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Harry Potter and the Black Society by carondelet
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Harry Potter and the Black Society

carondelet

Rating: R for language, imagery, emotional angst, fantasy violence/combat, and adult themes.

Title: Harry Potter and the Black Society

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. Additionally, locations in and around the United Kingdom are used as a basis for "historical reality" or in a purely fictitious manner.

Additional disclaimers may be found in Chapter One, "Circumradiant Dawn".

Spoiler Alert: As previously noted, this fic contains spoilers to Books 1-5. If you haven't read any of the books or have at least seen the films...right, then. Ah, yes, if you should have an H/Hr aversion, please know that this fic is H/Hr. It will be mostly fluff, when there is any, but it is H/Hr, even though you may not initially think so. Really. Hmm. Now that you have been sufficiently warned...

Summary: (It may or may not be considered AU; it does use elements that J.K. Rowling has only given cursory attention to in the novels.)

The Second Wizard War has since begun. After each new conflict, the barriers placed between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world yield just a little more. Forsaken pacts are made fresh and new allies are revealed as the war finally tears not only into the Muggle world, but into the sanctuary of Hogwarts itself. Harry Potter soon realizes that his wish for a life close to ordinary will take him as far away from normal as is magically or humanly possible...

Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Author's Notes: Many thanks to RONIN10 for the review of "Circumradiant Dawn" and my thanks to all of those who have read the first chapter. Again, this is my first piece of Harry Potter fan fiction. My previous still stands, gentle reader: this is a long form piece; meaning, it has been planned and time lined to be novel-length. Therefore it will feel at times that events are moving slowly. Though alluded to in the early chapters, the H/Hr ship does not set sail until nearly the end. There are plenty of MacGuffins, red herrings, whatever you would like to call them, sprinkled throughout as well, so if you aren't one to put up with all of that, sadly, this fic mightn't be for you...

And now for something completely different: for the tail end of the holidays (Happy Christmas and Happy Boxing Day), a bit of normalcy for Harry.

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HARRY POTTER AND THE BLACK SOCIETY

[] CHAPTER TWO: NUMBER NINETY-THREE, WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES

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Diagon Alley was just as he remembered it. It was an unusual place, but then, Harry Potter was an unusual young man (despite his protestations of being "just Harry). Diagon Alley was the wizard's shopping district and in order to find it one would have to be a wizard, which, by fortunate coincidence, Harry was. He was a wizard starting his last year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry was a lanky young man of seventeen, fair, still on the slight side despite his age, with unruly black hair and brilliant green eyes. His round spectacles were perched upon his nose, and his not to be controlled fringe was partially obscuring the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

In Harry's mind, Diagon Alley was exactly the same, the same as the first time he'd set foot there with Rubeus Hagrid, his friend and teacher. Despite the Second War, Diagon Alley still held the same sense of whimsy and…well, magic, as he had first experienced six years ago. It was though time had stopped in Diagon Alley, and for that he was quite glad. He had feared that the war would have changed things, but the Alley was still the same. There were the same sights, the sounds, the smells…most definitely the smells, he thought. Rather, the peculiar odours that wafted in and out of storefronts seemingly at will, accosting passers-by. The slightly dusty and unmistakable scent of leather and parchment from Flourish and Blotts'; the strange mix of wood and age from Ollivanders'; the comforting animal scents and occasional drifts of feathers from Eeylops Owl Emporium; and now, the curious fusion of Ultra Dungbombs, Stinking Sniffling Pong Tang Smellers, and Niff Naff Grenades campaigning up and down the alley from number ninety-three, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Oi, wot in the bloody hell are they up to?!" exclaimed Ron Weasley, brother of the perpetrators of the horrific stench. He had pulled his jumper up over his nose and mouth like a mask. With little more than his red hair sticking up out of the jumper, Harry thought Ron looked a bit like the eraser end of a pencil. Harry stared at him, uncommitted to laughter due to the stench surrounding them. After the bizarre events of his last month at the Dursleys, he had been in desperate need of a good laugh. The visual became too much for him and, as desperate as he was for one, Harry found that it was very hard not to laugh for the thick miasma of prankster funk swirling about. Finally, Harry could no longer help himself, and so he paid dearly by catching whiffs of the bizarre odour concoction.

And then he looked to their right.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he chortled, "I - I - look at her!" Then he doubled over, pointing a finger across from them, coughing and laughing and crying.

Ron, still covered nose to mouth, looked at where Harry was pointing.

It was their best friend, Hermione Granger, and she was as pale as a white linen bed sheet. She had just walked straight into a cloud of the roaming malodorous brew. Her normally bushy hair went limp and she dropped the mass of books that she had been carrying to clamp her hands firmly over her mouth and nose. She had performed such a perfect pantomime of disgust that Harry was nearly on his knees, laughing and coughing.

