The Next Great Adventure

-----Prologue-----

"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."--
Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling

-----

It was three days before the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive in Hogsmeade Station, and Professor McGonagall was unworried. She had just arrived back from her lecture circuit in the United States, and her lecture Animagi: Proof of an Inborn Talent had been a great success; a publishing company had approached her to write a book, and she had accepted. It would be a lovely change, to write, and she could easily use her lecture notes and finish it by Christmas break.

Although even McGonagall disliked entering Dumbledore's office without invitation, nobody answered her knock, and she feared he was sleeping. Lately he had been spending more time doing that. The spells he had taken in his battle with Grindelwald were taking their toll, and although 123 wasn't extraordinarily old for a wizard to be, it was older than St. Mungo's had ever thought Dumbledore would live. Directly after his battle with the dark wizard, they had given him a year before the long-term curses took effect; a countercurse had been found, for most of them, and the other ones simply never took. All the same, as a wizard gets older, his powers grow and his willpower weakens. What would happen if Dumbledore tried to use a spell that he could no longer control? The thought made her step quicken. With the return of Lord Voldemort, he had been using stronger and stronger enchantments to protect Hogwarts in general and Harry Potter in particular; he could easily have overtaxed himself.

She paused in front of the spiral staircase, thinking. Perhaps I should leave him be. He's likely only taking a nap. But something else, something more sinister, told her to go on and check - it did seem awfully strange that he deteriorate so quickly, over the course of just a summer, and right when Voldemort's powers were waxing. It would explain so much if he was draining his willpower, trying to control progressively wilder and wilder spells... she just hoped that he had had the good sense to draw a ward around himself before trying anything too difficult. Putting a foot on the bottom step of the staircase, McGonagall headed up to his study.

The first room, the office, seemed quite normal - and definitely empty. If he was napping, of course, he wouldn't be there; therefore, she checked the bedroom next, finding the correct lever to press and waiting for the trick bookcase to slide out of the way. Fawkes screamed impatiently at her as she glanced around the four-poster bed; he was in his cage in the study, and quite obviously ready to molt. "Oh, do be quiet," she called in to him, but there was no point in staying in the bedroom any longer; there was no sleeping form in the bed or even slumped on the floor. Dumbledore's absence was making her quite edgy; she jumped at the clunk of the bookcase settling back into place, suddenly as unsure of herself as she was the first time she had been called to Dumbledore's offices. Mincing her way across the room to Fawkes' cage, she fumbled with the catch for a moment and let the phoenix fly free. He warbled at her for a second, then flew out of the study and into the workroom.

Fawkes' happy mood made McGonagall sure that Dumbledore was simply in the middle of a spell, and she followed him gladly, a weight taken off her heart. It was dropped again a hundredfold when she saw what was in the workroom.

A cauldron was set up in the center of the room, bubbling softly over an open fire - it must have been a standard size six, because it looked to be as wide as McGonagall was tall. Around it was drawn a protective circle to ward off bad intent. Inside the circle lay the body of Albus Dumbledore, sparks flying from the fire and catching in his beard. Fawkes circled the room for a moment, singing, and landed on his dead master's arm. As McGonagall stood, speechless, the phoenix let out one last heartbreaking stanza and burst into flame.

-----

Yawning, Harry Potter rolled over and hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. It kept ringing. He hit it two more times and it stopped. Fumbling for his glasses, he realized that Dudley's old clock was very, very broken. Its face read 12:46 AM, and the back was smashed into a small pile of plastic shards. Vaguely, he remembered that the day before he had set The Monster Book of Monsters on the table with the alarm clock, and The Monster Book had attempted to eat it.

So what had been ringing?

Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he sat up and came face-to-face with a Hogwarts school owl. It appeared quite annoyed. Realizing that he must have hit the owl, not the alarm clock, Harry muttered an apology and took the letter from its claws. It flew over to Hedwig's cage and perched atop it, hooting its indignation down to Harry's pet.

At this point, it was obvious that the letter had been making the noise. As usual, it was addressed to Mr. Harry Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, and marked with the Hogwarts crest and seal. The beginning of the letter was as usual, as well: Dear Mr. Potter, please find enclosed the list of supplies you will need for your next year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term starts on September 1. Your ticket for the Hogwarts Express is enclosed; it leaves promptly at 12:00 AM on September 1 from Platform 93/4 , King's Cross Station. However, it continued: Due to a sudden illness Headmaster Albus Dumbledore recently contracted, Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall will be Acting Headmistress until he has recovered. Sincerely, Acting Deputy Headmaster, Severus Snape.

