ARC 4
PART 1: An Old Man's words and a visit gone awry.
(AN: This fic is similar to HBP chapters 3 and a bit of the next chapter. This chapter is kind of canon rehash but it has its own little AU details. Sorry about that fact that it has to be canon rehash. But not a whole lot mind you.)
Harry's heart stopped for a brief second. " So, this is the exact reason he began to train me. He began to train US. But wait, it only says the King of the Monsters. That should be my other form. But it doesn't mention 'Mione and Neville. What the fuck is this…." he thought. He was broken out of his stupor because he didn't realize that he had expressed his thoughts out aloud.
"Harry, I am well aware of the fact that the prophecies don't mention anyone apart from you and Tom. But I WILL train them along side you because you would need all the help you can get. This is no time to be a lone wolf, Harry. Only you three have a Magus Titanus form in this age save Tom and myself and I have a distinct feeling that I may not live long enough to see that the end of the war where the light prevails. You may be the one to kill Tom, but you would need the others to watch your back." Dumbledore said calmly.
"You DO NOT have to put OTHER'S LIVES at RISK DUMBLEDORE! If I DIE ALONGSIDE VOLDEMORT, NO ONE ELSE SHOULD COME ALONG WITH ME! WE DO NOT NEED ANYMORE VICTIMS!" Harry roared.
"Harry listen. They are there to watch your back if someone tries to assassinate you and they are there to help you kill Tom. YOU are the one to put him down for good. They are there for back up. Please understand Harry." Dumbledore repeated and placated him calmly.
"YOU-- WHY HAVEN'T YOU TOLD THIS TO ME FROM THE VERY BEGINNING?"
"Harry, I wanted you to have a childhood. I wanted you to have fun in you life before--" but he couldn't continue as Harry continued to rant.
"MY CHILDHOOD WAS ROBBED FROM ME AT THE VERY BEGINNING, DUMBLEDORE! I HAVE NEVER BEEN INNOCENT. I NEVER HAD A CHILDHOOD!"
"Ha-Harry please, you have to understand. I have never wanted to cause you any harm. I have only wanted you to grow up away from the fame. I just wanted you to live normally. In my eyes you were a young, unlucky boy, who had a bright future ahead of him if he grew away from the fame. I felt sad for you Harry, that you had your parents robbed from you when you had barely begun life."
"AND YOU ARE AN OLD MAN AND A FOOL! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW MY GODDAMN NAME UNTILL I WAS FIVE! I HAD NO FRIENDS! I DIDN'T GROW NORMALLY! I WAS NEVER NORMAL! I WAS ALWAYS A FREAK. WHY DID YOU FUCKING PUT ME WITH THE DURSLEY HOME?"
"When your mother died that night, her death activated one of the oldest magics known to wizardkind. A magic that can even defy death's curse. As she died for you, a set of runes in your room were activated. That set of runes made a forcefield around you which rebounded the killing curse." Dumbledore said.
"It was my mother all along?" Harry asked somberly.
"Yes Harry. She activated the oldest magic to ever exist. Love. The main difference between you and Tom. Tom couldn't ever feel love. He still can't. But you can Harry, and that is what makes you so great."
"Alright. You know how much I hate putting other's lives at risk because of my own self Headmaster. I do not want anyone to die for me. Everyone I was close to; they are either dead or are about to die. If I lose them but I win, I don't have any reason to carry on with life, Professor. What would be my reason to keep fighting on if the ones that I am fighting for are dead? I would be the only major casualty in the effort to bring down Tom. No one else. I am only a danger to my family." H
"Harry, you will not die. I know it. You will not die. Don't take these words from a teacher, or a master. Take these words from an old man, who has lost a lot throughout his life, and is talking to his grandson. I have always seen you as my grandson Harry. Did you know that I had a son when Gellert Grindelwald was waging war? I also had a family. Do you know what happened to him?" Dumbledore calmly questioned. Harry nodded 'no' as his answer.
Dumbledore sighed nostalgically and said, "He was killed. I was teaching Transfiguration at the time when I received the news that my baby boy had been killed. My son was dead." his throat got clogged up with emotion but he continued in a strained voice. "I never felt more helpless. Gellert's followers had killed him and his aunt. He was just six years old. His mother had died while giving birth. I felt lost. I felt that I had no meaning. I was ready to die." Dumbledore paused to catch his breath and to have a drink out of a conjured glass. He then continued.
