Harry Potter had been waiting for somebody, anybody, to come rescue him from Privet Drive, where he had been living with his aunt, uncle and cousin for as long as he could remember. He wanted to know what was going on in the world, barely gotten any information. He had been left on his own, grieving his Godfather alone. He just wanted to be with someone who understand or even cared about what he had lost.

Then Professor Dumbledore had arrived at his house and decided to whisk him away to some secret little mission that Harry knew nothing about. He had just been clutching onto his Headmaster's arm as he apparated them to an unknown location. 

Harry could feel a strange sensation in his ears, as he wasn't very used to apparating. This was his first time after all. Dumbledore looked down at him in concern. "Are you all right? The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine," the Potter boy assured him, but still rubbing his ears as he studied the quiet neighborhood he now found himself in. It seemed like a muggle neighborhood. "But I think I might prefer brooms..."

 Dumbledore smiled. He glanced around, looking for the way to go. It was a rather new area for him too, but he had figured out where he was supposed to go. He tightened his cloak around his neck for warmth, though it was rather warm that summer.

"This way." The Headmaster hadn't waited for Harry as he started walking briskly past several houses and lights. Harry followed as quickly as he could. "So, tell me, Harry, your scar... Has it been hurting at all?"

The young boy raised his hand to his forehead, rubbing the lightning-shaped scar situated there. He hadn't felt anything there in so long he had almost forgotten it was there. "No, and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting powerful again."

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," Dumbledore disagreed. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," Harry muttered. He didn't mind getting rid of the pains, cold sweats and horrible nightmares he had been suffering from the past year. He looked around them as they passed yet another corner, feeling curious. "Professor?"

"Harry?" said Dumbledore cheerfully. 

"Er, where exactly are we?" the Boy Who Lived asked, mostly just hoping that he was still in England, Britain at the very least. 

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton," his Headmaster informed him, prononcing the name effortlessly as Harry imagined what a tongue twister that could be. He could see the Weasley twins making a bet on whether he would be able to say it ten times fast. 

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah, yes, of course, I haven't told you," Dumbledore suddenly remembered. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

Harry found it rather odd how he had employed one of his students to help him recruit an old teacher. Wouldn't another teacher be better for the job? "How can I help with that, sir?"

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you." Dumbledore didn't elaborate upon his vague words, which only made Harry even more confused. "Left here, Harry."

Harry couldn't help but notice how incredibly dark the street was, as if it was removed of all life. The dreary air reminded him of the dementors, making him clutch his wand in his pocket. "Professor, why couldn't we just apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door!" he exclaimed. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance-"

"You can't apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," Harry cut him off, having heard that information a million times before, mostly because Ron never seemed to remember it. "Hermione Granger told me."

"And she is quite right," said Dumbledore as they reached another corner. "We turn left again."

The clocks of a nearby church had started ringing, making Harry finally realize how late it was. It was midnight. "Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked..."

"Correct," said Dumbledore absentmindedly, and the fact obviously didn't bother him much. "He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."

"Is he... Do you think he's good?" Harry asked hesitantly. He knew his Headmaster had a better grasp of the political climate at the Ministry than he himself did.

"An interesting question," he responded with, though not seeming unsure in his answer. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant-"

"I know what you meant," Dumbledore cut him off before he could explain himself. He had had the same concern before he had heard which man had been appointed the new Minister. "Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizard for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort."

Harry was waiting for him to say something more as Dumbledore had usually been honest, even if vague, about his opinion on the sitting the Ministers. He did not say another word about it and decided to change the subject. "And... sir... I saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes. A terrible loss. She was a great witch.," Dumbledore said quietly, obviously not wanting to discuss the matter any further. He used his hand to point, only to find it kind of hurt as it was injured. "Just up here, I think- Ouch."

The so-called Chosen One only then seemed to notice that his hand had been injured and frowned in concern. "Professor, what happened to your..."

