"ʜᴀᴛᴇꜰᴜʟ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴀᴅᴇꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ."

― ʜᴏᴍᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ɪʟɪᴀᴅ

Chapter Thirty: The Pawn's Pawn

It was a cold April late-morning in the dungeons. In practice for their final exam, Professor Snape's first-year class was instructed to brew Forgetfulness Potion.

The clump of eyes had been moved from Snape's office to the desk, and now the little jar of eldritch horrors sat blinking at the class while the professor strolled about the room and breathed down the students' necks.

Most of the excitement had died down, now. Even Anthony had given up on trying to claim that there was an imposter.

Maybe there had never been one in the first place, Ruby thought, and Professor Dumbledore was too ashamed to admit he'd made a mistake and instead sent the Aurors away quietly and let life at Hogwarts get slowly back to normal. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had snuck into the third-floor corridor after curfew under the Invisibility Cloak, but apparently, Alohomora wasn't enough to make the door open anymore. So, one by one, they all gave up on it.

"Is it two drops of Lethe River Water or three?" whispered Lavender. "I can't read Professor Snape's handwriting."

Ruby leaned over her cauldron and squinted at the board.

"The book says two, but Professor Snape says three," said Parvati from behind them while his back was turned. "What do you think?"

Ruby shrugged. "Professor Snape's probably right." She counted three drops from the bottle they were sharing, passed it back to Lavender, then started crushing the mistletoe berries.

They were no longer allowed to collaborate on their potions in preparation for the exam or, in Professor Snape's words, weed out the 'most lazy and idiotic' of the students.

Neville Longbottom was struggling in particular; Snape seemed to enjoy taunting the boy as he quaked in his shoes.

Her potion was orange in colour. Perfect.

Too perfect, she realised. Dumbledore might have told Snape about Vernon's death, and she couldn't afford suspicion. She had to sabotage herself a little bit; she'd gotten carried away.

Now, to add a few drops more mistletoe... It turned reddish, not too much to make Snape yell at her but not exactly impressive either.

She thought she had gotten away with it until Snape droned: "Stay after class, Potter... no, not you, the other one."

Once the classroom had emptied, Snape walked towards her desk, tapping his wand to the rim of the cauldron and sneering.

"What is this?"

"My potion, sir."

"Try again."

She shook her head.

"A failure."

"Lavender's looked the same, sir, and you said hers was fine."

Snape glared at her. His eyes were like two angry black holes.

"Miss Brown's performance is not relevant. Why you are sabotaging yourself, however, is."

"I'm not sabotaging myself!"

"Do not insult my intelligence, Potter. I may not be as famous as your brother, but my eyesight is certainly better." He looked even more irritated. "Why, Potter? Do you find this amusing? Wish to annoy me? Are you pretending to be dull for the benefit of someone else? Miss Greengrass, perhaps... Or Mr. Nott?"

Daphne, she could understand. But Theodore barely spoke to a soul. Why would he matter?

Snape sighed.

"Is someone telling you to do this?"

She shook her head.

"Are you doing this of your own accord?"

Ruby did nothing. Snape scowled.

"Do you enjoy being painfully mediocre?"

She didn't see anything wrong with being average. She did average or slightly below in Muggle school; her exams would come back with seventy-five percents in red ink and her report cards with a mix of B's and C's next to notes like Needs to concentrate in class or Talks back too much or Sloppy or better yet, Insolent or Difficult. Ruby might as well have a big red sign saying Problem Child over her head at this point.

Aunt Petunia would nag a bit about behaving but mostly was just grateful that Ruby wasn't turning out to be pretty or clever or otherwise Lily-ish even if she was a freak.

Harry, however...

In fact, the first time he'd gotten straight-A's and their maths teacher had come to the house to talk about some kind of gifted program at Cambridge over the summer had resulted in World War III (the 1988 edition), with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia as the superpowers, Dudley as gleefully unaware Antarctica, and Harry and her as Sardinia or something.

Which, of course, made her wonder why she was the Slytherin and not Harry, seeing as she wasn't exactly the poster child for ambition and greatness.

But Snape most likely didn't want to hear any of that, so she scratched off a bit of crud on the table with her fingernail, glared at the jar of wobbly, blinking eyes, and said:

"No, Professor, I don't."

"Detention it is," he said. "Tonight. Seven o'clock. Do not be late. You will be scrubbing cauldrons, so don't bother trying to make whatever that is on your head look less like a bird's nest."

