Harry clenched his jaw in frustration. "A bloody prophecy? But I thought divination was just a load of rubbish. Trelawney's always predicting my death in stupid ways."
Croaker answered. "Divination mostly is rubbish, Mr. Potter. But there are such things as genuine prophecies. There is a section in my department devoted to studying them and sorting out the rubbish. People are required by law to report them when they hear one, but most of what gets reported is utter nonsense. Some batty old women report a new one every week."
"So you can't force Dumbledore to tell you, then?" Harry asked.
"I'm afraid not. Ordinarily we could prosecute him, but not with Voldemort on the loose. Dumbledore is too important to the fight against him, and he knows it. We'll do our best to figure something out, lad," said Croaker.
Croaker didn't tell him that if Dumbledore turned out to be right, he would hand him over to Voldemort himself.
Harry smiled wanly at him. "I appreciate your help, believe me. It's just so…frustrating. What about my magic? Were you able to find out what's wrong with it?"
Bones took this one. "Harry," she said gently, "it appears the Headmaster performed a very dangerous and very illegal ritual on you to block access to your magic. It used to be called a 'prisoner's block,' because it was placed on the most heinous criminals before they were sent to Azkaban. It was outlawed 200 years ago because it would invariably result in insanity and death within a week."
Harry's eyes widened in alarm.
"Because of the dementors, Mr. Potter," Bones finished quickly. "Without access to their magic, the prisoners were totally defenseless against their power, almost like muggles."
"But," Harry said, his heart racing, "I still have some magic, it just feels…dampened somehow. And I don't remember any ritual."
"Harry," she said softly, "he could have simply stunned you in your sleep. We think Dumbledore altered the ritual to allow you access to a small amount of your magic. The trouble is that the ritual is meant to be permanent. The effects of removing the block are known to be…unpredictable. We can do it, but you should know that…that there's a chance your magic will be permanently damaged. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter."
Harry digested that in silence, his face growing red and the desire to murder Albus Dumbledore growing in his heart.
"I want him dead," Harry whispered, looking up at them. "How can he just get away with that?"
Bones frowned at his admission, but was sympathetic. "Ordinarily he wouldn't, Mr. Potter. Performing that ritual on someone is enough to earn him life in Azkaban; but we can't do anything about it right now."
Harry nodded, but more to himself. Bones wondered just what resolutions he was making.
"I'll make some preparations tomorrow, Mr. Potter," said Croaker, "and we'll do our best to ensure that you recover fully. But it's best for the block to be removed as soon as possible."
Harry nodded morosely. "Is that all, then?" he asked, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be alone.
"For now, lad, yes," said Croaker. "Try to keep your chin up. There's still a lot we don't know, and right now we've got a lot to do to prepare for a possible war. You're not the only one that Dumbledore's playing games with."
"Thank you," Harry said, and the duo nodded and the left the room.
In his anticipation of their explanations, he had forgotten to ask Madam Bones about Sirius Black or about protecting his family money from Dumbledore.
Harry moved to the bed and threw himself down on it. He was torn between outrage, fear, and despair. Dumbledore had done something to him that may have crippled his magic, and there was some mysterious prophecy out there about him and Voldemort. It was enough to send anyone into hysterics, and Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.
He thought longingly of his life at Hogwarts before he had learned these terrible secrets. He would give up everything right now to be someone else, some anonymous student with an ordinary life. But fate had singled him out to suffer and, it seemed, to fight.
So be it, Harry thought, his outrage overriding his fear. So be it.
His sense of being in constant mortal danger was starting to inure him to thought of his own death. When I get my magic fixed, Dumbledore is going to regret it, he reflected bitterly. He was unsure now whether he had more hatred for Dumbledore or for Voldemort.
"Master Harry Potter Sir, Dobby is back," said the elf as he popped into the room, startling Harry out of his fatalistic thoughts.
"Thank you, Dobby. Did you have any problems?" Harry asked dully.
"No problems, Master Harry, but Dobby is having a letter to deliver. Miss Parvy is asking Dobby to wait for her to write a letter," he said, handing an envelope to Harry.
Harry took the letter from Dobby and opened it quickly. He scanned it several times, wondering if there was any news from Hogwarts.
After Dobby had delivered 10,000 galleons to Dinesh—a sum that was painful for Harry to part with—he had asked him to pop to Hogwarts and inform Parvati and Padma of his safety. The Patil family, however unwilling some of them were, had really come through for him.
Parvati's letter contained nothing of urgency. She inquired about his health, wished him the best of luck, and informed him that nothing seemed amiss at Hogwarts. Most of the students seemed to accept the excuse that Harry was quarantined with some contagious disease, and neither she nor Padma had been questioned by anyone.
Ron had returned to Gryffindor Tower, looking a little shell-shocked but otherwise normal, but Hermione had yet to return even to classes. Parvati thought she was still in the Hospital Wing, four days after Harry's confrontation with her.
I wonder what's the matter with her, Harry pondered. I didn't hurt her at all.
A sense of surreality returned to Harry as he stared at Parvati's letter. In Hogwarts other students were going about their lives as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Ron was going to classes and playing quidditch. Did he feel no guilt for his role in trying to get him killed? Hermione seemed to be overwhelmed with guilt, but she deserved it, Harry thought.
Harry thought of Ginny, and again it gave him a small sense of comfort. He wondered if his thoughts were his own, or if the love potion was still affecting his thinking. Whatever the case, he found himself unable to think ill of her. He had no desire to contact her, but he didn't resent her like he did Ron and Hermione.
Harry put down the letter and stared in the direction of his family heirlooms. His eyes fell on the mirrors that Tonks said were used for communication. He considered for a moment, then made up his mind. It would be very useful to have a contact in Hogwarts, and Parvati seemed willing to help him.
"Dobby," he said, "I need to check something, then I've got another delivery for you to make at Hogwarts."
.....
Want to read ahead by more than 60 chapters. Then join my p@treon Right Now.
Link: p*atreon.com/BookReaderBoy (Remove the *)
Also Free members get 2 advanced chapters for Free as well.