A/N: Note for this chapter and subsequent: shipping, and some other parts are based on theories found in the forum section of Portkey, Horcrux theory is all mine.
Thanks again, to Tacel, for the help, unfortunate mistake there.
Hope you all like this chap as the rest.
Disclaimer: I shouldn't have to do this; you all know this isn't my stuff no matter how much I wish it was.
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The Last Will and Testament of Albus Dumbledore
Sixteen years after he had been left on his aunt and uncle's doorstep with a note, Harry Potter would finally leave number four, Privet Drive. He wasted no time in setting about it either, for that morning he had awoken to find that life in the Dursley house had returned to the norm: Uncle Vernon loudly complaining about something or the other at breakfast, Aunt Petunia fretting about the house, cleaning up, and Dudley eating, lost in the television. It was as if the afternoon before had never happened, though Dudley noticeably ignored his mother whenever she approached him.
In the face of something like that, it was best to clear out as quickly as possible.
As arranged, Ron and Hermione would arrive early in the evening. The Dursleys, having determined that it was best they not be there and especially given past experiences, were not when they did. They left shortly after breakfast, Uncle Vernon delivering a parting warning as their car pulled out of the driveway, "I expect to find my house here and you gone when we get back, boy!"
Harry replied, "I expected to be properly fed, clothed and treated, but we never always get what we expect, do we?"
"What's that?" he demanded, the car now in the street and just out of earshot.
Harry replied again, a little louder, "Don't worry; you won't be seeing me again."
And as she had done for the past few weeks, Aunt Petunia flushed slightly as the car drove away.
They were going off to visit Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, and wouldn't be back before sunset. There, he could imagine them sitting around for hours disparaging Mr Gladstone "who clearly didn't know Dudders", and him, while Ripper and her other dogs skipped round their feet. This suited Harry perfectly, he didn't have to see them before he finally left and neither did Ron and Hermione have to endure Uncle Vernon's hospitality when they arrived.
Now, if only it were so easy to rid himself of his guard. Just as he turned to go back into the house Harry noticed him trying to conceal himself in a neighbour's begonia bush as he took note of the Dursleys' departure. Before they were properly out of the house this evening Harry was sure the Order would know about it.
Once within the house again, and left to his own devices, Harry had brought down his trunk and settled into the living room to wait.
Hedwig had been released earlier, despatched to the Burrow with a final letter for Ron and would not return. He was planning to leave her with the Weasleys altogether; it would be too difficult to take her along and too easy for them to be caught if anyone found her delivering a message.
The less he was responsible for, the better.
The wait though, turned out to be harder than he thought it would.
He had decided against watching television. Almost every channel was carrying the report of a fire in Southampton which had destroyed a police station and killed four. He had no doubts that Death Eaters were involved, Voldemort was giving up no opportunities to wreak havoc nowadays and a copy of the wizard Daily Prophet said so. Other than that there wasn't much else to watch.
There was that letter from Hermione then, to consider. After Aunt Petunia had sent him up to his room, he had sent Hedwig out with her revelation. Hours later though, Hermione would send her back with a surprise: Aunt Petunia was wrong about the address; Godric's Hollow was a Muggle town in Wales, just west of Swansea.
She didn't think that Aunt Petunia had lied; it was just that the location of the Potter home in Godric's Hollow was protected by a Secret Keeper. That meant that only the Secret Keeper could reveal it, and no one else, not even Harry's parents themselves. Whatever the Oxford address, it was probably a safe house or the other for them to collect mail if necessary, and Aunt Petunia just assumed Godric's Hollow was wizard for the name.
Not to mention that they also didn't have the exact house number, a major detail they needed to have when they went looking.
He decided not to tell Aunt Petunia that she was wrong, if there was anything else she felt like telling him he didn't want to discourage her. But she didn't, she had long contented herself that her duty was done, her secrets given. And then she was also too busy preparing for the trip to Aunt Marge and staring daggers at Dudley in turn to notice his pointed stares.
Of course, there was something else.
After they left the Burrow, and had the exact house number, how were they to get to Godric's Hollow undetected?
He knew how to Apparate, but legally he couldn't and the last thing he needed was the Ministry on his back. The strange incidents and murders occurring since the year before also meant that they had the Muggle authorities to worry about too. It would have been better if it was just him, three teenagers travelling the country alone-no matter that they would all be of age eventually-was going to attract attention.
