Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER FIVE -- "You Don't Want to Know"

Harry and Ron spent the rest of that day and the next judiciously avoiding Hermione and Ginny who had barricaded themselves in their own room and they still showed no signs of reappearing, much to the disappointment of Ron and his stomach.

"Just because they're sore at you is no reason for them to take it out on the rest of us," Ron said grumpily as he prodded one of his knights forward to behead one of Harry's pawns. "I mean, they're going to have to eat sometime too." All he and Harry had eaten since breakfast the previous day had been sandwiches of their own making, and Ron wasn't happy about it. Harry watched the pieces of his pawn being swept unceremoniously off the board and didn't answer. Something told him there was more to Hermione's outburst than her not wanting him to sneak out to try to find a pay phone, but he just couldn't quite figure out what. Maybe Ginny was right: maybe he was as thick as he looked.

"Hello! Hello?" called a voice from downstairs.

"Dad!" Ron exclaimed. "The meeting must be about to start!" He jumped up, almost kicked over the chess board, and ran for the stairs. Harry heard the sound of other doors opening and closing in the house, and a chorus of cheerful voices greeting Mr. Weasley downstairs. Harry started to stand up, and then thought better of it. Slowly and sullenly, he started putting the wiggling chess pieces back into their box.

A year ago, he'd have been the first one downstairs, waiting for Dumbledore, demanding answers, wanting to know what had been happening. He remembered well the consternation his demands had caused between Sirius and Mrs. Weasley. Sirius had stood up for him, told them all he wasn't a child any more and that he deserved to know. If only they had listened to him!

Harry realized he had been squeezing a pawn rather hard in his fist and it was fighting and wriggling trying to get away. Quickly he shoved it into the box and threw the box under the bed. But he didn't get up. He sat on the floor listening to the commotion downstairs.

Over the summer, Ron had expressed his indignation several times that his parents weren't letting anything slip about their work for the Order this year, but Harry found he couldn't quite commiserate. After the battle at the ministry, after Sirius... Dumbledore had been forced to come clean with Harry, to tell him everything he probably should have been told long ago, and although Harry had been begging everyone for that knowledge for the better part of the past five years, he suddenly found himself wishing now that Dumbledore hadn't told him.

The truth of it was that the knowledge Dumbledore had given him -- about Voldemort, about the prophesy, about Harry's own black fate -- was eating away at him inside. Neither can live while the other survives... Harry had asked Dumbledore what it meant, but in his deepest heart he had already known. He had always known. Either he had to kill Voldemort, or Voldemort would kill him.

"Harry?" Harry jumped at the sound of his name. He had been so lost in thought that he found he was still sitting on the floor, staring off into space. Mr. Weasley was at the bedroom door, peering cautiously at Harry around the door frame. He was dressed in his mismatched wizard robes over a mildly eclectic assortment of Muggle clothes. "Can I come in?" Harry nodded quickly and stood up.

Arthur Weasley entered the bedroom and made to shut the door. "The meeting's about to start, Harry," he said slowly, "I expect you'll want to come on downstairs." Harry frowned at him, confused. Before, the adults had always shooed them firmly away from the meetings. Mr. Weasley looked uncomfortable. He walked over to Ron's bed and sat down on it heavily.

"I was hoping Dumbledore would have told you himself, but I can tell from the look on your face that he hasn't." Harry sat down on his own bed, opposite Mr. Weasley. "Dumbledore thinks you should sit in on the meetings while you're here, Harry," Mr. Weasley said finally, as if it pained him to admit it.

"Dumbledore wants me to join the Order?" Harry asked, shocked.

"No!" Mr. Weasley shook his head quickly. "No. You won't be joining -- only wizards who are of age can join -- but he thought it would be the easiest way for you to hear about what's going on. First hand, not rumors and hearsay."

"About Voldemort, you mean," Harry said woodenly. "What he's doing, and -- and all that." Mr. Weasley gave him a sideways look and nodded.

"Frankly I don't know if I agree with Dumbledore on this or not, but you are practically a man now, and if Dumbledore thinks you're ready..." Harry felt a tight knot forming in his stomach.

"He's wrong," he said suddenly. "I'm not ready! I -- I don't want to know!" He stood up and turned away from Mr. Weasley's shocked face. Harry felt the pressure that had been building in him all summer threaten to finally explode. He walked over to the wall and stared at Phineas Nigellus' blank portrait frame.

"Harry..." Mr. Weasley began, but Harry whirled around to face him.

