Unofficial Portkey Archive

After the battle where the final score was Grangers - 4, Death Eaters - 0, Harry had assumed they would leave the Grangers' home and go directly to twelve Grimmauld Place, but the Knight Bus came to a stop at Mrs. Figg's home instead. Bill Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, and Remus Lupin hustled out of the three-leveled, painfully purple conveyance and cast temporary Disillusionment Spells all over them and the house. The bus shot away as soon as its door shut. The Grangers and Harry scurried into her home with Moody whispering in a roar for them to hurry. While the three members of the Order of the Phoenix put up as many protective wards and barriers as they could to reinforce what was already there, the five in the small sitting room stared at each other. The cat lady was an odd sight but not as odd as Mr. Granger who still had dried blood on his face, arms, and the shirt he had partially covered with his black outfit. Harry realized that he was the only one who knew all those present and began his halting introductions. "Erm, this is Mrs. Figg. She's part of the Order and lives near me. The Dursleys' house is just that way a bit." He pointed. "Um, Mrs. Figg, this is Mr. and Mrs. Granger and their daughter, Hermione. You've heard about her, I suppose." "So, Harry, you were in time to save them, deary?" Harry hung his head. "No, I went to the rescue again for no good reason, and now the Ministry of Magic wants to take my wand again." "Harry!" Hermione began, but her father cut her off. "Mrs. Figg, thank you for having us in your home for whatever time we shall be here. Pay no attention to this young man. He did exactly what was needed. His, um, appearing? Is that it?" "Apparation," said Harry and Hermione in unison. "His Apparation may have been unnecessary, but had more Death Eaters attacked us, his help may have been crucial. And his warning sent Mad-Eye Moody, surely that's a nickname, well, the four of them were essential to our escape and continued safety. But if you have helped in any way, Mrs. Figg, and evidently you have, then my family and I owe you a particular debt of gratitude." Mr. Granger was still the handsome man his wife had fallen in love with years before. Mrs. Figg, a spinster, was not used to such a charming, well-spoken man expressing genuine feelings her way, regardless of the reason. She sputtered and blushed. "Well, my pleasure... that is to say, any time... er, you and your family are welcome here any time for any reason. Please, I have a shower bath in the rear bedroom and you'll want to wash up from your ordeal. I have the tea on and will have your wife bring you a cuppa. All three of you can all clean up in whatever manner you require. Professor Dumbledore will be here soon to tell you of your arrangements for the time being. He should be here by the time you've removed--" Arabella Figg blushed to a stop. Bill Weasley led the outside group into the room. "We are well protected for the time being, assuming not too many Death Eaters arrive." Moody closed the door behind them and cast a Silencing Charm on it for good measure. Bill continued, "Dementors would complicate matters but all of this has to hold for only an hour or so. Oh, and Harry's protection covers us here also, so we probably don't need all of the precautions we set." Hermione went back to the half loo to clean up a bit, and her mother followed her father. They'd only been on the Knight Bus for a few minutes, and she and Harry had not had a chance to speak, other than to answer questions her parents had about the bus.

Hermione came back out and approached Harry as she always did, but this wasn't like always, and the difference had nothing to do with the battle or Harry's newly acquired Apparation skills.

"Erm, how are you?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine.

Uncomfortable silence.

They both said the other's name at the same moment and laughed.

That moment Mr. Granger came back into the living room. Harry assumed the sleeveless black jumpsuit was the same, however the blood stained white dress shirt had been replaced with a black rolled collar three-button pullover shirt. His arms were now showing and the muscles that rippled his biceps were most impressive. Harry looked at his own arms. He had muscles, but he still looked like a little boy compared to Hermione's father, when it came to upper body strength.

His self-derogatory train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster huddled in whispered conversation with the two Granger parents and Hermione. Harry saw her nod her head and the four rejoined the other five. The headmaster said, "The Grangers now know of our headquarters and how the secret of its location is kept. They will stay there for a few days at least, until all of the ramifications of this event can be better analyzed. The Weasleys are there already to prepare for your arrival, Madge, Ted. "Once again, Harry, you will not be expelled, and let me thank you for coming to the rescue. I shudder to consider how this could have turned out." He was looking Harry in the eyes, and this visual contact was so unlike the previous year that subconsciously, Harry calmed down. "Be encouraged, Harry, that those at the Ministry of Magic who admire you, now admire you even more. However, the opposite is also true." Hermione beamed at Harry in almost her usual delighted smile of pride. Almost.

Dumbledore then gave orders that had the Grangers, Bill Weasley, Lupin, and Moody back on the Knight Bus in under two minutes. After the hurried goodbyes to Mrs. Figg, it was called, and this took less time to accomplish than it might take to write it down.

