Intervention Part II:  Il Nemico del mio Nemico by fenriswolf

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/01/2005
Last Updated: 13/04/2005
Status: Paused

Harry's sixth year begins as the war with Voldemort begins to heat up. With Hermione at his
side and the support of his friends, Harry starts taking control of his life, no longer willing to
blindly follow where others lead. Along the way he discovers new allies in unexpected places, and
learns tht sometimes, the enemy of his enemy is his friend. AUTHOR'S NOTE -- Sorry for the long
delay. I am currently reworking the opening chapters; when I have enough done to assure myself that
I won't bog down again, I will re-post under the originally planned title, "The Enemy Of
My Enemy".




1. Prologue
-----------

Intervention Part II: Il Nemico di mio Nemico

by FenrisWolf

~~~~~~

DISCLAIMER – Harry Potter and all ancillary copyrights are the property of JK Rowling and her
authorized agents. I own nothing but the original characters that are the products of my fevered
imagination. If I could make money off this, I wouldn’t be working for Walgreens.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Just a warning that there will be little or no action in this chapter, just a lot
of Harry’s thoughts and reflections over the events of the summer, as well as some of his
resolutions for the coming year. This is to set the stage for the upcoming events, as well as to
explain some of the changes in Harry’s personality since the Bonding.

PS: I know this was supposed to be called ‘The Enemy Of My Enemy”; unfortunately someone else
snagged that title before I did. Since the concept is from Machiavelli, I simply translated the
phrase into Italian.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Prologue: Introspection

~~~~~~

The grey, pre-dawn light slowly increased, gradually transforming the indistinct shapes into the
recognizable forms of the bedroom’s furniture. At such an early hour the Burrow was quiet, the
silence only slightly disturbed by the occasional chainsaw snores emanating from the bedroom shared
by Ron Weasley and Luna Lovegood. All the garden gnomes that had snuck back in after the previous
day’s de-gnoming were snug in their holes, and even the ghoul in the attic was silent, having
exhausted itself with a prolonged bout of chain-rattling the night before.

But while the Burrow was quiet, not all its inhabitants were sleeping. Resting, yes, but not
asleep. In one upstairs bedroom a young man with jet-black hair and piercing green eyes lay awake,
his unfocused gaze staring into the uncertain future, one arm propping up his head while the other
unconsciously held close his girlfriend’s sleeping form as she cuddled against his side.

Harry Potter had learned early in his life to do with far less sleep than the average person.
When he was younger, it was a necessity forced on him by the unrelenting cycle of chores thrust
upon his shoulders by his uncaring relatives. If one is given a choice between completing one’s
chores, no matter how unreasonable, or being starved and beaten, one learns to get the job done,
even if it requires working past midnight and rising before dawn. By the time of his eleventh
birthday and the subsequent discovery that he was a wizard, Harry had learned to get by on as
little as three hours of sleep a night for weeks on end, and to be fully rested after only
five.

Learning he was a wizard and travelling to Hogwarts did little to disrupt his routine. At first
Harry used the extra time provided by his ingrained sleep patterns to stay up late or rise early,
usually using the time reading for pleasure or, if Hermione was being particularly insistent,
catching up on his studies. However, as the years passed and his sleep started to be troubled by
nightmares, he found his ability to get by with minimal sleep stretched to its limits as he
wrestled with the visions that Voldemort (and his own guilt-wracked conscience) created to torment
him.

This summer had started out as the worst yet; the events at school had left deep wounds in his
spirit, the constant mental attacks by Voldemort had torn those wounds wider, and the debacle at
the Department of Mysteries, where his friends almost lost their lives and his godfather actually
did lose his, ripped those wounds wide open. And then, on top of it all, to have the person he
thought of as almost a grandfather admit that he had kept the truth from Harry, knowledge that
could have circumvented the chain of events that led to Sirius’s death, had been the final blow,
shattering the frayed strands of Harry’s control over his emotions.

With his control gone, he’d lashed out, destroying Dumbledore’s office with his pain and his
grief, stopping only when his rage was temporarily exhausted. Afterwards he was numb; he went
through the motions, escaping into the routines established over his years at Hogwarts, but his
stability was an illusion. The surface calm was a thin layer of ice over a raging torrent of
emotion that was waiting to drag him under, and any misstep was likely to shatter that calm and
sweep him away.

His memory of the next month was, at best, hazy. He vaguely remembered travelling on the
Hogwarts Express, and had a sharp memory of some of the Order confronting the Dursleys on his
behalf. Of his return to Privet Drive he had no memory at all, and only spotty flashes of the weeks
that followed until he was picked up and brought to the Order’s headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Place.
That he’d been brought there the week before his birthday he knew because Hermione had asked him
about it after she saw him at the Burrow, but that week was a blank. Apparently the experience of
being in the House of Black, where every sight and sound reminded him of his loss, was too much for
his bruised psyche to accept. A Muggle psychologist might have diagnosed Harry’s symptoms as being
typical of a prolonged fugue state, but there were no psychologists in the Order’s ranks, just well
meaning witches and wizards who tried to do their best by him.

Harry’s first clear memories of the summer began after he arrived at the Burrow by Floo. There
was the vertigo and disorientation that were the trademark sensations associated with that
quintessentially wizarding method of travel, and then he was being crushed in a hug from a
squealing figure with bushy, brown hair. Just the feel of her in his arms and the smell of apple
blossom shampoo that lingered in her hair was enough to ground Harry more firmly in reality, and
for a while the ice beneath his feet grew strong enough to support his weight…but only for a while.
Hermione’s presence, as well as the presence of the Weasleys, was enough to drive the nightmares
away for a short time, but all too soon they came creeping back, making his nights hell and his
days not much better. The ice was cracking again, and he knew that once he fell through he’d be
lost forever. In his more rational moments he was frightened by how much part of him longed for
that oblivion, but even that was not enough to break him out of his downward spiral, and the
moments when he was free of his ever-darkening depression were coming further and further
apart.

And then IT happened…or rather, SHE happened. Hermione’s declaration of her feelings for him,
and his subsequent realization that what he felt for her was a great deal more than just
friendship, was one of those moments that only be described by that over used term, ‘epiphany’. And
as for what followed, now he knew why second-rate romance authors were so fond of the clichés they
ran into the ground. Phrases *like ‘he felt like he was struck by lightning’*, or *‘he was
overwhelmed by the power of her love’*, finally made sense, because that was how he felt about
Hermione.

He’d thought that moment at the lake had been beyond anything he could have dreamed would happen
to him, only to have that experience eclipsed by what occurred a short time later in the Weasley’s
Heart Circle. Not the sex, as incredible as that was, but the risk Hermione had taken just to keep
him safe. She’d enacted the Bonding without his knowledge, knowing Mrs. Weasley would be furious,
knowing he might be as well, but daring to do it so that Burrow’s wards would consider him part of
the family and extend their full protection to him, in the hope that he would never have to endure
his relative’s emotional and physical abuse again. And Molly had been beyond furious, but how could
he be, once he’d understood what she’d done and the reasons behind her actions. The depth of her
commitment to his happiness humbled him, and an ache in his heart that was so old, so much a part
of him that he wasn’t even conscious of its presence until it vanished, went away.

For the first time he could remember, Harry felt…balanced. Something that he didn’t know was
missing from life had been found, a void that he’d always subconsciously known was there had been
filled. Instead of feeling like he was standing on a surface that could collapse at any moment
under the heavy burdens that weighed down on him, he felt as if the ground beneath his feet had the
solidity of bedrock; not only solid but as if he had a connection that extended down into the bones
of the earth, a connection through which a boundless energy flowed.

*‘Listen to me, waxing all poetic,’* Harry thought to himself wryly as he realized the
well-worn path down which his thoughts were once again travelling. The metaphors didn’t matter,
what mattered was that the love he shared with Hermione completed him in ways he couldn’t have
begun to imagine as little as a month ago. Before then he’d been adrift, foundering, unable to see
anything ahead for himself but a short, bleak existence followed by what would probably be a
painful death at the hands of the madman who hated him. Now, though, there was an alternate future
beckoning to him, one with the girl he loved at his side, with their children and grandchildren
providing the family for which he longed so desperately. And all he had to do to attain that future
was defeat the most powerful dark wizard in existence, one that was obsessed with attaining
immortality and had already cheated death once.

Harry’s thoughts shifted from reminiscing over the last few weeks to considering his future
plans. Whether it was the result of the Bonding’s empathic side effects, or of the grounding his
love for Hermione granted him he didn’t know, nor did he really care. What he did know was that his
thought processes were sharper, clearer, and that he was able to think about what lay ahead in a
far more analytical fashion. For too long his life had been dictated by the actions of others. If
what the prophecy inferred was the truth, he could no longer simply react to events, he had to
start initiating actions of his own, otherwise Voldemort could pick and choose the time and place
when he would destroy the thorn in his side that was Harry Potter.

He looked down and smiled; Hermione had shifted slightly, and he could just make out her
features in the dim light. A little crease had appeared between her eyebrows, and her nose was
crinkling in the way it always did when she was annoyed. Obviously something in her dreams was
irritating her; perhaps Dream Ron or Dream Harry was skiving off on his homework again, or her
dream roommates were nattering about boys and makeup. He leaned forward slowly, so as not to wake
her, and pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head, and then watched as the frown vanished,
replaced by a contented smile that softened her sleeping features, making her look innocent and
vulnerable in a way that she rarely showed when awake.

The sight of it roused every protective instinct that hundreds of thousands of years of
evolution had pounded into his hindbrain. He imagined some Death Eater or their spawn, or worse,
Riddle himself, laying their filthy hands on the girl he loved, and for an instant blue fire danced
in his eyes. The idea of anyone laying their hands on her against her will filled him with an icy
rage that burned in his veins like cold fire, and once again, as he had done every time the thought
occurred to him, he vowed that he would everything within his power to protect her. He still had no
desire to become a killer, but he no longer flinched from the idea, not if that was what it took to
keep Hermione safe from harm.

*‘I have to start training,’* he thought to himself as he considered what the future might
hold for him. *‘Not just schoolwork, but real combat magics. Tom has decades of experience on me,
I can’t just keep relying on luck to see me through. If the Headmaster won’t teach me, I’ll have to
find someone who will.’* He snorted quietly at the image of what Albus’s reaction to such an
ultimatum would be. *‘And I need to find out what exactly ‘the power he knows not’ is. Dumbledore
seems to think it’s love, but how do I defeat the most powerful Dark wizard in existence with love?
As a defense, sure, especially if he doesn’t understand it, but a weapon? Doesn’t the very nature
of love preclude using it as a weapon?’*

A quiet murmur and a slight stirring of the young woman in his arms distracted him from his
thoughts about the future. Smiling, he placed another soft kiss on the crown of her head and felt
her snuggle more closely to him, the feel of her nude body pressed again his sending little shivers
up and down his spine. Every time he thought about Hermione he was amazed all over again that she
had chosen to be with him. Briefly, he tried to imagine what his life would have been like without
her in it, but the images that conjured were so bleak he immediately abandoned the effort.

More than any other person, she had always been there for him, always supported him even when
she thought he was in the wrong. Even the incident in their third year when she’d turned in the
Firebolt Sirius had sent him had been done out of concern for his welfare. When it seemed that even
Ron had turned against Harry out of jealousy, she’d believed in him. She’d been the best friend
that anyone could hope to find, and now she was that and so much more. When he tried to picture his
future it was always with her at his side, any other outcome was, quite literally, unthinkable.

A small frown creased Harry’s forehead as some of the other possible ramifications of his
relationship with Hermione returned to haunt him. They’d talked about it, of course, and his
fiancée made it very clear that she was not going to allow his fears for her safety to come between
them. Knowing her stubbornness all too well after five years of friendship, Harry had bowed down to
the inevitable, but that didn’t stop him from worrying…but unlike past years when his fears would
have paralyzed his ability to think clearly, now it just inspired him to make plans that would, if
not eliminate his concerns, at least reduce their numbers.

There was not much he could do personally beyond training as hard as he could and exercising
Moody’s ‘Constant Vigilance!’ to counter whatever plans Tom or his followers might concoct, but so
long as they stayed within the confines of Hogwarts grounds the wards would prevent most methods of
direct attack the Death Eaters might use. Anti-Apparition wards had always been in place, and after
the disastrous end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, new wards had been added that prevented any
portkey other than those fashioned by Dumbledore himself from working. But while the wards would
protect them from magical infiltration and attack from without, they provided no protection from
direct physical assault from within. Too many members of Slytherin House were the children of known
Death Eaters not to believe that some of them weren’t already actively in the Dark Lord’s service,
no doubt with Malfoy as the chief rat in the pack.

He considered that, turning over the possible scenarios in his mind, and once again came to the
conclusion that an object lesson might be needed before the faction in Slytherin house that
supported Voldemort’s goals took his warnings seriously. And while he was far more willing than in
the past to use *whatever* means were necessary to keep those he loved safe, Harry knew that
blatant acts of violence were likely to create as many problems as they solved. *Subtle* acts
of violence, however…Harry turned the idea over and over in his mind. Pranks, after all, could be
said to be in his heritage, and nothing in the Marauders’ Code said that a prank couldn’t serve as
a warning as much as it did as source of amusement. In point of fact, some of the best pranks his
father and friends had played had served just such a purpose, taking own their own generation’s
versions of Draco and company a peg or three. With Voldemort out in the open and the war heating up
again, it might be time to re-initiate a little Marauder style blitzkrieg of his own…

His musings were brought to a close by the stirring of the lithe form of his fiancée. Harry felt
Hermione’s arms tighten around his waist before they slipped away long enough to allow her to
stretch. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmured with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Hermione’s stretch froze, and she turned her face towards his with a smile of her own. “Good
morning to you, sir, and how could I not sleep after the way you wore me out?” A delightful shiver
ran through her body, engendering all sorts of interesting sensations wherever her skin came in
contact with his. He felt himself twitch in response where her thigh was pressed against him. “I
see someone else is awake,” she purred, a mischievous gleam appearing in her eyes.