Ron was quick to follow suit, although, thanks to the meagre protection of his jumper, he was not nearly coughing as much. "That's priceless, that is," he wheezed through the fabric.

Hermione took notice of them and was angry enough to be able to stamp over to them, her hands still clasped over her face. "Amb what do you dink you're laughink at?"

Ron nearly fell over at the question.

Harry managed to straighten himself up and, in as earnest a tone as he could manage, said, "Nothing, Hermione."

This sent Ron into roars of guffaws, mixed with fits of coughing.

"Id nod fubby!" Hermione exclaimed through her hands. "Your brodders have a lod of explainink do do, Won!" At this, Harry fell on top of Ron, tears streaming down both their faces. "Dis is wary serious! Dave creaded a held hazard!" They roared louder, pausing to cough madly. Finally, even Hermione had to admit that she sounded funny, and that, combined with the comic sight of Ron and Harry rolling around on the cobblestones, gasping for air, broke her down to choking giggles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had managed to get themselves together enough to brave their way to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The joke shop that Ron's older brothers Fred and George had opened in Diagon Alley more than a year earlier was a raging success. Current Hogwarts students, recent graduates, and prank-minded wizards and witches crowded the store constantly, seeking the latest ways in which to annoy, vex, and generally harass one another.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were only just spotted by the twins as they attempted to cram themselves into the shop. "Hoi! Come to check on your investment, Harry?" Fred called out to him.

George manoeuvred around the throng to give them hearty embraces. "Come for something that will make your parting with Hogwarts a blast?" he asked with a wink and a grin. They were both wearing identical double-breasted suits made of a shiny grey material. To Harry it appeared that they were literally wearing sharkskin suits. Pinstriped sharkskin suits. With blue and white striped shirts with very large collars, flowery yellow, orange, and red ties, and a sunflower in each boutonnière - it was rather amazing, Harry thought. He felt an elbow in his ribs from Ron and saw him nod toward the floor. Harry nearly laughed. The twins also wore two-toned brogues in black and white patent leather, with a bit of tartan sock showing beneath the cuffed trouser leg. Harry and Ron traded wide-eyed glances.

Fred sidled up alongside his twin, his hands upon his lapels. "As you could probably tell, we have our Perfectly Pongy Prankster's Parcel on sale today. Inspired by you, little brother. Three for the price of one, only ten Sickles."

A grin crept over Ron's face. "Nice one…"

George leaned in close and winked. "Twenty-percent off discount for relations, part-time employees, and the like," he smiled.

The grin grew even larger. "Wicked!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. Harry could practically read her mind in that moment. He was certain that she had thought one thing of Ron: incorrigible. "It's wonderful that you are doing so well," she said to the twins, a genuine smile on her face. "I hear that the store is always packed."

Fred and George both rocked back on their heels, their hands thrust into their trouser pockets, wearing smiles of contentment. "Yes, indeed, yes, indeed," they said in unison.

Fred began, "If not for our good friend Harry's…"

"…rather charitable financial contribution…"

"…this dream of ours could have never been…"

"…made reality," George finished.

Harry and Hermione looked at one another in amazement. Apparently, the twins hadn't lost their knack for being able to finish one another's sentences. Ron, having been around it all of his life, was duly unimpressed.

They suddenly extended their hands toward Harry, serious looks upon their faces. "Harry, we heard the news," said Fred.

George nodded sombrely as Harry, with good grace, shook hands with them. "Yes, yes, terrible business, old boy, absolutely frightful."

Hermione and Ron gaped at Harry in a bit of shock. "What's happened? Is everything all right?" she asked.

Harry laughed and said to the twins, "So, you've heard, have you?"

"Yes, we always know when…"

"…some poor punter's been named prefect."

Hermione's eyes widened as she gave Harry a tremendous hug. "Prefect? Oh, Harry! That's wonderful!" She flung her arms around his neck. Harry awkwardly accepted the embrace. He still felt a bit uneasy where hugs were concerned from the tail of his summer. Though he didn't really mind it when it came from Hermione... He traded bemused glances with his other best friend.

As Harry and Hermione separated, Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes. He too extended a hand to his friend in commiseration. "Now it makes perfect sense. Sorry to hear about that, mate."

Hermione shot Ron a nasty look, one that made Harry laugh. "It's wonderful, Harry," she said sternly, still glaring at Ron. All three Weasleys pulled faces. Then she turned to Harry and smiled. "It's been a long time coming."

