Harry Potter and the Truth of Rumours

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters unfortunately. But God- otherwise known as J.KRowling does. So please don’t sue, since you can’t sue someone who don’t have no money in the first place.

Summary: Harry begins to get inklings of his real power, and finds out a few more things about himself. H/H shippiness. Starts off kind of dark, mentions child abuse, so if you don’t like that kind of thing, give this fic a miss. If you don’t mind, be prepared for an epic spanning the last three years of Harry’s schooling. Some pretty big battles between Good and Evil to come. Next part of this fic will be called “Harry Potter and the Power of Gaia”. Please R/R, constructive criticism welcome, ideas too, audience participation is welcome in my fic, but I have an overall story arc worked out, so I won’t be going to far past it. Anyway, that’s enough from me, just read and enjoy. >*_*<

Harry Potter and the Truth of Rumours.

Twilight heralded darkness, save for the softly glowing moon, that shone through the smothering clouds. Harry looked up at the moon, and the ever present clouds chasing it, threatening to block out the only form of light he had that night. The only thing making him feel faintly safe, apart from Hedwig, who was gently snoring from beneath her wing, two feathers fluffing, as her breath caught against them. Briefly Harry felt envy for the beautiful snowy white owl. At anytime, as long as Harry was there, she could be let out. She could fly away, high and above the clouds, to where the moon was still visible in all it’s glory. What he wouldn’t give to be that free. Or to just be a normal boy sometimes. As much as he loved being a wizard, most of the time it had only brought him heartache and suffering, what happened with Voldermort during the Triwizard cup was a prime example of that.

If it were possible, things were starting to get even worse at the Dursley's this summer. Though he had gotten used to either being ignored, or forced into household chores, they were now almost constantly making snide comments, and had increased the dosage of telling him how lucky he was to have been taken in by them at all, “after all, I would have sent you to the orphanage down the road, if it weren’t for that idiot headmaster of yours, leaving a note to say he would be expecting to contact you about that school, when yer 11.” Uncle Vernon, had rather proudly told him. And unfortunately, he had finally seen past Harry’s helpful ruse about his godfather Sirius, being on the lookout for him. Now Harry was almost always locked in the house, all of his school supplies had been locked into the cupboard under the stairs. Though Harry had tried to tell him that this year, his summer homework was even more important, for his upcoming O.W.L’s. But this news seemed to only please Uncle Vernon. He told him that if were any good at being a wizard at all, he wouldn’t have to do his homework. This also meant, that he and Dudley had acquired an almost cocky attitude around him. Though they still hated his ‘abnormality’, they no longer cared about possibly invoking Harry’s anger, having gotten the idea, that if he practised anymore magic outside of term-time-something not allowed for under-aged wizards, and for which Harry had already been told off about before-that Harry would almost certainly be expelled from Hogwarts. Dudley made obvious his glee, by trying to goad Harry into using magic as often as possible, usually by repeatedly punching him in the stomach, or ,as had happened last week, his face, breaking his glasses in two, causing a nose bleed, and then taunting him as Harry had to tape the two pieces together, not being able to use the spell Hermione had taught him to mend them. And unfortunately, Uncle Vernon, had become somewhat more physically aggressive too, he, being a fully grown man, could pack far more power into his punches. And now humiliatingly, they insisted on going through any mail he received from his friends. More than once this had incurred Uncle Vernon’s wrath. As he read about Muggles, and his friends enquiries as to how they were treating him. Harry’s Uncle had wanted to know just what he had told his wizarding friends about the Dursleys. That and they took any of the food supplies his friends normally sent, so he had nothing to fall back on, whenever they decided he shouldn’t be fed. And he was made to watch as all those wonderful Cauldron cakes, pumpkin pies, chocolate frogs, and Bertie Botts every flavour beans, were all tipped into the kitchens bin.

So, if anything, Harry was having the worst year of his life, cruelty from the Dursley’s was starting to become unbearable, he couldn’t write to any of his friends about what was going on- Uncle Vernon insisted on checking that Hedwig was always in her cage by 8am, and didn’t go out until past 10pm, he figured out that it would take her much longer than this to reach any of Harry’s friends, or more importantly, Sirius or Dumbledore -and he was suffering from a lack of food, in fact, Aunt Petunia, was the only one of the Dursley’s who tried to get him food. Perhaps she was scared of the consequences if Harry starved to death in the holidays. But Harry wondered if it was that. Though she still fawned over Dudley, being her pride and joy, there was something close to compassion registering in her eyes whenever they met Harry’s gaze. Perhaps seeing the way Harry was now being repeatedly beaten, it was starting to register that treating another human being this way-even a wizard- was not acceptable behaviour. That and hearing Harry waking up screaming every night, from his nightmares, perhaps, if Harry could dare to wish, she was starting to feel something for him. If not as her nephew, then at least as a human being.

But Harry could only hope. And give a faint smile of gratitude, every few days when Petunia would sneak a plate of leftovers up to his room, always mumbling something about being on a diet. Clearly she didn’t want to let him think she was starting to care, that or it was the only thing she could think of as a cover, if Uncle Vernon ever found her delivering leftovers to Harry’s room. Tonight though, that lifeline had been intercepted. A giggling Dudley saying -rather loudly, for Harry’s benefit- Thank you for his late-night snack. Harry had come to suspect that his Uncle had seen one of those documentaries on the human body. The ones where they have scientists that tell you that the human body can survive a few months without food, and three days without water. And that Uncle Vernon had signed him up for some experiment, to test this. And on account of not receiving Aunt Petunia’s leftover late-night snack, it had now been four days since Harry had anything even approaching a normal meal. Hedwig had, somehow managed to get some fruit, something Harry had eaten very quickly, for it was already soft and wouldn’t keep for long.

Hedwig’s wing fluttered, and she removed her head gently from its resting place. Immediately, she looked at Harry, her gaze shifting from head to toe, as if to assess his condition. He smiled to reassure her, though he could do nothing to hide his limp, as he moved to open her cage. Uncle Vernon had hit him with Aunt Petunias rolling pin earlier that day, for not making the pastry for the pasties he was making, perfectly round.

When he opened her cage, Hedwig came forward, and nibbled affectionately on his ear. Harry noted, to his dismay, that even she seemed a little thinner than normal. He would always share any of the food the Dursley’s saw fit to bestow on him, with her, but she had obviously had to fall back on hunting for food at night.

Hedwig took flight from the cage, flew across the room, and came to a landing on his bed, pointing a wing tip against the one possession, Uncle Vernon had allowed him to keep a hold of.

His photo album.

It was open on a page with a picture of Harry, Hermione and Ron, all smiling and waving up at him. The Photo Hermione blew a kiss at him, then blushed as Photo Ron, rather obviously made a crude joke. Even Photo Harry blushed, before smacking Ron in the head.

Harry was lucky that Hedwig was such an intelligent Owl, and that she could always find a way to communicate with him. Unfortunately he didn’t speak Owl yet. At this moment, it was clear that Hedwig wanted to take a message to either of his friends.

He shook his head gently.

“No girl, you can’t.” he said softly.

“Uncle Vernon would be very angry if you weren’t here when he checked in the morning. He’d probably...” he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence, or the thought. Hedwig hooted softly and quietly. He stroked her favourite spot, just above the shoulder blade of her left wing, then opened the window, and watched as she reluctantly flew out of it. All the while he was berating himself for wishing she could fly just a little faster. He sighed, leaving the window open, the cool breeze necessary in the small, stuffy room. He limped back across to the bed, and stared wistfully at the photo album before him. Before he packed it away under his bed, slid himself between the thinning cotton sheets, and then tried, as he did every night, to get some sleep.

~o0o~

A soft clicking sound awoke Harry from a light and thankfully dreamless sleep. As his eyes flickered open, they registered the fact that it was barely daylight, and that Aunt Petunia had opened the door, and moving towards him. A plate of what looked like meatloaf and tomatoes in her hand. He sat up gently, so as not to aggravate his bruised ribs. Petunia settled the plate on his lap, and turned to leave. But Harry, finally decided he wanted to know why. He put a hand on her arm, gripping it gently, as she turned back to face him, he let go.

“Aunt Petunia........th...thank you.”

Her face twitched. For a moment, it looked as though she might cry. And then she turned away, wordlessly, moving towards the shadows of the hallway.

“Aunt Petunia?” Harry whispered. She stopped and looked back at him.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

Her face twitched again. And again, before a single tear erupted from the duct of her left eye. And she stuttered out a reply.

“I......I.....No one, not even.......I.........not even wizards, d-deserve this.”

And then cat-like, she crept from the room. He heard a soft click as she was obviously trying to padlock him in again, without making too much noise.

Harry looked down to his first meal in days. It was rather pathetic. Two cold slabs of old meatloaf, a tomato, and three smaller cherry tomatoes. It wasn’t much, but Harry realised that Aunt Petunia was risking being found out, if she took much more. A risk, that in Harry’s mind, elevated her to his favourite blood relative. Though considering the competition, it wasn’t anything to boast about.

Putting a piece of meatloaf to one side for Hedwig, he tucked in. He savoured every last drop of juice from the tomatoes, rolling it around over his tongue, licking his lips.

A sudden flicker of feathers at his window caught his attention. Then there was a flash of white, then a wing tip before, finally three birds appeared before him. One was Pig, Ron’s Owl, and another he didn’t recognise, were holding up an exhausted looking Hedwig. They flew in, and Harry immediately laid Hedwig on his bed, noticing a letter strapped to her leg. Stroking her nervously, he untied the letter bound to her. Pig, was uncharacteristically quiet, normally he would be elated at having delivered , and would be flying at top speed around the room. But this time, it was almost as if he understood the need for quiet, at this time more than any other. The other Owl perched itself atop Harry’s side cabinet, and had a Hogwarts crest strapped to it’s wing.

Harry glanced nervously at the letter, half expecting Uncle Vernon to burst in and start hitting him now. But he realised that the Owl’s had arrived soundlessly.

Turning the envelope over in his hands, he savoured the moment, being able to touch and read his own name, written in Ron’s recognisable scrawl. He wasn’t having to glance at it over Uncle Vernon’s shoulder, answering many awkward questions about its contents. It felt like the most wonderful to have happened to him in months.

He opened it quickly, but quietly, and began to read.

*Dear Harry,

I’m sorry we didn’t realise sooner that something must be wrong at your house. Me + Hermione were getting worried when you didn’t write back. But a few days ago, Pig came flying back with a letter from Herm, and one of your school ties. We didn’t know what was going on, so Dad got Pig to fly out again last night, and followed him. And he met Hedwig! This time she was carrying, and I hope to God your alright mate, a tissue with blood on it.

Dad went nuts when he got back, zooming all around the ministry, looking for Dumbledore to tell what had happened, that and convince a load of ministers that your worse off were you are. So we could get permission for you to stay. We only just found out about some of that magic that’s supposed to be protecting your house from You-Know-Who.

But you can stay!

We’re to come and get you at 11pm, on the night before your birthday. So tell those muggles where to go, your coming to live with us for the rest of the holidays!!

Don’t worry, we’re not expecting a reply, even if you never got to read this letter, we’d be coming anyway.

See you soon, and hope your safe.

Ron.*

Harry almost fell off his bad in excitement. Two more days? Two more days, was that it? Two more days and he would be free of the starvation, the humiliation, being beaten up every day. And most importantly, free of the Dursleys? Not only that but he would be able to celebrate his birthday with people who actually cared about him. Harry became more and more happy at the thought of leaving, but then one thing struck him. Was Aunt Petunia safe? It would have been incredibly dumb of Harry not to notice that Uncle Vernon was drinking more, the smell on his breath, was usually present whenever he was about to beat Harry to a pulp. From what he could tell, Uncle Vernon’s business wasn’t doing that well, something that naturally, he blamed on Harry.

But for now, Harry shared out the meatloaf between the Owl’s, the Hogwarts fluffed out it’s chest importantly, moved away from the proffered meal, and looked at him for a moment, as if waiting for something. It clicked in Harry’s mind, she was waiting for return mail.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to write on.”

At that moment, the Owl lifted it’s leg, to reveal the end of a pointed quill. Pig- who had been busily devouring his meal- flew up and dropped a small vial of ink into his hand. Harry smiled softly. Trust Dumbledore, he thinks of everything. And he quickly got to work, writing out his reply, on the back of Ron’s letter. Luckily it was a Saturday, and he had at least four hours before Uncle Vernon would be up and wanting any food.

He looked over his reply, satisfied that it wouldn’t panic them by letting them know just how bad it really was. Though Hedwig had certainly already done that, by taking the bloody tissue, a leftover from his nose bleed.

*Ron,

I’ll be waiting by my bedroom window, I hope you can find your way. If you can help it, try to find a way to get here without disturbing the muggles. It would be better if you could get to me without Uncle Vernon finding out. He won’t be very happy if Wizards starting popping out of the fireplace again. Please bring some food for Hedwig.

And don’t worry about me. I’ve spent the last three weeks here, another two days won’t kill me -I hope. Harry*

Looking over the last part, he added ‘just kidding’, he didn’t want to sound as desperate as he was.

Unfortunately when he saw them in a few days, he knew his appearance, would give it away. He knew that he’d lost a lot of weight. Normally when he came back form Hogwarts, he’d have a little pot belly, a testament to his spurt of over-eating, and no Quadditch. It was always enough to see him through the summer, but due to the events of last year, eating had been the last thing on his mind, so he’d lost weight, before he’d even arrived at the Dursley’s. He wasn’t sure, but ht thought he might be paler, but his skin was bound to look pale in comparison to the vast array of bruises and swellings that littered the rest of his body.

He hurriedly began tying the message to Pig’s leg, when the sound of someone stirring in another room scared him. Making his apologies to the to other Owl’s, for not allowing them to rest, he motioned for them to leave. Pig flew out, some of his excitement at delivering mail had returned. Harry quickly cleared the ink and quill away under the loose floorboard. He heard the shifting noise again. He could tell it was Uncle Vernon, moving his bulky frame into the hallway, the number of steps, told Harry that he’d bypassed the bathroom, and could only be heading to his or Dudley’s room. Moving to close the window, he saw that the Hogwarts Owl was still there. An unmistakable look of sadness played out across its features. He shooed it out and shut the window.

“BOY”

Uncle Vernon slammed into the room.

“What’s all this noise?”

Harry held back his initial retort of ‘Why Uncle, it’s you.’. And motioned to Hedwig, who had somehow gotten over to her cage, and was now perching tall and proudly within it.

“I had to let her in.” he said quietly.

“That blasted bird again! I will take a shotgun to her one day.” And he moved towards her cage. Hedwig’s posture slumped, she looked afraid. Harry knew what was coming, the moment he had stepped protectively in front of her cage. Hedwig did too, and began squawking, and spread her wings, as if readying to attack. But he closed the door on her cage. No matter what, he wouldn’t let her get hurt.

And so it began, Harry was being knocked around the room like a rag doll, unaware, that outside his window, an Owl, baring the Hogwarts crest, was watching angrily. After ten minutes it had seen enough, it turned, and flew to a nearby darkened alley.

It landed, and plucked the hidden wand from amongst its wing feathers. And began to change. A few moments later, Madam Hooch held out her wand, and flagged down the Nightbus. She got on, threw the fare to a startled Stan, shouted the Burrow at him, and wandered to find a seat, all the while cursing the name Dursley.

~o0o~

Later that day, Harry was disbelievingly being moved back into the cupboard under the stairs. It as definitely smaller than he remembered, then again he was about a foot and a half taller now. Despite being barely strong enough to walk, Uncle Vernon insisted that Harry take his things from the cupboard and put them into the attic, though once again he allowed Harry to keep his photo album. He had heard Uncle Vernon tell his wife that having those photos would probably make Harry feel worse, and he wasn’t far wrong.

Then, along with Hedwig-not in her cage- he was shut in the dark, in the small cupboard where he couldn’t even stretch his legs. His only hope, that in one night and two days, the Weasleys were coming to get him.

Far away in a small, mostly muggle inhabited village, the sound of angry, non-magical cursing filled the Weasley’s house.

“We never should have let him go there. I don’t care about You-Know-Who, anything is better than leaving Harry with that bloated b*****d one more moment!”

The Weasley children were all stood listening outside, ears pressed to the kitchen door, in shock at the progressively stronger muggle cursing their father was using. Though all of them Ron, Ginny, Fred and George could understand the need for it. Fred and George had, had to pull Ron back, from going in to voice his own colourfully-worded opinion at Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, when Madam Hooch had returned. She had launched into a very graphic description of everything she’d seen, magically altering her lungs, so she wouldn’t have to pause for breath. She particularly lingered over Harry’s protectiveness of Hedwig, and Uncle Vernon’s violent reaction to this. She had described in painful detail, every kick, punch and glancing blow delivered to his already frail-looking form.

Ron, now had to wait, along with the others for Dumbledore to defend his position, in the current argument. He had always known that life with the Dursleys had not been particularly pleasant for Harry, it was just one of the reasons he was keen for his friend to stay in the holidays. But he had never imagined from Harry’s apparently toned down description, that it was outright physical abuse. It made him feel sick to think about everything Harry had been through in the past year. First that stupid tournament, and as Ron felt very guilty about this, his own petty jealousy. Then there was everything that had happened when Harry was kidnapped by Lord Voldermort, now risen and thanks to the rather gruesome ceremony, that necessitated the use of Harry’s blood, he could touch Harry now without fear of going the way of Professor Quirrel. And now his Uncle was hurting him, and from what Madam Hooch had described, he had been doing so since Harry’s return.

Once again a steam of muggle expletives exited their father’s mouth. And finally Dumbledore responded.

“Arthur, I know as well as anyone here what Harry has faced for years, though I will admit I had not dared hope it would ever become so bad. But as I have already told you, we cannot remove Harry from the Dursley’s before he turns fifteen, to do so would...I am sorry, I cannot tell you more. We must wait, as much as it pains me so, we must wait.”

A chorus of objections came from Mr & Mrs Weasley, Madam Hooch, and Bill. It seemed that only Cornelius Fudge was on Dumbledore’s side. Everyone was talking at once, Mrs Weasley sounded as though she were close to tears, and then finally, the loud sound of someone banging their fist on the table, and the talking ceased. Fudge, who up until this point had remained silent, began to speak.

“I have been a fool. A few months ago, I was witness to the events of the Triwizard Cup. I saw the aftermath of You-Know-Who’s resurrection. Cedric Diggory dead, Bartimus Crouch, Bertha Jorkins, how many more? Harry almost died that night, and yet I refused to believe. I could not and did not want to believe, that those dark times were coming again.

But when muggles and wizards alike started to disappear, some turning up in ditches and ...”

There was a pause as, though unseen by the children, Fudge shook his head, as though trying to shake the images from his mind.

“A few weeks ago, there were Deatheater sightings, and then Markus Ravencast was found dead in his home, the Dark Mark above it.”

There was a collective gasp from everyone listening.

“The ministry covered it up of course, but seeing him .... it forced me to deal with what I had been told months before. I have seen his new handiwork, I think that there is much worse to follow. But the one thing I am sure of when it comes to ... him. Is that there is one young man he would follow to the ends of the Earth, and into the pits of Hell if it meant getting his revenge.

I know how you all feel when you hear that Harry’s only blood relatives could treat him so badly, but to be blunt about it, what he suffers there is nothing compared to what will happen to him, if You-Know-Who gets a hold of him.

Now as hard as this is, Dumbledore has, this very day told me a great secret involving our young Mr Potter, one which I am now bound by oath to keep, though I am sure that within a few days you shall all be aware of it too. But I now know the reason Harry must never be removed from that house so close to the day of his birth. And that is a very good reason indeed.

Now all of you can shout at us as loud as you like, but if one of you even so much as speaks of Harry coming to the Burrow, before the arranged time, I will have you thrown into Azkaban faster than you can apparate there. Is that understood?”

There was a protracted silence, followed by the sound of chairs being pushed back. The Weasley children all moved quickly from the door, though they could still hear when Fudge said.

“Good, that’s settled, now if you will excuse me, I have some important ministry business to attend to.”

As he exited the kitchen, he looked down at Ron, who had stepped into his path.

“What could be more important than Harry?”

Fudge placed a heavy hand on Ron’s shoulder, he sagged slightly under the weight. Fudge gazed around the room at the others, as if making it clear what he was about to say was for all of them too.

“I promise you Ron, someday you will understand, why we have made the decisions we’ve made. But not today.”

And with that, he left. There was a brief whispered conference between Dumbledore and Mr +Mrs Weasley and Madam Hooch, after which it was announced he would be staying until Harry’s arrival. For the first time, Ron looked upon the old wizard with neither respect or that little hint of fear in his eyes.

“How could you do this to him?”

Before Dumbledore could respond, a squawking caught everyone's attention. Pig had returned.

Ron hurried forward and detached the hastily bound letter from Pig’s leg. The rest of the group gathered around, listening as he read aloud.

When he had finished there was a brief sob from Mrs Weasley who said through the tears,

“Oh he’s so brave.”

followed by Madam Hooch, who whispered softly,

“Their starving him, and he asks you to bring food for Hedwig.”

Ginny burst into tears at this, and ran upstairs, closely followed by Bill. Fred and George were seething, muttering about giving the Dursleys their just desserts. Mrs Weasley made no attempt to stop them as they too, bolted up the stairs. A few moments later the sounds of things exploding could be heard through the ceiling. Mr Weasley put an arm around his still sobbing wife, leading her back into the kitchen to comfort her. Madam Hooch made her excuses, and left. That left Ron and Dumbledore.

Ron was staring, quite coldly at the older wizard, anger spreading beneath his skin.

Before a loud crash startled them.

The door had been swung open with such ferocity that it had almost come off it’s hinges.

There, framed in the doorway, stood Hermione. Hair wild, and cheeks stained with tears. She said just two words.

“Where’s Harry?”

~o0o~

Life could be awfully harsh sometimes, thought Harry. Having spent all night cramped into the tiny space under the stairs, and most of the day beforehand in there as well. Uncle Vernon had finally cottoned on that he’d hurt Harry too much, to make use of him in household chores. He’d been allowed out once, when Aunt Petunia had persuaded Vernon that Harry should go to use the bathroom. After all, he would start to smell the place up, and that certainly wouldn’t be normal, would it?

Harry had shot her a grateful look, before he was shut into the bathroom for his 10 minute shower. He’d spent most of it, hissing in pain, as the hot water hit the open wounds on his body, though after a while, it began to soothe his aching muscles. A single experience he had enjoyed though, was using some of Aunt Petunias shampoo. It had occurred to him that his hair probably didn’t look very nice after twenty+ hours in the cupboard. It smelled of Apples and Honey. It was kind of pretty, in fact it reminded him of Hermione. Except she always had that smell of old books about her too. Which Harry found rather endearing.

Having finished in the bathroom, he didn’t pause to look in the mirror, he didn’t really want to know what he looked like, he could guess.

He found Aunt Petunia stood in the hallway waiting for him, and before he could say a word, she’d shoved a large red apple into his hands, muttering about Uncle Vernon not trusting Harry not to run off if he was on his own. Harry quietly asked where he was, and Petunia, motioned to outside the house. So he quickly told her that he would be leaving tonight, with Ron. Relief flooded her face, she wished him luck, and he did the same. Then she did something that she’d never done before, she dipped down an kissed him on the forehead. it was so light and quick, that he could’ve dreamt it.

Silently she helped him down the stairs, and ushered him into the cupboard. Harry plopped down onto the bed, exhausted from his short excursion, he could hear Uncle Vernon asking if ‘the boy’ had given Aunt Petunia any trouble. She quickly answered ‘no’, there was a brief pause, in which Harry could imagine Uncle Vernon face screwing up in confusion, since this didn’t mix with his set ideas about Harry.

Aunt Petunia quickly salvaged the situation, by reporting that Harry had, perhaps taken too long in the shower. After all he was a skinny boy, not likely her two manly men. Harry stifled a snicker, if manly constituted being grossly overweight, they could keep it. But this answer seemed to satisfy Uncle Vernon, who instead chose to complain about Harry no longer contributing to the household chores, and how lazy he was being. He continued on about how the garden needed mowing, and the windows needed cleaning, and how he should be out there doing the cooking, to save Aunt Petunia’s delicate hands from being burnt by the fat from the frying pan. Harry really felt like shouting, that if they wanted something doing, they should do it themselves, but Uncle Vernon would probably have an aneurysm, and make it his dying wish that Harry never be allowed out of his cupboard, so he kept quiet.

There was a loud

“BOY!”

that seemed to resonate throughout his entire body, before his cupboard door was yanked open, and he was pulled roughly out.

“Now you might be too scrawny to do any man’s work, but you can do the cooking and save your Aunt the trouble. If you do well enough, I won’t have to take my belt to you, understand?”

Harry nodded glumly, though he wished he had just said ‘yes’, because he now felt dizzy. He was pulled into the kitchen, and steered towards the kitchen worktops, where the food laid already prepared. *Thank goodness for small miracles*.

He spent the next 25 minutes trying to cook the rather large fry-up. Dudley had managed to lose half a stone in the year, and a proud Uncle Vernon insisted on giving him the odd treat, so in fact, Dudley now looked even larger than he had last year. Something that upgraded him from a baby killer whale to an adolescent elephant. Harry was rather amused to see that he now required a large cushion to be placed across the seat to accommodate his vast buttocks, only one cheek of which would fit across the buckling chair.

Harry noted the time on the clock, six ‘o’clock, only a few more hours to go!

“Where’s my food? Daddy, make Harry cook faster!” Dudley whined.

“You heard him boy, bring him his food.”

Harry looked into the frying pan, the bacon hadn’t yet started to crisp up, and years of experience had taught him that this was how his Uncle and cousin liked it best, so that they could eat the fat off it too. The eggs still had a runny semi-clear goo on them.

“Bring them here now boy!” Uncle Vernon’s voice had become dangerously low.

He looked back into the pan, sighed, and put the food on the plates. Which he then struggled to pick up, and carry. He was a little disappointed, after all he couldn’t play Quadditch if he couldn’t hold the snitch.

Shuffling along, he put the plates on the table in front of an eager looking Dudley and Vernon. Dudley’s face fell almost immediately.

“Daddy, Harry didn’t cook mine properly, he’s trying to give me food poisoning!”

Uncle Vernon knew full well this wasn’t the case, but the glint in his eye told Harry that he didn’t much care.

“Trying to poison my boy, eh?” his voice was still dangerously low. He looked at his own plate.

“And me too by the looks of it. Tell me boy, which belt would you prefer?”

~o0o~

The Weasley men gathered around the fireplace, all with Floo powder ready in their hands.

“Are you sure about this Arthur dear? He did say in his letter that you shouldn’t come through the fireplace again. What if they’ve had it blocked up since last year?” Mrs Weasley asked nervously.

“I know, but this is the fastest way there, short of apparating. And the less time I spend in that ... man’s presence, the better.”

He nodded in Bill’s direction, who blew Floo powder into the fire, and shouted ‘Potter’s fireplace’. Mr Weasley followed, as did Fred and George. Just as Ron was about to go through, Dumbledore came into the living room, he gave Ron a small nod, as if to say ‘bring him back’, then he too, tumbled through the fireplace.

When Ron arrived on the other side, the scene before him was complete pandemonium. Bill and his father were shouting loudly at a petrified-looking Vernon, and gesturing so wildly with their wands, that red sparks were shooting out the end. Petunia was standing protectively in front of Dudley, who had his hands placed alternately on his bottom and over his mouth. Fred and George came ploughing back into the room from where ever they had just gone.

“He’s not there, but we found his stuff in the attic.” Fred said, brandishing Harry’s firebolt, George did likewise, only he held up a very dirty and rumpled Hedwig, who seemed somewhat dazed.

“What did you do with him?” his father shouted at Vernon, who, for all his fear of the wizards, managed to crack a smug-looking smile. This enraged Bill, who leapt forward, dropping his wand, and attempted to put his hands around what could be identified as Vernon’s neck. Dudley cried out in horror, and ran from behind a protective Petunia, as if to defend his father. When Ron stepped forward, wand held high, Dudley stopped, and covered his buttocks again.

That was when he noticed Petunia, now unseen by both husband and son, was gesturing wildly to the hallway, and mouthing the word ‘cupboard‘. She looked terrified, but not of the wizard who seemed so intent on strangling her husband, but rather of being seen by her husband.

Ron didn’t need telling twice, nor did he stop to ponder why Petunia was helping them.

He rushed into the hallway, his father a step behind, and wrenched open the cupboard door.

Ron bent away from the sight that greeted him, and promptly threw up on the floor. He could hear his father whisper softly behind him,

“Oh God”

There were gasps from Fred and George as they ploughed into the hallway to take a look.

There, lying on a bed, huddled into himself, was Harry. He did not appear to be conscious, nor could anyone blame him. His back was towards them, he looked so painfully skinny and pale. His shoulder blades jutted out tellingly, bruises covered much of his body. And, more disturbing than the bruises, were the angry red belt marks, that zig-zagged across his back, so recent that they still bled.

There was some sort of high-pitched squeal from the other room, Dudley screaming, as a popping noise indicated the arrival of another wizard.

Mr Weasley ignored all that, as he removed his outer cloak, bent down, and wrapped it around Harry’s unconscious form. Gently, he removed him from the cupboard. Holding him, Mr Weasley was shocked at how light he was. He needed no help to carry him into the living room, his son’s were trailing behind him. Ron’s face was red and puffy from tears, and the fact he had just vomited.

Vernon looked sickeningly proud, as he noticed the bundle in Arthur Weasleys arms. That look did not stay long, though if it did, no-one would be able to tell. As there was a popping sound, and where Vernon had once stood, there was now a fat-looking dung beetle.

On the other side of the room, wand held aloft, was Dumbledore. Though for a moment, Ron wondered if he had been possessed by You-Know-who. He looked angrier than Ron had even thought it to be within his capability. He realised now, why Dumbledore was the only wizard that You-Know-Who had ever feared.

Dumbledore moved forward, the whole room still, except for the whimpering of Dudley. The older wizard bent down, and scooped the Vernon-beetle up, and placed him into a container that he just happened to have handy. He looked to Petunia.

“Mrs Dursley, your husband is to be placed on trial for his crimes against Harry. When he is found guilty.” he paused, and Petunia noticed how much empathise he had placed on the word ‘when’.

“...it is likely that he will face a spell in prison. Do you understand?”

Petunia looked at Harry, and in her eyes, for all those who were looking, could be seen, great sadness, regret and empathy. Her gaze shifted to the box which contained the Vernon-bug. And her eyes flashed with anger, and some fear. Before she simply nodded,

“Good” Dumbledore muttered.

“Now, perhaps you would be so good as to tell me the time.”

Petunia picked up Dudley’s fat wrist, and read the time off his state-of-the-art digital watch.

“11.53”

“hmm, seven minutes left ... Ron, you and your brothers can return to the burrow if you like. We must remain here until midnight.”

Ron looked at his father, and the precious bundle in his arms. Harry’s arm slipped from Arthur’s grasp, and dangled limply. As well as the bruises and cuts to his arms, there was a still livid red scar in the crook of his elbow. The scar was a clear, all too terrifying reminder of the night Voldermort was resurrected, and made it clear that Harry was number one on his ‘to kill’ list. Strange really, amongst everything else, it was barely noticeable.

Dumbledore moved to put Harry’s arm back on his chest. Harry shifted momentarily, moving his head, and moaning softly, as though someone had simply disturbed his sleep.

It was enough to draw a few nervous smiles from the Weasleys. But once again he became deathly still.

“Please Mr Dumbledore, can we go now? Madam Pomfrey is waiting.”

“I know Ron, but we must wait. Now go with your brothers.”

The quartet trudged back to the fireplace, and headed home.

Ron was sure he could see Hermione hand reaching out to grab him, before he’d even exited the fireplace, back at the Burrow.

“Well, where is he? Is he alright? Why isn’t he here yet? Are they behind you?”

“One question at a time Herm. Their still back there. Dumbledore says they got to wait ’til twelve, before they can leave.”

“But Harry’s alright, isn’t he?”

She looked expectantly to each of the brothers faces. Her own fell, tears welled at the corners. Ron gently pushed her to the nearest chair, and sat her down.

The next ten minutes seemed to take an eternity to pass. Hermione just stared blankly, oblivious to Madam Pomfrey’s attempts to get ready for Harry’s arrival, with the help of Mrs Weasley and Bill. Ron stared at Hermione and the fireplace. The twins paced up and down, unable to keep still.

Finally, at 12.04am, four minutes into Harry’s birthday, the glowing fire turned green, and three people emerged from the centre of it. One was Dumbledore, who now held an old-looking Staff in his hand. The other was Mr Weasley, who was still holding Harry in his arms. There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room. But Bill, who had already seen Harry, instead appeared to be transfixed on the staff Dumbledore was holding. It was a long shiny wooden staff, which looked like oak, ending in a massive dull-grey crystal, which had a criss-crossing network of rough-looking gold and bronze running across it, holding it in like a cage. There was a soft-glowing light being emitted from the very centre of it. It looked like the wire of a light bulb does, still glowing hot after the light has been switched off. Though it was slighter brighter in intensity, it looked a little like a fairy light.

“My God! Is that? It can’t be! Dumbledore it’s not the Staff of Gaia is it?”

Dumbledore nodded an affirmative. Before Madam Pomfrey regained her composure, and started barking orders at Arthur Weasley, and the others, whether it be to help, or just to stay out of her way.

She kept muttering to herself, as she tended to Harry, now on the kitchen table, which had been transformed into a hospital bed. Ron could hear snippets, from the words, Quirrel, to disappearing arms, dragons, Dementors and Cruciatus curses, which were interrupted on occasion as she barked another order. Ron started to feel uneasy, Madam Pomfrey was starting to look flustered, her muttering now inaudible but definitely worse, before finally she looked at Dumbledore, keeping her voice low, she said.

“He’s bleeding inside, Albus, and there’s only so much I can do. I need help, even I can’t cope with all of this...” she gestured at Harry, “on my own.”

Dumbledore seemed to consider this for a moment, before he wondered into the next room. He reappeared a short while later, holding the Staff of Gaia. He moved to Harry’s side.

“Can you wake him Poppy?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not. He’s very weak, and I think that he would be in too much pain if I did.”

“Very well, I’ll just have to try this while he’s sleeping.”

“Try what?”

But Dumbledore had already closed his eyes, it looked as though he were trying to meditate. Those in the room wore questioning looks on their faces, except for Bill and Mr Weasley, who seemed fascinated. As one of the twins started to ask Bill a question, but he immediately motioned for them to be quiet.

After a few minutes, sweat began to appear on Dumbledore’s brow, and the fairy light within the crystal, was no longer a flickering amber, but a hot and golden light, filling about half the crystal, about the size of a tennis ball.

And then, without warning a long pale pink light started being emitted in waves, before it gathered at a single point on the crystal, and a beam of the pink light shot out, expanding before it hit Harry’s chest. The Weasleys watched, transfixed on the sight before them. Waves of a darker pink were being emitted in pulses along the beam, they heard a few, distinct cracking noises, of what could only be bones being forced back together.

Then the light beam stopped, and the crystal faded to back to dull grey, though it seemed darker somehow, than it had before. Dumbledore stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. The Weasley’s and Poppy immediately rushed to his side to help him, asking questions as they did so. Dumbledore did not answer however, simply accepting there help, before rushing to Harry’s side, leaving the Staff in Bill’s hands.

“Poppy, he should be better now”

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, and then moved to Dumbledore’s side, muttering a spell, and pointed her wand at Harry. In that moment, Ron learned more than he ever wanted to know about the inner workings of his friend’s anatomy.

“Albus, you did this? He’s not bleeding anymore. And his bones aren’t broken, how?”

“I’m afraid I could do no better, some of his ribs are still cracked and I couldn’t heal his skin. There was too much work on the inside.”

“Still, Albus, it is better than it was, there is no question of his surviving now, though he will still need months to recover.”

Dumbledore nodded at this, took the Staff of Gaia from a reluctant Bill’s hands, and said he needed to rest, before he left and went to the room that had been set aside for him.

Over the next few hours, Madam Pomfrey fussed over Harry, healing the remaining fractured bones, and most of his recent cuts, though she could do nothing about those which had already started to heal on their own for at least two weeks.

By the time she had finished, Harry looked a little less worse for wear. Still painfully skinny, covered in dark bruises of varying sizes, and pink marks from older cuts, in Ron’s opinion he still looked like hell.

But Madam Pomfrey noted cheerfully that he had a little more colour in his cheeks -where they weren’t marred by bruises- and he was no longer bleeding inside or out.

And so, Harry was carefully taken upstairs on a stretcher to Ron’s room, and laid out equally carefully on the bed. Mrs Weasley regained the use of her kitchen table. And everyone agreed to watch over Harry in one hour shifts, until he woke up.

Ginny was the first volunteer.

~o0o~

A few hours later, after Mrs Weasley had made her way up to Harry’s bedside, Hermione could contain her curiosity no longer, and asked Bill the question that had been playing on everyone’s minds.

“Bill, what is the Staff of Gaia?”

Bill’s face suddenly lit up, excited at the prospect of sharing his knowledge, which at this point was superior to his fathers. And everyone seemed surprised that Hermione didn’t know about it. Bill looked at Mr Weasley, who nodded, as if giving permission and prompting him at the same time.

“The Staff of Gaia is probably one of the oldest examples of wand known to have been created. It was discovered by a powerful wizard in Ancient China, who gave it it’s name. Gaia refers to the belief in certain fields, lines and energy hotspots that exist all around the Earth, as well as the Earth’s own living energy. It’s because of this description that we, mere mortals in magic, have an idea of what it does.

Staffs are something that could only ever be used by the most powerful wizards, because they are normally forged by Elves, or Dwarves or other magical beings, though they were all wiped out long ago. But the crystal at the top of the staff is what focuses the wizards magical power, and it also acts of some sort of eye to help see what the world really looks like.

The point being is that it takes a certain kind of wizard with a certain level of magical ability to even start to activate the Staff. That’s why it was active when Dumbledore held it, but not when I did.” Bill looked momentarily embarrassed at this, before he continued.

“But, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, wizards are not as strong as they once were, nobody knows why exactly, but we started getting a lot weaker a few hundred thousand years ago after the Elves were wiped out. That’s why we need a wand to use magic. Around ten thousand years ago some wizards started to try and make Staffs again, in the hopes that the old powers would return, and a few of those still exist today, we think the Staff of Gaia may be one of them.

Anyway, only a strong wizard could even think about working the Staff. The last time the Staff was known to be active, and I mean really active, was in Merlin’s presence. This was his Staff. Now I know that Dumbledore is a powerful wizard, but even his power can only make the Staff slightly active...”

“Something I do not begrudge it at all.”

Bill turned at the interruption, Dumbledore was in the doorway, holding the Staff in one hand, Still looking tired.

Ron looked at the staff, somehow he almost expected to see ‘property of Merlin’ stamped across it somewhere.

As soon as Dumbledore’s bottom reached his seat, Hermione began to bombard him with questions about the Staff, and why he had brought it back from Harry’s families home. Dumbledore looked a little bemused, but said nothing until Hermione had run out of breath. Which, as anyone who has to study with her on a regular basis knows, is quite a long time.

“Now, now Miss Granger, I can answer some of your questions, but not all.

As William was saying, the last wizard whose presence that this Staff was active in, well considerably more than myself, was Merlin. Any documentation that we have about this Staff, tells us, that whenever Merlin touched the Staff, it would immediately glow a warm amber light. This light was throughout the entire crystal, not just the inner core. Now it used to be believe that any wizard who was quite strong, magically, could work a Staff, but what they did not realise was, that they also needed to be of the right mind. The Staff’s true potential can only be unlocked by a witch or wizard that it chooses to be it’s master. A normal wizard might be able to use the Staff like a wand, but nothing more. But those who have power, and the staff could choose to be it’s master, it would help to bring all the magical energies together to flow through it, instead of around it. This is where it’s power lies and why they are so highly sort after.

When Merlin died, the Staff disappeared, no one had any idea where it was, and it was considered to be one of the greatest losses of magical artefacts ever. But, around fifteen and a half years ago, James Potter found it. Found it in a muggle antique shop no less. He knew what it was, because as with any fairly powerful wizard, it glowed slightly when he touched it. Of course he contacted the ministry straight away, and a group, including myself, were despatched to collect it.

But in the time it took us to get there, Lilly, Harry’s mother had become curious, and wanting to see if would glow slightly with her too, she touched it. When she did, it glowed a warm amber light, just how the history books tell us it did with Merlin.

When the ministry members and myself arrived, James asked us if he and Lilly could keep the Staff, due to what had just happened, he felt that his wife must be a pretty powerful witch. But, naturally the ministry members were sceptical, and asked to see it for themselves, but when Lilly touched it this time, it flickered only faintly, the officials thought that they had made it up, and where going to take it away, when I asked them to give her another chance, I knew they wouldn’t lie about such a thing.

The second time she touched it, the same thing happened, just a flickering of light, until the wood of the Staff touched her stomach. It began to glow, just like they said it had, you see it was because at the time, Lilly was 5 months pregnant with Harry.

At once we realised that, Lilly and James son, would probably be the most powerful wizard born in almost two thousand years.

When Harry was born, and we got him to touch the Staff on his own for the first time .... well, lets just say that young Mr Potter, could probably flatten Merlin.”

Mouths dropped at the last remark, well at all of it really. When Hermione asked her next question, for once, Dumbledore wished that she wasn’t so clever.

“You-Know-Who found out didn’t he? That’s why he killed Harry’s parents, and tried to kill Harry as well.”

“Not entirely.”

“Well, why else would he...?”

“Because Miss Granger, he believed that he could use the Staff. And though Harry is powerful, none of us could ever guess just how powerful Lord Voldermort really was. He heard that Harry, only a baby could activate the Staff, though he didn’t know just how much, he automatically saw him as a threat, so he tried to kill him, I’m afraid that for him, Lilly and James were just a bonus. He never knew, that the Staff was only truly active in Harry’s presence.”

“Wow, does that mean that Harry’s like, the most powerful wizard who ever lived?” Fred enquired.

“That must be why he could beat off You-Know-Who!” George added.

“Wait a minute, I hate to sound cynical...” all the men in the room rolled their eyes as Hermione spoke, “...but if Harry is so powerful, why couldn’t he have flattened his Uncle every time he tried to hurt him? For that matter, why couldn’t he just go beat You-Know-Who now?”

“Because Miss Granger, things are rarely as uncomplicated as they first appear. Now, Mrs Weasley, I was wondering if you had any of your delicious pumpkin pie left?”

~o0o~

The next morning, at breakfast, the Weasleys, joined by Hermione and Dumbledore discussed everything that had happened the night before. The twins wanted to know when the trial of Uncle Vernon would be, which reminded Dumbledore that he still had Vernon in a box, though he wasn’t quite sure where he’d put the box. When Bill slipped downstairs from watching Harry, in order to get some breakfast, well more like a brunch now, he too, was soon drawn into the conversation. Half an hour later he was still there, discussing the theories about the Staff with Dumbledore, Hermione hanging on their every word.

Unfortunately, this meant that, the one thing they had been guarding against, ever since Harry’s arrival at the Burrow, him waking up alone, had just happened.

~o0o~

Harry was dreaming. It was dark, but not so dark that a shadow could not be seen. He could only make out faint outlines of the room he was in, but it was enough to know that it wasn’t his old room at the Dursleys or his cupboard. But something that he could see, and feel was wooden bars in front of him, penning him in like a cage. The bars were so big, that he could put is entire hand around them, but still not have a proper grip on it. There was a still silhouette of a bird high above him, wings out, and he was sure there was something the shape of a broom up there too.

He suddenly felt hungry, and for some reason that became his all consuming thought. And then even more bizarrely, he felt that the best course of action to rectify the situation, would be to cry. So he did.

As he opened his mouth, and started to cry, he became aware that he wasn’t just crying tears, but emitting high-pitched wailing noises, he sounded a lot like a baby crying, and now that he was crying, he could not stop. He felt like a few minutes had passed, and then he could hear a familiar woman’s voice, soft and low, saying quite sleepily ‘Lumos’.

It was then that Harry saw a beautiful red headed woman in the room. It was his mother. And he also realised that he wasn’t quite himself, he was trapped inside the body of a baby. His mother moved towards him, yawning and muttering,

“What is it Harry, you hungry?” he noticed that his wailing intensified, until she picked him up out of the cage that was actually a cot, and held him. Harry no longer felt the need to cry, as his mother rocked him gently, rubbing his back. The baby who’s body he was trapped in closed his eyes for a moment, stifling a yawn. When he opened them again, and looked across Lilly’s shoulder, into a mirror on the wall, he saw a baby with messy black hair and brilliant green eyes looking back at him. But in the corner of the room, just along from the mirror, there was a strange looking Staff leaning against a wall. It had a long and twisted piece of shiny wood, with a crystal mounted on the top. His little baby fist reached out towards it, and it began to glow.

Harry woke with a start, aware only, that at the moment he was in some pain. Though it was no longer the hot stabbing pains that it had been when he’d first got them, but rather a dull heavy ache, that differed in intensity across his body. He peaked an eye open, expecting to see nothing but the blackness of his cupboard in front of him, but instead, he saw a shocking montage of orange coloured posters, with little men on broomsticks flying around at a furious rate. He cracked his other eye open. One of the Picture Quadditch players, suddenly noticed he was awake. He stopped, mid-Wronski Feint, and pointed at Harry. All the other players stopped and looked at him too. A cheerful look on their faces. Then it clicked.

*I’m in Ron’s room!*

Moving gingerly, he pulled back the bed sheets, and swung his legs over the edge. All the while thinking,

*Please don’t let this be a dream.*

He was wearing some baggy pyjama bottoms that were a few inches too short, and one of the jumpers with a large ‘H’ on the front, that had been knitted by Mrs Weasley for a Christmas gift.

He noticed, quite quickly that he was hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. His stomach was growling loudly in protest, and like in his dream, Harry thought that he’d better do something about it, though crying wasn’t it.

He went out the door of Ron’s room, and set off down the stairs, all the while repeating his mantra,

*Please don’t let this be a dream.” to himself.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he could hear two voices distinctly through the door to the living room and kitchen. One was Bill and the other was Dumbledore. They were discussing something, and the words Merlin, Staff of Gaia and Harry were popping up frequently. Feeling that perhaps this was a conversation he should be present for, rather than listen to them talking about him, he opened the door, and was greeted with nine shocked faces. He was sure that if he understood the facial movements of owls and dogs, both Hedwig and ‘Snuffles’, would be looking shocked too.

“HARRY!” something squealed and flung itself at him, encircling him in a vice-like hug. His first instinct was to fight them off, but his second told him not to be so stupid, as it was only Hermione.

Then a third instinct kicked in, saying ‘this is kinda nice, can we stay like this?’ Harry tried to shake off this 3rd, clearly insane instinct, but gave up and hugged Hermione back. There was the sound of shuffling, as everyone in the room got up and moved to surround the hugging pair. Then a friendly voice said,

“Ger’off him Herm, you’ll crush him to death!”