"I already know, OK? He's killing people and cursing people and making people disappear! I already know! And I know that it's my fault!" He kicked the wall hard. "So I don't want to go to the stupid meeting and hear all about how I let Voldemort get away and so all these terrible things are happening! I just -- don't!" He turned back and saw Mr. Weasley gazing at him with such an expression of sad disbelief that Harry almost wanted to punch him the same way he'd punched Dudley.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said quietly but firmly, "it isn't your fault that Sirius died." Harry stared at him, stunned.

"Who said anything about Sirius?" he demanded hotly.

"You did. I'm just reading between the lines. You didn't kill Sirius. Voldemort did." Mr. Weasley got up and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. "If I could make it go away, Harry, I would. You're like one of my own boys to me." Harry watched Mr. Weasley's eyes suddenly turn cold and hard. "Dumbledore told us about the dreams that Voldemort was sending you," he said viciously, "the visions you had, and how some of them were real, like the one that saved my life, and some of them weren't." He tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder.

"We were the ones that neglected to give you the knowledge you needed to tell the difference between the two," he said fiercely, "so if you want to blame anyone for Sirius' death, it should be us, not yourself!" Harry stared at him. Mr. Weasley was shaking with emotion. Harry had never seen him like that before. He released Harry's shoulder, obviously trying to control himself.

"The choice is really yours, Harry," he said after a moment, the kind, fatherly voice Harry recognized returning. "But Dumbledore always has his reasons for things, and if he thinks that arming you with knowledge is the best way to keep you safe, then I know I for one will back him up." Harry stared at him, and nodded slowly. Mr. Weasley's smile returned.

"I'll just go on down then," he said, "and you come on when you're ready." Harry nodded, wondering to himself if he would ever really be ready.

***

"Well?" Ron exclaimed as Harry re-entered the bedroom a little more than an hour later. "What happened? What did they tell you?" Harry sunk down onto his bed next to Hermione, feeling ill. Apparently, her earlier animosity towards them had burnt itself out, or been overcome by her morbid curiosity. Ginny was perched on his trunk nearby.

"Harry's not supposed to tell us, Ron," Hermione said quietly, apparently torn between her desire to know what Harry knew, and her desire for him to follow the rules.

"Yeah, I know," Ron said eagerly, "but he's going to tell us anyway, aren't you? Say, aren't you, Harry?" Harry stared at him for a long silent minute.

"You don't want to know," he said finally, with a hollowness to his voice that even he couldn't fail to hear. Ron looked as though Harry had just slapped him across the face.

"You mean don't want to tell us, is that it?" he asked indignantly. "You like having your little secrets, like feeling like one of the adults, is that it? Lording it over us that you know stuff we don't know!"

"Ron..." Hermione started, but she was staring at Harry's face.

"No," Harry said firmly, "I mean you don't want to know! I know, and I wish I didn't." He stood up abruptly, looking down on Ron. "I didn't ask for this you know!" Ron looked somewhat shocked, but his face was turning red with anger.

"Well I am!" Ron shouted, standing up to face Harry. "I'm asking for it! I've been asking for it for ages, but will anyone listen to me? Will anyone trust me? No! He's just Ron. Just RON! Not the famous brilliant Harry Potter!" Harry felt himself shaking with rage. It was too much. It was all too much: being back in this house where everything reminded him of Sirius, finding out he was Sirius' heir, Lupin, the amulet, Mr. Weasley, and now this -- it was too much!

"Fine!" He shouted. "You think you can handle it?" His voice dropped to a deadly calm. "Fine! The dementors have left Azkaban! They're parading all over the country doing whatever Voldemort tells them too! They're attacking people! Stealing their souls!" All the blood seemed to have drained from Ron's face as he took a step away from Harry, but Harry continued his voice low and menacing. "People are disappearing every day! Madame Bones, the head of the department of magical law enforcement, disappeared two days ago. Hannah Abbott's parents both worked for the ministry and they've disappeared too!" Ron backed into his bed and sat down forcefully.

"And that's not the best bit!" Harry intoned, his voice going even deeper. "Voldemort isn't just content with England this time around! He or his death eaters have been spotted in a dozen different countries, recruiting new members! There's talk that he's joined forces with some mad dark society and that they're all becoming death eaters too." Harry took another step forward, and stared down at Ron again.

"Is that what you wanted to know, Ron?" he demanded spitefully. "Is that what you were so keen to hear? Gonna sleep better now that you're in the loop?" He straightened up. "Well that's great. I'm glad you were so almighty prepared for that, because I sure as hell wasn't. You think it's so great being the famous brilliant Harry Potter? That's fine. You have a go at it for a while, because I'm bloody sick of it!" He turned away from Ron and found Hermione, whom he'd momentarily forgotten, sitting on his bed, hugging her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her face. She was staring at him like she wasn't really seeing him, like he was someone else. Ginny's mouth was hanging open. She too stared at him as though she didn't recognize him.