Harry groaned as a small hand slipped down his chest and stroked his rapidly hardening length.
“Merlin’s ghost, Mione!” he moaned, marveling once more at this side of her that only he got to
see. Who would’ve thought that under studious and somewhat prissy exterior of Hermione “Bookworm”
Granger there was a wildcat waiting to escape? His lips quickly found hers, and for a time they
engaged in the very best wake-up call of all.

~~~~~~

Some time later, after a passionate round of lovemaking that tested the limits of the silencing
and strengthening charms Harry had placed on their room (the last thing either of them wanted was a
repeat of the time they’d been forced to come up with an explanation as to just how the legs of
their bed came to be driven through the ceiling of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s bedroom), a quick shower
with a minimum of antics led to them being dressed and in the kitchen making breakfast before the
rest of the house was stirring…well, Harry was making breakfast. Hermione’s O+ score on her potions
OWL did not extend to the kitchen, where magic actually made it possible to achieve the old saw
about burning water. A few disastrous attempts on her part to overcome that lack in her skills had
led to the current division of labor, namely Harry did the cooking and Hermione did the cleanup
afterwards, whether it involved rinsing a few plates or scrubbing a sinkfull of pots and pans.
Fortunately for her soft hands, her lack of skill with cooking charms did not extend to cleaning
spells, and a simple ‘scourgify’ took care of 90% of the work.

Hermione watched as Harry efficiently went about the task of whipping them up a couple of
omelets and what appeared to be a small mountain of bacon, taking small sips of the just short of
scalding, black coffee that was one of the many things she would have to get used to doing without
once they returned to school. A small frown appeared as a concern that she’d been rather pleasantly
distracted from mentioning earlier returned to bother her. “Harry?”

“Hmm?” he replied distractedly as he expertly folded the fluffy omelet in the pan.

“How long were you lying awake this morning before I woke up?” she asked bluntly, hoping to
elicit an honest response. She wasn’t disappointed; she noted that his practiced motions froze for
an instant before he continued the Breakfast Preparation Ballet.

“Oh, not too long,” he finally replied evasively, “maybe half an hour or so.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she pressed, studying his expression as best she could to
try and get a feel for what he was thinking.

Harry just shrugged, using the serving of their meal as an excuse not to answer. He laid out the
platters of bacon and toast alongside their omelets, as well as the crocks of orange marmalade and
fresh butter. The keep-fresh charms on the various serving dishes preserved everything at its
optimum temperature, making certain that there wasn’t a piece of cold toast or dried out bacon in
sight. “Pepper?” he asked, lifting the gigantic pepper mill that could easily double as a battering
ram if they ever needed to storm a castle.

“Harry,” Hermione warned, ignoring her plate and letting him know in no uncertain terms that she
wasn’t going to let the matter go. “You promised to talk to me if something was bothering you,
remember? So what’s wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this talk easily, Harry sighed and put aside the pepper
mill before taking one of her hands in his. “Really, Hermione, there’s nothing wrong,” Harry
replied as earnestly as he could. “What’s weird is, the reason I’m not sleeping more is that
everything’s right for a change.”

Seeing the disbelieving look on her face, he elaborated. “I know you’re afraid I’m not sleeping
because of my nightmares; heck, after the last couple of years, you’d be crazy not to worry! But
ever since we Bonded, those nightmares, the really bad ones that had me waking up the whole dorm
screaming, have *stopped*!”

“I’ve heard you muttering in your sleep, Harry…” she replied, still looking doubtful.

“Sure you have,” Harry agreed easily, “and I’ve heard you. But those are normal nightmares,
love, the kind we’re supposed to have. You know, forgetting your homework, walking into the Great
Hall in your knickers, that sort of stuff.” He chuckled as she blushed. “But you remember what it
was like when I first got here; you’ve been sharing my bed since we Bonded, do you really think you
could sleep through one of those terrors of mine, not even mentioning getting pummeled when I
started thrashing around?”

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted, and then frowned. “So why are you always awake before me?”

At this Harry shrugged depreciatingly. “I just don’t need all that much sleep; got out of the
habit back growing up with my relatives, and just stayed that way. As long as Tommy isn’t making it
impossible to rest, I do fine on four hours’ sleep a night, five if I’m really knackered.” He
smiled, trying to make her believe him. “Honestly, do I look like I’m not getting enough sleep at
night?”

Hermione studied his features critically; he certainly looked better than he had earlier in the
summer, she admitted to herself. That pinched, tired look he always seemed to have in the morning
was gone, along with the sallow complexion and bags under his eyes. He looked…healthy, and she
realized, well rested. She felt the knot of worry start to ease, but she still had a question or
three. “So you’re telling me you just lie awake in bed every morning for what, two or three hours?
What on earth are you doing?”

“Well, aside from watching you sleep, which I’ll never grow tired of,” Harry began, smiling as
he elicited a blush from his fiancée, “mostly I’ve just been thinking, and as much as possible,
making plans.”

“What sort of plans?” Hermione asked, curious.

He paused a moment as he framed his response. “”The war with Voldemort is only going to heat up,
and whether I like it or not, I’m in it up to my neck. I know, I’m not alone in that, but thanks to
the prophecy we know that in the end, it’s going to come down to me and him facing off, and if I
lose, not only will I die, but probably everyone I care about will die as well. Sirius’s death was
hard enough to deal with, but realizing that the same thing could happen again, to my friends, to
the Weasleys…to you…well, you know what I was like the beginning of the summer.”

“Yes, I remember,” Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand. “And now?”

A faint smile appeared on his face as he squeezed her hand in return. “The problems are the
same, but for the first time I can look at them clearly without being overwhelmed by it all; you’ve
given me the strength I need to keep the pressure from dragging me under. Instead of spending all
my time stressing over what *might* happen, I can focus on coming up with ways to keep it
*from* happening.”

Understanding blossomed on Hermione’s face. “So that’s what you’ve been doing, making
plans?”

“Not so much plans, but thinking about alternatives,” Harry answered, nodding. “There’s too much
I still don’t know to make any firm plans beyond some general ideas, but at least I have some idea
what steps I think need to be taken.”

“As in…?” she prompted, beginning to feel more than a little irritated by the way he was
dragging out his answers.

Harry sighed; he’d been putting this conversation off because he had a feeling she wasn’t going
to be happy with some of his conclusions. “Up to now all I’ve been doing is responding to the
events surrounding me; the Philosopher’s Stone, Riddle’s Diary, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, last
year…all of that was me reacting to plans Voldemort and his supporters put into action. And while I
don’t know all they’ve been doing, I get the feeling that the Order of the Phoenix hasn’t been
doing much better. Nobody ever won a war by hunkering down in a defensive position and letting the
enemy do what they want. I can’t just keep reacting to things as they happen, Hermione, I have to
start taking a more active role in preparing for what’s coming. Leaving all the initiative in your
enemy’s hands is the surest way to lose a war.”

Hermione winced a bit at the grim terminology her fiancé was using. “Harry, I’m sure Professor
Dumbledore knows what he’s doing…” she started before he cut her off with a frown.

“Does he? Lately I’m not so sure. Oh, I think he’s doing the best he can, but he’s made
mistakes, he told me so himself. Just because he’s the most powerful wizard on the side of the
Light doesn’t make him a good strategist or tactician; the decisions he’s made in manipulating my
life is proof of that, if nothing else.”

“He just wanted what was best for you,” she replied, though she had her own doubts. Harry hadn’t
gone into great detail about his childhood, but she knew it had been nothing like her own, or for
that matter like that of most children.

She knew she’d chosen the wrong tack when Harry snorted in response, releasing her hand and
clenching his own together. “I really have a hard time believing that growing up with the Dursleys
was the best answer, Hermione, but what happened once I started at Hogwarts was even worse.” At her
puzzled look he continued. “Instead of keeping me in the dark, I should have been training as hard
as I could for what’s coming. It was only dumb luck that neither you, Ron nor I were killed over
the years. All of us ended up with scars we could do without, and all in the name of allowing me to
have a ‘normal childhood’.

“Well, I never had a childhood, normal or otherwise, the Dursleys made sure of that. And once I
was back in the Wizarding world, all of Tom’s supporters started crawling out of the woodwork, each
with their own idea of how to turn my life, and the lives of anyone close to me, into a little
slice of Hell. So given a choice between what might have happened if I’d been told the truth, and
what did happen because I was kept in the dark, I think I’d choose knowing the truth. Maybe that
way I’d have at least known enough to keep my friends from getting hurt just for being my
friends.”

“Does that mean you regret being friends with Ron…and me?” Hermione whispered, her gaze cast
downward, afraid to meet his eyes and read his answer there.

An instant later she was pulled out of her chair and gathered into a bone-crushing hug. “Gods,
Hermione, *no*, I didn’t mean that! I will never regret knowing either of you; it’s the one
thing that’s kept me going as long as I have! The only thing I regret is how often the two of you
were hurt because you were my friends and were dragged into all my idiot adventures!”

“Harry, those weren’t your fault, and we chose to be there, you didn’t drag us into anything,”
Hermione said firmly after a sniffle or three, relieved that he wasn’t slipping back into the
mindset where he wanted to distance himself from everyone who might get hurt by being near him.

“I know that, love, I do,” he soothed, stroking her back with gentle circles as he continued to
hold her. “And I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much about the past, since it led to us being
together like this. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t learn from what did happen, and try and keep
from making the same mistakes. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t decide to get sticky about some of
the ideas I’ve come up with.”

“I think that’s the third time you’ve mentioned that,” Hermione said, her tone a bit nettled.
“Are you planning on sharing those ideas with me any time soon, or are you waiting for some special
invitation before you tell me what you’re planning?”

“Sorry, I guess I am kind of dodging it, aren’t I?” Harry admitted, a touch of nervousness in
his voice. His expression grew serious as he continued, “Basically, I need to make Dumbledore
understand that as it stands, I can’t learn what I need to know at Hogwarts.”

Hermione frowned for a second, and then paled. “Harry, you’re not—you’re not dropping out of
Hogwarts? Harry, no! You can’t, where would you go, it’s not safe—mmph!” His hand covered her
mouth, silencing her before she could rouse the house.

“Mione, I don’t plan on dropping out; I’d only do that as a last resort, and I’m pretty sure the
headmaster would do whatever it took to keep me from going through with it. But I need that as a
threat to hold over his head to get what I do need—training in battle magics.”

Reassured that he wasn’t planning on haring off in some impulsive manner that would get him
killed, Hermione considered his words. “Battle magics…do you mean like an auror or hit wizard? You
want auror training?”

“Sort of, but the aurors and hit wizards are more or less just civil servants, like Scotland
Yard or MI5. I need someone who can train me in the wizarding version of the SAS anti-terrorist
squads; not just me, but anyone who wants to fight effectively against Voldemort.

“Once I was able to think about what happened at the Department of Mysteries, I realized that
even the Order of the Phoenix members have no concept of group tactics. They all fought as
individuals, even the ones like Moody and Tonks who should know better. The only reason they won
was that they knew more than we do as individual wizards, not that their tactics were any
better.”

Harry stood and began to pace back and forth, burning off some of the nervous energy the
discussion was building within him. “I realized when I got to thinking about it that, other than
the Goblin Wars, there’s very little mentioned about wizard warfare. I looked through a few of the
wizarding history books that are floating around the Burrow, and found the same thing: nothing
aboot any kind of a military structure among wizards since the Middle Ages, and darned little
before that.”

“Well, but maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Hermione countered. “Look at how destructive wars have
become in the Muggle world; can you imagine how much damage a Wizarding arms race could produce?
Magic doesn’t have the same limitations that Muggle science has, I mean, look at what happened to
Atlantis!”

Harry shook his head. “You’re missing my point. It’s not the lack of a military itself as what
it represents. Wizards used to have a sort of feudal system in place, with the heads of the major
families raising and training their own small armies of retainers. They’d work together when
something like the Goblin Rebellions came along, but for the most part each family was its own
private kingdom. But that all changed when the Wizarding world decided to separate itself from the
Muggle world.”

Harry paused for a moment and left the kitchen, returning in a few minutes with a huge,
leather-bound book, the covers latched closed with a massive bronze hasp. “When I asked Mr. Weasley
if he had any other history books besides those on the shelves in the living room, he went up into
the attic and brought down a trunk that had belonged to his grandfather. Most of what was in it
covered the same things as the more recent editions—wizarding textbooks don’t change very much over
the years—but this was at the bottom.” He carefully opened the hasp and lifted the cover. Inside
Hermione caught a glimpse of hand-lettered pages illuminated with colorful illustrations rendered
in a style that she recognized as dating to the 1400s.

“This is an eyewitness account, written by the head of the Weasley family at the time, about the
decision to fully separate the Wizarding world from the Muggles. Apparently wizards were always
somewhat reclusive, but there was still a fair amount of contact between the two societies. That’s
why there are so many Muggleborns, there used to be a lot more intermarriage between the two
groups. Apparently there was a lot of debate even then about just how much contact there should be
between the two worlds, but very few people were pushing for complete separation.”

“I don’t understand, why isn’t this covered in the History of Magic courses?” Hermione asked,
more than a little miffed that such important knowledge had been left out of the course syllabus,
especially since she was one of the few students who actually listened through all of Binns’
boring, sepulchral lectures.

Harry flipped through a few more pages before closing the volume. “I’ll let you read through
this yourself; I’ve already asked Mr. Weasley, and he’s agreed to loan it to me indefinitely, which
of course means you get to see it, too. The gist of it is, though, that there was a catastrophic
event that convinced wizards all over the world that Muggles and Wizards were better off separate,
and that strict laws needed to be enforced to protect Muggles from interference.”

“What happened?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. What could have been bad enough to
cause such a rift between the two cultures?

“A Chinese dark wizard who called himself Negra Khan happened,” Harry said grimly. “He saw the
way the Muggle population in Europe was expanding, and how rapidly it was changing compared to the
static society in his homeland. And after meeting a rather famous Muggle by the name of Marco Polo,
he realized that it was only a matter of time before the two cultures clashed, and while China was
far too large to ever be conquered by Europe, he believed Western ideas would ruin his homeland. So
he took steps to prevent that from happening. He altered a disease that was already dangerous into
something far more deadly, and then released it into the Muggle population in Europe, his own
‘Final Solution’—the Black Death.”

“Oh, my God,” Hermione whispered, her face going pale. The combined toll of the Bubonic and
Pneumonic Plagues that swept through the Muggle world in the mid-1300s was estimated at a minimum
of 25 million deaths, and was probably much higher. A quarter to a third of the population of
Europe had perished, and that was just the average. In some communities the fatalities had run as
high as 90%, resulting in some parts of Europe reverting to wilderness with too few people left to
maintain the land. And to discover that it was a wizard who was responsible, and not a capricious
act of nature…no wonder there was no record of it in the histories, the wizards of the time were
probably too ashamed.

A question occurred to her. “You said he attacked the Muggle population; weren’t wizards
affected as well?”

Harry shook his head. “You know we don’t catch most Muggle illnesses, the same thing that makes
us sensitive to the flow of magic protects us. Even so, Negra Khan didn’t want his weapon to attack
his own kind, so he engineered it specifically avoid anyone with wizarding blood, even squibs. What
he didn’t take into account was the amount of intermingling between the Wizarding world and the
Muggles of Europe; China was and still is heavily stratified by caste and position. He based his
estimates for Muggle death rates on what would happen in his country, which is why as many Muggles
survived as did.”

Comprehension dawned on Hermione’s face. “Of course! With all the intermarrying, Muggles with no
magical abilities still had enough wizarding blood to protect them from the Plague.”

Harry nodded. “That’s also the reason why, even after the Wizarding world chose to separate
itself from the Muggles, there were more Muggleborn wizards of European descent than any other; the
Plague thinned out the gene pool, making it easier for Muggleborns to crop up in the general
population.”

Now that she had enough pieces of the puzzle, Hermione’s keen intellect jumped ahead to the
conclusions it had taken Harry several days to work out. “Once they realized where the Plague came
from, the Wizarding world must have been horrified; even today, most wizards who look down on
Muggles as being less than they are don’t want them wiped out, and the ties between wizards and
Muggles were a lot closer then. They must have decided that the best way to prevent a repetition of
Negra Khan’s attack was to separate the two societies as much as possible.”

“Pretty much,” Harry agreed. “Oh, there were a lot more bells and whistles involved in working
it all out; it took close to a hundred years to really implement the change, but that was the start
of it all.”

Hermione’s face took on a contemplative look. “I’m guessing those so-called ‘bells and whistles’
make a pretty amazing story in their own right, but I don’t want to get side-tracked. You were
explaining why you think our current system developed the way it did.”

Harry nodded. “Well, the rest I’ve come up with all pretty much guesswork. The history books I
have here are still pretty vague, but with the Weasley chronicle as a base I can come up with a few
ideas about what happened, at least on the British Isles.

“Basically, the Wizengamot was the group that selected the representatives that traveled to the
Great Council, where the treaty was created that founded the separation of our society from the
Muggles. Once the representatives brought the treaty back and the Wizengamot accepted it, they were
magically bound to implement its provisions. That’s when the Ministry of Magic was created, with
its main purpose being the separation and concealment of our world from the Muggles. All the
departments grew out of that mission statement.”

“So, with the Ministry of Magic in place, you think all the Wizarding families just gave up
their personal armies? That’s kind of far-fetched, isn’t it? I mean, can you see the Malfoys giving
up their retainers?”

“I think they were probably encouraged to do so,” Harry answered with a smirk, “probably rather
forcefully. There are a couple of passages towards the end of the journal that mention a few of the
families being ‘compelled to submit to the will of the Wizengamot’. My best guess is that the
families who agreed with the changes turned their forces over to the Ministries. Then, as Wizarding
society accepted the changes, they reduced the standing forces and changed their duties until we
ended up with what we have now, the Auror’s Department; wizards who are trained to face individual
Dark wizards, not an organized threat like Voldemort. And that lack of foresight has been costing
unnecessary losses of life for generations.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, not seeing the connection.

Instead of answering, Harry asked his own question. “How many Dark Lords have there been in the
last two hundred years? I’m not talking about small-time ones like the Malfoys, but the real
nutcases like Grindelwald and Voldemort?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Let’s see, there’s the two you mentioned, before Grindelwald the
was Morgana, and before her was, what did he call himself, the Iron Duke…”

“I’ll save you some time,” Harry interrupted. “There were seven who caused real trouble; the
longest period between them was forty years, the shortest ten. Every single one went through the
same pattern as now; building up power, building a following, using murder and torture to try and
take over control, and then, eventually, defeat at a great cost in life.

“Most of the time it’s been some small group like the Order of the Phoenix that ends up fighting
back. The Ministry can’t handle it, they aren’t set up for it. The current system makes it too easy
for someone like Fudge to get into power, and too damned hard to get them out once they’re in
there. By the time the people who should be handling the problem are willing to act it’s almost to
late, and a lot of people who shouldn’t have to end up giving their lives to save everyone
else.”

Harry rose from his chair and began to pace again. “What makes me so *mad* is that there’s
no excuse for this to be happening! It’s not like wizards have been living in a vacuum; we live
side by side with Muggles, even the Purebloods are dependent on Muggles for everything from food to
thick-bottomed cauldrons! We live longer than they do, you’d think we could learn from their
mistakes, but no! The ones holding the power, the old Pureblood families, are so sure that they
can’t learn anything from ‘mere Muggles’, they’re willing to sit back and do nothing to correct the
flaws in the government. They won’t do anything to create a means to deal with these would-be
dictators before they get rolling, probably because they’re afraid they’d lose some of their own
political power in the process. And that leaves a void where someone like Grindelwald or Voldemort
can step in, because individually we’re not strong enough to stop them.”

“But they are stopped, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “Professor Dumbledore stopped Grindelwald,
and you stopped Voldemort’s first rise to power. Eventually—”

“Eventually’s not good enough!” Harry snapped. “Every day we wait for eventually to come along,
people are dying, and sometimes…sometimes it’s people we care about.” His eyes bored into hers
intently. “I don’t want to wake up some morning while we’re waiting for eventually and find out one
of them was you; I wouldn’t…I couldn’t…there’d be no point in going on if that happened, don’t you
understand?”

Hermione felt the intensity of Harry’s emotions echoing though their bond, saying the things he
still had difficulty putting into words, and her expression softened. She rose from her chair and
approached him slowly, making him stop his nervous pacing by slipping her arms around his waist.“I
understand, Harry, but you have to as well; I feel the same way about you.” Her features shifted as
she put on what Harry teasingly referred to as her ‘determined’ face. “So keep in mind, whatever
plan you’re cooking up in that Quidditch-addled brain of yours had better include you staying
alive, because if you get yourself killed, I’ll—I’ll raise you from the dead and kill you again
myself! You hear me, Mr. Potter?”

Harry felt his own sombre mood lifting in the face of her fierce determination, and he chuckled
as he hugged her before giving her a peck on the tip of her nose. “I hear and obey, Miss Granger;
no dying allowed on either of our parts. And I promise, no haring off on some bloody quest without
at least talking to you about it first. “But,” he added, his demeanor turning serious again, “that
doesn’t mean I’m going to leave everything in Dumbledore’s hands, either; I wasn’t kidding about
that part. Unless there’s something else he’s keeping from me, it’s my job to stop Tom, if anyone
can.”

“All right, Harry,” she sighed, accepting his determination. “I won’t pretend I’m thrilled with
the idea, but I can see your point. Once we get back to Hogwarts, I’ll dive into the restricted
section and see if I can find any more information on Wizarding warfare methods, maybe there are
some old treatises on tactics and battle magics hidden away.”

“That’s my girl,” Harry smiled, pulling her close for a kiss and then holding her close as they
each became lost in their thoughts.

Their musings were interrupted by the sound of flapping wings as two postal owls entered the
kitchen through the owl port above the kitchen door. Each carried with them a copy of the Daily
Prophet, since both Hermione and the Weasley family maintained a subscription.

“Awfully early for the paper,” Harry noted as he fished out some owl treats while Hermione
retrieved the papers. “I wonder what the occasion is?”

Hermione handed one of the papers to Harry. “They seem lighter than usual; a special edition?”
she wondered, and then gasped as she saw the headline:

*“DEATH EATER ATTACKS ROCK WIZARDING WORLD!”*