"Actually, it has," Harry started with a shrug. A loud crash from the rear of the shop caught their attentions.

"SORRY!" It was the voice of Lee Jordan, their friend and recent graduate of Hogwarts. Unlike Gred and Feorge, who had left the school thanks to the intolerable Dolores Umbridge, Lee had stayed through to graduation and carried on winding up the former Headmistress (Headmistress only by Ministry appointment, it was important to add) in their names. It was a rather excellent campaign, aided and abetted by the entire student body, faculty, and the resident ghosts. Even the school's thorny poltergeist Peeves had carried on in the twins' names. When the subject came up, Fred and George got tears in their eyes. They were choked up completely when the subject of the memorial Portable Swamp was mentioned.

Then, another voice: "Ah, it's all right. No harm done. Much." It was a woman's voice.

"Blimey, I think that's going to stain. I'm really sorry." It was Lee again.

"S'awright, it's only a pair of jeans," the woman said. From their position, Harry and his friends could just see Lee and the back of the woman he was speaking to. All they really saw was dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail, a black leather jacket, and black jeans. "A little spell will sort it out, eh?" she continued. Whatever Lee had done, the woman didn't seem upset in the least. Matter of fact, to Harry, she sounded amused. And familiar. He blinked slowly, trying to place the voice within a different context.

He was distracted as the twins gave brief bows to him, Ron, and Hermione. "Pardon us, lady and gents," said Fred. He looked to George and said, sombrely, "George, old boy, we're needed." They disapparated with a loud and satisfying 'pompf' and apparated in the back of the store in order to see what had happened. "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello, wot's all this then?" George's voice floated back to them.

"Just another day at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Ron said gamely, with a smile.

The trio looked to one another, grinned, and then all shrugged in unison. "Right, then, where to next?" asked Hermione.

Ron dug his letter from his back pocket. "Flourish and Blotts', I s'pose. Have you seen the booklist? Bloody hell. I'm not even sure we can get half of these books in Diagon Alley."

Hermione shook her head knowledgably. "No, I'm afraid. You'll have to go to a Muggle bookshop, Ronald." At this the already fair redhead visibly blanched. He shot a wide eyed look of panic at Harry. Hermione smiled at this and patted Ron on the arm reassuringly. "It's all right; Harry and I will go with you. Right, Harry?"

Harry grinned at his friend, thoroughly enjoying the thought of Ron, who was from a purely wizarding family, roaming about in Muggle bookshop. "Absolutely, Ron. Hermione and I will take good care of you. You have nothing to worry about."

Ron was shaking his head. "Nothing to worry about, he says. Easy enough for you, you both come from Muggle families. Meanwhile, I wouldn't know a sound from an ounce to a dram."

Harry and Hermione grinned at one another and they escorted Ron out into Diagon Alley. "Pound, Ron, it's a pound…as sound as a pound is the saying. No matter, you just come with us, Ron, it'll be all right. We'll stop by Gringott's first and do an exchange for you. Hermione, I don't suppose your parents would mind taking us into London?" Harry asked, as they disappeared in to the swirl of wizards and witches.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry had managed to have a compartment all alone. On the Hogwarts Express, speeding through the countryside to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the start of a new school year, that was a rare thing.

Ordinarily, his friends would have been in the compartment with him, but as Ron was still a prefect in Gryffindor, and Hermione was Head Girl, they had students to tend to. They had changed into their school robes as soon as the train had departed from Platform 9 ¾. Hermione had given Harry such a beaming smile after he'd pinned on his prefect's badge. Ron just shook his head in sympathy. Thought not usually the case, despite it being his first year as a prefect (and his last, since he would be hopefully graduating at the end of the term), Harry really didn't have an assignment on the train. He wondered if it was special treatment, courtesy of being The Boy-Who-Lived. He snorted derisively at the thought. He had come to despise that title. In any case, regardless of the reason, there was nothing much to do but be left to his own devices for the journey.

He watched the landscape move in a blur past the train's window. He felt very bored, alone in the compartment. He did not feel like wandering about the train, even though he was a prefect. He could certainly give Draco Malfoy a nice shock. Hello, Draco, guess what? And flash his prefect's pin at the nasty little twit. No, the thought was far too tempting, and given how volatile things had become in the wizarding world thanks to the war… Also, Draco might try some dark magic on him, leading to a rather ugly duel. There were too many first years around - they would have no idea of how to defend themselves. He certainly didn't want to think over the events of his last month at the Dursleys. It was still too…raw, too emotional, and too bizarre for him to deal with yet. Harry thought about instead practicing a spell or two to wile away the time. It seemed like a very good idea. Defence spells were becoming increasingly useful.

