The Locked Room - 7

Harry looked away. "Hogwarts is still under attack, and both the Ministry and St. Mungo's are under Death Eater control."

"That is how it appears," Dumbledore said mysteriously, waving his hand in the air.

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"While it is true that Tom's legion has been withholding care at St. Mungo's, a large number of the Healers have banded together and have been running a renegade hospital, of sorts. The same is true at the Ministry. As Kingsley and Alastor have rounded up the Aurors and formed their own resistance, there are a number of Ministry workers who have done the same."

Harry sat up straighter, feeling the first ray of hope for the Wizarding population.

"Sometimes, it takes a great tragedy for the bravery within some people to show," Dumbledore said softly. "I have planted a thought within Leticia Warbanks' mind to inspect the Department of Mysteries."

"Leticia Warbanks?" Harry asked.

"She is a Ministry worker from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. She has been the focal point for the small resistance at the Ministry. She will know which Healers can be trusted at St. Mungo's," Professor Dumbledore replied.

"The Wizarding world will have to go through a long, and – I hope – thorough period of reconstruction. I hope people like Leticia, Alastor, Kingsley and Arthur are heavily involved for the betterment of all," Professor Dumbledore said. "Unfortunately for you, I do not see the public's interest in you fading any time soon."

"We all have our part to play, I suppose," Harry said, shrugging.

"A very mature attitude," Dumbledore said, beaming.

Harry really wasn't listening very closely to what Professor Dumbledore was saying. A new thought had occurred to him.

"Sir…if I imagined you here, could I imagine anyone else that I wanted to see?" he asked, barely daring to breathe.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, and his piercing blue eyes peered over his half-moon spectacles. "I cannot answer that query. Nothing has ever gone exactly according to the rules when it comes to you. Perhaps you should take a chance."

Harry swallowed heavily. His first thought was to try and talk with his parents, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. He'd had plenty of conversations with them as a child when he was locked alone in his cupboard, but he'd never actually expected them to answer. He wasn't certain if he could stand the disappointment if it failed.

He moved his lips but was unable to utter a sound. He looked at Professor Dumbledore helplessly.

"I wish it was something I could do for you, Harry, but it is not. This is your mind, and only your thoughts will be heard," Dumbledore said sadly.

Harry swallowed again, forcing his racing heart to calm. His nostrils flared slightly before he shut his eyes tightly and let his mind conjure an image of his godfather. For so long, he'd banished from his thoughts the image of Sirius's face and the sound of his bark-like laugh, unwilling to feel the pain of loss. Now, however, he called forth scattered memories of the closest thing to a parent he'd ever known.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw a familiar swagger emerging from the gray fog. As the figure walked, his shaggy, shoulder-length hair fluttered as the area around him formed into a Quidditch pitch.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Sirius demanded, sounding very irritated. "One minute I was chatting up a delectable blonde bird with very little between her ears aside from peroxide, and the next minute I'm in the middle of nowhere – alone."