~~~~~~



2. Journey to Hogwarts
----------------------

Intervention Part II: Il Nemico del mio Nemico

by FenrisWolf

~~~~~~

DISCLAIMER – Harry Potter and all ancillary copyrights are the property of JK Rowling and her
authorized agents. I own nothing but the original characters that are the products of my fevered
imagination. If I could make money off this, I wouldn’t be working for Walgreens.

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Sorry for the long delay between updates, but RL takes precedence over writing
at times, and frankly, I’m working slowly because I don’t want to make any missteps with the
plotline. The outline is mostly in my head, and is still evolving even as I write. Please be
patient, and I will try not to keep my readers waiting too long between chapters.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Chapter One – The Journey Begins

~~~~~~

Harry and Hermione were still reading through the special edition when the first sounds of other
people stirring reached them. A few minutes later Molly appeared in the doorway of the kitchen,
stopping in surprise upon seeing the couple sitting there. “Oh! You two are up awfully early.
What’s the matter, couldn’t you sleep thinking about…what’s that?” she asked, finally noticing the
papers.

Harry tipped the paper up so she could see the headline. “It’s finally started,” he said grimly.
“There were a series of attacks last night.”

Molly’s face paled. “Oh, no! How bad was it?”

“There aren’t too many details at this point,” Hermione answered, looking up from the center
pages. “Just that there were half a dozen confirmed reports, with attacks on both wizards and
muggles. There’s also unconfirmed reports of at least a dozen more sightings, as well as incidents
on the Continent.”

Molly settled heavily into one of the kitchen chairs and accepted the paper Harry offered her,
her hands shaking as she started to read for herself. “Arthur was afraid of this,” she said
distractedly. “It’s been too quiet since that business at the Ministry, and there have been
signs...” She bit her lip, obviously debating whether or not she should say any more.

“Let me guess,” Harry said, his tone flat as he filled in the silence. “The Order’s heard
evidence that Voldemort’s continued recruiting, replacing the people who were caught back in June?
Probably pureblood wizards known to share his views dropping out of sight?” He snorted at the
surprised look on Molly’s face. “I know I was out of it a good part of the summer, Mum, but thanks
to everyone I’ve been doing a lot better, and even if Hermione might not think so sometimes,” and
here he flashed a quick smile at his fiancée to show he was joking, “I do actually think things
through now and then. What happened at the Department of Mysteries was just a setback, no one
really thought it would stop him for good.”

“Yes, well,” Molly replied uncomfortably, “that’s not something you should be worrying about.
You should be concentrating on school, not thinking about fighting Dark wizards—”

“Mum…Molly,” Harry interrupted her, “I know that’s how you wish things were. Heck, *I* wish
that’s the way things were, that all I had to do was go to school, and worry about keeping my
grades up so I don’t upset my girlfriend too much, and maybe keeping the Quidditch and House cups
in Professor McGonagall’s office. I wish the only enemies we had to worry about were Draco Malfoy
and the slimy gits that hang onto his coattails, and a certain greasy-haired Potions professor. And
I wish the only battles I had to fight were the ones with all the blokes at school when they
realize just how incredibly lucky I am to have Hermione at my side.” He grinned as his fiancée
blushed, giving her hand a squeeze.

“But wishing it won’t make it happen,” he continued, his tone turning serious. “Whether we like
it or not, there’s a war starting up for real, and the other side doesn’t give a *hang* how
young we are. You lived through the last war, you know better than we do just what they’re capable
of doing. He doesn’t care if someone is seven or seventy; if you’re in his way, you’re dead. And
some of his followers are even worse; twisted as he is, Tom still has a reason for every act of
torture and murder he commits. It’s probably a reason only a maniac like him would understand, but
it’s still a reason. A lot of his followers are just in it because it means they can play their
sick games as much as they want, and Voldemort’s ‘crusade for pureblood purity’ is just the excuse
they use to indulge themselves.”

He looked up over Molly’s head; while he’d been talking Ron, Luna and Ginny had come downstairs
and, having heard his words, were now nodding in agreement. “I’m not saying we’re ready to run out
and start hunting down Death Eaters; we all learned that the hard way last June just how much we
all still have to learn. But pretending we aren’t going to end up in the thick of it not only isn’t
logical, it’s dangerous!”

Molly watched, her eyes bright with unshed tears, as Ron, Luna and Ginny moved to stand behind
Harry where he sat at the table, unconsciously showing their support for his position. “You’ve done
all you can, Mum,” Harry continued, “but it’s time and past time for us to stop pretending we’re
just kids. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing!” he added with a bit of a smile as he glanced in
Hermione’s direction. “Maybe, if enough people step forward and refuse to knuckle under, we can cut
Voldemort and his flunkies off at the knees before they get as strong as they did last time around.
And who knows, once we kick his pasty white arse for good and all, maybe we can see about supplying
you with a few grandchildren to spoil, so that they’ll be able to have the childhoods we had to put
aside.” He grinned as Hermione, and though he couldn’t see it, Ron both turned bright red, while
both Ginny and Luna giggled.

The Weasley matriarch recognized the truth in Harry’s calm words, the knowledge becoming even
more real as she saw the maturity underlying the youthful expressions on the faces of her
children—no, on the faces of the *young adults* she’d raised. Through no fault of their own
the burdens of adult responsibility had settled on their shoulders far earlier than she would have
preferred, and a feeling of pride filled her heart as she saw the way they accepted that burden.
They understood the serious nature of what lay before them, but they would not let it crush their
spirits. It was a moment every parent longs for and dreads; longs for because it meant that they
had fulfilled their duty as a parent and raised a person capable of standing on their own, and
dreads because in standing on their own they would look to themselves, and not their parents, for
the answers to life’s questions.

All this passed through Molly’s mind in an instant, and she sniffled a little and smiled at the
slightly nervous expressions of her two youngest. Young adults they might be, but they were still
her children, and wanted her approval even if they felt they no longer needed her permission, and
she realized that of all the gifts she’d given them over the years, this simple act was probably
the most important.