Mrs. Figg took the tea service back into the kitchen and Harry was face to face with his mentor. That is, face to face with the man he had always viewed as his mentor. But after the events of the past year - the professor's confessions, and Harry's wild statements and accusations on the night of Sirius's death - Harry did not know what his status was now with the headmaster. Dumbledore pulled a huge pocket watch out of his robes and looked at its twelve hands. "Harry, it has been fifty-two minutes since you left your aunt and uncle's home. Did you have his or her permission to leave?" Harry wondered why it was important, but answered the question, "I told Aunt Petunia about my dream and she said to run and seek help wherever I had to. It was quite strange actually. She wanted to help me if she could." His mind's eye replayed the look of determination on his aunt's face. "That is good, very good. Harry, as you grow closer to the age of maturity, seventeen, you need to spend less time with them each summer, but the interruption penalty is greater." Harry's look of confusion called for a better explanation. "This year you only need to be with them up to the day before your birthday. It was eleven days more last year. Of course more than the minimum number of days adds to the power of your mother's protection, but that also becomes less of a benefit with the years. "However, last year, every hour you were away from them without their permission added two hours to the required time in residence. This year, each un-permitted hour will cost you twelve hours." Harry moved to stand to leave, but the elder wizard stopped him. "With your aunt's permission you are not now being penalized. I am sure she expected you to be gone for several hours at least, so we have time to talk without it costing you. How have you been, Harry?" "Fine," came the automatic response. "Harry, do any of your friends still believe you when you say that to them?" For a fraction of a moment, the Boy-Who-Was-Suffering-From-Mild-Depression looked into the headmaster's eyes. The usual twinkle of mirth had been displaced by a wrinkle of concern. Harry looked away quickly and started a detailed examination of his hands. After what seemed to Harry like ten agonizing minutes, but was actually only thirty-two seconds, the silence was broken. "Harry, I believe you made your decision today regarding trusting me and going forward with my plans. I only need to hear you confirm my deductions." Our hero looked up at his only hope, the elder wizard that he loved and despised to a degree. The curiosity in his face was obvious. "I haven't decided, Professor, whether I want to follow your plan or not. Why do you say I have?" "Because, Harry, you could no more stay in you bedroom, or in Arabella's house today than you could flap your arms and fly home from here - although you did prove you could fly through the ether to the Grangers' - but you know what I mean. "You have to be a part of the downfall of your enemy, just as you have to breathe. Fighting the battles before you is in your nature, your very being. The Sorting Hat told me that was why you were finally placed in Gryffindor. You not only are brave, you are a warrior down to your very fingertips. Not only that, you are a leader of rare capabilities for one so young, and your very self cries out to be in the thick of the battle. Therefore, I believe you are telling you that since you have to be intimately involved, you need all the help and training you can receive. Your conscious mind hasn't fully realized what your subconscious mind has been acting on ever since you arrived at Hogwarts in your first year. "Harry, I know you helped Mr. Ollivander with his wand inventory the summer before your third year. I believe you discovered that I did the same thing in my third year, didn't you?" Harry nodded without looking up. "You heard the phrase, "fighting fate to achieve your destiny," I believe, and you probably also recall, that in that story, fate is the will of others, placing you in a path you would not choose. Fighting Tom Riddle is not what you would choose. It will make you a killer, which is not what you would choose. It will perhaps have you lead one or more of those you know to their deaths, which is definitely not what you would choose. But fight him you will, and fight him you must. That confrontation is an event that you must pass to reach your destiny. If that battle were the end you sought, it would be fate, attempting to make you into a trained murderer. But you want more from your life than just a fight, even when you win. "On the other hand, Tom's victory, which is also not what you would choose, seems to be the only alternative. Do nothing and die at Tom's hands or become a killer - neither are your destiny. But one will occur. Neither choice would be the best use of your life in themselves. However, since one of them must happen, then that battle will only be an event you have to go through on the way to your true destiny." "Professor, what is my true destiny?" "I am sure I do not know, Harry, but I think it is whatever you would want it to be if the necessity of this fight did not exist. You choose your destiny. You make your way. "Frankly, I look forward to seeing your destiny unfold. It should be exciting. Perhaps you will be a famous Auror or professional Quidditch star - maybe Minister of Magic or Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. In any of those paths, or many others you could consider, you will benefit from what you will have gone through and suffered to defeat Riddle. "All of this leads me to repeat my question in the letter you have not answered. Harry, do you trust me in all of this?" Harry wanted to debate all of the issues and conflicts in his heart. He wanted to ask about the program Dumbledore had alluded to in his letter. He wanted all of the information, and months to think about it-- And in that moment he realized there would be no trust in a decision made months from now with every shred of information he wanted. He knew the decision was not about a program or battle, or victory or defeat. He would have to trust Dumbledore, the one person he had trusted the most and who had helped him the most. The one person who said that he, Dumbledore, had killed Sirius and had failed Harry the worst. But that wasn't true. Dumbledore at most was guilty of bad judgment - a series of seemingly bad decisions that left Harry uninformed about terrible things that he mostly did not want to know. Small decisions that proved to be watershed events. And Harry thought that he, Harry Potter, was guiltier of bad judgment more than anyone he had ever known. Of all of those who loved him in the wizarding world, there was no one, not Hermione, or Ron, or any Weasley for that matter, who he trusted more than Albus Dumbledore up to last year. He probably trusted Hermione and Ron more now, but what could they do to really help him prepare for this fight. Even in light of the professor's failures and faults Dumbledore could help him immensely. The headmaster was only human, and still the greatest wizard alive. So Harry wondered, what was stopping him from committing his trust? The answer was stupid childish pride. Harry swallowed and rose. Dumbledore followed his example. "Of course I trust you, Professor, I guess, for a little bit there, I just didn't trust me to trust you." With that, he embraced the headmaster, and felt the tightness in his chest loosen just a little more. There was great emotion in Dumbledore's voice when he addressed Harry, once they'd sat down. "Harry, this was a breakthrough for you today that will begin to help you recover from the horrors of your life, but it is only a start. You will awaken from nightmares about Sirius for years to come, just like you've dreamed about your parents and Cedric - and Tom will have had nothing to do with it. "This is war! We have to battle on in spite of the scars left by death, trauma, and torture." The headmaster visibly calmed himself. He continued after a moment, "I dream often about the demise of good friends from my fight against Grindelwald fifty years ago, and even from the vampire wars of my youth, which happened over a hundred and thirty years ago. "I can hope for no more scars and trauma for you, but I can no more promise you that than I could have given you a happy life thus far. I am sad to say, that in all likelihood, your life will become worse, before it improves. What I wouldn't give to make that statement false. "But Harry, I have fought in many fights, battles, and wars. The program I have planned for you is the best I can devise, and I have the help of many experienced warriors from different parts of the world in its creation. There is an unveiling that I cannot interrupt for you, but let me give you hope, let me give you a timetable. "Starting tomorrow, you will meet with three visitors. Please come here to Arabella's at 10:00 in the morning for the first visitor. He will tell you when to expect the next one. "After their time with you, I believe you will better understand what we must endure and how to face it. Then, I will start you in the program. There is some preliminary paperwork that must be handled, and then you will begin. I hate to be so mysterious, but then trust has to have an element of the unknown or what's to trust? But mostly time restrictions prevent me from telling you now. But soon, Harry, soon. Three or four days at most, I promise. "Now, a very contrite Mundungus Fletcher stands in the front garden under an Invisibility Cloak, ready to escort you back to your aunt's. Tell them whatever you think is best without lying to them about this afternoon, and please get a good night's sleep." They stood, and Harry looked up at his mentor. Dumbledore looked into his eyes for a moment, and Harry thought that there just might be a tear stillborn in one eye. The taller, older wizard of legend, fame, and a Chocolate Frog Card, looked away. "Harry, permit an old fool who has failed you more than any other to tell you that he is proud of you. No, prouder than if you were my own son." Before a dumbstruck Harry could open his mouth to respond, Dumbledore very quietly Disapparated from the room, leaving the lad staring at empty space. "Harry," Mrs. Figg entered the room. "Mundungus placed a Shrinking Charm on a basket of pumpkin pasties fresh out of the oven for you to sneak back into your room. I have burned his ears for leaving you, and he is ready to escort you back whenever you wish. I think you're near the time you must leave. Please come visit me, with your aunt's permission of course, when things are a little less exciting, perhaps." Harry thanked the elderly Squib for all of her help, and he forgave Dung several times during the two-minute walk to number four, Privet Drive. Had it not been for his aunt's whispered, "Is everything all right?" Harry might have guessed his relatives had been Obliviated regarding the afternoon's excitement. Dinner was quick and soundless, and sleep was peaceful for the first time in many nights.

But he still missed Sirius.

When he arrived back in his room, Ron's miniature owl, Pig was there, flitting about needing a Seeker to snatch him out of the air.

Breakfast with Uncle Vernon the next day was an exercise in avoidance. Harry's uncle did not want to hear anything about magic, and still made that clear, but he hinted around wanting to know about the outcome of Harry's rescue efforts. Aunt Petunia helped her nephew by changing the subject away from an explanation. Harry looked into her eyes and saw that she was not angry, upset, or even disgusted by the subject. When Vernon turned to Dudley after her third distraction from the Grangers, she actually winked at Harry. He would have been less surprised if she had slapped him instead of winking at him. But soon, he too saw the humor in his uncle wanting to know about what he didn't want to know about. After receiving his aunt's permission to leave the house, Harry arrived at Mrs. Figg's at five minutes to ten. Before knocking on the door, he noticed a note pinned to it.

Gone for the day.

He read it and then strongly felt that he needed to look on its back in case there were special instructions for him. There was nothing written on the back, but two seconds after he had turned it around, additional handwriting, in someone else's hand, appeared.

Harry, come to the back garden.

Around back, Harry found Remus Lupin pitching a tent. Though Harry had not been seen, his question did not startle Lupin. "Do you need help with that, Professor?" Because of nearby Muggles, Harry had once helped Arthur Weasley pitch a tent by hand at the Quidditch World Cup. The former DADA instructor paused, smiled weakly at Harry and said, "Oh, hello. No, I have it. I am just trying to decide if this is the best place for it." Harry was glad to see Lupin. They had always had a good relationship. He had at first assumed that the werewolf's coolness had to do with his indecision about the final location for the tent. Then Harry remembered that he was responsible for the death of Lupin's last school chum. "There we go, Harry, a nice tent to shade us from the sun and a Cooling Charm to lower the temperature of this blistering day. It's not near August, but you'd think so with this heat." He swirled his wand again and cast two quick spells. Two comfortable looking lawn chairs appeared under the tent, seen through the nearly transparent insect-proof mesh siding. Harry also saw a cooler with butterbeer bottles. The frosty look of the bottles indicated there must be a Chilling Charm applied. They entered the tent and made themselves comfortable. The chairs looked like typical lawn furniture but were as comfortable as any cozy armchair in the Gryffindor common room. The butterbeer tasted to Harry like it would have frozen in moments if it had not made it to his mouth instead. They stared at Mrs. Figg's small garden and flower trellis for a moment and Harry decided to start the conversation. Harry had feared that Remus might have blamed him for Sirius's death, regardless of what the former professor had said during the heat of battle at the Department of Mysteries and at the train station. However, the fact was that Lupin was here to help him, so Harry thought the situation must be different. "Er, Professor, I was afraid that you might blame me for Sirius' death. But now you're here to help me. I just want to - to thank you very much." "You're welcome, Harry. Perhaps you should call me, Remus, or Moony if you would feel more comfortable with it, at least when we are in private or among friends. Circumstances have, and will now throw us together more and more as peers in this war." Harry smiled, but was also a bit curious at this statement, but the words and his curiosity vanished in a blink with Lupin's next sentence. "Oh, and I do blame you for Sirius' death."

