Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos

Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos

Chapter 3 - Dumbledore's Advice

You don't get to choose how you're going to die. Or when.
You can only decide how you're going to live. Now.

~~Joan Baez

There's a lot to be said for Occlumency, Harry thought, when I'm not being taught by a traitorous back stabbing son of a b--

"You're still studying!" Ron exclaimed, barging into the room he and Harry shared with a Quaffle under one arm and a broomstick under the other.

Sunlight poured in through the upper window of Ron's room, playing with the dust particles in the air and shining onto Harry's face, as he sat cross legged on his bed, the Occlumency text open before him.

Harry suppressed a smile. "I'm not studying," he said. "I'm concentrating on achieving inner peace to better my hopes of kicking Voldemort's bony pale ass. I was getting somewhere as well then...."

"Really?"

Harry nodded. "It's getting easier to sort my memories... I think. What I really need is someone to try and break into my mind."

"I'm here for you," Ron grinned, dropping his Quaffle and booting it into a corner. He drew his wand with a flick of the wrist from the wand holster Harry had gotten him from Fred and George's shop, and pointed it at him. "Right between the eyes...."

Harry smirked. "When did you become a master legimens?"

Ron shrugged and put away his wand. "Last Tuesday night. What does it matter?"

Harry smiled and closed his book, doing the final few exercises it suggested and propping up his still pitifully weak defences. Snape would have absolutely no trouble breaking into his mind again - and that had to change if he was to make some decent headway in this war.

"So, what's the plan now then?" he asked Ron.

"Mum won't let us play Quidditch," Ron sighed. "But she said Remus and Tonks were on their way over - extra protection for you, I think - and there's a lot to do for the wedding."

"Like what?" Harry asked, stretching his legs out and rotating his head in slow circles. He was rewarded with a satisfying crack in his neck for his efforts.

Ron threw his broomstick onto his bed. "Seat planning, table arrangements, flower settings... blah, blah, blah..." He waved his hand dismissively and sat down on the bed. "We could play chess?"

Still feeling relatively calm from his Occlumency exercises - which at this stage were just sitting down without distraction and sorting his memories behind layers in his mind which the book called barriers of deception. It made sense in an oddly comforting way - Harry shrugged and yawned.

"It's too hot to play chess," Ron decided a moment later. "Too hot to be outside arranging tables and chairs... at least it would have been cool playing Quidditch."

"What are Hermione and Ginny up to?"

"Hermione's reading the seventh year books already," Ron tapped his fingers against the bedside table. "And Ginny's with Fleur being measured for her dress for Saturday."

"Hmm," Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose we could--"

Harry screamed.

Some force, something terribly powerful, ripped away his weak Occlumency defences and his scar burst with a ferocious pain that seemed to bite back into his skull. Unaware that he did so, Harry threw himself back down into the bed, scattering his books and turned to bite the pillow, in hopes of lessening the mind-breaking pain that cut through his forehead.

Ron was on his feet in less than a second, but apart from that there wasn't much he could do as Harry tossed and turned, grunted and moaned, and buried his face in his pillow, gripping that same pillow tightly.

Meanwhile, Harry travelled....

From the small bedroom in the Burrow his mind was transported north across the United Kingdom and out into the cold seas on the west coast of Scotland. To a small island that held a tall grey stone fortress....

Dementors and Death Eaters swarmed around him as a shroud of dark cloud settled over Azkaban prison. Weather magic was a fine art, one Lord Voldemort had dabbled in before, and now the otherwise cloudless sky writhed with bitter black thunderstorm clouds, which crackled with lightning and bellowed with thunder. The clouds were centred over the prison.

Harry felt happy and knew it wasn't his own happiness. It was a sadistic joy as the Dementors were returned once again to their island home, and the impregnable fortress fell to the Dark Lord. He felt as Voldemort did, saw as Voldemort did.

As well as the Dementors, swarms of ragged corpses - of Inferi - stumbled and moaned around him, hiding in the shadows or wading through the icy fog the Dementors left in their wake. The corpses were in various states of decay, some nothing more than thin skeletons if not less.

"Severus," Harry hissed, and one of the masked Death Eaters broke away from the group behind him and approached. "Severus, the island is ours."

And it was, Harry knew - Harry wept. Aurors, proud in their white battle tarnished robes, littered the ground here and there. Harry hoped that they would not be made into Inferi, a mockery of actual life and give strength to his enemy's army.

