Chapter 6

A Birthday and a Bequest

He was walking down a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man he sought down there?

"Oi! Wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the camp bed in Ron's dingy attic room. The sun had risen and the room was blazing with light that reflected off the orange Cannons posters, making Harry feel he had suddenly woken up inside a fireplace. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, still reading his letters and imagining his first Christmas. His scar prickled uncomfortably. He'd been dreaming about Voldemort again, he knew.

"What is all this?" asked Ron, gesturing at the raft of parchment and envelopes that littered the bed.

Harry straightened his glasses, and sat up, scrambling to gather all his letters together.

"You've got to see these, Ron.  They're letters from my mum. I found them at the house. Sit down, look, they're amazing. She writes all about Hogwarts and the teachers, and there's this really funny one....where is it....oh. Here. It's about Professor Kettleburn, you know, the bloke Hagrid replaced at Care of Magical Creatures. He was notorious for getting himself injured, she says. He scanned the paper, looking for a particular quote. "'Never a class ends without bloodshed or a broken bone. I don't know as we're learning much about magical creatures, but the whole class is becoming crackerjack Healers.' You've got to read them!"

Ron looked down at his friend with an odd expression on his face.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he said gently as if talking to a small child or someone very deranged and possibly dangerous.

"What? Oh yeah, thanks!“ Harry was scanning over a letter that announced Lily's engagement to James Potter. Ron would probably find that boring, but Hermione would appreciate it.

"Don't you want to see your presents? Or...do some magic now that you're of age?"

Harry was suddenly embarrassed and irritated. It probably did seem bizarre to fixate on a pile of old parchment on your 17th birthday, when you ought to be doing magic just because you could.  Why couldn't Ron understand how important Harry's family (or lack of it) was to him? Of course, Harry thought bitterly, Ron had grown up with parents and grandparents and siblings so he had no reason to understand, did he?

"Yeah, 'course. Presents," Harry mumbled, gathering up the letters and stacking them not very tidily under the bed. "I can look at these anytime. Shall we go downstairs?"

"Well, you've got to open this one from me up here - it's not for mother's eyes," said Ron, who seemed eager to change the subject.

He handed Harry an awkwardly shaped gift, which turned out to be a bottle of firewhiskey.

"We'll open it tonight, after everyone's gone to bed," Ron said cheerfully.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Hermione poked her head in.

"Happy Birthday Harry!" she exclaimed as she came into the room.

"What's the point of knocking, if you're just going to walk in without waiting for an answer," Ron mumbled under his breath.

It was loud enough for Hermione to hear though, and she turned pink. However, she might have done so at the realization that Ron was only wearing his underpants, having got warm in the middle of the night.

She turned abruptly toward the door, and said, with her back to the boys, "I'mgoingdownstairsbreakfastisreadyseeyoutherebye!' And was instantly gone.

Ron smirked, and started pulling on his clothes. Harry, feeling that it would provoke too many questions if he appeared in his obviously-slept-in clothing from the previous day, changed as well.

The kitchen was surprisingly empty. Only Mrs. Weasley, who was frying bacon, and Hermione who was sitting at the table, sipping juice, reading the morning's Prophet and very pointedly not looking at the stairs, were present. Harry felt a little put out. Then he remembered that most of the Weasleys would be at work today or busy with wedding plans.

As if sensing these thoughts, Mrs. Weasley turned to him and said, "Good morning dear, Happy Birthday. Arthur's had to go to work, but he wanted me to give you our present first thing. Fred and George will be by after the shop closes, Charlie should be arriving any minute from Romania, and everyone else will be here this evening."

She set a plate of bacon and toast on the table and pulled a small box from the pocket of her apron.

"It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age," explained Mrs. Weasley, as Harry opened the box. "This one isn't new, like Ron's. It belonged to my brother Fabian, and I'm afraid he wasn't always careful with his possessions, there's a dent on the back..." But her words were muffled by Harry's shoulder as he gave her an enormous hug. He tried to put a lot of unspoken things in that hug, and he hoped she understood them. She must have, for she patted his cheek and gave him a very tender, motherly look before returning to the stove. "How would you want your eggs, then dears?"

Hermione, suddenly slapped the newspaper on the table and made a noise of disgust.

