," revealed Harry. "Voldemort was in the locket."

Both Ron and Hermione's eyes bulged slightly at his pronouncement, but then Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand, Harry, how is that even possible?" she questioned, a hint of fright in her voice.

"Beats me, but it was definitely him," he replied.

"Bloody hell..." was all Ron could manage, although Harry thought that his friend had summed up the situation nicely.

"Yeah. So, what happened after I passed out?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and after apparently coming to an unspoken agreement, Ron explained events from their perspective. They had all been in the kitchen eating lunch when they'd heard the commotion upstairs. Ginny seemed to know right away that something was wrong and took off running up the stairs, quickly followed by the others, where they found Harry in the throes of a possession.

"It was scary, mate," explained Ron. "You were laying on the ground twitching, and your eyes were blood red. We thought you were a goner, for sure."

Picking up the story, Hermione continued, "We were all scrambling around, trying to figure out what to do, when all of a sudden you screamed, and this black...stuff started pouring out of you — your mouth, your nose, and even your eyes. I think that's when you lost consciousness. That's when all the stuff that came out of you formed itself into a black, smoky cloud. It was terrifying."

"Yeah, that was completely mental," agreed Ron. "I swear, that dodgy cloud thing had red eyes too. Well, anyway, Sirius was somehow able to force the thing back into the locket."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he had a hard go of it, though. Makes sense, really, now that we know it was You-Know-Who."

Harry nodded his agreement. "Then what?" he asked.

"That's when they made us all leave the room, and someone called for Dumbledore," Ron replied with a shrug. "He spent about half an hour with you after he showed up, had a private talk with Sirius, and then he left. Took the locket with him, too."

"After that, Sirius came right out and told us that you'd be okay," added Hermione. "Kreacher cleaned up this room for you, and you've been here ever since. That was yesterday. You've been unconscious for just over a day."

"Wait, Kreacher cleaned it?" he asked incredulously, looking around in disbelief at the immaculately clean room.

"Yeah, something weird's been going on with him. Mental, that one."

"He has been oddly polite since yesterday," concurred Hermione. "But what about you, Harry? You must be hungry; do you want us to bring you something?"

"No, I'll get up and come down with you. Now that I'm awake, I actually feel pretty good."

The other two looked at one another in surprise, but they didn't argue when Harry slid out of bed and started making his way out of the room. He was almost to the door when he stopped, sniffed a few times and then turned around, looking slightly abashed.

"Actually, I should probably grab a quick shower first."

oOoOoOo

Harry's reemergence was greeted with all the fanfare one would expect: Mrs. Weasley smothered him with affection and tried to catch him up on all the meals he had missed, the twins clapped him on the back and joked with him to lighten the mood, and Sirius gave him a manly hug. Overall, the atmosphere was quite celebratory; Ginny was the only one who seemed to be missing the requisite enthusiasm.

"There's something going on with her," Harry concluded, and he resolved to speak with her about it at the next opportunity.

That conversation would have to wait, however, because he was summoned by Mrs. Weasley a few short hours later and told that Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak with him. This time, instead of being escorted to the headmaster's office in Hogwarts, Harry was ushered into the now fully cleaned drawing room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Rising to his feet as Harry entered the room, the professor greeted him. "Ah, Harry, it is good to see you up and about," he said jovially. "I trust you are feeling better after your ordeal?"

As per usual, the headmaster hadn't held back when selecting his attire for the day. This time, he was wearing multi-layered robes of lavender and violet with intricate silver trimmings, complete with a matching hat.

"Yes, Professor," answered Harry, smiling in spite of himself.

"Excellent! Do take a seat, if you would. Once again, we have much to discuss," said the professor, gesturing towards two, high-backed leather chairs sitting opposite one another near the fireplace.

Once they had both made themselves comfortable, Harry was struck by how odd it felt to be sitting down with the headmaster without a desk in between them.

"I am certain you have many questions, Harry," began Dumbledore. "However, I believe it would be best if you first told me what happened, from your perspective."

