The Longest Day

“Why so glum, Harry?”

Harry hardly knew how to respond. Dumbledore’s portrait was watching him with polite concern, which hardly seemed appropriate considering Harry had watched helplessly as the real Dumbledore had been murdered. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, but if felt so inadequate; sorry he’d failed helping Dumbledore on his mission? Sorry he’d discovered that Dumbledore had died for nothing, giving up his life to uncover a fake Horcrux? Sorry that he, Harry, wasn’t any closer to finding the remaining Horcruxes than he’d been at school’s end? Sorry that Dumbledore’s faith in him had been misplaced?

“Sorry for what, Harry?” the portrait asked. “There’s nothing you need to apologize to me for. Rather, I feel I should apologize to you. It was never my intention to subject you to such a scene as what occurred at Hogwarts that night.”

“I just wish you hadn’t frozen me,” Harry muttered. “No one knew I was there but you; I could have helped. One good ‘Expelliarmus’ and maybe you-”

“It was necessary, unfortunately,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head sadly. “If Severus hadn’t done it, poor Draco would have been forced to; Severus took his guardianship of Draco extremely seriously.” He smiled a bit at Harry’s confused look. “Snape was Draco’s godfather, Harry. He had certain obligations which forced his hand.”

Harry just stared. Just a month earlier he had attended Dumbledore’s funeral. And now he was standing listening to a portrait of a dead man defend the one who’d killed him. His shock and disgust were clear to Dumbledore, who insisted “There are things about Severus Snape that you still don’t understand, Harry.”

“HE MURDERED YOU!” Harry shouted. “Right in front of me! How can you still defend him?”

“Severus Snape is a complicated man, Harry. Far more complicated than Voldemort, who is quite easy to understand. Severus has his own motivations for his action, motivations that reach far beyond what Voldemort orders.”

“Snape broke into my home,” Harry growled furiously. “With Lucius Malfoy, after Voldemort sprung Malfoy from Azkaban. Malfoy almost killed Ron! Ron is lying comatose in St. Mungo’s because of Snape! If there’s so much I don’t understand about him, why don’t you tell me why I should trust the man who almost killed my best friend?”

Dumbledore sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you, Harry?” He smiled sadly at Harry’s silence. “If only it were possible for you to see into Severus’ thoughts,” he lamented. “What you would find would undoubtedly be fascinating.”

“Oh, that might just be possible,” Harry said, smiling grimly.

Dumbledore cocked his eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. “Enough about that, Harry. I’ve been dying – sorry, poor choice of words – for the chance to ask you…have you managed to destroy the Horcrux yet?”

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. Of course Dumbledore wouldn’t know. He and Harry were the only ones who really knew about the Horcruxes anyway. Unable to admit that Dumbledore had died in vain, Harry just shook his head. “Well, that’s understandable,” Dumbledore said comfortingly. “I would expect after seeing what Tom Riddle’s ring did to my hand you would be very hesitant to attempt anything without being certain of its effectiveness.”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry forced out. “It’s-”

His hesitancy finally got through to Dumbledore. “Harry, what happened?”

In a dull voice, staring at his feet, Harry told the portrait everything; about the Horcrux being a fake, about the message, and about their suspicions about R.A.B. When he’d finished, he reluctantly looked up and was surprised to find Dumbledore beaming at him. “Well, done, Harry!” he said. “An excellent supposition! Have you given any thought to where the locket might be?”

“I- I thought you’d be mad,” Harry said hesitantly. “I mean, you- you died, and it wasn’t even the real thing!”

“But it will lead you to the real one,” Dumbledore pointed out. “It wasn’t in vain, Harry, it was a solid step in the right direction. After all, my acquisition of the ring wasn’t exactly a simple task, and its destruction even less so. I honestly would have been quite pleasantly surprised if the locket had been as easy to locate as finding it in the cave.”

Harry groaned. He’d known it would be incredibly difficult to track down and destroy the Horcruxes, but if even Dumbledore considered what they’d gone through in the cave easy… “Professor…do you have any ideas about where the other Horcruxes are?”

“Certainly. Or at least, I’ve made a number of educated guesses regarding their potential locations. Has Minerva not yet given you the items I left with her?”

“Uh…no,” Harry said. “I haven’t spoken to Professor McGonagall since- since your funeral.”

“I suggest that you may wish to call her Minerva now,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “You are of age now, after all, and are no longer a student. And Minerva has always had great respect for you. For that matter, since I am no longer a Professor I wish you to feel free to call me Albus.” He chuckled at Harry’s stunned look. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. I left a box with Minerva that is magically sealed. It will only open if you tap it with your wand and speak one word, which I suspect no one but you or I would think to say.”

“Horcrux.”

