Here Be Monsters

Monday, 1 July, 1996

1215 GMT +1 00

The skies over the Channel were stormy, although I think that was partly an effect that Cornelia's coach carried with her. We had exited the crypts deep in the woods. While still in the shade of the stone, one of the male vampires, a dark-haired man wearing wizard robes, pulled a wand from his sleeve and softly exclaimed "Umbra." As we moved out into the sun, it was as if the shadow of the crypt moved with us, shielding the Undead from the harmful light.

Cornelia whistled softly and, in a clatter suspiciously like thunder, the coach appeared. It was an enormous thing, all gray and black, pulled by a team of Hellwings. Another Hellwing sat in the driver's spot, holding reins made out of black, jingling chains. The inside was large enough to accomodate all of us, even Hagrid, with ease. We settled onto the red plush seats, the vampires on one side, and the rest of us on the other. With a shriek the Hellwings were in motion and the coach was in the air, surrounded by clouds. Soon we noted not just thunder, but flashes like lightning sparking from the wheels.

"An interesting form of transportation," I venture.

Cornelia smiles softly and pats the coach with a surprisingly fond and gentle touch. "It was a gift from an admirer, long ago."

//I wonder who that could have been?//

So do I. The coach and its magical aura are the type of thing Grindelwald would have found most attractive, and for that reason I cannot make myself comfortable on the firm seats. It could not have been him, however. The coach is much older than that.

Hagrid stares out the window sullenly on one side. Percy sits between the two of us, looking like he's seen a basilisk. On the opposite side of the coach the vampires sit with the unsettling stillness that only the Undead can attain.

We sit in silence for nearly an hour. Percy harrumphs on a couple of occasions and looks like he is about to start speaking, but the glares from across the coach keep him silent.

Suddenly there is a sharp wrapping on the trapdoor at the top of the coach. The Hellwing driver flips it open and snarls something down in a tongue full of hisses and spits. I wonder idly if Harry, being a Parseltongue, could have understood him.

"It seems that there is an owl making for us," Cornelia translates. "A rather large, white one."

Hedwig? I reach into my robes to verify that I still have my cell phone. It is there.

"It is probably coming to me," I say calmly, not feeling the least bit calm.

Cornelia says something to the driver in his serpent-like language. The Hellwing spits something back, then laughs nastily and closes the trap door.

"Vargal says that in that case, he won't eat it."

In a few moments, a large oval of soft white feathers pops through the window and drops into my lap. It is indeed Hedwig. I stroke her gently and she trills a greeting.

"Hello Hedwig, did Harry send you with a message?"

She shakes her head minutely from side to side. I see that, nevertheless, she has two letters fastened to her leg.

"Someone else then?"

She nods and holds out her leg.

I unfasten the letters. Both of them are in identical envelopes. Both bear the same address:

Albus Dumbledore

The Storm Coach

Over the English Channel

And both bear a phoenix seal.

Order business.

I quickly run my thumb over the seal to confirm that they have indeed been handed to the right person before the protective charms on the envelopes cause them to explode. I look at the two thoughtfully.

"Are you supposed to wait for replies?"

Hedwig nods.

"Should I open one first?"

The owl seems to ponder this for a second, then pecks at one of the envelopes with her beak.

I quickly open it, not worried that anyone else might see its contents. It will be charmed to insure that none but its intended recipient can see anything but gibberish.

I unfold the parchment quickly and immediately identify Molly's handwriting. My heart begins to race swiftly.

Has something happened to Harry?

I quickly pull my ward beads out of my sleeve. The same three remain glowing. No others have been triggered.

Putting the beads back I continue with the letter. It is written in a hurried hand, and I sense myself going pale as I read.

Molly Weasley

Harry Potter's Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

1 July, 1996

Albus,

I hope that your trip is progressing well. I'm not sure exactly what we can hope for, but any help is better than none. Give my regards to Hagrid. Arthur also sends his regards to you and Hagrid, as do the children.

Now, having said that, I went to see Harry this morning. I was so glad he had asked for me! The muggles are dreadful as usual but suitably cowed. They are even feeding him a minimum amount, for once. I'm sure the bread and cakes and pies and cookies I brought will help though.

Harry sends his regards. Actually, when I asked him if he had any message for you, he just shrugged. Finally he said, "Tell him I'm still here. I guess his plan's still going OK, whether he cares about it or not." Which brings me to my next point.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!! SOMETHING IS EATING HARRY ALIVE!! HE HASN'T SLEPT BUT A FEW HOURS IN THREE DAYS, AND HE ISN'T EATING EITHER! HE JUST KEEPS MUTTERING ABOUT SOMETHING THAT HE HAS TO DO AND SITS THERE STUDYING HIS DADA BOOKS. AND WHEN HE ISN'T DOING THAT HE'S STARING OFF INTO SPACE!

