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SIYE Time:16:03 on 28th March 2024
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The Ablution Solution
By BrianMcLyr

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:All, Harry/Ginny
Genres: Action/Adventure, Romance
Warnings: Sexual Situations
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 8
Summary: Single point divergence from the end of OOTP, evident in the first 100 words, strung up on Jo's scaffold.
Hitcount: Story Total: 7180; Chapter Total: 1448







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StoryPrinter


Chapter 2
A Will and Away!

Harry was comfortably ensconced on the couch, with a large bowl of popcorn, watching a movie about a man who had been cursed to live the same day over and over again. The movie was ok, funny even, although it was a bit tedious. However, what Harry really wanted was some of the spicy corn crisp that were advertised at each commercial break, over and over again.

Now that would be the topper for his aunt and uncle, Harry thought. Him lounging on the couch, watching the tele while eating spicy orange corn crisps. He laughed out loud when he imagined wiping orange stained fingers on the upholstery.

Not that he would actually do such a thing. Be a bit spiteful and petty, wouldn’t it? Besides the last two weeks, or so, hadn’t been all that bad, well, at least not due to the Dursleys.

The first three days back at Privat Dr., he had done his best to avoid his aunt and uncle and they seemed willing to ignore him when they did cross paths. Meanwhile, Dudley had become strangely polite, and remained so actually.

On the fourth morning, while he was washing up after breakfast, his aunt finally broke the silence as she had sat to table with her tea, watching him. She huffed a bit then loudly complained about having been dressed down by the “likes of them”. Harry kept his tongue behind his teeth and nodded his understanding. The same day, at dinner, his uncle vented similar sentiments, albeit a bit more stridently. Again Harry had kept silent, nodding agreement, and that was the end of it.

Other than those two instances they seemed to take the warning to heart, not that Harry was pushing any boundaries anyway. He kept the dishes washed up, vacuumed and swept the floors on even days, dusted and gardened on odds. His ‘chores’ took no more than a couple hours a day, which left him approximately fourteen hours each day to be a moody, broody self absorbed git.

His bereavement over Sirius. His feelings of guilt for his death and his friends injuries. The stark reality of what the prophecy said he would face and then his conclusion of how that would turn out all combined to put Harry in a rather morose mood. The occasional sexual thought or fantasy notwithstanding.

Added to that, he had subscribed to The Daily Prophet before he had left school and, while at Privat Dr., he eavesdropped as his uncle watched the BBC news each night. Together they certainly did not help left his spirits any.

The Prophet reported that Fudge “officially refused” to hand the reins of the Ministry over to a “Terrorist” group. That night the BBC was awash with reports and specials about the collapse of the Brockdale Bridge due to ‘supposed’ harmonic resonance of the foot traffic. The next day the Prophet reported on the suspicious death of Amelia Bones while later in the evening the BBC again interrupted normal broadcast to report on a ‘hurricane’ having ravaged Somerset. The Prophet reported that Fudge had been ousted and Scrimgeour installed as the new Minister of Magic. The BBC reported that a Junior Minister that worked at Number 10 Downing St. had suffered a mental breakdown. The poor man was reported to have started quacking at his coworkers and waddling along behind the PM, he was whisked away to an unnamed facility where it was reported “he will receive the best of care”.

It was the seventh or eighth day at Privat Dr., Harry wasn’t real sure which, that things started to change some. It was about the same time that the silly “official” purple pamphlet showed up that Harry started to pull himself out of his funk.

He had mourned his godfather’s passing for better than two weeks by then and was realizing that railing at the injustice of his loss was unproductive. Yes he was gone and he had been family. But Harry was certain Sirius would not want him to stand in Diagon Alley wailing and rending his clothes. No! He would want him to get on with it, wouldn’t he.

He had also managed to come to terms with the guilt. While wrestling with it he had summed it up and got it into perspective with an analogy. He had been manipulated into putting his godfather and friends in a dangerous situation. But it had not been him that caused their death or injury. It would be like he had hailed a cab so he, Sirius and his friends could cross town… maybe to get to KIngs Cross… and while in route a lorry driven by Voldemort, with Bellatrix and Malfoy gleefully sitting in the passenger seat, purposely crashed into them. Perhaps not a perfect analogy. Harry knew he would feel at least a little guilt the rest of his life. He was also certain that when he passed out of this life Sirius would be there and would likely smack him upside the head for feeling even this much but he doubted he would ever feel completely blameless.

He even managed to get over most of the anxiety the prophecy caused him. It had involved two somewhat unrelated realizations. First, as Dumbledore had said, there was a real difference between being dragged into a battle and determinedly marching into it. Harry thought he had understood what Dumbledore meant when he said it, the man had been speaking english after all. But, understanding the words and taking them to heart were two different things it seemed. Over the last couple of weeks he had found greater meaning than the words had initially implied. He was not willingly marching into an arena to confront an unbeatable monster, he was willingly engaging an enemy of superior strength in a battle or war. The difference might well be subtle, but the difference between an unbeatable monster and a superior enemy, to Harry, was very meaningful.

The second realization about the prophecy was just that, it was a prophecy. If you believed in a prophecy then you had to accept there was some kind of predestination or fate at work in the universe. In which case the Prophecy guaranteed Harry would survive until he was Voldemort’s “equal” and gained “the power he knew not”. Neither of which was going to be anytime soon, he was pretty sure.

The message he received from Dumbledore early Tuesday morning certainly helped to thin the emotional pall as well. Harry read it and reread it enough to almost have memorized it.

Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four,
Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to
escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited
to spend the remainder of your school holidays.

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance
In a matter to which I hope to attend to on the way to the
Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to
See you this Friday,

I am, Your most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore


The missive had put Harry in a really good mood. Hurriedly, he had sent his acceptance and agreement with the same owl. However, as he had watched it fly off, he belated realise just how perturbed the Dursleys would be with the Headmaster arriving so late in the evening.

Harry had rationalised that Dumbledore was a very busy wizard and certainly would have planned to come at a more circumspect hour if he could. Heck, he had even remembered thinking at the time, the Headmaster was so busy that he may not make it at all.

His good mood had stayed with him through the day. He even remembered whistling a bit as he pushed the mower over the two miniature swards that were typical of the front and rear greens along Privet Dr..

While working in the front Harry had the pleasure of watching some very pretty passerbys. The Tennison girl, who he remembered as being two or three years his senior, had marched past across the lane. She had always been a very pretty girl, and that day had been quite smartly dressed as if for an appointment or interview. She had given Harry no nevermind even though he had blatantly watched as she walked along.

A bit later, as he had been putting the yard tools away, another pretty ‘bird’ strolled by. Harry noticed her approach while she was still a few houses away on his side of the street, this time. He had not recognised her right off, but that may have been due to the distance or the distraction of the really short shorts she wore.

Tiny cotton gym shorts that did not get too far below her… inseam, and were split up the sides almost to her hips. Her legs extended all the way to her trainers. And oh, what legs, tanned and shapley.

His eyes traveled up to her top. Also cotton, white with a flower print. Long sleeves rolled up past her elbows, button up front. The lower bit of the blouse was rolled up to just under her pert breasts and tied in front showing her midriff. Her tanned, slim and toned midriff.

After fully assessing the important parts Harry finally lifted his eyes to her face as she crossed in front of number four. She had dark hair, cut short and stylish around a heart shaped face. Her cheek bones were pronounced and her nose was just a bit turned up. It took a moment to realise why she looked familiar. He had not seen her in years but this attractive girl was Piers Polkiss’ little sister. The last couple of years of primary Polkiss had always walked his sister home from school and because they were inseparable then, Dudley and Malcolm walked with them. And, as Harry had always kept an eye on his cousin and his flunkies so they could not surprise him, he knew of the younger Polkiss. Prudence Polkiss.

