Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Chapter Six

SIRIUS GAMES

Mad-Eye Moody hobbled about the entry hall. “Hello, boy,” he growled by way of greeting.

Harry was still fuming. “Why are you here?” he snapped. “Did you get a letter?”

Moody smiled his disturbing smile. “Black and I weren't what you call close,” he said. “I'm security - Dumbledore's request. You can never be too careful.”

“Right … constant bloody vigilance,” Harry muttered.

Lupin wandered past, apparently on his way from the kitchen to the drawing room. He stopped and smoothed the collar and lapel of Harry's jacket, while Harry tried to pull away. It was a parental gesture, and Harry was in no mood for it.

Moody's pacing and madly whirling eye were unnerving, and Harry decided it was better to sit in the stairwell than to hover at the door.

Dobby appeared at his side. “Do I look suitable, Harry Potter?” he asked, pointing to his denim-and-cotton patchwork tuxedo. “Winky tells Dobby that the servants of such an important person as yourself, sir, must make the proper impression.”

Harry didn't want to smile, but he couldn't help himself. “You look fine, Dobby,” he said, “but neither of you are servants. You work for me, right?”

Dobby frowned. “There is no need for the insulting, Harry Potter. Dobby serves, and Winky serves. This means we are servants - end of discussions, sir.”

Harry shook his head. “I'm not letting up on this, Dobby.” The doorknocker sounded, and Dobby bounded down the stairs.

Harry heard Dobby begin, “Welcome to the home of…” and then there were shouts from the entry. Dobby squealed loudly, “Dobby does not care about the list - you may not enter this house!” Moody snarled, “Bollocks! You can't have been invited!” Harry raced down the stairs, with Lupin abruptly falling in behind him.

In the open doorway stood Narcissa Black Malfoy and her son Draco. Harry felt the rage flood back into him, into every chasm, every empty space inside. His wand was out in an instant.

“YOU!” he exploded, “How dare you show your faces here, you - you - MURDERERS?” Moody looked around uncertainly, weighing whether he should protect Harry or the Malfoys.

Lupin said calmly, “Harry, put down your wand.”

“What for? You KNOW what they did!” Harry exclaimed, waving his wand wildly.

Moody ordered him, “Stop waving your wand about like that, Potter, or you're going to put a hole in the wall!”

Lupin said, “Harry, they were invited here by Sirius.”

Harry's jaw dropped. He grabbed Lupin's arm and dragged him back up to the first floor landing. “How could you let them come? What about the Order?”

Lupin gently pulled his arm free. “Obviously this isn't the headquarters anymore, Harry. Kreacher didn't give the house's location, but he leaked enough information to force a change.”

Harry's jaw clenched. “So why in the hell did the Malfoys get a letter?”

“They're Sirius' cousins - you know that,” Lupin said. “This is your first opportunity to be an adult, Harry. Put it to good use.” He made Harry take slow, deep breaths before allowing him back down the stairs. Dobby still stood before the Malfoys with his arms sternly crossed, and would not allow them to move beyond the entry.

Harry said to Dobby, “Dobby, please take our guests' cloaks, and bring refreshments to the Drawing Room.” Dobby hesitated, his face drawn into a snarl.

Narcissa Malfoy coolly raised an eyebrow. She showed no trace of having even seen Harry's outburst. “I will not leave my cloak with this creature. What is it doing in this house?”

Harry replied, as evenly as he could manage, “Dobby has chosen to serve me, Mrs. Malfoy. Feel free to keep your cloak, if you prefer. I can show you to the Drawing Room.”

Narcissa sniffed, “I believe I can find my own way. As you must know, I spent a great deal of time in this house.” She looked around the entrance hall. “It was more… suited to the House of Black, the last time I visited. I'm certain that the room arrangement hasn't changed, however. Come, Draco.”

Harry watched for any excuse to hex Draco, any sign at all of a threat or even a cutting remark. Draco followed his mother up the stairs with nothing more than a smirk. Harry followed them. He would not allow either Malfoy to freely wander around the house. Narcissa went immediately to the Black family tapestry, and Draco followed; she peered closely at the bottom, and recoiled. Snape was already in the room, and moved quickly to acknowledge them. Harry left the room, and firmly closed the French doors behind him.

Before Harry could fully settle himself, Tonks and her parents arrived. Andromeda Black Tonks was tall and slim and had features reminiscent of Narcissa, although her hair was brown with hints of grey. Harry wondered if Narcissa's hair was coloured. Tonks seemed to take after her father Ted, although it was hard to be certain what Tonks actually looked like. Ted was cordial, but gave off a sense of power and control - not magical power, but the kind of power that Muggles understood. Harry found that more curious that intimidating.

