The Final Lesson

jardyn39

Rating: PG13
Genres: Action & Adventure, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 05/01/2006
Last Updated: 30/01/2006
Status: completed

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 increasing 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 being told. Continuation of The Kemmynadow Betrayal.

Chapters

1. Introduction and Character Profiles

2. The Armourer's Lament

3. Breakfast

4. Breaking and Entering

5. Best Behaviour

6. Head of the Auror Department

7. Flowers

8. Nothing Much of Interest

9. Alan Who?

10. The Bookshop

11. The Golden Rowena

12. The Journal

13. Ron Returns

14. Traditions

15. Clever-Clogs

16. A Word

17. The Builders

18. Camp Auror

19. Framed

20. A Park View

21. Personal Services

22. Baby

23. Constituency Visit

24. Cold Tea

25. Hangman’s Rest

26. The Final Lesson

27. Ron's Tale

28. Green Light

29. The Lair

30. Secrets and Lies

1. Introduction and Character Profiles

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.

2. The Armourer's Lament

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.

3. Breakfast

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.

4. Breaking and Entering

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?”

5. Best Behaviour

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.”

6. Head of the Auror Department

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.

7. Flowers

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.

8. Nothing Much of Interest

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.

9. Alan Who?

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.

10. The Bookshop

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?"

11. The Golden Rowena

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.

12. The Journal

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.

13. Ron Returns

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.

14. Traditions

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.

15. Clever-Clogs

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.

16. A Word

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."

17. The Builders

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.

18. Camp Auror

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."

19. Framed

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."

20. A Park View

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."

21. Personal Services

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.”

22. Baby

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 21 - Baby

Mary rang the doorbell to Harriet Castle's flat on the second floor of the run down pre-war building. They had found the building entrance door wide open and litter was strewn around all of the common areas.

She certainly would have hesitated going into the building had she not been in the company of two soldiers.

Mary could not understand why Harriet had chosen to move into such a dump. Her salary grade had not been particularly high, but she ought to have afforded something much better.

Careem had hung back in case the sight of him caused Harriett to shut them out, but when it became evident that she was not coming to the door, he came forward again.

"Could she be out?" asked Bateman.

"Yes, but I don't think she is."

Bateman leaned against the door and pushed. The door creaked and flexed slightly and they could see that there were no bolts holding the door closed in addition to the central latch.

He straightened up again, waiting for Careem to agree before forcing the door open.

Careem hesitated for a long moment, but then nodded.

Bateman immediately pushed the door again, this time concentrating on the lock area. Mary had expected him to just kick the door down.

Suddenly there was a ping and the door was open. Bateman caught it quickly so there was no noise of the door leaf crashing inwards. He checked the inside lobby was clear and then stood aside for Careem to enter first.

Mary followed, and noted that the poorly fitted latch had failed without actually breaking. The keep was loose against the frame and it looked like one of the screws was missing.

Bateman closed he door and discretely checked the other rooms while Mary followed Careem into the living room area.

Mary made to switch on the room lights, but Bateman reached out to stop her just too late. Fortunately, either the bulbs were broken of the electricity was off.

Careem was hunched down in the far corner of the room, whispering words that Mary could not hear.

Then he stood and stepped back.

Mary almost gasped when she saw Harriet. She looked pale and very thin. Her skin had a tight waxy complexion and her eyes looked dark and tired.

Harriet seemed to come back to herself and realised that she had company.

She got up using the wall for support and fussily tried to first straighten her very creased and dirty skirt and then tidy her hair. Mary wondered when Harriet had last eaten or washed.

"Hello, Harriet," Mary said warmly. "It's wonderful to see you again."

Harriet looked confused for a moment but then said, "Hello," in a tiny voice. She didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t invited them into her flat.

Mary smiled and said, "We were hoping to ask you a couple of things about the Ministry activities."

"Oh, I see."

"Yes, there are a couple of things that might have come across your desk."

"Please," said Harriet, pushing herself off the wall, "take a seat. May I get you some refreshments? Tea?"

"Tea would be lovely," said Mary, sitting down and completely ignoring the rubbish that surrounded her. The entire flat smelled like the inside of a kitchen waste bin, but Mary was determined not to show any care or concern.

Harriet went out into the kitchen.

"Tea?" growled Bateman as soon as she'd gone. "There's no power and from the state of this place I can't believe she's got fresh milk."

Careem seemed to share Bateman's concerns and followed Harriet into the kitchen.

"STOP!" came a cry from the kitchen. "PLEASE, HARRIET! DON'T DO IT!"

They rushed into the kitchen.

Harriet was standing in the corner holding a large lethal looking carving knife to her neck.

Careem took a step forward, his arms outstretched.

Harriet made an indistinct cry and pushed the knife further up against her neck. A small amount of fresh blood trickled down from the blade.

Careem stepped back at once and said in a desperate voice, "Please, Harriet. Put the knife down. We came to help you, not hurt you. Please."

A single tear fell down Harriet's check.

"Must," she gasped. "Must do it. Must not answer questions. Must do it."

Mary ducked out of the room and desperately riffled through her bag for the spinning wheel Hermione had given her.

*

Harry tried to assess just how much pain he was in before venturing to open his eyes. His right knee, left elbow and his side were all competing to be crowned the bit that hurt the most.

Harry's head was pounding and to make matters worse he was being slapped into consciousness.

He opened his eyes, but the slapping didn't stop.

"Hey, Bear," he said between blows. "I'm awake now!"

"I thought you were faking," he said. "Here, let me pull you up."

"NO!" shouted Harry. "I mean, wait a moment. Let me sort the worst bits first."

He pointed his wand to his various body parts and performed elementary first aid and help reduce the worst of the pain.

"Have you seen my glasses? I must have lost them when I got hit."

"No," said Bateman, placing his spectacles into his palm. "I think I knocked these off trying to wake you."

Harry put his glasses on and looked around.

"How is she?" he asked at once.

"Harriet will be fine," said Careem. "She's in better shape than you, actually."

"I wonder why?"

"Harry, I'm really sorry," said Careem. "When you appeared like that and fired at her, I just kind of lost it for a moment."

"I had to break the connection," said Harry, struggling to his feet. "She was under an Imperious Curse. You can tell by looking into their eyes."

"Harry?"

Bateman and Careem parted to reveal Mary coming into the room.

"She's coming around."

Harry nodded and followed, rubbing his sore head.

Harriet was lying on the sofa, still bound with the ropes he had conjured before passing out due to the injuries Careem had inflicted on him. Harry had been surprised to find it very difficult to subdue Careem.

He knelt down and placed a hand on Harriet's wrist. Her pulse seemed normal.

She opened her eyes and Harry looked into them carefully.

"Hello, Harriet," he said gently. "I'm afraid you've been under an Imperious Curse. They tried to control you and make you hurt yourself. I'd like to help you, if I may. I can tell you how to beat the curse. All you need is a little willpower."

*

Careem and Hagland whisked Harriet away to an undisclosed safe house as soon as she was able to move by herself.

"It will be a few days before she can tell us much," said Harry.

"Mm?" mumbled Bateman, who didn't appear to be listening. "Oh, right."

"Is anything the matter, Bear?"

"Not really. I was just thinking how lucky we were that you were looking at that spinning message wheel thing when you were."

"True. I found that for the whole of yesterday I'd left it in my other trousers."

Bateman nodded.

"The other thing concerns Careem."

"It's okay," said Harry, gingerly flexing his elbow which still hurt a little. "He was just acting to protect Harriet. It did look like I was attacking her. Actually, I was, in a way."

"No, Harry, I didn't really mean that."

"What, then?"

"Careem attacked you and he hurt you quite badly before you were willing to defend yourself properly. I know you can do it when you want to, but why did you take so long for you to react?"

"I didn't want to hurt him. He's on our side, remember?"

"Harry, we're on the trail of a traitor and someone who would have no problem with killing you."

"You think that Careem is a traitor?"

"No. I'm saying that we don't know who it is. For all you know, it could have been Careem. It could even be me."

Harry began to laugh but soon stopped seeing Bateman's very serious expression.

"Do me a favour, Harry?"

"Sure, anything."

"When you see Shacklebolt, tell him about this conversation as well as the thing with Harriet."

"Er, okay. This hasn't been much of a conversation, though, has it?"

"Just so long as you tell him."

*

Almost a week passed and Harry received no further news about Harriet. During that time he had put in a request to see Kingsley that had remained unanswered. He had tried again to persuade Mary and Bateman to return with him, but they had refused outright. He had also pestered Hermione about what she thought Bateman's last comments were all about.

He was sure Hermione had a good idea what he was talking about, but refused to speculate about it.

This just made him fret more about what Kingsley might say to him.

Hermione, also, was growing tired of Harry's interference. He didn't mean to disturb her researches, but as she was now the only one he felt comfortable talking to, more often than not he would go looking for her.

Harry would have spent more time at the Burrow. He knew he was always welcomed there, but since the row with Ron he had felt awkward going there, especially without Hermione. Unlike him, she always managed to find the right thing to say to Mrs Weasley before she got too upset.

Such was the extent of his anxious boredom that he even went up to Hogwarts with the hope that Neville would practise with him.

Having sneaked past Professor McGonagall's classroom in case she decided what he really needed was more homework, and headed in search of Neville.

Unfortunately, Neville's combined Prefect and unofficial Head Boy duties made Harry’s idea impossible, and so he had visited Hagrid instead.

"Ello, Arry," said Hagrid. "What's up? You look miserable."

"No, Hagrid. It's nothing."

Hagrid gave him a shrewd look and put the kettle onto the fire to warm up.

"I'm goin' up t' see Grawp later, so you can come with me."

"That'd be good."

*

Harry pulled the large rough cloak Hagrid had lent him closer and shivered with cold.

“Is it much further, Hagrid?”

“Nah,” Hagrid replied from a few feet further up the path they were walking up. “Grawp’s cave is just a bit further up here.”

Harry took a quick look up but saw nothing but rocks and boulders ahead. He had spent little time sightseeing on their hike up the mountain, mainly because Harry needed to almost run to keep up with Hagrid’s leisurely pace.

Suddenly a loud howl filled the air.

“What was that?” Harry gasped between heavy breaths.

“Ah, sounds like Grawpy’s got company,” replied Hagrid unconcerned.

They climbed up a narrow steep path until they arrived at the bottom of a wide flat area at the top of an escarpment. Ahead the ground sloped gently upwards to the mouth of a large cave from where all the noise was coming.

Harry staggered up part way but then gave up and sat on a small boulder in front of the cave entrance to catch his breath.

Now that they were closer, Harry could tell that the howling wasn’t from distress. He guessed that Grawp and Herita were inside having an argument.

“Maybe we should, er, catch our breaths out here for a moment,” suggested Hagrid diplomatically, who unlike Harry, was not out of breath at all.

“Good idea,” said Harry with a smile between pants. “The view from up here is amazing, Hagrid. I don’t think I’ve ever been this high, even on my Firebolt.”

“Yeah,” agreed Hagrid fondly as they looked out over the Hogwarts grounds towards the horizon. The winter sun was going down fast and there was a pink tinge to the almost clear sky.

The noise from inside the cave stopped abruptly and they both turned to see Herita storm out of the cave.

“Hello, Herita,” said Hagrid with a grin. “Look, I’ve brought you a visitor.”

Herita had discarded her battle armour and instead had fashioned for herself a simple dress made from a patchwork of old Hogwarts bedclothes. Harry had almost forgotten how formidable she looked. She had to be several feet taller than Grawp.

Harry made to stand and say hello properly, but in what seemed two strides the Giantess was right next to him. Frowning, she picked him up as if he weighed nothing at all and took him into the cave.

*

Realising it was useless to struggle, Harry allowed himself to be carried deep into the cave, trying all the while to ignore Hagrid's echoing laugher. He saw flashes of flaming torches but little else before she stopped.

She sat down beside a roaring fire and sat Harry on her knee to have a good look at him.

Shaking her head, she pushed him into the crook of one arm. Harry tried to free himself, but he was like a protesting babe in arms with no chance of escape.

Suddenly she was holding a giant spoon up to his face and Harry realised with a shock of horror that Herita intended to feed him, just like a baby.

“I can feed myself!” he protested, but that meant opening his mouth. This was precisely the moment the Giantess was waiting for, and Harry heard Hagrid laughing himself senseless as he almost choked on the hot stew he was being fed with.

Almost as quickly, the spoon was replaced with a rough rag which she used to wipe his face.

When Herita had finished feeding him, she sat him up but didn’t allow him to leave her lap.

“Hello, Grawp,” said Harry, blushing while Herita fussed over his hair and clothes.

Grawp grunted an acknowledgement from his seat next to Hagrid, but he was staring at Herita with an undisguised look of puzzlement on his face.

“I were just sayin to Grawp, Herita,” said Hagrid, “how much nicer the cave is looking. I hardly recognise the place, especially with all the old carcasses gone,” he added conversationally.

Herita did not answer, but she relented from her fussing over Harry.

He looked up at her. She met his look with concerned eyes.

Harry smiled and said, “I’m sorry for not visiting you sooner, Herita.”

Herita’s eyes instantly became watery and she gathered him up and hugged him.

*

“Hagrid,” said Herita, “told us stories. All about you and vot has happened to you.”

Harry smiled as he listed. He had been allowed down off Herta’s lap and now sat under her watchful eye in front of the fire.

Hagrid and Grawp had gone off to reset the traps down in the forest while Harry and Herita remained up in the cave.

“Your English is getting much better.”

“Ah, well,” she replied with an accent that showed clearly that she was being taught English by Hagrid. “Hagrid teaches Grawp an’ me as best ‘e can.”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“May I ask, what were you and Grawp arguing about before?” asked Harry tentatively.

“Var,” she replied simply. War.

Harry waited patiently for her to continue.

“Ve both want to fight. That is our nature, ‘Arry. Staying hidden is not easy, but I gave my vord to you, and Grawp promised Hagrid. Ve stay here until called or until the school is threatened.”

“I’m glad you are here guarding the school. Professor McGonagall told me you have been patrolling the grounds at night. I don’t quite see what you and Grawp were arguing about, though.”

“Ve Giants have always fought. Death comes often amongst us, so ve do not have time for other matters. The little time ve have between battles must be used vell. Grawp is afraid, not for himself, but of the consequences if he does not survive.”

“You want to marry?” asked Harry.

“I vant a child,” she replied firmly. Then she sighed and said, “Grawp is right. What if ve were killed. Who vould look after them?”

Harry smiled and said, “That won’t be a problem. I’m sure that many people will want to adopt them if the worst happened. Professor McGonagall won’t forget what friends you have been to Hogwarts; and neither will I. Who knows, maybe one day they’ll even attend Hogwarts as students.”

Herita smiled and said, “That vould be nice. I like to watch the children in the grounds. So often laughing and joking amongst themselves.”

Harry reached out and touched her massive hand.

“I’ve a feeling that both you and Grawp will be harder to defeat than you realise. Try to look on the bright side.”

“The Dark Lord is so powerful.”

“Yes he is, but he won’t be invulnerable for ever,” he said gently. “You and Grawp have a right to live in peace and raise a family. You are just one of the things I’m fighting him for.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes, well plan might be an exaggeration. Idea, is more accurate.”

Herita frowned but said nothing.

“It isn’t going too well, at the moment. We’re getting there, but it’s taking too long. We don’t even know how to destroy-”

Harry stopped abruptly before said more than he ought. A chill ran through him despite the heat from the fire. More than ever before, Harry was acutely aware of the consequences if Ron told what he knew of the Horcruxes.

He looked up to see Herita studying him intently.

“I still find the expressions on human faces difficult to read,” she said, brushing his hair back gently. “You have lost it.”

“Lost what?”

“When we first met. You challenged me with a look that told me you could not be defeated.”

Harry looked down, feeling ashamed.

“It was different then,” he replied weakly.

“You are vorried about something. Maybe many things, I do not know. If you were a Giant you vould kill until there was not enough left to bother about.”

“I’m not a Giant.”

“Perhaps not on the outside; but inside you may yet have time to grow like a Giant.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible. There are so many things we need to overcome.”

“Forget many,” she ordered. “What is your greatest concern at this moment?”

“That one of my best friends will betray us,” Harry replied honestly. “If that happens, we’ll have no chance of defeating him.”

“The solution is simple. Hunt him down and kill him,” she said coldly.

Harry shook his head.

“I am not a Giant, though. It may be your nature to kill, but if I acted like that I’d be no better than Voldemort.”

Herita looked at him coldly, prompting him to add, “I’m saying that to offend you. I’m just saying it would feel wrong for me.”

Herita shook her head.

“You vorry about offending me, now?”

She reached out and gently ruffled his hair.

“How much vorry can a head this small hold, I vonder? You had better grow quickly, young human.”

“I’m getting there, although some people think my head is too big as it is. I can even feed myself sometimes, you know?”

“You know that is not what I meant.”

“I won’t kill.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll hate yourself, but you will. You’ll do almost anything to protect the ones you love.”

“Almost,” Harry repeated, barely audibly.

They barely spoke again until Hagrid and Grawp returned a little later and they all spent the night in the cave.

As Harry sat staring into the fire and contemplating, he seemed to get a feel for the perspective a Giant would see is present situation in. Even Hagrid, he suspected, would be prepared to do terrible things if he believed the consequences of not acting might be worse.

His last thought before he fell asleep, was to wonder what Hagrid would do to Ron if he knew the threat he presented to Harry and all of their chances of defeating Voldemort.

The next morning, Harry woke early and helped Herita prepare breakfast and tidy the cave a little.

After breakfast, Hagrid returned to the school and Harry Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. To his relief, Herita actually allowed him to feed himself this time, although she did insist upon trying to burp him before he left.

*

Kreacher handed Harry a sealed envelope almost as soon as he arrived home.

“Would Master like a cup of tea now?” asked the house elf.

“Yes, please, Kreacher. I’m parched,” replied Harry sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Kreacher would like some tea too,” said the elf sitting down opposite.

Harry narrowed is eyes and then abandoned the partly opened envelope. Picking up his wand, he got up to make them both a drink.

“Has everything been quiet around here?” asked Harry, tapping the kettle. Instantly steam blasted from the spout.

“Yes. Kreacher thinks the Muggle boy has decided what he wants to do for a living. Master’s Aunt has not been happy about it, but Kreacher has been too busy cleaning to take any notice of her.”

Harry snorted and then poured the drinks.

He placed the cups on the table and sat down again, picking up his envelope again.

“Would Master like biscuits with his tea?” asked Kreacher innocently.

Harry took the hint and waved his wand at the biscuit tin. It flew to the table and landed gently beside Kreacher.

“Is there anything else Master might like, or can I read my letter now?”

“Kreacher will think about it,” replied the house elf smugly, picking up his cup and sipping.

The letter was from Kingsley.

23. Constituency Visit

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 22 – Constituency Visit

Harry sat awkwardly in the seat opposite Kingsley’s field desk. He looked around the large tent, but nothing could distract him from the uncomfortable silence between himself and Kingsley. Harry still had no idea where they were, although he guessed it was in a different place from the last time he visited the Auror camp.

“So, um, you confirmed that Harriet was under an Imperious Curse,” said Harry.

Kingsley did not look up. Instead he ignored Harry’s feeble attempt to make conversation and continued to read.

Harry gave up and looked down at the many pieces of parchment strewn across the desk. Somewhere amongst them, he was sure, was the report that confirmed what had happened to Harriett Castle. Careem had written to Harry advising that she had been admitted to St. Mungos briefly, and that he would be taking her to an undisclosed location so she could complete her recovery.

Careem’s letter had answered hardly any of the questions that had occupied Harry’s thoughts for the last week. At last he had been invited to meet with Kingsley, though. Unfortunately his hopes of receiving some answers were fading fast.

After what seemed an age, Kingsley looked up, lost in thought.

“She’s identified the man in Bateman’s photograph,” said Kingsley, absently placing the parchment he’d been holding down on the desk.

“Tardov?”

“Yes. He programmed her to commit suicide rather than answer questions.”

“Why didn’t he just kill her?”

“I suppose she was an asset. He may have needed to use her again. From the state she was in when they found her, I suspect that he is inexperienced in using the Imperious Curse. That would indicate that this isn’t something that Voldemort is involved with. He wouldn’t have made such a mistake.”

“Not Voldemort?”

“Harry, I need a favour.”

“Sure, anything,” said Harry at once.

“I’d like you to pay Scrimgeour another visit.”

“Why?”

“He introduced this Tardov character to you. I’ve working at the Ministry for years but I’ve never seen nor heard of him before. I’m going to order his arrest on sight. If Scrimgeour has authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses he hasn’t publicly acknowledged it yet.”

“What do you want me to tell Scrimgeour?”

“Just tell him what you know, Harry, and report back anything you learn.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“Bateman asked you to tell me something, didn’t he?”

“Er, yes, he did,” replied Harry, slightly annoyed that he hadn’t been the one to bring it up.

“So, tell me now.”

“Look,” said Harry angrily, “I’m getting a little fed up with being kept in the dark like this, you know?”

*

Harry was still fuming as he stood in line to have his wand checked in the Ministry entrance lobby. He had been sent there directly after Kingsley ended their meeting, with specific instructions that he was not to consult with anyone else before seeing Scrimgeour. He was also very annoyed that he hadn’t been able to elicit any further information from Kingsley.

He was sure that Kingsley meant Hermione when he told him not to consult anyone.

Harry was still in half a mind to turn about and go back to Grimmauld Place just to spite Kingsley, when he heard his name being called out.

“Harry?”

He turned to see Scrimgeour limping towards him.

“’Bout time too,” said Scrimgeour loudly, but smiled as soon as he was close enough to shake his hand.

“Come on up,” he said, leaning heavily on Harry’s shoulder and turning towards the lifts. “It’s alright, Eric. Potter is with me.”

“Yes, Minister,” said the watch wizard.

As soon as the lift gates closed, Scrimgeour turned to Harry and said, “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I assumed you were expecting me.”

“I was, but I’ve no idea why you’ve come.”

“Kingsley sent me, although to be honest I’m not sure why myself. He just said to tell you what I know.”

“Did he, indeed? Okay. What do you know, Harry?”

“Is it okay to talk here?”

“Damn sight better than in my office, boy.”

“Oh, I see. That’s why you came down for me?”

“Indeed. Things are getting interesting around here. I thought we’d impose ourselves on dear Delores for a few moments.”

“Is that wise?” Harry found himself asking.

“I have every confidence in my Head of Auror Department, Harry,” said Scrimgeour firmly. “Besides, I happen to know she’s been sent on an errand and won’t be back at her desk for at least another hour.”

*

Harry walked past the empty cubicles towards Umbridge’s offices when he was called back by Scrimgeour.

“Let’s talk in here, Harry.”

Harry was a little confused by this request, but he complied and sat in one of the two seats that occupied the closest cubicle.