There was, of course, the Knight Bus which they were going to take to the Burrow today. But that was just it; they were going to the Weasley home which was not at all out of the ordinary for Harry Potter in the summer. With Stan Shunpike still imprisoned their chances of the new conductor not being a Ministry spy was rather slim, not to mention that Wales was way out of the ordinary.
That left flying, and Hermione did not own a broom.
But she could borrow one, or better yet, buy one, a nice new one guaranteed to work. He would have to talk to her about that later.
Finally, Harry spent the day looking out at the backyard and the dusty-grey clouds of a blustery afternoon from the relative safety of the conservatory, lost in his thoughts.
This was it, the final hours of his final day in Privet Drive. He could barely wait to get out, but even if he were going alone it was best to leave after dark, easier to slip away in case of trouble that way. All around him though, lingered the memories of a horrible life.
Under the stairs still, was the cupboard that had been his home to his eleventh birthday. Upstairs was the bedroom he was begrudgingly given once the Dursleys realised they were being watched. Its windowsill was still scratched where the bars had been pulled by Ron and his brothers in their flying Ford Anglia just before his Second Year.
Out in the small shed in the backyard were the gardening tools and lawnmower he had been forced to use to maintain their precious number four as soon as he was old enough to manage them. In a cupboard in the kitchen were the chemicals used to clean them and places within the house Aunt Petunia decided she herself would not. Her house had to be immaculate or the neighbours she spied on and they were yet to have over would talk.
Behind him in the living room he could barely make out the lines in the plaster where the wall had been repaired. There had been a neat hole there after the Weasleys came through it behind the electric heater to take him to the Quidditch World Cup, Fourth Year.
As a matter of fact, anywhere he looked around this house was a memory of some kind, happy or not. Within almost every room he had been pinched, pushed, punched and punished just because he was a wizard. The living room, the kitchen and his room-Dudley's once more-were the only places he had known rescue and escape.
Dumbledore thought he was protecting him, it was a wonder they hadn't killed him.
He took care to suppress an unbidden, seemingly faraway memory of a white tomb gleaming in the sunlight of a beautiful day. Of a eulogy he had barely heard, of a funeral he had never imagined he would attend, of a nightmare in a cave where the dead walked and a great man fell.
It was the perfect distraction though; he was beginning to contemplate arson.
And it was then, as a break in the cloud cover suddenly revealed the fading orange, violet and hot pink hues of what might have been a vivid sunset that the doorbell rang. Without looking, he knew who it must be, Ron and Hermione had come.
Which Death Eater come to kill him would ring the doorbell?
Not foolish to the danger though, he walked to the door, wondering slightly how they had come in the first place, and asked, "Who's there?"
There was a soft mew first, but the human reply was unmistakeably Ron's, "Crabbe and Goyle, who do you think it is? It's us!"
Hermione half-heartedly scolded, "Harry can't be sure of that, say something that only we would know."
Unable to resist the opportunity, Harry said quickly, "If you're Ron Weasley… what was your ex-girlfriend's nickname for you?"
He didn't have to open the door to know that Ron's ears were probably as red as his hair. He spared him the need to answer though, and opened the door with a grin while Ron fumed, "That's not funny… I don't care what you think, that's not funny…."
Ron, lanky-though you wouldn't know it from how much he ate-and freckled, with blue eyes and his family's trademark red hair, at once grumpily pushed past him. The heavy mist and diminished light without distorted his appearance slightly at first, so that he didn't look quite solid, and with his peevish expression, reminded Harry strongly of a slightly pissed-off ghost.
Hermione behind him, by contrast, with brown eyes and a head of long, brown, bushy hair, appeared considerably more solid, and dwarfed. In her arms her pet cat, Crookshanks, an orange half-kneazle with a squashed face and a large bottlebrush tail, just looked bored.
As she came into the house she too was upset, though for an entirely different reason than Ron, and angrily hissed, "You should have let him answer, or at least asked another question, Harry, something less people know. What if we really were Death Eaters?"
The genuine look of fury intermingled with worry on her face killed a smart retort, but he said anyway, "Dumbledore's charm, remember. As long as I can still call this place home-until I leave here today-they can't touch me. Click twice around Umbridge, I've got nothing to worry about there either."
