Unofficial Portkey Archive

"Pen. Pen! Are you there, Pen?" No one called her 'Pen' except her brother, Paul.

She came walking out of her bedroom in the tiny two-and-a-half room flat and walked to the fireplace. "Paul, it's late. I have a meeting at a new Muggle orphanage tomorrow and I'm not going to get--"

"Pen, you need to Floo here immediately. I don't know what else can defuse the situation."

"What situation? Where are you?" She had been out with her friends later than usual on a work night. It was Gretchen Kanderby's birthday, and not only had she been out later than usual, she'd had two firewhiskies, one more than her usual before switching to butterbeer - when she had to drink.

"I'm at the Tattered Broom, two doors down on Knockturn Alley from Diagon--"

"The Tattered Broom! You know I wouldn't be caught dead there in the daytime; why would I come there at this time of night?"

"It's Specs. He's here and roaring drunk, or at least as roaring as the little mouse can roar, which is pretty loud tonight. He's who's going to be caught dead here in a few minutes. He just said things that have a few of the regular ruffians here about to Unforgiveable him, or something."

'Specs' was Paul's mildly insulting name for the only man she'd ever loved. He was the man who had promised her the world in a cauldron, and had left her following after his own ambitions. That was only partially true - she had left him because of the path of his ambitions, and he had not followed after her, like he had always done at Hogwarts when she'd led him towards the activities and decisions he'd always said had made him worthwhile to the rest of the world.

She said, "If he's streaming the quintessential bunkum he's proclaimed to the Daily Prophet this past year, I don't know who at that horrid place would be offended. They should be lining up to buy him drinks. Is that why he's drunk? Why do you keep going there? It's not safe for you, in the Auror Academy and all."

"We come here in a group and consider it part of our training. There're five of us and the crowd's a bit thin tonight. You'd be safe. But he's not 'streaming the quintessential bunkum' as you so quaintly put it. I wouldn't bother you with this but, well, I know you think... that is he's still... Pen, he's muttered your name a few times when he's not pontificating. No, it's no Ministry propaganda speech. He started with a toast to Dumbledore and has spent the last five minutes or more proclaiming the professor's virtues and those of Harry Potter. I thought that was the final turning point between you two-"

"What happened between us at the end was only the last of many... Paul, I'll come through if you assure me it's safe." She turned from the fire.

"I'll just grab my bag. Fine. Stand back, I'm coming through."

She reached into a powder jar on her mantel and stepped into the fire.

She shouted, "The Tattered Broom!"

Whoosh!

Penny was just in time. Had Paul called a few minutes later...

She grabbed his arm and stopped the next firewhiskey from following those that had gone before. The last one became his last. After taking the shot glass out of his hand, she used his arm to steer his line of sight towards her.

The three vicious looking wizards who were facing him on his other side, the ones with clenched fists and hands going for their wands, seemed to back away at her presence. Then she realized that her brother must be at her back, and surely his four friends as well, so she was not the cause of their shrinking away. But she would accept the respite from whatever quarter it had been given.

The man before Penny slowly turned his head to see where his arm had gone, as if wondering why it was not delivering the next mind-numbing, throat-biting blast to his mouth. He looked at her as one might look at a picture of a person, not the actual person. His spectacles were slightly askew - not just down on his nose where he constantly kept pushing them back up with his left thumb so as not to have to stop writing. Everyone else used their index finger or middle finger to push back their sliding glasses. Also, he insisted on calling them spectacles, while the whole world called them glasses.

His mouth was opened in a stunned look, exaggerated by the drink. His chin and lower lip quivered in unison, and he gulped his mouth shut. And then the deluge of words came - and the tears - he was a lousy, maudlin drunk.

"Oh, Penelope, oh, my angel! How I have fa-hail-hailed you-ho-ho-hooo," he cried, crying and sobbing. "I've failed yooouuu. I've failed my fam-leh! Aaa-haaaaa!"

He was disgusting this way, but all of her feelings - those she'd thought she'd successfully suppressed for the past year, came flooding back.

"The Minister said that I have failed him," continued her former beau. "But I told him, sniffff! I told him that all I did for him was drop the woman I still love, sell out my family, and Professor Bumdlebore, and Harry--Harry. Did I tell you, Penelope, that he saved Ginny's life her first year?"

"Yes, I was ther-"

"And I betrayed him - and asked his best friend, my brother, Ron, to betray him, too." He grabbed her arm and drew her face right up to his. "What kind of monster am I, Penelope?"

By this time, she and her brother had him out of the Tattered Broom, and almost to the Leaky Cauldron. They stopped on the way for Percy to be sick into a dustbin. His breath was rancid and he smelled of the sweat and vomit the drinking had caused.

But he had said that he still loved her.

Penelope Clearwater and her brother somehow contrived to send Percy Weasley through to his "posh flat in a better part of town" as he had put it. They flopped him on his bed face down, and still in his robe. Paul left her knowing that Specs would never take advantage of her.

She sat in the chair by his bed and made the decision regarding the question he hadn't asked.

She would help the man she still loved.

The morning of Harry's second of three visitors, Harry asked his aunt for three hours leave. Harry walked slowly to Mrs. Figg's and pondered his letter to Luna - the letter where he'd hinted around about the possibility of dating. It was gone and she had surely read it by now. He had no Time-Turner to go back and stop himself from sending it, and besides, such actions were against the rules of Time-Turner use.

Harry knew Luna was not the kind of person to make fun of him for his interest in her, which had been part of his fear in approaching Cho Chang. No, Luna was his friend and she either would or would not be interested in being his girlfriend, but she would not make fun of him. He had the whole summer to correspond with her and re-establish their friendship if he had damaged it in any way by his letter, so Harry figured, as he walked, that minor damage control would be the worst outcome of his letter. On the other hand she might just....

Harry rounded the corner of Mrs. Figg's house and stopped before actually going into the back garden. He realized that she had been gone all of this time and the wards Remus had set up had been temporary. Their coming and going had weakened them to a degree, and a really powerful wizard might be able to be set a trap.

He instantly pulled out his wand as he threw himself behind a huge bush on the side of the house. He landed on the invisible wizard waiting to ensnare him.

"Off! Off me, Potter, I say." The voice was unmistakable.

"Professor Moody. What are you...?"

"I was lying in wait to teach you a lesson in constant vigilance," he sputtered as he pushed himself up and collected his Invisibility Cloak. "Well, around back with you. I've already checked all of the wards and scanned the area. We'll be safe. At least we'll be safe after I seal us in with a few of my favorites."

After several swishes of his wand, the protections were set and the butterbeer was icy. The days continued to be excessively warm and humid for early July.

"Tell me, Potter, God's truth. Did you detect me and plan that assault? It was effective, though a bit unorthodox."

"No, sir. Just a few moments before, I realized I could be walking into a trap. So I pulled out my wand and jumped behind the bush to hide as well as I could."

"Well, you were lightning fast about that. I was planning to come up behind you after you'd passed and scare the insight into you that you just can't go walking anywhere unprepared for a fight." Harry did not consider his speed that remarkable, but then Moody was always saying he was not as young as he used to be. The retired Auror continued, "Let this be a lesson to the both of us. You should have prepared earlier for possible danger, and I should not assume that anyone will act as I am sure they will act." Moody pondered that for a moment. "Yes, I really like the unorthodox - make your opponent have to be constantly vigilant, which they usually aren't, as the Grangers so eloquently demonstrated to us."

They settled down and both enjoyed their first sips of the butterbeer. Harry asked, "Professor, has the false story about the meth lab at the Granger's office been cleared up?"

"First off, Potter, I am not and never have actively been a professor. I know you called me that when it was not me, I'm a bit bothered by the fact that I was hoodwinked in that way. I let it slide on the rare occasions other students greet me that way, it happens so infrequently. But you and I will probably be working together more and more as time goes by, I understand you want to join the Auror Corps."

"I think I'd like that. But I doubt I'll make the grades to get into the N.E.W.T. courses I need, so who knows."

"There are always exceptions. Exceptions are what make rules, rules."

Harry did not know what to think of this expression, but before he could ask, Mad-Eye continued.

"No, I guess you should call me Moody, like the rest of my friends, and I consider a friend anyone I've fought along side. You may want to call me Mr. Moody in front of the young ones who weren't there with us, but 'Moody' is enough - actually prefer it after all these years."

Harry hung his head. That battle and the loss of Sirius were never far from his mind or dreams. He had dreamed of Sirius' death fall over and over the night before - just the fall. His chores that morning and the particularly vicious silence at the breakfast table as Uncle Vernon pointedly ignored him, had helped Harry push the memory of the dreams out of his head for a while. But just the briefest allusion to anything about that battle would have brought the horrors of that previous night back to the forefront.