Of course, the sneer and rude hand gesture that the girl gave him as she neared were dead giveaways to the Polkiss pedigree.

Harry’s initial reaction to the girls attitude had been a bark of laughter. However, with further thought, he had raised his eyebrows appreciatively and smiled, almost leeringly.

He had achieved the desired results. The young Polkiss couldn’t be more than fourteen if he remembered correctly. A rather mature looking fourteen, certainly, but she still blushed horrendously at Harry’s obvious appreciation. She had quickened her pace and hurried on by.

Although there were no fireworks nor even any sence of a staggering epiphany, it was then, looking back on it, that Harry thought he turned an emotional corner. Shutting himself in his room after doing his chores simply did not appeal to him following his interaction with the prissy Polkiss. He hadn’t felt the need to quietly brood about his misfortune for hours on end. He hadn’t felt nearly so moody. Nor had he experienced an episode of what he had come to think of as ‘lugubrious lurgy’, but that he was sure most would simply call ‘moping’.

Wednesday, after lunch Harry studied the D.A.D.A. book Sirius had gifted him the year before. It was a bittersweet hour or so.

It was quite a warm day, so Harry surprised his uncle upon his return home from work, by offering to wash his auto. Vernon paused in his surprise then brusquely told him to be sure and do a good job or else.

Thursday, after he had finished the chores the Dursley’s expected of him and with his self imposed need of isolation ended, Harry had spent the afternoon strolling the neighborhood. First he had made his way over to Wisteria Walk, past Mrs. Figg’s house, to the small community Ornamental Garden park. It was tiny as parks go, no bigger than a lot that all the houses were built on. The perimeter was a hedgerow of tall junipers, the center a swath of grass interspersed with flower beds, manicured trees and a meandering paved walk.

From there he had gone round to the play park that he and Dudley had been attacked in the previous summer. It wasn’t so much a park as an empty field with some old school yard equipment. The roundabout was still rusty and squeaked a little bit louder. The swings were the same though the A-frame also showed signs of the passing year. He had made his way through the field, to the street beyond, and to the shops that fronted it.

He had spent some time in a sandwich shop, nursing a glass of water while he watched his small corner of Little Whinging carry on. Harry actually had ended up feeling a bit self conscious, because as he watched the everyday Whingingers walk by he noticed some were taking note of him. He had become very aware of his ill fitting and well worn clothes. He left when told the tables were for paying customers, even though it was well past lunch and the place was near empty.

Harry returned ‘home’ in time for the evening meal. At table, Vernon had started in on him about having so much leisure time on his hands that he could spend the day wandering the neighborhood. His uncle promised to find more chores to keep his idle hands busy.

It was then that Harry had gleefully blurted out that he would be collected by his headmaster Friday night at eleven. With an obviously false expression of contrition, he apologised for his inability to do any extra chores past then. Or any chores at all really.

In hindsight, that may have been a mistake. It would have perhaps been better if Dumbledore simply ‘showed up’.

Harry was subjected to almost two hours of Vernon going off about how inconsiderate and presumptuous his freaky friends were. Thinking they had the right to dress down two upstanding ‘normal’ people like he and Petunia at Kings Cross. And now, assuming it was acceptable to just show up in the wee hours of the night without even an ‘if you please’. Harry, his headmaster and all the rest of their ilk, as far as Vernon was concerned, certainly had no concept of acceptable social comportment.

Harry had quietly suffered through it. He nodded when needed and had escaped up the stairs at the first opportunity.

There had been no extra chores requested of him Friday morning. He did the wash up, dusted the house and then weeded the flower beds, front and back. It had crossed his mind to wonder who tended the gardening the ten months of the year he was in school. Did the Dursley’s actually stop a gardening service while he was back from Hogwarts for the holidays? He certainly could not picture any of them keeping the hedges trimmed nor pushing the mower about. Weeding? Petunia maybe. But that would be more for show. A large sun hat, pearl necklace, spotless dress, kneeling cushion, clean gloves and a shiny hand shovel. A perfect Privet Dr. homemaker elegantly tending the garden, waving pleasantly to the passing neighbors.

Later in the afternoon, when Vernon got home, Harry was informed that the Dursleys, Dudley included, were going into London to have dinner and catch a show. They would be staying in a hotel, Vernon had actually said ‘posh hotel’, and not be back until Saturday. He was to mind himself around their things, keep himself in his room, and to be sure to lock up when he was collected.

Which is how he came to be ensconced on the couch in the living room, with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching the telly at ten fifty nine, Friday night.

As the movie concluded, followed by another add for the orange corn chips, and the Dursley’s faux antique Grandfather clock struck the hour, there was a knock at the door.

In his haste to answer the door Harry almost overturned the bowl of popcorn. Getting his excitement under control, he set the bowl on the coffee table, then he leisurely made his way to the front door and opened it.

“Good evening, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore said with a twinkle. He had a dark purple travel cloak on over some light blue robes. His long hair was flowing loose but his beard was bound in a tie. “I do hope you had not forgotten that I would be dropping by.”

“No, sir! I remembered.” Harry said smiling. He didn’t mention that it had been foremost on his mind for the last three days. He stepped aside, holding the door open, and motioned his headmaster to come inside.

As he closed the door he asked, “Do you want me get my trunk so we can be on our way?”

“We shan't get away quite so quickly Harry. There are some important things to go over before we journey on.” The headmaster informed him with a hint of regret.

“Oh? Well.” Harry responded with a bit of surprise but pointing the way to the living room. He followed the professor.

When Dumbledore entered the living room he paused briefly and stared at the telly as the Doritos advert played on. “Ah! Television! And in colour now, amazing!” The picture started to go a bit funny. Harry rounded his professor and grabbing the remote off the table, hit the power button.

“Yes sir! Please make yourself comfortable. I have popcorn if you’d like?” Harry said, offering the bowl as Dumbledore sat down on the divan.

The headmaster picked three popped bits of corn from the bowl and eat them. An eyebrow raised up and he said with a chuckle, “Delicious Harry. But leaves one a bit thirsty, doesn’t it?” Dumbledore pulled his wand from out his sleeve but paused before casting whatever spell he had in mind. “Your guardians Harry, are they already abed?”

Harry couldn’t help but snicker. “No sir. After hearing you would be collecting me tonight, they somewhat spontaneously decided to spend the night in London.”

“Ah! Pity!” Dumbledore said with pursed lips and a knowing nod. He waved his wand and a bottle of mead and two short but stout glasses appeared on the coffee table. With another wave the bottle tipped it self and filled both glasses. “I had wanted to share some thoughts with them this evening. But perhaps it is for the best. Little sense in extolling on about the beauty of the stars to the blind, as they say.”

Harry had never heard anyone say that, but it did make some sense in regards to the Dursleys. He reached out, taking one of the glasses and took a sip. It was tasty, sweet, but tasty. He noticed that Professor Dumbledore put his wand away before he reached for the other glass. It was then that Harry noticed the professor’s off hand was shriveled and darkened.

“Professor! Your hand!” Harry exclaimed with readily apparent concern.

Dumbledore lifted the affected hand from his lap and looked at it, offering it for inspection by Harry as well. “Yes. Well, atrocious to look on but painless I assure you. However the tale of it shall needs await another time as we have things of greater import to discuss.” He took a healthy swig from his tumbler and added, “Rosmerta’s best meade, one of my favorites.

