Harry Potter and the Sins of the Founders

Harry Potter and the Sins of the Founders: Part I [FictionAlley Edit]

Chapter Four v2 -- "Night on the Rooftop"

"Barring the use of the rare and expensive Cloak of Invisibility, simple Disillusionment is the best and most field-expedient camouflage option. Otherwise, the Auror shall wear her colors openly; for what the enemy can see, he shall soon learn to fear."

-- from the Manual for Engagement of Her Majesty's Auror Office, authored c. 1700, retired 1945, reinstated 1996.

Apparition is a dangerous business, at best. If it weren't for the damnable convenience that it represented to the wizarding world, most would agree that the gross unpleasantries of the ordeal would turn away all but the most stout-hearted of would-be Apparators. It was an uncontested fact that not one witch or wizard would ever forget his or her first taste of Apparition. No, it was more likely that they would be reminded of it every single day -- the disturbingly uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed into a pipe that was much, much too small. A pipe which, unfortunately, grew longer in proportion to the distance being covered by the Apparator.

And then, of course, there was the small and terrifying matter that the textbooks referred to as 'Accidental Splinching.' Everybody else, of course, simply referred to it as 'splinching,' and with good reason. Nobody in their right mind would undergo purposeful splinching, after all. If splinching were something that could be forced, there most likely would have been no need for any of the Unforgivable Curses.

Crucio would obviously be replaced by the very noticeable complaints by the victim's nerve endings, as they tried desperately to inform the brain that the body part that they were supposed to be connected to was no longer present, and that they were waiting for orders ('This is Left Arm to Brain; Left Hand is not responding; please advise, over'). The brain, of course, would be too busy trying to come to terms with the fact that part of its body had been left elsewhere, so the nerve endings would complain louder, thinking that the brain hadn't acknowledged them. The moment the initial shock wore off, the splinchee would then wish that someone would mercifully apply Crucio to take their mind off the pain.

Imperio would simply be replaced by the threat of splinching.

Avada Kedavra would pale in comparison. Why kill somebody and then have to Vanish the body, when you could be more efficient and simply Apparate different parts of the person away to different locations?

Splinching aside, Harry said to himself, Apparition proved one thing. The wizarding world was full of masochists. Why else would you invent a spell that mimicked the ladies' corsets from the Victorian era? Ramming your insides together and maybe breaking a few ribs; your organs jostling for space, and making you hope fervently that there was a fainting couch at your destination.

Apparition: the instant teleportation spell that actually lasted for hours and hours.

Contrary to the experience of most of the witches and wizards who had passed the Apparition test, Harry's second experience was much worse than the first time. The first time Harry Apparated, it had been less than a mile in length. He and Dumbledore could have walked to the late-night diner, and it would have taken about ten minutes. Apparating from Little Whinging to Ottery St. Catchpole was a distance of roughly one hundred fifty miles, give or take a dozen.

Elaboration aside, Harry found himself on the wet, cold ground gasping for air. He'd done it. Dumbledore had done it. He'd invented a time-travel spell. That was the only explanation as to why he'd been stuck in agonizing limbo for hours, only to look at the glow-in-the-dark hands on his watch and see that only a few seconds had passed.

"All right there, Harry?" came the old wizard's voice from somewhere behind him. "It was a good jump. Alas, you never really get completely used to it, I'm afraid -- "

"Good, sir," he said through gritted teeth, tottering back onto his feet. "I was afraid for a second that it might become rather mundane."

Dumbledore chuckled in the dark.

Harry looked around. They were surrounded by what seemed to be grass taller than he was. He stood in a small circular clearing of slightly damp, bare soil. A small divide in the wall of grass marked the entrance to a path which presumably led to the many-storied structure beyond.

For a few moments, all of Harry's negative thoughts and tiredness were washed away. He followed Dumbledore up the dirt path through the grass, feeling his excitement grow. They exited the grass onto the Weasleys' front lawn, where chickens would be pecking in only a few short hours. It was still his second favorite building in the world; Ron was here, as well as Mrs. Weasley, who cooked the best breakfast that Harry had ever tasted.

Examining the house, Harry noticed that there had been some changes to the building since he'd last visited. The section that housed the dining room had been extended lengthwise by a couple of meters, made noticeable by the divide between the newly stained wood of the extension and the foundation of the building below it.

