Year Seven

Year Seven

Chapter 1 – Dursley Drama

It was the 30^th of July, and the residents of Privet Drive should have been enjoying a fine summers day. At this time of year the temperature climbed very high and the identical looking houses with their immaculately-tended gardens should have been sweltering in the heat-wave. The streets should have been filled with the sounds of children, free from school for six weeks, playing and laughing, the gentle swish-swish-swish of lawn sprinklers and the occasional chime from a passing ice-cream van.

This was, however, not the case.

Although the sun overhead was blazing and there was hardly a cloud to be seen in the bright blue sky, the summer heat was not there. The air had the fresh, verging-on-chilly feel of a late autumn day. The slight haze rising into the sky was not heat waves but something else; even in the bright daylight the haze had a silver sheen to it. The fog that came down every night only retreated so far during the day, and its continuing presence during the daylight hours was disruptive – people were afraid to go outside.

Privet Drive itself looked as it always did; the rows of houses near-identical, the lawns precisely cut and the gardens neat and tidy. Cars sat on driveways. From the odd open window came the sounds of television programmes or radio broadcasts. Number Four, the home of the Dursley family, had freshly-painted fences and an impressive, expensive looking saloon car sitting on the driveway as a result of a year of particularly good business at Grunnings. Inside the house the Dursleys were doing what they did best – complaining.

The topic of their complaint was of course the strange fog and its effect on the weather. Vernon Dursley disliked this cool weather; it made the other residents of the street not feel like washing their cars, so Vernon was unable to wax his own car and comment loudly about how much more expensive his was as the other residents soaped and sponged, nor could he make any remarks about people breaching the hosepipe ban as there was no ban because of this dreadfully cool air. No lack of rain in the nights, that was for sure. Petunia Dursley disliked this cool weather as most of the other residents of the streets were choosing to stay indoors, robbing her of her most favourite pastime of being nosy. No matter how long she peered around the curtains her hawk like eyes were unable to tell what the other residents were doing. Dudley Dursley disliked this cool weather because he no longer had any children to beat up. During the day it seemed like only Dudley and his gang were roaming the streets, the play-parks and children’s haunts deserted. Dudley disliked the nights even more, when the creeping fog appeared and it grew even colder still. It brought back unpleasant memories of those things . . . the Dismembers, or whatever they were called. A shudder ran through him whenever he thought of them, which was often.

With their usual outlets gone, there was only one logical place for the Dursley’s collective annoyance to be vented. Vernon rose from the kitchen table, placing the Saturday morning newspaper down as he did so and casting his gaze out of the kitchen window. He took in the appearance of the back garden and then lent his head out into the hallway and bellowed:

“Boy!”

Upstairs in his room, Harry Potter was shaken out of his thoughts by his uncle’s yell. He had been gazing out of his bedroom window, deep in thought, as he had been for much of the two weeks since his arrival back at Privet Drive. Slightly wearily, he got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. Uncle Vernon was standing by the window holding a cup of coffee with a smug look on his face. Aunt Petunia was washing up the breakfast dishes, humming along to the radio whilst Dudley was still busy shovelling his face with eggs and bacon, his piggy eyes fixed on the portable television set. Harry’s stomach rumbled as he eyed the remains of Dudley’s bacon – he had not been offered breakfast.

“You called?” he asked.

“The garden needs weeding,” Uncle Vernon told him, nodding his head towards the windows and making his jowls swing. “Get to it.”

For the umpteenth time since he had come back Harry controlled the anger that threatened to rise every time he was forced to do some kind of chore for his relatives and simply nodded and went to fetch his trainers and the gardening gloves. He didn’t know what exactly was causing the Dursleys to be so cruel once again; perhaps it was the quiet and withdrawn way he had been acting, or the lack of any kind of communication from the Order of the Phoenix which had subdued them last year, or the knowledge that this was their last chance to take advantage of him. For whatever reason their confidence had been boosted and Harry had found himself once again being routinely ignored, shouted at and made to do draining household chores. He went along with it, partly because it was a return to some kind of normalcy after the chaos at the end of the school year and partly because the chores kept him occupied. When he was not busy in the garden or cleaning some part of the house (always done again later by Aunt Petunia, for he would never meet her high standards), or when he was not actively concentrating and making his plans for what was to come, his mind had a habit of slipping away and re-visiting those dreadful scenes that he still found it hard to believe had only happened two weeks before: Snape’s leering look of disgust as he cast the Killing Curse. Dumbledore laying broken beneath the Astronomy Tower. Bill’s horrifically maimed face. How close he had come to losing his friends. And Snape once again; Snape continually stopping every curse he threw at him as he had given chase over the grounds of Hogwarts, taunting him and his weakness, his ineptitude.

Beneath his gloves Harry crushed a particularly persistent weed with his fist.

* * *

Harry did not finish the garden to the satisfaction of Uncle Vernon until the afternoon. He was offered a meagre lunch and then allowed to return to his room.

“We’re going out for the afternoon,” Uncle Vernon told him through the door.

“You are not to leave your room.”

“All right.”

Harry watched the Dursley’s expensive car drive away down the street and resumed his familiar position of staring out of the window. It was open slightly, allowing the fresh breeze from outside in and ruffling his untidy black hair gently. His bedroom, usually a tremendous mess after only a short time, was unusually neat and tidy; all of his school things remained packed away in his trunk, which sat open at the foot of his bed. A few items of Muggle clothing hung over the back of the desk chair he was sitting in, and there was an empty glass on the bedside table, but otherwise the room looked barely lived in. The only reminders of the magical world were on his desk: the framed picture of his parents, Lily and James, dancing on a bandstand as the leaves swirled around them – Harry’s favourite picture - and next to that the empty cage belonging to his snowy owl, Hedwig. Hedwig was gone; Harry had sent her off to the Burrow a few days earlier with a reply to the letter Ron had sent him, which he idly turned over in his hands now.

Dear Harry

How are things mate? Mum wants to know when to expect you, I told her you’d be coming but I wasn’t sure how long you were going to stay with the Muggles. The wedding is on August 20^th but obviously the sooner you get here the better. Hermione and her parents are coming the day before I think, cause she wants to spend some time with them. Bill is loads better – he’s up and around and is talking about going back to work soon. If it wasn’t for the scars you wouldn’t think anything had happened to him really. Ginny says hi.

Ron

Harry had sent Hedwig back telling Ron he would be coming during the day on his birthday, not wanting to spend any longer at Privet Drive than he had to, and to look after Hedwig until he arrived. Harry was not exactly sure how he was going to get there, as Ron had not mentioned anything about coming to get him. Perhaps he could catch the Knight Bus, if it was still running, or perhaps he would wear his invisibility cloak and fly there on his Firebolt, both packed away in his trunk. He did not have much longer to wait anyway; tomorrow was his birthday. He would be seventeen, and finally be of Age in the Wizarding World. He would be allowed to perform magic whenever and wherever he wanted. He had a vague idea that this occasion should be rather happier than it was going to be; it should be something to be celebrating with friends and – he felt with a pang – his parents, not passing uneventfully with his Muggle family. He glanced sideways at the picture of his parents, resting his chin on his hands. They smiled warmly at him as they danced.

“There’s so much to do,” he said to them, his voice quiet. After Dumbledore’s funeral the anger that he had felt had given him a fierce determination for what had to be done. That determination was still in him, but after having two weeks of little to do here with the Dursleys but think he had begun to realise the enormity of the task that lay in front of him. It scared him, and it was coupled with a mixture of guilt and shame that he was not strong enough. It angered him to think it, but Snape had been right. He had not been able to stop him. He had not mastered non-verbal spells, and he had not mastered Occlumency. Snape had overcome him with ease, and so too would Lord Voldemort. Harry thought back to the ill-fated night within the Ministry, the night that Sirius died, and to the duel he witnessed between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Their spellcasting had been silent, fast, and so powerful. He could still remember the tingling sensation he felt from the spell Dumbledore had sent at Voldemort that had forced him to conjure a shield. The power was incredible . . . he was nowhere near that level. What hope did he have of destroying the Horcruxes, of taking on Voldemort, if he could not even perform non-verbal spells?

Well, he knew he could do it some of the time, as a brief image of him dangling Ron above his bed in Gryffindor Tower when he had tried out the Levicorpus spell floated through his head. But some of the time was not good enough. He needed to be able to do it all of the time.

Practise, Harry said that voice in his head that so often sounded like Hermione, as it did now. You just need to practise.

Unfortunately that was the one thing he could not do. He was still bound by the Decree Against Underage Wizardry, at least until midnight. After his last conversation with the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, Harry had not dared try a single spell here at Privet Drive. As chaotic as things were at the Ministry at the moment, he had a feeling the Minister would not be averse to Harry being thrown to the Wizengamot for underage magic yet again, which was the last thing he needed.

* * *

The hours passed slowly and day turned to night, the thick fog descending once again and pressing against the windowpanes. Harry was allowed to eat once the Dursleys had finished and were laughing at a game show on the television in the living room, although they thoughtfully left him all the dishes to wash up. He listened to the sounds coming from the living room as he dried the last plate and returned it to one of the cupboards; Uncle Vernon’s deep snorting laugh and Aunt Petunia’s whinnying kind of giggle. He allowed himself a small amount of joy in the knowledge that this was the last time he would be doing this. In a few hours time he would be seventeen, and tomorrow morning he would be leaving. Leaving this horrible place where he had been so miserable for so many years. But he would honour Dumbledore’s wishes – he would not leave until tomorrow, when the magical protection the Bond Of Blood gave him here ceased to function.

He paused at the living room doorway on his way upstairs. Aunt Petunia was sitting next to Dudley on the sofa (with some difficulty, as he took up most of the two cushions) and Uncle Vernon was sitting in his chair next to them, all of them laughing as the game show host good-naturedly ribbed a contestant’s poor performance. He wondered if they even remembered he would be leaving.

“What are you looking at, boy?” Uncle Vernon said sharply. “Get upstairs!”

He suspected they did. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had a party to celebrate once he was gone. A grin broke out on his face as he headed up the stairs. He was going to have some fun tomorrow morning.

-

Harry’s eyelids were beginning to droop when a loud double-beep from the digital watch on his wrist snapped him alert, his now rather battered copy of Quidditch Through The Ages sliding down from his chest and falling to the floor. The house was silent, the windows misted up from the fog outside. From the glow of his bedside lamp Harry looked at his watch. It was midnight.

“Happy Birthday to me,” he said quietly.

He got up from the bed, wincing at the throb in his neck from where he’d been slumped against the bedrest, and pulled his wand out from his back pocket. He always carried it, despite not wanting to risk trying any magic. Constant vigilance, he thought with a smile. But now a small thrill stole through him as he held his wand up.

“Lumos.”

His wand ignited with magical light, shining brightly and throwing out a long shadow behind him. Then he sat down to wait. Three, four, five minutes passed, and nothing. No owls came rapping on the window brandishing reprimands from the Ministry, and it had not taken this long the previous two times. The house was silent save for Uncle Vernon’s resonant snore from down the corridor. An odd feeling of nostalgia washed over Harry as he sat there, bathed in wand-light. It seemed like so long ago when Hagrid had first arrived and told him he was a wizard, and becoming of Age had seemed so far away. Now he was here, and free to make his own choices. Concentrating, he pointed his wand at his parent’s picture:

Accio picture, he thought clearly, and it zoomed across the room and into his free hand with a small swish of air.

“It’s a start,” he said, looking down at his parents. They smiled back as they danced.

Nox.

-

Vernon Dursley was having a very good Sunday morning. His coffee was rich and sweet, the kippers Petunia had cooked were delicious, the radio had brought news about a proposed increase in fuel tax for him to have a good complain about and Dudley had a boxing match that afternoon so he would no doubt be watching his son retain the county title for sixth time.

“Eat up, Dudders,” he said, as Petunia put another two kippers onto his son’s plate. “Got to have plenty of energy for the big fight eh?”

Dudley grunted what was probably agreement as he continued to stuff his face.

“We’re so proud of you Duddykins,” simpered Petunia, her face glowing. “County champion for two years running!”

“Great sport, boxing,” Vernon said as he drank more coffee. “Makes a boy strong, gives him the right attitude towards life. Not like half the other boys who go to Smeltings, eh Dudders? Bunch of pansies the lot of them, probably never put up a half decent fight in-“

Crack!

Harry materialised out of thin air next to the kitchen table. Dudley screamed, spraying half-chewed kippers across the table, Petunia shrieked and turned white and Vernon bellowed in surprise, half-jumping backwards out of his chair.

“Good morning!” Harry said brightly, and pulled himself up a chair.

“What the devil!” Vernon cried angrily.

“What’s for breakfast then?” Harry asked, ignoring him. “Cornflakes, great.”

He picked up the cereal packet (Dudley’s first course) and poured himself a bowl, then looked around.

“Where’s the milk? Oh, there it is.”

The milk was sitting on the kitchen counter. Harry took out his wand (Dudley screamed again) and with a flick he summoned the carton to his hand and poured it over the cereal generously.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing, boy?!” Vernon yelled, his face already red. “You can’t do . . . do . . .”

“You can’t do magic outside of school” Dudley squealed. “You’re not allowed!”

“DON’T SAY THE ‘M’ WORD!” Vernon roared at him.

“I can now,” Harry said with a grin, enjoying every moment. “It’s my seventeenth birthday today, in case you’d forgotten. I’m legally allowed to o magic anytime now.”

He began to eat his cereals, crunching loudly. Uncle Vernon’s mouth opened and closed rapidly, his eyes contracting with rage as he took this in. Dudley’s eyes never left Harry’s wand, which he still held in his other hand. Aunt Petunia was still staring at Harry, white as a sheet.

“WHETHER IT’S LEGAL OR NOT YOU DO NOT DO . . . THAT . . . IN MY HOUSE!”

“Going to stop me, are you?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He raised his wand again and summoned an empty cup from the cupboard, which closed neatly behind it after the cup flew out, and poured himself some coffee. It was beginning to go cold; another tap from his wand and it was piping hot again, steam wafting off it. Uncle Vernon watched this display, his face rapidly turning the puce colour that appeared when he was either afraid or particularly outraged. Harry crunched another spoonful of cornflakes loudly.

“Daddy tell him to stop,” Dudley squeaked, his voice seeming to revert to that of a six year-old.

“How dare you sit there and do that!” Vernon bellowed. “You ungrateful wretch! After we take you in yet again, keeping you safe-“

Harry snorted.

“Just like her,” Aunt Petunia said suddenly, and all eyes turned on her. She was still staring at Harry, her face white as a sheet.

“Petunia, dear?” Vernon said worriedly, the anger quickly fading from his voice. “Are you all right?” His wife looked like she had seen a ghost.

“She was always doing that, appearing all over the place and frightening me every time. Our parents thought it was hilarious, obviously, didn’t mind that it scared me . . .”

“What are you talking about dear?” Vernon asked her, reaching over and patting her hand. Harry continued to eat but more slowly, listening with interest.

“Lily,” she said. “As soon as she learned how to do that. What Harry just did.”

“Apparition,” Harry said, smiling faintly as he imagined his Mum appearing at the Evans family kitchen table.

“Sometimes it feels like it’s her looking out at me from behind those glasses,” Aunt Petunia said, her head shaking from side to side rapidly. “Those eyes. Like she’s watching me . . .”