“Now.” Dumbledore continued as he set down his drink. “We have a bit of a situation and I am afraid that only you can resolve it.” The professor caught Harry’s eye and held it as he told him, “Even though I would as soon not burden you with this so soon after your loss, it concerns Sirius’ will.” The older man paused, obviously gauging Harry’s reaction before carrying on.

Harry nodded. Acknowledging the others concern but letting him know it was unneeded.

“Other than two moderate monetary bequests to his cousin Andromeda Tonks and Remus Lupin , as well as two minor obligatory bequest to Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix LeStrange, you are the primary beneficiary.” Dumbledore paused to allow the information to penetrate the obviously surprised teenager. “It is all rather straightforward. You get a sizable amount of gold added to your account along with some miscellaneous items of value. The problematic part of the bequest is Grimmauld Place.”

Harry sat silent, stunned. After a bit he ventured, “Ahh…. You can keep…” Harry seemed to leave something unsaid. “Keep using it as headquarters if that is a concern.” He rambled as he stared off across the room, somewhat confused about what he thought of the whole thing.

“Yes. And thank you for that generous and considerate offer Harry but it is not the crux of my concern currently.” Dumbledore picked up his glass and took another healthy swig before clarifying. “It is Black family tradition that the house pass down through the direct line, from the Black family Patriarch to the Black male heir.

“However,” Dumbledore explained. “Sirius was the last of the Blacks. While his will makes it very clear that you are his primary heir and the house is to be yours, it is very possible that there are enchantments on it that may prevent you from actual ownership.”

“Because I am not a Black!” Harry said confidently.

“Yes, there is that, though your great grandmother on the Potter side was Black. But the Black family motto is ‘Toujours pur’ which might imply other qualifications required for ownership.”

Harry thought of the crazy portrait in the entry of the dilapidated multi storied mansion and quickly concurred. “I bet there is!”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore agreed. “If so, the house may pass to the closest pure blood male relative, Draco Malfoy, or mayhap to the closest and eldest relative, Bellatrix LeStrange.”

“No!” Harry all but shouted in adamant refusal of that possibility.

“Yes, of course none of us wish for either of them to get the house as it would mean the same thing in the long run. But, with Sirius’ passing, we are somewhat uncertain of the potency of our enchantments on the structure to keep it hidden. Therefore, until ownership is proven one way or the other the Order has abandoned the building.”

“But,” Harry asked, obviously perplexed, “How do we prove it?” Shaking his head he asked “The Wizengamot isn’t going to rule on it, are they? Might as well burn it down now!”

“Your confidence in our legal system disheartens me Harry.” The old professor admonished with an indulgent smile. “But no, there are quicker and surer ways to ascertain ownership than through the court. A simple test, really. Painless even. Well, painless for you anyway. You should understand, Harry.” The headmaster explained as he again pulled his wand from his sleeve. “If the house is yours, so too is…”

Dumbledore waved his wand over his head and then flicked it towards the center of the room. There was an ear shattering pop and Kreacher, the house elf, appeared, compleat with his snout like nose, floppy bat ears and bulbous bloodshot eyes. He seemed a little disoriented, no doubt from being forcefully summoned.

“...the house elf, Kreacher.” Dumbledore unnecessarily supplied.

The old elf instinctively crouched a bit as he looked around to determine where he was and why he was there. When he saw Harry his eyes locked onto him and, in his hoarse frog like voice, immediately started saying, “Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won’t!” He stamped a long narrow foot with each declaration. “Kreacher is a Black house elf and belongs to Miss Bellatrix, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won’t serve the Potter brat. No, Kreacher won’t, won’t, won’t.”

As Kreacher continued on ranting about how he ‘won’t’, Harry realised what the painless test Dumbledore mentioned had to be. If he owned the house, then he owned the elf. If he owned the elf, the elf would obey him, and thereby, verifying the ownership of the house, simple really.

“Kreacher, Shut It!” Harry commanded!

The last “won’t” that Kreacher tried to say seemed to stick in his throat, choking him. A flash of surprise crossed the elf’s face. But it was quickly replaced by his more usual look of disdain and loathing. However, try as he might, and it was obvious that he was trying, he could not speak against the ‘Potter brats’ command.

“Quite demonstrably, Harry, you are Kreacher’s master, which establishes you as the master of Grimmauld Place as well.” Dumbledore commented as he watched the house elf struggle against Harry’s command. “Very good, my boy, very good indeed. Your quick and keen wit tonight has allayed some rather distressing concerns of mine.” The professor added with a look of approval.

Harry did not acknowledge his headmaster’s comment. Instead his gaze bored into the futilely struggling elf. “I don’t need to keep this miserable piece of… work with me, do I?”

“Not if you wish not to, Harry!” Dumbledore informed. “I might suggest that you order him to work at Hogwarts. The other elves would keep an eye on him there.”

Harry, again, did not turn his head, nod, or do anything really to indicate he had heard the headmaster. He had of course, but his mind had leapt forward to next year’s holidays when he would be of age. The wards that protected Previt Dr. would fail in a little over a year, on his birthday, and he would finally be free of ever returning there. But he would need someplace to live. He certainly hoped the Weasleys would invite him to stay with them next summer as well, but that was presumptuous and not guaranteed.

And even so, the Weasleys had moved in with Sirius last summer for security reasons, so maintaining Grimmauld Place as a safe house seemed vital. And getting the house in a livable condition was highly preferable. Particularly if Harry ever had to stay there again. The dark dungeon motif that the later occupants seemed to have prefered was unacceptable. Sirius had hated the house and Harry was quite sure he would, himself, be as batty as Kreacher if he spent any time in it without some changes.

“Sir,” Harry said turning to the older wizard, “now that we know it is ‘my’ house and not Bellatrix’s, will you continue using it as headquarters?” He asked. “I mean, all the spells will remain or be recast if needed, right?”

“In all truth, my boy,” Dumbledore confessed, looking a bit contemplative as he glanced briefly at his withered hand before returning his attention to Harry. “if you proved to have inherited the house I had not considered recasting the security charms and enchantments a priority. Some of the magic would be marginally weakened due to the change of ownership, but would remain quite effective, I assure you. However, with the uncertain times ahead of us we are obliged to stay ever vigilant with our security.”

Harry wasn’t sure if the headmaster had meant to mimic Professor Moody’s signature saying or not so did his best to keep a straight face.

“Therefore, Harry, before the fall term starts we shall reinforce and recast all of the security spells on your house. You will need to be present for the casting of the Fidelius charm. And you will need to find a new secret keeper before then, as well.

“If you are sure that we can continue to use the house as headquarters I only ask that the secret keeper be an active member of the Order. The primary choices would be Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley or even Nymphadora Tonks.” Dumbledore offered the five names without any inflection.

“What about you professor. You are the secret keeper now, aren’t you?” Harry asked the headmaster, a little surprised he had not mentioned himself as an option.

“Indeed I am, Harry.” Dumbledore quickly responded. “However, I am a bit of the ‘Old Guard’, aren’t I? I think it is time that some of the generation that will be more involved in this conflict to become more… involved.” He finished with a broad smile.

“I should mention that William Weasley has put in a request to be transferred to Gringotts’ main branch in London and so could be a possible choice as well. Although when, or even if, he will get the transfer is, as yet, an unknown.”