Diggle wandered between the kitchen, the entry hall and the drawing room, oscillating between excitement and nervousness. Harry wondered where Dumbledore was, and what exchange may have taken place between he and Diggle. He watched a curious and sharp-looking exchange between Diggle and Ted Tonks from the corner of his eye, until Professor McGonagall came into the entrance hall. Harry was surprised to see her, but had no opportunity to speak to her before the knocker again struck the door. Dobby was trying to attend to everyone at once, and Harry guessed that Winky was confining herself to the kitchen. I'm not royalty, he thought, I can open my own door, for goodness' sake.

Molly Weasley stood in the threshold, and looked at him blankly for a moment before recognition flashed in her eyes. “Harry, it's nice to see you,” she said. “Bill told us you'd changed a bit.” She gave him a light hug, then stepped back to examine him. “It looks like you were fed this summer. I guess it paid to give your uncle a talking-to.” She seemed subdued to Harry, a state he had never associated with Mrs. Weasley.

Arthur Weasley was right behind his wife. “Hello, Harry,” he said, “We'd like to offer our condolences. We should have done that weeks ago.” Harry thought Mr. Weasley looked as though he'd aged five years in five weeks.

Harry stepped to one side, and insisted, “Come in, please! No need to stand outside.”

“Funny time of the day for a party, isn't it?” Ron said. He was still taller than Harry, although the gap had closed an inch or two since school. Under the bright gaslights of the entrance hall, Harry could see dark circles under Ron's eyes.

Ginny peered around Ron. “Hi, Harry,” she said. A curious smile played across her face, and Harry wondered what she was playing at. The twins waited for the others to clear the doorway.

As the other Weasleys moved toward McGonagall, Harry pulled Ron aside. “Nice to see you, mate,” Harry said.

Ron replied bitterly, “Glad you're okay, I suppose. An owl or two wouldn't have been too hard on you, eh? Hope you had a cracking good time.”

“Ron, I -”

Ron's face flushed. “ 'Course, I know you've been busy lately, seeing as how the whole world came to a halt. You should have heard Mum when Bill came by and told us. So, how does it feel being a big man now?”

Harry closed his eyes. He hadn't counted on making both of his best friends furious with him when he'd asked Dumbledore to leave him alone. He didn't want to make things worse. He decided to redirect Ron's anger.

“Save it for Malfoy,” Harry said.

Ron snarled, “He's here? I mean, he's a relative and all, but I didn't think the slimy git would have the guts to show up. I figured he'd be too busy kissing his daddy's backside.”

Harry was confused. “Kissing his… what?”

Ron stared at Harry. “His daddy's backside, Harry. What, you don't know?”

Harry shook his head. “No owls, and no Daily Prophet either. I ran across Neville in Diagon Alley, and he told me about the attacks on Muggles. Well, I actually heard about them first from Hermione on the phone, but she didn't really have a chance to explain…”

Ron's eyes lit up. “You talked to Hermione on the fellytone? How did she sound? Did you talk to her before or after the scare they had?”

Harry said, “During, actually. I was talking to her, and she had to hang up in a hurry.”

Ron shivered, “It had to been Voldemort, the bloody freak. Professor Dumbledore was right to insist on a constant watch for the Grangers.”

“Well, what was it? I mean, what did he send her?” Harry asked.

Ron scowled. “A book and a rose! A bloody rose just shows up in mid-air, right next to her. I mean, they've got wards on top of wards set up - no Floo, no Apparating in or out, nothing. Then the book and the rose, they go all fuzzy and fall apart - bam! - nothing left but dust. Who else would have done that? I'd have been a lot happier if she'd come to headquarters, or the Burrow, or even here. Professor Dumbledore thought she'd be more comfortable in her own home, not to mention that they're watching her parents as well.”

Harry began, “I'm sorry -”

Ron said, “That might not scratch with Hermione. She was going spare, thinking you were dead or something. She made them give her Mrs. Figg's fellytone thingy, so she could make sure you were checking in.”

Harry changed the subject. “About Malfoy and his dad's backside, Ron - care to fill me in?”

“He got off. No big surprise there,” spat Ron.

Harry gasped, “How could he get off? How? He was there! People saw! How?”

Heads snapped around to look at Harry, and Ron said in a low voice, “It's not hard to figure, Harry. People listen to galleons. He claimed it was the Imperius Curse - again - and Fudge came out in favour of him.”

Harry sneered, “Fudge! If anyone's under that curse, it's him.”

Dedalus Diggle called out, “Attention! Attention, everyone! Thank you for coming, though I dare say, I didn't expect that so many of you would arrive early. Mr. Black stipulated that the reading of the will should conclude at midnight. This required me to guess as to how long the reading would actually take. We may as well begin now, on the chance that I've guessed incorrectly. This way, if you please!”

