Several days later, Harry Potter sat on the edge of the old, ratty bed in Dudley’s second bedroom, staring intently at the jagged shard of glass lying in the palm of his hand. He knew, had known for weeks now, that nothing would stare back at him from the other side save for his own reflection. But he couldn’t help but watch and hope, searching for the swish of Sirius long black hair, or a trace of his familiar smile.

The pathetic shard was all he had left of Sirius– the rest of the mirror having been shattered when Aunt Petunia screamed at him the other day, startling him out of his grief induced trance– and it was the only remnant of Harry Potter left in the little bedroom. The rest of his belongings were packed away in his trunk, which sat at the foot of his bed, an empty owl cage resting on top. He’d already sent Hedwig to the Weasleys in preparation for his journey. Finally, after possibly the worst few weeks of his life, he would be leaving the Dursleys.

He’d been planning for it to happen days earlier, when he’d accidentally made the kitchen window explode and Aunt Petunia had screeched for him to get out . But halfway down Magnolia Crescent, he’d realized he had nothing with him but his wand, and a tiny piece of parchment that had popped into existence before him not a moment later– a note from Dumbledore, telling him to go back to the Dursleys and stay there no matter what, and that he would come to collect Harry himself in several days. A rush of anger had gone through him at that. Why did he have to go back when neither party wanted him there in the first place?

But the more he’d thought about it, the more it made sense. It was stupid to wander, defenseless, when Voldemort was back and actively hunting him down, no matter how much he hated the Dursleys. So he’d returned, despite knowing all that awaited him was punishment, and the strange feeling of vulnerability that washed over him as he’d stepped over the threshold of Number Four, Privet Drive.

Aunt Petunia had been furious, only letting him back in the house after reading Dumbledore’s note and the assurance that it was only for a few days. Uncle Vernon, however, was more inclined to throw him out onto the streets no matter what that old coot said– and he only relented after a session with the belt and locking Harry in his room with the promise of no meals. Dudley, somehow, was miraculously unaware of the whole incident.

And so for the past two days, Harry had been stuck in his room, nursing numerous welts on his back and packing his belongings in anticipation of Dumbledore’s arrival. He managed to stave off hunger with the stash of food his friends had sent him, hidden under the loose floorboard and then in a compartment of his trunk. The explosion of the kitchen window was blamed on a gas leak, and a letter from the Ministry never came, despite Harry’s blatant– yet accidental– use of magic. All in all, life at Number Four was back to normal. Well, as normal as it ever got.

The sound of a hard knock coming from downstairs yanked Harry out of his thoughts. Anticipation bubbled in his chest– it was Dumbledore, it had to be. At last, he’d be away from the Dursleys and back in the wizarding world. But then Aunt Petunia let out a bloodcurdling shriek, and Harry froze. Could it be Death Eaters? Some sort of minion of Voldemort’s that had come to capture him? No, that wasn’t possible, not with the blood wards… shoving the remnant of Sirius’ mirror into his pocket, he crept towards the locked door, wand at the ready.

Squinting through the slit between the door and the wall, Harry could just barely see a figure in a dark, billowing cloak standing in the front entrance. A very dumbstruck Petunia was holding open the door. Harry thought his aunt’s jaw just might hit the floor.

“Y-you!” she finally sputtered, horror stretching her thin features taut across her bony face.

“Me.” the figure said silkily, stepping further into the house. “How nice to see you again, Tuney. ”

Aunt Petunia’s face began to pale. At the sound of the commotion, Uncle Vernon lumbered into the foyer, his oafish form blocking the guest from Harry’s limited view. “What’s going on, Pet?”

“What are you doing here?” Aunt Petunia hissed. “Your kind… you’re not welcome here.”

The visitor snorted, stepping further into the house. “I should be offended if I was.” he said, venom dripping from every word. Uncle Vernon seemed to bristle. Before he could say anything though, the visitor removed something from an inner pocket of his robes– a wand?– and Uncle Vernon fell silent. “As much as I would love to make a social call, I am here to collect the boy for Albus. Quickly. Unless you have objections?”

Petunia huffed. “Certainly not. Vernon, go get him, will you?”

His uncle shot a dark glare at the visitor before stomping up the stairs, his footsteps heavy. Harry scrambled back from the door just as Uncle Vernon began to unlock it, hastily shoving his wand away. He tried to put an innocent look on his face as the door flew open.

“Boy,” he growled, glancing from Harry to the trunk and back again, as if he was sure he was going to catch Harry doing some sort of black magic. “One of those freaks is here for you.”

