Unofficial Portkey Archive

(A/N: Guess who's not dead?)

Harry landed in the Burrow's kitchen, for a moment disoriented, and looked around to see that he was effectively surrounded by a mass of people, all grinning and turning to face him.

Mrs. Weasley was standing beside a gigantic chocolate cake, beaming down at Harry with a motherly adoration. Fred and George stood behind her, grinning mischievously. Ron was on the other side, looking towards the twins, then back to Harry, shooting him warning glances. Lupin, Moody, and Tonks were by a table stacked with plates and forks, tipping their party hats deferentially at him. Ginny and Luna were there too, the latter's expression betraying a mixture of bemusement and wonder.

Then Harry looked up and saw that the ceiling was draped with red-and-gold streamers, with several candles floating magically in their air in the spaces between. A Gryffindor lion was presented on a banner that hung on opposite ends of the room, occasionally rearing up on its hind legs to roar. A miniature figure on a broom (which bore a striking resemblance to him) soared after a golden blur no bigger than a needle's head, weaving among the decorations near the ceiling.

Harry turned and nearly bumped heads with Hermione, whom he saw for the first time. "What's all this about?" he asked, looking around himself once more in confusion.

She smiled and pointed towards a banned that hung in an archway. Happy Birthday Harry Potter.

Suddenly it hit him. Everything was for him. Never in his life had he anything resembling a birthday party, and what he saw now tore his insides apart with emotion. Harry wanted to reach out and personally thank everyone, but he was too stunned to even move. He looked back at Hermione, whose eyes were shining.

"No-" said Harry, shaking his head. "No- This can't all be for me-"

"Harry," said Dumbledore gently, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder and reaching into the young man's eyes with his own magnetic gaze. "Remember what I told you at the end of last year concerning your friends? Enjoy yourself."

Reluctantly he let Hermione take his hand and lead him to the table, where he was forced into a seat by Mrs. Weasley and then served a generous slice of cake, which was practically dripping with chocolate.

Harry was not able to eat it, however, as everyone made their way over to his seat to shake his hand, wish him congratulations, and place a present beside his plate.

When Ron approached him, Harry readied himself, unsure of what to expect. "Good to see you mate," said Ron in a completely normal voice. "Happy birthday." He handed Harry a wrapped parcel and moved on, briefly tossing Hermione an unreadable glance.

Harry had little time to dwell on Ron, as next the twins approached him, both wearing identical grins.

"Always good to see our favorite partner-"

"-our only partner, really-"

"-though business has taken off-"

"But back to the point, we figured that you deserved a little something-"

"-it's not little as in small, but it's definitely something…" George paused, searching for a word.

"-memorable," finished Fred for him.

George winked and then set the gift on the top of the stack, patting it lightly. They both gave Harry a firm handshake and disappeared with smirks on their faces. Harry watched them leave suspiciously, remembering Ron's warning look and wondering what the twins could possibly be up to.

"It's been a while since I've last seen you, Potter," Moody said as he added his gift to the pile. He turned and looked at Harry with his glass eye appraisingly. "How long has it been? A year?"

"Yeah that's about right," said Harry, feeling rather uncomfortable as he always did under the gaze of Moody's artificial eye. "I reckon we've both been pretty busy."

The gnarled Auror laughed, but it came out more like a rattling chuckle. "You could say that. Remember what I say, Potter-" Moody's tone turned serious. "Constant vigilance. You-Know-Who will kill anyone in any way he can."

Harry nodded. "Right."

"You say that now," growled Moody. "But just wait. I let my guard down for one minute, and look what it got me." He pointed at his magical eye with one finger. "The damned Death Eaters captured me and dragged me back to their headquarters. Next thing I know I'm being strung up onto a wall and one of them is coming at me with a hot poker." He grinned in a grotesque, lopsided fashion. "Took out my eye, and it was then when they started asking me questions. It was pretty unusual for them to be doing it with their hands, like muggles, but then, sometimes the muggle-way is best." He laughed.

Harry tried to chuckle along with him, but failed.

Moody didn't seem to notice. "This was also the same night that You-Know-Who came after you and your parents. I guess I sort of owe you my life then, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Potter, is that the minute You-Know-Who was blown away, a shockwave ran through the Death Eaters," said Moody. "Every last one of them felt the mark on their arms and knew what happened." He grinned. "They were all too happy to claim they were on Imperious and let me go. That's the way it is with their type: lop off the head and the body crumbles. They're not motivated by their ideology or beliefs. Just power. If they don't see an opportunity to gain it, then they scamper like rats. That's what separates them from us. We'd fight to the last man. They wouldn't."

Harry didn't reply, and it didn't seem like Moody had expected him to.

"Regardless, you should remember what I told you," continued the Auror. "So what did I say, Potter?"

"Don't let your guard down unless you want your eye stabbed out with a flaming iron poker," said Harry, figuring that that was probably the best answer.

Moody grunted, seemingly satisfied, and limped off towards Dumbledore.

When Hermione tentatively smiled and came up to him, Harry found himself unconsciously checking his shirt to ensure there weren't any stray cake crumbs clinging to it. She wrapped her arms around him, gave him a swift kiss on the cheek, and whispered, "Happy birthday."