Dobby had moved all the chairs from the kitchen and a few spares into the Drawing Room. Dumbledore wandered into the room, and conjured himself a blue-checked armchair near the door. Diggle stood behind a table at the far end of the room, near the mantle. Harry took a seat to one side of the table, near Tonks and Lupin.

Diggle took off his top hat, and ruffled through a violet valise. He withdrew pince-nez glasses and a sheaf of parchment. “Now, then,” he began, “I am Dedalus Diggle, for those who do not know me, and I agreed to represent Mr. Black's interests in the event of his untimely passing. Let me begin by expressing my deepest sympathy to all of you. Mr. Black was a friend to many of you, and a relative to others. I knew him myself for over twenty years, and it is an honour to serve him now -” He stopped and shot a pointed but nervous look at Dumbledore, before continuing, “…despite how some of you may feel about the decisions he has taken.” After some more parchment ruffling, he added, “He made more than one interesting decision, as you will all soon discover.”

Adjusting his glasses, he scanned the top sheet of parchment. “Let me take a moment to confirm that everyone concerned has arrived. Harry Potter is here, of course. Andromeda Black Tonks, Theodore Tonks, and Nymphadora Tonks are here.” Tonks scowled at mention of her formal name. “Narcissa Black Malfoy and Draco Malfoy are here. Arthur, Molly, Ronald, Ginevra … Alfred and George Weasley are all here. I do not see your other children here, Molly.”

Mrs. Weasley said, “We're representing their interests.”

“I see,” Diggle nodded. “Albus Dumbledore is here, of course. Hermione Granger…”

“Will be along presently,” Dumbledore said.

Diggle pulled at his collar, and Harry thought the room felt a little warm. “I see. Minerva McGonagall is here, as is Severus Snape. Kingsley Shacklebolt?”

“I'm here, with the Grangers,” Shacklebolt said from the doorway.

Harry turned quickly to the entry. Shacklebolt was standing behind Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Next to him, Hermione Granger pulled back the hood of her dark cloak.

Her hair was cut a bit shorter, which seemed to direct its bushiness into curls and waves. Dobby discreetly took her cloak. She was wearing a long-sleeved black dress. Harry hadn't really paid attention to what anyone was wearing, and noticed that everyone's attire seemed formal and a bit sombre. Thank goodness Lupin made me buy a suit, he thought.

Watching her enter the room, Harry observed that Hermione moved differently somehow. This room's positively stifling, he thought. She caught his eye, looking at him with - sadness? Sympathy? She mouthed, “I'm so sorry” to him.

He motioned to an empty chair between him and Lupin, but Mrs. Granger reached out for Hermione's hand and guided her into the row of chairs behind the Weasleys. Shacklebolt chose to stand at the back, near Dumbledore.

Diggle pulled out a quill and moved to hand it to Lupin, along with a blank piece of parchment. “Before we start, I have a document which I am required to distribute. Remus,” he said, “Mr. Black told me that either you or Harry would understand.”

Lupin stared at the parchment, and Harry thought he saw a flicker of mirth. Lupin touched his wand to the parchment, laughed, and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Tonks snickered, and the Weasley twins gaped at Lupin. Dense rows of text appeared on the parchment.

Lupin returned the parchment to Diggle, who squinted at the text for a while. “It is as I suspected. This document is a confidentiality curse. In order to remain here and participate in this reading, you must first sign this. The document lists a number of things that you may not discuss with anyone other than those who sign the document and remain present for the reading. Some of them… do not strike me as things that would likely come up in civil conversation.” Diggle reddened to the sound of mild laughter. “Generally, the terms appear reasonable. I advise you to read carefully before signing. If you do not wish to sign, then I must ask you to leave the room.”

He signed the document himself, and then passed the parchment back to Lupin, who shook his head for a while and then laughed loudly as he signed it. He passed it to Tonks, who laughed and cried all at once as she signed, before passing it to her parents. Andromeda Tonks said, “Sirius, you dog!” in a way that left Harry with many questions. She nudged her husband, who leaned in and snorted. They both signed, and passed the parchment and quill to Harry. He noticed that the text on the page appeared to swim and shift as he touched the parchment.

I, Harry Potter, solemnly swear that I will not divulge to anyone other than those present and signatory to this agreement that Sirius Black thinks Draco Malfoy is a pathetic, spineless, spoiled git who should have been left as a bouncing ferret.

Knowing all that, I nonetheless promise that I will only do lasting harm to Draco Malfoy by accident or in self-defence.

I swear that I will not divulge the whereabouts of the eighth passage from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade to anyone other than those who swear their allegiance and their lives to me; unless I have a damn good reason that I know Sirius would understand.

I solemnly swear that I will listen to Remus Lupin, even against my better judgment, because he deserves respect and is more often right than wrong.