Without needing to be told twice, Harry stalked past him and went down the stairs, hand tight around his wand in his pocket. He wasn’t quite sure who was waiting for him downstairs, but it was always good to be prepared. Probably just an Order member, here to say Dumbledore was coming…

He stepped into the foyer on high alert, prepared for the worst, only to find none other than the greasy bat of the dungeons, Severus Snape, looming before him.

Shock hit him like a slap to the face. What the hell? Well, he’d been half-right about the Death Eater part.

“You!” he shouted, whipping his wand out, a dozen hexes and jinxes already on the tip of his tongue. Anger burned through his veins. Why would Snape of all people be here? Snape, who had ignored his pleas for help to save Sirius; Snape, who for all he knew could be a spy for Voldemort; Snape, who only thought of him as an extension of his father. But despite their horrible feud at the end of last year, the professor looked unabashed.

“Relax, Potter, I’m not here to harm you.” He said, his features twisting into a smirk. “But if you decide to hex me, you will sorely regret it. Dumbledore sent me. See for yourself.”

Harry opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a piece of parchment floated over to him, filled with Dumbledore’s loopy handwriting. Uncle Vernon spluttered at the display of magic– “Now– now– you see here –” but Petunia was hushing him, shooting anxious glances towards Snape.

The professor suddenly looked deeply irritated. “I don’t have time for your idiocy, Dursley,” he said darkly, and perhaps having had enough of them, he pointed his wand at the two Muggles and muttered, “ Petrificus Totalus .”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock as his relatives seemed to turn to stone before him. Not that Harry cared– they were better like this, he thought personally– but Snape’s already thin patience seemed even shorter than usual. Something had to be going on, and Harry hadn’t been told about it. His curiosity piqued, but wanting to avoid the same fate for himself, he looked away quickly and glanced towards the paper.

My boy,

I extend my deepest apologies for being unable to collect you myself; I am afraid that a task with the old crowd has been keeping me far too busy these days. Thankfully, Severus offered to assist me and is more than happy to help you in your travels.

I know that there is a history between the two of you, Harry, but you have nothing to fear from him. I myself would trust Severus with my life. I ask also that, for today, you trust him with yours, and that you proceed swiftly. He will take you to headquarters, where I will meet you shortly thereafter to discuss the matters at hand.

Do not be surprised, and do not worry; all will be well. Travel safely.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

The moment Harry finished reading, the parchment burst into flames in his hands. Letting out a startled yelp, he let it fall, scattering ashes all over Aunt Petunia’s carpet. She moaned slightly through the curse.

Glaring at Snape, Harry nursed his burned fingers. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, not only referring to the fire. Confusion and a hint of irritation washed over him. It was last summer all over again, and he was being kept in the dark. Where was Dumbledore? What was the Order up to that Harry could not be told about? Was anyone in danger?

Snape rolled his eyes at the slight injury. “One of the headmaster’s own enchantments. For secrecy, no doubt.”

“Dumbledore told me he would come–”

Growing impatient, Snape clicked his tongue. “Can’t you read, Potter? The headmaster is otherwise indisposed.” The tone in the Potions Master’s voice made a shiver roll down Harry’s spine. Was Dumbledore alright? Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. That feeling of vulnerability, still hanging around him from several days before, prickled at the back of his neck.

“But I’m supposed to go to the Weasleys, why did he mention headqua–”

“Hush!” Snape interrupted him, grabbing him by the wrist. Stepping around Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s frozen forms as though they were statues, he began to drag Harry towards the door. “Now is not the time, Potter. Keep your mouth shut until I say otherwise– or are you so dunderheaded as to tell the entire world of secret old crowd plans?”

Harry huffed out a breath. He didn’t trust Snape in the least, but he did trust the headmaster, even after everything, and Dumbledore’s letter had been assuring him that everything was okay, and that he was to follow the man. If he had any hope of making it to headquarters in one piece, he supposed the best thing to do for now would be to stay quiet, stay alert, and try to avoid Snape’s wrath. “Yes, Professor.” he said quietly.

“Are all of your things packed?” Snape demanded, growing antsier by the minute. Something was most definitely going on. “I don’t have time for your dawdling any longer.”

Harry nodded. Snape waved his wand, and with a quick nonverbal spell, Harry’s trunk and belongings came zooming out of his room and down the stairs. Another wave of his wand had the trunk shrunken down to the size of a quarter, which he then tucked into the pocket of his robes.

“That is all?”

Rolling his wand in his hand and feeling for the shard of Sirius’ mirror in his pocket, Harry nodded.

Glancing back at the two petrified Muggles, Snape sneered again. “I’m sorry, Potter, but we don’t exactly have time for a heartfelt goodbye.”

“I don’t care.”

The professor looked at him, a strange mix of confusion and anger burning in his eyes. Whatever he wanted to say, though, he seemed to decide it could wait until later. Pointing his wand at Harry’s aunt and uncle, he released them from the curse, and then turned again to Harry.