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. "Thanks," he said, and, looking into her face, he could see that something was wrong. Perhaps it was his newfound talent at Occlumency and other mental skills that gave him special insight at noticing the small nuances in her expression, but he could detect a measure of concealment in her eyes that he otherwise wouldn't have noticed. The conversation they had through the mirror the other day was not forgotten by him, and he suddenly felt anxious.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. Then, "We'll talk later - this is your birthday party, after all."

Harry recalled her saying that her parents were to be relocated to the Burrow, and he checked his surroundings, trying to find any unfamiliar faces that could belong to them. "Weren't your parents supposed to be here?"

"They're at Hogwarts right now," said Hermione. "Professor McGonagall is telling them what is, err, going on."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling some relief. He knew that meeting her parents was something that he was inevitably going to have to do, but he welcomed the delay.

"So you're still going to talk to Ron, right?" ask Hermione quietly. "He hasn't said a word to me all day. It's worse than when we're outright arguing."

Harry frowned and looked at his redheaded friend, who was engaged in a conversation in Luna. He certainly didn't look like he was carrying any sort of grudge, but then, Ron had become so hard to read since his possession during last year. While the personality that ensnared him was gone, it seems that Ron had been permanently changed.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah I will."

"Harry-"

-CRACK-

Harry leapt to his feet when sound like a gunshot split through the air. Moody had already whirled around, his wand drawn, his magical eye spinning in its socket.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything of consequence," drawled an all too familiar voice. Harry cursed silently. He had hoped he wouldn't have to see the Potions master until the school year began.

"You arrived early, Severus," said Moody, withdrawing his wand.

"The headmaster requested for me to finish my task as soon as possible," said Snape. "I decided not to delay in presenting him my report. Though if I had known that I would be subjected to such…" He eyed the candles and red-and-gold streamers. "…visually unique-"

"That's enough, Severus," interrupted Dumbledore. "What have you determined?"

Snape, having smoothed his robes after having apparated in, strode towards Dumbledore, looking rather pleased with the effect of his dramatic entrance. He drew a small package from his pocket and handed to the headmaster.

"Surprisingly, it's perfectly harmless," Snape said. "I've subjected it to the most rigorous of jinx-detecting potions with no discovery of anything malicious." He smirked. "I believe this is the first gift the Dark Lord ever gave."

"Gift?" Harry echoed, looking at Dumbledore.

Snape's eyes flitted to Harry then back to Dumbledore. "So Potter doesn't know, does he?"

Dumbledore looked sharply at Snape when the Potions master spoke those last words, but said, "If that's all, Severus…"

"Yes, that's all," Snape said crisply. He paused, looking around the room once more. "Potter's birthday party, is it?"

"Would you like to stay, Severus?" offered Mrs. Weasley, and Harry's head turned so fast that he could hear it pop. She was wearing her most diplomatic smile.

Snape stared at her and said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "As tempting as your offer is - No, I believe I have other work that needs to be done before I could possibly join in the…festivities. I must be returning to Hogwarts immediately."

He moved apart from them, faced the wall, and vanished with a crack.

Dumbledore, however, did not seem to have noticed. "That was most illuminating," he murmured, and carefully placed the package into his robes. Turning to Harry he added, "I do not want to speak now, but after your party, I wish to have a few words with you."

Harry nodded, subtly aware that, whatever was inside that package, it had something to do with him.

Mrs. Weasley looked deeply annoyed. "And I would like a few words with you before you speak to Harry, Albus."

"And I would be more than happy to discuss with you whatever you want to discuss…" said Dumbledore. "…after the party."

Though it was apparent that she was not completely satisfied, Mrs. Weasley nodded and called out, "There's more cake for those who want some! I don't want to have any leftovers!"

While the cake he had was excellent, it was also filling. Harry wasn't too sure if he could handle another slice, and, judging from the lack of people answering Mrs. Weasley's call, he wasn't the only one.

"I'm going to get a drink, Harry," Hermione said. "Do you want anything?"

Harry shook his head. "No thanks, I'm fine."

Hermione got up from her seat and crossed the room to the drink table. As she did so, Mrs. Weasley repeated her previous call.

"There's plenty more cake," she said, this time looking directly at Harry, as though sizing him up.

"She's not going to let you out of here until you eat at least another three pounds of that cake," said Ron, coming up and slapping him on the shoulder. "When Hermione told her that you never had a birthday party before, she nearly had a heart attack. You wouldn't believe how long she and Hermione have been planning this."

Harry laughed.

"Well it's true!" insisted Ron. "We all helped a fair amount, but they worked like a pair of madwomen." He shook his head. "Once she gets an idea…"

"Hey mate," Harry began, suddenly remembering his assurance to Hermione. "How about after this we go out and play some Quidditch? It's been months since I last got a chance to fly."

Ron hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Sure mate, it's your birthday." Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Hermione. "Let me go check to, err, make sure my broom is in, uhhh, working condition. I'll be right back."