Seeing no reason not to comply with the request, Harry launched into an explanation of everything that had happened the day before: the recurring pain in his scar, Ron trying and failing to open the locket, the sense that his magic had been drawing him towards it, and how he got the idea to use Parseltongue to open it. He went on to describe the confrontation with Voldemort's spirit, for lack of a better word. Dumbledore listened with rapt attention but didn't outwardly react, aside from a slight raising of his eyebrows when Harry recalled the feeling of being ripped in two.

"I see," said Professor Dumbledore, as Harry finished his tale. "That is quite the remarkable tale, Harry, and you should be proud of yourself. Very few wizards have the mental fortitude to win a battle of wills against Lord Voldemort, yet I daresay you have succeeded in doing so on more than one occasion."

"I almost didn't," admitted Harry, the shame of it forcing his eyes to the floor. "I almost gave up...it was so hard, and it hurt so much. If everyone hadn't shown up when they did, I might've given in."

"But you did not," Dumbledore replied forcefully. "In this particular case, it is indeed true that you were saved, in part, by the love you feel for your friends. However, you should not see that as weakness on your part. In fact, your ability to make strong connections with others is one of your greatest strengths — a talent which Voldemort sorely lacks. Once more, the true strength of the bonds you share is that they are reciprocal, and I encourage you to allow your friends to help you as much as you have them."

"Yes, sir," agreed Harry, only half convinced.

"Now, I assume you are curious as to how an artefact containing the essence of Lord Voldemort found its way into your possession?"

"Yes, sir," he said again, nodding vigorously.

"I must say, it is a most fascinating story," said Dumbledore, "but for it to make sense, there are a few things you need to understand. Indeed, much of what I am about to tell you I had planned to share after you had learned Occlumency, although fortunately, I believe that to be no longer necessary."

"Really?"

"Yes, Harry. I know it has only been a few hours, but have you noticed anything different about your scar?"

"Well...I did notice it looked a bit different when I caught my reflection after my shower, but the mirror was pretty foggy, so I didn't think much of it."

"I see. And has it caused you any pain?"

"No, not since I woke up."

"Very good, then allow me," said the professor, conjuring a small hand mirror and handing it to Harry. "See for yourself; your scar has faded tremendously."

Dumbledore was right. Harry looked carefully at his reflection, and the familiar lightning bolt shape was barely visible. "What does it mean, sir?" he asked, while still gazing into the mirror and running his fingers along the faint white ridge above his eye.

"It means, Harry, that your connection with Voldemort has been permanently severed."

He dropped the mirror on the floor, causing it to shatter. "Really?" he asked. "That's...that's great!"

"More than you know, Harry," Dumbledore responded heavily, kindly vanishing the broken mirror. "Tell me, have you ever wondered how it was that Voldemort survived all those years, incorporeal though he was?"

"Well, it's Voldemort," mused Harry, "so I always assumed it was some sort of obscure Dark Magic."

"An astute deduction," nodded Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort survived by creating objects known as Horcruxes." Harry just stared blankly back at him, having never heard the term. "A Horcrux," explained the professor, "is the name for an object in which a person has encased a part of their soul."

"Their...their soul?"

"Yes, Harry, their soul. The Horcrux is a most foul invention, as I am sure you would agree. The goal, if you have not already guessed it, is to guard against death. For you see, as long as part of the soul is concealed within a Horcrux, the creator remains tethered to the world of the living — even if their body is destroyed."

"And Voldemort made one of these...Horcruxes?"

"More than one, unfortunately," replied Dumbledore. "In fact, the locket was not the first of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes that you have come across."

The use of Voldemort's real name was all the hint Harry needed. "The diary," he gasped. "Tom Riddle's diary was a Horcrux."

"Correct again, Harry," said Dumbledore approvingly. "The fact that he made even one is concerning enough. The idea of him making several is considerably more worrisome, because, as I am sure you have realised, as long as even one of his Horcruxes remains intact, Lord Voldemort cannot be permanently destroyed."

Harry sat back in his chair and attempted to come to grips with the implications.

"So, the locket..."

"Ah yes, the locket. Believe it or not, I am fairly certain that the locket was once the property of Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Really, sir?" asked Harry, as Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"It is a shame for such an important historical relic to be ruined in such a manner, but that is the nature of Lord Voldemort. He cares for nothing and no one, apart from himself and his own ambitions."

"Right, so...why was it here?"