Snape held out an arm as though he were about to embrace him. Both of them scowled at that. “Hold tightly to me, Potter.” He barked, beckoning him forward.

Alarm bells were ringing in Harry’s mind. “What? No–”

But before Harry could protest any further, Snape had grabbed the back of his shirt, and suddenly the whole world was being turned inside out and upside down. He was spinning and flying, his whole body was whirling in some space between dimensions, and just as quickly as it started, it was over, and he landed sprawling on the floor of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He coughed and wretched, but nothing came up from his empty, twisted stomach except burning bile. His ears were ringing, but he heard the faint sound of someone chuckling, and Snape snarling at them. Something cool and round was shoved against Harry’s lips, and callused hands tipped his head back, pouring a sweet-tasting potion into his mouth.

The tight knots in his stomach began to fade after he’d downed all of the liquid. “Stomach calming draught.” his professor informed him tightly, his face lined with frustration as he evanesco ed the spot on the floor where Harry had vomited.

“What– what was that?” Harry gasped out, trying and failing to get back his feet.

“That doesn’t matter now.” Snape snarled, “What does is that you are, without a doubt, the biggest dunderhead in all of wizarding Britain!”

Still dazed, Harry blinked a few times, clearing the black spots from his vision.  

“You came with me willingly when you were clearly distrusting of me–” the professor began.

“But the headmaster’s note–”

“Could have been forged.” Snape hissed. “You just let me take you, Potter, to an undisclosed location via a method of transportation you were unaware of, and on top of that, you just downed the potion I threw at you without a struggle when you had no idea of its contents. Do you have a single shred of self-preservation?” he demanded, glaring down at Harry with fury in his eyes.

Harry, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid, was lost for words. “I–”

A set of footsteps echoed along the empty hallways of Grimmauld Place as another entered the foyer. “Severus, give the boy a break.” a familiar voice advised gently, “He’s been through enough already.”

A burst of giddiness shot through Harry, giving him the energy he needed to jump to his feet. “Remus!” he exclaimed, rushing towards his beloved professor. The werewolf looked a little battered, as always, but seemed to be doing well otherwise. He hadn’t seen him in ages, not since the Ministry, not since Sirius–

And the full realization of where he was struck him. The smile on his face began to fade as Remus pulled him into a quick hug.

“Good to see you, Harry,” the man said cheerily, unaware of Harry’s sudden shift in mood or otherwise ignoring it. “Severus, Albus sends his thanks. Why don’t the two of you come along into the kitchen? Molly’s made dinner, it’s still warm.”

“Mrs. Weasley? Is Ron here?” he asked hopefully.

Remus shook his head. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. There are some things Professor Dumbledore wanted to discuss with several of us… privately.”

There it was again. Something was going on, and it seemed that everyone was trying to hide it from him, to keep him in the dark as long as possible. Sirius would have told him, he thought bitterly. Sirius would have fought to tell him right away, instead of waiting weeks like Dumbledore had last summer, and ignoring him– and how could they keep doing this after the past year, when hiding these things from Harry had only resulted in disaster?

A stab of pain went through Harry’s chest. Sirius had died because of just that. Because Harry had gone running into danger without knowing what was going on. Aunt Petunia’s words, floating in the back of his mind, came to him then. She would still be here if it wasn’t for you. And I’m sure your brutish godfather would be, too.

“Harry.” Lupin’s hand came down gently on his shoulder, glancing over at him with concern clear in his eyes. “How about dinner, then? You, too, Severus,” he added, throwing a glare at the grumbling Potions professor.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, although his mind was elsewhere. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Despite looking like he would rather be anywhere else at that moment, Snape crossed his arms and followed them into the kitchen.

Even with the emptiness that seemed to fill the house without Sirius’ presence, the kitchen was warm and almost cozy. The wooden table had been set for seven, filled with enough food for an army, and the fireplace was going, logs crackling as they burned and filling the air with the comforting smell of a campfire. Mr. Weasley was seated at the table, idly playing with some sort of Muggle item– a slinky, Harry thought?– while Mrs. Weasley was garnishing a chicken dish with herbs. As soon as they stepped into the room, Mr. Weasley glanced up, rising from his chair and welcoming Harry with a grin and a clap on the back. Mrs. Weasley scurried over, throwing her arms around Harry as she held him tightly and somehow looked him up and down at the same time.

“Harry, oh Harry, dear, so good to see you!” she grinned widely at him. “Oh, look how thin you are, you’re looking peaky! Sit down, dear, and help yourself!”