He withdrew his wand from the inside of his robes and held it in front of him. It occurred to Harry that he had never really taken a very good look at his wand. He leaned forward, holding the wand in the lamplight.

Mr. Ollivander had told him that it was made from holly. Harry thought that was a curious thing for a wand to be made from, something that one would decorate the house with at Christmas time. It was also supposed to be poisonous. The berries were, at least. He idly remembered Professor Trelawney mewing on about how wonderful it was that a holly wand had chosen him as holly made the best wands for dream magic. Harry was decidedly unimpressed with that piece of information.

He set the wand on a rail against the train window and folded his arms in front of him. He leaned against the wall of the compartment, feeling the vibrations of the train. Harry stared at the slender piece of wood.

It was such a small thing and yet capable of such wonders…and of such horrors. He had seen that first hand, too many times now.

Harry frowned as he heard a faint tapping. At first he had not recognized the sound amongst the clangs and thumps and clatters of the train, but then it struck him: someone was knocking on the compartment door.

He turned to face the door and called out to his would-be visitor. "Come in." As the blinds on the corridor side of the compartment were drawn, he did not know who was trying to enter.

It was Hermione. Harry's face brightened at the sight of her and she returned the smile. "Hello, Harry. Sorry that you've been in here all alone." She slid the door closed behind her and entered the compartment.

He grinned as Hermione sat down across from him. "It's all right. I know that you and Ron have loads to do. You especially, now that you are Head Girl." Hermione demurely looked to the carpeting. "You know, in case I hadn't told you, congratulations on being named Head Girl."

She smiled at him, quite sweetly he thought. "You have told me, Harry. About a hundred times now."

"Oh. A hundred times? Really? How many times have I told you that I am proud of you?" He flashed a grin at her.

"Hmm, a think a hundred times as well," she smiled at him.

"Hmm. Well, then. I s'pose such scintillating conversation has turned me from Just Harry to Just Boring Harry." At this she laughed, the action he had been hoping for.

"Now you are just being ridiculous."

"I am." He grinned again, and then took a turn for the serious. "I'm just sorry that I've been a bit useless so far as a prefect." He blinked and cast a glance at the door. "Where is Ron?"

Hermione made a peculiar face, one that meant she objected to something, and replied, "Well, I'm afraid that he's teaching the first years some unpleasant things." At that Harry started to laugh. "It's not very funny, Harry," she said in all seriousness. He knew that she disapproved of the corruption of the younger students, especially where it concerned the prankster Weasley twins. "Granted, the first years were asking him all about his brothers' joke shop, but he didn't have to entertain their questions by actually teaching them how to use the gags and the prank spells."

Harry composed himself for Hermione's sake and nodded in mute agreement. She appeared satisfied by this and smiled in appreciation. "I'm sorry, but I never did ask you, Harry. How was your summer?" He felt his face contort at the question, despite his best efforts. He heard Hermione suck in her breath at the sight. She quickly moved to sit next to him and touched him on the arm. "Harry, I'm sorry…"

He shook his head. "No. No, it's not - it's not quite that." He frowned, searching for the words. Not finding any to his liking, he stood up, turned, and reached for the shelf above his seat. He pulled down a backpack and set it between him and Hermione. "Yeah, I know," he said in response to her quizzical look, "I got a backpack as a belated birthday present."

"From whom?" she asked. For his birthday, Hermione had given him a set of playbooks for Quidditch: the pages were enchanted so that, with whatever play was diagrammed, the players would enact that play on the page. It was also good for the idle bit of cartooning, which Harry did whenever he felt the need to stick one to Dudley. Ron had given him a subscription to Quidditch Illustrated. For that, he told Ron off. He knew that purchasing a subscription on a tight budget was a hardship for Ron, but the red-head had fobbed him off, saying that he was working the summer at his brother's joke shop and he could damn well do as he pleased with the proceeds. Harry had sworn to get Ron back for that nicety.

"My Aunt Petunia gave me the backpack," he told Hermione. He grinned as her eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah, I know, I had the same look on, believe me. But, it gets…better. Or worse. Depends on your perspective."

Hermione shook her head in amazement. "All right, I'll bite, how was your summer, again?"

He pulled the zipper, reached into the backpack and pulled out a paper box. It was the kind that photos were usually stored in. He moved closer to Hermione as she shifted to be closer to him. He moved the backpack to the floor to make more room and opened the lid of the box.

Inside were photos. The box was literally filled to the brim with photos. A combination of wizard and Muggle photos. He heard Hermione gasp. "Oh, Harry, is that…?" She tentatively reached out with a finger, pointing at a black and white photo.