"Ah, well that is a rather interesting tale. I shall permit Sirius to tell it to you in full, as it involves his younger brother, Regulus. However, the short version is that Regulus Black was once a Death Eater, who ultimately betrayed Voldemort at the cost of his own life. He managed to discover what the locket was and ordered Kreacher to destroy it before he died."

"Wait — Kreacher?"

"Yes, Harry, the old Black family house-elf. You may notice that Kreacher is now behaving much more cordially than he has shown in the past. He was unable to carry out his master's final command, something that has haunted him ever since, and he is much happier after your battle with the locket and its subsequent destruction."

"So, the locket has been destroyed?"

"Correct," confirmed Dumbledore. "Horcruxes are quite difficult to destroy, but fortunately, one of the few appropriate tools for the job happens to reside within my office. I left here with the locket yesterday and destroyed it as soon as I returned to Hogwarts."

Harry nodded and thought through everything he'd been told. His mind was going into overdrive just trying to keep up with it all. What did this mean for the prophecy, and what did all of this have to do with his connection to Voldemort?

"Sir...how long have you known about Voldemort's Horcruxes? And how many did he make?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if he were steeling himself for something unpleasant. "We are coming to the difficult part of this conversation, Harry," he said carefully. "To answer your second question first, I have a theory which I am working to confirm, but as of yet, I do not have a conclusive answer." The professor paused for a moment and then continued, "That being said, I have seen enough evidence to convince me that you, Harry, have personally contributed to the destruction of three fragments of Voldemort's soul."

"Three?" he asked, a look of confusion on his face.

"Yes, Harry, three," the headmaster answered solemnly. "I first began to suspect Horcruxes at the end of your second year, when you handed me the diary and described the events that occurred within the Chamber of Secrets. After all, the phenomenon you described — a living memory, thinking and acting on its own — was something I had never heard of. The only theory that made sense was for the so-called memory to have actually been a piece of Voldemort's soul."

"I guess that makes sense."

"I am glad you agree," replied Dumbledore, inclining his head towards him. "There were other signs, of course, including some of what you relayed of Voldemort speaking to his Death Eaters in the graveyard, particularly the part about going 'further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality'." The headmaster once again leaned back in his chair and gazed at Harry, with a hint of sadness behind his pale blue eyes. "And finally," he continued, "I can now admit that ever since last year, I had been growing increasingly concerned about your connection to Voldemort."

There was a pregnant pause between them, as Dumbledore allowed Harry time to work out the meaning behind his words. For Harry's part, he had been given a lot of information to digest, so it took him a few moments to get to the part where he had to consider what his connection to Voldemort had to do with Horcruxes.

And then it hit him.

"Wait! Are you telling me that…I'm a Horcrux?"

"Were, Harry," Dumbledore corrected him, as reassuringly as he could. "I do not believe you were ever a proper Horcrux, so to speak, but yes, you had been carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul with you from the day he attacked you as a baby, all the way up until yesterday."

The knot in Harry's stomach loosened slightly at Professor Dumbledore's clarification, but in the moment, those words did little to comfort him. He felt dirty...tainted. He had been the unwitting host for a piece of that monster's soul for most of his life. That's why it hurt when Voldemort was nearby. That's why he could see Voldemort's thoughts. That's why he had spent the entire summer saddled with anger that didn't belong to him. Where did he go from here? How could he go on knowing he had spent so long with that...abomination attached to him?

"Perhaps further explanation might help you accept what you have just learned. If I may?"

Harry nodded dumbly, still staring at the floor.

"In order to truly damage one's soul, one must commit an act of unspeakable evil — namely cold, premeditated murder. In order to create a Horcrux, a wizard must take advantage of that damage to split off a portion of their soul and encase it within an object via a Dark ritual, of which I shall not discuss. By the time Voldemort arrived at Godric's Hollow that fateful evening, his soul had already been maimed by decades of evil deeds, along with the creation of multiple Horcruxes. When his curse rebounded on himself, a piece of his already fractured soul broke off and attached itself to the nearest living thing — you, Harry."

"That's..." began Harry, but he ended up just shaking his head, unable to find the words.