The Night Before - The Knight Bus appeared on the opposite side of the street from twelve, Grimmauld Place, and two houses down. They had off loaded everyone else on the bus before making this stop. Stan Shunpike had a bright red bandana covering his eyes so he would not recognize the area. Ernie had taken off his glasses so he would not be able to later describe this non-descript part of town. By this time darkness had fallen. Mad-Eye Moody had Disapparated at the last stop so he could be there waiting to open the door as quickly as possible. He had already used the Put Outer on the streetlights. "Welcome to - erm, where-evers you're goin' and - 'ey! how'm I supposed to 'elp you wiv your trunk an' baggage?" "We don't need any help, Stan," said Bill firmly. "Stay seated. Ernie, when you leave here pop out to a deserted country road somewhere and then please, put back on your glasses. Thank you for your help, gentlemen, and if you know what's good for you, you'll forget any of this ever happened. Unless you fancy a Death Eater trying to interrogate you." Stan gulped nervously but said nothing. When she passed him, Hermione noticed one of his multitudinous pimples had just popped under the stress of Bill's admonition. They ran to the door and Mr. and Mrs. Granger stopped in mid stride when the house appeared out of seemingly nowhere once they reached the correct visual angle. Madge Granger entered first and Ted Granger insisted that his daughter go next. His left arm, the arm with the sleeve holder for his Fairbairn knife, held the small still dusty trunk on his shoulder. In the darkened foyer, Hermione tripped over the troll foot umbrella stand, which had been moved to the other side of the hallway so no one would trip over it. The shouting started. "Muggles--" The portraited Mrs. Black's tirade on the indignity of having Muggles in her home for the first time since Muggle hunting had been outlawed was cut mercifully short. Molly and Arthur Weasley, who were there to help make the Grangers more comfortable with their new environs, stopped silently in their tracks, as did everyone else in the hallway. His preferred knife temporarily unavailable, Ted Granger had, with lightning reflexes, pulled one of his throwing knives from his battle vest and stabbed the picture of Mrs. Black right in her throat. It had not killed her, since she was not alive, but it did succeed in causing her to vanish from the picture. As long as that knife stayed embedded in the canvas, she no longer inhabited the frame. Kreacher saw everything and went screeching from the foyer to his hidey-hole near the furnace. Each morning for weeks he would look in the hallway, scream out a hideous cry of anguish for his mistress, and disappear again. Within one week of the last of the summer residents leaving for other, more permanent dwellings, Kreacher never came out again. The stunned silence in the foyer broke when Arthur Weasley stepped forward, offering his hand to Mr. Granger. "We are glad you are here, Madge, Ted. Welcome to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Welcome back, Hermione. Looks like we owe you, Ted, for another service to us. No one's ever been able to quiet her so quickly before." As Molly Weasley moved forward to extend her greetings, she was nearly knocked over. Ron Weasley shouted "Hermione!" as he rushed past his parents and picked his friend up in his arms. "Thank God you're safe!" he exclaimed as he swung her around. After setting her back down, and with no hesitation at all, he pulled her to himself for a decidedly not-just-friends passionate kiss. "About blinking time." Ginny Weasley's voice was heard even though the foyer was too crowded to see her. But her footsteps could be heard running up the stairs.Therefore, Ginny did not see that the kiss ended in a less than passionate manner. They both had discomfited looks on their faces. Something was not right. While waiting for the Grangers to arrive at Grimmauld Place, Ron had sent Harry a quickly scribbled note by Pigwidgeon, dancing around the fact in written form, that he thought he was 'in like,' maybe even 'in love' with Hermione. Now he was confused.

Hermione felt like she might now see things clearly, perhaps. Nothing like a definite 'maybe.' Our Hermione rarely remains indecisive for long, but this time...

