Chapter 10
At the Burrow (Day 2)
Harry eagerly waited for Hedwig to return with Snape's reply. But Harry was disappointed when he read the reply—
"Mr Potter, the score for your Potions O.W.L. is well named. You have indeed exceeded my expectations."
Snape's note said nothing about Harry's "gift," or what the potions-master planned to do with the "gift."
The next morning, at the Burrow
After breakfast, Bluegrass, the Greengrass-family house-elf, handed Harry a letter from Daphne. Daphne had written—
You tell me that you like Fred and George Weasley. Speaking for myself, I'm glad that they sat their N.E.W.T. exams and are gone from Hogwarts. Seldom did they target Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff for pranks, and they never targeted Gryffindor (except for their own brothers). But the twins OFTEN targeted Slytherin! In my third year, every girl in Slytherin spent three days with green skin and metallic-silver hair. We looked like some kind of magical creature, not like witches.
What you told me about Dumbledore didn't surprise me at all. The only way you could lower my opinion of the man any further would be to tell me he eats babies for breakfast. Part of the reason for your and my different attitudes towards Dumbledore is that nobody warned you about him before you met him as an eleven-year-old, whereas my parents told me before I boarded the train as a firstie, "Don't buy what he's selling."
I told Tracey (Davis) that you and my father are negotiating my betrothal, besides you trying to become betrothed to Hermione. Tracey said that if I'm going to be your wife someday, she doesn't know whether to envy me or to pity me. Would you feel offended if I told you that sometimes I feel the same way? To your describing yourself as "like nobody else on the planet," I must agree. I have known you (a tiny bit) for five years, and you still surprise me.
But I must confess something. You are a strange boy and I don't understand you at all, but I trust you completely. Is this strange for me to say so soon?
Tracey also said to me, "Harry Potter is acting like the most Pureblood of Purebloods" (for negotiating a betrothal contract when you and I have never even gone on a Hogsmeade date). One of the reasons that those who hate you in Slytherin, do hate you, is because you were the Potter Heir but you never acted like the Potter Heir, you acted like a Muggle-born. So I'm confused, and Tracey is confused too: Why are you now in such a hurry to become betrothed to me? Do I have such a high reputation in the other three Houses?
Yes, I am wearing the "special rectangular thing." I am hugely curious what will happen when/if it's ever put to the test. Does the "know-it-all" in fact know it all?
Harry wrote back to Daphne immediately.
Dear Daphne,
The Weasley twins have pranked Gryffindors other than Percy and Ron, believe me. But all of the twins' other-Gryffindors pranks have been in the Gryffindor common room, so nobody else has ever seen them. For whatever reason, the twins have never pranked Hermione or me. In defence of the twins targeting Slytherin, your House has more than its fair share of gits and tossers in it. (I won't name names.)
I see two reasons why I still surprise you. The first is that Purebloods know nothing about the Muggle world (which is a mistake, I think). Anyway, you know nothing about Muggles, so you keep being surprised by what Muggle-raised students (like me) and Muggle-born students (like Hermione) do at Hogwarts. The second reason I surprise you is that I alone have the special work of fighting and killing Voldy, and this sometimes makes me do surprising things.
Speaking of "special work," I have a fight-Voldy plan that I want to carry out before 1st September, but before I do this work, I want to announce my betrothals to you and to Hermione. (This way, if worst comes to worst, I can count on two people coming to my funeral!)
You ask me, "Why me?" Why don't I seek to marry Susan Bones, or Lavender Brown or one of the beautiful Patil twins? It helps your case that someone you know, wrote you a letter that said that "Harry Potter is a good bloke and quite lovable." But more than this, E.H. wrote to me, and wrote something quite flattering about you:
"She listens. I say my words, then she tells me, in her own words, what I just said, then she tells me, again in her own words, why what I just said is important to me. Then, Harry, half the time she explains to me why I'm a pillock because of what I just said. Oh, well."
Daphne, these words shoved you to the head of the queue. Professor McGonagall and Hermione sometimes don't listen to me, and Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley and Dumbledore never listen to me, and it's quite frustrating to me.
Oh yes, one final thing: Your father asked for a paragraph in the betrothal contract, that for the first year after signing, either you or I could end the betrothal with no money paid or other penalty suffered. I'm sure he was worried you'd discover that you and I weren't compatible. Well, I actually asked to take that one-year no-penalty period further, to three months before the wedding (which I figure will happen in June of 1998, just after Hermione, you and I are handed our N.E.W.T. scores and we leave Hogwarts). So until sometime in March of 1998, you're not locked into anything permanent with me, no matter that your close, close relative wrote such nice things about me.
When Harry finished writing his letter to Daphne, he opened a window in the Burrow, Hedwig flew in, Harry attached the letter to Hedwig's leg, then Hedwig flew away.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Burrow
Albus Dumbledore called out from the Floo Fireplace, "Hello, Molly, are you at home?"
Molly Weasley rushed from the kitchen into the Floo Room. "Professor Dumbledore, good morning!"
"I'm looking for Harry. Is he here? Or do you know where he is?"
Molly said, "Yes, he's here. Come through, come through!" She pressed the brick on the Fireplace that allowed Dumbledore to pass through from his Floo Fireplace to hers.
When Dumbledore stepped through, Molly said, "Professor, would you talk to Harry, please? He's announced he'll be staying here only two more days, and he's talking about marrying two women, and neither of them is Ginny!"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said, "Be sure that I shall speak to him. Two women, you say? I hope Harry is not going dark."
Molly wrung her hands. "Professor, is that possible? Please do something, for the sake of Ron and Ginny—my two youngest children look up to Harry so!"
As Dumbledore was walking from the Floo Room to the kitchen, he saw Hermione Granger rushing down the stairs, a book in hand.
"Good morning, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said cordially.
Hermione stopped at the bottom of the stairs and smiled at him. "Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," she said cheerfully. "Is your day going well?"
Dumbledore let his eyes twinkle. "My day is going quite well. Are you enjoying your visit to the Burrow?"
"I am," Hermione said, smiling. "Molly's cooking always is brilliant, and the company of Harry, Ron, Ginny and the twins always is enjoyable. Correction: Ron and Ginny have been a bit," she paused, "irritable since last night." Hermione shrugged.
Molly called out from the doorway to the kitchen, "Harry's here in the kitchen, Professor. I'll tell him you want to speak to him."
"Thank you, Molly," Dumbledore said to the Weasley matriarch.
Then Dumbledore turned his attention back to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I have received news that concerns me, about Harry."
Hermione looked puzzled. "Professor, Harry is fine."
"I think not. Whilst it is normal for teenaged boys to have fantasies, it is not normal to indulge some of those fantasies. Harry is talking about holding two weddings; and with your nonmagical background, I trust you will have no part of such a travesty."
Hermione lost her smile and she crossed her arms. "Professor, since I was thirteen, I have wanted to be Lady Potter. Thanks to Sirius Black and his will, I'll still become Lady Potter in two years' time—but another lucky woman will become Lady Black."
"No need, my dear. Wisdom is needed here. I will persuade Harry to combine the two Houses, thus requiring he marry only once—"
Hermione shook her head. "Are you truly so ignorant of genetics, merely because it's Muggle science? You Purebloods are inbred, and your 'wise' suggestion will only make the problem worse."
"Oh, my dear Miss Granger, I fear Harry has convinced you to become a party to your own degradation. Alas, he indeed is becoming dark. But I see one way for you to save yourself."
"What way is that?" Hermione asked sceptically.
"Bow out, and let some other woman endure the snickers that will come from being part of Harry Potter's harem."
" 'Some other woman,' you say? Like, oh, Ginny Weasley?"
"I think Ginny Weasley would make a fine Lady Potter, don't you?"
Hermione looked at Dumbledore in disgust. "If you don't know anything about Muggle genetics, I'm sure you don't know what the Muggle word fangirl means. But that's how Harry describes Ginny, and he doesn't, doesn't, doesn't want to marry a fangirl. Now, I have a question for you, Professor Dumbledore."
"Yes?"
Now Hermione's voice was openly challenging: "How does you being the headmaster of a school—which by the way, is not in session now—give you the authority to meddle in Harry's wedding plans? Or mine? And how dare you try to talk me out of marrying Harry, the most wonderful man I've ever met!"
