“It’s wonderful to have you and Severus back,” Dumbledore said, giving me a cheerful smile. He gestured at me to take a seat, and tapped the kettle with his wand; a whistling gush of steam poured out. After a moment of hesitation, I went to sit down, nervously smoothing the non-existent wrinkles in my robes.

“It’s good to be back,” I replied carefully, watching him drop tea bags into his china teapot, followed by the boiled water. He did it without thinking, each movement a controlled habit. I suddenly wondered how many times he’d done this before. At over a hundred and sixty, he’d definitely had more than a few cups of tea in his time.

“Ginger Nuts?” he asked. I nodded and Dumbledore waved his wand at a nearby plate. The biscuits instantly appeared.

“Did your vacation with Severus go well?” he enquired cordially, pouring the tea into a cup and adding milk and sugar without having to ask me. That showed how often we did this. He calmly handed the cup and saucer to me.

I took them and gently blew on the liquid. “It was... refreshing,” I told him with a smile. “A break was what we both needed.” I tactfully didn’t go into detail, and hoped Dumbledore wouldn’t insist on it. The old man was a hopeless romantic when he wanted to be.

His eyes twinkled. “I’m sure it was.”

I inwardly cringed. His imagination was definitely working overtime. For an elderly wizard, it was incredibly active.

His expression sobered slightly. “Genuinely, Harry, did things go well?”

I thought for a moment, remembering everything that had happened in the previous week. Then I nodded, smiling. “Yes, they did. Severus and I settled a few issues, and I learned a few things about the Snapes that I didn’t know before.” What I’d learned hadn’t really changed my opinion of them (in that they’d been twisted, sad people) but I did come to respect a few of them. Alauda Snape, in particular.

Dumbledore beamed. I glanced away for a moment, embarrassed that he was so clearly overjoyed that things were going smoothly for Severus and me at the moment. Things were still slightly awkward between the headmaster and myself, but I’d made a vow to try and put most of my anger and resentment towards him in the past, where it belonged. Dumbledore probably had his reasons for the decisions he’d made, but that didn’t mean I had to agree with them. Keeping a grudge against him, however, wasn’t exactly the smartest thing to do.

“By the way,” Dumbledore added, taking a careful sip of tea, “Padma Patil has joined the staff.” He eyed me, as he took a Ginger Nut and crunched it neatly.

Seeing the satisfaction in his eyes, I sighed inwardly. Dumbledore had somehow managed to retain a childlike wonder and satisfaction, despite everything he had endured through the years. There had been the rise and fall of Grindelwald, and then Voldemort, but still the headmaster had kept his childish love for sweets and feasts.

It was hard not to feel resentful. In comparison, I felt middle-aged and exhausted.

But there was a hardness and ferocity about him that made him respected, and to an extent, feared. There were reasons why he was known as the greatest wizard in the world. There was only so far one could push him before he snapped, and when he snapped it was terrifying. I wondered how he kept the balance between the two without feeling like he was going completely mad.

Then his words finally hit me and I stared at him, astonished. “She’s what?” Dumbledore gave me an amused look at my lack of attention, but I was too distracted to be embarrassed. “Why?” My first thought was that she’d perhaps come to help Sirius while I’d been away, since teaching wasn’t exactly his forte.

“Professor Binns has decided he finally needs a break, after a life and afterlife spent teaching,” Dumbledore explained. “Ms. Patil was brought in as a temporary replacement.” His light-blue eyes were blank and innocent-looking. No one would think he was lying unless they knew what to look for. A hundred and sixty years had given him a great deal of practise to perfect his expressions.

I was sure no one believed this explanation. I certainly didn’t. Binns was hardly going to take time off (what did ghosts do in their spare time, anyway?), particularly not now. Binns would never, ever take time off in the middle of the academic year. But perhaps we weren’t supposed to believe it, only accept it for the time being. Dumbledore obviously had some reason for bringing Padma in, but as usual he was keeping it to himself until the time was right.

Well, if anything, students would start paying attention in History of Magic, now. Or the boys, at least.

“I see,” I replied at last, keeping my voice carefully neutral and calm, giving away none of the suspicion I felt. “Will she be with us for long?” It took an effort to hide the immense betrayal I felt. I was almost certain that Padma’s arrival had something to do with The Order, and felt hurt that Dumbledore wouldn’t immediately tell me the real reason for her presence. Though considering my recent behaviour, I shouldn’t have been that surprised at being left out of the loop.

“For as long as Binns has time off,” Dumbledore replied. It didn’t take a genius to realise he was politely determined not to tell me anything. I inwardly sighed, feeling too tired to battle with him. Since my return to Hogwarts, the strange headaches and fatigue I’d been suffering from since before visiting Snape Manor had returned. They weren’t serious, but it was decidedly uncomfortable having constant headaches and never being able to get enough sleep. Severus was becoming extremely frustrated that none of his potions were working. I suspected sooner or later he was going to drag me to Poppy.

In an effort to give Dumbledore the impression I wasn’t annoyed at being left in the dark (though I was), I asked, “Is it usual for a ghost to get a mid-afterlife crisis?” It had the effect on him that I wanted.

He laughed, eyes dancing. “Not usually, but there’s always the exception.”

“Hmm,” I murmured. “You’d best keep on eye an Binns, then. It wouldn’t do for him to be an exception in any other way.” Dumbledore laughed again and I smiled, glad to have amused him in some way. This kind of thing made me wish no bad feelings had ever come between us. Dumbledore had been someone I’d trusted for a very long time and looked up to; I hated having that trust put into doubt.

“What about The Order?” I asked after a few minutes of silence. “Have your contacts found out anything new?” Bringing up such a grim subject after humour wasn’t exactly the most subtle thing to do, but I wanted — needed — to know.

Dumbledore gave me a thoughtful look, but nevertheless answered. “There’s been no significant change in their numbers, so they’re not recruiting, thankfully. But there have been changes in their movements, and it seems they’re coming towards us. Many of their numbers have been moving steadily west, and many have been spotted in Germany, Italy, and Austria, some in France.”

My skin prickled; the thought of them determinedly coming towards us made me uneasy and eager to do something. Having to sit here and wait was incredibly frustrating. “They’re coming for Callidus, aren’t they? They’re planning something.”

Dumbledore nodded. “It appears so, but I wouldn’t be entirely certain yet. They might also be coming because of you.”

I blinked, opened my mouth, and closed it. After a few moments, I opened it and managed to speak this time. “Me? Why would they want me? I’m not exactly fair game anymore.”

He shook his head. “You still defeated Voldemort,” he pointed out. Then, seeing my mouth open furiously, added, “Helped defeat Voldemort, anyway. Many people may still see you as a threat to their plans. Voldemort wasn’t exactly easy to overthrow.”

I thought about this for a while, and then sighed. “Wonderful...”

Dumbledore shook his head, but I could see a slight smile in his eyes. “Most likely not. Something always happens, one way or another.” I fought the urge to groan, as the last flickering remains of my hope were blown away. A normal life was definitely out.