The Day After Harry's Chat with Dumbledore - "I'm here to see my father, Lucius Malfoy." In spite of the circumstances, in spite of the location, Draco Malfoy had succeeded in sounding as imperious as he had when he'd walked through Diagon Alley behind his father at the height of Lucius Malfoy's power as a wealthy member of the magical community. Draco's bravado sounded genuine. But the fear and hesitation in his eyes probably gave him away to the prison official he faced. The witch behind the desk drew her wand so quickly and cast the Tripping Hex so swiftly, that Draco was not aware what had happened until he was picking himself up off of the floor. The sight of the wand and the words of the hex caused him to step back and trip, as had apparently been planned. She 'thunked' over to him on a pegged leg. She stood a head taller than him, causing him to falter as he tried to rise. She was broad and ancient appearing, but he would never underestimate her speed again. She puffed on her long handled pipe. A noxious odor confirmed its presence in the room as she exhaled down towards the boy. Her raspy voice indicated a lifetime of smoke inhalation. "Let me introduce myself, young Death Crapper spawn, since you've been so condescending as to honor me with your name. I am Pigeonelle Parkhurst. Pigeonelle Bent Diggory Parkhurst. I'm a fourth cousin once removed to Cedric Diggory. My first husband died fighting Grindelwald, and my second husband and only son died fighting Death Eaters in You-Know-Who's first reign of terror." She hacked up something nasty and spat towards the floor, intentionally it seemed to Draco, hitting his robe. "Your father may have escaped going to prison the last time, but this time -" She appeared to relish the next words, and took her time before continuing slowly, "I believe everything Harry Potter said in the Quibbler about the night my distant cousin was murdered. Your father," she spoke the last word in a poor imitation of Draco's snobbish tones, "may he slow roast in Perdition with a dementor turning the spit, was there that night, on the wrong side. "If I didn't enjoy keeping company with him and his little pals here in the Savoy Azkaban, I'd kill him with my bare hands. It would almost be worth the prison stay for myself." Then she smiled a chilling smile. "If you want to see him, I can arrange it, but you'll take a little tour first." Draco's visit had been arranged by the Ministry of Magic, and Cornelius Fudge had signed the permission order himself, but Draco was pragmatically Slytherin enough to not insist further on anything at this time - he felt sure the woman before him had gone mad, but leaving indignantly would not serve his purpose. He knew he did not have, and would not gain the upper hand here today.The tour was not a tour at all - it was visit to a house of horrors to rival old Bedlam - with magical grotesqueries added. She showed him what she called a typical holding cell - pen she called it. The walls were damp and mildew-ridden. The amenities - a mattress, a bucket, and a tap over a hole in the floor - instilled more dread in Draco than any of the other spots on their tortured way through the prison. The kitchen was barely sanitary if one didn't look too closely. The smell was revolting to Draco. The food did look edible, but just barely so. Warden Parkhurst took Draco near the sole remaining dementor at Azkaban, and let the vile creature swirl its evil, invisible tentacles of hopelessness and despair around the young man's mind for what felt like an eternity to the fifteen-year-old. His worst memory was the afternoon he had spent in the family dungeon at the age of eight. For punishment, the nanny had taken him down to a cell and locked him in while his parents were out. She had done nothing to him, but unknown to her, at bedtime his father had been reading to him from the journal of a distant progenitor, Klanter Malfoy, and his hunting and torturing of Muggles and Mudblood witches and wizards. Eight-year-old Draco's fear-filled imagination had conjured up his own similar tortures, and he'd waited in terror all through that afternoon, expecting those things to begin happening to him at any moment. Though the nanny had been dismissed immediately (and Draco thought his father might have had her killed) it was those memories of his torture that had never happened, that ran rough-shod through his mind as the dementor's tendrils of torment caressed his mind. That, and the never before realization, that stories of his father's service of the Dark Lord, had included torturing Mudbloods and Muggles in those same chambers.When they left the dementor's chamber, Parkhurst took him back to her office. The next few moments were the oddest of his visit, but not the worst. She pushed him into a chair, rather gently. She took a glass from a tray, poured it one-third the way with firewhiskey from a bottle, and filled the glass to the top with water. She walked to Draco, shoved the glass into his hand, and insisted he drink. He only hesitated momentarily - he knew he needed something. The firewhiskey burned in spite of the water. It did not have the restorative properties of chocolate, but it did settle Draco. He actually thanked her. He stood and felt he could ask, "I thought all of the dementors had abandoned Azkaban?" Curiosity got the better of him. She answered him civilly enough. "For some reason that one stayed," she said with her smoker's raspy voice. Then, she seemed to remember herself. "We've made sure it has its fill of mind feeding. I personally take him to visit your father each day." She spat again, but Draco dodged the disgusting projectile this time. Warden Parkhurst brought Draco to a door no different from any other door he had seen - none had any number, name, or any other means of identifying its occupant. It was a cell like the one he had been in, but was in a more secure part of the prison. She wordlessly waved her wand and the door creaked open. Though it had only been a few weeks, Malfoy senior had noticeably lost weight while incarcerated. His white blond hair had lost its luster and now showed much more gray than ever before. He needed a shave, and the existing facial hair would never make a handsome beard. Lucius had sparse and random hair wisps on his face at unattractive locations, and great gaps of 'no hair' elsewhere. His father rose from the floor slowly and wobbled as he did so. Draco moved to help him and was thrown back by a spell he had not seen cast. Parkhurst chuckled in her gruff smoke generated half-laugh/half-cough. For the slightest moment there was a look Draco hoped he recognized as concern and compassion for him in his father's eyes. But it could have been the visual disparities that occurred when fumes from the pipe clouded his eyes with their pungency. Their minder was smoking like a mismanaged cauldron. The elder Malfoy did nod and his son returned the nod. Then Lucius raised himself to what little regal bearing he could muster and said, "Madam Parkhurst, might I pass along to my son the Malfoy family ring? It is quite valuable, and he was to receive it on his sixteenth birthday in a few days. May he have it?" "You're not supposed to have any personal possessions with you in there." She was furious and both Malfoys cringed slightly. "Place it on the palm of your left hand and hold it out." The prisoner obeyed. Parkhurst performed a variation of a Summoning Charm and the ring floated slowly across the distance dividing them until the midpoint. There, the ring stopped in midair. It vibrated and danced like a bead of water on a hot surface. It finally passed through whatever barrier existed there and continued five feet towards her where it stopped again in midair. She performed several analysis spells on the ring while the father and son ignored her and stared silently at each other. "Why thank you, you black-hearted human manticore. This will bring a pretty Knut to apply to the relief fund for those distressed by you and your Death Crappers." But, Madam--" Draco said as he moved towards her, but her wand was out and pointed at his left eye. "One step closer, whelp, and you'll feel the curse your father has used so often to torture others. Want to see Crucio applied to your son, murderer?" "Step back, Draco! Please... Madam..." Draco muttered under his breath and the warden wheezed/chuckled again as she rubbed the ring on her robe sleeve as if to polish it, before placing it in the front pocket of her robe. "Son... Draco. Did your mother tell you of her visit two days ago?" "Three or four days ago," snarled Parkhurst. "She did, Father," said the boy. There was silence as the father and son looked at each other again. "I am sorry to see you in these conditions, Father. Is there anything...?" Lucius waved his hand dismissively, "Serving the Dark Lord is all the thanks I need. I escaped this service last time, and it is only right that-" Draco almost shouted his interruption, "What?! You think this is a privilege? Why hasn't he tried to release you? If he's all that powerful as you say, why doesn't he come and...?" "Draco." There was a bit of sharpness in Lucius' voice, almost as though he was talking to a misbehaving child before peers, not this disgusting warden. "You will speak with reverence of our Lord." "Reverence? Do you pay homage to the one who leaves you here? You've never treated your worst servant... You never treated Dobby this badly at his worst. You've done so much for the Dark Lord over the years. This is his repayment-" "Draco! You will curb your tongue. You will speak with respect of my master. He has a glorious plan and vision. And those of us... We who serve faithfully and don't displease him - we will be those who serve at his right and his left. Imagine a Mudblood-free and half-blood-free world, where we can hunt Muggles as we please..." Lucius looked off loftily, thinking of the day. "Father! That's all well and good, but you're rotting here for one failure in serving Voldemor-" "NEVER... speak his name, Son. You must speak of our Dark Lord in a more respectful manner. He provides an opportunity to serve him - nothing else. WE must prove our worthiness. The slightest failure and- well, we must pay for our failures. Our service must be worthy of him. He is perfect-" "Perfect?" Draco snarled. "He has failed as many times as any, maybe more. You, Father, never let a baby defeat you. You never left a scar-headed half-blood the hero of the wizarding world-"Both shouted at each other for several long moments trying to push forward their opinions. "You have been left here to rot and be tortured by this...this lot." His derision was evident, and obviously aimed at Parkhurst. But she said nothing. "After years of splendid service, you have failed him in this little thing, and he punishes you like this. I remember your stories of the Cruciatus Curses placed on those of his loyal servants that failed in small things. You never told me, but... Father, how many times has he placed that curse on you?" Lucius said nothing. Draco knew his father could not answer that one, so the lad said, "Too exhausted to answer in a way to cover your Lord's cruelty to the faithful, aren't you? How long will he curse me if Potter catches the Snitch this fall, Father? If I get fewer O.W.L.s than Potter, or many more less than Granger, that wretched yet brilliant Mudblood, how many minutes, hours, days will I writhe in agony? Is that the privilege of service I can look forward to? Is that your joy, Father?" The degree of cruelty of the accusations and spite could only come from family members that knew each other so well. Draco attacked everything about the Dark Lord and Lucius spewed his dreck at his son and Dumbledore. He finally called Draco a Harry Potter sycophant and the boy exploded. The boy's string of profanity showed the father he had been practicing. Draco lurched at the barrier and was knocked to the floor. Parkhurst helped him stand. The lad rose, continuing his diatribe against his father's ungrateful master.Lucius had a stunned look on his face, but as Draco stumbled in his tirade, the senior Malfoy recovered his bearing - the air of the divine right of kings. "How dare you, mother's boy, I should have whipped you every chance I had instead of letting your mother mollycoddle you. You're soft, you're spoiled, and you are no use to the new order if you cannot earn your way through the pain." The father placed a bizarre expression on his face. His voice became chillingly psychotic. "As to the pain, well, the Dark Lord uses it to cleanse us; it purifies..." "Father, I do not want to serve such a one..." "The pain makes us new..." "I'll kill the one who did this to you, Father," Draco said quietly but clearly. Lucius looked up with a deranged smile on his face. He hissed, "That's it, Draco. That's it, Son. Kill Potter, kill him! And kill Dumbledore as well, the old fool. Then we will serve the master together...a team we'll be-""No, Father, not them. Your Imperfect Lord did this to you, by not rescuing-" Lucius snapped - or erupted - but the timing was in a snap - an eruption takes too long. "YOU'LL NOT TALK ABOUT MY LORD THAT WAY!!" Malfoy senior hurled himself upon the protective barrier and it was as if breaching a high voltage Muggle electric barrier had been attempted. Sparks and lights flashed and he was hurled against the opposite wall, and landed in a crumpled heap. Lucius' head lolled to one side. He was awake but there was no way to know if he understood or even heard his son's parting words. "Well, Father, you foolishly follow your Dark Lord into oblivion. Even if he wins, you'll spend your days kissing the hem of his robe whenever he is not torturing you. I would rather die than serve a master that doesn't care for his minions better than this. "Slytherins are supposed to be practical enough to care for their followers and provide spoils and privileges to the faithful. You follow a murdering madman who wants it all and rewards you with torture, prison, and death." Parkhurst was wide-eyed and slack-jawed in amazement. Draco turned to the door and did not look back. "Open this door, now, Madam." The imperious tone of voice had returned, but the warden obeyed rather than chastise the boy. Draco led the warden back to the Floo fireplace in the secured part of the prison for travel back to the Ministry of Magic's secured entry fireplace. He said nothing and no one said anything to him. The angry look on his severely reddened face made him look like he was steaming. It just might have been tears steaming off of his face. Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor and ignored his mother as he stormed up to his room. The Malfoy family ring, which he had pick-pocketed from Pigeonelle Parkhurst's robe during the scuffle, went into a special secret drawer in his wardrobe, one with a blood seal on it. He sat at his desk and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. He almost began to write but stopped and stared out of the window onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor. He looked at the place out near the barns where his father had taught him how to fly on a broom. He next gazed at the Fencing Stadium, a building that had existed on the manor for over three hundred years. That was where his father had taught him how to wizard duel, and a number of other useful spells, jinxes, curses and charms, all of various shades of darkness. Contributions to the right charities had bribed Cornelius Fudge into a release of the Underage Magic restrictions for Draco Malfoy only, making that training possible. It had made the father and son's time together all the more enjoyable because of the joy of doing what was technically illegal and denied others. Draco turned and swept everything from his desktop. He began knocking books and knicknacks off of shelves and table. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but only the house-elf responsible for maintaining the Children's Wing of the Manor heard him, and she quaked in her cupboard. Draco cursed with every word and every combination of profane words he could imagine. He spewed damnation on a master that would cause such a rift between father and son. Though she was unable to hear any of her son's noise or oaths, Narcissa Malfoy quietly cried in her sitting room in the Master's Wing of the manor. Draco calmed himself and retrieved the writing tools from the floor. Even before calling the house-elf to clear the debris from the maelstrom he had just been, he began to write.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I have just arrived home from Azkaban Prison...