That produced an unwilling smile and she said stiffly, "You just should have been a little more careful…."
"Always," Ron replied for him, and looking around them in the foyer, asked, "Where's your relatives?"
"Out, thought it'd be best not to be here this time around, past incidents aside," Harry told him.
To his surprise though, or maybe not really, Ron looked actually disappointed and said, "Well then, there's nothing left to do than get your stuff and get out of here. We're sharing with Charlie and Bill, with the wedding and all we're a little cramped for space. With everything she's got now Fleur practically has a room to herself. Hermione's with Gin and Gabrielle, Fred and George have some room in their apartment but no one's taking chances and Mum and Dad are sharing with Fleur's Mum and grandmother-"
During this speech they had gotten into the living room and Ron was cut off by Hermione's exclaim, "It's so… clean."
It was really. Aunt Petunia would not have left it otherwise. The carpet had been recently shampooed and this morning vacuumed. The chairs boasted new cushions, which Harry was not allowed to sit on but had had under his feet since they left, and he was responsible for the fresh varnish on the sideboards and tables. The pictures were exactly set, there was not a touch of dust on any ornament and the air smelled slightly of pine potpourri. No wonder Hermione's statement mirrored Tonks' of two years before; anyone coming into the house would say the same thing.
"Hey, they fixed the wall… not too good though, I wonder if I could just…" Ron began, turning to inspect it as well and drawing his wand.
"Let me…" said Harry, drawing his as well before Hermione reached over and stopped them both.
Crookshanks squirmed in her arms as if he too wanted to have a go at the impeccable Dursley living room.
"You can't do magic legally yet, Harry, and the Ministry's been watching every use of underage magic very closely of late, looking for Malfoy-"
"-they won't find him, he's already of age-" cut in Ron.
"-if you do anything, anything at all they'll swarm the house," Hermione warned. "And you Ron, they might deserve it but the Ministry will find some way to use it against Harry. Let's just get out of here; it should be dark enough out by now."
The sun had in fact just vanished beneath the horizon, casting Privet Drive in an almost complete darkness. If not for the soft glow of the streetlamps and houselights without, when they stepped out the door they would be completely masked in it.
Perfect.
Harry wasted no time in allowing it to do so either. Taking one last, quick look around, he lifted one end of his trunk and dragged it out the door with Ron and Hermione behind him. And then, for a moment that was much too brief, he had a taste of what freedom-the knowledge that he would never have to set foot within again-felt like.
It was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders and all his muscles relaxed with a long, slow exhale. It was almost exhilarating really, the feeling, and yet at the same time, slightly terrifying. But he was free of them and there was nothing that could take that away from him.
And then reality came surging back.
This was no time to revel in freedom; beyond this quiet world in Privet Drive people were dying, and he was the only one who had the key to stop the madman responsible.
His Order guard started from his hiding place at the sight of them on the doorstep and promptly sent off his Patronus. No doubt to alert the others that Harry was on the move, and more importantly, without their permission or knowledge. Ron, oblivious to this action, was already halfway down the path, ready to leave before he arrived. Hermione, as always, was still standing with him and talking.
He came in halfway through her sentence, "-that park you were near the last time, the Muggles might get suspicious if the Knight Bus just showed up here."
"What… wait, how'd you get here?" he asked her.
"I took a taxi, I think Ron might have Apparated…" she replied, and Harry finally noticed that she also carried a backpack. His trunk looked vastly overdoing it.
Trying to distract that thought, he started with a grin, "Are you sure everything's there, I think we can actually see eye-to-eye, he might have lost a foot or two…."
She tried, and failed to stifle her own, (though Crookshanks yawned) but eventually managed, "Aren't you going to lock the door, we can't just leave the house open?"
"I haven't the key," Harry told her.
"Oh, pity, I'll do it then," she said, and before he could stop her, drew her wand and cast a whispered, "Colloportus!"
Harry arched an eyebrow at her, "What did you say about magic, how are they going to open the door?"
"I'm sure they'll figure it out," she replied.
Just then, Ron turned back to them and demanded, "Hey, what's going on, aren't you two coming?"
They hurried down the path behind him, Harry didn't look back once.