"I was going to resign. So, I went to Headmaster Dippet and asked him for the resignation. He heard this and gave me an important piece of advice. It is not about how hard you are hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's what he said. Harry, you will win. Don't take this as a mentor's words, Harry. Neither a general, but take this as the words of an old man. An old man who just wants his grandson to return victorious. If I live and you die in the war effort, nothing would make me as vibrant I am when I know you are alive. It would personally kill me to see you die, Harry. I want you to win." he finished in a teary voice.
Harry was shocked to see the normally fun, cheerful, dorky old grandfather-like Headmaster openly being emotional. He had no idea to how to respond to this.
"I will do it Headmaster. Not for either of us, but for the thousands who were slain by his wand. I just want this war to be over to get the only thing I ever wanted. A nice peaceful life with a family."
"Harry, you will win this. Mark my words. I wouldn't let you die."
"Neither would I Headmaster. After all, I want a peaceful life after this war."
Harry then leaned back, contemplated his thoughts and continued.
"But what of Death's Champion?"
Dumbledore said "That Harry, I do not know. But what I do know is that there is a tale old as time which states that a person from Titan was imminent to court out death and make her love him. Death constantly turned his offers down. Adamant on making Lady Death comply, he sought out destruction in hopes that the souls she'd recieve would please her. He would wipe half of the entire planet's population. Sometimes even the entirety of planet's population. Death rejected him at every turn but he was still persistent to make Lady Death comply to him.
Since he seeked death to such an extent and ironically brought death to such an extent even knowing he was not accepted by her, throughout the cosmos he is known as, Death's Champion."
Harry then left the office after a few more words were exchanged. His mind was reeling. "So, this is why he began to train me and prepare for my 'destiny' as he used to say. I dunno how Ron and 'Mione might take it. I'll just wait for them to get better then I'll tell 'em. Need to look up on the tale of the Champion of Death. It is quite intriguing." He thought.
Present Day
It had been a few days since the DoM battle. Everyone was back home. It was only a matter of time, when the 3 get called back to Dumbledore's manor. And Harry here was in the Dursley home.
He was mourning for Sirius. He never felt so lost in his life before. Whenever he closed his eyes to sleep, he would see Sirius's final moments. He couldn't even get proper sleep. But he somehow managed to get a few hours of sleep for a few days.
One day, it was a dark and dreary afternoon. Fawkes flashed into Harry's room as Harry was nodding off to sleep. As he was about to doze off, Fawkes entrance rattled him out of his . He sighed in resignation as he knew Fawkes would come to give Dumbledore's letter. So, he got up and gently took the letter from Fawkes and began to read it.
Harry,
I would be coming to pick you up to continue your mastery over your form. When would you like me to come? How about this Friday at 11 PM? And dare I say, I may have found some snake answers. I am also in a need for you to assist me in a conundrum I find myself to be in. Can you bring some Melody Pops if you can? A friend of mine had gifted me some last summer and I liked it a lot.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry chuckled at Dumbledore's love for sweets. He briefly pondered over when could he call him so he sat down, pulled out his ink bottle and quill and started writing his response.
Headmaster,
I would be grateful for you to pick me up. Friday at 11 in the dead of the night seems a little bit unorthodox but its fine. Less Muggles are very likely to stay up. You have found some answers to a favorite snake of ours? Time to finish this.
Sorry sir, I don't keep Melody Pop's with me. I am a classic chocolate bar person myself.
Do you have any idea when are my O.W.L results are coming? I would like to know.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
He then tied the letter to Fawkes's leg, and Fawkes flashed away leaving Harry to ponder about what is to come.
Friday
The minute hand on the alarm clock reached the number twelve and, at that precise moment, the street-lamp outside the window went out. Harry awoke as though the sudden darkness were an alarm. Hastily straightening his glasses and unsticking his cheek from the glass, he pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, billowing cloak was walking up the garden path. Harry jumped up as though he had received an electric shock, knocked over his chair, and started snatching anything and everything within reach from the floor and throwing it into the trunk. Then as he lobbed a set of robes, two spellbooks, and a packet of clasps across the room, the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room his Uncle Vernon shouted, "Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?" Harry froze with a brass telescope in one hand and a pair of trainers in the other. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys that Dumbledore might be coming. Feeling both panicky and close to laughter, he clambered over the trunk and wrenched open his bedroom door in time to hear a deep voice say,
"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?" Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible. There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose, and he was wearing a long black traveling cloak and a pointed hat. Vernon Dursley, whose moustache was quite as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and who was wearing a puce dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.