Dumbledore didn't seem bothered by the pain, or Harry's questions about it, and only smiled slightly at his student. "I have no time to explain now. It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice."

Harry nodded, though he would rather like to know already. But he had other questions to ask before they would get to their destination. "Sir, I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters..."

He recalled the pamphlet in question. "Yes, I received one myself. Did you find it useful?"

"Not really."

"No, I thought not," Dumbledore said offhandedly. "You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor." 

Harry hadn't thought about it, always having trusted his headmaster blindly. And his casual tone made him unsure whether he was being scolded or just reminded. "I didn't..."

"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry," Dumbledore informed, not looking very concerned about Harry's lack of safety measures. "Although, of course, if I was a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."

"Er, right," Harry responded, dumbfounded. "Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"They are corpses," said Dumbledore calmly. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here..."

Harry could barely comprehend the last words he had said, too focused on the horrors of the Inferi. If he, or any of his friends, were killed by death eaters then their bodies could be used to do Voldemort's bidding. It was horrifying. 

He had been so focused on his thoughts that he walked right into Dumbledore when he stopped in front of a front gate. It wasn't a pretty sight as the front door was hanging off its hinges. Someone had broken in. 

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear," Dumbledore tutted, trying to gather his thoughts as he glanced around the street in search for any threats. He had a clear suspicion of what had happened, though. But it never hurt to be too careful. "Wand out and follow me, Harry."

Carefully, the Professor walked up the garden path, though still rather swift in his steps. He slowly pushed open the door, his wand held high and his mouth slightly open in case he had to say an incantation. "Lumos."

The tip of his wand ignited, lighting up the house as they walked into it. There was another door of its hinges on their left. Dumbledore swiftly pushed it open and walked into what could only be described as total devastation. 

A piano was turned on its side, its keys fallen all around it. A grandfather clock had been totaled and was laid before their feet. A chandelier was wrecked and fallen on the ground as feathers from deflated cushions covered the floor, along with traces of glass and precious china. Something looking like blood covered the walls as if it had been splattered there. 

Dumbledore turned around as Harry took a sharp breath at the sight. "Not pretty, is it? Yes, something horrible has happened here."

"Maybe there was a fight and- and they dragged him off, Professor?" Harry suggested heavily, glancing at all the blood on the walls. The man they had come to collect must have been horribly hurt. 

"I don't think so," said the Headmaster vaguely. He had walked behind a large armchair that had fallen on its side with a slight twinkle behind his eyes. 

"You mean he's-?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes," Dumbledore both completed and responded to Harry's question. Without hesitation, he stabbed his wand onto the arm of the armchair, earning a loud ow! that a chair shouldn't be able to make. "Good evening, Horace."

Harry could feel his jaw drop as the armchair suddenly turned into a rather large, yet short, man rubbing his stomach and squinting up at Dumbledore. "There was no need to stick the wand in that hard. It hurt. What gave it away?"

 He got up to his feet, still rubbing his stomach where Dumbledore had stabbed him with his wand. Dumbledore was only amused. "My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

The man slapped his hand on his forehead and sighed heavily, which made the ends of his mustache flutter. "The Dark Mark. Knew there was something... ah, well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

"Would you like my assistance cleaning up?" the eldest wizard asked. 

"Please." And with that, the both of them stood back-to-back and raised their wands, making every piece of furniture or crack on the walls mend themselves and put themselves back in their rightful places. 

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" Dumbledore called out as the Grandfather clock loudly put itself back together.

"On the walls? Dragon!" the man responded as the chandelier put itself back in its place. He picked up a small bottle of the stuff and started examining it. "Yes, dragon. My last bottle and the prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, might be reusable. Hmm. A bit dusty."

As he put the bottle of blood back on the sideboard he had picked it up from, his eyes finally fell upon Harry. Well, they fell upon the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "Oho! Oho!"