“All right, my dears,” she said at last, including all of her children, blood and adopted, “I’ve
been telling you for years that you needed to learn how to stand on your own two feet someday, I
guess I just didn’t realize that ‘someday’ had come…and I couldn’t be more proud.”

~~~~~~

Despite the unwelcome, but not unexpected reports of the resumption of Death Eater activities,
the plans for the trip to King’s Cross Station and Platform 9 ¾ remained more or less unchanged,
though there was a heightened level of security. The residents of the Burrow traveled via a secured
Floo connection to 12 Grimmauld Place, where they were to be met by a pair of Ministry cars
escorted by a team comprised of Order members as well as a number of trustworthy Aurors.

Once they had all arrived at the safe haven of the Order’s headquarters, Kingsley brought
everyone up to date on what had been learned about the attacks. “It might not seem like it from the
way the Prophet is reporting it, but we actually got off pretty easily,” he said once the newcomers
had disposed of the soot that was an unavoidable side effect of Floo travel. The dark-skinned Auror
hesitated briefly before continuing, and Harry and Hermione shared an amused glance as they
realized that Shacklebolt had been waiting for Molly to throw one of her snits about information
that was ‘inappropriate for children’.

When no such tirade materialized, he relaxed fractionally and said, “All the attacks seem to
have been carried out by new recruits, with no sign of the more dangerous of You-Know-Who’s
followers, or him either for that matter. And with all the publicity there’s been over the last
couple of months about His return, most high-risk families, those with Muggleborn wizards, or mixed
marriages between Muggles and wizards, have been on guard.”

Hermione’s face paled. “My parents! I wasn’t at home, they’ll be targets—”

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger,” Kingsley interrupted. “Even before the Ministry finally admitted
that You-Know-Who was back, Dumbledore had the Order placing protective wards around the homes of
those who were considered to be especially at risk, and the parents of a prominent Muggleborn such
as yourself certainly qualifies, even without your relationship with Harry. And now that the
Ministry is cooperating instead of obstructing, we have the manpower to do some real good. That’s
why the two Death Eaters who tripped the wards at your home are now in custody.”

Harry felt the guilt echoing across his bond with Hermione and drew her close, offering his
support by both physical and emotional means even as he kicked himself for his own selfishness and
lack of foresight. He knew the only reason Hermione had thought so little about her own parents
over the summer was because she’d been worried about him, and once their Bond had been formed
they’d been so wrapped up in discovering each other that all other thoughts had pretty much flown.
As for Harry, he had so little experience with having relatives that cared about him, and about
whom he cared in turn, that worrying about Hermione’s parents just never occurred to him, a fact
about which he was now heartily ashamed. His upbringing might be a *reason* for such
thoughtlessness, but it was no *excuse*, not if he wanted to be the kind of man Hermione
deserved.

“I should have been there,” Hermione was still muttering quietly as he held her. “They needed
me, and I should have been there…”

“Hermione, shhh,” he murmured, getting her attention. “Seems to me that not too long ago you
were pounding it though my thick skull not to beat myself up for things I couldn’t change. Do I
have to do the same thing for you?” He smiled as she managed something between a sniffle and a
chuckle and shook her head. “All right then; your parents are okay, according to Kingsley, and
we’ll just have to do whatever it takes to make sure they stay that way. All right?”

“But Harry, we’ll be at school,” Hermione pointed out, her voice still colored with concern.
“And my parents are Muggles with jobs that keep them out in the open. What’s to keep another
attacker from getting to them? The Order doesn’t have the resources to guard them every second of
the day. The Ministry might, but would they even bother for Muggles?”

“I’m afraid she’s right, Harry,” Shacklebolt interjected. “The Ministry’s spread too thin as it
is, and while the Order will do what it can, we just don’t have the people to guard them 24/7. I
suppose we could put them in protective custody, but that’s at best a temporary solution.”

“And they wouldn’t accept it if you offered,” Hermione stated, her expression growing more
worried. “They aren’t about to give up their lives because of a bunch of terrorists, no matter how
dangerous it is, they’re too stubborn for that.”

Harry’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a solution that would ease his fiancée’s worries
and that could be managed within the resources that were available to them. The problem was, he
knew so little about what was possible in the wizarding world. In the Muggle world, of course, if
people were, what was the term, ‘high-profile targets’, and they had the money, they would just
hire—

Harry’s gaze sharpened and he snapped his eyes over to the senior auror. “How do I go about
hiring bodyguards?”

“Bodyguards?” Kingsley echoed, his expression blank.

“Yeah, bodyguards, hit wizards, aurors for hire…whatever they’re called in the Wizarding world.”
Harry clarified. “Not everyone is good at self defense, some of the losers we’ve had as Defense
Against the Dark Arts teachers is proof of that. Muggles hire bodyguards for that stuff, what’s the
wizard version?”

Shacklebolt nodded as he caught Harry’s meaning. “There are some firms that contract out guards
for prominent Wizarding families. A lot of Aurors and Hit Wizards go into that line when they
retire from the Ministry; a couple of my instructors started their own firm a while back, told me I
had a job wherever I wanted one..” He started to frown. “The only trouble is, the competent ones
are expensive, and you don’t want to hire somebody who sells their services too cheap; either
they’re no good at what they’re supposed to do, or they’ll sell you out the first chance they
get.”

Harry smirked and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. “I don’t think money’s a
problem,” he replied as he removed several of the vault vouchers he’d picked up at Gringott’s
during his last trip there.

“Bloody Hell, Harry!” Ron gasped when he recognized the scraps of parchment. He was well over
his jealousy of Harry’s money now that he really understood just what it had cost him to have it,
but sometimes it still came as a surprise when he connected his friend’s shabby appearance with the
bulging vault he knew he had at the goblin bank.

Harry ignored his friend’s outburst and quickly endorsed the vouchers before handing them over
to Kingsley. “There’s 2000 Galleons to start with, and I can arrange for more as needed. Can you
find someone who’s willing to protect Muggles, and whose competence you trust?” At Kingsley’s nod
he glanced at his fiancée and asked, “Hermione? Is this okay with you?”

She thought for a minute, biting her lip before she nodded. “I’ll write my parents a letter and
explain the situation to them. I’m sure they won’t object so long as the guards don’t disrupt their
routine too much. But Harry, how am I going to explain how I arranged this? They know we’re dating;
well, Mum does, but if you start spending a small fortune to keep them safe, they’ll begin asking
questions we aren’t ready to answer yet.”

Harry frowned; family relationships were still largely a mystery to him. He knew he had a
perfect model of how *not* to behave in the Dursleys, and while the Weasleys were wonderful,
there was little there to base the behavior of a potential son-in-law on, since none of the
brothers who were likely to be playing that role any time soon lived at home. ‘Then again,’ he
thought to himself with an inward smile, ‘maybe that’s a sign *not* to use them as a role
model.’

Deciding to put off for the moment what he couldn’t figure out that day, Harry shrugged and
said, “Just tell them it’s being arranged through the Order’s resources; if things go according to
plan, we’ll be seeing them over the winter holidays anyway, and we can explain it all to them then.
Maybe finding out that you have a *rich* fiancé will help cushion the shock that you have one
at all!”

The others laughed as Hermione punched him in mock outrage, but he could feel her tension easing
through their Bond as Kingsley continued to brief them on the previous night’s attacks.

“Of the dozen reported attacks on high risk Wizarding targets, only three had any kind of
success, and even there it was limited. One Muggleborn witch was killed and a Muggleborn wizard
ended up in St. Mungos. A mixed couple, Muggle and Wizard, were hurt when they escaped by jumping
out of a second story window. The other nine attacks were a wash, with some of the new Death Eaters
reported injured, and three of them actually taken prisoner.”

“Sounds like you were right when you said these weren’t some of You-Know-Who’s sharpest
followers,” Luna said, her head cocked at a quizzical angle. “I wonder why they had so little
supervision?”

Ron gaped at her in surprise. “What, you want them to do better at killing people?”

“No, but it’s important to understand the reasons behind your enemy’s actions, that way you have
a better chance of outsmarting them,” she replied logically, and then spoiled the effect by adding,
“Father says you have to understand the feeding habits of the needle-nosed Norgrucks or you’ll
never find their prey, the crumple-horned Snorkacks.”

A couple of the aurors who accompanied Kingsley snorted, not having been exposed to the young
Ravenclaw’s eccentricities in the past, but their superior didn’t join in their amusement.
“Incompetent or not, they were still dangerous enough where plain Muggles are concerned. The
reports were still surfacing on Muggle attacks when we left the Ministry, so we don’t know how bad
it was yet.” The upbeat mood the earlier reports had generated faded as the other heard the
unspoken statement, that even untrained Death Eaters were deadly when it came to unprotected
Muggles.

Thus it was a somewhat subdued group that entered the vehicles for the final leg of their
journey to King’s Cross Station. Kingsley, Molly and a young Auror with the unlikely name of
Reginald Poppington-Smythe escorted Ron, Luna and Ginny in one of the vehicles, while Remus, Tonks
and Arthur Weasley provided the security contingent for the car that carried Harry and Hermione,
along with all the teens’ luggage. Arrival at the Muggle side of King’s Cross was much the same as
in previous years, with Wizarding families attempting with varying degrees of success to blend in
with the Muggle population, but once past the barrier and onto Platform 9¾ it was a different
matter.

For the first time Harry could remember there was a visible security force present, with witches
and wizards who were clearly separate from the crowd of returning students and their families
keeping a weather eye out for trouble. In addition he spotted a number of Hogwarts professors
scattered through the throng ostensibly chatting with the parents of their charges. He also noted
with grim amusement a definite separation between the majority of the students and those members of
Slytherin House that he quantified as Junior Death Eaters. Malfoy and his cronies had always been
standoffish, keeping their ‘less worthy’ classmates at a distance by means of an aura of smug
superiority, but for the first time it seemed the feeling was mutual, with even members of their
own House that didn’t share their attitudes keeping their distance.

Harry was snapped out of his reverie by a tug on his arm as Hermione pulled him towards the
cars. “Come on, Harry, let’s get settled in while there’s still time to find an empty
compartment!”

Glancing around, he noticed Ron headed off towards the other end of the train where several of
the professors were standing. “You coming, mate?” he called, curious as to his friend’s
intentions.

“Be along in a few, there’s something I need to check on,” Ron called back distractedly. “Just
save me a seat, okay?” he finished, walking off without waiting for a reply.

“Well, that was odd,” Harry muttered to himself, and then dismissed the matter from his mind as
he concentrated on making his way through the crowds with the trolley holding his and Hermione’s
luggage in tow. A short while later they were ensconced in the second to the last car along with
Luna and Ginny, their trunks and various carriers and cages safely secured for the journey. The two
fifth year girls were having a quiet conversation broken with occasional giggles while Harry and
Hermione took the opportunity for a little snuggling, Harry with his back braced firmly in the
angle where the rear facing seat joined with the outside of the car, while Hermione nestled
comfortably within the circle of his arms. The tensions created by the morning’s news slowly
drained away as they settled into the beginning of a new year.

“Seems odd, doesn’t it?” Harry murmured as he inhaled the fresh scent of his girlfriend’s
hair.

“Mmm?” Hermione replied distractedly, too wrapped up in enjoying the comforting feel of her
boyfriend’s arms around her to make a more detailed response. She’d dreamed of travelling on the
Hogwarts Express like this for far too long to miss a moment of it.

“Well,” Harry continued, “it just seems like no time has passed since someone opened the door of
my compartment looking for a lost—”

“Anyone seen Trevor?” a familiar voice interrupted, drawing their attention to where Neville
stood in the doorway, a grin on his face and the ubiquitous toad safe in his hands. “Sorry, I
couldn’t resist. There room for me in here?”

“Plenty of room, join the party,” Harry replied with a smile, lifting a hand from Hermione’s
waist long enough to wave the other boy in.

Hermione spotted the youngest Weasley’s slight blush and smiled. “I’m sure Ginny won’t mind
scooting over, will you, Ginny?” she asked with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Ginny’s blush deepened for a second as she threw a mock glare at her friend before turning a
smiling face towards the new arrival. “There’s room under the seat for your trunk, Neville, and
yes, there’s plenty of room for you. The only other person we’re holding a spot for is my
good-for-nothing brother.”

“Oi! I resemble that remark!” a familiar voice called from beyond Neville, and for several
minutes confusion reigned in the compartment while trunks and bodies were shifted about. Once they
were all settled, though, it was Neville’s turn to really notice the dynamics of the couples in the
compartment. When he’d seen them last it had been in Diagon Alley and the changes in their various
relationships hadn’t been on public display. Now, however, in the privacy of the train compartment,
it was a different matter.

Neville’s eyes widened as he realized that Harry and Hermione were not only sitting much more
closely together than was usual, they were actually holding hands. “What the…Hermione, Harry, are
you two--?” he asked, his gaze clearly riveted on their interlaced fingers. They nodded and smiled,
which elicited a huge smile in turn from their fellow Gryffindor. “That’s brilliant! And about time
you two stopped dancing around each other.” He was still looking at their joined hands when Harry’s
grip shifted and the glint of light off the setting alerted him to the presence of Hermione’s ring.
Whistling, he continued, “Merlin, Harry, you don’t waste any time!”

Harry, there was no other word for it, grinned. “What can I say, once Hermione got fed up with
me being a blind prat who couldn’t see what was right in front of him and gave me a wake-up call I
couldn’t ignore, I wasn’t about to take any chances on her getting away…best thing that ever
happened to me,” he added, giving her a quick peck on her blushing cheek.

“Yeah, well, you may have been blind, Harry, but no one else in Gryffindor is going to be
surprised. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.”

“What do you mean, ‘disappointed’?” Harry asked, puzzled.

Hermione made the tsking noise she usually reserved for when Harry or Ron were being
exceptionally dim. “Honestly, Harry, half the witches at school have a crush on you, of course
they’re going to be disappointed that you’re off the market.” She smiled at his dumfounded
expression. “I’d tell you how many times I’ve caught girls sighing over your picture, but I don’t
want you to get a swelled head.”

Neville chuckled as Harry flushed in embarrassment. “Don’t sell yourself short, Hermione, a lot
of the guys are going to be unhappy, too.”

Hermione’s expression changed from one of amusement to shock, while Harry’s darkened. “What—what
do you mean?” she stammered. “No one’s interested in me that way!”

Neville laughed at their reactions, and by now both Ron and Ginny were starting to join in.
“Let’s just say you’ve been the subject of a fair amount of speculation, especially since the Yule
Ball,” he continued. “Guys like to make comparisons, and trust me, you rate pretty high.”

Harry was definitely glowering now. “So how come I never heard her name mentioned?” he
growled.

It was Ron who answered. “If you could see your face you’d know, mate! You look ready to curse
someone into cutlets just thinking about it, it’s no surprise that Seamus or the others never
mentioned her around you, same as they never mentioned Ginny around me.”

“Hermione’s not my sister, Ron,” Harry pointed out rather unnecessarily, considering how close
they were sitting together. “Seamus, huh?” he added under his breath, his thoughts turning the
various hexes he could use on the suddenly loathsome Irishman.

“It doesn’t matter, Harry,” Hermione interjected; she could feel his protective instincts
rising, and while they sent a little thrill running through her, she didn’t want him to get into
trouble over them. “Everyone will get used to us being a couple soon enough. You know how the
gossips work, we’ll be a source of excitement for a couple of weeks until something else comes
along to distract them.”

Neville nodded, and then added, “Well, if you don’t want to be mobbed by well-wishers and
gossipers before we even get off the Express, you might want to hide that ring under a concealment
charm, at least until we reach Hogwarts. You two being a couple will be big news, even if it
doesn’t come as a surprise to the ones that know you. But engaged as well? That’s going to raise a
few eyebrows, that is!”

Hermione bit her lip and traded a look with Harry, who nodded. Neither of them was interested in
keeping their relationship a secret, even if they could, but spending the next several hours being
gawked at by busybodies would make the ride exceedingly unpleasant. Separating their hands she
said, “You’ll have to do it, Harry, my ring is on my wand hand.”

“All right,” Harry said, drawing his wand from his robe pocket. “What charm do I use?”

“Just tap the setting three times and say *‘Averto Os’*,” she answered. A moment later her
ring was hidden from view. She felt a brief pang, but consoled herself with the knowledge that a
quick ‘Finite Incantatum’ would reverse the charm whenever she wanted.

With that bit of drama past, Neville turned his attention to where Luna had perched herself on
Ron’s lap. “You two as well?”

“Not exactly,” Luna replied, her head tilted and resting on Ron’s shoulder as he turned Weasley
red. “Ronald was even harder to get through to than Harry, but I endeavored to persevere.”

Neville quirked an eyebrow at Ron, who flushed an even darker shade of red. “Hey, what can I
say? I never was too smart where girls were concerned.”

The conversation drifted on to speculation about the coming school year as everyone settled into
place for the trip. At the end of it the two couples were demonstrating their grasp of the concept
of the efficient use of limited space, with Hermione snuggled up close to Harry while Luna perched
on Ron’s lap. This freed up enough space for two owl cages and a cat carrier, while still leaving
room for Ginny and a shyly smiling Neville to sit side by side. Outside the compartment they could
see last minute arrivals scrambling to find empty seats as the shrill sound of the engine’s steam
whistle sounded the five-minute warning. The minutes ticked by in idle conversation and speculation
about the coming year, until the lurch of motion and the rumbling of the tracks indicated that they
were underway.

Harry watched as the train moved out into the countryside on the first leg of its journey north
to Hogwarts. Within the compartment Ginny, Neville and Hermione were involved in a three-way
conversation that only occasionally drew Harry attention, while Ron was whispering in Luna’s ear
and earning the odd laugh from his girlfriend.

A chance remark from Neville reminded Harry of earlier events at the station. “So, Ron, did you
take care of whatever it was that made you rush off and leave us on the platform like that? What
was that about, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing important,” Ron said off-handedly, “just something I needed to clear up with
Professor McGonagall before we left. I knew she was going to be here, so I held off writing so I
could talk to her in person.” He spotted the looks of disbelief on his friends’ faces and smiled,
his features projecting a forced innocence no one believed. “What? I’m not in trouble, honest!”

“Ron,” Hermione said warningly, “You should know by now that trying to keep secrets to yourself
is a Bad Idea. Now, what’s going on?” She fixed her second best glare on him and then felt the
satisfaction of watching him begin to squirm.

“Oh, fine then,” he said at last, his voice coming out in a huff.. “I *was* saving this as
a surprise, but *nooo*, Miss Bossy Britches has to have all the answers up front.” Reaching
into a pocket, he pulled out something shiny and metallic. “Here, Harry, catch!” he finished,
tossing the item to his friend.

Harry’s Seeker reflexes kicked in and he snatched the object out of the air before it could
strike either him or Hermione, his other hand still keeping her steady on his lap. Opening his hand
his eyes widened at the sight of the polished badge with the bold letter ‘P’ in the center. “What
the—Ron, what the devil—?”

“Oh, Ron, you lost your Prefect status?” Hermione sighed, her tone shocked and disappointed.
“But why, I saw your OWLs, they weren’t that bad! What did you do wrong?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Ron replied grumpily. “Something else more important just came up,
that’s all.”

Hermione stared at him, her eyes widening in shock. “Are you trying to tell me you just gave up
being a prefect?” she asked, her tone full of disbelief.

Ron opened his mouth to answer as Harry interjected, “You have to admit, mate, that doesn’t make
much sense, not the way Mum fussed over it when you made prefect in the first place.”

“Well, I did, and once I explained my reasons, Mum was okay with it. Besides, she’s got Ginny to
fuss over instead,” Ron pointed out rightly, as Molly had made a huge to-do when her youngest child
had received her own prefect badge in her letter. “And you have to admit, I wasn’t all that hot as
a prefect anyway; I just figured this way you two could have a bit more time together. Besides, we
all know Harry should have had it in the first place.”

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, both secretly pleased to note there was no hint of
Ron’s old resentment in his voice; apparently their friend really was outgrowing his old
insecurities. They’d noticed it before, of course, but it still came as a bit of a surprise when
the reactions they’d come to expect failed to surface.

“All right, I’m sorry I ruined your surprise,” Hermione apologized sincerely, making a mental
note to try and tone down her bossiness where Ron was concerned since he apparently was outgrowing
his need for it. And besides, he had Luna to take care of him now, just as she had Harry upon whom
to focus her attentions. “So are you going tell us the rest of it? As in what was important enough
that Mum was all right with you giving up your Prefectship?”

“Well, you see, Professor McGonagall owled me because there was another job she had open for me,
but my grades weren’t good enough to justify holding down both being Prefect and this new job. I
had to choose one or the other, and, well, given the choice…” He pulled another badge out, a
familiar gold-coloured one emblazoned with the Gryffindor House coat of arms, and with an ornate
letter ‘C’ engraved in the center.

“Mate! You made captain of the team!” Harry cried in pleased surprise. “Way to go!”

“Thanks, Harry,” Ron said with a grin. “Professor McGonagall said that I if I applied my talents
at strategy and tactics to something other than beating the pants off everyone at Wizard’s Chess,
We might be able to sweep the Quidditch Cup, especially with you back as Seeker.”

“What about that lifetime ban?” Harry asked with a frown.

“I dunno, but McGonagall seemed to think it was a given that it would be lifted, no
questions.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Harry temporized, not certain he would have time for Quidditch this year even
if allowed to play, not that he was going to tell Ron that at this point. The last thing he wanted
was a row over his ‘responsibilities to his House’ lasting all the way to Hogsmeade Station.

“Hey, speaking of Prefectures, did you hear about Malfoy?” Neville asked suddenly, his
expression excited by the news he’d remembered.

“No, but I’m guessing he had his Prefect’s badge yanked, along with that cow Parkinson,”
Hermione replied. At Neville’s surprised look she huffed, “Honestly, after his behavior last term,
he’s lucky not to have been expelled. His Inquisitorial Squad violated so many school rules I
wouldn’t know where to begin listing them for prosecution.”

“Yeah, well, you’re right,” Neville admitted, his high spirits deflating a bit at the ease with
which she’d guessed his news. “I saw Zabini earlier, he already had his robes and badge on, and if
Malfoy’s lost his badge, I can’t believe Parkinson kept hers. I wonder who was appointed in her
place?”

Hermione considered what she knew of the Slytherin House political dynamics for a moment. “I’d
guess it’d go to Daphne Greengrass. She’s never been part of Draco’s little clique, and she’s at
least been civil the few times I’ve talked to her.” An idea occurred to her and her mood brightened
perceptibly as she turned to her boyfriend. “Harry! Remember the Sorting Hat’s warning about
uniting the Houses? This could be our chance to do something!”

“What do you mean?” he replied, puzzled at the direction her thoughts had taken.

“Well, with Draco’s crowd out of favor, there may be some Slytherins who can be approached about
joining the D.A., and things like that. If there’s a real power struggle in Slytherin, the ones
like Zabini who aren’t supporting V-Voldemort will be looking for allies of their own, that’s what
they do. If we offer them an alternative support system, maybe we can lure some of them away by
showing them that they have other choices.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Harry temporized. “They may not be ready to sign up as Junior Death Eaters,
but they still buy into that old “Purebloods should rule the world” crap.”

He was surprised when Neville spoke up. “It’s not that simple, Harry,” he said, his tone
somewhat hesitant, but with more conviction than his friends were used to hearing from the shy boy.
“There’s more to the whole Pureblood versus Muggleborn thing than you’re thinking.”

Harry looked at his schoolmate in surprise; he was so used to him being the diffident, insecure
butt of many of the Slytherins’ pranks, it was easy to forget that he came from a Pureblood line
every bit as respectable as any in Salazar’s House. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, according to my Gran, it’s more about traditions than it is about bloodlines,” Neville
replied. “The old families are pretty conservative; they think Muggleborns will try and force their
ideas of how things should be done down everyone’s throat if they get a chance, and Wizards will
lose what makes us different from the Muggles.” His gaze flickered briefly to Hermione, and while
no mention was made of S.P.E.W., the meaning was clear.

And clear to no one more than Hermione herself, who flushed at the implied criticism. “Yes, but
surely, if there’s injustice—” she started; only to be interrupted at the compartment door slammed
open.

“Well, well, look who we have here, Scarhead and his loser friends,” the familiar—and much
loathed—voice drawled. Draco posed in the doorway, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking his shoulders as
always, though for a change the expressions of the two Slytherins who served as Malfoy’s muscle
were more nervous than threatening. “I’m surprised, Potter, that they’re willing to be near you
after the way you almost got them all killed last year,” the narrow-faced Slytherin boy continued,
his washed-out grey eyes glittering with malice.

Ron flushed and started to rise, but Harry just groaned and rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake,
if you have to annoy us, at least come up with some new insults,” he responded, his tone one of dry
amusement, earning coughs, smiles, and at least one smothered laugh from his friends. Ron stopped,
halfway to his feet, and then settled back down into his seat to watch the show even as his hand
surreptitiously went to his wand. “I mean, really,” Harry continued, “can’t you at least pick up a
copy of ‘So You Want To Be An Arrogant Wanker’ and lift some new material? Because the stuff you’re
using is getting pretty ripe.”

Malfoy continued to glare at Harry, two brighter spots of pink appearing on his otherwise pale
cheeks. “Think you’re so clever, don’t you, Potter? You still haven’t learned respect for your
betters, still setting yourself up as being just as good as real, pureblooded wizards.” His glance
flickered to where Harry held Hermione’s hand. “And still planning on compounding the crime against
your blood that your father committed as well,” he continued with a smirk of his own. “My mother
didn’t believe you’d go through with it, but she doesn’t know you like I do. I imagine there are
some others who will be very…interested…in the news as well.”

Harry’s amused attitude vanished in an instant at Draco’s implied threat, and even his friends
shivered at the sound of his voice as he replied, “Be very, very careful, Malfoy; that’s not a line
you want to cross, trust me on that one. You won’t like what happens if you do.”

Draco’s smirk turned into a nasty grin as he realized he’d hit a nerve. “Oh, now I’m scared,
Potter; what’re you going to do, get the Mudblood to take House points away from me?”

The Slytherin was given a temporary reprieve from learning just how Harry would respond when a
familiar voice snapped from the corridor beyond the doorway. “Malfoy, you no longer have an excuse
for loitering and blocking traffic! You and your stooges find yourselves a compartment and settle
down, or you’ll be setting a new record for going on report to your House master for
detention!”

After a last glare at the occupants of the compartment Draco turned and stalked off with Crabbe
and Goyle in tow. A few seconds later the owner of the voice replaced him in the doorway and
glanced around. “Any problems in here?” Cho Chang asked, her Head Girl badge flashing brightly in
the light from the compartment’s windows.

Her expression grew a touch colder when she realized just who was occupying the compartment. A
look of faint disgust crossed her features at the sight of Luna sitting on Ron’s lap, but all she
said was “Granger, Weasley, Prefect’s meeting is in ten minutes; don’t be late.” Her gaze
deliberately skipping past Harry, she noticed the badge adorning Ginny’s robes and added,
“Creevey’s two cars back, Miss Weasley; if you don’t want to have to explain the duties of Fifth
Year prefects to him, make sure he doesn’t miss it.” Her gaze swept past Harry again without making
contact, and a moment later the compartment door slid closed.

“‘Miss Weasley’?” Ginny asked, her tone mimicking the Head Girl’s. “Circé, she sounds worse than
Percy did, I didn’t think that was possible! I guess I’d better go round up Colin; see you there,
‘Weasleys?’” she finished with a grin, nudging Harry and Hermione as she rose.

Ron chuckled as Harry frowned and Hermione made tsking sounds. “Giving up that badge is looking
smarter all the time; better you than me, mate.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Harry grumbled as he got to his feet, helping Hermione to rise as
he did so. He dug out his robes and pinned his new badge to the front, hoping that the Ravenclaw
seeker wouldn’t use their past as a reason to make things more difficult than they had to be.