I solemnly swear that I will also hear what Albus Dumbledore has to say, at least from time to time, though I would be wise to doubt his intentions and even to tell him to get stuffed.

I solemnly swear to stick by my friends, even if they forsake me from time to time, for true friendship is worth that price.

I solemnly swear that I will find and keep true love at any cost, for this is the best way that I can honour my parents.

I solemnly swear to enjoy my freedom and to use it creatively, in the best spirit of Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs - to hell with Wormtail.

Finally, I solemnly swear that I will play by Sirius' rules tonight, certainly against the better judgment of me and those assembled, and shall refrain from cursing his name until tomorrow.

This I so swear before all authority, both civil and supreme, on this 30^th day of July.

Signed

____________________

Harry James Potter

Harry didn't know what to think - it was funny, bitter, strange, inviting and dangerous all at once. This screams of Sirius, he thought, yet somehow it doesn't. It occurred to him that perhaps he didn't know Sirius very well at all. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry, though he knew that he didn't want to cry in front of a room full of people. He scrawled his name on the parchment, quickly passed it along, and then leaned forward in his chair to collect himself. When he sat up, he saw that Hermione's eyes were on him. She looked sad and concerned and something else that he couldn't place. Harry wanted to talk to her, to apologize for the telephone call, to ask how she was faring this summer. Ginny was also watching him, and that made him increasingly uncomfortable.

Lupin touched his hand. “A Knut for your thoughts, Harry.”

Harry was still somewhere else. “Huh?”

Lupin slid into the chair next to Harry, and said in a near-whisper, “You're the only one so far who hasn't laughed.”

Harry asked him, “What did it say, when you signed it?”

Lupin gave him a puzzled look. “Do you suppose…?” He turned to Andromeda Tonks. “Andromeda, why did you call Sirius a dog?”

She blushed, still gripping her husband's hand. “I don't think that's for public consumption, Remus. You knew him well enough to answer your own question, I should think.”

Lupin nodded to Harry, smiling. “Sirius was always creative with parchment enchantments. The text fully conforms to the reader, I suspect.”

Ron had the parchment now. His brow beetled in confusion, then his eyes narrowed and jaw tightened. “I'm not signing this,” he said flatly.

Mr. Weasley took the parchment from Ron. “Let me see that,” he said, frowning. After a moment, he said, “Ron, I'm willing to let you be of your own mind on this, but… I don't see the problem. It sounds rather impetuous, but that was Sirius.”

Ron's eyes bugged out. “You don't see the problem? I can't sign that. I won't be a party to this! And the things he said… how can you not have a problem with this?”

Hermione put her hand on Ron's forearm, and he pulled away as though he was stung. “I won't do this for you,” he spat, pointing at Harry and gesturing rudely at the parchment. “You have everything anyone could ever want, Harry. He had no right… I'm out of here!” Dumbledore had already sprung to his feet, but Ron brushed past him and hurried out of the room.

“Ronald Weasley, come back here!” shouted Mrs. Weasley after him. Mr. Weasley hurriedly affixed his signature to the parchment, and said, “Dedalus, I'm going after him. I'm assuming that I can leave and then return.”

Diggle fanned himself with the sheaf of parchment in his hands. “Goodness, I hadn't expected that! Yes, of course - go. Hurry back, though. We should be starting soon.”

“What gives?” Fred said, glancing at the parchment. “Merlin! George, get a load of this!” George leaned in, and his eyes grew wide. They both stared at Lupin, and then quickly signed their names.

Mrs. Weasley took the parchment and quill from her sons. “Leave it to Sirius to stir up trouble… oh, my.” She fumbled for a handkerchief. “Oh, Sirius. But why would that upset Ron so? This can't be what he saw… what's going on here?” She dabbed at her eyes. “Ginny, would you take a look at this?”

Ginny took the parchment without acknowledging her mother, read it, and then read it again. She delicately raised one eyebrow, lowered it, and looked at Harry curiously. “I don't see anything to make Ron go off like that,” she said, “although it doesn't take much lately.” She signed the parchment, looked at Harry again, and then handed it behind her to Hermione.

Hermione quickly scanned the parchment, and froze. She didn't move, didn't say anything, and just sat still with the parchment before her.

“Hermione? Hermione? Are you all right?” her mother asked.

Hermione lowered the parchment to her lap, and looked at Harry. He felt like her eyes were boring into him, but he could read nothing in them, nothing at all. Harry wondered if he was going to be able to keep his oath not to curse Sirius tonight.

“Let me see that,” her father said, pulling at the parchment. Hermione wouldn't let go, so he leaned over to look at it. “I don't understand what's happening here. This is just a boilerplate confidentiality agreement!” he exclaimed. “Why are you upsetting my daughter? What are you people playing at?”

