But he never got a chance to inform Tonks what he thought of her, as the glasses that Padma had transfigured for him chose that moment to revert back to their natural state.
A small hand mirror suddenly fell from Harry's nose, scraping it on its way to the floor, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. Harry stared at it stupidly for a few seconds, and Tonks burst out laughing.
Harry's face reddened in embarrassment. He looked up and glared at her now hazy features. "Oh, laugh it up, Nymphadora. Now I can't see a bloody thing."
That stopped Tonks' giggling. "Oi, you may be The-Boy-Who-Lived, but you'll be The-Eunuch-Who-Lived if you use my name again."
Harry smirked at her. "Why? Is it embarrassing for some reason? I mean, what does your name mean, anyway?"
Tonks' hair shuffled rapidly through several colors, finally settling on a garish purple. She pulled her wand and sent a stinging hex at Harry's crotch that forced him to roll to the side.
"Hey!" he yelled, "I don't have a bloody wand!" He was now standing and prepared to dodge again, his eyes squinting in Tonks' direction.
"That's the idea, Harry," Tonks smiled wickedly. "What were you saying about my name, again?"
But Amelia Bones and Algernon Croaker entered the room before Harry, perhaps luckily for him, could make another smart remark.
"Ahem," Madam Bones cleared her throat, and Tonks lowered her wand.
"Er, sorry Director," Tonks said, "just teaching young Harry here a little lesson in manners."
"Right," said Bones, all business. "Auror Tonks, if you will excuse us, we need to speak to Mr. Potter privately."
"Yes, ma'am," Tonks said, and left the room.
"Harry," Madam Bones began, "this is Algernon Croaker, the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He accompanied me to the meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore, and there are some things we need to discuss. Please have a seat."
"Hello, sir," he said to Croaker, then seated himself in a desk chair in the corner of the room.
"Er, Madam Bones, before you begin, I can't really see well right now. My glasses were transfigured, and it wore off a few minutes ago. Do you think you could…"
"Say no more, Mr. Potter," Bones interrupted, and picked up a shard of mirror from the floor. She flicked her wand several times over it, and then handed Harry a passable imitation of his round lenses. "See if those are satisfactory."
Harry tried them on, and was instantly pleased to find that he could see clearer than ever. "Wow," he breathed. "Thank you; these are great."
"You're welcome, Mr. Potter," said Bones, still standing. "Now, first things first. Here is your wand back. I had it thoroughly checked, and there is now nothing on it except the Ministry trace. I'm afraid I must insist that it remain for the time being. If you were to disappear for some reason, we need to be able to find you, and the trace is a reliable method."
She neglected to tell him that he was now a virtual prisoner in Bones Manor, and the likelihood of such a disappearance was virtually zero. She was taking no chances with such a valuable guest.
Harry nodded in understanding, slightly disappointed, as he accepted his wand.
"If you have your elf bring the rest of your belongings to me, I will remove whatever foreign charms that have been placed on them," she continued. "If your elf can locate your owl and have her fly to the Ministry, I will also make certain she is free of tracking charms…"
Harry nodded, but interrupted her spiel, impatient to find out what had happened earlier. "I understand, ma'am. Can you tell me what happened with Dumbledore?"
Bones sighed and conjured chairs for her and Croaker, who had been observing Harry silently up till now.
"Mr. Potter, we debated long and hard about what to tell you, and in the end decided that you have a right to know everything, if only to prevent you from doing something reckless," she began.
"Here are the facts as they relate to you. When you were a baby, the Dark Lord attempted to use your death in a dark ritual that—he believed—would help make him immortal. That ritual backfired somehow, and resulted in his own apparent death. We don't know why at this point. Professor Dumbledore believes that your, er, connection, to this ritual requires your death for Voldemort to be killed again."
Harry paled rapidly as he heard this explanation. Were they going to turn him over to Dumbledore?
"Relax, lad," Croaker spoke, for the first time. "I believe Dumbledore was mistaken in that regard, but I'd like to check something if I may. Do you mind if I cast a detection spell on you? It might sting a little."
Harry acquiesced reluctantly, and Croaker waved his wand around Harry in a circular pattern and muttered in Latin. He finished by jabbing his wand at Harry's scar, causing Harry to jump a little in alarm. A peculiarly cool sensation seemed to emanate from the top of his head, but it wasn't really painful.
Croaker stepped back and Harry looked at him with sudden dread.
"You're just fine, Mr. Potter," he said. "As I suspected, nothing remains of what was done to you."
Harry closed his eyes in relief, and then looked at Bones hopefully. "Does that mean that Dumbledore will stop trying to sacrifice me?"
She looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter. Dumbledore claims that there is a prophecy about you and Voldemort, one that requires you to die at his hands. This is highly doubtful, but he refuses to reveal the contents of the prophecy, or who made it. We shall have to remain vigilant until we can discover what it says."
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