~~~~~~

As it turned out, the meeting went far smoother than Harry expected. Aside from a momentary
grimace when she saw Harry enter the car with the badge on his robes, Cho remained completely
professional, working with the Head Boy, a Hufflepuff named Stebbins, to outline the duties of the
new fifth year prefects, as well as bringing the sixth and seventh year prefects up to date on
their own responsibilities.

One bit on news Harry found especially welcome was that, as one of the rewards for taking on
their responsibilities, the sixth and seventh year prefects were allowed to visit Hogsmeade on any
weekend when their own duties didn’t conflict. By informal agreement the seventh years went on
Saturdays and the sixth years on Sundays, but the schedules were flexible so long as the patrol
shifts at Hogwarts were covered.

Harry smiled inwardly at the idea of being able to spend some time with Hermione away from the
prying eyes and ears that were bound to follow them once their Bond became general knowledge.
Slipping off to the Three Broomsticks for a private evening became a far more likely scenario if
the inn wasn’t packed to the rafters with fellow students all looking to do the same.

The only real surprise at the meeting was the identity of the new Slytherin Sixth Year prefects.
As Neville had observed and Chang had confirmed, Malfoy and Parkinson had been defrocked, and none
of their cronies had replaced them. Instead it was indeed Blaise Zabini who was wearing the badge,
and Hermione’s prediction that Daphne Greengrass was the likely candidate for the female prefecture
proved correct. The two Gryffindors were surprised and cautiously pleased, however, when the two
Slytherins proved to be politely spoken towards them; standoffish, true, but polite.

~~~~~~

After what seemed to Harry to be an inordinate amount of nitpicky little details that could have
just as easily been covered informally, the meeting drew to a close. Chang and Stebbins dismissed
the prefects, reminding the fifth years one last time that they would be responsible for orienting
the first year students Sorted into their Houses. There was a generally relieved sigh as meeting
dissolved, the various students going off to enjoy the remainder of the ride with their
friends.

Before Harry could leave the compartment, a hand fell on the sleeve of his robes. “Potter, could
I have a word with you?” Zabini asked, his tone courteous and his face giving away nothing as
regards to his emotions.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Drawing her alongside him, he
allowed the compartment door to swing closed and turned to face the two new sixth year Slytherin
prefects. Blaise’s eyes flickered to where Harry still held Hermione’s hand, but aside from a small
tightening of the skin around his eyes, gave no indication as to how he felt about the Muggleborn
witch’s presence.

The club car echoed oddly now that it was virtually empty, the rattling of the train’s wheels
against the tracks made more noticeable in the silence. Harry settled onto one of the benches, with
Hermione still by his side. He waited until Blaise and Daphne sat as well, and then asked, “So,
what did you want to talk about?”

Blaise hesitated for a moment, glancing at his companion who nodded at him with a frown, before
taking a deep breath. “Look, Potter, I know you have no reason to trust us, or anyone from
Slytherin for that matter, but after some of the things that went on last year, well, we thought it
might be best to try and clear the air between us.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Harry replied neutrally after a pause of his own.

“Don’t play stupid, Potter, it doesn’t suit you,” Daphne interjected with a touch of asperity
that reminded Harry oddly of Hermione when she was annoyed. “We’re talking about
Draco-Sodding-Malfoy and his little clique of junior Death Eaters. Some of us think you might have
the notion in your head that everyone in Slytherin supports You-Know-Who’s agenda. We’re hoping to
correct that idea.”

“Why? I mean, why should you care what I think about Slytherin House? I’m just one student; I
don’t have a powerful Family backing me up. What does it matter what I think of you?”

Blaise just snorted as he picked up the conversation. “Let’s cut to the chase, Potter; we both
know you’ve never been ‘just one student’; even before you came to Hogwarts, you were the Boy Who
Lived, and your reputation has only grown since then. It might not be official, but everyone knows
you’re Dumbledore’s apprentice in all but name. And last year when that fat toad Umbridge took
over, you organized the students of the other three Houses to learn what she wouldn’t teach
you.”

“I can’t take credit for that one,” Harry demurred. “That was Hermione’s idea, I just followed
the plans she came up with.”

“But the students came to learn from you, not her,” Daphne pointed out. “Face it, Potter,
whether you like it or not, you’re the one the other students look to when they’re choosing up
sides and they don’t favor You-Know-Who.”

Harry winced; this was one of the things he hated most about his fame, the way it caused others
to latch onto him when making up their minds about what was happening in the wizarding world.
Frankly, he didn’t know which bothered him more, those who supported Voldemort and automatically
chalked Harry up as a target, or those who denied the Dark Lord’s genocidal principles and just
assumed Harry would lead them into battle. Either way the choice was taken out of Harry’s hands,
all because of a prophecy uttered by a batty, incompetent Seer in a seedy, disreputable tavern
before Harry was even born.

Oddly, Harry realized that the Slytherin’s comments didn’t bother him as much as they would have
in the past, and he realized it was *because* he now knew the prophecy’s contents that it was
so. In the past there’d been no satisfactory answer to the question that Harry couldn’t help
asking: ‘Why me?’ And while he couldn’t pretend that the answer he now had was a satisfactory one,
at least it was an answer, one that eliminated at least some of the frustration he felt over his
life.

All this flashed through Harry’s mind in a matter of seconds, and he realized that Zabini was
waiting for some kind of a response to Daphne’s remark. “I guess,” Harry shrugged at last, still
uncomfortable with the idea but no longer denying it. “Say you’re right, and I am some sort of
leader; what does that matter to you?”

“We want in.”

Harry was completely nonplussed. “Excuse me?” He asked. “You’re telling me that part of the
House that pretty much defines the whole Pureblood superiority attitude wants to hook up the people
who are standing foursquare against that?” He found himself snorting derisively as he started to
get to his feet. “I thought you told me I shouldn’t play stupid; now I’m supposed to be stupid
enough to fall for that? Make up your minds!”

“Harry, wait a minute,” Hermione interjected, tugging on his hand to resume his seat before
turning her attention to Blaise and Daphne. “The first thing we need to clear up is what exactly do
you mean by ‘we’? I don’t mean naming names, I don’t expect you to just give up information like
that without any guarantees, but if you want us to take you seriously you have to give us a rough
idea as to how many of your House go along with what you’re saying.”

The two Slytherins whispered together for a few moments, clearly comparing notes. Finally Blaise
answered, “Openly, as in willing to be recognized as part of our faction, maybe a quarter of the
House. There’s perhaps another eighth that agree with us but won’t stick their necks out without
some guarantees that doing so won’t lead to them getting their heads chopped off. Another quarter
of the House is solidly backing Malfoy’s faction, and the rest are neutral.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “That eighth you mentioned, the ones who won’t stick their necks out;
I’m betting that they’re really ready jump towards whatever side shows the biggest advantage. So
what you’re saying is that you have two more or less equal factions, yours and Draco’s, and the
block that holds the balance of power can change sides at a moment’s notice, right?”

“If you put it that way, I suppose you’re right,” Blaise admitted.

“I’ll take it a step further,” Hermione added. “The only reason that you’re talking to us now is
that the fallout from Umbridge’s dismissal has weakened Draco to the point that the swing block is
thinking of changing sides. And that’s the only reason you’re talking to us now.”

“Well, obviously,” Daphne answered, her tone making it clear how unnecessary she felt it was to
be going over observations that any Slytherin-bound pureblood learned at their wetnurse’s breast.
“We’re Slytherins, that’s what we do; we go for the main advantage.”

“All right then, let’s look at it that way,” Harry replied, picking up the thread of the
conversation as a slightly wicked gleam appeared in his eye. “You’re looking for an alliance that’s
to your advantage. You’re thinking that, now that Umbridge is out and the Ministry’s policy of
denial’s been discredited, it’s time to try and break Malfoy’s control of your House, and because
you want to get in good with what you think is going to be the winning side. What’s in it for us if
we accept?” Harry felt Hermione stiffen at his bald question, and silently urged her to hold her
remarks until they were alone, and felt the wave of grudging acceptance return to him though their
bond.

From their own stance, the Slytherins saw nothing unreasonable in his query; if anything, it
seemed to relax them, it being the sort of thing they could expect from one of their peers. “That’s
a fair question,” Blaise acknowledged. “For starters, we can control a lot of the rivalry between
our Houses; not all of it, we’re not Gryffs or Puffs, but the worst of it, especially the hazing of
Muggleborns, that we can control. For the rest…Potter, you’re from an old Pureblood family, one of
the oldest in Britain, but you were raised by Muggles, so you don’t know the traditions. Granger,
you’re Muggleborn yourself; I expect you may have read up on Pureblood customs, but that’s not the
same as being brought up to it. It’d take more time than we have right now to cover all the
possibilities, but I can promise you that having allies among the old Pureblood families can’t
hurt. Ask Brown and Patil, hell, ask Weasley, they’re all Purebloods, they can tell you what formal
alliances can mean.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, looking for her opinion of what Zabini was saying. Her expression was
pensive, and he could almost feel the process as she reviewed what she knew of the customs to which
the Slytherin youth was referring. Finally she nodded, giving her imprimatur to the decision he was
already considering. Turning back to Blaise and Daphne he said, “I’ll want to talk it over with the
others first, but if what you say is true, I think we can work something out we can both live
with.” He stood with fiancée and offered his hand, shaking Blaise’s firmly, and then smiled as
after a moment’s hesitation Daphne did the same thing with Hermione. This year was definitely going
to be different…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

##############

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – PART II – Well, that’s the end of Chapter One. Chapter Two will take them back
to school, through the Sorting, and Harry’s first meeting with Dumbledore concerning advanced
training and the like, and perhaps a little chat with a Ferret about attitudes. Please be patient;
I won’t be updating any where near as fast as I have in the past, but I am working on it, I
promise!



3. Arrival
----------

Intervention Part II: Il Nemico del mio Nemico

By FenrisWolf