Moody was looking away, but with his magical eye you never really knew where he might 'also' be looking. After several pregnant moments he asked, "Potter, do you know why I'm here?"

Harry looked up. Both of Moody's eyes were directed at him. "You're here to help me feel better about the death of Sirius."

Moody snorted. His magical eye did a circuit and returned to Harry. "I don't give a hippogriff's hoof nail about your feelings at this point. Great Scott, Potter, this is war! No, I'm here so you can learn from his death."

Moody was still for a moment as if to let his words sink in a bit. The boy slouched even lower in his chair.

"First, regarding the blame. You'll learn that quite often blame has plenty of owners. I've talked to Dumbledore and Lupin, and I'm not going to repeat what they said. I agree with Dumbledore that he should have kept you a bit better informed, but only a bit. You're a kid, and even though you are the most remarkable teenager I have ever seen or heard of, you're still a kid. I'd like to see you in the Auror Corps. in a few years. Even after just a little more training I would love to have you on just about any team I lead. I wouldn't mind having you in a fight with me again right now, if it couldn't be avoided. Merlin's housecoat, if Death Eaters rounded the corner this very minute, I'm sure we would do rather well." Moody looked up and seemed to focus his magical eye. He said, "No, none there.

"But, Potter, you're still too young to trust with a lot of information. I am sure that you would die rather than reveal that Professor Snape is secretly working for the Order, but would you give him up if a Death Eater were torturing young Miss Granger let's say?"

Harry shuddered at the thought, and was about to shout, "of course he'd give up Snape" when Moody went on. The lad thought that apparently the older wizard did not expect answers to his questions this day.

"You'd give Snape up in a minute, and you'd be wrong. As much as you hate him, I may hate him more because of what he did before leaving the Death Eaters to help Dumbledore in the last war. For months after he came to our side, I had to be restrained whenever he entered a room where I was.

"What'd he do to you?"

"Never you mind. The point is this: as I sat there waiting for you, I counted the names of over twenty-four people he's definitely saved from capture or death, or both, since he joined the Order as a spy. There's probably a dozen more I don't know about. He gave us vital information to stop four major Death Eater assaults, and perhaps a dozen minor attacks, or more, before you did your scar thing. D'you know your parents were able to defy Voldemort three times?" Seeing Harry nod, Moody continued. "It was information from Snape that made possible their last escape, gave them two more months to live and be with you. I doubt you remember that time, but it meant the world to them, I assure you.

"No, Snape can enter You-Know-Who's presence on certain given occasions then and now. Back then he'd developed a hare-brained plan to try to kill him, if you hadn't done in that Dark Thing when you were a babe. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Snape's planning once again to make a try, which would probably be suicide, by the way, even if he did succeed.

"So! Given the choice between your friend or Snape, I'll take him and curse him the whole time he keeps breathing. And you probably think that is pretty cold-blooded of me, don't you?"

He looked down at Harry whose mouth was opened in surprise. "The secret is, Potter, to avoid that situation, having to make such a choice, if at all possible. Do you know how to do that?"

This talk of giving up Hermione was causing Harry's pulse to race a bit. Moody was simply using her name as an example. Harry's mind knew this, but his heart was another matter altogether. "Keep Hermione safe, I s'ppose."

"Just like we've tried to keep you safe?" Moody quietly roared in mirth.

"Well, no, but..."

"But nothing. We know we can't keep you out of things, now. So we're going to keep you fairly well informed, particularly about the things affecting you directly. But we won't tell you everything."

Harry started to protest but Moody cut him off.

"Hestia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, Tonks, Bill Weasley, and I are on a rotating shift schedule of minding you day and night this summer. Hestia walked you over this morning. If you can remember that order, Hestia, Dung, Tonks, Bill, and me, you'll know who's out there if you need them. A much lighter Mundungus, after Dumbledore chewed on him, takes over for Jones at six this evening. We take twelve-hour shifts starting at six and six each morning and evening.

"Now, I'm not going to tell you who's covering the Burrow, and more important, I'm not going to tell you who's on a secret mission right now or who's searching for Voldemort's hiding hole. You don't need to know even though I can see the gears whirling in you brain about secret missions and all. Truth is I don't know because I don't need to know. Got that, Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"As to protecting your friend, Hermione, and her family. You'll no more keep her out of trouble than we will you. So, keep her informed, keep her with you in a conflict, and make sure she's as well prepared to fight as you can make her. A wise Muggle once said that the best defense is a good offense. Applying that to you means keeping you protected while you're here at your Aunt's, and keeping you here to recharge whatever you receive from being with her. But the best way to keep you safe is to prepare you mentally, physically, and magically to fight, and to lead in the fight."

Moody turned his whole head directly at Harry and focused both eyes on him in one mesmerizingly fear inspiring glare. "Potter, we can't pour all of that into you this afternoon, so you are going to have to be patient as we bring you along as quickly as we can." He leaned back and snorted. "I know expecting patience from a teenager's like expecting Muggles to fly brooms, but you can't be a teenager any more. This is war!

"We need you to be a powerful experienced fighting machine. It would normally take about five to seven more years to get you there, but we don't have nearly that much time. So, first, we're going to rip your head open." Harry leaned back in horror. "No, not literally, lad. We're going to shove as much as we can in you day and night until your ears leak, and then we are going to pour in some more. But it'll still take time even though we'll proceed at an unheard of pace. This program of Dumbledore's, it's brilliant - but none of that now. More for you to learn patience with, Potter." Moody winked at him wryly.

"Now, let me see, what else can we learn from his death? Lupin told you he thought Sirius was to blame for not fighting as hard as he could. I didn't see it, but if that's true, he holds a goodly share of the blame for his being hit."

Harry almost screamed, "It's not his fault, it's mine!"

"Haven't you been paying attention to those older and wiser, you young pup?" Moving like a cobra strike, Moody roughly grabbed Harry's arm. "It's rare that blame can be laid at any one fireplace. Every bit of personal castigation taken by Lupin and Dumbledore is valid for the most part. If Sirius had blasted Bella properly, he'd be here with us today, probably. If you'd listened or learned, or both, none of it would have happened. If you'd killed Voldemort instead of whatever you did as a baby, well...

"If, if, if. If blast-ended skrewts had wings there'd be more forest fires. Waste your life if-ing if you want, but this is war. Perhaps you've heard about it."

Harry gave him an angry glare, but unless his magical eye was on him at the moment, Moody didn't see it.

"I told you I'm here so you can learn from the battle and anything else that comes to my mind. But tell me, why do you think you're here?"

Harry gave him a confused look. He thought that Moody had already answered that in his previous sentence. "If you're here so I can learn from the battle, then I'm here to learn."

"Only partly right. I'm not spending my time teaching you just to teach you. That's what your real professors are for. You're here for the same reason I asked you to call me Moody. If we can't control you, we might as well make you into the leader and fighter that you're obviously meant to be. There's lots I can teach you about fighting, you're a masterful mess in a fight. Inspiring, quick, brilliant, and you should have been killed several times that night that I saw, so count yourself lucky, too. But you should have been, could have been better, even at this age. Three of your Defense professors were a total waste of time, and one of the two good instructors was a Death Eater effectively teaching you so as not to bring suspicion on himself." Moody shook his head in disbelief. "We need to pour a lot more battle tactics and spells, jinxes, and a few choice curses into that brain to make you a force to be reckoned with. Dumbledore's finally getting smart about your Defense training, and NO, I'm not going to tell you about it. That's not my big concern or why I'm here today. This is no place to teach anything about fighting.

"I'm here today to talk to you about being a leader, particularly about getting more people killed - or not getting them killed actually."

Harry exploded, "I'm not going after Voldemort with anyone else. I'll go alone and then..."

"And then you're dead and all of your friends will die." Moody said this with such a hollow sound to his voice, and such a haunted look on his face, that Harry was startled into silence. He was at the proper angle to see that both eyes stared straight forward. The human eye saw nothing, and if possible, neither did the magical orb.

(It did not occur to Harry that he had stated that he was going after Voldemort, or that Moody wasn't surprised by the statement.)

Moody continued on, almost droning, but still captivating. "Dumbledore told me that you saw me, in his memories in his Pensieve, at the trials for Karkaroff and Bagman. Do you know why I was not at the trial for the three Lestranges and young Barty Crouch?"

Harry shook his head imperceptibly and Moody, though looking away, spoke as though he had seen the signal.

"I led the first of two teams to capture those four. We far outnumbered them. My team had seven and the second had five. Team Two was intended to be backup and close in after we called. Snape'd found their location for us, and his information was quite good. But the attack went all wrong."