I MANAGED TO GET HIM - MAKE THAT TRICK HIM- INTO TELLING ME THAT YOU HAD GIVEN HIM SOME SORT OF MISSION OR TASK OR SOMETHING!! WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERCY AND DECENCY ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?!!

THE POOR BOY IS SUCH A WRECK I'M READY TO BREAK DOWN AND CRY RIGHT NOW! AND I WOULD HAVE TO CRY FOR BOTH OF US, BECAUSE I'M TELLING YOU HE WON'T!

WHAT IS THIS PLAN HE'S TALKING ABOUT! DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH WHY YOU MAKE HIM STAY WITH THESE AWFUL PEOPLE THAT HATE HIM? BECAUSE THEY DO, YOU KNOW! OR MAYBE YOU DON'T SINCE YOU CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO COME HERE YOURSELF! YOU SAY HE IS PROTECTED HERE BY POWERFUL MAGIC. WELL, YOU MAY BE PROTECTING HIS BODY BUT HIS SOUL IS COMING TO PIECES!

HE WON'T TALK ABOUT SIRIUS OR WHAT HAPPENED AT THE MINISTRY. ALL HE WOULD DO WAS LET ME HOLD HIM FOR A FEW MINUTES WHILE HE SNUFFLED A LITTLE. THAT ISN'T A HEALTHY WAY FOR A BOY TO MOURN THE LOSS OF HIS GODFATHER! I MAY NOT HAVE APPROVED OF SIRIUS ALWAYS, BUT HE MEANT A LOT TO HARRY AND THE BOY NEEDS TO GRIEVE PROPERLY!

THEN HE SAID THAT HE COULDN'T COME OVER TO THE BURROW ANYMORE. HE SAID IT WAS TOO DANGEROUS, THAT HE DIDN'T WANT TO HURT US! WHAT HAVE YOU TOLD HIM?!

THEN HE GAVE ME HIS WILL ALBUS! HIS WILL!! HE STARTED TALKING ABOUT DYING. WHEN I TRIED TO ASSURE HIM THAT HE SHOULDN'T BE WORRYING ABOUT THINGS LIKE THAT HE LAUGHED ALBUS! LAUGHED! AND LET ME TELL YOU THE SOUND OF IT MADE ME WANT TO DRAG HIM OUT OF THAT HOUSE AND BACK TO THE BURROW THIS VERY MINUTE!

ALBUS I WANTED TO SEND YOU A HOWLER BUT SINCE YOU ARE ON ORDER BUSINESS I DIDN'T. THIS IS AS CLOSE AS I CAN GET! BUT LET ME TELL YOU THAT IF YOU WERE IN BRITAIN YOU WOULDN'T BE SO LUCKY! FIRST LAST SUMMER, NOW THIS! DO YOU ENJOY SEEING HARRY SUFFER?!

LET ME TELL YOU PROFESSOR ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! YOU HAD BETTER BE READY TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF THE MINUTE YOU SET FOOT BACK IN ENGLAND AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WHAT'S RIGHT AND WHAT'S EASY! YOU MAY NOT CARE ABOUT HARRY ANY MORE THAN YOU WOULD A CHESS PIECE, BUT I DO!

Molly Weasley

By the time I'm finished I feel like I can hardly breathe. My chest hurts and throbs with each beat of my heart.

How dare she?!! How dare she accuse me of not caring about Harry!

//Well, you did leave him in a cupboard for ten years.//

Yes. And if Molly ever finds out I was responsible for that she'll come after me with her bare hands.

Of course, it would be no more than I deserve.

"Professor Dumbledore sir, are yer all right?" Hagrid is looking at me with concern written across his face.

I manage to nod. In my hands the parchment catches fire, consuming its hurtful words in a burst of purifying heat.

DO YOU ENJOY SEEING HARRY SUFFER?

//Well, do you?//

Of course I don't! It burns my soul for Harry to be in pain!

//Does it really? I would have thought it gratified you. As long as he's suffering, he will always need Albus the Great to be there. If he were ever happy, he might actually decide he doesn't like you very much.//

It sounds like he already has.

Tell him I'm still here.

Harry doesn't mean it. He's tired and grieving and in pain. He's alone in a house where no one loves him (as Molly reminded me).

//Keep telling yourself that. Why should the boy like you?//

No reason really.

//You want him to like you, though, don't you?//

No, I want him to love me.