Dumbledore seemed pleased, as if everything was going as planned as he moved forward to introduce the two to one another. "This is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn looked at Harry for barely a moment before turning back to Dumbledore with an annoyed expression on his face. "So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."

Slughorn pushed his way past Harry, very obviously trying not to look at him but it clearly was hard to resist. Dumbledore smiled slightly at him. "I suppose we can have a drink, at least? For old time's sake?"

The old colleague looked hesitant but looked unable to resist. "All right then, one drink."

Dumbledore turned to a slightly confused Harry, directing him to a chair similar to the one Slughorn had impersonated by the newly burning fire, right on the opposite side of Slughorn, like Dumbledore wanted him to look at him. 

Slughorn's eyes immediately fell upon Harry as he looked around the room once more as he filled up the glasses. He sighed and gave the glass to Dumbledore, looking away from the teenage boy as if it hurt his eyes to look upon him. "Hmph. Here."

Dumbledore sat down on one of the chairs as Slughorn sank onto a sofa. The Headmaster took a sip of whatever drink he had been given before beginning the pleasantries. "Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?"

"Not so well," Slughorn answered, his lips pursed tightly under his thick mustache. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," Dumbledore pointed out, finding flaws in his responses, knowing he just wanted to get out of the job offer. "You can't have had more than three minutes warning?"

Slughorn looked half irritated that Dumbledore caught on, but also half proud of himself. "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still, the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," Dumbledore retorted in amusement.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," Slughorn blurted out, surprising Harry. Not a lot of people spoke to Dumbledore like that. But he supposed he understood it as he looked upon his damaged hand. "Reactions are not what they were, I see."

"You are quite right. I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand..." Dumbledore shook back his sleeve to reveal his fingers, who looked burned and scorched as he shrugged and spread his hands wide, showing of a ring on his finger, one that made Slughorn frown. "So all these precautions against intruders, Horace... are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?"

Slughorn scoffed, seemingly finding the question ridiculous. "What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?"

"I imagine that they would want to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture and murder," Dumbledore responded absentmindedly. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn took a moment before responding. "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house. The owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands. It's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy when you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneako-scopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious," Dumbledore complimented him, but was eager to move to the next topic of conversation. His job offer. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts-"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus!" the retired man cut him off. "I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days-"

"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd," Dumbledore returned the favor and cut him off as well. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs filthy half-breeds."

"That's what she did, did she?" Slughorn mused to himself, shaking his head. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."

Harry couldn't keep himself from breaking his silence with a quick chuckle, appreciating the fact that he wasn't the only one who had hated her. Both Slughorn and Dumbledore looked at him and he smiled awkwardly. "Sorry. It's just- I didn't like her either."

Suddenly, Dumbledore found himself standing up from his seat. A glimmer of hope seemed to come alive in Slughorn's eyes at this, suddenly brightening up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom."

"Oh," Slughorn sighed in disappointment. He pointed his finger in the proper direction. "Second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore quickly left the room and Slughorn stood up as he did. Once the door closed, Slughorn found himself standing with his back to fire, looking at Harry awkwardly. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. 

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," Slughorn said sharply. Harry didn't respond, only looking at him. The old Professor found himself looking at the young boy's face and not just his scar, slightly pained. "You look very like your father."

Harry quickly realized that his man had taught his parents. "Yeah, I've been told."

"Except your eyes. You've got-"

Harry cut him off, knowing exactly what he was about to say. He'd heard it a million times by now since Lyra had told him for the first time in Diagon Alley when he was eleven. It felt like a lifetime ago. "My mother's eyes, yeah."

"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine, your mother," Slughorn mused back on the past. "Lily Evans. One of the brighest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."

"Which was your house?" Harry asked, though he already had a sneaking suspicion. 

"I was Head of Slytherin," he responded, only to see Harry's blank expression at the reveal. "Oh, now, don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done, been in the papers for the last couple of years, died a few weeks ago..."