“What do we do, then?” I asked. “Just sit here, waiting?” I couldn’t keep the accusing note out of my voice, though I did try.

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore replied. “There’s little else we can do.” The smile in his eyes grew as I growled in frustration. “I know it’s frustrating,” he added quietly, “but what could you do? It would take an enormous effort to keep you inconspicuous while you travelled, and we’re not entirely sure who we’re even looking for. And if you did find a member, what would you do then?”

I let out a breath in defeat. He was right, as much as it pained me to admit. We didn’t know enough information to do anything yet. Me rushing off to act the dutiful hero would do no one any good, though it frustrated me to sit and do nothing. I had no other choice.

There was something else I wanted to ask Dumbledore, though it took me a few moments to remember it. It was a touchy subject to broach, but I had to ask. Taking a deep breath, I asked in a casual voice, “Not to seem rude, but why is Ms. Delordre still here? I thought she had only an article to write. Surely it doesn’t take her this long if she has a deadline to meet?”

Dumbledore glanced at me sharply, his eyes piercing. I always hated it when he looked at me like that... it felt like he was gazing into my very soul. “She has asked for a extension to her deadline,” he replied after a moment. “She has explained that she wishes to write a series of articles, not just one. I admit it isn’t the most agreeable of situations, but I could hardly refuse her.”

I frowned. That didn’t sound like Dumbledore at all. As long as I’d known him, he’d always put the interests of Hogwarts and its students first. It didn’t make sense for him to submit to the whims of a reporter many secretly thought to be a polite lunatic. But he’d done so for Veronique, and I didn’t trust his actions at all. It just didn’t seem like him, no matter the reason.

“That seems... odd,” I said after a moment. “I didn’t think there was enough happening here for a series of articles to be written.”

Confusion filled Dumbledore’s face for a single instant, and the expression looked so out of place that I nearly balked. I had never once seen Dumbledore look confused, not once in the entire twelve years I’d known him. Something was very wrong.

“Well... in the end I suppose she’ll find something to write about,” he said after a moment, but his words lacked strength and assurance. At this point I was feeling sincerely frightened. What was wrong with him? He looked so helpless and... frail. So very frail and old. At that moment it seemed like every one of his hundred and sixty years was catching up with him. In the flickering torch-light the lines on his face deepened, making him appear exhausted and ancient. He looked... defeated, I realised. Beaten.

I didn’t know whether to ask if something was wrong, or just sit there and cry.

“I’ll... I’ll go now,” I stammered, rising and placing my cup and saucer on his desk. I hoped he didn’t notice my hands were trembling. “I have many assignments to correct that Remus gave, and I can’t put them off any longer.” I tried to smile, but it was hard, and I don’t think I succeeded very well. “Thank you for the tea and conversation.”

Dumbledore looked at me, yet it seemed like he wasn’t really seeing at me at all. “That’s quite all right, Harry,” he replied. “I enjoyed it myself.” He smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine at all. I practically fled.

As I hurried through the halls to get to my office, I could still see his haunted, puzzled face in my mind, and that frightened me more than anything else could, not even the threat of The Order. For many days after, the claws of uneasiness continued to clench tighter and tighter around my heart.

 

* * *

 

I watched Padma examine the chess board carefully, looking for a way to outmanoeuvre me. She didn’t have to look hard; she was wiping me off the board. I’d challenged her to a chess game more out of boredom than anything else, not knowing she was very, very good. It seemed everyone was better than me when it came to chess. Typical.

It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and the two of us were the only ones in the staff room. Padma had no classes for the rest of the day and I had Fifth Year Slytherins in an hour’s time. I’d taken one look at the pile of correcting sitting on my desk and bolted; she’d had nothing better to do, having her week’s correcting already done. Padma was one of those incredibly organised types. I was jealous as hell, considering I usually did things hoping for the best and ready to improvise when they went wrong. The story of my life. Maybe Severus was right when he’d told me I desperately needed organisational skills.

Padma was much the same as when she’d been a student, only a few inches taller. When I’d first seen her I’d thought she was Parvati, whom I was more used to seeing, but there were noticeable differences. Parvati had held herself with a teenager’s confidence and a beauty’s grace, a pout usually curling her lips. Padma stood like everyone else, relaxed and willing to stay away from the limelight; she was only noticed if people spotted her. The gentle smile on her face was somehow better than Paravti’s deliberate pout had been. Parvati had been one out for attention. Padma was not.

Of course, there was always the fact that Parvati was dead.

There were shadows in Padma’s face, shadows that told of unimaginable pain, untold suffering and agony; Parvati had still been her twin, despite their differences. Her eyes held a loneliness that I simply couldn’t compare anything to. Or perhaps I could. I recognised everything: the shadows, the pain, the agony, the intolerable loneliness that never went away, no matter how often one pasted a smile on their face, put on one’s best clothes and decided, Today, I’ll be happy. Today, I’ll be better. I knew it all.

For nearly four years I’d seen the exact same things in my own eyes, every time I’d looked in the mirror. But I was only recovering now. Padma’s grief was understandable, but I knew immediately that it was being handled differently than mine. She didn’t constantly wallow in guilt and despair as I had. She lived. She laughed, she smiled, she talked, she considered the future, instead of remaining constantly in the past. She was allowing herself to heal. It was extremely enlightening, but it also made me wish I’d acted far differently when I’d had the chance. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t have sunk into a depression and my own black hole.

“How do you cope?” I asked suddenly, deciding I might as well try and get a proper answer that might help me with my own problems. There was only so much I could pester Severus about.

“What?” Padma asked, looking up from the board in surprise. “How do I cope with what?” Her dark eyes met mine, looking more confused than anything else.

“With... everything. Dealing with everything after the war, I mean.” She gave me a puzzled look, but I couldn’t ignore the uneasy tinge underneath it. Maybe I’d introduced the topic a bit too soon. I fought the urge to sigh, but simply hoped for the best.

To my surprise, she actually gave my question some serious thought. Finally she said, “By looking to the future, I suppose. By remembering what happened and honouring those who died, but not wallowing myself in guilt. I can’t blame myself for what happened, since I couldn’t have stopped it, but I can honour the sacrifice they made and be grateful that I’m alive.” She paused, and then asked, “Are you finding it hard to move on?”

It amused me that she was the only person to actually say it that directly to me. I nodded, giving her a wry smile. “That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

She took another few minutes before answering. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Harry, since I think what you’re going through is different to what I am, and I’m not a counsellor. But... I will tell you this. Don’t let it control you. Don’t let it take command so all you can do is remember the past and what you could have done. You can’t change what happened, no matter how unfair it was. All you can do is look to the future.” After a moment she gave me a shy, embarrassed smile. “That was a speech, wasn’t it? Sorry. Consequence of being a Ravenclaw: you get used to arguing with people.”

