Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Chapter Five

MASTER OF THE HOUSE

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.

Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing - Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second.

But Sirius did not reappear.

“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled, “SIRIUS!”

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again….

But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, someone grabbed him around the chest, holding him back.

“There's nothing you can do, Harry -”

“Get him, save him; he's only just gone through!”

“It's too late, Harry -”

“We can still reach him -”

Harry struggled hard and viciously. “Let me go - let me go through!” he shouted.

“Why would you want to do that?” Sirius said, tightening his hold around Harry's chest. “I'm not lonely, Harry. I've plenty of company.”

Lupin poked at the veil. “Good-bye, Harry,” he said mournfully, falling through.

Dumbledore laughed, “Time for the next great adventure, Harry,” winked at him, and dove headfirst through the veil.

Ron clutched Hermione's hand. Ron said, “See `ya soon, mate,” and walked into the veil. Hermione cried, “I'm so sorry, Harry,” as Ron pulled her through. Ginny said brightly, “Can't be late! `Bye, Harry!” Then she was gone along with Luna, Neville, and the rest.

The arm around Harry's chest pulled away. “It's just us now, Harry,” Voldemort hissed. “Time to truly live.”

July 30

Harry woke up flailing at the air. The room was blurry, and he found himself crouched on the floor between the writing desk and bed. He dragged his hand across the floor, and found his bent eyeglasses. A soft grey glow came through the bay of windows.

He stumbled to the bed, sat down on its edge, and sighed. Yet another variation on his summer-long dream churned in his mind. I want you out of my head, Sirius, he thought.

Harry stripped off his clothes, and pulled on the T-shirt and boxers. There was nothing planned until evening, and he felt like he hadn't slept at all. He lay down on the bed, and tried in vain to shake off the dream. It wasn't exactly reassuring that it ended with Voldemort; his absence had been the only satisfying part of Harry's nights since leaving Hogwarts.

He's out killing Muggles, but he's not in my head - that's strange. My scar hasn't even hurt, Harry thought, as he drifted off to sleep again…

Harry stood in a familiar dark room, lit by dim and flickering candlelight. Wormtail knelt before him.

“His anger has faded away,” Harry said, in a chilling voice strangled with frustration. “How disappointing.”

“Master, forgive me for my failures,” said Wormtail, trembling.

Harry sneered, “Your entire existence is unforgivable, slave. However, you have not failed. You brought me the runes I sought. I will reward you by allowing you to continue serving me.”

“Anything for you, My Lord,” Wormtail whispered, prostrating himself on the floor.

“It is time to attempt the curse. If it is successful, then I will start the path to my final success - I will rule forever,” Harry declared, very pleased with himself. “Stand before me, my slave.”

Wormtail scurried forward in haste.

“He must feel pain. He shall hate me more than he has ever hated, and I shall own his rage,” said Harry. “Now I shall turn my attention to the curse. Bring the victim.”

Two cloaked Death Eaters dragged in a bound figure, obscured by shadow.

“Have the preparations been made?” Harry snapped.

“Yes, My Lord,” said one of the Death Eaters.

“Very well . . . you may go. Wormtail, tell Malfoy to continue his efforts. Remind him of the consequences should he be foolish enough to cross me. I want you to accelerate the plans for Potter - I want you to begin with the ending. I will glean the most important information myself, but I shall trust you with the lesser details. Do this for me, my slave, and I shall reward you in ways beyond your understanding. Fail me, and you shall truly wish that you were never born. GO!”

Wormtail left, bowing and scraping, and Harry focused on his bound victim.

“You're so transparent,” Harry said, as he walked in a circle around the figure writhing on the floor. He waved his wand in complex patterns. “I know exactly what you want. I can feel it, you weak-minded fool. You want it so badly.”

Harry stopped, and read from symbols carved on a small stone. “Together, we can have it,” he told his victim. “Don't worry, this won't hurt - well, not for long. Phasma transtuli!”

Dobby tugged at Harry's shirt. “Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is waking you up, sir! Harry Potter was screaming so! Dobby and Winky thought there must surely be danger!”

The red door flung open. Lupin rushed in, clad in his bedclothes. “Harry, are you all right?”

Harry murmured, “Fine. Where are…?” Dobby handed him his glasses. The sun shone brightly through the bay windows.

Lupin pressed the back of his hand against Harry's forehead, and Harry winced. “You're warm, and you look peaked,” he said. “What were you dreaming about? Was he there?”