Diggle said, “I'm sorry, but you aren't addressed in Mr. Black's will. Hermione is the beneficiary. You are here as an allowance due to her status as a minor.”

Mr. Granger reddened. “She won't be signing anything without our consent. I suggest that you -”

Without saying a word, and without taking her eyes off Harry, Hermione signed the parchment and handed it to Professor McGonagall. In a quiet and toneless voice, she asked, “Mr. Diggle, may I be excused for a moment?” Not waiting for an answer, she walked stiffly out of the room.

“Hermione, wait,” Mrs. Granger said, following her.

“I'm not leaving until someone answers -” Mr. Granger began. Mrs. Granger glared at him, and he said quietly, “Excuse me,” following his wife from the drawing room.

“I'll be back,” said Harry, who peeked out the door before leaving the room.

Hermione stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the second level, gripping the railing as though it was the only thing holding her up. Harry found a place in the shadows.

Her father was quiet but emphatic. “You will tell me what you just signed. Tell me, or we're leaving at once.”

Mrs. Granger snapped at him, “You're not helping,” before turning to Hermione. “What was it? Tell us, please. Tell us something - anything, for God's sake! We've endured guards 24 hours a day for the last month, and all we've gotten from you is silence. Dora and the others have explained more than you have, and they've left more questions than answers. You shot out of that room like you saw a ghost, and we're still shut out, as we have been for five years. We've been more than fair -”

“More than fair!” Mr. Granger cut in, voice rising. “I'm a prisoner in my own house, because of these people - because of all of this! We… we should have followed our better judgment, and ignored that Hogwarts letter in the first place!”

“Thomas, enough!” Mrs. Granger shouted. “Hermione, were you asked to do something? Did you agree to involve yourself in this conflict that's going on?”

Hermione said in a low strained voice, “It's not a conflict, Mother; it's a war. You don't agree to participate in a war. It's unavoidable - everyone in the wizarding world has to take sides.”

Mr. Granger, who continued to hover, said, “This is ridiculous! You're fifteen years old, for God's sake! That's it, we're going through with the move. We're - not a word, young lady, not a word - we're going to sell what's left of the practice and move on. Australia, Canada, America… it doesn't matter.”

“I haven't agreed to any such thing,” Mrs. Granger said angrily. “I'm going to talk with my daughter now. Go downstairs and pace, or sulk, or whatever - I don't care at the moment.”

Mr. Granger clenched and unclenched his fists, harrumphed, and stomped toward the stairs leading down to the entry hall. He spotted Harry just as he made the first step.

“What are you doing there?” he snarled.

Harry struggled for words. “I - I'm sorry. All of this is my fault.”

“I see we agree on something, then,” Mr. Granger stormed. “Stay away from my daughter.” He stomped down the stairs.

Mrs. Granger looked at Harry intently. Harry squirmed, waiting for her to say something.

Hermione broke the silence. “I need to talk to Harry,” she said.

“I see,” Mrs. Granger replied.

“Alone.”

Hermione's mother kept looking at Harry. “I'm not comfortable with that,” she said.

“After that, I'm going back in there and I'm going to finish this. You can wait with Dad, if you like,” Hermione continued.

“No,” Mrs. Granger said firmly.

“You can drag me to Antarctica, if you like, and it won't change anything,” Hermione said. “I don't know what else I can say to you, to make you understand.”

“You could confide in us,” Mrs. Granger pleaded.

“Maybe I could confide in you, Mother.” Hermione said. “If I were to confide in Dad, we'd be on the first plane to anywhere. I need to talk to Harry now.”

Mrs. Granger scowled at Harry. “She says you're her best friend. You might try acting the part,” she said before heading down the stairs after her husband. As soon as she was gone, Hermione began to quietly sob.

“Hermione, I -” Harry began.

“Don't,” she said between ragged breaths.

“I was just going to tell you how sorry I am about the telephone call. I was cruel. I wasn't thinking. I've been doing that a lot lately - not thinking,” Harry said.

Hermione closed her eyes, and tears welled along her eyelashes. “That telephone call doesn't seem very important right now,” she said.

“It is to me,” Harry told her. “I was trying to hurt you, I think. I can't imagine doing anything more awful than that. I thought - I thought I could never hurt you. Chalk up more mistakes for Harry Potter. The great Boy-Who-Lived, going around intentionally making his best friend feel terrible… wha…” Hermione enveloped him in a hug, and waves of her hair flowed across his face. The rage and hate and frustration flowed out of him, transfiguring into contentment that rushed back in to mingle with surprise and confusion.

