Harry Potter and the Destiny of One

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other people, places, or things associated with Harry Potter. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I’m just borrowing them, so don’t sue me.

Author’s Note: Hello! I’m back! And here we go again. Though, if you haven’t read my fic before this, I don’t recommend you read this one yet. Some things may not make sense. This fic, due to the release of HBP is AU, although I do borrow some of the characters mentioned in HBP, because good characters, in my opinion, ought not to go to waste. Actually, I was sort of shocked when I read HBP because I found a few different things in the book that I wanted to put in this fic. JKR went and put in stuff I didn’t expect to happen until Book 7! Oh well, I’m still going to go ahead and write what I want, putting my own little twist on it instead. For those of you who stuck with me through MoL and were tortured by my evil teasing, I dedicate this story to you. This is what you’ve been waiting for. But please note that this fic is first and foremost listed as an Action/Adventure story, and then a romance. Don’t worry, you’ll get your snogging. Thank you very much to my wonderful beta, Nitya. I must dedicate this to you as well, Sis, because, without you, there wouldn’t be any Harry Potter fics written by me on the internet. To the Wonks who I love so dearly, yeah, this story is dedicated to you too! Honestly, I think I’ve rambled on for long enough, and jeez, you people have certainly waited long enough to read this, so get started!

Harry Potter and the Destiny of One

CHAPTER ONE

THE CHILD OF DARKNESS

Rain was beating against the old cracked windows of the desolate house on the outskirts of a tiny village in the western portion of Norfolk. The bright sky flashed with light as lightning cracked, followed up by a roar of thunder. The decrepit little house shuddered slightly as the sound waves passed through it, bringing the thunder to the ears of a hooded figure sitting in a lumpy chair at the center of what had been the living room back when the house had been cared for. That was back when a poor nice man with his wife and five children had lived in the tiny house. That was back before tragedy had struck the family.

On a horribly dark and stormy night twenty years prior, much like the one that the little town was currently experiencing, a horrible looking man walked right through a door marked “The Polstons” and entered the little home. Mr. Polston had demanded to know who the horrible looking man was as the intruder pulled out a carved stick and pointed it at Mr. Polston. With a flash of green light, Mr. Polston fell to the floor, dead. Mrs. Polston and the five Polston children screamed as they each met the same fate.

When the intruder left the home, he waved his carved stick, muttering something in Latin before walking away. In the twenty years between their death and the house’s current occupation, only twice had someone ever entered the home. The first time was four years later when the intruder had returned on the evening of the night before Halloween. After destroying the bodies that had been left in the home during his last visit, he spent the evening in the dusty, run-down house before an owl arrived with a letter clutched in its talons. He read it and then, with a loud CRACK, he disappeared.

The second time was just one short week ago when a wheezing bald man with a silver hand appeared out of nowhere in front of the house. He walked in and inspected the house, poking around with another carved stick, before he disappeared into thin air, looking satisfied.

The next day was the beginning of the present occupation of the house. Both the intruder and the wheezing man had returned with a CRACK, as did several others, including a woman with dark hair and heavily-lidded eyes who had been carrying an infant. They entered the dank home and never came back out.

The hooded figure—the intruder—shifted in his seat slightly as two men arrived in the room and bowed deeply. They both had dark hair and looked generally alike with only minor differences. Another man entered the room after them. He had cold gray eyes and white-blonde hair. He bowed even deeper than the other two.

“My lord,” he murmured.

Several more people arrived, including the man with the silver hand. Each of them bowed to the hooded man before them, standing perfectly still and not making a sound. The hooded man waited until everyone had arrived and was standing with their eyes on him before he spoke in a cold, high-pitched voice.

“These past few weeks have been highly disappointing,” he hissed. “Many of your fellow Death Eaters have been arrested, most of them from the cemetery in Hogsmeade.” He glared at them dangerously with his ruby eyes. “The cemetery in Hogsmeade…the place where somehow none of those present were able to stop Harry Potter from escaping!”

The Death Eaters cowered before falling to their knees, groveling before the hooded man.

“We’re sorry, Master.”

“Forgive us, Master.”

“We’re at your mercy, Master.”

“Silence!” the man hissed. “I am not finished! Then, just last week, one of you had the nerve to disobey me! One of you had the nerve to go to that small town in Cornwall with a small platoon of my vampires and fall right into the trap that the Ministry had set up! Then you actually thought it safe to return to me. Rutherford, step forward!”

Bartholomew Rutherford, a man of around forty, with graying brown hair and sunken hazel eyes, stepped forward with a gulp. He bowed deeply. “My lord, I am terribly sorry. I thought that it was what you wanted. I only wanted to please you, Master. Please, be merciful, I beg of you. I shall never do something like that again.”

Lord Voldemort raised his wand lazily at Rutherford and said, “You’re right—you won’t. Avada Kedavra!” Green light shot from his wand and straight through Rutherford, killing him. The Dark Lord stood up and kicked the body over so that he could stare into the Death Eater’s dead eyes. “I hope that was merciful enough for you.”

With a snap of his fingers, two Death Eaters stepped forward to remove the body from his sight. “Now,” the Dark Lord hissed, stepping towards his Death Eaters, “we have a lot of work to do. We have a lot to clean up. There shall be no more mistakes, no more arrests, no more failures. It is time to stop playing such quiet warfare. Both the wizarding and Muggle world shall feel my wrath. They shall know what happens when they attempt to defy Lord Voldemort. They shall know fear. They shall know death. It is time for the Dark Mark to fill the sky! It is time for the Ministries to fall—for all governments to collapse. It is time for me to take what a person as powerful as I am should—everything! And nothing, not the Ministry of Magic, not Albus Dumbledore and his pathetic Order of the Phoenix, not the ‘Boy Who Lived’ Harry Potter, and not even death shall stop me! I am immortal and there is nothing that can stand in my way! It is my destiny. As the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, it is my destiny. I will take over the world and purge it of its filth. No more Muggles and no more Mudbloods, half-bloods, or half-breeds. We can use those foul creatures, such as vampires, giants, and werewolves for now, but soon, we will get rid of them too. Then the world will be pure. It will be a safe place for pureblooded wizards to settle and raise their families. One day, all of you will be able to tell your grandchildren about how you rid the world of its evil impurities. One day, you’ll look back upon this time with pride, knowing you served your master well, knowing that you have freed this world from all of its contaminations. You will be regarded as heroes and you shall be rewarded well.

“Tonight is the night we start for our new horizon. These next few weeks shall be long remembered in wizarding history as the weeks when Lord Voldemort triumphed over all. Macnair!”

A bulky Death Eater stepped forward, before bowing and kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes. “Master?”

“You did well with the giants nearly two years ago, Macnair, and Lord Voldemort appreciates that. While you may have stupidly gotten yourself arrested at the Department of Mysteries, you managed not to do so in the cemetery. I have an assignment for you, Macnair, an assignment that shall reunite you with your big brutish friends.” His eyes gleamed. “It is time to start thinking globally. I want you to split the giants four ways. Take some to the Scottish Highlands. Take another group to the French Alps and let them roam. Maybe they’ll even make it into the Austrian, Swiss, Slovenian, and Italian Alps. Another group shall go to the Pyrenees. That will create chaos between the French and Spanish. Those stupid Muggles will think the other country is attacking them. The fourth group shall go to the Carpathians. They should upset Poland, Romania, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Ukraine. Let them do whatever they want. Let them roam freely. Make them believe that the world is theirs and they may do whatever they like. Tell them that Lord Voldemort has kept his promise of freedom.” A grin twisted its way onto his ghost white face. “Go.”

“Yes, Master,” Macnair said, jumping up eagerly to do his job.

“Oh, and Macnair?” he said lazily. Macnair faced his master once more. “You’re more than welcome to terrorize any Muggles yourself, along the way.”

Walden Macnair’s grin was sinister. “You are most generous. I thank you, Master. It would be a pleasure to do so.” With a flip of the black traveling cloak he had just fastened, he was gone.

“Before I continue, I noticed that dear old Lucius has returned. Come forth and give me your report,” the Dark Lord commanded.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward and bowed. “My lord, I have returned from spying on the Aurors at Azkaban to decide what is the best way to break our comrades out—again.”

“I will decide what is the best way,” Voldemort hissed.

“Yes, Master, of course. I am sorry; it was a poor word—”

“Get on with it, Malfoy!” Voldemort snapped.

“Yes, Master,” Malfoy said smoothly and held up a gloved right hand. Clutched in his grasp was a small piece of parchment. “I have here the list of those from the cemetery who need to be broken out. It is a long list—Nott, Mulciber, Flint, Jugson, Dolohov, Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood, Yaxley, and Avery. Of course, had Mr. Crow decided not to kill himself, he would more than likely be on this list too.”

Voldemort nodded. “But he did prove useful before the cemetery. Praise must be given to those who actually managed to escape prison, including yourself, Lucius. The five of you will be rewarded. Macnair has already received his—a personal assignment to bring glory to his master. And now, Lucius, I shall give you the same. Go to London. Your job is to infiltrate the Muggle government any way you see fit. Wait patiently. When the time is right, I shall send an owl and you will get the pleasure of assassinating not only the Muggle Prime Minister, but also their symbols of power—the monarchy. You will destroy the royal family.”

“Every last member, my master?” Malfoy asked.

“Every last one,” confirmed Voldemort with a horrible smirk. “Long live the queen.”

Malfoy bowed, and with a CRACK, he was gone.

“My next reward goes to Wormtail,” the Dark Lord murmured, causing the wheezing bald man with the silver hand to scurry forward and kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robes.

“Master?” he squeaked.

“You, my treacherous little ratty friend, did such a good job with the vampires that I’m going to send you away for more,” Voldemort said.

Wormtail gulped. “More, Master?”

“Yes, more. Oh, but don’t think you’re actually going to get more vampires. No, I have enough contacts now to keep my supply as fresh as a vampire likes his blood. What I want are more half-breeds. You’re to get in touch with our good friend Fenrir. Do you remember him?”

“I remember talk of him, Master,” Wormtail replied.

“Fenrir Greyback is the alpha male of the British werewolves who have…given in to their animal instincts. They are definitely not as peaceful as your old friend, Remus Lupin. Find Greyback and tell him that the Dark Lord shall keep his promise. He’ll understand what I mean.”

“Yes, Master,” Wormtail said, turning away.

“But wait, Wormtail,” Voldemort said icily. “I’m not through with your instructions.”

Wormtail collapsed onto his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes again.“I’m terribly sorry, Master. I assumed—”

“You shouldn’t assume anything at all, Wormtail,” Voldemort said harshly. “Must we go through this exercise again?”

“No, Master! I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry! I’ll never—” He squealed in fright as Voldemort pulled out his wand.

“Enough, Wormtail,” Voldemort snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself with your blithering. Stay silent and maybe I will not punish you.” Wormtail nodded. “Now, your second task is to go do some…resurrecting.”

Wormtail looked up, alarmed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Dark Lord cut him off. “I know, however, that you do not have the brain capacity to resurrect anybody. That is why Addams shall accompany you on this mission. Addams!”

A squat man with sunken eyes jumped to Wormtail’s side before bowing deeply. “Yes, Master?” the man asked in an oily voice.

“Your job is to bring me back an army of Inferi so large that the entire wizarding race will tremble,” Voldemort said.

“Yes, Master.”

Wormtail couldn’t help himself. “Inferi?” he squealed, alarmed.

With a roll of his eyes and a wave of his wand, the Dark Lord muttered, “Crucio!” and watched vaguely while Wormtail writhed and screamed in pain. “Perhaps it would be prudent if I cast a Permanent Sticking Charm to your lips, Wormtail.”

When the curse was lifted, Wormtail sank to the floor, shaking his head vehemently.

“Inferi, or what Muggles call ‘zombies,’ are very valuable to my army. Their capabilities of killing are truly something to be marveled at, although their intelligence isn’t. Find them and bring them to me. I will require them for my plans.”

Both Wormtail and Addams bowed. “Yes, Master.” Then, they too, left.

“Master?” inquired one of the Death Eaters.

Voldemort looked into the eyes of the one who had spoken. “You wish to know when your fellows will be released from Azkaban,” he said softly. “I do not have immediate plans for it, Carrow, because I’d rather like it if they sat in their cells and suffered for awhile. Let them lose hope. Let them think that their master has abandoned them so that they can be the people the Ministry spits on. Then, when I believe that they have suffered enough, they will be freed. In fact, Amycus, I will let you and Alecto plan and lead the strike force to get our friends back when the time comes.”

“Thank you, Master. You are most generous,” Amycus Carrow said, bowing. “My sister and I will be honored to do this for you, my lord.”

“I would imagine so,” Voldemort said. “After all, for you there is no greater pleasure than helping people escape the hell that you endured for me. As you know, I reward those who have been devoted to me greatly. You and your sister shall be rewarded. Now, to attend to other matters…”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master,” said Amycus, bowing once again.

The Dark Lord spoke once again. “My final gift goes to the Lestrange brothers. Rodolphus—Rastaban, step forward.”

The nearly identical men stepped forward before they both got on their knees and kissed the hem of their master’s robes. When they rose, they both bowed and then stood completely still, waiting for Lord Voldemort’s orders.

Voldemort, however, watched Rodolphus Lestrange. “Your faithful service is admirable, Rodolphus,” he said. “Lord Voldemort has already rewarded you well. I have given you the honor of having your wife chosen to carry my offspring.”

“I thank you for that honor, my lord,” Rodolphus said, bowing gracefully before the Dark Lord.

“But now I have a task for you and Rastaban,” Voldemort said. “This will be a large task, broken up into several parts.” He swept over to a table that stood on the left side of the room. On it was a large map. The Death Eaters followed him over to the table wordlessly. “I have all of our previous attacks charted here—some scattered towns including Blair Atholl and Ottery St. Catchpole—Bristol, Canterbury, Southampton, Winchester, and Edinburgh. Now we must hit Britain on a wider scale and more often. And we must also hit other cities around the world.” He pointed to a dot on the map. “That is where we shall begin.”

Rastaban looked down to where Voldemort’s white, spidery finger pointed to. His grin was vicious. “The wizards and Muggles in Manchester won’t know what hit them, Master.”

“I know,” Voldemort said. “The Ministry may have the wizarding world on guard, but no one truly expects their home to be attacked. That has always been our advantage. Their denial and lack of defenses is one of our keys to victory.

“When I dismiss you, go to Manchester and wait for my signal. After the attack takes place, quickly go to Glasgow—that will be your next target. Wait once again for my signal. After that, we’ll go a bit smaller with Keswick and Westbury. Understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Rastaban said.

“Very much so, Master,” Rodolphus said.

“Good,” Voldemort hissed. “This is going to be a big job, so you will, of course, be able to take Death Eaters with you—Death Eaters that I will choose.” His eyes swept across the room. “I have an incentive for all of you so that you will not get caught if you partake in these attacks. If you get caught and sent to Azkaban, I may decide to free you, but know that I have done so to personally kill you. I will no longer tolerate ineptitude. One mistake and you will die. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Master,” his followers murmured in unison.

“Excellent,” the Dark Lord murmured.

Rodolphus bowed once more, keeping his head low as to show the utmost respect for his master. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

Voldemort stared at the Death Eater. “What is it, Rodolphus? Did I not make myself clear?” he asked dangerously.

“You did, Master,” Rodolphus said quickly.

“Then why do you feel the need to ask questions?” Voldemort inquired, stepping closer to him before hissing, “Look into my eyes.”

Rodolphus did as he was told, looking up into the Dark Lord’s red eyes. “I-I was—”

“Just curious,” Voldemort finished for him, gazing into his soul. “The answer to your question is yes. Yes, the vampires will accompany you on some of your missions, and when Wormtail and Addams return with the werewolves and Inferi, you will be able to use them too.”

Rodolphus bowed. “Thank you, Ma—”

“However, they will not accompany you on all of your missions, so do not take comfort in the thought, Rodolphus,” the Dark Lord said warningly. “There are some things that pureblooded wizards can handle a lot better than half-breeds and corpses.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you have any more questions?” he asked icily.

“No, Master.”

“Good. Now, you and Rastaban go. Find a place in the shadows of Manchester. It won’t be long until I give you my signal,” Voldemort said.

Rodolphus and Rastaban both bowed before exiting the room and disapparating with a loud CRACK!

Voldemort turned back to his followers to address them. He stared at them with his scarlet eyes. “My plans are in motion and it is up to you to carry them through. In fact, I am willing to give three loyal servants a chance to prove themselves. Tell me, who here is up to a trip to Egypt?”

As he expected, every hand was raised. He stepped forward, scanning them all—judging them to see who were the most willing to go on a mission blindly. Then he came to three young Death Eaters who indeed needed to prove themselves to him.

He placed his hands on the shoulders of two of them. “These two and Flint, Jr. The rest of you may go.”

The Death Eaters bowed and left the room, leaving Voldemort and their three young comrades alone. The young men bowed and got on their hands and knees before kissing the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes.

“Names?” Voldemort asked lazily.

“Chad Warrington, my lord,” said the one.

“Graham Montague, Master,” said the other.

“And I already know Marcus,” Voldemort said. “Your father would be very proud to know that I have selected you for a mission.”

“I thank you for the honor, Master,” Marcus Flint said, kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes again.

Voldemort stepped back. “Enough. Now listen carefully, all three of you. There is a very important wizard in Egypt who I want here. He knows a lot about those old ancient Egyptian curses that their so-called priests placed on a pharaoh’s tomb. He can be very useful to one of my plans that I shall personally execute. His name is Imhotep Rameses. Your mission is to escort him and everything he needs here. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Absolutely, Master.”

“Very clear, Master.”

“Good.” He sneered down at them. “You can apparate, can’t you?”

All three of them nodded. “We passed the test before we came into your service, my lord,” Flint said.

“I should hope so,” Voldemort said. “Very well. Wait until morning and then you may go. Now leave my sight.”

The three jumped up, bowed again and scurried out of sight, leaving the Dark Lord alone in the room. He crossed to the other side of the room where a dusty hearth held a small, quiet fire. He stared into the flames as he ran his plans through his head again.

There will be so much death and destruction, that the world will bow to me just so that they can see it end. No one will challenge me when all is said and done. I will be the most powerful wizard in history and I shall rule—forever.

Unfortunately, his quest for immortality had proven quite difficult. His attempt to gain the Philosopher’s Stone had been thwarted by his pesky little nemesis, Harry Potter. That boy was only eleven when he somehow managed to kill that pathetic man that Voldemort had been using as a host—Quirrell.

He had figured out how Potter had accomplished what he had, though. It was something that Voldemort had previously overlooked. An ancient magical protection had been placed on the boy when his filthy Mudblood mother had died for him. It was why he had survived the Killing Curse as a baby and why Voldemort couldn’t touch him as a boy.

But the Dark Lord had figured out a way to counter that magic. All he needed was some of the boy’s blood. It worked to his advantage anyway as he had needed the blood of his enemy to be reborn. Harry Potter proved to be quite useful from time to time.

However, Potter had served his usefulness. He was a downright bloody rash that wouldn’t go away. He had destroyed his prophecy and successfully blocked Voldemort’s invasions into his mind to see what Albus Dumbledore and his precious Order of the Phoenix were up to.

Dumbledore. How he loathed that old man. He was equally as troublesome as Potter—more actually. The man had his claws sunk into the Ministry of Magic and was able to send its Aurors out to meet any of Voldemort’s attacks. It was Dumbledore’s fault that he wasn’t 100% successful.

Immortality and taking over the world were on his main agenda, but destroying Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were his two personal objectives. And he would be successful.

He continued to stare into the fire. At the moment, his first priority was his desire to become immortal. His old backup plan of having his memory in a diary had failed when Potter destroyed that part of him. His latest idea of securing his bloodline had gone off without a hitch. But still, he wanted more. He did not want to die. Death was the worst thing. He needed to escape death like he escaped fear long ago. But how?

Recently, he had caught wind of something that interested him. A week ago, his Death Eaters had brought him a drunk and deranged wizard visiting Britain from Greece. That was before they had moved into the smelly little hovel that they were now using. Before, they were at a location that held some meaning to the Dark Lord, but it was nothing that he would share with his followers.

The man was named Dionysius Liatos and he loved both olive oil and wine. But in his drunken state, he spouted off something that had his servants turning their heads and listening. After the innkeeper kicked the Greek out, the Death Eaters pounced and captured him so that their lord could hear the pathetic man’s tale.

The Death Eaters had done a poor job in handling the man’s kidnapping and he wasn’t drunk enough to not feel fear. The Greek had refused to tell Lord Voldemort his tale. It took a couple of Cruciatius Curses, but the Dark Lord eventually got the story out of the weak man.

The drunken wizard told him about Athanasius Anastasakos, an aging wizard from a village near the base of Mount Olympus, the mythical home of the ancient Greek gods. Dionysius told him how he, a wandering traveler, had arrived in the village when Athanasius announced to his wizard friends that he was going to climb the mountain.

“He went up a one-hundred and twenty-year-old wizard and came back down looking like a thirty-year-old—a wizard in his prime, yet he was still one-hundred and twenty,” Dionysius said. “He came back holding a flower of sorts and claimed it was ambrosia, the food of the ancient gods. It made him immortal and he is still alive to this day! It’s been forty years! Most wizards are dead at the age of one-hundred and sixty. And he hasn’t changed in looks!”

Indeed, Voldemort had found the drunken wizard’s story interesting. He thanked the fool for the tale and then promptly killed him. Then they packed up and the Dark Lord sent Wormtail to check their current location out. But the idea of ambrosia intrigued the Dark Lord greatly. Mr. Liatos was right in saying that most wizards never reached the age of one hundred and sixty. The oldest wizard Voldemort knew of was his constant menace, Dumbledore, who was at least one hundred and fifty. Although he knew that there were older wizards, but none of their names sparked his memory at that time. He didn’t care about those old, decrepit men.

The problem was there was nobody that he trusted to go after the ambrosia. Not even his most trusted Death Eaters. He knew of their greed and realized that they would probably take the ambrosia for themselves. The Dark Lord would not be able to kill them then, so they wouldn’t have to fear his wrath.

No, he had to discover the ambrosia on his own. He would have to travel to Greece himself and climb the mountain until he found what he was looking for. He wondered if he could trust his servants alone for that long.

Slowly, he felt a presence watching him. He turned then and stared into the shadows of the next room. “You may enter, Bella,” he said softly, walking over to stand in the middle of the room again.

Before her years in Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange had been a beautiful woman. Her dark hair had once been soft and her now cold heavily-lidded eyes used to be sultry. Her face was gaunt now, after her term at Azkaban. She looked hollow.

“Is there a reason why you’ve sought me?” the Dark Lord asked one of his most loyal servants as she entered the room, carrying a child in her arms.

The child was his, born from her womb. As much as Muggles disgusted him, he had to use their “science” in order to create the child without raising the suspicion of wizards that he did not want knowing about his plans. As he stared down at the baby boy, he saw the smooth black hair and the round eyes. Then he noticed that the child seemed to be silently screaming.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

She shifted the baby in her arms, both a scowl and a distressed look on her face. “It won’t stop crying, Master.”

He eyed her coolly. “You seem to have quieted him.”

“It wouldn’t shut up!” she screeched. “I had to do something! I put a Silencing Charm on it.”

He stared at her for a long time until she finally started to squirm. “I told you to raise the boy until he was old enough to look after himself and follow my lead.”

“I know, Master, I—”

He flicked his wand in the air, quietly murmuring an incantation that rendered her speechless. “How do you like having a Silencing Charm placed on you?” he snarled. “You know better than to interrupt me, Bella.”

She hung her head as the baby continued to wiggle in her arms, throwing a quiet temper tantrum.

“I told you,” Voldemort repeated, “to raise the boy until he was old enough. Can you not complete a simple task?”

She tried to protest, tried to voice her thoughts and opinions even though he had Silenced her. She looked bound and determined to tell him what was on her mind. He rolled his eyes and waved his wand again, releasing her.

“—and that thing is…” she trailed off, bowing her head. “Forgive me, Master, I beg of you. I have forgotten my place.”

“I’d rather not forgive you,” Voldemort spat, “but killing you would not be good for the child. I need him for the future.”

She kept her head bowed, but she nodded.

“It has become apparent, Bella, that you are not cut out for motherhood,” he said softly, turning away from her. “You are a murderous woman through and through.” Perhaps he could move one of his plans ahead of schedule. He turned back towards her. “Set the child on the chair.”

She blinked and immediately did as she was told. When she stood back up at attention, however, he noticed the questioning way she gazed at him.

He held out a pot of glittering powder. “Floo your sister,” he ordered.

She jumped over to his side without hesitation, grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder, and threw it in the fireplace. When the emerald green flames rose up high enough, she got down on her hands and knees and stuck her head into the fire. Then he heard her shout, “Malfoy Manor!”

When she was finished, she dragged herself up off of the floor and announced, “Cissy’s on her way.”

He nodded in satisfaction and waited. A moment later, there was a loud CRACK outside the door that had nothing to do with the thunderstorm raging outside. Then there was a knock.

“Answer the door,” he commanded.

She did as she was told, leaving the room briefly to admit her sister before returning. When Narcissa Malfoy entered the room behind her, she bowed deeply. “My lord,” she greeted.

“I just sent Lucius on a mission. You’ll be without your husband for awhile,” Voldemort told her.

“If it is in your service, my lord, I do not mind,” she said, stepping further into the room, her white-blonde hair flowing behind her.

“I’m so glad I have your approval,” he said snidely. “I have a mission for you now, Narcissa.”

She bowed. “I will do whatever I can for you, my lord.”

“Good.” He glanced over at the baby lying in the chair, still silently crying. “Take the boy.”

“Seth, my lord? I would be delighted.” She smiled.

“Excellent. Bella,” he snapped, causing her to quickly spring into action. She gathered up the baby and handed him roughly off to her sister.

“It’s got a Silencing Charm placed on it. Loud thing,” she said in disgust.

“A child is not an ‘it,’ Bella,” Narcissa scolded softly.

“Don’t correct me, Cissy,” she snarled.

“You will take the child,” Voldemort said loudly, interrupting them, “to Malfoy Manor, where you shall raise him just like you raised your own son, Draco. You will keep him there until he is old enough and clever enough to join me.”

“Yes, my lord,” Narcissa said, bowing. She smiled down at the baby. “There, there, little one. Aunt Cissy’s got you. Shh…” She peered up at the Dark Lord. “May I take the Silencing Charm off of him?”

He looked over at Bellatrix, who was scowling. “Yes, you may.”

She smiled and took out her wand while slowly rocking the infant. When she muttered the counter curse, the baby’s cries filled the room. She put her wand away and bounced him gently. “Oh, what a mighty yell,” she cooed, then looked up at Bellatrix. “When was the last time he was changed and fed?”

“I don’t know—two hours ago?”

“And how long has he been up?”

“The same.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling down at the baby. “Well then, once I return home, I shall see if he needs any of those things.”

“You may go,” Voldemort said. “Maybe I will send Lucius by when he isn’t too busy to check on the boy.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Narcissa said, bowing once more before exiting the room. A moment later they heard a CRACK as she disapparated.

Bellatrix bowed too. “Thank you, Master.”

“I have more important things I can use you for than rearing a child,” Voldemort said. “Do not think that I have let you off easy.”

“No, Master.”

He turned away from her again. “The Order of the Phoenix has proven to be far too meddlesome. I’m tired of them.” Then he turned sharply and gazed at her with his scarlet eyes. “Your new mission will not be easy. I want you to find the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix and find out how to get into it. When you accomplish your mission, the Dark Mark will rise high above it when I demolish it.”

Bellatrix’s grin was sadistic. “It would be my pleasure, Master. I will begin tonight!”

“That was the idea,” he replied. “Now go!”

She fled from the room, leaving Lord Voldemort behind, gripping the back of his chair and laughing.

Miles away in Surrey, another person was laughing. That person was Harry Potter, who had just woke up from a most peculiar dream.

Author’s Note: Yes! I’m done with exams for the semester! No more studying, no more papers, no more stress for three glorious weeks! Yes! All I have to worry about is getting my Christmas shopping done, lol. I don’t really have anything else to say, except to thank Nitya, as always, for being my wonderful beta. You’re awesome girl! Hmm…sorry about the weird indentation.

CHAPTER TWO

SUMMER SURPRISES

When Harry Potter’s involuntary chuckles finally ceased, he sat up in bed. He felt a cold chill down his spine, even though the temperature was quite warm. His scar twitched in irritation. He rubbed it absently as he pondered his strange dream. He had been in a room inside Lord Voldemort’s head. He had seen and heard the plans of his nemesis, a man who Harry had to kill before he himself was killed.

And Harry thought he had been doing so well with his Occlumency since he had come back to the Dursleys.

He glanced over at the alarm clock on his desk. It was a little after two in the morning. He yawned. Before the interruption, he had been having a rather good dream involving a girl that he cared greatly for.

He scowled. Voldemort ruined everything.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed, running a hand through his unruly jet black hair. Quietly, he fumbled for his round glasses. When he put them on, he noted that Hedwig’s cage was empty. The owl was probably out hunting. It still surprised Harry that the Dursleys actually allowed him to set her free these days.

He turned on a light, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. Seeing into Voldemort’s mind while he slept always made him restless afterwards. He played back his vision in his head. The Dark Lord was planning on creating discord between countries using giants, assassinating members of the royal family, creating an army of Inferi (whatever they were), attacking cities at random, using an Egyptian specialist on curses, and finding the headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry smirked. He knew exactly where the headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix was. He owned the house.

But there was something else. While he wasn’t quite sure where Voldemort currently was, he knew where Voldemort had sent his son. It was as though he, Harry, had given the order himself.

The question that Harry had asked himself since he had seen the night that the baby was born was why? Why did Voldemort want a child? Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, believed it had to do with Voldemort’s quest for immortality. But how did a child make a person immortal? It didn’t make any sense to Harry.

Still though, if the child was important to Voldemort, then he was dangerous—even if he was only three months old.

It would probably be a wise decision to inform Dumbledore about his dream. That way, preparations could be made. He scrambled over to his desk, shoving things off of it, trying to find a blank piece of parchment, his ink bottle, and a quill pen. When he finally found everything he needed, he sat down and began to write.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Sorry to bother you, but I figured that you would want to know this. I had another dream about Voldemort. I learned a lot of his plans too, which I think the wizarding world should be prepared for. Maybe they can be prevented. Anyway, I’m going to list them here for you.

1. He sent a Death Eater to split the giants and take them to different mountain ranges. One of them includes the Highlands. I think the others were the Alps, the Pyrenees, and the Carpathians.

2. He sent Lucius Malfoy on a mission that involves the Muggle royal family. I think he plans to have Malfoy kill them.

3. He sent Wormtail to get in touch with the werewolves and to create an army of Inferi. What exactly are Inferi anyway, sir?

4. He plans to attack several cities. The first is Manchester. After that is Glasgow.

5. He sent some Death Eaters to Egypt to get some great curse caster.

6. He sent Bellatrix Lestrange to find the Order’s headquarters. Perhaps it would be best to move?

There’s one more thing, Professor. He sent his son away. He sent Seth to live at the Malfoys’ home. I saw Bellatrix Lestrange hand over his son to Narcissa Malfoy clearly. I just thought you needed to know that.

He hesitated before he wrote the next sentence. He wondered if Dumbledore would do what he was about to ask.

Also, I was wondering if I could receive updates on what Voldemort’s up to? Being informed would be, I think, a very good thing for me.

Harry

Satisfied with his letter, he stuffed it into an envelope and set it on his desk. Hedwig would probably be out for several more hours. In any case, the letter could wait until morning.

He turned off his light and set his glasses down on his desk once more. He was feeling drowsy again. Quietly, he stumbled over to his bed and collapsed upon it before falling asleep once more. There were no dreams for him that time.

*****

Harry woke up the next morning to the sound of sawing. He groaned. The Dursleys were currently in the process of remodeling their back patio so that it could become a sun room. Uncle Vernon was taking on the project alone with a little help from his son, Dudley, from time to time. Usually, though, Dudley slept until noon and then, after a large helping of lunch, went out to spend time with his gang of friends.

Neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia pestered Harry into helping. Since his arrival back to Privet Drive just one short week ago, his relatives had treated him like he didn’t even exist. It wasn’t anything that upset Harry. He was happy not to be getting yelled or glared at. He could do whatever he liked whenever he wanted, within reason. He couldn’t raid their refrigerator or watch their television. He wasn’t allowed to answer their telephone—which wasn’t a new rule for Harry. He had never been allowed to answer their telephone.

He got up and stretched. Hedwig, he noticed, had returned from her nightly hunt and was snoozing in her open cage. After putting on his glasses, he checked the time. He found it to be a little past 8:30. Mentally cursing his uncle, he got up and started searching for some clothes to wear that day. When he found a clean shirt and a pair a jeans with only a few holes, he pulled them on before searching for his trainers. When he finally found them, he slipped them on before running a hand through his hair and leaving his room in hopes of finding breakfast still out.

He was in luck. There were two pieces of toast still left on the table, probably for Dudley should he wake before noon. Of course, Harry really didn’t care if his humongous cousin starved. He snagged the two pieces of toast and headed back up to his room, munching happily along the way.

When he entered his room, he tore off the bread crust and placed them in Hedwig’s cage. It was a poor substitute for owl treats, but he really didn’t have a choice at the moment. Besides, it was a way for him to apologize to her about what he was going to do next.

“Hedwig, wake up,” he said, swallowing the last mouthful. “I need you to take a letter to Dumbledore.”

The owl did not stir.

“Hedwig,” he said more forcefully.

Still the owl did not stir.

“Hedwig!” he yelled.

Finally the owl woke, blinking at him irritably with her large amber eyes.

Harry grabbed the letter he wrote during the night and held it up to her. “I need you to deliver this to Dumbledore,” he repeated.

She, however, obviously didn’t like being awakened. She snapped her beak furiously at him when he walked over and attempted to tie the letter to her leg.

“Please, Hedwig,” he pleaded. “It’s important. And look, I saved you a few bread crusts from breakfast. I promise you that I’ll buy real owl treats in Diagon Alley when I go back.”

She seemed to consider his offer for a moment, then grudgingly stuck out her leg.

“Thank you, Hedwig,” he said gratefully, tying the letter to her outstretched leg. “Next time I have to send out a letter, I’ll make sure that it’s at least evening before I send you out.”

She hooted softly before spreading her wings and flying out his open window. Harry watched her go and, as he did, he also watched as she did something that birds did quite often. It was followed up by a loud and piercing yell of “POTTER!”

So much for being invisible to the Dursleys.

Cringing, he ran over to his bedroom window and stuck his head out, looking directly down upon the irate form of Vernon Dursley. In his brown hair was a glop of white, causing Harry to cringe further.

Vernon snarled up at Harry, his face blotched purple. “Potter, I want that bloody pigeon out! Do you hear me—out! And if you won’t part with it, you’ll go too!”

“Vernon! Shush! The neighbors!” Aunt Petunia cried from beside him, looking around to make sure nobody was in earshot. “Come inside and I’ll clean you up.”

Harry pulled his head back inside. He looked around frantically for his wand, especially once he heard someone bounding up the stairs. He knew he was in for it, but he also knew that striking fear into his uncle’s heart would curtail whatever punishment that was about to be handed to him. He finally found it and set it on the desk—within arm’s reach—when his uncle threw open his door, bird feces still in his hair.

“I mean it, Potter!” Vernon roared. “Out! It goes now!” He stepped forward and reached for Hedwig’s cage when Harry took a step back and laid his hand over his wand. Uncle Vernon stopped dead in his tracks.

“Hedwig stays,” Harry said forcefully. “I need her.”

Vernon eyed the wand warily as Dudley, ever the whale, stepped in the doorway behind his father, blinking sleepily. “Wha’s goin’ on, Dad?” he asked, yawning.

“Nothing Dudders. Go get dressed and help me with the sun room, would you?” Vernon asked.

“But I was planning on going—”

“Now!” Vernon yelled.

Dudley scowled and made a rude gesture behind his father’s back before walking out.

Harry tapped his fingers lightly over his wand. “Hedwig stays. You aren’t getting rid of her.”

Uncle Vernon was very purple now. “Don’t you tell me what I will and will not do! I run this household! What I say goes!”

Harry picked up his wand warningly.

“Don’t you threaten me!” Vernon roared. “You can’t do any of that nonsense yet legally anyway!”

“Oh, but I can on the thirty-first,” Harry replied. “I’ll be seventeen and have come of age. It’s only a few short weeks away. Then I’ll be able to do whatever I want.” He twirled his wand idly. “You know, I have learned how to do human transfiguration. I could turn anyone I wanted into a bird, or a rat, or a toad. My only problem is that I’m not always successful at turning them back.”

Uncle Vernon took a step back. Then he snarled, “Fine, keep the bloody bird for all I care, but if it poops on me one more time…”

“In the six years I’ve had her she’s only pooped on you once. It’s not likely that it will happen again,” Harry said.

“But if it does—”

“I’ll write the Order,” Harry finished, his eyes gleaming.

Vernon stood up straighter, his eyes full of fear. His lip twitched. “At least keep the thing from going out in broad daylight. It’s not normal,” he said fiercely before he turned and stormed out of his room.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and set his wand down. Then he sat down on his bed. He was staring at his reflection in the mirror when he snorted and erupted into laughter.

Good job, Hedwig, he thought while he chuckled. I’ve got to buy you loads of owl treats for that one.

Still chuckling, he noticed an owl approaching. He knew it carried his copy of the day’s Daily Prophet. Then he spotted another owl he didn’t recognize right behind it.

Oh no, Harry thought with another chuckle, the Ministry found out Hedwig crapped on Uncle Vernon.

The owls flew in and landed on his desk. To the tawny owl with the newspaper clutched in its beak, Harry slipped a Knut out of his desk drawer and put it in the owl’s leather pouch tied to its leg. He accepted the Daily Prophet and watched it fly away.

“Alright,” he said to the other owl, “what do you have for me?”

The barn owl stuck its leg out and Harry untied a note. Then, it too, flew away. Frowning, Harry opened the note to find that it was actually a flyer for Apparition classes.

Are you a sixteen, going on seventeen-year-old Muggle-born or a young witch or wizard and have lost your parents to the War with You-Know-Who? Have no one to teach you how to Apparate at all? Then you’re eligible to take Apparition classes with Ministry instructor Edgar Farr. Classes are from August 1st-10th. Ministry testing will take place on the 11th (there will also be testing on the 31st of October in Hogsmeade). Classes will take place in the old Planter’s Magical Flower Shop next to Ollivander’s in Diagon Alley. Classes cost 15 Galleons.

Harry stared at the flyer. Apparition classes? He knew that he was getting old enough to learn how to Apparate, but he had never thought about actually doing it. He didn’t even know what it was like. What if while he tried he lost an ear? Or an eyebrow? Or half of his body?

He shuddered. Maybe it was best to focus on the positive.

Besides, learning how to Apparate couldn’t be worse than Dudley learning how to drive, which had started the day after Harry arrived back from Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon had gone out with Dudley and gotten him a Learner’s Permit, which meant the roads in Surrey were now highly unsafe.

Suddenly he wished he could talk to either his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger (of course, he’d like to think that Hermione was more than just his best friend). Surely they knew all about Apparition. Unfortunately, in the week since his return to Privet Drive, neither Ron nor Hermione had written him any letters, something that annoyed him. He probably could send them letters himself, but he didn’t know if Hermione was going on holiday somewhere with her parents, and he really didn’t want to intrude on the Weasley family, who were grieving over the loss of the third eldest son of the Weasley clan, Percy, who had been killed just a couple of weeks ago when he forced his way onto an Order team that successfully helped Harry and Hermione escape Voldemort’s clutches. Percy had been the only casualty, not including the Auror turned Death Eater, Joaquin Crow, who killed himself after Voldemort left him behind. It was Crow who had murdered three innocent Hogwarts students during Harry’s sixth year. It was Crow who had assaulted Ron and kidnapped Hermione, bringing both of them very close to their deaths. Luckily, both of them had survived, as did Harry, although he attributed that to a well-timed interruption.

Harry read the flyer one more time. He doubted that he would be able to attend the classes because there was no way that he could get to London if he stayed with the Dursleys past the start of August. And without receiving any mail from his friends, getting out of number four, Privet Drive was looking bleaker and bleaker with every passing day.

But what if, on his seventeenth birthday, he left? By wizarding law, he would be of age and allowed to be without a parent or guardian. He didn’t have to stay with the Dursleys any longer than necessary. He could pack up his trunk the night before and leave in the morning. It would be easy. All he would have to do is walk a couple of blocks before hailing the Knight Bus with his wand. They would pick him up, but then where?

Well, he mused, I could probably rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron until school started back up again. He did it before his third year at Hogwarts, when he ran away from the Dursleys due to a fiasco involving Vernon’s sister, Marge. He recalled it to be one of the best summers of his life.

Suddenly the part of his mind that usually spoke in Hermione’s voice whispered, That’s not a good idea…and he saw an image of the Leaky Cauldron in flames in his mind’s eye.

He sighed. For the moment, living at the Dursleys kept him and others safe. The fact that Aunt Petunia had taken him in nearly sixteen years ago placed a protection on him that kept him safe while he could call number four, Privet Drive “home.”

Anymore, though, Harry liked to refer to it as hell.

And at the moment, he couldn’t wait to leave it.

Maybe he should write both Ron and Hermione. He really wanted to know how Hermione was doing and he was sure that Ron could use the distraction. When Sirius had died the previous year, any moments that he didn’t spend dwelling on the loss were certainly welcome, save the moments he had to deal with Marge and her dog, Ripper. Of course, Ron and Percy were never exactly close, but he had still lost his brother. He had still lost a member of his family.

Then he thought better of it. Why remind Ron of what happened, which was probably what he, Harry, would do. Aside from the Death Eaters and the six that were in Percy’s company when they crashed Voldemort’s party, Harry and Hermione had been the last two people to see Percy alive. Ron knew that. It probably wasn’t a good idea to remind him of it.

As for writing Hermione, he discovered as he walked over to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, he found that he was quite nervous. While he knew that he had strong feelings for her, he wasn’t quite sure just how deep they ran. Did he love her? He knew she loved him. She had told him so before they parted the previous week. He remembered the conversation quite clearly.

“I know how I feel now. I’ve finally opened my eyes and saw what’s right in front of me.” He grabbed her upper arms. “It’s you, Hermione. You’re the one who’s right in front of me and I finally see you for who you are—not as a friend, but as so much more. Hermione,” he murmured, “I—”

“I love you,” she said.

While it make his stomach do flip-flops to think about her confession, he felt disheartened to know that, before her interruption, he was not saying “I love you” to her, but rather “I think I fancy you.” That phrase meant nothing in comparison to a declaration of love.

He sighed. What would he say to her? Never before had he had trouble coming up with something to talk to her about. He didn’t know whether to broach the subject of dating or, even though she said she loved him, if they should just let things be for now. He wanted to be with her, but he didn’t think he could take it if she rejected him.

Part of him wondered why Hermione would ever reject him, but another part hissed, She’s not stupid. She knows that if you two ever were to be more than “just friends,” Voldemort would kill her on the spot. She values her life and so should you.

He tossed the parchment aside. He could wait. He’d have to until he saw her again. He would let her make the first move, plain and simple. If she wanted to be with him, then she would tell him so. He knew her well enough to know that.

Instead, he grabbed the Daily Prophet and opened it up. The main headline glared at Harry in large bold letters.

MUGGLES REALIZING TRUTH OF “MYSTERIOUS” ATTACKS

Muggles are not as stupid as we in the wizarding world have been led to believe (writes Rita Skeeter). Slowly, but surely, these plain, ordinary specimens have been copping onto the fact that something “strange” is happening around Britain—whole towns catching on fire, people showing up in their “morgues” with bite marks, mass murder…in other words, the activities of You-Know-Who and his followers.

The Ministry of Magic is doing very little to curtail the knowledge that the wizarding world is at war. As of this past week, only two Obliviators were out in the Muggle world, modifying the memories of Muggles who had seen something they shouldn’t. Security is failing. Two days ago, the Muggle “phone booth” that is used as the entrance to the Ministry of Magic nearly had a Muggle dial the correct number.

While it is easy to say that with Minister Amelia Bones we are much better off than with the late Cornelius Fudge, one must wonder just how much better off we truly are. It has been a full year since the public reemergence of You-Know-Who, and the Ministry is no closer finding him today than they were then.

You-Know-Who is a serious problem. But is the Ministry of Magic going to suffer even further by not doing enough to stop the spread of Muggle awareness? If Muggles learn the truth about the wizarding world, we may have as serious a problem on our hands as You-Know-Who has been. All of us have to fear the Dark Mark, so much so that St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Injuries and Maladies has reported three suicides, but adding the fear of persecution by Muggles is enough to drive us all over the edge. Letting Muggles know that there are really witches and wizards in the world would only mean an end to our way of life. I hope, for the sake of us all, that it does not come to that.

That was more an editorial than an article, Rita, Harry thought as he flipped the page. But as much as he disliked the notoriously nasty reporter, he had to agree with her on some points. If the Ministry let down its guard on the Muggle front, they could easily discover that all their fantasies about trolls, giants, goblins, and merpeople were true. Then the fear would settle in and the wizarding world would become hell on earth.

As he flipped the page again, another article caught his eye.

New Aurors to Spend Less Time Training

As with the last time You-Know-Who was in power, the Ministry has shortened the amount of time it will take for new Auror recruits to train. The standard amount of time for an Auror to train before the Ministry cut back was four years. Now all recruits will be required to do is nine months.

“We need new Aurors and fast,” said Minister of Magic Amelia Bones yesterday after the announcement was made. “If we ever want to stop You-Know-Who, we’re going to need all the qualified witches and wizards we can get.”

“Cutting back to nine months from four years doesn’t mean that we are going to detract from their training,” said Xavier Jarrett, Head of the Auror Department. “In fact, those nine months are going to be the most intense nine months of their lives. Before, when they had four years to complete the training, it was more laid back. Now, we have no time to waste. They will learn everything they need to know, hone the skills they have, and then get out there and fight Death Eaters. It’s the only way we can ensure safety in the wizarding world.”

The Prophet will be keeping a close eye on the development of the new Aurors.

Nine months? Aurors were now only going to be trained for nine months? Was that all the amount of time his father had spent training before he had become a full-fledged Auror?

Harry mused about it for awhile, thinking about his own chances at becoming an Auror. If he survived his N.E.W.T.s, he could become an Auror nine months after he left Hogwarts. He could be fighting Death Eaters on an official capacity. He could do exactly what he wanted with his life much sooner. The possibility excited him.

He stayed in his room for most of the day until around six o’clock when, to his great surprise, Aunt Petunia called him downstairs. He had enjoyed not being bothered by the Dursleys, so when he came down the stairs, he bore a scowl on his face.

Aunt Petunia stood at the foot of the stairwell, gazing at him disapprovingly. “Have you ever tried a wet comb?” she asked. “And a shave wouldn’t kill you.”

Absently, he rubbed his rough cheek. He hadn’t shaved in several days, but he didn’t honestly think he looked that bad. “What do you want?” he asked her.

“I want you to set the table for dinner while I help your uncle with something for the sun room,” she told him as they walked back towards the kitchen.

“Where’s Dudley?”

“He’s out with his friends,” Petunia said.

Smoking on some street corner, Harry finished for her in his head.

“He said he’d be back in time for dinner,” she continued on.

Of course he would. Dudley couldn’t go a day without having six square meals.

“Alright,” Harry replied. “What are we having?”

“Roast beef, potatoes, and broccoli,” she replied dully.

“Oh.”

“You’ll be eating in your room, of course?” Aunt Petunia inquired.

“Do I have much of a choice?” Harry shot back.

She raised one of her plucked eyebrows at him. “It is you who has chosen to eat alone in your room this past week, Potter, so do not take that tone of voice with me.”

“I reckon none of you want me around, so why force my company on you any more than I have to?” Harry said.

“You’ve made your point,” Petunia replied.

Then a thought struck Harry. “But I actually would like to watch the news, seeing as there’s a war going on and all.”

She stared at him. “A war? There isn’t any war going on,” she murmured.

“You go on thinking that too,” he said. “Truth is, there is a war going on…in the wizarding world.”

A hiss escaped past her clenched teeth. “Don’t talk about that stuff in this house,” she snapped.

“I told you last summer that Lord Voldemort was back. He’s done loads of stuff since last year. Have you heard about massacres in the news? Strange deaths? Whole towns on fire?”

Looking terrified, she nodded weakly.

“That’s him,” Harry confirmed. “That’s all his doing—him, his Death Eaters, and the others they’ve got working for them.”

“Others?”

“Vampires, giants…that sort of thing.”

Petunia pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down slowly. Then she shook her head. “Impossible,” she murmured.

“Possible,” Harry corrected. “And happening right now. Watch the television this evening and you’ll see…something strange will be reported.”

Her lip trembled. But then she sucked in a breath and stood up. “Set the table,” she ordered, and walked briskly out of the room.

When dinner was served, Harry decided to join them and promptly requested that Dudley’s kitchen television be turned to the news. The recently returned Dudley howled in protest, but Aunt Petunia surprisingly agreed. Uncle Vernon, meanwhile, only shrugged his beefy shoulders, muttering something about being able to catch the stock reports, and plowed onto his chunk of roast beef.

Petunia changed the channel as Harry started to dish up a small portion of mashed potatoes. He was halfway through his meal when he heard the news reader announce something that caught his attention.

“…In other news, Scotland Yard has taken over the investigation of some mysterious deaths in the town of Port Quin in Cornwall. They believe it is possible that the deaths there are related to the deaths of four people last summer in Bristol.”

Harry snorted. They most certainly were related, as were the “mysterious” deaths in Canterbury, Winchester, Edinburgh, and the near annihilation of the small Scottish village of Blair Atholl.

Petunia turned and stared at him. He gave her a grim look in response. Then she looked away and bowed her head.

Vernon gave her a funny look. “Something wrong, dear?” he asked her.

“What?” She looked up, startled. “No. Just thinking that maybe I don’t want the sun room to be canary.”

“What do you suggest then?” he asked.

“Perhaps a blue or something. Sky blue.” She forked a piece of broccoli and ate it. Uncle Vernon shrugged.

“So, did you have fun today, Diddy?” Aunt Petunia asked, changing subjects.

A sly smile spread across Dudley’s face as he chewed a huge chunk of roast beef. He swallowed. “Yeah.” His grin spread even wider. “I got myself a girlfriend today,” he said proudly.

Harry dropped his fork in surprise. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were staring at their son. Then Uncle Vernon beamed. “Well done, Dudders.”

“I didn’t even know you fancied a girl,” Aunt Petunia said, a smile working its way across her face. “Do we know her?”

Dudley shrugged. “Ever hear of Rhonda Benson?”

Uncle Vernon’s jaw dropped. “Rhonda Benson? The daughter of investment banker Donald Benson, who just happens to be one of the wealthiest men in Surrey?”

Dudley nodded enthusiastically. “Yep.”

Vernon looked incredibly euphoric. “Very good, Dudley! Way to pick them!”

Dudley shoved a great forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth, grinning like mad.

That was when Harry pushed back his plate. The idea of Dudley having a girlfriend was truly nauseating. “I think I’ve have enough,” he said, and excused himself from the table. As he walked up the stairs to his room, he couldn’t help but think of Dudley with a girl on his fat arm. Closing his bedroom door, he couldn’t help but think, How disgusting.

Author’s Note: I really don’t have much to say, except to thank everyone that has been reviewing. I do appreciate it. Oh, and I should mention that I got the Shakespeare line off of a television show called The Nanny. I’ve taken to watching it lately for no apparent reason. I hope none of my fellow Americans take offense at the joke. And forgive me for poking fun at the French language as well. I happen to speak some French and find it to be an absolutely amazing language. Many thanks to Nitya, as always, for being my beta. Although, the icons she made in regards to this chapter have really unnerved me. Well, enjoy and I hope you get a laugh out of this.

CHAPTER THREE

DUDLEY’S GIRLFRIEND

Much to Harry’s chagrin, he discovered the next day that Dudley’s new girlfriend, Rhonda Benson, was going to be invited over to dinner. Apparently it was all Uncle Vernon’s idea, which told Harry one thing: he was sniffing around for yet another way to make a lot of money.

What was worse was when Dudley arrived back home that day to announce that his girlfriend had accepted the invitation and would be coming over the next day. Aunt Petunia went into a frenzy, pulling out cookbooks and deciding what recipe she wanted to use before whisking away to the market to buy the ingredients she needed.

It also meant that the Dursleys were finally forcing Harry to do some work around the house. Uncle Vernon immediately went to work on the sun room once again and ordered Harry to help him. That was the reason why Harry, on a Sunday afternoon, was holding the base of a ladder while his overweight uncle stood on the fourth rung, hammering away.

The ladder wobbled a little bit. “Hang on to it, Potter!” Vernon snapped, grabbing onto the top of the ladder to steady it.

“I am,” Harry replied in a bored voice. He watched angrily while Dudley sat in the living room, watching television. “Maybe you could get Dudley to hold the ladder for you and I can start spackling,” he suggested.

Vernon grunted. “You’d just screw it up,” he muttered. Then he peered into the living room. “Dudders! Come in here and start spackling this wall over here!”

Harry watched his porcine cousin’s lips mouth a curse before he turned off the television and got up. Then, muttering under his breath, he waddled over to help his father. Harry grinned in satisfaction.

Fifteen minutes later, when Uncle Vernon finally got down off the ladder, he turned to look at Dudley’s work. It took every piece of Harry’s will not to laugh as Vernon gaped at his son.

“Dudders! What are you doing!” he shrieked.

“Spackling,” Dudley said.

Vernon stared. “Spackling,” he repeated. “Dudders, I thought I told you how to spackle?”

“Yeah,” Dudley replied.

“Then what the devil are you doing?” Vernon cried.

Dudley looked at his father as though he were the most ignorant creature alive. “Spackling,” Dudley said.

Vernon closed his eyes. Harry wondered what his uncle was thinking exactly, but he had an idea that it dealt with Vernon wondering how he could ever have raised such a mechanically inept son.

He opened his eyes. “You know what, Dudders? I think you should go back and watch the telly. But first, could you get me a Phillips screwdriver?”

Looking relieved, Dudley waddled over to Uncle Vernon’s toolbox and fished out a screwdriver before handing it to his father. Harry got a good look at it and stifled a snicker. Vernon, once again, stared at his son.

“Er—Dudders? I said a Phillips screwdriver, not a flathead.”

Dudley looked at him. “Huh?”

Grinning, Harry walked over to his uncle’s toolbox and grabbed the correct screwdriver. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to Uncle Vernon. “See that, Dud? That’s a Phillips screwdriver. Even non-normal folk like me know that.”

Dudley scowled at him. “Whatever,” he muttered and walked back inside the house.

Vernon watched his son go before he turned to Harry. “Er—erm—” He frowned. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Harry murmured.

Harry continued to help Uncle Vernon until dinner, when they took a break. Then Aunt Petunia ordered him to go outside and pick the weeds in her garden. At one point, while grumbling under his breath about Aunt Petunia’s perfectionist tendencies, he pulled a rather thorny weed that cut the palm of his hand. He swore violently, examining his bleeding hand. Carefully, he pulled the weed up with his left hand before venturing back inside the house for something to clean his cut with.

“Done?” Aunt Petunia asked him.

“Not exactly,” he said, holding his bleeding hand palm up.

She glanced his way and scowled. “What happened?”

“Thorns,” he muttered, walking over to the kitchen sink.

“No! Not in my kitchen sink!” she cried.

He glared at her. “And where do you suggest I clean this at?”

“Not in my kitchen sink—I just scrubbed it!”

“Have you scrubbed the bathroom sink?”

She shifted irritably. “This morning.” She frowned. “Go before you start dripping blood on my freshly mopped floor.”

He nodded and left the kitchen. Up in the bathroom, he cleaned his cut the best he could before searching around for some sort of bandage. Suddenly someone started pounding on the door.

“Whoever’s in there, get out!” Dudley yelled.

Harry ignored him and soon he heard the doorknob jiggle.

“Come on!” Dudley yelled.

Again, Harry ignored him. There was more pounding on the door.

“If you don’t open up, I’ll break down this bloody door!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s definitely not the wisest thing to do, Dud,” he called back. “After all, it could be either your mum or dad in here doing something besides finding a bandage. How much trouble would you be in if they heard you talk to them that way?”

“I’m not dumb!” Dudley said. “I knew you were the one in there. Mum’s downstairs in the kitchen and Dad’s reading the newspaper in the living room!”

“Oh, congratulations Dudley. You’ve just accomplished deductive reasoning,” Harry said, finally finding a bandage.

“What?”

Harry rolled his eyes again as he started to wrap his hand. “Never mind.”

“Come on, Potter!”

“Give me thirty seconds and you can have the bathroom all you want. Just remember to turn on the fans while you’re smoking,” Harry said, finishing off and opening the door. “There. Happy?”

Dudley pushed right past him and into the bathroom without comment and slammed the door in Harry’s face.

“Aren’t we the grumpy one,” Harry murmured and headed back downstairs.

He walked back outside and continued to weed his aunt’s garden. He hated the work and wished he could be doing something else—playing Quidditch with Ron at the Burrow, snogging Hermione…

His hand slipped right off the weed he was trying to pull and he mentally chastised himself. You said you were going to wait and see what happens. It’s best not to think about that until things are official. Still, though, he couldn’t help but admit that he’d like nothing more than to spend time with her.

Patience, said Hermione’s voice in his head. Just be patient.

Harry sighed. Why did he have a feeling that it was going to be a long summer?

An hour later, he found himself back in his room and he couldn’t have been happier. After he got done pulling the weeds, Aunt Petunia had tried to get him to trim the hedges, but he had somehow reasoned with her that it was too late to trim anything and that he’d do it in the morning.

He now sat at his desk flipping through the old photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year at Hogwarts, looking down at the smiling faces of his parents. He wondered what they would have thought about the current war with Voldemort, about the mayhem and destruction he had caused. He wondered whether or not his mother and father would have approved about the man he had become; granted, he had a few weeks left before he was officially declared “of age.”

He flipped the page. There was his father with Sirius, Remus, and Wormtail. He wished he could speak to Sirius, but he’d never be able to do so again. He sat back and imagined what he and Sirius would talk about. Voldemort, obviously, but also Hogwarts, Quidditch, the days of the Marauders, Ron, and perhaps—Harry wasn’t sure he’d have the spine to do it, though—they’d talk about his developing relationship with Hermione. He could sure use some advice about it. He really didn’t know what to do.

He closed the photo album. He needed a distraction, one that would keep him from thinking about the past or the possible future. He jumped up and strode over to his trunk. Inside were his school robes, spell books, scales, potions ingredients, and everything else that he needed for Hogwarts. He rummaged around until he found his Charms book. Professor Flitwick usually set easy assignments during the summer, so why not start with his homework assignment first? He’d have to get his homework done sooner or later. Plopping on the bed, he opened his book and read the chapters required until he fell asleep.

The next morning, Harry woke up to a soft hooting sound coming from the top of his chair. Opening his eyes, he saw a blurry white form until he put on his glasses and saw it was Hedwig.

He grinned sleepily. “Trying to tell me that that’s the proper way to wake somebody up?”

Hedwig hooted haughtily and stuck out her leg. Harry noticed that clutched in her talons was a dead mouse. “Got yourself some breakfast before you came back?” he asked, untying the letter. She hooted again and flew over to the top of her cage, where she started to enjoy her snack.

Harry yawned and stretched before opening up the envelope and pulling out a piece of parchment. Immediately he figured out who the letter was from—the emerald ink gave it away. It was Professor Dumbledore’s reply.

Dear Harry,

Thank you very much for sending me your letter. I shall see to everything. In the future, however, I do ask that you don’t make it so lengthy. It makes it so much easier to read when they are of that length. I’m sure you’ll understand.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry cringed. “Nice going, Potter,” he muttered to himself, tossing the letter onto his desk. He could have screwed up everything had his letter to Dumbledore been intercepted. He glanced at Hedwig, who was picking a piece of mouse off its bones. “I suppose I almost blew it, didn’t I?” Hedwig merely looked up at him with her amber eyes and blinked.

He sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. He’d have to be smarter about things from now on. If not, a lot of horrible things could happen to not only him, but his friends and everyone associated with him.

“POTTER!”

He groaned. What did he do wrong now? Mentally cursing his uncle, he snatched up a dirty shirt and put it on before adjusting his slightly large gray sweatpants. Running a hand through his hair again, he opened the door and went downstairs to see what Uncle Vernon wanted.

He was in the kitchen with Aunt Petunia, who was making breakfast. She looked up at Harry and eyed him up and down, a revolted look on her face.

“What are you wearing?” she gasped.

“The clothes I slept in,” Harry said. “I just got up.”

Uncle Vernon was staring at him. “Go mow the lawn and trim the hedges.”

“Then afterwards take a shower, shave, and get dressed!” Aunt Petunia added.

Harry nodded. “I’ll just go get my trainers.”

He took his time finding his shoes and putting them on. Soon enough, he was outside pushing the lawnmower, purposely making sure he got close enough to Aunt Petunia’s garden so that the lawn clippings showered over her flowers. While he mowed the front yard, Aunt Petunia kept looking out the front window, looking frantically up and down the block. Harry knew she was doing it because she didn’t want anyone to see him out there in a t-shirt and sweatpants, looking rather grimy.

When he finished mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges, it was after noon. Aunt Petunia had just finished making sandwiches. When Harry reached for once, she snapped, “Absolutely not, Potter! I told you to go get dressed!” He scowled and walked away, but she called after him, “And make sure it’s something nice, not those ragged jeans with holes!”

He spun around. “Why?”

“I don’t want Diddy’s girlfriend seeing you in such a poor state,” she said, her nose in the air.

He stared at her incredulously. “I’m eating dinner down here tonight?”

“Mum, no!” Dudley whined.

“I remember exactly what happened when the Masons came over five years ago—my pudding all over the floor!” Aunt Petunia screeched. “You won’t be leaving my sight the entire evening!”

Harry frowned. “That wasn’t me. That was a house-elf named Dobby.”

Uncle Vernon turned purple. “Don’t you speak of that rubbish!”

“It’s the truth!”

“Oh, shut up, Potter!” Dudley yelled, turning back to his parents. “He’s not eating dinner with us!”

Aunt Petunia, for once, seemed to be putting her foot down, overruling everyone—even Uncle Vernon. “He will be eating dinner at the table this evening and that’s final. Your father and I will be able to keep a closer eye on him that way and I’m sure he’s not foolish enough to try something then.”

Dudley looked as though he were about to have a temper tantrum. “But what if he—”

“I can’t,” Harry growled. “I’m not seventeen yet. And I don’t give a damn about your girlfriend anyway. She’s not worth my bloody time.”

“Watch your mouth!” Uncle Vernon yelled.

Harry fumed. “I’m going to take a shower. Settle this amongst yourselves.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

*****

When he got out of the shower and shaved, he walked back into his bedroom to find something decent to wear. However, there was quite the surprise waiting for him on his bed. Lying on top of a pair of black pants was a navy blue, green, and khaki stripped button down, collared shirt. Sitting next to his bed were a decent pair a black shoes.

Harry stared. How? Who? When?

He shook his head to clear it. It must have been Aunt Petunia. She must have bought them for him while she was out shopping the previous day because she wanted him to look presentable at dinner that night. Was that why she was fighting so hard for him to be at dinner, so she hadn’t spent her money for nothing?

He started dressing. To his great surprise, both the pants and the shirt fit him perfectly, as did the shoes when he finally put them on. Since when did his aunt know his sizes? Shrugging, he searched around for a comb to run through his still partially wet hair. It didn’t do him any good. His hair still stuck up at odd angles no matter how hard he tried to comb it down. Frustrated, he tossed the comb aside.

Wait a minute…why am I trying to look nice for this? It’s not like Hermione’s coming over, he mused.

He sat down on his bed and pulled out a gold chain from underneath his shirt. On it was the small Snitch pendant Hermione had given him the previous year for his birthday. Carefully, he traced the edge of it with his fingertip. He missed his friends.

“Potter!” he heard his uncle call from downstairs. “Get down here!”

Harry scowled and placed the necklace back underneath his shirt. He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses before going to see what Uncle Vernon wanted.

“Yeah?” he asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Uncle Vernon looked at him up and down, his face turning purple. “Petunia wants your help in the kitchen.”

Harry cast his eyes towards the kitchen doorway, frowning.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Vernon barked. “Go help her!”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he murmured tonelessly, turning towards the kitchen.

The scent of ham fluttered to him as he entered the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was bent over with her apron on, rummaging through a cupboard, looking for a pan. She looked up when Harry walked in and stood up straight, examining him with scrutinizing eyes.

“Tuck in your shirt,” she ordered. “I bought those clothes for you so you wouldn’t look like a sloppy hoodlum tonight. The least you can do is tuck in your shirt!”

Glaring at her, he obliged. “What do you need help with?” he asked.

“I want you to peel and cook the potatoes,” she replied, returning for her search of the pan. “Do you know how to make gravy?”

“Not really,” Harry replied, walking over to the pantry to find the potatoes.

“Then I’ll have to do it,” she muttered. “How about putting together a tossed salad?”

“I guess,” he said, pulling the potatoes out.

“Good.”

Harry set to work. He found it incredibly dull. Neither he nor his aunt attempted to initiate conversation—that’s just not how things worked at the Dursley household. They only talked to Harry when they wanted something out of him or to yell at him and he only spoke to them when he was required to.

Dudley waddled in, his plum shirt slightly crumpled. Harry noticed potato crisp crumbs on it. “Mum, my shirt got wrinkled again.”

“Oh dear. I’ll just have to iron it again,” Aunt Petunia said. “Go take it off and set it in the laundry room. I’ll take care of it, Diddy-dums.”

“Dad’s going to take me out for another driving lesson before I go get Rhonda,” Dudley told her, unbuttoning his shirt. Harry turned away. The last thing he wanted to see was Dudley’s lard-filled stomach.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Aunt Petunia said, smiling fondly. “I’m sure you won’t go over any curbs today.”

“Or nearly sideswipe a stop sign,” Harry added, unable to resist.

“Shut up,” Dudley spat, scowling.

“Get back to those potatoes,” Petunia snapped. Harry rolled his eyes behind their backs and continued working. “Don’t worry, Popkins, you’ll be fine.”

Dudley continued to scowl at Harry. “Does he really have to come to dinner tonight? Can’t we keep him in his room?”

“Now, now, we don’t want a repeat of the Masons, do we?” she said, smoothing down his hair.

“Lock him in there, then,” Dudley muttered.

“Don’t worry, Diddy, everything will be perfect tonight, even if he’s there,” she told him.

He huffed. “Whatever. Come on, Dad, let’s go!” he yelled, waddling out.

When she heard the front door shut, Aunt Petunia rounded on Harry. “Don’t you dare ever criticize my Diddy’s driving again. He’s just learning, after all!”

Harry bit back his retort. Instead he said, “Dudley forgot to leave you his shirt for ironing.”

She frowned. “So he did. I don’t see why you care, though.”

“I don’t. I just thought I’d point it out,” he replied, peeling the last of the potatoes. “I need a pot.”

“You know where they’re at,” she said, moving aside so he could access the cupboard.

“Right,” he murmured, and got to work again.

*****

Dudley and Uncle Vernon did return with enough time for Aunt Petunia to iron Dudley’s shirt again. By the time Dudley announced that he was going to go retrieve his girlfriend, Harry was just putting the finishing touches on his tossed salad. Aunt Petunia was still busy with the ham and she had also taken on the task of cooking another vegetable for the meal. All in all, Harry thought the food smelled good, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to eat any of it, not with Dudley’s girlfriend over. He had a feeling that the night would go badly.

Dudley returned about a half-hour later, shouting, “Mum, Dad, we’re home!”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia jumped up to go greet them. “Come on, Potter,” Vernon growled quietly.

Harry got up and lagged behind his aunt and uncle slowly. Leaning against the doorframe, he got his first look at Dudley’s wealthy girlfriend.

Rhonda Benson was not a pretty sight to see. If Dudley was the size of a huge wild boar, she was the size of a large pig. Her dark brown hair was lank with blonde streaks in it. Her makeup, specifically her eye shadow and mascara, was overdone. Her maroon dress was a tad too short and much too tight.

Harry frowned and looked into her bland gray eyes. If she were willing to date Dudley, then she couldn’t have been very smart.

“Ah, Miss Benson,” Vernon greeted, holding out his hand for her to shake, “welcome to our home. I’m Vernon Dursley and this is my wife, Petunia.”

Petunia smiled. “Hello, dear.”

Rhonda took Uncle Vernon’s hand and shook it gruffly. “Good to meet you, Vernon,” she said, her voice loud and unpleasant. She shook Aunt Petunia’s hand too. “What’s that I smell?”

“Oh, that’s the ham I’m cooking,” Aunt Petunia replied, releasing the girl’s hand.

Rhonda’s nose wrinkled. “You’re cooking the ham?” She turned to Dudley. “You should have told me you don’t have a cook! I could have brought Rosetta.”

“Mum likes to cook,” Dudley said lamely.

“Indeed I do,” Petunia said. “Would you like some tea, Rhonda?”

“Yeah, okay, Petunia,” she said, looking around the house and taking it in. Her eyes came to rest upon Harry and suddenly sparkled. “Who’re you?”

“Oh, that’s nobody,” Dudley assured her. “Let’s go to the living room.”

She didn’t move. “Who’re you?” she asked again.

“Harry,” Harry replied, watching Dudley scowl. “I’m Dudley’s cousin.”

She smiled, showing off slightly yellow teeth. “Well, Harry, it’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

Both Dudley and Uncle Vernon were turning purple. “Get the tea, Potter,” Vernon ordered, then smiled at Rhonda. “Come, my dear, to the living room and tell us about yourself.”

Harry headed off to the kitchen and started to make the tea. He leaned back against the counter and listened to the conversation in the living room.

“I go to an all girls’ school,” Rhonda was saying. “Ever heard of Kent College Pembury?”

He heard Aunt Petunia gasp. “That’s one of the finest boarding schools in Britain!”

“Bloody hell, yes!” Rhonda said with a chortle. “My dad pays for the best.”

“So you travel to Kent each term?” Uncle Vernon asked.

“Yeah. I hate doing it, really. The trips aren’t any fun,” she told them. “Where’s that cousin of yours, Dudley?”

“Er—still making tea, I guess,” he said.

“So how did you two meet?” Aunt Petunia asked quickly.

“Ah, that’s a funny story,” Rhonda said as Harry noticed the tea was done. He quickly poured some cups, set it on a tray, and took it out to them. “See, not too long ago, this girl had a party—she wants to get in well with my family, I think—and I got a bit rat-arsed.” Aunt Petunia gasped, but she didn’t take notice. “I felt a bit knackered too, so I left. I was walking down the street and ran into Dudley and some of his friends, having themselves a smoke. Well, you know how the craving goes, so I asked if I could bum one and Dudley here was nice enough to hand one over. We’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sat, aghast. Dudley sat, mortified. Harry wanted to laugh, but instead sat down and said, “That’s a nice story.”

Rhonda beamed at him. “Yeah, it is.”

“Erm—Petunia dear, how about I help you set the table?” Vernon said when he found his voice again.

“Yes, dear, that’d be nice,” she agreed and they quickly got up and left the room, their tea untouched.

“So Harry,” Rhonda began, grinning, “do you go to the same school Dudley does?”

“Er—no,” Harry said, not liking the attention being focused on him.

“Oh, where do you go then?” she asked.

“St. Brutus’s,” Dudley told her before Harry could attempt to lie. “It’s a center for juvenile delinquents.”

Rhonda looked at Harry in surprise. “Oh, so you’re quite the bad boy,” she said, her eyes taking on a predatory look. Harry gulped. “What did you do that was so bad?”

“Nothing,” Harry said.

“He trapped me in a zoo exhibit,” Dudley said, his face turning red when he realized what he had just said.

“How’d he manage to do that?” she asked, looking at Harry critically. “He doesn’t look strong enough to take you on, Dudley.”

“Looks are deceiving,” Harry said. “Besides, physical strength means nothing when you can outwit somebody as stupid as Dudley.”

She laughed while Dudley went from red to purple. He jumped up. “I should grind you into—”

“Oh stop, Dudley. Can’t you see it was just a joke?” Rhonda said, laughing again. “Your cousin’s kind of funny.”

“You brought it up,” Harry reminded him.

“Shut up,” he muttered, scowling.

Aunt Petunia stuck her head back in. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat, shall we?”

Rhonda got up. “Great! I’m so hungry I could eat a whole pig!”

Petunia gave a nervous little laugh and guided them into the dining room. Dudley plopped down in his chair, scowling at his plate. Uncle Vernon stared at him for a few moments before pulling out a chair for Rhonda. “Here you go, dear,” he said and then rushed around to pull out his wife’s chair.

Harry sat down across from Dudley and Rhonda. Uncle Vernon grabbed a large knife and a fork. “How big a slice would everyone like?” he asked.

“Make mine thick, Vernon,” Rhonda said. “Is there any champagne in the house?”

“Vernon and I keep a bottle of Merlot for special occasions,” Petunia said, glancing at her husband.

“Well, isn’t this a special occasion?” Rhonda asked gruffly.

“Well, yes, of course it is,” Petunia said. “But…”

“But what?” she demanded.

“But aren’t you only seventeen?” Aunt Petunia asked.

Rhonda scowled, making her features extremely ugly. “Your point, Petunia?”

“Well, you aren’t old enough, dear,” she said.

Uncle Vernon, however, seemed to be thinking more about the deals that could be made with Rhonda’s father. “Oh Petunia, let’s not be prudish. I think we can bend the rules once in awhile.”

Aunt Petunia sighed. She wasn’t about to go against her husband. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’ll go fetch it.”

She left while Vernon continued to cut everyone a generous slice of ham, even for Harry. “May I dish you up some potatoes?” he asked Rhonda.

“Sure, Vernon,” she said, handing over her plate. “Don’t be skimpy with them.”

“Of course not,” he said, giving her an extra helping. “Anything else?”

“Everything else,” she replied, looking at the food. “I certainly hope Petunia’s a good cook. Rosetta is amazing! I’ve been bloody spoiled by her.”

“I found the Merlot,” Petunia announced, returning with a bottle and five wine glasses.

Vernon stared at her as she set the wine glasses in front of everyone’s plates. “You’re going to give Potter some of that?” Harry heard Uncle Vernon mutter to her.

“We don’t want to look bad,” Petunia whispered back fiercely.

Vernon frowned. “Fine.” He took the bottle from Aunt Petunia and poured everyone a glass.

“Excellent,” Rhonda said when she got hers and immediately took a large gulp of it.

“Er—how about a little prayer?” Aunt Petunia said as she and Uncle Vernon sat down.

“We aren’t very religious in my house,” Rhonda said. “So, no thanks.” Then, without hesitation, she started in on her meal.

“Well, then,” Aunt Petunia said, eyeing the girl warily, “tuck in everyone.”

They ate in silence for a few moments when Uncle Vernon tried to initiate conversation once again. “So, Rhonda, tell us about your father’s work,” he said pleasantly.

Harry rolled his eyes as he took a sip of Merlot and nearly gagged. He swallowed it quickly and set it aside, deciding that Merlot was definitely not his drink of choice.

Rhonda chewed thoughtfully—with her mouth open. “Well,” she said loudly, not finished chewing, “Dad’s quite the important man. He’s a banker or something like that. I really don’t care what the hell he is, just as long as he keeps the money coming in.”

“I see,” Vernon said.

Harry stood up. Vernon glared at him. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I’m going to get myself a glass of water,” he replied. “I don’t much like Merlot.”

“Well hand it over, Harry—I’ll take it!” Rhonda said enthusiastically.

Harry gestured to the glass. “Take it if you want it,” he murmured, walking away from the table to get his glass of water. When he arrived back at the table, he noticed his glass was now sitting next to Rhonda, who had drained her other one.

“…so then Dudley tells me he’ll take me to France before the holiday’s over with. Of course, I really don’t like the French. Par-lez voose fran-sais, ha! I’d rather go over to the bloody States where those surfer blokes are. And I’ll be taken in right away because you know how those stupid Americans are about the way we talk. They think every bloody word we say is Shakespeare!”

Uncle Vernon and Dudley chuckled while Aunt Petunia gave a short laugh. She was staring at the girl in sheer horror as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before rubbing it on the white tablecloth.

Harry sat down. “I’ve met a couple French girls and they were alright,” he said. “Plus my friend has gone to France on a few occasions and really enjoyed it there.”

Rhonda’s eyes went flat. “Think the French are alright, do you? What, did those two French girls snog you or something?”

“No,” he murmured. “At the time, I had another girl on my mind.”

“What, that bushy haired number at the train station?” Dudley demanded.

Harry gave his gigantic cousin a hard look. “No, I wasn’t referring to her.”

Dudley sneered. “She rejected you flat, didn’t she?”

“No, she didn’t. It didn’t work out.”

“Poor Potter,” Dudley mocked.

Rhonda belched. “Damn, that’s some fine Merlot!”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared at her in amazement. The Dursleys may have been blind to their own son’s rudeness, but it was apparent that they could not escape hers.

The dinner wore on with Dudley’s girlfriend continuously talking with her mouth full of ham. When it was finally over, Uncle Vernon ordered Harry to wash the dishes as he and the others entered the living room. Harry took his time washing the dishes, not wanting to go in there.

“It’s getting late,” Rhonda said later. “I’m going to call for the car.”

“Certainly, dear,” Vernon said. “The telephone is right—”

“I don’t need your telephone,” Rhonda said loudly. “I’ve got a mobile.”

Harry finished drying the last of the dishes when she walked into the kitchen, picking her teeth and dialing home on her mobile phone. He quickly exited, but lingered around the doorway to hear exactly what the girl would say to her family.

“Hey Lucy, tell Mum or Dad to send the car for me. I just about had enough of this small house and pathetic family. Remind me tomorrow morning to telephone stupid Dudley and break up with his sorry arse. And here I thought he was rich, with an inheritance and everything. Oh, and tell Dad that whatever he does, don’t work with—what’s his name again—oh, Vernon Dursley. Be quick about that car, Lucy. Bye.”

Harry bit his lower lip in an attempt not to laugh. No matter how awful he thought this girl was, the fact that she was going to dump Dudley over the phone made him want to snicker. Of course, they were both using each other; they really did belong together.

With a bit of a spring in his step, Harry walked back into the living room and waited with both Rhonda and the Dursleys until her parents’ chauffeur arrived for her. She then gave them all a short good-bye and left, promising to call Dudley in the morning. That time Harry really did snicker.

He turned his attention to his aunt and uncle when the door closed. His aunt was sitting rigidly, staring at a spot on the wall, while his uncle sat lost in thought.

Dudley turned and beamed at his parents. “So, what did you think of her?”

Uncle Vernon focused on his son. “Erm…”

Aunt Petunia frowned. “She was—er—okay, I suppose.”

Dudley stared incredulously at his parents. “What do you mean by that?”

“She wasn’t exactly what we expected,” Vernon said.

“She was a little rough around the edges,” Aunt Petunia muttered. “Did any of you count how many glasses of Merlot she had? Five!”

Dudley stood up. “You didn’t like her,” he said slowly. “You don’t like my girlfriend.”

“Now, Dudley, it’s not that we don’t like her—” Uncle Vernon started.

“But she’s a spoiled brat who smokes,” Harry finished for his uncle, trying to hide how much he was finding this entertaining.

Vernon looked over furiously at Harry. “Stay out of this, Potter!” Then he flashed his eyes back upon his son. “Speaking of smoking, she was lying about her bumming a cigarette off of you, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Aunt Petunia seemed to plead. “Wasn’t she just joking?”

While Dudley tried to find the proper way to answer their questioning, Harry got up and walked over to the coat rack where Dudley’s leather jacket was. He quickly searched the pockets and fished out half a pack of cigarettes. “Doesn’t look like it,” he said, tossing them to Uncle Vernon. “Sorry to tell you that your son has one nasty habit.”

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley stared, horrified, at the cigarettes. Aunt Petunia’s lip trembled. “Diddy? No, not my Diddy!”

Uncle Vernon turned purple, unable to ignore his son’s behavior any longer. He crumpled the cigarettes as his enormous hand made a fist. “You will stop this nonsense right away, Dudley. You are not to smoke another one of these death sticks,” he said in a deadly calm voice.

“Good luck with that one,” Harry muttered.

“SHUT UP!” both Uncle Vernon and Dudley roared while Aunt Petunia started weeping.

Dudley rounded on his father. “You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do! You don’t own me!”

“I’m afraid for the next year, Dudders, I do,” Vernon said, cringing.

“You can’t make me do anything! You can’t stop me! I don’t need you people anymore!” He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. “If you can’t accept me for who I am or the people I’m with, then fine! I’m gone!”

“Diddy, wait!” Aunt Petunia sobbed as Dudley marched towards the door and opened it.

“Good-bye,” he spat. Then, with great force, he stepped out the door and slammed it shut.

Author’s Note: Well, it’s been awhile since I last updated and I apologize. Being in college and now, with my new job, I don’t have a lot of time for just recreational computer use. And I’ll admit that I just don’t feel like writing these days. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon the story. No, I’ve made a commitment and I’m sticking to it. Maybe I just need to have an all-day Harry Potter-a-thon and watch the movies again. Or start the series back over again, which would certainly beat reading Shakespeare. As always, my thanks go out to by beta, Nitya, and to those that have reviewed. I appreciate it.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE TELEPHONE CALL

Dudley did not return the next day, or the day after that. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia called the police with the hope that they would find their son, but wherever Dudley was hiding, it was a good enough place to stump the police. Harry had to hand it to his cousin—he didn’t know the guy had it in him.

Aunt Petunia cried on a regular basis. She’d start wailing at a moment’s notice. Harry even saw his uncle get a little teary eyed once. In order to escape his relatives’ blubbering, Harry stayed in his room.

On the third day of Dudley’s departure, when Harry walked into the kitchen to find something to eat, Vernon snapped at him.

“This is all your fault, Potter!”

Harry spun around and stared at his snarling uncle. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you hadn’t gotten those cigarettes out of Dudley’s pocket, he would have never left!” his uncle roared.

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So I take it I won’t be getting a ‘thank you, Harry, for informing us that our son is slowly killing himself.’ But, if I may be blunt, it is actually you who is to blame here. You tried to control him for once and he didn’t like it. He’s not used to discipline and when you finally let him have it, he rebels!”

Trembling in rage, Vernon backhanded him. “How dare you tell me how to raise my son, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Now it was Harry who was trembling in rage. He attempted to leave, to take the high road, but Vernon stopped him. “Where are you going, Potter?”

“To my room,” Harry replied through gritted teeth.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere until I get my son back!” Vernon roared.

“And what do you expect me to do?” Harry demanded. “It’s not my fault that he left!”

“Yes, it is!” Vernon growled, pinning Harry to the refrigerator with his big, beefy hand.

Just then, Aunt Petunia walked into the kitchen. She stopped and stared at her husband and nephew. “What’s going on here?”

“He’s the reason why our son is gone,” Vernon snarled, his face so purple he looked like a plum.

“I am not,” Harry mutter, wriggling free from his uncle’s grip. “None of this is my fault. It’s yours!”

Petunia turned sharply and glared at Harry angrily. “Get out of this kitchen,” she said, “and don’t come near us for the rest of the day, do you hear me?”

He scowled at her. “Yeah, I hear you,” he muttered. Glowering at his aunt and uncle, he left the kitchen, stomped up the stairs, and walked into his room before slamming the door shut. So Uncle Vernon thought he could slap Harry, call his mother a bitch, and then claim that he was the reason why Dudley had run off? Harry would show him. He’d make sure his uncle paid. Grabbing a quill, ink bottle, and a piece of parchment, he sat down at his desk and started writing.

Dear Moody,

I checked in with Dumbledore a few days ago, if he hasn’t told you yet. I know writing you lot more than once every few weeks is uncommon for me, but you said that if I ever had a problem with the Muggles I should write you straight away, right? Well, I’m having a big problem with the bloody Muggles. My cousin has run off and my uncle is blaming me for it. He’s being abusive, both verbally and physically towards me, and I don’t appreciate what he’s been saying about my mother. Let it be known that I want out! Is there some place I can stay for the rest of the summer, or at least until I’m seventeen and allowed to be out on my own? Please respond to this as fast as you can. Thanks.

Harry

He rolled up the note quickly and turned to Hedwig, who was surprisingly awake. He suddenly felt guilty. Slamming the door had probably woken her up. He frowned and walked over to her cage.

“Hey girl. I’m sorry to do this to you, but will you please take this to Mad-Eye Moody? We’ve got to get out of here, or at least scare the living daylights out of these people. Please, Hedwig?”

She hooted dolefully and snatched the rolled up parchment with her talons. Harry ran over and opened the window to let her go. “Thanks, Hedwig!”

He stood there for a moment, watching her fly away. When she became a small white speck on the horizon, he frowned and sat down on his bed. “Three more weeks,” he muttered to himself. “I have at least three more weeks left in this hellhole before I can leave.” He looked on his desk, where sat a small wad of parchment containing a countdown sheet he had made the day he arrived back, to confirm that it was exactly two weeks and six days until he would become of age.

Sighing, he hauled out his Charms book and picked up where he left off the last time he attempted to read the book. The chapter was over nonverbal charms, which most of his classmates knew how to perform anyway. Many of them had already started working on using them, once they realized that they only needed to say the incantation in their mind. Harry had little difficulty with them.

Eventually, he got around to writing his essay for that class before shoving the book back into his trunk. He laid the essay out to dry. Then, with a groan, he grabbed his Potions book. But instead of doing the homework the professor he loathed most assigned, he laid on his bed and daydreamed.

He could see himself back at Hogwarts for his final year, soaring around the Quidditch pitch in his first match against Slytherin house. He could vividly see their emerald robes and also the scarlet ones of his Gryffindor teammates. He saw the Snitch and chased after it. When he snatched it out of the sky, he heard one voice cheering above all the others. He turned as he landed and caught the running form of Hermione in his arms, capturing her in a breathtaking kiss. She giggled against his mouth. He pulled back and smiled at her before raising his hand up high, holding the Snitch in triumph. Life couldn’t be any better than that.

He then imagined that he was sitting in the common room, alone, as it approached midnight. The fire in the hearth was warm and cheerful. Suddenly, arms wrapped around him from behind and a soft kiss was placed on the back of his neck. He grinned. Slowly, he reached up and touched her hand, squeezing it gently, as he leaned back and looked up at her smiling face. It was odd seeing her upside down, but the flames flickering over her features made her mesmerizing. There was a twinkle in her eye as her lips descended down and met his. Butterflies were in his stomach as he reached up to caress her cheek, and just as he was about to graze his fingertips over her, she disappeared with a loud bang.

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, annoyed. When he looked over at the clock, to his shock he saw that it was 6:00 in the evening. Aunt Petunia was down in the kitchen, banging around for a pot. He grumbled and picked up his Potions book. He had better get to work on his homework.

Reading what was required was tedious, especially when he had his growling stomach as a distraction. He was barely a quarter of the way through his readings when he slammed the book closed, frustrated. He couldn’t go downstairs and eat dinner or his uncle would probably try to kill him, and he couldn’t pack his trunk and leave or Dumbledore and the Order would send him back. Voldemort was biding his time while Harry was expected to kill him. Neither Ron nor Hermione had written and he didn’t trust himself to send a letter that wouldn’t give too much information away. But to top it all off, Professor Snape, Harry’s most loathed teacher, expected him to read 120 pages by the time he returned to Hogwarts.

Harry snorted. What a joke.

What he needed was a distraction, like a deck of cards or something. Sadly, Harry had never owned a pack of cards before, not even a pack of Exploding Snap cards. Ron was the one who owned the deck and it wasn’t like Harry would just walk over to the Burrow and play a game.

Harry opened his trunk and dug around until he found what Ron had given to him for Christmas that past year, which was a special edition wizard’s chess set involving Quidditch. The king was the Golden Snitch, while the queen was the Quaffle. Bludgers and Beaters’ bats were the knights and bishops. Two goalposts acted as castles. Then the seven players plus the referee were the pawns. Harry found it to be quite funny, but the game required someone else to play it with him. Still though, he could try to outwit himself. That perhaps would be entertaining.

He set up the pieces. White played first. Thinking about how stupid he was being, he muttered, “Pawn to D-three.” The pawn moved and then, to his great surprise, a black pawn moved. He stared at it. The game must have been able to tell that there wasn’t anyone else playing. “Er—pawn to G-three.” After this turn was done, black moved again.

And so they played. Harry actually found it rather difficult. Was that how Ron felt their first year when they went up against Professor McGonagall’s giant chess set? It was possible, except that Ron was an expert when it came to chess, while Harry was just your ordinary player. Eventually, with a sigh of relief and a smirk, he ordered his knight into position and checkmated the king.

Just then, Hedwig soared in through his window. “Hey girl,” he said, smiling as he walked over to stroke her head. “Did you find Moody alright?”

She gave him an annoyed look, as if it was the dumbest question he had ever asked. He chuckled. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry—stupid question.” He looked at her talons. “No reply back?” Hadn’t he asked Moody to respond?

Hedwig hooted in what Harry took to be an apology.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have sent it to Moody. He probably doesn’t care and considers me to be just a whining teenager,” he said darkly. “Lupin would. I should have sent you to Lupin. But the Dursleys don’t fear him as much.” He snorted. “Well, maybe they would if I told them that he is a werewolf.”

Suddenly, Harry heard the doorbell ring. Had the police finally found Dudley? He walked over to his door and opened it before tiptoeing to the top of the stairs to eavesdrop.

Aunt Petunia opened the door. “Hel—Dudley!” she cried, and then screamed.

Harry was halfway down the stairs when he heard a gravelly voice say, “Hello, Mrs. Dursley. I reckon you remember me.”

Harry recognized that voice.

“Vernon!” Petunia squeaked, grabbing onto her terrified looking son and pulling him inside.

Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. “Good evening, Moody.”

Mad-Eye Moody’s dark, beady eye glanced at Harry and nodded in greeting. “Potter.” His big round electric blue eye swiveled. “Drop that knife, Dursley!”

There was a clang in the kitchen and Uncle Vernon appeared, his face purple. “You,” he said in a calm voice, but his eyes betrayed him. “You are not welcome here. Leave my home at once!”

“Well aren’t you the ever gracious host,” Moody replied back snidely, shaking some of his grizzled dark gray hair out of his face. “You won’t even thank me for bringing your boy back?”

Vernon blinked and finally noticed Dudley. “Dudders? You’re home?” He gaped at Moody. “How did you…where did you…”

“I found your nitwit of a son hiding in an alley near the park, watching a young picnicking couple,” Moody said contemptuously. “As if your son couldn’t stand to lose some weight.”

“I’m hungry, Mum,” Dudley whimpered, clinging to Aunt Petunia.

“Of course you are, Popkins,” she said, trying to wrap her arms around her son.

“It was very stupid of him to take off like that,” Moody continued, taking a step into the house with a clunk. “There’s a war going on and You-Know-Who knows damn well who you people are. You’re lucky one of his Death Eaters didn’t find him and kill him. You’re even luckier that Potter actually had the heart to write the Order about it or otherwise we wouldn’t have known that he needed to be tracked down.” He shot Harry a look that warned him not to speak.

Both Vernon and Petunia’s eyes flashed towards Harry, who stood at the bottom of the stairs frowning. Moody took another step into the house (clunk) and then, with one eye staring menacingly at Petunia and the other one trained on Vernon, he growled, “So perhaps you ought to treat the boy better. He’s a fine young man and doesn’t deserve the hell you lot put him through.”

Harry swelled with pride at Moody’s praise.

“Treat him better,” Moody repeated, “or we’ll hear about it—and we’ll deal with it.” Uncle Vernon gulped. Aunt Petunia looked faint. “Now, I need to have a little word with Potter. Why don’t you go continue dinner?”

The Dursleys scurried out of the room, leaving Harry and Moody alone. Moody stared at him with his beady eye. The other one was moving around in its socket, something that Harry was quite used to by now.

“Erm—thanks for coming,” he said lamely. When Moody did not reply, Harry feigned a cough and asked, “So Dudley was in an alley?”

Moody nodded. “Watching a couple and mumbling something about somebody named Rhonda.”

“Oh. His girlfriend.” He looked up at Moody hopefully. “Shall I go get my things?”

Moody frowned. “You’re not going anywhere, Potter. Didn’t I make that clear enough?”

His face fell. “Sorry, but I was hoping, with the way that the Dursleys have been treating me, that maybe I could go live at headquarters for the rest of the summer.”

“No.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “But it’s my house. I should be able to live in it if I want to! I could tell the Order to get the hell—”

“They’re Dumbledore’s orders, not mine,” Moody growled, cutting Harry off, “and if you’re wise, you’ll heed them.”

Harry sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay. But if they—” He pointed off in the direction the Dursleys had left. “—do anything to me again, I’m gone and good luck finding me.”

Moody scowled. “Don’t try to talk big, Potter. And don’t be stupid either. I know you know better. Threatening us won’t get you your way either. Now grow up and take this like a man because, compared to You-Know-Who, this is nothing.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like you know it,” Moody advised. He turned to leave. “We’ll expect an owl from you in a few weeks. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, feeling the hot burn of shame. “Sorry for dragging you out here.”

He could tell that Moody’s magical eye was trained on him. “Don’t be.” Then he walked out the door, the clunk noise slowly going away until Harry heard a faint crack!

Closing the front door, Harry frowned. Moody was right. He had been acting highly immature. Turning, he walked over to the kitchen doorway, where Dudley was lamenting to his parents.

“She just gave me this disgusted look and slammed the door in my face,” he was saying. “What did I do wrong?”

“Oh, dear, she just wasn’t your type,” Petunia said, patting her son on the back.

“And she didn’t really care about you at all,” Harry piped in for a reason unknown to him. “She thought you were rich, like her. All she cared about was the money.”

Uncle Vernon glared at him for intruding upon their family moment. “Why don’t you leave us alone, Potter?”

Harry frowned. “Suit yourself,” he said and left, going to his room to start working on his Potions homework again.

*****

Four days later found Harry in his room, idly reading his Herbology book. It was the new homework task he had undertaken, having finished his Potions homework the previous evening, long essay and all. If only Hermione were there; she would have been proud of him.

But truth be told, Harry was extremely bored. The Dursleys had once again gone back to ignoring him and Harry did nothing but spend time in his home, wasting away the pleasant summer days playing against the chess board, doing his homework and daydreaming.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he could go outside and enjoy the nice weather. The only times he ever went outside was to do chores for Aunt Petunia. Otherwise, he hadn’t left the house. It would be nice to leave the Dursley household, even if it were only for a couple of hours. But he knew that the Order would not approve. They wanted him to stay inside, where it was safe, and he knew it.

He closed his Herbology book and looked outside. Since when had he ever done something that kept him safe?

Grinning to himself, he grabbed his wand and put it in his pocket before covering it with his shirt and leaving his room. He walked slowly and quietly down the stairs as not to disturb the Dursleys and when he reached the front door, he pulled it open and stepped out into freedom.

Well, as much freedom as he could get before going back.

He walked down the path and to the pavement, where he followed it to the corner. Little kids were out playing, women were working on their gardens, and men were watering their yards. He crossed the street and turned. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, he mused, although there was a slight breeze that rippled through his hair, scattering his unruly bangs, and uncovering his scar. Nobody stared at him as he walked down the pavement, like Aunt Petunia always feared they would. Harry was positively normal at the moment, besides wearing jeans with holes in them and rather dingy trainers.

He was almost to the park, lost in his own thoughts, when he suddenly ran right into somebody. Nice one, Potter.

“Sorry,” he murmured and then got a good look at who he had run into. “Mrs. Figg?”

Arabella Figg, Harry’s neighbor from a few blocks over who loved cats, was also a Squib and a member of the Order. She shook her head to clear it and peered up at Harry. “Oh, Harry, it’s you! I was about to give you a good swinging at with my purse, but since it’s you…”

“I’m terribly sorry about running into you,” he said, reaching out and grabbed her arm to steady her when she swayed. “Are you okay?”

“What? Oh yes, I’ll be fine. My, you’ve become quite the sturdy young man, haven’t you?”

He chuckled. “Most people consider me pretty skinny.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I’m getting a bit frail in my old age,” she said, standing up straighter. “So, how have you been? You haven’t visited me all summer.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been keeping to myself, really. I’ve spent most of my time avoiding the Dursleys and the best way to do that is to stay in my room,” he told her.

“You’ve been cooped up in your bedroom? It’s a wonder that you haven’t gone mad! But still, I’m not quite sure you should be out like this, with a war going on and all. We may have people dropping by your house every week to make sure there aren’t any Death Eaters snooping around, but that doesn’t mean they don’t go there on the days we aren’t!” she said.

“The Order’s been checking in on me every week?” he asked.

“Of course! Dumbledore’s top priority is that you’re safe. Tell me, do you have your wand with you, Harry?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Good boy. You keep that thing on you at all times, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded. “While I know you must be thrilled to be out of the Dursley household, you really ought to be heading back. You got your fresh air, now go back and live safely.”

“What Order members drop by the house?”

She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know…Mundungus Fletcher, Dedalus Diggle, Kingsley Shacklebolt—”

“Kingsley? But he’s an Auror! Shouldn’t he be working to find out where Voldemort’s hiding?”

She hissed. “Don’t say his name, Harry! And yes, he probably should, but he does spare some time to check in on you, as does Tonks.”

“Tonks? She checks in on me too? She could at least drop by and say hello to me,” he said, annoyed.

“And risk letting the Muggles know that their home is being watched over by wizards? Ha!”

“Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

“Darn right you should. Now get moving, Harry—get back home. The more you stay out here and keep talking the more in danger you are. Go on now, shoo!” she said, waving him away.

He frowned. “It was good seeing you, Mrs. Figg.”

“And it was good seeing you, Harry. Now go!”

Shaking his head, he turned and headed back towards the Dursleys. A quick five minute walk and he was back at the front door. When he opened it, he found himself face to face with Dudley.

“Get out of my way.”

“You forgot to say please,” Harry remarked dryly.

Dudley balled his hand into a fist and waved it in front of Harry. “This is my please,” he growled.

“That’s not a very polite please,” Harry said. “Come on, let’s work on this. Say ‘Harry, please step out of the doorway so I can get through.’ Come on.”

Dudley gave him a vile suggestion and shoved him out of the way before stalking off down the path. Harry called after him, “You wouldn’t have gone through so much to smoke if you had just said please!” Dudley’s shoulders hunched in irritation as he continued walking away.

Harry grinned. Sure, he had been shoved, but it was well worth it just to annoy his cousin.

He walked inside, bent on finding something to eat before he returned to his solitude in his room, when the phone rang. Uncle Vernon usually answered the phone, but seeing as he was at work, Aunt Petunia wiped her hands on her apron and crossed to the phone in the kitchen. Harry paid her little attention as he went over to the refrigerator and began to dig around for something quick and edible.

“Hello?”

Harry found the makings for a sandwich and got them out. He then noticed Aunt Petunia glance at him nervously.

“Er—who?”

Harry eyed her as she continued to glance his way nervously.

“May I ask who you are?”

Keeping his eye on Aunt Petunia, he walked over to the bread taker and got out two slices of bread.

“And—er—how do you know him?”

That really got Harry’s attention. Nervous glances and a “him” obviously meant someone had actually called on the phone for him. But who? Who would call him?

“I—”

“Who is it?” he demanded. He didn’t want Aunt Petunia to do anything that could stop him from talking to whoever was calling him.

“Er—one second please.” She set the receiver on her shoulder and glared at him. “I am on the phone.”

“With somebody who obviously wants to talk to me. I can see it on your face,” he said. “Who is it?”

“A girl,” she said sourly.

His eyes widened. “A girl? Who?”

She put the receiver back up to her ear. “I’ll let you speak to him, Miss Granger.”

“Miss Granger? Hermione?” His heart leapt. He snatched the phone the moment she handed it over. “Hello? Hermione?”

