Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Chapter Ten

GROWING UP MEANS HAVING TO SAY YOU'RE SORRY

“Sorry, Harry,” Ginny said as Harry approached. “I'd hoped you would get to her before Ron.”

Harry snapped, “Why does this seem like some kind of game, where I don't know the rules?”

Ginny's eyes narrowed.  “Pardon me?”

“What are you playing at?” Harry said. “You've gone from snogging me to being over me to tossing me at Hermione in less than half an hour.”

Ginny frowned.  “That wasn't snogging - it was one bloody kiss,” she said.  “I needed to know where you stood.  You were loud and clear, thank you.”

“Loud and clear?  I didn't say a word,” Harry insisted.

Ginny snorted.  “You kissed me like I'm your sister.  It's not as though I was left with doubts.”

Harry lowered his head.  “I didn't want to hurt you - I mean, I hope I didn't manage to -”

Ginny laughed, and the laughter was raw and edgy.  “I'm not hurt - I'm glad for it.  It should have happened sooner, if I'd had the courage!  I'm free,” she said loudly.  Harry was acutely aware of being watched by Hermione's mother and a gaggle of Hogwarts schoolmates.

“Ginny, I'm really sorry,” Harry said quietly.

“Stop being sorry, all right?  There's nothing to be sorry about!  You've had my advice - talk to Hermione, if Ron ever takes his mitts off her.  No one should waste as much time pining away as I have!” Ginny told him.  Harry was sure that she was shouting.  To make matters worse, he spotted Ginny's mother standing near the door to the kitchen.

“I'll be going now,” he croaked.

“You do that,” Ginny boomed.  “Go and get over each other, for goodness' sake!”

Harry scooted away.  His schoolmates gawked at him whilst attempting to appear casual.  Neville's eyes shone with pity, a sure sign that the situation couldn't worsen. He was wrong.  Mrs. Weasley's hands were on her hips, and Mrs. Granger wore a predatory expression.  Harry immediately regretted walking toward the house.  There could be no turning back without running away.  Don't show fear, he thought.

Before Mrs. Granger could get in a word, Mrs. Weasley said calmly, “Cordelia, I need a word with Harry.  Would you excuse us?”

Mrs. Granger managed a strained smile.  “Harry, I trust you'll make time for me as well?  I believe we have a conversation to finish.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he squeaked as Mrs. Granger went into the house.

Molly Weasley's eyes bored through him.  “Well?”

Harry hesitated.  “I'm sorry -”

“I heard that much.  Would you care to explain the rest?”  As he watched her hands on hips and tapping foot, Harry fought the urge to squirm.

“I'm not clear on what needs explaining,” he offered, as he struggled with an impulse to cringe.

“Who is pining for whom, exactly?” she asked firmly.

“I'm not sure,” he said.  “Ginny seems to think I'm pining for Hermione.”

“I take it that you're not pining for Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“No, ma'am,” Harry said as he stared at his shoes, “and she doesn't doubt that.”

“Fred and George were running about like fools, chasing after Ginny's story,” Mrs. Weasley said.  “Let's come to the point - you tell me what happened.”

Harry sighed.  He found it easier to tell with his eyes closed.  “Fred was stirring up Ginny with the new Teen Witch Weekly.  Turns out I'm on the cover, with a big article besides.  Ron understood that part of the article could be dangerous for -”

“Arthur showed me the article,” Mrs. Weasley interrupted him.

Harry continued, his eyes tightly shut. “Ron ran downstairs with the article.  I tossed Fred and George so that I could talk to Ginny. She seemed very upset.  I talked to her for a bit, and she - she, erm, kissed me.”  He ignored Mrs. Weasley's sudden coughing, and continued, “Apparently I didn't sweep her off her feet.  She told me I'd helped her get over me.  You heard most of the rest, I think.”

“I see,” Mrs. Weasley said.  Harry peeked.  Her lips were pursed and her jaw was tight.  “Ginny said for you to `get over each other'.  Who is pining for you, Harry?”

“I'm not pining for anyone,” Harry said flatly. “Ginny must think that Hermione has… has feelings for me. I really can't imagine why she would think that.”

Mrs. Weasley looked crestfallen.  “I do hope she's mistaken.  Ron…” she trailed off.

“I don't want to hurt him anymore than I already have,” Harry said.  “I should just go back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Weasley decreed.  “If you insist on riding that thing back to London, then you'll be staying the night.”

“I don't want to be a bother,” Harry ventured.

Mr. Weasley seemed to appear from nowhere.  “Harry, there you are!  I've been looking for you.  Some of us have an interest in seeing that motorbike of yours.  I have a professional responsibility in these matters, of course.”  He smiled warmly, and Mrs. Weasley frowned immediately.

“Cordelia wanted to speak with Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Well, Tom Granger's one of the people with an interest in the motorbike,” Mr. Weasley said, pointing toward two figures walking down the dimly lit path to the shed.  “I'm sure she won't mind.  Don't worry; I'll be sure to send Harry back in a while.”  He smiled at Harry again.  “Shall we?”

Harry didn't have to be asked twice.

Mr. Weasley led him away from the house and toward the shed.  As soon as they were out of earshot from the garden, he slowed his pace and said casually, “Ron explained to me what happened between you and Ginny.”

“What did he say?” Harry asked timidly.

Mr. Weasley put his hand on Harry's shoulder.  “Relax, Harry.  Molly's thought of you as a suitor for Ginny since… goodness, I don't know when.  She can be a bit, er, unreasonable when she sets her mind.  I wondered if you might need saving sometime this evening.”

Harry smiled.  “Thank you,” he said.

“Don't mention it - please,” Mr. Weasley said.  “If you did, then I'd be in quite a pickle with her.  Let's hide out with the lads; it's the safest course of action, I dare say.”

Harry felt a twinge of guilt as they approached the shed; he couldn't help but think of Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia, gone wild and wandering the Forbidden Forest.  The shed was lit inside and out by enchanted lanterns.  The front doors were propped open, and several chairs were set up inside.  Shelving from floor to rafters took up the side walls, loaded to capacity with Muggle machines and gadgets in various states of disassembly.  An enormous workbench sat against the rear wall. 