I smiled back. “Don’t worry about it. That was pretty good advice, actually.”

“Glad to be of service,” she said dryly, before moving a piece and effectively taking another of my own. I glared at the board and cursed. My chess pieces cursed back, telling me exactly what they thought of me as a player.

After brilliantly losing the game (Padma really did try not to gloat), I reluctantly got out the correcting I’d been putting off, while she started reading. Glancing up, I watched her for a moment. She looked very absorbed, though I remembered the book to be the most boring textbook I’d ever had, even with Gilderoy Lockhart’s books on the syllabus.

“How do you find teaching History of Magic?” I asked, trying to put some interest in my voice and failing. The class had been as dry as dust and my memories of it were no better.

Padma looked up and grinned; the expression on my face must have amused her. “It’s not too bad,” she said, closing the book but leaving a finger between the pages to mark her place. It struck me as a very Hermione-like gesture. “I try and make it more interesting then Professor Binns did. No offence to him or anything, but he didn’t have much enthusiasm for it.”

“That’s an understatement,” I drawled, and she laughed quietly. I sighed, and looked down at my Gryffindor essays. I’d set the First Years an extremely easy assignment (“Summarise the life habits of the Kneazle and the consequences of its interbreeding with Muggle cats”), but apart from Jonathan, most of them had gone off in very unrelated tangents. One of them had even written about his own Kneazle, which had been entertaining enough, but rather unproductive. With another sigh, I went back to correcting.

It was Padma who broke the silence next. “Harry... Dumbledore told me about Callidus and The Order.” My quill, just about to mark down a grade, froze a bare centimetre above the parchment, as alarm bells began to ring in my head. Quickly writing the grade, I shoved the essay away and put down my quill. I didn’t immediately look up, instead steadying myself with a few deep breaths, before meeting her gaze. Her dark eyes were calm, but otherwise unreadable.

“I see,” I said at last, clutching my hands together so she wouldn’t see they were shaking. For some reason, I felt uneasy about Padma knowing. She’d only been here for less than two weeks, and I’d gathered the impression that Severus and I were the only ones of the staff who Dumbledore had told about the possible connection between Callidus and The Order. To have someone so... new be told so soon felt a little bit like betrayal, though I knew better than to say it out loud.

“Harry...” Padma began.

“And what do you think of it all?” I interrupted her, watching her with eyes I felt were rather too accusing. My fledgling friendship with her would be put into severe jeopardy if she had, in my opinion, an unfair dislike of Callidus. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Many of the others admired Callidus for his intellect and quick thinking, but hardly trusted him as far as they could throw him.

A spark of irritation flickered in her eyes, but she met my gaze levelly. “I think we have to protect Callidus. No matter any apparent connections he has with this Order, he’s still only an eleven year old boy. He has to be protected, not accused and abandoned.”

At that moment, I knew I could trust her.

Padma paused, and then added, “That’s not to say that he’s not frightening, because he is. At times he can be extremely frightening.”

I shrugged. There was no arguing with her there. “He thinks he can take care of himself, but he doesn’t realise he’s still only eleven. He’s not even spent a year in the Wizarding world yet, and there are many things he doesn’t know or understand.”

“In other words,” Padma said, “he’s like you.” I stared at her, and she shrugged. “Parvati used to tell me things during our summer holidays.” I stared even harder and she let out an exasperated sigh. “I know she came across as a bit of an... airhead, an idiot, really, but she could be observant when she put her mind to it.”

“Oh,” I managed to get out, as there seemed to be little else I could say. I’d never really thought of Parvati as observant. An airhead definitely came to mind, as well as a flirt and an idiot. She’d always been giggly and obsessed with boys, constantly going on dates and such. I’d never really known her, except as a fellow Gryffindor. It made me feel slightly guilty, since she was gone now.

Padma correctly guessed the reason for my expression and said dryly, “Don’t feel guilty. Parvati had an amazing ability for driving anyone stone mad.”

“In that case, you should feel sorry for Hermione Granger,” I told her. “She had to share a dorm with her.”

Padma gave me a considering look. “You’re still friends with her, aren’t you? Hermione, I mean.”

I gave her a surprised look. “Of course. We just don’t talk as much because of work and everything else.” I hesitated, and then went on, “We used to drive Hermione mad, you know, by constantly wondering why she wasn’t in Ravenclaw.”

Padma grinned. “I know! She used to give us Ravenclaws a bad name.” I laughed, and she laughed with me because it was true.

After we stopped laughing, Padma went on. “I know the two of us aren’t what could be called friends, Harry, but I want to help you and Dumbledore with The Order. Not fighting or anything like that, but with research, you know?”

I looked at her and everything clicked. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? For research.” At her disbelieving look, I hurried on. “None of us believed Dumbledore’s excuse — I mean, come on, when is Binns ever going to take a break in the afterlife? — but we weren’t entirely sure why you were here.”

“Well, now you know,” she said calmly, not looking one bit annoyed that I’d blown her cover. Then I realised she’d probably expected me to know all along. Damn Dumbledore and his cryptic riddles.

“Well, I’m glad you’ll be helping,” I informed her, “though I’m afraid to say you’ve nothing to work with. Dumbledore’s contacts only know basic information and nothing specific. All we’re really able to do right now is sit and *wait for something to happen.” I couldn’t stop the disgusted sound in time, and she gave me a slight smile. “I just wish I could do something, you know?”

She nodded, but was it my imagination, or did she look rather uncomfortable? I squinted at her and she coloured, shifting nervously in her seat. I frowned. “Padma?”

She didn’t say anything immediately. From what I could tell, she seemed to be arguing with herself. I waited, since I hadn’t exactly anything else to do. She finally looked at me, determination filling her face. She’d come to a decision, though I had no idea what about.

“Harry...” she began slowly, clutching her hands nervously and looking anywhere but at me. I couldn’t stop the ominous feeling from welling up inside me, despite the fact I had no idea what was going on. “Harry, I have... I know something — someone, I mean...”

I stared at her blankly and she gave a sigh of frustration. “I know someone who was involved in The Order.”

My jaw dropped before I could help it. She smiled nervously, sparks of panic in her eyes. “You do? Who?” I couldn’t keep the astonishment out of my voice, which only seemed to make her feel worse. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” I hadn’t intended my tone to be accusing, but it came out like that.

Padma swallowed, shaking her head, as if to convince herself one last time that she was doing the right thing. She was clutching her hands so tightly that her knuckles were white, and I wondered briefly if they were going to break.

“Padma,” I growled through clenched teeth. “Who is it?”

She glanced away, before finally whispering a name.

“Terry Boot.”

I froze, unable to believe what I’d just heard. Terry Boot? It was a name I hadn’t heard in a long time, not since the war. I sat there, too confused to do anything. And why had Padma been so afraid, so hesitant to tell me? More to the point, why hadn’t she told any of us until now? But his name seemed to fill the empty air around us, echoing until it seemed like a malevolent whisper, unsettling everything.