"Is that why you hated Snape - he led you into an ambush?"

"No," Moody answered distantly. "Happened long before that night - the hatred. Actually began to trust him by then... his information was good and he warned me...." Moody trailed off here.

It worried Harry that Moody might be slipping into a trance, or something worse. He was so still that Harry couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

Moody continued, "They had no wards or protective barriers of any kind. Nothing to warn of our approach." The old Auror drifted again for a bit. "I told everyone it was a piece of mince pie, my favorite. Gave them their assignments - covered all entrances and routes of escape, used the typical spread. Said all of the right things. But they all knew. My team knew I had no intention of capturing them."

Moody went silent again. Harry knew he had plenty of time left on his three hours, so he let Moody drift. Whatever was happening to him, this story was important and difficult for the Auror to recall or tell.

"Longbottom's mother was a schoolmate of mine. Frank's mother, Neville's 'Gran,' he calls her. We'd been such good friends." Moody went silent, barely breathing. "I was going to kill Bellatrix - what she did to Frank and Alice... and plenty of others she'd killed or tortured, or tortured AND killed. I'd found too many of her victims. So I planned to kill her, all four of them, if need be. We had permission to use the Unforgivables still, though I'd used rarely before, but I had every intention of doing so that night. All indications were that they were sitting at a table, eating. Best time to attack, that. Hands occupied, thinking about food and talking. Doubly occupied minds.

"I failed to follow my own advice. Cocky arrogance, not constant vigilance. I wanted the kill. I jumped the starting whistle and Apparated in before my team was ready. I appeared before them and called to Bella so she'd know it was me. She did not bother with a response. Her right hand held her wand in her lap and she pointed it at me under her left arm, which was holding a goblet. She sent something like a Reductor curse at me without even looking my way. It was a quick, poorly aimed shot for my chest that would have been a killing blow. Instead it pulverized my leg off of my body. The pain was so excruciating that I fainted, but not before screaming. This caused my team to Apparate in randomly and that destroyed the cohesiveness of the attack.

"Six of the seven were killed outright. The seventh still has the shakes from the Cruciatus Curse. The four fugitives saw the last enter and were toying with him, using that Crucio, when the backup team Apparated in properly and disarmed them instantly.

"After I fainted, somehow I lost my eye. The second team found a piece of wood sticking out of the socket. They said that they thought it had gone through my brain and that I must be dead. Probably why those four didn't finish me off with the Killing Curse for good measure."

The hollow look was gone. The look of determination on Moody's face was frightening when he turned full view at Harry.

"Two good women and four good men died that night and it was all my fault, I thought. But most of the blame lies with Voldemort and the Lestranges. I didn't kill my team members. Our targets did. None of my team were afraid of death, so none of them are ghosts today. But their lives haunt me every day and almost every night. The chilling part is that they never blame me in my dreams, and they argue with me when I take the culpability upon myself. They were all my friends, and they don't want me to suffer. Imagine that.

"It's to their credit that when I entered the fight in the Department of Mysteries that night, that I didn't forego proper battle tactics and run across the room and attack Bellatrix. I went for the tactically wisest person for me to attack, and hoped she'd wander into my battle range. She didn't. Bloody shame.

"I retired not that long after that bloody fiasco back in '82. With this peg leg I didn't officially meet the physical standards of the Auror Corps. Oh, there've been exceptions in the past, and I was told in St. Mungo's almost immediately when I first woke up, that I'd been given a waiver. Told me that before telling me about my missing leg. They could conjure up a better looking prosthetic, and make it work much like a real leg, but I keep this," he patted his stump, "as a reminder. That and this eye, which is quite useful, makes most people avoid me. And that's worth a lot.

"Less than six months back on the job, with all the Death Eaters either in Azakaban or dubiously exonerated, I suggested we keep an eye on those who'd said that they had been under the Imperius, just to see if they were up to no good. Well, Malfoy had just made his first big donation to Fudge's latest charity favorite, so our esteemed Minister of Magic shelved the idea and had me assigned to a desk. I quit, hoping to draw attention to the problem. Instead, Fudge made it an official retirement, which does pay the bills, and then he immediately started leaking innuendoes to the press that I'd gone round the bend.

"He's the one who's supposed to have hung the moniker, 'Mad-Eye' on me. I wear it proudly to spit in his eye. Lot of good it does me, or harm it does him. But you and Dumbledore are not the first ones he's tried to ruin in the press, so that's one more way we're comrades, I suppose."

Moody smiled what would be considered by most a very unsettling smile at Harry. But the younger wizard was actually heartened by the inclusion.

"Potter, do you think Sirius wants you in agony right now? My friends don't blame me, and they can blame me more that he can you. Or do you think Sirius would rather have you preparing to lead your friends, thunderation, perhaps all of us against those evil Death Eaters? Don't you think he'd like to see you victorious instead of simpering in a pathetic room full of your cousin's cast off possessions?

"This is war, lad. I'm proud of the way you fought that night, and that you saved the lives of your friends. We'll need all the lifesaving we can find before this is over, I suspect."

Moody said, "Stand up, Potter," as he rose as gracefully as a man with a wooden peg leg could. He held out his hand.

Harry went to shake and Moody grabbed him with an iron grip. His hand did not hurt, but there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he would not leave until Moody released him.

"I am not going to pump you up to make you feel better, but I lied earlier. I do care how you feel. But no one can make you feel better. You are solely in charge of that. You've got a war to fight and to win. So you take care of your feelings. We need you."

Moody released his hand and the two of them sat back down and wordlessly drank their butterbeers, staring at nothing for several long minutes. Harry asked about the explosives used on the Grangers' dental office.

"Thought about that, did you? So'd I. So did Dumbledore, which is no surprise. We don't know a blessed thing yet. Why would they use a Muggle device? Probably more important, where did they get it and what alliances have they formed, if any, with Muggles who have and can use illegal Muggle technology? Good catch, Potter. Thinking like an Auror there."

_____________________________

Harry returned to his "pathetic room full of his cousin's cast off possessions" and it did not look as pathetic as it had when he had left it that morning. He helped his Aunt Petunia with lunch. After he had washed the dishes from that meal, he helped her a little in the garden, where he could, but she was working on her roses, and no one else touched her roses.

About half past two in the afternoon, he marched up the stairs to his room to find a note on his desk that Hedwig has apparently delivered sometime since he'd left that morning. The owl was not there at the time. He had told Luna that she could ask Hedwig to stay if she would write a reply soon.

The letter was chatty, unlike Luna, who could best be described as dreamy, and not as in attractively-dreamy-looking, even though she was cute, Harry had admitted to himself.

Halfway through the return note Harry realized that his attempts at subtlety in the romance department had been anything but. She was not interested in him, which she didn't really say, but said nonetheless. Harry re-read the pertinent passage.

...if his Gran can get us a waiver of the law on underage magic, Neville and I are planning to spend a lot of time together teaching a neighbor of his, a fellow Hogwarts student, all of the things you taught us in the DA. She's such an interesting lady, his Gran, and I love her choice in hats.

Speaking of her, Neville's Gran took him to buy a new wand. I didn't know his wand had not chosen him like mine did me. No wonder he had such problems when he first started school.

I appreciate your interest in me, but you should look closer to home, in Gryffindor House. That's where I have found my love interest....

Her letter went on and on, and was interesting, but Harry was less interested than he might've been had she expressed any romantic inclination towards him. Somehow, Harry knew he had been let down by the girl, but he did not really feel bad about it. Luna was so open, honest, and guileless. How could he not wish her well? Surely her Gryffindor was Neville, and Harry admitted to himself that they made a fine, um, fascinating pair.

As far as someone "closer to home, in Gryffindor House" for him, Harry guessed Luna meant Ginny. For someone who appeared to be in a fog and yet could be so perceptive, Luna could also be so oblivious. Luna and Ginny were long-term friends and year mates, even though not in the same house. Plus, their families both lived near Ottery St. Catchpole. Surely Luna knew Ginny and Dean Thomas were dating.

But the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him that he'd been rejected by Luna for Neville. He wasn't upset with her specifically. He found that he really wanted a girlfriend. Any girl would do, he thought as he stormed across his mind, accepting and rejecting this girl and that as their faces popped into his head. He went to his desk and started, and destroyed, several letters yo various Hogwarts females. His mind was in a panic combined with a funk, compounded by desperation.

Finally, realizing he was much more upset than the situation warranted, Harry stood and went to his window. He stared at a particular rose moving gently in the humid wind. He concentrated on it and let his mind clear, much like Professor Snape had suggested he do during Occlumency lessons.

