The Final Lesson

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Summary

Hermione didn't say anything, but he knew what she was thinking. Why was it necessary for Harry to put additional protections on something that only he, Hermione and Ron could gain access to anyway? Finally he said, "I'm worried about Ron. Something happened while you were away." Continuation of The Kemmynadow Betrayal.

Or

While Ron’s recent associations become of increasing concern to his friends and family, Harry becomes embroiled in an investigation to identify the traitor responsible for Voldemort’s recent successes. Soon Harry and his Muggle friends cross paths again and together they try to solve the mystery before the Ministry becomes overrun by Voldemort’s supporters. Harry comes to suspect there is more going on than he’s been told. Continuation of The Kemmynadow Betrayal.

Introduction

This story is a continuation from

The Kemmynadow Betrayal, a story which continued events and characters in The Deceiver’s Distillation.

There are a number of events and characters that are important to the continuing story, but rather than include a complete recap here, I have as before summarised the main characters and events below. Although some reminders are included in the text, you may find the answer to an obscure reference here.

I have excluded minor characters and events that have no direct bearing on this part of the story.

Please note that these notes contain spoilers to the previous two stories.

Character Profiles

New characters follow after.

Harry. Has received some bequests from Dumbledore’s Last Will and Testament. Includes the Kemmynadow Book, Dumbledore’s draft standard book of spells and a Phoenix chick named Phryne. Growing prowess with dark magic halted by Hermione. Uneasy truce with the Dursleys. Agreed to teach Neville, Ginny and Luna during their school holidays. Invited to attend and participate in Muggle task force dedicated to defeat Voldemort. Saddened that his friend Bateman no longer remembers him.

Hermione. Long periods with no contact with her parents. Has split with Ron and is now romantically linked with Harry.

Ron. Recently got job working for Fred and George, but isn’t too happy about his prospects. Came good in the end, but suffered at hands of Bateman’s men who didn’t like his moaning.

Kreacher. Displays growing affection for Harry whilst revelling in any opportunity to infuriate him. Has been promised freedom by Harry when he is ready. Came to help Harry on Archive raid because Dobby was forbidden to come. Became unlikely hero when he escaped and raised alarm at the Ministry. Tricked Dudley into performing ritual dance to the gods of the doorframe.

Dobby. Working for Harry at Grimmauld Place. Usually in conflict with Kreacher.

Professor McGonagall. Newly appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts. Has offered private defence tuition to Harry. Gave Harry Dumbledore’s Kemmynadow Book against her better judgement. Has been subject to a number of attacks as Voldemort wants his candidate appointed as Head. Was very upset when Harry got angry because she was putting herself at risk.

Kingsley Shacklebolt. Key member of Prime Minister’s anti-Voldemort task force, unknown to Scrimgeour. Often astonished at knowledge gathered by Miss Alice.

Muggle Prime Minister. To Harry: “I know there are things you have got to do, and I know we will never know what they are. If you need resources that we have, just ask for them. Realistically, we will never amount to much more than a diversion or distraction against the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Just remember, if we use what we have at the right time, we just might give you and the Aurors the edge." (From The Kemmynadow Betrayal.)

Dursleys. Now living inharmoniously with Harry at Grimmauld Place having returned early from a luxury cruise paid for by Harry. Vernon has tried to sell off Grimmauld Place and Dudley escaped only to need rescuing by Harry. Petunia is beginning to see Harry more as family.

Grangers. Hermione’s parents are together but in hiding. Harry briefly met up with them working as dentists just before they were moved on to another location.

Ollivander. Rescued by Harry from Voldemort’s camp. Killed the Healer’s nurse. Kidnapped Hermione. Suspected by Harry to be The Healer. Seen by Harry at the Archive and assumed to be a guest of Voldemort.

Voldemort. Finally forced to relinquish Dumbledore’s bequest to Harry (a Phoenix egg). Was shot and wounded by Terri Hope. Tried to kill Hermione and make Harry fall victim to The Kemmynadow Curse.

These characters were introduced in The Deceiver’s Distillation:-

Sergeant John Bateman. Nicknamed “Bear,” he is the leader of the Muggle Special Forces team assigned to Harry. He is physically imposing, fit, strong and quite a bit older than his charges. He was attacked by Hagrid when he failed to heed his warnings concerning Hermione’s treatment. His best friend, also a veteran solder, died shortly after being rescued from the Arena. Trusted and respected by Harry, Bateman is experienced, clever and very skilled at what he does.

Bateman leads his usual team consisting of Duke, Carlyle, Hagland and Smith. Hope and Careem are recent additions from other duties.

Bateman is twice divorced and has one daughter. Has grown to become protective of Hermione and respects her intelligence, although he does sometimes pull her leg.

Met with Fred and George and commissioned a number of items, including weapons and clothing.

At the end of The Deceiver’s Distillation, after the raid on the Archive, Bateman announced to Harry that he was going to have his memory modified in order to forget Harry and his friends. Harry gave him a gold coin so he could send messages (although he won’t remember the sender).

Duke. Second in command. Likes to tell jokes and show off. Loves being in a fight and appears to have caught Bateman’s enthusiasm for teaching those under his command. Scornful of Officers, he has been known to speak out of turn occasionally. Assigned to Harry for close personal protection.

Careem. Weapons and explosives specialist. Clever but physically slight compared to the others. Assigned to Harry for close personal protection. Was the first to (jokingly) suggest they bayonet Ron.

Terri Hope. Only female member of the team. Assigned to Hermione for close personal protection. Disobeyed direct order to follow Hermione into the camp when she gave them the slip.

Carlyle. Assigned to Hermione for close personal protection. Experienced rock climber, broke arm on way to Archive.

Hagland. Recognised the Prime Minister from the television but thought he was a football manager. Assigned to Ron for close personal protection. Suspected to have knocked Ron out on their way to attacking the Arena camp.

Smith. Still thinks a football manager gave them their mission orders. Assigned to Ron for close personal protection.

Jack Gurnet. Died shortly after Arena rescue. Soldier. Best friend of John Bateman. Captured and tortured in the false belief that he had Bateman’s mission to protect Harry. Suffered mutilating surgery at the hands of the Healer along with Alison Weston. Made to fight in the Arena.

Alison Weston. Civilian casualty nurse. Died shortly after Arena rescue.

The Healer. The surgeon who mutilated Voldemort’s Muggle captives. Used a mixture of magic and Muggle surgical techniques to prolong their suffering. Identity unconfirmed, although Harry alone thinks it is Ollivander.

These characters were introduced in The Kemmynadow Betrayal:-

Miss Alice. Muggle analyst working for the Prime Minister against Voldemort. Very clever. Once tricked two Ministry wizards and ended up having tea with Dumbledore. Liked and trusted by Harry. It was Miss Alice who assigned Bateman to protect Harry. She located the Archive in Kent and planned the raid. Ordered casualties to be left in the cave systems.

Brigadier Colonel Falcon. Paranoid and incompetent career soldier. Assigned to investigate Magical events but actually fed false information for years. Attempted to interrogate Harry but was interrupted by Bateman. Died at the Archive having suffered at the hands of the Healer.

Scenariste. Librarian and only ghost survivor of the Archive. Dislikes Voldemort for making him re-index his entries from "R" to "V". Afraid of becoming another ghost victim of Voldemort's attempts to access the Archive data. Helped Harry escape the labyrinth and later helped Kreacher escape.

Herita. Giantess freed from Ministry captivity by Harry after the Archive raid. Her brother was murdered by Voldemort in front of her. Now living in mountains overlooking Hogwarts under protection of Hagrid.

Phryne. Phoenix chick hatched at the moment Voldemort attempted to use a killing curse on Hermione. Named by Hermione, "after the Greek courtesan not the place, obviously.”

The Traitor. Identity unknown. Suspected to be a Muggle, but could be pretending. Could be almost anyone!

Items, Places and Events

Dumbledore’s Standard Book of Spells. Loaned to Fred and George but now in Harry's possession. Incomplete book manuscript begun by Dumbledore when they hoped Voldemort was gone for good. Would have become a bestseller and the new standard reference for teaching spell work. Combined several disciplines of magic.

The Kemmynadow Curse. Ancient dark magic. Like a spirit that ensures that Dumbledore’s last wishes are complied with. Prevented Voldemort from attacking Harry until he had passed on Dumbledore’s bequest of a Phoenix egg.

The Kemmynadow Book. Name given to Dumbldore’s personal reference book of the darkest magic he ever faced and the counter-spells for most of them. Book is sealed to everyone except Harry. Very powerful, Harry only has to touch the book and the book pushes the dark knowledge into him. Addictive. Harry had problems after prolonged exposure.

Privet Drive. Number Four was trashed by the Death Eaters after Harry and the Dursleys vacated it.

The Library. Cathedral like underground library that was originally part of a separate department of the Ministry of Magic. It was later converted and expanded into the Archive.

The Arena. A gladiatorial arena created for the Death Eaters entertainment. Original was destroyed, but an underground recreation was discovered next to the Archive in a disused underground reservoir.

The Archive. A large underground depositary located somewhere in Kent. Was all but forgotten by the Ministry of Magic until the Muggles raided it, convinced it could help gather information about Voldemort’s plans. Was already occupied by Voldemort but he was evicted by the Muggle raiding party. Staffed entirely by ghosts, the documents are stored in the surrounding rock strata. The ghosts' pleas for help when Voldemort began attacking them were either ignored by the Ministry or intercepted by sympathisers. The Archive is currently under Ministry guard but the ghost librarian, who controls all access to information, is no longer sympathetic to the Ministry.

The Journal. Not seen and present location unknown. Written by Falcon and may help identify the Traitor.

Locket. Suspected Horcrux found in Kreacher’s possession. Now locked away in Gringotts. This is the only new Horcrux found to date.

Grimmauld Place. Subject of a new Fidelius Charm which Harry performed but the Secret Keeper has not been revealed. Harry has intimated that there is a twist in the new secret to prevent the problems caused by the Dursleys being repeated.

Room of Requirement. Sealed to everyone except Harry, Ron and Hermione. Harry can seal the room to all others. The room provides anything they need upon arrival, but it usually looks the same now. Seven large fireplaces provide Floo access in and out. Hermione likes to study there now.

Hogwarts. Harry now has access to the grounds. He can create an opening in the boundary wall for himself only.

Story Rating

As before, this story is rated PG and this has dictated the limited language used. To be honest, I considered for quite a while whether or not the language needed to be stronger considering the some of the themes and situations.

This need is most evident when there is a confrontation with Ron and (as written) the seriousness of the accusation and indeed his response needed to be more evocative.

The problem remains that it’s simply too easy to read it and think, “so what was so bad about that?”

Timeline

This story begins during the winter, just before Christmas, in what should have been Harry's Seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry met Bateman at the beginning of the summer and the raid on the Archive occurred towards the end of the summer.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Note: This Chapter was previously posted here. Minor changes only.

Chapter 1 - The Armourer's Lament

Almost three months have passed since the raid on the Archive ...

Mary

Happell climbed the steps up towards the open air from the ticket hall of the underground tube station. She wasn't at all comfortable travelling by tube, especially at this time of the early evening when commuters were hurrying to get home on the overcrowded London Underground.

As much as she hated being jostled, she felt much safer just recently as an anonymous traveller amongst many.

She paused a moment, waiting for the people in front to push their way forward through the throngs of people trying to move down the steps at the same time.

Being fairly petite and generally polite in public, Mary never did any pushing herself, of course. However she willingly followed close behind any impatient commuter that was prepared to barge their way through.

This evening, she was following two male students who sounded like they were meeting some friends in a bar at street level.

Looking down, Mary noticed the dirty white floor tiles were dry. At least it wasn't raining this evening, she mused.

Then, as expected, one of the students ahead of her lost his patience and ended the impasse with an aggressive shove, ably assisted by his friend. Mary hurried up the steps behind them before the space they created was filled by more irritated travellers.

The welcome smell of fresh cool air was the first sign that they were nearing the top of the steps.

She followed the two students through the slightly less packed crowd of people waiting to descend, but unfortunately they went straight into the first Public Bar door they came to. Picking her way more slowly through the remainder of people, she was soon walking along a busy high street at a comfortable pace.

A red double decker bus passed her at speed, its diesel engine straining under acceleration and drawing Mary's attention. The internal lights on the packed bus were blazing.

It was getting dark, something that wasn't immediately obvious under the glare of the floodlighting around the station entrances. She checked her watch to confirm that it was later than she thought.

She quickened her pace for a few yards but gradually slowed again while she decided what to do. She had remembered that she had virtually nothing to eat in her flat. Mary decided to take a slight detour to a delicatessen two streets away. If she hurried she would get there just before it closed.

*

Mary climbed the short flight of smooth stone steps to her apartment building close to the highly polished brass handrail and entered the lobby through the glazed hardwood doors.

As usual she scowled down at the nylon entrance matting that had replaced the traditional coir mat, much to her disapproval.

She was about to say good evening to the Night Porter when he looked up from his desk.

"Where is Charles?" she asked at once.

"Charles, Ma'am?" he asked with a slightly confused look on his face. "Oh, sorry, you mean Charlie?"

"Indeed," agreed Mary. She was perhaps the only person to call the affable regular Night Porter by that name. She couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been on duty.

"Charlie had a dental appointment this afternoon. I'm staying on for a couple of hours until he gets in. Is there anything I can do for you, Ma'am?"

Mary took in the photocard security identification badge he wore and said, "No, thank you. Please tell Charles that I hope his dental appointment went well. Good evening to you."

"I'll do that, Ma'am. Good evening."

Mary opened the glazed door that led to the lift lobby and stepped inside, fumbling through her handbag for her pager. The badge on the new Porter looked genuine, but she should have received a message from the building security manager of any change to the usual staffing.

Out of view from the reception desk, she pulled out the pager and glanced at the fire exit that would be her means of escape if there were no confirmation message.

She absently pushed the lift call button as she tried to remember the buttons on the pager she needed to press to review her messages.

Her new pager was much smaller than her previous one but also much heavier. It also went through batteries at an extraordinary rate.

The messages scrolled slowly across the single line display. Every time she pressed the pager button to hurry it along it reset and began to display the first message over again.

Just as the lift pinged to announce its arrival, she found the message. It had been sent earlier that morning and had been hidden behind the four pointless meeting reminders that had irritated her so much earlier. Since when had she ever been late for a meeting? To make matters worse, she had no idea how to erase the offending messages.

She read the text as it scrolled across the small readout. The clearance code for the replacement Porter had her prefix. She must have personally vetted his security application to work in the building, although she didn't recognise his face at all.

She entered the lift and pressed the button for the third floor before standing with her back to the concealed video camera at cornice level.

As the lift began to rise, Mary looked into the large bronzed mirror above the handrail.

Even though the warm lighting gave her reflection a flattering appearance, she still looked tired and careworn.

Just lately, when she looked at her reflection, she wondered who she really was these days.

Was she really the same woman who, with boundless energy, used to arrive for work two hours early just so she could have the choice of the analyses that the night-long computer runs produced.

She smiled sadly to herself. She hadn't done that in a very long time. Of course, these days she could pick and choose her own assignments.

Mary found herself frowning, annoyed with herself. The days of choosing her own areas of study and endeavour were over for the foreseeable future, anyway.

The lift came to a gentle stop and the doors opened silently.

With one final look back at the persona she no longer felt she was, Mary exited and walked the short distance along the corridor to her flat door.

She unlocked the heavy metal faced front door and entered quickly in order to tap in her ten-digit pass code into the beeping pad next to the door. The beeping stopped and a green light came on above the pad.

Mary dropped her things to take off her coat and hang it up in the small closet before heading for the kitchen.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, she felt something wasn't quite right.

She didn't know what it was exactly. Everything looked in its place, although there was actually very little evidence that anyone actually lived in the small flat.

Mary pushed open the door leading into the dining and living room area and made to switch on the lights.

Before her fingers found the switch, however, there was a small click and a table lamp was switched on.

"Good evening, Miss Alice."

Mary froze. Being called by that name outside of work was almost as shocking as discovering someone inside her flat.

Mary's pseudonym of Miss Alice had been given to her by the senior administrator of the first high security complex she ever worked in. He had compared her to Alice, such was the wonder she had with everything that went on there.

Somehow the name stuck, and now probably only a handful of people at her workplace knew her real name.

Inwardly furious with herself that she hadn't been more vigilant, she stepped towards the seated man who was entirely too big to be sitting in her favourite high backed reading chair. Lying next to the lamp on the side table next to him was an automatic handgun.

"Well, this is a surprise, Bear," she replied, mustering her self control and casually opening her handbag. "I quite thought you had vanished from the face of the planet."

"Really?"

"By the way, you know you have less than ten minutes, don't you? If I don't check in soon an alarm will be raised."

"I estimated five minutes, but that will be from when you get home."

Mary looked in her handbag again.

"Missing something?"

"You know I am," spat Mary, thinking furiously what had happened to her tracer. She stopped looking, seeing the smile that crossed Bateman's face.

"It was lifted from you on the tube. I imagine that anyone taking an interest in your movements will realise that you are now doing some evening shopping."

"Dare I ask what you did with Charles?"

"I promise you he's fine. He genuinely had a training day today."

"I'm sorry I got you killed Charles," she thought unsteadily. "I hope it was quick."

She crossed the room and sat in the matching chair opposite Bateman, thinking through her options.

The small tracer was an electronic radio device that could detect her progress along certain pre-defined routes. So long as she kept moving and within expected areas, like her normal route to and from her place of work, no alarm would be raised.

Few people knew she carried it, though. But then, Bateman was very well informed having somehow gained access to the most secret information. Compared to the other information that had been obtained, her personal security arrangements were hardly a challenge.

"I suppose you disconnected the alarm pad as well?" she asked.

"Naturally. The newer ones are harder to crack, but with yours we just had to make the little green light come on."

"May I get you a drink?" she asked.

Bateman laughed and shook his head.

Miss Alice couldn't stop herself from smiling guiltily back at him. She was teetotal herself, but had always kept a generous supply of alcohol on display in all her residences. The drinks were all spiked, of course. She had caught no less than three intruders in her unsecured bed-sit a few years back.

"So, how did you enjoy The Willow?" he asked conversationally.

Mary reeled inwardly. Even the name of the Willow was a closely guarded secret. Hardly any of the staff working there knew its code name, even.

The Willow was an exclusive safe house where selected national security suspects were detained under round the clock guard. The house and grounds were luxurious and staff were in attendance to cater for the residents' every whim.

A particular branch of the secret services ran four such residences, only three of which were in the United Kingdom. The Willow was situated in the county of Suffolk and was the only one they denied existed even to other branches.

Mary had been very surprised that she rated such an exclusive interrogation in a place normally reserved for the great and the good that were suspected to have strayed.

As pleasant as the grounds and cuisine had been, Mary had hated every minute of the six weeks she had been trapped there. She had been apprehended quietly and with a minimum of fuss early on the Monday morning immediately after the raid on the Archive.

She guessed at once that the raid had not gone to plan, but being isolated from any news or contact with the outside world she had been left to fret about what had actually happened.

One of the things that annoyed her intensely was the soft approach her interrogators took. She had been there almost four weeks before they even bothered to talk to her at all. When they did, they seemed almost disinterested in anything she had to say.

The thing that really concerned her was that as Miss Alice, she hadn't given a very good account of herself. She had decided not to volunteer any information and would instead answer questions honestly but succinctly. The problem was, their questions never gave any hint at all that her interrogators knew anything at all about neither the magical community nor her work for the Prime Minister.

Mary knew she had to at least try and keep the dialog with Bateman going.

"The Willow? Well, the grounds were very pleasant."

She had spent as much time as possible out walking during her spell there. Most of the day she could hear unseen tanks trundling around the surrounding firing range and occasionally loud bangs of shells being fired could be heard.

"I understand the Chef there is quite excellent. Apparently he could have got a television series on the strength of his Salmon Linguine alone."

"Really? I found him rather tiresome myself. Still, I did rather enjoy pretending to be indifferent to the meals Robert prepared."

"Robert?" asked Bateman. "I thought his name was Bobby?" he added, knowing she was testing just how much he really knew.

"Still, I shan't miss the place," said Mary truthfully, adding, "not when I can have microwave meals from the corner shop instead."

Bateman smiled pleasantly and nodded.

All she could think was, "Why hasn't this traitor killed me yet?"

"I suppose you know what I've been up to?" she asked conversationally.

"Not really. I know they let you return to some analytical task, but that's all."

"Well, I would hardly call it a task. I'm sure they destroy my reports before reading them."

"While you remain under suspicion, it's inevitable that people are going to be over cautious."

They were quiet a moment. All the while Mary calculated. Bateman's gun had no silencer. How quickly could he grab the gun and shoot her? Very quickly, was her immediate conclusion. He was a soldier, first and foremost. He'd killed many times before, a few were even on her orders, although he hadn't known it at the time.

He's a soldier, not a spy, she told herself. Bateman had never been a cold blooded killer, even before he'd become a traitor. But when was that exactly? And what now?

She shifted slightly and spoke to distract him from her arm movement.

"They didn't tell me anything that happened at the Archive. Were there any casualties?"

"We sustained a couple of injuries. The worst was Carlyle's broken arm. He fell in the cave system on the way there."

"I see. Well, I'm glad that you all made it out of there. You went back for him after, did you?"

"No, he came with us."

Mary frowned and asked, "But how did you get him through the caves? He must have been quite a burden for the rest of you. He was your most experienced climber, wasn't he?"

"I don't remember how he did it. He just did, that's all."

"And the others?"

"Others?"

"Yes, Harry, Ron and Hermione?"

"We went in alone," said Bateman firmly.

"So, you really don't remember?" said Mary to herself.

"Were you able to tap into the Archive?" she continued.

"Unfortunately not. Voldemort had breached the place before us and we had to fight our way out."

"Really? How interesting."

Bateman looked completely relaxed but was watching her very closely. She shivered thinking how, only a few short months ago she considered him to be one of her best friends. Certainly, he was one of the most trusted.

The question why he had turned traitor had obsessed her ever since her detention.

It was an absurd notion. Bateman a traitor? Impossible, but who else could it be?

"I must say just this," she said at last.

Bateman raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

"I just wanted to say, how much I admired the way you did it. Not what you did, obviously. You managed to obtain the most secret information we had from right under my nose and then you got clean away to leave me implicated as the main suspect. Quite exceptional."

Bateman didn't react at all, but listened in silence.

"But, you know? The best thing, no, the brilliant thing, was having them modify your memory like that. You had erased all the physical evidence and then you had them erase your own memory evidence. Right now even you believe I'm the one who betrayed us, isn't that right? You'd pass a lie detector test with flying colours, I'd expect."

Bateman frowned slightly and in the instant that he hesitated Mary threw open the hidden compartment under the padded arm rest and grabbed the handgun concealed there.

He reacted quicker than she thought possible, and then they were sitting a few feet apart, each aiming a gun to the other's head.

Mary's hand shook slightly, unlike Bateman's. She knew she couldn't miss at this range, but if she fired he would react out of instinct. His trigger finger would shoot the gun as soon as he heard her shot. He wouldn't miss.

The question was, could she do the same? She might not even fire the gun.

Mary remembered the first time she had ventured down to the firing range. The armourer had been furious when, out of shear shock when the adjacent person had fired, she had just dropped the gun.

She had received her first and only reprimand for using her parity rank to get herself some time on the firing range. Analysts never had any need to handle or use guns, after all. Miss Alice, though, had disagreed and just turned up to have a go. It had looked easy, after all.

Fortunately, the armourer took pity on her and decided it would be safer if he taught her at least the rudiments of using handguns. They had mutually agreed not to continue with this tuition when it became clear she would never actually hit any of the targets she was aiming at. What she did take away with her, though, was a new respect for the people she sent out to face such weapons.

As the length of time the stand-off grew longer, Mary began to get concerned that any sudden noise might provoke either or both of them to fire. What if the phone rang or something?

Her gun also began to grow heavy in her hand and she began to shake even more.

*

Bateman looked on as Miss Alice sat there shaking a gun at him. It never even occurred to him that she would have firearms concealed about her flat.

"She is an analyst," he told himself. "Analysts don't use guns."

Of course this somewhat confirmed the widely held suspicion that she was an analyst who had decided to switch sides.

He wasn't too worried about her actually managing to hit him with it, even at this close range. He had actually been in similar situations before, and a cool head had kept him safe from harm up to now.

He thought back to the three other people that had pointed guns at him. Two of them had been too nervous to fire at all. The third hadn't cared whether he lived or died, but even he couldn't hide when he was about to pull the trigger.

Bateman chided himself.

If Miss Alice had been anything other than a scared analyst, he would be dead by now. These moments of lapses in concentration were so often the difference between life and death.

He was troubled, though. He had been waiting for her for almost four hours now.

Even Miss Alice had hinted about what had been bothering him.

Could it be true? Was he really the traitor?

Bateman knew that it was true that his memory had been modified. He didn't know exactly what memories had been changed, but Kingsley Shacklebolt had assured him that he had asked for it to be done in order to protect certain individuals, and one individual in particular. He even wrote himself a short note confirming this.

His instinct told him, with every fibre of his belief, that it would be impossible for him to willingly betray his country and his comrades in arms.

All of the official inquiries had cleared him entirely. He had even taken and passed a polygraph test.

Nothing had actually been proved against Miss Alice either, but the number of suspects was extraordinarily short. If not her, who else could it be?

The idea that Miss Alice was the traitor seemed actually even more preposterous. She had worked tirelessly for the public good.

He decided to trust his instincts and Miss Alice's logic one more time.

He would lower his gun and trust her to do the same so they could at least talk. Of course, she might just shoot him anyway once he moved his aim. If she really was the traitor, her shaking hand routine was probably just an act. If that were true, a traitor Miss Alice would want to talk some more as well.

"I'm going to-" he began to say.

Miss Alice jerked in shock and pulled the trigger.

The shot was deafening in the enclosed space of the living room.

Crying out in anguish she dropped the gun and collapsed to the floor, shaking violently.

"Oh my," she cried, too terrified to open her eyes and see what she had just done.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 2 - Breakfast

Harry Potter sighed deeply and looked out over his morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Across the kitchen table Kreacher sat looking at him. Dobby’s chair was empty.

Harry frowned. Normally Kreacher enjoyed continuing doing whatever it was to annoy him, but this time the house elf was sitting quietly with an all too innocent look on his face.

Kreacher smiled slightly and pointed towards where Harry was sitting.

There was another gurgling noise which prompted Harry to lift his paper up.

“Phryne!”

Harry threw the paper aside and grabbed the phoenix chick out from his bowl of cornflakes.

“Kreacher, why didn’t you warn me?” complained Harry as he grabbed a tea towel and dried off the bedraggled bird. The milk was steaming hot.

“Kreacher assumed Master wanted his cereal milk warming up.”

“There seems to be a lot more milk in my bowl than I remember pouring.”

“Master did not say he did not want more milk,” said Kreacher calmly. “Master’s bird seemed to like it.”

Harry gently stroked Phryne. The baby phoenix coughed and spluttered, but appeared to recover quickly. To his relief, Harry soon heard the chick's familiar chirrups.

He wrapped Phryne carefully in the tea towel and pushed her to the centre of the wide table.

“Hermione would kill me if anything happened to her, you know that, don’t you?”

“Miss Hermione seems very attached to the bird,” observed Kreacher.

“Yes, so I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t drown Phryne before she gets back,” said Harry, adding, “or at any time,” just to be sure.

“She probably wishes she had taken the bird with her. Miss Hermione knows how accident prone Master is sometimes.”

“Yes, but Phoenixes aren’t very common where she’s gone. She and her parents are staying in a Muggle hotel.”

“When will Miss Hermione be back?”

“Soon, I hope. Her parents weren’t too sure how long they could stay before going back into hiding.”

“They must be having a good time. Miss Hermione hasn’t written very often, has she?”

“Well, I hope they are having a good time. I told Hermione not to bother to write every day. She should use her time to spend it with her parents while she can, after all.”

Harry did his best to keep his voice even. He had written to Hermione gently suggesting she needn’t write to him quite so often, but when her letters became less frequent and much shorter, he did had begun to feel a little resentful that she had taken his advice so readily.

He looked up to see Kreacher studying him intently.

Phryne then distracted them both by struggling free of the tea towel. Flapping her tiny wings, Phryne waddled towards the middle of the table. After only a few steps Phryne, as usual, stumbled and a ball of feathers rolled towards the marmalade.

Phryne was now just over three months old but looked hardly any different from the tiny bird that hatched during the raid on the Archive. Harry thought she was a little bigger, but she remained as ungainly and flightless as ever.

Harry reached out and helped the chick to her feet, wondering if she would ever grow up enough to fly in his lifetime. Indeed, walking properly would be a worthwhile achievement.

He had quizzed Hermione on how long she thought it would be before Phryne looked anything like Fawkes had.

Hermione had just chided him, telling him that Phryne would grow up in her own good time.

Guided by Harry’s outstretched arm, Phryne suddenly flapped her wings and ran quickly towards him.

Kreacher sniggered loudly as Harry reached for the tea towel yet again. Wiping the milk splashes from his face, Harry looked down.

Phryne was once again sitting amongst his corn flakes.

He was about to rescue her again when Phryne began singing. Harry sighed and said, “Well, so long as you’re happy sitting in there, you may as well stay there.”

Phryne’s singing never failed to move him. She wasn’t yet nearly as good as Fawkes was, but she was definitely improving.

*

Harry Apparated to his usual spot just inside of the front gate at the Burrow, and was pleased to see that unlike over London, the weather was overcast but dry.

He walked over to the kitchen door through the chickens that were intent upon pecking up every bit of the grain that someone had thrown down for them.

“Hello?” said Harry into the open door.

Seeing Ron sat at the table, he opened the lower half of the barn door and entered.

Ron was looking quite lost in thought and jumped when he realised that Harry was grinning at him from the other side of the table.

“Sorry, Harry,” said Ron sheepishly. “I was miles away.”

“Evidently,” Harry replied with a smile.

“Tea?”

“Great, thanks.”

Ron picked up his wand and waved it at various points around the kitchen. Soon two steaming cups of tea landed between them on the table.

“How are things going?” asked Harry, who hadn’t seen Ron for a few days.

Ron made an indistinct grumbling noise and scowled into his tea cup.

He took a sip before saying, “I’m not sure how long I can stand working for Fred and George.”

Harry, who was used to Ron’s complaints, nodded sympathetically.

“I always seem to get the dogsbody jobs. When I’m not out collecting weird materials or delivering stuff, I’m always given the awkward customers to deal with.”

“They obviously know they can rely on your tact and temperament,” offered Harry.

Ron snorted and shook his head.

“No. I’m sure they just want to keep me away from their more interesting stuff. You know they’ve locked off their offices and stock rooms now, don’t you?”

“I didn’t realise. Still, its good they are taking security seriously, isn’t it?”

“Harry, the reason you haven’t noticed anything is that you have free run of the place. I never get to see anything about what they are developing. Of course, they never seem to have a problem with telling you!”

“There’s not a lot to tell, actually,” admitted Harry.

"I'm their brother!"

“Look,” said Harry patiently, “all they told me last time is that their prototypes had all failed and that I’d wasted my gold again.”

“Oh,” said Ron. “I suppose that would explain why they were so touchy when I asked.”

Just then Hedwig flew in through the open door and dropped a letter onto the table before landing next to Harry.

“At last!” cried Harry, stroking Hedwig. “I wondered when Hermione would write again. You look tired, Hedwig. Have you been flying all night?”

Hedwig cooed tiredly and affectionately nibbled his fingers.

“Go and get some sleep,” whispered Harry. Hedwig took off at once and headed for her favourite resting spot in the roof of Mr Weasley’s junk shed.

Harry picked up the package from the table and pulled the ribbon binding Hermione’s two letters. He handed Ron’s sealed envelope to him.

“Thanks,” said Ron as they both opened their letters and began to read.

*

Ron snorted and looked up from his letter.

“She says we still have to practice hard even though she’s not here to remind us.”

Harry smiled and said, “Yeah. She says much the same thing here.”

"She couldn't know that we haven't, could she?"

"I'm not sure I want to take that chance, Ron," Harry replied with a grin.

"Fair point," Ron agreed standing up and stuffing his letter into his pocket. "She says she's found a small bookshop close to where they are staying, so it looks like we'll need to put up some more shelves."

"Really? She didn't say that in my letter. That probably means I wouldn't approve of her going in there alone."

"I can go up there if you want?"

"No, she'd ask you if she felt there was any risk."

Ron picked up his wand and with a short flick, their cups were washing themselves in the sink.

"Usual warm up?" he asked, heading for the door.

Harry nodded and followed Ron out into the garden. Along the way, he mentally prepared himself.

While Hermione was away, they had begun their practises with a quick duel or two. Both of them employed hexes against each other that were stronger and potentially more dangerous than Hermione would approve of.

Both of them actually preferred this and more often than not, their practise duel would go on at the expense of the carefully prepared lesson plans left by Hermione.

By the time Harry stepped onto the damp grass and took out his wand, Ron had assumed his preferred duelling stance. Ron stood looking quite relaxed with his wand held casually at his side. He looked almost nonchalant to the extent that even Harry had been caught off guard on a number of occasions.

Ron had only just begun using this new stance, and Harry wondered sometimes where he had got the idea from.

The trick, Harry realised, was to watch Ron’s eyes.

While he was looking directly at his opponent, Ron rarely attacked; and when he did, he wasn’t at all confident. As Ron’s most frequent dueller, Harry could defend himself easily when they had eye contact. He just knew Ron too well to be deceived.

When Ron was looking slightly off to Harry’s side, as he was now, Harry found it much more difficult to beat Ron.

As they both trusted each other not to take advantage, both of them had dispensed with the traditional bow to each other.

Ron nodded his head almost imperceptivity to indicate he was ready.

Harry did likewise and the duel began.

*

Harry lay on his back in a slightly dazed state for some moments. He was only vaguely aware of Ron coming over to him.

He realised that he must have been suffering the effects of the hex, because when he later thought back he had the impression that Ron had been standing over him for some time, toying with his wand and looking down at him with the coldest of looks. It was as if Ron was deciding whether to hex him again as he lay there helpless.

"Harry?"

With a supreme effort Harry summoned a weak moan and managed to lift his head off the grass. He felt Ron help him sit up and propped him against a garden stool he'd brought over.

"Wow, Ron. What was that?"

Harry couldn’t recall the incantation that Ron had used. All he could remember was an electric blue light hitting him. He had just about put up a shield charm in time, but it hadn’t been very effective at all.

"Sorry, Harry. I used that hex without thinking. I'd have got you up sooner but I thought you'd be more comfortable on the ground for a bit."

"What was it, though?"

"It's called the Rodium Hex. I read about it some time ago but I only found out how to cast it yesterday. I suppose it was fresh in my mind."

"Rodium? I never heard of it. Where did you find out about it?"

"Well, during my lunch break, which is never actually anywhere near lunchtime because Fred and George say they are too busy then, I've been having a good look around Diagon Alley. I reckon I've got to know every shop now and most of the regular visitors by sight, anyway."

Harry nodded, still feeling the effects of the hex but very interested in what Ron had to say.

"Anyway, I've also been going down Knockturn Alley to have a look around."

Harry frowned at once and Ron quickly continued.

"No, Harry. Everyone does it. Most of the people who actually work in Diagon Alley go down there at lunchtimes to avoid the shoppers. Everything's much cheaper too, if you know where to look.

"I normally go down there with Green. He works in Quality Quidditch Supplies now. You remember him? He left Hogwarts a couple of years ago. He was in Ravenclaw."

Harry couldn't honestly say he did remember Green, but he gave a small nod so Ron would continue.

"We found this small sandwich bar. It looks terrible from the outside but the food isn't half bad and the price is a fraction of The Leaky Cauldron. For only five Knuts you can get-"

"You were telling me how you learnt that hex," interrupted Harry.

"Hm?" asked Ron, his train of thought now clearly on what he could buy for five Knuts. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. We were in there a few weeks ago when a couple of wizards had this fight."

"A fight?"

"Well, it's that kind of place, Harry."

"Sure, Ron. Go on?"

"The fight they were having started because one was boasting he could do the Rodium Hex and the other one didn't think he could."

"I guess the fight was over quite quickly, then?"

"Not really. You see he couldn't actually do it after all."

"Oh."

"No, the fight was actually stopped when another wizard had his drink spilled in all the ruckus. That's quite a serious thing. Anyway, this wizard decided to show them both how the Rodium Hex was supposed to be performed."

"Who was he?"

"No idea. He left almost at once after. Haven't seen him before nor since, but obviously I decided that if I could learn how to perform the Rodium Hex myself it might come in handy."

"So," said Harry slowly, "if he didn't tell you how to perform the Hex, how did you learn it?"

"Didn't I say?" asked Ron infuriatingly. "I learned about it yesterday."

Harry rubbed his forehead, wishing his head would clear.

"I thought I'd really hurt you," said Ron, helping Harry to his feet. "Your Shield Charm blocked most of the effects. I imagine that's why your limbs are still attached."

"So, how do you perform the Rodium Hex?" asked Harry, not quite taking in what Ron had just said.

"Not today, Harry," said Ron seriously. "No offence, but right now I could beat you with a tickling charm."

"True," agreed Harry, realising that his legs were still very shaky.

*

“This isn’t entirely a social visit, Harry,” Lupin said pleasantly. “I’ve been charged to bring you an olive branch,” he added with a small smile.

They were sitting alone in the living room at the Burrow having tea. Harry had recovered enough from Ron’s hex to see that Lupin looked terrible. His clothes were shabbier than ever and he looked pale and drawn. Although Lupin had dismissed his concerns, Harry regretted that his visits were so infrequent.

Harry frowned and asked, “Who from?”

Lupin chuckled and answered, “Someone who wants a favour.”

“Well, I’ll do anything you want, you know that.”

“Thank you, Harry, but I believe it would be prudent to hear a little more before you decide.”

Harry nodded and offered Lupin the small plate of biscuits.

Lupin took a rich tea biscuit and placed it on his saucer.

“I should first tell you,” continued Lupin lightly, “that I happened across Kingsley the other day.”

“Really?” said Harry interestedly. “I tried to contact him a short while ago but I was told he was on assignment and that it might be difficult for him to contact me.”

“Yes, well he was certainly in a hurry to get back to whatever he’s up to.”

“Oh, I hope he didn’t go to too much trouble. I didn’t want to talk to him about anything urgent.”

“I suspect I spoke to him before you tried to contact him, Harry. I’m sure he would have mentioned it otherwise.”

Harry nodded.

“Kingsley had a cryptic message for me. He seemed to know that I was about to be contacted by another party, and asked me to tell you to be on your guard. Specifically, he said for you to be cautious but receptive.”

“Cautious but receptive?”

“Those were his exact words.”

“I see,” said Harry. “Did he say anything else?”

“Well, there was one thing. I must admit, I still don’t know what he meant. Just as we parted he grinned at me and said, Harry’ll be furious when he finds out, but he’ll see the funny side eventually, I’m sure.”

“Have you any idea what he meant?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“How did he look?”

“Tired and in need of a hot bath, actually. He refused any hospitality, though.”

Harry sighed and said, “I suppose there’s not much we can do to help him, is there?”

“Nothing at all, Harry. I’m sure he would ask if he really needed anything.”

They sat in silence for a long while before Lupin cleared his throat lightly and said, “A couple of days after seeing Kingsley, I had a visit from the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry frowned.

