Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind the three, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.
"Well done," Dumbledore praised.
"We didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.
"Oh, yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"
"Er..." Harry trailed off. He was not at all very fond of the fact that Slughorn had been much too surprised that a Muggle-born could make a good witch. He decided, however, that he would agree with whatever the Muggle-born with them had to say.
"He is all right," (Y/n) spoke. "A bit cold with our entrance, but who wouldn't be in that scenario?"
"Very wise, Miss (Y/l/n)," Dumbledore said. "Horace likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat— more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick his favourites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or brains, sometimes for their charms or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favourites with himself at the centre, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favourite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office."
(Y/n) was intrigued and impressed whereas Harry was wary and suspicious.
"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace— or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn— but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry— And you too, (Y/n). I daresay you are quite an active figure whether you choose to be or not. You would be the jewel of his collections; 'the Boy Who Lived'... or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.'"
Harry shuddered involuntarily at the new title. (Y/n) reached out and placed her hand on his arm, sending him a short smile. Dumbledore stopped walking, level with the church they passed earlier.
"This will do, Harry, (Y/n). If you will grasp my arm..."
Braced and ready for Apparition this time, the two reached out and took Dumbledore's arm. It was still quite an unpleasant feeling. Once the pressure disappeared and they were able to breathe again, they found themselves standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore. Looking ahead was the crooked silhouette of their friends' house: the Burrow. While (Y/n) found it easy to blend in with both the city life and the countryside life, she prefered the latter due to the quietness.
"If you don't mind, Harry," said Dumbledore as they passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?" Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. Harry did not move as he was not at all thrilled about leaving (Y/n) out in the night.
"She has her wand on her, Harry, and she can use it," Dumbledore said, reading right through Harry. "You cannot always be there to protect her." (Y/n) stared at Harry, who had tensed. She never got the full story of what caused her memory loss, but now Harry seemed even less thrilled to leave (Y/n). She ought to talk with him later.
"Go ahead," (Y/n) assured. "They already have their protection spells up. No one bad is going to get past that gate." Harry reluctantly followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at Harry.
"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "It was cruel that Voldemort chose to wipe (Y/n)'s memory, but I am sure you are glad he went that route rather than killing her." Harry swallowed harshly, nodding. His eyes fixed resolutely on the spider not climbing Dumbledore's hat.
"It's just hard," Harry said finally in a low voice, "to realize that the only way she knows anything about me is through her journals and not, you know, her memory..." His eyes burned suddenly and he blinked. Dumbledore nodded in understanding.
"At least we believe— No, we know that (Y/n) has locked her memories in her conscious," Dumbledore said. "I hope that it provides you with hope of her memories returning." Harry nodded, looking down.
"It took me a week to realize that I can't just shut myself away or— or crack up," Harry said. "It's cruel to shut out the people in the same boat, you know? And anyway, life's too short... Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance... It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is," he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."
"Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson!" said Dumbledore with an approving pat on Harry's back. "I take my hat off to you— or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders.
"And now, Harry, on a closely related subject... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"
"Yes," said Harry, his heart beating a little faster.
"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"
"Yes," said Harry again. "And now everyone knows that I'm the one—"
"No, they do not," Dumbledore interrupted. "There are only three people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and two of them are both standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed— the third is standing outside and has no memory of it. Smart she was to try and close her mind when Voldemort tried getting it out of her. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort send his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that prophecy concerned you.
"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"
"No," said Harry.
"A wise decision as a whole," said Dumbledore. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favour of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."
"I didn't want—"
"—to worry or frighten them?" said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightfully said, shutting yourself away is the last thing you should be doing."
Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued, "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."
"Private— with you?" said Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.
"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."
"What will you be teaching me, sir?"
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," said Dumbledore airily. Harry waited hopefully, but Dumbledore did not elaborate, so he asked something else that had been bothering him slightly.
"If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"
"Professor Snape, Harry— and no, you will not."
"Good," said Harry in relief, "because they were a—" He stopped, careful not to say what he really thought.
"I think the word 'fiasco' would be a good one here," said Dumbledore, nodding. Harry laughed.
"Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on," Harry said, "because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't."
"Don't count your owls before they are delivered," said Dumbledore gravely. "Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.
"Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?" Harry nodded.
"And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. these measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly— all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their own concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them."
"I understand," said Harry quickly.
"Very well, then," said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. (Y/n) slipped off her headphones with their reappearance. "I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are... Miss (Y/l/n)?"
"Yes?" (Y/n) smiled.
"You will be receiving some big news today," Dumbledore said vaguely. "I wish that you come to Professor McGonagall's office before the start-of-term feast as this is something I wish to speak to you about."