Before Harry could get another word off he strode away, just as Hermione had returned with her drink.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

Harry considered her question for a long time. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "He seemed normal enough when I was talking with him, but-" He stopped suddenly.

"-when I came over, he clammed up," finished Hermione for him.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "That must've been it. But why?"

Hermione gave him a brittle smile. "If it hadn't been for you, Harry; Ron and I would never have been friends. Our personalities are nothing alike." She sighed. "I think- I think it's easier for him to forgive you than to forgive me. He…liked me, Harry, more than just as a friend. In a way, I believe he blames all of this - the awkwardness - on me."

"But shouldn't he have - you know - gotten over all this?" said Harry. "I thought Luna and him were, err, close to getting together."

"Gates' memory charm wiped all that away," Hermione replied. "Including any sort of personal affections he developed for Luna during the second half of the year. Luna is taking it rather well, I think. It's so hard to tell though. She's so strange." She sighed. "But the point remains that Ron feels betrayed - not by you so much as me. In fact, I think he is far stranger to me than he is with you right now."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said, remembering vividly that the original reason they had hid their relationship was to prevent something like this from happening. "Wait, are you saying that he-?"

"No, he doesn't hate me, if that's what you're asking. It's more complex. I just shouldn't expect to receive any updates on how the Chudley Cannons are performing this year." Hermione gave a short, forced chuckle, though there was no humor in her eyes, and her tone once again turned serious. "But I hope your talk with him helps. I hate it being like this."

Harry gulped but said nothing. So far, he had planned nothing regarding his 'talk' with Ron. He could only begin to imagine how badly such a conversation could turn, but, seeing Hermione in such distress, he resolved to approach his best friend within the hour.

Maybe after Quidditch I could talk to him, Harry thought. Not only would Ron be tired after the game, but he would likely be in a good mood.

"I think it's about time that you opened your presents," said Lupin, who had come up and sat next to him. "It's nearly one-thirty."

"I agree," Moody growled. "Go on, boy, open them. You won't get too many moments like these over the coming years."

Harry went through the presents in short order, starting with the ones that were nearly slipping off the pile and then working his way down to the heavier ones.

Without knowing it, Harry first picked the present from the twins. He didn't realize his error until the enclose box began to shake madly, and though he tried to keep it shut, it was too late. A self-inflating, nude, life-sized figure of a young witch blew out of the package, flying into the air before landing at Harry's feet. His face turned beet red as soon as he realized what it was.

"FRED! GEORGE!" screamed Mrs. Weasley, though the twins had left the moment the deed had been completed. She stormed out of the room regardless, and echoes could be heard of her shouting threats, though it was becoming quite clear that both of the culprits were long gone.

Ron and Ginny - and, indeed, most of the people in the room - were roaring with laughter, and even Moody cracked a lopsided grin. Still blushing, Harry deflated the doll and moved onto the next present.

Luna gave him a pair of partially-enchanted Chattering Teeth. She said that, if Harry was to think of a specific person while tapping the teeth with his wand, a shadow of that person's personality would enter the teeth, allowing Harry to have a conversation with the specified person whenever he wished. She added that personalities of the deceased could not be placed onto the teeth.

While a different pair of Chattering Teeth had saved his life last year, Harry had not quite gotten used to the idea of talking with a pair of teeth, and, while they could be useful in many situations, he had no plans to enchant them anytime soon.

From Moody he received a book titled How to be Paranoid, while Tonks gave him an add-on handle grip for his broom. Lupin's gift was an assortment of Potion ingredients - some of which Harry suspected Lupin gathered himself.

When Harry came to the next present, however, he was brought to a pause when he did not recognize the giver's name. "Who's John Williams?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore at once. "That must be a gift from an admirer. As your true address isn't public information, Hogwarts received several parcels that were meant for you. Many of them, I believe, think that you are living in Hogwarts for protection. Regardless, I went to the liberty of subjecting them to several anti-jinx spells before bringing them here."

"I can't accept all of these," said Harry, looking at the gift pile in a new light, wondering how many presents were from 'admirers.'

"You're going to have to," Dumbledore said. "Many of the senders did not leave a return address."

As it turned out, Harry received several gifts from such people, many of them so far consisting of books (which Hermione tried - and failed - to look disinterested in).

When he picked up the next one, however, he could tell that it was unique. Magical energy seemed to radiate off of it, tingling the tips of his fingers. When he tore through the plain brown wrapping, he found leather box with brass hinges along with a letter. When he went to open it, a wrinkled hand gently covered his, and he looked up to see Dumbledore shaking his head.

"Save that gift for later," said Dumbledore, looking strangely perturbed. "That one, I sense, is something that should only be opened in private."

Not quite sure what to make of the headmaster's musings, Harry finally nodded and set the box aside, moving on to the next present. The warmth from the magic still lingered on his hands, and he found himself glancing more than once towards what he now decided was some sort of decorative case.

Ginny and Ron both gave him large portions of Hogsmeade chocolate, and Neville, though he was not present (due to his own birthday), sent him a new quill and a rare pot of ink intended for formal scrolls and writings. The ink, he explained in an accompanying letter, was from his grandmother, who had wanted to thank him for helping Neville through the Defense Association.