Harry did not think for a moment that Dumbledore's ‘Old Guard’ reasoning was his primary motive for not offering himself as the keeper. But, other than knowing there was more to it, he was still clueless as to what it was.

Remus and Arthur were the two most familiar to him but he knew Moody and Shacklebolt were the more capable fighters. Tonks was a bit of an unknown really, even if he had instinctively liked her from the moment they’d met. Although, her metamorph ability would afford her personal security that would be good for a secret keeper.

“There is really no need to choose right this moment, Harry.” Dumbledore said, breaking the silence when he obviously realised Harry was weighing the options.

Harry gave a soft derisive snort and shrugged before saying, “Kingsley Shacklebolt I guess.”

The headmaster raised an eyebrow a bit in surprise. “I shall broach the subject with him before Monday and schedule a date and time if he is agreeable.”

Harry nodded before turning to the house elf, who, though silenced, was physically expressing his displeasure by throwing himself to the floor and flailing his arms and legs. The noise as he hit and kicked the floor was muted by the carpeting.

“Kreacher!” Harry called in the most forceful voice he could manage, which wasn’t to bad considering his age. He waited for the elf to stand up before he continued. “When you return to number twelve Grimmauld Place you will not leave the house…. You will not leave number twelve Grimmauld Place again... unless I call you. You will not speak…. You will not communicate in any way shape or form with anyone other than myself or Professor Dumbledore. If a houseguest makes a reasonable request of you, you will … comply in complete and utter silence. And you will clean, Kreacher. You will clean the house thoroughly and completely. No doxies or pixies or any other pest will be left undisturbed. Start in the kitchen and work up to the attic.”

He paused briefly. There were more specific orders and restrictions Harry considered giving the elf but he decided they could wait. He glanced questionably at his headmaster, wondering if he had left an obvious loophole in his commands. When Dumbledore pursed his lips and shook his head Harry concluded, “Kreacher, when you leave here, you will go directly to number twelve Grimmauld Place. Go now!”

With a look filled with petulant anger, the elf snapped of his fingers and, with a soft pop, disappeared.

“Overall, well worded Harry. If we were in school you would have gotten house points for your clarity and exactitude.” The old man professed. “But why did you decide to send him back to Grimmauld Place rather than Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, sir. I assumed he could be of use during an Order meeting. Also, I figured since my seventeenth is next summer, I may need a place to stay and it might well take him that long to get the place in shape.”

Dumbledore nodded as he reached for his meade. “Quite right Harry, quite right. It is your house after all, and you have every right to get your own house in order. Although I am sure the Weasleys would always offer succor if you were in need.” So saying the headmaster slightly lifted his glass before he finished his drink. Setting the tumbler back down the headmaster waved his wand and the bottle tipped itself again and refilled it.

“There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak.” Dumbledore continued after the meade bottle had settled up right. “Sirius bequeathed him to you. I am sure it was simply to insure the creature was looked after because he certainly knew he had no legal right of ownership. Even in the magical world, escaping on the back of a condemned hippogriff in no way constitutes a claim of ownership. But I am sure you will be happy to know the creature is back in Hagrid’s care.” Dumbledore snickered a bit. “Hagrid calls him Witherwings now but, as hippogriffs display more hauteur than a horde of house cats, it’s name is only significant to the ministry.”

Harry nodded. “If I can help with his upkeep in anyway I will. I am sure Sirius would want me to, I think he and Buc... err ... I mean Witherwings had grown close.” He offered.

“Harry, regardless of Sirius’ concerns for the hippogriff’s wellbeing, Hagrid considers the creature ‘his’. Although, I am not completely sure whether as a pet or a friend but he would no more expect recompense for it’s care then he would for his dog Fang.” Dumbledore picked up his meade and doffed it all down in a go.

“Now, Harry, is your trunk all packed?” He asked as he set his glass back down.

“Yes sir. My trunk and Hedwig are up in my room. Let me go get them.”

“Allow me Harry. You should finish up your meade if you are going to.” The headmaster offered. He looked in the general direction of Harry’s bedroom up stairs and waved his wand. Soon Harry’s trunk and Hedwig's cage, containing a very perturbed Hedwig, came floating down the stairway and into the living room.

Harry smiled as he watched his trunk settle softly on the living room carpet and Hedwig,in her cage, settle just as softly atop it, all the while as he sipped the sweet meade. The meade which had with each sip, progressed from sweet, to overly sweet and on to, with the last sip, disgustingly sweet. Harry decided meade may not be his cup of tea, so to speak.

“Is this everything, Harry?” Asked the headmaster.

“Yes sir.” Harry replied as he placed is empty glass on the coffee table. He then watched as Dumbledore waved his wand about in an odd pattern and caused Hedwig, her cage and his trunk to disappear.

“I sent your owl and things on to the Burrow, my boy.” Dumbledore explained with a smile, as he turned back to Harry. “We needn’t be burdened with them as we have places yet to go before we can rest our weary heads.”

“Brilliant professor!” Harry professed with awe as he stood up. “I didn’t know there was a spell that could do that!”

“Magic can do almost anything, Harry.” Dumbledore exponded. “The elves use a very similar charm to move the students belongings from the Express to the castle each fall.

“Now,” he asked gesturing towards the front door, “shall we?”

Harry glanced at the coffee table with the bottle of mead, two dirty glasses and the half empty bowl of popcorn and smiled, a little mischievously. “Certainly sir!” He replied as he stepped past the headmaster and lead the way from the house.




Harry gulped in great gasps of the cool night air as he stumbled away from Professor Dumbledore. It had felt like he had been crushed, squashed and squeezed down to the size of a spaghetti noodle and then pulled through an even smaller rubber tube. He hadn’t been able to breath for the pressure but then he wouldn’t be surprised if there was no air in the inbetween of apparition. There had been no sound nor smells. It had seemed darker than just an absence of light would explain. The only sensation had been the horrible feeling of the spaghettifying, extruding and then expanding as he popped back into sudden existence again.

Oddly, Harry was struck with a strange sense of familiarity by the whole experience.

They were in a residential lane with houses crowding either side but this was no longer Privet Drive. The houses were noticeably bigger, spaced further apart, and each one was different from the next. The sky, which had been clear and starry on Privet Drive, was now ominusly dark and there was a light drizzle falling. Also the front greens were much grander, as were all the hedgerows. Harry knew he wasn’t in Little Whinging anymore.

Feeling rather nauseous Harry continued to stumble to the edge of someones front green. There, with his hands on his knees, he stood hunched over waiting for the sick to rise from his churning stomach or the nausea to pass.

“The sensation does take some getting used to.” Dumbledore offered Harry, solicitously.

Harry’s only response was lifting and weakly waving a hand. Although he was soon surprised at how quickly the feeling was passing. He stood a bit straighter as he gained some confidence that he wouldn’t in fact be spewing popcorn and mead about someone’s front green.

“I think I will stick to brooms, thanks.” He stated while holding one hand to his stomach still.

Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing smile before pointed down the lane. “This way.” And set off at a quick pace.

As Harry hurried a few steps to catch up with his headmaster, he wondered where they were going so late at night. He guessed it was midnight at least, if not a little later.

They quietly walked along the lane, passing before many homes, when Dumbledore broke the silence with a surprising question, or so Harry found it. “Tell me, Harry, has your scar caused you any discomfort since that night at the Ministry?”

“No, sir.” Harry said as he reached up under his fringe of hair and rubbed at his scar while keeping his pace alongside the professor. “ A little tingling and some itching but not anything like… some of the times last year.” Perplexity apparent in his voice. “And, that is rather odd, isn’t it. I mean….” Harry trailed off, unsure of how to put into words concerns that were only just formed but not yet fully realised.