"Now, what happened to you yesterday is — as far as I know — completely unprecedented," continued Dumbledore. "As such, I cannot speak with absolute certainty, but I do believe I have come up with a reasonable theory as to what occurred."

Harry nodded and leaned forward in his seat.

"First, let us consider the fact that you felt yourself drawn towards the Horcrux. I believe you specifically said that you felt your magic pulling towards it?"

"Yes, sir," confirmed Harry. "I've been working on feeling my magic since I've been here, and I definitely felt like it was pulling towards the locket."

"Ah, certainly a skill worth practicing," praised Dumbledore. "It is my belief that it was actually the soul piece attached to you that was reaching out — via your magic — to its brother piece within the locket. I would not be surprised if it had been subtly doing so the entirety of your stay at headquarters."

"That...makes sense," Harry replied thoughtfully.

"Yes, I thought so as well," said the headmaster. "Conversely, the fragment of Voldemort's soul contained within the locket recognised its companion piece within you, which is why you thought you heard it speaking to you — in Parseltongue, if I were to hazard a guess. The fact that you felt a strong compulsion to open the locket that went beyond normal curiosity does not surprise me."

Professor Dumbledore paused for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next words. Steepling his fingers in front of him, he continued, "Now, here we must enter the realm of guesswork and suppositions. It is important to remember that the piece of Voldemort's soul was never part of you; it was merely clinging to you for survival. I am fairly certain that over the years, it was your mother's lingering protection that helped to keep your souls separate. However, those conditions changed when you were possessed by the fragment from the locket."

Harry's head was swimming, but he tried his hardest to stay with the conversation and understand Dumbledore's explanation. The professor paused again to ask if he was okay to continue, and even though he was starting to get a headache, Harry nodded and waved him off.

"Earlier, I asked you to describe for me what happened in your own words. On more than one occasion, you mentioned feeling like you were being pulled or ripped apart. It is my belief that this sensation was caused by the fragment of soul attached to yours straining to pull itself away and re-join its brother. If you think about it, the fact that you have always felt pain in your scar whenever Voldemort was near can be explained by the same phenomenon. When you forced the invading soul to retreat, I believe the part that attached itself to you when you were a baby forcibly tore itself away from your soul, choosing instead to follow its brother."

Harry nodded vaguely and absentmindedly rubbed what was left of his famous scar.

"Logically, by having the two pieces of the same soul in such close proximity with one another — inhabiting the same body, in fact — it is not surprising that they would attempt to recombine. They were, after all, once part of the same being, and each also held a degree of sentience. The fact that they were both merely fragments, forcefully separated from the whole for years, may have even been the difference. If Voldemort himself had attempted to possess you, for example, I am not sure whether events would have unfolded as they did yesterday."

"So, it's gone then?" asked Harry, focusing on what was, to him, the most pertinent question. "The piece of him that was inside me is gone for good?"

"Yes, Harry, you are no longer playing host to part of Lord Voldemort's soul. Based on what Sirius told me, I believe that both fragments were forced back into the locket, whether they had successfully combined or not."

"So, he can be killed now?"

"No, Harry, I cannot say that with any degree of confidence," said Dumbledore. "Knowing Tom Riddle as I did, I believe it quite likely that there are more of his Horcruxes left to discover."

"And he can't be killed until all the Horcruxes are destroyed..."

"That is correct."

"And all this time, there was one inside of me."

Dumbledore didn't say anything in response. Instead, he bowed his head sadly and nodded in confirmation.

"How long have you known?" Harry asked icily.

"Harry, I —"

"How long have you known that I had to die?" he shouted, rising to his feet. "What would you have done if yesterday never happened? Did you expect me to just...sacrifice myself?"

Harry began pacing around the room as he fumed, grasping at his mop of black hair in frustration while Dumbledore remained silent. After a while, he deflated and plopped back into his chair, holding his head in his hands.

"Why is it always me, Professor? When is it going to be enough?"

"I am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, a single tear running down his cheek. "I did not know for certain until yesterday, but I admit that I had my suspicions."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry repeated, more quietly this time.

"Much for the same reasons we discussed in my office, Harry," he replied sadly. "I could not bring myself to burden you at such a young age. That, and I had not yet confirmed my suspicions. I can at least tell you that I had been working on devising a way to deal with the fragment whilst giving you the best possible chance of survival, something which I am grateful is no longer necessary."