“These booths are sound proof,” explained Scrimgeour. “No-one outside will be able to hear us. My old office has the same charms, actually, but here we’ll have the advantage of seeing anyone coming.”

Scrimgeour took something out of his robes and placed it on the desk. He tapped it with his wand and it jumped up and stood upright on its single pointed foot. It then proceeded to rotate slowly.

“What’s that?” asked Harry, looking at the curved mirrored surfaces.

“It’s a kind of portable Foe Glass. I’m getting as paranoid as old Mad-Eye these days. To be honest, it isn’t that useful. If you look closely, you’ll see all the faces reflected in the mirrors are all wearing masks.”

Harry nodded and then proceeded to tell Scrimgeour about Colonel Falcon’s Journal and the trail of clues that led them to Harriet Castle. He omitted to say where they had located the Journal, though.

“She has identified Tardov as the one who put her under an Imperious Curse,” finished Harry.

“I see,” said Scrimgeour seriously, speaking for the first time since Harry had begun. He had listened intently with an almost permanent frown on his brow.

“Did you authorise the use of illegal curses?” demanded Harry.

“No, of course I didn’t. I’m old enough to remember the chaos the last time the Minister for Magic did that. It took years to reign some of our people back in, even after the fall of You-Know-Who.”

Harry considered Scrimgeour a moment, wondering if he was telling the truth.

“Did you order Tardov to spy on the Muggles?”

“Yes,” answered Scrimgeour at once. “That has been one of his primary tasks ever since he was appointed.”

“The Muggles have been trying to help us. Why did you lead me to believe you weren’t taking much interest in their activities?”

“I knew of your loyalty to them but we couldn’t be sure of their true motives. Spying on them was the only way we could be sure. They’d do the same to us if they were able, I’m sure.”

“Don't you owe the Prime Minister an explanation and an apology?”

“It would be much simpler just to keep quiet about the whole thing. They don’t suspect a thing, after all. They think their own people are responsible for all the leaks.”

“Somehow I doubt if that will work, especially now that Miss Alice and Bateman have joined forces. It could be very damaging for you when this all comes out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What do you know about the new Muggle set-up?”

“I don’t think there is one, to be honest.”

“So, what you’re really saying is either Tardov has not been able to breach their new security or Tardov isn’t telling you what they have discovered.”

Scrimgeour smiled and said, “You’re catching on, boy.”

“How sure are you that Tardov is working just for you?” asked Harry.

“I don't know.”

“What is Tardov’s true identity?”

“I have no idea. He has always insisted upon complete anonymity.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “I think we should pay the Prime Minister a visit and tell him everything. If you're going to deny anything, then obviously I'd rather not take you with me.”

“Of course I'd rather not admit to what we've been up to,” said Scrimgeour, “but I do owe him an apology.”

“I was hoping you'd see it that way.”

“Why are you so keen to see him?”

“Miss Alice and Bateman were wrongly accused. The Prime Minister needs to know what they have discovered so far, even if he chooses to continue to keep them out of the loop.”

Scrimgeour nodded thoughtfully.

“Does Kingsley know you planned to visit the Prime Minister?”

“No. He told me to do nothing except report immediately back to him.”

“I bet that burned you, didn’t it?”

“I just have the feeling he’s not telling me everything.”

“I’m sure he’s keeping plenty of things from the both of us. By the way, how's Percy holding up?”

Harry snorted and asked, “How did you know?”

“I didn't, but it was a fairly easy guess to make. Frankly, I’m amazed he’s stuck it for so long.”

“Mrs Weasley has been motivated to keep him there, and she’s also had a little help,” Harry admitted. “Should I move him?”

“No. I've increased security around there, but only on the premise that it was for Arthur. I would like you to take Percy a message for me, though?”

“Sure.”

“It really wouldn't be a sensible move for him to come back here for the moment,” said Scrimgeour quietly. “However, if he has to be away he might at least make himself useful.”

*

Harry sat on a small stool crammed between a filing cabinet and a table stacked with old campaign pamphlets while he listened to Scrimgeour give his explanations and apologies to the Prime Minister.

The three of them were alone in the makeshift office created from a spare bedroom in the Prime Minister’s constituency home.

Downstairs, political assistants created an almost constant telephone chatter in the background while shadowy security figures patrolled outside.

Harry realised that there was just enough furniture and personal effects around the house to make the small terraced house appear lived in, but he doubted very much that the Prime Minister’s family visited the place very much.

Harry had given the Prime Minister an update and now waited for Scrimgeour to finish.

He thought Scrimgeour’s apology sounded particularly hollow, but the Prime Minister didn’t seem to need anything more sincere. Perhaps, Harry thought, as a politician, he was used to such apologies.

Indeed, Harry was more struck by how unsurprised the Prime Minister appeared to be about the Ministry of Magic’s attempts to spy on their activities.

"So, Miss Alice and Sergeant Bateman are entirely innocent?" asked the Prime Minister.

"We don't actually know that yet. Bateman had his memory modified. For a long time Miss Alice thought he had used that to remove memories of his complicity as well."

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to Harry.

"I think that neither of them would have willingly betrayed you."

"Willingly?"

"Yes. It is possible that either or both of them was made to co-operate using an Imperious Curse."

"What is that?"

"Imperio!" said Scrimgeour pointing his wand at the PM who immediately picked up his silver letter opener and stabbed himself in his arm.

"Argh!"

"I'm sorry, but it seemed the quickest way to persuade you how easy it would be."

"Here," said Harry, pointing his wand at the wound and performing a simple skin healing charm. The wound was not deep.

Harry decided to leave the tear in the fabric as a reminder.

The Prime Minister was looking livid and barely noticed that his arm wasn't hurting any more.

“Where the hell is my personal protection when I need it?”

“Both of them are sound asleep just outside.” said Scrimgeour.

“How comforting,” growled the Prime Minister.

"Prime Minister," said Scrimgeour earnestly. "I'm convinced that one or more members of the group I tasked to spy on you have been working against both our interests. One of my junior assistants was attacked because he had our only copy Sergeant Bateman's report on the Archive raid."

"Where did you get it from?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt obtained it for me; I understood with your blessing. He said Bateman gave it to him before his memory was modified. You were present too, I believe."

"So, the spies might not have seen it either," suggested Harry. "I wondered if they only wanted to make sure we didn't read it."

"No, they couldn't have seen it," said the Prime Minister. "Bateman typed it himself in the presence of Kingsley and myself. We read it and then Kingsley made a fake copy for the records before delivering the original to you, Minister, in accordance with my instructions."

"A fake copy?" asked Harry.

"Yes. He made another file cover but then set the typewriter to type gibberish for several pages. Anyone seeing it would assume it was encrypted in some way. He also burned the typewriter ribbon afterwards."

"Why did you go to so much trouble?"

"Bateman was utterly convinced that there was something important in there. He didn't even know himself, but he was sure he had witnessed and reported something that could help identify the traitor. Frankly, had Miss Alice been trusted you would never have seen it."

"But there wasn't anything that we could see," said Harry.

Scrimgeour frowned and muttered, "Supposing ..."

"What?" the other two asked at the same time.

"What if Bateman had been subjected to a memory charm before he made the report?"

“Well,” said Harry, “he did have a strange reaction to Kingsley’s restorative potion.”

Scrimgeour frowned slightly before addressing the Prime Minister once more.

“Are you prepared to tell us anything about the people who replaced Miss Alice, Sergeant Bateman and the others?”

“I hardly think that’s wise.”

“I can understand that,” agreed Scrimgeour. “But what if they’ve been infiltrated?”

The Prime Minister considered them for a long moment before answering.

“I won’t tell you everything, but perhaps I can give you some broad indications of our current activities.

“As soon as I learned that we may have become compromised, I ordered the complete dismantling of every technical resource used or known about under the previous group. All personnel were reassigned and monitored. We made sure Kingsley knew nothing about it before he was reassigned.

“That done, I ordered the new activities to be split into three groups who would work entirely independently. Each has no idea that any other group exists.

“The first group gathers intelligence from a number of sources. They are subdivided into a number of divisions, each looking through the same data for different connections. Regular executive reports are prepared and published to the other groups in various guises.

“The second group is a military run group that actively plans and executes small scale strikes.

“The third and last group leads clandestine activities. This has been limited to intelligence gathering so far, but there are plans to include kidnapping and assassination capabilities.”

Harry sat there stunned.

“Who controls all these groups?” asked Scrimgeour.

“No single individual. Not even I know of their activities. The leaders and their reserves operate within Rules of Engagement that were set from the beginning.”

“How do you know they aren’t working for someone else?” asked Harry.

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” said Scrimgeour shrewdly.

The Prime Minister smiled and said, “There is a further protocol, but I’m not prepared to share that with you at this time.”

“But,” protested Harry but stopped when the Prime Minister raised his hands to stop him.

“I’m not saying I won’t ever tell you, but I feel we need some secrets, especially until the Ministry and Magic sorts itself out.”

Harry made a further plea on behalf of Miss Alice and Bateman before they left, but he knew it was a lost cause. At least the Prime Minister didn’t lie to him about their prospects at being readmitted into his task force.

*

Harry sat quietly while Percy read through his letter from Scrimgeour. He was surprised to find that he was still at the Burrow considering that his parents had now returned his wand to him.

"He says I'm to stay away from the Ministry for a while."

"Well, that's probably for the best," said Harry.

"He wants me to do something for him."

"Can you stay here to do it?" asked Harry, not wishing to ask outright what it was Scrimgeour had asked Percy to do. It was probably confidential.

"Not really. He wants me to keep an eye on Malemo. Apparently he's been finding excuses not to go into the Ministry very often just lately. The Minister wants me to make a note of his movements and who he comes into contact with."

"Do you want to borrow an invisibility cloak?"

"Thanks, Harry, but no. I took the precaution of signing out a Ministry cloak some time ago. The Minister will ask father to bring it home."

"That's handy," agreed Harry. “Just make sure you wear some of Fred and George’s protective clothing. They work and you’ll get a family discount, I’m sure.” He hesitated before continuing, "So, how are things between you and your Dad, anyway?"

"Oh, still a little strained," Percy admitted, not looking up from his letter. "We do seem to have found common ground on quite a number of things."

Harry smiled warmly and said, "Good."

"Mother won't be happy, of course."

"Well, probably not," Harry agreed. "Maybe if you agreed to come back here to sleep? It would be safer anyway," he added, thinking of the additional security Scrimgeour had arranged.

"Maybe, although I wouldn't want to let the Minister down by not being on duty."

"You have to sleep, Percy. Besides, Scrimgeour is more concerned for your safety, I'm sure. I wonder who he's got to follow Ignatius and Johnson?"

"Yes, I was wondering that too."

"Kingsley?" Harry suggested.

"Unlikely, Harry. Delores Umbridge has absolutely refused to allow the Aurors to be side tracked from their field duties. Fudge used to have them running around at his every bid and call, but she's certainly put an end to that.

"Of course, the Minister was furious when she first refused him. However, even he has acknowledged that she has won his respect by her stance."

Harry bit his tongue.

24. Cold Tea

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 23 – Cold Tea

“Are you alright, Harry?” asked Hermione. “You look like you’re worrying about something.”

Harry gave her a disbelieving look and waved his hand over the Daily Prophet headlines.

“What could possibly be worrying me, Hermione?” he said sarcastically. “I mean, apart from Ron, the recently departed I've just been reading about and what could happen to everyone I know that’s still alive; what else is there?”

“I didn’t mean,” she began, sounding hurt.

Harry sighed and said, “I’m sorry.”

He reached out to take her hand, but it was withdrawn almost at once.

Harry got up and walked around the table where she was sitting. He kneeled down and placed his hand over hers on her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated gently.

Looking flushed, Hermione looked down at him.

“Is there something else you’re worrying about, Harry?” she asked shakily.

“No, it’s just the usual.”

She reached out and stroked his hair back. Harry leaned forward and rested his head upon her lap, wrapping his arms around her.

“I just wish I knew how to get in touch with Ron,” he admitted.

“I know. All we can do is trust that he’ll come to his senses soon and get in touch.”

“What if he tells?”

“We must trust him. We can’t really do anything else, can we?”

“I suppose not.”

“There is some good news," Hermione reminded him. "The Daily Prophet says the Muggle Prime Minister has begun re-issuing intelligence reports to the Ministry and in exchange the Minister has opened the Kent Library to the Muggle researchers.”

“Yeah, that was a strange announcement. I can’t understand why they didn’t suppress that.”

“I imagine they didn’t get a choice.”

Harry looked up at her smiling face.

“What do you know about it?”

“Well,” she began, with a look that told him she’d been dying to tell him for some time. “You know I’ve been corresponding with Scenariste? Well, just recently we agreed on a method through which he could communicate with the Muggles without having to go through the Ministry of Magic. We’ve been testing it quite some time, actually.”

“What has that got to do with the Prophet article?”

“Scenariste wrote it. You see the Muggle intelligence reports are to be issued through the Library Archive. It was an inspired idea, really. Scenariste issues a copy to all Department Heads as appropriate. That way no-one can suppress the information.”

“What if Voldemort’s supporters get to see the reports too?”

“We know they will. That’s the clever part! Scenariste controls who sees what. That means he knows what information has been seen and then leaked. He can also issue false information.”

“You’re going to trick Voldemort’s spies into revealing themselves?”

“We suspect there is more than one faction, Harry.”

“Who is dealing with the Muggle end of the operation?”

“I’ve no idea. Scenariste is the only one who knows all the contacts.”

“What exactly was your involvement?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, all I did really was make a few suggestions. I originally contacted Scenariste with a view to getting some more information about the destruction of the Horcruxes.”

“And, did you?”

Hermione’s face dropped and she shook her head.

“I’ve almost exhausted all my lines of enquiry, Harry. I was about to suggest we try some practical tests on the Horcruxes we have access to.”

“Yeah, we should start trying something.”

“But not quite yet, Harry,” Hermione said quickly. “Remember Dumbledore’s arm?”

“How could I forget? He said only Snape kept him alive after he destroyed the Horcrux in Salazar’s ring.”

“Exactly. We can’t afford any serious injuries.”

Harry rested his head back down.

“Scrimgeour wondered if Bear had been subjected to a memory charm before he made his report."

“Well, yes,” agreed Hermione. “Mary thought the same thing.”

"The Prime Minister also said that Bear was utterly convinced that there was something important in the report. He said he didn't even know himself what it was. He said he was sure Bear had witnessed and reported something that could help identify the traitor."

“What?” asked Hermione. She said this softly, but Harry knew her well enough to know it wasn’t a casual enquiry.

“What is it, Hermione?”

“Harry, are you sure he really said that?”

“Um, yes, I think so. It’s what we thought, wasn’t it?”

“Harry, I need you to tell me exactly what the Prime Minister said.”

Harry frowned and said, “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“Harry! Isn’t it obvious?”

“Er, no.”

“Just tell me exactly what the Prime Minister said,” she commanded.

*

Harry returned with two mugs of freshly made tea and a determination to make Hermione explain to him properly what she had just realised.

He had tried to interrupt her hurried scribbling after he had repeated everything what seemed like twenty times. He hadn’t been too surprised when she practically threw him out the moment he offered to make them both hot drinks.

Harry had been so annoyed, both with himself for not understanding her excitement and with Hermione for treating him like a silly child, that he had completely forgotten to use magic to make the tea.

Kreacher had looked on in mild amusement at Harry’s mad mutterings and curses as he waited for the kettle to boil.

Presumably in the hope of seeing some more entertainment, Kreacher had followed Harry as he carried the hot mugs back up to Hermione.

Harry struggled to open the lever handle with both hands full, and then gently nudged the door open with his feet and stepped inside.

“Hermione?”

The room was quite empty.

Harry stepped forward and placed the drinks down on the table. There, in place of her notes, was her gold fake galleon.

“Where’s she gone?”

“Miss Hermione has gone out, Master.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Master did not ask to be informed of all Miss Hermione’s movements. Kreacher assumed Master knew. She crept out the moment you went down the stairs to the basement.”

“Why did you think I was making two drinks then?”

“Master is clearly either very thirsty or cannot decide what colour mug he preferred.”

“Where has she gone?”

“Kreacher does not know.”

Harry considered the house elf for a long moment. Kreacher couldn’t lie to him directly, even now.

“I’m going to find her, Kreacher. If she’s back before me, please ask her to stay here and get a message to me.”

*

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the Room of Requirement. There were very few places Hermione would go without telling him, and this was his first guess. Now that only he and Hermione could enter the Room of Requirement, it was perhaps the safest place he could think of.

Unfortunately, the Room of Requirement was quite empty.

His second port of call would be to Professor McGonagall. Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder and was about to throw it into the fire when the Kemmynadow book caught his eye.

The book was laying out on the table in the middle of the room.

Hermione must have left it there as he was sure that he’d left it up on one of the shelves as usual.

Distracted, he returned the Floo Powder to the pot and walked over to the book.

As worried as he was about Hermione, he was more concerned about the manner she had left in. It was almost as if she hadn’t wanted him to know what she had discovered, although he knew Hermione had no difficulty in not answering anything she didn’t want to.

Of course, he reasoned to himself, she might have realised she needed to contact someone urgently.

But what could be so urgent she couldn’t tell him.

She must have known he’d be worried about her.

Harry realised that the Kemmynadow book was open a fraction of a second before his hand was pulled down onto the open page.

The dark magic surged up through his arm, feeding hungrily upon his bitterness.

For a long time the book’s dark power felt like a welcome relief. Spells and curses outlawed by wizards generations ago danced through him.

Then there was an abrupt change in the flow of magic and knowledge.

Harry opened his eyes.

Words were flying around him. He recognised the format as indicating the beginning of a new Book Chapter. Harry could not understand most of the strange symbols and lettering from some obscure dead language.

Only four fiery words were written in English.

“Curses Beyond the Unforgivable.”

With a pang, Harry wrenched his hand from the book and the circling words vanished at once.

He slammed the book shut and then wiped his face with a shaking hand. He was dripping with cold sweat.

Realising he had no idea how long he’d been there, he headed for the fireplaces.

*

Harry actually felt a little light headed when Professor McGonagall told him that she knew exactly where Hermione was and had been for most of the afternoon.

“Sit down, Harry. You look fit to drop.”

“No, thanks, Professor. I’d rather just go and find her, if that’s okay.”

“SIT.”

Harry sat immediately, wondering if she had perfected another kind of Imperious Curse.

“I wish to speak to you, Harry. I can assure you that Miss Granger is perfectly safe in the School Library. I believe Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood are with her.”

Harry almost asked, “How do you know that?” but in the end he decided he didn’t dare.

“Miss Granger arrived here at a little after one o’clock. I assume you realised she had gone only a little after that?”

“Yes, she practically threw me out when I offered to make us some drinks. She’d gone by the time I’d returned.”

“It is now a little before five o’clock. May I ask where you’ve been for all this time? I would assume this would be one of the first places you’d look for her.”

“It was the second place, actually. The first was the Room of Requirement. I, er, got distracted by the Kemmynadow Book.”

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

“I noticed that Hermione had placed it on the table and for some reason I felt particularly drawn to it.”

“You were reading the book for over three hours?”

“Closer to four, Professor,” admitted Harry. “I feel so ashamed. Hermione might have been in trouble.”

“It should be obvious even to you, Harry, that Miss Granger intended you not to find her. She placed the book there for you to find, and she also asked me to prevent you from seeking her until she is ready.”

“What?”

“I believe I was clear enough.”

Harry stared angrily at her for a long moment, but then looked away.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it is I’ve done to upset her?”

Professor McGonagall smiled and said, “Harry, I’m sure she is not upset with you. However, I am lead to believe that she will be staying here at the school for a few days. She will contact you when she is ready.”

“Is she placing herself at risk?”

“I have no idea how she might do that,” replied the Professor. “However, I can assure you that Miss Granger will be afforded every protection she asks for.”

“How about providing protection whether she asks for it or not?”

“That would merely antagonise her.”

“You and the Order weren’t so coy about protecting me against my wishes, were you?” he spat angrily.

“Well, no doubt you’ll draw some comfort from the fact that we’ve learned from some of our mistakes.”

Harry breathed in deeply, desperately trying to control his temper.

“Did Hermione mention what it was she discovered?”

“Not precisely, but I know she did make at least one Floo call from here.”

“Who did she call?”

“I left her to call in private.”

Harry let out a groan of frustration.

“Go on then,” he said at last. “Tell me to go home and be a good little boy.”

“I will as soon as you give me your message for Miss Granger. Would you like to write her a note?”

“Just tell her,” he began, with no idea what to say that he was comfortable passing on through Professor McGonagall. “Just say her tea is getting cold.”

*

“Harry, mate, we need a favour.”

“Sure, George, how can I help?”

“Are you free tonight? Fred and I could use a hand collecting a consignment.”

“Um, sure. What’s the catch?” he asked with a grin.

“Catch, Harry?”

“Yes. How many laws will we be breaking?”

“We can’t be responsible for what you get up to before dark, Harry.”

Harry laughed and said, “Just so long as it’s nothing Hermione wouldn’t approve of.”

“That’s an unreasonable standard, Harry. Did Hermione approve those socks that you’re wearing?”

Harry looked down at his odd socks and shook his head.

“Good, meet us at the shop at nine o’clock.”

*

“Fred, what exactly are the items we need to collect?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just a few crates of Caliga. It’s a kind of mist. Nothing special, only our suppliers won’t deliver during the day.”

“Why not?”

“Too great a risk of getting caught, I’d imagine.”

“Just great,” said Harry flatly. “If I’m caught in possession of illegal and probably stolen goods, Hermione won’t speak to me for another week.”

“Harry, we promise you that there is nothing illegal about the crates nor any of the goods inside. We also know that we are buying from the legitimate owners. We checked their cauldrons while they were brewing the batch.”

“Okay,” said Harry slowly. “Why don’t they want to deliver then?”

“Well, technically, bringing these items into a built up area, could be considered a minor infraction of the Trade Restriction Acts.”

“Are they dangerous then?”

“No,” both twins protested at once.

“Merely a little explosive under certain conditions.”

*

“What do you use of Caliga mist for, anyway?” asked Harry just before they Disapparated.

“Oh, we colour and dice most of it for use in our fireworks.”

“Yeah, we also use slices in our revenge gift card selection.”

“Revenge cards?”

“Yes, they’re getting more and more popular now. The card blows up in the recipient’s face, but it’s almost undetectable sealed inside our special envelopes and rarely results in permanent injury.”

“We’ll send you a free sample, Harry!”

*

All three of them Apparated into the middle of a deserted country road. Harry shivered with cold and was glad to put on the black woollen hat the twins had given him.

The twins themselves were also dressed entirely in black and wore similar headgear. It was unusual to see them not wanting to stand out.

“This way,” whispered George.