It would be a name I’d eventually hear in my nightmares.

 

* * *

 

The night was dark and there were no stars. The first quarter of the moon was up, shining a dark yellow in the sky. Something about a yellow moon always disturbed me. The first quarter reminded me that the moon would be full soon. Lupin would be out of action for a few days. I wondered where Sirius was. I always thought of them as a unit: Sirius and Lupin. To some degree they were like a family to me. I hoped I’d see them again soon.

If felt like a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. All of this was familiar, every memory so clear it seemed like it had only happened yesterday.

I moved swiftly through the forest to the lowlands beyond, inwardly thanking the Silencing Spell I’d put on myself. The Invisibility Cloak was a solid weight over me. I sent a quick prayer of thanks to my father, hoping his gift wouldn’t fail me. So far it hadn’t.

The meeting place was a secluded field. I went behind an ancient portal dolman, whispering the words that would make the entrance appear only to me. To any spy, it would seem nothing was happening.

They were waiting for me in an earthen chamber. The dolman had been covered with every Shielding Spell possible, so the chances of us being discovered were slim. Torches were carefully placed in the walls, burning as strongly as they could. Everyone was used to being in the background and attention passing over them. But they were all still tense, waiting for disaster to somehow happen. Some habits die hard.

I pulled the Invisibility Cloak off, temporarily dampening the Silencing Spell around me. My sudden appearance surprised those around me, causing them to yelp and jump. They immediately went quiet when they realised what they were doing. I frowned. Surely they were better trained than this?

“The last few days have made them edgy,” a quiet, lilting voice said. “They’re usually much better than this.” I turned to watch Seamus Finnegan walk towards me, his face pale and serious. He’d changed quickly in the wake of the war, to the extent that the mischievous teenager I’d once known had disappeared.

I shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.” The spies were under Seamus’s command, not mine. They weren’t my concern, though their lack of competency was worrying. Spies were essential, since people like Severus and myself were too well-known to get any information ourselves. Incompetent spies put everything in jeopardy.

Seamus gave me a sharp look, but said nothing. I had the distinct impression I’d just offended him, something I wouldn’t have done in the old days. But the old days were dead and buried, and all that remained were the people we now were. We’d all changed, myself included, though I didn’t really know exactly how much I’d changed. The changes had come so gradually that I’d absorbed and accepted them without even realising it.

“Were you caught up in last week’s raid?” Seamus asked. A few moments ago his voice would have been filled with concern, but now, thanks to my tactlessness, it was distant and cool. Merely another person enquiring to know if I was still healthy and sane enough to end this war for them.

I shook my head. “Snape and I were up north last week, putting Lucius Malfoy on a wild goose chase. We only arrived back last night.” It was risky to do so much travelling in such a short space of time, but we had no choice. There had been severe losses in the last month, and we were needed practically everywhere. I was beginning to feel like I was stretched too thin to cover everything.

Seamus nodded. “Chase go well?”

“We lost him in four days. He’s getting careless.” I didn’t know then that in less than a year he’d be executed. Even if I had, my feelings toward him wouldn’t have changed. No matter how Draco had turned out, Lucius had always remained a bastard, and I’d hated him. Hated him so much the extent of it had been rather alarming. I think I’d even hated him more than Severus had, if it was possible.

Seamus smiled with sweet poison. “Good. He deserves it.” Like most people on our side, he loathed Lucius Malfoy. As far as I knew, he still didn’t trust Draco and kept away from him. Of course, even Ron hated Draco, even if he was on our side now. Some things never changed, although the circumstances did. Even I admitted Ron was being more than a little childish, but he refused to listen.

As for me... well, things were still awkward between Draco and myself... after...

I pushed the thought away, refusing to think about that right now. I had more pressing things to be concerned with a stupid mistake. Instead, I returned Seamus’s smile with just as much sweet poison. “Yes... yes, he does.”

The sound of careful footsteps drew our attention. Two people were coming towards us, their cloaks swirling around them. I automatically tensed, and Seamus gave me a quizzical glance. I knew I was getting incredibly paranoid, but couldn’t give a damn what other people thought. I’d start worrying about it when I had the time.

They came closer, and thanks to the torches I could see who they were: Parvati Patil and Terry Boot. I relaxed fractionally. They were both trustworthy, at least, but I rarely trusted anyone these days.

Parvati smiled at me, a genuine smile. Even though her hair and eyes were dull and her face too pale and gaunt, she was still pretty. It was impossible to ignore, even if I was with Severus. I smiled back. Parvati, though I didn’t know her well, had been kind enough to me in the war.

I didn’t know then that a week later she would be dead. But even if I had... it probably wouldn’t have changed anything.

“Harry.” Terry greeted me with a curt nod. His hazel eyes watched me intently for several moments, as if he could see something in me that I couldn’t. I had no idea why he was doing it, but I simply waited until he was finished and then started speaking.

“I’m supposed to get a current report off of you,” I explained, glancing at Seamus as I spoke. His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. I realised Seamus didn’t really trust me anymore. I suppose the war had changed me more than I’d thought. But his dislike of me was his problem, not mine. There was nothing I could do.

“I’ll go and get it,” Seamus sighed, turning and hurrying down another tunnel. I had no idea how they could operate underground, but they did. Now alone with Parvati and Terry, I wracked my brains for something to say, and couldn’t think of anything. Small-talk wasn’t exactly something I needed for a war, and Severus hardly bothered with it anymore. We spent what little free time we had in companionable silence.

Terry smiled. “We’ll accompany you back to the forest borders.” I was to immediately return with the report. Dawdling was a good way to get killed. I never dawdled.

I frowned before I could help it. “There’s no need; I got here fine on my own. I don’t need to be escorted back.” I was used to doing things on my own or with Severus, with the result that I couldn’t really work with anyone else. But I wasn’t going to tell them that.

Parvati shook her head. “Those are our orders. Sorry.” She smiled.

“Besides,” Terry added, “you trust us, don’t you? We won’t endanger you, or anything.” There was something in his eyes that unnerved me. He wasn’t the same Terry that had gone through the halls of Hogwarts with his nose literally stuck in a book. He’d changed and grown up, like the rest of us. But... there was still something else about him... something I didn’t like...

“You do trust us, don’t you?” Terry repeated, looking slightly concerned. I met his questioning gaze slowly. It was probably me just being paranoid. The war had changed us all, so we did odd things and looked a bit strange now and then. And Severus would be the first to say I was now seriously paranoid about nearly everyone.

Seamus was coming back, the scroll in his hand. I shrugged, still looking at Terry. “I suppose I do.” I smiled.

Terry smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

 

I woke up with a start, my eyes wide and my breath coming in quick gasps. For a moment I could only look around wildly, before my brain finally got it through to me that there was no one there. I lay back, calming down.