“I think I know what Ron saw on the parchment, Harry,” she whispered into his ear before pulling back from him a little. A flicker of pain flashing across her face, and he didn't miss it. Why are you in pain, and why are your arms still around me? Harry wondered.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I suspect that he saw a variation of what I did. Obviously, we all saw something different from one another. Sirius must have enchanted the parchment,” she said, slipping partly back into her schoolgirl mode as she released him from the hug. “What did you see, Harry?”

“He had quite a bit to say,” Harry ventured. “I wonder if it's okay for me to tell you now, or if we're supposed to wait until afterward? I wouldn't want to be hexed.”

“Good point,” she agreed. “But Harry… we have to talk later, then. It's very important. I have to talk to you about this - please don't walk away.”

“I promise,” he said. “Do you think I should see about Ron?”

Hermione frowned. “If I'm right, and he saw what I did…” She disappeared into thought briefly. “If he saw something similar to what I signed, then I'm ashamed that he wouldn't sign it. I suppose it's safe to say that much. I - I can't see him right now, Harry.” Her expression grew cold. “I can't speak to him. You tell him - you tell him that if he won't sign, I may never speak to him again!” She strode purposefully back into the Drawing Room, setting off a flurry of conversation that he couldn't make out.

Ron was standing by the third floor landing. His father stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. Their voices were low, but clearly locked in argument. Harry stopped halfway up the stairs, hoping but failing to remain out of view.

“You!” accused Ron. “You're the last person in the world I want to see!”

Mr. Weasley said calmly, “Ron, I want you to apologise to Harry, right now. There is no call for your behaviour, none that I can see. Of course, if you'd rather that I sent your mother up to speak with you…” Ron's eyes widened, but he managed to maintain a scowl.

Harry climbed the remaining steps. “Mr. Weasley, I don't think Ron saw the same words on the parchment that you did. I was talking to Prof…uh, to Remus, and he thought that - what did he say - that the text conforms to the reader.”

Mr. Weasley nodded in recognition. “Ah! That would explain quite a bit, then.”

Harry said, “I think Ron and I need to talk, if that's all right.”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “I'll be downstairs if you need me. If we hear any fighting, Ron, I'm sure that your mother will be up straight away.”

Ron sat down on the steps, refusing to look at Harry. “I suppose she signed it, then,” he said, clearly sulking.

Harry said, “She told me to tell you that if you don't sign it, she may never speak to you again. I think it's just the heat of the moment, although she can get awfully enflamed.”

Ron snorted in disgust. “You said the text is different for everybody. She doesn't know what I saw.”

“She seems to think that the two of you saw roughly the same thing,” Harry offered.

“If she signed what I read, then I don't care if she never speaks to me again,” Ron said flatly.

Harry sat down next to Ron. “I'm really sorry about all of this, mate. I don't know what's gotten into me. I just felt like, I don't know, like I needed to be alone. Like I needed to be away from all of this, from magic. From the darkness.” He patted Ron's arm. Ron recoiled sharply.

Harry asked, “What's wrong? I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean to -”

“I suppose you didn't. I would like to have gotten away from all of this, too. I haven't had much of a choice in that.”

Harry looked at Ron with genuine concern, a look he was sure that Ron couldn't mistake. “Was your family attacked? I mean, I assume Ginny would have said…”

“They haven't attacked any purebloods. No, I have my own problem to bear. You have your scar, and I have these.” Ron rolled back his sleeves to reveal several green-tinged welts.

“Merlin, Ron! They look worse than they did in the hospital wing!” exclaimed Harry.

Ron put back his sleeves. “Thanks for the reminder. They come packaged with a special bonus, too. The brains showed me - things.” He shuddered. “I don't know how you've done it all this time, having him in your head. They only let me have Dreamless Sleep potion for the first two weeks. I've seen Madam Pomfrey, three mediwizards and a mediwitch, and none of them know why the welts are getting worse. Let's see, I'm not spirit possessed, I'm not carrying some kind of evil parasite, and I don't have the Dark Mark. That's about all they do know.”

Harry grew quiet.

“Say something,” said Ron. “I can't stand this anymore.”

“Ron, I've been worried about growing apart, you know, that we're growing apart. I thought maybe we needed to find something else in common, you know. I mean, we've got Quidditch and food, sure -” Harry managed a hollow laugh. “This isn't what I had in mind. I do know what you're going through, and I wouldn't wish it on Malfoy. I just… look, just being around me hurts people. I thought that if I was alone, you know…” Not now, he thought, not now! Too late. Tears started to run down Harry's cheeks.

“Harry? Harry? Don't - stop that, Harry, you don't need to - it's not your fault, for goodness' sake!” Ron pressed his hand awkwardly against the back of Harry's shoulder.

“Not my fault? If I'd left well enough alone, you and Hermione and Tonks wouldn't have been hurt, and Sirius - oh, God, Sirius… I killed him,” Harry wept bitterly.