Hermione backed off, and immediately started wiping her face with her sleeves. Ron stared at Harry for a moment, before he too, rushed forward and pulled him into a hug, only for a moment, a kind of ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ show of emotion. Then he stood back, blushing a furious red. In a few minutes Harry had been steered to the most comfortable seat in the kitchen, sat down, and had a large plate, piled high with pancakes, toast and fruit put in front of him. People were asking him how he felt, before they were admonished by Mrs Weasley, telling them not to ask such a stupid question. Harry noted, with some curiosity, that most of them were staring at him with a mixture of concern, compassion and awe on their faces. He was used to seeing these emotions when people looked at him, but not all together, and certainly not the latter on the faces of the Weasley family, well with the exception of Ginny.

Snuffles moved up beside him, there seemed to be a great deal of sadness in his eyes, which he then tried to show by placing his front paws on Harry’s lap and whining slightly. Only to retract them, as though burned, when Harry hissed in pain.

“Someone take the dog outside” said Mr Weasley.

Snuffles backed off, and looked with determination at Dumbledore and barked. Dumbledore sighed.

“Very well, if you must.”

And in an instant, in place of Snuffles, was a raggedly looking Sirius, Harry’s godfather.

There was a scream from Ginny, when her father uttered ‘Sirius Black’ and pulled out his wand, closely followed by his sons, except for Ron. Harry quite quickly leapt to block the path of any curses that might be aimed in his godfather’s direction, and said,

“Don’t hurt him, he’s my godfather!”

“But Harry, he killed...” Arthur Weasley began,

“No he didn’t, Peter Pettigrew did that. Please if you don’t believe me, ask your wife or Ron or Hermione, and Dumbledore, they know he didn’t do it!”

The men lowered their wands, a little uncertainly. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, and Mrs Weasley quickly took them to one side and began to explain.

Harry felt a hand drop onto his shoulder, which was quickly removed when he flinched. Sirius walked around to Harry’s front, and knelt down slightly to face him. He looked him over for a minute, before saying, quite quietly,

“God Harry, if I’d have known ... if I’d had any idea just how ... if I ever see your Uncle again, I’ll ...” he sighed “You don’t look so good.”

“Hey. Your not exactly going to win Witches Weekly award for the best looking man of the year, yourself!”

Then Sirius did something he didn’t do that often. He laughed.

“No, I suppose your right.”

The others finished their conversation. Mr Weasley and Bill still looked a little uneasy, battling against fourteen years of disinformation. Harry supposed it was a bit like asking them to believe that Voldermort was really the Easter Bunny. Harry snickered as the mental image of Voldermort with large Bunny ears, and buck teeth, came hopping into his head.

“What’s so funny?” Sirius asked him softly.

“Nothing, doesn’t matter.”

Sirius stood up, and went to shake Mr Weasley’s hand.

“I hear you’ve been taking good care of my godson.”

“Well he’s been like a part of the family, so we do our best.”

“And I thank you for that.”

At that moment the air was cleared and no longer hostile, people shuffled back to get a seat. Mrs Weasley started magicking up more food, mixing breakfast and lunch foods, since it was now about one in the afternoon. Harry ate so much, he felt like he might explode. Every time he managed to clear his plate, Mrs Weasley would put another in front of him, and he would realise that everyone was staring at him, so he tucked in again, clearly he was supposed to eat until he put a few stone on. When everyone else had finished eating, a happy chatter broke out, mostly about Quadditch. Though Hermione and Ginny were comparing notes on a muggle author called Janet Evanovich. Apparently Ginny was worried that the books were an accurate portrayal of muggle life.

After his fourth helping, Harry could eat no more, and tried to politely refuse the next plate full of food from Mrs Weasley. When that didn’t work, Harry had to become slightly more forceful in his tone, making him worry that he’d hurt her feelings. But if he had, she recovered quickly, and offered him a coffee, which he quickly accepted. And was pleased to see a smile on her face once again.

The happy chatter, abruptly fell to silence however, when Harry turned to Dumbledore and asked what the Staff of Gaia was.

“It’s just that ... I heard someone mention it as I came down the stairs.”

Not for the first time since he arrived at the Weasley’s, Dumbledore sighed. Taking out his wand, he muttered ‘Accio’ and turned to Harry.

“What I’m about to have you do will seem unusual, but don’t be afraid, all will become clear in time.”

And, with perfect timing, the Staff shot into the room, and lowered into a vertical position above the floor in the middle of the room, as though being held up by invisible string.

Harry stared in shock.

“I know that!” he exclaimed.

“I saw it in a dream, but the crystal was glowing.”

Dumbledore smiled at him, while the others just stared.

“I’m sure it did.”

“You remembered it in a dream?” Hermione enquired.

“Yeah. I was a baby, I remember crying, my ... my mum came into the room and put the light on. When she picked me up, I could see the Staff over her shoulder. I reached out my hand and the crystal started to glow.”

There was a gasp from Ginny, while the twins exchanged knowing looks.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“Perhaps Harry, it would be best if I showed you.” Dumbledore motioned for Harry to come forward. So he did. A little tired of the guessing games he’d been playing since his first year at Hogwarts though. He stood a little away from Dumbledore and the Staff, aware that everyone’s eyes rested solely on him. It was like the first day of term, of a new year, and being introduced to all the new students.

“Now Harry, if you would pick up the Staff please.”

Harry looked at the Staff, for no reason at all, he felt that to do what Dumbledore asked, would be to do something he could never go back on. But he didn’t think that Dumbledore would ever ask him to do any thing dangerous, so tentatively, he reached a hand out. The moment he did so, he suddenly felt as though he were being pulled toward it, as though it were a magnet, and Harry were a pin. The world began to fall away, he felt like he was being pulled, not only to the Staff, but higher. As his hand got closer still, heat shot through his palm, sparks of blue flew between the Staff and his hand, like the Staff was waking from a long-dormant sleep, and then, the moment his skin brushed the surface of the oak Staff,

CRACK!!

The sound of lightening striking, sounded heavily in his ears, and he was blinded by a hot, bright, white light, that was emanating from the crystal. There was a distant sound of someone screaming, but Harry could barely hear it above the roar of the wind that rushed in his ears, and he was being pulled, higher and higher still. There was something out there, something in place he was being pulled to. Warmth and knowing, he could feel it. It began to fill his veins, his very blood, and he felt like he were burning, and the fire that lit him was magic. Magic in its purest form, whole and complete. He felt like a great gap in his life were suddenly being filled. No longer was he being blinded by white light, but he could see beams and funnels of shimmering lights, cutting and intersecting one another. Blues and pinks, yellows and greens, and mists of glowing amber/yellow light filled every space, the coloured ones travelling in lines. It was like a great map was being laid out inside his mind. Knowledge was being pushed, pulled and squeezed into every corner of his brain. Memories, long forgotten, and more recent, were being poured into him, laughter, smiling faces, Sirius, Lupin, his parents and a dozen others. The memory of being cradled by his father, high up in the air on a broomstick. A scream, then green light, and all was quiet for a little while. Then terrible pain.

Darkness, the cupboard, a belt, and laughter, low and cruel.

Then more laughter, only this time, it was soft and feminine, and happy. Hermione.

There was another great

CRACK!!

followed by a

SNAP!!

The colours and the lines, they were all flowing through him now. Into him, not just around him like they were supposed to. Heat surged into the palm of his free hand, it had to get out, the heat was almost unbearable, and Harry let it.

Then he felt nauseous, drained, the world pulling him back down, the colours and lights, memories and the knowledge were still up there, high, waiting for him to return. But now he was being pulled back down, being pulled back, because he thought numbly, as the world began to fade to black, he was about to lose consciousness.

~o0o~

As Harry and the Staff in his hand fell to the floor, every person in the room felt as though a great power had just brushed passed them. Looking open-mouthed, at the unconscious form of a fifteen year old boy, with rumpled black hair, and round glasses, he looked so terribly frail, like he might snap at any moment. It was hard to believe that he could have just done what he did, except the evidence was all around them.

Madam Pomfrey was the first to take the initiative, that even Dumbledore had forgotten, and checked Harry’s pulse.

“He’s weak. It was too soon Albus. I know he’s a powerful wizard, but it was still too soon. He needs more time.”

“I know Poppy, I’m sorry, but he had to know.”

Then Dumbledore magicked a stretcher for Harry to be out on. Then took a large piece of cloth, and wrapped it around his hand, and pulled the still hot, smoking Staff from it’s place beside Harry.

For a few minutes all anyone could think to do was find a seat. Dumbledore and Poppy left the room with Harry and the Staff.

The Weasleys, Hermione and Sirius looked around, noting the numerous changes in their environment, the most notable, was the fact that the light coming through the kitchen windows, was no longer a dull grey (a usual in British summertime.), but bright and warm, because the sun had come out, and it was no longer raining.

Every break, every line, every imperfection of the Weasley house was no longer present. Everything had a newly bought quality about it, including the way it gleamed as the light fell on it.

Fruit in the bowl on the kitchen table was once again fresh and plump. Even the clothes they wore were crisp and neat. Sirius had, had patches and frayed edges on his robes, and though the patches remained, the frayed edges had been neatened. And Sirius himself, looked like he’d finally had a decent shower.

Hermione kept touching her hair, now silky smooth, with waves, and a few ringlets falling about her face.

Bill was the first to speak, mentioning that an olds scar, a reminder of a less than co-operative Gringotts customer, had disappeared. This led to people checking for various scars of their own. Mr Weasley was the first to announce one of his own had disappeared, not only that, but a slight arthritis in his lower back was now gone.

The flowers in the vase looked as though they had been freshly picked, and were not the week and half old that they really were.

“Even I never realised. I’m his Godfather, and even I never realised just how powerful he is.”

“That was ...” Fred started.

“... really cool.” George finished.

As everyone began talking, reflecting upon what Harry had done, and discovered that all of them had felt the same presence of a great power, Hermione sat there, numb.

She replayed the scene in her mind. Harry had begun to reach out, blue sparks shooting between him and the Staff. When he had touched it, there was a loud sound, like a lightening strike. And then the crystal atop the Staff, seemed to almost explode with a brilliant white light, tendrils and wisps of light and energy swirled around the crystal, Harry’s eyes glazed over, like he wasn’t really there anymore. Ginny had screamed, and the air in the room began to move violently, and tornado-like around Harry.

Then his free-hand had shot out, the palm glowing as hot and as bright as the crystal. Harry blinked, as if aware of something else, and then the light had flown out of his hand, in a long beam, that expanded to fill the room, getting brighter and hotter still, until they were almost blinded by it. As the light began to subside, they noticed the changes almost immediately.

But from what Hermione could hear the others describing, no-one else seemed to be focusing on the memories of Harry’s that had been flashed into her mind. Terrible, awful things, that nobody should see. Darkness, pain, but worst of all, was how Harry had been made to feel his whole life. Unwanted, unloved, worthless and without any kind of value, and then to suddenly find out, that you are something valuable indeed. But because of this, you need to be kept under lock and key, safely tucked away, because a psychotic, all-powerful wizard wants you dead.

Then a possibility occurred to Hermione.

“How do we tell Harry that we’ve seen his memories?”

Seven blank faces looked at her.

“What do you mean, seen his memories?” Sirius said, moving to sit more closely.

“His memories, you know, the part during all of ... that, when his memories got inside your head.”

Sirius looked around at the others, and then back to Hermione.

“No Hermione, we don’t know. Are you saying that you saw some of his memories?”

“Well yes. I thought that we all had.”

“What did you see?” George interrupted.

“You didn’t see him fight You-Know-Who? did you?” Fred added.

“Fred and George, don’t you dare ask such a thing. It’s bad enough that, that poor boy has to go through things like that, he doesn’t need you two asking about it, just to full fill your own morbid fascination“ Mrs Weasley scolded. The twins looked downcast.

But Sirius took her hand in his, and said.

“Can you tell me what you saw, Hermione? Harry might be my Godson, but there are things that ... things that, I think he doesn’t tell even me. Please Hermione, what did you see?”

~o0o~

The rest of the summer holidays past by in a blur for Harry. Dumbledore had not allowed him anywhere near the Staff of Gaia again, and had asked him to keep the actual experience to himself for now. He had also promised, that the next year at school, he would be getting extra help, to work with the Staff, and build up his own strength as well.

This was something Mrs Weasley contributed to, by handing Harry vast portions at every sitting. And the minute he had some sign of strength, he was roped into Quadditch matches with the Weasley men. Hermione showed she cared by making him study whenever she bumped into him. And if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that she was blushing when she looked at him.

Ginny seemed even more star struck than usual around him. Though for the first time, Harry mused, there actually seemed like there was a good reason for Ginny’s behaviour.

The day before Harry and the others were due to return to Hogwarts, Harry dared to look into the bathroom mirror for the first time since his arrival. He was still a little to skinny for his age, though he knew that he must have put on at least a stone since his arrival, thanks to Mrs Weasley’s good cooking. His hair was still an unruly mess, and as usual, it never really grew beyond a certain length, past his scar, but above his eyes. And he was lucky, facially, not to have suffered a broken nose or jaw, instead he had only his lightening shaped scar, and a few fading bruises. But his eyes seemed to reflect a certain change in him.

To Harry they had acquired the look of someone who had been forced to grow up fast. Hermione had once started to say something about his eyes reflecting a certain aura of power, before she had blushed and left the room quickly.

One significant event though, was that, after being unconscious for about 37 hours after activating the Staff, when he’d woken up, Harry was told, by Sirius, that he’d made a few changes, during his venting of magic. Which was a surprise to him, as he’d barely given it a thought. But these changes had reverted back to their original state after about 26 hours, all except one. Hermione’s hair.

Harry was at a loss to explain it, until Sirius had taken him gently into another room, and told him that Hermione had experienced some of Harry’s memories. Once again, Harry was at a loss to explain it. Until Sirius, smiling, had said that maybe Harry had found his Lilly.

Though he had been quick to dismiss this theory, to the still smiling Sirius. Harry had found himself thinking about it. He couldn’t feel that way about her, especially as he was pretty sure that Ron had a crush on her. And Sirius calling Hermione, Harry’s Lilly, implied that the kind of feelings that had been between Harry’s parents. Which was most definitely love. And well, Harry was fifteen, Love, marriage and all that stuff, wasn’t something he’d given a great deal of thought about. Staying alive to reach his next birthday was usually his only goal, and that was proving difficult enough.

On the other hand, one thing Harry knew he felt about Hermione was embarrassment. She had after all, experienced some of his memories. Sirius had promised that she had described them only to him, but still, knowing that she was carrying a part of him in her head, and he didn’t know which parts, he found somewhat unsettling. If anything he thought that he might be blushing around her now. And he was quite sure that Ron would start to notice soon. And after the last six months Harry had, had, he didn’t want to go losing Ron’s friendship again. So Harry had made up his mind to ignore anything other than friendly feelings for Hermione. And see how things played out between her and Ron.

With any luck, he’d see Cho Chang, the minute he got through Hogwarts gate, and wouldn’t look twice at Hermione. Even with the absence of buck teeth, the now glossy hair, and the fact she was becoming a young woman.

Harry took another look in the mirror, faintly disgusted at the number of scars his body seemed to have acquired, luckily most of them were on his back, a part of his body that Harry didn’t think was likely to get shown very often. Unless Hogwarts had added swimming lessons to the timetable. Maybe he should ask Hermione, she’d probably know.

He finished up in the bathroom, and returned to the living room, the whole house was buzzing, as people were readying to go to school. Harry had taken the precaution of packing yesterday in a spare hour, so he was avoiding the usual rush. Mrs Weasley then held him up as an example of how to do things.

Two things caught his attention as he entered the living room. One was Hermione, sitting in a patched and frayed old chair, reading ‘Hogwart’s - A history’ for what must have been at least the eighth time. And the other was a long wooden box, it looked like a muggle briefcase, except for the fact that it was about 6ft long, wooden and had magical locks on it.

He still felt a strange buzzing whenever he was near it. He longed to hold the Staff in his hand once again. But he’d been told by Dumbledore and Madam Pofrey, that under no circumstances was he to touch the Staff until he got to Hogwarts. And even then, only under strict supervision. As they reminded him, he was to weak to use it, without making himself unconscious more permanantly.

Hermione glanced up at him, and as usual they both blushed.

“Packed?” he enquired. She nodded. Harry picked up the nearest book, sat down, opened it, and freinged an interest in it’s contents.

It was only five minutes later, that the sound of someone trying to stifle their laughter, did he dare to look over the rim of the book.

Hermione quickly put ‘Hogwart’s - A history’ in front of her face. But the book shook, as she tried, quite unsucessfully, to stop laughing.

“What?”

She lowered her book, and smirked at him.

“Good book?”

“Yeah it’s very interesting.”

Hermione exploded with laughter.

“What?”

Harry finally looked at the front cover of his book.

“Madam De La Fads’ Guide to the perfect hemline & 101 ways to create a seamless cloak.”

Harry burst into laughter himself.

“Well I was thinking of becoming a dress maker.”

And they laughed again, strain and embarressment of the last few weeks forgotten. Just as well really, Harry would muse later that year. Because things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

~o0o~

Portkey Staff (gal-texter) Note May 2009: We've re-uploaded this as readers have stumbled on this fic as recent as March 2009. Unfortunately, Chocchip seems to have abandoned this story and the fandom.

Choccip's original A/N:

Wow, I managed it!!!! Finally, I've finished writing the second chapter! Of nine. God kill me.

I know that this is quite a bit longer than the first, and that wasn't intended, and so I hope that it turns out to be a worthwhile read.

I remember someone asking how to pronounce Gaia, so here it is `guy-ah'. That's about it. Though there'll be a few things in the next lot of chapters that you might wanna know how to pronounce too!

I apologise for the wait, but as you can probably see from the length, and my stubbornness not to write small chapters, it was always going to take a while. With any luck, the next chapter will be out quicker, though not in time for you all to be hooked on reading `The Order of the Phoenix' when it comes out. I might have to take a week off for that myself.

Oh and it is, and always shall be a Harry/Hermione fic. Just thought I might clear that up.

Thanks Nappa- the Yoda, who came along at the right time, and has been giving me the kick up the **** I needed to continue writing.

Please review if you can still stare at a computer screen when you finish the fic. *_*

Harry Potter and the Power of Gaia

For the most part the train journey to Hogwarts was as uneventful as any other year. Malfoy had yet to grace their compartment with his presence, an annual tradition now.

Perhaps it was because, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins, were being so fiercely protective of him. Practically surrounding him at the station, like a cocoon. Harry thought that so far, he'd only seen the heads of the students, and hadn't said a word to any of them.

But he had been able to hear what some of them were saying, that was, unfortunately, how he came to find out, that it was well known in the wizarding world, thanks to an article in the 'Daily Prophet', that Uncle Vernon was being put on trial. Though at the moment, they could only guess the reason, and most couldn't quite guess the awful nature of the truth, instead the newspaper article had led to many rumours. Including one, that Harry really wish he hadn't heard, that he had gotten angry, had done something terrible, and as usual, because of who Harry was, the ministry was going to cover it up, by putting his Uncle on trial. Sometimes, being 'the boy who lived' was more of a curse than any other.

He had found out, from listening to the other students, that Vernon's trial was set for the end of November. It seemed that the Wizard's High Court, were in no hurry to release his Uncle from a high security prison, or to make him human again for that matter.

It was the Slytherin's he could hear discussing these rumours, but the rest of the student population seemed genuinely worried about him. There had been a constant stream of student's to the compartment door, asking to see him, only to be blocked by the twin's. They wouldn't even allow their close friend Lee Jordan, in, even when his pet spider had run inside. It was only when Harry himself stepped in, scooped up the spider, and told them to let him in, that he was allowed. Lee had done so, a big smile on his face, he'd blinked for a minute when he saw Harry, but stayed a while, laughing and joking with the twin's. Then they'd made some 'hushed' comments to each other, the twin's basically asking that Lee sees to it, that nobody else comes knocking on the compartment door. He agreed, gave Harry a cheery wave, and then left.

There was another reason that Malfoy hadn't turned up yet. And that was sitting right next to Harry.

Alastor Moody.

More importantly, the 'real' Alastor Moody.

Apparently, in his position as one of the greatest Auror's of wizard history, he had been deemed worthy enough to guard the Staff of Gaia, and presumably keep an eye, and a magical eye on Harry himself. Moody had also confirmed, that he was to take the position of Defence of the Dark Arts teacher this year. Which had surprised Harry greatly, considering, Moody had spent the greater part of a year locked in his own trunk, last time he'd agreed. And then Moody had told them, that he would only be a Co-teacher that year, and would say no more on the subject, not breathing a word about who the other teacher was. Harry could only hope it wouldn't be Snape.

At one point, Moody had to go to the bathroom, but before he left, he turned to the case holding the Staff, which was propped in one corner of the compartment, no one could see around him. He muttered something, and when he turned back, and left, those in the compartment were amazed, to see the case had disappeared. While the others immediately began to discuss where it might be, Hermione suggesting some form of object-based apparation; Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his feelings. A residual effect of his experience with the staff, meant that he could now 'feel' it's presence, like the ghost feeling of a missing limb, which was the closest in words, Harry could come to describe the strangely growing connection. So Harry knew, as the others did not, that the staff was still there. He could feel a low humming around his stomach. It wasn't like nerves, nor like the feelings he got in proximity to Cho, or these day's Hermione. More like the gentle hum you feel when your next a source of electricity that's quite powerful, like overhead pylons.

He became faintly aware, as he reached out his hand, that the chatter in the compartment had come to a halt, the feelings in his stomach had intensified, ever so slightly. He opened his eyes, and looked before his out stretched hand. There, in the corner, where the staff had been, there was a narrow, but long shaft of light, almost vertical to the floor, slowly, the light spread, wrapping itself around unseen corners, until the light was being emitted from a shape, the same size as the case holding the staff. You could still see through the middle, to the other side, as though there was still nothing there.

Then the sound of a familiar, low drawl, distracted Harry, the feelings in his stomach lurched, not that he could blame them. The light disappeared.

The compartment door slid open, and Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, entered. As usual, there was a look of smug superiority on his face. Something that just gave you the urge to hit him, or make him cry.

"So Potty, I hear you had to be rescued again. And from Muggles at that!"

"Push off Draco." Ron muttered, automatically moving out of his seat, to stand in front of Harry, Hermione joined him. The twins and Ginny just glared.

"What's this Potter? You need the backward pauper family and a filthy Mudblood to protect you?"

Ron roared in anger, and would have landed a very good punch on Malfoy's delicate looking nose, if Hermione hadn't have pulled his arm back. Then Hermione said, clearly with more confidence than she felt.

"Harry doesn't need protecting, and he didn't have to be rescued from any Muggles."

Harry would have appreciated the lie more, if it hadn't so obviously been a lie.

Draco peered around both of them, and looked Harry up and down, a nasty smile played at his lips.

"Really? And I suppose the bruises on his face, and the cuts on his arms, come from De-Gnoming the garden?"

He smirked, and made a quick exit, the Goons a bit slower, smirked afterwards, and then realising their leader had gone, made their version of a quick exit. Which involved both of them getting momentarily stuck in the doorway, as they tried to fit through at the same time.

Harry, meanwhile, had put a hand up to his face, and touched it lightly. It still ached. He was a little surprised. Everyone was looking at him, as if they were seeing him, really seeing the way he looked for the first time. Hermione moved towards him, reached up and took his hand with her own. Aware of people looking at him, shame immediately filled him. And he looked at his feet, unable to look anyone in the eye. Why hadn't he fought back? Why did he now feel, that not only had he let himself down, but other people as well?

And then the answer came to him. He was scared, not so much of Uncle Vernon, and Dudley, but of losing the one thing that had ever happened, that made him feel good about himself. Finding out that he was a wizard.

Uncle Vernon had been right to suspect, that Harry wouldn't dare practice magic in the holidays again. Because Harry wouldn't risk the one thing, that had brought him, not only a whole new life, away from the Dursley's, but friendship, parental figures in people like his Godfather, and a family, even if the Weasley's weren't related to him by blood.

Hermione was still holding his hand when he dared to look up.

She smiled at him.

"Don't listen to him Harry. Malfoy's just a stuck up pureblood."

"Hey!" Ron muttered a moment later. He'd forgotten briefly that he too came from a pureblood family, though a much nicer one.

"Sorry Ron." Hermione turned to Harry again.

"Harry, don't listen to him, if Malfoy had been through even half of what you have, he'd still be crying like a baby."

In a voice so low that only Hermione could hear it, Harry said,

"Sometimes I feel like crying."

Hermione stopped smiling, and circling her arms around him, pulled him into a deep hug.

Moody returned a short while later, after everyone had settled back down again, to a game of exploding snap, and said, much to Harry's embarrassment,

"No more light shows please Mr Potter, we're having a hard enough time keeping the Staff a secret as it is."

~o0o~

"Well, is everything prepared?"

"Yes my Lord, all is in motion."

"It has arrived?"

"Shortly, my Lord."

"And the boy?"

"He too, my Lord."

"Hmm. It is fortunate that his Uncle did not succeed in killing him. That pleasure now falls to me."

~o0o~

It was a little unfortunate that the bathroom was at the opposite end of the carriage. Going there to get changed, meant passing another seven compartments, four to each side of a carriage, and passing more than a few students. Some of whom would smile nervously, or stare at a space somewhere over Harry's head, and then say something stupid like,

"Hey Harry, how you bin?" (A/N That's supposed to be the accent there, I can spell. Except for Quidditch apparently.)

And now, what was once the inevitable eye flick to the scar on his forehead, was a flick from that faraway spot, to look at the whole of Harry's face.

And learning from the earlier encounter with Draco, Harry made sure that he kept the sleeves of his robes, rolled down, despite the heat of the train.

On reflection, it probably hadn't been a good idea to wear a T-shirt in the first place. He remembered getting some funny looks from the muggles back at London Station. Harry had become used to having assorted bruises now. And had to remember that just because it didn't phase him anymore, didn't mean that it wouldn't phase other people.

He was also aware that he would have to get used to people talking about him even more than normal. His appearance, and the fact that his Uncle was to be put on trial, would assure his place as the main topic of idle gossip, for long after the first years interest normally died out.

Having made his way back to his own compartment, along with Ron, a familiar whistle sounded, indicating that they were only five minutes from Hogwarts.

*Great* thought Harry. The past few weeks with the Weasleys, he'd been able to all but forget what had happened to him at the Dursley's. Though they had shown their concern for him, they had known when to back off, to a point were they looked afraid to actually ask him how he was. He'd been able to cope around them, but the Weasley's were like a family. Now he would be thrown back into a lions den, the school, were the truth would get mixed with the rumours, were people would be whispering behind his back, or making snide comments. Sometimes, Harry could really wish that the other Gryffindor students were the only ones there. The rest of the student population, were either his best friend one moment, or his chief prosecutors the next. The whole of Hogwarts would be staring at him.

Upon entering the compartment, Harry's nerves were immediately soothed, Hermione smiled at him. He watched, after sitting next to her, as Fred and George began plotting their escapades for their final year, it sounded good, or bad, depending on whether you would be on the receiving end of their pranks. And then Harry and the others laughed, as they then proceeded to pretend to get teared up about it being their last trip to Hogwarts. One thing Harry was sure of, he was definitely going to keep the Staff of Gaia out of their reach.

But it was, despite all of his concerns, that Harry walked with a spring in his step as he got onto the platform at Hogwart's. It felt good to be back, there was a magic in the air, despite the rapidly darkening weather. Harry and those from his compartment, were at the back of the large group of students, that were moving towards the horseless carriages, when he heard,

"Firs' yers o'er ere! Firs yers this way!"

Harry caught sight of a familiar mass of long, dark brown hair, and a massive form casting shadow over some tiny looking first years.

Hagrid, keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts, a half-giant, and one of Harry's closest friends, turned to motion more first year students his way. Harry managed to catch his eye and waved. He wasn't expecting Hagrid to start ploughing his way through the throng of students, to the back of the crowd, to see him. He waded through the crowd, shot passed Ron and Hermione, and enveloped Harry in a crushing bear hug. Harry's legs were buckling beneath him, and air was being forced out of his lungs. He could feel Hagrid's body shaking lightly, and Harry prayed that he wasn't about to start crying, that would have been a sure fire way to get the other students attention.

Eventually, Hagrid pulled back, and Harry pulled in a long draught of air, re-inflating his crushed lungs, and straightening his rumpled robes.

"I was so worried about yer 'Arry. But I couldn't get to see yer. I'm real sorry."

"That's alright Hagrid."

In truth, Harry was disappointed that Hagrid hadn't visited him, but he assumed that there had been a good reason, a very good reason, other than Hagrid was to big to fit through the Weasley's fireplace.

"You'd better get back to them." Harry said, nodding to the terrified first years, huddled in a small group at the far end of the platform.

"Aye, yer probably right, wouldn't want Peeves getting hold of 'em before the' even started."

"Hello Hagrid." Ron and Hermione chorused, as Hagrid walked towards them.

"Hullo you two. How 'bout we meet for tea later? 'bout 8."

"Great!"

Hagrid made his way back across the platform. Some of the first years looked more afraid of him than Harry had been when he'd faced Voldemort for the first time. It was like they were expecting Hagrid to pick them up, three at a time under each arm, haul them back to a cave somewhere, cover them in salt and tomato sauce, and then eat them.

A familiar buzzing told Harry that the Staff of Gaia was now a few feet ahead of him in the crowd, and sure enough, he could see Moody's hooded head bobbing around amongst the students. That buzzing feeling was now as comforting as finally being back at Hogwarts. He smiled at Ron and Hermione, who looked as happy as he.

The students moved slowly forward, no one in any real hurry, most talking and cheerily greeting old friends.

A sudden wind whipped at his face, and a chill went through him. He looked at the sky, to see how dark it was becoming. He felt the need to be in Hogwarts castle, safe and protected, sitting next to the fire in the common room, in one of the old and worn chairs. He felt the need for warmth that could not be provided out side on the platform. A cold feeling ran up through his spine, making him shiver involuntarily. The safety he had been feeling upon his first step on to the platform was fast disappearing, to be replaced by a cold sense of dread. A flicker of a green, deeper than that of the forest, over the tops of the tree line, caught Harry's attention. He had the strangest feeling that they were being watched. He stopped to look at the trees.

Once again, there was a flicker of green, only now it seemed that it was attached to something very large, and it's movement made the ground tremor slightly.

The chatter on the platform was falling quiet; Harry could feel the eyes of the students behind him lingering on the forest. The earth trembled. And then again. And again. Until it became a beat recognisable as heavy footsteps. The air around them seemed to become as thick and heavy as smog, inhospitable and menacing. The wind was harsh, and seemed to scratch and bruise his exposed skin, getting into the old cuts, and settling a cold chill into them. There was an uneasy shifting from students, caught between their desire to see what was going on and their need to escape to the relative safety of the castle. But within seconds, that decision was made for them. Harry looked back over his shoulder briefly, glimpsing Hagrid's hulking form wading back through the crowd, towards him.

There was a loud screeching noise, like an animal in pain, followed by a distinct cracking. The forest was moving.

An ancient monster of a tree, perhaps thirty feet tall, was falling, falling from it's once tall and proud stance overlooking the Hogwarts platform. The sound of tearing and screaming, as the ancient trees sheer weight pulled and ripped its own roots out of the ground, anchored there for as long as anyone could remember. And this tree was falling towards them.

There were loud screams as the students realised this, and began stampeding to get away, but the tree was falling too fast, Harry could hear the whistling sound it made as it fell through the air towards him. It was so close he could almost smell the pine. And then it was falling still, but it was as though a huge gust of wind had picked it up, and was throwing it away slightly. And instead of falling onto him, as the ancient tree should have done, it fell about ten feet further away. Directly on to the Hogwarts Express, the sound of twisting metal, shattering glass and splintering of wood filled the air.

The students on the platform, seeming to think that the worst was over, moved with curiosity, back towards the mangled remains of the first carriage of the Express. And then the tremors came again.

Only now, there could be heard the sound of something breathing. Something very large. Something that was moving closer to them. It caused the trees in front of it to bend as it brushed passed them. So all that the students could see, was an ancient forest leaning menacingly over them.

Everyone on the platform stood still, except for Hagrid, and the sound of Moody's wooden leg, clonking nervously on the ground. Hagrid had just gotten through the throng of students, and was making his way to Harry's side, when it fell deathly still, there was no sound, save for the wind whistling softly past their ears. The forest had become still, quiet, but too quiet. There was no sound coming from it at all, as if there was nothing alive in there anymore.

There was a sudden flurry of movement from within the trees, so quick, Harry barely had time to register that it was moving towards the platform and the students. And out from the trees, a huge, dark green dragon, moved onto the platform, almost crushing several terrified students beneath it's massive feet.

Six trolls burst out from the cover of the forest, to the very end of the platform, near Harry, and just before the crushed Express. Screams were being emitted from various students, as they realised that they were being penned into one direction, they could only move towards Hogwarts. But panic gripped them all, and they began moving almost at once, in every direction.

Harry could feel hands on him, tugging at him desperately as the trolls began to move towards him. But he could not move. He was rooted to the ground, aware of very little, except for the growing feeling of energy in his solar plexus. The energy was becoming stronger, and began to creep out from his stomach to every part of him, flooding his senses like pins and needles all over. Then the dragon reared, and a stream of fire was emitted from it's mouth like a warning. The trolls, though immensely stupid, were wielding their clubs with considerable force, smashing at the trees of the forest, and the other carriages of the Hogwarts Express with complete malice. The troll in front, clearly their leader, tugged at a large piece of parchment, which was tucked into his trousers, and opened it up, still smashing at a window on the train. He looked at whatever was on it, propped his club up against the side of the train, scratched his head, and grunted, and looked out across the panicking students, it's eyes narrowed when he looked at Harry, squinting, from it's bad eyesight, grabbed it's club, and jabbed it towards Harry, grunting as he did so. The other trolls looked up, at the parchment, then at Harry, and then back again. The lead troll suddenly looked very determined, threw down its parchment, on which was a crude drawing, of a cartoonish face with messy dark hair, and a lightening bolt scar. Apparently, the troll now knew who Harry was, and was coming for him.

"Harry, move."

Someone was trying to pull him again. But the roots that kept him weighed to the earth, seemed to have more strength than those of the ancient tree that had been felled earlier.

The buzzing energy in his solar plexus, became a roar, mixing with the loud sounds all around, deafening him, and everything became quiet, Harry no longer heard what was happening before him, and he knew. Harry knew what he had to do.

He held out his hand, and looked to the point in which he could find what he needed.

The Staff of Gaia flew out of its magical case, as though it wasn't even there. A startled Moody, looked back at him.

The Staff, a few feet away, began to emit its familiar blue sparks, and then,

CRACK!

Harry held the Staff in his hand, brilliant white light being emitted from it. There was screaming, he could hear screaming, but the roar of wind surrounding him, blocked it out. Knowledge began to pool in his veins once again, and something deeper than an aching desire for a person or revenge, overtook him.

And it was with nothing more than this strange knowledge and an instinct deeper than he'd ever known, that Harry charged at six mountain trolls, and a large green dragon.

Harry was no longer thinking, but acting purely on instinct, every movement he made came completely naturally, from the moment he jerked his hand, sending the Staff upwards, to the moment when he gripped his hand again, his fist closing around the base of the wooden Staff.

And then he swung.

Not so much as to hit the creatures, but simply swung, and three trolls, a few feet away from the tip of the Staff, were thrown high into the air and out of sight through the clouds. Struck by some invisible force.

The dragon nearby forgot the panicking students, and moved quickly towards Harry, its red eyes glinting as the fire it breathed at him reflected in them.

A roaring sound, like thunder, and drops of rain on Harry's skin, told him that there was a storm in the air, one that was blowing the fire away from him. The remaining trolls were also moving towards him, taking advantage of his distraction by the dragon.

Harry wasn't quick enough.

Before he'd even had time to think of anything other than rendering the dragon's fire useless, Harry felt his body being slammed into, and being thrown high up, at least fifty feet into the air.

He fell, on an almost vertical path, back down into the clearing between the dragon and trolls. And he was still. He didn't move, he laid there, on the wet and cold concrete, barely aware of anything, other than the fact he should be dead, or at least in some pain. He could feel the presence of the lumbering trolls bearing down over his still form. Something less than gently prodded his side, as one of the troll's poked the apparently dead boy with their club.

An instinct came back upon him, he had to protect her.

He leapt from the ground, as though he had only been sunbathing, the Staff flew back into his open palm, and he ran back towards the trolls, and this time, he actually swung the club right at them. Two of them were thrown high into the air, and out of sight. But, unfortunately for the third, the staff made contact.

The troll leader howled in pain, as the staff became embedded in its side, drawing thick clumps of a greenish-grey fluid, it's blood. Light from the staff began to consume it, surrounding its entire being, and all but blinding those who watched the spectacle. The troll became completely enveloped in the light, and then, as suddenly as it had begun. It ended.

The troll had disappeared, nothing but a chalky residue on the ground were the troll had stood.

There was a crackle from the staff, Harry, though still acting on instinct, was faintly aware that his energy was almost spent.

The dragon moved towards him. Red eyes flickering with a power far more subtle, than Harry's own. But something in those eyes caught his attention. Pain, and anger.

There was a snapping sound, and then that of lightening striking, as the world around Harry changed, changed into that of light and raw magic. The colours and lights, flowed and ebbed around him. But Harry saw a magic surrounding the dragon, that should not have been there. It was dark and closed itself around the dragon's heart and mind, suffocating them. With what little was left within him, Harry found that once again, the coloured lights, snapped, and began to flow through him. His hand grew hot, burning with power and light, he let it go in the dragon's direction.

The darkness was lifted, and a shadow of evil drifted away from it, and then away from the Hogwarts platform.

The dragon shook its head as though waking from a dream. The lights of the real magical world, disappeared. To be replaced with the darkness on the platform. The dragon's eyes were now a golden yellow. It did what was unmistakably a bow, then it backed away slowly, before it spread it's wings and flew into the clouds. The storm was subsiding. The once harsh wind, became nothing more than a gentle breeze that tickled his face. Light from the sun began to poke through the darkness.

Harry thought only one thing.

*God I'm tired*

Before he blacked out, being caught in Hagrid's strong arms.

~o0o~

Waking up in Hogwarts hospital wing, had to rate as one of Harry's least favourite pastimes. Somewhere between Potions with Snape, and a 'polite' dinner with Aunt Marge.

He wiggled his toes, to make sure that they still worked, and to check that they were still there. He felt a little numb, and so began to move his legs, only to discover that there was something across one of them, pinning it down.

Opening his eyes, wincing slightly in the light, and turning his head, he saw something quite beautiful.

Hermione's head rested upon her arms, like a pillow, and was sleeping peacefully. There were small, dark patches beneath her eyes, that suggested sleep, wasn't something she'd had much of recently.

Harry felt content enough to let her sleep, watching as her eyelids fluttered slightly, and her shoulders raising a little as she breathed. Sunlight shone through the windows, a warm golden glow picked out the warm hues of Hermione's hair, and lit up her face, she looked almost angelic.

Harry watched her sleeping, her peace seemed to bring him some peace of mind too, made him a feel calmness, that he felt he had not had in some time. For about half an hour, he continued to watch over her, in a strange way, he felt that he was repaying her for doing the same thing.

Then Madam Pomfrey came into the room, and gave what was unmistakeably a squeal of delight, when she saw that he was awake. This woke Hermione with a jolt. Harry felt strangely disappointed, at her leaving her slumbering appearance behind.

"Oh Harry, your awake!"

"Of course I am, you didn't expect me to sleep all day did you?"

This was meant as a joke, but Hermione's face, smiling so brilliantly at him only a moment ago fell.

"Mr Potter, I'm afraid you've been asleep for more than a day."

"Oh? How long?"

"Harry, you've been asleep for more than two weeks!"

"Comatose actually Mr Potter. Albus wasn't very pleased that you'd used the Staff again, and so publicly."

"But...but I had too."

"Well that may be so, but didn't I tell you that using the Staff again too soon after the last time, might mean that you would never wake up?"

Harry nodded solemnly. It wasn't like he had much of a choice when it came to using the Staff, it just happened. And now Dumbledore was mad at him. Harry couldn't really imagine anything worse. But he'd had to do it, or half the student population would have been either pureed or fast-roasted.

"Now dear, eat this, and I'll fetch the headmaster."

Madam Pomfrey handed him a slab of chocolate about an inch thick, and the size of A4 paper, and bustled away through the double doors.

Harry looked down at the chocolate.

"Help me with this?"

Harry said, giving Hermione the most pathetically pleading look he could muster, Dudley being his inspiration. She smiled, and then with an not inconsiderable amount of effort, managed to snap off a small corner of the chocolate slab. He frowned a little, he still had a big slab in front of him.

"And if your really good, I might take some more of it." she teased.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, eating vast amounts of chocolate, being a good enough reason not to talk. But something occurred to Harry, and he thought he should ask her about it, while they were still alone.

"Err ... Hermione ... you didn't ... err... you didn't see anymore of my memories did you? Only I can't remember having any memory flashes this time, so... you know ... you shouldn't have either. I mean, you didn't ...did you?"

Hermione looked at him, a slight flush in her cheeks.

"I didn't see any of your memories Harry."

Harry's face beamed in relief at this.

Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him, that this time she'd felt his emotions and heard his thoughts, or rather, a burst of feelings and then a scary lack of conscious thoughts, as he'd run off to face the dragon and trolls.

Somehow though, she'd been able to feel his instincts, and when one had been strong enough, that it caused the conscious thought to 'protect her', she hadn't known what to think.

For all Hermione knew, 'her' could have been Cho Chang, she had noticed that Harry seemed to have somewhat of a crush on the attractive Ravenclaw seeker since their 3rd year. 'Her' could well have been Ginny, but to that extent, it could have been Pansy Parkinson or Professor McGonnagoll.

But really, Hermione hoped, as she hadn't realised until that moment that she needed to be 'her'. But of course, what chance was there that Harry saw her as anything other than a friend?

She sighed a little, she was much better off trying to stick with someone more attainable. Ron was a sweetheart, and she couldn't imagine him ever hurting her, and he was certainly becoming more handsome as he got older, maybe, just maybe, Ron was the one for her.

Considering what had been going on lately with Harry, Hermione knew that she'd be a lot safer with Ron, that was of course, providing that they ever managed to pluck up the courage to actually ask each other.

Finally Madam Pomfrey and a very stern-looking Dumbledore arrived.

Harry who had been about to ask Hermione why she was staring at him, shuffled under the headmasters gaze, and looked down at his bed sheets.

He sensed Dumbledore had shifted to the side of his bed. Harry didn't dare look up. And then after a few moments, onto the sheets, which had become quite fascinating, plopped a box of Bertie Bott's every flavour beans.

Harry glanced up at Dumbledore with something akin to shock. The faintest of smiles, was visible, tugging at the corners of the old wizards lips.

"Well done Mr Potter. For a lot of nerve, and some sheer stupidity. I trust that you won't be making anymore attempts to use to Staff without supervision next time, hmm?"

~o0o~

Madam Pomfrey kept Harry in the hospital wing for another week. Though there was always someone coming to visit, usually Ron, Hermione or Hagrid. Who once snuck Fang in for a visit, before Madam Pomfrey found him and shooed the both of them outside for breaking the rules about pets. Though Harry suspected it was because Madam Pomfrey knew as well as anyone else, that Hagrid's version of well-trained, meant that the animal hadn't killed or maimed anyone in the last six months.

Some of Harry's visitors were less welcome however. Some of Harry's teachers dropped by to give him homework, two weeks of catch-up work, wasn't something he would be eternally grateful for. Though some teachers, like Snape, sent work to him with students. Snape sent a particularly terrified-looking first year, who squeaked when Harry thanked him, and bolted out the door.

But last night, Harry had finally been allowed to return to his own bed in the Gryffindor tower. To his relief, the other fifth year boys that Harry shared a dormitory with, made no comments about what had happened, instead focusing on a 'welcome back from the hospital wing, again' party. Ron mentioned that Dumbledore had addressed the whole school at breakfast that morning, and basically told them not to pester Harry, with questions he couldn't answer. Something which Harry was eternally grateful for.

Of course it didn't stop the trepidation he felt when he awoke the next morning, preparing to go to the Great Hall and share breakfast with all the other students, the first time since the final day of term at the end of his forth year.

Ron had nudged him awake, ten minutes before breakfast was due to start. Harry scolded Ron for not waking him earlier, it wasn't as if his internal clock was working anymore. He rushed to brush his teeth, clean his face, get dressed and make some half-hearted effort to put a comb through his hair, but to no avail. He knew that they'd be some of the last into the hall this morning.

He glanced briefly at his reflection in the mirror. The bruises from his time with Uncle Vernon, were barely visible now, only a slight reddening on his face. Unfortunately they had been replaced with one large bruise that ran parallel with his scar, down one corner of his right eye and ended just below his cheek bone. It hurt a lot, considering he'd gotten it three weeks ago.

*Well it could have been worse, not everyone can survive being hit fifty feet into the air, with a club the size of a Volvo.*

Running out of Gryffindor tower with Ron, they discovered that they were indeed the last, and that the doors to the Great Hall had already been closed.

"Oh great." muttered Ron, as he started to heave one of the doors open. Harry helped him, and with some effort the door finally opened.

"Ah Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, sleep in again?"

An amused tone rang in Dumbledore's voice, as Harry and Ron walked quickly to their seats. Harry tried to ignore the fact that the eyes of everyone, student and teacher alike were following him to his seat.

He sat next to Hermione, quickly glad of her company, when she gave his hand a quick squeeze under the table.

Dumbledore gave the rest of his speech, something about the third floor being out-of-bounds again, only this time Moaning Myrtle deliberately flooding the boys toilets, was the reason. Madam Hooch wanted to know who thought it had been funny to enchant some of the school brooms to hover just outside the window of the Prefects bathroom. Which was everyone apparently, given the sniggering. And then.

"I regret to inform you that last night Professor Trelawney handed in her notice of early retirement, and will be leaving us at the end of the week." Dumbledore looked across the teachers table to where Harry had only just noticed Trelawney was sitting. She suddenly straightened herself up, and gave the students a sad smile, as if she was expecting everyone to burst into tears, just because Lavender and Patti had. Of course when she saw Harry looking at her, she gave him one of those looks she reserved for his impending death. This time it was a hand to the heart and a quick intake of breath, he heard Ron groan across from him, and turned to see him rolling his eyes.

"Now I'm sure I speak for everyone here, when I say just how much we will miss our dear Divinations Professor, and how difficult it will be to replace her, Sybill, my dear, your lessons have always been ... unique."

Dumbledore turned his attention back to the watching students.

"This means of course, that those of you taking Divination, will have some free lessons until the Professors replacement arrives, which may be some time. People of Professor Trelawney's ... talent, are rare to come by, but rest assured you will have a new teacher at the very least by next year. The library will be open for those of you wishing to study, if not come to Professor McGonagall, and she will find you something constructive to do. Though some of you ..." he paused and looked straight at Harry, "... will be making better use of their time."

Harry was left to ponder what he was going to make better use of his time with.

"All right!" Ron muttered beside him.

"Free lesson!"

