7/29/05
Author's Note: None of the characters belong to me, but that hasn't stopped me before.
Would you believe that my very first fanfic story was over 70k words? This is taking me back to my roots then, a novel-length of Harry's seventh year. Don't expect quick updates here, and I will work on other stories (like Happy Endings) while this is in progress.
This will be H/Hr, but as it will follow from book 6, don't expect anything anytime soon, and romance won't be a critical factor in the story (this'll mainly be a friendship fic), but it will be there.
As I sat watching Dumbledore being put to rest, I knew what I had to do. Hogwarts was behind me now, and a new quest lay ahead: find the remaining four horcruxes, destroy them, and then kill Voldemort. After the funeral, I had stood resolutely by the lake with my two best friends, determined to finish the journey that Dumbledore had began with a clear focus on what must be done.
And now, a month later, I ask myself: what was I thinking? Seriously, find the four horcruxes? And exactly how was I going to go about doing that?
Oh, that's right, I had those ever useful clues to follow: Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, Voldemort's pet snake, and something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's. For all I knew, Hufflepuff's cup could be sitting on Voldemort's mantle right now, next to his framed pictures of Muggles being tortured. But it was that last clue that I liked the best…could we be a bit more specific than 'something' of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindors? For all I knew, it could be a set of Ravenclaw's bloomers or Gryffindor's shaving kit.
And even if I somehow managed to find these horcruxes, I still had to get them, and if the protections around the fake locket were any indication, getting the horcruxes might be more difficult than finding them. And then, once I had them, how was I supposed to destroy them? Dumbledore apparently roasted his hand destroying one, and I don't fancy having to wear a glove on one hand for the rest of my life - which might be awfully short seeing as how I still have yet figure out how I was supposed to complete the prophecy and kill Voldemort.
Just thinking about it all was almost enough to reduce a man to tears. I found myself remembering with nostalgia the days when I only had to kill a basilisk to survive.
Fortunately I had plenty of time to plan my next move. After assuring Ron and Hermione that I wouldn't do anything rash - and being somewhat amazed to see that they believed me - I returned to the Dursleys alone. Ron was off to the Burrow to help prepare for the wedding, which had been delayed in order to give Bill time to recover, while Hermione went home to her parents. And since the Dursleys left me alone immediately, I had plenty of time to think about horcruxes. Unfortunately, though, my feeble brain was unable to come up with a thing. What I needed was more information about the horcruxes, more information about Voldemort.
What I needed was Dumbledore. But that wasn't going to happen.
So, instead of making myself useful and somehow discovering the location of the four horcruxes using only the Daily Prophet as a guide, I've spent the past three weeks wallowing in memories of Dumbledore's last days: the cave where I forced Dumbledore to drink; the sight of the Dark Mark over Hogwarts; Malfoy holding Dumbledore at wand point; Snape killing Dumbledore; and my pathetic attempts to curse Snape. Suffice to say, these were not the kind of thoughts that would keep a Dementor happy and well fed.
Or at least, I wallowed until the morning that an official-looking owl swooped in through the kitchen window and left a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest in the middle of the kitchen table. The Dursleys studiously ignored the fact that a bird just flew in and out of their home while I reached over to pick up the letter. It was with no small amount of surprise that I saw that the letter was not addressed to me.
"Um, it's for you, Uncle Vernon." No response. "Uncle Vernon?" I sighed and went ahead and opened the envelope myself.
Dear Mr. Dursley,
As you know, the wizarding world, and Hogwarts in particular, suffered a devastating loss with the death of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. While we mourn his loss greatly, we know that Headmaster Dumbledore would not want his death to interfere with his life's work - the education of young witches and wizards.
After exhaustive meetings between the staff and the Board of Directors, it has been decided that Hogwarts will be open as long as there is one student who wishes to attend.
We realize that you may have concerns regarding the welfare of your children while at Hogwarts. Let me assure you that every step has been taken to guarantee the safety of the students. Additional protective charms and wards have been cast, and Ministry Aurors will be stationed within and around Hogwarts. The method by which Death Eaters were able to infiltrate the castle has been identified, and every step has been taken to ensure that such an event will not happen again.
