The trio sat down in chairs the room had provided and gulped down the water Dobby delivered to them. Harry was pleased with his progress tonight. The trio had practiced their small repertoire of advanced curses for an hour, and then Harry had gone 3-1 in their mock duels.
On top of his slowly strengthening magic, Harry was gratified that Dobby had recently managed to retrieve his vault key from the Headmaster, hiding it in a place only he could find. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do with his key now, but just possessing it gave him a sense of empowerment that he had been lacking for too long.
If only that sense of empowerment had extended to his classes, Harry's life might be more than merely bearable. His weakened magic had initially made transfiguration virtually impossible for him; it was a difficult and precise art, and Harry had felt like a firstie again during McGonagall's early classes. He had improved somewhat, but it didn't help that the severe old woman had very little patience for failure and was still treating him coldly because of his attitude toward the Headmaster.
Still, life could be worse, thought Harry. Dumbledore had avoided him altogether after chiding him about Dobby's stunt. Snape tended to ignore him rather than bully him these days, and consequently his potions grade was improving. Even Dolores Umbridge had refrained from trying to provoke him again during class. Their uneasy détente was aided by the fact that there was never any need to speak to her. She never demonstrated magic and never answered questions during class, insisting that the students read in total silence. This would have irritated Harry beyond belief had he not had other means to train himself. And that training finally appeared to be producing some results.
Things are finally getting better, Harry thought.
...
Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office
Albus Dumbledore stood over his desk and stared at the objects arrayed before him. Feelings of both elation and dread warred for supremacy in his stomach. A locket. A ring. A diadem. And then there was the diary that Harry Potter had destroyed three years ago. And Harry himself. Have I gotten them all? Dumbledore wondered vainly. From Severus' description of Voldemort's familiar, it was quite possible that the snake was now a horcrux too. It would have to be taken care of, just in case, he thought.
Dumbledore felt certain that the time of reckoning was upon them. In less than a week this long struggle would be decided once and for all. Hopefully. He, Severus, Kingsley, and Alastor had put together the best plan they could under the circumstances. It was imperative that Voldemort be defeated as soon as possible; if they waited any longer, it would put the entire wizarding world at risk. Severus was certain that the Dark Lord wanted to slaughter most of wizarding Britain, and was being delayed only by Lucius Malfoy's machinations within the Ministry.
That meant it was high time for Harry Potter to do his duty.
They had eliminated as many unknowns as possible, and now it was time to move forward during the first Hogsmeade visit. He, Kingsley, and Severus would be in the thickest of the fighting, and Remus, Alastor, Nymphadora, and the others would lie in wait beyond the wards, ready for anything. Only Alastor, Severus, and Kingsley knew of Harry's role in their plans, and they had each sworn binding oaths never to reveal it to anyone, even on pain of death.
The two biggest uncertainties were now his own familiar and that former Malfoy house elf who had befriended Harry Potter. Fawkes had intervened during Harry's last encounter with Voldemort, and Dumbledore wasn't sure how he could prevent him from doing so again. There were many varieties of binding spells at his disposal, but he knew of nothing that could restrain a phoenix. And that blasted elf. Could it still pop inside the Malfoy wards? Dumbledore wasn't certain, but he thought it likely. He was quite sure his group could dispose of a defiant elf, but there was simply no way to predict what Fawkes would do.
Turning to his familiar, Dumbledore raised his hand and gently stroked Fawkes' deep red feathers. If only he were close to a burning day, he thought. Fawkes preened a little at the affection, then looked up and stared directly into Dumbledore's eyes. He could sense the grave mood of his human.
"You must not interfere this time, old friend," Dumbledore spoke softly. "We must end this war, and this is the only way. We cannot fight against fate, Fawkes. We must accept it. I hope you understand me."
Fawkes made no movement, so Dumbledore continued.
"If you rescue Harry, Fawkes, many good people will die. I will die. It will doom Britain to darkness. You must not aid Harry, Fawkes. You must not. Do you understand?"
Fawkes did nothing to indicate his understanding, but broke eye contact to pick at one of his feathers. Dumbledore was unsure about the meaning of that response, but there was no turning back now. They would have to risk it.
All that was left was to ensure Harry Potter's presence in the castle for the next six days. That is not necessarily guaranteed, thought Dumbledore, given the boy's present state of mind. Two weeks ago the boy's elf had taken back his vault key, right from under his nose. Dumbledore had considered demanding it back, but he didn't want to risk pushing Harry too far at this crucial juncture. The path of least resistance was simply to let the boy have his little victory. As far as he could tell, Harry hadn't attempted to spend any of his money anyway.
Dumbledore had considered simply locking Harry away somewhere until the proper time came, but too many people would question his absence. Plus, he didn't want to deny Harry any pleasure he might find in his remaining days. He seemed to be getting along well with Ginny Weasley, even if a romantic relationship had not transpired. Dumbledore was mildly surprised at this, and wondered if Molly's potion making skills had declined. He had forbade absolutely the use of amortentia, but in Harry's weakened state he should have been susceptible to lesser love potions. Truthfully, his mind should have been so befuddled with feelings of affection by now that his outbursts of temper ought to be impossible.
Dumbledore turned away from Fawkes' grooming and seated himself at his desk. He pulled an old, weathered locket from within his robes and opened it. The young girl in the picture smiled shyly at him, just as she had always done.
Men who know they could be spending their last week on Earth are prone to reminiscence, and Albus Dumbledore was no different.
He had done so many things in his long life, almost all of them for the betterment of the wizarding world. Even those cruel acts Dumbledore was most ashamed of had been unavoidable in his eyes. All but one.
Though there was no hint of accusation in the girl's youthful visage, Albus felt it nonetheless. So much of his life had been determined by his neglect of Ariana and his love of Gellert. Cause and effect. If he were destined to be reunited with her next week, Albus hoped against hope that she would be whole again, that she would understand and forgive him.
If the worst did come to pass in six days, Dumbledore truly believed that the world would be destined for darkness. Nevertheless, he had prepared letters for the three people who would be most in need of the information he possessed: Minerva McGonagall, Amelia Bones, and Algernon Croaker. Minerva would have to take over the school, probably locking it down, and Amelia and Algernon would at least have some warning before hell broke loose in wizarding Britain.
Hope for the best, but plan for the worst, Dumbledore thought, sighing mentally and returning the locket to its home.