“Hello, Harry,” said the one voice Harry had longed to hear most. “How has your summer been?”

“Fine,” he replied and watched as his aunt pursed her lips and walked out. He lowered his voice. “You’re lucky you called when Uncle Vernon is at work. He would have hung up on you. How has your summer been?”

“Oh, pretty good. I finished my last piece of homework last week.”

“Last week!” he exclaimed. “I’ve only got Charms and Potions done.”

“Potions? Really? I would have thought you’d save that for last.”

“Oh, I thought I’d just torture myself early, for once.”

She laughed, a sound that he realized he had sorely missed. “I’m glad to hear it.” But then her voice sobered. “Listen, Harry, this isn’t a social call, and calling is a lot safer than sending you a letter—Death Eaters don’t tap telephone lines. The real reason why I’m calling is…I was able to convince my parents to let you come to my house and stay, and I got Dumbledore to agree to it as well. So—erm—do you want to come over and stay for the rest of the summer?”

Harry stood frozen to the spot with his jaw hanging open. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind at once, most of them involving him, her, and their lips. “Er—sure! I would love that.”

“Really?” she asked and he could tell she was nervous.

“Yes. I’m a little shocked at the moment,” he admitted. “You’ve never invited me or Ron over to your house before.”

“Oh, well, that’s because the Burrow is so much more fun and I figured you two would rather be there. But this summer…there are some special circumstances,” she said.

Harry picked up on her line of thought right away. “Because of Percy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how they’re taking it? Have you heard from Ron lately?”

“I received one letter from Ron, informing me that he doubted that his parents would want anybody at the Burrow this summer and well, while I don’t mind staying at home, I couldn’t imagine letting you stay with the Dursleys all summer, so I quickly wrote Professor Dumbledore a letter and started in on my parents, begging them to let you stay.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now quick, ask your aunt if you can come.”

“Sure.” He put the receiver against his shoulder. “Aunt Petunia?”

She popped into the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. “What?”

“Er—can I go stay at my friend’s house for the rest of the summer?”

She stared at him for a moment. “That friend of yours is a girl.”

He frowned. “Your point? Look,” he said, “if you don’t let me go, I’ll just leave on my seventeenth birthday anyway. You might as well let me go now. And think, you’ll never have to see me ever again.”

She twisted her hands together. “I should really discuss this with your uncle…”

“Well, what do you think Uncle Vernon would say?”

This time she frowned. “Alright, fine, you may go.”

He grinned. “Thank you.” He put the receiver back up to his ear. “Hermione? How soon can you get me out of here?”

“Is this Saturday too soon?”

He scoffed. “Not at all. What time can I expect you?”

“Well, my parents and I will be arriving by car…I would say between twelve-thirty to one o’clock. Is that good?”

“It’s fine.” He grinned. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“As am I. I’ll see you Saturday, Harry. Have your trunk all ready to go.”

“I sure will.”

She gave a short laugh. “Okay. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

He hung up the phone, and as he did, there was a smile on his face, a smile that did not leave him until he fell asleep that night.

Author’s Note: Not much to say this time around except to warn you that Harry’s a tad…bipolar, although not in the extreme depression to mania sense. His fuse is quite short in this chapter, so I apologize in advance. I doubt any of you really care why I chose the names I chose for Hermione’s parents, but I’ll give you a big cookie if you can guess. Otherwise, enjoy the chapter and say sayonara to the Dursleys. As always, a big thanks goes out to Nitya for betaing this. You seriously rock, girl.

CHAPTER FIVE

DENTISTS AND DRILLS

Uncle Vernon’s face was blotched purple when he found out about Harry’s impending departure from the Dursley residence. He didn’t like the idea of Harry having fun, especially at a girl’s house, but he also didn’t like the idea of Harry sticking around, causing more “mayhem” for the Dursleys.

Breakfast was tense the following morning as Harry poured milk into his bowl of cereal. Uncle Vernon gave him a hard stare.

“Have we met this friend of yours before?” he asked suddenly.

Harry looked up at his uncle and stopped pouring milk. “Yes. She was with the Weasleys when they picked me up last summer.”

Vernon’s jaw twitched. “Humph. She,” he repeated. “And how long have you known this…girl?”

“Ever since my first day at Hogwarts a good six years ago,” Harry replied.

He scowled. “Don’t mention that place in here!”

“You asked!” Harry shot back defensively, grabbing his spoon and shoving cereal into his mouth.

Dudley was eyeing him. “Is she that girl you were hugging at the train station?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

“Hmm? Oh—yes,” he said, swallowing. “She and I are close friends.”

“But you called her your girlfriend,” Dudley said pointedly.

Uncle Vernon slammed his orange juice down onto the table. “Girlfriend!”

“We haven’t exactly—”

“You’re going to go to your girlfriend’s house?” Vernon yelled. “Those freaks must be insane!”

Harry stood up, angered. Leaving his breakfast behind, he left the table and took the stairs two at a time before entering his room and slamming his bedroom door shut, startling Hedwig.

How dare that man call Hermione’s parents freaks? They were nothing of the sort! In fact, from what Harry gathered (as he had never properly met them), they were completely nice, normal people. There was nothing wrong with them; Harry was sure of it. Actually, they had to be extraordinary people to raise such a wonderful daughter like Hermione. Hermione was, in his opinion, the definition of perfection. It would take two pretty special people to have a daughter like that.

Harry kicked the edge of his bed. Saturday could not come fast enough. Harry had to get out of there. He could not stand the Dursleys any longer. After nearly seventeen years, his fuse had run out. Pretty soon, he feared, he may do something that would land him into a lot of trouble.

He looked around his room. Hedwig was eyeing him closely, watching him for any more violent outbursts. Harry frowned. “Sorry, girl,” he murmured.

She gave a short hoot in response and turned to tuck her head back underneath her wing so that she could sleep.

Harry scanned his room again and, for the first time, noticed how cluttered it was. He had books, clothes, and other things tossed everywhere. He was actually surprised he could see the floor.

Ugh, I don’t want Hermione to come up here and see this, he thought. He had to clean his room up. Worse, he had to do it without magic. Sighing, he squatted and started in.

*****

Saturday took forever to arrive. Harry was able to get not only his room cleaned, but also his Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. Friday night found Harry putting the finishing touches on his Transfiguration essay. On Saturday morning, Harry woke with a start.

He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d have to shave, he decided, running a hand over his cheek and felt how coarse it was. He’d see about running a comb through his hair too, in a small attempt to help it. Lifting his arm and giving himself a sniff, he also decided that he’d take a nice long shower too.

Harry rifled through his trunk, looking for decent clothes to wear. He wanted to look good for when Hermione arrived that afternoon.

“Harry!”

He groaned. What on earth did his aunt want? Why was she bothering him? Muttering, he opened his door and called down, “Yes?”

“Get down here!” Aunt Petunia yelled.

Harry grimaced and slowly walked down the stairs. “What?”

“She’s your friend, so you’re definitely going to help me clean,” Petunia told him.

He stared at her. “But she’ll be here by twelve-thirty and I have to get ready!”

“You should have thought of that before,” Aunt Petunia said shrilly. “Now come on. Move it.”

He glowered at her. “And just what would you like me to clean?” he asked.

“I want you to dust, mop the kitchen floor, clean the windows, mow the lawn, trim the hedges—”

“I won’t have time to do all of that. Make Dudley mow the lawn and trim the hedges.”

She drew herself up to her full height. “I most certainly will not. I just got my son back! Do you think I’d honestly do something stupid enough to drive him away again?” she asked.

“Ah, yes, because we can’t put poor Dudley to work,” Harry muttered sardonically.

“Be quiet. Things have been hard for him lately.”

“Oh yes, very hard.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Get to work.”

He rolled his eyes behind her back. “Let me just get my shoes.”

He slowly made his way back upstairs and into his room, stalling for as long as possible. He didn’t give a damn about what the Dursleys’ lawn or hedges looked like, and he was sure that Hermione wouldn’t care either. It was completely pointless. Besides, what was Aunt Petunia the clean freak going to be working on that she couldn’t do it?

When he returned downstairs to retrieve some dust rags, he found Aunt Petunia sitting at the kitchen table, busily polishing her silver. Again, Harry rolled his eyes. When he had a rag, he got to work.

Dudley came downstairs about fifteen minutes later. “Mum, I’m hungry.”

“What? Oh, yes, dear. I’m sorry, Popkins. I was going to make toast but got completely absorbed with the silver.” She offered him an apologetic smile. “Here, let me get started. Why don’t you go into the living room and watch something on the telly?”

Dudley grumbled slightly, but took the suggestion and settled down in the living room, where Harry was cleaning.

“You missed a spot,” Dudley said, jeering at Harry five minutes later.

Harry turned around and looked at his cousin. Frowning, he stepped up to him and smeared the dusty rag on his face. “I guess you were right.”

Dudley wiped the dust off of his face, teeth bared. “You stupid little asshole!” And with a speed Harry didn’t know his cousin had, he jumped off the couch and landed on Harry, punching him in the gut.

Aunt Petunia rushed in. “Harry! Dudley! No!”

Dudley gave Harry one last punch in the jaw before climbing off of him and sneering. “That taught you not to dirty up my face, didn’t it, Potter?”

Harry wheezed and touched his jaw gingerly. “I’m surprised, Dud. I didn’t know an elephant could move that fast.”

Dudley made to attack Harry again, but Aunt Petunia seized him by the upper arm. “Dudley, no! Leave the foul boy alone! Harry, go to your room and stay there until your friend is supposed to arrive. Do you understand me?”

Harry got up off of the floor. “Yeah, I understand you,” he said. When walked past Dudley, he stopped and said, “Jeez, Dudley, learn to take a cheek.”

*****

Around 12:30, Harry headed down the stairs again, freshly showered and shaved. His attempt to comb his hair was unsuccessful. In fact, his hair only seemed to stick up worse than ever. He patted his head again, trying to force the unruly black hair back down.

He entered the living room, where Uncle Vernon was sitting, reading the paper. Dudley was once again watching the television. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen. Harry sat down near the door.

Uncle Vernon moved his paper down and peered at him over the top of it. “When are they supposed to arrive?” he asked gruffly.

“She said anywhere between twelve-thirty and one o’clock,” Harry replied.

Vernon snorted. “Not prompt, are they? Well, that’s what I’ve come to expect from your kind.”

Harry scowled.

Vernon put his paper away. “Now, about this girl…” He gave Harry a hard look. “You’re going there to stay for the summer. You don’t plan to return. But if you get into some sort of trouble with her, be damn sure that you won’t be able to come back here!”

Harry stared at him, bewildered. “What are you on about?”

“I don’t want to have to get a phone call from what’s-her-name’s parents because you and your obvious whore have done something to get yourselves into trouble!”

Harry’s blood ran cold. “What did you call her?”

Uncle Vernon seemed to be unfazed by the deadly whisper of Harry’s voice. “If she’s willing to go out with you, then she must be a whore,” he said plainly.

From ice cold, his blood became boiling hot. He gripped the arms on the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. His voice remained unchanged. “Don’t you ever call her that again,” he said in the same deadly whisper. “Hermione Granger is the purest person I have ever met. She’s like an angel. Don’t you dare call her something that besmirches her so.”

Vernon stared at Harry. “Are you threatening me, Potter?”

He nodded. “You better believe it.”

Vernon huffed. “You’re too young.”

“And I don’t care anymore,” Harry said. “I don’t bloody care. Nobody insults her in my earshot and gets away with it.” To backup his statement, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket.

Uncle Vernon stared at it. “They’ll expel you from that school you love so much. Don’t you care about that?”

“I’ve passed my O.W.L.s,” Harry said. “And I’m good enough to become a professional Quidditch player. I’m sure some job opportunity will pop up for me.”

Vernon’s face contorted in confusion. “What the devil are O.W.L.s and Quidditch?”

“Think GCSEs. You know, those things Dudley did so poorly on. Quidditch…it’s the wizarding world’s sport.” He grinned. “We fly on broomsticks.”

Uncle Vernon purpled. Obviously, he did not want to know that. He scowled. “Put that thing away, will you?” he asked, gesturing towards Harry’s wand.

“Apologize for what you called Hermione,” Harry said simply.

He stiffened. “I will not.”

“Then we’re at an impasse,” Harry said. “You refuse to apologize and I refuse to put my wand away until you do so.”

“Put it away Potter!” Vernon growled.

“No!” Harry said forcefully. “You can’t order me around anymore, Uncle. In about a half-hour’s time, I’ll be out of your life forever.”

Aunt Petunia walked in then. “Harry! What are you doing?”

“Attempting to compromise with Uncle Vernon,” he replied, continuing to watch the great purple man.

“You’re threatening him!” she shrieked. “Put that thing away, now!”

He finally glanced up at her. “Why? He called my friend a horrible name.”

“Something she probably deserves, no doubt,” Petunia said. “Now put that thing away!”

Harry jumped up, holding his wand aloft. “She is not a whore! She is nothing of the sort! She, with her work in attempting to free enslaved house-elves, already could qualify for sainthood! You two know nothing about her, so don’t judge her before you’ve properly met her! Don’t be so snobbish!”

All three Dursleys were now staring at Harry as he held his wand, shaking and near tears. Slowly, he lowered his wand. “She’s not like me. She’s a great person and the best friend anyone could ever hope to have,” he finished, defeated. Quietly, he walked out of the room and settled down on the stairs to wait.

He did not have to wait very long. About five minutes later, the doorbell rang. Harry’s head shot up and as it did so, his heart lightened. Finally, after several weeks of being apart, he and Hermione would be reunited.

Slipping his wand back into his pocket, Harry got up and walked over to the door. Then, with an inhale of anticipation, he opened the door to see his best friend standing there, a bright smile on her face.

“Harry!” she greeted, hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her and enjoyed her warmth before noticing two people behind her.

“Er—Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” he said, pulling out of Hermione’s embrace and stepping out of the doorway. “Please, come in.”

The Grangers stepped inside. Mrs. Granger glanced around while Mr. Granger stepped forward and shook Harry’s hand.

“Good to meet you, Harry.”

Mrs. Granger then stepped forward and shook Harry’s hand as well. “It’s a pleasure, Harry. Hermione’s told us so much about you over the years.”

Harry grinned. “Has she?” he asked, glancing at Hermione and seeing her turn a shade of crimson. “I hope it’s been nothing but good things.”

Mrs. Granger laughed and it sounded, Harry noticed, a lot like her daughter’s. “Oh, very good things, although she’s mentioned that you and your friend Ron don’t do your homework as quickly as you could.”

Harry chuckled. “Ah, well, we like to remind Hermione why she’s so much smarter than we are.” They entered the living room, where the Dursleys all stood, waiting. “Erm—this is my,” He frowned slightly, “family, the Dursleys—Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and my cousin Dudley.”

Mr. Granger stepped forward and held out his hand to shake Uncle Vernon’s. Purple in the face, Vernon reluctantly shook Mr. Granger’s hand.

“Yes, erm—Uncle, Aunt…Dudley…meet Mr. and Mrs. Granger. You remember Hermione, I’m sure,” Harry said uncomfortably.

“Well, actually,” Mr. Granger said with a grin, crossing over to shake Aunt Petunia’s hand, “it’s Dr. and Dr. Granger, but we don’t really mind it when people call us mister and missus.”

Aunt Petunia shook his hand and blinked. Uncle Vernon looked taken aback. “You’re doctors, you say?” he asked.

“Dentists, actually,” Mrs. Granger said pleasantly. “But we’re not in the office right now, so you can call us Mark and Helen.”

“So, wait a minute,” Vernon said, obviously still trying to grasp what the Grangers were saying. “You mean to tell me that you’re…normal? You aren’t…you aren’t…”

“A witch and a wizard?” Mr. Granger finished for him before chuckling. “Heavens no. We’re as…what’s the term again, sweetie? Muggle?”

“Yes, Dad,” Hermione said, grinning.

“Thank you. We’re as Muggle as the next person,” he finished, turning towards Uncle Vernon again.

Uncle Vernon couldn’t have looked more delighted. “Really? And you’re dentists, you say?”

“Yes we are, Mr. Dursley.”

“Oh please, call me Vernon,” Uncle Vernon said happily. “Petunia, don’t we have a pot of tea ready?”

“Oh, dear, I must have forgotten,” she said, even though Harry knew that she hadn’t. “How terrible of me. Let me go start up a pot immediately, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Please, sit, sit,” Vernon said. “Dudley, why don’t you go get our guests some biscuits or something.”

Dudley stared at him. Never before had he been sent to fetch something for guests. Scowling, he waddled out of the living room.

Harry and Hermione sat down together as Mr. and Mrs. Granger took their seats. Hermione crossed her legs and waited, not speaking, but listening instead as Uncle Vernon continued his conversation with her parents. Harry longed to talk to her.

“So, do you two own your own office or have you gone in with someone else?” Vernon asked.

“We have our own,” Mr. Granger said.

“Right in London,” Mrs. Granger added. “It’s wonderful.”

“You’ve got a lot of business then?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Granger said vaguely.

“We used to have a former prime minister as a client, but he moved out of the area,” Mr. Granger said.

“It was such a pity—he always had some great stories,” Mrs. Granger said, smiling.

“Yes, he was very good natured. Never seemed frazzled. You wouldn’t think he was the prime minister,” Mr. Granger said, chuckling again.

“But he did have a bad case of gingivitis,” Mrs. Granger said sadly. “And a few cavities. He loved his sweets.”

“My, my,” Uncle Vernon mused. “Have you had any other famous people as clients?”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger shook their heads. “No, not really,” Mr. Granger replied.

“Although there was that one newsreader,” Mrs. Granger said.

“The one that lasted about three months?” Mr. Granger asked her.

“Yes.”

“He wasn’t that famous. Most people wouldn’t know him from Adam today,” Mr. Granger said. “Fame—so fickle.”

“That’s very true, very true indeed,” Uncle Vernon said, nodding to Mr. Granger.

Harry couldn’t have agreed more. For most of his life, he was adored by the public, but in his fifth year, the wizarding world turned against him, thinking him to be crazy for continuously saying that Lord Voldemort had returned.

Aunt Petunia returned with a tray of tea. Dudley followed her in with a tray of cookies. “Here we are,” she murmured.

“Ah, wonderful,” Mrs. Granger said, accepting her cup from the tray. “Thank you.” When Dudley tried to serve her a cookie, she waved her hand. “No, thank you, my dear boy. Too sugary.”

Dudley gazed at her in surprise. Harry could practically hear his thoughts. How could anything ever be too sugary?

Conversation continued on. Uncle Vernon kept inquiring about Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s work while Harry and Hermione sat in a horrible silence that seemed to drag on for all eternity. Finally, Harry turned to Hermione and whispered, “Would you like to go up to my room?”

She smiled. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” They got up. “Mum, Dad, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to help Harry with his trunk.”

“Erm—yeah,” he said. “I realized I forgot to pack some things.”

“Alright,” Mr. Granger said, smiling, while trying to focus on something Uncle Vernon was saying.

Harry led Hermione up the stairs and into his tidied room. She walked in and looked around, scanning everything from his desk to his wardrobe. “Your room’s a lot cleaner than Ron’s,” she remarked.

Harry laughed. “Half the time you’ve seen Ron’s room, though, it’s had another bed in there, making it much more crowded.”

She grinned. “That’s very true.” She sat down on his bed.

“Sorry about my uncle,” Harry said, pulling out his desk chair and sitting down across from her. “I don’t know why he’s so chatty.”

“I think that the fact that my parents are Muggles has dazed him into being friendly,” she said.

“I don’t think my uncle can ever be ‘friendly.’ I don’t understand why he’s acting that way,” Harry told her.

She shrugged. “Or maybe it’s finally hit him that you’ll never be coming back and that’s making him so happy.”

“There’s a cheerful thought,” he said, grinning at her.

Again, she shrugged. “So, are you going to let Hedwig fly to my house or shall we be transporting her by car?”

“What?” Harry said blankly. To be quite honest, he hadn’t even thought about Hedwig since he woke up. “Oh! Er—I suppose she can fly. I had her fly last year to the Burrow. I think she liked it.” He got up and walked over to Hedwig in her cage, who was napping. “Wake up, Hedwig, it’s time to go.”

Hedwig snapped awake and hooted at Harry, as if she were just waiting for those magic words. Harry grinned as he opened her cage.

“Good afternoon, sleepy. I’ll be leaving with Hermione soon, so you might as well get a head start. Go on, you’ll be fine. Just watch out for anything dangerous, okay? Take a weird path if you think anybody’s following you, got it?”

She hooted again and blinked her amber eyes.

Harry sighed and smiled. “That’s my girl. Go on now!” He gave her cage a little shake as she hopped out and took flight. Both Harry and Hermione watched her fly away.

Harry twitched anxiously. Hermione stepped closer to him and put her hand in his before giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’ll be alright. She’s a smart owl.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without her, especially in the summers while I’m here. I’d be driven insane.” He shook his head and faced her. “I’m pretty pathetic for keeping an owl for company, aren’t I?”

She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. “Not at all.” She studied him closely. “There’s something else that’s wrong, isn’t there?”

He was about to deny it, only to realized as he searched his own feelings that there was. He frowned. “It’s Voldemort.”

She sat down on his bed again, pulling him with her. “What is it? What happened?”

“I had another vision.” When she frowned, he quickly said, “I know I’m supposed to be practicing Occlumency against him, but…I guess I slipped up that night.”

The frown faded and she gave him a patient look instead. “And? What did you see?”

“I saw him, well, not really. As usual, I was him. But I saw the Death Eaters, like Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort gave them orders. He sent Macnair to the giants and Malfoy to spy on the royal family. He sent Wormtail and another Death Eater to contact some werewolves and find something called Inferi.” At this, Hermione gasped. “What?”

“Inferi? Voldemort sent Wormtail to resurrect some Inferi?”

“Yeah. What are they?” Harry asked.

“Harry, they’re the dead. They’re dead people who have been brought back to life by dark magic and serve the person who did it,” she said fearfully.

“So then they’ll do whatever Wormtail says, not Voldemort,” Harry said.

“No. Voldemort will have Wormtail order the Inferi to follow Voldemort, not him,” Hermione said gloomily. “This is very bad.”

“Can’t they be stopped?”

She frowned. “You can’t kill the dead, Harry.”

“But there must be some way to stop them,” Harry reasoned.

“I don’t know. I won’t pretend to know everything about them,” she said. “My readings on them are limited. There are not a lot of books out there that like to discuss them.”

“I suppose, for the time being, all we can do is hope that Wormtail fails,” Harry murmured.

“Yes,” she agreed faintly. “Was there anything else in that vision?”

He nodded. “He sent the Lestrange brothers out to attack more towns.”

“Do you know where first?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes—Manchester. I’ve already sent a letter to Dumbledore about all of this. I hope he can do something to stop them,” Harry told her.

“Manchester,” Hermione repeated. “He’s getting bigger and bigger in his attacks, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I suppose he is. I think he’s out to make as much mayhem and destruction as he can before he…” He gulped. “…does something more terrifying.”

“God, what could be worse?”

“There’s something else,” Harry murmured.

“What?”

“Seth.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “His son? What about him?”

“He’s sent him away, to live with the Malfoys. I saw Bellatrix Lestrange give the baby to Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Really?” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, it makes sense to give the child to Narcissa Malfoy. Isn’t she Lestrange’s sister?”

Harry’s mood darkened. “Yes.”

She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I know,” she whispered.

“If we ever cross paths again…” Harry growled.

“I know,” Hermione repeated quietly.

Harry looked down at the floor. “I think we’ve left your parents alone with the Dursleys long enough. Any longer and they may wonder what we’ve been up to.”

Hermione blushed. “I’m sure you’re eager to leave anyway.”

He snorted. “You have no idea.”

Getting up, he held out his hand for her. She laughed and accepted it before Harry pulled her up into a standing position. She grinned. “So, which end of the trunk do you want to carry?”

“Whichever end you’re not carrying. How about you take the front and I’ll take the rear? Oh, and I need to grab my brooms too,” he said, walking over to his wardrobe and pulling out two racing brooms. The first one was his Firebolt, a gift from his deceased godfather, and the other was the broom that Harry had built the previous school year, the Phoenix. It was the broom that his father and friends had planned on making before his father had died.

“When you turn seventeen you can shrink them down into a more manageable size and stick them in your trunk,” Hermione said.

“When I’m seventeen I can shrink my entire trunk and stick it in my pocket,” Harry replied back as he stuck the Firebolt in the broomstick carrying case Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had bought him for his last birthday. Swinging the case over his shoulder and grabbing his other broom, Harry got down and grabbed the trunk’s handle. “Ready?”

Hermione did the same after grabbing Hedwig’s cage for him, but turned so that she would be facing the front. “Yeah. On three—one—two—three!”

Harry lifted the trunk and followed Hermione out of his room. As he passed through the doorway, he did a quick scan of his room to make sure that he hadn’t left anything behind. The room was quite bare. There was nothing left in there that belonged to him.

They went down the stairs and set the trunk, cage, and brooms down near the door before walking back into the living room, where Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked highly uncomfortable while Uncle Vernon stood up over them, his face pleasant, but a rather frustrated look in his eyes.

“Oh, come now, as dentists I’m sure you need a good supplier for your drills! Grunnings would be a great opportunity! We can make drills small enough for dental work. Really, give us a try,” Uncle Vernon said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dursley,” Mr. Granger said. “Granger Dental has a contract with another company. We really cannot sign another contract. Not unless we terminated the other one.”

“Then terminate it! I mean, after all, your daughter and my nephew are best friends. Wouldn’t it be nice to work together?” Vernon said.

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Outraged, he cried, “Don’t you dare!”

Both the Dursleys and the Grangers looked at him, stunned. Uncle Vernon wringed his hands. “Harry—”

“Don’t you dare use me,” Harry said dangerously. “And don’t you dare try to use my friendship with Hermione to earn yourself some money. Don’t act like you care about me all of a sudden, because I won’t stand for it. I won’t let you do this.”

Uncle Vernon’s face turned purple. “Potter—”

“We need to get going anyway,” Mr. Granger said quickly. “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.” He rose from his seat.

Mrs. Granger followed suit. “Thank you for the tea—it was lovely.”

“You’re welcome,” Aunt Petunia said automatically.

Uncle Vernon huffed out a breath, angered that his deal had gone sour. “Yes, well, off you go then.”

Frowning along with her husband, Mrs. Granger murmured a quick good-bye before heading towards the door.

“Good-bye,” Harry said, before turning with Hermione and heading towards the door too.

“Here, Harry, I’ll help you with your trunk,” Mr. Granger said while Mrs. Granger opened the door. “Hermione, can you grab the rest of his stuff?”

“Yes, Dad,” she replied, snatching up both of Harry’s brooms and Hedwig’s cage.

Very quickly, Harry’s belongings were stashed in the trunk of the Grangers’ car and he was sitting in the backseat with Hermione. Then, with one final, disdainful look at number four, Privet Drive, they left, and Harry felt free.

Author’s Note: Yikes! What happened to me? My life went all topsy-turvy for awhile there, including this horribly long period of time where I suffered from writer’s block. I seriously do apologize for all of that. Things are a bit more back to normal now (or so I hope), and it appears that I can formulate sentences again, thank God! Anyway, here’s my next chapter, although I wouldn’t be surprised if most of you forgot this story. Mucho gracias as always to Nitya, because she’s wonderful.

CHAPTER SIX

THE GRANGERS

Conversation immediately picked up after they turned off of Privet Drive. Hermione’s parents seemed eager to learn as much about Harry as they could from him, obviously recognizing that their daughter’s opinion was highly biased.

“So, you’re sixteen currently, right?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Yes, sir, although I’ll be seventeen on the thirty-first,” Harry replied.

“Oh, your birthday’s coming up, how lovely!” Mrs. Granger said. “I’ll have to bake you a cake—with artificial sweetener, of course. What’s your favorite?”

“Er—doesn’t matter. I’m not picky,” he said, causing Hermione to giggle.

“He prefers chocolate, Mum,” she said.

“Oh good! I’ve got a wonderful recipe for chocolate cake,” Mrs. Granger said.

Mr. Granger chuckled. “Why don’t you tell us about how you’ve been doing your past six years in school, Harry? Excited that this upcoming one is your last year?”

“Er—I haven’t really thought about it all that much.” He frowned. “I suppose I’m a bit sad, actually. Hogwarts has become my home, really, and I don’t want to leave it.”

“You sound like Hermione,” Mrs. Granger said. “She can never bear to part with it. I suspect that’s why she always stays during the Christmas and Easter holidays.”

“The studying is very intense, Mum,” Hermione said quickly. “Especially now, with us working on our N.E.W.T.s.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Busy Bee Hermione, always studying,” Mrs. Granger murmured.

“You did instill good educational values in me,” she said.

“Which is why Ron and I are always getting yelled at by her whenever we put Quidditch practice ahead of homework,” Harry added, laughing.

“Quidditch?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Er—it’s the wizarding world’s sport, sir,” Harry explained. “It’s played on broomsticks with three different kinds of balls—”

“Oh yes, now I remember!” Mr. Granger said. “Hermione told us you were a…Finder.”

“Er—Seeker, sir,” Harry corrected.

“That’s right. Sorry.”

“Easy mistake,” Harry said.

“Now, see, this wizarding sport—Queerditch—”

“Quidditch, Dad. Queerditch is the name of a marsh it was once played on,” Hermione said.

“Again, sorry. Quidditch sounds fascinating. Mind explaining the rules, Harry?”

“Er—no, sir. See, there are seven players on each team. Three players called the Chasers toss a ball called the Quaffle back and forth to each other and then attempt to get it past the other team’s Keeper and through one of the three goal hoops. There are two players on each side flying around with bats and hitting two balls called the Bludgers at the members of the opposite team. They’re called Beaters. Then there’s me, the Seeker. The Seeker of each team has one job and one job only—to capture the Golden Snitch.”

“Sounds exciting,” Mrs. Granger commented.

“Harry doesn’t make his job sound nearly as important as it is, though,” Hermione said. “Catching the Snitch is the only way to end the match and whichever team catches it receives an extra one-hundred and fifty points. Not to mention that the Snitch is really tiny!”

“It’s about the size of a walnut,” Harry said.

Mr. Granger laughed. “I’m a big fan of football, but this sounds like something I’ve got to see.”

“I’ve got a few books on it, if you’d like to see them, sir,” Harry offered.

“That sounds great, Harry,” he said, beaming.

“Harry is the captain of the Gryffindor team,” Hermione told them, “and they had a perfect season last year.”

Mr. Granger whistled in appreciation. “Incredible. I bet that’s hard, isn’t it, Harry?”

“Oh, I dunno. It’s not like it hasn’t been done before.”

“Oh, listen to him, Mark—he’s so modest,” Mrs. Granger remarked.

Harry’s cheeks went pink. “I worked with an excellent team last year. That’s why we won the Cup.”

“It’s a shame Katie’s gone,” Hermione said. “I suppose you’ll have to find somebody to replace her.”

He shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it was last year, what with having to replace Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia. But I’ll miss Katie. She’s the final member of the original team I was on in during our first year.”

Hermione smiled. “But now you have Ron and Ginny on the team…Hunter…”

“Hunter! God, I nearly forgot about him. Have you sent a letter or anything to Ally this summer yet?” he asked.

“Once. I got a letter back too. Ally’s spending her holiday in Austria with her parents. It sounds lovely,” she replied.

“Oh. That’s great. I suppose I should write him, shouldn’t I?”

“Well, you are his mentor,” she said.

He nodded. “Right.”

“I take it you’ll need the use of your owl,” Mr. Granger said. “Speaking of which, I didn’t see her. Is she not coming with you?”

“Oh, I sent her on ahead. I think she’d prefer to fly than be cooped up in a cage,” Harry said.

“Ah, good idea,” Mr. Granger remarked.

“You bought Hermione her owl last year, didn’t you?” Mrs. Granger asked him.

“Er—yes. It was a birthday gift.”

“He’s a very handsome bird. I remember the first time I saw him, arriving with Hermione’s letter, thanking us for our gifts,” Mrs. Granger said. “But he must have been expensive.”

He looked over at Hermione and grinned. “Oh, nothing’s too expensive when it comes to Hermione.”

She laughed. “Nothing’s too expensive when you’ve got two vaults full of gold!”

In the front seats of the car, Mr. and Mrs. Granger glanced at each other.

“Money that I don’t really want,” Harry said. “There was nothing I could do about getting my parents’ money, but I didn’t ask Sirius to make me the sole heir to his fortune.”

“I know,” Hermione said, reaching over and placing her hand on his.

“I should tell Lupin to go in and take half of it. He could certainly use it. And then I’ll give the other half to the Weasleys.”

“Oh Harry, you know they would never take it.”

“Yeah, I know, although I wish they would. What does a sixteen-year-old need with that many Galleons?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Perhaps to buy your own Quidditch team?”

He laughed. “And then listen to you scold me about squandering my inheritance? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You know me too well,” she replied, smirking.

He gave her an amused grin before it faded and he sighed. “It doesn’t matter at the moment anyway—it’s not Muggle currency. In this world, I don’t have a pound to my name.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not going to have fun this summer,” Hermione said cheerfully. “You don’t need money to have fun.”

“Too right, Hermione,” Mr. Granger said approvingly.

Harry chuckled. “Of course I don’t need money to have fun,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

She blushed. “I’m glad that you don’t find me ridiculously boring.”

“Boring? How could I find someone who was able to brew Polyjuice Potion at the age of twelve boring?”

She titled her head. “Do you mean to say that the only reason why you’re friends with me is because I’m brainy?”

He stared at her, taken aback. How could she think that? “What? No! You’re practically a genius, yes, but—” He was suddenly interrupted by her laughter.

“Oh, Harry, honestly. Did you really think that question was serious?” she asked, doubling over in her seat.

He glared at her, but there wasn’t any strength behind it. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t one of your sensitive moments.”

She laughed, if possible, even harder. “My ‘sensitive moments?’ I was unaware that I had any of these so-called moments.”

“Oh, they occur—” He suddenly glanced over at her parents, both of which were listening in with amused looks on their faces. “—every once in awhile. Ron and I are very wary of them.”

“Oh really?” she asked, still laughing.

“Extremely. We have long conversations about them up in our dormitory—away from your sharp ears.”

She giggled. “Really? Long, deep, meaningful conversations in which you ponder life, among other things?”

“Hermione!” He cried, finally succumbing to laughter. “I always knew there was some wicked sense of humor buried underneath that rule abiding goody-two-shoes exterior.”

“I’ve been around you and Ron for far too long,” she said with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“Obviously,” Harry said. “Next thing I know, you’ll be pulling pranks on us.”

She scoffed. “Oh no, I’m not turning into Fred and George. And you and Ron are pretty harmless. I can’t even remember the last thing you two pulled.”

Harry grinned. “I can.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Boys.”

*****

They arrived at a neat suburban home near London sometime later. Harry eyed the house out of his window as they pulled into the driveway. It was bigger than what he had expected. Of course, with two people pulling in good salaries as dentists, he was sure they could afford something nice.

“I’ll help you with your trunk, Harry,” Mr. Granger said, getting out and walking around to the trunk of the car.

“Right. Thanks,” he said, getting out of the car as Hermione grabbed not only Hedwig’s cage, but both of Harry’s broomsticks as well. He grinned at her. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Harry lifted his trunk out of the car and hauled it up to the front door with Mr. Granger. After Mrs. Granger opened the door, they dropped it in the foyer.

“Tell me, Harry, have you had lunch yet?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Er—no, ma’am. I’ve been too anxious to eat,” he said, causing her to smile.

“Well, why don’t I go whip up something so that Hermione can give you the grand tour?”

“Er—that sounds lovely,” he said.

“Wonderful,” she said and headed off towards the back of the house.

“I’ve got some calls to make, so I’ll be in the den,” Mr. Granger said, taking his leave. “Hermione, can you help Harry take his trunk up to his room?”

She nodded. “Yes, Dad.”

“Alright.” He then exited to the right.

Harry and Hermione stared at each other.

“So, yes, let me give you the grand tour,” she said awkwardly. “I suppose we could do this in a slightly unorthodox manner and start with the upstairs so that you can drop your trunk off and then end up in the kitchen for lunch.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Harry took Hedwig’s cage from Hermione, along with the Phoenix before grabbing one end of the trunk. Hermione, with his Firebolt in hand, grabbed the other end.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Okay…lift!” He said and pulled the trunk with Hermione simultaneously.

They made their way up the stairs slowly. Finally, when they were up on the second floor, Hermione led him a few feet down a hallway and opened a door on their right. “This is your room,” she said as she helped him maneuver the trunk through the door.

When they dropped the trunk near a nice wardrobe made out of maple, Harry turned and examined his room. It was bigger than his room at the Dursleys’ and held a double sized bed. There was also a desk underneath the window. He walked over and placed Hedwig’s cage on it before taking in the pleasant cream colored walls and Berber carpet. “Nice.”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not that interesting, I know, but it serves pretty well as a guest bedroom.”

“No, it’s great. Better than my room at the Dursleys’,” he said and offered her a smile.

She went crimson. “I’m glad you liked it.” She looked around. “Where do you want your broomsticks?”

He did a slow circle in place. “How about there, in the corner?”

“That’s fine,” she said, taking the Phoenix from him and stowing both brooms in the corner of the room. “Ready for the rest of your tour?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. Let’s go,” she said, leading him out the door. “Across from you here is the loo. Down the hall there, is my room on the right and my parents’ on the left.”

“So, in other words, your room is next to mine?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ll show you my room later, if you’d like.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Downstairs then,” she said and led him back down the stairs. “This is the foyer, obviously. Through here,” she said, leading him into a room off to the left, “is the den.” She waved to her father, who was on the telephone. “Over here,” she said, crossing the foyer, “is the sitting room.”

Harry walked into a rather spacious room. There was a fireplace, along with a television, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. In each corner of the room was a floor lamp and there was another telephone on an end table. Towards the back of the room sat a piano.

“Hey, a piano,” he said, grinning. “Do your parents play?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione replied rather airily. “They got that for me.”

“You? I didn’t know you could play.”

“Oh, I’m really rusty. I haven’t played since…since my grandmother died. I haven’t felt like it,” she said quietly.

“I see.” It was then he noticed several framed pictures on the fireplace mantle. He walked over to view them better.

Several of them were Hermione at different ages. One had her on a tricycle around the age of three while another had her in the lap of an older woman when she was about seven. There was another one of her in her Hogwarts uniform, right before she had left for Hogwarts. The most up-to-date one of her, Harry noticed, was actually a family photo with her and her parents.

Also on the mantle were two photos of two older couples, one with the same old woman that Hermione had sat on the lap of. The other one featured a stern looking man and a rosy cheeked gray-haired woman.

“Are these—”

“My grandparents, yes,” Hermione said, nodding. “That’s my Grandpa and Grandma Granger.” She gestured towards the picture with the stern looking man. “They’re the ones who came to visit last Easter. And these two are my Grandma and Grandpa Lowell.”

Harry studied the face of Hermione’s beloved grandmother. “She looks like she was a very kind person.”

“She was. She was the best,” Hermione said sadly, but then held her head up high. “But let’s not talk about that. This is supposed to be a fun summer, not one full of memories and sorrow.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He grinned at the photos of her. “Boy, you’ve always had that bushy hair, haven’t you?”

She laughed. “Yes. At least I got rid of those horrible fangs,” she said, studying her features in the pictures.

“Fangs?”

“I was hideous back then…still am,” she muttered.

Harry chuckled. “You are and were far from hideous,” he told her. “You’ve always been quite cute.”

She blushed a brilliant shade of red. “Oh stop, Harry.”

“It’s true,” he said.

She shook her head, but she was smiling. “You think I’m ugly—admit it.”

He laughed. “I’d be lying if I said that.” He took her hands in his and pulled her closer. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured and felt his lips inch closer and closer to hers.

“Lunchtime!” Mrs. Granger suddenly called from the kitchen.

Both of them stood up straight. Hermione was pink in the face and couldn’t quite look at him. “Erm—let’s finish the tour quickly.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, trying to hide his disappointment.

*****

After a round of wonderful tuna sandwiches, Hermione led Harry back upstairs to show him her room. As they entered the lilac colored room, Harry suddenly felt awkward.

“Your parents don’t mind that I’m in here, do they?” he asked her.

“Oh, they probably would, especially if they knew how close we are.” She cleared her throat. “But it’s not like they’d know if you’ve been in here or not once Monday comes.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll be returning to work. Full-time jobs as dentists take up quite a bit of their week. We’ll hardly see them,” she said.

He frowned. “Does that bother you?”

She shook her head. “No. Actually, I quite enjoy the peace and quiet. It gives me time to read.”

He laughed. “Like you need more time to do that,” he teased.

She gave him a playful shove before crossing over to her bed and sitting down. He followed her, but pulled out her desk chair instead to sit on. He finally gave the room his full attention. Her bed, on the wall opposite the door, was also a double. She had a rather large wardrobe near the corner and two windows, under which one was the desk Harry was sitting at. In another corner was a huge bookcase, completely full of books. So very Hermione, he decided.

There were also pictures scattered about her room, but not the still Muggle type that were downstairs in the sitting room. They were wizarding pictures that moved. Harry saw that he was in quite a few of them, as was Ron. On her desk, right next to him, were two pictures: one of him, her, and Ron, and another of just him and her.

“Speaking of Monday,” Hermione went on, sighing, “I hope you’ve got some dress robes with you.”

“Yeah. Why?” he asked.

“Percy’s ceremony is Monday,” she told him, frowning. “The Weasleys have been holding it off until we got permission from Dumbledore to bring you here. I think it’s one of the reasons why he let you. He didn’t want to pain the Weasleys by not letting them hold the proper ceremony for Percy.”

“They didn’t have to wait for me,” he said, also frowning.

“They wanted to. They consider you family, Harry,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.” He slouched in the chair. “How are we getting to the Burrow?”

“Oh, we aren’t,” she said. “It’s being held at the Ministry of Magic, probably because Percy loved it there so much.”

“And how are we getting there?” he asked.

“Dumbledore mentioned setting up a channel in the Floo network for us.”

His eyes widened. “You’ve spoken to Dumbledore?”

“Briefly,” she replied. “He came over to…Death Eater proof the house, I guess.”

He gave her a confused look. “Huh?”

“He placed some charms on the house to protect it in case Voldemort sends somebody to kill you,” she said. “I hope we don’t have to worry about whether or not they work.”

“If Dumbledore cast them, they’ll work,” Harry said. He had every ounce of confidence in his headmaster’s abilities.

“I’m sure they will,” she said. There was an uncomfortable silence between them then. “Erm—what do you want to do?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t care,” he said, giving a jerky shrug. “What do you feel like doing?”

“We could—er—I could help you with your homework,” she said, frowning.

It was the last thing Harry wanted to do, but he nodded his head anyway. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he fibbed. “It will be nice to have it all out of the way for the summer.”

“What do you have left to do?” she asked him.

“Er—Astronomy, that short Care of Magical Creatures essay Hagrid gave us, and…oh, that History of Magic essay. Why didn’t I drop that class?” he muttered.

“Let’s do the History of Magic essay. It’s not that hard,” she said.

“To you, maybe it wasn’t.”

She laughed. “Oh, Harry—I gave you some valuable studying techniques during our tutoring sessions, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but that still doesn’t mean that doing these boring essays have become easier,” he said.

“Well, that’s why I’m here. Come on, let’s get your books.”

*****

Hermione kept him busy for the rest of the day, and for most of Sunday too, working on his homework. But finally, before dinner on Sunday evening, he finished his Astronomy essay and star charts.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said gratefully. “You’ve been a big help. For the life of me I couldn’t remember whether Metis was a moon of Jupiter or Saturn.”

She grinned. “Remember, Jupiter ate Metis and from his head sprouted Minerva.”

He shuddered. “Don’t make me think of Professor McGonagall sprouting from somebody’s head.”

She laughed. “Sorry.”

At dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Granger talked a little bit about work before asking Harry and Hermione their plans for the week. Harry, having no idea, let Hermione answer.

“Tomorrow we have to go to Percy’s ceremony,” she said, “but after that we’ll just play things by ear.”

“Well, if you ever need any money, let me know,” Mr. Granger said. “I wouldn’t want lack of funding to get in the way of you two having an outstanding summer.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Dad.”

Harry felt his insides squirm, however. He really didn’t want the Grangers to spend money on him. Especially not when, if he could somehow manage to go to Gringotts and exchange his money for Muggle currency, he’d be able to pay for everything himself.

“You will tell the Weasleys for us that we’re terribly sorry for their loss, won’t you?” Mrs. Granger asked. She shook her head. “I can’t imagine losing my child.”

Hermione frowned. “I will, Mum, don’t worry.”

“You never really did tell us how he died, Hermione,” Mr. Granger said.

Her frown deepened. “He died in the line of duty,” she said simply.

“Was he some sort of police officer?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“No,” Hermione said shortly. “But he responded to a dangerous situation that had developed.”

“Brave, wasn’t he?” Mr. Granger commented.

“Braver than we previously thought,” Hermione said quietly.

Both of her parents eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, frowning. Harry found it to be uncanny in a way. Then Mr. Granger cleared his throat.

“So, you’ll be traveling by that powdery stuff tomorrow, right?” he asked.

“Yes, Floo Powder. Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to leave us some before he left,” Hermione said. “It will be good to see Ron and Ginny again.”

“You saw them a few weeks ago,” Mrs. Granger said.

Hermione smiled slightly. “That’s enough time for me to miss them.”

“Do you miss them, Harry?” Mrs. Granger asked him.

He shrugged. “Sure. But then again, I start missing all my friends not ten seconds after we part ways at King’s Cross.”

Mrs. Granger gave him a warm smile. “Well aren’t you sweet.”

Harry laughed. “Sweet? Maybe. Loyal? Definitely.”

“And protective, caring, intelligent, brave, skilled…just to name a few more characteristics,” Hermione piped in.

“Intelligent?” Harry scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Says he who could conjure a Patronus at the age of thirteen,” she said idly.

Mrs. Granger gave him a curious look. “What’s a Patronus?”

“It’s really complicated magic, Mum,” Hermione explained. “A Patronus represents all of the caster’s happiness and it drives away such dark creatures as a Dementor or a Lethifold.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger gazed bemusedly at their daughter and then at each other. “I think you lost us, sweetie,” Mr. Granger said.

Hermione frowned. “The point is, Harry could conjure one at the age of thirteen and was the person who taught me how to do it when we were fifteen.”

“I’m sure, had you tried, you would have been able to master it earlier,” Harry said, giving her a slight grin. “You never needed my help.”

“But you do concede the point that you are intelligent, don’t you?”

“Intelligent enough to walk, talk, eat, and perform all other functions that allow me to live,” he said, nodding.

She rolled her eyes. “Stubborn.”

“Another one of my lovely characteristics that you’ve been trying to point out.”

“Apparently I forgot to mention witty.”

“Apparently.”

“Go back to your food, Harry.”

“Is that an order?” he challenged.

She took a bite of her food. “It’s a suggestion—before it gets cold.”

“Ah, of course. Ever the practical one.” He picked up his fork and started back in on his meal.

After dinner, Mr. Granger suggested playing a card game. Feeling rather amicable, Harry agreed instantly. Harry, Hermione, and her parents spent several hours playing games such as Rummy, Euchre, Hearts, and a long game of War. By the time they finished, Harry felt ready for bed.

He yawned. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, seeing as we’ve got an important day tomorrow,” he said, nodding towards Hermione.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Granger said, shuffling the deck.

“Actually, that sounds like a good idea,” Hermione said. “This was fun though.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Thanks for teaching me how to play Rummy.”

“It was our pleasure,” Mr. Granger said. “Have a good night’s sleep, both of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Hermione said, turning towards the foyer.

“Good night,” Harry said and quickly followed Hermione.

It happened just as he started to head up the stairs. The pain was so intense that it dropped him to his knees as he cried out, clutching his scar.

“Harry!” Hermione cried, rushing back down the stairs and to his side.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger ran in from the sitting room. What Mr. Granger asked, and what Hermione answered, Harry did not know as he was still yelling. But he did feel Hermione’s arm wrap around his shoulders from behind as she stopped him from collapsing completely onto the floor.

Suddenly, a voice screamed in his head as he screamed the words out himself. “No! My immortality! My bloodline! MY SON!” And he knew no more as darkness overtook him.

Author’s Note: I really don’t have a whole lot to say this time around. Yet another year of college will be starting soon for me, which might mean more delays, but I think we’re all used to that by now. Anyway, thanks for the great reviews and as always, thanks to Nitya for being a wonderful beta reader.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HAUNTED BY A MEMORY

When he finally came to, Harry found himself on the Grangers’ couch. He turned his head and muttered groggily, “How did I—”

“Shh,” Hermione murmured from beside him, running her hand through his hair soothingly. “It’s okay. Dad moved you here.”

“Oh.” He looked around to find them quite alone. “How long was I out?”

“About five minutes,” she told him. “Harry, what did you see?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see anything. I just felt…anger. Intense anger. And I heard him screaming in my head.”

“My immortality, my bloodline, my son,” Hermione repeated. “What do you think happened to Voldemort’s son?”

“I dunno,” Harry said, sitting up. As he did so, Mr. and Mrs. Granger returned with a glass of water and what Harry took to be some smelling salts.

“Oh, thank the Lord, you’re awake!” Mrs. Granger exclaimed.

“You gave us a good scare there, Harry,” Mr. Granger said, looking pale.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“What happened?” Mrs. Granger asked, handing the water to Harry.

“Another failure at Occlumency, that’s what,” Harry muttered, annoyed with himself. He really needed to control his emotions better.

“What?”

Hermione frowned and rubbed Harry’s shoulder. “Harry has a unique ability,” she explained.

“More like a curse,” Harry grumbled, taking a sip of the water.

“He can…see into the mind of the wizard who wishes to conquer the world. He is linked to the man that the wizarding world is at war with,” Hermione said.

“War?” Mr. Granger stood, aghast. “Hermione, you’ve never mentioned a war.”

She didn’t answer him, but instead watched Harry intently. “Will you be alright?”

He nodded. “My scar doesn’t hurt anymore. I should be fine.” He sighed. “All I want to do is sleep.”

“Do you think you’ll get any nightmares?” she asked.

“I dunno,” he murmured. “I hope not. I just have to keep my mind clear. I should be fine if I can just keep my mind clear.”

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Granger demanded. “What war?”

Hermione sighed. “The wizarding world is at war, Dad,” she explained. “A very evil wizard, who tried to kill Harry when he was just a baby, has come back into power.”

Mr. Granger stood, shocked. Then he looked at Harry warily. “And this...evil wizard isn’t still trying to kill Harry, is he?” When Hermione didn’t answer, he paled. “Well, that would explain why you always seem so concerned about him.”

“Professor Dumbledore cast some charms on our house when he came over. And I doubt Voldemort would come looking for him here anyway,” Hermione said. “Muggles are beneath him. Our house would not be the first place he would think of in order to find Harry.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger did not look very convinced, but Mrs. Granger gave a rather resigned nod and said, “I’m sure you’re right.” She then gave Harry a rather motherly smile. “Don’t worry, dear, we’ll try to keep you safe.”

Privately, Harry believed they wouldn’t stand a minute against a Death Eater, let alone Voldemort, but he gave them a small nod and said, “Thanks.” He got up. “I think I’m going to go to bed now. Er—thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Granger replied.

Hermione went with him as he left the room and headed upstairs. When they reached the doorway to his bedroom, she kissed him on the cheek and murmured, “Good night, Harry. Try to sleep well.”

The feeling of her lips on his cheek lingered and he managed a small grin. “I will. Good night, Hermione.”

*****

Harry did have a dreamless slumber that night and when he woke up the next morning, he felt a lot better. He was just climbing out of bed when there was a knock on his bedroom door.

“Harry? Are you awake?” Hermione asked from behind it.

“Yeah,” he said, walking over and opening the door. “Just woke up.”

“Oh. Er—I just wanted to remind you of Percy’s ceremony this morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. What time is the ceremony?”

“Eleven o’clock. We’ve got a few hours.”

He nodded as his stomach growled. “Can we whip up some breakfast first?”

“Mum’s already on it,” Hermione told him. “She and Dad will be leaving soon to go to work.”

“Then we better hurry,” he said.

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione went to their rooms and got dressed for the ceremony. Harry fidgeted slightly as he examined himself in his black dress robes, the same dress robes he had worn when he took Hermione to the Yule Ball during the last school year. Apparently he had grown a half-inch since he had last worn them.

Hermione’s parents had left for work already when he went down to the sitting room to wait for Hermione. He settled down onto the couch and waited a full five minutes before Hermione came down the stairs, looking rather solemn in black too. It occurred to Harry that, had Ron been with them, he would have teased her for taking so long, but Harry didn’t feel up to it. He did, however, recognize the possible reason for Hermione’s delay; her hair, which she normally left down, was pulled into a half ponytail and clipped securely. Knowing her, she probably spent five minutes fussing over it for the simple reason that she never did much with her hair in the first place.

He checked his watch to see that it was a little past 10:00. “Er—when are we leaving?” he asked her.

“The network won’t be open until at least ten-fifteen.” She sat down next to him. “It’s still hard to believe that we’re going to the ceremony of a Weasley. I had hoped that I’d never have to go to one, at least, not to one that’s the result of this war.”

He wrapped an arm around her. “It will be alright.”

“Will it be, Harry?” she asked, turning towards him. “Will everything be alright again? Will any of this end?”

He wanted to give her hope, but when he found that he had none, he decided not to lie to her, or himself. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

They lapsed into silence and waited for the minutes to tick past so that the Floo network would open for them. Then, at 10:15 exactly, they both got up and walked over to the fireplace. Hermione opened a little box that Harry hadn’t noticed she was holding.

“There’s only enough for one trip, so I think that means we’ll have to go together,” she told him.

“No problem,” he said, stepping into the fireplace.

Hermione joined him. “Here,” she said, “take some.” She tipped half of the box’s contents into his hand. She dumped the rest of the Floo powder into hers. “Ready then?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied. Then, as one, they threw their powder down and shouted, “The Ministry of Magic!”

Green flames engulfed both of them and Harry once again felt the spinning of his own body that he had grown to despise. He could vaguely sense Hermione spinning somewhere next to him. Fireplace after fireplace passed and soon they were slowing down until finally they settled into one of the fireplaces inside the Ministry of Magic. With a cough, Harry jumped out before offering a hand to help Hermione.

“Thanks,” she murmured, accepting it and pulling herself out.

“Now where do we go?” Harry asked as he began to dust the ash off of himself.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, also dusting herself off.

Suddenly they heard a familiar voice calling for them. “Harry! Hermione! There you are!”

They turned and saw their best friend, Ron Weasley, along with his younger sister Ginny, running towards them.

“Ron,” Hermione greeted, giving him a hug. Then she turned to Ginny and did the same. “Hi, Ginny.”

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said warmly before nodding in greeting towards his sister. “Ginny.”

“How are both of you?” Hermione asked.

“We’re okay,” Ron said. “The past few weeks have been a little rough.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Mum cries practically every hour. Everyone’s returned home.”

“Which makes Percy’s absence that much more notable when we’re all sitting together at the dinner table,” Ginny said. “No one ever had much of a problem with it before, but that was because we knew there was some remote possibility that he could join us if he wanted. Now…”

“I know,” Hermione said quietly, placing a comforting arm around the youngest Weasley.

“Well, we better show you to the room,” Ron said, and started to guide them. “It’s bigger than the one Sirius’s was in, but that’s because there’s a lot more people coming to this one. All the people Percy’s sucked up to here are coming, I guess.”

“Are there going to be any people there that we’ll know?” Harry asked.

“Oh sure. Besides the family, Dumbledore’s here, Lupin, Hagrid, McGonagall, Moody, Kingsley…Hey, do you remember Penelope Clearwater, Percy’s ex-girlfriend?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that she was an ex,” Harry said.

“Has been for years. Got sick of Percy’s pompousness, I presume,” Ron said. “Anyway, she’s here too.”

“That’s nice of her,” Hermione commented.

“Yeah, I guess.” He led them to the lifts, pressed a button, and waited. “It’s just so weird.”

“What is?” Harry asked.

“Being here, for this. For my brother.” He balled his fists at his sides. “We shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Harry thought back to a year prior when he had to deal with his grief over losing Sirius. He, more than anyone, understood what the Weasleys were going through. “I know how you feel,” he murmured.

Hermione reached over and gave Ron’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Ginny sniffed loudly. “It’s not fair.”

The golden grilled doors to the lift opened and admitted them. They stepped inside, as did several other witches and wizards. One witch was holding a box with several holes in it. Harry swore he saw a long leg briefly poke out of one.

The four of them remained quiet while the lift took them down. When they reached level five, Ron motioned for them to get off. They squeezed their way through the others and entered a tidy looking corridor.

“International Magical Cooperation,” Ron muttered. “Of course they’re spick and span.”

“Why are the rooms for…death ceremonies on this level?” Harry asked. When he had been there the year previous, he had traveled by Portkey to and from the ceremony. He never saw anything outside of the room that it was in.

“Dunno,” Ron answered. “I guess because all of the international ministers and stuff come to this floor, so the rooms are the nicest.” He shrugged.

They walked down the corridor, took a left, then a right. Finally, they arrived at a large wood paneled room that resembled a conference room. Like before, the tables were draped in black table covers, except there was now the added touch of candles on each table. Ron and Ginny led them inside.

Fred and George, Ron’s older twin brothers, were the first two to notice Harry and Hermione’s arrival. They jumped up and shook Harry’s hand enthusiastically before doing the same to Hermione.

“Good to see you two,” Fred said.

“Having a nice summer?” George asked.

“Alright,” Harry replied. He noticed that both twins had trimmed their hair and were without any of their usual magical gimmicks. “No toys today?”

Fred shook his head. “While we’d love to, Mum would kill us—”

“—Mind that we don’t take orders from her these days—” George added.

“—But she has enough stress as it is,” Fred finished.

“Although I thought it might be funny to conjure up a moustache and put it on Percy,” George said, nodding towards the front of the room, where Percy’s casket stood on a dais.

Hermione looked mortified at that idea. “You’d do that to…to…”

George frowned at her. “I was only joking, Hermione. Even I’m not that sick.”

“It wasn’t funny, George,” Ginny said and then walked away.

Fred patted his twin’s shoulder. “Rough crowd, eh George?”

“I guess,” replied the twin.

“Look, there’s Tonks. Maybe she’s not in such a somber mood,” Fred said.

“If her hair has anything to say about her mood, I don’t think she is,” George said and they took off. Harry glanced over at their new target to see that she was sporting wavy gold hair with pink streaks in them.

“Gits,” Ron muttered as Mr. Weasley came over to them.

“Good, you’re back. Hello, Harry. Hello, Hermione,” he murmured. Harry and Hermione both made their greeting. Harry couldn’t help but notice how…crumpled Mr. Weasley looked. He looked as though he hadn’t eaten or slept for days. He also looked like he had lost more hair.

He turned and gestured to where his wife was talking to Remus Lupin. “You should go say hello to Molly. It would probably do her good to see you two.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course. Coming, Harry?”

“Yeah,” he replied and followed her over to Mrs. Weasley.

Lupin was the one to acknowledge them first. “Harry, Hermione, hello!”

“Professor,” they greeted in unison.

Mrs. Weasley turned and her eyes watered some. “Oh, Harry, Hermione…thank you for coming,” she said and wrapped both of them in a large embrace.

“We wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” Hermione said.

“We’d never forgive ourselves if we didn’t come,” Harry said as Mrs. Weasley squeezed them tighter, making him start to lose feeling in the arm.

“Oh, I’m so happy you were able to make it, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said once she released them. “Arthur and I told Dumbledore that we wouldn’t have this ceremony unless he figured out some way for you to come. We wanted you to be here so much. You and Hermione are like another son and daughter to me.”

He felt himself go red, but was relieved to see that Hermione was just as red. “I—er—well, I owe all of that to Hermione and her parents, really, for taking me in,” he mumbled.

“Yes, yes, that was so good of the Grangers to save you from your aunt and uncle. We would have done it ourselves, as always, but…”

“Don’t worry, I understand. You should spend the time alone, as a family.”

She gave him a watery smile. “You’re such a kind, thoughtful, selfless young man.”

Harry, if possible, went redder still. “I just want what’s best for you and your family. Besides,” he added, “I’ll be okay. I’ve got Hermione.” He glanced over at her in time to see her give him a small smile.

“I’m sure you two will have a fine summer,” she said. She looked past them to see Mr. Weasley motioning her over. “Oh, I’ve got to go see what Arthur needs. I’ll talk to you later.”

When she left, they turned to Lupin, but he was engrossed in a conversation with Mad-Eye Moody.

“I think I’m going to go over and talk to Ginny some more,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, alright,” Harry murmured. He turned to go back to Ron, but nearly collided with Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, instead. “Oh! Professor Dumbledore! I’m sorry!”

“No, no, not to worry, Harry. I hope I didn’t startle you,” said the wise old man. He wore robes of deep purple and a hat that matched. His blue eyes sparkled behind the half moon spectacles that sat on his crooked nose.

“Not at all, sir.”

“Good. How are you? How has your summer been going?”

“Oh, fine,” Harry said with a smile. “Thanks for letting me go to the Grangers.”

“You had spent enough time at your aunt and uncle’s. Besides, as of your birthday, the spell would be broken.”

“Is that why you let me go?”

“That, and because Miss Granger was so insistent…and persistent,” he said with a grin.

Harry chuckled. “Persistent is a good way to describe her.”

“It can be an excellent quality to have.” Then his features sobered. “I have a question to ask you, Harry.”

“What?”

“Have you had anymore dreams, or anything else related with Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry glanced away guiltily. “Last night, before I went to bed. He was very angry.” He looked back up at Dumbledore, but saw neither disappointment nor anger. Instead there was a look of satisfaction.

“I’m sure he was.”

Harry stared at him. “Sir, what happened? What happened to his son? Did you take him?” he asked eagerly.

“Young Seth was successfully removed from Malfoy Manor last night by a few good Order members who are sneaky enough to actually do it,” Dumbledore told him.

“Then where is he now?”

“He is currently tucked away in a safe location.” When Harry gave him a wary look, he smiled. “No, he’s not at headquarters. He’s at an even safer location. I have two people who will look after him for the time being. He will not be tainted by his father.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry murmured. But then a thought struck Harry, a thought that tugged at his own heart. “These people, though, will they be keeping him?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I have asked these two to watch over him until I can find someone else willing to look after him.”

“So then he’s just going to float from home to home?” Harry asked, indignity creeping into him.

“Until I can find an extremely safe location for him to be raised by a family that will love him,” Dumbledore said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t let him be a foster child, moving from family to family to family. I will make sure he finds a home where he will be loved.”

Harry looked down at his shoes and nodded. He was happy to hear Dumbledore say that. The baby may have been the son of his arch nemesis, but Harry knew what it was like to grow up in a family that didn’t want him. He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

He looked up to see people heading towards the tables that had been set up.

“Ah, it must be almost time for the ceremony to begin. We should take our seats,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed, just as Ron joined him.

“Mum and Dad want you and Hermione to sit at our table,” he told Harry.

“Okay. Thanks.” He turned to Professor Dumbledore. “I’ll see you after the ceremony, sir,” he said, before following Ron to the Weasleys’ table as the celebration for what was Percy’s life began.

*****

Hours later, Harry and Hermione found themselves stepping out of the fireplace at her home. She sighed as they began to dust themselves off.

Harry glanced over at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. I think the ceremony just got to me. It was so heartbreaking to see the Weasleys in such pain,” she murmured, frowning.

He reached over and wrapped an arm around her.

“I feel the exact same way I felt last year watching you sit through Sirius’s ceremony.”

His arm around her tightened.

She looked down at her clothing. “I’m—er—all dusty. I think I’ll go upstairs and change.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Harry said and followed her up the stairs.

Five minutes later he heard a knock on his door as he pulled on a t-shirt. “Come in,” he called.

Hermione walked in, leaving the door open. “Mum and Dad won’t be back for a few hours,” she told him. “I was wondering what you wanted to do.”

“Oh. Er—” He looked around. “Actually, I’ve been here for about two days now and I still haven’t settled in yet. D’you want to help me?”

“Sure. Do you want to empty out your trunk?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, moving over to open the lid.

They shifted through his clothes and placed them in the wardrobe before sorting through his school supplies. Then Hermione took out a wrapped parcel. “What’s this?” she asked.

Harry looked at the parcel and felt the air tighten in his chest. He knew exactly what it was. “It’s—er—er…”

“Can I open it?” she asked.

“Er—I—er—I guess,” he said quietly. Quite frankly, he really didn’t want to see the object again.

Hermione carefully unwrapped the parcel and let it slide out onto Harry’s desk. Both of them stared at it.

“A broken mirror?”

He frowned. “Yes, a mirror.”

She turned towards him. “Who…” Then realization dawned on her face. “Sirius. Sirius gave this to you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. For Christmas during our fifth year. It’s a two-way mirror. He said all I had to do was say his name and he’d appear, so that we could talk.” A small smile played over his lips. “He said him and my dad used to use them when they had separate detentions.”

“Oh, Harry,” she murmured, stepping closer to him.

“I was so mad when he died. I threw it and it broke,” he said quietly. He scooped up the mirror and rewrapped it. “I really don’t want to think about this right now.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “Okay.”

They stayed there like that, in each other’s embrace, for an eternity.

*****

Before Harry fell asleep that night, he made absolutely sure to clear his mind. He drained himself of all of his thoughts and emotions before drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

It did not stay very peaceful for long.

A loud, piercing scream jerked him awake. He jumped into a sitting position, wide-eyed, until he realized where the screaming was coming from.

Hermione!

He snatched up his glasses and then launched himself out of bed, out the door, and down the hall to Hermione’s room. There was no knocking. He burst into the room just as Hermione’s parents turned on a light and stumbled out of their bedroom. In the dim light, he could see Hermione thrashing about in her bed. Four quick strides and he was at her side.

“Hermione,” he said, trying to grab her by the shoulders.

She jerked away and fought against him as he tried to gather her up. “No…” she whimpered.

“Hermione!” he said, more urgently. He was vaguely aware of the fact that her parents were standing in her doorway.

“Please, no…” Hermione cried, trying to free herself as Harry managed to grab her by the shoulders.

“Hermione, wake up!” Harry yelled, shaking her.

It was then that her eyes suddenly snapped open. She stared wildly at his face. “Harry?” she croaked.

“Yes, yes,” he said.

She burst into tears and clung to him when he crushed her against him. “Harry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Granger make a movement to enter the room, but Mr. Granger held her back. Harry wrapped his arms tighter around Hermione and began to rock her. He pressed his face into to her hair and murmured, “You’re alright. You’re okay. I’m here. It was just a nightmare.” He could smell a faint whiff of lilac in her hair.

Her breath came out in a shudder. “I was there again. He was there again.”

Harry wanted to curse loudly.

“He was there in his mask. His eyes were so vivid. Oh God!” She turned and sobbed into his shoulder.

Harry tried not to tremble with rage. Crow. She had a nightmare about the night Crow had kidnapped her. The night she was tortured by Death Eaters in a cemetery. The night Percy had died.

“He…he…”

“Shh…he’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Harry murmured. At that moment, Harry wished that Crow hadn’t killed himself because he would have liked nothing more than the pleasure of doing it himself. He wished that he could make Crow pay for what he did to Hermione.

“I don’t…I can’t…”

“Shh.” He rubbed her back to calm her. “It’s okay.”

She hiccupped a sob. “Harry.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here.”

He held her until her sobs subsided, when she seemed to be drained. She lifted her head to look at him as he caressed her cheek. Then he became painfully aware of the fact that her parents were still behind him, watching them. “Are you okay now?”

She sniffed loudly, but nodded. “I think so,” she said in a small voice.

“Okay.” He let her go. “I’m going to go—”

“No!” she cried and suddenly clung to him once more. “No, please. Please don’t leave me.”

He turned his head in time to see her father go rigid beside his wife.

“I can’t—I don’t want to be alone tonight. I don’t want to have another nightmare,” she pleaded.

Harry closed his eyes. Then he opened them just in time to see Mrs. Granger place a hand on her husband’s arm. They both turned and left, closing the door behind them.

He frowned. “Alright, I’ll stay. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He got up and took a quilt that was on the back of Hermione’s desk chair before laying it on the floor. Hermione then gave him both a pillow and her comforter. He laid down and rested his head against the pillow. It too smelled faintly of lilac. He rolled onto his side as the light across the hall went out.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped around him as he felt something touch the base of his neck. He rolled over to see Hermione lying there beside him. Gently, he pulled her into his arms and held her until they both drifted off to sleep.

*****

The next morning was very awkward for Harry when he arrived in the Grangers’ kitchen. He had woken up with Hermione still wrapped in his arms, fast asleep. After carefully getting up without waking her, he went downstairs to the kitchen to maybe have some orange juice. However, both Mr. and Mrs. Granger were already there.

He cleared his throat. “Morning,” he murmured.

“Good morning, Harry,” Mrs. Granger said.

Mr. Granger gave him a slight nod in greeting as he continued to sip his juice.

“Hungry?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Well, yes,” he said, trying to hide his nerves. After all, he had, quite literally, slept with their daughter.

“We have some muffins,” Mrs. Granger said, gesturing to a basket sitting on the table. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, walking over to the muffin basket.

Mr. Granger cleared his throat. “Did Hermione sleep through the rest of the night?”

Harry dropped the hand that had just begun to reach for a muffin. “Yes, sir. Didn’t stir once.” Then he asked them something that had been bothering him since he had felt Hermione fall asleep in his arms. “How often has she had these nightmares?”

Mrs. Granger frowned. “Every night since she arrived home, until Saturday, when you arrived. We had hoped that they were gone forever, but…”

“Why is she having these nightmares, Harry?” Mr. Granger demanded. “She told you more last night than she’s ever told us. She wouldn’t even discuss them with us.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He recalled the fact that Hermione hid a lot of what happened at Hogwarts, and the wizarding world, from her parents. He didn’t know whether or not he should tell them.

“I…If Hermione hasn’t told you, then I don’t think I should be the one to do so,” he said evenly.

“But then you know what’s happened, don’t you?” Mr. Granger accused. “You know why she’s getting these nightmares.”

“Yes, I do,” Harry said. He frowned. Maybe he could give up a little bit of the information they wanted. “Her nightmares entail the night Percy Weasley was murdered.”

“How would she know anything about that? She wasn’t there, was she?”

Harry remained silent.

Mr. Granger’s eyes went wide. “She was? How…why was she there? What happened?”

“It’s something Hermione should tell you, not me,” he told them.

“Why hasn’t she told us already?” Mr. Granger asked.

Harry grimaced. He hated this. He really hated this. “I think it’s because she’s afraid,” he said. “I think she’s afraid that, if she told you everything that happens while we’re away at Hogwarts, you’d both go mad and try to pull her out of school, and she loves it there.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger stared at Harry. “What exactly goes on in that school, Harry?” Mr. Granger asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. I won’t break Hermione’s trust. It is, as it should be, up to her to tell you. I’m sorry.”

Mr. Granger rubbed his temples. “You’re a very loyal friend, I’ll give you that, Harry.”

At a time like that, Harry felt that was the greatest compliment he could get from Hermione’s father. “Thank you, sir.”

“And you obviously care a great deal about our daughter,” Mrs. Granger added. “What you did last night…neither of us could have possibly have had such an effect on her.” She looked down at her toes. “I’m grateful you’re here with us, Harry.”

And that was possibly the greatest compliment he could have received from Hermione’s mother. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She gave him a small smile. “Now go on, grab yourself a muffin and some orange juice.”

He grinned. “Thanks.”

Mr. Granger opened the newspaper and started to read it while Harry grabbed a muffin before heading over to the cabinets to find himself a glass. “My God,” Mr. Granger murmured in shock and awe.

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Granger asked idly.

Mr. Granger turned the front page of the paper around for Mrs. Granger to read. “A huge fire last night in Manchester.”

Harry spun around. “What?”

Mrs. Granger gasped. “It engulfed nearly an eighth of the city. My, did you read how many casualties? I wonder what started it all.”

Mr. Granger had turned the paper back around to keep reading. “A warehouse.” He frowned. “The Manchester fire department believes it to be arson.”

Suddenly they heard pounding coming down the stairs. Hermione, her hair bushy as ever, ran into the kitchen, clutching that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. “Harry!” she breathed. “Come here.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger watched them as Harry quickly stepped out of the kitchen and followed Hermione up the stairs and to her room.

“He’s attacked again,” she said, showing the Prophet to him.

“Manchester,” he said, frowning. “The Muggle paper is also reporting it.” He looked at the front page of the paper. There was a picture of buildings aflame and the Dark Mark high in the sky. “I’m sure the Muggle paper failed to get a picture of that, though.”

Hermione turned the paper back around and read the article over quickly before uttering, “Yes.”

Harry stared at her in awe. “What?”

“Six Death Eaters were captured by Aurors who were already stationed in Manchester,” she told him. “I’m sure that’s Dumbledore’s influence, especially after you told him what Voldemort was planning.”

“Were any of the Death Eaters the Lestrange brothers?” Harry asked.

Hermione read on and frowned. “No.”

“So then they’ll move on to the next town,” Harry said.

Hermione’s frown only deepened. Then her brows drew together in thought. “Wait…”

“What?”

“Do you think any of this has anything to do with the other night—with what happened to Voldemort’s son?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry—Voldemort’s son was taken, wasn’t he?”

“Yes…Dumbledore had the Order extract him from Malfoy Manor,” Harry said, trying to follow Hermione’s line of thought.

“Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? Why this happened?” she said.

Harry frowned. “He’s pissed, so he ordered the attack to take place.”

She opened the paper. “I wonder if any other horrible things took place last night.”

Harry felt his anger boil. Countless of innocent civilians had died because of the removal of Voldemort’s son. All of it could have been prevented had Dumbledore not had Seth taken away.

Then he closed his eyes and chided himself. No, it wasn’t Dumbledore’s fault. Manchester was slated to be attacked anyway. It was going to happen. Dumbledore probably knew the reaction that would be elicited the moment he decided to get Seth out of his father’s clutches, and he had prepared for it the best he could. Six Death Eaters, who probably wouldn’t have been caught at all, were now going to Azkaban.

Hermione reached out and took his hand in hers. He opened his eyes and stared into hers, feeling her compassion and understanding surround him. “I’m sure there wasn’t anything more that Dumbledore could do.”

He let a small laugh escape past his lips. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He looked down at their joined hands and drew her closer. “I never asked…how are you feeling this morning?”

She shifted uncomfortably, but her hand didn’t leave his. “I’m better.” She looked over at the comforter and blankets they had slept on. “Thank you for staying with me last night. I know you really didn’t want to, but it really meant—”

“No, I wanted to,” he said, placing his other hand on her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. When she blushed, he elaborated. “I didn’t want you to have another nightmare. It makes me sick knowing that you’ve been suffering.”

A tear slid down her cheek and he brushed it away. Then, impulse guiding him, he pressed his lips softly to hers. She responded in kind and for a brief moment, neither of them let their troubles plague them. Then he pulled away. Nothing was official between them, and he shouldn’t take advantage of the situation. He cleared his throat and asked, “Anything else in the paper that’s interesting?”

Hermione frowned, but said nothing. She went back to the Prophet, turned the page, and let out a gasp.

“What?” he demanded.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

He stepped behind her and scanned the paper over her shoulder. Then his eyes went wide as he read one of the headlines.

Death Eater’s Wife Found Dead

Early this morning Aurors responded to a distress owl proclaiming that the Dark Mark was floating over Malfoy Manor, former home of escaped Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. When Aurors entered the home, they found Narcissa Malfoy, wife of the known Death Eater, dead at the bottom of a stairwell. Rumors that she was murdered by the Killing Curse are unconfirmed.

There is much speculation already as to why the Death Eater’s wife was killed, including whether or not Lucius Malfoy is still a Death Eater. The Aurors are investigating at this time.

“Narcissa Malfoy is dead,” Hermione murmured. “I can’t believe it.” She turned to Harry. “Do you think it’s true? Do you think Lucius Malfoy is no longer a Death Eater?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. She did fail to protect Seth. Voldemort is the type to punish everyone in a family, too.” He frowned. “Hermione? Is it bad that I don’t feel anything? That I’m not mad or disgusted or…anything?”

She shook her head. “That family has done horrible things. It’s only natural.”

“I suppose.” He took the paper from her and tossed it in her wastebasket. “Enough of that. The sad part of our summer is over. We should have some fun. We deserve it.”

She smiled. “You’re right, we do. Come on, Harry, let’s go find something fun to do.”

“Excellent. But it better not deal with studying,” he said.

Her laughter echoed down the hallway as they headed towards the stairs.

Author’s Note: Once again I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter to you. I’m back at college for yet another year. Even after a month I’m still baffled over the fact that I’m a junior. Anyway, I’m going to warn you right now that it will probably take some time before Chapter Nine comes out. I actually was very good and have written several chapters while waiting for some of my other ones to get beta read, however, they don’t set the mood that I wanted for the story, so, after a wonderful brainstorming session, I have some new ideas I’m incorporating into these upcoming chapters, causing me to rewrite them. Compared to what they were, I expect the newer versions to be more suspenseful and enjoyable. I apologize for the fact that it may take me awhile, especially since I’m taking both advanced composition and news writing courses. You can only imagine where all of my creative talents are going this semester, but I really am trying to set aside some time to write this fic. And yes, I know I’m rambling, so I’ll shut up now and let you get on with this latest, relatively unchanged chapter. Finally, some major H/Hr interaction!

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE NEXT LEVEL

Fun is exactly what they did have. For the first few days, Harry and Hermione remained at her house where she introduced him to the joys of television comedy before letting him see nearly every photo album in the house. The Grangers obviously loved to record history via a camera.

When Friday arrived, Hermione apparently decided to do something different for him after their conversation at breakfast.

“You’ve never been to a cinema? Even before you went to Hogwarts?”

“Does that surprise you?” Harry asked, sipping his orange juice. “I did have quite the deprived childhood. The Dursleys never even taught me how to swim.”

“We’ve got to change that.” She grabbed the Muggle newspaper her father had left behind on the table before he and Mrs. Granger had gone to work. She rifled through it until she came to a certain page and began to read.

“It’s not a big deal, Hermione,” he assured her.

“We’re going to see a movie today and that’s final,” she said, scanning the listings. “Oh! Here’s one I’ve heard that has been receiving great reviews.”

“Which one?”

She folded the paper with a mischievous grin. “I’m not telling.”

He laughed. “That’s mean.”

“It’s a surprise,” she said.

“How are we going to get there?” he asked her.

“About seven or eight blocks down the main road is an Underground station. We’ll take that into London.”

“Er—okay. I’m up for a little walk.”

She laughed. “Good. I’ll bring along a little extra money so we can buy popcorn. Mum and Dad won’t approve, but you’ve got to have the full cinema experience.”

He couldn’t help but give her a bemused grin. “If you say so.”

Around 11:00, they made their way to the Underground station and rode into London. After buying popcorn and sitting in rather comfortable seats for over three hours, Harry and Hermione finally departed the cinemas.

“What did you think?” she asked him.

“That was…incredible. Really good. Certainly was a lot of water though. And he died in the end! I wasn’t expecting that,” Harry rambled.

Hermione gave him a sideways glance. “No comment about the—er—drawing?”

He laughed. “Oh, I could, but I won’t. Did you know about that?”

“No.”

“Would you still have seen it if you had?”

“Probably. But they could have left that part out. It didn’t add or subtract anything to the plot.”

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “But I’m sure it gave the male audience a thrill.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully pushed him away. “That’s what the second half of the movie was supposed to do. There was a lot of action there.”

“And romance, for you girls. It appealed to all audiences, I suppose,” he said, returning his arm to its spot around her shoulders.

They passed a flower vendor on the street. “Hey sonny! Want to buy a flower for your girlfriend?”

Harry turned to face the vendor while Hermione blushed. Regretfully, all Harry had was wizarding currency on him. “I wish I could. Really. I’m out of money though.”

“Aw, that’s a pity. You’re such a cute couple too.” The vendor eyed them up and down. “Tell you what, I’ll give you one for free.” He handed a red carnation to Harry.

“Really? That’s awfully nice of you, sir,” Harry said, accepting the carnation.

The vendor shrugged. “I remember my first love and how I wished I could buy her a flower.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Have a good day, you two!”

Harry and Hermione waved good-bye as they continued on their way. Harry gave the carnation to Hermione. “If we were to take a detour to Diagon Alley I’d buy you a bouquet.”

“What on earth for?”

“Just because.”

She stopped and shook her head. “Why are you being so sweet?”

He stepped closer to her as a pedestrian passed them. “What do you mean?”

“The flower, saying that you’d buy me a bouquet, calling me beautiful, kissing me…I’m not used to this from you.”

He looked around, searching for someplace a little more private. He spotted an alley not too far away and, grabbing her hand, dragged her into it. “You do remember,” he began, “that at the train station, I said, after I kissed you, that I wanted it to happen. That I knew how I felt about you?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Well, I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know you weren’t.”

“And then you told me—”

“That I love you, yes.”

He nodded. “We agreed that we had a lot to talk about and we haven’t. We haven’t discussed it at all.”

“I know.”

“Why not?”

She looked down at her shoes. “Because I’ve been afraid.”

He stood straighter. “Afraid?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oh, Harry, I’ve had time to think and when I think, I dwell on all these negative thoughts and I’ve been able to convince myself that you couldn’t possibly fancy me. It’s impossible. Every time you had kissed me you were under some emotional distress and that, if anything, I was taking advantage of the situation.”

“Hardly,” he said. “I wanted to. I’ve been afraid that I’ve been taking advantage of you, like in your room the other day.” He looked away sheepishly.

“You’ve never taken advantage of me. I took comfort in that kiss you gave me and I’m glad you did it,” she said and blushed significantly.

“So where does this leave us now?”

“Well…that all depends…”

“Depends on what?” he asked.

She looked as though she was trying to find the proper way to say what she wanted to. “It all depends on what you want to do.”

He was trying to pick up on her line of thought, but was failing and he knew it. “I’m not quite sure what I want to do.”

There was disappointment in her eyes when she gave him a slow nod. Again, sounding as though she was trying to choose her words carefully, she said, “When you do, come and talk to me.”

She made to leave the alley, but Harry caught her by the upper arm. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t they express what they wanted? Harry took a deep breath. “What I want more than anything right now is to force you against this wall and snog you senseless. Those are possibly my hormones talking, but my heart heartily agrees with them.”

She stared at him for a brief moment—and suddenly laughed. She placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him soundly. “I think our whole problem is that we’ve been friends for too long.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re afraid to take our relationship to the next level,” she told him. “We’re scared of what might happen. I know I am.”

He chuckled. “We’re not really acting like the Gryffindors we are, are we?”

“Not at all.”

He stood taller. “Very well. It’s time to stop acting so cowardly. Hermione, can I snog you whenever I feel like it?”

She laughed. “You sort of already are.”

“Good point. So—erm—do you wanna…I mean, would you like to—” He stopped when she placed a finger over his lips.

“I’d love to.”

A feeling of elation unlike anything he had felt before filled him. “Really?”

“Yes!” She laughed.

He couldn’t help himself. He was kissing her before he could stop himself, not that he wanted to. It felt so right. It seemed as though suddenly parts of his life had clicked into place. He and Hermione were…together. And they always had been, really. There was no separating them. This was, as Hermione put it, taking their relationship to the next level and it felt perfectly natural. All the anxiety Harry may have felt beforehand had evaporated, leaving him feeling completely contented.

When they finally exited the alley, they strolled hand-in-hand all the way back to the Underground station.

*****

Harry did manage to convince Hermione to go to Gringotts so that he could exchange some of his wizarding money into Muggle currency, arguing that it wasn’t right for a lady to pay for everything. She called him “far too much of a gentleman” and “a tad traditional,” but eventually agreed. After he exchanged his money, he did end up buying her a bouquet of flowers from a Muggle shop, but not before Hermione dragged him to her local library, saying that she wanted to read up on the history of the movie they had seen. When they arrived back at Hermione’s house, it was around dinnertime and Mrs. Granger was placing the last dish—a large bowl of green beans—on the table.

“Well there you two are,” Mrs. Granger said with a grin. “Where have you two been all this time? And where did you get those beautiful flowers?”

“I decided to take Harry to see a movie, since he’s never been to the cinemas before. Then we went to Diagon Alley on an errand before going to the library,” Hermione replied, holding up her bag full of library books. “Harry bought me the flowers as a thank you.”

“How sweet of you, Harry. You should put those in a vase, Hermione, dear. Did you two have any lunch?” Mrs. Granger asked as Hermione went to a cupboard and pulled out a vase.

“No,” both Harry and Hermione replied in unison, causing them both to grin at each other.

“Well then you must be famished. Come, sit, I just put the pork chops on the table,” Mrs. Granger said, gesturing to their chairs as Hermione filled the vase with water and set the bouquet in it.

How Mrs. Granger was able to come home and make dinner after spending nearly the entire day checking people over for cavities was beyond Harry, and he expressed such a thought as he sat down and tucked in.

Mrs. Granger laughed. “Oh, it’s not all my doing. Mark is the one who prepared the side dishes.”

“Which didn’t take all that much,” Mr. Granger said, grinning. “I really should check on my tomatoes tomorrow morning though—see how their coming. The carrots too.”

“Mark has a vegetable garden,” Mrs. Granger explained to Harry.

“Oh, yeah, I remember Hermione mentioning something about it while we were at school,” he replied.

“What did you grow last year, dear? Cucumbers and…”

“Just cucumbers last year. We pickled them afterwards.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Home grown vegetables…so much better than the pesticide-covered stuff that the grocer sells.”

“So what will you two be doing tomorrow?” Mrs. Granger asked Harry and Hermione.

Harry looked to Hermione for the answer.

“I’m not quite sure,” she said. “It’s not like I have our whole summer planned out. I suppose we’ll do whatever strikes our fancy. Right Harry?”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good to me.”

“Your dad and I decided that tomorrow night, seeing as it will be Saturday and all, we’d go out to dinner. Perhaps you two would like to join us?” Mrs. Granger asked.

Hermione turned to Harry. “Ever been out to eat at a Muggle restaurant?”

“Er—if I have I can’t remember,” he replied.

“We’d love to,” Hermione said, turning back to her mother.

Mrs. Granger beamed. “Wonderful! I hope you like seafood, Harry.”

“I can eat my fair share of fish and chips,” he replied.

She laughed. “Then you’ll do alright, I suppose.”

*****

He didn’t exactly have fish and chips the following evening while sitting next to Hermione in a booth, her parents across from them. Instead he and Hermione shared a huge plate of shrimp while Mrs. Granger ate salmon and Mr. Granger ordered lobster. It was quite the lovely evening. The following day, Mrs. Granger whipped up a whole chicken served with mashed potatoes before she and Mr. Granger returned to work on Monday, leaving Harry and Hermione alone once again.

That morning, Harry stood in the bathroom wearing only his boxers as he finished shaving. There was a knock on the door.

“Harry, are you in there?” came Hermione’s voice from the other side.

“Yes. Just a second while I finish shaving,” he said, running his razor blade against the bottom of his chin in one final stroke.

“Take your time. I just want to brush my teeth, that’s all,” she said.

Harry wiped his face with a towel and then examined his own teeth, which he had yet to brush that day as well. Completely not thinking about his lack of shirt and pants, he opened the door to admit Hermione, who was standing in her pajamas. “Why don’t we brush our teeth together then?”

Her gaze traveled up and down his body. It was then that he reminded himself that he was only in his boxers. Both of them blushed significantly. “Er—I should probably put a pair of pants on first,” he said awkwardly.

“No—it’s alright,” she said, stepping into the bathroom. “I’ve seen you without your shirt on before. Besides, it’s not like you’re actually exposing anything.” She grabbed her toothbrush.

He blushed again, and then laughed. “I suppose it could be worse. I could be in a towel.”

The toothpaste she had been trying to squirt onto her toothbrush squirted out violently into the sink. “Erm—oh…”

He grinned at her and grabbed his own toothbrush. “Pass the toothpaste, would you?”

They brushed their teeth in silence. Afterwards, Harry spun her around towards him, asking, “How’s my breath?” before planting a kiss on her lips.

She laughed. “Minty. I want to go back into London today, so why don’t we both get dressed and go, okay?”

“As you wish,” he replied. As she left, Harry let himself get an appreciative glance at her bum before ginning and heading back to his own bedroom.

*****

There was standing room only on the Underground as they took it into London. Hermione had insisted upon dragging her school bag along with them, making things even more crowded. At one point, Harry noticed that there was a young man on the train around his age who seemed to be taking quite an interest in Hermione, so he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She looked up at him with a curious expression on her face, but he just grinned at her.

“So where are we going, anyway?” he asked her when they exited the Underground.

“Someplace fun, where you and I can just enjoy each other’s company,” she replied.

“Enjoy each other’s company? Sort of like a date?” he asked.

She paused momentarily to ponder on this. “…Yeah. This could be considered our first date.”

“Well I’m all for whatever you have in mind,” he said.

She grinned. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Of course,” he said and pecked her on the tip of her nose. They walked across the street and entered a park. Harry looked around. “Are we going to settle down on the grass and watch dogs chase after Frisbees?”

“Settle down on the grass, yes—watch dogs chase after Frisbees, no.” She looked around. “There,” she said, pointing to a spot underneath a large willow tree.

They walked over to the spot Hermione had pointed out and sat down. Harry glanced curiously at her bag when she started to fiddle with it. “What’s in there, anyway?”

She grinned coyly up at him before pulling out a large bottle of pumpkin juice.

Harry stared at her. “Where did you get that?”

“I bought a bottle one day in Diagon Alley because my parents were curious about the things wizards drink. They never tried it, so I thought it really shouldn’t go to waste,” she said, taking out a blanket.

Harry dived for her bag as she laid the blanket out for them. “You planned a picnic!”

She took the sandwiches that he had just plucked from her bag. “Yes, I did.”

He regarded her suspiciously. “You had this first date planned all along.”

“So what if I did?”

He laughed. “Hermione, you’re the greatest.”

She blushed slightly at the compliment. “Hand me the grapes, will you?” As he did so, something must have caught her eye because she reached over and pulled the chain bearing Harry’s Snitch pendant out from underneath his shirt. She stared at it with a bemused expression on her face. “It surprises me every time I notice that you’re wearing this.”

He smiled at her. “I always wearing it. About the only time I’m not is when I take a shower or sleep.” He took the pendant out of her hands gently before placing it back underneath his shirt. “It makes me think of you, and it provides me with a bit of luck, I think.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “You have no idea how much I fretted over giving you that gift.”

“I think it’s a great gift,” he told her, leaning forwards and placing a kiss on her lips. “Now, let’s get the rest of this food out.”

Once all the food was out, Harry and Hermione commenced with their picnic in the park. They talked about some of the fun attractions around London and how Harry had never gone swimming in a swimming pool. He even mentioned that he didn’t even own a pair of swimming trunks.

“That’s got to be fixed,” Hermione said.

After finishing, Harry leaned back against the tree. With a little gesture, he had Hermione join him, sitting down right in front of him before leaning back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

“This has been a great day,” he murmured and kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you,” she replied. “What do you think the new year at Hogwarts will be like?”

“Hopefully not like the last one,” he growled. “But I doubt we’ll have a peaceful one—not with this war going on.”

“I agree.” She slid her hands over his. “What do you think people will think?”

“About what?”

There was a pause. “Us.”

Harry stared out over the park. To be honest, he hadn’t even thought about it. But now, as he did, the only thing he could think of was how much danger he had put Hermione in just by asking her to be his girlfriend. She was in considerable danger. If Voldemort found out about the two of them, he’d kill her instantly. Suddenly he remembered his initial hesitation to get involved with her. By caring for her the way he did, he was putting her life at risk. He shut his eyes and willed all of the thoughts that followed away.

“I don’t think we should tell them,” he said at last. “I think it would be better if nobody knew.”

She turned her head towards him. “Not even Ron?”

He frowned. “Of course we can tell him. He’s our best friend. He has a right to know. But no one else.”

“Ginny?”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe.”

She turned back towards the front before taking his arms and wrapping them tighter around her. “This will be a hard secret to keep.”

“I know. But we should. We have to.”

“You’re worried about my safety.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am,” he confirmed.

“I don’t want to lie to people, but I understand your concerns. We will keep this a secret.”

He sighed and touched his forehead to the top of hers. “Thank you.”

He felt something catch on the top of his right hand. Looking down, he saw his ring, one of the three that he had bought for Ron, Hermione, and himself the previous Christmas. On Hermione’s right hand, which was rubbing his, was her ring. He stared at both of their rings for moment before and idea sprang into his head.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“What?” Hermione asked.

He took her hands in his and placed them together. “See that ring?” he asked her. When she nodded, he continued, “It’s supposed to be a friendship ring—and it is—but I think it can symbolize so much more if I did one little thing.” He slipped the ring off. “I don’t know a whole lot about relationships, but I think that when someone promises to be with another person, they place a ring on this finger.” He wiggled the ring finger on his left hand. “So I, Harry James Potter, do promise to remain faithful and true to you, Hermione Jane Granger.” He placed the ring on his finger.

She smiled up at him and there were tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry.” She slipped her ring off of her finger. “And I, Hermione Jane Granger, do promise to remain faithful and true to you, Harry James Potter.” She then slipped her ring onto the finger of the opposite hand. “I love you.” She leaned back against him and kissed him softly.

*****

They didn’t return to Hermione’s house. Instead, with Harry’s returned thoughts of Voldemort, he asked her if they could take a detour over to Grimmauld Place. She agreed and before Harry knew it, they were standing in front of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” he said.

“Don’t you think we should ring the bell first?”

He shrugged. “Technically, I own the house. Why should I have to?” He went to turn the doorknob, but found it to be locked.

“Maybe that’s why,” Hermione said sardonically.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, we’ll try it your way.” He rang the bell.

They didn’t hear Mrs. Black’s screams from behind the door—they didn’t expect to. Harry recalled that Professor Dumbledore had apparently come after Sirius’s death and took her down.

It was Tonks who opened the door. “Wotcher Harry—Hermione! What are you doing here?”

“We dropped by for a visit,” Harry said, “seeing as we were in the neighborhood.”

“In the neighborhood. Why would you be in the neighborhood?” she asked, but shook her head. “Never mind. Get in, get in.” She ushered them inside.

Harry looked around. The place was a lot cleaner than the last time he saw it.

“Moody, Kinsley, and I were having a drink down in the kitchen. Care to join us?” Tonks asked, heading down towards the basement.

“Sure. Kingsley’s here as well?” he asked, following her along with Hermione.

“Yeah. He’s on his lunch break. Me, I’m here until the Ministry gives me new orders. I’ve just finished two weeks in Wales, scouting for where the Death Eaters might be hiding,” she told them.

“Did you have any luck,” Hermione asked.

“None,” Tonks replied. “They’re crafty blighters, that’s for sure.” They entered the kitchen. “Look who’s here!”

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up at the doorway while Moody’s magical eye swiveled over and looked directly at Harry and Hermione. “What are you two doing here?” he growled.

“They’ve come to visit. Be nice, Moody,” Tonks said.

“Sit down,” Kingsley said, gesturing to two empty chairs.

“Thanks,” Harry said and sat, Hermione sitting beside him.

“This proves it,” Moody said, scowling. “I knew we shouldn’t have let Mundungus be the one to have the job.”

“Dung? What job?” Harry asked.

“He’s supposed to be keeping his eye on you, make sure you two don’t go anywhere,” Moody said.

“Why shouldn’t we go anywhere?” Harry asked. “And has he been following us around this whole time?”

“Potter, open your eyes,” Moody said. “Why else would we have somebody checking in on you?”

“To make sure the Death Eaters don’t pay us a visit,” Hermione answered for him, looking crestfallen and ashamed.

“You’re a smart one, that’s for sure, Granger. That’s why I like you,” Moody said. “But sometimes neither of you has a whole lot of common sense!”

“We’re sorry,” Hermione murmured, thoroughly chastised and unable to look up at any of them.

Harry felt annoyed. “But if you’ve got someone watching our back, then why can’t we go out?”

“Because no one is actually following you around, Potter. We don’t have the manpower currently to do that day after day. So we’ve been sending Mundungus to check in on you and he has been doing a pretty lousy job of it! The idiot has to do his thieving during the day and then checks on you around dinnertime when, of course, you’d have already returned from whatever jaunt you two have taken that day. That’s the problem with this whole set up—no one thinks!”

“Alastor! That’s enough!” Tonks chided, glancing over at Hermione, who looked near tears.

Harry frowned. “Look, if anyone is to blame here, it’s me. I’m the one who asked Hermione to go into the city with me. I’m the one who was looking something different and fun to do. Something completely Muggle. So don’t take it out on her, okay?” It was a bold faced lie, but Harry didn’t care. He wasn’t about to let Moody make Hermione feel any worse.

“It’s completely natural to want to do something fun,” Tonks said. “I don’t blame you two for trying to enjoy your holiday.” She emphasized the last three words, glaring at Moody.

“Besides, Harry is quite the capable wizard when it comes to Defense Against the Dark Arts. We know that. We also know how highly both Remus and Dumbledore speak of him,” Kingsley reminded him.

“And Hermione isn’t a shrinking violet when it comes to magic either,” Tonks said. “Remus tells me how all of the teachers at Hogwarts think she’s amazing…truly the head of her class.”

Hermione blushed a bright red, but looked very pleased at the comment. Harry couldn’t help but feel proud too. He even added in, “She can kick my butt in a duel, you know. She’s very capable.”

Moody growled in frustration. “Look, Potter, I’m just after what’s best for you here. I know you’re a capable and competent wizard, just as I know that Granger’s a capable and competent witch. But you have to think about your own safety. This isn’t a good time to be running around outside and smelling the roses. Constant vigilance! Never let your guard down.”

“I don’t,” Harry said. “It’s why both Hermione and I have been traveling with our wands.”

“Good.” He let out a long sigh. “So what do you two want?”

“To see what’s going on,” Harry replied.

“That’s it?” Moody asked.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

“Well what do you want to know, Harry?” Tonks asked.

“Were any Order members in Manchester when the attack took place?” he asked.

“I was,” Kingsley said. “As was Remus.”

“Professor Lupin? How is he?” Hermione asked.

“Fine,” Tonks replied. “He’s getting all set for another year at Hogwarts.”

“So he’s going to come back and be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher again? That’s great!” Harry said, grinning. He had been pleased with Lupin’s return the previous year; hearing that he would be staying on for yet another year made Harry extremely happy.

“You will learn something, that’s for sure,” Moody said.

“So he was in Manchester,” Harry said.

“He, myself, and the other Aurors present tried to prevent Muggle casualties, but there were a lot of Death Eaters. It was impossible to stop them all,” Kingsley said sadly. “And then once that fire was started…”

“You did the best you could, I’m sure,” Hermione said sympathetically.

“Any idea on why the Death Eaters attacked when they did?” Harry asked.

The three Order members glanced at each other. “Well…”

Harry’s fears were confirmed. “Because of Seth.”

Moody frowned at him. “It was retaliation, yes. You-Know-Who’s not above that. He enjoys enacting revenge. That’s what makes him so deadly.”

“Dumbledore told me that the baby has been taken to a safe place,” Harry told them.

“No place is safe,” Moody said. “But wherever Dumbledore has the kid is a lot less dangerous of a place than where he was at.”

“We’ve given that baby a chance to live a normal life,” Tonks said.

Harry didn’t reply. Instead, he asked, “How’s Buckbeak?”

Moody look agitated. “Becoming a nuisance.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.

“Scratching up the floorboards, making noises in the middle of the night, trying to peck out the window…He’s a menace!”

“He’s probably just tired of being cooped up in that room. He’s been in there for practically two years now,” Hermione said. “It’s an outrage! Something should be done about it.”

“We’ve thought about approaching Hagrid about taking him back to Hogwarts, but we’ve had some concerns about that,” Tonks said.