“Some might think it odd, Harry. But I think I have a guess as to why.” Dumbledore confided reassuringly. “I believe Voldemort has realised that you may have the same access to his thoughts as he has to yours, and is likely using occlumency now, to block the connection.”

“I won’t be complaining.” Harry deadpanned. He had enough to be getting on with without any more weird dreams at night or insane insights into Voldemort’s mind during the day.

They continued on down the lane to an intersection where the headmaster turned the corner, leading them up another lane.

“Sir? Where… err… well, where are we going if I may ask?”

“Ah, yes, of course, I apologize Harry. I should have informed you before now.” Dumbledore responded. “Over the years it has become a bit of a tedious tradition that during the summer holidays I need to seek qualified personnel to fill vacant staff positions. Most notably the staff openings caused by Defence Instructors that, for various reason, are unable to continue in that capacity. Tonight we shall attempt to convince a former colleague of mine to forego his retirement and return to his former position at Hogwarts.”

“How am I going to help with that, sir?”

“I believe of the two of us Harry, you will be the greater influence.” Dumbledore assured him, even though Harry found his answer confusing. “It is just along here.” He added pointing ahead.

He lead them on a bit farther and then stopped on the side of the lane before the darkest house in the neighborhood. Almost every other house had an entry light on and most had a window lit from within. But this house was draped in shadows. It was hard to tell but Harry got the impression that some of the windows had been broken out and boarded up.

“Dear me. It does not look very warm and welcoming, does it?” The headmaster extracted his wand and held it before him, at the ready. “Wand out Harry, if you would, and please stay behind me.” He then quietly walked up the garden path to the darkened entry door, Harry at his heels.

At the front stoop the headmaster cast “Lumos!” and keeping is wand out before him, slowly opened the door. The hinges squealed unnaturally loud. In a hushed aside the professor whispered, “An effective alarm!” before he entered.

The foyay was a ruin. Paint was peeling off the walls. The floor was filthy, there was even a scattering of dead leaves from the previous fall. A grandfather clock that still stood, looked like it had been bludgeoned. Its glass fronts shattered, the pendulum was alay on the floor and the clock face was a concave bit of brass held in place, seemingly, by habit.

They moved forward, into the sitting room. It was more of the same. More peeling paint, more debris strewn about the floor and more broken furniture. Harry watched as Dumbledore surveyed the room.

The headmaster scrutinised everything about the room but it looked to Harry that he payed more attention to the heavy gold drapes, the upended piano and an overstuffed armchair. After a moment of this the headmaster walked to the chair and poked it with the tip of his wand.

“Ouch!” exclaimed the armchair.

Harry instinctively took a step back and pointed his wand at the armchair which had turned into a man. An elderly man, who was a bit past portly and well past balding, was staring at the headmaster with an aggrieved glint in his eye.

“That was uncalled for Albus. Highly uncalled for, I say.” He admonished while rubbing his overstuffed midsection.

“My apologies, Horace. I certainly did not mean to cause you any real discomfort while persuading you to drop the illusion.”

“Yes, well. What was it that gave me away, Albus?” The man asked, not at all discomfited for having been found hiding as an armchair. Harry, quickly getting over his surprise, noted more of the man than his girth and baldness. He sported a great big gray mustache that made him look like a walrus. He wore a very posh looking crimson evening coat, with shiny gold buttons, over some nice, what Harry thought were silk, pajamas. Excluding the fine clothes and bald head, the man reminded Harry a bit of his uncle. He decided to try and keep an open mind.

“Your upholstery was of a much higher quality than the other pieces.” Dumbledore replied, waving his hand to indicate the sofa and chairs. The other furniture had curved dark wooden legs and curved wooden arms with padding. Certainly nicer than anything the Dursleys ever had but not as nice as the piece the portly man had pretended to be.

“Ahh.” The man said, nodding sagely as he glanced passed the headmaster, at Harry, “ They do say quality will out in the end.” The man’s eyes flicted up to Harry’s forehead. Harry was certain his fringe of hair covered his scar because there wasn’t the standard surprised look of recognition even though the old walrus’ eyes did widen some.

“May I assist you in putting things to right, Horace/” The headmaster politely inquired eyeing the general mess.

“Oh, Albus, as I am sure you are aware, it is almost all illusion . If you set the upright piano upright again I will dispel the rest.” The shorter old wizard said with a jovial chuckle. The two waved their wands in bewildering flourishes and like magic everything was put right. The piano was back top side up, the floor was clear and clean, the paint on the walls became pristine and the lights came on. Harry was thankful for the lights as the illumination of Dumbledore’s wand had started to give him a headache, particularly when he waved it around.

“Now, Albus, I do believe that introductions are in order.” The bald wizard said as he stowed his wand in his housecoat pocket, all the while keeping his attention on Harry.

Dumbledore laughed softly. “I am sure you have no idea who he is.” He turned to the other wizard and gestured with his wand towards Harry said, “Horace, allow me to introduce Harry Potter. One of my students at Hogwarts who will be entering his sixth year this fall.” Turning towards Harry, his wand turning to indicate ‘Horace’, he continued, “Harry this is the friend I mentioned and former Hogwarts Professor, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn stepped forward with his hand extended, “A pleasure to meet you young man.” He said with a bit more formality than Harry was used to.

Harry took the offered hand and greeted Slughorn in return. “Thank you, sir. It is a pleasure as well.”

“I of course knew who you were at first sight. You have your father’s looks about you. His hair, his cheeks and his chin but your eyes are most definitely Lily’s.” Slughorn confided before releasing his hand.

Harry gave his best fake smile and said, “Yes sir. I have been told that before.” It wasn’t that he actually minded having his appearance compared to his parents, he just was never sure how to respond.

“As intrigued as I am with your idea of me returning to teach again,” Horace, who had turned back to Dumbledore said, before he turned briefly to Harry and gave a quick apologetic smile. “I am uncertain if it would be advantageous for my health.”

“Well Horace, should I inform Pompey of your lack of confidence in her ability?”

“You know that is not what I meant, Albus” Slughorn retorted goodnaturedly.

“The castle’s security is somewhat better than what you have here, Horace.” Dumbledore commented dryly.

Slughorn smiled. “I have been considering an extended vacation in Brazil. For my health, of course.” Harry was convinced there was more being said than the words these two old men were actually saying but he could only guess at what.

“You would be doing me a personal favor, Horace, as I have told you before. And may I point out that Brazil will still be there next year. In fact, Brazil will probably be there for a few years yet.” Dumbledore commented congenially.

Slughorn did not reply immediately. His expression turned a bit shrewd and maybe a little pensive while his gaze fell on Harry.

“If I were to choose to teach at Hogwarts, Albus, there would be those that would think I am choosing to side against them.” Horace stated plainly, turning his attention back to the headmaster.

“Any thing you do Horace, short of joining them, will be seen as taking sides against them.” Dumbledore told his old friend.

Harry was getting uncomfortable being the third man in a two man conversation. He started looking appraisingly at the sofa and chairs. Slughorn must have noticed.

“I am being quite rude. Please, both of you, sit and make yourselves comfortable.” Slughorn waved them towards the sofa suite. “I am afraid all I have to hand to offer you is a nice tawny port. A fine vintage though and already decanted.”