"Right..."
Harry, Dumbledore, and (Y/n) approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Harry could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and there was sudden movement behind the kitchen window.
"Who's there?" said a nervous voice recognized as Molly Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"
"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry and (Y/n)."
The door opened at once. There stood Molly, short, plum, and wearing an old green dressing gown.
"Harry, dear! (Y/n)! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"
"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Harry and (Y/n) over the threshold. "Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Their doing, of course. Ah, hello!" Harry followed Dumbledore's gaze and saw that Molly was not alone, despite the latest of the hour. An all too familiar pale heart-shaped face with brown hair and golden tips was sitting at the table, clutching a large mug between their hands.
"Hello, Professor," Tonks greeted. "Wotcher, Harry."
"Hi, Tonks," Harry greeted. Tonks flew to their feet at the sight of (Y/n).
"You! My favourite Ravenclaw ever!" Tonks said, throwing their arms around (Y/n) and lifting her in the air before spinning her in a circle. (Y/n) yelped, holding Tonks's shoulders.
"What are you so energetic this early in the morning?" (Y/n) cried. Tonks looked so excited they could burst. Molly smiled wearily.
"You were right!" Tonks exclaimed. "Penny wasn't one to run away from a proposal! She was going to propose to me! Did you know?"
"I might have," (Y/n) said. "But I did not want to ruin your surprise." She took Tonks' hand and inspected the engagement ring. "The wedding is on, then?"
"No thanks to you."
"Anyone would have told you to talk to your girlfriend, Tonks," (Y/n) said dismissively. She blinked as Tonks pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek.
"I'd better be off!" Tonks said quickly, getting their cloak around their shoulders. "Thanks for the tea, Molly—! Ooh, nice hair, (Y/n)," they mused upon actually taking the moment to look at (Y/n).
"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously. "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."
"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks. "Penny's going to be thrilled— Night."
"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend? Remus and Mad-Eye are coming."
"Won't get too crowded?" Tonks asked. Molly smiled pleasantly and shook her head. "I'll be there then, thanks! Goodnight, everyone." Tonks hurried past Dumbledore, Harry, and (Y/n) into the yard, still giddy as ever; a few paces beyond the doorstep, they turned on the spot and vanished into thin air.
"What were they doing here?" Harry ventured to ask.
"Oh, they want a countryside wedding," Molly smiled. "Tonks and Penny have been back and forth between our Burrow and Ted and Andromeda's place to see what they would prefer..."
"I am glad there is some joy in these darkening times," (Y/n) said and Molly and Harry nodded in agreement.
"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry, (Y/n)," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant." He gave Molly a bow and followed Tonks's lead, vanishing at precisely the same spot. Molly closed the door on the empty yard and steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance. The warm glow looked quite nice on his brown skin, (Y/n) had to admit.
"You're like Ron," Molly sighed, looking Harry up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you two hungry?"
"Yeah," Harry and (Y/n) chorused.
"Sit down, dears, I'll knock something up."
As Harry sat down, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face jumped onto his knees and settled there, purring.
"So Hermione's here?" Harry asked happily as he tickled Crookshanks behind the ears.
"Oh yes, she arrived the day of Arthur's celebration," said Molly, rapping a large iron pot with her wand. It bounced onto the stove with a loud clang and began to bubble at once. "Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't expect you for hours. Here you are—" She tapped the pot again; it rose into the air, flew toward Harry and (Y/n), and tipped over; Molly slid two bowls neatly beneath it just in time to catch the stream of thick, steaming onion soup. "Bread, dears?"
"Please."
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
Molly waved her wand over her shoulder; a loaf of bread and a knife soared gracefully onto the table; as the loaf sliced itself and the soup pot dropped back onto the stove, Molly sat down opposite Harry.
"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"
Harry nodded, his mouth so full of hot soup that he could not speak. (Y/n) dipped her slice of bread into the soup before biting the bread.
"He taught Arthur and me," said Molly. "He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?" His mouth now full of bread, Harry shrugged and gave a noncommittal jerk of the head. "I know what you mean," Molly nodded. "Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favourites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but never had much time for Arthur— didn't seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I'm sure you already know Arthur's been promoted!"
Harry swallowed a large amount of very hot soup and thought he could feel his throat blistering. "That's great!" he gasped.
"You are sweet," beamed Molly, possibly taking his watering eyes for emotion at the news. "Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection of Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big jog, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"
"What exactly—?"
"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing— so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off... Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like Mundungus Fletcher, who've never done an honest day's work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish." Molly ended her speech with a stern look as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark plugs.
"Is Mr. Weasley still at work?" (Y/n) asked.