With any luck, the next Divinations teacher, would leave him alone, and stop predicting his death. Dumbledore clapped his hands, and as usual, the tables lined themselves with bacon, kippers, sausages, cereals, and every kind of cooked egg.

Halfway through breakfast, before the Owl post arrived, Harry glanced up, and saw Draco Malfoy in a conference, with his equally detestable Slytherin buddies.

*Probably plotting the downfall of the Gryffindors again.*

At that moment, Draco just happened to look in Harry's direction, to see Harry looking at him. And the group of Slytherin's looked too. Draco picked up his fork, held it aloft, and then proceeded to pretend to pass out. The Slytherin's around him laughed mercilessly. A few of them pointed at Harry every now and then, though he tried to pretend he was no longer watching, and said something that would have them all in hysterics again.

"Oh get a new act!"

Apparently Hermione had chosen to look up just as Draco did his little fork-as-Staff swooning impression.

"Ignore him Harry. The Slytherin's were panicking more than a bunch of first-year Gryffindors in Snape's class for the first time. None of them would have thought about running up to six mountain trolls and dragon, to beat them off."

Harry smiled, recently, Hermione always knew just how to cheer him up, of course Ron did it in slightly less style.

"Too bloody right! The Slytherin's were pissing themselves!"

Then Owl post arrived. As with most days, Harry wasn't expecting anything, whilst other students got packages from home. So he was a little surprised when Hedwig flew down, looking a lot plumper than when he'd last seen her three weeks ago. She dropped off a small, purple, velvet, drawstring bag with a letter attached to it, with the writing on the outside in familiar Hogwarts green. Hedwig stayed back a few minutes longer than most of the owls, as Harry stroked her, and fed her some toast. She looked as happy as he'd ever seen her, her normal slightly stuffy attitude was replaced by an open affection. Finally she gave him a quick nip on the ear, and took off.

"What d'ya think it is Harry?" Ron enquired through a mouth full of sausage sandwich.

"Haven't a clue."

Harry opened the envelope, and pulled out a short, hand-written letter, in green Hogwarts ink.

*Dear Mr Potter,

Your final lesson today would have been Double Divination. As Prof. Trelawney will be leaving at the end of the week, and as you have already missed the majority of her lessons, it has been decided that you need not attend the remainder of these lessons.*

Harry let out a silent 'YES!' at this.

*Instead you will be required to attend the first of your new lessons to train you in the history and practicalities of using the Staff of Gaia.

Your teachers will include Profs. Moody and Lupin, as well as myself. Please stay behind in the Great Hall after lunch today.

Albus Dumbledore

(Headmaster)*

Lupin? As in Remus Lupin? That was almost too good to be true.

Harry immediately shared the news with Hermione and Ron.

"That's great, he must be the Dark Art's Co-teacher Moody was on about. We haven't actually met him yet." Ron said enthusiastically.

"Well it does make sense, doesn't it? Professor Moody can take over whenever Lupin is ... indisposed. And there are probably things that he can tell us about that Moody might not. This will be great, the knowledge of the Dark Arts that both of them have, will more than make up for the first two years."

Hermione added

Harry smiled. Trust Hermione to be happy when there was even more to be learned.

"I wonder what they can actually teach you about the Staff then? I mean there's only supposed to be another two wizards in the entire world who can actually use staffs."

"Well, I suppose that they can only teach Harry the history of the Staff itself Ron. I guess that they hope it might give a better understanding of how it works. I mean 10,000 years is a lot of history isn't it? And there's got to be a way of using it, without risking falling into a coma every time you use it."

"I suppose." Harry said a little numbly.

10,000 years? Strange. Whenever Harry had held it, even when he was simply near it, the Staff had always felt, well ... older.

He wondered where it was now. Dumbledore's office he supposed. He hoped to God that it wasn't with Filch. The nasty old care taker of Hogwart's, would probably let his cat, Mrs Norris, use it as a scratching post.

*God I hope its safe.*

But a small voice at the back of his mind, told him not to be so stupid, because the Staff was safe, and that Harry should know it is, because he could feel it's presence anyway.

Some students had finished eating now, and were starting to leave, and it occurred to Harry, that he didn't even know what his first lesson was.

"Ron, what do we have first lesson?"

Ron looked a little pale.

"Oh sorry mate, we've got double potions."

Harry groaned. This well could be a very long day, and it was sure to be even longer. Alicia Spinnet had caught him just before he left the hall, and asked him if he felt up to a little Quidditch practice. Harry really wished he hadn't been so quick to say 'yes' now.

~o0o~

The former dungeons, in which Snape's lessons were held, still looked like they hadn't been cleaned for a few decades. In fact, if it weren't for the workbenches and cauldrons, you could almost expect to see students being hung by their toes from the ceiling, with a few well-aimed curses heading in their direction.

Harry's mind seemed to cast Neville Longbottom as one of the unfortunate students. His pet toad, Trevor, strung up beside him.

Harry sat between Hermione and Ron, and got ready. Snape blasted in as usual, practically taking the door off its ancient hinges. He looked around, clearly disappointed that all the Gryffindor's had made it in before him, and he couldn't take points off for being two seconds late.

Snape's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer than normal. And instead of the usual complete loathing, Harry thought that he could see something else in Snape's eyes. It looked almost like ... respect? Tinged with a healthy amount of fear.

*Well, that was unexpected. Being able to use this Staff thingy might be kinda helpful.*

The potions lesson that followed was pretty much normal, Snape was still barking orders faster than the students could write them down, and then shouting at them for not making the potions quick enough at the same time. He was taking as many points from Gryffindor (Neville) as he could, whilst giving them out threefold to Slytherin (Malfoy). He even seemed to recover his natural feelings for Harry, and managed to take two points from him, for not keeping his work place clean enough.

But fifteen minutes before the lesson ended, something happened that did get everyone's attention.

Draco Malfoy, at the centre of the Slytherin's was making a few choice comments about Harry, at a non-to-subtle volume level.

"I mean, if Potter can use the Staff, we could probably train a monkey to use it."

"If a flubberworm turned up in Moaning Myrtles toilet, he'd probably go and attack that too!"

All the while he had the Slytherin's in hysterics, drawing nasty glares from every Gryffindor, Draco's cauldron had begun to overflow. Normally this wouldn't be a concern for the over-confident Slytherin. Snape would find some feeble reason to blame a Gryffindor, and make them clean it up, But today, Snape had been standing in the shadows of the room, a mask of cold indifference on his face, before he had began moving, creeping very quietly forward. When Malfoy turned around, after a slightly more vile comment, he grinned as he saw Snape stood beside him, clearly expecting some form of praise, or a new comment from his mentor-in-insults. But ever so quietly, Snape began to speak. He spoke in that way that so frequently silenced an entire class of students, a voice that reflected a silent power, that required no real vocal flexing, in shouting, as some needed too.

"Mr Malfoy, I believe that your cauldron is over-flowing."

Malfoy was still grinning at this point, clearly thinking Snape was about to make someone else clean it up.

"I do believe that that warrants 10 points ... to be taken from Slytherin for carelessness."

Now Malfoy and every student just looked upon Snape with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Perhaps if you weren't so busy making insulting comments about your fellow students, you might not be failing in your studies, I've seen more talent in a muggle Mr Malfoy.

If I ever hear you insulting the Staff of Gaia, or the one who has the power to wield it, a power a miserable squib like yourself cannot even begin to fathom, I will personally see to it that your thrown out of Hogwarts, and that your mislead father is told that for such a high and mighty pureblood family, his own son has three times less talent than Miss Granger, a muggle born. Do you understand me Mr Malfoy?" Snape's voice had become a hiss.

The entire class fell silent, some stared at Malfoy, who looked like he was struggling not to start crying, and the rest stared at Harry, with even more awe on their expressions than had been there that morning.

Had Snape really just given such a scathing rebuke to one of his own students. And defended so ardently the one student that he was widely known to hate the most? In that moment, the first of many to come. People began to realise that the Staff, and Harry, may be even more important, than anyone could have ever have imagined.

~o0o~

"Well .... that was weird." Ron managed to say, between mouthfuls of chicken legs.

"Your telling me." Harry replied. Hermione just looked worried.

"What's wrong Herm?"

"It's just that, well, I don't understand why their giving you a Staff lesson, a day after you've been let out of the hospital wing, for being put into a two week coma the last time you used it. I mean, I really don't want to have to watch you sleeping for another month, if it happens again."

"It's alright Hermione. You don't have to watch!"

She smiled a little and then punched him lightly on his arm.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I know, I'm sorry. But I don't think that they would do this without a good reason."

"Harry's right Herm. You don't really think 'ol Dumbledore's gonna let Harry fall into a coma again do you? I'll bet that their just gonna give him a really long, really boring history lessons, like Professor Binn's class. Only difference being, that as he'll be the only one there, it'll be harder to fall asleep inconspicuously."

Harry kicked Ron's shin under the table, causing him to spit out half a chicken leg, and a couple of green things that might have been peas.

As Ron rubbed his sore leg, Harry took a closer look at the little green things, pretending to become engrossed at the sight of them.

"My, my Ron, we are slipping up aren't we?"

"Wad-da-ya mean?"

"Your eating vegetables."

Hermione snorted, and had to put a hand to her mouth, to stop herself spiting out her own dinner.

Harry saw his opportunity to test run a new joke the Weasley twins had told him at the Burrow.

Moving towards her so that he could tell it to her without anyone else hearing, she suddenly jerked away from him, and held her hand up in front of herself , like she was expecting him to start tickling her. Harry realised that that was a much better idea. Grinning mercilessly, he dove in, and after only a few moments, Hermione cracked. Food flew out of her mouth faster than a house wife upon seeing Gilderoy Lockhart's smile. Some of it landed on Neville's Beef and Yorkshire pudding loaded fork.

Harry smiled in triumph, and Hermione just blushed.

"Sorry Neville" she muttered as she wiped some mashed potato bits off his face.

When her head turned back to him, Harry realised that he still had his hands gripping her waist. For a moment he looked her straight in the eyes, and felt a flicker of energy in his solar plexus, almost like the Staff was right behind him, before a loud fake cough from Seamus, saying something that sounded a lot like,

"Pathetic."

broke his gaze, and the feeling. And allowed him to see instead about six faces grinning at them.

Harry quickly removed his hands, and blushed. Realising that being best friends with a girl, was going to start getting a little awkward now.

Hermione went even more red, and quickly regained her interest in food.

Luckily for her, she didn't have to see the look on Ron's face, as Harry did. It was hurt, pure and simple. But Ron recovered quickly and joined in the conversation with his brothers. But the emotion had been there, clear as day, if only for a moment. Hurt, and never again did Harry want to see that on his friends face.

*He must think that I like Hermione more than I should. Probably thinks she likes me back after what just happened. Damn.*

He chastised himself, until the time came for the Great Hall to begin emptying, and his friends to say goodbye and good luck, by then Harry had vowed one thing.

*I'm gonna let Ron be happy with Hermione, no matter what. Hell, if it comes down to it, I'll help them get together.*

Harry ignored the pang in his heart at that thought.

~o0o~

Harry hung around nervously at the back of the Hall, as Dumbledore and Moody used magic to stack the long House tables against the walls. Whatever they were planning on, it looked like it would be taking a lot of space to do it.

The doors to the Great Hall opened behind Harry, and in strode Remus Lupin, and Snuffles, otherwise known as the animagus form of his Godfather Sirius Black. Under one arm, Lupin carried the case which contained the Staff of Gaia.

"Harry!" Lupin said, smiling and opening his arms wide, enveloping him in a hug. After a moment, Harry hugged him tightly back, in a way, he was like a second Godfather to him. When they stepped back, Lupin had a grin on his face, which made him appear to be about 10 years younger.

He took out his wand from within the folds of his robes, and pointed it at the doors of the Great Hall, muttering something that Harry recognised as a powerful locking spell, the doors swung shut.

The minute they did so, Sirius bounded up to Harry in his dog form, changed so quickly that he made himself dizzy, and in his human form hugged his godson.

"Everybody seems to like me today." Harry muttered.

Once the hugs and pleasantries had been exchanged, they all walked into the centre of the room, were five seats had been placed in a circle, one opposite the case holding the Staff, which Harry was told would be his seat. There was also a small raised table in the centre of the circle, on which rested a single acorn. Dumbledore motioned for them to sit, and all but Harry did.

"Nervous Harry?" Sirius asked, smiling slightly. Harry could only nod.

"Well don't be. This will probably be tough, but your as strong as a Griffin, and we'll be with you every step of the way."

Harry's eyes widened, that wasn't very comforting.

Sirius looked slightly confused as to why his words weren't having the desired effect. Lupin leaned towards his old friend.

"Sirius, Griffins aren't exactly the kind of animal, you want to compare Harry with."

"Why?"

"Their extinct! You never did pay much attention in Care of Magical creatures did you? "

Lupin roared with laughter, Sirius looked severely put out, until his face cracked, and he began to laugh to.

*Now that's more reassuring, at least their not afraid to look like their having fun around me.*

Feeling a little more confident, Harry took his place, directly opposite the Staff and the table with the acorn on it. He tried not to look at it, when it was taken out it's case. He didn't want to risk activating it by mistake.

But unfortunately a subtle humming noise, told him that it was really not his choice at the moment. The Staff began glowing a soft amber colour.

"Excellent." Dumbledore said, a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

"Then lets get started!"

~o0o~

"Harry, Harry!"

Harry was faintly aware that he was being shaken quite roughly by someone.

*Great* he thought, *Uncle Vernon can't wait until morning, to start hitting me.*

Rolling over, he mumbled.

"It's too early, Uncle Vernon, hit me later."

It was then that Harry realised that he wasn't in bed, but on a cold, hard, stone floor, and he was aware that there were people crowded around him. The hands that had been shaking him roughly a moment ago, were now still, and gripped his arms loosely.

"Harry, wake up." someone called softly.

Harry cracked one eye open, wincing slightly as light hit the pupil, and opened the other. Sirius's face came into view, he was crouched over him, there was a look of concern ... and anger? On his face.

*Oh, I did just call him Vernon, no wonder he's pissed.*

Sirius helped to pull Harry to his feet, but he swayed, almost falling over again. He felt very weak. Sirius gripped his upper arm to keep him upright.

"Perhaps it would be best if you go to the hospital wing tonight, Mr Potter." Dumbledore said rather pointedly.

"Oh please Professor, don't make me go back there tonight, I'm just tired. Madam Pomfrey is getting sick of seeing me."

The old wizard sighed, and studied him carefully for a moment, Harry felt quite like an animal behind the bars of a cage at the zoo, a look of sympathy passed Dumbledore's face.

*Must be the last of my species or something.*

"Very well, go back to your room in Gryffindor tower. But I will be sending Poppy up to see you soon. And as it's dinner time, I'll send Dobby up with some food."

"It's dinner time already?"

"Oh yes. You've been unconscious for almost half an hour. In fact we've had to keep the students waiting outside. If you had not woken up soon, I'm afraid you would have been waking up in the hospital wing, in Madam Pomfrey's capable care, without any choice in the matter."

Dumbledore motioned to Lupin to help him start moving the tables back. Which was when Harry noticed it for the first time. Turning to Sirius, he asked,

"Did I do that?"

Sirius just smiled slightly, a look of intense pride on his face, and then he nodded.

"Wow." Harry breathed. He started feeling weaker again. Sirius, leaned him against the teachers dining table, and watched him quietly for a few minutes, as Dumbledore and Lupin began moving the last of the tables back to it's place, or rather a little further away now, since there was now a little less room in the Great Hall.

Moody was eyeing Harry intently, making him feel very uncomfortable. Somehow, Moody could always make you feel like he suspected you of a particularly horrible crime, or that he thought you were likely to commit one. The Staff was back in its case, and strangely, heat seemed to be radiating from it, coming off in waves, and distorting the view of the Hall behind it.

When Dumbledore had finished, Sirius patted Harry on the shoulder, and transformed back into Snuffles. Lupin came towards him, and moved to stand slightly behind Harry, gripping both of his arms, to help hold him up. Mad-eye Moody finally stopped staring at him, and picked up the case containing the Staff of Gaia. All of them moved around the outskirts of the Hall, easier than going through the centre, or attempting it at this moment, given what Harry had achieved with the Staff earlier.

Dumbledore removed the locking spell, on the doors of the Great Hall, and they swung open. A few hundred curious faces peered back at them.

Harry suddenly found the floor quite fascinating. Lupin guided him gently out of the hall, through the throng of students, who all jostled to get a good look at him. Though they parted as he and Lupin moved forward, almost like they were afraid of getting burnt.

Another wave of grogginess passed over him, and Harry found that at that moment, he didn't much care what the other students felt, all he wanted to do, was get some sleep. He started to feel slightly numb all over, and his legs were getting weaker. He was becoming more and more exhausted, and before they made it through the crowd, Harry felt his legs buckle beneath him. A dozen sets of hands, shot out to hold him up, and Lupin shifted to better hold him. They started to move again.

Harry was faintly aware that whispers were following him. And that he could hear some of the things that were being said, and then strangely enough, there seemed to be a voice at the back of his mind, telling him some of the things that weren't being said. This was, understandably a little strange to Harry, but feeling numb, he didn't really give much more thought to it.

In what seemed to be no time at all, Harry felt himself being lifted onto a soft surface.

*Bed* his mind yawned.

He felt his shoes, cloak and school tie being removed, and heavy covers being pulled over him. There seemed to be a faint murmuring of a conversation, but Harry couldn't make out the words. And then, with an ardent bliss, Harry fell asleep.

~o0o~

Lightening struck out through the dark, stormy sky, at the roaming clouds. A more than gentle, icy breeze blew around the cold, grey, slate mountains. Everything upon the land, and within the air was a harsh grey, except for the strangely glowing purple and amber tones, from beyond the horizon, that picked out the shapes on the landscape, and the night sky.

Harry stood alone, on what he sensed had once been a glorious green plateau.

Death surrounded him.

Blackened, fire ravaged trees, wilted, defeated, dotted the landscape. All burned, but not by fire, they were burned by the passing of so many souls.

The rivers ran in trickles. Earths life-blood was drying up, no longer supporting even the most un-wanting of creatures.

Another lightening strike, flickered, lighting up the clouds from both above them and below.

Amongst the noise of thunder, and what sounded like the Earth rumbling in pain, Harry could hear the clipping noise of horse hooves, and the cry of the animal itself.

Death had taken this place, ended so much, that need not have passed. A great evil had been defeated, but at a great cost.

In the distance, Harry could see the horse now, bright white, and it's rider. But the riders image was somewhat misty, like someone had placed a creamy coloured gauze between them, and light shone through it, like that of a warm summers morning. An unearthly golden glow was being cast, with no other source than the rider themselves. And they carried something.

The rider moved ever closer, the great horse slowed, and then stopped without any vocal command of its rider, beside Harry. The light was in his eyes, and surrounded him with a feeling of maternal warmth. The rider seemed to glide down from their place upon the horse, their face and body moving through the light, until it was now behind them.

She was the most beautiful being that Harry had ever seen, if he had ever wondered what angels looked like, he now believed he may have an idea. There was more ageless beauty upon her face, than any Veela could ever claim. Her complexion was creamy, and with no marks of any kind, save for a small brown freckle beneath her left eye. Her face seemed to portray a perfect symmetry of lines that it should not have been possible to have. Her eyes were the most startlingly sea blue, with richly darkened pupils. Waves of golden red hair fell down her back. It was gathered in such a style that it revealed two important features beneath it.

Delicately shell-shaped ears.

The woman smiled. Harry felt the warmth of a sun upon his face. She leant down slightly, strangely cool hands rose up to cup Harry's face, and tilted it upwards. He felt a gentle kiss being placed upon his forehead. Then the Staff of Gaia, was placed into his hands.

When she spoke, all of Harry's cares fell away. It was like a soft hum, peaceful, flowing like honey.

"Use it well."

~o0o~

Hermione was angry. So angry in fact, that the air around her seemed to crackle with pent up hostility, to such a degree that none of the young men that sat near her, would dare to say anything about it being 'that time of the month'. Ron looked at her with concern evident upon his face. He didn't like seeing her like this, though he could well understand. Finally, the boiling rage that had been quietly been simmering beneath her semi-composed surface, food on her plate bearing the brunt of this anger, exploded.

"What the bloody hell do they think their doing, for God's sake? He was only in a coma for the past two weeks, does that not mean anything?"

A silence, and nervous, unsure faces from the half of the Gryffindor table that heard her outburst, was her only answer. Ron shot a few meaningful looks to the others, and gradually they fell back into their own conversations again.

"Herm." He said softly, feeling a little uneasy when her gaze turned directly on to him.

"This probably isn't the best time or place to talk about this." Hoping she'd get the hint, and just as he was about to suggest that they finish dinner and go talk, Hermione slammed her fork down, so hard bits of food flew off her plate and across the table -in Neville's direction.

"Fine"

She got up, and stormed out of the Great Hall, many eyes watching as she did so. But before she made it to the door, she turned, and looked back to the centre of the room, to look again and marvel at the product of Harry's Staff lesson. An extremely ancient-looking, twisted, and very large Oak tree was growing there, as if it were only in the first steps of life, lush green foliage covered it.

And once again, the only thing Hermione could think of to describe the feeling she got when she saw it, was just as it had been when she'd first seen it, and first felt it happening.

*Oh.*

~o0o~

Hermione felt almost completely over-whelmed by an anger she never knew she was capable of, one that was tinged by an ample fear. She was so desperately afraid for Harry, and whatever it was that he was becoming involved in. She saw him, always so tired, it was too soon, too soon to try and make him perform what were seemingly miracles. And so she felt angry at those who claimed to care for him, when they seemed to be as anxious as children with a new toy, desperate to find out everything it could do.

But Harry was still human, didn't that make him just as frail a being as anyone else? And yet they insisted on treating him as though he was superhuman.

Hermione would probably be the first to admit, that there were times, when Harry did seem to be something more than, or other than human, And then he'd get hurt, and that illusion would be shattered.

Hermione probably wouldn't have felt this kind of fear for him a few years ago. Oh, she'd still fear it alright, but this time she knew something that she hadn't really seen before. She knew that Harry was, not even all that deep down, afraid. Afraid, for the very good reasons of having a homicidal, all-powerful wizard trying to kill him for the best part of five years, and living with the Dursleys, which, Hermione really didn't want to think about. But even all this wasn't what really had Harry afraid. Hermione knew, that though on a conscious level Harry was just as curious, and made just as many jokes as everyone else about his burgeoning abilities. Hermione knew, that deep down, somewhere inside of him, a small part of which he seemed to be unwillingly sharing with her, he was afraid. Afraid of not only what he could do, but of what he might do, and when it came right down to it, of what he might be.

So, knowing what she did about this deceptively open person, it was understandable she was getting a tad, well, hacked-off. Just plain pissed was probably a better description. Even the figures in the paintings she was storming past, hid around the corners of the frames, until she moved to another corridor, only returning to whisper once they were sure she was out of ear-shot. All of them agreeing on one reason for her anger. A kind of agreement, that the temperamental paintings only reached once every seven decades.

So lost was she in her own thoughts, that Hermione didn't realise she'd just made the long trek upstairs to the Gryffindor tower, until she was already past the dorm room and on the landing that separated the fifth year girls and boys dormitories. She twisted on her heel with the intention of going to her room to try and get some sleep, but paused mid-turn.

The fifth year boys room was just opposite, currently no further away from her than her own room. She couldn't just, take a little peak could she? To see if Harry was alright, see if he wanted anything.

Her mind, as always summed up the problem with lightening quick speed. The list of pros and cons quickly formed inside her mind.

1)Harry might be already asleep, thus wasted journey into the unknown, and potentially dangerous world of a boys bedroom.

2)He might be asleep, but if he then woke up while she there, she didn't relish trying to tell him what she was doing sneaking around in his room.

3)Unexpected arrival of a teacher. i.e Snape. -Hermione momentarily shuddered at the thought of trying to explain it to Snape. Big trouble.

4)Well it was the BOYS room and everything, God knows what else might be going on in there.

Good side.

1)It's Harry.

Hermione finished weighing up the problem within a heartbeat, and choose the door on her left.

*Stupid* she chastised herself. Somehow, despite all of her intellectual abilities, she hadn't thought of the little factor of the teachers already being in the room.

*Well at least it's not Snape.*

Perched on Harry's trunk, at the bottom of his four-poster bed, was Professors Lupin and Dumbledore, apparently in mid-discussion about Harry. Who himself, appeared to be fast asleep under the covers. They'd both looked up as the door flew open, but did not appear at all startled by her sudden appearance in the boys dorm room. Dumbledore had a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was rather more amused.

"I wondered when one of you would come up. Though I had thought you might have finished dinner first."

"I wasn't hungry." Hermione replied softly. Before she moved into the room, letting the door shut behind her. She walked across the central gathering in the room, which suddenly seemed to have expanded, making the walk even longer. Keenly aware that the two teachers were watching her, but they flicked their attention back, once Hermione had reached the four-poster, containing a single sleeping figure, beneath it's old, deep red canopy.

Harry didn't look as helpless, as he had done the last few times she'd observed him sleeping. Not quite so frail. Now, even in his sleep, he radiated a kind of restful power.

She looked at his face, and saw, just about beneath a hand -the thumb of which he was coming awfully close to sucking on, making him look very cute- that his eyelids were fluttering, a sure sign that he was dreaming. Hermione hoped that for once it was a peaceful dream, and not one of the prophetic ones he had about Voldemort, dreams that with any luck people might be a little more willingly to believe in now. But there were other dreams that Hermione could imagine. Ones she never again hoped to hear him mumbling about, in his sleep again. As she had done many times when she'd watched over him.

It was strange, that even comatose, Harry was still able to dream. Even Madam Pomfrey couldn't explain it.

In the few days before he woke up, his coma became more like a fitful sleep. Fitful, because Harry's dreams were only ever nightmares, or so it seemed. Whenever he dreamed, those were the times that the feeling of power that one felt surrounding him, grew stronger in intensity, and more uneasy.

But now, that feeling was calm, like the sea waters in a small cove, gentle, unhurried.

"He's dreaming." she stated, perhaps aware that she'd spent quite some time thinking, and had not been very personable to the two men in the room.

"How can you tell?" Lupin asked.

Hermione heard her voice saying something about eyelid patterns and R.E.M's sleep, as her book-learned knowledge poured out. Remus nodded, though he didn't really look like he'd understood a word said.

Hermione's shifted back to Harry.

"Why are you doing this to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I believe Remus, that Miss Granger would like to know why we've been pushing at Harry so hard."

"Oh"

Dumbledore turned his kindly eyes to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, how much do you know about the Staff of Gaia, or any Staff for that matter?"

"Not much more than you told me." she replied, moving to sit on a nearby chair. Lupin looked momentarily shocked that she wouldn't have a hundred things to add, before he remembered that she hadn't exactly been the bookworm of late.

"I've tried looking in the library once or twice, but there weren't many books on the subject. And the few that were there, are more theory based works than anything factual."

"Ah, I see. Did none of these books include information, on the practicalities of using a Staff?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Might be time for a lesson, Albus."

Hermione blinked. She'd never heard anyone call the headmaster by his first name. Madam Pomfrey and occasionally Professor McGonagall were the exception to the rule. Everyone else seemed to respect him from afar, even Hagrid, whom she'd always thought to be very close to the aging wizard, refused to call him by his first name.

"Now lets see, where to start, where to start ... perhaps ... yes that's it.

To use a Staff, not only requires great magical power, but a great need for focus. A need so great in fact, that the sheer amount of physical force required to concentrate, is draining. How much energy is required, is dependant on how large a task as been set."

"So that's why he became unconscious every time he used it?"

"Well, that's part of the reason. Harry has ... well, he was already quite drained , and has few energy reserves of his own."

"It's quite amazing really. He probably should have died, after the troll attack, but he was only in a coma for two weeks!" Lupin added.

"Only!!!" she replied, some of her burning fury at the teachers returning.

"Miss Granger, you have to understand, that I would, if possible, do everything I could to keep Harry from harm. I have done what I could in the past, and continue to do so. But fate, it seems, has something greater in mind for our young friend, and always has. And those destined for greatness must put up with more than their fair share of unhappy things. He's been given a great power, now he must learn how to use it, and more importantly, how to control it."

"But, if he's so powerful, who is to say that what you have to teach him, will be of any consequence? No disrespect intended Professor."

"None taken Miss Granger, and I can understand your concern, you make a valid point."

Lupin jumped back into the conversation.

"But Harry has shown a certain aptitude for stronger magic's, ones that even full-grown Aurors have some difficulty mastering. A patronus charm, for example. It takes many months of training to pull one off, but Harry managed it after a handful of lessons."

"Which leads to another point Remus. Miss Granger is perfectly correct when she suggests that this situation is not entirely within our capabilities as people of magic, to deal with. Thus, I have sent for the only being in this world, who may be able to, if they so desire. Unfortunately, it is unlikely that she will arrive before this school year is over."

Lupin looked as though this was the first he had heard of any such person. Which was confirmed to Hermione a few moments later, when he quietly enquired about it with Dumbledore. The old teacher, however, would say no more on the subject, other than it was highly sensitive information, that only he and his messenger were aware of, and that he intended to keep it this way. He apologised for the secrecy, but promised that it was a necessity. He also mentioned that Harry had been sent something form this mysterious person earlier that day, though he had no knowledge of what it was himself, but he was sure it would come in handy.

For a brief moment all three of them looked at Harry, the feeling of power in the room grew stronger, but was still strangely calm. After a few moments, Lupin and Dumbledore stood up. The older left, promising to have Dobby, the house-elf bring some food up, as undoubtedly Harry would be hungry when he awoke. Lupin however, returned a moment after he had left the room.

"Hermione." He said softly, startling her, as she hadn't noticed his return. Lupin's gaze flickered between her and Harry.

"Sirius told me about what happened. About what you experienced, when Harry held the Staff." He sighed at the look on her face, and clearly under the weight of whatever he was about to share with her.

"The headmaster was a little wary about sharing this information with you, and though I would normally do whatever he asked, I felt I had to disagree with him this time. I believe that you have a right to know what we suspect is happening to you.

You already know that Harry is very strong magically, but emotionally, as a human being, he's ... he's ... well probably a little screwed up. And you're both so very young. There are certain elements of what is happening to Harry when he uses the Staff, that due to his young age, and other ... underlying circumstances, he will find hard to cope with. Until he becomes accustomed to it. In time that is. The kind of things that open up to Harry when he's using the Staff, are probably somewhat over-whelming. And so he needs to ... siphon, I think that's the right word. He needs to siphon some of it off. And it would seem that he has chosen you, to be the one to receive these residual memories, or feelings."

"Me?"

"Yes, you Hermione." The Professor smiled lightly.

"Harry would only pick someone for a task like this, whom he trusts implicitly, given the nature of the things you are being allowed to see or feel. I doubt it was even a conscious decision on his part. You are the one person on this planet, that he trusted enough to share a part of his very being with. It is a great burden, and a responsibility Hermione. One that I'm sorry to say for you, can not be taken lightly.

I have no doubt that Harry will eventually master these new abilities, and the you will be no longer burdened as you are. He's sharing with you things that he may never share with anyone else. It's important that you respect his wishes and do the same, unless you feel it to be of the up most urgency, and you need to speak to Sirius, Dumbledore, or myself."

"I know." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her throat suddenly felt dry and scratchy.

"But it isn't a burden, not in the way you think. It's an honour. Though I do not understand why he would have chosen me. I think it would have been a better idea to pick someone like you or his Godfather. Above all people why chose me? Surely someone else could have made a better job of it."

"I'm sorry Hermione. Perhaps Dumbledore was right to think it too soon to tell you."

"No! No, I wouldn't take it back now. Now I know, now I understand how important it is. I just don't understand why he would pick me.

"Why not Hermione?" a slight grin appeared on the professor's face.

"Your one of the few people who've always managed to be there for him, no matter what. That's something even Ron can not claim."

~o0o~

When Harry woke up just two short hours later -shocking Hermione, who'd expected him to be asleep for at least a couple of days- he looked more well-rested than he had in months. Though his mood seemed a little more sombre, and his smiles seemed a little more forced -Perhaps his dream was a little less peaceful than she had believed. He retained his humour long enough though.

When he'd woken, cracking one eyelid open, he'd seen Hermione lounging in a chair beside him, looking thoughtfully at the chocolate éclair she had half-devoured.

"We've got to stop meeting like this you know. People will start to talk."

Hermione had jumped in her seat, dropped her éclair, and then seemed to go slightly red.

*Wait a minute, did I just flirt? And another thing, when did my voice change?*

Hermione couldn't claim to be an expert on the biology of adolescent boys, but surely their voices didn't change in a few hours, and especially if those were spent unconscious.

Harry had felt slight embarrassment as Hermione encouraged him to speak, while she tried to figure it out. Before she dismissed it as being one of those wizard things.

Then they began to discuss a few more important things.

Harry described to Hermione, in as much detail as he was able, what had happened during in his first Staff lesson. From the end of lunch, at 1.30pm that day, they'd spent over two hours going over the history of the Staff, such as there was known. Of the theories of who may have owned it during it's long existence, around ten thousand years of history to cover. As this was where all records of the Staff ended. So they therefore assumed that the last wizard whose name was attached to the Staff, was believed to be the one who had created it. This was a wizard called Xhiang Xial, the man who'd given it its name. But, though the records they had on this wizard were limited, there was never any evidence that he had been skilled enough to do something like this.

Dumbledore told Harry -once they had finished with the history lesson for the day, and moved onto a practical- that he and the others believed that 'Focus' was the key to mastering the Staff. That and learning how much of his own energy he could reasonably let go of, during this effort.

It was with this viewpoint, that their lesson had begun. They decided to give Harry what they had believed to be a relatively small task. To grow the first shoot and root of an oak tree, from an acorn. Which, as it turned out, was no small task, especially as Harry, in the state induced whilst using the Staff, could only consciously grab a hold of a few words, in order to do something. In this case, the words 'Grow' and 'Live', were the only words Harry could think of when using the Staff. So instead of making the first roots and shoots grow, he made an entire tree.

Harry tried to describe how he was acting almost entirely on instinct. That a single word, could become an all-consuming task. These words prompted an instinct within him, one which seemed to know exactly what it was doing, it felt almost primal. Because it was so consuming, he found that he couldn't actually 'do things by halves'. Something which was either to be a source of great concern, considering how draining it was for him, or to feel relief at. If there was another attack, it was almost comforting to know that Harry would be fully able to protect people again, and not give any Deatheaters the equivalent of a quick slap and nothing more.

Harry had been aware only of the feeling of creating a life, it wasn't until he'd been about to pass out, again, that he saw a very large, old-looking, yet somehow new, Oak tree growing in the centre of the Great Hall.

~o0o~

Harry and Hermione spent a few more hours talking, and rapidly began to run low on Chocolate Frogs. Hermione felt more than a little concern, that Harry's mood was becoming even more sombre, and even a little angry. He said he didn't think that his teachers were going to let him near the Staff again in a hurry. In fact he'd practically snapped at Hermione, when she'd expressed her relief at this.

When the boys came through the door to get ready for bed at nine 'o' clock that evening, it was almost a relief for her. She made a hasty exit, listening to the wolf-whistles that followed her. Her head held down, she never even noticed the look on Ron's face as she brushed past him, colour rising in her cheeks.

Ron recovered from the shock of seeing Hermione practically run out of the boys dorm room, in order to ask Harry how he feeling, especially as no-one was expecting him to be awake yet.

Only to be surprised a second time by his friends more grown-up voice. His own had had only just finished squeaking a few days before Harry's arrival at the Burrow.

He was pleased to note that his friend didn't seem to be at all ill, just tired, and there was something of an aura of negative feeling around him. Though not so great that Ron couldn't prompt a smile. Ron was also pleased to see a stack of éclairs next to Harry's bed. Which Harry, already full to exploding point, quite happily shared.

Though Harry was tired, he seemed somewhat restless. So Ron obligingly challenged him to a few rounds of Wizards chess. At which, he once again thrashed him at.

He was glad to see he hadn't lost his abilities in that department, and that his friends ever-burgeoning powers, didn't mean he could play a better game of Chess.

Ron didn't like to think that he was jealous, but he would admit that sometimes he couldn't help it. Everything seemed to happen to Harry. Famous. Skilled Quidditch player. Joining the house team in his first year. A natural talent for some defensive -he didn't even want to think about the offensive, that poor troll- magic's. Oh, and now quite possibly one of the most powerful Wizards who ever lived, couldn't forget that one.

But, as Ron would sometimes have to remind himself, for all the enviable things that happened to him, there were many, many unenviable things.

As he came from such a large family, he knew that they could sometimes be a pain, but he couldn't live without a single member of his family, even Percy. He didn't know how to, and for Harry to never have even known his parents, when so many around him had, was a kind of torture Ron hoped he would never have to understand. Then there was the more obvious factor of You-Know-Who, and the Dursleys. If ever Ron found himself getting jealous, he found he could forcibly remind himself of things like the time Harry and Cedric disappeared at the Triwizard Tournament, or their more disturbing reappearance. He could remind himself of the day he opened the cupboard door, but that tended to lead him to feeling like throwing up again.

It reminded Ron, that for everything his friend had, there were another three things he got, that no one their age, or no one anyway, should have to experience. And that was why, he intended to be there for Harry, even if he would always be in his shadow. It was enough to know that he could make a difference now.

He and Harry struck up a conversation about Quidditch as they played Chess. Harry admitted he missed the thrill of flying around on his broom, which had remained packed in the bottom of his trunk since he'd last used it, during the first task of the Triwizard tournament. Gryffindor, was currently down a Captain and a Keeper. Apparently Alicia Spinnet had volunteered to take over temporarily, until a more permanent solution could be found. She didn't want to have to devote herself to it, since her N.E.W.T's were coming up this year.

She had announced that they would be holding trials for a new Keeper this week. Ron had decided to tryout, and Harry gave his full support, though as it would be a team decision, he couldn't guarantee he would get it. But he did promise that he would practice with him, as he could do with it himself.

They finally went to bed very early in the following morning, filled up with more sweets than was probably good for them. Having played seven games of Chess, four rounds of Exploding Snap, which they had to stop, since the explosions were keeping the others awake. Harry seemed to fall into a deep sleep straight away, his dreams were strangely peaceful. Ron, however went to bed, and found it very difficult to sleep, for though Harry seemed outwardly happy, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't. That his emotions seemed forced, and Ron, though promising himself to be there for his friend, was unsure as to how he could be of help. He did decide to talk to Hermione about it the next morning. But once he did fall into a fitful sleep, and awoke groggy and grumpy the next morning, he had forgotten all about it.

~o0o~

The next few weeks went by in a blur for Harry. A few days after he had woken up, from his seemingly last ever practical with the Staff, things were almost settling into a normal pattern.

Get up - Get dressed - Go downstairs, avoiding contact with anybody below the fourth year - Get some breakfast in the Great Hall, while being stared at by most people from the third year and under - Have a lesson, whilst being pestered with a thousand questions he couldn't answer - Have another lesson, former problem still around - Have lunch, getting stared at some more - Have another lesson - And so on, and so on. The words boredom and irritation could have taken on a new meaning in Harry's mind. If he'd really cared.

The lessons Harry was having for the Staff, had become some of his least favourite. Ron had been right. They were just like Prof. Binn's classes, and it was harder to fall asleep inconspicuously, when you're the only student. They never got any more interesting. All the teachers could do was spout theories at Harry, and not facts. More often than not, they'd end up asking Harry about the Staff.

He had been correct in his assumption that the teachers would no longer allow him near the Staff itself. Something which did irritate him greatly. Being aware of its presence, and yet not being able to use it, was like having a voice at the back of his mind that never shut up. It was a constant ache. He remembered once comparing his connection to the Staff as being like having the ghost feeling of a missing limb. Only now it felt more painful. Like he could remember the loss of the limb as well. But no-one else understood. He felt Hermione might do to some extent. But perhaps that was because she was the only person he really spoke to.

Something else had occurred to him. Dumbledore and the other teachers, they were afraid, and it was whether they were afraid for him or of him, that Harry could not tell. He did not feel that they were being at all fair. They claimed to want to train him, and help him to achieve all that he could, and yet would not allow him near the one thing that would help him achieve this goal. How was he supposed to become any good at controlling this power, if he was not allowed to practice it?

After three lessons, comprising of two hours of dull theory spouting, it had finally become clear to Dumbledore, that this wasn't helping Harry in the slightest, as he had to be prodded awake every so often. It was then that he struck upon the idea that Harry needed to be trained to be both physically and mentally capable to use the Staff, and perhaps the history lessons could be shortened accordingly.

Harry had been a little less than pleased. In the past few weeks, he'd become pretty much as fit as he had been before the summer holidays. Wasn't Quidditch training enough?

So the once boring history/theory lessons, had now become what Harry glibly described as 'P.E from hell'.

Moody and Lupin decided that the first step was to have him start running laps around the lake. It was a pretty big lake.

Sirius joined him on these runs for moral support. Every time Harry gasped and panted over the magically extended finish line, Sirius would always tell him to buck up, and try harder. After all, if an old man like himself could beat Harry, and barely break a sweat doing it, it didn't look too good, did it?

Harry did point out, that Sirius was in his animagus form when he ran with him, and as such, four legs was likely to be better than two.

They got to a point in the training, around mid-November. When the first real chill set into the stone walls of Hogwarts walls, and the first drops of snow had begun to blanket the grounds, that Moody and Lupin, decided that running was no longer enough, and that the spell/curse deflection lessons, needed to become a more regular occurrence - rather than the two lessons a week he was already having.

Harry protested.

These were clearly no longer lessons that dealt with the Staff, or how to use it. It seemed only to be extra Defence against the Dark Arts lessons. It was no wonder that he was now top of his class, even above Hermione, in this particular subject.

His time was no longer his own. He rarely got to see Sirius, in his human form anyway. Though he knew that Sirius was around. The students had become used to seeing the large black dog, called Snuffles by all, in and around Hogwarts. So much so, that they tended to let their guard down around it, and continue their conversations as normal. It was frequently by this means that the Headmaster and the other teachers, kept the students in check, with the promise -magically binding, of course- never to reveal what they knew of Harry's gift, or the presence of the Staff at Hogwarts, until they were ready to tell the wizarding community themselves. Unfortunately, this meant a lot more hard feelings between the Slytherin's -whose mail was read by Snape- and the Gryffindors.

But as of the moment, the larger wizarding community remained ignorant, of the unusual- well, slightly more - goings on at Hogwarts. As far as they were concerned, the Staff of Gaia, was still a missing magical relic- for no one , save a few sworn to secrecy, knew it had even been found.

The Daily Prophet was still running its 'The trial of Potter's Uncle' scoop. Being mentioned at least once a week.

The trial date had, thankfully, been set back, from this month, to early next year. So Harry had a little longer not to think about it, or Uncle Vernon. Though he could not stop his thoughts from occasionally turning to his Aunt Petunia. He wondered if she would be present at the trial, and if so, on whose side would she be?

Quidditch training went as well as anybody could have hoped. The minute he'd gotten onto his FireBolt, and kicked off, soaring high above the stadium, it was though he'd never left the skies. Alicia had decided that she could fit in being team Captain, around studying for her N.E.W.T's. But she promised Harry that she would begin training him for this position, from around March, so that there would be a new Captain ready for next year. Harry wasn't sure if he liked this new development. He did love to fly, and playing Quidditch, was a lot of fun. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to be the team Captain

He was happy, however, at the outcome of the Keeper tryouts. Ron had shown them a promising ability that few, including the twins, had even been aware he'd possessed. Quickly blowing away all other competition for the job, Ron had finally done something at Hogwarts that he thought, would help his parents feel some pride in him. Though secretly, Harry believed that with the speed and tactical mind Ron possessed -even if he wasn't aware that he had one- that he would make a much better Chaser, something which Harry felt he might have to see to next year. If he did become Captain.

But right now he had only one concern.

Swimming.

In the Great Lake, outside of Hogwarts. The freezing cold Great Lake out side of Hogwarts, to be exact. Harry had vehemently refused to do so. It was too big, and too cold. Lupin, however, had other ideas.

"Harry I know some of this is hard on you, but we're just trying to toughen you up a bit. A quick dip in the lake would do you the world of good."

Needless to say, Harry remained unconvinced. Until one day, around mid-December, Lupin asked him exactly why he was so against it.

It took Harry a few moments to master the strength of will, to look Remus in the eye, and then tell him.

"Because it's too public."

"I don't understand Harry. What do you mean? Your used to being in the public eye by now aren't you?"

"I know. What I meant was ... what I meant was ..."

Lupin was gazing at him intently, as Harry attempted to stutter out his response. But Moody intervened.

"Remus, leave the boy alone. Can't you see? He's shy for goodness sake!"

"Oh"

"I'M NOT A BOY!" Harry shouted back, before he realised that the words were even passing his lips.

Lupin appeared to be shocked by his outburst, though Moody's face remained carefully impassive.

"Of course not. Perhaps you are growing up Mr Potter, and we'll just have to remember that from now on, won't we Remus?"

Lupin seemed to shake himself out of whatever thoughts had momentarily taken him, in order to nod his head in an affirmative. Moody, however, continued to stare at Harry, making him feel uncomfortable. It was almost a relief to running around the lake a short while later.

He didn't always like running. Sometimes he could clear his mind, and focus on nothing but the run. One foot in front of the other, breathing in and out. But at other times, running could give him too much time to ponder on things that had happened, things that he might have done, things that might have been. And these things frustrated him greatly, though he wasn't always aware of it. If he could not clear his mind of such thoughts on theses days, then he had to fill them with something else. Schoolwork or Quidditch tactics seemed to be the most popular.

Luckily for him, today was one of those days, in which he could clear his mind, mostly.

Finishing his lap around the lake, Harry ran back towards the changing rooms that were tucked just inside the Castles courtyard. He ran back as he did every day, despite his usual near-exhaustion, in order to miss the post-lesson crush.

When he'd had finished cleaning up and getting changed, Harry decided to return to see Remus and Moody, in the small classroom nearby, that they used for their lessons. Though Moody was partially correct in his assumption about Harry's apprehensiveness surrounding swimming, he hadn't told the whole story. And finally, Harry thought that he should tell them.

They were not expecting him, and Moody could not have been paying much attention to the corridor outside the classroom with his magical eye, or Harry would never have overheard this particular conversation through the slightly ajar door.

"You can't keep pushing him like this Alastor."

"Why not Remus? I keep being told that he has the potential to become as powerful, if not more so than Voldemort, and I've certainly seen the evidence of it."

*As powerful as Voldemort? Surely they mean Dumbledore.*

"The most powerful in magic maybe, but he's been traumatised. He spent a month getting the crap kicked out of him by his Uncle, at a time in his life when he needed some support. He's fragile right now. We can't keep pushing him."

*Fragile!!*

"And why can't we keep pushing him? What do you suggest we do, the day Voldemort finally breaks down those gates to the school, hmm? You know that even with our combined power, we could only slow him down. Potter is probably our last best hope, and if he can't be made strong when that day comes, then God help us all. And the rest of those poor bloody muggles, he will rule over them like a king, when he wipes us out."