“Maybe she is,” Harry said, watching his aunt thoughtfully. He finished his cornflakes, tuning out the sound of Uncle Vernon’s voice as he once again began to berate him for use of magic and upsetting his aunt and Dudley.

“Scourgify,” he said, pointing his wand at his bowl which instantly became spotless. Dudley yelped again.

“You’ve upset my family for the last time, boy,” Uncle Vernon was saying as Harry left the kitchen. He grinned. That had felt good.

He came back downstairs a few minutes later, dragging his heavy trunk behind him and wearing his black school travelling cloak. He found the Dursleys still in the kitchen; Uncle Vernon was still attempting to calm down Aunt Petunia, while Dudley had been forced to wash the dishes. He was up to his arms in soap bubbles as he watched Harry come in, glancing quickly to see if he was carrying his wand.

“I’m leaving,” Harry announced, “and I won’t be coming back.”

“Too right you won’t be coming back,” Uncle Vernon said as he rose up, his moustache bristling. “You’re not welcome in this house any more!”

“I wish I’d never had to come here,” Harry said right back at him, allowing some of the anger and frustration from the years of misery he had suffered here to come to the surface. “But I made a promise, and now I’ve kept it.”

He looked around at them, his Muggle relatives who still refused to permit magic in their lives, after everything that had happened. The ones who had treated him so badly. He turned his head to the hallway, and the hateful cupboard under the stairs that had used to be his home. His raised his wand and pointed at it.

“Colloportus.”

There was the familiar squelching sound and a faint glow from the outline of the cupboard door.

“That cupboard’s had enough use.”

“What have you done, boy?” Uncle Vernon said angrily. “My best suit is hanging in there!”

“And my new trainers!” Dudley wailed.

“And the hoover,” Aunt Petunia said, her voice now sounding normal again but horrified at thought of nothing to vacuum with.

Harry grinned.

“Bye.”

And then, concentrating firmly on the Burrow, he turned to his left and with another crack! he vanished.

* * *

A/N: I’d just like to apologise to anyone who’s been waiting for this chapter, it’s taken me such a long time! The dreaded writer’s block, I’m afraid. Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 1 and offered me encouragement :)

Chapter 2 – A Weasley Wedding

Harry felt the familiar painful bands pressing into his chest and the odd sensation of being squeezed through a rubber tube; he ignored the discomforting feeling and concentrated firmly on his destination and suddenly he was there, standing in the overgrown yard behind the Weasley’s ramshackle house that was swaying ever so slightly in the fresh breeze. Apparition wasn’t so bad, once you got the hang of it. It had felt all right then, while he had kept his mind firmly focused on the Burrow. He would still take a broomstick any day of the week, but the ability to Apparate was another thing Harry had a feeling he would need in the times to come. He glanced down; his trunk was there with him, having survived the trip intact, so that was something else to be pleased about.

It was not long after half past ten; there was a thin trail of smoke drifting lazily up out of the chimney and a few chickens were scratching around to Harry’s right, but otherwise there were no signs of life from the house. Harry hoped he hadn’t come too early, but then he had never known the Weasleys to have a quiet lie-in of a morning in his life. Dragging his trunk behind him, which was heavier then ever with Hedwig’s cage stuffed inside, he made his way across the lawn (kicking aside a gnome that stuck its little foot out in an attempt to trip him with an undisguised guffaw of laughter) and knocked on the kitchen door. It was opened a few moments later by Mrs Weasley, who shrieked loudly:

“Harry dear!”

He was quickly engulfed into a hug and propelled into the kitchen, which was cosy after the unseasonable chill outside.

“We weren’t expecting you until the afternoon! How on earth did you get here? Are you hungry?”

The radio was on faintly, broadcasting the Wizarding Wireless Network. The sink was already full of pots and pans being thoroughly scrubbed by an enchanted brush and scourer, and a big pot of porridge sat steaming on the kitchen table. At the far end of the table sat Ginny with a very resigned look on her face; one side of her hair had been twisted into curls, the other side made very wavy and on top had been twisted into a plait.

“Hey Harry,” she said, resting her chin on one hand.

“Hi Ginny,” he replied, unable to restrain a grin. He knew better than to say anything though. He took off his cloak and then sat down at the table and turned back to Mrs Weasley.

“I’ve had breakfast thanks Mrs Weasley,” he told her. “And I Apparated here.”

“But you don’t have your license yet!” said Mrs Weasley, sounding shocked.

“I know, I’d better not risk it again until I can go to the Ministry and take the test. I wasn’t sure how else to get here though.”

“Oh that’s our fault, I’m so sorry dear,” Mrs Weasley said, walking back over to Ginny and brandishing her wand. “We’ve been so busy lately, so much to prepare for the wedding . . . cake, flowers, decorations . . . we’re still trying to decide which style will look best for Ginny’s hair . . .”

“I like it straight like it always is,” Ginny told her, although she sounded like she knew it was an argument she wasn’t going to win.

“Nonsense, it has to look special for Bill and Fleur’s big day . . . Arthur!” she called into the living room. “Arthur! Harry’s arrived!”

“Harry my boy!” Mr Weasley came striding into the kitchen holding a Muggle hairdryer in one hand, an excited look on his face. He pumped Harry’s hand vigorously with his own free one.

“Made the trip all right then? Excellent. Fascinating things, these! To think Muggles have to sit there for up to ten minutes blasting one of these at their heads in order to dry off!”

As he always was when presented with Mr Weasley’s odd fascination with Muggle appliances, Harry found it best just to smile and nod. Ginny rolled her eyes at him as Mrs Weasley continued to charm her hair into different styles, hmming and hahhing as she did so.

“I was just going to have some tea, would you like some Harry? Tea, Molly?”

“Yes please dear.”

Harry soon found a mug of tea pressed into his hands and Mr Weasley took a seat opposite him. His look became slightly more serious, although his good-natured tone remained.

“So Harry, seventeen today eh? Finally of Age . . . you’ve come a long way, haven’t you . . .”

“Merlin’s beard, I can’t believe I forgot! Happy birthday, dear!” Mrs Weasley cried, coming around the table and giving him another bone-crushing hug.

“Thanks Mrs Weasley,” Harry said, wincing slightly.

“I remember when I came of Age,” Mr Weasley said, reminiscing as he sipped his tea. “I went around the house levitating everything in sight, just because I could . . .”

“Arthur,” Mrs Weasley said disapprovingly.

“Wish I was of Age,” Ginny said grumpily. “I could do my own hair then.”

“Another year to wait yet dear,” Mrs Weasley told her, continuing to fuss over her hair. “There are presents over there for you, Harry. Hedwig brought some more earlier this morning.”

Harry followed Mrs Weasley’s pointing arm to one end of the kitchen counter, where there sat a small pile of packages and envelopes all addressed to him. He carried them over to kitchen table and began to unwrap them.

“Is Ron up yet?” Harry asked as he began to unwrap the first parcel, which was from Mr and Mrs Weasley.

“No, but he ought to be, the lazy boy,” Mrs Weasley said, and promptly waved her wand and sent something silvery streaking out of the room. “Bill and Fleur have gone for a walk to fetch the newspaper.”

Harry pulled a box of home-made fudge and a new handknitted jumper from the package; the jumper was red with a large golden ‘1’ emblazoned on the front.

“Thanks Mr and Mrs Weasley, this is great . . .”

“I thought, what with . . . well, the Chosen One and all,” said Mrs Weasley fondly. Harry was a little taken aback at this reminder of his fate but took off his sweatshirt and put the jumper on, not wishing to appear ungrateful. Mr Weasley was eyeing the fudge so Harry opened it and offered it round. There was a card and lumpy package of rock cakes from Hagrid; another card that had been signed with best wishes from each of the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, which, Harry thought sadly, was now a very short list; finally there was a package and card on which Harry recognised Hermione’s neat handwriting. Her gift was a framed wizarding photograph of the three of them standing together in the Gryffindor common room, smiling at the camera with their arms around each other’s waists. It had been taken not long after Ron had recovered from being poisoned, if Harry remembered rightly. Looking at the picture it was amazing to see how much taller both he and Ron were now; Hermione just about came up to their shoulders.

“That’s a nice picture,” said Mrs Weasley, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t Hermione look pretty? Hmm, Ginny dear I wonder if can get your hair a bit thicker like Hermione’s is . . .”

“Mum, no!”

Both Harry and Mr Weasley exchanged grins as Harry read Hermione’s card:

Dear Harry

Happy Birthday! I’m sorry I can’t be there in person but I thought it’d be best if I spend as much time as possible with Mum and Dad before the wedding. We’re going up to the Lake District for a few days, but we’re taking the train as they won’t let me Apparate them there. We should be coming to the Burrow on the 19^th. I hope your stay with your relatives wasn’t too bad; I thought I’d send your present to the Burrow, as I knew you wouldn’t stay there longer than necessary. See you soon!

Love from,

Hermione

A bleary-looking Ron entered the kitchen as Harry put down Hermione’s card; he was still dressed in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt and with a big tuft of his red hair sticking up from his head.

“You need to sort out that wake-up spell Mum,” Ron said with annoyance. “Bloody thing nearly took my head off.”

“Well if you got up at a respectable time I wouldn’t need it,” chastised Mrs Weasley.

“Nice hair,” Ginny said, laughing.

“Look who’s talking,” Ron retorted, and then ducked a spoon Ginny threw at him. Harry laughed.

“Happy birthday mate,” Ron said, handing him a card as he sat down at the table.

“Thanks Ron,” said Harry, opening the card. A vibrant orange voucher fluttered out, which Harry read was worth five galleons at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.

“Saved up for it myself,” Ron said proudly, taking a bowl and ladling it with porridge.

“Thanks mate,” Harry said awkwardly. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that Fred and George had given him free run of anything he wanted from the shop, but he doubted the twins had bothered to tell Ron that either when he purchased the voucher. Harry resolved to buy Ron something with it.

“Accio sugar jar!” Ron said, flicking his wand which he’d produced from a pyjama pocket. The jar of sugar soared across the table and Ron began to pour it generously onto his porridge. Harry laughed again.

“What’s so funny?” Ron asked. Harry told them about the magic show he’d put on for the Dursleys that morning and soon Ron and Ginny were both roaring with laughter. Mrs Weasley made a little ‘tsk tsk’ noise but both she and Mr Weasley were grinning.

“Serves them right,” Ron said through a mouthful of porridge. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore now mate.”

“I know,” replied Harry. “It’s great.”

And it was. Sitting here in the company of the Weasleys, and with the knowledge that he’d never have to return to Privet Drive again, he was already feeling a great deal happier than he had the day before. The daunting nature of what lay ahead still lingered over him, but for now he could relax.

“Dad’s taking me to the Ministry tomorrow,” Ron said thickly through another mouthful of porridge. “To do the Apparition test. You going to come?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Sooner we get it sorted the better.”

“I can’t wait,” said Ron, turning red slightly. He was still clearly embarrassed by his previous failure.

The kitchen door opened and Bill and Fleur came in, both dressed in Muggle coats. Bill had a copy of the Daily Prophet under one arm.

“’Arry,” Fleur said throatily, striding over and swiftly kissing him on both cheeks. “Eet is good to see you again. ‘Appy birthday!”

“Thanks Fleur,” said Harry, his cheeks burning at the touch of her lips. “All right, Bill?”

“Happy birthday Harry,” said Bill, shaking his hand. Despite the criss-crossing white scars covering his face Bill did indeed look a lot better than Harry had last seen him.

“They should get a little better than this,” Bill told him, gesturing to the scars. “I’m still using that awful paste on them.”

“Eet does not mazzer,” Fleur said as Bill handed the newspaper to Mr Weasley. “Bill is still verry ‘andsome, they just show ‘ow brave ‘ee is . . .”

Harry was trying not to laugh at Ron, who was watching Fleur with a rather dreamy expression and dripping porridge onto the table.

“Ooh Ginevra, zose curls are adorable,” Fleur said, crossing over to Ginny and admiring the curly locks adorning one side of her head. “She will look so pretty don’t you think, Molly?”

“I’m going to kill whoever told her my full name,” fumed Ginny, ignoring her.

“Why?” demanded Fleur. “Eet is such a pretty name!”

Harry smiled and drank his tea as his listened to the Weasleys chattering around him. He missed this; even Hogwarts, the closest thing Harry had ever felt to home, could not provide this warm feeling of family. For the millionth time he felt grateful for the Weasleys to include him in theirs.

“Ron, show Harry where he’ll be sleeping,” Mrs Weasley told him after he’d finished his second bowl of porridge. “And get dressed, for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry followed a grumbling Ron out of the room, dragging his trunk behind him. When they reached the stairs he stopped and took out his wand.

“Locomotor trunk,” he incanted. The trunk rose a few inches off the ground and began following him obediently up the stairs.

“Nice one,” said Ron. “It’s great, isn’t it? I’ve been doing everything by magic since I’ve got back, been driving Mum crazy. You’re in Charlie’s old room for now, but you’ll be back sharing with me once people start arriving for the wedding.”

“That’s all right,” said Harry. “Thanks for looking after Hedwig.”

“Sure. She’s up in the attic with Pig. Harry . . .”

Ron stopped and turned to him.

“What?”

“Have you . . . have you thought about it yet? About . . . what the plan is?”

Harry knew what Ron meant. When they had spoken by the lake after Dumbledore’s funeral the idea had been clear; he knew he wanted to visit Godric’s Hollow, and then the search for the remaining Horcruxes would begin. But how they were going to go about that . . . Harry had spent much of the time at Privet Drive thinking about it, but he wasn’t sure if now was the right time to talk about it with Ron.

“I have,” he said finally. “But wait until Hermione gets here. It’s best if we all talk about it together; I need both of your opinions.”

“All right,” Ron said, looking what Harry thought to be both a little bit relieved yet also proud that his opinion was important. “Fancy some one-on-one Quidditch before lunch?”

Harry laughed, Ron was already thinking ahead to his next meal.

“All right. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Ron went off to his own room to get dressed and Harry guided his trunk into Charlie’s old bedroom, where he found the bed freshly made. The room had the feel of not being lived in for quite a while, despite being spotlessly clean. Harry deposited his trunk at the foot of the bed and put the picture Hermione had given him for his birthday on the desk in the corner. He extracted his Firebolt from his trunk and then headed back down the twisting stairs. At the bottom of them he bumped into Ginny, who had finally managed to escape from the kitchen with her hair returned to its normal sleek mane.

“Hi,” she said. “You left before I could give you this.”

She held out a small, wrapped package to him.

“Happy birthday.”

“Ginny . . .”

The corridor seemed to have grown a lot smaller. He unwrapped the gift and his mouth opened as he held up a pair of new Seeker gloves; they were red with black mesh and had a Golden Snitch embroidered on each forehand. Harry recognised the brand – they were expensive.

“You shouldn’t have spent so much . . .” he managed.

Ginny shrugged slightly.

“Don’t worry about it. I got them before we . . . well, before.”

Harry felt very awkward. Ginny looked as pretty as ever and she had just given him a fantastic gift; he was sure that the beast in his chest that had been so active last year whenever Ginny was around was going to rear its head again but it remained oddly dormant. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Thank you,” he said finally. “You really didn’t have to . . .”

“Well, you only come of Age once.”

There was another pause. He thought that she seemed to be watching him for some kind of reaction, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Me and Ron are going to play Quidditch outside, if you want to play?”

“No that’s okay, I’ve got some stuff to do. See you later.”

And then she was gone up the stairs. The corridor returned to its normal size. Harry sighed, feeling very guilty indeed.

