chapter four : mysterious task

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"Ah, Miss Black, I'm glad you could give me some of your time," Professor Dumbledore said, as soon as the Order meeting was over. "I am in dire need of your assistance tonight."

June, not knowing whatever it is they were going to do, had simply put on a pair of jeans, a shirt and a leather jacket — one she had stolen from Sirius' closet (though he didn't seem to mind). She nodded and followed him through the dark hallway towards the front door and accepted his arm when he offered it to her.

June felt a tug underneath her navel and the two of them left Grimmauld Place 12. Streets and people blurred by at an alarming fast rate before June found herself standing outside a rather familiar house. A feeling of nausea flooded over her, but that was quickly over when her mind realised she was standing on the ground with her two feet and the world around her wasn't spinning anymore.

"We will take Harry to Grimmauld Place once we did what we need to do," Dumbledore told her, as he was walking up the garden path.

June knew better than to ask what he had planned out. If he wanted to tell her, he would, though she silently cursed his secrecy.

He rang the doorbell and June could hear shuffling behind it before it was opened and they were met by Harry's uncle — Vernon if she recalled correctly.

"Good evening," Dumbledore greeted him. "You must be Mr Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?"

Mr Dursley was staring at Dumbledore as though he could not believe his eyes. Harry had obviously not told them about their arrival.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that we were coming," Dumbledore continued pleasantly. "However, let us assume that you have invited us warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."

He stepped smartly over the threshold and June followed swiftly, closing the door behind her.

"It is a long time since my last visit," Dumbledore said, peering down his crooked nose at Mr Dursley. "I must say, you agapanthuses are flourishing."

Mr Dursley said nothing at all. Juniper could tell he was furious, but he didn't dare to say something. Her hazel eyes wander around the hallway and up the stairs to see her cousin standing several steps from the bottom, staring down at them.

"Ah, good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said, following June's gaze. "Excellent. Excellent."

Mr Dursley, who somehow seemed to have found his words again, said, "I don't mean to be rude —"

"— yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely. "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."

The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt. Her rather horsy face registered nothing but shock. June had seen pictures of her aunt Lily and she was pleased to see the two sisters didn't seem to have any features in common.

"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said, when Mr Dursley failed to effect an introduction, "and this is my companion and Harry's cousin, Juniper Black."

June gave the woman a slight nod.

"And this must be your son Dudley?" Dumbledore added, glancing at the boy that was peering at them round the living-room door. His large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on, he smiled.

"Shall we assume that you have invited us into your sitting room?"

Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Juniper moved after him, glancing Dudley, who was watching her in awe, up and down before standing next to the fireplace. She didn't feel like sitting.

"Aren't — aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously. He had followed them inside.

"Yes, indeed we are, but there is a matter we need to discuss first," Dumbledore said. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."

"You will, will you?" Vernon questioned them. He had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder and Dudley skulking behind them both, though he kept glancing at June, making her feel uncomfortable.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "We shall."

He drew his wand so rapidly that June barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forwards and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.

"We may as well be comfortable," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

As he replaced his wand in his pocket, June das that his hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as if his flesh had been burned away.

Harry, who had also noticed this, said, "Sir — what happened to your —?"

"Later, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Please sit down."

Harry sat down in the armchair next to June. He gave her a look that told her he was happy to see her and she returned a smile.

"I would assume that you were going to offer us refreshments," Dumbledore said to Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."

A third twitch of the wand and a dusty bottle and six glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.

"Madam Rosmerta's finest, oak-matured mead," Dumbledore said, raising his glass to Harry and June, who both caught hold of their own glasses.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to Harry, "is your trunk packed?"

"Erm . . ." Harry stammered.

"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore suggested shrewdly.

"I'll just go and — er — finish off," Harry said hastily, hurrying out of the room.

The silence that followed was awkward. Juniper tried not to let it show just how much it bothered her and pretended to look at the fire into the fireplace, hoping that Harry'd hurry up so that they could get out of here.

Ten minutes later, Harry appeared back into the living room, carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage.

"Professor, June — I'm ready now," Harry said.

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more. "As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time —"

"No," Petunia said, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore and June's arrival.

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore said politely.

"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."

"In the wizarding world we come of age at seventeen," Juniper told her, also speaking for the first time. "I've been of age for almost two years."

"Now," Dumbledore said, "as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The wizarding community is currently in a state of open welfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."

Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, June felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

Petunia and Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.

"Us — mistreat Dudders? What d'you —?" Vernon began furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Vernon dumb.

"The Magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call his house home. However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."

None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat. Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

"Well, Harry, Juniper . . . time for us to be off," Dumbledore said at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait for ever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.

June didn't bother saying goodbye. She simply straightened her back and strode out after Dumbledore, who was standing next to Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," Dumbledore told Harry, pulling out his wand again. "I shall send them to Grimmauld Place to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak . . . just in case."