His heart rate slowed; his breathing calmed.

After a minute Harry wondered what had been going on. He made a mental note to ask Dumbledore if what had occurred could have been caused by Voldemort. Would the evil Dark Wizard want Harry panicking over the lack of a girlfriend? The idea was preposterous. Harry actually chuckled out loud, and threw himself back on the bed.

He thought to himself as he dozed off, that he really didn't need a girlfriend. He wondered why he wanted one so desperately. Another short nap came quickly.

It never occurred to Harry in those moments before dozing off, that he was ideally scrolling through the names and faces of girls in his year comparing them to Hermione, the baseline in his subconscious of what a suitable girl for him would be.

Hermione was in the library at twelve Grimmauld Place, not because she felt like reading, well, she always felt like reading and researching and had many things she wanted to explore, but she would have the entire summer it appeared, now that the decision had been made by Dumbledore that they should stay there until the start of school.

No, Hermione was in the library to avoid one of her two best friends. Harry was no where near, so that left Ron - sweet, stubborn, gallant, dense, caring, clueless, handsome, irascible, fun, infuriating Ron. And the library, any library was as effective as a girls restroom at keeping him away from her - with the added bonus that after an hour, or six, Ron wouldn't wonder why she was still in there like he would a water closet.

It was unfair, really. Here was one of the two young men, not boys any more actually, that she knew better than even her father, and for all his faults, Ron was and would be a fine man of honor who would almost assuredly love her, protect her, and provide for her for the rest of their lives together. Not that she couldn't do those things for herself, except for the love part, but objectively those were major elements of what one looked for in a husband.

And that was the nub of it. Hermione did not see herself as the 'summer fling' type. Oh, if she were in another country for the holidays, and had met a guy to date some, and even perhaps kiss a bit, then end it as friends, just a light friendly go nowhere romance: that might have been fine.

But this was Ron - once again one of her two best friends. If they started dating, they would start at the courtship level for the most part. That didn't mean that they would be married eventually, but a break up would probably seriously limit their friendship, probably end it. That was a risk she might be willing to take,if she knew, really felt now that Ron would be in the future closer to the man she would like to spend her life with.

But would he?

Ron accused her of being too serious quite often. And she had hurled back at him on more than one occasion that he took nothing seriously. Both were not categorically true, but were true to a degree. And that really was the nub of it.

Could Ron become serious enough to be her beau and eventually life partner? She'd need someone who would stay with her to some degree intellectually, someone who didn't have to be her equal in academic pursuits, but could learn enough to appreciate whatever interested her. She knew the rules of Quidditch, went to the games, and could follow conversations between Harry and Ron on the sport. And though it was a simplistic comparison, did Ron even know what the study of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes had in common?

Ron had a good mind, his love and mastery of wizards chess proved that, why didn't he want to apply it to other matters? Besides Quidditch.

Harry at least understood her interests and followed her conversations asking intelligent questions that showed he was paying attention. Harry applied himself, not as much as she would have liked him to, but he did study and struggle through to understanding.

Harry also had those marvelous green eyes--

WHAT? Where did that thought come-- Okay objectively his eyes were the talk of every girl in the school--

Hermione never thought of herself like every girl at Hogwarts. And that also was the nub of it.

Harry's first issue of his new subscription to the Daily Prophet arrived, not in the morning, but just before 3:30 in the afternoon. Besides the timing, it was odd that Hedwig delivered it, and not a regular owl from the newspaper. All of that was temporarily forgotten when he saw the lead story.

Disaster struck three diverse locations around England as dementors appeared out of nowhere and struck down witch, wizard, and Muggle alike.

Not far from Abington Pigotts in Cambridgeshire County, a reunion of the Abingtons and Piggots, wizarding families dating back to when the Muggles didn't think the castle was in ruins, was interrupted by what first appeared like an unexpected solar eclipse. Mrs. Emolentine Abington- Smythner was quoted as saying, "Of course an unexpected eclipse is ridiculous, but you don't think straight when a dementor is nearby, now do you? This great dirty- bed-sheet looking thing appears out of nowhere and soon as I decided whether I would wash it with Magical Scrub-All or just burn it - fire and an experience with dirty linen being two of my worst childhood memories - it descends on my fourth cousin once removed, Benedict Pigott, and kissed him. His soul's gone. Of course exchanging saliva with total strangers is another bad memory."

In Marazion, in the county of Cornwall, the quaint coastal town has existed for nearly two hundred years in ignorance of the witches' artist colony right to the east of the town. Patsy Snodhill - local artist of some fame, having painted the famous picture of the British sloop of war, HMS Witch of Endor, with the witch - was given the dementor's Kiss, and was cut down in the midst of a promising young career. The one hundred and forty-four year-old witch was unable to Apparate out of the way. Three Muggles were also assaulted and kissed. The Obliviators were barely able to handle the catastrophe.

One bright light in all of these tragedies is the Hogwarts student, Ernie Macmillan, who was present at the third attack, which took place near his family's summer estate in Willmontswick in Northumberland. The dementors appeared right in the midst of the Shrankdiagon, which is billed in wizarding tourguides as the "Little Diagon Alley of the North." Said Macmillan, "My mum, my little sister, and I had just walked out of the broom shop up here. I had just purchased my new Firebolt, a reward for doing so well on my O.W.L.s. I looked up and saw them coming. I remembered what Harry Potter had taught me about casting a Patronus. So I thought about being able to play Quidditch like I had never played before on my new broom, scoring more goals with the Quaffle than ever. Harry was right, it's not easy when they bear down on you, but they had not closed on me near enough to feel them much, yet. I had the outline of my Patronus last year when Harry was training us, but this was a fully formed silver badger. I am delighted that my Patronus takes the form of the Hufflepuff Badger."

"My Ernie has made us ever so proud," said Mrs. Macmillan. "Those dementors didn't stand a chance. Ernie just earned twelve O.W.L.s, including Outstanding on both his Practical and Theoretical in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, had this to say when asked about Ministry steps to bring the runaway dementors back under Ministry control, "I would expect nothing else from young Macmillan. He comes from a noble pureblood family, and of course he had a Ministry appointed Defense Instructor last year, Dolores Umbridge."

Umbridge was unavailable for comment. Supposedly she is on sabbatical in the Galapagos Islands...

After his fury about Fudge's Umbridge comment died down, Harry noticed the letters attached to Hedwig's leg. The newspaper had distracted him from his owl. After he looked up from the lead article of the issue, his beautiful snowy white owl lifted her right leg to draw his attention.

"I'm sorry, girl. I didn't even give you any treats, did I?" He removed the letters and opened Hedwig's cage door. She moved to its perch before he could assist her. He let her eat several treats directly from his hand, ignoring the less than friendly first nip, and cooing to her. Friendlier nips accompanied additional treats. He placed more treats in the cage's tray, and left her door open so she could exit on her own if she so chose.

The first of the three correspondences was actually a single small folded piece of parchment that was not sealed like a letter.

Harry,

I forgot to tell you that we are having your owl posts and newspaper brought to, well, you-know-where so that strange owls cannot bring you anything that will harm you or lead Death Eaters to you. We will wait until mid afternoon and deliver everything at once, that way we can test everything completely. It has been discovered that V. is using some Muggle technologies in addition to explosive devices, and we think he may be considering using Muggle poisons - crude but effective if we do not know about them, which we don't. The G's are helping with this.

Hedwig will be the sole deliverer to you this summer while you are at your aunt's, so any other bird will mean trouble, besides Fawkes I suppose. But we have the wards tuned to Hedwig only, so no others should get through.

I'm grateful for our chat yesterday and I hope to have more information on the guardianship when we meet next, which will be soon!

Remus

Harry was not sure he liked anyone going through his letters, but he had to admit he would not recognize Muggle poisons other than household items such as cleansers.

He then opened the first real letter. It also was brief.

Harry,

I hope you've read today's Daily Prophet. It talks about Ernie dealing with those dementors, which is great. I'm glad that you're receiving some favorable mention in that rag, but what it doesn't say is that I was supposed to be at the family reunion at Cainhoe Castle that day. My maternal great-grandmother was a Piggott. We failed to attend only because my little sister came down with some stomach ailment and had to be taken to St. Mungo's. I chose not to go by myself.

The reason I write is that I know I probably wouldn't have fared as well as Ernie did. I know you are wherever you are with your Muggle relations for whatever reason, but could I ask you to write a refresher on producing a Patronus? I need any advice you could give me on any technique or way to think the happy thoughts needed. My first efforts that last DA meeting were pathetic.

That was my distant Aunt Emolentine they interviewed. She is not as scattered as she sounds there. She must've still been frightened out of her wits when she spoke to the reporter.