//Good luck. Now that he knows who he has to blame for his pain, you'll be lucky if he doesn't paper Hedwig's cage with your picture.//

Harry has made out his will.

I want to scream at that. But I just sit there and stay calm. I have to.

//Wise boy. If you're lucky, maybe he'll leave you something. How about a picture for your scrapbook?//

Hedwig trills softly. I reach out and stroke her automatically, forcing my heart to calm.

There is still the other letter.

Feeling fearful, but somehow managing to keep my hands from shaking, I tear it open. This time I see Lupin's handwriting. Closing my eyes a moment to steel myself, I start to read.

Remus Lupin

The Living Room

#4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

1 July, 1996

Albus,

While I am writing Molly is upstairs with Harry. The muggles are hiding in the kitchen and Molly said she was going to have Hedwig bring you a message, so I thought I would send one as well.

I can't do it Albus. I can't do what I should do. I can't do what I want to do. I can't do what Harry needs for me to do.

I can't be like Sirius.

Do you understand that? Did you ever understand that? Did you know that when you made me a prefect? I don't think you did. I don't think that you understood that setting me to control Sirius and James was like asking a dove to rule over hawks.

Sirius was a man who fought the world. He seized life and wrestled with it, never giving up. Even after twelve years in Azkaban, he didn't give up.

I am a man the world does things to. You learn that when you are a werewolf, Albus. Your mistress rides in the sky each night. And fighting or resisting is like trying to hold back the tide with your hands.

I love Harry, Albus. I wish I could be like Sirius. I wish I could be the father he needs. The father Sirius could have been, even if he never really had the chance to prove it.

But I can't. I know that. And now Harry knows it too. Or I should say he's sure of it. He knew it already, or he would have asked for me and not Molly.

Well I came anyway. I stayed downstairs for a few minutes to make sure the muggles wouldn't interfere, but when it became apparent that they were going to stay in the kitchen all day if they had to, I went on up. He was sitting on his bed looking like he hadn't changed clothes or bathed in the last three days.

Molly was sitting there with him. She had her arms around him and was trying to talk about Sirius. He was just leaning against her glassy-eyed. I've never seen somebody who needed to cry so badly in my life, Albus.

When he saw me he sat up and held out his arms. He wanted me to hold him. And the thing was I knew that if I did, if I sat down beside him and put my arms around him, he would be able to cry. Don't ask me how I knew that. I just knew that if somebody who had known Sirius and missed him like I do - like he does - would hold him he could finally let all the sobs out.

But I didn't hold him.

I wanted to Albus. Before all Heaven I wanted to so much. I actually took a step toward him. I just ached to have him in my arms, to let him put his head on my chest and cry for as long as he needed, as long as I needed. Because I wanted to cry with him. I needed to cry with him. I needed it so badly that my throat was burning.

But I stepped back. I stepped back and smiled at him then turned around and walked out.

You see, I knew if I let him cry in my arms, I knew if I cried in his arms, then it would be too late. He would start to love me the way he loved Sirius. He would start to want me to be the kind of parent Sirius could have been.

And I can't do that. I'm not strong Albus, not like Padfoot was. While I was standing there my joints were still aching from my last transformation the night before. I can't fight the world Albus, the most I can do is survive it. I can't be strong for him like Padfoot. I would fail him, Albus, the way I failed James and Lilly when I let him go thirteen years without trying to be with their son, the way I failed Sirius when they sent him to Azkaban and I did nothing even though I knew in my heart he was innocent, the way I fail myself when the moon grows full and the transformation comes. And Harry does not need someone else failing him. Harry deserves better than that.

Why am I telling you this? Why am I pouring all of this out to his headmaster? Because you are the only hope he has, Albus. Arthur Weasley would take him in at any time, but Arthur has too many children already, and he cannot understand the kind of challenges Harry faces. You are the only one who can understand what Harry has gone through, what he is going through. You are the only one who has the knowledge and the strength to help him.

And I want you to know that it is not because I don't love Harry. I do love him. I love him in my way as much as Sirius did. But I don't want him to love me the way he loved Padfoot. And he could fall into that trap. He is tired and wounded and alone and he could fall into that trap all too easily.

So I guess what I'm saying is hurry back Albus. Hurry back as fast as you can. Because I don't know how long Harry can endure without you.

Remus Lupin

I let the paper flare into nothingness and turn to stare out the window at the surrounding storm clouds. My heart is filled with pity for Remus and worry for Harry and, maybe most of all, with anger at just about everyone.

Why can't I trust anyone to take care of Harry for even a few days?!