“I must say, I wasn’t terribly pleased to see them.”

Harry’s frowned deepened.

Lupin nodded unsmiling and said, “Yes, they were considerate enough to seek me out while I was in the company of my fellow Werewolves. Broad daylight too, if you please.”

“No way,” breathed Harry.

“Indeed,” agreed Lupin. “Now they all suspect that I’m some kind of informant for the Ministry. That really wasn’t why I’ve spend almost a year living like I have. I’m not so much concerned about my own safety, you understand?”

Harry nodded at once.

“How could they have been so stupid?”

“They were bearing a message from the Minister of Magic, no less.”

“What was the message,” asked Harry, adding, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Lupin smiled again and said, “Well, they wanted me to come here and ask you something.”

“Scrimgeour can go take a running jump!” said Harry forcibly.

Lupin laughed and said, “Yes, they suspected you might react that way.”

Harry scowled and asked, “So this something is what Kingsley wanted me to be cautious but receptive about, is it?”

“Indeed. The Minister wants to meet with you. I took the liberty of informing them that you would be highly unlikely to agree if the meeting was in any way publicised.”

“Too right,” agreed Harry. “Thanks. What do you think he wants?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Firstly, I would recommend that you talk the whole thing over with Ron and Hermione before you agree to anything.”

Harry nodded.

“Secondly,” said Lupin, before hesitating.

“Go on,” prompted Harry gently.

“Well, I was going to say that Dumbledore always said our strengths came out of unity. He was remarkably tolerant of the Ministry, precisely because of that belief.”

Harry nodded.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to listen to what he’s got to say.”

Lupin smiled.

“I do have one other message,” said Lupin.

Harry looked up, expecting him to repeat, “Wotcher ‘Arry!”

Instead Lupin said, “Professor McGonagall asked me to impress upon you that you still need to progress your education and asked me to remind you of her offer to teach you.”

Harry chuckled and nodded.

“I’ve been meaning to give her a call. I suppose I should be glad she didn’t just send me a howler.”

“I suspect they’ll start coming shortly,” agreed Lupin with a smile.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 3 – Breaking and Entering

Mary woke to find herself lying on her living room carpet. She attempted to move but found her muscles stiff and cold from lying on the floor.

She relaxed and took in a deep calming breath.

The distinctive smell the wool fibre carpet gave off was oddly reassuring. She pushed herself up and looked around. The room lights were all on now and the curtains were drawn.

There was no sign of Bateman’s body. Where she had expected it to be there was a blanket she recognised as coming from her linen cupboard. Perhaps someone had covered the blood with it.

She was about to lean forward and grab hold of the blanket when she heard muffled voices.

Mary desperately looked around for the handgun. She must have dropped it right beside herself, but there was no sign of it.

The voices grew louder and closer.

Mary scanned the room for ideas. There was no realistic way out of the room. The windows were sealed, and in any event they were too high up to jump from.

She had only two choices.

She could either lie still on the carpet and pretend to be unconscious or she could try to brazen her way out.

Mary decided not to continue lying on the floor. She had no idea who these people were who were obviously inside her flat. She couldn’t take the chance that they wouldn’t shoot her where she lay.

Gingerly she got up and sat down on one of her two comfortable, high backed reading chairs.

She straightened her clothes as best she could and prepared to receive her guests.

The door opened.

“Good evening, Ma’am.”

Mary stared at the man who removed his peaked cap and took two steps into the room.

“Charles?” Mary asked weakly.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Night Porter replied with a smile. “I came back on duty a few minutes ago. Are you alright? You look a little shaken.”

“But, I thought something terrible had happened to you, Charles.”

“It was only a dental appointment, Ma’am. Nothing to get upset about.”

Mary felt a little light headed as relief flooded through her.

“I’m sorry, Charles. You must think me quite foolish.”

“Not at all, Ma’am,” he said reassuringly. “You should hear the Missus going on about it sometimes!”

Mary made an effort to return his smile. What she wanted to do was scream for him to run and get out of there while he still could.

This was a foolish notion, of course. If there was any danger remaining, such an outburst would definitely seal his fate.

Mary caught the end of what Charlie was telling her.

“I’d better be off to relieve young Geoff on the desk downstairs. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Ma’am, but I wanted to let you know I was fine.”

Charlie turned to leave. He was halfway out the door when he added, “Oh, I’ve taken copies of all the notes from the building security seminar this morning. I’ll leave them downstairs for you. Good evening to you, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Charles,” Mary called after him as the door closed.

*

Mary wiped a tear from her face with a shaking hand as the kitchen door opened. She looked up to see John Bateman’s massive figure framed in the doorway.

He raised his eyebrows and said, “Hard to believe that Miss Alice would get emotional over one old man.”

“That old man isn’t much older that you, Bear.”

Bateman snorted and entered the room.

“I can’t believe you thought I’d killed him,” he said seriously.

“What else could I think? You and his replacement should have got your stories straight.”

“How was I supposed to know he had a dental appointment after his training day?”

Mary studied him carefully as he crossed the room and sat opposite her. The chair creaked slightly under his weight.

“You always seem to find my favourite chair,” she commented.

“Mine too, actually,” Bateman replied. “Excellent vantage point of the door from here and a solid masonry wall behind.”

They were quite a long moment.

“I thought I’d killed you,” Mary said, her voice cracking.

“You very nearly did,” Bateman admitted, turning his head and pointing to a group of large plasters stuck over his left ear.

“Is it bad?”

“No, just a flesh wound. It took me a while to stem the bleeding though. Your bathroom is in quite a state, I’m afraid.”

Mary nodded, looking down at the blanket. She could see blood on the carpet now.

“The blanket was for you,” said Bateman. “I threw it over the blood when your friend Charlie rang the doorbell.”

“His name is Charles,” Mary said acerbically. “And while we are talking about names, Miss Alice is a name I only use professionally. I’d be grateful if you didn’t call be that outside of the office.”

Bateman rolled his eyes.

“Well, Miss Happell, what I was about to suggest before you shot at me,” he said pointedly, “was maybe we should work together to get to the bottom of all this.”

Mary frowned slightly.

“Look, we were all split up after the raid on the Archive. That’s when I found out there might be a traitor amongst us, but I’m convinced that our little group was going to be split up anyway. Becoming suspects was just a convenience that was too good to pass up.”

“Go on,” said Mary.

“You were right about the Polygraph test. I did take one and passed with flying colours. Even so, I still wasn’t allowed to continue my duties with respect to fighting Voldemort.”

“Well, I believed you were the chief suspect.”

“After you, you mean?”

“Yes, but I have the advantage of knowing that it wasn’t me.”

“Alright,” said Bateman. “Will you help me?”

“Aren’t you taking quite a risk? As far as you are concerned, I might actually be working against you.”

“And my memory modification might have concealed my treachery,” he reminded her.

“I suppose that is correct.”

“Here,” he said, offering her handgun back with a smile. “Just aim better next time.”

Mary recoiled back from the gun in horror.

“No! I won’t carry that thing.”

Bateman shrugged and pocketed the weapon.

“We need to get out of here. When they find out that we are in contact and haven’t killed each other, we’ll both become fugitives.”

*

Mary threw a small assortment of clothes and toiletries into a small suitcase and hurried to meet an impatient Bateman at the fire escape.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“You’re going on the lamb, not on holiday!”

“What? This is the smallest case I have.”

“Haven’t you got a rucksack or something?”

“No. Actually, I do still have my old school sports bag.”

“Use that then; and hurry!”

A few minutes later they left the building by the rear fire escape, and through the underground car park. At the exit to the car park, Mary had expected them to go down one of the small side streets. Instead, Bateman led her down a narrow alley behind the neighbouring properties.

“Where are we going?”

“We need to get away from here without being seen. This way avoids the roads and gets us close to the Tube station.”

“This goes all the way to the Tube?”

“No,” he said, climbing up over a brick wall.

“What are you doing?” Mary whispered urgently.

Bateman reached down and grabbed her bag from her shoulder. He threw it over the wall before answering her.

“We are going to break into this house.”

“I most certainly am not!” she said indignantly, but Bateman had gone. Mary climbed the wall and went over, determined to have the last say on the matter.

She let herself down on the other side and looked around for Bateman. A soft jingling of breaking glass told her he was already breaking into the property.

Grabbing her bag, she hurried to catch up with him. As she approached, she realised why Bateman had selected this property. It was obviously deserted.

“Watch out for the rats,” he advised before disappearing from view again.

This alarming advice distracted Mary completely as she followed nervously into the cold and damp smelling building.

“Here, hold my torch a moment?” asked Bateman, coming to a halt.

Mary took the battery torch. She had no idea where in the building she was now, nor any idea where Bateman thought he was leading her.

She shone the torchlight around the room and the narrow beam picked out a few packing crates.

“What is that appalling smell?” she asked.

“Would you mind holding the torch so I can actually see?”

“Oh! Sorry,” she said with a start. “Where do you want me to point it?”

“At the door in front of me.”

She did so. The door was boarded up on the outside and had bars on the inside. Bateman was holding something up to one of the door jambs.

“Should we try the windows?”

“No, the bars are even heftier than this door. Besides, there would be a lot of broken glass around to contend with as well.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a burglar.”

“No kidding. Hold the torch still!”

“I’m doing my best!”

Out of the darkness came the sound of timber splintering. Suddenly there was a crash and street lighting flooded down into the open door.

“Oh, you were trying to open that door!”

Bateman mumbled something and kicked the bundle of rags laying at the threshold. The bundle immediately shouted and began swearing loudly at being woken up in such a manner.

Bateman reached behind and grabbed Mary by her forearm. He then dragged her outside and up the worn stone steps that lead up to the street level, nudging aside the many discarded empty beer bottles and cans with his feet.

When he paused to peer cautiously out through the iron railings, Mary twisted herself around intending to apologise to the tramp they’d just disturbed. There was no sign of him though. Perhaps he was investigating the now open building, she wondered.

“Alright, I think it’s clear,” said Bateman. “Now listen carefully, we climb out of here and we walk calmly and confidently to the Tube. We’re just on an evening out.”

“But,” began Mary.

“And we won’t need to advertise ourselves by chattering,” he added darkly.

*

Bateman slid a key into the cylinder mortice lock and said, "I seriously considered keeping you blindfolded, actually."

"Why, is this place secret?"

“No, but it is a little untidy.”

Bateman opened the door and crouched down to unhook a small black wire that stretched across the hallway. Then he stood and stitched the light on.

“Come in and close the door,” he advised. “Now, stay here for a moment while I disable the other booby-traps.”

“You’ve wired you own home with explosives?”

“I can’t afford a burglar alarm,” Bateman replied from within one of the other rooms. “Besides, in this area most of the kids know how to bypass the alarms.”

“Yes, I would imagine so,” agreed Mary, standing in the middle of the small hallway and looking up at the feeble unshaded bulb hanging from the ceiling pendant.

Bateman re-emerged and said, “All clear. You can come in if you’d like.”

“You have remembered where you put all of your devices, haven’t you?”

*

“You’ve actually been living here?” said Mary, looking around the small kitchen with undisguised horror.

“Off and on. It’s not actually mine, but a friend of a friend lets me stay here occasionally.”

“How kind of them,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“We need to decide what to do.”

“Obviously we need to find Falcon’s Journal,” said Mary. “How much do you remember?”

“My memories are quite disjointed, actually. I remember finding Falcon, seeing him mouth something and someone else telling me what he said. Then Falcon died.”

“That was the first time you were aware that there might be a traitor?”

“I think so. I mean, yes, provided my memory hasn’t been modified.”

Mary nodded.

“I just feel that my lack of clear memories is going to hinder us considerably.”

“No, John. Your memory was modified in respect of a few specific things only. Don’t worry about your judgement being impaired, because it isn’t.”

“Did you trust me?”

“Yes, I trusted you implicitly. I selected you for your assignment on the basis of your reputation and as I came to know you properly I confided in you entirely. That’s why your apparent duplicity came as so much of a blow, of course. I liked to think I had your trust as well.”

"Who else did I trust?"

"Well, Harry, obviously. But I don't know how to contact him."

“Harry?” said Bateman, shaking his head. “How long did I know him for?”

“Only for a few weeks in the summer. I believe you helped him considerably. He was rather vulnerable when you first met him, having suffered yet another very close bereavement.

“He only ever spoke of you in the fondest terms. He, of course, was your first choice to help you raid the Archive. I’m afraid I don’t know any of the actual events that followed.”

“I don’t even remember what his voice sounds like.”

"Oh, much like any young man. He does betray some of the things he's endured when he's reminded of things, sometimes. He reminded me a little of you when I first met him, actually."

"I wonder if I'll ever meet him. He must have something. I can't imagine why else I'd take a boy on a military operation."

"You didn't take him just for his skills as a wizard. You took him mainly in order that he should learn."

"Learn what?"

“I wonder how permanent your memory modifications are?” asked Mary, changing the subject. She reached into her bag and brought out a small notebook and pencil.

“Do you recognise this symbol?” she asked after drawing a symbol on the pad.

“Yes, that’s the logo on all out Wizarding supplies. Weasley. That’s the name. Twins.”

“It was Harry who personally introduced you to the Weasley twins. He also funded the development of quite a few of their inventions.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Give it time,” she said, getting up from the table and patting him on the shoulder. “I’d like to freshen up. Which way to the bathroom?”

Bateman was lost in thought as Mary gave up waiting for a response and went back to the narrow hallway in search of the bathroom.

He turned hearing her return and cough gently behind him.

“There seems to be a wire connected to the cistern?”

“Right!" said Bateman, jumping up from the table. "I always forget that one.”

*

Harry stepped out of the fireplace into the Room of Requirement. Almost immediately the each of the seven fires died and the lanterns around the circular room came into life.

Harry lifted the Dumbledore’s Kemmynadow spell book of its usual shelf and brought it over to the table in the centre of the room.

He sat and contemplated the cover before opening it.

Harry wished more than anything that Hermione was here with him. He had been shaken by Ron’s use of the Rodium hex on him, but it wasn’t the hex so much as Ron’s easy use of it that concerned him.

He opened the book and withdrew his wand. Holding his outstretched left hand over the outline in the book, he allowed the book to pull his hand down onto the page.

Instantly the dark magic surged, making his fingers tingle with anticipation.

The familiar contents page was now circling him.

Harry pointed his wand at the Hexes section making a more detailed contents page appear. Using his wand he slowed the letters to a crawl while he found the entry he was looking for.

There was nothing like Rodium that he could see, though. He tried looking in a further couple of sub-sections but then abandoned that and went back to the main contents again.

This time he selected the Master Index.

Hundreds of entries appeared and swirled around him, several entries going in the opposite direction to the rest.

Occasionally there were foot high single capital letters swimming amongst the chaos.

Harry twisted around. There! He pointed his wand at the “R” and then all the entries beginning with that letter came into view.

He scanned the entries until he found Rodium. Harry aimed his wand at it and the swarm vanished leaving only six or so entries floating around the “R.”

Harry frowned, wondering why there were so many.

He selected one at random but discovered, when the full text came up, that it was only a footnote to another spell or curse.

He tried another, and then another until only one entry remained.

Harry was sure this final entry was actively avoiding his aim. It appeared to swim away whenever he got close.

Finally, he managed to select it, but instead of text and diagrams appearing as usual, the air was empty apart from a rotating border at floor level. It was almost as if the book was reluctant to show him this hex.

This was strange in itself; the Kemmynadow book was full of dark magic and it usually “pushed” him to accept more information than he was comfortable with.

Out of frustration, Harry muttered, “Oh, come on! I want to see.”

A diagram shimmied into view. It was of a victim being hit by an electric blue light. Then the victim got up and stood there for a moment. Then his face distorted with agony and he fell, apparently dead.

“Show me the counter-curse,” demanded Harry.

Dark red Runic lettering flowed over his left hand and up his arm. Harry could hear the incantations in his mind as the lettering reached his wand hand.

Harry shuddered as the book taught him. When the incantations stopped and the lettering faded, Harry knew exactly how dangerous the Rodium hex was.

He tried to lift his hand from the book, but the Kemmynadow resisted.

It had more to show him.

Harry turned away from the new diagram that appeared, but it followed his sightline.

Knowing he had no choice, he looked properly. It was a tree diagram, showing the relationships between an entire family of hexes and curses based upon the Rodium principle.

“Ron,” breathed Harry. “Just what have you got yourself into?”

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 4 – Best Behaviour

“John, are you sure about this?” asked Mary uncertainly.

“Yes. I need this dressing changed. I didn’t do it last night and who knows when the next time we’ll be able to do it.”

“This place is hardly the most hygienic.”

“If you’re too squeamish to do it, just say so. Ow!”

“Keep your head still!” demanded Mary as she picked the sticky plasters off. “I suppose one thing to be said for close-cropped hair is that wounds like this are easier to dress.”

“Yes, that and the fact that I’m always in fashion.”

Mary laughed but still gave him a gentle slap on the back of his neck.

“Ergh!” she said as she exposed his wound. “It’s still bleeding. You really should go to a hospital.”

“You know that’s not possible. How long is the cut?”

“The skin is torn only about an inch or so, but it looks deep.”

“Any sign of infection?”

“No, and the skin is healthy but bruised,” she said, dabbing the blood away with alcohol soaked gauze.

“Good. That’s because the blood is flowing freely. You know what you need to do,” he said, offering up the tray he had prepared earlier.

“I can’t do this!”

“Fine,” said an annoyed sounding Bateman putting down the tray and picking up the sterilised needle and tread. He brought the needle up to the wound and felt gingerly where he should try to aim for.

“How close am I?”

“Nowhere near.”

“Well, guide my hand to where I should start.”

Mary tried but in the end said, “Oh, give it here,” and took the needle and made the first stitch. When she’d done she stood straight and stretched, catching Bateman’s grimace in the mirror.

He didn’t say a word and Mary knew he was no stranger to pain. Wherever he went to fend off the effects, or at least cope with them, he was there now.

She hurried to complete the stitching.

*

Harry looked around the bustling Visitor’s Entrance down in the Ministry of Magic. He was sitting in a wicker chair facing what remained of the Fountain of Magical Brethren and thinking how glad he was that they still hadn't had time to repair the damage that Dumbledore and Voldemort had done.

Various bits of golden statue had been piled unceremoniously on the central plinth.

Harry wondered why Fudge had allowed it to remain like that, especially as it looked to Harry like a potent symbol of exactly how powerless the Ministry had been to deal with Voldemort.

He had completed one slow lap of the fountain before he sat down to re-read Hermione's latest note that had arrived that morning.

-

Dear Harry,

I’ll be home this evening, probably around seven. Mum and Dad persuaded me to say for dinner as well as lunch. It’s been wonderful but I’ll be so glad to get back.

I’m sorry I’ll miss your meeting, but I’m sure they were too busy to rearrange it just for me.

Now, Harry, you will promise me to be on you best behaviour, won’t you? Just listen to what they have to say.

I’ve bought loads of books to bring back with me!

See you later,

Love from,

Hermione

PS Mum and Dad send their love.

-

Scrimgeour hadn't actually invited Hermione, of course, but Harry knew he stood far more chance of behaving himself with her present. Even so, he had really only mentioned the meeting in the hope she would be returning home soon.

Harry smiled to himself and folded the letter away just in time to see Percy Weasley stride across the polished timber floor.

“Harry!" he said loudly with a wide smile on his face and holding out his hand. Several people turned to look at them.

Harry was a little taken aback by this uncharacteristically friendly greeting and stood to shake Percy’s hand.

“Hello, Percy,” said Harry and allowed himself to be guided over to the lifts.

“Wonderful to see you again,” said Percy, not troubling to keep his voice down. “You’re looking well.”

“Er, thanks. So are you,” replied Harry, noting that Percy was as tall and thin as ever.

“Oh, I can’t complain,” said Percy conversationally as the lift grille gates opened and they got on.

Harry wondered when Percy's demeanour towards him would change. Inwardly, he suspected it be from the moment the lift gates closed.

“You still staying at the Burrow?” he asked in the same friendly manner, although they were now alone in the lift.

“No, but I try to stop by when I can.”

“Excellent. I’d like to, of course, but pressures of work, you know? How is everyone?”

“Um, fine, I think. I’ll be sure to say you asked after them.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

As the lift ascended up to Level One, Harry considered Percy. From his overtly friendly attitude, he was definitely trying to give the impression that all was forgiven or forgotten.

For some reason the phrase, “I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent,” refused to leave Harry’s mind.

As they exited the lift, Harry was certainly becoming curious to know what they wanted with him. If it required Percy to behave like this to him, he rather assumed it was something they needed very badly.

*

No less than four security wizards were on duty at the pair of doors that marked the entrance to the Minister of Magic’s private offices. As they approached, the doors opened at once and they passed through without delay and along a long wide corridor.

“You have an office along here?” asked Harry, taking in the plush red carpet and ornate decorations on the walls and ceiling.

“Oh, they managed to squeeze me in,” said Percy. “My office is a little small but I can’t complain.”

They passed by an open door. The offices inside looked quite unlike anything else Harry had seen at the Ministry. The gold and white walls shone so brightly, Harry wondered that they were able to see to write.

Not that it looked like the occupants were doing much writing. Most were just basking in the tropical sunlight streaming in through the wall-to-wall windows.

The door closed quickly to conceal the occupants.

They turned a corner and the corridor widened into a waiting area.

Another larger pair of ornate doors on the far side was guarded over by a pair of larger security wizards.

Percy walked confidently over to the secretary sitting at a small desk and Harry followed.

“The Minister is expecting you,” she said at once.

The pair of doors opened to reveal Rufus Scrimgeour, standing there waiting and leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Scrimgeour hitched a smile on his face and took a step forward, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop Harry seeing the cold, calculating look the Minister was giving him as the doors opened.

“Harry, welcome,” he said, extending a hand for Harry to shake.

Harry walked over and shook Scrimgeour’s hand.

“Thanks for coming, I do appreciate it. Come on in.”

Scrimgeour leaned on Harry’s shoulder and allowed him to support him as they walked into the large room.

Harry expected him to peel off and sit behind the enormous and imposing desk that dominated the room, but instead Scrimgeour sat in one of the several seats in front of the desk and indicated for Harry to take one of the others.

“Tea, Harry?” he asked. “Or something stronger?”

“Tea would be nice, thanks.”

Percy appeared almost at once carrying a large tray with two cups of tea.

“Will there be anything else, Minister?” he asked.

“Take a seat, Percy,” said Scrimgeour. “You might as well hear this too.”

“Yes, Minister,” he replied excitedly, and sat down at once.

*

Scrimgeour took a sip of his tea and placed his cup and saucer down on the edge of his desk.

“First of all, I am aware that you have been helping our Muggle friends.”

“I’ll help anyone who wants to fight Voldemort,” said Harry. Percy made an involuntary jump, spilling some of the tea he had just conjured for himself.

“Most laudable,” said Scrimgeour, sounding like he thought it was nothing of the kind.

“Perhaps, but they got my co-operation by being honest with me. At least have the decency to say what you really think,” said Harry firmly.

Scrimgeour sighed and said, “You’re right, Harry. I’m sorry. Frankly, I was appalled to learn what you were up to. Leading an assault on Ministry property like that? You are very lucky not to be serving time in Azkaban for that little stunt.”

“That stunt only exposed and evicted Voldemort from your Archive,” replied Harry. “Besides, I didn’t lead the assault.”

“Now who’s not being honest?”

Harry made to stand but Scrimgeour help up his hands and said, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Harry relaxed back again.

“I can’t deny that you were certainly effective. They could have done immeasurable damage to us had they gained full access to our records.”

Harry nodded.

“You know? I had no idea we even had an Archive in Kent. It took Percy a week to find even a mention of it in our scrolls. What did it say again, Percy?”

“Um, I found one paragraph in answer to a previous Minister’s question about what we should do in the event that the Archive failed. It just said we should build another because we’ve lost the location of the old one.”

“So is the library in full working order again?” asked Harry.

“Not entirely,” answered Scrimgeour. “We’ve removed the wards that were preventing the flow of information through the rocks but there are still a few problems.”

“Do you have enough ghosts to man it now?”

“The Librarian who remained is trying to recruit more as we speak. I should say, Head Librarian, actually. Apparently you promoted him?”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“Well,” Scrimgeour continued slowly, “our new Head Librarian isn’t being too co-operative at the present.”

“In what way?”

“He’s insisting upon a couple of things before he’ll give us full access again.”

“What does Scenariste want?” asked Harry interestedly.

“He told us of your suspicion that their communications were being intercepted by person or persons unknown here at the Ministry.”

“Yes. They were asking for help for ages.”

“Indeed. He isn’t entirely satisfied with our enquires into what may have happened here at the Ministry.”

“Did you catch them?” asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be.

“No.”

“How many suspects do you have, then?”

“None.”

“How many people had access or had the opportunity to intercept the messages?”

“Six people, including myself,” answered Scrimgeour. “I won’t speak for myself, but the others are all very senior and quite above reproach.”

“So, either you are afraid of them, or you are colluding with them. Is this really the best we can expect from a Minister of Magic?”

“There are certain realities that cannot be ignored. There is no evidence, for one thing. Besides, there is the wider public interest to consider”

“Wouldn’t the public interest be served better if all six of you were to resign?”

“I’ve considered that, but I’d be dead before I could announce it. Besides, while I’m in power, at least I can try to resist him.”

Harry nodded.

“How many of the five do you really suspect are Voldemort’s men?” he asked gently.

“All five, but I've absolutely no proof. I’ve spent most of the last three months re-arranging the departments to try and remove power from them where I can. I can't claim any real degree of success yet, but at least the Aurors are now entirely independent of political influence. That independence had also brought some good gains for our side.”

“I suppose you’re hoping the Aurors will uncover some evidence of these people's true loyalties?”

“Obviously, but I’m also a realist. I believe my best chance is through information gathered from the Archive.”

“Except Scenariste thinks you can’t be trusted, either?”

“Absolutely. I’d like you to talk to him and try to get his co-operation.”

Harry considered Scrimgeour a moment before answering.

“I’ll ask someone that Scenariste might respect to speak to him,” said Harry, knowing that Hermione would be the better choice, “but to be entirely honest I can see his point. I think you also need to take a different approach, if you don’t mind my saying so. What you need is a trusted individual who knows how to look for obscure links. You need an analyst, Minister.”

Scrimgeour snorted and said, “Someone like Miss Alice, you mean?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised that Scrimgeour knew anything about her.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” said Scrimgeour seriously, “but the second thing our Librarian wants is co-operation and information sharing with the Muggles.”

Harry smiled.

“Yes, I thought that would please you.”

Harry nodded and waited as Scrimgeour shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s been a while since you spoke to your Muggle friends, isn’t it?”

“What’s happened to them?” Harry demanded at once.

“There have been some upheavals, Harry. Please allow me to tell you what we know.”

*

“I had suspected that Shacklebolt was sharing intelligence information with the Muggles for some time. I trust you’ll note that, even so, I didn’t remove him from his duties.”

“Kingsley never gave them any information that compromised your security,” said Harry. “He was just helping them fight Voldemort.”

“Yes, that is the prevailing view,” agreed Scrimgeour. “However, some months ago I felt it prudent to assign someone to monitor his activities.”

“What did they conclude?”

“Apart from several rather serious breaches of the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy, Shacklebolt did nothing wrong. Of course, had he confided in me, I would not have approved.”

“But you know now,” said Harry.

“Indeed. I confronted the Muggle Prime Minister as soon as I found out, of course. I told him in no uncertain terms that it was our fight, not his.

“However, he maintained that it was his considered opinion that we were ill prepared to cope with the task at hand and that we should be grateful for all the help we can get. He also reminded me of the Muggle lives that had been lost, many of them during active assaults. At least that part was true, anyway.”

Scrimgeour reached across his desk and picked up a thin flat file.

He opened it and read out a name.

“Bateman. I understand you knew each other before his memory was modified?”

“Yes.”

“This is a copy of the report he prepared after the assault on the Archive and before he had his memory modified. This is a copy for you, if you’re interested?”

“Of course I am.”

“He reports that your group encountered another Muggle captive down there.”

“Yes. I was there when we found Falcon.”

“You personally heard Falcon say there was a traitor?”

“No, he couldn’t talk. I’m sure that is what he was mouthing, though.”

“No name?”

“No. He died almost at once.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Considering is injuries, you mean?”

“No, Harry. I don’t mean that,” said Scrimgeour standing. He handed the file to Percy and said, “See that this file is seen by nobody. This is the only copy and I want it to stay that way. Percy, I’m trusting you to personally see that Harry gets this file when he leaves. Keep it with you at all times.”

“Yes, Minister!”

“Walk with me, Harry.”

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 5 – Head of the Auror Department

Once more, Scrimgeour leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder as they walked slowly out of his office. As they got beyond the earshot of his security guards, Scrimgeour muttered, "They've even been kind enough to change all my regular security guards for new ones."

Harry nodded in understanding.

“We are about to attend a Ministry situation briefing. I imagine it will be much like the ones the Muggles conducted, only ours are generally based upon accurate information.”

Harry ignored the slight, although he doubted very much if the Ministry had better information than Miss Alice had uncovered.

“There will be a report on the latest Auror activities as well as another group. Needless to say everything you hear will be in the strictest confidence, Harry.”

“I understand. Who are this other group?”

“Well, for some time we suspected that the Muggles were working independently of our own efforts. I was concerned that if that was indeed the case, then the Death Eaters might infiltrate them and redirect their efforts against our interests.”

“You’ve been spying on them?”

“Spying is a little strong, Harry. We just kept a distant eye towards their main activities when they strayed close to Wizarding areas. We've recently seen a significant increase in troop movements for no apparent reason.”

“Was it you who broke into the secure records stores?”

“I don’t have day – to – day control over the group’s activities, but to answer your question, no, we did not.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I have to believe the assurances I have been given, Harry.”

Harry frowned slightly. Scrimgeour was telling him that he didn’t really know if this mysterious group had any involvement or not.

They continued down the wide corridor until they reached a polished timber door. Percy skirted around them and opened the door before showing them inside with a small bow.

This particular door had been closed when he had passed it earlier.

Harry took a few steps inside and paused to look around. The room was enormous, even bigger than Scrimgeour's office.

Scrimgeour turned left and limped over to another door in the same wall as they had come in from. Arranged on either side of this door were a number of seats.

As they approached, the door opened to reveal a smaller meeting room that should have been in the corridor they had just walked down.

"I'll wait here for you, Minister," said Percy.

Scrimgeour nodded silently and entered.

Harry followed him over to the centre of the room, fully aware that whispered conversations had just come to an abrupt halt as soon as he had entered the room.

Scrimgeour invited Harry to take a seat at the large meeting table while he walked around to the centre on the other side to take his seat.

Harry didn’t sit though. After a long moment he realised that he was still standing, although the shock that Scrimgeour could be so insanely stupid could so easily have caused him to fall over at that point.

“You’ll know Delores Umbridge, of course,” said Scrimgeour ignoring the blazing animosity that each of them directed towards the other. “Next to her is Malemo lately attached to the International Magical Office of Law and then there’s Ignatius and Johnson, both from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry managed to nod to each of them as they were introduced, even though they barely acknowledged him. Ignatius and Johnson nodded down at their papers while Malemo just ignored him completely.

Of the three, Malemo looked the most intimidating with short greying hair and a hard emotionless face. Unlike his two colleagues, Malemo looked physically fit.

“Absco Tardov is right at the end, although that isn’t his real name obviously.”

“Sorry?” said Harry in confusion, momentarily distracted from his anger both at Umbridge and the rudeness of the other three.

“Well, his real identity needs to be kept a secret for the sake of his family.”

“No,” said Harry patiently, “I meant who are you talking about?”

“Ah, yes. Absco likes to stay under an invisibility cloak for his visits to the Ministry.”

“You’re kidding right?” said Harry with a laugh.

“No, not at all,” said Scrimgeour seriously as Harry quickly raised his wand and fired at the empty chair at the end of the table.

Suddenly a hand appeared holding a wand to produce a shield charm. The chair fell backwards with a thud.

“Potter!” yelled Scrimgeour. “I didn’t invite you here to take pot shots at my staff!”

“How do you even know he’s who you think he is?” said Harry taking aim at the chair again. The hand holding the wand had disappeared once more.

Harry knew full well that Tardov would have moved away from the chair by now. Giving him time to skirt around the table behind him, Harry turned quickly and muttered, “Fumo Estus!”

A jet of hot steam blasted out from the end of his wand. Just before they heard a painful yelp made by Tardov, the steam revealed the outline a crouched figure.

Harry stepped forward and tugged the invisibility cloak off him and threw it aside to reveal a painfully thin and gaunt looking wizard. Harry guessed he was around thirty years old but his dry, grey skin made him appear much older.

Tardov looked at Harry with pure malice in his eyes. Nursing a badly burned hand he silently turned and walked back to his chair.

“Harry, if you’ve quite finished, please take a seat,” said Scrimgeour firmly.

“You’re not actually going to let him stay?” said Tardov incredulously.

“Yes, I believe I am. Do I need to remind you that I told you what Potter would probably do?”

The look on Tardov’s face told Harry that Scrimgeour had predicted his reaction perfectly.

“Sit down, Absco,” ordered Scrimgeour. “By the way, you look terrible.”

Tardov sat but continued to glare at Harry along with Umbridge.

Rather strangely, the other three wizards sitting at the table were taking no interest in him at all. Harry wondered why this could be. Perhaps they just didn’t want to get involved.

Scrimgeour adjusted his wire rimmed spectacles and said, “Right. To business. Absco, will you report on your progress please?”

“No,” Tardov answered at once. “I’m not saying anything within earshot of Potter. He will betray your confidence, Minister.”

“He has agreed to maintain our confidences,” said Scrimgeour reassuringly.

“You mean he lied to you.”

“We agreed-”

“No, Minister, you agreed.”

“We are all on the same side here.”

“Potter isn’t on our side. He’s on his side.”

Harry stood and said angrily, “I didn’t ask to come here. It seems to me that you’d be far more comfortable discussing these matters on your own.”

“Harry, please,” pleaded Scrimgeour.

He hesitated, but not because of what Scrimgeour had said. Harry had just realised something. Of the six people with him in the room, only Scrimgeour, Tardov and Umbridge were prepared to look him in the eye. The other three were looking anywhere but at him, despite all the commotion he had caused.

Did they suspect he might be a Legilimens?

“Minister,” said Umbridge in her high, sickly sweet voice. “It would be most imprudent to allow young Mr Potter to hear everything Absco might wish to report. After all, we do have to consider Harry is still practically a child. These are matters for grown-ups, after all.”

She smiled sweetly straight at Harry before continuing, “Indeed, I’m not at all sure Harry truly understands how important it would be to keep our confidences. It wouldn’t be fair to expect him not to blurt out everything he hears, even though he wouldn’t understand a word what it was we were talking about.”

Tardov snorted loudly.

“Thank you, Delores,” said Scrimgeour dryly. “Your comments are as unhelpful as ever. Harry has respected the trust placed in him by the Muggle Prime Minister and his team, and I have every confidence that he will respect ours; even though you are hardly endearing yourselves to him at this moment.”

Harry was rather taken aback by these words of support.

“Delores,” continued Scrimgeour, “please give your report instead.”

“Minister,” warned Umbridge, but Scrimgeour cut across her.

“For Merlin’s sake, Delores!” he shouted angrily. “Everything you have to report will be in tonight’s Evening Prophet, won’t it?”

"Well, yes", she admitted with the faintest of blushes colouring her cheeks. "You do still want our successes publicised?"

"What successes have you had?" Harry asked, failing to disguise the incredulity in his voice.

A flash of annoyance passed over her toad like features and Harry found himself sitting down to listen.

"For your information, Potter," she began, "since my appointment as Head of the Auror Department, we-"

"Head of the Auror Department? What do you know about being an Auror?" asked Harry at once, noticing that Scrimgeour too was now avoiding his eye, preferring to stare down at his papers. Umbridge was looking defiant as she continued.

"Only enough to have brought more success to Auror activities in the few months I have been in charge, than for the entire time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been back. I do not have to be an Auror to tell them what to do."

Harry looked at Scrimgeour in astonishment.

"It's true, Harry. We haven’t publicly announced her appointment in order to protect her personal security, but since Delores took over we've arrested and charged an extraordinary number of suspects.”

"How?"

"Well," answered Umbridge, a little more calmly, "I'm not prepared to give too many operational details, even to you Minister. I can confirm that most new enquires are the direct result of questioning existing suspects. It is actually thoroughness, rather than pure detective work that has increased my department's effectiveness.

"However, I believe that by giving the Aurors out in the field clear guidelines, whilst allowing them to work freely within those guidelines, has been a significant innovation."

"So, how many prosecutions have you got?"

"That is a matter of public record," she replied flatly. "The Auror Department cannot guarantee that a defendant will be found guilty. It is simply not appropriate to measure Auror performance by the number of prosecutions."

Harry actually found himself nodding in agreement, although he wondered why she hadn't just answered his question.

As Umbridge read out the day's raids and arrests that would also be reported in the Evening Prophet, Harry burned with curiosity. How on earth had Umbridge, of all people, managed to find success?

Of course, he was pleased; for the Aurors if not for her.

If they were gaining ground on Voldemort and his supporters, then that had to be a good thing.

Even so, a little shudder ran through Harry has it occurred to him that she might still be in charge should he ever wish to join the Aurors.

As an ambition, that now seemed further away than ever before.

*

When it became clear that none of the other's wished to report after Umbridge finished her briefing, Harry made an excuse that he needed to get away and left the meeting.

This time Scrimgeour did not object. He merely thanked Harry for attending and asked him to consider their words earlier.

Umbridge left the meeting at the same time, saying she needed to approve the press releases to be sure of meeting the Evening Prophet's printing deadlines. It occurred to Harry that the printing deadline must be very early, but then he didn't know how many press releases she had to check.

Just before he closed the door, Harry took another long look at Scrimgeour's four remaining colleagues.

There was no doubt in his mind that Scrimgeour's main motive in inviting him there was for Harry to see these people for himself. If these people really were his main suspects, it occurred to Harry that Scrimgeour was playing a dangerous game. On the other hand, he couldn't really see Ignatius or Johnson as Death Eaters. They just seemed too passive.

He also began to wonder if his instinctive dislike of Tardov was entirely fair. That just left him confused about who he should regard as the potential sympathisers Scrimgeour had suspected.

In the larger room, Percy was saying goodbye to Umbridge who just scowled at him and then hurried off.

"Percy, how well do you know the people in there?"

"Not particularly well at all," Percy admitted, sitting down again. Harry sat next to him.

"Let's see," continued Percy. "Johnson is the new Magical Law Enforcement Squad Department Head. He was Deputy there for decades. He got promotion when old Oblander retired a couple of months ago."

"Was this Oblander due for retirement?"

"Long overdue," replied Percy in an undertone. "Actually, it was rather a surprise when he finally agreed to retire. I thought he'd only leave in his coffin. Father always thought highly of him, but few others did."

"What about the others?"

"Well, Ignatius is Head of Wizengamot administration services. They do all the legal paperwork. I worked directly for him for a few weeks before Minister Fudge asked me to join his private office."

"What's he like?"

"Ignatius? I've always thought of him as efficient but rather secretive. I must admit he was rather put out when Minister Fudge over-ruled his objections to my being transferred."

"What about Malemo?"