“What?”

“He’s been sentenced to death. If someone at Hogwarts recognizes him, they’ll contact the Ministry and he’ll die,” Tonks reminded them.

“Hagrid can hide him,” Harry said. “He’s been hiding Grawp.”

Tonks gave him a bewildered look. “Who?”

“Exactly my point,” Harry said, grinning.

“Besides, we have a new minister, and Dumbledore’s back on the Wizengamot. There can be another appeal,” Hermione said.

“True,” Tonks said. “We’ll contact Hagrid and talk it over.”

Harry nodded and then broached a subject that had been bothering him. “So what are the Aurors like since Crow was discovered to be a traitor?”

Both Kingsley and Tonks frowned. “Shocked, naturally,” Tonks said.

“And angry. But things are being taken care of to ensure it never happens again,” Kingsley told him. “Minister Bones and Xavier Jarrett, Head of the Auror Department, are having all Aurors take psych evaluations before they become Aurors and then every year thereafter. Tonks and I have already taken ours.”

Harry couldn’t help himself. “And Mara Frost?”

Mara Frost had been one of three Aurors placed at Hogwarts during the previous school year. Harry had originally believed that she had been the one behind all of the murders, especially once he found out that she had hated her mother and called her a Mudblood. He found out that he was wrong, however, and the consequences had been fatal.

“She passed. And she strongly supported them,” Kingsley said.

Moody glanced up at the clock on the wall. “You two should get back to Granger’s house. The longer you stay out, the more trouble you can get into.”

Hermione nodded. “We’ll go. It was good to see you all again.”

“Likewise,” Kingsley said. “Take care.”

“We will,” Harry said as both he and Hermione got up. “Bye.”

When they exited the house, Harry let out a breath. “That went worse that I thought it would.”

“Moody’s right, though. We’ve been stupid,” Hermione said. “We should really try to limit our activities to the indoors.”

Harry imaged that their indoor activities would include snogging. “That’s fine by me.”

Hermione caught the grin on his face. “What are you thinking?”

His grin only grew wider. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

She made a noise indicating that she didn’t believe him, but said nothing. Still grinning, he took her hand in his and held it all the way back to the Underground station.

Author’s Note: This chapter was one of my big obstacles in turning this fic into what I wanted it to be and here it is, finished! Granted, I still have a lot of work left, but over half of this chapter has been rewritten and is no longer a happy, sappy chapter. It’s now, I hope, a lot more angsty. Angst is good. I’d like to thank everyone for their reviews. They’re fabulous, as are you!

CHAPTER NINE

BROKEN BLOOD

It was an overcast day when Harry’s birthday arrived. He woke up and stretched before getting out of bed and rubbing his eyes. He then got dressed and made his way down the stairs, thinking about possibly grabbing some cereal. When he arrived in the kitchen, he received quite the shock.

“Happy birthday!” Hermione and her parents yelled, completely waking Harry up.

Harry looked at the kitchen table and saw a huge stack of pancakes. “What’s all this?” he asked.

Hermione laughed. “A birthday breakfast.”

“You don’t turn seventeen everyday and from what Hermione tells us, that’s a very important age for a wizard,” Mr. Granger said.

“You’re now officially of age,” Hermione said and her eyes sparkled. “You can do magic without getting into trouble.”

He hadn’t thought of that. As of a minute ago he was still so groggy that he barely recognized that fact that it was his own birthday. “I…I—”

“Sit down, tuck in,” Mrs. Granger said, gesturing to his seat. “We don’t want the food getting cold.”

He did as instructed. Everything smelled so wonderful. Hermione was grinning at him when he took his first bite.

“Well?” she asked.

“Delicious,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Mrs. Granger—”

“Don’t thank me,” Mrs. Granger said. “Hermione made them.”

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at Hermione. “Thanks. I didn’t know you knew how to make pancakes.”

She shrugged. “Mum taught me.” She took another bite of her own pancakes. “Well, while you’re sitting there, I might as well go get your present.”

“Present?” Harry repeated. “You didn’t have—”

“Nonsense, of course I did.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll be right back!”

All he could do was shake his head and shove another forkful of pancakes into his mouth while Hermione dashed from the kitchen.

“Is there anything you want in particular for dinner tonight, Harry?” Mrs. Granger asked.

He shook his head vigorously. “Please, don’t go out of your way for me.”

Mrs. Granger laughed. “Listen to you. You’ve never had a proper birthday before, have you?”

“The Weasleys threw me a party last year,” he replied absently.

“Well, at least you’ve had a party. What did the Dursleys do for you?” Mrs. Granger asked.

He stared at her blankly, unable to grasp the fact that he was having this, what he considered to be odd, conversation. “They…they never did anything for me.”

She gave him a pitying look that made him feel uncomfortable when Hermione suddenly returned with a small parcel wrapped in scarlet paper. “Happy birthday, Harry!” she said happily and gave it to him.

He gave her a bemused looked before opening the gift and sliding it out onto the table. It looked like a small Muggle pager, except that it didn’t have a clip on it. Harry glanced up at Hermione curiously before examining the gift.

“It’s a lie detector,” she explained. “Really, it is a pager. I asked Mum and Dad to buy one for me months ago and send it to Hogwarts, not that it would work there. But I did some studying and was able to charm it so that it would vibrate if someone told you a lie.”

A slow smile crept across his face as he stared at her in awe. That was his Hermione. That was the sheer brilliance of his Hermione. “That, dear Hermione, could get you in trouble with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. You wouldn’t want Mr. Weasley to have to send the Magical Law Enforcement Squad after you, would you?” he asked teasingly.

“Like that would ever happen,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Then she gave Harry a nervous glance. “You do like it, don’t you?”

“Of course!” he said, slipping the pager into his pocket.

“You’re going to try it out first, aren’t you, Harry?” Mr. Granger asked, grinning. “I want to see what my Hermione can do!”

“Er—okay. Erm—tell a lie,” he said.

“Alright—I served in the Royal Navy,” Mr. Granger said.

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat when the pager began to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and set it on the table as it continued to shake violently.

“Haha!” Mr. Granger shouted in glee. “Look at that!”

“That’s brilliant,” Mrs. Granger said, giving her daughter a fond look. “Wonderful job, Hermione. That is certainly some gift.”

The vibrating eased and Harry reached out for it.

“Wait, I wanted to try it one more time,” Mr. Granger said. Harry retracted his hand and waited. “Let’s make this a good one.” Mr. Granger’s eyes sparkled. “Harry is my daughter’s boy—”

Just as both Harry and Hermione gulped in fear, a tiny owl came zooming through the Granger’s open kitchen window, cutting Mr. Granger off. Harry quickly scooped up the pager and put it back into his pocket.

“Pigwidgeon!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to catch the small owl that belonged to Ron. Both she and Harry had to wrestle the hyperactive bird down onto the table before they were able to untie the letter and the package that were tied to his leg. When they finally had the letter and the package, they let him go so that he could fly around the kitchen in a large elliptical path.

“I think I’m with Ron for once in saying that that bird is a menace,” Harry said.

“He’s not that bad,” Hermione argued. “He’s just so happy every time he gets to deliver something to someone.”

Harry watched as the owl whizzed around above them. “Right.”

Hermione handed over Pigwidgeon’s delivery. “These are obviously for you.”

Harry took them from her and opened up the letter first. Ron’s familiar scrawl covered the parchment. He motioned Hermione over so that she could read behind his shoulder.

Harry—

Happy birthday mate! And since I know Hermione is probably reading this with you, hello Hermione! Mum wanted me to send everyone else’s presents to you with Pig, but that would probably kill the poor, pathetic thing, so I had to tell her to send Errol. I’m sure he’ll be along in a few days’ time.

Speaking of presents, I hope you like what I got you! It isn’t all that great, I know, and I went in on the twins with it, and Ginny too, for that matter, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

I have some excellent news which may brighten up all of our summers. Mum is still moping around the house, but she said the other day that she’s thinking about having me invite the both of you over. She said, and I quote, “It just doesn’t seem like summer without Harry and Hermione staying with us.” So you might get to stay with us! Ginny and I are both pushing for it. We want things to get back to normal, or as normal as they used to be.

See you around!

Ron

Harry glanced up at Hermione. “They want us to go to the Burrow.”

“Might,” Hermione corrected. “Ron said his mum is thinking about it. Nothing is for certain.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are thinking about inviting you two over to their house for the rest of the summer?” Mrs. Granger asked. She sounded disappointed.

“It seems to be that way,” Hermione said. “I’d be happy to go if it would help them feel better, especially after losing a son.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger frowned.

“Well, go on, Harry, open you present,” Hermione said, taking her seat again at the table.

Harry took the package and opened it quickly. When he saw what was inside, he immediately laughed.

“What is it?” Hermione asked him.

“Fred and George’s latest marketing gimmick,” Harry replied. “Oh, this will be great—‘Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Presents Magical Mischief Makers: A collection of our finest devices to aid young witches and wizards in pulling pranks on others.’ I wonder just what is in here.” He opened it up and began to investigate. “Some of their candy, some fireworks…what’s this?” He held up a bottle of a clear liquid that seemed to be congealing.

Hermione reached out to take the new item from Harry so that she could examine it. “Sole Stickers.” She turned the bottle over as she continued to examine it. “It appears to be some sort of glue-like substance. ‘Goo that glues! Keep parents, prefects, and pests off your tail by just pouring some Sole Stickers on the floor. They’ll be stuck there for hours. WARNING: Repels cleaning spells.’ Wow, it repels cleaning spells? That’s quite clever! And quite messy,” she said, handing the bottle back to Harry.

Harry chuckled. “The things Fred and George come up with.”

“I’m amazed Pigwidgeon was able to carry all of this.” She looked up at the tiny owl and grinned. “He’s amazing.”

Suddenly, as if another animal was begging for attention, Crookshanks jumped up onto Harry’s lap. “Crookshanks!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “Where have you been hiding yourself since I got here?”

It was a good question. Harry hadn’t seen one swish of the cat’s bottlebrush tail since he had arrived at the Granger’s house. It seemed as though the squashed-faced animal had been hiding from him.

“He likes to be outside in the backyard most of the time,” Hermione told him. “And he has his own kitty condo in the laundry room.”

“Kitty condo?” He stared at her. “I’m not asking…”

Everyone laughed and eventually started back in on their food. Harry moved his gift from Ron, Ginny, and the twins off the table and scratched Crookshanks’s head idly as he also continued plowing through his amazing pancakes.

After breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Granger left for work, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. Hermione was leaning against the couch, looking out the window at the overcast sky.

“It looks like it could rain at any moment.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess we shouldn’t try to go outside then.”

“Probably not.”

Hermione looked behind her shoulder at Harry. “Are you staring at my bum?”

“Appreciating,” Harry corrected without any hint of embarrassment at being caught. “I’m appreciating your bum.”

Hermione stood up straight and turned towards Harry, a gleam in her eyes. “Mr. Potter, are you flirting with me?”

Now he did blush. Shrugging, he said, “I’m trying to, Miss Granger. I’ve never really been all that great at it.”

She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, his arms automatically encircling her waist. “I think you do quite well.”

He was closing the space between them when suddenly they both heard a loud CRACK followed up by two more. They separated and ran back to the kitchen, staring out the windows. In the Granger’s backyard stood three figures Harry recognized immediately.

Hermione opened up the backdoor to let Lupin, Tonks, and Moody in, each of whom was striding hurriedly towards it.

“Professor?” she asked when she closed the door behind them, gazing at them with a half-worried, half-terrified look on her face.

Lupin seemed to be trying to catch his breath, as did both Moody and Tonks. Hermione rushed over and poured each of them a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Lupin said, taking the glass gratefully.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked, feeling uneasy.

Tonks was looking away from him while Moody stared at the floor, his magical eye revolving slowly. Lupin sighed. “It’s the Dursleys, Harry.”

Harry’s mood suddenly turned sour. “What about them?”

“You have to come with us, Potter, back to Privet Drive,” Moody told him.

Harry stepped back, alarmed. “Why?” he asked, angered. “Why do I have to go back? What more protection could I gain from them? That blood curse was supposed to end when I turn seventeen.”

“That protective charm did end today, Potter,” Moody said sharply. “The Dursley home is no longer a safe haven for you and they know it!”

Harry stopped short. “They?”

“The Death Eaters,” Lupin said. He sighed. “Harry, the Death Eaters attacked number four, Privet Drive. You have to come with us.”

“What about Hermione?” he asked automatically as his mind had gone blank.

“She can come with us,” Lupin said. “It’s safe there now. The Order is there.”

“Come on,” Moody said. “Tonks, where’s the portkey?”

“Right here,” she said, fumbling forward and holding out a silver tea kettle that looked an awful lot like Aunt Petunia’s. She kept giving Harry nervous glances.

Moody took it from her as Lupin explained, “We’ve set it for five minutes after we arrived, so you two better grab hold.”

“You got your wands, don’t you?” Moody growled. Harry nodded, as did Hermione. “Good.”

“Almost time,” Lupin said, looking at his watch as everyone grabbed a part of the tea kettle.

Suddenly, Harry felt that familiar tug from behind his navel as he lurched forward. When he landed, he found himself in the Dursley’s front yard, the others around him.

“Aren’t we afraid that somebody just saw us?” Harry asked.

“Moody and I cast an anti-Muggle charm around the house when we arrived. Everything thinks they’re just looking at plain old number four, nothing special about it,” Lupin explained, ushering Harry forward, Hermione rushing along behind him.

“Professor, please,” Harry said, stopping. “Tell me what’s happened. Why the rush? You said it’s safe here now. It’s not like they’re being attacked right now and we’re coming to help them.”

Lupin frowned. “It’s your aunt, Harry. Please, you have to come inside.”

Eyes widened, Harry rushed forward after Lupin. “Is she hurt? Did the Death Eaters hurt the Dursleys?”

Again, Lupin frowned. “Just come inside.”

“Remus—” Tonks said suddenly.

“Yes?” he asked, just as he was about to open the front door.

“You should tell him,” she said. “Prepare him for what he’s about to see.”

Moody’s eye swiveled around, scanning the area. “We have to get inside soon.”

Lupin sighed. “Nymphadora’s right, of course. I should prepare you.” His shoulders slumped. “Harry, I’m so sorry…your aunt is dead.”

It took a moment for what Lupin had said to register in Harry. “What?” he gasped.

“Your aunt, Harry—she’s gone.”

“Murdered,” Moody said gruffly.

He stared at the front door, memories of his aunt flooding him. The way she mistreated him for years, how she always liked to spy on the neighbors, her refusal to talk about his mother, how she spoiled Dudley, those few moments during the summer before his sixth year where she actually showed some human kindness toward him…

“Harry?” Hermione asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

He swallowed. “Is she still in there?”

“Yes,” Lupin said sadly. “We’re keeping your uncle and cousin in the living room. Your aunt is in the master bedroom.”

“How?” Harry murmured. “How did this happen?”

“Let’s get inside and I’ll tell you everything that we know,” Lupin assured him.

“Are we still in some sort of danger out here?” Harry asked.

“We could be if we don’t get inside,” Moody said. “Who knows if You-Know-Who will send backup since his Death Eaters got chased off by us. You-Know-Who wants every Order member dead!”

“So you think Voldemort is going to send some more Death Eaters here? To what? Kill Uncle Vernon and Dudley?” Harry asked. “What could he possibly want with them? It’s me he wants—I know it.”

“You’re right, Harry, it is you that he wants,” Lupin said. “He attacked because the blood charm was over and he must have thought that you were still here. He’ll be angry now knowing that you’re not. The point is, Harry, that we don’t want you standing outside in broad daylight in case he does send more Death Eaters to attack. You’ll be safer in the house, where you can hide if you have to.”

“You want me to hide if Death Eaters show up?” Harry said, affronted. “I can handle Death Eaters!”

“We can’t risk your life,” Lupin explained. “Dumbledore has told us explicitly not to…not that he needed to tell me that,” he added.

“Then why is he here? Doesn’t that put him at risk?” Hermione asked, stepping closer to Harry protectively.

“We brought him here because he needs to know,” Moody said sternly. “We brought him here because Dumbledore and Remus both agreed that Potter would not have liked us just to come by and say, ‘Oh, Harry, hate to tell you this, but your aunt is dead. See you later!’ I don’t think Potter would have appreciated that at all.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Harry said quietly. “Alright, let’s go in.”

They stepped up to the house. When Lupin pushed open the door, he told them, “Arabella was the one to send the alarm.”

“Mrs. Figg?”

“Yes. She’s been checking over the Dursley residence, even after you left. We were trying to give the illusion that you were still here,” Lupin explained. “She came by, as her routine dictated, when she spotted Death Eaters sneaking into the house. That’s when she rushed home and Floo-ed us immediately.”

“She’s hooked up to the Floo network?”

“Yes. Most Squibs are. And,” Lupin added, “Dumbledore made sure of it. She’s a very valuable, very secret, member of the Order.”

Harry whirled on them as they went through the threshold. “You mean to tell me that Voldemort doesn’t know about her?”

“No,” Lupin said simply. “At least, we don’t think he does.”

“You don’t think?” Hermione repeated, staring at the professor.

“If he did,” Tonks said reasonably, “he would have sent somebody to kill her by now, wouldn’t he have?”

Inside the house were at least four other Order members, who nodded their heads at Lupin, Moody, and Tonks when they entered. One of them Harry recognized as being Dedalus Diggle.

Harry turned to Moody, who was quiet. “What d’you think?”

“I think we all need to get through this door,” Moody said gruffly.

Harry frowned, but stepped back to let everyone else enter. Once Moody closed the door, he repeated his question.

“I think,” Moody said, “that You-Know-Who knows that a Squib is living in the neighborhood, but think about it, Potter. Why wouldn’t he care?”

“Because he thinks that Squibs are—”

“POTTER!” came a howl from the living room. Harry turned to see his uncle staring at him, both angry and anguished, with Dudley sitting on the couch behind him. Both of them were still in their pajamas. “YOU! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” Just as he made a move towards Harry, Lupin, Tonks, and Moody had their wands out, pointed at the beefy man.

“Sit down, Dursley,” Moody ordered. “Killing Potter won’t bring your wife back.”

“Let me make you some tea,” Tonks said soothingly, her wand still pointed at him.

“I—want—him—OUT!” Uncle Vernon yelled.

“You’re in no position to make demands, Dursley. Sit down and let Tonks make you a cup of tea,” Moody said, jerking his wand threateningly.

“Come on, Harry,” Lupin said quietly. “Let’s let Nymphadora and Moody take care of your uncle and cousin while the rest of us go talk upstairs.”

Harry stared at his uncle’s purple face and nodded. He and Hermione followed Lupin up the stairs to Harry’s old bedroom, which Dudley had converted back into his old junk room after Harry had left.

Lupin waved his wand and boxes scattered off of the bed. “Sit down,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything I can about what happened.”

“Just start at the beginning,” Harry said. “Mrs. Figg saw the Death Eaters enter and then rushed home to notify the Order…”

“—And then we Apparated here the moment we heard about it. We were lucky that we had so many members at headquarters when this broke out. There were three Death Eaters and we easily overpowered them, driving them away. But we were too late—your aunt was already dead. They were getting ready to kill your uncle and cousin when we burst through the door.”

“Did you recognized who the Death Eaters were?” Harry asked.

“The Carrows and Gibbon,” Lupin replied.

A memory nagged at Harry. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

“Probably not. The Carrows, like the Lestranges, were captured and sent to Azkaban. They broke out the same time the Lestranges did, although they weren’t the deadliest of Death Eaters to break out. That title definitely went to the Lestranges and Antonin Dolohov. Dolohov, of course, is back in Azkaban for the third time. Gibbon is not a senior Death Eater by any means. He’s not a leader, he’s not very powerful, and he tends to make mistakes. It’s a wonder why Voldemort sent him on this mission,” Lupin said.

“Probably because he’s setting up another attack,” Hermione said.

Lupin frowned. “That’s a possibility.” He sighed and looked over at Harry. “I assume you want to see her?”

Harry nodded a little. “You said you found her in the master bedroom?”

“Yes. She had just finished getting ready for the day. Your uncle and cousin were still asleep.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “She was always the first one up.”

“Come,” Lupin said, standing up and placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

Hermione jumped up to accompany them.

“Hermione—” Harry began quietly.

“Where you go, I go,” she said.

He shook his head vehemently. “I’d rather you not see another dead body. For your own sanity I want you to see as few victims in this war as you can. Please,” he said, lowering his voice, “don’t add my aunt with Percy, June, and Sinead on the list of people you’ve seen dead.”

“Harry—”

“Please,” he pleaded with her. “Please, do this for me.”

She closed her eyes and nodded her head. “I’ll go downstairs and see if I can help Moody and Tonks.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

When she left, Lupin escorted Harry to the master bedroom, where his aunt was waiting.

“She’s a good friend,” Lupin murmured before he opened the door.

“Yeah, she is,” Harry agreed.

“And she cares about you a great deal,” Lupin added before whispering, “I had friends like that.”

“I wish they were still here,” Harry said.

Lupin’s eyes betrayed his sadness, but he quickly cleared his throat and said, “Yes, well, let’s get this over with. We can’t stand outside this door all day.”

“Right,” Harry said, preparing himself.

When Lupin opened the door, Harry stepped inside. There, lying next to her wardrobe, was his aunt. Her face was etched in surprise and fear. It was a look that Harry had never seen on his aunt before; it was so disturbing that he had to turn away from her.

“Was it quick? Did they just kill her or did they torture her first?” he asked.

“I don’t know. They were after you and they probably didn’t want any witnesses, so they decided to kill the Dursleys. I’ve been discussing this with Moody,” Lupin told him. “We’ve agreed that they probably split up—the Carrows to kill you and Gibbon to kill the Dursleys. You’re a wizard, so you’re the threat. Three Muggles are nothing against a wizard armed with a wand.

“The Carrows must have gone to your room and saw it was empty, so they began to search the house. Meanwhile, Gibbon found the master bedroom and caught your aunt, wide awake and ready for the day. He killed her instantly out of surprise. We can assume she screamed, which probably woke up your uncle and cousin. Moody believes it’s at that moment that the Carrows figured out that you weren’t here and called up to Gibbon, who was about to kill your uncle. We’ve been trying to talk to him, to get him to tell us what happened once he woke up, but he’s been rather distraught. They may have tried to interrogate him.”

“I doubt that got them anywhere. He tends not to speak when he’s terrified,” Harry said. “Then again, what color was his face when you arrived? Purple?”

“No. Very white,” Lupin said shortly.

“He was scared,” Harry confirmed. “Still, we should be worried, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes, I think we should. He won’t tell us what happened. He refuses to speak to us at all. The first words he spoke were when he yelled at you downstairs.”

“That comes naturally for him,” Harry muttered and glanced back down at his aunt’s body. “Will the Order remove her?”

“We’re awaiting Dumbledore’s letter to know. We may just have your uncle call the Muggle police, however, I’m not quite sure that would be good. Your uncle or your cousin may become suspects.”

“They both did have violent tendencies,” Harry said, sighing. “I think you’re right. Don’t involve the police. Tonks is an auror. Maybe she and Kingsley can investigate this.”

“It’s possible,” Lupin said, but he didn’t sound too convincing. “Why don’t we go downstairs? Perhaps your uncle is talking now.”

When they returned to the living room, they found Uncle Vernon and Dudley sitting in a corner, trying to keep themselves as far away from the wizards in the room. But when Vernon spotted Harry, he jumped up, his face turning purple.

Harry glanced around at the others, feeling obligated to do something. “Er—would you mind…I mean, could I have a moment alone with my uncle and cousin?”

Lupin nodded. “Absolutely, Harry. We’ll go into the kitchen.”

“Just make sure you can get to your wand quickly,” Moody muttered in warning.

He waited until he was alone with his surviving relatives, although with the link that was his aunt gone, he was quite sure that Vernon would never call him “nephew” again. Harry, however, couldn’t muster anything up enough to care about that trifle detail.

Vernon stood there as Dudley sat, both of them staring at Harry.

“I—er—I really don’t know what to say.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—I never expected them to come after you.”

Uncle Vernon scowled. “Your sorry means nothing to us, Potter. I can’t use your sorry to bring my wife back!”

“I bet you don’t even really care,” said Dudley from his corner.

“You’d expect me not to, considering how you lot treated me like crap all these years,” Harry said fiercely, “but for some odd reason I do. I care that my mother’s sister is dead, and I’m sorry that she is.”

“You hated us,” Dudley said.

“You hated me first,” Harry shot back. “I tried to earn your praise when I was little, but after awhile a kid just learns that he won’t be appreciated for anything, so he stops seeking the approval from those who constantly deny him of it. None of you ever treated me like I was a part of this family. I was always, ‘oh, him.’ I was someone to be kicked, punched, and yelled at. Someone to lock in a cupboard underneath the stairs. Yet, through all of that, I still care that Aunt Petunia is gone.”

Uncle Vernon’s face was extremely purple now. “Don’t…you don’t have permission to say her name, boy!”

“Very well,” Harry murmured. “But know this: those people who killed her? I am the only person who can stop them. I have to kill their leader, the one who sent them. Perhaps, then, you could help me out.”

Vernon stared at him incredulously. “How?”

“Tell me what happened after you woke up. Who was there? What did they say?”

Vernon stared down at his feet, his face still purple.

“I know it’s hard,” Harry said quietly. “I’ve had to relive moments like that myself.”

Vernon frowned at him. “Are you really the only one who can stop them? You, a scrawny little boy?”

“I’m not exactly a little boy anymore, Uncle, but yes, I am.”

Vernon huffed out a breath and sat down. “I heard her scream. That’s what woke me up. All I saw was this green light and when I realized what was happening, she was already dead, lying on the floor with that…look on her face. The—the—the—”

“Death Eater?” Harry supplied.

“Monster,” Vernon correctly harshly, “turned that…thing you people carry on me and was starting to say something when his mates called out to him. I won’t ever forget that sadistic grin on his face.”

“Do you remember what he was about to say?” Harry asked.

Vernon shook his head. “Some nonsense. ‘Abra,’ ‘Avanda,’ ‘Avaida,’—”

“Avada?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said miserably. “What the hell was he trying to do, anyway?”

“Kill you,” Harry replied, frowning. “Avada Kedavra is the Killing Curse.”

Vernon’s face went from purple to pale. “Oh.”

“Then what happened? You said the others called out to him?”

“Yes. They called out to him and he left. I heard them talking, saying ‘He isn’t here. The Dark Lord said that he would be here!’ I assume they were talking about you,” he added darkly. “Then the one told the other two to go ahead and kill everyone in the house. That’s when I heard the front door blow open and your friends arrive.”

“So you never said anything to them?”

“No.”

“What about Dudley?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Harry murmured. “Thank you.”

“I don’t see how any of this will help you, Potter,” Vernon muttered.

“I had to make sure that I was getting the whole story,” Harry told him. “I am truly sorry that this day happened.”

Vernon slumped in his seat. “So am I.”

“Someone is going to come by and get Aunt Petunia. We think it’s better than calling the police. We don’t want you to become suspects in your own wife’s murder,” Harry said. “We know who killed her.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Vernon muttered.

“Good-bye,” Harry murmured.

Vernon didn’t say anything until Harry was at the threshold to the kitchen. “Potter.” When Harry turned back towards him, he said, “Don’t ever come back.”

Harry, to his credit, said nothing and walked into the kitchen. “Your theory is correct,” he told Lupin and Moody. “And, he never told them where I had gone.”

“That’s not surprising,” Moody said. “But it’s good to know.

“May I suggest something?” Harry asked.

“Sure,” Lupin said.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but Bellatrix Lestrange is looking for the headquarters.”

“Oh, we know all about that,” Moody said. “Dumbledore told us about your letter to him.”

“Well then, I think it’s time that the Order moved to a new headquarters. I don’t think it’s safe there anymore,” Harry said.

Lupin nodded. “You’re probably right. I’m surprised Bellatrix hasn’t come looking for Kreacher after Sirius died.”

Harry blinked. He had completely forgotten about Kreacher. “Can’t we get rid of him somehow?”

“Are you suggesting we kill him?” Moody asked.

“No!” Harry said, very aware that Hermione was listening in on the conversation.

“Then what can we do? He’s your house-elf, after all,” Moody reminded him.

“He’s been keeping to himself these days,” Lupin told him. “I actually suspect that his health has been failing.”

“Really?”

Lupin nodded. “He was a lot thinner the last time I saw him. He’s a very old house-elf.”

“I’ll figure out what to do with Kreacher later,” Harry said.

“In the meantime, we’ll express your concern to Dumbledore,” Lupin told him.

“Thanks. Can we get out of here now?” Harry asked, indicating to himself and Hermione, who was standing over by the kitchen counter.

“Of course,” Lupin said. He took a piece of ribbon out of his pocket and his wand. “Portus,” he murmured before handing the ribbon to Harry. “It’ll leave in a minute.”

Hermione rushed forward and grabbed a piece of the ribbon, standing next to Harry. “Professor,” she said quickly, “Harry and I received flyers for Apparition lessons starting tomorrow in Diagon Alley.”

“Yes?”

“Should we go? We won’t be able to learn how to Apparate any other way,” she said.

Lupin thought for a moment. “Take your wands, stay together, and don’t wander. That should keep you safe.”

“Okay. Thank you,” she said.

When the minute was up, Harry felt the portkey pull him by the naval. Soon he found himself back inside the Granger’s home.

Harry let go of the ribbon. “Well, this has been a crappy birthday.”

Hermione frowned. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

He shook his head. “What could I have done? I wouldn’t have been able to save her even if I had been there.” He laughed suddenly. “Why can’t I live a normal wizard’s life?”

Hermione frowned again. “Because you have a destiny bigger than anyone you know, and you can’t escape it, no matter how hard you try.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, I can’t, can’t I?”

She stepped forward and embraced him. “None of us can.”

“It’s up to me to kill Voldemort,” Harry murmured. “I hope that when the time comes I’m ready.”

“I think you will be,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

She hugged him tighter. “You’re welcome.”

Author’s Note: I quite honestly think I’ve never been so busy in my life. Thank God for Thanksgiving and getting some time away from college, work, and all of the papers and projects I have to get done. I’ve finally taken some time to continue my work on this fic, and look, I have yet another chapter ready to go. I hope you enjoy it and thank you for all of your great reviews!

CHAPTER TEN

APPARITION LESSONS

Errol eventually arrived with Harry’s gift from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley after he and Hermione had returned from the Dursleys. It was a motorcycle helmet with lightning bolts on either side of it, prompting Harry to give a small smile. For his last birthday, Lupin had given him Sirius’s flying motorcycle, which Harry and Ron attempted to take a ride on while they were at the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had caught them and ended up having an emotional row with her children. Harry assumed the helmet symbolized her acceptance of the bike with the hopes that he would try to remain safe while on it. She didn’t have to worry; it was safely tucked away at Grimmauld Place.

Hagrid had sent Harry a present too, which he received by the end of the day. It was a funny looking necklace that had animal teeth and little charms with gems encrusted into them.

“It’s a talisman,” Hermione had explained to him. “For protection.”

“Does it work?”

“No idea.”

That evening, Harry set about writing letters to everyone, thanking them for his gifts. Then he sent Hedwig off with the letters, who seemed grateful to have something to do.

Just before he was settling in for bed, there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” he called.

Hermione walked in, wearing pajamas. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he said back.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he responded, offering her a smile. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she asked. “Yes, I’m alright.”

“Okay.”

“Er—I’ll see you in the morning then, Harry,” she said quietly.

“Good night,” he murmured.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

She flipped the light off for him as he crawled underneath the covers and yawned. He heard his door close quietly and silently hoped that Hermione would have pleasant dreams. Then, he felt his comforter lift slightly as the mattress sank, arms wrapping around his waist and a body pressing against his back. He craned his neck and saw the outline of bushy hair behind him.

“Hermione?” he mumbled.

“Hold me,” she whispered. “I feel safe when I’m with you.”

He rolled over to face her and complied, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against him. He breathed in her scent and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

He knew very well why she was doing this. It wasn’t for herself, but he let her pretend that it was anyway.

“Sleep well, Hermione,” he murmured. “No dreams tonight.”

*****

The next morning found Harry and Hermione riding the Underground into London. They exited and walked a mere third of a mile to the Leaky Cauldron, where they entered and then exited into the alley. Harry got out his wand, tapped the brick that opened the archway, and then they were walking briskly down Diagon Alley, searching for the old Planter’s Magical Flower Shop.

“The flyer says it is right next to Ollivander’s,” Hermione said.

Sure enough, a worn down shop next to Ollivander’s wand shop had a crooked sign bearing a large “P” on it with a rose. They peered inside the windows as they walked past to the door.

“Hey, I think that’s Justin Finch-Fletchley,” Harry said.

“And I think I see…is that Neville?” Hermione asked.

Harry opened the door for her and looked inside. Indeed, Neville Longbottom stood against the wall of the shop, tapping his foot nervously. Harry and Hermione walked over to greet him.

“Hey Neville! I didn’t know you’d be here,” Harry greeted jovially.

“Oh! Hi Harry! Hi Hermione!” he replied with a slight squeak in his voice.

“Neville, are you alright?” Hermione asked.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, fine. I’m just nervous, that’s all. Gran didn’t want to teach me how to Apparate. She said it would be better for a Ministry approved professional to do it. It’s going to be bad enough when I lose my leg—I don’t want to lose my whole lower half!”

Hermione put a comforting hand on Neville’s shoulder. “It will be alright. You’ll see.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. Harry glanced over at the door as Dean Thomas, another classmate of theirs, walked in. He waved and motioned Dean to join them.

“Hello!” Dean said excitedly. “Having a nice summer?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a smile. “It’s been good for the most part.”

“That’s good,” Dean said, turning to Neville. “Hey, Neville…what are you doing here? You’re not a Muggle-born.” His eyes widened. “Did something happen to your grandmother?”

Neville shook his head. “She just doesn’t want to teach me how to Apparate.”

“Rough luck. Well, you’ll have us then.”

“That’s right,” Hermione said.

“Seamus is learning from his mum,” Dean told them. “He said his mum would teach me too, but things got canceled when his uncle died.”

Hermione looked alarmed. “His uncle died? When? What happened?”

Dean shrugged. “Earlier this month is all I know. Apparently he unwittingly drank poison while in a drinking contest. Seamus said it was probably somebody he owed money to that did it. Stupid blighter was a gambler—at least, that’s what Seamus told me.”

“That’s still awful,” Hermione said.

Dean nodded. “So,” He shuffled his feet, “how’s Ginny doing?”

Harry saw Neville frown out of the corner of his eye.

“She’s alright,” Hermione told him.

“Well, as alright as a person can be after a Death Eater kills their brother,” Harry added.

“Right,” Dean replied softly, his eyes wandering to his shoes.

Neville checked the time impatiently. “When is our teacher going to arrive?”

As if right on cue, an elderly man with a cane entered the shop. He was completely bald except for a thin white moustache just above his upper lip. He looked as if he used to be fit, but in his old age he let his physique slip away. His eyes were a cloudy gray that looked confused. Harry privately wondered if this man was senile. As he walked, Harry noticed that his hand shook violently when he lifted it to move his cane.

“Good morning,” the old man said in a quavering voice. His bottom lip trembled as spoke while he walked towards the center of the shop. “My name is Edgar Farr and I will be your Apparition teacher.”

The students looked at each other warily. They couldn’t have picked someone else to teach these lessons?

“Let’s get started immediately.” He coughed. “We only have ten days to complete this course.

“Stand apart please. You will need a lot of room for this.”

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Dean took several steps from each other until they had what they figured to be enough room. Justin Finch-Fletchley caught Harry’s eye from across the room and gave a nod in greeting.

Farr was speaking again. “Now, you must remember, your focus determines your destination. That is the key to Apparition. You must see where you are going in your mind’s eye. Mutter your destination if you must, but soon you’ll be able to Apparate in the blink of an eye. Just remember to focus while you’re doing it!”

His zeal of the word “focus” reminded Harry strongly of Moody’s fondness for the phrase “constant vigilance.”

“We’re not actually going to Apparate today. It is far too soon. No, instead we are going to broaden our minds and get our imaginations working.” He smiled. It was a crooked smile and Harry noticed that a few of Farr’s teeth were missing.

“I have an activity for us to start with to get our imaginations warmed up.” He hobbled slowly over to an old counter with cabinets underneath it. “Anyone want to take as guess as to what’s in here?”

“A boggart?” said a nonchalant voice from the other side of the shop. Harry looked over and saw that the speaker was Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in his year whose brother had been murdered the previous school year by Joaquin Crow. Blaise was the son of two Squibs, which explained his presence in the shop.

“Indeed!” Farr said, delighted. “Now everyone, line up! When you come forth to face the boggart, I’d like for you to tell me your name, please.”

Harry joined Hermione as everyone began to form a line. Hermione had her eyes closed tightly and her brows furrowed. Harry wondered why.

Harry also wondered what his boggart would be now. It had always taken the shape of a dementor, however, he wondered if he feared something more than a dementor now. He knew he did and part of him hoped that it would not be reflected by the boggart. He decided to try to focus on the dementor.

Justin was the first in line and gave his name to Farr.

“Nice to meet you, Justin. Are you ready to face the boggart?”

Justin got out his wand, but gulped just the same. “I guess.”

Farr opened the cabinet and a vampire stepped out of it. It didn’t look anything like the vampires that Harry had run across during the previous year. Instead, it looked more like the depictions of what Dracula looked like in old movies. Justin stepped fearfully back.

“Come on, boy, you must have learned how to repel a boggart,” Farr said. “Use your imagination.”

Justin closed his eyes tightly and pointed his wand at the vampire. “Riddikulus!” he shouted and suddenly, the vampire sprouted corks on his fangs. The students around him chuckled.

“Good enough, good enough,” Farr murmured. “Next!”

Neville stepped forward. “Erm—Neville Longbottom, sir,” he introduced.

“Longbottom? I know your grandmum. She’s a nice lady,” Farr said and then motioned towards the boggart. “Well, have at it.”

Neville eyed the boggart warily. Suddenly, it morphed into the woman that Harry hated most: Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry felt a hand slide into his, which he was just about to clench. Looking away from Neville and Lestrange, he saw Hermione glancing over her shoulder at him. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

Neville held up his wand, his face red. “Riddikulus!” he yelled and suddenly, Lestrange turned into a blubbering mess, her eyes transfixed and foaming at the mouth. Neville recoiled at the sight while the other students laughed, and Harry knew why. His parents, while not foaming at the mouth, were much like what Neville had turned Lestrange into.

Hermione caught onto this as well as she put a comforting hand on Neville’s shoulder as he turned and walked towards the back.

“Interesting, interesting,” Farr murmured as Neville walked away. He then cleared his throat. “Next!”

It was Hermione’s turn. She stepped forward. “My name is Hermione Granger, sir,” she told Farr.

“A pleasure, my dear,” he said and then glanced over at Harry—and then did a double take. “Er—take it away, my dear.”

She nodded and focused hard on the boggart. Harry watched her closely. The boggart then changed into Professor McGonagall, showing her a paper marked with a large “T.” Hermione, Harry noticed, seemed to look relieved.

“Riddikulus,” she said confidently, her wand pointed at the boggart. Professor McGonagall’s robes changed into a nightgown of deep purple. The students roared in laughter at the sight of the usually strict Transfiguration professor looking as such.

“Well, well!” Farr said, highly amused. “Very good.”

Harry gave Hermione a high five as she walked by, still laughing. “Good one.”

“Next!”

Harry stepped forward. “Harry Potter, sir.”

Farr nodded. “Oh yes, Mr. Potter, I know who you are. Let’s see what kind of an imagination you have.”

Harry got out his wand and focused on the boggart, willing it to turn into a dementor. He couldn’t have been more relieved when it did, and with a smirk, he uttered,
“Riddikulus!” and watched as the dementor, who had been sucking all of the warmth out of the air, suddenly choked and then tripped on its black robes. The students laughed. None of them would ever see a dementor, even if it was a fake one, act in this manner.

“Excellent, excellent. Well done, Mr. Potter!” Farr praised as Harry joined Hermione and Neville at the back of the room. “You do have an imagination, I’ll say.”

The class continued on until everyone had faced the boggart. Then, Edgar Farr had them all do a sort of meditative exercise where they imagined different locations that they would like to Apparate to, or would Apparate to often in their lives. He finished the day with a lecture on the dangers of Apparition that turned somehow into a Public Service Announcement about why witches and wizards shouldn’t drink and Apparate.

“Not that any of you drink,” he added with a wink.

As they walked out, each of them paid the fee of the class and then continued on their way. Harry and Hermione opted to get lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and invited Neville and Dean to join them, who gladly accepted. They spent the time eating and discussing Apparating and their instructor, among other things.

*****

The next day involved Farr going over the basic instructions on how to prepare for Apparition.

“Step One: Determine where you are going. Step Two: Focus on your destination. Step Three: Continue focusing on your destination. Step Four: Imagine your whole body at that destination. Step Five: Twist your body slightly to the right while still focusing on your destination! If all goes well, you’ll end up at your intended destination.” He learned forward on his cane. “Personally, I’d like to add a Step Four and a Half: Believe you can do it. If you can imagine it, focus on it, and believe that you can do, then you will.” He clapped his hands together as the students stared, mystified and apprehensive. “So, let’s try it, shall we?”

Harry and Hermione gave each other nervous glances.

“I want you to Apparate a foot in front of you, okay? Remember: Determine, focus, focus, imagine, and twist! Ready? All together now on the count of three. One—two—three!”

Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on the spot ahead of him as Farr spoke and when he said “three,” Harry twisted his body slightly to the right, but nothing happened. Nothing happened to anyone. Everyone stayed exactly where they are. All of them looked around, disappointed.

“No matter, no matter. It never happens on the first try. If it had, I would have been flabbergasted,” Farr said, hobbling into the center of the room. “Let’s try again. Everyone, determine your destination—one foot in front of you. Focus on it. Really focus on it. Now, imagine yourself going to that spot. Can you imagine that? Now, on three, twist your body slightly to the right.”

Harry stared at the spot on the floor, focusing so hard he felt like he could burn a whole through the floor with his eyes. He imagined himself moving to where his eyes were looking.

“Ready?” Farr asked. “Get ready—one—two—three!”

Harry twisted his body slightly to the right—nothing happened, again. He sighed. Looking around, he saw that once again, nobody had moved.

Farr seemed to be amused. “It will take several more tries, trust me. You’ve got to believe that you can do it! Let’s try it again.”

And so they did. Over and over until Harry found himself to be mentally exhausted from focusing so much on a spot just a foot ahead of him. A glance over at Hermione told him that she was equally as frustrated.

Nobody Apparated that day, nor the next, although towards the end of class on Sunday, Harry did hear a loud CRACK and looked over to see who had done it. It was a girl that he recognized to be a Ravenclaw, only she hadn’t Apparated. Not fully, at least. She had left half of her right arm behind. Harry cringed.

“Thank Merlin I’m trained to undo these horrible incidences,” Farr said, waving his wand over the girl. Instantly her arm was restored to her. “That was very good though, my dear. Very good. Progress,” he announced. “We’re making progress.”

*****

On Tuesday, Farr brought in hoops for them to focus on, which seemed to do the trick for Hermione; she Apparated into the hoop that very day—her whole body. She left nothing behind.

“Wonderful!” Farr yelled. “Wonderful! Our first true success! Congratulations Miss Granger, you’ve just Apparated!”

Hermione blushed, but seemed very pleased. From then on, she was able to Apparate into the hoop, each time getting better and better at it. Farr eventually moved the hoop and gave her the tasks of Apparating around to different locations within the shop, before having her Apparate outside on Wednesday. By then, several more had Apparated into their hoops. Harry finally did it towards the end of class that day.

It felt like he was being squeezed on all sides into a tiny hole. It was highly uncomfortable, but Hermione told him that she was already getting used to it, which made Harry feel slightly better.

From then on, Harry worked on catching up to Hermione, which was nearly impossible; however, he was the student that made the most progress on Thursday, Apparating everywhere he could, including outside and as far away as Gringotts before Apparating back.

“You see?” Farr yelled as students Apparated around him. “It’s easy once you get the hang of it! It becomes second nature!”

Neville was one of the few who had yet to Apparate by the time Thursday’s class had ended. He walked out of the shop ahead of Harry and Hermione, looking dejected.

Hermione sent a pitying glance at Harry and then motioned towards Neville with her head. Harry got her gist loud and clear. He sped forward to catch Neville, Hermione right on his heels.

“Hey Neville! Hermione and I were thinking of going over to Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor and spending an indecent amount of sickles there. Want to join us?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be any fun. You two go on without me.”

“Oh, come on, Neville,” Hermione coaxed. “We’ll even buy.”

“Actually, I’ll be the one buying,” Harry said, sending a sideways glance at Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be a gentleman all the time, Harry.”

“It’s my nature,” Harry chimed back.

“Come on, Neville. Please?” Hermione gave him a hopeful look.

Neville sighed. “Alright. I’ll join you.”

“Great!” Harry said, grinning. He guided them over to Fortescue’s shop. “What’s your flavor?”

“Er—chocolate and raspberry swirl,” he replied.

“Really?” Hermione said, taking interest. “I think that’s Ginny’s favorite as well.”

Neville blushed. Hermione grinned.

Fortescue was outside his shop, where he had all of his tables set up. Harry, Hermione, and Neville joined the line that had formed since the students had been released from their Apparition lessons. When they approached Fortescue, he beamed at them.

“Harry Potter!” he said happily. “It’s been awhile since I last saw you!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “But I remembered everything you told me about medieval wizarding history and used it on my exams.”

He laughed. “Good to know that I can pass on information to the young.”

Harry grinned. “How have you been, sir?”

“Oh, not as good as the old days, of course, seeing as there’s a war going on. What flavors can I get you lot anyway?” he asked.

They quickly asked him for the flavors that they desired before Harry asked him, “Are you worried?”

“I’d be stupid if I weren’t worried, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Fortescue said. “And I’d be stupid if I stayed here.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What d’you mean?”

“I can’t stay here anymore,” he said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Not with You-Know-Who and his followers killing people left, right, and center. No, I’m getting out of here.” He looked around. “Can you and your friends keep a secret, Mr. Potter?”

He nodded. “Certainly.”

Mr. Fortescue leaned in even closer to the trio. “I’m leaving for Iceland soon. If You-Know-Who is trying to take over the world, I don’t expect him to try to take over Iceland for awhile. I’ll be safer there than I will here.”

“So you’re running?” Harry asked.

“It’s the smart thing to do,” Fortescue said. “A lot of witches and wizards are doing it. Maybe you should think about it yourself, Mr. Potter.”

Harry frowned and shook his head. “I’d rather go down fighting than run forever,” he said.

Mr. Fortescue gaped at him, and then straightened. “You’re a brave young man, Mr. Potter. Good luck to you, then.” He handed over their ice cream cones. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, “and good luck to you as well.”

He led Hermione and Neville away. When they found a spot and sat down, he said, “That man may know a lot about wizarding history, but I don’t agree with running away.”

“It’s fight or flight, Harry,” Hermione said simply. “Some people will see it your way and some people will see it his.”

Harry shook his head. “How was your birthday, Neville?” he asked their silent friend, changing the subject. After learning who else the prophecy could have affected, Harry found it hard to forget that Neville’s birthday was just a day before his.

“Er—it was fine. My relatives came over, as usual. It wasn’t anything special.”

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. “You’re seventeen. Certainly that alone made it special.”

Neville gave a noncommittal shrug.

Hermione sighed. “Cheer up, Neville. Things will work out fine. You’ll see.”

“How do you know? You’re great at everything and don’t have to work at it,” he said grumpily.

“That’s not true,” Hermione said. “If I didn’t have to work at it, I would never study and I would never practice. What’s on your mind?”

“What?”

“What are you worried about?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’m not worried about anything.”

“Nothing’s distracting you?” she asked.

“No. Nothing.”

“Your grandmother? Hogwarts? The war?” Hermione pressed.

“No! None of those,” he said. “I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry frowned. “We’re only trying to help, Neville.”

“I know.” He sighed and got up. “I told you I wouldn’t be much fun. I’d better go now.”

“Neville…” Hermione started.

He shook his head. “No, I have to go. Thanks for the ice cream.” He frowned. “Bye.”

Both Harry and Hermione frowned too. “Bye, Neville,” they said in unison.

After he left, Hermione shook his head. “He’s so depressed.”

“About what?” Harry wondered.

“There could be several reasons,” Hermione said. “We’ll have to find out.”

“How?”

She gave him a pointed look. “By talking to him, of course. By getting him to open up about what’s wrong. It’s hurting his Apparating abilities.”

“That won’t be easy.”

Hermione took a bite out of her cone. “We have to try.”

*****

Neville appeared to be avoiding them on Friday. Hermione, however, would not be deterred from her quest. She marched right over to him before the start of class and gave him a cheerful, “Hi!”

“Hullo, Hermione,” he said quietly.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” she asked him, smiling.

“I guess.”

Hermione switched gears. “I received an owl from Ginny yesterday—she asked me to tell you she says hi.”

“She…she did?” Neville stammered.

“Yes, she did, and she wishes you the best of luck in these Apparition classes. She knows it isn’t easy. She’s been watching Ron all summer try to do it.”

“Ron can’t Apparate yet either?” he asked her.

“I guess not. Neither of them have mentioned him actually doing it. It takes time and practice. Anyway, she wanted me to tell you that, and that she’s looking forward to seeing you again on the Hogwarts Express.”

“Really? Sh-she said that?”

Hermione nodded and glanced over as the door opened and Edgar Farr walked in. “Class is about to start, so I better get into a good spot. See you later, Neville!”

When she rejoined Harry, he leaned over and whispered playfully, “You little liar.”

She shrugged. “He needs to get his mind off of his problem with Apparating. I thought Ginny would be a good distraction. You know how much he fancies her.”

He nodded. “We better be careful, though. I don’t want to see him get hurt. He’s a friend.”

She turned her head slowly towards him. “He’s my friend too,” she whispered fiercely. “I don’t want him to get hurt either, but I truly believe that this will help him concentrate!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture.

“Class!” Farr called. “Let’s get started! There is still so much work we can do in these last two days we have together. There is so much more practice you still need. So, we’ll jump right in, okay?” He hobbled with his cane over towards the window and looked outside. “Today’s goal is to Apparate outside Diagon Alley. Today, I want you to try to Apparate to the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry saw a few of his classmates gulp.

Farr turned back to his class. “Imagine it. Imagine yourself Apparating inside the Ministry of Magic. Even if you’ve never been inside, focus on the thought of the Ministry. If you truly focus on it, you’ll get there.” He looked around and then smiled, giving them a short nod. “Off you go.”

Harry stared ahead blankly, picturing the pristine floor of the Ministry’s Atrium and the golden fountain in his mind. He could see the fireplaces and the information desk. He thought about landing right next to the fountain. If he made it, he’d drop a galleon into the water. Focusing hard on the spot he wanted to go to next to the fountain, he twisted slightly to the right…

He felt as though he were being compressed and slid through a tube. And he felt like he was traveling several miles per second. Suddenly, the compressed feeling ceased with a CRACK and he found himself standing next to the fountain inside the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium. Grinning to himself, he pulled a galleon out of his pocket and dropping it into the water.

Time to go back, he thought, concentrating hard on the flower shop. He twisted and, after a moment, found himself back inside the flower shop. He grinned again.

Hermione suddenly Apparated right next to him. He grinned at her. “Did you make it?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “Great.”

They glanced over when they heard a loud CRACK. Neville was standing inside of one of the hoops, looking as though a miracle had just occurred.

Harry laughed. “Look at that…it worked!”

Hermione had a rather smug look on her face. “I knew it would.”

All Harry could do was chuckle.

Hermione scanned the room and then looked up at Harry. “Class ends tomorrow,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“The test is Sunday.”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

“I can’t take it.”

Harry knew that too. She wasn’t allowed to take the test until she turned seventeen.

“Do you want to go to the Ministry and get tested?” Hermione asked him.

He thought about it for a moment and then decided. “No. Not if you don’t get to. I’ll wait until they do the testing in Hogsmeade.”

She stared at him. “Are you sure?”

He gave her a smile and nodded. “Positive.”

*****

Edgar Farr shook both Harry and Hermione’s hands after the last day of class, calling them spectacular and claiming that they both would pass their tests with flying colors.

“It has been a pleasure to instruct you,” he said and then let them leave.

When they arrived back at the Granger home, Pigwidgeon was fluttering about Hermione’s bedroom with a letter tied to his leg.

“What has Ron sent us?” Hermione murmured as she untied the letter and began to read it. Harry quickly jumped behind her so that he could read over her shoulder.

Harry and Hermione—

Mum and Dad have finally said that you can come and stay with us! It really didn’t take a whole lot of convincing. Mum’s been running around, trying to prepare rooms for both of you. Yep, that’s right, you won’t have to bunk with either me or Ginny anymore! Great, right? Write back quickly! Ginny wants to have you over by tomorrow (since it’s her birthday) and Dad is willing to come and get you. I have no idea how, though. I don’t think it will be by car. That will take too long. Maybe he’ll get an emergency Floo network set up to Hermione’s house. Or maybe he’ll just commission a portkey. Who knows. Anyway, write back!

Ron

“Tomorrow?” Harry stared at the letter. “They want to pick us up tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to ask my parents the moment they return home and then we’ll have to spend the rest of the evening packing,” Hermione said.

“Or we could pack now in anticipation that your parents will say yes,” Harry suggested.

“We could,” Hermione agreed.

So they packed. It didn’t take Harry nearly as long as it took Hermione; he ended up helping her once he was done, although she kicked him out of her room once it was time for her to pack her undergarments.

When Mr. and Mrs. Granger arrived home a little after 5:30, Hermione bounded down the stairs after hearing the front door close, Harry right on her heels.

“Mum! Dad! I have a question to ask you,” Hermione said, catching her breath after running down the stairs at top speed.

Mrs. Granger eyed her daughter in concern. “Yes, dear, what is it?”

Hermione brandished Ron’s letter. “Ron invited us to the Burrow for the rest of the summer. His parents would like us to come.”

Mrs. Granger could not hide the disappointment on her face. “Did he? That’s lovely.”

Mr. Granger leaned back against the arm of the couch. “And, of course, you two would like to go?”

“Well, yes,” Hermione said. “We’d like to do anything we can to help the Weasleys regain some sense of normalcy in their lives.”

Mrs. Granger sighed. “Of course. I can’t imagine what they’re going through. When would they like to pick you up?”

Hermione glanced away from them before murmuring, “Tomorrow.”

Mr. Granger’s eyes went wide. “Wow.”

Mrs. Granger seemed to be panicking. “Tomorrow? That soon? Oh my…we…you…”

Hermione frowned and stared down at her shoes. “We’re already packed.”

“You are?” Mrs. Granger stared at them, dumbfounded. Then she slumped down onto the couch. “Well, then, I guess there really isn’t anything to worry about, is there.”

Hermione walked over and embraced her mother. “Oh, Mum, I know you wanted me to stay for the entire summer, but the Weasleys really need us. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t go.”

She gave a small smile to her daughter. “I understand. I raised you too well.”

Hermione laughed. “You did.” She glanced up at her father. “You both did.”

Harry watched Hermione’s family moment from the archway in between the sitting room and the foyer. He felt a pang of loss at what he could have had and tried to bury it deep within him, but seeing Hermione’s father walk over and give his daughter a hug was a bit too much for him. He had to get away.

Harry walked back up to his bedroom and sat down on the floor next to his trunk. He grabbed a piece of parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle before setting to work on writing a letter to Ron, telling him that he could arrive tomorrow to pick them up. Hedwig had just taken off on her way to Ottery St. Catchpole when Hermione knocked on the door.

“Are you okay?” she asked when he opened up the door.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Because you left.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “I figured that you and your parents would want a moment alone.”

He could tell that the lie had not succeeded. “Oh, Harry, I’m so s—” He held up his hand to stop her.

“No. Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault that you have parents and I don’t. It’s not your fault that you can have those little family moments and I can’t. I don’t want you to be sad or pity me. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

She said nothing. Instead, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. He held onto her for a long time before touching his lips to her cheek and releasing her. “I sent a letter to Ron, letting him know that they can pick us up tomorrow.”

“Okay. When are we going to tell him?”

He sat down on his bed. “About us? I don’t know. Probably the first good minute we have alone with him.”

“I’m sure that will take all day. Ginny won’t leave us alone with him for very long.”

Harry nodded. “But I think we owe it to Ron to tell him first before we tell Ginny.”

“So we are going to tell Ginny?”

“Do you think she can keep it a secret?” Harry asked.

“She’s not a gossip, Harry. If we asked her to, she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Okay.”

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Mum has insisted on having a huge dinner as a send off for us. It would be a shame to miss it.”

He smiled. “I’m right behind you.”

*****

Harry woke up to the sound of Hermione tapping on his door. He snagged his watch and checked the time; it was just after 9:00.

“The shower is free if you want it!” Hermione called through the door. Moments later, Harry heard her bedroom door close.

Harry rolled out of bed and made his way over to the bathroom where he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. By the time he got dressed and made his way downstairs, it was nearly 10:00.

“Any sign of Hedwig?” he asked Hermione when he sat down at the table for breakfast.

“No. Perhaps the Weasleys just decided to keep her at the Burrow, considering we’ll be there soon enough.”

“How are they arriving?” Mr. Granger asked.

“No idea,” Harry said. “We’ll know when they arrive.”

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione went back up to her room to double check that they had packed everything they needed for the school year. The guest room was completely empty, except for Harry’s trunk and brooms, along with Hedwig’s cage.

Hermione was sharing with him stories about her parents and how they met as she sat on her bed. Harry, who was sitting on her desk chair, couldn’t help but laugh.

“They met on a train?”

“Heading to Cambridge, yes, in 1971. They were married by 1975.”

“Why did they go to Cambridge?”

“To go to the University of Cambridge, of course. They met on the train, started talking, and learned that both of them desired to become dentists. They became friends and then, one day, I suppose, they discovered that they loved each other. The next thing you know, they were hip deep in wedding plans.”

Harry chuckled. “Sort of sounds familiar, minus the wedding plans and the wanting to become dentists.”

She smiled. “And it only took them four years to figure things out.”

“I’m dense, I know that,” he said, grinning. Then he gave her a thoughtful look. “When did you know?”

“Well,” she began, shifting, “I had fancied you ever since you rescued me from that troll.”

He stared at her. “First year?”

“You saved me, Harry. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for you.”

“You wouldn’t have been in that situation if Ron and I had been nicer to you,” he reminded her.

She smiled. “True, but then I wouldn’t have been able to see just how brave you really are. That’s what pulled me towards you, Harry. Then, afterwards, when we sort of just silently agreed to be friends, I got to meet the person you are. You’re not just brave, you’re kind, you’re understanding, and yet you have a bunch of flaws too which make you so…endearing.

“I’ve fancied you since first year, yes, but I didn’t realize I was in love with you until the fifth.”

“What happened? What caused your epiphany?”

She looked around the room, as if searching for an answer. “Nothing, really. I realized it while we were walking back from Hogsmeade, after you did the interview with Rita Skeeter. It dawned on me that you must have trusted me a lot to cut your date short with Cho just so that you could meet me. It…I couldn’t describe how I felt about you right then. Warm. Content, perhaps? Happy. All I knew was that I couldn’t, at that point, imagine myself walking besides anyone else. If I had to follow someone, you would be the only person I’d follow. At that very moment, what I wanted most was to be with you, always, even if it was only as your best friend.” She gave him a slight shrug. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

He leaned forward and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “I like being stuck with you.” Then he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing over hers until she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, pulling him down onto the bed with her. Her lips parted, granting him access. She ran her hands through his hair as his fingertips traced her jaw down to her neck. His other hand was tangled in her hair.

Just as he was about to break the kiss to breathe, he heard an all too familiar voice cry, “Bloody hell!”

Author’s Note: Oh, thank God the holidays are coming up. That means it’s the end of the semester at my university. Granted, next week is finals week, but after that I will have three glorious weeks of…writing! No more papers on watersheds, no more fake news stories, no more presentations! It’s over with, done! Winter break, here I come! All I have to do is survive finals week. But to celebrate the end of the semester, I have yet another chapter for all of you. Sorry about the cliffhanger from last time, by the way, but if you’ve been with me since MoL, you know how I love them. Just to clarify things in case there was any confusion, my Hermione was born in 1980, which means she’s currently 16 in this fic until I write about her birthday. Also, I apologize to all the Ron-lovers out there about Ron’s attitude throughout the next couple of chapters. Ron happens to be one of my favorite characters too, but this is just how I think he would initially react to Harry/Hermione. And now I’ll shut up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RANCOROUS RONALD

Harry jumped off of Hermione and rolled over onto the bed beside her. Standing in the doorframe were Ron and Ginny, both of whom were gaping at their friends. Ginny’s expression looked gleeful. Ron’s, however, looked exactly the opposite.

Suddenly, Ginny let out a high-pitched yell of triumph. “I knew it! I knew it would happen one day!”

Ron’s face was very red. Harry gulped. “Er—when did you two arrive?”

“Just now,” Ginny replied. “We used Floo Powder. Dad got the Ministry to set up an emergency network.” She ran over to the bed and bounced onto it. Ron stood stock still in the doorframe. “So, when?”

“When what?” Harry asked, scrambling off of the bed. This was definitely not the way he wanted Ron and Ginny to find out about him and Hermione.

“When did this start?” Ginny asked.

“Er—”

“It’s complicated,” Hermione said, “and a rather long story. We should get downstairs.”

“Yes, yes. Ron, let’s help them with their trunks. Then I want to know everything,” Ginny said.

“No,” Ron said suddenly, breaking his silence with gritted teeth. “I want to know everything now.”

Harry hesitated. Then, he murmured, “Two weeks ago. Things became official two weeks ago.”

“Official?” Ginny asked, glancing back and forth between her two friends. “Just how long as this thing been going on without being ‘official?’”

“Er…” Harry thought back.

“When was the first time you two kissed?” Ron asked, his jaw set.

“We should get our trunks,” Harry said, going back to Hermione’s suggestion. “That Floo network won’t stay open forev—”

“When was the first time you bloody kissed her?” Ron demanded angrily.

“The day after Christmas,” Hermione responded, her face full of guilt. “It just happened.”

Ron’s face sunk. “Christmas?”

Ginny started to laugh. “That long?”

“Nothing came of it,” Harry said quickly. “At least, not at that time.”

“Christmas,” Ron repeated.

“Please,” Harry said, “you both have to keep this a secret. No one can know about Hermione and me. There are too many of Voldemort’s spies out there and…I can’t have Hermione put in further danger because of me. Because of our relationship.”

Ginny nodded. “I understand. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you,” Harry said gratefully.

Ron’s eyes were flat, cold as stone. “Christmas,” he repeated one last time before he turned on his heel and marched out. Harry cringed. No, that was definitely not the way he wanted his best friend to find out about his relationship with Hermione.

Ginny sighed. “I think you just shocked him,” she said apologetically. “And he hates surprises. You know how he hates surprises.”

Harry frowned.

“Well, come on,” Ginny continued. “I’ll help you with your trunks. We should get downstairs before the Floo network closes, like you said, Harry.”

Hermione and Ginny took Hermione’s trunk down the stairs while Harry wrestled with his own. Thankfully, both Hermione and Ginny relieved him of the extra burdens that were Hedwig’s cage and his brooms. Ron stood in the foyer, watching them coolly.

“You could help, you know,” Ginny hissed at her brother as she and Hermione passed.

Begrudgingly, Ron grabbed a handle out of Harry’s hand and pulled the trunk and Harry right along with it.

“Hermione! Harry!” beamed Mr. Weasley as they entered the sitting room. “Great to see you!”

“It’s good to see you again as well, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said as she and Ginny dropped her trunk.

“Hello,” Harry said, setting his trunk down and rubbing his shoulder. Ron had nearly yanked it out of its socket.

“Ron, Ginny, why don’t you load their things into the fireplace and Floo back home?” Mr. Weasley suggested. “That way it gives them a chance to say good-bye.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Ginny said, tugging Ron’s sleeve.

Harry helped them while Hermione said her farewells to her parents. By the time Ron and Ginny were both shouting, “The Burrow!” Hermione was giving her parents both hugs and kisses on the cheek.

Harry walked over to them. “Er—I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay. I really enjoyed it.”

Mrs. Granger leaned over and gave him a hug. “Oh, I’m glad you had a good time. We enjoyed having you here.”

Mr. Granger smiled. “Actually, Harry, I was hoping that I could have a quick word with you in private before you leave.”

Harry blinked. “Er—okay,” he said and followed Mr. Granger into the foyer.

Mr. Granger led him back to the doorway between the foyer and the kitchen. He cleared his throat. “I really don’t know how to say this, but…I know there’s a lot more happening at Hogwarts than I can ever imagine, so I’d like to ask you do to a favor for me, Harry.”

“What is it, sir?” he asked.

“Look after Hermione, please? She’s my only child and her mother and I would be devastated if something were to…well, you understand.”

Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, sir, I will. I always do, to the best of my abilities.”

Mr. Granger placed a hand on his shoulder. “I believe you do.”

“Well then, I should get—”

“Just one more thing, Harry,” Mr. Granger said.

“Sir?”

Now Mr. Granger looked really uncomfortable. “Look, I know you care a great deal for my daughter and, well, Helen and I were talking about it, and…” He cleared his throat again, “we know you two are close. We’re not sure how close, but we know you’re close. And I....we wanted to let you know that you have our blessing in case you and Hermione ever become…more than friends.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “Sir? More than friends?”

“In case you and Hermione ever decide to pursue a…romantic relationship,” Mr. Granger elaborated, this cheeks turning pink.

Harry was sure his face was as red as a Weasley’s hair. “Of course! Yes—erm—thank you?”

Mr. Granger chuckled. “I take it this was as uncomfortable for you as it was for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

His chuckles increased. “Very well, then, off you go. I’m sure Arthur is waiting for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good-bye, Harry,” he said, holding out his hand.

Harry shook it. “Good-bye, sir,” he said and walked back into the sitting room, where Mr. Weasley and Hermione were waiting. Hermione gave him an inquisitive look, but he just shook his head.

“All set?” Mr. Weasley asked. “Into the fireplace, the network will only be open for another two minutes. And don’t worry, Hermione, I’ll bring Crookshanks with me.”

“Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad!” Hermione called, stepping into the fireplace.

“Good-bye, sweetie!” Mrs. Granger called back.

“Have fun!” Mr. Granger said.

Harry and Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and, waving, they threw it down while yelling, “The Burrow!”

The familiar whirlwind ride didn’t take nearly as long as Harry expected. They landed in the Weasley’s fireplace before Harry had the chance to get too annoyed by the spinning, the ash, and the green flames.

“Harry! Hermione!” Mrs. Weasley greeted as they stepped out of the hearth. “Wonderful to see you two again,” she said as she started to brush them off.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione greeted.

“Hello,” Harry replied, trying to step away from Mrs. Weasley’s grooming. “Where did Ron and Ginny go?”

“They’re upstairs, taking your things to your room,” Mrs. Weasley told them. “Harry, you’ll be staying in Fred and George’s old room and Hermione, you’ll be in Percy’s.”

Hermione froze. “Percy’s?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Weasley said, finishing her brushing. She looked sorrowful. “I figured that we can’t let that room go to waste, so I thought you’d like it, considering you and he shared a lot of interests. He had a fair amount of books in his room that I’m sure you’d like to check out.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” she said in a false cheerful voice. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, dear,” Mrs. Weasley replied, oblivious. “And Harry, Arthur and I are so terribly sorry to hear about your aunt. Remus told us. Are you okay, dear?”

“I’m fine, yeah,” Harry said.

There was a loud CRACK, and Mr. Weasley Apparated into the kitchen with Crookshanks. He peeked around the corner before letting Crookshanks jump onto the floor. “Ah, good, you made it, I see.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “We’ll just go upstairs now and help Ron and Ginny.”

As they walked up the stairs, Harry put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder to stop her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He frowned. “Hermione…I’ll trade you rooms if you’d like.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. I’ll be fine. Really.”

He gave her a long, hard look. Then he sighed. “Alright, if you think you will be.”

“I will,” she insisted and continued up the stairwell.

They found Ron and Ginny in Fred and George’s old room. Ginny was setting Hedwig’s cage on a desk while Ron was sitting on one of the two beds in the room. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he jumped up and left.

“Ron!” Hermione called after him, but he kept walking.

“The big baby,” Ginny muttered.

“Why is he acting like this?” Harry asked.

Ginny stared at him incredulously. “You don’t know?”

He had an idea as to what she was talking about. “I thought he had his eye on somebody else now.”

“I had been hoping that he would have by now,” Hermione said, sitting on the bed Ron had jumped off of with a sigh.

“Getting over the first person you fancied can take a long time,” Ginny said, giving Harry a furtive glance.

“But I wasn’t the first person he fancied,” Hermione said. “Fleur was.”

Suddenly, Ginny’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of Fleur, guess what!”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Bill asked her to move in with him! Can you believe it?” She scowled.

“They’re going out?” Harry asked, clueless.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “Only for the past year and a half. Where have you been, Potter?”

“Outside of the Girly Gossip Group,” he replied, plopping down next to Hermione.

“You sound like Ron,” Ginny muttered disdainfully, but continued on. “He’s got a flat on the north side of London and asked Fleur to move in with him last week. I think he may actually ask her to marry him.” She stuck out her tongue. “Could you imagine her as my sister-in-law?”

“She’s always seemed very nice to me,” Harry said. Again, Ginny looked at him disdainfully.

“Harry, I don’t know how you boys do it, but when you’re talking to girls, you’re supposed to take their side,” she said.

“But you’re talking about a girl, so can’t I take her side instead?” Harry asked.

Hermione laughed. “Not if you want to remain friends with the girl you’re talking to,” she said. “By the way, Ginny, Harry and I bought you a birthday present.” She nudged Harry in the ribs.

“What? Oh—right,” he said, going to his trunk and opening it. He grabbed Ginny’s gift and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down on the other bed and opening it up. “Oh, thank you! Purple ink—my favorite!”

“You’re welcome,” Hermione said.

Ginny looked down at the set of five ink bottles. “Purple ink isn’t exactly cheap, so really, thanks!”

“Our pleasure,” Harry said. “Now you can drive the professors mad when you use it on assignments.”

Ginny grinned. “Yeah.”

Harry looked around the room. “So, where’s Hedwig?”

“Huh? Oh, she’s up in Ron’s room with Pigwidgeon. You can go get her and bring her down here, if you’d like,” Ginny said.

He frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea with the way Ron is acting towards us.”

“She’s your owl and you have a right to go get her. Ron will have to see that,” Ginny said.

“Yeah, well, Ron can be pretty pig-headed and quite the prat when he wants to be,” he replied.

“For Merlin’s sake, you’re just as big of a baby as he is,” she muttered, causing Hermione to laugh. “If you’re too afraid to face him, then fine, I’ll go get her.”

“I’m not afraid,” Harry shot back.

“Sure you aren’t,” Ginny said, giving Hermione a wink.

“I’m not!” he said defensively. “Look, I’ll go get her right now!” He shot the youngest Weasley a look over his shoulder as he marched out of the room and up the stairs.

It was when he reached the top of the stairs that he slowed down. He stopped right in front of Ron’s door and listened carefully to hear whether or not Ron was in his room. Then, he inhaled sharply and knocked on the door.

“Ron?”

There was no answer. Harry took that as a sign that his friend was downstairs. He opened the door—

“Bloody hell! Can’t a bloke have some time alone?” Ron yelled, throwing a shoe at the door. He was sitting in a corner of his room and scowling at Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured. “I just wanted to get Hedwig.”

“Well take her and get out!” Ron yelled, gesturing towards Hedwig, who was blinking her amber eyes at Ron in alarm.

Harry held out his arm. “Here Hedwig,” he said, frowning at his friend. The white owl flew over and landed on his arm. Harry stood for a moment, eyeing Ron. “Ron, I wanted to—”

“Leave me alone, Harry. I don’t want to talk to you,” Ron growled.

Harry’s frowned deepened, but he respected Ron’s wishes and left. When he returned to his room, both Hermione and Ginny were gone. With a gentle nudge, Harry helped Hedwig jump to the perch in her cage before turning around and heading downstairs to join the other Weasleys.

*****

That night, Harry tossed and turned in bed. His scar tingled from time to time, but never anything to make him feel complete pain. It was just uncomfortable. When he woke up for the third time that night, rubbing his scar out of irritation and wondering what exactly was happening that caused such a sensation, he heard a creak on the stairs as someone walked down past his room. Curious, Harry got up out of bed.

When he poked his head out of his door he saw a shadow going down the stairs. Careful to miss the creaky stair, he tiptoed out of his room and followed them down to the living room. Just when he was feeling grateful that his eyes were adapted to the darkness, he heard a familiar voice murmur, “Incendio,” and suddenly the logs in the fireplace caught fire.

Harry squinted in the dim light to see the sight of his girlfriend. “Hermione?” he whispered.

She jumped and turned. “Harry!” she said with a small gasp. “I didn’t know you were behind me.”

“Sorry. I woke up and heard somebody coming down the stairs,” he said as Hermione took a seat in a chair.

“What woke you up?” she asked.

“My scar,” he replied, pointing to it. “It’s tingling.”

“Do you think Voldemort’s up to something?” Hermione asked urgently.

“Possibly. I don’t know,” he said, sitting down next to her. “What are you doing up?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I—er—couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

“I…I kept thinking about who used to sleep in that room,” she said quietly.

He knew it would happen, but he fought back the urge say that he did. Instead, he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Are you sure you don’t want to trade rooms?” he asked her.

“I…” She hesitated and bit her bottom lip. “No. I can do this. I need to do this.”

“Hermione,” he said gently, “you don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I understand what you’re going through.”

She shook her head. “I may not have to prove anything to anyone else but I have to prove something to myself, Harry. I have to get through this. If I don’t, then how am I to deal with everything else that this war may throw at me?”

“With time and taking things step by step until you feel okay again,” he told her.

“Do you feel okay again?” she asked him.

“About Percy?”

“About Cedric. About Sirius.”

He remained silent for a moment and then answered truthfully. “Yes, I think I am. I had you and Ron there to bear with me while I got through it, and I think that it made all the difference.”

“Ron needs somebody to help him. He lost his brother.”

“And you saw him die,” Harry said. “That’s not easy to take. I know.” He leaned over and gathered her into his arms. “I’m here for you, Hermione. You know that.”

She sighed gratefully against him. “Yes, I do.”

He held her there like that for a long time before he relaxed and let her go. “Y’know, there’s another bed in the room I’m in. Whether it used to be Fred or George’s, I don’t know, but you’re welcome to use it.”

She smiled up at him. “I don’t think Mr. or Mrs. Weasley would approve of that. I’m going to be fine, Harry. I will. I just need time, like you said.”

He gave her a slow nod. “Okay.”

“Thank you for coming down here for me, though.”

He gave a short laugh. “You know I would never have been able to sleep if I didn’t.”

She grinned and then yawned. “I’m pretty tired now. I think I’ll finally try to get some sleep.”

“That sounds good,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her back to the stairs.

“How’s your scar feeling?” she asked as they started to climb them.

He rubbed it absently. “Fine. No more tingling.”

She smiled. “Good.”

They reached the landing where his room was at. He took her hands in his and leaned forward to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Hermione.”

“You too,” she said and then continued on her way, still holding his hand until she couldn’t anymore. With one last glance back at him, she disappeared up the stairs.

*****

Several days passed and Ron still refused to talk to either Harry or Hermione. They spent most of their time with Ginny or, when they could get away with it, alone. Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley took notice to their son’s avoidance of his two best friends, but Harry believed they attributed it to Ron possibly feeling embarrassed that he was having a hard time controlling his sorrow over the loss of Percy.

Harry only wished that was the real reason why Ron was avoiding him and Hermione.

Some progress seemed to be made Friday morning at breakfast when Ron turned to Harry and asked, “Will you pass the syrup?” It was the first time Ron had spoken to either of them in three days.

“Er—sure,” Harry said, taken aback by Ron’s sudden request. He passed the syrup and went back to his meal.

“Harry?” came Hermione’s voice from behind that morning’s issue of the Daily Prophet. She was examining the front page.

“Yeah?”

“Your scar didn’t hurt you last night, did it? Did you have any dreams?” she asked.

“No, none. Why?” he asked, an ominous feeling rising within him.

She lowered the paper and looked at him with mournful eyes. “It’s happened again.”

Ron had obviously forgotten about his anger with them and looked at her in alarm. “There’s been another attack?” he asked.

She nodded and turned the paper around so that both Harry and Ron could read the front page.

GLASGOW THE LATEST VICTIM IN DEATH EATER ATTACKS

“Oh no,” Ron groaned.

“Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said from one end of the table, “let me read that, will you.”

“Certainly,” she said, passing the Prophet to Ginny so that she could give it to her father.

“They’re back in Scotland,” Harry murmured, trying to remember his dream he had earlier in the summer. “Just as he said he would be.”

“What?” Ron asked, alarmed.

“I had a dream earlier this summer,” Harry explained. “Voldemort—” The Weasleys cringed. “—ordered the Lestrange brothers to go to Manchester and await his signal to attack. Then they were supposed to move to Glasgow and wait there.”

“Have you told Dumbledore this?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Yes, I wrote a letter to him when I woke up.” He glanced between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“Molly and I haven’t made much contact with the Order lately,” Mr. Weasley said. “Remus will give us updates every now and then, but that’s about it.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could say.

“He’s attacking much bigger cities now,” Mrs. Weasley murmured.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “I only wish I knew where they were going next.”

“Did it say if there were any Death Eaters captured?” Ginny asked her father.

“Eight,” Mr. Weasley told her, scanning the article.

“That’s two more than the Manchester attack, so good, the Aurors are getting better,” Harry said.

“Blimey,” Ron murmured.

Just then, a tawny owl landed on the windowsill before hopping into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley jumped up to take the mail from it.

“How many people died, Dad?” Ron asked.

“It says here that thirteen Muggles were killed with several more injured and that their papers are reporting that it was a large automobile accident. Apparently one of the Death Eaters blew a hole in one of the tires, not that the Muggles will know,” Mr. Weasley said grimly.

“Any Aurors?” Ginny asked.

“None. All of them survived.”

“Look,” Mrs. Weasley said, turning from the tawny owl that was taking off and holding up four envelopes, “your Hogwarts letters have arrived.” She walked back over to the table and began to pass them out. “Ginny, here’s yours. And here’s yours, Hermione. Ron, there’s yours. And finally, here you are, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry said and accepted his letter. He paid little attention to the emerald ink on the envelope, having seen it so many times, and simply opened it. Ron and Ginny were already into theirs and were reading their letters. Suddenly, Hermione let out a high pitched squeal.

“I GOT IT! I GOT IT!” she screamed.

“Got what?” Ron asked, giving her a weird look.

She held up a shiny silver badge bearing the letters HG. “I’m Head Girl!” she said excitedly.

“Congratulations, Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley said, smiling.

“Yes, congratulations,” Mr. Weasley said.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at her across the table. “Yeah, good job.”

Ginny was examining the badge. “H-G. Head Girl. Hermione Granger. See, it was meant to go to you.”

Hermione laughed. “I didn’t expect it thought.”

Ron snorted and Harry grinned at him.

Suddenly, the fireplace erupted in bright green flames as Lupin’s head popped through.

“Remus!” Mr. Weasley said. “We just read the latest news in the Prophet. Is there anything they’re not telling us?”

“Good morning, Arthur. No, the Prophet got things right, as far as I know. What I really need to do is talk to Hermione,” he said briskly.

Hermione’s smile faded away. “Me? What is it?” she asked, getting up from the table and sitting down beside the fireplace. Harry quickly jumped up to join her, a bad feeling spreading throughout his gut.

“Dumbledore has asked me to tell you that, for the time being, the Order has relocated your parents,” Lupin said solemnly.

“My parents,” she breathed. “Why?”

“For their safety. After the attack on Harry’s relatives, we’re positive that the Death Eaters are now trying to track Harry down, and they may very well track him to your home,” Lupin said.

“But what about their work?” she asked. “Where are they?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “As for their work, we’ve set it up so that it seems like your parents have taken a sudden and well-deserved holiday from work. Their appointments have been rescheduled and the Order is personally taking care of the finances for all of their employees.”

“That’s very generous of you,” she said. “When will they get to go home?”

“We’re going to keep an eye on your house. Don’t worry. We’ll keep them safe,” Lupin assured her.

“I trust the Order,” she said. “But…but could you tell them that I—er—that I was selected to be Head Girl this year?”

He smiled. “I will make sure the message gets passed along,” he said. “And congratulations to you.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lupin nodded to everyone. “Good day to all of you.”

“Good-bye, Remus,” Mr. Weasley said and Lupin’s head disappeared and the green flames died away.

Harry placed his hand over Hermione’s. “It will be okay. They’ll keep your parents safe.”

“I know,” she said, getting up.

Harry frowned. “I’m sorry about all the trouble I’ve caused for them.”

She turned sharply towards him. “Don’t be. This is probably a blessing in disguise. Voldemort could have killed them in some backwards way of trying to hurt you.”

“She’s right, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said.

Harry frowned, but nodded just the same. Both he and Hermione sat back down at the breakfast table. When she began toying with her badge, Harry finally noticed that his envelope seemed to be heavier than usual. He picked it up and pulled his letter out—and a silver badge slid out with it onto the table.

“What?” he whispered. He picked up the badge as everyone turned their attention towards him. “No,” he whispered in awe.

On the badge were the letters HB.

Hermione looked up and gazed at him with renewed excitement. “Harry!”

Harry quickly opened his letter and read it.

Dear Mr. Potter,

After due consideration, you have been chosen to be this year’s Head Boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You were nominated by several professors and chosen because of your excellent leadership abilities and strong commitment to Hogwarts. Please note that your appointment should not in any way diminish your role as the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

This is a high honor given to few. Congratulations. On the next page, there is list concerning what you will need to discuss with the prefects on the Hogwarts Express on the first of September at 11:00. Share this list with no one, except for the new Head Girl, Hermione Granger. You will meet with the prefects and Head Girl in the first car aboard the Hogwarts Express and hold your first meeting of the year. Miss Granger is well aware of how these meetings are conducted, so I suggest that you take your lead from her.

Remember that your Head Boy duties are not to be taken lightly. You will be required to conduct prefect meetings, help organize the events throughout the year, and uphold the rules of Hogwarts, among other things. You will be seen as the student leader of the school. Good luck and once again, congratulations.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I’m very proud of you, Harry. I know that you’ll make an excellent Head Boy.

Harry couldn’t believe what he was reading. “I—I—” He gulped. “I’m Head Boy.”

Hermione beamed at him. “I knew it. I knew you could do it.”

“I…” Harry didn’t know what to say; he was too shocked.

“Congratulations, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, smiling. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmured automatically.

“I’m going to have to make a big dinner in celebration,” Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. Harry, however, noticed that she glanced over at Ron. When he turned to his friend, he noticed that Ron’s face was very red and that he looked like he was about to spit fire.

“Excuse me,” Ron said quickly and got up, leaving the table.

Ginny shook her head. “Prat,” she muttered and turned to Harry and Hermione. “Congratulations, both of you. This is going to be great, being friends with both the Head Boy and Head Girl.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, his thoughts on Ron’s reaction to the badge.

“Mum, Dad, when are we going to Diagon Alley?” Ginny asked.

“We can go tomorrow,” Mr. Weasley said.

“What sort of books are on your list, Ginny?” Mrs. Weasley asked, taking Ginny’s book list from her.

Harry opened up his own book list to see what he would have to buy when they went to Diagon Alley.

Standard Book of Spells (Grade 7) by Miranda Goshawk

Modern Charms by Morgan Wigglestick

Poisons, Venoms, and Dangerous Draughts by M.T. Curry

Exotic Plants of the Wizarding and Muggle World, Part II by Rose Defleur

Also, please bring a set of dress robes for our annual Yule Ball.

“Our booklist is a little light this year,” Harry commented.

“Maybe yours is, but mine isn’t,” Hermione said. “I have new books for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes to buy.”

“I’m just happy I won’t be taking Potions anymore,” Ginny said. “Or History of Magic, for that matter.”

“How many O.W.L.s did you get, anyway?” Harry asked her.

“Nine. One more than Ron. I’m opting out of History of Magic. I slept most of the time in there last year.”

“Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley scolded.

“Oh, you had Professor Binns, Mum, don’t tell me that you never fell asleep in there.” Mrs. Weasley frowned but said nothing. “There, you see,” Ginny said. “I’m still taking Muggle Studies, though.”

“Now that is a fascinating class,” Mr. Weasley piped in.

“Yeah, sure,” Ginny muttered.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and couldn’t help but grin.

*****

Harry woke up early the next morning to get ready to go to Diagon Alley. After a quick spot of breakfast, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all stood in front of their fireplace.

“I don’t see why you two don’t think I can take the Apparition test,” Ron complained to his parents. “I could Apparate to Diagon Alley right now.”

“I’d rather you don’t, Ron,” Mr. Weasley said. “I don’t want you leaving an ear behind again.”

“Do you mind if Hermione and I try?” Harry asked. “We took a class, but we haven’t taken our tests because, well, Hermione’s not old enough.”

“We could use the practice, to make sure we don’t forget anything,” Hermione added.

Mr. Weasley seemed to be weighing the odds. “Alright, but I want both of you to hang on to Molly or myself.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “But—”

“Someone has to Floo with Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said.

“I can Floo by myself,” Ginny said indignantly.

“Ron, you’re Flooing with Ginny and that’s final,” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, silencing both of her children.

Ron sent both Harry and Hermione a dirty look before stepping into the fireplace with his sister. They both grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the pot that Mrs. Weasley was holding out for them and then yelled, “Diagon Alley!”

“Alright, Harry, Hermione, let’s do this quickly. It won’t take long for Ron and Ginny to arrive at the Leaky Cauldron,” Mr. Weasley said briskly.

Harry nodded and grabbed Mr. Weasley’s outstretched arm, focusing on the bar inside of the Leaky Cauldron, the tables, and the fireplace.

“Are we ready?” Mr. Weasley asked.

Focusing hard, Harry said, “Yes.”

“I am,” Hermione replied.

“Great. Let’s go then, on three. One—two—three!” Mr. Weasley yelled and Harry quickly twisted towards the right and with a CRACK, he felt himself being squeezed in on all sides as if he were going through a tube. The next thing he knew, he was inside the Leaky Cauldron with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, along with Hermione. A moment later, the fireplace came to life and both Ron and Ginny stepped out of it.

Ron gave them a dark look as he stepped out of the fireplace and quickly took the lead towards Diagon Alley, where he personally took care of the brick that turned the wall into an archway so that they could enter a place that Harry always found warm and inviting.

“Well, let’s go to Gringotts first and then to Flourish and Blotts to get those books out of the way,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Mum, can we go to Fred and George’s shop today?” Ginny asked.

Mrs. Weasley frowned. She never had approved of the occupation both Fred and George had taken up. “I suppose so. It will be good to see them.”

“Excellent! I can’t wait to see what they’ve come up with now,” Ginny said excitedly.

Gringotts seemed a little busier than usual, but with the Hogwarts letters coming out the previous day, that didn’t surprise Harry. He and Hermione traveled together to his vault where he picked up enough of the gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts to pay for everything he needed and then some. When they returned, Ron frowned at his jingling bag and took the lead once again down Diagon Alley.

In Flourish and Blotts they saw Ernie Macmillian, who waved to them as he was purchasing his books for the school year. Afterwards they went to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions because both Harry and Ron needed their school robes altered.

“You both are getting so tall and handsome,” Mrs. Weasley said, while Hermione and Ginny chatted with a Gryffindor girl from Harry’s year.

Harry and Ron both had their dress robes altered as well before leaving the shop and going to the stationary shop. Harry and Hermione took a trip to the Apothecary to replenish their Potions supplies.

Harry decided that he wanted to buy some owl treats for Hedwig and quickly ran into Eeylops Owl Emporium to buy some. When he came back out, he saw Hermione and the Weasleys talking to someone Harry considered a good friend. A grin split across his face as he jogged over to greet her.

“Luna!” he said to the blonde-haired Ravenclaw. “How are you?”

Luna’s eyes, which always made her looked like she was constantly surprised, widened at the sight of him. “Hi Harry!” she said brightly. “I’m doing well. How are you?”

“Alright,” he replied.

“I’m very happy to see you,” she said, “along with Ginny, Hermione, and, of course, Ronald.”

Ron turned a bright shade of red.

“I haven’t seen either you or Hermione since the end of the last school year, but I was telling Ronald and Ginny that I would like to visit them again,” Luna went on.

“Again? You’ve been to the Burrow this summer?” Harry asked.

“Of course, to pass along my condolences. Even though the conversations were quite solemn, I enjoyed the time I spent with Ronald and Ginny and wouldn’t mind doing it again, if they’d allow it.”

“Of course!” Ginny said. “We’d be happy if you dropped by again, Luna.”

Ron made a noncommittal noise, his face still red.

“Oh, and Ronald, we could continue to discuss the things we were talking about the last time I came over,” Luna said brightly, causing Ron’s eyes to go wide and to become even redder.

“Er—okay,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Sounds like that’s settled,” Ginny said. “Come over sometime next week, won’t you, Luna?”

She nodded. “I’d love to.”

“We’ll picnic or something,” Ginny added.

Luna smiled and looked over at Ron. “Oh, I love picnics.” Then she looked back at Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “I had better be going. Daddy is over the cauldron shop, buying himself a new cauldron. I told him that I’d join him at the Apothecary to buy supplies.”

“Okay. See you later, Luna!” Ginny said.

“Yeah, good-bye, Luna,” Harry said.

“Bye!” she said, waving and walking in the direction of the Apothecary.

“Where to next?” Hermione asked.

Ron shuffled his feet, his face still quite red from what Luna said to him. “I sort of wanted to…I wanted to go over to Quality Quidditch Supplies,” he said quietly.

Hermione looked like she was about to protest, but Harry nodded. “That sounds like a great idea. Let’s go.”

They walked over to Quality Quidditch Supplies and, when they stepped inside, Harry received quite the shock.

Standing behind the counter was none other than Harry’s ex-girlfriend Cho Chang.

Cho looked up at the ringing of the bell on the door and spotted Harry immediately. “Harry!” she said, her face bright. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Er—Cho,” Harry greeted, careful not to look at Hermione. He didn’t want to know what her reaction to this would be.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Er—Ron wanted to come in and look around,” Harry said, offering her a small smile. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Oh, I started a few weeks after term ended. Speaking of which, I never got to properly say good-bye to you,” she said, frowning.

“Oh—er—well, things were—er—strange at the end of the last term,” Harry told her.

“Yes,” she murmured, sending pitying looks over at Ron and Ginny. “I’m terribly sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said quietly.

Cho cleared her throat. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for or do you just feel like browsing.”

“Er—”

“Browsing,” Ron said gruffly and turned to the merchandise in the store.

“Yes, of course,” Cho said. “Well, just call for me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Harry said and waited until she had returned to the counter before relaxing. He never realized how tense she made him.

Hermione was eyeing him curiously. “Are you okay?”

He stared at her. “Are you?”

Her expression turned from that of curiosity to confusion. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Harry frowned and inclined his head towards the counter. “Cho.”

She gave him an annoyed look. “I’m not jealous of her, Harry. She may have at one time been your girlfriend, but those days are over. You’ve moved on, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he said gratefully. He was happy that Hermione wasn’t mad at him.

“Honestly, Harry, I can’t believe you thought that I would be jealous,” she said, shaking her head, walking over to the brooms in the window display.

He followed her. “And why exactly weren’t you? If you were talking to another bloke, specifically an ex-boyfriend, I’d be angrier than a mountain troll.”

Again, she shook her head. “Because I trust you, Harry,” she said. “I know you would never do something to intentionally hurt me and, while over half of the girls at Hogwarts would love to be your girlfriend, I know that you’d never think twice about cheating on me.”

“Never think once, actually,” Harry corrected with a grin. “And I highly doubt that over half of the girls at Hogwarts want to be my girlfriend.”

Hermione turned to Ginny, who was examining gloves, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Ginny, give me a rough estimate of how many girls at Hogwarts would like to be Harry’s girlfriend.”

Ginny paused for a moment. “Oh, over half, I’d say, what with the good looks, Quidditch skills, scar, and heroics, he’s considered Grade A meat.”

Hermione turned back to Harry, a bright smile on her face after just proving her point.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not Grade A meat,” he muttered.

“You may not think so,” said Ginny, “but I haven’t talked to a girl there who hasn’t thought about riding on your broomstick.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Ginny!”

Both Hermione and Ginny burst into a fit of giggles. “Face it, Harry,” Hermione said, “at the present time, you are the most fanciable boy at Hogwarts, hands down.”

He gaped at her, his mouth hanging open. He tried to speak, which only resulted in his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s. Hermione and Ginny giggled again.

“Well, I…I’m…I’m not in Luna’s eyes!” he said and then wondered why he had said that.

“That’s because she has eyes only for Ronald,” Ginny said, glossing over her brother’s name in a breathy manner before giggling again. “Speaking of which…oy, Ron! Are you done yet? We want to go to Fred and George’s!”

Ron grumbled and tore himself away from the display of Mercury Silvers, a broom Harry never wanted to touch because of the association it had with the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was probably the busiest shop in Diagon Alley. Fred and George were more successful that they had ever imagined. When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny entered the shop, George spotted them immediately and called out to them.

“Little baby brother and little baby sister! Welcome!” he said jovially and bounded over to them. “And, of course, a hearty welcome to our great benefactor as well.” He shook Harry’s hand enthusiastically. “And the girl who figured out how to strike fear into our hearts. Hello, dear Hermione.”

“Hello, George,” Hermione said, taking his hand when he offered it and immediately jumped.

George roared in laughter and showed her his palm. “A classic Muggle gimmick, the joy buzzer. Fred! I got Hermione!”

“Brilliant!” Fred yelled from across the room where he stood at the counter, ringing up purchases that people were making. “Hello, all!”

They waved back at Fred. “How come Harry didn’t get jolted?” Hermione asked.

“I slipped it on right after I finished shaking his hand,” George said with a wink. “Don’t the old Muggle magicians say something about distracting the audience with words while the hands do all the tricks?”

“That’s not the exact phrase,” Hermione said, “but you do have the gist of it.”

George shrugged. “Whatever. So, here to buy your school things?”

Ginny nodded. “Yeah. And guess what!”

“Ron got himself a girlfriend? Wait, no, that would be a miracle!” George said.

“Shut up,” Ron growled.

“Oh, Ickle Ronniekins is grumpy. Fred! Ickle Ronniekins is grumpy. No free stuff for him!” George yelled.

“Right you are, George!”

“Shut up! It’s not like either of you have girlfriends!” Ron snapped.

George laughed. “I beg to differ. Recent developments involve two good friends coming into our store everyday since we’ve reopened. Fred and I have picked who will get which one and there are plans to ask them on a double date very soon.”

“Who are they?” Ginny asked. “Do we know them?”

George grinned. “Absolutely. Fred, tell them who our lovely ladies are!”

“Why they are a Miss Angelina Johnson and a Miss Alicia Spinnet, of course!” Fred told them. “Not surprising—I mean, you know how much Angelina fancied me at Hogwarts.”

Harry snickered, remembering just how Fred had gotten the former Gryffindor Chaser and captain to go with him to the Yule Ball during Harry’s fourth year.

“So anyway, what were you saying, Ginny?” George asked.

“Harry and Hermione got the badges,” Ginny told him.

George stared at them before letting out a long, loud, dramatic, “NO! Not the Head Boy and Head Girl badges!”

Ginny nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so.”

George collapsed to his knees in a fit of fake sobbing. “Fred! Fred! Come here quickly!”

Fred rushed over. “What is it?” he asked.

George pointed at Harry and Hermione. “They’ve…they’re…the Authority!”

Fred gasped. “No, not Harry! Hermione I expected, but why Harry? He’s so young! He had so many good years of mischief making left!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Cut the dramatics, you two, or I may start calling you drama queens.”

George jumped up as both he and Fred recoiled from her. “Oh, the Authority speaks cruelly, Fred.”

“Indeed she does,” Fred agreed.

“Maybe Harry can still be saved,” George said, running over and grabbing a Skiving Snackbox. “Take this, Harry. Use it well.”

Harry grinned at them. “You know I will.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded.

“You’ll have to hide that from Mum,” Ginny told him.

“Speaking of which, where is she?” Fred asked.

“She and Dad went over to the Leaky Cauldron while we were talking to Luna,” Ginny said.

“Were they not going to visit?” George asked, looking a little disappointed.

“I’m sure they are,” Hermione said. “We just got here first.”

“They’ll arrive soon,” Harry assured them.

“Good. I want to show Dad all of the Muggle stuff we have,” Fred said.

“We’ve got to get back to work, but you lot can check things out. Just remember, unless we say it’s free, you’ve got to pay,” George said as the two of them headed back to the counter.

Harry looked down at the box in his hands. “I don’t exactly plan on skiving any classes, but this may come in handy in case we run into any problems while we’re back at Hogwarts.”

“Hello kids! Harry, what’s that you have there?” asked Mrs. Weasley as she and Mr. Weasley entered the shop.

“Er—”

“Is that something of Fred and George’s?” she asked, taking it from him before tutting. “Harry, what are you doing with this?”

“Fred and George gave it to him as a gag gift for getting the Head Boy badge,” Hermione told her. “He was about to put it back.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, frowning, as Mrs. Weasley handed him back the box. Well, it would have come in handy.

*****

When they returned, Hermione took to reading her new books, leaving Harry to play a few rounds of Exploding Snap with Ginny while Ron once again retreated to his room. On Tuesday, Luna came over for the picnic that was promised. She even managed to coax Ron out of his room to join them. It was the most contented moment that Harry had had at the Burrow all summer.

“You’re not talking much, Ronald,” Luna said as they were munching on sandwiches that Harry, Hermione, and Ginny had made while Luna had taken to the job of getting Ron to join them.

“I don’t really feel like it,” he said curtly, taking another bite out of his sandwich.

“Why not? Do you have a glumbumble underneath your collar?” she asked.

“No,” Ron muttered with a hint of annoyance. “And I’m not glum.”

“So you’re angry then.”

He glared at her. “Just drop it, okay?”

Ginny punched him in the arm. “Be nice.”

He scowled at Ginny and then got up. He looked as though he was about to say something else, but then he changed his mind and stalked away.

Luna’s eyes showed their usual surprise in them, but this time they were coupled with concern. “Why is he so very angry?”

“He’s mad at me,” Harry said, at last fed up with his best friend’s attitude.

“What did you do to him?” Luna asked.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Harry replied. But he was going to find out. He got up and frowned. “I’ll be back.”

As he walked back towards the house, he heard Ginny say, “I sense a row.”

Harry marched into the house and up the stairs. When he finally reached Ron’s room, he pounded on the door. “Open up, Ron!”

“Go away! I don’t want to talk to you!” Ron yelled from inside.

Harry did not respect his wishes that time. He opened the door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut. Ron was sitting on his bed. “No! I will not go away. I’m sick and tired of you giving Hermione and me the silent treatment. I’m sick of you acting like a git!”

“A git? I’m the git? Then what does that make you?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“If I’m a bloody git,” Ron said, his face red, “then you’re a conniving bastard!”

“Conniving? How am I conniving?”

“Get out of my room,” Ron muttered.

“NO! I won’t! I want to know exactly why you’re so pissed at me!” Harry yelled.

“Like you don’t know,” Ron spat.

Harry began to pace back and forth. “I know that you obviously haven’t gotten over that Hermione and I didn’t tell you about us sooner. I’m sorry you received such a shock, Ron, walking in on us snogging, but haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I’m glad I did,” Ron said, “because now I know exactly what you are.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” Harry asked.

“A traitor. A manipulative traitor,” Ron said in a deadly whisper.

Harry stopped pacing and turned towards Ron, alarmed. “A traitor? How am I a traitor?”