"That wretched cow!" she exclaimed.

"Excuse me, but she's only trying to cook you breakfast,'" Ron spluttered, indignantly. Harry and Mrs. Weasley were also shocked at Hermione's outburst.

"What? No, no, not you Mrs. Weasley," Hermione apologized, blushing. "It's that Rita Skeeter. She's written a biography of Dumbledore, and she's given an interview to the Prophet to promote it. It sounds dreadful, of course, full of her usual lies."

Harry leaned over and took the paper from Hermione. The front page showed a woman with elaborately curled blonde hair, jeweled eyeglasses, and a ferocious smile.

The headline read: Dumbledore: The Truth at Last? - Skeeter Bio Tells All

"What does she say about Dumbledore?" Harry asked, unwilling to read more.

"Oh she won't give away any details. She wants you to buy the book, of course," answered Hermione, her voice full of bitterness. "But she gives plenty of hints about a 'disturbed childhood' and 'lawless youth' and clearly implies that Dumbledore was some sort of schemer and liar. You don't believe this?" she broke off, catching sight of Harry's stricken face.

"Of course not," said Harry, but he couldn't help recalling Tom's words from yesterday. Whatever you have heard about Dumbledore, whatever you might hear... What sort of secrets had Dumbledore hidden?

Mrs. Weasley took matters in hand. "Rita Skeeter is nothing but a spiteful old hag, and I wouldn't believe her if she said the sky was blue. Now eat your breakfasts, and forget about her and her stupid book." With a swish of her wand, she settled a plate of scrambled eggs on the table, and snatched up the newspaper with her free hand.

"This is going where it belongs," she declared, flinging it into the fireplace.

They had nearly finished breakfast when Charlie Weasley appeared. Shorter than Ron, thickset and covered in burns, Charlie had not been able to get away from his work at the dragon preserve until just this morning.

His mother gave him an enormous, intense hug, and immediately began to nag him about the length of his hair, always an issue in the Weasley household. Harry, the Skeeter article retreating to the back of his mind, watched mother and son with amusement and wondered if Mr. Weasley had purposely started going bald to put an end to these sorts of arguments about his own hair. 

Ginny had not appeared downstairs at all, Harry noticed keenly. She did not appear, in fact, until just before she, Mrs. Weasley, and Charlie left for the wedding rehearsal. And she offered Harry only the briefest of glances and the most casual birthday greetings as she breezed out the door.

"Now, you three won't mind being left alone, I'm sure," said Mrs. Weasley, in a harried sort of way. She had much to organize this afternoon. "The men are putting up the marquee right now, and they've already been paid so you needn't worry about them. We'll be at Muriel's for a few hours. Don't leave the house though, just to be safe, and don't make a mess, and I'm talking to you Ron, when I say that."

As soon as they had gone, Hermione asked Ron and Harry to get their DA coins.

Ron produced his immediately, but Harry had to run upstairs and dig his out of his rucksack.

"Now you'll need to memorize this, and then destroy it," said Hermione, handing them each a piece of paper. "It's a code you see, different combinations of numbers that mean simple words and phrases like "yes", "no", "SOS" and "arrived safely." This way we'll be able to communicate if we get separated, or are someplace where we can't speak freely."

Once again, Harry had to marvel at Hermione's brilliance. Ron was equally impressed, but couldn't resist teasing.

"Should we eat this after we've memorized it, or can we just tear it up and throw it away?"

"Well you could eat it I'm sure Ronald, you'll eat anything."

"Might not be so bad, if I could transfigure it into a tart or something first," he replied cheerfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Did you learn nothing last year except how to snog? You can't transfigure a non-food item into food. Well, you can, but you wouldn't want to. Transfigured objects eventually revert back to their prior state, as you may remember from our very first Transfiguration lesson. You could turn rocks into strawberries, but you'd better hope they don't switch back before you've finished digesting them." She sniffed. "And if you're done making jokes, we need to start planning where to look for the Horcruxes."

She drew out a sheet of parchment and a quill.

"We should make a list. Where Voldemort's been, places that are special to him, like Dumbledore said. What about that orphanage where he grew up?"

"I don't think so," interjected Harry. "He hated that place. The whole reason he framed Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets was to avoid having to go back there."