"When you say giving me the best possible chance of survival, I take it there would also have been a good chance I wouldn't survive?"

"That is correct."

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Harry was struggling to come to grips with the idea that, until yesterday, he had needed to die in order for Voldemort to be defeated. Was Dumbledore really planning on leaving his survival up to chance? It was obvious that the headmaster was nearly as unhappy about the situation as he was, but that was of little comfort to Harry. He wasn't sure that he could ever completely trust the man, but Harry also knew that he would need Dumbledore's help if he wanted to defeat Voldemort.

"Where do we go from here, sir?" he asked emotionlessly.

"I would suggest that you first listen to the full prophecy — if you still wish to do so, of course," replied Professor Dumbledore. "I invite you to join me in my office after the welcoming feast, so that you may view my memory of the prophecy being given."

Harry nodded his agreement.

"Secondly, I would ask for you to permit Madam Pomfrey to perform weekly examinations on your body and magic — temporarily, of course."

"Why is that, sir?" he asked with a look of distaste. For all the time Harry spent in the hospital wing, it would never be his favourite place in the world.

"Well, Harry," replied Dumbledore, "as I mentioned before, what happened to you yesterday is unprecedented, and I believe it would be prudent to monitor you for a time to make sure you do not experience any detrimental side-effects related to your ordeal."

"What kind of side-effects?" he asked anxiously, having not yet considered the idea that there could be long-term consequences.

"I honestly have no idea," the professor replied. "It is quite possible that you won't notice any difference whatsoever. Your magic may even benefit from the removal of the foreign soul piece, especially if any part of it had been parasitic in nature. The check-ups with Madam Pomfrey are merely a precaution."

"All right," agreed Harry, shrugging in defeat.

"And finally, I believe now may be the correct time for me to become more directly involved in your magical education."

Harry immediately perked up at that.

"Yes, Harry, as you are well aware, recent events have forced me to reevaluate my plans concerning you. My priority at this moment is providing you with the tools necessary to survive the coming conflict. I believe there is much I can teach you, if you are willing to learn."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir, I'm definitely willing," he replied. "What will you be teaching me? Will it help me fight Voldemort?"

"The deeds of my youth often lead people to believe otherwise, but I have never considered myself a warrior. That being said, I can certainly teach you things you are unlikely to learn anywhere else, and I expect much of it will help you survive your future encounters with Tom."

"Then count me in," Harry said with vigour.

"Very well, then," replied Dumbledore, chuckling slightly. "I had a feeling you would very much prefer this to Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Harry nearly shouted in disbelief. "You were going to have Snape teach me Occlumency?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," he replied sternly. "While I am aware that your relationship is less than amiable, Professor Snape is a superb Occlumens, and I was heavily considering asking him to teach you. Fortunately, that is no longer a pressing concern, although Occlumency is still a skill which I believe would benefit you."

Harry nodded again, feeling no small sense of relief that he had avoided taking extra lessons with Snape, which almost certainly would have been a complete fiasco.

"Now, I believe I have taken up enough of your time for one day," said Dumbledore, rising to his feet. Harry noticed the familiar twinkle had returned to his eye for the first time since they sat down. "I shall see you at Hogwarts on the first of September. In the meantime, I encourage you to share what I have told you with your friends. I believe they have proven themselves trustworthy, but otherwise, I ask you to keep the knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes to yourself. It would not do for Tom to learn that others know of his secret."

The two exchanged farewells, and then Professor Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts and left Harry to his own thoughts. If Harry knew one thing for certain, it was that he'd already had his fill of mentally draining conversations for the year. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he exited the drawing room in hopes of squeezing in a good nap before dinner.

oOoOoOo

As much as he had been looking forward to going back to Hogwarts, the final week of summer felt slightly bittersweet to Harry. He had grown accustomed to spending time with his godfather, and he had to admit that part of him didn't want to leave. Sirius obviously felt the same way, even if he didn't say anything — the way the man grew more and more sullen as they approached September was evidence enough. Knowing this, Harry really didn't like the idea of Sirius being locked in Grimmauld Place with no one but Kreacher for company, even if the elf's attitude had drastically improved.