They followed George along the grass verge until they came to an opening in the hedgerow. Peering through, Harry could see in the moonlight a grass field with an assortment of large crates scattered around. He could just make out three figures standing there, although more could have been hidden by the nearby trees.

“It looks okay,” whispered Fred. “What do you think George?”

“Let’s be on our guard,” advised George, pulling out his wand. The others followed suite.

They stood and walked through into the field.

One of the figures turned and walked forward to meet George beside one of the crates.

“Where’s Dog?” asked George.

“He and Beau are busy tonight. They asked us to deliver it here. You’ll be wanting to check the goods before paying. Here, I’ll open the crate for you.”

“Just a minute,” said George, interrupting the stranger. “Dog didn’t say anything about asking anyone else to deliver for him. As for checking the goods; we’ll decide what crates we want opened.”

“Yeah,” said Fred advancing on one of the other crates. “How about this one?”

“You’re not checking anything until we see some cash,” said the stranger aggressively, and at these words everyone was pointing wands.

Fred kicked the crate he was near.

“Empty, George,” he confirmed.

“Oh dear,” said George, sounding quite relaxed. “It looks like we’ll be saying goodbye a little early this evening.”

“Hand over the cash,” breathed the stranger, “and I’ll think about letting you live.”

“Movement in the trees!” shouted Harry.

Everyone seemed to fire at once. Harry dived and fired a stunner at the third stranger who fell just as six or so more rushed out from the shadows.

“Let’s go!” shouted Fred.

Harry dodged a stunner and then returned fire, felling two. Two of the group rushed over to attack Fred and George while one appeared to turn tail and run back into the shadows.

Harry turned and realised that more were emerging and attacking Fred and George. They were hopelessly outnumbered.

“Time to go, I think, bro!” shouted one of them.

“Agreed. Harry?”

“I’m okay!” he shouted back.

Harry waited until both brothers Disapparated with a simultaneous crack!

He wheeled around, making sure he was clear before Disapparating. Then he froze. Almost hidden in the shadows was the outline of a tall thin figure.

“Ron?” breathed Harry as a stunner whistled past his ear.

Harry turned and fired back towards the remaining attackers. There were only three. He assumed the others had melted away once Fred and George had escaped.

He turned back, intent upon finding Ron again, but he had moved. Harry scanned the shadows, desperate to see some sign of his old friend.

Hearing movement behind him, Harry turned.

Ron was now standing in front of the crates in full view.

Harry hurried over to him, but just before he got there a new cloaked figure stepped between them.

*

Harry slowed and finally halted himself just in front of the two figures. They were now quite alone and standing between the large cubic timber crates.

Harry raised his wand but neither of the other two reacted.

“So, how have you been, Ron?” he asked pleasantly. “We’ve all missed you.”

Ron gave a derisive snort.

“I am rather worried about you, for myself.”

“I bet you are,” replied Ron coldly.

“I mean, you are hardly keeping very good company these days, are you?”

Ron just glowered back at him while his companion threw back his hood.

“We keep on meeting, don’t we, Mr Ollivander?”

Ollivander continued to look at him appraisingly in silence.

“Come back to us, Ron,” pleaded Harry. “I can’t believe that you’re entirely comfortable about dealing in stolen goods. I just hope you haven’t got too involved.”

“Come back?” Ron repeated incredulously.

“We need your help, Ron. I need you,” he emphasised.

“Oh, sure. Come back and all will be forgiven? Come off it, Harry. You’ll never trust me again, will you?”

“No, Ron, it won’t be as simple as that. You can have my forgiveness, but you’ll need to do much more to mend all the damage you’ve done. Hermione misses you terribly, and I don’t think I’ve seen Ginny so upset.”

“Ginny?”

“Ginny knows everything, Ron. Including the fact that you’ve been seen enjoying the company of this scum.”

Ollivander smiled coldly.

“Take that back!” demanded Ron angrily, stepping forward and pointing his wand at Harry.

“Ron, Ollivander is evil. That’s the best thing I can think to say about him. You saw what he is capable of! What can you possibly gain by siding with him?”

Ron was about to respond with a hex or two when Ollivander said calmly, “That will do, Ron. I’d like you to go back to the assembly point as agreed.”

“But, you’ll be alone,” protested Ron.

“I’ll be fine,” Ollivander said reassuringly. “Go now.”

Ron lowered his wand.

“Ron! Please listen to me!” pleaded Harry, but Ron had Disapparated away before he finished.

Harry swore into the night and Ollivander chuckled.

“Such a nice young man,” drawled Ollivander. “His parents should be so proud of him. He’s quite the most gullible and naive disciple I’ve got. Mind you, he has a worrying moral streak that is proving a little more difficult to remove that I’d have liked. Still, we have a little more time on our side.”

“What did you use to bewitch him?”

“Nothing, I assure you, Mr Potter. No, such enchantments are rarely permanent, in my experience. His own resentments are far more effective reagents.”

“What did you mean by a little more time?”

“My associates will not tolerate him for much longer. If he does not join in soon, he’ll have to be eliminated.”

“Eliminated? I assume he doesn’t know this?”

“Quite! As I said, gullible and naïve. Incidentally, this evening would have been an ideal opportunity for him. The two unfortunates who were brewing the Caliga were selected because they were Mudbloods. Young Mr Weasley was directed to obtain the information telling us where and when the exchange was planned for.”

“Did he?”

“He was expected to obtain the information by torturing them. Instead he found it scrawled on a scrap of parchment.”

“How terrible for you,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Indeed. He even intervened when the others wanted to entertain themselves while we waited.”

“Entertain?”

“Foolish boy,” said Ollivander sadly.

“Where is this assembly point you spoke about?”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself about him. I won’t let the others do it. They tend to be rather crude when it comes to killing.”

“Where is he?”

“I mean, I’m sure that quick clean kills have their place; but where’s the fun in that? No, I’ll make sure he fully understands what it is to be a friend of Harry Potter. He’s quite incapable of imagining the pain and suffering ahead of him. I might even persuade him to be even more indiscrete before the end.”

“Where?” demanded Harry angrily.

Ollivander grinned back at him.

“You know,” continued Ollivander, “he kept asking me why I kept smiling whenever I glanced over to these crates this evening.”

Harry started as a dull bumping sound came from one of the crates.

Ollivander waited for Harry to look back at him before flicking his wand. As one, the crate lids all flew open.

Harry took a couple of steps back. He was surrounded by the crates, the insides of which were emitting a low glow.

In the corner of his eye, Harry detected movement.

He turned and gave an audible gasp as the first figure rose up and climbed out of the crate. More followed. He guessed they had been pack in three to a crate.

At first, Harry was sure these were Inferi. They had lifeless eyes and white translucent skin.

As they got closer, Harry realised that they had all received various injuries. A couple even had arms missing.

Hearing one getting a little too close from behind, Harry turned and fired a stunner. The red spell hit the figure square in the chest but had absolutely no effect.

Another lunged for him.

Harry dodged out of the way, but there were too many.

“This, Harry, is my gift to you,” said Ollivander. “As you may have guessed, these are not true Inferi in that they are not quite dead yet.

“To be perfectly honest, they were originally intended for someone else. The thing you should know is that they are bewitched to follow you everywhere. Try to Disapparate, and they’ll follow. Try to Portkey away, and they’ll go with you.

“Of course, they are instructed to kill you if they get the chance. All they can do now is strangle or suffocate you, but that should be enough. I do hope you don’t need much sleep.”

"You are insane!" shouted Harry, trying to find a clear space and firing another stunner.

"Me? I'm not the one afraid to kill! Imagine that? The chosen one is too afraid to do the one thing he was chosen to do! How mad is that?!"

Harry was about to answer when another of the zombie like creatures lunged at him. Harry ran forward, taking advantage of their slow reflexes.

“Oh, you’d prefer to duel with me?” Ollivander asked mischievously. “Well, I can wait for a few minutes. Why don’t you deal with them first, though. You’ll find a certain Unforgivable Curse quite effective. Actually, it’s one of the few things that will be effective.”

Furious, Harry turned his back on Ollivander to face the advancing creatures.

He had never performed the Avada Kadavra curse before, not even in practise. He raised his wand uncertainly, but then hesitated.

He lowered the wand again.

“Ha!” cried Ollivander before laughing heartily.

Harry ignored him, clearing his mind and trying to think. He looked up into the dull eyes of the lead zombie.

These creatures were not truly alive. Their remaining life force was bewitched somehow. What he needed was a curse to remove that remaining life, but it need not be something that could be defended against.

His wand hand tingled as the Kemmynadow’s magic boiled up inside him. He raised his wand and pointed it directly at the zombie.

As the blue-green curse erupted from the tip of his wand, Harry felt the full effect of the dark magic. This was the very first time he had evoked the Kemmynadow’s dark magic whilst actually being in control of his emotions.

Harry twitched his wand, and the small army of zombies collapsed to the ground.

He turned to face Ollivander, who had stopped laughing.

“Well, well,” he said quietly. “The Dark Lord was right. You do have potential.”

“My offer still stands,” said Harry. “Give yourself up to the Aurors.”

Ollivander snorted as Harry advanced on him.

“Tell me where Ron has gone.”

Ollivander smiled and looked up. Then he nodded to someone behind Harry.

Harry spun around and ducked just in time for the hex to miss him. Tardov emerged from under his invisibility cloak and fired again.

He shielded himself from Tardov’s second attack, but the hex from Ollivander hit Harry square in the back.

He collapsed to the ground and fell into unconsciousness.

25. Hangman’s Rest

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 24 – Hangman’s Rest

Harry woke slowly and tried to move at once. He opened his eyes and found he was lying face down in wet grass. It was almost dawn now and he was numb with cold.

“He’s over here!” came a shout.

Harry tensed as he heard running footsteps coming towards him.

“Harry?”

He relaxed a little recognising George’s voice. A warm blanket was placed over him.

“He’s frozen, Fred. Start a fire, will you?”

“Is that wise? Maybe we should just get him away from here.”

Harry faded back into unconsciousness.

*

Harry sat up suddenly making both Fred and George start.

“Whoa, there!”

“Where am I?” demanded Harry, kicking off the blankets that covered him.

“Calm down, Harry. We’re in our flat, above the shop,” answered George.

“Well, what’s left of it,” muttered Fred.

“Here, drink this,” said George, handing Harry a large pewter tankard.

Harry was about to refuse when he caught the smell of the steaming hot chocolate. He gratefully took it and sipped quickly.

“Why didn’t you Disapparate away when we did?” asked Fred.

“I saw Ron.”

“Ron?”

“Yes. Ollivander was there too. The bodies were compliments of him.”

“Bodies?”

“Yeah, those zombie things were in the crates.”

“All we found was you, mate. No crates and no bodies.”

“Oh.”

“We’d have come to find you sooner, only when we got back we discovered the shop was being robbed. It was all rather bit chaotic, actually, what with the number of people they had. We both assumed you were here with us.”

“Sorry, Harry,” added George. “If we’d known you were still back there we’d have come at once.”

“Don’t worry about it. I seemed to lead a charmed life as far as Ollivander is concerned. Did they get away with much?”

“Nothing, as far as we can tell. Mind you, the fight left a lot of damage. Most of our stock was destroyed but they didn’t get into any of our secure research stores.”

“Did anyone raise the alarm?”

“Yeah, but the Ministry people only turned up after it was all over. We didn’t like to tell them you were missing, in case we got you into trouble. They seemed more interested in finding out where we got our materials than catching the people who broke in, to be honest.”

“Yeah, and they kept on about wanting to see inside our secure stores.”

“We have to find Ron again,” said Harry firmly.

“That idiot can look after himself.”

“They are going to kill him, Fred. That reminds me, I need to get a message to Kingsley. Tardov turned up as well. He’s clearly in with Ollivander too.”

“Tardov?” asked Fred.

“Yes, you know him?”

“Painfully thin and looks ill all of the time?”

“Yes. Straw coloured hair,” confirmed Harry. “He’s supposed to be working for Scrimgeour, but we suspect he’s got quite another agenda. Unfortunately, it’s by no means clear what that agenda actually is.”

“Well, if it’s the same bloke, he’s bought quite a lot of stuff from us, actually.”

“Yeah, he was someone else who took a keen interest in the people we’ve been dealing with. Kept asking lots of questions, didn’t he, George?”

“I need to find him. He’s my only link with Ollivander and Ron. Do you know where he hangs out?”

*

Harry donned his invisibility cloak and wound his way through the vehicles in the car park. The area was dark and the inside of the building was well lit, but he didn’t want to chance being seen.

He approached the nearest window and peered into the lounge bar of The Hangman’s Rest Public House.

This was the third place on Fred and George’s list of places that he might find Tardov.

Harry scanned the busy bar but saw no-one familiar.

He drew back and walked right around to the other side. The windows on the road side of the pub were more difficult to see through. Several panes were in obscured glass and most of the others were covered with advertisement posters.

Through a crack he scanned the customers once more.

Sitting alone in a booth on the far side of the bar was Tardov. He was looking discretely at the other clientele.

Harry realised that he was sitting right next to the very first window he’d looked through. He must have been too close to see properly.

Harry was just deciding whether to chance going into the bar when a figure went up to Tardov and placed two pints of beer down on the table before sitting opposite.

It was Malemo.

Ollivander, Tardov and Malemo.

Harry decided he needed to get inside. Perhaps he could overhear part of their conversation, although the two had not spoken a single word to each other so far.

He moved around to the entrance door and waited for someone to come out or go in so he could follow undetected. The bar wasn’t so full that it wouldn’t be noticed if the door opened on its own accord.

Just as he was about to give up waiting, the door opened.

Tardov and Malemo emerged from the bar and walked around towards the rear car park. Harry waited a few moments before following in case they heard his footsteps. It would have been easier to follow had they been talking to each other.

Harry crept along the narrow path that cut through into the car park and found Tardov and Malemo standing a few yards away conversing in whispers.

He needed to get closer.

Careful not to make a sound, Harry moved towards them. He was only a few feet away when he stopped.

The two of them were only pretending to talk. Each held their wand ready, as did Harry.

Suddenly they wheeled apart. Malemo fired at something off to the side while Tardov ran towards Harry.

Harry barged into Tardov and then threw off his cloak. Tardov was sprawled on the tarmacadam but still managed to block his stunner.

He was about to fire again when he was hit from behind. Harry’s legs buckled under him as Malemo ran up and kicked him hard in the stomach. Harry’s wand flew off under one of the cars.

Malemo levelled his wand at Harry’s chest.

With a smile playing across his mouth, he uttered, “Avada-”

There was a red flash and suddenly he collapsed onto the hard pavings. Harry heard Tardov scramble to his feet and run.

More stunners flew over Harry towards the escaping Tardov.

“Incarcerous!”

Harry looked up and was relieved to see Percy checking the bindings that secured Malemo.

“Okay, Harry?” he asked casually.

“My wand,” he gasped, clutching his stomach.

“Accio wand!”

Percy caught the wand and handed to Harry.

“Thanks,” said Harry, now rubbing his knee. “I was after Tardov. Ron’s in trouble, but he doesn’t know it. I was hoping Tardov would lead me to him. Did you see where he went?”

“He’s long gone I’m afraid. Look, come with me, Harry. I need to deliver this one to Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“You know where Kingsley is?”

“Well, I know where he’ll be tonight, yes.”

*

Harry waited patiently in Kingsley’s tent while he dealt with taking Malemo into custody. This time the camp looked like it was located at the bottom of a disused quarry. Outside there were massive potholes filled with cloudy water.

Kingsley returned and Harry was able to thank Percy again before he left for the Burrow.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll tell mother that you’re fine.”

“Thanks, Percy.”

Percy Disapparated and Kingsley pointed Harry towards a chair.

“There’s something you should know, Harry,” he said seriously.

Harry tensed.

“We raided another small camp earlier this evening, and we arrested a number of undesirables. It was all rather impromptu actually. We hadn’t expected so many to be gathered there. Anyway, one of their number is a friend of yours.”

“Who is it?”

“Ronald Weasley.”

Harry sighed with relief.

“What about Ollivander? Did you get Ollivander too?”

“He wasn’t there when our people arrived. Percy says you were following Tardov tonight. Tell me about that first and then maybe I’ll answer some of your questions.”

Harry smiled and nodded.

*

Kingsley smiled to himself and tore the parchment he had been reading into several pieces.

“What was that?” asked Harry.

“This,” replied Kingsley with a small chuckle, “was Percy’s statement saying he may have breached the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy this evening. I told him that at most the pub regulars probably thought someone let off a couple of fireworks, but you know Percy. Everything has to be by the book.”

Harry nodded and smiled back at him.

"When did this all start?" asked Harry.

"Well, as you know the Minister saw fit to remove me from the Prime Minister's protection shortly after the raid on the Archive. For some time I thought he was just annoyed that I'd been co-operating with John Bateman.

"Anyway, I was posted back to regular Auror duties. Our dear Delores had been in charge a couple of weeks before I reported in and in that short time she had managed to wipe out any semblance of effective law enforcement.

"The senior Aurors got together quietly and discussed what to do. Her Aims for the Auror Department document went down a storm," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure it was aimed at five year olds. I ask you, should a Ministry briefing paper have drawings in it?

"Anyway, I suggested we left her to pretend to be in charge while we left the Ministry and set ourselves up somewhere we could work unhindered.

"We guessed correctly that she would be too proud to admit she hasn't actually seen an Auror in the flesh for quite some time. We send her things we want publicised and that appears to keep her happy."

"You want things publicised?"

"Sometimes it's useful. Suspects are more willing to talk when they see independent evidence that a colleague is in custody and may be informing on them as well."

"So, are you completely independent now?"

"Only so far. We have unofficial contacts at Azkaban and most of the other Ministry departments."

"What about the Wizengamot?"

"Again, we have contacts with trusted individuals, but just lately we've preferred to leave Umbridge to deal with the Wizengamot officially."

"Is that wise?"

"Well, the Wizengamot hasn't been very effective for some time. While Voldemort is free and killing, they are very reluctant to convict any of his followers for fear of reprisals."

"That's outrageous."

"Perhaps, but it's also understandable. They may be some of our most powerful and respected wizards and witches, but they are still people with vulnerable families and friends."

"But if there are no prosecutions, how will we ever win?"

"We satisfy ourselves with smaller victories. Remanding suspects keeps them off the streets for a while. Besides, usually they are in no hurry to get out, especially if they know they will be punished by Voldemort. Getting caught is usually terminal in the longer term."

"Are you worried about accusations of bias or being outside Ministry control?"

"We are biased and outside of Ministry control, Harry," Kingsley said with a grin. "I know what you mean, though. I remember when Barty Crouch was in control. The Aurors in those days were feared almost as much as the Death Eaters. They didn't always arrest only the guilty, as you well know."

*

"What are you going to do with Ron?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"Nothing. I mean, there's nothing we need detain him further for," answered Kingsley. "There is no evidence that he's been involved with anything. Mind you, I can't say the same for some of the people he's been associating with lately.

"When he first came to our attention during our surveillance operations, I half wondered if he was there on your orders."

"No," replied Harry quietly. "I would never ask Ron to do anything like that."

"Well, although some of his views are distasteful, all we will do is lock him up for a few hours. A cold, quiet cell can have quite a sobering effect. Hopefully he'll come to his senses."

"I still have no idea why he's been behaving like this," admitted Harry. "I have a horrible feeling that it has something to do with me."

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yes, please."

*

Harry stepped into the small stone walled cell and the heavy door was slammed shut behind him. There was the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn across and then a small lantern hung on the wall behind him came to life.

Inside the cell were a single stool and a cot upon which a tall figure was laid. His robe was drawn up over his head and his feet extended a few inches beyond the end of the cot.

Harry sat on the stool.

All of the walls and most of the vaulted ceiling were covered in graffiti.

"What are you in here for?" asked Ron, without looking up.

"I asked if I could speak to you before they let you go."

Recognising Harry’s voice, Ron emerged from his cloak and sat up.

"They're letting me go?"

"That's what Kingsley said. Why, is there something you expected to be charged with?"

"I did wonder," said Ron, but he didn't elaborate.

They were quiet for a few moments.

"So, what did you want?" asked Ron.

"I don't really know where to start," Harry admitted. "I mean, I never envisaged wanting to ask you what I want to know."

"Ask away, Harry."

"You've been associating with some rather unpleasant people just lately, haven't you?"

"That depends on how you judge them," responded Ron immediately. "It is probably true that some of them have got a poor reputation, and more than a few do have criminal records; but they've always treated me fairly."

"Are you entirely comfortable about what these people do and say?"

"I take no interest in what they do. It isn't for me to judge how some of them scrape a living. It's true that some of them steal or trade in stolen goods, but remember that it isn't easy to get a proper job once you've got a record."

"To be honest, I was thinking more of their attitude to Muggles and so-called Mudbloods."

"They are entitled to their views."

"As are you."

"That's right."

"But, Ron, you haven't answered my question. I'm concerned about you. So is Hermione. She warned me ages ago that I should take her concerns seriously."

"Yeah?" Ron responded coldly.

"I didn't take her seriously, and I feel I've let you down because of that. You see, I was sure of my trust in you. For as long as I've known you, you have never stood for any disrespect to Muggles. Even the mere mention of Mudbloods set you off."

"Perhaps I have become a little more intolerant," agreed Ron. "When you are in a bar full of drunken bigots, it isn't always prudent to start lecturing them on how wrong they are."

"How have your own views changed, Ron?"

"Well," Ron said slowly, rubbing his chin, "in truth, my views haven't changed that much. Mind you, some of the anti-Mudblood jokes are funny; not that I'd ever admit that to Hermione."

"That might be sensible," agreed Harry.

"You know, that was how I met Ollivander?" said Ron conversationally. "A small group of them were planning a little trip to scare some Muggles and I had been invited to go along. I refused, of course, and actually tried to persuade them not to do it.

"I failed, naturally, and they all went off leaving me alone in the bar. Ollivander had been sitting quietly in the next booth listening to the whole thing. He invited me to join him and we got talking."

"You talked?" Harry repeated incredulously. "After what he did, you talked?"

Ron sighed.

"Harry, I know you've taken a dislike to him, but-"

"Dislike?! Yes, I do dislike him. He's the Healer! He was the one who cut up Jack Gurnet and Alison Weston! He also kidnapped Hermione, remember?"

"Harry, how sure are you about those things? I didn't see him grab Hermione and I was closest apart from you. As far as the Healer thing is concerned, there really isn't any evidence, is there?"

Harry fought to control his anger. Through gritted teeth he answered, "I saw Ollivander grab Hermione and I saw Alison Weston's reaction just before she died. I've told you all this before. Don't you believe me?"

"I think you believe what you are saying, Harry. To tell the truth, I've never seen Ollivander as a credible suspect as far as the Healer thing is concerned."

"Why not?" demanded Harry.

"He didn't admit he was the Healer to you, did he?"