Hermione nodded, but wrote down "Orphanage" anyway, with a question mark.

"Albania?" offered Ron. "That's where he was hiding after you vaporized him, Harry."

"But where in Albania? It'll take months to search the forests there," protested Hermione.

"It's not as if we have a deadline," Ron pointed out.   “About the only thing we have got is time."

Hermione added Albania to the list. After further debating,  they also included the Little Hangleton graveyard, the house owned by the Riddle family, the Crouch mansion, where Voldemort had lived for a year, Borgin and Burkes, where he used to work, and finally, after much argument, Hogwarts.

Harry insisted that no place was as important to Voldemort as the school, but Hermione and Ron didn't think he would have had a chance to hide something there.

"Why not?" argued Harry. "He explored the school from top to bottom when he was a student, that memory thing said so."

"Yes, but how would he have got back in to hide anything? You've already destroyed the diary and the ring, so if there is a Horcrux at Hogwarts, it's one of the ones he made after he left school," reasoned Hermione.

"He came back looking for a job," Harry remembered. "And Dumbledore said it was probably just a ruse to get back into the school. Dumbledore thought Voldemort wanted to look for a Horcrux, but what if he already had it? And just needed to hide it?"

"But he was only in Dumbledore's office for a few minutes, you said so yourself," Hermione insisted.

"In the office yes, but when Voldemort left, Dumbledore didn't even follow him. He could have gone all over the school." Harry was struck with a horrifying thought. Had Dumbledore really allowed the most evil Dark wizard of all time to freely roam the school? He tried to push this disturbing idea aside.

"Besides, if we go to Hogwarts to talk to Slughorn about the Horcruxes it would be the perfect opportunity to have a look around. Who's going to stop us?"

"We might talk to Slughorn, if Professor Lupin or Moody can't help us. And you don't have to be so sarcastic. You agreed yesterday that we need help," replied Hermione irritably.

But she had added Hogwarts to the list, and now all they had to do was figure out where to start, how to get there, and what to look for.

They were in the midst of this discussion when Mrs. Weasley returned, accompanied not only by Ginny and Charlie, but now Bill, Fleur, her parents, her little sister Gabrielle, Fred and George. Hermione stuffed away their notes, while Harry received a series of hearty birthday greetings from the Weasley brothers, followed by sinister promises to take him for a "man's night out."

"I don't think so," chastised Molly. "After the way you all behaved at Bill's stag party. I've never been so ashamed to be your mother in all my life and that's saying something."

She immediately began bustling about the kitchen to prepare dinner, commandeering Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur, Gabrielle, and their mother to help her and shooing the boys off into the sitting room. "And not because cooking is woman's work, but because I've simply had enough of your behavior today. I know who was responsible for the minister making all those funny noises during the rehearsal!"

Harry received more presents; an enchanted razor from Bill, chocolates from the Delacours, and a book from Fred and George, entitled How to Survive Damn Near Anything by Rex Leslie. 

"It's incredible all the stuff this bloke's done, and it's true, too, unlike some authors, whose names I won't mention but are currently in the locked ward at St. Mungo's," said Fred.

George put a hand on Harry's shoulder and murmured into his ear, "And you'll have to come by the shop before you leave, and take anything you think you'll need."

Harry did not know whether to be comforted or terrified at the realization that not only was no one going to try and stop him from hunting Voldemort, they were actually trying to help him get on his way.

There were more voices in the kitchen now; Lupin, Tonks and Alastor Moody had arrived and were duly sent out, although Tonks protested that she would be delighted to help with Harry's cake. "No, no, we've got it all under control," Mrs. Weasley called after her. Tonks was notoriously clumsy.

The Weasley house was simply not big enough to contain all these merrymakers, and Hagrid wouldn't even fit in through the door, so the party was moved to the garden, where Bill and Charlie set up tables end to end. Hermione was decorating the trees with streams of purple and gold ribbon that shot out of her wand. Fred bewitched several golden lanterns to read '17' and George conjured a garland of twinkling lights to hang from the trees. Harry was trying to work his way through the crowd to maneuver a seat next to Ginny, who was proving to be quite elusive. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have caught on to his intentions, however, and took matters into her own hands, such that Harry found himself not only next to Ginny, but squished into the farthest, darkest corner of the garden with her. Perhaps a little parental involvement in one's love life was not such a bad thing.