Lightning tore the sky apart - unnatural lighting that was tinged slightly red.

"Another victory," Snape said, his tone neutral and his arms wrapped inside his cloak. "This world will soon be yours, my lord."

Harry laughed and with a flick of his wand sent the Dark Mark glittering into the dark sky, to hover over the conquered fortress.

"Free my servants locked away in the prison," Harry commanded. "Give the other prisoners chance to join me - kill any who resist."

"As you wish, my lord," Snape replied without hesitation.

Harry coughed.

He coughed and sighed, holding a hand to his enflamed forehead. The heat from his scar was powerful, sizzling even, and stung as the real pain began to ebb away. Still with his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and let out another long sigh. He could feel the presence of people around him.

"I'm thinking," he said, "that the shit has just hit the fan... again." He opened his eyes.

Remus Lupin smiled down sadly at him. Next to him was Tonks, her hair a short brown colour with a long dark red streak, and her eyes deep blue. Hermione and Ron were there as well, on the other side.

"What did you see, Harry?" Remus asked. He seemed tired, his eyes ringed with shadow. There was a fair few more streaks of grey in his hair as well. A rough patch of stubble covered his cheeks.

"Voldemort... has Azkaban," Harry said, struggling to sit up in his bed. He must have been out of it for at least half an hour. "Snape was there... a hell of a lot of Dementors.... and Inferi. There were a lot of dead Aurors."

Tonks flinched. "There's always thirty five Aurors on the island at any one time," she said, her bottom lip quivering. "I- I have to go inform the Ministry."

Remus shook his head. "You know as well as anyone that the Ministry can't know Harry saw this," he said. "They'll just have to find out later...."

"But there could still be some Aurors left alive!" Tonks protested.

Harry laughed bitterly, swinging his legs off the bed and holding his head as the room spun. "Nothing that deserves to live is left alive on that island," he said, his voice strangely deep and commanding. Everyone present took notice of it.

"If the Ministry knew Harry was seeing things through Voldemort...." Remus turned to Tonks, placing his hand on her shoulder. "They'll know soon enough when the Aurors fail to report back."

Tonks sighed and then shrugged, sitting down on the edge of Harry's bed dejectedly. "I wish Dumbledore were here...." she whispered, casting a dreadful silence across the room.

Harry caught her eyes briefly and turned away, clenching his fists. It was the same look from the others - from Remus and Ron, and Hermione as well. Without Dumbledore, it said, you are all we have.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, quickly entering the room and thrusting a goblet of clear liquid into his hand. "Drink this."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Water, dear. You had quite a fever."

Harry drained the goblet and then stood up, stretching his neck and rubbing his scar. Be strong, he told himself, they want to see Dumbledore in you.

"This war is not going to wait for me," he said, quietly but it was heard by all. He thought about that for a moment, coming to a silent decision as he gazed out over the English countryside through the window. "Remus," he turned to the werewolf, "just how influential am I in the wizarding world?"

Remus blinked and shared a quick glance with Tonks and Molly before slowly opening his mouth, searching for the right words. "In Britain...." he said, very carefully. "In Britain... public opinion is split between three main power centres."

"Three?" Hermione asked.

Remus nodded. "Those who agree with the Ministry, those who agree with Voldemort - thankfully a small group - and those... those who see you, Harry, as a power unto yourself."

Scratching the side of his head and blinking back the pain from his headache, Harry said, "Come again?"

Remus shook his head and sat down. It was his turn to sigh now, everyone else had. "You were shielded, somewhat, since Voldemort's return, Harry. Dumbledore and the Order protected you from outside influences... like the Ministry. But people remember - they remember it was you on Halloween night so many years ago that survived. They remember that it was you most times since."

Remus paused there and looked speculative for a moment. "It was you, Harry, who told the world that he was back. That fought Death Eaters in the Ministry and it was you who Albus Dumbledore trusted even as he died. Tales like that have a way of becoming public knowledge...."

"So what are you saying?" Ron asked. Harry hadn't moved nor spoken since Remus began. He stood against the window, his hands behind his back and his shoulders held high. Powerful, commanding, whether he knew it or not.

"That many people, a lot of people, most people, respected Dumbledore's opinion. Many people also respect you for yourself, for taking a stand so many times. You have a powerful influence, Harry... I think, I think if you spoke a lot of people would listen."

"I would," Tonks said with a sad smile.