* * *

The three weeks leading up to Bill and Fleur’s wedding passed in an ever-increasing flurry of activity at the Burrow; with Mr Weasley and Bill kept busy in their jobs, it fell to Mrs Weasley and Fleur to make most of the arrangements. Despite Mrs Weasley’s change of heart about Fleur they frequently clashed over details and it was not uncommon to hear one or the other of them muttering out of the corner of their mouths. Harry was sure he caught Fleur swearing in French several times, for she flushed bright red when she noticed him grinning. The number of family members occupying the Burrow continued to increase making it noisier and more crowded than ever; a fair amount of that space was taken up by Ron’s great uncle Stanleigh, a jovial wizard whose sizeable waistline was only matched by his passion for firewhiskey and somewhat risqué jokes. With the hustle and bustle of so many Weasleys it took a few minutes before anyone realised that Hermione and her parents had arrived.

“Hermione dear!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed, putting down a load of clean washing and giving Hermione a hug. “And David, Jane! So glad you could come, did you have a good trip? Arthur! The Grangers are here!”

Mr and Mrs Granger didn’t have much of a chance to answer Mrs Weasley’s questions as Mr Weasley appeared and dragged Mr Granger off towards the den with one arm around his shoulders.

“We’ve never spoken about this dentistry, David,” Mr Weasley was saying as they faded out of earshot. “Is it true you actually use metal to drill holes into teeth?”

Mrs Weasley guided Mrs Granger towards the kitchen, flicking her wand at the pile of washing she’d been carrying which floated along on its way.

“Wait until you see the layout, Jane, it’s wonderful . . .”

Hermione smiled and took a look around; there were mops of red hair everywhere, but she soon found a familiar one in the corridor leading from the kitchen. Ron was standing by the window, looking out at the back garden which had been transformed from its normal overgrown state into an immaculately-tendered lawn. There was a large white marquee, several tables and row upon row of chairs arranged in slightly curved lines around a small raised area where no doubt Bill and Fleur would stand tomorrow and take their vows.

“Hello,” Hermione said, standing next to him.

“Hermione! Hi. When did you get here?”

“Just now . . . what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m on Gnome watch. We turfed them all out last week before Dad did the lawn, but they’re sneaky little buggers. Keep finding new ways to get back in. How was your holiday?”

“It was fine,” said Hermione, looking out of the window herself. “It was a bit hard to relax with, well, with everything that’s happened, but it was nice to spend some time with Mum and Dad. I was a bit worried I was neglecting them. The garden looks wonderful!”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “They’ve done a good job, fair enough. Bit too girly for my liking really.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head.

“How did your Apparition test go?”

“Oh, brilliant,” Ron said, his face lightening up visibly. “Me and Harry both passed, watch . . .”

With a crack! he vanished and instantly reappeared on her other side.

“See, eyebrows and all.”

“Very good . . . where is Harry?”

“Where he always is,” Ron replied, nodding out of the window. Hermione looked out and there in the distance, in the field next to the Weasley’s back garden, was a small black figure standing next to a large, rather withered tree.

“He’s done nothing but practise,” said Ron. “Silent spells and stuff. He’s been duelling with anyone he can get out there with him – mostly me, but Dad and Bill have both been out there with him once or twice. Fleur has been duelling with him quite a bit.”

“How is he doing?” Hermione asked.

“Really well,” said Ron. “It’s getting a bit scary, actually, how good he’s getting. He doesn’t say a word either! I’ve been stunned so many times . . .”

“No, I mean, how is he doing? Is he all right?”

“Oh, I dunno. All right I ‘spose.”

They both looked out at the distant figure, who brandished his wand at the tree which suddenly erupted into flame. The figure quickly doused the flames with water from his wand and seemed to look around guiltily to see if anyone had noticed.

“That used to be my favourite tree,” Ron said rather wistfully.

“It must be hard for him,” said Hermione. “So much is lying ahead of us and it’s still so unclear . . . and being here, with Ginny around . . .”

“Oh yeah, that,” said Ron. Hermione turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“How are you feeling about that?”

“Well,” Ron said, looking out at the distant figure of Harry, “part of me wanted to punch him. She is my sister, you know, however much she bugs me. But I dunno, after she yelled at me outside the common room last year I decided to keep my nose out.”

Ron had gone a little red, and Hermione inclined her head sympathetically.

“Probably the best idea. I feel awful, I haven’t even written to Ginny while I’ve been away. I don’t know how she’s doing.”

“She’s got her hands full with Gabrielle. Fleur’s sister? She’s been put in charge of looking after her.”

“Sounds like fun,” Hermione said, laughing.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, laughing himself. It soon faded.

“I understand why he did it though,” he said, looking out at Harry again. “I don’t think I’d want a girlfriend right now. Too much stress if you ask me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah . . . well, no. I dunno. Things are going to be a bit scary this year, I think. It might be nice to have someone, even with all the stress going on.”

“Can I try something?” Hermione said sharply, looking him in the eye.

“Erm, all right?” Ron said, a bit flustered. His eyes widened when Hermione took out her wand and pointed it at his chest.

“Steady on!”

She flicked it and the tip glowed silver for a moment. Ron winced and closed his eyes, but after a few moments when nothing had seemed to happen he opened them again to find Hermione looking disappointed.

“What the bloody hell was that?” he asked.

“Never mind,” Hermione replied, putting away her wand. “I was just checking something.”

Ron opened his mouth to demand to know what she’d just done but before he could begin to speak Hermione had Disapparated with a crack!

“Mental,” Ron said to himself.

Harry was concentrating hard; in his head he was picturing Death Eaters on all sides, thinking of how they might move, how they might try to outflank him and what spells they would cast. He sent a Blasting Curse to the one on his right, then rolled and cast a Shield Charm to protect himself from the stunner coming from his left, thinking the incantations clearly in his head. The two ahead of him made the mistake of coming too close together – Incarcerous! – and they were bound together by the ropes that shot from his wand. He moved continually, never letting himself become a stationary target, and when he heard the loud crack! of someone Apparating behind him he reacted instantly, rolling and bringing his wand up:

Stupefy!

In the last instant he realised who it was and yanked his wand up; the red jet of light shot a few inches past Hermione’s head and into the sky. She jumped in surprise.

“Goodness, Harry!”

“Hermione! Sorry, I got a bit carried away there, I thought you were a Death Eater . . .”

Harry rubbed the back of his head with his wand awkwardly, embarrassed. Hermione walked over and hugged him.

“How are you, Harry?”

“I’m all right.”

The look she gave him made it quite clear she didn’t believe him.

“All right. I’m angry as hell and scared witless, too.”

Hermione just nodded and took him by the arm.

“Come on, let’s sit down.”

She conjured a blanket for them to sit on (the grass was still a bit wet from Harry dousing the tree with water) and Harry was soon telling her about the last few weeks, from his quiet reflection at Privet Drive (to Harry’s surprise Hermione giggled madly at his magic show for the Dursleys, he was sure she was going to disapprove) to his recent rather intense training he’d started on. The hard work has not been for nothing, as with a small glow of pride he told her how he had now mastered silent spellcasting. Hermione was very supportive.

“There’s still a long way to go, though,” Harry told her.

“I know . . . have you been thinking about what we’ll do, Harry?”

Harry looked at her for a moment, and the fear in her eyes brought him great guilt. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was put his friends in danger, but there was no escaping it if they were to accompany him on this journey. And Hermione and Ron had both sworn to; he knew he would not be able to dissuade them from it no matter how hard he tried. He secretly felt comforted that they would be there with him, so that he wouldn’t face the danger alone, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the guilt he now felt.

“Yes, I have. But we’ll talk about it after the wedding, all three of us.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I do want to ask you something, though . . .” Harry said, rather nervously. He had been dreading this.

“Of course! But before you do, can I try something quickly?”

He nodded and she smiled; soon she was brandishing her wand at his chest just as she had done with Ron, but before Harry could even begin to ask her what she was doing the tip of her wand began to glow with a soft silver light and he felt an odd, tingly sensation in his chest. He looked down and there was a rather faint, sparkling silver glow coming from his chest.

“I thought so . . .” Hermione said, more to herself than to Harry. Her tone was rather odd; he wasn’t sure if she sounded relieved, or sad, or perhaps even a little bit angry. She flicked her wand and the glow and tingling sensation disappeared from his chest.

“And that was?”

“I’ll tell you another time,” she said, a somewhat mysterious look on her face. “I need to check something else first. It can wait. What did you want to ask me, Harry?”

“Oh yeah, right. Hermione, I need your help with something.”

“Do you want me to duel with you?”

“No,” said Harry. “Well, yeah I do, but that’s not what I was asking. Hermione, I need you to help me learn Occlumency again.”

Hermione leaned back slightly in surprise.

“But Harry, I . . . I can’t! I mean, I don’t know how to do Occlumency!”

“I know,” said Harry. “I don’t need you to teach me how do Occlumency again, I already know how. As rubbish as I am at it, I know what to do. Snape showed me that.”

He spoke Snape’s name with obvious disgust.

“Hermione, I need you to learn Legilimency. If you can become a Legilimens, then you can break into my memories and I can practise Occlumency again to block you out. I’ve already started practising to keep my mind clear, but it’s not enough.”

Hermione seemed rather flustered.

“Harry, surely there’s someone else you can ask? An accomplished Legilimens?”

“There isn’t anyone. The only other person who knew how to do it was Dumbledore-“

They both paused for a moment, feeling sadness at the mention of their former Headmaster.

“There must be books about it. If anyone can learn how to do it, Hermione, you can.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned pink from his praise and she looked down at the grass for a few moments.

“Of course I’ll help you, Harry,” she said, looking back up at him. “This is just a little overwhelming, that’s all. You’re trusting me with something very important – if something went wrong . . .”

“I trust you with my life, Hermione.”

She went pink again, and Harry smiled. He hadn’t meant to do that, but seeing her so bashful seemed to warm him a little.

“I’ll start right away,” she said, now sounding rather determined. “There must be books on it, like you said. I’ll go to the Wizarding library in Diagon Alley, they have books on everything you could imagine . . .”

Her voice had taken on a rather dreamy tone and Harry laughed.

“I have to ask though, Harry . . . why didn’t you ask Ron to help you? You could’ve gotten started with this much sooner!”

It was now Harry’s turn to feel embarrassed, and he scratched the back of his head and avoided her gaze for a moment.

“Well . . . there are some memories that I’d rather Ron didn’t see.”

Hermione smiled softly.

“Ginny?”

“Yeah.”

This was, at least, partly true. Harry certainly felt that Ron didn’t need to see his memories of snogging Ginny, but the real reason he hadn’t asked Ron was because, given the choice of either Ron or Hermione digging around his head using magic, he would feel a lot safer with Hermione doing it. He had a feeling Hermione had guessed this anyway – Merlin knew his cheeks were red enough. Thankfully she chose not to mention it.

“’Arry?”

Fleur’s rather musical voice floated across to them and soon she appeared, climbing over a short gap in the wall they were sitting near to.

“Ah, zere you are ‘Arry . . . ‘Ermione, nice to see you again . . .”

“Hello Fleur,” Hermione said rather cordially. “How is everything coming along? I bet your family must be excited, I haven’t met any of them yet . . .”

Hermione didn’t see Harry’s rather frantic gestures of ‘no!’ from behind Fleur.

“Ah, zey are not coming,” said Fleur, sounding sad. “Zey no longerr approve of Bill, now that ‘ee may be a werewolf.”

“Oh Fleur I’m sorry, that’s awful!”

“Eet is all right. Gabrielle is here, she would not miss eet for zee world. She adores Bill still. Az long az she is eere, I am happy. We av always been very close, my seester and I.”

“There’s more than enough Weasleys to fill the gaps,” Harry said, which made Fleur laugh.

“Yes!” she said, beaming. “I ad no idea zere was so much red air in zee world. Zere eez not much left for me to do at ze house, perhaps you would care to duel again ‘Arry? Or were you and ‘Ermione about to? I can watch, no?”

“Oh that’s all right,” said Hermione. “I need to go to the Wizarding library. But we’ll duel later Harry, when I get back?”

“All right,” said Harry. “And thanks, Hermione.”

She smiled at him, and then Disapparated. Fleur drew out her wand with a flourish.

“Az we say in France, ‘Arry . . . en guarde!”

* * *

Harry had never been to a Wizarding Wedding before. He hadn’t been to a Muggle wedding either, but he did know how those worked. He imagined that the level of chaos in and around the Burrow that morning was the same of any wedding, Wizard or Muggle, as the final preparations were made. As the hours passed and the afternoon grew nearer more and more guests arrived, and soon the air inside the house and out was filled with conversation, laughter and the noise of children running around and playing. Fleur appeared at the front door briefly wrapped in a bath-robe to greet a gaggle of friends who had Apparated in from France with joyful shrieks and rapid-fire French; she was closely followed by Mrs Weasley who was taking the tradition of the bride not being seen by the groom very seriously and had been guarding the door to Fleur’s room.

“I am not een my gown, Molly, zere eez no need to worry . . .”

“Yes but you’re not in much else, either!”

Mrs Weasley was looking scandalised, clutching her wand and thanking Merlin most of the guests were in the back garden, not at the front of the house where Fleur was still now kissing the cheeks of her friends in greeting.

Harry was trying his best to be polite and talk with the wedding guests, but he found himself making excuses to leave as the conversation always invariably turned to how he was feeling, Dumbledore, and what he was going to do now that Hogwarts’ future was in question – all things he had yet to fully discuss with Ron and Hermione, so he certainly didn’t want to talk about them to the extended Weasley family and friends. He was very much on his own in the crowd; Ron had been drafted to help with some last minute decorations and Hermione had left him earlier to go and get ready. Harry himself had changed into his blue and black dress robes in all of five minutes, something he wished he had taken a little longer to do now as he politely excused himself from a friend of Charlie Weasley’s who was keen to talk to Harry about the Hungarian Horntail he had faced back in the Triwizard Tournament, and pointedly took a detour away from Stanleigh, who already had a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. He was beginning to feel slightly trapped; he wished Ginny was here to talk to, even with the tension between them. She was with Fleur and Gabrielle, helping the bride to get ready. Harry was beginning to contemplate casting a Disillusionment charm on himself and slipping away until the wedding began properly when a familiar voice saved him:

“Harry!”

He turned, and there looming over the other guests (and acknowledging some jovial hails with a wave) was Hagrid, with Madame Maxime at his side. A grin broke out over his face and he rushed over to them, to be greeted with an enormous bear hug from Hagrid who was wearing his best rather mouldy old suit.

“Good ter see yeh, Harry, how yeh getting on?”

“Fine, thanks . . . Madame Maxime,” Harry said, taking her hand politely as she offered it.

“’Arry, good to see you once again . . . excuse me, I must go and attend to Fleur . . .”

She disappeared into the Burrow, stooping almost double to fit in through the door.

“Very excited is Olympe,” said Hagrid, grinning. “Thinks the world of Fleur, almost like ‘er own daughter.”

“Everyone’s excited,” said Harry, gesturing around. “It’s certainly a nice enough day for a wedding . . .”

It was a lovely summers day, with the sun shining down brightly upon them. There were only a few puffy clouds hanging in the sky but, just like it had been at Privet Drive, what should have been a fiercely hot day was pleasantly cool due to the currently invisible fog. This was for once a blessing, as Harry imagined it would have been quite uncomfortable for everyone to stand around in their dress robes in high summer.