"I don't know anything about him, I'm afraid. He's always been a very senior figure, but never attached to any particular department. He has always got copies of anything he wanted to see. I doubt if there is anything going on that he doesn't know about."

"And Tardov?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. That's not his real name anyway. So, these men and Umbridge were the five who had access to the Kent Archive?"

"Oh, no, Harry," said Percy at once.

"Delores Umbridge does have access, but she and I are just two of dozens who can use the Archive. No, the only people with the authority to intercept and change messages were, Minister Scrimgeour, Malemo, Ignatius, and Johnson."

"That's only four. Who was the fifth?"

"That would be Pendell," said Percy. "He's an assistant to Malemo. He does not have authority, but the Minister suspected he may have gained knowledge how to do it."

"Can you describe him to me?" asked Harry, wondering if Tardov could actually be Pendell.

"I haven't seen him for ages, actually. I suppose he could be described as middle aged. He is rather portly, but in a distinguished way."

Harry nodded, deep in thought.

"Percy, why isn't your Dad involved with these meetings? I mean, he's a senior member of the Ministry isn't he?"

Percy shifted uncomfortably.

"I think there are two reasons why he isn't involved," said Percy quietly. "Firstly, I believe Minister Scrimgeour is trying to keep certain parties separate from involvement with certain other parties."

Harry nodded.

"That makes sense," agreed Harry, "if Scrimgeour doesn't trust some of the people here."

"The second reason is why father's absence does not look out of place. You see, Harry, although father's recent promotion has seen him rise a rung or two, he still isn't seen as a very senior member of the Ministry."

"Mm," replied Harry, recognising that Percy for once wasn't belittling his Dad.

They sat quietly for a moment.

"Um, Harry? Are you ready to leave yet?"

"Actually, I thought I'd go and see Kingsley. I'm dying to know what he really thinks of having that old cow as his boss!"

"I do wish you'd reconsider your opinion of Delores Umbridge, Harry. She really has worked wonders for her Department."

Harry grinned at him and asked, "So, are you two dating, or what?"

Percy went very red and spluttered, "No, Harry. You know I'm still seeing Penny. We've been considering announcing our engagement."

Harry laughed and nodded.

"I'm sorry, Percy. I'm sure Fred and George have been influencing me!"

"Anyway," said Percy, composing himself, "Harry, when you leave use the visitor's entrance and go up in the telephone box. I'll meet you at street level in half an hour. Okay? I'll hand you that file then. I don't want anyone to see us," he added in barely a whisper.

"Half an hour will be fine, Percy. Thanks."

*

Harry strode from the lift lobby towards the Auror Department, pausing to look interestedly at the tornado putting on a fine display in one of the underground windows.

He turned around and entered through the pair of closed doors.

Just on the other side of the door he paused and looked around, thinking how little had changed since the time Mr Weasley had brought him here for his trial.

He walked over to Kingsley’s cubicle, and was a little surprised to find it vacated.

Gone were all the pictures and articles about of Sirius that had adorned every inch of space on the cubicle walls.

Harry hadn’t expected the photos of Sirius to still be there, but he had expected some evidence of what Kingsley was working on now.

Of course, he realised as he moved to the next cubicle, that was a while ago now.

Harry remembered how Lupin had described Kingsley. If he was on some assignment somewhere, perhaps he didn’t need to maintain a desk here.

He frowned at the next empty cubicle and moved on to the next, and then the next.

Harry failed to find anyone in any of the cubicles. Indeed, they were all completely empty. No files or personal effects remained at all.

He was beginning to wonder if he had got the right floor. Could Umbridge have moved them but failed to update the signs.

Harry snorted to himself, wondering if Delores had thought of such an audacious plan.

Let’s move floor and leave the signs. You-Know-Who will never think of that!

Harry thought he heard something and walked along to the cleaner’s cupboard and Mr Weasley’s old office from when he worked for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.

As he approached he remembered that Perkins shared the tiny office with Mr Weasley. Perhaps he might know where the Aurors were to be found.

To his consternation, Harry found the office packed full of old junk. Clearly, Perkins had moved out as well.

Harry turned, intending to leave, when he noticed that the notice on store room opposite was missing.

Cautiously, he opened the door, and was surprised to see that someone was using it as an office.

For a moment, he thought that Perkins had commandeered the larger room. Then he was the bits of frilly lace and ribbon that adorned the shelves.

Harry’s shoulder’s sagged as his eyes fell upon the plate with the gambling kittens.

Umbridge must be using this as her office, he realised.

He was about to close the door when he saw, on her desk, a highly polished timber name place. It was like a more elaborate version of the one she’d had when she had been appointed Headmistress in his fifth year.

“May I help you, Mr Potter?” said Umbridge loudly as she hurried towards him from the entrance doors.

“Um,” said Harry as she approached with a stack of files under her arm. “I was hoping to see Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“Auror Shacklebolt is away on Department business at the present time.”

“When will he be back?”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that. Please understand that some of the Auror assignments are very dangerous these days. Even seemingly innocuous information like when people will report in here could be used against my personnel.”

“Perhaps you could give him a message from me?”

“Oh, very well,” Umbridge said sighing deeply. “Well, that is, provided you will let me into my office,” she added sharply.

Harry started and realised that he had been blocking the doorway.

In an awkward moment, he shuffled out of her way.

“It seems very quiet around here,” said Harry conversationally.

Umbridge looked up and narrowed her eyes. “Noisy offices tend to be inefficient.”

“Really?”

“What was your message?”

“I was wondering,” asked Harry, “just how many prosecutions have there been. You didn’t answer my question before.”

“As I said, my Department is only responsible for arresting and charging suspects. We do not prosecute.”

“I know that. I still don’t know how many prosecutions there have been.”

“Regrettably, there have been none.”

“None?”

“Your message, Mr Potter?”

“But you’re supposed to have had more success than anyone!” exclaimed Harry, completely ignoring her prompting. “How many people have you sent for trial by the Wizengamot?”

Umbridge threw down her quill and stood.

“Good day to you, Mr Potter,” she said angrily. “I do not have time to waste with you.”

Harry shook his head and left.

As he passed the empty cubicles a second time, he wondered what was going on with the Auror Department and whether he could risk trying to get a message to Shacklebolt.

*

By the time Harry had got back to the Visitor’s entrance, he had decided not to attempt to contact Kingsley.

If Kingsley was under cover he wouldn’t thank Harry sending him an owl just to satisfy his curiosity.

No, he decided to talk everything through with Hermione, instead. At the thought of her returning at long last, he found himself smiling stupidly as he waited for the telephone box to descend.

Harry blushed seeing Eric the Watch Wizard eyeing him. Eric had been kind enough to show Harry how to call the lift since Harry had never actually left by that route before.

“It’s only a telephone box,” Eric said seriously. “You want to watch yourself, mate. Arthur Weasley has a look like that when he watches it come down as well.”

Harry laughed and said, “Well, it is quite interesting.”

Eric had a look that said quite plainly that he was seriously considering calling St Mungos and asking if they had a bed spare in one of the mental care wards.

Harry thanked him again and stepped into the red call box.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 6 – Flowers

Harry felt a little claustrophobic once the Entrance Lobby went from view as the call box rose up towards street level. He really couldn't believe that six of them had squeezed into this very same telephone box.

He felt the same pang as he always did whenever his thoughts returned to that evening.

Harry looked up, eager for some sunlight on his face and some fresh air in his lungs but the lift would not be hurried from its slow ascent.

He distracted himself by deciding what to do with the remainder of the day. He would take Percy’s file back to the Room of Requirement for safety and then pay a visit to Fred and George.

Just then the first cracks of sunlight became visible and soon he was looking out of the small windows.

All was quiet outside, so Harry pushed open the door and exited.

There was no sign of Percy, but then Harry was a little early. Percy, no doubt, would be precisely on time.

Shivering slightly in the cool air, Harry walked across the deserted road to the other side. There was an odd assortment of cones scattered around but the skips he remembered being there had long gone.

From the other side he had a good view of the curved side street going off to his left and the road leading up to the main road. He could hear cars in the distance and saw a red double decker bus pass the junction several yards away.

Harry heard a dull thump and one of the tall wheeled rubbish containers down the side street rolled a few feet into the roadway.

Harry immediately withdrew his wand and began walking towards the container, realising that the containers were wide enough to conceal several people behind. They also looked like they were made from heavy galvanised steel that could block or shield weaker spells.

He had gone only a few paces when three struggling figures emerged from behind the bin.

Seeing one of them was Percy, Harry broke into a run.

Harry fired as soon as he was in range but one of the assailants moved their head at the last moment and his stunner missed.

Alerted, the hooded figure he'd just shot at turned and fired a volley of spells and hexes at Harry.

He dodged the first stunner and blocked the stinging hexes before returning fire.

Meanwhile, the second attacker had fired something at Percy who fell limply onto the tarmac. He then grabbed a something from inside Percy's robes and both of them ran off away from Harry.

Harry hurried after them but he soon reached the blocked off end of the side street. They must have had time to stop and Disapparate themselves away.

He turned and hurried back to where Percy was lying unconscious in the middle of the road.

Percy was still but breathing regularly. He had a cut on one side of his face and a reddening bruise on the other side.

"Ennervate!"

Percy began to stir and Harry found his horn rimmed spectacles and wand under one of the metal waste containers.

Percy groaned and lifted his head up.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Percy. Are you alright?"

"Help me up will you? I've no idea what he hit me with."

Harry pulled Percy to his feet but was concerned to see him clutch his right side in obvious pain. He was also unable to put any weight onto his left foot.

"They got the file, Percy," said Harry, handing him his glasses.

"No, that was just a blank copy. The real copy is safe enough."

"How long will it be before they realise?"

Harry's question was answered almost at once as three hooded figures Apparated a few feet away.

Percy fumbled for his wand but Harry knew they had to get away.

He gripped Percy tight and Disapparated them away as three stunning spells came flying towards them.

*

"Hello?!" shouted Harry, struggling to keep Percy upright.

Blood was flowing freely from Percy's head wound now and as he fainted Harry could feel his dead weight pulling him down.

Harry staggered forward trying to drag Percy towards the door which was unusually closed. For a moment Harry was afraid that no-one was at home, but then the door opened.

"What on earth?"

"Mrs Weasley!" gasped Harry has she rushed forward to help. "Percy was attacked outside the Ministry."

They dragged him inside and he began to come round again.

“Oh, Percy!” Mrs Weasley cried as they dumped him in the chair beside the fireplace.

“I’m fine, mother,” said Percy, slumping slightly. His eyelids drooped and flickered as his head lopped forward.

Suddenly he woke again, and his head popped up again.

“Harry?”

“I’m here, Percy. You’re safe now.”

“The report!”

“You said they only got a blank file, Percy.”

Percy began searching through his pockets in an agitated state.

“Ah, here it is!”

With a triumphant look, he placed a paperclip into Harry’s palm.

“Er, thanks, Percy.”

“Where’s my wand?” he asked. “I’ll transfigure it back for you.”

Mrs Weasley handed him his wand that she had retrieved from Harry's pocket and with a small pop, the paperclip was replaced with a thin brown manila file.

Percy sighed with relief and muttered, “That’s better,” before falling unconscious for a final time.

“What happened, Harry?”

“He was attacked right outside the Ministry,” said Harry. “They were after this file, but I don’t see how they even knew he had it.”

“What was he hit with?”

“I'm not sure. I wasn't close enough to hear an incantation but it looked like a stunner only bluish. It was fired from very close range.”

“Help me get him upstairs, will you Harry? He should stay here until he’s fully recovered.”

“Sure. I wasn’t certain where to bring him for the best. I was afraid that if I raised the alarm with the Ministry, even more harm would come to him.”

“You did the right thing, Harry. Did you read about the Droom family? It was in the paper this morning. All five vanished, including the baby, and they were last seen at the Ministry. I’m so glad Percy will be safe with us for a while at least. Mind you, perhaps we shouldn’t tell Fred and George just yet.”

“What about Ron?” Harry asked. “And Mr Weasley?”

”I’ll handle them,” said Mrs Weasley firmly.

*

Harry followed Mrs Weasley back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Mrs Weasley? Hermione said she would be back home this evening, but I had planned on visiting Fred and George this afternoon.”

“Did she say a time, dear? I did get a note to say she would come here, but she wasn’t sure when.”

“Not really. Her parents wanted her to stay for dinner, though.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. It’s four o’clock now, so why don’t you go to Diagon Alley? I’ll keep your dinner warm in case you’re late returning.”

“Thanks, Mrs Weasley. Should I put Fred and George off if they want to come back here this evening?”

“Oh, no, dear. That would just make them suspicious. Actually, it would be better if they did come this evening. I think I’ll invite them, just to make sure.”

“What about Percy?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” with a warm smile and a glance up to the ceiling.

*

Harry bid goodbye to Tom the Innkeeper in the Leaky Cauldron and made the short walk down Diagon Alley to the twin's shop.

The moist warm air inside was a welcome relief from the cold outside but had the unfortunate effect of misting up his glasses almost at once.

Harry wiped his glass lenses with a handkerchief, warming the glass at the same time. Around him blurred shaped continued to make happy chattering noises.

Eventually he put on his glasses and looked around.

As usual, the shop was busy with customers. Harry made his way towards the counter and was waiting to speak to one of the assistants when he heard his name being called out.

"Harry!"

"Hello Fred," said Harry with a smile.

"Come on through. George is just talking to Mum."

Harry nodded and followed Fred into the back rooms though a store room that looked much larger than the last time he had been there.

"Are you expanding, Fred?"

"Well, maybe I should cut down on the Cauldron Cakes. Oh, you mean the stores?"

"Yes," said Harry with half a laugh. Fred was actually physically no different from the day he'd left Hogwarts.

"Well, we've been rearranging things. Certain lines are more bulky than others. I wasn't sure that we could sell Jumping Beans by the crate load, but they've gone well. The planting season is over shortly, so we'll have this space back again in a few weeks."

"Jumping Beans?"

"Yes. Mum won't let us plant any at the Burrow. She says they are too dangerous."

"In what way?"

Fred didn't answer, but he did touch his wand to one of the crates. The lid immediately flew open and a massive brown bean flew up, bounced off the ceiling and headed straight for Harry. The bean was about ten inches end-to-end and Harry made to catch it like a ball.

Unfortunately, the moment it touched his fingers it flew up again and hit him in the face.

Fred pointed his wand at the flying bean just as it was headed for the doorway out into the shop. The bean froze in mid air before being pulled back and secured inside the crate.

"You sell many of those things?"

"Loads! Want a few?"

"No thanks," Harry replied rubbing his chin. "Do they do anything else?"

"No, bouncing is pretty much it."

"Why are they so popular then?"

"They are very good intrusion detectors. Just leave a couple in an unused room and they go berserk if anyone disturbs them. They are almost impossible to detect in the dark too. Well, that is, if you don't count being hit in the face as detecting them."

Harry nodded.

"We've been invited for dinner!" said George as they entered the office.

"What's the occasion?" asked Fred.

"Er, that would be that Harry's coming as well. Hello, Harry. Want any beans?"

"No thanks, George," said Harry with a laugh. "Actually, Hermione should be back tonight from visiting her parents."

"Oh, well give her our regards," said Fred.

"You're not coming to the Burrow?"

"Well, we've made plans, you know?"

"Actually, Fred," said George, "she did sound rather insistent. To be honest, one of Mum's cooked meals seems a lot more appealing."

"True. Oh well, the Burrow it is then!"

"Great," said Harry, sitting down on the typist stool George had just kicked over to him and taking a mug of tea from the tray that was hovering beside him. The tray then delivered the two remaining mugs.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking a sip. "Is Ron around?"

"No, he's out making a delivery."

"Edgware, wasn't it?" said Fred, looking up at the wall clock. "Overdue again, I see."

"He's overdue?" asked Harry with concern. "Do you think something happened to him?"

Harry looked between Fred and George who looked like they were considering their answer.

"No, Harry, we are not too concerned," said George.

"You see," continued Fred, "Ron generally takes his time on these errands."

"Yeah, he skives off most days."

"Well, that's not his story, of course. He keeps going out at odd times and we keep seeing him head off down Knockturn Alley."

Harry looked down and sighed.

"This is what I wanted to speak to you about. Well, Ron going down Knockturn Alley, I mean."

The twins nodded seriously.

"Ron told me he was going down there at lunchtimes. He said it was much cheaper to buy food down there."

"That's true," said Fred, "but the difference isn't that great. Most of the shops around here do discounts for people working in the street. We certainly do here."

"I've become a little concerned about Ron," admitted Harry. "He, er, showed me a new hex he'd learned and it was pretty dark stuff. I'm worried about the influence people he is coming into contact with may be having on him."

Fred and George put on identical expressions of surprise.

"Harry, we thought you were sending him down there!"

"No, I had no idea until Ron told me."

"He led us to believe that he was keeping an eye out for activity down there on your behalf. He said that after we had a go at him for spending so much time out on his lunch break. After that we just let him get on with it."

"Do either of you spend much time down there?"

"Us? No, not at all. The traders down there don't exactly give us the trade discounts we've come to expect. Besides, there are better people we'd rather deal with."

"Anyway," said Harry. "Getting back to Ron. I know he hasn't been too happy working here just lately. He feels left out of things."

"Well, we can't deny that," admitted George. "We've been very reluctant to give Ron access to some of our more sensitive areas of endeavour."

"You don't trust him?"

"It isn't really that we don't trust him."

"No, it's more like we don't trust him not to mention something in passing to someone who might later decide to break in and take our stock."

"Is that likely?"

"We've had two attempted break-ins so far, and both since Ron has begun spending half the day down Knockturn Alley."

"That could just be coincidence, you know?" said Harry.

"Yes, that's what we hope, anyway."

"How about giving Ron a bit more responsibility?" suggested Harry. "Make him feel he's valued. Trust him."

Neither Fred nor George answered at once.

“Have you listened to Ron lately, Harry?” asked George carefully.

“Sorry? Of course I’ve listened to him.”

“He hasn’t said anything you found, shall we say, unpalatable?” asked Fred.

“No, of course he hasn’t. What are you talking about?”

“He’s let slip a couple of things, that’s all.”

Harry frowned, wondering what on earth Ron could have said to offend them. He also wondered what the twins did to provoke Ron in the first place.

Looking like he was going to regret it, George said, "Okay, Harry. You win. We'll have a think about what we can get Ron to do."

"Thanks," said Harry with relief.

*

Fred, George and Harry returned to the Burrow early that evening using the Floo Network, having spent rather longer than they anticipated finding a suitable bouquet of flowers for Mrs Weasley.

Her sons had explained their dilemma to Harry at some length as they looked.

If the flower arrangement was too elaborate, she would immediately become suspicious that they were up to something. If their selection was too meagre, she would spend the evening trying not to mention this but actually doing precisely the opposite. Since the twins were actually up to several somethings, they were very keen on keeping their mother entirely happy.

George had been quite incredulous when Harry just asked for a small selection for Hermione, not caring that much what he was buying or how much he paid.

After making sure that they had at least two more flower stems than Harry, they proceed home.

They found Hermione chatting happily to Mr and Mrs Weasley in the kitchen as around them the evening meal prepared itself.

Harry found himself totally transfixed at the sight of Hermione and only vaguely registered Mrs Weasley tugging the bouquet of flowers out of his hand having assumed that he had brought her flowers like the twins had.

"Oh, thank you Harry Dear," said Mrs Weasley hugging him. "You really shouldn't have."

Over Mrs Weasley's shoulder, Harry smiled seeing Hermione grinning at his predicament.

Mrs Weasley released him and Harry looked down into her watery eyes and said, "I hope you like them. I'm afraid they aren't as nice as Fred and George's. They insisted on buying all of the best flowers in the shop."

Mrs Weasley sniffed and moved swiftly back to hug her twin sons for a second time.

"Yes, okay Mum," said an exasperated Fred.

Harry turned back to Hermione who was now standing close to him. She reached up and kissed him lightly on his cheek, whispering, "Thank you, Harry. It was a lovely thought."

He smiled and gently stroked his hand down her arm in search of her hand. Amongst the delicious cooking smells Harry caught the cool scent of Hermione's lavender perfume.

Their fingers touched for barely an instant before Mr Weasley interrupted them saying, "Drink?"

They each took a wine glass and thanked him, although Harry wasn't at all keen on the moment being broken. He had missed Hermione more than he could say.

He was about to suggest they make any excuse and leave when the fireplace flared up again.

Ron stepped out into the room looking like he was in a thoroughly bad mood.

Angrily brushing himself down, Ron looked darkly at Fred and George. Perhaps sensing trouble, Hermione left Harry's side and went around the table to greet Ron.

This immediately had the desired effect. As keen as he was to have a shouting match with the twins, Ron also knew that this would only upset Hermione.

"Hello Hermione. Welcome back."

"Thanks, Ron. I only arrived a few minutes ago."

"I suppose I should be glad I got back at all," complained Ron quietly.

"What's the matter Ron?" asked Fred in an amused tone.

"You know very well, Fred," answered Ron firmly. "That old cow-"

"Customer, Ron," chided George from across the room.

"That old customer," repeated Ron, "said you told her that I would demonstrate the Ioco she bought for her nephews."

"Absolutely!" said Fred. "Adding value to our service is what keeps the customers coming back."

"First off she wouldn't let me go until I'd shown her how to do it. It took ages. Then she complained about the state of her living room."

"You demonstrated the Ioco indoors?" asked Fred laughing loudly.

"She wouldn't come outside; she insisted it was too cold!"

"Oh well, at least you were covered for breakage by our waiver that she signed," said George.

"Yes, I explained about that before I started," said Ron. "Unfortunately she didn't quite see the funny side after her windows were blown out and the ceilings came down."

George tried to say something but he was laughing too much.

"It got quite bad after that," added Ron to Harry and Hermione who were alone in not laughing at Ron.

"What happened then?" asked Hermione with concern.

"Well, then her two nephews came home from school. Those perishers knew exactly how to use the Ioco and used it against me. She told them to keep firing it at me until I agreed to clean everything up."

"What did you do?" asked Harry.

"I dealt with them," said Ron darkly, taking a sip of wine.

"Ron, dear, come and help lay the table," said Mrs Weasley who hadn't been listening.

"Yeah, okay, Mum."

"I'll help," volunteered Hermione at once.

"Oh, thank you dears," said Mrs Weasley as she returned to the stove. "I had a lovely letter from Ginny today too. You must remind me to show you after dinner."

Harry went over to the still giggling twins and said, "I think you should ease up on Ron, okay?"

"Alright, Harry."

"He doesn't make it easy, though, does he?"

*

All though dinner Hermione kept up a constant stream of encouraging remarks to Ron whilst giving mild rebukes to Fred and George. She had even sat between them in the hope that their sniping would subside a little.

Although Harry enjoyed the meal, he was rather resentful that he didn't have Hermione to himself that evening.

Sat between Mr and Mrs Weasley, he had to content himself with the exchange of fleeting smiles from across the table.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 7 – Nothing Much of Interest

Much later that evening, Harry found himself sitting alone in the dark in the living room at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley had insisted that they all stay over that night and Harry was the last one to turn in.

He mused that he had actually enjoyed the evening, once he had given up on having any time alone with Hermione.

"Shift up, you," whispered Hermione.

Harry smiled and tried to move. He was actually sprawled across the settee rather than sitting down now. He also found he was unable to move, partly because he was stiff from not moving but mainly because Hermione had just climbed up over him.

Hermione brushed back his hair and kissed him.

"I've missed you," Harry whispered when their lips broke apart.

"Me too."

They lay together in silence for a long while, Hermione playing her fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry about the flowers."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'll be quicker next time," he promised.

"I doubt it. George said Mrs Weasley hasn't looked so happy for ages," said Hermione.

Harry smiled but didn't say anything.

Hermione lifted her head and asked, "What?"

"I was just thinking about the reason why she's so happy," Harry whispered. "It's a secret, though. Fred and George mustn't find out yet and nor can anyone else. Ron will have been told by now, I’d imagine, but the news is that someone came home today. Percy is staying over."

"No," breathed Hermione in disbelief. "I mean, it's great; but so unexpected. What prompted them to be reconciled?"

"Oh, they're not exactly reconciled and I'm not sure how long Percy will agree to stay for."

Harry re-lit the lamp beside them and told Hermione how he'd brought Percy back to the Burrow after he'd been attacked.

"Gosh, Harry. How did they even know he had the file?"

"That's what I wondered."

"Have you read the file?"

"No, I only had time to secure it in the Room of Requirement."

"I should read it tomorrow. It might be important."

"I'll need to release it first. I didn't want to take any chances, so I put some additional protections on it."

Hermione didn't say anything, but he knew what she was thinking. Why was it necessary for Harry to put additional protections on something that only he, Hermione and Ron could gain access to anyway?

Knowing they needed to talk now, Harry pushed himself up and Hermione slipped herself off his lap.

Finally he said, "I'm worried about Ron. Something happened while you were away."

"What?"

"Well, we were warming up for our practise as usual," began Harry.

"You mean you were duelling, I suppose?"

Harry smiled and kissed her forehead before continuing.

"Ron hit me with a Rodium hex."

"A Rodium hex? I've never even heard of it," admitted Hermione.

"Neither had I, but it was certainly effective. I looked it up later and it is a member of a family of really dark hexes. They are actually really difficult to perform but they key is to learn how to do the Rodium hex first. After that, the others are relatively easy, if rather nasty."

"I see. Where did he learn it?"

"He said he saw it being performed on someone in Knockturn Alley. Ron has been spending a lot of time down there just lately. He told Fred and George that I’d put him up to going down there, but he may just have said that to get them off his back. You saw how they have been riling him lately."

Hermione considered this news carefully for a moment before saying, "I want to hear Ron's side of this. He did seem a little off this evening, but I just put that down to Fred and George. We'll talk to him tomorrow. Perhaps he'll come for a walk or something."

"That's what I'd hope you'd say," said Harry smiling.

Hermione reached behind his neck with both arms and pulled herself towards him into a kiss. He allowed himself to slide sideways down to his original sprawled position. Harry folded his arms over her and held her tightly.

Eventually, Hermione snuggled herself against his neck.

"I felt just awful leaving Mum and Dad again," she admitted. "I wish you could have come away too."

"So do I," Harry whispered. "It was just too risky. I might have been followed."

"I know."

"At least this way they'll be safe."

"They were hinting that they were thinking about coming out of hiding."

"That's not a good idea," said Harry evenly.

"I told them that, but also I know how difficult it's been for them. They have been out of contact with family and friends for so long, now."

Hermione's quiet emotional voice broke as she finished. Harry held her gently as she quietly sobbed herself to sleep.

*

Harry woke slowly to find Hermione still lying with him on the settee. The lamp had been extinguished and they were once more in darkness.

Not wishing to wake her, Harry brushed his lips against her hair before resting his head down against hers.

Harry then realised what had woken him.

"Can't you sleep either?" asked Hermione.

"Something woke me," he replied. "I was just trying to decide what it was."

Hermione snorted and he felt her warm breath against his bare chest.

"I'm just having a problem with this last button. You haven't charmed it, have you? Your shirt buttons were much easier."

"Well, perhaps I would have, had I known I'd be taken advantage of in the middle of the night."

"I would have woken you eventually," she reassured him. "I just thought I'd get a head start, that's all."

Harry gave an involuntary squeal and then burst into laughter.

"Shh!" said Hermione urgently. "You'll wake the whole house!"

"Well, be a little gentler, then."

"No," said Hermione teasingly, "I don't think I'll bother, actually. Nothing much of interest here anyway. Hardly worth rummaging around for, really."

"I notice you're not actually letting go, though?"

Hermione laughed silently and shifted herself before kissing him again. In the darkness, Harry felt the smile playing on her open mouth as they kissed.

*

They woke again just before dawn but this time Hermione insisted that Harry go up to bed and absolutely refused all of his whispered pleas not to leave him.

Once he was finally alone, he washed and dressed rather than go to bed.

Hermione had also insisted that he should read Bateman's report as soon as possible, so Harry decided to go to the Room of Requirement before breakfast. He crept downstairs and Flooed to Hogwarts from the kitchen.

When he stepped out of the fireplace, he realised that breakfast may have been on his mind as he had entered the room. No less than three tables were waiting for him, each heaving with silver breakfast things.

Unable to resist temptation, he helped himself to coffee and a poached egg and toast.

He retrieved the thin manila file and sat down in front of once of the seven fires and began to read.

*

Two hours later Harry sat frowning at the closed file. Behind him, one of the fires flared up making him start. He quickly slid the file down the side of the chair and out of view.

Hermione walked over, stooped down and kissed him on his cheek.

Harry looked behind her and let go the breath he'd been keeping. He looked up to see her smiling down at him.

"Ron made an early start as well this morning," she said. "I tried to talk to him but he said he'd agreed to get in early to move some stock before the shop opens."

Harry nodded and brought the thin file back out.

"I'm surprised you didn't seal the room."

"It didn't occur to me until you arrived and gave me a scare," he admitted sheepishly, handing her the file.

Hermione went over to the centre table, lit both reading lamps with her wand and sat down to read.

"Did you find anything interesting?"

"No," said Harry.

"Nothing?"

Harry got up and sat opposite her at the table.

"I've read through this report twice now, from start to finish. There is a detailed description of the original plan, the training they all did for it and the sources of all the information they used. Bateman then went on to give a detailed description of the raid, including reports from everyone who got separated. He reported everything about Falcon and what he said. The report ends with a summary of the medical reports on the injuries."

As he spoke Hermione was going through the report, apparently keeping pace with Harry's description of the main sections.

"So why is this report so important?"

"That's just it," agreed Harry. "I can't see how this report could identify who the traitor is. There really isn't anything there. It's also incredibly boring."

"Boring? Just what did you expect? This is a military report not an adventure story."

Harry shrugged.

"Was everything described as you remembered it?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, pretty much. The most obvious difference is where Bateman hasn't identified you, Ron or me. It reads like we were Ministry people assigned to them."

"He probably did that to protect you."

"Yes, I suppose so. He also downplayed a lot of the magic, making it sound like we might have been using advanced Muggle technology."

"That's understandable. He wouldn't want to be considered mad by anyone not knowing about the magical world. Did you notice anything missing from the report?"

"Well, there isn't any detail or background on Bateman nor any of his team. If this report was intended for someone outside the group, they wouldn't know why they were selected."

"Well, their experience or capabilities would be a matter of record. They are identified by these code numbers," Hermione observed. "I imagine that anyone with security clearance to read this file would also have access to their service records."

"True."

"Anything else?"

"Just that there isn't a conclusion nor any reference to the library."

Hermione went to the last page of the report.

"Was Bateman really aware of the true significance of the library?" she asked.

"Perhaps not entirely, but wouldn't you have put in a conclusion? We'd just been told that there was a traitor. Wouldn't that deserve emphasising?"

"It would, together with a recommendation for further action," agreed Hermione. "From the numbering of these pages, it looks like this copy of the report is complete, though."

Hermione closed the report and placed her palm down on the cover with her eyes closed, much like Harry read the Kemmynadow book. Harry waited patiently for her to think things through.

"I think there are a number of possibilities that we need to consider," she said finally, opening her eyes.

"First of all, we could all be mistaken. I mean, that this report never included any information that could compromise a traitor and everyone has just assumed it did or might."

Harry nodded.

"Secondly, this report might, as you said, be incomplete. Perhaps it was altered by the traitor before we got it."

Harry shrugged and nodded again.

"Thirdly, this copy might contain information that has been magically hidden. I'll examine it properly for that when I read it properly."

"The report was typed by Bateman in the presence of the Prime Minister and Kingsley," confirmed Harry. "Kingsley personally handed it to Scrimgeour."

Hermione nodded and said, "Yes, there doesn't seem to have been much of an opportunity to alter the report, unless Scrimgeour did it himself. Still, we should eliminate that possibility before we discount it entirely."

Harry nodded.

"Lastly," said Hermione, trailing off deep in thought.

Hermione looked up from the manila cover and said slowly, "Harry, what if Bateman knew this report might be intercepted."

"He did know that."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, shaking her head in annoyance. Harry smiled warmly at her.

"What I mean is, wouldn't he have hidden the message?"

"How?"

"Something subtle. Something so insignificant in the text that anyone not looking for it, or knowing its significance, would overlook it."

"Well, I was looking for it, remember?"

"No, Harry. You were looking for a sentence like The Traitor is X!"

"Er, yes, I was, actually."

"So we need to look for something else. Something that looks perfectly right but actually isn't."

"What like?"

"I've no idea," she said with a smile.

Harry smiled back at her, but then his smile faltered.

"Hermione, are you sure that Bateman is capable of something like this? I mean, this is pretty deep."

Hermione bit her lower lip considering this.

"I honestly don't know," she said finally. "I'll have a better idea when I've read all this in detail. He's certainly intelligent and resourceful, but I always thought in a physical way."

Harry nodded.

"Miss Alice always thought very highly of him," he said.

"True. She didn't suffer fools gladly."

Hermione lifted her hand from the file.

"What are you doing today?" she asked.

"I've no firm plans. I thought I'd help you with this, actually."

As Harry spoke, Hermione was smiling and shaking her head, no.

"I don't need any distractions today," she said. "I'll examine this report first but then I need to go though all the information and books I gathered while I was away."

Harry made a pouting face and Hermione burst into laughter, making him grin at her.

When she'd calmed, Hermione said, "Don't you normally practise with Ron today?"

"Well, yes. But that's not until lunchtime."

"It would be a good idea if you talked to him. He's the only one who can reassure you."

"Yes, but you need to be there too!"

"Harry, he's your best friend. Let him know you're concerned and care about him!"

"That kind of conversation only happens when you are there, actually."

"So just firing hexes at each other is enough to bind your friendship is it?"

"Pretty much."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry got up. He rounded the table and bent down. Lifting her hair and kissing her lightly on the back of her neck he said, "I could be quiet. You'd hardly know I was here."

*

Harry stepped out of the fireplace in the Burrow kitchen having finally been evicted from the Room of Requirement at wand point.

"Well, someone looks in a good mood," said Mrs Weasley seeing his rueful smile.

"Morning, Mrs Weasley," he said brushing himself down. "I just popped back to thank you for last night. It was a really nice evening."

"It was. Tea, Harry Dear?"

"Thanks, I will. I'm meeting Ron here later but I thought I'd check up on the Dursleys first. How is Percy?"

"Recovering nicely, although he hasn't got his appetite back yet. He's slept soundly for most of the time, poor lamb."

“Did you, er, tell Ron about Percy?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“I did, dear, although I didn’t get a chance to until late last night. I’m not sure he entirely believed me, actually. Anyway, he’s promised not to tell Fred or George for the present. That reminds me, I really ought to bring him down before lunchtime.”

“Bring him down?”

“Yes, dear. He’s perfectly safe, tucked away up there, but the Ghoul does like plenty of room to hammer the pipes.”

Harry looked up, trying not to imagine Percy stuck up in the attic all night with only the Weasley family Ghoul for company.

*

Harry Apparated directly into the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place and was alarmed to find Dobby and Kreacher fighting their way around the table.

"Hey! Stop that!" Harry shouted and lunged for them. The struggling elves wrestled themselves under the table and emerged on the other side. Harry jumped onto a chair and then over the table.

He grabbed each of them by an arm and pulled them apart. Neither of them particularly noticed this and Harry suffered several blows to his legs.

"Stop fighting!" he shouted angrily at them both.

The elves appeared to calm and stopped struggling.

"Kreacher, I ordered you not to fight with Dobby! Dobby, I'm surprised at you!"

"Please Sir, but Harry Potter is mistaken."

"Yes," agreed Kreacher. "Master is wrong."

"Wrong? Alright, what was the loophole?" asked Harry, keeping tight hold of them both. Clearly his instructions hadn't been quite specific enough.

"There is no loophole, Sir."

"Kreacher was not fighting Dobby."

"Then why did I have to pull you apart?"

"Master did not."

"Come off it!" Harry cried incredulously.

"No, Kreacher means that Harry Potter did not have to pull us apart."

Harry let go of both their arms.

"You were fighting."

"No, Sir, merely practising."

"Practising?"

"Indeed, Sir! Dobby and Kreacher want to be ready for when Harry Potter does allow us to fight for him!"

"What?"

"Dobby hoped Harry Potter would be proud," the elf said, his ears beginning to droop even more.

Harry sighed and sat down.

"I suppose I am proud," he said, adding quickly, "of you both."

"I just don't want you to hurt yourselves. I can't really have any objection to you fighting anyone else if you really want to.

"I just want to be clear on one thing. You are both subject to the restrictions of house elf enslavement, so I will never order you to fight anyone on my behalf. If you fight, it must be because you want to; not because I have forced you."

Dobby looked fearful for a moment while Kreacher stared contemptuously up at Harry.

Then Dobby said slowly, "So, Harry Potter has not forbidden us to fight?"

"Only each other," said Harry. "I still don't want you to really fight each other."

Dobby grinned widely up at Harry who smiled reluctantly back at him before lunging to grab the chair that Kreacher was about to smash over Dobby's head.

"Kreacher was merely practising," said the elf with a wide smile.

Harry was about to yell at Kreacher when Dobby burst out laughing.

"Dobby has to prepare dinner now, but he hopes Kreacher and he can practise later."

He vanished leaving Harry and Kreacher alone.

"You knew I'd stop you from hitting Dobby with this chair, didn't you?" he asked hopefully.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 8 – Alan Who?

Harry and Ron exchanged grins as they stood outside in the garden. They were supposed to be practising their Defence Against the Dark Arts, but they had become distracted by the sounds coming from one of the open upstairs windows.

“Mother!”

“But, Percy dear.”

“Mother, I demand that you return my wand to me this instant!”

“You’re not well enough to do magic yet, dear.”

“Mother, I’m fine! I need to get back to work. If you would be kind enough to remove the wards, I’ll be away from here.”

“Percy, you need to rest.”

“No, Mother. The Minister will be worried.”

“He hasn’t contacted us at all, dear. He obviously wants you to have an undisturbed recovery.”

“He hasn’t? He does know I’m here, doesn’t he?”

“Well, actually, Percy dear, your father and I agreed it would be for the best if we didn’t tell anyone you were here.”

“WHAT?”

“This really is the last place anyone would expect to find you, isn’t it dear?”

“Well, yes. I suppose that is true. I still-”

“Exactly," Mrs Weasley said firmly, cutting across him. "Now, can I get you any more lunch?”

“Thank you, but no, Mother. Where is my wand?”

“You won’t need it to eat your lunch. You can discuss everything with your father this evening.”

“I’m not discussing anything with him. It’s bad enough that I should be forced to remain under the same roof!”

“Very well, Percy dear. I’m not too disappointed to hear you say that. Mind you, you’re not going anywhere without your father’s approval.”

“Mother! This is outrageous!”

“Yes it is, Percy dear, but at least you are safe.”

Ron sniggered as Hermione came out with a disapproving look on her face.

“I thought you two were practising?”

“We are,” lied Ron. “Well, we’re just on our way. Aren’t we Harry?”

Harry smiled at her and said, “Come on, Ron. We’d better make a start. Will you join us, Hermione?” he added hopefully.

“No, thank you. I’d like to, but I need to catch up with my cataloguing.”

She turned and went straight back inside, leaving Harry in no doubt that she hadn't entirely forgiven him for his seeming lack of support when she finally managed to tackle Ron.