With these new measures in place, I believe that Hogwarts is as safe - if not safer - than your own homes. We hope to see you and yours on Platform 9¾.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
After the funeral, I had told Ron and Hermione that I would not go back to Hogwarts, even if the school reopened. But now, having time to think about what I had to do, I felt a sense of relief that the school would be opening, for I really had no place else to go.
True, I could go to Godric's Hollow and find some clue about the horcruxes (preferably a big map with the word 'Horcrux Locations' emblazoned on it), but I somehow doubted it. Perhaps there was something of Dumbledore's that could help, or something in the library. Hogwarts was really the only place I could think of where I could continue this quest, but I was a little leery of telling Ron and Hermione that I had changed my mind. After all, it was such a grand, dramatic moment, staring out over the lake and talking about quests and such with a sense of determination. What was I going to say now?
"Oh, Ron and Hermione? Actually I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going, so ignore what I said and let's go to Hogwarts."
It's a bit embarrassing, is what it is.
A day after the letter arrived, there was a demanding, imperious knock on the front door. Being closest, I opened the door.
"Professor McGonagall?" I asked in disbelief.
"Hello, Mr. Potter. I hope you don't mind that I dropped in unexpected, but I was hoping to have a word with you."
I shook my head mutely, still unable to come to terms with Professor McGonagall showing up on my front steps, wearing jeans and a sweater, no less.
Professor McGonagall must've interpreted the look on my face, for she gestured to her clothing. "I decided that blending in might be more appropriate, given the circumstances." She paused while we stared at each other. "Mr. Potter?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
I caught myself, blushing slightly as I belatedly remembered my manners. "Please, come in," I said.
"Who's at the door?" Uncle Vernon bellowed from in front of the television.
Before I could open my mouth, Professor McGonagall strode into the sitting room, following the sound of Uncle Vernon's voice. I hurried to catch up.
"Mr. Dursley, I presume?"
Uncle Vernon stood up and politely introduced himself. I was at a loss as to why his facial complexion wasn't approaching the color of an eggplant by now, until I realized that he didn't know that Professor McGonagall was a witch. That is, until Professor McGonagall mentioned where she worked.
"You're headmaster at that…that…school of freaks?!"
Professor McGonagall gave him a cold look. "I suggest you sit down and do not speak again until I leave," she said sternly, as if lecturing a particularly bothersome student. To my surprise, Uncle Vernon sat down and clamped his mouth shut; I guess she's as effective with adults as she is with her students. "Mr. Potter?"
"Yes, Professor?" I asked, still recovering from my surprise.
"Is there somewhere we can talk?"
I nodded, and led her towards the kitchen. Aunt Petunia and Dudley quickly scampered for the exit, not making a single noise of protest.
"Would you like some tea?" I asked.
"No thank you," she said as she sat down at the table. I took the seat across from her as she began to talk. "As you must have suspected, Professor Dumbledore has a very detailed will; he has - had - an extensive collection of rare and valuable objects, not to mention items of significant emotional value."
I nodded mutely.
Professor McGonagall paused a second, waiting to see if I would speak. Then she continued. "In his will, Professor Dumbledore left you a variety of objects, ranging from his pensieve and flasks of memories to a collection of hand-written notebooks, all of which seemed to have been charmed to prevent anyone other than yourself from accessing them." Again she paused, as if expecting me to jump in and explain why Dumbledore would leave me these things.
After it became clear that I wasn't about to provide any explanation, Professor McGonagall sighed heavily. "Harry," she began, "your loyalty to Professor Dumbledore is commendable; it's a characteristic that we've always found admirable. However-"
"-However things are different now, Dumbledore's dead, and it's best if I tell you what we were doing before he died?" I shook my head. "I'm sorry Professor, but like I said before-"
"Dumbledore made you promise. I remember." She paused, and for a second there, she actually looked distressed. "I understand Harry. I know I'm not as…approachable as Albus was, but I do hope that one day, you will place the same amount of trust and faith in me as you did in him."