Draco sighed again.

He could not believe he was writing this letter.

How had his live come to this. Was there no other way?

He resumed writing.

From the Journal of Pigeonelle Parkhurst

Today, either my planned act went too far, or finally went far enough. The son of a Death Eater arrived, and in the manner I treat all their offspring, I was as rough as possible. I'm of a retirement age as we've discussed before, my journal, so I care little who might report me or complain. As I have told you, I do this in hopes of scaring even one of them away from joining You-Know-Who.

It is a very Slytherin plan to use Slytherin tactics on the little heirs of Slytherin Death Eaters. Today it either worked on Draco Malfoy, or they've started a Drama Department at Hogwarts...

In an infirmary cell in what was the worst governmental prison in the world, an incarcerated white-blond/gray-haired wizard with his back to the door shed a very uncharacteristic tear.

Lupin said, "Oh, and I do blame you for Sirius' death." Harry gulped and hoped his ears had misinformed him. "Beg pardon?" Could he have just heard what he thought Remus had just said? "Harry, these three visits are not to make you feel better; they are to prepare you for the fight ahead of all of us. You're going to be a leader in this fight, and leaders hold the responsibility for others' lives. You have to face the consequences of your actions, because you will lead others into positions where they might be hurt or killed. It is a sobering necessity of war." "I don't want to be a leader," the boy spat. "I never want to lead anyone against Death Eaters or Voldemort again." Harry was avoiding tears only because of his white hot anger. Remus had been looking down at his hands. He turned sharply to look at Harry, and the lad was compelled to look his way also. "Well, then you're lying - and you're a fool, as well as guilty. And your decision will cause many more of your friends to die too soon, and all of them to be killed in the end." Now our hero was beyond stunned. How could his father and mother's last closest friend treat him this way? He was about to stand and leave but the weary werewolf's next words stopped him. "Do I have your attention now? Will you listen to me?" Remus grabbed the arms of his chair, Disapparated with it, and Apparated to where he was staring right into Harry's face. Harry leaned back but was stopped from going too far. Remus placed his hands on Harry's chair to prevent the lad from moving it away. Leaning forward like this, Lupin made Harry even more uncomfortable. "I have accused you, boy, of being a liar, a fool, guilty of a good man's death, of causing the future premature death of your friends, and the ultimate death of them of all. I'll let go of your chair if you will sit back and listen, really listen to what I am going to say. No interruptions, just a nod now and then in polite conversation. Do you agree?""But- -" "I said only a nod," Lupin almost shouted. Harry was afraid now; had someone drunk Polyjuice Potion and taken his kindly former professor's place? What really bothered him was that he knew that no such potion had been consumed. He finally nodded, and Lupin relaxed the grip on Harry's chair. The former professor moved his lawn chair back a bit and leaned back. The comfortable distance between them was restored, and Harry did not move his chair at all. "It hurts me, Harry, to treat you this way, but I need you to concentrate on what I am saying. I need you to listen to all of it and not take the first thing or two I say and think about them, ignoring the next items on my list. Am I being clear?" Harry nodded and focused very intently. Remus relaxed, which calmed Harry, but he did not lose focus. "I said that you got Sirius killed and I meant it, but you are not the only one. Dumbledore wants to take all the blame on himself, and Ron and Hermione want to blame Bellatrix Lestrange. Albus and Bella do hold some blame and so do I, but we're talking about you right now. "If you had learned Occlumency, you would have never gone there in the first place. By not cooperating with Professor Snape, you messed up." Harry started to open his mouth to protest, but Remus eyed him so sharply the boy closed his mouth instantly. "That is more Severus' fault than yours. He's the grown up and you are the child. I thought the word child would rile you, but you're being petulant like a five year-old, not even a fifteen year-old. Of course Snape was being a vindictive bast-, well, let me say that I will have an equivalent conversation with him soon, and it will make this look like a tea party for three year-old girls. But that doesn't excuse you. You had plenty of good counsel and those you respected told you to learn Occlumency regardless of the cost to you. You knew Snape would bait you, and you let him, just like you do in class. Well, this war is more important than any O.W.L or N.E.W.T grade. All of your superiors should have behaved themselves better, Snape and Fudge included. "Nevertheless, you will always meet grownups and those in authority over you that will be petty and churlish - that's no excuse for you to act likewise. Harry, this is war! Keep your eye on the goal. In war you tolerate and cooperate with your worst enemies so you can defeat the real enemy. "You could no more NOT go to Sirius' rescue, than he could NOT go to yours. But you should have listened and learned Occlumency. You should have listened to Hermione. She's someone you led in this fight, but she is not called the smartest witch in her generation because she is good at playing Gobstones. "I know, you're thinking that you are not in command over Hermione, or Ron, or Neville, Ginny, and Luna. You're wrong, there, particularly when anything regarding defense is concerned, but at other times also. If you were going, you did right to take them with you and you led them well. Had Sirius been captive there, you would have needed their help. Wanting to go alone or with just Ron or Hermione probably would have cost their two lives and possibly yours also. "So now you know why I think you are responsible for Padfoot's demise. Now let me tell you who else is to blame. I am." Harry's eyes grew even wider if possible. Lupin looked back down at his hands for several long moments and Harry said nothing. "Had I gone to Snape about the stopped lessons like I had said I would, you might have learned to block the dreams. I learned from Hermione last night about how Snape taught you. That wasn't teaching, that was sink-or-swim with a boat anchor around your neck - a poor method for teaching if one at all. It was stupid and cruel to assault you like that and not show you how to defend yourself. Oh, he told you to clear your mind, but that's like saying don't think about a hippogriff; of course a hippogriff is the only thing you can think of if I say don't think about one. "So you're to blame and Dumbledore's to blame as well as Snape. Well, so am I. I'm also to blame for not spending more time with Sirius. He was obsessed with preparing to help you, but he became more and more irrational each day. When Snape called to warn that you had left Hogwarts, I should have knocked Sirius unconscious with my bare fists to keep him from the Ministry. "The ultimate blame for his death goes to Voldemort and Bellatrix, and Peter for bringing Voldemort back from his half death. But you and I aren't going to accept that and move on without torturing ourselves some more. But there's one more person to blame for his death." Lupin looked down at his hands once more, and Harry guessed that he was not going to like the next words at all. "Sirius is also to blame for his death." The silence accompanying those words was suffocating. "There he was, cavalierly laughing while dueling with a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's favorites, and a known deadly duelist. But Bella was a woman and Padfoot's cousin, so he never took her seriously. He was playing with her, toying with fancy spells rather than putting her out of the fight. It was dangerous to you and the other children, to all of the Order members present, and fatally dangerous to himself. "He was always such a champion duelist, never lost to anyone in school other than James, and then he won as often as your father. But Sirius always had to show off in school, and he made a game of it the one time we fought together in the first war with Voldemort. And there he was, swanning around that night in the Department of Mysteries like we were in Dueling Club again." Lupin let his head fall into his hands, and though there was no sound of a sob and no moisture in his eyes, when he raised his head moments later, Harry knew his old professor's sadness was profound. "Harry, a number of people are to blame, but dwelling on it will not bring him back or defeat our enemies. I've awakened every night since that night, seeing him fall again and again through the Veil. I'll dream that dream for the rest of my life and probably feel terrible when I dream it less often. You probably dream similar dreams." Lupin looked for an answer and Harry only nodded as he had been asked to do. "Dwelling on those dreams is not going to end this war. It's not going to save our friends from similar deaths. Only moving on and preparing to fight will do that. And that's all that matters." They both stared off into the distance for a moment. Lupin raised his