"No, he refused to plea either way."

"Well, the cutting the actual Healer did was rather extravagant, wasn't it? I think that the person capable of doing that wouldn't hide their achievements. They'd want to boast about them; especially to you."

"That is true," Harry admitted. "I tend to think that anyone with such a mindset might not be so predictable, though. Ollivander isn't stupid, either. The Healer must expect a lifetime in Azkaban at best once he is caught."

"Unless he's working for You-Know-Who."

"That might change."

"Maybe. Are you sure Alison Weston was identifying Ollivander?"

"He was right behind me and there was no-one else around. He'd vanished by the time I'd turned around, though. Alison died almost immediately after."

"So you could be mistaken?"

"That's why the Prophet and Quibbler wouldn't publish his name. They thought I could have been mistaken too."

"I know," said Ron gently. "Harry, I know you don't want to hear this, but isn't it possible that you are just looking for someone to punish for what happened to Jack Gurnet and Alison Weston?"

Harry smarted.

"Of course I want him punished for what he did to them!" he shouted.

"That's not what I meant, Harry. Of course the Healer should be punished."

"What then?"

"Are you blaming Ollivander just because he's the only one you think might be the Healer?"

"I," said Harry before hesitating. He had been about to say, "I know he's the Healer!"

"I don't need to punish him myself, Ron," said Harry. "I just want him to face justice."

"There isn't much justice around these days, in case you haven't noticed," Ron said darkly. "But suppose, for argument's sake, he was given a full and fair trial by the Wizengamot. Would you be satisfied?"

"Yes, provided it was fair."

"By fair, do you mean so long as he's found guilty?"

"I can't believe you even asked me that."

Ron shrugged and looked up at the tiny window on the far wall.

"No, Ron, I didn't mean that. I'd abide by whatever the Wizengamot decided, even if I disagreed with their verdict."

"Mm," muttered Ron in a dismissive tone. "Of course, we all know the Wizengamot isn't going to give him any trial at all."

"True."

"So, won't it be tempting to deal with him yourself?"

"Yes, it was," agreed Harry. "That's something else I don't get about Ollivander."

"What?" asked Ron interestedly.

"Well, you saw how he was," said Harry. "He kept goading me. It was as if he was trying to provoke me into attacking him. Did you see what he had in those crates?"

“No, why?”

“Ron, listen to me. Ollivander said he’s going to kill you. He said the others won’t want you around unless you get more involved.”

“I’m not stupid, Harry.”

“Ron, I’m serious! Ollivander described you as gullible and naïve, Ron. He also said you were quite incapable of imagining the pain and suffering ahead of you.”

Ron rubbed his face with both hands and said, "Ollivander is pretty twisted."

"You know something," said Harry. "He told you something, didn't he?"

"Maybe."

"Tell me."

"I'm not saying anything in this cell. Get me out of here and give me my wand back," demanded Ron.

Harry hammered on the cell door. It was opened almost at once.

“You!” said the guard aggressively at Ron. “Get on your feet. You’re going out now.”

26. The Final Lesson

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 25 – The Final Lesson

Harry and Ron were escorted from the Auror camp up the old entrance road from the bottom of the quarry by two Aurors that Harry did not know. They were shown the way by wand-light shining just ahead of them.

When they reached a dilapidated chain link fence, one of guards took Ron’s wand from a robe pocket. He lightly touched the wand with his own making Ron’s wand glow with a dull blue light. Harry recognised the charm, a temporary block to prevent the wand being used to perform magic.

Harry assumed that they didn’t want to risk Ron firing at them as soon as he got his wand back.

The guard offered the wand out and Ron snatched it without a word.

The other one pointed to a wide opening in the fence.

Ron went through at once and Harry followed.

Ron was swishing his wand around with two or three fast arm movements until the glow had completely vanished. Harry wasn’t too surprised that Ron had learned how to quickly counteract the blocking charm.

Harry turned back and realised that their escorts had vanished.

Gone too were the flickering lights from the camp. Harry suspected that a few moments ago the camp had relocated itself.

Harry’s only regret was not having had a chance to properly say goodbye to Kingsley.

He turned back to face Ron who was standing in his now accustomed duelling stance. A smile grew across his face.

“Now who’s gullible and naïve?”

Harry did not answer. Nor did he drop his guard.

“Fancy your chances, Harry? I’ve had a lot a personal tuition lately from Ollivander, I should warn you. Of course I was learning how to attack rather more effectively than the last time I beat you. Just a bit more useful that being shown some old memories, eh?”

“Who have you told about those old memories, Ron?”

“Ah, so you didn’t come looking for me purely out of concern for me, then?”

“I am concerned about you, Ron. It’s also true that I have been worrying about what secrets you might be giving away.”

“You thought I’d do that?”

“I found it difficult to believe you’d do it willingly, but Ollivander is clever. So is Voldemort. What if they are working together?”

“So what if they are?” asked Ron, after recovering from a violent shudder.

“What if Ollivander is keeping you alive just long enough to learn what you know. I trusted you, Ron. If Voldemort learns what you know, we’ll never defeat him.”

“Stop saying the name,” hissed Ron.

Harry sighed.

“Ron, you were going to tell me something earlier. What is it?”

“Harry, I’d have thought by now you’d have learned that people will say anything if it gives them some advantage. I’d didn’t know I was about to be released, did I?”

“Tell me, Ron. You’re running out of time.”

“Time?” said Ron, laughing. “That all depends whose agenda you are following. Hasn’t it occurred to you that you’re the one who is running out of time?”

“I’ve known that for years, Ron,” said Harry flatly.

"Plans can be complicated, Harry. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re acting in accordance with the plan. Perhaps, for example, I've just got to keep you occupied here for a short while?"

“Ron,” began Harry, but he had to dive to avoid a hex fired at him by Ron. He deflected a second easily with a shield charm.

Harry straightened as soon as he realised that Ron had Disapparated away.

Harry let out a low groan to himself. Hermione wouldn’t be pleased to learn that he’s tracked Ron down only to fight with him and then let him escape.

A distant scream interrupted his thoughts.

He turned back to the opening in the fence. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the scream had come from down in the old quarry.

He took an uncertain step forward.

There was another scream, louder this time.

Harry ran towards the fence and pelted down the access road in almost complete darkness. Tripping in one of the many potholes, he fell and skidded forwards on his front. He came to a rest right at the edge overlooking the quarry.

The camp was gone, but there was activity down in the quarry. He could see flaming torches and what looked like a couple of tents.

Perhaps the Aurors had left a contingent after all.

He picked himself up and continued to run down the steep access road, stopping only when he reached the waterlogged floor of the quarry.

Fighting to control his breathing, he slowly approached the tents. So far he had not seen any sign of life.

He decided to take a look inside the tents and stepped out of the shadows into the flickering torchlight.

Harry was just passing a very familiar looking crate when the object left on top grabbed his attention.

He twisted his head to read the headline of the abandoned Evening Prophet.

“UPROAR AT HOGWARTS!”

“Students missing, feared dead.”

Harry lit his wand tip to read the article properly. He paused a moment before touching the newspaper that just had to have been left there to catch his attention. Perhaps it was also intended to catch him, he reasoned. Then he realised it made little difference.

With his free hand he grabbed the newspaper, and felt the grip of the Portkey almost at once.

*

Harry landed heavily onto compacted sand. He was met with a roar of sound.

He finished reading the front page and then threw aside the paper. He had read a surprising amount during his short flight, and only needed to finish the last three sentences once he’d landed.

The paper had said that Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville were all missing. The journalist had merely speculated upon what actually happened, but an official Ministry statement had confirmed the four who remained missing. It sounded like several other students had been hurt, though.

Harry looked around and was not entirely surprised to find himself alone in the middle of a large round arena. It had to be every bit a big as the first arena they had encountered when John Bateman lead them to attack Voldemort’s camp. It even had tiers of seating extending high up all around, every one teeming with people yelling and jeering loudly.

He looked around to see if there as a VIP box. Maybe Voldemort would be here in person to see this, as he was on the Archive raid.

To Harry’s disappointment, he could see no such viewing box. All he could see were row upon row of jeering masked wizards. He wondered sadly where Ron was watching from.

A crate appeared with a pop a few feet in front of him and hovered just above the ground for a moment. Then it fell heavily to the ground, breaking open.

Harry rushed forward when he saw who it was who tumbled out of the crate.

“Bear, are you okay?”

Bateman swore and rubbed his head. He shrugged off Harry’s attempts to help him.

“Bear, it’s me, Harry.”

“Harry?” he said, looking up.

Harry smiled down at him and said, “Well, I’m glad I’m not alone. As you can see we’re the entertainment again.”

Bateman stood and looked around seriously.

“Damn,” he said quietly, getting to his feet.

“Bear, they’ve got Hermione and three friends of ours from school. I don’t know, but they may be here as well.”

“They’ve got Mary too,” Bateman said darkly.

“No,” breathed Harry.

“I’m afraid the bad news doesn’t stop there either.”

“What else is there?”

“I hardly like to be the one to tell you.”

“FRIENDS!” bellowed Ollivander’s amplified voice. “Welcome! Welcome to the inaugural event in our new arena.”

As the cheering and clapping got louder, Harry shouted, “What is it?”

Bateman looked down and Harry reached up to give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Together, we can get out of here.”

“That’s part of the problem, Harry.”

“Sorry?”

“I remembered, Harry. I remembered what it was I needed to tell you.”

“Um, okay,” said Harry, becoming a little concerned. It was uncharacteristic of Bateman to want to talk when there was fighting to be done. “You can tell me later. Let’s get out of here and free the others.”

“She isn’t going to be freed, Harry. Not unless I fight.”

Harry jumped away just in time to avoid the long blade that Bateman had swung at him.

“Oh!” cried Ollivander’s amplified voice with delight. “It looks like our first combatants are eager to get started.”

“Bear!” gasped Harry. “Is this really the only way? Surely if we fight together?”

“Sorry, Harry. It has to be this way. It’s the only way I can be sure she’ll be safe.”

Bateman feinted with a lunge to Harry’s right and almost got him with a slash at Harry’s neck. He was less successful in avoiding Bateman’s boot which kicked him several feet away.

Ollivander’s laugh rang out above the roar of the crowd.

As Bateman advanced again, Harry fired a stunner.

Bateman flashed the blade and the spell bounced away harmlessly. His blade had been charmed to deflect spells.

Harry staggered to his feet, keen to keep some distance between them. He knew how good Bateman was with a knife.

“So, what did you remember?” asked Harry over the crowd’s cheers.

“I remembered that I hadn’t taught you something during our summer at Hogwarts.”

“Really, what a shame. We can take a break now if you’d like to teach me.”

Bateman grinned savagely and advanced again.

“Well, by a strange coincidence, my final lesson involves me attempting to kill you.”

“How nice. Do many students graduate from the Bateman Combat Academy?”

Bateman laughed and threw the knife directly at Harry. He produced a shield charm out of pure instinct and it worked on the charmed part of the blade. The knife bounced off the shield and landed a few feet away.

Bateman had begun running forwards as soon as he had thrown the knife.

He knocked Harry’s wand away and grabbed Harry’s throat with both hands. Bateman launched himself ah Harry, making him fly backwards. They landed heavily, but Bateman refused to let go of his brutal advantage. Harry felt his windpipe being crushed under Bateman’s strong grip. Bateman seemed unaffected by the painful sparks of magical energy travelling up his arms.

Harry struggled to get free but he knew it was useless.

As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, Harry fought for some way to survive this attack. He knew he only had seconds, and he knew all too well that Bateman would not release him willingly.

“Oh, dear,” rang out Ollivander’s voice. “It looks like Potter will be retiring early!”

Hatred of Ollivander and what he would be doing to Hermione and his friends boiled up inside him.

Harry couldn’t see now, but he brought his hand up and touched Bateman’s face.

He then let go the dark Kemmynadow magic and opened his eyes.

For just an instant Harry saw real fear in Bateman’s eyes. One of Bateman’s cheekbones seemed to collapse under his fingers. Then Harry heard the sound of Bateman’s arm and hand bones breaking. After what seemed an age, Bateman’s grip was loosened and he was thrown bodily backwards off Harry.

Harry lay there breathing heavily for a few moments before sitting up. He knew that being a wizard meant he would recover quickly, even from almost being strangled.

As the crowd’s booing reached new heights, Harry stood and staggered over to Bateman. He reached down and picked up his wand.

Bateman was lying in a ball, nursing his crippled arms.

“Kill me,” he pleaded.

“I won’t kill my friends. I can fix you up.”

“There isn’t time, Harry. Don’t leave me to become one of his experiments. Kill me and prove to me that I haven’t failed you entirely.”

“Is Mary here?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know where she is. Do it now, Harry. Please!”

“Why are you so keen to die? You aren’t afraid of pain. I’d have said you’d want to defy him, not give up like this.”

“Harry, you don’t understand. If you can’t kill, what’s the point in any of us carrying on?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“They’re coming. Do it now!”

Harry stood and looked around. A dozen hooded figures were advancing on them from the far side of the arena.

He looked back down into Bateman’s pleading eyes. Finally, he pointed his wand down and fired.

*

Harry knew that Bateman would be furious with him later, but he couldn’t just kill him in cold blood. The spell he’d just hit him with was a Kemmynadow special, designed to give the outward appearance of death for several hours.

He knelt down and grabbed hold of Bateman’s shattered and limp arm.

The cloaked figures all broke into a run just before he Disapparated them both away.

Harry grinned listening to the furious noises the crowd was making inside the arena. He couldn’t quite believe that Ollivander hadn’t thought to place anti-apparition wards around the Arena.

He quickly concealed Bateman’s body behind a small hut and covered it with a stretch of canvas that was lying nearby. He then went in search of the others. The first place he would check was the large white tent that dominated the assortment of small tents and carriages that surrounded the arena.

Harry hurried over, wondering how long he had before the crowd started to spill out of the arena. As he ran, the angry noises turned back to cheering. He assumed another match had begun in the arena.

“Going so soon, Harry?”

Harry dived behind a cart just before it was hit by several hexes and burst into flames.

He made to run for the tent, but by then Ron was standing in his path. Harry knew full well that the only reason Ron had called out was to get him to stop. He was much more difficult to get as a moving target.

“Where are they, Ron?” Harry demanded angrily.

To Harry’s growing feeling of trepidation, Ollivander Apparated just in front of the white tent. After lifting open one of the closed entrance flaps and briefly looking inside, Ollivander replaced the flap and then too a couple of steps towards them.

"They're not quite ready for you yet, Mr Potter. You see, it takes time to be so creative."

“If you’ve harmed any of them,” threatened Harry.

“Ron, kindly keep Mr Potter entertained for a while, will you?”

Ron nodded with a cold smile as Ollivander turned and entered the tent, a wide grin of anticipation appearing on his face.

“Ron, how could you. You know who he’s got in there, don’t you?”

A scream rang out from the tent. It was impossible to identify who it was.

“Please, Ron. How can you stand to hear your own sister and our best friend being tortured?”

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

“Can’t you hear the screaming?”

“There’s no screaming, Harry.”

There was another scream, this time louder.

"That's Luna," gasped Harry.

"What?"

"He's got Luna in there as well," shouted Harry, walking towards the entrance.

Ron lowered his wand and looked back at the tent. He was immediately blasted unconscious by a stunner.

"Oh, dear," said Ollivander nonchalantly emerging from the tent. "It looks like I will have to deal with you myself, Mr Potter. How tiresome."

*

The noise from the Arena seemed oddly subdued as they advanced on one another.

Ollivander gave an exaggerated sigh and said, “You don’t need to say it, Mr Potter. I must becoming a sentimental old fool to have allowed Young Ronald to live this long. I can’t tell you the trouble it’s been keeping him from seeing inside my temporary accommodation. Just imagine,” he added with a grin, “how upset he would have become seeing what I’ve done.”

Harry responded with a barrage of hexes.

“Ah, indeed,” continued Ollivander lightly, “I imagine you’ll be a little upset too. Of course, I haven’t really had time to get started, really, but my assistants have begun quite ably. Still want me to come over to your side?”

Harry fired again and this time Ollivander fired back.

“You know, I might just consider your offer now. The Dark Lord won’t be happy when he learns that not only have I attacked you again without his permission, but that I risked the disclosure of his beautiful new arena as well. Ah, well. Never mind, eh?”

Harry enveloped Ollivander in flames blasted from his wand tip.

“Perhaps I should give you an update on the condition of your friends?” continued Ollivander conversationally as soon as Harry’s hex died down. “The Longbottom boy put up quite a struggle. In the end they brought him along just as a punishment for the inconvenience he caused. There isn’t much fight left in him now, of course.

“I was rather relieved to find that they had managed to come away with the three intended abductees. From what I understand, they may have killed several female students in their crude attempts to get the right ones.”

Harry knew Ollivander was trying to goad him. He let the words just wash over him. Whatever Ollivander and his followers had done, there was nothing he could do to prevent it, no matter how bad it was.

“Ah, I can see I’m not going to be able to provoke you this time, Mr Potter. Shame, really, but I suppose it is about time you learned.”

To the side, Ron began to stir.

“Excuse me a moment, will you?” asked Ollivander, quickly pointing his wand at Ron. “Avada Kadavra!”

Harry rushed forward. Ron had managed to roll out of the way just in time. The spell’s bright green flash blasted the ground where he had been lying. Hard packed earth blasted up into the air.

Harry thrust his wand out and allowed the Kemmynadow free reign. His wand felt hot in his unshaking hand as his anger seemed to propel the dark magic out. Ollivander was hoisted up into the air. He tried to point his wand at Harry, but cried out in agony as his body was contorted and twisted in opposite directions until Harry heard his bones splinter.

Ollivander made a gargling noise and then fell limp. Harry pulled his wand up and Ollivander’s body fell heavily to the ground.

Harry stepped towards him and took Ollivander’s wand. Snapping it in two, he threw the parts away contemptuously.

He glanced down at Ron a moment before hurrying off towards the white tent. Ron was stirring slowly, apparently unhurt.

Harry hesitated before going inside when he reached the entrance. Bracing himself for the worst, he pulled open the flaps and entered.

Just inside, he froze at the sight before him.

-

AN: Now, that is a rotten place to break, isn’t it? Worse still, given that I may not have time to edit and upload the next Chapter (“Ron’s Tale”) tomorrow.

27. Ron's Tale

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

-

AN: Just to make up a little for leaving you with the last chapter ending as it did, I thought you might appreciate some additional help:-

Each Character (not counting Ollivander, obviously) will tell the truth as they know it in this Chapter.

Just don’t expect to learn the real (true?) truth until the very last Chapter. Enjoy.

-

Chapter 26 – Ron's Tale

Harry felt his knees buckle under him and he fell onto the carpeted interior of the white tent.

Standing directly in front of him was Hermione, her arms crossed and not looking at all pleased.

Harry barely noticed Luna, standing with her and apparently preventing her from exiting the tent to join the fray.

“W- Where are the others,” Harry managed to ask, looking vacantly around the vast tent. He was almost afraid to look at the rows of cots, each with restraint straps.

Luna answered by indicating off to their side. A short distance away Neville was sitting down while Ginny was tending to him. He appeared to have another broken nose and was covered in blood.

Mary was quietly sobbing in a chair on her own.

“We have to get away from here,” said Harry, getting to his feet and at last coming back to himself.

“How could you, Harry?” muttered Hermione through gritted teeth.

“What? Look, I really think,” began Harry, but he had to dive to avoid the purple flame that Hermione had just fired at him.

Harry lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. He roughly jerked her arm away making her wince with pain. He let her go as soon as he realised he had actually hurt her.

“Hermione! Let’s get out of here before we start fighting each other, shall we?”

The tent flaps opened and Ron came inside looking dazed. He was still covered in dirt but he no longer carried his wand in his hand.

“What are you lot doing here?” he asked in confusion.

“Get out of my sight you!” shouted Ginny angrily as soon as she saw her brother. “Go back to your Death Eater chums.”

Ron stood there, looking shocked at the strength of her animosity.

“Are you okay to Portkey away?” asked Harry. “From all the screaming I was afraid you’d be, well, cut up.”

“What screaming? There was no screaming.”

Harry didn’t have time to worry about what they were saying. He cut a corner off one of the rugs hanging up and said, “Portus!”

“Here,” he said offering it up. “You all take this Portkey back to Grimmauld Place. I’ll follow with Bear and Ollivander.” Hermione did not accept it.

Mary gave another loud sob.

“Pity you didn’t care more about John when he was alive,” spat Hermione.

“What are you talking about?”

“The only way you could have escaped from the Arena was by killing him. We know what was going to happen, Harry. They told us everything.”

“He’s not dead,” said Harry.

“He was your friend, Harry. How could you?” asked Hermione, who hadn’t heard Harry.

“N- Not dead?” asked Mary weakly.

“No, but he is badly hurt,” said Harry. “Please, there are just too many of them in that Arena. I can’t quite believe we’ve had as long as we have.”

On queue, there was an angry roar from somewhere outside. A loud bang followed and a bright flash momentarily lit up the canvas of the tent.

“Ollivander’s gone,” said Ron. “He managed to grab his spare wand and then he just vanished. I can’t imagine he’ll have long to live without urgent medical attention.”

Harry swore and thrust the odd looking Portkey into Hermione’s hands.

Luna and Ginny helped Neville up and then gently ushered Mary over towards Hermione.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” spat Harry angrily at Ron.

“I, er.”

“Grab hold of the Portkey, Ron. I haven’t done with you yet.”

Ron tentatively took hold of the tattered carpet as Harry said, “On three. One. Two. Three!”

*

Harry pocketed the wand that he’d just lifted from Ron’s pocket and ran out from the white tent. There was no sense in taking any chances that Ron might be tempted to do something stupid again.

He first checked to make sure Ollivander really had gone. Harry found nothing there but the broken wand. He’d known that anything short of a killing curse would be unlikely to actually kill the old wizard, but at the same time he had hoped to do just enough damage to take him alive.

Harry hurried over to where Bateman was lying hidden.

He was just wondering whether or not to risk another side along Apparition when they were fired upon.

Death Eaters and sympathisers were streaming out of the Arena in complete disarray.

It sounded like there was fighting going on in the stands.

Harry decided he shouldn’t put Bateman at any further risk by investigating, so he grabbed tight hold of his broken arm and Disapparated them both away.

*

Harry paced up and down the corridor waiting for news of Bateman’s state of health. It had been almost an hour since he’d been thrown out of the ward.

He turned again, wondering how long he could contain his growing anger.

Harry stopped seeing Professor McGonagall approaching.

Rather than going inside, she sat down on a chair beside the entrance doors. Harry sat down beside her.

“I got thrown out,” he said unnecessarily.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat gently and said, “I owe you an explanation, Harry. You see, I bear some responsibility for Sergeant Bateman’s present condition.”