It was a side of Professor McGonagall that I've never seen before. The majority of the time she portrays a strict, matronly image, and I've seen glimpses of her angry, outraged, worried, and sad. But I've never seen her look as if she felt inadequate before; I suppose that with Dumbledore's death, she feels that it's her duty to finish his work, namely whatever it was that he was doing with me. "I…I don't know, Professor. I'll…uh…need to think about it, whether or not Dumbledore would approve."
Professor McGonagall smiled wryly, exposing a side of her that I've rarely seen. "Well, once you've consulted with Hermione Granger, please let me know."
I chuckled. "Yes, Professor."
"As for the items that Professor Dumbledore left you," she said, all business once again, "I felt that they are too valuable and delicate to be traveled en masse. You could pick them up yourself from Hogwarts, or I could bring them piecemeal."
My eyes lit up - a perfect and highly reasonable excuse to return to Hogwarts. "I think I'll pick them up from Hogwarts."
She nodded and stood. I stood as well, understanding that our business was complete. As I walked her back to the door, I couldn't help but feel that we had somehow bonded. It felt kinda nice, reassuring even. "Thank you for coming," I said politely.
She gave me her usual tight smile. "I look forward to seeing you soon, Mr. Potter." She stepped outside, but paused and turned back. "I understand this is difficult time for you, Harry. Please don't hesitate to ask if there's anything I can do."
The feelings of warmth towards my new Headmistress blossomed. I smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Professor."
Professor McGonagall smiled back. "It'll be okay, Harry. I daresay a bit of Quidditch will make you feel better."
The smile dropped from my face, and the previously warm feelings wilted quickly and were replaced by feelings of bitterness. I knew it was an attempt at friendliness on her part, but being reminded of Quidditch…
"I'm sorry, Professor," I said icily, "but I don't believe I'll be playing Quidditch next year. I think I'll have enough to worry about as it is."
Professor McGonagall looked surprised. "But-"
"Besides, if I did play, I'm sure something would come up that would prevent me from playing" - I paused, and then added nastily - "like last year, when I was given detention by Dumbledore's murderer after I cursed the man who allowed Death Eaters into the school. It's a shame no one believed me about them."
"Harr-"
"I would appreciate it, though, if Ron were to be named Quidditch captain. After all, he's the only seventh year still on the team, and he is an excellent keeper." And with that said, I shut the door in her face. Some part of me felt bad for how I acted, but it felt so good to be able to release some of the anger I had. If only they had believed me about Malfoy and Snape from the very beginning…
I shook my head of these unproductive thoughts, even if they did provide some odd form of solace. In fact, I was glad that I had time away from Ron and Hermione, because, if not for this time to recover, I was sure I'd be screaming at them for not believing me about Malfoy and Snape.
And as for Quidditch, well, perhaps I had been a bit rash there, letting my emotions run my mouth like that. But at the same time, if I did have to find the four horcruxes, I would be too busy for Quidditch…it's something I would have to think about.
About a week later, I was in my room, staring out my window onto the street below. My mind was currently blank, though I knew there was a part of me that was looking for Dumbledore to come waltzing down the street, his eyes twinkling as he explained how he somehow cheated death, and oh by the way, he brought Sirius and Cedric back with him too.
Since my thoughts were on people coming back from the great beyond to drop in for a spot of tea, it was somewhat startling when the knock sounded at the door. "Erm, Harry?" I heard my cousin say, "there's someone here to see you."
I mentally berated myself for giving in to such wild thoughts of reincarnation. "Who is it?" I asked, a hint of suspicion in my voice. I rarely get visitors, so either it's one of my friends, an Order member, a Death Eater in disguise, or someone lost.
"It's…" - I could practically hear him rethinking his choice of words - "those red-headed friends of yours."
I felt a surge of excitement, but I made sure to take my wand with me anyway. I opened the door.
