Harry Potter and the Failed Curse

Disclaimer: If one actually mistook my writing for that of J. K. Rowling's, I would be most flattered, indeed. However, I am not, nor have I ever been, nor ever will be the brilliant mind behind the creation of Harry Potter and his fabulous world. I am merely a fan with many theories as to how the final books shall play out (and one with too much time on her hands). Whatever material one may recognize in the following fan fiction most likely belongs to that incredibly wealthy woman spending much of her time in front of her computer screen, (no, not Mrs. Bill Gates) J. K. Rowling. I have not received any profits from the making of this fan fiction. It is purely for the entertainment of myself and others who read it. No copyright infringements are intended, so please, do not sue me. In any case, doing so would be pointless because I am a starving college student with not but mere pennies to spare. For laymen's terms, see italicized and bold words in the above disclaimer.

Summary: Harry Potter enters his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This year the wizarding word is under war once again, and Harry is the only key to bringing peace back. Will he be able to let go of the past and find the strength he needs to fight? Will he find the power within himself to defeat the darkest wizard to walk the earth in over a century?

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Harry Potter and the Failed Curse

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The Shortest Summer Ever

(Chapter One)

~*~*~

Harry Potter wasn't your average teenage boy; he was a wizard who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he just happened to be the “saviour” of the world, though, half of which didn't know it. He also had the incredible misfortune of living with his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, and his large, round cousin, Dudley. The Dursleys were muggles (they couldn't do magic even if their lives depended on it) and were deathly afraid of magic (and anything else out of the ordinary, for that matter). In fact if it weren't for the Dursleys' fear of magic, Harry would still be locked in the cupboard under the stairs where his room once was for the first ten years he had spent with his 'family'.

Harry being forced to live with his aunt and uncle was the result of his parents' deaths. Lily and James Potter, Harry's mother and father, had been murdered by the most evil wizard of the century, Lord Voldemort. A man they had once considered a friend had betrayed them and sold them to Voldemort. Lily and James had died trying to protect their son from the Dark Lord; their sacrifice, needless to say, hadn't been for nothing after all. Harry was alive and well, maybe not as well as some would've hoped but alive all the same.

Voldemort had met his downfall in Harry the night he had attacked the Potters. He had overlooked the protection given to Harry by his mother's love and sacrifice, and, in doing so, Voldemort paid dearly for his mistake. He had become less then a ghost, but he was still alive. Just over a year ago, Lord Voldemort returned to power with the help of the man who had betrayed the Potters, Peter Pettigrew.

Now, the Dark Lord was after Harry once again. But why had Voldemort attacked the Potters in the first place? It all started with a prophecy: a prophecy about a boy with the power to overcome the darkness.

~*~*~

It was the third week of July, and Harry still hadn't written to his two best friends, Ron and Hermione. He had written every day to someone in the Order like he had promised he would, but he just couldn't bring himself to write to his friends directly; he had been avoiding them for fear that the subject of the prophecy would be brought up. Harry hadn't yet told them that he had heard the prophecy in its entirety because he was still trying to get over the shock of it, himself. He knew exactly how they would react if he told them. Ron would sit there, staring with his mouth wide open, repeating over and over, "It can't be! It just can't be!" and Hermione would break down crying. Harry wasn't ready to handle that, just yet. Although he felt guilty for not telling them right away, he needed time for things to digest before he went and got his friends upset.

Harry was sitting in the park on the only swing Dudley and his gang hadn't broken yet. His Aunt and Uncle were at a funeral for one of their neighbours, Mr. Prentice; apparently he had died of old age, because the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with him, otherwise. With the two Dursleys gone, Harry had been able to sneak out of the house without their constant questions. He was lost in his thoughts, thinking about how to tell his friends the truth about the prophecy when . . . CRASH! Harry jumped to his feet, turned around, and instinctively grabbed for his wand. He saw a rubbish bin rolling down the street, occasionally running over unsuspecting pedestrians while making a strange yelling sound. At the top of the street, stood Dudley and his gang. Harry immediately put his wand away. 'Stupid git!' he thought, 'He's always causing trouble! And I'm the one who is supposed to be going to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys?' No matter how smart they may be, the Dursleys really were incredibly stupid when it came to their son. They were completely blinded by their affection for him, imagining him to be a sweet little angel, when the reality was that Dudley was a great bulling prat.

Harry had gone back to sit in the swing again when he heard someone call out to him, "Hey, Potter!" He turned to see Dudley and his gang standing in front of him. Piers, the second biggest bully in town, was looking at Harry as though he would make a very good punching bag, "Want to play?" This was going to be interesting. Harry loved it when he got the chance to torture his cousin and mess with his mind. He redirected his gaze to Dudley who, he was amused to see, looked very nervous.

"What makes you think I would 'want to play'?" Harry asked politely, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, Piers, let's get out of here. I'm bored," Dudley interjected.

"But that's why we came to 'play' with Potter," Piers reminded him.

"You mean beat me up," Harry corrected him.

"Same difference."

"Not to me, it isn't."

"Well, nobody cares what you think."

"Oh, really?" Harry was smiling wickedly. Dudley looked extremely on edge. It was quite funny to watch his piggy face strain as he was concentrating hard on what to do. He didn't want to look like a wimp in front of his friends, but he also wasn't stupid enough, as shocking as it may be, to try to take on Harry now that Harry had grown into his powers. "Big D, won't it be great when I become an adult next summer? I'll be able to do all sorts of things . . . even when I'm not in school." Harry said, emphasizing the last part. Dudley's eyes widened in horror as he understood Harry's meaning; Harry would be allowed to use magic outside of school next summer when he turned seventeen. Harry was pleased to see that he had made his cousin, if possible, more nervous than he had been before.

"What do you mean you'll be able to do all sorts of things even when you're not in school? Why would anybody care about that?" Piers continued, noticing the look on Dudley's face. "Unless . . . Are you going to become even more of a delinquent than you are now? You better not, or Big D's parents will kick you out. No, wait. On second thought, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Then, we won't have to put up with you anymore. Maybe, you'll end up in the clink," he said with a hint of hope in his voice.

"I'm a delinquent?" Harry snorted at the thought. "You should talk. At least, I don't go around beating up kids half my age. It's quite pathetic that it takes all of you to face off against one kid."

Piers looked livid. He started for Harry as if to punch him, but Dudley put an arm out to stop his friend. "Don't," Dudley warned.

"What? But Big D, he’s being a cheeky little brat! He called us pathetic! Why shouldn't we rearrange his face?" Piers questioned.

"Look, I'm just not in the mood for this right now. So, just forget it. We can finish this another time. Now, let's get out of here."

"Bu—"

"NOW!"

"Why?"

"Because, I said so! That's why!" Dudley turned to leave, but then . . .

"You're not afraid of him, are you?" Piers questioned. Piers had done it; he had said the one thing that Dudley was most afraid of hearing. Dudley looked like he was about to pee in his pants. Harry was enjoying every minute of his cousin's struggle.

Dudley finally recovered from his shock. "What did you just say?" he asked in a deadly whisper, glaring at Piers.

"Are you afraid of Potter?" Piers repeated confidently.

Dudley looked as though he were about to strangle Piers for having the daring to repeat his question. "Of course, I'm not afraid of Potter! What makes you think I would be afraid of a wimpy little thing like —"

"HEY! I'm not a wi—"

"Shut up!"

"If you’re not afraid of him, prove it," Piers demanded, trying not to be fazed by Dudley's stare.

Dudley just stood there for a minute, glaring at Piers. Finally, he said, "I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I'm not afraid of him. I'm just bored . . . and hungry. I want to go get supper, and I'm not in the mood for a fight right now."

"Bu—"

"BUT NOTHING, OR YOU'LL BE THE NEXT ONE TO ROLL DOWN A HILL IN A WASTE BIN FULL OF GARBAGE!" Dudley shouted at Piers.

However large and mean Piers was, he was nowhere near the size of Dudley. He must not have been as stupid as he looked because he finally mumbled, "Fine, let's go." He started back up the street, but not before he broke the remaining swing Harry had been sitting on earlier. The rest of the gang followed and soon they had disappeared into the distance. Harry tried his best to fix the swing, but it was useless. He couldn't do it without magic. It was now dark, and Harry decided he should head back to the Dursleys' house. He didn't feel like being lectured again for an hour about getting home on time, rather, getting home before Dudley.

Harry was about half way home when he had the feeling that someone was watching him. He turned around, eyes searching the street, but no one was there. He quickened his pace, taking a short cut through an alley, but a scurrying sound made him stop and turn again. There was a tabby cat running along the side of the alley chasing a mouse. Harry relaxed. It was just a cat . . . or was it? For some reason, he thought he recognized the cat. It stopped when it noticed Harry staring at it. Those markings around the eyes . . . they looked so familiar. And then it hit him, Harry had seen those same eyes in his third year. "Professor McGonagall?" he whispered. The cat narrowed its eyes and turned its head as though to check for someone watching. Then, it slowly took the form of Harry's Transfiguration teacher.

"How did you know it was me?" Professor McGonagall questioned, seeming half annoyed and half impressed.

"I recognized you from when you transformed for the class in my third year," he replied.

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Well, I'm glad to know you were paying attention. How did you know someone was following you?"

"I could sense it."

"I see," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Why were you following me?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

Harry frowned at her, "No, I guess not." People had been following him ever since Lord Voldemort's return to power. He sighed. Harry supposed that people weren't going to stop tailing him until the threat of the Dark Lord was gone. "Do you really think that he's going to attack me here? I mean, aren't I supposed to be protected here?"

"Yes, but only to a certain extent. Dumbledore doesn't want to take any chances. By the way, what on earth do you think you were doing, going down a dark alley? Did you forget what happened last summer already? What if there were more dementors waiting for you? What would you have done then? I'm sure You-Know-Who wouldn't have much trouble killing you with your soul on the fritz! It's no wonder Dumbledore wants you followed," she snapped at him.

"First off, I can take care of myself. Second, those dementors that attacked me and Dudley last summer weren't sent by Voldemort," (Professor McGonagall shivered when she herd the name), "they were sent by Umbridge." He was rather annoyed. Why did everyone think he couldn't handle himself, after everything he'd done?

"Potter, there is no question that you can look after yourself, but until you become an adult, you aren't allowed to use magic outside of school! Dumbledore doesn't want you expelled! You need to finish school, not have your wand broken in half! Last year and all the years before it, you got lucky! Minister Fudge could have expelled you on any of those occasions! You need to be more careful, Potter! If you aren't, you may —"

"I KNOW! OKAY?" He hadn't meant to yell, but he had been lectured like this too many times; it really was getting old. "I'm sorry Professor. I didn't mean to yell," he said sheepishly.

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. "I know you've been lectured many times about this, but it doesn't seem like you listen," she said, looking at him sternly. "By the way, what do you mean those dementors were sent by Umbridge? How do you know?"

"She told me . . . that night . . . when . . ." Harry's voice caught in his throat.

Her expression softened at his words; she knew what he was going to say and decided to spare him the agony of saying it, which he was grateful for. "I see. Why didn't you tell anyone before?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Clearly," she sighed, looking down at her watch. "It's getting late. You really should be heading home."

"I was heading home," Harry said trying not to look Professor McGonagall in the eye. He hadn't stopped thinking about 'that night' since it had happened. Nightmares of veils, his godfather's falling form, and Bellatrix Lestrange's taunting baby voice haunted him as he slept while guilt plagued him during his waking hours. But somehow, it seemed harder to actually talk about rather than think about.

Professor McGonagall walked him home in her animagus form and gave him a soft 'meow' of goodbye when they had reached the front door of the Dursleys' home. Harry waved to her and stepped into the house, ready for what was coming.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" Mrs. Dursley shouted at him. He was incredibly surprised that she was the one doing the yelling. Usually, his uncle was the one with the purple face, but this time, he was in the living room, watching the news, not caring at all about where Harry was or if he was even alive, for that matter. "ANSWER ME!"

"I was in the park," he said truthfully.

"Why weren't you home earlier? I was worried!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Aunt Petunia had never acted like she cared about him before. Why the sudden change? "Why do you care?" he asked. "You never seemed to care before."

"Don't ask questions," she said impatiently. "Now, answer me! Why were you out so late?"

Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should tell her about McGonagall or not. In the end, he decided not to say anything about his Professor. "I lost track of time."

"YOU 'LOST TRACK OF TIME'?" she said furiously. "I'll show you 'lost track of time'! You are to come home before dark from now on! And for the next two weeks, I don't want you to leave this house! Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good! Now, go up to your room."

"But, I haven't had supper!"

"That's your own fault for getting back so late. Now GO!"

"Fine!" Harry stomped up the stairs. He passed Dudley who was laughing his head off. "Oh, shut up!" he spat at Dudley before he slammed his door behind him. He was so mad at the Dursleys. He couldn't stand them anymore. He wanted out. Harry was furious with himself for not asking McGonagall about leaving the Dursleys. Why hadn't he thought of it? Now that he knew why he had to stay with the Dursleys every summer, it was a bit easier to handle, but it didn't change the way he felt towards them. "Argh! Somebody get me out of here!" It was as though someone had heard his call; an owl flew through the window. It was Hedwig, and she had a note attached to her leg. Harry removed the letter and read:

Hey Harry,

How are you? We haven't heard from you in ages! All right sure, you've written to Lupin, Tonks, Mum, and others from the Order, but not to me or Hermione! What's up with that, mate? You didn't forget about us did you? Are you trying to ignore us or something? I guess we'll find out soon enough if Hedwig returns with the letter still attached to her leg and without a reply. All summer, we've been bugging Mum about you coming to stay with us. She finally asked Dumbledore today if you could, and he said it would be fine. The usual guard is going to be picking you up at four o'clock in the afternoon tomorrow, so have everything ready by then.

I swear, that owl of yours is bloody brilliant! She showed up just about an hour after Dumbledore gave the 'OK'. It was like she knew that Errol and Pig were gone, and we needed to send you a letter! Anyway, we'll see you soon!

Bye —

Ron

Harry was ecstatic! It had barely been three weeks, and he was leaving! Normally, it took them a lot longer to get him away from the Dursleys. He turned the parchment over and wrote:

Ron,

I'm fine I guess. I'm alive, anyway. I'm sorry I haven't written to you or Hermione. I've just had a lot of stuff on my mind. Thank you for bugging your mum for me. I didn't think I could stand this place for one more day. I can't wait to get out of here! I'll see you soon.

Thanks again —

Harry

He attached the letter to Hedwig's leg, brought her over to his open, bedroom window, and gave her a kiss on the head in thanks. "This is for Ron, okay," Harry said as he petted her. She gave his hand an affectionate nip to show she understood and swooped out of the window into the night. Harry couldn't wait to leave. He set his alarm for eight o'clock in the morning and got into his pyjamas.

Harry woke up around seven the next morning. He got dressed and headed down for breakfast. Aunt Petunia was making bacon and eggs; Dudley had his face glued to the kitchen television; and Uncle Vernon was reading the morning paper. Harry took his usual seat, unnoticed by the rest. His Aunt served Dudley, Uncle Vernon, and herself but skipped Harry's plate entirely, before returning the rest of the food to the kitchen. Slightly annoyed that she couldn't have at least left the remaining food on the table for him to serve himself, Harry took his plate to the kitchen to retrieve the banished leftovers.

He was about to add two slices of bacon to his breakfast when a loud noise like a door being ripped off its hinges sounded through the air. He rushed to the dining room but was suddenly stopped by the sight that met his eyes. 'NO! It couldn't be! How did he find me? Dumbledore said I was safe here. . . .' Standing before him was the monster that had made his life so full of pain: Lord Voldemort. The Dursleys were huddled in the corner, Aunt Petunia crying and praying like there was no tomorrow (which wasn't far from the truth). The Dark Lord had only uttered one curse, and in a blinding green flash, all three Dursleys fell to the floor in a heap, undeniably dead.

Voldemort rounded on Harry, smirking and laughing maniacally. Harry felt like he was going to be sick; he had left his wand upstairs by his nightstand. Harry tried to make a run for it, but Voldemort hit him with an Impediment Jinx. Harry was frozen in place while the Dark Lord bore down on him. Harry's mind was racing; he was all alone. . . . There was no one to save him this time . . . no mother . . . no Dumbledore . . . nobody. He never imagined going out like this, helpless. He had thought he'd put up at least a small fight.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter." Voldemort was now in front of him, and there was no escape.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

There was a second green flash of light and . . .

Harry sat up straight in his bed, gasping for air. Sweat was dripping down his face, and his scar was burning like someone had place a red-hot poker to it. He'd had the dream again. It was always the same; Voldemort would come to the Dursleys' house, kill Harry's three remaining relatives, and then try to kill Harry. And Harry always woke up before getting hit with the deadly curse. He had had the dream so often, he now made sure to take his wand with him wherever he went, even to the bathroom.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He went over to his window and opened it, letting the cool night air play on his face. It was raining again; it had been raining a lot this summer, more than usual.

He ducked under his bed and retrieved his photo album of his parents from under the loose floor board. He had been looking at it more recently, noticing other pictures Sirius had been in. He wished he could talk to him again. Why had he gone to the Department of Mysteries? Why hadn't he listened to Hermione when she had said it was a trap? Dumbledore had said Sirius's death hadn't been Harry's fault, but he knew better; he knew it was his fault. He returned the album to its hiding place beneath his bed and slid under his covers.

He didn't think he would be able to get back to sleep that night, but he still tried, anyway. After about an hour of tossing and turning, he decided a glass of water would help him quiet his mind.

Harry tip-toed down the steps, jumping over the last one, and headed toward the kitchen. He took a glass from the cabinet, and held it under the running tap. He looked up at the moon that was shining through the kitchen window; there was one week remaining until that moon became full. Harry vaguely began thinking of his ex-professor, Remus Lupin, and how he was doing tonight. 'It must be really tough on him,' he thought, 'I would hate to be a werewolf.' He had had about two glasses of water before returning to the staircase. He put his foot on the first step and . . . SQUEAK! 'Damn!' He was sure at least one of the Dursleys would have heard that. Now, he was in for it!

He waited for a few moments with bated breath. Then, a loud snore came from his Aunt and Uncle's room. Harry relaxed; the Dursleys hadn't heard it, they were still asleep. He stared at the step, annoyed with it. Then, he noticed something; looking more closely at it, he saw that part of the board was sticking up out of the floor. Harry leaned closer to it and tried to wiggle it out of place. Finally, after about a minute of struggling with the board, it came free.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. There were all sorts of things that had been hidden under there. But for how long? He could tell they hadn't been touched in some time; there was dust and cob-webs all over everything, except for a letter. He took the letter in his hand. It was for his Aunt Petunia from . . . Dumbledore! The date on the letter was Wednesday, November 2, 1981. That was around the same time Harry started living with the Dursleys. In fact, that was the exact day he had arrived! He began to read; the letter talked about Voldemort's downfall, and . . . it went into great depth as to why Harry had to stay with the Dursleys every year. It was about the same thing Dumbledore had explained to Harry only just a few weeks ago. He wished he had found this letter years ago; it would have explained a lot. It did nothing for him now, however; he already knew about the charm placed on him to keep him 'safe from Voldemort while under the roof of where his relations resided' from his talk with Dumbledore. He continued to rummage through the things and laid his hand upon . . . a wand. What was a wand doing in the Dursleys' home that wasn't his? He picked it up, dusting it off. It looked to be only a tiny bit shorter than his wand and made of willow. He couldn't think of whom the wand could belong to, unless . . . no that was stupid . . . it couldn't be, could it?

There was some noise from upstairs; Harry hastily shoved the floor board back in place and put the wand, along with the letter, inside his pocket. Someone was coming down the stairs! He ran to the cupboard under the stairs and shut the door as quietly as he could. His heart was beating furiously in his chest.

"I hate that damned snoring, keeping me up at all hours of the night! It's enough to drive a woman insane!" Harry heard his Aunt Petunia muttering to herself while getting a glass of water. Slowly, her footsteps carried back up the stairs and to her room. Harry could breathe again. Quickly, he ducked out of the cupboard and made his way up the stairs, careful not to make any noise again, especially where the last step was concerned.

Finally after what seemed like hours, he was back in his room with the door closed. He took the letter and the wand out of his pocket. After setting the letter on his night stand, he got back into bed, and started twirling the wand in his hands. He kept thinking, 'Who . . . ? Who could it belong to?'

~*~*~

Harry didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have done so at some point during the night since he had just woken up. He looked over to his clock to see that he had six minutes left before his alarm went off. Today was the day he was finally leaving the Dursleys! As he was getting dressed, he vaguely thought of where he was spending the rest of his summer. Harry figured he would be taken to Grimmauld Place again, but he really hoped to go to the Burrow.

He flew down the stairs because he was starving from his lack of dinner from the night before and was eager to get some food in his stomach. As he entered the kitchen, the smell of bacon filled his head. Dudley was shovelling food in his mouth; Uncle Vernon was reading the newspaper; and Aunt Petunia was making toast. Harry sat down at the table and started pilling food on his plate. Aunt Petunia had finally started buying some decent food again, instead of the 'rabbit food' she had been getting before. Dudley had finally lost enough weight to fit into his school uniforms, and Aunt Petunia didn't want him to loss any more. Harry was thankful for this; he was tired of being starved because his cousin was a hog. Harry had eaten quite a bit and was about to go for seconds when his Uncle spoke up.

"Don't eat all the effing food! You're going to turn into a pig."

"Excuse me?" Harry stared at his incredibly large uncle. 'I'm going to turn into a pig? Hah, you should talk!' he thought to himself.

"You heard me. You're being a pig. You're a guest in this house, and you're eating all of our food. It's rude."

"Well, sorry for being hungry, but that's usually the result when I'm deprived of dinner."

"That was your own fault," Aunt Petunia chimed in.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but an owl swooped into the room, making him forget what he was about to say. It dropped what looked like a rolled up newspaper on Aunt Petunia's plate. Harry quickly scooped up the paper and unfurled it to reveal . . .

"Well, what is it?" Uncle Vernon snapped.

"It's The Ministry of Magic Guide to Elementary Home and Personal Defense."

"What have I told you about using the 'M' word in this house?"

"Why did you order a personal defence guide?" Aunt Petunia asked, cutting off her fuming husband.

"I didn't order it; the Ministry of — they sent these to all of the wizarding homes in Britain. They've finally started to believe that Voldemort is back."

"But hasn't he been back for a year now? Why would they send guides out one year after his return?"

"Because, they'd just started to believe me a little under a month ago when I told them he was back. Last year, the whole wizarding world thought I was a delusional, attention seeking lunatic. Now that they've seen that Voldemort is back for themselves, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, again," Harry replied dully, rolling his eyes at the nickname.

"They weren't wrong last year," muttered Dudley under his breath, but Harry still heard him.

"Shut it, Dudley — you don't know what you're talking about." Harry's eyes were blazing with anger as he spoke. "Last year, you couldn't even face a dementor when your life's been nothing but easy, being spoiled all the time; you'd probably faint after wetting yourself if you ever came face-to-face with Voldemort. Oh, and then you'd die," he added with bitter contempt.

"Not this nonsense about that raving madman again? I won't have it, boy. If he's still after you then, you can pack your bags and get the hell out of my house! I won't have you endangering my family, do you hear?"

"You know, you're supposed to be nice to me! I have half a mind to tell the Order how you're treating me when they get here! Maybe, a curse or two will make you realize they weren't kidding around at the beginning of this summer!" he paused for a moment, then continued again, "You know what, you're in luck. At four o'clock sharp, I'm out of here for the rest of the summer. That should make you happy because then I won't endanger your family any longer, and I won't be able to eat anymore of your 'effing food'! It's not like it's that good, anyway!" Sometime during the middle of his speech, he had stood up. He looked down at his so called 'family' (They were in complete shock.) before he turned to leave and go upstairs.

"GET BACK HERE AND APOLOGIZE!" Uncle Vernon shouted, finally finding his voice, but Harry just ignored him and stomped up the stairs, making sure to be very loud and obnoxious with every step.

When he reached his room, he slammed the door. He began packing his stuff quickly. He wished he could just do it with magic, but he knew better. Harry couldn't wait until next summer when he could do magic outside of school. 'Dudley is going to pay for all the misery he's put me through,' he thought. He started to think of all the curses he would use on his oversized, whale of a cousin, and a grin spread across his face. 'Next summer he is getting what he deserves!' Harry could just imagine the look on Dudley's face when he found himself covered in neon-orange boils and little, blue tentacle after waking up in the morning. With these thoughts, Harry started to calm down a little. He was almost done packing when he saw the wand laying on his bed and the letter on his night stand. He grabbed them up and stuffed them in a pocket in his trunk. He knew he shouldn't take them with him, but there was something about them . . .

Harry looked at his clock. It was twelve, 'Four more hours, and I'm out of here.' He had finished packing and was staring at the ceiling, thinking about Ron and Hermione. From Ron's letter, it sounded like they were staying in the same place again. Harry had so many things to tell them, he didn't know where he would begin, and he still wasn't sure if he was ready to tell them everything, just yet.

Harry had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't notice time pass, and before he knew it, it was three o'clock in the evening. He decided he'd go down stairs early to wait for the Guard's arrival. Very slowly, he dragged his trunk from his room and down the stairs. He was completely out of breath. His trunk weighed more than Dudley, and that was saying something! Finally, He reached the bottom of the stairs, left his trunk in the dinning room, and sunk into the recliner in the living room, trying to get back the feeling in his arms. The Dursleys were watching television from the other side of the room, and Dudley was, 'big surprise,' in front of the refrigerator, stuffing his face. None of them made any indication to his presence.

Ten minutes later, the feeling had finally returned to Harry's limbs. He was about to fall asleep in the nice, cosy chair; carrying that trunk by himself wore him out, and he hadn't gotten much sleep to begin with. He closed his eyes but was suddenly brought crashing back to reality by two loud popping noises and his Aunt's screams. His eyes snapped open to see two identical boys with flaming-red hair, sitting on the couch. Aunt Petunia happened to be sitting on the couch as well . . . under one of the boys.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH! GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF OF MY COUCH THIS INSTANT!" Aunt Petunia screeched. The two boys jumped to their feet and tried to apologize to her, explaining that they were still getting used to apparating long distances. She, of course, didn't understand a word they were saying and actually broke down crying, running out of the room. Uncle Vernon followed her, muttering curses under his breath. Dudley, on the other hand, froze. The last time he had encountered the twins, his tongue had grown four feet long. From the look Dudley had on his face (and the fact that one of his hands had clapped over his mouth while the other made it's way to where his tail used to be), Harry could tell this memory was still fresh in Dudley's mind. All of the sudden, he sprinted out of the kitchen and up the stairs, his pudgy bottom wiggling madly. Harry had never seen Dudley run that fast before. Truthfully, he would have thought it physically impossible, but he was obviously wrong; Dudley could really move if he was motivated enough to do so.

Harry started to laugh uncontrollably as he saw his clumsy cousin trip on one of the stairs, smashing face first onto the steps above him. Once Dudley had left his sight, Harry turned his attention to the two visitors. "Hey, Fred, George. How's everything?" he asked, watching the twins roll around on the floor as they were laughing and clutching their sides.

"I-It's — b-been — okay," Fred said, trying to breath and pick himself up off the floor.

"Yeah, there hasn't been much action lately," George continued, regaining control over his breathing but still grinning. "Though, the shop is a big success! We've even come out with a new sweet!"

"Really? What is it?" Harry asked curiously.

"It's called Floo Sugar." Fred took a bag out of his pocket, filled with a powdery substance. "It's a bit like Floo Powder, only this stuff you eat rather than toss in a fire place. It's candy, but you use it for travelling. All you have to do is eat a pinch of it and say where you want to go. It's sort of like cheating the system, really. Under-aged wizards aren't allowed to apparate or disapparate 'cause it's too dangerous, but this stuff does all the hard work for you! We've looked over all of the laws. . . ."

"We've even asked Dumbledore, and there's nothing that says you can't use this stuff!"

"True, there aren't any laws against it partly because we've just invented it, but there aren't any laws that even suggest we can't use something like it, either. So, this is how we're getting you back to . . . erm . . . you know where," Fred finished looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"So, we are going to . . . you know where. I was wondering about where we were staying. I sort of figured that's where we'd go, but I was hoping to go to the Burrow. Oh well," Harry said with a sigh.

"Nah, it's not safe to go to the Burrow."

"I thought the usual guard was picking me up at four; that's what Ron said, anyway. What happened? And why are you so early?"

"With Floo Sugar, you didn't need to be picked up by the usual guard. We came early in case Ron's owl had been intercepted; the Order didn't want You-Know-Who to have known what we were really up to. We're sorry for not telling you, but we couldn't."

"Oh, that makes sense. I guess, it's okay."

"Got everything you need, then?" asked George, pointing to Harry's trunk.

"Yeah," Harry replied, strolling over to his trunk in the dinning room.

"We'll take your trunk for you, Harry. All right, let's go!" Fred held out the bag for Harry.

Harry grabbed some of the Floo Sugar, ate it, and then said, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

Disclaimer: See previous chapter.

Summary: See answer for above Disclaimer.

~*~*~*~*~

Meetings, Murders, and Mischief

(Chapter Two)

~*~*~

Harry suddenly became lighter than air. He felt himself floating rapidly upwards, swirls of colour passing him by. Almost as quickly as the curious sensation had started, it stopped; he floated back down, his weight coming back to him. He looked around and found himself standing in the dinning room of Grimmauld Place. It was packed with people, he supposed were in the Order of the Phoenix, chatting. Everything got quiet as the people noticed Harry standing in the middle of the room; they were all staring at him.

"Ah, you're just in time, Harry!" said a familiar voice. Harry wheeled around to see Dumbledore standing at the front of the room. "Please, sit," he gestured for Harry to take a seat, his eyes twinkling as they usually did.

"WHAT?" cried another familiar voice; it was Mrs. Weasley. She was standing right behind Harry. "Dumbledore, we're about to start a meeting! Harry can't be here during a meeting! He's not of age, he's not out of school, and he's not in the Order!"

"I am well aware of that, but I've decided to make an exception this time," Dumbledore replied lightly.

"But Dumbledore, there are things he shouldn't have to deal with yet! He's too young! He is —"

"Old enough to hear the truth," he said, cutting off her sentence, his voice not severe but with a note of finality in it. "I have made many mistakes in the past; the point is to learn from those mistakes. I will not allow the events of last term to repeat themselves."

Mrs. Weasley was acting like she had last year. It was really getting on Harry's nerves. Surely, there couldn't be anything worse than what had already happened . . . then what he's already heard . . . ?

"Dumbledore, the prophecy would torture him," she said in barely more than a whisper, looking desperately up at Dumbledore. Harry turned to her.

"I've already heard it," he told her. Her eyes got big and looked frightened. She stared at Harry for a moment, then looked back at Dumbledore as if to silently ask if what Harry had said was true. He nodded as her face contorted into shock; she was acting as though he had just confirmed Harry's death sentence. She looked back at Harry with horror in her eyes. Then slowly, she sat back in her seat with the same look of shock still on her face. A shiver seemed to spread around the room, even though no one moved.

Harry just stood there for a moment, lost in thought. It was weird; everyone in the room knew what was in the prophecy (he could tell by the silence and the looks of pity being sent his way), and they were all somehow connected to Harry by it. There was a sad energy flowing through them, and Harry could feel each person's sympathy closing in on him as though he could hear their thoughts without actually hearing anything.

A small noise brought him back to his senses, and he took a seat across from Remus Lupin and Mundungus Fletcher. Lupin gave him a weak smile. He wasn't looking too good; there were huge circles under his eyes and he was extremely pale. Harry knew this was because the full moon was soon approaching. He returned the smile and looked over to Mundungus; he was sleeping and had a small trickle of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. When Lupin poked him in the side to wake him up for the start of the meeting, he just gave a great snore. Harry and Lupin both looked at a pitcher of ice water that was sitting in front of them, looked at each other, smiled wickedly, and then turned their gaze to Mundungus. Lupin grabbed the pitcher and . . . SPLASH!

Mundungus stood up quickly and yelled, "AHHHH, I'm drowning! IT'S COLD! I'm drowning! Somebody help me, I'm —" he stopped in mid-sentence when he had opened his eyes to see everyone staring at him. "I'm okay," he announced and sat back down, blushing and giving Lupin a mutinous look. Harry and Lupin couldn't help but to laugh at their very wet and now fully awake friend. Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked over at the three of them, amusement etched into his features. He seemed to have found Mundungus' outburst as funny as they had.