Hagrid appeared beaming at him. "Just like old times again, eh Harry? Remember the first time we met was on your birthday."

"Yeah, I think so," grinned Harry. "You knocked down a door, tried to turn my cousin into a pig, and told me I was a wizard."

"Not sure I can ever top that - but here's a present for you all the same," said Hagrid, with a laugh, handing him a furry pouch on a string. "It's Mokeskin. Dead useful. You can hide anything in there, and it will only open for the owner."

Mr. Weasley had not arrived home from work yet, and they had just decided to start without him when a silver streak shot into the garden, resolving itself into the shimmering form of a weasel, which sat up on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley's voice. "On my way. Minister coming with me."

And in a matter of minutes, the two of them appeared, both with troubled looks on their faces.

"Once again, I must interrupt a party," began Scrimgeour. He had aged decades in the past year; there were deep furrows in his brow and his hair was pure white. "Many happy returns, Harry. I'll be brief. I need to speak to you, Miss Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley, privately."

Those gathered around the table exchanged looks of astonishment. Harry stood up awkwardly. "What is it you want?" he demanded.

Scrimgeour sighed. "I don't have time to argue with you. It's about the will of Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore's left us something?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, but I would like to discuss it with you privately." He paused, closed his eyes, and said simply, "Please."

Harry, Ron and Hermione led Scrimgeour back into the Weasley kitchen, where they sat, eyeing each other suspiciously. Scrimgeour pulled a paper and three parcels from his robes.

"You have each been left a bequest," Scrimegour explained.

Hermione interrupted him. "And why has it taken so long for us to receive our bequests?" she asked angrily. Her arms were folded and she was throwing daggers at Scrimgeour with her eyes.

Harry didn't understand her hostility, but Scrimgeour apparently did.

"The Ministry's legal department reviews all wizarding wills, as you seem to know, Miss Granger, and are authorized to withhold any inheritances for up to thirty days."

"Yes," replied Hermione, "but the intention behind that law is to ensure that Dark objects are not passed down through families. I doubt you were worried that Dumbledore would be passing Dark objects in his will."

"Are you interested in a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger? You seem to know quite a lot about it."

"No thank you," said Hermione tartly. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world."

"Well can we have them now," interjected Harry. He was more interested in what Dumbledore had left him than this tit for tat.

Scrimgeour read from his list. "To Mr. Ronald Weasley, I leave my Put Outer, in hopes that he will think of me when using it," he said handing Ron a silver object that looked like a cigarette lighter. "Do you know what this object is or what it does?" asked Scrimgeour.

"I'd guess it puts lights out," said Ron, accepting the object and examining it with interest. 

"Yes we were able to ferret that out," said Scrimgeour sarcastically. "I meant, is there any particular reason you think Dumbledore might have wanted you to have it? This is a rare item, possibly of his own invention. Did the two of you have a special relationship?"

"Why is this any of your business," interrupted Hermione. Harry was shocked. He had never heard her speak so disrespectfully to an adult. Himself, yes, he'd challenged the Minister several times now, but not Hermione.

Scrimgeour glared at Hermione, his nostrils flaring. "And to Miss Hermione Granger," he recited from memory, "I leave a first edition copy of Hogwarts: A History which I am sure she will find fascinating reading." He handed her an old, battered book with stains on the cover and a loose binding. "I won't even bother asking you why, given your attitude."

She accepted the book and immediately began to peruse it, glancing up at Scrimgeour suspiciously now and then.

The Minister now turned now to Harry. "And to Harry Potter, I leave the Golden Snitch that he caught in his first Quidditch game, as a reminder of what hard work and perseverance can bring." He unwrapped the last parcel and handed Harry a tarnished golden ball with crumpled wings.

Harry reached out for the Snitch, his disappointment clearly etched on his face. Hermione and Ron however, were trying and failing to mask their excitement. Harry took the Snitch and turned it over in his hands, suddenly realizing that all three of them - Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione - were now staring at him with disappointed looks of their own.

"There is one other item left to you, Harry," said the Minister. "The Sword of Godric Gryffindor."

