Seeking the Truth

Part 1

Harry looked towards the crowd that had gathered. After everything was said, from long-winded speeches concerning Dumbledore's person to soft murmurs of goodbye, everyone was now walking away. As he watched them go, Harry couldn't help but think that there was nobody who could understand how much the presence of Dumbledore really meant in this world; that anyone could feel the loss as keenly as he did. He felt truly alone at that moment.

"Are you coming, Harry?"

Harry was surprised to hear Hermione's voice - and a bit relieved. No, he wasn't alone. With Hermione and Ron at his side, he would never be.

He didn't answer at once. His gaze locked on the white tomb and, though he felt his heart wrenching at the sight, he decided he didn't wish to leave just yet.

"You guys go ahead," he finally said. "I will catch up with you later."

Ron was clearly about to say something, when a discreet nudge on his ribs by Hermione's elbow made him reconsider; so all that was left for him to do was nod and reluctantly follow Hermione back to Hogwarts. A hand, which Harry recognized it immediately to be Ginny's, caressed his hair a bit. Then the sound of footsteps slowly dying down until there was heavy silence told him that there was no one around anymore.

Harry could only hug himself as he was torn inside. He wanted to walk up to Dumbledore's tomb, yet his legs felt like lead, keeping him in place. It was as though Draco had cast him the petrifying spell again. In the end though, after what it seemed to Harry like many long hours, he forced himself to approach Dumbledore's tomb and let his hand trace its surface.

"Can you believe that I don't think you're dead, Professor?" he murmured before he could help himself. "Somehow I think that, if I go back to school and go upstairs into your office, Fawkes will be still preening his feathers and you'll be sitting behind your desk, smiling at me as though you expected me to be there." Harry's lips tugged into a smile as he thought back to other, happier times: when he had first met Dumbledore and had come to share a bond with him... till the end.

"I don't want to go back to school and face the fact that I'm wrong."

The twittering of birds was the only answer to Harry's pouring out of heart. Harry's free hand started fidgeting absentmindedly the locket in his pocket.

"Sir, I know you that you, of all people, understand why I must do this," he whispered. "The sacrifices all of you made for me..." His voice faltered. "I assure you they weren't in vain. It's just that Hogwarts cannot offer me anything anymore, not with you gone. All year I did nothing else except witness deaths and injuries while, in spite of our efforts, Voldermort keeps winning. I have to stop him before he hurts anyone else." His eyes drifted on the engraving on the white marble. "You said it yourself, it's a path laid down for me, and now it's time I travel it. I don't want to stand aside and lose all people I care for; I can't let it happen again. I want you to be last one I mourned."

Harry's face hardened and his mind involuntarily flashed back into that fateful night that seemed so long ago now: Dumbledore's determination to drink the Horcrux though it made him weak; the Inferi; the Death-Eater's invasion at the school; Draco's revelation of his intentions; Snape's betrayal.

Harry's blood boiled in his veins at the injustice of it all. A tear trickled down his face in his exasperation and he felt a lump on his throat choking him. Nevertheless, he still kept talking.

"I wish I were wrong about him, Professor, not you. Then we... I wouldn't be here now. How could you trust him, sir, how?" His hand, still resting on the tomb turned into a fist. Such was the force with which Harry clenched his hand that his knuckles turned white.

"He will not live long enough to gloat on his victory, I swear it, Professor," he declared, his hand punching the stony slab angrily.

"Strong words from one so young."

Harry turned, startled. Several feet away from him stood a young woman, possibly in her early twenties. Though a travelling cloak covered most of her body frame, Harry could still tell that she was strongly built, if not as tall as he. Brown, shoulder-length hair framed her solemn face, whose features were rather coarse yet of undeniable quality. Harry marvelled at the confident gait as she walked up to him, and when he looked at her grey eyes, he saw reflected in them a determination and power of will that he had only seen before at Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Potter, I presume?" the young woman asked, her eyes fixed on Harry with obvious interest and curiosity.

"Yes," answered Harry curtly.

The young woman didn't say anything else. She merely circled Harry, as though inspecting him. Harry found that not only odd, considering that most people settled with staring just at his scar, but also a bit annoying.

"The Boy Who Lived himself," she said suddenly, like an archaeologist who just made an intriguing discovery. "I never expected I'd have the honour of meeting you."

"I wish I could say the same, miss, but I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don't know your name," pointed out Harry, more harshly than he had wished.

"It is of no importance, since it can never reach the fame your name has acquired," the woman said, grinning. She didn't seem to notice the hostility with which she was welcomed, yet Harry could have sworn that he saw a twinkle of tease in her eyes.

"But," the woman continued on, "since these are bad times we're living in and no one can trust the other anymore without first exchanging at least the typicality of an introduction, I will humour you. Agatha Dupin." She extended her hand, and Harry took it, though still suspicious. The grip, he had to admit, was firm and confirmed the confidence that this person had - and it was also quite powerful.