Juniper frowned at this. What could they possibly do that required an Invisibility Cloak? Of course she had several ideas, but all of them were illegal.

As soon as Harry retrieved the cloak, Dumbledore waved his wand again and the trunk, cage and Hedwig vanished. Dumbledore then waved his wand again and the front door opened on to cool, misty darkness.

"And now, Harry, June, let us step out into the night and pursue that fighty temptress, adventure."

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Juniper hated Side-Along Apparition. Ever since she had passed her Apparition test, she had been determined to never Apparate with someone else.

Yet here she was, holding onto Dumbledore's arm for the second time that evening. She could feel Dumbledore's arm twist away from her and redoubled her grip: the next thing she knew, everything went black; she was being pressed very hard from all directions; she could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around her chest; her eyeballs were being forced into her head; her eardrums were being pushed deeper into her skull, and then —

It was finally over. Juniper opened her eyes. They were now standing in what seemed to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches.

"Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked the two of them, though his blue eyes were settled on Harry. It had been his first Side-Along Apparition after all.

"I'm fine," Harry said, rubbing his ears. "But I think I might prefer brooms."

Dumbledore smiled, drew his traveling cloak a little more tightly around his neck and said, "This way."

June placed her hand on her wand, ready to take it out for anything that might come their way.

Dumbledore set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

"So tell me, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Your scar . . . has it been hurting at all?"

June glanced at Harry, wanting to know it, too.

"No," Harry said, raising his hand to touch his scar, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."

The two cousins glanced at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," Dumbledore said. "Lord Voldemort has finally realised the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying —"

Enjoying was not the word June would use describing it.

" — It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," Harry said.

They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. June had no idea where they were or what they were going to do.

"Professor?" Harry began.

"Harry?"

"Er — where exactly are we?"

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah, yes, of course, I haven't told you," Dumbledore said, making June sigh. He never told them anything. "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."

With pain in her heart, June recalled the time she wanted to be a professor herself. Perhaps this had been her chance. She knew Dumbledore would hire her on the spot. Maybe she should have —

"How can I help with that, sir?" Harry questioned, interrupting her thoughts.

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for both of you," Dumbledore said vaguely. "Left here."

They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. June shivered and pulled her cloak closer.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into you old colleague's house?" Harry asked.

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," Dumbledore said. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most wizarding dwellings are magical protected from unwanted Apparition. At Hogwarts, for instance —"

"— you can't Apparate anywhere inside the building or grounds," Harry said quickly. "Hermione Granger told me."

"And she is quite right. We turn left again."

The church clock chimed midnight behind them. June wondered why Dumbledore would call on his old colleague so late, but then again, she was fairly sure their arrival would be unexpected.

"Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked . . ." Harry said eagerly.

"Correct," Dumbledore said, now turning up a steep side-street. "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 is good?" Harry asked.

"An interesting question," Dumbledore said. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant —"

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort."

June knew Harry wanted to know more, but he didn't push the matter. Instead, he said, "And . . . sir . . . I saw about Madam Bones."

June cast her eyes down. Madam Bones had been murdered in her own house. It had been a tragedy.

"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think — ouch."

He had pointed with his injured hand.

"Professor, what happened to your —" Harry began.

"I have no time to explain now," Dumbledore interrupted him. "It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice."

Juniper slowed her pace down to give them some privacy. She knew Harry and Dumbledore shared a bond — perhaps one like that of a grandfather and a grandson (though she couldn't imagine a grandfather who kept on endangering his grandson).

"This is the place," Dumbledore said and June looked up.

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. June's hazel eyes darted over the house and halted when they saw the front door hanging off its hinges.

Snatching her wand out of her pocket, she moved in front of Harry.

"Oh dear," she could hear Dumbledore say. "Oh dear, dear, dear . . ."

June glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted.

"Wands out and follow me, Harry, Juniper," Dumbledore said.

He opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry and June at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.

"Lumos," both Dumbledore and June said at the same time.

Their wand-tips ignited, casting their lights up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry and June right behind him.

A scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little further away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper.

Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore and June turn around. 

"Not pretty, is it," Dumbledore said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."

Juniper turned around, observing the room carefully. She was looking for a body, but frowned when she couldn't find it. That was odd.

"Something's off," June declared, turning to look at Dumbledore. "There is no body and no Dark Mark. This," she waved around, "is no work of Death Eaters."

"I think you are quite right, Juniper," Dumbledore said, peering behind an overstuffed armchair laying on its side. And then, without warning, he swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Horace," Dumbledore said, straightening up again.

Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormous fat, bald old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.

"There was no need to stick the wand that hard," he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."

The wand-light sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver walrus-like moustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.

"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

"My dear Horace," Dumbledore said, looking amused,