“Yer right there, Harry, bloomin’ lovely . . . I’m glad of it, too. Everyone’s long overdue a happy day if yer ask me.”

“What’s been happening with Hogwarts, Hagrid? How have you been getting along?”

“Ah, well,” Hagrid began as the two of them began to walk over to a table holding a large decanter of iced pumpkin juice, “I’ve been getting along as well as I can. Rebuildin’ and all that. Got the new roof on the hut yesterday, it don’t look like much on the inside yet but give it a bit ‘o time. As for Hogwarts . . .”

Hagrid filled one of the largest glasses (which still looked tiny in his enormous hands) with pumpkin juice and knocked it back with one swig.

“Not sure what I can tell yeh about that Harry, ‘cause I don’t know meself. There’s barely been a day since term finished that McGonagall and the Governers haven’t been arguing about it. Ole Scrimgeour’s been heavily involved with it un’all.”

“Really?” Harry said, still having to gaze upwards to Hagrid’s face.

“Yeh,” Hagrid replied. “Very interested in what happens with Hogwarts, is the Minister . . .”

Hagrid looked around at all the chattering guests.

“I sure hope it re-opens, Harry. I don’t care what a lot of the parents think, it’s still the safest place for the kids . . . and it’d be giving You-Know-Who a victory if it were ter close . . .”

Harry found the thought of this angered him; to think of Voldemort laughing about it, laughing with Snape and Malfoy at his side. He pushed the thoughts away.

“It’s getting on fer three o’clock, it’s got ter be startin’ in a minute?” Hagrid asked, looking around again. Harry was just about to answer when Mr Weasley appeared at the back door of the Burrow and pointed his wand at his throat, amplifying his voice over the noise of the crowd.

“Your attention please everyone,” spoke Mr Weasley. “Please take your seats, we will be beginning shortly.”

Several poles placed around the garden, from which hung bunting that changed into different pastel colours as the gentle breeze blew through them, also held small enchanted speakers which now began to play music as the crowd of guests began to fill up the seats.

“There’s Olympe”, said Hagrid, as Madame Maxime reappeared from the Burrow, and he made his way over to her. Harry now spotted lots of familiar faces in the crowd now that there was no time to speak to them: Mad-Eye Moody was walking next to Professor McGonagall, who nodded at Harry when she saw him. Remus Lupin and Tonks, hand in hand, gave Harry a wave, and Fred and George – resplendent in expensive-looking dress robes of crushed velvet - winked at him as they followed Bill and Charlie up the aisle to the first row of seats. Ron appeared and offered him a hasty “Alright?” as he hurried past towards the first row, still doing up the bow-tie of his dress robes. Harry knew he would be sitting behind them in the second row, but where was Hermione?

The answer took his breath away. Hermione emerged from the Burrow and Harry found himself goggling; she was wearing new dress robes of a deep red colour and her hair was sleek, straight and shining. He remembered feeling like this when he’d first caught sight of her at the Yule Ball in fourth year, and his brain seemed to shut down for a moment as it did back then.

She came over to him with her parents close behind her, and she was beaming. It didn’t cross his mind until later how stupid he must have looked staring at her like that.

“Hi!” she said quite breathlessly.

“Wow . . .” was all Harry was able to manage. Hermione went very pink.

“I think he means you look nice,” Mr Granger said with a grin.

“You look wonderful,” Harry said, unable to prevent the silly smile on his face. He thought he must have been as pink as Hermione was.

“Thank you, Harry . . .”

“We’d better take our seats,” Mrs Granger said, taking her husband’s arm. Harry followed them to the second row and took his seat next to Hermione. All around them the guests were chatting, and Harry could see several of the youngest children in attendance being told to sit still. On the raised area of grass in front of the chairs Bill stood waiting with Charlie (the Best Man), and the grey-haired wizard who would be performing the ceremony, who wore bright white robes.

“Who’s that?” Harry asked Hermione, gesturing to the official wizard.

“I don’t know his name,” said Hermione, “but Ron said he’s a friend of Mr Weasley’s, that’s how they were able to have the marriage so quickly. You normally have to wait months as there are so few officiating wizards these days.”

Harry couldn’t help a grin as noticed Ron, sitting a few chairs down from them in the front row, had turned around and spotted Hermione and was now wearing the same expression he normally wore in Fleur’s presence. Harry thought Hermione had noticed too but she didn’t give any indication of it.

Mr and Mrs Weasley finally appeared, Mr Weasley propelling his wife along the aisle to the front and waving to several guests who shouted out greetings. Mrs Weasley was still fidgeting with the hem of her dress robes, apparently not satisfied.

“You look terrific, dear,” Harry heard Mr Weasley saying rather exasperatedly as they passed him. Harry chuckled.

The music coming from the speakers suddenly changed, raising the volume and beginning to play the traditional bridal march. Everybody rose and turned towards the aisle; first came Gabrielle Delacour holding a small wicker basket from which she threw handfuls of flower petals that glittered and gave off a sweet but not overpowering scent. She beamed at Harry as she passed. The scent from the flower petals brought a smile to his face and Harry thought there was something about it that he recognised; he turned to Hermione but before he could even ask she was answering the question for him.

“Dipped in a cheering solution,” she whispered in his ear, smiling herself.

Ginny came up the aisle not far behind Gabrielle, her hair drawn into the curls Fleur and Mrs Weasley had adored so much and dressed in the same blue-and-white coloured gown as Gabrielle, and drew many admiring looks from the crowd. Harry again felt that odd detachment as she passed him, that same lack-of-feeling as her eyes met his. It was strange, he thought, that he had been so besotted with Ginny last year, until only a month ago, and yet now there was nothing. None of the odd, tipsy-turvy feelings being around her had used to bring. If anything it was Hermione that was bringing on those feelings and threatening to rouse that odd beast in his chest from its slumber, as he was unable to stop stealing glances at her. As pretty as Ginny looked today, his best friend looked even prettier.

He didn’t puzzle over it for long, as all eyes in the crowd were drawn to Fleur as she made her way up the aisle. She couldn’t look anything other than beautiful, and several annoyed wives in the crowd elbowed their husbands to close their mouths. Fleur seemed to radiate beauty, her delicate and expensive-looking gown complimenting her perfectly. The train of her gown was enchanted and floated along just above the grass. Soon she had joined Bill, whose eyes were threatening to jump right out of his sockets, and the ceremony began.

It was not long; Bill and Fleur exchanged vows, and the officiator asked if there was any witch or wizard present who objected to the couple being joined.

“Zey are all in France, and let zem stay there!” shouted Gabrielle, and even Fleur laughed.

The couple exchanged rings, the small gold bands glowing with light for a moment, and then the officiator was closing the small book he held.

“Then by the power granted to me by the Ministry of Magic, in the name of Merlin, I hearby proclaim you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Bill took his time lifting up Fleur’s veil, and looking into the face of his new bride. He seemed to be almost unwilling to believe that the stunning French witch was now his wife.

“Hurry up and kiss her or I will!” someone shouted from the crowd.

This brought more laughter and seemed to snap Bill out of his daze, for a great cheer went up as he finally pressed his lips against Fleur’s.

The celebration was still going strong as the sun went down and the garden was lit by a great many soft magical lights. After a delicious meal in the marquee the seating outside had been moved and the lawn transfigured into a dance floor. A local wizarding band – Bill’s favourite – had set up and had been playing almost non-stop ever since. Harry had enjoyed himself immensely talking with Remus Lupin, Tonks and Hagrid, and spent almost an hour laughing with Charlie, Fred, George and Ron as they shared memories of pranks played at Hogwarts (most of the memories provided by the Twins). Hermione left them during this hour rolling her eyes, but Harry was glad of her company for the rest of the day as like her he was one of the only adults there not drinking. They had both accepted and drank one glass of firewhiskey from Mr Weasley to be polite, and even though the taste had not been unpleasant (although both of them had gasped at the momentary burning sensation, which Mr Weasley found hilarious) Harry had stuck firmly to butterbeer. Back in Privet Drive he had resolved to never let his guard down until he was finally free of Voldemort, and even though he was sure that they were all safe here at the Burrow he stuck firm to his resolve.

Now, under the magical light with the stars out above them – the fog had not yet begun to creep in, but it would soon – Harry stood with Hermione at the drinks table watching the dancers. Hermione held a half-full bottle of butterbeer in one hand.

“Not drinking either?” he asked.

She smiled wryly.

“No. I haven’t been drunk and I don’t think a back garden full of Weasleys and my parents would be the best place to make a fool out of myself for the first time.”

“The first time?” Harry said, teasingly.

“And when, Harry, have I ever made a fool of myself?”

Harry gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like “Lockhart!” and Hermione punched him on the arm, grinning. Harry laughed and then laughed even harder as he caught sight of his other best friend, who was staggering towards them very unsteadily. Ron, it seemed, had not decided to decline alcohol now that he was old enough to drink it. As he thought about it, Harry couldn’t remember seeing Ron all afternoon without a glass of some kind in his hand.

“Harry! Hermione!” Ron said, grinning wildly as he came to a stop in front of them. “Bloody brilliant isn’t it!”

“Indeed,” said Hermione, beginning to giggle as Ron swayed from side to side.

“How many firewhiskeys have you had, Ron?” Harry asked, grinning.

Ron held up one hand to count, then looked at the other one, then shrugged his shoulders, almost causing him to fall over.

“Dunno,” he said, grinning.

“Well I think you may have had enough,” Hermione told him, still giggling.

“Nonsense Hermione,” Ron said, managing to stand up straight and adopting the most serious-sounding voice he could, “I’m Of Age now and know how to be responshible with firewhiskey.”

“Respon-shi-ble?” Harry asked with a grin.

“That’s what I said. Responshible.”

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione and both of them were unable to contain the laughter any longer.

“What’s going on here then?”

Bill and Fleur had come over to them, still wearing the wide smiles of newlyweds that had been plastered over their faces all afternoon. Fleur had changed from her gown into black dress robes to match Bills.

“Hermione reckons I’ve had too much to drink,” Ron said. “Hi Fleur.”

Bill, who looked rather inebriated himself, grinned.

“Well Hermione’s a very smart witch, you’d probably do well to take her advice. Harry, my wife insists that you dance with her.”

“Come, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, offering him her arm.

“I’ll want her back in a minute,” Bill said, winking at him as Fleur dragged him off to the dance floor. Despite having already danced with Hermione, Mrs Weasley, Mrs Granger and Gabrielle Delacour that evening Harry still felt a little awkward. He didn’t think he’d ever get the hang of dancing. Fleur didn’t seem to mind though as they began to slowly weave their way around.

“I am so ‘appy, ‘Arry. I ‘ope that one day you will bee az ‘appy az I feel right now.”

“Thanks, Fleur. You and Bill are great together, I know that it’ll work out for you both, even with Bill’s condition . . .”

Harry paused, wishing he hadn’t said that, but Fleur laughed.

“Do not worry, ‘Arry, you ‘ave said nothing wrong. I am more grateful to you than you know!”

Harry frowned, puzzled.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if not for you, Bill and I would never ‘ave met! If you had not been een ze Tri-Wizard Tournament, Bill and Molly would not ‘ave come to see you I would never ‘ave known heem!”

“Fleur, I don’t think that’s right . . .”

“Of course eet iz,” Fleur said, beaming at him. “Through you I ‘ave met my ‘usband, you kept Gabrielle safe, and you were always reezpectful to me when others could not see past ze Veela in me. For this I thank you, ‘Arry.”

She placed a kiss on his cheek, and Harry flushed bright red.

“Zere iz so much on your shoulders, ‘Arry. I would not bee able to ‘andle eet, this I know. You-Know-Oo.”

She shook her head sadly.

“I ‘ave joined ze Order, and will gladly fight with you. Bill and I both. When ze time comes, ‘Arry, you ‘ave only to call.”

Harry was feeling incredibly humbled by Fleur’s praise, yet also incredibly warmed by it. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to the stunning witch who was looking at him with the deepest respect in her eyes.

“Thank you, Fleur, that . . . that means a lot to me.”

Fleur smiled, and stopped dancing.

“Come; eet is not long until Bill and I take ze portkey to Paris, I want to dance with my husband once more before we leave.”

Harry followed Fleur back to where Bill was still talking to Hermione. Fred and George passed them carrying Ron between them, whose head was lolling about on his shoulders and was singing what Harry thought was a Quidditch song. Fred tipped Harry a mischievous wink which led him to believe the twins had had a part in Ron’s excessive consumption of firewhiskey.

“There you are,” said Bill as they arrived, still wearing his grin. “Do we have time for a dance before our portkey?”

“I theenk so,” Fleur beamed at him.

Bill led her away back towards the dance floor, and Harry saw him wave at the band. They immediately changed the song they were playing into a slower number, and soon the dance floor was filled with swaying couples. It was a lovely sight to see, this strange combination of a polished dance floor in the middle of a lush green lawn, lit by the magical lights with the skies still clear of fog and the stars shining brightly. Around Bill and Fleur Harry could see Mr and Mrs Weasley dancing, along with Mr and Mrs Granger and Remus Lupin and Tonks. Ginny was dancing with Charlie and Harry was pleased to see that she looked happy. He felt very good at that moment, remembering Hagrid’s words earlier. They did need a time like this, when everyone could be happy.

“So are you going to ask me to dance, Harry?” Hermione asked him.

He turned to her and smiled.

“Yes,” he told her. “Yes, I am.”

They made their way down and joined the couples swirling slowly around. Harry allowed himself to finally completely relax and forget about everything that hung over him, and in doing so he even forgot about his awkwardness with dancing. He held Hermione close to him and, as a great volley of Fred and George’s Fabulous Filibuster Fireworks went off in the skies above them all, he decided that it was very nice indeed.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Making Plans

Harry awoke the next morning to the sounds of painful groaning. He blinked his eyes against the blurry world around him and fumbled for his glasses; when he put them on he blinked again, the brightness of the room coming as a jolt to his sleep-fuddled brain. He was back in Ron’s room now that the house was full of family members, and the walls were still a violent mixture of orange and black stripes from the numerous Chudley Cannons posters plastered all over them. Bright sunshine was flooding in from the window, which only made the effect worse. Harry blinked again and yawned deeply, sitting up and stretching his arms.

The groaning came again. Harry looked over at the bed opposite his at the prone form of Ron: his quilt was in disarray and one of his arms hung limply out of the side of the bed and onto the floor. Ron’s mop of red hair was splayed all over the pillow and, unfortunately, a ray of sunlight was shining directly onto his face. He didn’t seem to be capable of moving.

“You awake?” Harry asked him.

Ron replied after a few moments, his voice thick and groggy:

“I wish . . . I wasn’t . . .”

Harry suppressed his laughter. The two other beds crammed into the room were empty – the twins had no doubt already left to open up the shop in Diagon Alley. He found his watch next to the bed and checked it: it was almost quarter to eleven in the morning. His stomach rumbled loudly, almost in reminder of how late he was getting up. Despite the faint clanking of the ghoul in the attic above them Harry could hear little other sound from the house. Considering the state of most of the revellers when the celebrations had finally ended, he didn’t find this surprising.

He felt much more awake once he had washed and dressed. Ron looked in no fit state to move so Harry went downstairs alone, to be greeted by the deep sounds of snoring. Throughout the living room and den there were various Weasley family members and wedding guests asleep, sprawled out on settees and chairs and on mattresses on the floor. Harry made his way silently down the corridor to the kitchen, where he was not surprised to find that Hermione was the only other person awake. She was sitting at the kitchen table with the remains of breakfast in front of her, deeply engrossed in the Daily Prophet.