//You have done such a wonderful job? Look what happened this year!//

Exactly. I distanced myself from Harry in order to stave off Voldemort's interest in possessing him. I thought I could trust others to see to him, and look what happened! I set Sirius, Remus, Minerva, Molly, Arthur, and Severus all to keep an eye out for his protection, and he ended up tortured, banned, tormented, deceived, and nearly killed!

//Well, he didn't exactly behave very wisely himself.//

That too. I can't even trust Harry to watch out for HIMSELF when I'm not there to look after him!

//Aren't we being a tiny bit unfair?//

We are being incredibly unfair! And we don't much care right at the moment!

The truth is that I thought I could rely on Remus. Of course he is hurting because of Sirius! Of course he needs to mourn! That's why, in part, I thought I could count on him. He and Harry, I had felt sure, could give strength to each other. They could help each other heal. Instead they have each withdrawn behind separate defenses and are glaring out at the world through veils of pain.

Isn't it enough that I have to carry the weight of the war without any help from our supposed government? Why do I have to be a psychiatrist too?

//Albus, you have been around adolescent boys entirely too long. You are starting to whine like one.//

I suppose I am at that.

I just wish my chest would quit hurting, it makes it hard to breathe.

I am distracted from my revery by Hedwig nipping gently at my fingers. I smile at her. "I am very sorry Hedwig. I don't have any owl treats with me."

"Here, give her one of these."

I look up in surprise. Percy is holding out a small bag filled with owl snacks.

"I carry them around. Get owls all the time. Ministry business you know." He smiles shyly, and for a moment he is just like he was in his fifth year, scared and proud and determined to live up to the responsibility of his shiny prefect's badge.

Oh, Percy, I failed you so badly.

"Thank you, Percy." I give him my approving-teacher expression and take a couple of treats for Hedwig. "That is a wonderful habit. I shall have to remember it." I really am spoiled with Fawkes.

Pulling a couple of sheets of parchment that have been enchanted for Order use from the inside of my robes, I draw an Ever-Inked Quill from my pocket and hastily scrawl identical replies to Molly and Lupin.

We will speak when I return. Meanwhile look after Harry and let me know if there is any change.

AD

I can see Molly's face growing redder when she reads that. Oh well. I will just have to face that dragon when I get to its lair.

"Take these back to Remus and Molly, Girl. Oh wait." I pull out another sheet.

Harry,

I am sorry for the brevity of this note, but I am on my way to an important meeting and do not have the luxury of time. I would like to meet with you on my return in order to discuss your Occlumency training and other issues.

It is extremely important that you continue practicing. However, please remember that Occlumency, like all magical disciplines, requires physical and mental health if one is to achieve excellence.

I want you to begin following the daily activities I have outlined below. If your aunt and uncle object you are to let me know immediately:

Sleep - 8 hours

Meals and quiet time - 3 hours

Occlumency practice - 2 hours

Other study - 4 hours

Chores and Exercise - 3 hours

Relaxation and Entertainment -- 4 hours

I will enclose a copy of this in letters to Remus and Arabella and ask them to check on you periodically. You are NOT to regard this as a suggestion, but a firm instruction. Furthermore I am most serious with regard to the periods of quiet time and relaxation. If you are at a loss for what to do with this time I suggest you visit Arabella. I think you will find your time with her to be much more enjoyable from now on. You might also consider taking some of your meals with her.

I will instruct Madam Pomfrey to provide you with a supply of Dreamless Sleep potion. You are to use it each evening until otherwise instructed. Once again, this is an instruction, NOT a suggestion.

I beg you to remember our discussion in my office. I understand what you are feeling, and although I realize you will likely regard my letter as an intrusion and a burden, know that this is not for any other purpose than YOUR good.

It will please you to know that you will be leaving the Dursleys' on the evening of July 8th. We will discuss your destination and the rest of your summer upon my return.

I pause. How to close? I want to write Love, Albus. Somehow, though, I don't think Harry will react well to that right now. Finally I just settle for Albus Dumbledore.

Taking out yet another sheet of parchment (luckily, I always travel with a plentiful supply) I write a quick note to Arabella Fig. I hope I have not been too forward in making promises to Harry on her behalf, but I think I am safe. Arabella has complained for fourteen years about how much she has hated having to play the "dotty old cat lady," standing aside and not interfering to alleviate Harry's suffering. I think she will be glad of a chance to shower some affection on the boy.

Quickly sealing the four letters I smile at Hedwig. "I'm afraid I've got quite a load for you, Hedwig. I hope you are not burdened too badly."

Harry's owl looks at the four letters and gives me an expression of pure disdain, as if mortally offended that they might be trouble for her. I give her another treat by way of apology and tie the letters to her leg, telling her whom they are for.