"Miss Granger, Harry is not a man, no matter what the law says. He is still a boy."
"Only to you, Professor, only to you. Now please excuse me."
Not waiting for Dumbledore to reply, Hermione started to move away.
"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore said.
Clearly annoyed, Hermione stopped and faced him. Her eyes glared into his.
Always before, Dumbledore thought, this girl has been slavishly respectful of authority. What has Harry told her that has changed her attitude so much? I'll just do a little quick Legilimency—
Except that he couldn't. Whenever Dumbledore mind-read Severus, or anyone else who was expert at Occlumency, he picked up thoughts, but those thoughts were a facade. Trying to mind-read Hermione now, Dumbledore picked up nothing—as if he were trying to mind-read a statue.
Dumbledore's face showed his shock. Right afterwards, Hermione's scowl changed into a grin. "Yes, Professor?" she said sweetly. "Was there something else you wanted to say to me?"
"Erm, no, Miss Granger. Have a pleasant morning."
As Hermione happily walked away—she almost skipped away—Dumbledore wondered, How did Hermione Granger go from having no Occlumency training to being the best Occlumens I've ever met?
Then Dumbledore thought, I'll answer that question later. Right now, I need to talk to Harry and find out what he knows about Voldemort's horcruxes, and how Harry learnt that information.
Seconds later
In the kitchen of the Burrow
Dumbledore was surprised when he walked into the kitchen. "Harry, my boy—"
"Albie my bane," Harry said cheerfully. "It's a beautiful day outside, and you want to talk to me? Let's step out back." Harry stepped over to the kitchen door that led outside to the back garden and to Arthur's storage shed.
Molly was stirring something at the stove; she turned to glare at the youth. "Harry, where are your manners? Address ProfessorDumbledore with respect!"
"Molly." Now Harry's voice held no fake cheerfulness. "This man addresses every female student at Hogwarts as 'Miss.' He addresses every other male student at Hogwarts as 'Mister'—even that punk Draco Malfoy is addressed as 'Mister.' But me? In five years, this man has always addressed me as 'Harry' or "Harry my boy.' Which is curious, because he's not my relative, and certainlynot my father—"
Dumbledore said testily, "I address you familiarly, Harry, because I'm your magical guardian."
"No, you are not, and you haven't been since the minute that Sirius Black's will came into effect. Come to think of it, you weren't my magical guardian before Sirius's will took effect, at least according to what both my parents' wills said."
Dumbledore choked. He had gone to much planning and effort to ensure that Harry did not see his parents' wills until he was twenty-one, or at least seventeen. Damn Sirius Black and damn those goblins!
Harry continued, "I wonder how, despite two wills saying otherwise, the Wizengamot let you become my magical guardian." Harry pantomimed sliding coins off of his flat left hand, then pantomimed his right hand putting coins in his pocket.
"Harry!" said Molly. "Professor Dumbledore is interested only in your best interests."
"Please remind me of this, Molly, the next time I'm on my broom trying to outfly an angry dragon."
"Harry my boy," Dumbledore said in his I'm so disappointed voice, "you can behave better than acting out adolescent tantrums."
Rather than be put on the defensive as Dumbledore expected, Harry said, " 'Harry my boy'—you keep saying those words. Oi, maybe the magical world is quite different from the Muggle world. In the Muggle world, they have a word for a much older man who speaks familiarly to a teenaged boy whom he isn't related to—and that word is not 'Professor,' though it rhymes with it."
Molly gasped, clearly shocked.
Harry opened the door and stepped into the back garden. Annoyed Dumbledore had no choice but to follow Harry outside.
In the back garden behind the Burrow
"Harry my boy—"
"Albie my bane," Harry mockingly echoed.
"What is your problem?" Dumbledore demanded.
Harry laughed. "You want the full list? Sorry, we don't have time—school starts in seven weeks. I'm just curious, however, how you planned to keep me under your thumb if Sirius's will hadn't emancipated me. Were you planning on vanishing calendars near me when the date got close to 31st July 1997, so I'd never know I'd hit my seventeenth birthday?"
Rather than reply, Dumbledore said, "I need to know about Voldemort's horcruxes. How do you know that there are seven of them? How do you know that your scar is a horcrux? Do you know where the horcruxes are located?"
Harry stared into Dumbledore's eyes and said, "Here are the answers to your three questions. One, I just know. Two, I just know. Three, yes."
Dumbledore snapped, "Harry, if we were at Hogwarts, I would give you detention for the rest of the year for that impudent answer!"
Harry shrugged. "Maybe so. But you still wouldn't have the answers to your questions, would you? It's frustrating, isn't it, when there is information you desperately want to know, and the man who has the information withholds it, for some high-handed reason."
"So what this is, is childish payback? Revenge? I deflected answering your questions, once upon a time, so now you childishly refuse to answer my questions?"
"But Professor Dumbledore, you want to know the answers to your horcrux questions, you don't need to know. You are not the Chosen One of prophecy, I am. You have no more right to information about the horcruxes than Rita Skeeter has the right."
"Harry, I demand you tell me about the horcruxes. As leader of the Order of the Phoenix, I am entitled to know this information."
As Dumbledore said this, he tried a Legilimency probe to dig the answers out of Harry's mind that Harry refused to say aloud. But Dumbledore mentally heard nothing, just as had happened when he had tried to mind-read Hermione. At the same time as Dumbledore's mind-reading attempt, Harry frowned.
"Albus, I can play the game too: I demand you tell me what happened to your hand. It sure looks to me like you touched a cursed ring that had a horcrux attached to it, and the curse is killing you. Did you at least destroy the horcrux, so I don't have to? I'm sorry, my apologies, it's foolish of me to ask you a question and to expect a straight answer."
Dumbledore glared at Harry, opened the door and walked into the kitchen.
An hour later, in the Burrow
Bluegrass popped in and handed Harry a letter from Daphne—
In your last letter, you mentioned fighting Voldy, and you made a joke about Hermione and me attending your funeral. I think I shall cry if such an appalling event ever happens.
I don't think that I at sixteen am a good listener. But your quote from E.H. told me how to be one, and I shall definitely work on it in the future!
I am amazed and pleased that you gave me twenty-one months to freely end the betrothal if I want to. Ironically, you telling me this makes me less likely to want to end the betrothal. I am starting to think I will like being Mrs Harry Potter Number 2.
(signed) Daphne
P.S. Tracey asked me a question that I didn't know the answer to, and I sure don't want to ask Mum what is the "polite" way to ask this. I'll just blurt it out: Will you order Hermione and me to have sex together whilst you watch?
Harry wrote back to Daphne. His letter said, in part,
[snip]
I in turn think I will enjoy being Daphne Greengrass's husband.
[snip]
Dumbledore came to the Weasleys' house today, and both Hermione and I talked with him. First the old man tried to persuade Hermione to henpeck me into combining the Potter and Black lines and marrying only her. When Hermione didn't buy what he was selling, the old man tried to persuade her to bow out and to let some other girl (for instance, Ginny Weasley) become Lady Potter. Hermione said no to this too. Then Dumbledore tried to mind-read Hermione. A little later, the old man and I got into an argument, and he tried to mind-read me. It turns out that the "special rectangular thing" that I sent you, works. The last time I saw Hermione, she nearly was dancing.
In answer to your P.S., the answer is no. If I ever gave such an order, Hermione would either roll on the floor laughing, or she'd kill me. But if you two decided to go at it voluntarily, would I want to watch? I'm a bloke—do the maths.
That evening, at dinner
All day, Harry had been briefly visited many times, as his law firm's house-elf popped-in with brief parchments that contained contract terms for Harry's betrothal contracts with Hermione and with Daphne.
This created problems for Harry.
On Harry's first day at the Burrow, the house-elf had suddenly appeared during a Quidditch game; on Harry's second day at the Burrow, the house-elf had interrupted a chess game with Ron. Both times that Ron's fun had been spoilt by the lawyers' house-elf, Ron's ears had turned red, but Ron had kept quiet.
But Harry knew it was not in Ron's nature, when he was angry, to keep quiet for long.