"Alastor, I know that your just trying to make him strong to protect him, but so am I. And right now, he can not handle a lot of things. He just shuts out everything that happened with his Uncle, he's been ignoring his friends. I don't think that I've seen him laugh or cry in months. He's like a machine. The only things he focuses on are his schoolwork and Quidditch. When I'm talking to him, half the time I don't feel like he's even in the room with me. I think that his friends are starting to lose patience with him."

"He still talks to that girl though, what was her name ... Granger?"

*Hermione*

"Hermione Granger. I know, she's probably the only one he comes even close to letting in."

There was a pause for a while. Harry leaned in a little closer.

"You know that he still flinches when anybody tries to touch him, right?"

"I know Remus, I know."

"And you shouldn't call him 'boy'. Sirius told me that's what ... it's what his Uncle used to call him."

"I suppose that explains why he got angry earlier."

There was a brief sound of someone shifting to sit down, and sighing as they did so. It was Remus.

"I just can't keep pushing him ... I just can't. What with You-Know-Who disappearing this last month, and the trial coming up.

You know that the muggle council have appointed some hotshot young lawyer, who's never lost a case, to his Uncle? By all reports, that man is already asking all the right questions, to poke holes in Harry's case. How am I supposed to tell Harry, that the trial might not be as clear cut as it should have been?"

"Remus my old friend. You don't have to. Sirius is his Godfather, let him handle it. He's the one who should be talking to Mr Potter about these things."

"For Gods sake Alastor! Sirius may be Harry's Godfather in name, but I care just as much for Harry. James always asked me to be a part of that responsibility. I will not let him down now."

"I am sorry Remus, I did not mean to imply that your role in Harry's life was any less important. But as you yourself pointed out, Sirius is, in name Harry's Godfather. So it is not your responsibility, as much as it should be his. That was all I meant."

"James made me promise you know. On the day he died, we met, and he made me promise, did you know that?"

There was a pause, and Harry could make out Mooody's form shaking his head, before sitting down across from Lupin.

"That morning we met up to talk about work. But when I saw him, he pulled me straight to the most private table of the Leaky Cauldron, and told me that there was something very important that he had to talk to me about. I wish that I'd paid more attention. He seemed so ... unlike himself. On edge, nervous, like he was expecting to be attacked that very minute, and all the while he seemed desperate to finish up and get back home.

He told me that ... that though he'd made Sirius Godfather by law, he considered me to be as much another father to Harry as Sirius. And wished that wizard law would have permitted a second Godfather.

He must have known ... he asked that if anything ever happened to him or Sirius, that I could be there to take care of Harry.

And I couldn't, I couldn't do the last thing James ever asked of me. Because by law those god-awful muggles were first in line to be his carers. I had no legal claim to him. I fought the courts for three years to be allowed custody, but they wouldn't even let me see him once. The Dursleys had no idea of course. Even Dumbledore would not support me in my efforts, though I understand that now.

When Dumbledore relented and finally told me of what he was doing, I dropped the case immediately, but I still wanted to be able to raise James son the way he would have wanted. But I could not. So instead I did everything I could to help Dumbledore set up the magical defences that surrounded Harry's home.

I searched for months for someone who could be a secret keeper, and I bumped into Arabella again. The war with You-Know-Who had taken a lot from her, and she was willing to take on the appearance of a harmless old woman, and spend however many years looking over Harry. You should have seen her face when she contacted me to say she'd met Harry for the first time. Said he was the spitting image of James, and that she could barely contain herself from giving him a hug and telling him everything right then and there. She was so happy every time the Dursleys dumped Harry on her, and then she'd cry on my shoulder because she couldn't tell him who she was."

*No, they can't mean ... Mrs Figg?*

"Remus, you can not blame yourself for something that happened so long ago. It was simply ... unfortunate, that Harry's relatives were ... less-than tolerant of our kind."

*Less than tolerant? Is that all!*

"I'm sorry Alastor, I know that nothing can be done about the past now, what's done is done. But I can not think of a single way to help Harry now, beyond what we've already tried. That's what is killing me.

He barely acknowledges anyone anymore. Today was the first sign I've seen for many weeks of some deeper emotion. Ever since we stopped him from using the Staff again.

I don't understand why having to swim would produce such a reaction."

"Remus, use your head man. Do you not recall where Harry spent his holidays? I've seen many bad things in my time. But the worst of it is always someone who abuses a family member, in such a way as to be able hide it from the plain sight of anyone who sees them."

"You mean his back? Oh god your right! I never even thought."

"I had hoped that something like this would not happen, if we can not get him to train properly, he'll never qualify to be an Auror."

"Alastor, he doesn't even know that this is what his training is for. I don't want him to have to worry about having to pass another bunch of exams at some point in his future."

"Very well. But I'm sure his father would want him to follow in his footsteps. Even if he never was the most conventional Auror himself. But Harry will never achieve the great things that we have always expected from him, if he is too shy to even go for a swim."

There was a sound of shuffling feet, and chairs being pushed back, and Harry numbly thought that now would be the best time to move.

As he made a sharp exit through one of the corridors to the other side of the classroom, Harry could feel his head spinning. He felt a little sick. Lost between strange feelings that were creeping at the back of his mind. Confusion, despair and complete rage. So many things had been left unsaid.

So many things. Lupin had seen his father the day he died. He'd tried to gain custody of Harry as a baby, and failed. Mrs Figg? Voldemort had disappeared, something which could definitely could not be described as a plus, when you didn't know where he'd turn up next. He was really receiving Auror training, and his father had been one. Why hadn't they told him?

And worst of all, at that current moment in Harry's mind, was the news about the trial. Someone was actually defending his Uncle, how could anyone do that? And not only not be doing it grudgingly, but doing it well enough to leave a question in the minds of Lupin and the others, as to how straight-forward the trial would be. There being one at all, was one thing that seemed to penetrate the wall Harry had put up around himself, and bring forward a feeling in his stomach that he could only describe as disgust. Did this lawyer who was defending his Uncle, truly believe that his client was innocent, or was he the muggle equivalent of a Deatheater? Did he really have to air his dirty laundry in public? And being so unprepared wasn't helping. No one, not even Dumbledore, had told Harry much about what to expect at the trial. Harry didn't exactly know much about muggle laws, or their court system, except for the few things he'd seen on t.v. He didn't know if a wizard court would be any different from a muggle one, except for taking the use of magic in to account.

So many things seemed to differ from the muggle version of normal. Would he be required to give evidence, or would he simply be the evidence? Would his friends have to be there to give evidence, or his Aunt Petunia and Dudley? Or would they simply be given the truth potion that Snape seemed so fond of?

Harry felt some frustration forming in the back of his mind, that no-one would tell him anything, beyond the ever-changing start date of the trial.

But perhaps that was not the sole reason that Harry felt only anger at that moment. Lupin and Moody had sat there discussing Harry to a point where he almost felt violated at how perceptive they had been. And though every emotion Harry felt in the past few weeks seemed to a muted version of what he was capable of, the few that did escape the corner of his mind, and affect his conscious thought -such as it was- were only feelings of anger, and deep sadness, regret and a few other negative emotions.

Remus and Moody had said frequently that Harry was basically bottling up his emotions, and not letting them out to anyone, besides Hermione, to a small degree.

But what else was he supposed to do?

Was he supposed to give someone every graphic detail of what happened to him? Tell how he could sleep at night, but that most of his dreams were haunted by these events, or the incredibly sad, but beautiful woman, with the strange shaped ears?

But then something else worked itself through the cloud around Harry's mind. He was angry, but not at himself, or his Uncle. He was angry at them. At Lupin, Sirius, Dumbledore, and just about everyone else who was a parent figure to him in the wizarding world. They should have noticed, shouldn't they? They should have realised something was wrong, and come and got him before things had gotten really bad. He hadn't been able to write to them, and yet they never came to see why. He'd spent just over a month at the Dursleys, and the only good thing that had happened to him, was that his Aunt now cared about him.

The anger that was twisting his thoughts, finally exploded within him, as the first real feeling he'd had in months. A burning anger, darker than that of the black nights that hung over the Forbidden forest, clawed at him.

How could they? How dare they! How could they be saying that he was their last best hope? How could they put this on him, and yet complain endlessly of his weaknesses? They thought him frail, and acted as though he would break down any moment. Moody had correctly guessed the reason for Harry's shyness, but he had wanted to be able to say it himself. They made it sound as though Harry was barely able to dress himself anymore.

It was probably then, that Harry made the decision to go and swim in the Great Lake. To prove that he was capable of something. After all if Victor Krum could manage a swim in the lake, so could he.

A short while had passed between Harry's aimless wandering around the school corridors, and his return to the changing rooms, to get the few things he needed for his afternoon swim. As he was leaving the school again, he passed many students who were on their way to dinner.

"Hey Harry, where are you going, it's time for some grub?"

Ron's voice filtered through above the chatter. Harry didn't look back.

"For a swim." He called back, not really caring if he'd heard him or not.

The air had a bitter chill to it when Harry got outside. The sun had begun to sink more rapidly into the west. But still gave enough light, to make it an otherwise pleasant evening.

When he arrived by the lake, he changed quickly, and moved towards the waters edge. The water was very black, like that of the hard obsidian stone. Dark but polished. The still light blue sky was reflected on each the ripples of water as it lapped at Harry's feet. There was no sense of depth to it. It was as black at the surface, as it would be at the very bottom of the lake. Harry stared at it for some time, the water's colour reflecting more than just his image.

He was not sure how long he'd stared at it. But once he became aware of the sound of footfalls, no to far behind him, and the sound of someone breathing in quickly, in a gasp, now seemed as good a time as any, to go in.

The water certainly looked more inviting, as he waded in. And at first as he was swimming, he didn't notice just how cold it was. In fact, just how icily painful it was. What he was dimly aware of, was whoever had been behind him, was now faintly calling out his name. That and asking him other things, like to come back. And then that voice seemed to be joined by another. But Harry was focused on only one thing.

He carried on swimming. Ignoring the voices, but finally the cold started to penetrate his awareness. The icy water was not freezing him, at least not at first, right now, he felt like he was slowly burning, hotter, and hotter. He felt like he was on fire, but desperately tried to ignore how unsafe any of it felt, not just the temperature.

When he finally lifted his head out of the water long enough to anything other than breathe, and open his eyes, he was surprised to see that he'd already reached the centre of the lake, which was not called the Great Lake for nothing.

He swam again for a short while, his legs and arms were beginning to tire quickly, his left leg in particular, was beginning to feel like a dead weight.

That was before, a searing hot pain ripped through it.

Something sharp and painful seemed to have clamped itself around a part of his leg, just below the kneecap. Whilst miniature forks seemed to be ripping at the rest of it.

He stopped and yelped in both surprise and pain, any attempts he had been making to ignore his own tiredness, and the cold of the lake, had been completely deflated. They were now his solitary awareness, as well as the burning pain in one leg, and the sensation of a cloud of liquid warmth passing over the other. He grimly realised that this was his own blood, mixing with the water of the lake. He attempted to shift his leg, to see what was causing him pain, and assess the damage, but the lake betrayed him in its inky blackness. He could see nothing.

He looked to the shoreline, and from the side he'd just come from, several people-shaped dots moved about. Three had separated from the rest, and appeared to be running around the lake, in an effort to either meet him on the other side, or simply get closer. One of the figures was larger than the others, suggesting that they were a fully-grown adult. And quite a bit further ahead of this figure, was that of a rather large dog, running at full speed. It would have made for an otherwise comical scene. Like a dog getting away from its owners at a day in the park. Only this wasn't a park, and this dog was actually Harry's guardian, probably terrified, and desperate to know why he'd stopped for so long in the middle of a very cold, very deep lake.

A moment passed in which the burning pain in his leg became more discernable. He was able to identify it, not as one clump of pain, but as several smaller dots of pain, forming semi-circles, one on either side of his leg. In other words, teeth. Teeth with a vice-like grip on his leg. Not only was the owner of these teeth, biting him, but apparently saw fit to scratch him for all it was worth, with tiny fork-like hands.

Harry was, putting it mildly, a bit miffed. Something had seen fit to make a meal of him, but it was decidedly too small to do anything other than bite, hold on for dear life, and cause some severe pain.

Balancing himself on his back in the water, Harry slowly lifted his leg up towards the surface.

He was greeted with the sight of the ugliest little water-demon, Grindylow, he'd ever seen. It seemed to panic as it's skin made contact with air above the surface, and bit in deeper.

Harry cried out briefly in pain. Stupidly, in a brief moment of panic, he tried to shake it loose. Only succeeding in having the Grindylow clamp its teeth down even further, and digging its claws down into his flesh like small hooks.

It was then that the water demon began emitting small, but shrill whistling sounds, irritating as it practically pierced Harry's eardrums. It sounded like someone who had slightly too much saliva in their mouths, attempting to whistle with two fingers.

Harry thought he could hear a faint echo through the water. Until it became much louder.

It was when the small air bubbles, at various spots around him, began to break the surface, around twenty of them, that Harry realised it was no echo.

It was the reply call of twenty other Grindylow, all coming to the aid of their fellow demon, and to enjoy dinner.

*Not good*

Was about all his tired mind could muster. He could hear people calling his name now, from on the banks of the lake, but he didn't think that anyone would be able to get to him in time. What were the chances that anyone had brought their brooms with them anyway?

After months of feeling very little in the way of any kind of emotion, other than aching numbness, in which anything he did feel, seemed to be only the barest memory of what it should be like. It occurred to Harry, as the Grindylows advanced, that he really, really did not want to die. Not yet. He had a lot more to live for than most people. He couldn't die, not today, at least not today. Being eaten alive would also wouldn't be the most pleasant way to go.

He could have kicked himself. He hadn't even thought to bring his wand with him. It still lay, folded amongst his robes, on the other side of the lake.

Just as the Grindylow were beginning to get rather too close for comfort, Harry did the only thing he could think of. He mustered up the nastiest glare he could, summoned from many years of watching Snape, who had perfected the art. And uttered a particularly foul muggle curse, something Uncle Vernon had managed to tutor him well in.

All of the Grindylows suddenly jerked backwards, their heads making similar jerky movements about them. They began emitting ear-piercing screams, moving their bodies all around, as if looking for something.

The Grindylow attached to Harry's leg, if possible, bit in even harder.

*Wow, didn't know a muggle curse was that bad.*

Harry's mind said fuzzily. Blood loss was rapidly becoming an issue.

Another shrill cry caught his attention, because it wasn't that of a Grindylow, but that of a Merperson. And a second cry did come from a Grindylow, as it was impaled on a surfacing Merpersons Trident.

Just as the blackness of an oxygen and blood deprived brain, began to creep over him, Harry saw the glint of metal against cold-grey skins. The evening sun, highlighted the tridents, but it was a strangely lifeless white.

More noises, but this time one that sounded like speech, or some form of command. Something or someone, seemed to be telling him to stop struggling, and to relax. At once, clammy, grainy feeling arms wrapped themselves around Harry's chest. Almost at once, Harry felt at peace with the request, and obeyed, letting himself sink backwards against those arms.

There was a pinch on his leg, and a loud deafening scream, something was prying the Grindylow away from his leg, and the water-demon was not pleased about it.

Pain from the wound suddenly being opened to the lake water around it, shocked Harry back from his daze.

There were four Merpeople in front of him, all holding Tridents, some with Grindylows still attached.

One of them swam closer and from under the water, lifted Harry's leg to the surface. Whilst another came forward, and began wrapping a green seaweed-like bandage around it. All at once Harry's leg began to tingle, as the life seemed to twitch back into it.

When they were done, they backed off, and formed a protective circle around him. The Merperson behind him, tugged him lightly. Startled at how much better his leg suddenly felt, Harry got the hint, and turned onto his front, gently swimming forward. The Merperson behind him, helped to propel him along, with powerful kicks of their tail. The others stayed surrounding him, occasionally, diving beneath the water, and re-emerging moments later with another Grindylow, or Grindylow parts, stuck to their Tridents.

Occasionally, he could hear them calling to one another, pointing at darker shapes beneath the water, which sometimes were water-demons, and they paid for straying too close.

Harry hadn't realised just how far out he'd been, but it took almost five minutes of steady swimming to reach the side of the lake. At which point he felt two sets of strong, human arms pulling him up out of the water.

"Harry, what the hell did you think you were doing?You could have been killed!" Sirius's voice rang out clearly through his water-logged ears

He suddenly felt blinded, as the day-light seemed to return. He recalled that it hadn't been that late when he'd set out, but it was as if, the closer he'd gotten to the centre of the lake, the darker it had gotten. All light seemed to have been swallowed up and blocked out. And though the light was now rapidly fading, as the sun sunk into the hills of the Forbidden Forest, it felt like a bright daybreak to him. He shivered, not only from the cold, but from the sudden feeling of being wide awake. As if he'd not truly felt this way for a very long time.

A hundred feelings he had not felt for some time, poured over him. And he felt all that he was capable of. Anger, sadness, fear. Joy, love, passion. Jealousy, and compassion. Everything that he'd kept bottled up for so long, erupted, and he truly felt each and every one of them.

He regained control so quickly that no one noticed him do anything but shiver from the cold. Except for Hermione. Harry looked back at the water, to see Dumbledore conversing in Mermish to the same ferocious looking Chieftainess, that he'd seen during the second task of the Triwizard tournament. He realised that it was her who'd helped him to swim back to dry land, somewhere that Harry intended to stay for the foreseeable future.

He dropped to his knees on the ground, and spat up some of the freezing cold lake water, that had taken up an unwelcome residence in his lungs.

Lupin removed his outer cloak, and wrapped it around Harry, as Sirius began gently rubbing his back.

"Why did you do something so stupid Harry? What are you trying to prove?" he said softly.

The sound of Lupin clearing his throat could be heard.

"Actually, that might be down to me and Alastor, Sirius."

"What do you mean?"

"We felt it was time he stepped up his training."

"And since when does his training include letting him go swimming unsupervised, in one of the most dangerous lakes in this country, and not doing anything to protect him from almost getting eaten?!"

"Now, now gentlemen. What happened here was unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected." Dumbledore interrupted.

Harry looked back to see the Merpeople submerging, he caught the eye of the Chieftainess, long enough to mouth the words 'thank you', and see her nod her head in acknowledgement.

"Albus, you're saying that this was expected?" Lupin asked, clearly shocked.

"Well not that Harry would go off on his own, something for which we will need an explanation later. But the attack was not unexpected. Voldemorts powers are growing. Distance is having less meaning. And some beings are easier to bend to his will than others, especially if they are already pre-disposed to causing chaos."

"Are you saying that You-Know-Who was behind this?" Ron's voice echoed sentiments from the rest of the group.

"I believe so. But rest assured young Mr Weasley. Myself, the school staff, the Merpeople, and some of the other magical creatures of this lake, shall be increasing the number of protective charms around it, and around the school. I admit, I had not the outlook to foresee that Harry would be spending enough time here, for Lord Voldemort to attempt something."

"I think that there might be more to it Albus."

The headmaster gave a slightly quizzical look to Moody, something that seemed oddly out-of-place for the powerful wizard. And then he prompted Moody to continue.

"I believe that the Dark Lord may be testing the waters so to speak."

"You mean, you think that he's not just after Harry?" Lupin queried.

"I believe so. I think that he may be testing us. Seeing where our weaknesses lie. And using the fact that we've always assumed that he would go after Harry first, to his advantage."

"Do you think he's going to try and take the school?" Hermione asked nervously.

Moody nodded solemnly.

"But he can't." she exclaimed.

"Not as long as Professor Dumbledore is here."

"Why thank you Miss Granger. But I think that the compliment is less well deserved now. I'm ... I'm getting old."

At that no one knew what to say. Harry spat up some more lake water, and unfortunately drew the attention back to himself.

"Well Mr Potter, I don't think that Poppy will be very happy to see you again."

Sirius and Lupin helped Harry to his feet, and he pulled Lupin's worn old cloak, tighter about him. They began walking back to the school, and once in sight of it, Sirius returned to his animagus form.

Harry felt intense relief that there were no other students around, when they arrived. So the group was able to move undisturbed, to the hospital wing.

~o0o~

"You again!"

Were the first words Harry heard upon his entrance. He felt a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, at the exasperated look on Madam Pomfrey's face.

Lupin helped Harry on to the bed, on which Harry opened his cloak just enough to allow Madam Pomfrey to attend his wounded leg. Madam Pomfrey looked pleasantly surprised when she saw the makeshift seaweed bandage around it.

"Ah, Mermish medicine, very good. Very good, as long as it's used quickly. You should be fully healed within a week."

"Will I have another scar?"

Harry didn't want to think that he was being vain, or others to think it, so he'd kept his voice low, as he directed the question at Madam Pomfrey. As he self-consciously tugged his cloak tighter around himself, the nurses face softened visibly for a moment.

"I shouldn't think so dear. If so, it will be barely noticeable. Mermish medicine is very good for deep flesh wounds. They need it, what with all those spears, and trident things, and what not.

Now I think that all I need to do, is get you warmed up, fed and rested, and you can leave tomorrow morning in time for lessons."

Madam Pomfrey moved off to get blankets from a nearby store cupboard, but called over her shoulder.

"And I don't expect to see you back in here again for a very long time. In fact, if I see you again before your seventh year, I may have to kill you, rather than save you. And save my own sanity, if I have one more student breaking in to bring you ..."

Her voice trailed off, as she left the room.

"Wow, looks like I got off lightly."

Harry couldn't help it. He smiled. An act that seemed almost infectious, not that Madam Pomfrey need be concerned. Smiles lit up the faces of everyone in the room. Even Justina Nottom, a third year who'd managed to curse her own lips off two days ago, and was currently being a great puzzle for the school nurse - who frequently claimed that they couldn't think up a curse, other than the killing curse, that she couldn't find a cure for.

Ron looked slightly puzzled a moment later.

"What?"

"It's just ... well, you look happy. And well ... you haven't really looked anything for the past few months."

Smiles fell, Hermione looked ready to kill Ron, and Sirius growled at him.

"Hey Snuffles, it's alright. I just ... I think that I might've had a wake up call earlier. If you know what I mean. I felt numb for so long, I guess it took something that actually made me go numb, to realise that I could feel again ... I think, I'm not sure if I'm making any sense."

"I think that your making perfect sense Harry." Lupin said quietly.

And then he moved forward, and did something that for Harry, forever secured him in his mind, as being a part of his small family. Remus took Harry's head in his hands, and pulled it forward slightly, and lightly kissed the top of Harry's forehead, close to his scar. He let go, and turned around, and with one look, got the others to leave.

He turned back to face Harry when they'd gone.

"Get some rest Harry, we'll talk in the morning."

"Thank you. Professor?"

"Yes Harry?"

"I know what you did for me. What you tried to do for me, as a baby, when you tried to get me then. I wanted to thank you."

Lupin looked momentarily shocked. But he recovered once the words 'thank you' reached his consciousness.

"Your welcome. And Harry?" he said as he walked towards the double doors that exited the hospital wing.

"Yes?"

"Call me Remus."

~o0o~

Harry was not surprised to be summoned to Dumbledore's office the next day. A letter came from Lupin telling him to meet them -himself, Dumbledore, and Snuffles- in the headmaster's office, straight after lunch. The password was 'Jelly Fluberworms'. And he was excused from the first half of Snape's class for this -much to the dour potions teachers consternation.

Harry couldn't hide a slight limp as he walked with Ron into the Great Hall, but much to his relief, he found that few people even gave him a second glance.

"Does anyone know about what happened last night?" he whispered quietly enough for only Ron and Hermione to hear.

"No I don't think so mate. Anybody who's asked, we've just told them that you sprained your ankle when you were running. Since most people know that your being made to do that now. I did tell Fred and George though, I hope you don't mind."

"That's alright Ron, I just didn't fancy listening to Malfoy, mouthing off. Imagine the field day he'd have, if he found out that I almost let myself get eaten by a Grindylow!"

They settled down to a very nice fry-up breakfast -though Harry wasn't really supposed to be eating that kind of food. Hermione commiserated -Lavender had all the girls in her dorm room on a kind of healthy living diet, to help them (Lavender) lose weight. Ron said, a shade quicker than Harry to the mark, that Hermione was already perfect as she was.

If the three friends had not been enjoying each others company so much, they might have noticed that most of the hall was making the odd whispers about them. But for once, it wasn't about the Staff of Gaia, or which one of the boys Hermione would eventually pick, if either -Justin Finch-Fletchley had £5 running on Hermione picking Draco. Which, as most people pointed out, was about as likely as her picking Nearly Headless Nick. For once the comments were happy whispers, pointing out that whatever spark that kept the dynamic between the three, recently no more than a flickering ember of what it once was, had returned in full-force.

Most agreed, that it was the sudden change in Harry that had prompted this happy change. And a few, but not many, surmised that more had happened last night, than Harry simply spraining his ankle.

When the morning had passed, and lunch had gone by, Harry waved a cheery goodbye to his two friends, and bade them good luck -as Snape was likely to take out his bad mood over Harry's absence, on the both of them- and went straight to the corridor that contained the gargoyle that blocked the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Jelly Fluberworms."

The gargoyle did not move.

Great, they gave me the wrong password

"Erm ... Droobles Best Blowing Gum? Fizzing Whizbee's? Sugar Quill? Cockroach Cluster? Oh no, he's already had that one, hasn't he? Err ..."

"Actually it's Sherbet Snitch." Said Lupin, moving up the corridor behind him. Snuffles trailed a little behind him.

The gargoyle moved.

"Sorry, I gave you the old password."

Dumbledore's office had changed little since Harry's last visit. It seemed larger somehow, as if it had been extended for an expected number, or a larger number of people being inside it, in the coming months.

There was another window -Harry was quite sure that it was a smaller version of the charm on the ceiling of the Great Hall- so the early afternoon's sunlight spilled into the room. But the atmosphere was a little heavier, one that seemed to permeate Harry's every pore. It was an important place now.

A tingling sensation in his solar plexus, caught Harry like the sight of an old friend from long ago. He was pretty sure that behind the perch that contained a very healthy-looking Fawkes, was a secret alcove containing the Staff. He also got the feeling, that if he thought he needed the Staff enough, it would come to him, protective wall and charms, or no.

Fawkes flew over from his perch almost the moment Harry entered the room, and settled on Harry's arm -once he'd stretched it out to accommodate the Phoenix.

"Hello Fawkes. How've you been?"

Fawkes gave Harry a look that almost seemed to say 'well, better than you.', before the phoenix clearly indulged itself like a kitten as Harry stroked it.

"Harry welcome. Please sit down. Would any of you care for a chocolate Frog, or a Fizzing Whizzbee? Please take a Cockroach Cluster while your at it."

Happily fed on chocolate, and sweets that could make you levitate for a few moments, Dumbledore had come straight out and asked Harry why he had gone to the lake alone, if he'd been so against the idea of swimming in the first place.

"Well, I suppose I was kind of angry at the time."

"Angry?"

"Yes, well ..." he turned to Lupin.

"I didn't mean to, but I heard you and Moody talking. And I got angry."

"Oh God Harry, you were never meant to hear those things!"

"No. No, it's alright Remus. Maybe it's better that I did hear them. I mean, now I know that you tried to adopt me, and I know that Mrs Figg is a witch."

"You know Harry, I really thought that you were a smart kid. How did you not figure that one out sooner is beyond me." Sirius said, smiling.

Harry smiled back, Sirius was right, now that he thought about it, it was pretty obvious.

"Thanks a lot! But what I'm really trying to say is, I was angry at first, you've kept a lot from me."

Lupin and Sirius looked momentarily downcast.

"No one told me about Voldemort disappearing. No one told me that I'm getting Auror training. No one would tell me anything about the trial. You all treated me like I was going to snap at any moment.

But you were right, I think. I was angry that you didn't think that I could take care of myself, even though you were clearly right. I was being stubborn, so I decided to ... to ..."

"To prove to us that you could?" Dumbledore finished. Harry only nodded.

"But I realise now, I know what was happening when the Grindylow kept trying to pull me under, I realised how much I didn't want to die. It was like I woke up, and I started to feel things again. But before, I was afraid. Afraid that to feel one thing about something or something, would mean I'd have to feel something about everything and everyone, and I wouldn't have time to be myself anymore. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah Harry, it does." Sirius said sadly.

"Harry do you think that you could do the headmaster, Remus and I, a favour?"

Harry nodded a little uncertainly.

"Don't' hide what your feeling from us, not again. We understand that there are certain things you will tell us about in your own time, and we respect that. But don't let these feelings get on top of you. Always try to talk to one of us. Anyone for that matter, and we'll try to be more open with you in the future."

"Thank you."

"So ... is there anything that you want to tell us about right now, how your feeling?"

"Well ... about the trial ..."

~o0o~

Harry never did make it to the end of potions, but he did learn a lot about the joint muggle-wizard legal system -more than enough to give him some hope for a just verdict. He also learnt that Uncle Vernon had only recently been restored to his human form. A pity, in Harry's opinion, he'd been a much more attractive Dung Beetle.

He also learnt that the trial would be held around two months later, at the end of March. And that the trial date, and its location was continuously changed to keep the media away from the event.

All in all though, these next few months passed by very happily. Harry had regained his strength, and was actually now the average weight for a boy of his age and height, though with the added bonus of some killer leg muscles -those Auror lessons were going quite well.

The Staff itself was still kept safely locked away, brought out only once every two weeks. And within those few hours each fortnight, it was found that Harry now had the strength of will to be around the Staff without setting it off.

Strangely, nothing was ever said to Harry of the mysterious person coming to help him in his studies, nor was anything made of what this person had sent Harry. For it still lay in it's purple velvet bag at the bottom of Harry's trunk, forgotten, for now.

But the time would come when Harry would ask himself how he could have forgotten something that would have turned out to have such importance.

But then, as Hermione would always remind him, he'd just had ... other things on his mind.

~o0o~

The End!!!!!!

Finally, I've finished! Now to all, if you've managed to stay with me, go get some sleep, and don't drink anymore caffiene!

I hope to have the next part up within a few months. “Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories”, will be chapter 3, and if anything gets in the way of my trying to finish it, I'll let you know.

Once again, if I get more than a few reviews that request smaller chapters at a more frequent rate, I will consider it, but at the moment, the preferrence seems to be for the fic, the way it is.

Okay, I'll stop rambling now. Review if you liked it, or want to throw in your ideas -though I've got a whole book full of `em. See you in a few months. I hope. Chocchip.

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~0~ Hey, it’s only me! I know, I’m a terrible author, and I really need to sort out this updating thing more often. This chapter might be in two or three parts; it depends on what the length is like when I finish writing it. But just to say, that there will be something happening at the end of year five, which will affect the characters deeply. As for this part, sorry if it’s a bit talky, but you’ll need this stuff to understand what happens later- same for previous chapters.

Will get to some of the good stuff in the second part. We’ll get the actual trial, Hermione and Harry exploring their link, and finding out that Hermione isn’t the only one with access to Harry’s mind- and it’s not only who you’re all thinking of!

Thanks again to Nappa for being such a good sport and letting put this trash on his site, lord knows we could all use a good laugh(though I’m not I’d read one of my stories for that.)

Anywho, I’d best be off too carry on writing, and tell the plot bunnies who’ve been trying to get me to write a ‘Harry from the future’ fic, to go away. By the way, has anybody else ever thought that Alexis Denisof (Wesley on Angel) would make a perfect grown-up Harry? Nope? Just me? Ah well, back to my sordid little fantasy world. >*_*< ~0~

Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories

"Wake up Harry."

Harry mumbled something incoherent, and rolled over.

"Harry, you have to get up now. It's time."

"Mo'key, gimmie few mimmets." He replied, hugging his pillow closer to him.

"If I leave now, will you go back to sleep?"

"Nuh ah."

"I don't believe you."

There was a sudden shock of cold air against his body, as Lupin thoughtlessly -in Harry's opinion- pulled back the covers on Harry's bed.

Harry, stubbornly, lay there, shivering.

"Stop being so bloody stubborn will you, and for god's sakes, put something warm on, it's the middle of March!" Came Lupin's exasperated response. Harry took a moment, shivering in his t-shirt, before he replied.

"I did have something on. It was nice and warm. And then it disappeared, as if by magic." He grinned slightly.

"And you woke me up in the middle of a really nice dream." Harry sighed; he really didn't get enough of them.

"What are you waking me up for at ..." He paused to look at his magical sundial-come occasionally reliable alarm clock.

"5am! What are you waking me up for at 5am?!"

"Harry." Lupin said softly.

"The trial starts today."

"Oh."

~o0o~

The old Courthouse was probably the largest building he'd ever seen, larger still than Gringotts, the wizarding bank. It was located a lot further down Diagon Alley than Harry had ever been, or had even realised had existed. Gone were the small shops and tiny cafes, to be replaced with what appeared to be mainly government office buildings. Each had a different plaque fixed to the outside, baring the name of the particular division of the Ministry of Magic, that the building was used for. Some of the more obscure divisions, had plaques that reached over two feet in length, that described what they did, such as

"The Department of International Monitoring of Forestry Regulation for the Purposes of Experimental Magical Broom Design." Or

"The Department of National Monitoring of Goods of Humorous Design, and their usage, within the purposes set down in the 'Joke shop' regulations of 1438."

And other far longer titles. The secret headquarters of the Ministry of Magic’s Spy division was also here. For a secret though, everyone knew where it was. Groups of tourists outside were having their photos taken next to the buildings plaque.

Perhaps it was the overall simplicity of the title, in comparison to the others, which gave it away.

"Ministry International Five."

Or more simply put

"M.I.5."

Harry didn't get much time to muse on the parallels of muggle and wizard society. Two burly-looking wizards in plain black cloaks, baring a symbol of a Griffin with a wand crossed over it, as a small badge on the left side of their chests. The security wizards for the Courthouse came rushing up to where Harry and Remus had been standing, and quickly began to pull them in the direction of the Courthouse.

Lupin had appeared to be almost as fascinated at the buildings around them as Harry was. He had confessed to Harry that morning, that it had been some years since he was last in the capital of the wizard community. In fact, he hadn't been anywhere near it since Voldemorts downfall. He had been worried that it may have changed so much, he might not recognise where he was going. Or maybe that peoples attitude towards him, would not have changed, some people more than others. Though he would not say whom.

Pulled inside the huge building, which reminded Harry of a picture of a muggle building he's once seen, called 'The Whitehouse', only this one was made from something that appeared to be very red sandstone. Harry was entirely surprised to find that appeared to be even larger inside than out.

Everything was made from different coloured marble, which seemed to shimmer as the light hit it. The dark seaweed green of the floor, lead to two grand staircases, that led upwards with a gentle curve. But how high up, Harry could not see. It made him feel somewhat queasy in fact, not to be able to see the ceiling above him. The walls were made of a similar marble, but were set in alternating blocks of grey and white, in a chequered pattern, which only served to make him feel even queasier.

There were huge velvet drapes, in a rich blue, held apart from equally large windows, allowing the daylight in. The curtains themselves seemed to fade into the never-ending ceiling. It was like a reversed bottomless pit, he had a sense that trying to guess distance of the roof of the building, would be like trying to touch the sky.

There were doors lining the walls on either side of him. They came in all shaped and sizes, and appeared to be made of many different types of materials. From plain wooden ones-though of different woods- to ones made of metals, and some that looked like fabric of some kind. They ran on for as far as the eye could see, for this central room, appeared to be as deep, as it were tall. Periodically people, and many other creatures that Harry couldn't even identify, would burst through or into one of the doors. There were more people, and other things, milling around in what Harry could only describe as a lobby.

Some doors were of an ordinary human sized height, whilst others were many times larger, big enough for Hagrid to fit through without stooping. Whilst some were small and round, and only two feet in height. One door in particular caught Harry's attention. Probably because it was easily the largest one he could see. It was made of a shimmering silver metal, upon which many things were carved. Some appeared to be a language, but certainly none that Harry knew. There was a massive brass doorknob, set halfway up, which was about the size of Harry's head. And the height, at which it was set, was at least three times higher than Harry could reach, even standing on tiptoes. There was a smaller door to one side, made of the same material, clearly there for human use. The only thing that Harry could think of that might have use for the rather large door, was a dragon, and he didn't particularly feel like meeting one of them right now.

The witches and wizards around him, were quite a mixed bunch. Some were clad simply in plain grey, brown or black robes, in a style that was reminiscent of a muggle business suit. These people generally had very stern looks upon their faces. The men were either old and balding, or young, not particularly attractive, and greasy-haired. The women all looked like younger versions of McGonagall. No matter how old they were.

Other witches and wizards were wearing their best dress robes. Unfortunately for one embarrassed looking witch, her best robes were a dazzling pink, that would not have looked out-of-place on a ballroom dancer. There were small, ugly little creatures, in huddles, occasionally disappearing through the small round doors, Goblins. And these ones looked even meaner than the ones at Gringotts. Though, for all Harry knew, they could have been the ones that worked at Gringotts.

But what amazed Harry most of all, was the muggles. Perfectly ordinary-looking muggles all in smart suits, some he could guess were almost certainly lawyers. There was a particularly sharply dressed young man, lightly tanned, with sandy-blond hair, slicked back in a fashionable muggle style, with a very smug look upon his face as he talked to another bunch of muggles. He reminded Harry of a grown-up Draco. Harry didn't like him.

The security wizards pushed them towards a large central oval reception desk. Situated at the foot of the two staircases. Within it was stationed four other security wizards, and to each wizard on the opposite side of the desk, were large queues of people, goblins, house-elves, and several other creatures that Harry had never seen before.

But Harry and Lupin were pushed firmly to the front of the queues, and placed before a very butch, very arrogant security wizard. Harry didn't need to look at him twice to see that this was someone who didn't hesitate to enforce what little power they had been afforded. And probably enjoyed themselves far too much when they were doing it. The small nameplate in front of him read.

"Thomas Mistspellt - Head Security Advisor."

"Name please." He said, though the look on his face told Harry that he clearly knew who he and Lupin were. He also shot a particularly smug look at Remus, who for his part didn't bat an eyelid.

"Remus Lupin accompanying Harry Potter to court one, trial number three hundred, fifty-two." Lupin said in a fairly hushed tone, to prevent anyone overhearing.

It didn't take Harry much longer to figure out that Remus and the butch security wizard knew each other from somewhere, and it was even more apparent that they loathed the sight of each other. What made this promptly clearer, was the vindictive way in which Thomas did not lower his voice to answer. In fact, he raised it.

"Harry Potter for trial three hundre' fify-too? Well yer on me list. Go up ter stairs to t' central court."

By this time, the noise in the entire hall had lowered to the barest of whisperings.

"Harry Potter, did he say?"

"Wasn't that in the Prophet?"

"Was this about him attacking his Uncle?"

Were just a few of the things he could hear. Mistspellt continued.

"Please leave your wands, potions, and any other magical objects you might be carrying, such as port keys, at the desk. Were you can collect them later."

Harry was fuming, but had no desire to get into trouble for cursing the man, and so handed his wand over. Remus, on the other hand, looked about ready to use an unforgivable curse on Mistspellt. No longer attempting to remain quiet about Harry's entrance to the wizards' high court, since that was now ruined anyway, Remus also raised his own voice.

"I am here as a guardian to Harry, to protect him; I require the use of a wand. Since I highly doubt that it is within your capabilities to do so, Misty old friend."

The grin on Mistspellt's face had disappeared. Briefly he blushed in embarrassment, before his features darkened to one of utter contempt.

"It's the rules Remus I am sure that even people such as yourself, understand that, unless you think you and your kind above the rules? Now hand it over!"

The security wizards behind them moved forward a step, backing up the idea of what would happen to them, if they did not comply with Mistspellt.

Lupin hovered for a moment. Before he took out his wand, and levelled it at Mistspellt's chest. The wizards' eyes widened. Remus smiled briefly at the look of fear that had passed over the other man's face. And then he turned the wand in his hand, to point back at himself. Mistspellt leant over, and grabbed it quickly.

"Don't worry Remus. I am sure that we can protect poor young Harry from You-Know-who, should he rise from his grave." There were giggles from a few of the people nearby. Apparently those who did not know that he truly had risen from his grave again.

Perhaps Mistspellt's comment would have been more reassuring, if he hadn't chosen that moment to whisper 'Werewolf', under his breath, as Harry and Remus walked away.

Remus visibly stiffened. Harry was outraged. And was on the verge of calling the Staff of Gaia to himself, to show Mistspellt what he thought of him, when Lupin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. And then steered him towards the right-hand marble staircase.

"Come along Harry, we don't want to be late."

"No we wouldn't want that now would we?" Harry could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice when he answered.

About halfway up the never-ending stairs, the two security wizards behind them stopped, turned, and headed back. And then Harry saw for the first time, a shimmering, transparent wall of yellow light. Lupin nodded for him to continue. He felt a warmth as he passed through it, and then heard a strange 'ping' noise. As Lupin passed through it, the noise sounded again.

"Don't worry Harry. Just a security field. Anyone who hasn't checked in at the desk, for this court number, won't be allowed in."

That was something of a relief. Undoubtedly, a witch or wizard from downstairs will be on their way to inform the Daily Prophet of Harry's arrival. And reporters would be arriving before the day ended. They had hoped to get at least the first week of the trial out of the way, before that happened. But Mistspellt had just ruined any chance of that, behaving very irresponsibly. As Remus told him.

"I'm sorry Harry, grudge against me or no, Misty shouldn't have behaved like that, he should, and I will bloody well see to it that he's fired for this!"

"Misty? Remus what happened?"

"Err ... it was a long time ago, and Misty, I mean Mr Mistspellt ... never really got past it."

It was made pretty clear to Harry at that moment, that Lupin considered that the end of the conversation. He filed the subject away in his mind, in order to bug Remus about it later.

It occurred to him that they had, by this point, been walking for quite sometime. That the marble staircase they were on, seemed to have a continuous, but gentle curve to the left. It was then that he realised that both of the marble staircases probably lead to the same place, the main courtroom. Harry wasn't sure as to whether be comforted by the fact that he was in the main court, where only the most important cases were tried, or not.

His assumption was confirmed a moment later, as they reached the top step. Both staircases opened onto what appeared to be a large waiting area. The floor had changed to a blood red colour. There were a number of functional, but expensive looking tan leather chairs, made for one or two people, scattered mainly along the walls. The walls were no longer chequer-board marble, but warmly coloured oak panelling. Flecks of gold appeared to be imbedded in the wood, making it glistening, as both firelight and sunlight touched it.

Though there was daylight reaching the waiting area from the huge windows, which had started on the ground floor, there were a number of torches, which added firelight, adorning the walls. Two larger, more ornate torches surrounded the two large oak doors, which were covered in an intricate silvery pattern. Though it was a noticeable difference, the two doors reminded Harry of the doors to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The similarity was comforting to him.

There was a handful of people sat down, talking in hushed voices, in small groups. Some were wizards, some muggles. Harry hoped that Professor Dumbledore would not take much longer to arrive, or his lawyer for that matter.

His lawyer, was a kind man by the name of Mundungus Fletcher. Considered one of the best in his day. He had quite a brilliant legal mind, though he had not practised for about ten years. He had told Harry the day he met him, that a lawyer was some one who should have no emotional attachment to their client, but have some faith in them. That this was the best way to help them win. But this time, this case, he would be making an exception. He already had an emotional attachment, since he had once been Lily's mentor. And having listened to Dumbledore talk about Harry on numerous occasions, he had complete faith in him.

The old Scotsman, was fun to be around, like a grandfather in the group, so old he even called Dumbledore 'young man'. He had known James Potter when he was alive, and had worked with him on occasion. He had been training Lily to be a defence attorney; she had shown great promise apparently. And he was an old friend, of both Dumbledore and McGonagall, who referred to as his 'wee young lady'. Remus and Sirius had a grudging respect for him- though they called him 'the old coot' behind his back. And Moody barely looked him in the eye -Harry didn't dare to ask what that was about. And as for Harry himself. He thought that the old man was brilliant. When he wasn't putting the remaining Marauders in their place, or Snape, he was flirting with McGonagall, buying rounds of Butterbeers in Hogsmede, listening to muggle 'rock' music, or almost crashing another of the school broomsticks, as he attempted to learn Quidditch. To prove it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.

Dumbledore had once referred to him as one of the 'old crowd', and from what Harry could gather, it was a very mixed bunch. Thinking of them, reminded Harry of Mrs Figg. Or Ms. Figg, as was more appropriate, considering that she wasn't married, and only about forty years old. He smiled slightly, remembering his shock at finding out just how old she was behind the polyjuice potion. He said that she had acted 'old' very well. Remus asked him what made him think she'd been acting.

He wondered what he'd ask her, if he ever saw her again. 'Do you actually like cats?' seemed to be a good one.

A few of the people in the waiting area ceased their conversations when they noticed the two wizards. Fortunately, Harry's fringe was covering his scar at that moment, and those that didn't recognise him from his picture in the Daily Prophet, didn't see his scar- his most easily identifiable feature. Most returned to their conversations, either oblivious to Harry, or now talking about him, and occasionally looking at him.

Harry was about to ask Remus about how long they might be waiting here, before the trial started. Then the sound of laboured breathing caught his attention. It was heavy, thick and exhausted, but it made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. He knew that sound, but the one that followed, a gruff, deep voice, he would know anywhere. And it was coming from behind him, from the staircase; he'd made his way up, just a few short minutes ago.

"What is it with these 'people'? Have they never heard of a lift (elevator for U.S readers) before? ... These bloody people, you'd think that they'd use this abnormality of theirs to their advantage, and put a lift in, but no. Bloody stairs everywhere in this freak town!"

Then a younger, more well educated sounding voice cut in.

"Now Mr Dursley, I'm sure that we can enquire about this matter. Perhaps an appeal under the human rights act?" The voice cut off as a light chuckle followed.

"Honestly Mr Dursley, I doubt that you will have to do this very often. This is just a show trial, a mockery of the court. Having a 'normal' jury, will already work to our advantage. I doubt it will be long before you can return home, with a full pardon. I shall be angling for a public apology too."

"I should say so, after all those months I spent crawling around in the dirt as a bug; I should think that that is the least they can do. I should ..."

But Vernon never finished his sentence, for at that moment he'd reached the last step of the marble staircase.

Harry's muscles had automatically tensed up as he'd heard the laboured sound of his Uncles lungs being made to work hard. He'd heard it before, many times. He knew who it was before they had even said a word.

That breath, hot on the back of his neck, was still fresh in his memory. Hot, and labouring, as it struggled to get out as many fowl-worded insults, mostly about Harry's mother and father, as possible. Whilst Harry was held down, forced to listen and then ... more things he didn't want to think about. A shiver of the past ran through him, as he turned to face the demon of that hellish place in his life. He felt Remus standing, shifting, tall and proud behind him. The shiver past.

There on the landing, was a red-faced and panting Vernon. A slight irony hit Harry.

He can hit me for three times longer than it takes to get up those stairs, and barely even breaks a sweat. He only breaks for tea and biscuits, but he can't manage a few flights of stairs?

His Uncle visibly grimaced. But it looked more like he'd just received a slightly higher-than-normal telephone bill, than had been confronted with the main witness in an attempted murder trial. For that was what it was. Dumbledore had said they would not be sparing and would make sure they would press for the highest punishment for such a crime. No 'out' in 8-10 years, no parole, and defiantly no early release for good behaviour.