As Harry and Dumbledore moved to the couch, Dumbledore accepted the offer on both their accounts.While they sat Slughorn was quick to get his decanter of port and three wine glasses on a silver serving tray and brought them over. Harry was wondering, mead at the Dursley’s, wine here, what was waiting for him at the Weasley’s? Firewhiskey?

After setting the tray on the coffee table, although in this case Harry considered cocktail table more fitting, the portly wizard poured the port. Harry was a bit surprised when he filled each glass equally. He handed Harry and the headmaster each a glass of the brownish red wine before taking the last for himself and sitting down in a chair. Harry cringed, unnoticeably he hoped, with Dumbledore to his right and Slughorn to the left he was in the center of something in which, truthfully, he felt like the odd man out.

The two older men swirled their glasses and sniffed at their wine before taking a sip, Harry simply sipped at his. The wine was not quite as sweet as the mead had been, and there was a slight tartness that almost puckered his cheeks. Harry, if put to the test, would prefer the wine, or port as Slughorn called it, over the mead, but he would rather some regular pumpkin juice over either.

“Quite nice, Horace.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it.” Slughorn responded a little wistfully. “Dona Solina gifted me a few bottles of this when I stayed, as a guest, at her family villa, outside Madrid.”

Dumbledore smiled and lifted his glass slightly, saying. “To Dona Solina and her Gobierno de Brujería.” After which he took a sip of his wine, as did Slughorn and Harry. Although in Harry’s case it was simple emulation as he had no idea who Donna Solina was nor why she had a ‘goober naughty brouhaha’.

“I had no idea you knew the Dona, Horace.”

“I’ve had the honor of tutoring three of her grandchildren over the years.” Slughorn replied.

“To their improved academia, your good fortune and this most excellent port then!” Dumbledore proclaimed making another toast. Harry decided the wine was tasting better and better the more he sipped at it.

Having effectively finished his wine Dumbledore set his glass down and stood up. “Horace, might I use your facilities?”

“Certainly, Albus. Second door down.” Slughorn said while pointing to what Harry assumed was the hall doorway.

As the headmaster made his way out of the room Slughorn refilled both of their glasses and offered to refresh Harry’s as well. Harry cheerfully accepted.

“So, Harry? May I call you Harry?” Slughorn asked.

“ Sure, shir...sir.” Harry affirmed with only a little trouble with the s’s.

“I taught both your parents, you realise. Yes, well, I was at Hogwarts for fifty years before I retired so I taught a lot of people and their parents. But.” The old professor reminisced with a speculative gleam in his eye. “As I remember, your father’s early years at school were more about the pursuit of a laugh rather than of knowledge. Although he was always a very personable young man. He and his friends only started to seriously apply themselves in their fifth year. In anticipation of their upcoming owls of course.

“He got an outstanding owl in my class. And, obviously, he did quite well in his other subjects, because he was named Head Boy a year after. An astounding achievement considering that he had been the school scoundrel for his first few years.”

Harry knew about some of what his father, Sirius and Professor Lupin had got up to while in school. And it really only made since that he had become a better student before his seventh year or he would have never been named Head Boy.

“Now your mother on the other hand,” Slughorn went on, his smile deepening somewhat.”She was a serious student from her very first day at Hogwarts. I think it was plain to see by anyone that she was simply rife with potential even then. Always maintained the proper decorum in class. Determined to do well on all her assignments. Always charming, always a smile. A real pleasure to teach. Likely the brightest witch, and certainly my favorite student, of her year.” He chuckled some and offered in asn aside, “My favorite student of her full seven years, truth be told.

“She got Head Girl too, you know.” Slughorn asked, looking directly at Harry. “I assume that is when they started getting along with each other, your father and her, I mean.” He chuckled again. “Until then there had always been an air of tension between them.”

Harry had to smile. He enjoyed hearing about his parents, even if it was stuff he had heard mentioned before. Hearing from someone different, though, who had also known them, that is what made it interesting.

Harry started to feel a little embarrassed about becoming a bit emotional while hearing the old professor speak of his parents. He thought he covered it well though by taking a big gulp of his drink.

“I stayed in touch with your mother after she finished Hogwarts of course. I was even at their wedding you know.” Slughorn proudly professed.

He became a bit morose and shook his head. “It was such a tragedy when her and your father’s lives were cut short that infamous night.” Slughorn consoled. “It was then that I decided I was ready for retirement. Your mother’s passing was a major impetus in bringing me to that decision, you see.” He finished with a sad commiserating smile.

Mentioning the death of his parents and the ‘infamous night’ of halloween nineteen eighty one certainly brought Harry back to the here and now. In the silence that followed Slughorn’s sad statement all Harry could think to do was noisily sip at his wine.

The aged professor visibly shook himself before attempting to change the subject somewhat. “I of course keep up with some of the professors still at Hogwarts. So I think I know a little about your last few years, but no specifics of course.” Slughorn assured with a gracious smile. “So, Harry, why don’t you tell me about the friends you have cultivated while at Hogwarts?”

Harry snorted when he envisioned himself tending to all his friends growing from pots inside Hogwarts greenhouses. Most of the Weasleys would be growing in a long flower box, Mr. Weasley and his wife at one end Fred and George at the other and the miscellaneous brothers in between. Of course, Ron and Hermione would be in their own pots as would Ginny, Neville and Luna. Although now, thinking about it, Luna’s pot would be special somehow, but really nothing came to mind.

“My two best friends are Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, sir. However, I like to think I am close to all the Weasleys, or so I hope.” Harry confided.

“Weasley you say? I remember having a student named Weasley, I think. A gangly young man with red hair. I don’t believe he was horribly studious. Well, not in my classes at any rate.” Slughorn reminisced. He could not have said anything more off putting to Harry than to disparage a Weasley. Any Weasley, in anyway.

“And your young lady friend, Granger. Is she of the Dagworth-Grangers of Essex or the Scottish Grangers?” He politely inquired.

The question gave Harry pause. He realised he had no clue where Hermione lived and it saddened him somewhat that he had put so little effort into getting to know the particulars of his close friend. He was a complete git, he thought, and it surprised him he had any friends at all. “Well, I am not sure, sir. I mean she is not Scottish, that much I know. But we never talked about where she lives. We talk about where she and her parents go on holiday but I haven’t the slightest idea where her house is.” Harry realised he was babbling just a bit and ended it there.

“I find it hard to believe you only have the two friends Harry?” Slughorn said humorously, encouraging him to carry on.

Harry gulped a bit of his wine before continuing. “I would like to think Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood are my friends now too. I mean, we…ah.” Harry, aware of his odd willingness to ramble consciously avoided mentioning the Department of Mysteries. “We spent some time in a study group last year and got to know each other better I think.”

The professor nodded his head. “Longbottom is an old and established family. They have a seat on the Wizengamot, you know, and Augustus Longbottom is quite the formidable force within that body.” Slughorn paused a moment. “I remember old Tiberius Mclaggen telling me some years ago that his nephew was sorted into Gryffindor. He should be about your age I would think. Do you know him? The younger McLaggen I mean?”

“ I know of him,” Harry supplied hesitantly. “He is a year ahead of me and I don’t think we have ever spoken.” Harry admitted. He knew his teammates, Angelina, Katie nor Alicia liked him and that was good enough for him.

“He is someone to get to know, my boy. His uncle is well connected at the ministry and a personal friend of the new minister I believe.” He told Harry sagely.

Harry stared at the retired professor a moment before he laughed out loud. “Fudge and Umbridge were evil stupid gits.” He proclaimed. “This new bloke will have a long way to go before I will have any need for ‘connections’ with him or the ministry.” Feeling proud for having spoken his mind, Harry finished off his wine and set the empty glass on the table.