A dartboard hung on the inside of one of the doors.  Fred and George were taking on Bill and Charlie, and Professor Flitwick looked on.  Flitwick greeted Mr. Weasley warmly.  “Is it true that they're not supposed to guide the darts?  With those two -” the professor said, gesturing at the twins, “- one never knows what to believe!”

Mr. Weasley launched into an earnest dissertation on Muggle games and hand-eye coordination, and Harry quietly took his leave.  Hagrid was engaged in animated conversation with Mr. Granger and - much to Harry's surprise - Lupin, who waved cheerfully at him.  Kingsley Shacklebolt sat on the end of the workbench next to Tonks, and both of them nursed glasses of something.  Shacklebolt gestured sternly for Harry to approach.

“Tonks, shouldn't you be…?” Harry began.

She snorted loudly.  “What, up there with the hens?  Nattering on `bout recipes and home remedies an' that rot?  Not - bloody - likely!”

Harry sniffed.  “Is that firewhisky?”

“ 'S been a long week, Harry.  They 'jus keep getting' longer,” she said, “an' besides - I'm old, remember?  I can drink what I want, where I want, when I want, how I want, why I want…” Tonks' hair kept shifting from red to pink to orange and back again.

“Harry and I need to talk,” Shacklebolt rumbled.

“ 'Sno problem, Kingsley.  I'll jus' humble those boys at darts.”  Tonks slid from the workbench to her feet, and her eyes crossed for a moment.

“We'll take a walk, Tonks,” Shacklebolt said.  “Hold up the workbench, would you?”  Tonks gave a ragged salute.  Shacklebolt swept by Harry, leaving him to assume that he should follow.  They strolled down a path that led toward the woods, lit by flickering light from their wands.

“I'm not the proper tutor for you,” Shacklebolt said.  “I feel bound, after what Black did, but you can find a better fit.”

Harry said, “I don't understand.”

Shacklebolt turned on him.  “When you went running into the Ministry, did you think for a moment about the consequences?”

“I didn't -” Harry began.

“No, you didn't,” Shacklebolt finished for him.  “The results speak for themselves!  The Lovegood girl gets by with a concussion, but Arthur's daughter breaks her ankle and the Longbottom boy breaks his nose.  Who knows what really happened to Ron Weasley?  Hermione Granger is still recovering - were you aware of that?  Were you aware that Tonks almost died?”

“I'm sorry,” Harry whispered.

“Not good enough!  The Department put Tonks and me on leave.  They want us to sign a loyalty oath!” Shacklebolt fumed.

Harry buried his face in his hands.

“It would have happened eventually, I can see that - but you forced everyone's hand, Harry,” Shacklebolt scolded. “The Ministry knows that Dumbledore reactivated the Order, so they recalled the Dark Force Defence League - the bloody twits!  It's obviously a purge in the making - Fudge wants to maintain control, and he wants Dumbledore kept in the dark.”

“I'm so sorry, I didn't know,” Harry said through his hands.

Shacklebolt scowled.  “An angry tutor will do you no good.  Sirius be damned; I'm leaving it in Dumbledore's hands.  If he insists, then I'll take you on.”  He strode off into the woods, and Harry returned toward the shed.

He heard a whizz! and saw a blur from the corner of his eye.  Harry whipped his head to one side, and the blur shot past him to strike a tree.

“Wotcher, Harry!  'Sa good thing you're a Seeker!” Tonks cried out.  Harry pulled a dart from the tree.

“Enough for you, Tonks,” Bill said.

“But I'm still thirsty,” Tonks complained, holding her empty glass upside down.

Bill laughed.  “That's yours to reckon with.  I was referring to the darts.”

“What were you thinking, giving Tonks something that sharp?” Fred snapped, and waggled his index finger at Bill.

Harry handed the stray dart to Bill, and guided Tonks away by the arm.  “Why didn't you tell me?” he asked her.

“Wha'd'ya mean - oh!”  Tonks shrugged.  “Things happen for a reason. `Sides, you've enough to worry about.”

“Shacklebolt said you almost died,” Harry told her.

“Kingsley's dramatic,” Tonks insisted.  “I need to sit.”

Harry reached for a chair, and managed to put it behind Tonks an instant before she began to sit down.  He brought a second chair over for himself.  Lupin was watching him intently, and Harry didn't know why.

“I've cost you your position,” Harry said, “and now you're stuck minding Hermione and me.”

Tonks' eyes fluttered closed.  “I like Hermione - always wanted a little sister, right?  You're not bad either, Harry.”  She laughed, and added very loudly, “Every witch in England wants to mother you or shag you, 'course.”

“Which is it for you, Tonks?” Charlie teased.

“What'd'ya take me for, a cradle robber?” Tonks bellowed.  “He's sixteen and I'm twenty-two, for Merlin's sake!  Mothering, thank you.”  She opened her eyes, tried to focus on Harry, and added, “'Course if I were, say, thirty and you were, what, twenty-four… who could say?”

Harry looked around nervously.

Her eyes closed again.  “Don't like being sized up, eh?  'Sall right, Harry.  Jus' mind you leave a drawbridge in those walls of yours, `kay?”  She stopped talking for a few moments, and Harry wondered if she'd fallen asleep.

Tonks' eyes opened into slits.  “Right, the career thing?  Don't fret - overrated.  'Sides, saving the world … 'snot a bad gig.”  Her eyes closed again.  When she started snoring, Harry moved to sit next to Lupin. 

“...yeh need ter know it's not as dangerous as yeh might be thinkin', Mr. Granger,” Hagrid said.

“The great majority of wizards and witches are licensed by their early twenties,” Lupin added.  “It's an advanced skill, but quite attainable.”

Mr. Weasley, who had sat down next to Mr. Granger, said, “Fred and George passed at 17.  George, be a good lad and Apparate over here.”  With a loud crack, George disappeared and reappeared behind his father.