Harry absorbed this information carefully, looking at it from all angles. He slowly tapped his foot on the floor, thinking. Do I really wield such a powerful influence over the masses...? he wondered, although idly. His main thoughts were of how to use this power, of how he could take a real role in this war.

"I'm not a spectator," he eventually said, speaking more to himself than everyone else. "I'm a player in this game... albeit an unwilling one."

"What are you thinking?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged and smiled, the pain of a moment ago already forgotten as his scar settled down. "Not much, Remus," he said. "Not much yet."

Silence followed his words and Mrs. Weasley was gauging responses to it with a nervous look on her face. "Well," she said. "Well... lunch is on the table downstairs so come on you lot."

"I'll be down in a minute," Harry said, hands in his pockets. He was holding the piece of parchment that had been inside the fake Horcrux. The locket that had cost Dumbledore his life.

Remus and Tonks followed Molly out of the room and down the stairs. Harry sighed as they left, trying to grasp the wider implications of Voldemort's current move in the war. It wouldn't just affect the prison; it would affect morale and boost the number of Death Eaters at Voldemort's command. He shook his head as Hermione asked,

"What are you really thinking about, Harry?"

Harry smiled sadly and turned away. "I was thinking about Stan Shunpike... He was in Azkaban."

Ron and Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that. "This bloody war," Ron managed, shrugging his shoulders as if itching for a fight.

Perhaps he is, Harry thought. He was himself trying to temper his rage over this latest development. Slowly but surely the wizarding world was being put on the defensive by Voldemort - when they needed to be attacking. Thoughts buzzed through his mind but Harry swatted them away. He needed to work more on his Occlumency, he knew, amongst other things.

"Let's go get some lunch," he said. "No doubt this'll be in the Prophet soon enough."

Gritting his teeth and biting back the doubt he felt over this, Harry walked from the room taking his aura of power with him. Hermione watched him go with thoughts of her own, standing next to Ron.

"I think there'll be peace by the time he's done, Ron," she said quietly. "I really do."

*'*'*'*

Italy

Matt had been driving for seven straight hours, having stopped once for fuel, when Courtney woke up the morning after they had left Rome. She had been asleep since midnight, and Matt was glad that she was awake. He had been getting bored as the miles, upon slow miles, streamed by under their wheels.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiled, as she checked that her muggle weapon - the gun - was secured in its seat holster. Always be prepared for the worst - Matt had not needed to teach her that, she had learnt it herself at a very young age.

Courtney yawned and stretched her arms as well as she could in the car. "Where are we?" she asked.

"Heading on over to Switzerland. We went through Florence a while back but you were sleeping so you missed that."

"How do you feel?" she asked, stroking his shoulder.

"Never better, love," Matt smiled. "Burns are a little itchy and I've still got that old familiar feeling."

"Danger?"

"And then some. Sensitives are not supposed to have the feeling this strong or for this long, Court," Matt shook his head. "Maybe we're in over our heads on this one."

Courtney smiled and began to brush her hair with a comb that she kept in the glove box, next to the gun. Beauty, brain, and brawn. "Even if we are you'll keep going, darling. It's why I love you."

Matt winked and accelerated up a hill. There was nothing but forest and blue skies all around them. Pretty soon the St Gotthard tunnel, the second longest tunnel in the world, would be visible up ahead. The roads were mostly empty as well - in the last three hours only six or so cars had passed them coming the other way.

"So," Courtney said, leaning down to rub some feeling back into her dead left foot. "Are you going to tell me some more about this kid Harry Potter?"

Matt shrugged. "What is there to know? I don't know much, but I do know that he's powerful."

"Stronger than you?"

Matt smiled. "Well I wouldn't go that far, but that said I've never survived the Killing Curse or destroyed a Dark Lord."

"Is this kid a Jedi or something. Don't they destroy Dark Lords?" Courtney grinned, joking, but she saw the frown on Matt's face and the look of deep thought.

"Lord Voldemort," he said. "You read in the paper that he's back - well sixteen or so years ago it was Harry Potter, himself just a year old, that stopped him. No one knows how - but that kid survived a curse that you can't survive and gave the wizarding world fifteen years of peace."

Courtney absorbed that slowly. "He must be fairly famous then, for doing that. The Prophet, the paper you get delivered, doesn't seem to know half the time whether to praise him or blame him for this Dark Lord."

"Call him Voldemort," Matt said, utterly serious. "Be unique and different."

"Okay then," Courtney shrugged, "Voldemort it is. So, anything else I should know about Harry Potter?"