Ron jumped to his feet. “You knew how I felt about Hermione. I told you how I felt about her and you…you…”

Harry felt the color drain from his cheeks. He had, in essence, helped Ron see that his feelings for Hermione were more sibling-like than romantic. He swallowed but discovered that his mouth was dry. “I was trying to do what was best for both of you.”

“Bollocks!” Ron cried. “You were trying to convince me that I didn’t fancy her so that you wouldn’t feel bad when you put the moves on her.”

“That’s not true!” Harry yelled. “If you truly were in love with Hermione, I would have stepped aside so that the two of you could have had a go at things. But, if I recall correctly, you admitted to fancying Luna too!”

“I DON’T FANCY LUNA!” Ron roared.

“That’s not what you said during the Easter holiday.”

“Oh, sod off, Head Boy!”

Harry stared at him. “Yeah, I figured you be jealous of that.”

“You always have to get everything, don’t you? The girl, the badge, the captaincy! Everybody loves Harry bloody Potter! Triwizard champion! Boy Who Lived!”

“I didn’t choose that!” Harry yelled. “It’s not my fault that Voldemort murdered my parents when I was a baby! It’s not my fault that Barty Crouch, Jr. jinxed the Goblet of Fire and put my name in it! I don’t want to be famous and you know it!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ron muttered.

“You know what? Fine! FINE! If you want glory all that bad then take it! I’m going to send an owl to McGonagall and resign my Quidditch captaincy. I’ll even recommend that you take over. Hell, I resign as Seeker! Then you’ll be the hero! That is, if you can manage to have a perfect season!”

Ron scowled. “Keep the damn badge. I don’t want your bloody job. I don’t want your pity. I just want you to get out.”

Just go, he heard Hermione’s voice in his head, even though he felt like smacking Ron upside the head to force some sense into him. Just go.

So he did. He walked out on his best friend, feeling that Ron had already done the same thing.

Author’s Note: Well, okay, so this little break of mine didn’t result in as much writing time as I hoped it would. Moving to a new house kind of cuts into that time, not to mention all the problems I’ve been having with my dang computer, but I’ve got a chapter for you and that’s all that counts. God only knows when I’ll update again. Maybe if I had a release date, I’d use that as my deadline to finish the fic, like with MoL! =P

CHAPTER TWELVE

A FROSTY TRIP

Going back to Hogwarts seemed like a relief to Harry after his row with Ron. With September lst only a few days away, Harry’s mood picked up considerably after spending several days brooding over what Ron had said to him. He kept going over what Ron had said again and again in his head, wondering if he was right. Did Harry truly manipulate him into thinking that he cared for Hermione as nothing than a sister instead of as something more?

Hermione tried her best to cheer him up, especially since Ron wasn’t talking to her, either. She stayed in his room with him during the day while he stared listlessly out his window at the Weasley’s garden. She even helped him when he decided to volunteer to de-gnome the garden, after he spied a few gnomes hopping over the fence to get into it.

Overall, she was being very patient with him and he couldn’t have asked for more.

In the garden, Harry finally decided to tell her what he and Ron had argued about. She listened to him intently before finally asking him, “Do you feel you manipulated him?”

“No. I thought I was helping him—helping both of you,” he said. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t want you two getting together, but if he truly did fancy you and wanted to pursue a relationship with you, I wasn’t going to stand in the way.”

“But you determined that he truly didn’t fancy me,” she said.

“I asked him how he felt about you and his response was…not even remotely romantic,” Harry told her.

She laughed. “Since when has Ron ever been remotely romantic?”

“Tell me you’re not taking his side.”

She stood up, swung a gnome she had just caught around and around, before releasing it over the fence. “I’m with you, Harry. But Ron is a friend and I want to know how to help him get over this.”

“He said that he was grateful to you and willing to do anything to help you. Even for Ron, that’s nowhere near romantic.”

“Is that what he said?” When he nodded, she crouched back down into the garden. “I agree with you. I think he’s very confused as to how he actually feels.” She gazed over at him. “How do you feel about me, Harry?”

His face slowly broke into a smile. “You’ve been by my side since first year. You’re always there for me, even when I don’t want you to be. In fact, you’ve become the voice of reason inside my head. To put it simply, I’d be lost without you.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips.

When Harry chucked the last gnome out of the garden, he and Hermione walked back towards the Burrow hand-in-hand. They both decided to see what Ginny was up to, so they went inside and looked for her. When Hermione knocked on her bedroom door, there was a short, “Come in,” before Hermione pushed it open.

Ginny was sitting on her bed, reading a piece of parchment. She glanced up and smiled as the two entered. “Oh, hey, you two lovebirds.”

Harry blushed and let go of Hermione’s hand, realizing that he was still holding it. “Hi. Er—what’re you reading?” he asked, gesturing to the parchment.

This time Ginny blushed. “It’s nothing.”

He glanced sideways at Hermione. “Nothing?”

“Yes,” she said, stuffing the parchment underneath her pillow.

Hermione sat down on her bed while Harry leaned back into one of the corners of her room. “Really?” he asked, amused.

“Harry,” Hermione scolded, rolling her eyes at him. “If Ginny doesn’t want to tell us, then she doesn’t have to, even though we would never tell anyone.”

He grinned at her, deciding that dating a smart girl was definitely the best thing a guy could do.

Ginny frowned at both of them. “Well…” she murmured, taking the piece of parchment back out from underneath her pillow. “It’s just embarrassing, that’s all. I never expected it.”

“What?” Hermione asked, her tone both concerned and curious.

Ginny waved the parchment in front of them. “Neville Longbottom sent me a letter today.”

Hermione glanced at Harry with glee in her eyes, which she quickly masked before turning back to Ginny. “He did? What did he say?”

Ginny thrust the letter at her. “Here,” she said, “read it.”

Hermione took the letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud: “Dear Ginny, I hope that your summer has been good, or as good as it could have been, all things considered. I can’t imagine it’s been all that great. I just wanted to let you know that I sort of know what it feels like to lose a family member and that, well, if you ever wanted to talk about it while we’re at Hogwarts, I’d be more than willing to. I mean, I would also understand why you wouldn’t, because who wants to keep thinking about such things, and I guess we aren’t really all that close, but if you wanted to talk about it, I’m willing to listen. See you at Hogwarts! Sincerely, Neville.”

Ginny stared at her. “So?”

“So what?” Hermione asked, handing the letter back to her.

“So what do you think?” Ginny asked.

She gave a little shrug. “It’s awfully sweet of him to write you a letter like that, offering whatever help he can.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

“He’s a good guy—an excellent friend,” Hermione said. “There’s a lot more to Neville Longbottom than most people think.”

Ginny looked down at the letter before turning to Harry. “What do you think?”

He blinked. “Me?”

“No, the other guy with the glasses standing in the corner of my room. Yes, you!”

“Er—as much as I fought it when trying to get over Cedric, Sirius, and the events of last year, talking to someone helped me a lot,” he replied. “It means a lot more, too, when it’s somebody who understands what you’re going through. Neville understands loss. He lost both of his parents when the Lestranges tortured them into insanity.”

The three of them were silent for a long time before Ginny finally spoke again. “I suppose I had better write him back.”

Hermione smiled. “Yes, why don’t you? Harry,” she said as she got up, indicating that they should leave Ginny alone.

“Hey Harry?” Ginny asked before they stepped out the door.

“Yeah?”

“How about some Quidditch practice after I’m done?” she asked.

He nodded. “Sounds good. Actually, I could use Hermione’s help with something really quick before we get started.”

“Okay. See you outside.”

“Right,” he murmured as he and Hermione stepped out of her room.

“Help with what?” Hermione asked him as they started towards Fred and George’s old room.

“The Phoenix,” Harry replied. “When Ron and I tested it originally, he told me that I should try to find a better Cushioning Charm, so I was hoping that you possibly knew of one or knew where to find out about one.”

“You want me to help you improve your broom? The broom that your father intended to make with Sirius and Lupin?” She looked positively flattered. “I’d love to.”

He smiled brightly at her. “Thanks. I’ve actually been hoping to use it to play Quidditch this season, provided it works as well as the tests seemed to indicate.”

“You followed the blueprints to the letter, didn’t you?” When he nodded, she said, “Then I’m sure it works well. Sirius, Lupin, and your father would have researched everything. They were quite brilliant.”

Praise like that from Hermione, especially towards the antics of the Marauders, was very rare. A huge rush of emotion engulfed Harry for a brief moment, causing him to reach over and hug her to him, privately mourning all that he had lost before he released her and his sorrow along with it.

*****

Harry practiced on his Firebolt while Hermione spent the last few days before their return to Hogwarts searching all of her schoolbooks and Harry’s books on Quidditch.

“There are some excellent Cushioning Charms out there for broomsticks,” she told him, “but they’re all patented. You’d have to pay a huge fee in order to use it on the Phoenix.”

Harry brushed his sweaty bangs away from his eyes. He had just returned from another practice with Ginny. He was already in a foul mood as he had spotted Ron watching them wistfully from his bedroom window. He wanted the git to join them, but he knew that Ron’s pride would get in the way.

“How much of a fee are we talking about?” he asked her.

“Anywhere between five to ten thousand Galleons,” she told him meekly.

He stared at her. “Five to ten thousand,” he repeated. “Damn.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I could actually afford that,” Harry said quietly.

Her eyes widened. “Harry!” she scolded.

“I’m not going to buy one,” he assured her. “I was hoping that maybe you and I could work together to…make our own?”

“Make our own Cushioning Charm?” she asked him, surprised.

“Yeah. I mean, with your brains and my willingness to test just about anything, I’m sure we could come up with something,” he told her.

She laughed suddenly. “We’ll turn into Fred and George.”

“Well, I’m sure they’d be delighted if you suddenly decided you wanted to aid them in their research and development of new products,” Harry teased.

“But we’re not after something that will humiliate another person, are we? We out to better something that will make a broom ride much more comfortable,” she said.

“So you’re in?” he asked.

“Why not?” she said, shrugging. “I sent in the petitions for house-elf rights towards the middle of June and haven’t heard anything back yet. I could use something to distract me from the disappointment.”

“D’you mean to tell me that you haven’t been writing the Ministry every week?” Harry asked, feigning shock.

She shook her head in mild amusement. “We’re in the middle of a war, Harry. As much as I want house-elves to gain rights, I understand that the Ministry’s main focus is on defeating Voldemort.”

“In other words, you’ve settled on writing them every month,” Harry said.

“Precisely.”

They laughed appreciatively for several moments before calming down. Harry looked out at the sky as the sun began to set. “We’re going back to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

She walked over to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You’re going back home tomorrow.”

He smiled. “One last year.”

“And it will be the best yet,” she said.

“I hope so.” He turned around so that she was wrapped in his arms. “It’s going to be hard, keeping us a secret.”

“It’s what you want.”

“Yeah, it is.” He didn’t even want to think about what Voldemort would do to her if he discovered her elevated status in Harry’s life.

“We’ll act like we always do. It’s not like I haven’t grabbed your arm before, or given you a hug,” she said.

Looking back, those were some rather fond memories for Harry, even though Hermione’s grip could be quite painful. When she saw the grin on his face, she poked him in the chest playfully. “What?”

“Nothing,” he murmured. “Just reminiscing.”

“Mind sharing?”

His grin grew even wider. “Yeah, I do.”

She rolled her eyes at him before they heard Mrs. Weasley yell up the stairs, “Dinner’s ready, you lot! Come down here!”

“I’ll get it out of you later,” she promised as they both walked towards the door, laughing.

The next morning was hectic. Harry double-checked to make sure that everything was in his trunk before heading downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley had made a large breakfast for them.

“Does anyone want me to make them a corned beef sandwich to eat on the train? Ron?” Mrs. Weasley asked, bustling around the kitchen.

“No,” Ron said. It was the first word he had said at the table all morning, but he quickly went back to his eggs and said no more.

“Ginny? Harry? Hermione?” she asked.

“No, thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said with Hermione quickly echoing him.

“I doubt I’ll be very hungry on the train, Mum,” Ginny said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mum.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Alright,” she murmured and sat down at last.

“The Ministry is sending us cars to travel to King’s Cross in,” Mr. Weasley told them. “Dumbledore got the Ministry to let Tonks and Kingsley to escort us. Bill and Charlie said that they would be by too.”

“Is everyone packed and ready to go?” Mrs. Weasley asked them. When the four students nodded, she said, “Good, but when you’re done, I want you to go upstairs and check your rooms one last time.”

“I also heard that the Ministry is posting four Aurors on the Hogwarts Express for the ride to Hogwarts,” Mr. Weasley went on.

“Will there be any at Hogwarts this year as well?” Hermione asked him.

“After last year’s fiasco, Dumbledore isn’t too inclined to let other people in,” Mr. Weasley replied.

“Any idea which Aurors will be on the train?” Harry asked.

“Nope,” Mr. Weasley said. “Not my department.”

Harry went back to his food. As long as there wasn’t anybody like Joaquin Crow on the train with them, he would be happy.

When Bill and Charlie arrived at the Burrow, they quickly helped everyone with getting their trunks down the stairs. With a simple wave of their wands, all four trunks floated down the stairs in front of its owner.

“Why none of you thought of this is beyond me,” Bill said with a grin.

“Because Ron and Harry can be a bit thick at times and don’t think about how it’s actually legal for them to use magic now,” Ginny told her eldest brother, also grinning.

Bill chuckled. “So, have you passed for Apparition test yet, Harry?”

“Er—no. I haven’t taken it yet,” Harry replied.

“You haven’t?” Charlie said, joining in on the conversation.

He shook his head. “I decided to wait for the test in October.”

“You’ll be taking it then, too, won’t you, Ron?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Ron muttered.

“How about you, Hermione?” Bill asked.

“October as well,” she told him.

“Great! I can’t wait to hear how all of you do, especially you, Ron,” said Bill.

“Why me?” Ron asked grumpily.

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Because you’re my little brother.”

“Not so little anymore,” Charlie said with a grin. “He’s been taller than Fred and George for years now.”

“Fred and George never got the height advantage some of us did,” Bill said.

Harry smirked at this. Never before had he heard anyone tease Fred and George. It was always Fred and George that teased others.

“Hey, Harry, Mum told us about your accomplishment. Congratulations on becoming Head Boy,” Bill went on. “I can’t even remember the last time a Quidditch captain became Head Boy.”

“I can,” Charlie said. “It was his dad back in the 1977/1978 school year. Gryffindor won the Cup that year.”

“It figures that you would remember something like that, Charlie,” Ginny said, laughing at her older brother. “Besides Ron, you’re the only one in our family that follows Quidditch with a passion.”

Ron didn’t comment on this; instead he was looking extremely huffy as he walked out of the house and into the yard.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Any idea how soon Tonks and Kingsley will arrive?”

“Very soon,” Bill said. “We better get these trunks outside so that we can leave the moment they arrive.”

Not two minutes after all of them walked outside did two black cars pull up next to the Burrow, their windows tinted so that it was pretty much impossible to see inside it.

“Why two cars?” Harry wondered out loud.

“We’re splitting you up,” Mr. Weasley said, coming to Harry’s side. “Ron and Harry, you’ll be in the first car with Molly, Charlie, and Tonks. Ginny and Hermione, you’ll be in the second car with Bill, Kingsley, and me.”

Ron didn’t look happy about their traveling arrangements at all, but grunted just the same and took his trunk to the first car before getting in. Harry quickly followed.

When everyone was settled into the appropriate cars, they took off. Harry tapped his foot on the floor, feeling slightly anxious because of the silence that permeated the car. Finally, Tonks, who was sporting short, raspberry colored hair, asked cheerfully, “Anyone want to sing a song as we drive to London?”

Ron groaned slightly as he stared out the window. Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and said kindly, “Sorry, dear, but—erm—the Weasley family isn’t quite known for their wonderful singing skills.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay. How about a game?” Tonks asked.

“Erm—”

“What do you have in mind?” Charlie asked.

“I dunno. I Spy, perhaps?”

“It’s probably better than singing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Butterbeer on the Wall,” Charlie said, “so why not?”

“Great!” Tonks said happily. “I’ll start!” She looked around. “I spy with my little eye something…red.”

Ron let out a low groan again.

Harry stared out of his window at the countryside. He wished he could pass the time by talking to Ron, but that wasn’t possible. Heck, he wished he could join in Tonks’s game, but he thought it was better that he didn’t. Mrs. Weasley seemed quite intent on stopping it anyway, with the way she kept glaring at Charlie, who continued on the game.

He wished he could be back in Hermione’s car. Of course, Mr. Weasley was there, probably pummeling Hermione with questions about Muggles, satisfying his never-ending obsession with them. Still though, he’d rather endure Mr. Weasley’s questioning with Hermione than he would Ron’s anger at him.

He didn’t know what to do about Ron. He was positive there was nothing he could do or say that would make Ron be his friend again. He hoped that time would heal all wounds and that Ron would eventually come around, but he doubted it. Ron could be very stubborn and held onto grudges for a long time. To Harry, it was a rather hopeless situation.

Eventually they made it to London and to King’s Cross Station. Kingsley went off quickly to find them trolleys for their trunks. Tonks stood by Harry with her hand resting on the wand in her pocket, trying to look casual, as Bill and Charlie helped unload the trunks from the boot of the cars. The moment Kingsley arrived back with the trolleys, Harry placed Hedwig, who was safely in her cage, in the basket before helping Tonks lift his trunk onto the trolley.

“You have a good term, okay Harry?” she said, giving him a smile.

“I’ll try,” he said.

“I’m sure we’ll hear about you,” she added with a wink, letting him step past her so that he could steer the trolley.

“Only if Dumbledore likes to talk about me.”

She laughed. “Not from Dumbledore, silly—Remus! He’s always very proud of you.”

Harry felt his cheeks burn red, but smiled just the same. Part of him liked knowing that Lupin expressed pride in Harry. Since Sirius died, Lupin was the last true connection Harry had to his parents.

The group marched into King’s Cross with Kingsley in the lead. Tonks dropped back to the rear as Bill took her place beside Harry. He grinned at Harry as they walked down to platforms nine and ten.

“Good luck this year, Harry,” Bill said to him as they reached the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. “I’m sure you’ll make one hell of a Head Boy.”

“Thanks, Bill,” he replied.

As he walked past Bill and over to where Hermione was standing with her trolley, Charlie whispered in his ear, “Kick Slytherin’s butt in Quidditch this year.”

“Always do,” he whispered back and then took his place next to Hermione.

“Okay, I want Ron and Ginny to through the barrier first,” Mr. Weasley said, trying to keep his voice down. “After that, Harry will be accompanied by Kingsley and Molly and I will escort Hermione. Bill—Charlie, go with Ron and Ginny. Then Tonks will go through last.”

“Four people through the barrier at once is no easy trick,” Bill said as he and Charlie quickly walked over to the barrier, closely followed by Ron and Ginny, who were pushing their trolleys.

“Very well, then. Bill, you go with Ginny and Charlie can go with Ron. But make it quick,” Mr. Weasley implored.

“Can do. Let’s go, Ginny,” Bill said, grabbing hold of her trolley. They both leaned back against the wall…and suddenly they disappeared without anyone noticing.

“You’re next, Ron,” Mrs. Weasley said from beside her son. “Quick, go with Charlie.”

Ron and Charlie waited next to the barrier and a moment later they too were gone.

“Harry, time to go,” Kingsley said to Harry and walked with him to the barrier. Harry took a deep breath and, turning his trolley to face the barrier, he walked right through it with Kingsley hot on his heels.

He waited on the other side of the barrier until Hermione and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley joined them, and they waited long enough for Tonks to cross the barrier too. Then, they all turned and faced the steaming red locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express.

Harry couldn’t help but grin.

Students and their parents crowded the platform. Lots of them were saying good-bye while still more were rushing off to find their friends to see how summer had changed them. Harry looked around and spotted Colin and Dennis Creevey, along with Lavender Brown and her little brother Dylan, who was searching the crowd feverishly for his friends. When he saw Harry, he waved at him. Harry gave a short wave back before continuing on. Standing with her parents was Siobhan Cassidy, the younger sister of one of Joaquin Crow’s victims.

Harry scowled next when he saw the figure of Draco Malfoy standing aloof and away from the train. It was hard to read the expression on the seventh year Slytherin’s face, although even from a distance Harry could tell that his gray eyes seemed duller than usual.

“You lot better go find a place to sit on the train,” Mrs. Weasley advised. “But join us again after you do.”

Bill and Charlie went with them to help load their trunks. Hermione and Ginny quickly found and empty compartment and the four of them lifted their trunks up onto the racks above the seats, setting Hedwig, Pigwidgeon, Crookshanks, and Giles with them. Then they quickly departed the train to say their final good-byes.

Mrs. Weasley hugged her children fiercely. “Be safe. Look after each other. Study hard.”

“Win the Quidditch Cup and owl me immediately if Hagrid ever gets himself a new dragon,” Charlie added.

“Just have a good year,” Mr. Weasley finished, also giving his children a hug.

Mrs. Weasley turned from Ron and Ginny to Harry and Hermione. “The same goes for you two. Be especially careful, Harry.” She hugged both of them.

“Don’t worry, I will be,” Harry assured her. Every time he tried to tell people that, however, he always felt like he was lying to them. Hopefully he really wasn’t.

They finished saying their good-byes when the whistled sounded for the train. “You better get on, quick!” Mrs. Weasley said. “Ron—Ginny, make sure you write home! I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you!”

Both Ron and Ginny turned a good shade of red as they boarded the train, but Ginny did yell back a promise that she would. Ron just merely nodded at her and waved as the second whistle sounded and the train started to move.

“Good-bye!” they heard Mrs. Weasley shouting. “Good luck! Have a safe term!”

They waved back to her and the rest of them out the window until the train had rounded a corner and they no longer could see her. When Harry made a move to head to the compartment they had picked out, Hermione’s arm darted out to stop him.

“Harry, we have to go to the prefect’s meeting. We’re supposed to run it,” she reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he murmured. He slipped the badge out of his pocket and pinned it to his shirt. “Erm—”

“Hey guys!” said Neville cheerfully as he walked down the train towards them, his trunk in tow and Trevor in his hand.

“Hi Neville,” they greeted.

“Harry, you’re Head Boy? Congratulations,” he said, gesturing to the badge on Harry’s chest. “I guess that means you’ve got to go with Ron and Hermione.”

“Er—yeah.”

“Leaving me all alone,” Ginny said. “Do you have a place to sit, Neville?”

“Er—no, not yet,” he said.

“You can join me then,” she said.

His face turned pink. “That would be g-g-great,” he stammered.

She smiled at him and then turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “I guess we’ll see you after your big important meeting.”

“Yeah, see you,” Hermione said, smiling as Ginny led Neville to their compartment. “Let’s get to the front of the train, shall we? We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Ron took the lead as Harry became very nervous. He and Hermione had taken a look at the list that Dumbledore had provided each of them to discuss during the meeting, but Harry was unsure that he possessed enough leadership abilities for the prefects to follow him. After all, he had never been a prefect—just a Quidditch captain. Did prefects respect Quidditch captains?

Ron punched the button to open the door of the first car on the train. To his surprise, he could see that the first car was not broken into any compartments. It was like a dining car on a normal train—wide open. All of the prefects sat around, waiting for the meeting to begin.

When the door opened, Harry could hear the conversation already taking place.

“—who the new Head Boy is?” Ernie Macmillan was wondering. “I mean, we all have to know that Hermione Granger is Head Girl, but none of us were selected to be Head Boy!” He looked over at Ron as he entered the car. “And Ron isn’t either! Who is it, then?”

Hermione stepped in, followed by Harry.

“Hi Hermione,” Ernie greeted and then stared at Harry. “What are you doing in here, Harry?”

“Do you not see the badge, Lumpy?” said Pansy Parkinson. “Potter is the new Head Boy.”

Everyone stared at Harry. “Head Boy?” Ernie gasped.

Ron plopped down next to the other Gryffindor prefects as Hermione walked quickly to the middle of the car.

“Let’s begin the meeting, shall we? We’ve got a lot to discuss. First off, I’d like to welcome our nine new prefects, including my own replacement, Parvati Patil—”

“Why are you the Head Boy?” Ernie asked, looking rather put out. “You weren’t even a prefect!”

“One doesn’t have to be a prefect to be either the Head Boy or Head Girl,” Hermione snapped.

“Katie Bell,” Luna said airily from where she was sitting alone.

“Yeah, but, she wasn’t a Quidditch captain and she was fairly studious!” Ernie defended. “Potter’s already captain of the Gryffindor team and—”

“Don’t you get it?” came a drawling voice from the corner of the car. Malfoy was sitting there, staring out the window. “Potter got the badge because he’s Dumbledore’s pet.”

Harry glared at Malfoy and then glanced down at Ron, who was looking highly amused by this interchange.

Hermione had folded her arms across her chest and was tapping her foot impatiently. “Harry was not chosen as a favorite of Dumbledore’s,” she said heatedly. “He is an excellent leader, which is what we all need in a time like this. Perhaps you remember, Ernie, how he helped you perfect your Disarming Spells?”

Ernie’s face reddened.

“We’re in a war here,” Hermione said fiercely, “and Harry is the only one our age who has met Voldemort and lived to tell the tale! Who else would you want being Head Boy?”

After the initial cringing of the use of Voldemort’s name, there was a murmur of assent, causing Hermione to smirk. “So can we finally get started?” Ernie sighed in defeat and nodded. “Good.” She took out her list, causing Harry to fumble for his. “The first order of business we need to attend to is knowing what exactly is being planned for this year.

“Dumbledore and the other professors will be announcing tonight the activities planned for this year, but they’re taking one away from last year. The Boys versus Girls Quidditch Match.”

Ron looked up at her, alarmed. Even Harry had to frown. He knew about it, of course, but he still didn’t like it. He actually enjoyed the exhibition match the previous year, even though he had lost.

“Anything else?” Anthony Goldstein asked.

“They’re adding a Mentorship Day for the first, second, sixth, and seventh years. The Yule Ball will also be returning, but I’m sure all of us already knew about that.” She shrugged. “All of this, of course, is to strengthen the bonds between the Houses and to make Hogwarts seem as normal as possible.”

“Normal by wizarding standards, you mean?” said Padma Patil, grinning.

“Yes,” Hermione said, obviously attempting not to roll her eyes. “Now, on to the next order of business…” She looked over hopefully at Harry.

Harry jumped forward and cleared his throat. “Er—Hogsmeade visits this year will unfortunately be fewer are farther between. When they do occur, the Ministry will be dispatching Aurors to supposedly help protect us.” Then he added for his own grim satisfaction, “Hopefully none of them are Death Eaters in disguise.”

The others shifted uncomfortably.

“But yeah,” Harry mumbled, recovering, “the third thing we have to deal with is—” He glanced over at Hermione, hoping that he was doing things correctly. “—setting up meeting times.”

“For the last two years we’ve been meeting every other Monday,” Ernie told him. “Do we want to change that?”

Most of them muttered a negative and Harry shrugged. “Every other Monday it is then.” He then backed up to let Hermione take control again.

“Fourthly, as always, I need one prefect from each House to volunteer to escort the first years to their common room.” Her gaze landed on Ron, who looked away and slouched in his seat.

“I’ll volunteer for Ravenclaw,” Luna said, raising her hand.

Graham Pritchard, one of the new Slytherin prefects, raised his hand to volunteer for Slytherin. Ernie Macmillan volunteered for Hufflepuff. Hermione turned expectantly towards her fellow Gryffindors.

“I’ll lead them, Hermione,” said a girl that Harry didn’t know. She had straight dark brown hair and eyes that contrasted heavily against her pale skin.

“Thank you, Druantia,” Hermione said.

“Now, onto the final order of business,” she continued on, “I’ve taken the liberty to write down the passwords for each of the common rooms. Harry, if you’d pass them out please?” Harry grabbed the four pieces of paper from her hand and quickly set off to give them to a member of each House. “Please share the password with other prefects in your House and then, when we get to Hogwarts, to the other members themselves. Also, please note that on Halloween, as a security measure, these passwords will become null as Professor Dumbledore will personally give each dormitory a new password. He’ll notify the prefects of each House as to what the new password is.”

She looked around. “So, any questions?”

“Yeah,” said Malfoy snidely. “How many of these stupid meetings can we skip so that we won’t have to look at your face?”

Harry, who was just about to hand Slytherin’s password over to Pritchard, instead balled it up and threw it hard at Malfoy, happy when it bounced off of his head and onto the floor.

“I see Professor Dumbledore made an excellent choice for Head Boy,” said another, colder, voice from the doorway.

Harry whirled around and felt his eye twitch immediately. Standing in front of three other Aurors, was Mara Frost, the Auror that Harry had believed to be the person behind the murders during the previous school year. The woman who hated his mother.

Little had changed in her appearance since the last time Harry had seen her. Her dark blonde hair was still short and her blue eyes were still just as chilly, like ice chips. A shiver ran down Harry’s spine as he stared at her defiantly.

“Potter,” she greeted.

“Frost,” he returned.

One of the Aurors behind her cleared his throat. She rolled her eyes. “These are my associates, Murdoch—” She gestured to the man that had cleared his throat. “—Timmons—” This time she gestured to a witch with auburn hair. “—and Hornby.” A man with rimless glasses nodded to them. “We’re here on orders from Minister Amelia Bones herself.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry muttered. “Can we help you?”

“We’re checking all of the compartments to make sure that there isn’t anyone or anything that shouldn’t be on this train,” Frost said. “Perhaps you’d like to be checked first, Potter?”

“For what?” he asked her.

“Illegal devices,” she said and held up her wand. “Come here.”

“Are you checking all of the students?”

“No,” she said sarcastically. “Just the ones with scars.”

He could hear a few of the Slytherins snickering behind him. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping forward. “I’ll submit myself for a frisking…but not by you.”

She gestured the one named Murdoch forward. “Check him. The rest of you, line up.” When they all stared at her, her eyes narrowed. “NOW!”

Murdoch’s wand passed over Harry like a metal detector and when it found nothing, he was moved along while the other prefects and Hermione were searched. Nothing was found. Finally, Frost and the other Aurors stepped out of the car, on their way to search other students.

Harry straightened his shirt before glancing at Hermione.

“Er—right,” she muttered. “Meeting adjourned!”

The prefects, feeling rather hassled, all got to their feet and headed towards the door so that they could join their friends. Harry and Hermione were two of the last to leave with Ron right behind them.

“I can’t believe that Frost cow is on this train,” Harry said savagely as they traveled from car to car, heading back to the one that Ginny and Neville were in.

Luna was standing in the middle of the next car they entered, looking rather lost. Harry cautiously moved to join her.

“Luna? You okay?”

“Huh?” she asked, turning her usual dazed face towards him. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. I just can’t seem to find a place to sit. Everywhere is full.”

“Ginny and Neville are reserving a compartment for us. Would you care to join us?” he asked her.

“Really? Oh, that would be nice,” she said, smiling. Then she looked behind him. “Hi, Ronald.”

“Er—hey, Luna,” he mumbled.

“Come on,” Harry said. “It’s not that far away.”

Harry led the way to the next car, chatting with Hermione and Luna as he did so. Then, as he pulled open the door to the compartment they were in, Hermione jumped and gave an “Oh” of surprise.

Harry turned back just in time to see both Ginny and Neville leap back in their seats, their faces both red. Ginny looked rather embarrassed while Neville looked terrified, staring at Ron.

Harry afforded himself one glance back at Ron to confirm his suspicion. Ron’s face was redder than his hair and he looked like he was about to breathe out smoke.

He stepped forward. “What the bloody hell was happening here?” he asked dangerously.

“I…we…er—I…Ginny…I…” Neville gulped.

“It’s none of your business,” Ginny said, scooting over to let the others sit down. “Neville and I were just talking.”

“Talking?” Ron shrieked. “That didn’t look like talking to me!”

“Well, it sort of evolved into something else,” Ginny muttered.

Neville seemed to be trying to push himself farther and farther into his seat. “Ron, I’m really, really, really, s—”

“Oh, don’t apologize to the prat,” Ginny told him. “He can’t seem to handle people getting into relationships at the moment.”

Neville blinked in surprise and stared at her, dazed. “Relationships?”

Ginny nodded. “Didn’t you admit to me that you fancied me?”

“Well, yeah—”

“And we kissed, right?”

“Er—yeah—”

“Then I’d say we just started a relationship,” Ginny said, smiling at him, “because I think you’re a sweetheart and would like nothing more than to be your girlfriend.”

Neville’s jaw dropped, as did Ron’s. Hermione jumped into the compartment, grinning. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

Luna quickly joined them, followed by Harry. Ron, however, stayed in the doorway.

“Aren’t you coming in, Ronald?” Luna asked him.

Ron scowled. “I’m surrounded by bloody traitors.”

Harry’s mood suddenly jumped from that of jovial to raging inferno. “Nobody in here is a bloody traitor,” he growled.

“Oh, shut up, Harry,” Ron spat.

“What about what you said after Ginny and Justin broke up?” Harry challenged. “You told Neville that you trust him more than you’ve trusted all of her other boyfriends and that you know that he’d never deliberately hurt her!”

“Yeah, but I never thought he’d work up the courage to actually ask her out!” Ron said. “And besides, I didn’t think she’d accept even if he did, what with our brother just dying and all!”

Ginny jumped up, looking like she could smack him, but Harry held her back. “Don’t, Ginny. He’s just bitter.”

“Bitter? Bitter? Who says I’m bitter?” Ron asked, eying Harry. “I’m not bitter, no! I just been betrayed, that’s all.”

Harry shook his head in exasperation. “Again with the being betrayed! You weren’t betrayed, Ron! Nobody has betrayed you.”

“Hark who’s talking! Gone behind anyone’s back lately, Harry?” he said, scowling.

“I don’t know. Have I?” Harry replied, stepping closer to the redhead.

“You sure have. What you did was low. Very low. It would be low by even Malfoy’s standards!”

Harry’s jaw was set and it took everything in him not to grab Ron by the shirtfront and slam him into the wall. “And your stupidity is currently more pathetic than either Crabbe or Goyle’s.”

Ron’s self control was obviously not as strong as Harry’s. At that moment, he snapped and pushed Harry hard, knocking him back against the window. Before Harry could retaliate, both Hermione and Ginny jumped up, the former grabbing Harry and the latter knocked Ron into the doorframe before forcing him to sit down.

“You…you…you’re a piece of Blast-Ended Skrewt dung and serve no better purpose in life than to be Dolores Umbridge’s love slave!” she shrieked at him. “You’re lucky that you’re my brother and that I love you because I’m really tempted to shove some bat bogeys down your throat.”

His shoulders slumped and he sat back in his seat, glowering at all of them. Then he slumped down into his seat some more and started to examine his fingernails, scowling. Luna scooted over next to him and held out her copy of The Quibbler.

“Do you want to read it?” she asked.

He glanced up at her and then went back to looking at his fingernails, completely ignoring her.

Harry sighed as Hermione still held him back. “I’m fine,” he murmured to her and sat back down.

“Harry—”

“I’m fine!” he said testily and then instantly regretted it. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s just try to get through the rest of this ride without any more incidents, okay?”

He smiled at her. “Okay.”

Hermione pulled out her copy of the Daily Prophet. After all the excitement of the morning, followed up by the prefect’s meeting and the altercation between Harry and Ron, she hadn’t had the time to read it. Harry rubbed his eyes as she opened up the paper and read the front page. Suddenly, she let out a gasp and whispered, “Oh my God.”

Harry went on high alert. “What is it?” he asked her.

“There’s been a death,” she said as the entire compartment settled into silence to listen to her. “A very terrible death.”

“Who?” Harry asked her urgently.

She turned the Prophet towards him so that everyone could see the leading headline.

MEMBER OF THE BRITISH MUGGLE ROYALTY DEAD. DEATH EATERS SUSPECTED TO BE INVOLVED.

Author’s Note: I must be getting rather long winded to finally have them return to Hogwarts in Chapter 13. Anyway, I appreciate all of the support you guys have given me. I really enjoy reading what you guys have to say in your reviews. They’re great. All of you are great! I’m sappy. I’m going to stop now. =P

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ONE MORE YEAR

“Queen What’s-Her-Name, is she dead?” Ron asked. His mood seemed to have changed instantly the moment Hermione had shown them the newspaper. His face, which only moments before had been red, was now rather pale. Harry was quite sure that his face was very pale now too—everyone’s was.

“No, her Majesty, as far as I know, is quite alright,” Hermione replied. She closed her eyes tightly and slumped in her seat. “Here, just take it.”

Ginny quickly took the Daily Prophet from her and held it out far enough so that the others could crowd around her and read the article. Harry, meanwhile, placed his hand over Hermione’s. Out of the six of them in the compartment, they had been the only two raised in the Muggle world. The others could not truly understand what it meant to lose such a figure. After all, Ron didn’t even know what the Queen’s name was.

The train rattled on. Twice Harry saw Mara Frost stalk past his compartment, checking for anything that wasn’t right. He detested that woman almost as much as she detested him. On his list of people he hated, she was in the top five. The other spots were of course occupied by Voldemort, Snape, Malfoy, and Umbridge. At the end of the last year, however, he had had an odd moment with Frost in which she had admitted to developing a grudging respect for him after the events in the Hogsmeade cemetery. It meant nothing to him, however; they both still hated each other.

About halfway through the trip they began to hear Ron’s snores as he had fallen asleep after passing on sweets from the trolley. He had returned to his silence after reading the Prophet, although he occasionally had given brief responses to Luna’s attempts to initiate a conversation with him. Eventually she had given up and had begun to read The Quibbler. Ginny left for a good hour, visiting some of her other friends. She had invited Neville to go with her, but he had declined, saying that he wanted to catch up with Harry and Hermione. She also had tried to ask Luna, who had shaken her head, saying, “All the friends I have are in this compartment and they’re who I want to see.”

Ron woke back up about an hour before it was time to change into their school robes. Around that time, Malfoy and his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, walked past the compartment, but they did not stop. The second time they walked by, they stopped, freshly changed.

“I see this is the geek car,” Malfoy said, scanning the compartment.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked, frowning at him. “Did you get lost or something?”

“Ha ha, so funny, Potter,” Malfoy muttered. “I just wanted to make sure the new Head Boy isn’t abusing his powers already, like I’m sure he will.”

Harry snorted in laughter. “That’s your lame excuse? Malfoy, you’re losing your touch. You’re not even remotely insulting.”

“It’s not even worth the time and effort to think of an insult for you anymore, Potter. You’re not worth it. Before long, I doubt you’ll be anything at all.”

“Funny, you ceased to be anything a few years ago! And tell me, did your small brain really have to put that much effort into calling me ‘Potty’ or some other name?” Harry asked sardonically.

“Tell me, how long did you have to cry in front of Dumbledore to become Head Boy?” Malfoy retorted.

“Ooh, touché,” Harry said mockingly.

“Just remember, Potter, you weren’t made Head Boy because of your merits,” Malfoy said.

Before Harry could reply, Hermione rolled her eyes and said scathingly, “As if your particular merits qualify you to be a prefect.”

“And yet I was selected, unlike everyone’s favorite Gryffindor,” Malfoy murmured, and then smirked. “He was passed over for a Weasley.”

Ron flushed a deep red. Harry knew exactly what he was thinking: that Harry was originally supposed to be prefect, but Dumbledore had thought better of it. Ron had discovered this the year before when Harry had accidentally let it slip during a heated argument. Looking back on everything now, with his current problems with Ron, Harry couldn’t help but notice just how many times he and Ron have had dark spots in their friendship.

“Malfoy, if all you want to do is make idle chitchat,” Harry said irritably, “why don’t you go see the people who will at least pretend to be your friends, because we’re not interested.”

Malfoy scowled. “The mere thought of me being friends with a Mudblood, a lunatic, three sorry excuses for purebloods, and you, the poor little orphan who has spent the last six years getting his head filled with delusions on how he is the greatest wizard to ever walk this earth, on how he is the most important person alive and all others are nothing but weak, meaningless individuals who are there only to make sure that he feels good about himself after he causes the deaths of so many around him. You, the person that everyone calls a hero but really should be called a murderer.”

Harry sat, his fists clenched, trying to quell his anger. Hermione, however, stood up. Her hair seemed to crackle with anger and intensity. “Get out,” she said in a low voice. “Get out now.”

Malfoy stared Hermione down, a look of distinct disinterest in his eyes. “Make me, Granger.”

“Oh, Malfoy, stop looking for a fight and go back to your girlfriend,” Ginny said suddenly from her seat. “Let her coo over you since you’re obviously looking for attention. Leave us alone.”

He stared at Ginny for a moment. Then he eyed the others and announced, “You aren’t worth it,” before striding away, Crabbe and Goyle shuffling to join him.

Hermione let out a breath before sitting down and placing her hand over Harry’s still clenched fist. “That foul little cockroach will say anything to rile us up, so let’s just let it go.”

Harry unclenched his fists and let out a sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. How much longer do you think it will take us to get to Hogwarts?”

Hermione looked out the window and studied the landscape as the train sped past it. “I don’t know, but perhaps all of us should change into our robes now so that we don’t have to worry about it later, when everyone else decides to finally change.”

“That’s a good idea,” Ginny said. “We girls can go first while the guys wait.”

It forced everyone into action, the girls pulling their school robes out of their trunks while the boys moved to exit the compartment. Shades were pulled and Harry waited with Ron and Neville. Neville took the moment to talk to Ron about Ginny.

“Look, Ron, I’m really sorry about what happened. I—I didn’t know that it would. One minute we’re talking about that letter I sent her and the next minute I’m blurting out that I fancy her. Then the next minute she’s kissing me and you guys walk in. I—it all happened so fast. I’m sorry,” he finished meekly.

Ron stared at him for a moment. “At least you’re sorry about it,” he muttered.

Neville reddened and Harry felt a huge urge to revive his argument with Ron. Instead, he kept silent. As much as he wanted to defend Neville, he knew that little would be gained by it. Neville wouldn’t be any less afraid to start a relationship with Ginny and Harry’s relationship with Ron would only get even worse. Harry huffed out a breath in frustration and stared down at his shoes.

Soon the girls traded places with the boys and, when they had changed into their robes too, everyone sat back down, eagerly waiting for the train to arrive in Hogsmeade Station. Hermione was fiddling nervously with her Head Girl badge while Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on his knee. Luna was reading The Quibbler for the second time while humming something that sounded vaguely like “Weasley is Our King.” Harry grinned slightly at the thought.

Eventually the train slowed and came to a stop. Harry tried to get a glimpse at Hogwarts from out the window, but it was too dark. Everyone else around them began to grab their things.

“Let’s go quickly so that we can grab a good carriage,” Ginny said, pulling her trunk down from the rack above.

Harry grabbed his trunk, Hedwig, and his two brooms before following behind Hermione, who had her hands full with her trunk, Crookshanks’s basket, and Giles’s cage.

“Do you want me to take one for you, Hermione?” Luna asked.

“Please,” she said and handed Giles over gratefully.

As they exited the train, Harry heard one voice yelling above all the rest and he smiled because of it.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over ‘ere!” Hagrid yelled, waving his lantern in the air. “Firs’ years come forth!”

Harry motioned his head towards Hagrid so that all of them could say hello to the Care of Magical Creatures professor. When they closed in, he yelled, “Hi, Hagrid!”

“Harry!” Hagrid greeted happily. “Great ter see yeh! Ah, an’ Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, and Luna too!”

“How was your summer?” Hermione asked the half-giant.

“Good, good. Kept meself busy,” he told them. “And before I go on, congratulations on yer badges, you two!”

Hermione beamed. “Thank you!”

Harry could feel Ron’s eyes on the back of his head as he murmured his thanks as well. “Did you pick up any new creatures for our classes this year?” he asked Hagrid.

Hagrid shook his head with a smile. “I wouldn’ tell yeh if I did. Now yeh better get into a carriage. Dumbledore be wantin’ ev’ryone ter get ter the castle as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, nodding. “We’ll see you at the feast, Hagrid!”

“Bye!” the others yelled as they took off and made their way towards the carriages.

They selected one of the ones closer to the front of the lineup. As they made ready to get in, Harry saw that the carriage right behind them was being claimed by a few sixth year Slytherins and Blaise Zabini. He was one of the few Slytherins that Harry respected. Zabini looked over and nodded at Harry, who nodded in return.

Nearly everyone was in the carriage. “Come on, you two!” Ginny said from the door. Harry turned to see that Hermione was standing about a meter away from him, staring at the front of the carriages.

“Hermione? Are you…” he trailed off as he took a step towards her and saw what she was looking at.

The ghostly black Thestrals stood, their wings twitching slightly. To this day they creeped Harry out, but it dawned on him that this was Hermione’s first time actually seeing them. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’s amazing,” she said, still staring at them. “I never could have imagined…”

“I know,” he said, guiding her away from them, “but we have to go.”

“They look like skeletons,” she said, climbing into the carriage, Harry following right behind her.

“What look like skeletons?” Ginny asked as they sat down.

“The Thestrals,” Luna replied with a knowing look.

“Oh,” Ginny murmured and fell silent.

The carriage ride was silent for the most part. Harry looked out the window, waiting for his first glimpse of Hogwarts. Eventually he did when they passed they winged boar gates.

“It’s going to be good to be back,” Neville said quietly.

Harry nodded and smiled in agreement and, when they finally arrived outside the large oak front doors, he was the first one out of the carriage, looking up at the castle and sighing contentedly.

Ron stepped up beside him, also taking in the castle’s façade. When Harry heard Ron’s stomach grumble, he chuckled despite the hostilities in their friendship and said, “Let’s get you fed, Weasley.” He thought he saw the shadow of a grin form on Ron’s face, but if there was it was quickly masked.

Neville and Ginny led the way inside. Students were gathering in the entrance hall, finding friends and greeting them. Professor McGonagall, the stern Head of Gryffindor House, was already among them, ushering them into the Great Hall.

“I guess this is where I part ways with you,” Luna said wistfully.

“Thanks for sharing a compartment with us, Luna,” Ginny said.

“Thanks for offering. I’ll see you around,” she said airily and walked off towards the Ravenclaw table.

The rest of them took off for the Gryffindor table. They were one of the firsts to sit down. Harry plopped down next to Hermione while Ron looked rather anxious for the feast to begin.

Harry watched as people walked into the Great Hall. Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown walked in hand-in-hand while Dean Thomas and the Patil twins followed along behind them. Padma said her good-byes quickly and joined the Ravenclaws while the others sat down close to where Harry was sitting. They waved to each other.

Draco Malfoy strode in with Pansy Parkinson trying to hang all over him. Crabbe was right behind them, looking a little moody. They sat down together and Malfoy continued to ignore Pansy, even though she would not give up. Minutes later, Goyle entered with his girlfriend, Millicent Bulstrode.

“I can’t believe those two are still dating!” Ginny said, eyeing them too.

“Slytherins have bad taste,” Ron muttered from beside her, drawing figure eights on the table with his index finger.

Harry grinned at this and then looked up at the staff table. Dumbledore was sitting there in his high backed chair, looking rather pensive. Snape was there, speaking quietly to Professor Sinestra, as was Lupin, who winked at Harry the moment he caught his eye.

Eventually everyone had settled into the Great Hall, talking noisily with their friends. Dumbledore, Harry noticed, was now watching his students. At any moment the first years would be arriving from their trip across the lake. At any moment, Professor McGonagall would talk through the doors leading a long line of nervous-looking children, Harry reflected now. Although at the time he hadn’t wanted to be considered just a child, but in truth, that’s all he had been. He was just eleven years old when he walked into the Great Hall for the first time. He had been an innocent boy, not knowing just what the next seven years would bring. Even now, Harry didn’t know what the final year would bring, but he was ready to find out.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and Professor McGonagall stepped in, the line of first years trailing in behind her. Each of them did look extremely nervous. Harry, along with everyone else in the Great Hall, watched them walk towards the staff table at the front, each of them looking around. Professor McGonagall halted them at the front of the Hall and motioned for them to fan out before retreating to retrieve a four-legged stool and the most peculiar hat in all of wizarding Britain: the Sorting Hat.

The Sorting Hat hadn’t changed a bit since Harry had sat on that school and had it placed on his head, where it whispered in his ear and considered putting him into Slytherin before he had begged not to be. A year later, the hat had told him that he would have done well in Slytherin, but Harry knew otherwise. He belonged in Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall set the stool and the hat, patched and frayed, down and stepped away from it, waiting, as did the rest of the students and staff. Then, the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth and it began to sing:

Darkness has fallen upon us

It affects each and every life

Never before have we felt

Such horrible imminent strife.

Never forget what you will learn

At this magnificent school

Forever will you find it to be

Your greatest tool.

Divided this war has made us

Even though you were once warned

So be wary of the shadows around you

Or you may end up scorned.

The danger is very real

Oh, I kid you not

If you’re not careful

You’ll be part of his fiendish plot.

But there is some hope,

A little ray of light

That if you stay true to Hogwarts

You won’t be in this fight.

The founders four started this school

Wanting to protect those who had great young minds

So that they would never be in danger

Of those unsavory kinds.

Upon this school the four placed

The most powerful of wards

Keeping out such villains

As vampires, Inferi, and Dark Lords.

Gentle Hufflepuff did go first

With her hard-working students

Upon this school those loyal ones placed

A spell this is extremely prudent.

Slytherin did go next

With his pure-blooded students of ambition

To recite his spell really would be

One of my greatest renditions.

The third to go was Ravenclaw

With her students who were very smart

The wand-waving they used to place their spell

Is truly a lost art!

Bold Gryffindor did go last

When the danger was at its gravest

The students he taught so well

Surely were the bravest.

The wards are still in place today

And have held back many a foe

So when you go to bed tonight

Be without woe.

Upon awakening tomorrow morning

Remember my warnings from the past

Continue to be divided

And the Dark Forces will have this school at last!

I may be condemned to split you

Perhaps helping Hogwarts to its end

But if all of you become one spirit

Your rival shall become your friend.

I’ve blabbered on for long enough

That I can see

So first years please do step forth

And I’ll tell you where you ought to be.

When the Sorting Hat finished, everyone applauded, although there was a murmur that ran through the Hall.

“It’s interesting to hear more about the protective spells placed upon this school,” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear. Harry nodded in agreement.

With a stern glare from Professor McGonagall at the front of the Hall, the students fell silent. Then, she unrolled a scroll and began the sorting but calling out, “August, Portia!”

A girl with light blonde hair stepped forward and took a seat on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head and then all of them waited…

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat finally yelled and the Slytherins cheered, welcoming their new member to the table.

The next, a “Beachley, Matthew,” was the first sorted into Gryffindor. Harry cheered loudly with the rest of his House.

And the sorting continued. After “Ryder, Tara” (“GRYFFINDOR!”), it seemed to take forever to get through the first years whose last names started with the letter “S.” Ron groaned continuously. Then the line of “W’s” seemed to take nearly as long as the “S’s.” Even Harry was starting to feel impatient for the feast to begin. Finally, when both “Young, Simon” (“HUFFLEPUFF!”) and “Zeller, Steven” (“RAVENCLAW!”) were sorted, Professor McGonagall took the Sorting Hat and the stool away.

“Finally,” Harry heard Ron mutter under his breath.

Professor Dumbledore stood up next and smiled benevolently down at his students. “Welcome and welcome back,” he said. “I would like to say a few words before we start the wonderful feast that has been prepared for us, as I know your stomachs are rumbling. Those words are: fizzle, noodle, pumice, kumquat! Thank you.”

As he sat back down, Harry had to stifle a laugh. Dumbledore’s welcome had been much like the welcome he had given during Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, when the headmaster had uttered, “Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!”

Harry wasn’t the only one trying to hold in their laughter. Hermione was grinning when she turned to Harry with a bowl of mashed potatoes and offered it to him. Even Ron had a smirk on his face as he dug into the steak and kidney pie sitting in front of him.

“Ah, I have not heard that man so light and cheerful during a welcoming feast since…since the year the Chamber of Secrets was reopened,” said a voice in the vacant spot next to Ron.

They turned—“Hello, Nick,” Harry said, inclining his head towards Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. “How was your summer?”

“Just as delightful as usual,” Nick replied sardonically. “You?”

Harry forced himself not to look at Hermione, but he couldn’t help the grin that lit his face. “Pretty good.”

“Good. It’s nice to know that one of us had a decent summer.” He looked at Ron. “How have you been? All of the ghosts still feel bad about your brother.”

Ron frowned. “It’s been rough,” he said quietly.

“Of course. Of course. I’m sorry I even brought it up,” Nick said and then cleared his throat. “I should probably go introduce myself to our new Gryffindors. Oh, but one more thing before I float away…Harry, Hermione, I must congratulate you both on becoming Head Boy and Girl. We’ve not had two Gryffindor Heads since—my, my—your parents, Harry.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Nick.”

Hermione also offered her thanks and then Nick left them for the first years. Harry went back to his meal, but Hermione was watching the ghost thoughtfully.

“He didn’t mention the Headless Hunt,” she said at last.

“What?”

“Sir Nicholas,” she said. “He didn’t mention the Headless Hunt. Do you think he’s given up?”

“He’s been at it since he died,” Ginny said. “Why would he give up now?”

“Don’t you remember how close he thought he was last year?” Hermione asked her. “That last rejection could have been the last straw.”

Ginny shrugged and went back to her food. Neville, however, was eyeing Dumbledore most curiously. “Did Nearly Headless Nick say that he hasn’t seen Dumbledore this cheerful since our second year?” He gave them all a confused look. “We’re in the middle of a terrible war. Why would Dumbledore be cheerful at all?”

“I was just thinking about that myself,” Harry said, moving peas around his plate with his fork.

“It is a good question,” Hermione agreed. “I would have thought being more solemn would have been more appropriate for this evening, but I imagine Dumbledore is trying to put us at ease.”

“But we shouldn’t be at ease,” Harry said tersely. “Neville’s right—we’re in the middle of a war here. All of us, from the professors to the new first years, should be on high alert for anything strange that happens. Last year alone should have taught us that.”

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly. “I am most interested in hearing the announcements he gives us tonight, and more importantly, how he delivers them.”

“Perhaps he’s happy about the way the war is going,” Ginny suggested. “Let’s face it, even with the number of casualties that have occurred, the Aurors have locked away a lot of Death Eaters and kept some of some attacks from being truly disastrous.”

Neville nodded his head enthusiastically. “That’s it. That must be it.”

“It could, possibly,” Hermione said, “but I’d still like to hear what else Dumbledore has to say before I determine whether or not Sir Nicholas is right about his being ‘cheerful.’”

Dessert was served next and, when everyone was too full to take one more piece of chocolate truffle, the plates were cleared and Dumbledore stood up to address the student body once again.

“I hope that all of you had an excellent meal and are so delightfully stuffed that all you can think about is heading off to bed. I do, however, have several announcements to make that I chose not to give at the beginning of our most wonderful feast. The first of which is that, of course, entering the Forbidden Forest is, as its name suggests, forbidden. The centaurs have informed me that should they catch anyone trespassing in the forest, they will be dealt with in a nasty and most severe way. The second announcement is that Quidditch tryouts this year will be determined solely by Madam Hooch. Captains, please see her to find out when your tryout has been scheduled. Anyone seeking to join their House’s Quidditch team should keep an eye out for an announcement on the bulletin board in their common room.

“Thirdly, Mr. Filch, the school caretaker, wishes for me to remind everyone that all products made by Zonko’s, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and other joke shops are strictly forbidden. Any use of the products will result in several detentions. For a completely listing of forbidden items in Hogwarts, please consult with Mr. Filch’s office door.

“Fourthly, there will only be four trips to Hogsmeade this year, each of which will be chaperoned by Aurors from the Ministry of Magic.” His face turned somber. “Let it be known that it is not wise to attempt to sneak away from the Aurors. They will find you and you will be reported to your Head of House, who will reprimand you as they see fit. Remember that this is being done to ensure your safety, so please do not try to jeopardize yourself.

“Fifthly, the first and sixth years are required to stay after dinner next Monday so that they can be paired up for our mentorship program. I would like to note, however, that this year there are a lot more first years than there are sixth years, so, any sixth year or seventh year, for that matter, willing to mentor more than one student can volunteer by submitting their name to their Head of House.

“And finally, since I know all of you are desperately tired, I would like to announce some of the activities that will take place this year. The first activity, to take place at the end of September, is what I like to call Mentorship Day. On this day, first and second years will spend the day with their mentors. If a mentor has more than one student, then the mentor has the option of either spending a half day with each or spending the whole day with both, allowing both students to get to know each other more as well. There will also be another Mentorship Day towards the end of May. In December, right before the holiday, we will once again hold the Yule Ball. Everyone is invited, of course. In May, we will once again hold our Dueling Contest, so you can start brushing up on your dueling skills now. There is a possible event that may take place in late March, but I will first have the prefects determine whether or not it could be done. As for the exhibition Quidditch match that took place last year, I am afraid to say that it will not return.” A good portion of the student body groaned at that, seeing as they had enjoyed the extra Quidditch match, but Dumbledore held up his hand to silence them. “I know a great many of you enjoyed that match and perhaps it will one day return, but for the moment, it is for the best that it does not.

“Now, I have taken up too much of your time and all of you must be exceedingly weary. Have a pleasant night’s sleep and I look forward to seeing all of you throughout the rest of the year.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville got up with the rest of the student body and shuffled their way to the doors of the Great Hall. Everyone seemed to be talking about Dumbledore’s announcements, including Ginny and Neville. Hermione seemed pensive as they walked along while Ron stayed silent.

Harry led them up the marble staircase. Behind him, Ginny was saying, “I get to be a mentor this year. That’s going to be weird. I hope I don’t get someone who’s whiny.”

“The box will choose someone who shares most of your personality traits,” Hermione told her.

“The box?” Ginny asked, puzzled.

“It’s charmed to select who you’ll mentor,” Hermione explained.

“Oh.”

“Hermione!” called someone from the bottom of the marble stairs. Harry turned around, along with the others, to see Ally Warrick, the second year that Hermione mentored, running up the stairs with Dylan Brown, the boy that Ron mentored, and Hunter Farrell, the boy that Harry was supposed to mentor, running after her.

“Hello, Ally!” Hermione said, smiling. “It’s great to see you.”

“Thanks. It’s great to see you too!” Ally said, grinning. “Hi, Harry! Hi, Ron!”

“Hello,” the two murmured.

Dylan was beaming at all of them. “Hullo!”

They returned the greeting and then offered the same to Hunter, who was usually rather quiet.

“Hi,” Hunter replied back.

“We were wondering what the password is to get into the Gryffindor common room,” Ally said briskly. “The last thing we want is to get stuck outside.”

“Oh! Of course. It’s ‘polka-dot pear.’ Got it?” she asked.

Dylan laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s better than ‘monkey poo,’ isn’t it?”

Hunter snickered, a rare sound from him, and Ally looked up at the others apologetically. “Sorry, it’s an inside joke.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said, grinning. “We have some ourselves, like a bouncing ferret.”

Ron snorted and then coughed in an attempt to cover up his laugh, while the other three chuckled.

“A bouncing ferret?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Don’t ask.”

“Come on,” Hermione said, heading back up the stairs. “Let’s get up to the common room. We’re going to have an exciting day tomorrow and I want to be alert during it.”

Harry caught Ron rolling his eyes at her as they began to follow. He hung back, however, to walk beside Hunter.

“Hey—erm—sorry I didn’t write you over the summer,” he said.

Hunter brushed his apology aside with a simple, “Don’t worry about it. I never took the initiative to write you, so we’re both guilty.”

Harry nodded. “How was your summer?”

“Fine,” Hunter told him. “Mum and I spent a week spent a week visiting my great aunt in Sweden.”

“Did you have fun?”

“She attempted to teach me how to knit,” he said shortly.

“Oh.” He laughed.

“But my mum’s cousin dropped by one day and was able to tell us a bit about how Sweden is trying to get the Quidditch World Cup to hold the finals there. That’s coming up again this summer, you know,” Hunter said happily. “My dad got us tickets to the last one here in Britain. That Krum bloke sure is something, but Ireland killed Bulgaria in Quaffle-handling.”

“How are you feeling about…your dad?” Harry asked quietly.

Hunter frowned. “I’m alright, I guess. I still miss him and all, but it’s not as bad now. Not like before.” Then he changed subjects. “I’m still on the Quidditch team, right?”

Harry let it go. “Of course. You’re a brilliant Chaser. I wouldn’t replace you.”

Hunter smiled. “Good.”

Ahead of them, the others had arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Polka-dot pear,” Hermione announced.

“Welcome back,” the Fat Lady said and swung open to admit them.

Harry followed the others into the common room and yawned.

“It’s incredible how a long train ride, a feast, and the sight of these armchairs can induce sleepiness in a person,” Hermione remarked.

“I’m going up to bed,” Ginny said, heading towards the girls’ dormitories.

“Yeah, me too,” Neville said, taking off in the opposite direction towards the boys’ dormitories.

Ron didn’t say anything, but followed Neville up.

“See you around,” Dylan said as he and Hunter made their way over to the stairs.

“Good night!” Ally said as she, too, left the common room.

Harry looked around. Unfortunately, there were too many people in the common room for him to do what he wanted to do, which was give Hermione a peck on the cheek. Instead he had to settle for a small smile. “I had better follow them up and go to bed.”

“As should I. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Hermione.”

They parted without an embrace, a touch, or even another glance at each other. That was the way it would have to be between them, Harry knew. It was the only way to keep their relationship a secret.

Wearily, Harry walked up to his dormitory which now had a sign on the door that read SEVENTH YEARS and entered. Both his trunk and Hedwig’s cage were sitting in front of his four poster bed, which looked so welcoming as he walked over and collapsed on it. The last time he had slept on that bed didn’t seem all that long ago and he was grateful. Hogwarts had been his home for the past six years. Now he was back for one final year. Before he drifted off to sleep, he secretly hoped that it was his most uneventful.

Author’s Note: I have a feeling that, at the end of this chapter, all of you are going to hate me. My apologies for the horribly evil cliffhanger in advance.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

QUELLING THE STORM

The next morning, Harry felt a dull pain in his scar when he woke up and he squinted as dazzling sunlight hit his eyes. He put on his glasses and looked over at his watch on the nightstand. It was 6:34 a.m. He groaned slightly and rolled over. Everyone else in the dorm was still asleep. Both Ron and Neville snored loudly. He thought he could see Seamus drooling onto his pillow.

He yawned and sat up. It was the first day of classes. He could only imagine what his schedule would be like. He just hoped that he didn’t have Potions first thing. That would completely destroy any idea of having a good first day back.

He crawled out of bed and rooted through his trunk for his school robes and a set of clothes. He left the dorm to shower and when he returned he got dressed. Before venturing down to the common room, he dug through his trunk one last time, finding the pager that Hermione had given him for his birthday. After the previous school year, he thought it was a good idea to keep a lie detector on his person. Hogwarts wasn’t the safest place anymore, especially with a war on.

For extra measure, he grabbed the Marauder’s Map and his invisibility cloak and stuffed them into his bag.

As he walked down the stairs and into the common room, he rubbed his scar absently as it prickled.

Not surprising, Hermione was sitting in the common room, reading one of her text books. She was blessedly alone, so Harry took the opportunity to kiss her on the top of her head from behind.

She gave a startled jump and whirled around. “Oh! Harry, it’s just you.”

“Yes. Why, does anyone else give you a kiss good morning?” he asked with a grin, sitting down next to her.

“Of course not. I just thought somebody was playing a joke,” she said, closing her book and stared at him as he once again rubbed his scar. “What is it?”

“What?” he asked.

She grabbed his wrist and brought his hand away from his forehead. “You’re rubbing your scar. Is it hurting?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“What’s he up to?”

“I—” He frowned. “He’s irritated,” he said, irritated with himself for knowing that.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” He sat back, exasperated. “I don’t mean to be able to read his moods, or his thoughts, Hermione. I’ve been trying to perform Occlumency against him, but it’s hard.”

“I know,” she said. “Just keep trying, that’s all.”

“I will,” he muttered. “But I wonder what he’s irritated about?”

“Don’t,” Hermione said gently. “Let it go. Your scar will stop hurting. Besides, whatever’s irritating him is probably good for us.”

“Probably,” he agreed, then sighed. “Part of me wonders why I had to be the one Voldemort chose for that stupid prophecy.”

She gazed at him for a moment. “I think it’s because he fears you.”

He turned his head sharply towards her. “Fears me?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t fear me. The only person he fears is Dumbledore!” Harry said, looking at her incredulously.

“Yes, but doesn’t the prophecy say, ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches?’ Isn’t that what it said?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s what it says, but you’re forgetting the fact that the prophecy didn’t apply just to me. I’m not the only bloke here at Hogwarts whose parents thrice defied Voldemort and who was born at the end of July.”

“I remember you telling me about Neville,” she said.

“Then why do you believe that he fears me? Why did he choose me in the first place when he could have chose Neville?”

“Because you’re a half-blood, like him,” Hermione said.

He stared at her. “Dumbledore said the same thing to me, kind of. I don’t understand why Voldemort would choose a half-blood over a pureblood.”

“Because it makes you just like him, doesn’t it? And if he, a half-blood, could become the supposed ‘Greatest Wizard of All Time,’ then what could you accomplish? Would you become greater than him?”

“But he had Neville, a pureblood, and he’s all about being pure,” Harry remarked.

“Yes, but since Voldemort isn’t a pureblood, he saw no similarities between himself and Neville. You, however, he did. One Muggle parent, one pureblood parent.”

“My mum was a witch, not a Muggle.”

“But in Voldemort’s eyes she was just the same. Though she was able to use magic, she still came from a Muggle family.

“Your parents must be another reason why you were chosen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps your parents, who defied Voldemort thrice—”

“Like Frank and Alice Longbottom did.”

“Yes, but perhaps all three times your parents defied Voldemort, it was much more serious than what Neville’s parents did.”

“From what I know about Neville’s parents, they were just as brave as mine were. His parents were Aurors.”

“That still doesn’t mean that your parents didn’t do something far more devastating to Voldemort’s plans,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off. Arguing with Hermione over something like that wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“But?”

“Nothing,” he murmured. “It’s a nice morning.”

She turned around and looked out the window at the clear blue sky. “It is.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “For what?”

“For bringing him up.”

She frowned at him. “Harry—”

“No, I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I just want to pay attention to today,” he said. “It’s our first day of classes. You must be excited.”

She let him change the subject. “Of course I am. When am I not?”

He chuckled. “Not in all the time I’ve known you. The first day of class is practically like Christmas for you.”

She smiled at him. “With homework being my presents?”

He snorted. “If you could call them presents. I call them torture devices.”

“This coming from the Head Boy,” she said, scoffing at him. “He who I had to tutor because he wanted to earn higher marks to be eligible for the position that he now holds.”

“I liked the challenge.”

“As did I.”

“Are you saying that helping me to become eligible for Head Boy was a challenge to you?” he asked with a laugh.

“Sure.” Her grin was playful. “I got my chance to try to mold you into a more studious person.”

“Mold me? What am I? Clay?”

She laughed. “I was thinking more like silly putty.”

He gave her a mock hurt look before turning into a lopsided grin. “So I’m silly?”

“You’re something, that’s for sure,” she said with another laugh.

Just then, they heard people on the steps from the girls’ dormitory coming down. Harry scooted away from her just in time for three fifth years to emerge into the common room.

“What were we talking about again?” Harry asked.

“Before or after you called yourself clay?” she asked with a grin.

“Before.”

“Classes.”

“Right. Any preferences on what we have today?”

“Hmm…” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’d love to have Arithmancy today. It is one of my favorite classes.”

“Numbers,” he muttered.

She shot him a look just as Neville came through the door from the boys’ dormitory. He saw Harry and Hermione and sat down near them.

“Morning,” he said with a yawn.

“Good morning, Neville. Sleep well?” Hermione asked.

“Alright. I kept having this weird dream…”

“Weird dream?” Harry asked.

He nodded and turned red. “I—er—it—er—”

“Ginny?” Hermione asked bluntly.

Neville went even redder. “Ron was it in too. He kept chasing me and yelling that if I even looked at her funny, he’d turn me into a toad like Trevor.”

Harry stifled a laugh, while Hermione rolled her eyes. “Believe me, Ron wouldn’t be able to turn you into a toad. He still needs a lot of work in the Human Transfiguration department.”

“So do I,” Neville murmured. “I sure do hope we don’t have Transfiguration right off the bat.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it if we do, Neville,” Hermione told him. “You’ll be fine.”

“What time is it anyway?” Neville asked.

Harry glanced down at his watch. “Just after seven-thirty.”

“Oh. Good, we still have over an hour before we get our schedules,” he said with a sigh of relief.

“Why so nervous this year?” Hermione asked.

“This is N.E.W.T. year. My parents did pretty well on their N.E.W.T.s, but I know I won’t and that will make Gran very mad,” Neville said morosely.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Neville,” Harry said. “You’ve done a lot of things that your gran would be proud of if she knew that you’ve actually done them.”

“Well, maybe if I beat the Great Harry Potter in the Dueling contest and brought home the crown…I’m just joking,” he said hastily, seeing the looks on Harry and Hermione’s faces. “But that’s what it would take, pretty much.”

“I’m not that great,” Harry said. “And for another thing, I’m not the dueling champion—Hermione is.”

“It wasn’t a fair duel,” she muttered. “You were about to win.”

“We held our rematch, I’m sure you remember, and you beat me, fair and square,” he said. “Let’s not go over this again.”

She sighed. “You’ll beat me this year, I’m sure.”

“If I participate,” Harry said.

Neville gasped. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I apparently have a so-called ‘unfair advantage’ that Ron likes to point out,” Harry said.

“Well, you do, don’t you? But why would that stop you?” Neville asked.

“He thinks it wouldn’t be fair to other competitors,” Hermione answered for him.

“I do not,” Harry shot back, annoyed. “I’m not that good.”

Hermione and Neville both scoffed at him just as Ginny emerged from the girls’ dormitory. She walked over to them and planted a kiss on Neville’s cheek, causing him to turn red.

“Good morning,” she said happily.

“Good morning,” Hermione greeted her. “Ready for your first day of N.E.W.T. level courses?”

Ginny groaned. “Oh, you just had to remind me of that, didn’t you?”

“At least you’re not actually taking them this year,” Harry reminded her.

“True,” Ginny agreed. “I guess that means I can tease you lot about them.”

“Meanwhile, we’ll tease you about the heavy workload that you’re not accustomed to but we are,” Harry shot back.

This time Neville groaned. “Please don’t let us have Transfiguration today!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at all of them. “Personally, I’m looking forward to taking my N.E.W.T.s.”

“That’s not a big surprise,” Ginny said. She glanced down at her watch. “Why don’t we head down to the Great Hall? Breakfast will be served soon.”

“Actually,” Harry said, “I was hoping that we could wait for Ron.”

Ginny scowled. “That git? He won’t be in any better mood today than he has been all summer, Harry. You might as well forget it.”

Before Harry could retort, the door to the boys’ dormitory opened and Ron stepped out. He took one glance at the four of them, then walked out of the common room.

“You see?” Ginny said. “A git.”

“Why is he so angry anyway?” Neville asked. “What’s going on between him and Harry?”

Harry grimaced. He didn’t want to lie to Neville, but it was the only way to keep his relationship with Hermione a secret. Luckily, Ginny stepped in.

“The Head Boy badge, of course,” she said. “Certainly you know how competitive he is. Since Bill and Percy were Head Boy, he’s just trying to be better than them. Impossible, though, considering what he got on his O.W.L.s. He’s just jealous that Harry got the badge instead of him.”

Neville looked rather disconcerted. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I think that Harry is more qualified to be Head Boy anyway. I think most people would agree with me, too.”

Harry frowned. “Don’t tell that to Ron.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t,” Neville told him. “It’s just how I think.”

“Come on, let’s follow the git down to the Great Hall,” Ginny said. “You know, for his sake, I hope he has Transfiguration today!”

Neville groaned again as the four of them headed towards the portrait hole.

*****

Breakfast was eaten quickly while the group chatted about the upcoming day. To Harry’s dismay, Ron did not join them; instead, he elected to eat with Seamus and Dean, who were sitting with Lavender and Parvati.

Hermione sighed and gave Harry a sad look, which he reciprocated.

Soon, Professor McGonagall was sweeping up and down the Gryffindor table handing out schedules. Ginny received hers first and sighed.

“Double Muggle Studies first thing. You’d think that since it’s an elective they wouldn’t have you spend so much time in there, like Care of Magical Creatures,” she said.

“How much of a certain class you have depends on what field you’re going into,” Hermione told her.

“Well, I suppose becoming an Obliviator would require some knowledge about Muggles,” Ginny said.

“You want to become an Obliviator?” Harry asked her.

She nodded. “It sounded like an interesting job when I read about it.”

He turned to Neville. “You’re going into Herbology, of course?”

“I’m not good at anything else,” Neville murmured.

“Nonsense,” Ginny replied as she got up. “I’d better run.”

As she left, Professor McGonagall gave Harry, Hermione, and Neville their schedules for the year.

“Thank Merlin,” muttered Neville after Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. “No Transfiguration today.”

“Herbology and then double Charms,” Harry said, looking down at his schedule. Then he groaned. “And then double Potions after lunch.”

“Well, at least we get to put off seeing Snape until this afternoon,” Hermione said. “Come on, we had better get our things and head to the greenhouses.”

*****

Things were very awkward during that first class of the day. Ron walked in about two minutes after Harry, Hermione, and Neville did. He looked around but saw that everyone had already paired themselves up—everyone save Harry, Hermione, and Neville. Grudgingly, he headed over to the three of them.

“I’ll work with him today,” Hermione whispered.

“If he’ll let you,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Hi, Ron,” Hermione said when he joined their group.

He said nothing; instead, he leaned back against the glass wall of the greenhouse.

Professor Sprout came in then, wearing her usual patched hat. “Good morning seventh years! Welcome back!” she said, beaming.

“Good morning Professor Sprout,” they replied back in unison.

“It’s your last year at Hogwarts, so that means that you’re going to be working with the most dangerous and the most intriguing plants in the world, right here in these greenhouses,” Professor Sprout said. “I hope you all brought your dragon hide gloves with you today, because we’re going to be working with a highly poisonous plant!”

Everyone looked at each other warily and looked down at the big green and pink shrubs sitting on the floor before them.

“Can anyone tell me what this is?” Professor Sprout asked. Hermione, as expected, shot her hand into the air. “Miss Granger?”

“They’re elapid oleanders,” Hermione answered. “The flowers look like any ordinary oleander, but its distinctive thick round leaves give it away.”

Harry eyed the green leaves, thinking them to look a smooth snake.

“Excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor,” Professor Sprout said, causing Hermione to get looks of approval from her fellow housemates. “Indeed, this is the elapid oleander. Every single bit of it is poisonous. A tiny touch on the fingertip can cause a fever. Grabbing hold of one is fatal.

“As you can see, mine are getting rather big. What we are going to do today is prune them. The proper pruning shears are on the table over there. Partner up, grab some shears, pull on your dragon hide gloves, and start pruning.”

As decided, Hermione walked over to Ron. Harry heard her request to work with him and saw Ron’s noncommittal shrug. Shaking his head, Harry walked over to the table with Neville to pick up the pruning shears.

The work wasn’t all that difficult, Harry decided when he was well into pruning his shrub with Neville. Neville, meanwhile, seemed to take great joy out of taking care of the plant. Harry could have sworn that he heard him whispering to it once or twice.

Professor Sprout halted them about five minutes before the bell would ring to single the end of class.

“Don’t touch the outside of your gloves,” she warned them. “They’ll need to be washed thoroughly before the next class!”

Harry carefully pulled off his gloves and followed everyone out of the greenhouses when the bell rang. Instantly, Hermione appeared at his side.

“How did working with Ron go?” he asked her.

“Very quietly. He wouldn’t say a word to me,” she said sadly.

“That’s no big surprise.” He sighed. “I’ll work with him in Charms.”

“Okay,” she murmured as they entered back into the castle.

Harry didn’t have much luck with Ron either while Professor Flitwick had them doing review over some of the more complicated spells they had learned the previous year. Even when Harry had to rap Ron hard on the head with his wand to perform the Disillusionment Charm he didn’t say anything, although Ron rapped him harder on the head when it was his turn.

All of Harry’s problems with Ron, however, escaped his mind when he and Hermione arrived down in the gloomy dungeons for Potions.

When Snape opened the door, he barked out a quick, “Enter,” and watched all of his students file into the room.

“Get out your cauldrons and equipment,” Snape ordered as he marched up to the front of the classroom, his black cloak billowing around him. “I’ve spent my summer concocting a particularly nasty poison. You will spend this entire period making its antidote. At the end of class, I will pour the poison down one of your throats and we’ll see if your antidote works. Do I make myself clear?”

The seventh years glanced around at each other with worried expressions on their faces. Even the Slytherins looked concerned.

Hermione raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” Snape muttered.

“Sir, how will we know which antidote to make if we don’t know what poison you’ve made?” she asked.

A vicious smile spread across his face. “You’ll use these,” he said, tapping the board with his wand, “to help you decipher which poison I’ve made.” White chalky writing scrawled across the board at his tap, which said:

It takes two moons to finish this potion

Once administered a series of events are in motion

Starting with a numb feeling all over

(Perhaps this hints that your antidote will need clover)

Followed up with trouble breathing

You may think your life is leaving

But don’t despair

The poison only impairs

It does not kill

It only makes you still.

Solve this riddle and you will find

Which antidote I have in mind

I’d start on it now if I were you

Certainly by now you’ve gotten a clue!

“One last thing,” Snape said lazily. “You are not allowed to use your books until I see that you are preparing yourself to make the antidote, and, even then, you may only use the Antidote section of your text.”

Harry felt himself blanch as he quickly reread what Snape had written on the board. Beside him, Hermione was whispering the riddle over to herself furiously, her brow crinkled in heavy thought as she bit her bottom lip.

It takes two moons to finish this potion. Well, okay, how many potions did Harry know of that took two months to make? He thought about it for a moment, trying to think of all the potions he knew, but his mind went blank.

Scowling at himself, he went on.

Once administered a series of events are in motion. That line was particularly useless.

Starting with a numb feeling all over. So the potion causes numbness.

Great deduction there, Harry, he thought to himself irritably.

(Perhaps this hints that your antidote will need clover). Ah, now that was getting somewhere. One of his ingredients was clover.

Followed up with trouble breathing. Perhaps the numbness affects the lungs?

You may think your life is leaving. One’s breathing is impaired so much that one thinks that they will suffocate.

But don’t despair. People shouldn’t despair that they’re not breathing?

The poison only impairs. Is that supposed to mean it won’t cause death?

It does not kill. Guess not.

It only makes you go still. So a person can’t move after taking the poison?

Beside him, Hermione’s eyes had gone wide and she set to the task of setting up her equipment. Grabbing her book, she rifled through her bag and started to take out ingredients, including clover. Harry eyed her wistfully, wishing that he could read her mind.

He went back to the task at hand. So, he needed to think of a poison that doesn’t kill but causes numbness to the point that a person can’t move.

He frowned and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione glance at him with a look of apprehension. She got out a notebook and started to jot down little notes before scribbling something in the corner of her page. When she was finished, she set the notebook off to the side, right in Harry’s eyesight.

Paralyzed

There was his answer. The Paralysis Poison, a poison Snape had taught them the previous year. Once taken, it immediately caused the drinker to feel numb and then slowly stopped the brain from being able to control muscles, including the diaphragm, which helps the lungs.

Harry shuddered. Snape was going to pour that down somebody’s throat.

He quickly set to work, clearing a spot for him to chop up some gurdy roots that he saw that Hermione was already chopping.

As he opened his book to the Antidotes section, he felt a pair of eyes on him and looked up to see Snape staring at him, a look of disgust on his face. Harry ignored him and found the antidote to the Paralysis Poison before getting to work.

He chopped up his gurdy roots and clover as the book told him to before dropping them into his cauldron and setting it on a low heat. A human hair, five milliliters of water, and two toad eyes that Harry had to squish with his knife were added into the cauldron next before the antidote called for a pounded up bezoar.

He didn’t have a bezoar.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “d’you have an extra bezoar I can use?”

“No,” she whispered back. “I just used the only one I had. I’m sorry. They aren’t usually used in actual antidotes for poisons because of their uncanny ability to take care of almost anything poisonous. I guess you’ll have to ask Professor Snape for one.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, setting down his knife.

He walked up to the front of the room where Snape was sitting, fingering through a large potions book. “Er—Professor Snape?”

Snape glanced up. “No, Potter, I will not tell you the answer to my riddle.”

A couple of Slytherins snickered behind him.

“I already know the answer to your riddle,” Harry said sharply. “I was wondering if I could get a bezoar.”

“I highly doubt that you were able to answer the riddle all on your own,” Snape said snidely, his eyes turning to Hermione, who looked away. “And you should have bezoars in your stocks seeing as this class will mainly deal with poisons this year, Mr. Potter, but I know that you lack the ability to think ahead, so naturally you don’t have them.”

Harry’s face was turning red, yet he said nothing. The Slytherins were still snickering behind him.

“Very well, Potter, I’ll give you a bezoar, but first, answer this question: what does a bezoar actually do?”

Again, Hermione had saved him. “It can save people from most poisons,” he answered.

“Everyone here knows that, Potter. How does it save people from most poisons?” Snape asked, his eyes glinting maliciously.

Okay, maybe she hadn’t saved him. He thought about it for a moment, but he knew nothing about what caused a bezoar to be so beneficial against poisons. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Snape smirked. “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, Potter.”

“But—”

“Go sit down, Potter. It looks like you won’t finish whatever antidote you were creating,” Snape said.

Harry turned furiously on his heel and marched back to his seat where he sat down and stared at his now bubbling cauldron, wanting to pick it up and launch it at Snape’s head.

Next to him, Hermione had her finger on a page in her book and then went off to the student store cupboard behind them. Harry heard a small gasp come from her and when she returned, she set a small kidney-shaped stone down in front of him.

“Apparently somebody accidentally put this in the student cupboard instead of Snape’s private stock,” she whispered excitedly. “You’ve got your bezoar.”

His smile was bright when he turned to her. He wanted to hug her but had to refrain. It could wait.

He set to work immediately on pounding up the bezoar. A triumphant feeling swept over him as he saw Snape watching him while he dropped it in.

“I hope you haven’t tried to substitute the bezoar for something else, Potter,” Snape said from his desk.

“No, sir,” Harry said happily. “I guess I just misplaced the bezoar I already had.”

Hermione almost laughed, but caught herself, causing Harry to grin at her.

Snape glowered from behind his desk and went back to reading his potions book.

Another half and hour passed before Snape stopped them. “By now, whatever antidote you’ve been making should be done because, while it may have taken me two months to make this poison, the antidote can be made in an hour. Now, let’s see how you did.”

He walked around the classroom, examining everyone’s antidotes. Hermione’s was a pale blue while Harry’s was more of a sky blue. Snape glanced down at Harry’s antidote and smirked. “Let’s try yours, Potter.”

Harry didn’t twitch. He had expected this.

“First, someone tell me what poison I made,” Snape said.

Hermione’s hand shot into the hair beside Harry. He ignored her.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m sure you can tell me,” Snape said.

“The Paralysis Poison,” Malfoy murmured nonchalantly.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy. Usually he was pretty enthusiastic about Potions because he loved how Snape favored him. But instead of the glee in Malfoy’s eye that usually accompanied his chance to outdo the Gryffindors, he looked rather apathetic.

“Very good. Ten points to Slytherin,” Snape said. He turned back to Harry. “And what antidote did you make?”

“The antidote to the Paralysis Poison,” Harry replied.

“We shall see,” Snape sneered. He took out a ladle and scooped some of Harry’s antidote into a crystal phial. Then he pulled out another crystal phial from his robes. In it was a dark green liquid. He uncapped it and held it out to Harry. “Drink it.”

Harry begrudgingly took the phial from his hand and, raising it to his lips, drank the contents in one gulp.

The reaction was almost instant. He couldn’t feel his fingertips, even when he touched them to one another. Even worse, he couldn’t feel his legs and wondered how it was that he was still standing.

Five seconds later, they went out, but Hermione caught him and helped him to the floor. It was then that he started having trouble breathing.

“Professor Snape! Give him the antidote!” Hermione shrieked.

Snape scowled. “Oh, very well,” he said as Harry started gasping for air.

Hermione took the phial from the professor’s outstretched hand and tipped the contents into Harry’s open mouth. “Swallow it,” she ordered.

He did and took as deep of a breath as he could, his lungs aching. Then, as though a light switch were being turned on, his nerves started working once again and he felt as though a million tiny needles were being poked into his skin everywhere. He gasped in shock and discomfort.

“Harry?”

“I think I’m going to be okay,” he told Hermione.

She helped him back up, but he winced as he did so. “It feels like I have needles driving themselves into my body.”

“Well, if you had made your antidote perfectly you wouldn’t have had that affect,” Snape remarked snidely from beside the two. “Everyone except Potter, fill a phial with your antidote, label it, and put it on my desk. Then clean up and leave. Class dismissed.”

Harry took out his wand and pointed it at his cauldron. “Evanesco,” he said while Hermione ladled up some of her antidote and put it in a phial. His sky blue concoction disappeared, allowing him to pack everything up and wait for Hermione to finish.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hermione asked him as they left the dungeons.

“Yeah. I don’t even feel like I’m being poked anymore,” he said. “Thanks for helping me.”

“I knew he was going to poison you,” she said bitterly.

“Yeah, so did I. I think Let’s Poison Harry is his favorite game,” he said with an equal amount of bitterness in his voice.

As they walked up the stairs leading into the entrance hair, Harry caught sight of Ron and Ginny, the first resolutely ignoring whatever it was the second one was trying to talk to him about.

Hermione sighed.

“What can we do about him, Hermione?” Harry asked her. “We’ve given him time, but it’s not working. If anything, he seems to be getting angrier.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. Instead, she marched along ahead of him on a path to intercept Ron and Ginny. Harry quickened his steps to keep up with her.

“Could I speak to you?” Hermione asked Ron when she caught up to them.

Ron jumped at the sound of her voice. “Er—what about?” he asked in shock.

“I think you know,” she said. She glanced at both Harry and Ginny. “And I’d like to speak to you alone.”

Ron looked around and then shrugged, his indifferent composure coming back to him. “Fine,” he said blandly. “Where?”

“Come with me,” she said, leading Ron up the marble staircase, leaving Harry and Ginny at the bottom.

Ginny stared at him. “What was that all about?”

“I think she’s about to knock some sense into him,” Harry said evenly.

Ginny’s eyes brightened. “Really? That ought to be entertaining.”

“Not literally,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, that takes all the fun out of it. But still, it sounds like something we wouldn’t want to miss.”

He eyed her. “Are you suggesting that we eavesdrop on them?”

She had that famous Weasley mischief in her eyes as she put her hand into her pocket and pulled out two Extendable Ears. “Maybe. Got your invisibility cloak?”

“Maybe.”

She grinned as he pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his bag. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Boy am I, he thought to himself, imaging the amount of trouble he would be in if Hermione found out about what he was about to do.

He looked down at the map and examined it. Finally, he found Ron and Hermione heading towards an empty classroom on the third floor. “This way,” he told Ginny as he set off, taking the stairs two at a time.

When they reached the third floor, Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak and covered it over the two of them while they tiptoed over to the door that the Marauder’s Map said Ron and Hermione were behind. Ginny handed him an Extendable Ear and, with many misgivings, soon he was listening to Ron and Hermione’s conversation with Ginny beside him.

“Look Ron,” Hermione was saying, “I know that you feel as though Harry betrayed you.”

“He did betray me,” Ron bit out. “He manipulated me into thinking something that’s not true.”

“Did he? Are you sure about that?” Hermione asked.

“Abso-bloody-lutely.”

“Fine then. I’ve heard Harry’s side of the story about your Easter holiday conversation. Tell me yours,” she said reasonably.

There was a pause. “I had come up to Harry to talk to him about something. He had told me about the prophecy that day and it got me thinking that time is short, so I should quit screwing around and do something I’ve wanted to do. So I went to him for advice.”

“Shall I assume that this ‘something’ was finally telling me that you fancy me?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Well, I told him that I wanted to tell a girl that I fancied her and he told me to go for it, but when I told him it was you, it’s like he backtracked. He asked me if I really fancied you, as if he couldn’t believe it. Or he didn’t want to. He told me that we should think things through before I told you that I fancy you. And then he asked me questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yeah, like ‘Is there anyone else I may have feelings for?’ or ‘How do you really feel about Hermione?’ and some other rot like that.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And how did you answer?”

“Well, I kind of told him that I was confused about another girl. I really didn’t know how I felt about her.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron spat. “It was just part of his web of manipulation.”

“And how do you really feel about me?” she asked him. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that I care about you, and I do!” he said heatedly. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

“And you think that Harry would?” she asked him.

There was a long pause. “No.”

“What else did he say to you?” Hermione asked.

“He said we bicker like siblings. He said that the way I feel about you has nothing to do with actually fancying you; that I’ve confused my brotherly feelings for you as something different.”

“You think he’s wrong,” she said.

“I think he was lying so that he could have you without feeling guilty.”

“Ron,” she said gently, “think about that for a moment. Does that sound like something Harry would do?”

There was another long pause. “No.”

“Harry loves you, Ron. You’re like a brother to him. He would not sacrifice your friendship to meet his own selfish ends. Deep down, you know that.”

Just then, Neville walked past them, completely unaware.

“Damn,” Ginny whispered. “I’ve been waiting to talk to him.” With a sigh, she pulled her Extendable Ear up and, when the coast was clear, ducked out from underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. “Let me know how it ends,” she said as she slunk away.

He didn’t say anything, because Ron was in the process of saying something to Hermione.

“But what about my feelings toward you?” he asked.

“I love Harry,” Hermione told him, “and I have for a long time.”

“Have you ever even given me a thought?” Ron asked her.

“Once or twice,” she admitted, “when I found out about Cho.”

“So then you do feel at least something for me,” Ron said.

“Harry’s right about us,” she said doggedly. “We’re like siblings. We quarrel like siblings.”

“How sure are you about that?”

“Don’t try to test me, Ron. I don’t have feelings for you, I’m sorry.”

“Prove it.”

“And just how would you have me do that?”

There was yet another pause, but this time it was much shorter. “Kiss me.”

An audible gasp came from Hermione. “You can’t be serious.”

“It would be a definitive test for the both of us,” Ron said. “If neither of us feels anything, then we don’t fancy each other and Harry was right all along, but if one of us does…or even both of us do…”

“Stop it,” Hermione snapped. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? You’re one-hundred percent certain that you only have feelings for Harry? That you only love Harry?”

“Yes.”

“So then, if I were to kiss you, you’d obviously feel nothing, but it would still be a good test for me.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, Ron.”

“Why not? You want to end this spat the three of us are having, right? You want to prove me wrong and Harry right, don’t you? It’s just an innocent kiss. By denying it you seem like you have something to hide.”

“I don’t have anything to hide, Ron. I just don’t want to…” she trailed off.

“Want to what?” he asked.

“Betray Harry,” she said in such a whisper that Harry had to strain to hear her.

They were both silent for a long moment. “I wouldn’t tell him, even if I did feel something for you,” Ron said quietly.

“I—I—There must be another way!”

“Can you think of one?” he asked her.

This time there was an extremely long pause. Hermione must have been frantically thinking about another option. Finally, there was a long sigh. “No.”

His heart clenching, Harry heard the footfalls of Hermione stepping closer to Ron.

“We do this quickly,” she said, “and if I feel your tongue, I will hex you into next year.”

“No tongue, I promise,” Ron said.

There was a horrible silence then and Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He yanked the Ear up and fled.

Author’s Note: It has been far too long and I do apologize deeply for leaving all of you hanging with such a nasty cliffhanger. I never expected that it would take this long to post another chapter. Really, I mean it, I am terribly sorry. But this is the last time I’m apologizing. I’m not letting anything get in my way anymore. I don’t have classes, which means I don’t have any papers to keep me preoccupied. I will admit that this chapter was completed months ago and I am a few chapters ahead, but due to certain reasons I couldn’t update. Now I’m tossing those reasons aside. I’m a girl on a mission and I will complete what I’ve started. I thank all of you who have been giving me reviews, even the “hurry up already!” ones. It’s nice to know that this fic hasn’t been completely forgotten about by you, the reader. So, with all that said, it’s finally time to find out what happens after the gag-worthy cliffhanger.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DUMBLEDORE’S REQUEST

Back in the common room, Harry wondered if he was going to hyperventilate. He sat in a chair in the corner of the room with his head down between his knees, breathing heavily. His fellow Gryffindors passed him with concerned looks on their faces.

He didn’t know what to do, what to think. Hermione…Ron…kissing…

No, don’t think about it, Harry, don’t.

But he couldn’t help it. His mind was dominated by it. The idea…the mental image of Hermione stepping closer, hesitant but determined to prove Ron wrong…

A wave of anger washed over him. That bastard. That prick. He gave Hermione that ultimatum! All of this was his fault! And Hermione! She actually gave in! She’d rather kiss another man behind Harry’s back to keep their friendship together than let things go their course!

Suddenly, just as it came, the anger vanished. Yes, Ron was a bastard to give Hermione such an ultimatum, but she was probably desperate not to let go of their friendship with Ron. He was the first person Harry had befriended at Hogwarts and she knew how important he was to Harry.

Ron.

Because Ron felt betrayed by Harry, he tried to betray him just the same. The sad thing was, Harry realized with a twisting feeling in his gut, he could understand where Ron was coming from. He wasn’t quite sure that he, Harry, wouldn’t do the exact same thing if he were in Ron’s shoes.

Then there was his own dishonestly to deal with. He had willingly followed Ginny to eavesdrop on Ron and Hermione. He knew better, but he did it anyway. He was just as to blame as them.

That realization made him feel sick.

“Hiya Harry!” someone said suddenly, causing Harry to jump. “Oh, sorry,” Colin Creevey said, placing his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Snape experimented on me in Potions…gave me a poison,” Harry said, giving only a half-truth.

Colin shuddered. “Is that what I have to look forward to this year?”

“Afraid so,” Harry said.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re all pale and clammy,” Colin said. “Maybe you should go to the infirmary.”

“No, no, I took the antidote, I should be fine,” Harry said. “I don’t have to go to the Hospital Wing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Colin looked around. “Where are Ron and Hermione? I think they should see you.”

At the mention of their names, he recoiled. “I don’t know,” he said.

As if being summoned, Ron and Hermione walked into the common room. When Hermione’s eyes found his, they widened as she rushed over to him. “Harry! What’s wrong?”

“He says Snape poisoned him in class, but he said he’ll be alright,” Colin told her.

“But you didn’t look like this when we left class,” she said, “and I’m sure there aren’t any side effects to the antidote.”

“Remember Snape said mine was slightly flawed,” Harry reminded her, feeling only slightly guilty for lying to her.

Ron stepped up to him with concern in his eyes. “Mate, I think you ought to get to the Hospital Wing and have Madam Pomfrey check you out.”

“That’s what I told him,” Colin said.

Harry stared at Ron in shock. He had called him “mate.”

“Okay,” Harry said, even though he knew that he really didn’t have to go.

Both Ron and Hermione accompanied him to the Hospital Wing, but, as Harry predicted, Madam Pomfrey could find nothing wrong with him. She was outraged, though, at the idea of a professor poisoning his own students. “It’s preposterous!” she cried. “I’m going to have a word with the headmaster.”

Throughout the entire visit, Hermione had sat by his side, holding his hand, while Ron hovered about nervously. When Harry was allowed to leave, Ron cracked his knuckles menacingly as they walked back to the common room. “I’d like to have a word with Professor Snape myself, poisoning my friends…”

Harry stopped abruptly, his eyes on Ron. Ron looked down and shuffled his feet.

Hermione checked her watch. “Merlin, I’m going to be late for Ancient Runes!” she cried and rushed off, but not before giving Harry a kiss on the cheek in the deserted hallway.

Harry continued to stare at Ron, who continued to shuffle his feet.

Finally Ron cleared his throat and looked Harry in the eye. “I’m—er—I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a great big prick towards you and Hermione these past few weeks. You don’t deserve it and…I’m happy for the two of you.”

Harry blinked. “You are?” He didn’t know whether or not he wanted to punch him or to hug him.

Ron nodded. “You were right. You were right all along. She is nothing more than a sister to me.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t felt anything when they kissed.

“She really does love you, y’know,” Ron went on. “I’m nothing more than a brother to her. Somehow you captured her heart instead of becoming a brother to her too.”

And neither had Hermione. A great weight had been lifted from Harry’s shoulders and he felt his anger with both of them fade away, although there still was a slight urge to punch Ron for kissing his girlfriend.

Ron fidgeted. “So—er—are we still—”

“Yes,” Harry said, cutting him off. “You’ll always be my best mate.”

It was better, Harry decided, to leave things be. After all, if he punched Ron, it would give away the fact that he had been eavesdropping on them.

Ron smiled. “Cool.” He gestured down the hallway. “Come on, let’s go enjoy the weather outside before dinner.”

*****

The first week of classes ended with a pile of homework for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the latter of whom received a large essay to do over the weekend in Arithmancy. Yet on Saturday morning, after breakfast, the three of them walked over to Hagrid’s hut to hear about their friend’s summer.

“Well, crikey,” Hagrid said when asked, “Dumbledore had me take a special trip after…Percy’s ceremony.”

“Where to?” Ron asked eagerly.

“He had me travel ter Romania ter visit the dragon refuge,” Hagrid said excitedly. “Since yer brother Charlie’s still here in Britain and all.”

“What kinds of dragons did you see, Hagrid?” Harry asked him.

“Well, there were about a two dozen Romanian Longhorns. They’re native, yeh know. And there were three Ukrainian Ironbellies! Oh, and a Chinese Fireball! And, o’ course, yer personal favorite, Harry, a Hungarian Horntail,” Hagrid said.

“Was it the same one?” Harry asked.

“I think it might ‘ave been. But do yeh know what else I saw?” Hagrid asked them.

“What?” the three of them asked.

“I SAW NORBERT!” he boomed happily, causing Fang the boarhound to jump.

“Norbert?” Ron said. “You mean that Norwegian Ridgeback that bit me?”

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. “He’s a big fella now. And he looked happy.” He sniffed as his eyes watered. “I’m glad he went there.”

“Oh, dear,” Hermione said, jumping up. “Let me make you some tea, Hagrid.”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m happy fer ‘im. I’m happy that Norbert’s happy.”

“So why did Dumbledore want you to go to the dragon refuge in Romania?” Harry asked.

“Ter make sure nobody’s bin tamperin’ with those beautiful beasts. Ter make sure nobody’s bin stealin’ them fer You-Know-Who’s army,” Hagrid said.

“You-Know-Who’s army!” Ron exclaimed. “You-Know-Who wants dragons for his army? What for?”

“Well, it’s a lot easier to destroy and entire town with one dragon than it is with a bunch o’ Death Eaters or vampires,” Hagrid said. Then he glanced at Harry. “Is it true yeh had a dream where You-Know-Who was wantin’ some Inferi?”

Harry nodded. “He sent Wormtail and another Death Eater out after them.”

Ron shuddered. “Inferi…I’ve heard stories.”

“I’ve seen ‘em,” Hagrid said in a low voice. “During the last war, I saw ‘em. Scary creatures, that’s what they are. They like to eat flesh, like cannibals. Dead cannibals. The world’s not goin’ ter get any better anytime soon if there’s Inferi runnin’ loose.”

“How do you stop them?” Harry asked.

“Yeh have ter reverse the spell that resurrected them,” Hagrid said. “But usually, that requires a sacrifice, as it requires a sacrifice just ter resurrect them.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” Harry asked.

“Most common is blood,” Hagrid replied.

“So you have to kill something to bring back the dead?”

“No, no, not that big of a blood sacrifice,” Hagrid said. “It’s more like yeh have to slice open your arm and let yer blood drip until the Inferi start poppin’ out o’ the ground.”

“Merlin,” Ron whispered. “You’ve got to do something like that just to force them back into the ground?”