They both turned hearing footsteps approaching.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat down opposite them both.

“Congratulations, Kingsley,” said McGonagall. “I hear that the raid on the new Arena was a great success.”

“Yes, we got quite a few of them.”

He shifted uncomfortably and looked at Harry.

“All this is my fault, Harry. It was my idea, and it was me who decided to keep you all in the dark.”

“The kidnappings from here?” asked Harry.

“They never took place,” answered McGonagall. “The story of the attack was mostly fabricated. It wasn’t a real kidnapping.”

“We had people planted in Ollivander’s group, and they were the ones who collected them. At the time only the girls knew anything about it. Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom didn't, so he really did put up quite a fight trying to get to them,” added Kingsley.

“Miss Granger only learned of our plans when she arrived here to confront me," continued McGonagall. "She eventually agreed to go along with Kingsley’s plan, but she didn’t really believe it would work. I believe she went along with it just so that she could be present to look after the others if needed.”

“How did Ollivander know Hermione was here at Hogwarts?” asked Harry.

“I ordered a book in her name and had it delivered here,” admitted Kingsley. “We knew the bookshop owner was in contact with Ollivander.”

“Where was the bookshop?” Harry asked tentatively.

“It was a place down Knockturn Alley.”

Harry sighed, feeling more than a little ashamed that he’d even suspected Edward and Jennifer.

“Okay, so why was Ollivander after Hermione, Luna and Ginny?” asked Harry.

“Simple. They are the three girls you are known to be closest too.”

Harry took a moment to calm himself.

“So, what was all this really about?” he asked finally.

“I persuaded the Minister of Magic that we could use you to flush his suspects out into the open. I knew that you would stop at nothing to help your Muggle friends. It was just a matter of finding the right motivation for you and make your investigation touch on the fringes of their activities to make them nervous enough to make a mistake.”

Harry fought an impulse to go over and punch Kingsley off his seat.

“Months ago, Harry, Bateman and I had a long conversation about you,” said Kingsley. “He was convinced that you needed to be hardened up. You see, he thought you weren’t afraid to kill; rather, you just thought it wasn’t right. He also speculated that it would only take a nudge in the right direction.”

“You wanted me to become a killer?”

“Merlin! Yes, absolutely. Harry, Voldemort is obsessed by you. Everything he does is centred around you. Not only do you need to protect yourself; you also need to fight back.”

Harry shook his head.

“Anyway, much later I modified Bateman’s memory. I was actually rather pleased with that. Not only did I remove Bateman’s memories of his ideas concerning you, I also left just enough to set him and Miss Alice off in search of the traitor. Colonel Falcon’s Journal should have lead to me, of course. I was the fictitious Traitor, but I was able to deflect his suspicions. By the way, I was telling the truth about Bateman intending to martyr himself. It was at that moment that I decided I could use him to our advantage.”

Harry frowned.

“So Bear did have two memory modifications?”

“Yes. It was important that he was regarded with suspicion even after most of his memories were restored.”

“Why?”

“Tardov and his associates had to believe they were still in the clear. I’ve been feeding them false information for months. Unfortunately, that will have to stop now.”

“He knows he’s been discovered?”

“Tardov was found dead at the Arena. I’ve no idea who killed him. He may have just got caught in the crossfire.”

“What about Harriett Castle?”

“That was unfortunate, but in time she’ll make a full recovery.”

“Unfortunate? She almost killed herself!”

“Yes, well, you aren’t the only one to have a go at me for that mistake. The problem was I had no idea she was being used like that. The way I prepared the information being leaked, there was absolutely no need to use an Imperious Curse. I just underestimated how cruel and ruthless our opponents were.”

“Is Careem working for you too?”

Kingsley smiled and nodded.

“He was our man from the start, Harry. He’s actually a squib, by the way.”

“No,” breathed Harry, genuinely surprised by this revelation.

“He and his brother were raised by Muggle foster parents. Actually, while I’m confessing, I probably ought to admit that I never did stop working with the Prime Minister. He’s known just about everything I knew relating to Tardov’s activities. Had we worked harder on getting our stories straight, Miss Granger might never have caught us out.”

“I doubt that,” commented McGonagall dryly.

“Tell me about Ollivander,” demanded Harry.

“I know very little about his current activities. He’s becoming known for his unsavoury anti-Muggle views and he’s known to associate with Death Eaters. He has never been accused of being a Death Eater himself and you are the only person to accuse him of being The Healer.”

“You just said you’ve had your people working for him!”

“I didn’t say they were very successful. He trusts hardly anyone, you know? He’s had all of our people involved with building that damn Arena for ages now.”

Harry frowned and shook his head.

“So, if Ollivander wasn’t part of your plot, why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance? All be really did, until our final fight, was taunt me about how feeble I was compared to Voldemort.”

Kingsley just shrugged.

“Ollivander came out of the tent where they were being held, but when I got in there they were all just waiting for me. Did he free them?”

“No idea. Our people should have been there the whole time to see that they came to no harm. None of them have checked in yet, but one of them could have freed them, I suppose.”

“What about Ron?”

“He, er, wasn’t part of our plans,” Kingsley admitted quietly.

Harry bowed his head.

“You’re going to have to deal with him yourself.”

“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT!” shouted Harry, his eyes blazing. Kingsley jumped back in shock, staring at the wand Harry was pointing at him.

Professor McGonagall reached up and gently pulled Harry’s arm down.

Kingsley took a moment to recover and Harry had the impression that his life had flashed before him.

“That’s the trouble with creating fledgling killers,” said McGonagall lightly. “You can never tell who they’ll decide to attack next.”

The pair of doors to the Hospital Wing both swung open and Madam Pomfrey appeared.

“He’s stable but he’ll be sleeping for several hours while his body recovers."

“Will he be okay?” asked Harry.

“Yes, I’ve mended his bones. In fifty years I haven’t seen so many breaks in the same two arms. Of course, he would have died had you not hit him with that curse. I dread to think where you learned it, Potter, but stopping the blood flow saved his life.”

“What about the injuries to his head?”

“There will be no long term problems there. Fortunately our Sergeant has a thick skull that is now back to its usual shape.”

“Can we see him?”

“Certainly not! I will not permit any visitors, without exception. He’ll be unconscious for the next two days at least, so you might as well all go.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” said McGonagall with a small smile. “We’re quite comfortable out here.”

Madam Pomfrey gave them a disbelieving look before returning to her duties.

“Tell me about Bear,” said Harry. “He tried to get me to kill him. He said it was his final lesson, or something.”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at that point, was he?”

Harry resisted another urge to attack Kingsley.

“I’m sorry,” said Kingsley as Professor McGonagall returned a precautionary hand to her lap. “That was uncalled for. As I said, it was his idea that you needed to learn how to fight and kill if necessary. I think the circumstances he was in forced that idea back to the surface.”

“He told me in the arena that he remembered.”

They were quiet for a long moment.

“So, was all this worth it?” asked Harry. “How many lives did you save?”

Kingsley shifted uncomfortably and said, “Well, obviously the people we captured will be kept off the streets for a while. We’ll publicise who they are too, so they’ll find it harder to operate.”

“What about all the false information you fed Tardov?”

Kingsley looked very uncomfortable now.

“That,” he said slowly, “has been less successful. I still don’t know how, but they managed to target a good number of their victims in spite of the false information.”

“How was that supposed to work?”

“We pretended that the Muggles were successfully spying on the Ministry. Tardov was actually assigned to spy on the Muggles. We intended him to get the doctored information about Ministry activities that way. It worked well too, in the beginning, anyway.”

“So, Scrimgeour played me along from the beginning,” said Harry, remembering the look the Minister had given him just before greeting him and showing him into his office.

“Not entirely, Harry,” said Kingsley. “Even he didn’t know all of the plan. Originally, he just wanted to get you to talk to that ghost Librarian for him. You should know he was very reluctant to use you like we did. Come to think about it, when he finds out I sanctioned the fake kidnapping of four Hogwarts students, he’ll probably string me up.”

Kingsley’s smile faded seeing Harry’s serious expression.

“Why did you do that?”

“While Ollivander was busy having fun with you, he was distracted from what was going on with Tardov and the fake information we were feeding him. We just had to keep it up just a little longer. Ollivander isn’t stupid, by any means. If he’d been thinking straight, he’d have smelled a rat straight away.”

“There’s another leak, isn’t there? One you don’t know about.”

Kingsley just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“That now seems very likely. It’s possible they were just lucky, but somehow they knew when to act on the information. Even the faked stuff had to have elements that were true in them in order to maintain credibility. I just don’t know how it was done. If only we could have got to Tardov in time. There was one hell of a fight in the Arena. Malemo isn’t being very co-operative at the moment, either.”

Then Professor McGonagall stood up.

“Harry, I suggest you return to the others. I expect they’ll have lots to explain as well. For my part, I’d like to apologise. I placed your friends any my students at an unacceptable risk when I agreed to go along with all this. I should have listened to Hermione, instead of helping to change her mind.”

*

Harry entered the drawing room at Grimmauld Place and went straight over to Mary. Hermione was sitting with her and Ginny was curled up with Neville on the couch.

“How is he?” Mary asked at once.

“He’ll be fine,” said Harry. “He’s in hospital and won’t be awake again until tomorrow at the earliest. We’ll smuggle you in to see him, but I think you should get some rest first.”

She nodded shakily.

“Where’s Ron?” asked Harry.

“He’s upstairs with Luna,” said Hermione at once. “Harry, I-”

Harry stood to leave.

“Harry?”

“Later,” he said coldly, and headed straight for the door.

*

It wasn’t too difficult to tell which of the bedrooms they were in. Harry knocked on the door but the shouting continued.

In the end he opened the door to see Luna brandishing a bedpan at Ron.

“I’d like a word with Ron,” said Harry.

Luna turned and smiled warmly at him.

“Of course, Harry. I’ll be downstairs.”

Almost casually she hurled the bedpan at Ron and left the room without looking back.

Harry closed the door and picked up an overturned chair to sit on.

Ron moved around and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I suppose it’s time I told you the whole truth,” said Ron miserably.

“High time,” agreed Harry, sitting down.

Ron rubbed his fingers through his hair and collected his thoughts.

“I didn’t lie about how I met with Ollivander,” he began, “but I didn’t tell you everything we discussed, nor everything he asked me to do.

“First of all, Harry, Ollivander is a bigot. He hates Muggles and Mudbloods, and he’s fairly contemptuous of just about everyone else. He actually admires You-Know-Who and what he’s achieved using one of his wands.

“Ollivander is capable of doing some pretty sick things, Harry, but the one thing he isn’t is The Healer.”

Harry’s scepticism was evident on his face.

“Some of the people I’ve been mixing with actually knew the Healer. I’ve no idea who he really is, but I’m sure it isn’t Ollivander.”

“But what about Alison Weston’s reaction?”

“I can’t explain that. Maybe she had seen someone else and you only assumed it was Ollivander because he was the only one you saw. Harry, Ollivander wanted you to think he was the Healer, even though he isn’t.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“He did kind of admit that he observed the work the Healer did. You know, at Voldemort’s camp. He certainly didn’t do anything to ease their suffering and he did have a ghoulish fascination with what the Healer was doing.”

Ron shifted slightly.

“Now, you know that Ollivander and Dumbledore went way back?”

“Yes, Ollivander told me.”

“Right, but he didn’t tell you about the obligation Ollivander had to Dumbledore.”

“Ollivander said something about not being obligated to Dumbledore any more. I assumed he meant because he had died.”

“No, Harry. Ollivander was given a final task by Dumbledore before he died. A terrible one.”

“What was it?” asked Harry with a feeling of growing unease. He knew only too well what it was like to fulfil a terrible promise made to Dumbledore.

Ron did not answer at once but Harry’s thoughts at that moment were of Dumbledore and his pleading as Harry fed him the poison.

“He,” began Ron hesitantly. “He promised to do something. Dumbledore made him promise to teach you.”

“Teach me?”

“He promised to teach you to kill, Harry. He was to do this regardless of casualties and he was to complete this task even if it meant provoking you into killing him.”

“That’s insane!”

“Is it, Harry? Dumbledore knew that You-Know-Who would order no further attempts to be made on you life. The Death Eaters are terrified of even giving you a scratch for fear of what he would do to them and their families.

“Ollivander agreed that You-Know-Who ordered this partly because he wants to be the one to kill you-”

“You don’t say?” interrupted Harry in a mocking tone.

“And,” continued Ron carefully, “because he has a better motive. You-Know-Who wants to fight an inexperienced you. He knows you, Harry. He knows your weaknesses. You wouldn’t hurt anyone unless you could help it. You couldn’t even finish off Ollivander properly, could you?”

Harry shrugged.

“It won’t matter how many hexes and defences you have learned if, when it comes right down to it, you will hesitate before taking You-Know-Who’s life.”

Harry looked down, knowing this to be true.

“Ollivander did some truly terrible things when he was younger. He knows exactly what it’s like to kill. He was the only one Dumbledore could turn to. You see, he needed someone he could trust to keep their word.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

“Lots of people have killed, Harry, but how many could be trusted to complete Dumbledore’s instructions, even at the expense of their own life?”

They were silent for a long time.

“What about you, Ron?”

“What about me?”

“We’ve been very concerned about you. Kingsley has dropped some heavy hints how I should deal with you. Herita said I should just execute you and move on, irrespective of the facts.”

“Oh,” said Ron. “It didn’t occur to me that I might be a victim of your final lesson. Hermione wouldn’t approve.”

“She was pretty upset with you, actually. But you’re right, Hermione would not approve. Nor would most of the people who thought they were your friend.”

Ron’s face became a little flushed and he looked away.

“You get immune to it after a while,” said Ron. “At first I just ignored all the anti-Muggle comments. Then I found myself believing them. I knew none of it was true or right, but it’s so much easier when you’ve someone to aim your hatred at.

“Almost everyone I met down Knockturn Alley had some kind of grievance that festered. Muggles are easy prey. They can’t fight back with magic.

“Anyway, I was reaching the point when I had to either disassociate myself from those people or join in. I was on the point of leaving when I met Ollivander. He persuaded me to play along for a while.”

“Play along?”

“I exaggerated my views. It meant I could stay in their company for longer, although when I refused to take part in any Muggle bating I needed Ollivander to stop them from killing me. The very worst part was that time at the Burrow, though. I'm just glad I didn't need to use any of the really bad Mudblood material I had in order to provoke you.”

“But why, Ron?”

“Ollivander could be quite convincing. He taught me loads of wand hexes. You’ve seen how much better I’ve got now.”

“You haven’t told me why, Ron.”

“I don’t honestly know,” Ron admitted. “The way he told it, it all made sense. I was going to be able to help Ollivander fulfil Dumbledore’s instructions. We would both help fight You-Know-Who by provoking you into standing up for yourself. Ollivander knows you’ve got it in you, Harry, despite all the things he’s said.

“Mind you, hearing what he said after he stunned me does make me wonder if he might have just been using me after all.”

“It won’t be easy for your family to forgive you, you know that?”

“I know. I tried to tell Dad about it, but he didn’t believe me. I was hoping either you or Hermione would find all that rubbish I left behind rather than him.”

“Where did all those sick Pureblood pamphlets come from, Ron?”

“No idea.”

“Ollivander?” asked Harry

“Possible, I guess. I’ve been receiving them for months now. I assumed everyone was getting them since they arrived with the official Ministry handouts.”

“Ron! Didn’t you consider it strange that the Ministry was handing out that rubbish?”

“Not really. Anyway, I asked Dad not to tell anyone that I’d spoken to him, so I imagine Mum and the others still hate me. Your crack about the painful brand certainly hit home too.”

Harry combed his fingers through his hair.

“How could you be so stupid, Ron?”

“It’s a gift.”

“I’m being serious,” Harry said firmly. “Only the three of us know the truth about how we are going to defeat Voldemort. Have you any idea what would happen if he found out what we know?”

“I would never have told anything about that.”

“You could have been made to talk. I’m amazed that your new associates didn’t just hand you over to Voldemort. At least one of them must have known how close you are to me.”

“They were too afraid of Ollivander,” said Ron quietly.

They were quiet for a long moment.

“I believe you’ve told me the truth as you know it, Ron, except in one respect,” Harry said at last. “What I can’t believe is that you bought all that rubbish Ollivander told you. Maybe Dumbledore did make him promise to do something, but I can’t believe Dumbledore of all people would resort to forcing me to learn how to kill.”

“So, what did Ollivander really promise then?”

“I’ve no idea. Ollivander has always given me a chance to escape unharmed. Part of that could be his promise to Dumbledore, but more likely its Voldemort’s instructions that only he may kill me.”

“That’s what I just said. Harry, what’s the one respect you don’t believe?”

Harry looked at Ron coldly.

“You said it didn’t occur to you that you might be a victim of my final lesson.”

“Oh,” said Ron, looking down. “Yes, Harry. Hermione told me ages ago that you were testing us. She thought that was why Bateman was really invited to Hogwarts. He was there to kill us if we failed the tests, wasn’t he?”

“I would never have allowed that to happen,” said Harry. His voice was kindly but his face was unsmiling as he raised his wand to Ron. “I would never allow Bateman to do something that was my responsibility.”

“Er, Harry?”

“Where did you hear the phrase Final Lesson, Ron?”

“What? Er, I don’t know. Ollivander must have said it. Why?”

“Bateman used the same phrase. His final lesson was to teach me to kill as well. Strange co-incidence, don’t you think?”

Ron just stared open mouthed at Harry’s wand tip.

Harry considered for a long moment before lowering his wand. Ron sighed with relief, but Harry had decided that if Ron had truly turned against them, Percy would be dead by now.

Harry stood up and made to leave the room.

“So am I reprieved?”

“No, Ron. Let’s call this a stay of execution. You’ll need to reconcile yourself with everyone you’ve upset. I’m afraid there are quite a few of them. I suggest you start with Hermione. Oh, yes,” Harry added, remembering. “Ron, why was Luna so mad at you?”

“Er,” said Ron hesitantly. “Well, she wrote to me. I don’t know if you knew, but McGonagall got everyone at school to write to everyone who didn’t turn up in September and try to persuade them back. Luna got me. Actually, I only recently found out she was supposed to be inviting me back to school. You see, her letter didn’t actually say anything about coming back to school.”

“Go on,” said Harry, who could well believe that of Luna.

“Right. I contacted her a short while ago. It was just after you took that DA class, so she knew I’d been thrown out by Dad. I was desperate, Harry. There was no-one I could talk to about all this. Anyway, she just said Ollivander was mad and that I should come clean and tell you and Hermione everything.

“She’s, er, a little upset that I didn’t act upon her advice.”

*

Harry closed the door behind him and realised he had no idea where he wanted to be at that moment. He heard a soft sniff and looked up. Hermione was waiting for him, red faced and puffy eyed.

“Harry, I,” was all she managed before bursting into tears.

Harry crossed the corridor and opened his arms to her.

“Shh,” he said gently. “Let’s not do this tonight.”

“N- No, Harry. We need to talk about this.”

Harry guided her into a bedroom and relented only in as much as he let Hermione tell him exactly what happened from the moment she left him.

His anger at her had dissipated the moment he heard her begin to cry, even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to forgiving her just yet.

Somehow Hermione’s failure to trust him had hurt even more than Ron’s actions. Ron had been stupid, and had admitted it. Although he believed Hermione’s explanation that Professor McGonagall called Kingsley as soon as she arrived to challenge them, he would never have believed that Hermione could be so easily persuaded.

Perhaps wisely, Hermione had not asked for his forgiveness just yet. He was in no mood for that.

“I went straight to Professor McGonagall as soon as I realised. I was sure she could contact Kingsley if she needed to in an emergency, and I wanted to ask her advice. At the time I was afraid he really was the Traitor we’d been looking for.

“I should have been stronger, Harry. Kingsley just kept going on about the lives that could be saved if they discovered the full extent of the Ministry leaks. He also wouldn’t let me contact you. He was afraid you might do something rash.

“I think he’d spent a long time persuading Professor McGonagall too. When she supported Kingsley, I finally agreed to go along with it.

“The trouble is, I still think Voldemort has so many supporters in key places at the Ministry, Kingsley will have an impossible job to identify them all. I kept telling him to ask for Scenariste’s help, but he wouldn’t agree.”

Gradually, Hermione began to tell him more.

He learned that Kingsley's undercover Aurors had taken them to the White Tent. Once Ollivander had seen them captive for his amusement later, the Aurors freed them and returned their wands.

Mary and Bateman had been coincidentally captured by Ollivander's loyal men. Unfortunately, Bateman was sent straight to the Arena to fight. Mary was sent to the White Tent.

“Ron is sure Ollivander isn’t the Healer. So why did he want you in there?”

“He may not be the Healer, Harry, but there are many other ways to entertain a sick mind.”

Harry had asked why Ollivander had come out of the tent satisfied that everything was in order. He also told Hermione about the screaming he had heard coming from the tent.

"That was weird," said Hermione. "The Aurors had been called away to the Arena and said it would be too suspicious if they didn't attend as ordered. They performed a charm near the tent entrance, and when Ollivander came in it was like he could still see us still tied up. Perhaps the screaming was part of the illusion too."

"Even if Ollivander isn't the Healer, he’s still pretty cracked," said Harry. “You should have seen the look of anticipation on his face after he looked inside.”

-

AN: The bit where Harry caught Ron out didn’t count, just because. Okay, enough of all this Characters telling the truth nonsense! Next: Will Ron get a green light to join the fight?

28. Green Light

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 27 – Green Light

Harry looked up and smiled seeing John Bateman come into the room. He and Mary had been brought back to Grimmauld Place by Harry very late the previous evening. Bateman had been transferred by Madam Pomfrey to St. Mungos four days ago in order that the specialist Healers there might speed his recovery.

Mary had stayed at his bedside for almost the entire time since he arrived at St. Mungos, and had not lost a single opportunity to nag Harry while Bateman remained unconscious.

Harry wasn’t finding it easy to forgive either Ron or Hermione for their recent actions, and found himself visiting the hospital more and more just as an excuse to get away from Grimmauld Place; even if that meant he had to subject himself to Mary’s persistent badgering.

Mary had no idea what the secret was that bound the three of them together, but she knew how worried both Hermione and Harry in particular had been about Ron’s apparent turning.

Mary urged Harry not to even consider punishing the other two for their actions, arguing that they were only truly strong together. He needed to mend fences, not put more up.

Harry accepted that she was right in his heart, even if his head found it more difficult. The one thing he fully accepted was that he might not get another chance to reconcile things with Ron.

Perhaps predictably, Hermione was giving Ron a torrid time of it at the moment. She had been almost hoarse from shouting a couple of times when he got back in the evenings and the atmosphere always seemed tense. It was plain to Harry that she was taking her own guilt anxieties out on Ron.