Lupin told Harry, “Tom's a little apprehensive about Hermione learning to Apparate.  It seems she's worked out the underlying mechanics on her own.”

Harry laughed.  “That's not surprising.”

Mr. Granger eyed him curiously.  “Why not?”

Harry suddenly felt nervous.  He stammered, “Well - surely you know that she's first in our class, erm, by a wide margin.  She's well beyond me in Charms and Transfiguration, and … and she just understands how everything works.  Amazing, really.  She's brilliant.”

Mr. Granger said, “From what I've been told about you, I would have guessed that you'd be first.”

Lupin said, “Harry is better at practical demonstrations of his ability.  Hermione, on the other hand, is the most capable student Hogwarts has seen in a very long time.”

Professor Flitwick, who had left the game of darts, agreed.  “I would rank your daughter among the most capable students that I have ever taught.”

Harry was very surprised when Mr. Granger asked Professor Flitwick, “How does she compare to Harry, then?”

Flitwick hesitated, his ever-present smile fading. “Mr. Granger, how old do you think that I am?” he asked

Mr. Granger looked at the professor closely.  “Hermione told us that magic folk are generally longer-lived than the rest of us … if you were my neighbour, I'd place you in your sixties.”

“Sixty years ago I was instructing Aurors in the art of duelling.  I graduated from Hogwarts in 1916, sir.”  Flitwick waited for Mr. Granger's reaction to pass before continuing.  “I have taught thousands of students.  Hermione's intellectual potential is among the greatest I have seen.  Harry possesses a different kind of potential.” The professor looked at Harry and blushed. “There have been times that I have literally felt Harry's power. I have only experienced that with a handful of people, students or otherwise. Hermione and Harry both perform well above their level of training, and that is the only comparison I can offer. Their abilities are quite different from one another.” Mr. Granger contemplated Harry with his arms crossed. 

Mr. Weasley cut in, and Harry marvelled at his sense of timing.  “Harry, I'm dying to see that motorbike.”

Fred threw his last dart, and fetched Harry's saddlebags from under the workbench.  “See, Harry, I didn't make off with it,” he said.

Harry took the reduced Bonneville from the bag, palmed it on the floor of the shed, and whispered the appropriate words.

“Sweet Lord…” Mr. Granger whispered.

“Goodness, that's Sirius Black's motorbike!” exclaimed Professor Flitwick.  “Where on Earth…?”

Hagrid said, “I've had it stashed away fer years.  Sirius wanted Harry ter have the bike.”

Mr. Granger let out a low whistle.  “A Bonnie, a mint condition Bonnie.  It's a '69, isn't it? You can tell by the fairings.”

Harry nodded.  “That's what Whitehorn said it was supposed to look like - a 1969 Triumph Bonneville.”

“Supposed to… I don't understand,” Mr. Granger said.

Harry made the Bonneville revert to its true form.  “I thought you should see it like this, Mr. Weasley.  It's not an enchanted artefact.  Technically it's a broomstick.”

Mr. Weasley ran his hand along the horizontal stick, shaking his head.  “Unbelievable,” he said.  “So that's how Sirius got away with it.  I never knew.”

“What'd Whitehorn do `ta fancy her up, Harry?” Hagrid asked.

Harry shrugged.  “I don't know what it was like before.  Whitehorn said it's a twin Firebolt now.”  Hagrid's bushy eyebrows shot up.

Professor Flitwick smiled devilishly and asked, “How fast did you travel, coming here?”

“As fast as it would go, at least for a while,” Harry said. He nervously watched Mr. Granger for evidence of disapproval, and was surprised to see none.

Flitwick goggled at Harry.  “That had to be positively thrilling,” the professor said, clapping his hands.  “I had a Vespa for a time, a number of years ago - this was in the days when one was allowed to charm a Muggle vehicle without special permits.” He frowned slightly, and added, “I'm afraid it wasn't nearly that fast.”  Lupin stifled a laugh.

Harry pulled the manual out of the saddlebag, glanced at a particular passage, and touched the handles.  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the professor.

“I couldn't, Harry!” Flitwick protested.  “It's far too big for me!”

Harry said, “Just try it, Professor.”

Flitwick eyed him dubiously.  He stood on a chair to swing his leg over the seat.  As soon as he sat down, the Bonneville began to shrink.

“Oh, my - a dynamic reducing charm! Smashing work!”  Flitwick exclaimed.  The motorbike lost over a third of its length and half its height.  Flitwick still looked small on the seat, but was no longer dwarfed.

The professor grasped the handles, which swept back to reach him more comfortably.  “Did Devlin Whitehorn do this himself?” Flitwick asked.

“He told me that he convinced a jinni to help,” Harry replied.

Professor Flitwick paled, and said, “I shudder to think what Sirius must have paid for this.”  He hopped off onto the chair, and the Bonneville returned to the proper size and configuration for Harry.

Mr. Granger's fingers gently traced the nameplate on the fuel tank.  “It feels so real,” he gasped.

“Go ahead,” Harry said, motioning to the seat.

“May I?”  Mr. Granger's glee was evident as he settled onto the Bonneville.  It adjusted to him slightly, and he did his best to avoid a startled expression.

Harry touched the handle and whispered “Veho Triumph.”  The motorbike did a credible imitation of starting.  Mr. Granger held the handbrake and lightly turned the throttle, evoking a satisfying rumble.  He let out the brake, and the Bonneville began rolling forward.

“What the -” he said, squeezing the brake tightly.  “No clutch!”

“No engine, sir,” Harry reminded him.  “The harder you turn the throttle, the faster you go.  Squeeze the brakes to stop, and turn the handlebars to manoeuvre - that's about it.”

“I take it that she… flies?” Mr. Granger asked quietly.  Harry nodded.

Mr. Granger took a deep breath, and asked impulsively, “Any chance you'd take me up?”

Harry froze.  “I don't have helmets,” he said, hoping that might provide a plausible excuse.

“Well…” began George.

Fred said, “We were saving these for later.  Shall we?”

“Good enough,” George said. He produced a large wrapped box from behind a stripped television set.