“Might,” Hagrid said. “Dumbledore knows more about this than me. Yeh should ask him sometime. The less I ‘ave to think about Inferi, the happier I am.”

“Yes, I agree,” Hermione said. “Although we have to be concerned about it. Hopefully Wormtail fails at his task.”

“Hopefully,” Harry agreed.

*****

The following Monday, while he, Ron, and Hermione were walking down to breakfast, a third-year Hufflepuff ran up to them and nervously thrust a piece of rolled up parchment into Harry’s hand.

“What was that all about?” Ron asked, watching the third year rush away.

“I dunno,” Harry said, unrolling the parchment as they continued on their way. He stopped suddenly. “It’s from Dumbledore!”

“Dumbledore? Does he want to talk to you about Snape poisoning you?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know. Let me read it first,” Harry said.

Harry,

Could you please come up to my office at 8:00 tomorrow evening?

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Have you ever tried a vanilla wafer?

Ron, who was reading the note over his shoulder, made a face. “Why does he want to know if you’ve ever tried a vanilla wafer?”

“It’s his password,” said Harry with a grin as they started walking again.

“Oh. Yeah.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. “I wonder why he wants to speak to you.”

“Maybe it is to talk to me about Snape,” Harry said.

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. “But Snape obviously would have had the correct antidote made beforehand in case something went wrong.”

“Are you sure he’d use it on me?” Harry asked her.

“If he values his job, he would have.”

“I don’t think he values much of anything,” Ron said. “We are talking about a Death Eater here.”

“A former Death Eater, Ron,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore trusts him, even if he is a huge sleazebag.”

“I don’t trust him,” Harry said. He started down the marble staircase to the entrance hall. “I’d like to know why Dumbledore does. What did Snape do to gain his trust?”

“Perhaps it’s none of our business,” Hermione suggested.

“Why are you defending the slime ball all of a sudden?” Ron demanded.

“I’m defending Dumbledore,” she said, “and his decisions.”

“But it started out as a defense of Snape with that whole ‘he obviously would have had the correct antidote made beforehand’ gunk,” Ron said.

“That’s not defending him; that’s making logical inference,” she said.

“Logical my ass!”

“Mr. Weasley!”

They froze and turned around. Behind them was Professor McGonagall making her way down the stairs.

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” Ron said mildly.

“Don’t ‘good morning, Professor McGonagall’ me, Mr. Weasley. I heard that foul utterance come out of your mouth. You know perfectly well that we will not tolerate such language here and as a prefect I would have hoped that you would show a better example for the students. Five points from Gryffindor,” she said sternly. “I had better not hear you say such things again.”

“No, ma’am,” he said sheepishly as she walked away.

Harry snorted in laughter. “Good one, Weasley.”

“Shut up, Harry,” he muttered, but there was a smirk on his face.

“You two are hopeless,” Hermione said and continued down the steps.

“And yet she still hangs out with us,” Ron pointed out, causing Harry to laugh.

*****

That evening after dinner, when Harry and Ron got up to leave, Hermione continued to sit, waiting.

“Erm—Hermione? Are you coming with us?” Harry asked.

She shook her head. “No. I’m waiting for the mentorship ceremony.”

“The what?” Ron looked down at her, appalled. “You’re going to mentor another one of those midgets?”

“Will you stop calling them midgets?” she asked irritably. “And for your information, yes, I am going to mentor another student. Dumbledore asked people to volunteer to take on more than one.”

“What’s wrong with the one you already have—Ally?” Ron asked. “I thought you liked her.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Ally is a great person. I swear she’s like my younger self. She’s got a good head on her shoulders and doesn’t need that much guidance, really.”

“Does she know that you’re going to mentor someone else?” Harry asked. “Is she mad?”

“Yes, she does. I asked her about it before I made the decision to volunteer. But you two are making it sound like I’m not going to be her mentor anymore. I am. I’m just also going to mentor a first year too,” Hermione said. “It’s a shame the both of you didn’t sign up to take on another student.”

“I’ve got Dylan. That’s enough,” Ron said.

Harry shrugged. “I never thought about it, really. I’m not that great of a mentor anyway. I don’t think Hunter’s gotten anything useful out of me.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong there,” Hermione said. “He looks up to you.”

“I don’t see how.” People were starting leaving the Great Hall en masse. “Look, we’d better go,” he said. “Good luck. Hopefully you’ll get another one like Ally.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

When he and Ron exited the Great Hall, Ron shook his head. “Another midget. Let’s hope this one doesn’t go trotting off to the Forbidden Forest like our other three charges.”

Harry winced at the thought, the echo of Lupin’s werewolf claws ripping into his body still lingered. “Yes, hopefully she gets someone who’s not brave enough to venture in there.”

They traveled up the steps, turned down a corridor, and then walked up another set of steps that were concealed behind a large tapestry of a roguish-looking wizard riding a dragon, his wand held high as if he were charging an enemy.

“I don’t get why Hermione feels like she should mentor another person,” Ron said.

“She’s just trying to help,” Harry said.

When they reached the seventh floor, they found two young Gryffindor boys with their wands out and pointed at each other, shouting curses and jinxes at each other.

Lightning fast, Harry had his wand out and cried, “Declino!” A blue streak erupted from his wand and successfully deflected the shots that the boys had taken at each other. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

One of the boys went pale while the other turned a deep shade of crimson.

“S-s-sorry, Mr. Potter,” the pale one said.

Harry grimaced. “What’s going on here?” he asked again.

“Jeremiah and I were practicing,” the crimson boy told him. “We were sparring.”

“Sparring? In the middle of a corridor?”

“Well,” the boy said meekly, “yeah.”

“Why?” Harry asked them.

“The common room’s got too many people in it,” the boy explained.

“No, no, why are you sparring?” Harry corrected.

The pale boy shuffled his feet. “In case there’s another Death Eater roaming around here.”

“Dumbledore hasn’t invited any outside people into Hogwarts. I think safety is one of his top priorities this year,” Harry told them. “Are you two Muggle-borns? Is that why you’re afraid?”

Both of them shook their heads. “I’m a pureblood,” the one boy said, his face no longer crimson. “And Jeremiah’s a half-blood.”

“What’s your name?” Harry asked.

“Lucas Orion, sir.”

Harry cringed. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ And don’t call me ‘Mr. Potter’ either, got it? It’s just Harry.”

“Er—okay.”

“Wait a minute—you two are in Hunter’s year, aren’t you?”

They nodded. “Second year, s—I mean, Harry,” Lucas replied.

Harry sighed. “I know last year was a really bad year for you lot to join us here at Hogwarts, but most years aren’t like that. Granted, there have been some rough years and with this war they aren’t likely to get any better, but Hogwarts isn’t like this most of the time. Sometimes it can be downright…”

“Normal,” Ron finished for him. “At least for a wizarding school.”

“But what if You-Know-Who attacks here again?” the one called Jeremiah asked.

“I heard that last year you ran a club and taught people a bunch of stuff to help defend themselves, sort of like Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but more real,” Lucas said. “Are you going to do that again this year?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, but then conceded. “Yes, I will more than likely hold meetings for the D.A. this year.”

“What’s D.A. stand for?” Jeremiah asked.

“Dumbledore’s Army,” Ron told them with a wink.

“We’re becoming Dumbledore’s army?” Lucas asked excitedly.

“Shush!” Ron said. “Not so loud!”

Harry shook his head. “We aren’t really becoming an army,” he told the boys. “It’s just a name.”

“It sounds cool!” Lucas said. “Can we come?”

Harry nodded. “If you can keep up.”

“We will! Don’t worry, we will!”

“Okay, then. Come on, let’s get back to the common room and remember, no more sparring in the corridors,” Harry reminded them.

“No problem, Harry!” Lucas said as they traveled back to the common room.

Ron shook his head in amusement as the two boys sped along in front of them. “Midgets,” he mouthed.

Harry chuckled as they reached the Fat Lady. “Polka-dot pear.”

Inside, Ron plopped down onto the couch. “Nice job, by the way, with that Deflecting Spell, Harry. Didn’t even give that a thought.”

Harry shrugged. “That Transfiguration essay is due tomorrow, so I think I’m going to sit down and try to get it done.”

Ron laughed. “Good idea.”

“You’ve still got to write that essay too,” Harry reminded him.

Ron’s groaned. “You need to get away from Hermione—you’re turning into her!”

Harry rolled his eyes at him. “I promise you a game of wizard’s chess after we’re done.”

He lit up. “You’re on!” With that, he grabbed his books and joined Harry over at an empty table.

About a half-hour later, while Harry was searching for a random detail to toss into his essay, he noticed Hermione return with a brown-haired girl who looked somewhat tall for her age. The two sat down over near the fireplace and continued their conversation. From time to time Hermione smiled or laughed as the girl spoke, or spoke for awhile herself, sometimes using her hands to emphasize her point. The next thing Harry knew, Ron was waving his quill pen in front of him.

“Harry? Oi, Harry!”

“Huh? What?”

“I know this essay is boring, but you really shouldn’t stare at certain people,” he said, enunciating the final two words slowly.

He let his forehead fall onto the table and sighed. “You’re right, you’re right,” he said to Ron. “I’m a moron.”

“Good of you to finally admit that,” Ron said, his voice full of mirth. “But now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go all Hermione on you and tell you to finish your damn essay, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Finish your damn essay.”

Harry laughed. “Thanks, Ron. I needed that.”

“That’s what I’m here for, mate. Besides,” he added, “I want to play chess.”

They continued their work. Another half-hour passed when Hermione finally joined them. “I’m so pleased to see the both of you working on your essays. I thought I’d have to scold you into doing them.”

“We’re not as lazy as you think,” Ron said.

“I never said you two are lazy,” she said. “Granted, you both like to procrastinate.”

“Was that the new girl you’re mentoring?” Harry asked before Ron could retort.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, beaming. “Tara Ryder. She’s a Muggle-born, like myself, and has a lot of questions about Hogwarts and the wizarding world in general. She’s highly inquisitive.”

“Sounds like somebody we know,” Harry said with a smirk.

“I must say, though, she’s very curious about Quidditch. She said she played on a junior league football team where she lives. She sounds like she’s a bit of an athlete,” she added.

“That doesn’t sound like somebody we know,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just because I don’t find Quidditch to be as fascinating as you do, Ron, doesn’t mean I was never curious about it, nor does it mean that I don’t find it interesting,” she said scathingly. “If you hadn’t noticed, I always try to cheer as loudly as I can for you, Harry, and Ginny during your matches.”

“I’ve noticed, Hermione,” Harry said softly, “and I appreciate it.”

She smiled at him. “Well, I shouldn’t distract the both of you from your essays. I think I’ll go to bed. There’s some reading I want to get done before I fall asleep tonight.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Good night.”

“Good night, Hermione,” Ron said.

“Good night, both of you,” Hermione replied and got up.

Harry watched her until she had closed the door to the girls’ dormitories behind her and then sighed. “I wish…” he began, but trailed off. There were some thoughts that shouldn’t be uttered out loud, especially when trying to keep a secret.

But he did wish. He wished that he could spend more time with her, outside of class and not when they were doing homework together. He wished he could have another moment with her like the one they had shared at the park during the summer, sitting back against a tree, enjoying each other’s company; or all of those little moments at her house, where they laughed and had fun.

Most important of all, he wished that he wasn’t a marked man. He wished that Voldemort didn’t care so much about him. He wished that he could live the ordinary life of a wizard so that he could shout from the rooftops his affection for one Hermione Granger.

That, of course, could never happen. Not while Voldemort was still alive.

Silently, he hoped that he lived to see the day that he could announce to the world that he and Hermione were a couple. Even more, he hoped that Hermione lived to see it too.

It was vital that Voldemort did not find out about his relationship with her. If he did…Harry didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about her being in any sort of pain. She had been through enough already. He didn’t want to think about how she would react to someone she really cared for dying.

Like her parents.

The Order had secreted them away to some location for their protection. The Death Eaters were trying to track Harry, although surely they knew he was back at Hogwarts. He wondered if the Order had restored Mr. and Mrs. Granger to their home.

He wondered if Hermione wondered about that also, but was too afraid to send an owl home to check.

Suddenly Harry felt a sharp pain in his arm as Ron pinched him. “Ouch! Hey, what was that for?”

“Quit daydreaming. We can’t play chess if you’re daydreaming and not writing,” Ron said. “I’m already done, see?” He held up his essay for Harry to look at.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. “I’m just not concentrating this evening.”

“Wonderful! That means I’ll cream you in chess.”

“Like hell you will, Weasley. I’ve been practicing.”

“Against whom? Hermione?” he asked with a laugh.

“No. Now be quiet and let me finish my homework.”

“Okay, but if you start staring off into space again, I’m going to transfigure my chair into a bucket of cold water and dump it on your head,” he warned.

“Fine, fine. Whatever.”

Fifteen minutes of hard work later, Harry set his finished essay aside to dry. “Okay, let’s play.”

“Finally!”

It was a close match, but Ron—full of glee—eventually checkmated him. “You better spend some more time practicing, Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to bed,” he said, grabbing his essay, quill, and ink bottle.

“Okay. Have you seen Neville around anywhere?” Ron asked.

“No. Why?”

“I—er—wanted to talk to him about Ginny,” Ron said, shifting uncomfortably.

“About what?”

“I just wanted to tell him that—er—I’m okay with them going out. Better him than some other blokes around here, eh?”

Harry nodded. “Very true. Well, good luck.”

“Thanks. ’Night, Harry.”

“’Night,” he said and headed up to the dorm. That night, after he fell asleep, he dreamt of a bushy brown-haired girl fast asleep in his arms.

*****

The next evening, at about 7:50, Harry bid Ron and Hermione good-bye and made his way to the gargoyle that concealed the winding stone steps up to Dumbledore’s office.

“Vanilla wafer,” he said and waited for gargoyle to step aside before he rode the staircase up to Dumbledore’s door.

He knocked—“Enter,” Dumbledore voice said from within his office. When Harry entered, he looked up from what seemed to be a very long letter and smiled. “Ah! Good evening, Harry!”

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry said.

“Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.” With a wave of his wand, a cushy armchair popped out of thin air.

“Thank you, sir,” he said and sat down.

Dumbledore set the letter aside. “So, any guesses as to why I’ve asked you to join me?”

Harry shrugged. “To talk about Professor Snape poisoning me in class last week?”

Dumbledore frowned. “No, although I have heard of this incident and have asked Professor Snape to refrain from poisoning his students, even if it is for the sake of education.”

“Did anyone tell you that he hesitated to give me the antidote?” Harry asked.

He stiffened for a fraction of a second. “No.”

“I thought not.”

“I will speak to Severus again.” He cleared his throat. “I do, however, have other matters to discuss with you.

“I think, Harry, that we should continue our Occlumency lessons from last year. The times are even more dangerous. Against our best efforts to thwart him, Voldemort has almost completed his massive army. Soon, I fear, Wormtail will return with the allegiance of the werewolves and a huge amount of Inferi to be placed under Voldemort’s command. Let us not forget about the giants. I have advised Amelia Bones to send owls to the foreign ministries warning them about such a possibility. It will be their job to inform the Muggle leaders.

“Then, of course, there are the vampires and the Death Eaters. Combined, his army would be extremely hard to defeat. Vampires and werewolves can only be killed through certain means, if it comes to such drastic measures. Spells can bounce right off of giants, as you may have noticed with even a half-giant like Hagrid. Therefore, it makes it very hard to even stun them. Then there are the Inferi…”

“Hagrid said you had to reverse the spell that brought them back to life, that you have to make some sort of sacrifice,” Harry said.

“You cannot bring a person back to life, Harry, and so Inferi are not alive. They are as dead as the other corpses in a graveyard. The only difference between them and those still in the grave is that they move because they are being controlled.

“Hagrid is right—you must reverse the spell to stop Inferi. The problem with that is there is no set way of creating them. Each time the dead are raised a different spell is used, making it extremely difficult to bury them all again. Just one spell won’t knock them all out.

“But you see, Harry, Voldemort still has one more deadly weapon that he can bring into his army, and that is why it is imperative that you become a master at Occlumency,” Dumbledore said.

Harry leaned forward in his seat. “What? What is it? Do you know where it is? Why must I master Occlumency? If I can see when Voldemort is about to go after this weapon, I can warn you and we can stop him!”

Dumbledore eyed him quietly over his crooked nose. “To answer what, I must answer where. You see, Harry, he is sitting right in front of me.”

He reared back and slumped down into the chair, staring at Dumbledore in shock. “Me? But he wants to kill me!”

“Indeed.”

“But then how does that make me his weapon? Why would he possibly use me when he wants me dead?”

“Do you remember that night at the Ministry of Magic? The night when Voldemort possessed you?”

Harry shuddered involuntarily. “Yes.”

“You managed to throw him off because of your capacity to love, which wounded him. However, if he could whittle you down to a point of great despair and hatred, he could possess you again.”

“That sounds unlikely,” Harry said.

Dumbledore grinned. “I’m glad you think so. Actually, Voldemort may try to force his way into your mind to see what you, and the Order for that matter, are up to. That way he can gain the upper hand and remain one step ahead of us. He may especially like this idea after losing Seth.”

Harry remained quiet for a moment before asking, “How is the baby doing?”

“Upon my last check he was healthy and whole. He will, however, be changing locations soon, in case the Death Eaters are sniffing around for him, which they no doubt are. I think it will also be much safer if we changed the baby’s name,” Dumbledore said.

“Where are you going to take him?” Harry asked.

“That, I cannot tell you, Harry. I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded. It really wasn’t his business anyway.

“There’s one more thing I wish to know, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like to give you a little test, if you’d permit it,” Dumbledore told him.

“What kind of test?”

He smiled at Harry. “Just a simple one. You’ll think it mundane, trust me.”

“Er—okay.”

“Good. Close you eyes.”

Harry did as he was instructed. A moment later, Dumbledore said, “Now, take out your wand.”

Harry did so, although he thought it felt funny. The texture seemed different.

“Good. Now, call my quill pen to you.”

“Sir?”

“Indulge me, Harry.”

Frowning, Harry pointed his wand straight forward. “Accio quill!” The quill shot straight to his outstretched left hand.

“Excellent. Thank you, Harry. You may open your eyes.”

Harry did so and glanced down at the wand in his hand, only that there wasn’t a wand there. Instead, he held a thin round piece of wood. “Where’s my wand?”

Dumbledore waved it in front of him. “I called it to me the moment you closed your eyes and replaced it with that piece of wood you now hold in your hand.”

“Then how did I get the quill to come to me?” Harry asked.

“I’m sure you remember that you told me of instances where you have been able to perform wandless magic, am I right?” Dumbledore said.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“I told you that you had an ability few have. Harry, I want you to do more than just train to become a master of Occlumency. I want you to train to become a true sorcerer.”

“What?”

“I want to teach you how to harness your ability and use it. It may become particularly useful when you finally have to confront Voldemort. Your ability may save your life.”

“So I’ll be able to fight him without having to use my wand?” Harry asked.

“Maybe,” Dumbledore said. “But Harry, there’s more…”

Suddenly there came a knock from his office door. “Enter,” he said with a smile.

Harry turned around in time to see the door open and Lupin step through. Behind him was—

“Moody!” Harry exclaimed.

“Hello, Potter,” Moody growled.

“I hope we’re not late,” Lupin said.

“No,” Dumbledore said happily. “No, in fact, your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, standing up, “the Order of Phoenix wants to give you as many tools as possible to help you in your fight against Lord Voldemort. Alastor is here to begin training you in the ways of the Auror and Remus is here to help.”

“Your dad taught me a thing or two about being an Auror,” Lupin said with a grin. “I’m ready to pass on what I know to his son.”

“You’re going to train me to be an Auror?” Harry asked, amazed.

“We’re going to give you a head start,” Moody said. “It won’t make you a true Auror, but trust me, when you get into Auror training, you’ll be head and shoulders above the rest. In fact, by the time I’m through with you, you’ll only need polishing.”

Harry stood up, glancing at all three men, his mind racing and his heart soaring. They were going to train him to be like an Auror! He was going to receive Auror training! There was only one thing Harry could think to ask…

“When do we start?”

Author’s Note: I don’t have much to say this time except to thank all of the reviewers out there. It means a lot to me. Also, I’d like to thank my new beta, Charmaine. It can really funny to talk about the stuff from my fic at work, especially when people ask us, “Which Harry Potter book is that in?” *laughs* Enjoy!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TRAINING

After Harry returned from Dumbledore’s office, Ron and Hermione pelted him with questions. Calmly, Harry told them that he was going to continue Occlumency, yet he did not tell them about either his ability with wandless magic or his pending training with Moody and Lupin. For his own reasons, he did not want them to know.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t trust them. He trusted Ron and Hermione with his life. They would never tell anyone about what Dumbledore called “true sorcery” or his private Auror training. Yet, he felt that he shouldn’t tell them. In fact, he believed that the fewer people who knew about it, especially that hidden talent of his, the safer everyone would be.

“I’m glad that Dumbledore wants you to master Occlumency,” Hermione had said after Harry had finished. “I think it will be your most valuable defense against Voldemort.”

Dumbledore arranged it so that Harry would have Occlumency lessons with him every Tuesday evening. Harry’s lessons with Moody and Lupin would take place bimonthly on Fridays.

On Monday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed down to Professor McGonagall’s classroom for their first prefects’ meeting of the year. Harry was just as nervous this time as he was on the train. The majority of those prefects couldn’t possibly respect him. They probably figured that Malfoy was right when he had said that Dumbledore had selected Harry to be Head Boy just because he was the headmaster’s star pupil. So Harry faced a dilemma: how could he be a good Head Boy if the prefects didn’t respect him?

When they entered the classroom, they found that the majority of the prefects were already there. When Luna spotted them, she jumped up to greet them.

“Hi Luna,” Hermione said kindly. “How have you been?”

“Fine. I am enjoying my schedule.”

“I’m enjoying the lack of Potions in mine,” Ron said with a grin.

Harry groaned. “You keep bringing that up and every time you do I want to hex you.”

Ron laughed.

“Oh, I see that Ronald and Harry are friends again. That’s good,” Luna said.

“Er—yeah, things are good between us,” Ron said.

“I’m glad,” she said. “The two of you not being friends put the balance of the planet off.”

“It did what?” Ron said, staring at her with his face scrunched in disbelief.

“It put the balance of the planet off,” she repeated.

“Are you taking Divination?” he asked her.

“Certainly not. One cannot determine their future through tea leaves,” she replied.

Ron sighed in relief. “Well, that’s good news.”

“I do think that you can learn things from the stars, though,” she added. “If I could take the class with Firenze, I would.”

Ron’s shoulders slumped.

Hermione was checking her watch. “We should start the meeting now. I bet all of us have a lot of homework, so I’d like to make this a quick meeting.”

“Right,” Ron said, excusing himself to go sit with the rest of the Gryffindor prefects. Luna sat down with the Ravenclaws.

Harry and Hermione, meanwhile, walked up to the front of the classroom. “Can I have your attention please?” Hermione called out. “This meeting is called to order.” Everyone quieted down and waited for Hermione to speak again. “Okay, so we’ve been back here for two weeks. What kind of problems have you encountered?”

“I had to give a couple of Slytherin second years detention,” Ernie Macmillan said loudly. “They were attempting to deface a toilet.”

“They were not,” said a sixth-year Slytherin.

“Really? Then what were they doing?” Ernie asked.

“According to them, they were trying to retrieve something that had been flushed down the toilet,” the sixth year said.

“And it took four of them to try to accomplish that?” Ernie said with a hint of scorn.

“You’ve falsely accused them. I believe they shouldn’t be punished,” the sixth year said and then smirked. “And I’ve spoken to Professor Snape to recommend that their detention be dropped.”

“What did Professor Snape say?” Hermione asked, cutting in.

“He’s deliberating,” the Slytherin said.

“Four kids in a stall sounds pretty dodgy to me,” Ernie said.

“Anything else?” Hermione asked. There was silence. “Good. Now, as Dumbledore alluded to during the welcoming feast, there’s an optional event that can take place in March, if we determine that it can be done.”

“What’s this option, anyway?” Graham Pritchard asked.

Hermione glanced at Harry, but he shook his head. He had read about the option in his letter from Dumbledore, but he didn’t feel too strongly towards it. In his opinion, it didn’t beat the Boys versus Girls Quidditch match.

“The idea is an obstacle course, which would have to be created, in which four team members—one person from each House—work to complete the course first. This is obviously not a school-wide event. Much like the Triwizard Tournament from a few years ago, only sixth and seventh years can participate,” Hermione told them.

“Well, that’s bullocks,” one of the fifth-year prefects grumbled.

“I know it doesn’t seem fair,” Hermione said, “but it’s to ensure everyone’s safety.”

“Why are the teams intermixed?” Pansy Parkinson asked. “That sounds stupid. Have each House compete against each other.”

Hermione rubbed her temples out of irritation. Harry quickly took over.

“Unity,” he said simply. “Once again we’re striving for unity between the Houses.”

One of the other Gryffindor prefects that Harry recognized from the meeting on the train raised her hand. “Yes, Druantia?” Hermione said.

“I don’t see how an activity such as this is any different than the Quidditch match. It’s just as exclusive,” Druantia said, turned so that everyone could hear her. “I don’t think Hogwarts should have any of these extra activities unless the entire school body gets to participate, such as they do in the Yule Ball and the Dueling Contest.”

“I agree,” Ernie said loudly.

There was a general murmur of agreement spreading throughout the group. Harry, with a sudden urge to prove himself, raised his hand to silence everyone; a move that appeared to catch Hermione by surprise.

“I say we put the matter up to a vote,” he said. “Everyone who would like to obstacle course contest, raise your hand.”

Seven hands went up, Ron’s included.

“Everyone who dislikes the idea, raise your hand.”

Apparently Druantia’s comment swayed a lot of people. Over fifteen raised their hands.

“I guess we’re going to inform Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall that we struck down the idea of that particular activity,” Hermione said. “Now, before we conclude tonight’s meeting, is there anything anyone else would like to add?” When no one said anything, Hermione nodded. “Very well, then—meeting adjourned.”

There was a scraping of seats as people got up to leave. Ron and Luna joined Harry and Hermione at the front of the classroom.

“I really wanted that one to pass,” Ron grumbled. “That would have been wicked to be in.”

“The others didn’t want it,” Hermione said. “By the way, nice job, Harry, for putting that up for a vote so quickly.”

Harry felt his cheeks redden. “I just thought it seemed like the appropriate thing to do.”

“I’m not sorry we won’t be having the competition,” Luna said wistfully. “The challenges that the professors would have come up with would have been interesting to try to work through, but I agree about excluding the younger students.”

“The reason why for the age restriction is safety. We couldn’t have second years trying to battle some large creature that Hagrid procured for the event,” Hermione said.

“Like a mountain troll?” Harry suggested with a wink.

“Or a yeti,” Luna said with a nod.

Hermione stared at her. “Luna, yetis live in snowy mountainous regions. One wouldn’t have been brought here to Hogwarts.”

“It could be done,” Luna stated firmly.

Before Hermione could retort, Harry said quickly, “It’s getting kind of late. We’ve got homework to do, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, just as quickly. “We’ll see you around, Luna.”

“Oh. Good night.”

The three of them left. As they were heading up to the seventh floor, Hermione was shaking her head. “Yetis at Hogwarts, how ludicrous.”

“Loony has weird ideas like that,” Ron said. “It’s best to just ignore them.”

Hermione gazed at Ron in surprise. “When did you grow up?”

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” she said, cringing. “That came out wrong.”

“You bet it did,” Ron growled.

“What I meant to say was when did you start ignoring some of Luna’s more odd qualities? She always annoyed you before.”

Ron shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’m used to it by now.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s a good thing,” Hermione said indifferently.

“Hey, don’t get on Luna’s case for some of her wacky ideas,” Ron said warningly. “You’d be a hypocrite if you did.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s not the only one who’s had some pretty crazy and unrealistic ideas, and that’s all I’m saying,” Ron said.

“I beg your pardon,” Hermione said, her ire obviously rising, “but what exactly did you mean by that? Since when do I have crazy and unrealistic ideas?”

“Gee, ever hear of that house-elf liberation thing called spew?” Ron said with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione looked highly affronted. “S.P.E.W. is not a crazy and unrealistic idea!”

“Yeah, it is and I’ve been telling you that all along,” Ron said. “Nobody’s ever going to pay attention to those petitions you sent in this past June. Nobody! Am I right, Harry?”

Harry brought his hands up in defense. “Don’t drag me into this.” When it came to choosing between your best mate and your girlfriend, you were in a Catch-22 situation.

“Harry supports my efforts with S.P.E.W.,” Hermione stated angrily. “Just because you enjoy the degradation of a group of beings doesn’t mean he does!”

“Who said I enjoyed it?” Ron countered. “I keep telling you, Hermione, they like their work!”

“Then how come all of them here in the kitchens signed my petition?” she asked vehemently.

“Because Dumbledore told them to, didn’t he?”

She shook her head fiercely. “He told them that they could—that it was their choice whether or not to sign it.”

“Well forgive me for my astronomical error,” Ron said scathingly, “but you’re still running a fool’s errand.”

Feeling a headache starting to form, Harry quickened his steps to get away from his bickering friends. When they noticed how far he had gotten out ahead of them, they stopped and called out after him.

“Harry! Oy, Harry!”

“Harry, stop! We’re sorry.”

“Can we do all of us a favor?” Harry asked when Ron and Hermione caught up to him.

“Sure, what?” Ron asked.

“Can we not talk about S.P.E.W., homework, professors, or anything else that might cause you two to bicker?”

Ron glanced away from him guiltily. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“We can,” Hermione told him, placing her hand on his arm.

“Good,” he said, “because I’m tired.”

“Yes, let’s go get that homework finished and go off to bed,” Hermione said, linking her arm with Harry’s and then, for appearance’s sake, grabbing Ron and linking arms with him too. Without another word, the three of them continued to the common room, Harry and Ron dreading the Transfiguration essay they still had to finish.

*****

Classes went well on Tuesday, with the exception of Harry accidentally giving himself a beard in Transfiguration when everyone was supposed to change their eye color. How he managed to do that, he didn’t know. Ron, meanwhile, was walking around with one blue eye and one violet one. McGonagall assured him that the color would fade back to blue, but for the time being, Ron stared at the floor so that others wouldn’t see him with his purple iris.

A trip to Madam Hooch’s office let Harry know that the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts would be held that Saturday, much to Harry’s surprise. He chastised himself greatly for putting off the visit to her office, but he was also grateful that he had done so before Saturday.

Later that evening, Harry was running to Dumbledore’s office for his training, fearing that he would be late. He had eaten a late dinner and he had been trying to do his Herbology homework when Hermione prodded him about his Occlumency training. That had led to Harry dashing out of the common room.

What didn’t help was that Harry met Peeves along the way, who had dumped soap all over the floor. He slid through the green liquid, nearly losing his balance twice, before successfully making it through the soap. Then Peeves decided to dump a bucket of cold water all over him.

“ARGH! PEEVES!” he yelled, pushing his bangs away from his eyes.

“I’m helping wee little students take a bath!” Peeves said happily. “But you missed the soap!”

“Shut up, Peeves, and get out of my way,” Harry growled, taking out his wand and performing a drying spell. “I’m going to be late.”

“Late to what, Head Grouch?” Peeves asked as he took up another bottle of soap and squeezed it out before Harry’s feet.

“My appointment with Dumbledore,” Harry said, sidestepping the soap.

“Oh, his Headship won’t mind if you’re late,” Peeves said. “Play in the suds!”

“Why don’t you go bother the Bloody Baron,” Harry suggested and walked away, but not before Peeves could dump another bucket of cold water all over him. Cursing loudly, Harry performed another drying spell on himself as he started running for Dumbledore’s office again.

When he knocked on the door, Harry found himself being admitted by Dumbledore, instead of the usual “Enter.” Inside, Dumbledore had already cleared a space for them to work.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Good evening, sir.”

“I’d like to start immediately if that’s okay with you,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Harry said, taking his place at one end of the room while Dumbledore went to the other.

“Prepare yourself now, Harry. Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Harry said.

“Wand at the ready.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, taking out his wand.

Dumbledore was quick. “Legilimens!”

Images from Quidditch matches swam in Harry’s mind. They were quickly replaced by him hoisting the Quidditch Cup the year previous before he handed it over to Katie Bell…Hermione was running toward him…

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled, determined to keep images of her floating up inside his mind.

He heard Dumbledore’s wand clatter on the floor as the images ceased. Dumbledore bent down to pick it up. “Good. Very good. Not as fast as I would like you to be, but good nonetheless.”

“How can I become faster?” Harry asked.

“You must be focused. You must be drained of all emotion. You must act the moment you feel someone invading your mind,” Dumbledore replied. “It is not easy, but it can be done.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Very well. Legilimens!”

Harry and Ron ignoring each other during their fourth year after Harry had been selected as a Triwizard Champion…Aunt Petunia looking at him disapprovingly…

Harry jerked his wand. Suddenly, he caught of glimpse of Dumbledore’s memories as things suddenly reversed. He saw himself, his eyes red, as he stood speaking to Dumbledore in the torn up Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. But it was only a glimpse. Dumbledore cut off the contact.

“Very good! Very good indeed! You reversed the effect. Quite interesting,” Dumbledore said, musing.

“I don’t know how I did it,” Harry said. “I mean, I’ve done it before, when Snape trained me.”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore admonished lightly. “It takes a lot to reverse the invasion. To do so as naturally as you did shows not only power, but the exceptional strength of your mind. That is not surprising, of course—look how well you can resist the Imperius Curse.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Harry.

“Professor?”

“Let’s keep working,” Dumbledore said. “You will master Occlumency, Harry. You have the abilities.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry murmured.

“Let’s try again. Ready? Legilimens!” Dumbledore cried and Harry felt his mind swimming again.

*****

Hermione’s birthday arrived. She was absolutely delighted when she opened up Harry’s gift (the latest edition of Hogwarts: A History). However, Harry’s real surprise for her came around dinner time. Before Hermione had left for her last class, Harry had slipped a note inside her textbook, telling her to meet him in the Room of Requirement at 6:00.

When the door opened at 6:00 exactly, Harry had just put the finishing touches on his surprise. He stood up and greeted Hermione with a smile. “Happy birthday.”

She gazed around in awe. Harry had the room designed like a French café—a cozy little table for two with candles and roses surrounding them. The entrée—made by Dobby at Harry’s request—sat on a charming little cart, along with a chocolate cake.

“Harry,” she breathed.

He stepped forward and took her hand in his. “Your table awaits, milady.”

She laughed and followed him to the table, where he pulled out a chair for her and then pushed her in once she sat down. He sat down opposite of her, grinning.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she said, taking in the surroundings. “Why?”

“It’s your birthday,” he said simply, pouring a drink for the both of them. “Besides, this is the first chance we’ve had to be alone since we’ve come back to Hogwarts.”

“So we’re considering this a date?”

“Absolutely.” He raised his glass. “To finding some time to be alone together.”

She smiled. “Cheers.” She took a sip. “I don’t deserve this.”

He set his glass down. “Why would you say that?”

“I—I just don’t,” she said quietly.

He reached over and covered her hand with his. “Yes you do. You’re a blessing, Hermione, and you’ve done more for me than you know.”

Tears began to form in her eyes. “Harry—”

“Shh…” he said, moving his hand up to cup her cheek. “We should eat. Can’t have this wonderful food getting cold, can we?”

She laughed. “No.”

After dinner was over, Harry had the room take away the table. Then, with a flick of his wand, music started to play. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

“But you hate to dance,” Hermione said, her tone amused.

“Well, I am dreadful at it, but I’m fine with it as long as I have the right dance partner.” He took her in his arms and swayed to the music. “Maybe you could teach me sometime.”

“Maybe I could,” she agreed.

He smiled and kissed her deeply, the first true kiss they had shared since departing from the Burrow. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer until they had stopped swaying to the music, too lost in each other to pay it any attention.

*****

That Saturday, Harry and Ron, brooms in hand, headed out to the middle of the pitch for tryouts that day. Along the way, Ron noticed Harry’s broom.

“You’re still using the Firebolt,” he commented.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you’d use the Phoenix.”

“I’m still working out the kinks with that Cushioning Charm,” Harry told him. “Until then, I’m riding on the Firebolt.”

“Okay,” Ron said, shrugging.

The rest of the team joined Harry and Ron some ten minutes later while the stands began to fill up. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Hermione was among them. She had told him earlier that morning that she would be out to see how things went.

“Good turn out,” Alex McGuire, one of the finds for Beater from the previous year, said.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, surveying the crowd.

“How are we going to do this?” Ginny asked, leaning against her broomstick. “Have people run with us and against Ron?”

“Pretty much,” Harry said. “Actually, I want so see their stealing skills too, so I’m going to have them work with Hunter, but try to take the Quaffle from you.”

“What are we going to do?” Andrew Kirke asked.

“Try to hit them with Bludgers,” Harry said. “I’ve got to see if they can dodge them.”

“Okay.”

“Are we clear on what we’re doing?” Harry asked.

“I think so,” Ginny said.

“Good. Let’s get started. Go take to the air,” Harry said and waved them off. He turned back and headed towards the stands. A sudden thought occurred to him and he walked up to where Hermione was sitting with Ally, Dylan, and the new girl Hermione was mentoring.

“Harry!” Hermione said. “I’m glad you came up here. I need to talk to you about something, but first, meet Tara Ryder.”

Harry reached out and shook Tara’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Come to enjoy the fun that is our fellow Gryffindors trying to make the team?”

“I—er—er—” the first year stammered.

“I need to talk to you,” Hermione reminded him.

“Right. If you’d excuse us,” Harry said, stepping away from the three. “I need to ask you to do a favor for me anyway.”

“Well, what’s your favor?” Hermione asked.

“I was hoping that you would take all of the prospects’ names to help me keep things sorted out,” he said.

“Sure.” She took out her wand and, with a wave, conjured up a clipboard, parchment, and quill.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said gratefully. “Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well,” Hermione said hesitantly, “it’s about Tara.”

Harry glanced back and the young girl who was sitting nervously next to Ally. “What about her?”

“She wants to play. I was wondering…would you mind letting her try out?” Hermione asked.

He stared at her. “Has she ever played before?”

“Well, she’s a Muggle-born, so no,” Hermione said meekly. “But she wants to learn.”

He sighed. “I can’t, Hermione, and you know it. She’s a first year—there’s a rule against that. Hunter and I were exceptions because, well, there wasn’t anyone better. But if she’s never even played—”

“You never played before you became Seeker,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but…I had some natural born abilities,” Harry said lamely. “Does she?”

“Who knows? Madam Hooch does say that she flies pretty well for a first year, though.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “That doesn’t mean much, though. I’m sorry, Hermione, I really am.”

She sighed. “I know. You’re right, after all. She’s just so enthusiastic about it that I thought I should at least try to help her. There’s always next year, I suppose. She could try out for Keeper, or Seeker.”

The sudden idea of not being the Gryffindor Seeker the following year brought about an inexplicable sadness in Harry, but he quickly pushed that aside. “I need to get these tryouts started. I better go.”

“Right. I’ll make sure I get everyone’s names for you,” she said.

“Thanks.” He walked away from her and down to where everyone would focus their attention on him. Taking out his wand, he pointed it at his throat and muttered, “Sonorus,” before continuing on. “Er—could I have everyone’s attention?” he asked in a booming voice. The crowd became quiet. “I’d like to start the tryouts. We’re looking for a Chaser today, so if you don’t have any interest in playing Chaser, please don’t try out. That said, I want everyone who wishes to try out to please step forward. When your turn comes, I ask that you give Hermione over there your name and then grab a broom. What we’d like you to do is simple enough: on my whistle, fly up and join us. Ginny up there—that’s the redhead—has the Quaffle. I want you to steal the Quaffle from Ginny and pass it off to Hunter. He’s the one without the bat. Hunter will pass the Quaffle back to you and then you have to try to score a goal against Ron. Clear enough? All the while, Andrew and Alex are going to be hitting Bludgers at you, so watch out for those, okay? Everyone understand?”

There was some murmuring in the crowd as Harry took out his wand, pointed it at his throat, and whispered, “Quietus,” to himself. He glanced at Hermione and then jerked his head, indicating that he was ready for the first person.

As Harry mounted his Firebolt and took to the air, a girl joined him. “What’s your name and year?” he called.

“Demetria Meadows, fourth!” she called back. “I sure hope I’m what you’re looking for.”

“Good luck,” Harry yelled. He put the whistle between his teeth and blew.

About the only good thing Harry could say about her was that she at least knew how to fly, which, as Harry discovered later on, was a bloody miracle. About a third of the people who tried out had obviously forgotten all of the lessons they had learned their first year.

One fifth year, a boy by the name of Colton Alby was rather good, causing Harry to make a mental note.

After a scrawny second year made a try, a girl flew up next to Harry.

“Name?” he asked in a bored voice.

“Natalie McDonald,” she replied that displayed both excitement yet nervousness.

“Year?” Harry asked.

“Fourth.”

“Okay. Take a deep breath,” he advised, noting her anxious state. “On my mark. Ready?”

Natalie set herself low on the broomstick. Harry blew his whistle.

Harry watched vaguely, expecting her to be like the rest. But when she did a looping pass under Ginny to steal the Quaffle, he was fully alert. She threw it to Hunter, who took it down the pitch some ways before launching it back at her with his impeccable precision. When she caught it, she threw it toward the right goal hoop. Ron looked like he was about it get it, but it slipped past his fingers. The crowd cheered below them.

Harry nodded to himself in approval. A bit of practice and the girl would do well.

No one else matched Natalie the rest of the afternoon. At the end, it was obvious who the pick was. One consult with his team confirmed it. Before they packed things up, Harry announced that Natalie McDonald was the new Gryffindor Chaser.

*****

Harry’s next training lesson would be over wandless magic training. That way, as Dumbledore had told him, he can get a good dose of both of the skills that Dumbledore wanted to teach him. Every other Tuesday would work on his wandless magic so that he could become proficient at it.

The lesson was even more exhausting than the rigorous Occlumency training Dumbledore was putting him through. For two hours, Dumbledore had Harry trying to levitate things around the room with his mind. It was incredibly difficult.

“Your mind wants to be tricked into thinking that you’re using a wand,” Dumbledore had told him. “We must rid it of that notion.”

All it did was leave Harry with a headache as he tried to concentrate on levitating an inkbottle. When he left, he only felt was frustrated.

When Friday came along, Harry left Ron and Hermione behind after dinner, as he was supposed to for his training sessions with Moody and Lupin. They had decided to hold them in random classrooms. Today they were meeting in an empty one on the fifth floor.

Moody and Lupin were waiting when he walked in.

“Good, you’re here,” Moody said gruffly and pointed his wand at the door. “Colloportus!”

Harry heard the lock click. “What do we start with?” he asked, eager to begin.

“A test,” Moody said. “Get over to that side of the room and get your wand out. You’re about to have yourself a little duel.”

“Against whom?” Harry asked, doing as he was instructed.

“Me,” Lupin said, stepping to the other side of the room and saluted him.

“Oh.” Harry repeated the gesture and then both he and Lupin bowed to each other.

There was only a slight pause before Lupin struck. “Stupefy!”

Harry quickly ducked as the spell hit the wall over his head. “Impedimenta!”

“Protego!”

“Tarantallegra!”

“Locomotor Mortis!”

Harry felt his legs snap together while Lupin’s legs did a sort of dance. But Lupin quickly waved his wand with the countercurse. Harry did the same.

Lupin nailed him with the Jelly-Legs Jinx, while Harry shot back with the Blasting Curse before he hit the floor.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Lupin yelled, but Harry rolled out of the way.

“Conjunctiva!” Harry roared, aiming directly at Lupin’s eyes. His professor let out a cry and covered his eyes with his hands. Harry took his opportunity. “Expelliarmus!” Lupin’s wand flew into the air and out of its owners reach, although Lupin didn’t notice.

Moody waved his wand at the both of them. “Good job, Potter,” he said, while Lupin rubbed his watering eyes. “That’s a good curse to use against Death Eaters.”

“Yes,” Lupin agreed. “It’s got quite the nasty stinging effect.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, getting up.

“Don’t be,” Moody growled. “If Lupin was a Death Eater, you’d be dead. Rule Number One: Don’t apologize for doing what you had to do. Got it?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, you proved that you can duel,” Moody said, “but being an Auror is a lot more than just dueling. It’s about being smart and thinking one step ahead of your enemy. It’s about knowing how to protect yourself and others. Sometimes it’s about gathering information. Aurors do the jobs that the Magical Law Enforcement department can’t handle. We’re the elite.” He sized Harry up. “Think that you can handle it?”

Harry looked him dead in the eye. “Yes.”

“Good. We’re going to get you more comfortable dueling by use of nonverbal spells. Lupin was being kind to you for voicing all of his. A lot of people won’t be so nice, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to teach you how to do other types of combat too,” Moody went on. “Hand-to-hand, weapons, you name it. Dueling won’t do much when you go up against creatures like vampires or werewolves during the full moon. Am I right, Lupin?”

Lupin nodded and deliberately looked away from Harry. “You are.”

“We’re going to get you to build up your physical strength. You’re a skinny kid and that Quidditch of yours has helped you some, but you need to build a little more muscle. Starting tomorrow morning, I want you up and running the grounds at dawn.”

“Dawn?” Harry said, aghast.

“Dawn,” Moody repeated. “The morning air will do you some good.”

Harry frowned. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m eventually going to have you adding pull-ups, sit-ups, and push-ups into the mix, but right now, let’s start with running. All of this will help you with your Quidditch too.”

“I’m sure it will,” Harry said, although he absolutely hated the idea of having to get up at dawn.

“Okay, Potter, you can go. Just be ready for some hard work next time,” Moody said.

“I will, don’t worry,” Harry said and left.

Hand-to-hand combat? Weapons? Those were the lessons that Harry couldn’t wait for. There was a little bounce in his step as he traveled back to the common room. Finally, Harry felt that, if he learned everything that Dumbledore, Moody, and Lupin had to teach him, he might stand a chance in his battle against Voldemort. He might make it.

That was the moment that Harry finally began to believe in himself.

Author’s Note: Yay for a new chapter! Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and thanks to Charmaine for betaing this for me, too.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RIDDLE’S RIDDLE

On the morning of Mentorship Day, Harry woke up at dawn to see a reddish hue in the sky. It was a gorgeous late September day. Harry knew that pretty soon the weather would cool off and the leaves would change colors. Once they fell from the trees, the first snowflakes of winter would fall.

In other words, Harry would have to take advantage of the day and find something to do with Hunter outside. It was better than sitting around the common room all day.

As per his new morning routine that Moody had set upon him, Harry pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before slipping his feet into his trainers and tying the laces up tight. No one had noticed Harry’s new routine. He was always back and five minutes into his shower when the others woke up. They figured that Harry had just woken up too. They never yet questioned why he was always the first up.

He started jogging the moment he left the common room, the Fat Lady calling after him, “Aren’t you skinny enough?”

He ran down all seven flights of stairs and then down the marble staircase into the entrance hall. He stopped to open the oak front doors and stepped outside. After the doors were closed, he inhaled deeply and started a series of stretches that Lupin had told him about after Harry had privately complained to him about how sore he had been after his first run. Once he was through, he took off again, running the same path he had been using since Moody had told him to start this morning routine.

The morning was peaceful. Birds were already twittering as Harry ran down toward the lake, watching the reflection of the rising sun on the calm surface. Off in the distance, he could see the giant squid popping its head out of the water.

His route took him by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. While it remained as dark as ever, he could hear animals within its boundaries. None of them, thankfully, sounded dangerous.

When he arrived back at the castle, he quickly made his way up the stairs and into the common room. Then he bolted up to his dorm to grab some clothes for the day before going to take a shower. Some of his dorm mates, he noted, were starting to stir.

In the shower, he let out a sigh as the warm water soaked him. He let his mind wander to his training, excited at the prospect of learning the same things that Aurors did. He felt as though he was living in some sort of dream.

After he got ready, he walked down the stairs and into the common room. Hermione was sitting down at a table, finishing off her homework from the night before, while Ron, who—much to Harry’s surprise—sat nearby chatting with Ginny and Neville.

Glancing around the room, Harry saw his fellow Gryffindors; Seamus and Lavender looked to be having a heated discussion while Parvati sat by, listening in. The Creevey brothers were fiddling with Colin’s camera. Hunter, Ally, Dylan, and their friend Laura MacKenzie were sitting in a corner, chatting. Dean, Harry remembered, was still getting ready, which was probably a good thing, he noted, seeing how red Lavender’s face was becoming.

“’Morning, Harry,” Ron said as Harry sat down next to the working Hermione. “You certainly took a long shower this morning.”

“What? Oh, well, I got a few things on my mind,” Harry said.

“Ah. Were you trying to figure out plans for the day with your midget?”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded as she re-inked her quill.

“If they’re shorter than me, they’re midgets,” Ron stated.

“Great, the lot of us are midgets,” Harry joked.

“Damn straight,” Ron muttered, causing Harry to laugh and Ginny to elbow him. “The only blokes here who aren’t midgets,” Ron went on, “are Dean, Hagrid, and maybe Dumbledore.”

Ginny laughed. “Yes, Hagrid’s a midget alright, what with being only half-giant.”

Harry chuckled good-naturedly while Hermione started flipping through a stack of parchment she had sitting next to her. “What are you working on?”

“This Ancient Runes assignment,” she said irritably. “I can’t find my notebook.”

Harry spotted a notebook lying underneath a large, heavy-looking book. He carefully pulled it out and held it up for her. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked.

She glanced at it and immediately looked relieved. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Blimey, what’s with all the mess?” Ron asked, taking notice of all her things strewn everywhere.

“It’s a very difficult assignment,” she said, flipping through her notebook eagerly.

“It must be if you’re still working at it,” he replied, turning away. “Is it breakfast time yet?”

Harry glanced at his watch. “Nearly. We can go downstairs.”

“Good. I’m starving.”

“Coming, Hermione?” Harry asked as the rest of them got up.

“In a moment. Go on without me,” she said.

Harry motioned for the others to go. “I’ll walk with her.”

When Hermione finished five minutes later, she and Harry left the common room for the Great Hall.

“It’s only the end of September and already all of us are swamped,” Harry commented. “They’re really laying it on thick this year, aren’t they?”

“We’ve got to be ready,” Hermione said reasonably. “This is their last chance to teach us everything we need to know to be successful at whatever career we choose.”

“A barrister, right, Hermione?” he asked her.

There was a short pause before her answer. “Yes.”

“You’d be great at it. Championing house-elves and proving Death Eaters guilty of all their crimes, getting them sentenced to life in Azkaban,” Harry said.

She smiled. “And you’ll be a great Auror, keeping me busy,” she said.

“Well, I’ll try,” he replied, then frowned. “I think it’s time to start up the D.A. again.”

She stared at him, amazed. “Really?”

“Yeah. What? Not a good idea?”

“No—it’s brilliant. I’m just surprised that you brought it up,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’ve been asked about it and I figure, with Dumbledore’s permission, I should continue to help the students learn how to properly defend themselves.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?” she asked. “I used to have to fight you tooth and nail to get you to organize meetings for the D.A.”

“I know. I just—I dunno—feel different about it now, like it’s my responsibility to help my peers prepare themselves for whatever may come. I still feel like they should learn everything in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I know Professor Lupin is teaching them well, but I also feel like I have to make sure for myself that everyone here is going to be alright in case something horrible happens,” he said.

“Like another murderer?” she asked.

“Or something like that.”

She nodded. “I’ll help you set up a meeting time and a location.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at her.

They sat down next to Ron when they arrived in the Great Hall. Harry forked up some sausage and tucked in. He chatted with Ron and Hermione until breakfast was over; he parted ways with them to meet Hunter at the other end of the table.

“Hi,” he said to the younger boy. “Got anything specific you want to do today?”

Hunter looked around conspicuously. “Er—could we—er—go flying?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure, if you want. Let’s go back to the dorm and grab our brooms.”

When they arrived back at Gryffindor Tower, they quickly parted ways for their dorm rooms. In his, Harry was just about to grab his Firebolt when he suddenly changed him mind. Back down in the common room, Hunter stared at the broom in Harry’s hand.

“That’s not your Firebolt,” he said, looking thoroughly confused.

“Nope,” Harry said, “it’s my other broomstick—the Phoenix.”

“Phoenix,” he repeated. “When did you get that?”

“I made it,” Harry replied simply and led them out through the portrait hole. “I hope you don’t mind if I use our little flying exercise as another test run for it.”

“Er—no! You made it?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Last year.”

“How come you haven’t used it before?”

“It still needs some…tweaking.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong with it?”

Harry smiled. “The Cushioning Charm.”

Hunter was silent for a moment. “Oh.” He cringed slightly. “Yeah, I see your problem. Don’t exactly want that region to be sore, do you?”

Harry glanced over at the boy beside him. “Not exactly, no,” he said with a laugh.

Outside, the sun was just as bright as it was when Harry woke up. A lot of those mentoring the younger students were taking advantage of such a fine day. Harry could see Ron’s vivid red hair down by the lake with Dylan.

“Shall we?” Harry asked, mounting his broom.

“Yeah,” Hunter said with a grin. “Say, how fast is that thing?”

“Faster than that Nimbus Two-Thousand you’re riding. Come on!” He kicked off of the ground and went soaring into the air at a speed that even he was surprised by. Within an instant he was level with the Astronomy Tower and gazing down at everyone on the ground.

Hunter caught up. “Blimey! That thing is fast!”

Harry grinned. “Hey, why don’t we race? See who can get around the perimeter of the grounds the fastest? I’ll even give you a thirty-second head start.”

Hunter considered this. “Okay. Come on, let’s go start over by the gates.”

A minute later, Harry and Hunter were hovering just inside of the winged boar gates. “Ready? On your mark, get set—GO!” Harry yelled as Hunter flattened himself against the shaft his Nimbus Two-Thousand and took off. Silently, Harry counted to thirty and then, mimicking Hunter’s position, he shot off after the younger Gryffindor.

Hunter was obviously going as fast as he could. From Harry’s vantage he looked like a large gray blur, the shirt that he was wearing being the only thing that Harry could distinguish.

Maybe it’s just that I need new glasses. Harry smirked at the thought as he felt more saw himself inch closer and closer to the Chaser.

Both Harry and Hunter soared along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry estimating that he had knocked a good ten seconds already off of Hunter’s lead. Suddenly, he saw Hunter jerk upward and wondered why, only to find himself heading straight for a large branch. With a quick twist, he barrel rolled underneath it and straightened out in time to miss another branch. The little maneuver actually took a small chunk out of the distance between himself and the second year.

As they cleared the forest, Harry tried to push his broom a little harder as they flew over the edge of the lake. Hunter was no longer a gray blur in front of him. He was solidifying into a human being on a broomstick.

As they flew past the castle, Harry moved over to the right slightly. Hunter wasn’t more than ten meters away from him—he wanted to be ready to make the pass. Then the boy would be eating his mentor’s dust.

The lake arced back out to the left and Hunter took the shorter line, but that didn’t bother Harry. As far as he could tell, he was still gaining. Once they made the right turn back onto land to fly along the wall, Harry would have him.

And that’s exactly what happened. Harry, on his superior broom, finally caught Hunter as they made a sharp right turn to head back along the wall and passed him. But Hunter wasn’t about to give up. The reflection provided by light hitting the side of Harry’s glasses acted like a side mirror on a car; Hunter was lying flat on the shaft of his broom, giving it everything he had.

For a moment, Harry considered letting the younger Gryffindor win. But only for a moment. After boasting about the Phoenix’s speed, he couldn’t let a Nimbus Two-Thousand beat him, especially when his own Firebolt could cream the older broom.

Older? Jeez are you dating yourself, Potter, and you’re only seventeen! The Nimbus Two-Thousand was the best broom out there not too long ago!

His mind decided, Harry cruised to the finish, Hunter following along about a second behind him. Grinning, Harry landed and waited. Hunter quickly joined him, panting.

“There isn’t a Seeker alive that can stand a chance against you!” he said, breathing deeply. “What did you use on that thing to make it go so fast?”

Harry shrugged and cringed, feeling the affects of riding a broomstick without an adequate Cushioning Charm. “A couple of spells and such that the Marauders had researched.”

“The Marauders? Your dad, right? Along with Professor Lupin and Sirius Black?”

“That’s them.”

“They’re geniuses.”

“They were, yeah. Professor Lupin still is.”

“What did your dad do for a living?” Hunter asked.

“He was an Auror, like your dad,” Harry replied.

“An Auror? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Our dads may have worked together!” Hunter said, suddenly excited.

“I dunno. My dad died in 1981.”

“Oh. I think my dad became an Auror in 1983.”

“Then obviously they didn’t.”

“No.” He glanced up at Harry. “D’you—I mean do you ever miss your parents?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “I think so, yeah. I mean, I never really had a chance to get to know them, but I still feel the loss. They were my parents.”

“What about your godfather? Do you still miss him?”

He nodded. “Every single day.”

“Yeah, I miss my dad everyday too. But I feel like I can deal with it now. I’m proud of him,” Hunter said.

“Are you?”

“Yeah. He died trying to save people, trying to end a war. He was brave.” He frowned. “I hope that one day I’ll be that brave.”

“I think you will be. I think you’re pretty brave right now, Hunter.”

“Not as brave as my dad. Not even as brave as you,” he said. “You’ve taken on Death Eaters. Hell, you’ve taken on You-Know-Who!”

“Not by my choice,” Harry reminded him. “I’m not as brave as people think.”

“Yeah, but you’ve survived and plus you know all those cool spells.” He kicked a small pebble. “I’m—I’m happy you’re my mentor, Harry.”

Suddenly reminded of their rocky beginning and Hunter’s refusal to even have a mentor, Harry felt deeply touched. The only thing he could do was smile, wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders, and say, “I’m happy you’re my friend.”

*****

The next evening found Harry walking the halls after curfew. It was his night to go out on rounds. Much like Ron, he found rounds to be tedious, so while scheduling them with Hermione he always figured out a way to work around doing it too often, using Quidditch practice mainly as his biggest excuse. Plus, there was the fact that Harry and Hermione had agreed silently to themselves that they would never go out on rounds together. It might lead them into trouble.

Harry had yet to ever find a rule breaker on his nights out, so it came as a shock to him when he suddenly bumped into somebody.

“Oh! Sorry, Harry, I didn’t see you there,” Professor Lupin said. “What are you doing out after curfew?”

“I have rounds,” Harry explained.

“Oh. Of course! James used to hate going out on rounds when he became Head Boy. I used to too, but James and I figured the bright side of it was that we could investigate as much as we liked in the castle legally—sort of,” Lupin added sheepishly.

Harry chuckled. “But wasn’t the Marauder’s Map finished by then?”

“Oh, yeah. But we added to it when necessary.”

“I see.” He looked up and down the corridor. “How are things with the Order going?”

“You’ll be happy to know that as of Saturday we are now established at a new headquarters. Hopefully that will make it harder for Bellatrix to sniff us out,” Lupin said.

Harry was pleased at the news, especially since it was his advice to leave Sirius’s old house in the first place. “What about Hermione’s parents?” he asked, remembering that the Order had hidden them away for the rest of the summer.

“Funny you should ask. We’re returning them to their home next weekend. We haven’t had a bit of activity near their home, which is odd, because we thought we would. So, after a lovely two month vacation, the Grangers can finally go back to work,” Lupin said. “I’m sure Hermione will be thrilled to hear the news.”

He nodded. “I know she will. Will the Order leave somebody outside their home to look after them? They still could be vulnerable to attack.”

“Dumbledore thinks so too. There will be somebody watching them, don’t worry,” Lupin assured him.

“Good. I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to them or the Weasleys,” Harry said.

“I understand,” Lupin said quietly.

“And it’s not because I don’t want to go through that pain but rather that I don’t want either Hermione or Ron to go through that pain. It’s bad enough that Percy’s gone. They can’t take another blow,” Harry said.

“The Weasley family is a lot stronger than you think, Harry,” Lupin said, “but I agree that they’ve had enough. I can’t image how sick with worry both Molly and Arthur are, considering that their two oldest sons are in the Order and that Fred and George are petitioning to join.”

“They are?”

Lupin nodded. “They want to be of use. Plus they have that wonderful arsenal of products that they create. I know most people think of them as just being gags, but those tricks can be quite useful in sticky situations.”

“I hope Dumbledore lets them in. After all, they’re adults and they’re brilliant. I just hope that nothing happens to them because of it,” Harry added.

“That’s Molly’s main concern,” Lupin said. “She’s scared for them, just as she’s scared for Bill and Charlie. Just as she’s scared for Ron and Ginny…you and Hermione too.”

Harry frowned. “This place isn’t that much safer than it was last year with that murderer running around, is it?”

“You tell me, Harry,” Lupin said, frowning equally.

“Sometimes I don’t understand why Dumbledore never figured out who the murderer was,” Harry said quietly. “He knows practically everything, but he couldn’t figure out that Crow was killing students.”

Lupin arched an eyebrow. “Tell me, Harry, did you have it figured out?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I thought it was Frost.”

“Why? Why not Crow?”

“Because she hates Muggle-borns and he…he always seemed to have an alibi! I didn’t know that he had a Time Turner,” Harry said.

“And neither did Dumbledore,” Lupin said calmly. “As much as all of us believe Dumbledore knows everything, he really doesn’t. He is a man that can examine things and make great deductions from them, but he can’t solve everything. He is not infallible. He is as much human as you or me. The reason why he couldn’t figure out that Crow was killing the students was for the same basic reason you couldn’t: there wasn’t enough evidence against him.”

“Who did Dumbledore think was killing the students?”

“He spent a great deal of time toying with the idea of an Animagus Death Eater running loose in the castle, sort of like how Sirius was able to slip into and out of the castle a few years back. At one point we wondered if it weren’t Wormtail.”

“But Wormtail spent a great deal of time with Voldemort last year. It couldn’t have been him,” Harry said.

“None of us can keep tabs on a Death Eater every minute of every day. Between your visions, none of us knew what Wormtail was up to. At least, that’s the logic we used,” Lupin explained. “Obviously we were wrong.” He sighed. “Well, I had better be on my way and you have plenty of more places to check out tonight, am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “But wait, I have a question for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you’d be the advisor for the D.A. again this year and let us use your classroom.”

“Of course! It’s a great group and you do an excellent job teaching them. You know, you would be an excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry,” he said, “but I do think being an Auror is a better calling for you. You’ll be great at it.”

“Thank you, sir. Well, good night.”

“Good night, Harry.”

He watched Lupin walk away, still thinking about what Lupin had said before about the Order. How many other times, Harry wondered, had the Order been wrong?

*****

Thanks to the efforts of Hermione, word got out quickly about the reforming of the D.A. Within a week, a meeting time had been set up and Harry found himself in Professor Lupin’s classroom, blowing a whistle to quiet the large number of students that were crowding the rear of the classroom.

“Okay, you lot, quiet down. I’m not going to do any revising of what we did last year. I know there might be some new faces in the crowd who may not know how to do some of the spells we did last year, so I encourage all of you to talk to each other and practice outside of these meetings we’re going to have each month,” Harry said. “We’ve got a lot of ground we can cover because there are several spells and charms to help protect ourselves. After all, that’s what you’re here to learn how to do, right? Protect yourself. You don’t need to be going out there like a vigilante, taking on Death Eaters all on your own, do you? Try that and you’ll probably end up dead. No—when it comes to Death Eaters, the main objective is defend yourself well enough so that you can get away from them. Everyone got that? Good, now let’s get started.

“Pair off. What we’re going to be working on today is Silencing. Believe it or not, but a good defense against somebody is to shut them up. Granted, it doesn’t fully stop them from using spells since, if a person is skilled enough, they can perform nonverbal magic, but it does hinder them. Some people can’t do nonverbal magic. Hopefully, if you run across a Death Eater, that will be the case.

“Can I get a volunteer to help me demonstrate how effective this can be?”

A few brave hands rose. Harry glanced over the crowd, then smiled. “Ally, if you would?” She grinned and came up to the front. “All I want you to do is use a few spells on me. It’s my job to deflect them and then Silence you. Then we’ll see how well you can continue to attack me, okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” he said, taking a few steps away from her and pulling out his wand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She took a deep breath as she held her wand up, then shouted, “Impedimenta!”

Before she even had the last syllable out, Harry was already yelling, “Protego!” The jinx bounced off his shield charm harmlessly.

“Locomotor Mortis!”

Harry quickly muttered the countercurse to her Leg-Locker Curse, the fired back. “Silenco!” he cried, rendering the second year mute. She mouthed a curse, but nothing happened. “You see,” Harry said, turning back to the crowd. “Very effective.

“So, let’s get to work on that. This is also a good way for you to practice the spells I taught you last year, like Disarming or using a shield charm like I did with Ally here. Good luck.”

*****

Standing in the middle of Professor Flitwick’s classroom one week later, Harry had his wand out, his face turning blue as he concentrated intensely, his eyes focused on Lupin, who stood before him.

“Breathe, Potter!” Moody barked.

Harry let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding, his head aching. “It’s…too…difficult,” he wheezed as he hunched over for air.

“Trying to create an effective curse without saying the incantation is difficult?” Moody asked sardonically. “I’d hate to see you attempt some higher-level magic nonverbally, Potter.”

“No one’s ever asked me to place a person in a Full Body Bind without speaking,” Harry said. “I need to practice.”

“Apparently, but do that on your own time, Potter, not mine,” Moody said.

“How?” Harry bit out. “Am I supposed to curse somebody just because I feel like it?”

“You have friends, don’t you? Use them.”

He frowned. “They don’t know what I’m doing,” he said quietly.

“No? Fine. Work with squirrels for all I care, but practice!”

Harry scowled but said nothing.

“Are you ready to try again?” Lupin asked.

“Yeah.”

“Get going then, Potter,” Moody said and sat back against a desk. “Hear the curse in your mind.”

Harry faced Lupin once again and pointed his wand at him. Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Total—

“ARGH!” he cried as a flash of pain ripped through his forehead. His scar seemed to be on fire.

“Harry!” he heard Lupin yell distantly as he collapsed.

Flashing through his mind he saw flames engulfing houses. Death Eaters marched, their wands shooting bright fireballs into more houses. A tree fell. Suddenly, he was looking into a broken mirror, staring at a face that wasn’t his own. The face was as white as ash, the eyes as red as blood.

Lord Voldemort laughed at his image and tapped his forehead. “Are you seeing this, Potter? Are you seeing this? This is Keswick. My servants are burning the entire town to the ground. Another town like this will fall in the same manner soon. Since I am a merciful lord, however, I am willing to give you a chance to play hero and save that other town, Potter. I have a riddle for you to solve, since you like them so much. You have until All Hallow’s Eve to figure it out and you must do it alone or believe me, I will find out. Ready Potter? Listen closely because here it is:

“Upon the Afon Hafren do farms lie.

“In a town and parish that are like a certain man and I.

“A royal forest lies near by.

“Above its gardens birds like to fly.”

Voldemort laughed, staring at his reflection. “You have two weeks.” With a snap of his fingers, the connection broke, causing such an intense pain that Harry rolled over and vomited.

Lupin was sitting by his side. “Harry?”

Harry felt weak, so weak. Darkness was enclosing him. The only thing he could mumble was, “Another attack,” before he succumbed to it.

Author’s Note: Thanks everyone for the reviews! I appreciate it. Once again, thanks also go out to Charmaine for betaing this. Merci!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ALL HALLOW’S EVE

Voldemort’s riddle haunted Harry for the following week. He had woken up in the Hospital Wing, Ron and Hermione by his side. Dumbledore joined them shortly afterwards, asking Ron and Hermione to excuse them for a moment. In private, he notified Harry that he had sent Moody out to raise the alarm, while Lupin was gathering the Order members within the walls of the castle.

“What did you see, Harry?” Dumbledore had asked.

Harry explained how he saw the burning houses in Keswick and Voldemort’s reflection in a mirror. He neglected to tell Dumbledore, however, about the riddle. Voldemort had said not to tell anyone. Harry shuddered to think what Voldemort would do if Harry disobeyed him.

Suddenly, Dumbledore’s warning to him about becoming Voldemort’s weapon came back to him. It was true. Voldemort was using him.

As soon as he was released by Madam Pomfrey, Harry immediately went to the library. He didn’t know what to look up. Voldemort’s riddle seemed so odd, talking about farms, forests, and gardens. That could have been anywhere, Harry realized.

After one week of searching, his frustration was growing larger and larger. He was in a deserted corner of the library, staring at a book of the geography of Great Britain, when Hermione sat down next to him.

“So,” she said, “if I tell you what I’ve been working on will you tell me what you’re working on?”

“Huh?” he said, starled. One glance at her face told him that she was concerned about him. “I’m fine, Hermione, don’t worry.”

“Harry,” she said calmly, “you had a horrible vision last week that resulted with you staying in the Hospital Wing overnight. Ever since then you’ve been in here every chance you get, forgetting to do your homework, and you’ve skipped two Quidditch practices. Ron’s actually quite annoyed at you, but you’ve been too busy to notice. What’s going on?”

“I thought you were going to tell me what you’ve been up to first,” Harry said, flipping a page.

She sighed and placed a folded slip of parchment on the table. “I hope you’ll find that adequate for your broom.”

He stared at her for a moment before taking the slip of paper and unfolding it.

Penna Madidus

“Penna Madidus?”

She nodded. “Try it on the Phoenix. It’s the best I could come up with.”

“Then it’s perfect. I’ll make sure the charm is in place before the first Quidditch match of the season,” Harry said.

“Will you even play at the first Quidditch match of the season? The way you’ve been going, Ron fears that you won’t and that he’s going to have to find a new Seeker,” Hermione said.

His head snapped toward her. “Find a new Seeker? Since when did he become captain?”

“Since you stopped showing up to practice,” she said evenly. “Harry—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.

“Really?” she asked, her tone skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Then why is this vibrating?” she asked, pulling the charmed pager she had given him for his birthday out of her pocket.

“Where’d you get that?” he demanded.

“I had Ron nick it out of your trunk. I’m sorry you’re not getting a great deal of use out of it,” she said sadly.

He frowned. “I forgot to put it in my pocket today. Hell, I’ve been forgetting a lot of things this week, as you’ve pointed out.” He rested his elbows on the table and let his head fall into his hands. “I’ve got a big problem, Hermione,” he admitted.

She scooted closer to him. “What is it, Harry? How can I help?”

“You can’t, that’s just it, Hermione,” he said. “You’re not allowed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He pointed to his scar. “He told me that nobody can help me.”

Her breath hitched. “Voldemort talked to you?”

“When he showed me the Keswick attack.”

“My God. Harry—what did he say?”

He frowned. “He told me that he’s going to attack another town in two—now one—week and then gave me a riddle to figure out so that I can try to save it. But I can’t figure it out.”

She looked down at the book he was searching through. “Forests?”

“I can’t talk about it,” he said. “And I do need help. It would be so much easier if I knew what those two damn words meant.”

“Can you write them down?” she asked.

He stared at her. “He’ll know.”

She sighed impatiently at him. “Harry, for God’s sake, aren’t you learning Occlumency? Can’t you use it against him so he won’t be able to read your mind?”

“I have to be void of emotion to utilize it against him, Hermione,” he said, feeling agitated. “Right now I’m really stressed out.”

She leaned forward and hugged him. Before she pulled back, she added a small kiss on his cheek. “You need to see Dumbledore. You have to tell him. He can help you.”

“I probably have done a great deal of damage by just mentioning it to you.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Please don’t tell me I’ve just killed scores of people.”

She grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and shook him. “Harry, stop it. You have to go see Dumbledore.”

“I can’t. He’ll know. He’ll turn whatever town he’s attacking next into rubble. I need to figure this out on my own,” he said vehemently.

She sighed. “Fine.”

“If only I knew what those words meant though!” he snarled and slammed the geography book closed.

“Have you tried looking them up?” she asked.

He gave her an annoyed look. “Yes, Hermione, I’m not that stupid.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” she said defensively, but then sat back. “I assume you checked in an English dictionary?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever consider that whatever your two words are aren’t English?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“So you’ve tried alternate dictionaries…translation guides?”

“It’s kind of hard when I don’t know what language the two words are in,” Harry said.

“It could be Gaelic, Welsh…or perhaps it is English, but Old English, or Middle English,” she said. “You could try looking there.”

He sighed. “I could,” he conceded. “Tell Ron I’ll be at the next practice on Wednesday, I promise. And by that time I will have tried out this little charm you’ve found—where did you find it anyway?”

“I didn’t find it. I—er—created it,” she said, her cheeks turning pink.

“Created it?”

“Well, yes. All of those other Cushioning Charms had patents on them so I figured maybe I could try to create one on my own. I spent a lot of time researching and when I finally thought I had the right combination, I tested it.”

“On what?”

“On one of my larger books,” she said, her cheeks becoming a cherry red now.

“And?”

“And I was able to sit on it for over three hours while doing my homework,” she said. “Then I was done.”

“So you think this will work on a broomstick?” he asked her.

“I hope it does.”

“I bet it will,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Time will tell.”

“It sure will,” he said and then sighed. “Listen, give me about another hour down here and then I’ll come and join you and Ron in the common room. It sounds like a have a bit of homework to catch up on. I’m lucky it’s the weekend.”

“You sure are, although a few assignments were due last week. I’d get those done first and hope the professors will allow you to turn them in,” she advised.

“I will. See you later,” he said.

“Good luck.” She kissed his cheek one more time and left him there, once again flipping through the geography book, his sense of purpose renewed.

*****

For the next two days, Harry cut back on his research, determined to get his homework done and to catch up in class. On Tuesday, Harry had to confront Dumbledore. Since it was his Occlumency week, he wondered how long he could keep Dumbledore from knowing about Voldemort’s riddle. Did he even want to try? After all, it wouldn’t be his fault if Dumbledore forced the information out of him, would it?

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, Harry couldn’t decide), Dennis Creevey gave him a note during lunch from Dumbledore stating that he would not be able to give Harry lessons that evening. It would give Harry more time to do research.

“You do have an essay you have to finish, though,” Hermione reminded him.

He groaned. “How am I supposed to figure out this damn riddle if I’m preoccupied by something as insignificant as homework?” he asked her.

She frowned. “I would never call homework ‘insignificant,’ but I do understand your priorities. In fact, you do have them in the right order, but Harry, it’s Potions. Snape won’t allow you to turn in anything late.”

He sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll do the Potions essay and then continue researching.”

He absolutely hated the essay. He was far too distracted to make coherent sentences and in the end, he crumpled up his parchment and threw it into the fire in disgust.

“Blimey, mate,” Ron said as he watched Harry take his quill pen and stab it viciously into the table. “Take it easy. It’s just an essay.”

“It’s the most insane, asinine essay Snape’s ever given us,” Harry said testily. “He’s a complete and utter moron.”

“That we all know,” Ron said. “Still, I don’t think you can afford to not turn in another assignment. McGonagall’s furious with you, y’know.”

“Yeah, some Head Boy I’m turning out to be,” he muttered. “Maybe Dumbledore was right.”

“About what?”

“That I couldn’t handle the burden. That’s why he didn’t make me prefect and that’s why he hesitated on making me Head Boy.” He sighed. “I didn’t want him to be right, but I think he is.”

Ron studied him carefully before shaking his head. “Nah, he isn’t right. In fact, I think he’s absolutely, completely wrong. You handle stress better than anyone I know, mate. Sure you can be sort of a prat when you are stressed out, but I think anybody who had to deal with the amount of stress you deal with on a daily basis would kill themselves.”

Harry glanced sideways at him. “Gee, thanks, Ron.”

Ron held up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, Harry, I’m trying to compliment you. There’s a sort of—I dunno—strength about you that makes you hold on and keep plugging away at things with the hope that it’ll all get better. That’s what makes so many people look up to you, mate, including,” he added in a whisper, “that girl you’re dating that just so happens to be our best friend.”

“I think she’s annoyed with me,” Harry mumbled.

“Hermione? Why? Over the scary You-Know-Who thing?”

“She told you?”

He shrugged. “When she can’t talk to you, she talks to me, which is scary in and of itself. I don’t know how you do it, Harry, having nice, pleasant, meaningful conversations with her. Every time she and I talk we end up bickering over something stupid and trivial.”

Harry laughed. “I think it would be weird if you two didn’t bicker.” He sighed and glanced down at his Potions book and took out another sheet of parchment. “Thanks, Ron. I’m feeling a bit better now.”

*****

Wednesday afternoon found Harry back in the library, only this time he was standing before Madam Pince, the stern librarian.

“I need to see all of our dictionaries that deal with Old and Middle English,” he told her when she glanced up at him.

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“History of Magic essay,” he lied.

She eyed him closely. Harry began to wonder if she was a Legilimens. Finally, she got up and said, “Follow me.”

She gave him two different Middle English dictionaries and one battered Old English to Modern English translation guide. “That’s all I have, Potter, and they’re reference material, so don’t ask me if you can take it out of the library.”

“No, ma’am,” he said and sat down at the nearest table. “Thank you.”

She walked away stiffly as Harry flipped open the translation guide first and looked for the word “Afon.” Five minutes into his search, Ron walked into the library, spotted him, and joined him at his table.

“Hey,” Ron said, looking down at the book. “What the bloody hell are you reading?”

“Translation guide,” Harry muttered. “What are you here for?”

“Oh, I’m just here to remind you that you told Hermione to tell me that you promised to come to practice today, which is in fifteen minutes,” Ron said cheerfully.

Harry looked up at him. “Damn.”

Ron shrugged. “You did promise and, between you and me, it’s not good for team morale if their captain doesn’t show up for practice.”

“No, no, I know. You’re right.” He sighed and got up. “I just have to do one thing first.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

“Tweak my broom.”

Ron gave him a sardonic look. “Does that mean you’ve got to go take a piss or do something more…interesting?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Get your head out of the bloody gutter, Weasley.”

Ron’s roar of laughter caused Madam Pince to glare at them. He lowered his laugh to a chuckle. “Okay, okay, what did you really mean?” he asked as they left.

“Hermione thinks she’s been able to create a new Cushioning Charm to help the Phoenix and I told her I’d try it out,” he told Ron.

“Wicked, although it will be a pity if it works—you won’t walk funny after practice.”

“Very true,” Harry said. “What’s got you in such a good mood, anyway?”

“Saturday is our first Hogsmeade weekend and then afterward is the Halloween feast. I dunno about you, but I can’t wait to see what the house-elves whip up for us this year,” Ron said, licking his lips eagerly.

“Oh,” Harry said, thinking about the riddle and dreading the day. On Halloween, another town would turn to dust.

Upon returning to the boys’ dorm, Harry quickly grabbed the Phoenix and, with a wave of his wand, had it hovering before him.

“Okay, so what’s the spell Hermione wanted you to try on it?” Ron asked.

Harry searched around his trunk for the little slip of paper she had given him. When he found it, he glanced at the words before breathing in deeply. “Let’s hope this works,” he muttered to Ron, who nodded.

Holding his wand aloft, he gave it a quick wave before yelling, “Penna Madidus!” An odd greenish blue shot out from his wand and covered the broomstick, then hung about it like a strange fog. Harry and Ron glanced at each other before eyeing it warily.

“Er—Harry?”

“I don’t know.”

Slowly, the fog faded away and the broomstick fell. Harry walked over and picked it up gingerly. He examined the shaft and the twigs, making sure everything looked okay with it.

“Er—Maybe you should take your Firebolt with you, just in case,” Ron said.

Harry nodded in agreement and grabbed his trusty broomstick—the one that he knew worked.

Down on the pitch, the team greeted Harry rather jovially even though he had been absent for several practices.

“Look!” Alex McGuire cried. “The prodigal son has returned!”

“Ha, ha, very funny, McGuire,” Andrew Kirke said, eyeing Harry shrewdly. “So, where’ve you been, Captain?”

“Working on a large project,” Harry said.

“What kind of a project?” Kirke asked.

“Is it any of your business?” Ron asked snidely. “Harry’s very devoted to the Quidditch team. If he’s had to skip practice to work on a project, then it must be very important, and that’s all you need to know. Now come on, you lot, let’s practice!”

Harry gave Ron a look of thanks. Obviously, in his time away, Ron had become quite an effective substitute.

Harry mounted the Phoenix and kicked off with the rest of the team. They immediately started to do drills. Ginny would throw the Quaffle to Hunter, who would launch it far up the field to Natalie McDonald, their new Chaser, who would throw it sideways to Ginny, who finally attempted to score against Ron. Then they would switch who got to take the “killing blow” as Harry thought of it, simply due to the way all of them tried to plow it past Ron. Harry nodded in approval. There wasn’t a hint of rust on the team, which was good considering their upcoming match against Slytherin. The greatest effort seemed to be from Natalie, who had improved quite a bit since the tryouts. Harry was proud of her.

After some more shooting and passing drills, Harry called for what he called a dodging drill, which was basically him letting the Beaters chase everyone, himself included, trying to unseat them with the Bludgers. Not only was it great practice for the Beaters, it was just downright fun. Harry laughed as a Bludger zoomed past his ear, grinning back at McGuire and yelling, “You’ll have to try better than that!”

For Harry, the two hours he spent at practice had been the greatest stress reliever of the week. For two hours he didn’t think about Voldemort or the war, homework, training, or his duties. He felt carefree. He felt free.

When practice ended, he couldn’t stop beaming. “That was a fantastic practice! I’m really proud of all of you. You’re doing great! Slytherin better watch out because in a few weeks, we’re going to wipe the floor with them.”

His six teammates cheered and followed him into the locker room. Ron came over and patted him on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, Captain. How did the Phoenix do? You don’t look like you’re walking bowlegged.”

“Because I’m not,” Harry said happily and then lowered his voice. “Remind me to snog Hermione senseless. She’s a genius.”

Ron’s cheeks reddened. “Just don’t do it in the common room for everyone to see, okay?”

“Of course not,” he replied with a wink as he changed back into his regular clothes. “Broom cupboards are much cozier.”

Ron blanched. “They are?”

Harry laughed at him. “I was just kidding, Ron.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Harry shook his head. “Come on, let’s go to the Great Hall. They should be serving dinner any minute.”

Ron grinned and started for the door. “Last one there’s a rotten dragon egg!”

Laughing once again, he took off after the redhead.

*****

The next morning, Harry began to feel frantic. He hadn’t figured out Voldemort’s riddle yet and Halloween was only two days away! If he didn’t figure it out soon, who knows how many people would be killed.

Hermione seemed to understand his distress. She said absolutely nothing when he declared before breakfast that he wasn’t going to his classes until he solved the riddle. He was going to skip meals, skip everything until he succeeded. Hermione showed her support by sneaking in breakfast for him in the library before she ran off for class.

By the evening, Harry sat weary-eyed, searching through a Celtic language translation guide. Ron and Hermione joined him after dinner, sneaking in a small chunk of roast beef and two dinner rolls.

“I’m sorry that’s all we could get you,” Hermione whispered.

“It’s okay,” Harry said, tearing into one of the dinner rolls. “I just simply appreciate the food.”

“How are you coming?” she asked.

“Not well,” he muttered. He flipped to a Welsh translation guide. “I’ve been searching everywhere—Old English, Middle English, Scots Gaelic, Irish Gaelic…if it’s not in the Welsh portion of this translation guide, I’m going to try Dutch next.”

“We’ll let you get back to it, then,” she said. “Oh, and Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got your homework for you, plus notes that you can copy,” she said.

He gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

“And I’ll just let you copy my homework,” Ron added with a wink.

He grinned. “Thanks, Ron,” he said while Hermione tutted in disapproval.

“Good luck, Harry,” she said, guiding Ron away.

He munched on his roast beef, flipping the page, and nearly choked. There, on the page, was the word he had been searching for: Afon. He read the translation aloud eagerly. “River.”

The Afon Hafren was a river! He leapt up and nearly ran over to Madam Pince. “Do we have any maps of Wales in Welsh?” he asked her.

“I believe so,” she replied, looking at him with her still suspicious eyes. “More research, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

She got up and led him away. “Our newest one is from 1920. We retrieved it from a burning Muggle library,” she said.

“Along with several other items, I presume?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “Only those that a wizarding school could use. Most of that Muggle stuff is rubbish. Ah,” she said, pulling out a stack of old, yellowish looking maps. “It will be in there. Just remember to be careful.”

“I will,” he assured her and dived in, not even waiting for her to walk away. When he found the map he was looking for, he scanned all of Wales, searching for the River Hafren. He found it, running from the Cambrian Mountains in Wales into England. His mind raced. Wasn’t that…

He grabbed another map off of the stack. It was of the same area, but in English, thankfully. He traced his finger over the map to the exact same spot the Welsh map read Afon Hafren to find that its English equivalent was none other than the River Severn.

Finally, he thought. Finally, I’m making progress.

Now he recited the riddle in his mind, only making the appropriate changes.

Upon the River Severn do farms lie.

In a town and parish that are like a certain man and I.

A royal forest lies near by.

Above its gardens birds like to fly.

He inhaled. Upon the River Severn do farms lie. So, he was looking for a rural town along the River Severn?

In a town and parish that are like a certain man and I.

Harry frowned. That one puzzled him. He muttered it to himself slowly, taking the maps back with him to his table.

Like a certain man and I? Who was this man? Voldemort feels a connection toward somebody? Dumbledore, possibly? Are the town and parish rivals—enemies?

He shook his head. No, that didn’t seem right. Why would a town and a whole parish be enemies?

He decided to skip that line and go onto the next. A royal forest lies near by. Okay, simple enough. Look for a forest, he told himself.

The problem was, there were a few different forests in Wales, but he couldn’t tell if there were any by the River Severn. He looked at several different maps of Wales yet found nothing that could seem to help him.

Suddenly, an idea came to him. What if the place he was looking for wasn’t in Wales, but in England? The River Severn certainly ran through England, so it was absolutely ridiculous to look at just Wales. After all, it would be just like Voldemort to try and trick him.

Flipping through his pile of maps, he found one of the United Kingdom and followed the River Severn from its mouth near Llandiloes, Wales and up into England, going past towns such as Shrewsbury, Worcester, and all the way down to Gloucester. Then, nearby he saw it: the Royal Forest of Dean.

That had to be it, he told himself. Quickly, he began scanning to see what towns were in the area and then frowned. There were loads of towns. Not only was Gloucester to its west, but other towns were within the forest, such as Cinderford and Coleford. He sighed. This was going to take a long time, narrowing them down.

He decided to jot each city, town, and village in the Forest of Dean and along the River Severn before looking for as much information as he could on them. It meant spending long hours with his nose stuck in encyclopedias and other reference material. When it was time for the library to close, he was only a third of the way down on his list.

“The library is closing, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pince said.

“Can I take this book with me?” he asked her, holding up one of the encyclopedias.

“It’s a reference book that stays here,” she said.

“Please?”

“No, Potter,” she said firmly. “I don’t know what you’re researching, aside from British geography, but it’s taking away from your important magical studies. If I catch you skipping your classes tomorrow to be in here for Merlin only knows what, I’ll hand you over to Professor McGonagall.”

He scowled at her, tossing the heavy book back onto the table. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, grabbing his bag and leaving.

He wandered back to the common room, which was emptying out as students went off to bed. Ron and Hermione were still up—Ron still doing his homework while Hermione was reading.

“Harry!” Ron said happily upon noticing his friend’s return. “How’s the research coming?”

“Good,” Harry replied, sitting down. “I had a breakthrough, but Madam Pince threw me out.”

Hermione glanced at her watch. “Well, the library did close five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, that’s why she threw me out, but she wouldn’t let me take the book I was using out,” he said.

“Reference?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s why. Those aren’t meant to be checked out.”

“That’s stupid,” Ron said. “They should let all of the books be checked out.”

“The reason why they aren’t checked out is because, for one thing, they’re expensive, and two, no one reads the whole thing. People look at them just to make sure they have their facts straight. That’s why they’re called ‘reference’ books—you refer to them,” Hermione said.

“If you say so,” Ron muttered. “So are you going to go back tomorrow?”

Harry sighed. “I have to, don’t I? I mean, I was this close,” he said, holding his fingers up to indicate a small amount. “I could feel it. I wish I could have continued. I mean, every second I waste is a second less that Aurors have time to prepare for. Every second I waste is a second closer to that town’s doom.” He sat back in his chair, an idea forming in his mind.

Hermione was watching him carefully. “Harry, what are you thinking about?”

He looked up at her. “Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just trying to figure something out.”

“Like using your invisibility cloak to sneak into the library after hours?”

A mischievous smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Usually, I’d scold you and urge you not to do it, but this time is different.”

Ron looked completely taken aback by her words. “You’re not going to nag him about following the rules?”

“No,” she said. “People’s lives are at stake. Quite frankly, I don’t even know why you’re still sitting here, Harry.”

He laughed a little and snuck up to his dorm, careful not to wake the slumbering Neville, Seamus, and Dean while he rummaged through his trunk. When he found his cloak and the Marauder’s Map, he went back downstairs where Ron and Hermione stood, waiting.

“What are you two waiting for?” he asked.

“We’re coming with you,” Hermione said. “Whether you like it or not, we’re coming with you.”

“But you can’t!” Harry protested. “You can’t help me or that town will be destroyed even faster.”

“We’re not going to give you the answer, mate,” Ron said. “We’re just going to help you find what you need and make sure you don’t get caught.”

“Besides, if you stay calm and use Occlumency, Voldemort shouldn’t know a thing,” Hermione said. “Please, Harry, let us do what we can for you.”

He frowned and let out a reluctant sigh. “Okay.”

The trip underneath the invisibility cloak was rather uneventful. Ron had to slouch in order for their feet not to be seen and once, they had to take a detour to avoid Peeves, who was rigging a bucket of mud to dump onto whoever tripped the trip wire he had going across the floor. Other than that, they had no problems getting to the library.

Harry slowly opened the door, glancing at the map to make sure no one was in or near the library. Then, he took the cloak off of them and took out his wand, muttering, “Lumos.”

Ron and Hermione copied him before Hermione said, “Okay, what books do we need?”

“Any books you can find on towns in or around the Forest of Dean near the River Severn,” Harry said, quickly finding the book he had been using earlier.

“Okay, is there anything specific you need to know about these towns?” Hermione asked.

Harry flipped open the book and turned back to the page he was on. “Er—yeah, what parish they’re in and whether or not they have any gardens.”

“Gardens?” said Ron.

“Yeah, gardens,” Harry said.

“I suppose you mean like gardens that tourists can visit,” Hermione said.

“I guess,” Harry replied, reading up on the town of Milkwall.

“Okay,” Ron said, “let’s get busy, then.”

They spent three hours searching, occasionally glancing at the Marauder’s Map to see where Filch was. There was one tense moment where he did come in the library to check on it, but thanks to Ron noticing his approach, they quickly gathered up their materials and hovered in a corner of the library underneath the invisibility cloak.

Finally, in hour four, Hermione murmured, “I think I may have found something.”

Harry rushed over to her side. “What is it?”

“Westbury-on-Severn. Parish: Westbury-on-Severn. Home of the Westbury Court Garden,” she told him.

“Where it is located?” he asked.

She took him over to the map of the United Kingdom they had lying out and pointed. “There,” she said. “Right along the River Severn. It’s a rural town.”

Harry stared at the little dot on the map and whispered, “Upon the River Severn do farms lie. In a town and parish that are like a certain man and I. Westbury-on-Severn in the parish Westbury-on-Severn. They’re named the same. Of course! ‘Like a certain man and I.’ His father!”

“What?” Ron muttered.

“Tom Riddle. Voldemort and his father share the same birth name, just like how Westbury-on-Severn shares its name with its parish!” Harry said excitedly. “The Royal Forest of Dean lies nearby and above the Westbury Court Garden do birds like to fly.” He laughed. “That’s it! That’s got to be it!” He turned to Hermione, placed his hands on either side of her face, and kissed her. “You found it!”

She laughed. “That’s all well and good, though, Harry, but now you’ve got to tell Dumbledore so that he can warn the Ministry.”

He nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. Let’s clean up and go see him right away.”

“Bloody hell, he acts like he’s just won the Quidditch Cup,” Ron said as they quickly put their books back.

“This might just be better than winning the Quidditch Cup,” Harry said.

They ran as fast as they could to Dumbledore’s office, not even bothering with the invisibility cloak. When they reached the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance to his office, Harry shouted out the password, waited long enough for it to jump out of the way, took the stairs two at a time, and then pounded on the door, Ron and Hermione right on his heels.

Dumbledore opened the door, wearing a deep purple robe and a night cap, yet his eyes were bright and alert. “Harry, Ron, Hermione—goodness, it’s nearly one in the morning.”

“We’re sorry to wake you, sir—” Hermione began.

“—Voldemort’s going to attack Westbury-on-Severn tomorrow,” Harry finished.

“You’ve had a vision?” Dumbledore asked.

“Not since Keswick,” Harry murmured.

“Then how did you learn this?”

“He—er—when he spoke to me, he told me a riddle in order to figure out where he’s attacking next.”

“What is the riddle?”

Harry recited the poem while Dumbledore sat down, listening intently. When Harry finished, he pulled out a map and gazed down at it, tracing his long finger over it. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Town and parish. Very interesting.”

“Do you agree with me, sir?” Harry asked. “Westbury-on-Severn?”

“Yes, I do. I will Floo the Minister immediately.” He smiled at them. “You three have done a great job. Thank you. Now, it’s late. I’ll take care of everything. If I remember correctly, tomorrow is Appartion testing in Hogsmede. You’ll need your rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

*****

Anxiety was the only thing Harry felt the following day as he, Ron, and Hermione made their way to Hogsmeade. He constantly wondered when the attack would take place and whether or not the Aurors would arrive on time. Did he even answer the riddle correctly?

Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ve got to focus on the test now.” She turned to Ron, who was looking slightly green. “And you need to stop worrying about the test. You’ll do fine. Both of you, just remember to concentrate.”

“I’m going to fail,” Ron moaned.

“You are not. Don’t talk like that,” Hermione admonished.

“Mum and Dad would barely let me practice,” Ron said. “They thought I was going to lose a limb or something.”

“Not if you concentrate. Focus on your destination,” Hermione said.

“You’re beginning to sound like that old guy we had for an instructor over the summer,” Harry said.

“Oh, so what if I am?” Hermione said. “It’s good advice.”

When they arrived in Hogsmeade, there was a small sign for Apparition testing pointing right down High Street. They headed that way, catching sight of a several seventh-year students who were not of age when testing took place at the Ministry. To Harry’s great surprise and disdain, one of them was Draco Malfoy.

“What’s he doing here?” Harry growled.

Hermione looked up ahead and spotted him. “I don’t know. I would have expected him to take his test at the Ministry. I’m sure he was of age at the time.”

“D’you think it’s got anything to do with what happened this summer?” Harry asked.

“It’s possible,” she replied.

“Or maybe he failed,” Ron said, a hint of hope in his voice.

Three Ministry officials were waiting for all of them at the end of the street. Two of them looked very old, while the third was middle-aged.

“Come, come everyone,” the oldest-looking one said. “The objective for today is very simple. Apparate from one end of High Street to the other. Mr. Beale here is going to Apparate down there first. Then you’ll Apparate after him one at a time. Mr. Beale will give you either a green card or a red card. Then you’ll Apparate back and we’ll determine whether or not you passed.” With a sudden CRACK, the middle-aged man, Mr. Beale, was gone. “Everyone, please, line up.”

Hermione got in line, followed by Harry and Ron, who looked even greener than before. Much to their combined chagrin, Malfoy stepped in line behind them.

“You better not barf, Weasel,” he said. “What’s the matter? Did you fail the last test?”

“Did you?” Ron snapped back, a flush of red giving his face Christmas colors.

“This is my first time taking them,” Malfoy said. “It’s more convenient to do it here.”

“Well, it’s the same with me,” Ron said. “I haven’t taken it yet either.”

“Now you’re about to,” Malfoy said, smirking. “Don’t lose your spine.”

Harry turned around sharply and said to him, “Hey Malfoy, don’t lose your b—oh, wait, you don’t have any.”

There was a loud CRACK as the first student Disapparated.

“Go splice yourself with a flea, Potter,” Malfoy spat.

“Speaking of which, when you were learning how to Apparate, did you splice yourself with an ass, because you sure look like one,” Harry said, earning himself a roaring laugh out of Ron.

Malfoy snarled up at Ron. “Shut up, Weasley. After all, you don’t have to splice yourself with a big, hairy orangutan because you already look like one!”

“While you look incredibly like a ferret,” Ron said.

“Boys,” Hermione chided. “Leave the ferret alone and focus on what you’re about to do.”

Ron snickered while all three of them turned around, leaving Malfoy sulking. Eventually, it was Hermione’s turn to step forward.

“Good luck,” Harry whispered in her ear. “You’ll do great.”

He watched her step up, give her name, and then take a deep breath. At the old man’s nod, she twisted herself quickly to the right and CRACK, she was gone. Harry scanned the area, but found no trace of her.

“Next,” the old man called.

Harry turned quickly to Ron, who was turning green again. “You’ll do fine when it’s your turn. Don’t let anything bother you. I’ll be there on the other side.”

Then he stepped up and gave his name to the old man, who in turned gasped and looked directly at his scar. “My, my, it is you. Well, okay then, Mr. Potter, off you go to the end of the street.”

Harry stood still, imagining shops on his right and left, seeing exactly where he wanted to go. Keeping that image in his mind, the snapped to the right and felt himself being squeezed in on all sides until finally, he came out of it at the other end of High Street, Hermione standing near him with a green card.

“You made it!” she squealed.

He laughed. “You had doubts?”

“No, of course not.”

Mr. Beale was examining him up and down. “Okay, you’re clear.” He handed over a green card. “Apparate back when you’re ready.”

Suddenly, with a loud CRACK, Ron Apparated, looking rather dazed. When he spotted Harry, he yelled, “Harry! Am I missing anything?”

Harry eyed him over, as did Mr. Beale.

“You’re clear,” Mr. Beale said, handing Ron a green card.

“I-I did it?” Ron sputtered.

Mr. Beale nodded. “You did. Apparate back when you’re ready.”

Ron ran over to Harry and Hermione. “I Apparated!”

“Wonderful job, Ron,” Hermione said, giving him a hug. “Now we just have to Apparate back to complete the test.”

“I’m ready when you are,” Harry said.

“Me too,” Hermione said. “Let’s go over there and finish this.”

The three of them walked away as Malfoy Apparated, looking smug. Harry paid him little attention. He focused his mind back on where he had just come from, then, twisting to his right, he Disapparted just as Ron and Hermione did.

They arrived back at nearly precisely the same time. The other old man examined all three of them, took their names, and then handed each of them their Apparition licenses. “Congratulations.”

All three of them were ecstatic, none more so than Ron. He was practically skipping up the street to the Three Broomsticks.

“When I get back, I’m going to write my parents and tell them. They’ll be thrilled,” he said happily. “I was sure that was going to lose an eyebrow or something. Maybe a finger.”

“But you didn’t,” Hermione said, grinning. “Nothing was left behind, not even a freckle.”

“I’m so pumped up right now I feel like I could take on the entire Slytherin Quidditch team,” he said. “How about you, Harry?”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, me too.”

Quite honestly, though, his mind had already begun to wander back to Voldemort’s attack. He wondered if Westbury-on-Severn had been attacked already and if so, had the Aurors gotten there on time. Was anybody killed? Were any Death Eaters captured? Was there a single

*****

Later on that evening, during the annual Halloween feast, Harry could hardly eat. All he did was push his meatloaf and mashed potatoes around his plate with his fork while tapping his fingers nervously against the table.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “you need to eat.”

“What? Oh,” he murmured and grabbed a dinner roll. “I’m just wondering what’s going on.”

“I know,” she said. “So am I.”

“I can’t stand this, waiting around to find out what happened. I should march right over there to Dumbledore and demand a report,” he said.

She smiled. “Unfortunately, Harry, you’re not the Minister, nor are you some general in an army. Now, are you going to eat that dinner roll, or just keep tearing it up?”

He looked down to see that he was, indeed, shredding his dinner roll. He grudgingly took a bite. “Better?”

“Much.”