Harry said weakly, “He fell through the veil, but he didn't… it was very strange.”

Lupin's voice turned misty. “Oh… I didn't mean Sirius.”

Harry struggled for focus. There was Sirius, and then there was Voldemort, and then there was a curse he'd never heard before and couldn't clearly remember. He started talking in a jumble. “Voldemort was - there were two of them, and - I couldn't see the person and - the orders for Wormtail -”

Lupin's face reddened. “Wormtail was there? Harry, where was he? Tell me!”

“I don't know,” Harry told him, “it was dark -”

“I have to know where he is!” Lupin shouted. “Where is he? Tell me where he is!”

Harry scooted away from Lupin. “I don't know,” he insisted. “Don't you think I want to know? I want to kill him, too!”

Lupin shrank back. “I want justice, Harry,” he said firmly. “I want justice. I'm sorry, I shouldn't … I'm sorry I shouted at you.”

Dobby stood very still on the end of the bed. He asked fearfully, “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was here?”

“No, Dobby,” Harry said. “It was a dream, that's all.”

Lupin slowly returned to the mournful expression he had worn since collecting Harry from Privet Drive. “I need to owl Dumbledore. You'll tell him everything?”

“Fine,” Harry said flatly. “I'd like to be alone.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing and simply left the room with Dobby.

While he was dressing, he heard an insistent tapping at his window. “Hedwig!” he exclaimed, and raced to open one of the panes.

The snowy owl shot at him, and pecked him several times before settling down.

“I'm sorry we left without you, Hedwig. I'll be here for a while,” he said, stroking her feathers. There was a letter tied to her, and he quickly opened it.

Dear Harry,

Hedwig has been hanging about the Burrow and I thought you might like her back. I wasn't going to write, what with Dumbledore telling everyone to let you alone. We've been thinking about you constantly since the letters came from Gringotts.

Then we heard the good news from Tonks last night. I'm sure you're happy to be away from your horrid relatives at last. I don't know why Mum's in such a snit over the whole thing. She and Dad had a bit of a row about it.

We thought you might like some company in that ghastly old house. Dad said that I could come with Fred and George to have a visit, but we weren't able to Floo into the house. George says we could take the Knight Bus, but Fred says it makes him queasy. I don't believe him, and wonder if he might have been banned. Luna is staying with us, and wondered if she could come as well. Could you look into what's wrong with the Floo, and let us know?

Love,

Ginny

Harry wandered downstairs, and found Dobby moving chairs into the drawing room.

“Dobby, some friends of mine tried to Floo in, but they couldn't. I'm fairly sure that they had permission to access the house,” he told the house-elf.

“Harry Potter must simply tell Dobby who may or may not enter,” Dobby told him. “Mister Sirius Black left instructions for keeping out undesirables, although Dobby is not so sure about his idea of undesirable.”

“Can you arrange it so that the Weasleys can Floo in from the Burrow?” Harry asked.

“I will do as you ask, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said, and the house-elf swooned. “I'll go and owl them straight away.”

“Sir, Dobby can go to the Burrow and tell Harry Potter's friends that the Floo is open,” Dobby offered, “if that is desired.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, smiling. “I never thought of that. I'm sure Hedwig would like a rest.” Dobby left the room, and returned with a pop! several minutes later.

Not long after that, George Weasley plunged head first from the drawing room fireplace onto the floor. Dobby immediately set after him with a brush. Fred wasn't far behind; he came out spinning and flopped onto his back. Ginny only stumbled a bit, and Luna Lovegood walked out of the fireplace as though she were strolling through the front door.

Ginny laughed at her brothers. “Haven't Floo'd lately?” she teased.

Fred scowled. “How long is it before you can take your Apparation test?”

George howled, “Enough brushing!” and rolled away from Dobby, who quickly set after the others.

“You're looking fit, Harry. What kind of chores did your uncle give you this time?” Fred asked.

George smiled. “They must have fed you this year. You're not our ickle Harrykins anymore.”

Fred's eyebrows furrowed. “You remember our sister, don't you, Harry? Shall we introduce you?”

Ginny glared at Fred, and walked over to Harry. “It's good to see you. We were worried, you know, especially after… well, after the letter about Sirius.” Harry stiffened a bit, and Ginny enveloped him in a hug, much to his surprise. Fred saw the look on Harry's face, and broke into a grin. Harry wasn't sure what to do with his arms, and settled on resting them lightly around Ginny's shoulders.