His Uncle looked different somehow. As though he'd aged twenty years since he'd last seen him. He'd actually lost weight. Perhaps a dung-beetle diet had done him good. His neck was visible for the first time since Harry had known him, most of his hair was grey, and there were deep shadows under his eyes suggesting many nights of sleeplessness. All in all, he was a rather pathetic sight. Not at all like the giant, power-welding man Harry remembered in his dreams. But there was still enough of that power about him, enough to make sure that Harry felt alert, and ready to move at the slightest provocation. His auror training had been sharpening his reflexes, and he definitely would not allow his Uncle to lay a hand on him again.

There was somewhat of a smug look on his Uncles face. And that did not sit well with him. Vernon seemed to be unjustly self-assured. Though when Harry saw Vernon's lawyer standing beside him, the same young, faux-tanned, blond haired individual Harry had seen downstairs earlier, he could understand why. The lawyer looked at him in such a way that made Harry feel like he was the one on trial, guilty, and like a very small child all at the same time. Vernon's lawyer was confident. And that was definitely unsettling.

"Come on Harry." Remus said softly, as he placed one comforting hand on his left shoulder, and gently pulled him away to the other side of the waiting room.

Once they had reached the point furthest away from relative, they took the nearest seat, and Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and tried to slow the beating of his heart. And Remus looked at him questioningly. He nodded that he was all right, though the shock had probably shown on his face. They hadn't thought that he'd be meeting his Uncle, anywhere other than the courtroom, and then with quite some distance between the two. The security at this place was even more lax than they had previously thought. Maybe Harry would bring the Staff with him next time, he'd like to see Mistspellt try and take that away from him.

A few moments after they had sat down, Harry saw a familiar mop of blond hair appear above the top step, it paused for a moment, and great gasping of air could be heard. A moment later his now tank-sized cousin appeared. Attempting to breath whilst eating a king-sized mars bar. Three more poked out of his jacket pocket, along with a grubby hanker chief, a set of keys that was obvious by the way the pocket bulged, as it clung tightly to Dudley's' massive stomach. Harry couldn't quite believe that Dudley had managed to get the buttons closed on his industrial sized suit jacket.

"He must have three stomachs. That can't be healthy." Remus whispered beside him. Harry was left to watch his cousin, now wondering just how healthy a boy that big could be, now that he could no longer be dismissed as 'just big-boned'. Dudley ambled towards a chair, having not yet noticed Harry, which was occupied by a pretty young witch, perhaps a few years older than Harry. Dudley just looked her up and down, his eyes lingering in places that they ought not to be. Before a loud fake cough from his father clearly alerted Dudley his mistake. He was ogling a witch after all.

Great, the fat-lump's discovered the opposite sex. God I pity them.

Dudley had averted his gaze from the witch, though his eyes occasionally strayed, that was until he saw Harry.

A look of pure hatred instantly swept across his face. That was something of a shock. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a genuine emotion on that boy's face. But the one he saw there now, could rival Draco's' own brand of Slytherin-style glares. Dudley hovered for a moment, apparently stewing in his hatred for his cousin, thinking of a million and one things to say. It gave Dudley some energy, and he no longer went to collapse into the nearest chair, but moved towards Harry.

Vernon and his lawyer didn't make an attempt to stop him, but by now they were deep in conversation, and didn't notice a small moon casting them into a shadowed eclipse, as it moved across the waiting room.

Dudley moved with more purpose than he ever had when enjoying a 'hunting Harry' game with his gang. When he was about halfway across the room, Remus rose to intercept. But Harry grabbed his arm.

"No, it's all right. Let him come. He has something to say, and he needs to say it."

Remus nodded, a flash of pride was reflected in his eyes. And he moved to stand behind Harry, in a protective gesture. One he seemed to make a lot of recently.

Though Harry knew how greatly Sirius cared for him. It was Remus who was most able to express that emotion for him. Not that Harry blamed his Godfather in the least. Sirius spent more than half his time pretending to be Hogwarts' newest school pet. And the time that Harry could spend with him, he was more often than not having curses thrown at him by his Godfather, in his 'extra' classes. Remus though, had quickly become the most popular teacher at Hogwarts, amongst Gryffindors especially. Every Thursday night, Remus would come up to their common room, a few house elves trailing happily behind him, with plates of cream cakes. And then he'd stay until eleven 'o' clock, regaling them with a another story about the Marauders, their schemes and their pranks, and when these more often than not went wrong, of what a young Filch would make them do during detention. But what most people looked forward to, especially the girls, were hearing more tales of how James Potter famously romanced Lily Evans from their fifth year onwards, or at least, attempted to.

Though at times Harry felt a little embarrassed by this, he was nice for him to hear about his parent's lives. He felt he had a better measure of the people they were, a lot of questions were being answered for him. And Remus would not hear a bad word spoken about Sirius. In fact someone who had made an ill-timed comment, found themselves sent out of the room, and told not to come back. Remus had said that they shouldn't judge a person, by what anyone other than those who knew them closely said. That was more than enough indication for some of the Gryffindors to cotton on that all was not right with Sirius being put in Azkaban, and that he might be innocent. Remus even spoke of Peter Pettigrew with a fond affection for the last wheel of their group.

"Do you know what you've done to my parents, freak?"

Harry sighed. He'd been waiting for a confrontation like this for quite some time. And had come to the conclusion that it would be pointless to try and argue against whatever Dudley might have to say. And taking one look at his cousin, he judged that it would probably be unhealthy for Dudley not to get things off his chest. A chest that appeared to be heavily burdened. For a moment Harry felt concern, just how healthy could his cousin be? And though he wasn't particularly fond of his cousin, he felt no need to see him have a coronary.

So he stood there, silently, and took it. His cousin trembled with barley contained rage, and for the first time in his life, he appeared to be genuinely sad. Dudley said many despicable things, but with intelligence Harry had never thought he possessed, Dudley was careful not to implicate his father.

Harry had deserved everything that he'd gotten, or so Dudley told him (not mentioning Vernon as a part of it). And he deserved even more. That thanks to Harry, they'd been forced to spend time in the wizarding world. And had found out more than a few choice facts about Harry. They now knew that Harry was the cause of Cedric Diggory's death, that he was famous. And that the reason behind that fame was that his name was intrinsically linked to the deaths of two individuals. Dudley even made it clear that those weren't the only names he felt Harry's should be linked with. Harry's parents were thrown into the mix. At that, Remus started, quite ready to pound Dudley's face into a bloody mess, but Harry put a hand up, holding Remus back and silencing him. But Dudley wasn't finished; he played his last card.

"Mum left us. Because. Of. You. She ran off. My mother ... she left, she left us both ... she won't even talk to us ..."

The silence stretched between them. And at that moment, Harry didn't know what to feel. Had he torn apart yet another family? Had he been the cause of Dudley losing his darling mummy? Or had he opened her eyes to the truth? Set her free in some way? Free from an ungrateful son, a violent husband? Right then, Harry could only think of something Ron had started to say recently. 'It's all a bloody mess, but at least there's still doughnuts in the fridge'.

Dudley's heavy breathing slowed, his face becoming less beetroot in colour, his shoulders relaxing as if a great weight had been lifted. And it was then that Harry realised, that all the other things Dudley had said, meant nothing to his cousin. All that mattered, all that mattered to Dudley, was that only thing he'd probably had ever loved, had gone. And feeling some measure of loyalty to his father, meant that it was Harry he blamed. Blamed because he needed somebody, anybody, to take it.

There was a brief flicker of regret on Dudley's face, one that showed Harry far more than his cousin had intended. Harry wouldn't be angry with him anymore, he understood. And if when Vernon was sentenced, Dudley wanted to reach out and try to be family. That would be okay. So he took the first step. Putting a hand to Dudley's shoulder, in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner, he said slowly and clearly.

"I'm sorry that she left Dudley. But you know why she did, and I won't apologise for that." Harry's eye's flickered to Vernon, who'd stopped talking to his lawyer, and now appeared a little concerned at whatever Harry might be saying to his precious Dudders. Dudley craned his head to follow Harry's gaze, and turned back, but at no point had he attempted to remove Harry's hand.

"Dudley, she didn't leave you, she left him. You know that, and you know that you don't have to stay either. If you ever want a friend, a real one, let me know."

Dudley blinked, but turned and walked away.

As he rejoined his father, a mask of smugness covered his face, and Vernon appeared satisfied.

"I'm proud of you Harry. That took a lot of guts."

"Thanks."

The arrival of six security wizards coming up the marble staircase, soon diverted their attention. Between their ranks of two columns, of three wizards, were two other wizards in plush velvet robes. One wore deep blue robes, and possessed dark blond hair. The other wore blood red, with black hair. And just behind them, was a wizard with vibrant green robes. He had black hair, which was slicked back, greying at the temples. A small, but precisely trimmed three-point goatee nestled on his chin and upper lip. Two gold rings, set with diamonds and rubies, adorned his left hand. And a dark brown leather band was wrapped around his right wrist. These straps were also present on the right wrists of the two wizards in front of him.

The closer that they came, the more details Harry could see on the bands. It was plain, except for a golden coloured blob in the centre. No, it was a shape, an image, closer still. And then it became clear. It was a phoenix.

Harry looked at the three men with a renewed respect. These men were members of the Order of the Phoenix, a small but important group within the Auror force. For the most part they were not known to the public. Though they did not shy away from allowing people to know who they were. Only the most powerful wizards need apply to this group, or the most intelligent. It was unsurprising that a Judge over-seeing this particular trial, would be a member, but it could lead to some questions as to how unbiased the Judge might be. If Harry had any questions himself, they were answered a few moments later.

The man in green, the Judge, stopped just before Harry, halting the procession with a wave of his hand. His gaze shifted quickly to Remus, who bowed his head briefly in a respectful nod.

“It has been a long time Remus.” When the Judge had spoken, Harry recognised in it the same subtly of power, in a voice that never needed to be raised. He’d only heard that in a few people, Dumbledore and Snape amongst them.

“Indeed it has, Grand Judge Ravencast.”

Ravencast? Ravencast, where have I heard that name before? Markus Ravencast?

“Too long Remus. Tell me, will you ever attempt the Task of the Flame again?”

Remus looked momentarily like a shy schoolboy.

“I err… I don’t think that it is meant for me. … I heard about Markus, your honour. I’m sorry for your loss.”

A flicker of sadness crossed the Judges face, and the power of his baring momentarily slipped, as his shoulders slumped. It was a simple gesture, but one that should a father in pain at the loss of a child.

“Thank you Remus. So, this is young Mr. Potter then.” He said turning to Harry. Who suddenly felt very much like he was being inspected for flaws. But he nodded politely.

“I have heard much about you Mr.Potter, much indeed. But I warn you, I will not be swayed in my judgement of your Uncle, based on anything I have heard about you, good or bad. Your fame and standing in both wizard and muggle communities will have no meaning here. This court shall be in the up most fair. But I hand out only the maximum penalty’s in this court, and only if I’m sufficiently satisfied by the evidence in hand.” He leaned in a little closer.

“All who are guilty will eventually pay, in this life, or the next.”

And without another word, Grand Judge Ravencast swept away in a sea of security wizards and fellow members of the order of the phoenix.

As he approached the oak doorway to the courtroom, the silvery patterning on them began to change to a dusky gold, before the doors made an odd creaking noise.

Judge Ravencast stood before them, and the silvery, now gold pattern began to resemble something more like a language. The doors creaked once again, and then swung open.

~o0o~

The court itself was a great surprise. It was completely normal. At least from a muggle point of view. It was basic, little decoration, beyond a picture of Merlin, the founding wizard at the back of the courtroom. Dark oak panelling appeared to be the theme, and large windows to the left side allowed for floods of natural light. Making the room warm, but none the less stuffy.

It appeared to be an old-fashioned muggle courtroom. The Judge and other Phoenix members presided over the proceedings form three chairs raised about a foot above the court, behind a panelled off section at the back of the courtroom. In front of that was the dock, in which the accused would stand, or sit, as was probably necessary in Vernon’s case. The dock at least appeared secure, it was boxed in up to waist height, with iron bars running from the rest of the length to the ceiling.

The raised platform to the left held twelve chairs, for the jury members. Small note pads and pencils were placed upon each chair. Two desks were located further down from the back, facing each other, two chairs at each. The one on the left for the Defence, and the right, for the Prosecution. One small, but sturdy-looking chair was placed between them.

Behind all of this was what appeared to be the public gallery. Made of rows of joined seating with an aisle in the middle, which Harry currently walked up. There was a small gate placed between thin railings, which separated the gallery from the main court. Judge Ravencast tapped it, and it sprung open.

So not so entirely normal after all.

Harry followed them through, Remus behind him, and came to a stand at the prosecution desk. After them most of the Jury took their seats. Uncle Vernon was escorted past Harry amongst four security wizards, and locked inside the dock, with a grimace on his face.

There was one feature in the room however, that did not appear normal. Now that he was closer to it, Harry could see that beneath the witness chair, between the defence and prosecution desks, was a circular line. It was faint, but shimmering gold, with a dusky red tint. It was about four feet in diameter, and a pentagram was drawn in the same colour within it. It was quite strange, because although it was a symbol most commonly connected with witches, by muggles at Halloween. Harry had never actually come across it in all of his time at Hogwarts.

It was surprising actually, how well both muggle and wizarding influences worked together. It was a shame that the authorities of the muggle council seemed to think so little of muggles. And though Harry’ s experience of them for the most part was not at their best, he felt that they had some qualities many wizards lacked. Like ingenuity and practicality. They had found a way to survive in the world without relying on magic to do it for them.

A steady flow of people began entering into the courtroom. From the last of the Jury, to Vernon’s lawyer. Some people he didn’t recognise entering with Minister Fudge, other minister’s, presumably. A few muggles in suits taking seats on the Defence side of the gallery. Then two people he did recognise, and immediately smiled at their presence, Mr and Mrs Weasley. Their purpose here was for both silent support of Harry, and to eventually give testimony for the portions of those … events, that for obvious reasons, Harry had no memory of. Mrs Weasley smiled nervously at him, raising her other hand to show she was holding a bag- no doubt containing many homemade goodies. A moment later Bill Weasley, dressed in his usual Gringotts attire-a mostly black, fashionably ankle-length robe, black trousers and shoes, and a muggle rucksack, with ‘Gringott’s’ written across it in large white letters, completed the ensemble. He made a silly little Staff-holding gesture, as he grinned at Harry. Mrs Weasley noticed, and immediately hit him on the arm with her bag- spilling several mini pumpkin pies in the process.

The Jury had all taken their seats and had begun talking amongst themselves. All of them respectable-looking muggles. Housewives, Doctors and Dentists Harry would bet by the looks of them. Some of them were looking over at him and his Uncle with a mild interest. One of them made a funny face at him, as though he smelt real bad, and looked away. One of the problems of the joint court system, was that if a wizard was the Judge, then the entire Jury, by law, had to be all muggles. This, as Harry could tell, might pose a problem for him. Tensions between muggles and wizards in matters of law were notoriously high. For those few muggles who were allowed to keep their knowledge of Wizards and magic, and not have a memory charm cast on them, were usually parents of muggle-born witches and wizards. But the few who weren’t, and were allowed to keep their knowledge anyway, were usually very bitter towards the magical community. Reasons for this were best known to the people involved. But in the laws sense of fairness, it was considered only right that an equal number of people on an all muggle jury, must be known to either like or hate wizards. Thus, Harry’s testimony was likely to have to convince a group of six people who already had a prejudice towards him, simply because he was magically inclined. He wondered how he was supposed to convince them. Show them his scars?

Hagrid and Dumbledore entered, Hagrid raising one if his giant hands in a wave but looking nervously about him. Harry wondered what could make him nervous in a place like this, given that he was at least a couple of heads taller than anyone else in the room. Sirius for obvious reasons could not come. Escaped prisoners might be welcomed ‘warmly’ back in a court of law, but as of the moment, unable to prove the existence of Wormtail as they were, it was something they’d rather not risk. And ‘pets’ weren’t allowed, no matter how well behaved they were, except perhaps guide dogs.

Mundungus Fletcher ambled in not five minutes later, slightly hunched over on his right side at the weight of his brief case, his tatty, best court robes were pooling on the floor as he walked. He refused point blank to believe that he was shrinking with age. The man himself appeared characteristically untidy, a beard growth so long that it almost qualified as muttonchops. Fletcher would say that all his appearance needed was the love of a good woman, and he’d be both clean- shaven and well fed in no time. Fletcher stopped to talk to Dumbledore for a moment, making a great show of being disappointed that his ‘darling Minevera’ was not around. Dumbledore had a slightly bemused expression on his face, as he lightly explained that the Professor needed to stay behind in charge of the school while he was away. But, and if Harry wasn’t imagining things here (as he sometimes did), Dumbledore actually appeared somewhat jealous of the old mans attention. Harry took his glasses off and gave them a good clean with his robes, and put them back on again. Nope, it was still there; he couldn’t blame the expression on Dumbledore’s face with a smudge mark on his glasses.

Fletcher finished what had become a one-sided (his side) conversation with Dumbledore, and passed through the gate to arrive at Harry’s side, dismissing Lupin with a flick of his hand. Lupin paused, apparently considering making an obscene gesture behind the old man’s back, before Dumbledore called his name and he walked away.

Fletcher gave Harry a lop-sided smile, showing a row of slightly misshapen teeth, stained by many years of black coffee, and hand-rolled Cuban cigars. Then he patted Harry on the back several times, hard. Harry’s hand flew to his face to prevent his newly cleaned glasses flying off. Stronger than he appeared, was the only thing Harry thought at the time, though in time he would find out just how correct this intuition-which itself was getting stronger- really was.

Fletcher pushed Harry down into his seat so he could now only see Dumbledore, Remus and the others by turning to his right. The old man then began drawing papers form his briefcase in a rather haphazard manner, flinging them onto the table in a somewhat organised mess. Harry looked directly across from himself, and saw Vernon’s lawyer, the Draco-like man, doing the same thing, only without the mess.

A final two people entered, before the doors were closed, and the security wizards posted at the exit.

The last two people though, were somewhat of a surprise, he didn’t know who one of them was, but the other he definitely had not been expecting. The one that he didn’t know, was an attractive older witch, perhaps in her early forties, with long blond hair pulled into a sleek but simple knot at the back of her neck, of which a strand of small pearls adorned. Her robes were clean and a pale blue. They matched her steel blue/grey eyes very well. Those eyes could have been seen as cold, but to Harry they held a lot of warmth. The woman held the hand of the other, tightly with both of her own, and whispered words of comfort and reassurance, though Harry could not hear them. The other person was Aunt Petunia.

Her eyes met Harry’s briefly, and he searched them for any clue as to what she was feeling. Try as he might to find some semblance of a maternal instinct in them for him, he could not discern anything, his intuition failed him this time, and all he was left with was the hope of a real blood relative feeling a bond with him. She turned away. Led to a seat by the witch. To a seat on Vernon’s side. Harry’s hope faded. But only for a moment, when he saw that his Aunt refused to meet the shocked gaze of her husband, Vernon’s mouth currently open wide enough, Harry was sure he could rent it out as a plane hanger.

A slamming noise jolted him, and the rest of the courtroom, as Grand Judge Ravencast hit his gavel to call order.

The trial had begun.

And then Harry was hit with a sudden longing to just be back at Hogwarts, talking to his friends, playing Quidditch, or even God forbid, being in a potions lesson. Just being normal, as normal being ‘the’ Harry Potter ever got anyway. Right now, being hit with a Fungal growth curse seemed like more fun. Harry’s head started to hurt.

Grand Judge Ravencast began to speak.

“Today, the twelfth of March, the year two-thousand-two, we call upon the wisdom of our ancestors and our first reasons to guide us, to settle the differences, and bring the true magic of peace to our lands. Blessed Be.”

“Blessed be” the court chimed in union.

Which was the traditional opening for all trials, the only thing that had changed about it, in the three hundred or so years it had been in use was the date. The Judge continued.

“Today we are gathered, ladies and Gentlemen, for the preliminary stage in this trial. We will hear the opening arguments from the opposing sides, and hear the first plea.”

Harry rubbed his brow, his headache was definitely getting worse, his eyes began to water, and he lost track of what the Judge was saying. He felt Fletcher shifting to stand beside him, and the vibrations he could feel through the floor and his chair told him that the old man had begun speaking.

White-hot pain ripped across his brow, and he put the heel of his hand to his head in effort to push it back, closing his eyes as he did so. The pain started to become more focused, more intense towards a single point on his forehead. He tried to focus his mind back on what was being said, only to realise many minutes must have passed.

“Mr Dursley, you stand accused of serious abuse of a minor, and that you knowingly committed an act of grievous bodily harm, with the intention of murder. How do you plead?”

The pain hurt so much Harry felt that his head might explode from the burning hot knife like pain, twisting itself like a skewer in his mind. He let out a small gasp, as his scar felt like it was being ripped open, and the last words he heard were,

“Not Guilty.”

Before the floor rushed up to greet him, with a jarring pain on his left shoulder, a scolding liquid traced a path, dripping in one line down his face, and a deeply unpleasant blackness took him.

~o0o~

Flashes of a single image of terrifying intensity were the only break in the pervading blackness in which Harry’s mind was lost. An image that at first viewing was so blurry, he was not certain he had seen it. An image, that came with an increasing regularity, one that was cleared and refined on each ‘viewing’. But still they were separated by vast periods in a suffocating darkness. Harry could see nothing beyond it, barely even aware of his own mind. Only aware of the all-consuming darkness and fear, one that burned and bled on his body in the real world.

It was not like the other scar-related dreams, maybe visions was a better word. It was not like the other visions he had had before. They had always been something that was happening right then, and it was always like watching a movie. In which Voldemort was the central character. It was Voldemort’s mind, to which Harry was inexplicably joined, but this time, this time it was different. Harry didn’t feel like he was watching some horrifying events from the sidelines, he felt as though he was there, looking through the eyes of someone, maybe even himself.

But the first and foremost clue to this being an unusual vision was that he was neither asleep, nor dozing. He had not been on the verge of unconsciousness, when it had happened, this was more like an attack. An attack on his mind, when he should have felt no fear of such an occurrence.

Harry felt the image straying close to his mind, and though it in itself was frightening for all of the things it seemed to reveal, he clung to it, whenever it was close by. The need for colour, sound, smell, and any other sense that he had none of in the darkness, over-rode the instinct to turn away from it.

The image, the feelings it brought, and growing awareness of what it meant, were cleared yet again. He was unsure how often he had seen it now. A man, old with snowy white hair, was always the first thing he saw. The mans face was too blurred to identify who it was, almost as though Harry was not wearing his glasses. But it was clear enough to make out some things. The man’s face was lit up with a small amount of amber-tinged light, like that of a street lamp, it revealed that his skin was cracking, and that his hair was receding. He was being dragged along a cobbled street, by men in dark cloaks. Three of them, and Harry was looking through the eyes of one of these men. When he should only have been an observer in this nightmare, now he was a part of it. He could feel his own hands on the man, though they were older and more worn somehow. They dug into material, squeezing and pushing maliciously at the frail form beneath it.

Each time the image played in his mind, Harry became aware of something else. The only sound he could hear at first, was the faint echoing of a deep, cracking voice, sobbing out in a low scream, as time past he became aware of a second voice, deep and cruel, making an order. And then Harry became aware of his own vocal chords saying, or having said something, but what he could not tell, at least in that moment he could not.

Inklings of knowledge were repeated and cleared each time Harry saw the image. And still, despite the terror he felt at the sight, he dragged it towards his mind whenever he felt it near, anything better than that darkness, from which he could neither breathe, move, nor feel any emotion, it was stifling, and brought to mind an intense feeling of claustrophobia. Like being trapped in a metal box, or a cupboard…

The robes he wore were that of a Deatheater, that much he had become certain of. And he felt … pleasure, at the pain he knew he was causing the old man. He could see even through the blur that disguised the actual identity of the man, that there was a look of absolute terror etched into his face.

Harry spun into darkness again for a time, unaware of anything other than the feeling of suffocation, but of a breath on his neck, and heat.

He pulled the image towards himself when he felt it’s return, relief however, soon turned to horror. He was once again aware of his hands. Older, larger, papery dry and calloused. One was still digging into the old man’s abdomen, pushing painfully at the skin between the ribs, causing breathlessness. The other though, he was now aware was raised slightly at the elbow, and holding a wand. A wand that had recently cast a spell. And as the image was played over and over again in his mind, he knew that the spell that had been cast, was more paralysing than the Imperious curse, more painful than the Cruciatus curse, and less welcome than Avada Kedavra. One so old and terrible, Harry should not of known of its existence, but he did, he knew the words. And knew that only moments ago he had uttered them.

And still yet despite all of this, he bade the image welcome in his mind, pulling it to him, whenever he could, if only for the knowledge it brought, something he knew that in some life he had outside of all this, it would be important. For the moment he could only look at it, he could not bring himself to deliberate over it’s meaning; though in the real world that would change. He would begin to fear and fret over who he was, over who he was becoming. Because, by the end of this, he would know that this event had yet to occur, but what he would not know, was if he was looking through the eyes of another, or through his own. Somewhere at the very edge of his awareness, the need to know whether this was in his future, helped to give him the strength to see it. But strength, as always, was reliant on many things. Strength would fade, as it was doing so now. The image and the knowledge it brought, strayed less closely to Harry’s prying mind. The strength of will it took to see it, was failing. Longer times he spent in a world of suffocating darkness, praying to be released in any form.

The image came closer again, and with a sense of finality about it, Harry hoped only to have the strength to finally see the face of the one tormented in the image. To see them, and perhaps prevent it from ever coming to pass. But he was not strong enough, he garnered a few more details, Knockturn Alley, that was were it would happen. But when it would happen, could have been but a few months or many years. And the face became no clearer.

He felt heat, and the sudden panic of realising he was not strong enough to fight the darkness, or find solace in the image. He clung desperately to it, wishing, hope against hope for a renewed strength, calling in his mind to anything that might aid him. It seemed that something answered his call. Told him only not to fear the darkness, to rest. But the fear that tore at Harry’s heart at the thought was stronger. He could no longer tempt the image to his mind.

He could no longer hold on. He felt himself spinning, spinning into darkness unlike any other, were no life grew, were nothing could simply be. A voice told him once again not to fear it. But he could not take heed of the advice. He was spinning, into an inferno of suffocating heat, bound to it. Bound to it for an indeterminate infinity.

And then he was lost.

~o0o~

Wow! Thanks for actually finishing this chapter! Now you can all go ahead and flame me. Whether it to be to tell me that this is a load ‘ol horse poop, or because I don’t write quick enough. Hoping it’s just the latter, I’m off to get writing. Thank you once again to all those kind people who reviewed, and a special thanks to those people who e-mailed me to check that I was still alive. -This last group especially, who like Nappa and Jeremie, made me wanna write a lot quicker. Ta ta for now, fellow Hp geeks!

Portkey Staff (gal-texter) Note May 2009: We've re-uploaded this as readers have stumbled on this fic as recent as March 2009. Unfortunately, Chocchip seems to have abandoned this story and the fandom.

Choccip's original A/N:

*waves nervously, shuffles feet*

“Ahem, whilst this author realises the nature of her mistakes, well alright that I'm just pain naff at updating. I do have very good reasons.

1)Have recently become much-older sister to a five-week old brother(I`m 19). Thus babysitting has become an honour-bound tradition in the family.

2)Have had other scenes popping into my head demanding attention. For example, I have the final 2major scenes of this year written. Also have about five or six others over the course of all 3 years done too! Not too mention that there's a story set sometime in the past that becomes increasingly important as the fic progresses. And I'm thinking I might need to do a prequel for it. But you'll find out about that later, or at the end of this chapter if your paying attention!

3)Well it was Christmas and everything, you can't expect me to write all the time *ducks rotten tomatoes* okay, okay, no more excuses!!!!

4)This one turned out quite a bit longer than I was expecting. I was aiming for a 12pg fic here! But it never seemed like a good place to stop

Okay, that's me done for now, chaps. If you reviewed for the last chapter, I've mentioned your name at the end of the fic with a big THANK YOU to you. And if you reviewed an earlier chapter, thank you to you too, only I can only type for so long!

Oops, almost forgot the obligatory `I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making profit from this-you can say that again! Just in case anyone gets any ideas, I should put disclaimers in for Buffy, and Lord of the Rings while I'm at it-I might explain these eventually, but right now who cares?!

Oh, and Ta to Nappa- my Big Yoda -I do not own Star Wars either, not that I'd want to.

Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories - Part 2

Lupin and the rest of the courtroom, bar Vernon and his lawyer, looked on in abject horror when the young wizard collapsed out of his seat, with a jarring thud to the hard oak floor. Remus winced in sympathy at whatever injury had been done to Harry's shoulder. Fear lanced through him, like a dagger of pain through his heart, when he realised that something was very seriously wrong. A realisation brought about by the dual facts of Harry not getting up again; staying on the floor with great shudders racking his body. And by the way in which both Dumbledore and Hagrid sprung up, and rushed to Harry's side. Along with Judge Ravencast and Fletcher. And though in reality, he was a bare second behind them, it seemed to be forever before Remus could push his body out of the state of overwhelming shock and fear it had entered, and begin moving to where his dead best friends son laid. Hagrid's hulking mass temporarily blocked his view.

“Oh God. `Arry, `Arry wake up. By Merlin, Professor look ah `im.”

Remus finally pushed his way through, the Weasley's hot on his heels.

Fletcher and Grand Judge Ravencast were crouching over Harry, who lay on his side, his back to Remus and those behind him, great shudders sporadically racking his frame. To Remus, the schoolboy wizard suddenly seemed at once, very small, helpless and heart-wrenchingly young.

Dumbledore knelt down, and gently pulled Harry onto his back. He looked like death.

A shimmering sheen of sweat clung to his face, pale but for a slight flush at his cheeks. His eyes were tightly clenched shut, and his arms were tightly wrapped into himself, in a protective gesture.

But the one thing that struck absolute terror into Remus's heart, the one thing that would be forever branded hot into his memory, for as long as he lived, was the blood. Blood, rich and healthily dark, wound its way down the lines of Harry's face. It was like a many forked river, gathering more so in two shallow pools at the corners of Harry's eyes. He'd lost his glasses in the fall.

The blood continued to pour. And what scared Remus most of all, and those who were close enough to Harry to recognise the significance, was that the blood was not coming from an injury gained in the impact of the floor against him. It was already beginning to flow as Harry fell. It came from his scar.

The lightening shaped bolt on his forehead, the only remnant of the night many years ago, when Voldemort had been defeated in more than mysterious circumstances. It was raised and swollen, as though it had been cut anew.

Harry's shivering body suddenly jolted and bucked, then fell silent, still and flat against the floor. As Dumbledore and Fletcher frantically checked Harry's pulse, gasping out sighs of relief to note that Harry was still breathing, even if it were shallowly. Then Harry began gasping, as if from great exertion. But still he gave no sign of being consciously aware of anything outside of what he might be experiencing. His scar still bled.

Moments later, Harry was being carried quickly out of the courtroom, now appearing to be only sleeping, if it were not for the bleeding. Lupin was not entirely consciously certain of when he had picked up one side of his sort-of-Godson, Mr Weasley one the other. A grimace was deeply lining his face, lost in another time when he had performed a similar grim duty.

The reality of everything around him sunk in, as Remus blinked in response to a command from Dumbledore, he quickly became aware of something other than Harry. There were voices and panicked whispers all about him. Some of the Jury whispered concernedly amongst themselves, whilst others looked on unimpressed. They were also listening to one particularly loud voice that was shouting to be heard. Lupin afforded himself a quick glance back.

Vernon Dursley was the owner of the voice, and he was currently holding on hard to the bars encircling the dock, concerned security wizards were moving towards the infuriated muggle, wands drawn. As Remus exited, he caught the last snippet of what Vernon was saying.

“It's a trick. A damned wizard trick. He's trying to gain the Jury's sympathy. Don't believe him, don't believe…”

Remus was wholly glad when he could no longer here the muggles voice. How anyone person could be so prejudiced, and could tell lies so blatantly, was beyond him. The sad and scary thing was that more than a few people in the courtroom would have been persuaded by it. He was aware that on some level, he had filed away on his `to do' list, to give Vernon a good kicking. See how the foolish old muggle would fair against a fully-grown wizard, who hadn't recently suffered a personal trauma. Maybe then the fat lump would understand.

They had reached the centre of the lobby, when Judge Ravencast motioned them to stop.

He walked towards the wall on his left, producing his wand, and aiming it at the wall, he spoke a few words in a language that Lupin only faintly recognised as old. The fire covered outline of a phoenix instantly burst into being. It was high off the floor, at about chest height. Almost as instantly as it began, the flames seemed to blown out, leaving only a charred outline on the wall. Ravencast tapped the wall a second time, and then walked straight through the wall!

With only a brief hesitation, both Lupin and Mr Weasley walked through with Harry still in their arms. A slight tremor racked the young wizards body, a frown marred Lupin's face, tempered with the knowledge that Harry might wake up soon. And what horrors would he have to report? What terror had he endured once again thanks to Voldemort? A flame of anger that had flickered into being on the day of the Potter's death, yet again began to burn achingly inside his chest. He made a silent vow in that moment to do all that he could to bring an end to the Dark Lord, even if it meant facing his own painful past. He would have to try and pass the Phoenix initiation test. The thought was not that appealing, but for the sake of Harry, he would do it. And this time he intended to both finish it, and to pass. But given his own experience, he had wondered how anyone was ever able to pass, and those that had, had nothing but his utmost admiration and respect.

Harry shifted again in his arms. When Lupin found himself able to tear away from Harry's nightmare-like contorted face, he discovered that they were in Grand Judge Ravencast's private chambers. It was plainly decorated, with the same dark oak theme of the courtroom, and finished in soft red leather furnishings. Bookcases lined the walls behind and to the right of him. A desk with chairs on opposite sides was in the centre. And a longer couch was on the left. Ravencast motioned for them to put Harry down upon it.

A part of Lupin was loathed to give Harry up into the care of anyone save himself, but he nodded to Arthur Weasley to give up his hold first, then Lupin moved to place Harry on the couch as comfortably as he could. And with a second thought, reached into his pocket, and took out the hanker-chief he carried in it. Then reached for the nearby pitcher of water, put the cloth in, ringing it out so that it was only lightly damp, and began tenderly removing the blood that was covering Harry's face. He heard the others talking, and could feel the presence of people jostling for room in the small space. He felt a momentary anger. Why couldn't they just leave Harry alone for two seconds?

Just let him be Lupin thought. But that was never going to happen. So he focused his attention on continuing to clean Harry's face instead, taking extra care around the still slightly weeping scar.

“Can we not call Madam Pomfrey Professor?” Hagrid was asking.

“I'm afraid that she could not help in this matter, except perhaps for the headache he might have later.”

“Headmaster, is this one of those vision things you told me about? You never mentioned that his scar would bleed.”

“That's because it never has before Cornelius. Which in itself is quite worrying. And he has certainly never collapsed before. I wish we could help him in some manner.”

“Perhaps I can.”

Everyone turned to look at the owner of the voice that spoke roughly. Harry's eyes had opened. Lupin took one hand and helped Harry into a sitting position and handed him his glasses. Lupin wasn't even aware that he'd picked them up. Then he pulled a chair alongside Harry and sat down. The message was clear; no one was going to mess with Harry whilst Lupin was in the room.

“How do you feel Mr Potter?” the judge asked moving closer to Harry, though common sense told him not to move too close to the werewolf beside the young wizard.

Harry could only grimace, as bile rose in the back of his throat, a sickly burning sensation caught in his lungs, he felt dizzy from a fever-like state, and he had an overwhelming need for personal space, preferably somewhere cool, with plenty of water at hand. Ironically, the Great Lake didn't look like so bad a holiday destination now.

“Too warm. My throat is a little dry, do you have any water?”

“Of course.” Judge Ravencast pointed his wand at the now empty pitcher, and it refilled itself. Moments later gloriously cool; clear liquid made it's way down Harry's burning throat. All thoughts of nightmarish futures and present trials seemed to be cleared away by the purifying substance. But only for a moment. His second ailment was cleared too, as Dumbledore took charge, shooing out all government ministers, family of friends- Mrs Weasley threw Dumbledore a look that would still even Voldemort- and Hagrid. Those who stayed were Dumbledore, Judge Ravencast, and the thoroughly unmovable Lupin.

The Judge's private chambers looked larger now, and did not feel anywhere near as hot.

“Feeling better now Harry?” the Judge questioned. Harry nodded his ascent.

“Forgive me Harry, but whatever you have just experienced, I would ask that you relive it for us now.”

Harry was uncertain where to begin, and told the headmaster as much. But he had an overwhelming need to have Sirius by his side, as well as Lupin.

“Perhaps you should start where all tales must, at the beginning.”

~o0o~

It had been three days since the eventful start to the trial, and until today, little of any real relevance had occurred. Harry had returned to the courtroom on the second day, looking tired but otherwise well. And a further two days had passed, before the awkward, legal and technical wrangling had been gotten past, as such where the difficulties in matters of law between magic and non-magic folk. Perhaps considered the most irritating thing by most was the dismissal out-of-hand of truth serum as evidence, by muggles. If it were accepted, it seemed that trials would be over quickly and painlessly, as guilty parties would be made to admit as much. But, as quick-minded muggles pointed out, the truth serum, was not entirely full proof. Given a skilled enough wizard, the potion could be mixed to have the one who ingested it, admitting to anything that potion-mixer desired. Indeed it had been known to occur twice in wizard history. But once again, as the quick-witted Mr Hayes had pointed out, it may have happened frequently, without the potion-mixer ever being found out.

But today witnesses were being called for the first time. And Harry, having been there for several hours, had already seen many. And had begun to feel a little disheartened by them all. Mr Hayes had pulled apart the testimonies of the young Weasley's, except for Ron, who had not yet been called.

Harry had snickered as Fred was called to the stand, but he definitely wasn't laughing as he left. Fred had been unable to maintain his composure as Mr Hayes had asked him what he had thought gave him the right to barge into Vernon Dursleys home, and why he had felt the need to persecute the man, and his family in the first place. Fred, much like his brother, had exploded at such a question, rattling off every bad thing he knew about the Dursley's, and their treatment of Harry. When asked where he knew about such treatment, Fred had become flustered, having to admit that he only knew because Harry had said as much, or then again not. Since Harry didn't particularly enjoy talking about them.

It was somewhat of a recognisable problem, Harry's friend's passionate belief in him and his word, their utter devotion to caring for him, as a brother, or in Ginny's case embarrassingly more so. The youngest Weasley had left red-faced with any tears falling from her eyes when Mr Hayes had finished questioning her.

Harry only hoped that the rest would not break under such questioning, and ask himself why Fletcher had yet to ask to cross-examine any of the witnesses. Fletcher had said that he would call all of them back, and that Harry should trust him as Dumbledore did.

Harry had another sip of water, it was strange how one could develop a taste for a tasteless liquid, and the only unfortunate side effect was the frequent need to pee. The muggle in the Jury was glaring at him again. The man, in his late thirties-early forties, was balding and wearing an ill-fitting pin stripe suit. Lines marred a face that might be younger than it otherwise appeared. There was a semi-expensive watch on his left wrist, an old napkin folded neatly into one pocket of his suit, and yellow stains on both his teeth and two fingers of his right hand, speaking of an expensive and probably life-threatening nicotine addiction. And the man always had an expression on his face when he looked at Harry that could sour milk. But he looked admiringly at Vernon and Mr Hayes. He smirked whenever Mr Hayes had Harry's friends flustered, and nodded his head vigorously at any comment made, however lightly that was derogatory to wizards. Or, as Harry found most bizarre indicated muggles, as being the victims of the oppressive and cruel wizard society. Of course these comments were both vague, and open to interpretation, but still rather obvious.

Muggles felt oppressed? Who by? Most of them didn't even know that wizards existed.

No, Harry decided. The muggle who kept glaring at him was one the classic magic-people haters. By some way he had come across the hidden way of wizard society, and was allowed to retain his memory about it. Being already relatively successful in whatever business venture he was in, he would have pondered the benefits of using magic to further his profits, and earn himself that extra holiday in Majorca. Discovering that he would be unable to do this himself, he would have made discreet enquiries as to employing a wizard to help, only to be told that such things were not done. The man would have raged silently to himself, and painted in Harry's mind, a long-suffering wife.

He would have taken to drinking slightly more scotch on a night, smoking too many cigars. In his anger at wizards for not helping, he would have failed to keep up with his business ventures, and watch as his profits decreased slightly with each passing year. With each decrease in profits, there would be a slight increase in drinking, perhaps he would start taking his anger out on loved ones …

Stop it! Harry told himself sternly. Truth be told, the muggle reminded him very much of Uncle Vernon, entirely too much, which was why his imagination had painted a background so similar to his Uncle for the man. The muggle could well have an extremely justifiable reason for looking at Harry the way he was; he might just have a problem with his facial muscles. Though it was unlikely. The man was entirely too much like Uncle Vernon, though he was tall and overly lean, whereas Vernon was quite short and fat, a miniature cave-troll in all his glory.

He flicked his attention back to the disappearing Weasley, and took another sip of water, remembering to pace himself, since he couldn't really get up midway through the trial just to use the loo.

“Hermione Elizabeth Granger.” Was called.

Harry suddenly felt much lighter, worrying only that Hermione not be humiliated by Mr Hayes like the others were. Harry glared at Mr Hayes back for good measure, he would have flipped him an obscene gesture too if Vernon Dursley Mark II hadn't been watching. He sighed lightly to himself, one day soon he would have to bring himself to look into the eye of the man who caused him so much pain, when he could have been family or friend. One day. He looked straight into the eyes of the watching Vernon Dursley Mark II, startling the man. One day soon, he promised.

~o0o~

Hermione Granger along with Ronald Weasley and most of his siblings sat in the lobby outside of the main court. She smoothed out the hem of her robes again, then pulled at her hair, making sure it was still in the loose but smart looking knot at the nape of her neck.

“It'll stay in longer if you don't keep pulling at it.” Bill Weasley said quietly from his seat beside her, a small grin on his face. She smiled lightly back. She glanced at Ron, who was sat about three feet away in a smaller chair. He appeared to be doing mental arithmetic, staring into space, mumbling to himself, and occasionally counting with the use of his fingers. Every few minutes he would start again, apparently having forgotten his answer.

“What are you doing?” she whispered quietly to him. He shot her a glance, and an exasperated sigh, as if to say `look, see you made me lose count!'

“Trying to remember exactly how many days it's been since we brought Harry back from the muggles.”

“Why?”

“Well what if the lawyer asks?”

“Ron, I don't think that he'd ask you something like that. He'll know!”

“That's what you think. But this is where they slip you up isn't it.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“If he can get you to look stupid when he asks you something as simple as when something happened, and you don't know.” He made a faint gesture with hands, that didn't make any sense whatsoever.

“Well if he can get the Jury to question the small things about your statement, it's easier for him to get them to question everything you say isn't it?”

She stared at him. He really could be quite clever sometimes. Granted not at the most helpful of times, but still. Ron turned away and began muttering to himself again, and Hermione felt content to let him carry on.

She was in honesty, glad that Ron was taking it seriously. After all she had found out, with a little arm twisting, that the trial wasn't going as well as Harry had hoped, or at least it didn't appear to be. And if Harry was worried, Hermione definitely was. She hoped that her giving what evidence she could would be enough, she certainly didn't want to be the reason for Vernon Dursley walking free.

If there was one thing Hermione was good at, other than surprise quizzes and end-of-term exams, it was worrying enough for three people. Usually a necessity when you were friends with `the boy who lived' and a Weasley.

And Hermione certainly was very worried about Harry at that moment. It seemed she had just gotten her friend back, and now she felt that she was losing him again. He had told them about the `scar vision dream thing', as they had started calling them for lack of a specific word. But it wasn't something that Harry could've avoided telling the really, given that when he had returned to Hogwarts, his scar was raised and swollen red, and occasionally, most disturbingly, it still bled. Fortunately it had not done so for at least a day, and had returned to simply looking like a scar. But that didn't mean that Hermione had stopped carrying a clean handkerchief, and some instant healing potion, just in case.

Harry had told them that his `vision' had been a continuous replay of an old man being dragged by Deatheaters down Knockturn Alley. Though Harry had assured them, that Dumbledore and the others were doing something about it, Hermione knew that there was a lot more to what had happened than Harry was telling. After all, she didn't pass out in the girl's loos that day at the exact moment of Harry's vision by coincidence.

For a cold March day, she had overheated rapidly, and felt a very unpleasant sensation of being squashed down upon by something very heavy. Like she was being wrapped up in it, and choked of air at the same time. Not that she'd told anyone about the incident, at least in her view she was becoming accustomed to them. What was worrying this time was that Harry had been nowhere near the Staff of Gaia, when the vision had struck, nor was he attempting to do something with it. Which was what she usually felt. Which suggested in Hermione's mind that either these visions were entirely connected to Harry's powers, Staff usage included. Or that their bond was simply becoming stronger. Either way, at some point Hermione knew she would have to speak to him about it. For so far, the only time Harry was aware that Hermione had felt a real connection, had been back at the Burrow, when he'd first used the Staff.

Harry truly did seem unaware of what Hermione felt when he used the Staff, or was attempting not to activate it with his mere presence. He had seemed so mortally embarrassed when he'd found out that she'd seen some of his memories. When he'd plucked up the courage to ask he which ones, she didn't think she could lie to him, and had told him that she had seen his parents. That she did remember Harry's first encounter with her, now from his point of view too. And that she had seen some of his so called life at the Dursley's.

Which was why when Harry had told them about the vision, she knew that he had not told them everything, by any means. He was frightened by something, and she wanted to know what.

The slamming sound made as Ginny Weasley re-entered the lobby, distracted Hermione from her thoughts, as did the fact that Ginny was in tears. Numerous red-haired heads immediately gathered around the distraught youngest family member. Hermione was close behind, in time to hear Molly Weasley attempting to comfort her daughter and find out what had her so upset.

“George Harris Weasley.”

George shot daggers at the man calling him, and then a pleading look to his mother, he wanted to know what Mr Hayes had said to his sister.

“It's alright George dear, we'll take care of your sister. You just go ahead, and remember to be honest.”

George nodded at Mrs Weasley, sharing a glance with Fred, and then flipped a one-fingered salute at the back of the man who had called him, before trailing after him.

“Ginny, why don't you tell us what has you so upset? Mr Hayes..” Mrs Weasley spat the name out as if it tasted bad.

“What did Mr Hayes say to you?”

Ginny continued sobbing, as her father handed her a handkerchief.

“He was so… mean. He said … really mean things about Harry.” She paused to blow her nose.

“He said that Harry was a liar, and I must be too. Because of what happened in my first year at school.”

Mrs Weasley looked at her husband, sadness played out across every feature of her face, as well as a motherly anger. Mr Hayes was not making any friends in the wizarding world. Of course Mrs Weasley knew that her daughter was more scarred by the incident than she would ever let on to her big brothers. And to have it raised again was something that she had always hoped could be avoided.