When the feast was over, Harry decided that he couldn’t wait any longer. He stayed in the Great Hall until Dumbledore got up and left. Harry quickly followed him out.

“Sir, I need to talk to you,” he said.

Dumbledore turned. “Of course, Harry. What is it?”

“I need to know what’s happened. Has Westbury-on-Severn been attacked.”

Dumbledore frowned. “That, I do not know. I have been waiting for Fawkes to return with news from the Order.”

“You sent the Order there?”

“Tonks was selected to be part of the team of Aurors that went to protect Westbury. She will send me word as soon as she can,” he said.

“And?”

“And I will send for you when Fawkes returns. That’s the best I can do right now, Harry.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

*****

He was in the middle of catching up on his homework when a fireball erupted in front of him. A single red phoenix feather fell from it and the fireball disappeared. Ron and Hermione were amazed.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron cried.

“Dumbledore,” Harry said, his heart rate picking up. “He’s heard from Tonks.”

He jumped up and headed to the portrait hole. “Wait!” Hermione called from behind him. “We’re coming too!”

The three of them made their way to Dumbledore’s office. The headmaster opened the door before they could even knock.

“How many people were killed?” was all Harry could ask.

Dumbledore motioned for them to sit in the three cushy armchairs on the other side of his desk. When they sat down, he began. “Voldemort’s vampires attacked Westbury-on-Severn at nine o’clock this evening. There they were ambushed by a contingent of Aurors who dispatched them rather quickly. No one, save the vampires, was hurt.”

Harry stared at him. “No one?”

“Not a soul.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “Because of you three figuring out that riddle and the excellent skills of the Aurors, there weren’t any Muggle or wizard casualties. Voldemort lost thirty vampires tonight.”

Harry sunk down in his seat and let his head fall back, feeling a great burden lift from his shoulders. No one was hurt. They had survived. They were safe. Everything was okay.

For now.

Author’s Note: Big thanks yet again for Charmaine for being lightning-fast and betaing these chapters. The only other thing I have to say is…anyone up for a spot of Quidditch? ;)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SYMPATHY FOR A FERRET

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione put the Daily Prophet down on the table for Harry and Ron to read with her. On the front page was a moving picture of a man in his thirties with a roguishly handsome face and piercing eyes above an article.

AURORS SAVE TOWN FROM VAMPIRE ATTACK ON A TIP

A tip-off led 10 Aurors to battle against 30 vampires in the small town of Westbury-on-Severn in Gloucestershire last night.

The tip, which came in early Friday night from a “trusted source,” according to Minister of Magic Amelia Bones, prompted the Aurors to arrive in Westbury-on-Severn shortly before dawn of that day.

“I hate to think what would have happened if we hadn’t been here,” said Gawain Greene (pictured), an Auror.

“A lot of people would be dead right now.”

The attack started the next evening around 9:00 when the awaiting Aurors noticed the vampires coming out of the sewers. The battle took place within the streets of the small town.

Greene, who led the Aurors to victory, is reported to have saved three Muggles who were being attacked in their home before defeating at least nine of the vampires.

“I was just trying to protect the people,” Greene said, brushing aside any compliments.

Protect them, he did. Thanks to his and the other Aurors efforts, no one was injured. Only a few Muggles had to have their memories modified.

“It was a good day in the war against [He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named],” Greene said. “We need more days like today.”

“Well, that was a crappy article,” Ron commented. “It’s practically all about this Greene guy. Who the hell wrote this?”

Harry glanced at the top of the page. “Rita Skeeter. Not so surprising, is it?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Guess not. Sucks for you, though, Harry. I mean, they wouldn’t even have been there if it hadn’t been for you solving that riddle.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t want my name in the papers, anyway.”

“It’s easy to see what Rita’s trying to do here,” Hermione said, rereading the article.

“What? Toss another person into the cruel public spotlight?” Ron asked.

“Well, that too, but don’t you see? She’s trying to give the wizarding world a heroic figure to look up to,” she said.

“But they have Harry and Dumbledore,” said Ron, causing Harry to cringe.

“Yes, but when was the last time either of them were in a public battle against Voldemort? What went on at the cemetery was never talked about in the paper, if you hadn’t noticed. The Prophet never talked about how several Death Eaters were suddenly captured and sent to Azkaban. That’s pretty stupid, too, considering that they’re trying to tell the public that we’re winning the war.”

“Are we, though?” Harry asked.

“Maybe we are, maybe we aren’t. Personally, I don’t think we will until either Voldemort’s dead or his army is whittled down to nothing,” Hermione replied. “The point is, the Prophet usually tries to paint a rosy picture so that the people can believe that everything will be okay.”

“So this story is excellent for them. ‘Look! You-Know-Who has thirty less vampires and not a single person was hurt!’ Then everyone can jump up and yell and scream and celebrate. Yay,” Ron said unenthusiastically. “All the while they’re making a hero out of some bloke who’s no one special.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Hermione said.

“Rubbish. That’s bloody rubbish,” Ron muttered.

*****

To Harry’s great surprise, he was given an extension on all of his homework assignments over the week. Even Snape gave him one, but the Potions master also added why he was grudgingly giving him one.

“The headmaster declared it,” Snape had said with a scowl. “But believe me, Potter, next time you turn in an assignment late, I will fail you.”

So Harry spent the next several days attending class, taking notes, and diligently working on his homework until finally, he had them all completed and turned in. By then, the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match was only a week away. Harry decided to add in a few more practices to make sure his team was completely prepared for their first test of the season.

“I don’t know if Slytherin’s changed their tactics during the summer—hell, I don’t even know who their captain is—but I want to be prepared.”

Ron was practically gleeful with all the practice they were doing. He seemed to be having the most fun out of all of them, laughing and joking with the players every time they failed to fire a shot past him. Ginny would sometimes grow irritated with his taunting.

“Ron, why don’t you shut up for a change and let us concentrate. I keep imagining you as a huge chicken since you keep sounding like one,” she snarled one afternoon after classes.

“I don’t sound like a chicken!” Ron yelled indignantly.

“Could have fooled us!” Ginny shouted back, flying away.

The week leading up to the match, of course, meant each House glaring at each other. The Slytherins would make snide comments, give rude hand gestures, and then finally tried to curse as many members of the Gryffindor team as they could. Ron one day had to report to the Hospital Wing because a sixth-year Slytherin got him with a jinx while coming out of the bathroom, causing his nose to extend out at least two feet. Then everyone in the entire House began to call him Pinocchio.

“Well, which is better, that song they created for you or this new nickname?” Hermione asked.

Ron turned red. “I guess the nickname.”

The morning of the match, Harry woke up at dawn like always and did his usual jog around the grounds. Once he returned, was freshly showered, and dressed, he waited for the others to join him in the common room, working on his latest Transfiguration essay while he was at it.

Hermione was one of the first people to join him in the common room. “Good morning,” she said, sitting down next to him.

“Hi.” He looked out the window at the dark overcast sky. “It looks like it’s about to let loose any moment.”

“Yes,” she said, also looking out the window. “But you’ve played in the rain plenty of times, so it shouldn’t be any big deal.”

“No.”

“Are you working on your Transfiguration essay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“This one was a bit harder than the last one—not as much information. If you need any help, just ask,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine, Hermione. Thanks, though,” he said, giving her a small smile.

“So, are you nervous?”

“About the Quidditch match? No.”

“Really?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m just surprised to see you up this early. I mean, I know you’ve done it before because you’ve been busy with your schoolwork, but I thought you’d make an exception for today,” she said.

“No,” he said. “All work and little play, that’s the way I am these days.”

She laughed. “Nice.”

“Thanks.”

Ron, Ginny, and the rest of the team joined them a little later. They all traveled down to the Great Hall together to eat breakfast, where they were cheered on by their fellow Gryffindors and booed by all of the Slytherins.

They were just beginning to eat when Malfoy walked into the Great Hall, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle. When the Slytherins saw him, all of them jumped out and bellowed out, “HAIL TO THE CAPTAIN!”

“I guess that mystery’s been solved,” Ron muttered next to Harry.

Malfoy gave them a curt nod before taking his seat. Harry noticed Pansy Parkinson give Malfoy a sulky look before turning back to her friends.

The next person to walk into the Great Hall that Harry noticed was Luna, who made a bee-line over to the Gryffindor table. He couldn’t help but notice that, in typical Luna fashion, she was wearing her butterbeer cork necklace and her radish earrings.

“’Morning, Luna,” he greeted before taking a sip of orange juice.

“Good morning, Harry. Hi, Ronald,” she said, smiling.

“Hi, Luna,” Ron said. “Where’s your roaring lion hat?”

“Oh, it got stolen,” she said, “as did my eagle hat.”

“That’s a pity,” Ron said. “I got to liking it.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes protuberant.

“Well, whenever it roared it meant we were doing well,” Ron said. “Shame.”

“I could always make another one,” she said.

“No, that’s alright. I don’t think it would be the same,” he said.

“Yes, you’re right,” she said. “Well, I wanted to wish all of you luck at the match today, so good luck—especially you, Ronald.”

His face turned slightly red. “Thanks.”

Harry smiled. “See you, Luna.”

When she walked away, all eyes turned to Ron, who was biting into his toast. “Wha?” he asked, his mouth full.

“You liked the lion hat?” Ginny asked.

“I was just being nice,” Ron muttered when he swallowed his food.

“You’re never nice,” she said.

“Hey!”

“Will you just ask her out already?” Ginny said.

“What? I don’t fancy her!” Ron said in a fierce whisper.

“Sure you don’t,” Ginny said with a wink as Neville walked in. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi,” he said, sitting down when Ginny made room for him and accepting her proffered good morning kiss. “You didn’t wait for me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but the team was all ready to go and you know how before a Quidditch match we need to get our energy and stay focused,” she said. “Tell you what, I’ll spend the rest of the day with you as soon as the match is over.”

“Okay,” he said. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but okay.”

“Oh, stop. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have mentioned it, would I?”

“I guess not.”

“Good, it’s settled then,” she said happily and went back to her breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry glanced at his watch and said to his team, “It’s time to go.”

They walked out of the Great Hall as one, Hermione, Neville, and some of the other members’ friends with them. Harry saw Neville give Ginny a peck on the lips, as he turned to Hermione, who was standing with him and Ron.

“No PDA like them, I’m afraid,” he murmured.

She smiled, stepped forward, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck today, Harry.” Then she turned and did the same to Ron. “And you too, Ron.”

The Quidditch players—all seven of them—marched out of the castle and down the sloping lawn as one until they reached the locker room. As they changed into their Quidditch robes, they could hear the pounding footfalls of the student body as it entered the stadium. The voices were loud and joyful, full of enthusiasm over what was about to happen.

Quite suddenly, there was a shriek from the crowd. Harry and Ron rushed over to the window to see what was wrong, but all they saw were people ducking underneath the umbrellas of those who had been smart enough to bring one—the sky had finally let loose and it was pouring.

“We’ve got a change in weather conditions,” Harry announced to the rest of the team. “It’s not overcast anymore. We’ve got heavy rain and probably some bad wind gusts out there, too.” Harry walked over to his locker and got out the pair of Quidditch goggles that Ginny had bought him for Christmas last year. “If you don’t have a pair of these, I suggest you do this.” He pointed his wand at his face. “Impervius!” When the team had done that, he continued, “I don’t know the quality of the team we’re about to face out there, but I think we all know that Slytherin has always been a team that is hard to beat. Very hard. Yes, we’ve done so for the past six years, but that doesn’t mean that they couldn’t beat us this year. Don’t be overconfident. Don’t be cocky. Just play like you have been in practice and we should beat them again. Good luck to all of you.”

There was a knock on the door just as Harry finished. “Come in,” he said.

Professor McGonagall popped her head in, then the rest of her came in as she shook the rain off of her umbrella. “Good morning, all of you,” she said. “First and foremost, I’d like to wish all of you luck in today’s match. Secondly, and the real reason why I’m here, I’ve been told to inform you that there are scouts sitting in the stands today. This is the first time in nearly ten years that Dumbledore has allowed this. The scouts don’t come by very often anyway, so this truly is a remarkable opportunity for the seven of you to make a great impression since they’re looking for fresh young talent. Just remember that I also encourage all of you to finish your schooling before being whisked away to a training camp. After all, you might get there and find out you don’t have what it takes, so what are you going to do then? But enough about that. Do your best today and be careful. The clouds are getting darker and darker by the minute.”

All of them stood there, stunned. Ron was the first to speak.

“Scouts?” he croaked. “Scouts?”

“Ignore them,” Harry said firmly. “We out there to play, not show off. Just have fun.”

He went back to his locker, Ron right behind him. “Scouts?” Ron repeated. “Harry, there are scouts. This could be my one and only shot to do something big. What if I fail miserably? What if I’m horrible out there?”

“The only way you’re going to be horrible, Ron, is if you think you will be. You’re a great Keeper, Ron, remember that.” He was staring into the contents of his locker. Finally, he reached in and pulled out his Firebolt. “Here.”

Ron stared at him and the outstretched broom. “What?”

“Take it,” Harry said. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, I couldn’t possibly take it, mate. Sirius gave it to you as a gift,” Ron said.

“And now I’m giving it to you,” Harry said.

Ron shook his head. “Harry, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Just take it, Ron. Take it.”

Grudgingly, Ron finally took it from Harry. “Thanks, mate. I will pay you back.”

“What for?” Harry asked. “It’s a gift.”

Ron looked high uncomfortable, holding the broom in his hands, but he did shove his Cleansweep Eleven back into his locker. Checking his watch, he said, “Harry, it’s time.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Okay, let’s go. Good luck, all of you.”

He stepped out of the locker room with the Phoenix swung over his shoulder, the rest of the team following along behind him. Rain hit his face but, with the charm, bounced off of him. He adjusted his goggles and marched on toward the stadium. He could hear Colin high above him, talking to the crowd.

“It is a poor day today for Quidditch, but I can only image what kind of a match we’ll see today. We always see a spectacular match when Gryffindor and Slytherin play,” Colin was saying. “Oh, wait, here comes the Gryffindor team—Weasley, Farrell, McDonald, Weasley, Kirke, and McGuire—being led in by their captain and Seeker, Harry Potter!”

Three-fourths of the crowd cheered loudly, while the other fourth booed and shouted insults.

“Now coming in is the Slytherin team—Deveaux, Blitz, Fleckman, Rich, Crabbe, Goyle, and the Slytherin captain, Draco Malfoy!” Colin yelled.

Now the crowd suddenly reversed, the fourth that had been booing was now cheering while the three-fourths that had been cheering were now booing. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team marched through the mud to the middle of the pitch where Madam Hooch was standing, Harry and the rest of his team doing the same.

“Captains,” Madam Hooch said, wiping rain from her brow, “shake hands.”

Slowly, both Harry and Malfoy extended their hands. The shake was brief—very brief—before both of them turned away and went back to their teams.

“Mount your brooms, please,” Madam Hooch said. “Wait for my whistle.”

When Madam Hooch did blow her whistle, the fourteen Quidditch players rose as one, the Slytherins in the green robes sneering at the Gryffindors in their scarlet robes.

“Remember to keep it clean,” Madam Hooch yelled from the ground. At that, she threw the Quaffle up into the air, beginning the match.

“The match begins with Rich knocking the Quaffle out of the reach of Farrell and into the hands of the awaiting Blitz as both Keepers—Ron Weasley and the second-year Kyle Deveaux—rush off to their respective goals. You know, it’s not often Slytherin chooses a second year to be on the team, so this Deveaux must be pretty good,” Colin said to the crowd over the howling wind.

“Blitz passes to Bobby Fleckman, a burly sort of fifth year and a new find for this Slytherin team. Weasley’s right behind them, trying to gain possession for Gryffindor—ooh! The Bludger sent by Goyle just barely missed her! Gryffindor’s Alex McGuire beats it back at Fleckman, who dodges to avoid it! Looks like Ron’s going to get his first test of the match as Ginny can’t catch him.”

Harry watched Fleckman try to pound a shot past Ron, but held onto it by his fingertips.

“Nice save by Weasley!” Colin yelled. “That was beautiful!”

Harry flew around the goalposts, getting close enough to give a celebratory high five to Ron.

“Weasley has the Quaffle. She passes to new Chaser Natalie McDonald, who slides underneath Julius Blitz. She passes—no! Intercepted by Malcolm Rich for Slytherin. He passes it to Blitz, who flies around Weasley. He takes aim—SCORE! Rich feints and gets it past Weasley for ten points, making the match ten to nothing, Slytherin.”

“That’s okay!” Harry shouted to the disappointed-looking Natalie McDonald. “We’ll get that one back!”

“So now it’s Farrell with the Quaffle. He’s a second year in his second year on the team—a remarkable find for Captain Harry Potter last year. He passes to Weasley—BLUDGER! Oh! And she narrowly dodges another one. She passes quickly off to McDonald, who avoids Fleckman and heads to the goal posts. She jerks to the right—passes to Farrell who…SCORES! Hunter Farrell puts up the first ten points for Gryffindor in this now tied match-up between the school’s Quidditch titans,” Colin announced happily from the stands.

The match went back and forth just like that. Rich scored, only to be answered by goals from both Ginny and Hunter, but it was just as quickly followed up by a goal from Blitz. Ron saved two other attempts from Fleckman, while Deveaux stopped another shot from Ginny in its tracks.

What made Harry pleased came about fifteen minutes later as he circled the pitch, spitting water out of his mouth.

“Rich has the Quaffle. He makes a move to pass it—STOLEN! Farrell swipes the Quaffle from Malcolm Rich and streaks off. He dodges the Bludgers sent by both Crabbe and Goyle—Kirke makes a move to answer back. Underneath Fleckman—Farrell tosses it to McDonald, who spins over Blitz, takes aim and…SCORES! NATALIE MCDONALD SCORES FOR GRYFFINDOR! The score is now forty-thirty, Gryffindor.

Just then, thunder rumbled off in the distance as it began to rain even harder than before. Harry pushed his wet bangs out of his face, feeling even more desperate now to find the Snitch and end the match.

“SCORE!” Colin yelled. “Just like that, Blitz launches the ball just past Weasley’s left shoulder. The match is tied again!”

More thunder sounded and it became harder to hear Colin. He thought he heard him yell “GOAL!” but wasn’t sure. The rain was beating down so hard now that it was even becoming hard to distinguish between the green and red forms of the players below him. Visibility was downright awful.

Suddenly, he saw the green blur of Malfoy shoot toward him. He turned around just in time to see a fleck of gold several meters ahead of him. Harry laid himself flat against the handle of his broomstick, taking off after both Malfoy and the Snitch.

He spat out more water as he caught Malfoy and began to pass him. “Go, go, go!” he shouted, urging the Phoenix on. Malfoy, however, seemed to put a little more kick into his Mercury Silver, a broom that matched Harry—now Ron’s—Firebolt in speed. He had the better line, too, Harry noted, as the Snitch jerked right, Harry and Malfoy with it.

“Come on,” he growled as Malfoy took one hand off of his broom, reaching out to grab the Snitch.

A large gust of wind knocked the Snitch off course and out of Malfoy’s outstretched hand just as there was a huge flash of lightning lit up the sky. Harry moved to intercept the Snitch, taking his right hand off of his broom, but it slipped just barely through his fingers. Malfoy dodged past him, still reaching for it just as the crowd cheered again. This time a bolt of lightning struck not twenty meters away from them. Malfoy glanced up, startled, giving Harry the chance to barrel roll underneath him in a tight turn to the left. He reached out once again as another clap of thunder pounded his eardrums. Malfoy drew up near him, still in pursuit. Harry leaned forward on his broom, feeling his wet hand slide forward on the slippery shaft, then, with a yell, snatched the Snitch out of the sky, Malfoy’s hand scraping the back of his.

“YES!” Harry roared, holding his fist with the Snitch in it up and pumping his arm in triumph. He barely heard the whistle ending the match over the crowd’s cheering, yet another clap of thunder, and Colin’s screams of, “POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH! POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS ONE-NINETY TO SIXTY!”

The Gryffindor team swarmed Harry as he lowered himself to the mud-covered ground. All of them were soaking wet except for their faces, yelling themselves hoarse. Ron clapped him on the back, shouting, “We won! We won!” The Gryffindors in the stands stormed the field. Harry high-fived both Seamus and Dean and hugged Hermione.

“Congratulations, Harry!” she yelled. “You did such a good job!” She reached over and hugged Ron too while Harry snuck away over to where Natalie McDonald was celebrating with her friends.

“Excellent job today!” Harry said to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Really good.”

“Thank you, Harry!” she said, giving him a hug.

When he turned around, Ginny hugged him too. “Nice job, Captain.”

“You didn’t do too bad yourself,” he said, grinning. “Where’s Neville?”

“Over there,” she said, nodding to where Neville was shaking hands and smiling with Ron. “I’m soaked.”

“Me too. Hey!” he yelled. “Let’s get cleaned up and continue this celebration in the common room!”

The crowd roared in approval and moved toward the exit of the field, the seven members of the Quidditch team extracting themselves to go into the locker room to get changed.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron yelled when the entered the common room. “Take that, Slytherin! That’s seven bloody years of Gryffindor beating their sorry arses up and down the pitch!”

“All thanks to our excellent captain and leader, Harry!” McGuire yelled. The team shouted in agreement, but Harry just shook his head.

“All thanks to the great teamwork we have,” he corrected. “I just fly around and watch the match until the time comes for me to catch the Snitch.”

“Whatever,” McGuire said. “You’re a great captain.”

“What’s next now, Captain?” Kirke asked.

Harry thought for a moment. “We return to the common room to celebrate this win, but then we get back out there and prepare to take down Hufflepuff just as handily as we did Slytherin.”

With another shout of triumph, the Gryffindor team continued to change in order to join the celebrations in the common room.

*****

That night, after the party had died down, Harry and Ron were sitting in front of the hearth, finishing off their homework that Hermione had decided to nag them about. They had been at it for several hours and now they were the only ones left in the common room, Hermione having gone up to bed nearly an hour ago.

Ron rubbed his stomach. “Bloody hell, I am hungry.”

Harry grinned. “When aren’t you? I’ll go downstairs and nick some snacks from the kitchen, okay? You keep working.”

Ron sighed in gratitude. “Harry, you’re awesome, mate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry replied as he got up. “Let me go grab my cloak and I’m on my way.”

It took him only a minute to run up to the dorm, grab the cloak, then run back down and head out of the common room. He walked along the corridors stealthily as to not make any noise and wake the portraits on the walls until he heard a voice around the corner—a voice he recognized.

“What are you doing out here, Weasley? I could put you in detention for being out of your common room,” came Malfoy’s drawling voice.

Weasley? But Ron was back in the common room. Then it dawned on Harry—Ginny was there. Edging forward slowly, he peered around the corner underneath his cloak to see Malfoy standing in front of Ginny, blocking her path.

“Yes, that would probably make you feel a lot better,” Ginny said, frowning.

Malfoy scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you trying to gloat about the match?”

Ginny sighed. “No. Never mind,” she muttered and then looked down at her feet before saying quietly, “I’m sorry about your mum.”

Malfoy stiffened. Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Ginny was feeling sorry for Malfoy? He began to wonder if she was feeling well.

“I don’t need your remarks of pity,” Malfoy spat. “I don’t see why you of all people would care.”

Ginny frowned. “Yes, you are a loathsome git, but even a loathsome git doesn’t deserve to lose their mum, or any other member of their family. You may have forgotten, Draco, but I happen to know what it’s like to lose a family member.”

Malfoy was silent for a few moments before he murmured, “Peter, no—Percy, your brother.”

Ginny nodded. “He wasn’t my favorite brother, but I still cared. I can only imagine how much more it hurts when it’s the only person you cared about.”

Malfoy looked Ginny right in the eyes but said nothing, obviously knowing that she was right.

“I can see what it’s done to you—ruined your relationship with Pansy, made you more quiet and sullen,” Ginny said. “So the question is, what are you going to do? Are you going to join them—the men that killed your mother?”

Anger flashed on his face and he turned away. “I have no choice,” he said. “It’s my destiny.”

“You control your own destiny,” Ginny retorted. “We all do. It’s your decision and no one else’s. But know this: if you become a Death Eater, then you are no better than the man who killed your mother. You’re as much scum as he is.”

With a snarl, he rounded on her. “Apparently you don’t know who that ‘scum’ is,” he said fiercely. “That so-called ‘scum’ is my father!”

Both Harry and Ginny wore the exact same expression, he was sure of it—one of deep shock. Malfoy’s father was the one who killed his mother? Lucius Malfoy murdered his own wife?

“Oh, Draco,” Ginny whispered. “Your f-father?”

“Yes, my father,” Malfoy said angrily. “He was the one who murdered my mother, on the Dark Lord’s orders. I have been groomed to become a servant to the Dark Lord all my life—it’s my destiny and there’s no escaping it. I must remain loyal to my father—I can’t turn against him and avenge my mother’s death. If I did I’d die.”

Ginny shook her head. “Better to die avenging your mother than to live your life in fear of You-Know-Who’s wrath.”

“Ha!” Malfoy scoffed. “Shows how little you know.”

“No, it shows how little you know, Draco. Becoming a Death Eater is not your destiny. You have a choice,” Ginny said, her voice sounding more impassioned than Harry had ever heard out of her.

Malfoy shook his head. “I can’t fight what I am.”

“You’re not a Death Eater yet,” Ginny retorted. “You have a choice, remember that. Good night, Draco.” With that, she brushed past him and turned the corner, making Harry flatten himself against the wall.

Malfoy watched her go carefully and then looked around in the corridor at the sleeping portraits. “Do I?” he asked himself before turning around and heading in the opposite direction.

After Harry ceased to hear the footfalls of either Ginny or Malfoy, he continued on his way to the kitchens, his mind reeling.

Author’s Note: Because my new beta has been keeping up with me so well, I’ve got to get you guys caught up to me, too. That’s why I’m updating so much faster than, well, what you’ve gotten used to. Anyway, thanks everyone for the reviews. I appreciate each and every one of them. You guys seriously rock!

CHAPTER TWENTY

RENEWAL OF FAITH

Since he had been underneath his invisibility cloak, Harry could not discuss what he had overheard with Ginny and he felt a strong desire not to discuss it with Ron. If Ron found out that his sister had actually been nice to Draco Malfoy, he’d flip and yell at Ginny, who would be very upset that Harry had eavesdropped in on her conversation. It was almost as if Harry was reliving the first day of classes with Ron and Hermione, except that this time, his blood wasn’t boiling as much.

It was horrible to think about, however. Lucius Malfoy had killed his own wife. He was supposed to have loved that woman, yet he killed her on Voldemort’s orders. He destroyed his own wife so that his life wouldn’t be destroyed.

Harry took some time to consider whether or not he would have done the same thing if he had been in Lucius Malfoy’s situation. If someone had ordered him to kill Hermione, would he have done it? Even if it were for the greater good of society?

Absolutely not, Harry thought. I would just as soon kill myself.

He hated the idea of being asked to kill anyone, yet he was in that exact situation. He had been asked to risk his own life to destroy Lord Voldemort. The question was, when the time came, could he do it? Could he actually kill a man? Could he kill the man who murdered his parents?

It was a question that he was still trying to answer.

With his training, however, he was becoming more and more confident that he could kill somebody if he needed to, not that he was going to go around yelling out the Killing Curse. But he was learning some nifty little tricks from Moody and Lupin as well, who taught him a few spells that the Marauders used to use back when they attended Hogwarts.

“Stuff we terrorized the students with when we were young and stupid,” Lupin had said.

The late November weather was becoming terribly cold as the onset of winter was fast approaching. It made Harry’s morning runs almost painful; they were nothing he enjoyed. When he arrived back, he was usually so frozen that he spent a half-hour in the showers underneath a jet of boiling hot water just to thaw out again.

Classes weren’t helping much. More and more the professors were piling on the homework, demanding perfection in such things like nonverbal spellwork. Harry, luckily, had had a breakthrough with Moody and Lupin, dueling with both of them and not uttering a word. Moody had patted him on the back after that, saying, “That’ll do, Potter, that’ll do.”

Another large happening took place in the common room a few days later, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked in to hear a huge blowout taking place between Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown. It was so loud that people were scrambling out of the common room just to get out of the way.

“Look!” Lavender shouted. “You’re making people run away!”

“Me? Hark who’s talking, Miss So-Loud-That-Ireland-Can-Hear-You!” Seamus yelled. “I asked if you wanted to talk in someplace private, but no! You want the whole common room to hear!”

“You blockhead, I said that anything you had to say you could say in front of Parvati too!”

“But I’m not the one who started this little argument. I just wanted to talk to you and you jumped down my throat about something stupid,” Seamus said.

“Something stupid? You call flirting with that Ravenclaw girl right in front of me ‘something stupid?’ You’re a great big prat, Seamus!” Lavender yelled.

“I was looking, not flirting! Bloody hell, woman! Can’t a man look?” Seamus asked.

“No, not if he values his relationship with his bloody girlfriend,” Lavender said.

“Well then, you know what? Maybe I don’t want you to be my bloody girlfriend anymore!” Seamus said.

“Really? Well, maybe I don’t want you to be my boyfriend anymore!”

“Good! We’re through!”

“Good!”

Both of them marched away; Lavender ran through the door leading to the girls’ dormitory with Parvati right behind her, while Seamus stomped over to the portrait hole, shouting, “What are you looking at?” when he spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione staring at him.

“Nothing,” Harry murmured and stepped out of the way, allowing Seamus to leave the common room. He gave Ron and Hermione a look to show them what he was thinking. Ron simply nodded and moved to go find a seat, Harry and Hermione following him.

*****

Lavender, in Harry’s mind, did not aim to stay single for long. As early as two days after her breakup with Seamus, she had found a new object for her admiration: Ron. She had laughed shrilling in Transfiguration when Ron had made a joke about a mistake that Harry had made and the following day in Herbology, he caught her glancing over at Ron from where she and Parvati stood with the Devil’s Snare the seventh years had finally begun to work with.

Ron was rather oblivious to all of this attention until finally after Defense Against the Dark Arts, Lavender slid up next to Ron as they were exiting the classroom. “Hi!” she said cheerfully.

“Er—Hi, Lavender,” Ron said. “Something we can do for you?”

“Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to thank you, Ron, for being such a good mentor to my little brother, Dylan. He looks up to you, you know,” she said.

“Yeah? I thought he looked up to Fred and George,” Ron said, stopping to chat with her. When Harry and Hermione stopped, he waved them on ahead. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Harry caught Hermione rolling her eyes when they turned away, leaving Ron and Lavender to talk about Ron’s excellent mentoring skills and Dylan’s admiration of him.

*****

On Friday, they decided to visit Hagrid after their classes were over with. When they arrived, however, Hagrid was just beginning to teach the Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth years their Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

“Why don’ yeh three go on inside and I’ll see yeh after me lesson,” Hagrid suggested.

They went inside, but not before waving to Natalie McDonald, who was with the rest of the fourth years having class. Fang bounded over to greet them as Hermione hunted around for Hagrid’s tea kettle, saying that it would be good for Hagrid if they had hot chocolate ready for him after a long day of teaching outdoors.

Hagrid couldn’t have been more grateful when he finally joined them. “Thanks, Hermione. Yeh wouldn’ believe how much I’ve bin wantin’ something warm. I was thinkin’ about draggin’ out the salamanders for class today, but the fourth and sixth years have already studied ‘em.

“So, what’s bin goin’ on with you lot?” he asked, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

“Not much,” Harry said. “The usual.”

“I—erm—sort of got myself a girlfriend,” Ron announced, causing both Harry and Hermione to gag on their hot chocolate.

“Really?” Hagrid boomed. “Who’s the girl?

“Lavender Brown,” Ron told him.

“You two are going out—already?” Hermione said, setting her hot chocolate aside.

“What d’you mean by that?” Ron asked, his tone defensive.

“She just broke up with Seamus. She’s on the rebound!”

“So?”

Hermione stared at him. “So that’s how you want to get a girl? When she’s desperate?”

“You think Lavender’s desperate?” Ron asked. “Why would she be desperate? I thought only girls who have gone a long time without a boyfriend are desperate.”

“Not just girls,” Harry heard Hermione mutter under her breath before she said, “Lavender Brown is a certain type of girl. She needs to have a boyfriend, otherwise she feels insecure. She needs someone there to tell her she’s special because she won’t believe herself if she says it. She needs validation. If she goes too long without a boy making her feel like she’s somebody, she gets antsy. You’re going to find, Ron, that Lavender Brown is a very needy girl.”

“She can’t be all that bad,” Ron said. “She went out with Seamus for a long time before they broke up.”

“I suspect Seamus had a great amount of tolerance toward her until recently,” Hermione said.

Ron turned to Harry. “What do you think, mate?”

Harry hesitated, glancing back and forth between his girlfriend and his best friend. He sighed. “Whatever makes you happy, Ron.”

Ron turned back to Hermione, a smug grin on his face. “Harry approves.”

She shot a glance at Harry, who tried to tell her with his eyes what he really thought. She must have understood, because she then said, “I suppose Harry’s right. As long as you’re happy.”

“Thank you,” Ron said. “I am happy. Lavender and I are going to go on our first date next Saturday.”

“What are yeh goin’ ter do?” Hagrid asked him.

Then Ron turned slightly pink. “Er—I’m not really sure.”

“You don’t know?” Harry asked, trying to keep the smile off of his face.

“Er—No. You mean I have to come up with something?” he asked.

“Did you ask or did she?” Hermione asked.

“She did,” he said.

“Then you’re fine. She’ll figure out what you’re going to do,” Hermione told him.

“Yeah, just hope that she doesn’t want to whisk you up to the Astronomy Tower,” Harry said, now unable to keep the grin off of his face. “It’s too cold.”

Ron’s face was red. “Can we—er—get off the subject?”

Hagrid chuckled. “Don’ worry, Ron. I’m sure these two won’ tease yeh…a lot. Jus’ be happy that Fred an’ George aren’ ‘ere.”

Ron buried his face in his hands. “Bloody hell.”

*****

On Monday morning, when Harry woke up for his usual morning run, he found that the grounds were covered with at least three inches of snow. Dreading what he was about to do, he got dressed in sweats and headed out. When he reached the top of the marble staircase in the entrance hall, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with Professor Dumbledore.

“Sir!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Dumbledore smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. In fact, Harry noticed, the usual sparkle that was in them wasn’t there. “I am here because I need to speak with you, Harry.” He gestured down the stairs. “Shall we?”

Dumbledore led him through the entrance hall and down a corridor before opening the door to an empty classroom. Harry stepped inside and turned to the wizened old man. “What is it?”

Dumbledore sat down on top of one of the desks, looking grim. “I am very sorry to inform you that last night, number twelve, Grimmauld Place was turned into rubble and that, furthermore, your house-elf Kreacher was killed in the process.”

Harry froze. Sirius’s house…gone? The old headquarters of the Order was destroyed? He sat down across from Dumbledore. “Lestrange,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Bellatrix Lestrange, a member of the House of Black, was able to unearth the Unplottable home of her dear Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion and break into it. Apparently Orion Black had passed along the information on how to get into his heavily fortified home to more than just his wife and sons.”

“How? I thought you had placed the house under the Fidelius Charm?” Harry said.

“Oh, I had, but I removed it once the Order was safely moved to another location and I am once again the Secret-Keeper of that place.”

“What happened to Kreacher? Did Lestrange kill him, or did he die when she destroyed the house?” Harry asked.

“Kingsley’s letter reports that Kreacher was given his dying wish, to be decapitated like he ancestors,” Dumbledore said.

“But what about any information he could have passed on to Lestrange? He could have given up the names of Order members,” Harry said.

“I doubt it,” Dumbledore said. “Kreacher, when we left, was on his deathbed. He could barely speak for all the coughing he was doing. He was very feeble and welcomed death. Also, knowing how much Kreacher loved his mistress’s home, he was probably very angry when he found out that Bellatrix Lestrange was going to destroy it. I imagine she started right away and then, stumbling upon Kreacher, granted his request for death as swiftly and easily as allowed by her cruel manner. I believe the Order is quite safe.”

“But now what?” Harry asked. “She’ll report back to Voldemort, obviously, but then she’ll just continue on, right? She’ll keep searching for the Order.”

“Probably, yes.”

“Then shouldn’t the Order move again?”

Dumbledore smiled. “She could spend the rest of eternity looking and would never find us.”

“That’s confidence,” Harry remarked.

The sparkle in Dumbledore’s eyes returned as amusement crept into them. “Indeed. Now, I do believe you were about to take a jog?”

Harry frowned. “Yes, sir.”

His run was quick. Having cut half of it off thanks to getting far too cold, Harry wound up back in the common room far earlier than expected. He still had a little bit of homework left, so he took a long shower to warm him up and then went back down to the common room to finish it up.

Hermione joined him about an hour later, dropping her bag next to his on the floor. “Once again, you’re up really early.”

“I had trouble sleeping,” he said, feeling bad for lying to her. “So I decided to take a walk.”

“A walk? Around the castle?”

“Yeah, and I ran into Dumbledore,” he said. “He told me something…disturbing.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Let’s wait until Ron’s awake so that he can hear it too. I’m almost done with this essay here and I’d like to just get it done and out of the way.”

“Okay,” she said.

When Ron came downstairs, he sat down next to Harry and said, “’Morning. Did you see the snow we got?”

Harry frowned. “Yeah.”

“Okay, Harry, Ron’s here. Tell us what Dumbledore told you,” Hermione said eagerly.

“You talked to Dumbledore?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, this morning when I—er—couldn’t sleep,” Harry said. “He told me that Bellatrix Lestrange destroyed Sirius’s house.”

“What!” Ron exclaimed. “She found the headquarters?”

“Shh!” Hermione said. “Do you want the whole common room hearing this?”

“She did, but don’t worry, the Order has moved to a new location. She leveled the place and killed Kreacher too,” Harry told them.

Hermione gasped. “Oh no.”

“I can’t say I feel really sorry for him,” Ron said. “He was a menace.”

“Ron!” Hermione said.

“Well, it’s true! I’m sure Harry’s happy he no longer owns that elf,” Ron said.

Harry said nothing. The truth of the matter was, Harry felt rather nonchalant about Kreacher’s death. After all, if it hadn’t been for Kreacher, Sirius wouldn’t be dead. Normally, Harry cared a great deal about those who had died in this war. Kreacher, however, was not a normal circumstance in Harry’s mind. The house-elf’s death meant nothing to him.

He carried this unfeeling attitude right up to the evening, where he was standing at the head of an empty classroom with Hermione, conducting yet another prefect’s meeting. Harry found these to be rather boring as all they did was go over who had broken what rule and anything else the prefects felt they should report. Even this time around, with a new topic, Harry felt uninterested.

“As you all know,” Hermione was saying to the prefects, “the Yule Ball is fast approaching us. We barely have a month to get things ready. Professor McGonagall has once again left it in our hands to name which musical act to invite to Hogwarts, along with drafting up the request and figuring out how much the entire evening would cost. So, let’s start with the first one. Who do we want to come to Hogwarts for our entertainment for the evening?”

“I loved Celestina Warbeck last year,” said a Hufflepuff prefect. “We should invite her back.”

“Please, no,” Pansy Parkinson spat. “She was so boring with those ballads. We need something new and fresh.”

“How about Ingo Blackpool, that cute Australian bloke?” suggested a Ravenclaw girl.

“NO!” all of the male prefects shouted.

Malfoy’s drawling voice came from the back of the room, where he sat with his feet propped up. “Blackpool is a pretty-boy who can’t sing.”

The Ravenclaw looked pretty sulky, but muttered, “Fine.”

“Let’s invite the Weird Sisters back,” Anthony Goldstein said. “Didn’t we have a lot of fun where they were here last time?”

“Didn’t you ever hear about how expensive they were, though?” Ernie Macmillan asked. “Nearly twice the amount we had to pay Celestina Warbeck.”

“Again, back to my comment about somebody fresh and new,” Pansy Parkinson said.

Hermione sighed. “Do you have a suggestion, Pansy?”

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t, now would I, Granger?” she shot back snidely.

“Quit with the lip,” Harry snarled, “and just tell us what your suggestion is.”

She sneered at him. “Yes, sir, your majesty. I was only going to mention this new band that’s out. They’re known as the Parselmouths.”

“Parselmouths?” Harry said sardonically. “Let me guess, a group of former Slytherins?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Pansy said, giving a fake pout.

“What kind of music do they play?” Padma Patil asked.

“Wizard rock,” Pansy replied. “The best type of music there is. The student body will love them and they’ll be cost effective for us. I heard once that they’ve always wanted to play Hogwarts. Shouldn’t we give them their chance?”

“All those who want to contact this group, the Parselmouths, raise your hand,” Hermione said.

Over half of the hands in the room were raised. Hermione counted and then nodded. “Okay, I’ll run this by Professor McGonagall. Now, we need to divide ourselves into committees…”

*****

Harry’s mood didn’t improve throughout the week, even at his training session with Dumbledore, who was trying to get him to ignite the wick of a candle by snapping. If anything, Harry’s inability to do it just made him feel more and more frustrated.

“I can’t do it!” he said finally, walking away from the candle. “It’s such a mundane task anyway. I don’t understand why you want me to do it.”

Dumbledore, with his infinite patience, sat down behind his desk. “Please, sit,” he said, conjuring up a chair for Harry. “Let us talk.”

“I don’t really feel like talking, sir,” Harry said, but sat down anyway.

“Then we shall sit in silence,” Dumbledore said, gazing into Harry’s eyes. “Would you like that?”

Harry felt a sudden light pressure in his mind and immediately calmed himself. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to read my mind,” he said, forcing Dumbledore out of his head. The headmaster couldn’t have looked more delighted.

“Ah, excellent Harry, excellent! You’ve detected my invasion and deployed Occlumency against me. You have come a long way.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.

“Now, you’re very frustrated and, I’ve observed, when you’re very frustrated, you like to do something…physical to rid yourself of these feelings,” Dumbledore said. “Alastor and Remus can help you Friday with some combat training.”

“I doubt they’ll do it,” Harry said darkly. “Moody still has me dueling, as if I don’t already know how to duel.”

To his surprise, Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, Alastor does like to keep his young Auror charges doing the same thing until they do something to impress him. Did you know that he was in charge of training the new Auror cadets in the last few years of his career before he retired?”

“No, sir,” Harry said.

“He knows what he’s doing, that’s for sure,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “He could have even worked for several more years, but he decided to quit.”

“Why?”

“Because he found that the new cadets did not have as much faith in themselves as the ones before them. In fact, he swore to me that he would never train another Auror.” His eyes sparkled. “That is, until I asked him about training you.

“You see, Harry, all of us in the Order see the same thing when it comes to you: determination. You are determined to do so many things and have such a faith in yourself that we can’t help but believe that you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. Everything.”

Harry nodded slowly, taking in Dumbledore’s every word.

Dumbledore held up a candle. “Now, Harry, would you like to try again?”

Harry looked up at the candle, feeling the determination Dumbledore spoke of running through him. With a snap of his fingers, he shouted, “Incendio!” and suddenly, somehow, the wick caught fire.

Dumbledore was grinning.

*****

When Harry walked into the deserted classroom on Friday evening, he had a plan. He had been giving Dumbledore’s words some thought and had finally figured out what he wanted to do about them. Now it was only a matter of time.

Ten minutes before the training session was supposed to start, the door banged open and Mad-Eye Moody came hobbling into the room, Lupin behind him. “You’re early, Potter,” Moody growled.

“Good evening, Moody—Professor Lupin,” Harry said, nodding to each of them.

“Harry,” Lupin greeted back, offering him a smile.

“Move along, Potter,” Moody said, walking to where he usually liked to stand in a classroom. “Get ready for this evening’s lesson.”

Harry, however, stood his ground. “No.”

Moody’s magical eye, which had been swiveling nonstop, pointed itself directly at Harry, along with his other eye. “What did you say, boy?”

“No,” Harry said more firmly as he took out his wand. “Not this evening, Moody.”

“What in the name of Merlin do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Moody snarled.

Harry raised his wand, pointing it straight at Moody, before whipping it back to his own face in a salute. Then he spoke very slowly and very clearly. “I hereby challenge you, Alastor Moody, to a wizard’s duel.”

Quite suddenly, Moody laughed. “You must be off your rocker, Potter. You don’t even have a second.”

Harry smirked. “I won’t need one.”

“Harry—” Lupin began, but was cut off by a swift shake of Harry’s head.

“I’m up to the challenge,” Harry said.

Moody nodded and took out his wand before saluting him. “Very well, Potter. When you wake up three weeks from how in the Hospital Wing, remember that it’s your own fault.”

“I won’t be waking up in the Hospital Wing three weeks from now,” Harry said.

Moody barked out a laugh and then struck, a blaze of blue lightning nearly hitting Harry if it hadn’t been for his perfectly timed Shield Charm. Then Harry struck back, yelling, “Impedimenta!”

Moody easily deflected the jinx, then fired back, growling, “Silencio!” Harry was rendered without a voice. Moody smirked. “I thought that was your first D.A. lesson of the year, Potter. You were correct with how useful that spell is.”

Harry, however, knew that Moody was also trying to test him on his nonverbal spellwork. Grinning, he pointed his wand at Moody and thought, Locomotor Mortis!

Moody barely caught that one in time, then sent an orange streak at Harry, which he ducked under before sending a Trip Jinx at Moody and successfully knocking him on the ground. With a roar, Moody sent back the Leg-Locker Curse that Harry had tried on him and Harry toppled over. At the same time, however, Harry was also sending the Blasting Curse at Moody, which blew him ten feet backward. Lupin, meanwhile, was standing as far out of the way as he could.

“Potter!” Moody roared, his face contorted. “Rictusempra!”

Before Harry knew it, he was in a fit of uncontrollable, silent giggles. Finally, he decided that he had had enough. Finite, he thought, as he rolled over, jumped up, and shouted, “Langlock!” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lupin grin. That particular spell had been one that the Marauder had taught him.

Moody was just in the process of unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth when Harry struck again. “Expelliarmus! Levicorpus!” Harry yelled, jerking his wand upward as he uttered the last curse. Not only did Moody lose his wand, but he was also now hanging upside-down by his ankle.

He stared at Harry shrewdly. “Alright boy, you’ve had your fun, now put me down,” he said quietly.

Harry lowered his wand, his mind muttering the countercurse, and Moody fell to the floor in a heap. Lupin stepped over to Harry, patting him on the back. “Well done, Harry. If James had been here watching this, he would have been so proud.”

“Especially since he used all of those tricks of yours,” Moody said gruffly, getting up. “Potter, if you don’t win that damn dueling crown this year at the contest, I’ll know you threw it away.” There was a gleam in his beady, non-magical eye. “You’re ready. You’re ready to finally move on and learn something new.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel excited.

*****

His good mood faded in a dramatic fashion the next day, though. It was the day of Ron’s date with Lavender and he was fluttering around nervously all morning; his date was to take place later on in the afternoon. Finally, Hermione—exasperated with his antics—told him to sit down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. “Do you want to explain to us why you’re so nervous?”

Ron shook his head. Hermione went back to studying, obviously deciding not to push things, and Harry went back to his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. But Ron’s foot started tapping so badly that he was hitting the bottom of the table that they were sitting at, knocking Harry’s ink bottle over and causing it to gush all over both the table and Harry’s essay.

“Oops! Sorry, mate,” Ron said sheepishly.

Without saying anything, Hermione took out her wand and began to siphon off the ink before Harry could attempt to, his essay returning to its pre-pool of ink form. “Are you sure that you don’t want to talk?” Hermione said finally.

Ron glanced around, his face red. Then, finally, he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, were either of you nervous before your first dates?”

“First date as in the first time I’ve ever gone on a date, or the first time I went on a date with Hermione?” Harry asked quietly, glancing around like Ron to make sure that no one was paying attention.

“The very first time, when you went on that date with Cho,” Ron said.

Harry thought about it for a moment, trying to remember that disastrous first date he had with Cho in Madam Puddifoot’s café. He recalled a lot of crying and Cho storming out angrily at the mention of Hermione, but before that he was sure that he had felt rather queasy.

“Yeah, I suppose I was,” he replied at last.

“What about you, Hermione? Weren’t you nervous when Krum took you to the Yule Ball?”

“Of course I was,” Hermione said. “He was a few years older than me. I was nervous about what he expected from me. He was quite the gentleman, though; he didn’t even so much as try to kiss me. I suppose he understood that I was feeling rather terrified about the idea.”

Ron was fidgeting again. “That’s my problem, don’t you understand? Lavender’s…more experienced at certain things than I am. What if she expects me to…to…to...”

“Snog?” Harry said helpfully, trying to look cheerful, even though he wasn’t. All of this talk about Ron and his experiences with kissing was making Harry think of something else, something that wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Ron, meanwhile, had turned a brilliant shade of red. “What am I going to do? I mean, what if I’m no good?”

“Oh, Ron, stop. I highly doubt you’re a bad kisser,” Hermione said.

Beside her, Harry went rigid. You would know, he couldn’t help but thinking. He didn’t hear Ron mutter, “How would you know?”

“You don’t get it,” Ron said in a low voice. “You two have kissed someone—each other. Me, I’ve never…I mean…Merlin, this sucks,” he growled. “I’m seventeen-bloody-years old and I’ve never kissed a girl. It’s going to show on this date when Lavender expects—Harry?”

Harry had stood up, his face livid and his fists clenched. Without a word to either of them, he marched out of the common room and down the corridor to an empty classroom, where he slammed the door shut. Not a minute later, the door opened as Hermione walked in.

“Harry…” she said tentatively.

Just then, Ron walked in. “Hey, mate, what’s—” But before he could finish his sentence, Harry had slammed him against the wall.

Pinning him there, Harry screamed, “LIAR! YOU’RE A GODDAMN LIAR!”

“Harry!” Hermione cried, alarmed as she tried to pull him off of Ron.

“Oh, sod off!” Harry yelled. “You’re just as bad as he is!”

Hermione let go of him, stung by his words. “Harry, I don’t know what we did to upset you so—”

“YOU DON’T KNOW?” Harry bellowed. “YOU DON’T KNOW?”

“No!” Hermione said. “We’re sorry, but we don’t.”

Harry didn’t realize that he was crying until he felt a tear slide down his cheek. “You’ve never kissed a girl before, huh, Ron? You liar. How can you say that? How can you bloody say that when I know for a fact that you’ve kissed her,” he said, nodding to Hermione.

Ron’s face turned white. “What?”

Hermione was just as pale. “Harry—”

“Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t. I heard you, don’t you get it? I bloody heard what happened on that first day of classes when you both went off to that classroom.” He turned back to Ron. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked the redhead savagely. “Were you proud of yourself, getting back at me for something you thought I did?”

“Harry, you don’t understand—” Ron said, gasping.

“Don’t understand?” Harry repeated. “Oh, I understand perfectly well. You thought that I had gone behind your back and taken a girl that you never really ever had any romantic feelings for. You admitted it yourself—she’s like a sister to you, yet you still felt jealous. You felt the need to get back at me, so what did you do? You gave Hermione an ultimatum when she was only trying to get you to realize that you’re a flipping moron!” He released Ron then and rounded on Hermione. “And then you…” He became speechless at that point, all of the anguish he had felt that day coming back to him.

“Harry, please, hear us out,” Hermione said. “Nothing happened. Ron and I, we didn’t kiss.”

That stung more than the incident itself. He gaped at her. “How…how can you lie to me like that?” he said. “I heard the whole thing. I heard his demand. I heard you give in. I heard you tell him that…that…well, I heard you walk toward him and then the silence.”

“I didn’t kiss him, Harry,” Hermione said desperately. “Nor did he kiss me. I stepped forward, yes, thinking that maybe if I did give in, if I did kiss him, everything would be better. I didn’t want to, though. I was terrified. I didn’t want to do the exact thing that I have obviously done.”

“And what’s that?” Harry said.

“Hurt you,” she said in a whisper, tears falling. “I couldn’t do it, Harry. Even in trying to save our friendship with him, I couldn’t do it.”

“Neither could I,” Ron said. “You’re right, I wanted revenge, but I found that I couldn’t kiss her. The mere thought that it was actually about to happen was very awkward for me and when she stepped back and told me that she couldn’t do it, I actually breathed a sigh of relief.”

“Then we talked. We just talked,” Hermione said to him. “I told Ron everything—that I’ve fancied you for ages and eventually fell in love with you. How I’m willing to do anything for you. You’ve always come first for me, Harry. Ever since I met you, I’ve felt a sort of connection to you. And then Ron and I talked about his feelings and he told me that he knew that he couldn’t kiss me either and we figured out why. You were right, Harry, he and I are like siblings.”

“Did you not hear that?” Ron asked. “You said you heard everything.”

Harry shook his head. He was feeling like a great big prat now. “No, I had pulled up the Ear when I thought that Hermione was kissing you. Then I ran back to the common room.”

“That’s why you looked so sick,” Hermione realized. “It wasn’t the poison or the antidote. You were…you were…”

“Heartbroken,” he finished for her.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron murmured. “I’m sorry you went through that torture. I can’t imagine what these past few months have been like for you.” Then he looked as though he were remembering something. “Wait a tick, though, did you say you pulled up an Extendable Ear?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, anticipating the next blowout, only this time it would be from Ron and Hermione.

“Do you even own some of those?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Ginny—er—suggested that we listen in on your conversation to find out whether or not Hermione would knock some sense into you.”

“Ginny,” Ron said darkly. “I should have known. She’s as bad as Fred and George—always has to have her nose in somebody else’s business.”

“You do believe us, though, don’t you Harry?” Hermione said, taking his hand in hers. When he removed it, her face fell.

Slowly, with the same hand that Hermione had been trying to hold, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the enchanted beeper that Hermione had given him on his birthday. It lay completely still in the palm of his hand. “This thing isn’t going off, is it?” he said.

Her chest gave a great heave as she choked back a sob and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” he said quietly, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I eavesdropped in on your conversation and, more than that, I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you. I know better than that. You two are the truest friends I have and without you, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I’m sorry.”

Hermione leaned back and kissed him soundly on the lips while Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mate,” he said, “if you can forgive me for being a complete jackass this summer, then how can I not forgive you for something so simple?”

Harry smiled and saw the time on his watch. “Hey, Ron, isn’t your date with Lavender in ten minutes?”

Eyes wide, Ron glanced down at his own watch. “Crap!” he yelled. “I got to—”

“Go,” Harry and Hermione said in unison before turning to each other and laughing as Ron ran out the door.

Harry pulled Hermione closer and rested his forehead on hers. “I really am sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said, “as am I.”

“How about we go grab some lunch,” he said, “and, I dunno, go take a walk around the lake.”

She smiled. “In the snow?”

“Sure. We’ll bring toast.”

“That sounds lovely.”

He took her hand in his and, giving her a peck on the lips, they walked out of the classroom.

A/N: FYI, the Parselmouth are a real band from the Washington state area. They sing the same type of music as Harry and the Potters. Check out their myspace page at http://www.myspace.com/theparselmouths.

Author’s Note: Another update. As I said, you guys need to catch up to me. Thanks for the reviews everyone and, of course, thank you Charmaine for reading these over for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IMHOTEP RAMESES

“Xerophytes, that’s what we’re talking about today,” Professor Sprout was saying the first day of December, when the seventh-year Herbology students were moving on to something new. “First though, who here can tell me what a xerophyte is?” Unsurprising, Hermione’s hand shot into the air. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“A xerophyte is a plant that is adapted to living in dry and arid habitats. In other words, a desert,” Hermione said.

“Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor,” Professor Sprout said. “That is why we’re in Greenhouse Five today, seventh years. This is our most arid of greenhouses and so all of our desert plants grow here, including one plant that you might want to look out for, the Shooting Cactus. It’s over there, in the corner.

“Today, however, we’re going to be working with prickly pears. Professor Snape is running low of the juice that the pears make and, as I’ve got a bunch that are in dire need of a good juicing, I thought we’d have at it today. You’ll need your dragon hide gloves today as the spines of the fruit come out very, very easily. I don’t want anyone’s fingers to start bleeding. So, groups of four, grab a basket and start trimming the fruit from the cacti, then go back to your table and juice them. I’ve got chocolate frogs for the group that gets the most juice!”

Neville, as always, joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Together they began trimming the prickly pears from their respective cacti. They did very well, filling up their basket quickly. The only incident they had was when Ron, reaching over a cactus, accidentally got a spine lodged into his upper forearm and had to, in what looked to be a very painful move, pull it out. Hermione then quickly got her wand out and, with a tap, stopped the bleeding.

Juicing them, Harry found, was rather easy. With a knife, each of them simply stabbed a hole into the pear and then squeezed them, ignoring the bumpy feel of the spines that couldn’t affect them through their dragon hide gloves. Neville even voiced this thought.

“It’s kind of odd, isn’t it, that she’s having us juice prickly pears,” he said. “I’m surprised she didn’t save this for the second or third years and let us work with something more interesting, like that Shooting Cactus over there. After all, that thing has to be drained every month or it will shoot all of its spines off at once, kind of like an explosion, because it’s bursting with water.”

“Maybe it’s not ready to be—er—drained,” Ron said, glancing over at the Shooting Cactus with a look that clearly said that he didn’t want to be anywhere near the thing.

After class (Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones barely beat Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville for the chocolate frogs), they headed up to Professor Flitwick’s class for Charms, where he showed them a useful charm that would help a person breathe.

“It’s good for when someone’s choking on a piece of food or has taken in too much water while swimming,” Flitwick said in his tiny, squeaky voice.

He had them practice on each other, which didn’t really show the full effect of the charm due to the fact that none of them were actually choking.

“This is boring,” Malfoy said loudly. “Isn’t there a spell to stop a person from breathing?”

Flitwick looked highly alarmed. “Well, yes, of course,” he squeaked. “But it’s considered Dark magic. I wouldn’t dare show you!”

“He’d love to know that, wouldn’t he?” Ron muttered to Harry. “I bet he’d love to know anything and everything about Dark magic.”

Harry nodded.

After lunch was Potions. Harry and Hermione grudgingly left Ron to walk up to the common room and enjoy his afternoon while they trudged off to the dungeons. It was particularly cold down there now, so much so that Harry would see his breath whenever he exhaled.

Hermione shivered beside him while they waited in line for class to begin. “You’d think they’d use a Warming Spell down here, wouldn’t you,” she said, her teeth chattering.

“Knowing Snape, he probably loves the cold. The more tortured all of us are, the happier he is,” Harry muttered.

Snape was his usual sneering self. The seventh years were in the middle of working on a rather deadly poison that caused the drinker’s heart to stop beating. It took a little over two weeks to brew the poison, which was supposed to end up looking a pale red. Currently, Harry’s looked a deep shade of magenta. Hermione’s was a light pink.

Snape swept past, caught sight of Harry’s poison, and smirked, putting Harry in a bad mood. He continued stirring the poison like his book instructed, glancing over at Hermione. She gave him a small smile. When Snape was out of earshot, he whispered, “What have I done wrong?”

“I suspect you might have used a little too much frog secretion,” Hermione said. “It was a tricky measurement.”

Harry sighed. Snape was surely going to give him a “P” on this assignment.

When Harry and Hermione returned to the common room, Ron sat in his favorite chair, looking rather pleased with himself. “Hey, how was Potions?” he asked.

“The usual,” Harry said, sitting down in an armchair near him. “You look happy.”

“Not having to deal with Snape always makes me happy,” Ron said.

“Rub it in our faces, why don’t you,” Harry muttered. “What’s up?”

“Lavender and I are going on another date,” he told them.

Ron’s first date with Lavender had apparently gone very well. He and Lavender had spent the whole time outside, building a snowman before getting into a snowball fight with Neville and Ginny, who were also outside enjoying the cold weather. Then, after they were completely soaked and freezing, Ron and Lavender went down to the kitchens and warmed up by the fire, eating sandwiches that the house-elves whipped up for them (something that had Hermione tutting when she heard about it). The date had ended with the two of them walking back to the common room, but before Ron had been able to utter the password, Lavender kissed him.

“Now I understand what all the excitement’s about,” Ron had told them.

“When is your next date?” Hermione was asking him now.

“The next Hogsmeade weekend,” he replied, then lowered his voice. “Which will work out well for the two of you, won’t it? I mean, you two can go on a date too. It won’t look suspicious for you two to be alone if I’m on a date.”

Harry looked over at Hermione and grinned. “He’s got a point.”

“He sure does,” Hermione said, grinning back. “It sounds quite lovely, in fact.”

Ron nodded. “I thought you two would like that.”

“The next Hogsmeade weekend is another two weeks away,” Hermione said. “The weekend leading up to the Yule Ball.”

“Plenty of time to plan, then,” Harry said. Such as when and where he and Hermione could spend some time snogging.

*****

In Transfiguration the next morning, Professor McGonagall gave them a pop quiz, causing everyone but Hermione to groan. Each of them had to change the look of their faces until they were almost unrecognizable. Harry changed his hair color to a light brown, his eyes to a deep blue, and was able to make his chin more pronounced, earning him an “E.”

Ron, meanwhile, somehow managed to turn his hair a revolting lime green and caused his nose to swell up. Professor McGonagall gave him an “A,” stating that, even though it was a haphazard job and that his freckles were a dead giveaway, he had still managed to change his appearance, which was more than what Neville could say. Neville was only able to change his eye color from their usual brown to a harsh orange.

Unsurprising, Hermione did the best, changing not only her hair color to a steely gray, but also its style. It went from completely bushy to thin and straggly. Her eyes became hazel, her cheeks became sallower, and she was also able to add laugh lines and crow’s feet, ultimately making her look like an old woman with a teenager’s body. Professor McGonagall gave her a small smile and a nod of approval before giving her an “O.”

“Continue to practice facial transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall said at the end of class as everyone began to file out, but before Harry had a chance to, she called, “Potter, stay here a moment.”

Wondering if he had done something, he nodded to Ron and Hermione, indicating that they should go on to their next class without him before turning back and walking up to Professor McGonagall’s desk. “Yes, professor?”

“I have a note for you from Professor Dumbledore,” she said, handing him an elaborately folded piece of parchment. “He handed it to me early this morning before he left.”

“Left?” Harry repeated. “He’s gone?”

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall replied.

“Where did he go?” Harry asked.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. “That is none of your business, Potter. The only thing you need to worry about is that note, am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Good, now run along.”

Walking toward his next class, Harry opened the note and read it quickly. It wasn’t anything surprising; it just informed Harry that his lesson for that evening with Dumbledore had been canceled.

No kidding, thought Harry as he shredded the note and threw it away. What could Dumbledore possibly be up to, he wondered.

Whatever it was, he mused, it had to be very important. Dumbledore wouldn’t leave the school unless he thought it was. Maybe the Order had discovered something and Dumbledore was going to investigate. Maybe they captured a Death Eater. No, maybe they had captured Wormtail, stopping him from raising an army of Inferi. The thought made him grin. Now that would be an excellent reason to leave the school.

*****

“Today we’re starting a new topic,” Professor Lupin was saying the following day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “I’m sure everyone in here is aware of the fact that Lord Voldemort—” All of the students in the class, except for Harry and Hermione, cringed. “—is using vampires in his army. We’re going to be spending our time before and after the Christmas holiday discussing the characteristics of vampires, how they look and act, and the more practical lessons of how to ward them off. I say ward them off because vampires are very hard to kill. Who here can tell me one of the ways to kill a vampire?” Several hands were raised. “Yes, Miss Patil?”

“Shove a piece of wood through their heart,” Parvati Patil said.

“Good. How else? Mr. Boot?”

“Throw them into sunlight,” Terry Boot said.

“Yes. What else? Mr. Nott?”

“Decapitate them!” Nott said gleefully.

“Yes, which, incidentally, is the bloodiest way to kill a vampire and hardest to do. But come now, there’s one more, what is it?” Lupin said as Hermione raised her hand even higher. “Miss Granger, please inform them.”

“Douse the vampire in holy water,” she answered. “It scalds them to death.”

“Good. So, let’s see, that’s ten points to Gryffindor, five to Ravenclaw, and five to Slytherin. Now, let’s get started by talking about how vampires look,” Lupin said, sitting down. “For the most part, vampires look just like you and me. A vampire’s eyes, however, tend to look paler than normal eye colors. Their skin looks sort of waxy and translucent. Then, of course, their most distinguishing and famous feature are their fangs. Their canines are twice the size of regular adult-sized canine teeth and they are sharper than the point of a knife. These teeth can penetrate anything, the exception being all metals and some Muggle-made alloys. In other words, flesh is nothing to them. Anyone want to divulge why vampires prefer to bite the necks of humans instead of other places, like the arm, or the leg?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air. When Lupin nodded at her, she explained, “Vampires would much prefer to bite their victims in the neck because that’s the most accessible area of the Carotid artery.”

Lupin smiled. “You are, as always, correct, Miss Granger. Another five points to Gryffindor. So, as Miss Granger explained it, the Carotid artery in your neck is the easiest part of the human body for a vampire to feast on, since the Carotid artery carries fresh oxygenated blood from the heart to the brain. When vampires are unable to hunt down humans, they resort to pig and cow’s blood. They would much rather feast on human blood, though. Apparently it’s less bland.” He shrugged.

Dean Thomas raised his hand. “Sir, do you know any vampires?”

“I’ve met a few,” Lupin replied. “But their type and my type don’t mingle very well.”

“Because you’re after the same prey?” said Malfoy’s drawling voice from the back of the room.

Lupin frowned. “Vampires and werewolves both prefer to hunt humans, yes. Werewolves, as it were, only hunt humans. That is, they only hunt humans when they have transformed during the full moon.” Ernie Macmillan raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Macmillan?”

“Do you have any pictures of vampires so that we can take a good look at them, professor?” he asked.

“No, I don’t. In fact, no one does. Can anyone here tell me why?” Lupin asked.

Hermione raised her hand yet again. When Lupin called her name, she said, “Vampires simply do not appear in photographs, just like they don’t have a reflection. You can take thousands of pictures of them, but they won’t show up on the film. You can try to draw a picture of one, but you can’t photograph one.”

Lupin nodded gravely. “Precisely.” He stood up. “Let’s move on to where vampires can be found. There is a great concentration of them in Romania, which have been recruited to come here to fight in the war. Vampires, however, can be found all over the world. Yes, the majority of them can be found in Eastern Europe, but there are a slew of them in India, Russia, China, Australia, and the Americas, just to name a few places. Incidentally, the American cities of New York and Los Angeles have more vampires reportedly in them than all of the cities in Britain combined. That’s why Voldemort—” The class shuddered again. “—had to recruit from outside our borders.

“Before we leave for today, though, I would like to implore you to remember that not all vampires are the bloodthirsty demons Muggle lore has made them out to be. Some choose to fight their instincts and drink only the blood of cows and pigs, occasionally also munching on blood-flavored lollipops. Not every vampire is in league with Lord Voldemort.

“That said, I would like a two-parchment long essay on the whereabouts of the largest concentrations of vampires today, along with a world map to exhibit this. See you Friday.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered up their things and headed out the door. To Harry’s surprise, Lavender and Parvati idled up next to them. “Do you think what Professor Lupin said is true?” Lavender asked. “That not all vampires are bad?”

“I’ve heard nasty stories about them,” Ron said. “They don’t have the most pleasant disposition.”

“None of the ones I ran into seemed very nice,” Harry said, remembering a night one year ago when he encountered a group of vampires attacking Ottery St. Catchpole. “But I imagine there are a few—er—tamer ones out there, as Professor Lupin suggests. After all, why would he say that unless it was true?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s his job to prepare us for anything dealing with the Dark Arts in the future. He wouldn’t have said that unless it were true.”

“But what if,” Lavender said conspiratorially, “Lupin’s in league with the vampires and You-Know-Who? He’s a werewolf, after all, and it wouldn’t be the first time Dumbledore’s let somebody—”

“He’s not working for Voldemort,” Harry snapped.

Lavender shuddered at the mention of his name and then looked up at Ron for support, only she didn’t get any.

“Harry’s right. We know Lupin. He would never work for You-Know-Who. He’d rather kill himself,” Ron said.

Lavender was looking extremely moody. “There’s something suspicious about him. Why didn’t he continue to teach us during our fourth and fifth years? Why’d he leave?”

“Because people found out that he’s a werewolf,” Harry said irritably. He had always considered Lavender to be a bit of an airhead, what with her love for Divination and her worship of Professor Trelawney, but now he was starting to consider her downright ditzy. It was like things went in one ear and right back out the other; she didn’t retain anything. Harry didn’t think he could handle it if Ron developed true feelings for her.

“Parents didn’t want their children to be taught by a werewolf,” Hermione said and Harry was pleased to see that she looked rather annoyed as well. “So when it was leaked that he was one, he left so that students wouldn’t be taken out of school in protest.”

“Then why is he back?” Lavender asked.

“He’s back because Dumbledore demanded it,” Hermione said. “He needed a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and Lupin was the man for the job, whether parents like it or not. Really, Lupin is a good man. There’s not a cruel or sadistic bone in his body. If anyone hates him for what he is, then they’re just a bigot.”

Lavender looked extremely put out. “Parvati and I need to go. We’ve got Divination with Professor Trelawney. I’m so happy to have her as a professor this year. Firenze is nice, but Professor Trelawney is a sweetheart and knows exactly what she’s talking about. Firenze only interprets the stars.”

“Uh-huh. Well, have a nice class,” Harry said, happy to be rid of the two of them.

Ron shook his head when Lavender and Parvati were out of eyesight. “She’s a bit nutty, don’t you think?”

“Is that the way you talk about your girlfriend behind her back?” Hermione asked. “You’re nice.”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? But she is a good kisser,” Ron said thoughtfully.

She rounded on him. “Is that the only reason why you’re dating her? For kissing practice?” she asked, outraged.

“Well, it’s not like I really fancy her,” Ron said. “I could, I mean, with time. I could learn to fancy her. She’s not bad on the eyes by any means. But—” He was cut off by Hermione frustrated growl.

“Men,” was all she muttered before storming away.

Ron glanced at Harry. “What did I say?”

Harry shrugged. “I think she thinks you’re using Lavender.”

“If I was, why would she care? She and Lavender aren’t the best of friends.”

“I dunno,” Harry replied.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Women.”

*****

Hermione didn’t speak to Ron for the next few days and Ron responded likewise. What really set Harry off was, while they were in the library doing their homework, Ron had asked him to ask Hermione if he could borrow her ruler to measure the length of his assignment.

“For Merlin’s sake, just use mine,” Harry growled, shoving his ruler at him.

“Take it easy, mate. I just asked a question,” Ron said.

“No, you asked me to ask Hermione something when she’s sitting right here!” Harry said. “Her hearing’s good—she’ll hear you, so don’t ask me to ask her anything.”

Ron looked highly affronted and muttered, “All I did was ask for a ruler. You didn’t have to bite my head off.”

Harry slammed his book closed and rolled up his parchment. “That’s it. I’m going back to the common room to finish this essay and I’d prefer not to see either of you until you have this stupid spat of yours dealt with. I’m sick of being in the middle of your feuding.” With that, he threw everything into his bag and left them there, stunned and looking rather guilty.

Up the staircases he climbed until he reached Gryffindor Tower, where he mumbled the password to the Fat Lady (“Water lily”) and walked into the common room. Some third years were over by the fireplace, warming up after either their Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures class, he assumed. In the back corner, Hunter Farrell and Dylan Brown were both talking animatedly, apparently telling a story to their friends Ally Warrick, Laura MacKenzie, and the first year Tara Ryder, who seemed to have joined their little quartet over the past few months. Closer to the table where Harry plopped down his bag, Colin Creevey and his little brother Dennis were examining some photographs that Colin had recently taken. When they saw Harry, Colin and Dennis both grinned and ambled over to him.

“Hiya, Harry!” Colin said.

“Hello,” Harry muttered, not in the mood to talk to him.

“I’ve just finished developing some pictures both Dennis and I took,” Colin told him, flipping through the stack. “Look, Dennis took a bunch from the Quidditch match.”

“I think I did a good job,” Dennis said, who was now a fourth year.

To humor them, Harry glanced through the stack of photos. There was a really good one of him, rain soaked, soaring through the air and catching the Golden Snitch.

“You can keep that one, if you want,” Colin said.

Harry went to the next one, which was of him celebrating with Ron before hugging Hermione. It brought a smile to his face, even though he was annoyed with the two of them.

“Can I keep them both?” he asked Colin.

“Sure,” Colin said. “There was one in here too of Ron making a nice save. I’ll have to show it to him when he comes back.”

He nodded. “You do that.”

Later, after Harry had gone up the dormitory for the night, Ron walked in and dropped his stuff. He glanced over at Harry sheepishly. “Hermione and I stopped fighting,” he informed Harry. “We got kicked out of the library by Madam Pince because our discussion got a little heated, but we finished it up and came back. Are you down for the night?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, putting his Charms book down. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ve got to go back downstairs and finish my essay. Hermione and I argued so much it never got finished,” Ron said. “See you in the morning.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

It took awhile before Harry fell asleep. He was slightly irritated by the fact that Ron and Hermione had argued for so long. What was it about the two of them that made them need to bicker so much? Sometimes they argued so much and with such venom that Harry wondered whether or not their friendship could be repaired. Even his arguments with either of them (granted, he argued a lot less with Hermione than with Ron) could turn into hissing and spitting contests.

That’s what happens when three stubborn people become friends, was the last thing Harry thought before he drifted off to sleep.

He was standing in a meadow, gazing around. Suddenly, a raw egg hit him in the face. He whirled around, trying to see where it came from.

“Sorry, mate!” came Ron’s voice from the trees surrounding the meadow. “I wasn’t aiming at you.”

Harry felt something hard hit the back of his head and break. He turned and saw Hermione at the edge of the trees, cringing.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I was trying to hit Ron.”

Ron emerged from the trees and lobbed another egg at Hermione, but it fell sort and hit Harry on the top of his head.

“Sorry!”

Another one, sent from Hermione, hit his shoulder.

“Sorry!”

Yet, instead of stopping, they continued on and each time they missed and hit Harry instead. There was nothing he could do to stop them. They just kept trying to throw eggs at each other.

He spat out a mouthful of yolk and tried to speak, but got hit again on the ear.

“Sorry!” Ron yelled.

He couldn’t walk away. Whenever he moved, so did Ron and Hermione.

“ENOUGH!” he finally cried. He marched over to Ron. “Leave her alone.”

“She started it!” Ron whined. “All I did was throw an egg in her direction.”

With an exasperated sigh, the meadow melted away and Harry suddenly found himself in a strangely familiar room, sitting in a high-backed chair. Before him were three young men, on their knees and their noses practically being pressed into the floor.

“So, you have finally returned,” he said in a cold voice.

“Master, please forgive us our delay,” the one in the middle said, speaking to the floor.

“I sent you on this mission in July. It is now December. You have wasted valuable time,” Harry said, his voice even colder.

“I’m sorry, Master,” the one on the left said.

“Forgive us, Master,” the middle one said.

“Be merciful, Master,” the one of the right said.

“Merciful, Warrington? You want mercy? Very well.” He raised his wand.

“Master, please!” Warrington cried. “I beg of you, hear us out.”

“You asked for mercy, Warrington,” Harry said. “Mercy is death, compared to the other torments I could give you. Do you not consider death to be merciful?”

Warrington gulped and then boldly replied, “No, Master.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. Crucio!” The other two jerked away as Warrington screamed and twitched violently. Harry lazily lowered his wand. He got up and bent down over Warrington, murmuring, “Was that merciful enough for you?”

Warrington was gasping for air. “Yes, Master.”

He sat back down. “Now, Flint, tell me why it took you just under five months to complete the task I gave you.”

Marcus Flint, the one in the middle, raised himself so that he was only on his knees. “Master, we arrived in Egypt and began our search for Imhotep Rameses, just as you had demanded. The search, however, took longer than we anticipated. Mr. Rameses keeps himself well hidden from both Muggles and wizards. It took several weeks just to gather enough information as to where Mr. Rameses could be located.

“When we finally found his lair, we would not be admitted to see him. We told his apprentice that we were sent by the Dark Lord, but he told us that Mr. Rameses would see no visitors or hear no requests. Finally, after three months of returning each day, pleading and threatening to be let in, we were taken before Mr. Rameses, who heard our request and immediately sent us away. It took two more weeks to get back in, Master. We brought him a gift and told him that you would reward him richly if he would beckon to your call, but still he refused. Another two weeks went by and we were admitted again, bringing more gifts to him. He finally spoke to us that day, saying that he would consider your offer to join him and that he would send for us when he had an answer. Master, it was nearly a month before he called us before him. We brought him yet another gift and he finally, finally consented to join us. He gathered up his things and then we were able to return to you, Master.”

“Where is he now?” Harry asked.

“Outside, Master. Waiting to be brought in before you,” Flint replied.

Harry stared at them. “Then why are you in here? Bring him to me!”

The three of them scrambled to their feet and bolted out the door. Harry waited for a full minute, tapping his long, white fingers on the arm of his chair, feeling more annoyed by the second. Finally, Flint and the other Death Eater, Montague, opened the doors and bowed deeply.

“My master, may I present to you Imhotep Rameses,” Flint said in an oily voice.

Harry gazed at the old man walking into the room, using a cane that looked like an Egyptian asp whose eyes were made out of rubies that looked like scarab beetles. His light brown face was pointed and he was completely hairless except for a small, white, triangular goatee just above his chin. His eyes were blacker than the night sky.

He walked up to Harry and gave a short bow before saying in a reedy, accented voice, “My lord.”

“Imhotep Rameses,” Harry said, surveying the old man. “The greatest of Egyptian curse casters.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Rameses said.

Harry looked beyond the old man and addressed his young servants. “Leave us.” Flint and Montague bowed and left, closing the door behind them. Harry turned back to Rameses. “I am quite disappointed to hear how long it took my servants to convince you to come to me.”

Rameses smiled. “To be honest, my lord, I did not believe they were sent by you at first.” He looked around. “Is there a place I might be able to sit down? My old legs can’t take standing much longer.”

Harry pulled out his wand and waved it, conjuring up a wooden chair with a padded seat. “Any other requests?”

“Water, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said.

With another wave, Harry conjured up a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Rameses said. “It has been a long journey.”

“I imagine so,” Harry said, watching him carefully.

“Now, what were we discussing?” Rameses asked.

“You didn’t believe the servants I had sent to you,” Harry prompted.

“Right. What can I say, my lord? I am used to distinguished, proven wizards knocking on my door, asking for my help. You sent me three children, barely legal. I must admit, I was rather offended,” Rameses said stiffly.

“Certainly you understand how busy I am,” Harry said. “My other servants, the older and more distinguished ones, are preparing for an assignment I’ve recently given them even as we speak. The three servants I sent to you desperately wanted to represent me. They were aching to be of service to me.”

“They certainly weren’t much of service to me,” Rameses said. “I specifically told them that I wanted my apprentice, Abdul Jabbar, to accompany me on this trip. He is a talented student and would have benefited a great deal from aiding me in doing whatever it is you want me to do.”

“Is he absolutely necessary for you to be able to perform your work?” Harry asked.

“Not absolutely necessary, no. He does, however, narrow research time and makes it easier to prepare for whatever it is I have to do. Speaking of which,” Rameses said, “I believe it is about time you told me why you have asked for me to come, my lord.”

“I will have him sent for,” Harry said. “As to why you’re here, the answer is very simple. I have use of your abilities.”

Rameses’s eyes glittered. “What would you like me to curse?”

“You have a great gift for languages, I am told,” Harry went on. “Arabic, Ancient Egyptian, Farsi, Greek, Ancient Greek, Latin, Italian, French, Spanish, English, German, Swahili, Russian…a very extensive list.”

“You forgot Chinese, Japanese, Hebrew, and, of course, Persian and Ancient Sumerian. I can also read and write in Cuneiform.”

“As I said, you have a gift for languages,” Harry said.

“Thank you, my lord. I take it you would like a combination of all of these for whatever I’m cursing?” Rameses asked. “What am I cursing, anyway, my lord?

He gave the old man a sinister smile. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? My lord, if you don’t want me to curse something, then why have you brought me here? I have plenty of tombs back in Egypt that I can study and maintain so that those idiot curse breakers from around the world can’t get into them. After all, I have a perfect record,” Rameses said haughtily.

“I have no intention of you creating a curse for me, Rameses. Rather, I have something much more important and difficult for you to do. I want you to study and…” He trailed off and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he got up. “Stay here,” he ordered. “We will continue this discussion when I return. I have to rid myself of something.”

He marched out of the room. Death Eaters were waiting around, interesting in his meeting. “Flint!” he said, eyeing all of the Death Eaters malevolently, causing all of them to leave his presence.

Marcus Flint stepped out of the shadows and bowed. “Master?”

“Return to Egypt and bring back Rameses’s apprentice,” Harry ordered. “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, Master!” Flint said and, with a CRACK, Disapperated.

Alone, Harry stood in the middle of the dark room, his head bowed. “I think you’ve learned quite enough, Potter. You should know better than to wander in my head. It comes with a price.” With that, he touched his forehead.

Back in the dormitory, Harry woke up, screaming as it felt as though his scar was trying to rip his head in two.

Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all at his side in moments. “Harry, what is it?” Ron asked, looking terrified.

“SCAR!” Harry cried out. Then he succumbed to the pain and the blackness that followed.

Author’s Note: My God, it’s July 1st. This is the month of Harry Potter. Really, it is. I was in a bookstore yesterday and you wouldn’t believe all of the Harry Potter merchandise they had out. I really wanted to buy that Gryffindor tie for no reason, too. Anyway, thanks again to everyone who has been reviewing. I love you guys. Really, I do. Big thanks, of course, to Charmaine, my wonderful beta, who reads through these chapters faster than the speed of light and then goes back through and nitpicks every little thing. I seriously do appreciate that. Now, on with the chapter!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE HOGSMEADE MEETING

Never in his life had Harry felt such immense pain. Whatever he had been spying on, Voldemort wasn’t pleased. It seemed as though this were more important to him than losing his own son. Then again, Harry had only felt Voldemort’s anger over losing his son; he wasn’t inside his mind when it happened. The torrent of his anger had spread from wherever he was hiding and hit Harry in full force. This, however, was different. Much different. Harry had been inside his mind, watching everything, when Voldemort felt his presence and forced him out. The only problem was, Harry was having trouble remembering why.

He groaned. Off in the distance, he heard murmurs and then felt the surface he was laying on sink slightly. Still distantly, he heard someone call, “Harry?”

He struggled, trying to get to the voice. “Harry?” it asked again. It sounded closer now. “Harry?” The voice sounded urgent. “Harry?” There was something familiar about that voice. Harry tried to focus in even more. “Harry?” Yes, he was sure he knew that voice.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Hovering just above him was Hermione’s face, her hair bushier than ever and her eyes very red. “Harry!” she cried, immediately handing over his glasses.

“Hermione?” he said in a raspy voice, taking his glasses from her and putting them on. “Where am I?”

“The hospital wing,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Ron! Ron, wake up! He’s awake!”

Ron, who was snoring on the next bed, jerked awake and gazed at him. “Harry!”

“What…what happened?” he asked.

“You were screaming about your scar—woke the lot of us up in the dormitory. Then you blacked out,” Ron said.

Just then, the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office opened and out stepped the nurse herself, followed by Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall.

“Potter, good, you’re awake,” McGonagall said.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over and began to look him over, causing Hermione to jump back. Dumbledore, meanwhile, pulled up a chair and sat on it. “When you’re done, Poppy, I’d like to speak to Harry—alone.”

Madam Pomfrey looked up sharply at Ron and Hermione. “You heard. Go on, now.”

“They may stay,” Dumbledore said. “I imagine everything Harry will tell me, he’ll just tell them as soon as they’re alone. Let us spare Harry from repeating himself.” He turned to Professor McGonagall. “I do appreciate you calling me down here. I will alert you if need be.”

McGonagall nodded. “I’ll be up for the next hour.”

After Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey left, Dumbledore turned to Harry. “I am guessing that Voldemort is very angry. Would you please tell me what you saw, Harry.”

He frowned. “I—I’m not quite sure I remember everything, sir. I remember three Death Eaters begging Voldemort for mercy because of their delay and then I remember them introducing an old man. His name was…” He trailed off, realizing that he couldn’t remember the name. “It was…” He racked his brain. They had said it numerous times, but he couldn’t remember it for the life of him. “Er—”

“It’s okay, Harry. Take your time,” Dumbledore said soothingly.

“I can’t remember, sir. I can’t. I think he might have been Arabic. Very old. I dunno. I can’t remember his name,” Harry said.

“That doesn’t matter,” Dumbledore said. “The point is, Voldemort was meeting someone.”

“Yes. They were discussing…something. I—” He thought hard, getting frustrated at his inability to remember what he had seen. “I think they were talking about…curses, maybe?”

“Curses? Interesting,” Dumbledore said, sitting back. “Can you remember anything else, Harry?”

Harry thought hard, but came up blank. “No, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very well.” He got up to leave.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“How come I can’t remember? Usually, when I’m in Voldemort’s head, I can remember everything as if it actually happened to me. This time around it’s like trying to remember a dream. D’you think that’s all this was? A dream?” he asked.

“No, Harry, this was definitely not a dream. The pain you felt was real. I believe what happened, and why it hurt so much, was that Voldemort modified your memory. Whatever he’s up to, he doesn’t want anyone to know about it,” Dumbledore told him.

“Modified? Like used a memory charm?” Harry asked.

“No. Much worse. Using the connection the two of you share, I believe he reached into your mind and, oh, shall we say blotted ink on your memory?”

“Did it cause any damage, aside from making Harry lose the majority of what he saw?” Hermione asked from Harry’s bedside.

“I don’t know. Harry, what is the last thing you remember before your vision?” Dumbledore asked him.

“I remember…a dream. About eggs.”

“Eggs?” Ron said.

“Er—yeah.”

Ron laughed. “If you’re hungry, I can go down to the kitchens.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry said.

“What type of dragon did you face during the Triwizard Tournament?” Hermione asked him, obviously trying to test him.

“A Hungarian Horntail,” he replied.

“And how many meetings with the D.A. have you had this year?” she asked.

“Two. One in October and one in November. We covered Silencing and Blasting. Isn’t the next one next week?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “I’m happy you remember that.”

“I don’t think he tampered with my other memories,” Harry said. “Only what I saw is fuzzy. Everything else about my life I can remember, like my mother’s maiden name and how old I was when Aunt Marge first brought her dog, Ripper, over to Privet Drive.”

Dumbledore didn’t look surprised. “It’s just as I expected. He only took away what your saw in the vision. He doesn’t care about the rest.”

“So he’s going to be okay?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“I believe so, yes. You’re not feeling any other complications from your encounter, are you, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

He shook his head. “I feel fine now.”

“Good. I imagine Madam Pomfrey will want to keep you overnight. Now, as it is after four in the morning, I would suggest for the two of you,” he said, turning to Ron and Hermione, “to go back to your dormitories and get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ron.

“Of course, Professor,” Hermione said.

“I myself must head off to bed too. Good night to all of you.”

“Good night, sir,” all three of them chimed.

When Professor Dumbledore left them, Hermione took Harry’s hand in hers. “He’s right about us needing to get some sleep. We can talk in the morning, provided that Madam Pomfrey releases you.”

“I’m sure she will. She has no reason to keep me here,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“We’ll drop by tomorrow morning,” she said, giving him a smile. “You certainly gave us a scare tonight, Harry.”

“No kidding,” Ron said from his place on the other bed.

“Sorry about that,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re safe,” Hermione said, placing her other hand on his cheek. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

She leaned forward and gave him a soft, gentle kiss on the lips that was by far the greatest comfort he had had that evening. “Good night,” she whispered.

“’Night.”

“See you in the morning,” Ron said as both he and Hermione headed out the door. “Don’t have any more crazy dreams!”

*****

Madam Pomfrey did, in fact, release Harry the next morning in time for breakfast. He sat down next to Hermione, as always, and grabbed the plate of bacon that was waiting.

“Oh, good, Madam Pomfrey let you out,” Hermione said, smiling and passing him the basket of toast.

“Yeah, there was no point of her keeping me. I feel fine,” Harry said. “So what happened after I passed out?”

“Blimey, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and I really didn’t know what to do at first,” Ron said, swallowing his bacon. “Dean wondered if you had died, but the rest of us knew better. Neville up and left us, going after help, we reckoned. Turned out he pounded on the girls’ dormitory door until somebody came and answered. Then he demanded that they wake up Hermione.”

“I had this poor little first-year girl tapping me and telling me some seventh year boy needed to talk to me. I thought it was you,” Hermione said. “But then I saw Neville and the scared look he had on his face and the first thing out of my mouth was ‘What’s wrong with Harry?’”

“Hermione comes sprinting in our dorm with Neville at her heels and tells us that we need to get you down into the common room while also snapping for someone to go get Professor McGonagall. So Neville, the poor bloke, took off again,” Ron said. “Seamus and I were just about to try to carry you, but Hermione conjured up a stretcher and we were able to carry you that way.”

“Well, really, it was common sense to use one,” Hermione said.

Ron rolled his eyes. “When Neville got back with Professor McGonagall, she decided the best thing for you was to go to the hospital wing. She told Neville, Seamus, and Dean to go back to bed, but let Hermione and me come. I tell you, Harry, we were scared. You were pale and your scar was a vivid red.”

“McGonagall went and got Dumbledore after she had seen the three of us to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t exactly sure what she could do for you, though. Ron told her everything he could, but he obviously didn’t know what you had seen or faced,” Hermione said, her face somber.

“McGonagall and Dumbledore got back pretty quick. He told Madam Pomfrey that the only thing any of us could do was wait it until you woke up. We waited about an hour and then Dumbledore asked Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall to join him in Madam Pomfrey’s office, leaving us alone with you,” Ron said. “I sort of fell asleep waiting for you to wake up.”

“Which you eventually did after another hour,” Hermione finished. “You can’t remember what you saw?”

Harry shook his head. “I wish I could. Voldemort must be up to something big, doing what he did to me. He definitely didn’t want anyone to know about his plans involving that man, whoever he is and whatever those plans are.”

“Do you think perhaps Legilimency would help?” Hermione asked.

Ron was staring at her as though she had lost her mind. “Hermione, it’s Occlumency that protects Harry from You-Know-Who entering his mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that,” she said. “I was referring to Dumbledore. He’s a Legilimens. Do you think he could look into your mind and find what Voldemort has wiped away? I mean, it could really still be there, only it’s being repressed.”

“You think I have a repressed memory?” Harry said.

“It’s possible, isn’t it?

“I dunno,” Harry said.

“You should talk to Dumbledore about it the next time you have a lesson with him,” Hermione suggested.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Harry said, wondering whether or not Hermione was right. If she was, and his memory was only being repressed, then he could uncover everything he had seen that night, everything Voldemort and the old man had said. That way, the could help Dumbledore and the Order prepare for whatever Voldemort was preparing to throw at the wizarding world, because Harry knew, whatever it was, it was big.

*****

Aside from his next Occlumency lesson, there were other things occupying Harry’s mind as well. That weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend and Harry couldn’t wait to spend time with Hermione.

Then Ron reminded him of something else.

“The Yule Ball is next Friday!” Ron exclaimed. “Lucky I’m dating Lavender. I don’t need to ask someone to be my date.”

“Yeah.” Harry felt the same way. He didn’t need to ask anyone either, which was such a blessing. Besides, there wasn’t anyone he wanted to go with other than Hermione.

Harry couldn’t help but remember the previous year when he had attended the resurrected Yule Ball with Hermione. He had felt completely comfortable being with her. They were able to chat and she even gave Harry a small dancing lesson. It was a shame that he didn’t really know how to dance all that well.

He expressed this thought to Ron, who just laughed and said, “Who cares? Hermione certainly doesn’t.”

Figuring that Ron was right, he let his guilt ebb somewhat.

The weekend arrived with a flourish of snow falling lightly to the already snow-covered ground. Harry watched it fall idly from the enchanted ceiling while eating his breakfast. He had his traveling cloak next to him so that he couldn’t have to go back up to the common room after breakfast to get it. Hermione had done the same. Ron, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder where Ron’s at. He never misses a meal,” Harry said.

Hermione giggled. “I suspect he’s getting ready for his date.”

“Doing what? If he puts gel in his hair or does something to pretty himself up, I’m jinxing him,” Harry said.

Hermione nearly spat out her pumpkin juice in laughter. When she recovered, she said, “I am so sorry Ron wasn’t down here to hear that.”

“So what d’you want to do today while Ron makes kissy faces at Lavender in Madam Puddifoot’s?” Harry asked.

“I was hoping to do some Christmas shopping,” Hermione said in between giggles. “This is our last Hogsmeade trip before the holiday. After that, the only one we’ll have left is the weekend that Valentine’s Day falls on. We’re not even getting one in the third term.”

“Anything else after the shopping?” Harry asked.

“Some butterbeer sounds nice,” Hermione said.

“Okay. I can go for that.”

Ron finally walked in. His face hadn’t been prettied up, nor was his hair gelled back. He looked completely normal, except for the wide grin he had on his face. “’Morning,” he said jovially when he sat down, grabbing the first thing he saw on the table to eat. “Bit early, isn’t it?”

“It’s nearly nine o’clock,” Hermione said. “Where have you been?”

“Upstairs,” Ron said. “I cut myself shaving a few times this morning and had to heal the cuts to the best of my ability.”

Hermione examined his face. “It doesn’t appear to be a half-bad job.”

“Thanks, I think,” Ron said. “Lavender and I are going to meet in the common room after breakfast and get our cloaks before coming back downstairs,” he went on. “She wants to do a bit of Christmas shopping while we’re there. I just hope she doesn’t expect me to pay for whatever it is she wants to buy. About all I can afford are four butterbeers and maybe a Christmas present for the two of you.”

“Ron, really, you don’t—” Harry began.

“Yeah, I do,” Ron said. “You two buy me something every year. I’m getting the both of you something.”

Harry sighed. “Fine.” He didn’t want to argue with him today. Besides, he knew that Ron had his pride.

Breakfast ended quickly. Before Harry knew it, he and Hermione were standing in the entrance hall, waiting for Filch to arrive to check their names off so that they could go to Hogsmeade. He was looking forward to spending the whole day with Hermione. Since they had returned to Hogwarts, they had only been completely alone once and that was on Hermione’s birthday when they had dinner in the Room of Requirement.

He glanced over at her and smiled. She looked up at him and smiled back.

Just then, Harry saw Luna come down the stairs, cloak in hand. When she saw him, he smiled at her and waved, causing her to come over and join them.

“’Morning, Luna,” Harry said. “Getting ready for Hogsmeade, I take it.”

“Yes,” she said vaguely.

“Something wrong, Luna?” Hermione asked her.

“You two are going to the Yule Ball together again,” Luna said.

Harry eyed Hermione nervously, so Hermione answered her. “That’s right,” she said. “As friends. It’s just plain easier than trying to find a date when you don’t really fancy anyone.”

“It is easier,” Luna agreed. “Is Ronald going with anyone?”

“Er—”

As if hearing his name being called, Ron descended the marble staircase with Lavender, talking. Then, at the bottom of the stairs, Lavender leaned in and kissed Ron, causing him to smirk.

“Oh, I see,” Luna said quietly from next to Harry.

Harry looked down at the Ravenclaw. Her eyes were as big as tennis balls and held an impeccable sadness in them, taking Harry aback. Sure, he knew that Luna was interested in his friend, but not to such a degree.

Hermione was giving Luna a look of pity. “I’m sorry, Luna.”

“There’s no need. Ronald doesn’t like me, I know that,” she said.

“He does consider you a friend,” Harry said, wishing he could comfort her more.

“Does he?” Luna asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

“Yeah, of course he does.” He glanced at Hermione, who glanced back at him. He could see that she was thinking the exact same thing. She nodded, giving him all he needed. “Er—Luna? How would you like to spend the day in Hogsmeade with Hermione and me? We’ll be going Christmas shopping and then, a bit later, we’re going to get some butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks.”

Luna’s wide eyes only got wider. “I thought you two would much rather spend the day alone.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“You two don’t seem to ever get to spend quality time together,” Luna said.

Harry quickly put a mask of bewilderment on his face. “Why do we even need quality time together? We hang out every day.”

“You two are close,” Luna said. “Yet you spend the majority of your time in Ronald’s company. I just figured that the two of you wouldn’t mind spending the day together by yourselves.”

Harry shrugged. “Trust me, whether you joined us or not, we’d do the exact same thing. But I think it would be nicer if you tagged along. We could use the company, right, Hermione?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I don’t think either Harry or I are used to it only being the two of us.”

Luna seemed to be considering this. “Alright. I’m very happy you asked me to be your Ronald for the day.”

Harry laughed. “You don’t have to be Ron. You can be Luna.”

“Here comes Filch,” Hermione murmured.

Sure enough, Argus Filch, the caretaker, was weaving his way through the students and toward the front doors. “Line up, line up!” he ordered, his long list in his one hand and a quill in the other. “Come on, I don’t have all day!”

Harry, Hermione, and Luna jumped into line behind a group of chattering third years. Harry heard the words “Shrieking Shack” and “breaking in,” something that made him clear his throat and caused the third years to jump. He glared down at them. Each of the third years shrunk a little and gave each other nervous looks, then turned away. Harry distinctly heard one of them say, “Never mind.” Satisfied with himself, he turned back to Hermione and Luna.

“Which store d’you want to go to first?”

“I was thinking Honeydukes to see what sort of holiday sweets they have out. Maybe you can find something there for Ron, Harry, since he loves candy so much,” Hermione said.

“I’ve gotten Ronald something for Christmas,” Luna said.

“What did you get him?” Harry asked.

She shook her head. “It’s a surprise for him.”

“Oh.” He could only imagine what type of surprise Luna had in store for Ron.

They reached the front doors, where Filch checked off their names, muttering, “Potter, Granger, Lovegood…”

The three of them stepped out into the snow and trudged across the grounds, wrapping their cloaks more firmly around them. It seemed to take forever for them to pass underneath the winged boar gates and even longer for them to enter the village. Harry was frozen. When they finally entered Honeydukes, Harry couldn’t have been more grateful.

Harry looked at all of the displays, considering. He was just about to pick up an entire box of licorice wands, then thought better of it. Instead, a different idea came to him.

“Did you find anything?” Hermione asked him after purchasing some mint fudge for the three of them to snack on.

“No, but don’t worry, I know what I’m going to get him.”

“Where is it at?”

“Not here, in Hogsmeade,” Harry said. “I’ll have to send Hedwig to Diagon Alley for it.”

“I hope she’s up to it, in this weather,” Hermione said. “Speaking of which, are you ready to head back out in it?”

“Yeah.” He looked around. “Where’s Luna?”

“Over there,” Hermione said, gesturing over by the counter, where Luna was investigating the festive Christmas Tree Toffee, which had jelly beans in them to represent the ornaments.

When she rejoined them, she asked, “Where shall we go next?”

“Anywhere you want,” Harry said. “Now that I’ve got my idea for Ron, all I’ve got to worry about is sending Hedwig on her way.”

“Well, I need to buy a gift for you, Harry, so why don’t you move along to the Three Broomsticks. Luna, would you like to come with me?” Hermione asked.

“Okay,” Luna replied.

“We’ll meet you there,” Hermione said, wrapping her cloak tightly around her again.

Harry stayed in Honeydukes long enough until he figured that Hermione and Luna were out of sight. Then, covering his face with his arm, he stepped out and started to make his way to the Three Broomsticks. He could barely see anything, so it didn’t come as a shock to him when he walked right into somebody.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his arm away from his face and squinted at who he ran into. “Tonks?”

“Harry? That is you, isn’t it?” Tonks said. Her hair was a raspberry that day, flowing down to her shoulders.

“Yeah. What are you doing in Hogsmeade?” he asked.

“I’m meeting someone at the Three Broomsticks,” she said.

“Order business?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m heading to the Three Broomsticks myself,” Harry said. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Where are Ron and Hermione?” she asked.

“Ron’s currently on a date and Hermione’s shopping for a Christmas present for me,” Harry told her. “She’ll be along shortly.

“How’s work been?” he asked her.