"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming," said Dumbledore pleasantly.
"However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times." He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.
"It is a long time since my last visit," said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing."
Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. Harry did not doubt that speech would return to him, and soon — the vein pulsing in his uncle's temple was reaching danger point — but something about Dumbledore seemed to have robbed him temporarily of breath. It might have been the blatant wizardishness of his appearance, but it might, too, have been that even Uncle Vernon could sense that here was a man whom it would be very difficult to bully. "Ah, good evening Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up at him through his half-moon glasses with a most satisfied expression.
"Excellent, excellent." These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and say "excellent" was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.
"I don't mean to be rude —" he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable. "— yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely.
"Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia." The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face registered nothing but shock. "Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction.
"We have corresponded, of course." Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term. "And this must be your son, Dudley?" Dudley had that moment peered round the living room door, his large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pyjamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on, he smiled.
"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?" Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Harry, still clutching the telescope and trainers, jumped the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of benign interest. He looked quite extraordinarily out of place.
"Aren't — aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously.
"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," said Dumbledore. "I however, would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."
"You will, will you?" Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder, and Dudley skulking behind them both.
"Yes," said Dumbledore simply, "I shall." He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position. "We may as well be comfortable," said Dumbledore pleasantly. As he replaced his wand in his pocket, Harry saw that his hand was reddened and shrivelled; it looked as though his hand was coated in dried blood.
"Sir — what happened to your —?" but he was cut off by Dumbledore.
"Later, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Please sit down." Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into silence. "I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment," Dumbledore said to Uncle Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."
A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in mid-air. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-coloured liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room. "Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely. The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Harry could not suppress a suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning toward him, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all, I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned." Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernon's head turned, but Harry did not look at him, nor could he think of anything to say except,
"Oh. Right." sputtered out Harry. "This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy —"
"His godfather's dead?" said Uncle Vernon loudly from the sofa. Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite insistently on the side of Vernon's head; he attempted to beat it away. "He's dead? His godfather?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. "Our problem," he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, "is that Sirius also left you Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."
"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him. "You can keep using it as headquarters," said Harry. "I don't care. You can have it; I don't really want it." Harry never wanted to set foot in Number twelve, Grimmauld Place again if he could help it. He thought he would be haunted forever by the memory of Sirius prowling its dark musty rooms alone, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to leave. "That is generous," said Dumbledore. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."
"Why?"
"Well," said Dumbledore, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the persistent glass of mead, "Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood." A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed into Harry's mind.
"I bet there has," he said. "Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange." Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet; the telescope and trainers in his lap rolled across the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's killer, inherit his house? "No," he said.
"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."
"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?" questioned Harry.
"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test." He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon yelled, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"
Harry looked around; all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere. "Oh, I'm so sorry," said Dumbledore politely, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know." It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Dumbledore's wand.
"You see," Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had not uttered, "if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited —" He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shag carpet and covered in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek; nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pyjama trousers, and Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What the hell is that?"
"Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears.
"Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't —"
"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks of "wont, won't, won't," "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."
"I don't care," said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."
"Won't, won't, won't, won't —"
"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"
"Won't, won't, won't, won't —" Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.
"Give him an order," said Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress." "Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!" Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!" It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging.
After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum. "Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully.
"It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher." "Do I — do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, us Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."
"Yeah," said Harry in relief.
"Yeah, I'll do that. Er — Kreacher, I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."
Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished. "Good," said Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements —" "No," said Harry at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."
"Hagrid will be delighted," said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. I also wanted to share that I also have found out more on the ancient war which may help you to invoke some other powers of your form. And so far, what we have covered in our sessions, we are far and I do mean FAR away from having complete mastery over your form. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"
"Erm…"
"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore suggested shrewdly.
"I'll just go and — er — finish off," said Harry hastily, hurrying to pick up his fallen telescope and trainers. It took him a little over ten minutes to track down everything he needed; at last, he had managed to extract his Invisibility Cloak from under the bed, screwed the top back on his jar of colour-change ink, and forced the lid of his trunk shut on his cauldron. Then, heaving his trunk in one hand and holding Hedwig's cage in the other (Hedwig was in it), he made his way back downstairs, He was disappointed to discover that Dumbledore was not waiting in the hall, which meant that he had to return to the living room.