Why were the memories coming back? I could hardly remember the last one I’d had, thank God. Still, the fact they were coming back wasn’t good. I grimaced. So much for putting the past behind me, when it insisted on constantly reminding me. I rubbed my eyes and then sighed. I fumbled for my glasses on my bedside locker and slipped them on. At least if I had to brood I could see properly.

Sliding my hand under the pillow, I pulled out my wand, and flicked it at the guttering candles, instantly replacing them with new ones. Light flooded my room and made me feel slightly better. The fact that I now slept with my wand under the pillow didn’t seem like a healthy sign, but I was getting rather good at self-denial.

A low growl made me look down and I found Brandy groggily rising to her paws, blearily looking up at me. I’d woken her with the increased light and my movement. Glaring up at me balefully, she flopped onto my lap, snuggling down with a contented sigh. I stroked her absently, glad of her company.

I’d been constantly thinking about Terry Boot since Padma had reluctantly told me about his dealings with The Order. It was bad enough that she’d had no intention of ever telling anyone, never mind that she hadn’t told Dumbledore when she’d come here. If I hadn’t brought up the general topic, she’d probably have never mentioned it. It made me trust her slightly less, something that made me feel sad. I’d always had the knack for trusting the wrong people at the worst times.

Terry’s involvement with The Order didn’t help matters. I’d trusted him during the war because he was in Hogwarts and Ravenclaw, things that, in my mind, automatically put him on the good side. What a disastrous assessment of character that had been. Shaking my head angrily, I closed my eyes. There was no point in going over my mistakes. It would change nothing, only increase my embarrassment.

I needed answers, preferably sooner rather than later. But Dumbledore had nothing new to tell me and no one else even knew the questions existed. I frowned, rubbing my temples slowly in an attempt to help me think. There had to be some way of finding something out without alerting The Order to my movements.

The answer hit me so out of the blue I strongly suspected it was my subconscious at work. For a moment I froze, my eyes wide and my heart thumping. I ran through the options quickly, trying to find any glitch that could convince me it was a bad idea. I found none, or maybe I just didn’t want to think out any. It wasn’t like I had any other ideas.

My mind made up, I gently moved Brandy out of the way, got up and pulled on my dressing gown. I went out to my office and rummaged for parchment, sitting down to write a letter.

 

* * *

 

The flurry of owls made me wince; I’d woken up with a raging headache, despite the fact I hadn’t drank anything in months. I had no idea what was happening to me and couldn’t seem to be worried about it, even though I knew I should be. I didn’t watch the owls glide over the tables, searching for their owners; Hermione was busy at the Ministry and I didn’t expect her reply for weeks.

To my surprise, Hedwig fluttered down beside me, a note attached to her leg. I quickly untied it, letting Hedwig attack my toast with gusto. It was probably a reply from Hermione, one that had been remarkably quick. It never occurred to me that Hermione was worried about me, thus causing her quick response. I unfolded it and began to read, absently stroking Hedwig as I did so.

 

Harry,

Of course I’ll help you in any way I can, how could you have thought otherwise? Silly! I’m glad Padma’s there — she was always good at research, not that you ever noticed — but what you’re researching is rather worrying. The Order hasn’t been heard of for years: it was one of the few organisations to advocate neutrality during Voldemort’s first rise.

No one at the Ministry knows why Terry was thrown into Azkaban. So he was part of The Order, then. While that sort of makes sense, there’s a lot that’s still confusing. The Order have never been a threat, so why would Terry have been imprisoned? He wouldn’t have dared help Voldemort; from the little I found out about The Order, they reward treason with death. And it’s only recently they’ve come to Dumbledore’s attention, and he’s told no one at the Ministry yet. But Terry’s been in Azkaban for years. Something must have happened.

Be careful Harry, won’t you? None of this looks good and charging into things won’t help. It might have worked when we were kids, but not now. And if they do want Callidus as you think they do, take care of him, too. He’s already linked to Voldemort by name — he doesn’t need anything else to happen.

Ron sends his love, as do the rest of the Weasleys. We’ll see you again soon, I hope. Send my greetings to Severus, and I hope things are going well for the two of you.

Love,

Hermione

 

While she had probably hoped her reply would help me, all it did was make me worry. Instead of answering my questions for me, it only caused more to crop up. No one at the Ministry knew about The Order, except for Hermione, and that was only because I’d asked her for help. Everything she found out must have been through her own research, and I didn’t even want to imagine how she’d managed to keep that a secret. If the Ministry didn’t know about them, then the Order probably weren’t a threat, but Dumbledore was worried and that made me worried.

Then all the strangeness surrounding Terry. If he really had been in The Order, then he’d had nothing to do with Voldemort. But why had he been thrown into Azkaban, then? He’d done nothing during the war, or I’d have known about it eventually. He’d helped our side, in fact, acting as a spy occasionally, as I’d remembered in my dream. Had he been a spy for The Order? But he’d had nothing to gain, since they’d been vehemently against Voldemort. Unless... it hadn’t been Voldemort he’d been spying on.

What if he’d been spying on us?

The thought made me go cold. What on earth had Terry been doing? The fact that I’d trusted him only made me feel worse. I’d assumed he was trustworthy simply because he had attended Hogwarts along with me, not even thinking of the fact I hardly knew him. I could have said being in a war as a primary fighter had made me do things out of the norm for me, but the truth was I’d been foolish and naive, as ironic as that seemed. If Terry had been spying on us, what could he have told The Order?

There were too many questions and not enough answers. Hermione seemed almost convinced that The Order was after Callidus. It was unlikely they were after me, since I wasn’t much of a threat anymore. More than anything, he needed to be protected, but the thought of telling him made me uneasy. He was still only eleven. Having a world-wide organisation after him wasn’t going to help him feel secure. Of course, he’d gone through more than an average eleven year old. Perhaps he could take it. Perhaps.

I put down the letter with a sigh and rubbed my temples wearily. Hedwig hooted as if concerned, but I gave her a slight smile to reassure her. Nipping one of my fingers affectionately, she took off upwards towards the ceiling. I watched her go, before staring down at my plate, my appetite gone. Glancing up, I met Severus’s questioning gaze. I shook my head slightly, and he obediently looked away again.

Too many questions and not enough answers. I tapped my fingers against the table, thinking hard. I needed proper answers and I needed them relatively quickly. There was only one thing left to do. It wasn’t the wisest of decisions, perhaps, but my options were rapidly dwindling and I had few choices left.

I took a deep breath to try and calm down, but it had little effect. I felt like I was in quicksand, sinking too fast to save myself.

 

* * *

 

I stared across at the small fortress isolated by churning waves. It was so small. I’d never imagined it could be so tiny, for all the fear and panic it created. Such a small, terrifying place.

Gritting my teeth, I nodded at the wizard beside me. He nodded in reply, before making his way to the little boat that would take me across to Azkaban. Sighing heavily and trying to ignore the tight knot in my stomach, I reluctantly followed him.