Ron had successfully evaded all of Hermione's earlier attempts to talk to him about his use of the Rodium Hex and had dismissed Fred and George's concerns as mere speculation, insisting he'd hardly spent any time down Knockturn Alley.

Harry could tell Ron wasn't exactly amenable to discussing these things, but as concerned as he was becoming, it seemed that an interrogation would not get him to talk. It got to the stage where Harry knew Ron would stubbornly refuse to talk even if he wanted to.

Trying to get this message across subtly while Hermione was becoming more frustrated at Ron's prevarication hadn't been the easiest things to do, especially when Harry privately admired the way Ron managed to avoid answering specifics. Harry never managed to avoid answering anything of Hermione these days, not that he needed to try very often.

Harry managed to convince himself that if there was anything seriously wrong, Ron would tell him in his own good time. However, even as he came to this conclusion, Harry felt a little uneasy in himself.

*

“I think she’s wasting her time,” said Ron as they walked over to their preferred practising area at the bottom of the garden.

“I notice you waited until she was out of earshot before saying that,” said Harry with a smile.

“Yeah, well I’m not that stupid.”

“Hermione is convinced that the records of sales the Ministry confiscated from Borgin and Burke’s might just give us a clue what the other Horcruxes might be.”

“But you think she’s wasting her time too, right?”

“Well, I don’t think they could be items they had while Voldemort worked there. He’d have made sure that the records were amended, anyway. If he had wanted any item afterwards, he’d have used someone else to obtain them for him.”

“Yes,” agreed Ron, recovering from the involuntary shudder he’d made. “Besides, most of the names recorded just had to be faked.”

“True. Still, we might get lucky. So, you ready to show me how to do your Rodium Hex?” he asked, raising his wand.

"You're kidding, right? After all the fuss you two made! No, Harry, I'm sorry. I think I'll just forget that one completely."

"As you want," said Harry easily, who now knew exactly how to both cast and defend himself against the Rodium family of hexes thanks to the Kemmynadow book. As they prepared to begin, Harry wondered how many more things he would end up keeping from his best friend.

*

"Harry, why don't we ever go to the Order's Headquarters to practise?" asked Ron after they had finished their practise. He could no longer refer to the building as "Sirius'" or "Grimmauld Place" due to the new Fidelius Charm.

"Er, the Dursleys are still there, remember?" replied Harry incredulously.

Ron shrugged but Harry thought he had the airs of someone troubled by something.

"What is it, Ron?"

Ron did not answer at once.

"Why haven't you told me the secret?"

"Which secret?"

"The location of the Order's Headquarters."

"I haven't kept it from you. Very few people know now that the Order no longer uses the place. I suspect they have a new headquarters somewhere, actually. I've no idea where that is, before you ask."

"So how come when I tried to tell Hermione, I couldn't?"

Harry considered before answering.

"Look," Harry began carefully, "since all the problems with the Dursleys, the secret protected by the new Fidelius Charm is a little different."

"In what way?"

"I can't tell you Ron."

"See? I knew you didn't trust me!"

"No, Ron. I can't tell you."

Ron swore but then appeared to take in what Harry had just said.

"You're not the secret keeper?"

"No, I just cast the spells."

Harry didn't know why he held back from telling Ron the entire truth. There were some things he could tell him, after all.

"So, who is it?"

"I don't know. Well, that isn't entirely right. I think I probably did know, but the charm is preventing me from remembering properly."

"How does that work?"

"Well, you remember that Dumbledore and everyone believed Sirius was my parent's secret keeper, but in fact they switched to Wormtail at the last minute?"

"Yes. So Dumbledore might have cast the charm and yet had no idea who the secret keeper was?"

"Exactly."

"I suppose that is the safest way," agreed Ron thoughtfully. "But wasn't Dumbledore the secret keeper for the Order?"

"Yes. I imagine that if I'd used myself, then I'd remember."

Ron nodded.

"I'd have done it," said Ron abruptly. "If you'd asked, I'd have been secret keeper."

Harry nodded and smiled.

"Yes, Ron. I can't even remember how I chose, but I'm sure you were one of the first I considered asking."

"Would you even need to ask?"

"How do you mean?"

"Could you become a secret keeper without even knowing?"

"I doubt it, Ron. How would you know that something was secret?"

"So, the secret keeper knows who they are."

"Ron, is it really in any of our interests to discover who the secret keeper really is?"

"Fair point. Just curious, you know?"

Harry was left feeling just a little uncomfortable. He would be glad when Hermione got back so he could discuss everything with her.

Of course, he was sure she would point out that the three of them had speculated on many such things in the past. The only difference this time was the seriousness of the implications of the secret being exposed.

*

On the following Sunday, Harry and Ron were up in the twin's old bedroom studying quietly and surrounded by stacks of books that Harry had brought back from the Room of Requirement. These books were generally from the new collection that Hermione had recently obtained during her break.

Things had improved between the three of them, mainly due to the fact that no further mention was made of the Ron's trips down Knockturn Alley. Indeed, Harry was beginning to think that Fred and George might well have been exaggerating the time Ron had skived off.

Hermione opened the door and came in to check on their progress, taking a break from her own studies which she generally preferred to do in the Room of Requirement.

“How are you getting on?” she asked interestedly.

Ron pushed his notes across the table top to her and stretched. The table was actually a flat timber top balanced precariously on several crates that Harry suspected contained Bouncing Beans. He had insisted that Ron should not open them to find out.

Yawning widely, Ron said, “I couldn’t find much of what you wanted.”

“No, Ron, this is good,” she said, quickly scanning his notes. “You’ve got most of the key points. There is this one thing, though. The Droopike who discovered all of the Fire Crystal properties isn’t the same wizard who first observed the phenomenon. That was actually his father. Otherwise you’ve done a very good job of this.”

“Thanks,” Ron said hesitantly. “Hermione, it sounds like you already know must of this stuff.”

“Yes,” she said absently, now making minor corrections to Ron’s notes.

“But why did you want me to research something you already knew?”

Harry looked up from his book at this point, also curious to know this.

“Sorry, Ron. Research?”

“Yes, Hermione. Did you forget that you’d already done this?”

“No, Ron," said Hermione blankly. "I wanted you to go through this for your benefit, not mine.”

“We’ve been at this for hours!” Ron complained loudly. “I thought we were looking up these notable Ravenclaws in case they might give us a clue what the other,” he mouthed Horcruxes silently, “might be!”

“Well, that’s a possibility,” admitted Hermione.

“Only a possibility? Hermione, just exactly what benefit was I supposed to get from wasting four precious Sunday morning hours?” Ron asked pointedly. "You know this is my only day off!"

“Ron, now we’ve left Hogwarts we may have lost the benefit of attending lessons, but it’s still vitally important that we keep up our education.”

Harry was too stunned to say anything. He too had been diligently preparing notes upon Hermione’s assignment. He never dreamed this was anything but helping her with the Horcrux research. Neither of them had questioned the strange assortment of tasks she had set them, both more than happy to be able to take some of the burden if they could.

Ron slammed his book closed and stormed out of the room.

“Ron, I never said,” Hermione began to say. “I’m sorry,” she added quietly, but he’d gone.

She turned red faced to Harry.

“He’ll come around,” said Harry gently.

“I suppose you feel the same way?”

“It would have been better if you’d told us the truth from the beginning,” said Harry. “Actually, I found my assignment quite interesting.”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall thought you would,” she said, sitting down next to him.

“She’s been setting my homework?” he asked with half a laugh.

“She’s been giving us all assignments. She warned I might have to be a little discrete how I approached you both, though. I didn’t think either of you would bother if I told you the truth.”

Harry smiled and reached out for her hand, trying not to think of the many hours he'd spent doing homework in the belief that it was helping Hermione's research.

*

Later Hermione returned to the bedroom clutching an enormous black bound book. She shot a disappointed look at Ron's untouched work as she came in. Ron hadn't returned.

She sat down at the end of the bed Harry was still reading at and said in an excited whisper, "I think I've found something!"

Harry closed his book complete with his assignment notes and sat up with interest.

"What is it?"

"Here!" she said, thrusting the open book towards him.

Harry immediately realised that it was one of the ledgers from Borgin and Burke.

"Read the third entry under the Seventh of July," directed Hermione, who was literally bouncing with anticipation as she sat on the mattress.

Harry found the date and moved his index finger down to the third entry.

"Golden statuette of Rowena Ravenclaw with an eagle circling her," he read aloud from the tiny, neat handwriting. "Rumoured to have belonged to Ravenclaw."

Harry frowned and looked up.

"Why would Ravenclaw have owned a statuette of herself? Isn't this just a memento?"

"Yes, Harry, the statuette was a memento. I think it was added later. The statuette is on a small base. It is the base that might have belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw."

"How do you know that?" asked Harry, re-reading the entry. "It doesn't say anything about a base in the entry. Besides, the names entered for the seller and buyer here just have to be false."

Harry looked up to see Hermione grinning at him.

"I've seen it, Harry!"

"Where? When?"

"Well, it was in the same shop I got all those books from while I was away with Mum and Dad."

"I see," said Harry slowly.

"Obviously, the statuette that I saw might have only been a copy of the original," continued Hermione. "Let's go and find it, Harry," she whispered, her face alight with anticipation.

Harry closed the heavy ledger and placed it on the top of the already wobbling stack of books beside the bed.

He reached out and took hold of her hand.

"Of course we'll go," he began gently.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Hermione, the chances of you seeing this very same object has to be pretty remote. If it really was Ravenclaw's, it would be priceless. Would it really be on display in a remote country bookshop?"

"You think I just want to see my parents again, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"They've gone from there now, Harry," she replied in a small voice. "I know they won't be there."

"But you might feel closer to them there?"

*

John Bateman gently held Mary Happell's arm before they crossed to the other side of the road. A white van travelling at twice the speed limit passed them, its engine straining to maintain maximum revs.

"I can cross the road on my own, you know?" she spat.

"I'm sorry, but you didn't look like you'd seen that delivery van."

"He was going terribly fast for such a narrow street, wasn't he? I've half a mind to report his licence number to the Police."

Bateman rolled his eyes and stepped out into the now deserted road.

"What?"

"Some fugitive from the Authorities you are," he muttered.

"There are young children playing along this street," she complained, pointing at an abandoned tricycle outside one of the garden fences.

A high speed train thundered past along the railway tracks that were right behind the houses.

Mary started and grabbed Bateman's arm.

"What a ridiculous place to build a railway line. How do these people get any peace?" she said as soon as the noise had died away.

"People get used to things," Bateman said quietly. "Besides, sometimes the only affordable properties are in places that have nuisances close by."

"I suppose. Is this the right street?"

"The next one, I think," said Bateman.

"Why isn't she living in official accommodation?"

"Not everyone appreciates living around families of service personnel all the time. Besides, they can inspect you at any time and the subsidy isn't worth as much as it once was."

"I didn't know that," Mary said thoughtfully.

They walked on in silence for a while. This she asked, "Why did she really move all the way out here?"

Batemen smiled down at her but didn't answer.

Presently they came to the house they were looking for. The low timber fence had chipped and peeling white paint and was leaning inwards at an alarming angle. They didn't attempt to open the gate. Instead they squeezed past the rusting hire skip that was parked on the driveway.

Mary peered over the edge and inspected the skip contents. These appeared to be broken masonry, concrete and a wide assortment of broken sanitary fittings.

Bateman went first and pulled Mary out of the way of one of the projecting lugs on the skip that were used to lift it. He seemed to know when she wasn't paying attention to where she was walking.

"Thanks," she muttered when she realised what she had almost walked into.

Bateman reached up to press the doorbell, but all he found were a pair of exposed wires poking out of a hole in the doorframe.

Instead he used the metal knocker in the middle of the door. It was shaped like a cat.

After a few moments the door opened.

"Sergeant? What on earth are you doing here?"

"We're sorry to disturb you," said Bateman, "but it's important we speak."

"You'd better come in then."

*

They were shown into the living room. Mary took in the bare floorboards, half-stripped wallpaper and the sanded down woodwork.

"You're looking well, Terri, I must say," said Bateman with obvious warmth. "You remember Mary Happell don't you?"

"Yes, of course," said Terri, smiling at Mary. "Weren't you called-?"

"Mary uses different names according to where she is," interrupted Bateman. "It rained earlier today, and as we were outside she's called Mary today."

Terri laughed and said, "Please, take a seat. The dust covers are clean, even if they don't look it."

They sat and Terri perched herself on an armrest. Mary saw she was wearing a man's shirt under a very old and baggy set of overalls. She also had a considerable amount of white paint on her face and hands.

Terri didn't look as thin in the face as Mary remembered her, but she looked much better for it. Her hair was still short, but much longer than the crew-cut she had before.

"So, how are you?"

"Oh, we're fine according to my last check up," Terri answered with a smile and rubbing both her hands down her abdomen. As she flattened her overalls, Mary understood rather than really saw the small bulge she was highlighting.

"I'm beginning to show," Terri admitted. "It won't be long before nothing fits me at all."

"Nonsense. You look radiant," said Bateman, surprising Mary with his uncharacteristic manner.

"When are you due?" asked Mary, already working out how long Terri might have been pregnant.

"Only another five months to go."

"Had we known we would never have sent you," said Mary.

"I only found out after we returned from the Archive job. Of course, I would have wanted to go even if we'd known."

Mary smiled uneasily but nodded.

"Terri," said Bateman seriously, "there have been quite a few changes since the Archive raid. We'd appreciate it if you could keep our visit to yourself for now. The fewer people who know what we are up to the better."

"Sure," Terri answered at once. "I knew both of you were under investigation. I was interviewed myself several times."

"What is your current status?"

"They've suspended me pending an inquiry."

"Terri," began Mary, "we found out you were interviewed by Colonel Falcon only a few weeks before he disappeared."

Terri raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"How on earth did you find out?"

"Don't ask," said Bateman.

"He threatened to hit a few people," said Mary.

"That would do it," agreed Terri with a smile.

"Actually, we found out very little," continued Mary. "Did you meet with him?"

"Yes. We spoke several times."

"Why didn't you tell us?" asked Bateman, sounding hurt.

“You’d have dropped me from the team in a second if you thought I was in any way co-operating with Falcon.”

“Were you?”

“No!”

“So, what did he want?”

“He claimed to know about me and Alan. He threatened to expose us unless I helped him. I refused, of course.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He didn’t give up. He kept cornering me and threatening me. The strange thing was, the very last time I saw him, he was really pleased I hadn’t co-operated. It was like he was testing to see if he could trust me with something.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

*

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Bateman as they climbed the steep incline of the railway bridge. They were headed for the train station.

“I still can’t quite fathom why Falcon would trust her like that.”

“Actually, I think you’ve just answered your own question. He did it because it is so unlikely. It needed to be someone we’d find out about, but at the same time would be dismissed as too unlikely by anyone else.”

“It was an awful risk, from Falcon’s viewpoint.”

“I suspect he was running out of options by that time,” said Bateman darkly. “Anyway, she said the Journal was encrypted.”

“That is something else that I find rather unlikely. He knew nothing about codes.”

“Well, let’s find the Journal and see for ourselves.”

They entered the small ticket hall and enquired about ticket prices. They conferred quietly before buying tickets.

“We’ve got just enough cash between us for one way economy tickets. I’m afraid we won’t have enough for a decent meal, but I know someone in Kendal that might help us out.”

*

Later on the train, Mary came out of her trance like thoughts and touched Bateman on his arm.

"Who is Alan?"

"Alan Duke."

"No! Really? How long have you known?"

"They only met when Terri joined the team in the summer. I realised something was up almost straight away and I confronted them with my suspicions. They admitted it at once. If they hadn't, I'd have dropped them both."

"What should you have done?"

"Regulations prohibit such relationships, and generally for good reason. If one party gets hurt or captured, the other one can't be relied upon to think and act rationally. Human nature takes over."

"So, why did you let them stay?"

"To be honest, I didn’t intend for both of them to stay. They are both good at their jobs, and I seriously considered dropping Terri. You know I wasn't keen on her joining us, but she has more than proved her worth. In the end, I didn’t want to lose either of them."

"Now they know, will they be in serious trouble?"

"No, not unless someone has an axe to grind. Usually the ranking officer finds a solution. As they’ve moved all the way out here, I suspect it has already been sorted. There may be a reprimand or two, but that should be all. Alan's due for a promotion, but hopefully it'll just be delayed."

"I'm glad," said Mary, relaxing back into her seat. "She did look radiant, didn't she?"

Bateman smiled and nodded.

"Get some sleep," advised Mary. "I'll keep an eye out."

Bateman looked at her doubtfully for a moment before nodding and relaxing back. He privately thought she would be asleep before he was, but decided that the risk was minimal. The train they were on wouldn't even stop for two hours anyway.

*

Bateman opened his eyes and looked around. He was alarmed not to see Mary anywhere. He stood at once to look over the high backed seats in the carriage.

He placed his hand inside his deep coat pocket and gripped his pistol before making his way along the centre aisle.

"Honestly, I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

Bateman spun around to see Mary smiling at him and holding two plastic cups.

He relaxed and reversed back into the group of facing seats he'd been sitting in.

"Why didn't you wake me?" he said gruffly, taking one of the cups and lifting the plastic lid.

He sipped the scalding tea.

"What?" he asked, seeing the expression she was pulling at him. "I'm always grumpy when I wake up."

"Obviously. No, I was just wondering," said Mary thoughtfully as she sat opposite.

"Wondering what?" he asked, but then he realised she was back in her trance like state, staring at her white cup but not really seeing it.

After what seemed several minutes she lifted the lid off her cup and sipped.

"What?" she asked.

Bateman just smiled and shook his head.

*

They exited the train station and walked out of earshot of anyone so they could talk.

"Should we take a taxi?"

"We can't afford it," said Bateman. "We still have quite a way to go."

"There's a car hire place over there."

"Again, we'd need money for a deposit as well as stumping up the hire cash. Besides, they need to see full identification first."

"Oh, right. Where are you going?"

"Just for a wander around the car park," he said casually.

Mary caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

"You are not going to steal someone's car!"

"Relax, will you? These cars won't be missed for the entire day. These belong to commuters."

"You don't know that!"

"It's also cheap, provided we get one with a full tank," he continued, ignoring her protests.

"No!"

"We have to be careful. Some of these have decent alarms these days. Besides, I only know how to hot wire certain types. Hey, how about that one?"

Bateman smiled down at her and only then appeared to take in how angry she was.

"I am not getting into any stolen vehicle," she said firmly.

"Beggars can't be choosers," he said gently.

"Do what you want, but I'm not going anywhere in a stolen car."

She turned and stomped back out of the car park entrance. Bateman waited a moment but then followed dejectedly.

"What, didn't they have one you liked?"

"After all the fuss you made, I suspect that I'd have been reported driving anything out of there actually."

"What a shame."

"I was wondering, since you didn't like my idea, if you knew how we could get there?"

"Didn't you say you had a friend around here?"

"You want me to steal his car?"

Mary swiped his arm and groaned seeing they were at the bottom of a hill.

"Come on," he said reassuringly, and together they began climbing.

*

"Shut up and drive!" said Mary through gritted teeth as she smiled and waved. Bateman wiped his eyes and desperately tried not to start laughing again.

He wound down his window a couple of inches and said, "Thanks again, Jim. See you soon, mate."

"Drive carefully," said Jim with a final wave as they accelerated gently down the quiet road and out into the traffic.

Several strained minutes later, Mary appeared to relax a little and Bateman thought he might risk a little conversation.

He was just trying to decide what to say, when Mary said, "I can't believe you gave him my telephone number."

"I was only trying to be helpful. You and Jim seemed to hit it off right away."

"Hardly. If we hadn't needed his help I'd have walked right out of there."

"Why? Jim's alright."

"I just wish he didn't keep staring at me like that."

"It's just his way. You can ask him not to do it on your first date."

"How do you even know my home number, anyway? I hardly know it myself!"

"I don't know your telephone number," admitted Bateman. "Poor Jim's going to be calling the only number I use regularly, my local takeaway."

"That was rather cruel."

"See, I knew you had a soft spot for Jim!"

"What was in that carrier bag he kept with him the whole time?"

"I've never asked," Bateman admitted. "I suppose I was afraid he might tell me it was a memento of this wife. She left him some years ago; or at least, that's what he says. It's just that from certain angles, I've thought it could be a preserved head in there."

"Oh, don't say that!" said Mary, sounding horrified and covering her mouth with her hand.

Bateman laughed loudly.

"I'm only kidding. Those are his indoor bowls. He goes to a local club. He uses a carrier bag because it's supposed to be lucky. Honestly."

Mary looked at him doubtfully, clearly thinking the head memento story was much more credible.

"I'm still changing my telephone number."

Bateman laughed again as they joined the dual carriageway and sped under a sign directing them North.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 9 – The Bookshop

Hermione let go of the firm grip she had of Harry's arm. They were standing in a shallow grass hollow at the back of a rusting shed. All round them on three sides were thick bushes.

"This is handy," said Harry, looking around.

"Yes, all the local witches and wizards use this place to Apparate here. It's a bit tricky finding your way through the undergrowth, though."

She took hold of Harry's hand and led him out into a narrow pathway until they emerged into a quiet village street.

As they walked on, Harry could see ploughed fields and low green hills between the houses. Faint patches of blue could be seen between the white clouds directly above them, but darker rain clouds were gathering far off in the distance.

"How big is this village, Hermione?"

"Oh, it's very small. There isn't even a sub-post office. You have to go to the next village to post a parcel. There are only two shops. One is a grocers and the other is our bookshop."

"Where did you stay?"

"There's a small guest house down that way," she said pointing. "It was nice and clean, but the food was a little ordinary. We ate out most of the time, especially after Dad discovered the local pub did meals. Its rather nice actually and there's a carvery only a short drive down the road."

Hermione shivered and looped her arm around his, pulling herself closer.

"It is a little chilly, isn't it?" observed Harry.

"The shop isn't far."

"Are there many magical families living around here?"

"I honestly don't know, Harry. If it hadn't been a bookshop, we'd have never even looked in there. I was amazed when I read the titles they had out on display."

"What are the people like who run it?"

"I've only ever seen two people serving in there. They are a nice elderly couple. I assume they own the place."

"Your parents didn't have any trouble seeing the shop as well?"

"No, it was Dad who pointed it out."

"It just seems so strange," said Harry. "What if they sold something to a Muggle?"

"They do, Harry," Hermione replied with a laugh.

They turned a corner and Harry had a clear view down what appeared to be the oldest part of the village. The road was much wider here and right at the end, standing apart from the other buildings, was the bookshop.

"It's not exactly located to get a lot of passing trade, is it?"

"I suspect that's the idea, actually."

"It's practically outside the village," complained Harry, noting that the shop front was actually at right angles to the road. The wide even pedestrian area at the front quite looked out of place as the pedestrian pavement next to the road was narrow and even missing in places.

"Come on! They might have had some new books in."

Harry snorted and allowed Hermione to hurry him along. The road was longer than it looked, and as Harry was looking ahead he saw two figures emerge from a track opposite.

Harry immediately pulled Hermione to one side and fumbled inside his rucksack.

"What are you doing?"

"I just need to do something," he replied in an amused voice. "Look who had the same idea as you."

Hermione peered around the wall to look.

*

"It's doing it again!"

"Sorry?" asked Miss Alice.

"Look," he said, offering the large gold coin up for her to see.

"It might rain later," she read aloud, "You should have brought an umbrella."

"It keeps giving me stupid messages like that. I can't remember where I got this thing at all, you know? All I know is that I mustn't lose it. A few weeks ago it kept telling me jokes. Then it went all moody and starting wondering when she’d ever come home. Not that I ever found out who she actually was."

"May I see it?"

"Sure," he said, placing it in her palm. The message disappeared at once.

"Well, from the design on the other side, I think it's quite clear who gave it to you," Miss Alice said with a smile and looking around. "Here, take it back in case there are any more messages."

"So, who did give this to me?"

"A certain good friend of yours. You had your memory modified specifically so you would ensure the safety of Harry and his friends."

"Hang on," he said slowly, looking around. "Do you think he's watching us now?"

"I think it's highly likely. Let's proceed to the shop and see if anyone shows themselves."

Bateman felt the coin flash briefly with heat again.

He looked down to read the new message.

It now read, "Danger! Get o"

*

"Harry?"

"Shh!" demanded Harry, pulling Hermione further back. "Look over there," he whispered.

They were both concealed under the invisibility cloak that Harry had just pulled from their bag. They stood behind a low wall and looked along the high street.

"Oh, my," whispered Hermione. "We have to warn them!"

Harry had already retrieved his gold coin again and was etching a new message with his wand.

"Danger! Get out of sight. Ollivander here!"

Ollivander crossed the quiet village street at a diagonal. Moving at a brisk pace, he appeared to see the couple walking down one of the side turnings but did not follow nor did he take any interest in them. Instead he proceeded in the opposite direction.

As soon as he had gone, Harry ducked down and out from under the invisibility cloak.

"You follow Bear and Miss Alice. I'm going to follow Ollivander."

"Oh, Harry, are you sure? I’d rather come with you."

"Yes, I’m sure. They might be at risk. It’ll be best if you made sure they stayed okay. Hurry up or you'll lose them."

"At least take the cloak?"

"No, you keep it," replied Harry, already several feet from Hermione. “I won’t be long.”

Soon Hermione’s soft mutterings of disapproval were gone.

Harry turned down the side turning and spied Ollivander several yards in front of him and still walking away. Wearing a Muggle hat and coat that did not look at all out of place, Ollivander continued casually on.

He hurried so as not to lose him.

On both sides of the road were terraced housing with stone facades which were right on the edge of the pavement. All of the front doors were different styles and colours, but almost every stone step was painted in bright red.

The road dipped down and Harry found it easy to get within a few yards of Ollivander who seemed to be enjoying his walk. He even began whistling at one point.

Harry followed, making sure to keep behind the various cars and vans parked at the kerbside, until finally they reached the edge of the village.

*

Harry watched as Ollivander entered a derelict building with a wide concrete forecourt and the remains of a high canopy. Harry could see daylight clear through to the other side of the old garage which was the last building right at the very perimeter of the village.

Just before he disappeared from view, Ollivander turned to look behind him. Harry ducked down further, knowing that he couldn't get any closer from this direction without being seen. Even from inside, Ollivander would have an excellent view of his approach.

Deciding he would be too exposed if he followed directly, Harry decided to skirt around the outside.

He hurried through a narrow alley next to the adjacent building that he thought might end up in the right place behind the derelict building. He hurried, knowing Ollivander might Disapparate away at any time.

Breathing hard, Harry peered around the final corner, expecting to see Ollivander through one of the openings in the derelict building.

Ollivander was now standing just in front of the open rear doorway, as if he was waiting for someone. He turned and re-entered the building, presumably to check the approach at the front of the building.

Harry crossed the grass path in order to see in through one of the low rear windows.

Just as he got there, he slowed to make sure he wouldn't be heard. He paused for a moment underneath the cill of one of the open windows. The metal frame was still in place but all of the glass had long gone. He listened intently, but heard nothing. If he was quiet and stayed low enough, Ollivander might not see him even from the rear entrance. All he had to do was get behind the low wall that projected from the rear.

He made to move on to the next window which was open, not even having a frame any longer, but realised he had a slight problem.

His feet were firmly stuck to the ground.

Ollivander must have laid a trap for him.

Cursing inwardly, Harry looked up to see Ollivander standing directly in front of him, shaking his head slowly as if disappointed that Harry had allowed himself to be caught so easily.

Harry levelled his wand at Ollivander at once.

"Please," drawled Ollivander derisively. "Honestly, Mr Potter, it's no wonder the Dark Lord's followers had trouble following his orders not to harm you. You can barely walk without falling pray to some misfortune."

Harry fired at once, but his stunner merely hit the masonry wall and bounced back towards him. He collapsed backwards to avoid being hit by his own spell. Ollivander had disapparated away.

Furious with himself, Harry pointed his wand at his feet and muttered, "Finite!"

Thankfully, this worked and the soles of his feet were released.

*

Harry took his time walking back to the bookshop. He was trying his level best to calm down. He knew Hermione wouldn't be at all pleased that he'd allowed himself to be caught so easily.

The fact that Ollivander just let him free himself actually made things worse.

As it was only Hermione really believed his assertions that Ollivander was the Healer responsible for the all the atrocities they'd witnessed.

Actually, he reminded himself, Hermione only believed that Harry had told the truth about what he had witnessed. She still didn't necessarily accept that Harry was right.

This latest episode hardly marked Ollivander out as guilty either, much to his annoyance.

Just as he reached the last building before the bookshop, Harry came back to himself and stopped to take a long hard look around him before walking the last few yards to the shop. He knew this was a little late in the day. In the mood he had been in, fifty Death Eaters could have been following him and he’d have been none the wiser.

Thankfully, no-one at all was now in sight.

Harry finally reached the shop and peered in through the window. He couldn't see into the actual shop from there, but the display consisted of several incredibly tatty books. Mostly, they were well thumbed paperbacks with lurid covers.

He was about to head for the entrance door when something caught his eye.

He looked back and was astounded to see a tiny golden bird flying around inside the display window.

Then he realised that all of the tatty paperbacks had gone. In their place were two large open spell books, complete with moving diagrams of bubbling cauldrons. Between them was a golden statuette of Rowena Ravenclaw complete with billowing golden robes.

Harry looked carefully at the base they had come to see. It was a dark coloured cube with sides about five inches long. He couldn't tell what it was made from. From some angles it looked highly polished and from others it was just a dull finish.

He was so intent upon studying the statuette base that he hardly noticed the red book that had been propped up against the back of the display. Harry started as soon as he saw it. The book was bound in a faded red felt material that curiously was an exact match for the lining of the display case.

Harry headed for the door and pushed it open using the highly polished brass lever handle that looked rather out of place outside.

Inside he found he had barely enough room to enter and close the door again. All around the perimeter were bookshelves crammed with what looked like thousands of assorted second hand paperback books. There had to be at least twelve rows of shelves from floor to ceiling.

He turned in the narrow aisle to face one of the many shorter book cases which were all packed with books. These books looked newer and were arranged in sets, judging by the patterns their spines made.

Seeing a space ahead, Harry wound he way around the book cases to find a small serving counter which was completely deserted.

Wondering where the others were, Harry noticed a narrow open doorway that led off to another part of the shop towards the rear. As there was no door and the bookshelves extended onwards, he proceeded through.

Harry listened for any sign of activity, but there was none to be heard. Not wishing to call out, he decided to continue exploring around the shop. It had to be tiny, so he would be back in no time.

There was a short corridor with a wide assortment of pre-school learning books before he reached a tee junction. High up there were two arrowed cardboard signs handing from the ceiling with faded writing that included many corrections and crossings out. As direction signs they weren't much help to him at all.

Harry looked back the way he had just come and memorised it so he would know his way out. Then he turned and decided to investigate the right hand corridor first.

Not stopping to read any of the book titles, Harry went through sections dedicated to Hobbies, Horticulture, Animal Husbandry, Medicine. He skipped several annexes but after an extensive section on History, a small section on Economics and Accountancy he found himself back where he started.

All the while he had begun to get worried about Hermione, Bateman and Miss Alice.

Where on earth could they have got to?

Then he remembered the coin, except he was half sure that Hermione had it with her in the rucksack.

He searched through his pockets and found it.

Looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched he discretely etched a new message into the face of the coin.

"Are you okay? Where are you?"

At almost the very instant he'd finished the bookcase right in front of him slid open silently.

"Isn't this place great?" said a grinning Hermione.

*

Harry stepped through the opening and knew at once that he was inside a magical bookshop. The room he had just entered was far wider and longer than the space outside and the large rooflight above had to be several feet higher than the top of the uneven roof viewed from the front of the shop.

All around the perimeter of the room there was a wide mezzanine balcony and all the walls had deep shelves or glass fronted cabinets, all crammed with richly bound books.

In the middle if the room there were several comfortable chairs and reading desks.

But the thing that struck him the most was the feeling of spaciousness after the cramped corridors he had just come through.

Harry followed Hermione over to a pair of facing green leather couches where Bateman and Miss Alice were sitting uneasily.

"Hello, Miss Alice," said Harry smiling.

"Hello, Harry. It's wonderful to see you again. May I introduce you to a good friend of yours?"

Harry laughed and extended his hand to Bateman.

"John, this is Harry Potter," said Miss Alice.

"Hello, Bear," said Harry. "I'm glad you kept that coin I gave you, or I'd never have found you!"

Bateman shook Harry's hand but said uncertainly, "I'm sorry. I don't remember."

"I know," said Harry reassuringly.

They all sat down.

"I thought it best if we waited for you to arrive before we told each other why we were here, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry nodded.

"First, tell us about this Ollivander," said Bateman. “I don’t remember him. Or at least, I don’t think I do.”

"Hermione has already told us about what you suspect about him," interrupted Miss Alice. “Following him on your own was unwise, Harry, especially given your suspicions.”

Harry flushed slightly and said, "Well, he's gone now. He knew I was following me and he laid a trap."

"He let you go?" asked Hermione.

"Yes. Well, he didn't make any effort to keep me there."

"Harry, are you sure you're right about him?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't know why he just let me free myself. I know what it looks like but I also remember the look on Alison Weston's face before she died. I can't explain what Ollivander is up to, but I can't accept I was wrong about him. Maybe he just wanted to plant a seed of doubt in your minds."

"I wonder what he was doing here?" asked Miss Alice.

"We could ask Mr Weasley if he knows what magical activity goes on around here apart from this place," suggested Hermione.

Harry nodded and said, "Yes. He'll probably know who lives around here too. Perhaps Ollivander was visiting someone local."

"Anyway, let's talk about why we're here," said Bateman, sounding a little frustrated that he couldn’t contribute to the conversation. "Mary, could you like to begin?"

"Mary?" said Harry and Hermione together.

Miss Alice smiled and nodded.

"I'm sorry. My name outside of secret bunkers is Mary. Mary Happell."

"Hello, Mary," said Harry with a smile. He had no idea that Miss Alice wasn't her real name.

"We've come in search of Colonel Falcon's Journal," Mary explained.

"You haven't found it yet?" asked Harry.

"We have only just started looking, to be honest. Both of us were suspected of being the traitor and for a very long time we suspected each other. We've only been working together on this for a short period."

"Falcon left us a message that we could find the Journal here," continued Bateman. "To be honest, we have no idea why he chose this place. Perhaps he had no idea this shop also had a line in magical books."

"You know? I do vaguely recall this village being mentioned in one of the reports that came through," said Mary. "There was some kind of incident that nobody could explain. Perhaps he got the inspiration from there."

"Um, where are the owners of this place?" asked Harry looking around. "We need to see if that statuette is genuine before we make an offer."

"They aren't always around," said Hermione. "Customers are asked to leave payment in the dish by the counter."

"Isn't that rather trusting?" observed Bateman.

"Well, most of the books out front don't have much value. All they ask is what the customer thinks the books are worth. People pay what they can afford."

"Aren't they tempted to pocket the cash as well?"

Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"For some reason the dish is always empty. Anything put in there just vanishes after a few moments."

"Well, do you think they'd mind if we opened their display case?" asked Harry. "The two spell books I saw in there looked very expensive. I wouldn't be surprised if they haven't protected the display window."

"Yes," agreed Hermione getting to her feet. "We should ask first."

She went over to another desk and picked up a tiny silver hand bell which she shook making a brief tinkling sound. Hermione placed the bell carefully back and returned.

"It will be a few moments," she said quietly. "They are rather elderly," she added in an undertone.

"Hopefully they can tell us where the Journal is," said Bateman.

The bookcase slid open and a smiling witch with wild silver hair entered.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "Edward is just coming. How may we be of assistance?"

Harry got up.

"Aren't you?" began the elderly witch.

"Harry Potter," he answered with a smile and holding out his hand. "You have a wonderful bookshop, but I'm surprised you've got as many books left as you have. I was sure Hermione must have bought half your stock."

After a gentle handshake, the witch turned and smiled at Hermione.

"Welcome back, my dear. Won't you introduce me to your other friends?"

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 10 - The Golden Rowena

Hermione made the introductions and did so again when Edward arrived a short while later.

He was an almost completely bald man with a round smiling face and had permanently flushed cheeks. He was, Harry judged, almost exactly the same width as the space between the bookcases out in the front of the shop. His wife's name, Harry learned, was Jennifer and they had run the bookshop together for over fifty years.

Harry was pleased, if a little surprised, to find the couple entirely accepting of Muggles inside the magical areas of their bookshop. He guessed that from their selection of books in the rest of the shop that they regularly enjoyed the company of non-magical people.

"We were hoping to look at a couple of items,” said Harry a little hesitantly. “The first is that statuette of Rowena Ravenclaw you have in your display window."

"That item isn't for sale, I'm afraid," said Jennifer.

"Oh, but you're welcome to have a closer look," offered Edward, leading them out of the magical area towards the front of the shop.

After first making sure the shop was empty of customers, Edward flicked his wand at the door. The closed sign flipped over and the door locked.

Another flick and the book cases flew up off the ground and stacked themselves unobtrusively up on the ceiling, leaving the entire floor area clear.

The back of the display window folded back and Harry realised that the glass in the window at the front was now entirely opaque so no-one could see in from outside.

The golden bird flew in wide arcs around the open shop area now, relishing its new-found freedom.

Slowly the statuette rotated around to face them.

"We bought this with the proceeds of our first full quarter's takings," said Edward proudly. "I'm afraid we paid an outrageous price for it."

Hermione went over to take a closer look.

"You bought it from Borgin and Burke?" asked Harry.

"Good grief no!" exclaimed Edward. "I wouldn't give those scoundrels a single Knut!"

"I'm sorry," said Harry at once. "It's just that we found this object, or one very similar to it, in one of their ledgers. We wondered if there was more than one."

"Oh, it was this one alright," said Jennifer bitterly. "It had their stock reference etched into it when it was returned."

"The piece was stolen from us some time ago and Borgin and Burke bought it from the thief,” explained Edward.

“Ordered it to be stolen, more like,” spat Jennifer.

“There’s no proof of that, dear,” said Edward, and Harry had the impression that he’d needed to say that many times before. “However, they did have the nerve to demand payment from us for its safe return. Fortunately, one of my brothers had some influence with the Ministry and it was returned to us eventually. Mind you, if they hadn’t happened across it during one of their raids, we would never have seen it again, I’m sure."

"How long did Borgin and Burke have the item?"

"A few weeks, I suppose," answered Edward. "The Ministry had it for months, though. They managed to lose track of the paperwork too, and we had a devil of a job to get it back. From the way my brother acted when he handed it to us, I suspect he may have just took it from their evidence rooms. How come you even got access to Borgin and Burke's ledgers?"

"Influence with the Ministry, I suppose," said Harry with a grin. "Actually, they were confiscated and we were able to borrow a few of the older ledgers. The Ministry takes ages to complete any investigation, so we should be able to return them before anyone starts to ask any awkward questions. Do you think we could get a closer look at the base?"

"Ah," said Edward knowingly, "you know about the base?"

"Not really," admitted Hermione.

Edward pointed his wand at the statuette. The golden Rowena gathered up her flowing robes and jumped down from the cube that looked like it had been carved from black marble. The polished sides were almost like mirrors and the edges looked sharp enough to cut. It was in immaculate condition.

"Thank you," said Hermione to the small golden figure before reaching down and picking it up.

She turned it over and revealed a matching lid with an inset golden handle. The cube was obviously hollow.

Seeing Ravenclaw's mark on the lid, Harry said, "It's genuine, isn't it?"