“Morning,” Harry said as he crossed over to the counter to make some tea.

“Oh, good morning Harry,” Hermione said, looking up from the paper. There was a strange expression on her face; Harry frowned as he filled the kettle and put some bread under the grill to make toast.

“Are you all right?”

“There’s news, Harry . . .”

She held the Prophet out to him. He took it from her and looked at the cover, and an odd mixture of shock and pleasant surprise ran through him:

HOGWARTS TO RE-OPEN!

Wizarding public stunned as school cleared to open its doors

By Rita Skeeter

There was a large picture of Hogwarts itself, and next to it a smaller picture of McGonagall and Rufus Scrimgeour standing with a group of twelve rather stern-looking witches and wizards, who Harry presumed to be the governors of Hogwarts.

“They’re opening the school?” Harry said at last, looking at Hermione enquiringly. She simply nodded. His breakfast forgotten, he took a seat opposite her and spread the newspaper out on the table so he could read the article properly:

In an official announcement late last night, writes senior Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has officially been given the go-ahead to re-open and accept pupils for the coming school year. The announcement came late in the evening from the school’s headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.

Doubt had been cast over the future of the school since the events in June of this year when, despite the claims that Hogwarts is one of the most magically-protected locations in the country, a group of Death Eaters serving You-Know-Who were able to breach its defences and gain entrance to the school. A battle ensued inside the school in which several students and teachers were injured, and which cost the life of headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

The death of Albus Dumbledore sent shockwaves throughout the country and prompted many parents to withdraw their children from the school immediately, for fear of their safety. Fears which, headmistress Minerva McGonagall claims, are misplaced, as she wrote in the official announcement made last night:

“It is my great pleasure to inform the Wizarding public that the Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, have agreed to allow Hogwarts to re-open for the coming school year. I want to emphatically state to all parents of Hogwarts pupils that their children will be safe; the tragic events of June came about due to unique circumstances, circumstances which have now been rectified. The magical defences of Hogwarts remain impenetrable and our students’ safety is of the utmost importance to us. The continued education of our children is essential in these troubling times, and I hope to see all students returning to us on the first of September.”

Despite the confident nature of Headmistress McGonagall’s announcement, it has not been easy for her to secure this decision. Sources close to the Governors have told the Daily Prophet that many were extremely doubtful about the safety of the school, particularly after it was revealed former Hogwarts teacher Severus Snape had in fact remained an active Death Eater and spy for You-Know-Who at the school, undetected until he helped other Death Eaters enter the school in June and killed Albus Dumbledore himself. Questions were raised about how Snape could have gone undetected for so long, and what was to stop the same thing happening again. Questions which this reporter feels still have not been answered satisfactorily.

Story continues on pages 2, 3, 4 and 5 . . .

Harry wore a frown as Hermione pushed his tea and toast towards him, which she had finished making for him as he read.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, and took a bite of toast. “McGonagall has changed her tune a bit. When I was in her office after it happened she didn’t seem to think re-opening was the best thing.”

“It may have been the shock of what happened,” Hermione offered. “She’s had some time to think about it now and make her mind up for good.”

Harry took a sip of his tea.

“It goes on and on inside,” said Hermione. “There’s a short interview with the Minister of Magic and some of the Governors, but it’s mostly Rita going on about the school not being safe and playing up what happened in June. She managed to get interviews with a lot of the parents who pulled their children out of school and they were all too happy to agree with her.”

Harry looked down at the picture of Hogwarts on the cover. The castle looked quiet and peaceful. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it re-opening – he remembered Hagrid’s words of the previous evening, about how the school closing would be a victory for Voldemort, and in that sense he felt glad. But Hogwarts would never be the same now, not after everything that had happened. Harry chewed thoughtfully on his toast. It didn’t matter – he wasn’t returning.

“Hagrid said yesterday he didn’t know what was going on,” Harry said once he’d finished his toast.

“Professor McGonagall didn’t say anything either, I spoke to her after the ceremony. She did leave quite early though – maybe it was to attend the meeting that decided it?”

“Maybe . . . or it could be she knew already and didn’t want to steal any of the thunder from Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Hagrid may have known too, the sneaky git.”

Hermione laughed as she sipped her tea.

“Well it won’t be half as full this year, that’s for sure,” said Harry. “I doubt many of the parents will send their kids back there now.”

“Rita isn’t helping that either,” said Hermione, sounding annoyed. “But at least the fate of the school is out of her hands. They’ve already sent out our letters . . .”

She produced a very familiar-looking envelope from inside her cardigan; Harry saw the Hogwarts stamp on it and Professor’s McGonagall’s recognisable handwriting.

“You’ll never guess what, Harry . . .”

But Harry could, as Hermione had begun to beam and then from the envelope she took out a small, golden pin.

“I got Head Girl!”

Harry could not restrain his broad smile, for Hermione looked so happy, but guilt was now churning inside him; he had no doubt this was something Hermione had been looking forward to for many years, but now because of him she wouldn’t even be going back to Hogwarts . . .

“Congratulations Hermione, no-one deserves it more than you.”

“Thank you! I’d always hoped I’d get it, even though there were some other strong contenders. I thought Rachel Murray in Ravenclaw would be a shoe-in.”

Harry got up and wandered over to the counter where, amongst the rest of the Weasley’s post (including a bright yellow envelope which proclaimed “Are your pixies a pest MR ARTHUR WEAZLIE?”) he found his own official Hogwarts letter, nestled next to Ron and Ginny’s. He took it back to the table and ripped it open, and as he did something fell out onto the table which gleamed in the sunlight coming in through the window.

“Oh, Harry!”

“You’re kidding me?” Harry said, picking up the golden pin and turning it so he could regard the Hogwarts crest engraved on the front.

“Head Boy!” Hermione squealed. Her eyes were wide and both hands were pressed to her mouth in surprise, and Harry would have laughed had he not been in complete shock at the sight of the small pin he was now holding. What was McGonagall thinking? Him, be Head Boy? He’d never even been a prefect! Why in Merlin’s name would she have picked him?

“She picked you for a reason, Harry,” Hermione said, reading his thoughts for perhaps the millionth time since they’d met.

“I just,” Harry began, and then stopped. “I just don’t think I deserve it.”

“Of course you do, don’t be silly.”

Harry smiled weakly and pulled out two sheets of parchment from the envelope. One was the standard letter listing the books that would be required for his final year from Professor Flitwick, who was now Deputy Headmaster, but the other was from Professor McGonagall. In it she congratulated him for being picked for Head Boy and explained the duties the position required him to perform, and invited him and Hermione to meet with her after the arrival banquet to discuss it further. Harry folded it back up again and placed it back inside the envelope, but put the pin into his pocket. Hermione was smiling at him rather wistfully.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“Nothing,” she said, but Harry thought that was a white lie. He was sure she was feeling sad about not going back to Hogwarts to be Head Girl. The guilt swirled inside him again, so he hastily changed the subject to the celebrations of the previous night and they spent the next twenty minutes laughing over the funnier moments as the occupants of The Burrow began to wake up. Mrs Weasley appeared looking remarkably fresh and alert considering her tipsy state when Harry had seen her last and insisted on cooking them both a second breakfast. Slowly but surely various Weasley family members and wedding guests began to emerge into the kitchen, tempted out of their slumber by the smells of frying bacon and sausages, and soon the room was filled with the sounds of conversation, eating and Mrs Weasley shrieking with excitement when Ginny arrived and opened her letter to find a red-and-gold Prefect badge inside. Ginny eventually managed to escape from Mrs Weasley’s hugs and trilling and joined Harry and Hermione at the table.

“Congratulations, Ginny,” Hermione said.

“Thanks,” said Ginny. “This is a bit of a shock, I thought I’d cast one too many Bat-Bogey Hexes to get Prefect.”

“Harry and I got Head Boy and Girl!” Hermione nearly shrieked, seemingly unable to contain it any longer. This set Mrs Weasley off, and Ginny grinned as Harry and Hermione were now treated to their own bone-crushing hugs. Mr Weasley arrived looking rather under the weather but glowed with delight when he heard their news.

“Hogwarts is re-opening then? That’s great news, great news . . . Molly, what was that sobering charm, I never got the hang of it . . .”

Mrs Weasley tapped her wand lightly on his head and said “Inebrius!”, and Mr Weasley instantly took on his normal, cheery expression.

“Thank you my dear, you always know how to fix a hangover – oho! Looks like I’m not the only one who could use it!”

Ron had entered the kitchen, shuffling forward sloth-like and still wearing the bleary, pain-filled expression he’d had whilst slumped in bed.

“Mum,” he groaned, “help me . . .”

Mrs Weasley’s look was stern, but Harry thought he detected a hint of humour in her expression.

“You’ll get no help from me Ronald Weasley,” she chastised. “If you don’t know the sobering charm then you shouldn’t drink so much.”

“Dad . . .” Ron said, pleadingly. Mr Weasley was grinning broadly.

“Sorry son, but your mother is right. I’ve never been good at that spell anyway.”

Ron slumped into the chair next to Harry, defeated, but after a few moments he brightened up slightly when Mrs Weasley pushed a large plate of bacon and eggs in front of him; her cruelty only extended so far.

As morning grew into early afternoon Harry began to get anxious. Now that the wedding was over it was time for the three of them to talk about their plans, but it was proving very hard to escape from the chaotic scene of noise and laughter filling the Burrow now that all of Weasleys’ remaining relatives and wedding guests were up and about. It was close to two o’clock before Harry was finally able to extricate himself from the questions and good-natured conversations continually fired at him and find Ron and Hermione to tell them that it was time to talk.

The three of them walked out into another oddly cool summer’s day, the sun shining brightly above them but there was a distinct chill in the air and a steady breeze that ruffled their clothes and hair as they crossed the back yard. The silvery hint of the ever-present fog glinted through the patchy clouds. Harry walked slightly ahead of them, deep in thought and subconsciously turning over his Head Boy badge in one hand. His mind was in a turmoil, aware that the three of them were about to have possibly one of the most important conversations of their lives. Ron and Hermione were counting on him to have a plan, a definitive layout of what they were going to do. Though Harry had thought of little else lately, he was worried that he was about to disappoint them.

Behind him Ron moaned again, for possibly the hundredth time that day as his hangover tormented him. Hermione took pity on him and took out her wand; with a soft tap on his forehead she cast the sobering charm Mrs Weasley had denied him.

“Oh that’s better,” Ron said, rubbing his temples. “Thanks a million, Hermione.”

“You’ll have to learn it yourself for next time,” Hermione chided him.

“I will, trust me. I’m going to have Fred and George for this.”

Harry led them to the remains of the tree where he and Hermione had sat when she had first arrived. Ron looked wistfully at the charred stump and gave the blackened trunk a consolatory pat before sitting down against it. Harry sat not far away from him with his back to the stone wall and Hermione sat down cross-legged on the grass between them so they formed a rudimentary triangle.

And then they waited.

Harry sat with his head down, absent-mindedly picking at the grass as he mulled things over, how to begin. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. When Harry finally looked up at them, Hermione smiled at him and Ron nodded, and Harry was grateful to them. He knew they were telling him that they would wait for him to start, and that they would let him speak without interruption. Or not too much interruption, he thought was more likely. This made him smile.

“I want to thank you both,” Harry said finally, looking to them. “What lies ahead is, well, bloody scary and . . . well, you both know that I’d still rather be doing this on my own and not putting you in danger. But to know that you’ll be there with me and I don’t have to do it on my own . . . it means so much to me. You’re the best friends anyone could wish for.”

Both Hermione and Ron went pink.

“Blimey Harry, enough of the mushy stuff!” said Ron.

“Sorry,” Harry replied, grinning a little, but then the serious look on his face returned and he paused again before continuing.

“You know what needs to be done. There are four more Horcruxes out there somewhere and I – we – need to find them and destroy them. Until they’re destroyed Voldemort is unstoppable.”

Ron was getting a bit better – his twitch at Voldemort’s name wasn’t quite as noticeable as it used to be.

“So,” Harry went on, “we’re going to need somewhere to stay, somewhere safe where can do our research and practise spells and things.”

“A base of operations, like?” Ron asked.

“Exactly. The obvious choice is Grimmauld Place, because it belongs to me now and has just about every ward you can think of on it. But to be honest, I don’t want to go back there.”

“It still might not be safe,” added Hermione.

“That’s right,” nodded Harry. “Bellatrix” – he spoke her name with hate – “may be able to find it because of Kreacher. Nothing has happened so far, but we can’t take any chances. So I thought I’d buy a house somewhere in Muggle London.”

Ron and Hermione both began to open their mouths to speak but Harry silenced them with a wave.

“I can afford it easily,” he said. “We’ll get something not too far from Diagon Alley, so that we can get to the Wizarding Library easily. We’ll have to learn how to make the house Unplottable and do some of the other protective wards on it, but I think it’ll be quite good. With so many Muggles around we should be able to blend right in.”

Harry looked at them both. That was it, his great plan. He waited.

“Well?” he asked eventually.

Hermione looked at Ron. She clearly wanted him to go first.

“It sounds all right to me mate,” Ron told him. “We’ll have a roof over our heads, that’s the important thing.”

Harry felt some of the weight on his chest lift.

“Hermione?”

She looked at him, seemingly unsure of how to reply.

“It’s a good plan, Harry,” she said at last. “I know you’ve given it a lot of thought and there’s nothing essentially wrong with it; I’m sure we’d be able to perform the wards and make a Muggle house safe to work from.”

Harry felt the weight reattaching itself to his chest. He could tell from her tone that there was more she wanted to say, but was afraid of hurting his feelings.

“What do you think we should do, Hermione?” he asked her earnestly.

She bit her lip.

“Harry, I . . .”

“It’s all right,” Harry told her. “Just tell us.”

She looked directly at him.

“I think we should go back to Hogwarts.”

Both Harry and Ron’s eyes widened in surprise, and Harry blinked a few times. He had not been expecting her to say that.

“Hear me out,” Hermione said, glancing between the both of them. “Harry, I know that you don’t want to go back there, and I don’t blame you. It won’t be the same as before . . . it’ll never be the same as before. But I think it’s the best option for us.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “Why?”

“I agree with what Professor McGonagall said in her statement in the Daily Prophet – Hogwarts is still the safest place for us, for any witch or wizard, in the country. The way that Malfoy was able to get the Death Eaters in was a fluke. A terrible one,” she added, seeing the anger in Harry’s eyes at the mention of Malfoy, “but still a fluke. Professor McGonagall said that it had been rectified – the vanishing cabinet will have been destroyed for sure. There’s no way anything like that will happen again, Harry. I’m sure of it. Hogwarts is the safest place for us.”

Harry sat in silence, considering it.

“We’d still be able to go out, to get books or supplies and things wouldn’t we?” Ron interjected. “Now that we can all Apparate. All we’d need to do is pop down to Hogsmeade, we could Apparate from there to Diagon Alley and get whatever we need then go straight back.”

Hermione nodded at him.

“Being Head Boy and Girl means we don’t have to worry about being out of bed late, we’d have practically free run of the castle,” said Hermione. “We can use the evenings and weekends to do our research and to investigate anywhere we think a Horcrux might be hidden.”

Harry turned what Hermione was saying over in his head.