empty butterbeer and wordlessly gave Harry an inquiring look. Harry nodded and Lupin called two fresh bottles to them. Their lids popped off on the way to their hands. "Let's see. I also called you a fool for not being willing to lead others against Death Eaters or Voldemort. The fact is, Harry, at fifteen, almost sixteen, and even at eleven, you are a better leader in battle than most are. You've only become better since that first year, and the fight a few weeks ago proved it. Granted, those you led would not've been there if you hadn't taken them there, but do you think any of your friends would have survived if you hadn't been leading them, and if you hadn't prepared them long before that day? "Think about Neville's skill level before you started the DA. How long would he have survived that night without your training? Or Ginny, or Ron, or Luna? Hermione knew the spells, maybe better than you, but would she have fought well, or would she have frozen in fear when the first Death Eater Apparated into the room? "I also called you a liar for saying you don't want to lead people. Every part of your soul cried out that you should have been going with us to save the Grangers, didn't it? Admit it. You wanted to lead both rescue parties at the same time. I know it; I saw it in your eyes. There were four highly trained experienced wizards, two of them Aurors, and you wanted to lead them." He looked at Harry and chuckled. "Oh. Harry. Don't blush. Leaders want to lead. The better the leader, the more serious the situation, the more every part of a leader's being screams to be in the forefront. Good Lord, Harry, in two or three years, after you go through what Dumbledore has planned for you, I'm going to want you to lead me into any battle we might face. You just need a little more training now to be as good as the best of those leading now. "But you need to admit to yourself that you are a leader and that you want to be one. Such an admission will galvanize your mind and spirit to help you go after all of the training and capabilities you can gain to be even better at it. Do you know that graduates of the Auror Academy are required to attend a minimum of three days of classes a quarter in battle tactics? They have to spend at least an hour a day, four days a week in physical training, and at least two hours a week in the dueling rooms. The better ones spend more time than that in each subject. "All right, let's see, I also said that you would cause some of your friends' premature deaths. How can I explain this? "If Ron had gone off to save Ginny from the Basilisk in your second year and he had told you to forget about it, would you have sent him on and gone back to the common room? How about if he'd stunned you and left without you, would you have pouted and stayed away, or gone after him?" Without waiting for a response, Lupin continued. "No, one way or another, you would have followed, because you are his friend. But you went ahead to rescue Ginny alone. Granted, Ron couldn't go because of the rockslide, but you went, not because you were her friend at the time, but because you are that kind of person. Last night Hermione told me that she had accused you of wanting to save everyone, and she feels bad about that, but the Weasleys are all glad you are a hero for saving Ginny. And I am glad you rescued Sirius from the dementors. You gave me more time with my good friend, and paved the way to clear his name - and I thank you for that. Harry, you have been a hero since the day you received that scar, and you've been heroic ever since."But I'm off my point. If you don't lead them, your friends are going to fight the enemy anyway. Or, if you go off against Death Eaters or Voldemort alone, your friends are going to follow you, just like you'd follow after them to help them. If you don't lead them, they will get killed sooner than if you do lead them." In some ways Harry had noticed Lupin had lightened up during some of this discussion. Now the former professor knitted his brow, a coldness entered his voice, and he leaned forward again. "Mark my redundant words, Harry. This is war. If it goes as long as the last war, in all likelihood some of your friends will die, or be wounded badly, or tortured, or just disappear one day. I don't wish it on them. It doesn't have to happen, but events like these happen during wars. "But if you want to prevent their wounds or deaths, or at least prevent as much of it as you can, stay with them, help train them, learn with them, become a team member with them, and lead them in battle. Lead them. People will better survive when you're around, up front, blazing the path. Help them be the best they can be. Make Colin Creevey into a vicious mean magical fighting machine. Lead Hannah Abbot into battle, she'll survive better with the courage you inspire in her. Give Anthony Goldstein the skills and mental preparedness to face a dementor instead of freezing in fear - help him understand how to be able to generate the happiness needed to cast a Patronus Spell while his private horror is screaming in his head. "Finally, I said that you leaving your friends would kill them all eventually - this is what I mean. You may have thought about going out right now and facing Voldemort and getting it over with. That sounds like suicide for most, but somehow, Harry, I think you might be the one to do him in, once you are better prepared. "Based on Dumbledore's account of your fight near the fountain that night, you did well, better than I could have done, but then you have faced him before. Although, Harry, you know he would have killed you soon. "But what if you were fully grown? What if all of your powers were released because of the physical maturity a witch or wizard reaches in their seventeenth year? And what if you have been trained by the best available to finely hone your skills and powers? What if you have been taught the best spells, charms, and curses we can find, and you are skilled in them? "What if then you face Voldemort? Well, you will probably still be killed." Lupin looked into his eyes and Harry could not help blanching at these words. Did Lupin know about the prophecy? Harry was about to ask when Remus went on. "Well, if you are there all by yourself, you will be killed instead of Voldemort. You see, he will be there with every Death Eater he has at his beck and call. If you are not there with all of your friends and even your enemies willing to fight by your side, you will be killed. "I don't know if you are the one to kill Voldemort. He might show himself tomorrow wherever Alastor Moody is, and old Mad-Eye will try to kill him for sure. And if anyone other than Dumbledore can muster up enough to kill him, it's Moody. But the most experienced Voldemort fighter is sitting here in this tent, and it's not me. You two are drawn to each other, linked perhaps by that scar. But I want you to be stronger and faster and more powerful than you are today when you two next meet. "But, Harry, mark my words. The heart leads the head in so many ways. You must be dedicated in your heart so you can be better committed in your head to become what you can and must be. Peter Pettigrew used to go on about fate. He'd say it was Benjy Fenwick's fate to be blown to bits, or Caradoc Dearborn's fate to vanish one day without a trace. Poppycock and balderdash - or codswallop like Hagrid says. Dumbledore says that we have to fight fate's attempts to limit us so we can achieve our destinies to be the best we can be. I think talking fate was just Peter's poor attempt to divert blame from himself for what he was about to do." Lupin was very quiet for a solid minute. Harry asked himself several times if he should say something, but he answered himself "no" each time. Lupin finally spoke in a whisper, "Harry, you may face Voldemort, but Peter's mine." Harry understood this sentiment immediately. He knew Mr. Diggory probably felt that way about Pettigrew also, and he, Harry, also felt that way about Bellatrix Lestrange, but not with the same passion that Bella incited in Neville. "So, Harry, a number of people share the blame for the death of your godfather - Dumbledore, Snape, you, me, but mostly Bella and Voldemort - and Sirius himself to a degree. We will mourn his death for the rest of our lives and wake up with nightmares of that night - and feel bad when those nightmares come less often. But first we must survive to end this war and save all our friends, and all of the innocents, including the helpless Muggles. "Speaking of the not-so-helpless Muggles, did your uncle show you the newspaper this morning?" "No," said Harry, "he left early. Something about a big contract." "Well, then you haven't seen this." He handed Harry the same daily Muggle paper his uncle read. Below the fold on the front page there was a headline:

Dentist's Office/Meth Lab Explosion

Harry looked up. "What's a Meth Lab?" He had not read beyond the headline. "Methamphetamines are particularly vile, illegal hallucinogenic drugs. For some unknown reason Muggles make them. It's not like all of the other illegal drugs and intoxicants aren't enough for self-abuse, Muggles insist on inventing new ways to destroy themselves in the name of escape and pleasure. Methamphetamines are made in a small chemical laboratory. Look at whose office the article says was a meth lab." Harry looked down for half a moment and ripped his eyes back up in shock!