Now at the Weasley dinner table, after Harry handed the parchment back to the house-elf who then popped himself gone, Ron said, "Bloody hell, Harry. Maybe you are turning dark like Dumbledore says."
"Professor Dumbledore," Molly and Hermione said together.
"Bloody hell back, Ron," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore dumped some dragon dung in my lap at the end of term, and I'm trying to deal with it. And believe it or not, becoming betrothed to Hermione and Daphne is one of the ways I'm dealing with it."
Ron crossed his arms. "You say 'believe it or not'? Well, I don'tbelieve there is a good reason for you turning into a wanker who marries Hermione and a Slytherin bitch, no matter whatDumbledore told you! And why haven't you confided to me, your best mate, whatever it was that Dumbledore said?"
"What a bloody surprise, Ron, you don't believe me! Tell me, are you still telling everyone who'll listen that I put my name in the Goblet, after I told you a hundred times that I didn't?"
Ron looked embarrassed.
Harry pressed on. "You want to know what Dumbledore told me? Here it is. Before I was born, Sybill Trelawney spoke a prophecy to the headmaster—"
"Trelawney, that barmy drunk? And you believe her? Ha!"
Harry ignored that. "The prophecy says that sometime in the future, Voldy and I will fight to the death, and I'm the only person who can kill him—"
Harry had to pause then, as everyone else at the table (except for Ron) gasped in shock. Harry could not bring himself to look at Hermione's face.
"—but the prophecy doesn't guarantee I'll kill Voldy. I could die!"
Now everyone at the table (except for Ron) moaned.
Ron said, "So 'Poor me, I might die' gives you the right to marry two women? Why not three? Or four—marry both Patils? Or marry a cute firstie?"
Harry paused before he spoke.
Young Harry sighed. He remembered what elderly Harry had written about future Ron and future Hermione—when the couple had divorced in 2017, and future Harry had finally been forced to choose betwixt his friends, the friendship of future Harry with future Ron had withered. After Hermione's funeral in the 2060s, apparently elderly Ron and elderly Harry had lost contact altogether.
Young Harry felt fiercely conflicted now. Harry needed a male friend, and Ron had met that need for five years. But not only was Ron "scheduled" to desert Harry and Hermione next year—elderly Harry had been scathing in his description of the incident—but young Harry was only two years past Ron accusing Harry of lying and cheating his way into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and young Harry still was angry at Ron because of the false accusations.
Now Harry looked at Ron. "Tell me something, 'best mate': Did you just say that I might be sexually interested in eleven-year-old girls because you spoke without thinking like you usually do, or do you actually believe such?"
George said, "Ronald, think carefully before you answer him."
Ron, to give him credit, paused before speaking.
When Ron spoke, he said, "Look, you're the 'Boy Who Lived,' right? How many offers for sex have you gotten since you came to Hogwarts that you haven't told Hermy and me about? Dozens, maybe hundreds, I bet. So if you said 'I want two wives,' you'd get volunteers, right? Bloody hell, Ginny wants to volunteer!"
"Damned straight," Ginny declared, glaring at Hermione.
Ron continued, "But if you're going to marry Hermione, you'll want a pretty girl to balance things out"—Hermione gasped in outrage—"so yeah, I guess I can understand 'the Ice Queen.' But when the girl hits thirty, her looks start to fade; but if you marry a girl who's five years younger than you, you get five more years before wrinkles on your wife make her ugly."
All the other Weasleys looked gobsmacked. No redhead spoke.
Hermione said, "I wish to say, right here, right now, that if Voldy does kill Harry and I'm marriageable again, there is no fucking way in hell that I will ever marry you, Ronald Bilius Weasley."
Hermione stood up, walked over to Ron, slapped him, then returned to her seat.
Harry stood up. "Lord Weasley, Lady Weasley, I thank you for your hospitality, but I think I'll be leaving now. George and Fred, good luck with your joke shop. Ron, you and I are done. If you try to sit in my compartment on the train, I'll tell you to leave—loudly, if I need to."
Hermione stood up as well. "What Harry said. If Harry's leaving, I'm leaving. To most of you, thank you for making me feel welcome here."
Two minutes later, Harry and Hermione had packed their respective trunks and were standing at the bottom of the stairs. Harry called Dobby. Pop.
Molly tried to talk Harry out of leaving; Arthur and the twins stayed silent. Ginny wept. Ron looked angry.
Harry and Hermione each took one of Dobby's hands, and they were instantly popped to just inside the front door of Hermione's house. Harry's last sight of the inside of the Burrow was Ron's anger-red face.
Chapter 11
Harry Calls a Meeting
Sunday evening, 14th July
At Hermione's house, Harry spoke briefly with Emma Granger, and with a noticeably reserved Daniel Granger. Daniel became a little more friendly when Harry and Hermione told how they had ended a five-year friendship after Ron had insulted Hermione (and Harry).
Then Harry got Dobby to pop him back to his bedroom in Privet Drive. When Harry went downstairs, he discovered that there were no relatives in the house and that Vernon's car was gone. Harry guessed that the Dursleys were taking him seriously and were out house-hunting.
For the next half-hour, Harry moped, blaming himself for somehow not preventing the disaster with Ron. Then Dobby popped in, with a freshly-written note from Hermione—
"I know you, Harry. You're in your room alone, thinking this whole disaster with Ron is somehow your fault. YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME FOR WHAT HAPPENED TODAY! Ron is a git, much of the time, and Ron was especially git-ish today, end of story. I love you, Harry, believe this."
Hermione's loving note ended Harry's gloom, and he was able to think clearly. And when Harry thought about the whole situation clearly, he realised: I've been friends with the wrong boy. So Harry sat down and wrote a letter to Neville.
Dear Neville,
I assume that you're taking a break from the Longbottom family greenhouse in order to read this letter.
The Golden Trio is now the Golden Duo. Today Hermione and I were visiting the Weasley house, and Ron spoke horrid insults to both Hermione and me that we each could not forgive, so we ended our friendship with him. Ron at his best was a fine friend to have, but I finally quit trying to overlook the faults of Ron at his worst.
As I have been thinking over the last five years, a realisation has hit me: You were the good friend that I always wanted Ron to be, but you did your friendship quietly. Looking back, I see that I took you for granted, and I apologise for this. I am sorry I was not a better friend to you.
Why I am writing: to ask if you want to be a better friend to me, and to ask how I can be a better friend to you.
(signed) Harry
P.S. Thanks for having my back at the Department of Mysteries.
P.P.S. Do you still have Trevor, your toad?
Neville wrote back within minutes, stating that yes, he 'would be excited' to be better friends with Harry. Neville made no requests or demands about how Harry could be a better friend to him. (P.S. Trevor had died in third year.)
Harry wrote back, "Brilliant! Erm, there is something I need to explain to you, the next time I see you in person. It's about the prophecy orb that you accidentally dropped at the DOM, that gave a prophecy about Voldemort and 'Harry Potter(?)' "
The next morning (Monday, 15th July)
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
School was not in session, so the professors' workdays were different that during the other ten months of the year. The professors—of those who were not outside Scotland on holiday—met in the Great Hall for meals; but otherwise, each professor was free to fill his or her hours however (s)he wished.
Filius Flitwick was in his "experiments" classroom, practicing some spells that were written-up in the latest issue of The Journal of Muggle-Mimic Charms. At the moment, Flitwick was trying to get a 16-inch-by-12-inch piece of white paper, which had been sticky-charm attached to a wall, to display a pensieve memory two-dimensionally.
So involved was Flitwick in his work that it took him a moment to realise that someone had walked into the room: Severus Snape. The Potions professor was holding a folded parchment letter in his hand.
Snape held out the letter. "Filius, please read this, then I wish to ask you a favour."
Seconds later, Flitwick squeaked, "Harry Potter sent you a letter?"
Snape said drily, "What is in the letter is even more ... startling."
When Flitwick had read the letter, he said, "Is this prophecy one that Sybill spoke?"
"Yes, though I'm told she doesn't remember those minutes of her life."
"And the prophecy is about Voldemort and Harry Potter?"
"It also could apply to Mr Longbottom, who was born on 30th July, one day before Mr. Potter."
"And Harry knows the prophecy whilst Voldemort doesn't, but he desperately wants to?"