"Yes, Professor."

She glared (at Snape this time), gathered her books, and stomped out of Potions, nearly bumping into someone.

"What'd you do?" asked Theodore Nott, crossing his arms and staring her down with his beady, angry, red-rimmed eyes. "What'd he want?"

"None of your business," Ruby snarled, attempting to walk past him, but he stepped into her path.

"Hang on a second. Can I have my books back?"

"Your books?" she repeated, trying to think. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Here you go."

She retrieved the stack and handed them to him clumsily.

"You can keep The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection," he said casually. "My dad bought me a new one ages ago."

Lily's necklace had flipped out of her shirt, and Theodore was gazing at it fixedly. Suddenly, his eyes were eager in a way she'd never seen before, instead of angry or miserable. Ruby put her fist around the pendant and glared.

"So, what about Professor Snape?"

"Don't you have to go wash Draco's feet or something?"

Unsurprisingly, Theodore didn't look offended. Instead, he smiled, seeming inexplicably confident. Almost as if he was somehow rehearsed.

"I'm above Draco. Guess you'll tell me about it later."

And with that, he walked (no, strutted) off.

Harry found himself once more in Quirrell's office after Defence. They were working on control now.

After the fiasco of December, Harry hadn't wanted to try again.

Baby steps, Quirrell had assured him.

And he was right. Even though Harry couldn't control his magic well when using a wand, he could learn to live with, work with the Obscurus.

He squinted at the candle flickering at the very end of the room, dredged up a mildly unpleasant memory, and breathed out.

"Stop."

The candle stopped flickering, and when he blinked, the flame was gone. Harry glanced at Quirrell, who nodded and gestured for him to continue.

He began the next step. Gathering the shadows cast by the bookshelf and desk and amalgamating them into a horrid monster, Quirrell peering at the cobalt clock's golden hands and noting down their positions all the while.

The unnatural, greasy shadows stuck to his skin, and Harry screamed involuntarily as if something inhuman had possessed him. It was cold and cruel and pure ice in his veins, freak and wrong and definitely bad magic. This was what Uncle Vernon always told him he was: freak, boy, freak, freak, freak, so shouldn't he just give in to the glorious, seductive abyss? The deep hunger to destroy had rooted itself in his veins.

Too bad Vernon was dead, and Voldemort was far away somewhere because Harry's jagged fingers could tear them to pieces, and they couldn't catch a creature of pure rage and slippery shadows (I weigh next to nothing at all, and no man can hold me for long). His true being was wind and storm; he could tear the heavens apart and demand redress of his grievances.

Anger is not the way, he thought, coming to his senses. The ring was spinning and burning hotter than it ever had across his fingers, siphoning away the shadows as the snake crawled and ate in its eternal progress. Quirrell was still watching.

"You almost lost c-c-control, H-Harry," said Quirrell evenly. He said it as if it were a simple fact; there was not an ounce of judgement in his throat.

Harry grabbed the glass of water on the desk; shards of shadow were embedded in his throat, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. When it was loose, he said: "Sorry, Professor."

Seriously, what would I have done without him?

"We're done for today, right?" asked Harry. He didn't think he could take anymore right now. He would eat quickly, go up to the common room, work on his Charms essay with Ron, ask Hermione to look over it, then get an early night.

"Of c-course," said Quirrell.

Harry fiddled with the now-cool ring and thought about when he'd been tempted to let the Obscurus take control.

Maybe it wasn't a bad thing, in the right circumstance... He imagined Voldemort trying to kill him on that horrible night.

Harry imagined a gaping hole where all his defining facial features should have been, black hair (maybe because Harry thought of him as a reflection, who knows?), and shadows curling. Rising. Cutting that cruel man, that monster, until there was nothing left.

I can do it.

"Voldemort's coming back, sooner rather than later," said Harry. "What if..." He trailed off. Yes but, Quirrell already knew his worst secret, and half the older Slytherins believed it, so why not?

"What if I can be a Dark Lord, too, Professor? Strong enough to fight Voldemort? I'm not stupid; I know this stuff we're doing isn't Hogwarts-friendly. I read the book. An Obscurial is a Dark monster."

Quirrell did not say, "You are not a monster, Harry," nor did he expect him to.

"It m-m-might not be wise, H-Harry."

Probably not.

"But is it worth it?" pressed Harry. "Could it kill him properly next time if he hunts me down or something?"