Ted Granger stood up, too furious to remain seated or he might spontaneously combust, or something equally impossible. "I'll beat whoever wrote this to a bloody pulp!" Madge said, sounding like Hermione, "Ted, language." "I'm not swearing; I'm talking about real blood. I'll rip off his arm and beat him to death with it. After all we've done to build our practice. We'll lose half of our patients even if we call them all today to explain. How could they...? We had nothing in our office to lead anyone to believe...." Albus Dumbledore walked out of the flashing green kitchen fireplace at that moment, interrupting the dentist's justifiable tirade. "I am afraid, Ted, that the Muggle police and newspapers have their details in order. They reported accurately what they found. There was just such a despicable operation in your office when the police entered it just less than thirty minutes after the explosion." Ted Granger looked apoplectic. He sputtered and said nothing coherent. Finally, his wife found the words, "How could that be, Professor?" The headmaster sighed, accepted the tea Molly Weasley offered him, took one surprisingly noisy sip, and said, "When Kingsley Shacklebolt informed the proper authorities at the Ministry of Magic, the Magical Reversal Squad was dispatched to the office as a standard part of such an operation. They were not aware of how quickly the local constabulary would respond and had to stun the first police officers on the scene. This caused the decisions about how to handle the matter to be escalated up the bureaucratic ladder. "I believe, Miss Granger, that you have informed your parents of the less than stellar relationship we in the Order of the Phoenix have with those high up in certain parts of the Ministry?" When Hermione nodded, he continued. "Madame Bones should have made the decision, but Cornelius Fudge was informed and made sure his desires were acted on before she was notified. I have it on good authority that he personally authorized the meth lab explanation for the Muggle police officers and the press.

When magical lawbreakers are found with Muggle co-conspirators, such non-magical lawbreaking as a methamphetamines laboratory is insinuated into the situation so the Muggles are properly punished, but for non-magical reasons. I dislike the practice and it should not have been used in this case. But we were not aware of this until the papers this morning. It was too late to prevent. We cannot Obliviate the memories of every reader of every newspaper reporting this story.

"I have had a not-very-cordial conversation with our Minister of Magic this very morning. He started off less than apologetic. He said that you must've been doing something wrong or the explosion would not have happened. He did a poor job of covering his hand in this. I threatened him with a hearing before the full Wizengamot, and he finally backed down. He will now spend whatever money is needed to re-establish your practice, but I believe doing so now, something that will require your constant personal attention, will be too much of a temptation for Voldemort not to finish his attempt on your lives. I fear that letting this story take its course until this war is over may be the only path for now - for your safety. We have the means to protect you and provide for you, even find useful work for you, I believe, but only in our world, not in yours." Ted was looking at him with a range of emotions flitting across his face as the explanation unfolded. At the end he stood apparently speechless. Madge Granger wove her fingers between her husband's from her position at the table. Granger did not look down, but he did squeeze her hand. "What about our employees? They need... well, a paying job, and this will be a black mark against them also." "Their names are not mentioned. Ted, I am not without influence in the Muggle world. Most wizards and witches avoid your world for good reasons, but I have been preparing for, shall we say, delicate situations such as this for scores of years. "Your employees will all be approached by those who can gainfully use their talents and abilities. You may write them and tell them that you are innocent, and Cornelius will compensate them for any inconveniences." Ted realized that the situation could not be resolved beyond what Dumbledore had already promised them. He was silent.Finally, Hermione said, "Professor, what useful work can my parents find in our world?"

Harry was back in his room at number four, Privet Drive. The conversation with Remus Lupin had taken just over an hour. It had ended with some good news. "Harry, we believe we have been able to force the Minister of Magic to approve the findings of the Prosecutor's office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Enough evidence has come to light because of the witnesses to the fight in the Department of Mysteries, to exonerate Sirius. "It took some arm twisting that I will not go into, but Fudge finally should sign the papers today, tomorrow at the latest. His Publicity Advisor has created a story that makes the Minister look good, something that has not happened much recently. So he has agreed. Did you know he is the first Minister of Magic to appoint a Publicity Advisor? "In the midst of all of these events, the probate of the Black Family Estate has come up. Mrs. Black died with a contestable will. It basically left everything to Narcissa Malfoy, and nothing to Sirius. But because there was no mention of Sirius to disown him, a glaring error for any lawyer familiar with wizarding law, the will has been held up all these years. Had Sirius been tried, the conviction would have been enough, but with no conviction and no disowning, the courts could not act. We believe Sirius' father's lawyer, now deceased, did this on purpose. Disowning Sirius was not his father's plan after the death of Regulus. "Lucius Malfoy never quite succeeded in getting his hands on the money. I'm telling you this because that means that Sirius' last will and testament will be honored." "Sirius had a will? When did he...?" Harry trailed off. "Yes. He asked me to buy him several law books - said he wanted to work on his case. I would have done anything that might help keep him occupied. He used the books to write an iron clad will, the lawyers told Dumbledore. He had sent it to the headmaster a week before.... "There was one note in it to me. Sirius made it clear that he wanted me to take over guardianship for you. I am not to be your godfather, that cannot be set except by your parents. When parents do it for a child it becomes a legal version of guardianship even though church documents are not usually considered a formal legal document in any other circumstance other than marriage. "So, since you are over fifteen, you must approve my becoming your guardian. I am sure now that I have said what I have said, you won't want me, but I couldn't gain your approval and then tell you how I felt about your actions." "Wait a minute," said Harry, "do you think I don't want you? I'd think you wouldn't want me because of what you just said to me." Lupin did not look at him. Their statements hung in the air like damp linen unable to dry in too humid, windless conditions. "Harry, I wanted to be your original guardian. Your parents could not decide between Padfoot and me, originally. Sirius caused their indecision; he actually insisted that I should do it because he felt I'd be a better influence on you. That is rubbish. You couldn't've had a better... Besides, Sirius qualified to be your godfather, which was very important to your parents. And I insisted that my, um, lunar condition made me unacceptable. And sure enough, before your fifteenth birthday, with recent regulations against werewolves and other creatures as they call us, you could've been taken from me. Now if you choose..." "I do choose. If you want me, I want you. I've made enough mistakes without help from grown-ups. I still don't like being left out of things, but... Would you please be my guardian?" Harry realized he sounded desperate, but he needed some sort of anchor in his life. He had felt so adrift since 'that night.' "I'm grateful, Harry, more than I can express. All those years when he was in Azkaban and no one... I'd die before letting you down." "No more dying-" Harry snapped, but then he realized just how stupid it was to say that after the conversation about war they had just finished. Remus smiled at him. "Let's just say, Harry, that now we fight together. And, if Professor Dumbledore can arrange what he wants, we'll be able to see each other more during the school year than in the last two years. "But look at the time. How long did you ask your aunt for permission to be gone?" "I didn't, she just said I could come here." "Well, in that case your time will be up in ten minutes. Tomorrow ask for three hours. Just come back here in the garden. Arabella will return the day after tomorrow, so knock on the door that day." Remus stood. "But, Professor..." "We're going to have to get you to call me something else soon, now that we'll be more intimately and officially linked. I'll have papers for your signature to make my guardianship official in a few days. You must leave now or pay for the extra time here with extra time at your aunt's." Harry scurried home on that note, but he had quite a bit on his mind.