"It is," said Jennifer proudly.

"Have you ever seen inside?"

"Oh, yes. It's quite empty.”

Harry’s heart sank. Empty! They had been wrong.

“We think that possibly Rowena originally used it as a jewellery box. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to open it since we got it back from Borgin and Burke. There's a complicated mechanism inside that they must have broken, the brutes," added Jennifer.

Harry sighed with relief and Hermione returned the heavy cube to the display case.

"That base is not empty," Harry said firmly.

"Nonsense," said Edward, but his smile faltered seeing the serious look on Harry's face.

"I can't tell you everything," said Harry before drawing a deep, calming breath. "Before he died, Albus Dumbledore instructed me to find certain things that had been hidden. One of those things was hidden inside that cube while it was with Borgin and Burke. I bet they lost track of it when the Ministry lost the paperwork."

"Who would want to hide something in there, and why?"

"I can't say why, but I can tell you who. As a young man, he had a job with Borgin and Burke. He took that job because he was looking for objects like this one. His name is Vol-."

Harry did not need to finish. Jennifer and Edward had instinctively clutched each others hands.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Edward shakily.

"To be honest, no, we're not. I think there is a good chance I'm right, but I could be wrong. We have no interest in the base, only what is inside. Is there any way we can persuade you to sell us the base? I'd offer to return it after, but I'm not sure if the base will get broken when we get it open."

Edward looked down into his wife's tearful eyes.

Together they nodded.

"Take it," said Jennifer. "I don't want anything associated with You-Know-Who in our shop."

"Thank you," said Harry. "The thing is, he can't know we have it."

"That's right," agreed Hermione. "It could be very dangerous for you if he even knew we'd taken an interest."

Edward gently freed himself from Jennifer’s hands and then went behind the counter for a moment. He returned with an almost identical statuette.

"We bought this copy when we thought the other one was gone forever," he explained. "We'll keep this base and you can take the real one. No-one will know they have been substituted."

He placed the fake base down in the display case and the golden Rowena crossed her arms indignantly, showing her displeasure at the appearance of such an inferior replica.

Edward vanished the strangely still golden statuette standing on the fake base and switched them over. They looked identical.

"What about Borgin and Burke's stock mark?" said Mary.

"Good point!" said Hermione. Edward tipped both bases onto their sides and Hermione then duplicated the mark on the fake base.

Edward picked up the genuine base and handed it to Harry.

"We'd be grateful if you'd take this and return it only when it is clean."

"Thank you," said Harry hoarsely. "Will you accept some money? This thing must be priceless."

"It has no value to us now," said Jennifer.

"Please don't be concerned about us revealing your interest in it. You-Know-Who touched our lives once before. His Death Eaters murdered only our son many years ago. We can't do much to fight him, but if our silence will help then we won't fail you."

Harry nodded and smiled sadly.

Bateman cleared his throat and said, "There is one other matter. The Journal?"

Hermione reached into the display case again and brought out the red felt covered book. She held up the cover for the others to read.

"J. Falcon, Age Nine," read the child's handwriting on the small white label on the front.

Hermione opened the school textbook and began to read aloud from the first page.

"My name is John Falcon and when I grow up I am going to be a soldier like my father and my uncles."

Mary looked over Hermione's shoulder and smiled seeing the crayon drawings of tanks and cannons.

"Look in the back pages," she suggested gently.

Hermione flicked through to the back of the book. Clearly the young Falcon hadn't finished the book. In an adult hand, the last twenty or so sides were filled with small, neat handwriting which extended right onto the inside over.

Mary and Hermione nodded together and looked up.

"This is it," said Mary.

"Do you know him?" asked Jennifer.

"I only met him twice," said Harry.

"He kept insisting that we put it in the other window," explained Edward. "We were rather worried about him, actually. Is he alright?"

"I'm afraid not," said Harry. "He encountered Y- You-Know-Who as well." Harry was so used to saying Voldemort's name, he actually stuttered slightly saying You-Know-Who, but he was determined not to upset Jennifer and Edward any further, especially as they had shown them so much generosity.

They nodded sadly in understanding.

"Edward, dear, let's close the shop early today?"

"Yes, dear. Won't you please join us for dinner? We only live locally."

"That's very thoughtful," said Harry, placing his entire bag of gold in the dish on the counter before either of them could object. "We need to talk over quite a few things, though. You might be at risk if you overheard anything."

The heavy gold bag vanished with a satisfying pop before Edward could grab it.

"You simply must come for dinner," insisted Jennifer. "We have a warm parlour where you can talk in private. You won't be disturbed."

*

Late that evening Harry stepped out of the parlour fireplace having just deposited the Ravenclaw object in the Room of Requirement. He had taken some time to hide it after Hermione had mentioned that she had told Ron their plans to visit the bookshop today, although she hadn’t said that they were going in seek of a Horcrux.

He didn't say anything at the time as he didn't wish to spoil the wonderful meal Edward and Jennifer had prepared for them, but Harry was beginning to grow uncomfortable confiding too much with Ron.

Ron's interest in the identity of the Secret Keeper seemed to concern him much more now than it had at the time, although Hermione didn't seem to share the depth of his concerns.

Harry stepped over the outstretched legs of Bateman and sat down beside him. Behind him, Hermione, Mary and Jennifer were deep in conversation at the table. Falcon's book lay between them, quite ignored.

"You took your time," mumbled Bateman sitting up.

"Here, Harry," said Edward handing him a small brandy glass.

"Er, thanks," said Harry accepting the glass and immediately brought it up to his lips to take a cautionary sip.

"No, class," said Bateman at once and Edward chuckled.

Harry brought his hand down at once, fearing that he had committed some dreadful faux pas.

"Brandy, Harry, has to be drunk the right way."

"It does?"

"These glasses are shaped this way for a reason," explained Edward kindly. "The full bouquet is collected so the taste can be appreciated properly."

"And to get the full bouquet," continued Bateman, "the spirit needs to be warmed slightly."

"To be honest," said Edward, "it isn't always worth it for some brandies."

"Except this," said Bateman pointing at his glass, "is a very good brandy."

They both held up their glasses and swirled the dark liquid around. Harry copied them and realised that the warmth of his hand was warming the brandy in the glass.

Harry swirled patiently, wondering when he would be allowed to taste the drink. As he did so, he looked around the fire-lit room. Every inch of wall space was covered in photographs, most of them were of their late son at all ages. They were all Muggle still photographs and Jennifer had explained that they preferred them because it was too much bother to change them all when Muggle friends came around.

The photograph album she had showed Hermione and Mary earlier was entirely magical, though.

Presently, Edward and Bateman seemed to agree that the time was right and nodded to Harry. Together they raised their glasses and slowly breathed in the strong fumes of the alcohol.

Following the others, Harry took his first sip.

With slightly watering eyes and fighting the urge to cough, Harry lowered his glass in time with the others.

"Cigar, John?" asked Edward, opening a fine inlayed case.

"No thanks, Edward," Bateman replied. "I managed to give up years ago when it began to affect my run times. Please don't let us stop you though."

"I'm only allowed when we have guests," confided Edward with a wink at Harry.

Remembering what he'd brought back with him, Harry pulled out the thin manila file and offered it to Bateman who grunted to show his recognition.

"You recognise it?" asked Harry.

"I remember it existed," replied Bateman putting down his glass and opening his report. "This was the last thing I did before my memory was modified. I remember handing it to the Prime Minister and then Shacklebolt made me sit down.

"The next thing I remember is waking up in a cell. Kingsley was waiting for me and he showed me a letter I'd written telling me what had happened. Kingsley checked me over, destroyed the letter and told me I was about to be interrogated. He Disapparated away just before they unlocked the door and dragged me out."

"What did they do?" asked Harry with concern.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. I think that was the problem, really. They knew I'd been trained to resist their questioning if I needed to.

"Anyway, by the time I was checked out of hospital, I'd been reassigned."

"Hospital? What did they do to you?"

"It was nothing. Anyway, I began to make some enquiries about Mary. I was convinced that she had to be the traitor. It took me quite some time to locate her and then a little longer to plan how I was going to catch her. I was still under surveillance, you see? Anyway, I kept my head down and stuck at the tasks I was given. Mostly it was low grade intelligence stuff, but they moved me on to more interesting things once I passed muster."

"I had no idea. I knew that having your memory modified like that was a bad idea."

"No, Harry," said Mary gently, coming to sit down next to Edward. "I'm convinced that John's memory lapse kept us both alive. Both we and the investigating authorities were convinced it was one of us. If he'd been thinking straight, he might have exposed the real traitor."

Hermione tried to squeeze in next to Harry but he steered her onto his lap instead.

"Who's for coffee?" asked Jennifer.

"Yes, please," they all said.

*

A little later four of them remained sitting in front of the warm fire. Jennifer and Edward had retired for the evening and had insisted that they all stay over for the night.

Hermione was curled up beside Harry and opposite them Mary was leaning back against Bateman.

"I should make a start on that Journal," said Mary, not moving.

"It will keep until the morning," said Bateman, taking another sip of brandy.

"Haven't you had enough for one evening?"

"Yes, but it is rather good. Try some?"

"You know I'm teetotal."

"I promise not to tell Jim."

"Who is Jim?" asked Harry.

Mary immediately gave a laughing Bateman a gentle dig with her elbow.

"Jim is a particular friend of mine who lent us his car while we were up here. Took quite a shine to our Mary here, I can tell you."

Mary rolled her eyes and snatched the glass from Bateman's hand. She made to put the glass down but then changed her mind. First taking a cautious sniff, she then took a generous sip.

"Sure, by my guest, why don't you?" asked Bateman indignantly. "You know what? Moving golden statues and impossibly big rooms are one thing but Miss Alice on the sauce may be just too much to cope with."

Harry snorted and received a small dig himself from Hermione.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 11 – The Journal

Harry was late rising the next morning and found Bateman sitting at the kitchen table reading his own report. Next to him was Falcon's Journal.

"Morning. Where are the others?" Harry asked groggily.

"Edward is at the shop," he replied. "Mary and Hermione insisted upon helping Jennifer with her weekly shop at the other end of the village."

Harry nodded and sat.

"I was hoping that if I read my own report some of my memory would come back," said Bateman, putting down the file and gathering up some notes.

"What are those?" Harry asked, recognising Hermione's neat handwriting.

"These are notes and queries of things Hermione noted from going through the report. She asked me to review and comment on them."

Bateman picked up a pencil and began scribbling while Harry turned one of the other sheets around to read what she had written.

Harry was quite incredulous. He'd read the report thoroughly and hadn't noted anything worth making a note of; yet Hermione's collection of notes were thicker than the original report!

He returned the sheet, trying to convince himself that the spelling and grammar errors she had pointed out were not significant. Of course, Harry knew full well that these errors could very well be significant.

"If you wanted to conceal a message in a report like that, what would you do?"

Bateman snorted and looked up at him.

"Hermione asked me that very question this morning. Then she said good morning."

Harry smiled and nodded.

"I typed this report myself and I'm sure I didn't make any notes first," said Bateman. "These spelling errors look like mine and I've never been great at grammar. I also doubt that the erratic word spacing isn't a code. I couldn't work all that out in my head."

"Does the report look complete?"

"It follows the format I've used for years. Hermione asked me why there wasn't a recommendation or a conclusion, but it would actually be unusual for me to put them in. You see, as a grunt, I can be relied upon to report facts but drawing conclusions and making recommendations is traditionally several steps above my pay grade."

"So how does anything ever get done?"

"Sometimes it doesn't!" said Bateman with a loud laugh.

"So, there probably isn't a message hidden in there?" concluded Harry with disappointment in his voice.

"I didn't say that," said Bateman. "But, I must admit, it isn't immediately apparent what it might be."

"Hermione thought it could be something subtle; something deliberately hard to find."

"Mission accomplished then!" joked Bateman. "Seriously though, I keep wondering if my memory alterations are preventing me from seeing it. What if I gave Kingsley a clue?"

"Wouldn't he have said something, to us I mean?"

"Not if he didn't know it was a clue. I’d better get on with these comments. Let’s see,” he said before reading aloud. “The paper maker’s watermarks show that sheets three and seven were typed upside down and sheets four and five were typed on the back of the paper. Could this be significant?”

An almost imperceptible expression of pain passed over Bateman’s face as he considered his answer. Harry was sure he wanted to just throw the lot into the fire, but instead he diligently wrote a short reply. Harry hoped it wasn’t too rude.

Harry smiled seeing the smirk that appeared on Bateman’s face as he reconsidered his answer, obviously pleased with his response.

He then appeared to move onto the next question, when Harry noticed him stiffen and frown. As he tapped Hermione’s notes with the end of his pencil, Harry asked, “Anything?”

“Hermione asked me about what way I typed onto the paper. That’s nothing special, since I just grabbed the paper and shoved it into the machine.”

“Go on,” said Harry.

“Well, that’s just it. Why on earth was I using plain white paper? All the paper supplies we had were pre-printed top and bottom.”

“You had pre-printed plain paper for typing on? Why was that?”

“Well, you could see that each page was clearly Ministry of Defence and had the originating Department details. Anyone reading it would know it was genuine that way. It also meant that you typed it within the correct margins to make duplication and filing easier. There were spaces for the date and report numbers to be inserted too.”

“Didn’t you say you typed the report in the presence of Kingsley and the Prime Minister? Maybe they didn’t have the correct paper where you typed it.”

“Maybe,” agreed Bateman thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve no idea where we were when I did the report?”

Bateman returned to commenting on Hermione's observations and Harry picked up the red Journal for the first time.

He opened the book and found the first page of obviously adult handwriting. Harry began to read but soon skipped forward.

In every passage he read, paranoia seemed to jump out of the page.

A few pages from the end he found a table of numbers and two pages after that he found several pages written in a foreign alphabet that he didn't recognise at all. On another page, all the "W" letters were in red ink and the one in the centre was circled as well. On several pages, Falcon had written in two directions.

Strange graphic characters were drawn in almost every margin and randomly tiny arrows pointing in different directions would be embedded in the manuscript.

Clearly, there was a lot of hidden information here.

The kitchen door opened and in came Hermione and Mary. They both looked frozen and hurried over to the fire to warm up.

"Jennifer has gone over to the shop," said Hermione. "She invited us to stay for lunch but I thought we should go."

"Oh, alright," said Harry, sounding a little disappointed. He had enjoyed the short time he’d spent in the village. Part of it was Edward and Jennifer’s good company, but he also knew that he felt far more removed from his troubles all the way up here in the North.

Mary looked over Bateman’s shoulder interestedly, and he pointed at one of his responses with his pencil without looking up. Mary squeezed his shoulder and smiled.

“That makes sense,” she said quietly. “Remember, we switched to non-standard stationery ourselves so it stood out as different from the regular MOD reports. We used coloured paper, but we couldn’t get it pre-printed. Even if the printers were security cleared for sensitive projects, I wouldn’t want them having anything to do with us.”

Bateman nodded and added a short note to his amended response.

"Harry, we need to go somewhere safe to study both the Journal and John's report," said Mary.

"I was wondering if London would be the best place," said Hermione.

"Sure," said Harry, catching on at once. "There's plenty of room, although the company won't be up to much."

"Thank you, Harry," said Mary. "What we could really do with," she added, "is a means to recover John's missing memories."

"We'd need to talk to Kingsley about that," said Harry. "It may not be possible without permanently damaging Bear's mind. Unfortunately he's been out of contact for ages now. We can try though."

"Good," said Hermione. "We can Floo from here."

"No we can't, Hermione," said Harry.

"Yes," agreed Bateman. "I need to return Jim's car."

"Actually, I was thinking that as Muggles they might get lost or not be able to enter the Floo Network at all."

"Gosh, I suppose that's true," agreed Hermione.

"Come on, I'll Apparate you there," suggested Harry. "Gather up everything you need."

"Will they be able to Disapparate either?"

"Let's try."

"Harry, no! What if they get splinched? They could get really hurt."

"Try with me first," suggested Bateman. "Just a few feet."

The kitchen door opened again and Harry was relieved to see both Edward and Jennifer.

"We could use some advice," said Harry.

"What is it, dear?" asked Jennifer with interest.

"Is it safe for Muggles to Apparate?"

"No, dear, I wouldn't advise it. Even squibs can get into trouble using side-along Apparition."

"You can sometimes get away with it," added Edward, "but unless it really is an emergency, I wouldn't chance it. You need no distractions and must concentrate very hard. Splinching is really difficult to avoid and is almost always fatal for non-magical people."

Harry nodded and said, "Thanks. What about Portkeys?"

"Portkeys are safe," agreed Edward, "but the landings can be rough. Magical folk tend to bounce better."

"Good, we'll do that, then."

"But where will you get a Portkey from?" asked Jennifer. “Won’t you need to apply to the Ministry?”

Harry grinned and asked, "Can we have a couple of bits of kindling?"

"Harry, are you sure about this? Remember what you learned how to do the Portus charm from," warned Hermione cryptically.

"Hermione and Alice can go straight there now. Bear and I will follow once we've returned the car. Agreed?"

The others nodded.

"Portus!" Harry spoke and the first twig glowed electric blue. The colour was never as vibrant as when Dumbledore had performed the charm. Harry supposed this was the Kemmynadow's influence.

He also knew that Hermione had been right to urge caution. Harry's Portkeys were not for the faint hearted at the best of times.

"Here," said Harry handing Hermione the twig.

"Just a moment," said Mary. She hurried over to kiss Edward and Jennifer goodbye. "Thank you so much for your help and kind hospitality."

When Hermione had said her goodbyes, she finally offered the Portkey up for Mary to take hold of. Hermione lifted the rucksack over her head and then nodded to show she was ready.

Smirking at the look of trepidation on Hermione's face, he touched his wand tip to the twig and said, "Three, two, one."

In a flash they were gone.

Harry turned and said, "Well, I guess we should make a move too."

Jennifer stepped forward and held both his arms. Harry smiled down into her watery eyes.

"Thank you for everything," he said gently. "If you ever need anything, please contact Arthur Weasley at the Ministry of Magic or Tom the Innkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron. They can both be trusted and can get messages to me. Remember, anything at all."

Jennifer hugged him and said, "W- We've read so much about you. What happened to you, and everything. I'm so glad you're nothing like the person the papers describe you as, Harry. I suppose with Dumbledore gone, You-Know-Who will be even keener to revenge himself upon you."

"I'm not alone," Harry said gently. "I'll continue to resist him any way I can and I'm pleased to say I have found many friends who want to fight with me."

"Well," said Edward, giving Harry's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, "I hope you'll count us amongst those friends, Harry. If there's anything you need, you can always count on us to help."

Harry shook the old wizard's hand and smiled knowing he would never ask anything that would put them at further risk.

*

“Can I ask you something?” asked Harry as they walked back over to the far side of the village.

“Sure,” replied Bateman easily.

“Well, it’s nothing, really, but whenever I call you Bear, I get the impression you don’t like it much.”

Bateman looked over to him before shrugging and nodding.

“Yes, I suppose it does seem strange. I’m just used being called Bear by friends that I’ve known, and who have known me, for years. I honestly can’t remember anything about you or Hermione. Not a single thing.”

“I’m sorry, John,” said Harry. “I’ll try and remember.”

“No, it’s me who should be sorry. Mary told me that it was me who told you to call me that.”

Harry smiled and nodded, remembering.

“You see, I don’t generally allow new acquaintances to call me Bear. When I reminded Mary that she just tore me off a strip, asking me if I’d really let anyone I didn’t consider a friend to call me by my nickname.

“That’s why I haven’t said anything, actually. She can be quite biting, when she wants to be.”

Harry snorted.

“I can’t remember the last time she called me Bear,” said Bateman sadly.

Then he perked up a little, saying, “I think you’d better just carry on calling me whatever comes to mind, Harry. I’d never get a moment’s peace otherwise.

Harry smiled back at him. After a short walk further, Harry and Bateman got to Jim's car.

"Let's drive out of the village and find somewhere quiet," suggested Harry.

"I thought we were driving all the way back to Jim's house?"

"No, we might was well Portkey there as well. It’ll be quicker."

Bateman drove down the road until they found a quiet track with thick bushes on either side. They got out and listened but heard no sign of activity anywhere.

"There's not much petrol left," observed Bateman. “I'd like to return it with a full tank, but I’ve no cash left for the fuel."

"My uncle had a spare tank for emergencies," said Harry.

"So does Jim," said Bateman, "but that won't get us very far."

Harry opened the boot and brought out the small metal tank. He unscrewed the plastic cap and fitted the filling nozzle. Meanwhile, Bateman had opened the fuel filling cap in the side of the car.

Realising the spare tank was only part full, Harry took his wand out and lightly tapped the rim of the opening. There was a gurgling noise and then the petrol level slowly rose to the top. Harry lifted his wand away just before it overflowed.

"Now, that is a handy trick."

"I've never tried it with anything like petrol," admitted Harry. “It smells like petrol, anyway.”

Fortunately, the charm seemed to have worked perfectly. After several refillings, both tanks were full to the brim.

"Right, now we need to shrink the car down a bit."

Harry pointed his wand at the car bonnet and performed a shrinking charm until the car was only a foot long.

"How heavy is it now?" asked Harry.

Bateman struggled to pick it up with both arms.

"Yes, I'm afraid it will still retain quite a lot of the weight of the original," said Harry. "Can you manage?"

"Just about," came the strained reply.

Harry created another Portkey from a discarded can he found on the verge and soon they were ready to go.

"Remember," warned Harry, "this will be a rough landing. If we drop and smash the car I may not be able to repair it."

*

They landed at the precise point that Bateman had shown him on the road map. After a brief moment when they both struggled to stop the car from falling to the ground, all was well.

"If this grass hadn't been so soft and wet we'd both have broken legs now," observed Bateman after swearing heartily.

"Sorry about that," said Harry, rubbing his sore knees. "Hermione hasn't been too impressed with my efforts up to now, either."

"Can you walk?"

"I'd rather drive."

"Good point!"

Harry restored the car to its original size and they drove the short distance to Bateman's friend.

Harry thought that Jim looked terribly disappointed that Mary hadn't come with them but Bateman assured him that she was hurrying home to check her telephone messages.

*

Harry and Bateman arrived safely back at Grimmauld Place.

"You wizards do enjoy being thrown around, don't you?" observed Bateman once he'd stopped bouncing up and down on one of the many mattresses that Harry had asked Dobby to cover the floor in.

"Where are we, by the way?"

"This is one of the spare upstairs bedrooms," replied Harry. "I inherited this house from my Godfather, Sirius Black."

Harry stood and held out his hand to pull Bateman up but he didn't immediately take it.

"Have I asked you all these things before?"

"We've spoken about them," agreed Harry. "You've never actually been here, though."

"It's so strange. I keep getting flashes. Well, more like feelings. Sirius. It's like I know he meant a lot to you, only I can't remember what."

"Come and see the rest of the house."

*

Harry quickly introduced Bateman to the Dursleys and explained that he and Mary would be staying as his guests for a few days while they did some research. Although Bateman didn’t know it, he had met the Dursleys at the beginning of the summer. Fortunately they were prudent enough not to mention anything.

He also introduced them to Dobby and Kreacher while Hermione cooed over Phryne whom, Harry was relieved to find, had not suffered under Kreacher's care.

Immediately after that, though, Hermione had dragged him away.

"I Flooed Mrs Weasley while you were gone," she said hurriedly. "Mr Weasley is visiting Diagon Alley. If we hurry we might catch him!"

"What's the hurry?"

"He might be able to get a message to Kingsley for us!" she reminded him, throwing Floo powder into the fire. "You also wanted to ask him about the village and what Ollivander's interest there might be?"

"Oh, yes."

*

They emerged from the Leaky Cauldron and made their way towards Fred and George's shop.

"It's busier here than I've seen it for ages," commented Hermione as they wound their way through the gathered people.

Harry found a small leaflet was thrust into his hand. Annoyed that he hadn't been asked if he wanted one, he looked down and read, "Visible Ministry security presence stepped up in Diagon Alley. Shoppers are assured of safety in the run up to the Christmas holidays."

He looked around to see who the Ministry had sent to watch over them but nobody stood out.

"Not very visible, are they?" he said quietly to Hermione.

She shrugged and said, "Hey, there's Ron!"

"Where?"

"He's gone now but he was headed towards the shop. Let's join him there."

Harry followed looking out for Ron but only caught sight of him when they'd almost reached the entrance.

As they waited by the doorway they were amused to see Ron trying to get around shoppers who had no idea what direction they wanted to move in. He had to retrace his steps several times.

Just as the crowd cleared, Ron stopped in his tracks.

A hooded man stepped out from the crowd and walked past him, giving Ron the merest hint of a nod. Ron hesitated and then turned to follow the hooded figure.

"Where is he going?" asked Hermione. "They're going down towards Knockturn Alley!"

"Let's follow them," said Harry at once.

"But it's too busy to put the cloak on," said Hermione, now hurrying to catch Harry up.

By the time they got to the entrance to Knockturn Alley they were quite some way behind. Fortunately, Harry spotted Ron coming back out of a door further down. He was now accompanied by a shorter wizard that Harry did not recognise as well as the hooded man.

The three of them appeared to finish their discussion and nodded to each other before all three Disapparated away.

Harry turned back to Hermione.

"Please tell me you saw who was under that hood too," said Harry.

Hermione just looked up at him shakily.

"Hello there!" said Mr Weasley from behind them. "I thought I recognised you two. If you want to go down there, I'd like to accompany you. Don’t worry, Molly need not know."

"Thanks, Mr Weasley," said Harry, dragging his eyes from the spot where Ron had just been standing. "As a matter of fact, we came here to find you."

"Really? How nice," he replied smiling. "I'm still on duty for another hour or so, but there's no reason why I can't patrol somewhere warmer while we talk. Shall we step into Fred and George's shop for a moment?"

Mr Weasley led the way. Harry followed but Hermione grabbed his hand.

"Say nothing about this for now. Please, Harry. We need to think this through first."

Harry nodded. He didn't know how he would tell Mr Weasley anyway.

*

Harry and Hermione stepped into the Room of Requirement. Mr Weasley had been called away before they had a chance to ask him anything, but before he dashed off he invited them to dinner that evening so they could talk.

They declined dinner, saying they had plans for the evening, but promised to call in when they could. They had decided to return to Hogwarts for the remainder of the afternoon to talk things through in private.

"We mustn't jump to conclusions," said Hermione, sitting down as all the fires died around them.

Harry brought over the Kemmynadow book and placed it on the centre table before sitting down opposite her.

"It may have been an entirely innocent meeting."

Harry looked down, feeling ashamed that he was unable to voice an agreement in support of his best friend.

"He could have been gathering information for us."

Harry opened the book and slid it over so it was within easy reach of her.

"What are you going to do, Harry?"

"Well, first off,” said Harry, speaking for the first time since they stepped out of the fireplace, “I'm going to seal this room so that Ron can't gain access. We need this place to be secure. If Ron is compromised then we can't afford to let him come here any more."

Hermione nodded sadly.

"The second thing we're going to do is find him and give him a chance to explain. I don't think he saw us this afternoon. Of course, he might still lie; but that's his choice."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. "What on earth does he want with Ron?"

“More like, what does Ron want with them?” he replied darkly.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 12 – Ron Returns

Ron wasn't seen by anyone for over a week. Each day Fred and George reported that he hadn't turned up for work again and each day they grew more worried about him.

Then an excited Mrs Weasley contacted them to say that Ron had been in touch and had said he would come to Sunday dinner, but wouldn't arrive back until the evening.

Relieved that Ron had contacted someone at last, Harry decided to tidy up his room before getting ready for the evening. Since he had asked Kreacher to look after his things while Dobby was away visiting Hogwarts, his room looked like a tip.

Aunt Petunia's regime of manic housecleaning throughout Grimmauld Place stopped precisely at Harry's door. She never ventured inside.

Harry began by clearing the floor and piled the clothes into a laundry bag.

He had filled about half of the bag when something occurred to him.

"What on earth?" he muttered, examining a pair of jeans. "Kreacher, what have you been up to?"

There was a pop behind him, and Kreacher said, "Master called?"

Harry started. He had barely spoken aloud.

"I'm sorry, Kreacher. I didn't mean to call you, but I was a little curious about all these clothes."

"Master is curious," agreed Kreacher, jumping up to sit on Harry's bed.

"Why are these clothes all over the floor?"

"Master left them there."

"No. I mean, yes, I may have dropped one or two items on the floor," said Harry.

"One or two? Ah, yes. Master has trouble counting higher than two!"

"Alright, Kreacher. Okay, I dropped all of them onto the floor."

"Would Master like Kreacher to count them for him?"

"No, Kreacher, but I would really like to know why these have been cleaned but not laundered and put away!"

"All of Master's laundry has been laundered. It was cleaned, dried, ironed and then arranged for Master."

"By arranged, you mean thrown all over the floor again, don't you?"

"No. Kreacher did not throw them all over the floor!"

"I'm sorry, Kreacher. What did happen to the clothes then?"

"Kreacher arranged the clothes in exactly the way Master likes. Master must like his clothes that way or he wouldn't keep throwing them about the place."

Harry sighed.

"Would it have killed you to just ask me to put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket?"

"Kreacher thinks not, but Master would not have been half as entertaining looking for his socks."

"Well, just as long as I'm entertaining you, Kreacher," Harry said sarcastically, "that's all that matters."

"Kreacher is glad Master agrees."

Harry grumbled something inaudible and gathered up some more clothes.

"Hey, Hermione got me this jumper. This shouldn’t be left on the floor," he complained, attempting to fold it up neatly. "I don't suppose you know how to fold these things up properly?"

"Kreacher is a good house elf. Of course he knows how!"

Harry threw the distorted bundle down next to Kreacher on the bed but didn't wait for the elf not to help him. Instead, Harry headed for his chest of drawers hoping that there was at least one folded jumper left that he might copy from.

Harry pulled the top drawer open and looked inside.

Nestled amongst several socks, each carefully folded in non-matching pairs, was his Phoenix egg.

“What are you doing in there?”

Completely distracted, he picked it up and went back to his bed to sit next to Kreacher.

Harry held it up to the light. The golden egg had a patterned surface that seemed to dance and change depending on the direction of the light.

More than any of his gifts from Dumbledore, this precious egg seemed to evoke Harry's fondest memories of his old Headmaster.

"Will it sing again?" asked Kreacher. "It used to sing sometimes."

Harry shrugged sadly. He had been so worried and miserable about Ron lately, no wonder it hadn't sung.

There was a light tap on the door and then Hermione looked in.

She came in and sat on the bed close to Harry.

He held the egg up again and said sadly, "Kreacher was just saying how is doesn't sing anymore."

Hermione smiled warmly down at Kreacher but he jumped off the bed at once, never appreciative of Hermione’s attempts to be nice to him.

"Kreacher has work to do. Master will want his newly cleaned robes all creased up for this evening."

There was a pop and the elf was gone.

Hermione looped one arm through Harry's and with her other hand fished out her own golden Phoenix egg from a deep pocket.

She held it up to his.

"I told you I would catch you up," she said.

Harry nodded, seeing that the eggs were now almost identical in size. The last time they had compared them, Hermione's egg had been a little smaller than his.

"Mine hasn't grown at all," said Harry.

"It has a little," said Hermione encouragingly.

Harry lowered his arm to his lap.

"You're worried about this evening, aren't you, Harry?"

"Of course I'm worried," he admitted in a whisper.

Hermione rested her head down on his shoulder.

"I do wish Kingsley would get in touch," he said, expressing the other thing that had been playing on his mind.

"He may not even know we need to speak to him. Mr Weasley warned it might take some time, as he couldn't use regular channels."

"Why would Kingsley sever his Order communications while he was working away from the Ministry?"

"He must be doing something really important. Mr Weasley assumed he was under cover somewhere, but don't think he really knew anything for certain."

They sat in silence for a long moment.

"I should go and get ready," said Hermione, not moving at all.

Harry smiled and said, "So should I."

He leaned back and Hermione squealed as he pulled her backwards with him until they lay on the bed, side by side. Finding her hand, he brought it up to his lips. Kissing first the back of her hand, and then the inside of her forearm, Harry proceeded up her arm.

"Harry, I," began Hermione.

"Shh," he warned gently. "Listen."

There were only the faintest sounds to be heard at first. Then Harry's egg began to sing.

*

A full house was waiting at the Burrow for Ron that Sunday evening. It was just after ten o'clock when he finally popped his head around the door.

"Ron!" cried Mrs Weasley and hugged him.

"Alright, Mum, calm down," he said gently.

"What time do you call this?" asked Fred. Hermione scowled at him.

"Yeah, Mum wouldn't even let us start eating until you arrived!" added George.

When she finally released him, Ron said, "Listen everybody. I'm really sorry. Not just for being so late tonight, either. I just needed to get away and sort a few things out in my mind. I know I should have got in touch before I did."

"Oh, but you're back now," said Mrs Weasley hugging her youngest son again. "That's the only thing that matters."

It occurred to Harry that she was probably considering putting a charm on him like the one that kept Percy at home.

"Can we eat now?" complained Fred. "Some of us have to be up early tomorrow."

The meal was quickly served and no mention at all was made of Ron's absence, a subject that Mrs Weasley had made it quite clear she wouldn't tolerate. Even the twins complied with her wishes in this respect. Mr Weasley remained good humoured if a little subdued during the meal.

Soon though, Fred and George left for their flat above the shop.

"See you tomorrow, bro," said Fred as they went.

"Bright and early," added George.

"Tomorrow?" complained Mrs Weasley. "After only getting back so late? No, he must have at least one day off."

Fred rolled his eyes and George asked, "So when can I have a day off, Mum?"

They kissed their mother goodnight and left.

"Thanks, Mum," said Ron quietly as she collected the dishes. Mr Weasley then went out to lock up the sheds.

"How are you?" asked Hermione now that the three of them were alone.

"I'm fine," replied Ron quietly.

"We were worried about you."

"I know."

"How are things really with Fred and George?"

Ron shrugged and said, "I'll cope for now, but to be honest I may look around for something else. There may be some better opportunities for me out there."

"We were hoping to talk to you," began Harry evenly, remembering Hermione's advice that they mustn't on any account upset Ron and make him want to leave again.

"Not tonight, you won't!" said Mrs Weasley as she breezed back into the room. "I know you three. Once you get talking half the night's gone. You'll have all day to talk tomorrow."

Ron smiled and nodded.

"I am a bit tired," he admitted. "How about a walk through the orchard in the morning? It's been ages since we did that."

"Sure," agreed Harry with a smile.

*

The next morning Harry came down early having had a particularly good night's sleep. He had been more tired than he'd realised, having lost sleep worrying about Ron.

He was pleased to hear the sound of laughter as he approached the kitchen.

Ron was laughing as Hermione described what had happened to her and Miss Alice when they arrived using one of Harry's now infamous Portkeys. It sounded like they had appeared several feet above the mattresses and had been dragged around the room a few laps before being bounced around rather more than desired.

Harry's smile faltered as he realised that Hermione had edited her story slightly, actually making no mention of Miss Alice at all. Then he remembered the serious conversation they were due to have with Ron that morning.

"Toast, Harry?"

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"Great," said Ron. "Let's go for that walk. Mum will have a cooked breakfast waiting for us when we get back, I'm sure."

"Will she?" asked an amused Mrs Weasley, coming in after feeding the chickens. "Morning, Harry, dear," she added as she passed through into the living room.

"Honestly," said Hermione, "how many breakfasts can you eat?"

The look on Harry's face said quite plainly that he thought the idea of a cooked breakfast after their walk was rather appealing too.

"Come on, let's go," said Ron, laughing.

"Hang on," said Hermione hurriedly, "I need to put my boots and scarf on. Oh, and where are my knitted gloves?"

Ron opened the door and stepped outside. Harry followed him out into the cold but refreshing morning air.

"Wait for me!"

"Well, hurry up then," called Ron with a smile, before proceeding to tell Harry about one of his delivery adventures while they waited just outside.

"I think it was a couple of weeks ago, now. Fred sent me over to Putney to collect some ever bouncing springs that some old wizard was selling cheap. I've no idea why they wanted the stupid things. Maybe they think there will be a demand once the Bouncing Bean season is over.

"The problem was that when I arrived I found he'd dropped an entire box full and they were causing havoc bouncing around his living room."

Harry smiled listening to the tale.

"I left him trying to tell some made up story to his neighbours to explain all the holes in his windows and brickwork. Still, I'm sure he sorted everything out in the end. Stupid Muggles'll believe anything, right?"

A cold shiver seemed to run through Harry as he found himself repeating, "Stupid Muggles?"

He turned to see, as expected, Hermione with a hurt and angry expression standing at the kitchen door. What he didn't expect was Ron's indifference.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Don't you dare ask what, Ron," said Hermione angrily, throwing her gloves to the ground.

Ron looked at her with concern but clearly had no idea what had upset her so.

"I think Hermione is referring to the Stupid Muggles reference."

"Oh, right," said Ron, shrugging.

Deciding that now was as good a time as any to get the truth out of Ron, Harry said, “Ron, this is one of the reasons we are so concerned about you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve never heard you say anything like that before. Fred and George tried to warm me about some of the things you’ve been saying lately, but I didn’t believe them. I even asked them to give you more responsibility.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” said Ron a little defensively.

“I’m wondering where all this came from. Could it be the company you’re keeping these days?”

“What company?”

“We saw you Ron and we followed. We both saw you enter Knockturn Alley.”

“You had no right to follow me,” said Ron, now with a little defiance.

“We were concerned about you. Why on earth did you meet Ollivander in Knockturn Alley?”

“Just because I went down Knockturn Alley it doesn’t mean I met anyone down there.”

“We both saw you Disapparate away with him.”

“Look, Harry. I know you’ve got a bit of a thing about Ollivander lately.”

“A bit of a thing?” shouted Harry angrily. “He kidnapped Hermione, remember?”

“I didn’t see that.”

“Strange, since you were the closest one there! Convenient for your pal, Ollivander, wasn’t it?”

“You’ve got him all wrong, Harry.”

“He’s the one they call the Healer, Ron!” yelled Harry. “He cut up Jack

Gurnet and Alison Weston!”

“There’s no proof of that, Harry.”

“So, what was he doing associating with Voldemort and the Death Eaters at that camp, then?”

Ron shuddered violently but fought to recover himself quickly.

“You thought he was a captive at the time, Harry. You even tried to rescue him, didn’t you? He’s got nothing to do with You-Know-Who.”

“Really?” said Harry with a mocking laugh. “He looked like a guest of honour at the Archive!”

“No one else saw him there, Harry. Perhaps you were mistaken.”

“Where have you been for the past week, Ron?” demanded Harry forcefully.

“None of your business.”

“Any painful brands we should be careful to avoid?”

Ron’s face distorted with anger and he pulled his fist back.

Hermione rushed between them and pushed Harry back.

“Stop this! Both of you!” she shouted. “Ron,” she said, willing her voice to calm. “Ron,” she repeated, now gently. “Tell us what Ollivander said to you.”

Ron was still watching Harry, anger etched into his features.

“Ollivander obviously convinced you, so tell us. If you think he isn’t on the dark side, tell us what he said. Help us to understand how you feel. Maybe we’ll see that you’re right.”

Ron did not answer.

Hermione placed her hand on Ron’s chest and asked gently, “Did Ollivander promise you anything, Ron?”

This final question appeared to touch a nerve.