“I'm glad to see you, too. I didn't set out to worry anyone,” he said, disengaging from her.

Harry wasn't sure that he would have recognised Luna straight away, except for the string of butterbeer caps around her neck. She had cut her hair extremely short and changed the colour from mousy to almost platinum blonde. Her clothes were oversized and mismatched, but not shocking; she wouldn't have jumped out in a crowd of Muggle teens, Harry thought. She wore thick, heavy-looking boots, and her wand was tucked into one of them.

Luna ran her fingers through the closely cropped hair above her ear, and murmured, “Won't stay there anymore.” She very formally extended her hand to Harry, palm down, and said in a sing-song voice, “Nice to see you, Harry. I like the Sirius Black look - it's very becoming.”

Harry smiled. He impulsively took Luna's hand and kissed it, like he'd seen once in an old movie on the telly. She snorted in return, and Ginny gaped at both of them.

“Find any Snorkacks?” Harry asked.

“Not the Crumple-Horned variety,” Luna said. “Muggles apparently call the standard variety `reindeer'. I thought that was rather odd, myself. They do look a bit like deer, but none of them had reins of any sort. Oh - Daddy told me to thank you again, Harry. It was the best time we've had together since Mother died.”

Harry said, “I should thank him for supporting me last year. I'll have to meet him sometime.”

Luna twirled her string of butterbeer caps. “Ooooh,” she said, “he has a lot of questions for you. Maybe he could see you when he gets back. He's off following up on a story. A very reliable source told him that Fudge has arranged to sell his soul to some dark Druids in exchange for absolute power.” Ginny quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

Harry said with a straight face, “I'll be interested to know what he finds out. Fudge seems capable of anything.” Fred snickered, and George tried to shake Harry by making faces.

Ginny said, “Luna's staying with us until Mr. Lovegood comes back. It's not really safe to be alone right now.”

Harry realised her implication, and told her, “Remus Lupin's staying here. Dobby lives here now, of course, and Winky came with him.” She seemed to brighten.

George walked slowly around the room. “It's strange to see the place thoroughly cleaned. I always wondered if the stains were actually holding up the walls, instead of the plaster,” he said. “The house-elves did all of this?”

“Unbelievable, isn't it?” Harry said. “Most of the house is this clean. They pulled the portraits down, as well.”

Fred's eyes widened. “Even Moody didn't manage that!” he exclaimed. “Boy, Mum won't believe how well this cleaned up.”

Ginny grumbled, “Oh, I'm sure Mum would be thrilled.”

“So where's Ron?” Harry asked.

Fred said, “Ron's a little tired, you know.”

“He's down in the dumps lately… decided to stay in bed this morning,” George added.

Ginny clenched her jaw. “He's a wanker, a great big wanker,” she said.

“Ginny!” Fred warned.

Luna frowned, and said gravely, “Now Ginny, Ronald can't be a wanker. He looks nothing at all like one.”

Fred asked, with a devilish look on his face, “Luna, how is it that you would know what a wanker looks like?”

Before Luna could speak, George butted in, “Don't answer that!”

Harry expected Ginny to break down and turn crimson, but she stood her ground. “Fred Weasley, don't you treat me like a child!” she said, mustering a fair imitation of their mother. “Ron's having a hard summer, but he's not the only one! He's being horrible, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise!” She stormed out of the room.

Luna shrugged her shoulders. “Ta-ta for now,” she said, and bounced after Ginny.

Harry looked to the twins, puzzled. “What was all that?” he asked.

Fred and George looked at each other, and Fred began, “Ron's not exactly himself.”

“He's been a bit off since he came home,” George added.

Fred explained, “That brain business did something to him. He's made the rounds, but no one's certain what happened.”

“I thought Madam Pomfrey treated him,” Harry said.

“She treated the scars,” Fred replied. “She didn't fix his fool head.”

George scowled. “We're not getting a lot of sleep this summer. We sort of hoped you might talk to him. You have some experience with this sort of thing, after all.”

“You know, the voices-in-the-head, screaming-all-night-long kind of thing?” Fred added.

George sighed. “Problem is, Ron doesn't want to see you.”

Harry felt like he'd been struck by a stunning spell. He tried to ask “Why?” but couldn't push the word out of his mouth.