"Yes."
"And Harry has told you the prophecy, so now you can tell Voldemort, but Harry is hoping that you won't tell Voldemort?"
"Exactly. But Mr Potter cannot stop me if I do tell. Mr Potter has given me a free choice."
Flitwick asked, "So how do I fit in? What is the 'favour' you want from me?"
"I ask you to do a surgical Obliviate on me. I want to remember receiving the letter and reading the letter, and I can recall all of the text of the letter, except for the prophecy. Remove all of the written text of the prophecy that is in the letter, from my mind. Make it so that Voldemort, even with all his skills at reading minds, cannot pull this one piece of knowledge from my brain because the knowledge no longer is there. Now, the Dark Lord knows I have heard part of the prophecy spoken; so I wish to remember the spoken form of the prophecy, but not the written form contained in the letter."
Flitwick grinned. "Oh, I love surgical Obliviates—planning them is such a fun challenge! Why don't you take a seat, and give me some time to plan this out."
Ten minutes later, Flitwick had a plan. One minute and four identical surgical Obliviates later, Snape could not write down even one word of the prophecy that was part of the letter that Flitwick still held in his hand.
When both Flitwick and Snape were satisfied that the prophecy was erased but no other memories were, Flitwick said to Snape, "Erm, do you realise, if I give you your letter back and you reread it, you'll remember the prophecy again?"
"Why do you think I have not asked for the letter back?" Snape asked drily. "No, I want you to share it with all the other professors, except for the headmaster."
"Because he already knows the prophecy, since he was the person whom the prophecy originally was spoken to?"
"No, because of his fetish for secrecy. If the headmaster knew that you knew the prophecy, in an instant he would Obliviate the knowledge from your mind—and he would not work a surgicalobliviation."
"Understood, I'll show this to all the faculty except Albus. I'll be sureto show this letter to Sybill, because I love irony."
"A good plan. Thank you for your assistance." Snape walked towards the door.
"Severus?" Flitwick said.
Snape stopped, with his hand on the door lever.
Flitwick said, "Severus, you are making quite a wise use of your 'free choice.' If Lily were alive, I think she would applaud you for this."
Snape made a tiny nod, which could mean any of several things, then he walked out the door.
An excerpt from elderly Harry's letter to his fifteen-year-old self
The life you've led up till now has taught you to give the other person whatever they demanded of you, and to never speak up for yourself.
Let's face it, if you were to say "Give me what I need" or "Here's what I want from you" before now, Uncle Vernon would beat you up, Snape would assign detentions, Molly would lecture you about what you should be doing instead, and Dumbledore would tell you that he, not you, knows what is best for you. Ron would throw a tantrum in which somehow he was the victim.
It seems that placating the people who are pushier than you is a winning tactic: you avoid arguments. But this tactic comes with a cost.
Think back to all the times at Grimmauld Place when you watched how Sirius and Molly acted near each other. Seeing Molly treat Sirius like a misbehaving schoolboy, and Sirius accepting such demeaning treatment, made you uncomfortable, but you didn't have the words to explain why this bothered you so much. Watching Molly decide what would be cooked in Sirius's kitchen, and decide who would clean what rooms in Sirius's townhouse, also unsettled you. Watching Dumbledore in Sirius's townhouse basically give orders to your godfather, and Sirius accepting this, also made you uncomfortable—though again, you didn't have the words to explain why.
But decades later, I've figured out the words. It turns out that the fact that Sirius was clearly miserable, because of his mistreatments, was only part of what was bothering you.
What also was bothering you was the feeling that the pushing-about of Sirius by Molly and Dumbledore was unnatural and not how the world should work, the same feeling you'd get if you walked outside and saw that the sun were purple.
Let me tell you what was unnatural about what you were seeing. Sirius owned Grimmauld Place, which gave him a responsibility for making the place run smoothly, and this in turn gave him the authority to command there. Authority follows responsibility, as night follows day. In Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore didn't have authority merely because he was pushier than Sirius, nor did Molly have authority just because she was pushier than Sirius. Those two should have deferred to Sirius because it was he who had the true authority in Grimmauld Place, but all three of them acted otherwise, which was strange to watch.
What is my point here? I've told you that eventually I fought Voldemort and killed him, but the process took way too long. By the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters had taken over both the Ministry and Hogwarts, and many Muggle-borns had died—some of them were children who did not know they were magical and had never heard of Hogwarts. I sent you this cross-time letter because I want Voldemort dead much sooner than "scheduled," since his much-earlier death will save many lives.
The biggest way I've moved up the date of Tom Riddle's death is to tell you where all the horcruxes are, so that you don't waste valuable time looking for them.
But there is one other way to fight Voldemort more effectively: Stop being everyone's milquetoast. Between the time Dumbledore told me the prophecy and the time I killed Voldemort, way too much of my life was spent being undermined by my supposed allies, and "nice bloke" Harry let it happen. But what happened to me, I shall explain how to prevent it happening to you.
My advice, in four words? Be firm with underminers.
Authority follows responsibility, remember; and the prophecy gives you the responsibility to kill Voldemort. Since the Order of the Phoenix was created to defeat Tom Riddle and his Death Eater minions, you have authority over the Order—if you assume this authority. Because of the prophecy, it is your place, and nobody else's, to give orders to the Order. When Dumbledore, Molly, Snape and Dung push you, push back, resisting the urge to shut up and to do as you're told.
Once you've taken over the Order—
Here's my strong suggestion: If the Order still is meeting at Grimmauld Place, use your ward ledger to lock out most or all of the Undermining Four.
My second piece of advice: Whenever you run into Death Eaters, you are fighting men who are murderers by definition. Don't stun the bloody wankers, kill them (or at least cripple them harshly). Learn from history. History says the cowardly Wizengamot is looking for any flimsy excuse not to punish Death Eaters, after the battles have ended; so it's up to you to neutralise as many Death Eaters as possible on the battlefield.
You, my fifteen-year-old self, wants to shy away from this advice. You don't like hurting anyone, even Draco (who richly deserves it), and you suspect you will hate knowing you've killed people. But killing Death Eaters is what you must do, because everyone around you will take their cue from you. If you act prissy just to salve your conscience, the Death Eaters will come back again, and Muggle-borns will die. This was what happened to me: I was a nice bloke in 1998 who went too easy on captured and surrendered Death Eaters; and Muggle-borns were killed by Death Eaters in 2003.
My last piece of advice: Once it is you who commands the Order of the Phoenix, don't let Tom Riddle make the choices and take the actions, then you react as a nice bloke would. Instead, surprisehim, take the fight to him, and let him react to you.
Young Harry thought about what elderly Harry had written. Then Harry himself began to write.
Minutes later, Harry called Kreacher to him. After the old house-elf popped in and was listening respectfully, Harry held out two parchments. "This first parchment is a list of most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, whom I want you to show a written message. You'll be pleased to know that Mundungus Fletcher, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore are not on this list—"
"They're troublemakers," Kreacher grumbled.
"—and notice that Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger have been added to the list, at the bottom. Don't visit Hermione if any Muggles other than her parents are there."
"Kreacher obeys thoughtful Muggle-raised master."
"And here's the message I want you to share. Ahem, 'Lord Potter-Black, Harry Potter, calls a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at Sirius Black's former home. Date is Tuesday, 16th July, and the time is 7 p.m.' " When people ask you, Kreacher, you don't know what the meeting is about, and you've been ordered not to guess. Any questions?"
Kreacher said—amazingly, without sarcasm—"Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black." Then the house-elf disappeared.
Harry thought, Well, this part was easy. Of course, when Dumbles figures out that I've called a meeting of the Order and he hasn't been invited, he will go spare—and then some.
Not quite 1-1/2 days later
Tuesday, 16th July, 6:50 p.m.
The Floo Room, Number 12 Grimmauld Place
Harry, Neville and Hermione were standing by the Floo Fireplace, waiting to greet the regular Order of the Phoenix members as they arrived.
Harry was wearing dress robes. Admittedly, the robes were his Yule Ball dress robes, sized bigger; but Hermione had told him minutes ago, "You look like a quite dashing magical lord." Hermione's cheeks had been pink when she had said this.