Quirrell clicked his tongue, looking very annoyed. There was a red glint to his eyes. It stirred up some ancient fear in Harry, but he didn't understand it.

"No."

But how can he be so sure? wondered Harry. He knew the ring's magic kept his shadows from being lethal to him or others. But unrestrained, didn't Obscurials kill?

Quirrell had said that his seemed only to want to protect him, though. Maybe that was because Harry didn't want to hurt anyone.

Yet.

"But why not?"

"This discussion is over."

Harry had never heard Quirrell's voice sound so icy.

"Yes, sir," he said, defeated, and left the office, resisting the urge to slam the door. Just before the door shut, Quirrell whispered, "You can trust me, H-Harry. I am on your side."

If you were on my side, thought Harry, you'd tell me how to kill Voldemort.

He kicked the floor.

Probably for my own good.

Just then, Peeves the poltergeist barrelled down the corridor, shrieking with unearthly laughter.

"Ahhh, what's wee Potty upset for? Is wee Potty brooding? What a thoughtful lad—"

"SHUT UP, PEEVES!" shouted Harry, balling his hands into fists.

Peeves looked only slightly chastised, then continued down the corridor to harass someone else.

"No shouting in the corridors, Harry," said Percy. "Professor Dumbledore wants to see you at seven."

He couldn't have possibly found out... Dumbledore was the Headmaster, and so if he had any reason to think Harry might be a danger to the other students, he would take Harry away, just like Quirrell said.

Maybe he could pretend to be sick to avoid the meeting. But Madam Pomfrey might be able to figure out what was wrong with him.

"Did he say what the meeting was for?" he asked Percy.

Percy didn't respond, instead offering a self-important sniff and striding past Harry.

Voldemort's servant disappears in the blink of an eye.

Being well-accustomed to disappointment and deceit, Harry knew he smelled a rat.

Not least because the scar that Voldemort gave him still stung after the mirror incident, though blunted by the interference of the ring's magic.

And that's the problem with magic, he thought. It's not very specific and only seems to tell you what it wants to.

"You know what night it is, don't you?" said Lavender, as if it were common knowledge.

Ruby really could not think what on earth the thirtieth of April could be relevant for.

"Well, May Day's tomorrow," she said, searching through the grass for a four-leaved clover.

"It's Walpurgis Night," Parvati corrected her. "When the Veil between this world and the other one becomes as thin as it possibly can. Some people say you can cross between them."

"The other world?"

"Where dead people go," said Lavender. "That's how Seers see the future, you know. Time doesn't matter to spirits, and if you have the Sight, you can see what they're telling you through the Veil."

"Do you—" Did she dare? She did. "Do you think I could see my parents, maybe?"

Both Lavender and Parvati's expressions twisted into masks of pity, and Ruby hated it.

"But we oughtn't try, not after the war," said Parvati. "The spirits are angry and won't tell us things."

"Hmm," said Ruby. She didn't sense anything supernatural in the least, even though the horizon had cracked the sun, and now yellows and oranges spread out, staining the blue sky pink and gold.

Maybe it had something to do with Theodore's weird behaviour earlier. His certainty that she'd tell him about it later.

"I guess everyone's a little bit off," she said.

"Oh, look!" cried Lavender, pointing at something white aimlessly circling ahead. "She's such a pretty owl," she added dreamily.

That, and the swoop of wings slicing wind told Ruby that it was Hedwig above them, and soon enough, the owl landed upon a low-hanging tree branch, silent and dignified. She stuck her foot out, revealing a little roll of paper tied to it.

Lavender and Parvati hung back politely, though Ruby could tell they were curious as they watched her undo the string.

The note was written in the same handwriting as the one attached to the Invisibility Cloak.

There has been a change of plans; we shall meet at seven today instead of tomorrow.

Do not worry about detention. I have spoken to Professor Snape.

Ruby groaned. Given her luck, she'd managed to get into trouble again.

Not being particularly talkative, Hedwig took off as soon as she saw that Ruby did not intend to send a reply, probably in search of dinner.

"It's Professor Dumbledore," she said to satisfy their curiosity. "I've got to go see him at seven."

"You're not in trouble, are you?" asked Parvati as they began to walk back towards the castle.

Ruby just shrugged. She herself could not tell.

"On the bright side," she said, crumpling the paper into a tiny ball, "I managed to get out of detention."