Harry had always presumed that magic was an integral part of the Burrow's construction, and looking up confirmed this. Beside the distinct outline of what Harry recognized as Ron's bedroom, there was an addition to the structure -- an extra room that jutted out beyond the rest of the building at a slight cant, and without any supports underneath it. On the opposite side of the house and one floor below, there was another such addition that was, by the looks of it, still under construction.

Harry began walking towards the front door, when he realized that Dumbledore was circling around the house. There was a light coming through the casement windows in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was dark, save for a faint glow coming from one of the upper bedrooms.

Dumbledore pushed open the gate between the hedge bordering the garden and the house, and Harry followed him onto the back doorstep, which was lit by a single lantern. The headmaster rapped sharply on the door, and a surprised squeal sounded from inside the kitchen, followed by what Harry presumed to be a chair toppling over.

"Who is it?" a shaky voice finally asked. Harry recognized it as Mrs. Weasley, and was going to speak, when Dumbledore beat him to it.

"Molly, it is Albus Dumbledore, and I have brought Harry with me."

The door opened, and Mrs. Weasley stood in its place, her face fraught with worry.

"Come in, come in, dears," she said, stepping aside. "Oh Albus, you haven't seen Hermione and Tonks, have you?"

Harry's heart leapt at the mention of his other best friend, but he noticed Dumbledore's eyes narrow.

"No. What seems to be the matter, Molly?" he asked sharply, following her into the house.

They were now walking into the dining room, which had indeed been extended. The table and benches had been lengthened to allow for a few more seats along each side. Hedwig was already here, and she hooted happily when she noticed Harry. Harry looked at her fondly in greeting, and noticed that her talons were embedded in a strip of raw meat. Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged cat, was crouched on the bench a few feet behind her, apparently gauging whether a piece of the meat was worth risking the owl's wrath. He turned back to Mrs. Weasley, who was walking briskly past the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room.

"If Hermione isn't here, then how did Crookshanks -- ?"

"Charlie was already here, showed up a little less than an hour ago with Hermione's things -- sit down, Harry, while I fetch something to eat."

Harry sat across the table from Dumbledore, who was still watching Mrs. Weasley expectantly for an explanation.

"We've been waiting because we thought that Hermione and Tonks would be right behind him -- that was the plan, wasn't it?"

A loud clanging noise rang throughout the kitchen, as the cauldron announced to Mrs. Weasley that its contents were up to temperature. She deftly scooped a ladleful of soup into a waiting bowl, and placed it in front of Harry, along with a slice of bread.

Dumbledore looked slightly perturbed.

"I'm sure that Nymphadora is taking good care of Miss Granger, though, it is rather uncharacteristic of her to be behind schedule -- ah, thank you, Molly," he added, as a knife floated itself towards him, buttering a slice of bread as it bounced along in the air.

"Charlie's just gone back to the Ministry to meet with Shacklebolt -- "

As the headmaster took a bite out of his bread, there was a loud knock on the door. However, it was the sound of wood against wood, and noticeably different from a fist. Harry looked over at Dumbledore quizzically, only to see that the headmaster and Mrs. Weasley had both drawn their wands. Hurriedly, he pulled his out of his jeans as well, and the three of them cautiously moved towards the door. Mrs. Weasley tried to block Harry from the line of sight of the door, but he managed to edge himself to occupy the space behind and to her right.

"Who calls?" challenged Dumbledore, his wand at the ready. He seemed to have forgotten all about the bandaged state of his hand, which was gripped the slender piece of wood tightly, ready to swing it forward at a moment's notice.

There was a loud grunt, and Dumbledore raised his wand further, before another voice made itself heard.

"Moody! Don't! They won't be expecting you -- Dumbledore, it's Tonks!"

Harry briefly saw a look of surprise and relief on the headmaster's face, before it settled on something decidedly closer to 'expressionless' as the headmaster opened the door.

"Trouble, Dumbledore," growled Moody. He stomped off to the kitchen as Harry and Mrs. Weasley jumped aside to make room for him. Without Moody's figure in the way, the three were left to a shocking sight.

The porch lamp was on, and in its light stood Tonks, whose arm was wrapped protectively around Hermione. Tonks' traveling cloak was in tatters. It was missing half a sleeve, and there were several rips and burn marks along the sides. Its front was torn open, with several buttons missing, and she was wearing a duelist's leather-and-dragonhide armored vest caked in dried blood.

Hermione stood next to her, looking incredibly tired. Though she was not soaked in blood, her multiple bandages certainly did not detract from the 'battered-and-bruised' theme that she and Tonks seemed to have decided on for the night.