“Going back there, it means carrying on with schoolwork and NEWTs and everything,” Harry told her. “I’m not interested in that anymore. All I want to do is find the Horcruxes and get this finished. Transfiguration and Potions is just going to get in the way of what’s important.”

“It could,” Hermione admitted, “but I’m not saying you need to apply yourself fully to the school side of things. As long as you keep your grades up enough not to fail-”

Ron sniggered loudly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just never thought I’d see the day that you’d actually encourage us not to do schoolwork.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, grinning. “Head Girl too, what an example you’re setting.”

Hermione glared at them both, but grinned as well. Harry’s grin soon faded though.

“What you’re saying does make sense,” he said, and then sadness filled his voice. “I just really don’t want to go back there, Hermione.”

“I know, Harry. I know. But there’s one more thing I want you to consider . . .”

Harry looked at her, as did Ron.

“V-Voldemort,” she said. “As far as you know Harry, he has no idea that you know about the Horcruxes, right?”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “Dumbledore believed that. He believed that Voldemort wouldn’t be able to feel that some of the Horcruxes had been destroyed, either.”

“Right,” said Hermione. “So it’s of vital importance that we keep what we’re doing a secret. If V-Voldemort found out that we were actively seeking the Horcruxes he’d come for us, no matter where we are. We need to carry on as normally as possible, so Harry how do you think it’s going to look when you don’t go back to Hogwarts, now that it’s re-opened? It’s bound to make the Prophet.”

Harry felt winded. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“If he finds out that you haven’t gone back he’s going to know you’re up to something. He might not guess exactly what that something is, but he’ll still know. If we go back to Hogwarts, go to lessons, do our Head Boy and Girl duties, he’ll be none the wiser. We’ll be safe, and we can still do our research on the Horcruxes in secret.”

Harry sat in silence, contemplating Hermione’s words. She was, as always, right. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid to overlook something as important as that. Of course it would be big news to the Prophet if the Chosen One wasn’t returning to Hogwarts . . . Voldemort would have his eyes open for him. If they were seen frequenting Diagon Alley and Muggle London, he would know they were up to something. Why hadn’t he realised that?

Because you’re not Hermione, the familiar voice inside his head told him. She’s the smart one, remember?

“Harry?”

Ron’s voice. He didn’t know how long he had been lost in his thoughts.

“What do you think, Harry?” Hermione asked him.

“I think you’re right, Hermione,” he answered, looking from her to Ron and back again. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about that, but you’re right. Voldemort can’t find out what we’re doing . . . if that means us going back to Hogwarts, then we’re going back to Hogwarts.”

Hermione smiled, and Ron nodded his approval.

“It won’t be easy, being back there,” Harry told them. “But we’ll get through it.”

“That’s the spirit, mate,” said Ron.

“You always know what to do,” Harry said to Hermione, smiling at her. She went a bit pink again.

“Well that’s sorted then,” Ron said. “But what are we going to do about the Horcruxes themselves? We know bugger all about them.”

“We’re going to have to find out everything we can,” Harry said, nodding his agreement with Ron. “It won’t be easy. We won’t find anything about them in the Hogwarts library, not even in the restricted section. We need to start practising some new spells too – ones that will help us detect concealed magic, things like that. The way Dumbledore found the entrance in the cave . . .”

Harry trailed off, his thoughts going back to that fateful night.

“I had an idea as well,” Ron said, sounding a bit nervous all of a sudden. Harry and Hermione both looked to him.

“I don’t know how good it is,” Ron told them, “we might not even be able to make it work, but it might be worth having a go anyway. I mean, every advantage helps, right?”

“What’s your idea, Ron?” Hermione asked kindly.

“Well,” he replied, looking from Harry to Hermione and back, “I was thinking that maybe we should have a go at becoming Animagi.”

Harry and Hermione shared a surprised look.

“I know it’s difficult to do, and it would all depend on what animal we turned into because you don’t know what it’s going to be until the first time you do it, but it might be helpful if ever we’re trying to sneak around somewhere. Nobody’s going to be suspicious of a cat or a dog or a bird or something. What do you reckon?”

Ron was glancing between them, looking very nervous indeed.

“Ron that’s a brilliant idea!” Hermione told him, smiling at him. “Like you said it could be very useful if we were trying to be stealthy . . . what do you think Harry?”

“I say we do it,” said Harry, grinning. “Nice one, Ron.”

Ron seemed much more cheerful now that they thought his idea was worthwhile.

“Harry’s Dad and Sirius managed it,” he said. “I’m sure we could do it too . . . I might turn into a dragon!” he said suddenly. “Imagine that!”

Harry and Hermione both laughed.

“That wouldn’t be very conspicuous,” Hermione giggled.

“No but I could kick some arse though,” Ron grinned.

“That’s agreed then,” said Harry. “Because it’s your idea Ron, you can be in charge of it. Research into how you become an Animagus and any supplies we’ll need.”

Ron’s chest puffed out a little bit. He clearly felt important and Harry was glad; he wanted them both to know they were just as important as him in this.

“What are you and Hermione going to do while I’m doing that?” Ron asked.

“Oh, well, I’m . . .” Hermione began, but her cheeks flushed slightly and she looked to Harry. He could tell she wasn’t sure if he wanted Ron to know or not.

“Hermione’s going to help me to do Occlumency again,” Harry told Ron, who frowned.

“Occlumency?” asked Ron. “What does Hermione know about Occlumency? No offense,” he directed at her.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I’m going to learn Legilimency. If I can do that, I can use it to try and break into Harry’s mind and then he can practise Occlumency to repel me.”

“Right,” Ron said, seemingly appeased but Harry thought he detected a certain tone of . . . something, in his voice. Perhaps he felt hurt that Harry had not asked him to help with Occlumency, but Harry suspected that it might be a touch of jealousy that he would probably be spending a lot of time alone with Hermione while they practised. He hoped that wasn’t going to develop into a problem.

“Right then,” Harry said. “We’ve got a plan.”

“We’ve got a plan,” Ron agreed.

“A good plan,” added Hermione.

That seemed to settle it. Harry stood up and brushed the grass off of his jeans.

“I’m, well, going to visit Godric’s Hollow later,” he told them. “Do you want to come?”

“Of course we’ll come, Harry,” Hermione replied.

Harry nodded and the three of them walked back towards the Burrow. The weight on Harry’s chest was completely lifted now, and for the millionth time he felt grateful to have such brilliant friends.

“You know what mate, to be honest I’m glad we’re going back to Hogwarts,” Ron admitted as they crossed the lawn.

“Why’s that?” asked Harry.

“I wasn’t looking forward to telling Mum I was dropping out of school.”

Ron had gone red, and Harry and Hermione both laughed. A little further on Harry reached out an arm and stopped Ron as Hermione entered the Burrow ahead of them.

“Wait a moment,” Harry told him. “I’ve got something to give you.”

Ron frowned curiously as Harry dug inside one of the pockets of his jeans and then produced a small red and gold pin which bore the Gryffindor lion above two crossed broomsticks.

“Quidditch Captain?” Ron said, beginning to shake his head.

“I want you to have it, Ron.”

“No mate, I can’t,” Ron said, still shaking his head. “You earned that, it’s yours.”

“I’m not going to be playing Quidditch this year, as important as it is to keep things looking normal. With all the research to do and the Occlumency practise on top of the schoolwork, I don’t think I’ll have time for it. Not to mention Head Boy duties.”

“Never thought you’d be Head Boy,” Ron said, grinning. Harry grinned back.

“I know. But still, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t keep playing. You’re a great tactician and you’ll make a great Captain. I’m asking so much of you and Hermione this year, you both deserve to have something you can still enjoy. I want you to have this, Ron.”

“Harry, mate, I appreciate what you’re doing but I just can’t accept it. It’s your badge.”

“Ron, if you don’t take it then I’m going to give it to Ginny, and then she’ll be able to boss you around on the pitch.”

Ron considered this for a few moments and then snatched the pin out of Harry’s hand.

“Bugger that.”

* * *

With three soft pops Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared at the top of a wide, grassy hill. The countryside was spread out around them, a patchwork of fields and trees. A bare and rutted track in the grass led away from where the trio stood, down one side of the hill and towards a smattering of buildings in the distance. Godric’s Hollow could not be considered a village; it was too small for that. Hamlet was a much better fit, Harry thought as he looked down upon it. He could see a few small clusters of what appeared to be thatched cottages nestled close together. There were one or two larger buildings which he thought were most likely to be a pub and shops, and furthest away from the houses stood what was obviously a church with a tall pointed spire. He couldn’t see anyone moving around, but thin trails of smoke were drifting up from a few of the chimneys suggesting that they weren’t alone.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked softly from behind him.

“Yeah,” he told her. “Let’s go.”

They followed the path down the hill, the breeze ruffling their black travelling cloaks. Soon they were walking up the main street which was cobbled and cracked, passing the neat cottages on either side. The gardens were all neatly tendered but to Harry it seemed much more natural and pleasant than the spotless lawns of Privet Drive. Although they didn’t see any residents as they passed by they could hear the odd snippet of radio broadcasts coming through open windows. Birds chirruped softly from a large oak tree at the corner of the road. There was a great sense of peace here.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Hermione said quietly.

Harry nodded. This could have been his home, had things been different. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up here.

“It’s down this path, isn’t it?” Ron asked.

They had come to a slightly overgrown path that wound its way between two of the cottages. Harry nodded at him, and led the way. Lupin had told them where to find Godric’s Hollow, and what remained of Harry’s old house. It didn’t take long. The path led them between the houses, around a copse of tall trees and then there, suddenly it was.

There was very little left. The house had burned down, Harry knew, and now sixteen years had passed. The thick ashes and the bits of skeletal structure that remained had faded from black to a very dark grey. Harry’s emotions were swirling around inside him. It was here where his parents had died. Here where Voldemort had murdered them. He must have walked down the very path they just had.

“The Muggles never did anything about it?” Ron asked quietly, gesturing to the burnt remains.

“I don’t think they can,” Hermione answered. “I’m not too sure, but I think the land belonged to Harry’s parents along with the house. It belongs to Harry now.”

Harry had never even considered this. He didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Let’s go to the church,” Harry said. He had seen enough here.

They walked back down the path and turned to their right, and walked the short distance to the end of the main street where the church stood. It was grey and white and looked recently-painted. Like the rest of the hamlet, it had an aura of peace.

The graveyard was behind the church. It was not big; a low black wire fence encircled it. Some of the gravestones looked very old, their surfaces worn and chipped and many were leaning at odd angles. It didn’t take long for them to find the graves belonging to James and Lily. They were buried side-by-side at the far right corner, their gravestones made of a white stone similar to the tomb belonging to Dumbledore. Harry felt his heart lift as above each of their names he saw a phoenix etched into the stone.

“We’ll give you a minute,” Hermione said softly, tugging at Ron’s sleeve and leading him away. They stood near the entrance, watching as Harry sat down in front of his parents graves in the distance.

“Blimey this is a bit intense isn’t it?” Ron said quietly.

“Poor Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes on his mop of raven hair. “To think that he’s never been able to come here before . . .”

A few moments passed in silence.

“Erm, Hermione?”

She looked at him.

“Do you remember what I was saying when you first got to the Burrow? About girlfriends and how having someone right now might make things a bit better?”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little.

“Ron,” she said quietly but firmly, “do you honestly think that this is the time or the place?”

Ron went red.

“Erm, no, maybe you’re right.”

He looked anywhere but at her. Hermione pointedly fixed her gaze on Harry. The minutes passed.

“Let’s see how he is,” Hermione said finally, and Ron followed her to where Harry was sitting. He was silent as they approached, but Hermione could see a tear falling down his cheek as he stood up to meet them. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder.

“All right?” Hermione asked him.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, wiping his cheek with his free hand. He turned back to the graves.

“Bye Mum, bye Dad.”

Still holding Hermione’s hand, Harry walked away.

* * *

Chapter Four - Hermione's Revelation

The next morning Harry awoke from the best night's sleep he had had all summer. He had dreamed of his parents, but for once it was not the memories of the fateful night of their deaths but an oddly peaceful dream where they had been smiling and waving at him, much akin to the vision of them he had seen in the Mirror of Erised many years before. As the remnants of the dream faded away he lay in the cramped fold-out bed in Ron's room with a smile on his face as Ron continued to snore across from him. He was glad he had gone to visit their graves, even if he hadn't said much whilst sitting in front of them. Just being there had been enough. Mr and Mrs Weasley, however, had not been pleased with them when they returned. Harry had felt a bit guilty, as he probably should have told them where they were going. Mrs Weasley particularly had been very angry. “No-one with you!” she had shrieked. “No protection, just wandering off by yourselves Merlin-knows where! Dementors and Giants and Death Eaters all over the country . . .”

She had directed most of her anger at Ron, as if he were somehow to blame; when Harry apologised and Hermione explained where they'd gone Mrs Weasley had eased up a bit, but as he sat down to breakfast later that morning there was still a certain frostiness in the air and not a lot of conversation. Even Ginny was very quiet as they ate, and she was normally one of the most talkative. It didn't help that Mrs Weasley had arranged for them to go to Diagon Alley that morning to shop for their school things and they would be under Auror guard, something that Mrs Weasley no doubt felt they should have had the previous afternoon. It was something of a relief then when a Ministry car arrived to transport them, and Mrs Weasley sat up front with the driver, leaving the four of them alone in the back.

“She'll cool off soon enough mate, don't worry,” Ron said as Harry looked out of the window at the thickening traffic. Harry nodded at him but resumed his gaze outside. His mind was still on his parents. Hermione and Ginny were talking about Ginny's new Prefect status and, once he saw that Harry didn't seem to be about to speak anytime soon, Ron joined their conversation.

There was a pleasant surprise waiting for them when the car finally pulled to a halt outside the Leaky Cauldron: standing next to a stern-looking Auror who was looking suspiciously up and down the road was Tonks, her bright bubblegum-pink hair standing out for a mile, and beside her was Remus Lupin.

“Wotcher,” she greeted them cheerfully as the driver held open the door.

“Good morning, Molly,” Lupin said as he helped her step out of the car.

“Morning, Remus,” Mrs Weasley replied, and Harry was relieved to see that her normal cheery mood had returned. “Good morning, Jenkins.”

“Ready to go, Mrs Weasley?” asked the stern-looking Auror.

He led them into the Leaky Cauldron as Tonks and the others exchanged greetings, through the empty pub (not even Tom the landlord was to be seen) and out into the rear yard where Tonks tapped on a certain brick in the wall and the entrance to Diagon Alley materialised. Harry was saddened to see that it was even quieter than last year - in fact the once-crowded street was nearly deserted. More shops were closed down and boarded up and there were still magical posters of wanted Death Eaters plastered everywhere. Although there weren't as many as the previous year, there were still a few dodgy stalls with their seedy-looking owners behind them, all of whom looked eager to see them at the prospect of customers.

“Keep together now,” Mrs Weasley said, eyeing the nearest stallholder with distaste. Tonks took the lead, closely followed by Hermione and Ginny and then Ron and Mrs Weasley behind them. Harry allowed himself to drop a few paces back so he could walk with Lupin. Jenkins took up the rear.

“You're looking well, Professor,” Harry told him, and he thought it was true. Even though Lupin's hair was still greyed and he was walking with a cane and a slight limp, Harry thought he looked better than he'd seen him all year. He suspected Tonks had something to do with it.