“Bad. We Aurors feel like we can’t win here, even with that amazing victory we had over You-Know-Who in Westbury-on-Severn. That was you who got Dumbledore to tip us off, wasn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, thinking about the riddle.

“When we got that tip-off, Gawain pounced like a tiger to lead the team,” Tonks said.

“Gawain?”

“Greene. He was in the Prophet,” Tonks reminded him. “That embarrassed him, I tell you. He doesn’t want to be marked as a hero. The only thing he wants is to end this war. He’s angry about how little progress we’ve been making.”

“You’ve been trying your best, though. Voldemort strikes without warning,” Harry said, causing Tonks to jump.

“You’re just as bad as Remus,” she said, shivering, “saying his name like that.”

“It’s just a name,” Harry murmured.

“Yeah, but it’s his name and he scares the flipping daylights out of not only me, but the rest of the wizarding world save a select few,” Tonks said.

“That’s the reason why I say his name,” Harry said. “I don’t want to be scared of him.”

“You’re a lot braver than I am, but I suppose that’s why you’re in Gryffindor,” Tonks said as they arrived at the Three Broomsticks. She held open the door. “After you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, stepping inside. The pub was crowded with Hogwarts students and other patrons. He said his good-byes to Tonks, who headed off to a corner. Harry then began to search for a table. He found one towards the bar and sat down.

About fifteen minutes later, Hermione and Luna showed up, carrying bags. “Daddy will love this for Christmas,” Luna was saying to Hermione.

“I’m sure he will. It certainly is an—er—interesting gift. Harry! There you are!” she said, spotting Harry and joining him.

“Good, you’re here,” he said. “Now I can order the butterbeer.” He left quickly and ordered three butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta. When he returned, he asked, “Did you have fun shopping?”

“Oh, it was fine,” Hermione replied. “We both found something.”

“Good.” At that moment, the door opened and Ron and Lavender stepped inside. He snorted. “Good luck finding a table, mate.”

Hermione turned around to see what Harry was talking about when Ron looked over in their direction. He waved. Harry, Hermione, and Luna waved back. With a quick murmur to Lavender, they changed directions and came to their table. Harry noticed that Luna’s eyes fell to the table.

“Fancy meeting you lot here,” he said, staring at Luna, who continued to not look at him. “Hi, Luna.”

“Hello, Ronald,” she said, still keeping her eyes averted.

“I didn’t know you’d be joining Harry and Hermione today,” he said.

“We invited her to tag along,” Hermione said. “She and I just finished shopping together while Harry’s been reserving a table for us.”

“Really?” Ron said, sitting down. Lavender sat down, too, but it looked as though it were the last thing she wanted to do. “Why didn’t you go, Harry?”

“Hermione told me not to—said something about shopping for me,” he said.

“Oh.”

“So now that we’re all together, I can tell you who I ran into outside,” Harry said.

“Who?”

“Tonks.”

“Tonks!” Ron exclaimed, earning a “shush” from Hermione. “What’s she going in Hogsmeade?”

“Is she part of the team of Aurors that’s supposed to watch over us?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “She said she was meeting someone.”

“Maybe she’s meeting a mole,” Luna said vaguely, looking back up.

“Well, she’s back there in the corner, so all I suppose we have to do is look,” Harry said.

All five of them craned their necks to look through the crowd for Tonks’s wild hair. A patron shifted out of the way and they found her, but another patron was blocking the view of who she was sitting with. She was laughing at something that was said to her.

“Can’t—see—who,” Ron grunted, leaning back in his chair to get a better look.

Suddenly, the patron blocking their view got up to leave, revealing who Tonks was sitting with. Ron fell backward.

Lavender gave a shrill giggle. “Professor Lupin!” she said gleefully as Ron got up and sat down again. “It’s Professor Lupin that this Tonks woman is meeting!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all glanced at each other and Harry could tell they were thinking the same thing. It was Order business. Granted, what they were witnessing seemed to be rather light-hearted, but Harry knew that Lupin and Tonks were friends, so it didn’t surprise him. Dumbledore probably had sent Lupin to meet Tonks to discuss any information he had gathered recently and it was Tonks’s job to inform the rest of the Order.

“Do you think Professor Lupin’s on a date?” Lavender asked, still giggling.

“No,” said Harry and Hermione together.

“What do you think, Ron?” Lavender asked.

“I—er—I dunno. I don’t really care, either,” Ron said.

“Professor Lupin wouldn’t have a date in public for all of his students to see,” Luna said, finishing off her butterbeer.

Hermione gave her an approving glance. “I agree with Luna.”

Ron nearly fell off his chair again. Lavender scowled, her face turning rather ugly. “You do?” she said, glaring at Hermione.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “It’s true. Lupin would never do something so private for all of his students to see. It would embarrass him.”

Lavender glanced darkly over at Lupin and Tonks. “Maybe the Ministry sent her to keep track of his condition.”

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course they wouldn’t. The Ministry doesn’t track werewolves and even if they did, they wouldn’t have to keep an eye out on Professor Lupin. Dumbledore trusts him. So,” she said, her voice sounded extremely irritated, “for the last time, let’s drop that subject.”

Lavender looked very sour indeed. “Come on, Ron, let’s go,” she said, her eyes shooting daggers at Hermione. “I think I’d rather have tea than a butterbeer.”

“Er—okay,” Ron said, getting up. “See you later.”

The conversation with Lavender over what Professor Lupin and Tonks were talking about seemed to have put Hermione in a rather annoyed mood. The three of them sipped their butterbeers in silence until Luna finally said, “I don’t like her.”

“Who, Lavender?” Harry asked.

“Yes. She likes to see the worst in people, when it should be the other way around. If you don’t try to see the best in people, how are you to ever keep your friends?” Luna said.

Harry couldn’t help but notice Hermione’s eyes soften before she spoke. “Accept the faults of others, recognize your differences, and learn to love them just the same.”

Harry grinned. “How very poetic. But tell me, do you expect me to love Malfoy?”

That brought a smile to her face. “You could try, but I don’t think it would get you anywhere.”

Harry drained his butterbeer. “I don’t know about you two, but I think I’m ready to brave the cold again.”

“Me, too,” Hermione said. “Besides, don’t you have to go back to the owlery and send Hedwig on her way?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they got up, Harry glanced back over at the table Lupin and Tonks were sitting at. They were now in deep conversation, but Lupin did glance over to catch Harry watching them. He gave a small nod, which Harry returned.

Though curious he was about what the two Order members were talking about, he recognized the fact that it wasn’t any of his business, so he let it slide…for now.

Author’s Note: Another update. I’d like to wish all of my fellow Americans a Happy Independence Day and also, to my Canadian friends a belated Happy Canada Day! I was in Niagara Falls, Canada last year on Canada Day and I must say they had one of the best fireworks displays that I’ve ever seen. Anyway, big thanks to everyone for reviewing, to Charmaine for betaing, and to Kristina for allowing me to use her band’s name for the Yule Ball. Rock on!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE BARRIER AND THE BALL

Yuletide cheer was beginning to spread around Hogwarts. Hagrid had started to bring in the usual twelve enormous Christmas trees that decorated the Great Hall, while Professor McGonagall passed around a sign-up sheet for those who wanted to stay over the holiday. While Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had invited Harry to join them for Christmas in their latest letter to Ron, he decided that he would much rather stay at Hogwarts for his final Christmas holiday there, something that Ron and Hermione decided on doing also. After all, it was their final year and each of them was doubtful that they would ever get another chance of having Christmas at Hogwarts.

Ron had other reasons for staying. He knew that Ginny had told his parents about Lavender in her reply back home, stating that she would return for Christmas. Things with Lavender, however, hadn’t been rosy since Hogsmeade. After he had returned from the village, he had told Harry and Hermione all about a row he and Lavender had had outside of Madam Puddifoot’s when Lavender had called Hermione a closed-minded, uncooperative know-it-all and Luna a candidate for the loony bin. Then she also accused Ron of not supporting her.

“If anyone’s loony, it’s her!” Ron had said.

Lavender, it appeared, had decided to stop talking to Ron. On both Monday and Tuesday, she never said a word to him. He, however, didn’t seem to mind.

“I hate to admit it when Hermione’s right and I’m wrong,” Ron said quietly to Harry after Hermione had dashed off to Ancient Runes, “but I’m wrong. Lavender’s a handful. She wants so much attention that I feel like I can’t breathe! I’m happy she’s not talking to me.”

“Then why don’t you break up with her?” Harry asked.

“You mean I’m not?” Ron said. “I reckoned we were broken up because she won’t talk to me.” Harry didn’t say anything as he was too busy concentrating on his difficult Potions essay. Ron went on, “I better get a new date for the Yule Ball.”

“I think you should ask Lavender what’s going on,” Harry said absently. “Ask if you two are through and if so, then find yourself a new date. If not, break up with her.”

Ron stared at him for a moment. “You sounded a lot like Hermione just then. Creepy.”

“It happens,” Harry said, flipping a page in his book. “Go talk to her.”

“Why should I have to?” he whined.

Harry dropped his quill. “Ron, I say this as a friend—be a man.”

Ron grumbled and grudgingly got up. “Fine,” he muttered and wandered over to where Lavender and Parvati were sitting.

Harry went back to his essay, looking up an ingredient to help him discuss how the antidote to the Draught of Living Death worked. He had just spotted something useful when Ron sat back down. “How’d it go?” he asked, scribbling down the information.

“I dunno. I asked if I could talk to her and she said, ‘Oh, have you come to apologize,’ and I said no and then she said, ‘Then I don’t want to talk to you.’ I tried to talk to her, but she just turned around and ignored me. I don’t know about you, but that’s as good as broken up to me,” Ron said.

“Okay, then,” Harry said absentmindedly, checking one more detail.

“So—er—who d’you reckon’s left for me to ask to the ball?” Ron asked.

“I dunno,” Harry replied, jotting more information down for his essay. “I don’t think Luna’s going with anyone—”

“Luna?” Ron seemed to consider this. “Luna,” he murmured.

He continued to ponder until Hermione returned from class. “Are you doing your Potions essay?” she asked Harry.

“Yeah. Nearly finished, actually,” Harry said.

“Excellent. I was hoping you’d get it finished early so that you and I could practice for Charms,” she said.

“Okay. Just let me finish this up.”

She looked down at Ron. “What’s wrong, Ron?”

“Huh?” Ron said, coming out of his daze. “Oh, me and Lavender—er—broke up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, but she didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

“I’m happy about it,” Ron said. “She was a burden.”

Hermione bit her lip. Harry could tell she was trying valiantly not to say “I told you so.”

“Well, what now?” she asked instead.

He shrugged. “I need to find a new date to the Yule Ball.”

“I’m sure you’ll find somebody,” she said.

“Yeah, I will. In fact, I already have an idea,” Ron said, getting up. “Er—I’ll see you at dinner.”

Harry glanced up at Hermione. “What was that all about?”

“I think he’s going to go find himself a new date for the ball,” she said.

“Oh. Who d’you want him to ask?” he asked.

She grinned. “Who do you think?”

He grinned back. “Yeah, me too.”

*****

By the time dinner had started, neither Harry nor Hermione had seen or heard from Ron. They glanced up and down the table, trying to see if they had somehow missed his vivid red hair. But no, he hadn’t arrived yet.

“Strange,” Hermione said. “It’s not very often that Ron’s late for dinner.”

“Or any other meal,” Harry added. They sat down beside each other. “What d’you think he’s up to?”

“He could still be finding a date,” Hermione said, watching the entrance to the Great Hall.

Harry snorted. “That’s probably it.”

“It’s not like showing up without a date is the worst thing to happen to a person. He could very well go alone if he pleased,” Hermione said.

Harry didn’t say anything. Instead, he dished up some mashed potatoes and then handed the bowl to Hermione. “Could you pass the gr—” he had begun to say, but Hermione was already placing the gravy boat in between them. He gave her an amused grin. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Harry looked up just in time to see Ron enter the Great Hall and make his way over to the Gryffindor table. He nudged Hermione, who also looked up and said, “It’s about time. He must be starving.”

Harry laughed just as Ron sat down across from them. “What’s so funny?” Ron asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Hermione was just commenting on how hungry you must be, missing the first five minutes of dinner.”

“I can’t help it if I have a voracious appetite. And, just for the record, I am really hungry,” he said, causing Harry and Hermione to laugh again.

“So, how did the Find a New Date mission go?” Harry asked as Ron started to dish up.

“Fine. I asked one girl and she said yes,” Ron said, his ears turning slightly red.

“Who?” Harry and Hermione asked together.

“Who d’you think?” Ron said, the redness now spreading to his face. “The only girl that wouldn’t have some bloke taking her this late in the game—Luna.”

“Oh, come on, Ron. Haven’t you ever stopped to think that the only reason why she didn’t have a date is because she was hoping a certain someone would ask her?” Hermione said.

He stared at her. “Give me a break, Hermione. That’s silly and you know it. Most of the people in this school find her to be extremely strange. I’m not quite sure there’s a bloke in this place who would ask her out.”

“I would have,” Harry said, “if Hermione and I weren’t going together.”

“Yeah, you would because you’re her friend,” Ron said.

“Aren’t you?” Hermione asked.

“Well…yeah.”

“And you wouldn’t have asked her before she became your last resort?” Hermione asked darkly.

“No, no, I would have,” Ron said, then lowered his voice. “To be perfectly honest, I was planning on asking her in the first place before Lavender and I started going out. I mean, she and I had an okay time last year at the ball.”

“Only okay?” Hermione said, frowning.

“Okay, okay, a good time,” Ron amended.

“That’s better,” Hermione said. “I was watching you and Luna at the ball last year and that’s precisely what you looked like you were having—a good time.”

“Well, you don’t have to watch me this year. I’m not dreading taking Luna. She’s a nice girl,” Ron said.

Hermione nodded in approval. “Pass the carrots, would you, Harry?” she said.

*****

Later on that evening, Harry sat in Professor Dumbledore’s office, waiting for him to arrive. Meanwhile, he was staring at Fawkes, who had begun to look decrepit.

“Getting ready for a Burning Day, aren’t you?” he said to the phoenix.

“Indeed he is,” came a reply from behind him, causing Harry to jump and whirl around. Dumbledore stood there, holding up his hands. “My apologies for startling you,” he said. Gesturing to Fawkes, he continued, “I imagine he’ll stay like that for another week or so.

“Are you ready for your lesson?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Er—Sir?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Hermione—er—suggested that perhaps Voldemort didn’t wipe my memory. She said that—er—maybe he’s placed a block on it, repressing it,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Dumbledore sat down in his high-backed chair behind his immaculate desk. He seemed to be considering this as he stroked his beard-covered chin and muttered to himself. Harry caught snatches of it. “Might be right…dangerous, Dark magic…brain damage…”

“Sir?” Harry asked and gulped after he heard “brain damage.”

“I am thinking that perhaps Miss Granger is right. Voldemort could very well have placed a block on your memory. To find out, you’d have to open your mind willingly to me as I perform the Legilimency needed to search your memories.”

Harry couldn’t help but squirm slightly in his seat. “You would see…all of my memories?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied simply. “I now it violates your privacy, but I can assure you that I whatever I see, I will keep between you and me.”

He fidgeted slightly, then sighed. “Okay.”

“Very well. I need you to look into my eyes, Harry, and relax. Do not resist. Are you ready?” Dumbledore asked.

“I think so,” Harry said.

“Very well.” He took out his wand and pointed it at Harry. “Legilimens!”

Memories swam in front of Harry. He took a deep breath, trying not to use the Occlumency that Dumbledore had been teaching him. He was underneath his invisibility cloak, walking down to Hagrid’s with Ron and Hermione at his side…he was standing on McGonagall’s giant chessboard, pleading with Ron not to sacrifice himself…he was standing with Parvati Patil, seeing a very pretty girl walk into the entrance hall on the arm of Viktor Krum, then realizing with shock that it was Hermione…he was in Hagrid’s hut, trying to give him words of encouragement while Hagrid sobbed…he was talking to Sirius, who’s face was in the Gryffindor fireplace…he was in the Room of Requirement, standing underneath the mistletoe and Cho Chang approaching him…he was at the Dursleys, wishing himself a happy birthday…he was falling asleep in the guest bedroom at the Granger residence, Hermione already fast asleep in his arms…

“NO!” Harry cried and severed the connection. He was back in Dumbledore’s office as the Headmaster massaged his wrist. He stared at Dumbledore, who looked back at him, a silver eyebrow raised. “It’s not what you think, sir.”

“No? I interpreted that as you comforting Miss Granger and nothing more,” Dumbledore said.

Harry felt his face turn red. “Oh. Erm—then it’s exactly what you think, sir.”

“I am already aware that you have a great deal of affection for Miss Granger, Harry. I doubt whatever I see will come as any surprise to me,” Dumbledore said. “Now, shall we continue?”

“Er—Yes, sir,” Harry said and tried to relax once again.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at him again. “Legilimens!”

He and Ron were having a row…Colin Creevey was asking him to autograph a photo of him…Umbridge was smiling malevolently as blood dripped from his hand after writing lines for an hour…McGonagall was looking down sternly at him…Ernie Macmillan was holding out his hand for Harry to shake…Dumbledore was telling him all about Fawkes…he and Hermione were flying on the back of Buckbeak to rescue Sirius…the fake Moody was rapidly transforming back into Barty Crouch, Jr….the twins and Ginny were shouting and dancing around the kitchen in Grimmauld Place…he was talking to Rita Skeeter with Hermione and Luna at his side…his parents were emerging from the end of Voldemort’s wand…he was kissing Hermione in the Room of Requirement, all sort of broken odds and ends surrounding them…he and Hermione were dueling in an empty classroom…he was carrying Hermione back up to the castle, her leg broken and unable to walk…he was in Voldemort’s mind as he possessed Nagini, watching as vampires attacked the Ministry of Magic…he was Silencing Bellatrix as punishment for Silencing Seth…he was looking into a broken mirror and seeing Voldemort’s face looking back at him…Flint, Warrington, and Montague were kneeling before him, explaining why it had taken them so long to return—THWACK!

Both Harry and Dumbledore were thrown from their chairs. Harry’s head felt like it had been hit with a baseball bat. Dumbledore rushed over to Harry’s side, looking rather shaken. “Are you alright, Harry?” he asked.

“My head,” he groaned.

“Yes, I image that hurt quite a bit,” Dumbledore said.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“We encountered a barrier,” Dumbledore said.

“A barrier? What? In my head?”

“Yes. It appears that Miss Granger was correct. Your memory is being repressed by a mental barrier set in place by Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“Can you remove it?” Harry asked desperately. He definitely didn’t like the idea of Voldemort doing anything to his brain.

“I can try, but it will be difficult,” Dumbledore said, then added, “and it will hurt.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said. “I’ve had worse pain.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Very well. Do you wish to continue more tonight or shall we wait?”

“No, let’s do it now,” Harry said.

“Stay relaxed, Harry. Stay calm. This is crucial. The more you fight, the more it will hurt,” Dumbledore said.

“I won’t fight you,” Harry said, taking a deep breath and relaxing himself. “I’m ready.”

“On the count of three then. One—two—three—Legilimens!”

He was ordering Wormtail to go rally the werewolves and raise Inferi…he was sending Bellatrix Lestrange to find the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix…he was performing the Cruciatus Curse on Warrington—THWACK!

Once again, Harry was thrown from his chair. Dumbledore, however, was still sitting in his chair, massaging his forehead. Harry got up, rubbing his temples as his head pounded. “Does it hurt you too, sir?” he asked.

“Somewhat. Not as much as I assume it hurts you,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“I’m alright,” Harry said, even though his head was throbbing.

“It appears the moment I touch part of the memory—the part that Voldemort didn’t barricade—I am immediately ejected from your mind. If I am to break down this barrier, I will have to attack it faster and with more force, like a sledgehammer. It will hurt a lot more,” Dumbledore said.

“I’ll be okay,” Harry assured him.

Dumbledore looked like he was going against his better judgment, but nonetheless pointed his wand at Harry and muttered, “Legilimens!”

The memories came much faster now. He was talking to Wormtail…Lucius Malfoy was kneeling before him…Flint and Montague were standing at a door, presenting someone to him…an old man was walking into the room, using a cane that looked remarkably like an Egyptian asp—THWACK!

Harry was thrown from his chair more forcefully than before and landed on the floor, smacking his head on it as he did so. A sharp, searing pain had erupted in his head and he cried out in pain as he felt, rather than saw, Dumbledore rush over to his side.

“Harry? Harry?” Dumbledore said, rolling him gingerly over onto his back.

Harry was cringing, willing the pain to go away. He took calming breaths and tried to relax. “Ow…” was all he could say.

“That’s enough for this evening,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I want you to return to your dormitory and rest. Don’t go to sleep right away. Your mind is weak right now and very much open to Voldemort. Calm yourself and use Occlumency. It should help with the pain.”

“Yes…sir,” Harry said with a groan. He pulled himself up and rubbed his head. “Do you know who that man was? The man with the cane?”

Dumbledore frowned. “I believe I may have recognized him, but I would have to take another look just to be sure. But not tonight,” he added before Harry would speak. “You need rest. Whoever that man is, we will find out after the holiday.”

“There’s no lesson next week?” Harry asked.

“No,” Dumbledore said and gave him a smile. “I want you to enjoy your holiday as much as possible without having to think about the war. I understand that you, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger will be joining us here at Hogwarts to celebrate Christmas.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

“Excellent. I shall look forward to seeing the three of you at dinner on Christmas. I believe the ghosts are planning on caroling for us while we eat,” Dumbledore told him.

Harry grinned. “That sounds like fun.”

“I thought so, too. Now, back to Gryffindor Tower you go.” As Harry got up to leave, Dumbledore added, “Oh, and Harry? Thank Hermione for me for her very accurate assumption. She is quite the bright young lady.”

“I will. She’ll be thrilled to know that you think that,” Harry said.

“Of course I do,” Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling. “She is a great credit to you, Harry. Do not let her go.”

He grinned. “I wasn’t planning on it, sir. I wouldn’t let her go for anything in the world.”

*****

Hermione was indeed thrilled to hear about Dumbledore’s compliment when Harry returned to the nearly deserted common room. She blushed a brilliant shade of red and buried her face in her arms.

“He said that? About me?” she asked, looking thoroughly flattered.

Harry nodded. “There’s more, though,” he said and lowered his voice so that she could only hear him. “He knows about us.”

“Knows? Because of the Legilimency, right?” she asked.

“He saw a few different memories of us. Really, I think what he saw only confirmed what he already thought. He told me it wasn’t a surprise to him,” Harry said.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about him seeing those memories anymore,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, although those were the memories that I used to fuel my ability to drive him out of my head more quickly,” Harry said.

“You can still use them,” Hermione said. “I doubt you want Dumbledore knowing every little thing about our relationship.”

“No,” Harry agreed.

“So, what happened? Did Dumbledore break through the barrier?” she asked.

He sighed. “No. He—er—didn’t want to cause me any more pain tonight.”

“What?” she said, startled.

He shifted uncomfortably as the remaining Gryffindors in the common room gathered their things and headed up to their dormitories. “Whenever he tried to get through the barrier, it would…force him out and cause both of us pain, although I think I took the greater brunt of it.”

Her face was white. “How bad was it?”

“My head is still killing me,” he replied.

“Oh, Harry. What on earth are you still doing down here? Go to the hospital wing and get a potion from Madam Pomfrey. Or at least go upstairs and rest!” she said.

“That’s pretty much what Dumbledore ordered me to do,” Harry said, “but I’d rather not.”

“Why?” she asked, alarmed.

“Because right now the only two people in the common room are you and me and I’d like to spend some time alone with you,” he said simply.

Her expression softened. “I know. Things always seem to get in the way whenever we have an opportunity to be just by ourselves. I suppose that if we were to try to make plans, something would happen that would toss them out the window.”

Harry chuckled. “Probably, but we can always hope for the best.”

“Well,” Hermione said, a slow, sly grin spreading across her face, “a great deal of the student body will be gone this Christmas, leaving us with a lot more space. Personally, I’ve always wanted to go swimming in the prefects’ bath.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What kind of swimming?”

She laughed. “Nothing naughty, I assure you.”

He snapped his fingers. “Damn.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “Can’t a bloke dream?”

“You are bad.”

“Why is having a bit of fun always considered bad?” Harry asked, grinning.

“Because when it comes to teenaged boys, their ideas of fun usually involve lewd behavior,” she said.

“That’s not true, at least, not always,” Harry said. “Tell you what, on Boxing Day, it’s just you and me. No one else, not even Ron.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Really. We’ll go outside, go down to the kitchens and prepare our own food so that the house-elves don’t have to, and we will go swimming in the prefects’ bath. Then maybe, just maybe, we’ll lock ourselves in a broom cupboard and have a good snog. How does that sound?”

She was laughing. “Wonderful, except for the part about being in a broom cupboard. Why can’t we just utilize the Room of Requirement?”

“Even better. I love the way you think,” he said.

Her chuckles died away as she stared into his eyes with a smile on her face. “Kiss me,” she said quietly.

He complied, quickly and easily, leaning over the table and pressing his lips to hers. It had seemed like ages since they last kissed, even though Harry knew well enough that it hadn’t been all that long ago—the night of Harry’s last foray into Voldemort’s mind, barely a week ago. All the same, the feel of her lips on his only left him wishing that he could feel them more often.

Hermione was the one to end the kiss, grinning as she did so. When he grinned back at her, she said, “Now go get some rest.”

He sighed. “Alright, since it’s you telling me to.” He got up and kissed her one more time. “Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night.”

*****

The following evening found Harry standing in the front of Professor Lupin’s classroom, his wand out and pointed directly at Ron, who was playing assistant for that evening’s D.A. meeting. Behind Ron was a mattress, waiting for him.

“Now watch and see what I mean when I say that this is one of the best spells you can use to try to stop a Death Eater. It will completely knock Ron out,” he was saying. “Ready, Ron?”

Ron grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Stupefy!” Harry shouted and a blast of red light shot out from his wand and hit Ron square in the chest. He watched Ron fall onto the mattress, unconscious, before saying, “See? Very useful.

“Now, let’s say one of your allies has been knocked out. Here’s the countercurse.” He walked over to Ron and pointed his wand at him one more time. “Ennervate.”
Slowly, Ron blinked his eyes open and murmured, “Do I get to try that on you?”

Everyone laughed, Harry included. “Sure, mate,” he replied and then turned back to the crowd that was watching eagerly. “Okay, pair up, grab an air mattress, and try it out. Remember, it’s ‘Stupefy’ and ‘Ennervate.’ Go on, now.”

He watched them as they began to pair off before turning to Ron. “Let’s trade places so that I can fall on the mattress,” he said.

“Okay,” Ron replied and quickly walked over to where Harry had just been standing.

Harry positioned himself in front of the mattress. “Alright, Weasley, do your worst.”

“What, are you going to duel me?” Ron asked, giving him a sardonic grin.

“Nah, I promised you’d get to Stun me, so have at it. We can duel later,” he said.

Ron readied himself, raising his wand and pointing it at Harry. “How about I knock you out for the duration of the meeting?”

Harry laughed. “If you do that, I’m leaving Hermione in charge.” He glanced over at his girlfriend, noting that she was currently busy helping a third-year Hufflepuff perform the spell properly on her friend.

“Why not me?” Ron asked in a mocked hurt voice.

“Because she’s the reigning Dueling champion,” Harry said.

“Oh, yeah, sure. She wouldn’t have won if it hadn’t been for you getting distracted,” Ron said.

Harry shook his head, unable to keep himself from grinning. “We had a rematch a few days later. She beat me fair and square.”

Ron stared at him, shocked. “Well, I knew she was good, but I didn’t know she was good enough to beat He-Who’s-Survived-Against-You-Know-Who-Six-Freaking-Times.”

Harry laughed. “I’m resourceful, not brilliant. Now come on, do your worst.”

Ron smirked at him. “Stupefy!”

The effect was immediate. Harry never even felt himself hit the mattress behind him.

When he was revived, he looked up to see Ron’s face grinning over him. Everyone was still busy practicing. “How long was I out?” he asked.

“Oh, only a couple of minutes. You looked so peaceful that I thought I’d just leave you there, but Hermione yelled at me as she was passing by.” He tried to fake a pout. “Took all the fun out of it.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said and took the arm Ron held out for him. Getting up, he looked around. People were falling over as their partner sufficiently Stunned them. “They look like they’re having fun.”

“It is fun. It’s almost as much fun as using the Tickling Charm on someone,” Ron said.

Harry glanced down at his watch. “Come on, let’s walk around the room and help. From the looks of it, that Slytherin girl over there is far too happy to Stun the people around her.”

He and Ron split up. Harry had a nice chat with the Slytherin girl on why Stunning should be taken a bit more seriously. Then he went around, correcting people for various reasons and offering advice. Finally, with about five minutes before the curfew was to begin, he called it quits, wished them all a good holiday, and, after receiving congratulations from Lupin for another fantastic lesson, left with Ron and Hermione, each of them rather exhausted and ready to sleep.

*****

Friday finally came and there was an excitement that washed over the student body. Not only was the Yule Ball that night, but the next morning, the majority of them would be returning home for Christmas. Harry was just happy about the fact that he wouldn’t have to attend classes, although the professors had piled on the homework.

“I hate it when they do this,” Ron muttered, dropping his bag on the floor next to his favorite armchair. “Pile on the homework so we can’t enjoy the holiday. You’d think they want us to suffer.”

“We’ve still got a lot of work to do before we take out N.E.W.T.s,” Hermione said reasonably. “They can’t let up.”

“Sometimes I feel like I should just pull a Fred and George and get the hell out of here. I’m sick of all the bloody testing,” Ron said.

“Oh, Ron, get over it. Every seventh year has gone through the same thing we’re going through right now and survived. You will too,” Hermione said. Before Ron could retort, she continued, “But let’s not bicker today, okay? We’re supposed to have fun. We don’t have to attend any classes until January and tonight is the Yule Ball, which should be fun. When are you going to meet Luna?”

He sighed. “About ten minutes before the thing’s supposed to start.”

“Good. If Harry and I are ready in time, we’ll go with you.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, we’ll make it look like four friends just meeting up to have a pleasant evening.”

“Okay,” Ron said, looking thoroughly relieved. “We’ll get a table all to ourselves—Ginny and Neville, too.”

“That sounds good.” Hermione checked her watch. “The ball’s due to start in about three hours. How about we sit down and play a few games of Exploding Snap?”

“Alright, but if I get my eyebrows singed, I’m going to be mad,” Ron said.

They sat down around a table near the corner of the common room and began to play. Two hours later, Hermione excused herself when Ginny came into the common room, saying that she needed to get ready. Harry and Ron played for another fifteen minutes or so before the whole card deck went up in flames.

“Well, d’you want to go get ready now?” Harry asked, waving the smoke away from his face.

“Yeah, okay,” Ron said. “Let’s go get spiffed up for the ladies.”

It took them all of twenty minutes to get ready. They returned to the common room to join the throng of people who were already dressed up and waiting for the ball to begin. Ron checked his watch. “I’ve got fifteen minutes until I have to go downstairs and meet Luna.”

Harry and Ron sat down. Five minutes passed and people began to leave the common room to go meet their dates in the entrance hall, or to just wait until dinner was served. Harry saw Hunter, Dylan, and Ally leave, followed a minute later by Seamus.

The doorway to the girls’ dormitory opened and Harry looked to see who was coming into the common room, hoping it was Hermione. Sadly, it wasn’t; it was Lavender and Parvati, the former wearing aquamarine dress robes with a plunging neck while the latter wore pink.

Lavender scanned the room while Parvati went to go meet Dean. When her eyes rested upon Ron, she came over with a smile. “Ready to go?” she asked.

Ron looked bewildered. “Er—Where?”

“To the Yule Ball, of course!” she replied, looking at him as though he were stupid. “Where else?”

Ron’s eyes grew wide as he sputtered, “Th-th-the Y-Yule Ball?”

“Yes…” Lavender said, staring at him.

He looked again at Harry, horrified, before turning back to Lavender. “But I thought…I thought—”

“You thought what?” Lavender asked angrily, obviously tired of his little charade.

“I thought you didn’t want to go to the ball with me,” he said, shrinking in his chair a little. “I thought we had broken up.”

“Broken up? No! Just because we had a huge row doesn’t mean we’re through. Trust me, Ron, I would have told you if I didn’t want to see you anymore,” she said.

“But…but…but,” Ron sputtered, glancing at Harry for help.

“Er—Have you seen Hermione, Lavender?” Harry asked.

“She’s still upstairs, getting ready,” she said vaguely, waving her hand at Harry as though she were trying to brush away a fly. Her eyes were angrily focused on Ron. “But what, Ronald?”

Ron gulped. “I—er—I already have a new date,” he said.

Lavender froze. “What?” she said in a deadly whisper.

“I thought we had broken up, so I went out and found myself a new date,” Ron said, cringing.

Lavender’s bottom lip trembled in rage, but she didn’t raise her voice. “Who?”

“Luna Lovegood,” Ron replied nervously.

“Luna Lovegood,” she repeated. “That lunatic?”

Ron’s nervousness and dread seemed to disappear as he jumped up and faced her, his face red. “She’s not a lunatic,” he said fiercely. “Maybe she’s got some weird ideas, but they’re better than some of yours. She’s not the resident Gossip Queen, nor does she feel the need to cling to any and every bloke within her reach and suck the life out of them!”

Lavender snapped and slapped Ron—hard—across the cheek.

“What’s going on here?” came an indignant voice from the doorway to the girls’ dormitory. Hermione stepped into the common room with Ginny right behind her. She was wearing robes of coral red and her hair was done up in a neat, curly ponytail. Harry even noticed that she was wearing a hint of makeup. He couldn’t help but watch her every move as she made her way over to Ron and Lavender, nor could he keep himself from grinning as he let his eyes wander up and down her.

“Ron and I are breaking up,” Lavender snapped, glaring at him.

Hermione stared at the two of them, shock evident on her face. “Breaking up? I thought you two had already broken up.”

“Is that what Ron told you?” Lavender asked.

“Yes!”

“Well, he was wrong. Now he’s right.”

“I didn’t know!” Ron said defensively. “You wouldn’t talk to me, so I thought we were done.”

Hermione held up her hands. “Stop! Look, from the sounds of it, both of you are in the wrong. Ron, you shouldn’t have asked Luna to the ball until you had received a verbal confirmation of your breakup. Lavender,” she said, rounding on her dorm mate, her eyes flashing dangerously, “you need to grow up and learn that you can’t always get your own way and that just because someone is your boyfriend, it doesn’t mean that they live solely for you. They can’t exert all of their attention on you and they’re certainly not going to grovel at your feet when you two have a row. You can’t treat the person you’re dating like they’re your pet. You have to realize that you’re not the center of the universe. Nothing revolves around you! So quit treating people the way you do. It’s aggravating.” She walked away then with Ginny once again trailing behind her, leaving Harry, Ron, and Lavender looking rather shocked. “Harry! Ron! Are you two coming!” she called when she reached the portrait hole.

Ron cleared his throat. “Enjoy the ball,” he said stiffly to Lavender and walked away, followed closely by Harry.

Neville had joined Hermione and Ginny by the time Harry and Ron reached them. He was complimenting Ginny on her dress robes, which were violet. He gave Ron a weak smile afterward. “Sorry about your row with Lavender,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go get Luna and have a nice evening,” Ron said, leading the way out of the common room.

Harry stepped up next to Hermione. “May I have your arm?”

Her irritation seemed to melt away. “Of course,” she said.

He helped her through the portrait hole. “You look beautiful,” he said as they followed along behind Ron, Ginny, and Neville.

She blushed. “Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself.”

He grinned, although he did feel his cheeks redden. “I’ve actually been looking forward to this,” he murmured.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I get to spend time with you.”

“You get to spend time with me all the time,” she said.

“Yeah, but not like this,” he said as headed down a stairwell. “Everyone preoccupies themselves with their dates; therefore, I get to preoccupy myself with just you. No one else.”

She smiled. “We still have to be careful, though. There will be people there without dates, who will be paying attention to anyone and everyone. I’m sure all of the girls will be watching the Boy Who Lived anyhow.”

He blushed even more. “I doubt it.”

She laughed. “Don’t doubt it. You’re very fanciable and you could have practically any girl in Hogwarts. I’m just the lucky girl you chose.”

“Like I would choose any other,” he said. “There are a lot more Lavenders here at Hogwarts than there are Hermiones. Actually, there’s only one Hermione and that’s the type of girl I want.”

She playfully nudged him. “Flatterer.”

“It’s the truth!” he insisted.

“You’re a flirt, too,” she said.

He laughed. “Okay, I’ll give you that one, although normally I’m not one.”

“No, that’s true. You only ever seem to do it when you’re in extremely good moods,” she said.

“Like tonight?”

“Like tonight,” she said.

They continued to banter all the way down the stairs until they reached the entrance hall, where students were milling around, searching for their dates and friends while also waiting to be admitted into the Great Hall.

Ron quickly spotted Luna and led the rest of them over to meet her.

“Hi, Luna,” he said.

“Hi, Ronald,” she greeted and, seeing the rest of them, said, “Hello to the rest of you, too.”

“Hi, Luna,” each of them said.

Luna was wearing silvery gray robes that evening. Harry also noticed that she had forgone wearing her usual butterbeer cork necklace and radish earrings, something he was sure Ron appreciated. Actually, she looked rather lovely.

“You don’t look very happy, Ronald,” she commented.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “I’ve had a bad day, that’s all.”

“Hopefully the feast will cheer you up. You always seem happiest when you’re full.” At this, the rest of them laughed.

“Yeah, this guy can’t go without a meal,” Harry said, patting Ron on the back.

“I’ve got a fast metabolism,” Ron said. “At least, that’s what Mum says.”

“Perhaps you have a mageuhyre in your stomach,” Luna suggested.

“A what?” Ron asked.

“A maguehyre. They live in your stomach and eat whatever you eat,” Luna said, causing Hermione to roll her eyes.

Ron blanched. “I sure hope not.”

Just then, the doors to the Great Hall opened. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna all joined the crowd that was making their way inside. When they walked in, Harry glanced around to see the same round tables that had been used the previous year. “Let’s find a good table to sit at,” he said and headed off, the rest of them right behind him. They decided to sit at a table near the wall. Harry pulled out a chair for Hermione, who smiled at him and thanked him before sitting down. Harry then noticed Ron awkwardly do the same for Luna, who looked highly impressed by the move.

Twenty minutes or so passed as the Great Hall slowly filled up. Finally, Professor Dumbledore stood up and a hush fell over the Hall. He smiled, his bright blue eyes sweeping over the student body. “Good evening, all of you. I have been told that a delightful feast has been prepared for all of us, so I do hope you enjoy it. Make sure you keep up your energy because we have wrangled a wonderful new band for your entertainment. That said, enjoy your evening and tuck in!”

All sorts of food were crammed onto every square inch of each table. For nearly an hour they enjoyed roast beef, chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli spears, rolls, and other items before they were cleared away and replaced with desserts of all sorts. Finally, those disappeared.

The students all rose and waited. With a casual flick of his wand, Dumbledore caused all of the round tables, save a dozen, to disappear. The staff table disappeared as well, but was replaced by a very large drum set, two guitars, and three of the oddest microphones Harry had ever seen.

Dumbledore held up his hands for silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the wizard rock band, the Parselmouths!”

Three people—two girls and a guy who didn’t look much older than Harry—walked out of the antechamber that was off to the side of the Great Hall. The guy had drumsticks in his hand and was twirling them with his fingers, while the two girls—a blonde and a brunette—each had live snakes hanging around their necks. Harry stared at them in awe.

The two girls picked up their guitars. “Hello Hogwarts!” the blonde one yelled. “Let’s rock!”

An explosion of sound hit Harry’s ears as they started to play. People ran out to the dance floor, shouting and cheering while jumping and waving their hands in the air.

Ginny laughed. “Come on, Neville. Let’s go have some fun.”

He had a fearful look on his face as she pulled him toward the dance floor. All he could do was turn back to the rest of them and mutter, “’Bye!”

Ron was eyeing the dance floor warily. “Er—come on, Luna. Let’s go get some punch or something,” he said, leading her away.

Harry turned to Hermione. “You don’t suppose they’ll play a slow song, d’you?” he asked.

“I doubt it!” she replied and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Let’s go dance anyway!”

Harry allowed himself to be dragged out onto the dance floor. “I don’t really know how to dance to something like this, though,” he said.

“Just do what your gut tells you,” she told him as they joined the crowd of students jumping up and down. She gave a whoop and joined them. Harry, meanwhile, feeling rather foolish, began to imitate them as well.

“Don’t think about it, Harry!” Hermione called to him over the music. “Just have fun!”

He caught sight of a fifth-year Ravenclaw twirling around as she jumped, causing him to laugh. Another girl was letting her head roll around like she had lost control of it. With another laugh, he grabbed Hermione’s hand and spun her around. “Okay, I won’t think.”

She chuckled. “Good! That’s the idea!”

The first song was followed up by another high-energy song, which was followed up by yet another. The fourth song was slower and caused everyone to grab their dates and sway to the music.

Hermione was looking around the Hall. “I see Ron and Luna made it to the dance floor,” she said, nodding to where they were dancing some ten meters away from them.

Harry scanned the room. Neville and Ginny were behind them, a few meters away, looking like they were enjoying their evening. Lavender, Harry noticed, was sitting in a corner by herself, scowling not only at Ron and Luna, but also Parvati, who was dancing with Dean.

Harry was amused when he saw that Goyle was dancing with Millicent Bulstrode. “I take it those two are still together,” he said, inclining his head in their direction.

Hermione glanced over at them. “Looks like it.”

“That’s scary,” he said, causing her to laugh.

He continued looking around the Hall. To his surprise, Hunter was out on the dance floor with Tara Ryder, dancing and chatting. He saw Dylan over by the punch bowl, pouring himself a cup, while Ally was sitting back at their table, the look on her face catching Harry completely by surprise. She was staring at the people dancing with a look of jealousy on her face.

“Something wrong with Ally?” he asked Hermione.

She looked around until she spotted the young second year. “I don’t know,” she replied, now looking around the dance floor to see who Ally could possibly be staring at. Finally, she spotted something and said, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing. At least, nothing to worry about,” she said.

“If you say so.”

Harry did one more sweep of the room as the song began to end. Colin Creevey was trying to dance with his date and take pictures at the same time. Meanwhile, in another corner of the Hall sat Malfoy, his face sour and looking as if he would rather leave. Harry couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t seem to have a date. The song ended though and was replaced by yet another loud and fast number, causing Harry to cast Malfoy from his mind as he spun Hermione around once more.

About an hour later, Harry and Hermione left the Great Hall to get some air as it had gotten rather stuffy inside. They walked around outside, hearing giggling and the sounds of people snogging behind bushes.

“As Head Boy and Girl, we probably are obligated to stop that,” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. “Let them have their fun.” The walked around the edge of the castle until they were nearly on the other side of the greenhouses and completely out of sight. “Besides,” Harry said, suddenly grabbed hold of her arm and pulling her into the shadows, “if I were to have to punish them, I’d have to punish us as well.” He kissed her deeply then, causing her to moan. “See?”

“Harry, we could get into a lot of trouble for this,” she said, glancing around to make sure absolutely no one was watching them. Seeing that the coast was clear, she sighed. “I don’t want to get caught.”

“We won’t get caught,” Harry assured her. “Now, less talking and more snogging.”

She giggled. “Very well,” she said and pulled him down for another kiss.

As Harry stood out in the cold, dark night, his lips pressed against Hermione’s, he knew that that particular moment would be his fondest memory of his Yule Ball experiences. It had been a perfect evening. He couldn’t help but feel like a very lucky man.

Author’s Note: I must confess that this was one of the hardest chapters for me to write just due to the emotional aspects of it, and I don’t ever get choked up over the written word. Take that as a warning; you may want to grab some tissues. Anyway, I dedicate this (rather morose) chapter to my beta reader, Charmaine, who celebrated a birthday on Thursday. Happy Birthday Charmaine!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE WORST CHRISTMAS

Lying in was Harry’s top priority when he went to bed that night after the Yule Ball was over. He was out the moment his head hit the pillow. His dreams consisted of a replay of what happened that night: him and Hermione, out in the snow, in the shadows, snogging. He wanted to relive that moment over and over. He was thrilled over the prospect of being able to behave like he wanted to around Hermione for the most part, seeing as there were going to be much fewer students in the castle. He was also thrilled that he wouldn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to do his morning runs. He wanted some rest and relaxation this holiday.

Ron, apparently, had other plans. He was up and bustling about at about 7:00, waking Harry up in the process.

“What time is it?” Harry said, squinting at his watch.

“Just after seven,” Ron replied, pulling on a jumper.

“Why, in the name of Merlin, are you up if it’s only seven?” Harry asked, groaning as he pulled himself up to a sitting position.

“I’m—er—I’m seeing Ginny and Luna off. I think Hermione’s coming, too,” Ron said.

At the mention of his girlfriend’s name, he woke up thoroughly. “Really? Well, alright, I’ll come too.”

Harry got ready and joined Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville down in the common room. It was currently packed with all of the students getting ready to go down to breakfast and then to the train, causing Harry to have to squeeze between two sixth years in order to get to his friends.

“You’re awake!” Hermione said, smiling. “I thought you wanted to have a lie-in.”

“I did,” Harry said, stifling a yawn, “but Ron woke me up and I figured I’d get up and join you.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Ron said. “I was just rustling around in my trunk.”

The five of them headed down to breakfast when the time came. The Great Hall had returned to normal, all four long House tables were back in place, as was the staff table up on the platform. Harry and company sat down in their usual spots. When breakfast was served, Harry helped himself to a couple of fluffy pancakes and syrup before dishing two fried eggs. Ron had not only that on his plate, but half a dozen strips of bacon as well.

“Hungry this morning, aren’t you, Ron?” Ginny said, giggling.

“We had this conversation last night,” Ron reminded her. “Fast metabolism.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” she said, winking at both Harry and Hermione.

“What are you on about?” Ron said grumpily.

“Oh, nothing,” Ginny said. “Only that I saw how long you and Luna stayed at the ball, dancing the whole time. You must have easily worked off everything you ate at the feast.”

Ron rolled his eyes and then gave Harry and Hermione a sharp look. “I didn’t see you at the ball the whole time. Where’d you two run off to?”

“We took a walk,” Harry said. “It got a bit stuffy in here.”

Both Ron and Ginny raised their eyebrows.

“The fresh air was nice,” Hermione said. “A bit nippy, but nice.”

“It’s winter and there’s snow everywhere. It’s even snowing now,” Ron said, pointing up at the enchanted ceiling. “How long was this walk of yours?”

“Oh, about a half-hour,” Hermione said. “I didn’t feel the least bit cold.”

“Me neither,” Harry said.

“I wonder why,” Ron muttered.

When they finished their meal, all of the students who were leaving gathered in the entrance hall, saying good-bye and wishing each other a happy Christmas. Ron, being the tallest, was able to scan the crowd better than the rest of them. “Luna’s over there,” he said, pointing by the oak front doors.

They traveled over to meet her. “Good morning, Luna,” Hermione said as they approached.

“Good morning, all of you,” she said, her protuberant eyes flickering over to Ron. “Especially to you, Ronald.”

He turned a slight shade of pink. “To you too,” he said.

“What are you doing over your holiday?” Harry asked.

“Daddy and I are going back to Sweden to once again look for Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks,” she said.

Hermione gave a faint smile. “That sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, have fun,” Ron said.

Luna beamed at him. “I will.”

Pretty soon, the oak front doors opened and outside were the numerous school carriages, all drawn by thestrals. Hermione gasped, causing Harry to look at her with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “It still gives me quite the shock, being able to see those.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, watching the thestrals with her. “You’ll get used to it,” he said.

Ginny was hugging her brother. “Write home, okay? Mum will want to hear from you,” she said to him.

“Don’t worry, I will. I’m not a completely insensitive son,” Ron said.

Neville walked over and shook both Harry and Hermione’s hands. “Happy Christmas,” he said to them. “Have a good holiday.”

“You, too, Neville,” Hermione said and gave him a hug, causing him to redden ever-so-slightly.

Ginny gave both Harry and Hermione a hug, wishing both of them a happy Christmas. “It’s a shame you both won’t come to the Burrow, but I understand your desire to spend your seventh-year Christmas at Hogwarts. See you next term!”

“’Bye!” both of them said as Ginny and Neville headed out the door.

“Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye, Hermione. Happy Christmas,” Luna said. “If I find a Crumpled-Horned Snorkack, I’ll bring it here for you to see.”

“Okay,” Harry said, laughing a little. “Have a wonderful holiday!”

She waved to them and walked out with Ron, who seemed to be escorting her to her carriage with Ginny and Neville. Before she got in, she hugged Ron and gave him a kiss on the cheek, causing Harry and Hermione to look at each other and grin.

When Ron returned, they headed back inside. “So, what was that all about?” Harry couldn’t help but asking.

“What?” Ron said as they started up the marble staircase.

“Luna’s good-bye to you. A kiss?” Harry said, grinning broadly.

Ron’s ears went red. “It came as much as a surprise to me as it did to you,” he said. “Nothing happened last night, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Something must have happened,” Harry said, “if Luna’s willing to show her affection for you now.”

“Nothing happened,” Ron insisted. “I didn’t give her a kiss good night or nothing. We just danced and had a good time.”

Hermione was grinning too. “Luna must have interpreted the evening a little differently than you did.”

“I don’t know why,” Ron said.

“Ron, please,” Hermione said. “You know full well that Luna fancies you. I’d recommend that you figure out exactly how you feel about her before you end up hurting her. She’s a nice girl and she doesn’t deserve that. Now, does anyone want to join me in the library to work on our homework?”

Ron groaned. “Can’t we hold it off? We just started our holiday!”

“Very well,” she said. “When you have to do all your homework on the last day before the new term, don’t complain.”

Harry thought that Hermione made a valid point. “Hang on,” he said, “I’m coming with you.”

Hermione grinned at him. Behind them, Ron sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come too.”

“Excellent,” Hermione said. “Let’s get to work.”

*****

By the end of the weekend, Harry had completed four of his essays, leaving him with just his Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts essays to complete. On Monday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided to take a break from their heavy workload and visit Hagrid.

“Oh, hullo, you lot,” he said when he opened his door to find the three of them standing outside of it. “Come on in. I’ll put on a pot o’ tea.”

Fang the boarhound bounded over and rested his head on Harry’s lap when he sat down, drooling all over it. Harry decided to tolerate this and change his jeans later.

“Enjoyin’ yer holiday?” Hagrid asked as he put the tea kettle on the stove.

“Hermione’s got us doing all of our homework,” Ron said. “I’m not doing anything tomorrow or Wednesday, though. It’s Christmas!”

“I didn’t expect you to do any homework on Christmas Eve or Christmas, Ron,” Hermione said, helping Hagrid by getting out tea cups and saucers. “I won’t be either.”

“I always put off me homework until the las’ possible second,” Hagrid said. “Paid fer it, too.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Ron said.

“Ah, it’s important ter yer magical education,” Hagrid said. “Trust me, teachers don’ like gradin’ ‘em as much as students don’ like doin’ ‘em.”

“Then why do they force us to do it?” Ron asked.

“Because it’s like I said; it’s important ter yer magical education.”

“Bullocks,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“Say Harry, did yeh hear the rumor that there’s goin’ ter be more scouts at the next Quidditch match in February?” Hagrid asked.

“More? Why?” Harry asked.

“They saw some right good talent, I reckon, and want to see more. Professor Dumbledore was a bit surprised. The scouts don’ usually show up at Hogwarts unless they’ve heard about a phenomenal player. The last time they came was ter see yer brother Charlie, Ron, when he was in his fifth year. They wanted ter tag him ter join straight away, but he went ahead and did his N.E.W.T.s, sayin’ that he didn’ want ter become a professional Quidditch player,” Hagrid told them.

“Then who are they here to see now?” Ron asked eagerly.

Hagrid nodded to Harry. “Harry, o’ course. But they’re lookin’ at the other players, too.”

“Me?” Harry said, alarmed. “But certainly they know that I don’t want to become a professional Quidditch player either. I want to become an Auror.”

“Oh, yeah, Professor McGonagall told ‘em that, but they won’ listen. They want ter see if yeh’re the perfect man fer the job,” Hagrid said.

“What job?” Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head. “I’m not quite sure what that job is, Harry, but they’re lookin’ at yeh fer it.”

“Is there a team that needs a new Seeker?” Harry asked.

Hagrid leaned in conspiratorially. “I heard from a fellow down at the pub that the Chudley Cannons are finally sackin’ Galvin Gudgeon.”

Ron looked amazed. “Gudgeon? It’s about time! He’s a nightmare of a Seeker!”

“Actually, there was an article in yesterday’s Daily Prophet about how the national teams are beginning ter take a look at players fer their rosters fer the World Cup,” Hagrid said. “It’s already bein’ rumored that Bulgaria’s tryin’ ter get into contact with Viktor Krum ter ask him ter come back and be their Seeker.”

“Krum?” Ron said. “He hasn’t played Quidditch since the last World Cup!”

“I reckon he still knows how ter play, though,” Hagrid said. “The World Cup’s not summat ter worry about right now, though. Oh, yer tea’s ready!”

Hagrid got up to go fetch the tea while Harry said, “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just hope that England puts together a stronger line than last time. I’d like to see us get into the final.”

Ron nodded. “England versus Bulgaria, now that would be a match. Hopefully we’ll take Vicky down.”

*****

Harry woke up on Christmas Eve to find the sun casting a reddish hue on the horizon. He yawned and listened for a moment to Ron’s snoring as the other Gryffindor slept on. Harry considered going back to sleep himself, but instead decided to go down to the common room and see if Hermione was up yet. He got dressed quickly and headed down the stairs to find that she indeed was. She was knitting something.

“Good morning,” he said to her, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“’Morning,” she said, taking her wand and tapping her knitting needles, causing them to spring to life and knit on their own.

“What are you knitting?” he asked her, sitting down.

“A new hat,” she replied.

“For the house-elves?” Harry asked.

“No, for me, silly. I gave up trying to trick the house-elves into freedom. Speaking of which, I’m due to write another letter to the Ministry of Magic on how my petitions are coming,” she said.

Personally, Harry doubted that anything had been done concerning Hermione’s petitions to free the house-elves, but he didn’t it would be a good idea to say that. Instead he said, “Why d’you need another hat? I thought you already had one.”

“I do,” she said, “but I really don’t like it. It doesn’t keep my head very warm.”

“Oh. Well, hey, if you feel up to it, maybe after you’re done you can knit me one, too,” he said. “If your hats are anything like that blanket you knitted for me for Christmas last year, that would keep my head plenty warm in this cold weather.”

She smiled. “I’d love to. Anything to give me more practice.”

“You really like knitting, don’t you?”

“It’s fun,” she said, taking the knitting needles back in her hands as she began to go back at it the Muggle way. “You should try it sometime. It really improves dexterity.”

“Er—that’s alright. I’ll leave it to someone who’s more creative than I am,” he said. “So, d’you have any plans for today.”

“I figured I’d root you on when Ron pulls you into a game of wizard’s chess, attempt to defeat the two of you in Exploding Snap, and maybe play a game of Gobstones,” she said. “Other than that, I was planning on doing whatever you and Ron want to do.”

“I was thinking it would be fun to go outside. It looks like we’re going to have sunshine today instead of more snow,” he said, nodding his head toward the window, where the sky was lightening up to a pink.

“What are we going to do, build a snowman?” she asked.

“Sure, and we’ll bewitch him and call him Frosty,” he said, causing her to laugh.

“We’ll have to find a corncob pipe,” she said.

“We don’t have to find anything,” Harry said. “You’re a genius—you can transfigure something into one.”

She blushed at the compliment. “Shall I transfigure items into a button and two lumps of coal, too?”

“Don’t forget about the hat,” Harry added.

They were laughing as Ron came down the steps, yawning. “What’s so funny?” he asked as he sat down near them.

“Hermione and I are planning on building Frosty the Snowman,” Harry told him.

“Who?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s a Muggle fairy tale based off of a song.”

“About a snowman? Weird,” Ron said.

“The point is we’re going to bewitch a snowman,” Harry said. “All the children will say he can laugh and play just the same as you and me.”

Hermione laughed. “But then we’ll have to run and have some fun before he melts away.”

Harry snickered. Ron looked thoroughly confused. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Harry said. “We’re just playing off of the lyrics. Are you in?”

Ron shrugged. “I guess.”

“Brilliant. We’ll go out after breakfast,” Harry said.

So, after breakfast, they headed over toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry and Ron set about creating the snowman’s body with their wands while Hermione hunted for things she could transfigure. She came back with a large stick, three rocks she unearthed, and a piece of paper that had been trapped underneath the snow.

Harry was now in the process of making the snowman’s head, while Ron was stacking one large snowball on top of an even bigger one. “Go on, Hermione,” Harry said. “Impress us.”

Hermione took out her wand and, with a wave, the long stick became a pipe. “Your corncob pipe,” she said. With another wave, one of the three rocks turned into a large black button. “Your button nose.” Another wave and the remaining rocks changed shape and became black. “And your two eyes made out of coal.”

“Excellent,” he said, taking the items and heading over to Ron, the snowman’s head traveling along behind him, leaving Hermione to study the paper she had found.

“Let’s put his head on before we apply the face,” Ron said to Harry.

“Good idea,” Harry said, stuffing the head onto the rest of the snowman. He helped Ron smooth the snow down so that the head wouldn’t fall off. “Here, take some of these.”

Ron took the two eyes from Harry and applied them while Harry stuffed the pipe where the snowman’s mouth would be and then put the nose on him. “There,” Ron said. “Done.”

“Not quite,” Hermione said, coming over with a battered-looking top hat. “There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found, for when they placed it on his head—” She set the hat on the snowman’s head and it suddenly jerked and began to hop around. “—he began to dance around.”

The three of them laughed as they watched the snowman jump around. “Blimey,” Ron said, “we forgot to give him arms.”

“What kind of spell did you use to make it work, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“A fairly complicated one,” Hermione replied. “Something I once read about.”

“It’s brilliant! You did a fantastic job,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing.

“Er—Harry? Hermione? Frosty’s hopping his way into the Forbidden Forest,” Ron said.

“What?” Harry and Hermione said in unison, turning just in time to see their snowman slip behind a tree.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chased after it until they were a good twenty feet into the forest. That was when Hermione had a clear shot and cried, “Immobulus!” The snowman stopped moving.

“Blimey,” Ron murmured as they walked over to where to snowman was.

Hermione took its hat off. “Next time we do this, let’s build him down by the lake.”

“What should we do with him?” Harry asked.

“Let the sun deal with him,” she answered. “We’re not far enough into the forest yet for the trees to block out the sun. Let’s leave him here.”

Harry sighed. “He was fun, though.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed as they turned around and left. “So long, Frosty.”

*****

The rest of the day went by without any other cause for trouble. Harry went to bed feeling rather happy, looking forward to the next day. Before he fell asleep, though, he made sure to clear his mind and purge himself of his emotions. When he felt at peace, he let himself slip away.

Seconds, or what seemed like seconds, later, Harry was awakened with a jerk by the sound of the dormitory door opening with a BANG! He groaned. It was still dark outside. Who was that enthusiastic by the arrival of Christmas?

Then he heard Professor McGonagall’s voice from beside Ron’s bed. “Mr. Weasley, wake up. Mr. Weasley!”

“Too early,” Ron groaned and rolled over.

“MR. WEASLEY!”

Ron jumped, fully awake now. “What? What is it?”

“Professor Dumbledore needs to see you immediately,” McGonagall said.

“Me? Why?” Ron said, getting out of bed and putting his robe on. “What’s wrong?”

“Please, come with me,” McGonagall said. Harry jumped out of bed and put on his robe as well. She frowned, but nodded. “Very well, Potter, you can come too.”

“What’s going on, Professor?” Ron said as the three of them started down the stairs to the common room. “What’s happened?”

She turned and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s better if Professor Dumbledore tells you.”

Harry stared at the grave look on her face, realizing just how serious this was. “Professor, what about Hermione? Shouldn’t she be notified?”

McGonagall sighed. “We don’t have much time, Potter.”

“But whatever this is, she should know,” Harry said.

“Very well,” McGonagall said. “Go get her.” She pointed her wand at the door to the girls’ dormitory and the door blew open. “The seventh-year girls’ dormitory is on the third landing. You have five minutes before the stairs reject you.”

Harry rushed up the stairs. This was, as far as he knew, the only time a boy had been in the girls’ dormitory. When he reached the third landing, he pushed open the door and called out her name.

“Harry?” Hermione said in a sleepy voice.

Harry rushed to her side, briefly taking note of the fact that her bed was in the exact same spot his was all the way up on the top floor. “Come with me. Something’s happened.”

Hermione got up, grabbing her robe as she did so. “What’s happened?”

“We don’t know. Professor McGonagall won’t tell us,” Harry told her.

“Professor McGonagall’s here?”

“Yes. She’s going to take us to Dumbledore’s office.”

Hermione didn’t say anything else as they quickly ran down to the common room. Nothing was said either as Professor McGonagall escorted them to Dumbledore’s office. She led them right to his door and before she could even knock, they heard Dumbledore’s voice say, “Enter.”

The four of them walked in. Dumbledore was wearing robes of black, his features looking solemn. If Harry hadn’t already had a bad feeling about what Dumbledore was going to tell them, he certainly had one now. He had never seen the headmaster wear that particular color, even at funerals.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger—sit, please. That will be all, Minerva. I expect you will inform the staff?” Dumbledore said.

“I will,” she said and, with a grim look back at her students, she left.

“Please, sit,” Dumbledore said again to the three, who stood stock still. He conjured up three armchairs. “Mr. Weasley—Ron—you’ll want to sit down, trust me.”

Slowly, Ron sank into his seat, Harry and Hermione following suit. Ron gulped. “What’s happened, sir?” he asked.

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and frowned. He appeared to not know what to say, which only added to Harry’s fears. All three of them sat there, waiting, for Dumbledore to speak.

“There is no easy way to tell you this, Ron, so I am just going to say it. Your father was killed earlier this evening.”

Ron went rigid. His lower lip trembled as he uttered, “What? No. That can’t be!”

“I’m afraid it is, Ron. I’m so terribly sorry,” Dumbledore said. His eyes, which usually twinkled, now only held sadness. “Arthur was a great man. He will be sorely missed.”

“No!” Ron cried. “You…you’re making this up!”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

The moment Harry had heard the news, he felt like he had been stabbed. Mr. Weasley, dead? Hermione was crying next to him. “How, sir,” he finally got up the nerve to ask. “How did Mr. Weasley die? Was he doing something for the Order?”

“No, Arthur wasn’t doing Order work, he was doing Ministry work. He was performing a raid on a house near Sheffield and caught the Death Eater that they thought lived there unawares. The Death Eater was quick—it seemed like a reflex—and he killed Arthur Weasley before being taken down by members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” Dumbledore told them.

“If they thought it was a Death Eater’s home, why didn’t they take some Aurors along?” Harry asked.

“The Ministry believes that they cannot spare any Aurors at this time, at least, not for something they see as so trivial,” Dumbledore said.

“But it was a Death Eater’s house!” Harry cried, outraged.

“Yes. The Ministry has all of the Aurors on-duty and ready to be dispatched to various parts of the country. They remember what happened last Christmas in Edinburgh and would like to prevent that from happening again.”

“At the expense of Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked.

“I doubt the Ministry believed that a Death Eater would actually be there. As far as we know, all of them are in hiding with Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.

For once, Ron didn’t even flinch at the name. When he looked back up at Dumbledore, his eyes conveyed a great anger. “Who did it? Who killed my father?” he said in a deathly calm voice.

“His name is Belial Gibbon and he is now on his way to Azkaban,” Dumbledore said.

“Gibbon,” Harry murmured. “That’s the same bloke who killed my aunt!”

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed.

Harry sat there, a sick and twisted feeling forming in his gut. The same man who had killed his aunt had killed Mr. Weasley. He wished suddenly that the dementors were still at Azkaban. He wished that the dementors were there to suck out the slimy Death Eater’s soul.

No, you don’t, said Hermione’s voice in his head. No one deserves that, no matter what their crimes.

He sighed. Hermione was still crying beside him. She had her face buried in her hands, but Harry could still see the tears falling down her face. She gave a loud sniffle and Harry put his arm around her before placing his other hand on Ron’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“I want to go home,” Ron said through clenched teeth. “I need to go home and be with my family.”

“I thought you might,” Dumbledore said. “I will send you home immediately, along with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, if you wish it.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I want them to come.”

“Very well. I will give you ten minutes to gather up some clothing and such and I will meet you back here,” Dumbledore said.

“You can go ahead now, Ron,” Harry said. “I’ll get your things for you. That is, if that’s alright with you, Professor.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I will see the two of you shortly. Now, Ron, if you’d come over here…”

Harry and Hermione moved as quickly as they could. They practically ran back to the common room and up to their respective dorms. When Harry had gathered enough clothing for both him and Ron to last the rest of the holiday, he ran back into the common room, where Hermione was waiting.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said.

“I can’t either,” Harry murmured. “Come on, let’s get back to Dumbledore’s office. We should be with the Weasleys.”

Hermione shrunk down all of the clothes so that they could stuff them into the pockets of their robes. Quickly, the made their way back to Dumbledore’s office and knocked. Dumbledore opened the door and ushered them inside.

“Mr. Weasley is back safely at the Burrow. Now it’s your turn.” He took a handful of what Harry recognized to be Floo powder and threw it into his fireplace. When the flames turned emerald green, he said, “Off you go.”

“Good-bye, sir,” both Harry and Hermione said, stepping into the fireplace. Then, they both yelled, “The Burrow,” and were on their way.

Harry was used to the spinning and the warm, tickling sensation caused by the Floo powder. He simply kept his elbows tucked in as both he and Hermione passed grate after grate. Finally, they ended up in the Weasleys’ fireplace and stepped out, brushing the ash and soot off of their robes.

The Weasleys weren’t in the living room, but he could hear voices murmuring and the sounds of someone sobbing coming from the kitchen. Giving Hermione a grim look, he followed the sounds and entered the kitchen with Hermione at his side.

“Harry! Hermione!” Mrs. Weasley cried, her face blotched with tears. “You came!”

She ran over and seized the two of them in a fierce hug, crying all over their robes. “Arthur! Arthur!” she wailed.

Harry patted her awkwardly on the back, looking around the room. Everyone was there. Ron was sitting down at the table near Ginny, who was sobbing into her arms. Charlie was next to her, trying to comfort her, but had a great look of pain on his face. The twins, Fred and George, stood near the backdoor, ashen-faced. Bill was sitting, slumped over, at the other end of the table with a woman sitting next to him who Harry had not expected to see—Fleur Delacour. She seemed to be whispering to him, offering him words of comfort.

“First Percy, now Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley moaned, still crying on his and Hermione’s shoulders.

“Let me make all of you some tea,” Hermione said, shifting Mrs. Weasley fully onto Harry’s shoulder. She flipped open cupboards and starting getting all of the necessary equipment out.

“Erm—let me help you to a chair, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, guiding her over to the chair next to Ron.

“I’m so happy you and Hermione came,” Mrs. Weasley said with a hiccup. “I told Arthur that he shouldn’t go out on that raid tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, after all! He said he had to do it, though; the Ministry wanted it done as soon as possible.”

It was then that Harry noticed it, the clock that the Weasleys owned, telling where each member of the family was. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the hand bearing Mr. Weasley’s name had fallen off and that the clock lay on the floor, its glass shattered, as if Mrs. Weasley had dropped it.

Hermione poured everyone a cup of tea. Nobody touched theirs. A silence descended over the kitchen, only broken by the occasional sniffle from one of them, usually from either Mrs. Weasley or Ginny.

“It’s not fair,” Ron said at last. “It’s just not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair,” Bill said somberly. “We’ve been up for hours. It’s nearly five in the morning. We should go to bed.”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” Fred said. George nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Weasley sniffled. “Five o’clock? Why then, it’s been Christmas for five hours. Arthur, oh Arthur, you’re missing Christmas.”

“We need to get some rest,” Bill said, more firmly. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted us staying up all night, moping around, especially on Christmas.”

“We’re grieving,” Ginny said, lifting her head up from her arms. Her eyes were swollen red and puffy.

“I know we are,” Bill said. “But we’ve got to take care of ourselves, too. Dad wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes with an old handkerchief. “Bill’s right. Arthur wouldn’t want us to grieve excessively. Yes, let us all go to bed.” She gave a loud sniff. “Then we can decide…we can decide what we need to do tomorrow morning. Charlie, would you mind setting up another bed in Ron’s room for Harry? And for yourself, of course.”

“Sure, Mum,” Charlie said, getting up.

“I’ll help set up a bed for Hermione in Ginny’s room,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“No, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said. “I’ll do it. You just go upstairs and try to rest.”

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “Thank you, dear.”

Harry followed Ron and Charlie up the stairs to Ron’s room. Charlie conjured up a bed for both himself and Harry before Harry remembered that he had his and Ron’s clothing in his pockets.

“Here,” he said, taking the clothes out of his pockets and enlarging them back to their normal size. “That should be enough to get us through the rest of the holiday.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said quietly, flopping down onto his bed. “Why did this happen?”

Harry frowned. “I dunno,” he said.

“I’d give anything to have Dad back,” he said. “I’d give up my prefect’s badge, my position on the Quidditch team…hell, I’d give years off of my life.”

“All of those won’t bring Dad back, though, Ron,” Charlie said. “The only comfort any of us can take from this is that he’s in a better place.”

“How d’you know?” Ron said. “How d’you know he’s in a better place? None of us knows what it’s like to be dead, do we? We have no idea what place you go to when you die.”

“It’s got to be a better place than here,” Charlie said.

“Dumbledore thinks that death is only the next great adventure,” Harry said.

“That would be Dumbledore’s way of thinking,” Charlie said. “Come on, let’s try to get some sleep.”

The three of them got into their beds, but, as Harry could tell as he stared up at the ceiling, none of them fell asleep for hours.

*****

Harry woke up the next morning to sound of feet shuffling across the floor. He opened his eyes to find the room brilliantly light. The sun was shining outside and reflecting off of the snow-covered ground. Harry put on his glasses and squinted up to see Charlie, fully dressed, exit the room with an armload of stuff. Harry groaned and rolled over. Ron was still in bed, snoring.

There was a knock on the door about five minutes later. Hermione poked her head in. “Anyone awake?”

“Yeah,” Harry grunted. “I am.”

She came in, her hands full of wrapped parcels. “Happy Christmas,” she said gloomily.

Harry sat up and made room for her on his bed. “Happy Christmas to you too,” he said and saw his own pile of presents at the foot of his bed. “It’s not really all that happy, though, is it?”

“No,” she said, dumping her pile on his bed. “I see Ron’s still out.”

“It took awhile for all of us to fall asleep, so yeah,” he said, shrugging. “D’you think we should wake him up?”

“It’s probably best to let him sleep,” Hermione said, watching Ron. “He needs it, what with the night he had.”

He nodded in agreement. “Did you want to open our presents or something?” he asked.

“We might as well,” she said, taking the first parcel off the top of the pile. “Oh, it’s from Mum and Dad.”

Harry steadily went through his pile, not feeling very enthusiastic. Hagrid gave him a large, homemade fruitcake, while he received yet another Weasley jumper to add to his collection. Ron gave him a box filled with Honeydukes sweets, while Fred and George gave him a box filled with a lot of his favorite gimmicks from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Hermione had given him two things: a book called The History of the Aurors and also a knitted red and gold hat, causing him to chuckle.

“When did you do this?” he asked.

“Two weeks ago,” she replied, grinning. “I was so happy when you told me yesterday that you wouldn’t mind it if I knitted you a new hat.”

“I bet you were.”

She looked down at the last present in her pile. “Oh, this one’s from you!” she said and began to open it. There was a moment’s pause after she opened the box before she whispered, “My God. Harry, it’s beautiful.” She then pulled gold necklace out of the box with a lone teardrop-shaped sapphire pendant dangling from it. She stared at it. “Where did you get it?”

“Sirius’s vault, believe it or not,” Harry said. When she gave him an alarmed look, he added, “I had the Gringotts goblins check it over for curses and the like. It came up clean.”

She unhooked the clasp. “Could you?” she said and he leaned over behind her to hook the necklace around her neck.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful, Harry. I’m shocked,” she said.

It was then that Harry noticed he had one last present. It was small and thin. He picked it up and shook it. “What’s this?”

“Oh—er—just open it,” Hermione said, turning red.

He eyed her curiously as he did so. Once it was open, he recognized the gift immediately. “The mirror,” he breathed. “Sirius’s mirror. You—you fixed it,” he said to Hermione, holding up the two-way mirror that Sirius had given him two years ago. “How?”

“I had Ron swipe it from your trunk that day when I also had him swipe your pager,” she said. “I wanted to fix it for you, since you obviously couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”

He felt tears form in his eyes. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers in a light kiss before pulling her into his embrace. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you. I think this may be the worst Christmas I’ve ever had, but you just made it a little brighter.”

He heard her sniffle somewhat on his shoulder. “You’re welcome,” was all she said.

Author’s Note: Let’s see…about 10 days until the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Uh-oh. I’m going to have to update faster…as in more than once a day. Hmm…perhaps I’ll start posting two chapters at once. I am trying to make the deadline. Yeah, that’s right, you read that right. I’m trying to finish my fic before 21 July, 2007. Actually, I’d like it done before 20 July, 2007. I’m crazy, I know, but trust me, I’m a lot farther ahead in my story than what I’ve got posted. I just finished Chapter 35 about 30 minutes ago. See? Crazy! But for those of you that have been with me since MoL, you’ll remember that I was determined to finish before HBP came out and hey, I did! I work best under stress. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Big thanks to all those that review. You people are awesome!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE UNWELCOME GUEST

January’s arrival, which was usually too quick for Harry’s tastes, seemed far away with everything that needed to be done in the week between Christmas and New Year’s. He would have given anything for it to have been January because, unfortunately, the final week of the year wouldn’t be a week without more bad news. The Christmas morning edition of the Daily Prophet had a headline that had made Harry groan.

VAMPIRE ATTACK IN BATH

A wizard and four Muggles were killed last night during a vampire attack that took place in Bath.

A dozen vampires entered a Muggle neighborhood in the west end of Bath at around 10:00 and began to break into homes, a commotion that woke Alexander Scottwood who rushed out to save his neighbors, according to Muggle witnesses before their memories were wiped.

Scottwood, 47, was too late to save a Muggle man, his wife, and their two children.

Upon his arrival, the vampires are said to have attacked Scottwood, beating him to the point where they killed and fed on him.

Aurors arrived on the scene, causing the vampires to flee.

One vampire was destroyed while in flight by the Auror Gawain Greene, who said the vampire had tried to kill another Muggle before escaping.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t get them all,” Greene said.

The Prophet also had an article about Mr. Weasley’s death, which Mrs. Weasley tore out of the paper after she read it, sobbing hysterically once more. When Bill and Charlie were able to get it from her, they tossed it at Ron and told him to burn it, but first he read it with Harry and Hermione over his shoulder.

Ministry Official Dies in Raid

Arthur Weasley, 48, was murdered during a raid at the home of Belial Gibbon in Sheffield when he caught the unsuspecting homeowner unawares.

Gibbon is suspected by the Ministry of Magic to be a Death Eater. Last night’s events seemed to have confirmed this.

Mr. Weasley, the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was conducting the raid of Gibbon’s home around 11:30 last night in conjunction with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad when they suddenly ran into Gibbon.

Gibbon immediately shot the Killing Curse at the raiding party, instantly killing Mr. Weasley.

The Magical Law Enforcement Squad then captured Gibbon, who is waiting in Azkaban for trial.

Mr. Weasley leaves behind his wife and six children; a seventh was killed last summer near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while trying to catch last year’s Hogwarts’ Killer.

The ceremony for Mr. Weasley was to be a few days later. It would be held at the Burrow, instead of the Ministry of Magic, because the Weasleys believed that was where Mr. Weasley would have wanted his ceremony.

After a miserable Boxing Day in which arrangements had been made, Harry woke up around 1:00 in the morning to get a glass of water. He snuck down the steps and was just about to make his way into the kitchen when he heard voices coming from it.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Mrs. Weasley was saying. “How am I supposed to feed all of those people when we barely have the money to feed ourselves?”

“I’m emptying my savings for you, Mum,” he heard Bill say. “All of it. Then I’ll give you a percentage of my pay.”

“Me too,” said Charlie’s voice.

“I don’t want you boys doing that. You’ll need that money when you have families of your own,” Mrs. Weasley said. “We went nearly bankrupt on Percy’s ceremony. I thought we’d be able to earn it all back before we had to go through this again. As it is, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Your father’s was the only income we had and the money that the Ministry gives to widows and widowers isn’t really all that much. I suppose I’ll have to get a job.”

“Come off it, Mum. Let us help you,” Charlie said.

“No!” Mrs. Weasley said sharply. “I will not have you ruining your savings.”

“I’m sure Fred and George will help, too,” Bill said. “Their joke shop’s doing fantastic. If the four of us pool our savings together—”

“Not another word of it, Bill. Not one more. I won’t have it,” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “Your father wouldn’t want this. He never wanted you to be…in the same state as us.”

“But then how are you going to pay for food and for Ginny’s Hogwarts supplies next year? Mum, be reasonable. You need the help,” Bill said.

Harry heard her sigh. “I could sell this place. Ginny and I can live in a flat. Ron, of course, will move out as soon as he can.”

Harry had heard enough. Quietly, he made his way back up to Ron’s room and snuck over to where Hedwig—who arrived sometime in the afternoon on Christmas—stood, wide awake. With a wave of his hand, he had an ink bottle, quill, and slip of parchment soar to him from Ron’s desk. Then he jotted down a note and turned to Hedwig.

“I need you to go Diagon Alley,” Harry whispered. “Deliver this to a goblin at Gringotts. The Weasleys need help.”

Hedwig immediately took flight and soared out the window. Harry watched her for a moment, then went back to bed, hoping Hedwig would return quickly.

*****

Much to Harry’s surprise and delight, Hedwig returned by the next evening, a large bag weighing her down. The moment Harry saw her, he jumped up and untied the bag from her leg, allowing her to land and get some rest.

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

“Something for your Mum,” Harry replied, rushing past him to go see Mrs. Weasley, who was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. Ron jumped up and followed him.

“Oh, hello, boys,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Would you mind helping to set the table?”

“Sure,” Ron said, taking out his wand and pointing it at the already opened cupboard. “Accio plates!” Ten plates shot out at him. He caught three of them, but the rest fell to the floor and broke.

“Oh, Ron,” Mrs. Weasley said with a heavy, exhausted sigh.

“Sorry, Mum. Reparo!” he said, fixing the plates.

“Erm—Mrs. Weasley?” Harry said, edging closer to her lest Ron thought it was a good idea to Summon knives.

“Yes, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly as she peeled potatoes.

“Er—Happy late Christmas,” he said, holding the bag out to her.

She stopped peeling potatoes and stared down at the bag he was holding. “What’s in there, Harry?”

“Just open it,” he said, thrusting the bag at her.

Hermione and Ginny walked into the kitchen. “Can we help you with anything, Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. Help Ron set up, please,” Mrs. Weasley said, staring down at the bag. “Harry—”

“Just open it, please,” Harry said.

She complied and the moment she saw what was inside, she shrieked, “SWEET MERLIN!” The next thing Harry knew, all of the Weasleys had crowded into the kitchen to see what was going on.

“What’s all the fuss, Mum?” Fred asked.

Mrs. Weasley stared, wordlessly, at Harry. Finally, she pushed the bag back into Harry’s hands. “No, Harry, no. I could never—”

“Yes, you can,” Harry said, forcing the bag back into her hands. “You will. It’s my gift to you and your family for taking me in and treating me like one of your own. You need this more than I do, so take it and don’t you dare try to give it back to me.”

Mrs. Weasley was crying. She dropped the bag and gave Harry the biggest bear hug he had ever received, and he had been hugged by Hagrid. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe.

George walked over and picked up the bag before peering inside. “Blimey!” he cried. “There must be at least two-hundred Galleons in here!”

“Two-hundred and fifty, if the goblins got it right,” Harry wheezed.

“Mum, let him go, he’s turning blue,” Charlie said, causing Mrs. Weasley to release Harry.

“I…I don’t know how we can ever repay you, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, tears still streaming down her face. “This is the most generous—”

“Think nothing of it,” Harry said. “It’s the least I could do.”

For the first time he noticed that Mrs. Weasley wasn’t the only one crying. In fact, there wasn’t a dry eye in the kitchen, although all of the boys were trying valiantly to keep their faces averted. Ginny was crying into her hands, while Fleur was crying into Bill’s shoulder. Hermione, meanwhile, was gazing right at him, tears flowing freely. He could tell what she was thinking and gave her a small smile in return.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to be trying to recover. “Well, come on, you lot, let’s get the table ready. Dinner will be done in twenty minutes and then we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

*****

Harry didn’t feel very eager to get up the morning of Mr. Weasley’s ceremony. He had been helping the Weasleys clean up around the house, going out into the deep snow and chucking gnomes over the fence with Fred and George even.

Ron had spent the past two days avoiding Harry’s gaze at all costs. Harry suspected it was because Ron was embarrassed that Harry had given his family money, even in their biggest time of need. His pride wouldn’t let him accept help.

Therefore, it surprised him when he heard Ron say, “We need to get up.”

Harry sighed. “Alright.”

Charlie had already left the room. Harry and Ron silently got dressed before heading down to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about the kitchen with large pots and pans everywhere. Both the stove and the oven were going and Mrs. Weasley stood at the only free space on the counter, chopping up celery.

“Toast is on the table,” she said when she spotted them.

Harry and Ron looked around the covered table and spotted a stack of toast with jam sitting near it. They quickly took a couple of slices and got out of there before they were assigned more work to do.

Hermione and Ginny were in the living room. Ginny was on the floor doing her homework, while Hermione was knitting something that didn’t look remotely like something she normally knitted.

“What are you making?” Harry asked as he and Ron sat down near her, munching on toast.

“I’m helping Mrs. Weasley knit a poncho. She’s been so busy and she wanted to have it done by January, so I decided to do what I could for her,” Hermione said.

“I never understood why people love to knit,” Ron said, shoving the rest of his toast in his mouth. “It ‘ooks ‘oring.”

Hermione gave him a look of disgust. “It’s a hobby, Ron. Like Quidditch.”

“Quidditch isn’t a hobby—it’s a way of life,” Ron said.

“And a very important one at that, I’m sure,” Hermione said scathingly.

“Don’t knock your boyfriend’s sport,” Ron said.

“He’s not completely obsessed with it, unlike some,” Hermione muttered.

“I’m not completely obsessed with it,” Ron said defensively.

“Sure you aren’t,” said Ginny from her place on the floor.

“Sod off! Nobody was asking you!”

“RONALD!”

Ron sunk lower in his seat as Mrs. Weasley came into the room, her face red. “How dare you speak to your sister that way, on the day of your father’s ceremony, no less! Apologize to her, now!”

Ron mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“NOW!”

“Sorry,” he said to Ginny.

“Good. Now I had better not hear you speak to anyone that way again, Ronald Weasley, or I’ll take your broom and sell it back to Quality Quidditch Supplies!” Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron paled and, after Mrs. Weasley had returned to the kitchen, said, “I’m glad you gave me your Firebolt, Harry.”

*****

The ceremony started later that day. Bill and Charlie had erected a large tent to accommodate the event, melting away the snow and using Warming Spells to make the temperature inside the tent comfortable. Fred and George, meanwhile, conjured up tables and lined them with tablecloths for all the food while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set all of the food Mrs. Weasley had made on it.

Witches and wizards that Harry had never met came to pay their respects. Even the Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones, came. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all wearing their black dress robes, shook her hand as she came over to them, offering her condolences to both Ron and Ginny.

“Your father was a good man,” she said to them. “He’ll be sorely missed at the Ministry.”

“Thank you, Minister,” Ron said.

Perkins, the man that worked with Mr. Weasley, was blowing into his handkerchief when Mrs. Weasley brought him over to speak to Ron and Ginny. “I’m g-going to m-miss working with h-him!” Perkins sobbed. “He was a r-really smart man who l-loved his j-job.”

Harry saw Amos Diggory and his wife arrive. He shook hands with Bill and Charlie before heading over to Mrs. Weasley to speak to her.

Beside Harry, Ron sighed.

“Look,” Hermione whispered, “it’s the Order.”

They turned to see Albus Dumbledore at the head of a group of witches and wizards. Harry knew the vast majority of them. He could see Professor McGonagall’s pointed hat and Moody’s grizzled gray hair. He saw Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones, and Elphias Doge. Mundungus Fletcher was there, along with Harry’s former neighbor, Mrs. Figg. Lupin was there as well, walking along with Tonks, whose hair was a dark green today. Easiest to spot among them was Hagrid, who was at the rear of the group, wearing his horrible fur-covered jacket and polka-dotted tie.

To Harry’s great displeasure, Snape was also among them. While all the others had sadness written all over their faces, Snape looked indifferent. Dumbledore probably had to force him to come, Harry thought.

There were a few that Harry didn’t know. Harry figured that they were either new recruits or just people that Harry had yet to meet. Either way, it didn’t matter much to Harry as he and the others moved to get closer to the Order.

“My dear Molly,” Dumbledore said, bowing to her. “I am most sorry that we are meeting again under these grave circumstances.”

“I’m happy you came, Professor,” she said.

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore said. “None of us would miss this, our one last chance to say good-bye to a dear friend.”

He moved on then, allowing the others to speak to Mrs. Weasley.

“If you ever need anything, anything at all, Molly, Floo me straight away,” Hestia Jones told her when she had a chance to speak to Mrs. Weasley.

When it was Snape’s turn to pay his respects, he only gave Mrs. Weasley a curt nod and moved on.

“Blech!” muttered George at Harry’s ear. “I hate having Snape here.”

“Greasy git,” Fred muttered.

“He should have stayed at Hogwarts and tinkered with his chemistry set,” George said.

They moved along, muttering darkly about Snape as they went.

“Why is he here, anyway?” Ron asked.

Hagrid sidled over to them. “Hullo,” he said. “I’m really sorry about yer dad.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Ron said.

“Yes, thank you,” Ginny said.

“I except yeh’ve bin hearin’ that all day, haven’t yeh?” They nodded. “Still though, nice ter know that people care. I remember when me dad died. Yeh’re sad fer a long time and then yeh move on. It’s all yeh can do, really,” he said.

“How long did it take for you to move on, Hagrid?” Ginny asked.

“Awhile, ter be honest. Me dad was the only one I had, yeh see. It’s hard, losin’ the only one in the world who loved yeh. Lucky fer yeh and Ron, yeh’ve still got yer mum and brothers. An’ o’ course, yer friends,” he said, giving Harry and Hermione a significant look.

“We’ll always be here,” Hermione murmured.

Hagrid gave her a smile. “Well, I had best move along. I ‘spect other people will be wantin’ ter talk ter yeh.”

“’Bye,” they all said as Hagrid walked away.

Ron sighed again and rubbed his temples. “This day seems even longer than the day we had Percy’s ceremony and it’s only just begun, really.”

“Why are you complaining?” Ginny snapped. “This is for our father.”

“I know that,” Ron said. “I’m not dumb!”

“Then quit acting like it!” Ginny said.

“Ron, Ginny, stop! I doubt very much that your father would have wanted his children to argue on a day like today,” Hermione said. “Besides, look who just arrived.”

Harry, Ron, and Ginny turned to see Luna Lovegood walking toward the tent, accompanied by a man who obviously was her father; his hair was the same dirty blond and his eyes looked just as protuberant.

Ron rushed over to greet them, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny right behind him. “I thought you were in Sweden,” he said.

“We heard about what happened to your dad and decided to come home,” Luna said. “I heard he was eaten by death.”

“He was killed by a Death Eater,” Ron said. Harry was surprised to see that he didn’t look the least bit irritated by having to correct her.

“Oh, that’s what the Swedes meant,” she said. “How awful. I’m very sorry, Ronald—to you as well, Ginny. I know what it’s like to lose a parent.” She turned to the man standing behind her. “This is my dad.”

Mr. Lovegood stepped forward and shook both Ron and Ginny’s hands. “Very sorry about your loss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lovegood,” Ron said.

“These are Ronald’s friends and mine as well, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter,” Luna introduced.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione said, shaking his hand.

“Sir,” Harry said, also shaking his hand.

Mr. Lovegood stared at Harry for a moment. “You know what it’s like to lose your parents as well,” he said.

“Yeah, but I was a lot younger,” Harry said. “I can barely remember it.”

“Daddy,” Luna said, “Mrs. Weasley is over there. You should go say hello.”

“I will,” he said. “Excuse me.”

Behind Luna, Harry saw the approach of two other familiar people. Neville Longbottom was rushing forth, followed by his severe-looking grandmother. “Ginny!” he cried, enveloping her in a large hug when he reached her. “Gran read about your dad in the Prophet. We had to come.”

Mrs. Longbottom stepped forward, looking at all of them with steely eyes. Finally, she held out her hand to Ginny. “Augusta Longbottom. You must be Ginny Weasley, the girl who has stolen my Neville’s heart. I am very sorry for your loss. Losing a family member is…very difficult,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ginny said.

“I will leave you alone. I have just spotted Minerva McGonagall and must chat with her,” Neville’s grandmother said, walking away.

“I wanted to come alone,” Neville said, “but she insisted on coming. Want to go for a walk?” he asked Ginny.

She nodded. “That would be nice.” They left then, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna alone.

“Today’s supposed to be all about Dad, eh?” Ron said scathingly. “The moment her boyfriend shows up, she hightails it out of here!”

“I doubt very much that she and Neville are going off to snog,” Hermione said.

“Don’t defend her,” Ron snapped. “She’s a hypocrite.”

Hermione sighed but, to her credit, said nothing. Instead she scanned the crowd. Harry did so, too. Neville’s grandmother was busy talking to Professor McGonagall, Lupin and Tonks were over talking to two Ministry witches, Professor Dumbledore was in deep conversation with Amelia Bones, and Dedalus Diggle was shaking hands with Mr. Lovegood. Meanwhile, Mundungus Fletcher was trying to give Mrs. Weasley a silver bowl, who was refusing.

“Mundungus, please, I won’t accept this. My family and I are fine, really. I don’t need it,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I bet Mum suspects it was stolen,” Bill said, appearing at Ron’s side. Fleur was next to him.

“Seeing that it’s Dung, it probably was,” Ron said.

“I’m really proud of Mum, though,” Bill said. “She hasn’t cried once.”

“Your muzzer eez a brave woman,” Fleur said, sniffling. “I would be ‘ee-sterical.”

Bill gave her a small smile and kissed the top of her silvery-blonde head. “You’re a brave woman too, Miss Beauxbatons Champion.”

“Zee Triwizard Tournament seems so long ago. But yes, you are right. I am a brave woman, too,” Fleur said, causing Hermione to roll her eyes.

“This is Luna Lovegood, Bill,” Ron said, steering the conversation away from Fleur. “She and her dad are here to pay their respects.”

“Oh, right,” Bill said, shaking Luna’s hand. “You’re dad’s the editor of The Quibbler, right?”

“Yes, he is,” Luna said brightly.

“I ‘ave read zis Quibbler. It is full of zee strangest stories,” Fleur said. “I would much razzer read zee Prophet.”

“The Prophet is biased,” Luna said flatly.

“Yet more credible,” Fleur said, causing Luna’s eyes to narrow.

“Er—we’ve got to move, don’t we sweetheart?” Bill said, sensing an argument. “We have a lot more people to talk to.”

“Oui. C’est vrai,” Fleur said and walked away with Bill, not saying another word to them.

Luna watched Fleur go. “She’s very full of herself,” she said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Yes, she is.”

“Your brother—William—really likes her though, doesn’t he, Ronald?” Luna said.

“Er—yeah. Maybe it’s the part of her that’s veela that attracts him so much,” he suggested.

“I believe you’re right,” Luna said. “It’s good that you aren’t.”

“Yeah—er—well…” Ron muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I really appreciate you cutting your trip short to be here,” he said instead.

“It was a simple choice,” Luna said. “As I said, I know what it’s like to lose a parent.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron said quietly.

“Nothing can be said or done to make a person feel better,” she went on. “But your dad is still here, you know.”

“What, in spirit?” Ron said, suddenly giving her a sharp look. “I can’t talk to him that way.”

“Sure you can,” Luna said. “I talk to my mum all the time.”

The look he gave her now was nonplussed. “Is she a ghost?”

“No,” Luna said. “She lives inside me. Whenever I question which path I should take, I consult my mum.”

“How?”

“I think about which path my mum would want me to take and then choose the one she would have said was right for me,” Luna told him.

“But how do you know?” Ron asked.

“I just do. So will you, one day,” Luna said.

“So you never really hear your mum’s voice,” Ron said.

“No, but I know where it’s at,” Luna said.

He stared at her incredulously. “Where?”

“Behind the veil,” she said simply.

Harry knew immediately what she was talking about, the veiled archway in one of the rooms in the Department of Mysteries. One and a half years ago, when Harry and his friends had gone to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius, he had heard the voices behind the veil and had desired to see what was behind it. He had desired it even more so after Sirius had been blasted through the veil by Bellatrix Lestrange, which effectively killed him. He shuddered at the memory.

“Daddy says that the Unspeakables exhume the bodies of wizards after they’ve been buried and take them to the veil, where they send them through,” Luna said. “That archway is the gateway to the afterlife.”

Both Harry and Ron stared at her. Hermione, however, looked thoroughly unconvinced and said, somewhat tentatively, “But digging up a body goes against most of the sacred traditions of this world, both wizarding and Muggle alike.”

“They do it,” Luna said, shrugging her shoulders. “When I die, I don’t care what’s done to my body as long as my spirit is with the people I love.”

Harry looked down at his feet. Seeing as he was probably going to die sooner than the rest of them, he wondered whether or not he would care if the Unspeakables took his body to the Department of Mysteries.

Why should it? You’re dead, said a wicked little voice in the back of his head. You won’t have any more use for it, so why worry?

Harry suddenly wondered exactly what happened when a person died. Some, of course, became ghosts, but what happened to those who had a happier existence? Then again, if he died by Voldemort’s hand, he wouldn’t be happy. Would he come back as a ghost?

Well, then I can always be with Hermione, he thought, then shuddered. No, he didn’t want to haunt her. If he died, as painful as it was for him to think about it, he’d rather have her move on and live her life instead of moping around, even with his ghostly company. It wouldn’t be right for her.

Then again, why was he even thinking like that in the first place? It wasn’t guaranteed that Voldemort was going to kill him. That’s why he was training, after all—to prevent that very outcome. No, he was a lot stronger than he was giving himself credit and he knew it. Everyone who had ever seen him duel agreed: he was good at it. He could think on his feet and with every training session he was becoming more and more confident that he could do some serious damage to Voldemort when the time came.

“What’s she doing here?” Hermione suddenly hissed at his side, bringing him out of his reverie.

Harry turned to see who Hermione was staring daggers at and immediately saw a squat woman with mousy brown hair and a toad-like face. He felt his blood begin to boil. “Umbridge,” he growled.

Dolores Umbridge, one of the people on Harry’s Five Most Hated list, walked into the tent wearing robes of black velvet. She completely ignored everyone and bee-lined straight for Amelia Bones, who was now talking to a wizard with extremely bushy eyebrows.

“Minister!” they heard her say in her high-pitched, girly voice. “What a pleasant surprise!” Her tone, however, made it clear that it was clearly not a surprise to her at all. “Are you here to give your condolences to the Weasley family as well?”

“Yes. Arthur Weasley was a valued member of the Ministry, after all. It’s good to see you here as well, Dolores,” Madam Bones said.

“Oh, of course, of course. I had to come. After all, I had four of the Weasley children in my class while I taught at Hogwarts,” Umbridge said.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione bristled.

“Then you should go say hello to them,” Madam Bones said, looking around. “Ah, I see Arthur’s youngest son—Ronald, I believe—is over there with his friends.”

The four of them immediately turned around. “Please don’t let her come over…please don’t let her come over…please, please, please don’t let her come over,” Hermione whispered quickly.

“Hem, hem,” said someone directly behind them, causing all four of them to jump. Slowly, they turned around to face Umbridge.

“Hello, Weasley, Granger, Lovegood…Potter,” she said, her lip curling in disgust as she said his name. None of them said anything. “What? No greeting for your former professor? Where are your manners?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know we needed to waste them on the likes of you,” Harry said boldly.

“Tut, tut, Mr. Potter, I see you have not changed,” Umbridge said in her girly voice.

“Why are you here?” Ron spat. “You couldn’t possibly care that my dad’s dead.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione said. “She’s trying to look good in front of Madam Bones. After all, you’re no longer a senior undersecretary, are you?”

Umbridge scowled. “Amelia Bones may have wanted someone else to fill the job for her, but I am still a valued member of the Ministry, more so than your father,” she said, glaring at Ron.

“Don’t you say a word about my dad,” Ron said, his face burning red.

“Why not? Don’t you want to hear some of my memories of him?” Umbridge asked, trying to pass off a sweet voice. “I remember the inquiry he had to face after you and Mr. Potter flew an enchanted car to Hogwarts. I remember how horribly he dealt with the press at the Quidditch World Cup, helping to make a bigger mess of things. Oh yes, I remember your father very well. He was a failure.”

Ron’s eye twitched. He looked like he was about to explode any moment.

“That’s why it didn’t surprise me to hear about his death,” Umbridge went on and then gave a little giggle. “After all, who in their right mind would raid a Death Eater’s home? It’s his own fault he got killed.”

Harry and Hermione had to hold Ron back. His face was so red it looked as though it could catch on fire.

“You foul…you evil…” Hermione muttered, her face livid.

“Careful, Miss Granger. I imagine you want to be employed by the Ministry after you leave Hogwarts? The department you want to get into may ask me for a recommendation,” Umbridge said with a simper.

“Dolores,” said a sharp voice. All of them looked over to see Professor McGonagall walking over to them.

“Minerva,” Umbridge greeted. “Just talking to my old students.”

“I heard,” McGonagall said. “For your information, I already have a recommendation letter written for Miss Granger for whenever she needs it, as do several other members of the staff at Hogwarts, not that she really needs them. Her test scores alone would get her into any department in the Ministry no matter what anyone says.”

Hermione went red at his compliment.

“You have more confidence in the girl than I,” Umbridge said.

“I have more confidence in the lot of them than you do, Dolores,” McGonagall said. “Now, I imagine you have a lot more sucking up to do with the Ministry folks here, so why don’t you get on with it and leave the Weasleys to grieve in peace.”

Umbridge gave each of them a nasty look before walking away. Professor McGonagall turned to the four of them. “Are you alright, Weasley? Granger? Potter?”

They nodded. “Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said.

She gave her a short nod. “You’re very welcome. I’ll leave you to continue your conversation with Miss Lovegood.”

Ron, however, obviously didn’t want to chat. The moment McGonagall had left, he stormed out of the tent. Harry glanced at both Hermione and Luna before sighing. “I’ll go,” he said and took off after Ron.

He followed Ron all the way up to his room. He tried slamming the door, but Harry caught it. “Ron…”

“That bitch!” he said savagely. “That bitch! It’s not true! It’s not my dad’s fault that he died!”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said quietly. “She was just trying to rile you up. She was trying to rile all of us up.”

“I hate her,” Ron spat. “I hate that bloody woman. It’s not my dad’s fault. It’s not. A Death Eater killed him, just like a Death Eater killed Percy! Just like how they tried to kill us all and burn Ottery St. Catchpole to the ground the summer before last. You remember, don’t you, Harry?” he ranted.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “I remember.”

“It’s not my dad’s fault that he died! It’s…it’s…it’s…” He took a deep breath and visibly tried to calm himself. When he spoke again, it was in a deadly whisper. “I hope you kill him.”

Harry was taken aback. “Who?”

Ron’s eyes were like blazing blue fires when he breathed, “Voldemort.”