Last was Hermione's, and when he set it on his lap to open it, he could feel rather than see Moody's magical eye swivel to focus onto the gift. Harry spared a quick glance towards the gnarled Auror, and saw Moody fleetingly look from him, to the present, to Hermione, and then back to him again.

"Thanks Hermione," said Harry, unraveling it and finding it to be a bottle of cologne. He opened the cap and sniffed. It was like a mixture of pine needles, lavender, and jasmine. Reminiscent of a forest.

Hermione just smiled at him. "I'm glad you like it, though you won't know for sure until you put it on."

This simple exchange had a strange effect on the surrounding people. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be reappraising the situation, while Moody's eye shifted sharply between Harry and Hermione. Tonks began wearing a hint of a smile, and Lupin laughed softly under his breath. Dumbledore, however, showed no change, though perhaps the twinkle in his eye became a hint brighter.

Ron's expression was stoic, impassive. At length he turned away, as though embarrassed or ashamed. Luna placed her hand on his shoulder and he abruptly stood up and stepped back. Luna gave him a small, unreadable smile, then returned her gaze to Harry.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said, his face turning a bit red though he didn't know why. He got to his feet and looked around. "Thanks, everybody."

"This is nothing," Moody growled. "Nothing compared to what you'll be facing in the future."

Mrs. Weasley shot Moody a warning glance, which the ex-Auror didn't seem to notice, then turned to Harry and said, "I am just happy I was able to give it to you." She looked over him, then, with slightly shining eyes, added, "You've grown so much."

There was a slightly awkward silence before Lupin raised his glass. "To Harry Potter. To another seventeen years."

Everyone raised their glasses, and, together, they drank, murmuring Lupin's words. Mrs. Weasley suppressed a sob. But Harry didn't notice, and instead kept watching Hermione, even as they toasted.

Later, when everyone had fallen into socializing, Harry signaled Ron and they went outside with their brooms to fly. For an hour Harry felt like he was with his best friend again, and the tension - whether it be imagined or real - had gone, leaving only two boys, tossing a Quaffle between themselves. While Harry knew that Lupin and Hermione were looking through a window, watching him, he didn't particularly care, though he did find himself taking a few more risky dives than usual. Ron, however, didn't seem to notice at all, and repeatedly called out, "If your broom had been an inch lower to the ground you would be eating dirt right now!"

"I haven't done that enough this summer," Harry said, laughing, when Ron and him returned to the ground.

"You haven't done it at all mate," said Ron. "It helps to loosen you up." He fell down into the grass and Harry sat next to him.

Sitting there, Harry slowly remembered his promise to Hermione, and it dawned on him that he would probably not get another chance like this for a while - if at all. They were both tired, exhausted after their flight. Ron's temper would be significantly tamer.

"Hey mate," said Harry. "You mind if I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Ron with a bit of unnatural caution in his voice.

"Why have you been avoiding Hermione?"

"I haven't been avoiding her. What're you talking about?"

"Yes you have," Harry said. "You know you have. You've been acting like she isn't there. Have you even spoken to her today?"

Ron didn't answer, but continued staring at the horizon. The sun was shone on his face and there was sweat from the afternoon heat.

"We've known each other for seven years now. Why aren't two of my best friends talking anymore?" Harry paused for a moment before saying, "You like her, don't you?"

"What? Of course not."

Harry was less than convinced. "Ron-"

"Look, mate," Ron interjected sharply. "I don't care if you and Hermione are together. You two just keep the snogging out of sight, all right? I don't need to see any of that when I wake up at seven in the morning." He stood up to leave.

"What the-"

"I don't care," Ron snapped, and before Harry could get another word in he was already inside the house.

"That went well," Harry muttered under his breath. He half-sat, half-fell to the ground, deciding to give Ron some time to cool off. He still wanted to have Ron and Hermione act as joint holders of Tenbrook's Sphere in the event of his death - something, he knew, that had a fair chance of happening. The ultimate question was whether Ron would agree to hold the Sphere jointly with Hermione.

Damn it, why can't we all just get along?

"You're missing your own party, Harry," said Dumbledore, who had come out of the house so quietly that Harry nearly jumped when he heard the headmaster's voice. "Molly believes you to be outside playing Quidditch with young Mr. Weasley, but, as I had just passed him in the hallway a moment ago, I see that this is no longer true."

Harry turned and saw that Dumbledore was not staring at him, but looking at the horizon contemplatively. It was almost like Ron had been only a few minutes ago.

"Well, we're finished."

"I hope you're only referring to Quidditch," Dumbledore said as he sat down on the grass.

"So you noticed?"

"If you mean the distance that opened up between you two, yes I have, though the distance is especially wide with Miss Granger. I daresay I have an idea of what triggered it as well."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, so do I. That's quite a problem, isn't it?"

"A difficult and common one, yes." There was a pause. "Harry, I do not wish to give you a lecture," Dumbledore said at last. "You have learned more and experienced more than wizards twice your age. To lecture you would be an insult. But may I show you a second side of the problem?"

"Of course."