Angrily he turned and stormed out of the room. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He stood outside his bedroom in the hallway for a moment fighting for breath. How could Ron be so stupid? As far as Harry was concerned, what he'd learned at the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was old news. Par for the course. It was history repeating itself, only on a much larger scale. Voldemort was reusing all of his old tricks that had worked so well during his first rise to power, and he was extending them to reach much further.

But the thing Harry had realized at the meeting was that none of the Order members besides himself and Dumbledore knew the truth. They were all talking about ways of protecting themselves and each other, ways of keeping Harry safe until he was back at Hogworts, and that's when he'd realized it: none of them knew that he wasn't safe, that he'd never be safe until he'd done what had to be done.

And that was the thing he so desperately wanted to tell Ron and Hermione, but just imagining the looks on their faces, the burdens they'd be forced to carry, the danger he'd be putting them in, he'd found he couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.

Harry looked up and found himself outside Buckbeak's room. He'd gone there without even realizing it. Slowly he opened the door. From across the darkened room, Buckbeak squawked, startled by his visitor. Nervously, Harry bowed to the massive creature, and, recognizing him, the hippogriff bowed his head back at Harry.

Harry threw himself down onto the crate in the corner. He'd taken recently to wondering what things would be like if he'd never been born, or even better, if Voldemort had never existed. He tried to imagine himself living in a big white house with his mom and dad, and maybe even a brother or a sister. He tried to imagine what it would be like if his biggest worries were how many OWLs he'd received or whether or not he would win the next quiddich match. He tried to picture what it would be like if every person he met didn't stare at his scar, or whisper behind his back, or...

Harry suddenly saw a face in his mind's eye smiling warmly at him -- a face with bright blue eyes, a small turned-up nose, and a shock of pink running through long blonde hair. Harry reached into the pocket of his jeans and felt the piece of paper he'd been carrying around with him.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Harry found himself bolting down the stairs towards the front door. When he reached the first floor landing, he stopped and listened hard. From above him he could hear the muffled sound of voices from his bedroom. A small stab of guilt shot through him, but he ignored it. From below, the even quieter sound of voices wafted up, just barely audible from the kitchen. Luck was with him.

Making as little noise as possible, Harry crept quickly towards the front door. He wondered for a moment if he would be able to get out, since, as Hermione had said (another pang of guilt) the house was so thoroughly charmed, but the locks and handle turned easily and the door swung open at his touch.

Amazed at his own luck, Harry quietly closed the door and dashed down the front steps. He turned back to make sure he wasn't being followed, and to his amazement, he watched as number twelve was squeezed out of existence between numbers eleven and thirteen.

Harry looked up one way and down it the other. The shabby residential street was bathed in the eerie orange glow of a streetlight at either end, but there wasn't a phone booth to be seen. Not about to be deterred, Harry set off to the right, sure that there would be a phone booth just around the --

"Harry?!" Harry froze at the sound of Tonks' voice. It was over. He was caught. Slowly he turned around.

She was jogging up to him out of the darkness, a look of fear written across her face. "What is it?" she cried, breathless, "What happened? What's wrong?" Harry found he couldn't answer her. Shame at his stupidity burned up inside him from his stomach, turning his face bright red. He chose to look at his feet, rather than at Tonks' unhappy face.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "What are you doing out here?"

"I... I just fancied a bit of fresh air," Harry said lamely without looking up. Tonks put her hands on her hips and stared at him, her fear quickly turning to anger.

"Come on Harry, I'm not that thick."

"I'm sorry," he said. She shook her head.

"How about the truth then? Or do I need to go fetch Moody?" Harry sighed. Feeling the blood boiling in his face, and still without looking Tonks in the eye, he quickly recapped the row with Ron and his sudden decision to leave the house. He carefully avoided mentioning the piece of paper in his pocket or his intended destination. When he finished, Tonks was silent. Uncertain of his fate at the hands of the young Auror, Harry chanced a glance up at her.

The anger had been replaced by a totally unexpected and disconcertingly wicked smile.

"And would your decision to take a night time stroll, by any chance, have anything to do with a certain Muggle?" Harry was stunned, and his face must have shown it. "You didn't think you and the Weasleys were the only ones to fish those extendable ears out of the bin after Molly chucked them, did you?" she asked. "They're bloody useful little toys." Harry didn't know what to think.

"I just wanted to talk to someone... else," he said finally, feeling overwhelmed.

"Well, why didn't you just ask?" Tonks shook her head exasperatedly. She reached into her hip front pocket and produced a handful of Muggle change and handed it to Harry. He stared at it. "There's a payphone a block in the other direction." Dumbfounded, he stared back up at her.