"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late... He said he'd be back around midnight..."
Molly turned to look at the large clock that was perched awkwardly on top of a pile of sheers in the washing basket at the end of the table. It had nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member, and usually hung on the Weasleys' sitting room wall, though its current position suggested that Molly had taken to carrying it around the house with her. Every single one of the nine hands was now pointing at "mortal peril."
"It's been like that for a while now," said Molly in an unconvincingly casual voice, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now... I don't think it can be just our family... But I don't know anyone who got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!" with a sudden exclamation, she pointed at the clock's face. Arthur's hand had switched to "travelling."
"He's coming!" And sure enough, a moment later there was a knock on the back door. Molly jumped up and hurried to it; with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood, she called softly, "Arthur, is that you?"
"Yes," came Arthur's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"Oh, honestly..."
"Molly!"
"All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how aeroplanes stay up."
Molly nodded and turned the doorknob, but apparently, Arthur was holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remained firmly shut.
"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"
"Arthur, really, this is just silly..."
"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"
Even by the dim light of the lantern, Harry and (Y/n) could tell that Molly's face had turned bright red; Harry himself felt suddenly warm around the ears and neck and hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could against the bowl. (Y/n), too, pretended that she could not hear.
"Mollywobbles," whispered a mortified Molly into the crack at the edge of the door.
"Correct!" said Arthur. "Now you can let me in."
"Why do you not call me anything cute?" (Y/n) asked quietly, elbowing Harry, who cracked a grin and quickly hid it.
"We aren't married, (Y/n)."
"Nicknames are not just for couples," (Y/n) whispered. Molly opened the door to reveal her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long and dusty travelling cloak.
"I still don't see why we have to go through that every time you come home," said Molly, still pink in the face as she helped her husband out of his cloak. "I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!"
"I know, dear, but it's Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example. Something smells good— onion soup?" Arthur turned hopefully in the direction of the table. "Harry! (Y/n)! We didn't expect you until morning!" They all shook hands and Arthur dropped into the chair across from (Y/n) as Molly set down a bowl of soup in front of him too.
"Thanks, Molly. It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons."
"And what really happens when you put them on?"
"Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange colour, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentaclelike warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"
"It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny," said Molly hesitantly. "Are you sure—?"
"Of course I am!" Arthur said. "The boys wouldn't do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!"
"So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"
"No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle, but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the time we got there..."
Harry stifled a yawn behind his hand.
"Bed," said an undeceived Molly at once. "I've got you up in Percy's room for the night and (Y/n), you'll be up in Fred and George's room."
"Where are they?" Harry questioned.
"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy," said Molly. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of flair for business! Come on, dears, your trunks are already up there."
"Night, Mr. Weasley," (Y/n) and Harry chorused, rising out of their seats. Crookshanks leapt lightly from Harry's lap and slunk out of the room.
"G'night, you two," Arthur said. "(Y/n), you'll have to tell me how aeroplanes stay up... or don't, I'll need to think of a new security question." (Y/n) smiled and waved her fingers before following Harry and Molly.
(Y/n) was dropped off at Fred and George's room on the second floor up from the ground floor. Molly held a finger to her lips as (Y/n) reached for the doorknob. (Y/n) nodded, getting the hint someone else was already in there. She wondered if she and Hermione were sharing a room but then remembered Fleur was staying here too. Harry quickly hugged her goodnight before she entered and (Y/n) tiredly patted her head and entered, quietly closing the door behind her. Immediately the figure inside sat up from their bed, turned on the lamp, and held her wand up defensively. (Y/n) held her hands up in surrender at the fire in Fleur Delacour's eyes.
"Oh, eet is you!" Fleur beamed, immediately lowering her wand. (Y/n) looked around the room that was now lit up by a pleasant glow.
Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window and Fleur's perfume was in the air, the flowers nor perfume could hide the lingering smell of gunpowder. Against the wall the door was a part of, a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes that Fleur had neatly stacked to keep out of the way. The room appeared as though it was used as a temporary warehouse.
Hoshi slept soundly, perched on top of a large wardrobe and Effie was curled up against Fleur's pillow, though she had risen immediately to greet (Y/n). There was a bed on either side of the room, one for each girl (and previously, one for each twin). Fleur had already organized (Y/n)'s luggage against the foot of the empty bed. (Y/n) accepted Fleur's hug before briefly glancing at her suitcases and locating which of them she had packed her pyjamas in. She quick;y changed and got into her bed. Feeling something hard in the pillowcase, (Y/n) groped inside until she pulled out a purple-and-orange sweet. She smiled and tossed the empty box into the trash bin before rolling over and falling asleep almost immediately after Fleur had turned off the light again.