"Ron had six months of his memory more or less wiped from his brain," said Dumbledore. "More than that, he is still recovering from a malicious personality that had been forcibly purged from his mind. All that changes that had occurred over those six months came together to give him one sudden shock. There was no time for him to adjust. This, I believe, is the central factor in the problem."

"I am not excusing or condoning his behavior, but explaining it," he continued. "It won't be easy to resolve, since much is beyond any individual party's control."

"It's strange though," said Harry. "I trust Ron and I he trusts me. It's just…"

Dumbledore nodded. "A sensitive issue. An inch wide but a mile deep."

"Yeah. Like that." Only a few minutes had passed from when Dumbledore first spoke, but Harry felt that he had grasped a clearer view of the situation between Ron, Hermione, and him. The headmaster had a gift for bringing problems into perspective.

"Harry," began Dumbledore after a moment. "Do you mind if I ask if it is still your intention to make Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley the joint heirs of Tenbrook's Sphere? Or have recent events led you to change your mind?"

"No, I still want them to be."

"Good," Dumbledore said softly, and turned once again towards the horizon. "Very good."

After another moment's silence, Harry turned towards Dumbledore and looked over the aging headmaster. It was alarming to see how old he had become in the past few years. He had never considered Dumbledore to be ancient in the way that he truly was. Perhaps it was because Harry was young and naïve, but he almost thought that the headmaster could live forever. Now that he was gazing at the present-day headmaster - at the many wrinkles and the face like a sagging mask - he realized that he had been horribly wrong. There was strength in the shock-blue eyes, but it was like a spark. Quick to burn and quick extinguished. Then, Dumbledore shifted, and a package that he had been holding in his hands was revealed. Harry recognized it immediately. Snape had given it to him earlier.

"Professor," said Harry. "Do you mind if I ask what's in that package?"

"Tom's vanity," said Dumbledore. "But it's not mine. Truly, this is the reason I wished to speak with you. An anonymous owl was spotted heading towards your home this morning. As unidentified owls are never allowed to deliver mail to you without testing for jinxes, the Order intercepted it. The involved Order members immediately forwarded to me."

"Why? Couldn't they test for jinxes?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "This one was a special case. When they saw the name on the return address, they forwarded it to me."

"When I received it I daresay I thought it was a prank," Dumbledore continued. "But after several tests I found it to be authentic. Next I performed a series of charms to detect the taint of Dark Magic, but, surprisingly, I found nothing, even when I subjected it to my most rigorous tests. Not trusting myself, I sent it to a person who knows far more about Dark Magic than I do: Professor Snape. And, as you saw earlier, he reached the same conclusion. There was no outside tampering. Not even a trace of the Plague. Unfortunately, the inside lining was enchanted, so it was impossible to see the contents."

"You want me to…open it?" asked Harry, now staring at the package as though it contained a viper ready to strike.

"I want nothing," said Dumbledore. "I am only returning the package. I do not own it. I don't have the right to destroy it." Carefully, the headmaster set it on the ground between them. He sighed. "Molly will probably curse me for giving this to you."

Harry made no move to take it. "What do you think I should do?"

"I don't see any value in opening it," Dumbledore said. "It is no coincidence that it arrived on your birthday - on the day you come of age. Tom probably sent it as a mock present, no doubt in an attempt to intimidate you."

Slowly, Harry reached out and lifted the package off the ground. Its wrapping was coarse brown paper, nothing remarkable, and written on it in green ink was Number Four, Privet Drive.

"How did he know my address?"

"It is widely known in the wizarding world that you live with your muggle relatives. As your mother was muggleborn, and her family tree is available to the public, it would be an easy matter to discover where you live during the summer."

Harry stared at it for another moment, as if waiting for it to explode. Curiosity was burning inside him. What could it possibly be? It was like Voldemort was daring him, challenging him to open it. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who said nothing.

On impulse Harry released a small corner of the wrapping, and, after nothing happened, he slowly unfolded the other corner and revealed a slip of a box. Like the paper, it was plain and brown.

This was it, he knew. The point of no return.

Carefully, he opened the top and held his breath. He hadn't the faintest idea of what to expect, but when he looked inside, he saw a simple wand lying on a bed of cotton.

"A wand?" Harry said. He passed the box to Dumbledore.

"Not just any wand," said the headmaster quietly. "This one has been befouled."

"Befouled?"

"Twisted by the Dark Arts," explained Dumbledore, all the while staring at the wand as though trying to solve an enigma. "There are certain magicks that no wand is meant to perform, such as the Killing Curse. A wand is made out of the essence of pure beings - unicorns, phoenixes, and dragons. If the essence is repeatedly abused by such unnatural magic, then the wand core will become corrupted or befouled."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that it can only be used for the purpose of evil," said Dumbledore gravely. "A wand such as this cannot perform Healing Charms or magic intended to bring happiness or amusement into life. It can only perform dark deeds, and is useless to anyone with any amount of decency in their hearts."

"You mean it can only be used to perform Unforgivables?"