Slughorn didn't seem to notice the pained look on Harry's face and continued. "Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my house, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame... he was a talented boy. I got his cousin, Lyra, the same year and all of her sisters before her. And his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."

Harry couldn't help but see the disappointment on Slughorn's face, like he had just dropped a sandwich on the floor or lost a great competition or something like it. He gazed upon the wall in front of him, probably lost in memories. 

"Your mother was muggleborn, of course," Slughorn pointed out, as Harry hadn't already known this. "Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pureblood, she was so good."

"One of my best friends is muggleborn and she's the best in our year," Harry pointed out coolly, not liking the way he spoke as if purebloods were inherently better at magic than purebloods. Hermione Granger could beat any pureblood in a battle of magic wits. 

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" Slughorn asked happily. 

"Not really."

Slughorn finally seemed to realize that he had taken offense. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced! No, no no! I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorites? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too, now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course, another muggleborn, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"

He seemed to be filled with excitement as he pointed at a wall filled with glittering photographs of what had to be former students. "All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes... a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss who gave him his first job! And at the back, you'll see her if you just crane your neck, that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

"Oh, and there's one of Lyra Malfoy, Sirius Black's cousin. You must have heard about what happened to her husband recently. Horrible, isn't it? Always the ones you least expect," Slughorn said as he shook his head. He glanced at Harry, who seemed to be searching frantically for the photograph. "Do you know of her?"

"We've met," Harry responded shortly. 

Slughorn reached up to grab the photograph from the wall, looking at it fondly. "I thought you must have. She was your father's girlfriend back at Hogwarts before he started seeing your mother. They were a lovely couple. No offense to your mother, of course, but I always wished they'd never broken up. 

"I think Lyra could have gone further in life with James than Lucius. Always thought she'd be the Minister someday! Well, I've gotten a few introductions through her over the years. She's got quite a few connections nonetheless. A girl after my own heart," he said fondly as he turned to show the picture to Harry.

Harry finally got a good look at the photo, where he could see Lyra quite clearly. She looked almost exactly as she had in Snape's memory as she danced with a dark-haired young man that could only be his father. He didn't think about how rude it was, but Harry grabbed it from Slughorn's hands and studied it intensely. 

Slughorn didn't seem to mind. "That particular one was taken of Lyra and James at my Christmas party in 1976. Quite obviously in love, I'd say. Think this might be around the time they got together."

Harry barely paid any mind to the man, only staring at the picture as Lyra's mouth was wide open in what must have been loud laughter as his father swung her around. Everyone around them looked extremely drunk, which was probably why they hadn't been so scared to dance openly, even if he didn't know if they were together yet. 

It was strange to see them look so in love. He had seen a photograph from his father's seventeenth birthday where Lyra had kissed James's flaming cheeks, but they had been surrounded by his father's other friends which had taken up much of his attention. 

But this just had James along with Lyra, who was looking at him in a way she most definitely didn't back when he had seen Snape's memory of them. That was the love Lyra had spoken of. The love that seemed like it still haunted her to that day. The love that had both given her everything and taken it all away. 

In the back, he could barely see Sirius in the photograph. He looked incredibly drunk, stumbling and falling right on his behind, even if neither Lyra nor James seemed to notice in their intoxication with each other. It felt strange to see Sirius's face again. It only reminded him further of his loss.

"Can I keep this?" Harry suddenly blurted out, barely looking up at Slughorn for a moment before going back to study the picture, eventually turning it around to look at the back. 

James F. Potter. His father's signature was sprawled out lazily at the back but Lyra's was much smaller yet neater right underneath it. James's was more faded than Lyra's so he suspected he had been willing to sign it long before she was. It was signed Lyra C. Black, not Malfoy. It was still strange to remember that was once her name.

Slughorn seemed surprised at the request, and not very inclinced to accept. He hesitated, but seemed to realize there was no other option if he wasn't going to be extremely rude. "Well, I suppose you can."