Even Kreacher had enough of them and had decided Harry should send him off to Hogwarts for a while. Harry didn’t really blame him for wanting to go, but he was a little put out when Kreacher wouldn’t let Harry join him there.

In the days since his return, Ron had made a start contacting his family, but hadn’t yet returned to the Burrow to face his parents.

Harry was pleased to find Bateman fully recovered, at least physically, when he was discharged. The moment of his actual departure had been marred by a minor incident that left Harry wondering if Bateman’s two memory modifications weren’t still causing him problems.

“I thought we’d finish our lesson now,” Bateman said seriously, closing the door.

“Bear, you can’t be serious,” said Harry, putting down his newspaper.

“Really?”

“If you want me to apologise for not killing you, just say so. I’d have thought you ought to be pleased, actually. I know Mary and Hermione are.”

“You’re missing the point again, Harry.”

“Okay, so what is the point?”

“Stand up,” ordered Bateman.

Harry began to stand but had to jump sideways to avoid the low punch aimed at his stomach. As Bateman’s swing continued through thin air, Harry sprawled onto the floor.

Bateman kicked the chair over in frustration as Harry got quickly to his feet.

“I see you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you since the summer.”

“To be honest, I thought all the training was a waste of time,” retorted Harry and raising his wand to defend himself. “Now, are you going to behave or do I have to put you back in St Mungos?”

Bateman reached behind his back and withdrew a lethal looking knife from his belt.

“Where’d you get that from?”

“The Weasleys were kind enough to replace it for me. The blade is enchanted too.”

“Remind me to have a word with Fred and George, will you?” muttered Harry.

Bateman rotated the blade expertly in one hand so the long blade pointed downwards.

“I beat you once against an enchanted blade, Bear,” said Harry. “Do I really need to do it again?”

“I’ve learned from my mistakes, Harry. How about you?”

Harry fired a weak stunning spell but Bateman easily deflected it away using the blade.

“Stop playing, Harry. If you don’t have respect for your opponent, you’ll always be at a disadvantage.”

Harry fired three spells in rapid succession. Bateman ignored the first two, seeing that they were intended to distract him. He blocked the third with his knife, leaving himself open to Harry’s fourth spell. The full body bind spell hit him square in the chest.

Bateman froze, but to Harry’s consternation his limbs did not snap together.

Bateman grimaced as he fought the effects of the spell. Harry recognised that Bateman must be wearing some of Fred and George’s shielded underclothing that was helping to counter the effects of his spell.

Harry quickly moved around to Bateman’s back. He was still mobile but the spell was hampering his reflexes.

Harry brought his wand up and lightly touched the bare skin at the back of Bateman’s neck.

Bateman fell in a heap at once and Harry wrenched the knife out of his hand.

Harry grabbed Bateman’s collar and dragged him over to the fireplace so he wouldn’t get too cold. He then turned him over so he was lying on his back.

“Now,” said Harry sitting down again, “perhaps we could discuss this in a more sensible manner?”

“Release me,” demanded Bateman angrily, sounding slightly choked.

“No,” replied Harry simply. “Not until you’ve heard me out. Are you comfortable or would you like a cushion?”

Bateman swore at him and then continued to struggle for a while. Harry waited patiently. The paralysis that Bateman was suffering from would not wear off for some time.

“I shouldn’t bother to struggle,” advised Harry. “You are paralysed from the neck down. Other than breathing, you have no control over your body.”

Bateman appeared to calm down a little.

“First of all,” said Harry, “attacking me in St Mungos really wasn’t the most sensible thing to do. Remember there are many people who mistrust Muggles in the wizarding community. Seeing you go berserk hardly helped the cause.”

“I assumed I wouldn’t get another chance,” admitted Bateman. “Mary said Shacklebolt might be coming to visit me later. I assumed he’d modify my memories again.”

“Not without your approval, he wouldn’t.”

“No? He did last time, remember? I only agreed to have my memories of you erased, nothing else.”

“He didn’t. I’m not saying that what he did was right, but he did nothing you hadn’t agreed to at some point even if you can’t remember now”

Bateman made a straining noise and finally said, “I’m shaking my head now.”

“Okay,” said Harry with half a laugh.

“Listen to me,” pleaded Bateman. “You’re not ready. You need to face this.”

“I’m not prepared to murder.”

“I’m not asking you to do that. I want you to kill, not murder.”

“It would still be murder, Bear.”

“Sometimes killing is the only answer. I’m not asking you to enjoy it. You think I like killing?”

“No, but you are desensitised to it. Tell me honestly, if you could use a wand and do the things you’ve seen Wizards do, how many of your killings would have been the only answer?”

“Not many, I suppose.”

“Exactly.”

“Like I said, you’re missing the point. That newspaper of yours you were reading. How many victims have been reported in the last day?”

“About the same as yesterday.”

“And the day before,” added Bateman. “Your enemies are killing people, not merely disabling them.”

“They just want to scare people.”

“No, they want to eliminate the possibility of them recovering to fight another day. More to the point, you will face an enemy whose first resort will be to kill. Where you will hesitate; they will not. That hesitation may be the difference between life and death.”

“That’s true, but if I lose that hesitation, can I really claim to be any different from them?”

“Why do you need to claim any such thing? Do you even have the right?”

“It’s my life.”

“The hell it is! What about all those people who have put themselves at risk for you, Harry? You owe it to them to survive, at least until Voldemort is defeated.”

“I never asked,” began Harry, but then he stopped himself.

Bateman waited on the floor.

Harry sighed deeply.

“I think even Hermione agrees with you,” he said at last.

“No, she doesn’t,” replied Bateman evenly. “Harry, if you think you’ll suddenly become a crazed blood-thirsty maniac, you don’t have anything to worry about. It doesn’t work that way. You’ll never lose your respect for life and the rights of others. I may be desensitised, but I’ve never killed where I can avoid it. For me, the faces are the worst part.”

“Faces?”

“Yeah,” said Bateman darkly. “They come in my dreams. I see their faces. There are quite a few now.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry.

“Will you release me?”

“Promise not to attack me; or at least go a bit easier on the furniture?”

“Only if you promise to do something for me. Kingsley has received a tip-off and I’ve invited myself along as part of the reception committee. You can come with us, but there’s a catch.”

Harry frowned slightly, both curious to know what this reception committee was for and to know how Kingsley had been in touch with him.

“What’s the catch?”

“No wands.”

*

“There’s no point in arguing with me on this, Harry,” said Hermione. “I’m coming with you. That’s final.”

Harry gently stroked her hair to one side and kissed her, smiling at Hermione’s unerring ability to talk business at any time, irrespective of the moment.

“We’re not allowed wands,” Harry reminded her. “That’s why Bear and his men are leading the assault.”

“Why can’t we have wands?”

“Because the place is riddled with detection spells and security wards. Wands will just set them off, apparently. Bear said six Aurors were captured this week just trying to get close enough to see what’s going on in there.”

“Won’t they be expecting another attack?”

“Yes, Bear says they will be.”

“What about wand-less magic?”

“How many people do you know who can do magic without a wand?”

“Dumbledore could.”

“Yes, he could,” agreed Harry sadly. “Apparently Kingsley can’t find anyone else he trusts enough to ask along to help.”

“So all of the wizards powerful enough to help are either dead or suspected of siding with Voldemort?”

“That’s about the state of things,” agreed Harry.

“Oh, Harry, what’s to become of us?”

“Hey, cheer up, will you?” said Harry, kissing her neck lightly. “Or I’ll make you go back to your own room,” he added with a grin.

Hermione snorted and pushed him off her. Harry rolled sideways to lie on his back as Hermione climbed over him so their positions were reversed.

“This place seems so empty now,” she said wistfully. “I even miss the Dursleys yelling at each other at all hours.”

“Well, at least Ron’s gone home for a few hours.”

“Yes. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as he thought it would be. They all love him really.”

Harry reached up and found her hand.

“I’ve decided to tell Ron everything we’ve learned. I’m also wondering whether I should tell him all about the Fidelius Charm on this place.”

“It would show trust,” she agreed, kissing his neck.

“And?” he prompted.

“And he already knows so much that the new information won’t add much to the damage he could cause if he betrayed us now,” she added.

“Exactly. So, are you going to let up on him?”

“Yes, I will now we’ve made it up. Don’t tell him anything just yet, though. Ron will need time to adjust. It’s bound to be a bit of a shock.”

“Sure,” said Harry sleepily.

“Did John and Mary say where they were going?”

“No. I just left them at the drop off point with Kingsley like they asked. I had the impression that Kingsley wasn’t too impressed that Bear had more or less taken over the entire operation. He also seemed to have no idea how they came to know anything about the Healer’s lair.”

Then he added, “What will be a shock, Hermione?”

“Honestly, Harry! The family celebration at the Burrow tonight wasn’t to welcome Ron back.”

“It wasn’t?” Harry said stupidly.

“No, Harry. Ginny was bringing home her new boyfriend. I declined Mrs Weasley’s invitation on your behalf, of course. I didn’t want any awkwardness to spoil their evening.”

“Not that I’m interested, or anything, but who is he?”

“Quite a catch, actually. He’s the new Head Boy.”

*

Harry trudged along the path for as far as he could go before stepping onto the long wet grass and making his way down the gentle slope to join the small group of people gathered around some tables beside a small group of tents.

He shivered in the cold morning air and pulled his travelling robe tighter around himself.

Seeing Ron away from the main group and sitting in one of the few chairs provided, Harry made his way over to him.

"Hi," said Harry.

"Hi, Harry."

"Where do I get a knife from?" he asked, seeing everyone else had one.

"Hermione's got yours. She's somewhere over there nagging Bateman about something."

"May I?" asked Harry, pointing to the long knife lying on a table next to Ron.

"Sure, help yourself. Fred and George seem to have found a new niche market with these things."

Harry picked up the knife. It was surprisingly heavy but the grip made the knife feel very secure in his hand.

"The blade has an unbreakable charm and the handle has a weak sticking charm too," said Ron. "There's something special about that end bobble, but I wasn't really listening."

"The handle is called the hilt, Ron," said Hermione striding over to them. "That end bobble is called a pommel, actually. Traditionally it is used as a counterweight."

The dull bluish metal blade had a blood grove down one side and was almost ten inches long. Both cutting edges looked extraordinarily sharp.

"Why does it need a counterweight, Hermione?"

Ron jumped up and pulled Harry away from her as Hermione raised her own knife to show him.

"Ron!" cried Hermione with obvious annoyance. "I was only going to show Harry."

"Yeah, well you nearly decapitated me earlier, and I hadn't had a chance yet to warn Harry what a maniac you've become."

"That's a slight exaggeration, Ron," said Hermione.

Harry laughed as Ron pushed him upright again.

"What were you going to show me, Hermione?" asked Harry.

Hermione held the knife up high with the blade pointing directly upwards towards the sky.

"You see this button under the hilt?"

"Um, yes."

"Well, if you push it, the blade extends."

Hermione used her gloved thumb to hit the small metal button. Harry gasped seeing the blade extend a further twelve inches or so transforming it into a formidable looking short sword.

"Press it again to shorten the blade again," she advised. "The pommel adjusts to keep the blade balanced. Here, Harry," she added, sheathing her knife and offering him a wrapped bundle of cloth. "Fred and George made this set up for you. In there you'll find a belt, scabbard and an additional utility knife. They also included a small maintenance kit."

Harry looked down at Ron's knife that he was still carrying.

"Hermione, won't these blades be too magical?"

"You mean, will the wards detect them as well as wands? Yes, I was saying the same thing to John earlier. He says there's no way to tell until we go. We can't chance sending someone to test them out in case they get caught and they break camp early."

"What time do you call this?"

Harry smiled seeing Bateman walking over to them.

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry, carefully returning the knife to him. "Hi, Bear. I'm sorry, but I needed to make sure the Dursleys were okay in their new home."

"Slept in, more like," said Bateman with a grin. "Well, I don't suppose I could trouble you to spend a few minutes learning how to use these new toys?"

Harry smiled and said, "I'm all yours."

"Right. The first thing you are going to do is four laps of the marked field. All three of you, that is."

"What?" cried Ron.

Harry, who recognised that Bateman in full "training sergeant" mode would not be put off, said, "Come on. Let's go."

"Not so fast," said Bateman with an evil grin. "You need to put your equipment on. Harry, you are to wear that nice new belt and all three of you," he added, reaching under the nearest table, "need to carry these."

He handed out three heavy rucksacks. Harry realised they contained different weights to carry because each was carefully labelled.

As they jogged off, Bateman yelled after them, "And mind you don't cut the corners. You are to go around each of the flags. Remember, I've got eyes in the back of my head!"

*

Harry finished his four laps slightly ahead of Ron. Hermione had been called in by Bateman after completing only her first lap of the four flags, so they had no excuse after that to run slowly.

As they circled the others, Harry could see that Bateman had organised the others into pairs. The wizards amongst them fired spells at their partners who attempted to block them with their blades. Harry wondered how many of them would be coming with them on the night.

Before the two of them had finished their runs, Bateman was giving demonstrations of blade fighting to the assembled group. He also invited individuals to come forward to challenge him.

Harry was disappointed not to see more of this. From a distance, the challenges looked very one sided and it was clear to Harry which of the group were better with the charmed blades than a wand.

"Alright," Bateman was saying as they finally approached. "I hope that the Aurors amongst us have seen that using a blade isn't that easy. That's why we won't be taking you with us in the first group, but thanks to you we have begun to get some idea of what it's like to face a wand."

There was a general murmuring of agreement.

"I still say you'd be better taking a couple of Aurors than anyone else," said a wizard Harry did not know. It was obvious that by anyone else he meant Harry and his friends.

"Potter's experience is limited," agreed Bateman, "but he knows our limitations. However, none of them will be going unless I'm satisfied they can look after themselves. Let's have a go, shall we?"

Bateman looked around and said, "Harry, front and centre, if you please." He looked back at the wizard who had questioned Harry's qualifications to be there are said, "I don't suppose you'd care to help?"

The wizard didn't need to be asked twice. He threw off his robe and walked out to face Harry, who had just shrugged off his heavy rucksack.

"Now, let's not kill each other, shall we?" suggested Bateman. The irony wasn't lost on Harry who nodded ruefully back at Bateman.

Harry withdrew his knife and moved about to get used to not being burdened by the rucksack. He suddenly felt rather light on his feet. At the same time he realised that their run had both warmed him up and loosened his muscles.

Finally they were both ready.

"Go," said Bateman at once.

Harry dodged a stunner and then deflected another which flew wildly off up into the air. He leapt forward, closing the distance between them. The wizard fired again but this time Harry anticipated his opponent's movements.

Bringing the blade up like a bat, the third spell was deflected back almost the moment it was fired. With no time to produce a shield, the wizard dodged out of the way and unbalanced himself.

Harry decided to finish the job and kicked out at the back of the wizard's knee, sending him straight down onto the grass. Harry's momentum sent him falling as well, but he had the advantage to knowing how he would fall.

Harry swung the blade down and touched the button inside the hilt. The blade extended at once and Harry lightly touched the wizard's exposed neck with the flat of the blade.

The wizard dropped his wand at once and Harry lifted the blade before getting to his feet. He held out a hand to help the wizard up.

"There," said Bateman loudly over the cheers and clapping, "we saw the limitations of training bouts. Can anyone say where Harry here should have won earlier?"

Hermione raised her hand hesitantly and Bateman nodded for her to answer.

"Harry had an opportunity to cut his wand arm off, or at least damage his wand and hand."

"Indeed," said Bateman.

Harry was horrified at the thought of deliberately maiming an opponent.

"Okay. Ron, front and centre if you please."

Harry followed his opponent out of the circle.

"Thanks for not cutting my arm off," said the wizard quietly with a grin. He extended his hand to Harry and said, "My name's Troope, by the way."

Harry smiled and shook hands. "I’m Harry. You an Auror?"

"Well, not officially. I applied to join the programme a few years ago when I left Hogwarts but was turned down. They approached me again only recently to see if I was still interested. I think the casualties have been quite high."

Harry nodded watching as Bateman interrupted Ron's duel to point something out to his wizard opponent.

He was about to ask Troope something when Bateman stepped back and the duel began in earnest. Ron was surprisingly agile, considering he'd looked half-asleep for most of the morning. He also dispatched his opponent far more easily than Harry had been able to, knocking the wizard out with a blow to the back of his head. In the same movement, Ron had also grabbed the wand he was being attacked with.

Ron's duelling, with or without a wand, had certainly improved significantly.

Finally, Hermione stepped forward looking nervous but determined. Harry was immediately sorry he had not gone back over to offer her some words of encouragement.

"Come on, Hermione!" yelled Ron.

Bateman selected her opponent and as he walked out into the circle to face her, Hermione extended her blade.

"It's Zorro!" quipped someone from Bateman's Muggle contingent, clearly referring to the robe Hermione had decided to retain, unlike Harry or Ron.

"You'll be zorry soon, mate," shouted back Ron, who clearly had no idea at all that Zorro was the name of a fictional sword fighting character.

"That will do," warned Bateman sternly. "Go!"

Hermione was the first to react, grabbing the neck of her robe and whirling it around so that it flew off towards her opponent. She advanced quickly as the wizard fired uselessly at the robe.

Hermione lunged forward, running the extended blade along the wizard's wand wrist and cutting the skin.

"Argh!"

Hermione brought the blade up and cut off a small length of collar.

She then immediately pulled back and lowered her guard.

Furious, the wizard pointed the wand directly at her, clearly intending to fire.

"Hey! She won!" yelled Ron angrily.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Troope, sending the wand flying.

Bateman stepped forward and put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. He also shielded her view of her terrified looking opponent being dragged off by two of his men.

"Well done. I couldn't have shown such restraint. Found a book on fencing, did you?" Bateman teased.

Hermione smiled and said, "It was about armour, actually. But it did contain a very interesting contemporary account of short sword use."

Bateman snorted.

Then Hermione's face dropped.

"You won't let me go, will you?"

"No, not in the first group, anyway. You know why," he added gently.

"Why can't she?" protested Ron who had joined them in the centre. Harry didn't say anything, having a shrewd idea why Bateman would not let her join them.

Bateman looked straight down at Hermione and said carefully, "There may well be circumstances where you'd actually be prepared to cut off an arm, but I doubt you'll encounter them any time soon."

Hermione nodded.

"Don't take it as a slight, Hermione. The problem is that you think things through too much."

*

They continued duelling with different partners into the early afternoon. Hermione, having reverted to using a wand, was the only wand carrying wizard not to have been defeated in practise; much to the obvious annoyance of some of the Aurors.

She had blasted the ground Harry was standing on, sending him flying to his easiest defeat. His only other defeat was at the hand of Troope, who had got Harry's measure by the second time they fought.

Ron remained undefeated throughout, and his duel against Hermione was judged to be a draw despite Ron's vocal protests that he had won, if only by the smallest of margins. Harry diplomatically decided not to offer an opinion, although it was a close call anyway.

Just before they finished for lunch, Bateman demonstrated the other more conventional uses for the knives, such as wire cutting. They all had a brief go at throwing the knives at targets but none of them could match Bateman's accuracy.

Harry had managed to hit the target a couple of times, but the knife fell uselessly off having hit with the handle end first.

Ron's throw was so wide of the target that Hermione had to summon it back for him from the long grass it was hidden in.

After sandwiches, they retired to a tent where Bateman briefed them on their mission and announced who he had selected to join the first group.

"Finally, a word about these blades," said Bateman concluding his talk. "Don't be tempted to sharpen them. The Weasleys say that normal whetstone or oil stone will just dull the magical charms. Use the maintenance kits to wipe them clean and polish them. I know it's weird, but there you are. Any questions?"

"When do we start out?"

"The operation will commence at zero-four hundred hours tomorrow. We will all remain here until the commencement and them we have Portkeys to move into position provided the Auror observers give us a green light."

"Why do we need a green light?" asked Ron.

"Shh," hissed Hermione before raising her hand.

Bateman chuckled and said, "Yes, Hermione?"

"I was wondering. Could you take a container of some kind that dulled the effect of the magic? That way you'd be able to take along wands for use later on."

"It's a good idea," said Bateman. "I asked Kingsley about that but he thinks that the charms needed might themselves set of the alarms. To be honest, I didn't really understand what he was saying, but there's a difference between permanently charmed magical objects and wand-magic. He was basically saying that any wand in the presence of a witch or wizard would generate trace magic."

Hermione frowned but nodded.

"The problem is, of course, that we have no time to try something. The best thing I can suggest is that the second group follow up as soon as we breach the camp as planned. You can carry Harry and Ron's wands to them."

*

After dinner, Bateman made sure that Harry and Ron knew the other members of the first group that they were joining. Harry had actually met the four of them previously at the London underground bunker when he and Careem had been detained under Colonel Falcon's orders.

The group's Corporal introduced himself as Grice and reminded Harry that he had fixed his nose after Careem had broken it; something Harry hadn't liked to mention. The other three were introduced as Marland, Parish and Risby.

Like Bateman, they were all stocky and powerfully built, well used to physical exertion. Harry had no doubt they shared Bateman's skills as well.

Bateman made it crystal clear what the chain of command was. Harry and Ron were right down at the bottom, of course, and were made to promise to follow any order they were given without question.

Harry had agreed knowing it made sense as he had the least experience, but at the same time he knew that if anyone would break the chain of command, it would be him. He had the feeling that Bateman knew this as well.

At about eleven o'clock in the evening, Bateman called Harry out to walk with him around the impromptu training camp.

"Harry, I just wanted to say that I'm not expecting you to kill everyone we come across tomorrow. All we have to do is breach the defences. The second group is there to back us up but the real objective is to make things safe enough for the Ministry people to get in and gather the evidence."

"Thanks," said Harry quietly.

"Mind you, if anyone gets killed or injured by someone you could have dealt with, don't expect me to be too happy about it."

"Okay."

"Now, I'll be leading up to the perimeter that we think will be the least well guarded. From then on, you and Ron will take the lead because you know where the magical traps are likely to be. There will be casualties. If either of both of you become disabled, we'll need to go on."

Bateman continued talking along these lines for some time, never showing any emotion in his voice. Much later, Harry would discover that Grice had been giving Ron a similar talking to on the other side of the camp.

They rounded the last tent and Bateman swore loudly.

"Alright 'Arry?"

"Hi, Hagrid," replied Harry with a grin as he emerged from the darkness.

"Hi there, Sarge. This is me little brother. He's called Grawp."

Bateman was lost for words.

"We just came along to say hello, and maybe warm up a little. Herita would have come, but she's got an evening class up at the castle."

They followed Grawp into the centre of the tents where an open fire was blazing away. Grawp reached down and picked up a fallen tree trunk that several of them had used to sit on earlier while they ate dinner. Grawp quickly decided he needed something bigger and marched out into the darkness. He soon returned with a much larger tree.