The sea wasn’t stormy — the wizard referred to it as ‘unsettled’. Myself, I thought stormy suited it just fine. As it was, the journey was made extremely uncomfortable by the boat rocking from side to side, and by the time we were at Azkaban I was certain I didn’t enjoy sea travel.

Clenching my teeth, I stood, giving the wizard the first part of his fare. Had to make him stay somehow, so he’d take me back to dry land and normality. Trying to ignore my dodgy stomach and the fact that the boat was now swaying unsteadily, I staggered up the slimy steps, now firmly convinced I was mad to be doing this.

Arthur Weasley was waiting for me, a cloak wrapped securely around him. “Hello, Harry,” he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the growing wind. I nodded in reply, not trusting myself to speak, and quickly hurried inside.

After the raging weather outside, the silence inside was deafening. Azkaban managed to be both warm and damp, something I didn’t understand at first. Then I realised the damp was really just a chill in the air. The chill of despair. The knot in my stomach grew tighter. I tried not to look around as I walked beside Mr. Weasley, but my curiosity was stronger than it should have been.

My first thought was that everything looked slightly green. At first I thought it was slime or mould, an effect of the sea perhaps, but I wasn’t too confident in that idea. Azkaban was airtight; there could be no slime or leaks. Mr. Weasley noticed my puzzled expression and quickly put two and two together.

“The green is a consequence of the constant Dementor presence here,” he explained softly, keeping a watchful eye around us. “It’s thought the green is a side-effect of the guilt and pain from the prisoners that feeds the Dementors. Like... an emotion solidified, I suppose.” He looked grim. I felt sick; when the torch-light hit the colour it changed to a shade of green that made me feel queasy.

He continued walking, and it wasn’t until we came to the cells farther in that we met the Dementors. The familiar cold sensation crawled up my spine. I swallowed, and barely held my nerve. I walked quickly passed, thinking if I didn’t stay too long then I wouldn’t faint. In recent years I’d had enough bad experiences in my life to make me extremely good Dementor fodder. I didn’t need reminding of that.

No one was sure whether to trust the Dementors. Dumbledore had had to pull out all the stops to get them on our side, and the foolish attitudes of Fudge and others hadn’t helped. And when things had been most desperate... their loyalty had wavered. They’d nearly gone back to Voldemort. They hadn’t, but none of us trusted them from that moment on. They were good at their job, but that didn’t mean much, and they were the main reason Azkaban was so safe.

We passed the first lot of Dementors without incident, though Mr. Weasley had gone a shade too pale and I was sweating.

Mr. Weasley wanted to come into the cell with me, but I refused. Terry probably wouldn’t say as much with the Minister of Magic there, and besides, I wanted to confront him alone. Mr. Weasley didn’t look too happy about it, but he didn’t argue, instead standing back as the cell door was opened.

The cell was small. There was a single window high up in the wall to let in light, though the stormy weather ensured there was little to be let in. Terry lay on a threadbare mattress, staring blankly at the single torch on the wall opposite him. He turned his head as I walked in, and quickly sat up to face me.

I stopped as the door was closed behind me and stared at him, hands hidden in my cloak. I waited, unwilling to speak first. It didn’t take him long to recognise me.

“Harry Potter,” he said softly, a smile curling his lips. “Well, I’ll be damned. To what do I owe this pleasure?” There was something in his eyes, in his smile, that I didn’t like.

I watched him and remembered the Terry I’d once known. Hazel eyes and pale skin. Tall. Dark curly hair and a shy smile. His nose permanently stuck in a book. He was the type of guy girls found themselves liking gradually until they were infatuated with him, but his interest had been in Blaise Zabini, with the interest returned. It was a secret everyone had known about. Terry had been left alone after that; those Blaise expressed his interest in weren’t touched by anyone else. An unspoken rule.

Azkaban had been cruel to him. His face was sickly-pale, his hazel eyes sunken deep. His hair hung midway down his back in long curls that would have been attractive if washed. Now his smile was slightly edgy in a way that made me uneasy. He looked, frankly, ill. I had the impression no man or woman would be infatuated with him, now.

For a moment, all I could see was Sirius sitting before me. An image from when I’d first met him filled my mind’s eye, and I gritted my teeth, trying to forget it. Gaunt, sickly face, deep-sunk eyes, matted curls that stretched down his back. I swallowed, trying to force myself back to the situation at hand.

I gave him a hard look. “You owe me information,” I replied flatly, crossing my arms. Being in this cell made me uncomfortable, but I knew better than to give Terry something to use against me.

Terry’s smile broadened. “Everything has a price,” he whispered quietly, tilting his head to look at me thoughtfully.

I glared at him. “I owe you no price, Boot. You’ve spent nearly six years in Azkaban. That’s more than enough payment for you.” My voice was cold and merciless. If Terry wanted to play mind-games with me, he was in for a disappointment.

He chuckled. “What an odd idea of payment you have.” The contempt in his eyes was obvious; I’d seen it in many people over the years, I knew what to look for.

“Benefit of being a cynic,” I growled irritably, glancing at the flickering torch and the way it deepened and lengthened the shadows. Spending six years in this place made Terry’s current state of mind understandable. He was slowly sinking into madness.

Terry chuckled, his eyes suddenly shining with amusement. “What do you want to know?” he asked, moving back on the bed so as to lean against the wall. I trusted him even less when he was being willing. Deep down, I was still a cynic, I suppose. But I’d come here for a reason, and what had I to lose?

“What do you know about The Order?” I asked, giving him a look that dared him to lie. But it would achieve nothing, I knew. Terry would lie anyway — nothing I could do would stop him. The look was more to give me confidence than anything else.

He raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?” He looked genuinely surprised; he hadn’t expected me to come out with it so directly.

“What do you know about The Order?” I repeated slowly, as if he were a child. He glared at me, obviously offended. I smiled with sweet venom and his eyes narrowed. I was treading on thin ice, but I was too angry to care.

The transformation in him was instant. He went from wry and vaguely amused, to furious and suspicious. His eyes darkened with anger, his skin tightening and the lines on his face deepening. His lips twisted in a sneer that made him look ugly.

Maybe treading on thin ice wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

“What do you wish to know?” he asked stiffly, eyes hard and sharp as flint. I looked into them and I realised there was no one home. In a moment, his eyes had gone blank and emotionless. A killer’s eyes. The eyes of someone who had nothing to lose and didn’t care.

I found myself wondering how I’d spent seven years with him and never noticed anything was wrong.

“What are you willing to tell me?” I shot back, unwilling to let him realise I had no idea what to ask him. I’d kind of forgotten that bit until now. Sometimes my stupidity was so colossal, it wasn’t even funny.

Terry gave me a decidedly unfriendly look. “I don’t recall you being this stupid back in Hogwarts.”

I glared back, trying to ignore his words, though it was hard to. It’s hard to ignore anything you think is true, even if it really isn’t.

“And I don’t recall you being this thick,” I retorted, beginning to regret my decision to come here. I was getting nowhere and so far had only succeeded in antagonising Terry. Not good for getting information.