George said, “It might have helped a bit if you'd owled him, at least once.”

Fred jumped in, “But Ginny's right, to a point. He is being a wanker.”

“He's just become overly sensitive when it comes to you, Harry,” qualified George.

“No,” said Fred, “he's become a jealous prat. He has a problem with your good press, among other things.”

Harry looked at the twins blankly. Fred fished inside his lurid jacket, and drew out a folded section of newsprint. “I was saving this to toy with Ginny and Luna, but it makes my point. Look below the fold,” he told Harry, handing him the paper.

It was the front page of that morning's Daily Prophet. Below the fold, there were two pictures beneath a headline:

OUT OF THE SHADOWS AT LAST

The Boy-Who-Lived appears at Diagon Alley!

One picture was of Harry sitting with Neville and the little blonde-haired girl. He was leaning in to talk to the girl, and Neville was looking anxious. It was from an angle, with Harry appearing in the foreground - he realised that the girl's mother hadn't snapped the picture. The caption read, `Harry Potter [left], sitting at Gringotts with a friend from Hogwarts and a young fan'.

The other picture was of a vaguely familiar teenaged girl kissing Harry on the cheek. The photographer had managed to catch him after the initial shock had worn off, and had instead captured a trace of a smile on Harry's face. The caption read, `Potter fan Gretchen Hargrove [right] manages a quick smooch'. Harry felt his stomach roll, but forced himself to read the accompanying article.

Seldom seen in public, Harry Potter had an opportunity to savour his popularity yesterday. While visiting Gringotts, the Boy-Who-Lived took the time to greet more than one hundred fans and well-wishers. He posed for several photographs, and gave out a few very rare autographs. “I can't believe he asked my name, and he signed my copy of Witch Weekly!” gasped Ethelyn Griswold, of Marsdon.

His younger fans were equally smitten. “He's brilliant at Quidditch, and absolutely gorgeous, too,” gushed Gretchen Hargrove, of Lower Gatwick, who recently completed her fourth year in Hogwarts' Hufflepuff House, “and I love what he's done with his hair!” Hargrove managed to sneak a kiss from Potter, who appeared to enjoy it; and several other young witches managed hugs and autographs.

There were critics on hand, as well. “It's shameful he's made to live with Muggles,” opined Esmeralda Gobstopp, of Birmingham, “they've ruined him with their slovenly dress and lack of discipline.” A few organizations, notably the Daughters of the Goblin Wars, have openly objected to Potter as a role model, citing his upbringing by Muggles as well as his mixed parentage.

For his part, Potter seemed unaware of the groundswell of support spawned by his bravery at the Ministry for Magic in June. He was whisked away by Gringotts security goblins after a few minutes. An anonymous Gringotts employee told the Daily Prophet that Potter was visiting the bank in regard to his family trust, which is reputedly among the largest in the United Kingdom.

“I'm going to stay in this house for the rest of my life,” Harry said in a dazed monotone. He held the paper with his fingertips, arm extended, as if it were a dangerous snake. Fred snatched it away from him.

“It's not that bad,” offered Fred, “and we promise not to rub your nose in it.”

George said, “Not today, at least, but that's not the point. Look at this from Ron's point of view -”

Fred cut in, “You mean Ron's jealous, delusional point of view?”

George nodded. “That's the one. Harry, you get all the attention. For Neville, being Harry Potter's friend from Hogwarts is a step up. Ron shoots a little higher, you know. The Prophet never mentioned anyone but you by name, not once. It was always `Harry Potter and his friends' that went to the Ministry.”

“Let me, George - I've got one,” Fred said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “You get all the girls.”

Harry started, “But that's ridiculous. No one but Cho Chang has ever -”

Fred slowly shook his head from side to side. “Sorry, Harry - you might as well have a Sticking Charm on you. It doesn't matter what you do with your power; it only matters that you have it. We're working with Ron's point of view here, remember?”

“Can't leave out the money, Fred,” George chimed in. “Ron's never had two Knuts to rub together. You're rolling in Galleons, Harry.”

“But I've never -” Harry wailed.

George cut him off. “You've never lorded your money over Ron, not as far as we've ever seen. Look what you did for us, and without a second thought. It's just like the girl thing, Harry - you have it, and he doesn't. He thinks his life is one giant hand-me-down.”

Harry looked at his shoes. “Is it that bad?”

“It was always there, I suppose,” Fred observed, “but everything's been different since the Ministry. He's just, I don't know… dark?”