I'm a good student, but she was considered brilliant, so I don't imagine I would have fared any better than she did. The thing is, I want to do better. I want to be able to defend myself and my family if need be. Though they were Ravenclaws and all that entails, neither of my parents were outstanding students in DADA. Mum is a researcher in medical potions at St. Mungo's, and Dad works for Gringotts. I would have been the defender of my family if we'd been there.

I remember hearing in one of the many rumors about you that the first time you cast a corporeal Patronus you were being attacked by a hundred dementors. It may be an exaggeration, but all of the wild stories about you usually prove to be true. If it was just ten, you know what it takes to produce one under such pressure.

The published Ministry guidelines are rubbish. Whatever you can write for me, any scrap of help - well, my family and I would be most grateful.

Warmest Regards,

Terry Boot

Harry then opened the second real letter. It was equally earnest, brief, and desperate.

Dear Harry,

I believe you know of the nervous state my father is in after discovering his murdered brothers and their families so long ago.

We were at the Marazion witches artists' colony. The attack occurred not ten minutes after we left to drive home. My mum is a Muggle and it was a pleasant drive. Then the Daily Prophet arrived this morning. My dad was in a frantic state all morning and finally my mum had to sedate him a few minutes ago.

Can you help me somehow get to where I can cast a Patronus? I realize it is a lot to ask, but if I can do it somehow, even if I can tell my dad you are trying to help me, it will calm him, I know it will. Aunt Amelia says that we are protected because of wards set up because we are members of her family, but that doesn't seem to calm Dad. I asked her to have someone from the MLE office teach me, but she is not allowed to because I am underage. I can't beg her to break the rules.

I know this is a lot to ask, but please, whatever you can do, please give me something to grant my father some shred of hope and peace of mind, even if you have to make it up.

Thank you for whatever you can do,

Susan Bones

In Harry's mind one DA member at a dementor appearance was a coincidence, two separate occurrences were uncomfortably suspicious, and three such events were intentional. There were less than thirty DA members including himself, and Seamus Finnegan who had attended only one meeting. That was over ten percent of the DA in locations where dementor attacks had taken place.

Dolores Umbridge, Draco Malfoy, and who knew whom else on the Inquisitorial Squad had seen the list of DA members.

"I have one delivery for you to make, girl," he said to Hedwig. She ruffled her feathers in acceptance as Harry pulled out parchment, ink, and quill. He dashed off a quick note to Remus Lupin, asking him to read his two letters, and telling Lupin that he intended to write all of the DA members with the instructions requested by these two. He wrote that he would write all twenty-eight himself, but inquired if Hermione, Ron, and Ginny might be asked to help him make copies, so the information could be distributed as soon as practicable.

Harry was a little over half of the way through writing his Patronus instructions when Hedwig reappeared. Remus wrote that arrangements were being made for copies of Harry's letter to be produced for the DA members, all he needed to do was write the instructions once. There was an automated manner for the copies to be made. Lupin also stated that a number of owls might also be available to speed delivery.

Just before ten o'clock that night, Harry finished the final draft of the instructions. It was nearly a whole scroll of information. He talked about the attitudes needed when one attempts the charm, the expression in one's voice, and steeling yourself against the chilling of one's flesh and spirit when dementors first appear. He discussed wand movements and when to actually cast the Charm for maximum effect. In part, Harry wrote:

You have to be mentally prepared more than anything for casting a Patronus Charm, and there are three things you must be ready for.

First, a dementor is going to suck away whatever thoughts are in your head as it approaches you. However happy, depressing or upsetting your thoughts are at that time, they will leave your mind and you will be left with the worst things you have ever heard or seen, even if your mind doesn't remember them. You must remember this the second they appear and don't let it take you to that dark place in your mind, even though that is where your brain wants to go.

Second, because of this, you must've prepared ahead of time, at least one amazingly brilliant, happy thing to think about. The love of your family, if you have that, is a really good thought. Success in school, fun on the Quidditch pitch, something, as long as it is a really STRONG happy memory. If you have nothing like that, then you can imagine a really strong memory you want to happen, even if it hasn't yet, or just can't. The strong thought I used to produce a Patronus during our O.W.L.s was Umbridge leaving, and she hadn't yet. Anyway, make it a very strong thought or memory. Practice it. Think about it often. Daydream about it. Make it a thought you can instantly go to and dwell on to the exclusion of all around you.

Third, when a dementor first nears you, it will start to feel chilly and get dark; if it is nighttime the stars will go away. You'll probably not be aware of the dementor at first, just the chill and the darkness. The very moment anything like that happens, don't look around to see if it is a dementor. Go straight to your strongest happy memory or thought, and when you are there in your mind, then look for the possible attack. Then cast the charm as soon as you see them. Don't wait. Keep dwelling on the thought or memory until you know you are out of danger.

I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH how important it is to practice dwelling on your strongest, happiest thoughts, memories, and dreams.

Now when you actually cast...

At ten o'clock the next morning, Harry approached Arabella Figg's house. It was Ginny Weasley who opened the door just before Harry knocked.

"Are you the third person I'm s'pposed to talk to?" he asked with great incredulity after exchanging brief pleasantries.

"No. Mrs. Figg called us and told us she would not be back until late today. Harry, there's a telly-phone at Grimmauld Place and it's fascinating. You pick up the retriever-"

"It's a receiver," Harry corrected, and when he saw that Ginny was embarrassed by it, he said, "Very common mistake."

Ginny softened her blush and continued, "We heard this ringing, and none of us knew what to do. Mr. Granger was walking down the stairs and called out from outside of the kitchen, 'Do you want me to get it?' Well, none of us knew what 'it' was, but Dad shouted back, 'Please do.' Mr. Granger walked into the kitchen and told Dad that it was for him.

"Well, Dad asked what was for him, and when Mr. Granger said that it was a telly-phone call, I thought Dad was going to explode with excitement. He rushed into the hallway and we all followed him. He walked over to the table in the foyer and looked down at the three items on it. He finally picked up the letter opener and held it to his ear and shouted, 'Hello?' Ron is the only one of us to use a telly-phone before when he tried to call you, but that went badly, and besides, he was still sleeping.

"By this time Hermione and her mother had come down the stairs, and Hermione walked over to that small wooden picture frame with nothing but wood in it, no picture. I had always been curious about it, but we always stayed out of the foyer because of Mrs. Black's portrait. Well, turns out it's not a picture frame but the cover for the telly-phone box. She pulled it open, took the...er, receiver off of the cradle and asked who they were waiting for - Dad, of course. She handed it to him and made sure he held it properly. She even told him he didn't need to shout.

"Later, Mum wanted to give Dad a hard time about picking up the letter opener, but Dad said that of the three things, a paper weight, a candleholder, and a letter opener, the opener was the most logical to pick up since it is used in communications. Mrs. Granger agreed that it was a logical conclusion. That explanation pleased Dad, but the three Grangers were all smiling behind their tea and coffee cups.

"It turns out that Professor Dumbledore had the telly-phone installed somehow, when the Order first made its headquarters there. Mum and Dad keep saying that Dumbledore has connections in the Muggle world that we don't know about, but they are usually the most surprised when he proves the fact.

"Anyway, everyone else is busy today with this or that, and I volunteered to come get you. It's safe now that Fred and George invented the secure Floo powder."

"They did that?" Harry asked in amazement.

"Yes, Fred says that it's a variation on the exclusionary charms witches put on items to keep people out of drawers and cupboards and such. They just distilled the charm into a potion and then crystallized it, and ground it into a powder. They won't say how it works, but it's amazing. Mum can't seem to figure out how to be so proud of them and still be mad that they left school before completing their N.E.W.T.s."

Harry enjoyed hearing her talk like her brothers had said she always did, except when he was around. He was very glad that Ginny was a friend now, and not just Ron's shy little sister with a crush on him. He frowned slightly at the thought that she was now Dean Thomas' girlfriend, but did not have time to realize why he'd frowned.

"I was told to ask how long you asked your aunt to be away today."

"I asked for the rest of the day, but she said I have to be back by 2:00 to cut the grass. So, I have four hours. If this only takes the usual two-to-three hours, I should be good.

Harry was about to ask Ginny about the dating relationship between Ron and Hermione when she said, "Well, you'll have plenty of time to talk to Mr. Granger, have lunch, and maybe visit with us some, but we need to hurry now before mum starts to worry."

They both exited the fireplace at Grimmauld Place in typical fashion. Harry rolled out and landed on his face, slewing ashes and soot everywhere. Ginny gracefully stepped around him and brushed a little bit of debris from her jumper sleeve. Mrs. Weasley was there with her wand and applied a cleaning spell to him and the floor around the fireplace in the kitchen. The looks on her face was both delight and concern.