“What else did he say?” Hermione asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“I was saying that Harry was really brave and stuff, because of what happened, he did almost die trying to save me! But the lawyer said that I didn't know any of it was true, because I was, I was …”

Ginny was reduced to sobbing on her mothers shoulder. But she hadn't needed to finish. Ginny couldn't be an eyewitness to Harry's heroics because she unconscious and close to death at the time.

When Ginny had finally composed herself some time later, she admitted to them that Mr Hayes had also correctly guessed about her crush on Harry, this she had said red-faced to her brothers amusement. But this was simply another way in which Mr Hayes had tried to discredit her usefulness as a witness.

And though any witness they called from the school, who was a friend-or not- of Harry's would all be able to recount his heroics against six trolls and a dragon, they couldn't. Because at the moment, the Staff of Gaia still needed to be kept a secret. Something which was impressed upon to all by Dumbledore.

They simply could not reveal its existence, or Harry's link to it, even if it was in detriment to the case. Because reporters were already waiting in the lobby. Like Vultures they were waiting for the first Jury member to `leak' the goings on. Plus a few of them were not past using various unscrupulous methods to get the `real' story. So far two witches had been kicked out for using a Polyjuice potion to get in. One of them had in fact tied up Dudley in a storage locker in the Giants department, only being found out when Petunia had gone to her son to attempt to speak to him for the first time in many months.

Luckily nothing had begun, as the courtroom had only just filled. Security wizards were surrounding the fake Dudley within moments. Leaving a slightly shocked Petunia and Harry in their wake. Dudley was found, fed and comforted by a sobbing Petunia. Of course Vernon had found out about it, and his lawyer had been very interested. To them it just pointed out another way in which wizards were dangerous to muggles, and it would not help Harry's case in the slightest. Nor would the fact that his Aunt appeared to be unwilling to speak to him. Dudley was he was not surprised about, but Petunia. It stung more than Harry was willing to admit, that she wouldn't talk to him. And the same graceful witch as he'd sent he first day of the trial, appeared to be sticking to his Aunt like glue. So he couldn't get near her.

Those were just a few of the things that Harry had told Hermione about when he was trying to get out of telling her about his dream, but she could not be deterred.

“Frank Sinatra Weasley”

Hermione looked up in time to see a mightily pissed off Fred rising, giving a two-fingered obscene gesture to the back of the caller, as he passed his brother. Fred disappeared through the double doors, Hermione didn't have much time to muse on his real name, as his brother sat down with a heavy thud.

“I'm gonna let a filibuster firecracker off under that mans arse next time he sits down I swear!”

“Didn't go very well I take it?” Bill questioned.

“How'd ya guess?”

“Psychic.” Bill deadpanned.

“What happened?” Ron asked worriedly.

“You don't wanna know.” George said, shaking his head.

Trouble was Hermione did want to know, and then again she didn't. It seemed like no time at all had passed before

“Hermione Elizabeth Granger.” Was called.

Fortunately Hermione had more control than either of the Weasley twins, but at that moment in time, she felt like flipping someone an obscene gesture herself.

~o0o~

Taking a moment to look at the courtroom before the security wizard placed one hand to the small of her back -rather obtrusively she felt- and began to propel her forward. It was much more `normal' than she had been expecting. Wood panelling must be big this year. The security wizard opened the gate in front of her; that separated the actual court from the `audience'. And then pushed her slightly roughly into the central seat, a small wooden chair, placed at the centre of a faded pink coloured symbol. Curiously it was the most rarely used symbol in the wizard world, and the most frequently used symbol used by muggles when depicting witches and wizards. Hermione remembered from some of the research she'd done into wizard law, that the symbol was supposed to change colour according to the person occupying it, and then also according to their mood. A low-tech lie detector in a way; very unreliable unless you really knew something about them. Currently Hermione wondered what pin that was darkening to a deep orange meant. Because if it was scared out of her mind; the symbol was dead on.

To her immediate front, there was a raised box in which the Judge Ravencast, and two other Phoenix Order members sat. To the front and right a bit, was the dock, which held Vernon Dursley, she wondered if it had needed to be structurally strengthened for the job. She'd never actually met him before, but he seemed all the worse in the flesh than he had been in Harry's memories. To her left and up, were twelve people, the jury, all muggles as far as Hermione knew. To her direct left was a grinning man with a perma-tan, blindingly white teeth, that reminded her of Gilderoy Lockheart; and blond hair, that she supposed was fake as well. He was wearing a blue pinstripe suit that seemed to be designed purely to show off the fact that he was attractive in a rather fake way. He was sat leaning back on his chair slightly, with his hands clasped in front of him, as his elbows leant on the chair arms. Everything about the man spoke of smug confidence and sheer arrogance, he believed he would win. Hermione hated him already.

Pity, if it weren't for the fake tan and Draco hair, he could actually be attractive.

To her immediate left was Mundugus Fletcher, apparently engrossed in a copy of a Jackie Collins novel, by the way his eyebrows raised suddenly, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. Her gaze fell on Harry, who gave her a quick, but bright smile and an encouraging nod.

I wish he'd smile like that more often.

She smiled back, hoping that this time, unlike all of the Weasleys before her, she could give him something to smile about.

Mr Hayes pushed back from his seat a few moments later, he'd waited longer than was strictly necessary, staring at Hermione with unnecessary intensity. He was trying to unnerve her, and she did not appreciate it. The orange lawyer walked around his desk, fastening a jacket button as he moved. He all but swaggered across the small gap, again taking more time than was necessary. He stopped about a metre in front of her and smiled. Putting his hands in his pockets, he asked his first question.

“Miss Granger is it?”

Hermione nodded an affirmative, before remembering that she'd been told by Fletcher to always answer `Yes' or `No' wherever possible.

“Yes Sir.”

He smiled again, and walked to her right, blocking her view of Harry, and of any support she might feel from him.

“Miss Granger, could you please explain the nature of your relationship with Mr Harry Potter?”

“Yes. I've been best friends with Harry for about four years.”

“Really?” the lawyer said, looking at the Jury, he raised an eyebrow in a rather infuriating manner.

“Yes.”

“`Best' friends? Yourself, Mr Potter, and a Ronald Weasley, I believe?”

Hermione nodded.

“It must be nice to have such a famous friend, I imagine it opens many doors for you and Mr Weasley doesn't it?”

“Not really.”

Mr Hayes shifted slightly, still blocking her view of Harry, but she could see Fletcher sitting in his seat, still intently reading his romance novel.

“Are you certain? Being friends with the Harry Potter would have its advantages. After all, I gather that your little group have broken very many school rules. In fact, I believe that the number the three of you together have garnered in your time at Hogwarts, is One Hundred and Thirty-Seven.”

Hermione was a little shocked upon hearing an actual number. She knew that despite her being a stickler for the rules, they had broken many in their `adventures' at Hogwarts, no one had ever confronted her with such an horrific number before. Her mouth dropped open a little.

“I … I didn't think that it was as many as that.”

“Hmm, Yes. One Hundred and Thirty-Seven. Rather a lot isn't it? My word, my own jaw dropped at hearing that one. One Hundred and Thirty-Seven. Strange really, as my understanding of your school tells me that, depending on the severity of the rule being broken, any student with fifteen broken rules warrants automatic suspension, and any with more than twenty, expulsion. So perhaps you can tell me now, that being friends with the Harry Potter does have its advantages?”

“I suppose it does a little. But you have to look at the reason why we broke the rules. Whenever we did, it was always for a good reason.”

“Really? Have you ever heard the saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?”

“Obviously whoever said that never intended to do anything good in their life.” Hermione answered smartly. She heard a light snicker from a few people, two of them in Harry and Fletcher's direction. The lawyers façade slipped slightly, obviously he hadn't been prepared for a young girl with a smart mouth, to be intelligent as well. Or one that wasn't going to cry when he poked her.

Mr Hayes then smiled at her.

“Indeed, your probably right. Your quite a smart young woman aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say that. I just like to read a lot.”

“Top of your class in most of your lessons. I would say that that warrants you to be called smart.”

Hermione only blushed.

“You say that to understand why yourself and Mr's Potter and Weasley have not yet been expelled despite breaking so many rules, I should look at the reason behind you breaking them, and that the intention would be good. But I'm sure that not all of them were born out of the pure goodness of your hearts. You are after all, young people. Adventurous young people from what I here. Perhaps you broke the rules once or twice out of mischief?”

Hermione couldn't remember any specific incidents. Indeed all she was aware of were the time that they took Harry to Hogsmeade under his father's invisibility cloak, simply because he wanted to.

“I can't remember a time.”

Mr Hayes pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, before turning to the jury, and lifting both his arms, palms out.

“Young people.” He said with a smile.

Hermione found that more than a little irritating. He'd just dismissed her evidence because of her age. Her turned back and gave another irritating half smile.

“Miss Granger, can you tell me everything that you know about why Mr Potter is famous?”

Caught off guard by such a strange question, Hermione's eyes travelled to the still visible Fletcher, who had finally looked up from his book, and now stared back with avid interest.

“Harry is famous because when he was a year old, he apparently defeated You-Know-Who, after the Dark Lord murdered his parent's.”

“A year old? At one year of age, that boy” he said, spinning and pointing at Harry, as if Hermione didn't know him.

“Defeated the greatest Dark Sorcerer of these times?”

Hermione nodded, finally glad to be able to see Harry, who was looking between her, Hayes and the Jury.

“Hermione.” Hayes said in a friendly tone.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“Of who?” she answered confusedly.

“Mr Potter.”

“Why would I be?”

“I would think that anyone would be. If not of Mr Potter himself, for yourself and many others seem to claim him to be an amiable young man, then for perhaps what he represents. Perhaps a power that no other witch or wizard understands, something within him that helped him to defeat a Dark Lord at just a year old. Or perhaps there is nothing extraordinary about him.” He looked at Harry, who looked right back.

“Perhaps this Dark Lord I have been told about, made a simple mistake that led to his downfall. But we will never know. For no one was present to witness any of these events. Indeed what is known, what has become legend, is purely guesswork.”

There were some shocked gasps from the witches and wizards behind Hermione. Mostly they seemed to be angry with the lawyer for making such a supposition about something they all believed so fervently.

“But of course I would not dream of saying that it is inaccurate or untrue. But my point being is that when you first heard the name Harry Potter, and whenever you hear it now, what is the first thing you think of?”

“What happened to him, I think.”

Mr Hayes turned to Grand Judge Ravencast.

“If the court would indulge me for a moment?”

Ravencast nodded once, a stern look upon his face, suggesting that he would not be indulging the perma-tan lawyer for long. Hayes turned back to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, I would like it if you would play a quick game with me of word-association. I'll say a word or words, and you'll respond as quickly as you can with the first thing that comes into your head.”

Hermione nodded, not really liking where this was going. Mr Hayes turned to the Jury and smiled.

“I know many of our Jury might not understand everything said, but please bear with me, and I'm sure that you'll hear some interesting answers.”

Hermione definitely did not like that.

“Right let's begin. Muggle?”

“Wizard.”

“Cat?”

“Dog.”

“Magic?”

“Christmas.”

“Potions?”

“Snape.”

“Joke?”

“Weasley.”

“Book?”

“Library.”

“Rules?”

“Professor McGonnagoll.”

“Flying?”

“Broomstick.”

“Love?”

“ …family.”

“Ah you paused Miss Granger, one suspects that that was not the first thing you thought of.” Hayes said slyly, turning to look at Harry to prove his point. Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly red. That was unfair.

“Again Miss Granger. Troll?”

“Loo's.”

“Ghost?”

“Myrtle.”

“School?”

“Test.”

“Exam?”

“Good.”

“Happy?”

“Friend.”

“Tri-wizard Cup?”

“Third Task.”

“Lockheart?”

“Ponce.”

“Toffee's?”

“Weasleys.”

“Dursley?”

“Cupboard.”

“Harry Potter?”

“Voldemort.”

Shocked noises were emitted from many of the present witches and wizards upon hearing the name spoken aloud. Hayes looked victorious. Turning to the Jury with a sweep of his arms.

“You see? The young man's name automatically summons the image of the most feared Sorcerer there has ever been. So feared that our magical friends cannot bear to speak his name. And yet hear it is, spoken from the lips of his closest friend. Even for her it is the first thing she thinks of when she hears his name. Would you not fear someone so closely associated with such an unnamed fear?”

Hermione's heart was pounding within her chest, tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes. How could she, of all people, think of Voldemort and Harry at the same time? She felt shame to have hurt Harry in such a way, she risked a glance in his direction. His head was down, and from what she could see, a look of confusion and hurt had registered on his face. Hermione felt the first tearing of her heart, emotion welled up in her throat, and caught across her chest. She put a hand to her mouth, a vague attempt to prevent of gasp of choking emotion escaping her.

She wished she would just be dismissed, as all witnesses should be. But she wasn't. It took her a few moments to realise why. Fletcher handed her a tissue. She took it gratefully, and made an attempt to compose herself.

“Don't worry Hermione, Mr Hayes o'er there, seems to like making young girls cry.” Fletcher said with a faint whisper and a smile.

Fletcher turned to the Jury.

“Well Mr Hayes does seem to have a fondness for making my young friend over there the next Dark Lord. But having seen the rise of a few myself, I think we need not worry quite yet.” He said with a smile, a few of the Jury smirked. Obviously dark magic, and the end-of-the-world, didn't quite tally with what they could see of the slightly too skinny and frail looking fifteen year-old schoolboy in front of them. Hermione smiled too, when she saw Harry's head lift and do the same.

Finally relieved to be talking to someone who was here to help Harry, Hermione felt her muscles begin to relax, her throat cleared of its fraught emotion blockage, and her tears began to dry. At least Fletcher wouldn't make Harry out to be a liar, one who would cause a grown man to tremble in fear, even as a five-year old.

“Well Miss Granger, hmm, do you mind if I call you Hermione, No? Good. Right then Hermione, I gather from what Harry tells me that you two didn't get along when you first met, is that right?”

Harry's head snapped up, suddenly very interested.

“Objection. The previous state of this witnesses relationship to Key witness, has no bearing on this case your Honour.” Mr Hayes interjected.

“I'm simply trying to establish Key witness credibility you Honour, since my learned colleague as spent the better part of this case so far, trying to do the reverse.”

Judge Ravencast didn't blink once, but the beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Objection overruled, you may continue Mr Fletcher.”

“Thank you your Honour.”

Fletcher motioned for you to answer. Harry leaned a little closer.

“Well no we didn't.”

Hermione glanced back at Harry and grinned lightly. Harry grinned back.

“Could you tell us why?”

“Well I guess I was a little more …well obsessive about learning, and school. I think that most people thought of me as being a bit of a swot, so I didn't really get on with anyone. And Harry … I guess I just thought that he would be arrogant and stuck-up because he was famous.”

Hermione looked at Harry sheepishly, before Fletcher regained her attention.

“So can you tell us what changed and made you the close friends that you are today?”

Hermione couldn't help it. She smiled. Broadly.

She should do that more often. Harry thought.

“He saved me from a cave troll.”

There was a gentle laughter throughout the courtroom. And finally Harry felt, that things might start going right. Unfortunately, he was going to be wrong.

~o0o~

There was a three-day break during the trial, which Harry was more than a little grateful for. It meant a chance to take his mind off things and relax. Well relax in the sense of not. Catching up with a mountain of schoolwork bigger than anything he'd seen in his first four years at Hogwarts. And Dumbledore had scheduled a lesson using the Staff, why? Harry had no idea, it seemed like a most inopportune time to do so. Not only had Harry begun to experience a fraction of the sense of panic that Hermione was perpetually in when it came to revising for the O.W.L's, he was still having dreams. Many different kinds. Some were perpetually trapped within Knockturn Alley, pulling a pain racked old man down the cobbled street, feeling pleasure at his suffering. Other's were the more normal kind of nightmare for Harry. Losing his friends to Voldemort, or being back at the Dursley's, struggling as his head was held under a mound of foaming hot water. But he had had another dream. One of the woman with the oddly shell-shaped ears. She had spoken to him, this time in a language he should not have known, but somehow did. She had told him that all was coming to pass, as it should, and that he should not fear what lay ahead, even at it's worst, for he would always have the love of those around him. Nice sentiments, if only he felt that confident.

But as he sat across from Hermione, her face lit up in brilliant smile, sunlight warming him and casting a comforting and beautiful glow on the occupants of the Great Hall, none of it seemed to matter. Moody, Lupin, Sirius, Dumbledore, and of course Hermione, had all gathered together for his first `lesson' in almost a month. Lupin and Sirius were huddled together, talking in hushed whispers, with amusement and mischief written on their faces. Harry was trying not to pay attention to them, or to how the golden sunlight lit up the face of someone he had long thought of as a wonderful friend, but now he saw … well it didn't matter what he saw, because it wasn't meant to be. Instead he was trying very hard not to activate the Staff of Gaia by merely being in its presence. He was getting better at it, until he was distracted again.

Hermione sat in front of him, looking prettier than she was allowed too, Dumbledore was stood to the right of her. The Staff was between Harry and Hermione, currently hung upright in the air as it was want to do, Harry around or no, but not alight with magic. The distraction came from Sirius and Lupin. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sirius look at him, then at Hermione, and then whisper something to Lupin. Lupin appeared to try to stifle a giggle, he elbowed Sirius in the ribs, who then made a distinct `oof' sound, and doubled over with laughter.

Any self-control Harry had was lost at that moment, and a subtle hum and a golden glow told him that the Staff was active. Harry rolled his eyes and let out a gasp of exasperation. The formerly dull grey crystal lit in a warm amber orange from within the curling gold and bronze cage.

Dumbledore grimaced, Hermione shot the two a look that said quite clearly `oh grow up!'

Still gasping for breath, Lupin was also now giggling, Sirius muttered sorry, whilst holding his now bruised ribs, and turned around for a bout of hearty laughter.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He could almost imagine what a dangerous combination Sirius, Lupin and his father would have been.

He looked at Hermione, and shrugged his shoulders, and she smiled too, more amused now than annoyed.

“Well since that went so well …” Dumbledore muttered, shooting the two a half serious look of irritation. Sirius and Remus attempted to compose themselves. But as soon as he had straightened his face, Sirius looked at Harry, and began laughing again, Remus joining him.

Harry looked up at the sky, well the magical representation of sky, and said.

“Thanks Dad, great choice of Guardian.”

Dumbledore seemed slightly bemused at the look of mock indignation that crossed Sirius's face.

“I thought that today, we might see if you are up to trying to hold the Staff, and to control it for a while, if you'd like a go Harry?”

The laughter stopped abruptly, Harry's guardians looked on in shock at the headmasters announcement, before beginning protestations over not being informed and various reasons as to why it should not be attempted. Hermione merely looked worried.

But for his part Harry had perked up. `… if you'd like a go…', was Dumbledore mad? Mad dogs baying at his heels, and Lucius Malfoy pointing a wand at his forehead couldn't keep Harry from the chance to hold the Staff again. He'd wanted to do just that ever since he last used it, accidentally growing an entire oak tree in just over a minute, instead of the first shoot, the tree incidentally was now growing very well in the central courtyard of the school grounds.

Harry hadn't been allowed to put so much as a finger on the Staff of Gaia, since the incident. Mostly, Harry assumed, because by holding it, the Staff drained him physically, mentally and magically. But to Harry, the sensation that he experienced when he used it, was worth it. Being risen higher and higher, to a place where magic, thought, memory and an unknown source of intense magical intertwined. It was enticing. And his connection to the Staff, the ever-present subtle buzz in his solar plexus, never ceased to remind him of his desire to experience that strange knowledge and power again. He glanced at Hermione; of course this affected her too.

Harry still had no idea how it was that he was allowing her to experience something when he used, or attempted not to use to Staff, and he had never asked her about any of her experiences since the one back at the Burrow, the one that had started the whole thing. He felt … embarrassed.

Dumbledore spotted the look that had passed between the two.

“Don't worry Harry, I had actually hoped that Miss Granger could play a more active role in today's lesson.”

Curiosity and apprehension must have shown on the faces of all those present, Dumbledore gave them a calming smile.

“I was not planning on trying to set you a task to accomplish Mr Potter, since we all know that that doesn't seem to work. As a matter of fact, I would like it if you merely used the Staff to attempt to discern the exact nature of this … connection that you and Miss Granger have.”

“Forgive me Headmaster, but is that wise?” Sirius interrupted.

“I believe it is Sirius, and you should have a little more respect for your elders, don't think that I haven't heard what you and Remus call Mundugus behind his back, and I'm not talking about `the old coot'.”

Sirius promptly blushed in embarrassment; Harry shot him a questioning look. What exactly did he and Remus call Mundugus Fletcher behind his back? Harry was willing to bet the old lawyer already knew. Dumbledore continued.

“I believe it might be prudent, even with any potential risks undoubtedly involved, that we should see how strong this connection is, and just what it may allow you to do, or if it might be necessary at any point to sever it. Of course that is only if the both of you are willing?” he asked of Harry and Hermione. Though Hermione nodded her willingness, Harry wasn't so sure.

“Professor Dumbledore, I don't know how I'm going to stay in control of anything if I'm using the Staff, I'm not always really aware of what I'm doing.”

“I know Harry, but as I said, we won't be setting you a task outside of trying to find out what your connection to Miss Granger is, so I think we should be safe.”

“Safe?”

“You are the only one who really set's yourself a task, whether it be protecting your fellow student's from a group of cave troll's, or creating life from an acorn. If you set yourself the task of tracking the emotions and memories you are funnelling to Miss Granger, I have no doubt that you will succeed.”

Harry finally nodded his own ascent, with a last `are you certain?' to Hermione. She simply nodded again.

“Well I do believe that you should try it without the Staff's aid first.”

“How do we do that Professor? We're not psychic.” Hermione asked, without a hint of belligerency.

Dumbledore moved the Staff of Gaia from its place in the centre, and gave it to Sirius. The light in the crystal flickered weakly for a few moments, before extinguishing completely. Lupin snorted. Sirius looked mightily peeved.

“I'm having an off day alright!” he excused his apparent lack of effect on the magical artefact.

“Now both of you close your eyes. Not you Sirius! Pull yourself together.

Harry and Hermione, would you please close your eyes.”

Harry grinned at Hermione, just before he allowed his world to go black.

“Now try to clear your minds of any thoughts. Imagining only a vast black space, nothing in it of any sort. But it is a comforting space, warm, nothing to fear.”

They did as they were told, and soon listening only to the sound of Dumbledore's soothing voice, they were calm and relaxed. Their breathing eased, and they sat a little easier in their chairs. It seemed like a great while past in that dark warm place before Dumbledore spoke again.

“Now that you are at ease, I want you to begin to look around. You will realise that in this calm place, there is more than just darkness, look for it.”

It was not long before Harry could feel that there was something more in the darkness, a presence. No, there were presences. He felt a shiver pass through him, and the hairs on his neck and arms were standing on end. One of the presences was not a welcomed feeling. And there was another, but this one was so alien a sensation he couldn't pin down a single word to describe the feeling it evoked in him. But there was another, one that evoked emotions in him that he could identify. He felt safe with it, but at times it was strange. Like some of the feelings weren't so much his but memories of feeling, a ghost sensation, as if he remembered something he hadn't himself been through. Maybe a past life or something like it?

“If you know that you are no longer alone, or that you know there is something in the darkness, move toward it.”

Harry complied, or at least he tried to. As he moved through the darkness to the presence that was familiar, it seemed only faint, like the ripples of a pond compared to the crashing waves of an ocean.

But then there were all three, all three were commanding his attention at once, which one was he supposed to go to again? All three had equal presence within the darkness. But then one of them, he felt one of them was looking for him in the darkness. So he pushed his way towards it, determined to find the one looking for him. All the while he was aware of the presence of the other two. One was still strangely alien, but more familiar than earlier, but still he stayed away from it. And the other he needed no prompting to stay away from, it was still cold and dark.

“Harry?” a soft humming voice asked.

“Hermione?” he felt himself answer, before he was jolted back into the Great Hall and a world of light.

The first thing he was aware of, other than the light he was blinking rapidly against, was that the Staff of Gaia was now situated only 3 feet away from him, standing upright without aid, instead of in Sirius's hand.

“You know we should probably get a leash for that thing.” His godfather drawled.

“Welcome back Mr Potter. I had begun to fear that we'd lost you inside that mind of yours again.” The headmaster said with a shadow of a smile on his face.

“Your lucky Hermione here could tell us you were okay, Remus was about to pour cold water over your head.”

“I was not.”

“Yes you were.”

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

“Was … shut up Sirius!”

Dumbledore rolled his eyes, and looked at Harry and Hermione.

“I don't think that they ever left school, do you?”

They grinned in response. Sirius pouted. Hermione felt her legs go slightly funny. Harry's godfather was sort of cute, less thirteen years of Azkaban acquired grime, and given six months of good food to fill out.

Hermione looked over at Harry.

“I was worried about you, I thought you'd gotten lost. You were gone a while.” She said quietly.

“I didn't mean to worry, I have no idea how long I was `gone'. And I didn't get lost, just … distracted.”

“Any chance of you telling us where abouts in Never-Neverland you were?” Sirius asked Harry.

“Never-Neverland?”

“You know, in the children's story, Peter Pan. It's a muggle story.”

“Oh, I've heard of Peter Pan, but I was never told children's stories.”

Sirius looked momentarily uncomfortable.

“Your mother used to read you muggle fairytales all the time.”

“She did?”

“Yes. And we never stopped teasing her about it.”

Harry hated that. Remus and Sirius had around twenty years of memories about his parent's each. The only thing he remembered was their last conversation before Voldemort murdered them.

“Well perhaps we should take a break for a little while. It could give your minds a rest, or perhaps allow to look at some schoolwork, as I know you've both been worried about your studies.” Dumbledore said wryly, specifically glancing at Harry, amusement written across his face.

“Well I could do with a break.”

“I wasn't asking you Mr Black.”

~o0o~

Harry's notes slipped from his grasp for what felt like the hundredth time, luckily the corridor was empty as he passed the open courtyard that was at the centre of the many buildings that made up Hogwart's school.

Most students had gone to their last double lesson, so Harry was on his way back to Gryffindor tower, after a few long hours of catch-up study in the library. He was then due to return to the Great Hall for the end of the Staff lesson, before dinnertime.

But Harry felt like his brain was going to start dribbling out of his ears. The trial was really starting to eat into his study time, ordinarily the idea of scraping by in his exams wouldn't bother him, but this year it was different. Granted this year, he had even more on his mind than normal, but finding out that his father, James Potter had been an Auror, had made somewhat of a difference. Hearing Remus tell the tales of the Marauders most Thursday nights was making a difference. He wanted to do well at school. Not only that he needed to do well, if he were to ever have any chance of becoming an Auror. Not that he had made up his mind about that, he was still a little miffed that Moody and the others had been training him for it without his knowledge, disguising it as more Staff-related stuff. But it would be nice to know he had options when he left school, maybe an apprenticeship, since there were no University's in the wizarding world, only `college's of further education'. Harry didn't really understand the difference, but he was sure Hermione would explain it to him if he asked nicely. So not getting the chance to learn anything was not productive.

Bending down with an irritated sigh, he began picking up the scattered parchments. Lighting the tip of his wand to get a better view in the shadowed corridor. It was then that something caught his eye. A familiar blond head, across the grassy courtyard, standing in front of a large Oak tree that Harry had accidentally grown to full size in his first lesson using the Staff.

The Oak had been transported very carefully under instruction of Professors Sprout and Flitwick, out into the courtyard, roughly in the middle, to the left and up a bit. The tree had taken very well to the rich soil on Hogwarts grounds, growing larger and greener in a handful of months. It was a living testament to Harry's own power.

A living testament that had just been kicked savagely by Draco Malfoy.

Harry would have felt more incensed if he hadn't been stifling his laughter. Malfoy had grabbed his foot and hissed in pain. Did he really expect to take on a twelve-foot Oak tree and win? Malfoy hopped backwards, still holding his throbbing foot. Curious, Harry moved quietly through the open air corridors on the outer edge of the courtyard, in time to hear Malfoy mumbling to himself.

“Dumb tree. Yet another testament to the Grand Harry Potter! Lord of Squibs and Mudbloods everywhere!” the blond was saying in a sing-songy voice, like he was telling an epic story.

“Stupid tree. As wooden as Potter's modesty.”

Harry was a bit miffed about that. There was nothing wooden about his modesty; he truly hated the attention his name brought him. Maybe he should change it. John Smith? Nope, it wouldn't work, not as long as he had that scar on his forehead.

Curious again he edged closer, until he could peer around one of the stone pillars forming the open corridors, and see Draco's face.

There was a look on it he had never seen before, and he wondered what it was.

Still clutching his self-inflicted injured foot, Draco hobbled to sit down, facing the tree, apparently unconcerned about being late for class.

Probably has potions next. Harry thought.

Draco gazed up at the tree, but with none of his earlier malice, in fact he appeared … sad? His gaze flickered skywards. The Slytherin then began talking softly to himself, as though he were afraid of being overhead which, of course, he was.

“Why am I doing this? I don't have to do everything father tells me to. I'm fifteen, I'm supposed to become my own person, maybe that's why I feel …” Draco looked down at his foot, then back skywards. It was almost as if he was asking whatever powers there were, to answer him.

“Potter and the others … their not such a bad lot.” He said in a rush, as though he couldn't say it any other way, or it might stick in his throat. Harry's mouth dropped open a little.

“True their all Mudblood and dirt poor, but …”

Now that, was something Harry expected Draco to say, but once again, he was about to be surprised.

“ … but … does that really mean that much? Does it really make as much difference as father says?” the blond shook his head.

Harry was by now fascinated. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy had the potential to be anything other than a Deatheater, a miniature Lucius Malfoy?

“No father is right. I'm a pureblood wizard, that count's for something!”

Draco's face told Harry that the Slytherin was trying to force the conviction into his voice. Conviction he didn't really feel.

“But Weasel, the Weasley's are purebloods. Hell even Neville is a pureblood, and he's practically a squib!

And I'm … I'm not as … not as strong as I ought to be. Not as strong as a Malfoy should be.

I could be stronger I know it! I know I could be. But … but I don't want to be, I can't do it!” something bordering on terror passed over the young man's face.

“What if they're not lying? What if the rumours are true, and my father really is a Deatheater? I can't be…”

“DRACO!”

Draco's head snapped back, at the sound of Pansy Parkinson's high, shrill voice. She was hurrying across the courtyard as fast as her new heels could carry her. Which was not all that fast.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concern mixing with an overly large, irritating smile. Falsities were evident in every pore.

Sure most Slytherin's weren't that kind, brave or hard working, but they were loyal to each other in a pinch. Well, as long as it served a mutual purpose anyway.

Draco's usual sneer had reappeared the moment his fellow Slytherin had arrived at his side. She proffered a hand to help him to his feet.

“Fine Pansy, just giving Potter's tree here a good-kicking. Since we can't get anywhere near him these days.”

“Not even on the Quidditch pitch.” Pansy said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She noticed the disgusted look Draco gave her, and quickly began compensating.

“Is that how you hurt your foot?” she said, slipping one arm under Draco's to help him along.

Draco recovered from his earlier irritation at Pansy's putdown to make one of his own.

“Yeah, turns out the tree is as thick as Potter. Maybe you'd have more luck with it.”

Pansy made an irritating sound that was bordering on laughter, only fake. She knew what pureblood families had the most prestige; it wouldn't do to alienate one of the most powerful after all. Not when her parent's were practically arranging the marriage already.

Harry remained in his hiding position for a while after they had left, a little shocked.

He really doesn't know his father is a Deatheater?

That was certainly something of a surprise, given how blasé the Slytherin seemed to be about letting people know it. But then it hit him. It was about power. People feared Deatheaters. People feared anything to do with them. So if they thought Malfoy was related to one, they were gonna damn well keep out of his way. No one wants to go home to see a Dark Mark above it. Even within his own house, Malfoy had power, because, as the rumours went, Malfoy's father was in the inner circle, You-Know-Who's most trusted advisors.

A little shaken by the news that his school archenemy might not be as rotten to the core as he'd previously thought, Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. Dropping his parchment's a few more time's in his distraction.

When did everything stop being black and white, and become grey all of a sudden?

~o0o~

“You've got to be kidding me!”

“No really, that's what happened. He doesn't know his dad's a Deatheater.”

“Oh come on Harry, how do you know he didn't know you were there? It's probably just some stupid trick. Malfoy's been way too happy about You-Know-Who's return, to suddenly turn into a boy scout.”

Harry had been whispering to Hermione about the `Draco thing' for a few minutes now, and was wondering why he hadn't thought of that. Granted it would mean that Draco Malfoy was a very brilliant actor with a great line in monologues, but still, the idea that the Slytherin night not be all that bad, had struck a chord in him. Maybe some people could be `brought back from the edge' as it were. That was a far more comforting thought, than `dealing' with the people who'd gone over it.

Hermione was probably right. It was probably some new master-minded plot to get someone close to Harry, to get him to do something stupid, say like take a swim in the Great Lake without a wand. Harry would never be stupid enough to do something like that …

Dumbledore and the others returned to the circle of chairs, cups of tea in hand, and sat down.

“Now remember Harry, try to think only of finding the connection that exists between you and Miss Granger. If it helps, think of it as a pathway with a meeting place for your minds.”

Harry nodded.

~o0o~

Hermione wasn't sure how long her eyes had been closed, she didn't even remember closing them. The last thing she remembered was almost being blinded by the bright light that had come from the Staff of Gaia as Harry had called it to him. And then there was darkness.

Perhaps it was the sound of footsteps on a gravel pathway that called her away from the darkness and made her open her eyes. Maybe it was the sound of birdsong.

She appeared to be in a forest of some sort. The trees were too thick for her to see anything beyond the ones that lined the yellow-gravelled pathway on which she stood. A slight breeze ruffled her hair, setting a little chill over her skin. She turned around; to see a rather out-of-place white panelled doorway was behind her on the path. In two-inch high black letters, the word `EXIT' was spelt out. Apparently she was supposed to go the other way, towards the sounds of footfalls upon a gravel path, She turned back and began walking.

A little while had passed before she came into sight of a crossing. An apparent breaking spot; within the thick covering of trees. The closer she got, she could see that the pathway carried on in front of her as far as she could see. But there would also be a choice of left or right soon. It was a crossroads.

She had almost reached the crossroads. Dense forest still lined either side. The left and right pathways themselves were still clear but the trees were twisted onto it. These appeared to curve even she could see this from her distance away from them.

Everything seemed a little hazy, and blocks of shimmering pale pink would occasionally pass her, distorting the image beneath it's transparency. But a few times, Hermione thought she could see something darker, an image moving within the pale pink light.

She heard the sound of footsteps again, and hastened her own.

Hermione was still about twenty yards away when she saw Harry coming quickly from the path on her right-hand side. She called to him. But he did not seem to hear, and carried on straight ahead, moving quickly over the crossroads onto the pathway on her left. She called to him again, and broke into a jog to reach the crossroads. Looking to her left to the path that Harry took, she could see that it was darker, the path twisted, and the trees seemed much denser. She saw Harry's darkly coloured hair rounding the corner, and she jogged lightly to catch up. She called his name again. Still no answer.

She rounded the corner; she saw that the pathway continued on straight for a little while, before curving again sharply to the left this time. Harry was about to go around that corner too. She shouted a little louder this time, but still got no response. She felt a little panic rising within her, but squashed it back down. She continued on, but it happened again, and again. And then again. Every time she felt that she was about to reach Harry, even when she was flat-out running. He always seemed to be rounding the next corner, just as Hermione passed the last.

Another wave of transparent pink light passed her again on her left, but it moved closer to her this time, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something terrifyingly dark move towards her quickly, a sharp axe-like weapon raised above its head, ready to strike with every intent of ending her life. And then the mist moved onwards through the trees. Her heart hammered within her chest, and then she realised that her arms were raised above her head, her hands curved in on themselves as though they were gripping something. It took her another moment to realise that she had assumed some form of fighting stance; one leg was further behind than the other, with more weight resting on it. As scared as she was, she knew that a part of her felt the whole thing familiar, as though she had been in the exact same position before, only had been very capable of defending herself. But beyond the odd magical curse, Hermione knew nothing about defence, certainly nothing were weapons were involved.

Her hearts frantic beating finally began to calm. She'd try to figure out what had just happened later, right now she wanted to find Harry. She walked instead of ran. More waves of pink light began to pass her, but none contained any images that terrified her so. She could hear birdsong once again. And then … voices?

Another three corners passed. She walked towards the sound. It was distinctly one male and one female. She could tell it was Harry, despite the fact that it was distant enough for the words to be muffled.

But the other. The other voice, the female, was soft and low, so low that at times it almost seemed to echo. Though at times Hermione thought she could hear the echo before the words that would cause it.

He rounded yet another corner, pushing a straying branch out of her way. And then came to a dead stop. Once the leaves had cleared her vision, she could see Harry. And he was talking to the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The forest here was barely visible beneath the shimmering pink blocks of light that were converging around the talking pair. There was also a more orange, yellow light, which cast a warm glow on the surroundings, from an unknown source.

The woman was wearing a long elegant dress of white, edged with palest gold, that seemed to shine with a sunlight all of its own, almost as much as her own creamy perfect skin did. Sunlight lit up and highlighted yards of long golden blond hair, that hung loosely in waves in curls down her back and far past it. The front parts of her hair were swept gracefully away from her face, and held behind her ears with small pearl encrusted slides. But her ears, they were … shell-shaped. They were distinctly but delicately pointed, with three ridges set within them, just like the bumps you would find on any shell.

And then Hermione realised. The unknown source of light, it was her, the beautiful woman.

Harry seemed … different in this woman's presence to the boy she knew. The way he held himself, tall, straight-backed and proud, he faced the woman and held his head up to look straight into the taller woman's eyes. He did not avert his gaze, or appear shy or flustered.

The way in which Harry held himself in this place, reminded her of Grand Judge Ravencast. He didn't seem to be a fifteen-year old boy anymore, but a powerful young man.

Harry's head turned slightly as he noticed Hermione's awed gaze. He said something to the woman, who turned to look at the young witch. A pair of startlingly blue, intently soulful eyes gazed into Hermione's own. Hermione shivered slightly, as she felt something very powerful, and very old look within her.

The woman smiled, and Hermione suddenly felt warm, like she was being held tightly within her mother's arms.

Slowly she moved forward, until she was standing but a metre away. Then Harry and the woman began talking again.

But Hermione couldn't understand a word that was said. It was as if she was listening through a closed door, the voices still muffled, and soft echoes could be heard within the small clearing. The woman smiled, and a gentle humming sound came from her lightly parted lips. She was laughing, at something Harry had said.

The woman's piercing gaze once again turned on her, and she walked forward, in one quick elegant movement, her dress shifting in such a way as to make it appear as if she were floating. Hermione was aware of the woman's hand reaching up to touch her face. She was surprised at how cool it was, when everything else about this woman radiated warmth. But it was not an unpleasant sensation, rather like a cool, damp cloth being placed upon the head of someone suffering a fever.

She leaned forward, and Hermione felt herself captured in the taller woman's gaze. And then the woman spoke to her, though the voice still echoed, as though the sound had to catch up, this time Hermione could hear it.

“Coi liya moin ne-ho men icthala, coi-ne thulway na toulanee. Vou lanee myan.”

Hermione felt an almost overwhelming sense of comfort and peace at whatever had been said. The feeling she had when the woman spoke, meant that though she had no idea what was being spoken, understanding was gained. She nodded her head slightly.

The woman turned back to Harry, saying something so quietly that she had no chance of hearing anything other than the soft hum of voices. Harry understood this language?

A snorting sound caught Hermione's attention, and she saw a pure white horse, a mare, walking slowly up the pathway behind Harry and the woman. The horse bore no saddle, but a square of pale blue fabric was draped across it's back. Delicately patterned sliver reins adorned her. A few small braids ran through the length of her mane of silver-white hair.

The mare walked through one of the pink translucent blocks of light, causing it to ripple, flickering her tail in annoyance at a dark image moving within it.

The woman with pointed ears moved over to the horse, and held her hand over the horses face, as if to stroke it, but without touching it. The mare neighed happily, bending down on her front legs, allowing the woman to seat herself upon the mares back in one graceful move. Once upon it, the horse righted itself, and moved slightly forwards, towards Hermione.

The woman tilted her head forward in an almost imperceptible bow. Hermione did so as well, noticing that Harry did likewise from his place beside her. Hermione was a little surprised; she hadn't heard him approach.

“Vaelayatoo elbereset coi-ne foultar, ithoular.”

Hermione watched as the horse and its rider passed through a rippling block of pink light, disappearing before they'd reached the pathway on the other side. She blinked, and found herself back at the crossroads with Harry.

“What did that mean anyway?” she asked, frustrated and confused by everything that had just happened.

“It's like hello or goodbye, only it's nicer.” Harry muttered.

Hermione looked at him, curious. He shrugged his shoulders; suddenly appearing very much the fifteen-year old boy that he was.

“Roughly translated it means `May the Stars Light your Path, Always.'”

“How did you know that? Who was that? And how did we get back here, and where the hell are we anyway?” she looked around briefly.

“And who the hell's mind is this anyway?”

“Probably mine.”

Harry walked to the centre of the crossroads, looking down the one pathway from which no one had come. He shivered, it was cold down there, and dark, as if all the light that shone down on them, was being absorbed by the darkness on this pathway. Nothing could be seen past the first three dark evergreen trees that lined either side of the pathway. After that it was just inky blackness. And an occasional shimmer of the pink lights, but here all of them had something dark moving within them.

Harry needed no second guesses as to who was connected to him by this pathway to his mind. He wished only that he could knock a couple of trees down to block it. But somehow, he guessed that this probably wouldn't work.

“What's down there?” Hermione asked, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.

“Nothing that we want to know about today `mione.”

Harry turned around and took her right hand, and walked to the centre of the crossroads again.

Hermione felt a slight buzz in her stomach; nobody had ever called her that before, she thought she rather liked it.

Harry had noticed how soft and cool the palm of Hermione's hand was, it seemed so small. There was a slightly raised, hardened bump on the left side of her index finger. An adorable quirk. There because of the vast amount of time that finger spent with a quill rested upon it.

“Let's get back, I think that we know that it works now.”

“But how do we…”

Hermione didn't finish, because at that moment, another block of pink light, which reached from the gravelled floor to almost two feet above their heads, and almost as wide, had moved quickly towards them. The darkness in the underlying image cleared, to the point at which it seemed they were looking through a window. A dark and storm-filled night could be seen. Rain hammered down, relentless. More of the same, shadow-like creatures moved swiftly through the darkness, with men covered in black war paints at their side. All carried axes or deadly curved swords, heavy looking, and covered thickly with dark rich human blood. Fires burned behind them, men were fighting men, fighting shadowed creatures. Some were struck down in a hail of dark arrows. Some shadowed creatures fell to the thick broadswords of valiant men in armour, all around the cries of war could be heard.

Before them, many men, one with a noticeable tuft of red hair poking out from under his bronzed helmet, rushed forward to greet them. With the sounding clash of metal on metal ringing in their ears. In a few moments, Hermione saw more blood spilt than she had in her entire life. Red blood. Green blood. Black blood. All were spilt in but a few moments. She felt an anger that was by nature, alien to her, something that burned within her, she felt herself moving forward. Her hands moved to her sides, making a motion as drawing something from them, the invisible objects in her hands, running at full tilt towards the image, she let out a scream, a war-cry. And then …

“Stop!”

A dizzing sensation of moving from one place another with rapid speed, made everything spin for Hermione. Steadying hands held her to her chair, a voice asking her repeatedly, with an increasing tone of worry, if she was all right. She attempted to move her head to nod, only to make herself feel much worse, she might have retched but she couldn't be sure. And then finally she opened her eyes. Faced with the pale brown, kind eyes of Remus Lupin, concern evident within them.

“Hermione are you alright?”

“I'm not … sure. I feel a little … off?”

“You'll be alright. Here have some of this.”

Lupin pushed a glass of water towards her, steadying her trembling hands upon it, allowing her to take a sip. She looked down at his robes.

“Sorry about that.”

Remus followed her gaze.

“Don't be, I can get them cleaned.” He said, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

She looked beyond the lupine professor. Harry wasn't doing as well. He'd crumpled from his chair, sheen of sweat on his brow, panting in exertion. His shivering body, was leant back onto his godfather, who held him tightly I his arms, almost possessively.

Lupin saw where her gaze fell.

“Don't worry Hermione, it could be worse.”

She cocked her eyebrows in question.

“Well he could be unconscious.”

Hermione grimaced.

“Great.”

~o0o~

“Crucio!”

Muffled screams reverberated off the stone walls. A few Deatheaters gathered nearby snickered, as one of their own felt the wrath of the Dark Lord.

“When I ask a question, I expect an answer, Wormtail.”

The Dark Lord pulled his wand back, Peter Pettigrew had a brief respite.

“Y…y…yes my Lord. Forgive my foolishness.”

“Wormtail, you are permanently foolish, just sometimes more than others.”

“Y…yes My Lord.”

“Now Wormtail, is everything ready?”

“N…no, my… my Lord.”

“Crucio!”

More screams were heard, though such a thing was not unusual within these walls. The Dark Lord lazily flicked his wand upwards, ending the curse a few minutes later.

“Now Wormtail. Since you seem to be so incapable of getting Mr Potter a `gift', then I will send Crabbe and Goyle with you.”

“My Lord I'm sure I can do…”

“Quiet Wormtail! You test my patience as it is!”

“My Lord, perhaps, I may be of some assistance.” Severus Snape interjected.

For anyone who could see within the Dark Lords hooded features at that moment, as those features turned into the abomination of a smile, they would have been chilled to their core.

“No Severus. There are things that I would … discuss with you today.”

A shimmering cage of dark green magic appeared around the traitor Deatheater. Snape removed his hood, what point was there in hiding behind it now?

“I will not let you do this to them.” His voice came out as a soft growl.

“Ah Severus, I do not think that you will be capable of doing anything for quite some time.”

The Dark Lord returned his attention back to the Deatheater who still grovelled at his feet.

“Get up Wormtail! Now go and prove your loyalty. I want this `gift' by the end of the week, it has to be sent before the end of the school year. It will be a wonderful note to end it on.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Pettigrew pulled himself off the ground, and then was bodily forced towards the door by the hulking masses of Crabbe and Goyle. Just as they were about to leave, the cold and terrible voice sounded again.

“Oh and Wormtail?”

“Yes My Lord?”

“It doesn't have to be in piece when it gets here. Make sure that it screams for me.”

~o0o~

Buh-buh-bud-du!!!! Coffee, coffeee, cofffffeeeeeeeee! Ahem, I think that's enough product-placement advertising from me.

Thank You TO:

Legacy

Shura

Psychochick

Nicky- Azkzban? Your giving me ideas you know!

()

duckies

BoOKWoRm

Sky Chief- Dudley- Psychological Motivation? Now there's a scary thought.

Ponokyunin

Lei Dumbledore

Shadow

Moshimoshi-erm, I'd rather you didn't hit me thanks.

Sygirl:VALOR- if yer confused about the story, just email your questions and I'll try to answer them. Without giving the plot away of course!