She vaguely wondered if Harry had anything to do with Dumbledore's summons, and if not, perhaps Snape? Or Quirrell?

He had been keeping an annoyingly close watch on her since Christmas.

As they drew closer to the castle and grass transitioned into flagstones, Ruby saw that water had seeped between the cracks, leaving large, still puddles of rainwater like mirrors. She was just about to step over one of them, trying not to get the hem of her robes wet, when the water shimmered in a way that seemed strange.

What she saw made her panic and stumble back across the stones, falling flat on her back. Before she knew it, both Lavender and Parvati were kneeling beside her and trying to figure out if she'd hit her head.

When she felt less dazed, Ruby sat up and said, pointing at the innocent-looking puddle:

"I saw someone... a boy... I'm sure he was dying. Or dead."

"Oh, you really must have hit your head," said Lavender, giggling. "You saw yourself, silly."

"I'm not silly," Ruby insisted, "and I didn't hit my head." Although the throbbing pain behind her eyes told otherwise. "He was pale as a ghost, and his eyes were all glassy and horrible."

She shuddered. She couldn't help it. The boy's too-shiny, empty eyes reminded her eerily of Uncle Vernon, lying dead on the living room floor. His limbs were sprawled out the exact same way, like a marionette whose strings were cut.

"I was thinking about Harry and Quirrell," she continued. "And you know Harry's scar? How it looks like a lightning bolt?"

They nodded and exchanged a worried look.

"Well, he had one, too. Not on his forehead. Slashed right across his chest. That must be how he died."

"This is creeping me out," said Parvati, glancing towards the puddle. "I hate thinking about dead people. Let's go inside."

Ruby got to her feet. She had to agree; she didn't want to see the creepy dead boy again or anything like it. She'd like to scrub the inside of her brain and get rid of it.

"Was he angry?" asked Lavender, who looked more intrigued than frightened. Ruby supposed that if you wanted to be a Seer, you'd have to like creepy things like that.

"No," answered Ruby. "Maybe a little. But I think he was scared, mostly... I think whatever killed him was painful."

"Maybe he died in the war," said Lavender. "Maybe You-Know-Who gave him his scar, too."

"He couldn't have been," said Ruby. "He wasn't that much older than us. Maybe fifteen."

"Maybe he was murdered," Parvati offered, although she looked unsettled. "He could want revenge on the person who killed him."

What if Uncle Vernon's ghost was out here tonight, too? Would he come after her?

Lavender's face fell. She was clearly attached to the war theory, and Ruby and Parvati had to wait for her as she walked around, looking in all the puddles for another glimpse of the dead boy, but was unsuccessful. So instead, she took a handful of chalk out of her pocket and made a circle around the first puddle (to stop him from coming out, she said). It looked a bit clumsily done.

"I'll have to look it up in the library," she announced. "Or maybe I'll send Professor Trelawney an owl. It seems important."

"Don't," said Ruby as they walked on. "Isn't it bad luck to bother dead people?"

"It's not bothering him. You nearly stepped on him."

"Well, leave me out of it. I don't want to think about it anymore. Parvati's right; it's creepy."

"Maybe you have the Sight!" said Lavender excitedly.

"Maybe I hit my head," said Ruby dryly.

"No," said Parvati. "Something definitely frightened you. You must have seen him, after all..."

After narrowly avoiding Filch (who had it out for anyone trailing the springtime mud through the corridors), they made their way into the Great Hall and were soon joined by Harry.

"Dumbledore wants to speak to me," he said quickly, glaring at both Lavender and Parvati. "You haven't heard anything about it, have you?"

Ruby looked behind her; Lavender and Parvati hurried off, both looking miffed.

"What did you do that for?" asked Ruby.

Harry sighed. "We can't talk about it in front of people, can we?"

She frowned and crossed her arms, unimpressed.

"He doesn't want to see you at seven by any chance?" When he nodded, Ruby added: "I suppose I'm not in trouble, then. That'll be a first."

"Yeah, maybe I am," said Harry.

"For what?"

"You know." He gestured vaguely. "It."

"But neither of us have told anyone―"

"And nobody told him about―" Harry lowered his voice to a whisper "―Uncle Vernon, either."

"And what about Quirrell's ring? What about you, what are you going to do once ― if Quirrell leaves this year like all the other Defence professors?"

"I'll be fine," snapped Harry, already walking off.

"Harry―"

"I'll be fine! Fine!"