George nodded. “Dark, and cranky, and picky. Nothing's ever right. The cup isn't half-empty, Harry; it's dry.”

“The first two weeks back, he was obsessed with making Head Boy,” Fred said, cringing. “Rules, rules, rules - he made Hermione seem indulgent.”

George leaned toward Harry, and whispered conspiratorially, “We were afraid he was becoming…”

The twins shivered and exclaimed in horror, “Percy!”

Harry eyed them suspiciously. “Why are you telling me all this? I mean, Ron's your brother. Shouldn't you be, I don't know, sticking up for him?”

Fred put his arm around Harry's shoulder. “Harry, you're more than just a friend and business partner. You're like the brother we never had.”

“Fred, we have four brothers,” George pointed out.

“Okay, you're like the brother we should have had,” Fred added. “Percy is definitely a wanker, Charlie's never around, Bill's preoccupied with shagging, and now Ron's gone `round the twist.”

George stared daggers at Fred. “Harry,” he said, “what Fred should be saying is that Ron really needs friends now. Ron doesn't see it that way, but we're right and he's wrong. We're asking you to stick it out with him.”

Fred frowned. “All right, I'll be serious. George is right. We think Ron could get himself in trouble, acting like this. We hope that you can put up with him.”

Harry asked, “What about Hermione? She's been keeping up with him, right?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “She's not exactly a prize this summer, either.”

George scowled at Fred. “Let up on her a bit. She's practically a prisoner in her own house. How would you be, cooped up with Mum for a month?”

“Urgh,” Fred said.

“My point exactly,” George continued. “She's been over a time or two, and they've been owling each other. She seemed to think this Head Boy business of his was, what did she say, a `healthy coping mechanism'? Thank Merlin he's given up on it.”

“Hermione's as far `round the twist as Ron, as far as I can see,” Fred said. “Tonks says she's fragile right now, and we should be nice. Of course, George hangs on every word that comes out of Tonks' mouth -”

George crossed his arms. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“You can listen to her all day long, for all I care,” Fred said, grinning, “as long as she never, ever sets foot in the store or the lab - unless you want to blow up half of Diagon Alley.”

Harry laughed, as he imagined Tonks dropping or stumbling into some of the twins' more interesting creations. He was about to ask them about the store when Ginny and Luna returned, followed by Lupin. Fred grinned and fiddled with the folded front page from the Daily Prophet, but thought better of it. Ginny's expression suggested that she might be combustible.

Lupin said to Harry, “Dobby seems to think you might be due for a change of wardrobe. Is everything a hand-me-down from your cousin?”

“They're better hand-me-downs than they used to be,” Harry said ruefully.

Lupin showed a hint of a smile. “Some shopping might be in order this afternoon, then?”

Harry decided, “Some new denims and a few shirts wouldn't hurt. I've no idea where a person goes for that. I'm not going to Diagon Alley, that's for sure.”

Ginny asked, “Why not?”

Before Fred could unfurl the paper, Luna turned her attention to the ceiling and observed, “There aren't many options for clothing, unless you want robes, boots, or those jackets your dear brothers adore.”

Fred tucked away the paper. “What's wrong with our jackets? This is the finest dragon scale! What's wrong - you don't like the colours?”

“I sense a need to stand out in the crowd,” Luna sang off-key, and Fred turned red.

“I have some idea about where to go,” Lupin said. “Ladies, under other circumstances, I would invite you. However, I expect that Mrs. Weasley -”

“Would prefer to ruin her daughter's life,” Ginny finished for him, hands on hips.

“Ginny -” Harry began.

“She'll be fine, Harry,” George interjected. “Gin, Mum would blow a gasket if you went out into Muggle London, even with us.”

Fred smirked. “Especially with us.”

“Besides, we'll see you again tonight, Harry,” George said.

“Huh?”

“We received letters from Gringotts,” George explained. “The reading of the will starts around ten, right?”

Harry's spirits crashed at the thought of the will. “Erm, see you tonight then,” he managed.

Luna said, “See you tomorrow, perhaps?”

Ginny exclaimed, “Luna!”

“What? What did I say?” Luna asked. “I intentionally said perhaps, as it's possible that I may or may not see Harry tomorrow. I can't imagine how I could be incorrect - I covered both choices.”