Just then another thunderous knock comes on the trap door. Vargal, the Hellwing driver, opens the small panel and spits down another comment.

"Another bird on its way. Seldom have I traveled with such popular people." Cornelia's voice is totally flat, and it is impossible to say whether she is being sarcastic or simply factual. "This isn't an owl. Vargal says it has colorful plumage and looks like it's trailing fire." She looks directly at me as she says that.

Fawkes?

Sure enough, the phoenix sails through the window and lands on my knee, trilling cheerfully. Hedwig bows to him by way of greeting and farewell, then launches herself up and out the window.

"What is it Fawkes?" I ask feeling some dread.

Fawkes lifts a leg, showing a flat package attached to his forelimb. It is addressed in Minerva's writing and once again bears the phoenix seal.

I give Fawkes a treat (I carry his favorite concentrated peppermints in the pockets of almost all my robes) and open the package. Three more letters drop out, along with a brief note from Minerva:

Albus,

I hesitated to send these, but the one from Amelia was marked important so I thought I had better. I also thought the one from St. Mungo's might be amusing. Since I was going to send those two, I included Arthur's letter as well.

I apologize for using Fawkes, but Iris said she thought he needed the exercise.

Minerva

"Did you enjoy the flight, Fawkes?" I ask.

He gives a brief snatch of song, indicating a "yes." Iris is seldom wrong about his moods.

The first letter is marked "important" and is sealed with the sign of the Senior Judge of the Wizengamot (second in rank to myself as Chief Warlock), Amelia Bones. The second is from the Recuperation Ward of St. Mungo's.

Dolores Umbridge? What could she possibly want?

The final envelope is addressed in Arthur Weasley's distinctive handwriting. The man tried to master the muggle art of calligraphy some years ago. He failed miserably, but it left him with a habit of making his letters with gothic spikes.

I open Amelia's first.

Amelia Bones

Wizengamot Offices

Ministry of Magic

London

1 July, 1996

Albus,

I am writing to report on two matters. The first relates to the Wizengamot. Petitions for a no-confidence declaration on Fudge's ministry continue to flood in. I know you have not yet decided the best course of action, but I think we have no choice but to schedule a preliminary hearing. Given that we have far more than the necessary number of petitions, not doing so would constitute as grave a dereliction of our duty as anything Fudge has done. Very well, not THAT grave, but still I think we have no choice.

Secondly I enclose a petition we have received in the Office of Magical Law Enforcement from a Miss Hermione Granger, one of Harry Potter's classmates. It makes grave accusations concerning Undersecretary Umbridge and her tenure as Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Ordinarily we would pay no heed to such hearsay, of course, but given the special circumstances and complexity of the matter, I thought I would forward this to you as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot (and Headmaster of Hogwarts) before deciding how to handle the matter.

Sincerely,

Amelia Bones

Senior Judge of the Wizengamot

Head, Office of Magical Law Enforcement

I open the enclosed petition, a brief document drawn up in the correct legal phrasing.

To the Office of Magical Law Enforcement:

I, Hermione Granger, due hereby swear and attest that Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, did at the times below mentioned, commit the following offenses against Wizarding Law:

I hereby request that the Office of Magical Law Enforcement launch a full investigation of Dolores Umbridge for the above offenses.

Attested:

Hermione Granger

Witnessed:

Minerva McGonagall

I see that Minerva was not totally forthcoming with me about what happened when she cornered Hermione on Leavetaking Day. How terribly interesting.

I slide the letter into my robes, mindful of Percy, who has surely spotted the Ministry seals, staring at me intently. I open the letter from Umbridge:

Dolores Umbridge

Recuperation Ward

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Diseases

London

28 June, 1996

Headmaster Dumbledore:

It is with a grave heart and deep regret that I write you. I humbly confess to having been mistaken and overzealous in many of my policies while serving as High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. It is my wish that we put this tragic affair behind us and work together for the good of the youth of the Wizarding World, and for the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Minister Fudge has asked that I accept the post of emissary to Paraguay. While I am humbled and flattered by his trust, I believe that my talents would better serve the cause of Light were I to remain in Britain. I say this from no other reason than a desire to serve.

I realize that we have had many differences, Headmaster, and I grieve that I have caused you harm through my mistakes and incorrect beliefs. I would like to meet with you if at all possible to discuss how I might make amends and work for the cause of Light here in England.

I have also been told that some of the Hogwarts students, justifiably angered by my mistakes, have begun to petition the government for an investigation. While I applaud them for their civic virtue and involvement, I think that finger pointing will yield little good at this time. It is my hope that through your kind intervention they can be persuaded to accept my fervent apology and to give me a chance to prove my worth.