“Well, well, well - what do we have here? The great Harry Potter in a blubbering heap!” a silky voice drawled from the second floor landing below. “Aw… did the Weasel say naughty things to ickle Harrykins? And I thought this little party was going to be a bust!”

Ron snapped, “Sod off, Malfoy!”

“Ha - I know what this is about! The green-eyed witch rears her ugly head, eh? Jealousy's unbecoming, Potter, although I'd expect it from the Weasel.” Draco Malfoy looked gleeful. “It will make for all manner of fun this year, though. The King of Quidditch and the Boy-Who-Shouldn't-Have-Lived squabbling over who gets the whiny little bookworm -”

Harry was instantly on his feet. “Don't insult her,” he snarled. Ron was right behind him, adding, “I'd watch myself, if I were you, Malfoy.”

“Touchy, aren't we?” sneered Malfoy. “Of course that's exactly what you want to be doing, isn't it, Potter? I saw you with her in the hall; such a touching scene!”

Ron said quietly, “In the hall doing what?” but Harry ignored him.

“Malfoy, don't make me angry,” Harry said darkly. “It's not a good idea.”

“So it's true, Potter?” Draco purred, a smile spreading across his face.

“What's that?” Harry snarled, striding down the stairs.

“A little owl told me that you're having…” Draco snickered, “control problems!”

“All the more reason to sod off, then,” Harry said, as calmly as he could manage. He gritted his teeth, adding, “I don't want to hurt you.” Actually, I do want to hurt you, Malfoy, Harry screamed inside his head. I hate your effing game, Sirius. Harry thought he heard movement below them. A warm draft began to blow up through the stairwell, adding to Harry's tension. He wiped sweat off his brow with his hand.

Draco wouldn't leave it alone. “Better get a handle on it, Potter, before you and your Mudblood princess decide to, you know -”, he said, making an obscene and very obvious gesture with his hands.

Harry felt like he was going to explode. “WHAT DID YOU CALL HER?” he screamed, his voice sounding like it came from a supercharged Sonorus spell. Draco put his hands to his ears. Harry's chest pounded. He could hear angry voices in the background, voices that he could just barely make out.

“How dare you use that awful word, Mr. Malfoy!”

“Draco, you will stop this at once, or I will consider removing you as Seeker. Do you hear me, boy?”

“Easy, mate. Take a step back.”

“What's happening here - Harry, please calm down. Draco, why must you always antagonize?”

“Harry, don't! I don't know why he needs to call me that awful name, but he's not worth it.”

Harry's head throbbed, and he felt like he was moving in thick syrup. He was surely on fire, the room was so hot. He felt a hand touch him, and he heard the last voice clearly - “Harry, don't. Please.”

“NEVER CALL HER THAT AGAIN!” Harry shouted. Draco clutched at his ears, his eyes squeezed shut; something reddish seeped between his fingers. Harry took deep burning breaths, hoping to calm himself. It was hard, but somehow the hand touching him made it easier. Then there was agony. . .

“Where is my anger, Potter?” Harry shrieked. “I want your rage back - it's so delicious!”

He swept around the dark candle-lit room, looking for Wormtail, but realised that he'd already sent his servant to make preparations.

“Why hello, boy,” Harry said. “So nice of you to drop in for a visit. I think I'll leave you with something more to remember me by.”

Harry couldn't see or hear anything, and for an instant he didn't know where he was. He took a step, and began falling. His legs struck the steps hard, but the rest of him came to rest somewhere softer.

The hand stroked his hair. A voice echoed in his ears, through deep water. “Harry! Harry, can you hear me? Are you all right? Someone fetch a towel!”

He wanted to shout, but the shout emptied out into the same deep water. He heard his own voice in the distance, hoarse and ragged. “Someone help me! I can't get out!”

He struggled to swim, but it was so hard. He wondered what Hermione would think if he drowned. She'd probably go running off with Ron, he fumed. His feet pushed off the sandy bottom, and he dashed for the surface as hard and fast as he could…

“Potter! Time to wake up, boy! I don't care if he's unconscious; smear the chocolate in his mouth if you have to. You'd think none of you had ever been in combat. Stop coddling him, Molly. And you - if you're going to cry, go in the other room. Potter! Snap out of it, damn you!”

Harry's eyes flickered, letting in searing white light. “Am I dead?” He blinked rapidly, his eyes watering.

“Do I look like a ghost?” Mad-Eye Moody was glowering over him.

“Urgh… uh - demon, maybe?” Harry managed, his voice strained and weak.

“He's awake,” Moody announced. A crowd of people seemed to materialize around Harry, and the room began to swim. He rolled to one side, and violently spewed up.