Harry re-read the letter, surprised and somewhat chagrined at the sudden news, before he saw the note pinned to the back. Written on ivory paper in golden ink, it was attached with a dark red straight pin.

Mr. Potter,
As I assume you have realized, you will not be going to the Weasleys' this summer. Hopefully you will not be too disappointed. However, I must request that you return to Hogwarts straight away. I assume that you have some of our money with you. Take the Knight Bus to Hogwarts today, and if you have no money, tell them that I will settle the debt upon arrival. Please keep in mind that, as the name might suggest, the Knight Bus travels only at night, and in your area only between the hours of 8:00 and 9:00 PM. If you try to leave during the day or miss the bus when it comes, I will not save you from the tender care of the Department of Underage Wizardry, or from your aunt and uncle. There is far too much to do.
Yours,
Acting Headmistress Minerva M. McGonagall

Harry blinked. Today was August 29th. August 29th - there's something I should remember -

Oh yes. Aunt Marge.

She was supposed to arrive for her first visit since her blowing-up at 12:00 sharp this morning, and it had already been made clear to Harry that if he didn't stay safely out of sight he would be out the door and into an orphanage quicker than he could say "unfair." Mr. Dursley had decided that if Sirius Black wanted to come and murder them in their sleep, he would have done it already - and even Harry's threats could get him nowhere. Aunt Marge was going to have an absolutely lovely visit, she would be safely out of the house and into a hotel that evening, and Harry would stay safely out of sight and out of mind. His wand would be taped to the bedroom ceiling, right in the middle, where Harry couldn't possibly reach without making a clamor that would alert his aunt and uncle.

He had jammed the letter into the crack between his mattress and the bed's headboard and was about to go back to sleep when he heard his Aunt Petunia pounding on the door. "Wake up, you lazy brat," she called, "My Duddy has been awake for an hour and you've been lazing away in bed. Come downstairs; I need you to help me clean today." Probably Dudley's going to sleep another hour, then, he thought, but he slowly stood up, waited to make sure she was gone, and headed downstairs still in his pajamas. As he passed his cousin's room, he felt rather vindicated: Dudley was still snoring steadily away.

"Why aren't you dressed?" Aunt Petunia asked brusquely as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. "You should have eaten breakfast already. It's almost 9:00."

"I'm hungry," Harry replied, through a mouthful of Cheerios. "Five minutes."

"Fine then. When you're finished wash out your bowl and you can sweep off the sidewalk and wash all the windows. Once you're done with that, come back and I'll give you something else to do."

The only comforting thing about having to do chores was that Aunt Petunia was working too; he saw her inside vacuuming and dusting as he worked on the windows, wishing he could use a Cleansing Charm. The time passed quickly, though, and since Aunt Marge was to arrive at noon, there was only 21/2 hours of work that Aunt Petunia could make him do before he had to be hurried back into his room. He made use of the time he had before 8:00 - a full 8 hours - to pack his things and take a nap, but the time went slowly now that there was nothing to do but wait. He searched Dudley's old things to find a working watch so he could tell the time; finally he found one that seemed to be about right. After that, he twiddled his thumbs for ten minutes (according to Dudley's old watch), tried to take a nap until he finally gave up at 2:34 (according to Dudley's old watch), and settled down with his Care of Magical Creatures homework (keeping Dudley's old watch a safe distance away from The Monster Book of Monsters).

Harry woke up with The Monster Book of Monsters nibbling on his ear affectionately. Dudley's watch read 8:58 PM. He could still hear Aunt Marge drunkenly muttering downstairs, and the Knight Bus - where did it go, anyway? Off to another part of England? Then how did he catch it when he did, two years ago - did he just get lucky and pick the time when it would arrive in Surrey? In any case, he certainly had to hurry. Grabbing his wand off the table, he threw open the window and thrust his arm out of it. For a long moment nothing happened - and then he felt the whoosh of air that mean the Knight Bus had come. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and -"

"Stan? Stan Shunpike!"

"Wot?"

"Up here, in the window! It's me, Harry Potter!"

"'Arry Potter? Wot?"

Harry sighed. At least he had gotten the Knight Bus; now all he had to do was find a way to get down without the Dursleys noticing. He had left a ladder out when he was washing the windows earlier; maybe that would serve. "I'm up here, and I can't come down the regular way. You've got to find a way to get me down through the window so I can get on the bus - I think there's a ladder leaning on the house, but you'll have to be careful to be quiet."