On impulse he grabbed the photo, placed it in her hand, and with his fingers, wrapped hers around it. "That's my dad, Sirius, Remus, and my mom at school. This is them at Hogwarts." He smiled and laughed as a look of wonder spread across Hermione's face as she examined the photo. She looked from the enchanted image, to Harry, and then back again several times over. He laughed again. "Yeah, I know, I look exactly like him."

"My God, Harry, you do!" Now Hermione was laughing. "You do look exactly like your father when he was at Hogwarts." She held the photo next to Harry's face, and the enchanted figures all pointed at him and then started to make funny faces at the camera. Hermione couldn't stop laughing. "I can't believe it!" She again looked from the photo to Harry's beaming face. "Where on…?"

"Aunt Petunia!" he announced with a loud chortle. He then proceeded to tell Hermione everything about that strange night. He even included how miserable he felt in the room that evening, to crying himself to sleep (and his heart nearly stopped at the look of sadness on Hermione's face when he told her that), but was stopped when he came to the strange visitor.

"Who was it, Harry?" Hermione had cut in.

Harry looked to the compartment floor in abashment. "I…I don't know."

"You don't know?" she asked incredulously. "Harry…you could have been in danger!"

"But nothing happened, Hermione! I mean, nothing other than this woman making my aunt nice to me for the first time in my life!"

Hermione sighed loudly, a sign that she was frustrated with him. "But maybe that is a part of some plan. She could have been a Death Eater."

"Firstly, wards have been placed on the house due to my aunt's blood relationship to my mother."

She interrupted him. "That only affects Vold-Voldemort. It's not very specific to Death Eaters, is it?"

Harry rolled in his eyes in irritation and continued. "Secondly, if she was a Death Eater, why not kill me? Why tell my aunt something that would make her nice to me and make me even think for one moment about staying in that bloody house?" He had not realized it, but his voice had grown in volume to the point that the last question came out as a shout.

He paid for it by the look on Hermione's face. Her lips tightened into a thin line and her eyes narrowed at him. "Voldemort has failed and failed miserably to destroy you, Harry," she started. Her voice was surprisingly cold. "Perhaps a face-to-face confrontation would leave you the victor yet again."

Harry's mind wandered to the prophecy, Headmaster Dumbledore's voice echoing in his head with those damned words, the ones that he wished he could forget… '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.'

A line, the same line, always the same damn line, repeated itself in his mind. "And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." He suddenly realized that Hermione was still talking and dragged his focus back to her lecture.

"...I do not think that Voldemort is the sort who would leave such things to chance. If he could find a way to distract you, he would. If he could find a way to tear you down from the inside, mentally, so that he would weaken you, he would."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "I don't think it was him, Hermione. I don't think that this was influenced by him at all. Not with…I mean, my aunt was sobbing for all of the misery she and her lot have put me through. This was not Voldemort or some meddling Death Eater." Although she was far from satisfied with this, he proceeded to tell Hermione of his aunt's tear-stained confession. Her brow first twitched in fear, and then creased in thought.

"Oh, my," she said simply. "Well…I'll have to think more on this. I mean…it's all so…"

Harry nodded in understanding, and then told Hermione of Aunt Petunia's subsequent reparations. The first of many being letters, love letters, that James had sent Lily via owl during summers away from Hogwarts, to articles of clothing that had belonged to both (James had given Lily his school scarf, his tie, his Quidditch goggles, there was Lily's first cap, her first year uniform…). Then, perhaps the best of all, the photos. Hundreds of photos, both Muggle and enchanted. Photos of his mother as a child, from her infancy to his. Photos of his mother and father together, laughing, always laughing. Photos of the Marauders (Sirius, Remus, and James, at least; Pettigrew seemed to have been relegated to taking the photo, and for that Harry was immensely grateful). Memory upon memory, kept tucked away in boxes in the Dursley attic for ages. Memories that Petunia had been saving, for reasons she had never admitted to herself. Memories that she finally allowed herself to pass on to Harry.

Hermione was shaking her head, still trying to get around the enormity of it. She looked down to the figures in the photograph. They appeared to be waiting for something. "Perhaps…it's not sinister," she breathed, just loudly enough for Harry to hear. He smiled as she giggled softly at the Marauders in the photo. They were laughing now. She carefully placed the photo in her hand back in to the box, smiling crookedly as the figures waved good-bye to her. She stared at the photo box, apparently speechless. "It's…" she managed, and then stopped. Then she was finally able to say, "I'm sorry about earlier, Harry. I just…I worry about you. And it seemed just too good to be true. But it is. It's a treasure, Harry. Absolutely priceless."