"No," said Dumbledore softly, still studying the wand. "Not at all. It's the intentions that determine the wand's effectiveness, not the spells themselves. If a wizard takes up this wand with the wish to do good in the world, then the wand will not work. If that same wizard wishes to inflict pain and suffering, well...you could hardly have a better tool. But now, looking at this, it brings a memory-" Dumbledore paused. "This was your father's wand, Harry. By Merlin…Tom found and corrupted James' wand-" He got to his feet.

"Professor?" Harry asked quickly, standing too.

"This wand was buried with your father," Dumbledore said, gingerly setting it back into its brown packaging. "In order to have this wand, Tom must have violated your parents' graves. It was foolish of me to leave it unwatched."

It was when Harry looked at the wand a second time that he received the full import of Voldemort's package. It was more than a simple reminder of James' death at the Dark Lord's hands - it was a snide threat. Voldemort was saying that - like James' wand - Harry too would succumb to the Dark Arts. Bellatrix had undoubtedly told her master what had occurred in the Ministry lobby when Harry had hurled a Cruciatus Curse in his blind rage. Voldemort was expressing what he believed to be an unnerving insight into Harry's soul.

But he's wrong, Harry thought. He might think otherwise, but he's not God. Can even God tell me what I'm going to be?

"I must be leaving, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning to go into the Burrow. "If Tom has broken into the Potter mausoleum, then at the very least I must be there to assess the full extent of the damage. Let their rest not have been disturbed."

"My parents- they're buried there?"

"Yes, but I cannot take you today," said Dumbledore, as though reading Harry's mind. "Remember that this trap was designed to be taken by you. While I highly doubt there will be Death Eaters present, I suspect that numerous traps will be involved. You can't be subject to such danger unnecessarily. I will investigate the mausoleum, then contact the Ministry."

"I'm supposed to fight Voldemort, right?" countered Harry. "Aren't I a part of this war? Why shouldn't I go?"

Contrary to what Harry expected, Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Ah, such impatience. But not now, not today. I'll speak to Moody, and will ask him to return you to Number Four this evening, as it will be unlikely that I will be able to return." He gazed at the surrounding grass, the gardens. "For now, enjoy this beautiful day. It is, after all, yours. Happy birthday."

After that he went through the doorway and vanished, and a moment later Harry followed. He still had the box in his hands - the box that he was beginning to regret opening. The wand laid on the cotton, its polished features not betraying the Darkness that had undoubtedly been worked on it by Voldemort. By Merlin, his father's wand!

He stood in the corridor for a moment, not quite feeling like returning to the party. Instead, he wandered further down the hall and sat down on the last step of the long stairwell leading to the second floor.

It wasn't long before he saw Hermione. "So this is where you've been," she said, sitting next to him. "Mrs. Weasley looked out the window and saw that you and Ron weren't flying anymore."

"Yeah, we took a break and I tried to talk to him. It didn't go as well as I hoped."

"What did he say?"

"He got angry and said that he didn't care whether we were together or not." Harry went on and related his entire conversation with Ron. After he finished, he stared at her for a moment. "Well?"

"What?"

"You're the expert on feelings," said Harry in a slightly playful tone. "What're we-"

"Who says I'm the expert on feelings?"

"No one. You just have a reputation of being quite an authority on all things emotional."

"Oh really?" said Hermione, laughing slightly.

"So? What do you think?"

Her expression turned serious and she began biting her lower lip. "I've known him for seven years, and now…I don't know. I really don't."

"Ah, I see you found Harry, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said as she bustled through an adjacent corridor. "Come on, dear, I was beginning to worry. I always wonder about the safety of those brooms."

Harry and Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley back to the dining room, and, when they entered, he noticed Ron look at him then quickly look away.

He went to the table, pulled out a seat for Hermione, and then found one for himself nearby. When he felt a gnarled hand slap onto his shoulder, he turned around and looked up at Moody's pitted face.

"Dumbledore passed through a few minutes ago," said the ex-Auror, his one eye swirling in its socket. "Said I should take you back this evening. Don't go-" The eye settled on Hermione for a fraction of a second. "-fooling around. We'll leave at five o'clock sharp."

"Five? It doesn't get dark until eight o'clock."

"Dumbledore said this evening, not this night. We must return when it's still daylight. It's during the dusk and nighttime hours when you're more susceptible to ambushes." He tapped his head with one gnarled finger. "You must think like they do."

"Oh, right."

Moody nodded, saying, "You're learning," then left to speak with Lupin.

"If you're leaving that early, then I have something to tell you," said Hermione quietly. "About what's going on with my parents."

"Yeah, what's happened to them?" Harry asked. The question had been burning in his mind since Hermione brought it up yesterday. "Why'd they have to move? And why would I be angry?" he added.

"Some of my neighbors have come down with Plague," she said. "In fact, it's just my neighbors. First an elderly couple across the street became sick, then the people next to us, and then the people behind us. There hasn't just been some huge outbreak in our neighborhood - it's just the people near us."

"The Order members that have been guarding us told Dumbledore," Hermione continued. "And Dumbledore came and brought us out. From what I heard the government came and quarantined the entire neighborhood soon after we left. Everyone's been coming down with it."

