Ch. 3

In Memoriam

When the moving men arrived the next morning, Harry was still asleep. He had been up all night searching through his school trunk, his desk, even under the loose floorboard where he used to hide things from the Dursleys.

There was one item on his packing list that he simply could not find anywhere; the charmed galleon that Hermione had created so Harry could set the date and time for D.A. meetings. He had no idea why Hermione wanted him to bring the coin, but he was very certain that he'd better have it. This morning Harry resolved to take every single object out of his trunk and inspect it thoroughly. Maybe the coin was trapped inside an old sock or wedged in between the pages of a seldom-opened textbook.

Harry dressed quickly and moved to the door. He was supposed to stay inside his room with the door locked; the Order had decided to use a Muggle moving company to transport the Dursleys furnishings and household goods, and it wouldn't do to have them stumble across Harry's broomstick or spellbooks. He thought it wouldn't hurt to take a peek though, just to see how it was going. He opened the door a few inches and caught sight of several gray-coveralled workers with their arms full of cardboard boxes and crisp packing papers. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon could be heard from below, screeching and blustering respectively, their various instructions.

"Careful with that, you fool, it's brand new."

"Keep all these together, in order, by size."

To Harry's surprise, his cousin Dudley was also peeking out his own bedroom door, but Dudley was not watching the movers. He was watching Harry.

Harry spoke first.

"What are you looking at?" It came out rather more defensively than Harry intended, but Dudley's behavior in the last few days had unnerved him.

Dudley glanced down the hallway and, certain that no one was paying any attention to him, dashed across and pushed his way into Harry's room, shutting the door behind them.

Harry reacted instinctively, drawing his wand and clutching it in front of his chest. "What are you playing at?" he shouted.

"Put that away," hissed Dudley. "And be quiet. Do you want her coming up here?"

Harry knew that Dudley was referring to his mother. "No," he answered, "but I'd like to know what you want, rushing at me like that."

Dudley's demeanor changed immediately. He would have looked contrite, but as he still carried quite a bit of fat in his pink cheeks, it came off as more the look of a very pouty baby.

"I've been wanting...been wanting to ask you something," he mumbled.

"Well?"

Dudley swallowed, looked at the ground, then back at Harry. "Those invisible things that attacked us --"

"Dementors, you mean," Harry interrupted. "Well they're not invisible, but you're probably better off that you can't see them. What about them?"

"Well...I was just...hoping you could tell me....how to er....forget?"

"Forget what? Forget that they attacked us? I don't know how to do Memory Charms, Dudley, and even if I did, I can't do magic 'til I'm seventeen, and you'll be gone by then."

Harry's tone was suspicious. Was this some sort of trick? Did the Dursleys think that if they got him arrested for using underage magic they could avoid having to move?

Dudley looked as if he were about to cry. "You can't help me?"

Harry instantly knew it could not be a trick. Dudley was not that good an actor. Both boys now looked awkwardly around the room, taking pains to avoid catching each other's eyes.

Harry felt obliged to offer him some sort of hope, although he really didn't know why. After 16 years of tormenting Harry, primarily with his fists, Harry thought that Dudley rather deserved any horrible memories the Dementors might have left him with. Still, Harry knew too well how it felt to be kept awake at night, thinking only your worst thoughts.

"Eating chocolate helps, sometimes," he offered. "Especially wizard's chocolate. Here -"

Harry rummaged through a desk drawer and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. He had no idea if wizard chocolate was any different than Muggle chocolate, actually, but it sounded impressive. 

"It's all right. They're not real frogs."

Dudley took the shiny, purple package.

"You probably shouldn't let your parents see it though," Harry added hastily.  

"Thanks," said Dudley, quietly. "And er...good luck, you know, wherever it is you're going."

"No problem Dud," Harry replied with forced jauntiness, desperate to get this encounter over. "Good luck to you too. I've got to pack now, you know. So if you could just....,'" Harry gestured toward the door.

Dudley tottered away, clutching his Chocolate Frog as if it were his most precious possession.

As soon as his cousin left, Harry shook his head and blinked rapidly. That was surely the most bizarre conversation Harry had ever had, even counting the ones with Dobby, the erstwhile House-Elf. Dudley wishing him luck? Dudley asking for help, and magical help at that? Between this startling event and Petunia's outburst from the night before, Harry had begun to think the world had gone quite upside down. Uncle Vernon would be upstairs next, offering fatherly advice and his first cigar. This thought made Harry laugh out loud.

Now to the trunk. It had never been completely emptied in the six years that Harry had been hauling it to and from Hogwarts. At the start of each year, he had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom - old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, odd socks that no longer fit. Harry reached into the trunk cautiously: in his frenzied searching last night, he had plunged his hand into this mulch and been sharply pricked.

First Harry removed his school and Quidditch robes, shaking them out, in case the coin was in a pocket, and tossing them into a corner. Next, his textbooks. He flipped through the pages of each one, noting rather guiltily that some of the spines had never been cracked. Harry plowed through reams of parchment, handfuls of quills, inkpots, potion-making supplies, and even held his cauldron upside down over the floor. Still no coin. He piled all these items on top of his robes, for none of them were on Hermione's list. Harry had been surprised that she had not asked him to bring any textbooks, but then, Harry supposed, she would probably be bringing all of them herself.