With a cry of surprise, Mrs. Weasley pulled them both in, and Dumbledore closed and locked the door behind them.

"Hermione!" Harry managed to breathe, and she looked at him, realizing for the first time that he was there.

For a moment, she looked like she was going to shout his name as well, but instead she found herself enveloped in a tight hug. Once in Harry's arms, she began to slump forward, fully intending to fall asleep, but the welcome embrace ended as abruptly as it began, and Harry held her out at arm's length to examine her bandages.

"Hermione, what happened?" he demanded, his eyes resting on the bandages around her throat.

"Tonks made me ride a broomstick," she said, straightening up painfully. "I don't imagine I'll ever want to do that again. It's quite a harrowing experience, and my back aches something terrible." She yawned. And then, seeing Harry's incredulous look, she gasped and corrected herself. "Oh no, you meant the bandages!"

Harry had opened his mouth to exclaim, 'Obviously!' but thought better of it.

"We were attacked," she managed to squeak, in her tired voice. "Death Eaters. Come on, let's go to the kitchen; Tonks is probably explaining what happened . . . "

Harry and Dumbledore sat wordlessly through Tonks' recital of the night's events. Moody was sipping quietly at a steaming bowl of soup, and his magical eye was pointed upwards, presumably scanning the bedrooms to see who else was present.

Mrs. Weasley listened in while attending to Hermione's wounds. The many years of mothering a large family of mostly boys had made healing a necessary skill, which she now put to good use. Harry snuck a glance and caught a glimpse of a very long and rather bloody cut extending across Hermione's shoulder and inwards toward her collarbone. It was mended as Mrs. Weasley's wand passed slowly along it, and the blood was wiped away by a wet rag that floated beside Mrs. Weasley's arm. As they were removed, the conjured bandages began to disintegrate into the air. In a few minutes, the ordeal was finished. Hermione flexed her mended palm in relief, and gratefully embraced her healer.

"Not at all, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, when Hermione began thanking her. "Will you have some soup before you turn in?"

Hermione shook her head, mumbling something incoherent and possibly uncharacteristically vulgar about flying.

"Nonsense, dear," Mrs. Weasley said briskly, fetching a bowl. "You'll feel better about it once you have something warm in your body." It appeared that she was right, and color gradually returned to Hermione's pale skin as she sipped at her bowl.

Harry listened attentively as Tonks described the fight, and he found himself holding the edge of the table in a death grip when she mentioned Dolohov's attempted Killing curse. Dumbledore only nodded gravely for Tonks to continue.

The remainder of the trip, once they had departed Brighton, had been uneventful. When Tonks finished her story, no one spoke. The kitchen was silent until a 'clunk' made the entire audience jump. The source of the noise had been Moody, as he propped himself back up on his walking stick, waving his empty bowl back over to the sink in the kitchen.

"Dumbledore," he said in his gravelly voice, "I've got to head back to Bristol. We'll be needing to talk later, about . . ." He paused, and his magical eye whirled and came to an abrupt stop, fixed on Harry. ". . . Events," he finished, his voice sounding rather menacing. Harry looked back and forth between Dumbledore and Moody for an explanation, but Dumbledore simply nodded without looking at Moody.

When Moody left, the uncomfortable silence continued for a few more minutes. Harry wanted badly to ask questions of Tonks and Dumbledore, but they seemed extremely preoccupied with their own thoughts. The headmaster was chewing his piece of bread, staring into space. It was about a minute later and with mild shock that Harry realized that Dumbledore was simply waiting to be left alone with Tonks. He blinked in surprise at his realization. Why hadn't Hermione said anything? Wasn't she usually the one to notice these subtle, unsaid things before he did?

He looked over at Hermione, intending to nudge her under the table, when he saw why she hadn't said anything about the situation. She had fallen asleep, with her head resting peacefully beside the half-empty bowl of soup.

Mrs. Weasley's gaze had followed Harry's, and seeing that Hermione had fallen unconscious at the table, she smiled to hide her concern.

"Harry, dear," she said, collecting the bowl and moving towards the kitchen. "Why don't you take Hermione upstairs to Ginny's room? You should go to bed yourself, too, by the looks of the time. I've put your things on the camp bed beside Ron."

Suppressing his urge to rebel and see what Dumbledore had to say, Harry put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and gently shook her back to consciousness.