Ron looked down at her for a long moment before returning a defiant glare at Harry.

Ron took a long step back away from Hermione.

“Have you any idea how demeaning it’s been for me working for Fred and George? You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to put up with,” he spat bitterly. “Those two did everything they could to keep me out of their precious shop, just because I didn’t fawn all over them like those other idiots. All they want from a shop assistant is someone who keeps falling about with laughter at their stupid antics. Yes, Hermione, Ollivander did promise me something and he actually delivered.”

“What did he promise, Ron?” asked Hermione timidly, clearly shaken by the bitterness in Ron's voice.

“All I wanted was a little money and a little respect. Ollivander convinced me I was wasting my time up to now. There are easier ways to get what I’m entitled to; take what I deserve. Why should I have to be subservient to anyone inferior.”

“What do you want money for, Ron?”

“Only someone as rich as you could ask such a stupid question, Harry.”

“I meant, why would you want money you hadn’t earned?”

“Where’s the respect going to come from, Ron?” asked Hermione.

“That seemed fairly obvious to me, actually. Even the Dark Lord shows respect to Ollivander. He’s a very powerful wizard. He was more than a match for Dumbledore and the Dark Lord has been very careful not to provoke him.”

Anger flared up in Harry.

“What have you done, Ron?” asked Hermione shakily.

“Ollivander has the right idea. He won’t take sides until there is a clear winner. Mind you, that winner had better watch their back after that. Of course, things don’t look too good for the Muggles and Mudbloods either way.”

Ron turned and looked like he was about to continue when he froze.

Standing before him and looking apoplectic with rage was Mr Weasley.

“Get out of this house,” he muttered angrily. “Do not ever return here while you hold such bigoted views.”

From the open kitchen doorway came the sound of smashing china as Mrs Weasley fainted against the kitchen dresser.

Ron turned and looked fearfully at his stricken mother.

“LEAVE! NOW!” thundered his father.

Ron Disapparated away with a loud crack as Harry and Hermione rushed inside to tend to Mrs Weasley.

*

There was a light knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in, Hermione.”

The door opened and Hermione asked, “How did you know it was me?”

“Well, no-one else knocks. Uncle Vernon still prefers to stay outside and shout.”

Hermione closed the door and came over to him. Harry closed the book he hadn’t been reading.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting on the bed.

“There’s no need,” he said gently.

“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” said Hermione, looking down at her hands. “I threw you out on the pretence of wanting to do some work and I just ended up doing nothing.”

Harry smiled sadly and said, “Yes, I’ve been able to think of nothing else myself.”

“I called Mrs Weasley earlier. She’s still putting on a brave front. I just wish she’d let rip. I felt just awful when they both told us they didn’t blame us for Ron’s behaviour.”

Harry reached over and took her hand.

“The really awful thing is that I think I’m responsible,” said Harry.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Harry.”

“No, it isn’t Hermione. Ron only started going down Knockturn Alley since he started working for Fred and George.”

“That’s hardly,” she began.

“I asked the twins to give Ron a job. I’ve even been paying for his wages.”

“Gosh. I had no idea.”

“I just wanted him to get a bit of independence. I knew he wasn’t happy there, though. He complained that they didn’t trust him and just gave him all the menial jobs.”

“Harry, Ron wasn’t asked to do anything that Fred or George didn’t do themselves before he started.”

“Before they had any staff, you mean?”

“No, Harry. George told me that for ages they have done all the jobs they didn’t like to give their assistants. He said sometimes it was because the people they were buying from were a bit dodgy, but mostly it was because they didn’t like to ask them to do anything too demeaning.”

“Poor, Ron,” said Harry.

“Not poor Ron, Harry. George said that Ron got all the choice jobs, the ones Fred and George used to really enjoy. Of course, they kept on doing them when Ron didn’t bother to turn up. That was why they were so resentful of Ron. They felt Ron was just taking advantage of them and, I suppose, you.”

“So what happened with him?”

“I don’t know. I wonder if he really knows himself.”

“I shouldn’t have had a go at him. I knew you wanted to wait until we were alone before tackling Ron.”

“Somehow, I doubt if we could have persuaded him, Harry. At least it's out in the open now."

“I keep thinking back on all the things Ron kept asking me over the last few weeks,” said Harry. “All the stuff about the Secret Keeper.”

“You’re wondering if he was asked to find something out?”

Harry nodded and Hermione gave a great sigh.

"We must find him. I don't know how, but we must find him and persuade him to return before it’s too late."

"Ron won't turn to the Death Eaters. I'm sure of it."

"Harry, what if Ollivander really is the Healer. He could well be just as bad an influence as Voldemort."

"True."

They were quiet for a long moment.

"I wonder if we know the whole thing. With Ron, I mean."

"How do you mean?"

"What if there was something more that was troubling him that we don't know?"

"I suppose there could be."

Harry related his memory of how Ron almost looked like he was going to curse him again after hitting him with the Rodium Hex.

"You did square things with him, didn't you?" asked Harry.

"Yes. We had a long talk and he got the message finally."

"So, you're sure he isn't just jealous?"

“We can’t really be sure of anything right now, can we?”

Hermione shifted up and snuggled herself close to Harry.

“I should really let you revise,” she said with a smile.

“Yes, but what can she do? She can hardly give me lines, can she?”

“You’ll regret it, Harry,” warned Hermione.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 13 - Traditions

Harry was unaccountably nervous as he made his way up to Professor McGonagall’s office. Indeed, he had decided he would rather not just Floo directly into her office and had instead emerged from one of the dungeon fireplaces.

Unfortunately he had misremembered the grating he wanted and ended up being harangued by Argus Filch for ten minutes before he could get away.

This would be his first lesson with Professor McGonagall. He had been rather surprised when she had asked him to attend during a school-day afternoon.

He wondered what she would choose to teach him first, but he still could hardly think of anything but Ron. He had also failed entirely to complete the latest assignment set him by Hermione. Unfortunately, she had hinted strongly that the assignment would probably be very useful during Professor McGonagall’s first lesson.

The situation had been made even more strained by the discovery of some disturbing writings in Ron’s bedroom. Fortunately Mr Weasley had found the Pureblood propaganda before his mother, whom they decided should be spared knowing what they contained.

He resolved to ask Professor McGonagall’s opinion as soon as he could.

“Hi, Harry!”

Harry turned to see Neville hurrying to catch him up.

“Hello, Neville,” said Harry smiling. “You’re looking well. Congratulations on being made Prefect, by the way.”

“Thanks. I think she ran out of decent candidates.”

“Rubbish, Neville.”

“Still, Gran was pleased, so that’s one good thing.”

Harry smiled and said, “I was just on my way up to Professor McGonagall’s office.”

“Yes, she said you were coming. I just wanted to tell you the Gryffindor password is Tradition. Stop by later, will you?”

“I many not have time, Neville,” Harry said, trying not to make any commitment.

“Well, I need to be off,” said Neville. “Come by later if you can. See you, Harry.”

*

Harry felt a pang of emotion as he rode up the moving circular staircase that hadn’t quite ended as he arrived at the door. He looked away from the Griffin door knocker and composed himself before knocking.

The door opened and Harry stepped inside.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall from her desk.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

“Neville Longbottom was looking for you earlier, by the way.”

“Thank you Professor, I’ve just seen him.”

“Good,” she said putting down her quill and standing. “May I ask? Was there a particular reason why you didn’t Floo here directly? You are more than welcome to pass through the castle, of course, but it might not always be the safest thing to do.”

“Well, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t know that you’re still using the same password as the last time I came here,” he said firmly. “Is that really the safest thing?”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes narrowed and Harry braced himself.

“As a matter of fact, I changed it at lunchtime for your benefit, Harry.”

“Oh, I see,” Harry replied, feeling contrite.

“Indeed,” she said, and her expression softened into a slight smile. “Still, I suppose I should be flattered that you should be so concerned. Take a seat, Harry.”

Harry sat down in front of her desk.

"I understand it will be just yourself today?"

"Yes, Professor. Hermione wanted to stay with Mrs Weasley. You see she was upset again, about Ron."

"Hermione was kind enough to send me a short note earlier. I imagine you're rather concerned about young Mr Weasley."

"Yes. The trouble is, even when I finally track him down I'm not sure what I should say to him. I mean, I've no right to tell him to think or act in a particular way. This has been coming on for a while now, I think. I just didn’t see it."

“That isn’t so surprising,” she said gently. “Your friendship would never have lasted if either of you couldn’t see past the other’s faults.”

Harry looked at the wall directly behind her. Albus Dumbledore’s portrait sat sleeping soundly.

“How is he?”

“Coming along nicely, but he tires easily. This is quite to be expected,” she added quickly. “Now, tell me everything you can about Ronald Weasley.”

*

Harry felt a little better after he had bid Professor McGonagall goodnight. She had listened patiently while he told her of his concerns about both Ron and Ollivander.

In some respects, Harry found it easier talking about it to her than Hermione. Professor McGonagall hadn’t become upset when he touched on things that Hermione was sensitive to.

In the end, they hadn’t done any actual Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Harry recognised that he had indeed learned much.

She had reminded him about the freedom of choice people have and also that sometimes people can make mistakes and find themselves in situations they find difficult to extract themselves from.

Harry was so deep in thought that he was a little surprised when the Fat Lady said, “Welcome back, Harry. Password?”

He realised he must have wandered up to the Gryffindor common room out of shear habit.

"Hi, Harry," said Neville as soon as he stepped through the portrait hole.

"Hi," Harry replied quietly, looking around at the familiar room that had hardly changed a bit. His feelings were as mixed as he thought they'd be. It felt so strange that he no longer thought of this place as home.

Where did he think of home?

He had no idea. Hogwarts was only home while Dumbledore was alive.

Neville didn't interrupt Harry's reverie but instead waited patiently for his gaze to come back to him.

"They'll be finished in the Great Hall shortly. How about we go down so you can have a bite to eat?"

"Thanks, Neville. I am a bit hungry."

"I'm sorry to drag you up here," said Neville, leading the way outside. "It's just that I forgot what day it was."

Harry snorted and asked, "What difference does the day make?"

"Well, on Tuesdays and Thursdays we meet for DA here in the common room. We don't have the Room of Requirement any more, after all."

"Oh. Today's Wednesday though."

"Yes. On Wednesday we can practice in the Great Hall after dinner."

"I'm glad you're still practising," said Harry. "Who is teaching you?"

"Well, tonight I was hoping you would, actually. Normally the senior years take turns to show small groups how to perform spells. By the way, I'm sorry my letter has been delayed."

"Letter?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall told us to write to every absent student and tell them what has been happening and asking them to come back to school. I rather assumed that you wouldn't come back anyway, so I put you at the bottom of my list."

Harry smiled and nodded.

"So, how has it been?"

"Oh, fairly quiet. There's no Quidditch yet and we can't go into Hogsmeade at all now. There's also a curfew in the grounds and a later one inside the castle."

"Can't be much fun for you," agreed Harry.

"Oh, I'm not complaining. Actually, I've been far happier here this year than I've ever been. I think the main thing for me has been the fewer number of people here. I'm much more comfortable with the smaller numbers, even though the classes have grown much bigger."

"Bigger?"

"Oh, yes. Because of the drop in numbers, Professor McGonagall has started combining different years within the same class. That's only for some subjects, though."

They descended the last flight of steps down to the entrance lobby.

"But the best thing," continued Neville. "Well, almost the best thing, is something you'll see in a moment."

Harry frowned slightly at Neville's wide smile.

"Come and see, Harry."

Neville stepped aside and ushered Harry through the doors into the Great Hall. He fully expected everything to be exactly as he remembered it.

Two steps inside, Harry froze.

The four House tables were gone. In their place were several smaller round tables that were scattered around the hall.

"We nicked the tables from Filch's private store," explained Neville. "Ginny had the idea."

Harry looked at him blankly.

Neville smiled and guided him to a table where a small group of First Years were just finishing their dinner.

"Are we late?" asked one.

"No, there's plenty of time," answered Neville easily, pulling out a seat for Harry.

They sat and Neville pulled various steaming dishes towards Harry so he could serve himself.

"So, you no longer sit in Houses?" asked Harry as Neville poured them both a drink.

"No. It seemed so ridiculous when term started. There were hardly any of us who came back. Ginny insisted we should all eat together, irrespective of Houses."

"What, even the Slytherins?"

"I said Ginny insisted. She didn't give anyone much of a choice, actually."

Harry snorted.

"But, I'm afraid the biggest change was all my fault. Professor McGonagall asked us all for suggestions and I kind of panicked when she came to me."

"What did you suggest?"

"You won't like it, Harry."

"What won't I like? Tell me."

"Did you notice the hour glasses, in the lobby out there?"

"Not really. I mean, I realised there weren't many points. Still, if there aren't that many students and we are still early in the year."

"Harry, there are no points at all in any of the House hourglasses."

"Did you do something to loose points? Snape took points from me last year that meant we started from a negative total."

"No, Harry. There are no House points because there are no Houses."

"What?"

"No Houses," Neville repeated.

"But what about the sorting?"

"The Sorting hat didn't have any students to sort on the very first night back. More came later though. All I suggested was that being in different Houses just created enmity and division. Even the Slytherins that came back agreed."

"Wow, Neville. A thousand years of tradition, and you were the one who broke with it."

Harry was grinning as he said this.

"You sound as bad as Gran!"

"Neville, I think it's a great idea. Honestly."

"Really?"

"Yes! We all need to stand together."

"So, you won't mind if we have a few Slytherins to join in with our practice tonight?"

"You really got some Slytherins involved?"

"Yes. They're not all supporters of You-Know-Who, by any means."

*

The round tables vanished along with the dirty dishes as the last person on each table finished their meal. By the time that the very last table had gone the Great Hall was around half full with students chattering excitedly in small groups.

Finally, Professor McGonagall arrived and gave a small nod to Neville.

He gave a small groan and muttered, “Why does she always pick on me?” He then added, “Excuse me a moment, Harry.”

Harry nodded and watched as Neville went up to the front, cleared his throat and said loudly, “Could I please have everyone’s attention? I think we’re ready to begin.”

Harry was surprised to see Neville going up to address such a large gathering but absolutely amazed that everyone at the front immediately stopped talking and listened, although several people at the back still hadn’t seen or heard him and continued chatting.

Neville was about to continue when there was a loud bang that got absolutely everyone’s attention.

Ginny was standing just in front of Neville with her wand pointed up into the air.

“Sorry, Neville,” she said with a smile. “Carry on while I have a word with a couple of people at the back, will you?”

She marched off into the crowd, her eyes fixed on a group somewhere at the back of the hall. The crowd parted and Harry smiled seeing the relieved looks on the faces of those she passed by.

Clearly, Ginny was taking her Prefect duties seriously.

“Um, thank you, Ginny,” said Neville, for the first time sounding as nervous as Harry remembered him. “This evening I’m pleased to introduce a guest instructor. Most of you will remember Harry Potter and a few of us who were members of the original DA will remember what a good Defence teacher he is. Harry?”

Neville extended his arm and Harry stepped out to join him.

As Neville and the others gave him a short round of applause in welcome, Harry looked around the Hall.

He grinned seeing Hagrid give him a double thumbs up sign from the back of the Hall.

“Thanks Neville,” he said as soon as the applause died down. “This evening I thought we’d begin by practising shields and disarming spells. Neville tells me that you’re quite good at them, so let me see and then perhaps we can move on to something more interesting.”

There was a murmur of approval from the students.

“There’s plenty of space so split up into pairs.”

Harry turned to Neville intending to offer to partner him but found him pairing off all the students that had wanted to partner with him.

As the students began practising, Harry walked around the Great Hall to observe their progress.

He was actually rather impressed by their level of attainment. The only erratic spell work he saw was from First Years who had problems controlling their spells. Harry split these pairs and assigned the First Years with more experienced students who could show them what to do.

After demonstrating a shield charm to a group of Third Years, Harry realised that several of the teachers who were present were practising too.

He quickly stepped in between the two whose wayward spells were causing all those around them to dive for cover.

“Hagrid!” shouted Harry, “Stop for a minute, will you?”

“Oh, hello, ‘Arry. Didn’t see you for a moment.”

He lowered his pink umbrella.

“First of all, Professor Trelawney, please open your eyes.”

Sybill Trelawney did so and lowered her shawl. Harry was rather taken aback when he realised she was actually sober.

“Professor, you need to see to defend yourself. Hold your wand like you’re going to actually use it.”

He gently took her wand hand and positioned her arm out in front.

“That’s better,” he said gently. “There’s really nothing to fear. Hagrid won’t hurt you, will you Hagrid?”

“O’course not!” cried Hagrid with a grin, and for the first time Professor Trelawney gave a nervous smile and seemed to relax a little.

“Let’s try a shield charm together, shall we? I know you can do it. The only reason the spells keep hitting you is that the shield was pointing upwards rather than at your attacker. Hagrid, can you please try a simple Expelliarmus spell?”

With Harry’s help, the spell was deflected.

“Excellent!” cried Harry. “Now, let’s sort you out Hagrid.”

He moved over to his tall friend and grinned. Professor Trelawney lost no time in interrupting a couple of girls nearby and say proudly, “Yes, he’s an ex-pupil of mine, you know?”

“’Bout time you called by to say ‘ello.”

“I know, Hagrid. I’m sorry. Now, I don’t know if you noticed. But you weren’t actually producing a shield charm at all.”

“I weren’t?”

“No, Hagrid. The spells were hitting you and bouncing off.”

“Oh,” said Hagrid, looking a little downcast.

Harry smiled and said, “Let’s go through it together.”

*

A little later, Harry had been around the Hall and had spoken to every pair to comment on their efforts. Usually he found he was making some very complimentary remarks.

He saw Professor McGonagall standing at the front of the Hall with Professor Flitwick and went over to join them.

Just as he got there Hagrid’s raucous laughter rang out from the back of the Hall. Flitwick dashed off to intervene.

“You’ve created a monster, Harry,” said McGonagall with a smile.

Harry nodded. He had needed to tell Hagrid off a couple of times since showing him how to do a Stupefying Charm properly.

“Do you and Professor Flitwick teach everyone normally?” Harry asked.

“Oh, no. We only come to show our support and to make sure no-one gets hurt. I suppose we do give individual pointers sometimes, but this is a student activity after all.”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“Neville seems much happier this year,” observed Harry, seeing Neville laughing with a group across the other side.

“Very much so,” she agreed. “Of course, he still objects to my making him address the assembled school.”

“I’m amazed he did that though,” said Harry turning to her.

“Well, it was easier when there was only a handful of students. It is rather mean of me to make him keep doing it.”

“Why do you?”

“It started off as a sort of punishment,” she replied with a smile, “although I really intended to boost his confidence a little.”

“Whatever did you want to punish him for, Professor?”

“He declined to accept the position of Head Boy.”

“He did?”

“Indeed. He was afraid he would have to stand up and address the school.”

Harry laughed and then asked, “So who is Head Boy?”

“We don’t have either a Head Boy or a Head Girl as yet.”

“Harry?”

Harry turned and said, “Hi, Ginny.”

“It’s getting late, Harry. We’ll need to finish in a few minutes. How about you give us a last demonstration?”

“Sure, Ginny. Did you have anything in mind?”

“Something new we can practise for ourselves next time.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“Okay, I’ve thought of one.”

Ginny smiled and turned raising her wand. A loud bang later, everyone was watching as Harry walked to the centre and asked for a volunteer.

Neville, Luna and Ginny all stepped forward at once.

“Alright, then. I want all three of you to fire a different hex or spell directly at me at the same time. I suggest you confer and agree what each of you will do.”

They came together and agreed their spells.

“Please position yourself so you have clear shot at me, but where no-one else might get hit from standing in the line of fire.”

Harry turned around and Professor McGonagall moved aside as the three of them moved apart and faced towards him.

“I’ll let you see the effect and then I’ll show you how to do it. I’d like you to fire on three, okay?”

The others nodded and raised their wands.

“Okay,” repeated Harry, raising his wand. “One. Two. Three!”

There was a flash as the three spells were cast. Neville fired a red stunner, Luna cast a Rictusempra tickling charm and Ginny fired a Relashio spell at him.

The crowd gasped as Harry appeared to vanish just before the spells hit him. He reappeared an instant later and the shockwave produced knocked his attackers off their feet.

“Hey! That’s cheating!” shouted Ginny angrily as Neville pulled her to her feet again. “Disapparating shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Miss Weasley,” interrupted Professor McGonagall, “the anti-Apparition wards have not been lifted this evening. Whatever Harry did, he didn’t Disapparate.”

“So, what was that?” asked Neville interestedly.

“I believe Harry used a Vanissillsus trick,” piped up Professor Flitwick. Harry nodded with a smile. “I must say, it was most impressive. I haven’t seen one of those cast properly for years.”

“So, who wants to know how it’s done?” asked Harry.

*

Harry demonstrated the steps needed to perform the Vanissillsus trick effect a couple of times but Professor McGonagall had insisted that they all go to bed before they all had a chance to try it themselves.

He had explained that it wasn’t actually true Apparition, but merely an illusion that could be used to fool several inexperienced opponents sometimes. He urged caution against using it against a powerful witch or wizard because the person who cast the spell was very vulnerable at the moment they became visible again.

Smiling as everyone groaned and made vocal their complaints, Harry bid them goodnight and promised he’d be happy to return and show them more if invited.

Luna and Ginny then came straight over to him.

“How is Ronald?” asked Luna at once.

Harry hesitated before answering.

“I got a letter from Fred and George,” said Ginny seriously. “They said Dad threw him out and they haven’t seen him since.”

Harry nodded sadly.

“We have no idea where he is, but we’re afraid he’s in the company of some people with dark sympathies,” said Harry. “Please be very careful if he gets in touch with you.”

Hagrid came up then and interrupted their conversation. Professor McGonagall ushered the girls off to bed as well.

“Tha’ were great, ‘Arry!”

“Thanks Hagrid. How are Grawp and Herita?”

“Grawp is doin’ great, ‘Arry. Herita has moved into a cave a bit further up in the mountains. It’s taken ‘er a while to get over the loss of her brother, but she’s improving all the time.”

“That’s good, Hagrid.”

“How about coming up to see them?” Hagrid asked hopefully.

“I’d like to, Hagrid, but it’s a little late tonight. I’ll come back when I can, but I really need to be away now.”

*

“’Arry, are you sure about this?” asked Hagrid.

“Yes. Honestly, Hagrid, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s no trouble to come with you?”

“Yes, it is, Hagrid. You need to be here, at the school. What if something happened while you were away with me? You’d never forgive yourself.”

“True, but I still say you’re bein’ a bit stupid.”

“Hermione would say reckless,” he agreed with a grin.

“Yeah, and she’d be right!”

Harry laughed and said, “Goodnight, Hagrid. It’s been great to see you again.”

Hagrid swung the great iron gates closed and the chain magically wound its way through the bars to secure them shut.

Harry walked a few feet along the path towards Hogsmeade and Disapparated as soon as he was outside the influence of the wards that protected Hogwarts. Hagrid waited until Harry had safely gone before turning and making his way back up to the castle.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 14 - Clever-Clogs

“Thank you ever so much for this,” said Harry as he headed for the door. “And thanks for staying open for me.”

“Not at all, Mr Potter,” said the bowing shop assistant.

Harry thanked them again and tucked the small bag containing his purchase safely inside his robes before headed out into the night.

Behind him, Harry heard the locks being turned almost as soon as he’d closed the door. A moment later, all the lights went out as well.

Harry walked over to a street lamp and looked at his watch. It was a little before eleven o’clock and the only sign of activity came from the Three Broomsticks a little down the road.

He as about to Disapparate directly back to Grimmauld Place when he thought he saw movement in the shadows.

Harry spun around, his wand raised.

“Ah, a little more alert I see, Mr Potter.”

“Come out from the shadows if you want to talk to me,” demanded Harry.

Harry heard three footsteps and Ollivander moved casually into the half-light. He appeared to be on his own again.

“What have you done with Ron Weasley?”

“Done?”

“I saw you with him in Knockturn Alley. Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” drawled Ollivander.

“If you see him, tell him his friends are worried out him. Ask him to get in touch with us.”

“Unfortunately, he may no longer count you as his friend. From what I hear, he’s hardly welcome at home any longer. You didn’t exactly support him, either, did you? That Mudblood friend of yours actually made more of an effort.”

“So, you have seen him.”

“I see lots of people.”

“Oh yes, I was forgetting. How is Voldemort? He hasn’t been in touch for ages.”

“Too busy killing and maiming I imagine. You’re hardly a major concern to him. Don’t worry, though. He’ll come for you soon enough. That’s the thing about fanatics. No matter how insane they are, they can always be depended upon to go back to their obsessions.”

“Aren’t you afraid he’ll turn on you?”

“Me? Why ever would he do that?” asked Ollivander with a grin. “No, we’re great pals. You see, I’m so useful to his cause. Fortunately there are few wandmakers prepared to supply in the face of Ministry objections. Even foreign makers won't export to just anyone these days.”

“Why do you make wands for his Death Eaters?” demanded Harry.

“Oh, I’ve made wands for them for years. Any convicted wizard is willing to pay me ten times over for a half-decent new wand, you know? More, in many instances.”

“Money? You’ve betrayed us for money?”

“We all need money, Mr Potter. Why should I deny them? Who am I to judge whether or not they should perform magic?”

“Your wands have been used to murder countless people since Voldemort came back! Don’t you feel any responsibility at all?”

“Wands don’t kill people, Mr Potter; wizards do.”

“It would be a lot more difficult for them to kill without having your wands to help them.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true, you know?”

Ollivander paused in thought and then gave a half laugh.

“My father always disapproved of me as well, actually.”

Harry frowned slightly, wondering where Ollivander was going with this statement.

“I was the eldest of two brothers. Traditionally the eldest son took over the wandmaking business, but I must admit I showed no aptitude nor inclination to follow in his footsteps. It was rather a relief to me when my father threw me out and named by brother as his successor.

“You see, my father was widely celebrated as the greatest wand maker ever. He was mortified to think that his reputation would be ruined once I took over the shop. That wasn’t the only cause of friction between us, either. We had a number of let’s say, ideological differences, as well.”

“You mean he wasn’t a Muggle hating bigot?”

“Indeed. Well, he retired eventually and my brother took over running of the shop. I must say, he was rather good at it too. He made me a wand, you know? A fine example which he presented to me. The price was that I was never to return in his lifetime.”

“I take it you didn’t get along with your brother either, then?”

“Indeed,” agreed Ollivander with a smile. “So, having been finally freed of any encumbrances, I set out to seek my fortune.”

“Did you?” asked Harry.

“Well, I did do rather well, actually. In truth, I only made a modest amount of money but I had a fine time. I thoroughly enjoyed my misadventures!”

“So, why did you stop?”

“Dumbledore thought I ought to behave myself,” Ollivander said darkly. “Still,” he added, suddenly much more brightly, “now he’s gone.”

“Hang on,” interrupted Harry. “Are you seriously saying that Dumbledore was the only reason you didn’t join up with Voldemort?”

“I merely stated that I am no longer obligated to Dumbledore.”

“So you felt it was okay to start cutting people up?” asked Harry angrily.

“Muggles have been cut up; not people,” Ollivander corrected him.

“They are people,” stressed Harry furiously. “People who feel and think and suffer, no different from you or I. No-one deserves to suffer like those people did at your hands.”

“What do you know?” spat Ollivander. “What proof do you have that I am The Healer, anyway?”

Harry did not answer at once and fought to control his temper.

“Alison Weston,” he said finally. “She identified you to me before she died.”

"But what was she really trying to tell you?"

"Are you telling me that you didn't do those things?"

"Would it make a difference if I did?"

"Yes. If you claimed to be innocent, I'd at least consider if you could be telling the truth."

"Innocent? In truth, I can hardly claim to be innocent. In my time I have done many things that you would be happy to condemn me for."

"I'm only interested in the things I know about."

"That may not be entirely wise. Of course, I have been known to lie as well."

"So? I haven't asked you not to lie. I've merely asked you to confirm or deny whether you did those terrible things."

"But, why should I? I haven't even been accused of anything."

"I'm accusing you."

"And are you to be my Judge and Jury as well as Prosecutor?"

"To be honest, I don't know what I'll do."

"Well, in that case I think I'll reserve my plea. By the way, I'm not sure what law I'm supposed to have breached."

"Why do you say that?"

"They were only Muggles. The Mistreatment of Muggle statutes only cater for tricks and such."

"So, torture and murder are okay, then?"

"Well, if the victims were Muggles, then yes, they are."

"How can you say that?"

"I merely observe that the current statutes do not cater for such occurrences to be treated as crimes. For centuries, Wizards and Witches have mistreated Muggles. Would it be fair if I were to be punished when others have not, assuming for the sake of argument that I was guilty."

"If the Wizengamot found you guilty but decided not to punish you on those grounds, then they'd lose all credibility."

"Haven't you noticed a significant number of killings that have been carried out over the last few months? Clearly some people don't think the Wizengamot has any credibility as it is!"

"True, but that doesn't make it right, does it?"

"Right? Was Dumbledore right not to allow the Wizengamot to punish me all those decades ago?"

"How can I say? I have no idea of the circumstances. If he didn't punish you, he must have had his reasons."

"Well, he only didn't let the Wizengamot punish me. I didn't say he didn't punish me."

"I always assumed you two were friends."

"No. We maintained cordial terms for the last few years, but I would never describe us as friends. We never did entirely trust one another. I hated him for seeing the good in people."

"Even you?"

"Especially me."

"Why do you say that?"

"When we fought, all those years ago, he was extraordinarily powerful. You will have a better idea than most how strong Dumbledore was, but believe me when I tell you his recent powers were nothing compared to a few decades ago.

"Even so, we were well matched. We fought for hours, with no quarter given.

"I used every ounce of Dark Magic that I knew against him. It was close, but in the end he won.

"The last spell he cast against me caused my wand to explode in my hand. I was expecting him to finish me, but he did not."

"He gave you a second chance."

"Yes."

"Are you seriously telling me that the only reason you remained at Diagon Alley selling wands was because you were afraid of Dumbledore?"

"Well, in the beginning, perhaps but I realised later that it was something much deeper than fear. You see, Dumbledore used his great goodness to save not only himself.”

Ollivander trailed off, apparently deep in thought.

Harry had no idea what he was going on about, but the mention of Dumbledore had got him thinking. The greater threat was Voldemort, not Ollivander.

"Everyone agrees that your wands were the finest money could buy. I've never heard any talk of your father's wands or your brother's wands. It was your work that was so admired. Didn't you take any pride from that?"

"Not while my obligation to Dumbledore existed."

"Did that obligation really die with him?"

"No. It was discharged before his death."

"How?"

"I grow tired of this conversation, Mr Potter."

"Look, you're obviously a powerful wizard. Come back to our side. Help us defeat Voldemort."

“You seriously want my help? You’ve already said you think I should be thrown into Azkaban. That’s hardly any incentive, is it?”

Ollivander Disapparated away before Harry had a chance to utter a response.

*

A little later, Harry walked into the drawing room at Grimmauld Place in search of Hermione. He was surprised to find such a harmonious atmosphere.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley were listening with rapt attention as John Bateman told them a stream of anecdotes from his many experiences as a soldier.

On the other side of the room, Miss Alice and Aunt Petunia were sitting surrounded by papers. Hermione was reading a little apart from them.

She looked up smiling and immediately saw that Harry wasn’t in the best of moods.

Deciding he didn’t want to spoil the evening for everyone else, he turned to leave.

Then he turned back and asked, “I’m going to make a drink. Does anyone else want anything?”

There were mutters of, “No thanks,” from around the room as Hermione stood and followed him out of the room.

Outside, Harry stopped.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs where we can talk about it,” said Hermione quietly.

*

"I can't believe Ollivander would do those things just because he was free of Dumbledore's control. It was like he was proving he could do things that Dumbledore would abhor."

Harry had told Hermione everything he could remember about his latest exchange with Ollivander. Hermione had been just as incredulous as the last time that Harry had once again been left free.

"Well, I know it's difficult for us to even imagine that someone would be capable of such things. The thing is, there are people who enjoy performing such acts upon other people. Perhaps it's just something we can't understand."

Hermione nodded, remembering the state that Jack Gurnet and Alison Weston were in when they found them.

"I asked Ollivander how his obligation was discharged before Dumbledore's death, but he wouldn't answer me."

"I wonder how that could have happened?"

“Yes, I wondered that too,” said Harry.

"Harry, please don't take this the wrong way."

"Don't tell me there's no proof of his guilt, Hermione."

"Well, there isn't, is there?"

"I saw him kidnap you, remember?"

"Well, yes."

"And Alison Weston identified him with her dying breath!"

"Unfortunately, you were the only witness. As Ollivander pointed out, do you really know what she was trying to tell you? You said he’d gone by the time you looked around."

"If you'd been the one who’d seen the horrified look on her face, I don't think you'd be having these doubts."

"Harry, all I'm saying is that you shouldn't attempt to act as Judge, Jury and Executioner."

"You're that convinced that I'd execute him?"

"It's only an expression. Mind you, judging from the way you've spoken about him, I do believe you could be provoked into doing something you would regret."

Harry sighed deeply and leaned back against the bed headboard.

"The fact that he wanted to speak to you at all is rather interesting, isn't it?"

"Interesting," he repeated, but with no conviction.

Hermione was clearly going through various explanations in her mind but didn't share any with Harry.

“So, what’s been going on around here?” he asked.

“Well, Mary is making good progress with the Journal. She won’t say anything, but I’m sure she has cracked it. Petunia is helping her with the codes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she’s really good at them. It seems that the key to solving some of the pages is by using the clues exposed by other pages. It all seems very clever. Colonel Falcon went to a lot of trouble to conceal something.”

“But you think she’s solved it?”

“I think she just needs to prove that she’s right about something before she sends us of on some wild goose chase.”

“Oh, well. I suppose we’ll have to wait then.”

Hermione smiled and brushed his hair back.

“You seem tired, Harry. Why don’t you get some sleep? You can tell me about Professor McGonagall’s lesson tomorrow.”

“I should really go and rescue Bear from Dudley and Uncle Vernon, though.”

“You’re kidding, right. They’re getting on like a house on fire.”

“That’s not possible. You know he made the Dursleys leave Privet Drive at gunpoint, don’t you?”

Hermione laughed and said, “No, I didn’t know that. I suppose that is one of the good things about his memory being modified. He’s forgotten how horrible they were to you.”

“So why are they getting along so well now?”

“Well, I think Dudley quite fancies a career in the Army, actually. John has been telling them some of his adventures.”

“Dudley in the Army? He wouldn’t like the early mornings.”

“I think it’d do him good,” said Hermione, leaning back against Harry.

“He’d soon get bored with all the marching.”

“Don’t forget the shouting, though,” said Hermione. “He’d love the shouting.”

“And the shooting!”

“Good grief, can you imagine the chaos if they gave him a tank!”

They laughed and cuddled up on the bed.

“So, tell me about your lesson. You must have stayed late. What did she teach you?”

“Well, I was late leaving because Neville got me to take a DA evening class.”

“Oh, good for Neville. I wish I’d come too, now.”

*

The next morning, Harry and Hermione met with Mary and Bateman. At last Mary seemed ready to discuss her findings.

Placing her hand on the old cover of the book, she smiled and said, “This book does not give a complete answer. It merely points us in the direction that Colonel Falcon was looking in.”

She opened the book at the last pages.

“Clearly, he suspected that others would try and find the information, as indeed we are. He used a series of puzzles with increasing complexity until we get to this very last page.”

She opened the inside cover and turned it towards them.

“What you can see here isn’t the actual puzzle. You need to re-write it using the solution to the previous ones.”

She held up a large piece of parchment with a grid containing hundreds of characters.

“Now, obviously, if there was a mistake in solving the preceding puzzles then this final puzzle becomes meaningless junk.”

The other three nodded in understanding.

“Fortunately, Petunia is rather adept at these kinds of puzzles. We each followed all the steps and then compared our two grids.”

Mary held up a second parchment in Aunt Petunia’s hand.

“I’m pleased to say that the two puzzle grids are identical.”

“That’s great, but how to we read it?” asked Bateman. “This just looks like a random table of letters to me.”

“Well, we are supposed to solve it to produce a clear text message. One that we can read directly.”

“What do you mean by supposed?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

Mary gave them a very mischievous smile.

“Alright, clever-clogs,” said Bateman. “Out with it. You’ve been dying to tell us that you’ve solved this for ages, haven’t you?”

Harry and Hermione laughed as Mary smiled, blushing.

“I suppose I have,” she admitted. “But I haven’t solved this grid puzzle.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, but I have got Falcon’s message.”

“Is there any chance of you actually explaining this and making sense?” asked Bateman.

“This grid puzzle confirmed my original suspicion. This looks like a random arrangement, but actually it isn’t. Any cryptographer would look at this grid and see the patterns, and so would their computers.”

“Oh, so there is a solution. Good, we only need access to the right computers, then?”

“No, John,” said Mary seriously. “I can tell you now, those computers would run for weeks and never find the answer. There isn’t an answer. This is designed to make someone keep looking for an answer that does not exist.”

“That was Falcon’s message? There is no answer.”

“No. Colonel Falcon just intended to throw us off the scent. Tell me, which of you read this Journal from start to finish?”

“Certainly not me,” said Bateman.

“I skipped the paranoid stuff,” said Harry.

They looked at Hermione who was frowning slightly.

“I read everything,” she admitted, “but I didn’t see anything there.”

Mary smiled and opened the Journal again from the beginning.

“Look again,” she said gently. “The first word of the message that I spotted is here.”

They all leaned in to see where she was pointing.

“That’s a kid’s drawing of a tank. So the word tank is part of the message?”

“No, John. Look closer. Look at the pencil shading.”

“What?”

Harry looked closer. The tank was drawn in green crayon with red shells peppering a gun emplacement across the page. The only pencil marks were those that formed the tracks. Then he saw it.

“Those aren’t just tracks! That’s handwriting!”

“Indeed. All of the drawings include words that on first glance look just like random squiggles and patterns.”

“Falcon was cleverer than we gave him credit for,” said Harry.

“So what is the message?” asked Bateman impatiently.

“I believe it is an address,” said Mary, “but I don’t know its significance. It could be a place where Falcon left another clue or it could be where his chief suspect lives.”

Harry looked up.

“We could ruin everything if we blundered along there. We must have more information before we proceed.”

“Where could we get that from?” asked Bateman, but Harry already knew what she was going to say.

“John’s Report contains something important that none of us have been able to fathom. I’m convinced that John himself is the one to discover it. For that to happen, he needs his memory back.”

Harry looked to Hermione.

She looked up and nodded in agreement.

“Okay. I’ll try to get another message to Kingsley,” said Harry.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 15 - A Word

“Bear, can I have a word?” asked Harry quietly after he carefully closed the door.

“Sure, Harry. What is it?”

The two of them were alone in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. Harry stepped forward a little hesitantly.

“I just wanted to warn you about something. You know there’s no guarantee that Kingsley will be able to help restore your memory?”

“Yes, Hermione explained.”

“Well, if we assume that he can help, there may still be problems you need to consider.”

“How do you mean, Harry?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“Your memories of the things you’ve learned since your memory modification may get a little jumbled. Things that make sense now may change later on.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to cope. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m not sure how to put this,” Harry admitted. “I tried to get Hermione to warn you, but she said you’d rather hear it from me.”

Bateman frowned.