Not long after they finally got down to the park-a short walk later during which they passed the Dursleys returning home and Ron had to be convinced to let it go-the Knight Bus arrived. They had all stuck out their wand-arms, the calling card for the bus, and with a loud bang that would have definitely attracted attention this early in the evening in the middle of the Privet Drive, it appeared. It was as violent purple as ever, its name still written above the front of the triple-decker in large gold letters and there was one noticeable change, the conductor.
The new conductor, a stern-faced, balding, red-haired man who was clearly an Auror and none too pleased about his new position, didn't even bother to read the usual greeting as he opened the door and indifferently waved them aboard.
The Knight Bus had not changed much on the interior as well. It was, thankfully, (or regrettably according to how one looked at it) still driven by the elderly Ernie Prang in his armchair driver's seat. Each of the three decks still boasted of half-dozen or so brass bedsteads with small candles glowing in brackets beside their heads, the walls were still wood-panelled and the windows still discreetly curtained.
Harry couldn't be sure why he had expected something different, less comfortable. Of course, the removal of Stan and the installation of his disgruntled replacement may have had something to do with it.
There were lots of changes going on and not all of them were good.
Most of the beds were occupied at the moment though, and Harry had to wonder if there was really any space left. The conductor, however, barely seemed to notice this as he noted their destination, collected for their tickets and then directed them to the back.
It took them a while to find two vacant beds, Ron and Harry having to share, and before they were properly there they were nearly tumbled unto them when the conductor suddenly barked, "They're aboard, let's go!"
"Stan Shunpike he isn't," muttered Ron, as he finally sat upright on his side of the bed.
Crookshanks too, adopted a severely offended look.
"Don't say that so loud, he might eat you," Harry whispered over, loud enough so that Hermione could hear.
"Oh you two!" she exclaimed in an exasperated whisper though there was a smile on her lips.
Both immediately produced their best innocent faces, Crookshanks opting not to, and she rolled her eyes. It was going to be a very long ride.
Apart from its constant veering, braking and careening though, the Knight Bus ride to Ottery St Catchpole was not as bad as it usually was. From their position at the back of the bus, huddled together on one bed after a few more passengers were collected, they actually had a vantage point to reconnoitre their fellow passengers, the latest news and of course, their Auror conductor.
Of the passengers, Harry couldn't be sure if any were really Ministry or Order members in disguise. Most of them kept to themselves-everyone was suspect now-and those who didn't were usually quite inebriated. But he had been right in one respect, even though no one really tried to approach them more than once he caught the last moments of a curious glance. If it wasn't for the three teenagers travelling alone, it had to be that someone was thinking they knew him from somewhere.
From the passengers, including an odd, shabbily dressed one who leered at Hermione and shifted closer each time the bus turned until the boys sat her between them, (and Crookshanks settled into her lap with his claws out) they learned some interesting developments. As Harry had thought, the ferry sinking, the fires and Muggle police murders were all Death Eater-related. But more than that, some Aurors had been lost in them as well, including one who disappeared while rescuing ferry survivors in the moments after it sank.
In a firewhiskey-scented breath he whispered to Harry, "Was a pretty wee lass too, like yer friend there, just out o' training they`s said… didn't stand a chance!"
"Oh, do they know what took her?" asked Hermione, trying to keep her voice low and herself just out of his reach.
He gave her a yellow, crooked-toothed smile, "Yer shouldn't worry yer wee head about such things… but, according to the witnesses, it was the followers of You-Know-Who."
"Bet the Ministry's happy about that," said Ron, and a little too loudly for comfort.
The conductor noticeably shifted in his place at the front though it seemed that he hadn't heard a thing.
"The Ministry?" asked the man, and narrowed his eyes conspiratorially. "Oh no, they don't like that at all, the new Minister's better than Fudge but if he doesn't do more soon, he'll end just like him. There's a rumour going about that the Chosen One doesn't trust him."
Harry took a quick sideways glance to Ron and Hermione, and said casually, "Pity."
The man flashed them a smile.
Shortly after this conversation though, he left and was replaced by a small, elderly woman who promptly fell asleep as her body touched the bed. She brought with her a rather unpleasant smell too that reminded Harry that he hadn't eaten in hours, and was grateful for it. Of course, that also meant that they were left to rely on what they overheard for information.
And then the conductor made his move.
He came slowly, taking his time to look around and pretend to be attending to each passenger on the bus before them. He walked with an odd limp that reminded Harry of Mad Eye Moody, though each step seemed to cause some pain and he stumbled heavily at every turn. He had to be a recent installation, and recently injured before it too.