Fred pushed Luna toward the fireplace. “Let's head back, then, before you start in on our jackets again.” George tapped his index finger against his temple, and shook his head sadly.

“It was nice to see you, Harry. I really was worried, you know,” Ginny said, lightly hugging him again before joining her brothers. Harry was just as awkward as before, and that seemed to please George immensely.

Lupin suggested to Harry that they go to a market. This made little sense to Harry, since Dobby and Winky were taking care of the kitchen duties. He was very surprised when the Muggle taxi let them out on the edge of several blocks crowded with stands, tables, and throngs of people. It appeared to Harry that a person might buy anything in the world right there on the sidewalks.

Harry was immediately attracted to a rack of waist-length coats made mostly of leather. The vendor proceeded to tell him a meandering tale about their history as aviator jackets during a long-ago war. Lupin whispered in Harry's ear, telling him that this was an obvious tactic for driving up the price. Harry had never haggled before, but decided that it was rather fun. Lupin told Harry that he did a fair job of it, but warned him to be more cautious about flashing around fifty-pound notes when it was time to pay. The next purchase was a wallet.

He found denims, and shirts, and other necessaries. He tried on a vividly coloured pair of trainers made for running, and took those as well. One stand extended from a storefront, which sold formal clothes. Lupin gently suggested to Harry that he consider purchasing a suit for the evening. After much prodding, he settled on a dark grey and black three-piece suit that required alterations. Lupin whispered to Harry that Winky could surely take care of that. Harry had no interest in ties, after wearing a school uniform for five years. One of the salespeople tried gamely to match ties to the suit, but Harry settled on two banded-collar dress shirts, one white and one black. Formal shoes were even worse than ties, as far as Harry was concerned. He had not worn shoes other than trainers for any length of time, and the stiff leather shoes pinched his toes and chafed his heels. At length, he settled on a pair of black slip-ons that weren't completely irritating.

Lupin and Harry bought food from carts. Harry avoided anything that seemed familiar; according to Lupin, that was what Sirius would have done. He wolfed down something called `vindaloo', which made his eyes water and lingered in his mouth for some time. Lupin said that eating from the carts was suicidal, but went along just the same. There were performers everywhere, it seemed; Lupin called them “buskers”. Harry managed to talk two of them into showing him how to juggle, while Lupin watched with amusement. After about ten minutes, Harry was able to briefly manage four balls at a time. He wanted to learn how to eat fire. Lupin discreetly reminded Harry that the buskers were using Muggle fire, which was quite hot. Harry shook his head at Lupin for stating the obvious, but moved on nonetheless.

It was a fine evening, and they walked halfway back to Grimmauld Place before hailing a taxi. Winky did indeed know how to alter clothing, and soon the suit fit Harry as if it were made for him. Harry fussed with his hair. It was as thick as ever, but a bit more manageable with the extra length. He tried sweeping it back, but that made his scar stand out. He settled on combing the sides back.

Winky had taken apart Harry's old denims and shirts and fashioned a quirky imitation of a butler's uniform for Dobby, who proudly strutted and skipped around the house. Diggle arrived shortly past eight, and began conferring with Dobby immediately after exchanging a few words with Lupin. The drawing room had long since been laid out for the reading of Sirius Black's Last Will and Testament.

The sound of the silver knocker echoed through the entry hall at half past eight. Harry heard Dobby offer greetings, and he made his way down the stairs.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore said, “you cut a dashing figure in that suit.” Harry gave the slightest of nods in acknowledgement.

The man with Dumbledore lowered the hood of his cloak, and Harry instantly spat, “What are you doing here? Get out of my house!”

Dumbledore said calmly, “Harry, please be civil.”

Severus Snape sneered, “If you take the time to confer with the house-elf, Potter, you will see that I'm on the list of attendees. Black arranged for me to receive a letter, and only Merlin knows why. I have come against my better judgment.”

“I can't imagine Sirius would have left you anything other than a good hexing,” seethed Harry.

“That is quite possible,” Snape sneered, “but I'm sure that I can count on Professor Dumbledore for any necessary counter-curses.”

Harry walked toward Snape until they were a few inches apart. He raged, “The moment this is over, get out! I suggest that you remember I'm of age now.”

“Are you actually threatening me, Potter? Oh, help, please, I'm so frightened. Save me from this whelp of a schoolboy,” Snape mocked.

“Severus -” Dumbledore warned.

“You won't be treating me or my friends badly anymore, Snape,” Harry said firmly.