Harry shook the box gingerly.  “Dobby and Winky weren't fond of that last box of yours,” he muttered.

“This one's safe to open,” Mr. Weasley said, adding hastily, “unless you two went back and…”

“No games, we promise,” George said firmly.

Harry tore off the paper and opened the box.  Inside the box were two matching motorbike helmets - black with red and gold flames, and clear shields.

“They're, erm, a little adjustable,” Fred said sheepishly.

“Not enough to spook a Muggle, even if he were to put one on,” George added.

“Any other modifications that you lads care to disclose?” Mr. Weasley asked, trying to sound stern.

Fred fidgeted, and George said, “A variation on the charm behind the Extendable Ears, that's all.”  He took one of the helmets, and put it on.  “Put on the other, Harry, and lower the shield.”

“How does it feel?” George asked.  Harry thought it sounded like George was in the helmet with him.

“Great,” Harry answered.

“This way, you can talk to whoever's riding pillion,” George told him.  “Happy birthday, mate.”

Harry pulled off the helmet, and earnestly shook hands first with Fred and then with George.  “Thanks, they're fabulous.”

Mr. Granger was still sitting on the Bonneville.  Harry resisted a sigh.  “If you're up for it…” Harry offered, holding out the helmet in his hand.

Harry had his answer when Mr. Granger immediately donned the helmet.  He took the other helmet from George, and slid onto the Bonneville in front of Mr. Granger.

“Can you hear me?” Harry asked.

“Outstanding,” Mr. Granger said.  “That would have come in handy, in the old days.”

“Any fear of heights?” Harry asked him.

“No,” Mr. Granger replied, “that's Cordelia's cross to bear.”

Harry pressed.  “What about speed, or sudden turns?”

“I used to ride a lot - on the ground, of course,” Mr. Granger told Harry.  “I liked it very, very fast.  Don't tell that to Hermione, by the way.  Why all the questions?  Are you intending to spook me?”

“Certainly not!” Harry insisted.  “It's just that Hermione's a very, um, nervous flier.  I thought that I should check first.  Hang on, then.”  Harry said Evolo Triumph; the motorbike lifted off the floor and began to drift slightly.  He gathered in the handlebars, edged forward out of the shed, and allowed the Bonneville to slowly rise above the trees.  Soon, they could see the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole in the distance.

Harry felt Mr. Granger tense.  “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” Mr. Granger said.  “It's just… I've never really seen Hermione, well, actually perform any, um, you know… some of her books are passing strange, but this… I mean, you're her schoolmate.  This… this brings it home, somehow.”

Harry moved forward, and then turned over the Weasley's darkened Quidditch pitch toward the village.  “I'm going to use an invisibility charm,” he explained.  “It wouldn't do for anyone to see us flying about.  You won't be able to see yourself or me or the motorbike.  Just mind your grip, and we'll be fine.”

“Right then - let's do this,” Mr. Granger resolved.  Harry called out the charm.  He checked in with Mr. Granger one more time, and then gunned the throttle.

Mr. Granger shouted, but it was the kind of joyful shout that Harry associated with children at play.  They covered the two miles to the village in just under a minute.  Harry climbed higher, to be certain that no one on the ground would hear them; then he slowed to a crawl, and slowly drifted five hundred feet above the rooftops.

“The game you play on the broomsticks - Quidditch, is it? - do you fly that fast during a game?” Mr. Granger asked.

“I play the Seeker position,” Harry explained.  “I can spend a lot of time just watching and drifting.  When I'm in play, though, I'm going as fast as the broom will allow.  The top speed on a Firebolt's better than 140.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Mr. Granger observed.

“I've been to the hospital wing a time or two,” Harry admitted.  “Hermione doesn't care much for Quidditch.”  Mr. Granger didn't say anything.

Harry continued to drift over the village.  “Everything still all right, sir?” he asked.

Mr. Granger said quietly, “Fine, Harry.  Just fine.”

Harry kept talking out of sheer nervousness.  “You used to ride, then?”

“I had a '67 Bonnie, and a BMW later on.  Cordelia had me sell it when we knew Hermione was on the way,” Mr. Granger said.

“Did you miss it?” Harry asked.

Mr. Granger chuckled.  “Not until tonight.”

Harry blurted out, “Are you seriously thinking of taking Hermione to Canada or wherever… erm, not that it's any of my business, of course.”

“I don't know.  We just want what's best, Harry,” Mr. Granger said.  “That's what parents are supposed to want for their children.”

“I wouldn't know about that,” Harry said.

There was silence, before Mr. Granger said, “I'm sorry, Harry, I wasn't thinking.”

“I'm sure you meant nothing by it,” Harry said.

Mr. Granger said, “She tells us about her friends, of course, and bits about the classes.  If we didn't know better, we'd almost believe that she was attending a regular school.  After the last month, we've lost any illusions that we harboured.  It sounds as if she's doing so well there, you know.  She's at the top of her class, well respected by her teachers and schoolmates - I don't understand why she won't talk to us about it.”

Harry shrugged.  “I don't understand it either.  If I could be with my mum and dad, I don't think I'd stop talking again for the rest of my life.”

Mr. Granger patted him on the shoulder.  “You seem like a decent young man, Harry.”  Harry chuckled.

“Is something funny in that?” Mr. Granger asked.

“I wish that you'd share your opinion with Mrs. Granger,” Harry suggested.

“Arthur said he saved you from her, for the moment,” Mr. Granger laughed.  “She's concerned because Hermione thinks so highly of you.  Acquiescence, Harry - it's the best course with Cordelia.  I tried to resist her once.”

“How did that turn out?” Harry asked.

“It was twenty-six years ago,” Mr. Granger explained.  “I ended up with a ring, a degree in dentistry and a daughter in the bargain.  How do you think it turned out?”  They both laughed.

“I want to thank you for - well, you know - being -” Harry began.

“What, civil?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Well, erm, after last night, I didn't think - I mean -”

“I was angry with you last night,” Mr. Granger said firmly.  “I hope that you can understand why I'm concerned.  After talking with Arthur a bit, I recognise that my anger was misplaced.  I should have been angry with this Sirius Black for playing games.  I should be angry with this villain of yours, and not you.”