His eyes though, never left the three set up on the bed at the back.
Harry and Hermione sat side by side leant against the emergency exit door of the bus, staring right back at him and for any signs that anyone else recognised Harry. Ron was now beginning to doze, his head lolling to aside and coming to rest on Hermione's shoulder. She let it rest there a moment though she visibly winced at his weight and Crookshanks threateningly pawed at his arm.
A sharp jab in the ribs though, would start him awake when the conductor finally came to a stop before them and said, "Sorry about the cramp, but with the war on, no one's quite willing to go about on their own. Bus is getting harder to catch everyday. Gareth Castle, at your service, Mr…?"
Crookshanks noticeably reared up, as best as he could under the circumstances. Hedwig may not come with them, but if they ever needed a reason not to trust someone, Crookshanks would sure come in handy.
"We're fine, really," said Harry, as Hermione jabbed Ron with her elbow again and he finally sat up straight and looked up, somewhat stupidly, at the conductor.
"We can get the Miss a bed of her own as soon as we drop off a few more-I'm sorry, didn't catch your names, you were going to the Weasley house were you?" he asked.
He was determined to have them identify themselves, not content with the guess he had surely already made.
Harry though, was just as determined that they not, and said, "We'll be fine, we're just visiting, friends of the family."
He betrayed no disappointment or annoyance, as he replied, "Oh, well then, we're almost there really, so your friend shouldn't be too uncomfortable for long. If you need anything I'll be up front, just call, good evening Sirs, Miss."
With a slight bow then, he was gone. Anyone else would have persisted, a smart Auror, as it now appeared he was would know when to quit and check back later. He would probably linger around the Burrow's front yard for as long as he could too, if anyone there would just make the mistake of identifying them on sight.
This just continued to prove his point.
Ron whispered as soon as Gareth was far enough away, "Obvious bloke that one, the Ministry's slipping."
As Gareth had said though, it wasn't long before they were lost in the deep countryside of familiar territory, speeding as usual. A short while later too, there was a screeching halt and the loud announcement, "The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole! Next stop Kettlehorn House!" and it was over.
They stood shakily and headed to the door, but it was some time before Harry and Hermione realised that Ron wasn't quite with them. As a matter of fact, he was taking what appeared a leisurely stroll down to the door staring suspiciously about at the other passengers.
"Ron?" called Hermione, confused. "We're here…."
That seemed to bring him back, somewhat, and he quickly continued on with them out into the even cooler night and darkened front yard of the Weasley home.
Yellow lights flickered in the windows of the house just a short walk away, every now and then obscured by the dark shadow of a passing figure within. Beyond the house at the back, Harry could just make out the beginnings of some curious structure, no doubt set up for the wedding, and the sounds of the mixture of voices within floated through the windows to them.
There was no sign that anyone had missed Ron, though Harry had assumed he had told them he was going. He well remembered the last time he and his brothers had come to his rescue without alerting the rest of the family, and it wasn't entirely pleasant for them. Not to mention, there was also no sign that anyone had been alerted by his Order guard either, and he was sure he had seen him Disapparate when they boarded the Knight Bus.
Still, deciding not to leave anything to chance, he asked him, "You did tell them where you were going right?"
Ron though, was a million miles away, and despite the darkness Harry could see that the gears in his head were busy at work on something else.
He tried again, "Ron? Ron, you told them, right? Ron…?"
Finally, he came to and asked, "Did anyone see Mr Lovegood on that bus?"
Harry had to wonder if he had gone mad, and Hermione asked, "What?"
He gave no reply, and after a moment more answered Harry's instead, "I doubt they heard me, they just received the dresses today, from France, haven't seen Ginny since this morning."
At the mention of Ginny, Harry felt an uncomfortable lump form itself in his throat. With merely three weeks of absence between them he had not forgotten about her, or their break-up, but still the realisation of what going back to the Burrow meant hit him with a jolt. For the next two weeks until the wedding he would have to be in very close proximity to her, and though he had by no means changed his mind about his decision, it was not going to be easy to endure.
Ron started to the house, "Come on, we shouldn't be out here now, they've set some wards up round the house but there's no telling what good that would do if someone brings an army."