"Harry, dear," she said around her hug, "how are you?"

"Fine."

She said, "What else? Can I get you tea? I have some scones left over from breakfast, raisin?"

"That would be great, Mrs. Weasley, thanks."

Herminone rushed in and shouted, "Harry," into to his shoulder as she hugged him. Ron appeared at the door and joined the greeting, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger also came in. Harry had to tear himself from Hermione to greet the others, and it was unclear whether it was Harry holding her, or Hermione clinging to him that was toughest to break.

The five chatted for a while and then Ted Granger guided Harry to the library on the second floor. On the way up, Harry congratulated him again on his defense against the Death Eaters. The dentist waved that off and ushered Harry into the library.

"They've removed everything from this room that can jump out and attack me, they say, as long as I stay away from those shelves over there." He pointed to the west side of the room where there were a number of books and bric-a-brac arranged haphazardly.

"I give them a wide berth and yet, I don't like to go anywhere in this house without a magical escort. Of course I feel more secure in our bedroom, which has been stripped of everything but a bed, table, oil lamp, and one small chest for our clothing, and my weapons chest, of course. Hermione sleeps in the next room and we crack the door so she can hear us call out in the night."

"Here we are, heroes of sorts with the Order, celebrated for successfully defending ourselves from Death Eaters. People Hermione knows, or at least recognizes, come by to shake our hands, and my daughter is mightily impressed with some of them, and yet, I'm afraid to go to my own bedroom without my little girl checking out if it's safe, and staying near me while I'm there. And I thought just having a daughter as a witch was as weird as it could be." The dentist gave Harry a rueful grin and part of a blush.

They sat down at right angles to each other, Granger on a stuffed chair and Harry on the end of the couch nearer him. They settled their tea cups on the end table between them.

"So, Harry, do you know why we are here today, the two of us, talking for the next hour or two?"

"I'm here to get on with what's happened so I can do my part in this war." The sound of his voice spoke volumes about his distaste for the process as well as the progress he had made since his first visit with Lupin. Then Harry continued, "I guess you're here to help me in some way. I'll never get over Sirius' death and the role I played in it. I should have listened to your daughter." He paused for a moment after the rush of those last few words. "But I didn't, and there is no changing that. I have to go on to prepare for whatever else is... for war." Harry said this last very slowly. Then he rushed again to his conclusion. "But I will never get over his death, I don't care what you or anyone else says. I'll just put it aside for now...."

Hermione had always known her father as a gentle, kind man, and had told Harry and Ron as much. Only in the last few days had anyone in the wizarding world come to know anything other than that about Ted Granger. He had been just one more helpless, defenseless Muggle parent of a young witch.

However, he also was one of only two people who had killed a Death Eater in a dozen years or more, but the look on his face as he looked at the hurting young man before him only showed the compassion Hermione had loved in her father all her life.

"Harry, you're right in all of this, except if you believe anyone wants you to forget Sirius. I never met him, but I admire him based on what Hermione has told me, as well as the rest of your friends in preparation for this chat with you. I miss him, not as a friend, obviously, but as a lost potential ally in this fight that I'm now in somehow.

"I'm here today to help you realize the most painful thing I could teach you - the future cost of this war - the possible future cost to you in this war."

Harry looked at him with mixed measures of fear and confusion on his face.

"I'm going to do it by telling you of another war, a non-magical war - a stupid war, the way it was fought. Not that that particular war had stupid aims; any time you fight tyranny to set people free it is a war worth fighting, if it has to be fought at all.

"Never let anyone convince you that professional soldiers want war, love war. They know war is horror on a grand scale. They know it must be avoided if at all possible, but that it cannot always be avoided. Therefore, they prepare so that war's effects can be minimized. Those insane enough to really like war are weeded out early on. Even those that want to fight a war because they feel they have a destiny there, don't really want it. They merely feel in some way that they have something to contribute above most other professional soldiers."

The dentist stared off into the unseen distance, and it was Harry's turn to look at a face seeing ghosts not at all like Sir Nicholas.

"Harry, what do you know about the Vietnam War?"

"It was a war fought in the Orient by the Americans twenty or thirty years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes, close enough. But did you know forces of the Commonwealth fought in it also?"

Harry looked up surprised, "You mean British soldiers...?"

"Not exactly. Australian and New Zealander forces were there."

"So no actual British soldiers were there?"

"Once again, not exactly. The SAS, the Special Air Service - you've heard of them, haven't you?"

Harry nodded. He had sat near Hermione on the Knight Bus trip to Mrs. Figg's house, but the parents had not told their daughter how they were able to defeat the Death Eaters on the bus. "They're our best Muggle soldiers. They're fearless and can go anywhere, do anything." His eyes went very wide and very round. "Were you in the SAS?"

Ted Granger smiled what looked like a too wise smile. "Yes, we are not quite the supermen you describe," he sat up even straighter, drawing Harry's attention to the fact that Hermione's father had already been sitting up almost at attention, "But we always get the job done."

"Harry. It's the SAS's job to be prepared to fight any type of small squad action there is. We are not assault battalions to take the beach on some distant shore. That's the task of the Royal Marines and even the regular army. We go into tight situations where stealth, and silence, and even invisibility are needed. I could have used the Invisibility Cloak Hermione tells me you have."

They both smiled, and Ted continued. "We usually are sent in when the situation is near hopeless, and we are supposed to be miracle workers. To pull off the impossible, we train to do what others consider impossible, and will go to any extreme to gain insight and experience in all possible types of fighting."

"Mr. Granger, are you still in the SAS?"

Once again he smiled and actually blushed a little. "Once an SAS, always an SAS. I know a lot of military units around the world feel that way, but we hold no second seat to any other force in the world. But no, I'm not still in the SAS. However, every former SAS member I've ever met talks the way I do, so maybe it's something they inject us with when we get our yearly medical check-ups." He smiled once more and Harry joined him.

"The moment the Australians announced they would go to Vietnam, our Brigadier began to lobby for squad-sized forces of our men to go there dressed as and insinuated in with Australian troops, and later the New Zealanders. We went over in squads of twelve to twenty men, depending on what we were experimenting with. The Americans had their Green Beret forces there leading local forces in fighting, and some of us went there to do the same. I was a part of one of those squads sent to learn how to better lead indigenous forces.

"I went in 1971, and we were supposed to be there as New Zealanders. We wore their uniforms, ate out of their mess halls, and accessed their quartermasters for whatever we needed, but we received our orders from headquarters.

"Before we left, we trained in a competitive manner. Our lieutenant was a regular officer, but our sergeant major was much older, and he was not going to be in the chain of command. Each man is supposed to be prepared to take command, but three of us were told we were in competition to be the Number Two. When we were to go out and fight with a local Vietnamese unit of company or brigade size, we would all correspond to officers or squad leaders in that unit.

"Our lieutenant consulted with the company captain. Our sergeant major stayed with the company executive officer, and each of us were assigned to platoon leaders or squad leaders. But the question was who would do what if anyone were wounded or... killed." He stared at his hands for several long seconds before continuing.

"When we went over there, our lieutenant wore New Zealander major's leaves, our sergeant major wore an NZ lieutenant's bar, as did most of the rest of our sergeants, and our corporals were staff sergeants or better. The question, and the competition, was held to see who would wear the NZ captain's bars as second in command.

"Now, I was one of the competitors, and so was Pen Warden, who I knew I could beat. But the third was Tanner Jenkins, my best friend in the service. Tanner was not only the one man of the non-commissioned officers in the unit that often beat me, he was also the son of the brigadier.

"I had great respect for Tanner beyond his skills and abilities, because he was a bit of a misfit, in a good way in my views. He came from a long line of soldiers, and was the last Jenkins in the line. They had served the crown in military positions since before the Napoleonic Wars. It was always assumed that Tanner would go to the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst like his father, and his father's father, and so on. Sandhurst is where our future officer corps goes to train for war and become professional officers.

"But Tanner had always been a great reader. He had read enough fact and too much fiction about how officers were a bit unfeeling towards their men. He told me that his father seemed so reserved, that he felt sure the brigadier could fall in that unsympathetic category. So Tanner told his father he was going to travel around Europe for a bit, but instead he went into London and enlisted. He and I were in basic training together, and we were a little over half the way finished, when a long military car with driver appeared. Tanner was called to the company training office, and we heard there was quite a row between father and son.