He looked thoroughly disgusted, which didn’t make me feel any better. “Just ask your questions,” he sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. A flicker of concern passed through me before I knew what was happening, but I quickly squashed it. I had no reason to feel sorry for him, and sure as hell didn’t want to. “Even I have better things to do than argue with you.” I realised then that he had no reason to keep his secrets. He was stuck in Azkaban for a very, very long time, even though no one knew why. It wasn’t like they were going to kill him for talking — the Dementors would do that eventually, no matter what.

I watched him for several moments, before I started speaking. “Why did you join The Order? Had you anything to gain from it? Why not simply join Voldemort instead?”

His eyes were still closed. “I didn’t join for power, Potter. If I had wanted power I would have gone to Voldemort, though that would have been pretty stupid anyway. Anyone with a brain could see he never would have won. His Death Eaters were a pack of fools.” For a man supposedly insane, he spoke very rationally. Didn’t make me feel any less uncomfortable, but there you go.

“What did you join for, then? No one knows about The Order,” I pestered, wishing Terry could be more like a stereotypical enemy. After Voldemort I had plenty of practise understanding their motives. I didn’t understand his at all.

His haunted, tired eyes snapped open and he looked straight at me. “I didn’t join for fame, either, Potter. Where are you getting these ideas from?” He looked downright annoyed.

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I admitted truthfully. “I’m just trying to see from your point of view. I’m trying to understand your motives.”

He smiled bitterly. “Commendable.” I gave him a pointed look, which only made him smile more. “But I don’t think you’ll ever understand me, Potter.”

“I don’t think I will, either,” I replied quietly. “Well, tell me, then. Why did you join The Order?”

“To be accepted,” he said quietly. “To belong.” The expression on my face must have been comical, since he started laughing. The sound was hopeless. “What, you thought I joined for world domination and such? Bloody typical, Potter. Not everyone joins for those sort of things.”

I stared at him. “But you did belong!” I protested. “At Hogwarts—” I stopped, suddenly unsure. How the hell would I have known whether Terry belonged or not?

Terry smiled sardonically. “You see? You don’t even know. It was very hard living in the shadow of you and your friends. No, don’t look at me like that, of course you wouldn’t understand. Everyone had to work to make their own identities. They used to call us “Those in Harry Potter’s Year”. We hadn’t even identities of our own. The only one who did was Malfoy, and that was because he struggled against you. Why do you think he was so competitive with you?”

I was silent. I’d thought he was jealous of me, or hated me, not angry at what I caused for him and the rest of our Year. It must have shown on my face, and Terry laughed. “Typical, Potter, bloody typical.”

I quickly changed the subject, even though I knew it was blatantly obvious. “Why did you spy on us for The Order?” I met his eyes as I spoke, trying to install some of the bravery back into my gaze, even if brave was the last thing I felt like.

Terry blinked in surprise. “Oh, you finally figured that out, did you? About time. Pathetic, thinking it was Voldemort I was spying on. What on earth had I to gain by spying on him?”

“What had you to gain by spying on us?” I shot back, searching his face. Even with his answers I was still confused. I really never would understand him or his motives. They were just... incomprehensible to me, and probably always would be.

He gave me a mysterious smile that I didn’t trust for a moment. “Now, that would be telling.”

At that moment, I hated him beyond a doubt, but knew he wouldn’t tell me. Maybe I didn’t even deserve to know, but I wasn’t convinced. I shook my head wearily. The visit had been a waste. I’d learnt barely anything useful, and had only got another of my shortcomings thrown at me, one I hadn’t even known about. There was no point in staying any longer.

“You won’t stop them, you know,” Terry remarked, just as I was about to leave. “The Order. There’s no way you’ll be able to stop them.” I stared at him and he met my gaze defiantly. His eyes glittered, the only alive thing in his dead face. I realised he really believed what he was saying — he didn’t think I stood a chance.

I smiled, and his eyes narrowed as he watched me. Generally, when someone says you have a very likely chance of ending up dead, you don’t smile at them. It was understandable that he’d be suspicious; if it had been the other way round, I sure as hell would have been.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I told him flatly, still smiling. Well, that wasn’t completely true: I did think he was probably a raving lunatic who had his lucid moments, and that made me uneasy around him. “You can’t scare me, though you can try. I faced Voldemort and destroyed him.” Even if it took me years to do it. “I lived through war and the hell that came with it. Compared to that, nothing you can say will unnerve me. I can deal with The Order. Anything you say isn’t going to change that.”

I turned to go and he said, “Spoken just like a fool.” I sighed. Some people just never learned. I turned to face him again. Terry gave me a glare that could have stripped paint. As it was, it only made me smile, which didn’t please him. “Stop smiling!” he snapped. My smile grew broader in response, and his own lips curled dangerously.

“A fool I may be,” I replied slowly, “but this fool is still alive.” I turned and rapped on the door for it to be opened. Terry’s next words made me freeze.

“There are worse things than death.”

I refused to turn and look at him. I refused so I wouldn’t have to see what was in his eyes. “Maybe there are. Maybe there aren’t. I don’t care anymore.” With that, I squared my shoulders as the door was opened, and walked out.

There were no sounds from any of the other cells as I walked, which didn’t surprise me. The Dementors watched me silently as I moved past them. I ignored them, but couldn’t ignore the swirling cold that flowed around me. I shivered, but my anger kept it at bay as I walked quickly, before their grip on me could strengthen.

I could hear Terry’s laughter as I walked away, the only sound in the otherwise silent, dead corridor.

 

* * *

 

The sight of Hogwarts didn’t make me feel any better. I only grew cold and shivered, trying to forget the damp, choking atmosphere of Azkaban. No wonder people went mad — I’d been near hysterics just after spending less than an hour there. Taking a deep breath, I started walking up the drive. When I went inside I kept on going until I was standing in front of the gargoyle.

“Treacle Toffee,” I said. It immediately leapt aside and I stepped onto the moving stairs, shifting from foot to foot impatiently. At last I was standing in front of the door to Dumbledore’s office. I stared at the worn wood, with its polished grain and minute cracks. Fear, an aftertaste of Azkaban, still clung to the back of my throat, but it was now joined by a new sensation — the burning ache of anger.

I was sick of being left in the dark, sick of being led along with cryptic riddles and idle reassurances. Dumbledore, as good as his intentions were, had a terrible habit of keeping people in the dark without them realising it. It had been the same when I’d been a student: Dumbledore had given me hints and helpful clues every year, and basically left me to it. And now, when I was an adult, he was doing it again.

Steeling myself, I raised my arm and knocked. The sound seemed ominous.

“Come in,” Dumbledore called, and with a sigh I opened the door.

He looked up as I came in. His expression told me that, somehow, he had an idea of what had happened to me in Azkaban. While this exasperated me, I held my tongue. Perhaps I was growing up, after all. There probably was a logical explanation for his knowledge — Mr. Weasley could have contacted him — but I was too tired to do anything except listen to what he said, and then think of a reply.