Now Hermione said, "Neville, why are you here? Are you going to be fighting Voldemort now? Harry and I have wanted to join the Order of the Phoenix, but the adults wouldn't let us, or even the twins who are two years older than Harry and me, join up. So why are you here?"
Neville blushed. "I'm here because I pretty much need to be here. Last night, Harry showed me a prophecy about Voldemort and him, and the prophecy could be about me too."
Hermione said, "A prophecy? A real prophecy, not some silly divination?"
Someone was stepping through the floo. Harry said to Hermione, "I'll explain later about the prophecy."
The first Order member to step through the Floo Fireplace was Arthur Weasley. Arthur said solemnly, "Lord Black-Potter, thank you for allowing myself, my wife, and our twin sons into your home."
Which Harry thought was an odd thing to say, because the other three Weasleys had not arrived yet.
Arthur continued, "I have a request to make of you now: to discuss a topic of importance after this meeting."
Harry sighed. "Lord Weasley, if you wish to apologise to Hermione and me on behalf of your son Ronald, save your breath. That ship has sailed."
Arthur said, "I ask that you give Ron one more chance."
Harry snapped, "This was Ron's 'one more chance'! If I were any kind of person other than a milquetoast, I would have ended my friendship with Ron during fourth year."
Hermione nodded. Arthur looked puzzled.
Harry took a calming breath, then explained, "Fourth year was a year of terror for me. From 31st October till the following June, I was, every day, terrified of dying. Terrified every day—you can't imagine what that was like. In the lead-up to the Second Task, I also was scared of someone I cared for"—Harry gave Hermione a sideways glance—"drowning. But as horribly bad as all that could be, fourth year was actually worse, because everyone at school shunned me after I supposedly had 'cheated' by somehow putting my name into the Goblet of Fire. Only your twin sons, and Hermione and Neville here, still acted friendly towards me, whilst the entire rest of the school was scornful to me. Ask the twins or Ginny sometime, to tell you about 'Potter stinks' buttons. And whywas almost the entire student body convinced that I had cheatedmy way into becoming a Tri-Wizard champion? Because my supposed 'best mate' was telling everyone that this was what I'd done, and he would know, right? Your git son actually flew into one of his red-eared rages when I wouldn't 'confide' to him how I'd supposedly pulled off the trick!"
By now, Harry's right hand had clenched into a fist; he consciously opened his hand. "So fair warning: on the first of September, if Ron tries to stroll into our train compartment as if all is forgiven, I will publicly humiliate him instead of allowing him in. I owe Ron a public humiliation."
Hermione said, "Before the Yule Ball, Ron said several times that I would never get a date because I was too ugly. Plus, how many times during the past five years did Ron try to order me to do his homework for him? So you need not waste time trying to apologise about Ron to me either. Harry and I are done with Ronald Bilius Weasley."
Professor McGonagall, who had just stepped out of the floo, caught Hermione's words, and her eyebrows shot up. But all she said was "Lord Black-Potter, Lord Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr Longbottom, good evening," then she left the Floo Room at an unhurried speed.
Arthur looked unhappy, but plodded on. "There still remains one topic I wish to discuss. Lord Black-Potter, you are now the Lord of two houses, but has anyone talked to you about what being the Lord of a wizarding house requires? Normally, one's father, the current Lord, gives this talk to his Heir—but James couldn't, and Sirius probably didn't think he needed to, before he died. So I wish to give it."
By now the twins had stepped through the floo, and were standing behind their father. George said, "Lord Black-Potter, our father wants to give you a quite special version of 'the Birds and the Bees Talk.' "
Fred said, "When a man and his Ancient House love each other lots—"
"Not now, lads," said Arthur.
Molly stepped through the floo then; immediately she glared at Harry and huffed, "Harry! You forgot to invite Professor Dumbledore to this meeting. That's disrespectful of you—shame, shame! Fortunately I fixed this for you, and Professor Dumbledore will be along in a few minutes."
Harry thought, No way will I try to have an important conversation with Arthur whilst Molly is trying to butt in. Aloud, Harry said, "Lord Weasley, how about tomorrow I meet you at your office at the Ministry, then we talk over lunch?" With "Howler Molly" nowhere near us was Harry's unspoken additional sentence.
After the four Weasleys left the Floo Room for the dining room, Harry asked Neville, "How do I block someone from coming through, and how do I end a floo-call?"
Neville blinked. "You want to lock Dumbledore out of visiting you? But he's the leader of the Light!"
Hermione shook her head. "We know better, Neville."
Flustered Neville said, "Erm, all right, look for a brick in the fireplace that has an indentation that is the same size and shape as your Lord Black ring..." Neville instructed Harry about how to be a hardarse about his Floo Fireplace.
Meanwhile, Order of the Phoenix members continued to arrive. They spoke briefly with Harry, looked curiously at Neville and at Hermione, then headed towards the dining room.
At 7:12—Dumbledore as usual was showing up late so that he could make a grand entrance—Dumbledore fire-called. Within the Floo Fireplace, Dumbledore's green-flames face said, "Harry my boy, something is wrong with the floo connexion, and people there are waiting on me. Do whatever Head of House tricks you need to do so I can come through."
Harry said, "Albus, I'm using my 'Head of House tricks' to lock you out. I'm taking over the Order."
"Harry, I am growing weary of coddling your teenager tantrums and snits. You called a meeting without discussing it with me at all. Remember, I am the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, not you. Now let me come through!"
"No, Albus, you were the leader of the Order, but only till the prophecy's Chosen One came of age. This now has happened. I downgrade you now to merely an advisor—and you need to hear this, most of the advice you've given me in the past has been rubbish!"
Dumbledore started to blather a reply, but Harry wasn't allowing it. Harry said, "Ending floo-call! Permission to enter refused!" Then Harry stood up straight and jammed his Lord Black ring into the indentation in the brick. Then Harry intended for Dumbledore to be gone, gone, gone. Within a second, Dumbledore was gone and the green flames disappeared.
Neville whistled. "Wow, I would expect you to talk to Draco Malfoylike this, but Professor Dumbledore?"
Harry shrugged. "Draco has never pretended to be anything other than my enemy, but the 'kindly grandfather' actually has caused me much more harm."
Then Harry squared his shoulders, and looked at Hermione, then Neville. "Shall we three walk in there now, so I can tell the Order I'm staging a whatchamacallit?"
"Coup d'etat," said Hermione.
Seconds later
In the dining room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place
When Harry and the two other teens walked into the dining room, he saw that an empty seat had been left for him at one end of the table, as he expected. The seats on either side of him that he had reserved for Neville and for Hermione were both empty, as he expected. The meeting had more attendees than chairs, so many people were standing around the table, as he expected.
What Harry was not expecting was that there was an empty chair at the far end of the table.
As Harry, Hermione and Neville sat down, Harry said, "Thank you for coming. For those who don't know them, with me are my friends, Neville Longbottom, the Longbottom Heir, and Hermione Granger, first-generation witch who has been dubbed 'the brightest witch of her age.' Now let me start the meeting with—"
Molly said, "Harry, don't be disrespectful! We can't start the meeting till Professor Dumbledore shows up."
Harry made himself speak calmly. "Molly, Dumbledore isn't showing up; I locked—"
Pop. Dumbledore appeared, with a tea-towel-dressed house-elf clutching his eggplant-purple robes. "Thank you, Twiggy," Dumbledore said, and the Hogwarts house-elf popped away. Dumbledore began to stroll over to the empty chair, saying as he walked, "Give me a moment, people, and I'll start—"
"Kreacher!" Harry yelled.
Pop. Kreacher appeared.
Harry said, "Kreacher, Dumbledore is an uninvited intruder here. Get him gone. If another elf brings him here, instantly get him gone again."
P-pop. Kreacher vanished, and Dumbledore vanished out of his chair.
The dining room was completely silent, until—
A clean-shaven old man, who was standing next to the Weasley twins, muttered, "Seems to me the young man has turned dark. Or do they just not teach manners to the youngsters these days?"
Arabella Figg glared at him. "Elphias, if Har—Lord Potter is angry at Professor Dumbledore, he has damned good reason to be."