As a first step towards showing my good intentions, I have contacted the Department of Magical Games and Recreation concerning the lifetime bans I imposed on three Gryffindor students this past year. It is my belief that I acted hastily and in ill-considered anger, and I have asked that the bans be lifted.

Your Humble Servant,

Dolores Umbridge

//I'll say one thing for the woman, she is a superb bureaucrat.//

That she is. Slippery, unctious, two-faced, and duplicitous to the core.

Strange, she never once mentioned Harry's name.

//Not so strange at all, Albus. She is trying to get on your good side, and reminding you that it was Harry she persecuted would not be a good tactic.//

It does sometimes help to have an inner Slytherin to talk to.

Placing Umbridge's letter with Amelia's, I open the last.

Arthur Weasley

The Burrow

Ottery St. Catchpole

29 June, 1996

Albus,

Have I ever told you I am afraid of you? It is quite true. Anyone with much sense is afraid of you a little. And I have never had the kind of courage that would lead me to face a roaring lion when there is no need. So I am writing this to you because, to my shame, I should say it to your face but I have not got the nerve. I've never been one for direct confrontations. I leave that to Molly.

But since I am writing and not speaking I can take the time to expound a bit. It is Leavetaking Day, Albus - or rather the night after Leavetaking Day. I love Leavetaking Days. Ever since our children started Hogwarts some years ago, one of my favorite traditions has been a jaunt to the station to pick them up, followed by a happy ride home and a long evening over one of Molly's most elaborate and lovingly-prepared meals. I often am not able to buy my beloved one's the things I would like them to have, but I try to make sure that the comforts of love and family are never in short supply at the Burrow.

This Leavetaking Day was very special, as you know. For one thing, we finally confronted the Dursleys about the way they treat Harry. I have had a slow fire burning in my belly for years over that, especially since I saw with my own eyes their attitude towards him. Poor sweet child. I understand Albus your reasons for wanting him to stay with the muggles. Still I wish you would relent and let him come live with us. What would one more mouth to feed mean in this house? And we love him as much as one of our own anyway.

I am especially grateful to Harry for what he has done for my Ron. I have always worried about Ron, buried as he is under a pile of older brothers, all of whom are over-achievers in one way or another. I had hoped he might find his own friends and identity at Hogwarts. I think meeting Harry on the train was perhaps the best thing that ever happened to Ron. The love that has blossomed between the two of them has given him the support that he so desperately needed - and that I was never able to provide, what with work, constant financial problems, and the demands of six other children.

Of course it isn't easy being the best friend of The Boy Who Lived. I am glad that Hermione is there as well. Certainly she can be intimidating in her own right, but in the wizarding world magnificent grades don't hold a candle to a lightning shaped scar. And if I am not mistaken, she regards Ron as something more than a friend - even if Ron doesn't know it yet.

And yet, I still worry about Ronniekins. I never call him that of course - and I wish his mother would not use the name so often. But in my heart he will always be my baby boy. This year was a very good year for Ron in so many ways. He became a prefect. He became a hero on the Quidditch Pitch. He was one of the heroes who forced Voldemort into the open. Yes it was a very special year.

But you see Albus, Ron understands something very important, and that understanding hurts him very badly. Ron's glory is the glory of reflection, or of absence. He is able to stand out because he is Harry's friend, or alternatively because Harry is not around. He is a star to Harry's sun, and he knows it. He knows even his glories of this year were because of special circumstances. He knows in his heart that he was made prefect because he is Harry's friend, and because for some reason of your own you thought it best if Harry not wear the badge himself. He knows he became a hero at Quidditch largely because Harry was banned - and banned for defending our family honor! He understands this, and it eats at the foundations of his confidence like termites eat at a muggle house.

The worst part about it in some ways is that the love between he and Harry is so strong. He loves Harry so much that most of the time he doesn't think to be resentful. And Harry, mostly, does not begrudge Ron what glory he does get. You know, I don't think he even remembers most of the time that Harry is the Boy Who Lived. To him he is just his beloved friend, closer to him than any of his brothers. I know for a fact that most of the time he does not remember that Harry is rich. It would be funny if it were not so heartbreaking. Ronniekins of all my children feels the sting of being poor the most. He resents it the most. He struggles against it the most. And yet I honestly believe that he hardly ever remembers that all of the things he longs for could be his at any time, if he just asked Harry for them.