“How bad was it?” he asked quietly, his eyes serious. I hadn’t expected this question, for some inexplicable reason. I stared at him, thinking rapidly.

“You look like you already know,” I replied at last, deciding to state the obvious.

Dumbledore shrugged. “I don’t know everything, Harry, but it would be a fine thing if I did.” His tone seemed reproachful, and I frowned. It wasn’t like him to say something like that: Dumbledore, of all people, knew how dangerous too much wisdom was I shifted uncomfortably before I could help it. But he still hadn’t answered me.

“You’d best sit down,” he added, gesturing at the chair. I sank into it immediately, gripping the armrests. “Now, then.” A hidden order to start talking.

I sighed. “It wasn’t terribly informative. Terry didn’t tell me any names or important information. But I did learn he never considered working for Voldemort, indeed, he seemed completely against him.” I took a breath and continued. “He wasn’t spying on Voldemort during the war... he was spying on us.” Dumbledore stiffened the moment the words came out of my mouth.

“I see.” He sounded grim. Not good, not good at all.

“Meaning?” I asked, desperate to be kept out of the shadows for once. I watched him as intently as he usually watched me.

He shook his head. “This means The Order most likely have had nothing to do with Voldemort, ever. They were apparently being sincere when they turned against him during the war.” His eyes looked troubled.

“But that’s good, right?” I asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.

“Not always. While The Order weren’t allies of Voldemort, the fact that they ordered Terry to spy on us suggests they didn’t wholeheartedly support us, either. They could be preparing to go against Hogwarts.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Why?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine.” His words weren’t comforting, but then, they weren’t meant to be. “What else did you learn?”

I shrugged, not really wanting to admit what else Terry had told me. It wasn’t directly related to The Order, so I guessed I was safe. The fact remained that I really didn’t want to tell him. I was too embarrassed, too ashamed, even if it wasn’t exactly my fault. I hadn’t been truly popular as a student. Well known, yes (how could I not have been?), but only because of Quidditch and my name. Apart from the matches, I’d tried to stay away from the limelight, but situations had kept propelling me back into it.

No wonder Draco had believed I secretly enjoyed having my ego stroked; I’d been in the limelight so often, I’d pretended to enjoy it in the end. But away from the limelight, I was still the quiet boy I’d always been, who simply liked being with his friends. It had never even occurred to me that people from my own Year would be put second to me, especially ones from the other Houses. Gryffindors feeling resentful, that I could understand. The other Houses, no.

“He didn’t tell me anything else really important,” I lied, hoping my face looked as carefully blank as I wanted it. “He was mostly trying to bait me.” Well, that much was true, at least.

“Hmmm.” Dumbledore didn’t look terribly convinced, but apparently he knew better than to push me. I quickly changed the subject.

“Why didn’t you tell me the real reason Padma was here?”

He looked at me in surprise. “I thought it was obvious: to help you, of course.” I stared at him and he raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, it wasn’t so obvious. Ms. Patil is known for her impressive research abilities. She has contacts in many of the archives even our esteemed Ms. Granger is unable to enter. She should be able to find information on The Order that no one else can.” I could only continue to stare at him blankly, and he sighed heavily.

“Why couldn’t you have just told me that?” I asked, trying not to get annoyed and rapidly failing.

Dumbledore looked somewhere between amused and exasperated. “I assumed you already knew.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t.” I hoped my expression didn’t look as murderous as I felt. Dumbledore had never assumed I knew anything before; he’d either told me, or given me enough hints that I could figure it out on my own. What had convinced him to start acting like this, now, of all times?

He shrugged, looking unconcerned. What was going on? He never acted like this! “I advised Binns to take a break so I could bring in Ms. Patil, so she could help you. And she obviously is. I fail to see what the problem is.”

I had to struggle not to let my jaw drop. What in the name of hell was going on?

After a few moments of intense struggle, I managed to reply in a somewhat calm voice, “I, unfortunately, am seeing a problem. All of this secrecy is making me feel like a student again. I could understand it back then, but not now, not when I’m supposedly an adult.” I made myself keep my eyes on him. But the expression in them made me wish I hadn’t.

He looked lost, his eyes dazed and unfocused. “Harry? Why are you looking like that?” He looked genuinely confused, as if he really didn’t know why I was so annoyed.

I stared at him, fear rapidly replacing the anger I’d just felt. “You don’t remember?” Dumbledore shook his head. “I see...” But I really didn’t. Thinking fast, I looked at his face and knew I couldn’t go through the conversation again. I didn’t have the mental strength for it and neither did he, if his current mood suggested anything. So... I lied. Again.

“Never mind, then,” I replied in an ordinary voice, shaking my head. “It wasn’t important.” Dumbledore gave me a doubtful look; it had obviously been important judging by my rather annoyed reaction, but I merely smiled. “I’ll go now, if you don’t mind?” He shook his head, still looking confused, and I all but fled from his office.

I paced back and forth in front of the gargoyle, my arms crossed and my mouth twisted into a puzzled frown. The gargoyle watched me with vague interest. There was something seriously strange — God, that was an understatement! — going on with Dumbledore, something that hadn’t just appeared overnight. From the looks of things it had been building up for some time, and I knew if I hadn’t been constantly angry with him, I would have spotted it sooner. Guilt made my stomach hurt, while frustration caused a headache to throb in my temples.

This was the last thing I needed. Another worry to put on top of all the others. But I couldn’t just brush it aside; Dumbledore had stood by me when I’d been at my lowest, pushing and prodding me away from the edge, even if some of his methods had been less than amiable. I couldn’t give up on him, not when he’d done so much for me.

I stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips. It didn’t help. Not only had I another worry to add to the list, I was still no closer to finding any answers. I still had no idea of any important members in The Order, and Terry’s help had only made things worse. I was right back where I’d started, with even less of an idea on how to keep Callidus safe.

Speaking of Callidus... I stared at the opposite wall, deep in thought. The way Dumbledore had kept me in the dark for all these years had made me realise I was doing the exact same thing to Callidus. I might have the best intentions of keeping him safe, but I really wasn’t doing him any favours. Keeping him in the dark meant I was letting him open to an attack. I couldn’t let that happen. My lips pressed together tightly, as I clenched a hand into a fist. I still didn’t feel entirely comfortable about telling an eleven-year-old that there was an international organisation after him, but I had no choice. And at his age, I would have wanted to know the truth, especially considering the things I’d done trying to find out said truth on my own.

I swallowed. Maybe telling him the truth wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Taking a deep breath, I set off to find him.

 

Author’s Note: Thank you all for still sticking with this story! You have no idea how much it means to me! ^_^ Things are finally moving along, even if they don’t seem to be, and several smaller subplots have been introduced (anyone think they know all of them?). Again, thanks to Vinagrette and Shayla for bravely approaching the mess I first sent them! Hopefully, Chapter 19 won’t take as long as this one did!