Year Five - Chapter Eighteen

There was nothing I could say that would work. Thus, I did extremely little. I simply brought the newspaper to the attentions of one Albus Dumbledore, worry clearly etched on my face. "They stole a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, sir," I said.

"I have read the newspaper myself, Mister Umbrus," Dumbledore answered amenably, "And I believe everything to be, if not in order, at the very least not as worrisome as your upcoming OWLs."

I quietly folded the Daily Prophet on Dumbledore's table, and then sat down in front of his desk. Since I remained quiet, it was up to the headmaster to sigh, and take the word once more.

"You do not appear convinced, Mister Umbrus," he said in the end, conceding the point that this was pretty darn important.

"Sir, what prophecy was taken out of the department of Mysteries?" I asked instead.

The Headmaster looked at me, and then he turned thoughtful. "A prophecy made a long, long time ago," he answered. "What is troublesome is that only a few could have taken it out without alerting the Keeper of the Prophecy Hall. I am reasonably sure none of them could have, but I have made mistakes before."

"Well, who were they then?" I asked.

"That is a matter that is best left to the Aurors and the Unspeakables," Dumbledore answered. "For taking the Prophecy triggers quite the dangerous wards cast upon the place," his eyes twinkled ever the more, "If someone not involved had taken it, it would have been known."

"So, interrogating them would be the best solution, wouldn't it?" I stressed. "One of them has to have taken it. Once you remove the impossible, all that remains, no matter how strange, cannot be but the truth."

"I do remember Mister Holmes saying quite the similar thing," the Headmaster said, clasping his fingers together as tea and sherbet lemons appeared in front of us both. "I suppose we will need to chat about this, Mister Umbrus, for I fear prohibiting you would yield terrifying results, but do remember that you have OWLs this year."

I took a sip of tea, and exhaled as I glanced at the ceiling. "Honestly, professor? I do not care the amount of years I may be set back, nor the ridicule of others, and far less do I care about these OWLs. If it's to keep people safe, then there's little I wouldn't sacrifice for them."

Dumbledore took a sip of his own tea, and then smiled. "Very well, Mister Umbrus," he turned thoughtful. "Though before I begin narrating this event, you have to understand the dangers of knowing said information. Once learned, it cannot be forgotten. Once spoken, you will share the burden of it too, and it might lead you to act differently. It is a dangerous knowledge, one that certain people would not be remiss in taking from you with force, should they come to learn of it."

I shook my head. "I'm not scared."

Dumbledore looked at me, and I awkwardly smiled. "I fear Basilisks more, sir," I said instead. "That and dragons."

He chuckled, goodheartedly, and then began to speak. "Sixteen years ago," he said. "I heard a prophecy. On that very same night, quite rainy, and cold, I met with a woman whom I shall not mention. The prophecy involved two people," he eyed me. "One was Voldemort, the other...Harry Potter," he acquiesced. "Either of them could have pulled the prophecy out of the Hall of Mysteries, but understand that Mister Potter does not know about this, so it would be ludicrous for him to steal it."

"And the latter is defeated, though not dead," I acquiesced. "Then perhaps he is back," I rubbed my chin. "And if he is back, then he might have found a way inside. Professor Quirrell," I said, "Something similar, perhaps?"

Dumbledore sighed. "If that is so, then I fear for what awaits us."

I took another sip of tea. "Well, assuming he stole the prophecy to hear it, was there something in it of inherently dangerous?"

Dumbledore grimaced, ever so slightly, "Not dangerous, but unfortunate. Had I suspected he might still be around, I would have kept Harry safe with his relatives, but now...now it is too late to recriminate on that."

I raised both eyebrows. "There's a story behind those words, Headmaster."

"Yes, Mister Umbrus, but it is not my story to tell you," he answered instead. "Suffice to say that there exists not a spell that cannot be countered, and though only hatred may allow the Unforgivables to be cast, then it comes to obvious conclusion that only love may defend against them."

I exhaled, ever so softly, "That is how Harry survived the Unforgivable that kills, isn't that right? Through love," I hummed, ever so thoughtfully, "The love of his parents' sacrifice, perhaps?"

Dumbledore nodded, "You do have a keen mind, Mister Umbrus, but what is most important in the years to come will be a good heart. The last war...it shook the hearts of people, darkened them, and brought them down to the same level of those they swore to fight." He grimaced. "I know it is much to ask of you, Mister Umbrus, but whenever I look at you, I see a man standing on the edge of a very dangerous precipice. Only one step separates you from plummeting to the bottom of the chasm, into a darkness so deep there can be no escape," his eyes took on a serious expression, the kind that made me wonder why he had stopped teaching, since he had the stern look capable of rivaling professor McGonagall down perfectly.

"I'm sorry for worrying you like this, Headmaster," I answered in turn, "But..." I grimaced, "I won't know what my heart is made of until I test it, and I do not wish to see it tested."

The Headmaster nodded once, quite wisely. "Some trials we go to willingly, others come to us without our desire to meet them," he took a longer sip of his tea. "We can but be prepared for that which awaits us, Mister Umbrus."

I quietly nodded. "Sir," I said, clenching ever so slightly my fists. "Would it be all right if I spent my summer protecting Harry?"

"If you do pass your OWLs, Mister Umbrus, you will be lawfully allowed to go wherever you wish," the Headmaster acquiesced. "And once that does happen, I fear for the Wizarding World at large," he added with a slightly less tense, and far more amused, tone. "Though I would suggest asking Mister Black for permission, but he would have nothing against it. If anything, he might finally be able to have you over for a holiday, like he has been trying to do for a couple of years now."

I nervously laughed. "Things always seem to happen in the meantime, sir."

"Let us hope they do not, then," the Headmaster answered.

"To quiet days, weeks and months," I said, lifting my tea cup slightly up in the air.

"To trials yet to come," Dumbledore answered gently, "Let them be merciful, let them be just."

Nothing more was said between us.

What else needed to be said?