"Not that much is known about him," Matt replied. "I've heard in the underground and other less reputable places that he's been in one or two scrapes over the years. Rumour has it he slew a basilisk."

Courtney blinked. "Y-You mean a giant snake!?"

"Aye," Matt nodded. "He was there when Voldemort returned from the grave, was there when Albus Dumbledore died... that was a sore blow."

"Did you know Albus Dumbledore?" Courtney asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just then it sounded like you did."

Matt was silent for a long moment - not his usual loud and happy self. "Everyone knew Dumbledore," he said eventually. "I'll tell you something now, Court - fairly soon this world is going to miss Albus Dumbledore... a lot of good people are going to die."

"Voldemort must be powerful himself then."

Matt nodded. "Death slowed him down for a time, but now he's back. Either our young hero Harry Potter stops him or I don't think he will be stopped.... but let's talk about something else for now. War and death are bringing the mood in this car way down. You want to stop for breakfast in the next town?"

"Can do," Courtney agreed, glancing curiously at the man she loved from the corner of her eye. Matt was hiding something, she knew, and he had never done that before.

*'*'*'*

"I heard that you've had an eventful morning," Ginny said, slumping down next to Harry on the sofa in the living room of the Burrow. She had been back about half an hour from Diagon Alley, being fitted for her wedding robes, and Hermione had just told her about Harry's episode.

Harry nodded and marked the page in his Occlumency book with his finger. He really needed to study that more. "Yeah, it rated about an eight on the 'world going to hell in a handcart' scale. Voldemort has Azkaban, Gin."

Ginny shuddered. "Everyone in there is a bit worried about you." She pointed to the kitchen where Ron, Hermione, Remus, Tonks and Mrs. Weasley were sitting. "I think they think you might Apparate out of here on your own and do something drastic like hunt down Voldemort."

Harry chuckled. "I'm going to hunt down pieces of Voldemort, although I have no idea where to start. R.A.B... any ideas on that one?"

"Afraid not," Ginny sighed, linking her hands together. "You'll pull through though, Harry. Maybe you know more than you think you do."

"Maybe," Harry agreed with a sigh. "Maybe, maybe, maybe."

Suddenly the fire burst to life and both Harry and Ginny turned, recognising the familiar face buried in the flames.

"Professor," Ginny said, standing up quickly. "Mum, firecall!"

"Hello, Miss Weasley," Minerva McGonagall said, her proud face wreathed in flame. "I actually wish to speak to Mr. Potter, if he's there."

"I'm here," Harry said, standing up and walking round to the fireplace. "Good afternoon, Professor."

"Potter," McGonagall nodded. "Ah, Molly, Remus told me of this morning's unfortunate events. I wonder if I can borrow young Harry for a few minutes."

"I don't suppose you're taking me off to seek out adventure, are you, Professor?" Harry asked, sadly recalling Dumbledore's words of the previous year. And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.

"No, Harry," McGonagall said.

"I didn't think so," he replied with a shrug. "What can I do you for then?"

McGonagall hesitated. "Albus... Professor Dumbledore, left a note for you, Harry, in his office. I have only just discovered it amongst his possessions. It was floating on the top of his pensieve...."

"Are you at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"The Head...headmistress' office, Potter."

"I'll be there in a minute."

McGonagall said her goodbyes and then Harry stepped into the fireplace as the flames died down. He wasn't wearing any shoes or a cloak but he didn't want to waste any time going up the stairs to get them. Perhaps something, anything, would be in this letter to help him track down and destroy the remaining Horcruxes.

He took a handful of floo powder from Mrs. Weasley. "I guess I'll be back soon," he said, and winked reassuringly at Ginny before tossing the floo powder to the ground. "Hogwarts, Headmistress' office." The green flames enveloped him and swirled his body through the network of fireplaces.

Bracing himself, he made sure to bend his knees more for the landing and only stumbled a few steps as the fire spat him out in Dumbledore's... McGonagall's office.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," the headmistress said as he began to brush the soot from his clothes. "Here you are." She handed him a cream coloured parchment envelope, and the familiar curly script on the front was indeed Dumbledore's.

Harry, it said.

"Did he write this knowing he was going to die....?" Harry whispered, all thoughts of the soot forgotten. "Did he know?" He looked over to McGonagall, who had moved around the desk to sit down in her chair. She shook her head, looking old and tired.