“Talking hypothetically,” began Harry, “just supposing-”

“Harry, just tell me, will you?”

“I don’t want to embarrass you,” said Harry.

“Harry, you look more than embarrassed enough for the both of us. Get on with it, will you?”

The door opened and Mary walked into the room. She stopped seeing the pair of them.

“You’re not fighting, are you?” she asked.

They heard hurried footsteps coming towards the room. In an instant Hermione appeared by Mary’s side, grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.

The door closed with a click and Bateman asked, “What was that about?”

“Talking hypothetically,” began Harry again, ducking to avoid Bateman’s reach, “just supposing something happened after you had your memory modified.”

“Go on,” said Bateman threateningly. Harry kept moving to keep the chair they were now circling between them.

“So, there might be something that exists now that didn’t exist then.”

“And?”

“Well, there is a risk that your memory of then will supersede your memories of now.”

“What does that matter, so long as I remember the truth?”

“We’re talking about conflicts, not truth.”

“What specifically are you concerned I might lose?”

“Hypothetically, you mean?”

“Harry, be a good lad and wait here while I get my handgun? I’ve a sudden urge to practise.”

“I’m talking about feelings, Bear.”

“What?”

“If, hypothetically speaking, you had developed feelings for, er, someone, then in theory, you might forget those feelings.”

Bateman stopped prowling and sat down in the chair. Harry came around to face him.

“How did you know?”

“Hermione told me. She said it was kind of obvious.”

“She was wrong,” said Bateman seriously, looking up at Harry.

“Hermione is never wrong about this kind of thing. Well, hardly ever.”

“She was wrong when she said I would prefer to hear it from you.”

“Oh. Yes, she would have been better,” admitted Harry sitting down on the floor. “The problem is that this isn’t something you can fix by writing yourself a letter. There is no guarantee that you’d fall in love the same way again. In fact, you wouldn’t because the circumstances would have changed.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Write yourself a letter.”

“You just said that wouldn’t work!”

“It won’t, but it might help you understand things better. She’ll be looking for more than you’re prepared to give, so try and write down the feelings you’ve got now. You never know, maybe you had feelings for her before. I expect the things you love about her haven’t changed.”

“How much of this did Hermione come up with for you, Harry?”

“All of it! Here, you might as well have the notes she gave me to memorise,” said Harry, handing Bateman several screwed up pieces of parchment.

“I wonder if repeating some of the things you shared would work?” asked Harry.

Bateman unscrewed one and said, “I suppose I first knew when she shot me.”

“Maybe not, then.”

Harry stood up and looked down at his friend.

For the first time he could remember, Bateman was looking quite lost.

“You okay?”

“I’ll have to be, won’t I?”

“You’ll have a few days before I can make contact with Kingsley.”

Harry smiled sadly and left him alone with his thoughts.

*

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea, Harry."

"Hermione, this was your idea, remember?" complained Harry.

"I know, it's just that this is a little risky."

"Look, we all agreed, didn't we? They could use some time alone and this way the Dursleys are out of the way. Besides, we must be overdue for another escape attempt. They'll be fine, I'm sure. Dobby and Kreacher will be back later as well, remember?"

“Even so, Harry.”

“Hermione, you need this as much as they do. We’ve both been worrying ourselves stupid about Ron, but there’s nothing we can do right now, is there? Just go with them and try to enjoy the day.”

They stopped their conversation as soon as Aunt Petunia turned the top landing and descended the stairs. Dudley and Uncle Vernon followed.

"Ready?" asked Harry, removing the locks on the front door and opening it a crack to see outside. "They're here. Let's go."

Harry opened the door wider for the other four to exit and he then closed the door and locked it before joining the others at the bottom of the entrance steps.

"Hello, Harry, dear," said Mrs Weasley after greeting the others.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks with a wide grin.

"Hi," said Harry.

"I think we should make a move," said Lupin quietly and led the way along the pavement and out of the square.

After a short walk they came to the nearest Tube station. After buying their tickets, they descended down the escalator where they parted into two groups.

Hermione, Mrs Weasley, Tonks and Aunt Petunia went through to catch a Central Line train while Lupin, Uncle Vernon, Dudley and Harry went a couple of stops on the Circle Line to Victoria Train Station.

A few minutes later they boarded an over ground train to Surrey.

Settling back into his seat, Lupin said, "I must say, I am rather glad not to be dragged around the shops with the girls."

Vernon snorted and nodded.

"Still, I'm sure they'll enjoy themselves," continued Lupin pleasantly. "I was worried this morning that Molly wasn't going to come. Fortunately Percy promised faithfully not to make another escape attempt while she was away."

Harry laughed and asked, "How is Percy?"

"Climbing the walls, by the sounds of it, Harry. Bill and Fleur will be keeping him company today, and he's been in much better spirits since he's been able to correspond with Penny. She still has no idea where he is, of course."

They were jostled slightly as the carriages rocked while the train made its way across the wide intersection outside the station.

Gradually, the train picked up speed and soon the London buildings became a blur.

At the second stop they alighted from the train.

Before they exited the station into the busy high street, they agreed to meet back there if they got separated for any reason.

“Right, Dudley and I have business up the hill,” said Lupin smiling.

“We do?” asked Dudley stupidly. “Oh, yeah.”

Harry and Uncle Vernon watched for a moment while they disappeared into the crowds of morning shoppers.

“I suppose we should get a move on too,” said Vernon.

Harry followed, his hand never far from the pocket he held his wand in.

They walked down the hill and after a couple of hundred yards the crowds thinned enough for them to hold a conversation without shouting.

“Uncle Vernon, what is it that Dudley’s interested in?”

“Well, he’s been considering a career in the services for some time. The Smeltings careers councillor thought he was particularly suited, but Petunia wasn’t at all keen. She still isn’t, as a matter of fact, but as I told her, the boy’s got to do something.”

Harry nodded and asked, “Does he want to join the army?”

“Originally, yes, but your friend John Bateman suggested he considered the Marines as well.”

“So that’s what Dudley and Lupin are looking into today?”

“Yes, Bateman gave Dudley the name of a contact of his and said to look him up. There’s a recruitment office just up the road. I just hope he doesn’t sign anything.”

Harry laughed.

They turned into a light industrial estate and walked right to the end of the road towards a high blue painted metal palisade fence.

Vernon was puffing by the time they’d got to it.

“It doesn’t seem this far when you drive,” he said, and as he did so a deep red coloured executive car with a rumbling engine glided passed them, turned left and headed for the entrance gate.

They continued at a slower pace until they reached the entrance. Over the high gate was an arch with sheet metal plates. Into the plate the word, “Grunnings,” was formed in hundreds of drill holes.

The metal gate slid shut noiselessly as they approached.

Vernon headed straight for the security booth.

“Good morning, Sirs,” said the security guard from the other side of the gate. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I work here.”

“Well, if you’d like to show me your works ID card, I’ll let you in.”

“I do not have an identification card. Will you kindly open this gate?”

“This entrance is for employees only.”

“I’m a Director. Open this gate.”

“If you were a Director, you’d have an ID card, Sir.”

“Hawkins, you know perfectly well that I’ve been using this gate from the day it was installed. I even approved payment for the damn thing!”

“I’m afraid without an ID to verify your identity, Mr Dursley, I can’t let you in.”

“This is absurd!”

“Really, Sir? I vaguely recollect someone telling me that if I let any more vagrants in I’d be sacked.”

“Ah,” said Uncle Vernon, and it was immediately clear to Harry exactly who had threatened to sack the security guard. “That was different. I just got fed up with all those damn sale reps getting in.”

“So, I’ll bid you goodbye then, Sir.”

“Open this damn gate!” shouted Uncle Vernon.

“Vernon?”

Uncle Vernon stopped in mid bellow as a figure walked up on the other side of the gate. Harry couldn’t see them clearly, but as if by magic the gate slid open.

“Vernon, my dear fellow,” said the smiling man. “It’s delightful to see you.”

Vernon stepped towards him and shook the stranger’s hand.

“Ernest. You’re looking well.”

Harry stepped inside into a wide compound marked out with road markings for lorries to follow. To one side was a row of expensive looking cars, including one right at the end under a tarpaulin that looked the shape of Uncle Vernon’s old company car.

“Is this young Dudley?” asked the man kindly, holding out his hand to Harry.

“No, no,” said Vernon quickly. “This is my nephew, Harry.”

Harry smiled and shook the old man’s hand. He was grey haired and incredibly thin and stood with a slight stoop. The smile on his lined face was genuinely disarming, Harry thought.

“Harry?” he said. “Not Harry Potter?”

“Er,” said Harry. “Yes, Sir, that’s right.”

“My dear boy,” said the man, now shaking Harry’s hand with enthusiasm. “Welcome! Welcome to Grunnings.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Harry, completely baffled by this reception.

“This is Mr Fotherington, Harry. He’s the Chairman and major stockholder of Grunnings,” explained Uncle Vernon.

Fotherington turned and walked with Uncle Vernon towards the main building. Harry made to follow but felt a tap on his shoulder.

Harry turned to find two bright yellow Visitor passes being thrust into his face.

He took the badges and pinned one badge on his lapel before hurrying to catch the other two up.

*

Harry sat down and looked around the large office while Fotherington and Uncle Vernon talked. One entire side of the room was a window that overlooked a small courtyard with a bubbling fountain in the middle of a patch of green grass. Seats were provided around the perimeter but no-one was outside on such a cold day.

Most of the other windows to the courtyard were frosted, so Harry could only see the occasional movements and shadows of blurred people inside.

Behind Fotherington's impressive desk was a large oil painting of an austere looking man with a disapproving expression. The remaining walls were covered with smaller portraits and photographs.

"The thing is, Ernest," continued Vernon, "I know that you've been incredibly understanding about my enforced absence, but I believe the right thing to do would be for me to resign my Directorship. It just isn't fair to you."

"My dear Vernon," said Ernest at once, "I won't hear of it. I can't say I won't be pleased when you eventually do come back to us, but we all have circumstances at one time or another that require periods of unforeseen absence. I don't need to remind you that Reginald is still away as well, although hopes of his returning are fading."

Harry frowned slightly, wondering who this Reginald was.

"Reginald Grunnings, Harry," explained Fotherington kindly, "was the original founder's great-grandson. He, and most of the company funds, went missing in 1876. As I said, hopes of his returning are gradually fading."

Harry laughed and nodded in understanding.

Fotherington smiled and turned back to Uncle Vernon.

"That reminds me, the accountants are making an awful fuss about the monies you haven't taken in the accounting period. I'd be terribly grateful if you'd allow us to clear the monies owed to you."

"I'm sorry," said Vernon, "but I don't quite understand. We agreed to stop my salary in the summer when we went away."

"My dear fellow, you're still entitled to the commissions from all those sales you made while you were away. In addition, as a Director you also have a nominal share holding. Thanks to you, it was a very good year, last year. Anyway, pop by George's office before you leave and sort something out, will you?"

Vernon nodded.

"Excellent! Now, I really must trouble you to listen while I try and persuade you to come back, Vernon."

"That may not be possible," said Uncle Vernon.

"Did you notice much activity in the Industrial Estate?"

"Actually, it seemed unusually quiet," admitted Vernon.

"Yes, and I'm to blame. There is a brand new Industrial Estate that has opened up by the dual carriageway, and we've signed up with a consortium to move everyone there. Everyone's really pleased with the new place, mainly because the transport links are so much better.

"Anyway, the land here is worth a small fortune to a residential developer, particularly as we've already got planning permission."

"What about the manufacturing here?"

"Well, the other member's of the board were rather keen on selling up and moving the manufacturing base abroad."

"That doesn't sound like something you'd approve of."

"Quite right. There is no way that I'd allow so many people to lose their jobs. Besides, many of our investors think the same way."

"They do? I'd have thought they'd only be interested in the profit margins."

Fotherington turned to Harry and smiled.

"I should perhaps explain. Vernon and I are Directors and limited shareholders of Grunnings Limited. The largest shareholding, over ninety percent I believe, is held by another company called Grunnings Holdings.

"Grunnings Holdings is a private company owned by various family members and one private investor, whose interests was until recently managed by a Trust Fund. Interestingly, the original investment was made almost two decades ago and required a number of changes to the Articles of Incorporation.

"These Articles govern and restrict the areas in which Grunnings can trade. Amongst other restrictions is the limitation of changes that would make local people redundant. Of course, the increased mechanisation has led to some significant changes in our production methods, but we have actually lost very few people to date."

"Well, we always were highly mechanised," agreed Vernon.

"Indeed. It wasn't a coincidence, of course, that the financing for re-tooling all those years ago also came through the Trust."

Vernon frowned slightly.

"Who is the private investor?" asked Harry.

"Until very recently, we had no idea. A couple of months ago a firm of London Solicitors got in touch and advised us that a beneficiary would shortly reach their eighteenth birthday and that all the shares would then be transferred to them. They gave us your name, Harry, the date of the transfer of 31 July next year, and the fact that you were Vernon's nephew."

"Oh," said Harry blankly.

"They also indicated that they had been trying for some time to contact you themselves, presumably to tell you the same thing," continued Fotherington. "Your investments are set up as a blind trust so the earnings can be reinvested. If you are happy for this to continue, you need do nothing as tax is taken at source. If you wish to sell or move your interests, I'm sure Vernon can advise you.

"In the meantime, perhaps we can show you what your money has enabled us to achieve."

"It was my parent's money, Mr Fotherington, not mine," said Harry quietly.

"As you wish, but now would be a good time to see the factory while it in full operation. We will shortly begin scaling down production here."

"How advanced are your plans at the new site?" asked Vernon.

"Construction of the new manufacturing building is almost complete, but we're experiencing serious delays in getting the upgraded plant installed. I was rather hoping to persuade you to help us out, Vernon. You were always better at geeing the Suppliers up than I am."

"You mean I shout louder?" said Vernon with a smile.

Fotherington laughed and nodded.

"So will you?"

"I'll need to think about it, Ernest. There are other matters that will need to be considered."

"Well, at least think about it?"

*

They left Grunnings through the visitor reception after biding Fotherington goodbye in front of two architectural models that he said had helped secure the Planning Application. One was of the new factory and the other was of the residential development.

They walked a little beyond the boundary fence before speaking.

"You'd like to take up Fotherington's offer, wouldn't you?" said Harry.

"Mm," growled Uncle Vernon, "I would."

"There'd be risks."

"I'm not sure how much longer I can stand being shut up in that house," admitted Vernon. "If it wasn't for Petunia and Dudders, I would have agreed at once."

A taxi cab pulled up on the other side of the street to drop someone off.

"How long would it take to drive to Privet Drive from here?" asked Harry, crossing the road.

"About half an hour at this time of day, why?"

"Good," said Harry, "we've plenty of time. Come on. I want to show you something."

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 16 - The Builders

A few minutes later, Harry paid the cab driver and they stood looking up at the sorry state that Number Four was currently in.

"They promised me!" complained Harry.

"Promised what?"

"The builders promised that they'd have everything finished yesterday," explained Harry, walking up the path and peering through a gap in the boarding that covered the living room windows. "It looks like they haven't even started!"

"That's builders for you."

Harry approached the front door which had been replaced by a steel door and frame. He shook the complicated looking padlock and then tried the key he'd been given. After several attempts to unlock the padlock, Vernon had a go.

"I'll use my wand to get the thing open," said Harry quietly. "Stand in the way so no-one sees, will you?"

Uncle Vernon wore an ambivalent expression, both furious that Harry was about to use magic and frustrated that there seemed no other way to get inside.

The padlock snapped open and the fell heavily onto the concrete step.

Harry pulled the bolt back and shoved the door. It refused to move.

"That's an anti-intruder door," said Vernon. "You have to turn that exposed handle to withdraw the bolts from the frame."

"Oh," said Harry, turning the handle that had been exposed by pulling back the bolt.

The door shifted slightly and then opened inwards.

"We should have brought torches," said Vernon, venturing into the dark hallway.

"No need," said Harry following and closing the door behind them. The instant it was shut Harry lit his wand tip.

They went into the remains of the living room.

"Petunia would have a fit if she saw the state of this place."

"I'm sorry. They promised."

Harry lit the candles that had been left from the time he had brought Dudley back and looked up and the bare brickwork that had been left after his various attempts to remove the Dark Mark that had been left there. Mr Weasley had advised him that no magical builder would touch the place with that still in place, so Harry had hurriedly removed it and the plaster behind it before the builders arrived to prepare their quotation.

Harry quickly vanished most of the debris that cluttered the room but didn't really know what to do about the appalling smell.

Suddenly there was a loud crack and two figures Apparated in front of them wearing identical faded blue overalls, chequer pattern shirts and muddy hobnail boots, each with steel toecaps gleaming through the holes in the faded tan leather.

"Mr Potter," said the tall one, both hands dug deep into his overall pockets. His companion smiled pleasantly and nodded an enthusiastic hello.

"Hello, Mr Stipatores. I thought we agreed that you'd be finished by now?"

"No, no, Mr Potter," said Stipatores, his silent companion now shaking his head seriously. "We may have given an indication of when we could start. Of course, if you like us to begin sooner, we could perhaps bring in additional labour at additional cost."

"Additional cost? I paid you to be finished by now!"

"Now, there are a few matters which have come to our attention that will be additional to our original estimate."

Harry pulled out the small piece of parchment that had been the only written thing he'd been able to get out of Stipatores.

"What extras?" asked Harry uncertainly, wishing he had heeded some of the dire warning that Mr Weasley had given him about dealing with magical builders.

"Our costs are significantly greater due to the fact that this house is within a Muggle area. You see, the time when we can move materials in and out is severely restricted and the lads need paying. I'll only pass on the additional cost of the overtime, but that's really the best I can do."

Stipatores’ companion was now shaking his head slowly in a what-else-can-we-do kind of way.

"Lads?" asked Harry, "I thought it was just the two of you."

"Now," continued Stipatores as if Harry had not spoken, "the remaining plaster on the walls was upon on manually, not the usual way with magic. That means it's much more difficult to remove."

There was now earnest nodding from Stipatores’ friend.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have got over the shock of the builders suddenly appearing, and had been reading the parchment over Harry's shoulder.

"The very least I could go to is a further hundred Galleons for the hacking off," concluded Stipatores, drawing breath before going on to his next item.

"Oh, you can do better than that," growled Vernon, pulling the parchment from Harry's fingers and looking up.

"First of all, this is a Receipt not an estimate. It clearly states the address of this place, so it was your responsibility to satisfy yourself as to the nature and condition of the work to be carried out."

Stipatores remained expressionless but his colleague looked on in shock.

"Furthermore, this Receipt actually confirms that you were supposed to be finished yesterday," continued Vernon, taking a step forward and waving the parchment. "As far as any extras are concerned, those will be cancelled out by the damages due to Mr Potter for late completion."

At the mention of damages, Stipatores took at step forward as well. He and Uncle Vernon stood facing each other. Stipatores was the taller, but they were equally matched in terms of stomach mass.

Harry thought they looked like two walrus bulls sizing each other up. Of course, Vernon had the moustache to match and this appeared to make the difference.

Stipatores’ silent companion now wore a concerned expression.

"Maybe, we can start next week," said Stipatores, who had deflated slightly under Vernon's glare.

"NEXT WEEK?" shouted Vernon, making Stipatores jump back.

"Oh, no. You'll be finished tomorrow," continued Vernon loudly. "And if you hope to avoid this boy giving you an unkind mention every time he gets interviewed by the Press, you'll also be pleased to do the gardens at no charge too."

Stipatores looked furious with silent indignation.

"YOU!" bellowed Uncle Vernon and pointing threateningly at Stipatores’ companion. "I suggest you make a start now. You don't have that long, remember?"

The wizard whimpered and Disapparated. A moment later Stipatores was gone with a loud pop as well.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, listening to a furious row that was going on upstairs. He turned to Vernon, who was also looking up and wearing a look of immense satisfaction.

Harry grinned at him and said, "Thanks. You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

There was a loud bang and the fireplace surround vanished.

"We'd better get out of here," advised Harry.

*

On the taxi cab ride back to the railway station, Uncle Vernon asked casually, "What is the conversion rate for that currency?"

Harry smiled, knowing he was trying to work out how much the repair work was costing.

"It's not important, although I must admit knowing the state we left the place in has been playing on my mind. I suppose I wanted to do something positive and your house was one of the few things I could actually fix right now."

"We won't be able to go back there, of course."

"Not to live," agreed Harry. "Not immediately, anyway. I thought you could rent it out until you are ready."

"And when might that be?" growled Vernon.

Harry looked down, unable to reply.

"I didn't mean it to sound like that," said Uncle Vernon quickly seeing Harry's reaction. "I only meant it's difficult to plan too far ahead."

Harry nodded, pulling out the coin that had just flashed hot in his pocket.

"On way home now. No problems. Love, Hermione."

*

They left the Railway Station and went down a flight of steps down into the Tube Station's large round underground ticket office. Standing on the opposite side beside some ticket machines was Lupin and Dudley.

They made their way across to meet them, winding their way through waiting commuters and being interrupted by people rushing to or from the barriers.

After another such interruption, Harry and Uncle Vernon parted briefly to pass either side of a wide white tiled column.

Harry froze, knowing at once that something was amiss.

The echoing noises of distant traffic, trains and people moving and talking had gone leaving only silence.

Harry grabbed his wand and looked around.

The entire ticket office was suddenly deserted. Only a moment ago it had been full of people.

Cautiously, Harry retraced his steps, making sure he was protected from attacks from behind by keeping his back to the wide column.

A lone figure stood right in the middle of the empty ticket office, his wand held lazily at his side.

"Nice trick," said Harry, moving out to face him and still looking around to check that the two of them really were alone.

The hooded figure did not reply.

Harry walked forward, wand out now.

"So, what do you want?" asked Harry loudly, his voice echoing around the strangely empty space.

The figure lifted his hands up and pushed back his hood, confirming Harry's suspicion as to the identity of the figure.

Ollivander had a troubled look on his face.

Looking quite distracted, he rubbed one of his temples with his free hand.

"Um," said Harry uncertainly, but at this Ollivander's features became distorted with fury. Harry dived to avoid a stunner and hit the hard tiled floor.

He rolled over, ignoring the searing pain of the impact and returned fire.

Ollivander's shield blocked his spell easily but he didn't immediately return fire. Standing still, Ollivander's face looked animated, as if he was having an internal argument with himself.

Harry got back to his feet and resolved not to throw himself at the hard floor again unless he could help it. He took a step closer to Ollivander.

The nearest Harry had seen of such strange behaviour was the confused look Ollivander had when Harry had found him at the Death Eater camp. Harry now fully believed that the confusion was merely an act, and he had every confidence that this was some new variation.

Rather late, Harry realised that Ollivander's argument with himself was drawing towards a conclusion. A Reductor curse almost got him, hitting a ticket dispensing machine and reducing it to a pile of melting plastic and metal.

Harry did not retaliate at once.

Ollivander looked up and for the first time their eyes met. There was no ambivalence in Ollivander's expression now. Harry could see nothing but naked hatred in his eyes.

Ollivander fired three spells in quick succession. These were followed by five more.

Harry blocked and dived, initially concerned with not moving too far away from the column that was protecting his back.

Harry's lack of a strong response seemed to anger Ollivander even further.

A massive blue flame erupted from Ollivander's wand and flew twice around the ticket office before hitting Harry's shield. The flame bounced off before diving down one of the escalators leading to the trains.

Harry stood a little straighter and prepared himself for Ollivander's next assault. As he did so, something struck him. Ollivander's was standing in exactly the same way Ron had recently begun to do during their duelling practises.

This could not be a coincidence.

The shocking possibility that Ron could have been associating with Ollivander for so long was almost as being hit by a hex.

"Crucio!"

Harry dived out of the way just in time.

Furious, Harry fired back. Even as he did so he could feel the dark magic he'd learned from the Kemmynadow Book surge up inside him.

Harry hurled hex after hex at Ollivander. Most missed in his rage and the timber newspaper kiosk on the far side of the ticket office was reduced to ashes.

Ollivander lurched to the side and fell in an obvious feint.

Harry hit him twice before Ollivander hit the floor with a painful wince.

Harry stepped forward, his wand pointed directly at the fallen Ollivander.

With a shaking hand, Ollivander pointed his own wand back up at Harry.

"Don't do it," warned Harry seriously.

Ollivander could only managed a weak stunning spell. Harry easily dodged it.

Ollivander's failing strength had the effect of pacifying Harry. He could feel the Kemmynadow's dark magic fading away with his anger.

He lowered his wand.

"How dare you!" growled Ollivander.

"What?" asked Harry in confusion.

"Am I such an unworthy opponent that you lower your wand?"

Harry sighed and said, "Listen, I want you to give yourself up to the Wizengamot while you still have the chance."

Ollivander responded with a curse that erupted in a large green flash.

Harry barely heard Ollivander whisper, "Avada Kadavra!"

Harry threw himself backwards, producing a Protego shield that he hoped would deflect at least part of the curse.

He felt heat on his face as the green flash flew over him and blasted into one of the white column.

Harry landed heavily on his back, hardly daring to breath.

As he came to realise that he was still alive, Harry also realised that the normal loud noises of the ticket office had gone.

From the floor, he looked around.

The commuters had all returned and there was no sign of any magical damage.

Lupin got to him first.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"I think so," said Harry uncertainly, allowing Lupin to pull him to his feet.

"Who was it?"

"Ollivander, but he may just have tricked me. A moment ago this ticket office was completely empty."

"I suspect we were just pushed out of harms way for a while," replied Lupin. "I was watching you as you approached. One moment you were walking towards us and the next you were on the floor. The station clock over there also jumped forward a few minutes."

Harry was rubbing his arm, finally feeling the pain from his falls onto the hard tile floor.

"Look, we're creating too much attention staying here. Let's make a move, shall we?"

*

They all arrived back at the Tube Station just in time to carry several large shopping bags back to Grimmauld Place. Harry spent most of the journey back pleading with the other three for them not to tell Hermione what happened. He would tell her, he promised, but in his own time.

Lupin had been the last to agree, and was clearly very uncomfortable. In the end he agreed to remain silent unless Hermione asked him.

Harry struggled with four bags in each hand as he climbed the steps to open the front door.

Soon they were all safely inside and enjoying tea made by Dobby.

"Here," said Hermione smiling and handing Harry an envelope.

"What is it?"

"This was handed to me by one of the assistants working in a boutique that we visited this afternoon."

Harry frowned and looked at the envelope. It was addressed to him. He tore it open at once.

"It's from Kingsley!" Harry exclaimed with delight. "He wants to meet me tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. He doesn't say where, though."

Lupin smiled and said, "I think we may be able to help there."

Harry looked at him enquiringly.

"Dudley and I received a cryptic message too, Harry. We know where, but didn't know when or who."

Harry smiled and nodded as Bateman came into the living room and went over to the table where Dudley had spread out all the leaflets and pamphlets he had collected.

Bateman snorted and picked one of them up.

"See this armoured gun?" he asked, and Harry saw he was showing Dudley a picture of what looked to him like a tracked tank except it had a very long gun instead of a rotating turret. "These things cost millions and can't hit a thing! Well, I suppose if they use it in the publicity pictures they'll get something for their money."

Harry was surprised when Aunt Petunia got up and showed some interest too.

"I see that there are other trades other than soldiering," she observed, picking up a catering careers leaflet.

"Oh, yes," agreed Bateman. "Actually, the majority of services personnel are in support roles. All the service branches are pretty good at providing vocational training too. In fact, services trained people often find themselves in demand in the right civilian sectors."

Harry realised that Hermione and the others had all day to bring her around. He had rather assumed that they would be cheering up Mrs Weasley for most of the time.

Aunt Petunia offered the leaflet hopefully to Dudley, but he was wearing a doubtful expression.

"Dudley needn't decide at once," Bateman said reassuringly. "It'll be a while before they are ready for new recruits of his age, and they all go through induction training at the beginning anyway."

Aunt Petunia gave him a brief, nervous smile and nodded.

"So, how is old Breaker?" asked Bateman with a grin.

"He said to call you a-," began Dudley.

"A name we most certainly can't repeat in pleasant company," finished Lupin with a smile.

Bateman roared with laughter, presumably knowing exactly what his old friend would call him.

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 17 – Camp Auror

The next morning, Lupin and Harry Disapparated away for their morning appointment. When Lupin released his arm, Harry was surprised to see that they were standing at the very top of a hill. Next to them was an Ordnance Survey triangulation point, they could see little else through the cold low clouds.

"I'm to return here in exactly one hour," said Lupin looking around warily.

"Where are we?" asked Harry.

"Somewhere in the north of Wales, Harry. I was supposed to just leave you here, but I am a little reluctant to go without knowing that you are safely on your way."

"He'll be fine," said a familiar voice.

"Kingsley?"

"Go," the voice said insistently. "We'll meet you back here as arranged."

Lupin looked uncertainly at Harry, clearly wondering why Kingsley hadn't just revealed himself.

Harry nodded and Lupin Disapparated away.

"I'm going to take your arm, Harry. We'll use side along Apparition. Don't resist."

Harry felt his arm being grabbed and then the familiar sensation of Disapparating.

*

Kingsley threw off his invisibility cloak and grinned, holding out his hand to Harry.

"I'm sorry about all the secrecy," he said. "Come in and get warmed up. Perhaps next time I'll remember Wales can be cold and wet this time of year."

Harry laughed and followed Kingsley into the large tent.

"I didn't want to show myself in case the hill top was being monitored, although the low cloud levels probably made that impossible."

Kingsley pointed his wand at the large stone circle in the middle of the enormous tent interior and the dwindling flame in the middle sprang to life. Harry gratefully warmed himself.

"I tried to visit you in your cubicle at the Ministry in London," said Harry with a slight shiver in his voice.

Kingsley grinned as he looked into the dancing flames.

"How is Delores these days?" he asked, warming his hands alongside Harry.

"Same as ever, I suppose. You should know, though, shouldn't you? I mean, she is still your boss, isn't she?" asked Harry.

"She's certainly entitled to give me orders," Kingsley replied with a smile.

Harry frowned, wondering what Kingsley was up to.

"Harry, at this moment you are at our principal mobile headquarters. We have others dotted around the country, but this is our main base of operations. We move the entire camp every two days or so, in order to avoid detection. It's a pain, frankly, but at least we are secure."

Harry nodded and turned to face Kingsley.

"I see you're wearing some of Fred and George's under-robes."

"Absolutely!" Kingsley replied with half a laugh. "These are standard issue out here, Harry. Mind you, I was rather pleased to get one of the few waistcoats that doesn't light up in the dark or play marching band music at random times."

Harry smiled and nodded.

"We even have a travelling court that comes with us."

"The Wizengamot?"

"Not exactly, Harry. All we have is a lower court that can remand suspects to Azkaban if we need it."

"Well," said Harry, "your new set-up certainly seems to be working. Umbridge had loads of reports she was giving as press releases."

"Those are mostly old reports, Harry. Speaking of reports," he added seriously, "we've been getting a number of reports that Ron Weasley has been seen with a number of undesirable individuals. Some are suspected to have Death Eater links."

Harry looked down and said quietly, "I know."

"I heard Arthur threw him out. Is that true?"

Again, Harry nodded.

"Mm," said Kingsley. "Well, talk to him if you get a chance, will you? He's not been reported doing anything illegal yet, but frankly it is only a matter of time. The people he's been associating with won't trust anyone not prepared to break the law himself. He'll be pushed into something, you mark my words."

Harry didn't know what to say. There really wasn't any point in him voicing his suspicions that Ron might actually be a willing participant.

"Are there any direct connections between the people Ron's seeing and Voldemort?"

"There are loose associations with some suspected sympathisers, but nothing direct. To be honest, I would say they were simple criminals and thieves rather than followers."

"I see," said Harry, wondering why he felt a little relieved at this news.

"Alright. So, what did you want to see me about?"

"Right. I wanted to ask how permanent John Bateman's memory modification is?"

"I performed it myself," confirmed Kingsley with a slight frown. "Are you worried he'll remember something?"

"Quite the opposite, actually. I think he erased knowledge of who the traitor might be."

"We've had reports that both Bateman and Miss Alice could be the traitors. I was advised not to contact them again by the Prime Minister until it could be established that they were in the clear."

"Well, they are both working together now to try and expose the traitor."

"Really? We didn't know that."

"Did Bear say anything when he was preparing the report he gave you? Both Miss Alice and Hermione agree that he probably knew something that might identify the traitor."

"The traitor that Falcon identified?"

"Yes. Hermione thought he might have said something that was a clue. She is sure he would have hidden the true meaning, although obviously we don't know why yet."

Kingsley frowned.

"He certainly didn't say anything while I was present, although," he added, trailing off.

"Yes?" asked Harry expectantly.

"Bateman did seem a little preoccupied. I just put it down to him worrying about the memory modification charm. We'd agreed to do it right after he'd finished."

Harry sighed deeply.

"Is there any way to reverse the charm without causing harm to Bear?"

"Yes, Harry," said Kingsley. "Actually, I should say the charm can be reversed without any long term adverse effects. What we need to consider very carefully, though, are the possible consequences of his memory returning.

"I think that Bear did know something that he recognised would do our cause a significant amount of damage if it was revealed at the time.

"I never did entirely buy the reasons he gave; I'd have trusted him to know something about you."

"Yes, so would I," agreed Harry. "Besides, he didn't want Miss Alice or the Prime Minister to have their memories modified. I've always wondered why that was."

"So, they didn't know whatever it is," said Kingsley, thinking aloud.

"How much did the Prime Minister know?" asked Harry.

"He knew everything the others knew. He got copies of all the reports even if he wasn't able to attend all the briefing meetings."

"Could anyone have seen his copies of the reports?"

"No. I kept them and was present at all times when he read them. They were never mixed up with his Despatch Box papers."

"It's just that the number of suspects is quite small."

"Tell me about it!" said Kingsley with half a laugh. "I honestly can't see who the traitor is, if it isn't Bateman or Miss Alice. The only others with the same level of clearance was the Prime Minister and myself. It was the Prime Minister who started all of this, so why on earth would he betray his own people? He could have closed us down instantly. Minister Scrimgeour would have been delighted, I can assure you."

"I just can't believe it could be Bear or Miss Alice, either," admitted Harry.

Kingsley handed Harry a small bottle with a red wax seal. He held it up to the firelight to see a red liquid inside.

"When Bateman smells the fragrance of the liquid in that bottle, Harry, his memory will return over the next few hours. He'll be a little dazed for a while, and sometimes people get bad headaches shortly after. The fragrance is unique and cannot be replicated, so don't lose it."

"Thanks."

"He'll need to get a long night's sleep in order for the process to work permanently, but make sure he doesn’t take anything to actually induce sleep. I should warn you, that he'll suffer some vivid nightmares while his mind copes with all the changes. Make sure he's in a safe, secure place. It would be best if someone watches over him too. I'd volunteer myself, of course, but I'm needed here."

Harry smiled and shook his head.

"No, it's alright. You've done more than enough already. Tell me, did Bear know his memories could be returned?"

"I told him at the time that it was possible, but that most people with broken memory charms could no longer function mentally. When I realised it was his intention to martyr himself in revealing the information, I modified the memory charm so it could be easily removed later. I didn’t actually see the need to tell him his memories could be restored without damaging his mind.

“I must admit, when all the stories of him possibly being the traitor came to light, I wondered if I had done the right thing. I didn’t act because it seemed to me the damage was done. I suppose you’ll find out shortly if I did the right thing.”

“Hermione and Miss Alice both agree that if his memories hadn’t been modified, the real traitor would have killed to protect themselves.”

*

Harry closed the door to the drawing room and sat down with the three others at the table.

He carefully placed the tiny bottle that Kingsley had given him in the middle of the white cotton tablecloth.

"Is it a restorative potion, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Kind of," he answered. "It's the smell of the fragrance that triggers the lifting of the memory charm."

"How interesting," said Mary smiling. "Smells are one of the most evocative things for provoking memories of long forgotten events from childhood."

Bateman frowned and said, "Shacklebolt should have known better. A simple smell isn't very secure. What if I'd smelled it somewhere?"

"He said the fragrance was unique and could not be replicated, even using magic."

"Oh."

"There must be literally millions of different scents that we can detect, John. I think Kingsley made rather a good choice, actually."

Bateman coughed uncomfortably.

"So, should we really do this?"

"You mean, can you be trusted?" corrected Mary.

"Exactly."

"Kingsley told me that you were prepared to suffer permanent brain damage to reveal your hidden memories," said Harry. "You knew you could not function or benefit from the information being revealed."

"But what if I didn't intend for those memories to be revealed?"

"Wouldn't you have taken steps to avoid that?" suggested Hermione.

"That's right!" exclaimed Mary. "Remember the gold coin that Harry gave you? You only knew that you mustn't lose it, but with no idea where it came from. You would have got Kingsley to warn you of the consequences, I'm sure of it."

"I'm still not sure," admitted Bateman seriously.

"Y- You mean, losing your recent memories?" asked Harry hesitantly.

Mary reached over and took Bateman's massive hand in hers.

"We've talked everything through, and we decided it wasn't a good enough reason not to proceed. I'll accept the consequences, whatever they are."

"Well, I suppose that puts you in the clear then," said Hermione with a smile. "As the traitor, you'd be motivated to keep John's memories forgotten."

"Actually, it doesn't," said Mary.

"If Bear knew Miss Alice was the traitor, he'd have had time to arrest her or something right after the raid on the Archive," said Harry. "Kingsley said he thought you were protecting more than just me," he added, turning back to Bateman.

Harry picked up the bottle and placed it a few inches closer to Bateman.

"Take it," he ordered. "It takes a few hours to work and you'll feel dazed. Oh, and we're to stay with you for the first night. You might have nightmares, apparently."

*

"Dobby, just tell me, will you?" pleaded Harry.

"Dobby does not like to, for he knows that Harry Potter will be disappointed in him," said the house elf.

"Please, Dobby. I know something has been bothering you."

"It has, Harry Potter," admitted the elf miserably.

Harry waited patiently, having knelt on the cold kitchen floor for some time trying to get Dobby to talk to him.

"Dobby was enjoying visiting Winky at Hogwarts, Sir, but he did not think he would stay so long as he did."

Harry smiled and nodded.

"There is much work for the house elves at Hogwarts, Sir, especially now that more and more students are returning to school."

"You want to go and work at Hogwarts again?" Harry asked gently.

Dobby nodded, his ears drooping.

"There isn't much work for Dobby here, Sir. Not that Dobby is complaining!" he added quickly.

"Dobby, it's been great having you here, but I wouldn't want you to stay if you'd be happier at Hogwarts. We'll all miss your company, mind you."

The house elf smiled and wiped his eyes.

"Have you spoken to Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, Sir. She said Dobby would be welcome to go back. Dobby could always come back here on his days off and clean, Harry Potter!" he added hopefully.

Harry laughed and said, "Hermione would kill me if I agreed to that!"

Dobby shrugged.

"Okay, so how much gold do I owe you?"

"Dobby is owed nothing, Sir! Harry Potter made Dobby take a year's salary in advance."

"No, when we couldn't agree how much, didn't we agree that I would pay a lump sum in the event you left my employment? Of course, I know you only agreed because neither of us dreamt it would ever happen."

"Well," said the elf slowly. "Dobby isn't leaving, is he, Sir?"

Harry laughed and asked, "How do you work that out?"

"Dobby will be pleased to continue in Sir's employment, once he has a little more work for Dobby to do."