"I understand, Hermione. And…I like that you worry about me. I know I've been stupid at times, but I do appreciate it. And I know that it's almost too good to be true. It's just so…amazing. That's why I had to share it with you." Harry felt his cheeks grow warm and looked down. The photo Hermione had been holding caught his eye. In it, James, Sirius, and Remus were all giving him the thumbs up and mouthing at-a-boys to him, and Lily was clasping her hands to her chest melodramatically. Prats, he thought to himself, and then stuck his tongue out at them. They obligingly returned the affection.

He felt Hermione's eyes on him and he sheepishly met her glance. To his great relief, she was grinning.

"This explains a great deal about you," she said wryly.

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he put on an injured look. "How so?"

She simply smiled and shook her head. She looked back into the box and pointed to another photo. "Harry…is this…?" She glanced at him, her eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.

He smiled and pulled out the photo. It was a photo of him and Aunt Petunia. A recent photo of them at that, taken by none other than Mrs. Figg, the Dursleys neighbour and ersatz guardian to Harry. He had been afraid that Mrs. Figg, despite being a Squibb, would have no idea of how to work a Muggle camera, but she somehow managed it. And so, the last afternoon before he was to depart for Hogwarts, he and Aunt Petunia had posed in front of Number Four, Privet Drive. He wished that it were an enchanted photo. He wanted to see her laugh, see himself laugh, as they nervously stood, waiting for Mrs. Figg to take the snap. "Honestly, Arabella, shall I show you again?" he could hear his aunt say. There was the look on his aunt's face when he suggested that they use a wizard's camera and her giggles when she realized that he was only having her on. The feeling he had inside at being able to make her laugh. Not just making her laugh, his mother's sister, his aunt laugh, but at finally, after so long, being allowed to be himself. Her being allowed to laugh at him. Her rustling his unruly hair and hugging him just as Mrs. Figg finally worked out the camera. But he could remember it. He could remember it quite clearly, and the proof that it was not a dream was in his hands: he and his Aunt Petunia, standing together on a crisp autumn afternoon, warmly embracing, smiling. Happy.

"It's wonderful," he heard Hermione say softly.

"It is," he said simply.

"Are you…are you going to go back? After graduation?"

"I honestly don't know." He shrugged, and then carefully put the photo back into the box, next to the one of the Marauders, who all looked over to the smiling Harry and Petunia. He almost swore that his father and mother clasped hands and looked to one another. He shook his head. Enchanted photos could only do so much, and the photo had been taken while they were at school, so…he was being silly and sentimental. He reluctantly replaced the box lid and went about tucking it into the backpack. "Despite what's happened between me and Aunt Petunia, there is still Uncle Vernon and Dudley, so I doubt that I will be welcomed by those two. Perhaps Aunt Petunia and I can still visit, outside of the house, or when Uncle Vernon's at work and Dudley is wherever Dudley goes." Harry made a face. "D'you think he'd get into university?"

Hermione appeared aghast. "Ah, not that I would ever want to speak ill of your family, Harry…"

"It's all right."

"Dudley is as thick as they come, perhaps thicker than Crabbe and Goyle combined."

Harry fell against the seat, laughing. "Oh, gods, but you are brilliant," he chuckled.

Hermione blushed a bright red and shook her head. "No, that was terrible," she laughed. "That was so rude of me!"

"But it's true!" he laughed. They both laughed a while in the compartment, their eyes wet with tears, cheeks red with mirth. It was good to have a laugh like this, Harry thought, especially so when it came at Dudley's expense. Good laughs had been few and far between since the second war had started.

As their laughter died down, Hermione's eyes were drawn to the window by the movement outside. It was then that she spied his wand. "Honestly, Harry, you must start taking better care of your wand!"

"How's that?" He was a bit startled by her remark and glanced down at the windowsill to the article itself.

She wiped the tears from her eyes with one hand and pointed at his wand with the other, visibly unhappy and more than a little taken aback at the appearance of it. "You really ought to get yourself a wand care kit. It's in a poor state." She sounded disappointed in Harry not taking care of his wand. He had to acknowledge that he took more care and concern for his Firebolt than he did for his wand.

He looked his wand over. The wand did look terribly old, he realized. It was slightly scuffed, and scratched here and there along the body. The lighting in the compartment highlighted the wood grain; broad swirls of amber mixed with weaving stripes of a rich, dark brown. The wand was approximately the same thickness as…well, as a large marker, about a centimetre and a half in width, and it spanned nearly a foot in length. At its thickest point, the wand was adorned with an ornately detailed handle. The colour of the handle was a different tone than the wand's shaft, muted in hue, more golden than warm amber. The wood had been carved (or enchanted, he corrected himself) into a design resembling the bark of a tree. Harry guessed that it was meant to look like holly bark. Without his glasses on, the pattern could almost be an abstract representation of a feather, he thought. Mr. Ollivander had told him that the wand contained the essence of phoenix feather, and Professor Dumbledore had confirmed that the wand indeed carried a feather from Fawkes, his pet phoenix. It would make sense then that perhaps the pattern was indeed a depiction of a feather. Or it could have been that the wand was just very old and the handle very worn, so much so that the design was no longer clear. He had not taken very good care of it he was reluctant to admit.