One bright spot had been Harry's marked improvement during their early morning duelling lessons. He had been steadily improving day by day, but his power and control had taken a huge leap forward after recovering from the incident with the locket. Harry would have liked to believe that the several hours he had spent practicing his magic was finally paying off, but he knew it was more likely to be one of the beneficial side-effects Dumbledore had mentioned.

Whatever the cause, Sirius was definitely impressed by the results.

"Damn, Harry, what did you hit me with?" complained Sirius, as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Just a Knockback Jinx," Harry grinned in response, as his godfather dusted himself off and re-stacked the old trunks he had crashed into.

"Well, it sure packed a punch. I noticed you cast it nonverbally, too."

"Yeah, I've been practicing a lot," said Harry, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I can't do it with everything, but it's getting easier."

Sirius grinned and shook his head. "You've come a long way in a short period of time. Your dodging and shielding have gotten a lot better, too," he told Harry. "Maybe during the holidays, we can work on deflecting spells. It's dead useful in a fight, and it looks pretty cool too," he added with a grin.

"That sounds great."

"Good, because honestly, I don't know how much I have left to teach you," Sirius said disdainfully. "I'm definitely not the wizard I once was..."

"It's not your fault, Sirius. You spent twelve years in that hellhole. It would take anyone a long time to recover," Harry assured him.

"Maybe...but sometimes, things are lost and never come back," he replied with a faraway look.

"Well, that's okay too then," Harry replied quietly. "We'll get you out of here one day, and then you can live your life however you want."

The older man smiled at the thought and nodded, but Harry could tell he didn't truly believe it. Changing the subject, Sirius asked him, "So, have you taken a look at that book I gave you?"

"I have, but I haven't tried out any of the spells yet, obviously."

A few nights earlier, Sirius had given him a thin, black leather book filled with the names, effects, and detailed instructions for some of the foulest curses Harry had ever come across — curated, apparently, by one of Sirius's great uncles.

"I'm sure you can find somewhere to practice at Hogwarts, just be careful," Sirius warned him. "Some of the spells are pretty nasty."

"I will," promised Harry. "And don't worry, I won't let myself get carried away. I just need to have some tricks up my sleeve — just in case."

"Good! Now, let's go get ourselves cleaned up before the others wake up. It'd be pretty pathetic to get caught on our last day."

Harry snorted at the memory of the exchange as he waited by the front door for the others. He was definitely going to miss hanging out with Sirius once he was back at Hogwarts — assuming, of course, that they actually made it to the train. For Harry's part, he had grown so accustomed to getting up early that he had no trouble packing and getting downstairs well ahead of their planned departure time. The Weasleys, on the other hand, were in the midst of their annual last-minute scramble.

"Wotcher, Harry."

"Hey, Tonks," he replied, greeting the young Auror. She was fairly new to the Order, but she still liked to pop into headquarters every so often just to visit. "Sticking with pink today, are you?" he added, nodding upwards towards her chosen hair colour for the day.

Tonks was a Metamorphmagus, meaning she could change her appearance at will. Her ability was well-suited to her chosen profession, but she was also quick to use her talents for the amusement of herself and others.

"At least until we leave. I'm helping escort you lot to King's Cross, but I'll be in disguise."

She screwed up her face in concentration for a moment, and suddenly her appearance morphed into that of a grey-haired older woman.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, reaching up to pinch his cheek in a grandmotherly way.

Laughing, Harry ducked out of reach. "Honestly, I prefer the pink," he replied. "But why do you have to go in disguise?"

"I need to stay on the Ministry's good side if I want to be useful for the Order," she replied, before changing back to her usual appearance. "They're not too keen on anybody close to Dumbledore these days, so being seen with people like you or the Weasleys isn't the best idea. Kingsley's in the same boat, but he can't just change his appearance like I can," she explained, referring to her fellow Auror and Order member, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I suppose that makes sense," grumbled Harry, silently fuming at the idiots in the Ministry — Cornelius Fudge, in particular. The Prophet had continued to bash both himself and Professor Dumbledore all summer, and Harry had no doubt that the Minister was the one behind the ongoing smear campaign.