“His name is Voldemort,” Harry said, “and I would die to protect Hermione from him.  I mean that sincerely, sir.”

“That was very upsetting to Cordelia, when you sprung that on her last night,” Mr. Granger said.

“Why?” Harry asked.  “I suppose I thought it would be comforting, in a way.”

“She never believed that it could come to that,” Mr. Granger explained.  “Even with the guards and all the precautions this summer, she never believed it - nor did I.”

“I'm not planning on it, believe me,” Harry said glumly.  “It's just that I couldn't live with myself if Hermione were hurt again because of me.”  He hesitated, and then added, “Perhaps a move would be for the best.”

Neither Harry nor Mr. Granger said a word as Harry cruised back to the Burrow.  Harry disengaged the invisibility charm, and swooped down over the top of the house.

“Slow down, Harry,” Mr. Granger said.  “What's that about?”

They crossed over the garden just in time to see Hermione pull from Ron's grasp and dash toward the pond.  Ron quickly disappeared amongst the Hogwarts students clustered about the garden.

Harry instinctively made for the edge of the pond, and set down a discreet distance away.  He turned, and took Mr. Granger's helmet. 

Mr. Granger dismounted, confused.  “I assumed… aren't you…?” he began.

“I'll speak to her later, I'm sure,” Harry said. 

Mrs. Granger shot across the garden.  She stopped abruptly, and scowled at the motorbike.  She closed in on Harry, clearly furious.  Harry extended one hand to quiet her and gestured with the other toward the pond's edge, where Hermione stood sobbing in her father's embrace.  Mrs. Granger took a step toward her husband and daughter, before catching a glance from Mr. Granger.  She turned to Harry as if to say something, but instead turned away from him.

Harry set the spare helmet in his lap, rendered the Bonneville invisible, and flew back to the shed.  He wasn't certain where Ron had made off to, and didn't want him going spare from seeing the motorbike again.  Harry set down behind the shed, reduced the Bonneville, and put it in a jacket pocket. He used a separate reducing charm on the helmets and the saddlebags, and pocketed those as well before walking around to the front.

Tonks was still snoring in the chair.  Her father had arrived; Harry wondered if he had been called.  Mr. Tonks was seated with Mr. Weasley, Hagrid, Lupin, Professor Flitwick and another man that Harry didn't know.

Harry heard Ron bellow, “It's none of your damned business!”  He spun around, to see Ron berating Luna Lovegood.  Ron's brothers had set down their darts, and approached crossly.  Mr. Weasley rose from his seat.

Luna looked at the ground, and shuffled her feet.  “I wasn't suggesting business of any kind, Ronald - no business whatsoever.  I apologise for taking an interest in your feelings.”

“You should apologise!” Ron screeched, wild-eyed.  “If Ginny wants to put up with you, that's her affair.  I think you're a nutter, and I try to think even that as little as possible!”

Luna sniffed, “I didn't mean to presume… I promise to avoid you, if that's your wish.” 

“Ron!” Harry exclaimed.

Ron shook his head, almost as if waking.  “Wha -” he started.

Harry strode toward him so forcefully that Ron's brothers backed off.  “Do you enjoy making girls cry?  What in bloody hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Ron tried to explain.  “Look, I shouldn't have been so…”

“Don't say it to me - you talk to Luna,” Harry insisted.

Ron said, “I shouldn't have said those things.”

“Try it again - with conviction,” warned Bill.  Arms crossed, Charlie glowered at Ron.  Fred and George looked no friendlier.

Luna shook her head, and twirled at her necklace of butterbeer caps.  “No apologies are expected, and none are required.  I understand completely, Ronald.  I know what loss feels like.”  She looked up at Harry, as a small tear seeped from one of her big eyes.  “It's the worst feeling in the world, isn't it?”

Ron fumed, “How can you lose something that you never had in the first place? I get what Ginny meant about being free.  Life's too bloody short to waste on this.” He waved off his brothers.  “I'm going back to the party. I intend to enjoy myself,” he said, before trudging away.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked Luna.

She sniffed and smiled.  “Sure, Harry.  I don't hold onto things.  I'm happy to see you - my father's positively bubbling to meet you.”  She gestured toward the man seated next to Professor Flitwick.

As Harry approached, the man bounded to his feet.  He was tall and rail-thin.  His hair was light brown with wisps of white, and strewn wildly about his head.  Luna had his eyes.  He grasped Harry's hand and pumped madly. “What a great pleasure to meet you, Harry!  Goodness me, that interview was quite a coup for us!  You've been terribly beneficial for my daughter and me, all the way around!  Lovegood's the name, of course - Oddment Lovegood.  Friends call me Odd.”

“Of course they do,” Harry said without thinking.  It was another several seconds before Mr. Lovegood stopped shaking his hand and Harry took a seat.

“Mr. Lovegood was just about to tell us about the story he's been chasing,” Lupin explained. A silly grin brewed beneath Hagrid's bushy beard.

“Something about Fudge selling his soul to druids, wasn't it?” Harry asked. Mr. Weasley coughed furiously and turned away.

Mr. Lovegood smiled. He had a kindly face, Harry thought. “You must have heard that from Luna - it was just a ruse to draw attention away from the real story I've uncovered. Fudge's soul has already been bought and paid for, in my opinion. Now it appears that the Daily Prophet's about to be bought and paid for, as well.”

Ted Tonks raised an eyebrow. “You have this on good authority?” he asked.

Mr. Lovegood looked very satisfied. “I have registered copies of purchase agreements, two witnesses to the Muggle filings, and a solid confirmation on background from within the Ministry. Good enough for you, Ted?”

“Sorry,” Mr. Tonks said, “but you have to admit that some of the stories you've run… well, they're tabloid fodder. I mean, the Stubby Boardman thing was just silly.”

Mr. Lovegood frowned. “This is a serious story, and one worthy of concern. I'm hoping that Dumbledore will come around here tonight.”