Harry's Invisibility Coak, Muggle clothing, Sneakoscope, the gold locket with the mysterious note from R.A.B., and a sizable cache of Muggle money were already packed in an old rucksack. Although not on the list, Harry had added his Marauder's Map, a photo album Hagrid had given him years ago, and a set of books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had been a Christmas present from Lupin and Harry's godfather, Sirius Black.

With the trunk thus emptied, Harry peered inside, and easily found the elusive D.A. galleon, twinkling among some shards of broken glass. Harry recognized the pieces at once and his heart gave a sickening thud. They were from the enchanted mirror that Sirius had given to Harry, a mirror that Harry ought to have used, and in failing to do so, helped to bring about his godfather's death. Harry picked up the pieces, blinking away tears. In a fit of temper, Harry had thrown the mirror into his trunk, where it had shattered.

Without knowing why, Harry scooped up all the broken bits of glass and wrapped them in a scrap of parchment. Then he tucked this bundle into the front pocket of his rucksack. Harry wiped his nose with one grimy hand, reached back into the trunk, and plucked out the long-sought galleon. He slipped it into the pocket of his jeans, and kicked the lid of his trunk closed. Packing was finished.

Desperate to take his mind off the mirror and all that it reminded him of, Harry pulled a stack of Daily Prophets off of his desk and started to flip through them.  He had not yet received today's issue, but that was no matter. Harry was looking for old news.

At last he found it. Harry sank into his desk chair and reread the article he had been looking for.

Albus Dumbledore Remembered

by Elphias Doge

I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was no longer contagious, my pockmarked visage and greenish hue did not encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father, Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack on three young Muggles.

The article went on to recount Dumbledore's extraordinary success at school, his prize-winning, correspondence with the most famous witch and wizard scholars of the day, and the many papers that he had published, even while still a student.

Doge stressed that despite his father's crime, Dumbledore had never been a Muggle-hater and had determinedly supported Muggle rights throughout his career. The article touched on Dumbledore's personal losses, the deaths of his younger sister and mother, and an estrangement from his brother, and highlighted his most famous accomplishments. Harry knew about Dumbledore's famous duel with Grindelwald, and his discovery of the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood, but he had never even considered that his late headmaster had a family.

Why hadn't he asked? Never once had he imagined Dumbledore's childhood or youth; it was if he had sprung into being as Harry had known him, venerable and silver-haired and old. The idea of an eleven-year-old Dumbledore was simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Hermione or a cuddly Blast-Ended-Skrewt.

Harry had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his past. No, they had always discussed Harry, Harry's past, Harry's future, Harry's plans....and it seemed to Harry now, despite all those conversations, he had gleaned nothing of real value. Certainly nothing that would help him find and destroy four Horcruxes and kill a Dark Wizard. Why didn't Dumbledore tell him about his duel with Grindelwald - what sort of spells he had used, how he had won?

The locket, the cup, the snake, something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's. Find them, where? Destroy them, how? All those trips into the Pensieve had not told him that.

Harry shook his head. He could not blame Dumbledore. He hadn't planned on dying that night on the tower, hadn't expected his most trusted spy to turn on him. Anger bubbled up inside Harry's chest. This, too, was Snape's fault. If Snape hadn't been a murdering traitor, Dumbledore would have shown Harry how to do everything. They'd be hunting the horcruxes together.

Yet even as Harry gazed at the picture accompanying the obituary, he could not help the little voice that whispered inside his head. If Dumbledore had listened to me when I warned him about Malfoy, if he hadn't trusted Snape to begin with...  Harry looked at Dumbledore's kindly smile and the bright blue eyes that peered, as always, over half-moon spectacles. He trusted too much, that was all.

Chapter 4

 The Dursleys Departing

Moving day dawned, bright and cloudless and hot. The large paneled van parked in front of #4 was crammed to capacity with furniture and boxes. Stripped of its various adornments, the Dursley house looked much larger, and somehow friendlier. Harry came tripping down the stairs quite happily, his rucksack over his shoulder, carrying the Invisibility Cloak in one hand and his Firebolt in the other. He would not need to hide in his room today; there would be only two moving men coming to drive the truck, and they already knew him quite well.

In fact, they were already there.

"Wotcher Harry," called the shorter of the two men. He had sandy blond hair jammed under a charcoal-gray cap, and a straggly mustache.

"What sort of mustache is that," Harry returned, grinning hugely. "You make a terrible boy."

"Well I should hope so." Tonks winked at him. "It was much fuller before, but Arthur said that I looked too young to pull it off."

"You need to be old, fat, and bald, to have a bushy mustache," interjected the taller man. "Everyone knows that."