Harry looked up quickly. Dumbleore had left him the Sword? Something to do with the Horcruxes, perhaps?

"Of course you cannot have that," Scrimgeour was saying. "It isn't Dumbledore's to give; it's a relic that belongs to the school."

"Why not," Ron said, loudly. "Harry got it out of the Sorting Hat, it chose him!"

"The Sword will present itself to any worthy Gryffindor," growled Scrimgeour.  It belongs to no one in particular, not even Albus Dumbledore,"

He eyed Harry shrewdly. "Why did Dumbledore want you to have the Sword? Did he think you could use it to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Harry did not answer and Scrimgeour stood up. He began to pace up and down the floor, but when he spoke again his voice was not angry, but despondent. "Why are you being so difficult and hostile when our community is at its most desperate hour? You have no idea how badly things are going, do you? Every day there are more letters, more protestors. Oh You-Know-Who is very clever. He targets Muggles, so the Ministry has to send teams of Aurors and Obliviators out to take care of the situation, and then the magical community complains that we're ignoring them at the expense of Muggles. I'm sure he's got supporters inside the Ministry and at the Daily Prophet as well. He doesn't need to use the Imperius Curse when he can fuel people's prejudices to get them to act of their own will."

He stopped pacing and turned to Harry, imploring him. "Don't you think we want the same thing? You could turn the tide of community feeling if you just gave us your support, Harry."

He leaned into Harry's face, and Harry was frightened to see that his eyes were full of despair and tears. "I will sack Dolores Umbridge myself, first thing tomorrow morning, if you will just help us, Harry. The wizarding world needs something to believe in."

Harry gulped. The sight of Scrimgeour's fear, the pleading in his voice, made Harry feel anxious and ill inside. Why had he been so resistant to the Ministry anyway? Because Dumbledore said so. He was Dumbledore's man through and through, but Dumbledore was gone. And on this, the day he came of age, Harry thought it might be time to be his own man.

He chose his words very carefully and deliberately.

"You can...put it out...that you are giving me support," said Harry. "That you know my mission, and will provide me every convenience to carry it out."

"Such as what?" said Scrimgeour suspiciously.

"Such as the Sword of Gryffindor," Harry answered coolly.

Scrimgeour looked at him appraisingly. "Perhaps you are not just Dumbledore's puppet after all, Potter." He paused for several minutes, staring at the floor.  "Agreed. You'll have the Sword by this time tomorrow."

They followed the Minister out the kitchen door into the garden, where Harry's birthday party still awaited him. Scrimgeour nodded to Mr. Weasley and to Tonks and Moody as well, and limped out the garden gate.

"Why did you say that Harry?" whispered Hermione. "Dumbledore never trusted Scrimgeour!"

"We need the Sword," Harry whispered back. He looked at Ron and Hermione both. "We'll tell them about the inheritance, but don't mention my deal with Scrimgeour, okay?"

They nodded, Ron willingly and Hermione uncomfortably.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione recounted their conversation and showed the others their bequests. The book was thumbed through, the Put-Outer marveled over,  the Snitch puzzled over, and the prospect of the Sword of Gryffindor exclaimed over in turn. But no one could make any more sense of these objects than their new owners, and Mrs. Weasley felt it was unproductive to simply leave the food getting cold while they speculated.

So they ate, and talked, and toasted to Harry's birthday and Lupin and Tonks's marriage and Bill and Fleur's wedding. Harry had got quite tipsy, as he was being plied with wine on both sides from Fred and George (in Harry's absence, Ginny had switched places with her brother, to Harry's dismay.)

"I forgot to thank you, Mr. Weasley, for my watch," said Harry.

'No, no," averred Mr. Weasley himself a little red in the face. "You must call me Arthur now. That goes for all of you," he said, looking at Hermione and Fleur, "except you Weasleys of course. I do prefer the old 'Dad'"

"I didn't know there was a new one," piped Fred, which sent everyone at the table into fits of giggles.

Harry's cake was brought out. Mrs. Weasley (who did not offer to let Harry call her Molly) had outdone herself this year: creating a giant Snitch with yellow-gold icing and wings of spun sugar.