"There is more as well, Potter," the headmistress said, slowly rubbing her temple. "A few items that Albus wanted you to have... He wrote many notes to many people before he died - I, personally, think he knew he wasn't going to survive last year."

Harry nodded, holding his envelope lightly and noting how the letters of his name sparkled when he moved the parchment in the light. "What did he want me to have?" Harry managed, his voice tight and croaking.

Fawkes' perch was, of course, empty, but when Harry looked at it he felt as if he could hear the phoenix yet again - a far distant cry of one of the last phoenixes. It gave him strength, courage. He wouldn't be seen as weak - not even in front of McGonagall.

He had to show the world that he was strong enough to fight, that hope remained. It was a hell of a responsibility, and may even prove to be impossible - but Harry was willing to try. He owed Dumbledore that much.

"This," McGonagall said, and picked up something long, bound with leather straps and wrapped in cloth up off her desk. "Godric Gryffindor's sword."

Harry blinked, shocked, and his eyes jumped from McGonagall to the clear empty glass cabinet that had been home to the sword for the last few years. Slowly, carefully, he took the weapon from the headmistress, once again feeling its all too comfortable weight. It had been given a sheath, he saw, and the gem encrusted handle shone in the faint torchlight.

"Albus said," McGonagall began, "in a letter to me, that this weapon was yours by right, Potter. That if anyone had the right to wield it in these dark days it was you."

"Well I killed one snake with it...." he whispered, slipping his letter into his pocket and holding the cloth covered weapon flat on his palms. Harry stared at the sword for a moment and then nodded. "Was there anything else?"

McGonagall's mouth quirked into a smile just briefly and then she clicked her fingers. Harry jumped when a familiar creature appeared in the blink of an eye on her desk and propelled itself at his leg, latching on.

"I is being allowed to work for you, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby the house-elf said.

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. "You're what with the what now?"

McGonagall was smiling again, sadly this time. "Dobby was in the employ of Professor Dumbledore," she said. "He is currently unemployed, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked down to the elf and noticed how his ears drooped at the mention of Dumbledore and his eyes brimmed with tears. "It was a sad day, Harry Potter, when the great wizard Dumbleydore died."

"It was at that, Dobby," Harry nodded his agreement, taking a deep breath. He leant on the sword as he knelt down to look into Dobby's eyes. "And seeing as how you're out of work, my friend, how about you come and work for me? Ten galleons a week is the minimum wage - and I'm afraid you'll probably have to put up with Ron an awful lot, but if he gets in your way you have my permission to blast him down a flight of stairs."

Dobby blinked, mouthed a few words, and then burst into tears. "Harry Potter is too, too kind," he sobbed, taking off one of his many hats and blowing his nose on it. "Calls Dobby friend, Dobby is undeserving...."

"None of that now," Harry smiled, clapping the elf on his shoulder, which almost brought down his tower of hats. "We are friends, Dobby - and while you're working for me we'll have a lot of fun, okay. No rules except one, you're not allowed to punish yourself. Okay?"

Dobby sniffed, replaced his hat, and then nodded. "Too kind... too kind," the elf mumbled. "Agreed, Harry Potter sir, agreed. Dobby will blast your Wheezy if he gets in Dobby's way."

Harry laughed and then shook the elf's hand. "That is agreed."

"Now, Potter," McGonagall said, "there are a few other items Albus left you. I've placed them all in this trunk." She motioned to a trunk that Harry had not noticed lying alongside the desk. It was an average size trunk, brown with golden locks.

"What's in it?"

"His pensieve, amongst other things," McGonagall said, looking at him without blinking. She opened her mouth to continue, closed it again, and then decided to say something anyway. "Harry, I understand the need to keep certain things secret, but you must also understand our need. We need to know what Albus knew, what he told you, before he died. We are charged with the defence of our world and, as I'm sure you are aware, we are not in a favourable position in this war anymore....

"You saw Azkaban fall just a few hours ago," she continued. "That alone is going to shake our world to its very core - almost as much as it did when news spread of Albus's death. Azkaban was supposed to be an impenetrable fortress, Harry, what will fall to You Know Who next?"

"Call him Voldemort," Harry said, resting the sword on his shoulder. "Trust me; it is a step in the right direction. We've had this conversation before, Professor, and I told you all I could then."

"You told me nothing!" she exclaimed, losing her quietly patient aura for just a moment.