“Exactly,” Dumbledore said, beaming. “It contains a great deal of information about the Horcruxes, everything I was able to put together. Sadly, I did not make as much progress with the other Horcruxes as I did with the locket, but the information should give you a starting point for all of them.”

Harry nodded. “I ran into Moody and he’d mentioned that Prof- er, Minerva wanted to talk to me, but he only said she wanted me to join the Order. I’ll contact her right away.”

“Why aren’t you in the Order, Harry?” Dumbledore enquired. “I would have thought you’d be pounding at their door the moment you turned seventeen.”

“The Order can’t know about the Horcruxes,” Harry said flatly. “It’s always possible that Voldemort would catch one of them and torture them for information, and he’d find out we were looking for them. We have a much better chance of dealing with the Horcruxes if Voldemort’s in the dark until they’re gone. And it’s easier to keep the secret if I’m not in the Order.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Excellent reasoning again,” he said proudly. “I have refrained from telling anyone as well, not even Minerva. However, I think it would be wise if at least one other person knows.”

“Just in case something happens to me,” Harry finished. “Yeah, I know. I told Ron, Hermione and Ginny. They’ve been helping figure out what to do…or at least they were, until-” He swallowed. “Anyway, I’ve still got Hermione helping me. I’ll go through your box of information with her.”

Dumbledore looked slightly alarmed. “Just Hermione, Harry? I understand about Ron, but I hadn’t heard anything had happened to Ginny!”

“Oh, Ginny’s not hurt,” Harry said quickly. “Mrs. Weasley found out about us, er, dating, and she thinks I’m too dangerous to be around. She ordered Ginny to go back to the Burrow and stay there; since Ginny’s only sixteen she hasn’t got a choice,” he added bitterly.

“Oh dear. Well, Molly has always been somewhat of an alarmist. And I daresay what happened to young Ron has her extremely unnerved.”

“But it’s not fair!” Harry exploded. “Ginny wants to help! She was a huge help when she was with us for a week, and now she’s trapped doing nothing because she’s a year younger? It’s so stupid! Why can’t she fight if she’s able?”

Dumbledore smiled wistfully at Harry’s outburst. “Love is never easy, Harry.”

Harry snapped his jaw shut and blushed furiously. “Yeah, well…I can’t even tell Mrs. Weasley about why we want Ginny helping, because she can’t know what we’re doing.”

“Perhaps you could tell just the Weasleys,” Dumbledore suggested. “We know they’re trustworthy…”

“Like Snape’s trustworthy?” Harry snapped. “No. Voldemort knows they’re in the Order. They’re an obvious target.”

“Sadly true,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “Hmm. Well, I will think about the problem. And the next time you come to see me I may have another suggestion.” Harry squirmed uncomfortably, and Dumbledore noticed. “Is there something else on your mind, Harry?”

“Professor…everyone is still calling me the Chosen One. Not my friends, but most of the Wizarding World. Every time I go out I get stared at, even more than before. Like I’ve already won, and I’m not even really sure I will.”

Dumbledore sighed. “It is the cross that exceptional people must bear, Harry. Modesty aside, you know I was considered the only wizard that Tom Riddle ever feared. As a result I was revered much the same as you will be. I did my best to discourage it, even adopting certain…hmm, eccentricities, in an attempt to make others regard me as more human. Unfortunately, most of the time it did not work. You are fated to be regarded the same way – perhaps more so, now that it is widely known we worked so closely together. However,” he added, “I fail to see the connection between that and your problem with Miss Weasley.”

“It’s not that. It’s just, you said ‘the next time I come here’.”

“Yes, certainly,” Dumbledore said, the confusion evident on his face. “Harry, I’m very glad – proud, even – that you have taken on the task which we began. But I may be able to assist you still; I would like to do so, on equal footing. I had hoped that one day you and I could have been friends; real friends, as equals, for I saw my equal in you. Perhaps, even my better.”

Harry reddened slightly at the compliment. “But that’s part of the problem,” he said. “Of course I continued on looking for the Horcruxes – this is my fight, it has been since the day Voldemort murdered my parents. But the comparisons between you and me have already started. There was even an article in the Daily Prophet a few days ago that called me ‘the next Dumbledore’,” Harry muttered disgustedly. “I don’t want to be the next Dumbledore!”

“I will try not to take offence at your opinion that being likened to me is a bad thing,” Dumbledore said, but with a twinkle in his eye to show he was teasing.

Harry flushed. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve always admired you, and I’m flattered that you see me as an equal. I just don’t want to be anyone’s replacement or shadow. I don’t even want to be famous! I just want to be a normal person. How am I supposed to do any of that if I keep looking to you for answers? And if people ever found out I kept coming back to Hogwarts to talk to your portrait, it’d just make the whole thing worse. And – no offence, but you’re not even real any more. You’re just a portrait; a dream. And you told me yourself it’s not right to dwell on dreams.”