~~~~~~

DISCLAIMER – Harry Potter and all ancillary copyrights are the property of JK Rowling and her
authorized agents. I own nothing but the original characters that are the products of my fevered
imagination. If I could make money off this, I wouldn’t be working for Walgreens.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE PART I – Once again, please accept my apologies for the long delay between
chapters. Partially due to writer’s block as well as RL issues, I have also reworked the previous
chapter a bit to correct a couple of flaws pointed out by reviewers, primarily involving the
beginning of the train ride and the scene with Neville.

Anyway, while I can’t promise how steadily I will update, I will definitely be continuing this,
I have too many plot bunnies scampering about that are related to this story. If I don’t get them
written out I’ll end up crazier than I am already!

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Interlude – Elsewhere in Britain

~~~~~~

Wales is home of some of the most spectacular virgin wilderness still existing within the area
known as the British Isles, with rough-hewn mountains, cascading brooks and streams, and stands of
timber where no man has walked since the Bronze Age…well, no Muggle, at least. For Wizard kind, it
is a very different story.

Any number of old wizarding families traced their ancestral lines back to the hidden glens and
forest paths of Wales, and while many of those family lands were no longer inhabited, the charms
that protected them still existed, and the Heart Circles, lost, overgrown, and concealed under
centuries of verdant growth, remained as sentinels over the land that was bound to, and often
soaked with, a Wizarding Family’s blood.

One such Circle stood deep within Coed y Brenin Forest, far from the hiking trails and bike
paths that Muggles constructed in order to experience first hand the beauty of the Welsh landscape.
It had been several hundred years since a Potter last stood within the Circle, but the magic that
bound the Stones to the bloodline, though dormant, remained powerful. The ancient wards slumbered,
drawing their energy from the node formed where several Ley lines crossed. On certain nights when
the energies were stronger a bluish light enshrouded the stones, visible to anyone, Wizard or
Muggle, who was sensitive to such magic, offering proof that while the Potter line might no longer
occupy its ancestral lands, it still existed.

The pattern continued, season after season, year upon year, until the night the balance of
energies shifted, and an awareness of Change flickered through the Circle and the wards that it
anchored. The flow of magic travelling through one of the Ley lines pulsed as it entered the
Circle, with a signature long absent but still familiar to the wards. The wards responded and the
intelligence that slumbered within the Heart of the Circle, for the lack of a better term…
Awoke.

*“A Son has Bonded,”* it said to itself as it tasted the power that had joined to its
matrix. *“The Heir is once more linked to Us.”*

*“The Bonding was not here,”* it argued with itself. *“He has Bonded to another Circle,
another Family, far from Our presence.”*

*“Irrelevant,”* it responded to its own question. *“The Heart Circle in question is
connected to Us by ancient alliance, one never sundered by choice of the blood. Here or within the
Circle of an Ally, it matters not. That which once was shall be again. When He needs Us, We shall
be ready.”*

There was an infinitesimal pause before a feeling of calm acceptance spread through the wards.
*“We shall be ready,”* the voice agreed with itself. Blue fire danced for an instant over the
stones of the Circle as a pulse of energy flashed out along the Ley lines to Its allies, letting
all know that the ancient bonds between them would be called on again. Here and there the web was
broken, the Circles long since destroyed by natural disaster or human intervention, but those that
still existed sent echoes of their awareness back to the Circle that served as their hub. One in
particular, the most active of the old Circles due to the heavy burden placed on it by the wards it
powered, was especially receptive to the call. When the Heir needed them, they would answer.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Chapter Two – Arrival at Hogwarts

~~~~~~

With all the changes that had befallen him over the summer, it seemed almost indecent just how
normal the arrival at Hogsmeade Station was, if ‘normal’ was the right word to describe a trainload
of young witches and wizards disembarking for another year at Britain’s premiere school for magical
studies. But to those for whom the Wizarding world was home, normal was indeed the right term.
There was the excited babble and organized confusion of the older students as they made their way
to the carriages that would bear them to Hogwarts, with the higher-pitched voices of the First
Years exclaiming in wonder at everything that was new to them. And over all, the familiar, booming
voice of Hogwarts’ Care of Magical Creatures professor calling out, as he did every year, “Firs’
years, this way! Hurry up now!”

Harry smiled at the sight of his first magical friend, and once again was struck by the way the
new students flocked to Hagrid without any fear. There was just something about the half-giant that
exuded an aura of safety, as if nothing bad could happen to you while you sheltered under his
protection. “Hello, Hagrid!”

A bright expanse of white teeth appeared in the bristling mass that was Hagrid’s beard. “Hallo,
Harry, ‘Ermione, yeh have a good summer? No problems with those Dursleys?”

“Every thing was fine, Hagrid,” Harry assured his friend. “A little rocky at the start, but
things started looking up once Hermione shocked some sense into me.” He grinned at his blushing
girlfriend, his hand seeking out hers on its own.

“Yeh, heard about you two from Professor Dumbledore, Harry, congratulations…an’ it’s about time
you woke up!” Hagrid boomed enthusiastically, earning a surprised look from the two Gryffindors.
“What? Anyone with half a brain could see you belonged together, seen that firs’ year, I did!”

“Well, I guess that means I have less than half a brain, Hagrid,” Harry admitted ruefully,
“because I was too thick to see what was right in front of me until it almost was too late.”

“Naw, tha’ just means yer a wizard, Harry,” Hagrid chuckled. “Isn’t one of us that’s any too
bright where witches are concerned. Good thing fer us they put up with us anyway, eh?”

“It certainly is,” Hermione replied primly, smirking as Harry flushed in embarrassment. Despite
how happy he was about his newfound relationship with Hermione, or perhaps because of it, there
were certain aspects of it that were going to take getting used to, and listening to good-natured
teasing from his friends was one of them.

Friendly banter about love and affection was not a skill he’d been encouraged to learn around
the Dursleys, nor had the situations surrounding his life at Hogwarts helped matters. Dark Lords
and prophecies and the baggage that went with them were not the sort of things that aided in having
a normal adolescence, or whatever passed for normal in the Wizarding World. Still, he thought,
putting up with all that no longer seemed like such a terrible thing, not so long as he ended up
with the love of Hermione Granger on the plus side of the ledger.

Smiling and tugging on her hand, he started to draw her away from Hagrid and further embarassing
comments about the relative dimness of males in general. “Come on, Hermione, we’d better see about
getting one of those carriages. See you later, Hagrid!”

“Bye Harry, Hermione, see yeh at the feast!” In a matter of moments the towering figure had
chivvied his young charges away from the station and down the path to the boats and their next step
into the world of Hogwarts.

Meanwhile the chaos of the station began to sort itself out as the older students turned their
steps to the waiting carriages and their outré motive power. The shock of seeing the vaguely
reptilian thestrals in their harnesses was not as great as it had been the first time he’d seen
them, but the sight of their clawed feet and leathery wings still sent a shiver down Harry’s
back.

A small gasp drew his attention to Hermione, who was staring wide-eyed at the creatures hitched
to the carriages. “I can see them,” she whispered. “Why, though? I thought you had to see someone
die…”

Harry felt a sharp pang as he realized the answer. “The Veil,” he explained. “You saw the Veil
in the Department of Mysteries. I guess it really is a gateway to the realm of the dead…” The pain
of the loss of Sirius, which had become muted over the last several weeks, flared again, bringing
with it the old feelings of guilt and self-recrimination that had been so much a part of him during
the early days of summer. But before they grew too strong he felt Hermione’s slim arm slip around
his waist, pulling him close as she drew him into the carriage to where the thestrals were no
longer in view.

Once in the privacy of the carriage Hermione drew him closer and into a kiss, one not filled so
much with passion as with love and support, easing his pain. “It’s all right to grieve, Harry,” she
whispered as they finally separated, “but Sirius would be the last one to want you to tear yourself
up over what happened. And I know you’ll always blame yourself to some extent for it, you wouldn’t
be you if you didn’t, but don’t lose sight over who holds the lion’s share of the blame.”

Harry nodded and felt the tension drain from his shoulders; once again she’d helped him regain
his balance, instinctively giving him what he needed to find firm ground under his feet in place of
the quicksand that was such a perfect metaphor for the turmoil in his life. With its normal avenue
of attack quelled once more, the nagging voice of his insecurities (the one that more often than
not sounded like Uncle Vernon) tried to whisper that he was weak to depend on Hermione’s strength,
but that at least he could easily ignore. Needing Hermione might be a weakness, but if so, it was a
weakness he embraced gladly. The alternative, that of not having her in his life, was too terrible
to contemplate, and any imp of self-doubt that tried to use that particular argument could go screw
itself.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, the young lovers barely noticed when their carriage started to
move towards the castle, the magical construction of the old-fashioned vehicle providing a far
smoother ride than its Muggle counterparts. Their reverie was disturbed, however, as they passed
the invisible boundaries of Hogwarts’ wards. Harry felt the tingle of the magical energies on his
skin, and a sensation of welcome and homecoming far stronger than any he’d experienced during
previous terms washed over him. “What the…” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly in
consternation. “Did you feel that, too?” he asked, as Hermione’s hand tightened its grip on his
arm.

Hermione had felt it as well, but as something that resonated down her Bond with Harry as
opposed to anything she personally sensed. There was something familiar about it, though, and it
took her a minute to realize just what it was. “It’s the wards, Harry,” Hermione replied, her mind
working rapidly with the same keen insight that she applied to all intellectual puzzles. “Somehow
you’ve become sensitized to them…maybe your connection to the Burrow is affecting you, making you
more aware of the magical energy surrounding Hogwarts.”

Harry considered her words before frowning slightly. “You said ‘you’ve become sensitized’; don’t
you feel the same thing?”

“Not as strong,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Mostly what I think I’m getting is an echo of
what you’re feeling though our connection.”

“But…we’re both connected to the Weasleys’ Heart Circle now, right? Shouldn’t we feel the same
thing?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much reading on ward magic yet, not
beyond the basics that are covered in seventh year charms. I suppose family wards are a whole other
matter, from what Professor Dumbledore said.” Hermione felt the tenseness in Harry’s muscles and
continued, attempting to reassure him, “I’m sure there’s some perfectly logical explanation why
it’s affecting you and not me, we just have to find it.” Her words had little effect, and she gave
him a little shake while trying to think of a way to keep him from fretting too much until they had
more facts. “Don’t worry, Harry, it’s probably nothing to be concerned about.”