"I wish we could have met under better circumstances but, alas, it wasn't meant to be," said Agatha once the handshake ended.

"You knew Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"As well as an employee can know her boss," Agatha answered. "I work for
the Order."

Alarmed, Harry looked at his new acquaintance hard. "How come I have not heard of you? I know most of the members."

Agatha chuckled. "The reasons are so many that I'm too bored to name them all. I can, however, point out three obvious ones - so obvious, in fact, that I am surprised that you still felt compelled you should be suspicious of me. Firstly, like you said, you know most of the members, not all of them. Secondly, I never said I am a member of the Order, I said I work for it. And thirdly and most importantly, if I had wanted to harm you, I would not have revealed myself in such a dramatic manner, but cast about a dozen Unforgivable Curses on you while you still had your back on me and monologued."

Harry tried to flare at such words, but for some reason he couldn't do it. Although Dupin's words reached to the point of offensive, he didn't detect the venom he did whenever Snape run him down. Besides, she didn't speak of something false or out of spite. It was crude, straightforward honesty, and Harry found himself appreciating it. He had his fill of Fudges, Umbridges and Scrimgeours and their soft-spoken words to last him a lifetime. In the end, he nodded his understanding.

"I'm sorry, miss Dupin. I meant no offence," he said truthfully.

"None taken," answered Agatha, still smiling. "There is nothing wrong with being cautious, as long as you are for the right reasons. May I?" She pointed to the tomb meaningfully.

Harry was quite taken aback by the sudden question, but he composed himself. "Of course. Go ahead." He preferred to be left alone but, on the other hand, her wish to pay her last respects seemed truthful enough and he couldn't bring himself to send Agatha away. Moreover, though he didn't want to admit it to himself, he didn't want her to leave, not before he had learned more about someone who had also come to know Dumbledore.

"Thank you," said Agatha. She took out from her sleeve a small wand, which she waved once, murmuring a spell that Harry wasn't able to hear. Suddenly, a small flash of light appeared on the palm of Agatha's other hand, soon to be replaced by a red rose. Agatha run her fingers through the petals, lost in thought, and placed the rose on top of the white marble. All the while, Harry stood aside, watching and studying her. He caught himself wishing Agatha had known Dumbledore like he had, even cared about him in the same way. It was strange, but Harry wanted to trust her. His heart needed it after the betrayals he witnessed.

"Farewell, professor," he heard Agatha whisper; then he watched her as she grew silent, her eyes closed and her hands knitted together, giving thus the impression that she was praying. She didn't seem to take notice of Harry, who now watched her with mixed feelings of curiosity, wonder and approval. There was someone beside who seemed to understand what Dumbledore's death truly meant.

After what it seemed for many long moments, Agatha straightened again and she half smiled at Harry. She was clearly trying to be pleasant, though she couldn't fully disguise her grief. "Thank you. I am sorry I had to interrupt your own time with him, but I wanted most people to leave before coming closer."

"It's okay," Harry said, earning another smile from Agatha. "It seems that you cared for the professor very much."

"Well, I worked for him; he was my headmaster; and he was a good man. Why shouldn't I?" said Agatha.

For a moment Harry's didn't understand what her words meant, but then realization set in his mind. His surprise must have been discernible, for Agatha laughed. "Yes, I was a Hogwarts student; a Ravenclaw, in fact. I graduated eight years ago."

Harry's heart almost leapt at this. "Then you must have been in the same year as Charles Weasley!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, indeed, though I doubt he remembers me. He could think of nothing else but dragons even then!" Agatha said with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes. She chuckled. "His brother, Ronald, is a classmate of yours, isn't he?"

Harry nodded. "He's my best friend!"

Agatha smiled. "It is quite a small world, isn't it? Even more so since we have another common acquaintance."

"Who?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"Mad Eye Moody. He was my mentor on my first year as an Auror," she explained. "And I believe he was the one that carried you safely from the Dursleys to the Headquarters of the Order."

"How did you know that? It was supposed to be a secret!" Harry exclaimed, aghast.

"It was... two summers ago. But ever since the ministry saw how badly it blundered not to listen to Dumbledore and your warnings in the first place, it's been telling openly to everyone that it was the ministry itself that provided the Aurors for such an 'impossible and life-threatening mission.' In fact, it's been trying to take credit for every action only Dumbledore has taken, like coming in contact with the Giants or spying on the Werewolves. Yes, they're aware of those and they're trying to save face. That is one of the reasons that they didn't mind the appearance of a giant at the funeral, as you may have noticed."

Harry listened on, stunned and angry.

"How dare they?" he said incredulously. Suddenly, many of the things Dumbledore had told him made sense. "I should have known. What else can one expect from people who did their best to make a lunatic out of me last year?" If he felt embittered before for what he had been through because of the Ministry, now he was filled with sheer outrage.