"I'll just magic 'oo down, 'ow's that? Easier." He had gotten out his wand.

"NO! If there's any magic, the Department of Underage Wizardry will come - I'm the only wizard who's supposed to be here!" Stan was quiet, and Harry hoped that meant he agreed. Then he heard a clank of metal; it must be the ladder being moved. With a soft thump, the ladder landed against the windowsill; it was just long enough.

As he started to climb out the window, Harry was presented with a problem: his trunk. It wouldn't fit out the window, and even if it did, there would be no way that he could get it down. You'll be well away from the house before the Department for Underage Wizardry will get there, he thought to himself, trying to justify using magic. Anyway, Professor McGonagall will help you get out of trouble. So he gulped down the lump that was forming in his throat at the thought of being expelled from Hogwarts (or, worse, sent to Azkaban, even for just a few days) and shrunk his trunk. Slipping the trunk into his pocket and setting Hedwig free to fly down, he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, holding onto it with one hand and Hedwig's cage with the other.

It happened so fast that Harry had no idea what was going on: the ladder teetered, then went crashing sideways to the ground. In what was apparently a burst of spontaneous magic, Harry floated safely five feet above the ground as the ladder fell, smashing both Hedwig's cage and Aunt Petunia's rose bushes in one fell swoop. Stan said it best: "Aw, shit." What was worse, the levitation didn't seem to be wearing off. After waiting a few seconds to float gently to the ground, Harry tried to reverse it with his wand - to no avail. "We've gotta get choo down from there, 'Arry," Stan muttered. "I don't want ta be dealing wit' the Department." Just as he was pulling his wand to try and help Harry, out ran the Dursleys, along with a scandalized-looking Aunt Marge.

Of course, it was too late to avoid dealing with the Ministry of Magic. It seemed like the entire Ministry had somehow found its way to the scene, including Fudge, who cornered Harry as soon as he had been released from his float. "I don't know what you thought you were doing, young man," he said, straightening his tie and puffing himself up importantly, "but you should know that I won't put up with any more out-of-school magic from you! Dumbledore might let you get away with that because you're a celebrity, but not the Ministry of Magic!" He seemed about ready to order Harry carted off to the wizarding equivalent of Juvenile Hall when a calm, cold voice interrupted him.

"Mr. Fudge, I believe that punishing Potter is Headmaster Dumbledore's duty. He's sent me to come and collect his - ah - wayward student." Harry had never been as glad to see Snape in his life. Fudge sputtered. "Now, if you'll excuse us -" long, bony fingers picked Fudge's hand off Harry's arm - "we do have places to go. I assume you have your trunk, Potter?"

"Yes," he replied, taking it from his pocket and enlarging it (garnering quite a few nasty looks from Ministry workers as he did so). "Are we traveling by Floo powder? Because the Dursleys haven't any fireplace."

"We don't need to go to the Dursleys'," Snape replied curtly, and proceeded to march Harry across the street to Mrs. Figg's house. Cowed, for the moment, by surprise and nervousness, he followed, stopping at the front door as Snape produced a house key and let them in.

Although the outside of the house had seemed exactly the same (It sported dingy curtains covering the windows, paint new and fresh but lawn slightly overgrown), the inside was as bare as if no-one had ever lived there. The only thing that showed some sign of life was the fireplace, which had a couple of logs in it and was blazing merrily. It also appeared to be about twice as tall as it had been last time Harry had stayed at Mrs. Figg's - tall enough for Harry to enter without stooping, and even almost tall enough for Snape. The professor laid the house key next to the fireplace, put another log on the fire, and drew a small pouch from a pocket of his robes. It was embroidered with the words floo powder in an ornate Victorian style that should have been outlawed for tastelessness. Setting it next to the key, he turned to Harry.

"I'm sure your owl will be just fine; it knows the way back to Hogwarts. Our trip, however, is significantly more perilous than simply clicking one's heels and saying 'I want to go home' three times. Be extremely careful to enunciate 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Hall, north fireplace.' If you will put some minute amount of trust in me, accept my advice that you do not wish to arrive in the south, west, or east fireplace. Or anywhere else, for that matter." He frowned, down his long hooked nose. "Well?"

Feeling rather foolish, Harry took a pinch of the powder and threw it into the flames, then stepped into them and shouted exactly as he was told.