"If we're ready to begin . . ." Dumbledore said, looking around to see that everyone was, indeed, ready to begin. "To start with, I'll recap what has been going on for new members." At this, Dumbledore's eyes no longer held amusement or happiness. They seemed . . . tired and weary. He began, "Now that the Ministry knows Voldemort is back, he hasn't been as quiet as he was last year, to put it mildly. There have been at least four muggle deaths that I know of. Each, I believe, were caused by his Death Eaters. I still haven't figured out why he chose to kill those people yet, if there even was a reason, but I will let you know as soon as I find out.

"His forces are still scarce so he has not tried a head on attack yet, but they will not remain that way for long. The new minister has finally sent envoys to the giants; though, it is likely to be too late for most of them. The dementors have once again joined Voldemort, so it is imperative that each one of you learn to defend yourselves in that respect. As most of you know, there had been a mass revolt before the summer had begun. Luckily, the Ministry was able to keep things from getting too far out of hand. Azkaban is now being run by some of our Aurors and other members of the Magical Law Enforcement; though, I fear this will not be enough. It will only be a matter of time before many of its prisoners escape, again." He sighed, "The truth is that until we are rid of Voldemort, things will not settle down. Unfortunately, there is only one person with the power to bring order back to us and relieve us of this evil once and for good. . . ."

Harry had been staring at Dumbledore, listening to every word carefully; now, Dumbledore was staring right back at him. The familiar twinkle that was usually found in his eyes was gone, and it was replaced with a mixture of sadness and respect. He went on, "It's going to be a tough year for you, Harry, but I know you will be able to handle it successfully. I've said it before, and I'll say it again . . . you have shown bravery beyond anything I could have ever expected of you, and I honour you for it."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry whispered; he was having a hard time of finding his voice. Everything seemed surreal, like he was in a dream and couldn't get out: trapped. Dumbledore continued, but Harry didn't hear a word of it. All he heard was ' “. . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . .” ' Those words had been playing in his head, over and over, ever since that fateful day in June. Now for the first time since then, those fairytale words were becoming real. Finally, the cold truth was seeping into his brain, and it was nauseating.

Death had been apart of his life ever since he had been the age of one, but this time it was different. This time, not only would he have to see death, but he would either have to deliver it or receive it. . . . He wanted to run . . . to hide . . . to be normal. Another thought came to him, 'I could have been normal. If only he hadn't chosen me . . .' But then again, he wouldn't have wanted such large burdens placed upon his friend, Neville, so that thought was quickly squelched.

The scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet released Harry from his stupor. The meeting was over. "Are you all right, Harry?" came a voice from above him. He looked up to see the anxious face of Lupin staring at him.

In truth, Harry was not all right, but he didn't feel like talking about his troubles at the moment. He also was sick of telling people otherwise, so he simply said, "I'll live." Lupin didn't seem quite satisfied with Harry's answer, but he finally nodded and left to talk with other members of the Order. Harry rose from his seat, wanting to get away from all the stares being directed towards him. He started for the door when his eyes set upon a girl with very bushy hair and a large smile planted on her face.

"HARRY!" Hermione yelled, running over to him. Before he knew it, he was caught up in her embrace, his air being obstructed by long tangles of fuzz.

"Her-mio-ne — I — can't — breath!" he struggled to say through mouthfuls of hair.

"Oh, sorry!" she said, quickly loosening her arms around his neck and taking a small step backward. He was finally able to see her face properly. She hadn't changed too much since that last time he had seen her. She was a bit tanner than normal, but nothing more.

"It's okay," he smiled. He was so glad to see her. He hadn't been stuck with his relatives for longer than three weeks, but it had still seemed like an eternity to him. It was most definitely good to be back.

She was grinning up at him, her eyes alight with happiness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so joyous. He vaguely wondered what had made her this way but noticed he didn't really care much, as long as she was happy. Being this close, he noticed how straight her teeth were now, and found himself quite impressed with Madam Pomfrey's handy work. Hermione really did have a wonderful smile. He wished she'd show it off more often.

His thoughts were interrupted, once again, by a distant noise coming from the entrance of the dinning hall. He looked up to see his other best friend Ron and Ron's younger sister, Ginny, laughing and walking over to where he and Hermione stood.

"So did Hermione run you over when she saw you, or did she just resort to cutting off your air supply?" Ron joked.

"The latter," Harry grinned.

"Ha, Yes! Pay up Ron," Ginny held out her hand as if expecting Ron to give her something. Harry looked at her, confused. "Ron and I had a bet going for when you arrived. . . . He thought Hermione would flat out run you to the ground, she's been so anxious to see you, but I figured that she'd manage to stop running in time to just choke you before you could react." (Hermione looked daggers at her and Ron.) "Now pay up Ron. You owe me five Galleons." She continued to hold out her hand.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, that's the whole point of betting!"

"But I haven't got any money! The whole point of betting was so I could gain money, not lose it!" he complained.

"If you wanted money so badly, you should have taken up Fred and George's offer to work at their shop. But no, you were too lazy. So you'll just have to deal with your decision. Now, what do you plan on doing since you've lost?"

"I don't know, I was sure I'd win!"

"Well, you didn't win. Are you even going to pay me when you do get some money?"

"No, I'm just gonna ignore you until you forget about it," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Argh! Why do I even bother? You better get me one hell of a Christmas present this year!" Ginny muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at her duplicitous brother.

"Well, you two look very cozy," Ron stated, frowning at Hermione's arms still wrapped around Harry's neck. The two teens looked at each other and quickly separated, blushing. Harry hadn't even realized that they had been standing like that for the past few minutes. An awkward silence covered the group as each fell into thought.

Harry was glad when Mrs. Weasley's voice interrupted them, asking people to help her with dinner. He was more than willing to help set the tables, but she refused to allow it. "You've had a hard day Harry, dear. Just sit back and relax. The rest can set the tables." Harry trudged over to the table he had been sitting at earlier that evening and sat down when he saw the Weasley twins walk into the room. They immediately spotted Harry and walked over to him.

"Harry," Fred and George saluted him.

"Fred, George," Harry returned as the two sat down opposite to him.

"Oi! Why's this seat wet? Great! Now, I'm gonna have a wet splotch on the back of my robes right where my butt is!" Fred exclaimed.

"Now, people are going to think you've been up to something, Fred!" George laughed.

"Har, Har," Fred replied dully, choosing a drier seat.

"You have Lupin and 'Dung to thank for that. Lupin poured water on 'Dung when he wouldn't wake up for the meeting. It was highly entertaining. You should have been there. By the way, where have you two been? Aren't you part of the Order now? Why weren't you at the meeting?" Harry asked.

"We had some . . . unfinished business to take care of," said George, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Like what?"

"Oh, let's just say the muggles you live with are going to be a lot nicer to you from now on," Fred tried but failed to refrain from grinning evilly.

"What did you two do?"

"Harry, I'm shocked!" said George, putting on a face of mock hurt.

"What makes you think we were anything but perfect angels?" Fred inquired, making the same face as his twin.

Harry snorted, "Meeting you, that's what."

Fred's evil smile was back, "What can we say?"

"We have a talent for trouble," George finished.

"That's the understatement of the year!" Harry laughed.

"Fred, George! Don't just sit there; help carry food out to the tables!" Mrs. Weasley's voice was herd once again, screeching from across the room.

"Yes, coming Mum!" Fred yelled back.

"It's not like we really have a choice." George said in a low whisper to Harry. "If we don't help her, we don't eat."

"Just because we're her children, she thinks she can order us around!" Fred exclaimed.

"Imagine that — having to listen to your mum. What is the world coming to?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah," chorused the twins, begrudgingly following their mother's retreating back into the kitchen.

"Fred, why are your robes wet in the back? Really Fred, I know it's been a while since we last stayed here, but I thought you would at least have remembered where the bathroom was!" Mrs. Weasley's voice floated from the kitchen and through the open door.

"Don't worry Mum; it's not what you think. I was just testing out one of our new gag gifts for the shop," Fred assured her.

"Yeah, they're called Wet Robes! Embarrass your friends and humiliate your enemies! They're perfect for parties and formal occasions," George said with the air of a game-show host.

"They are charmed to activate when the prankster says a secret word. Each set of robes comes with a secret word already assigned to them. When the assigned word is spoken aloud, the robes will suddenly become very moist in the buttocks region. The unsuspecting victim will then be promptly and thoroughly embarrassed," Fred continued in the same manner as his brother.

"Wet Robes are sold in a variety of colours including: yellow, red, blue, green, black, and (for complete and utter social mortification) white, which secretes a yellowish liquid," George smiled wickedly at this. "Three Galleons each, the white ones are an extra two. It's only five Knuts to have the secret word changed to suit the buyers’ needs."

"They won't be in stock for another week, but we will take orders now. So, how many would you like to buy, Mum?" Fred inquired.

It was as If someone had set off a bomb in the kitchen. "I WILL NOT HAVE YOU ADVERTISING YOUR . . . MERCHANDISE IN MY HOUSE!" Mrs. Weasley screamed, her voice being rivaled only by a howler.

"But Mum, this isn't your house!" George argued.

"I DON'T CARE! I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS BEHAVIOUR! Fred, go change your robes into normal robes. George, bring those plates out to the tables, and don't use magic; carry them!"

"Damn, she knows us too well!" Fred sighed.

"Yeah, she does." George sounded mildly impressed.

Harry finally heard the twins mumble their compliance rather reluctantly. Soon, both boys were seen making their way out of the kitchen, one loaded down with dishes. They both gave Harry feeble glances before going their separate ways.

Dinner was an enjoyable affair. Mrs. Weasley's cooking was, as always, delicious. It was rather quiet for the most part, just polite chatter. Harry saw some new faces along with the old. Many of which greeted him all throughout dinner. A few even started telling Harry how brave they thought him to be and how much they admired him for his sacrifices. He really wished they wouldn't; every time this happened, Ron would give him a strange look.

The only somewhat entertaining thing that happened was when Ron blew pumpkin juice out through his nose after hearing about Hermione's 'wonderful' week long trip to Bulgaria with Victor Krum. (Apparently, she decided to go at the beginning of this summer because she hadn't been able to do so last summer.)

"You went to Bulgaria for a week with Vicky, and you didn't tell me?" Ron asked unbelievingly, while trying to wipe up the pumpkin juice that had sprayed everywhere.

"First off, his name is Victor, not Vicky. Second, I just told you about visiting him, didn't I? And even if I hadn't just told you, it's not like I have to tell you about everything I do. So, don't act like I've committed some great injustice by not owling you the moment I decided to take that trip. My life doesn't revolve around you Ronald Bilius Weasley, however hard that may be for you to comprehend!" At that, Hermione stormed off upstairs.

Ron gaped openly at the exit to the dinning hall where Hermione had just left through. "Can you believe her?" he asked, turning to Harry.

"Er . . ." was all Harry could say. Truthfully, though she may have overreacted a bit, he thought Hermione had a point, but he didn't think it a good idea to tell Ron this. Harry, deciding a change of subject was in order, asked, "Are we sleeping in the same room as last time?"

Ron, not seeming to notice Harry's intentions, answered with a muffled, "Yeah," after stuffing a large spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Harry was beginning to feel the effects of all the food in his stomach and was getting very sleepy. He slowly retreated up to bed but not before saying good night to everyone. He made sure to be as quiet as he could, while passing through the hall where Mrs. Black's portrait still hung. He made a mental note to himself to find a way of removing it some day. He thought that would be a nice tribute to Sirius's memory, based on how much he had hated the portrait.

He drug his feet up the stairs and passed by the many house-elf heads that Mrs. Weasley still seemed unable to remove from the wall. His footsteps, being the only noise he could hear, sounded through the air like tiny explosions. Being alone in Grimmauld Place was starting to take its effects. Memories of Harry's godfather were playing out before his eyes. He was forced to shake his head a few times, in hopes to clear it from the torturous visions.

Finally, he came to the landing on which his room resided. Soon, his footsteps were not the only noises to be heard. As he neared his destination, he could hear Hermione's voice carrying down from her room, muttering about over obsessive, jealous prats. He was tempted to pop in and say good night to her, but thought better of it; she was in 'one of those moods', and unlike the house-elves along the wall, he was fond of his head and he'd rather keep it attached to his body.

When he reached his room, he saw that the twins had been kind enough to bring up his trunk for him. He was reluctant to open it, though, sure that the two pranksters had filled it with Squirting Ink-Pellets or Dungbombs. To his relief and complete surprise, they hadn't done anything of the sort. Harry quickly dressed and slunk into his very comfortable bed where sleep soon took him to fitful dreams of veils.

Disclaimer: See previous chapter. Also, the memories and the prophecy in this chapter were taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the fifth book in the Harry Potter series written by J. K. Rowling (as if anybody even considering reading this story doesn't already know that).

Summary: See first sentence of answer for above Disclaimer.

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (And Reviews *Hint* *Hint*): He couldn't stand it; he had to look away from those eyes. Closing his own, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, and pulled her into him again as close as was physically possible it seemed. She ran her hands through his hair in soothing movements, waiting patiently for him to answer her, and he knew he would have to answer her. . . .

~*~*~*~*~

Memories

(Chapter Three)

~*~*~

Harry was sitting in a large, high-backed chair by a roaring fire. Old houses were always so cold even in the summer. The morning was nearing two o'clock, but still none of his Death Eaters had reported back to him. His patience was growing very thin; he would have to torture the one responsible for the hold up to make sure such delays wouldn't happen again in the future. Forget torturing the one responsible, anyone would do now; they were all in this together, they would all pay for making their master wait!

"Master?" squeaked a voice from behind him.

"It's about time! What took so long?" Harry questioned with a high, cruel voice.

"The Aurors . . . they were stronger than we had expected —"

"I don't care for excuses, Wormtail!"

"I am sorry my lord!" Wormtail said, dropping to his knees and crawling along the floor to where Harry sat. "I did not mean to upset you. Please, forgive me, Master?" he said, kissing the hem of Harry's robes.

"You know I do not forgive without payment. Stop grovelling, Worm!" Harry demanded, kicking at the pathetic excuse for a wizard in front of him. He waited for a moment, "Well?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Was the operation successful?" he hissed, getting annoyed with the wizard's stupidity.

"Yes, sir. All of the remaining Death Eaters that were in Azkaban have been freed. We also killed two Aurors. One of our own fell, but he had been new." Wormtail hurried as to avoid the wrath of his master.

Harry smiled wickedly at the news. Finally, his army was starting to take form again. And now, there were two less people to aid that meddling old fool, Dumbledore. One loss was worth regaining the rest of his most loyal Death Eaters. Anyway, if that one was so easily taken to the grave, then he hadn't deserved to live. Weakness was not tolerated by Lord Voldemort.

"Where is everyone else, Worm?"

"They are waiting for you downstairs, my lord."

"Why did no one come with you?" Wormtail just eyed the ground nervously, but Harry didn't need him to say anything. He could see right through the little rat; he new the truth. "They were too afraid," he answered himself. "They shall all pay . . . first for making me wait so long, and second for their cowardice! Lord Voldemort does not tolerate cowards and weaklings!"

"Of course not, Master."

Harry rose from his chair, "Come, Worm." Harry started toward the door with Wormtail trailing behind him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room. . . . Pitiless, red eyes stared back at him. There was a loud clap of thunder and . . .

Harry sat bolt upright in bed covered profusely with sweat. He stumbled to the floor, still tangled in his sheets, trying to get to the mirror on the dresser. He leaned in close to his reflection, having left his glasses on his nightstand, to see his usual green eyes. At least, he still resembled himself.

He looked across the room and saw Ron, or rather, a blurry lump under a bunch of sheets, lying haphazardly on his bed. A loud snore told Harry that his best friend was still asleep.

He began running through his dream, trying to remember the details before they slipped away. He had been in Voldemort's mind again. . . . He had been talking to Wormtail about something important. . . . There had been a breakout from Azkaban and people had died . . . two Aurors and one Death Eater. . . . Then Voldemort had . . .

"Ah!" Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, his scar burning as though it were on fire. The pain began to subside almost immediately as he heard a loud thump from across the room. Harry's yell had woken Ron.

"Wassa matta, Harry?" Ron asked groggily from the floor.

"I had another dream."

"Was it another attack?" Ron practically whispered, now very much awake.

"Yes, a big one. They broke all of the Death Eaters out of Azkaban."

Ron gulped at Harry's statement. "Did anyone die?" he seemed almost hesitant to ask.

"Yes, but I don't know who."

"You need to tell someone from the Order."

"Yeah, I know. I was going to when my scar started hurting. Voldemort was about to . . ." Harry shuddered. "Never mind."

"Well, come on. We should hurry," Ron said, obviously trying to ignore the fact that Harry had used Voldemort's name. Harry grabbed his glasses and left, trailing behind Ron.

The two boys marched down the stairs and into Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room. Mrs. Weasley woke with a start, grabbing for her wand before realizing who had woken her.

"What are you two boys doing up at this hour and in my room? Do you even realize that it's . . ." she paused to look at her husband's wristwatch, "two-thirty in the morning?" she started in a stern tone. "You should be in bed and asleep, not running around the house like —"

"Mum, shut up. Harry needs to tell you something," Ron interrupted her before she could continue her lecture.

Mrs. Weasley spluttered at her son's rudeness but soon regained her composure. "Well then, what is so important that you had to wake me now?"

"I had another dream," Harry began. "There was a breakout from Azkaban; all of the Death Eaters have escaped."

She looked up apprehensively at him, "Are you sure this wasn't just a dream, Harry dear?" She seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. "I mean, is there the slightest possibility that you might have been mistaken, again?"

"It was real, I know it was! You have to do something!" Harry couldn't understand why she wasn't doing anything yet; people had died, and she was just sitting there! Scepticism was etched on every feature of her face. Then, it hit him; she wasn't going to do anything. . . . She didn't believe him. "You don't think I'm telling the truth, do you?" he asked incredulously.

"Now Harry, it's not that I don't believe that you think what happened in your dream was real; it's just that the last time you had one of these 'dreams', it turned out to be a trap. I'm concerned that your judgment may not be at its best right now, and I don't think it's a good idea to worry the Order over nothing." She spoke calmly, as though trying to explain something complex to a small child.

"Nothing?" Harry was trying to keep his voice down but was failing miserably. "Oh yeah, Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban and people dying is absolutely nothing!" he said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Her voice was becoming more impatient and agitated, "Harry, at least two members from the Order are stationed at Azkaban all day, every day. If something had happened, they would have contacted us —"

"They wouldn't contact you if they were unconscious or dead!"

Mrs. Weasley sat stunned for a moment but then continued defiantly, as though her word were final, "Harry, the Order is not going to go running off to Azkaban at two-thirty in the morning because of the off chance that a dream you had might be real."

"I'm not asking for that. I just want someone to tell Dumbledore!"

"Dumbledore doesn't need to be disturbed at this hour."

"You know, you weren't so doubtful when Mr. Weasley had been the one attacked! What if I had ignored it then . . . ?"

Silence filled the room after that statement. Mrs. Weasley was completely speechless. She almost looked like she was about to cry at the thought of losing her husband. Harry felt immediately guilty for yelling at her the way he did, but he had to make her see the truth. He was about to apologize for being so rude when a soft voice spoke up before he'd even opened his mouth.

"You know that he's right, Molly." Everyone jumped at the sound of Mr. Weasley's voice. Harry had only just realized how loud his argument with Mrs. Weasley must have been. "It couldn't hurt to contact Dumbledore and inform him of the news." She looked down and slowly nodded her head. Then, he turned around and picked up a small white candle from the top of a table next to the bed. He pointed his wand at it and muttered a few words under his breath. Almost immediately a flame sprung up from the candle, but it wasn't the shape of a normal flame; it was slightly larger and resembled . . . Dumbledore's head?!

As if seeing his Headmaster's head bobbing above a candle hadn't been shocking enough for Harry, the fiery form then began to speak, "Hello, Arthur. I assume you've contacted me because Harry's had another dream? Perhaps, it was one about a breakout from Azkaban?"

"So it's true, then?"

"I am afraid so."

Mrs. Weasley suddenly let out a small scream, "Hadn't tonight been Tonks' and Kingsley's turns to keep watch? Oh, Dumbledore, please tell me they are both all right!"

The flaming head nodded, "They are both fine. They sustained only a few minor injuries. Both should be as good as new after a good-night's sleep."

"Oh, thank Merlin!" she sighed in relief.

"We are still trying to get things back in order. There aren't any casualties to speak of, yet —"

"That's not true, sir," Harry cut in, "there were two Aurors and one Death Eater who lost their lives."

"Do you know who?"

"No, Wormtail didn't say who."

"You mean Pettigrew? Right, we'll continue searching, then. In the mean time, I suggest that the rest of you get some sleep. You've done all you can tonight. Arthur, I will be by later today once I am done here. Now, I must be going. Goodnight to you all."

A chorus of 'good-nights' sounded from the four people staring at the candle. Dumbledore's fiery head gave a small nod before the flame withered and died.

"Well, you two heard him. Go on up to bed. I'll wake you when breakfast is ready," Mrs. Weasley chided, her stern demeanour having returned.

The two boys went to leave, but right before Harry reached the door he turned and said, "Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry about yelling at you earlier. I didn't mean to be so rude and —"

"Oh, don't worry about it dear. I'm the one who should be sorry; I should have listened to you the first time you said something was wrong. Now, go up to bed and get some sleep," She said, giving him a small hug before shooing him out of the room.

Harry and Ron were retreating under the covers of their beds only a short time later, Ron having a much easier time of falling into slumber than Harry.

~*~*~

"Harry. Harry, wake up," a distant voice called. He felt his shoulder shake lightly. "It's almost lunch time, you need to wake up," the voice called softly, hanging on the wind like an angel's whisper.

" 'Kay, just five more minutes, Mum," he murmured to the angel.

"Harry, I'm not your mum. Now come on, open your eyes. Mrs. Weasley told me to wake you up for lunch. She let you sleep in this morning because she knew you needed at least some rest, but she doesn't want you to sleep the entire day away. I really don't think it's a good idea to incite her wrath upon us, so get up," the voice said more forcefully.

Driven by the fear of Mrs. Weasley's infamous temper, he forced himself to escape the confines of nothingness he had been dreaming about. "All right, I'm getting up," he said, opening his eyes to see a blurry Hermione sitting next to him on the side of his bed. He took his glasses that she was holding out to him, "Thanks."

She nodded to him. "You need to hurry; lunch will be served in a few minutes, and Dumbledore will be arriving soon after lunch is over."

"Did Ron tell you about what happened last night?"

"Yes."

"Did they find the three who had . . . ?" he trailed off.

"We don't know. You'll have to ask Dumbledore when he arrives," her quiet voice hung sadly in the air. They sat there for a few minutes thinking about what news Dumbledore might bring before Hermione finally said, "I should let you get ready. I'll see you downstairs." She slipped off of his bed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry soon made his way to the kitchen after getting dressed. He could hear Mrs. Weasley bickering with the twins, again. He suspected it had something to do with their shop. He was quite surprised she hadn't yet chided him for sponsoring Fred and George. It would probably happen sooner or later, though. Harry opened the door to find the five Weasleys, Lupin, and Hermione sitting at a table in the centre of the room. They all looked up to where he stood at the sound of the creaking door. A few 'hellos' were exchanged as Harry entered the room, seating himself between Lupin and Hermione.

"So, Hermione said that there hasn't been anymore news on what happened last night . . ." Harry started off, trying to get some more information.

"Dumbledore contacted us, but he didn't give us any details. He just said he'd be by at around one o'clock today," Lupin replied to Harry's unfinished question.

"Oh." Harry was going to ask something else, but was distracted by a small tapping sound. "Does anyone else hear that? It sounds like someone tapping at a window."

"We weren't expecting anyone except Dumbledore, and he knows how to get in; it must be an owl. Why don't you go fetch it, Ron," Mrs. Weasley told him. Ron left the kitchen to search out the source of the insistent tapping. "I trust you got some sleep after the events of last night, Harry? I mean this morning I couldn't wake you for the world, though, you still have those dark circles under your eyes. Did you lose weight? What have those Muggles been feeding you? Eat up, Harry; I won't have you wasting away, not if I can help it."

"Er, right," he replied a bit awkwardly; he was still having a hard time of getting used to people fussing over him. He didn't really know how to react or what to say, so he just took a big bite out of his sandwich to avoid having to give a more in-depth response.

Ron came back with a letter held open in front of his face. Judging by the expression he was making, Harry thought it was safe to assume that the letter wasn't from one of Ron's favourite people. Sure enough, Harry was right. "It's from Percy. He wants to say that he's sorry about what had happened last year, and he's glad that the family understands and will be welcoming his return." Ron gave the letter one last scoff before handing it over to his mother. "As if that'll happen." He settled himself back in his seat across from Harry to finish his lunch. "He's so pompous! After what he did, he expects us to welcome him back with open arms just because he wanted to say he was sorry, which he didn't say by the way! It'll be funny when he shows up at the house and finds it empty."

"He won't. He sent a letter a few days ago, as well. Arthur is going to meet him after work and bring him here tonight," Mrs. Weasley corrected him.

"What? You mean to tell me that you actually accepted his lame attempt at an apology after what he did to us and to Harry?"

"If you mean to say that he's realized the error of his past behaviour, that he's only human and makes mistakes like the rest of us, and that we have forgiven him, then my answer is yes," she responded slightly coolly.

"You have a very colourful way of interpreting the things I say," Ron noted wryly.

"Only when the things you say are rude," she quipped back at him.

"So, I suppose the rest of the family doesn't have a choice in the matter?"

"Well, most of the family have already decided to let bygones be bygones. Also, the Order decided to allow Percy knowledge of the whereabouts of our headquarters, so he'll be staying here for the rest of the summer."

"Fred, George, you knew about this, and you didn't say anything?" Ron asked incredulously. The two avoided his eyes, looking a bit nervous. "Ginny?" She was staring at the floor as she gave her head a slight nod in the affirmative. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?" He asked, gaping at his mother.

"I didn't know about it. Of course, that's not exactly saying something. . . ." Harry replied half-heartedly.

"I meant people inside the family, Harry," Ron cut him off.

"Oh. Right. Sorry," Harry's voice dropped in volume with each syllable. Ron's words felt like a knife that had just been jabbed into his chest. An image of his parents and Sirius flashed in his mind. He could hear his mother screaming and himself shouting for Sirius to come back. Harry knew Ron hadn't meant it in a harsh way, but his words were still a reminder that Harry was just an orphan who had no one: Alone.

"Ron, that was really uncalled for," Hermione whispered, her eyes flashing.

"And mean," Ginny added contemptuously.

"What'd I do?" Ron asked, looking between the two. They both just glared at him. "What?"

Mrs. Weasley started tut-ing. "You know you're as good as family, don't you Harry? Don't bother with what Ron said."

"What did I say?" Ron kept repeating.

"I'll tell you later," Ginny mumbled to him to get him to stop.

Harry stared at his food, casting around for something to talk about to try and break some of the tension. The silence was killing him; there was nothing keeping him from thinking about his lost family, and he needed there to be. Stepping into the 'House of Black' was like being forced into a living hell of painful memories, and he needed the distractions that conversations with the others presented so he could stop remembering, stop hurting (even if it was only on the surface). He couldn't let the pain take a hold of him because if it did, it'd never stop. He had to be numb just to survive.

He still hadn't fully accepted Sirius's death yet. . . . Sometimes, he still found himself expecting Sirius to come bursting through the front door, saying, "Did you miss me?" . . . It was easier to pretend that Sirius was just on a long vacation of a sort. Though deep down, Harry knew the truth. . . . He just either couldn't or wouldn't face it.

"Harry?"

He focused his gaze upward to see a concerned Lupin looking at him. Suddenly he felt crowded as he noticed everyone else looking at him. He couldn't breath. He needed to be by himself. "I'm fine, really. I'm just not all that hungry," and with that, he got up and left the kitchen.

He regretted leaving the moment he was alone; the memories came rushing to him like a whirl-wind. . . .

The dream . . .

. . . Once again he was in the cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass spheres . . . there was a shape on the floor at the very end, a black shape moving upon the floor like a wounded animal . . . A voice issued from his own mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness, "Take it for me. . . . Lift it down, now. . . . I cannot touch it . . . but you can. . . ." The black shape upon the floor shifted a little. Harry saw a long-fingered white hand clutching a wand . . . heard the high, cold voice say, "Crucio!" . . . He raised his wand, the curse lifted, and the figure groaned and became motionless. "Lord Voldemort is waiting . . ." Very slowly, his arms trembling, the man on the ground raised his shoulders a few inches and lifted his head. His face was bloodstained and gaunt, twisted in pain yet rigid with defiance. . . . "You'll have to kill me," whispered Sirius. . . .

Kreacher . . .

. . . the elf let out his loudest cackle yet. "Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries!" he said gleefully. "Kreacher and his Mistress are alone again!" . . .

His last battle . . .

. . . Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled . . . The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest . . . his eyes widened in shock . . . His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch. . . .

"NO! STOP!" Harry yelled and ran up the stairs.

'No!'

. . . "SIRIUS!" Harry yelled, "SIRIUS!" . . .

'Stop!'

. . . 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, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back . . .

"Go away!" he whimpered.

. . . "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 —" . . . "There's nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing. . . . He's gone." . . .

'NO!'

Harry ran into Sirius's old room, grabbed the first thing he saw, and threw it at a wall. "WHY NOW?" he shouted toward the ceiling. "Why did you have to leave me?" he whispered, dropping to his knees, trying to fight off the visions.

"Harry?"

He spun around to see Hermione rushing toward him from the doorway. He closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, Hermione was wrapping him in her arms, holding him tight to her.

"I miss him. I miss him so much, Hermione!" his voice broke. "Why did he have to leave? Why? It's not fair. He never got the chance to live! He finally escaped from Azkaban, but he never got to live!" He pulled her closer, letting the emotions wash over him.

"Shh, it's okay, Harry. Let it all out. It's okay to cry if you need to —"

"NO! I can't!" But even as he said it, burning, hot tears spilled down his cheek. "I can't! The pain will never go away! I can't let myself be weak. I can't . . . I can't . . ." All the pain that he'd been suppressing, all the emotions he'd tried so desperately to ignore and forget were taking over him. He was falling and couldn't stop. Hermione was making small shushing noises to help calm him, but he needed more than that. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, holding onto her as though his life depended on it, as though she was the only thing keeping him sane.

"You don't always have to be the strong one, Harry," she whispered, pulling back enough to see his face.

"Yes, I do."

Her eyes were searching his, as though trying to figure something out. "Why?"

"Because I'm the one everyone is counting on. . . ."

"Why is everyone counting on you?" She kept searching his eyes. Pausing for a moment as though hoping he would elaborate, she continued when he didn't. "Why did people keep coming up to you at dinner last night? What's going on that you haven't told me, yet? I know there's something more that you've been hiding. Is that why you didn't write over the summer? Talk to me, Harry!" she pleaded.

Now, was the time to tell her about the prophecy. He knew he'd never be able to lie to her, not now, not with those eyes boring into his. He wanted so desperately to tell her, to talk to someone about it, but he didn't know how to form the words. Where would he start?

She reached a hand up to his cheek and brushed away the tears that were still clinging to his skin. "Please, tell me, Harry."

He couldn't stand it; he had to look away from those eyes. Closing his own, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, and pulled her into him again as close as was physically possible it seemed. She ran her hands through his hair in soothing movements, waiting patiently for him to answer her, and he knew he would have to answer her. . . .

Steeling himself for the inevitable, he began his story at the point from when she had fallen that night. He told her every detail he could remember: how he had felt when he'd thought she had died; the fight with the Death Eaters and how the prophecy had smashed with no one hearing it; (with his voice trembling) how Sirius had died; his skirmish with Bellatrix; Dumbledore's duel with Voldemort; how Voldemort had possessed him; and finally, his talk with Dumbledore back in the aged wizard's office . . .

"Hermione, do you remember Lucius Malfoy saying that the reason Voldemort had attacked my family in the first place was because of that prophecy?"

"Yes."

"Well, he was telling the truth. That prophecy was the reason for everything that's happened between me and Voldemort! But I've got the upper hand on him in a small way . . . I know what it says. . . ."

She looked into his eyes, shocked and confused. "I thought you said that the prophecy smashed and that no one heard it . . . ?"

"Yes, and it's true. But, that sphere that was hidden in the Department of Mysteries was just a record. The real thing happened sometime within the year before I was born, and there was one very important person who had heard it entirely . . . Dumbledore. That night after I had calmed down a bit, he told me the prophecy using his Pensieve; I don't think he was actually able to get the words out himself, and I can completely understand. . . ." He averted his eyes, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

"So, are you going to tell me . . . or not?" she asked anxiously after a moment of silence.

He looked back at her hesitantly, "Can you promise me something?"

"Harry, I'm surprised you need to ask; you know I would never tell anyone!" she huffed, looking indignant and slightly hurt.