McGonagall said, in her students are stupid voice, "Mr Doge, Lord Black-Potter has the right to deny anyone entrance to his own home, without explanation." Then she stared at Harry and added, "Though I hope an explanation shall be given to us in the case of Professor Dumbledore's forcible ejection, and given soon."
Tonks looked confused. "What just happened?"
Harry thought, "Be firm with underminers," elderly Harry told me. Aloud, Harry said, "I chose not to invite the Hogwarts headmaster, but Molly Weasley invited him as if she had any right to. Then Dumbledore demanded I let him pass through the floo, I told him no, and he decided he'd just show up anyway, brought by house-elf. Memo to self: Talk to Gringotts tomorrow, because there's a security hole in my wards."
Molly's face was turning red. "Young man, you need to—"
Harry thrust his hand up, palm out, in a Stop! gesture. "Arthur, you and you wife are my guests, in my house; you are not my parents. Muzzle your wife or send her home. Molly, I am not Sirius Black, and I will not accept you treating me like you treated him."
Harry took a calming breath, as Hermione laid a soothing hand on his arm.
Then Harry stood up, and pulled a few inches of parchment from his pocket. "Everyone, show of hands. How many people know me only as 'that short, skinny lad with glasses and the funny-looking scar, who somehow keeps getting in fights with Voldemort?' "
Almost every hand went up. Hermione (whose hand was down) said, "You're so much more than that list, Harry."
Harry said, "Another raise-your-hand question. I know every person in Wizarding Britain has heard of the 'boy who lived,' who somehow killed Voldemort, sort of, when he was fifteen months old. Be honest now: How many of you wonder why anyone should care about that boy's life now, as a teenager?"
About half the people in the room raised their hands.
George Weasley said, "I figure that your fifteen-month-old self invented some ultrapowered shield charm that made you AK-proof, and I want to be in the room when you teach this spell. I'd accept a few lightning-bolt scars on my forehead if it meant I could laugh at Death Eaters."
Fred said, "A few lightning-bolt scars on your forehead would improve your looks, brother."
Harry said, "For those who are wondering, 'Why bother with Harry Potter?', I will answer your question. You see, I was born on 31st July, and this, along with my mad scar, make me the subject of a prophecy."
Harry brought up the parchment he had been holding, and began to read aloud: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."
When Harry was done reading, he tossed the parchment onto the middle of the table. "Anyone who wants to, feel free to read the prophecy for yourself."
Hermione turned to Harry, and her eyes were shiny with tears. "Oh Harry, this is true about you?"
He shrugged. "It's been true since literally the day I was born."
Harry looked around the room again. "For those who don't have poetry in their soul, let me translate what the prophecy says: One day, Voldemort and I will have a fight to the death. I will have an advantage over him, 'power the Dark Lord knows not,' but I'm not guaranteed to win. I could die. But until Tom Riddle and I have this fight to the death, any Death Eater who tries to kill me will die whilst I live, and any Auror or Order member who tries to kill Voldemort will himself be killed, whilst Voldemort survives."
Harry looked around the room, at faces that were in every case older than his own (even if only by a day). "I called you here to tell you the prophecy, and to tell you that the prophecy is true and that already it is partly fulfilled—which means that from now on, the mission of the Order of the Phoenix changes greatly."
Harry took a breath and added, "Another thing that will change with the Order of the Phoenix is its leadership. From now on, I, not Albus Dumbledore, am in charge."
Chapter 12
No More Mr Nice Bloke
Harry said, "...From now on, I, not Albus Dumbledore, am in charge."
"No you are not, young man!" Molly yelled. "Professor Dumbledore still is in charge until he dies, and his replacement will not be some pimply-faced boy!"
Hermione said, "You're a liar. Harry has one pimple on his face."
"Kreacher," Harry called quietly. When Kreacher popped into the utterly silent room, Harry said, "Please bring me the ward ledger and a Biro pen."
Someone in the room muttered, "Oh, bollocks."
A second later, Kreacher popped back into the dining room with the ward ledger and the pen. As the two items appeared on the table in front of Harry, Kreacher asked with a cruel grin, "Is Master about to unpermit Mrs Weasel?"
"This remains to be seen," Harry answered. "Thank you, Kreacher." Pop.
Harry looked around the room. "For those who don't know, this book is a ward ledger, which says who may enter my house. Of those of you present, only Tonks may Portkey or Apparate in, because only she is listed as part of my family now. The rest of you are listed as 'Friends,' which allows you to pass through my floo unless I disallow it for one visit. If someone isn't on my 'Family' list, my 'Friends' list or my 'One-Off Visitors' list, they feel the full wrath of my wards if they try to enter my house. But what if someone is already in my house, and I scratch-out his or her name?"
Molly's face, Harry noted, had turned white.
Harry answered his own question. "If I scratch-out someone's name, they are instantly removed from the townhouse. I'm told that the removal is unpleasant."
Molly looked panicky.
Harry looked at Molly. "Molly Weasley, you've several times spoken to me disrespectfully tonight, and several times I've told you I don't like it. This is your only warning: Speak to me respectfully or suffer the consequences."
Arthur said, with steel in his voice, "My wife will behave, Lord Black-Potter."
Harry looked around the room and smiled. "Please, everyone, call me 'Harry.' Just remember that A, this is my house that we're meeting in; and B, the ridiculous rules that the Purebloods have set up say that I, even though I'm the youngest person here, outrank every one of you."
One second later
Harry said, "But Molly Weasley raises a point, however rudely spoken, that the rest of you want me to address: Why do I think that Professor Dumbledore should not be the head of the Order, whilst I should be?"
Several heads nodded.
Harry said, "The Order of the Phoenix was founded during the First Voldemort War, to fight Tom Marvolo Riddle and his—"
"Who's he?" asked Neville, nervously.
Harry answered, "Tom Marvolo Riddle was the birth name of the half-blood, illegitimate impostor who fancies himself now to be 'Lord Voldemort.' But Voldy is no more a 'Lord' than is Argus Filch's female cat."
Almost the entire room looked shocked.
When the mutterings and exclamations died down, Harry said, "The Order of the Phoenix was founded during the First Voldemort War, to fight Tom Marvolo Riddle and his Death Eater minions. The Order's purpose is not to act as Sirius Black's prison guards, or as my prison guards; the Order's purpose is to fight Voldemort."
A woman's voice said, "But Dumbledore said..." The woman did not speak the rest of her sentence.
Harry pointed to the parchment with the prophecy written on it (which currently was in Remus Lupin's hands). "According to the prophecy," Harry explained, "I'm destined to battle Voldy to the death—this job is not for you, not for Dumbledore, this is my task. Which gives me the authority to command the organisation whose supposed purpose is to fight Tom Riddle. That's Reason One why I, not Dumbledore, now am in charge of the Order."
"Wait," said Mad-Eye Moody, "the Order's supposed purpose is to fight Tom Riddle?"
"Your actual purpose, judging by how you spend your time, is a combination of guarding prisoners and acting as a debating society." Harry did not give anyone time to reply to that: "Reason Two why I'm in charge now, the prophecy means that none of you has been in my situation, and Dumbledore has not. I welcome—"
"Professor Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald," Kingsley Shacklebolt argued.
Harry nodded. "After Dumbledore stepped up. And if he hadn't, nobody would have pushed him to fight Grindelwald. After all, at the time, Albus Dumbledore was a mere Transfiguration professor."
Harry grinned at McGonagall.
Harry continued, "But the prophecy says that fighting Voldy to the death is a duty that I cannot skive-off doing—'neither can live while the other survives.' The prophecy also says that anyone who volunteers to fight Voldy in my place, will die. Dumbledore, I'm sure, knows all this."
The room was filled with frowns, except for the faces of Hermione, McGonagall and Neville. The two women looked at Harry trustingly, whilst Neville looked thoughtful.
Harry looked at the roomful of people who were looking back at him; Harry thought, Now I'm about to break a dozen rotten eggs at the garden party.
Aloud, Harry said, "Reason Three that I, not Dumbledore, is in charge of the Order now? Albus Dumbledore is a thief and a glory-hound, and I refuse to submit to him outside of school."
Except for Hermione, everyone in the room gasped and/or glared.
Molly said, "I don't believe any of this."
"What a surprise," Hermione replied.