Now that Harry had heard the voice, he recognized Arthur Weasley, who had apparently been transfigured to look completely different. His signature red hair, shared by all seven of his children, including Harry's best friend Ron, was now brown and wavy. His nose was shorter and slightly bulbous, and his round gold spectacles had been replaced with a large black pair. He was also much thinner, but Harry suspected this might be more the result of stress from the wedding plans that were currently disrupting the Weasley household. Ron's oldest brother Bill would be marrying Fleur Delacour the day after Harry's birthday. Just last week Harry had received an owl from Ron complaining, "This wedding is making mum mental. Even more than usual, I mean. You've got to hide from her all day long, or she'll set you to work making napkin swans or color-matching favors. Dad practically lives in his tool shed now."

"Are the Dursleys ready, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked. "We need to 'get on the road', as they say."

Mr. Weasley would be driving the van, a prospect that pleased him enormously. He had come up with Harry's departure plan himself, and Harry had to admit that it was quite brilliant in its simplicity. The Dursleys would leave by car, and be met at the outskirts of the neighborhood by Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle, the two Order members who would be escorting the Dursleys to their magically protected safe house. Harry, under his Invisibility Cloak, would simply walk out the front door, into the cab of the moving van, and drive away with Mr. Weasley and Tonks. Harry was not sure what was supposed to happen after this, but he had to agree that the Death Eaters would not be expecting him to leave Privet Drive in such a lowly, Muggle manner.

"Er - I'm not sure exactly. They're probably still upstairs."

All three of them now looked up the staircase, none of them particularly relishing the task of calling them down. Harry was particularly reluctant. With all their furniture gone, the Dursleys had to sleep on the floor, in sleeping bags. Uncle Vernon had insisted that the Order should pay for a hotel, but Mr. Weasley had been firm. "If you leave the house tonight, that might break the charm early. Your family must part company with Harry at the same time." Harry understood the reasoning, but it would have been terribly amusing, he thought, to take the Dursleys to the Leaky Cauldron for an evening.

Fortunately for those below, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley now appeared at the top of the stairs, looking tired but surprisingly, not cross. Perhaps the thought of never having to see Harry again made up for the poor night's sleep.

Vernon led the way down the stairs, eyeing Mr. Weasley suspiciously.

"Which one are you?"

"Arthur Weasley, sir, and this is Nymphadora Tonks. We look a bit different today of course." Arthur's reply was cheerful.

"Well, let's get this over with then," Vernon grunted. Without even a glance at Harry, Tonks, or Mr. Weasley, Harry's uncle stomped out the front door, jerking his arm at Dudley to follow.  He did, but at least Dudley had acquired enough manners to look embarrassed about it. As he walked past Harry, he gave his cousin a 'thumbs up' gesture. The chocolate, or maybe the power of suggestion, had apparently worked.

Only Petunia remained, and she was clearly very nervous about something. Her fingers twisted into each other, and she kept fiddling with the clasp of her handbag. A horn honked outside. Finally, she spoke, but she would not look at Harry.

"I've left you something," she croaked. "Under the stairs." And then she was gone, running for the door as if chased.

Harry, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley exchanged looks of disbelief. 

"What an extraordinarily odd family," Mr. Weasley pronounced. He checked his watch. "Get your things, Harry, we'd best be off now."

Harry handed over his rucksack and broomstick readily, but paused a moment.

"Do you mind if I look under the stairs a bit? I mean - just in case, you know. Whatever it is that she's left, I ought to --" Harry fumbled around for the words. He had no idea what his aunt might have left him, but his curiosity was at the bursting point.

"All right then," agreed Mr. Weasley, "but just for a minute. I'll put these in the van, but as soon as I come back, we've got to push off."

'Arthur, you can't just walk out the door with a Firebolt," interrupted Tonks. "At least put it under your clothes."

Mr. Weasley agreed, and unzipped his coveralls, stuffing the broomstick down one pant leg. It hid the Firebolt, but now gave Mr. Weasley the appearance of having an extremely long and narrow growth all down the right side of his body.

'Well, if you walk fast and carry something in front of you on that side, it'll be okay," said Tonks. "Come on, Harry, I'll help you look."

Harry had assumed that "under the stairs" meant his old cupboard, so he hurried to the little door and wrenched it open; but it was swept empty; there weren't even any spiders left.

"What's in here?," asked Tonks, peering over Harry's shoulder.

"It's where I used to sleep, " answered Harry without thinking.

He felt a sharp intake of breath above his ear. "They made you live in a cupboard?" Tonks exclaimed. "Oh Harry!"

Harry turned away sharply, not wanting to catch her eye. He could not understand why he felt guilty that the Dursleys had made him live in a cupboard for ten years, but he knew he did not want Tonks feeling sorry for him. Under the stairs, what else could that mean? Harry had an inspiration; the creaky step. He raced up the staircase, pausing halfway to kneel at the step in question. Examining the boards he saw that yes, one end was slightly raised. He dug his fingernails into the tiny opening and pried up the board. His guess had been correct; the space beneath the stair was filled with parchment.

"Harry we've got to go now, really," Mr. Weasley was calling.

Harry stuffed the parchment down the front of his shirt, swung his Cloak about his shoulders, and sprinted down the last few stairs, out of the hallway, into the sunshine, and away from Privet Drive.