Slughorn glanced from the empty wine glass to the brash expression on the rosey young face and snickered. “Harry, Harry, Harry, there is a certain subtlety and finesse one should always try to achieve in both the social or political arenas.” He admonished goodnaturedly.

Harry harrumphed, but refrained from speaking his mind. There would be no finess ranting about Fudge’s use of the Daily Prophet to launch a vindictive campaign against Dumbledore and himself all last year. And it wouldn’t be at all subtle if he showed Slughorn the scars on the back of his hand.That would be considered a bit blunt and crude. He was tempted though.

Fortunately, before Harry’s resolve to not alienate Dumbledore’s old friend could be put to any further tests, Dumbledore, himself, strood back into the room.

“Ah, Albus. We were about to cast a location charm to insure you hadn’t gotten lost.” Slughorn chidded.

The headmaster rejoined them before the coffee table again but did not move to take his seat. “Lost? No, I was simply reading the ‘Commode’s Comical Companion’ which, somewhat serendipitously, I found placed near the commode. Humor in the bathroom can be entertaining but I fear I found the jokes just a wee bit crass.” He looked from Horace to his younger charge and added, “Well, Harry, we should be going. We have intruded on Horace long enough.”

Harry was quick to get to his feet. He arose with such alicrity that he struggled to keep from falling onto the coffee table. He managed to regain his balance and stood, certain neither of the two older gentlemen had noticed. Ignoring a slight wobble, Harry waited for Dumbledore to move towards the door.

“Surely you aren’t leaving already Albus. You have not tried to persuade me to return to my old position at Hogwarts yet, at least not conspicuously.” His gaze crossed to Harry as he said the last.

“Oh, no, Horace.” The headmaster said with a sly smile, or so Harry thought. “I have come to realise that neither my compelling arguments nor increased offers of compensation will convince you to return to teach at Hogwarts and enjoy it’s security. No, no, old friend, I shall start seeking someone else to teach Harry and my other students while you unnecessarily exile yourself to the often warm and sticky climes of Brazil.”

“Yes, yes, well.” Slughorn sputtered. “It is a much warmer climate than one would find here in Britain.”

“You will be able to continue your correspondence with your influential friends and acquaintances through overseas owl post.” Dumbledore observed.

“Yes. Of course. But there will be a noticeable delay in delivery won’t there!” The other groused.

“I understand the scenery at the beaches is very pleasant.” The headmaster commented drolly.

“I am a mite old to be spending to much time out in the sun enjoying the scenery. A mite old for the scenery as well, I suppose, if I am honest.”

“And just imagine all the new flora and fauna you will get to experience.” Dumbledore quickly added.

“Yes, yes. I shall likely be living under a permanent “Pestermeno!” charm.” The portly wizard replied testily.

“Also from the southern hemisphere you will see new stars and new constellations! An all new night sky to learn and admire.”

“As you well know Albus, astronomy was never one of my many interests.” He grumbled.

“Well Horace , I do need to get Harry along to his rest. So let me say how much I and my staff members regret that you won’t be joining us this year. Minerva and Filius were quite hopeful you would choose to return as were Severus and Vanessa. Goodbye Horace, and please enjoy Brasil as best you can.” So saying, Dumbledore stepped to the side and motioned for Harry to proceed him to the door.

Harry was sure he could feel Slughorn’s eyes on him as he walked to the door. He wasn’t quite to the door when Slughorn rather energetically exclaimed from behind them.

“Alright Albus. Alright, I accept!”

Harry turned to watch the interaction of the two old men.

Dumbledore had turned and Slughorn had stepped forward. “So you will return and teach this year?”

“Yes, yes.” Slughorn agreed fatalistically even though he smiled as he looked over to Harry. “I am sure I am quite certifiable, but yes!”

Even though Harry could barely see the side of Dumbledore’s face, he could tell the old man wore a grand smile. “Perfect Horace. Just smashing as they say. So we will see you the last of August.”

“Certainly, Albus. For the salary you offered in your last post and Merriweather's old office.” Slughorn replied.

The headmaster nodded his agreement and said, “Done and done, my friend and thank you. Now, though, we really must be on our way. Until August thirty first then, Horace.” He turned back to Harry and shooed him through the door.

Before the door closed behind them, Slughorn wished them both a good night.

As they walked down the garden path Professor Dumbledore told Harry softly. “Well done, my boy. Well done, indeed.”

“I didn’t do anything, professor.” Harry responded, somewhat confused.

“Yes you did Harry. You reminded him of what he has been missing for the last eleven years. Grooming, guiding and befriending magical Britain’s next generation of ‘Movers and Shakers’.” Dumbledore informed him.

Harry wasn’t sure if he believed anyone would think him a ‘mover and shaker’ but refrained from saying so. As they walked along, having gotten a good distance from Slughorn’s house, the headmaster offered Harry his arm and twisted them away.




The squeezing spin of the inbetween didn’t bother Harry so much this time. He thought it comparable to a really intense maneuver on a broom. Rather like pulling out of a steep dive into a sharp turn, then doing a roll before pulling back into a climb. A maneuver that could take your breath away and leave your stomach behind.

He did not feel at all nauseous when they popped back into existence. He was a little dizzy though and had trouble keeping his eyes focused on anything without them tracking to one side or the other. The sensation was much like spending too much time on a playground roundabout. He wasn’t falling down and getting sick dizzy, more the stagger a bit and giggle dizzy.

Which is what he did. Harry giggled. And he realised why he had had such a strong sense of ‘deja vu’ when Dumbledore had first apparated them from Little Whinging. He had done it before. Apparating was how he had found himself on the school roof when he was nine and being chased by Dudley. That realization made him giggle even more. You weren’t supposed to aparate until you were seventeen, but obviously what you were supposed to do and could do were not the same thing.

He stopped giggling when he felt Dumbledore’s hand grasp his shoulder and gently lead him forward along the dirt lane they had aparated to.

“You seem to have better fared the discomforts of apparating this time, Harry” Dumbledore said as they started to walk. Harry thought the headmaster may have given him a knowing smile. However, as there was no moon out and it was a dark country lane, illuminated only by star light, he wasn’t able to truly tell.

“I…” Harry smiled and started to say before changing his mind. “Yes, sir. It isn’t so bad, but I would still prefer to fly.” He was sure Dumbledore would not be interested in some accidental magic he did six years ago.

“If we had flown, Harry, it would have been hours to get here.” The headmaster informed him and motioning with his afflicted arm directed Harry’s attention down the lane. A hundred yards or so along the lane, on the left side, was a dark silhouette of a tall stand of trees. Further along, at the end of the lane was another silhouette, this one an odd multi-storied collection of angles and shapes which, even in the dark, Harry easily recognised as his favorite house: The Burrow. There was even a welcoming glow in one window downstairs. Harry felt a bit warmer inside from simply seeing it.

As they walked along the lane Dumbledore kept his hand on Harry’s shoulder, almost like he was afraid he may stumble or dart off. Harry rather thought that if the two of them were observed by others, it would look like he was being frog marched to a disciplinarian. In primary he had been escorted to the assistant head in just such a manner many times when a teacher fell for one of Dudley’s lies.