On the evening when the Grangers had fought the Death Eaters, Ron's miniature owl, Pig, had been flitting around his room when Harry arrived back from Mrs. Figg's. Ron's note, quickly and poorly penned, that groped to tell his best friend that he might be in love with his other best friend, left a very hollow feeling in Harry's heart. But Ron and Hermione had danced around each other, on occasions, ever since the Yule Ball Incident their fourth year. It had never occurred to Harry that Ron might like her until Hermione shouted at Ron about asking her earlier. The moment Harry had looked up to see Hermione dressed for that evening, he'd wished he'd thought to invite her himself. But that thought had long been buried. Or had it?

Later that same night, after dinner, and after more than an hour in the back garden staring at the stars, Pig was back in Harry's room. Though a miniature, Ron's owl could fly pretty fast with a small light-weight note. The round trip between Little Whinging and Grimmauld Place was roughly an hour and a half for him. Hedwig could make the trip with a single letter in minutes over an hour.

This time Pig carried a note from Ginny, telling of the safe arrival of the Grangers, and the reason for the continuing silence from a certain portrait in the foyer. She then briefly told Harry about the kiss between Hermione and Ron. Ginny and Harry had discussed this possibility the previous summer, while watching the two in a monumental argument at Grimmauld Place. This evening, when Ron had finally acted, Ginny had not seen the confusion on the faces of the two kissers, after the fact.

Harry did not at first know what he felt about this development - but he wasn't sure it was good - at least not for him. He'd vaguely expected something like this to occur for some time, but now that it had, he felt like he had lost an important opportunity in a way. All he could think about was Hermione standing there in the midst of the death and destruction in the Granger home. However, his thoughts were not of the mayhem, her death-dealing parents, or the wizards around him. All he could think of was her safety... and just how... pretty... she was. And how much she meant to him - differently from Ron.

He was confused.

Cho Chang was a very pretty girl, but there were a number of pretty girls at Hogwarts - the Patil twins, Lavender Brown, Lisa Turpin, Ginny Weasley, Susan Bones, Katie Bell, Mandy Brocklehurst, Su Li, Luna Lovegood, Tinica Chambers, Hanna Abbott, Daphne Greengrass, even Pansy Parkinson. (On the rare occasion that Pansy was smiling and not sneering, and if you could forget her personality altogether, she was a pretty girl.)

All of these young ladies were very different, but has varying qualities of attractiveness. Why had Cho caught his eye when she did? Or Hermione only when it was too late? Harry rushed to mention to himself that Hermione was his best (female) friend, so that was obvious, but why hadn't any of these other girls come to his attention as more than just a pretty face to look at for a moment?

Harry groaned out his frustration on this torturous line of thought. He'd never understand women, or how they affected him to various degrees. Perhaps it was simply that Cho was an unknown quantity and a year older, as well as pretty. Katie was also older, but a teammate. Most of the other girls had been in classes with him since first year. Ginny and Harry had shared the difficult crush/Chamber events. Luna was pretty once you knew her. Pansy and Daphne were Slytherins.

Perhaps that was it - Cho Chang - unknown, older, pretty.

He was very happy for his friends, but he found a hollowness bubbling up in his heart. A possible avenue had closed for him. Objectively, Hermione was a very pretty girl. Harry recognized that he knew her better than any other female. Now, gone was the possibility that she could be his girlfriend. What was so strange about this line of thinking was that he had never really considered her in that way before a few hours ago, when he could have done anything about it to make her his. But now he felt the loss.

For a moment Harry wondered if he were going mad. But then he thought of how he would need his two best friends for the job ahead of him, and how he would probably be happy to see them together, and he considered with a smirk that his was only temporary insanity. Maybe. He sat back on his bed and pondered this for over an hour, dozing in and out. Hermione and Ron would be together and he didn't want to be alone. THAT was what was truly bothering him he guessed. How would their friendship change now that the two would want to be alone without him at least part of the time? Would the Gryffindor Three become the Gryffindor Two + One? He didn't blame them and tried to push from his mind why he was thinking this way. Harry dozed off again. The next time he wandered into consciousness, it was past midnight. He wondered what it would be like to have Ginny as a girlfriend. She was, as Fred and George maintained, a lot of power in a small package. She had finally emerged from her 'pre-teen-crush-on-Harry' phase, and had become an active friend during the past year. But she was also dating Dean Thomas. That girlfriend possibility only crossed his mind for a moment and Harry dismissed it by placing her back in the 'Ron's-little-sister/friends-only' categories. But even that thought did not completely satisfy Harry's attempts to remove her from his mind in this train of thought. He readily admitted that Ginny was not a little girl any more. She had lost what little baby fat had existed in her face at ten and eleven - a look that caused her to look very much like her mother - and now, she had the shape of her father's face, while maintaining her mother's prettiness. Ginny was slender, but he had seen a number of girls in his year, and years ahead of him... er... um, NOT remain slender. Harry did not have to look in a mirror to know he was red-faced - and only part of it was from embarrassment. The figures of many girls of his acquaintance flashed before his eyes, and he had trouble not dwelling on certain parts of this girl or that. He had to remove Hermione's shapeliness from his mind several times, and it was most difficult.He stood up, and without thinking of anything else he could do, he started doing push-ups. On the Knight Bus Harry had overheard Mrs. Granger compliment her husband on his muscles displayed in the short-sleeved shirt he had worn when he emerged from Mrs. Figg's back bedroom shower. Mr. Granger had smiled and said, "There are a number of advantages to doing two hundred push-ups a day." Harry started that exercise and wondered how long it would take him to reach two hundred. In a minute he realized it would take him longer than he had thought. At thirty push-ups his arms were complaining, and at forty-five he told himself he would stop at fifty. Two more and Harry fell on his face. His arms were screaming at him, and his nose hurt from rapid contact with the floor. He barely was able to make it back onto the bed and dozed off again, accompanied by the pain and exhaustion of the unfamiliar exercise. Next time he roused he remembered Luna Lovegood. She had appeared rather too wide-eyed when he'd first met her, but either she had grown into her eyes during the year, or he now saw past that appearance and saw the prettiness that had existed. In his fourth year, Harry had observed that he had considered Hermione rather pretty and he had not really acknowledged her larger than typical front teeth. He only realized this after the teeth had been corrected. In his mind, Harry had observed, as one would with a sister, that she had been pretty in spite of her less than perfect teeth. He did not notice the less than perfect-ness because he knew Hermione to be wonderful as a friend, and terrific in so many other ways. (He had to stop thinking about Hermione.)

Had Luna grown into her eyes, or did it not matter to him anymore if they were a bit protuberant or not?

Harry pondered the links that he and Luna had - seeing thestrals, hearing the voices behind the Veil, even before Sirius fell. Better not to think on that right now. Harry realized that Luna had always believed in him, and he popped right up from his bed and went to his desk. He spent over two hours that night writing and rewriting a letter to her that he felt would be very subtle and very clever. He felt sure that if she was interested in him as a boyfriend, she would respond in a manner that would give him the courage he needed to ask her to be his girlfriend. If she was not interested, he was sure she would not be able to see his interest. Convinced with the conviction of most teenagers exploring love, he gave Hedwig the letter and told her who was to receive it. Of course, less than three minutes after his owl was off on her mission, Harry was filled with misgivings, and actually twice started a note to tell Luna to forget his first missive. He threw himself back on his bed and wondered why his legendary Gryffindor courage had evaporated.

Author's Note - Harry's Search for a Girlfriend - The rules are the rules. This is a Harry/Hermione site and I am excited about writing this and posting it here as such. However, Harry is somehow going to be a typical confused-about-the-opposite-sex teenager for at least a little bit, even if it kills me. He is not going to instantly fall into Hermione's arms and declare undying love just because this is a Harry/Hermione fic or site. He is going to struggle like the rest of us poor dense guys while he amazes everyone and saves the world.