Hermione grumbled herself slowly back to the waking world looking supremely irritated, but her expression softened when she remembered where she was. Grudgingly, she allowed Harry to pull her to her feet and the two of them trudged up the stairs in silence.

Despite what Mrs. Weasley had said, Harry was no longer tired. Seeing Hermione covered in bandages and Tonks covered in blood, and then hearing about their fight in Brighton had reawakened his questioning mood. However, one look at Hermione's drained face was enough to make him reconsider his questioning session, at least for now.

The door on the landing leading to Ginny's room was locked. Hermione's head leaned sleepily against Harry's shoulder as he fumbled in his pocket for his wand. He tapped it against the door, whispering, "Alohomora," and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"Sorry, Harry, I'm really very tired," said Hermione, smiling apologetically, as though she could sense his desire for conversation. "We can talk in the morning, okay?"

"We'd better," he replied in a mock-warning tone. "Or else I'll spend all day brooding about it, and then you'll be sorry."

"Prat," she managed to scoff. Punching him in the side, she closed the door.

Harry stood on the landing for what seemed to be a long time. He was torn between respecting Dumbledore's wish to be alone with Tonks and heading upstairs, or going back down to find out what the headmaster was still hiding. Hadn't he said, during their discussion at the end of last term, that he regretted not telling Harry about a matter of such importance as the prophecy that foretold his purpose? What was it this time that the headmaster could not say in front of him?

He shook his head. Once, there was a time when he would have happily skipped upstairs to grab his Invisibility Cloak or one of the twins' Extendable Ears before returning downstairs to eavesdrop. But then, he realized, he would be succumbing again to the arrogance and presumption of his own importance that had led to Sirius' death. The very thought made him shiver.

In the end, Harry retired upstairs. He entered Ron's room, finding his fiery-haired friend sprawled out on top of his covers, snoring loudly. He walked softly over to the bed on the other side of the room, and gently lifted his trunk and Hedwig's cage, placing them on the floor. He'd deal with them in the morning, he told himself, and he placed his glasses on the nightstand, intending to at least try to get some shut-eye.

Several minutes later, he became aware of loud voices coming from downstairs. Or rather, one loud voice and one quiet. In between Ron's snores, he could hear Tonks faintly, with pauses that probably signaled Dumbledore's softer responses. He considered briefly the possibility of questioning Tonks instead of Dumbledore, but he realized that if it were Tonks' business that they were arguing about, there was probably very little that had to do with him.

Harry had just resigned himself to waiting on his back for sleep to take him, when he heard footsteps on the stairwell outside. He quickly rolled over onto his side and feigned sleep, although it was probably just Mrs. Weasley heading upstairs to wake Arthur for the next shift.

The footsteps suddenly tapped an irregular beat, and there was the sound of a collision and something breaking. Whoever it was muttered something that sounded like an oath, and there was a pause. Harry presumed that they were fixing whatever was broken. Shortly, the footsteps continued and came to a stop outside the door to Ron's bedroom. The door opened, and Harry snapped his eyes shut.

Whoever it was paused at the door, before crossing the room. Harry's eyes snapped opened again when the person took a seat at the foot of his bed.

"Wotcher, 'Arry. I knew you'd be awake."

"Tonks?"

Harry sat up, confused. Sure enough, there she was, purple hair and all. He scrambled for his glasses and put them on.

"You aren't dead tired, are you?"

"N -- no," he replied, sitting up. "What are you doing here? Not to be rude, I mean, of course, but -- "

Tonks smiled.

"No worries, I should be apologizing anyway for barging in. Do you feel up to a short chat? I've got to be back in London tomorrow afternoon for an assignment, and now's the only time I've got."

Harry wondered what on earth Tonks would want to discuss with him. He'd been in the Auror's company several times, but had never really gotten to know her on a personal level, though she was related to Sirius. She had given him a rather nice Christmas present to cheer him up, though -- a miniature Firebolt to make up for his real one having been taken away by Umbridge the previous year. He consented anyway, and Tonks led him quietly downstairs.

On the landing below, Harry noticed that a vase containing a set of flowers looked decidedly devoid of the water he was sure it had been holding when he passed it earlier.

"Tonks, was that you -- ?" he asked, pointing to it. She winced, nodding.

"Yeah, probably best not to mention that to Molly. Here, let me; Aguamenti!" A small amount of water trickled out of her wand and into the vase.