Hermione went on after him with Harry bringing up the rear, finding it a little difficult to walk. Hermione turning back and whispering sharply, "What's keeping you; we shouldn't be out here long!" quickly ended that.
At the door Ron soundly knocked three times, and called, "Hey, Mum, let us in!"
There was no answer, and he did it again, "It's me, Ron, with Harry and Hermione!"
The door sprang open and a very shocked and somewhat very angry Mrs Weasley looked out at them, directly at Harry in particular.
Crookshanks finally wriggled free of Hermione's grasp and slinked into the house, bottlebrush tail high.
"Harry? Here? Lupin and the others were just coming for you, why didn't you wait on the guard? Ron, did you put him up to this? Well? Did you?" she demanded, angrily.
Before he had time to answer though, she was off again, "Well don't just stand there, come in, come in! Quickly! It's not safe out there!"
Hermione seemed to be the only one thinking though, "Um, Mrs Weasley, aren't you going to ask us a question… to make sure it's us?"
"What?" she asked, distractedly, and then remembering, hastily shook her head, "No matter, just get in here, I know you three, and you are all in serious trouble, how could you just leave without a guard?"
"I'm sure they have better things to do," said Harry, as she ushered them into the kitchen, took a quick look around and shut and locked the door.
Just then a voice asked from the table, "Better things to do, Harry? Voldemort is out there trying to kill you; there is nothing better at this moment than ensuring your safety."
They all halted, it was Lupin… and a very tired looking Lupin at that.
Every time they saw him he looked haggard and worn, but tonight he looked especially so. The full moon was near, and he was once more deathly pale, almost unable to support himself at the table leaning heavily on an arm. He surveyed the three with what looked like absolute disapproval… and then, just a bit of pride.
Harry replied, coming over, "I can take care of myself, I have to. Voldemort's not going to wait for my guard if he wants to get me."
Lupin nodded, "Well then, I guess we'll just have to re-route the Advance Guard for the night. That fire in Southampton's already keeping them busy at the Ministry… I'll tell Moody."
He made to stand, but couldn't and Mrs Weasley rushed to his side, "No, you sit, I'll tell Alastor… you three can stay here, or better yet, Ron, show them to their rooms. After that, go find your brothers, they're looking for you, you two Harry, I'm sure they'll be happy to see you. Hermione, you're with Ginny and Gabrielle, Ron must have told you that we're a little cramped… no matter, everyone who's supposed to fit, will. Now, let me go talk to Alastor…."
And then she was gone, leaving them all in an awkward, somewhat embarrassed silence. It was quickly broken by Ron though, as he said, "See what I mean, been like this since we got home, I bet if I break something she won't remember until after the wedding and by that time-"
"-it'll be much too late," Hermione cut in, and a little too eagerly at that.
If Lupin noticed though, he decided to let it go as he said, "Um, I was wondering if I could speak to Harry alone for a while, if the two of you don't mind… before I let him up with you…?"
Ron and Hermione both looked to him, curious, but Harry remembered the half-read letter he had sent before with Hedwig and said, "Oh, right, sure, why don't you guys go on up, I'll see you later."
There was a hesitant look from Hermione, but Ron immediately headed out, "Yeah you will, but not for long, as long as you're staying here Mum's going to have you up on something as soon as she can. You won't remember what sleep feels like after a while."
Once they were both gone then, Harry remained awkwardly where he stood with Lupin in the kitchen. Somewhere above them they could hear the other women as they fell upon Hermione, and then Ron's brothers as they saw him. They were a noisy bunch, the Weasleys, and especially so since the house now had a few more inhabitants.
It also gave him a chance to look around the kitchen too. Clean, neat, small and more than the Dursley house looked as if people lived there, it was home. Soon enough though, he would be abandoning this too, and he found his eyes lingering hungrily upon almost every feature. Mr Arthur Weasley's broken evidence of his Muggle obsessions, the remnants of a meal for one being magically self-cleaned in the sink, the practical décor that others would mock for the Weasley lack of wealth and, of course, Mrs Weasley's magical clock that told the location of the house's inhabitants rather than the time. Since the year before all its hands pointed to Mortal Peril.
"I don't think I should shout this conversation, have a seat-you did read my note didn't you?" asked Lupin, breaking into his thoughts and the silence once the noise above had quieted somewhat.
Harry started slightly and shook his head, mildly embarrassed now that he was facing him, "N-no, I was… it was…."