"That's amazing, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. And he was amazed, at not just the cake but the companionship that around him. He felt surrounded in it, bathed in a warm glow of friendship.  The letters from his mother that had so consumed him hours ago were a distant memory, as indeed was their writer a distant memory. This was his family now. And yet....the longing for his own parents never truly left him, not when he saw Mr. Weasley - Arthur now - rumpling one son's hair while laughing at another. He hiccupped. Perhaps it was just the wine, making him sentimental like this.

Mr. and Mrs.Delacour excused themselves around nine, taking their daughters with them. "We must be well-rested, so we can be beautiful for tomorrow," said Mrs. Delacour, looking rather pointedly at the Weasleys. Gabrielle gave Harry a goodbye kiss and trilled ""Appee Bearthday!" at him, before she disappeared with her parents.

"Now," said Arthur, standing up. "If you don't mind, the men folk have a special birthday present for Harry, that we'd like to give him privately."

Remus, Moody, and Hagrid all got up; they seemed to be in on it, whatever it was. When the Weasley brothers moved to join them however, Arthur waved them off.

"Not you overgrown boys, Harry can tell you about it later, if he wants to," Arthur winked at Hagrid who winked back, very dramatically.

"Come on, Harry," said Hagrid, as he slid another bottle of wine into his coat.

With great trepidation, and the shouted protests of Ron, Bill, Charlie, and the twins echoing behind him, Harry followed Hagrid down the small path that led to Arthur's tool shed. What were they going to do to him? The last time he had been so nervous was before his own Sorting.

Hagrid pushed open the door to the shed, and from behind him, Harry heard Remus and Arthur mutter "Lumos" as they raised their wands.

And he saw it. A huge, gleaming, black motorbike with great knobbly tires and polished chrome handles. It was enormous. It was intimidating. It was beautiful. And it's mine, thought Harry.

"Ta-Da", Arthur sang out. "What do you think of that, Harry!"

"It's--it's---incredible," Harry spluttered. "Where did it come from?"

"Used ter belong to Sirius," explained Hagrid. "He lent it to me when you was on'y a baby, and I sort of er.. crashed it awhile back. But Lupin and Moody here helped me get it back, and we brought it to Arthur ..." his voice trailed off.

"And I fixed it up, and added a few improvements," finished Arthur, pointing to an array of buttons above the throttle. "Extra concealments and defensive maneuvers. This one shoots a brick wall out the exhaust pipe," he said, pointing to a purple, flashing button. 

Lupin patted Harry on the back and said to him quietly, "Sirius would have given it to you himself, if he were here. He loved this bike."

"It'll be damn difficult to disguise," growled Moody. "But there's no denying it can go faster than any broomstick, and you'll need that kind of speed if you're being chased by a swarm of Death Eaters."

"Sit on it, Harry, give it start," urged Arthur.

Harry climbed astride the bike and tentatively reached for the handlebars. He was terrified and excited at once. He turned the key, and the engine gave a tremendous bang, and then purred. Arthur had done well. Harry imagined himself zooming across the countryside and up into the air. A wild thought struck him. Everyone would want a ride on the bike, surely even Ginny, and then he'd have a chance to get her alone. Then reality intruded on this happy fantasy.

"I have no idea how to ride this, or fly it," he admitted, with a rueful laugh.

"I'll teach yeh," Hagrid assured him, although seeing as Hagrid had been the one to crash it, he hardly seemed the most appropriate instructor.  "Who wants ter drink to Harry's new motorbike?" He produced the wine, and Arthur conjured up glasses for everyone.

"We thought you might be able to use it, on your journey," said Arthur carefully. He exchanged looks with the other three and then continued. "We won't try to stop you, you know. But if you should want our help --"

Harry hesitated. Here it was: the choice between following Dumbledore's orders to keep the Horcruxes a secret and trusting in his friends. And now that the moment had come, Harry realized that it wasn't a difficult choice at all. "Yeah, I think I could use it." 

His willingness surprised the men - they had clearly not expected him to give in so easily. Harry sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Have any of you heard of Horcruxes?"