Harry followed Tonks out the front door and around to the Weasleys' garage, which had housed Mr. Weasley's flying Ford Anglia before he and Ron crashed it at Hogwarts. He looked mystified when Tonks handed him a Ministry broomstick.

"Where are we going?" he asked, mounting it.

"Just to the top of the house," replied Tonks.

He was slightly disappointed. Flying was one of the activities that Harry enjoyed most. In retrospect, it would probably have helped him cope with his loss of Sirius, if he'd been able to fly back at Privet Drive. He could ride the wind, his mind not focusing on anything in particular, and express any anger or frustration in a series of dives and feints.-

He made a mental note to go flying tomorrow, and instead followed Tonks peaceably as she led the way to the top of the Burrow.

As they floated gently upwards, the lights on the ground floor of the house extinguished. Looking down, Harry could see a dark shape with a tall hat making its way towards an opening in the grass, which could only be Dumbledore returning to the Apparition clearing.

They landed on the slanted roof of the topmost part of the structure, and sat with their backs to the largest of the five chimneys, and broomsticks resting across their laps. They remained silent for a few moments. Harry looked over at Tonks curiously, but found that he could not distinguish much more than her silhouette against the starry night. The moon was at the end of its waning phase by this time of month, and it was but a tiny sliver in the sky.

"Dumbledore told me about the prophecy," she said abruptly, jarring Harry back to his senses.

"He what -- oh, that."

If there were anything in particular he'd been expecting to hear from Tonks, it hadn't been the prophecy. Several unpleasant and previously suppressed thoughts came bubbling back into his mind. And why had Dumbledore told Tonks, of all people, about the prophecy anyway?

"What do you think?"

Harry furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about the prophecy with anyone; and even if he had wanted to, he wasn't sure that Tonks would be his first choice.

Still, he reasoned, it would probably be best if he did have someone to bounce his thoughts off of, and as far as he could tell, he wasn't in danger of Tonks becoming judgmental of, well, whatever he said. After an additional minute of silence, it became apparent that Tonks was allowing him to decide what to say to her.

"The prophecy said, 'neither one can live while the other survives,'" he said, finally. "What do I think about that? I haven't made up my mind yet."

He felt her gaze turn towards him, but he pressed on.

"It's inevitable, isn't it? Even without the prophecy. He'd come after me anyway," he said, a bitter tone now intruding into his voice. "I suppose all I can do now is find out what Dumbledore is planning to teach me, and then go find Voldemort --"

"And then be tortured for a few minutes, and die," finished Tonks, flatly.

Harry blinked.

"Or if you're really lucky, you'll stumble into some of his stupider Death Eaters and die right away," she continued. "Was that seriously your plan? 'Step one: place wand in hand, step two: charge at the Dark Lord'?"

Harry couldn't decide whether or not to be affronted. He definitely wasn't expecting this.

"I -- "

"Harry James Potter, have you given that prophecy any thought at all?"

He froze before he said anything. He had been just about to let himself get riled up and put on the defensive, but this question really stung. No, he hadn't really given it that much thought, but he'd been so busy worrying about Sirius' death, and what he could have done to prevent it.

"You've been thinking about Sirius, haven't you."

Why, that --

He rounded on Tonks, meaning to say something, anything, as long as it would convey his anger. His eyes had, by this time, adjusted somewhat to the dim light, and he could make out enough of the expression on her face to know that she didn't mean to be accusatory. It prevented him from yelling at her, but when he did speak, it was with a bite in his voice.

"So what if I have? I've got the right. He was my godfather, and I'm responsible for his death. And who's to say that I wouldn't have given the prophecy any thought? I just said I hadn't made up my mind at the moment, that's all," He turned away, finding it unexpectedly hard to meet her eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand; or anyone really," he added bitterly.

"Is that what you think?"

For the second time, Harry blinked in surprise. What?

"What?"

"You don't think that some of us could possibly feel the same way? He might have not been the closest person I had to my father like he was to you, and he might not have been the last tenuous link to my family that I'd ever had in my life, but Sirius was my cousin, and my friend, Harry."

Harry felt the angry reply on his tongue fall away. Tonks continued to speak, now looking up at the stars.

"I was at Grimmauld Place an awful lot last year," she said quietly. "He'd always talk to me. I don't think he had much in the way of company. He was always so gloomy. I remember I finally got him to laugh by making faces at his mother's portrait.