"It doesn't matter…. That reading was today, you know?" asked Lupin, waving away his attempt at excuse.
Harry stepped closer to the table and had a seat, "It was? I thought you were planning to take me?"
"You didn't have to be there, but Aberforth wanted to meet you. And that fire last night had the Aurors busy, we couldn't arrange a sufficient guard to ensure your safety… maybe we should have just told you instead," Lupin told him, with a weak smile.
"What did it… say…?" asked Harry, not entirely sure why he was being named in Dumbledore's Will, and then still, also not sure that he wanted to know what it contained.
"I think even Aberforth wants to know that, he hasn't been told either. What he was given though, was this, for you," said Lupin and he reached into his robe and presented Harry with a folded piece of parchment.
He hesitated for the barest of moments before taking it and then just sat there a while staring at it.
Why had Professor Dumbledore named him in his Will? Why would he have done that at all? Did he know that he was going to… die? Did he… what did he want to tell him?
Lupin was speaking again, drawing him from his thoughts, "I'm not going to ask you what's in it. I'm guessing, though, that it has something to do with whatever you two were doing before you ended up in the Tower that night. That, I'm also not going to ask you about, Professor Dumbledore always had his reasons. I just want you to know that whenever you need it we're going to be there to help you. The Ministry's promised more Aurors at the school, and we're going to be right there with them. There is no way that they're getting in again."
Harry nodded mutely, still staring at the folded parchment in his hands. Eventually he would have to tell them that he and the others were not going back to school, but not tonight. Tonight he had other concerns.
Struggling to his feet, Lupin rose from the table and said, "Tell Molly that I'm grateful for dinner, but I should be off. As you can see, the tug of the moon, it's doing its worse now… goodnight Harry."
"Goodnight… do you… do you need any help?" asked Harry, looking up with a bit of concern as Lupin heavily made for the door.
He smiled weakly at Harry again and waved off his offer, "I'm sure you have better things to do, I'll be fine."
He drew his cloak tightly round his shoulders, opened the door and stepped out into the dark, misty night. Harry stared after it until he heard Lupin's footsteps disappear and then the "pop" as he Disapparated. Then he turned his attention back to the letter.
He had a feeling he knew why Dumbledore had named him in his Will, their clandestine misadventure foremost in his thoughts. But strangely, he found himself hoping that that wasn't the reason. That the words he would read was nothing more than a casual correspondence though in memory he had never really had that with his belated Headmaster. Their casual correspondence was maintained in private conversations that sometimes, usually, had more serious connotations.
But still, he hoped.
Finally, he unfolded the letter and read it silently.
"Dear Harry,
I should assume that if you are reading this now, that I must have died, or have been killed, before the end. How unfortunate, there is much that I should tell you, that I have to and must tell you… and then little that I can. This business that engages our attention has much that is incomplete.
As I have never been a man of many words, too many other things to be done in the time that is wasted, I should get on to what I can give you.
For the first of these you must ask permission, though I doubt Minerva would not give it to you. Gryffindor's gift to a deserving student, use it well-though I doubt gifts given should ever be useless. It may not look like it now but it should not be underestimated, remember what happened the last time it was.
The second and third of these are mine to give and freely so, they should be with the first and more than one eye wouldn't hurt.
A fourth item, is a word of warning. Dark and difficult a road lies ahead, and with companions one has comfort in its passage, but there will come a time when decisions most undesirable must be made. Be patient in making them for this is not a journey meant for one.
All this said, all I have left is to wish you good luck. You are not weak, you are not a child and most important of all, you will never be alone.
Yours Sincerely,
Albus P W B Dumbledore
P.S. You will find a fifth item in the keep of the bartender of the Hog's Head Inn. I should not expect its retrieval to be difficult, and you may find that it will be most useful in the days ahead.
Take care of yourself and your friends, Harry Potter, though I am sure you would do a much better job than I and those around you. I am most honoured to have known you."
"What did he say?" someone asked from behind and Harry turned immediately to the speaker.
Ron and Hermione were standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him. It was Hermione who had spoken and as he looked to them they came down the final steps to join him at the table.
Ron began, before he could answer, "They're looking for you, but it's a mess up there…."
Harry folded the parchment again and stuffed it into his pocket, "I'll tell you later, let's go up."
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