"Your parents don't…have it, do they?"

"No," she answered. "But that was what Dumbledore was afraid of. He said that Voldemort was trying to get to you through me. He also said it confirmed something that he had been suspecting all along: Death Eaters have been methodically spreading the Plague. It isn't just random."

"Merlin," whispered Harry. "But that can't be right. If they did that, they'd be at risk for infection too."

"Maybe, but no one really knows anything about the Plague," said Hermione. "We know next to nothing. We don't know the manner of its distribution, we don't know how it was made, we don't even know if it's contagious. All we know is that it's terribly efficient at killing its victims. I don't even know how I'm still alive. If one of those Death Eaters had had a chance…" She let out a shaky breath.

"I didn't want to tell you earlier because I knew you'd insist on coming over, and with the shape my parents were in when Dumbledore told them about what was happening, that was a bad idea. I think they just began realizing that what happens in the wizarding world never stays in the wizarding world."

Harry looked down at the box in his hands, realizing that Voldemort was trying to unnerve him. First an attempt on Hermione's life, then the befouled wand…what next?

"What's that?" Hermione asked, following his gaze to the shabby little box that he held.

He opened it to her. "A gift," he replied dryly, then told her of his conversation with Dumbledore, and how the wand was befouled and corrupted beyond of any possibility for normal use.

"I've heard of those before," she said, looking at the ash wand in something like mingled fear and curiosity. "Finding one is supposed to be a bad omen." She looked up at him. "Total nonsense, of course," she added matter-of-factly.

"Of course."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Harry hesitated, having not really thought about it before. "Dunno. It was my dad's, so it wouldn't be right to destroy it, would it?"

"That's- your dads?" asked Ron, and Harry had to check twice to ensure that it was indeed the tall, gangly redhead that he knew since his first year. He was even more amazed when Ron took a nearby seat, though the awkwardness was apparent. Harry looked towards Hermione, whose mouth was slightly agape, and then back to Ron. "And it's befouled? Mate, that's bad. Real bad."

Harry's mind immediately went to Ron's dire warnings of the Grim, and, from Hermione's expression, he could tell she was thinking the same. He could tell she was struggling not to speak and disturb the fragile bridge Ron had extended.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"That's what the Death Eaters used to do to the wands of the wizards they killed," Ron said. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, and avoided glancing at or even recognizing Hermione's presence. "They'd sometimes leave huge piles of befouled wands in the middle of Diagon Alley and leave the families to sort through them. Doing that to a wizard's wand is like attacking him in death. It's supposed to curse the owner. Not even Death Eaters keep befouled wands. 'Course, You-Know-Who always kept his wand, and that one's sure as hell befouled."

Harry slowly drew the wand from its box and held it in his hands, rolling it on his palms. Ron stared at it intently, then looked away.

"That might be a bunch of hogwash, though," Ron conceded. "The part about the curse, that is."

Harry envisioned Voldemort's hands touching the wand, and immediately he set it back inside the box. Whether it had once belonged to his father or not, it was now tainted. He didn't dare to imagine what horrible curses Voldemort had used with the wand to corrupt it so quickly, nor did he want to know how much Dark Magic now ran through the fine grains of the ash handle.

"I think I should destroy it," said Harry finally.

Ron raised one eyebrow and Hermione looked rather shocked. "But Harry, that's your dad's. It doesn't matter what Voldemort-" Ron shuddered. "-did to it, it was and is his wand."

"Anything that was a part of my dad left that wand the minute Voldemort corrupted it. I don't want to keep it around."

"But what if it's not the wand's fault?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

Despite himself, Ron blinked. "Huh?" His ears darkened an instant later as he looked away.

Harry jerked his head sideways, looking at her. What did she mean by that?

Breaking from his brief reverie, Harry shut the box in an abrupt motion and got to his feet. "I'll figure it out later," he muttered. He suddenly felt queasy and avoided looking Hermione in the eye.

"Where're you going now mate?" Ron asked, he too standing up.

Harry paused, considering, and then looked from Ron, to Hermione, then back to Ron. Now would be as good a time as any. Better, in fact.

"I need to talk to both of you. Away from here."

Ron's brow furrowed, and slowly - almost reluctantly - he nodded. Hermione looked at him questioningly, though she remained silent.

Harry led them both out of the dining room and down the hall. Seeing that the living room was occupied, he went upstairs and into the guest bedroom, letting Hermione and Ron in before closing the door behind them.

"What is it?" Ron asked, being the first to speak. Hermione merely watched, waiting.

"Look," began Harry. "Earlier today, when he came to pick me up from the Dursley's, Dumbledore told me that I'm old enough to inherit my family's artifact. But before it can be passed on to me, I need to name someone to keep them in case that I, well, die. I want you both to hold it jointly."

Ron's mouth dropped open and Hermione's eyes went wide.

"You're not going to die, Harry," she said slowly.

"It's not impossible." Inwardly, Harry felt it was quite likely. The only reasons he had survived his previous encounters was due to blind luck, not skill. Sometime, he knew, his luck would not be there. And then he would either win or he would lose; and against an opponent who's supposed to be invincible, the odds were not in his favor.