Unfortunately, none of them had. Harry explained as best he could, watching Arthur, Lupin, and Hagrid grow paler and paler as he went on. Moody's magical eye swirled violently in its socket. He told them about the Horcruxes; that he and Dumbledore had already destroyed two and were seeking a third on the night the headmaster had died, their speculation on what the remaining ones might be, and the task that was left to Harry now that Dumbledore was gone. Harry left out the part about the fake Horcrux; he didn't know why exactly. It was embarrassing somehow, that something so worthless had cost so much.

"And Dumbledore wanted you to do all this alone?" said Lupin in astonishment, when Harry had finally finished.

"Well no, he knew I'd told Ron and Hermione."

"And these things he left you in his will, they're supposed to help you find the Horcruxes?" said Arthur.

"I'm not really sure...don't look like that. It isn't Dumbledore's fault. He thought he had all the time in the world to teach me! It's not his fault Snape killed him!" 

"Harry's right," said Hagrid, quietly. "It's not our place ter question Dumbledore. He did his best, always. If Harry wants our help, we ought ter give it to him without arguin'. At least that's what I'm doin'."

Lupin and Arthur both regarded Hagrid kindly, but were still doubtful.

"I agree with Hagrid," declared Moody. "No point fretting about what the old man should have done. Let's just fix this mess before we all get killed ourselves. Right then. I'll find out how to destroy Horcruxes."

"How?" they all asked at once.

"The Ministry keeps all the Dark objects and books they've ever confiscated. Half the stuff in that storeroom is thanks to me, in fact. If there's anything to know about these Horcruxes, I'll find it in there."

"And you're just going to waltz in there and have a look around?" said Arthur, skeptically. "You've been retired for ages, Moody. I'll do it."

"That's about as foolish a plan as Hagrid here teaching Potter how to ride that motorbike. You've got no business in the Auror's office, and they'd know it. But an old hand like me, well we're always coming back to chivvy the young ones or reminisce about old times. Now that dolt Thicknesse is in charge, he won't have the sense or the nerve to stop me. I could walk out with half the place and my old desk too."

"I think Scrimgeour might --" Harry started to say, but Moody spoke over him.

"Scrimgeour isn't one you want to be trusting Harry. He says whatever he has to say to get what he wants and doesn't think twice about going back on it."

All the wine and mirth of the evening sapped out of Harry instantly. He'd just made a deal with a man known for going back on his word. He realized that all four of the men were staring at him now, and tried to think of something that would account for his expression.

"I had another dream about Voldemort," he blurted out. It made no sense, really, but it served to change the subject. "And my scar hurt. That hasn't happened for over a year."

Lupin frowned. "I don't know anything about Horcruxes, Harry, but I do know a little bit about the human soul. It isn't meant to be divided. If Voldemort has carved six pieces out of his soul, it's likely to be very unstable. That may be why he is no longer able to employ Occlumency against you. But this is still very disturbing. Dumbledore didn't want you to have these visions."

"No," Harry shook his head. He'd only meant to distract them by bringing up the dream, but now it gave him an inspiration. "No, Dumbledore didn't want Voldemort looking into my mind. But I could go into his without him even noticing." He was getting excited now. "If I could learn to control that - to go into his head on purpose and look for something, maybe I could see where he's got the Horcruxes!"

"But if Voldemort discovered you in his mind, if he tried to possess you ---" Lupin countered.

"He wouldn't, He can't." Harry leaned forward on the motorbike, certain he was on to something. "He tried once and it was agony for him. Dumbledore said so. Dumbledore said - he said that Voldemort made a mistake when he attacked me, that he gave me the tools to destroy him. He gave me this scar - that's how we're connected. That's what Dumbledore wanted me to do! That's why it's got to be me - I'm the only one who could read Voldemort's mind and not be detected!"

All thoughts of Scrimgeour and possible betrayal were behind him now; he'd found the answer. Dumbledore had not been so circumspect after all; it had just taken Harry a little time to figure it out. He looked up to find four pairs of eyes looking back at him with varying expressions of excitement, worry, and skepticism.

"Sounds like you need to teach him Legillimency, Lupin," said Moody gruffly.  "If he's going to control this connection or whatever it is."

Harry turned to Lupin in surprise. He'd always suspected that Lupin could read his mind.

"I won't pretend that I'm an especially good Legillimens, Harry," Lupin protested. "Not as good as Dumbledore and certainly not on par with Voldemort."