“Thank you Harry,” Lupin said, smiling kindly. “Though it has been a few years since I was your teacher. You are of Age now, and I would like it if you would call me Remus.”

“All right, si- Remus,” Harry finished, grinning. He wasn't sure if he would get used to calling him that.

“You are looking well yourself, Harry. We did not get a real chance to speak at the wedding, aside from your request . . . everything is all right?”

“As well as can be expected,” Harry said grimly. Lupin nodded sagely.

“And how was your visit?”

He could only be talking about one thing. Harry was silent for a moment before replying.

“It was . . . nice,” he finished.

“Godric's Hollow is a beautiful place,” Lupin said as they made their way along the cobbled street. “I visited it when James and Lily first chose to hide there, and of course sadly again when they were buried. It would have made a happy home for you.”

Harry didn't want to think about it anymore, so he asked Lupin a question that had been pressing on him for the last few days.

“Remus, what's happening with the Order? Now that Dumbledore is gone, I mean.”

Lupin hung his head sadly. Up ahead of them Tonks brandished her wand threateningly at a witch who was trying to drape a dark-coloured shawl around Hermione's shoulders.

“I am afraid I don't know the answer to that, Harry,” Lupin told him. “We are without leadership, and our numbers reduced thanks to Snape's treachery.”

Harry's ears pricked at Lupin's use of `Snape'. He had always referred to him as Severus, despite their less-than-friendly past.

“At this point in time the Order's future is unclear. We all have assignments given to us by Albus that we are still carrying out, but whether it is still prudent to continue with them is uncertain. We shall have to elect a new leader, who will decide for us.”

“But the Order still exists, right?” Harry asked. “Even with Dumbledore gone-“

“The Order still stands,” Lupin said, cutting him off. “We have suffered a great loss, but we will carry on. We will carry on until Lord Voldemort is defeated, or we are.”

Or I am, Harry thought gravely. He was the only one who could stop Voldemort, after all.

“Forgive me for asking you this Harry, but I understand that over the last school year you had regular meetings with Albus?”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry said, warily.

“I feel that I must ask you, as no doubt that Minerva will, if there is anything that you discussed with Albus that might help us? Anything at all?”

Lupin was regarding him keenly. Harry felt his insides squirming; Dumbledore had chosen not to reveal the Horcruxes to the rest of the Order, which he must have had reasons for doing so. Should Harry tell them about the Horcruxes? Would Dumbledore want them to know, now that he was gone?

“I don't think so,” Harry answered finally. “I don't think Dumbledore would have told me anything he wouldn't have told the rest of the Order.”

Harry's insides squirmed again at the lie, but Lupin seemed satisfied with the answer and nodded. Fortunately they had reached Gringotts so Harry was able to busy himself with withdrawing some of his gold while Tonks, Lupin and Jenkins waited in the foyer. Although there were no queues the goblins subjected them to a long check with Secrecy Sensors and Dark Detectors before allowing them to pass (one of them hastily removed its hand from a Probity Probe after one look from Mrs Weasley). The actual withdrawal of their gold was uneventful save for a “Blimey!” from Ginny when Harry's vault was opened; his already sizeable fortune had been swelled by the money left to him by Sirius and he hastily scooped up coins from the mountains of galleons as quickly as he could, still embarrassed by it.

Mrs Weasley propelled them from shop to shop hurriedly. Madame Malkin was very pleased to see them (“Hogwarts! You're the first ones so far!” she trilled) and the owner of Flourish & Blotts was equally happy, once they had woken him up. Business had been so poor lately, he informed them, that he'd taken to having frequent naps behind the cash register. Soon they were laden with heavy packages of books and robes. Harry's arms were beginning to grow tired as they stood outside the apothecary waiting for Hermione, who had been inside for a good twenty minutes.

“What's she doing in there?” Ron moaned, who was also carrying Ginny's books. Harry was starting to get worried when Hermione eventually strode out with a scowl on her face, tucking a very small package inside her jacket pocket.

“Honestly I'm not some kind of fangirl . . .” she muttered.

“Everything all right?” Lupin asked her.

“Yes, fine,” Hermione replied, a hasty smile replacing her scowl. Harry didn't think she was telling the truth but there was no time to ask her as Mrs Weasley frogmarched them off to their final destination: Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was still as loud and colourful as the last time Harry had seen it, and he was pleased to see that it was still drawing a fair amount of customers compared to the rest of the shops along Diagon Alley. It wasn't as crowded as it had been last year but the shop was loud with conversation, and it took Harry a few moments to realise that the majority of customers were older-looking wizards and witches - there was the unmistakable air of Ministry workers about them. Some were browsing Fred and George's more familiar joke products with the younger customers, but most of them were heading in and out of a doorway next to the counter. The twins were nowhere to be seen, their assistant Verity manning the counter, so Harry led them to the doorway where most of the customers were heading to.

Through the doorway was a room that Harry was sure hadn't been there the previous year. It was very large, and the walls were lined with cloaks, robes, hats and gloves of all sizes and looks. It seemed they had walked into the middle of a demonstration, as Fred and George stood in the middle of the room surrounded by a group of customers. George was putting on a handsome-looking set of robes.

“Now ladies and gentlemen,” Fred was saying to the crowd, “watch as the built-in Shield Charm in the robes my brother George is modelling deflects even the toughest curses!”

With a flourish, he drew his wand and pointed it at an utterly unfazed George and shouted “Stupefy!” Some of the crowd gasped as the red beam of light shot towards George, only for it to strike his robes which briefly glowed yellow and ricochet off up towards the ceiling. The crowd applauded, and Fred and George both took a bow. As the applause died down the noise of conversation grew once again and the crowd of customers moved to examine the variety of robes and cloaks along the walls.

“Triple W Defense Clothing,” said Fred, coming over to them. “Remember we told you about it last year Harry? Hi Mum.”

Harry laughed as Mrs Weasley gave first Fred and then George (who appeared a few moments later) an enormous hug.

“All right Mum, all right, you haven't seen us since the wedding,” winced George.

“Which was only two days ago,” Fred added jokingly.

“A lot can happen in two days!” Mrs Weasley scolded. “Diagon Alley isn't the safest place to live . . .”

The twins both rolled their eyes, then spotted Ron who was glaring at them.

“Ronald,” said Fred, smirking.

“You were wasted,” said George.

“Only because of you, you gits!” Ron fumed. “Just you wait . . .”

“Have a look around ladies,” George said, ignoring Ron and gesturing to Hermione, Ginny and Mrs Weasley. “The ladies line has been a little slower to take off, we need all the feedback we can get. Let me show you some of the hats for the more distinguished witch, Mum . . .”

He led the three of them off, leaving Fred with Harry. Ron sloped off back into the main room of the shop muttering something about dungbombs.

“We've come a long way since the cloak we showed you last year,” Fred said to Harry as he began showing him along the range of clothes. “We're having a hard time meeting demand, to be honest with you. This stuff is outselling our joke products five to one.”

“It's great,” said Harry, marvelling at a display of hats that included a Muggle top hat and a ten gallon cowboy hat.

“As you can see, we cater to everyone. This set of robes, for example,” said Fred, holding it up for Harry to see, “is your more basic set. The built-in charm only works once, so it's only five galleons.”

Fred hung the robes back up, and then led Harry further down the line.

“Now these,” he said with a grin, “are the top of the line. Only the very best materials, hand-made by our assistant Verity who's a dab hand with a wand and a needle let me tell you.”

Harry picked up one of the cloaks Fred was gesturing to, and liked it immediately. It was black and lined with red silk inside, and felt very soft to the touch.

“The Shield Charm built into this one is good for either one very strong curse or two minor ones, but the best part is it can be re-charged. Took us ages to get it right. It's also got a heating charm built-in to keep you warm if you're in a really cold place.”

“Nice,” said Harry. He wasn't an expert on clothes by any means, but he liked the cloak he was holding now.

Hermione had appeared next to them looking at the witch equivalent of the cloaks Fred was talking about, and she too was admiring them.

“This looks nice,” she said, picking out a cloak similar to Harry's which was black but with a blue interior lining.

“Try it on,” encouraged Fred. Harry thought he could see the cash register opening in his eyes already, and grinned. Hermione slipped the cloak on and looked at herself in a large mirror set up nearby.

“You look lovely, dear,” said the mirror. “You should buy it.”

Hermione frowned at Fred.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“It does look nice,” Hermione said, but when she looked at the price tag attached to the sleeve her eyes widened.

“Forty galleons?”

“Blimey,” said Harry.

“As I was just saying to Harry, my dear Hermione, only the best materials. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes don't skimp on quality. Shall we measure you up?” he asked with a cheeky grin, producing a tape measure.

“These fit me perfectly fine, thank you very much,” Hermione replied, her tone suggesting she didn't find the joke amusing.

“Yes Weasley you keep your hands to yourself please,” said Harry, stepping in front of Hermione.

“You'd be surprised at how many witches that actually works on,” Fred said with another grin as the tape measure vanished back into his pocket. “So how about the cloak, Hermione? Shall I wrap it up for you?”

“You won't be getting any galleons from me today I'm afraid Fred,” she replied, taking the cloak off. “I'm all out.”

“I'll get it,” Harry offered.

“No Harry, it's so expensive!”

“It's all right,” he told her, now with a grin of his own as he took the cloak from her hands. “I'll take this,” he said to Fred, “and this one with the red lining for me, and here, this one with the orange lining for Ron, it looks like it'll fit him all right. Put them on my tab.”

Fred's grin, which had grown wider each time Harry took more cloaks, momentarily faltered.

“Your tab,” he said. “Right you are, Harry. No problem.”

Taking the cloaks from Harry with a look that said he regretted ever telling him he would never pay for anything, Fred walked off to the counter to wrap them up.

“Thank you Harry,” said Hermione, “but you really shouldn't have, they're so expensive . . .”

“It's all right,” he told her as they followed Fred through to the main room. “The twins and I have a sort of understanding.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows but grinned herself and didn't comment.

Harry collected the packages from Fred and, after handing Hermione hers, he went and found Ron who was standing next to a display of dungbombs. He still looked very grumpy.

“What do you reckon,” Ron asked him as he approached, turning a particularly large dungbomb over in his hands. “Do you think I could transfigure this into something and get them to eat it?”

“I doubt it,” Harry told him. “Not if you offer it to them, at any rate. Why are you so annoyed at them? It's not the first time the twins have played a prank on you.”

“I know, but I'm of Age now and I'm getting fed up of it. They never do anything to Bill or Charlie . . . I dunno, I guess I'd just hoped for a bit more respect now these days. But oh no, it's `let's get Ron drunk as a house-elf won't that be a laugh' . . .”

“Cheer up mate,” said Harry. “Look, I've got the three of us new cloaks, here's yours . . .”

“Thanks mate,” said Ron, accepting the package Harry offered. “These are their newest ones yeah? They were talking about them to Mad-Eye at the wedding, they sounded good . . .”

Ron's face lit up as he took his out of the bag and held it up, seeing the orange colour inside it.

“Cannons colours!” he exclaimed. “Brilliant, nice one Harry! Did you use your voucher?”

“Oh, er, yeah, yeah I did,” Harry said, realising that he'd completely forgot all about his birthday gift from Ron. He felt bad for the lie but didn't want to spoil it for Ron, who seemed to be much more cheered up by his new cloak.

They didn't spend much more time in the joke shop as Mrs Weasley re-appeared wearing a new hat adorned with flowers that changed colours every few seconds; now satisfied that Fred and George weren't in mortal danger she was eager to leave Diagon Alley and get everyone safely back to the Burrow.

“Are we all here?” she enquired, performing a head-count. “Where's Ginny?”

“Right here,” Ginny said, appearing next to her and putting a wrapped package into her bag of school books.

“What's that?” Mrs Weasley asked her sternly.

“Nothing,” Ginny said innocently, but she exchanged a wink with George who was grinning behind their mother. The twins were treated to another set of hugs from Mrs Weasley before they all left, walking outside to find Lupin waiting for them with the Auror Jenkins.

“Where's Tonks?” Hermione asked.

“By here,” a voice said behind them. Harry turned to see a witch that was somewhat indistinguishable from the Ministry-looking customers inside suddenly turn back into Tonks.

“We weren't about to all wait outside now were we?” she said with a grin as they began the walk back to the Leaky Cauldron. “Incidentally,” she whispered to Ron, “you may be interested to know that dungbombs, once shrunk a bit, look extraordinarily similar to Honeydukes' new line of Coffee Toffee.”

Ron grinned.

* * *

Harry's final week at the Burrow passed remarkably fast. Determined to stick to his training regime, he spent the days out at his usual spot in the field next to the Weasley's house practising his spellcasting. Ron remained his primary duel partner as although Hermione kept her word and came out every now and then to duel with him (and proved to be his toughest opponent by far) she spent most of the week shut up in Percy's old room surrounded by piles of books and mountains of notes full of her neat handwriting. Each time Harry saw her she looked increasingly unhappy which worried him, but when he asked her she shrugged off his concern, saying that Legilimency was proving harder to research than she'd thought. Harry was sure there was more to it than that but didn't press her about it, not wishing to upset her when she was putting so much work into helping him. As it turned out though, he didn't have to wait long to find out what Hermione had really been up to.

The sun was beginning to creep low in the sky on the last afternoon Harry would be spending at the Burrow that summer. It was still strange for him to think that tomorrow was September the first and they would once again be making the journey to platform nine and three-quarters and then on to Hogwarts. Only two months earlier he had been standing by the lake with Ron and Hermione, quite sure that he wouldn't be coming back to the beloved castle that had been his home for the last six years. Now here he was, all set to return and to be Head Boy, of all things! It was still very hard to believe. Hermione was quite right though, as always - going back was the best plan. But Harry thought that it would take a while to get used to being back there. And it would take even longer to get used to handing out punishments and patrolling the corridors at night . . .

“Harry?”

Hermione's voice floated over the wall, and Harry was immediately worried as she sounded rather distraught. He stood up from where he'd been sitting and she climbed over the wall to join him.

“What's wrong?” he asked, concerned. She looked very upset indeed, but it was curious as her face had the stormy look she wore when she was angry but her eyes were red which made Harry think she'd been crying.

“Where are the others?” she asked as she approached him. “I saw Ron and Ginny practising Quidditch earlier . . .”

“Er, Ron's gone to the shops with Mrs Weasley and Ginny went over to see Luna . . . Hermione what's wrong? Have you been crying?”

She nodded, rather weakly.

“I'm glad they're gone Harry, I need to talk to you alone. This is . . . this is important.”

Harry was growing increasingly concerned. What had upset her so?

“Hermione your parents, are they all right? Is that what-“

“They're fine Harry,” she said, dismissing that idea. “Please, just come and sit with me?”

He nodded and allowed her to lead them over to the blackened tree stump where they both sat down. She seemed very flustered, fiddling with the sleeves of her hooded top, which only alarmed Harry even more.

“Tell me what's wrong, Hermione. You're scaring me a little.”

“I'm sorry,” she replied immediately. “It's just I, well, I don't really know how to begin . . . I've discovered something, Harry. I've suspected it ever since I got home from Hogwarts, but I've finally found out for sure. This is going to be a shock, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry replied, now feeling very alarmed.

Hermione nodded, and then reached into her pocket and pulled out the smallest potion flask Harry had ever seen. It was no bigger than a thimble, and Hermione handled it with great care.

“Do you recognise this, Harry?”