"I know. Like I know Scrimgeour wanted you to visit the ministry and praise it for its fine work, with the Daily Prophet as witness no less. May I ask what did you answer him?"

Harry shrugged, figuring he could tell her. "I said no; I told him I was Dumbledore's man till the end. Now I wish I had said plenty more. I should have..." Harry's voice faltered as he tried to control his anger, only to find he couldn't. "I SHOULD HAVE TOLD HIM HE CAN ROT IN HELL FOR ALL I CARE!"

Agatha shook her head a bit. "Not the politest thing to say, but I can't say I would blame you." She grew silent, clearly pondering on something, then turned again to Harry. "Will you walk with me, please? There is more I want to talk to you about, but not here."

Harry's wonder arose. "Of course, if it is important."

"It is," Agatha replied gravely, motioning for Harry to follow her to the direction of Hogsmeade. She took out her wand again and, though she didn't move her lips to make any incantation, she touched with it her forehead and Harry's. Harry instantly grabbed his wand, fearing that Agatha tried to cast a spell on him. Suddenly, however, a soft, clear voice rang within his head. You won't need that, don't worry. This is just an extra precaution, in case somebody tries to eavesdrop on us.

Harry looked up at Agatha, mesmerized. Her lips had not moved at all, yet he was certain that it was her voice he heard. He was about to speak, but before he opened his mouth Agatha placed a finger on his lips. Don't utter your words; think them. Trust me, it is not very difficult once you put your mind into it - pun not intended. Agatha grinned, yet still no sound came out of her lips.

Harry still looked at her, dumbfounded. What kind of spell was this? It didn't feel like the Legilemens spell, nor any other he had heard about or experienced.

I don't doubt that. I created the spell, based on the Legilemens' one, when I was still at Hogwarts, Agatha answered in the same strange manner. To be perfectly honest, however, I didn't think it was very useful until after I became an Auror; a job in which some conversations - like this one - are meant only for specific ears. Yes, I can hear you loud and clear. Be advised though, I was more serious than you think when I said you needed to put your mind into it. I'm not forcing myself to look into your memories, like the Legilemens spell does, but the mind is a very elusive instrument. It can associate words and images with knowledge and memories that are already stored in it in an attempt to gain and take in information. That, in its own turn, can cause all kinds of thoughts and emotions that might be relevant with what we're talking about - or, more likely, not - to be revealed to me. I had to train myself for years to keep the irrelevant thoughts in complete check and, though I understand it is probably too much I'm asking from you now, you must also try to concentrate on the thoughts that matter. Some thoughts are meant to be private and I don't want to invade them by accident. For example, the word 'invade', combined with 'thought', triggered in you thoughts about how you... Agatha winced. You looked into Snape's memories during Occlumency lessons?

I was curious! Harry admitted, his face turning crimson. I wanted to see why he hated my father so much. He heard Agatha sigh within his mind as she shook her head.

Knowing about you diving in Snape's memories was bad enough, but now you made me learn even more. This is precisely what I wanted to avoid. Please, don't let your thoughts run away with you. Agreed?

Agreed, Harry said, unable to avoid a certain level of insecurity. The truth was that that spell worried him. Having his mind exposed like that made him as vulnerable as Legilemens did. How was one supposed to control his thoughts? He tried to do that during his Occlumency lessons and he had failed.

On the other hand, he couldn't help thinking how useful such a spell could have been when he meant to spy on Draco; or even... find out about Ginny's feelings for him long before. Harry blushed, embarrassed.

I know. Tempting, isn't it? Agatha said, smiling mischievously, thus making Harry look down at his shoes.

Fortunately, Agatha didn't think that last piece of information demanded any comment, and simply carried on. Like I said, the spell and the variations I created of it afterwards upon taking up my job as an Auror, have their virtues. Death-Eaters might be trained in the ways of the Occlumency and defend themselves against the Legilemens spell, but they aren't prepared for something as subtle as this. So, when I want to gain information, I silently cast the spell on the person who has it and, using some keywords as I'm speaking, I catch any thoughts that are subconsciously triggered. None is the wiser, since no one realises I'm reading his mind at the moment, much like the way I learned about the... fiasco. She chuckled again when Harry's eyes widened, unable to help himself. And no, I'm the only one who knows how I cast those spells and, trust me when I say this, I intend to take the secret to my grave. I can let the rest think whatever they like about how I find out things, but I cannot risk disclosing these incantations to anyone else without the risk of this information reaching the ears of the wrong person, who will use it for the wrong reasons. That, I'm sorry to say, means I can't tell you either, Harry.

Harry, finally feeling a bit more calmed, murmured his understanding.

Good. Agatha's face sobered. And now I think it's time we get to what I've been meaning to talk to you about since I saw you earlier. Did Dumbledore show you everything there was to be seen through the Pensieve?

TBC...