"Tanner never told me about it until much later. The brigadier wanted to have him released for Sandhurst, and Tanner refused. One of our mob that was always causing trouble heard about it and accused him, as if it would have been Tanner's idea, that now the corporals and sergeants would go easy on him. This bully-type, his name was Colder, was a big brute and really strong, but he had already proven himself soft on running and endurance training. Instead of instigating a fight, Tanner looked at him and laughed. He simply said, "I wish," and went back to polishing his boots.

"The next morning it felt like a railroad car had been dropped on us. The cadre woke us an extra hour early, and doubled our running time for the rest of basic. Everything was increased from the number of sit-ups, to running times, to the number of holes we had to dig. It was doubled for all of us except for Tanner, his work load was tripled wherever possible. He was 'volunteered' for every bad assignment in addition to his increased workload. The sergeants and corporals were quick to let us know that the extra effort was at the request of Tanner's father. I realized it wasn't Tanner's fault, but I was just about the only one. We were well into our hand-to-hand combat training by then, and it was a good thing. I had boxed a little in school, but it was not a team sport where I studied, just a club activity.

"Colder talked several other minor bullies into helping him punish Tanner. I just couldn't stand by, even though Tanner and I weren't mates yet. So I stepped in, and the amazing thing to me was that all of the fighting skills they taught us had worked. The two of us took on five, each one bigger than us, and we won handily. We were instantly friends, because the rest of the training platoon either hated Tanner, and me with him, or they didn't want to have anything to do with us. The training cadre picked up on this and included me in on Tanner's extra work. This helped the others leave us alone since were getting better than they could have given us.

"He and I finished first and second in our basic group and were assigned to the same unit with no one else from our lot. Tanner had always done better on the testing, and leadership training, with me number two right behind him. I always did a little better than him on all things physical - again, we were one and two. When we'd done enough regular time to volunteer for SAS we were accepted. Tanner tried to tell me to wait and enter later. He said that entering with him and being his friend would make it much worse for me than it had been in basic, since his father was the SAS Brigadier.

"I figured I was already a better soldier because of the extra "attention" I had received as his friend, and I wanted to go into the SAS with the same questionable advantage. He told me that I was daft and half again."

Harry found himself amazed by this story. His Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley liked to watch old war movies on their television. He was never allowed to sit and watch with them, but if he had not been too upsetting to his aunt and uncle lately, he would be permitted to look and listen from the edge of the hall entrance. Now he was hearing a real life story of a real soldier who had fought in a war. Harry listened very intently.

"Tanner was correct, as he usually was about how the military worked. He'd been around it all of his life. We had it harder, and we survived, somehow, and we finished at the top once more. I made knife-fighting champion and he was the first promoted to corporal and given a squad. I made the same rank and was given my own squad in his platoon a month later.

"When it was announced that Tanner, Pen, and I were competing for the NZ captain's post, we three were all brand new sergeants. I felt like telling the company commander I didn't want the position, that Tanner should have it, but Tanner blew up in my face. After he went on a vent, the likes of which I had never seen before, he talked me into staying in to try for the position.

"On our final exercise, Tanner's team arrived after mine, because we started before them. The judges for the exercise would jump out of nowhere, and tag one man injured or another dead, and we would have to improvise a solution. I had a man wounded badly just before the time limit to secure our objective - clearing out a bunker positioned to stop the advance of an assault regiment. I left the wounded man behind and he was marked as hit and killed when I went back for him.

"When Tanner arrived with all of his men I knew I had lost. We had left fifteen minutes before they did, and he reached the completion point only three minutes after us. When he got close enough, the look on his face caused me concern. Before I could ask, his father the brigadier, who I didn't know was there, stepped up and announced that I would be the second in command in our squad on our Vietnam assignment. I was stunned. I found out when his father came forward to shake my hand that Tanner'd made a mistake.

"I remember his exact words. Brigadier Jenkins simply said, 'You showed what we need in the field.' Somehow I knew those words hurt the old man. Tanner was one of the first to rush up and congratulate me. He had a funny look on his face as well. Later he told me that a judge had tagged one of his men wounded and he, Tanner, had tried to carry him out. This slowed his squad, and just before they reached their assault point, they were tagged blown up by enemy mortar fire as a part of the counterattack his squad had failed to prevent.

"I tried to explain to the major in charge of the exercise that I had not considered leaving my man behind a true life-and-death decision, but Tanner had. No one listened to me. I wore the New Zealand captain's silver bars and Tanner wore a lieutenant's brass bar.

"We never were a part of the New Zealand forces in the field, or at any base if we could avoid it. We spent much more time with the American Green Berets than the Australians and New Zealanders, so our accents would not give us away. It was the idea for no one to be able to say, 'You're not one of us.'

"We'd been there for about five months working as small squads attached to other larger operations. Finally our squad was assigned to what would be a strong company of Vietnamese regulars being put together from several decimated companies. It might have been called a pocket regiment. We were all excited about the opportunity to recreate these failed units into an effective fighting force.

"Things went well for a while. It was out of the general role of the SAS to fight in such a large unit, but the initial idea was to make each Vietnamese squad and platoon into miniature SAS squads in fighting skills and thinking. And that is where the problem came. No one in these forces would take over if a superior was rendered ineffective by wounds or death.

"We British Commonwealth forces were and are trained so that if an officer goes down, the next highest rank takes over - on down the list. In the forces of South Vietnam, when an officer became ineffective, the soldiers under him usually either continued with their orders regardless of circumstances, froze in place, or ran. No one hardly ever took over command. Drill and train them as we might, we could not change this.

"Our first action with this unit was our last action. Tanner had gotten orders to leave us and report to Sandhurst for school. He was going to be a proper officer and I was glad for him. But he refused to leave us until the first mission had been completed.

It was supposed to be an easy field-training mission with the remotest possibility of enemy contact. Later we found out that Communist agents had infiltrated the command structure in that province, and we were sent there to fail miserably. That part of the mission our forces succeeded in.

Our squad commander, acting NZ Major Bartholomew, was killed immediately with all of the South Vietnamese senior unit officers when their bunker was hit by the first rocket of the attack. Our squad senior non-com, the sergeant major who'd been with us since SAS basic training, was badly wounded. I had to cut through the remaining tendons in his arm so we could bandage it and stem the blood flow. All of us went forward in the fight to stop the advance. Nearly all of the SVA troops were gone before we realized it. Two of our men went down in mortar blasts and were obliterated.

"I was left with an armless man, four unwounded men, and three fairly badly wounded. The twelfth man is today still listed as missing in action. We did have about a dozen of our local SVA soldiers with us and we "bugged out" in the vernacular of the Americans. We were about forty kilometers behind a very fluid front. We'd thought we were going in a dozen klicks, that's what we called kilometers there, another American expression. Anyway, we thought we were going in a dozen klicks from our trucks in an inactive area, wave the flag, and return the next day. Instead we were over thirty miles away with a division of the enemy between us and safety.

"And I was in charge. I decided we had to go away from our lines, hoping they wouldn't look for us in that direction. It almost worked. We went about five klicks away from our lines and went to ground. Half of our dozen SVA troops were not there when morning came. I had made the mistake of letting them provide security guard for us. When I discovered that, I had us up and moving, even though I had planned not to move until darkness that night. I couldn't risk one of them leading the enemy to us. We headed parallel to our lines for most of the day and then headed homeward, which was north and west over fifty kilometers, or about forty miles.

"Now I have used the phrase 'our lines' like there was a solid front. It wasn't so. The lines were very fluid, and where we were, the guerilla forces, the Viet Cong, or what the Americans called 'Charlie,' came and went as they pleased in small groups. We only had a sure point of safety where our jump off base had been. It was a combination Australian and South Vietnamese Army base, and we could only hope it had not fallen. After three more horrible days and nights we were less than two miles from safety, when a platoon of the Cong captured us. They had set a trap and we had walked into the ambush. They materialized out of the night and we each had guns to our heads.

"Not taking a chance, this time I had my SAS members providing front and rear guard; that took the four of us that were sound. The few Vietnamese troops still with us were helping the wounded. The attack came on us in the middle; the front and rear guard came in to help, and all four were overwhelmed and wounded, though not too badly.

"Harry, we were the best, superbly trained. But we had been out in the jungle moving slowly, dragging our wounded for over four days. We'd had hardly any sleep and no food. I'd been grazed by a bullet on my skull in the initial fighting, and I had a roaring headache the whole time. See?" Mr. Granger raised the hair from the right side of his head and showed a scar two inches long and as wide as his finger, that was still barely visible.

"The Cong killed the South Vietnamese outright. I had command of an armless sergeant major, who could barely walk, four badly wounded, and four lightly wounded. Tanner Jenkins was one of the lightly wounded.