"Huh? Oh. No, Hermione, you know I can trust you with anything; that's not what I want you to promise me."

"Oh." She blushed at having assumed wrongly of her best friend.

"It's okay. I just wanted you to promise me that when I tell you the prophecy . . . you won't cry. I don't think I could stand it if you cried. . . ." he trailed off.

She frowned at him. "Why would I . . ." Suddenly, her eyes widened, and a look of pure agonizing terror crossed her face. "No —"

"Hermione?"

"No! NO!" She started shaking her head from side to side.

"Hermione, please —"

"It says you're going to die, doesn't it!"

"What?"

"The prophecy, it says that you're going to die! It does, doesn't it . . . Oh please, tell me it doesn't!" Tears began to form in her cinnamon eyes.

"Hermione, don't cry! Please, don't cry!" he said, trying his best to calm her down. What was it with him and making women cry?

"Does it say you're going to die, Harry?" Her voice was almost hysterical now.

"Please, stop! I can't stand to see you cry!" he pleaded.

"TELL ME! DOES IT, OR DOESN'T IT?!" she wailed at him, pushing him away to stand up.

"NO! Not exactly . . ." he replied nervously, turning his gaze to the floor.

"What do you mean not exactly?" her voice was barely more than a whisper now, trembling and breaking.

"Please, Hermione. This is hard enough to say without you crying. I can't say this with you in hysterics. I need you to calm down. Please, try to calm down. . . ." again he pleaded, his eyes begging with hers.

A few more tears fell down her cheeks, but she hastily wiped them away, taking in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she was visibly calmer than she had been only seconds before; though, she was shaking a considerable amount. She leaned herself against a nearby wall, and slid down it, hugging her knees to her and burying her face in her arms. "Okay, Harry."

"Hermione, can you look at me?" If he was going to tell her, he needed to see her to do it. He wasn't quite sure why, but that's how it needed to be, as thought seeing her face would give him strength.

Her chest heaved with another deep breath before she looked up at him, tucking her legs to the side as he took a hold of her hands.

Damn, why did he have to be so nervous? She had finally calmed down, and now he was going to turn into a wreck. No, he could do this. He needed to do this. "Merlin, I wish I had a Pensieve right about now . . ." One corner of her mouth twitched upwards but only for an instant. "Okay, here goes . . .

" 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. . . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. . . .' "

She didn't make a move or say anything. For a moment, he wondered if she had even heard him. She just continued to stare at him with her eyes slightly glazed. He was about to wave his hand in front of her when she finally spoke. "It doesn't have your name in it, anywhere."

"No . . . it doesn't."

"Is there no one else who was born at the end of July and whose parents had escaped from V-Voldemort three times?"

"Yes . . . there is one oth—"

"Who?!" Her eyes widened with a hint of hope.

"Neville."

"Longbottom?"

"Yes."

"No one else?"

"No."

"So, it could only be about either you or him?"

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" she eyed him, confused.

"It's only about me. You're forgetting a part. '. . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal . . .' Do you see Neville sporting an ugly, lightning-bolt scar on his forehead?" he ask, raising his eyebrows.

The hope he'd seen earlier in her eyes vanished without a trace. "No," she whispered. "And your scar isn't ugly, by the way," she added as an afterthought. "So, it's all about you?" she continued after a minute of quiet.

He sighed and sat down next to her against the wall. "It's all about me. . . ."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Harry, what power do you have that V-Voldemort doesn't know about?" she asked, turning her head upward to face him.

His snort sounded deafening in the otherwise silent room. "I don't know. I don't think I have a power that Voldemort doesn't have or know about. But Dumbledore said I did. He said that the power I had took me to save Sirius, that it saved me from being possessed by Voldemort because he could not stand to be in my body that was so full of the 'force he detests'. He said my heart saved me. . . ."

She bit her bottom lip like she did many times when in deep thought. He could almost see her mind working as he looked in her eyes. "It sounds like he was talking about . . . love."

"Yeah, it does. But how is love going to help me win the final battle? How is it going to help me defeat the most evil wizard of the age? Am I supposed to love him to death, hmm?" He almost laughed out loud; the thought was completely ridiculous!

She chuckled lightly. "Well, no; that seems a bit ludicrous. But maybe loving somebody else will help you defeat him . . . ?" Her eyebrows knitted together as she continued to ponder before her eyes grew wide with questioning dread. "Wait . . . defeat him? You have to . . . ? Oh goodness, no! The end of the prophecy . . . that's what's really been bothering you! You have to either —"

"Kill or be killed. Yeah, that's what's been bothering me." he finished for her apathetically. He immediately regretted his words when he saw tears pouring out of Hermione's eyes once again. "Oh, no. Shh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Hermione. Please, don't cry again. Please —"

"M-m-maybe — maybe it w-won't come tr-true," she sobbed, "Maybe —"

"Hermione . . . think about it. It's already come true," he said softly. She sniffed at him. "It came true when I was born at the end of July. It continued to come true when Voldemort attacked me when I was only a year old. And it's going to keep coming true until one of us . . ."

She wailed out and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him snug against her body and practically pulling herself into his lap, as thought she were afraid he was going to meet his end right then and there. "You're not allowed to die! I won't let you! You are going to win that final battle or . . . or you'll have to face me!"

He couldn't help it, he had to let out a small laugh at her stubborn demands of him. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to win that battle now; there is absolutely no way I could ever stand up to the wrath of Hermione," he joked, wrapping his arms around her middle for the second time. She let out a small laugh along with another sniff, burying her head into the crook of his neck.

The two fell silent and just continued to hold each other. Hermione had finally calmed down and was tracing small circles on Harry's shoulder, while Harry was absent-mindedly rubbing her back slowly. It seemed like an eternity had passed before either one of them made any more movement from there initial embrace.

Harry was relishing the sensation of being held by someone. He'd never truly experienced just being held before (or if so, he didn't remember). The only time that even came close happened after the Triwizard Tournament when Mrs. Weasley had hugged him, but that paled in comparison to this.

He couldn't remember a time when he had felt this calm, this relaxed. . . . He wasn't exactly happy . . . or maybe he was? He wasn't happy in the sense of extreme elation, but in the sense that he felt safe, like nothing could go wrong and nothing mattered but this moment. . . . He was finally at peace.

~*~*~

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long to write. First, my instructors were drowning me in homework. Then, when classes had ended (and I finally thought I could have a break), I found out that my guinea pig, Cocoa, has a malignant tumor (he has cancer), and he probably won't live longer than a month or so. The vet didn't think it was fair to put him through surgery when he wasn't going to make it anyway. We didn't want him to have to go through unnecessary pain without any hope of recovery or understanding. That would just be torture for my poor baby. So basically, all I can do is spend as much time with him as possible while waiting for the inevitable. Let me tell you, that wasn't what I needed to hear for Christmas.

Thank you all for being so patient. I know it's been a long time since I updated. Please, review; it means a lot.

Special thanks to my beta, Nati.

Lots of love to all my readers and (especially) to my reviewers.

— Amie

Disclaimer: See chapter before previous chapter. Also, some of the information in this chapter was taken from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, written by J. K. Rowling but under the name of Newt Scamander (which is why some of it is a bit strange and a little gross but definitely entertaining). The part I’m referring to is easily recognized even by those who haven’t read Fantastic Beasts (which is a good read, by the way. Definitely funny. I love the side notes. Anyone who hasn’t read this book should go out and buy it right away because all proceeds will go to Harry’s Books fund to help needy children in the poorest of countries [oh hell, I sound like a walking advertisement . . . only I’m not walking at the moment]).

Summary: See first part of answer for above Disclaimer.

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (and Reviews .:Hint:. .:Hint:.): She’d leant her cheek into his hand, closing her eyes, effectively stopping his movements. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding madly in his chest, as he realized . . . she was close — too close . . . He froze. Harry Potter was not normally one to freeze, but at that moment, he had. He couldn’t move . . .

~*~*~*~*~

O.W.L.s and Aurors

(Chapter Four)

~*~*~

The room was quiet with the exception of their soft breathing. The two friends were still tangled in each others’ arms, enjoying the calm of the moment. Harry could feel her chest rise and fall against his own with each breath she took . . . slow, deep. He didn’t know how long they had been there, and he didn’t much care; he never wanted to move.

It was the first time he’d felt — anything real — since the last time Death had made her presence known to his eyes; it was the first time he’d ever been held like this; and it was the first time he’d ever felt truly alive. He was amazed at how such a simple act, just holding Hermione in his arms, could make him feel such things when nothing else in his whole of (almost) sixteen years had done so.

Finally after a few more moments, Hermione stirred and pulled away slightly to look into his eyes. He could see every detail of her face . . . every freckle, every eyelash.

She smiled at him softly, “Your eyes are shining.”

He raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding what she meant.

She seemed to know this, though, as she continued to explain. “When I first met you on the train in first year, your eyes were shining from pure excitement of what was to come. Over the years, they’ve been losing that shine . . . like you were giving up on living. Now, they’re brighter than I’ve ever seen them.”

“I’m happy right now.” His voice came out scratchy, having just used it for the first time since they’d stopped their previous conversation.

She didn’t say anything to his response, just smiled wider.

He noticed that her face was still wet with a few lingering tears that hadn’t yet dried up, so he reached a hand to her cheek, slowly wiping away what was left of the tiny drops with his thumb. Before he could finish, though, she’d leant her cheek into his hand, closing her eyes, effectively stopping his movements. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding madly in his chest, as he realized . . . she was close — too close . . .

He froze.

Harry Potter was not normally one to freeze, but at that moment, he had. He couldn’t move, and before he knew it, the moment of tension had passed with the interruption of Mrs. Weasley’s voice calling up the stairs for him.

Hermione’s eyes flew open to stare into his own for a brief moment before pulling away from him completely to stand up. He immediately missed the contact but forced himself to deal with it and rise from the floor, as well.

He didn't want to face the others yet and was tempted to pretend that he hadn't heard the woman’s call, but Hermione wouldn't have any of it. She reasoned with him that if he didn't go, Mrs. Weasley would come up the stairs to get him anyway, and of course, he knew she was right.

The two were about to leave when they heard a squawk come from the other side of the room. There, sitting on the bed, was a large mass of grey feathers and fur. The hippogriff tilted his head to the side and squawked again.

"Buckbeak? I didn't know you were still staying here," Harry said. He hadn’t even noticed the creature before while in such an emotional state and wondered how he could have missed such an obvious distraction. He gave a short bow to the hippogriff, and the beast, in turn, lowered his head to indicate it was safe for Harry to approach him. Hermione repeated Harry’s actions, and after the large creature lowered his head a second time, both of them sat next to Buckbeak and began to stroke his head.

“I wonder why he’s still here. . . . I’d have thought he’d have been given back to Hagrid. I mean, it isn’t as if Hagrid hasn’t kept illegal pets before,” Harry said while watching Buckbeak’s eyes close in pleasure from all the attention he was receiving.

“I don’t know, Harry. None of the others have said anything about him. Of course, I haven’t been here for very long, but still —” She stopped at the sound of creaking steps, alerting the two that Mrs. Weasley was making her way toward them.

“Come on. Let’s go. We can come back later.” Harry grabbed her hand and rushed out of the room. He didn’t want anyone else to enter Sirius’s old room, so he hurried to leave as fast as he could. He knew it was stupid, but he was afraid that if someone were to enter that room, they would be trespassing on sacred ground. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want anyone to mess with his godfather’s memory, so, therefore, no one else was to set foot in that room. He would do anything he could to prevent others from invading his space, even if it meant having to face a crowd of people when he wanted to be alone.

Halfway down the steps, they were forced to stop their running to avoid a collision with the red-headed witch in their path.

“Oh, Harry! Good, I was just looking for you. The Headmaster is here and wishes to speak with you,” Mrs. Weasley said, barely stopping before dragging Harry down the rest of the steps to meet Dumbledore, leaving Hermione to hurry behind them.

Dumbledore was standing at the base of the stairs, talking to Lupin. He greeted Harry and Hermione in his usual polite manner and asked to talk to Harry alone for a bit. Harry followed his headmaster into an empty room on the base level of the house, wondering if the aged Professor was going to give him information about the attack of the previous night.

Dumbledore closed and locked the door behind them, waving his wand to cast a few other spells (Harry assumed they were to ensure the two weren’t overheard) before sitting on a sofa and motioning for Harry to do the same. He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts, before beginning. “Harry, I must ask you first; did you have any more dreams following your initial one?”

“Erm, no, actually. I don’t remember dreaming about anything at all after the first dream,” Harry answered slowly, just realizing that what he’d said was quite true yet unusual for him. Normally, he’d at least have a few more nightmares after one of his ‘visions’ (as he’d come to call them), but this time there had been nothing.

The Headmaster seemed to be expecting this answer, as he nodded his head, confusing Harry greatly. How did he know that Harry hadn’t dreamt any more that night? “I had been hoping that would be your answer. It means that your Occlumency training has helped after all,” he said after seeing the confusion on Harry’s face. “What was the last thing you thought of last night before falling back to sleep?”

Harry thought for a moment before answering, “Well at first, I was thinking about the dream I’d just had, but . . . I was too tired to continue thinking about much of anything, really.”

The aged wizard nodded again, his large silver beard glistening in the soft light as it moved. “You’ve been practicing to clear your mind each night, then?”

“Yeah . . . well, almost every night,” Harry corrected himself. “It was kind of hard, clearing my mind of all emotion, when I was with the Dursleys. They aren’t exactly the easiest people to get along with, and it’s hard to control my temper when I’m around them most of the time.”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, “Yes, I suppose the Dursleys didn’t make your plight any easier. Though, this summer you did manage to control your magic around them, did you not? So, that is an achievement, especially when you take the fact that you’ve been on quite the emotional cycle as of late into consideration.”

It was true. Harry hadn’t lost control of his magic even once during the summer. It had taken all his will and power to do it, but he’d kept his magical ability in check around his jumpy relatives. Maybe, Snape had helped him after all? But he wasn’t so quick to forgive Snape for what had happened to Sirius and squashed the thought of the wretched Professor actually having helped him. He told himself that he’d done it on his own. The Occlumency hadn’t started to take effect until after his few weeks of summer practice, after all. No, he would never give Snape credit for Harry’s success, not after what he’d done to Sirius.

“Well now that we have that out of the way, I dare say you have a few questions for me about last night?” The Professor’s voice broke through Harry’s inner tirade of the Potions Master, effectively turning his thoughts toward the events of the previous night once again.

“Right. Did you ever find the three people I told you about?” Harry asked, having been wondering the answer ever since his talk with Dumbledore the night before.

The wizard in front of Harry gave him an appraising look before delivering the answer Harry had been waiting for. “Yes, we did manage to find three bodies; however, the curious thing is that they were all Aurors,” he said slowly. “You did say that one of them was supposed to be a Death Eater, did you not, Harry?” he asked, raising a silver eyebrow.

“Yeah. that’s what Wormtail said, at any rate,” Harry replied, furrowing his brow in thought of what such news could mean.

“Well then, this means one of two options. Either Pettigrew was mistaken, which I doubt either of us believes, or —“

“One of them was a spy,” Harry realized aloud, cutting off the Headmaster’s sentence.

“Correct. The question now is . . . which one?” Harry could see Dumbledore’s eyes twinkling slightly, as though the old man loved a good riddle (which Harry knew to be quite true) — beside the fact that three people had died.

“Wormtail never mentioned names. . . . Couldn’t you just look on the left forearm of each one?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Normally, that would work . . . if they were alive. You see, once a Death Eater dies, his or her link to Voldemort is disconnected, and the Dark Mark fades, leaving us without the faintest idea.”

“Is there a way to find out who it was, then?” Harry asked.

He looked thoughtful, as he contemplated his answer. “There are many ways. Most of them are merely educated guesses based on other bits of information gathered. Only one way is definite; though, I don’t think Tom is about to tell us any time soon.”

Harry snorted at the thought of Voldemort strolling into the Aurors’ department in the Ministry (perhaps whistling a jaunty tune) to tell them who had been working as a double agent for the Dark Lord just to rub it in each of their faces that he was getting the better of them. “I’ll definitely have to agree with you on that one, Professor.” Once he was able to get the disturbing image of Voldemort prancing around out of his head, he asked, “Do you have any idea who it was then, Sir?”

“I do have my theories. I suspect it was the newest Auror of the bunch to join the Ministry for the simple fact that he was new and hadn’t had the time to build up relationships and trust amongst the others yet. That answer may seem a bit biased, but I do have other reasons for suspecting him that I won’t bore you with now. No matter what I may believe, though, it doesn’t really matter. There is no proof that any one of them was a Death Eater, and the Ministry’s records will show as such; none of them will be labelled a traitor.” He took a deep breath and resituated himself on the couch before speaking again, “The real concern isn’t of who Voldemort has in the Ministry working for him, but that he does have people there serving to destabilize our government. The fact that he can single out members who have taken an oath to serve our country to the best of each one’s ability and persuade them to join him in his quest to rule over everything is quite scary . . . that there are people who are so week and naïve that he can twist each one’s views of reality to fit his needs, or worse, that there are people who actually agree with his ideals.

“The real question now . . . how do we stop this from happening? How do we keep people loyal to our cause? One answer is to show them the best of what we can give, to persuade them with gifts. However, that way isn’t a very safe guarantee; we may be able to interest them for a while, but Voldemort will offer things that are better to interest them more (regardless of whether or not he actually fulfils his promises). Minister Fudge never quite understood that. . . . Another answer is unity — to create a bond so strong between our fellow wizards and witches that nothing could break it. Friendship. That answer is the strongest there is.”

Everything that Dumbledore was telling him was definitely something of importance (everything his headmaster told him generally was), but Harry couldn’t understand why he was telling him this now of all times. He knew the saying “united we stand, divided we fall”, but why was Dumbledore going on about it right now? He decided not to worry about it too much and figured that he’d understand when the time came for him to do so.

They sat in silence for a while, thinking over what had been said, before Dumbledore asked, “Was there anything else that you wanted to ask me about, Harry?”

Harry’s mind wandered over the night before when he’d talked to his professor last, and a thought suddenly hit him. “What was that candle thing Mr. Weasley used to contact you with?”

Dumbledore smiled and nodded. “Ah, you mean the Phoenix Flame. A very useful invention of mine, but it’s very dangerous if used by one who isn’t skilled in Occlumency and Legilimency. A person must be able to separate their mind and control two entities at once. While a person is using the Flame, there are essentially two of that person and two realities for that person: The reality the person’s body is in and the reality the flame is in. Once mastered, the Phoenix Flame is a very useful way of communicating; however, I’m the only one, to my knowledge, who has ever been able to perfect it, meaning that anyone who knows the incantation can summon my presence using an ordinary candle but can not summon the presence of anyone else.”

“But, what if someone in the Order needs to contact someone other than you? The Phoenix Flame won’t help, then. . . .” Harry interrupted.

Dumbledore nodded again. “Very true. That is why there are a couple of . . . safer ways of communicating that everyone in the Order can use. Can you think of them?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Professor, if I could have thought of them, don’t you think I would have used them at the end of last term?”

“Right, right, of course. Well, maybe a few hints would help?” Harry was about to interrupt to ask why Dumbledore couldn’t just tell him the answer out right, but the Headmaster continued on before Harry had even opened his mouth. “Harry, think back to your second year when you were in the Chamber of Secrets. How did you get Gryffindor’s sword?”

“I pulled it out of the Sorting Hat. . . .”

“And how did you get the Sorting Hat?”

“I — I got it from Fawkes. . . .” Suddenly, Harry’s eyes widened. “You use Fawkes to send messages! As long as people are loyal to you, they can call Fawkes to them and use him to deliver messages quickly without fear of being intercepted since he can disappear and reappear almost instantly!” Of course! It was so simple! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He could have sent a letter to Sirius using Fawkes and would have found out that the vision wasn’t real. If only he had thought just a little harder, he could have kept Sirius from dying! But he hadn’t — he hadn’t thought about it. He’d just gone and rushed off to the rescue like every other time. Stupid! He should have thought of it! It seemed so simple now . . .

“Harry.” He looked up when he heard the stern voice. “I am not telling you how the Order communicates just so you can berate yourself for not having thought of these things at the end of last term. I am telling you so that we may be able to prevent history from repeating itself. Do you understand? It was not your fault.”

Harry nodded his understanding, but he still felt guilt wash over him. Suddenly, he wished Hermione was there like she had been earlier. He wished she was there to take the pain away.

“Harry.” Dumbledore’s voice was a lot softer than before. “I know it’s hard, but we must go on.” He wasn’t sure if he meant to continue the conversation or to move on and get over Sirius. Either way, he didn’t feel much like doing either. He figured the Professor was talking about the conversation, though, when he continued. “The last way we communicate is one you are quite familiar with and have been able to do since your third year. It’s a spell that has saved your life as well as others quite a few times. Can you think of it?”

A spell he’d been able to do since his third year that had saved his life along with others more than once . . . What happened third year? He met Sirius for the first time. That was the first time he’d gone gallivanting off to save Sirius — just like a few weeks ago — NO! He shouldn’t think of such things. He needed to be strong. Sirius wouldn’t want him to be so sad. He had to be strong. Now, a spell . . . what spell? Third year . . . Sirius had escaped from Azkaban . . . Hogwarts had been surrounded by dementors to try to catch Sirius. . . . Harry had to learn to defend himself against them . . . he had to learn how to create a Patronus! “A Patronus! You use Patroni to communicate! Right?”

“Correct. You see Harry, a Patronus can last for as long as the caster needs it to, allowing it to travel great distances if necessary. Though, a Patronus will fade once it’s completed its task and can be intercepted, making it unreliable to send messages. They are very useful, however, when you need to call somebody to you. They can find and lead a person straight to you if you are ever in need of that person. Since nobody can reproduce another’s Patronus exactly, just like no two people are exactly alike, even when using Polyjuice Potion, it is generally easy to recognize who is in need of help without the worry of the Patronus being false, assuming of course that the person being called for knows who the Patronus belongs to.”

Harry suddenly remembered something. “In my fourth year . . . right after Krum had been attacked on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, you used your Patronus to call Hagrid to you, didn’t you? Your Patronus is a phoenix. . . . Is that why the Order is named the Order of the Phoenix?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, my Patronus is a phoenix and is the reason for the Order’s name. Furthermore, everybody who has joined the Order of the Phoenix is able to create a Patronus and has memorized every other member’s Patronus’ form.”

Harry’s brow furrowed at what Dumbledore had just told him. “Sir, what happens if someone wants to join the Order but is unable to cast a Patronus?”

“I’m afraid that anyone who is unable to cast a Patronus will not be accepted into the Order. A Patronus is created based on a strong, happy memory; if a person can not find even the slightest bit of happiness in the darkest of times, then they are not ready to join the Order.” He sighed, his features showing his true age, as they often did when his thoughts burdened him. “It is, of course, a shame to lose people who are willing to help in the fight against Voldemort, but I will not allow those who are not strong enough to be a part of something where strength is so necessary for survival, not if I can help it. Though, I suppose we don’t lose those people completely. They still help the Order when they can; they just aren’t able to join where they would be purposely sent on dangerous missions.”

“But what about Mrs. Figg? Isn’t she in the Order? She can’t create a Patronus. She told me so last summer,” Harry reasoned.

“Ah, right. I suppose I’m forced to take back my words, then. I will make allowances for those who haven’t a drop of magic to work with yet are adamant about helping,” Dumbledore chuckled slightly while smiling benignly. “It’s not often I’m corrected. I must say, it is quite refreshing.”

Harry smiled, wondering what Hermione would do if she ever found out that he’d corrected the greatest wizard of their time.

“Now, I think I need to speak with a few others before I leave today, so if you don’t mind, Harry, I’ll have to stop our discussion here.”

Harry nodded, and they both left to find the others still in the kitchen where Harry could hear Ron’s voice coming from.

“I had one of them, once,” Ron said, leaning back in one of the chairs at the table.

“One of what?” Harry asked, as he walked into the room.

“A Puffskein.”

“What’s a Puffskein?”

“Oh honestly, Harry! Don’t you know what one is?” Hermione interrupted. He shook his head. “A Puffskein is a common wizarding pet. They’re spherical in shape and are covered in soft, custard-coloured fur. They are very affectionate, making a low humming noise when content and are very easy to care for as they’ll eat just about anything. They also —”

“Now you’ve gone and done it, Harry. You’ve got her talking like a bloody text book, again!” Ron said, effectively cutting off Hermione’s monologue.

“I do not talk like a text book, Ron!”

“Yes, you do, Hermione.”

“I do not!”

“Harry, tell her she talks like a text book!”

“Harry, tell him I do not!”

“SO-O, what happened to your Puffskein?” Harry asked, refusing to get in the middle of a fight with his best friends and completely ignoring their spat. “You said you had one, once.”

“Oh, right. Well, I woke up one day and couldn’t find it. It turned out that Fred had used it for Bludger practice.”

“That’s horrible!” Hermione made a face mixed between shock, horror, and pity for the poor creature while the others in the room burst out laughing.

“N-No, it’s n-not, Her-m-mione,” Fred managed between bouts of laughter. “It didn’t mind one bit. That thing was humming from here all the way to Bufu, Egypt by the time I was done with it.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad we didn’t have it for too long,” Ginny shuttered. “It used to wake me up in the middle of the night with its long tongue up my nose . . . not a pleasant experience.”

“Aw, what are you talking about, Gin? That’s the best part about Puffskeins! They eat your bogies for you, so you don’t ever have to blow your nose!” George argued, making fresh peels of laughter fill the room. Ginny childishly stuck her tongue out at him as if doing so would prove her point but did the exact opposite instead. “Yeah, you’ve got the idea, Gin; though, your tongue needs to be a bit longer.” After that, she promptly pulled her tongue back into her mouth, making a disgusted noise and pulling a face.

Dumbledore began chuckling at their antics from the doorway. “As fascinating as this subject is, I must pull you away for a moment, Molly, Remus, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Mrs. Weasley consented, following Remus and Dumbledore out of the kitchen.

The door had barely begun to close before Dumbledore was back. “I think it’d be best to give you these now before I forget.” He laid a stack of envelopes on the table and left once again.

“I wonder what they are. . . .” Ron said to no one in particular.

“Well, they’re our Hogwarts letters, of course! What else would Dumbledore leave for us?” Hermione said exasperatedly while Ron’s ears turned pink. “And if I’m correct in my assumption, our O.W.L. results will be in there as well, aside from Ginny’s that is,” she continued excitedly, reaching out for her letter.

Harry tore into his own letter, wanting, yet, dreading his results. There were two letters and another envelope stamped with an ‘M’ in the middle of a wax seal. He looked over the two letters first, recognizing them to be the usual welcome-back letter and book list received every year by Hogwarts’ students. He then ripped open the second envelope to find his O.W.L. results.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It is the Ministry’s duty and pleasure to inform you of your O.W.L. results. Your scores are posted below as well as recommendations for classes you should consider pursuing during the rest of your Hogwarts career. A form is included with this letter to be filled out and sent to the Headmaster of Hogwarts before the start of your next term to sign up for your sixth and seventh-year classes. Congratulations on the completion of you O.W.L.s.

On behalf of the entire W.E.A.,

Griselda Marchbanks
Head of Wizarding Examinations Authority

—

The scores for O.W.L.s are as follows:
O — Outstanding — one O.W.L.
E — Exceeds Expectations — one O.W.L.
A — Acceptable — one O.W.L.
P — Poor — zero O.W.L.s
D — Dreadful — zero O.W.L.s
N/A — Not Applicable

—

Ancient Runes: N/A

Arithmancy: N/A

Astronomy:
Written — O
Practical — A
Overall — E

Care of Magical Creatures:
Written — O
Practical — O
Overall — O

Charms:
Written — O
Practical — O
Overall — O

Defense Against the Dark Arts:
Written — O
Practical — O
Overall — O

Divination:
Written — E
Practical — A
Overall — A

Herbology:
Written — O
Practical — O
Overall — O

History of Magic:
Written — E
Practical — N/A
Overall — E

Muggle Studies: N/A

Potions:
Written — O
Practical — O
Overall — O

Transfiguration:
Written — O
Practical — O
Overall — O

Total O.W.L.s Achieved: 9

Class Ranking: Second

Career of Interest: Auror

Recommended Classes:
Advanced Charms
Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts
Advanced Potions
Advanced Transfiguration

Note: At least one other class should be taken. Auror Academy will only accept those who have scored a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s with a minimum score of “Exceeds Expectations” for each.

“Ah! I got eleven O.W.L.s, and I scored all ‘O’s!” Harry vaguely registered Hermione doing a little celebratory dance before he heard her ask, “Harry, what did you get? Harry?”

“Hey, mate, are you in there?” Ron asked, waving his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Wow, your scores can’t be that bad, Harry, even I got six O.W.L.s.”

“I got an ‘O’ in Potions,” Harry practically whispered, as though he were afraid he might wake from a dream if he spoke too loud.

“You WHAT?” Ron shouted disbelievingly, effectively shocking Harry out of his reverie.

“Oh my gosh, Harry! Did you really? Let me see!” Before Harry’d had any time to react, Hermione had snatched his results out of his hands. Her eyes roved over the parchment before letting out an excited squeal. “Harry! This is wonderful! You scored the second highest score in our entire year! You’re only behind me! I’m so proud of you!” She then threw her arms around him, practically squeezing him to death from the ferocity of her embrace.

While Harry and Hermione were distracted, Ron took Harry’s scores from Hermione to look over. “How in bloody hell did you get a passing O.W.L. in Divination?” All Harry could do to answer his question was to shake his head from side to side. “Well, it looks like you’re well on your way to becoming an Auror, doesn’t it?” Ron continued. Harry nodded, still unable to speak. “Too bad I won’t be joining you,” Ron said, his features becoming downcast. “I only got an ‘A’ in Potions, and having in-depth knowledge of Potions is sort of necessary for Aurors,” he explained after seeing the confused look on Harry’s face over Hermione’s shoulder (who was still clinging to him).

Ron was quiet for a moment before his mood seemed to pick up. “Well, at least I don’t have to put up with Snape any more! Good luck with that, mate.” Harry still wasn’t able to speak, but at the mention of the Potions Master, he was able to get out a groan of misery. “Oh come on already, Hermione. Let him go for Merlin’s sake before you suffocate him!” Ron said with an irritated voice. She pulled away from Harry with a mumbled apology and a light blush tingeing her cheeks. “Hey, Hermione,” (Ron had turned his attention to Hermione’s results), “how did you get eleven O.W.L.s when you were only taking ten classes last year?”

“Oh, well I had opted to take the Muggle Studies O.W.L., even though I had only been in the class for one year. I had asked the Head Examiner if I could, and she allowed me to since I had been in the class to begin with.”

“Well then, why didn’t you also take the Divination exam?”

“Oh, please! Like I’d bother with that rubbish?”

“No, I guess not. Hey, Harry, have you come back to the land of the living yet?” Ron asked, reaching over Hermione to poke Harry in the arm.

“Ow! Huh? What? Oh, sorry. I just still can’t believe I got an ‘O’ in Potions,” Harry thought aloud. “I think you’ve definitely rubbed off on me, Hermione.”

“Well, Harry, it’s not that hard to believe. I knew you could do it. I mean, you can’t possibly discern your true potential based on Professor Snape’s assessments of your work. After all, he is biased in his decisions where you’re concerned,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“True, but I still can’t believe —” All the sudden, Ron burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just imagining the look on the git’s face when he finds out he’s going to have to put up with you for another two years,” he explained.

Harry couldn’t keep from laughing along with him. “Hm, I wonder if I’d be able to talk Colin into taking a picture of Snape’s reaction.”

“I bet he’d make a fortune if he sold the photo.” The two broke out laughing again, and even Hermione couldn’t keep from smiling.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful for the most part. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had filled out the forms that’d been with their O.W.L. results and had sent them off to Dumbledore with Hedwig (the Headmaster had left only moments before they had finished filling the forms out). Harry had ended up choosing two extra classes (Advanced Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures) on top of the other four that had been recommended. He figured that they would both be useful, and he’d have a better chance of scoring at least five ‘E’s when the time came for him to take his N.E.W.T.s. (He’d also wanted to take Care of Magical Creatures to show his support of Hagrid, but he hadn’t told anyone that.)

At around four that afternoon, Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen and scooted everyone out, so she could make supper which had been delightful as usual.

Despite the fact that Harry had slept in that morning, he found his energy dwindling early in the evening and decided to turn in for the night only a few hours after dinner. He was half asleep when he heard loud voices floating up from downstairs (one sounded suspiciously like Percy), but before his mind had processed that information enough to care, he had fallen into an unconscious state, moving pictures playing out on the backs of his eyelids, lost in a world known only to him.