Mr. Tonks said gently, “Odd… do you honestly think he'll take you seriously?”

Odd Lovegood drew himself up in his seat, and cut off Mr. Tonks. “He and I have had our moments, but I'm certain he'll be interested in this. I'm no fan of the Prophet, but the thought of it in the hands of the Vox Corporation leaves me dyspeptic.”

Harry thought Ted Tonks' eyes were going to pop out. Mr. Weasley shook his head, and even Professor Flitwick managed a disapproving look. The name of the corporation was familiar, and he sifted through memories of Uncle Vernon blathering on at the dinner table until it came to him. “Vox Corporation - they own some of the Muggle papers, don't they?” he asked.

Mr. Tonks looked as though he'd tasted something sour. “Vox owns half the papers in England, satellite television across Europe, television and papers in America, and most of the media in Australia,” he explained. “MacLeish and his people hold a healthy share of wizarding media, as well - the Scarlet Letter in America, the Quill in Australia, the Shaman in Canada, and the Wizarding Wireless Network in North America.”

Mr. Weasley said, “You should hear my colleagues in Australia talk about him. Might as well not have a Ministry, according to them - MacLeish uses the Quill to beat them into submission.”

“How would a Muggle company even know about the Daily Prophet?” Harry asked.

“Keith MacLeish is a wizard, Harry,” Hagrid spat. “Yer lookin' at one of his old housemates, not that he ever gave a tinker's damn `bout any of us. Should have gone straight `ta Slytherin, if yeh ask me.”

Professor Flitwick nodded in agreement, causing his cap to slip off. “The Sorting Hat does miss on occasion. Conniving, self-serving, rule-flouting, destructive… it's obvious that he simply doesn't care if the Muggles find us out.”

“Why have I never heard of him?” Harry asked. “He's not a Death Eater, is he?”

“Certainly not,” Ted Tonks grumbled. “MacLeish has one agenda - his own.”

“Harry,” Lupin reminded him, “a person can be evil without necessarily being in league with darkness. Think of Dolores Umbridge.”

“There's also a difference between being evil and being amoral,” Mr. Weasley offered.

“Don' you suffer any doubts there! MacLeish chose ta run wit' the Slytherins, an' mind yeh tha' most of `em were with Grindelwald at tha time. I remember he followed ol' Tom Riddle `round like a chick to a hen,” Hagrid warned.

Mr. Lovegood said, “There's also a partner in the deal who I've not been able to ferret out.”

Ted Tonks scowled. “I can't imagine MacLeish partnering with anyone. I'll make some inquiries, if you like.”

“Thanks, Ted,” Mr. Lovegood said. “I'd like to run with this in the next issue.”

From the dartboard, Fred Weasley asked aloud, “If Vox takes over the Prophet, do you think they'll put in Page Three girls?”

Ted Tonks, Mr. Lovegood and Lupin sniggered, while Mr. Weasley and Hagrid looked clueless. Harry knew perfectly well what Fred meant, thanks to Dudley - he turned away to hide his reddening cheeks. He saw that Luna was quietly tending to Tonks.

Responding to Harry's glance, Luna asked, “Didn't anyone cast a sobering charm?”

Ted Tonks shook his head. “Consider it a life lesson. She's old enough to know better.” Mr. Weasley began telling a story about Charlie and a party that quickly drew the attention of the Weasley brothers away from their darts.

Harry slipped away to kneel next to Luna and the sleeping Tonks. Luna said quietly, “I don't think she's well. There are better ways to teach someone a lesson.”

Harry said, “I'd take care of it, but I've never heard of a sobering charm. It's not something Flitwick's likely to teach fifth-years, eh?”

Luna managed a slight smile. “I suppose not. The incantation is finite crapulam, if you care to try it.”

“Why would you…?” Harry began, but trailed off as his gaze shifted toward Mr. Lovegood.

“It's not like that,” Luna insisted. “My father had a very difficult time, after my mother died. He stopped drinking before I left for Hogwarts.”

“Wouldn't it be dangerous to cast a sobering charm on yourself when you're the one in need of sobering?” Harry asked. “I mean, that's how you heard of it, right? Your father cast it?”

“I learned how to cast it myself when I was nine,” Luna said. “It worked if I put my hands on him. They don't track underage magic until you're accepted to school, you know.”

“You taught yourself wandless magic when you were nine years old?” Harry asked, to be sure of what he was hearing. Luna nodded in silence.

Harry fished out his wand. “You're full of surprises,” he said with a grin.

“What a lovely thing to say!” Luna cooed in a sing-song voice as Harry cast the sobering charm. Tonks stirred, and then began snoring again.

“She should feel better in a few minutes. Thank you, Harry,” Luna said.

Harry shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. I'm glad you spoke up.” He stood up. “I'm off to the garden, then. Are you all right - you know, with what Ron did and everything?”

Luna smiled and her large eyes twinkled. “I'm not concerned. Eventually Ronald will offer me food. It's a strange way to apologise, but I find it cute.”

Someone had brought a radio out to the garden and tuned it to the WWN music service. Harry cringed as always; most wizarding music sounded to him like the cries of a caged animal. A number of young people were dancing. Ginny was practically dragging around a visibly exhausted Colin Creevey; Harry considered it appropriate punishment for his hand in the Teen Witch Weekly article. Several women were seated around a table near the door to the kitchen. Harry could see Professor McGonagall at the near end, brightly lit in profile. She was watching one couple with evident disapproval.

Harry looked closer at the couple, and realised that it was Ron and Lavender Brown. Enchanted lanterns backlit the entire front of the garden, and Harry couldn't see any light shining between the two as they wriggled provocatively. Harry looked for Mrs. Weasley, and eventually spotted her sitting very stiffly at the far end of the table. He could see no sign of Mrs. Granger. Every time Harry's eyes passed over Ron and Lavender, he became a little angrier.

“Oy, Harry!” said Neville, tapping Harry on the shoulder.

Harry forcibly exhaled, and settled a bit. “Hello, Neville. I expected you'd be with Ginny,” Harry said.