Snape glared, but Harry noticed with some satisfaction that he took a small step backward. “Or what?” he taunted.

Harry set his jaw. “Or there won't be enough left of you to boil in your cauldron,” he said through clenched teeth. “I will never forgive you for what you did to me last year - never! Your so-called lessons left me defenceless, and that helped get Sirius killed. You remember that, when you're … GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

Harry quickly focused his mind on recalling the feeling of the Cruciatus Curse when Voldemort cast it on him. He concentrated hard on the torture that had racked every muscle in his body, the nausea so powerful that spewing up was no longer an option, the longing for an end - any end at all.

Snape dropped to his knees, and his eyes went out of focus. He made a kind of grunting sound.

Harry felt Dumbledore's hand rest on his shoulder. “Enough, Harry,” the Headmaster said.

Harry didn't want it to be enough. He pictured Cedric's death, and the horror he had felt, the crushing responsibility for a life lost - and then the responsibility for the pain in the lives of everyone close to him. Harry thought about how he'd been robbed of any chance at a real life, as long as Voldemort was alive.

“Harry, you've made your point - stop this immediately,” Dumbledore said firmly, and his hand squeezed harder.

It wasn't enough. I want you to know, Snape, he thought, I want you to know what it really means to be me. He recalled the prophecy, all of it.

Snape's eyes snapped open. His face was devoid of expression, and his eyes bored into Harry. Snape's head wobbled, and his breathing became ragged.

“Harry, let him go! Now!” Dumbledore exclaimed, shaking Harry roughly. Harry closed his eyes, and tried to think of something good. He settled for thinking of nothing at all.

Snape dropped onto his hands and knees, gasping. After struggling to his feet, he managed a cruel smile. “I - told you - my - methods - would be - effective - Albus,” he managed to say between breaths.

Dumbledore snapped at Snape, “I expect better of you, Severus. I would have allowed you an opportunity to demonstrate your hypothesis, but in the proper time and place and with some prior warning. I thought that Harry might have overstated his experiences with you, but I can see that he did not. You do not teach Occlumency by violating your pupil!”

Snape still breathed hard. “As I have told you for five years, the boy has no capacity for theory. He apparently learns solely through experience. The only way he could possibly learn Occlumency was by experiencing intrusions for himself.”

“Did you teach him how to strike back?” Dumbledore asked.

“Not intentionally,” Snape scowled. “It appears that Potter learned more quickly than I realised. He is clearly incapable of subtlety as well, although that is no surprise.” His face became expressionless again, as he turned to face Harry. “Why, Potter?” he asked in a low voice.

“I wanted you to know,” Harry hissed. “I wanted you to try carrying it around for a while, and see how it feels, how it burns at your insides. Besides, I know that you can keep it from Voldemort.”

Snape came back to his cruel smile. “How very calculating - and in the heat of the moment. That was almost worthy of my House.” As he swirled past Harry and made for the stairs, Snape stopped and leaned in toward Harry's ear. He whispered mockingly, “I've always wondered about the second part - nice of you to satisfy my curiosity, boy.”

Harry glared murderously at Dumbledore, and his face burned.

“Is there somewhere that we might speak privately?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry glared at him, inclined his head toward the stairs, and led Dumbledore to the top. Once inside his room, Harry directed Dumbledore to the sofa and chairs by the fireplace.

Dumbledore made a show of looking around the room. “This is quite nice, Harry. You deserve noble accommodations for a change.”

“Snape was the eavesdropper?” Harry blurted out.

Dumbledore crossed his arms. “I am surprised that you revealed the prophecy to him, although you were correct that he can conceal it.”

Harry ignored him. “Well? Was he the eavesdropper?”

“Severus was still serving Voldemort at the time,” Dumbledore said. “It was shortly after that event when he first sought me out.”

Harry felt his anger building, and suddenly he was struck with a terrible thought that burst out of him. “He could have saved my parents! He was inside the Death Eaters - he had to know about Wormtail! That …” Harry balled his fists, and exploded into a stream of cursing that made Dumbledore faintly blush.

Dumbledore cupped his hand over Harry's and said, “Harry, he did not know.”

Harry stopped in mid-curse. “Wha -” was all he managed.