~*~*~

A/N: It’s official; I’m horrible at updating. Though, in my defence, it’s not as though I purposely put my story off just to annoy my readers. No, it’s because I’m always so busy! Luckily for everyone other than me, I’ve been sick this week and unable to focus on school, so I decided to write. Though, even if I hadn’t been sick, this chapter would probably have been posted within two weeks from now, anyway; my semester ends in two weeks, so I should have lots of time to write after that!

For anyone who might be wondering, my guinea pig, Cocoa, is still alive and well except for the tumor on his back. The vet was obviously quite wrong in his assessment, and I can’t help but be a little ticked off at him; even though he thought not going through with the surgery was for the best, my baby is now suffering needlessly because of it. I suppose that’s part of life, though; to know pain is to know happiness; people need pain to compare happiness to, else we’d all be numb. That still doesn’t make me any happier about the situation, however.

On a more pleasant note, I’d like to thank all of the people who’ve reviewed my story; it definitely brightens up my day when I receive a review, and I appreciate each and every one.

I’d also like to thank my wonderful beta, Nati, for all her help and patience. I love you, Nati! (In a completely platonic way, of course. Hehe.)

Okay, I’ll stop sounding like I’m at an award show, now. Lol.

— Amie

Post Author’s Note: If anyone would like to talk to me just e-mail me; I don’t bite . . . hard (just kidding). All you have to do is click on my Pen Name and the link that will take you to where you can find my e-mail address. Also, if anyone wants to chat with me online, my AIM screen name is jeweleyes124. Sometimes, I need a little shove every now and then (okay, maybe considerably more than that) to get me to write, so don’t hesitate to bug me if you think it might help me write faster.

Disclaimer: There is actually someone who hasn’t figured it out by now?

Summary: Look two lines up.

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (and Reviews .:Hint:. .:Hint:.): “Honestly, Harry! We need to get back upstairs. If someone finds us down here like this, we’ll be in so much trouble!” — “Don’t care.” — “Well, I do!” To his chagrin, she tried to pry his hands off again, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He couldn’t help the smile that worked its way onto his face as he heard her frustrated sigh. He was having way too much fun with this.

~*~*~*~*~

Secrets of the Soulless

(Chapter Five)

~*~*~

At some point during the night, Harry’s eyes had seemingly opened of their own accord. There had been no loud noises (well, no more than usual) or scary visions to wake him; it had just happened, and Harry found himself unable to keep his eyes closed for longer than thirty seconds before they would pop back open against his will. Yes, he had counted the seconds. He’d hoped that he would be able to bore himself back to sleep with numbers. It hadn’t worked.

Finally, giving up on his quest for sleep, he slunk out of bed, careful not to make too much noise; though, he wondered if he needn’t bother; Ron’s snores easily drowned out the noise of creaking floorboards under Harry’s feet. He vaguely thought of creating a contest for Ron and Neville for when they returned to Hogwarts called the Snore Sports and wondered if they wouldn’t tie for the gold medal. Harry, Seamus, and Dean would be the judges, of course, and would determine who could snore the loudest and who could snore the best, staying on beat, to classical music. The final contest would be the trickiest; they would have to record each boy’s snores and set the players off in the girls’ dorms. The one to wake up the most girls would be the winner. The tricky part would be getting Hermione to help them set off the players and jot down the number of girls to wake from the loud racket. . . .

Harry only realized that his musings (or maybe, his empty stomach) had carried him all the way to the kitchen when he found his path blocked by the closed door. As he entered the room, he realized that he wasn’t the only one unable to sleep that night. There she was, the girl who had occupied his mind only moments ago, sitting at the end of the kitchen table. She hadn’t made any indication to his presence, and he was about to say something until his ears picked up on the soft sound that had escaped her lips. He quickly swallowed the words that he’d been about to speak, as he realised she was crying. ‘Not again. Please, not again.’ His spirit broke every time he saw her cry, and this time was no exception.

“Hermione?” he asked, as he rushed over to her, hoping that he was wrong, hoping that she was okay and wasn’t crying. She jumped and nearly fell out of her seat when he called to her. Clearly, she hadn’t heard him come in. ‘So much for hope,’ he thought; her face was streaked with tears. He sat down in the seat beside her, willing himself not to turn away from her pain. “What’s wrong?” Her gaze was focused on the table in front of her, unmoving.

“I —,” she began but stopped. More tears fell. He couldn’t stand this. He didn’t know what to do. She was in pain, and he couldn’t do anything to help her. Why couldn’t he do anything to help her? He could save her life when he had to, but when she was crying, he couldn’t make her smile? No, he had to do something. Instinct told him to at least reach out and take her hand, show her that he was there for her, so tentatively he clasped his hand around one of hers and brought it closer to him so he could hold it. She finally turned toward him again. “I — I’m so sorry!” she bawled, suddenly jumping at him and wrapping her arms around his neck. She was openly sobbing into his shirt now, soaking it profusely. Great. He’d made things worse.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything will be just fine. Please, Hermione . . .” Her cries only became louder at his words. He decided that keeping his mouth shut from that point on would be a wise idea. Why did he always make girls cry? Was it just him, or was it a Potter trait that had been handed down through the generations?

“I-I’m so s-sorry! I should have s-stopped you, but I d-didn’t! It’s all my fault!” she continued, soaking his shirt even more.

Now, his curiosity was piqued. What hadn’t she stopped him from doing? What was her fault? “Hermione, what —”

“Sirius, he’d s-still be alive if — it’s my fault! You must h-hate me!” She tightened her hold on him, forcing herself closer.

Of all the things he’d expected to hear her say, that wasn’t one of them. She blamed herself for what happened to Sirius? How could she? All she had tried to do was help, but he had been too stubborn to listen. And . . . how on earth could she possibly think he hated her? “Hermione, don’t be ridiculous! I don’t —” Her tears almost doubled again. Apparently, it wasn’t a wise idea to call a girl ridiculous when she was crying. Yes, keeping his mouth shut was a very good idea. Unfortunately, he chose the wrong moment to fall silent.

“You do hate me! You won’t even say anything!”

“NO!” he almost yelled in his hurry to reassure her that he could never dream of such a thing, not at all. “Of course not, Hermione! How could you think that I . . . ? I could never! Even if it had been your fault, which it hadn’t been, I still wouldn’t! I could never hate you! Never . . .” he kept repeating, trying to reassure her, trying to drive away such horrible thoughts from her mind. “It wasn’t your fault! All you did was try to help me. You tried to warn me. It was my fault for not listening to you, so don’t you dare blame yourself for any of it!” He began rubbing her back in slow circles, hoping that it would have the same effect on her as it had had the last time she’d been upset.

No, it wasn’t her fault. It was his fault for playing the hero at all costs; it was Dumbledore’s fault for keeping secrets; it was Snape’s fault for cutting off Harry’s Occlumency lessons and acting like Harry was a raving lunatic when he’d tried to warn the smarmy Professor about what had happened; it was Kreacher’s fault for lying; it was Bellatrix’s fault for actually hitting Sirius with that damned curse; and it was Voldemort’s fault for . . . well, everything; but it was least of all Hermione’s fault.

Slowly her tears abated, her breathing steadied, and she finally calmed down enough to speak, only letting out an occasional hiccup. “I suppose a lot of people blame themselves, don’t they?” He didn’t answer her. “Tonks was upset because she’d been the one battling with Bellatrix before Sirius. She thinks it was her fault for not taking Bellatrix down first. Then, Remus thinks that it was his fault for not having been at the house like he was supposed to have been to check up on Sirius that night. He thinks that he could have stopped you from leaving in the first place. Then, there’s Dumbledore . . . and a ton of people from the Order who feel horrible because they weren’t able to come and help. I think everyone feels guilty in a way. You’re not the only one to think the whole thing was your fault.

“But, Harry, it wasn’t your fault.” Her voice was soft as she spoke. “You were just trying to help Sirius. You were just trying to make sure he was okay.” He could feel her fingers gently twining through his hair. “You didn’t know what was going to happen. You even tried to check to make sure it wasn’t a trap, just in case. How could you blame yourself for caring about his safety enough to go to him and help him? You only did what anyone who’s brave enough would do for a loved one.” There was a moment’s pause; then, she finished in a whisper, “I’d do the same for you.”

He didn’t know what to say. All of the words he knew in the English language seemed too coarse to reply with. He didn’t need to respond, though; she understood. He could see it in her eyes. Instead of speaking, he wrapped his arms around her holding her tighter. He’d missed this. Ever since the day before, he’d missed the feeling of her close to him. It felt like it had been an eternity since the last time they’d held each other. She was so warm and soft; all of his thoughts just melted away.

Too soon for his liking, Hermione pulled away from him. Her expression was still sad, but she’d stopped crying at least. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Hermione, how many times do I have to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry fo—”

“No, not for that. I’m sorry for crying all over you.” She wiped at his night shirt where her tears had soaked it. “I’m no better than Cho, am I? I’m surprised I didn’t scare you away with all of those waterworks.” She gave him a small smile before returning to her own seat.

“I guess I was a bit surprised. You usually seem so collected and together . . . this was the second time I’ve seen you crying in less than a day.” She didn’t respond to him at first, just stared at the table in front of her.

“I’m not, you know.”

“Not what?”

“Always composed. I’m actually usually a mess inside. Even after all this time, I still get so anxious when we’re on one of the crazy adventures we tend to get ourselves into. You’d think I’d have gotten used to it by now, but I’m not. I just don’t normally show it. I think third year was when I showed it the most. That year was one of the worst when I had that wretched time-turner, when I didn’t have you or Ron around much.”

“Hermione, I’m sor—“

“Don’t. I’m not looking for sympathy, Harry, and I don’t want to make you feel any guiltier than you already are. I was just saying . . . but I’m all right now.”

“No, you’re not.”

She gave him another smile. “No, but I will be. And so will you.” She was quiet again until she spoke softly, almost to herself, “You know that sometimes, even though the thing drove me crazy, I wish I still had that time-turner. Maybe, I could have gone back in time and saved Sirius again for you. Maybe, it could come in handy again in the future? Maybe . . .”

“Hermione, there’s no point in thinking that way. You don’t have a time-turner anymore, so stop worrying yourself about it.”

“I know, I’m just being silly, but I still wish I could have done something more. If only I had a time-turner again . . .”

He sighed. Once Hermione set her mind on something, it was almost impossible to divert her from it, so he decided to stop trying. Instead, he asked, “Why are you down here at this time of night, anyway? What happened to make you lose yourself so suddenly like this?”

“I’ve been feeling a bit down lately, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t because of what I’d told you before was it? About the prophecy I mean . . .” He was curious since it wasn’t like Hermione to be up this late, crying in the kitchen no less. He hoped it wasn’t because of the prophecy. He’d never forgive himself if he’d been the one to make her cry.

“No, no. I suppose it was just a bad dream, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. When I was young, my mom would make me warm milk to help whenever I had a nightmare. Somehow, it just seemed to always comfort me, so I decided to get some tonight. Only, there wasn’t any milk, so I had pumpkin juice instead.” She pointed to a glass on the table near her. “What’s your excuse for being up?”

“Huh, oh. I couldn’t really sleep — not because of a bad dream, though!” he’d hurried to say as soon as he saw the worried look on her face, “and I guess I was hungry. I was going to eat some leftovers.”

“Well, that’s a bit of a relief.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that you haven’t been eating a lot lately. I mean I know you just got here a few days ago, but you skipped breakfast, barely ate any lunch, and only ate half of your dinner. Mrs. Weasley wasn’t kidding when she said you’d gotten thinner.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to worry anyone. I just haven’t been very hungry lately. I don’t think being in this house helps my appetite any.” He took a look around the dismal room, his eyes landing on the chair at the end of the table. That had been Sirius’s chair. “Suddenly, I’m not so hungry any more.”

“Harry.” Hermione reached her hand out and laid it on his arm. “It’ll get better. Just give it time.”

He couldn’t look anymore. He closed his eyes, fighting away the images that kept haunting him. “Time takes too long.” He felt Hermione wrap her arms around him again as she settled on his lap, pressing his head down against her shoulder. She seemed to have a habit of running her fingers through his hair, but he wasn’t complaining. The movement was relaxing and gave him something to concentrate on besides his memories.

He felt himself drifting off, lost in the sensations she was creating. “Harry.” He didn’t answer. “Harry, I think we should both get back to our beds.” He didn’t move. He hadn’t even realized he’d wrapped his arms around her until he felt her hands brush against his. She tried to loosen his grip on her so she could get up, but he tightened his hold. “Honestly, Harry! We need to get back upstairs. If someone finds us down here like this, we’ll be in so much trouble!”

“Don’t care.”

“Well, I do!” To his chagrin, she tried to pry his hands off again, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He couldn’t help the smile that worked its way onto his face as he heard her frustrated sigh. He was having way too much fun with this.

“Harry James Potter,” uh-oh, she was using his full name, “if you don’t let go of me, I’ll tell Professor Snape who set off that firecracker in second year.”

“You wouldn’t!” He finally opened his eyes and pulled back to look at her in horror. “If you did, I’d tell him who stole the bicorn horn and boomslang skin from his private store!”

“I would, and it would be pointless for you to snitch on me because he thinks that you did that too and wouldn’t believe you.” She smirked at him knowing that she’d won. He groaned in disappointment but released his grip on her.

“Fine, spoil my fun.”

She just rolled her eyes at him.

~*~*~

The next day brought on a busy household. During the morning and midday, Harry, Hermione and the two youngest Weasleys stayed in the drawing room out of the way of the others. Hermione read for the most part but was finally talked into playing a few rounds of Exploding Snap along with the others. That was until the ends of her hair got singed, and she swore off the whole game, returning to her book.

Harry noticed that something seemed to be bothering Ron, but every time Harry tried to ask what was wrong, Ron would change the subject. He decided that if he couldn’t get his best mate to talk about it, then he’d at least try to get Ron’s mind off of things. He figured a few games of wizard’s chess would do the trick, but his plan hadn’t worked very well since Harry had actually managed to win twice in a row; he chalked that bit of luck up to Ron’s lack of concentration more than his chess prowess.

In the early evening, Order members filtered through the house, as if waiting for something important to happen. Harry soon found out what they were all there for as Dumbledore arrived and ushered everyone into the dinning area for their meeting to begin.

Harry wondered if he was going to be allowed in this meeting as well; after all, he wasn’t an Order member, and it was likely that the last meeting he’d attended had been a one-time deal. He hoped that wasn’t the case, though.

Slowly, he made his way, following the crowd, giving the others plenty of time to stop him and tell him he wasn’t allowed in. Thankfully, no one held him back, and he proceeded to take the seat he’d occupied the last time next to a very worn looking Lupin. As he waited for the meeting to begin, he wondered if it had anything to do with the breakout from Azkaban.

Dumbledore stood at the head of the room, waiting for the chatter to die down. Once he had everyone’s attention he asked, “I take it all who are coming are here?” No one spoke to tell him otherwise, so he continued. “As I’m sure most of you already know, there has been a breakout from Azkaban. However, there are some rather . . . strange details about the breakout that aren’t widely known or fully understood. First, we believe that one of the three Aurors killed had been working as a double agent. We are no closer to figuring out who, though, than we’d been before. The second detail I’m not quite clear on. I believe Ms. Tonks has more information on this than I do. If you would please take it from here, Nymphadora —”

Tonks didn’t seem too happy to hear her first name spoken aloud but didn’t say anything to the headmaster about it. She stood from her place, a little farther down the table from Harry, to continue from where Dumbledore left off. “Right, well, the strange thing about the breakout was that it didn’t just involve You-Know-Who’s Death Eaters. Everyone from the prison escaped.” A few people seemed curious at the prospect, but not many seemed to think such news was strange, so she continued, “When I say everyone, I mean every single prisoner. That includes Death Eaters, ex murderers and convicts, and also — the truly strange part — the soulless.”

Chatter broke out amongst the members once again. A man’s voice broke out from the mass and asked, “What do you mean by ‘the soulless’?”

“What I mean by the soulless are those who have been given the dementor’s kiss and have had their souls sucked out of their bodies.”

A shiver seemed to pass around the room from the grotesque thought, as another voice rose from the crowd. “How can that be? Don’t those who’ve been given the dementor’s kiss die?”

Tonks was shaking her head from side to side, but before she could respond, Kingsley Shacklebolt answered, “No. The soulless become little more than vegetables, unmoving, but they do not die. Their hearts still beat. They still breathe, but they have no sense of self, no thoughts, no wills of their own. They have to be force-fed to keep them from starving to death. They’re basically empty, living shells.”

Tonks continued, “Right. What he said. Which is why it was so strange to see them moving at all, let alone fighting.”

“Wait, you mean to tell me that the soulless were helping to fight against the Aurors in the revolt?” Mad-Eye Moody interrupted.

“Yes. I even saw Barty Crouch Jr. throwing out a few killing curses while I was there! It was complete chaos. We were lucky only three died,” she replied.

“You’ve been rather quiet, Harry. What are your thoughts on this?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry was a bit startled, being asked to participate in the conversation, but he answered nonetheless. “I was just thinking about what all of this could mean. Voldemort has control over the dementors, so do you think it could be possible he might have found a way to return a person’s soul?”

“I’ve never heard of it being done before, but it might be possible. Voldemort is capable of many things that most people aren’t,” the headmaster conceded.

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain why the soulless who hadn’t been Death Eaters had followed along with the others. The ex convicts who hadn’t lost their souls all went in separate directions when they reached the mainland.” Tonks told them, frowning in thought.

Harry continued his musings aloud since no one else had spoken up after Tonks’ statement. “Before, when Voldemort didn’t have his own body, he had to possess others to survive. If he took possession of a person without a soul, he’d probably have complete control over the body, making it seem like the person was almost normal again . . . well, to the point that the person could think and move again at any rate. He has his own body now, so it would be a lot harder for him to do, but it’s still possible for him to possess people and animals.” ‘I would know,’ Harry thought, remembering what had happened at the Ministry. “But that still can’t be it.”

“Go on, Harry,” the headmaster prodded.

“While it is possible for Voldemort to possess someone, I don’t think it’s possible for him to possess more than one person at a time. Also, in my dream that night, I was seeing things from his perspective in his own body. When I had the dream of the attack on Mr. Weasley, Voldemort had been possessing his pet snake at the time, and I had seen everything through the snake’s perspective. If Voldemort had been possessing someone during the breakout, I would have seen things through the eyes of the one being possessed instead of Voldemort’s eyes.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s very true, but you might be on the right track, Harry.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps someone else was doing the possessing or was controlling the soulless in some similar way?” he muttered more to himself than the others; though, Harry still heard him. “Does anyone else have ideas?”

“I have a question, Professor,” spoke a drawling voice from behind Harry. ‘Oh no, not him! Anyone but him!’ “How do we know we can trust Potter’s dreams? How do we know he wasn’t being sent false information like another time before? It’s obvious his control over Occlumency hasn’t improved at all if he still continues to have these dreams. Perhaps the Dark Lord really was possessing someone, but Potter wouldn’t know any better since the Dark Lord could easily fool his weak mind.”

Harry had long since turned around and was staring daggers at the vile Potion’s Professor standing before him. His hands were itching to wrap themselves around Snape’s throat. Oh, how he wished he could pay the wretched man back for what he’d done to Sirius. He hadn’t had any good intentions where Sirius was concerned. He never cared about Harry’s godfather. The bastard probably celebrated Sirius’s death.

“Careful, Potter,” Snape added in a low undertone for only Harry to hear. “Your anger is ruling your mind. I can see it as clear as day in your eyes. You’re not keeping control.”

Damn him. What right did he have to tell Harry he wasn’t in control? Harry was in control. He hadn’t given in to that urge to wrap his hands around Snape’s throat and throttle him yet, had he? No. So therefore, he was very much in control.

“So, Potter. Tell us. How do you know you weren’t being tricked again,” Snape sneered at him, making Harry’s hand twitch upward before he was able to regain enough composure to keep himself from harming the smarmy git.

“I know that it wasn’t a trick. There was nothing in the dream that involved me. That other dream you keep referring to showed someone I cared about in danger. The whole point of showing that dream to me was to trick me into leaving Hogwarts’ grounds and taking the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. None of my friends were being hurt in this past dream. There was no point in trying to trick me. It would have made more sense for Voldemort to have blocked me out completely than to waste his energy creating some illusion.” Harry smirked when Snape flinched at hearing Voldemort’s name. If he couldn’t hurt him, at least he could make the slime ball uncomfortable.

“And how do you know that he doesn’t have some ulterior motive, one that you would be incapable of seeing at the time?” Snape retorted.

“Okay, let’s say the dream was a trick and he had been possessing someone. There’s still the fact that he would only be able to possess one person. How would you explain all of the other soulless who were fighting, as though of their own accords?”

“The Dark Lord is very powerful, Potter. It is more than possible for him to be able to control more than one person.”

“You think he could control that many? I highly doubt it. He had a hard enough time trying to possess me when we were at the Ministry; I can’t imagine him being strong enough to deal with so many others. Also, you have to be near someone in order to possess them. Tonks, did either you or Kingsley see Voldemort anywhere that night?” They both shook their heads. “I didn’t think so.”

“Wait. The Dark Lord possessed you, Potter? If it’s true that he can possess you so freely of his own will at any time, then you should be locked up without a wand!”

“I didn’t say he could possess me at any time of his own free will! He did it once! At the Ministry on the night the prophecy broke. He was only able to do it when he was in close contact with me, and he was only able to keep me under for a few seconds!”

“Nonsense. Your mind isn’t nearly strong enough to throw off the Dark Lord so quickly. Don’t act as if you’re a match for him!”

“It’s not nonsense. It’s the truth!”

“It’s all about the mind, and yours is weak!”

“No. It’s all about the heart! Though, it’s not like you would know anything about that, would you, Snape?”

“Why you arrogant, little — you will refer to me as either Professor or sir!”

“I won’t. We’re not at Hogwarts, and at the moment you are not my Professor. Until I return to Hogwarts, I don’t have to call you by either name. In case you’ve missed it, I have no respect for you, so unless I have to, I will not be giving you the satisfaction of those titles. To be a professor, you actually have to teach.”

“How dare you—”

“Quite easily, actually.”

“Enough.” Dumbledore’s voice echoed through the room, silencing them both. “This meeting is dismissed.” Harry could see that Dumbledore was less than pleased with their display. He felt slightly guilty, but he didn’t regret it. Everyone got up and followed the headmaster out. Most of the Order was leaving for the evening, and the few who were staying behind for dinner left the room to see the others off.

All except for two.

They were still glaring at each other, unaware of everyone else’s departure.

“I still can’t believe I’m going to have to put up with you for another two years,” Harry mumbled.

“You what?”

“Yup, that’s right. I got an ‘O’ on my Potions O.W.L.”

Snape looked as if he’d been sentenced to an eternity in hell. “You’re lying!”

“Nope.”

“You must have cheated somehow!”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“The judges must have gone soft on you! You’re always getting special treatment because of who you are!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but nope. Whether you believe it or not, I earned my ‘O’. I didn’t cheat and nobody favoured me because of my damn name. I did it all on my own!”

“Give me a break! You are so much like your father! Arrogant—“

“You’ve already said that.”

“Cocky—”

“That means the same thing as arrogant.”

“Annoying!”

“You know, with your descriptions, I’d have to say you’re more like my father than I am!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me quite clearly. You’re always going on about how horrible my father was, and how much I’m just like him. You really need to start singing a new tune, by the way; that one became ancient in my first year. You’re always saying how much of a bully he was, and I suppose I can see where you’re coming from with that one. I can’t say I envy you after what I saw in that Pensieve—”

“I told you NEVER to mention that!”

“But you’ve been so focused on how you thought my father acted that you haven’t taken the time to look at yourself. Arrogant, cocky, annoying — oh, and let’s not forget some of you past descriptions — bullying showoff who struts about the school as if he owns the place . . . You seem to have described yourself nicely. How does it feel to have turned into your most hated enemy?”

“I am nothing like your wretched father!”

“No? Well let’s see . . . you seem to like to emphasise the fact that my father was an arrogant, bullying show-off when he was my age. As for you, you’re an arrogant, bullying show-off, and you’re how old?”

“I am no such thing!”

“Again, I’m going to have to correct you on that one. You’ve despised me since the moment you laid eyes on me when I hadn’t even done anything to you! In the first class I’d ever had with you, right away, I was the one you picked on. Tell me, does this seem familiar to you? ‘Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity.’ How about this? I had been taking notes when suddenly you shouted, ‘Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’ When I told you I didn’t know, you just sneered at me and said, ‘Tut, tut — fame clearly isn’t everything.’ ” Snape’s face was twisted in rage but Harry wasn’t nearly done.

“Then let’s not forget, sir, about how you continued to ask me ‘Where would you look to find me a bezoar?’, and you even gave me a trick question like ‘What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?’ You even accused me of not bothering to open a book before coming to Hogwarts, which I had by the way, but honestly, had you expected everyone to memorize our Potions books before we’d even had our first class? No, wait, how silly of me. You didn’t expect everyone to memorize the book, you just expected me to. Otherwise, you would have called on Hermione who had obviously known the answers to your questions at the time.

“And then, when you finally stopped embarrassing me long enough to give us all the answers so you could look superior, you yelled at the whole class for not taking notes when the whole thing had started because I had been taking notes!

“Then when Neville messed up his potion, you actually accused me of not helping him so that I could make myself look better, and you took points away from me for it! Not only that, but in later classes when Hermione did try to help Neville, you took points off of her for it!

“You tell people to treat me like they treat others, but you’re a hypocrite! You’re just as bad as everyone else if not worse sometimes! Instead of being kinder to me, you’re crueller! Do you know that when I saw that memory of yours, I actually felt badly for you? I could sympathise with you because I knew what it was like to be embarrassed like that since you do the same thing to me as my father did to you. The only difference is that I have to put up with it in every single class!

“Right from the beginning, you’ve loathed me for what my father did to you, but guess what . . . I’m not my father! My father is DEAD! Get that through you’re thick skull!”

Snape was completely speechless, his eyes wide and, if Harry guessed correctly, somewhat fearful. They were both staring at each other, as if having a competition of wills. For the longest time, neither moved, but Snape finally turned from Harry’s eyes and stormed out of the room in a huff. Harry had won. He’d finally told Snape off, and he hadn’t even gotten in trouble for it; though, he suspected Snape would make his life even worse than before when he returned to Hogwarts.

Dinner was served shortly after the meeting’s end. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting with Ginny, the twins, and Lupin enjoying Mrs. Weasley’s delightful meal and talking about visiting the twin’s joke shop later in the summer when a very loud bell rang through the house.

Mrs. Weasley ran from the room to answer the front door while Lupin left to quiet Mrs. Black, who had woken from the noise and started shouting as was her usual.

Harry went back to asking the twins about some of their new inventions, but stopped and turned toward the door when he noticed Ron stiffen beside him. Now, he knew why Ron had been so bothered all day — Percy. Harry’d forgotten that Percy had reconciled with the rest of the Weasley family. He figured that Percy had actually arrived the previous night and had been at work all day, since no one was surprised to see him there. Harry must have just missed seeing him the other night and earlier that morning by no longer than half an hour.

Percy made his way over to Harry while Ron seemed to become even more rigid than before. “Ron.” Percy said, acknowledging his presence but not seeming to be on the friendliest of terms with his younger brother; though, Harry wondered if that wasn’t more due to a lack of effort on Ron’s part. “Hello, Potter. I hope you’ve been well,” he said in a formal manner.

“Er, okay, I guess,” Harry replied.

“Good to hear. Good to hear. I-I would like to — erm — apologise for my unnecessary behaviour from before. I do hope you can forgive me?” He seemed a bit tense while he spoke, and Harry had to give him some credit for being able to approach Harry like that. No wonder Percy had been in Gryffindor. He’d been brave enough to go against his own family and then was able to face them afterward and ask for forgiveness.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. Everyone screws up once in a while, right?”

“Right. Well then, now that that’s settled, I should probably see a few other people. We’ll speak again, Po — I mean, Harry. For now, good night.”

“Erm, sure. ‘Night. Hey, Ron, are you okay?”

“Huh, oh yeah, fine. We’re just still not getting along. It’s no big deal, really. Truth be told, I think Mum’s the only one who’s actually happy to see him. Everyone else is just pretending for her sake.” Ron didn’t carry on any more, and Harry didn’t push him to.

After dinner, most of the Order members had gone home and Harry was already about to head to bed himself when he remembered he’d wanted to ask Dumbledore something before he left.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Can we talk for a moment?”

“Of course.” Dumbledore led the way to a secluded room away from the lingering guests.

“I was just wondering about the prophecy . . . Does everyone in the Order know about it?”

“Ah, yes. They know about it. I didn’t think it fair for members of the Order to risk their lives without knowing what it was they were working so hard for to protect.”

“Have they actually heard it?”

“No. Nobody besides me, Lily, and James have ever known the exact wording entirely, unless of course, James had decided to tell Sirius. You’re the only other person that I know of who has heard the exact content. Not even Professor Trelawney knows. The Order members have a basic idea of what the prophecy says, but they have never been told the exact wording.”

“Oh. I see. Sir, would it be okay if I told Hermione and Ron? You see I’ve kind of already told Hermione, and I want to tell Ron soon too.”

“Harry, if you believe you can trust them, which I have no doubt you do, then you may do so, but do try to keep the amount of people you tell to a minimum. Also, make sure nobody else is listening in. As I’ve found for myself, being overheard can have the most disastrous results.”

“Right. Will do, Professor.” Harry turned to leave, but Dumbledore held him back.

“Before we part, I have something for you. I’m afraid I’ll be busy for the next few weeks and will be unable to visit you on your birthday, so I’ll give this to you now on the condition that you must promise me not to open it until your birthday.” Harry looked on in shock as the professor extracted a large package from his robes and held it out for Harry to take. “I think it may come in handy later on.”

“I promise! Thanks, sir!”

“Happy early birthday, Harry.” And with that, Dumbledore left.

Harry went to place his newly acquired present away in his room and was followed by Ron as he made his way up the stairs.

“What’s that you go there, Harry?”

“Present from Dumbledore.”

Ron frowned. “How come he only gave one to you?”

“Is there anyone else’s birthday coming up soon?”

“Oh.” A slight pink tinge covered Ron’s face. “Right.”

~*~*~

The next few days seemed to pass much too slowly for Harry’s taste. For once, he was excited about his upcoming birthday. If for nothing else, he at least wanted to know what Dumbledore had given him, and because of his incessant need for time to hurry, it, of course, did the exact opposite.

Mr. Weasley and Percy were always at work, being asked to put in extra hours at the Ministry as more chaos occurred. Percy was still by the Minister’s side; however, he was now serving a new minister. Fudge had been immediately thrown out of office after the incident that had happened in the Department of Mysteries and was replaced by Pierre Bagnold, son of Millicent Bagnold. As for Mr. Weasley, he had been promoted to a much more demanding job, and not only had his original work doubled, but now he had to supervise new additions to his department as well.

Fred and George had also been gone during most of the week, their joke shop having flourished so much they’d had to hire others to help them keep up with all the business they were getting. The twins had promised to take Harry and the others for a tour of their shop when they finally were able to visit Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies.

On Tuesday of the next week, Lupin had left early that morning, and Harry knew it was so he could go to wherever it was he went to transform during the full moon. He’d told Harry before he’d left that he was sorry for not being able to stick around for his birthday, but he’d make it up to Harry when he returned.

It was ten ‘til midnight, and Harry was counting the seconds that ticked by on the clock in the drawing room, waiting with his present in hand until he could finally open it. The Weasleys and Hermione were sitting with him too, all waiting for the clock to strike twelve so they could give their presents to Harry. Mrs. Weasley had been nice enough to allow them all to stay up late as a “special birthday treat”; though, Harry suspected that it was more likely because she was just as curious as the others about Dumbledore’s present.

The clock finally chimed (and spat out a few bolts in the process), signalling to Harry that he was allowed to open his present at last. Carefully, he tore the paper away to reveal a stone basin with rune carvings on the side. Inside there was a small amount of white mist.

“What is it Harry?” Ginny asked.

“It’s a Pensieve!” It was smaller than the one Dumbledore had, but there was no mistaking what it was. “I wonder why there are memories already in it. . . .”

“Harry, you dropped a note.” Ron handed him a letter with curly handwriting scrawled across it.

Harry,

As you’ve probably guessed, you are now the proud owner of a Pensieve. You’ve also probably noticed that there have been a few memories added already. I thought you might like to know a little more about your parents, and these are a few memories that I’m quite fond of.

In the coming school year, I would like to give you private lessons, personally. I will be teaching you a number of things, including how to use your new Pensieve.