Coconut-ice agent h/h

Makulit- Now that would be telling.

Videl86- Reek terror on Vernon? Where's the queue?

Charlie Girl

VderDWP

Peter

LittLetRiXta- a poem, all for me? I feel all inspired!

Megaman50k

Arianne

teazer- apologies about your eyesight.

Moridia Shadar

Heaven-Great name!

Arizosa

Smallville-Chickie

Phoenix flight

Unknown(even to me - okay yer a bit weird, but you reviewed so who cares?

ninerings- undying love? Ick! Their 15, it would be a bit much wouldn't it?

Star-Crystal- Kill you, tad drastic I think.

ronin721- Awe *blushes*

Harry #1

Madam X

Meg- Vernon win the trial? It could happen.

Fairymagic689

Elenor Rigsby- ah ha! But I'm not in Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff! Makes you wonder which of the other two I'm in doesn't it?

Dauphin- Death, once again I say a tad drastic

K- euch! Your making me dizzy!

Jellybean- Please don't hurt me!

Well if you feel like it, a review would be nice, but no worries. Have a nice day!

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Authors note: Yepiee, you made it this far, pat yourself on the back and tuck into you‘re next mug of rocket fuel coffee.

If the next chapter turn‘s up late, kindly send all hate mail to my place of work for causing the repetitive strain in my arm that prevents me from doing much in the way of typing at home from time to time.

I‘m nicking off with Ms.Rowling‘s characters for a little while, I don‘t own them and never will. I promise to return them more or less intact.

And now on with the tale...

Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories-Part 3

It was strange. That sickly buzzing feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was at once unpleasant and oddly familiar, a little like butterflies in your tummy before a school exam.

But this was far more unpleasant. It was a warning, or a reminder, whichever way you look at it; that something was coming, and it wasn't a good thing. He didn't feel sick with it, just very much aware. And he didn't like it.

Harry Potter didn't like it at all.

~o0o~

"Harry?"

"Hunh?"

"Harry?"

"Hunh?"

"Do you understand question six?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Huh, well that can't be good." Harry muttered to himself.

"What can't be?"

"If you're stuck on question six, when I haven't made it passed question four yet."

"I wouldn't worry about that, I skipped two questions already."

Ron jammed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes.

"Oh this is useless!"

Ron leant back on his chair, the wooden legs groaned in protest, Madam Pincer, the school librarian looked over with a glare. Ron didn't notice, and continued swinging on his chair, periodically twirling his wand in his left hand.

"I think that they should call off the exams this year. Call it an act of compassion in a time of stress. Not that I'm complaining about exams, but how are we supposed to concentrate with You-Know-Who on the loose, Deatheaters around every corner; knowing that we might just snuff it at any moment. It'd only be fair really."

Harry sighed, Ron liked exams even less than Harry did.

"Cancel the exams?" A dry voice replied, making it all to obvious that she did not approve of such talk. It was said in a tone that only somebody with an enviable superiority in the intelligence department could manage, and one to which Ron grunted in exasperation.

"Well at least push them back or something. How am I supposed to study twice as hard as I normally do, for twice the amount of time I normally take, train for Quidditch, and that bleedin' trial..."

Harry glared at his russet-haired friend.

"Err, sorry about that Harry, no offence intended."

Harry relaxed his facial muscles into a slight smile.

"None taken."

"Weelll. If you two are finding it hard to cope, even with two more free lessons a week than anybody else, I suggest you drop Quidditch."

Jaws dropped in an expression made from equal parts, confusion, shock and utter inability to understand such a concept. Ron recovered himself first.

"Give up..."

"...Quidditch..."

"...must be mad..."

"...brilliant game..."

"...best players..."

"...can't be serious..."

"...best thing that ever happened..."

"...only three more games..."

"...pounding Slytherin..."

"...training for co-captains..."

"...pounding Malfoy..."

"...need the House Cup, and besides..."

Both boys looked at each other

"QUIDDITCH IS LIFE!"

They announced rather loudly with matching grins. They drew amused expressions from the other students present, and a disapproving and resounding 'shush' from Madam Pincer.

Hermione looked up at the sky and muttered something about 'priorities'.

Ron looked back at the question on his Transfigurations homework, and quite unaccommodatingly, it remained unintelligible. Ron let out a grunt, and hit his head against the table with a 'thud'. Apparently harder than he was meaning too, because this sound was followed by an 'Ouch'.

Harry smirked, Hermione had her best 'Why do I put up with this?' look on her face.

"Will you three please refrain from making anymore noise!"

Hermione shot an apologetic look to the school librarian, before fixing each of the boys with a glare that could melt a cauldron. She bent back to her books, chewed absent-mindedly on the top of her quill, before continuing to write. Harry saw Ron smile slightly, an odd expression on his face; a slight flush appeared in his cheeks, before he too, bent back to attempting to work.

Harry felt something flicker briefly in the pit of his stomach, a strange sort of mixture of sadness and longing. Then he squished it back down, and started to write.

For the next half-an-hour, they worked diligently in complete silence, Harry was rather pleased with his progress, and it occurred to him, as he looked over at Ron's now quite full sheet of parchment, that they were not as bad at studying as they frequently made out, as long as they didn't distract one another.

"Studying hard I see." The soothing timbre of Dumbledore's voice broke through Harry's own musings.

The soft whinnying of Hogwarts school pet came from Ron's side of the desk. Snuffles pulled himself up to the level of the desk, using his paws. The hairy dog seemed to look over Ron's work, and then a soft snort exited his mouth he was laughing. Ron shot the mangy old mutt a dirty look.

"I've come to see how you're doing with your potions homework, as I will be taking over your lessons for a while."

"You'll be teaching potions? Why, where is Professor Snape?" Ron asked, unable to keep some of the excitement out of his voice.

Dumbledore lowered is head, Harry noticed that the old man's eyes seemed dull, and when he answered Ron's questions his voice was soft and low, it held none of the mischief that was usually present.

"Serverus has ... gone away for a while. A little ... holiday in Siberia. Not sure what possessed him to go there, very inhospitable place. Not very friendly ... and rather hard to reach if we need him, or if he needs us.

Not sure when he's coming back ... just thought you ought to know."

Dumbledore straightened and turned, but not without fixing the group with a knowing gaze.

"Now remember I want only one roll of parchment for your homework, so bullet-pointing your answers is perfectly acceptable. Come along Snuffles."

Snuffles moved to Harry's side of the desk, and Harry tickled the underside of the dog's ear, only to be rewarded by Snuffles licking the palm of his hand, leaving a rather unpleasant trail of saliva glistening wetly upon it.

Snuffles padded out of the library after Dumbledore.

"Did you here that about Snape? It's Great!"

"No it isn't Ron, I mean ... a holiday in Siberia. That won't be pleasant will it?"

"Nothing more than the slimy old git deserves."

Hermione and Ron argued back and forth for a while, weighing up the pro and cons of the Snape issue. But Harry only really thought about one thing, as he wiped his slobber-covered hand on his trousers.

I bet other people don't have to pet their godparents.

~o0o~

A few days later ...

"Aunt Petunia?"

Harry walked nervously towards his Aunt, who for once was not in the presence of her minder, the blond-haired female witch.

Harry was tense all over, half-expecting his Aunt to become cold and distant, or angry and shout at her freak of a nephew to go away. What he was not expecting however was for Petunia Dursley to smile back at him, appearing as nervous as he was.

"Hello Harry."

Almost at once a hundred and one questions flooded his mind, each one crying out for an answer, some concerned, some angry.

Are you going to testify?...

What are you going to say?...

Are you alright?...

Where have you been living?...

Have you seen Dudley?...

How could you let all this happen to me?...

Did you ever care for me, in even the smallest way?...

But then he felt his throat close up, fear of his Aunts reaction to any one of these questions had placed a clamp about his neck, and was now threatening to squeeze. His gaze fell to the floor instead. Completely unsure as to how to start the conversation, an awkward silence ensued. Until, most unexpectedly, Aunt Petunia broke it.

"How are your studies going Harry?"

Harry looked up, and saw a genuine interest in his Aunts eyes, where before they had always seemingly held contempt.

"Well... Mrs ...Ms Figg... she mentioned that you have exams of some kind this year. The B.U.D.G.I.E's or something I think she said..."

"The B.U.D.G.I.E's!" Harry let out a small snort of laughter, startling his Aunt, who only relaxed as she saw the grin pass over her nephews face, a small smile gracing her own, the smile softened her normally harsh features, making her appear years younger, and for anyone who was looking, a family connection between the two was finally visible, after fifteen years of denying it.

"You mean the O.W.L's, Ordinary Wizarding Level's."

"Oh yes that's it. I'm sorry, I have such a hard time trying to remember all of these strange terms for things. Ms Figg does her best, but I'm rather afraid it is like my trying to figure out how to use one of Dudleys' games machines."

"You know about Mrs... um Ms Figg then?"

"Oh yes lovely woman, very kind, talks about you a lot, and somebody called Remus. I've been living with her. She's been trying her best to teach me about all of this ... well your world I suppose."

"You ... you want to know about it?"

Petunia looked down to her hands, fiddling with the straps on her handbag.

"Yes I ... err ... I..."

His Aunt looked back up to him, and sighed as she looked into his expectant face.

"It's as though I've woken up from a dream, one in which I was playing a role that wasn't me. Only I've woken up to a world that seems far stranger than the dream world, and all of the nightmarish things have followed me. Do you understand?"

"I ... not really."

Harry replied frustrated that he didn't understand what his Aunt was trying to tell him.

"It's just that I... I've been angry, very angry for a long time, so long that I didn't even see it anymore. I took out old arguments, old feelings on you, when I shouldn't have." She sighed again.

And for the first time in his life that he could remember, his Aunt took his own hand in hers with tenderness.

"Harry it took me a long time to wake up to that, to what I was doing, and what I was allowing to happen. I'm not sure if I even have any right to ask for your forgiveness."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. His Aunt dropped his hand, but raised her own to cup his left cheek.

"You have Lily's eyes. There's so much of her in you, at times it's almost like having her back, almost as if she's standing right ..." Petunia broke off in a stifled sob, followed by another, and her hand slid from his face.

Harry pulled the slightly rumpled handkerchief with the Hogwarts emblem on it from his robes and handed it to her, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you Harry." She said with a slight sniffle.

"I'm sorry about that."

"It's alright." He replied somewhat awkwardly

"TIME PLEASE." A loud male voice called out.

"Mr Potter your presence is required in court."

Petunia sniffled a few more times against the handkerchief.

"You'd better go Harry." She looked down at the handkerchief, and muttered something like an apology as she made to hand it back. Harry pushed it back into his Aunt's hands.

"No no, keep it. It's alright."

"Mr Potter?" the voice called out again.

"Please it's time."

Hesitantly, Harry stepped away from his Aunt.

"Will you be alright?" he surprised himself with the tone of genuine concern in his question, his Aunt looked slightly pleased, if a little surprised her self.

"Don't worry about me. Ms Figg can take care of me." She said looking up in the direction of where the blond-haired witch stood unobtrusively about ten feet away. Ms Figgs' arms were folded gracefully against her chest. Her pale hair fell in a few strands against her mature but surprisingly beautiful face, and a genuinely warm smile graced her mouth, as if she had recognised what had just passed between Harry and his Aunt. Ms Figgs' eyes focused their gaze on Harry, and her smile grew broader, he knew who she really was now, and the thought obviously pleased her. Harry smiled in return, gave his Aunt's hand a light squeeze, and then turned around wordlessly and walked back into the courtroom.

~o0o~

"Madam Pomfrey, can you tell us exactly the extent of Mr Potters injuries when you saw him on the day he was brought to the Weasley household?"

Harry's attention began wondering almost the minute Fletcher had asked the question. He really wished that the entire courtroom didn't have to know rather personal things about the state of his body. It was bad enough that reporters were soon going to be allowed into the trial, as a matter of public interest. It seemed as though Harry's personal life was no longer to be his own. The past few weeks Remus had all but forbidden Harry from reading the Daily Prophet. The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher had told him he shouldn't be reading such trash, but Harry thought it might be better to know why it was exactly that some of the student's of Hogwarts felt the need to read it in front of him, looking at him from time to time, then whisper or snigger.

"Well Mr Fletcher, he was in the worst state I have ever seen him in, and I have seen him in a fair few states. Five of his ribs were fractured, two of them broken, there were hairline fractures all along his right arm, and his left shoulder was dislocated. He was bleeding internally. Hardly any part of him didn't have a bruise or cut on it. There were ... there were what I believe to be belt marks all over his back and a few on his lower abdomen..." Poppy Pomfrey paused for a moment, looking over to Harry, who for his part sunk a little lower into his seat, a slight red flush to his cheeks, embarrassment and shame contrived to make him want to be as small and invisible as possible. Poppy's voice took on a quieter tone, almost as if she didn't want Harry to have to hear what she was saying, but of course he did.

"On top of all of this he was severely malnourished and underweight. It's sickening what he went through, we almost lost him."

"But you didn't?"

"No we didn't. Fortunately we were able to stabilise him. It's taken a long time, many months of potions and the medi-craft to heal him. He's finally a good weight, though he's still too skinny for my liking. And though I know he doesn't say anything, I know that he still feels pain from time to time."

Harry flushed further, sinking down a little more into his seat. He raised his hand to his head, as though he might hide behind it.

"How would you describe his health, mentally and physically now?"

"Well I'm not a psychiatrist, but I know it's had a permanent effect on his mind..."

Madam Pomfrey took another moment to look over her young patient, she could see the heat rising in his face, as they described his body on an uncomfortably intimate level.

"What sort of effect, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Well he has developed the sorts of reflexes one generally only sees in very well-trained Aurors."

Harry afforded a quick glance at Lupin, to see the slight but understandable grimace that lined his face. Not all of the reflexes Harry had developed were the direct result of living with Vernon Dursley- though that had unmistakably been a considerable factor. The others were almost five of playing seeker on the best Quidditch team at Hogwarts, and classes in Auror training that were not exactly common knowledge.

"Such as?"

"Well the ability to move quickly to avoid harm."

"Might not this come from his Quidditch training Madam Pomfrey?"

"I imagine that some of it does. But I think that as Quidditch players are generally picked for their teams due to their reflexes, it raises the question of how long this... abuse has been going on. As Mr Potter was picked for his house team in his first year, I dread to think that this might have been happening before he even got to Hogwarts."

"Ah, Madam Pomfrey, you do raise an interesting point, one which I'm sure Mr Potter will be willing to be questioned on later, but for now, if we can simply concentrate on what you know to be happening at the current moment?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed and shot a glare in the general direction of Vernon Dursley, who for the most part would sit quietly staring into his lap for most of the day, as though he were just deadly bored.

"Well Harry is easily startled, although it is not as extreme as it was. Sudden movements or unexpected physical contacts he is still sensitive too, he cannot help but flinch, even at times with those he trusts most. Most of the males in his company have learned not to touch him at all, they don't want to frighten him."

"hmm... well what about..."

Much of the day's proceedings droned on in this manner, eventually he shut his ears and let his mind wander over Quidditch tactics that he and Ron had been dreaming up whenever they were supposed to be studying. Harry's mind turned to his red-haired friend, and he wondered how he was fairing. Ron was a noticeable absence in the courtroom today. A mock exam had taken Harry's friend, albeit grudgingly, away from the trial. Ron had been more miffed that Hermione had been allowed to go to court, rather than doing the exam, though as Harry reminded him, it wasn't a situation that Hermione was happy with. She'd rather be at the dentists having her teeth wrenched out then miss an exam. But for some reason, Dumbledore had decided it would be a good idea not to separate Hermione and Harry by more than a few miles at the moment. The idea was that they should always be within a distance that was easily reachable. Just in case of an as-yet-unknown emergency.

He looked over at the curly-haired muggle-born witch, and felt a slight smile flutter over his face, something that seemed to be almost always present whenever he looked at her now. Their friendship hadn't become as strained as he had worried it might be, the one lesson they had spent exploring the strange connection that had grown between them, had worried him somewhat. If he dwelled on it too long, his thoughts would turn to the... he supposed they could be called apparitions, and how Hermione had reacted to them.

It was as if she had been acting entirely on instinct, something so engrained by memory, that her reactions were automatic. She had been both ready and willing to fight, and what was scarier, was that she seemed to know exactly how to do it.

The more Harry thought over the image, the more his minds eye altered it. The scene of dark creatures, of fighting that had been present through the pink mist in Harry's mindscape, had surrounded Hermione, she had aged slightly, her Hogwarts robes had morphed into a mossy green and chocolate brown outfit, that seemed to be a cross between a cloak and a long muggle coat, the sleeves were very wide, and dark, rich brown sleeves edged in golden thread work from the dress she wore underneath, poked out. But Harry's mind's eye also painted in swords. Two twin blades, made of thin and light metal, balanced and made perfectly to compliment the strength of a woman. She held them aloft, her stance perfect, a certain grim pleasure radiated from her eyes, as she moved towards the terrifying shadowed creatures before her. She was a warrior.

Harry shook his head briefly, trying to dispel the image that had taken up residence there. Since it did not entirely correlate with the young woman sat in the courtroom, she had just noticed him looking, and then smiled at him.

Ah that smile, she could ask him to do anything now and he would do it. Last year some girls had made derogatory remarks about Hermione using love potions, but as Harry had come to conclude, Hermione wove her own spell, one that didn't require potions or enchantments, just Hermione being herself, that was all the enchantment she needed.

Harry sighed.

Bloody hell I'm bored. What I wouldn't give for a good game of Quidditch against Slytherin right now. I feel like beating somebody at something.

Harry's mind continued to wander over unimportant things, only noting a change in witnesses a few times, the presence of a warm and comforting sunlight on his face, and eventually Mundungus Fletcher taking his seat beside him, his old body creaking almost as much as the chair he sat upon.

"It shouldn't be much longer Harry, I think that ol' Ravencast is getting sick of Hayes pulling out bleedin' 'expert witnesses anyway‘." Fletcher muttered softly.

"Madam Pomfrey's testimony was good, and Ron's yesterday corroborated the rest of the Weasleys. Some of the jury are feeling a bit more sympathetic, with any luck this should all be wrapped up within the week."

Harry smiled glumly, but didn't look up. So he was slightly surprised to hear the softly spoken words that exited Fletchers mouth next.

"Or not. Aww shit."

Harry looked up.

"Defence calls Rita Skeeter to the stand."

Harry saw the strutting reporter approach the witness section, donned as usual in a violent clash of colours. Bright lime green cloak, that was cut more like a muggle coat falling to mid-calf, a dark blue skirt and a hideous orange shirt that was overly ruffled at the front were visible underneath the cloak. Bright red heels clicked loudly on the wooden floor, their shade perfectly matched to the slash of colour on her thin lips, dark green and black were the colours on her eyelids, the makeup was overdone, and from a distance she would appear to have two very bruised eyes. The librarian-like glasses she wore only further served to give her face a vulture-like appearance. Her gaze was fixed alternatively between Harry and his supporters in the audience section of the court, the gaze was so intense, Harry could have sworn that the reporter would have sent laser beams out of her eyes if she could.

Mundungus shook his head.

"Hmm, didn't see that one coming."

"What do we do now?" Harry asked.

He didn't know how she'd gotten away from Hermione. Though he was shocked to realise that he hadn't known that Hermione obviously hadn't done anything about setting the reporter free yet, judging by the look on the young witches face. He could tell by the determined pace of the reporter and previously mentioned death-laser glare that Skeeter wasn't there to wave a banner in support of him.

If Harry had not begun to develop some measure of self-restraint some time ago, he would have groaned. As it was a grimace appeared on his face, lines appearing on his otherwise youthful features, showing the beginnings of hardships taking their toll.

Oh buggering hell.

He was somewhat amused to see Hermione whisper out these exact sentiments to herself, as the lurid reporter passed.

Well it can't get any worse ... though I don't see how it could get any better either.

"Don't worry Harry, with any luck this won't be as bad as it seems, and we'll still make it back to Hogwarts in time for bread and butter pudding."

He nodded at the old man's attempts to cheer him up. Though he loathed bread and butter pudding.

As Rita Skeeter took to the witness stand, the magical symbol beneath the chair shifted to a dark green. But as usual, Harry and the rest of the courtroom were left clueless as to what the colours meant. But Markus Ravencast Senior, the Grand Judge of the court, seemed to take note of something, a slight look of distaste past over his face, then he motioned to Mr Hayes, Vernon Dursley's overpaid, over-tanned, over-bleached young lawyer, to begin his questioning.

"Please state in full your birth name, birth date, and the year in which you received your license to practice the magical arts."

Rita looked momentarily sheepish.

"Jane Ellen Smith. 15th July 1954. I passed with merit in magical arts in 1973."

Smith? That doesn't sound like wizard family name, I wonder if she's a muggle-born?

"Thank you Ms Skeeter, I apologise for any inconvenience caused by revealing your given name."

'Ms Skeeter' nodded sharply once. Mr Hayes continued.

"Ms Skeeter, I would like for you to share with the court, your whereabouts for the last seven months."

Rita looked sharply in Harry's direction, and he knew a sudden feeling of guilt. He hadn't even remembered to ask Hermione what she'd done with the reporter after the holidays; of course he was somewhat preoccupied (or unconscious) at the time.

"I've been held a prisoner within my own body by Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

It took several moments to calm the courtroom back down. Judge Ravencast was banging an old-fashioned muggle gravel, and calling for order. Harry cast a glance at the Jury, as steadily as Fletcher had gained their sympathies, and begun to convince them of truth of what Harry had suffered, the one sentence Skeeter had just uttered had changed all that. Two of the muggles in front of him, out of twelve were the only ones that did not now look at him without suspicion or outright hate.

"Held a prisoner? But why? Why would Miss Granger, and Mr Potter hold anyone prisoner?"

"I wrote several articles about them for my column in the Daily Prophet. They did not correlate with those carefully set up ideas about 'The Harry Potter'. They were very honest, and I believe that they were much closer to the truth than they wanted."

A snort came from somewhere in the audience gallery, though Harry couldn't see who. He quietly fumed, everything that woman had ever set to print had been an outright lie, she'd probably even embellished on Draco Malfoy's quotes for her article.

"Well can you tell us something about what you believe those ideas are, and how your work may have tarnished them?"

"The ideas ... hmph ...Mr Potter is by most accounts of wizard history, a sort of hero, and poor victim, an orphan who should be pitied and praised at the same time."

"And you have found out differently?"

"That young man is anything but a victim!" she raged, spittle flew from her mouth, and Mr Hayes took an almost unnoticeable step back, as a few silvery flecks landed on his dark suit.

"Can you Ms Skeeter, tell us what gives you reason to believe that?"

"I believe, that something did happen that night at the Potters, but it has been so twisted by certain people, that this legend built up around him, it has made him egotistical and selfish. He's a very accomplished actor, as you may see when you read some of my earlier articles on him. But the closer I got to him and his little group of friends, the more irritable they became. After the printing of my last article, I thought that it was important to continue investigating, and then ... then they took me, I got to close to the truth."

"Can you tell us, Ms Skeeter, how they were able to hold prisoner for so long, and how you finally escaped?"

Fletcher shifted beside Harry, an irritated look on his face, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'clever little sod' under his breath.

Rita, or rather Jane as Harry now preferred to think of her, made a great show of looking somewhat ashamed at what she was about to say next. Harry noticed with some interest that Judge Ravencast was not looking at Skeeter, but at the shifting green symbol under her chair. The Triquatra's previously dark green shade, had become more faded, it was becoming more transparent, and shimmered slightly with movement, when it had previously been solid. Harry leaned over to Fletcher and whispered.

"Why does Judge Ravencast keep looking at the Triquatra?"

"Because he's one of the few who knows how to read it." Fletcher whispered back.

"He knows?"

"It's a skill passed from father to son, unfortunately most of the families who knew the secrets of this magic, were highly targeted by Voldemort and his Deatheaters. There are only a handful of them left. And, as you might remember, Judges Ravencast's only son died eight months ago."

Harry half-heartedly listened to Rita's sob story. As she apologised 'wholeheartedly' for 'letting the magical community down', by keeping her ability as an animagus a secret, of how afraid she had been by her ability to change. But how in time she had found that her ability might become useful in finding out the truth- Harry swore if she had said 'For All Mankind' he would have thrown up then and there. And how finding out the truth had become her over-riding desire in life.

Oh please...Harry thought...the truth is the last thing she wanted to tell.

And so it was in finding out the truth, that she had been caught and imprisoned in a small glass jam jar. Skeeter reached her sobbing conclusion.

"I only escaped when Miss Grangers mother forgot to put the lid back on after feeding me. It took me a month to remember how to return to human form. It was only two weeks ago that I truly became myself again, I ... I'm so sorry."

Rita trailed off into small racking cries, bent over her lap. Mr Hayes made a great show of removing his handkerchief form his top pocket and handing it to the sobbing witch, whilst patting her shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.

Members of the jury that Harry had thought previously looked on him with sympathy, now looked on him as though he was the lobster in the tank that they had just chosen to dine on.

~o0o~

"What do you mean she's back? How the bloody hell did she get out? I'm gonna kill Hermione when I see her."

Listening to Ron's little rant did little to make Harry feel better. Fletcher was a good man, and a very good lawyer, but surprisingly he couldn't lie very well. Harry had seen it in the old man's eyes; Mundungus thought that they might lose.

He grunted slightly letting Ron know that he heard him, so his red-haired friend continued his tirade, and Harry mounted his firebolt, kicking off, soaring into the air. Ron continued muttering beside him, and then peeled off towards the goalposts. The wind picked up, blowing his already messy hair this way and that, his red and yellow cape was flickering and snapping out behind him, caught like a flag in the wind.

His concerns seemed to start falling away one by one, muscles he didn't need for flying un-tensed, his breathing became deeper and more relaxed. For some people it was yoga, for Harry it was flying.

He cast his eyes about for the snitch, in no real hurry to find it, since this was only a practice. He decided that his eyesight (with glasses) was sharp enough, and to concentrate on practising moves instead. A red-haired broomstick rider shot past him at high speed, and Harry had no time to distinguish which Weasley it was before they were gone again.

A small crowd of Gryffindor's, mostly third years and up, had gathered below, all looking upwards, most observing in the hopes of picking up a few extra ideas before they tried out for the team at the end of the year. Given the mass exodus of Gryffindor players before next year, leaving only Harry and Ron as established house players, they had decided gaining new players before next year would be advantageous. At least this way they could get the nod of approval from their old team-mates, and save themselves the headache of finding new players next year.

Amongst the faces, Harry could quite clearly pick out Hermione standing near Lavendar Brown and the Patel twins. She was staring up at him intently. Harry knew she was waiting for him; Harry hadn't given her the chance to explain about Rita Skeeter, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Mostly he was hoping that she'd had just... well forgotten about Skeeter like he had. But if she hadn't, if she had known all along that Skeeter was still in a glass jar on her bedside table with no hope for release... the image of the warrior-like Hermione was still in his mind, could anyone be that cruel?

A small whoop was let out from the crowd as some move was played out between his team-mates that Harry hadn't been observing as sharply as he should have.

"Good move George!" somebody shouted.

"That wasn't George, it was Fred!" somebody else shouted.

Harry's interest in the game waned again, and he knew, as soon as it was over, he was going to have to talk to Hermione; she was distracting him from other important things.

Hermione seemed to be getting good at that lately.

~o0o~

"What do you mean, he's changing his plea?"

"I'm afraid that Mr Hayes has advised me that Vernon is changing his plea from Innocent, to Innocent by reason of Temporary Insanity."

"Can they do that?"

"Well I'm afraid so, as since technically your Uncle has never denied that he hurt you, he hasn't even testified yet. Mr Hayes has been careful enough to introduce doubt into the minds of the Jury about you, made people question what they know about you and your honesty, and not Vernon's. By changing now, when they've introduced this doubt into the jury's minds, it makes the new plea much more easy to swallow. It's far more believable, it might even make them feel sympathy for h..."

A loud thud distracted Fletcher from his rambling, and he turned around to see his young client grimace slightly in pain. Fletcher looked from Harry's face, further down to notice that Harry seemed to have lost his right hand. But that was probably because it was still stuck inside the wall he'd just punched through. Fletcher looked at Harry.

"Ah. I think that you might want to put some ice on that."

"hmm, hmmph." Harry mumbled through gritted teeth, as he slowly slid his slightly bloodied hand back out of oak panelling of Fletcher's private office. His fingers were curled in on themselves, shaking.

Harry's breaths were coming in short gasps, not so much from shock or pain, but from anger.

"Hmm. When we're finished here, let's go to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and I'll get you a nice new pair of gaming gloves, that will make you feel better won't it?"

A slight smile shone on Harry's face, even if it didn't quite make it to his eyes. If he'd had been born a girl, Fletcher would have just suggested that they go shoe shopping.

~o0o~

"How do I do this? How do I do something like this? How can you even ask me Remus?"

"It will be alright Harry, just go out there and don't even think about it. Just pretend you're getting changed or something."

"What, in front of sixty people?"

"Alright then, just try not to think about it. If they have any questions, answer as clearly as you can. Everything will be alright after this I promise."

"Right, I just have to humiliate myself first."

~o0o~

Two Days Earlier...

"And how did that make you feel Dudley?"

"Scared I guess, really afraid. I didn't know what was going to happen next."

"What did you think might happen?"

"I thought that I might turn into a pig or something."

"I imagine that was a very frightening thing for an eleven year old."

"Scary at any age sir."

"You didn't turn into a pig though."

"No, but I had a bit of a tail, until Dad could afford to have it removed."

"Surgically?"

"Yes."

"So at great expense to himself, your father, Mr Dursley had to pay to have a tail removed, that was put there by magic. A tail put there by Reubeus Hagrid?"

"Yes Sir."

Later that day...

"And this isn't the first time that you've used magic irresponsibly is it Mr Hagrid?"

"Well it wer' only a bi'o'fun."

"A bi'o'fun? A bi'o'fun? Tell me Mr Hagrid, was it a bi'o'fun that had you expelled from Hogwarts, and have your wand snapped in disgrace?!"

"My name wer' cleared o'that. And you know all that."

"Perhaps. But I think we can certainly see were Harry's disrespect for authority comes from."

Hagrids' bulky frame shot upward with a speed and grace that would put a Leprechaun to shame.

"Don't you dare bad-mouth 'Arry anymore. He ain't done nothing wrong, af'er all that boy's bin through, you oughta be ashamed of yerself for helpin' that child hurtin' scumbag!"

Hagrids' breath slowed, a look in the direction of the jury revealed to him his error, they were terrified of him. His outburst had done more harm than good.

One Day Ago...

"Mr Lupin, court records tell us that shortly after the deaths of Lily and James Potter, and the arrest of Sirius Black, you tried to gain custody of Harry, despite having no legal claim. Will you please tell the court the reason you were denied three times before you withdrew your application?"

Remus appeared somewhat pained by the question.

"Because I am a Werewolf." he replied softly.

Disgust instantly filled the faces of more than half the wizards present.

"So the truth of the matter is, the court judges awarded custody to Harry's blood relations three times in a row, because they thought he would be well looked after with them, as opposed to in your care!"

Mr Hayes voice lowered, and then he raised one eyebrow questioningly on the last word.

"The only reason I did not receive Harry into my care..." Lupin said each word slowly, teeth grinding as he struggled to reign in his anger.

"...was because of the bigotry shown to me by the Judges of those hearings. Had Harry been allowed to stay with me, he would have been very well taken care of. I made a promise to Harry's father that I would take care of his son, I would have loved as though he were my own flesh and blood."

"Really? And what care could a man in your position offer. Oh, don't get me wrong, I have sympathy for the bigotry you endure. But that same bigotry would have prevented you from ever providing a stable home environment. How much care could a man who had only had two jobs in the last seventeen years of his life, have provided?"

Remus started to speak, but Mr Hayes cut him off with a placating wave of his right arm.

"Now I know full well this isn't your fault. I'm told you were a very fair Auror in your time, even if you did drop out after failing the initiation for the Phoenix Order, but then perhaps you can understand that those judges were thinking of Harry. A loving home they might have known you could have provided, but all the other things a growing boy needs? I think that you know in your own heart that you are not capable of giving a stable home environment for Mr Potter, or any other young child for that matter..."

Remus sprang from his chair, unable to control himself any longer.

"My home might not be a wealthy one, but at least it would have been a happy one. How dare you suggest I'm incapable of caring for a child, especially after what that fat bastard did to him! How dare you...!"

"LUPIN SIT DOWN!"

Judge Ravencasts voice boomed out into the courtroom, the walls echoed back, making the judges tone seem harsher than it was.

It was then that Lupin, like Hagrid only a day ago, realised his own error. A slight smile played at Mr Hayes lips. Lupin resisted the surge of anger within him telling him to rip the smug lawyer to shreds. Lupin sank back into his chair, he glanced in Harry's direction. He could only mouth the words 'I'm sorry', before he was dismissed, and the next witness was called.

Later that evening...

"We're going to have to face facts Albus, Dursley will get off with a pat on the hand an' a few months in a muggle prison. Maybe even only anger management classes.

Only by means of temporary insanity... that bleedin' lawyer o'his is a sharp one, ain't no mistaken that."

"Then what do you suggest we do Mundungus? Both Harry and his Uncle need to testify, and soon. Whatever the outcome of this trial, it needs to be over and done with. Harry's a strong boy, but this is wearing him down; he has much more important things to worry about."

Fletcher sighed, and took another puff on his cigar, in his right hand. Then reached up with the same hand to scratch his thumb lightly across his temple.

"It's no good Albus. Half. More than half the jury believe Hayes work of fiction so far. But what we need to do, well I don't think Harry is going to be happy about."

"What are you suggesting?"

"The jury, they, they need to see his scars. The ones Poppy couldn't heal, the ones that were too old. We need to prove that this... abuse." Fletcher spat out the last word.

"We need to prove that this abuse was ongoing, not a single incident as Hayes is claiming."

"Hmm. I think you're right Mundungus. Harry isn't going to like this one bit."

"Hmph. Especially now we've got a dozen reporters in the courtroom waiting to tell everyone about it in the next days papers."

"Especially that Mundungus."

~o0o~

“How do I do this? How can I do this? How can you even ask me Remus?”

“It will be alright Harry, just go out there and don’t even think about it. Just pretend that you’re getting changed or something.”

“What, in front of sixty people?”

“Alright then, just try not to think about it. If they have any questions, answer as clearly as you can. Everything will be alright after this I promise.”

“Right, I just have to humiliate myself first.”

~o0o~

Harry’s face flushed a deep red in humiliation as he left the courtroom. He hadn’t needed that. He pushed back the desire to throw-up as he replaced his Hogwarts robes over his bared torso. The loud whisperings of the courtroom could still be heard even as the thick wooden doors closed behind him, and Lupin as he followed Harry out.

They walked through the wall into Judge Ravencasts private chambers.

Harry promptly sat down on the leather couch before his legs lost all their strength. Another few steps and he might have just fallen over, such was the intensity of emotion that coursed through his body.

He took a deep breath, and wrapped his arms about his stomach, in a protective gesture as he tried to calm down. His heart beat wildly inside of his chest. The erratic thumping threatening to smash itself against the inside of his ribs, as it was they already played out a heavy tune against overly burdened bones.

“Harry, I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Harry said nothing. He bent his head downwards and took another deep breath.

“Harry … please say something …”

Harry raised his head slightly; sad brown eyes met his. Harry couldn’t speak, he moved his lips as though to form the words, but a burning dryness caught in the back of his throat, and the desire to be sick was at the forefront of his mind again. He lowered his head back down. There had been reporters there. They had seen … they had seen everything. And now they would be doing their job and telling everyone else. Telling everyone that either poor orphaned Harry Potter had been terribly abused by his muggle Uncle, or that mad, delusional Harry Potter had been harming himself. Even the true version of events would keep him in public favour; he hadn’t wanted it to get out. It wasn’t the right of the world to know every private suffering he had endured.

“Harry?”

Harry steadied his breathing, using the method Moody had taught him for the Staff lessons. Then he looked up slowly, turning the full weight of his gaze on Remus. The older man appeared momentarily startled by the power, that was usually hidden safely away appear in them. In a surprisingly steady voice Harry said.

“I will never do that again. If they ever want to see my scars again, they’ll either have to take photos or strip me naked after pinning me down first.”

To Harry’s surprise, Lupin laughed. A gentle hand patted his left shoulder.

“That’s the spirit.”

~o0o~

“Ssseveruss. How do you like the accommodations?”

Severus Snape shifted within the small cold stone room. His confinement had been … unpleasant, to say the least. Heavy old rope wrapped around his wrists bit into the tender flesh there. His body was wracked with periodic tremors, both from the pain, and from the cold and damp conditions in which he was being held.

“I thought that you might like to know that our Mr Pettigrew has finally done hisss job.”

A terrified scream assaulted the air near Snape’s ears.

“You will no longer be alone in this part of the house. And I thought that you might rather enjoy it, I do know how you so enjoy a good bit of sport.”

“You don’t know me at all, Thomas.”

Snape paid quite dearly for that, soon his own screams joined with the others, those sounds echoed throughout the stone cellars, up through the iron grate that led to the outside, and muffled through the large grounds surrounding the dilapidated castle, ending only a soft whisper on the cold night’s breeze.

~o0o~

“Duck!”

Harry flipped his head down quickly.

“Holy crap that was close!”

It was the third bludger to get that close to him in the space of ten minutes.

“Thanks.” He shouted to Angela.

“Don’t thank me, get your head back in the game Potter. Find the goddamn snitch already!”

“Yes Ma’am!” Harry shot back with a shadow of his usual grin. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind, and focused his frequently wandering attention back to the Quidditch pitch. Slytherin scored again.

Draco and his teammates cronies flew into a premature victory pattern, and took a turn around the pitch. Great, not only was Harry off his game, but the rest of the school knew it too. Draco pulled up quite close to Harry, well close enough to shout at him anyway.

“What’s the matter Potter, lost your nerve?” his Slytherin teammates laughed.

“I don’t see you catching the snitch any quicker ferret-boy.”

Okay, so it was a lame comeback, but Draco glared, and flew off anyway.

Behind him in the Slytherin stands, some of the younger students were chanting

“Potter doesn’t do the flyin’

he just does the cryin’.”

Okay I was wrong, that’s lame.

But the more they sang, the more his concentration suffered, his vision seemed to blur, and his mind grew tired, too full of too many things to focus on a single task.

A wave of pain shot through his right leg as a bludger skimmed past it, taking trouser leg and a layer of skin with it.

“Merlin’s beard Harry! Are you alright?” One of the twins shouted.

Harry gritted his teeth and nodded.

Don’t think about the trial, don’t think about the trial, just look for the goddamn snitch already!

Harry began his own chant. But was soon distracted by a flock of small birds flying past him. He found himself envying the simplicity of their lives, their freedom, of flight with only wings. His mind dozed off into a world of daydreams, until.

“Potter behind you!”

Harry threw himself parallel to his firebolt just in time to feel the air currents from a bludger flying over his head. Only a moment ago the centre of his back would have felt the impact, and he would likely have been thrown from his broomstick. It took him a few moment to realise the voice of his would-be-saviour was none other than Draco Malfoy. But the blond Slytherin ruined any old thoughts of gratitude Harry may have felt by shouting a few choice questions about Harry’s parentage and then.

“If you want the game to stop, why don’t you just show Madam Hooch your scars, it seems to work on everybody else!”

Draco flew off to continue his search for the snitch. His eyesight when it came to finding the small golden ball might be a bit dodgy, but Harry would admit to himself that the Slytherin did have almost perfect form in the air. Then the more pressing thought of

Jesus Christ on a broomstick! Draco Malfoy just saved my life!

Harry looked in the Slytherin’s direction.

Merlin I really am slipping up. What were those calming exercises Moody taught me. Oh yeah, breath in, breath out, wake the hell up!

Of course Mad-Eye usually followed this quite helpfully with ice-cold water, but in the absence of this, Harry settled for shaking his head.

Harry started looking around for the snitch, tactically searching one area, and then moving onto the next. But as easy as this was, one complete turn of the pitch had still yielded nothing. And the fogginess in his mind, though clearing seemed to have a more definite edge to it, darkness. One that came from a part of his mind that Harry usually had little choice in visiting. The wind in the air suddenly seemed more bitter, Harry began to feel himself becoming more and more alert, his eyes darted all over the pitch. To coin a well-known comic-book phrase, his spidey-sense was tingling. Something was going to happen and it was going to happen soon.

Below Harry, back in the game, Angelina Johnson shot passed two slytherins and scored a goal against a sluggish keeper. A few moments later, thanks in large to excellent passing between the three Gryffindor Chasers, they scored again. But the battle moved back up to the other end of the pitch, and even Ron’s perfect Hanging Starfish position could not prevent Slytherin from scoring. The game was one again dead even.

It was clear to all watching that the players were beginning to tire. All began looking towards their supported teams Seekers. Willing them to find the snitch and end the game. But Harry was preoccupied. And Draco just wasn’t that good.

But then, there it was. A tiny speck of gold moving at high speed, twenty feet above the pitch in the direction of the Ravenclaw stands. Despite Harry’s distraction, he saw it almost immediately, as surprisingly so did Draco.

Tingling spidey-sense or not, Harry shot off like he had Aunt Marge's bull terriers hot on his heels. As their team-mates noticed what the Seekers had, the game almost stopped. They had been playing for almost an hour, who could blame them for taking a rest?

Harry and Draco jostled against each other; neither gained any advantage in speed, neither gaining more distance on the other.

Every muscle strained to their limits, both players were so intent on the golden snitch, which neither should have had time to register the very dark, very large black crow that swooped down in their direction. Warning bells sounded loud in Harry’s mind, giving him the precious few moments for him to take action. With all of his brute strength, Harry rammed into a shocked Draco, throwing both of them off course, avoiding the extended talons of the huge bird, and the almost certain pain of losing an eye each. Draco held onto his broomstick, just barely. Somehow managing to slow down and come out of the spin he’d been knocked into, and was about to call for a foul, when a loud piercing cry ripped through his eardrums. How close they came to bursting, he wouldn’t have even wanted to think about, but the constant ringing that had been left within them was testament to the power of that startling birds cry. The birds beak opened again as another piercing squawk issued forth, a sound that no living animal or man could ever have made. It sent chills, and a sense of foreboding into the hearts of all those present.

Those with more sensitive hearing clasped both hands about ears that threatened them with the first trickles of blood. And then another bird appeared. Followed its equally large friend. They were so dark. Their feather reflected no light, as though they had flown out of the very blackness of a starless night. Their wingspan stretched for an impressive, if terrifying four feet. All three great birds possessed steely-coloured claws, thick with razor-sharp edges, two inches long. And all screamed as though the world might end, and they were the heralds.

Flashes of colour shot through the air, the visible signs of spells that were ineffective against the birds. If anything they looked contemptuously at the teachers casting them, before flicking the magic away with a flap of a wing, or a screech of unearthly terror. Draco drew his broom up alongside Harry.

“Merlin Potter! Somebody really has it in for you!”

And with that he turned and moved downwards so that he could land on the pitch.

The birds flew so close that Harry could smell them. Damp earth and a definite metallic tang, a distinctive odour of blood that Harry knew all too well. The closest bird let out another cry, one that should have deafened him, if he were anybody else.

Thanks for that Voldemort. A dry voice at the back of his mind said. An explosion of light almost threw Harry from his broom, though he knew it wasn’t deliberate. The spells coming from the teacher’s stands were increasing in power. But still they had no effect.

Oddly enough, throughout all of this, Harry kept his ground (or air) and didn’t so much as flinch. The danger at the back of his mind was only a soft hum, like an echo of true danger long past. His conscious mind (at least he thought it was his mind) screamed at him to leave with all possible haste. But something else, something from which all his power flowed, it was trying to tell him something else.

In the moment in which one of the great beasts began an effortless dive towards him, the moment in which it extended those claws, in which powerful muscles tensed and relaxed in perfect harmony, a moment of singular purpose to destroy the life in front of it; time for Harry almost stopped.

For Harry he perceived the almost infinitesimally slow downward movement of a single feather, he perceived the soft wave of sound before it reached the drum of his ear which it would sound out its pattern upon. He saw a moment spread into many. And that was when he saw the truth. Time had stopped completely, the danger, which a moment ago was so evident, no longer existed. But as the image of the bird flickered back into being, Harry held out his right hand in front of him, palm away from the body. His meaning was clear, stop.

The great shrieking bird didn’t stop, when time began again, it sped up, pain receptors all over Harry’s body tingled in momentary anticipation of pain, and then … nothing.

The crow passed through him. It was an illusion, albeit a powerful one. But one with a fatal flaw, if you knew it was not real, it’s power was gone. Its cries would go unheard, the pain it could inflict would be no more than a tickle of evil intent. And the feeling of terror it evoked became amusement, as the projection showed the terrible disappointment of the one controlling it not to have achieved his murderous aim.

The birds turned, eyes flashing red, and the attack was seemingly over.

The Harry heard the sounds of cheering. His heart swelled, as his ego received a much-needed boost. Then he realised that the cheering came from one section of the Quidditch stands; the Slytherin section.

What the hell?

Harry looked down.

Goddamn it!

Draco Malfoy had caught the snitch! The sneaky little Slytherin had gone and caught it. Harry let out a barrage of curses that would have made McGonnagoll blush, and grown men whimper.

But it was the terrified yell from the Gryffindor goalposts that ended his torrent of insults. Harry was startled by what he saw; Ron was bleeding. One of the birds had dug its great claws into the Ron’s shoulder, and ripped upwards, tearing through cloth and flesh, up to his jaw-line. The wounds were deep. Somehow, Ron didn’t know that the birds were not real, they still had power over him, and the malevolent force that drove the illusions had seen the fear in his friend’s eyes, and was using it to strike at him.

“Ron!” Harry called out, shifting his firebolt into gear towards the redhead. And just as Harry was about to call out to Ron, to tell him about the crow’s true nature, the unthinkable happened. One of the great crows threw all of its weight at Ron’s injured side, and with a yell of pain, he fell.

He was falling from almost one hundred feet above the ground.

His scream would have been audible all the way to Hogwarts School. But the screams of emphatic terror that emanated from the crowd soon joined his. No spell could save him; none could slow him sufficiently so that only serious injury would be caused. There was simply nothing, nothing that anyone could do. Except for Harry.

A knot of raw energy swelled inside of him, his ribs ached as though the very power within was straining to get out. The hammering of his heart became a dull thud that sounded like a distant war drum. The beat of this drum began to awaken something near primal within him, something which heated the blood within his veins, until he almost couldn’t stand it. The rushing sound of air within his ears clouded out all other sounds, he was surrounded by it. The air was bitterly cold, but the heat within his blood prevented him from feeling it.

His voice though it seemed older and wiser than it was, passed through his lips in a commanding ‘NO.’

Time slowed, Ron was still falling, but now no faster than a feather falls upon a gentle breeze. Harry’s hand once again moved in front of him, palm facing outwards, the energy within him building to an unbearable fiery heat.

The heat, was white hot, the air around him crackled, the beginnings of a storm.