Harry said, "Let me tell you a story. About a fortnight ago, the day after Hogwarts sent students home, Gringotts held a reading of Sirius Black's will. Tonks and Hermione were there, because they were mentioned in the will. I wasn't there—I'll tell you why in a minute—but my so-called 'magical guardian' Dumbledore wasthere, even though he wasn't mentioned in the will at all. Hermione and Tonks, tell everyone what happened at the reading of Sirius Black's will."
The two young women told a story of Harry not being present at the will-reading—Dumbledore gave "Harry is busy" as the supposed reason—and the goblin who was reading the will was silenced by Dumbledore whenever the goblin spoke Harry's name.
Tonks said, "The whole reason that Lucius and Draco Malfoy were there was to find out who was going to be the next Lord Black. Well, nobody except Dumbledore ever heard what the will had to say about this. The Malfoys looked like they wanted to Avada Mr Twinkle-Eyes ten times each, and they didn't care who'd see them."
McGonagall chuckled, as Arthur said (with hunched shoulders), "What Professor Dumbledore did was not right. The public has a vested interest in the will of a Lord Head of House, so the will should not have been silenced."
Harry said, "So why wasn't I there when Hermione and Tonks were? Our esteemed headmaster had put a mail-redirect on all my mail, except for mail from Hogwarts or what my own owl brings me. I've never received a single letter from Gringotts in my almost-sixteen years, and I guess Dumbles was too busy to tell me about the will-reading."
McGonagall said, "But obviously you found out. Did Hermione tell you?"
Hermione shook her head. "Couldn't. I couldn't figure out a way to beat the mail-redirect; and whenever I ring him up, his relatives refuse to call him to the telephone."
Harry said, "I won't share who or how, but someone let me know about the will-reading. The next day, Hermione and I and one other person went to Gringotts—at the time, Mundungus Fletcher was quote-unquote guarding me in Surrey, so it was easy to sneak out."
Mad-Eye Moody grumbled, hearing this.
A minute later, Harry was saying, "...So now that I was both emancipated and the Potter Heir, I could claim the Lordship of House Potter. Which I did. Immediately I asked to see my parents' wills—which Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore had ordered sealed in 1981, because of blarney-blarney. Imagine my surprise when I learnt..."
A minute later, Neville was staring. "You were supposed to live with me after your parents died?"
Harry nodded. "Sirius Black topped the list of my parents' preferred guardians, but after he acted like a pillock, then was sent to Azkaban, my toddler self should have gone to Longbottom Manor. This didn't happen. Five days after my own parents died, after Frank and Alice Longbottom were put into comas, I then should have been handed over to Amelia Bones, according to the wills, but I wasn't. Nowhere did my parents' wills mention Dumbledore as a guardian, but the wills did mention my Muggle aunt, Petunia Dursley, and her husband. For those two, the wills said, 'No bloody way do we want our son with that lot!' Those of you who've stood prison-guard duty in Surrey have some idea why my parents wrote this."
Mad-Eye, Tonks, Kingsley and Hestia all winced.
Harry concluded his story: "Anyway, Dumbledore appointed himself my magical guardian; and a day and a half after James and Lily Potter died, I was living—quote-unquote—with my abusive Muggle relatives. I've been with the Dursleys ever since."
McGonagall, Harry noticed, looked sick.
Elphias Doge said, "Young man, your insinuations are ridiculous! I went to Hogwarts with Albus, and he's a good man."
Harry said, "Is he, sir? My parents trusted this man, and they're dead. Neville's parents trusted this man, and they are in Saint Mungo's. Sirius Black trusted this man to clear his name, and my godfather died still being a wanted fugitive for a murder he didn't commit. Your classmate appointed himself my magical guardian without a flobberworm-hair's worth of legal authority, he has repeatedly put me in danger, both before and after my Hogwarts letter, and the goddamn thief regularly stole from my trust vault till I stopped him!"
Molly shook her head. "No. No. Professor Dumbledore is a good man. He's secretive too often, but he's a good man."
Harry shrugged. "You're entitled to your opinion. But myself, not only do I think he's a bad human being, but he's a bad general, one I refuse to take orders from. C'mon, the Death Eaters all are murderers by definition, and you're fighting them with stunning spells? Do you want to die? And have you even tried to track down that lot and to attack them, or are you content to be a strictly reactive force and let them choose when and where fights will happen, and with whom?"
The room went silent for a time. Every face looked gobsmacked.
Finally, Kingsley Shacklebolt said uncomfortably, "We Aurors in the Order have told Professor Dumbledore that his stunners-only policy is unworkable, but he says that everyone deserves a chance to turn from their Dark path."
"He says this, yes," Harry said. "Dumbles had the same policy during the First Voldemort War, right? The war that the Light wizards were about to lose, right? Till a fifteen-month-old toddler saved you all. What do these facts tell you? Anyway, Wizarding Britain's saviour-toddler has grown up, and what I say is—
"The Order is not the same as the Aurors. If the Aurors come across a magical burglar, or someone passing magically-counterfeited money to Muggles, the Aurors must respond, but to presumed-nonviolent criminals. When the Aurors meet magical burglars, the rule is that the Aurors avoid deadly force until the bad wizard tries to kill them. Only then do the Aurors spell-cast to kill; before then, they cast stunners. But the Order of the Phoenix ignores magical burglars; our sole job is fighting Tom Riddle and his mask-wearing thugs—who all are murderers, I remind you. People, it is stupid to let a murderer get one free shot at you. So as soon as you see Death Eaters, try to kill them all."
Everyone in the room gasped. Even Hermione and Neville were staring at Harry now.
Harry continued, "If you're unwilling to kill, then go for cripplinginjury. And if you want to shoot only stunners, stay home—because in a battle with Death Eaters, you'd just be a danger to yourself and to the rest of us."
Molly said, "Harry, if Professor Dumbledore were here, he would say that your ideas are wrong, wrong, wrong."
Hermione said, "Then it's a good thing that Professor Dumbledore isn't here, I think."
Neville said thoughtfully, "Harry's policy sounds harsh—kill every Death Eater you see—but I see the wisdom of it. Because what happens when the war ends and Death Eaters go on trial? What has been proven is that any Death Eaters who can bribe their way to freedom, the Wizengamot will allow to do so. No Death Eaters will die unless we kill them."
The room went silent again, then Harry saw many nods.
McGonagall said, "Ahem. Changing the subject—sometime in the past fortnight, someone on the Hogwarts faculty showed me a letter that was written by Lord Black-Potter here, that spelled out the full prophecy. Harry, can I ask you when you were told the prophecy?"
"A month ago, the morning after Sirius went through the Veil. Dumbledore showed me a pensieve memory; he had been in the room when the prophecy first was spoken, sometime before Neville or I was born."
Hermione said, "Wait, the prophecy can apply to Neville too?"
Harry said, "Yes. He too was 'born as the seventh month dies,' and Tom Riddle the orphan made Neville effectively an orphan, which to me counts as 'will mark him as his equal.' "
Everyone in the room was looking at Neville now—some with respect, others in pity.
Harry said, "My pardon, Professor McGonagall, you were saying?"
McGonagall replied, "Before we in the faculty learnt about the prophecy, we were puzzled why the headmaster allowed the Boy Who Lived to be beaten; to be starved; to be kept away from all magical friends, both stopping in-person visits and friendly letters; why a year ago, Lord Black, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger were told not to write to Mr Potter after the death of Cedric Diggory, for which Mr Potter blamed himself; why Dumbledore as Chief Warlock did not call for a trial for Sirius Black to clear his name, so that Lord Black could take guardianship of Mr Potter. Why was Harry Potter kept shockingly ignorant of his parents and of his heritage as the Potter Heir? But knowing the prophecy answers those questions."
Harry said, "It does, but not in a good way."