I’ll be in contact with you again soon to give you more details, but until then, have a wonderful birthday.

“Great!”

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked, trying to look over his shoulder to read the note. He handed it to her and the others crowded around her to have a look too. “Wow. Dumbledore is going to be giving you private lessons! Oh, you’ll have to tell us everything that happens!”

“Don’t worry, Hermione; you and Ron will be the first ones to know.”

Harry finally opened the rest of his presents once they’d all settled down again. He got candy from Ron, a new defence book from Hermione, new quidditch gloves from Ginny, a wand holster with extra slots from Mr. Weasley, and homemade chocolate brownies from Mrs. Weasley.

Fred and George gave him a bunch of items from the twin’s joke shop that they said were so new they hadn’t even released them to the public yet. Harry was a bit cautious after hearing that; he wasn’t sure if he should be honoured or scared of possibly being a test subject. Harry looked in the box of assorted objects and found a wide range of colourful goodies, including Bogie Bombs (Drench your enemies with snot!), Talking Toilet Tabs (Make your toilet talk and sing! Lasts for twenty-four hours.), Tongue-Twisting Forks (Know someone who talks too much? Then give them one of these! They won’t be able to talk for hours!), and something that looked like a bracelet called a Haunting Hand (Perfect to go with your Headless Hat!). Ron commented on using the Tongue-Twisting Fork on Hermione some time, getting a smack across the head for it.

Once Harry was done, Mrs. Weasley shuffled them all up to bed, saying they had a big day ahead of them and needed to get some sleep. Harry soon drifted off, looking forward to his first birthday with some of the only people he’d ever considered family.

~*~*~

A/N: Okay, here’s how I’m going to do this story . . . I had a whole plot figured out for this story and the next for Harry’s seventh year. Now that HBP is out, I’ve decided to mix the two plots together (for the most part) for this story, so then I’ll be able to pick up mostly where JKR left off in HBP. I’d actually figured out most of what was going to be in book six (including the basic idea of how Voldemort stayed alive when Harry was one), so I won’t be drifting too far from my original plotline (just enough to be able to pick up where book six left off when I write Harry’s seventh year). Everything works out for me this way, and you guys get a more interesting story.

Anyway, thanks again to all of my reviewers and to my beta! I love you, Nati!

— Amie

Disclaimer: Like JKR would ever be nice enough to post her stories on a free site for all to see before the release of her last book? Right.

Summary: Try looking a few chapters back.

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (and Reviews .:Hint:. .:Hint:.): She looked so peaceful while sleeping, her features completely relaxed and worry free. Every curve seemed so soft in the dim light of dawn. She seemed unreal . . . like an angel. He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch her cheek. It was just as soft as it had looked. Her eyes were still closed, and her lips were slightly parted. They looked soft too. He ran his fingers down her cheek to trace along her lips. Yes, they were also just as soft as they had looked. He wondered what they would feel like against his own.

~*~*~*~*~
Floating on Heir
(Chapter Six)
~*~*~

Harry, Hermione, and most of the Weasley lot along with Tonks and Lupin were all walking down Diagon Alley, getting school supplies for the up-and-coming school year. Their first stop was Gringotts to stock up on Galleons. As Harry walked up to the cashier and asked to be sent to his vault, the goblin helping him, Pinspike, called over another goblin and began whispering in rushed gobbledegook. It was a good few minutes before Harry began to grow impatient. “Excuse me—er, Pinspike and . . .” Harry quickly glanced at the newcomer’s nametag, “Razorback, is there something wrong? I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re in a bit of a hurry, and I was just wondering—”

“This way, Mr. Potter,” Razorback said, turning and leading the way to a side office.

The office was definitely the making of a goblin; gold glimmered from every space, almost blinding Harry at first sight. Razorback pointed to a chair in front of the mahogany desk, signalling for Harry to have a seat. The goblin began to sort through some papers, grunting every now and then as if confirming something to himself. “That’s all of it,” he said, handing Harry a stack of papers and a card.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all of what, exactly?” asked Harry as he glanced at the pile.

“The deeds to your new properties, stocks, bonds, permission forms to open your new vault, and your new Easy-Access Card,” replied Razorback as he got up to leave for the door.

“Wait! What do you mean new properties? New vault? Why would I have a new vault? And what’s an Easy-Access Card?”

“It’s all what was left to you by Sirius Black. The Easy-Access Card was created for the richer families that will allow you to make large purchases without actually having to carry your money around. Now, I’m very busy as are you, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving. Return to Pinspike if you still wish to visit your vaults. I’d advise you to leave those papers in 711 for safe keeping.” With that, he was gone, leaving Harry to rejoin Lupin, who hadn’t needed to visit his vault.

“Follow me, Mr. Potter,” Pinspike said upon Harry’s return.

“Professor Lupin,” Harry whispered as they walked to the carts, “what’s this all about me having two vaults now? Why am I getting all of Sirius’s stuff?”

“It’s Remus, Harry. I’m no longer your professor.”

“Right. Sorry . . . Remus.”

“As to your question about your inheritance, it’s because, Harry, you’re his godson. Sirius had no children of his own or any others he was really willing to call family, so why wouldn’t he pass his belongings to you?”

“Yeah, but . . . what about you? What about Tonks? He didn’t have to give it to me. I don’t want it. He died because of me! I don’t deserve it! I’d rather have Sirius back!” Harry’s whispers growing harsher with every word.

“We’d all rather have Sirius back, but that’s not an option. Sirius gave it to you because he wanted to know you would be taken care of. In case something went wrong, he wanted you to have enough money to support yourself for a long while.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No ‘buts’. That’s just how it is, so accept it.” Remus looked over to where Harry had stopped in his tracks. One look at Harry and Remus’s face softened. He gave a sigh before continuing, “I know it’s hard, Harry, but you have to keep moving forward. Sirius wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up over it.” Harry gave a terse nod before they continued their previous path.

After a long, winding cart-ride, they arrived at Harry’s normal vault, the numbers 687 glistening in the low light over the steal door. Harry swept money into his bag while noticing that the piles of money had grown significantly. As he looked back to where Remus waited in his shaggy grey robes, a pang of guilt struck him, and he hoped he hadn’t been the only beneficiary of Sirius’s fortune. Remus hadn’t really made that point clear . . . only that Harry had been given most of it.

The second vault was different. As Harry saw the glittering numbers, realization dawned on him; he was only two vaults down from where the Philosopher’s stone once was. An ominous feeling began to rest in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know what was in the vault.

With a skim of Pinspike’s finger along the door, it opened with a resounding clank. The vault was small like 713 and filled with odd items such as jewellery, books, and dusty bottles of what Harry suspected to be old Firewhisky. A worn book resting in the front of the pile caught his eye. There was no title and the pages were blank, but the book seemed to call to him. He quickly placed the papers he’d acquired earlier in the vault and took the book in hand before closing the door, heading back to the cart to start the wild ride back. He gave the book to Remus to shrink—noticing an odd glimmer in the man’s eyes—before placing it in his robes for later.

From the wizard bank, the reformed group proceeded to continue shopping for the various items they needed, picking up their yearly books and restocking their other supplies to last them through the year.

After a quick stop in Knitting Knick-Knacks for Hermione’s knitting essentials, Ginny and Ron’s insistent whines convinced Mrs. Weasley to allow them to all stop by Fred and George’s place to see how business was going. When they reached the storefront, they found their eyes filled with dazzling colours, some of which Harry was certain he’d never seen before. Sparklers and streamers were all over the place while large flashing letters lit every corner of the window, yet, strangely enough, it was still possible to see through to the store behind where mini-fireworks seemed to have been set off. One of the signs he notices flashed: Now there’s no need to be scared of the Dark Lord when armed with the Fart Lord! There was another sign written on what looked like green men’s boxers that read: Voldemort’s Mouldy Shorts: makes a perfect Christmas present for that extra hated foe. There were many other signs with similar phrases that insulted Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters. Mrs. Weasley looked a bit faint, but Harry thought it was brilliant.

As they entered the store, there was a loud bang that was barely heard over the chatter of the large crowd to announce their arrival. Through the mess of heads and shelves, Harry could scarcely make out the defining red hair of the Weasley twins in the back. They had to force their way through the mass of people. As they passed the shelves, they saw titles like Super-Skiving Snack Boxes (for the teachers. Give your whole class the day off without even feeling the effects of being sick!), and Colour Creams (change your hair a different colour every five minutes for up to an hour!). Harry was instantly reminded of the mist he’d come across during the third task in his fourth year when he saw packages of candies labelled Universe-Reversing Gummy Globes (turn you world upside-down while enjoying an assortment of delicious flavours!).

As they continued to the back, a kid pushed his way through quickly, seeming to be chased by silver chattering teeth with a tag hanging off that read Metallic Munchers. Over in the corner, Harry saw a group of women clustered around a stand that bore the words Lecherous Lollies (make their jaws drop when they see you licking one of these!). Harry pointed this out to Ron who seemed to be very glad that Ginny and Hermione hadn’t spotted it yet and pushed them along faster to many protests.

“Harry!” Fred called, leaving George to deal with a customer. “How’ve you been, old chap?” he said shaking his hand over-enthusiastically.

“You mean since you saw me at breakfast this morning? Never better,” Harry replied.

“Hey, Fred, I think you guys made a mistake. You’ve got your stuffed animals out here,” Ron commented. On one of the shelves, there were tons of plushies that looked like miniature kangaroos.

“Ha, ha,” Fred replied flatly, “There’s no mistake. Those are Walloping Wallies. Perfect for annoying little sisters.”

“Oh . . . Mum, can I get one for Ginny?”

“Hey!” Ginny glared at him.

Harry cleared his throat to break the tension, casting around for something to say. “I see business is—” he paused, looking around as another bang sounded the arrival of more customers, “booming.”

“Quite right, and it was all thanks to you. If there’s anything you want, don’t hesitate to ask. You won’t be paying a Knut; it’s on the house—OI! What do you think you’re doing over there?” Fred excused himself and went running off to straighten out the mess a kid had made by accidentally knocking one of the shelves over.

“Hey, Harry! Come look at these!” Ron called, and Harry was once again caught up in the many items that scattered the store. In the end, Harry picked out a pair of Sideways Shoes (walk on walls and ceilings!) and a couple bags of Emanating Eyes (make your eyes glow in the dark!).

“All right, everyone! It’s time to get going. We don’t want to be out too long.” Mrs. Weasley reminded them. In all the wondrous chaos, they’d forgotten for a little while that the world at the time was as far from safe as possible and that staying out too late would more than likely result in a few injuries.

As they were returning to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry noticed that Remus and Mrs. Weasley had hung back and were talking in rushed whispers. He couldn’t help his curiosity and slowed his pace to remain ahead of them just enough to overhear what they were saying.

“I don’t know, Remus. I just don’t think it’s a good idea! He’s still so young.”

“I know you’re worried about him Molly, but he’s not a child anymore. He’ll be an adult next year.” The lycan paused for a moment as if in thought before continuing. “How about this, then? I’ll tell him where it is I want to take him, and he can choose from there.”

“I still don’t feel right about this.”

“He has to see the place eventually, and I think now’s the right time. I know you don’t want to hear this, but if he agrees, then we will be going whether you like it or not. Harry’s old enough to decide for himself, and while you may think you know what’s best for him, the truth is that he knows himself better than anyone. If he thinks he can handle it, then I’ll take him. Truthfully, you couldn’t stop him even if you wanted to, Molly. While you may have come to care for him as your own, he’s not your son.”

“I know that, Remus. Trust me; I know that.” Mrs. Weasley’s voice drifted off. I few seconds later she continued, “Fine. You can take him, but only if you ask him first. You also have to promise me that if he says no, you will not push the subject.”

“I promise, but in return, if Harry says yes, then you must promise not to try to hold him back.”

She seemed a bit unsure, but finally agreed to his terms in the end.

“Harry, can I talk to you for a moment?” Harry turned around at Remus’s raised voice, stopping just long enough for the two to catch up, while Mrs. Weasley stalked by them to catch up with the others. “I suspect you overheard some of that?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Er, yeah, a bit,” Harry replied, looking slightly guilty.

Remus nodded, obviously expecting that answer. “Well, what it is I wanted to tell you about is this; I think that the time has come for you to finally visit Godric’s Hollow. Seeing as I’m still poor and have no birthday present to give you, I figured I could take you to see the house and answer any questions you had. Dumbledore said it was fine. So what do you say? Do you want to go?”

“When are we leaving?”

“As soon as the others head home.”

“Sounds good to me.” Harry tried to sound nonchalant, but inside he was bursting with excitement and nervousness at the prospect. He couldn’t believe it; he was finally going home: his real home.

As they caught up with the rest, Mrs. Weasley looked to Remus, her eyes asking what Harry’s answer had been. Remus nodded slightly, and she seemed resigned to have to accept his decision. Harry handed his items over to the others to take back to Grimmauld Place as the group parted ways at the end of Diagon Alley by the brick wall.

As the wall closed behind their companions, Remus turned to Harry and said, “I’ve got a quick errand to run before we head off. I promised to pick up some potions ingredients for Severus so he can continue to make my Wolfsbane potion while I was here. There’s just one problem, the ingredients I need can only be found in Knockturn Alley. I don’t want to take you down there because it’s a rather dodgy place, and with you being who you are during these times, I think it would be best if you didn’t go; however, I also don’t think it’s safe to leave you alone . . .”

“I could stay with Fred and George,” suggested Harry.

“I think that would be best,” nodded Remus.

The pair continued back down the alley while Harry lazily looked around. He hadn’t really been given much time to see the other shops as Mrs. Weasley had rushed them along. Nothing seemed too appealing at first, just the same old stuff, until a shiny object displayed in a jewellery shop storefront caught his eye. It was a thin, diamond-cut, gold choker and in the centre was what looked like a miniature hourglass with sand made from diamonds. The links were somewhat triangular in shape, touching from tip to side around the necklace, each encrusted with one ruby or sapphire on each tip. The hourglass on it immediately reminded him of Hermione and the wish she’d made the other day about having a time-turner again. Harry couldn’t explain it, but he was completely drawn to the necklace. Maybe, it was because he knew he could never actually get Hermione a time-turner and thought that the next best thing might make her happy instead. Either way, he had to have it.

“Keep up, Harry!” Remus called, realizing that Harry had stopped a while back. Harry immediately continued walking but before leaving committed the store’s name to memory: Frosted Fortunes.

As soon as Remus left the Twin’s shop, Harry turned to Fred and George and asked, “Do you have anything that can make me invisible?” Identical smiles grinned back at him.

~*~*~

Armed with a borrowed invisibility cloak, Harry made his way back down the alley, unnoticed by anyone. There weren’t a lot of people around, but Harry didn’t want to take any risks. He hid in a small crevice to the side of Frosted Fortunes to safely take the invisibility cloak off without anyone noticing before continuing into the store. The clerk was a large woman decked out in so many bright, shiny jewels that it hurt for him to look at her at first.

“How may I help you, Darling?” asked the lady as she came around the counter. “My, aren’t you a cute one! Here to buy your girlfriend something special?”

“Er, something like that.” Harry didn’t really feel comfortable giving this woman too much information. He just wanted to get the necklace and get out of there. “May I see that necklace over there?” he said, pointing to the one in the window.

“Oh, my. You do have good taste, but I think that one might be a little too pricy for you, Darling. Why don’t you try looking at one of these other necklaces, instead?”

“No, thank you. I really want that one.”

“Very well, then.” She tentatively removed the necklace from its resting place and held it up for him to see properly. “This necklace is not just what it seems to the naked eye. It’s definitely pretty on the outside, but mostly, the cost is due to the enchantments placed on it to protect the wearer. It will protect against any minor curses and most larger ones as well. There are other protections, but, unfortunately, the information on them has been lost through the ages.”

She turned the necklace over to show him the rune carvings on the back that cast the protection. He also saw an inscription, but the years had worn the letters mostly away so he was unable to read it. “It used to belong to a powerful wizard who’d had the necklace made for his wife during the War of the Founders that took place nearly a thousand years ago. He wanted to make sure that she’d always be safe.” He vaguely wondered what war she was talking about but didn’t really care much; it was in the past and didn’t affect him.

She gave him an amused look. “Because it is so rare and a piece of history, this necklace is worth thirty thousand galleons. Are you still sure you want it, Darling?” Harry just about gagged at the price, but he still wanted it and nodded to the lady to let her know.

She raised an eyebrow sceptically. “I don’t mean to be rude, Darling, but how do I know you can pay for it? Do you have money with you now?” Harry held up his money bag for her along with the Easy-Access Card given only to those with large fortunes. She gazed hungrily upon the heavy sack of gold with renewed vigour. “In that case, would you like the necklace gift wrapped or take it as is?”

Harry left the shop, necklace in pocket, with a considerably lighter money bag and with his first use of his Easy-Access Card. He was lucky, though; the lady had given him a discounted price because he was, in her words, “just so cute!” Ducking back into the crevice he’d used before, he replaced the invisibility cloak over his body and headed off to Weasley Wizard Wheezes where he waited until Remus’s return. He didn’t have to wait long. Just as he was handing the cloak back to Fred, Remus stepped through the door and beckoned Harry toward him. They both waved goodbye to the twins as they left the shop again.

“Right, I got done what I needed to, and now we can leave. Are you ready for this, Harry?” asked Remus, his expression slightly uneasy, as if expecting Harry to be having doubts.

“I’m ready. And before you ask if I’m sure, I’m sure,” replied Harry.

Remus laughed, accepting his answer. “Now, I take it you’ve never Apparated before?” Harry just nodded. “Hm, I thought so. Well, we can’t use the Floo, so I’ll have to Apparate you to the place.”

“You can do that?” Harry asked bewildered. If it was possible for adults to Apparate minors, then why had he been forced to use that wretched Floo Network all these years?

The lycan chuckled again. “Yes, I can do that. Most wizards and witches don’t like to do it, though. Apparition is hard and dangerous enough alone, but Side-Along-Apparition increases the risks threefold.” Well, that at least answered Harry’s previous question. “First thing’s first. Take my arm, and make sure you hold on tightly; you don’t want to slip off and get splinched.” Harry made a nervous laugh, not quite sure if Remus was joking or if he really meant it. Either way, he figured it would be best to be cautious.

It was like being turned inside-out and squeezed through a bottle. When the two arrived a moment later, Harry was gasping for breath, still trying to rid himself of the suffocating feeling. After that, he understood why the wizarding world preferred the Floo (though, Harry preferred the Floo Sugar that Fred and George had invented just recently). “You okay there?” asked Remus while slapping Harry’s back in hopes to help ease the coughing. Harry found in that moment that hitting someone on the back while they were choking was highly overrated and really didn’t work. Harry staggered off, regaining his composure after a few minutes. “Heh, sorry about that. I suppose I should have warned you. I’m just so used to the feeling of Apparating now that I forgot how most people react the first time.”

“It’s o-okay. I’m better now,” replied Harry, still coughing occasionally and rubbing his chest. It was then that Harry finally looked up to see where they’d landed and found himself unable to move.

They were standing in front of what looked like a large white-brick house about five stories high. Was this where he had once lived? He definitely didn’t recognize the place. He couldn’t really imagine having lived here. He was sure Remus must have made a mistake. “Is this . . .?”

“Follow me.”

They headed up the winding stone path, but instead of continuing to the door as Harry had expected to do, they turned off just before reaching the house, Remus making his way around the side. The back of the house had massive grounds that stretched for acres. Part of it looked to be a place once used to practice Quidditch, and to the side there seemed to be a cemetery. At the site of the headstones, Harry’s heart sped. Was Remus taking him where he thought he was?

There was a metal gate surrounding the cemetery. As Harry approached, the entrance to the gate slowly opened itself, as if expecting them. Harry followed Remus to a set of graves in the centre toward the back of the enclosing. There, he saw the name Potter engraved on many of the stones. This was his family. This was all that was left. Harry felt his breath hitch. He felt like he was apparating again; he couldn’t breathe. The felling like he was the only one in the world washed over him. He felt so alone. How was he supposed to fulfil his destiny feeling like this? How was he supposed to do it alone?

“Harry? Are you okay?” Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Harry tried to nod, but he’d just set eyes on three graves that looked newer than all the others: His parents and . . . Sirius.

His parents’ graves shared one large headstone.

Lily and James Potter
1960-1981

Here lie the bodies of Lily and James Potter. Both courageous, intelligent, and the best friends anyone could ask for. You will always be loved by the lives you touched with yours. And know this: Your sacrifices will not be in vain. Rest in Peace.

Harry moved his eyes to the side to read what was said about his godfather:

Sirius Black
1960-1996

Honorary Potter and truest friend there ever was to the very end. Even after you’ve gone, it seems no one can take away the light your life brought to this world and those living in it. Rest in Peace.

“Maybe, I shouldn’t have brought you here yet . . .” Remus’s voice trailed off, bringing Harry out of his stupor.

“Wha—no. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m glad you brought me. I had to see them some time.” Harry tried swallowing the lump in his throat but found it useless. The feeling of loneliness mingled with the few memories he still had caused his mind to go numb. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to gather his thoughts. There was a soft breeze suddenly, and it wasn’t until he felt the cold on his face that he realized he was crying. He wiped the tears away hastily, hoping Remus hadn’t seen them, but somehow, he doubted it. “I really am glad you brought me. And now I know. I’m glad they can be here together,” Harry finished in a whisper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus give a stiff nod.

They stayed a few more minutes until Remus reminded Harry that they still had other things they needed to do. Before leaving, Remus conjured three lilies to place on the separate graves with a few parting words. “Rest in Peace, my friends. Rest in Peace.”

After heading back to the house they’d started at, Remus asked, “So, which one do you want to tour first: the Potter Family Estate or your parents’ cottage?”

“Wait? There are two?” asked Harry, clearly confused. No one had ever told him about this before. “Which one is this one?” wondered Harry aloud as he pointed to the large white brick house in front of him.

“That would be the Family Estate.”

Harry shrugged. “We’re already here. Might as well take a look around this one first.”

The front door opened with a creak, the breach casting light into the dusty room. The front hall was enormous with a high ceiling and chandelier dangling overhead. A set of oak steps was set in front of them and wound up to the floors above. As they made their way around the house, Harry took note of all the different rooms there were. The ballroom was at least half the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and the kitchen definitely showed signs of house-elf labour. They made their way into the upper floors with bedrooms to hold a family at least five times the size of the Weasley clan.

They finally came to the end of the top floor, but the final room was locked.

“Remus, what’s in there?” asked Harry.

Remus began to chuckle. “I remember whenever James invited us over, we’d try everything we could to get into that room, but the lock would never give. I’m not really sure what is in there, but that was your grandfather’s study. He’d lock himself up in there for hours on end and would never tell us what he was up to.”

“Do you think we could get in there now?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Well . . . there is one spell I haven’t tried.” Remus took a long look at the door before finally casting a silent unlocking charm of sorts. They waited patiently, but nothing happened. “I guess the old man was too good at keeping secrets,” he muttered.

“Oh come on! There has to be a way in! Maybe there’s a password? Did you ever see him go in there?”

Remus took a while to think before telling Harry to place his hand on the door where a knob would have been had there been one. He then tried the spell again with the same result. Harry was starting to get annoyed and started shouting off different things that could be used for passwords. “Sherbet lemon, Dissendium . . . Voldemort.” Remus gave him a weird look. “What? It would be a good password because even if someone found out what it was, most would never actually say it aloud.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, continuing with random things to no avail. Finally, in a last ditch attempt and only half joking, he said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” To their shock, it actually worked.

Remus began to chuckle. “Like father, like son. I suppose that’s where James got the password for the map,” he said, trailing off in thought.

The door slid open to reveal tons of shelves and books scattered all over. The mess reminded him of Hermione during one of their many raids of the Hogwarts’ library, and if Harry had to guess, it seemed that his grandfather had been searching for something. Remus walked around the shelves, glancing at the various titles that lined the walls, while Harry headed straight for the desk toward the back of the room. Papers littered the top with names scrawled everywhere, most having been scratched out. He found it a bit odd, until he took a look around and noticed the only decoration of any kind in the place on the wall behind him. It was a large poster with more names written all over it. Harry realized that it was a family tree—his family tree—as he recognized his father’s name at the bottom. He traced his way up the line, not really recognizing any of the names until he got to the top. His eyes widened. It couldn’t be could it? Though his mind thought it made some sense, it seemed too surreal. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the name at the top: Godric Gryffindor.

“Harry? Are you ready to go?”

He jumped at the sound of Remus’s voice, slightly nervous. He wondered if the lycan knew of his heritage or if the secret had died with his grandfather. Harry decided he’d like to keep his newly acquired knowledge to himself, and rushed to where Remus was in hopes of distracting him from his surroundings. “Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go to Mum and Dad’s place next,” he said, rushing out the door. Remus gave him a slightly perplexed look at Harry’s eagerness to leave but followed him out nonetheless.

They continued in the opposite direction down the path they had trailed earlier, turning off to the side as they left the manor. It was a good while before they came upon a small cottage secluded in the thick of trees on the outskirts of the backyard field. Harry didn’t quite recognize the place, but he felt as if he knew it.

Remus cleared his throat a few times. “Are you sure you’re re—”

“Yes, Remus,” Harry cut in, sounding a bit more confident than he felt. They stepped up to the slanted and battered door. The twinge of unease he’d felt before was multiplying, and he almost asked to go back. Almost. His resolve hardened against the onslaught of dread rising in him and he pushed his way in. His eyes roved over the place, taking in the broken items and dust that littered the house. He could do this. It was be hard, but he’d been through much worse.

Their footsteps sounded like cannon blasts in the desolate dwelling. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck raised, and he felt almost as if he was violating the house, trespassing on the dead that once rested here. They were in the front hall, where it seemed most of the damage on the lower level had been done. Chunks of the wall were missing, and there were scorch marks everywhere. Harry swallowed; this was where his dad had . . . Memories started resurfacing; he could here his dad telling his mum to take him and run . . . hear the door bursting in and the mad cackling.

His nerves were so high strung that when the sound of glass breaking pierced the air, Harry had his wand trained on Remus so fast that the older man actually fell down from the shock of his movement. He apologised and helped his mentor up, not quite sure how to explain his reaction.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Remus assured him, dusting his robes off. “Anyone in your position would be on edge right now.”

Harry nodded, and they continued in. It felt like he was in a trance. His feet took him up the stairs, as if someone else was controlling his body and he was just along for the ride. He could still hear the screams and laughter. There was a light, and finally, the screams stopped and all that remained was Voldemort’s ghostly cackles. Then there was another flash of jade, a rumbling, and more screaming.

“Harry! HARRY!”

Harry woke from his flashback, heaving for breath. Lying before him were the remnants of a room torn open to the outside world. The floor had caved in along with the walls and most of the roof. Odd pieces of the broken house stuck up like spikes below. “Wha-what happened?” he managed.

“I think you were remembering that night. You ran up the stairs, straight to your old room. You’re breathing became laboured and you started yelling. I was afraid you were going to keep going,” he replied, pointing to where Harry stood. As he followed Remus’s gaze, he realized he was only a few centimetres from the edge of the one-story drop. “I think, maybe, it was a mistake bringing you here.”

“No. It’s fine. Just bad memories. Like I said before, I had to come some time, right?” He tried to smile, but the hellish vision was still too close for him to manage it.

“I think we should leave now. Maybe, you can come back after the place has been fixed up.”

“Fixed up?”

“Don’t you want it to be?” asked Remus. “Nobody has done anything to the house since it was technically yours, and they weren’t sure what you’d want to do with it. It would be nice if it was fixed up, though, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded slightly, lost in his thoughts again. What would he do with the house? He couldn’t really sell it, since it was technically still under the Fidelius charm. Maybe, Remus was right. It would be nice if it was cleaned up and redone. Maybe, when the war was over, he could call it home again . . . Maybe.

They Apparated back to Grimmauld’s front door and made their way through the house to the main dinning area to be welcomed back with shouts of “surprise”. There was a banner overhead that read “Happy Birthday Harry!” and a large cake sitting in the middle of the table sporting the same words. Harry didn’t know what to say. It was the first birthday party he’d ever been given. He was helped along out of his shock by Hermione who told him to blow out the candles and make a wish. It was at that moment that he wished that they could remain like that forever: happy and whole.

They talked and laughed as the elder members reminisced about the “old days.” Harry was even given a few extra presents that the group had saved for the party. It was one of the best times of Harry’s life, and he committed every bit of it to memory.

The party began to dwindle after a few hours. The left-over ice cream had melted, and the final pieces of cake had been served. Laughter ensued when Ron asked if Ginny was going to eat the rest of her cake and she replied, “No, Ron, you can have it,” and promptly shoved the half eaten piece in his face.

“Hey! You just ruined a perfectly good piece of cake!” Ron bit out.

“No, actually, I think I put it to pretty good use,” Ginny commented as if talking about nothing more exciting than the weather.

Ron rolled his eyes and started licking off what he could, determined to not let the sugary goodness go to waste.

~*~*~

It was one in the morning according to Harry’s new watch, and Ron was as dead to the world as ever when asleep. Again Harry found sleep eluding him and decided to at least do something productive. He carefully rummaged through his stuff, finding what he needed and headed to Sirius’s old room for some privacy. He managed to make it without disturbing anyone else, at least, that was what he’d thought until he heard the door reopen behind him.

“Harry?” called a soft voice.

“Hermione? What are you doing here? What are you doing up?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep. I heard someone banging around upstairs, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“Sorry. I thought I was being quiet. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She waved his apology aside. “I told you, Harry; I was already awake.” They each stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. “So . . . why are you up?” Hermione finally asked.

“Same as you. I couldn’t sleep,” he answered, shifting what he’d brought with him in his arms.

“What do you have there?” she asked, her curiosity piqued by his movement.

“Wha—oh. I just thought I’d take a look at what Dumbledore left me,” He answered, holding out the stone basin he’d brought with him. “Do—do you want to see too?”

She nodded her head vigorously. “If you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.” Their eyes caught briefly before Harry broke contact and headed over to the bed, placing the Pensieve on the wooden surface of a nightstand and scooting a sleepy Buckbeak to the floor so they could sit on the comforter.

“We still have to do something about him,” Hermione noted absentmindedly, referring to the hippogriff lounging on the floor. She sat down next to Harry and asked, “What memories do you think he left you?” Her voice was eager with the mystery that awaited them in the Pensieve.

“I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.” He placed the basin between them and tapped the swirling mist in the Pensieve with his wand, equally as eager as Hermione. The mist glassed over and showed a wintry scene. Harry told her to touch the Pensieve to enter it and followed her in with a rush of colours.

They landed clumsily in the snow, shivering a bit since they were both only in their night clothes. Hermione conjured up some cloaks for them to wear as they began searching around. As they took in their surroundings, they noticed that they were in Hogsmeade. Loud noise erupted behind them, both spinning to see a crowd of people seeking shelter in the Hog’s Head. The group had their hoods up and scarves wrapped tightly around their heads to protect from the cold, making it near impossible to see their faces. As Harry looked on, he noticed a flash of red hair as they passed, and immediately recognized his mother. Grabbing Hermione’s hand to tug her along, he followed.

“So, tell me, Lily, when is the wedding?” came a voice from one of the guys on the left.

Harry tensed; he’d know that voice anywhere.

Sirius.

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione whispered to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nodded curtly and continued to follow the group in front of them.

It’s just a memory. It’s just a memory, he repeated to himself.

“Very funny, Black,” Lily replied as she and the rest of the group removed their hoods.

Sirius touched a hand to his chest with mock sorrow in his eyes. “Lily, I’m hurt. Surely you can call me by my given name now that you and James are an item.”

“Hey, don’t get too cosy with her, Padfoot. She’s mine,” James said, jokingly.

“Oh no, Lily! He’s found us out! What will we ever do?” Sirius exclaimed.

Lily just rolled her eyes, taking a seat next to James at a corner table. “I’m sorry, James. Will you ever forgive us?” she said dramatically, playing along.

“I don’t know. That’s a hard thing to deal with, Love. Maybe if you kiss me, I might forgive you,” James replied with a smile lighting his face.

“I think I can handle that.” She leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as their lips touched. Harry could have sworn he heard Hermione sigh next to him, but it was forgotten as Sirius started gagging.

“Honestly, do you two have to do that now?” Sirius asked, his face contorted into one of disgust.

“Well, it was your fault we started. You should never have taken my girl.” James laughed as Sirius gave him the finger.

“Hey guys, I’m going to go get us some drinks,” said Remus. “Is butterbeer good?” Nods were exchanged, and he headed up to the bar causing the bartender to stop his conversation with another patron.

“This must have taken place soon after your parents first got together, Harry,” whispered Hermione as the group laughed at something Pettigrew had said.