“Molly, dear, we’re still waiting for–” Mr. Weasley tried to interrupt, but was immediately stopped in his tracks by a cold, hard stare from his wife. Turning back to Harry, she practically pushed him into a chair and began piling food onto his plate. Harry briefly wondered again what, exactly, was going on, but before he could give it much thought, his plate was overflowing with chicken and potatoes and there was a bowl beside it filled with more soup that he could ever eat. But he couldn’t deny that after two days without any food of real substance, he was certainly hungry. Concerns forgotten, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

Dinner was quiet. For a bit, Harry was the only one eating, as they all seemed to be waiting for the headmaster. But Mrs. Weasley finally placed a plate in front of Remus, insisting that he sit and eat, and did the same for Snape a few moments later. Remus murmured a grateful thank you, while the potions professor reluctantly accepted, looking as if he was only doing so to pacify Molly. Even Mr. Weasley eventually found himself with a plate stacked high with food.

Remus and Mr. Weasley had begun to chatter amicably about some minor Order business and were deeply engaged in their conversation when the kitchen fireplace suddenly burned a bright, emerald green. Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the flames, offering each  of them a weary smile.

“Albus!” Molly exclaimed, “You look exhausted. Please, sit down and eat something.”

The headmaster raised a hand in polite refusal. “Thank you, Molly, although I’m afraid I may have indulged in one too many sherbet lemons to properly enjoy the lovely dinner you’ve made. I will, however, join you for some conversation, if that is alright…” The headmaster trailed off. Without even looking at Harry, he came to sit beside him, the expression on his face rather pained as he lowered himself into the chair.

It was only after he seated himself and offered greetings to everyone at the table that he turned to Harry with his smile and tired but twinkling eyes. Harry was surprised at the kindness of the greeting. The last time he had seen Dumbledore, he had wrecked the man’s office in a fit of anger.  Shame made his cheeks burn at the memory. “My boy,” he said, folding his hands and placing them neatly on the table. Across from him, Snape let out a low growl. “So good to see you. Your journey here went well, I presume?”

It was only then that Harry noticed that the presence of something withered and black in the place where Dumbledore’s left hand should have been. The skin was pulled taut and charred, almost as though the man had died, and his body was beginning to decay… Harry’s stomach flipped. The fingers were curled permanently into a claw-like shape and shriveled, making his hand look as though it belong to some sort of… thing . Suddenly, he didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

“Sir…” he asked cautiously, careful not to stare, “What happened?”

Dumbledore glanced down at his hand, suddenly looking surprised, almost as though he had forgotten it was there. He lowered it to his lap. Harry briefly wondered if it would stain his robes black.

“Albus,” Snape hissed, looking furious enough to spit fire. Harry had been on the receiving end of that anger enough time to feel that the headmaster should keep quiet.

“Severus.” Dumbledore responded evenly, meeting his gaze calmly before turning back to Harry. “That, my boy, is a story for another time. But I assure you, I am in no immediate danger, and I will be recovering shortly thanks to Professor Snape.” his lips twitched into a soft smile that made the Potions Master’s scowl deepen.

Looking between the two of them, the frustration and confusion he’d tried hard to ignore began to bubble over. Why the hell wasn’t anyone telling him anything? He had a right to know if Dumbledore was hurt, what had happened, what was going on… he was almost sixteen and a vital part of the Order. He wasn’t a child anymore. He wouldn’t stand for being kept in the dark!

“Sir,” he repeated, a little louder this time. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Remus and the Weasleys exchanged wary glances. Dumbledore hesitated for a moment.

“I’m afraid, my boy, that is something you are going to have to tell us. ” he explained, looking at him with a sort of sad look in his eyes that made Harry want to break something.

“What do you mean?” Harry demanded, voice rising in anger. He could feel the magic beginning to thrum in his veins. “I don’t know anything, I haven’t heard anything all summer , not since Sirius died, no one has told me–”

Dumbledore placed his normal hand on Harry’s shoulder, cutting him off. Instinctively, Harry flinched away from the touch and shot back in his chair, fighting the urge to pull out his wand.  He didn’t miss the sadness in the headmaster’s eyes, or Mrs. Weasley’s pitying murmur.

“Something of importance occured at Number Four, Privet Drive several days ago, Harry. I thought you were aware.” Dumbledore said quietly.

“Of course he wasn’t aware , Albus–” Snape suddenly snarled.

“Severus!” Mrs. Weasley chided, throwing him a nasty glare before looking at Harry with soft, sad eyes.

“Just tell me what’s going on!” Harry shouted. He’d had enough of the secrets, the pity, the lies. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry…” Dumbledore began, choosing his words carefully. “ As of several days ago, your mother’s blood wards are broken. I am afraid that it is no longer safe for you to return to Privet Drive.”