Harry sighed. “Hermione,” he huffed, his voice tinged with the frustration he felt, “not to
sound like I’m getting an ego the size of the Ferret’s, but nothing about my life is ever just
*nothing*.”

~~~~~~

The rest of the trip to the castle was uneventful, aside from some minor teasing from Ron upon
their arrival concerning their need for a private carriage. As usual, the Great Hall was awash with
noise as the students settled at their respective tables and those who had missed each other on the
train ride reacquainted themselves. A certain amount of excitement bubbled up when their fellow
Gryffindors began to notice the changed dynamic between Harry and Hermione; her ring might still be
hidden, but there was no hiding their clasped hands or the body language that spoke of a changed
relationship. That indefinable barrier of personal space that still existed between friends but
disappeared between couples was definitely missing in their case, and if that subtle clue was
overlooked, the sight of them sharing a quick, chaste kiss was not. For the outside observer, the
wave of motion that traveled the length of the Gryffindor table (and to a lesser extent, the
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables as well) as necks craned to see the new sensation was quite
entertaining.

For his part, Harry spent what time he wasn’t focusing on Hermione studying his classmates for
signs that the news of the Death Eater attacks had affected their spirits, especially those he knew
for a fact to be Muggleborn, but aside from a few who looked like they were forcing a level of
cheerfulness they didn’t really feel, everyone seemed to be well.

A gentle nudge drew his attention back to his fiancée. “Harry, take a look at the Slytherins,”
she whispered. “It looks like Blaise was being honest with us.”

At first he didn’t understand what she was talking about, and then he realized that there were
definite divisions within that House that he hadn’t noticed before. Blaise, Daphne, and those of
their housemates that Harry assumed sided with them were clustered at the end of the table closest
to the faculty’s seating, while Malfoy and his cronies were gathered at the opposite end, closest
to the Great Hall’s massive doors. The other divisions to which the Sixth Year Slytherin prefect
had referred weren’t as obvious, but there were still some definite cliques scattered through the
rest of their table. “That doesn’t look like a very happy House, does it?” he commented, unable to
feel too bad about anything that adversely affected Voldemort’s support base within the school.

Hermione nodded as her gaze traveled to the staff table at the head of the Hall. Suddenly she
gasped, her face lighting up with a smile, “Harry, look who’s here!”

Harry’s eyes followed to where Hermione’s were fixed. It took a second to recognize who she was
looking at, but when he did he smiled as well. Seated next to the dour Potions professor was a worn
but cheerful Remus Lupin, and even more surprising, next to him with her hair tinted Gryffindor red
and gold was Nymphadora Tonks. The bubbly auror, who was chatting animatedly with Professor
Flitwick, paused as the sixth sense that helped young Aurors become old ones told her she was being
watched. She glanced up, her eyes zeroing in on Harry and Hermione, and gave them a smile and a
wave before nudging Lupin. When she had his attention she nodded in the direction of the Gryffindor
table, drawing his attention to the young couple who were looking at them. Remus added his silent
greeting as well, before returning his attention to his conversation with Snape.

“”Do you think Professor Dumbledore has convinced him to come back as our Defense Against the
Dark Arts professor?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“Well, he’s the only decent one we ever had, if you don’t count crazy, disguised Death Eaters,”
Harry allowed with a small grimace at the thought. “What with Voldemort and all, maybe he convinced
Remus he couldn’t find anyone better qualified for the position. I wonder why Tonks is here,
though.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Ron asked, finally noticing their distraction. Hermione
quickly filled him in before answering Harry’s last question.

“Remember, Harry, Professor Lupin is going to be incapacitated a few days each month,” Hermione
pointed out. “Maybe she’s going to act as his assistant, helping with the classes and covering when
he’s too ill to teach.”

“Makes sense,” Harry acknowledged. “Got to be better than having that greasy git do it again,
especially after the stunt he pulled last time.”

“That’s Professor Greasy Git, Harry,” Ron smirked, earning a tsking sound from Hermione, though
the smile quirking the corners of her mouth gave the lie to any sign of disapproval. Ron started to
make his usual bickering comeback, but was silenced by the arrival of Professor McGonagall and the
First Years. Looking at their wonder-filled faces Harry couldn’t help smiling as he recalled his
own amazement upon entering the Great Hall for the first time. His smile faltered a bit as he
recalled all the subsequent events that had filled his years at Hogwarts, and then he felt
Hermione’s hand slip back into his own and give his fingers a squeeze. Looking over at her smiling
face, he felt the knot of sadness that had started to form relax.

A slight commotion at the front of the Hall drew is attention to where Professor McGonagall was
placing the tattered and venerable Sorting Hat in its place of honor. She stepped back, waiting
with the rest of the school’s population for its annual admonishments. There was a brief pause
before the Hat stirred and once again its resonant voice echoed throughout the Hall, though this
time its words sounded very different from years past.

*Once I was worn
By the One-Eyed Wanderer;
Wisdom He had of the ways of Men.

Counsel once given
Has long gone unheeded;
Wisdom now needed in the Time of the Wolf.

Hear then, again,
The words that were spoken.
Inspired by* *Odroerir, the sacred draught.
* *The one who stands at a strange threshold,
Should be cautious before he cross it,
Glance this way and that:
Who knows beforehand what foes may sit
Awaiting him in the hall?**
* *Greetings to the host, the guest has arrived,
In which seat shall he sit?
Rash is he who at unknown doors
Relies on his good luck.**
* *Who travels widely needs his wits about him,
The stupid should stay at home:
The ignorant one is often laughed at
When he sits at meat with the sage.**
* *Of his knowledge one should never boast,
Rather be sparing of speech
When to his house a wiser comes:
Seldom do those who are silent
Make mistakes; mother wit
Is ever a faithful friend.**
* *A guest should be courteous
When he comes to the table
And sit in wary silence,
His ears attentive, his eyes alert:
So he protects himself.**
* *Blessed is he who in his own lifetime
Is awarded praise and wit,
For ill counsel is often given
By mortals to each other.**
* *Silence becomes the child of a prince,
To be silent but brave in battle:
It befits one to be merry and glad
Until the day of his death.

To ask well, to answer rightly,
Are the marks of a wise person:
Men must speak of men's deeds,
What happens may not be hidden.**

Moderate at council should one be,*
*Not brutal and over bearing:*
*Among the bold the bully will find*
*Others as bold as he.*
*
The Wise One has spoken words in the hall,
Needful for men to know,
Unneedful for trolls to know:
Hail to the speaker,
Hail to the knower,
Joy to him who has understood,
Delight to those who have listened.***

*

The ancient, battered hat fell silent, its final words echoing in the minds of those who had
been mesmerized by its spell. Here and there were looks of comprehension, or at least recognition,
mostly among the Ravenclaws and the faculty. It came as no surprise to Harry when he saw that
Hermione could be counted among those who clearly recognized the Sorting Hat’s words, and if the
fire in her eyes was any indication, she was already working out its significance.

Ron, on the other hand, looked to be every bit as much in the dark as Harry was, but unlike past
years where his only interest in the Sorting Ceremony was how long it would delay the feast, this
time he shared a look with Harry that included a nod at the bushy-haired girl who meant so much to
both of them, along with a smile filled with masculine camaraderie. The effects of their evolving
relationships on the dynamics of the Trio notwithstanding, the two young men knew they would be
able to count on Hermione to explain (in terms simple enough for them to understand) just what
significance the Sorting Hat’s words held for them.

After a few moments of murmured whispers the various House prefects quieted their charges and
the sorting began in earnest. Harry was a bit taken aback at just how small some of the new
students seemed from his lofty position as a Sixth Year; surely he and his friends hadn’t looked
that tiny when they’d been Sorted, had they? Of course there was some variation among the 40-odd
new students; a span of a year could mean a vast change in a child’s body, whether they were
magical or muggle, and the incoming students were no different. One or two of the smallest looked
tiny enough to be from Professor Flitwick’s lineage, while here and there were Firsties who were
tall to be mistaken for Third or Fourth Years.

They were almost to the end of the process and Harry was listening to Hermione’s whispered
comments on how the students were Sorting into the different Houses might be reflecting the current
tensions. A disproportionate number had gone to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, with a slight drop going
to Ravenclaw and Slytherin had received the least of all. His attention, however, was drawn back to
the Sorting when he heard Professor McGonagall call out, “Zabini, Lucretia!” He craned his neck to
get a closer look as Ron muttered, “Bloody Hell! She’s a First Year?”

Harry’s gaze shifted to the young girl about to take her seat under the Sorting Hat. She
certainly was tall, was his first thought, and while the loose-fitting school robes did their usual
excellent job of hiding any salient details of her figure, she still had that gawky coltishness
about her that came from a massive growth spurt, the kind that sometime left adolescents
uncomfortable in their own skin. Then Professor McGonagall finished placing the hat on the girl’s
head and stepped aside, letting Harry glimpse her face, and all concerns about the girl’s possible
figure fled his conscious thought.

It was her eyes, he realized when after a few seconds his synapses started firing again. Oh, the
rest of her features were remarkably pretty, a heart-shaped face with a flawless if pale
complexion, long, straight hair that looked to be even blacker than his own, a mouth that was wide
and looked to be made for smiling, though now it was tense with nervousness, and a pert little nose
that was slightly crooked, just enough imperfection to make her seem human and approachable. But
her eyes were another matter. They both looked too large for her face and just the right size at
the same time, with sooty black lashes and perfectly formed eyebrows acting as the setting for the
irises that were the most astonishing shade of violet he’d ever seen.

“Oh, that poor girl,” Hermione whispered to him, her hand resting briefly on his forearm.

“Why? What do you mean?” Harry asked, but any reply was drowned out as the Hat shouted out
“Slytherin!” and her new housemates erupted into cheers, and to the blushing girl’s embarrassment,
more than a few whistles. They watched as she rose from the stool and set the Hat aside before
making her way to the empty seat they noticed Blaise was holding for her. Side by side the family
resemblance was far stronger, with shared complexions, hair color and bone structure, though
Lucretia’s violet eyes seemed to be uniquely her own.

He started to ask his question again, but the sound of the Headmaster clearing his throat drew
his attention back to the head table. “Another Sorting has been completed and another year has
commenced, and as in the past we have words of wisdom from our esteemed Sorting Hat to contemplate
as we enjoy our first feast of the term. There will be several announcements following, but for the
moment, let me just add, *‘Owah, Tagu, Siam!’* Tuck in!”

As the platters, pitchers and goblets magically filled with the House-Elf prepared fest, Harry
finally managed to ask his question. “What did you mean when you said ‘poor girl’, Hermione? Do you
know something about, what was her name, Lucretia?”

“No, I’ve never met her, but I knew a couple of girls like her in primary school,” Hermione
replied, absently transferring her usual small portions to her plate.

“What, you had pureblood witches going to a Muggle school?” Ron interjected, having heard
Harry’s question and her reply. “What Family would do that?”

“Not purebloods, Ron, girls that…developed…earlier than the rest of us,” Hermione answered, her
voice picking up the touch of asperity it often did when talking to the redheaded member of the
Trio.

“Huh? Whaddaya mean?” he asked around a mouthful of roll heavily slathered with creamy butter
and spun honey.

“You pointed it out yourself; she doesn’t look very much like a First Year, does she?” Hermione
replied.

Looking back across the tables, Harry had to admit Hermione was right. Based on height alone the
new Slytherin girl could easily pass for a Fourth or Fifth year, and her face held little of that
unfinished look common among her year mates.

When he commented on that, Hermione nodded. “Not all children mature at the same rate; you
remember how big Crabbe and Goyle were their first year. A lot of bullies get their start that way,
by being bigger and stronger than the kids their own age. Well, with a girl it can lead to other
problems. Sometimes her friends get jealous because they’re afraid she’ll steal all the boys they
like, while the older girls look down on her for being an intruder onto their ‘turf’. It can put a
lot of emotional pressure on a girl, especially if she’s pretty enough for the older boys to notice
and start paying attention to her.”

Ron’s expression showed he still didn’t understand what Hermione was talking about, but Harry
finally caught on. “Merlin, Zabini is going to have his hands full, isn’t he?” When Ron turned a
puzzled look towards him he sighed and nodded down their own table to where Ginny was sitting with
some friends from her own year. “Ron, you remember how you felt last year when Dean and Seamus and
some of the other guys started to realize Ginny was a girl, and that was when she was in Fourth
Year. Now imagine how you’d feel if they acted like that towards her in her First Year.”

It took a second for his friend to make the connections, but the sudden look of fury on his face
made it clear when he did. “I’d kill them!” he growled fiercely as he kicked over into protective
brother mode. “Anybody who tried anything with her would be…be…spider food!” he finished, coming up
with the most horrible fate he could imagine.

“Uh…right,” Harry agreed, trying not to laugh. “Well, now you know how Blaise probably feels
about his sister.” He looked over again and saw the siblings chatting animatedly, their expressions
remarkably like those he’d seen at the Weasley’s dinner table when Ginny was talking to her
brothers. Then someone else at the Slytherin table directed a comment at them that caused Blaise’s
expression to darken while Lucretia blushed. No, having a younger sister that pretty in Slytherin
with him was not going to be easy…

Hermione once again nudged him in the side. “Take a look at Draco,” she whispered.

Harry shifted his attention to where the platinum-haired Ferret was seated with his cronies.
Sure enough he was making no effort to hide the way he was staring at Blaise’s little sister, and
the calculating, predatory look on his face made Harry slightly ill. And from the way Blaise was
glaring at Malfoy, he wasn’t too thrilled with the attention being directed at his sister, either.
“At least Zabini has the authority to yank him up short if he tries anything,” he observed, and
then shrugged half-heartedly at the disbelieving look his girlfriend gave him. “All right, so I
don’t think that’ll stop Malfoy, either. What else can we do? They’re not in our House.”

“No, but we can bring it up at the next Prefect’s meeting, not just about Lucretia, but
concerning any of the younger girls who might be harassed,” Hermione replied. “Really, it’s one of
the things we should be watching out for as part of our duties anyway. I know Parvati had problems
her third year with one of the older boys bothering her, so it’s happened before, even if no one
talks about it.”

Harry nodded his agreement with her plan, and after a last glance at the Slytherin table,
concentrated his attention on his Housemates and the repast laid before them.

When everyone had finally eaten their fill and the last crumbs of treacle pudding and gooseberry
fool had magically been whisked away, the students’ attention returned to the figure of the
headmaster, who once again was on his feet at the head table. “As always, there are a few
announcements before we all head off for a well-deserved night of rest,” he began. “First of all,
once again we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, but in this case he is
returning to us after too long an absence from these halls. I refer, of course, to Professor Remus
Lupin.” Remus stood to a half-hearted round of applause; despite his popularity as a teacher, the
stigma the Wizarding world placed on him for his condition was a hard one to overcome.

Ignoring the lackluster nature of the accolade his announcement had received, Dumbledore
continued speaking. “I am well aware that some of you may be concerned that Professor Lupin’s
unfortunate ailment might at times adversely affect his ability to conduct his classes. Rest
assured, this small problem, such as it is, has been dealt with by the addition of a teaching
assistant to the Dark Arts professorship. She will take over the classes of the younger years,
freeing up Professor Lupin’s time to concentrate on instructing the older students in the art of
defense. In addition, she will fill in on those rare occasions when Professor Lupin is indisposed.
Please welcome your new assistant professor, on loan to us from the Auror’s department, Nymphadora
Tonks!”

The response to this announcement was much more heartfelt, especially among the older male
students who always believed that a school could never have too many attractive female teachers.
Irrepressible as ever, Tonks stood and waved, earning more applause and an indulgent smile from the
headmaster, along with a sneer and a sniff from Professor Snape.

When the commotion surrounding the introductions finally died down, Dumbledore resumed his
opening speech. “And now for the more traditional announcements; as always, the Forbidden Forest
is, as its name suggests, forbidden to all students. As our Care of Magical Creatures professor can
attest, there are any number of dangerous creatures residing within its environs ready to enforce
that ban should a student’s common sense fail to do so. Also, our esteemed caretaker, Argus Filch,
has requested that I inform you all that the updated list of banned and restricted items is once
again posted on the door of his office; of for simplicity’s sake, simply refer to the latest
catalog from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes for the list of updates.” Dumbledore paused and smiled as a
light round of laughter circled the hall.

“Concerning the traditional Hogsmeade weekends, some students and teachers have expressed their
concerns as to the wisdom of continuing the practice, given the current situation in the Wizarding
world. I refer, of course, to the return of Lord Voldemort.” There was a collective gasp and a
couple of muffled shrieks at the sound of the feared name. “As you were informed at the beginning
of last term, and the Ministry has finally acknowledged, the person who refers to himself as the
Dark Lord is once again troubling our world. No doubt many of you have heard of the series of
attacks that occurred over the last several days. Sadly, these are likely to continue to occur
until such time as Voldemort and his followers are dealt with once and for all.”

Dumbledore once again stopped his speech until the commotion engendered by his comments had
settled down. “It is fear of such attacks that has led some to suggest that activities such as
Hogsmeade weekends be curtailed or cancelled, that they represent too great a risk, for what some
view as a frivolous waste of time.” The headmaster’s gaze did not shift to the head of Slytherin
House, but no student doubted where that particular observation had originated. “However, I find I
cannot agree with such a gloomy outlook on the matter.

“The primary weapon of Voldemort and his followers is the fear they attempt to foment in others,
and every time we surrender to that fear, we aid and abet those who are conspiring against us. As a
very bright young woman said not so long ago, ‘Every time we change our plans, give up doing what
we normally do, alter our way of life, out of fear over what the Death Eaters might do, by that
much they’ve already won.’” Only Harry and the headmaster noticed the blush that briefly coloured
Hermione’s cheeks as Dumbledore continued, “Those words struck me as being remarkably wise the
first time they were recounted to me, and I have heard nothing since then to change that opinion.
Consequently, while we will be instituting some additional security measures, Hogsmeade weekends
will continue as in the past.”

When the cheers that greeted this pronouncement began to die down, Dumbledore raised his hand
once more for silence. “Finally, I have one other piece of news to impart. With the dark tidings of
recent events and the shadow of impending war hanging over our heads, it is far too easy to lose
sight of the truths that make our lives worthwhile, truths such as the warmth of friendship, the
comfort of family, the joy of true love. It is when times are darkest that these intangibles become
most important, for they are what give us the strength to persevere in the face of great
adversity.

“Two of our students have, despite great personal trials, discovered these truths and the joy
they bring. And though it is a custom that has not been celebrated by members of the student
population for many years, they have chosen to declare their love for one another by one of the
most powerful means in the magical world. They have entered into a formal Joining, pledging their
love with the magical binding of their lives, their souls, and their destinies to one another.”
Beaming, Dumbledore waited while the excited whispers of the students rose and fell as the
purebloods that knew of the custom explained the basics to their less informed classmates. After a
few seconds the headmaster continued, “I trust you will all join me in extending best wishes for a
long and joy-filled life together to the happy couple, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane
Granger!”

The moment the names registered the majority of the students at the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and
Ravenclaw tables erupted into cheers, and a veritable storm of black student hats flew into the air
to shower down over the cheering, applauding crowd. Even a few of the Slytherins joined in a
restrained manner, applauding politely though their own caps stayed firmly on their heads. At the
Gryffindor table Harry and Hermione’s classmates left their seats to congratulate the blushing
couple, the girls squealing enviously over the ring that was no longer concealed on Hermione’s
finger.

Harry glanced at the head table and saw that even the teachers were moved by the announcement.
Hagrid’s bushy beard was split by an impossibly white smile, Madame Pomfrey and Madame Pince were
exchanging delighted smiles, and even Professor McGonagall was surreptitiously dabbing at her
suspiciously bright eyes. Of course it came as no surprise that Professor Snape looked as if he had
bitten into something sour, while Argus Filch just looked disgusted at all the commotion, but for
the most part the staff seemed happy for them.

Finally the noise began to die down as the house prefects restored order and Dumbledore resumed
his speech. “I’m sure that our happy couple are delighted by your show of support. Mister Potter,
Miss Granger, if you would come to my office after the fest, we should discuss the various changes
your Joining will effect on your remaining time at Hogwarts. And now, to all of you, a pleasant
night’s rest!”

With his final words the tall doors of the Great Hall swung open, signaling the end of the
feast, At each table the House prefects began assuming their duties and directing their charges to
their common rooms and dormitories, with the seventh year prefects of each House receiving the
passwords from their Housemasters to pass on to the students.

At the Gryffindor table Harry and Hermione watched as Ginny and Colin took charge of the new
First Years, chivvying them out the doors and up the stairs as they themselves had been years
before. Both of them were still feeling a bit flustered by the attention, and were waiting for the
crowd to thin before departing. “I didn’t expect this, did you?” Harry muttered, his hand seeking
hers under the table.

“No,” Hermione replied, keeping her voice down as well, “but really, it’s probably not a bad
idea when you think about it.” At Harry’s doubtful look she continued, “At least this way there’ll
be fewer crazy rumours floating about. The Daily Prophet can hardly engage in its usual wild
speculation if everything’s out in the open.”

“I guess so,” Harry agreed reluctantly as he glanced around the room. There had been a lot of
speculative looks sent their way during the headmaster’s speech, and the glare Malfoy had directed
at them had been positively murderous. *‘We’re still going to have trouble with him,’* Harry
thought. He noticed the platinum-haired Slytherin scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.
Tossing aside his quill, he rolled the scrap into a thin tube before hurrying out of the Hall. A
sudden hunch occurred to Harry, one that presented an opportunity he decided to act upon.

Leaning close, he whispered to Hermione, “There’s something I need to take care of before we see
the Headmaster. Get the password from Professor McGonagall and I’ll meet you in front of the
gargoyle that protects his stairs.”

“Harry, where are you—?” she started to ask, but before she could get the question out he was
off. “Just you wait, Mister Potter,” she muttered darkly at her boyfriend’s retreating back. They
were a team now, and he was going to have to learn he couldn’t just run off without telling her
what was going on.