Harry kept a hold on his temper. "This is not your war to fight," he said calmly. "It is mine. It has always been mine, again for reasons I can't explain. You, the Order, the Ministry... even Dumbledore himself - you are all just spectators in this."

McGonagall's lips thinned and her eyes became two sharp points of ice. Harry felt the chill of her glare tingle down his spine. "Arrogance, Potter, has got many a young fool killed before. Don't make the mistake--"

"I know the cost," Harry cut in smoothly, "of making a mistake in this world. I've seen a lot of good people pay for it. My godfather for one, Professor. You want me to name others? Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore in trusting Snape, my parents. I know I'm not making a mistake here, with this choice, and you are just going to have to trust me... because now, with Dumbledore gone, I'm all you have."

It was true - deep down McGonagall knew it was true. But it was insanity to trust something so important to a boy, to someone so young. It was immoral, wrong, and yet Dumbledore had seen the need. Why? What made Potter so unique?

"I simply cannot accept that, Potter," McGonagall said, slicing her hand down through the air.

Harry blinked and then, with a sigh, nodded. "Dobby," he said, "can you please Apparate that trunk to the Burrow, I'll be along in a minute. If anyone asks tell them you're working for me now."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," the elf smiled, jumping onto the trunk and, with a click of his fingers and a last adoring look at Harry, he and the trunk disappeared.

"Well, if that's all, Professor," Harry inclined his head to McGonagall. "I must be getting on with the day. Already had one vision of doom, and then lunch, and now this. I'm bubbling with anticipation, waiting to see what's next. I'm thinking nationwide terror when the Prophet prints this Azkaban story."

One hand holding the sword and one hand in his pocket, Harry walked over to the fireplace. Once there he took a handful of powder from the ornate pot hanging on the mantle. "Goodbye, Professor."

"Harry...." McGonagall whispered, just before he dropped the floo powder. She was pale now, nervous. "I really do hope, Potter, that you know what you're doing."

Harry thought about that, as a few grains of powder sieved through his closed fist and caused small sparks to ignite at his feet. "Hmm... I think, I think I've got a better grasp on the situation that most." He smiled, he hoped it looked confident, and dropped the powder. "The Burrow," he cried in a flurry of green flames.

Dear Harry,

I fear that if you are reading this letter, my dear boy, then I have left and gone on the one adventure in which you cannot yet follow me. If you are reading it then I have died. I do hope they have lemon drops where I have gone. Do not let my death cling to you, Harry, please promise me that.

I have seen a recurrent theme in stories such as ours - the old wise and bearded wizard usually meets an early demise. It seems that your story is no exception to that rule. For this is your story now, Harry, your life to live. You will do well, in that, I can see it.

I have shown you my early memories of Tom Riddle and I have shown you how he became Lord Voldemort. I am afraid the rest - the remaining Horcruxes - is up to you. I believe you are more suited to this task as anyone can hope to be, given the terrible circumstances of that half-forgotten world we call the past.

The wizarding world will need a hero, Harry, if it is to survive these dark times and even darker days. It may seem very dark now, my boy, but darkness should only make you think of light. It will, it always does, that is how you survive. Never fear him, Harry; he is nothing to be afraid of.

You are linked to Voldemort through blood and magic - bonds unbreakable and as old as time itself. Trust your heart, dear boy, trust your mind, and I have no doubt that you will find and dispose of the remaining Horcruxes. As for the final piece, Voldemort himself, all I can offer you there is advice. Advice given by an old man who has watched many young men come and go over the terribly long years.

You are stronger than you know, Harry, and smarter than you think. Never let anyone tell you different. You do not suffer fools well, but I fear there will be many of them to suffer now that I am gone. You are, whether you want to be or not, the light in the darkness that the people of our world will turn to. Do not let anyone influence you, or control your decisions, Harry - this is my final word to you.

You will do just fine, I think,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry let out a long breath he had forgotten he was holding. Dumbledore's letter felt very heavy in his hands, the parchment seemed very old. He closed his eyes and slowly folded it back into its envelope. It had felt odd, really odd, reading that.

And, oddly, he found himself hoping, even against his will to find the Horcruxes, he found himself hoping that wherever the old man had ended up he had lemon drops there.

"I'll do just fine...." he whispered, with a sense of finality, opening his eyes and gazing at the small house elf sitting on the old brown trunk in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said. "Fine and dandy is how you will be."

Harry grinned and shoved the letter into his pocket. He had work to do, he knew, but that was okay. He had made his choice...

It had begun.

*'*'*'*