"What makes sense?" asked Ginny as she came down the stairs, Hermione trailing right behind her.

"That your brothers would be the last ones ready," Harry replied cheekily.

"I don't think Ron's even finished packing," muttered Hermione. "I swear, if we're late for the train..."

"We still have time, but we need to get moving soon," said Tonks, checking her watch.

The next ten minutes were quite chaotic. Between the shrieking of Walburga Black's portrait, the twins and their floating trunks, Crookshanks constantly trying to escape Hermione's grasp, and Mad-Eye grumbling about someone name Sturgis missing a shift again, Harry was surprised they even made it out of the house, but somehow, they did.

It was only a short twenty-minute walk to King's Cross, so they all set out for the station in two groups. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were escorted by Mrs. Weasley, Tonks (once again in disguise), and a large black dog. Sirius had insisted on tagging along in his Animagus form, and Mrs. Weasley was too caught up in the last-minute scramble to put up much of an argument. Lupin took Ginny and the Twins with him, while Mad-Eye dealt with the luggage.

They finally made it onto platform nine and three quarters with only minutes to spare. After a few last-minute goodbyes, some more antics from Sirius in his dog form, and a warning from Moody to stay vigilant, the six teenagers were back on the Hogwarts Express mere moments before it began pulling out of the station.

As Fred and George left to go find their friend Lee Jordan, Ron leaned in and whispered in Harry's ear.

"So, d'you reckon you'll get to listen to you know what tonight?"

"Ron!" hissed Hermione as she glanced in Ginny's direction, but fortunately, the younger girl was still gazing out the window and hadn't heard them.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. After taking a day to come to grips with it all, he had told Ron and Hermione everything about his conversation with Dumbledore. Harry had to admit that a small part of him had been afraid of how they would respond, knowing he'd played host to a piece of Voldemort's soul for as long as they'd known him. His fears wound up being unfounded, of course, because his two best friends were nothing but supportive, and they both reiterated their vow to help him going forward.

"Probably," said Harry, in response to Ron's question. "I mean, that's what Dumbledore said, at least." He craned his neck and looked up and down the train. "Shall we go and find a compartment, then?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

"Er —" mumbled Ron.

"We're — well — Ron and I are supposed to go to the prefect carriage," Hermione reminded him awkwardly.

"Oh, that's right," said Harry. "I'd forgotten."

He really had forgotten. Their Hogwarts letters had arrived a few days prior, and both Ron and Hermione were named Gryffindor's new fifth-year prefects. There was never really a doubt that Hermione would make prefect, but the reactions to Ron's ascension were rather mixed. Mrs. Weasley was ecstatic, of course. She immediately put together an impromptu party to celebrate, and even promised to buy Ron a new broom. As one would expect, Fred and George chose to take the mickey out of their little brother instead, while the others were some combination of being happy for Ron, or confused as to why Harry hadn't been chosen as prefect instead.

As for Harry, he had to admit that he might have been confused, if not even a bit jealous, had Dumbledore not kindly included a note with his letter explaining that he had removed Harry from consideration after their last conversation, owing to the fact that the headmaster's lessons would occupy enough of Harry's time as it was.

Not wanting to put a damper on Ron's big night — he deserved to win one, after all — Harry decided not to let anyone else in on that little secret. One of the unfortunate side-effects of this was the way Ron and Hermione seemed convinced that their being prefects was a sensitive topic for Harry, regardless of how many times he insisted that he was happy for them both.

Promising to reconnect later, Ron and Hermione started towards the front of the train, while Harry and Ginny headed in the opposite direction in search of a compartment. The first few carriages were completely full, and Harry couldn't ignore how many people were staring at him. More than a few of them even nudged their neighbours and pointed him out as he passed, making it clear that a healthy portion of the student body had been keeping up with the news during the summer holidays. He wasn't sure how or when, but one day, he was going to make the Daily Prophet pay for the lies they'd written about him — Cornelius Fudge, too.

Harry and Ginny were just passing through their second carriage in search of a place to sit, when one of the glass-panelled doors slid open behind them.

"Harry!" a voice called out to him.

He turned around to see who it was, and his face broke out in a large grin.

"Hello, Astoria."