~~~~~~

Draco paid only half a mind to his surroundings as he
descended from the Owlrey. With a little luck, his
report would arrive before those of any of the other
spies he knew the Dark Lord had to have working for him at Hogwarts, which would mean he would get the credit for letting the
Master know of the change in the relationship of Potter
and his Mudblood. Of course he’d already reported his
encounter during the summer, and the likelihood that
the two Gryffindors had become engaged in the Muggle fashion, but a Joining, that was something quite different. Draco didn’t know
what use the Dark Lord could make of the knowledge, but
there must be some way to turn it to their
advantage.

An evil glint appeared in Draco’s washed-out grey eyes as
he thought about Gryffindor’s newest couple. Of course
he didn’t take Potter’s earlier warnings seriously, he
was one of those idiots who bought into all that truth
and honor shyte that that fool Dumbledore preached. Potter could bluster and threaten all he wanted, but Draco knew that so long as there
was no proof of his actions he could do whatever he
pleased, and one thing Draco had learned very early was
how to avoid leaving evidence behind, or witnesses for
that matter. And now that the Fool-Who-Lived had been stupid enough to magically commit himself to that know-it-all mudblood whore, there was
a whole new way for striking back at him for his
interference with the Dark Lord’s plans. And it was a
way that promised additional rewards above and beyond
causing his enemy pain. After all, mudblood or not, Granger was a tasty little bint.

As a young boy Draco had listened to his father exchanging
tales with his associates about the different ways it
was possible to ‘entertain’ someone like the mudblood.
He’d been too young to really understand all the references at the time, but even so the stories had enthralled and
excited him with their images of humiliation, pain and
blood. Now that he was old enough to really appreciate
the artistry involved in some of those images, he
couldn’t wait to try it for himself. He felt himself hardening at the thought of the bushy-haired Gryffindor chained to a wall, her voice
gone from prolonged screaming, her stripped body
covered with bloody welts from the lash in Draco’s
hand…

So engrossed was he in his fantasies on methods of
revenging himself on Hermione, he didn’t realize he
wasn’t alone on the stairs until the figure stepped out
of the shadows. “Hello, Malfoy.”

Draco flinched and almost stumbled as he came to a halt;
the voice was one he recognized and hated, but he’d
never heard such a cold, implacable tone in it before.
His gaze locked on the slender form of his enemy; the dim light of the stairwell made him seem even more menacing, and for a
split second Draco thought those hated emerald green
eyes were glowing.

Falling back on the attitudes drummed into him from birth,
that one never showed fear to an enemy, he replied
haughtily, “What do you want, Potter?” Draco’s eyes
glinted maliciously. “Off to send an owl to that godfather of yours? Oh, wait that’s right,” he continued with a patently false
realization, “You can’t send owls to the dead, can you? What a
shame!”

Harry kept his voice calm, though his blood was boiling at
the vicious reminder of his loss. “I’m not here to send
an owl, Malfoy, and you know it. I’m here because after
your remarks on the train I thought we should have a
private chat,” he replied, his voice if anything growing colder, sending a chill down Draco’s back. “Somehow I got the feeling that you
didn’t take my warning seriously, so I thought it might be a good idea to lay out a few ground rules, just so we didn’t have any
misunderstandings.”

“Rules? What rules?” Draco tried to bluster. “I don’t have
to listen to any rules a Mudblood-lover like
you-”

Malfoy’s words were choked off as Harry’s hand flashed out
and grabbed him by the throat, pushing him back against
the stairwell wall and forcing him up on his toes.
Draco clawed ineffectually at the grip at his neck; he might be similar in height and build to Harry, but his life of prestige
and privilege, one that sneered at Muggle exercise as
beneath a wizard’s blood, had left him ill-equipped to
handle a physical confrontation, especially with
someone who’d spent a good part of his life working from morning to night as his relatives’ personal slave. Harry didn’t have a lot of
muscle on his frame, but what he had was rock-hard and
conditioned. When combined with the oversized clothes
that concealed his wiry strength, most people thought
of Harry as being far weaker than was actually the case.

“See, now, that’s the first item of business,” Harry said
in a conversational tone that belied the anger snapping
in his green eyes as he pinned Draco against the rough
stones. “I don’t much like that word. I never have, not
from the first time I heard you use it. It’s words like that that lead to people thinking nutters like Riddle have the right
idea. So you can see where it bothers me when you say
them about friends of mine?”

“Friends?” Malfoy scoffed past the pressure that was
half-choking him. “It’s not your friends that bother you, Potter. You only care because
Granger is spreading her legs-”

Draco’s rant was cut off as the palm of Harry’s
work-hardened palm crashed into his cheek, rocking his
head to one side. Before he could get another word out
a second blow rocked his head even harder as the same hand backhanded him, smashing his lips against his teeth. The hand at his throat
released him and he slumped, groaning, to the stairs.
He fumbled in his robes for his wand, but the second he
tried to draw it a foot slammed down on his wrist,
wringing a cry of pain from his throat and sending his wand clattering down the flagstone steps.

A hand fisted in his slicked back hair and forced his head
up. “And that’s the second order of business; you will
keep your foul mouth to yourself where she is
concerned. Yes, she’s my fiancée, to use the Muggle term, not that it’s any business of yours. I’m also proud to say she’s my Joined.
That means it’s now my duty as well as my pleasure to protect her reputation from the filth you spout.

“You couldn’t wait to race up here and inform
Senór Psychopath of the fact, could you? I’m guessing you’re already cooking up some scheme
in that warped mind of yours to take advantage of it, too. Well, go ahead and plot if it makes you
happy, but before you try anything, you’d better keep one thing in mind. Cross the line again where
Hermione is concerned, and you won’t like the consequences.”

“What are you going to do, Potter?” Malfoy sneered as he
got his breath back and his nerve returned.
“Gryffindors are too noble to be threatening; you obey
the rules, that’s why we’ll win in the end.” The sneer was wiped off his face as Harry laughed; it wasn’t a very nice laugh, and it sent
further shivers down the Slytherin’s spine.

“You really are clueless, aren’t you, Malfoy? Haven’t you
figured out by now that rules don’t mean a damn to me,
not when it’s about something important? There’s a very
good reason the Sorting Hat told me I would do well in
Slytherin,” he added, chuckling at the stunned look on the other boy’s face. “Oh, yeah, I turned it down; didn’t want to be in the house
with all the Dark Wizards, not after meeting you.” His
smile turned grim as Malfoy spluttered in outrage over
the implied insult.

“You want to know what will happen if you get out of line;
fine, I’ll tell you. You and your bootlickers are going to keep your hands, your mouths, and if you’re smart, your thoughts to
yourselves where my friends are concerned. If anything
I don’t like happens to anyone I care about,
*especially* to Hermione, I’m not going to worry about trying to figure out who did it, I’m going to go straight to the source,
*you*.”

“You can’t hold me responsible...” Draco started to
bluster, but Harry cut him off.

“I can and I will; Crabbe and Goyle won’t even go to the
loo without your say-so, and the rest of your toadies
aren’t much better. So if you don’t want to pay the
piper, you’d better sit on your goons, hard.” He eyed Malfoy speculatively. “Think about it; you don’t hold the cards this
year, I do. Umbridge is out, and with her, your
licensed brute squad’s gone, too. And in case you
haven’t read ‘The Daily Prophet’ lately, I’m no longer that ‘crazy attention-seeker’; I’m ‘the Boy Who Lived’ again, bravely
warning against the return of Lord Thingy. I can do no
wrong right now. Why, if I claimed self defense, I
could probably even get away with…murder.”

Draco’s face turned a sickly green. “You’re
bluffing.”

“You want to risk that?” Harry pressed. “You’re the son of
a known Death Eater; one that ended up in Azkaban for
trying to kill me. Do you think anyone would doubt me
if I said you tried to follow in Daddy’s footsteps, or even just tried to get revenge? Knowing you, anyone who cast
*priori* *incantatum* on your wand would turn up a bunch of evidence of Dark magic,
enough to convince the Wizengamot you were guilty, especially
if you weren’t around to contradict my
testimony.”

The Slytherin felt himself starting to sweat as Harry
continued, “In case you’ve missed it, there’s a war on,
and whether I like it or not, sooner or later I have to
get used to the idea that I might have to kill to protect the people I care about. You want to risk making it sooner?”

Malfoy stared up into the green eyes gazing implacably down
at him, and once again they seemed to glow with an
inner fire, a flicker of blue flame that danced within
the pupils. Draco shivered as he realized that his rival was absolutely, one could even say deadly, serious. A whimper escaped his
lips, and he flushed with shame as he realized it came
from himself.

Harry stared into Draco’s pale face a few seconds longer;
the cheek he’d struck first was already purpling, and the thin lips he’d mashed with his knuckles
were split and bleeding; nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn’t cure with a couple of flicks of her wand,
but until then the evidence that Malfoy had come off rather badly in a violent confrontation was
glaringly obvious, a fact that gave Harry no little satisfaction.

Releasing his grip on the Slytherin’s hair, Harry rose to
his feet, brushing his robes off and starting to turn
away, and then stopped and looked back. “Remember, Draco, this is your last warning, which is more than you should get. Step
out of line again and I won’t go to the professors or the headmaster, I’ll deal with you
myself…permanently.”

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE PART II – Thanks once more for your patience, hopefully you are enjoying this
enough to put up with my dreadfully slow pace. I do have a good idea where this is all leading, but
the details getting there are still hazy, hence the slow pace. Still, I do intend to keep going,
even with the new book due out shortly that will render all sixth year fics AU. I hope you stay
around for the ride!

~~~~~~

*Stanzas are taken from the Havamal, a collection of sayings
attributed to Odin in the Poetic
Edda.