The sound of Grawp stripping off great branches and throwing them into the fire brought everyone out of the tents. None of the Aurors had even seen a real giant before, although Hagrid's familiar presence certainly helped them overcome any fears they may have had.

-

AN: Only two more Chapters to go. Next: “The Lair.”

29. The Lair

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

Chapter 28 – The Lair

"So, how did it go at the Burrow?" asked Harry while they waited.

It was nearly time for them to depart and almost everyone was now showing signs of nervous anticipation.

Harry was well used to having stupid conversations with Ron, mostly with just Hermione to roll her eyes at their flights of fantasy. It was just one of the things he had missed in Ron’s absence. Tonight their stupid conversations were providing a little welcome relief for the nervous looking people waiting for the operation to begin, whilst they pretended not to eavesdrop.

So far they had talked about why their camouflage had to be green and not the orange preferred by Ron, whether they should take beach umbrellas in case it should rain later and even debated how many years Ron would be grounded for once Mrs Weasley found out what they’d been up to.

It was all a little forced in the beginning. Both Harry and Ron had issues that would take their time to work through, but they were each up to the task of forgetting their differences for the moment and fell easily into their old routines.

Harry had long realised that their Auror contingent for this evening was actually very young and relatively inexperienced. Indeed, they were in complete contrast to the seasoned and incredibly calm looking Muggle contingent. Harry had no doubt who would assume command in the event of things going wrong with the second group. The more experienced Auror group would only appear when the lair was taken.

"Shut up, Harry," retorted Ron, who was by now enjoying their banter just as much as Harry was.

"I'm sorry. I was hoping they'd give you an easier time of it."

"What?” asked Ron, pretending to be momentarily confused. “Oh, no. I think I've still got that to come, actually. I thought you were referring to something else."

"Er, so what am I supposed to shut up about, then?"

"I thought Hermione said she told you. Ginny brought home a guest."

"Oh, right."

"Head Boy! I ask you? How did that happen?"

"I thought I was supposed to shut up about it?"

"At least Luna stopped yelling and throwing things at me, at least during dinner."

"So, you and Luna getting serious, then?"

"Serious? Harry, I could show you teeth marks."

"No thanks, I’ll pass."

"I had half a mind earlier to go up to the castle and give her a good talking to."

"That would not have been a good idea. Anyway, Luna's probably got homework."

"Luna? I’m talking about Ginny! Honestly, we leave her alone for five minutes."

"Shut up you two," barked Bateman, who had been in deep conversation with Hermione but now marched off to shout at someone else.

Harry smiled and moved over for a last word with Hermione before they departed. They managed to move a little away from the others to whisper.

"Be careful, won't you, Harry?"

"Don't worry about me. Just make sure you stay with the others until we can meet up again."

"I'm sorry I couldn't think of a way for you to have your wands with you. I'll keep them safe until I find you both."

Harry nodded and reached down to kiss her.

"Gather around your respective Portkeys and get ready," said Bateman abruptly

*

The Portkeys delivered them in complete darkness within a second of each other. It took a few moments before Harry's eyes became fully accustomed to the night, but gradually stars and clouds began to become defined.

Harry could not see the ground at all, but could feel soft grass underfoot.

The two groups set off in two different directions. The second, larger group would take themselves to a staging point from where they could observe and wait for the signal to advance. Bateman had convinced them to walk to the staging point rather than Portkey there directly. That way they could become accustomed to the conditions and scout around for patrols.

The Aurors in the second party had been very vocal in their scepticism about Bateman's orders. In the end Bateman had prevailed simply by pointing out the number of casualties they had suffered compared to the Muggle actions. They still lost men, of course, but rarely at such an early stage.

Harry was pleased that Bateman had assigned some Muggle soldiers to the second group. He didn't entirely trust the Aurors alone with ensuring Hermione's safety.

"No talking beyond this point," whispered Bateman from ahead, even though they had been walking in complete silence.

They continued walking single file along the side of a path and then through an opening in a dry stone wall. Crossing a narrow road, they entered a small grove of trees.

Harry looked up into the bare branches which contrasted with the lighter sky. Then he noticed the faintest flicker in the highest branches.

He immediately rushed forward and grabbed Bateman before he stepped out into the clearing beyond.

Bateman had enough experience not to cry out. Indeed, he had seen something as well.

"Is it a kind of search light?" asked Bateman in a whisper.

"No," breathed Harry. "Detector."

Bateman tapped twice on Marland's shoulder and pointed out to the side. Marland tapped Parish on his arm and they vanished into the darkness.

He then held Harry's arm and whispered, "Look only."

Harry understood. He got down on all fours and crawled along in the wet grass until he could see properly.

There was a low wall a few feet ahead. Beyond that there was a flickering lantern on a low tripod. Every now and again, the brightness of the lantern flared up to shine in a particular direction. Harry wondered what was causing this until one of the flares momentarily caught two reflective eyes of a fox before it darted away.

The lantern definitely reacted to movement, but Harry could not see who the device was intended to alert.

Harry moved back with the intention of getting his invisibility cloak out.

A moment later there was a crack of a twig being trodden on. Harry looked up just in time to see three indentations being made in muddy ground just beside the lantern.

Someone was under an invisibility cloak.

Harry looked back wondering how he could warn Bateman when two dull spits of silenced gunfire reached his ears. Then there was a splashing sound.

"Harry, put on your cloak and put that lantern out. If we approach it now, who knows how bright it will get."

Harry guessed that whoever was under the invisibility cloak was now dead, but wondered if there might be more than one sentry. Trusting Bateman, Harry fumbled inside his Fred and George designed camouflaged fatigues and withdrew his invisibility cloak.

He stood and approached cautiously.

He was standing right beside the lantern before he remembered that he didn't have his wand with him. How was he going to put the lantern out? Ignoring the clear outline of the body beside him, Harry reached out towards the lantern.

"Finite!" he thought furiously.

The lamplight flickered but did not go out.

Harry cleared his mind and imagined he had his wand in his hand. In his head he rehearsed what he was going to do. The flick and the simple incantation.

To his amazement the lantern went out immediately. He wondered for a long moment whether he really had been the one to do it, but Bateman came along to chivvy him up.

*

They encountered three more guarded lanterns, and each time Harry extinguished the flame before they proceeded.

Harry was a little surprised that Bateman didn't choose to find a path around the sentries, but presumed that at least this way they knew what they were facing.

The fourth and last lantern before they arrived at the camp perimeter was actually guarded by two sentries. Fortunately, they didn't seem to understand the principles of how the device should be used to detect intruders as they were not wearing invisibility cloaks. This lantern was shining like a searchlight and following their every move.

The two guards were eliminated from a safe distance by silenced gunfire, but this time they left the lantern burning. Had they put it out someone might have become suspicious.

A short walk further on they encountered a tree line in front of a flat stretch of grass leading up to a low circular hill. Spaced all around the hill at equal distances were a single row of conventional lanterns on high posts. About halfway up were a row of what looked like movement detecting lanterns. At the very top were tents with a campfire beyond them burning with an unnatural green flame.

"Clever," whispered Bateman.

"Why did they camp up on that hill?" asked Harry. "The sides don't look steep enough to defend."

"That's not a hill, Harry," whispered Ron.

"No, it's a burial mound and their defences are excellent. Anyone approaching will have their shadow show up immediately, even flat on your front."

A small owl flew in towards the camp maintaining a low altitude above the ground. As the bird flew over the mound multiple shadows appeared on the surrounding grass and trees. Harry was amazed that such a small creature flying at night was made so easy to see.

Bateman was studying the remainder of the tree line away from the mound.

"Okay, Harry and Ron will take out the sentries on the mound. The rest of us will take out the other sentries positioned behind this treeline before we proceed and attack the hill. Our main advantage is surprise. I want us detected as late as possible, ideally not until we charge the hill."

Harry had no idea how Bateman knew there was anyone other than themselves hidden amongst the sparse trees.

Bateman pulled Harry and Ron aside.

"I'm guessing," he whispered in answer to Harry's unanswered question. "If I were defending this place it's what I would do."

Harry nodded.

"If it were me, I'd have ten men patrolling just above the second line of lanterns up there. I'd have them moving all night. I'd have thirty down in the woods and a few more in reserve in the camp itself. I'd have stood down the reserves by now, but there would be at least one shift change before dawn. Obviously, I’d be expecting an attack around now when people tend to be tired and lax."

Bateman shifted silently and pointed up the mound.

"Go up the face in front of us, and stay a few feet apart. Your cloaks should get you so far, but I'd have put down trip hazards too."

"What do we do then?" asked Ron.

"Simple. One goes right, the other left. Make your way up to the top. Stay undetected for as long as you can. When you get to the top, help disarm any defenders while we charge up the hill."

"How do we stay undetected? You said there will be patrols," asked Ron.

"To be realistic, there is no way you can both make it to the top and remain undetected; but you can delay the entire camp becoming alerted simply by eliminating the sentries who happen across you. Use your knife."

"How are we supposed to disarm the defenders while you charge?"

"Take a wand or use the knife," answered Harry flatly, feeling more and more uncomfortable with their situation.

"Listen," said Bateman, detecting how unsure they both were. "It isn't too late. You two are the quickest we have and the best at defending yourselves against magic. However, I can send someone else in either of your places."

Harry had known this was coming. Bateman would indeed have put one of his other men in his place. He was conscious that it was perfectly true that he and Ron were the fastest of them, but he was very uneasy at possibly having to eliminate a sentry.

Harry sighed and said, "Whatever is in that camp had better be worthwhile."

"No chance of that," muttered Ron.

They withdrew their knives at the same time.

*

Under their invisibility cloaks, Harry and Ron crept up to the first line of lanterns. They took their time as ordered, in order to allow Bateman and his men time to get into position.

A dull crack reached Harry's ears. That was the signal to proceed. He immediately proceeded up the shallow slope.

Harry watched intently with each careful step for any sign of the sentries patrolling higher up. Then he felt a slight vibration in his hand. He looked down to the knife held in his hand. The sharp edge of the blade now had a slightly deeper blue look about it.

Then Harry realised that the charm on the blade must be affected by the magic detectors. It was too magical, just as he’d feared.

Harry heard an indistinct noise to his left. Ron must have noticed the same thing.

Harry knelt down and quickly cut a long slot in the soft ground. He then pushed the knife inside, flush with the surface. He had to leave the knife behind but he could not leave it to make a shadow. The grass was cut short over the mound and it would be seen at once if it wasn't buried properly.

Satisfied that the knife was properly hidden, Harry withdrew his second blade. This one was shorter and not charmed, but it would have to do. He again proceeded cautiously up the slope.

Harry listened intently for any sign of Ron, but there was none. At least he hadn't been detected yet, surely a good thing.

As he got closer to the second line of lanterns, he hoped that his guess that his cloak's magical properties, being made from natural magical animal hair would not be detected in the same way as the artificially charmed blades. He also reasoned that the sentries were wearing invisibility cloaks as well, so at the very least they'd be confused as to whether he was friend or foe.

As Harry pondered, he noticed a path running around the mound where the grass was flatter. This must be where the sentries patrolled along.

He waited for a moment and then, sure enough, the grass shimmered slightly as a sentry passed right by him.

Harry waited for the next one to see how far apart they were, counting the seconds in his head as they passed.

He waited longer than he expected, which indicated that there were fewer sentries than Bateman would have used. Pleased that the defenders were not as thorough as Bateman, Harry waited until he was exactly at the midpoint between the sentries.

Then he leapt over the path and promptly collided with something invisible.

It was a stationary sentry.

Fortunately, the wizard was too stunned to react immediately. Harry, knowing the urgency, fumbled to cover the sentry's mouth to stop him calling out. They both struggled, each unable to see the other, until Harry found his neck. He had no idea where his knife was.

Holding his neck firmly down with one hand, Harry wrestled to cover the defender's mouth.

Harry felt bare skin under his hand and an instant later he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his side.

He reacted instinctively and only realised what he had done when the sentry suddenly fell limp. There was no pulse. The sentry was dead.

With shaking hands, Harry made sure that the sentry's body was covered with his own invisibility cloak and searched for a wand. There was none. Presumably, he reasoned, a wand in the hands of a sentry would have set off the detectors as well.

Harry reached round and felt his side. He had been stabbed but the knife had not penetrated, only cutting his skin he guessed. The lightweight padded armour sewn into the cloth of his Fred and George fatigues had done its job.

Harry paused nervously for a moment before proceeding. He had felt the Kemmynadow magic surge through him the moment he felt the blade. He assumed it was the contact between bare skin of his hands and his victim's neck that had allowed the dark curse to be so effective. Similar effects had happened to Harry before, but that had only been when he had wanted to defend himself.

This time, he was the aggressor.

Harry looked around for his knife, but the moment he saw it a hand appeared briefly to pick it up from the grass path. It was the next sentry.

Suddenly the lanterns all flared up together.

Harry dived at the unseen sentry who was holding his knife and pulled off his cloak just as a loud wailing began to fill the air. A little way down the slope, Ron became visible as he threw off his cloak and lunged forward, also grappling with someone invisible.

Harry got hold of the knife and kicked the sentry down the slope. The sentry got up briefly but was cut down by gunfire from below. Five dark figures ran from the trees and headed up the hill.

Two spits of fire rang out and Ron collapsed forward as his opponent fell dead.

Bateman headed straight for Harry. He heard something rush past his head and then heard a thud. Harry turned to see a knife suspended in mid air just above him.

Without knowing why, Harry reached out and pulled the knife out of the air as the hidden sentry fell back. Blood gushed out from under the invisibility cloak as Bateman reached him.

"Here," said Harry shakily, offering him back his knife.

"Get a grip, boy," growled Bateman, firing two rounds from his silenced handgun at a gap between the tents. He grabbed Harry by his shoulder and dragged him roughly up the slope and then through the opening.

Harry stumbled over yet another body as they entered the camp and paused before the blazing green fire. In twos, Bateman's men entered each of the smaller tents.

As silenced shots rang out, Ron came up and stood next to them. He looked white and shaken, much like Harry felt.

Finally, Grice emerged from the last small tent and gave a signal to Bateman who nodded.

He turned to Harry and said without lowering his voice, "Now we go in there."

Harry looked up at the largest tent that was glittering in a flamboyant fabric.

"Nothing comes out of there alive," Bateman said coldly. "Anyone in there now is beyond saving, so don't even try. Do I make myself clear?"

A shiver ran through Harry as he realised what he was about to face. This really was The Healer's camp.

Harry nodded.

"It looks like there aren't any wands around here at all," said Bateman. "I'm not waiting for the others. Got your blade, Ron?"

"Grice gave me one of his spares," said Ron, sounding scared but resolute.

"Okay. Anyone under a cloak is an enemy, so leave your invisibility cloaks out here."

Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak. Ron took it and wrapped it in his before hiding the bundle behind one of the tents.

"Mary said these mounds have a chamber deep inside. I'm guessing, but there will probably be a shaft and some underground rooms."

"The tent is probably bigger inside than it looks," said Ron. "There can be several rooms and floors in them."

"Let's do this," said Bateman.

*

They found the shaft entrance almost at once but searched all of the above ground areas inside the tent before proceeding. A stone spiral stair led down into the centre of the burial mound.

Satisfied that no-one was hiding above ground, Bateman ordered Parish and Risby to stand guard at the shaft entrance. They had previously been guarding the entrance to the camp and were holding lethal looking automatic machine guns.

"Shouldn't there be more guards?" asked Harry.

"Yes, but I think most of them ran when we attacked. Maybe we're not the only ones after this Healer?" suggested Bateman.

Just before they descended down the staircase, Harry caught a glimpse of the grim look on both Grice and Marland's faces. Then he remembered that they had lost comrades to the Healer before he met them.

Bateman stepped onto the staircase and Harry was actually surprised when it didn't begin moving. Grice prodded him to follow on behind Bateman.

At the bottom of the stairs, three narrow passages led off, each lit with small torches at high level. There was a distant sound of machinery that Harry couldn't quite identify.

Absolutely nothing underground looked like it belonged in an ancient burial mound. The floors were all smooth stone and the walls were generally painted plaster.

They split up into pairs and took separate passages.

Harry was pleased when Bateman selected him to make up his pair. There wasn’t much ceremony with his decision; Harry just received a shove towards the central passageway.

It wasn’t long before they could no longer hear the other pairs venturing along their own passageways.

The sudden quiet had quite an effect on Harry as he followed in silence. He realised that the horror of what he’d done and witnessed just a few minutes ago had somehow left him. He looked down and looked at his hands. They were no longer shaking at all. He felt distant from his actions, like there was a job to be done and he just wanted to get on and finish it. He also knew then that he wasn’t prepared to stand back and let others do the dirty work for him. If it really had to be done, he’d be there and take full responsibility for his actions.

Harry looked up and saw Bateman glance back at him.

Bateman just smiled and nodded in understanding. It was as if he had read Harry’s mind.

They said nothing, but proceeded along the passageway.

First they found an empty storeroom full of medical supplies and then a small recreation room beyond that.

Then the passageway turned and narrowed so Bateman had to move sideways. When they entered a dormitory, they found a body lying on one of the beds.

"Suicide," muttered Bateman, observing the markings at the corner of the man's mouth.

Harry looked down, wondering why he had preferred to take his own life.

He then quickly checked the small toilet and shower ablution area before returning to Bateman.

"Looks like a medical technician rather than a fighter," observed Bateman to himself. "Come on, let's carry on. Harry, this passage narrows ahead, so you take the lead. You'll have more room to react."

Harry nodded and headed towards the door.

The passageway turned and they proceeded only a few yards when they heard a distant cry followed by a brief spurt of automatic gunfire.

Harry froze at once but Bateman said, "No, even if they needed help we'd never find them in time. Let's carry on this way."

Harry nodded uncertainly and moved forward.

Several feet further on, and around a couple of bends, they came to a dark area. Harry could see the flickering torches ahead, but the area immediately in front of him was pitch dark.

He pressed the metal button under his knife hilt and extended the blade. At the same time Bateman grabbed one of the torches from behind them and threw it over Harry's head.

The light from the torch flickered and then vanished. They also hadn’t heard the torch hit the floor, making Harry suspicious that there wasn’t a drop concealed in the darkness.

"Could that be some of Fred and George's Peruvian Darkness Powder?"

"And a long drop," said Harry, who had by then confirmed his suspicions by finding the concealed pit edge with his blade.

"Good spot. How wide is the opening?"

"Grab my belt?"

Harry reached out and just managed to feel the other side before Bateman pulled him back.

"I'd guess about four or five feet. Was there anything back in that dormitory we could use to bridge the gap?"

"Feel to the sides,” instructed Bateman. “This is an old medieval trick. There were often hidden ledges to let the defenders pass unhindered."

"I can feel something on one side," said Harry, feeling with the point of his short sword, "but the passage widens on the other side. There isn’t a wall there to lean against."

"Okay, the trick is to step out into the darkness onto the ledge and use your momentum to carry you across."

"Is that all?" said Harry with half a laugh.

"I'll go first," said Bateman. "You may be able to tell how deep it goes from my shout as I fall. Spikes make a squelching sound as you hit them."

Harry laughed but wasn't going to even consider not going across first. If anything nasty was going to happen, he was determined to face it first.

Deciding that there was no point in protracting things, Harry stepped out into the darkness. His foot hit the narrow ledge and he stepped over to the other side, knowing that if he lost his balance he would fall.

"Be careful," said Harry. "The ledge is narrower than it felt. I almost missed it. It isn’t quite in the centre, either."

“How much is it offset by?”

“I’d say the ledge is about a foot closer to you. That’s just a guess, though.”

"Here goes."

To Harry's horror he heard Bateman's boot scraping down the passage wall. He knew that he had missed the ledge.

Harry dived into the darkness and grabbed nothing but thin air.

"Hey, I thought you were going to shout on the way down!"

Bateman made a straining noise and then gasped, "Didn't want you to do anything stupid."

He sounded like he was holding onto the narrow ledge like grim death.

"Harry, I want you to," began Bateman desperately.

"Don't you dare let go!" shouted Harry before taking a few steps back.

"Harry! No!" shouted Bateman as Harry vaulted over the gap and ran full pelt for the dormitory they'd just searched, praying that he hadn’t been mistaken about what he’d seen.

He grabbed the ancient looking stretcher standing in the corner of the room and ran back to Bateman. At a little over five feet in length, it was touch and go whether or not it would span the opening.

Harry slid the two stretcher poles along the passageway on the other side of where Bateman, who was breathing heavily now, was hanging on.

"We've got our bridge!"

"Arms too strained!" gasped Bateman.

"Just concentrate on hanging on until I get to you," ordered Harry.

Leaning against the passage wall above the ledge, Harry eased his way across using the stretcher as his bridge. He was pushing out from the wall, so the stretcher would stay in place so long as the timbers didn't break. Harry tried not to think of how narrow the handle ends were.

In complete darkness, Harry hand-walked his way down the wall until he felt Bateman's forearm.

"I'm going to pull you up from your shoulders."

"No,” said Bateman, sounding strained. “More grip under arms."

Harry didn't argue. He reached under Bateman's arms and heaved upwards, making the stretcher creak ominously. Bateman's muscles were taught and shaking. Harry couldn't believe he had held on for so long.

Somehow, Harry pulled Bateman up just enough for him to get a foot onto the narrow ledge.

Then the old timber rails that still supported Harry began to split with a horrible cracking noise. Bateman dipped down for a moment and Harry feared he was falling again but he sprung up from under him and jumped to safety.

Harry felt his feet falling away and he was about to make a last ditch dive for the ledge when Bateman's long arm grabbed him and pulled him to safety. They collapse together in a heap, both still in complete darkness. Harry patted the cold stone floor gratefully.

“See, Hermione?” he muttered to himself. “No need to worry about us at all. All under control.”

Harry ventured forward out of the dark, giving Bateman a little more time to recover.

He was about to thank Bateman for pulling him out of trouble when Harry saw something further ahead.

"Movement!" he said, feeling around for his knife.

-

AN: Only one more Chapter to go! Last chance to guess what the final twist will be…

30. Secrets and Lies

The Final Lesson

by Jardyn39

-

AN: This is the last Chapter. I would recommend that you resist the temptation to read ahead, or you’ll spoil the surprise!

-

Chapter 29 – Secrets and Lies

Harry looked back at Bateman. He had come out of the Peruvian darkness shadow but was leaning against the passage wall and breathing heavily. Sweat was now pouring off him.

"I'll be fine in a moment," he said reassuringly, but he looked to Harry like he needed more than just a moment to recover.

"Wait here," suggested Harry. "I may have been mistaken about seeing anything ahead. I'll just go and check."

"You know you weren't mistaken," growled Bateman. "Go on then. I'll follow at my own pace. Be sensible, though. Stay out of sight if you can and come back for me if you are outnumbered. I’ll be right behind you anyway."