“Severus was within Voldemort's inner circle, but only just,” Dumbledore explained. “He was not privy to everything the Death Eaters were undertaking, and I did not expect otherwise. He shared what intelligence he could glean. He confirmed that Remus Lupin was not a Death Eater, but James was beyond listening by then. I received an owl from him almost at the moment that your parents were killed. Severus chose to accompany Voldemort, hoping to get to your mother first.”

“Convenient that he failed, isn't it? He had to know about Wormtail, then - he had to,” Harry insisted.

Dumbledore's face sunk, adding even more years to his countenance. “Pettigrew's treachery was carefully concealed from all of us. None of us knew the truth for more than twelve years. As for Professor Snape, he … Harry, Severus chose the wrong door. He went to the bedroom instead of the nursery. By the time he reversed course Voldemort was ahead of him. Professor Snape witnessed the death of your mother, and the attack upon you. He has never fully recovered from that.”

“I don't believe that,” Harry spat.

“I taught Occlumency to Severus,” Dumbledore told him, “and thus he is unable to easily hide anything from me. I probed his mind. I was… I am not proud of myself, and I shall leave it at that. In order to be cleared, the Ministry ultimately required him to take Veritaserum. I was able to privately question him afterward, and confirmed everything that I was able to see in his thoughts. You must believe what I am telling you. You must believe, and you must attempt to understand. Professor Snape is not evil, Harry. He is capable of great cruelty, and he harbours terrible anger, but he is not evil. He is… broken.”

Dumbledore watched Harry, and awaited a response. Harry struggled for calm, but felt lost. He thought hard about what to say, and settled on the truth. “I'm not ready to hear this right now,” he said.

Dumbledore smiled. “I respect that. Now then, how have you been sleeping? I understand that you had an unpleasant sight this morning.”

Harry sighed. “I promised Lupin I'd tell you everything,” he said, and proceeded to recount the vision of Voldemort and Wormtail in as much detail as he could muster.

“So, you say that the curse was performed with a wand?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes,” Harry told him, “I - erm, I mean, he was moving it around in different patterns.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said. “What was the incantation?”

“It was -” Harry stopped. The end of the vision suddenly seemed very fuzzy. “I'm … I'm not sure. I know I heard it, it was clear in my head.”

“Relax, and try thinking about it again,” Dumbledore suggested.

“It was - ouch!” Harry clutched at his temples. “I don't understand. I can't seem to think about it.”

“Voldemort must have realised that you were present, and tried to confound you,” Dumbledore offered. “The pain is an illusion, Harry. Try to stay relaxed, and think of the incantation one word at a time.”

“It was only two - er, that really hurts - two words - bollocks!” Harry exclaimed.

Dumbledore laughed. “I have never heard the word `bollocks' used in an incantation before. This must be something very special, indeed.”

Harry laughed with him, and the pain relented. He heard an echo of it in his head, and quickly shouted, “Plasma trans-tulley! Or something like that, I don't know. Does that make any sense?”

Dumbledore mouthed the words silently to himself, over and over. A look of faint recognition came over him. “It is vaguely familiar, and very old. That would perhaps explain the incorporation of runes. I will have to conduct some research. I remain unclear as to how Sirius figured into the vision; could you offer an explanation?”

“Sirius wasn't in the vision,” Harry responded. “Did Lupin mention Sirius to you?” Dumbledore nodded.

“I had a dream before the vision,” Harry admitted. “It wasn't important. I've been having dreams about Sirius all summer.”

“Do you mean to say `nightmares'?” Dumbledore asked.

“I meant `dreams', and they're not important,” Harry insisted. “Voldemort hasn't turned up in any of them until now, and this was the first vision I've had since the end of the school year.”

“Excellent, Harry - this is another indication that you have made progress in Occlumency, perhaps despite your instruction. Still, nightmares threaten your control,” Dumbledore warned. “They open your mind to influence and penetration. A small amount of Dreamless Sleep potion may be in order, or perhaps someone to discuss your dreams with …”

“I've had enough taken from me,” Harry snapped. “Dreams, nightmares - I don't care. They're as close as I'll ever get to Sirius, and they're mine.”

“I'm merely offering suggestions for -” Dumbledore began.

“I'll handle it,” Harry declared firmly.

Dumbledore impassively watched Harry for a while. Harry was unwilling to let his eyes waver, even when he began to feel like a participant in an awkward staring contest.

Finally, Dumbledore suggested, “Perhaps you should greet your other guests?”

Harry walked past Dumbledore, leaving his bedroom silently and without a backward glance.