Author’s Note: Thanks to all you reviewers out there and thanks to Charmaine as well for betaing this! Enjoy! I’m off to prepare the next chapter!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN

Knowing Ron’s strong support toward what Harry had to do precisely to complete the prophecy gave Harry an extra incentive for his training. When classes were back in session the following term, Harry decided he needed to step up his progress in his meetings not only with Moody and Lupin, but with Dumbledore as well. He needed to completely master Occlumency to keep Voldemort out of his mind, but he also needed to figure out how to control his abilities with wandless magic.

Therefore, when Harry went back to Dumbledore for training, he gave it his best effort yet. Dumbledore was very pleased.

“Excellent, Harry, well done!” Dumbledore said when Harry was able to cast a perfect Disarming Charm on him. “I must say, whatever dwells within today is doing you a great service.”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked.

“I have been studying you during our lessons,” Dumbledore said. “You perform wandless magic best when you are either not knowing that you’re doing it or when you feel particularly strong, usually positive emotions. May I ask what you’re feeling now?”

“Determined,” Harry replied. “Determined to master this.”

“Good. Excellent. I’m glad you feel that way. Our work here is very important.”

“I know. That’s why I’m trying so hard,” Harry said.

“You are a remarkable young man, Harry. You know what lies ahead, but you don’t fear it. I am very proud of what you have accomplished already.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dumbledore sat down, motioning for Harry to do the same. “So, how are your friends?”

“Sir?”

“Ron and Ginny. How are they doing?”

“Okay, sir, I guess. Ginny’s been rather quiet while Ron seems to be coping,” Harry told him, sitting down. “It pains me that they’ve had two deaths in their family in the span of six months. They don’t deserve that. Nobody does.”

“I agree. Molly must be terribly frantic now that Fred and George want to join the Order. I have considered not letting them,” Dumbledore said.

“They’d be good for the Order, though,” Harry said.

“Oh, don’t I know it. They’re clever young men and their inventions are ingenious in their own little ways. Still, to put the Weasley family at greater risk…”

Harry frowned. He didn’t want the Weasleys to put themselves at risk anymore, but he also understood that they were in the middle of a war. “It’s their choice,” he said quietly. “They alone should be allowed to make it.”

“You think so?” Dumbledore said.

“It’s their lives,” Harry said flatly. “Who are we to say that they shouldn’t fight in the war. The more people that do, the more likely the chance that Voldemort will fail.”

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes as he nodded. “Precisely. Unfortunately, casualties are a part of war, even multiple casualties in the same family. While I completely understand Molly’s fears, I cannot simply say no to Messrs. Weasley. After all, they’re the type who would become vigilantes.”

“Mrs. Weasley definitely wouldn’t want that,” Harry said.

“No, quite not,” Dumbledore agreed.

“I think you should grant them membership,” Harry said.

“I am still deliberating. They are rather young,” Dumbledore said.

“They’ve been out of Hogwarts for a full year now. Weren’t my parents, Sirius, and Professor Lupin that young when they joined before?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Younger, actually. The whole lot of them were eighteen when they joined. I believe Fred and George are currently nineteen and will be twenty this April.”

“So what’s the difference, then, Professor?” Harry asked.

“The Order is a lot bigger this time and has been around for years. Last time, when your parents joined, it was just starting. I’ve had years to recruit older witches and wizards. You are right, however, there really is no difference,” Dumbledore said. “I thank you, Harry. You have helped me clear up some of my arguments about not letting Fred and George join.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment. “How old d’you have to be to join the Order, anyway?”

“I prefer older individuals who fully understand the risks of going to war,” Dumbledore said.

“I see. Er—were we going to continue, sir?” he asked.

“No, I think this is a good place to end tonight’s session. I will see you next week, Harry.”

“Yes, sir. Good night,” Harry said and got up, thinking hard. From the sound of it, Dumbledore was hesitant to let younger wizards into the Order. He probably had himself a little rule: No wizards under twenty allowed. As Harry trudged up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, he couldn’t help but think that having an age restriction was slightly unfair.

*****

Classes were harder than ever now that N.E.W.T.s were only six months away. Snape’s poisons and antidotes were getting more and more complicated. McGonagall was layering on the homework about transfiguring humans into animals, something that reminded Harry of the time that the fake Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret.

Charms was becoming extremely difficult as well. Flitwick was having them learn how to perform multiple charms at once.

“It’s more about learning how to continue a charm after administering another one,” Flitwick said in his squeaky voice. “It’s about concentration.” He took out his wand and, with the all-to-familiar swish and flick movement that Harry had seen since he was a first year, he levitated Terry Boot’s book. With another flick of his wand, it started to spin. With yet another flick of his wand, Justin Finch-Fletchley’s book from across the room levitated and spun at the same time. “See?” He lowered the spinning books back to their desks. “Now, you try. Pick any two charms and see what you can do.”

They got to work. Ron set his book on fire while also trying to send a jet of water at it. The second charm failed and his book became a fireball. Hermione quickly put it out and repaired it.

“Aw, you couldn’t let it burn a bit longer?” Ron said.

Harry, meanwhile, was trying to Summon one object and Banish another at the same time. He succeeded in Summoning Hermione’s book, but failed to send his over to her.

“Accio book,” she said, causing her book to fly back to her outstretched hands. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Harry tried again, but got the same result. “You try,” he said.

She nodded and closed her eyes. Then, with a swift flick of her wand, the books traded places, soaring past each other and landing neatly on the opposite desk. Opening her eyes, she grinned.

“I hate it when she does that,” Ron muttered.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was where Harry had the upper hand. They were still learning about vampires, but as he had experience dealing with vampires, he felt extremely confident about their next lesson, which was on warding them off.

“Wands out, books away,” Lupin said when he entered the classroom, although he needn’t had told them that—everyone already had their wands out in anticipation of the class. Curiously, he was hearing a hooded cloak instead of his usual shabby robes. “I told you that we’re going to practice warding off vampires today, which is exactly what we’re going to do—”

“Do you have a real vampire for us to practice on?” Pansy Parkinson asked.

“No. You’re going to practice on—ah—me,” he said.

“You?” Pansy said. “Oh, then shouldn’t we use silver instead of garlic?” Several of the Slytherins laughed.

Lupin, meanwhile, had gone quite pale. “No, Miss Parkinson. I’d rather you use your imagination today and pretend that I’m a vampire. I even brought in a little visual aid to help.” He turned his back to the class and pulled up the hood of his cloak over his head. The class leaned forward in interest. They couldn’t tell what else he was doing, but it took him several moments to do whatever it was. When he finally did turn around, some gasped while others laughed.

Lupin had put in a set of fake vampire teeth that usually accompanied Muggle Halloween costumes. He also changed his eye color to a goldenrod. The affect was somewhat alarming, yet also somewhat comical in Harry’s opinion. Lupin gave a small smile and spat out the teeth so that he could address his class.

“Not perfect, I know, but it should help,” he said. “Now, after I’m done explaining, I’m going to send all of you outside. You’ll enter the classroom alone and I, the—er—hungry vampire, will come out and attack you. You must conjure up something with your wand to ward me off. All of us know what wards a vampire off, right?” When the class nodded, he continued, “Take this seriously because a real vampire attack is and knowing this might just save your life. Now that I’ve said that, off you go. Form a line outside. Give me about a minute and then the first person can enter, okay?”

“What a weirdo,” Theodore Nott said when all of them exited the classroom and began to line up. “Don’t you think so, Malfoy?”

Most of them turned toward Malfoy, who stood at the back of the line wearing a bored look. He shrugged and said in a drab tone, “A werewolf pretending to be a vampire. Ironic.” Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

Susan Bones was at the front of the line. “Do you think I can go in?” she asked, looking rather nervous.

“Go on, Susan. I’m sure Professor Lupin’s ready,” said Hannah Abbott.

“Yeah, go on in before you chicken out,” Pansy Parkinson said.

“Leave her alone,” Harry said loudly from his place in the middle of line. Susan was a member of the D.A., so he felt a need to stick up for her. “Go ahead.”

Susan took a deep breath and walked resolutely back into the classroom. She walked out five minutes later looking pale but very relieved. This same trend continued down the line until it was finally Harry’s turn after Padma Patil came out. Determined, he walked directly into the classroom without a word to either Ron or Hermione behind him and closed the door.

It was pitch black inside the classroom. Harry quickly got out his wand and muttered, “Lumos.” He held his wand high like a torch, looking around. There was no sign of Lupin. He began to scan the room slowly, his senses on high alert.

He thought he heard a rustling sound somewhere behind him. Immediately, he whispered, “Nox,” and slipped between two desks. He backtracked in the next row and then hunkered down. He held out his hand and, nearly inaudibly, said, “Allium Sativum.” From his wand popped out a clove of garlic. He repeated the spell thrice more before he was satisfied.

It was then that his eyes were finally adjusted to see a lurking figure in the classroom, looking around toward the front of the classroom. Concentrating hard, he levitated the garlic cloves and then jumped up, at the same time lighting his wand and shooting the garlic across the room at the figure. He saw the figure dive underneath a desk for cover as the garlic started to bounce on top of it. Slowly, with his lit wand, Harry walked over to the desk and found the hooded Lupin, grinning.

“Boo,” Lupin said.

“Boo yourself,” Harry said, holding out a hand and helping Lupin up. The garlic finally stopped bouncing on top of the desk.

“That was a lot of nifty spellwork you did there,” Lupin said. “I’ll have to mention it to Professor Flitwick the next time I see him.”

Harry felt himself go red. “Thanks.” He looked around. “So—er—was this all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Lupin said. “I didn’t think you’d have much trouble doing this. Everyone’s done a good job thus far. I think what really scared them was when I told them I was counting this as a test.”

“Oh.”

“You get full marks. You also get extra credit for not being afraid of the dark and also one-upping me. Even in this ridiculous outfit I’ve managed to scare most of your classmates,” Lupin said with a laugh.

“I think that’s because you snuck up on them, sir,” Harry said, grinning.

“Not you though. You used your ears.”

“Well, I did clean them out this morning, sir,” Harry said, causing Lupin to laugh again.

“Okay, Harry, you can go. Just turn off the light before you do,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Happy spooking,” Harry said, leaving Lupin behind and flicking his wand, causing the light at the tip to go out.

*****

The new term also meant the return of Quidditch practice. Harry had his team out Friday evening to see what the winter had done to their performance and was pleasantly surprised to see that it hadn’t done a thing—they were still in the top notch shape they were in when they played Slytherin.

“Excellent job today,” he told them in the locker room afterward. “If we keep this up, Hufflepuff should be shaking in their trainers.”

After scheduling another practice for the following Tuesday, Harry let them go and began to walk back up toward the castle with Ron.

“Good practice,” Ron commented. “Of course, there’s always room for improvement—”

“They exceeded my expectations,” Harry said. “And sure, everyone could get better. We’re amateurs, after all.”

“Some of us could become professionals, though,” Ron said. “If I got an offer to play on a professional Quidditch team, I’d do it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Well, I was hoping to get a summer job at Fred and George’s shop and then maybe try to get into the Department of Magical Games and Sports. That ought to be fun,” Ron said.

“Are you looking to be the next Ludo Bagman?” Harry asked.

Ron gave him a disgusted look. “No way! That blithering idiot? Besides, he was a nightmare as the Head of that department. How long did it take him to start searching for what’s-her-name?”

“Bertha Jorkins.”

“Yeah, her. Then look at his gambling problem. No, that man is definitely not a role model for me,” Ron said.

They were entering the castle and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. Hermione was already there, a large textbook propped open against her glass of pumpkin juice. She glanced up at them as they sat down. “Good practice?” she asked.

“Very. What’re you reading?” Harry asked.

“My Arithmancy homework,” she replied. “Professor Vector wants us to read eighty pages by the next class.”

“Ouch. Harsh,” Ron said, pulling a plate of kippers toward him.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Hermione said. “I’ve got one-hundred and thirty pages to read in Ancient Runes.”

“I’m so happy I’m not you,” Ron said.

Harry chuckled. “Remind him that he’s got a Charms essay to do,” he said.

“Thanks, Harry. Just what I wanted to be reminded of,” Ron said. “At least I don’t have Potions.”

“Yes, well, now I know how to poison a person over twelve different ways,” Harry said. “The only problem is I’m never sure which antidote to use.”

“Nice. Let’s poison Malfoy,” Ron said.

“Ron!” Hermione scolded.

“With a non-lethal poison,” Ron amended. “Let’s make him hiccup or something for the rest of his life.”

“You should know how to make a Hiccupping Solution,” Hermione said.

“You act like I remember half of the stuff that we did in Potions,” Ron said.

She gave an exasperated sigh and went back to her reading, occasionally forking a piece of her dinner.

“How about a game of Exploding Snap when we get back to the common room?” Ron suggested.

“I can’t. I have—er—lessons with Dumbledore this evening,” Harry said.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. He lays those lessons on thick, doesn’t he? Every Tuesday and every other Friday. That’s rough, mate,” Ron said.

“Dumbledore just wants to make sure that Harry is a master at Occlumency,” Hermione said.

“That’s pretty much it,” Harry said.

“The better Harry gets at it, the less of a chance Voldemort has of hurting him,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, but he also has less of a chance of being able to warn the Ministry of when Voldemort’s about to attack,” Ron said.

Hearing Ron say Voldemort’s name was very odd to Harry. He was used to his friend shuddering or cringing whenever the Dark Lord’s name was mentioned. It always gave Harry a small jolt of surprise whenever Ron said it, but it also filled Harry with pride that Ron had finally overcome his fear of the name. Unfortunately, it had taken quite a catalyst for him to do so.

“Unfortunately, some sacrifices have to be made to keep Harry—the only person who can beat Voldemort—safe,” Hermione said. “I don’t like these unforeseen horrific attacks any more than you do, Ron, but we have to face facts. What Harry can do, what he can see, is dangerous. Look at what Voldemort did to him just for seeing something that Voldemort wanted to keep very secret.”

“Basically we’re talking about a Catch Twenty-Two,” Harry said, finishing off his pumpkin juice and checking his watch. “I’d better get going. I don’t want to be late.”

He left them at the Gryffindor table and headed up to the fourth floor where Lupin told him that night’s training session would take place. He was looking forward to getting back into it. Last time they trained, Moody said he’d teach him how defend himself against someone using a weapon.

He was early, which he knew he would be. He waited around for fifteen minutes when Moody and Lupin walked into the classroom. Moody was carrying a large, heavy-looking bag. Lupin gave him a small smile and settled in the corner of the room. Harry waited, expectantly.

“Lupin told me how easily you ‘warded’ him off in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class,” Moody said gruffly. “Very good.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“But you were prepared for attack then. It’s a little different when you aren’t.”

“I know. It’s a lot different,” Harry said. “Although Professor Lupin tried to sneak up on me.”

“I scared the wits out of Vincent Crabbe when I did that,” Lupin said with a rueful smile.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that a Death Eater’s boy is a pansy?” Moody said, setting his bag down and opening it. “They all are. Terrified into the service of You-Know-Who and continuously terrified that he’ll kill them.

“Center of the room, Potter. We’ve got work to do,” he finished, taking a long staff from his bag.

Harry walked into the center of the room. “Will I need my wand?”

“Only if you think you do,” Moody said, rotating the staff.

Harry, taking that as a yes, took out his wand and prepared himself. When it came to Moody, he knew to expect anything and everything.

“Most wizards don’t use weapons unless they’re wandless,” Moody told him, still rotating the staff. “Then again, some bewitch knives and stuff to follow after a person and try to hack them to pieces.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I had to take down someone like that once. He wasn’t right in the head.

“To be a good Auror, though, you’ve got to know how to defend yourself against these types. More importantly,” he said, suddenly swinging the staff so violently at Harry. It collided directly with his wand and sent it clattering away from him. “More importantly, you have to learn how to do it without a wand. You won’t always be able to use that, Potter. Things happen.”

Harry glared at Moody furiously. If he hadn’t wanted him to use a wand, why didn’t he say so when he asked? He could have broken it, after all! Then again, Harry mused, Moody was probably trying to show off.

So they began. Moody kept swinging the staff, trying to hit Harry around the head, or give him a nasty blow to the ribs. Harry dodged and weaved underneath and around the staff, jumping over it twice when Moody tried to knock his legs out from under him.

Moody tried an axe-like blow to the head next, leading Harry to reach up and catch the staff. They struggled with it for several minutes, knocking desks around as each of them tried to seize control. Finally, Moody shoved him back with such force that it knocked Harry straight into a wall and caused him to let go. Moody swung the staff around and, taking it in both of his hands, pressed it up against Harry’s throat.

“See, Potter? See how easy it can be? That’s why you’ve got to learn how to defend yourself.”

Harry tried to speak but all he made was a gurgling sound in his throat. Moody released him and he collapsed to the floor, panting.

“Merlin, Moody, how hard were you pressing that thing to him?” Lupin asked, stepping away from his corner and examining Harry.

“Hard enough for him to get the idea of how bad it can be,” Moody said. “Don’t coddle the boy, Lupin. This is what he’s here to learn.”

Lupin stepped away and slowly, Harry regained his footing. With a steadying breath, he said, “Let’s try that again.”

A smile came over Moody’s features. “That’s what I like about you, Potter. You’re willing to keep going until you’ve got it.”

With that, he struck, aiming toward Harry’s legs. Harry, however, was ready and jumped over the staff before ducking as Moody swung it back around to hit his head. He dodged another blow and narrowly missed having his right thigh receive a sharp smack. Then Harry grabbed the nearest object he could find—an eraser—and threw it as hard as he could. Moody swatted it away and laughed.

“Good, Potter, good! Use your surroundings!”

Harry dodged another blow and managed to lift up a chair. He used it to block a few of Moody’s blows, but ended up dropping it because it was starting to get too heavy for him.

“Keep it up, Potter! Use your brain!” Moody said, trying to hit him behind the knees, but Harry jerked out of the way at the last second.

They kept going for another fifteen minutes until Moody tried to slam Harry in his left side, but Harry caught the staff and turned, using the momentum to force the staff out of Moody’s hands. Harry continued the spin until he was facing Moody again, only now he had the staff in his hands, stopping it an inch away from Moody’s throat.

Moody gave him a toothy grin. “Well done, Potter. I’m impressed.”

Harry was panting again. “Thank you.”

Moody gave him a crude look now. “Have you been doing your runs, Potter?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s time to add push-ups and sit-ups to your daily routine. Fifty each, along with your morning jog,” Moody said.

“Fifty!” Harry cried.

“Fifty,” Moody repeated. “That’ll be all, Potter.”

Lupin stepped forward. “You did a great job today. Your dad would have been amazed by how well you did today.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “See you in class, Professor.”

Harry left the classroom, pleased with his performance. If Moody was impressed, he would probably have him do something harder during the next training session, which Harry considered to be a very good thing. The harder the task assigned to him, the more he would be prepared for.

He pulled back a tapestry and headed up the staircase behind it, only to stop once he reached the other tapestry concealing it on the fifth floor. He could hear Peeves cackling merrily as he passed by, followed up by voices that sounded like they were less than ten feet away.

“I guess I should thank you for that,” said a voice that Harry recognized. It was Ginny.

“Don’t mention it,” came the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. “Seriously. Don’t.”

“Fine. I know you have your reputation to uphold. What were you up here for anyway?” Ginny asked.

“The prefects’ bathroom, if you have to know,” Malfoy replied. “The bath is the size of a pool. I’m surprised your brother never told you. I’m surprised he doesn’t boast about being a prefect very often at all.”

“I’m happy I’m not a prefect,” Ginny said. “He’s got no reason to boast to me.”

“What? You don’t want the power?” he asked.

“No. I don’t need it. I’m happy the way I am,” she said.

“I see.” There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke until Malfoy finally said, “I read about your father in the paper.”

There was another, much shorter, pause. “Did you?”

“Yes. I—er—I am…sorry for you,” he said with what sounded like great difficulty.

“Are you really?” Ginny asked. “I’m surprised you aren’t terribly happy about it, considering you and your father hate my family. Just because my father loved Muggles didn’t mean he was any less of a wizard.”

“I have no great love for your family, that’s for sure,” Malfoy snapped, “but I do know what it’s like to lose a parent, if you remember. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“And here I thought you would,” Ginny said darkly.

“Don’t act like you know me, Weasley,” Malfoy said. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“I know that for the past six years you’ve been a royal prick to my brother and friends. You’ve done a lot of awful things in your life, Draco, and you’re not even out of Hogwarts,” Ginny said.

Harry could tell that he had opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but instead said, “I know I have. I took great joy in the suffering of others.”

There was a long pause. “And now?” Ginny finally said.

“And now I’m the one who’s suffering. It all comes full circle, you see? I tried to ruin the lives of others only to have mine ruined in return, to have what’s most precious to me taken away. At least you have a family that loves you, no matter how many members you lose,” Malfoy said. “I don’t have that anymore.”

“Doesn’t your father love you?” Ginny asked.

Malfoy gave a harsh, cruel laugh. “Love me? He only wants to exploit me and make me a servant of the Dark Lord. The only thing my father loves is power. That’s all he wants in life.”

“I thought you wanted the same thing, Draco,” Ginny said.

“I did, once. Now…now…I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this, Weasley,” Malfoy murmured.

“Have you talked to anyone else about it?” she asked.

“How could I? Most of my friends’ families are in league with the Dark Lord. If I voice any dissenting thought, it’ll get back to my father so quickly that he’ll bring me before the Dark Lord for execution. I can’t trust them.”

“You’ll have to find somebody to trust eventually,” Ginny said. “You can’t keep living like this, bottling everything up. It’s not healthy.”

“You don’t understand, Ginny. Even if I swore Crabbe and Goyle, or somebody else, to secrecy, it wouldn’t be any good. The Dark Lord can read minds. He knows everything.”

“He doesn’t know everything. No one could,” Ginny said. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Yeah, well, being paranoid is what’s keeping me safe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my common room. You should as well,” he said.

“Good-bye, Draco, and good luck,” Ginny said.

Harry shook his head as he listened to both sets of footfalls die away. That was the second encounter he had overheard between the two of them. How many more had there been? More importantly, why were they happening? Why were Ginny and Malfoy being so civil to each other? In Harry’s mind, it just didn’t make sense. What was going on between the two of them?

Author’s Note: Okay, so I had a lot of fun writing this chapter because I finally decided it was time for a secondary ship to shine. Consider this chapter my contribution to the HMS Red Moon. Have fun!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RED MOON RISING

Partially because he didn’t want to upset Ron and partially because he didn’t want Ginny to know that he inadvertently eavesdropped on her, which would probably anger her to the point of using the Bat Bogey Hex, Harry decided against telling Ron and Hermione about what he had overheard when he got back to the common room. Instead, he settled down and did his homework, earning an approving smile from Hermione and a roll of the eyes from Ron.

“Whatever happened to the Harry that did his homework at the last possible second?” Ron asked.

“He keeps getting suppressed by the Harry that continuously seeks the approval of one Hermione Granger,” Harry replied.

Hermione beamed at him. “Hermione Granger is pleased that the new Harry continuously seeks her approval.”

“While Ron Weasley thinks it sucks. Blimey, why the hell are all of us talking in the third person?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “Perhaps we’ve finally lost it.”

Ron shrugged. “Well, it was bound to happen one day.”

Harry and Hermione chuckled appreciatively. “So, what d’you want to do this weekend after I finish my homework and Ron continues to procrastinate?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered. “Do you have any ideas, Ron.”

“Er—I dunno. Go outside and have a huge snowball fight?” he said.

“All weekend long?” Hermione asked.

“We can ask Ginny and Neville to join us. Luna, too,” he added. “We can get the Creevey brothers in on it, too, so that Harry can finally pummel them.”

“Why would I want to do that, beside the obvious?” Harry asked.

“Because it would be fun.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded.

“It would! I’ve wanted to drop that camera of theirs down a toilet for years,” Ron said.

“Why? They never really bothered you,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, but they annoy my best mate a lot, snapping pictures of him whenever they get the chance. A little revenge would be good,” Ron said.

Hermione gave a little laugh. “I’m sure that made a lot more sense in your head.”

“Thanks for volunteering to be my first target tomorrow, Hermione,” Ron said, grinning.

“Good luck trying to get me. You do know that you’ll have to take down your best mate to get to me, right?” Hermione said.

“Why would I have to do that?” Ron asked.

“Because I’ll be protecting her,” Harry said, also grinning. “It’s what you do for your girlfriend—before you dump snow down their shirt.”

“Harry!” Hermione cried as Ron roared in laughter.

“I’m only joking, Hermione,” Harry said. “Whoever throws a snowball at you has to deal with me, even though you’re pretty good at defending yourself.”

“My hero,” Hermione said in a mock breathy voice.

“Merlin,” was all Ron could mutter.

*****

It wasn’t anything Harry had expected. Ron had invited Luna to join them, while Harry and Hermione told Neville and Ginny and requested that they’d invite whoever they wished, yet somehow, when they walked down to the flattest part of the snow-covered grounds, a lot of Gryffindors, several Ravenclaws, and even a handful of Hufflepuffs were already down there, milling about and waiting. Harry gave Ron a look, who simply shrugged.

“Don’t ask me how this happened,” he said.

Luna, who was already down there, ran up to greet them. “Hello, Ronald! Hi, Harry—Hermione!” she said, her eyes dreamy. “Word spread fast about this snowball war you’re conducting.”

“Conducting? Snowball war? What? How did they find out?” Harry demanded.

“Some people overheard Ronald asking me if I wanted to join in on a huge snowball fight. After he left, they asked me for details. I guess they wanted to fight, too. The next thing I know, I became very popular in the Ravenclaw common room with people asking me about it. Rumors spread around Hogwarts faster than a Firebolt flies. I think that’s why so many Ravenclaws are here. Maybe a few of the Hufflepuffs, too,” Luna said, looking around. “It is a nice turnout.”

“It was never supposed to be this big,” Harry said, spotting Neville and Ginny amongst the crowd of people, already preparing snowballs. He marched down to them with Ron, Hermione, and Luna in his wake. “Who, exactly, did you invite?” he asked when he reached them.

“Ron told me to invite the Creeveys,” Ginny said. “Neville and I invited Seamus and Dean but that’s it. I suspect this whole mess is Colin and Dennis’s fault. You know how they are.”

Harry groaned. “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair and turned back to Ron and Hermione. “What d’you reckon we should do?”

“I say have the snowball—er—war,” Hermione said. “It’ll be good for school morale.”

“Let’s make it a House competition!” Ron said.

“No! We can’t do that,” Hermione said.

“Why not?”

“Because it goes against everything Dumbledore’s trying to promote—House unity!” Hermione said.

“Maybe we could make it a free-for-all,” Harry said.

“Why don’t you just intermix the Houses?” Luna suggested.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at her for a moment. Then Harry smiled. “Good thinking, Luna.”

Ron laughed. “She’s not in Ravenclaw for nothing, is she?” he said, causing Luna to glow.

“Okay, so—erm—how do we want to start this?” Harry asked.

“Simple,” Hermione said, taking out her wand and pointing it at her throat. “Sonorus,” she said before turning to the crowd. “Hello! It’s nice to see all of you on this fine winter day. I guess all of you heard about the snowball fight that some of us were organizing. It’s great to have you here with us. I’m very pleased you decided to join us because that just adds to the fun! Anyway, I’m not quite sure how many people are here, but the Head Boy and I, along with a couple prefects, thought it would be a good idea for everyone to just form some teams. No more than six to a team, I think, and, for a little more excitement, no more than three people from one House on a team, got it? So, let’s divide up and get this thing started!”

“Brilliant,” Ron said to Hermione. “So, let’s see. You, me, Harry, Luna, and two others—sorry, Ginny. Sorry, Neville.”

“It’s okay,” Neville said.

“Yeah. I’ll get to cream you that way,” Ginny said with a wink before she and Neville walked away to find a group.

“She wishes,” Ron muttered.

Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott ran over to them. “Hey, great idea!” Hannah said. “This is a great way to relax after a hectic week back in classes. Those professors are laying it on thick now, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Pretty thick.”

“Hannah and I were wondering if we might join your team,” Ernie said. “You only have four and the two of us will make six.”

“That would be great,” Hermione said.

“Come on, let’s get to making an arsenal,” Harry said, looking around. “We’re going to need it.”

They spent the next few minutes using their wands to create a small pile of snowballs. Finally, Hermione put her wand to her throat again and said, “Everyone ready? GO!”

Snowballs went flying through the air in every direction. Some threw them, while others charmed theirs to fly through the air like white, powdery Bludgers. Others were creating snow walls to help protect them.

Harry threw a few snowballs as hard as he could in different directions. Hermione was behind him, bewitching a good seven or eight to fly around until they hit someone. Ron was working with Luna on constructing some sort of snow catapult, while Ernie and Hannah busied themselves by working on a wall with their wands.

Clearly through the flying snowballs, Harry could see both Ginny and Neville, who were working with a group of Ravenclaws, throwing and laughing. Harry was even able to pick out Hunter, who looked like he was working with both Ally and the first year Tara Ryder, fighting against Dylan and their other friend Laura MacKenzie. Dean and Seamus were trying to get their snowballs to attack a group of fourth years, while the Creevey brothers worked with a few Hufflepuffs to make a sort of snow fort.

Suddenly, a two third-year Ravenclaws began to lob big, fat snowballs at them. One of them was heading straight for Hermione.

“Duck!” he cried and pointed his wand at the snowballs, firing off a few spells to destroy them.

Hermione ran over to Harry’s side. “Which way did those come from?”

“Over there,” he said, pointing at the Ravenclaws.

Hermione waved her wand in a looping sort of fashion. Ten perfect snowballs rose from the ground and zoomed off for the third years. They watched idly for a moment as the third years shrieked and ran for it, causing them to laugh.

The battle continued. People were laughing and getting pelted with snow. Ron and Luna finally got the catapult working and were firing off gigantic snowballs every ten seconds. Everyone seemed to be having a great time until Harry noticed a group of figures looking down on them.

When the figures started to walk toward them, those engaged in the fight stopped to watch. Eventually, Harry recognized exactly who was walking their way and scowled.

Draco Malfoy and a group of Slytherins entered the foray and marched straight toward Harry. He stood his ground, glaring at them.

“What are you doing here?” he growled when Malfoy and his gang stopped in front of them.

“We’ve come to enter this so-called battle you’ve got going on here, Potter,” Malfoy said with a sneer. “We’d like to teach all of you how it’s done.”

“We were doing fine before you came along, Malfoy,” Harry said.

“Yes, you did look like you were doing a spectacular job,” Malfoy said sarcastically.

“Thank you,” Harry said, using just as much sarcasm.

He glanced over at Ron and Luna, who had stopped in the middle of putting one of their gigantic snowballs into the catapult. “Nice catapult, Weasley! Does it launch snow or itself?”

Ron’s ears went red.

Ginny marched over to them, followed closely by Neville. “If you want to play, Draco, then ask. Don’t insult any of us just because we’re having fun.”

Malfoy stared at her. “I’m surprised you aren’t embarrassed to be seen with the likes of him,” he said, glancing up at Neville. “Certainly you can do better.”

“Quit showing off for your henchmen,” Ginny snapped. “Quit trying to be like one of them. Do you want in or don’t you?”

Malfoy’s gray eyes ran over the crowd. “Yeah, we want in. All of us.”

“Then start making snowballs,” Ginny said, turning around and walking away, Neville right behind her.

Malfoy smirked. “You heard her,” he said to the Slytherins. “Let’s show these wimps how to have a real snowball fight.”

Ron grabbed Harry’s shoulder before they turned back to their arsenal. “Since when does she call him Draco?”

When the battle resumed, Harry and Ron made it their personal responsibility to take Malfoy and his cronies down. They directed all of their snowballs at the Slytherins, completely ignoring the others out there. One time, Hermione shoved Harry out of the way just as a large snowball whizzed past his ear.

The Slytherins took Harry’s momentary distraction and tried to strike both him and Hermione down. Harry heard rather than saw the plethora of snow heading his way. He grabbed onto Hermione and dropped to the ground, taking her with him as both snow and, to his disgust and anger, sharp icicles landed a few feet away from them.

“Those bastards!” Harry growled and looked down at Hermione, who was pined underneath him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Now, are you going to move or were you just getting comfortable?”

With a little laugh, Harry rolled off of her. “Sorry.”

After that, things got dirty. The Slytherins kept throwing ice along with the snow, hitting people hard in the face. Harry saw Ron do a particularly noble thing when an ice ball headed straight for Luna; he jumped in front of her and let it hit him instead.

Angered, Harry fought back, blasting the snow near them and causing a huge, dense curtain of the powdery stuff to hang in front of them. Silence rang over the crowd as they waited. Apparently all of them had taken on the task of defeating the Slytherins. When the cloud started to settle, all of them launched an attack, throwing snowball after snowball at the Slytherins until he finally heard one of them yell, “RETREAT!”

The intermixed crowd cheered as the Slytherins ran for it. Harry watched Malfoy scowl as he slowly walked away and back up to the castle.

When Harry turned back to the crowd, all of them were staring at him expectantly. He looked over at Hermione, who was smiling, and Ron, who just shrugged. Then he turned back to the crowd and cleared his throat. “I guess we’re all winners!” he yelled, causing the crowd to cheer.

They walked back up to the castle, soaked and very cold, but happy nonetheless. Beating the party-crashing Slytherins had put everyone who had participated in such high spirits that some broke out singing the school song. Feeling cheerful enough, Harry joined in, followed by Hermione.

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something, please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they’re bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot,

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot!”

Everyone headed back to their dormitories to go change into a fresh pair of clothes. Harry didn’t fancy getting a cold and needing to see Madam Pomfrey for some Pepper-Up Potion. As it was, he had been to see her too many times that year already.

When he sat back down in the common room beside Hermione, he looked around. “Where’s Ron?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I thought he was with us. Wasn’t he?” Hermione said.

“Come to think of it, no, he wasn’t,” Harry said. “We should find him.”

“Yes. The longer he stays in those clothes, the more likely it is that he could get sick,” Hermione said.

“Hang on,” Harry said. “Let me get the Marauder’s Map and we’ll go get him.”

He ran back up to his dorm, rifled through his trunk, and found what he was looking for. Pocketing it, he ran back down into the common room, where Hermione was waiting.

“So, where is he?” Hermione asked.

“Let’s go out in the corridor first,” Harry said, “so people can’t see.”

Hermione led the way out of the portrait hole. When they were far enough away, Harry took out the map and his wand, tapping the former with the latter and murmuring, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

When the map fully formed, Harry searched it quickly. He wasn’t in the entrance hall, the Great Hall, the Owlery, or the kitchen. Then, suddenly, he spotted the little dot labeled “Ronald Weasley” heading up the staircase to another tower.

“There he is,” Harry said. “Let’s go.”

They took off, walking as quickly as they could without looking suspicious. Harry watched the map. Ron’s dot had stopped. “Come on,” he said to Hermione, breaking into a run.

When they were closing in on where Ron’s dot had last been, Harry slowed to a stop to check the map again. He was still in the same spot, much to Harry’s relief.

“Harry? Did you not notice who he’s with?” Hermione said, examining the map.

“What? Who?” Harry said, looking down at the map harder. He had been so focused on finding Ron that he hadn’t noticed that there was another dot next to his labeled “Luna Lovegood.”

“Luna? What’s he doing with her?” he asked.

Hermione rolled his eyes. “We should probably leave them alone.”

Comprehension dawned as he saw the amused expression in Hermione’s eyes. He laughed. “He’s still in sopping wet clothes, though.”

“We should go back,” Hermione said.

“But they’re just down the next corridor,” Harry said, sighing. “What d’you reckon they’re doing?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Harry asked.

A guilty little smile wormed its way onto her face. “A little.”

He felt something vibrate in his pocket. Harry pulled out the pager. “I think you’re more than a little curious,” he said, grinning.

She closed her eyes, but the grin didn’t fade. “We shouldn’t. We’ve had our lesson on the bad things that happens when one eavesdrops already, haven’t we? We should go back to the common room and interrogate him the moment he gets back.”

Harry glanced down at the map. Something interesting was happening on it. Ron’s dot was moving very close to Luna’s. “You’re right, we don’t need to peek. Look,” he said, thrusting the map at Hermione.

She examined it and giggled before clearing her throat. “Very interesting,” she said.

“Let’s go back to the common room and interrogate him like you said,” Harry said, trying to hide his laughter. “I look forward to him explaining this.”

Laughing together, they both headed back to the common room, awaiting their chance to corner Ron.

*****

Corner him is exactly what they did an hour later when Ron walked into the common room looking very cold but also very pleased with himself. Harry and Hermione got up from their game of Gobstones, seized him by the arms, and forced him into a chair in the corner of the room.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?” Ron said, trying to get up, but Harry forced him back down.

“Enjoy your chat with Luna?” he asked, grinning.

Ron paled. “My what?”

“Your chat with Luna,” Hermione said, also grinning.

“How did you…” he began before trailing off as Harry waved the Marauder’s Map in front of him.

“When you didn’t return to the common room, we got worried, mate,” Harry said. “Everyone’s clothes were soaking wet and cold. We didn’t want you to catch anything, so we took a look at the map to find you and lo, who did we find you with?”

“A Miss Luna Lovegood,” Hermione answered.

“I—er—well…I was just walking her back to her common room,” Ron said.

“You took over an hour to walk her to her common room?” Hermione asked incredulously.

Ron went red. “Er—yeah.”

Harry and Hermione gave each other knowing looks. “I couldn’t help but notice, Ron, how protective you were of Luna during the snowball fight,” Hermione said. “Much more so than with either me or Ginny.”

“Well, I invited her to the thing. It was my responsibility, I thought,” Ron said, sinking in his chair.

“Ron,” Harry said seriously. “We know.”

“Know what?” Ron asked, his eyes darting from right to left.

“We watched your little dot get very close to that of Miss Lovegood’s,” Harry said. “I doubt very much you were giving her a hug.”

Ron’s face was really red now. “Oh all right,” he said, throwing his arms into the air. “I kissed her, is that what you two want to hear? She’s grown on me. I fancy her a bit, she fancies me, so I kissed her. Are you satisfied?”

“Very,” Harry said, grinning.

“I’m quite pleased for you, Ron,” Hermione said.

Ron buried his face in his hands. “Bloody hell, I didn’t tease you two like this when you got together.”

“No, but you probably would have if you hadn’t been so bloody mad at us,” Harry said.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” Hermione said.

“But really, I’m happy for you and Luna. That’s awesome,” Harry said. “I bet you put her on Cloud Nine, kissing her.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ron said. “She skipped back into her common room. Skipped. I had to bloody chuckle about it. But you know what?” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s not a bad kisser at all.”

Harry and Hermione laughed, falling down into seats next to Ron. “I’m happy she’s a good kisser,” Harry said.

“I’m just happy that you’re happy,” Hermione said.

Ron nodded. “Yeah. I am happy.” He fold his hands behind his head and leaned back. “I think this relationship’s going to work out a lot better than the one I had with Lavender. Easily.”

*****

At dinner that evening, Luna waved over to them as she headed toward the Ravenclaw table. Ron waved back, grinning from ear to ear.

Ginny stared. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking back and forth between Ron and Luna. “Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” Ron said, still grinning.

“What?”

Ron shook his head.

“Oh for God’s sake, Ron, tell her. It’s not like she’s not going to find out anyway,” Hermione said.

Ron cleared his throat. “I have a new girlfriend,” he announced.

Ginny’s eyes darted back to Luna and grew wide. “Really?” she said, a smile creeping on her face. “Since when?”

“This afternoon,” Ron said. “It’s a very recent development.”

Ginny laughed. “Recent? Merlin, I’ve been waiting for this to happen for awhile now. It’s about damn time, in fact.”

Ron reddened. “I can be a bit slow, I know.”

Ginny snorted. “A bit?”

Before Ron could bite out a retort, Dumbledore stood up and looked down at his students contently, waiting for the Hall to quiet down. When it finally did, he smiled at them and said, “I believe today was a most unusual day for a non-Hogsmeade and non-Quidditch weekend here at Hogwarts. Unless I’m very much mistaken, a large snowball fight occurred and students from all four Houses partook in it. I am quite delighted by this and I thank whoever it was that thought it up.” He stared directly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “That said, I believe more hot chocolate than usual has been made, since I imagine that most of you are still very cold from today’s activities. Enjoy!”

When the hot chocolate appeared, Hermione poured each of them a mug nearly to the brim.

“What? No marshmallows?” Ron said and suddenly they magically appeared at his elbow. He grinned. “Got to love those house-elves.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and sipped her hot chocolate. “This has been a pretty good day, hasn’t it?”

Harry nodded, blowing the excess steam from his mug. “Yeah, it has,” he said and took a sip.

*****

What was a good day for the students of Hogwarts didn’t turn out to be a good day for the wizarding world. People were still chatting about the huge snowball fight on Sunday morning when the owls flew in, delivering mail. Harry didn’t bother looking up. Hedwig never brought him mail as everyone he ever felt a need to talk to was right inside the castle.

A tawny owl landed next to Hermione with that day’s edition of the Sunday Prophet. She took it and slipped a Knut inside the pouch that was tied to the owl’s leg. It took off. Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and unfolded the Prophet—then, spat the pumpkin juice back out, spraying Ron.

“What is it?” Harry asked, alarmed as Ron grabbed a napkin and started mopping his face.

“Oh no, not again!” she cried.

Harry noticed that the Hall became very quiet as those with Sunday Prophets were pointing the leading headline out to their friends. Then the Hall erupted with alarmed chatter.

Hermione tossed the paper down on the table so Harry and Ron could get a good look at the headline for themselves.

DEATH EATERS ESCAPE IN LARGEST AZKABAN BREAKOUT YET!

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at each other. What Ron said next, Harry thought, perfectly described what each of them was thinking.

“Oh shit.”

Author’s Note: Another day, another update. I plan on seeing OotP this evening. I’m so happy it’s out! If I’m feeling cheerful after I see the movie, I may update again. Anyway, thanks for the reviews! I really do enjoy reading them. Thanks once again to Charmaine, too, for putting up with me at work and correcting all of the typos I make whenever I write at 1:00 in the morning. That’s all!

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE

The Azkaban breakout was the only thing the student body spoke of for the next several days. Everyone had read the article on the escape—how the vampires and dementors swarmed into the infamous prison, lead by a contingent of only ten Death Eaters. The Aurors guarding Azkaban were overrun. Four of them lost their lives by the Killing Curse, another seven were the victims of vampires, and a horrific twelve had their souls sucked out of them by the dementors.

This news lead for many students to beg Harry to increase his D.A. meetings to twice a month, but as Harry was already bogged down with his homework, training, Quidditch practices, and duties as Head Boy, he had to decline.

“Ask Lupin to teach you more jinxes,” Harry told them. “I can only handle the once a month meetings right now.”

The heightened fears of the students, however, lead to the biggest D.A. meeting yet at the end of January. Harry was amazed at the turnout, staring at all of the faces looking back at him, wearing nervous expressions. There were even a larger number of Slytherins attending. Usually Harry just had the ones who were more like Blaise Zabini instead of Draco Malfoy. Now, however, he reckoned he had a great deal of Slytherins in there that wanted nothing to do with Voldemort and were therefore scared that they would be killed one day because of it.

“So—er—I wanted to show you this nifty spell I was taught not too long ago, to go along with that one meeting we had on Silencing,” Harry said. “You can use either or. I’m just presenting this one as a different option. Plus, as I’ve learned, it’s a tad more difficult to undo this spell than the other one.

“Anyone want to volunteer?” he asked.

“I’ll do it, Harry,” Hermione said, stepping forward.

He gave her a warm smile. “Okay. I think you’ll like this one, Hermione,” he said, taking out his wand. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “Fire away.”

He pointed his wand at her. “Langlock!” he cried. He watched as a look of shock washed over her face. She seemed to be trying desperately to remove her tongue from the roof of her mouth, but to no avail. He gave the crowd a timid smile. “This spell, along with others, was—er—created by four brilliant former students. Since few know about it, this could give you an advantage if ever faced with a Death Eater.” He waved his wand at Hermione, muttering the countercurse. “Try it out. See how well it works for you.”

“Four brilliant former students?” Hermione said when everyone started to practice. “They didn’t go by the names of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, would they have?”

“Maybe,” Harry murmured.

“When did Lupin teach you that spell? And why didn’t he teach the rest of us?” she asked.

“He told me about it one time when I ran into him,” he lied, feeling a pang of guilt for doing so. “Told me about a few others as well.”

“You’ll have to teach them to me. I love new spells,” she said.

He grinned at her. “I will. Just you wait.”

*****

February arrived without incident. Harry’s training continued. Moody tested him out against knives, swords, and crossbows; things that made Harry very nervous when he first encountered them. Dumbledore said he was continuing to improve in both Occlumency and wandless magic, which made Harry happy.

Before Harry knew it though, the next and final Hogsmeade weekend was rapidly approaching and with it, as Ginny pointed out to them one day while sitting at breakfast, Valentine’s Day.

Ron grunted at the news. “S’pose I ought to take Luna to someplace nice,” he said.

“Won’t it be your first official date with her?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah. The Three Broomsticks is nice enough, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Madam Puddifoot’s is the place to go if you want to snog, only watch out that confetti doesn’t fall into your tea,” Harry said. He glanced over at Hermione to see that she was frowning. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said vaguely.

“I’m not buying that,” he said, leaning closer to her. “Cho and I didn’t snog in there. I told you everything that happened on that disaster of a date, don’t you remember?”

“Of course I do. But, still…she probably wanted you to snog her,” Hermione said.

“I thought you told me you weren’t jealous of Cho,” Harry said.

“I’m not. At least, not anymore,” she replied.

“It was two years ago, Hermione. Two long years ago and quite frankly, it’s a date I’d like to forget completely,” he told her. “She wasn’t the right one for me.”

Hermione gave him a sly look. “And just who is?”

He had to fight the urge to kiss her on the tip of her nose. “I think you know,” he said.

“Do I?”

“You do. But if you need proof, we’ll talk later,” he added with a wink.

She barely suppressed her giggle. “Okay.”

“Hey—er—can we get back to my problem?” Ron asked.

“What problem?” Hermione said, turning to him. “Go on a nice long walk with Luna and then end up back at the Three Broomsticks to warm yourselves up with some hot mugs of butterbeer.”

“Okay,” Ron said. “I guess this is good news for the two of you, though. You really will have some time to spend alone together, now that I’ll have Luna preoccupied.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, but we’ll talk about you constantly while we’re there just to be on the safe side. Unless you want to do something else,” he added to Hermione.

“I was hoping to go browsing around the shops,” Hermione said. “I wonder how many people are going to use the grounds surrounding the Shrieking Shack as snogging grounds.”

“You mean you wonder how many people still think the Shrieking Shack is haunted,” Harry said, grinning. “I dunno…is there a full moon tonight?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Are you suggesting that we ask Professor Lupin to sneak down to the Shrieking Shack and remind people why it’s the most haunted building in all of Britain?”

“Or maybe we could,” Harry said.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, but was unable to hide her grin. She checked her watch. “We can plan later. We’ve got to get to Potions.”

Harry groaned. “I would love to skive off that class,” he muttered.

“And have Snape throw you into detention cleaning out his jars of pig intestines? Oh yes, I’m sure,” Hermione said, grabbing his arm and pulling. “Consider Potions a necessary evil on your route to becoming an Auror.”

He sighed and turned back to Ron. “See you in Herbology.”

“See you, mate,” Ron said. “Glad I’m not you.”

When Harry and Hermione arrived outside of the Potions classroom, several Slytherins were standing around, waiting for it to begin also. The group included Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, who were having a loud conversation.

“Oh, come on, Draco! Just for one day, please? It’s pathetic to be our age and not have somebody to spend Valentine’s Day with. We used to have so much fun together. Why not one more go?” Pansy was pleading, but Malfoy looked like he was having none of it.

“No,” he said flatly. “I hate Valentine’s Day. It’s a mockery of what truly happened that day. Muggles came up with it so that they could sell more flowers, chocolates, and cards. It’s ridiculous! I don’t even know how our world even ended up celebrating it. Probably a bunch of stupid Mudbloods brought the idea in.”

“Watch your tongue, Malfoy, or I may stick it to the roof of your mouth,” Harry growled.

Malfoy glanced at him. “This isn’t any of your concern, Potter, so sod off.”

Harry was about to reach for his wand, but Hermione put a restraining hand on him. “Don’t rise to it. Just leave him alone,” she murmured.

Pansy was glaring at them. “Draco, please, I don’t want to be like Granger and be all alone! One day, come on! I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’m not interested,” Malfoy said.

She stomped her foot. “You’ve been so utterly boring since your mother died. I’m not sure why, though. I thought you hated the fact that she coddled you. Was that all just a show? Did you actually enjoy being treated like a baby?”

The rest of the Slytherins, Crabbe and Goyle included, all laughed. It was certainly odd seeing Malfoy in this position. Usually he was the one making them laugh.

He scowled and stepped closer to her. “Shut up, you dirty little wench. I doubt you’d talk that way if your mum died. If any of your mums died!” he said, glaring at the rest of them. When he turned back to Pansy, he said, “I doubt the world would mourn if your mum died, though, what with the way she looks.”

She slapped him, hard, leaving a bright red mark on his slightly pink cheeks. He said nothing. Instead, he glanced up at Harry and Hermione.

Hermione sighed and stepped forward. Harry sensed it was the last thing she really wanted to do, however. “Pansy, you do realize that I have to give you a detention for this, right?”

“Like you actually give a crap that I just hit him,” Pansy said. “I bet a large part of you just cheered when I did that.”

“It is my duty as Head Girl to uphold the rules,” Hermione bit out, “regardless of how much I enjoyed seeing his comeuppance.”

As this was happening, the rest of the class was showing up with Snape right behind them. “What’s going on here?” he said, surveying the scene.

“I’ve just had to give Pansy a detention, sir,” Hermione said. “She slapped Malfoy.”

Snape stared at them all for a moment. “Will you attest to that, Mr. Malfoy?”

Malfoy straightened. “I don’t know what Granger’s talking about, sir. She must be hallucinating.”

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, “for trying to punish those that need not be punished. Inside.”

Harry and Hermione both glared at Malfoy as he passed them to enter the classroom. “That’s the last time I ever do anything remotely nice for him,” she spat in a quiet voice to Harry.

“I don’t know why you did in the first place,” Harry said. “He needs to get smacked around from time to time.”

When everyone had settled at their desks, Snape said, “Turn to page four-hundred and ninety-six in your books. Now.”

Harry got out his book and began to flip to the page. Girls that had already done so began to giggle. When Harry read the heading, he understood why. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered to Hermione.

“Love potions,” Snape said. “I only teach about them once and that is in the seventh year. As it is, the only reason why I teach my students about such potions is because they can have devastating affects on people’s lives. After all, how would you like it if you suddenly found out that the person you supposedly love has been feeding a love potion to you?

“That is why we are going to begin brewing one today. At the end of class today, you get to test them. The effects will last for an hour. The instructions are in your book. Begin!”

Harry got out his cauldron and set to work. After doing so many complexes poisons and antidotes, the love potion Snape had selected seemed rather easy. He glanced over at Hermione’s potion a few times and was pleased to see that his was exactly the same color as hers. Finally, with fifteen minutes to spare, the potion was completed.

“You should all be done by now,” Snape said, sweeping up and down the rows. “Add the final ingredient—a strand of your own hair—and ladle it up into a phial. Then trade your phial for somebody else’s. Oh, and I would recommend that you trade with somebody of the opposite sex.”

A lot of people sniggered at this as they plucked out a strand of their own hair and added it to their potion. Harry pulled a hair from his bangs out and dropped it in his cauldron. It sizzled slightly and turned a brighter red as the hair dissolved. He then ladled some up, put it in a phial, and turned to Hermione. “Want to be in love with me for an hour?” he asked with a grin.

“Only if you’ll be in love with me for an hour,” she replied, switching phials with him.

Harry raised up the phial she gave him. “Cheers,” he said and drank the contents in one gulp.

A warm sensation spread through his veins. He felt happy. He turned to Hermione and saw she had a dreamy look in her eyes. Suddenly, he had a powerful urge to kiss her, stronger than any he had ever felt before.

“Class dismissed,” Snape said, distracting him. Harry and Hermione packed up their stuff and left.

“It’s funny,” Hermione said as they headed up the steps of the dungeon. “I don’t feel very different. Just very content with life.”

“Me, too,” Harry said.

“Mandy, you’re so beautiful,” Terry Boot was saying as he and Mandy Brocklehurst passed them up the stairs. “I don’t ever want to be parted from you.”

Harry and Hermione watched them go. “That must explain it,” Hermione said. “I already feel that way about you, so that’s why the potion doesn’t seem like it’s working.”

“Tell me,” Harry said, staring at her as they entered the entrance hall, “d’you have this huge urge to snog me senseless? Because I have a huge urge to snog you right now.”

Hermione stopped. “I’ve been trying to fight it. We’ve got Herbology next.”

“Snape let us out ten minutes early,” Harry said, looking around. The rest of the seventh-year Potions students were making their way out of the entrance hall. “Come here,” Harry growled and pulled Hermione over to a door. He wrenched it open and shoved her inside. The moment he closed the door, he let himself succumb to the urge and crushed his lips to hers. He needed to kiss her. He had to kiss her. There was no other choice.

They broke apart twelve minutes later. Hermione pulled out her wand and murmured, “Lumos.” She looked around. “A broom cupboard. Oh how clichéd.”

Harry laughed and kissed her again.

*****

The weekend finally arrived. Harry was very excited about spending the whole day alone with Hermione. Ron seemed pretty excited—and nervous—about his first official date with Luna, too.

“Does any shop sell flowers in Hogsmeade? I feel like I should buy flowers for her,” Ron said.

“Who says you need to buy flowers?” Harry said, taking out his wand. “Make them. Orchideous!” A bouquet of flowers came out of the end of his wand. With a shrug, he handed them to Hermione. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She laughed. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Where’d you learn that spell?” Ron asked.

“From Mr. Ollivander back in fourth year. He tested Fleur’s wand with that spell,” Harry replied.

“It’s also in the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two,” Hermione said.

“I don’t remember covering it in class,” Ron said.

“That’s because we didn’t. We never cover all of the spells in those books. That’s why you’re supposed to read them,” she said.

“Reading for class is a waste of my time,” Ron said, causing Hermione to give an exasperated sigh.

After breakfast, Ron left them to go meet Luna, a bouquet of freshly conjured flowers in his hands. Harry and Hermione stood over in a corner of the entrance hall, waiting for Filch to arrive to check their names off the Hogsmeade list.

“We could always go into a broom cupboard and snog,” Harry suggested, causing Hermione to laugh.

“I think people would notice,” she said. “Our goal is to still keep things quiet, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “It is. Alright, the broom cupboard is a bad idea. Personally, I’m still open to using the Shrieking Shack.”

“I don’t feel like fighting the Whomping Willow today,” Hermione said.

“Spoilsport,” Harry muttered, but grinned nonetheless.

Filch arrived and the students queued up to leave. Harry spotted the back of Ron’s head about a good twenty people ahead of him. He seemed to be talking animatedly to Luna.

“I think they’re going to have a good time,” Hermione said, following his gaze.

“Me, too,” Harry said as the line began to steadily move forward. When they reached Filch, he muttered, “Potter…Granger…”

“So, where to first?” Harry asked, stepping out onto the still snow-covered grounds.

“I was hoping to go to Scrivenshaft’s and look for a new quill. Mine’s looking rather worn down,” she said.

“Scrivenshaft’s it is,” Harry said. “Any place else after that?”

“You pick,” she replied.

“Okay. How about Honeydukes? They always seem to have something special out for Valentine’s Day.”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

“Then, after that?”

“We could go into Zonko’s. I’m sure you’d love to see what they’ve got there.”

“Nah. I don’t want to give money to Fred and George’s competition.

“Very well. Then we can just walk around and enjoy the—er—cold.”

He laughed. “Or we could go to the Three Broomsticks, which will be packed, and try to find a table for ourselves.”

“We could do that, too.”

They made their way into Hogsmeade. Harry wanted to reach over and hold her hand, but quashed that notion. Hand holding wasn’t the best way to keep a relationship a secret. Instead, he and Hermione traveled along like they normally did—not touching and talking about trivial and mundane things such as schoolwork or what had happened in the last prefects’ meeting.

“I hope it warms up a tad and the snow begins to melt,” Harry said as they entered Scrivenshaft’s. “I don’t want to play Quidditch next week in these conditions.”

“You’re still preparing for the worst, though, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. The team and I are prepared to play in a blizzard,” he said, looking around. The shop was filled with all different sorts of quill pens and ink bottles. They even had different sized rolls of parchment. “What, exactly, are you looking for?”

“Something nice,” she said, shaking her head at an expensive peacock quill pen. “Nothing gaudy, like this.”

“How about those?” Harry asked, gesturing to a fine set of eagle quill pens. “Three of them for a Galleon.”

Hermione examined them. “They’re a pretty nice quality. I’m sure the lot of them will last me the rest of the year, too.”

“And then some. Unless you plan on writing a novel,” he said, smirking.

“Not anytime soon,” she said. “Okay, I’ll get them.”

“Allow me,” he said, slipping a Galleon out of his pocket and walking over to the register. When he paid for them, he rejoined Hermione. “Here you are,” he said, handing the quills over to her.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that though,” she said.

He shrugged. “What’s a Galleon here or there?” he said.

“Don’t let Ron hear you talk like that,” she said as they headed out the door and back into the cold.

“Of course not,” he said, leading the way down to Honeydukes. “I know better than that.”

When they reached Honeydukes, they found it filled with a mass of black cloaks. Harry and Hermione squeezed their way inside and looked around. Harry grabbed a pack of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum while Hermione picked up a new Chocolate Frogs. As they moved their way toward the front to pay, Harry noticed a display of heart-shaped lollipops next to a glass case filled with little cakes shaped like a cupid. The sign on the glass case said:

Cupid Cakes:

Mixing Amorentia in the batter means it’s love in a cake!

“Amorentia?” Harry queried.

Hermione frowned. “The most powerful love potion in the world. A sip of that and you’ll be infatuated and obsessed with the one that gave it to you for months.”

“Shouldn’t that be illegal, then?” Harry asked.

“I suspect Honeydukes is doing it for a little Valentine’s Day fun,” she said.

“We should buy one and give it to Malfoy. Make him fall for a real ferret or something,” Harry said.

“I’d rather not risk detention for that,” Hermione said.

They paid for their sweets and headed out. Unfortunately, as they walked down High Street, they ran into somebody that Harry was surprised—and upset—to see.

“Oh, hello,” Rita Skeeter said, eyeing Harry and Hermione. “Fancy seeing you two here.”

“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend,” Harry replied curtly. “If you’d just excuse us…”

“What’s your rush, Harry?” Rita asked. “I’m surprised to see you and Miss Smarty-Pants here alone. What happened to your friend, Roland?”

“It’s none of your concern where Ron is,” Hermione said acidly. “Leave us alone.”

“Did you two ditch him to spend Valentine’s Day alone?” Rita asked. “Have you two gotten back together?” She started to rifle through her crocodile-skinned handbag.

“We never were together in the first place. You made that up,” Harry reminded her.

“Hmm? Oh yes. That was a fun story to write,” she said, grinning. “I could clear the air, of course. That is, if Harry would be willing enough to grant me an interview. The Prophet hasn’t heard about you in so long. Some of the staff there are beginning to wonder whether or not there’s something special about you in the first place. They’re saying that you just got lucky. I know better though,” she said with a wink. “Come on, Harry. An exclusive interview on what you’ve been up to. If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

“Sorry,” Harry said flatly. “Not interested.”

“Don’t answer so quickly,” Rita said. “I can give your some great publicity—make you the public’s favorite hero again. You want that, don’t you? Because right now you’re playing second fiddle to that Auror, Gawain Greene. People love him. He’s very handsome, after all. I could put you back in the limelight faster than you can say ‘You-Know-Who.’ What do you say, Harry?”

“No,” Harry said.

She shook her head. “Harry, Harry, Harry…I hope you’re not going to try something rash to get back into the papers. Tell you what, if you change your mind, I’ll be over at the Hog’s Head. Come and see me.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry said.

“See you around, Harry,” she said with a smile.

Before she could leave, though, Hermione said, “Hey Rita!”

She turned and looked at Hermione. “What? Do you want to give me an interview? I’m sorry to say the public wouldn’t be very interested in you alone. However, if you were to give me an exclusive on Harry, from a friend’s point of view, I’d be happy to sit down with you.”

Hermione gave a derisive laugh. “That’s not what I had in mind. I just wanted to let you know that if you write anything against either Harry or myself, I’ll write a letter to the editor telling him about your little—er—ability.”

“Oh? Didn’t you hear? I registered with the Ministry,” Rita said. “You can’t blackmail me anymore, Curly.” She turned back to Harry. “I’m serious about that interview, Harry. Drop by if you change your mind.”

Harry and Hermione watched her walk away before continuing on their way. Hermione bristled. “I hate that woman. I bet you that there will be an article about you in the Prophet, mark my word.”

“Just forget about her,” Harry said, pulling the door to the Three Broomsticks open. “She can write whatever she wants about me. I don’t care.”

Hermione sighed. “You’re right. Let’s go buy our butterbeers and find a place to sit, okay?”

“That was my plan,” he said. “And how about after we finish the butterbeers, we go back to Hogwarts and find a nice quiet spot just for ourselves?”

She smiled. “That sounds nice.”

*****

The butterbeer had been nice, but the evening alone had been even better. Harry and Hermione had decided to eat dinner in the Room of Requirement. Hermione had gone up to the Room to set it up while Harry had gone down to the kitchen to enlist Dobby’s help.

“Dobby is most pleased to help Harry Potter,” Dobby had squeaked happily as he and the other house-elves ran around, whipping up a wonderful repast for him and Hermione.

So, after a wonderful candlelit dinner with Hermione, Harry found himself back in his dorm getting ready for bed. Ron was there as well, chatting about his day with Luna.

“She’s pretty funny,” Ron was saying. “She really does have this unique sense of humor. I don’t know how I missed it before.”

“You’d be surprised what’s exactly under your nose that you never notice,” Harry said, putting on his pajama top. “When you do finally notice what’s there, you feel really stupid.”

“Is that the way you felt?” Ron asked.

“Incredibly so,” Harry said.

Ron laughed. Neville, Seamus, and Dean joined them shortly afterward.

“Anybody want to warm up? I bought a load of Pepper Imps at Honeydukes,” Dean said.

Seamus grinned. “Sure, toss one here, mate. I’ll breathe fire for us.”

“Brave man,” Dean said, tossing him one. “How about you, Neville?”

“Er—I better not,” Neville said.

“You’re no fun,” Seamus said, popping the Pepper Imp into his mouth.

“Harry? Ron?” Dean asked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then shrugged. “Let’s see who can breathe out the most fire,” Ron said.

“Awesome!” Dean said, tossing both Harry and Ron some Pepper Imps.

“Oh, okay, give me one, too,” Neville said.

“Ar, that’s a g-good m-man,” Seamus sputtered, his eyes watering. Suddenly, flames shot out from his mouth. The other four cheered.

“Nice one, Seamus!” Dean said, popping a Pepper Imp in his mouth.

The boys continued their fun until all of them were very tired. They crawled into their beds and turned out the lights. Ron burped out fire once, causing them to laugh, but other than that, it was quiet and Harry soon felt himself drift off to sleep.

There was a knock on the door. Harry turned toward it. “What?” he snapped.

The door opened and a head poked in. “My lord, Wormtail has returned with Greyback.”

“Excellent, Alecto. What about Addams?”

“No, master,” Alecto Carrow said. “He was not with Wormtail.”

Harry scowled. “Very well, Alecto, send Wormtail in.”

The door closed only to be opened moments later by the wheezing, bald form of Peter Pettigrew, the sleazy rat animagus also known as Wormtail. Following him was a large man with matted gray hair and whiskers. His eyes were black; his teeth were sharp and yellow.

“Fenrir Greyback,” Harry greeted.

Greyback bowed deeply to him. “My lord,” he said in a raspy voice.

“I am pleased you decided to come. I had actually hoped that you would seek me out, but no matter. Let us get down to business immediately,” Harry said. “Can I trust you and your pack to follow me with unconditional loyalty?”

Greyback smiled. “Of course, my lord. Wormtail here told me that you’d give us the freshest prey we’ve ever had.”

“I will. I promise you that. And you know that Lord Voldemort keeps his promises.”

“I do, my lord,” Greyback said.

“Good. Give me your left arm,” Harry said. “I shall finally confirm a status on you that you should have been given during my last campaign.”

Greyback stepped forward, rolling up the left sleeve of his robes. He presented the grimy arm to Harry, who took it in his spidery hands.

“Yes, right there,” Harry murmured, taking out his wand. “Morsmordre!”

Greyback growled as he was branded with a tattoo of a snake coming out of a skull’s mouth—the Dark Mark. When Harry let go of his arm, Greyback got on his knees and kissed the hem of his robes. “Thank you, master,” Greyback said.

“Rise, my servant. My Death Eater,” Harry said. “You and your werewolves will get a wonderful part in our next mission, Greyback. Position yourselves in Cardiff. At the full moon, hunt. Right now, I’m letting my vampires do that in Inverness and, as my Death Eater in charge of the mission has told me in his last update, the Aurors have yet to arrive on the scene and already thirty Muggles are dead.”

Greyback gave a feral grin. “My pack and I thank you, master.” With that, he spun on his heel and left.

“Come here, Wormtail,” Harry said after Greyback had left to the cowering man who stood at the back of the room.

Wormtail moved forward, shaking from head to foot. “Yes, master?” he squeaked.

“Where is Addams?” Harry asked.

Wormtail cowered again, then blurted out, “I tried to stop him, my lord! I tried, but he ran! We were in a graveyard and he performed the sacrifices necessary to start raising the Inferi. Once he had about a dozen of them, he ran away, taking them with him! I don’t know what he was thinking, but left.”

Harry raised his wand. “Legilimens!”

He watched Wormtail’s memories as they flowed past him: Wormtail standing by while Addams made his sacrifices, the Inferi rising, the Inferi clasping hands with each other, and Addams grabbing the nearest Inferius before Apparating with the whole lot.

He released Wormtail. “The fool,” he said in his coldest voice. “He will be dealt with. We will find him, just like we found Regulus Black.”

“Master—”

He raised his wand again. “Crucio!” he shouted, sending Wormtail into a fit of pain. He listened to his screams with satisfaction.

That was when Harry woke up. He knew only one thing: the vampires were attacking in Inverness and no one was there to stop them.

Author’s Note: I have seen OotP and thought that it was really good. I’m glad I got to see it on opening day. Anyway, this chapter provides one thing that the movie did not: Quidditch. Enjoy!

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

LIONS AND BADGERS

Sprinting as fast as he could, Harry reached the stone gargoyle concealing Dumbledore’s office at a record pace. He gasped out the password and then ran up the revolving staircase before pounding on the headmaster’s door, clutching the stitch in his side.

When Dumbledore opened the door, he had a grave look on his face. “You’re bringing me bad news, aren’t you, Harry?”

“Yes…sir,” Harry said, breathing heavily. “Voldemort…the vampires…they’ve attacked Inverness, sir. Already thirty are dead.”

Dumbledore picked up his wand and shot a silver phoenix out of it. It passed through the stone wall quickly. Dumbledore walked over to his window and watched it fly away as Harry stood behind him.

“I’m contacting the Order,” he said, answering Harry’s unasked question.

“Was that…your Patronus, sir?” Harry asked instead.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said and sat down. There was a look of great sadness on his face. “Thirty, you said?”

“That’s what Voldemort said when he told Greyback about the attack,” Harry replied.

“Greyback? Fenrir Greyback?” asked Dumbledore.

“Yes, sir. Wormtail brought him to Voldemort.”

“Sit down, Harry,” Dumbledore said, conjuring up a chintz armchair for him, “and tell me everything you saw tonight.”

For five minutes he spoke in great detail to Dumbledore about everything he had seen, about Voldemort branding the Dark Mark on Greyback, and about how the Death Eater Addams had apparently deserted the Dark Lord with a dozen Inferi in tow. When he finished, he looked at Dumbledore sheepishly. “I’m sorry I failed tonight with my Occlumency. I guess I forgot to check my emotions before I went to bed. I was feeling really happy. I didn’t even think that I would still be open to Voldemort’s mind.”

“Yes, even in the happiest of times the mind is open to Legilimency. That is not to say, however, that you should never feel anything. Your emotions, Harry, particularly your stronger, positive emotions, may just save your life one day.”

“I’m just not allowed to feel anything before bed,” Harry said.

“It is true that you seem most vulnerable in your sleep,” Dumbledore said. “Your mind is the most lax, then. You don’t have your own thoughts occupying you every second—just your dreams. Dreams are easier to break through.”

He took his half-moon spectacles off and rubbed his eyes. It was one of the few times that Harry had ever seen him look weary. “I will tip the Ministry off about the upcoming Cardiff attack. If I hadn’t needed Remus so much to be here, I would have sent him to the werewolves to try to discourage them from joining Voldemort.”

“D’you think that would have helped? Greyback called them his ‘pack,’” Harry said.

“It would have required a lot out of Remus,” Dumbledore said, putting his glasses back on. “He would have had to challenge Greyback for the position of alpha male.”

Harry quickly thought of the different physiques of Lupin and Greyback. He cringed. “No offense to Professor Lupin or anything, but I’m not quite sure he would have survived that.”

“Between you and me, nor do I,” Dumbledore said. “Now, I think it’s safe for you to go back to bed. I have to contact Amelia.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, getting up to leave. With one last look at Dumbledore’s tired face, he walked out the door.

*****

Harry was anxious to read the Daily Prophet the next morning. The moment the barn owl delivered Hermione’s copy, she handed it immediately to Harry and paid the bird.

“Oh no,” Harry groaned, reading the headline.

“What?” Hermione asked, looking over his shoulder.

He put the paper down on the table so they could all read it.

VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE IN INVERNESS

The day of love turned into a day of horror for over 40 Muggle families in Inverness, Scotland when vampires attacked.

None of the vampires were caught, however, as the Aurors arrived too late to stop them.

“This is a horrible tragedy,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the first Aurors to arrive on the scene.

Evidence shows that the vampires arrived around 11:00 and attacked all of the homes on the outskirts of town, Aurors said after examining the bodies of the victims. The attack was quick, lasting no longer than perhaps 15 minutes.

“That’s still a long time, though, for them to be here,” Auror Gawain Greene said.

Greene also expressed his disheartenment that the alert of an attack did not arrive sooner.

“I hate the fact that we didn’t get here in time to save them. I hate that there’s not a better alert system for the Aurors to use to help us in this war against [You-Know-Who]. It angers me.”

Obliviators were called in after everything was cleaned up and modified the memories of the witnesses. It has been one of the largest Muggle memory modifications needed in this war.

“It’s days like today that make a wizard look around and really take in what’s happening in this war,” said Obliviator Arnold Peasegood. “It’s scary.”

“It didn’t help,” Harry murmured. “Seeing it and warning Dumbledore didn’t help at all. Forty people died and not a single vampire was captured. I didn’t help them.”

Hermione put her hand on his. “You can’t see everything, Harry. You can’t predict everything. You tried to help them, but that’s all you could do. It was already too late.”

He clenched his fists. “I should be able to help them. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be able to do—save them all?”

“The prophecy didn’t say you’d save the world,” Hermione said. “It just said that you are the only one who can stop Voldemort. It didn’t say that you could stop the rest of his army. You can’t save everyone, Harry. The more you try, the more disappointed you’ll be. You need to focus on saving yourself first.”

He stared at the Prophet for several seconds and then sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t dwell on it,” Hermione said. “Think about something else.”

“Yeah, like those extra Quidditch practices you’ve set for the team,” Ron said. “Like the one this afternoon.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said, breathing deeply and trying to relax. “I’ll think about Quidditch.”

The morning passed by and soon, Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Gryffindor team were out in the cold, running through drills and generally freezing their butts off.

“It’s cold!” Ginny complained. “Come on, Harry, we’re in top notch shape. Hufflepuff doesn’t stand a chance against us!”

“I might have something to say about that!” came a voice from the ground.

The whole Gryffindor team looked down to see the Hufflepuff team in their canary robes below, glaring up at them. The one who spoke was Zacharias Smith, a Chaser and someone Harry didn’t like very much.

“What are you doing here, Smith?” Ron yelled, his face red. He disliked Smith even more than Harry.

“I need to speak to Potter,” Smith said. “Come down off your broomstick, Potter, so that I can save my voice for when I need it.”

Harry landed swiftly and marched over to him. “What do you want?” he asked.

Smith handed him a note. “We need the pitch now, Potter. That’s a note from Madam Hooch,” he explained.

“But I booked it for us today,” Harry said, opening the note. He read it over quickly. “Line-up change?”

“Yeah. We’ve got some new additions to the team. I sacked Summerby—he was a nightmare—and my Keeper from the last match, so now have a new Seeker and Keeper to train up,” Smith said happily.

“I see,” Harry said, handing the note back to him. “Don’t you think you’re pushing it, only giving this new Seeker and Keeper of yours a week of training? That hardly seems fair.”

“Don’t act so full of yourself, Potter. You’ve been beaten before by us. We remember Diggory and our new Seeker already has skills that rival his,” Smith said proudly. “And I’m sure our new Keeper will be more than a match for your Chasers.”

Harry couldn’t help but think that if it hadn’t been for the dementors, Cedric Diggory would never have caught the Snitch. He sighed. “Very well, Smith. The pitch is yours.” He turned back to his team and called up to them. “Practice is over! Let’s go!”

The Gryffindors glared at the Hufflepuffs as they passed them, even Ginny, who had forgotten about the cold in her annoyance that Hufflepuff was kicking them off the pitch. When they got back to the locker room, she said, “What the hell did they do that for?”

“They have a new Seeker and a new Keeper,” Harry announced. “If what Smith’s boasting is true, this new Seeker of theirs is not as dimwitted as Summerby. Apparently the Keeper’s not half-bad either. I don’t know. All I know is that if we play our game, we should be fine.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” McGuire said. “A new Seeker and a new Keeper? He’s going to train them in a week?” He laughed. “This ought to be easy!”

“Don’t be arrogant,” Harry said. “We don’t know what those two are like yet. I guess we’ll find out on Saturday.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Ginny said, getting up. “Come on, Alex, let’s go check out their new players.”

She and McGuire got up and left, leaving the others staring at Harry. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine!”

*****

Ginny and McGuire didn’t turn up until dinner time. They both sat down next to Harry in the Great Hall, looking frozen to the bone and rather moody.

“How’d the spying go?” he asked, taking a bite of his steak and kidney pie.

“Ask me again after I have feeling in my hands again,” Ginny said, attempting to pour herself a cup of tea but failing miserably.

“Here,” Hermione said from across the table, grabbing the tea pot from her and pouring. “Why did you stay out there for so long?”

“Because we had to see if the bloke would ever let one through,” McGuire said, dishing up a plate of food.

“What d’you mean?” Ron asked, looking fearful.

“Some third-year named Gordon Hornish who’s never tried out before now because the Hufflepuffs had that Warren bloke,” Ginny said. “He’s brilliant, though, and he’s got the best broomstick of the lot—a Nimbus Two Thousand and One.”

Ron gulped. “He’s brilliant, you say?”

Ginny glared at him. “What d’you have to worry about? The Chasers are still the same. Stop the damn Quaffle and you’ll be fine. It’s us Chasers that have to worry about Hornish.”

“What’s the new Seeker like?” Harry asked.

“Oh, she’s this small thing. Another third year, I think,” McGuire said. “Pretty swift on a broom, caught all of the golf balls Smith lobbed in different directions, but she’s on a Comet Two-Sixty, like what Chang used last year for Ravenclaw. She doesn’t stand much of a chance against you, Captain.”

“Yeah, but remember that Chang caught the Snitch in the exhibition match last year on a Comet Two-Sixty,” Harry reminded him.

“Yeah, but that was foul play, sending Bludgers at you like that,” McGuire said stiffly.

“I thought it was a clever ploy,” Ginny said, smirking. She had been on the victorious girls’ side.

“It was a low, dirty trick that seriously could have hurt Harry,” Hermione said. “I thought the girls would have had more class than that.”

Ginny gaped at her, turning red. “Oh, you’re just saying that because Harry’s your—”

“Best friend,” Hermione said forcefully. “And I’d be saying the same thing to Harry about you if it were the other way around.”

“I’d rather not rehash old Quidditch matches,” Harry said. “I’m trying to focus on Saturday. We’ll have to practice our most deceptive moves in the practices leading up to the match. I still think we’ll be okay. Remember, one good player doesn’t make the team. Look at Bulgaria when they played against Ireland in the last Quidditch World Cup. Even with Krum, they didn’t stand a chance.”

“He’s definitely right about that one,” Ron muttered.

“Let’s not dwell on it anymore. We’ll do what we do best and see how everything stacks up, okay?” Harry said. “Now, I’m hungry, so let’s finish eating.”

*****

“Alright, Potter, we’re going to have some fun this evening,” Moody growled from where he stood at the head of the empty Ancient Runes classroom on Friday. “I’ve been putting you up against weapons, but we’re going to work on your hand-to-hand combat training now. I’ve taught Lupin here a few tricks. Let’s see how you do against him.”

The desks had all been pushed away. Harry and Lupin were facing each other. Lupin gave him a small smile as they both moved into combat stances.

“Potter!” Moody barked. “Take that ring off before you pop one of Lupin’s teeth out!”

Harry looked down at the large ring on his left hand. He had bought Ron, Hermione, and himself one to symbolize their friendship. Because his and Hermione’s were on their left hands, though, it symbolized something a little more. He pulled it off his ring finger in resignation and slipped it into his pocket.

“That’s better,” Moody growled. “Okay, go ahead.”

Harry struck first, making a move to punch Lupin square in the jaw, but Lupin shot up his arm and blocked it. Just as quick, he punched Harry right in the gut, causing him to double over.

“Breathe, Potter, and try again,” Moody said, watching him closely.

Harry straightened and tried to attack Lupin again, but at the last second Lupin stepped away, hooked his foot around Harry’s shin, and send Harry sprawling to the floor.

“I thought you could do better than that, Potter,” Moody taunted from the sidelines.

Harry got up and tried again, but the result was nearly identical. The only difference was that when Lupin sidestepped, he grabbed Harry’s arm with his right hand and, using his left to press painfully against Harry’s shoulder, pinned Harry’s arm behind him.

Moody sighed. “That’s enough. Let him go, Lupin.”

Lupin immediately did so, giving Harry a look of apology as he did so. Harry turned around and massaged his arm.

“You’ve gotten into scuffles in your life, haven’t you, boy?” Moody asked.

“Yes,” Harry growled, glaring at Moody.

“What the hell did you do in them? Punch and then be punched? Did you never try to block an oncoming assault?” Moody asked.

Harry was rubbing his shoulder now. “No, I suppose not.”

“That’s why you’re lousy,” Moody said. “If you can’t defend yourself, there’s no point in trying to attack. When the fight or flight response kicks in, right now you’re better off running.”

Harry raised his chin. “I don’t run.”

“Then you’re going to have to learn how to defend yourself, to block someone’s punch, to pivot, to duck. I’ve got to teach you all of these things, Potter, so that you’re ready,” Moody said. “Although I would have expected you to use some of that weapon defense we’ve been doing the past few weeks to help you through this.”

“There was a difference, though,” Harry said. “I was attacking first.”

Moody grinned at him. “Caught that, did you? Good. It’s harder to react in a defensive manner if you’re the one attacking. That’s why I’m going to give you a simple rule, Potter: don’t be the first to attack.

“Now, stand over there. Lupin and I are going to show you some ways to block punches.”

An hour later, as Harry began to feel extremely exhausted, Moody called it quits. “There’s one more thing I’d like to show you, though, Potter, before you go,” he said. When Harry nodded, he continued, “Stand in the middle again and try to punch me.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Forget what I said for just a moment,” Moody said. “Try to punch me.”

Weary, Harry tossed out a rather lame punch, which Moody blocked. Then, before he knew what was happening, Moody grabbed his forearm with the same arm that was blocking his punch and pivoted with such a force that it forced Harry to flip over and land on his back.

“Ha!” Moody barked in triumph. “Neat, isn’t it?”

Harry groaned. “Very,” he muttered and was just about to push himself up when Lupin offered him a hand.

“You did a really good job tonight, Harry,” Lupin said, pulling him upright. “I had several rough landings myself when Moody showed me a few of those.”

“He put you through this as well, eh?” Harry said.

“Some of it,” Lupin said as he and Harry headed out the door after saying good-bye to Moody. “Not enough to put me on the road to being an Auror, though.” He offered Harry a smile.

Harry slipped his hand into his pocket and fished out his ring before putting it back on. “Did your muscles ache as much?”

“Probably not as bad as yours,” Lupin said, looking down at Harry’s hand where the ring now rested. “As I said, he didn’t put me through the ringer as much. That is a very interesting ring. I’ve noticed it before and I’ve been meaning to ask you about it.”

“What?” Harry said absently before glancing down at his hand. “Oh, yeah.”

“Where’d you get it?” Lupin asked.

“Some antique shop in Hogsmeade,” Harry replied. “Ron and Hermione have one too.”

“May I ask why you bought them?”

Harry shrugged. “They were Christmas gifts to them last year, but I got them engraved underneath so that they would symbolize our friendship.”

“Very interesting,” Lupin murmured. “Very interesting. I noticed, however, that last year you wore your ring on your right hand. Why change?”

“Oh—er—because it interfered with Quidditch,” Harry lied quickly. “I usually catch the Snitch with my right hand and the ring sort of weighed it down a bit.”

“I see. Do you like it?” Lupin asked.

“Yeah. I sort of forget that I’m wearing it, like the Snitch pendant that Hermione got me last year for my birthday and the talisman that Hagrid bought me for my birthday this year,” Harry said, pulling both necklaces out from underneath his shirt.

“Yes, I imagine so,” Lupin said distractedly.

“Er—Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?” Lupin said, his attention snapping back.

“Er—when’s the next full moon?” he asked.

Lupin blinked. “Tonight, as a matter of fact. I should get back to my office before I transform. I drank Snape’s Wolfsbane Potion earlier tonight, so I should be okay. Why do you ask?”

Harry frowned. “Because at the next full moon Voldemort told Fenrir Greyback that he and his fellow werewolves could attack Cardiff.”

“Yes, Dumbledore informed us of that. Try not to worry about it tonight, Harry. Dumbledore will have given the Ministry plenty of warning. Don’t let your mind be opened to Voldemort.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised. “Well, good night.”

“Good night, Harry. Pleasant dreams,” Lupin said. “Oh, and good luck in the match tomorrow.”

*****

For the second time in a week, Harry woke up anxious to read the Daily Prophet. He wanted to know if Cardiff had indeed been attacked by werewolves. He certainly hoped not, but he knew it was coming.

After going through his prescribed workout session, he took a long shower and ended up back in the common room to find it filled with Gryffindors who were all excited about that day’s match against Hufflepuff.

Hermione was sitting in her usual seat and waved to him. He walked over and sat down next to her. “’Morning,” he said.

“’Morning. Have you looked outside?” she asked.

From his morning jog he knew that it was bitterly cold out there and that the snow had turned hard and slippery. When he glanced out of the window, he saw that the weather had changed. Aghast, he stood up and stared at the swirling snow and it pelted down from the sky, driven by a forceful wind.

“When did that start?” he cried.

“About a half-hour ago,” Hermione said, pulling him back into his seat.

“First a thunderstorm and now this?” Harry said, letting his face drop into his hands. “Great.”

“Wear double, maybe triple layers under your Quidditch robes and use scarves,” Hermione said.

“I’ll fog up my glasses if I wear a scarf over my face,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Oh, Harry, for goodness sake,” Hermione muttered, taking out her wand and tapping Harry’s glasses. “There.”

He stared at her. “What did you just do?”

“Put a charm on your glasses so that they won’t fog up,” she said.

“Oh. Thanks.”

The rest of the team joined them, along with their friends. “Have you seen the snowstorm?” Andrew Kirke asked. “We’ll get blown off our brooms!”

“Not if you hold tight, you won’t,” Harry said, checking his watch. “Breakfast is being served in five minutes. Let’s go.”

They were just in the middle of their toast when the owls started arriving, bringing the morning post. Hermione paid for her Daily Prophet when an owl landed in front of her and, seeing the hungry look on Harry’s face, passed it over.

Harry opened it quickly and his breath hitched.

“What is it, mate?” Ron asked.

“Cardiff was attacked last night,” Harry said, “but like Westbury-on-Severn, no one died.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Hermione said.

Harry read on. “None of the werewolves were captured, though. Damn. But wait, it says one of them was killed by that one Auror bloke Gawain Greene.”

“Doesn’t he ever take a day off?” Ron said. “Bloody hell, he’s always in the papers.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “The point is, no one on our side was killed.”

“That’s right,” Hermione said. “This is a victory for us.”

He handed the paper back to Hermione. “Thank Merlin,” he murmured. “Now I don’t feel so bad about today.”

“What’s to feel bad about?” Ron asked. “It’s just a bit of snow.”

He glanced up at his friend sharply. “Ron, it’s practically a blizzard.”

“We’ll survive it,” Ron said.

“I’m glad you’re confident.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Ron asked.

Harry smiled. “No reason.”

“Oh my God, she didn’t!” Hermione hissed.

“What?” Harry and Ron said together.

“That hag. I can’t believe it!” Hermione said, her face turning red.

“What is it Hermione? Who did what?” Harry asked.

Hermione thrust the Prophet back at him, where he saw his own name in a headline on the penultimate page.

Harry Potter Under the Influence of Amorentia?

We all know the story about the Boy Who Lived (writes Rita Skeeter), including the stories from a couple years ago when he was falsely accused of being mad.

“Yeah, by you,” Ron muttered, reading along.

A few years ago, I wrote an article showing another side to Harry—his love life. Recall, if you will, the tragic relationship he had with one Hermione Granger, a fellow classmate of his at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Miss Granger spurned his love in favor of another’s, the former Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum. Now that Krum is gone, it seems that Miss Granger is so desperate to regain her former relationship with Harry Potter than she will do so by any means necessary.

On Valentine’s Day, Harry was seen in the company of Miss Granger in the village of Hogsmeade, coming out of the local sweet shop. Mr. Potter was acting very strangely. He was downright waspish to those around him, but constantly gave Miss Granger a glowing look.

Upon entering Honeyduke’s sweet shop, this reporter saw an advertisement for something called “Cupid Cakes,” a twist on Cauldron Cakes, but made to look like little cupids for Valentine’s Day. But, what was one of the ingredients used?

“Amorentia,” replied one of the shop owners. “A little bit of fun for everyone on Valentine’s Day.”

Upon asking the shop owner whether or not Miss Granger had looked at the Cupid Cakes, the owner replied, “Well, yes. She was talking to Harry Potter about them.”

It is probable that Miss Granger bought one of these Cupid Cakes and fed it to Harry so that he would become obsessed with her once again.

“Or she could have made it herself,” said Pansy Parkinson, a seventh year at Hogwarts. “Like I mentioned a few years ago, she’s really brainy and would know how to brew up something like that. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been doing so since fourth year.”

“She’s also clever enough not to get caught,” Parkinson went on. “She’s got to make sure she keeps her Head Girl badge.”

Perhaps it is time for Hogwarts to look into this matter before poor Harry’s heart is broken again.

“That hag,” Hermione repeated.

Harry shook his head. “Just ignore it,” he said, repeating the advice Hermione usually gave him.

“Ignore it?” Ron said incredulously. “What if she gets hate mail again?”

“We’ll burn them,” Harry said, “and toss the Howlers out the window.”

“I am going to get back at her,” Hermione said. “She may be a registered Animagus now, but I bet the Ministry would be very interested in knowing just how long she’s been an Animagus.”

“Or I could just write into the Prophet, telling everyone that she’s lying,” Harry said.

Hermione’s expression softened as she calmed down. “That’s really sweet of you, Harry, but even if you told the truth, no one would believe you. They’d all think you were under the influence of Amorentia.”

Harry looked around and dropped his voice. “I could lie and say that we’re just friends. I could keep us safe and discredit Rita at the same time.”

Ron gave an approving nod. “That sounds good.”

Hermione sighed. “Only if you want to lie.”

“Well, not particularly. I’d like to shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower that you’re my girl, but I also have to think about your safety,” he said in a low voice.

“Personally I doubt I’d be at any more risk as your girlfriend than I would as one of your best friends,” Hermione said, her voice matching Harry’s.

“But I’m not willing to risk it,” Harry said. “Look, let’s just roll our eyes at this thing and forget about it. It’ll all blow over soon, what with the war. People are going to be too scared and too preoccupied to care about my love life.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hermione said. “I agree, though, let’s just ignore this and see how bad the fallout is.”

Harry grinned. “That’s my Hermione.”

“Now back to Quidditch,” Ron said, taking Harry’s mind off of the article and returning it to the blistering snowstorm outside. “Can you try for a quick catch today so none of us freeze our arses off?”

“I’ll try,” Harry said, grabbing another slice of toast.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry motioned to his team that it was time to leave. “See you later,” he said to Hermione, who was still reading through the Prophet.

“Good luck,” she said.

The team walked out of the oak front doors and into the blowing snow. Harry pulled his cloak around him even tighter and led them down the sloping lawns to the locker room, where they gratefully entered its warmth.

“I’m glad I’m wearing two pairs of socks,” Ron muttered, shaking the snow from his hair.

“It’s cold,” Harry agreed, opening up his locker and grabbing his robes.

The team got ready in silence. Harry tied up his shoes and sat down with the rest of his team, who were all looking at him expectantly.

He frowned. “Well, we all know what the weather is like out there. Just do your best.”

“Harry? You remember what Hagrid told us during the holiday, don’t you?” Ron asked.

“About the scouts returning, you mean?” Harry said.

“Yeah. D’you think they did?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t really care either. I’m more concerned about this weather.”

They heard the pounding of feet as they entered the stadium. Harry listened to the excited chatter from the crowd and the blowing winds for a few minutes before finally getting up and saying, “Hufflepuff may have swapped players with a hope of having a better chance at beating us, but those two new players only had a week to prepare. We’ve been preparing since September. We’ll do fine. Just stay warm.”

“Like we didn’t already have that in mind,” Andrew Kirke said.

Harry gave a weak smile. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, pulling the door to the locker room open and letting in a blast of cold air and snow.

They trudged out of the locker room and into the stadium. Through the howling wind, he heard Colin Creevey’s voice, but it sounded as though it were coming from far away.

“Here’s the Gryffindor team—Kirke, McGuire, Farrell, McDonald, Weasley, Weasley, and Potter!”

Vaguely, Harry heard cheering. The wind blew even harder and nearly knocked Hunter down. Kirke grabbed him and pulled him upright. Harry gripped the Phoenix even tighter.

“From the other end of the field enters the Hufflepuff team—Corday, Mathis, Freebush, Hornish, French, Knowles, and Smith!” Colin yelled.

When the teams met in the middle of the pitch, Smith grinned haughtily at Harry. “Wonderful weather!” Smith yelled.

“Yes. It’s delightful,” Harry said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Madam Hooch was in the middle of the field as well. “Shake hands, captains,” she said, adjusting the goggles on her face.

Harry and Smith shook hands briefly and then turned back to their own teams.

“Mount your brooms, please,” Madam Hooch said. When they did so, she continued, “On my whistle, then. Three—two—one—” She blew her whistle and both teams rose as one.

“Madam Hooch tosses the Quaffle up and it is immediately taken by Farrell for Gryffindor. He zooms underneath French and passes it off to McDonald, who throws it to Weasley, who dodges a Bludger! Weasley heads toward the Hufflepuff goal posts. This will be the first test for Hufflepuff’s new Keeper, Gordon Hornish, a third year who missed the Hufflepuff try outs this year due to an accident in Potions, but Captain Zacharias Smith decided to use him in a line-up change he made last Saturday.”

Harry tried to watch Ginny as she flew down toward the Hufflepuff goal posts, seeing only a blur of scarlet, followed by two blurs of canary yellow, through the pelting snow.

“Weasley takes aim…NO! Hornish catches and tosses it back to French! French passes to Smith, who barely misses that Bludger sent by McGuire. Smith to Knowles, Knowles to Smith—they’re heading toward—nope! Farrell steals it!” Colin yelled and all of the Gryffindor supporters cheered. “Hunter Farrell steals it and heads back toward the Hufflepuff goals.”

“Come on, Hunter,” Harry muttered, causing snow to fly into his mouth. “Come on.”

Even with Hunter’s usual precision, Hornish caught the Quaffle and passed it back to Smith. Harry growled. This was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

“Smith takes it around Weasley and passes to French. Here comes a Bludger! Nope, she dodged it! French passes back to Smith who dives underneath McDonald and tries one! Oh! Ron Weasley caught it! The score is still zero to zero!”

Harry soared around the pitch, searching as best as he could for the Snitch. If the match was going to as low scoring as he feared, it was pretty much up to him. He had to find the Snitch and catch is before Hufflepuff’s Seeker did.

“Mathis sends a Bludger at McDonald, who’s got the Quaffle, and knocks it right out of her grip! It’s picked up by Knowles, who edges past Farrell and shoots…SAVED! Weasley saves another one!” Colin cried as the wind howled again.

“Good job, Ron!” Harry yelled as he passed the Gryffindor end. “Keep it up!”

Ron gave him a thumbs up and went back to the game.

Harry ducked quickly as a Bludger pelted its way past him with McGuire chasing after it. “Alright, Harry?” he called as he flew past.

“French has the Quaffle and barely misses smacking right into fellow Chaser Rachel Knowles. She passes it to Smith—STOLEN! Hunter Farrell steals the Quaffle back for Gryffindor. He flies past both French and Knowles, dodges a Bludger sent by Corday, and flies toward the Hufflepuff goal posts. He shoots—OH! Hornish was ready for him and catches the Quaffle easily. The score is still zero to zero.”

The wind blew even harder now and it was becoming more and more difficult to hear Colin’s voice. Harry heard snatches of the commentary: “Bludger misses—SAVED—passes to French—Weasley dives—Corday smacks—McDonald misses—Kirke takes aim—still zero to zero.”

Everything was very white now. The Quidditch players, although moving quickly around the field, were still getting covered in snow. Harry brushed some of the flakes from his shoulder as he paused to scan the pitch. He could no longer hear the crowd or Colin. The only thing he could hear was the cold, harsh wind as it blew in great gusts.

“SCORE!” he finally heard Colin bellow, making him jump. “FARRELL SCORES FOR GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry cheered, but his yells were lost to the wind. He dived down low to see if he could hear better and suddenly found himself being tailed by the young Hufflepuff Seeker. He smirked. Nobody tailed Harry Potter and got away with it.

Concentrating hard on a spot of the snow-covered earth, he dived again, causing the crowd to gasp in alarm. The Hufflepuff Seeker—Freebush—flew down after him. Harry, however, being on a much superior broom, came out of the dive a mere meter above the crowd. Freebush barely had time to pull herself up in time, narrowly avoiding a crash.

“A spectacular feint by Potter! Freebush should watch out. She’s not dealing with any ordinary Seeker here!” Colin said gleefully.

The wind picked up again and Colin’s voice was lost to it. Harry flew around the pitch again, happy with himself. Suddenly, through all of the white, he thought he saw a glitter of gold. He started after it. Was it? Could it be?

It was. As Harry soared after it, he could tell it was the Golden Snitch. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” Harry yelled as the wind blew even harder. Suddenly he heard someone scream behind.

He whirled around. The wind had blown so hard that it had knocked Freebush off of her broom. Harry was torn as he watched her fall, but he knew that he couldn’t possibly sit by and let her possibly get hurt. Lying flat on the handle, he zoomed off after her, the wind whipping his robes around him. “Go, go!” he cried, urging the Phoenix on.

As he edged closer, another large gust of wind blew, knocking him off course. He growled in frustration, pulling the broom back in the other direction, hoping that he’d get to the Hufflepuff Seeker in time.

He went into a steeper, more dangerous, dive. Freebush was only a meter above the ground when Harry reached out and caught her by the arm, one-handed. He halted and, with all his might, pulled her onto the broom with him.

“You okay?” he panted.

“Yeah, I think,” Freebush said. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said as Madam Hooch blew her whistle to call a timeout.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Colin screamed. “DID YOU SEE THAT REMARKABLE CATCH BY HARRY POTTER, SAVING THE HUFFLEPUFF SEEKER?”

Knowles flew down with Freebush’s broom in her hand. “Blimey, Potter, if it weren’t for you catching her, she’d have probably snapped her neck. That was a sixty-foot fall!”

Harry helped Freebush back onto her broom without a word and flew off. The Snitch was gone.

When play resumed, he listened to Colin’s commentary as much as he could between wind gusts. “Ten to zero, Gryffindor, still. The players are looking weary and who could blame them? It’s really cold out here.”

“Good job, Harry!” Ginny called as she passed him, tearing off after Smith, who had the Quaffle.

That’s when Harry saw it again, near the Keeper Hornish’s left foot. The Snitch.

He glanced around to see where Freebush was at. “SCORE!” he suddenly heard Colin yell. “SMITH KNOCKS ONE IN FOR HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Damn,” Harry muttered as he tore off toward the Snitch, desperate to catch it this time. His fingers were starting to go numb.

“Weasley’s got the Quaffle, but it’s stolen by Smith, who’s heading toward the Gryffindor goals again. Wait—Potter’s seen the Snitch!” Colin yelled.

Harry was miles ahead of Freebush. There was no way she’d catch him. Another large wind gust tried to knock him off course, but he held on. The Snitch fluttered off, but Harry was hot on its trail. He reached out for it—WHAM!

Harry cried out in pain as a Bludger hit him square in the arm. He heard a sickening crack and spun off course, then righted himself. He saw the Snitch above him and went after it as Freebush flew up.

“No!” Harry cried, urging his broom upward. His arm was aching with an all too familiar pain, but he held on. He was catching Freebush.

The Snitch was leveling out now and with it, Freebush. Harry followed them and, with an extra burst of speed he didn’t know the broom had, he caught Freebush and began to pass her just as the Snitch went into a horrendous dive ninety-degrees downward. Freebush wouldn’t dare go into a ninety-degree drop again, but Harry was braver. He followed the Snitch down, his arm killing him, and, when the Snitch leveled out again some twelve feet above the ground, he pulled up out of the dive and took his left hand off of the broom, leaving his injured right hand to keep him steady as he flew down the pitch, edging ever closer to the golden ball.

Yet another gust of wind tried to blow him off his broom, but he held on, gasping in pain with the effort. It was all he could do to hang on. Ahead of him, he saw Freebush coming, her hand also up, obviously believing that she could catch the Snitch as it passed by her.

Harry was getting closer and closer. He leaned forward slightly on his injured arm, trying to snatch the Snitch out of the air. Suddenly, his arm gave way and he felt his legs slide off of the footholds. With a gasp, he wrapped both his injured arm and legs around the shaft, and hung off of the bottom of his broomstick, his left hand still outstretched.

Freebush had a look of triumph in her eyes. Summoning all of his will power, Harry pulled himself up as far as he could do, stretching his left hand out. Then, with a grunt of pain, he pushed himself even further and, as a blast of cold wind hit his face, his fist enclosed around the Snitch.

He distantly heard a whistle and the roar of the crowd, but all of that was beginning to fade. He had the little golden ball clutched in his hand and he felt himself relax. They had won. That was when he felt himself hit the icy ground.

People were starting to surround him. “Harry! Harry!” he heard Ron yelled as he landed by him. “Bloody hell, mate, that was one hell of a catch!”

Hermione was rushing toward him from the stands. “Harry! My God, Harry! Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not,” Harry said, groaning slightly. “I think my arm’s broken.”

“We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey straight away,” Hermione said. She took out her wand and conjured up a stretcher.

“That was still the best catch I’ve ever seen,” Ron said. “I made sure to save your broom, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured and, after climbing into the stretcher, he let his teammates carry him all the way back to the castle.