Harry’s eyes lingered on the rat for a while, biting down the bitter taste in his mouth from seeing him so friendly with his parents. He forced himself to gaze away as he replied to Hermione’s statement. “It seems that way. I wonder where Dumbledore is, though. This is supposed to be his memory isn’t it? Where is he?”

They both searched the bar until Hermione pointed out the wizard who had been talking to the bartender earlier. They both recognized the long white beard of the headmaster. “I wonder what they are talking about?” she thought aloud.

“Who cares? Can’t they just be having a friendly chat? I mean, Dumbledore gave me this memory so I could see my parents, not listen in on his conversation with a bartender.”

She bit her lip in thought. “I supposed he could just be catching up with his brother . . .”

“Wait . . . What do you mean by ‘his brother’?”

“Well, the bartender there is Aberforth, Dumbledore’s brother,” she replied as if it were common knowledge.

“How do you know that? Why hasn’t he ever told me his brother ran the Hog’s Head?” Harry couldn’t help but feel a little bitter that Dumbledore had failed yet again to tell him something.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out, Harry. After all, they do look similar. Look at Aberforth’s eyes.”

He did as she’d suggested, and noticed they were a brilliant blue. The two men did look similar. He felt a bit foolish for not having noticed before. It really was obvious that the two were related.

Their attention shifted back to the teens in the corner as Lily tried to reach across the table to strangle Sirius for some lewd comment he’d made about her and James. Sirius was having a spectacular time trying to hide behind Remus, while Pettigrew clapped his hands excitedly. James seemed to have sunken lower in his seat, trying to hide the blush that tinged his cheeks.

“James, will you call her off already?” Sirius complained.

“Why should I? You deserved it.”

“Please?”

“Damn it. Why do you always have to use the puppy-dog eyes! It’s not fair! You have an extra advantage against us with those things!” James whined as he pulled Lily toward him and held her in place, allowing Sirius to return to his seat. The boys all held a glint in their eyes from the private joke.

“It’s just part of my lovable personality,” said Sirius with a smirk.

Nearly everyone at the table snorted at that comment.

“What? I am lovable... and adorable. You even said it yourself the other night when we were—” Sirius was cut off by Remus as he smacked the boy across the back of the head.

“What are you trying to do, Padfoot? Give all our secrets away?” Remus whispered so Lily couldn’t hear.

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled back. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t see why James can’t just tell her we’re animagi. I mean, she’s kept everything else a secret.”

“She can’t know about you three being animagi yet because she doesn’t know about my condition yet,” he replied with a hint of frustration.

“So tell her your bloody condition, then. She’s going to find out eventually, isn’t she?”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why?”

“What if she doesn’t take it well and ends up breaking up with James over it? He’d never forgive me!” Remus was now getting red in the face.

“You’re being stupid. Lily is better than that!”

The two continued to argue back and forth, not realizing how loud they were becoming. They only stopped when Lily cleared her throat. She was not happy.

“Is there something you boys want to tell me?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yes—No,” the two said at the same time.

“James, spill,” Lily commanded, looking to her side.

“What? Why are you asking me? I don’t even know what their fighting about!” James defended.

“Fine. But I will find out eventually, and until I do, no more kisses for you,” she said, looking at James. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait! What? Hang on! Remus, do something!” James pleaded.

“All right. All right. Lily, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to flip out okay? Have a seat,” Remus insisted. He took a deep breath to steady himself. His mouth opened a few times, but now words came out.

“Remus, just tell her, or I will!” Sirius growled.

“All right! Lily, I’m—I’m a werewolf.” His face was twisted as if expecting her to explode at him.

“Oh,” she said, “is that all?”

All four boys stared at her, fearing for her sanity.

“What?” she asked.

“You—You’re not mad?” Remus asked.

“No. I already knew.”

“But how?” His face mirrored the other three’s confusion.

“No offence, Remus, but it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out.” She shrugged. “You were always sick on the night of the full moon. Plus, your boggart kind of gives you away. I’ve known since second year.”

“Oh.”

The group continued to talk for a while. Harry loved it. He got to see how his parents really were. They bickered at times, but it was almost always in a joking manner. He could tell they loved each other. It seemed like they had watched the scene for ages. Harry was only brought back to the rest of his surroundings when he felt Hermione squeeze his hand. Had they really been holding hands that whole time? She pointed towards the bar, and Harry looked to see Dumbledore getting up.

No, it was too soon! He didn’t want to leave. Why was Dumbledore leaving? Harry ran after him, dragging Hermione along once more, to try and stop his mentor, but his hand went right through the man. The world began to swirl and fade into another scene.

They were in a low-lit room with a large table in the centre. Dumbledore was at one end while Remus and a few others were spread around the edges. Near them was a goblin holding up an old piece of parchment. Harry recognized him as the goblin he’d met earlier that day, Razorback.

“We will now begin the reading of the will of Sirius Black,” Razorback pronounced.

Harry tensed at those words. He’d already been on an emotional rollercoaster that day; he wasn’t sure if he could handle any more. He was close to stopping the memory and leaving, but then he felt Hermione’s hand on his shoulder. She looked at him with determination in her eyes. “You can do this, Harry,” she said. “Dumbledore felt you should hear this, so you should try for him at least. You’re not alone. I’m right here with you.” Their eyes met, and all he could do was nod. Their attention turned back to Razorback as he handed the parchment over to Dumbledore.

The headmaster began to read aloud, “ ‘This is the will of Sirius Black, of the city of London, made on Thursday, 30 June, 1994. This revokes all previous wills. I appoint Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to be the executor of this will . . .’ ” Harry began to block his voice out as he talked of things Harry didn’t quite understand. He looked to his side and noticed Hermione’s undivided attention, never turning away from Dumbledore. His curiosity didn’t pique again until close to the end when Dumbledore mentioned his name. “My executor shall pay or transfer the residue of my estate to Harry James Potter.”

“Hermione, does that mean . . . What does that mean?” Harry asked.

“That means that you’re supposed to get everything of Sirius’s remaining assets. For example, Grimmauld Place is now yours,” she answered.

“So that’s what that goblin was talking about this morning. My new property . . . he must have meant Grimmauld Place.”

“Harry, didn’t you even look at the deeds?” she asked, perplexed.

“I glanced at some of the stuff Razorback gave me, but it wasn’t like I sat down and read over everything.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and he could have sworn he’d heard her mutter, “Typical.”

“ ‘Signed by Sirius Black in the presence of two witnesses who, at the request of Sirius Black and of each other, and believing Sirius Black to be of sound mind—shut up Remus—and body and under no duress, have subscribed our names as witnesses.’ ” Remus gave a small chuckle as Dumbledore finished the last line. A few small trinkets and papers were passed out to the people in the room before they left.

The world began to swirl once again, only this time Harry felt a tug as he did a backwards summersault and landed on shaky legs back in Sirius’s old room at Grimmauld Place. The two were quiet for a while. They ended up sitting on the bed, each lost in thought.

Harry didn’t really know what to think of the memories. The last one was informative, he guessed. He was grateful for the first one, though. He finally really got to see how his parents acted around each other. They had seemed happy. He wondered if he’d ever have what they’d had. He looked over to Hermione, noticing how she bit her lip like she always did when in deep thought. He’d started to find it endearing over the years. He couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face.

“What? Is my hair messed up or something?” she asked, noticing his gaze.

“N-no. I was just . . . never mind. It’s nothing.” He turned away from her to stare into the Pensieve again.

“I hate it when you do that! You won’t tell me what’s going on in that head of yours and it drives me insane!” she pouted. He smiled again and sighed. His body was starting to feel heavy as his eyes drooped. He pushed himself back farther on the bed to lie down. Hermione moved to lie next to him, both facing each other. “Tell me what’s on your mind?” she whispered, pushing his fringe from his eyes and tracing her fingers down his cheek.

“It’s just . . .” he began, not sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“Yes?” she coaxed.

“You saw my parents, right? You saw how they were?”

“Yes, I did,” she said, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just . . . I wonder if I’ll ever have what they had. Will I ever be that happy? This whole war . . . it takes everything worthwhile away. What if I don’t survive? I’ll never get the chance to be happy like that,” he said softly, his voice filled with sadness. He closed his weary eyes, willing his emotions to stop running rampant.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’m sure you’ll get the chance. I’m sure you’ll find someone you can be happy with.” The voice was a soft whisper . . . so far away. He was barely able to comprehend it. He felt something touch his check, something warm and soft, before he was completely gone.

He opened his eyes noticing a soft glow in the room. It was already morning. He tried to sit up but was unable to due to the weight pressing on his chest. He looked down to see soft brown curls everywhere. Hermione had stayed with him last night. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her face. She looked so peaceful while sleeping, her features completely relaxed and worry free. Every curve seemed so soft in the dim light of dawn. She seemed unreal . . . like an angel.

He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch her cheek. It was just as soft as it had looked. Her eyes were still closed, and her lips were slightly parted. They looked soft too. He ran his fingers down her cheek to trace along her lips. Yes, they were also just as soft as they had looked. He wondered what they would feel like against his own. Tentatively, he leaned down. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip once more before slowly pressing his lips to hers. The feeling was incredible, like running his skin across silk. It was intoxicating, and he pressed his mouth against hers harder, deepening the kiss. He could feel her begin to respond to him as she awoke. She brought her hand up to run through his hair, pulling his head closer to her. They broke the kiss only to catch their breath, lingering only a hairsbreadth away from each other.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Harry.”

“HARRY!”

Harry woke up suddenly, cursing the end of a pleasant dream. The first thing he noticed was that Hermione was on top of him, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

“Harry, put us down!” she demanded. He was completely confused. What was she talking about? “Harry, I swear, if you don’t put us down this instant, I’m going to . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but put us down anyway!” It was then that he took a better look at his surroundings. They were floating in the air. Not for long, though; the moment he realized what was happening, they both fell to the bed with a soft thump.

“What was that all about?”

~*~*~

A/N: *Warning: slight book-six spoiler.* Eh, so I finally took the time to read that interview that JKR gave confirming Ron and Hermione’s relationship. That part of the interview was thoroughly depressing! I was cringing the whole time. Right now I feel like something slimy is squirming around inside of me, and I seriously need a Harry/Hermione fix. But, I realized something. To me, it has been obvious that Ron liked Hermione, but I kind of always hoped it wouldn’t work out, and she’d end up with Harry in the end. I think the reason why I’ve been such an avid fan of the Harry/Hermione pairing is because I wanted Harry to finally feel like he wasn’t always alone. The thing he had with Ginny was fleeting and seemed meaningless. Hermione has been by his side through practically everything, and if they ended up together, then Harry would at least have a little love and happiness he could hold onto. I realised that’s why I adore the H/Hr ship so much . . . because I don’t want Harry to end up alone.

I had a few reviewers ask if HBP was the reason for why I haven’t updated in a while, and I can tell you all now, that isn’t the case. Even though it’s pretty obvious Harry and Hermione won’t be getting together in the real books, it’s still my favorite pairing, and I’m not giving it up. JKR seems to be trying to make Harry save the world on his own, but I don’t think it should be that way. That’s one of the reasons why Harry isn’t like Voldemort; he has friends and people he can trust and rely on. That’s one reason why I think he needs Hermione. So, book six is not getting in the way. And like I’ve said before, I’ve got my plot figured out already. I just haven’t been able to find the time to write. I’m going to school full time, starting my own business, doing tons of volunteer work, and on top of that when I actually do have time to myself, I’m cooking, cleaning, hanging out with my friends and catching up on my own romantic life (so to speak). I’ve almost forgotten the meaning of sleep, it seems. I just need people to keep getting on my case to write. ;-P

I thank you all for being so patient with me. This chapter took the longest to finish, but to make up for the wait, it’s also the longest chapter, around 9,600 words.

As far as Harry being the Heir of Gryffindor goes, I realize that JKR has pretty much shot that theory down, but it’s necessary for my plot. So, don’t go on about how it “shouldn’t” be that way. This is my version. I can write what I want. However, I do like hearing theories. If you think you’ve figured something out, then say it in your review. It’s fun to see who picks up on my clues, and it’s possible I might give something away (though, I don’t really think anyone will be able to figure out my plot exactly).

Thanks for all the reviews and for those of you who gave me a little shove.

As always, thanks to my beta, Nati, for checking over my work when I’ve become so sick of reading over it that I can’t stand to look at it anymore.

—Amie

Disclaimer: La, la, la . . . What? You think I own Harry Potter? *snickers* Yes, I see my master plan is working! Soon, the entire world will be at my mercy! Mwahahaha! MWAHAHAHA! *clears throat* I’m okay. Really. Right . . . on with the story!

Summary: Try looking in . . . I don’t know . . . chapter four? Have fun searching for it!

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (and Reviews .:Hint:. .:Hint:.): Her fingers were wrapped around his neck once more, and he was sure he’d lose consciousness if he didn’t do something soon. “Kick him a few times in the head. That should do it,” she told him—NO! I’m not going to die like this. I won’t let them take me—Just before Macnair’s foot was about to connect, a pulse of magic rippled out from Harry, causing both Lestrange and Macnair to fly backwards.

Warning: To those of you who are faint of heart, I should warn you that there will be cursing in this chapter. I don’t think it warrants an R rating (not at all), but I figured I should at least warn you, just in case.

~*~*~*~*~
Training Trials
(Chapter Seven)
~*~*~

—Recap—

Harry woke up suddenly, cursing the end of a pleasant dream. The first thing he noticed was that Hermione was on top of him, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

“Harry, put us down!” she demanded. He was completely confused. What was she talking about? “Harry, I swear, if you don’t put us down this instant, I’m going to . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but put us down anyway!” It was then that he took a better look at his surroundings. They were floating in the air. Not for long, though; the moment he realized what was happening, they both fell to the bed with a soft thump.

“What was that all about?”

~*~*~

August flew by, and before Harry knew it, they were at platform 9 ¾, waiting for the family in front of them to go through the barrier. What had happened to him and Hermione the morning after his birthday continued to plague his mind, but he hadn’t seen Dumbledore again to be able to ask him about it. Harry knew that he’d done accidental magic, but he couldn’t understand why. Usually when he lost control of his magic, he was upset, but his dream had been anything but distressing. He would talk to his headmaster once he got to Hogwarts.

The platform was as crowded as ever. Parents everywhere were saying goodbye to their children with numerous tears and hugs. A flash of pain shot through him as he remembered saying goodbye to Sirius there. He’d been so happy to get out of the house that day, but it had been one of the events leading up to his death. It had been all Malfoy’s fault! He’d been the one to tell Voldemort about seeing Sirius at the station. Maybe if he hadn’t seen how much Sirius meant to Harry, then he wouldn’t have . . .

“Harry? Are you okay?” Hermione’s worried voice reached his ears.

He shook his head to clear the images. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Well, stop that,” said Ron. “You look like someone just killed your dog or something.”

Harry glared at him.

“Ron! How could you?” Hermione screeched, hitting him on the back of the head.

“What? What did I do now?” he asked.

“You are completely impossible! I can’t believe you would say that to Harry!” she continued to rant.

“What the hell, Hermione? I was just joking! Lighten up a little!” he raged back.

“How could you? Have you forgotten Sirius already?” she shrieked.

“Wha—” Ron’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh! Oh, Merlin, Harry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—I-I—bloody hell. You know I didn’t mean to, right?” he finished weakly.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just drop it,” said Harry, trying to wave it off.

“I’m really, really sor—”

“I said drop it!” A crack of thunder suddenly split the sky, as the heavens opened up and drenched the unsuspecting people below. His voice had come out a bit harsher than he’d meant for and immediately regretted it after seeing Ron’s face pale. “I’m sorry. Let’s just forget it, all right?”

He nodded.

They all hurried to say their goodbyes to the elder Weasleys and members of the Order who had escorted them, anxious to get out of the rain. The twins made Harry promise to cause some mayhem in their place since they would no longer be returning. Once Mr. Weasley had told Harry to be careful—as he’d lately taken the habit of doing—Mrs. Weasley gave each of them a paper bag with food in it for the train ride as she hugged each of them in turn. “Harry, do take care of yourself, won’t you?” she said, giving him an extra-hard squeeze before scooting them all off toward the train to escape the downpour.

They were close to one of the train’s many entrances when a sneering blonde wizard stepped in front of them. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Potty, the Weasel, and the Mudblood,” spat Malfoy as he opened the door, standing slightly to one side yet still blocking their path.

Ron stepped forward, arms raised and fingers stretched, desperate to wrap themselves around Malfoy’s scrawny neck, but Harry stopped him. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for one of your notorious visits, Malfoy? I haven’t quite finished digesting my breakfast, and I’d really rather not be sick right now, so if you’ll excuse us . . .” said Harry, ignoring the blonde’s earlier comments and trying to shove his way past him. Malfoy, however, held him back with one arm as the other still held fast to the door. Harry found this behaviour a bit strange but shook it off. “Move, Malfoy.”

“Or you’ll do what?”

Harry slowly slid out his wand. “Or I’ll make you.”

Malfoy smirked at him. “No need for that, Potter. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all of your adoring fans.” His arm made a large, sweeping motion, gesturing to the crowds on the platform. “There will be other times for us to settle our differences.” With that, he turned and walked onto the train, allowing the door to slide shut behind him.

“Yeah, you better run, you coward!” Ron shouted after him.

Harry just shook his head in confusion. Malfoy backed down from a fight with me? Very odd.

As they walked down the train’s aisle, compartment doors opened behind him, people sticking their heads out to stare. Whispers followed him everywhere.

“That’s Harry Potter. They say he and his friends went into the Department of Mysteries a few months ago.”

“I can’t believe You-Know-Who is really back.”

“He tried to warn the Minister, but he just called him crazy.”

“Oh, he’s so handsome.”

“And he’s available.”

“Did you hear that Cho broke up with him?”

“She’s the crazy one!”

“Do you think he’d go out with me?”

“How’s my hair?”

“I like his bum.”

That last girl’s comment thoroughly disturbed him. “Come on guys,” he said to his friends, “let’s find a compartment quickly. I don’t want anyone else staring at my bum.” Hermione giggled something unintelligible, but he could have sworn he’d heard her agree with the girl’s comment. They quickened their pace until about halfway through the train. Harry was looking into the compartments as they passed, but instead of finding an empty one, he found a surprise. “Profes—I mean—Remus, Tonks, Kingsley! What are you all doing here?”

Kingsley gave a small nod while Remus smiled at them.

“Wotcher, Harry!” said Tonks, jumping up to greet them. “Come in and have a seat!”

The four filed in and placed their trunks in the overhead luggage rack. Once everyone was settled, Harry raised his eyebrow at the Order members, still waiting for them to answer his earlier question.

Remus got the gist quickly and replied, “Dumbledore was afraid that the Death Eaters might try to attack the children on their way to Hogwarts so he asked us to keep watch in case anything happened.”

“But that shouldn’t happen,” Hermione interrupted. “The train has just as many wards on it as Hogwarts itself. Once the train leaves the station, its wards are raised until reaching Hogsmeade. The only way to get around it is if the conductor shuts the wards down for some reason like he did in our third year when the Dementors searched for Sirius. It would take really advanced magic to break into the train from the outside, otherwise.”

Remus smiled. “As brilliant as ever, Hermione. You are correct, of course. Dumbledore doesn’t really expect anything to happen, but he thought it best to be cautious just the same.”

They began talking about random things. At first, they conversed about who they thought the new Defense Professor would be. Ron made the off comment about a Vampire teaching them. “What? We’ve had just about everything else!” he defended after receiving odd glances.

A small while passed, and the compartment door opened to show Neville and Luna’s faces peeking in. “Mind if we join you?” they asked.

Harry shook his head. “Have a seat.”

About five minutes later, the train began moving. “Well, we really need to get going, Ron. We’ve got a Prefect meeting to get to,” Hermione spoke. “So do you, Ginny.” As the three left, Harry could hear Ron complaining about all of the responsibilities they had as Prefects and Hermione clucking her tongue at him until they were out of earshot.

“So, how was your summer break?” Neville asked him.

“It was okay, I guess. Nothing really special. What about yours?” he returned the question.

“It was great! Gran got me a new wand! Want to see it?” he asked, not waiting for an answer and pulling out the bit of wood from his pocket. “It’s made of cherry and unicorn hair. You’d be surprised at how big of a difference this thing makes! It’s amazing! I swear my spellwork has gone up at least threefold. I can’t wait until the first D.A. meeting! Then, I can show you!” His face was full of glee as he continued on about his new wand.

Luna’s head popped up from the paper she was reading at the mention of the D.A. “Are you going to continue the D.A. then, Harry?” she asked.

Harry was taken back by the question. He hadn’t given it much thought. They didn’t really need the D.A. anymore, did they? Though, he did have fun teaching. “I’m not really sure, Luna. I’ll have to think about it. Now that Umbridge is gone, it wouldn’t be breaking any rules, but do we really need it?”

“I think you should, Harry,” Neville added. “I learned loads from you. Even if we have a competent professor this year, we’d still probably learn tons more from you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry promised.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny returned an hour later. Hermione’s face was indifferent, giving nothing away. If Harry hadn’t looked to Ron’s wide eyes and Ginny’s smug expression, he never would have known that something had taken place while they were gone. “What happened?” Ron just shook his head in disbelief, and Ginny’s smile widened even further. Oh, that couldn’t be good. Ginny was like the female version of Fred and George in one body instead of two. “What did you do?” he asked, this time directing his question at the redhead. She burst out laughing, quite unable to answer him, so he turned to Hermione and asked her, “Since it seems that these two are currently incapable of human speech, will you please tell me what happened?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Malfoy’s a Prefect again. Anyway, he was abusing his authority and bullying some first years, acting like they had done something wrong when they didn’t know any better, so we . . . tried to step in.”

“Tried?”

Ginny’s giggles grew in volume.

“Yes—well—let’s just say they didn’t need the help. You’d be surprised at what a first year these days can do given the right incentive, and being able to hex Malfoy was definitely motivation enough. Ginny was about to use a Bat Bogey Hex on him, but the first years beat her to it. All three of them. Malfoy is now being chased up and down the train by flying snot.”

Ginny sunk into her seat, laughing hysterically. “Oh—it—was—wonderful!” she gasped. “You should have seen the look on Malfoy’s face when a couple of first years hexed him. And they used my signature hex too! Oh, it was priceless. He looked like he’d just accidentally stepped into the Gryffindor common room with nothing but his shorts on.”

The rest of the compartment burst out laughing at the image. Something was nagging at the back of Harry’s head, though. “How on earth did a couple of first years know how to use a Bat Bogey Hex?” Harry asked.

“Well, it seems that they have a few older siblings here who told them about what happened last semester. Remember I used that hex on Malfoy to get away from him before we met you in the forest? Well, it turns out he’d run around the castle for quite some time, cursing loudly and attracting the attention of everyone near by. The story spread like wildfire, and now, tons of people have learned that hex just to be able to taunt the Ferret when he starts being the pest that he is.” Her face was absolutely glowing. “I’m so proud of them!”

Suddenly, the blood curdling scream of a soul being tortured echoed throughout the train, wiping the smiles off their faces. Harry and the others were instantly out the door and down the corridor to where the screams reverberated from.

“Tell me where Potter is!” a feminine voice demanded from one of the six cloaked figures ahead of them. The leader, who had spoken, had her wand trained on a young girl who had slumped to the ground, sweat glistening on her forehead.

“I’ve already told you; I don’t know!” she cried.

“Do you know who I am?” the figure asked. The student shook her head. The witch straightened her posture and lowered her hood and mask. “Now, do you know who I am?” The form of Bellatrix Lestrange leered down at the crumpled girl. The second year’s eyes widened in recognition as she began to shake from fear.

“Please, don’t kill me!” she begged.

Lestrange’s cold laughter echoed through the aisle. “Tell me where Potter is, and we’ll see.”

“But I don’t know!”

Lestrange sneered one last time before saying, “Then, you are of no further use to me. Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Harry yelled.

“Harry, no!” Hermione hissed.

“Don’t harm her!” he continued, rushing forward to face his godfather’s killer, wand ready.

“So the brave hero finally decides to show up.” She aimed her wand at him, as he approached. “You always were too soft, Potter. One day, you’re going to get yourself killed if you continue to carry on with this morality of yours.” She cackled, “Of course, that suits me and my master just fine.” Without warning, a spell shot from her wand, straight at his heart.

“Protego!” he shouted, forming a makeshift shield at the last second. The yellow curse went sailing off to the side, hitting one of the other Death Eaters in the group.

Lestrange sniffed in disgust. “Useless,” she muttered to her fallen comrade. “Well, don’t just stand there you idiots! Fight!” she yelled to the mass of Death Eaters.

Harry and the others immediately began throwing up shields and firing hexes. Neville and Harry were the most fervent with their attacks, dealing out hexes and jinxes more quickly and more powerful than the rest. Both wanted revenge for the wrongs Lestrange had done them in the past.

It was hard fighting in such a small space. There wasn’t much room to move around, making it easier to hit targets but also making it easier to get hit. Ginny was taken out first, felled by a Stunner. Fortunately, she’d been able to take her attacker down as well. Luna suddenly stopped her attacks, crouched down, and began crawling away after being hit with an orange spell that Harry didn’t recognize. Tonks and Kingsley each Stunned one, and Hermione dropped to the floor halfway through the fight, bound by ropes. Remus was able to get the fifth before a flyaway Severing Charm grazed his right arm, causing him to drop his wand as blood dripped to the floor.

Harry could tell that Lestrange was becoming desperate now that she was the last one of her own standing, still holding off his and Neville’s attacks. Her aim was becoming less precise, and her hexes became more deadly as they continued. Quickly, she aimed a Reducto at the ceiling of the train, causing it to collapse and allowing her to run as the others tried to fight their way through the blockade. Harry, finally fed up with their struggles, shouted, “Evanesco!” vanishing the piled debris.

Harry, Neville, Kingsley, Ron, and Tonks ran after the escaped Death Eater. She was making slow progress since she was dragging along the girl she’d been torturing earlier. Lestrange, noticing her pursuers, shot two more consecutive hexes before continuing on her way.

“Duck!” Harry called, but Neville was the only one to hear him. The first hex hit Kingsley, petrifying him. The second hit Ron. Blood gushed out from his newly formed wound as he fell to the floor, causing Tonks to trip over him and smash her head on the aisle wall.

Lestrange had made it to the head of the train. Harry and Neville opened the last door connecting the first boxcar to the engine. The English countryside sped past them in a rush of colour, wind, and water as they prepared themselves to continue forward. They could hear Lestrange shouting at the conductor to take down the wards. Don’t you dare, he thought. “Stupefy!” he heard as the two approached the engine. Damn it! Now, she’ll escape! A crazed Lestrange appeared in front of them, the door slamming behind her as it slid shut. She held the crying second year by her hair, wand tip jabbing the girl’s head. “Throw your wands down!” They made no movement, so she continued, “Throw them down now, or this girl’s blood will be on your hands, Potter! DO IT!” she shouted.

The two of them dropped their wands inside the boxcar behind them, so as not to lose them. Lestrange’s face lit up with malice. “You really are stupid. Do you honestly think I’m going to let her go now? You’ve got nothing on me, Potter.”

A Death Eater suddenly Apparated next to Lestrange. “I roused the others,” he said to her barely loud enough for Harry to hear. “They’ve all escaped, and we got what we came for.” Lestrange was distracted for only a few seconds, but it was all Harry needed.

Without thinking, he lunged himself at the two Death Eaters and their hostage. They all knocked against the engine’s closed door, the Death Eaters feeling the full force and dropping their wands. He kicked the wands aside, rolling them off the train. Quickly, while his enemies were down, he grabbed the girl and swung her around, pushing her into Neville’s arms on the other side of the platforms’ bridge. “Neville, take her to safety and get the others!”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me! Just do it!”

He nodded and took the girl away into the passenger car.

Before Harry had time to turn back to his nemeses, the fallen male Death Eater had grabbed Harry’s ankle, bringing him down, his upper body hanging over the edge of the small platform. Lestrange got up and tried to push Harry off, but he quickly grabbed onto one of the safety chains holding the cars together. She wrapped her hands around Harry’s throat, her long nails digging deep into his skin. He choked for breath, wriggling beneath her to free himself. His legs kicked out and caught her behind one knee, causing her to tip forward and over the edge. She clung to Harry, desperately trying to keep from falling.

“What are you doing, Macnair, you idiot!” she screamed. “Help me!” He seemed uncertain at first, but finally reached over Harry to grab her arm. Harry once again kicked out; Macnair lost his balance and tripped on the slippery surface, forcing him to tumble off the side as he still held onto Lestrange. The added weight, being too much for Harry to handle, caused his fingers to slip from the wet metal, and they all went tumbling off the side of the train and into the mud.

Harry was the first up. Quickly, he began running. He knew he wouldn’t be able to catch up with the train, but he needed to get away from them. Lestrange ran after him, jumping on him and taking them to the ground again. “Macnair, Stun him!” she yelled.

“I can’t! I don’t have my wand!” he shouted back, waving his hands to prove his point. The only thing he had was an old bit of parchment clutched in his left hand.

“Then at least help me knock him out!” Harry was still struggling to push her off of him. Her fingers were wrapped around his neck once more, and he was sure he’d lose consciousness if he didn’t do something soon. “Kick him a few times in the head. That should do it,” she told him.

NO! I’m not going to die like this. I won’t let them take me!

Just before Macnair’s foot was about to connect, a pulse of magic rippled out from Harry, causing both Lestrange and Macnair to fly backwards.

“Fuck! The little swat burned me!” she cursed. “Stomp his fucking face in!” she raged.

But Harry never gave them the chance. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him. His muscles were burning, but he wouldn’t stop. His mind was racing. He had to get back to the train. The first thing that came to mind was his broom. “Accio Firebolt!” he shouted as he continued his race against the two Death Eaters hot on his trail.

Moments later, his broom came whizzing through the air to fly alongside him. He quickly threw a leg over the handle and was off. As he left the ground, relief flooded his body. He was safe—for now.

It took him five minutes to catch up to the Hogwarts Express. Hoping that the wards were still down, he landed on the small platform at the back of the caboose and made his way inside. Everywhere, students were running around, panicking. He heard a few students comment on his capture, their voices laced with fear. The noise was deafening, and he found himself the owner of a very nasty headache. Before he knew what he was doing, he shouted, “ENOUGH!”

Everyone stopped, staring at his dirt-covered figure with wide eyes. Making his way through the crowd, he continued on to the compartment he had shared with his friends earlier. When he arrived, he heard the hurried voice of Remus giving commands to the other two Order members. From the sound of it, it seemed they planned to rescue him.

“There will be no need for a rescue mission, Remus,” he said upon entering the compartment. The group turned his way, shock written all over their faces.

Hermione was the first to react. He soon found himself caught up in her arms, her cries of worry and relief muffled as she spoke into his chest.

“Hermione, I’m fine,” he told her, but she refused to let him go.

“Hey, Ron, how are you holding up? She got you with a nasty curse,” he said, focusing on his other best friend.

“It hurts, but I’ll live. Tonks was able to stop the bleeding, but I’ll have to see Madam Pomfrey when we arrive at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded, glad that his friends weren’t terribly injured. “Hermione, I’m all right. Really,” he reassured her, letting her go to put his broom back into his trunk. As he took a better look around, he noticed his belongings strewn about the place. Clothes were thrown across the compartment as were books and various other items. Harry first thought that the mess had been created after summoning his broom, but as he began to put everything back into his trunk, he realised he was missing something.

“Was my stuff everywhere when you all returned here, or did it happen when I summoned my broom?” he asked carefully.

“It was like this when we arrived,” Hermione replied. “We were trying to figure out what to do about your disappearance when your broom suddenly went flying out the window,” she continued, pointing to the broken glass. “We weren’t really sure what to do after that.”

His whole demeanour changed to one of panic. Where was it? He dug through his stuff desperately. It had to be there. If the Death Eaters had taken it, they’d all be screwed.

“Shite!” he cursed. “It’s gone!” he yelled, kicking the side of his trunk. “I have to go back.” He turned to leave, but Remus blocked his path.

“You’re not going anywhere, Harry. You just got back. Now, calm down. What’s gone?” Remus asked evenly.

“I can’t believe they took it! They weren’t after me! That was just a diversion! Damn it!”

“Harry, what did they take?” he tried again.

“Pettigrew, that little rat, he must have told them about it!”

“What did they take?” Remus demanded.

“Remus, they took it! The Marauders’ Map! They took it!” Harry whispered roughly.

Remus’s face instantly paled. “We’ve got to get it back,” he said suddenly.

“I know that! That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“No, not you. You’re staying here. Tonks, Kingsley, and I will go,” he commanded.