“That is very true, Harry,” Dumbledore admitted softly. “Although I fear you will have no choice regarding the fame. But how you choose to be regarded in your fame is something on which you can certainly exert some influence.”

“That’s what I want to do. If I’m going to make my mark in the world, I want it to be my mark,” Harry told him. “Maybe under different circumstances, we could have been friends. And maybe after everything is over, we still can be. But for now…” He sighed. “What I need right now is wisdom, and I can find that among my friends. I have to move on.” He smiled shyly. “Prof- Albus…let me prove, to you and to myself, that I deserve the respect you’ve shown me.”

There were tears in Dumbledore’s eyes as he nodded. “You truly are no longer the student you’ve been, Harry,” he said, his voice thick. “And you have earned that respect already, many times over. Never have I been more proud to see a student of mine move so far beyond what I could teach them. I should have known long ago…you’ve always known in your heart where your true priorities lie.”

Harry found himself unable to speak; he stood staring at the portrait for long moments, until something penetrated his consciousness…why does my hip feel hot? Harry reached his hand into his pocket, distracted by his confusion, and yelped in alarm at the almost-burning heat.

“What is it?”

Harry’s head shot up. “It’s the alarm!” He blurted. “Hermione’s calling me! I have to get back, quick! Something’s happening!”

He started to run towards the door, but Dumbledore’s portrait hailed him; “Harry, wait!”

“There’s no time!” Harry shouted.

“Harry, there’s a faster way!”

Harry skidded to a halt and turned back to the portrait. “What?” he blurted desperately, on the edge of panic. No time…

“On the mantel there is a small wooden box with blue trimming,” Dumbledore said. “Open it.”

Harry raced over and yanked the lid off the box. He reached in and pulled out a beautiful red-gold feather. “Fawkes’ feather?” he asked.

“Yes. Concentrate on where you wish to go, and touch the feather with your wand, and it will take you there.”

Harry stared for a second. “Thank you!” he called, and whipped out his wand. Tapping the feather, he concentrated: the House of Black!

There was a slight swirling sensation, and Harry found himself standing in the kitchen of the House of Black. No blackness closing in on him, no disorientation or lurching – one moment he was in Hogwarts, and the next he was home. Much better than Flooing or Portkeys, he thought vaguely.

Hermione, George, Luna and Neville were all seated around the table when Harry appeared; Hermione shrieked in fright, causing the others to yell and leap back in shock. “H-Harry!” Hermione gasped. “H-how did you do that?”

“Never mind that, what’s happened?” Harry blurted out. “What’s wrong? Is it-”

“Wait a minute, Hermione,” Neville said, and Harry noticed the wands pointed at him. “Harry, what questions did Sally-Ann ask me when I first arrived to help the Army?”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Harry growled. “She asked you what the Gryffindor password from Fifth Year was, and what D.A. was supposed to stand for before Dumbledore’s Army. And it wasn’t Sally-Ann, it was Susan Bones!” there was a marginal relaxing. “And you should know by now that no one can find the House of Black unless I tell them where it is!”

“Snape did,” George pointed out.

“We know that no one else can do that,” Harry retorted. “Now why did you call me? Something must have happened!”

“Nothing happened, Harry,” Hermione said sheepishly. “You’ve had a letter.” And she held out a letter for him.

Harry stared dumbfounded at Hermione for a second before snatching it out of her hands and exploding. “Bloody hell, Hermione!” he shouted. “You scared the piss out of me! You’re only supposed to use the signal for an emergency, and you use it to tell me I’ve had post?”

“That may be an emergency!” Hermione snapped back. “It’s from Ginny!”

Harry’s eyes darted down, and his blood froze when he saw the writing was clearly in Ginny’s hand. “You, er…you didn’t open it?”

“Well,” Hermione huffed, “it might have been personal!”

“Oh…yeah,” Harry said, reddening a bit. He tore open the envelope and quickly began reading through it. The others watched nervously as Harry’s expression changed from shock to amusement to shock to purely gobsmacked and back to shock again. When he was finished, he looked up. “Unbelievable!”

“What? What is it?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Genius,” Harry exclaimed, his face splitting into a grin. “Ginny is a bloody genius! The plan,” he told Hermione and George. “She’s solved it. It’ll work!”

“Really?” Hermione said, looking both excited and apprehensive. “But how-?”

“I’ll explain as we go – we’re doing it tonight. George, where’s Fred?”

“Er- meeting Angelina at the Portkey station,” George answered.

“Right. Send him an owl right away, we’ll need him. Tell him to bring Angelina if he has to. Then meet me in the conference room in ten minutes. Neville, Luna, I want you there too; ten minutes, okay? Hermione, we need to send a couple owls.” He smiled excitedly at them. “If this goes right, Ginny will be back tonight!”