“If you don’t mind, Harry, I would like to discuss somethings with you before we get to the Weasley’s.” The headmaster slowed their pace some with gentle force on Harry’s shoulder. “First, let me say how admirably you are coping with everything that happened at the Ministry. Again, I am so sorry for the loss you must feel from Sirius’ passing. Naturally you must…”

“I think I managed to deal with all that while I was at the Dursley’s,Professor.” Harry interrupted what he was sure would have been a heartfelt speech of empathy and encouragement. “I will miss him of course, but he would not want me to stop living because he .. he can’t. I am sure he would be telling me to live more, harder. I mean, life can be cut short, right? Just look at those people on the bridge, or Mrs. Bones and that Vance woman. No, I think all those people would tell me the same thing if they could, ‘Live every day to the fullest’. “ Because it could be your last, he added mentally. But he kept that thought to himself.

“Wise words, my boy. Wisdom well beyond your years, Harry, which is sad evidence of hard lessons learned early in life.” Dumbledore said with a hint of melancholy. “Can I assume this new outlook you have adopted pertains in part to the knowledge of the prophecy?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Harry answered with a light chuckle. “Knowing that he might have a go at me at anytime, or his followers, kinda puts a lot of things in a clearer light. I considered my two options; ‘hide, cower and maybe exist’ or ‘stand up, live and maybe die’. I decided to stand up.”

“You do your parents and Sirius proud with such an attitude, my boy, I am sure. And I commend you, myself.” The headmaster said proudly. “Now, you mentioned the unfortunate deaths of Madams Bones and Vance so I assume you have been taking the Daily Prophet.”

“Yes.” Harry answered quickly, wondering if he now would be told off for receiving a magical newspaper in a muggle home.

“Then you will have seen the innumerable speculative articles about your adventure into the Ministry, a possible prophecy about you and Voldemort, and the more personal ones about yourself?”

Harry snorted. “Ya!” He continued with a derisive chuckle. “From ‘attention seeking teen’ back to ‘hero of the hour’. I mean… it is nice to be, err ahh, valinfied and all.” Harry knew that didn’t sound right but he carried on without concern. “But now everyone knows about the prophecy and their calling me ‘The Chosen One’. I mean, Good Grief.”

“Validated, Harry. I believe that was at least one of the words you were trying to say.” Dumbledore offered with his own chuckle. “But only we two ‘know’ the prophecy. Everyone else, including Voldemort,can only speculate. And it is my hope that the uncertainty will continue to stay his hand from directly attacking you or striking at Magical Britain overtly.” The headmaster glanced to the stars before adding quietly, “At least for a year, I should think.”

Harry tensed a bit at the ‘year’ and rolled his eyes. Great, he thought, a year to get ready to face the darkest darkity dark dork lord. Well, he quickly let that thought go, he had already been down that road. The prophecy said he would know shite the Dork Lord knew not, so he would be able to avoid the ‘final fight’ until he was smarter than shite. He quietly snickered at the idea of him being smarter than shite.

“I should qualify that ‘I believe’ that only you and I are aware of the full prophecy, Harry. Do I correctly surmise that you have not told anyone?”

“Nope.” Harry said, shaking his head, “At school I was ….” He shrugged. “And it really isn’t something you can just slip into an owl post is it.” He added ruefully.

“Owl posts are not the most secure means of communication Harry, so no. But I do believe you should tell your friends. Mister Weasley and Miss Granger have shown ture commitment to you over the years. You should inform them, at the least, and it will do you good to confide in your friends, my boy.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He really did not want to deal with the drama that telling his friends would cause. Ron would probably get all quiet and pat him on the back consolingly, while Hermione would cry some before researching other possible meanings of the prophecy and the way it was worded. He assumed they would be walking on eggshells around him for days after he told them. But yeah, they needed to know.

“And to move on to something completely different; I have decided, if you are willing, to give you some private lessons this year.”

“Private? Really, sir. What will you be teaching me?” Harry excitedly responded. Maybe he would learn something beyond the sixth year curriculum this year. He was still sure it would take more than a year to truly prepare though.

“A bit of this and a bit of that, Harry” Dumbledore told him vaguely with a mischievous smile. Or so he thought anyway. “Mostly though,” he added in a more serious tone, “ I will be teaching you about your adversary, himself.”

Great, Harry thought, so the next time Voldemort cast the killing curse at him, he would know when the bastard had learned it. Oh well, there might be a silver lining, he thought. “If I am in lessons with you sir, I won’t be in lessons with Snape?”

“Professor Snape, Harry. And no, I have come to believe that there is no reason to continue those lessons. I fear I had not fully understood the extent of the contentious relationship between you and Severus, and for that I must offer my apologies.”

Harry huffed loudly, both in relief and exasperation. How could anyone not know how much Snape hated him, or how mutual the feeling was. Of course, having only received an EE in potions, it meant he was done with potions and Professor Arsehole. Which meant he was in a sorry state if he wanted to be an Auror.

“Professor, is there a way to test for a newt in potions even if you don’t take the class in sixth or seventh year?”

“Certainly Harry. It would be absolutely ridiculous to force adults into a life dictated by the actions, decisions and abilities of their youth. No, the Ministry has always offered adults owl and newt testing twice a year. But you really should not discount your chances of studying potions this year just yet.” The headmaster told him with what Harry thought may have been a smirk.

Before Harry could think about what the headmaster could mean by the last statement they arrived at the Burrow proper. Dumbledore steered them to the kitchen door, where the light was on, but stopped them just before it. “Now, Harry, before we go in, I have one last thing to tell you. The Weasleys have allowed me to strengthen the wards around the Burrow for your visit, even at the imposition this causes themselves and some of their friends. So please Harry, respect the wards and do not venture beyond them unescorted.” And so saying the headmaster stepped to the burrow’s backdoor and knocked.

“Declare yourself!” The noticeably nervous voice of Mrs. Weasley sounded from within. Harry felt bad about showing up well past midnight and scaring her in such a manner.

“Molly, it is I, Albus Dumbledore. I have with me the dark haired young man you have been expecting.”

The door flew open and there stood Mrs. Weasley looking slightly frazzled. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun although some strands had escaped. Her apron was dusted with flour and the dress she wore beneath it could only be politely termed as a little out of fashion.

“Albus, and Harry, gracious me, but you said you would not arrive until morning.”

Harry stepped forward and hugged her, a hug the Weasley matron enthusiastically returned even if she was a bit surprised. Harry didn’t know what possessed him to do so but he wasn’t embarrassed about it. He was just so happy to be where he belonged.


A/N This is the last chapter that i feel needs to follow Jo's original script so closely. From chapter 3 on Harry's interactions with friends and enemies will be slightly different and cause some changes to his personal life and to how some of the plot points turn out. However Jo's agent of fate is marching the general story along to a cannon compliant culmination. By Bill and Fleur's wedding i plan my retelling of HBP to return a zero sum point, with the only difference being, hopefully, the time you spent enjoying the diversion.


A/N Now on to something completely different; I was looking about for something new to read, having familiarized myself with most of the content on S.I.Y.E. as well as the ff.net hp stories that didn't explore disturbing ships, disturbing to me anyway. I discovered 'FF.net>Books>Lloyd Alexander' section. I am sure most know his work, Prydain Chronicles primarily, although 'Time Cat' is worth a mention for any 7-10 year old readers. There I came across 'Sunrise by Companion Wanderer' which is an Eilonwy centric retelling of 'The Book of Three'. I enjoyed it as much as I had enjoyed the first time I read LA's original. The author has some other irons in the fire worth peeking at as well.


direct excerpts
*
** taken completely or partially from Jo’s books 1-7, although …
https://www.hp-lexicon.org/timeline/c haracter-timelines/harry-potter-timeline /




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