"So would I, Dobby, but in the meantime you are going to have to accept some gold. That reminds me, I should really have another discussion with Kreacher about his wages."

*

The bedroom door opened silently and threw a narrow shaft of soft lamplight into the dark room.

Harry got up at once and went to the door. He quickly opened it and went out onto the landing.

Light briefly shone into the room revealing a sleeping Bateman with Mary sitting beside him next to the bed.

"How is he?" whispered Hermione as Harry closed the door behind him.

"He seems to be resting peacefully now. I think the nightmare phase is over, thank goodness."

"I thought I heard a struggle earlier."

"I'm not sure what it was he thought he was fighting. I had to restrain him at one point."

"Did I hear shouting too?"

"Yeah," said Harry tiredly.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and said gently, "I keep worrying about what he'll be like when he wakes."

"I'm sure he isn't the traitor, Hermione."

"I wish I was so confident. I feel awful for even considering it, but he could be the traitor. Poor Mary. What must be going through her head?"

There was the sound of a soft murmur from the bedroom.

"I'll watch over them," said Hermione. "Try to get a couple hours sleep, Harry."

Harry nodded and gently kissed her forehead before they parted.

*

The next morning, Bateman looked a terrible state. His hands shook slightly and he could barely open his eyes.

Hermione prepared a headache remedy for him before breakfast, but it seemed to do little good. He also refused anything to eat and drank only water.

Bateman excused himself and climbed the basement stairs leaving the others to worry and wonder of the potion had worked at all.

After a few minutes Harry went looking for him and found him in the drawing room clutching onto the table as if afraid of falling.

"I wish this damned room would stop rotating around me."

Harry snorted and went over to help him into a seat before sitting down opposite.

"I've had hangovers that were nothing compared to this," Bateman complained.

Harry realised that his report was lying open in front of him.

"Do you remember anything significant about the report?"

"I can barely read, to be honest."

"Why don't you go back to bed and rest properly?" suggested Harry. "There's no hurry, is there?"

"Really? I think we've waited long enough, actually."

"We can go while you rest."

"No," said Bateman flatly, and then looked up with a slightly confused look on his face.

"What is it?"

"I felt I wanted to say something to you, only it's gone now. I can't remember."

"Something about the address from the journal?"

"Actually, more like something about what might happen if you go in alone and unprepared."

Bateman stood again and wavered slightly.

"What I need is some fresh air," he announced. "Go and get ready. I want to check the area around that address in the Journal."

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 18 - Framed

It took Bateman over an hour to get himself ready. The others all tried to put him off from going so soon, but each had as little success as Harry had.

Bateman was also finding it increasingly difficult to converse with Harry. He would suddenly freeze, apparently half remembering things that he needed to sort out in his mind before continuing.

Hermione seemed to cause him the least problems, but Mary found herself turning away to hide her welling tears at the cold, business-like way Bateman addressed her. He wasn't rude or unpleasant towards her, but it seemed it was now impossible for him to see her as anything but the analyst Miss Alice.

In the short period that they had known them, Harry had grown to see that the person who was Mary Happell was very different from the Miss Alice he'd been introduced to in that London bunker. These differences were clearly beyond Bateman for the present.

The worst thing was that their closer friendship appeared to have been lost from Bateman's memories.

They left Grimmauld Place in pairs and travelled separately to the east London train station nearest the address in the Journal.

Harry and Mary just glimpsed Hermione and Bateman as they exited the ticket office.

"I'd like to buy a street map," said Mary, and so they tried to find one in the small kiosk in the station.

As Mary was unimpressed with the maps they offered, Harry suggested they try a newsagent. Here they found a street atlas and planned their approach to meet with the others behind the address in about an hour's time.

Harry had no idea how the others would get there without their own street map, but he had no worries about them getting lost.

They crossed over the busy high road and walked along a few yards until they came to a park entrance.

Only a few feet along the path and the traffic noises seemed subdued by the lush green shrubbery. They walked on, enjoying the morning.

"How does John seem to you?"

Harry hesitated before answering. Hermione had warned him about not making promises that Bateman would be fine. They just didn't know yet.

"He's clearly still a bit mixed up, but you could see him improving, even this morning."

"Yes, but I didn't really mean that. Was his reaction what you expected?"

"I've never seen anyone having their memories restored," he admitted, "but this wasn't what I expected, no. From what Kingsley described, I had assumed that he would have a rough night but that would be it."

"He seems to be remembering things that are contradictory."

"Well, Kingsley did say he would be confused for a while. That's the weird thing, actually. Bear seems to be going through everything in reverse."

"Could it be because he isn't a wizard?"

"I wondered that, too."

"Wouldn't Kingsley have said something?"

"Yes, if he knew."

Mary sighed deeply and said, "Harry, this is going to sound awful, but what if something else has happened? What if John isn't just struggling with the effects of that potion."

"How do you mean?"

"What if he's been given more than one memory modification?"

Harry frowned.

"He did seem to act differently towards you," he admitted. "He was always much warmer towards you in the briefings."

"I think we should catch up with the others and get out of here."

"Okay, but Bear won't be happy," said Harry, taking his coin out of a pocket. "Let's sit down while I write them a message."

"Meet us in park. Mary wants to go back. Do not go to address."

Hermione's reply came back almost at once.

"No. Come to address now."

Harry groaned and said, "I thought we'd agreed not to do that."

*

"I think it's that red brick building on the corner," said Harry as they approached.

"Should we go down the next road to look at it from behind?"

"Let's walk past the front first," he suggested.

As they got to within a few yards, an elderly looking gentleman emerged from the building. Looking decidedly shaky, he moved surprisingly quickly with the aid of his two walking sticks.

A moment later, they heard, "Uncle John? Where have you got to now?"

A young woman rushed out and caught the old man up.

"Uncle John, at least come in and look around. It looks lovely inside."

Mary and Harry looked at each other in astonishment. The young woman was Hermione, except she was now wearing a different coat.

They hurried to join her just in front of the building sign that read, "Residential Home for the Elderly."

Hermione gently but firmly wheeled the old man around and led him back towards the entrance where a smiling nurse was now waiting for them.

"Ah, you must be Mr Brown's other family?" the nurse asked. "His grand-niece did say you hoped to arrive in time."

"Hi," said Harry, receiving a bone-crushing handshake.

Mary just smiled and shook hands before following them inside.

While the nurse showed Hermione and Mary around the facilities, Harry took over minding duties.

He almost laughed out loud when Bateman winked at him from under his tattered trilby hat. Harry wondered where on earth they had got the outfit from.

"We are a private residential home catering for the elderly who enjoy a degree of independence whilst living in a safe environment," explained the head carer. "Residents are expected to cook for themselves but cleaning assistance is provided.

"Mr Brown is slightly younger than our typical resident, but he would be welcome. We currently have a single apartment that is vacant that would be most suitable, I'm sure."

"Are staff resident here too?" asked Mary interestedly.

"Two members of staff are resident, but all rooms have emergency assist pull cords. Help is never far away."

As a stooped Uncle John complained loudly about each and everything that was pointed out to him, the nurse wasn't too displeased when he announced he was off to look around the gardens.

Once back in the corridor, however, Harry followed him up some stairs in search of the apartment identified in the Journal.

"We need to be quick," warned Bateman when they were alone.

The front door was painted a violent red colour. Harry was about to raise his wand to the lock when Bateman pulled his hand down.

"Cameras, Harry," he hissed. "There's one each end of the corridor. Turn your back to one and I'll obscure the other."

The door unlocked quickly but before they could enter they were disturbed.

"Come on, Uncle," said Harry loudly. "This isn't the way to the garden after all, is it?"

The new nurse smiled understandingly at Harry and took a firm hold of Bateman's arm.

"Let's see if we can't find that garden, shall we?"

Harry discretely re-locked the door and then followed. They would return later.

*

Bateman kept up his old man act until they had got a couple of streets away from the residential home. Harry walked slowly with him while Hermione and Mary walked ahead, deeply engrossed in a serious conversation. They seemed keen to move quickly, and Harry had the impression that they'd rather have their discussion out of their earshot.

"I thought we were going to wait before going in?" asked Harry.

"You sound like Hermione," Bateman replied dryly.

He looked around and then decided he could dispense with his disguise. He removed his old tattered jacket, straightened up and removed his hat. The transformation was remarkable.

"Well, it just seemed a good opportunity to have a look around. I hope the other two got more information than I did, though."

"How do you feel now?"

"Much better, thanks. I've still got a bit of a headache, but that may have been from Hermione nagging me."

Harry snorted.

"She's not that bad."

"I know," said Bateman with a smile. "Listen, Harry. I think that I'm the reason Mary and Hermione rushed ahead. They probably both wanted to argue about me."

"Why?"

"Let's just say, I think they will propose something shortly that you won't agree with. What I'm saying is, let's go along with what they want for now."

Mary and Hermione were waiting for them at the next corner, right in front of a Pub entrance.

"I could really do with a pint," said Bateman longingly.

Hermione looked behind her and gave the establishment a slightly disapproving look. Mary's own disapproving look changed into one of resignation.

"They do bar meals here," she said. "We might as well eat and decide what we'll do next."

Bateman didn't need any encouragement. He quickly pulled the lounge bar door open and ushered them all inside.

*

"Honestly," said an exasperated Mary, who was fed up of looking at the miserable face Bateman was pulling as he stared at the sparkling mineral water she's ordered for him. "If you want a glass of beer, order yourself some."

"No," he said, not entirely convincingly, "you're right. I shouldn't drink alcohol if I'm coming with you."

Harry cleared his throat and asked, "What did you learn this morning?"

Hermione started and said, "Flat fourteen is occupied by on of the resident staff members. His name is Summersby. Judging by the amount of post in his pigeon hole, he seems to have been away a while."

"It will be dark in a couple of hours," said Bateman. "We shouldn't need to wait until night before paying the place a visit."

"Is that wise?" asked Mary. "That flat is up on the second floor and can't have more than two windows facing the street outside. Most of the light comes in through the windows facing the courtyard, and that's all floodlit."

"There are a couple of rooflights we could use," replied Bateman with a smile, "but I rather hoped that Harry and Hermione could get us in there by other means."

"Use a Portkey again?"

"Yes."

"What about the noise, though?"

"What noise?"

"Well, me screaming my head off in shear terror, for one," quipped Mary with a smile. Hermione laughed and nodded.

"Why don't I go in and look around on my own?" suggested Harry.

"No, Harry," said Bateman seriously. "Apart from the fact that there could be something dangerous waiting for you, somehow I doubt if you'd know what it is we're looking for."

Harry looked to Mary for support.

"Hermione and I were discussing something earlier," she said carefully.

"I was concerned," Hermione interrupted, addressing Bateman, "that you seemed to be unusually motivated to get inside that flat. You acted almost as if you knew there was something we had to find."

"And you went straight to the front door of the flat, John," continued Mary.

"What are you saying?" said Harry, feeling indignant on his friend's behalf. "There was a sign that said where all the flats were right in the entrance lobby! I thought we were all keen to find out what's in there."

Bateman smiled.

"I didn't see any sign," admitted Mary with a smile.

"But you can't deny that you were extraordinarily keen to get in there," persisted Hermione.

"That is true," said Bateman gently. "I can't explain it. I've never seen that place before and I'm fairly sure I've never heard of this Summersby before. It hasn't come back, but I'm sure there is something important for me in that flat."

"Can you be any more specific?" asked Harry.

"No," replied Bateman. "It's just like with you, Harry. I'm sure there's something important I need to tell you, or maybe show you, but the harder I try to remember, the less it becomes clear.

"When I woke up this morning, I swear to you I knew exactly what it was. I knew I had to write it down, but by the time I'd grabbed a pencil my mind was blank again."

"Well," said Mary gently, "perhaps we should all visit the flat. Anyway, I was telling you about the discussion Hermione and I had earlier."

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I've decided not to return to your house, Harry. I'm going to ask John to come with me too."

"What? No," said Harry.

"It's okay, Harry," said Bateman.

"I trust you," said Harry angrily. "I trust you both."

"We can't be sure, Harry."

"When the real traitor finds out you are investigating, and actually getting somewhere," Harry continued firmly, "you are both going to become targets. Do you seriously expect me to lose one or both of you just because you can't prove it wasn't you?"

"Harry," said Hermione gently, and he saw she was looking a little red in the face. "We've got things to do, and they've got things to do. Now that Ron," she added before hesitating. "Well, we need to use our time wisely."

Harry looked at Bateman and then remembered that he'd asked him to go along with what he knew they would ask.

"Okay," he said finally, "but I'm not happy about this."

*

Hermione refused point blank to allow Mary and Bateman to use the first Portkey that Harry created. She could see, as could the others, that he was still feeling angry when he charmed the toothpick.

As he vanished the unused Portkey, it gave a menacing electric crackle that betrayed the dark origins of Harry's Portkey creation skills.

Harry tried again, wishing rather than believing that he could create a Portkey as skilfully as he'd seen Dumbledore do it. The very thought of his old headmaster seemed to calm him.

He started seeing the pure electric blue glow as he whispered, "Portus!" the second time.

Harry looked over to Hermione to see if she might approve his latest effort.

He opened his mouth to explain but she cut across him, saying warmly, "I know, Harry. It was written all over your face."

The four of them landed gently, by Harry's standards, in the middle of the carpeted living and dining room area.

They pulled the curtains and put the lights on.

"I'll bolt the front door in case we get disturbed," said Bateman.

Now that he was actually inside, Harry felt very uncomfortable about searching through someone's home. He could see that Mary and Hermione felt the same way.

The three of them hadn't moved before Bateman returned sorting though a bundle of post.

"What's up?" he asked.

"This is someone's home," said Mary.

"Really? You'd think they would have a bed if they lived here, wouldn't you?"

"What?" asked Mary, immediately marching down the short lobby. Harry and Hermione followed. On one side was a small bathroom and on the other was the only bedroom. The door was wide open, and there was indeed no bed. The only thing in the room was a pile of junk mail, presumably collected from the pigeon hole downstairs.

Hermione immediately checked the mail while Mary went back into the living room.

Harry followed and went into the long narrow kitchen from a door next to the lobby. He found that all of the kitchen cupboards were bare and the fridge contained nothing but a single sock.

It took him a while to get the small freezer open, mainly because of the amount of ice that was inside. Bizarrely, he found a pair of training shoes inside, but no food at all.

Bateman came in and kicked the black skirting plinth to one of the base units.

"Good hiding place," he explained before leaving the room. Harry got down and checked under each of the units, but found nothing. He also checked on top of the high wall units and behind each of the appliances. He was glad the floor appeared to be solid or he was sure they'd be taking up all the floorboards as well.

Having run out of places to check, Harry went back into the living room.

Deciding not to disturb Mary, he ventured back to the lobby. The bathroom had practically been dismantled by Bateman. He had removed all of the cistern casings as well as the bath panel.

"Nothing here," he said emerging from the boiler cupboard.

They all returned to the living room where Mary was standing and staring at the furniture.

"What do you notice about this room?" she asked.

"This is the only room with any real furniture in it," suggested Harry.

"It looks like this room had to look normal in case there were visitors," said Hermione.

"Yes," agreed Mary, walking over to the polished timber sideboard. "John, come and look at these photographs, will you?"

They all went over. On top of the sideboard were several small photographs each displayed in a small gilt silver frame. Harry guessed there were around twenty or so of various sizes.

"Take your time," Mary said gently. "Do you feel drawn to any?"

Bateman studied each photograph intently, but did not pick any of the frames up.

He shook his head despondently.

"Take one, John," she prompted. "Any one at all."

Bateman reached over and made to take one from the front. Then he hesitated before taking one from right at the back.

"Does that photograph mean anything to you?"

"No, not exactly," he said, turning the silver frame over in his hands. "This frame does, though."

He pushed the catches at the back of the frame and the glass came away with the photograph.

"Ah," said Bateman, handing the frame to Harry. "This frame has an old photo behind it."

Bateman soon gave up and handed the glass to Mary. With delicate fingers, she gently peeled away the hidden photograph and immediately handed it to Bateman.

"I know him!" said Harry at once, looking over Bateman's shoulder. "He's-"

"Not here, Harry," interrupted Bateman, pocketing the small photograph. "Let's go. There's nothing else to see here."

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 19 - A Park View

The Portkey landed them in the middle of a playing field that was only about two hundred yards from the train station. Fortunately the ground was soft and the spot they arrived at was in near total darkness.

"Promise me you'll practise doing that thing some more," said Bateman, extending his hand to pull Mary to her feet.

"John, stop complaining," she chided him at once. "I'm sure Harry has far better things to practise. Besides, he's improved enormously from the first time."

"That's good to hear," said a disembodied voice.

Harry and Hermione instantly withdrew their wands.

"Alright, don't get excited. It's only me."

"Kingsley?"

"See those bushes over there? Go in there and climb through the rope hoop hanging from the tree. It’s even darker over there, so watch your step."

Harry led the way and with some difficulty due to the darkness, scrambled through the bushes. In the centre there was a tree with a length of thick rope hanging from it. On the end was a large tied loop.

Harry held it up for Hermione. She stepped through and then vanished. Mary followed her and then Bateman went next.

Harry looked around one last time before going through himself.

"Tsk, tsk," said a smiling Kingsley as he emerged from his invisibility cloak. "Using an unauthorised Portkey, eh?"

Harry smiled back guiltily and Kingsley laughed.

"Come on up," he said. "Just stand with me on this carpet."

"Is that a flying carpet?" asked Hermione interestedly.

"Yes, but Arthur says it's legal to fly it indoors."

As the five of them rose up, Harry felt a little unstable on the undulating carpet. The rope hoop had allowed them to enter what looked like a narrow canvas shaft. The carpet continued upwards several feet until they emerged into the middle of a large open tent.

"Like my tree house?" asked Kingsley. "Come and look at the view."

He led them outside onto a wide carpet covered balcony.

"We have to stay behind the lace netting to remain invisible," he said, "but even so, the view isn't bad from here."

Harry looked back. Kingsley's tree house looked like a tent that had been impossibly pitched several feet above the treetops.

"Dare I ask what you were up to this afternoon?"

"We were searching an address we found in Colonel Falcon's Journal," said Mary, following Kingsley back into the warm.

"I see. Is that the only reason you came to this area?"

"Yes, why?" asked Harry.

"Well, this is actually one of our surveillance posts. We've been keeping an eye on activity around a property overlooking the park. When you arrived earlier, the Aurors on duty reported your presence and I thought I'd take an interest."

"What property are you watching?"

"Not the one you visited," replied Kingsley with a smile. "Did you find anything of interest?"

"Just a photograph," said Bateman, reaching into his pocket.

"May I ask, did the Journal reveal anything else?"

"No," relied Bateman. "Just the address that Mary found. I took your memory restorative, but it hasn't helped much."

"When did you take it?"

"Yesterday."

"We were a little worried about his reaction, actually," said Hermione. "John had a rough night but he was more confused this morning, if anything. He also complained of severe headaches."

"I'm fine," said Bateman.

"Sit down a moment, will you John?" asked Kingsley, conjuring a simple wooden stool for him to sit on.

Bateman sat down and Kingsley bent down to look intently into his eyes.

"I'm going to shine a light into your eyes now," said Kingsley, raising his wand. "Don't be alarmed. I'm not going to perform any magic on you."

The wand tip shone brightly as Kingsley examined each of Bateman's eyes in turn.

Finally, he stood up and said, "I don't think it's anything to be worried about, but you have had a reaction. I'm not sure, but I would guess that you have a slight allergy to one of the constituents of the fragrance."

"I don't suffer from any allergies."

"Well, I doubt if that is entirely true. Everyone has an immune system that reacts to their environment. You probably ignore or don't usually notice the symptoms, that's all."

"Good," said Harry. "At least this means you can both come back with us, now."

Kingsley frowned and Mary explained, "We had planned to part this evening. For the last few days we've been staying with Harry and his family."

She turned to Harry and said gently, "I'm sorry, but nothing has changed. I'm not going back."

"Nice try," quipped Bateman giving him a wink.

Harry sighed as Kingsley asked, "May I see the photograph you found?"

"Scrimgeour introduced me to him as Absco Tardov, although that's not his real name. He's a spy working for the Ministry of Magic. I didn't find out what his actual role is," Harry admitted. "We didn't exactly get on."

"How did Falcon know about him?" asked Bateman. "Who is he really working for?"

"I've never seen him at the Ministry," said Kingsley.

"He quite likes staying under his invisibility cloak, actually," said Harry.

Kingsley handed the photograph on to Mary.

"Good grief," exclaimed Mary, who hadn't seen the photograph before then. "I know him too!"

"How?"

"He's an IT technician. He worked in support services about two levels above us back at the London bunker.

"He was hopeless. He knew practically nothing about the computers he was employed to maintain. I gave instructions to exclude him after I found out he was asking questions.

"After that, he had the nerve to apply to work directly for us. I assumed Falcon had put him up to it and didn't even give him an interview."

"Okay," said Harry, "so now we know who the traitor is. Tardov was obviously passing information to the Ministry of Magic. Falcon must have found something out."

"Yes," agreed Mary slowly. "The Journal confirms that Falcon became suspicious when he saw an unidentified male enter a room with only one exit. Falcon followed but discovered he'd vanished."

"What?" exclaimed Hermione.

"I thought you said the Journal didn't contain anything but the address?" added Harry.

"I may have been a little economical with the truth," admitted Mary sheepishly. "I'm sorry, but until Kingsley explained John's reaction I didn't feel comfortable divulging everything I knew."

"But," began Harry indignantly, but Bateman cut across him.

"It was the right thing to do," he said firmly, putting an end to the argument before it began.

"Well, if he could Apparate around the bunker, there probably wasn't much information he couldn't gain access to, despite all the security," continued Hermione.

"True."

"How confident are we that Tardov was only working for the Ministry of Magic?"

"Just a moment," interrupted Hermione. "If Falcon suspected Tardov was a wizard, would he really describe him as a traitor?"

"Ah, yes, I'm afraid that is true,” said Mary. “The Journal only describes the person we think we've identified as Tardov as a suspect. The Journal speculates upon there being a Traitor, but Falcon could indeed have meant someone else."

"Did Falcon identify any other suspects in his Journal?"

"Yes. I was right at the top of his shortlist, and John was second."

"Only second?"

"Don't worry," said Mary with a smile. "He probably only put you there to annoy you."

"Any more?"

"Yes, but the Journal isn't clear. The number three spot was left clear and Corporal Duke was fourth followed by the rest of John's team."

"Who could Number Three be?"

"Could it be me?" speculated Kingsley.

"No, you never met Falcon and you always exited using the private lifts. There are no logs of your comings and goings and there are no security cameras either."

"He couldn't have meant the Prime Minister, could he?"

"I wondered about that, but Falcon could have no idea he was even involved to the degree he was. Besides, the PM actually knew very little to betray anyway. He had no specifics of the operations. I assume you didn't brief him separately?" Mary asked Kingsley.

"No," he answered. "The only time he asked for more information was concerning the Archive raid. Even then, he just wanted reassurance that no unnecessary risks would be taken. If you recall, I had few operational details to tell in that instance."

"Quite."

"Anyone else?"

"Just one."

"Go on."

"Well," said Mary slowly, "it's just that one name is missing from the names listed. I thought it rather strange when I first deciphered the list."

"Whose name is missing?"

"Harriet Castle."

"Who?"

"She was the young lady that the dashing Specialist Careem was so smitten with."

Harry looked over to Mary and thought she was different somehow. She was sitting upright and now looked less relaxed. Then he realised what it was. He was listening to the analyst Miss Alice, not Mary Happell.

"Oh yes!" said Bateman, who showed no sign of noticing any difference in Mary. "I'd forgotten her. She never had access to everything, though, did she?"

"She had no sight of my briefings nor any of the minutes, to my knowledge. She did however see all of my instructions to the Police and most of their reports back. She also organised most of the logistics."

"Could she be a witch?"

"No," said Miss Alice at once. "I'm afraid I tested her in that respect."

"What did you do to her?"

"Put her in considerable danger, actually. I arranged an industrial accident for her. She failed to use magic to help herself or the others in her vicinity. I was convinced after that."

Hermione looked at Miss Alice in complete shock. Harry supposed that having become accustomed to sending operatives into dangerous situations, she had acquired a stronger stomach than most.

"Was she permanently injured?" asked Bateman.

"Not permanently, no."

"What if someone tried to impersonate her?" asked Hermione.

"Well, we all undertook random questionnaires. There were no sudden changes in answers from hers. If there was an impersonator, they would have had to memorise an impossibly detailed and intimate things."

"I certainly haven't missed having to complete those things every couple of weeks," muttered Bateman. “Honestly, I could hardly remember the answers myself.”

“That was the idea and honest errors in memory were factored in.”

“I never could remember what cartoon animals were on my pyjamas before I went to school. Who could?”

“You had giraffes aged eight and monkeys until you were ten. After than it was Dan Dare or Superman.”

“How on earth?”

"Where is she now?" asked Harry, interrupting them.

"No idea," answered Miss Alice. "I was excluded from that level of security almost immediately after the Archive raid."

"Do you still have access, Bear?"

"No. My clearance was revoked just after I had my memory modified. It was only supposed to be temporary while they investigated what happened, but it was never fully reinstated. We were all reassigned shortly after."

"Do you think Careem would know how to contact her?"

"I'll ask him," said Bateman.

"We'll ask him," corrected Miss Alice.

"Oh," said Bateman darkly. "Just for a moment there, I forgot I was still under suspicion."

"I didn't say that," said Miss Alice lightly, "but we shouldn't take any chances. Where is Careem living these days?"

"I don't know exactly, but I have a method to contact him. We just need to place a personal advert in a national newspaper telling him to get in touch. I just need to call the booking office. I have an account, so there's nothing to pay."

"Why did you set up an account?"

"I knew I might be on the run and lacking cash."

Miss Alice raised her eyebrows in surprise and Harry suddenly remembered something.

"Here," he said fumbling in his pockets. "I withdrew some cash for you."

He handed Bateman two generous rolls of bank notes.

"There's way too much here, Harry," said Bateman offering two of them back.

"No, please take them. You don't know when we'll see each other again."

*

Kingsley promised to escort Mary and Bateman safely back to the train station. Harry and Hermione would Disapparate directly from Kingsley's treetop tent.

Just before they went, Bateman pulled Harry to one side.

"I know you're not happy about this, but it'll work out in the end."

Harry bit back his anger, and managed to say, "I feel responsible for you both. I felt terrible the first time you lost your memory and now it feels like I'm losing you all over again."

"Hey, this won't be forever. Once I finally remember what it is I want to tell you, I'm sure I'll be kicking your door down and blaming you for not reminding me like you were supposed to."

Harry laughed.

"Did you read your letter?" he asked tentatively.

"What letter?"

"The letter you wrote to yourself. You know, to explain."

"I wrote a letter?"

"Yes! I saw you seal it. You finished it a couple of hours before you took the potion."

"I don't remember. Still, can't be that important, can it?"

"Maybe you left it somewhere," suggested Harry.

"Forget it. Listen, Harry. I want you to promise me that you'll continue practising and do the lessons that Hermione wants you to do. You are getting very advanced in some things but you are lacking in others, from what she says. Use the time you have, Harry."

He placed a large hand on Harry's shoulder and gave him an encouraging squeeze.

*

Hermione pulled a miserable Harry by his hand up the stairs towards their bedrooms at Grimmauld Place.

He didn't resist, and soon found himself being pushed down onto the side of his bed.

Hermione climbed on behind him and began massaging his shoulders until he slowly began to relax.

Stopping briefly, Hermione dropped a small flat disk into his lap.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.

"It's a message wheel. If you spin the centre, when it comes to rest the small window will show the exact same word or phrase that its twin is set to. I gave the other one to Mary."

"Miss Alice, you mean," he muttered before spinning the wheel.

"Hey, she's just doing her best,” Hermione said sharply, her hands pressing down to emphasise her annoyance. “It can't be easy trying to cope knowing the person you love can't remember ever having feelings for you."

The small disk stopped spinning and read, "Okay," in the small window.

"This is clever," said Harry, "and I'm sorry."

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him before climbing off the bed.

"Hey, I said I was sorry," Harry complained. "Don't go."

"Harry, we need to be up early tomorrow. You are really behind with your coursework and I have so much to read up on."

She reached the door before he looked up.

"They'll be alright, won't they?" asked Harry.

"I hope so," she replied gently. "Goodnight, Harry."

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

AN: Two Chapters posted at once due to short length. Did you miss the previous Chapter “A Park View?”

Chapter 20 - Personal Services

Bateman put the two tall mugs of coffee down on the small table and then squeezed with some difficulty into the moulded plastic chair opposite Mary.

She smiled with amusement and said, "Thanks."

"Make the most of that drink," he muttered. "I spent half of Harry's cash on them."

Mary nodded and said, "Yes, well you pay for the surroundings in these sorts of places."

Bateman rolled his eyes and tried again to get comfortable. This wasn't easy as unfortunately their table for two, wedged between the side wall and a vending machine, had been the only one available in the busy coffee shop.

"Why don't you have something to eat?" suggested Mary. "The pastries look rather nice."

"No time," Bateman replied with a glance at his watch.

"Why did you buy us coffee then?"

"I needed an excuse to collect our message."

"Oh. I wondered why we didn't go into the café next door." Then she mouthed, "So what was the message?"

Bateman moved the pot of sugar sachets and discretely handed Mary a tiny slip of paper. After a moment or two, she opened it inside the palm of her hand.

Mary frowned slightly, trying to understand the message. There were just three numbers that had been typed onto one side of the flimsy cigarette paper.

"29 396 14"

Mary knew better than to speculate out loud, but before she had a chance, Bateman was struggling to free himself from his seat again. Mary took a last sip of coffee and then got up herself.

Outside the entrance, Mary could not keep the smile off her face as she said, "This way, I think."

She handed two pound coins to a tramp standing next to a waste bin on the other side of the pavement before setting off ahead of Bateman.

"You shouldn't encourage them," warned Bateman quietly. "Judging from the smell of alcohol, I'd say your handout will just go on booze."

"Come on, or we'll be late."

"How do you know what time we're meeting?"

"Well, it is almost twenty-five minutes past two now. Do we have to cross the road to get to the even numbers?"

Bateman dug both hands deep into his overcoat pockets in annoyance.

"I thought it was quite a good code, actually," he said as Mary stopped outside a plain door between two shops.

"So who lives at number 396?" she asked with a grin.

Bateman didn't answer, but at exactly twenty-nine minutes past the hour, he knocked lightly on the door. Almost at once the door opened a crack and a small piece of paper was trust into his hands. The door shut with a click.

"Come on," he said, going back along the pavement where they had just come from.

"So, is it another code?" she asked hopefully.

Bateman groaned quietly and discretely handed her the second piece of paper.

This time, Mary was actually rather mystified. The square shaped paper was completely blank on both sides.

"Did you fold it like this?" she asked, hurrying to keep pace with Bateman.

"I folded it once," he replied with a smile, feeling some satisfaction that at least the second message was taking her a little longer to understand.

They reached a traffic junction, but Bateman did not cross immediately. Instead he walked slowly over to a pedestrian barrier and looked around. He was looking for anyone that might have been following them.

"I think we go down there," said Mary without pointing. "The road where that green sign is."

Bateman frowned.

"How did you know? I folded the paper to hide the indicator."

Mary smiled and said, "You folded it too hard. I realised that the folds indicated a junction, although I didn't know it was this one, obviously. Anyway, once I knew which one wasn't your fold, the direction had to be the diagonal fold in the corner. Simple," she added just to rub it in.

Bateman didn’t say anything, but walked casually over to the pedestrian entrance and pressed the crossing request button. Mary stood at his side, smiling broadly and looking forward to the next clue while they waited for the traffic lights to change.

She knew it as silly, but she did enjoy these kinds of puzzles and games. As a child her mother had often sent her and her friends off on mystery tours around their small village, following a trail of clues that always lead them right back where they started. Often villagers would be roped in to give clues in exchange for hidden objects.

The pedestrian crossing indicator changed to the green walking man but it took the beeping and Bateman’s tug on her arm to bring her back from her childhood reverie.

They crossed the junction and walked a few yards past the green sign. Then Bateman stopped outside a Newsagents and looked at the local cards that had been placed in the window.

Amongst the various Cleaner Wanted and Dog Walking Service advertisements, one card appeared to catch Bateman's attention. Mary knew only because he looked up and down the street again.

Mary quickly scanned the cards, desperately trying to select the right one and get the message.

Bateman gently took her elbow and turned her away.

"Come on," he said gently.

At the last moment, she saw it.

Bateman snorted seeing the look of indignant outrage on Mary's face.

"Let's go," he urged, but couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice.

"How could you?" she muttered angrily.

"Well," began Bateman, pulling her along. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, no-one else looking at those cards would know it was your phone number, would they?"

"Perhaps, but why couldn't I be providing a Piano Tuning Service or something?"

"I didn't know you could tune a piano," he teased.

"I can’t, but at least it would be a little more respectable. I really dread to think what kind of messages will be on my answer machine.”

Bateman chuckled and pulled her on before she could stop and get a good swipe at him. They continued along the road for a couple of hundred yards into a residential area.

Mary tugged at Bateman again.

“Come on,” he urged. “This really isn’t the time to have a go at me. I promise-”

“No, John,” she said interrupting him. “I think we’re being followed.”

“Where?” he said seriously, not looking around.

“On the other side of the road,” she explained quickly. “He was about twenty feet behind us but he’s just gone behind that blue delivery van. Um, he’s wearing a flat cap and trench coat, and carrying a small briefcase.”

“There are traffic lights ahead. Let’s go left and see if he follows.”

They arrived at the crossroads and paused before turning left. They waited, but no-one appeared at all.

“I’m sure he was there,” said Mary as Bateman scanned all around the junction.

Bateman considered for a moment and then said quietly, “Let’s not take any chances. We’ll go left and then right again when we can.”

Mary nodded and they walked around the corner.

Mary gave an audible gasp when she saw the figure in front of them. Standing propped against a lamppost was the very same tramp she’s given money to when they were leaving the coffee shop.

He straightened up and suddenly his appearance of being slightly intoxicated just vanished. A black London taxi cab screeched to a halt and the rear passenger door flew open.

“Get in!”

*

Mary clung onto the bright red strap handle with both hands as the taxi sped off. Sliding and bumping around in the rear bench seat, she gave Bateman a long, dark look.

She would have liked to tell him off for practically throwing her into the back of the cab, but he was at that moment in conversation with the tramp sitting on one of the pull down rear facing seats.

Bateman turned to her and asked, “You okay?” Then, seeing her expression, asked, “What?”

Just then the tramp pulled off his filthy soiled overcoat. Then he removed his hat, beard and finally his long, matted hairpiece.

This completely distracted Mary from her annoyance with Bateman.

“Hi,” said the grinning young man.

“Hi,” replied Mary weakly.

They didn’t speak further until the cab dropped them off a few miles away. Mary saw that neither of the others were offering to pay the taxi driver, so she went up to his window and opened her purse.

“It’s okay, love,” said the driver in a broad Cockney accent. It was only when he winked at her that she recognised him as

Hagland, from Bateman’s original team.

Although impressed with the accent he was putting on, she was even more impressed that his cab driver imitation extended to cutting up two cars travelling in different directions. The sound of angry car horns heralded his departure even after he was out of view.

Mary turned back. Bateman was waiting for her in front of an open door. She hurried to enter.

*

“Thank you,” Mary said as she accepted a cup of tea from Specialist Careem. “Your tramp disguise was very effective.”

“Thanks. I try to avoid using it, to be honest,” he replied smiling. “The smell can get unbelievably bad sometimes.”

“Oh, we don’t need to believe,” agreed Bateman, wafting his hand under his nose.

Mary took a sip of tea and then placed her cup down again.

“Thank you for seeing us,” she began. “I do hope you won’t get into trouble for speaking to us. I don’t know if you know, but both of us have become under suspicion since the raid on the Archive.”

“We heard rumours,” agreed Careem. “I was interrogated for a while, but they didn’t seem to be taking the questioning very seriously. I couldn’t tell them much anyway, seeing as I never saw anything other than the missions I was directly involved with.

“However, I was told in no uncertain terms that there would be serious consequences if I cooperated in any way with either of you again.”

“Oh,” said Mary. “We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. Would you rather we leave.”

Bateman rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have met you at all if I felt that way,” said Careem kindly.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

“Of course,” she agreed.

“We’ve come to ask you about a particular friend of yours,” said Bateman.

“Who?”

“Tell us about Harriet Castle?”

Careem’s demeanour changed at once. He looked down into the cup he was cradling with both hands.

“I’ve not seen her for a while,” he said at length.

“I got the impression that you two were rather close,” said Mary quietly.

Careem nodded sadly.

“I was very fond of her. Still am, I suppose.”

Mary and Bateman waited patiently as Careem prepared to tell them.

“Things started to go wrong a couple of months ago. That’s when it got bad, anyway. I tried to get her to see a specialist, but she refused. Shortly after that she told me never to contact her again. I persisted for a while, but I could see I was just hurting her.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Careen shrugged, still not looking up.

“It’s been a few weeks now.”

“What was it that got bad?”

“Well, in the beginning it seemed to be just her memory. She’d forget things. Things we’d done together; times we’d gone out.”

“Was the specialist a neurologist?”

“No. I wanted her to see a psychiatrist. You see, sometimes she was like a different person. The very last time I saw her, I really thought I was beginning to get through to her. Then all of a sudden she gets this vacant look and then denied she even knew me.”

“That must have been very distressing,” said Mary. “Have you considered that she may have been influenced by something. Wizards and witches can perform memory charms.”

“And they can sometimes control what people say and do,” added Bateman.

Careem nodded.

“Of course I considered that. The problem I had was that there was no-one to talk to about it or contact someone who could help her. They closed down everything.”

“Do you still have an address for Harriet?”

“Yes. She gave up her flat, but I know where she moved to.”

“We’d like to talk to her. We promise not to upset her if we can help it.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Careem firmly.

Mary smiled and said, “Thank you. We should see her first, but if we believe she might have been affected by anything magic related, we’ll get help for her from Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

Careem nodded and asked, “Do you want to go now?”

“Yes.”

They all stood and in one fluid motion, Bateman withdrew his hand gun and held it at Careem’s head.

“John!” cried Mary. “What are you doing?”

Careem held his hands out and said without moving an inch, “He’s wondering why I didn’t ask after Harry and the others.”

“Obviously, you already know,” said Bateman.

Careem turned to look directly at Bateman.

“Obviously,” agreed Careem.

After a long moment, Bateman put up the gun and then returned it to its concealed holster.

“Oh,” said Mary with dawning comprehension.

*

“I’m sorry, Miss Alice, but I really can’t talk about it,” said Careem for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Please call me Mary while we’re out here,” she insisted, leaning forward from the rear passenger seat, steadying herself using the back of the front seat.

“Alright, Mary.”

“Are you working for another group set up by the Prime Minister?” she persisted. “I don’t understand, though. If you are working with another task force relating to the magical community, why couldn’t you get help for Harriet? I mean, how come-”

“Give it a rest, will you?” pleaded Bateman from the front passenger seat of the car. “If he did tell you about any Special Forces activities he was involved with I’d feel obliged shoot him.”

“You were going to shoot him anyway!”

Careem laughed as he skilfully manoeuvred the borrowed Cooper Mini through the streets.

“Well, I’d be shooting him for a better reason.”