"Thanks." Harry realized how rude it would be to just stare at the photograph while he was with the former professor and glanced up at the wall in front of him. "And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?"

"Of course not. I have been out of touch with everyone for a year," Slughorn said, though not very convincingly, seeming shocked at Harry's words. "Still, the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate-"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," Harry said suddenly, not wanting to think of the Order's mortality rate so quick after Sirius's death. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them have ever been killed. 

"Well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort," Harry added after a moment's thought, making Slughorn squawk and shudder at the mention of the name. Harry didn't care. "I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?"

Slughorn seemed to consider Harry's words. "Well, yes, it's true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore. And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend... in which case I might be safer a little closer to Albus. I cannot pretend Amelia Bones's death did not shake me a little... If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection..." 

Slughorn was cut off by Dumbledore walking in the door once again, jumping a bit in surprise, seemingly having forgotten he was in the house. "Oh, there you are, Albus. You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines. I do love knitting patterns," Dumbledore responded joyfully before casting a pleased glance Harry's way. "Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough. I think it's time for us to leave."

He didn't have to tell Harry twice, who quickly got up from his seat and would have bolted out of there, jump into whatever bed he was going to sleep in that night and just watch the photograph he held in his hand for hours. 

"You're leaving?" Slughorn asked, taken aback.

"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore answered. "I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

Slughorn frowned, obviously feeling attacked an offended at the term. "Lost...?"

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace." Dumbledore raised his blackened hand in the air to give him a goodbye salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

Slughorn looked like the air had been knocked out of him, struggling to find some suitable reply. "Yes... well... very gracious... as I say..."

Dumbledore nodded curtly at him. "Goodbye then."

Harry couldn't wait to leave the house, to spend the night rushing through a million thoughts in his head. And, most of all, not have to spend another moment in that house. "Bye."

They had started walking out of the room, leaving Slughorn gaping behind them. Harry and Dumbledore had almost reached the front door when they could hear his heavy steps approaching. "Alright, alright, I'll do it!"

"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore asked, looking like he had known this was bound to happen all along. 

"Yes, yes," Slughorn muttered impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore exclaimed, looking rather pleased. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

It wasn't clear whether or not Slughorn was happy about this, but he sent a glance Harry's way and briefly to the photograph he still clutched carefully in his hand. "Yes, I daresay you will. I'll want a payraise, Dumbledore!"

The two had already started leaving and Dumbledore only chuckled at his last demand. They left the house and closed the garden gate behind them. After they had made a bit of distance between them and Slughorn's house, he turned to the young boy at his side. "Well done, Harry."

Harry furrowed his brows, wondering what he was supposed to have done well. "I didn't do anything."

"Oh, yes, you did." Dumbledore seemed surprised that he hadn't noticed what his presence had done. "You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

"Er..." Harry trailed off, his grip on the photo of James and Lyra tightening. 

Dumbledore saved him from needing to answer his question. "Horace likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat, more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts. Sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields."

He continued speaking without taking another breath. "Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself in the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some sort of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystallized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin liaison office."

The Headmaster quickly noticed the disdain on Harry's face at this. "I tell you all this not to turn you against Horace... or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn, but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; the Boy Who Lived... or, as they call you these days the Chosen One. 

"This will do." They had arrived at the level of a church they had recently passed. Dumbledore seemed like he was done speaking about Slughorn and hadn't given any chance for Harry to respond. "If you will grasp my arm."

Harry did what was asked of him and braced himself to apparate once again, not wanting it to feel as oddly as it did when they had arrived on their way to Slughorn's. It wasn't as uncomfortable but it was far from pleasant. He glanced down to make sure he hadn't lost the photograph during the trip and thankfully found it was still there.

But all thoughts of the apparation disappeared as he realized he had arrived at the Burrow, the residence of the Weasley family. Ron, his best friend, would be in there and so would Ron's mother be. That would mean the next days would hopefully be a bit better than the last. 