"I was wounded in January, while on an assignment. The circumstances -- and no, I can't tell you, not right now. The circumstances were too shady to keep me in St. Mungo's, so Sirius took care of me in Grimmauld Place. Everyone else was in and out of that house, even Remus, and not just because of his transformations. So naturally, we got to know each other quite well."

Harry found himself wondering why Sirius had never talked to him about Tonks. Then he realized that there hadn't really been any time for them to talk about things like . . . life. He felt guilty and grateful at the same time. He hadn't been able to talk to Sirius, to keep him company, because he'd been too afraid of Sirius being discovered, especially by Umbridge. At least Sirius hadn't been completely alone; he'd had Tonks to keep him company.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Tonks. I didn't mean to insinuate . . . "

"I know you didn't, Harry," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly. "I do, however, think you should know -- you're not the only one to blame for his death."

Harry looked at her confusedly.

"Sure, you were led to think that Voldemort was torturing him. Though, if he'd done that to me, I wouldn't even have bothered checking with Kreacher; I'd just have gone peeling off to the Ministry myself.

"You're right in thinking you're at fault, of course. Maybe if you'd been successful in Occlumency, this would never have happened. Maybe if Snape hadn't been such a failure of a teacher, you would have mastered it.

"Dumbledore blames himself, naturally, for keeping Sirius locked up in Grimmauld place, looking for an excuse to get out. But I don't believe that in the slightest, because Sirius would have gone to your aid anyway, even if he hadn't been looking for a reason to escape.

"What I blame Dumbledore for is how he treated you. If Dumbledore hadn't been so protective of you in the most convoluted fashion, he could have taught you Occlumency instead, and maybe then, you'd have succeeded.

"Or maybe not. You-Know-Who is one of the most powerful wizards we've ever known, after all. Honestly, I don't think I'm totally convinced that a little bit of Occlumency hocus-pocus by a fifth year student would have kept him out."

She turned her head back to look at him, and now Harry could see her clearly. Her expression was hard to fathom, but it was intense and alive with purpose, and he found that could not look away from her. She continued to speak, and Harry hung on to her every word.

"My point is, Harry, there are more forces at work than just you. The world does not revolve around you, Mr. Potter, and no," -- Harry had opened his mouth to protest -- "I don't mean to accuse you of anything. Just listen to what I have to say.

"Remus told me that he blames himself for Sirius' death too, you know. He was the last person to see Sirius before he left Grimmauld place, and he knew that we were all walking into a trap. He still beats himself up about it nowadays, because he knows he could have saved his old friend if he'd just, if he'd just -- "

Tonks choked for a moment. Harry reached over awkwardly and patted her back. She looked at him gratefully before continuing.

"And the last person I blame for Sirius' death -- is me."

Harry looked at her incredulously.

"What? Why? You said yourself that you were the one who kept him company, when everyone else had him cooped up by himself. I don't think he could fault you for being exactly where he needed you."

"Harry, who killed Sirius, in the end?"

Harry thought for a moment, wondering if the question had to do with any of the people she had just listed. Then he realized that she wasn't posing a conundrum, but instead she had meant her question in the literal sense.

"Well, Bellatrix Lestrange was the one who pushed him into the veil -- "

"And who was the person who failed to kill Bellatrix before she got to Sirius?"

A moment of silence. And then Harry began to protest.

"What? You can't mean that! You couldn't stop her from pushing him in -- you were incapacitated!"

"And why, exactly, was I incapacitated, Harry?"

Harry looked at her blankly.

"Er -- . . . because Bellatrix -- ?"

"I was incapacitated because I was too absorbed in my own shame and hatred for her. She's my aunt, you know. She's one of them, one of the ones that turned their back on my mother. I wanted her to pay for her vile, idiotic pureblooded mania -- so I got careless.

"This is going to come across sounding very conceited, but I am the best duelist in the Order. After Dumbledore, of course," she amended. "But that's beside the point. The point is that I could have won that duel. I could have killed her and made sure that she would never, ever harm anybody I loved again.

"But instead, I got so caught up in my stupid game that I became sloppy. Spells were hitting me that I should have been able to parry, but I didn't think too much of them because, after all, it was just my stupid aunt. What harm could she possibly do to me?

"Of course, she got me in the end. Now look where it's gotten me. A good friend of mine is dead, and that wretched aunt is still alive."

They sat in silence. Harry desperately wanted to say something -- but what could he say? 'It's not your fault'? Better than nothing.

"It's not your -- " he began quietly, but she cut him off.