“Whoops - back up, everyone. Give `im some room,” Moody said. Harry saw a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, as he rolled to his back again. Dobby held a towel to Harry's face, while Winky scrubbed the floor. Harry sat up, very slowly. He was on the floor outside the second floor bedrooms, near the stairs. Everyone at Grimmauld Place was clustered around, except Snape and the Malfoys.

“Harry, I was so worried. You scared me half to death,” Hermione said. She knelt next to him, a tea towel spotted with blood in one hand, and chocolate held out to him with the other. “Did you see -?”

Harry nodded and took the chocolate. He tore off a bit, and let it linger in his mouth until he decided that swallowing wouldn't make him spew up again. “It was like the time in the spring. I was him.”

Dumbledore bent down, his head next to Hermione's. “This may not be the proper time or place, Harry.”

Harry reached out and grasped Hermione's hand. “You saved me,” he said.

“I - I don't understand.”

“You saved me,” Harry repeated. “I was lost, and you saved me.”

Hermione looked away. “I'm glad I signed the parchment,” she said.

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't like feeling nervous around her. It didn't help that her father was fifteen feet away, trying unsuccessfully to burn Harry to a crisp with his eyes. Harry just wanted everything to feel like his first and second years at Hogwarts again, before all the secrets, when he could tell Hermione and Ron anything in the world. I have to talk to Dumbledore, he thought, like it or not.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “Dumbledore and I need to talk, and I don't know if I can stand. Could you…?”

Hermione stood up and said in a firm, loud voice that rivalled McGonagall, “Harry would like us all to get on with the reading. That is why we're here, after all. He'll be joining us presently, so why don't we all return to the Drawing Room?” It was clear that she was not making a request. Harry gave her a wave of thanks.

Dumbledore asked gently, “May I help you up?”

Harry waved him off, but Dumbledore conjured a small mauve sofa and carefully manoeuvred Harry onto it before conjuring an armchair for himself.

Dumbledore looked at Harry intently. “Did you see Voldemort again, Harry?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “He was in the same place as before, I think. It's difficult to know for certain, since there's so little light. He was angry; he said he wanted my rage. He said…” Harry choked on the words.

Dumbledore asked, “What? What did he say?”

The words tumbled out. “He said that it was delicious.”

“I see.” Dumbledore looked troubled. “What else, Harry?”

“He knew I was there… said he'd give me something to remember him by,” Harry told him.

Dumbledore pulled a light blue handkerchief from his robes, giving it to Harry. “You might want to hold that to your forehead. Kingsley and Moody were able alternatives to a mediwizard, but Voldemort does not leave ordinary wounds.”

“What, is my scar bleeding?” Harry asked.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “He apparently tried to mark the other side of your forehead. It should not form a scar, although I will ask Madam Pomfrey for an appropriate unction just to be sure.”

“Why -”

Dumbledore brought Harry's hand and the handkerchief up to his forehead. “Try not to think about it anymore, at least not tonight. Would you like more chocolate?”

“No.”

“Lemon drop?”

Harry snapped impatiently, “I thought that you were finished mothering me.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry sadly. “Is that what you took away from our last conversation in my office? If it is, then I am sorry. Why is it that we can not seem to get through to each other, you and me?”

Harry felt the same combination of anger and embarrassment that filled him at Gringotts. “Let's just finish this, all right? Why did he cut me?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I imagine that he wounded you in order to discourage you from entering his mind. I do not believe that Voldemort intended to let you in, now or this morning. You may be overwhelming his efforts at Occlumency. I can think of nothing to be gained by revealing his plans or telling you that he desires your rage. Why would he give you an opportunity to thwart his plans or to control yourself?”

“He didn't know I was there until the end,” said Harry. “He wasn't deceiving me.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry with obvious interest. “What makes you say that, Harry?”

“I - I don't know. It's just something I could feel. He wasn't lying. He wasn't telling the truth, either. It was all just, I don't know. . .”

“Factual?” asked Dumbledore.

“Uh-huh. He was just stating facts, or believed that he was.”

“Interesting. Your Legilimency skills are also developing. These are good signs, Harry. Very good signs.” Dumbledore smiled at him.

“There's something else. I -”

Dumbledore shook his head. “You have had enough for tonight, Harry, especially if you truly wish to attend the reading. Perhaps tomorrow -”

“This shouldn't wait,” Harry insisted. “He didn't sound the same.”

Dumbledore said, “Explain this to me.”

“Even though - you know - he's me, I sound like him,” Harry tried explaining. “I hear his voice speaking, not mine. It sounds a little different than in person. I've wondered before if I hear his voice the way it sounds to him. Anyway, I - erm, I mean he sounded different tonight. The voice was deeper.”

“Curious,” Dumbledore said. “I will need to think on this. Thank you, Harry.” Dumbledore extended a hand to Harry, who only accepted it because he couldn't stand on his own.