They walked through the gate to the Burrow but Dumbledore didn't take another step once they had passed it. "If you don't mind, Harry, I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here."

Dumbledore had pointed to the small shed the Weasleys used to house their broomsticks. It wouldn't have been Harry's first choice for their location but he nevertheless followed Dumbledore as he illuminated the tip of his wand and walked into the tiny building. 

"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. Harry didn't respond. "It was cruel that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."

Harry nodded, his eyes stuck upon a spider that was now climbing onto Dumbledore's head. He ignored it and glanced down at the photograph, finally allowing the professor to take notice of it. He found himself staring at the drunk Sirius in the background. "It's just hard to realize he won't write to me again."

Harry was blinking, trying desperately to force himself not to cry. It had hurt him greatly to know that the comfort his godfather had brought him would disappear forever. Dumbledore spoke up gently once again. "Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before. Naturally, the loss is devastating."

Harry interrupted him. "But while I was at the Dursleys' I realized I can't shut myself away or- or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short... Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance... It could be me next, couldn't it? And if it is, I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."

"Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson! I take my hat off to you, or I would if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders," Dumbledore joked before looking at Harry, who had found himself staring at the photo once again. "I couldn't help but notice the photograph in your hand. Did Professor Slughorn give it to you?"

"Yeah, he took it of my dad and Lyra," Harry muttered to himself, finding himself staring at them once again. How in love they were. He looked up at Dumbledore with worried eyes. "Have you heard from her? Is she okay? Does she know what happened to Sirius?"

"She found out the very same night. Remus told me she didn't take it very well," Dumbledore responded, finding no use in lying to the boy. Harry frowned deeply. "He has recently spoken to her a few days ago and she had decided to leave the Order of the Phoenix to focus on matters at home."

"What?" Harry asked, not having expected that. He thought he'd see her soon and she'd hug him and tell him all these nice stories about Sirius and his dad and they would laugh about it. He'd wanted to show her the picture. "That doesn't sound right. She wouldn't do that."

The Headmaster could see that Harry was about to become rather angry at the fact, which had quickly whisked away his sadness. "I'm afraid she has. It wasn't an easy decision for her to make, I'm sure."

"But she said..." the dark-haired boy trailed off, thinking back at all they had talked about, all the way she had shown him that she truly cared about him. "She said she wanted to fight. For me, for my dad. There's no way that could have changed."

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "Lyra Malfoy has always been a troubled woman. This has not changed with the years. Without Lucius around then she has been forced to deal with this trouble on her own. We cannot blame her for it. She is rather alone."

"She doesn't have to be!" Harry yelled, though not sure who he was yelling at. It wasn't what he had wanted or what he had expected. He just wanted her there with him. "Yeah, Sirius is gone and so is her loser of a husband but... She'll still have Lupin and the Weasleys and Tonks. She'll still have me!"

"I am afraid her situation might be too difficult for you to comprehend right now," Dumbledore commented. "Your father had the same problem, as I recall. While those two loved each other they always struggled with understanding one another."

"Well, I can't imagine he'd want to understand that she's doing this," Harry muttered bitterly, lowering his volume considerably. "I don't. I just want her around. I want to talk to her."

Dumbledore tried to send him a reassuring smile but he wasn't sure it would help. "She'll always be there for you, I'm sure. She cares for you as you care for her. We need to give her time."

"Right. Time," Harry repeated, obviously not caring what Dumbledore was saying. He looked at the picture once again. Lyra was there, smiling and laughing and having the time of her life. He wanted to see her smile again. Most of all, he just wanted to see her again. "We'll see how much of that we have left."

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A/N: Another super long chapter which is why it took me a while hihi. The next one will probably be shorter which means it won't take as long to write. I know there wasn't any actual Lyra in this one (shocker, I know) but I did want to show you Harry's reaction to seeing the picture. And I have a feeling you've missed Slughorn (I know I have.)