Harry nodded and hurried on down the passageway until he came to a narrow opening which lead out into a brightly lit wider corridor that had a slight incline. Two shiny metal rail tracks were set into the uneven stone floor, presumably to allow the transportation of heavy objects on a trolley of some kind.

He was sure he had fleetingly seen someone run down the corridor, heading downwards. Harry decided to follow in that direction, although his mental map of his current position had him heading way outside the burial mound and he didn't think they were that deep underground.

Several distant bursts of distant gunfire reached his ears, but with all the echoes he couldn’t tell at all where it was coming from.

He turned back and realised that the narrow opening he'd just come through was difficult to see if you didn't know exactly where it was. He memorised the look of the corridor at that point so that he could find his way out again before turning and hurrying down the corridor.

At the very end of the corridor there was a wide metal door that had been left ajar. He cautiously pulled the heavy door open and peered inside to see a small lobby with another door ahead that was wide open.

The tracks appeared to go straight through and he could hear even clearer the sound of distant machinery. Then he caught what sounded like echoing voices.

Harry entered the lobby and approached the second door following the wall and gripping his knife for reassurance.

He peered out, keeping low down. The tracks came to a stop and there was a kind of buffer arrangement. Above Harry could see a yellow lifting beam and a winch.

Harry frowned to himself. Both the beam and winch looked very much like the ones Mr Fotherington had proudly pointed out to him during his tour of the Grunnings factory. This winch looked mechanical, though, not like the electric ones at Grunnings. Mr Fotherington had explained that the beam had to be tested insitu and the safe working loads certified and marked on the side of the beam.

At the time he had just nodded politely as Fotherington enthused over numerous features all over the factory. Now Harry stared intently at the beam markings, thinking what the implications were.

If this used to be a Muggle facility, that could explain the presence of the beam. Of course, the beam might have been stolen and then reinstalled here too.

Harry’s mind returned to the very first time he had seen the Healer’s handiwork. He had stared in total shock as Jack Gurnet stood before him and turned around to reveal Alison Weston. He hadn’t been able to look away from their horrendous mutilations.

The mutilations with Muggle stitching.

He was forced to conclude that it was possible that, just as he had Muggle friends working with him and the Ministry, it was also entirely possible that the Healer also employed Muggle assistants.

Harry considered the possibility of Voldemort also using the same tactic, but dismissed it almost at once. No, Voldemort couldn’t put aside his prejudices so easily, he was sure.

Harry shook his head, trying to refocus and put aside the distracting images of Jack Gurnet and Alison Weston. He then forced himself to survey the rest of the area beyond the door.

On the other side of the door was an open grille platform with a metal staircase leading down into a wide circular room. There was a simple metal railing with toe guard all around.

The floor of the cavern like space beyond was littered with tables covered with a wide assortment of bubbling cauldrons. On one side, in the only clear area, was a stainless steel autopsy table surrounded by shelves filled with glass specimen containers.

Harry heard a smashing sound and someone below shouted, "Idiot!"

He looked down over the door threshold and could see movement below through the metal grid decking. Two white coated men were pushing an overloaded trolley towards an enormous open fireplace.

As they hit another bump in the uneven stone floor, something else fell off the trolley.

Seeing that they were both fully occupied with the trolley, Harry moved out onto the stair and quickly descended.

"Leave that! We don't have much time," exclaimed one.

"We should leave this and go now," advised his companion, sounding scared. "He'll be here any minute!"

"No, we can't leave anything that incriminates us. Now that the experiment is almost finished, this place won't be needed for much longer anyway. It'll just be abandoned to the Ministry."

"What about him?"

"So what? He's had it coming for ages, the sick b-"

Harry looked out from around the bench he was hiding behind, wondering why the conversation had come to an abrupt halt.

Standing with his back to Harry was a third figure wearing green overalls and blood splattered white rubber Wellington boots. The two technicians were now standing with looks of shear terror on their faces, looking at the tall thin man with medium length grey hair.

"Not leaving, are we gentlemen?" said the third man in a cold voice.

The two floundered to find a response for a long moment, but Harry knew that the third man was just prolonging their torment a moment longer.

"Avada Kadavra!"

The bright green flash enveloped both men and they fell in unison.

Knowing he only had the element of surprise on his side, Harry rushed out.

The wizard wheeled around and swung he wand arm towards him. Harry slashed down with his extended blade slicing right through the wizard's forearm. His hand and wand came clean away. The wand cluttered uselessly on the floor while the limb landed with a dull thump onto the cold stone.

Harry swung the blade again aiming for his neck, but only slashed the wizard across his chest as he fell back. Crashing against a bench, grey eyes looked up at Harry in momentary wonder.

"You!" shouted Harry, quickly bringing the blade back to point directly at his opponent’s neck.

"Me," the wizard agreed casually as wide grin appeared on his face. "Unbelievable, isn't it? That's certainly what the Wizengamot will say before they acquit me."

Bright red blood was pumping from his arm now, contrasting with the dried blood all over his green surgical gown. There was an almost overpowering smell of disinfectant about him too that seem to add to Harry’s revulsion of this man.

"There must be enough evidence around here to convict you," retorted Harry angrily, fighting an inward battle not to just kill this animal and be finished with it.

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that," he replied, clutching his bleeding stump to his chest. "I'm beginning to feel a little faint, actually. You should dress my wound if you intend me to survive tonight. Nice blade work, by the way. I prefer using cleavers, myself."

Harry became uncertain for a moment. He was losing an awful lot of blood.

"Who is he?" asked Bateman from the stairs.

Harry looked up with relief for a moment as Bateman struggled down the stairs, supporting himself heavily on the balustading.

"You okay?" asked Harry, not taking his eyes off his prisoner.

"Yeah, but I strained something during our earlier jaunt. So, is this the Healer?"

"At your service," said the Healer with a courteous nod, looking a little white in the face.

"His name is really Ignatius," said Harry. "He's one of the Ministry people that Scrimgeour suspected being a Voldemort sympathiser."

Bateman moved forward to take a better look and Harry saw the blade he was holding by his side. He decided that it was probably a scalpel taken from one of the benches.

"I've been wanting to meet you for so long," said Bateman in barely a whisper.

Ignatius' manic laugh rang out, echoing around the cavernous round space.

"I imagine you have!" he said loudly, before almost collapsing with more laughter. He was becoming paler as he continued to bleed heavily.

Harry reached down to grab Bateman's knife hand as it swept upwards.

"No, Bear. This isn't the way," he pleaded, maintaining his tight grip on Bateman's sleeve.

After a long moment, Bateman nodded.

"Alright, but the moment he tries anything, he's dead. Find something to tie him up with. He’ll also need a tourniquet for that arm or he won’t make it up to the surface. Did he have a wand you could use?"

Before Harry could answer the great open fireplace roared with renewed vigor and flames leapt high up.

Bateman wrenched his arm free and tried to push Harry back behind some benching before the new visitor stepped out of the green flames.

Ignatius stood motionless for a moment before collapsing to the floor. He was dead, his throat cut expertly by Bateman's knife.

Voldemort surveyed the chaotic scene before him and sighed.

"Well, Muggle," he said icily. "I see that you couldn't wait before administering your revenge. I must admit to a little irritation that he managed to escape Lord Voldemort's punishment."

"Sorry about that," Bateman said sarcastically, the bloody scalpel still in his hand.

"Oh, I don't blame you. I've wanted him dead for some time now myself. Harry, are you going to sulk behind there all night?"

Harry stood and stepped out from behind the laboratory bench.

Voldemort turned and picked up one of the many books from the trolley, apparently totally unconcerned for his own safety. He opened it and leafed through the pages with a look of disdain.

"The Healer was supposed to be working on something for me," said Voldemort lightly. "He kept promising, but it became apparent some time ago that he was really working on his own pointless researches."

He threw the book down onto the floor.

"Nothing but a waste of men and resources. Ah, well. Never mind."

He turned back just as Harry spied where Ignatius' wand had fallen.

"Very well, Muggle. If you have anything further to say to the boy, say it now. I know how close you have become to him. Your death is bound to upset him."

Harry dived for the wand and then pushed his way in front of Bateman.

Voldemort’s lipless smile widened as Harry raised the wand; Harry’s face was the very picture of utter determination to protect his friend with his life, if he needed to.

"Dumbledore would be so proud, Harry," he said with mock kindness. "Of course," he added with a sneer, "even he might have balked at the sheer scale of your misplaced loyalty."

Harry heard the scalpel clatter to the floor behind him. He had fully expected it to come flying over his shoulder at Voldemort.

Harry turned to look at Bateman.

Bateman leaned back against the bench, suddenly unable to look Harry in the eye.

"What is he talking about?" demanded Harry as Voldemort chuckled.

"Oh, come on, Harry," said Voldemort encouragingly. "Our good Sergeant was so far above suspicion and as he had become your particular friend, it just had to be him. The key moment was when I learned he was to undergo a memory modification. I simply had him captured and reprogrammed him, thus turning a loyal, brave and utterly trustworthy man to my will."

"I don't believe you," said Harry shakily.

"No, I know you don't, Harry. That's what made the whole impossible scheme so worthwhile. I'll allow your little Auror playmates tell you the number of our gains thanks to the golden information provided by the good Sergeant here.

“It was a risk allowing him to retain some free will, I admit, but that autonomy made the whole thing work. Regrettably, that also meant leaving in place his desire for revenge against our Healer there, amongst other things."

"That's why he kept attacking me?" said Harry barely audibly.

"Indeed! His sub-conscious programming told him to hurt you. Of course, he had no idea what he was doing."

Harry shook his head and turned to Bateman.

"What information did you have about the Ministry operations anyway?"

"You're forgetting how resourceful your Muggle friends can be, Harry. They have been monitoring far more than anyone realises, excepting myself of course. Lord Voldemort has never underestimated his enemy’s strengths."

"Tell me it isn't true," demanded Harry. "Tell me!" he added angrily as Voldemort burst into laughter, unable to contain his delight at Harry's fury.

Bateman looked up at last and said, "It's true," but he wasn't looking at Harry when he said this.

Harry watched as a smile grew slowly across Bateman's face.

"There's no point in hiding anything now. I'll be dead in a moment, so I might as well tell all. I imagine you'll have to wait for a wider audience, Harry."

"Quite so," agreed Voldemort behind Harry's back.

Bateman paused, as if savouring the moment.

"It all began," he said slowly and deliberately, "when Miss Alice had this insane idea."

"What?" said Harry and Voldemort at the same time.

Bateman's smile widened into a grin and he turned to Harry.

"We knew there was a leak and that there was a very short list of suspects. There were actually only two names on her list, and one of them was mine. Miss Alice knew that since I might be a traitor anyway, we might as well go the whole hog and really make me into one. The other name belonged to poor Harriet, although we were sure she was only being used for confirmation of intelligence accuracy.

"Anyway, once the memory modifications were completed, I operated as a spy for Voldemort. My every movement was monitored and everything I saw was fabricated or censored. Most of the victims that followed had their deaths faked by the task force under the nose of the Ministry, although I'm ashamed to say that more than a couple were killed despite our best efforts.

“My usefulness to his Lordship all but came to an end when I was transferred again and I lost sight of the really sensitive intelligence reports about the Ministry of Magic operations. That was when I broke rank and went in search of Miss Alice.

"It took some time before it was safe to restore my true memories. There were some complications there that we hadn't anticipated, which meant my behaviour became a little erratic at times. Of course, I had no idea what was going on at the time. It didn't really help that Miss Alice's memory was also modified to make her forget her own plan.

"You know, the extraordinary thing was that in order to maintain the illusion, genuine near misses were planned. People actually volunteered to play potential victim just to maintain the deception. More than a few of those brave people died.

"You see, Miss Alice used the information provided by Scenariste and worked out how the Death Eaters selected their next victims. We’ve had full unrestricted access to the Archive since the raid, so we’ve been monitoring almost all of the Ministry transactions, including the confidential memos sent between Ministry people loyal to Voldemort.

“You know how much Miss Alice loves cracking codes. Well, our Muggle Task Forces have an army of Miss Alices and banks of computers to decode even the most complex encryptions used. Actually, from what I’m given to understand, even a child could have cracked the best of their codes. Pitiful, really.

“Such was the extent of their knowledge that Miss Alice was able to work out statistically which Death Eaters would be sent to carry out the killings.

“Oh, and yes,” he added turning back to Voldemort, “our Muggle Operations Managers have been directing the Aurors for months now in accordance with Miss Alice’s protocols, even though they didn’t know it. Once we got them away from Ministry control and your influence, it was easy! Your own people have known for ages that they have been losing more and more control of their Ministry powers and were just too afraid to tell you the bad news."

Harry turned from Bateman's smiling defiant face to Voldemort's simmering anger.

"Shame, really. First of all you go and get shot and then you get tricked by us simple Muggles. Where'd it all go wrong, eh?

"Didn't you even suspect why your Death Eater squads had suddenly changed from being barely competent to highly efficient operators? You'll never know just how many of your groups we have infiltrated and have working for us now, will you?”

"You lie!" yelled Voldemort furiously.

"Do I? Why not read my mind?"

"Lord Voldemort always knows!"

Bateman laughed contemptuously and said, "Yeah, right! Like you know where our back-up group is right now? Didn't you wonder where they'd got to?"

"What do you mean, Muggle?"

"Tonight. They would be long overdue if they were coming here with the few of us."

"Where are they then?"

"Let's just say they should be long gone by now, hopefully having caught and cooked a certain fat pet snake!"

"Nagini!"

"Who else?! We're just here as a diversion to the main event this evening. I only brought Harry with me to keep him out of trouble. Okay, so we were wrong in thinking the Healer would call you personally for help, but you were kind enough to come anyway.

“If you hurry, you might still save her from the cooking pot! It'll be the big red one over the fire with a chained down lid. We had it specially made! It even has a message from us Muggles engraved on the side."

Bateman raised his hand in a final obscene defiant gesture.

Voldemort was incandescent with rage. He raised his wand but Harry was quicker for once. His Rodium Hex wasn't as powerful as it would have been using his own wand, but it certainly gave Voldemort a scare. He staggered back and dived into the fireplace again to escape.

"Quick," shouted Bateman, pulling a pouch from a pocket. "We have to throw this powder into the flames. It will stop him returning this way. It's some kind of permanent Floo connection."

Harry grabbed the leather pouch and emptied the contents over the great fire. The flames died at once leaving cold ash in the grating.

He turned back to face Bateman but didn't lower his wand.

"Harry, you need to get out of here now," Bateman barked. "Kill me if you want, but he'll soon be back another way when he finds out I lied about that damn snake of his!"

"What? Where are the others then?"

"Waiting above us, hopefully. Come on, Harry, how on earth would I know where his pet is?"

Harry shook his head and lowered his wand.

*

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. They were in another passageway that led from the circular room. They had hoped it would be a better way out.

“Harry,” growled Bateman. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

“Bear, when did your memories return?” he asked seriously.

Bateman smiled and said, “If you can manage to listen and walk, I’ll tell you. Otherwise you’ll have to wait until we are above ground.”

He walked on and Harry groaned and then hurried to catch his friend up.

“Well?”

“You know I woke up in St Mungos?”

“Yes. Madam Pomfrey transferred you from Hogwarts once you were out of danger. I was a bit annoyed with her because it would have been much easier getting Mary in to visit you at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, well Mary was alone at my bedside when I first came round. She quizzed me and realised that your hex, or whatever, had done more than just nearly kill me. It actually wiped away all my memory modifications.”

“So, when did her memories return?”

“They haven’t, but she worked out what her plan would have been if she had access to memory modifications. She tested me to see if she had actually put such a plan into operation.”

“She’s even cleverer than I thought,” observed Harry.

Then he stopped again and exclaimed, “Hang on!”

“What now?”

“You attacked me! Twice!”

“Yes, I had to keep the act up, didn’t I? In fact, Mary wanted me to-”

Bateman froze in mid sentence and Harry looked around in alarm, expecting some foe to jump out at them.

Bateman swore loudly.

“Bear?”

He swore again, and again.

“Er, is anything wrong?”

“I forgot! Of all things, I just had to forget that!”

“What is it?”

Bateman seemed to calm a little and looked at Harry.

“Promise you won’t tell Mary? Well, not unless she asks? It’s a bit embarrassing, really. I’ve been teasing her quite a bit about it, and if she found out she’d never let up on me.”

“Er, sure. What’s wrong?”

“Well, to tell the truth, ninety-nine percent of the plan was all her idea. More, actually, except for one thing. There was this one really clever thing that I thought up all by myself. Worked like a charm, too.”

“And?”

“And I managed to forget to boast about it to Voldemort!”

Harry laughed.

“Well, I half hope you’ve missed your chance.”

“Not likely! If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to track down that red-eyed snake and make him listen, just before I rip him in two!”

Harry smiled listening to Bateman’s fervent determination, but privately hoping his friend never encountered Voldemort face to face again.

“So, are you going to tell me what this brilliant idea was?” Harry asked as they entered another large room.

Bateman didn’t answer.

Harry turned to look at what Bateman was looking at. He then froze in stunned horror. Each of the many beds was covered with a blood stained sheet, each appearing to conceal an unmoving body.

They walked on in silence between the rows and rows of beds, Harry thinking how death had been far too easy a punishment for the Healer.

*

Hermione had maintained her tenacious grip on Harry for over an hour and showed no sign of letting go anytime soon. Harry had suggested they should sneak off when it became clear to him that she wasn't really up for the impromptu celebration Ron had insisted on to mark their safe return.

Abandoned on the floor beside them was the latest edition of the Evening Prophet, detailing the dozens of arrests made of Ministry officials. Kingsley and his Aurors had been very busy that night, after all.

"So, was John lying when he said about infiltrating the Death Eaters?" she said out of the blue.

Harry started, having been content to sit quietly comforting her.

"Er, I don't really know. He wouldn't say when I asked him about that. I assumed he was lying because why else would he tell Voldemort?"

"He actually challenged him to perform Legilimency on him?"

"Yes."

"Maybe they have worked out a way to keep secrets from Voldemort then. Even the mere possibility must be unnerving for him. I bet he's interrogating every one of his people at this very moment!"

Harry smiled and nodded. His scar had been hurting for hours, giving him immense satisfaction.

"I wish I'd seen the look on Kingsley's face when he found out. He thought we were all playing along to his tune."

"He should have known Miss Alice was far too clever for that. She used him mercilessly."

"I wonder who did the other memory modifications? And who gave them that powder that blocked the Floo connection?"

"No idea. I suppose John and Mary will have to go into hiding now," said Hermione. "Voldemort will want revenge."

"I suspect they are planning to raise their profile, actually."

"Oh, dear. Not another plan?"

Harry chuckled.

“Well, you’ve got to give them credit. Dozens of witches and wizards that Voldemort thought were dead are actively working in secret against them.”

“So that’s why so many children went missing at the same time.”

“Yes, and not even the Ministry knows where they are hiding,” Harry added with satisfaction.

“Somehow, I suspect that Professor McGonagall’s letters inviting them to attend Hogwarts will still reach them, though.”

They were quiet a long moment.

"I think she's finally persuaded him to give up actually going out on those ridiculous raids," said Hermione.

"Yes, Bear mentioned that this evening. He wasn't entirely convinced he was doing the right thing."

"Even though he hurt himself tripping up just because there wasn't any light?"

"Er," said Harry, realising that Hermione didn't know about the fall they had both nearly suffered.

"If you were both doing something stupidly dangerous when he got hurt, I'd rather not know."

Harry kissed her forehead.

“Okay,” he said gently.

"Do they know what the Healer was working on for Voldemort?"

"No, but I'm glad you didn't see what the Healer was actually doing."

Harry tensed as a feeling of nausea came over him as he remembered what they had found on their way out. Thankfully, Hermione sensed she needed to steer the conversation away from that.

"So now that you know Ollivander wasn't the Healer, do you know why he was associating with Voldemort?"

"I've no idea," said Harry, after a moment. "But if I get the chance, I'll try to get him to come over to our side again. Ron's duelling has become very advanced under his tuition. I'm going to ask him to honour his agreement with Dumbledore, only with my co-operation, this time. Actually, it might be prudent to find out exactly what that agreement was, first."

Hermione released him and pushed herself up.

"You are going to make things up with Ron, aren't you?" she said seriously.

"He'll be fine, Hermione. I just chose the wrong moment to tell him, that's all."

"You did," she agreed. “I’m glad you realise that, Harry.”

"Mind you, looking back, I'm not sure when would have been the right time."

"Er, so why did you decide to do it this evening?"

"Well, I mostly wanted to distract him from seeing Ginny sneak off upstairs with our new Head Boy."

Hermione snorted and said, "He has a name, you know! And when did it become a custom to bow to the Head Boy every time he speaks or comes into the room? Honestly, you and Ron could have given him a break. I wouldn’t be surprised if he handed in his badge tomorrow after all your antics."

“Well, we had to make up for lost time,” admitted Harry, chuckling. "The other reason was that Luna was there. I wanted her to know too."

"That was nice. I'll let you go down now, if you want?"

"Well unless you are hoping for a last dance with Kreacher, I'm afraid the party may be over by now."

"Shame. Still, at least they'll know where to find us for the next party we have here."

"Not unless I tell them about the Fidelius Charm secret, they won't," said Harry trying not to smile.

"You just said you told them!"

"No, Hermione. You just assumed I told them about that," he said with a grin and pulling her up from the couch and towards the bed.

"Well? What did you tell them, then?"

"Mm?" he asked innocently, leaning in and kissing her neck.

"What did you tell them, and what made Ron go off in a huff?"

"Ron didn't go off in a huff. He just didn't want to hear about your more intimate habits right then."

Hermione spluttered; half with embarrassed indignation and half with laughter.

"Liar!" she said, laughing and pushing him down onto the bed. "I don't have any habits, intimate or otherwise!"

"Really? What about the way you-?"

She silenced him with a kiss.

"And not to mention," he continued doggedly, now shaking with laughter as she wrestled him.

"Where's my wand? I need to perform a silencing charm!"

"Hey, that's what Luna suggested!" Harry managed to say before the pillow hit him.

END

-

AN: Well, that's it! Thanks for reading. Once again I’ve enjoyed reading and responding to your kind reviews.

Sorry for the long wait getting started. I can’t promise the wait for the next one will improve, though.

I can’t leave Ollivander’s unusual behaviour unexplained, so there will be a fourth (and probably final – did I say that before?) part to this series. I’ve made a good start, but I will need to put this aside shortly due to work commitments.

I’m also determined to finally complete a new short story set post-Hogwarts beginning with Harry and Draco as prisoner and gaoler. Actually, it would probably come a little easier if I came down off the fence and decided which one was the prisoner! Anyway, Ron is definitely the hero this time.

-

Update June 2006: This story is now continued in “The Battle Standard.” There is a summary here or you can jump straight to the first Chapter, “The Lord Protector”, here.