Harry nodded, for he did indeed recognise the pearlescent liquid even before Hermione removed the tiny stopper and the delicious smells began to waft out. It was Amortentia. The smell of treacle tart and broomstick handles brought a smile to his face, but that smile suddenly turned to a frown: the third smell he had come to associate with Amortentia, the flowery one belonging to Ginny, was gone. In its place was something quite different; it was impossible to describe but very familiar, and just as seductive. Hermione nodded slightly at the puzzled look on Harry's face.

“It smells different, doesn't it?” she asked him. He nodded again. “It did for me too, when I opened it.”

She stoppered the tiny flask once again and set it down on the grass between them.

“I believe that for almost the entirety of the last school year we've both been under the effects of Amortentia. We've been drugged, Harry.”

Harry was stunned. His mouth opened slightly, and he found it hard to even come up with a reply.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Hermione said, her voice wavering, “but please believe me Harry, I'm telling you the truth. We've been drugged!”

“But, but, who? How? Why?” Harry finally managed. He was still in a state of disbelief. He didn't know why Hermione thought this, or how she'd come to her conclusion, but she had to be wrong. She had to be.

“I don't know all the answers, Harry. I have some theories, some ideas, but trust me I'm just as shocked and angry about this as you are. To think that someone was messing with our emotions, oh, it makes me feel sick! It's a violation!”

Hermione was shaking and it was this that made Harry begin to think clearly. Hermione was so certain about this - when was she ever wrong?

“Hermione,” he said, “I want to believe that you're right but this is just, well, it's just mad! How do you know this?”

“Your reaction to the Amortentia just now was the final confirmation,” she said, fiddling with her sleeves again. “But there are other things. I'll start from the beginning.”

Harry ran one hand through his hair. This was so hard to believe.

“At first I thought it was just me,” Hermione began. “I noticed that I felt different a few days after I'd got home. Certain . . . feelings that I'd been having last year simply vanished. And that just doesn't happen! Not with real feelings, at any rate . . .”

“Feelings for who?”

Hermione looked at him like he was rather stupid, although she blushed.

“Come on Harry, who was I rather obsessed with last year?”

“What, Ron?”

“Yes - didn't that seem a little bit strange to you?”

“Well, no,” Harry replied, scratching the back of his head and now feeling a little bit awkward. “I always thought that you two . . .”

“Really?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Why would you think that?”

“I dunno,” said Harry. “I guess it's just the impression I've always got, the way you two carry on sometimes. I, er, think that Ron's always fancied you . . .”

Hermione blushed again.

“I know,” she said. “And it's very flattering, but I don't fancy him. So when I got home and well, came to my senses for lack of a better description, I immediately suspected I'd been under the influence of a love potion.”

Something immediately struck home with Harry - the same thing had happened with him! How many times since he'd been here at the Burrow had he found it strange to be around Ginny, and not feel anything like what he'd felt for her at Hogwarts?

“It was the same for you, wasn't it?” Hermione asked, once again seeming to read his mind.

“Yes,” Harry admitted, the shock of it beginning to hit him. “I've noticed it here at the Burrow, when Ginny's around. I thought it was strange that I didn't feel . . . how I did. I didn't really think too much of it though, I was more concerned about what we're going to do about the Horcruxes . . .”

Hermione nodded sympathetically.

“So anyway, I had my suspicions. Do you remember the spell I cast on you when I first got here? The one that made the silver glow on your chest?”

Harry nodded.

“It's a spell I found in Advanced Potion Making. I cast it on myself, and had the same result as you. It confirms that the person's heart has been affected by magic.”

This hit Harry like a hammer blow. He had seen that glow emanating from his own body, from his own heart . . .

They were both silent for a few moments. Somewhere overhead a bird gave out a loud call.

“So the only reason I was with Ginny was because someone had fed me a love potion?” Harry asked quietly.

“I'm afraid so, Harry,” Hermione answered, just as quietly. “Like I said, at first I thought that it was just me. I wasn't even going to bring it up with you, but then I began to worry. Forgive me, Harry, but I began to think back over what happened last year and it occurred to me that you'd been friends with Ginny for a long time and you'd never shown any kind of romantic interest in her before. I knew I had to cast the spell on you, just to find out for sure. I could have been wrong, of course . . .”

“I'm just sorry you were right,” Harry finished glumly.

Hermione nodded her agreement.

“When you tested positive with the spell, I knew that this was much bigger than I'd thought. I knew I had to try and find out what we'd been given, and how.”

Harry was struck by a sudden thought.

“Hermione, what about Ron and Ginny? Were they under the effects too?”

Hermione shook her head.

“I cast the spell on both of them, and it was negative. What they felt was real.”

Harry exhaled slowly. No wonder Hermione had wanted to speak to him about this alone.

“Do you think we should tell them?” he asked, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be.

“I don't think so,” Hermione told him. “You have to put yourself in their position - how would you feel if someone told you the only reason they'd been interested with you was because of a love potion?”

“I'd . . . well, I imagine I'd feel like I'd been hit by a bludger in the gut.”

“So I don't think it's a good idea we tell them. Ginny especially, she's liked you for so long Harry. It would really hurt her.”

They were silent again for a few moments. So many thoughts were swirling around in Harry's head.

“I got this at the apothecary in Diagon Alley,” Hermione said, holding up the tiny flask again.

“That's why you were so long in there!”

“Yes. You wouldn't believe the amount of hassle it is to buy, there's so many legal things to sign to say that you won't use it unlawfully. It's expensive too, this little bit cost nearly all my savings . . .”

“Blimey, no wonder you couldn't afford your cloak!”

“It was worth it though,” said Hermione. “It's helped a great deal with my research - that's why I've been so busy this week. I have been looking into Legilimency too, but I needed to get this figured out first.”

Harry nodded, urging her to go on.

“In its pure form, drinking Amortentia will radically increase your desire for the person you're naturally attracted to. But I've found out that it can be modified, to specifically make you infatuated with a particular person. I think we were already under its effects during our first Potions lesson, which is why the cauldron that Professor Slughorn had brewed smelt different to this batch here. Now that we don't have the potion in our system, we can smell it in its natural form.”

“So someone was slipping us a modified form of the potion? One fixed on Ginny for me and one fixed on Ron for you?”

“That's my theory,” said Hermione, chewing on her bottom lip.

“But why, that's what I want to know? Why would someone do this? It's too complicated to be some kind of a sick joke-“

“The only reason I can think of is the obvious one,” Hermione interrupted. “Someone wanted you to fall in love with Ginny, and me to fall in love with Ron.”

Harry was suddenly struck by a particularly horrible thought.

“Hermione,” he asked quietly, “you don't that Ron and Ginny did-“

“No,” she answered firmly. “No, I don't.”

He was very relieved to hear her say that.

“I don't think it was a witch or wizard that did this to us, Harry.”

He looked at her - she was chewing her bottom lip again, unsure of how to tell him what was on her mind.

“Hermione?”

She sighed wistfully.

“This is just a theory, Harry, but I've been thinking about it and the only way that the potion could have gotten into our system is through our food. All of our meals were at the Gryffindor table, so there's no way that someone could have gotten away with lacing our food with potion while we were there. Not all year. Someone would have noticed.”

“Hermione what are you saying? Someone was sneaking into the kitchens before every meal?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Perhaps they were already in the kitchens . . .”

A breeze began to pick up as they sat there in silence for a few moments, the cogs in Harry's head beginning to turn. Someone with regular access to the kitchens . . . someone who knew what particular food they liked, which to spike with potion . . . someone who didn't like Harry, or Hermione for that matter . . .

Hermione watched as Harry reached the same conclusion she had, and his face clouded over with rage.

“Kreacher,” he said quietly.

She nodded, and Harry suddenly sprang to his feet.

“Kreacher!” he bellowed loudly, and with a loud crack the house-elf appeared in front of him. Hermione jumped to her feet in surprise, and Harry shot a quick apologetic glance at her - she hadn't seen him summon Kreacher before. Kreacher himself was as filthy as ever, his loincloth even more tattered and greasy than before. His bat-like ears grazed the grass as he bent low and regarded Harry with bloodshot eyes.

“Master called?” he asked.

“What have you done, Kreacher?” Harry asked him angrily.

“Kreacher only does what his brat of a Master asks,” the house-elf replied gruffly. “Kreacher slaves in the kitchens of Hogwarts, cooking and cleaning for the blood-traitors and Mudbloods, oh how his old Mistress would be ashamed-“

“What have you done to me and Hermione?” Harry demanded.

Kreacher turned around, noticing Hermione for the first time.

“Master is with his Mudblood friend, Kreacher is not surprised, friend of filth and trash that the Master is,” he said with a leer. “Kreacher has done nothing, Kreacher would not go near a Mudblood if he could help it-“

“Don't call her that!” Harry spat. “Answer the question!”

“We know about the potion, Kreacher,” Hermione said to the house-elf. “We know about the Amortentia. Tell us how you've been doing it.”

Kreacher eyed her with disgust.

“The Mudblood talks as if she can give Kreacher orders, but Kreacher will not listen to her, oh no, she is not his Mistress!”

“Answer Hermione's question,” Harry told him firmly, and for a few moments Kreacher mumbled and grumbled but finally could not ignore Harry's direct command.

“Kreacher gives Master and his Mudblood friend what they deserve, he puts infatuation in their food, make them love the blood-traitors with the red hair. How clever Kreacher is! And how proud his old Mistress would be, oh yes! Kreacher watches his Master carefully, Kreacher knows what he likes to eat . . .”

The fury was building up inside Harry, now hearing the truth from Kreacher and confirming everything that Hermione had told him. He felt nothing but disgust for the creature in front of him: Kreacher had betrayed Sirius, been nothing but trouble, and now had spent the last year drugging himself and Hermione. Hermione looked just as appalled as he felt. He drew his wand and pointed it at Kreacher, who cowered but had a mocking look on his face.

“Harry, no!”

“Master threatens Kreacher with his wand! He shows his colours, he would punish Kreacher for what he has done, oh what a cruel and terrible Master he is-“

“Shut up,” Harry said venomously, and the house-elf quietened down but still looked at him with a leering, mocking expression.

“Why, Kreacher? Why did you drug me? Tell me!”

Again for a few moments Kreacher appeared to wrestle with himself, muttering and cursing and clearly not wanting to tell Harry anything, but eventually he spoke, spitting out the words. What he said shocked Harry to the core:

“Master has the power the Dark Lord knows not,” Kreacher finally said. “Master loves, and Master's love will beat the Dark Lord. Only one can survive. Kreacher does not want his brat of a Master to kill the Dark Lord so Kreacher makes his potion and makes his Master love another, makes him love wrong, so that he cannot defeat the Dark Lord. Then Kreacher will serve Mistress Bellatrix, no more Mudbloods and filth oh no . . .”

Harry looked over at Hermione, who had gone very pale and looked like she felt exactly the same as he did. Power he knows not . . . the prophecy! How could Kreacher know about that?

“You know about the prophecy, Kreacher?” Harry asked, his voice calm but barely able to contain his anger.

“Kreacher knows, oh yes,” Kreacher spoke tauntingly. “Kreacher watches and listens when Master does not know-“

“Who have you told?” Harry exploded, pointing his wand at Kreacher threateningly. “Who else knows? Tell me!”

Kreacher suddenly threw himself into a tantrum, howling with anger and beating his fists on the grass. The shock of this took away some of Harry's own anger, as it seemed brandishing his wand had nothing to do with the curses and shouts of rage coming from the little creature as it thrashed around, ripping tufts of grass from the soil. Hermione had taken a few steps away in caution. She still looked quite pale. Harry didn't know what to say next so simply waited for Kreacher to tire himself out, which didn't take long. Finally, slumped on the grass and panting slightly, Kreacher raised his head and regarded Harry. The cold look in his eyes chilled Harry's blood, for he had never seen such venom in Kreacher before.

“Kreacher wishes he could tell, oh yes he does. Kreacher would spill his guts to the Dark Lord if he could, tell him all about the prophecy and watch him destroy his filth of a Master. But Kreacher is bound to his Master, and cannot reveal his secrets.”

Harry lowered his wand, his mind reeling. It was all too much. The knowledge that his feelings for Ginny had been the result of a potion, and now the fact that only ancient enchantments prevented the sorry looking house-elf at his feet from revealing his most important secrets to Voldemort.

He wished he had never had the misfortune to meet Kreacher.

“Why Hermione?” he managed finally. “She has nothing to do with it, why did you drug her too?”

Still laying on the grass, Kreacher's expression once again become an insulting leer as he turned to look at Hermione.

“The Mudblood knows why, oh yes!”

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise, but she shook her head.

“I don't, Harry, honestly . . .”

He nodded at her. They probably ought to press Kreacher about it further, but Harry had had enough and wanted to be rid of him.

“Kreacher, listen to me,” he said firmly, putting his wand away. “You are not to speak to, or communicate with any Death Eaters in any way, do you understand?”

Kreacher looked at Harry and grumbled incoherently, which Harry took for a yes.

“And you are forbidden to use any kind of potions, spells or house-elf magics on me or any of my friends, is that absolutely clear?”

More grumbling, and some cursing this time as the house-elf got to its feet.

“Good,” Harry said coldly. “Now get out of my sight and go back to Hogwarts.”

Kreacher gave another exaggerated bow to Harry, turning his head slightly to leer at Hermione once more, and then with another loud crack! he vanished.

There were another few moments of silence before Harry finally managed to look over at Hermione.

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” he said to her. “I would never act that way to a house-elf normally but Kreacher . . .”

“It's all right, Harry.”

Harry still felt a small measure of shame, despite what he felt was a just reason for him to be so angry at Kreacher. Threatening the creature with his wand was straight out of Lucius Malfoy's book, and not something to be proud of, especially given Hermione's sympathy for house-elves in general.

He sighed loudly, rubbing his temples. There was so much to think about, so much to try and deal with.

“What are we going to do, Hermione?”

“I don't know.”

Hermione sounded as confused as he did, which wasn't encouraging. Around them the light was beginning to fail - they'd been outside longer than he'd realised.

“We'd better get inside,” he said, and Hermione nodded and followed him back across the grass.

-

Sleep did not come easily for Harry that night, ironically considering how well he had slept the night before. The evening had passed rather awkwardly, with both he and Hermione being very quiet and withdrawn from the Weasleys. Harry had found it very hard to look Ginny in the eye, afraid that one look from him would somehow enable her to guess the truth. As he lay in his fold-out bed in Ron's room looking at the fog-shrouded window his mind kept running over everything that had happened that afternoon. An entire year spent with Amortentia running through his veins, completely oblivious. It was awful enough to think that his emotions had been tampered with, and that because of that Ginny was a victim of sorts, but he couldn't help but wonder if it had also contributed to his failures last year. Would he have been able to concentrate more, had he not been so enamoured with Ginny? Would he have succeeded with silent spells and Occlumency? Would he have figured out Malfoy's plan in time, and been able to prevent Dumbledore's death and Bill's disfigurement?

The answer, he thought, was almost certainly no. But this line of thinking was just one of many things consuming his thoughts. Some of Kreacher's words troubled him deeply. “Kreacher makes him love another, makes him love wrong,” the house-elf had said. Kreacher had implied that Harry's love for someone would be the key to defeating Voldemort, and it was clear now that Ginny was not that someone. Who was Kreacher talking about?

And, Harry thought fruitlessly as sleep finally began to claim him, why did he drug Hermione as well?

* * *

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