Nobody was talking. Dumbledore was humming quietly, apparently quite at his ease, but the atmosphere was thicker than cold custard, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said, "Professor — I'm ready now." affirmed Harry. "Good," said Dumbledore. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more. "As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time —"
"No," said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival. "I'm sorry?" said Dumbledore politely. "No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "But in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen." Uncle Vernon muttered, "Preposterous," but Dumbledore ignored him.
"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own." Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.
"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you." Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.
"Us — mistreat Dudders? What d'you —?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."
None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed. "Well, Harry…time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.
"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.
"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak…just in case." Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk with some difficulty, trying not to show Dumbledore the mess within. When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Dumbledore then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.
"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
Despite the fact that he had spent every waking moment of the past few days hoping desperately that Dumbledore would indeed come to fetch him, Harry felt distinctly awkward as they set off down Privet Drive together. He had never had a proper conversation with the headmaster outside of Hogwarts before; there was usually a desk between them. The memory of their last face-to-face encounter kept intruding too, and it rather heightened Harry's sense of embarrassment; he had shouted a lot on that occasion, not to mention done his best to smash several of Dumbledore's most prized possessions.
Dumbledore, however, seemed completely relaxed.
"Keep your wand at the ready, Harry," he said brightly.
"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?" questioned Harry.
"If there is an attack," said Dumbledore "I give you permission to use any counter jinx, curse or a magus spell that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."
"Why not, sir?" asked Harry because he was genuinely curious.
"You are with me and this will do, Harry" said Dumbledore simply.
He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive. "You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said.
"No," said Harry. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"
"You do," said Dumbledore. "Because in situations like these, I taught you apparition just in case it is needed. But as of now, you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind — as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment." Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm. "Very good," said Dumbledore. "Well, here we go."
Harry felt Dumbledore's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then — He gulped great lung fulls of cold night air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he realized that Privet Drive had vanished. He and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the centre of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. His comprehension catching up with his senses, and Harry found himself keeling over to catch his breath and to sustain the queasiness he felt.
"Are you all right?" asked Dumbledore, looking down at him solicitously. "No matter how many times I practiced this with you, this sensation always gets me good."
Dumbledore smiled and chuckled lightly but while doing so, he drew his traveling cloak a little more tightly around his neck, and said, "This way."
He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight. "So, tell me, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Your scar…has it been hurting at all?" Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.
"No," he said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again." He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression. "I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you." "Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind. They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore again.
"Professor?" questioned Harry as he peered at his surroundings.
"Yes Harry?"
"Er — where exactly are we?"
"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."
"And what are we doing here?"
"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. But I may need two staff members this time because I am planning to introduce a whole new subject. It won't be necessary for your NEWTS Harry but it will surely be looked over by people from the Wizarding Examinations Authority. For example, Griselda Marchbanks. Fun fact about her, she was my own OWL examiner and she is a fair bit older than me (1). Anyways, we are drifting off the topic here. We are here to persuade two old colleagues of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."
"How can I help with that, sir?" "Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Dumbledore vaguely. "Left here, Harry." They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for two weeks persisted here too. Thinking of dementors, Harry cast a look over his shoulder and grasped his wand reassuringly in his pocket.
"Professor, why couldn't we just apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"
"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore.
"Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —"
"— you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Harry quickly. "Hermione told me."
"And she is quite right. We turn left again."
As they walked down the streets and arrived at the aforementioned colleague's home, something seemed off the Dumbledore.
"Something is wrong here. I can feel a disturbance. Wherever they preside, there is always a tell-tale sign that they are here. But I cant seem to see anything of that sort. Horace, Myhaver, what is wrong?" Dumbledore mumbled the last statement and he began to cast all sorts of spells to try to gather some information on what had gone on here.
As they opened the door to the home, broken glass, destroyed furniture and charred walls greeted Harry's eyes. His heart came to a stop as he slowly put together what had happened here. His mind screamed at him "TITANS! IT WAS THE TITANS!" And Dumbledore's hair stood on end as he also realised what had happened here.
AN: Again, Sorry that this is a canon rehash.
(1) That's canon btw. Griselda Marchbanks is indeed older than Dumbledore.