"Don't say it," she said, shaking her head. "Unless you want to make yourself into a liar. It's as much your fault as it is mine, Dumbledore's, Remus', Snape's . . . " She trailed off for a moment before continuing. "We can't do anything about it now. He's dead. Period. Nothing will bring him back. Nada. What we can do is move forward and prove that he didn't die a meaningless death. He died fighting for our cause, so I'll gladly return the favor. Which brings us back to the original discussion."

"The prophecy?" asked Harry, and she nodded. Tonks had been speaking for quite a while, and Harry felt that he should return the favor by at least contributing to the discussion.

"Well, I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it. I only know that I have to face Voldemort eventually." Here, Harry noted that Tonks did not flinch when she heard Voldemort's name, even though she didn't use it herself.

"I always thought it would all turn out okay if I just did what Dumbledore wanted me to, though I guess it doesn't make much sense to trust him on everything, since what happened last year," he mused.

Tonks tilted her head to the side.

"Well, I haven't made up my mind on that either," she said. "Dumbledore definitely has his faults, even though it's hard to see them as a student. But you can't just overlook him, because he knows things that you simply can't learn anywhere else. Private lessons from the headmaster -- you have to realize that that's a very generous gift that you're not likely to come across ever again.

"All the same, you can't just stock up on a bunch of advanced magic tricks and expect to go sauntering off to face You-Know-Who. You're forgetting that he has a lot of tricks of his own -- not to mention that you also have to get past his army.

"And in order to do that, you need your friends. I know what you did on the way to the Ministry last month, Harry. Hermione told me all about it on the way here. From the way she said it, you apparently tried to leave your friends behind several times."

Harry flinched inwardly, remembering Hermione's accusation of his 'saving-people thing.'

"And that's exactly what I meant earlier at the beginning of this discussion. If you just charge in by yourself with your wand and your angsty, angsty soul, intending to spare us all from death and sacrifice, you'll fulfill the prophecy, all right. You'll fulfill it because he'll destroy you. And then he'll come after us.

"Please tell me that you didn't think that the prophecy could go only one way?" she asked, looking him over.

Harry felt his face go numb. To tell the truth, he had only considered the possibility of fighting Voldemort by himself and, of course, winning. Tonks was right, naturally. The prophecy could easily also be fulfilled by his death at Voldemort's hands. Of course he'd been conscious of that fact -- he'd been frightened ever since he'd heard the prophecy, hadn't he? He'd just never considered it as the other option. The other, arguably more plausible way to fulfill the prophecy.

Once again, the silence settled in as Harry and Tonks each recounted the conversation in their heads. Harry had taken the broomstick off his lap and placed it between them, leaning it against the chimney. His fingers idly twisted a thread that was hanging loose from his pullover.

"Tonks . . . " he said again, unsure of himself. She looked over at him, waiting patiently.

"If I have to kill him, I'll have to go through his Death Eaters, somehow, won't I? And some of them, I'll probably have to kill. That would make me just like they are, then. A murderer; and then if I learn whatever Dumbledore wants me to learn, I'll become a murderer with a lot of power. Like Voldemort."

Harry looked up again at Tonks, almost pleadingly. However, she wasn't looking at him. She was looking up at the stars, her expression unreadable. Harry waited. Finally, after a minute, she spoke.

"Nine."

Harry wasn't sure what she meant.

"What are you -- "

"Nine. That's how many people I've killed in my life," she said, definitively.

"I killed my first Death Eater while I was sixteen -- that was two years before you'd even heard the name 'Hogwarts.' There wasn't even a whisper of You-Know-Who going around at that time. We were all perfectly content, covering up the scars of the last war.

"Out of nowhere, a group of former Death Eaters attacked the town where my parents were living. Not even because they were out to 'cleanse the gene pool' or anything like that. They did it because they were bored. It was pure serendipity for them when they discovered my dad's house -- he's a Muggle-born, you know.

"My mother was out of the house that evening -- she'd gone to dinner with some of her clients. It was just me and my dad. We heard them coming down the street, but we never imagined . . .

"One of them came bursting in the door, and he must have been close to the Lestranges or the Malfoys because he recognized my dad immediately, from the wedding photos, he said.

"I didn't know a lot about Death Eaters at the time, but I knew he was after my dad for some reason. So I tried to defend my dad, but the Death Eater disarmed me without even saying a word. He tried to curse me then, but my dad pushed me away, and he got hit by the Cruciatus Curse instead."