"I met this guy at a pub," Tonks said with a slight blush. "He's a Muggle too. You've got five minutes. That's it! Then we have to get back inside before anyone figures out you're gone and Moody uses us both for target practice!" She turned on her heel and walked up the street. Harry followed her around the corner, and saw a dingy telephone booth, just as Tonks had said. Tonks held open the door for him, and then snapped it quickly shut, retreating a few paces away once he was safely inside.

Still feeling somewhat in shock, Harry pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, deposed the correct change and dialed.

"Hello?" Harry almost choked.

"Er... Hello? Is... Er... Gwyn there?" He felt like an idiot. He felt like a complete prat. He felt like--

"Hello?" Harry's insides melted.

"Gwyn? It's Harry!"

"Harry! Hi! I thought maybe something had happened to you!"

"No," Harry said quickly, "I just had a bit more trouble getting to a phone than I thought..."

"Oh. Well, how are you? How's your summer?" Harry frowned at the phone. He wanted to tell her everything, but he knew he couldn't.

"Kind of rubbish actually," he blurted out. "I'm staying with friends and, well, we had a bit of a row..."

The next five minutes were the fastest in his life, and as Tonks started signaling him to wind it up, he found he couldn't remember a single thing he had said.

"Well," he said, "I've gotta go. My time's almost up."

"Oh," Gwyn said. Did she sound disappointed? "Well, when can I talk to you again?"

"Um... I'm not sure. Maybe not for a while, but I'll write to you." Tonks was opening the door, holding out her hand for the phone. Gwyn laughed.

"How? You don't have my address!" Harry smiled.

"Magic! Gotta go. Bye." Tonks grabbed the phone from him and hung it up.

"Let's go!" she commanded. Harry nodded and followed her back to the place he knew number twelve to be, and obediently, it appeared. He and Tonks climbed the front steps, and Tonks tapped the door lightly four times with the tip of her wand. It swung open without a sound and they snuck inside.

Once she had closed the door quietly behind them, she rounded on him. "I realize that being 16 and being stuck in this place for the summer is total crap," she whispered, "but don't expect me to cover for you again! Your love life isn't worth risking both our necks for --" she grinned at him, "-- at least, not more than once!" He smiled thankfully and nodded. Tonks put one finger to her lips and turned to go, and in the process she bumped into the umbrella stand and sent it crashing to the floor.

"Bugger!" she cried loudly. She began trying to right the hat stand as she pointed emphatically for Harry to get upstairs. Harry stifled a laugh as he took the stairs two at a time.

Two floors below, he could hear Tonks explaining to a very unhappy sounding Moody that she'd come in from her guard duty to use the toilet. He almost laughed, but it caught in his throat as he turned to face his bedroom door. From inside, he could hear Ron's voice, but much more disconcerting, Hermione's sobs. Feeling like a total worm, he slowly opened the door.

Ron and Hermione were sitting on Harry's bed. Ron had his arm around Hermione and she had her face buried in his shoulder, obviously still crying. Harry cleared his throat and Ron shot up from the bed like something had stung him. Both boys stared guiltily across the room at each other. Seeing Harry, Hermione leapt off the bed and ran for him.

"OH HARRY!" she sobbed shrilly as she threw herself around his neck. "I thought you'd run off! I thought you'd try to sneak out!" Harry patted her awkwardly, deciding at once not to tell her that he pretty much had. "I didn't know what to do! I wanted to go tell Lupin, but then I was afraid you'd be even madder and..." She sniffled loudly and pulled back enough to look at him through puffy red eyes. "I'm so sorry I'm being s-such a prat!" she said, hiccoughing slightly. "I'll try not to be so emotional all the time, I promise." She stood back and looked up at him hopefully. "I'm really sorry, OK Harry?" she said quietly.

"Of course!" he said, surprised. "I mean, I'm the one who should be apologizing!" He looked over at Ron. "I'm the one who blew up. It's just... a lot to absorb right now, you know?" Hermione nodded vigorously, looking like she might start crying again, but Harry was focused on Ron. He had a funny, slightly green look about him, but he nodded tersely.

"Lights out you lot!" called Lupin from the hallway. Hermione sniffed loudly again and headed for the door. She looked back and gave Ron a strange, searching look before saying "G'night," and disappearing out into the hallway.

Harry stared at Ron, who was staring at the door. "Are we good?" he asked, finally. Ron shook himself.

"What? Oh. Yeah. We're good. Just promise me you'll tell us stuff from now on. You don't have to protect us, you know. Anything you know, we want to know." Harry nodded, a cold pit of guilt forming in his stomach. He and Ron quickly got ready for bed, and Harry noticed that Ron kept staring at the door, and then back at Harry in an odd way. As he collapsed into his bed, he found he barely had the energy to care. It had been a long day. A very long day.