“What? No way! You can barely even hold your wand! Besides, it’s my ma—”

“Harry, now is not the time to be arguing over this. You are staying here. The last thing we need is for them to capture you again. There is no discussion. You will do as you are told, do you understand?” Remus ordered, his voice a harsh whisper.

Harry glared at him. “Stop treating me like a child.”

“Whether you like it or not, Harry, you are a child. While you may be mature for your age, you still have a lot of growing up to do, and learning when to stay out of it is one thing you still need to work on.”

Harry was pissed. He’d just gotten out of a fight with Death Eaters, his headache was getting worse by the minute, and now this. He couldn’t believe that Remus had just said that to him. He desperately tried to think of a way to get the map back without their help. He was sick of people treating him like a sodding porcelain doll. He would show them they were wrong. He’d show them he could take care of himself.

Come on, Potter. Think!

And then it hit him. It was so obvious! Why hadn’t any of them thought about it before? Harry ran over to the window, and forced it open.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Remus asked cautiously. “You’re not thinking of jumping out there are you? I won’t hesitate to hex you if I have to.”

Harry just glared at him again. Why did everyone always assume the worst of him? He closed his eyes and blocked everything out, concentrating on the map. He vaguely remembered Macnair holding a piece of parchment but hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

Concentrate!

“Accio Marauders’ Map!” he yelled.

Please, let it work! Please!

After a minute, Harry figured he’d failed and prepared himself to try again, but then he spotted something in the distance. Yes! There it was speeding towards him, straight into his waiting hands. He caught the parchment easily and held it up.

“How’s that for learning to grow up, Remus?” Harry smiled bitterly at seeing the others’ wide eyes and open mouths.

“Erm, Harry . . . I didn’t give you your wand back yet . . . .” said Neville, tentatively holding out the handle for him.

“Oh, thanks for picking it up for me back there, Neville,” Harry responded.

Everyone looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

“What?” he asked, getting annoyed.

“Harry, you just did wandless magic . . . Somewhat advanced wandless magic,” Hermione said slowly.

He looked down at his hands, thinking about her words, and realized she was right. In fact, he’d done a lot of wandless magic that day. He would be sure to ask Dumbledore about it later.

Ignoring his still staring companions, he returned his wand to his pocket and put the map away in his trunk. After sitting down, he suddenly felt exhausted. His eyes drooped closed, too heavy to keep open. As he thought back on the events that had taken place, he could just imagine the look on Lestrange’s face when she realized they’d failed to get him and the map. He slowly nodded off, a small smile playing at his mouth. Harry slept for the rest of the ride, and was only woken when they were nearing Hogsmeade so he could change into his robes.

“I still can’t understand how the Death Eaters got on the train in the first place,” he heard Hermione say when he returned from changing. “I mean, the only way they could have gotten through the barriers was if they’d gotten on the Hogwarts Express before it left the station.”

“They probably did get on before the train left,” Harry replied, returning to his seat.

“But, how? Surely, someone would have seen them?”

“Not if they were using invisibility cloaks.”

“You don’t think someone would have noticed a door opening by itself?” Her voice was laced with scepticism.

He shrugged.

“It’s possible,” Ron said.

“But not likely,” Remus argued.

Harry tuned them out for a moment. How had they gotten onto the train without being detected? He thought once more about the day’s events. A particular memory came to the forefront of his mind.

They were close to one of the train’s many entrances when a sneering blonde wizard stepped in front of them. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Potty, the Weasel, and the Mudblood,” spat Malfoy as he opened the door, standing slightly to one side yet still blocking their path.

Ron stepped forward, arms raised and fingers stretched, desperate to wrap themselves around Malfoy’s scrawny neck, but Harry stopped him. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for one of your notorious visits, Malfoy? I haven’t quite finished digesting my breakfast, and I’d really rather not be sick right now, so if you’ll excuse us . . .” said Harry, ignoring the blonde’s earlier comments and trying to shove his way past him. Malfoy, however, held him back with one arm as the other still held fast to the open door. Harry found this behaviour a bit strange but shook it off.

“That’s it!” Harry exclaimed.

“What’s it, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Remember when we ran into Malfoy earlier? Well, he’d opened the train door, and continued to hold it open while he talked to us. When I tried to pass him, he stopped me, but still held the door open. Don’t you find that a bit strange?” he said.

“Of course!” said Hermione, catching on. “He must have held the door open long enough to let the Death Eaters on board. He picked a fight with us to give him a reason to stand there, so he wouldn’t look foolish just holding a door open. Others would just assume he was doing it to annoy us on purpose!”

“Oh, yes, brilliant, except for the obvious flaw,” drawled Ron. “The idiot really underestimates us, doesn’t he? Did he really think we wouldn’t catch on?”

“He probably figured by the time we did, it wouldn’t matter anymore. Their plan would have already taken place, and it has,” Harry countered.

“He’s still an idiot,” Ron continued as they all nodded in agreement.

As the train pulled into the station, they gathered their things together, Harry making one last check to see if he’d found everything. They made their way through the dying rain to the carriages, but before Harry was able to follow his friends into the one they’d chosen, Remus pulled him aside.

He seemed a bit nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and ruffling his hair as he let out a loud sigh. “Look, Harry . . . I’m sorry about how I treated you on the train,” he started clumsily. “I know you can take care of yourself, but . . . it’s just that . . . well, you’re James and Lily’s son. I kind of feel like I have a responsibility to watch over you now, and it’s not just that. I’ve never had a child before, and when you were born, we kind of all adopted you. After losing Lily and James . . . I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to you,” he finished softly. “I’m sorry I overreacted back there.” His eyes met Harry’s, asking for forgiveness.

Harry nodded at him. “I get it. It’s a bit annoying, but I get it. Actually, you helped me back there,” he admitted. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I probably wouldn’t have thought of Summoning the map, so thanks,” he said awkwardly.

“So, we’re good then?” Remus asked.

Harry smiled at him. “Yeah, we’re good.”

As Harry turned to continue to the carriage his friends were still waiting in, Remus held him up once more. “Harry, wait. There’s something else.” He turned to the lycan, eyebrows raised in askance. Remus took something from his pocket and enlarged what seemed to be a book, one that Harry vaguely recognized. “Here,” he said, handing the battered book out to him. “You forgot to take this back from me after leaving Gringotts. It’s a diary: The Marauders’ Memoirs. Sirius was the one who started it. There are all sorts of stories in there: How we pulled off our pranks, new spells we created, what we did to become animagi, and even a bit about James’ infatuation with Lily. I’d forgotten about it until you took it from Sirius’s vault.”

Harry took the diary from his outstretched hand in slightly dazed excitement. It was another piece of his parents’ past. Something more he could hold onto and treasure. “Thanks,” he whispered, feeling that the word was inadequate.

They smiled at each other one last time before hopping into the carriage, both greeted by Ron’s, “It took you long enough.”

When they reached the castle, Professor McGonagall was waiting for them in the Entrance Hall. Apparently, Tonks had sent her Patronus ahead of time, notifying the Deputy Headmistress of their previous situation. “Come on, all of you, to the Hospital Wing,” she insisted as they approached. They knew better than to argue with her, so they conceded.

As Madam Pomfrey was fixing their wounds, McGonagall conjured up some food for them before leaving since they were missing the feast.

“Does this mean we won’t be joining the feast?” asked Ginny.

“I guess so,” replied Harry.

“I was looking forward to the Sorting Hat’s new song, but it’s probably over by now,” said Hermione.

“I was hoping to see who the new Defense Professor is,” Harry continued as he reached for a sandwich.

“I still say he’s a vampire,” added Ron. They all laughed.

“And what makes you think our new professor is a wizard?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because if we’re stuck with another Umbridge again, I’ll gladly throw myself off the Astronomy Tower.” Ron received an enthusiastic, “Hear, hear!” from the others.

“Not all witches are . . . witches, Ron.” Luna’s voice floated toward them from the next bed over where Madam Pomfrey was still fixing her up. Apparently, the spell she’d taken had caused her temporary blindness.

He raised his eyebrows at her comment. “I didn’t say they were,” he said uncomfortably.

Luna just smiled at him, once again able to see. Ron turned away shaking his head slightly in a bewildered manner.

“So do either of you three know who the new Defense Professor is?” asked Neville, directing his question at the Order members still waiting for Madam Pomfrey’s assistance. “We never did ask you before.”

“Sorry, but I’ve no clue. You should have asked Professor McGonagall when she was here.” Remus chucked at their disappointed looks.

Before another word could be said, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened to reveal Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Harry clenched his teeth, trying to reign in his distaste for the latter of the bunch. “Might you all tell me what happened on the train today?” asked the Headmaster. They all began to speak at once, until Professor Dumbledore held up a hand. “One at a time, please.” They then took turns retelling the events that took place.

By the time they were finished, it was already eight o’clock, and Madam Pomfrey was anxiously shooing them away. Professor Dumbledore dismissed his staff and the Order members before suggesting that the rest of them get to bed. Harry went to follow his friends, but stopped as the Headmaster’s voice called out, “Wait a moment, Harry.”

Harry’s friends stopped and turned around. “It’s okay. Go on without me,” he told them.

“Follow me.”

The two walked up to the Headmaster’s office and settled down into their respective chairs. Fawkes trilled a soft “Hello” to them, and they both responded in kind.

As Harry looked around the room, he noticed that the trinkets that he’d broken last year were once again whole. If he hadn’t known better, he would never have guessed that a hormonal and angst-ridden teenage wizard had destroyed most of the office only months ago. He felt his checks burn slightly from embarrassment as he remembered his reckless behaviour, but he quenched down the emotion to pay attention to his professor sitting across from him.

“Harry, before we get around to what I need to talk to you about, is there anything that you wish to discuss with me?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry furrowed his brow. “Yes, actually. Weird things have been happening lately. Well, more so than usual.”

“Weird things?”

“I-I’ve been doing a lot of wandless magic, it seems,” he continued. “I know I’ve done it before, but it’s been happening more often now. I don’t understand why.”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, peering at Harry over his spectacles. “I can’t give you a definite answer, Harry,” he finally said. Harry’s face fell. “However,” he continued, “I can tell you a theory I’ve developed.” Harry perked up at this.

“Small bits of wandless magic are not uncommon for wizards. The scale of wandless magic you’re talking about is, though. Most wizards and witches can only do small spells, and very infrequently depending on the person’s magic levels.

“You, of course, know that younger wizards are more prone to advanced wandless magic than fully trained adults. The reason for this is because a child isn’t allowed to do magic until he reaches the age of eleven. The magic, therefore, has no outlet and gets bottled up inside the child. The magic continues to build up until the child is incapable of containing it any longer. A wizard produces magic at a quicker rate when his emotions are high, which is why most children lose control when they are upset. The already high magic levels mixed with the rapid increase in magic causes the release. The biggest difference is that children cannot control when their wandless magic occurs and, in many cases, cannot control the magic itself.

“What seems to be happening to you is the same thing that is normal for one who hasn’t been practicing magic. In other words, your producing magic faster than you can use it up.”

“But why? Why now?” Harry asked.

“Again, this is just a theory, but I believe it is happening to you now because you’ve been under more stress and have had to deal with more than usual lately. After your third year when you blew up your aunt, I suspected it might come to this eventually. You’ve witnessed Voldemort’s rebirth and Cedric Diggory’s death. Just a few months ago, you were witness to your own godfather’s death, and on top of that, you now know the prophecy, which is a terrible burden to carry around. I believe what happened last term was what you needed to push your magic over the edge; it was the turning point for you. All of the events in your past have culminated to cause your overflow of magic.

“Now, most wizards would have one burst of uncontrolled magic and be done with it. You, however, seem to keep replenishing your over abundant magic supply. This is just speculation on my part, but I believe that due to the constant stress you’ve been under your whole life, your magic has actually changed completely. It now seems normal for you to have too much magic. It’s like your body is producing such high levels as a sort of defence mechanism, so that if you ever need it, your magic is there for you with or without a wand.”

“Has this ever happened to anyone before?” Harry asked.

“Of course. There have been many theories on the occurrence, but nothing has been proven yet. It actually happened to me, if you’re curious to know.”

“You, sir?” Harry wasn’t all that surprised, but he was a bit awed that he was going through what Dumbledore had once experienced.

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. It was a bit of a shock at the time, but I had an excellent mentor to guide me.”

“So you learned how to control it, then?”

“Naturally.”

“Could you show me how to—” Harry trailed off.

“That actually leads me to what I wanted to talk to you about: Your advanced training. You received the letter I left with your birthday present, did you not?” he asked.

“Yes, I did. You mentioned giving me private lessons.”

“That I did.” He held out a slip of parchment for Harry to take. “That is your night schedule. You will be given extra training by most of your professors. They will be teaching you things well above N.E.W.T. level, and I expect this year will be one of your most tiring. In case you were wondering, I did not make you a Prefect again this year for this very reason. You’ll have enough to be getting on with without worrying about Prefect duties. You do, however, have many of the same privileges as Prefects. For example, I’ve given you the password to the Prefects’ bathroom, and I’ve extended your curfew to midnight. I am trusting you to not abuse these privileges,” he said in a warning tone.

“Yes, sir, of course.”

Harry looked down at the parchment clutched in his hand.

Monday, 8:00 p.m.-10:00 p.m., Advanced Spellwork with Professor Flitwick
Tuesday, 6:00 p.m.-10:00 p.m., Conjuring and Animagus Training with Professor McGonagall
Wednesday, 6:00 p.m.-?, Lessons with Professor Dumbledore
Thursday, 6:00 p.m.-8:00 p.m., Quidditch Practice
Friday, 6:00 p.m.-?, Advanced Defense with Professor Nevar

“You’ll notice that your Monday evening has been left open until eight o’clock. You can use that time for extra Quidditch practice or for the D.A. if you wish. You can even switch that time with Thursday’s schedule, if you need to. One of the advantages of being the Quidditch Captain is that you decide when to have practice, so we won’t have to worry about it interfering with your training. Your weekends have been left open for homework, relaxation, and anything else that you may need time for. This schedule takes effect when classes start. Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, a few. What am I going to be learning with you?”

“We’ll be working on different things, the first of which will be teaching you to control your wandless magic.” Harry nodded, glad that he was going to be able to get his magic under control. “We’ll also be working on Occlumency and Legilimency training, among other things. Is there anything else?” Dumbledore asked.

“You mentioned the D.A. Do you think I should continue it? If I’m having lessons with the new Defense Professor, then surely he must be good. I mean do we really need the D.A. anymore?” Harry asked.

“Yes, your assessment of Professor Nevar is accurate. She is highly capable for the job, but I think it would be a good idea to continue the D.A. Sometimes people need to hear something from someone of the same age. Also, I think the D.A. gave a few of your classmates something more that they don’t get in every-day classes. Unless I’m much mistaken, it seemed that your group became a sort of makeshift family. The final decision is up to you, of course, but I do encourage you to continue leading the D.A., and I’m not saying that just because your group was named after me.” Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry gave a small smile at his professor’s weak joke. “I had a few of them asking me to continue, actually. I guess I have to now.”

“Well, it is getting late. I think it’s time for you to be heading off to bed. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” Harry said as rose to leave.

“Harry.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ll need a fancy fwooper to get past the Fat Lady.”

It took Harry only a moment to realise that Dumbledore was telling him the password to Gryffindor Tower. “Right, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Off with you, then.”

~*~*~

It was well past eleven by the time Harry reached his dorm. He placed his newly acquired training schedule on his nightstand and changed for bed.

“Harry, ‘zat you?” Ron poked his head out from behind his curtains.

“Yeah.”

“You’re gettin’ back late.” Ron yawned as he made his way over to Harry. “Had a nice chat with Dumbledore, did you?”

“Something like that. He just wanted to go over the schedule for my extra training with me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh-huh’?”

“Well, it’s just . . .” Ron paused to make sure his other dorm mates were asleep. “You haven’t really been telling me everything, have you?” he whispered.

“What are you talking about, Ron?” Harry asked, becoming slightly annoyed.

“Look, I know you’ve been holding some stuff back from me. I just don’t know why. You know you can trust me, right?”

“Of course, I trust you. Ron, what in the bloody hell are you on about?”

“I . . . I didn’t mean to, but I overheard you talking to Hermione about the—well, the You-Know-What that broke last semester,” he continued. “I’d gone to find you to apologise when I heard you two talking. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I still wanted to know what was going on.”

Harry felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out. He’d entirely forgotten to tell Ron the prophecy. It had been such a relief to tell Hermione that he’d completely forgotten to talk to Ron.

“I thought you’d tell me eventually. I figured you just needed some time . . . but I waited all summer, and you never said a word. I just . . . it was a bit frustrating, you know! I mean, we’re supposed to be best friends, but you couldn’t even tell me the prophecy!” Ron ranted.

“Ron, I—”

“Why did you tell Hermione and not me?”

“Ron, I didn’t mean to.”

“We are best friends, right?”

“Of course!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice laced with hurt.

“I-I meant to tell you. I wanted to tell you two together, but it just kind of came out that day. Hermione just happened to be the one there when it did. I meant to tell you, really, I did. I even asked Dumbledore if it was all right to tell you two. But I guess after finally getting it out of my system the first time, I was so relieved, I just forgot. I’m sorry.” Harry finished, his voice pleading for Ron to forgive him.

Ron sighed, but after awhile he gave a short nod. “ ‘Sokay, I guess. Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“I won’t.” Harry smiled at him. “So . . . was that why you were a little distant this summer?”

“Oh—er—yeah. Sorry about that.”

Harry shook his head. “Forget it. It’s done with.”

“So we’re good, right? I mean, there isn’t anything else you want to tell me, is there?”

Harry shook his head in amused exasperation. “No, Ron. I’m not hiding anything else. Dumbledore really did only want to see me about my schedule. I asked him why my magic has been going all wonky lately, but I’ll tell you about that tomorrow when Hermione’s with us.”

“Right. Well then, I’m going back to sleep. G‘night.”

“Goodnight.”

~*~*~

A/N: So, we finally get some action in this action/adventure/romance! This chapter finally explains some of the strange things that have been going on like the floating in the last chapter (and has anybody noticed the weather?). Harry’s still got a long way to go, but he’s finally going to start growing into his powers. In the next chapter, you’ll finally get to meet the new Defense Professor. For all of you who are wondering who she is, you probably won’t be able to guess. Her actual character is not from the series; though, one could logically assume she exists in the Harry Potter Universe. For you super-sleuths out there, you might be able to guess her background just by looking at her last name in just the right way. Okay, I think I’ve confused you all enough with that.

To all my reviewers on FFnet (I don’t have a problem like this on PK), I’m thankful for every single one of the reviews I receive, and I would love to reply to all of you, but some of you don’t give me that choice. I’ve had a few reviewers ask me questions, but they didn’t sign in or leave an e-mail address for me to contact them with. I’m sorry to those of you who were expecting a reply and haven’t gotten one, but I have no way of contacting you now that review-replies are no longer allowed in posts. So please, if you wish to ask me questions, sign in or leave an e-mail address so that I may be able to reply. Also, if you wish to comment on something I said in a previous reply, could you please remind me of what I wrote. FFnet doesn’t keep my replies for me, and my memory isn’t that good. Thank you.

Also, many thanks to my beta, Nati, for putting up with the Harry/Hermione pairing for me. You’re awesome!

~Amie

Disclaimer: I realize that I probably don’t have to do this for every chapter, but that would take away the fun of coming up with witty, silly, and sarcastic ways to say, “Get a clue people; Harry Potter is not mine . . . sadly.”

Summary: Oh, I don’t know . . . Why don’t you try looking in chapter nine? *snickers*

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (and Reviews .:Hint:. .:Hint:.): "Harry?"—"Shh. You'll wake Madam Pomfrey. Scoot over." Harry settled next to her, his arms wrapping around his Hermione, bringing her close. Everything drained away. The peace. That was all he needed. She was all he needed. "Harry? What's wrong? Did something happen—?" His finger rested on her lips, silencing her. "I'm fine, just worn out. I just need to get away from everything. I just need you to make it all go away."

~*~*~*~*~
Raven Reviews
(Chapter Eight)
~*~*~

Harry was rushing to his first class of the day, which happened to be his favourite, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he was going to be late. Even his shortcuts were proving fruitless. He was going to kill his roommates later for letting him sleep in—once he caught his breath.

He skidded to a halt outside of the Defense classroom just as the bell rang. He entered the room, hoping the new Professor wouldn't notice, when suddenly he saw a spell flying at him out of the corner of his eye. Quickly, he ducked down to avoid getting hit as he whipped out his wand.

“You’re late.”

Harry spun to his left to find the one who had spoken and was met with another curse. This time, he countered it with a hasty Protego. He focused on the source of the curses, a young woman new to his eyes, and figured she was the new Defense Professor. He hoped to Merlin she didn't already hate him for reasons unexplained like Snape had in his first year, but he couldn't explain her odd behaviour any other way. “Why are you attacking me?”

The Professor's black eyes glittered with amusement as she spoke. “You’re late." She walked slowly toward him, around her desk, as she continued, "People who are late in my class will be tested. House points and detentions are meaningless in real life as far as I'm concerned. They won’t improve your defense skills," smirking, she raised her wand once more, "but keeping you on your guard, that's a whole other story,” she said, tucking a lock of ebony hair behind one ear before firing off another curse.

The two continued their haphazard dance, spells flying in all directions and hitting a few unlucky students unable to block in time. It wasn't until the third student to sprout tentacles on his head left for the hospital wing that the new Professor ceased fire. She bent over, slowly catching her breath. “You did well, but you’ll need to learn not to say your spells aloud. I suppose I'll give you some credit, though; at least you didn’t get hit. Thank you for that demonstration to help start things off for today. I think my class is fully awake now. Please, take your seat Mr. Potter, and be sure to come to class on time when next we meet.”

“How did you know my . . . ? Never mind. I don’t even know why it surprises me any more,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. He quickly took a seat between Hermione and Ron before their hex-happy Professor decided to continue testing him.

“For those of you who weren’t paying attention at the welcoming feast the other night, assuming you were there, my name is Raven Nevar or Professor Nevar to you. Previously, I was working at the Ministry—” a few groans throughout the room caused her to pause for a moment. “As I was saying, I have worked at the Ministry as an Auror for the past two years." She stopped, glancing around at the annoyed and bored looks she was receiving after her pronouncement—a stark contrast to the expressions worn during her "demonstration." Narrowing her eyes, she continued, her voice soft and deadly, "Don’t make the assumption that I am anything like your previous professor because you’ll find yourselves sorely mistaken.”

Professor Nevar slowly walked around the room as she spoke, her dark eyes roving over the class. “Today, I want to test your skill level. I cannot teach you properly if I don’t know what it is I need to teach you. Break into pairs and practice basic spells. Disarming, Stunning, and Shielding for starters.”

At her words, the class began shuffling around. Harry immediately turned to Ron, but before they could start dueling, their new professor called Harry to the front of the class, “Harry, a word, please.”

“Yes, Professor?” he asked, when he reached her desk.

She took a moment to wave her wand discretely before speaking. “I take it you’ve spoken with Dumbledore about our lessons on Fridays?” she said in a low undertone.

“Yes, Ma’am. I spoke with him last night.”

She nodded her head. “Good. Now, you do realize these lessons are to be strictly confidential? No one is to know about them aside from your closest friends. We don’t need the newspapers having a field day with articles about Hogwarts giving you special treatment. The fact of the matter is that you do have a destiny to fulfill, and preparing you for it in any way possible is a necessity. The last thing we need is word spreading to our enemies that you’re gaining power.” Harry nodded his head in agreement as she continued, “Let them underestimate you. It will prove useful in the end. If you’ve got nothing else, at least give yourself the advantage of surprise, right?”

“Right.” Harry narrowed his eyes, but held his tongue about her "if you've got nothing else" comment.

“You know you’ll have to hold back in classes. You’ll probably have to put up with taunts from any school rivals you may have. I’ve heard you tend to let loose when you’re upset, but you’re going to have to control that tendency now. So, do you think you can handle that?” she asked with eyebrows raised.

“If I have to, then I will,” Harry replied stiffly.

“Just be content with the knowledge that you could beat anyone you wanted without the need to prove yourself. Only the weak feel the need to show they are not. The strong know they are strong and, in a manner of speaking, do not need to bark as loudly. Get it?”

Harry nodded.

“All right then. Let’s go see what you and your partner are made of.”

Spells were thrown, dodged, blocked and some found their marks. Ron was on the floor laughing from a cleverly place Rictusempra while Harry was nursing a gash on his arm.

"Jeez, Ron, you couldn't have used something a little more friendly?" Harry gritted.

"I-I'm—s-sor—heh heh—sorry—c-could—you—take the—haha—s-spell off—HAHA—NOW!"

"Finite."

Ron's body flopped to the floor, one arm clutching his stomach. "Tha-thanks, mate. That was one hell of a curse! I could barely breathe!"

"Sorry, but I got distracted by the blood gushing out of my arm."

"Sorry, 'bout that. I didn't think I'd actually hit you."

"I blame Neville's misaimed spell. It threw me off." They grinned as Harry helped Ron up.

"Nah, I don't think it was Neville's this time, surprisingly."

~*~*~

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” said Ron as the trio walked from their defence class. “She’s nothing like Umbridge, thank Merlin. First day, and we’re already duelling.”

“Yeah, and she’s not all talk like some professors,” Harry jested.

“Oh, honestly! I was thirteen! Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of my life?” Hermione huffed.

“Why, whatever do you mean, Hermione?” Harry asked innocently.

She stomped her way ahead of them, muttering about boys who couldn't let the past die.

The other two snickered softly behind her.

“So, what are our schedules like?”

Hermione jumped at the change of subject, glad to take the focus off of her past crush. “I’ve got Arithmancy next. What about you two?”

“Break,” the two wizards replied simultaneously.

Hermione shook her head, “I swear, you two have been hanging around the twins too often." The boys looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

"Just wait until you see the pranks we have in store for this year."

"Yeah, my brothers will be proud."

"You two better not harm anyone!"

"Oh, come now, Hermione. Surely you can trust us? Can't she trust us, Ron?"

" 'Course! You should know by now, Hermione, that even if we do get caught, Dumbledore loves us and would never toss us out!"

"See, no reason to worry, Hermione."

"I feel so much better now."

"Really? You mean all we had to do was—"

"No, not really! Harry, you of all people should be able to recognize sarcasm, especially after last year!"

"Hey! I have a good reason for last year! I was a moody, hormonally challenged, teenage boy. It explains everything."

"Oh, my mistake. How silly of me."

"Now, now. That sarcasm is not appreciated!"

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Shut up already."

"Wha—now that was just rude, Hermione!"

"Very rude, Hermione."

"Oh stop it. I get the point. Only you two are allowed to use sarcasm."

"Exactly!"

Hermione glared at them. "Anyway, I don't see how this has anything to do with not hurting people."

"Yeah, and? Ow! Harry!"

"Sorry, but you really shouldn't provoke her right now. I think her hair is starting to stand up."

"I heard that!"

"Sorry, 'Mione! Won't happen again."

Another glare and finally a sigh. "Can you two please promise me you won't harm anyone?"

"Er . . . Good question. Ron, you take this one."

"Wha—why me?"

"Because you're used to arguing with her."

"Damn. You have a point."

"I'm waiting."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on."

"Gladly."

"Real funny, Hermy."

"DON'T call me that!"

"So Harry can call you pet names, but I can't? You two aren't having a fling or something are yo—?"

Thump.

"Ow! That hurt! Harry, she hurt me! Make her stop!"

"Sorry, Ron, but you have to admit you deserved that one."

"I do not! I don't have to admit anything. I now have a lump on my head and a bruised toe. I'm the victim here."

"Sure you are, Ron."

"Can we please get back to the subject? Will you two promise you won't hurt anyone?"

"Do you mean physically or mentally?"

"Both!"

"Damn."

"Ron! You're a prefect! You're supposed to uphold the rules!"

"Yeah, and?"

"Urgh! Just promise me you two!"

"Yes. Yes. We promise."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?"

"Talking at the same time!"

"Sorry."

"Ah! Stop it!"

"Sorry."

Hermione, having finally had enough, huffed away from them down the hall, only stopping to say, "I'll see you in Transfiguration later!" before rounding a corner.

The two boys smiled.

"She can't stay mad at us."

"Nope."

"Pretty useful, that is."

"Yep."

"You know, Harry, I recon we're the only ones who can get away with just about anything around her."

"We've corrupted her."

"I know. Isn't it great?"

Their laughter filled the hall.

“Ah, this is the life. A two hour long break and then lunch! How much better can it get?” Ron asked as they made their way to the Gryffindor common room.

“Not much.”

~*~*~

At eight o’clock the next morning, a fuming Harry galumphed across Hogwarts’ grounds to join Hagrid for his first class of the semester. He couldn't believe the nerve of some people, especially when those people were his best friends. He'd found out that morning that Hermione and Ron hadn’t signed up for Care of Magical Creatures, and Harry was the one who had to deliver the bad news to Hagrid . . . alone. Poor Hagrid, Harry thought. He hoped the half-giant wouldn’t be too upset. Harry was actually a bit worried. When leaving the common room, he'd noticed many people in his year just sitting about. He looked around the grounds momentarily for a few familiar faces but found none.

Harry hurried to the hut on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, hoping to find a few people already milling around the place, but the scene was empty. He briefly wondered if he’d mixed up his classes. He double checked the parchment dictating his schedule and found the words Tuesday, 8:00-11:55, Double Care of Magical Creatures staring back at him, negating his previous doubts.

Making his way to the entrance of Hagrid’s hut, he banged on the door, hoping to get some answers from his friend. Soon after a muffled bark from Fang and some loud footsteps, Harry was standing below Hagrid's looming shadow.

Harry took one look at the man’s expression and knew immediately something was definitely wrong. “Hagrid, what’s going on? Where is everyone?”

“So . . . yer actually here fer class, or are yeh jus’ here ter pity me?” he asked, his face sullen.

“Pity you? Hagrid? What on Earth are you talking about?” Harry entered the hut, keeping an eye on Hagrid as he passed him.

“Nobody showed. Yer the on’y one. I figured none o’ yeh were takin’ me class,” said Hagrid forlornly as he slumped into a chair. “An’ I had tons o’ stuff planned fer this year. All sorts o’ beasts. Yeh woulda loved ‘em.”

Every Gryffindor in his year dropped Hagrid’s class . . . every single one of them? Harry could scarcely believe it. Sure, Hagrid tended to go a little . . . overboard sometimes, but he was still a decent teacher. No wonder his classmates had been sitting around. They didn’t have class in the morning since Hagrid’s class took up both periods. He mentally shook himself. His shock quickly wore off as anger began to rush through his veins. How dare they? How could they all just abandon him like that? Harry was determined to make it up to Hagrid. He’d be the best student ever! Or . . . at least he'd try. He’d show them all that Hagrid was a good Professor, and they were all cowards. So much for their Gryffindor bravery.

“Well, Hagrid, I’m still one of your students, and I’d be happy to learn from you . . . Professor.” Harry silently cheered in triumph as Hagrid's face lit up.

“Yeh sure, ‘Arry?”

“I didn’t decide to take your class for nothing, Hagrid.”

A true grin broke out on Hagrid’s face. “Well then, what’re we waitin’ fer? Get out there! We’ve got a class ter start.”

As Harry rounded the corner of Hagrid's hut, he found a row of small wooden cages lined up along the garden. At first it seemed there were Snitches inside each cage, but upon further inspection, the flying golden balls were actually birds.

"Hagrid, are those…?"

"Snidgets. Those babies are wha' they used ter use 'fore the Golden Snitch was made."

"Can I hold one?"

" 'Course! Jus' remember. They're tricky li'l devils. Fast as a Snitch, they are."

"Well, I'm not a Seeker for nothing."

~*~*~

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, Harry was completely beat. Charms had been a disaster. Gryffindors had been pared with Slytherins, and once Professor Flitwick had given them free time to practice spells, all hell had broken loose. Goyle had set his pillow on fire and tried to banish it in a moment of panic. The flaming ball of fabric had landed on Hermione's head, causing her bushy mane to go up in smoke; Neville had to take her to the Hospital Wing in tears; and half of the Gryffindors had to hold Ron and Harry back to keep the two from hexing Goyle (along with Malfoy and Crabbe since it had probably been their faults as well) to the bottom of the lake for a month with boils protruding from unmentionable places.

Harry sighed as he settled himself at one of the tables in his Transfiguration classroom. He assumed McGonagall was still busy with the two first years who had welded their heads together in a duel during supper. The first week back was always the most hectic and entertaining as the first years were too eager to practice magic and usually ended up botching whatever spells they were trying to manage. He could still remember Seamus and his explosive rum from his first year.