“With Ginny? No, I did my bit - you know, sympathetic ear and all that. I thought I'd leave the rest to Colin.” Neville gestured toward the elder Creevey, sweat-soaked and trembling as Ginny spun him around.

“Looks like a good decision,” Harry observed.

“I've got something for you… it's in here somewhere,” Neville said, fishing around the inside of his cloak. “Ah!” He produced a small box wrapped in red paper.

“You didn't need to bring anything,” Harry said, tugging at the paper. Inside the box were a small stone bowl and a smaller silver cylinder, elaborately engraved.

“It's a -” Neville began.

“It's a Solicitor's Pensieve… I know,” Harry interjected.

“Then you know how they work?” Neville asked. “Gran and Great-Uncle Algie both think they're dead useful.”

“I had a good long look at one last night,” Harry said ruefully.

“Last night… oh!” Neville lowered his forehead into his open hand. “Goodness, I didn't mean… and I said `dead'! There I go again, mucking up everything!”

“It's a smashing gift - really,” Harry assured him. “It must have been terribly expensive, though.”

“Gran covered most of it,” Neville admitted. “It's her way of thanking you for putting up with me. Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I'll put it to good use, I'm sure of that.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Neville said. “I owled Hermione about the Droobles wrappers. She promised she'd have a look when we get back to Hogwarts.”

“That's great, Neville. I hope there's something to the wrappers, you know - I mean that,” said Harry.

“I don't know,” Neville said distantly. “Part of me wants to be wrong. I don't know what would be worse - thinking that they're gone, or knowing that they're, you know, trapped somehow… I don't know, Harry.”

“If you want to talk about this…” Harry began.

Neville brightened a bit. “I might like that sometime. Not tonight, though. It's a party, right?”

“I would have brought you something, if I'd known you would be here. It's your birthday, too,” Harry said.

“It was yesterday, actually,” Neville said. “How did you know that?”

“Erm… you must have said something once,” Harry covered.

Neville nodded. “I suppose I must have. Hermione brought me a gift - it's a book on memory charms… Harry?”

Harry absently shook Neville's hand. “Listen… thanks again; it's really smashing. I just need to… I'll see you soon, right?” He walked briskly toward the pond.

He could barely make out Hermione and Mr. Granger, sitting together on the bank. He didn't notice Mrs. Granger sitting on the low garden wall until he had passed her.

“Hello, Harry,” she said quietly.

Harry froze. “Hello, Mrs. Granger. I was just checking -”

“They've been sitting like that for half an hour,” Mrs. Granger whispered.

Harry took a deep breath and hopped up to sit beside her on the garden wall. “Is that good?” he asked.

“They haven't spent that much time together all summer,” she admitted.

“Then it's good,” he concluded.

“What did you say to Tom?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“I don't know - a lot of things,” Harry answered.

“I wasn't thrilled to see him riding with you. He used to have a motorbike. Now I suppose I'll have to talk him out of picking up a new one,” she complained.

“I didn't mean anything by it, ma'am,” Harry explained. “He asked me for a ride, and I gave it to him. He said… flying seemed to change his perspective, I thought. He said that Hermione didn't tell either of you much about Hogwarts, and that he didn't understand why.”

“What did you say to Tom?” she asked again.

“I said I didn't understand it either,” Harry answered her. “I told him that if I could have my parents back, I'd never stop talking. I told him that I would die to protect Hermione. I told him that maybe you should move, if that would keep her safe.”

Mrs. Granger's expression changed. “I'm sorry - you told him what?” Harry wished that he could read her face, but he couldn't; she was more guarded than Hermione.

Harry shrugged, and quietly repeated, “I told him that you should move, if that would keep her safe.”

Mrs. Granger fired questions at him. “You actually told him that? Harry, did you mean it? Do you believe you could accept that, should it come to pass?”

His arms suddenly felt heavy. He felt as though the basic forces of his body were failing him, as though he needed to think in order to breathe in and out. “I don't… I'm not sure… I really can't…”

Mrs. Granger looked at him with sad eyes that, for a moment, became the eyes of her daughter. “Tell me what you're feeling. It's important that I know,” she insisted.

He had to choose between holding his tongue and holding back tears. He couldn't bring himself to cry in front of her, so he instead blurted out, “It would be like giving up part of myself.”

“I see,” Mrs. Granger said. She let her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, before she slipped down from the garden wall and made for the house.

“That's why we should be apart,” he whispered.

Hermione and Mr. Granger stood and embraced. She caught sight of Harry and raised her hand in greeting. Mr. Granger strode toward him.

Upon reaching Harry, Mr. Granger took his hand. “She talked to me,” he said. “It was long overdue… you look a bit off, Harry. Are you…?” He caught sight of Mrs. Granger walking away.

“Cordelia and I need to talk now, I suspect,” Mr. Granger said. “I think that Hermione could use a friend, instead of her father. Take over, would you?”

The light of the half-moon dappled the surface of the pond and highlighted Hermione's hair. She was wearing jeans, a plain white shirt, and a necklace that made him notice the way her hair draped over her shoulders. Harry thought a hundred thoughts, and at least ninety of them felt terribly inappropriate between friends. They were quickly quelled as the moonlight flickered off the tear streaks on her face.

He stood before her. Her head lowered, but not before he saw one corner of her mouth turn upward a bit. “You dropped out of the sky to bring me my father - that was quite a sight,” she said.

“Ron's an arse,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

The other corner of her mouth turned upward. “You don't even know what was said.”

“I don't have to know. You ran away from him and he made you cry,” Harry said. “Then he made Luna cry, and he's making a complete fool of himself as we speak -”

She looked up at him. “He made Luna cry?” He decided that he had to avoid her eyes.

“She tried to be nice to him, and he snapped at her,” Harry explained. “His own brothers stuck up for her.”

“Aren't you interested in what was said?” Hermione asked.

“I can guess. Ron's fancied you for a long time,” Harry said.

“Ginny always insisted that he did, but I didn't want to believe her,” she told Harry. “I suppose I've known for quite a while. He was just so, erm, formal. It didn't feel like being asked for a date; it felt like he was proposing marriage. I reacted badly, I think.”