At the Slytherin table, Pansy was busy showing off the spells she'd learned at Charms Club, while Crabbe and Goyle had a whispered argument about Quidditch teams, Draco was in a sulk and spent the entire time moving the food around on his plate and glaring at anyone who looked in his direction, and when Ruby asked Daphne and Tracey where Theodore was, the response was: "Talking to Thestrals" (Daphne), "Hmph" (Tracey) and "Like the weirdo he is" (Blaise, as he arrived late as usual).

"What's a Thestral?"

Tracey suddenly became very interested in her pumpkin juice, Blaise looked as smug as usual, and Daphne shot her a glare.

Right. Not supposed to ask that.

Maybe Thestrals had something to do with the dead boy in the puddle; or Lavender and Parvati's Walpurgis Night.

No one seemed to want to tell her, anyway.

I could ask Dumbledore. If he doesn't want to tell me, he won't. And if not, he might.

She looked up as Dumbledore and Quirrell walked by.

"―I am meeting with the Potters tonight," he said, just loud enough for Quirrell (and her) to hear.

Why is he telling Quirrell? Is he coming?

If Quirrell was coming... that meant that Dumbledore must have found out Harry's secret!

If so, she must throw him off, even if it seemed beyond her entirely.

"Evening, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry, stepping into the room first. Not having been inside since September, he took some time to look around. Many of the little machines were gone, leaving patches of bare shelf behind.

"Good evening, Harry," said Dumbledore. He was sitting behind his desk; unlike Quirrell, he did not feel the need to appear busy, instead studying Harry carefully.

Dumbledore can read minds, he heard Quirrell say. His hand went to the ring without thinking about it, and as quickly as Dumbledore tracked the movement, he shielded the ring from sight.

It was already hot against his hand.

"Hello, Professor," said Ruby, startling them both as she slipped into one of the chairs; evidently, she was much more comfortable here than Harry. "Why did you ask for us separately instead of asking me to bring Harry?"

Now he could only see the back of Ruby's head poking over the chair; Dumbledore gestured for Harry to sit down as well.

"I hope you'll excuse the cloak-and-dagger," said Dumbledore. "There are some that do not need to know of this meeting between the three of us."

"Has this got something to do with Walpurgis Night, Professor Dumbledore?"

Walpurgis Night? Harry wondered. What's that?

"Perhaps it does," said Dumbledore, and he saw Ruby pull a disappointed expression. He'd have to ask her later to explain.

Now, turning to Harry, he asked: "Do you know how you survived that night, Harry?"

Dumbledore's voice was so quiet and severe that Harry could not look him in the eyes. Instead, he stared determinedly at the floor.

"My mother died to save me."

He could barely manage to say it. He did not want to say it.

At least Aunt Petunia's villainous ghosts of Lily Evans and James Potter had been furiously, cruelly alive.

"But that is not all," Dumbledore continued. "While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister."

"And Ruby," Harry interrupted.

"Yes. You need return to the home of your mother's blood only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. As I performed the charm on your aunt, so I must on your sister. But this time," he said, "it will be stronger."

"Why?" asked Ruby before he could.

"Because it will be split between two people, rather than one. And besides, as I am sure you have heard by now, this is an auspicious night for magic of certain kinds. So stand opposite each other and clasp hands," instructed Dumbledore.

Harry tried to relax as he clasped his sister's hand.

The Obscurus won't hurt her, will it?

Dumbledore said nothing, too focused on his task for now. It seemed to require great concentration. A glowing, immaterial red thread emanated from the tip of his wand, wrapping around their connected hands.

Blood, thought Harry. He didn't know how or why, but that was what it reminded him of. He was sure the red ribbon had something to do with blood. The essence of blood.

Dizzy, Harry stumbled back slightly, coughing. He realised with horror that a wisp of black smoke had come out of his mouth, but Ruby shook her head. Dumbledore hadn't seen, too focused on the spell.

"It is done," said Dumbledore, looking exhausted. "Good night. Hagrid is expecting you, Ruby."

"Hagrid's expecting you?" repeated Harry once they were out of the office. "What for? It's seven-fifteen; what could he want you for now?"

Ruby frowned.

"That was close, Harry. Too close."

"He didn't notice!" Harry protested.

"Barely." She paused. "You don't really think Dumbledore would send you away, do you? I mean, he knows what I did. And I don't think he's said anything to anyone about it."

"You're not a monster."