But he won't ask, of course. Ron is too proud for that. Or perhaps he is too weak. Perhaps his self-worth could not stand gifts from Harry. I know Harry worries about that. Why else would he buy Ron new formal robes and tell the twins to pretend like they are a gift from them? Oh, Ron believed it - because he wanted to believe it. But Molly and I knew the truth. I love all my sons dearly, but the twins are just not the types to be that sensitive to Ron's needs, much less that tasteful and restrained in filling them. No, those robes were paid for from Harry's vault. And after seeing the look on Ron's face when he first wore them, I can say that whatever happens in the coming war, Harry Potter will always be a hero to my family.

And what does all this have to do with you Albus? I am writing you to ask for the thing dearest to any father's heart. I ask for Ron's happiness. I cannot give Ron the confidence he needs, the validation he needs. You, the mighty Albus Dumbledore, could. With just a negligible effort you could grant him the strength he needs to hold onto the self-worth he is building so tenuously. Give him a little attention. Just one brief meeting would do it. Just one nod from the great Dumbledore - just you and him. Just let him know that he matters because he is Ron, not because he is Harry's friend. You could do that couldn't you? Just fifteen minutes for a sixteen-year-old boy who needs you badly. Harry would not begrudge Ron fifteen minutes of your affection. Ron has no aspirations to stand in your affection as Harry does. Just fifteen minutes, Albus. I am asking it for my son. As one father to another, I'm begging you to help before the wound inside Ronniekins gets larger.

As one father to another? Yes, that is the other reason that I am writing you Albus. You hold the happiness of Ron in one hand. You hold Harry's soul in the other. And I am afraid, so very afraid Albus that you are on the verge of strangling that soul out of existence in the name of caring for it.

When did you become a father? I wonder about that. I suspect you wonder too. I first noticed it last year. It was the week after Harry's encounter in the graveyard. We had assembled for our first meeting of the Order. And even as you came into the room I felt it. I could almost smell it coming from you. Fear, Albus. You were terrified.

You had just realized what had happened, I am guessing. After all the excitement died down you suddenly had a thought. Harry might have died. Harry almost did die. And you became so scared that your very bones ached.

It was obvious for the rest of the summer. Every time we talked about bringing Harry out of Privet Drive you had some excuse, some plausible reason why we could not do it right then. And all the time you were sending off waves of fear like some emotional tuning fork. Not just any fear either. It was a special kind of fear. The fear only a parent knows. The fear that comes when nightmare scenarios crowd into your brain, when visions of your child suffering latch onto your thoughts. I think you had loved Harry for a very long time Albus, probably since the first time you saw him. But now you began to truly UNDERSTAND that you loved him. At it was tearing your proverbial guts out.

Your life has changed, hasn't it Albus? I bet that you find yourself watching Harry, unable to take your eyes off of him. I wager that every movement he makes has significance for you. I certainly know that you can't open your mouth without talking to him.

Have you become fascinated by his skin Albus? Does the thought of bruises or cuts on his flesh make you cringe? Does the sight of actual blood coming from his skin make you so sick you think you will vomit?

You've been cursed Albus. It's a very common hex, called the "Daddy Curse." I've been through it seven times. It is the absolute fascination with your new child. The inability to take your eyes away. The terror at the thought of pain coming to this sweet life.

You are a little unusual in that your new baby happens to be fifteen years old and the savior of the wizarding world. Other than that you are just like any other bedazzled new Daddy, constantly watching his child, constantly singing his praises, constantly reaching for photos when you meet colleagues.

You have entered a new world Albus. You see when you become a father the very order of the cosmos shifts. Reality reweaves itself. To be a father is to look on your child and know that this child MUST NOT be hurt, MUST NOT die, MUST NOT suffer. And not just because of moral imperatives, but because it is against the very laws of the universe itself.

But the problem Albus, the thing I fear, is that almost inevitably the Daddy Curse becomes just that. You see in our haste and desire to protect them, we hurt them. Oh yes we can hurt them badly.

You would not think it looking at them Albus, but teenage boys are like tropical flowers. They are wild and vibrant and breathtakingly beautiful. And they are so fragile the smallest wind can damage them. For all their strength and loveliness, a teenage boy can be broken in one hand be someone who knows where to apply pressure.

I know. I broke one.

You have done it, haven't you Albus? I saw that look in your face when you talked about Harry last. I saw the look on Harry's face when he got off the train. You wanted so badly to protect him, to keep him from harm. And you have hurt him badly.

Oh it isn't a rare thing. Ask any parent. Stop almost any muggle on the street and they will have a story about how they hurt their beloved child when they only wanted to protect them. Yes, it is the most ordinary, plain, understandable thing in the world. And it makes the Cruciatus Curse seem like a hangnail.

Welcome to the world of fatherhood, Albus.