“Would you have reacted differently if he'd been, I don't know, less formal?” he asked.

“I don't think I could date Ron. He's just so… so… I don't know, he's just Ron,” she tried to explain. “I should have taken Ginny seriously; at least I would have been prepared. Speaking of, um, proposals, Ginny didn't by any chance…?”

Harry frowned. “Let's move on, shall we?”

Hermione snorted. “Went that well, did it?”

“The twins stirred her up, I tried to settle her, and she kissed me. Then she decided she was over me,” he said.

“She kissed you… wait, she's over you?” Hermione's brow furrowed. “Just like that, after five years? That doesn't add up.”

Harry shrugged. “She tried to convince me to chase after you, right before Ron showed up. I asked her what she was playing at, and she said that we should go and get over each other.”

Hermione hesitated. “Each other? She said that?”

“Exactly like that,” Harry repeated. “`Go and get over each other', she said.”

Hermione looked around furtively. “I see,” she said.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “You look a bit pale.”

She looked past him and her eyes widened. “Who is that?” she asked.

“Where?” Harry looked around, his wand already drawn.

“Over there,” she said, pointing. “It looks like someone sneaking off into the woods.”

Harry squinted, and then hesitated. “I… can't tell - too far away,” he lied.

Hermione peered into the distance, and her mouth formed a silent `O' as she recognised Ron and Lavender Brown.

Harry made a show of looking again, and then exclaimed, “What is he thinking? I told you he was making an arse of himself.”

“He said he wanted to take me to the tree house! It's where all his brothers took their girlfriends, he said! How could he do this to me?” she cried. “And with her, of all people - not an hour later, and he's trading me off for a ditsy Essex girl!”

Harry didn't know what to do, so he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. She pounded at one of his shoulders with her fist, and buried her head against his neck. She shouted obscenities into his ear. He held her tighter and she winced; the obscenities dissolved into loud sobbing. He quickly softened his embrace, cursing himself for hurting her. He rode waves of rage and calm - his urge to rip out Ron's throat was muted by his desire to comfort Hermione.

He saw more movement in the distance. He squinted, and told her, “I see something that might improve your mood.”

“What, did that stupid cow fall out of the tree?” she asked between sniffs.

“No, but this could be even better,” he offered. “Trust me.”

Hermione lifted her face from his chest, and looked toward the trees. “Who is that?” she asked.

“Take a closer look,” he said.

“Oh! It's Fred and George… are they carrying a box?” she asked.

“Ickle Ronnie's in for a treat, I'll wager,” Harry spat, “and I plan to savour every minute.”

“You're really furious with him, aren't you?” she asked quietly.

“Of course I am! He must have meant to hurt you. I'm not sure I can forgive him for that,” Harry declared. He added, “You seem surprised.”

“I wasn't sure where you would stand,” she admitted. “He's your best friend.”

“No, he isn't,” Harry said. “I meant what I said last night.”

She looked into his eyes, before he had a change to look away. “Oh,” she said, just as the woods exploded in soundless light.

Silent bright-white fireworks seemed to consume the trees. The epicentre of the brilliant light was an enormous tree house. Bright red words glowed all around the tree house - PRAT, LOSER, and BACKSTABBER, to name some of the more charitable choices.

Hermione gaped at the display. Harry spotted Fred and George at the edge of the woods, and began cheering loudly. They bowed elaborately, and Hermione began to laugh. She laughed until tears were again running down her cheeks.

“I almost feel sorry for him,” she laughed.

“Don't,” Harry said firmly.

“I said `almost',” Hermione reminded him. Charlie Weasley appeared from nowhere, and raced after the twins. Bill Weasley stared at the shining tree, shook his head, and began casting counter-curses.

Mr. Weasley appeared next to Bill. For the first time that Harry could recall, he was visibly angry. “Fred! George! Get back here and help Bill make this right! Did you want to bring the entire village out here? As for you, Ron, I've had just about enough of you! Are you trying to see how many young women you can humiliate in one night?”

Ron's head peeked out of the tree house. The twins' display still illuminated half the garden, including the spot where Harry and Hermione stood. Ron looked directly at Hermione, silently pleading.

She turned, and walked away along the bank of the pond away from the tree. Harry quickly followed. “You wanted to talk to me about last night?” he asked.

“I think I've had enough,” Hermione told him. “Could I come by Grimmauld Place tomorrow?”

“That would be nice,” Harry said. “You can look over the library, as well.”

She lit up. “I saw it over Christmas! There must be over a thousand volumes in there, and another two to three hundred scrolls.”

“That should keep you busy for a week or two,” Harry teased.

She smiled, and they continued to walk along the perimeter of the pond.

“You really consider me your best friend, then?” she asked.

He was weighing an answer, when a terrible shriek burst from the inner garden. A second, and then a third joined it. Three shrill voices spewed vile filth into the night at a hundred and twenty decibels.

“Howlers?” Hermione asked.

Harry thought for a moment. “You don't suppose…?”

“Suppose what?”

Harry explained about the Teen Witch Weekly article as they hurried toward the house. Hermione launched into a searing diatribe about the sorry state of the wizarding press, Rita Skeeter, and how Teen Witch Weekly poisoned the minds of young witches.

Dumbledore stood at the head of the garden, robes billowing and wand waving. A score of owls bearing red envelopes toward the Burrow abruptly flew off.

“I shall set up a blind drop,” he told Mrs. Weasley, who appeared shaken. “All posts to Ginny will be directed there first, where they can be screened. We have employed a drop for the Grangers' all summer, and it has been very effective.” Harry watched Hermione for a reaction. When none came, he assumed that she was aware of the precaution. He wondered how many times Dumbledore had ordered his posts screened without telling him.

Dumbledore spotted him. “Good evening, Harry. More to the point… happy birthday! I wish that I had happier tidings to pass along. Might we find a moment to talk?”

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand. She said, “I'll see how Ginny is faring.”

Harry nodded, and then turned his attention to Dumbledore. “Let's get this over with,” he said flatly.