McGonagall nodded. "Right now, only Harry Potter here has the power to 'vanquish' the Dark Lord; anyone else who battles Tom Riddle now, shall die. This includes Professor Dumbledore, and he knows to avoid fighting Tom Riddle now. But in the great battle between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, Harry Potter can die too—as the prophecy says, 'either must die at the hand of the other.' If Harry Potter dies at Voldemort's hand, the prophecy is fulfilled, Tom Riddle no longer has only one possible vanquisher, and someone other than Harry Potter can kill the Dark Lord. What I am disgusted to realise is that 'the leader of the Light' has gone to great lengthsto weaken the Chosen One, both physically and emotionally, and to keep Harry Potter ignorant. The headmaster's plan, I am convinced, is to ensure that at the great battle, Harry Potter will dieand Voldemort will live. Then, so goes my suspected plan, Dumbledore and Voldemort will fight, Dumbledore presumes he'll win, then Dumbledore will bask in the applause of the adoring crowd again. But this assumes a lot."
Mad-Eye Moody asked, "You don't think that if the fight went to Albus and the Dark Lord, Albus would win?"
McGonagall shook her head. "The headmaster has not listened to a word of advice from anyone in seventy years, whilst the Dark Lord invents spells. In this way, the Dark Lord is like Miss Granger's evil uncle."
Everyone who knew Hermione well, laughed in surprise when they heard this, but nobody argued the point.
McGonagall continued, "I think that the Dark Lord can outduel the headmaster, because the Dark Lord is much more mentally flexible in some ways. I even think that if Miss Granger were twenty years older, she could outduel the headmaster."
Harry smirked and said, "All hail Miss Hermione Granger, future spell-inventions mistress and future queen of Wizarding Britain by conquest."
Hermione blushed red.
Most of the room laughed; however, Elphias Doge and Molly Weasley frowned fiercely.
After the end of the meeting
Harry still was sitting at the dining-room table. He looked over at Hermione and asked, "Is it possible to figure out information about a Parseltongue spell, by someone who doesn't speak Parseltongue?"
"I'll look in the Black family library, after everyone leaves."
"Don't forget to get Kreacher to steer you away from booby-trapped books."
Minutes later, only a few people still were sitting at the table; Harry was not one of them. Harry had chased-down Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
Harry said, "Mad-Eye, I want the Order to stop now the guarding of my relatives' house in Surrey. I'm willing to risk Death Eaters showing up at the house, if it means that I can ride someplace on the Knight Bus whenever I want. Let Dung pass out drunk somewhere else than in the Dursleys' back garden."
"Erm, sure, not a problem. But remember lad, whenever you're out and about—"
"I know, Mad-Eye, I know! Constant—"
Mad-Eye, Tonks, Hestia, Harry, Hermione and Neville said it together: "Vigilance!"
Ten minutes later, in the Burrow
Molly Weasley smiled warmly at her floo-caller. "Of course you may come through, Professor! I have so much to tell you!"
Dumbledore stepped into the Weasleys' Floo Room, smiling at Molly and at Arthur as he entered. (Arthur, Dumbledore noticed, did not smile back.)
After tea had been offered and been drunk, Dumbledore said to Molly, "I thank you for the offer of a report, but may I take a pensieve memory instead?"
"Certainly, but we don't have a pensieve to view it in."
"Not a problem, my dear."
Dumbledore summoned a Hogwarts elf, who fetched the pensieve in the headmaster's office, then left. Forty minutes later, when the pensieved Order of the Phoenix meeting ended, the three adults came back to themselves.
Molly said, "I fear Elphias is right, that Harry is turning dark. Did you see how rude he was to me? And he was so disrespectfulabout you."
Arthur said hesitantly, "I thought Harry made good points. Such as, up till now, we in the Order have been dabblers. 'Stunners only' lets us sleep better at night, but it does nothing to hurt the Death Eaters."
Molly said, "If we murder Death Eaters, we're no better than they are!"
"Arthur," Dumbledore said piously, "violence is not the answer."
Arthur said, "Yes it is, when you face murderers."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Arthur, I am disappointed that you've been taken in by Harry's honeyed words."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I never have caught Harry in a lie, and I never have suspected him of lying. Of you two, it is you who is the smooth speaker, headmaster, not Harry. Your silver tongue matches Lucius Malfoy's."
Then Arthur stared at Dumbledore. "Harry, whom I believe is not a liar, says you've stolen from his trust vault. Comment?"
Molly said, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had good reasons to take the money."
Dumbledore smiled disarmingly at both Weasleys. "Expenses came up, as they always do, and I paid them. Harry does not yet understand how the adult world works."
Arthur said, "Evidently I don't understand either, because it's obvious to me that none of the money you took, you spent on healers or mind-healers for Harry. I haven't forgotten that when Harry visited us, summer after first year, he cringed whenever Molly hugged him. I also remember being shocked how small the boy was for his age. Surely James and Lily didn't intend for their son to grow up in a place where his above-ground bedroom had bars on the window."
"Arthur, you know how the twins exaggerate."
Arthur's voice turned cold. "So in the summer of 1992, Harry did not have bars on his bedroom window?"
Dumbledore, eyes a-twinkle, said, "More likely Harry had a window that stuck sometimes, when he tried to open it."
Arthur said, "Then you're willing to take a magical oath, on risk of your magic, that in August of 1992, there were no bars on Harry Potter's bedroom window in Surrey."
"Arthur!" yelled Molly.
Arthur said, "Either the twins are liars, or the headmaster is a liar, or the headmaster was too negligent about Harry's home care to know whether Harry's bedroom window had bars or not."
Dumbledore gave Arthur a trust me smile. "Arthur, I see no need to take a magical oath about Harry's bedroom window."
"Then I see no reason to continue your visit, professor. Don't forget your pensieve when you leave."
As Dumbledore unhappily stepped through the floo, he heard Molly yell, "ARTHUR, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?"
Dumbledore was in a sour mood. As he stepped into his office at Hogwarts, he thought, It's time I had stern words with Minerva, after all the disloyal things she said about me in Harry's meeting.
Meanwhile, back in the 12 Grimmauld Place dining room
Shacklebolt asked to speak to Harry privately; they walked over to stand by the dumbwaiter. But then Harry called Hermione and Neville over; Shacklebolt frowned.
Shacklebolt said, "Minister Scrimgeour has me working in the prime minister's office—"
Hermione blurted, "The Muggle prime minister? John Major?"
"Who?" said Neville.
Shacklebolt continued, "Officially, I'm an exalted Muggle errand boy; but Mr Major knows that in truth I am his wizard bodyguard if any Death Eaters attack. My point is, between Minister Scrimgeour and myself, Mr Major has been made well aware of events in Wizarding Britain, and Mr Major has," Shacklebolt paused, "concerns."
"What sort of concerns?" Harry asked.
John Major thought that the Wizengamot was corrupt (it was), that Cornelius Fudge was an idiot (he was), and Mr Major was not sure that Rufus Scrimgeour was up to the job of being wartime Minister for Magic. (Harry was not sure about Scrimgeour either.)
"...As for the Order of the Phoenix, under Dumbledore," said Shacklebolt, "the prime minister dismisses us entirely, as 'lads playing soldier.' Mr Major scorns Professor Dumbledore's rule of 'stunners only.' "
Harry asked, "Will his attitude change any, now that I'm in charge? I'm deadly serious about fighting Voldy, but I'm a fortnight away from turning sixteen. I'm definitely a 'lad.' "
"I don't know how to answer that; I've never before met anyone who was the subject of a prophecy. Maybe you're an ordinary lad who, when the Dark Lord shows up, turns into Superboy."
"Who's he?" asked Neville.
Shacklebolt said, "I'm only guessing here, but it's possible that Mr Major, if he finds you worthy, would offer you assistance from Her Majesty's government."
"What kind of assistance?"
"If, say, you knew exactly where the Dark Lord was staying, Mr Major could send an RAF aeroplane to bomb the house into matchsticks. Magical Britain would hate you afterwards, but Voldemort would be dead."
All three teens nodded.
Harry said, "Thank him for a generous offer, but I won't accept it. Using Muggle weapons, even a hand grenade tossed at Voldy, is politically unthinkable—Magical Brits would panic that the British Army was planning to invade us."
Hermione, Neville and Shacklebolt all nodded at this.
Harry continued, "But Kingsley, what you suggested, about the RAF aeroplane flying over a wizard house, has me thinking."
"Oh?" said Hermione. "Care to share?"
Harry grinned. "Not with this many people still in the room. But I have an idea; and if my idea works out, Tommy will be quite dead, quite soon."