"You're not a monster, either! I'm more of a monster than you are! I'm a ― I'm a― murderer." Her voice broke, and the last word came out in a horrified whisper.

"Right," said Harry, annoyed. "You should see me, then. See me like that ― hear the things I want to do to people when I'm like that, and tell me what I am, then."

"Oh, Harry!"

"I don't need to be handled with kid gloves!"

He began to walk off towards Hagrid's hut quickly, and Ruby had to run to catch up with him. After a few minutes, he relented and stopped to let her catch up to him, and they walked the rest of the way together.

Hagrid was puttering about outside, and before Harry's eyes focused on anything, he heard Ruby's little "eep!" of terror and felt her nails digging into his arm.

"Bin waitin' for yeh!" called Hagrid. "Come along, now. They don' bite."

"Are you sure about that, Hagrid?" asked Ruby, pointing at the two horses standing in the yard.

They were a little terrifying, Harry supposed. They looked like horses but might have been reptiles, too. There was something very ancient and dinosaur-like about them.

There was no flesh upon them; their short black coats clung to their sharp skeletons, and they possessed leathery, bat-like wings.

Harry thought they looked like dead things.

"What is he doing here?" asked Theodore Nott, stepping around the flank of one of the horses.

"He's my brother," said Ruby. "What are you doing here?"

"Don' argue, now," said Hagrid, handing them both a small curry comb each. "Yeh'll frighten them ― nice an' easy, now, Theo."

Harry shrugged and began to comb the Thestral in order to pacify Hagrid and dissuade further arguing.

Theodore looked up from what he was doing and paid close attention to Harry for a few minutes.

Then, he said: "What did Dumbledore want you for?"

Harry clapped a hand to his scar, wincing.

"Are yeh alright there, Harry?"

Though he was loath to do so, Harry removed his hand from his forehead and nodded. Theodore looked away and began diligently brushing the Thestral again.

"How can you see the Thestral, Ruby? Harry's seen someone die, but you haven't, have you?"

Theodore's question was so unsubtle that even Hagrid picked up on it. Ruby shook her head, refusing to look at anyone, and offered the Threstal a slab of raw meat.

Harry was about to tell him off for being much too nosy, but now, Theodore was slumping against the Thestral, hanging onto its mane for balance, and Dumbledore was there inexplicably and without anyone hearing or seeing him coming; as if he had appeared out of thin air.

"Mr. Nott?"

Theodore seemed to be struggling, choking on something that wasn't there. His eyes, which had been bright and glinting unnaturally before, looked glassy with exhaustion.

"You are unwell," said Dumbledore. And, without looking at Ruby, Harry, or Hagrid, he strode forward and said something to Theodore in a low voice.

Harry crept around the other side of the Thestral to eavesdrop.

"―I was only following orders, sir," said Theodore meekly.

"Whose orders? Your father's?"

"Yes, sir."

"And was someone else involved in this? Do you know?"

"He played cards with a hooded man in the Leaky Cauldron, sir. During the Easter holidays. And after that, I was told that I would get a message from a certain owl, and I had to do what it said to please an uncle who was coming home soon from Albania."

Dumbledore stiffened.

"And what did that owl look like?"

"Just one of the Hogwarts mail owls. A barn owl with a limp in her right foot."

Dumbledore looked the slightest bit suspicious and repeated the last part of Theodore's description, muttering under his breath.

"Yes," he said finally. "It would not do to be conspicuous. And the letter? Will you tell me?"

Theodore swallowed.

"I got it this morning. I was supposed to make sure Ruby wouldn't go to see you tonight; she got in detention with Professor Snape, and so I was going to try and get her stuck there. But I was sent another letter to hold off, then find out what happened in the meeting."

"That is the whole story? You are quite sure?"

"Yes," said Theodore, nodding earnestly. "Yes, sir... and could I ask you a favour, please? Could you modify my memory, so it looks like I did it properly? My dad wants me to extract it and send it to my uncle to make sure I did it."

Before Harry could think how you could possibly modify or extract a memory, Dumbledore had done whatever was necessary and now leading Theodore back towards the castle.

He caught Harry's eye; he flushed with the embarrassment of being caught eavesdropping.

"Yeh should return ter yeh common rooms," said Hagrid. "It's past both of yer curfews."

But why didn't he go to Dumbledore before? Why would an Albanian uncle care what Dumbledore had said to them?

"Let's go," said Ruby, and Harry saw that she wanted to ask the same unanswerable questions.