The handle comprised almost a third of the body of the wand. The main shaft of the instrument seemed to have grown from the handle, tapering to a slender point roughly half a foot away from the handle, possibly a bit further than a half-foot.

"With some care, it would be quite a striking wand, Harry," said Hermione. She proudly withdrew her own wand from her robes and showed it to him. "Do you see how nice the wood looks when it's been polished?" She had asked the question straightforwardly. Harry knew that she had no intention of it being a slight. He took no offence and simply nodded. "Of course, my wand is made up of two different types of woods so it looks different from yours. I think that yours is just made of holly, correct?" Harry could tell that Hermione knew his wand was indeed made of holly.

Harry again nodded gamely, indulging her. "Yes, that's right."

"Hmm. I thought as much." He smiled when she said that. It was as he thought. She knew the answer. It wasn't as though she was showing off; she wanted to know if he knew what his wand was made of. "That is a good wood for dream magic, but it's really valued for its protection qualities. It's the strongest of the protection woods. My old wand was holly and ebony. My wand now is made of vine wood." Harry was embarrassed that he had not noticed a change in Hermione's wands. After the many times that she had mended his glasses, he ought to have noticed. He looked down at her wand. The handle was about the same length as the handle on his wand. It was much more elegant in design, however. The body of the wand was sleek and in a soft greenish-beige colour, and was decorated by a scrolling, leafy ivy vines. The wand extended more or less twelve or so inches from the base until it narrowed into a gentle point. It was an elegant wand, clean in design and well tended to. Hermione was very pleased at the condition of her wand; she was proud in the care she took in it. Harry, conversely, was feeling a bit abashed at the state of his, and wondered how he had gone for so long without noticing how tatty it had become.

A loud banging on the compartment door distracted him from his embarrassment. "Hermione! Harry! Are you in there?" It was a familiar voice, a young woman's voice.

"Yes, we're here," Hermione called out. The door flung open and a panic-stricken Ginny Weasley ran into the room. Both Hermione and Harry were instantly on their feet. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Ginny said breathlessly, slowly blushing.

Harry shook his head violently. He knew what the flush creeping onto her cheeks meant and wanted to dispel the thought as soon as possible. He just didn't need that, not right now. "We were just talking, Ginny. What's happening?"

"It's Ron. You've got to come with me." At that, she turned and ran out of the compartment. Hermione and Harry followed suit.

"What's happened to Ron?" asked Harry as they hurried down the narrow passage.

Ginny managed only one word. "Malfoy."

Harry cast a cautionary glance to Hermione as he grit his teeth together in a grimace. "Damn him," he muttered under his breath. If Draco had done anything to harm Ron…he'd have his life for it.

They soon found where the commotion was. A group of students were bottlenecking the narrow train passage. In front of them, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione saw a group of Gryffindor students. On the other side of the robed mass were a group of Slytherin students.

In between they could just see the top of one red head of mussed hair and one blonde head of slicked back hair.

Grunts and shouts were coming from the tangle. "Oof, geroff!"

"Stop it, Weasley!" There was the sound of shuffling.

"Make me, Malfoy!" There was the sound of a muffled thump.

"You're a disgrace, just like your father and your brothers! OWW!" Ron had stomped on Malfoy's foot.

"You ought to know about disgraces, Malfoy - say, how's your dad taking to Azkaban?" With that, Malfoy put Ron into a headlock. "ARGH!"

"SHUT UP ABOUT MY FATHER!"

"ENOUGH!" roared Harry. He withdrew his wand from his robes. The students immediately parted, flinging themselves against the sides of the passage, into the adjoining compartments, to the floor - anywhere to get out of the way of Harry's wand. "Separatus!" he shouted, pointing his wand at Ron and Draco.

There was a brief flash and then the two prefects were torn away from one another, Ron being flung to the floor in front of Harry and Malfoy being thrown into his Slytherin goons Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry reached down with his free hand and helped Ron to his feet. "Sorry about that, Ron."

Ron shook his head and gasped for air. "S'awright, Harry. S'pose that's the quickest way to end a fight, eh?"