"But you're the best we've got," Arthur said, grimly. "I don't know what I can offer you myself, Harry, but if there's anything..."

"You've already done loads, Mr. Weas- I mean Arthur," Harry interrupted. "Fixing up this bike, helping Ron with the ghoul...and Ron told me that your family fought Voldemort the first time. You could give me all sorts of advice."

"You can get that from people who were actually in on the fighting, Harry, not just sitting and worrying at home." Arthur gestured to Lupin, Moody, and Hagrid. "But you know you'll always be welcome at the Burrow, if you need a safe place to stay."

"What about me?" Hagrid announced. "I could help yeh, Harry. I've got these new slugs I've been breeding, a cross between Flesh-Eating Slugs and Poisonous Carbuncles..."

"Thanks Hagrid, that would be great, but I'm not sure I need those just yet," Harry said kindly. "But you know what you could do? Ask Professor Slughorn if he would meet with me sometime, privately?"

The other three looked at him curiously, but Harry did not offer an explanation. It wouldn't hurt to keep some secrets, he'd decided.

Arthur glanced at his watch and declared that it was well past bed-time for everyone. Lupin walked back to the house to collect Tonks and Moody stumped off to wherever he'd be sleeping that night, probably an armored underground bunker, Harry supposed. Hagrid, being too large to sleep in the house, would be pitching a tent in the old orchard where the Weasleys used to play Quidditch.

Arthur turned to Harry. "Harry, could you do me a favor? Send Molly out to meet me in the garden? I'd like to spend a little time with her tonight. Night before our first child's wedding, you know."

"Sure Arthur," Harry agreed, walking up to the house. He entered the kitchen stealthily, in case there were any irate Weasley brothers still lurking about. He'd tell them about the motorbike tomorrow.

The kitchen was deserted except for Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, who were washing dishes at the long sink. Mrs. Weasley held up each plate and shot out a stream of bubbles from her wand before passing them to Ginny, who rinsed and dried them without magic, as she was still underage.

"Um, Mrs. Weasley? Mr. Weasley wanted to see you in the garden," Harry said tentatively.

"What's that dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, turning to him."In the garden, now? Well all right."

She left, and Harry found himself where he'd been longing to be all day, alone with Ginny. Although now that he'd got his wish, he quickly found himself with no idea what to say. He walked up the sink.

"Shall I help?" he offered. Ginny did not reply.

Harry pointed his wand at the sink and filled it with soapy water. Then he set down his wand and picked up a cloth, and began washing each dish by hand.

"You can use magic now, you know," Ginny snapped, without looking at him.

"I know," replied Harry. "Solidarity." He paused. "Why are you still clearing up, it's late."

"Well, we got a late start," Ginny replied, glancing at his reflection in the window before them. "Mum asked Bill if Percy had answered his invitation to the wedding, and Bill said he'd never sent one. That started a row, and Mum had to go sit in the pantry and cry for an hour before she could clear the table."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling this was all he could say.

They washed and rinsed, bumping elbows now and again, but saying nothing, until Ginny burst out:

"Are you sure it's safe to be talking to me? You-Know-Who might burst through the window and take me hostage any minute."

Harry saw his chance and seized it, along with Ginny's hand.

"I've been wanting to talk to you about that. I think -- I think we were being overcautious."

Ginny jerked her hand away. "We weren't being anything. You decided. You ditched me, remember?"

Harry bit his lip. He deserved this.

"And now that you've changed your mind, I'm supposed to go all starry-eyed and take you back, am I?" Ginny was drying her plate with a vicious energy. Harry thought she might break it.

He decided to take a risk.

"No of course not," he answered slyly. "But I wouldn't say no to a bit of swooning."

It worked. Ginny had to turn away from him to hide the smile that played around her lips.

He took her waist and turned her toward him, and spoke as sincerely as he could.

"Ginny, I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I should have trusted you to be able to take care of yourself.  I can't tell you how much I've missed you and - and I hope that you'll forgive me."

Ginny didn't look at him for several minutes, but when she finally did, her eyes held all the mischief and affection he'd been longing to see.

"I expect I could forgive you, once," she acknowledged.

And then they did not speak at all, but stood together by the sink, entwined, until long after all the bubbles had gone.