I broke my Percy. Before all heaven I did not mean too. I love him so much that to think about what happened that day ... I would rather face a white-hot iron. But I broke him. He was the middle child you see. Neither the oldest nor the youngest. And that put him in a more insecure position even than Ronniekins. He tried to deal with it by becoming "Perfect Percy." Oh yes, I know what his brothers called him, and there was some truth to it. But underneath it all he was only a frightened, insecure boy who needed to be loved.

And yet I yelled at him Albus. I argued and pounded my fist on the desk and said things to him that I wish I could cut out of my brain with a razor blade. I knew he was making a mistake you see. I had to protect him. I had to stop him from taking that course of action. I had to. And I hurt him so badly he does not talk to me any more.

And Percy came from a loving home. He did not spend ten years under the stairs. He did not have to live with people who starved him and neglected him. He was so much stronger and healthier than Harry, and I am so much weaker than you.

Harry is fragile Albus. He is fragile and cracked and wounded. For all his bravery and cleverness and luck he could break into a thousand fragments if not handled delicately. And you are swinging sledgehammers in his direction. In order to protect him you cut him off from emotional support when he needed you the most. In the name of treating him like he deserves you have told him something that is eating at his soul. I don't know what it is, but I am sure it has to do with the prophecy.

I am not saying you should not have told him whatever it was. But I do fear that you have set in place a series of events that you cannot understand. I fear that one day you will look down at those iron fingers of yours and see only bloody fragments, and then your heart will be rent like it has never been torn before.

And yes, I worry about Ron in this too. If you break Harry, Albus, Ron will shatter as well. Oh, it may not look like it. But inside him something will die, and my baby boy will become a walking sore.

I also worry about Ginny. Despite what she likes to proclaim at the moment, Harry Potter is the constant infatuation of her heart. She may convince herself differently for brief periods of time. But in the end the bond forged between them cannot be waved away by shifting moods or emotional games. If Harry is broken, I think Ginny might die in a way even more profound than Ron. There is even a chance she might literally perish.

So as one father to another I'm imploring you, Albus. Please be careful. You are the greatest wizard of the age. You are the champion of light, the greatest headmaster in the history of Hogwarts. You are the leader of what is good and righteous.

But when it comes to being a father, you don't know what the Hell you are doing.

Arthur Weasley

My eyes burning, my heart thudding painfully, I put Arthur's letter down.

//This doesn't seem to be your morning, Albus.//

No it does not. For the first time in a very long time, I am at a loss for words. It's a good thing no one is demanding any this very moment.

"Professor," that is Hagrid, "is something wrong?"

I turn to him, realizing that my expression must resemble that of a man who has just been kicked in a very sensitive place. I compose my face into my usual calm mask. "No Hagrid. Just a lot of news to digest."

Hagrid looks unconvinced, but says nothing. Percy, on the other hand, is staring into space again.

I know, I broke one.

"Your father says hello and that he loves you, Percy." I say softly.

He starts, glances at the letter in my hands, and smiles. For a moment, it looks almost genuine. Then the plastic expression of the Ministry official slips over his features.

"Please give him my regards."

I wait, hopeful.

Nothing.

Taking yet more parchment from my pocket (I'm going to run out at this rate) I hastily write a note to Minerva, thanking her for forwarding the messages (although truth be told I am not very thankful). I also ask her to obtain the Dreamless Sleep potion I mentioned to Harry and to make sure he receives it. To Amelia I write:

Amelia,

Thank you for your note. I agree that we must have a preliminary hearing. Whatever the political repercussions, the public must see that the Wizengamot, at least, is sticking to its duty.

As for the other matter, I will have to consider it.

Albus

What now to say to Umbridge? I know what I would like to say, but usually being politic is more important than venting personal feelings. Finally I simply write,

Mrs. Umbridge,

I will consider your request.

Albus Dumbledore

And what about Arthur. Here I pause. How to answer all of that? Of course I cannot answer it. Not in a letter. Not now.

Arthur,

I will of course speak to Ron.

We will talk of the rest.

Albus Dumbledore

Giving Fawkes the replies, I stroke his feathers casually and feed him another phoenix treat. He looks at me sadly.

"It's all right, Fawkes." I try to smile, and manage something that resembles one.

Fawkes huffs, clearly unconvinced. Nevertheless, he launches himself from my lap and out the window.

I am grateful for the silence inside the coach.

Anger, misery, pity, depression, all war inside of me.

Welcome to the world of Fatherhood, Albus.

I need to put all this aside. I must put all this aside. The council to come requires all my attention.

But that last line is stinging in my memory.

You don't know what the Hell you are doing.

And I fear it is only the truth.