Malfoy pulled himself away from Crabbe and Goyle and stalked over to Harry. "What in the hell was that, Potter?" he snapped. "How dare you attack a prefect? I'll have you expelled."

"Go ahead and try," he told him in a low voice. Harry still had his wand pointed at Draco. He turned slightly, showing Malfoy his Gryffindor prefect badge. "I doubt that Headmaster Dumbledore will take kindly to your attacking another prefect, Malfoy."

The sight of the badge kept Malfoy from arguing the charge. His eyes widened at the sign of the pin, but he quickly recovered himself. "What a farce," he sneered. "Potter a prefect. Hogwarts has never stooped so low."

"I don't know. I think this makes up for naming you prefect, Malfoy." Hermione stepped forward, levelling a glare at him. Malfoy threw back his head and snorted in amusement, his Slytherin cronies following suit.

"That's ironic, coming from Mudblood rubbish," he cackled. "It's an embarrassment to Hogwarts, naming you Head Girl." He pronounced the title with a sneer. Hermione moved closer to him, her hands balled into fists. Harry could not help but to grin as Malfoy took a step back in alarm. "Don't," Malfoy said in an unsteady voice.

"Don't what, Malfoy? Afraid that I'll thump you on the nose again? Don't worry; I wouldn't want to touch you. It's bad enough that I have to look at a vicious little cockroach like you."

"That is detestable behaviour for a Head Girl," spoke a wheedling voice. Harry saw Hermione cock her head toward the source. Pansy Parkinson stepped out from behind Malfoy, just enough to show her prefect's badge. She casually draped an arm over his shoulder. "It's an embarrassment indeed. One should think that a Head Girl ought to exercise a bit more control than that, be a bit…better behaved. I suppose it's the result of being a Mudblood." Parkinson twisted her face into a moue of disgust. "Garbage blood begets garbage blood."

Harry watched as Hermione's face went uncharacteristically blank. She slowly raised her wand hand toward Parkinson. It was then that he felt a stab of panic in his heart: she's really going to do it. She's going to hex Parkinson into oblivion.

Ron saved Harry from a difficult decision as he put himself between Hermione and Malfoy and folded his arms. "You and your goons clear off, Malfoy. Now." Hermione's face regained its usual bearing and she lowered her wand.

The blonde moved within inches of Weasley. Both Harry and Hermione stood shoulder to shoulder with their friend, facing off with Malfoy. Harry still had his wand trained on the Slytherin. "What'll you do if I don't, Weasley? I'm a prefect. You can't do anything to me."

"We can," Harry began coolly, "and we will." He tapped his wand at Malfoy, a look of daring on his face, daring the other boy to make a move against them.

Despite his better judgement, he was actually itching for a fight with Malfoy. He wasn't as worried about the first years now as the corridor was filled with members of Dumbledore's Army.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at the wand, and then flicked a smirk at Harry. "All right then, Potter. I'm sick and tired of having to hear you lot anyways. A Mudblood, a pauper, and half a wizard. What a mockery." Harry put a restraining arm in front of Ron as Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins walked away, snickering amongst them.

The Gryffindors started to separate, going back to their respective compartments; some casting wary glances at the trio, others giving them smiles of appreciation. Harry noticed that the blind on the compartment in front of them parted slightly. Though he couldn't see who was in the compartment, he could tell that it was more than one person. He heard some muffled talking, punctuated by a "That was right wicked" and then an "oof" as the speaker was silenced.

Harry hid a grin and slid his wand back into his robe's pocket. At least he wasn't the only one to enjoy the confrontation. He turned and walked down the corridor with Ron and Hermione. "I really thought that you were going to hex Pansy into next week," he said to her. "With the look on your face…"

"I was close to doing just that," Hermione sighed with a smile, "until Ronald stepped between us."

Ron was aghast. He threw his hands into the air and gawked at Hermione in disappointment. "Aw, Hermione, why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have got in the way then."

Hermione laughed and nudged Ron in the arm. "You saved me from being expelled!"

"Bloody hell, woman, that would have been worth expulsion!"

Harry laughed at them both and shook his head. "So much for this year being normal," he grinned.

"Are you kidding? This year will be fantastic," Ron grinned, his clothes still askew from his wrestling match with Malfoy. He patted Harry on the back as they continued down the passage. "That was brilliant. And, your being a prefect will make this year our best at Hogwarts."

"Of course it will, Ronald," smirked Hermione, "as it is our last year at Hogwarts." Ron clucked his tongue and shook his head.

"No rest," he said to the roof of the train car. "She gives me no rest.

Harry laughed and thumped his friend on the back. "You know, I think you might be right, Ron. This might be our best year at Hogwarts."