As he waited for McGonagall to arrive, his thoughts began to wander to Hermione, wondering how she was doing in the Hospital Wing. Surely the damage couldn't have been that bad, could it? She hadn't been at dinner, but Harry and Ron had just passed off her absence due to embarrassment. Of course she wouldn't want to show up to dinner bald. Then again, her head had been set on fire . . . She could have been seriously injured. Worry began to seep through him, his thoughts becoming grimmer by the second. What if—?

"I'm sorry that took so long, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall interrupted his troubled musings as she barged into the room. "First years," she muttered under her breath as she neared him. "Are you ready to begin?" Without waiting for a reply, she whipped out her wand. "Now, we'll be focusing mostly on conjuring and Animagus training. Professor Dumbledore wants to prepare you as much as possible without completely overloading you, so we'll start out slowly and work our way up to the tougher stuff.

"I think for tonight, we'll focus on finding out what animal you will transform into and start your progression to becoming an Animagus. Normally, Animagi have to go through a visualisation process to find and accept the animal that truly represents the person inside. In most cases, this is necessary as most people cannot cope with their true reflections, and by forcing future Animagi to face their inner selves and overcome the fear of their true reflections helps weed out the week and prevents their inevitable insanity. However, since we have little time, I'll be performing a spell that will force you to change into your Animagus form. There will be no visualisations to help you come to terms with who you really are. I suggest, to soften the blow, you take a few moments to really think about what kind of person you are.

"Now, as I perform the spell, I want you to focus on the feeling of your body morphing. Once you are in your Animagus form, remember the feeling and focus on being human again, what it physically feels like to be human. If you are unable to transform back into your normal state by the end of our session, I will cast the counter-spell to turn you back. We will continue our lessons like this until you can transform back into your human body easily and with no help from me.

"Once you are comfortable with the Animagus to human transformation, we will focus on the much harder part: How to morph into your Animagus form. Do you have any questions?"

~*~*~

Harry couldn't get away from McGonagall fast enough, his quick steps echoing down the corridors. He'd failed miserably, and while she had only said "it was to be expected," he felt like a failure. He'd nearly passed out while focusing on becoming human again. The only good part about the night was finding out his Animagus form. He just hoped it wasn't too much to handle. McGonagall had warned him that his animal senses might take over, making it harder to remember how to be human and transform back, but he hadn't been prepared for the overwhelming primal urges and simplistic thoughts.

Being forced to stay in his new body for almost two hours had set him on an emotional rollercoaster. There were only basic needs and instincts, but they were the strongest he'd ever felt. Harry could barely keep himself in check let alone focus long enough to transform.

Harry slowed his pace to a brisk walk, heaving a sigh as he continued forward. He wasn't even sure if he could be an Animagus. What if he just didn't have the talent for it? His father was brilliant at Transfiguration, but Harry? Harry was only average. Nothing special about his skills in that subject.

Another sigh escaped his lips.

He really needed to relax.

He thumped against the wall, his body sliding down it. His heart ached. His head ached. So many thoughts, he couldn’t pick out one if he tried, but somehow, he could feel the pain of them all. His parents, Sirius, even the guilt of Cedric came floating through. His body and mind were drained. Everything weighing on him, everything he usually pushed aside, came flooding to the forefront of his mind. It gnawed at him, tearing and ripping. The prophecy and Voldemort, the death and blood that forever coated his hands because of that crazy bastard. He felt sick from it all. He needed to forget everything, needed someone to take it all away.

Someone.

Anyone.

No, not anyone.

Someone.

A very specific someone.

Hermione.

He could still feel her body pressed against his, the smell of her hair. She'd made him forget everything before. He needed her to do it again. Needed to feel safe and loved. Needed to fall into the bliss of nothingness.

Yes, he needed Hermione.

She'd make everything better.

He felt his body moving, drawn to where she was with only one thought running through his mind: Hermione.

There she was, looking like an angel while resting peacefully in the Hospital Wing, moonlight surrounding her newly formed tresses. He hated disturbing her, but he needed her. His fingers twined around her short curls, slowly moving down her face and to her neck. His gentle touch roused her, her eyes blinking slowly open.

"Harry?"

"Shh. You'll wake Madam Pomfrey. Scoot over." Harry settled next to her, his arms wrapping around his Hermione, bringing her close. Everything drained away. The peace. That was all he needed.

She was all he needed.

"Harry? What's wrong? Did something happen—?"

His finger rested on her lips, silencing her. "I'm fine, just worn out. I just need to get away from everything. I just need you to make it all go away."

Her eyes searched his, the words "What's wrong?" flickering behind them, but she never asked again. She accepted his silence and his embrace. Their eyes continued to gaze back at each other as their heads rested together. Harry held her tighter, losing himself in the feel of her body against his and the warmth of her breath on his face. It was heaven, but he wanted more. He needed to be closer.

He pulled her on top of him, her head resting on his chest. The weight of her body numbed the pain, but he still wasn't close enough. Why couldn't he get close enough? He craved her, wanted to feel every part of her. What was wrong with him? His body was reacting in ways it never had before. Not like this. Not with Hermione. Not with his best friend. It was a strange feeling, stronger than he'd ever felt before.

It still wasn't enough.

He rolled them over, his body settling between her legs, his head resting in the crook of her neck. The heat of her skin burned beneath him, his lips only inches away from the softness of her neck. He nuzzled against her, letting his lips brush her skin, moving up to her cheek and the side of her mouth. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from hers. He wanted so badly to kiss her. His eyes strayed to hers, wanting to see his desperation reflected in her eyes.

Instead he saw a scared girl, powerless to fight his will. It threw him, jolted him back to reality. He suddenly realized he was pressing his best friend into a bed, only seconds away from destroying their friendship.

He panicked.

She'd have hated him forever if he had actually. . . .

He backed away from her, still gazing into her startled eyes.

He only said two words before he left her, "I'm sorry."

~*~*~

The next day was nothing short of torture. Every time he looked at Hermione, all he saw were those scared eyes she'd worn the night before. He couldn't bring himself to face her. They didn't speak to each other, and Harry was sure Hermione hated him. To top things off, Ron was ever questioning "What's wrong?" and "What's going on between you two?"

"Honestly, Harry, why don't you just say you were wrong and she's right and be done with it already? That always works for me," Ron tried to explain on their way to Herbology that morning. Hermione had gone ahead of them, making up some excuse about asking Professor Sprout a question about the text.

"Ron, it's not exactly that simple."

" 'Course it is! You don't actually have to believe it. You just have to say it, and she'll forgive you. Things are just way too weird when you two aren't speaking, so be the bigger man and make out with her!"

Harry stumbled. "Wha-What did you just say?"

"I said, 'be the bigger man and make up with her!' "

Harry sighed. Great. This whole ordeal was driving him insane. Good to know. At least he'd be prepared when the men-in-white-coats came for him. "I already told you, Ron, it's not that simple."

"Oh, come on, Harry! How difficult can it be? It's Hermione. She always overreacts. Just make her feel like she's the best in the world, and you're home free."

"Ron, stop worrying. Things will blow over soon enough. Hermione can't stay mad at me forever."

"AHA! So it is your fault!"

"Oh, shut it."

~*~*~

That night's lesson with Dumbledore started off with a quick review of theories behind more advanced magic. When they finally got to the practical part of their session, Harry was disappointed to find out they were going to continue with Harry's Occlumency training. Dumbledore was much gentler than Snape had ever been, but he didn't let up on Harry until he'd made significant improvement that night. Harry wondered when they were going to be getting to the really "good" stuff, but Dumbledore refused to say exactly what else they would be doing that year. He kept pushing the importance of Occlumency, said there were things Harry needed to know and keep to himself. Dumbledore refused to elaborate anymore until he was sure Harry could hold his own against Voldemort's mental attacks.

Friday came as a blessing to Harry. Finally, the weekend was at hand. Just one more day of agony—ahem—classes, and Harry would be able to catch up on sleep . . . assuming Hermione would be kind enough to help him with his homework, which—considering his current predicament concerning his female best friend—was unlikely. Actually . . . even if Hermione, by some miracle, did take pity on him, he was probably screwed either way. No, no. He couldn't think like that. He needed to think positive thoughts, but he was only able to be as optimistic as a man marked for death by a murderous lunatic could be.

Oh, hell . . . .

He was screwed.

Optimism, optimism . . . !

He really needed a distraction, something to take his mind off of things. It was only the first week of classes and he was already taking measurements for his coffin. At the rate he was going, he wasn't sure he'd make it past the first month of the new semester let alone long enough to actually face Moldy Voldy in their foreseen duel to the death. Two hour breaks? HA! He'd be lucky to get two hours of sleep with all of the work he had to do. Maybe that was Voldemort's objective? Worry people to the point of working themselves to death in order to not die. Harry found he really despised irony.

As the day progressed, his need for a distraction brought bitter thoughts of his pesky need being the cause of his current situation in the first place. Even so, his treacherous mind began to wander back to the night he'd visited Hermione in the Hospital Wing. If anything could prove a distraction for Harry, it was Hermione. Too bad she was the thing he needed to be distracted from. He missed her touch more and more. She'd become something of an addiction to him. It probably wasn't healthy, but he didn't care. She made the chaos in his life melt away.

Their near kiss had lingered in his thoughts since that day. The way she'd felt against him; the way she'd smelled of vanilla and pumpkin pie—his stomach dropped—those scared eyes that haunted him.

"Mr. Potter, please pay attention. I'll not ask you again. The next time I catch you nodding off, it's detention."

"Right, Professor McGonagall. It won't happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't."

Those eyes that haunted him . . . were they watching him now? He could feel her gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. Yes, she was definitely staring at him. What was she thinking? Did she want to talk to him? He couldn't do that. He wasn't ready to face her. Not until he could erase the image of her frightened gaze.

He was definitely skipping dinner that night. He had his first "extra curricular" lesson with Professor Nevar that night. He didn't need the added stress of an angry or teary Hermione. Those eyes. Harry shook his head. Yes, he definitely wasn't eating supper.

~*~*~

Harry waited for Professor Nevar in her office, willing her to take as long as possible to finish dinner. Under normal circumstances, he would have loved to learn some extra tricks, but the past week had completely worn him down, and the last thing he wanted to do was dodge curses.

It was all too soon when the dark skinned witch entered the room. She glanced at him as she strode to her desk. Grabbing a bag, she finally spoke. "Harry, we won't have enough space to practice what I want to teach you in my classroom. We'll be going to a special room. I believe Headmaster Dumbledore called it the Room of Requirement. You should know of it."

"Yes"

"He said you'd know where to find it." She waited for Harry's nod before continuing. "Please lead the way."

Moments later, Harry was pacing the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. Nevar's face was full of curiosity and amazement as a door shimmered into existence. They entered a large room lined with shelves of defense books and cushions.

"Will this do?" Harry asked.

Nevar took a quick look around. "For now." She strode to the center of the room, laying her bag down. Unbuckling the rucksack, she drew out two long swords, one adorned with dark blue sapphires, the other with rubies. Settling herself on the ground, she waved Harry over to join her. "Now, I understand you've wielded a sword before?"

"Briefly. I wouldn't really call it wielding one. More like knowing it's the only weapon you have and doing your best to stay alive."

"I see." She frowned in thought. "I'll need to teach you the basics first then. I won't have you wielding a weapon you have no control over. You'll end up cutting what you wish to protect and missing what you wish to cut, otherwise." She then took one sword and wrapped material around the sheath and hilt. "Do not untie this until you have mastered your control." She then handed him the blade.

Nevar took the other weapon in her hands, and instructed him to stand across from her, allowing enough space between them for sword movement. "Do not do anything yet. Watch first. Once I've broken things down, it will be your turn.

"Now, watch closely." She held her blade before her in both hands, the tip pointing at Harry. Quickly she thrust the sword toward his head and, just as quickly, pulled it away to hide behind her right leg. The sword swung from the ground up across her body before circling around over her head to slash down along the same path, hiding once again behind her leg. Her sword swept from right to left, then hid behind her left leg. Her next movements were similar, reversed, and after she brought her blade to swipe across once more, she held it over her head and swung straight down. Her body stilled for a moment, then relaxed. "There are eight movements of the basic sword form. The first is the Ski." She moved into the starting position. "Make sure your feet are shoulder-width apart and the tip of your blade is level with your opponent's eyes. Then you thrust." Her blade, once again, rushed toward Harry's face. "Try it."

Nevar showed Harry how to hold his sword as he imitated her stance. "Now, when you thrust, don't extend your arms out fully. You never want to lock your elbows or your knees. Your control lessens and you become stiff and unable to move as quickly. You want your movements to be fluid and flexible to change. Now thrust toward my eyes. Don't use the strength of your arms to power the blow, throw the weight of your whole body into it as you step forward." Harry did as she instructed, the end of his sheath stopping inches away from her face. "Good. You'll need to work on it, but it will do for now."

She continued onto the next steps, Harry repeating her movements as she broke down the form for him. He felt a bit silly at first, waving around a sword still sheathed, striking at thin air. She assured him it was necessary, however, to build his strength and control. She told him to repeat the sword form, over and over, until he could do it in his sleep. "It needs to be second nature for you," she explained.

By the time Professor Nevar stopped him, an hour had come and gone. "Well, I think that's enough of that for today. Next we'll talk about what your training will eventually lead to. I'm sure you've been wondering why I'm teaching you Muggle fighting techniques?"

"Yes, actually. No offence, but it seems kind of silly when Voldemort only needs to flick his wand to send me to the ground in pain. What's the point in using a sword if I can't get near him?"

The corners of Nevar's mouth slowly turned up into a mischievous smirk. "What use is it, indeed." She took her wand out and cast a Reducto at the closest wall. "Do you see the power of my strike? The damage is considerable, but not extraordinary. Now, watch." She touched the end of her wand to the base of her sword's hilt. The sword began to glow as her wand sank into the handle. Quickly, she thrust her weapon at the opposite wall. A jet of magic burst forth completely destroying half the room. The rubble on the ground slowly mended together to repair the ruined walls. "Hm, well that's convenient," she remarked, watching the last of the debris replace itself.

"As you can see, the power is nearly twenty times what it normally is. I didn't add any more power to my strike. The sword increased it for me, allowing me to conserve my energy." She pointed to the sapphires on the hilt. "These two swords are specially made. The gems along the hilt take the magic you give the sword and increase it. The different metals of the swords act in the same way. As you can see, your sword's hilt is made of gold, while mine is made of bronze. The different metals and stones increase the power of different spells more than others. Your sword is made more for combat type spells, while mine is made more for defensive spells."

Harry took a look at the handle of his sword. Glittering rubies shone back at him. Suddenly, he realized he'd seen this sword before, used it even. "This is Gryffindor's sword!"

Nevar smiled. "That it is."

"Is that . . . ?"

"Ravenclaw's sword? You better believe it."

"How?"

"It's a family heirloom."

"So that makes you . . ."

"The heir of Ravenclaw."

"Wow."

Nevar's laughter echoed throughout the room. "I suppose I forgot to tell you. Only the heirs of Hogwarts' founders can fully use the power of these swords."

"Oh. I se—wait! That means I'm the heir of Gryffindor?"

She only smiled.

"Why hasn't anyone ever told me before?"

"Probably because it's not widely known."

"What about Dumbledore?"

"Yes, he knew. He was the one who gave me permission to return your sword to you, after all."

"My sword?" The concept seemed so strange to him. The family tree he'd found in the Potter mansion had been correct. He was the heir of Gryffindor. And Dumbledore knew all along! "Why didn't he tell me? He promised to tell me everything last year!"

Nevar's eyebrows raised. "Perhaps he wanted to wait until you were old enough to wield the sword before giving it to you?"

"He could have at least told me about my heritage!"

She nodded, agreeing with him. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Doesn't he always?"

Nevar smiled. "He told me he'd held a few things back from you, but I never thought there could have been so much you resented him for it."

"I-I don't resent him. I'm just a bit peeved, that's all." Harry sighed. "He has a nasty habit of telling only half truths."

"Aye, he does. Don't let it get you down, though. At least you know now, right?"

"I suppose."

Nevar looked at her watch. "It's already been two hours. Leave the sword with me for now. You can carry it with you when you're ready to use it." She took the offered blade from him. "You should go get some sleep"—Harry's stomach rumbled—"and some food."

"Right. Thanks, Professor."

~*~*~

A/N: So what has it been. About a year? Ye-ah, sorry about that. Life's been hectic lately. I now have a fiancé and am the proud mother of two guinea pigs, Aidan and Yuki. So, forgive me? At least I have good news! I've finished chapter nine already. It's a bit shorter, but done nevertheless. I think I'll post that two weeks after this one. I need to spread these out to give me time to write more.

Anyway. I just want to say thanks to all my reviewers. You're great. Also, sorry for any mistakes; I've been too anxious to wait for my beta to get back to me. If there are a lot, I'll repost this chapter.

~Amie

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling messed up, so the fans are taking over.

Summary: Summary was here. Then Summary moved to chapter 12 to avoid the bugs.

Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (and Reviews .:Hint:. .:Hint:.): She wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I'm fine."—Harry frowned. "No, you're not."—She waved her wand, healing the gash. "Yes, I am. I just need to get to—" She once again tried to slip away, but he forced her back against the wall, holding her in place with his own body.—"Will you forget about detention for two seconds?" Harry yelled, causing her to stiffen. Guilt washed over him. He sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to her shoulder. "I'm sorry for yelling. Please stop running away from me. I just . . . I miss you."

~*~*~*~*~
Animagus Anecdotes
(Chapter Nine)
~*~*~

Today was the day. Harry had dreaded this day. Why did it have to come so soon? He hadn't even been given a chance to make up with her yet. Why did it have to be her birthday already? Harry still couldn't speak to her. He though if he only had a little more time to sort things out, he'd be able to come up with some believable excuse for his behaviour. Instead his feelings for her had only increased in the two weeks since they'd stopped talking.

He'd run out of time, and he had no excuse, nothing to explain his actions. And now, he had to speak to her. It was her birthday. He couldn't just ignore that. She'd be crushed. Luckily he'd already picked out her present weeks ago. Maybe she'd forgive him once she saw the necklace?

Nah.

Hermione wasn't a material girl. She valued friendship, and he'd ruined that. Damn hormones. They were the only reason he could think of for what he had done. It was his hormones that had forced him to press Hermione into a bed. It was his hormones that had forced him to nearly kiss her. Right?

She'd understand, right?

Maybe, she'd even feel a bit flattered? Any girl would like to know she was wanted, right?

Urgh. Who was he kidding? She'd flay him alive if he let her get close enough. She'd been following him around, trying to get him alone to talk. Yeah, right. Talk. Sure. Lecture him was more like it, tell him it would never work out, say they were only friends. Then she'd pretend everything was okay, even though she'd be cringing inside every time she saw him.

Sigh.

If only the necklace he'd bought her really was a time-turner. Maybe he could go back and prevent himself from seeking her that night? So what if he saw himself? It would be better than this silence between him and Hermione. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he clasped the glittering necklace around his neck. Taking the miniature hourglass between his fingers, he tipped it upside down and waited.

Nothing.

Harry sighed again. There was no escaping this day. Removing the necklace, he placed it back in the box the jeweller had given him. He hoped she'd like it. Otherwise, he was probably screwed.

Today was going to be tricky avoiding her anyway. Quidditch hadn't started yet, so Harry was free after classes. She was sure to corner him after supper. She wouldn't let him get away on her birthday. Nope. That night he'd find himself the owner of a sore cheek, to be sure. Well, he deserved it, he supposed. Might as well just get it over with.

Harry's steps echoed through the halls on his way to breakfast. Sitting right next to Hermione, he braced himself for the hostility sure to come his way.

But nothing happened.

Finding this very odd after all she'd gone through to get him to talk to her, he looked up to find she was completely ignoring him.

"Hermione?"

Nothing.

"Hermione?" Harry waved his hand in front of her face, but she didn't even blink. Was he dead or something? "Hermione, would you at least look at me?"

Still nothing.

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened the other day. Things got a little out of hand. But everything's fine now. It won't happen again. Okay?"

Silence.

Harry huffed at her lack of response. "Come on! Can't you even look at me long enough for me to wish you happy birthday?"

Suddenly her head turned to face him, catching him off guard. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Er—um—happy birthday," Harry muttered, looking away.

"Thanks."

"Your wel—wait!"

She'd already crossed half the hall by the time he realized he was speaking to thin air.

"Hermione!" he shouted, jogging to catch up to her.

"Harry, now is not the best time. All right?"

"But—"

"I don't need this right now. It's not fair. Why do you get to decide when you can talk to me again, hm?"

"I—"

"You've been ignoring me for the past two weeks, even though I've tried to take time for us to talk. I think it's my turn to do the ignoring. Don't you?"

"But, I—"

"It's my turn to be selfish. It's my birthday, and I don't want anything to ruin it. Got it?"

Harry stared, open mouthed, at her narrowed eyes, nothing but deadly, determined slits. "All right. If that's what you want." Suddenly his chest ached. Why was this affecting him so much. Things would work out eventually. Besides, he'd needed more time anyway, right?

So why did it hurt so much?

He handed her the box containing her necklace. "Happy birthday." He glanced back at her as he walked away, noting her surprised expression. She'd forgive him soon, right?

~*~*~

Harry flopped onto his bed. Another tiring lesson with McGonagall and no progress. Was his animal just too powerful for him to control? He'd had three more lessons with her since his first, but nothing had changed. He should have at least been able to change part of his body by that point. Even his professor was getting worried.

He wondered if it was because his creature was magical. After all, he'd never heard of an Animagus transforming into a magical creature before. Great. It was just another unusual occurrence to add to the list of odd things he'd acquired over the years.

What was even stranger than his magical form, though, were his heightened senses. Not only were his six senses sharper, but his appetite had increase along with a few other primal needs. He always wanted to sleep now, and he couldn't keep his eyes from roaming over the female population of Hogwarts.

Damn hormones!

Why did this have to happen now of all times? He finally knew what had caused his need for Hermione. He'd been feeling it more acutely than before. And not just for Hermione but for girls in general. Hermione was just the one he felt the most comfortable with and relied on for help. It was all because he couldn't control his Animagus form. The worst part was McGonagall's warning. If he was unable to take control soon, he'd lose his mind and his body to the animal inside.

He supposed there were good aspects to the whole situation, though. His magical ability had continued to increase along with his agility, helping him with his other lessons. He was able to block most of Dumbledore's mental attacks now and was able to use nonverbal spells with ease.

He and Nevar were now using their swords—without wands—to spar. He was able to avoid her attacks, but he always became too aggressive. She had to resort to stunning him several times—as only once had become ineffective—to calm him down.

He wondered what she was going to teach him next. Nevar had told him to bring his Pensieve to his next lesson. He had no clue what it was for, but he didn't like the idea of diving into his memories, let alone having someone he barely knew go with him.

Harry turned over, sighing. Everything was so hectic. The chaos had been a good distraction for the most part, but the quiet at night, alone in his bed, allowed his mind to wander back to a certain brunette.

Now that he knew what had happened, he needed to explain, but she still wasn't talking to him. His heart ached. Was this what it had felt like for her in their third year? Worse, probably, since Ron had stayed by his side then. He couldn't let this go on. He needed to get her alone and force her to listen.

He set his resolve. He would definitely make her understand. He had to.

~*~*~

One month! It was already Halloween for crying out loud! How much longer could she avoid him? She'd even gone so far as to land herself in detention for a week to evade him!

Witches!

They made no sense at all.

Well, he wasn't going to let her get away this time! It was the last day of her detention, and he was going to wait for her to finish all night until she came out.

Slowly, he rose from his seat in the Great Hall to trail after her. No one would notice him leaving. They were all too wrapped up in their dinners and ghostly entertainment.

He crept through the halls, making sure to keep his distance. He didn't want her to realize his presence and run. Unfortunately, he didn't have his map with him and was force to resort to looking around corners before continuing.

Hurried footsteps met his ears along with a muffled noise. Finding this odd, he hesitantly stuck his head around the corner. His eyes widened at the site. Hermione was pressed against the wall by five girls. What did they want with her? Hermione's mouth moved, but no sound came forth. A Silencing Charm. Great.

Harry wanted to move to aid her, but something held him back. He wanted to know what these witches were planning. What did they want with Hermione?

"So, I see you and Potter have finally parted ways. He must have finally figured out that you just aren't good enough for his—ahem—needs. Sad isn't it?" one girl laughed. Harry believed her name was Romilda Vane. "I suppose that hair of yours put him off? I see you haven't let it down from that knot since I heard Gregory Goyle set it on fire. I can't imagine it being any worse than before, but it must be."

Suddenly, Romilda tore Hermione's hair band away. Soft, loose curls cascaded down. Gone were the frizzy locks she'd had before. Romilda sneered, not liking this at all. "So how did you manage that little miracle, Mudblood?" Hermione's eyes were lit with cold fury. Romilda smiled. "I see the Slytherins' little pet name for you still has the same effect it always had. Do you feel ashamed of your blood?" Romilda leaned in closer. "You should. No matter how much crap you put in your hair or how pretty you try to become, you'll still be a dirty little Mudblood."

"Perhaps we should show her?" asked another girl with unconcealed excitement.

Romilda's smile widened into an evil smirk. "That sounds like an excellent idea." Suddenly, her face sobered. "Perhaps, after this, you'll remember to stay far away from Harry Potter. He's mine"—a few girls coughed—"right. Ours. Got it?"

Before Harry could do anything to stop her, Romilda's wand slashed across Hermione's arm, cutting into it. Blood ran down her arm . . . and dripped to the floor as mud. Harry'd seen enough. Stalking around the corner, he sent the five girls sprawling away from Hermione with a burst of magic.

"Ha-Harry!" Romilda squeaked. "W-we were just chatting about you with Hermione here." She giggled nervously, eyes darting to Hermione's wound.

"I know very well what you were talking about," he spat. "I should report all of you to the headmaster!" Harry found satisfaction as all colour drained from their faces.

"There's no need for that! Really. We were just playing!"

"Well then you can continue to 'just play' in detention."

"No! Please, Harry! Please don't report us!" Romilda batted her eyes sweetly. She stepped toward him, brushing her body against his. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, "I'm sure we can come to an . . . arrangement."

Harry stepped away, throwing her arms to the side. "You make me sick." He looked around, taking note of the other girls names. "Stay away from me and stay away from Hermione."

"But, Harry—"

"LEAVE!"

His shout of fury startled the witches. Soon, they were hurrying around a corner and out of sight. He turned to Hermione, still held against the wall by some unseen force. He stepped in front of her, his eyes scanning her body. She looked gorgeous, even with her tousled robes and bloody arm. Her eyes were vibrant, full of defiance. Her hair had grown back completely now, and shone in neat waves down her front.

He released her from her hold and silence but placed his arms on either side of her to keep her from running. "How long has this been going on?"

She turned away, silent as ever.

"Hermione, answer me!" he hissed, forcing her to look at him with one hand.

"Fine! Always! Ever since we became friends. Different girls, different times, all with the same emotion driving them. They're just jealous wenches."

"Why didn't you ever tell me about this?" He demanded.

"And if I had? You would have pushed me away. Turned tail and run. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to feed your hero complex."

He narrowed his eyes. "Hermione, we need to talk." Her eyes turned away, and she grew silent once more. "Fine, I'll talk and you listen."

"I have detention. I'm late enough as it is." She tried to duck past him, but he grabbed her arm, making her flinch.

Harry cringed. "I'm sorry." He slipped his hand down her arm to avoid the wound. "You should see Madam Pomfrey about that," he said softly, inspecting her cut.

She wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I'm fine."

Harry frowned. "No, you're not."

She waved her wand, healing the gash. "Yes, I am. I just need to get to—" She once again tried to slip away, but he forced her back against the wall, holding her in place with his own body.

"Will you forget about detention for two seconds?" Harry yelled, causing her to stiffen. Guilt washed over him. He sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to her shoulder. "I'm sorry for yelling. Please stop running away from me. I just . . . I miss you."

Both were quiet. It seemed like hours had passed, his words echoing in their minds the whole time. Finally, she relaxed against him. "I miss you too," she whispered.

He looked up, tracing a finger along her cheek. "Look, there are some important things I need to tell you. I know you need to go to detention right now, but can we talk afterward?"

She stayed silent, staring into his eyes, thinking over his words. Quietly, she answered, "All right."

His relief shone through, bringing a soft smile to her face. "Thank you."

~*~*~

By the time Hermione exited the Trophy room, Harry's butt had grown numb from sitting on the cold, stone floor for hours. He heard her stifle a laugh and looked up.

"I can't believe you've been sitting here waiting for me this whole time. Don't you have lessons with Dumbledore or something?"

"No, those are on Wednesdays. Thursdays are for Quidditch practice, and since we haven't started yet . . ."

"There's no practice." She nodded, smiling.

Harry pulled her into a side classroom, casting a quick Silencio. He turned around to find her fiddling with a chain around her neck. "You're wearing the necklace I gave you."

She smiled nervously. "Yes. I love it. Thank you." She scuffed her feet on the ground. "So what was it you needed to talk to me about?"

Harry eyed her suspiciously. She had to know. It wasn't exactly a small deal. "The thing that caused this rift between us."

Her features darkened. "Must we?"

"Yes." Harry braced himself against the professor's desk. "I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now."

Her eyebrows raised. "What's not to understand, Harry? You're a teenage boy. It's only natural for you to have needs."

"No, it's not that. I mean, yes, you're right, but there's more to it than that," he said, blushing.

Her eyebrows rose further into her scalp. "Like?"

"Well, McGonagall explained it as my Animagus form taking over my mind and body."

Enlightenment surged into Hermione's eyes. "Of course! Why didn't I see it before! Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry! I didn't really understand. I mean, you nearly kissed me, but you seemed completely out of it when it happened. Then you left so suddenly and avoided me for so long, I thought you were disgusted by me or something. Then I was so sure you were going to ignore me on my birthday, but you didn't. I was so confused. It didn't make any sense!" Hermione rambled. "But it makes perfect sense now! Obviously you'd just started your Animagus training, and you hadn't mastered it yet, so of course you'd be riled up! Especially if your form is powerful, which I'm sure it is. I mean, you are you, after all. So now that you've mastered your control, things won't be awkward between us. It was just a misunderstanding! Oh, Harry!" She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.

"Er, Hermione."

"Yes." She nuzzled further into his chest.

"I should"—he gulped—"warn you that I haven't exactly mastered my form yet."

Slowly, she pulled away. "What?"

"Actually, I can't even transform my hand back into my human one let alone my whole body."

Shock plastered Hermione's face. "But it's been nearly two months!"

"I know."

"Harry. If you don't master your control soon, you could—"

"Lose my mind. I know."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"W-Well, maybe I can help you?"

"How?"

"I don't know."

"That's comforting. Ow!" Hermione had smacked him across the back of his head.

"Don't joke."

"Sorry."

More silence.

"So what form do you take, anyway?"

"McGonagall called it an Opalescent Lammasu."

"WHAT? Really? But that creature is—"

"Magical. I know."

Hermione stared, open mouthed. "Wow. No wonder you're having trouble." Hermione bit her lip in thought. "Can I see it?"

"Once I can transform at will, yeah."

"Would you take me for a ride some time?" she asked tentatively.

Harry was surprised by this. "I thought you hated flying?"

"I do. Well, I hate heights anyway."

"But you want me to take you for a ride?" he asked sceptically.

"Yes."

His eyebrows rose as he shook his head. "You make no sense, Hermione."

"It's because it's you." Her eyes connected with his. "I trust you."

Harry looked away. "I trust you too, you know," he murmured. He could feel his face heating with embarrassment. He was not used to being so mushy. That was supposed to be a girl thing. But right now, he didn't care so long as he got Hermione back. "So . . . do you forgive me for losing control and being a complete prick afterward?"

He saw her smile from the corner of his eye. Her hand rested on his cheek and turned his face toward her. "Of course." Her grin was infectious. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him close. Finally, he could embrace her again. He'd missed her comforting touch beyond reason. Finally. He felt happy again.

Her sigh woke him from his reverie. "We really need to get back, Harry. It's late." She left his arms and headed for the door. He immediately felt the warmth drain from his body.

They walked together in silence. As they entered the common room, Hermione gave him one last hug before departing for the girls dorms. Then, she was gone.

~*~*~

A/N: Well, I just wrote this chapter right after finishing the last one. I know, some of you are passing out right about now. Don't expect this to be the norm, though. I just had some time on my hands, and I was in a writing mood. I've even started on chapter 10 . . . it's craziness!

Just so you know, I'm currently in the process of moving, so I might not get to post for a little while. I will not abandon this story, though.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews. I love them! Also, thank you, mad dragon, second beta extraordinaire. Natali's been away, and you stepped in for me in a pinch!

~Amie