"They're - hey, watch where you put that thing!" said Dudley, backing away when he spotted my wand. I ignored him and peered down the stairs, where I spotted Ron and Mr. Weasley entertaining my aunt and uncle. Though, to be fair, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked rather peaked at the moment, and really only Ron seemed to be entertained. I started down the stairs slowly, my wand in my hand but pointed down.
"Ah, Harry! We've come to pick you up for the wedding," Mr. Weasley said happily as he spotted me.
"Oh, are you going now? That'll be a shame," said Uncle Vernon, his voice dripping with insincerity as he fearfully watched his prized china set zip around the room. I ignored him.
"Hey Harry," Ron said in greeting, engrossed with making teacups float and watching the horrified expressions of the Dursleys. "Dudley, would you like a piece of candy?"
I raised my wand a hair as Mr. Weasley approached me, stopping him in his tracks. "How do I know it's really you? Or that you're not under Imperious" I asked suspiciously.
"Of course it's me, Harry!" Mr. Weasley protested, looking to his son for support. Ron started to say something, but I shook my head slightly, and he kept his mouth shut, shrugging helplessly at his dad.
When Mr. Weasley turned his attention back to me, I said, "Tell me something that only the real Mr. Weasley would know." I let Mr. Weasley think for a second, and then I snapped my fingers as if I suddenly had a brilliant idea. "I know," I said, "what is your nickname for Mrs. Weasley when you're alone together?"
Mr. Weasley turned a bright shade of pink while Ron whipped his head around, completely oblivious to the shrieks of the Dursleys as the china fell to the floor. "How do you know…?"
"I overheard."
Mr. Weasley fidgeted. "Isn't there something else you can ask me?" I raised my wand threateningly. "All right, all right," he said quickly and then took a deep breath. "Mlywbls."
I craned my head. "What was that?"
"Mollywbs"
"I'm sorry, I do believe that I'll have to hex you," I said, raising my wand.
"Honestly Harry! Is this really necessary?"
I shrugged. "Your rules, not mine."
Mr. Weasley sighed. "Mollywobbles," he said clearly. Ron snorted in laughter while I withheld mine.
"How are you doing, Mr. Weasley?" I asked innocently as I put my wand away and walked down the stairs.
"Aren't you going to question Ron as well?"
I shook my head. "Dumbledore's protective charms ensure that no one with ill will towards me could enter without using a lot of magic in the process. I knew it was you the whole time."
Mr. Weasley goggled. "But…but…"
"Oh," I said, "I should go pack. Be right back."
I heard Mr. Weasley say, "not a word of this to anyone!" before Ron came bounding up the stairs.
"Y'know, Harry, I'm not sure whether I should find that funny or disturbing."
"I'm leaning towards 'funny,' but then again they're not my parents."
Packing was an easy affair, as I hadn't really planned on staying here for any length of time. It only took a few minutes to pack up my books and clothes, and then we were ready. I saw that Hedwig was still out hunting, so I grabbed her cage and set it on top of my trunk. Ron took hold of one end while I grabbed the other, and together we carried the trunk out of my room. However, before I walked out of the bedroom, I paused.
"What's up, mate?" Ron asked.
I looked around the little room. "It just that…well, this will probably be the last time I'll see this room again."
Ron gently lowered his end of the trunk to the ground and walked over to me. He stood next to me in silence, giving me my quiet moment of reflection. Then he smiled. "Great, isn't it?"
I looked back at him, grinning madly. "Yeah, it is," I said, clapping him on the back. "Let's get out of here."
Together we carried my trunk and Hedwig's cage downstairs; I wasn't worried that Hedwig wouldn't be able to find me, as she's always done so in the past. Setting my trunk down, I looked at Mr. Weasley curiously. "How are we getting to the Burrow? Floo? Portkey?"
"Portkey. Now then, make your goodbye's and then we'll be off."
I turned to the Dursleys. "Bye." There really wasn't anything more to say. I suppose I could have said thanks, but after the years of abuse, I wouldn't have meant it. Ignoring their non-response, Ron and I touched one finger to the quill that Mr. Weasley held out. Soon enough, I felt the tug at my navel that would take me away from the Dursleys, hopefully never to return.