"Mate," said Ron heavily. "You've got the wrong person. I can't do it. I know we'd only be holding it for a day or so before handing it over, but there's no way I'd be giving your artifact to them."

"What're you talking about? Give it over to who?"

"The artifact heirs."

"What heirs? I don't have any heirs. It'd just go to you two, right?"

Ron shook his head. "No, mate. You do have heirs."

"You're not serious," whispered Hermione, who was staring at Ron with disbelieving eyes.

"If you die, Harry, the artifact will go to your closest blood relatives," said Ron. "It'll go to the Dursley's."

"Impossible," Harry countered. "There's got to be a way to change heirs. And besides, they're muggles!"

"Doesn't really matter mate," said Ron. "The entire system is designed so that artifacts couldn't leave a family due to the whim of its owner. As for it going to muggles, well, that's a bit of an oversight. Maybe if you told my dad and got the Ministry involved you could change the heir, but I doubt it. They have their hands full as it is. Never was a problem before since most of the families that use that system are pureblood, and have no connection to muggles anyway."

"Damn," Harry muttered. The last thing he wanted was to have the Tenbrook's Sphere fall into the Dursley's outstretched hands. He could almost see Dudley throwing it around like a softball, and Merlin knows what would happen if he smashed it.

"There's no use worrying about it," Hermione said briskly. "After all, Harry isn't planning on dying anytime soon. By the time he does, he'll already have an heir, so there won't be any complications." Suddenly blushing, she turned away.

"So, errr, mate," began Ron, shifting his posture uneasily. "What is this artifact anyway?"

"Tenbrook's Sphere."

Ron said a silent 'wow.' "Better keep a lid on that, mate. There're plenty of people out there that wouldn't mind killing a few wizards to get their hands on Tenbrook's Sphere."

"Voldemort especially," said Hermione. "If he could freeze time, even for a minute," She shook her head. "I can't even imagine the damage he could do."

"Yeah, but it's also a good way to lose your mind," said Harry. "From what Dumbledore told me, you can end up in a madhouse if you use it too much. Whenever we go to Diagon Alley, I'll put it in my vault. So will you two…hold it for me if something happens?"

"Sure, mate," said Ron. "But you better not go out and die. I'd rather see the thing smashed into a thousand pieces than watching your relatives inherit it. After all the stuff they've done to you…"

Hermione, on the other hand, didn't answer right away, but seemed torn between something.

"Hermione?" he asked gently.

"Well…all right," she said at last. "But you're not going to die."

Harry chose not to reply, and for several moments no one spoke.

Ron, however, looked between the two of them, and suddenly blinked. "Oh, right-" he said, his ears turning red with embarrassment. Harry looked at him, confused. "Um, sorry."

"Yeah, I, err, should probably- I'll go, uhh, grab something to eat. I'll, errr, see you later," Ron stammered, and quickly he went through the doorway. Harry only managed to catch a glimpse of his reddening neck before he was gone.

"Uhhh…" Harry turned to Hermione. "Do you know what just happened?"

"I might," she said.

"Really? What?"

"He thought we were about to snog right there in front of him."

Harry laughed. "What would've made him think that?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, though a bit of pink in her face betrayed otherwise.

"Hmmm," Harry said with mock contemplation. "You think it could've had anything to do with you saying that I'd have an heir before I die?"

"It's hypothetically true!" she said with burning cheeks. .

Harry grinned. "I know. But why were you blushing?"

"What do you mean why was I blushing?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms. "What are you implying Harry?"

"This," he said, and, stepping closer, he brought his hands to her sides.

"What?" she whispered, looking up at him.

"This," he repeated, and, as he closed his eyes, he kissed her. Gently, just barely tasting her lips. His hands ran up and down her sides, and then to her back as he pulled her closer.

"I love you Harry."

In response, he kissed her again, deeper, more forcefully, tasting a bit more. He could feel her kissing him back, grabbing the back of his head, urging him even closer.

And then he kissed her again and again and again…lowering down to her neck as she tilted her head back.

Suddenly, a fist began pounding on the door, startling them both. Hermione stared at Harry, then at the rattling door, at an utter loss of what to say.

"Potter!" growled Moody from the other side. "I know you're in there. It's thirty minutes till five. No delays!" A moment later and Harry could hear the heavy clunking of the ex-Auror's wooden leg going down the stairs, and he swore that he heard a faint laugh.

(A/N: All right, in the beginning, college life sucked up most of my time, and I had only about 1 or 2 hours a week that I could devote to this fanfic. Luckily, my course work settled down, and my itch to write again returned, and I plan on once again producing these chapters on a fairly regular basis.

But: the next chapter might be a little while. Since I've barely touched/thought about this story for several months, the specific plans I had for the next chapter (and, indeed, some future parts of the story) have been forgotten. I never, ever outline my plans on paper, and it was all stored in my head. Thankfully, it's all coming back to me, and I doubt that much will be lost in regards to the plot.

Anyway, I'm not going to set a date for the release of the next chapter. It won't take as long as this one did.

And for those who're taking midterms right now I wish you Godspeed.)