"The Cong normally tie your arms up over your head with bamboo poles, keeping you spread like on a cross, but they didn't with us. They had to act immediately on another situation. Turns out, a large force of Australians was heading in our direction. The Cong got greedy that night; they wanted a second ambush. They had disarmed us, but they had no idea I had my Fairbairn in my arm sheath. My sleeves were down, but so were the sleeves of about half of my men. All they did was tie our hands behind our backs with leather strips and loop knots - effective if done tightly, but I had succeeded in flexing my wrist so the leather thong was loose.

"Six Cong stayed behind to guard us. The rest left. Our guards hit or kicked all of us and we went down - and as we learned in part of our training, we acted hurt worse than we were. The battle started and there were flares in the air, lighting the sky between us and the sounds of the battle. I dislocated my left thumb to get out of the strap."

The mild mannered dentist and former vicious jungle fighter bowed his head, placing it in his hands. Harry identified with him in that moment. He had fought several battles himself and had fallen comrades to remember. He reached out and put his hand on Mr. Granger's arm. Hermione's father raised his head. He was not crying or in any way teary-eyed, but he was stricken by the memories.

Ted Granger said barely above a whisper, "You've been in combat. You know what I've gone through, don't you? You just feel... guilty... to have survived when others...."

Harry knew no words, or even a nod, was necessary.

After a moment the dentist continued, "Hermione has told us everything she knows about your various fights with Voldemort. And yes, she told me that most are afraid to use that name, but you aren't and I'm not.

"Harry, I'm going to tell you, warrior-to-warrior, the details about that last fight - all that happened. There are records in Whitehall somewhere of that night, and I guess some in the SAS know of it, but Madge doesn't know the details that I'm going to share with you, and I never want Hermione to hear. It's not that I am ashamed, but... you've never actually killed someone, have you?" When the lad shook his head, Ted continued. "Well, I hope you never do, but Hermione feels, and I cannot fault her reasoning, that you will have to face this Voldemort sooner or later. I'm here to help you prepare to face that day."

The dentist straightened in his chair and cleared his throat before continuing. "That night in the jungle our guards were distracted by the flares," Mr. Granger resumed, "and I wiggled my hands loose. Tanner saw me and so did the sergeant major. I pulled my knife and went into action as silently as possible. Three of the six were dead before any sound was heard over the battle noises. I hit the fourth and pierced his heart, but he reflexively fingered his trigger and the other two turned and saw me. I reached number five and slit his throat but he put one bullet each in my upper arm and in my thigh. The sixth guard rose to shoot me and I would have never made it. Tanner jumped up into his line of fire and took a bullet in his upper left chest. I threw the knife into the throat of the last guard and he sprayed bullets around, hitting one of the seriously wounded and killing him, and wounding severely two of the lightly wounded. They were both so badly hurt that they had to be carried.

"The firefight between the Cong and the Australian forces was escalating - NVA troops were also adding to the noise and confusion of battle. I knew we could not make it back to the base while it was still dark, but I thought we could make contact with this advanced force fighting the Cong at the moment. I started the two lightly wounded off and they were trying to help the sergeant major, who had lost so much blood with the amputation. I had gone to Tanner but he'd insisted I take the more seriously wounded first. He'd guard the one I could not carry on my first trip.

"It was a maddening night. I was weak from my wounds and hurting in my arm, thigh and head. I got Parks on my back halfway and caught up with the first three. Somehow we reached the Australians on a side of their position not being attacked. I tried to call out to them, but they just fired at me wildly. Finally the sergeant major roared at them with a heavy cockney accent cursing them like only a British soldier would an Australian. We were allowed to advance, and four of my six remaining were safe. I went back out after Tanner and Pilsbury, but no one would come with me, their medicos were too occupied with their own wounded. I found them an hour later even though they were only roughly three hundred yards away. Tanner insisted again that he would be right behind me as I dragged Pilsbury. Somewhere I lost Tanner in the slow trip back. The fighting had gotten worse on the side where we had first entered the lines and I had to drag him further around. I had not realized it had happened, but Pilsbury was dead when I got him to the Australians."

There was a tear in Granger's eye, now, Harry could tell.

"It was nearly light when I left to recover Tanner. I found his gun, and signs of a skirmish. I followed the signs of a body being dragged through the jungle for over three miles. I found him and three Cong, trying to slip away with him. The Australians had beaten their attackers, and it was a toss up as to who these Cong might walk into out there, so these three were going slowly with their prisoner.

"I just ran in at them. The Australians had given me a pistol, so I shot one and knifed the other. The third shot Tanner in the chest at point blank range. Why him and not me, I'll never know. That Charlie could have killed me and then taken Tanner with him. I held my best friend in my arms for just a moment. He looked up into my eyes and said, 'Carry on, Captain,' imitating his father's parade ground voice. Then he coughed up blood.

"I picked him up and placed him on my back. I held him there with my arm that did not have the bullet wound. I held the pistol in my other hand, and ran back to the Australian position. I just ran - no stealth, no cares. I killed two more Cong on the way and fired wildly at several more. I stopped and reloaded once, and then kept running. I burst out into the clearing in front of our chaps and a machine gun went off. My sergeant major hit the gunner and pushed his gun off sight or I would have died. He then stepped over the battlement and, standing there without an arm, he roared, 'Are any of you Digger cowards going to help me, or duz I hav' to drag-em back all by me-self?'

I don't really remember who helped me. I had Tanner up in my arms and was staggering back, but he was dead. He was taken from me, and I was lifted up on someone's shoulders, where I promptly passed out."

Mr. Granger was quiet for a while and Harry scarcely breathed. A few hot tears dripped from the dentist's eyes, and he stared at his hands as if wishing to burn holes in them. Eventually he said, "I woke up in a hospital in New Zealand. The medical orderly saw that I was awake and ran out the door. In a moment the brigadier himself strode in as if just off the parade grounds. I began my report of the failure of my mission and made my request to resign, or face court martial if need be.

"He looked at me and smiled the most chilling yet sincere smile I've ever seen. I can still see his face, it haunts my nights as does the face of Tanner, Pilsbury, and the other men I failed to lead out of that jungle.

"The brigadier said, and I can quote the words, "Granger, I have never been more proud of any man in my command than I am of you. You did more than anyone else could have. I have a 'heroic effort' instead of a debacle, because of your actions. It was enough to keep the bad news out of the paper, but I'm afraid I cannot do for you what is right.' He opened a box I had not noticed in his hands. He said, "It should be the Victoria Cross from the Queen herself. But it is the Military Cross for Captain Ted Granger of the Royal New Zealand Army. There should be a parade, but all I can offer you is you the hand of a father grateful to have his son's body back.'

"He shook my hand. He stood, and said, 'You'll be a Lieutenant when you get back from injured leave. You have a month at home after you are discharged from the hospital in England, once we get you there. Safe journey, sergeant.' And he walked out of the room. I never saw him again. He retired a major general after twenty-nine years distinguished service before I made it home on the hospital plane."

For the first time in a long time Granger turned his face fully towards Harry. The lad noticed a look of determination so fierce he dared not blink.

"I tell you this story in such detail, Harry, to lead to one point. I left my friend to get back the most survivors I could. I left him again to save the one who could not save himself. I thought my friend was right behind me. I decided on my course, knowing full well I might sacrifice him for the slightest of greater goods. The war was hardly worth fighting, but I made decisions to save as many of my men as I could, without regard to personal feelings. I stayed in the SAS for a few more years but finally couldn't face another uniform on a regular basis.

"Here's your lesson, son. The battle you are in, is, as I understand it, a fight of monumental proportion. This Voldemort and his Death Eaters could kill hundreds, thousands, millions, I suppose, and subject the world to slavery again.

"Hermione believes you are at the center of this, and I've no reason to doubt her. She thinks you are the one to kill him, and I have never been able to fault her logic since she was nine years old. If you are the one, then you must be willing to make any sacrifice to stop this evil monster."

He stood and paced for a quick moment. He sat back down and moved so his face was uncomfortably close to Harry's.

"I want to tell you... it is most important for you to know just how serious...." He rubbed his hand over his face in frustration.

Finally he spoke most gravely, "Harry, you have to understand, that if the only way you can kill Voldemort and save the world, is to let some one close to you die, even Hermione, then I expect you to do so."

Author's Questions for the Readers - This chapter was over 15,000 words. Was it too long for you? I tend to write longer chapters, and a few of you have commented on that positively. Are there those of you who wish for shorter chapter lengths? One chapter, number ten I believe, will be about 20,000 and there is basically nothing I can do about that, but I may be able to break up other chapters into chunks of 8-12,000 words. Maybe. Please let me know. Thanks!