Tonks shivered and Harry felt a great sympathy for her. He reached over and patted her hand, and she looked at him with gratitude, and continued with a sadness and hollowness to her voice.

"I couldn't stand to hear my dad scream like that, and I thought it was never going to end. So I crept out of the entrance hall and into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and -- " She made a jerky stabbing motion with her hand.

"That incident was hushed up by the Ministry, because no one wanted to even think about Death Eaters by that point. We'd just gotten past the last war, and wounds take time to heal. They couldn't jeopardize the hard-earned peace that we had only so recently gained. But I never forgot.

"After my seventh year, I immediately went into Auror training, and I've been tracking down Death Eaters and dark wizards ever since. I did some isolated cases before You-Know-Who came back during my training, and after I graduated I even went overseas to do a joint operation with the United States Auror Corps. Last month when the Brockdale Bridge was destroyed, I tracked down all of the Death Eaters involved, and killed them. And then when the two Death Eaters attacked the Granger family yesterday, I killed them too.

"Am I a murderer? To some people, maybe. To others, probably.

"I'm no philosopher, Harry. I don't have the luxury of long hair, or time to spend debating these questions to death; nor do I want to. All I can to do is make peace with myself, and that should be enough for now.

"The bottom line is that you have to come to terms with what you have to do, one way or another. If you don't, you will go mad with guilt. Scrimgeour, my old boss, knew a lot of both Aurors and Auror candidates who simply cracked under the stress because they couldn't handle the pressure. When the time came, in battle, to decide who lived and who didn't, whether on their side or the enemies' -- they couldn't take it.

"I don't know that anything I say here will be able to help you decide what to believe. But I will tell you this -- the most important factor, the linchpin of your guilt and innocence, is not how you and the Death Eaters are alike. It is how you are different."

Harry felt a strange sense of recognition. He had a dim recollection of a very wise old man saying those words to him, once upon a time.

"These Death Eaters we fight -- they are murderers, beyond question or doubt. They have killed cruelly, in cold blood and for sport, and they revel in it. They enjoy it, even thirst for it. Unchecked, they will continue to kill, and you and I both know that they have the capacity to kill thousands more, even millions. They will not stop their campaign of cruelty until they have made the world into their own private playground.

"These are You-Know-Who's finest servants. After the first war, many convicted Death Eaters plead the Imperius defense, claiming that they only did You-Know-Who's bidding under the influence of that curse. We know better than that. We had no way to prove them guilty in a court of law, but we know for a fact that no one takes the Dark Mark upon their arm without You-Know-Who's express confidence.

"If You-Know-Who had to force anyone to join his army, well, that's exactly where they would have gone -- into his army. Everyone that he ever coerced, threatened, bullied, or Imperiused into serving him fell into the ranks of his regular army. Only those who matched him in cruelty, and who truly believed in his crusade were admitted into his circle of Death Eaters."

Tonks stood up, and pulled Harry to his feet. They leaned against the chimney, and Harry, sensing the conversation was drawing to a close, picked up his broomstick.

"Harry, you will probably become a killer," said Tonks bluntly. "It's the fault of this whole wretched business of war and that stupid prophecy. Some good people will die, and some of the gentlest people you know will have blood stained on their hands before this is through. Personally, though, I don't think you'll become a murderer. You're far too kind-hearted for that." She finished her last statement definitively, with her arms crossed and a fleeting hint of pride in her voice.

"Thanks, Tonks, I -- the same goes for you." Harry smiled at her. For the first time that summer, he finally felt true relief. He felt as though a great suffocating mass had been taken off his shoulders. He hadn't completely found solace, and there was still some doubt in his heart -- but in the early hours of that warm night in July, Harry James Potter grew up a little more.

"You're too kind, Harry," said Tonks, stretching her arms. "I would love to talk with you again. In fact, I insist on it. But it's probably close to three o'clock now, and Molly will end up blaming me if you can't get up tomorrow morning."

"Just one more thing, Tonks," said Harry, remembering one last detail. "Dumbledore told you about the prophecy?"

"He did."

"Did he also tell you about those lessons that he wants to give me?"

Tonks looked surprised at first, but then an odd look crossed her face. What he saw, Harry was not exactly sure, but it looked like a mixture of apprehension and resignation.

"He did, Harry," she said, finally.

"What did you think of them?" he asked, realizing that asking her for specifics was probably a lost cause.

"In all honesty," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "if I were you, I'd definitely say no.

D U M B L E D O R E' S P L A N

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