But there was no cloud, no dark sky, and no sense of rainfall yet to come. The storm was around Harry, within him. Then the storm broke, exploding outward like the first bolt of lightening. The noise from this energy burst was an almost deafening roar to all those within the Quidditch pitch. But to Harry, the sound was no more than a pin dropping. His will called the Staff of Gaia to him, and it came. Bursting through the three feet thick old stonewalls of Dumbledore’s private study, in an explosion of power. The ancient ton-weight rocks scattered like pebbles, and began falling from the tower to the school grounds. But with time seemingly coming to a standstill, their descent was graceful and slow, as though they were locked into a strange ballet.

The Staff arrived in Harry’s out-stretched hand so fast that seemed as though it had apparated into his grasp.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Time sped up again. Ron’s scream of terror came in loud and clear, as he sought his friend’s direction. His senses heightened and attuned to the world of magic, he felt, rather than saw Ron. His aura as it were, was unique, like all wizards, he possessed certain strengths and weaknesses, that was defined by the types of magic that moved around him. And it seemed that no wizard had any choice about which of these magic’s came near them, there was an attraction, almost like a gravitational pull, that drew some magic’s towards a wizards and repelled others. Harry was willing to bet that what he would term ‘love’ magic, was repelled in its utmost by Voldemort. And Ron’s magic was distinctive, powerful, though his friend didn’t know it. The day that Ron found where his strengths lay, would be the day a new force to be reckoned with entered the world.

Then Harry’s mind let go of all such conscious thought, as it moved to that higher place, he reached out with both staff and his will, and the raw power of it came as another audible crack of thunder to all. Then all eyes fell to Ron.

Ron himself hadn’t really been thinking about much at all, as he began his descent, to him of course, time hadn’t slowed down at all, if anything there was far too little of it. Air currents buffeted him like a rag-doll, and the newly opened wounds on his shoulder and jaw stung agonizingly. And he was screaming like a girl.

That particular stray thought caused him to shut his mouth very quickly. The sense of ego that was still slightly intact within the muddle of thoughts he was having, were not going to allow him to die like a complete wuss. He became quite calm; a sense of finality and endings meant that his earlier panic evaporated. As though he’d accepted that there was no intervention at hand, that the great unknown of death was now inevitable. He knew that his heart was beating rapidly inside of his cheat, pounding in both fear and absolute panic, but also found it difficult to care. He felt giddy almost… as though he’d drunk too much butterbeer.

Ah, must be that adrenaline stuff … it’s nice. Someone should bottle it.

A woman screaming his name brought him back out of his blissfully calm state. Hermione was screaming for him, terrified beyond belief.

It was sort of nice to know that she was going to miss him, but for Ron it also brought reality crashing back to him, and hit him with an almighty force. He was going to die.

He wandered exactly how it was that a person became a ghost. There seemed to be no logical pattern to it. Maybe he could go and join Peeves the Poltergeist in raising havoc around the school, he could go home to see the family in the holidays, and to rattle the pipes with the ghoul in the attic.

All these thoughts and more passed by in mere seconds, and all that was left now, was the end.

He was slightly aware of the impact across his shoulders, but it was a distant memory compared to the bright and blinding light that filled his vision. He was mesmerised, by the intense beauty of it. He was enfolded in warmth, the sensation of being wrapped within a cosy old blanket, soft to the touch, a reminder of home, smelling of honey and warm apple pie.

The bright light was not pure white; it danced with a kaleidoscope of colours in hues of pastel pinks, blues, yellows and green.

So this is what it’s like to die.

Ron knew only peace and contentment. The light above him began to clear, and Ron wondered what death would reveal to him.

Sky?

He could see the sky. Not only that, but he could see a number of red and yellow blurs moving against it.

Was this the beginning of living his body behind?

But it couldn’t be, because he still felt his heart hammering inside his chest, his breath caught in his lungs.

His mind swam with the sudden knowledge that he was not in fact, dying, but very much alive, and floating on a sea of warm light. And the sea was softly sinking toward the ground.

When he was just a few metres above the Quidditch pitch, the mattress beneath him began to shimmer, fading away, taking away its reassuring warmth, even as it tipped him slightly upwards, to come to a standing position when he finally touched the ground.

Ron’s shaky legs held him as he looked up. And was almost clouted on the head as the Staff of Gaia fell vertically down to the pitch. And then it stopped two feet above the ground barely three inches from his nose. The crystal faded back to its usual unassuming dull grey colour.

Far above him, Harry slumped forward on his broomstick, his arms and legs wrapping around it to lock him safely there. His exhaustion took hold, and the desire for a long hot shower, a good meal and a long night’s sleep was at the foremost in his mind. He rather hoped somebody would be coming to help him get down soon; it was rather chilly up here …

Back in the Gryffindor stands, Hermione lay tiny and protected in Hagrid’s huge arms; a smile of blissful contentment graced her mouth, confusing her housemates.

Her every nerve tingled with energy, it was like a sugar-high without the bad side effects. She felt more alive and more capable than she ever had in her entire life.

And she knew why.

Harry hadn’t just been siphoning off the unhelpful emotions and memories that would cloud his use of the staff, he was siphoning magical power too, a lot of magical power.

Certain magic’s that Hermione had not yet discovered were bolstered, strengthened within her. And others that before, she might have struggle with … yes there were a few things she would have struggled with; but not anymore.

The power he was sending were the remnants of a kind of magic that he no longer needed.

For within this world of magic, there were wizards, and then there were Sorcerers and Mages.

The latter two had been only fictional, a myth until now.

Only Merlin was speculated to have been a Sorcerer. Their will was stronger; they connected to the basest elements of magic. They could see it; or so the fairytales said.

Hermione had once questioned Dumbledore about whether they really had anything of worth to teach Harry, it seemed she had been right. From now on, Harry would be alone in this.

Or at least that was what she thought.

~o0o~

There we go, d’at was the end of that chappie, now onto what should be the last one of year 5- it’s sneaking past the twenty pages mark already, oops.

This part was originally written much, much longer, the next chapter was part of it. But at some point it occurred to me it might be a bit inhumane of me to subject you guys to fifty pages at once.

And thank you for reading this story, given how, now that the slightly disappointing Potter 5 is out, this fic now qualifies as AU.

Hope to see y’all again soon!

Sorry to all who are still reading this story about the length of time it takes me to update- you get a chapter from me as often as you get a book from the great J.K.R herself.

I want to thank everyone who gave me some support when another ‘author’ hacked up half my story and used it as hers. And to those who wrote reviews and e-mailed me to see if I was still alive.

At the moment I’m trying to apply to study at Uni next year, so a lot of my energy has been going there. Plus I’ve been writing a little Lord of the Rings story, which I might turn my attention back to now that year five of this story is done.

There are a few naughty words in this story- I try to avoid using them, but sometimes a character really wants to swear.

Warning for anyone who would like to be in a good mood when they get off the net, either go read a humour fic afterwards or avoid this like the plague, I didn’t put it in the angst section for nothing!

I don’t own the Harry Potter stories, Ms. Rowling does, I’m just borrowing them for a while- except for book 5, didn’t like that.

Take care chaps!

Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories part four

“Absolutely not!” Lupin cried.

“Are you out of your mind, old man?” Sirius seconded.

“My godson is not going to end up a babbling idiot like Gilderoy Lockheart. I forbid it.”

“You forbid me?” Harry asked quietly. His tone soft and dangerous, even Fletcher moved away a little. Sirius was too pre-occupied to notice any immediate danger to his person.

“Fletcher I don’t care what you think, I will not have Harry risk his mind on some half-arsed magic that has only worked three times perfectly in the five-hundred years since it was invented!”

“It’s up ter’ Harry yer great twazzoc!”

“Now you listen to me you old codger…”

“QUIET!”

Grown men, even one as old as Fletcher felt a shiver of fear run up their spines in response to the power emanating from fifteen-year old Harry Potter.

Sirius looked on a little awed.

When did he get so strong?

“I’m the one who decided to do this. I know the risks involved and I’m old enough to decide whether or not I should be taking them. The option to do this should have been given to me at the beginning. I don’t appreciate people hiding things from me.”

Harry levelled a hard glance at his godfather and Lupin.

“Unless of course you want to try and force me not to.”

Harry let his will loosen slightly, allowing the crystal in the Staff of Gaia to glow a soft amber, an audible thrum of power coming from the staff within the rebuilt alcove in Dumbledore’s office. The men got the general idea. Harry was becoming increasingly proficient in using the staff- when there were no life and death situations getting in the way, Harry had almost mastered using simple spells, the same way he would with a wand. Something about using a large staff with a glowing crystal, when saying ‘Wingargium Leviosa’, was far more impressive than waggling a small stick around.

Harry was quite amused to see three grown men, and one half-giant tremble before him. Dumbledore on the other hand, merely seemed amused. He winked at Harry from beneath half-moon spectacles, trying quite unsuccessfully to stop himself from laughing.

“Well gentlemen, I believe Mr Potter has made his position quite clear.”

The old wizards face turned serious once again.

“But I do wish you would reconsider Harry. Promise me you will at least think about it tonight. There would be no shame in pulling out of the Memorillius curse in the morning. There is a reason that they call it a curse and not a charm.”

Harry smiled lightly, the glow in the staff diminished, as he reigned in his powers. Sirius let out a small sigh, absent-mindedly wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow.

“I will Professor, I promise. Though I really don’t see any other choice.”

~o0o~

“Remus wait up!”

The older man slowed his comparatively fast pace, in order to let Harry catch up.

Harry paled slightly under the weight of Remus’s gaze.

“I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about this.”

“Yes, you should have.” The professor said coldly. He folded his arms over his chest.

Remus realised he felt no gratification in the submissive posture Harry’s slender frame assumed. The young wizards shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

“Harry.” Remus began, reaching forward to take Harry’s arm.

Harry jerked his arm back, the still instinctive desire to protect himself, led him to take a step back as well.

Remus moved his arms in a gesture of surrender, he felt as hurt by Harry’s inability to trust adult males, as Harry felt embarrassed by his uncontrollable reactions.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s not your fault.” Remus replied hoarsely.

“It is.”

Harry hadn’t meant to say that. In fact he said it so softly that a normal human being wouldn’t have heard it. But then Remus had wolfishly good hearing. He strode forward, forgetting Harry’s issues with personal space, and ignored the young man’s flinch as he grasped his arm.

“Harry, you listen to me. None of this is your fault. Not your Uncle, not the tournament, not Voldemort, and not Cedric. None of it was your fault, do you understand me?”

Harry nodded, sullenly. Remus sighed.

“You know, I once knew someone a lot like you. He blamed himself for everything that ever went wrong. He blamed himself for deaths he couldn’t have prevented; he blamed himself for the bad things that happened to his friends. And thought that he brought everything on himself.”

“What happened to him?”

“I got over it.”

~o0o~

“Of course you’re not going to do it! Tell him Ron!”

Ron shrugged. Hermione slugged his arm.

“Ow, what did you do that for?”

“You’re supposed to be talking your best friend out of committing suicide!”

“Not much point really.”

“Not much point!!! What do you mean, not much point!?” Hermione shrieked.

Ron shrugged again.

“Harry’s made up his mind, there’s not much point in trying to change it. All I can say is best of luck to him, hope you don’t go mad. I ain’t gonna argue with the bloke who saved me life.”

“Thanks Ron.”

“No problem Harry.”

Hermione let out a very guttural cry of exasperation.

“Harry you can’t do this!”

“What you think I can’t handle it?”

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. The risk on this one is far bigger than even your ego!”

“It is not! I mean my ego isn’t that big!”

“You’re not even waiting for Fletcher to cross-examine Rita!”

“You heard her, I doubt that even Fletcher could come up with anything to make the jury question her word. She comes across as someone genuinely remorseful for some of the things she’d done. If you hadn’t had…” Harry broke off.

“Go on.” Hermione said shortly.

“Finish it. If I hadn’t forgotten about her, this wouldn’t be happening, and you wouldn’t feel like you had no other choice. Well I’m sorry, that finding out that you were hurt was more important to me than that woman!”

“ ‘Mione.” Harry said softly.

Calling her by that name, quickly got her attention, as well as Ron’s, who’d never heard Harry call her that before.

“You know why I’m doing this. It’s nothing to do with an ego trip. It’s to do with not having much choice.”

Hermione cast her eyes downwards to look at the wooden planks of the bench they sat on.

“Hermione I don’t much fancy going off my rocker either. Merlin knows if a pensieve were permissible in court I’d use it, but it isn’t. A pensieve is all too much of one person’s perspective, and memories change, as you get older. The Memorillius curse…”

“A curse Harry! It’s called a curse because it’s as likely to kill you, as it is to prove what happened to you. What good is justice if you’re not around to see it?”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Hermione, please I need to do this. I don’t want my Uncle to get away with it, with what he did to me … if I want to get on with my life, and not spend the rest of it having people doubt my word … and I’ve got this whole rubbish destiny thingy to think about.”

Harry gently put two fingers to her throat, and slid them under her chin, pushing it upwards so that she face him again.

“’Mione, I need your support right now. It’s important to me.”

“Alright, I suppose I can support you, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Harry smiled and dropped his fingers, sharing a grin with Ron.

“Well personally, I think Hermione’s just worried about how you snuffing it or going a bit Moody on us will affect all that nice extra power she’s getting. Ow!”

Ron rubbed his arm again.

“That never came into my mind Ronald Weasley!”

“Bet it did!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

Harry raised his eyes and whispered silently to any god who may be listening.

“Why me?”

Draco Malfoy and his usual cronies walked passed. Draco smirked at the increasingly childish insults being thrown by Ron and Hermione at each other.

“Says who? You bucked-toothed, bushy-haired swot!”

“At least I stand a chance of passing my O.W.L’s you ginger-haired muppet!”

Draco smirked.

“Another day in paradise eh Potter?”

Harry grunted.

~o0o~

The silence in the courtroom was oppressive. Aside from the odd cough, and hushed whisper, the overwhelming weight of people’s expectations pressed heavily on Harry.

The courtroom itself shone with in golden warmth, lit up by the early morning sun. It was a warmth that prickled at the skin, raising hair on bare arms, reminding people of lazy summer days spent reading in the garden, soft smells of freshly mown grass, and the scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. To Harry the warmth seemed a betrayal of what the day was bringing for him. If it had been cold, wet and foggy, it might have been a truer representation of how he felt.

Those in the courtroom who were close to Harry were also aware of a deep cold, of an icy grip around their hearts. The only heat they were aware of was that of their own anger that Harry was subjecting himself to this.

Mr Hayes was good. Four people believed Harry’s story, two were unsure, and six others believed Vernon’s story, despite Harry showing his scars earlier that week. Mr Hayes pointed out that Harry and the others who’d been there on the night of his return to the Burrow were clearly hiding something, because if his injuries were as bad as they claimed, how had it been that they had been able to heal him at all? Quite simply, Dumbledore had saved his life by using the Staff of Gaia, but they couldn’t tell the court that.

Quite appallingly, in Harry’s opinion, was the inclusion of the press on this particular day. He’d accepted that they were there before, but this was just too personal. The Memorillius curse used a combination of charms and potions, to show events from a person’s past. It wasn’t quite like a pensieve; a pensieve would have been much less invasive for one. Because a person’s memory was not always a reliable thing, memories changing over time as people looked back with a new perspective, a pensieve was therefore considered unreliable by muggles. But they would accept testimony from memories seen under the Memorillius curse. Why? Because in this curse a form of limited time travelling was involved.

The magic was powerful, almost with a life, or intelligence of its own. Memories were removed from the mind of the person undergoing the curse, and then a more advanced form of Time-Turner used those memories to ‘scan’ the past, in order to show the event as it really happened. The danger of the spell was that most people, when freed of these memories, didn’t want them back, particularly if what they had been through was very traumatic. And without this part of them, the mind would no longer be whole. Most went insane. A few who’d had large amounts of memory removed, simply lapsed into comas, and then died, as so little of their minds were left intact.

It was these little facts about the curse that left Fletcher wishing he’d never suggested it to Harry. Black and the others had been perfectly within their rights to be angry with him, he was angry with himself.

Lupin wasn’t only angry with Fletcher, he was angry with Dumbledore for not doing more to talk Harry out of it. He and Sirius might have some sway on Harry’s opinions, but Dumbledore had a fantastic amount. If he had really tried, Lupin was pretty certain that the old headmaster would have talked him out of it. But he hadn’t. What if, by some miracle, Harry didn’t go insane, or fall into a coma, what if his memories about the Staff came to light? How would they explain that? There was so little control over this magic. You could see a dream instead of a memory. Instead of a traumatic event you might see Harry brushing his teeth, or even using the loo. You might see a random daydream, and though Lupin was sure that Harry was a good lad, he knew what kind of daydreams most fifteen year old boys were subject to having, and he thought Hermione might be somewhat embarrassed if Lupin’s suspicions about Harry’s feelings for her proved to be true.

Most of the press who had been allowed into the courtroom, a Daily Prophet reporter, ‘The Quibbler’, two other smaller British newspapers also had reporters there, as well as a handful of representatives from international papers. The Daily Prophet reporter had thus far been writing a rather one-sided report on the trial, getting all of his information from a rather unreliable source. It came from a security wizard by the name of Thomas Mistspellt. And most of his information seemed to focus on Harry’s immediate carer Remus Lupin. Today was the first time that the reporter had gotten into the trial by legitimate means, and the first day that something alike to the truth might be written.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were also both present. Ron was not looking forward to seeing exactly what Vernon Dursley had done to his best friend. And Hermione was not looking forward to seeing it all again.

And Dumbledore, he had his own reasons for hoping that this went well, and not all of them to do with his increasing attachment and fondness for Harry.

There were others present who didn’t want to see Harry do this. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Cornelius Fudge, Hagrid, and Aunt Petunia- she’d only understood that Harry could die. Ms Figg was also there. Bill Weasley had sent his apologies for being there, as he had suddenly been recalled to Gringotts.

Still, there were far too many people there. But at least, from Harry’s point of view, he would be free of some unpleasant memories for a while. He would be a blank slate for about an hour, whilst the potions the Phoenix Order wizards were giving him took effect.

The sandy-haired Phoenix wizard grip on his arm was reassuring as Harry was lead to the witness seat within the magical symbol at the front of the room. The wooden seat that was normally there had been swapped for one with a wider, sturdier build, n a soft green leather finish. The arms on the chair were wider too, but this was to accommodate old leather straps with buckle on them.

He was gently guided into his seat, he paid little attention to the Triquatra symbol as it glowed white, and then faded to a soft yellow-orange, though Judge Ravencast took great interest and began scribbling notes straight away. The darker haired Phoenix wizard gave him a reassuring smile as he strapped Harry’s arms to the seat. At some point, Harry would have to ask what their names were.

Over the next half an hour, various potions were given to him; spells were cast.

A larger binding spell was cast over the entire courtroom, one that would prevent anyone within the room from ever revealing what they saw in a pensieve later. Of course this wouldn’t make the reporters descriptions of what they saw any less graphic.

The fair-haired wizard held a small vial to Harry’s lips and prompted Harry to drink. Harry almost gagged; the potion was disgustingly reminiscent of the Skele-Gro he’d taken in his second year. The wizards face was sympathetic, and Harry drank the rest.

Harry finally decided to ask his name, since the room he was in was starting to fade. The response he got made him laugh one last time.

“Well I’m Barry, and the dark-haired one is Larry.”

Before long, Harry was completely relaxed, a look of vacuous stupidity on his face. He resembled a victim of the Imperius curse.

As Dumbledore, Lupin and Fletcher quietly conversed at the prosecution desk, the final potion was being mixed. It required three drops of the blood of the person taking it, and had to be used within five minutes.

Murmurs of conversation could be heard throughout the courtroom, and an occasional hacking cough from a nervous Vernon Dursley. A rustle of clothing as Dudley Dursley scratched his enormous backside, and the general hustle and bustle sounds from Diagon Alley.

But Harry heard none of that. All that he could hear was humming. Humming of a soft-voiced young woman. The kind that follows no real tune, the kind that your mind makes up as it goes along.

Warmth and contentedness, the likes of which Harry had not known in a very long time filled him. A long forgotten emotion re-awoken. The feeling of being held, protected, loved. It was such a wonderful feeling.

A feeling that those few who ever survived the curse then spent the rest of their lives trying to achieve again.

When Harry began to hum the same unknown tune, those in the courtroom fell silent, the phoenix wizards clearly surprised.

No conscious thought at all should be present at this stage.

“Lily?” Remus gasped.

“What is it Lupin?” Fletcher asked.

“Lily. She used to hum that. We never had any idea what tune it was though.”

“Oh.”

Harry continued to hum softly, and at times it seemed as though there were an echo of a woman-humming coming from within the walls of the courtroom itself.

“Do we continue sir?” Larry quietly asked the judge.

Ravencast shared a brief glance with Dumbledore, and then nodded.

The moment that the final potion was administered, the humming sound intensified, until it was almost the only audible sound within the room.

The humming was broken with sobs, and deep wracking breaths. And the sound of a gentle shushing came from the same voice. Harry’s mother trying to comfort him, but she was afraid herself. She was crying, that much they could hear in her voice. There was another soft sob.

“James…”

Hermione’s hand went to her mouth, she knew what memory this was, she could only hope that the images that occurred alongside those sounds would not played to the audience of hungry reporters.

She got her wish, for the time being.

“Harry. Listen to me. Listen to my voice.” The Judge began, he was the only one allowed to ask questions that would directly aid Harry in recalling the correct memories.

The mere sound of the Judges voice conjured within Harry’s otherwise blank mind the first time he’d seen Ravencast Snr. And other jumbled images of the judge, all of which emerged in a soft mist. The corners of rooms within Harry’s memories, and the walls, gave off a soft shimmer of light, which bent and churned, making solid shapes transparent. Those walls could be seen through, so that anyone who wasn’t sat within the rooms as they played from Harry’s mind could still see into them. People and objects possessed a ghost-like transparency, but they had colour, unlike the grey hue of Nearly Headless Nick. But the people became more defined; until gradually they were so opaque that one could believe that they truly stood within the courtroom. Though Harry still sat, with his eyes closed within the centre, his image moved around and spoke within the memories too. Currently Harry’s past self was stood within the outer lobby of the main court, watching as the Judge and his Phoenix comrades walked past.

“Well this is weird.” Ron whispered.

“Harry if you are able, please show us memories of your family.”

Perhaps the Judge should have given a little more thought to his question, but then, truly how many people would have thought that Memorillius curse was so strong that it would take them all the way back to Goderic’s Hollow?

“There Harry look what Daddy’s doing. And remember that if I ever see you do that, you’ll be cleaning up without the aid of a wand as well.”

“Aww, Lily don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”

The memory was very old. A young black haired baby smiled as he was bounced gently against his mother’s hip, her slender arms wrapped about his waist. He couldn’t have been more than seven months old. Brilliant green eyes observed everything; the completely smooth forehead was a powerful reminder of what could have been. James Potter and Sirius Black sat on the floor, of what was apparently the Potters kitchen; dark grease and machine parts surrounded them. Black motor-oil spread up their arms, on their cheeks and covering most of their clothes. Both had very cheeky grins on their faces, that contrasted with the half-hearted stern expression on Lily’s own.

“Hmm. Looks like Daddy’s definitely going to get it tonight.” She told Harry in a conspiratorial tone.

James didn’t look frightened; in fact he smirked as he got to his feet.

“You promise?”

Sirius laughed. Lily made another attempt to look stern, but then squealed as her husband moved to put one grease-covered arm around her.

“Behave James. There’s impressionable youth around.”

“I think that Sirius is vastly more corrupted than you or I.”

“Hey!” Sirius protested slightly.

James shrugged as if to say ‘deny it’, and turned back to his wife.

“If you wanted sensible Lily, you should have married Remus.”

“Maybe I will.”

The real Remus smiled at this exchange, a conversation between his friends that he’d hadn’t been around for. But it was like so many others that he could remember, from both before and after Harry’s birth. The in-joke being that Lily once confessed (whilst slightly liquored up on Dragon Fire Whiskey) that she had had a crush on the excessively facial-haired one in her younger years at Hogwarts, before another young man had taken her eye.

The overwhelming happiness of such a memory caused Harry to smile in contentment. He possessed so few memories of true happiness, and even fewer of his parents.

The images faded. Harry began humming again. And as clear as a performance by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, Lily’s voice hummed back.

But there was a cracking in the young woman’s voice, a breathlessness that could have only been caused by fear.

They heard soft sobbing, and a deep grasp for breath.

Images flooded the room again. The faint outlines of walls were etched within the air. Outlines of objects within that room, made it clear it was the Potter’s kitchen- almost as untidy as the Weasley’s, Lily Potter was not a Master Chef.

The people within the room were far more solid, only a faint blurring of their outline gave the indication they were not really there.

The deep green of James Potter’s robes, to the vibrant red-gold of Lily’s hair, they were all clear. This time the year old Harry, was held in his father’s arms. A storybook lay open on the kitchen table. His father turned the pages as he read quietly to his fascinated son. Lily hummed as she made dinner, her lips raised in a slight curve of contentment. James gaze frequently glanced up in her direction, and a smile lit his face.

They were contented, happy, and very much in love.

And then a shrill siren sound ripped through the air, shattering the happy scene, like shards of a broken mirror.

A cup slipped from Lily’s hand, spilling liquid contents, and breaking old porcelain against the kitchen floor.

This was it. The one thing that every wizard and witch within England, and some further a field had wanted to see for the past fifteen years. Only now the terrible truth of it all, made those who would see it far less curious. In fact they would have done anything to stop it.

“It’s him! Move Lily, take Harry and go upstairs, quickly.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!”

James Potter grabbed his wife; his hands were harsh against her arms.

“Lily, listen to me, we both knew this would happen. We have to protect Harry, nothing else matters, not even us!”

“But I love you!”

James Potter let out a heavy breath, as the sirens grew louder.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him. Go! Run! I’ll hold him off…”

A loud explosion cracked the air, as one of many protective charms around the Potter household was blown apart like rice paper.

James and Potter looked towards a barrier of peach and amber hued light, one of a handful of charms left, as it began cracking, like glass being held within an ever tightening vice.

James put one hand tenderly to his sons face within his arms, and gave his wife one last passionate kiss. The shrill whining of the magical alarms grew increasingly loud, as the danger drew ever closer.

Those watching were rapt, caught in the emotion, hearts thrumming, mouths dry, all cursed with the foreknowledge of what was to come.

James Potter bundled his son into his wife’s arms. Lily sobbed openly, and shook her head. The baby she held reached out for his father, as though understanding that he would never see him again, a plaintive

“Da…” was all he could utter.

“Please James, don’t do this.”

“It’s already decided Lily, you know that.”

Lily’s face streamed with tears, she took a hesitant step back, just as the shimmering barrier of light finally began to shatter.

“Go.” Her husband pleaded one last time.

“I love you.” She whispered, and then turned and ran, knowing if she did not have the strength to leave in that moment, that she never would.

The moment in which the young Harry could no longer see his father marked the moment in which the image shifted to a hallway within the Potter household, and then the stairs, the landing, running to the third door on the right. The door had a small moving cartoon picture of a cherubic-looking baby on a broomstick, with ‘Harry’s Room’ written underneath it in large black looping scrawl.

The images jolted into a small room. From what could be seen of the faint outline of the room’s walls, they were coloured blue, with moving clouds, around the uppermost part of the walls, which then darkened into a moving star-field on the ceiling. A large cot, with wooden railings lined one side, under the window that overlooked fields was a blue painted set of drawers, and just in front of this stood Lily.

She rocked her son in her arms, humming to him, that now familiar tune, Harry seemed to be on the verge of crying.

An explosion rocked the house from the lower floor; a deep crack wound a path up one of the walls in Harry’s room. The sounds of muffled yells could be heard coming up the stairs. Heavy footsteps began a sprint up the staircase.

“Lily, hurry!”

James Potter shouted. In the next instance, muffled words from a cruel-sounding voice uttered a curse. A loud, impersonal thud sounded heavily in Remus’s ears, the signal of one of his closest friends being torn from a world he so loved.

Lily stopped humming, and let out one large heaving sob, a shiver wracked her slim frame. She began whispering under her breath, a spell that couldn’t be clearly heard. A high, cold cruel laugh came from downstairs.

Lily gripped her son with almost painful intensity, rocking him faster; more it seemed to reassure her than him. Harry began crying softly.

The creak of the old staircase indicated the imminent arrival of the unwelcome visitor. A thudding sound echoed down the stairway, as James Potter’s corpse was callously pushed down the steps and out of the way.

Lily’s whisperings grew louder, and faster, until a visible pink hued light began to emanate around her body. The mist gathered in rings around her, then they spilt in half and joined to form a coil around her upper torso. The coil then unwound in one long strip as it passed into Harry. A soft pink glow shone underneath Harry’s skin, and then dimmed. The spell was cast.

There was an absurdly polite knock at the door.

“Lily, let me in. I won’t hurt you.” A soft voice called. The voice held no warmth, but was clipped in tone, despite the slightly sibilant hissing lilt. It was the voice of someone who was highly intelligent, and deadly cold.

Lily closed her eyes, and kissed Harry gently on the forehead. He clutched at a strand of her hair.

Lily opened her eyes, and looked into emerald orbs identical to her own, except for innocence that was only ever present in a baby’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She choked.

Then the door blew off its hinges, in a blast of yellow light. The concussive force slammed Lily to the floor, the quick movements of her arms during the fall protected Harry, and he never hit the floor. She sat him down on the floor, and then turned as she stood, pulling out her wand from the pocket in her trousers and holding it in front of her. Her arm shook, but her face was determined, though marred by tears. She held her ground defiantly.

“Hello Lily. Terribly ssorry about the messs, but I couldn’t sseem to find a key.” You-Know-Who stopped about two metres away from her.

“Your husband’s dead Lily. You’ll join him if necessary, though I’d rather keep you alive; you’re quite beautiful.”

“I’d die before I let you put a hand on me.” Lily spat out.

Voldemort’s thin lips drew inward into an even grimmer line. His slit like eyes narrowed.

“Tell me where it is Lily, and you can go free, I’ll even ssspare those muggle relatives of yours, ssince you seem ssso fond of their continued exissstence.”

“You’d let us leave, if I told you where it was?”

Within the memory, Lily appeared momentarily hopeful.

“You can go Lily. But I’m afraid Potter junior hass an appointment with hisss father.”

“But, he’s just a baby. Please take me, kill me instead, have mercy!”

The cloaked man moved forward.

“Get out of my way, you silly girl.”

“No!”

“If I let that little bratling live, he’ll destroy everything I’ve worked for. Tell me where the Staff is and I’ll make hiss death quick and painless. I will not risk his learning to use it.”

Voldemort moved forward then, his intention clear, with a quick flick of his wrist, he caught Lily’s own, and gave it a sharp tug and twist within his grasp; there was an audible crack. Lily let out a cry of pain as her wand fell from her grasp.

“Get out of my way woman.”

Harry’s crying intensified as though he sensed his mother’s pain.

Lily stepped back towards her son, turning as though to pick him up. In that moment her mistake became terribly clear.

Voldemort, or at least the small part of him that could still be called human, didn’t like looking into the eyes of the people he killed. In turning her back she knew she’d given him the opening he’d been looking for. Her last act was one of vengeance.

His wand lifted, the words were spoken, and Lily Potter stared into Voldemorts eyes, even as she screamed with the pain of her soul being ripped from her body. In that moment Tom Riddle, saw all of her pain, her loss, her love and her hopes and dreams, as they shattered and spread like dust on the wind.

Lily’s corpse fell to the floor.

Back in the courtroom, Ron’s breath caught in his chest, he noticed several others having the same reaction. You-Know-Who turned his wand on the defenceless baby that was clutching at the hand of his mother’s body.

“Don’t worry little wizard, you’ll be seeing her again soon.” His tone betrayed how little the Dark Lord really cared about that fact.

“SIR!!” Larry called out. Judge Ravencast clearly agreed.

“Harry listen to me! Listen to my voice, come back to us, come…”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

He was too late. A rush of green light filled the courtroom, a screaming sound so terrible it couldn’t have been human, ripped at theirs ears. Harry’s body jolted, and slammed hard against his seat.

Then everything went dark. As though someone had found the switch that worked all forms of light, torches, candles and the sunlight coming through the courtroom windows, all gone in an instant. There was nothing, just black.

Only by the frightened whisperings of those close to her, meant that Hermione knew that the world had not blinked out of existence. For it certainly felt as though Harry was no longer in the back of her mind.

The panic mounted.

“Everyone stay calm!” Ravencast’s voice boomed through the darkness, somehow reassuringly in charge.

Ron’s hand found Hermione’s and gripped it tightly.

“Ron?”

“Hermione, are you all right?” he whispered.

“I’m scared.” She admitted.

“I can’t feel him anymore, it’s like he’s not even there, like he’s not even…” she broke off in a stifled sob.

Ron took a deep breath, hoping she was wrong, he wrapped an arm around her, and felt her head lean into his chest. His heart quickened inside of it. Was it wrong to have such feelings during such circumstances?

The whispers coming from near Harry grew louder. Security guards were voicing their concerns, Dumbledore let out faint reassurances that everything was all right, but even he didn’t sound so sure.

Then almost five minutes into the darkness, there was a flicker of sound, like a rumble. A stray beam of light caught against a wall. Hermione felt a faint tickle of a mind at the back of her own.

“Harry?” she said questioningly.

It was then that Harry’s mind exploded outward, catching every living thing within the courtroom, in it’s wake.

No longer were they silent witnesses to images and sounds of another life, now they were a part of it, living it, the expectations, the emotions attached to each memory, and the pain of it.

Within their own minds, they saw a bright white light, a cacophony of colours melted against it, like paints on a canvas. The white always shone through, but the funnels of many colours; ambers and peaches, the pinks and magenta’s, the blues and azures, the yellows and okras, spun against it in many ringed wheels, like oil on water. The light split into a million pinpricks against infinite black, the sensation of rushing, of hurtling forward, caught in the wind like flowers in a storm. They heard a scream, male, almost animal like in its agony.

The darkened outlines of rock and rubble were being shifted from their vision. A large and dark form shifted against firelight. And then hands so big they were almost the size of dustbin lids, reached in. Light and the smell of burning assaulted the senses, as Harry Potter was lifted from the remnants of his burning home. No more than a lightening shaped cut on his forehead…

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it ended, everyone found themselves back within their own minds, back in their seats, the sunlight streamed in through the courtroom window, birds sang in the trees, all was as it had been.

Images and memories danced by at a dizzying pace in the centre of the courtroom around Harry. As though there had been a thousand locked doors in Harry’s mind, and a few hundred had now been opened all at once.

Memory upon memory flooded out.

His first memory of laughter, giggling deliriously as ‘Mooo’ee’ spun him around on his shoulders. Being fed bad cake at Mrs Figg’s. His first day at school, a locker door that for some reason just wouldn’t shut as Dudley and his gang tried to stuff his smaller cousin inside it.

“Yer a wizard Harry.”

“I’m a what?”

~

“Harry Potter, you get in here right now and do the dishes!”

~

“It would seem that fame isn’t everything, is it Mr. Potter?”

~

“And there’s no counter-curse. There’s no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me.”

~

“So Potty, I hear you had to be rescued again. And from muggles at that!”

~

“Today, the twelfth of March, the year two-thousand-two, we call upon the wisdom of our ancestors…”

~

Some of the images seen were entirely unimportant, quiet and meaningless to the observer without access to the thoughts that were running through Harry Potters head at those moments in time.

Like Harry doing his homework. Watering the lawn. Sitting in quiet reflection beside the Great Lake in summer, drinking pumpkin juice, listening to Ron and Hermione goad each other into yet another fight.

Awakening from darkness to see Hermione’s head haloed in morning light, resting upon the crook of her arm, sleeping against the bed that Harry lay on, in the hospital wing.

They saw Quidditch matches, and the Dementors. Once again they heard the terrified pleading of his mother to spare his life.

A chess game, Harry’s wonder at the moving pieces.

The same bright green light and a cold shiver of fear.

Some memories were little more than dreams. Or nightmares.

The warrior-like Hermione, her hair paler, face more grown, twin blades swinging in graceful arches as they severed the head of a darkened creature before her, in a spray of oil-slick blood. Only now Ron joined her; the planes of his jaw more angular, lines deepening around eyes that were now a steely grey to match the blade of his claymore (A/N: this means a really big two-edge sword b.t.w-think Braveheart) which hung from his back, in a large leather scabbard. His hair was more auburn than ginger; he shot darkened shadows in the corners of the courtrooms, with lightening speed. Silver-tipped arrows brought light to those darkened places, shot from a yew longbow. It was intricately painted with faintly Celtic-looking designs.

Briefly the onslaught of memories abated.

“What the hell was that?” Ron said.

Harry began to shake, his body suffered under the strain of a seizure.

Ravencast leapt forward, to stand beside Harry.

“Harry?”

Mr Hayes had slightly recovered himself.

“Is this normal your honour?”

“By Merlin no it isn’t!”

Fletcher moved forward.

“Harry? By all that is blessed, is there nothing we can do to wake him up Markus?”

Dumbledore answered.

“We cannot. If we wake him now, when so many memories are no longer inside of him, he would most likely die. He must see it through to the end, and then accept them back.”

“What if he felt that he’d shown us what he needed to, do you think Harry is strong enough to know that? Would he be able to stop this himself?” Ravencast enquired.

Dumbledore seemed to think it over for a moment, and then nodded silently. The Judge turned back to the now limp Harry.

“Harry, if you can hear me try to concentrate on your Uncle Vernon. Show us the Dursleys.”

Harry was still a few moments, and then he began to hum again. The walls echoed back with the sweetly soft voice of Lily Potter.

“No Harry, show us Vernon, show us the Dursleys.”

As though the name had been a prompt, the courtroom fell back into darkness. But this time it was not all consuming and heavy. It was simply a dark room.

Faint, narrow slats of light, eight in a row, appeared, suspended above the floor. It was light that shone through a metal grill from the outside.

Hermione knew where this was. A moment later Ron had realised, as too did the other Weasleys.

At least those in the courtroom would have the comfort of only witnessing this memory. They wouldn’t have to experience it for themselves.

The light coming from the metal slats disappeared with a screeching of rusty metal. And then many sounds.

The sound of a lock being opened.

The sound of thudding outside.

The sound of nervous breathing from a young child.

“Potter get out here now!” Vernon Dursley bellowed.

The door opened, the audience squinted against the light, and a beefy hand reached in, felt around, and then placed a solid grip on a small skinny arm and wrenched upward.

A tiny, black-haired boy, popped out into the hallway. Harry Potter at just six-years old clearly underfed compared to the various picture of Dudley Dursley that lined the walls. The image lurched as the two of them moved into the Dursleys kitchen.

“Look at that floor boy, look at it!” Harry looked down at the shiny kitchen floor.

“When I tell you to clean something, I want it done properly, look at the state of that!”

Vernon pointed to a non-existent spot of dirt on the floor.

“I want it clean enough for Dudley to eat off of, do you understand boy?”

“Yes Uncle Vernon.” The young boy replied as he was pushed towards the floor. A dirty cloth was thrust into his hand, the bucket that contained dirty water from his earlier cleaning, was kicked to the floor.

The simple cruelty of this scene did not fail to touch the hearts of most who saw it. Those in the jury who before had doubted Harry and believed Vernon, were now changing their minds once again. The doubts about Vernon solidified as memories shifted to similar incidents that peppered Harry’s childhood. It should have come as little surprise to see the first punch thrown. But it did.

There were gasps, and accusing glares levelled at Vernon, who for his part seemed unmoved by the whole thing.

Harry’s body crumpled to the floor within the memory, he was by now a weakened and emotionally scarred fifteen year-old boy. They were shocked by the increasingly vile words that spilled from Vernon Dursleys mouth. He had the cheek of all things to call Harry a murderer.

“How could you do that?”

One of the jury muttered.

Vernon Dursley looked anything but smug now. It was a very different thing to see your own actions as cold clinical fact, instead of through the haze of alcohol-drenched memory. To look past the fusion of rage and blind hatred, to see instead the truth of what happened.

He hated his nephew now no less than before. But he realised now that he was not a brave man. Despite all the hate he had for the dark little worm that’d crawled his way into his wife’s heart, he knew he never would have let the depth of his emotions show when sober.

Drunk was another matter. He saw himself do to Harry things that he’d only previously threatened, and things he’d only conjured in his darkest dreams. Didn’t the little freak deserve it after all? When was anyone going to say anything about that? As Vernon looked at the jury of his own kind, what he aw was a bunch of pathetic little people who had bought the idea that wizards were harmless, and … normal? Vernon was disgusted.

The jury were even more weak-willed than he was. Hadn’t he only done what was necessary after all?

“Harry, it’s time to come back. Harry, come back to us…please.” Dumbledore uttered in a gentle yet firm voice beside Harry’s ear.

The memories thankfully ceased to play. The weight of the accusing glares from most of the courtroom began to weigh heavily on Vernon Dursley, who still felt more than justified in his actions. But they were now itching to pass the guilty verdict; he could see it in their eyes. He looked to his lawyer, Mr Hayes, an irritating youth with a big mouth, a few clever ideas and an extortionate fee. What he saw when he looked at the man was a surprise. Hayes hated the magically inclined for his own reasons, Vernon had thought he might see silent praise in the lawyer’s eyes concerning his actions with the boy, but instead he saw … repulsion?

Hayes was repulsed by him? Granted he hadn’t been entirely honest about everything he’d done to his nephew. Mr Hayes was apparently more squeamish when it came to appropriate punishment for troublesome youth than he originally thought.

His anger got the better of him.

“Is that it?” he snarled.

“Is that all it takes to make you people ready to send me to jail? It’s pathetic. If you had any idea of what it’s like living with that little freak, you’d know he deserved it!”

A commotion broke out in the audience gallery, a scuffle between Lupin, Fudge and another wizard. Fudge and the other wizard were holding an enraged Lupin back. Had it been Sirius, the other two wizards probably would have been hexed into the next millennium by now.

“Let go of me!” he raged. He screamed at Vernon, every part of him burning with hatred.

“You’re pathetic, you can’t run your own life, and so you destroy someone else’s. You’re not a man; you’re the freak. You hurt children because you know that they can’t fight back. What the hell are you? If we sit in judgement over you, it is not without good reason, you’re a fucking animal, and you deserve to be put down!”

His elbow connected with Fudges right eye. Somehow Fudge managed to keep one hand on Lupin’s arm, as the other rushed to nurse his injury. The other wizard, a French ambassador tightened his hold too.

“That’s enough Remus!” Ravencast bellowed. The Judge turned a cold gaze on Vernon.

“And Mr Dursley, I suggest you keep quiet as well, unless you wish to keep incriminating yourself.”

“You freaks have already decided!” Vernon roared, pulling himself up within the barred dock. Vernon then made the mistake of making a few choice comments about the judges parentage, alluding that his maternal line may have been crossed with a goat at some point, before proceeding to tell every wizard present that they were an abomination, that the jury were freak-loving puppets, his wife was under a spell, and that the only one here he could trust was his son. Dudley for his part appeared both flustered and confused, and then had the goods graces to be ashamed when is father boasted about his son’s role in pointing out when Harry needed punishing.

He ended his tirade with a few meaningless threats, given at by this point four security guards were dragging him away- no mean feat given Vernon’s bulk.

Eventually two of the wizards- with some effort- picked up a leg a piece, and they carried him towards the door.

The double doors slammed shut, and Vernon’s continued cursing became a muffled din.

Those in the courtroom began looking at each other as though they couldn’t quite believe all that had just happened.

Petunia appeared to be relieved, perhaps because she would no longer face the questions of both the prosecution and the defence. She had known what Vernon had done was wrong, but how could she choose between the man she had spent twenty years of her life with, and the nephew she had begun to realise was all that she could ever have asked for in a son, if she hadn’t been to blinded with bitterness to notice.

“Anyone else thinking that Azkaban prison would be too lenient for that man?” Fletcher grumbled loudly. A few ayes were sent back.

Throughout all of this, Harry had remained thankfully unconscious.

But now he stirred.

Eyes blinking against the light, the potentially brain-damaged wizard groaned, and attempted to move a hand to his throbbing head, forgetting that they had been tied to the chair earlier.

Remus threw away Fudge’s grasp, and vaulted over the little fence that separated audience gallery from the actual court.

“Harry!” he exclaimed, his hands gripping the young wizards shoulders.

“Harry, are you alright?”

Dumbledore edged forward, the court took a collective breath.

Then in a dry and cracked voice the-boy-who-lived said.

“Course I’m alright Remus. Though I’ve got a thumping headache, think I could get a couple of paracetamol?”

Dumbledore chuckled; Remus appeared to have gone into shock.

“What?” Harry mumbled.

“Did it work, did you see?”

~o0o~

“Are you quite sure he hasn’t gone mad?” Fudge asked Dumbledore.

“Oh quite sure. But then he’s always been a little strange.” The headmaster responded glibly whilst handing the Minister of Magic an ice pack for his eye.

They looked over to where the miraculously recovered young wizard was laid out on the over-stuffed leather couch in the Ravencast’s private chamber, at the insistence of Molly Weasley. She’d also wrapped a warm blanket over his legs –though no-one knew where she’d gotten it from- she’d shoved a large cup –it was practically a basin- of hot chocolate into his hands, and now stood over him like a guard dog, practically growling like a Doberman when anyone got too close.

Though Hermione was allowed close, by virtue of the ‘connection’, and the fact that Mrs Weasley liked her. And Remus was allowed near, by virtue of the fact he was as likely to bite the hand off anyone who came too near as Molly was.

Harry swatted Hermione’s hand away for the eighth time as it snaked its way up to test how warm his forehead was.

The Judge himself was huddled in one corner talking to Larry and Barry –

muggle-born’s if ever there were, also incidentally brothers. Harry remarked that their parents must have had a poor sense-of-humour. Larry had asked him what about.

Ron had been sent out with the task of finding some chocolate, and had been told to take Hagrid with him. The half-giant had been blubbering earlier, mumbling something along the lines of

“He ‘membered (sniffle) ‘memebered it wer’ me ‘at found ‘im.”

Harry himself wasn’t really sure what was going on, other than the fact that people were treating like he was made of glass or fine bone china. He appreciated their concern, but it was stifling.

It seemed as though he was forever doomed to know less about himself than everyone else. There was possibly only one way of finding out what had happened in the courtroom.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

The headmaster moved forward, coming to a respectful halt a few feet from Mrs Weasley.

“Yes Harry?”

“Would it be alright if I had a word with you?”

He looked around pointedly at the others before adding.

“Alone?”

“Of course Harry.” Dumbledore said it wit such a sense of finality that the room began clearing immediately. Hermione made it clear that she would see Harry later; Mrs Weasley levelled Dumbledore with a stern glare as she too shuffled out. Lupin seemed to almost growl when Dumbledore moved a little closer to Harry.

“Remus, please return to Hogwarts.”

“Why?” He ground out between his teeth.

“Because it’s a full moon tonight, and you need to get somewhere safe.”

Lupin blinked, and shook his head clearing away the more animal-like thoughts he was having.

“Of course Professor, I’ll let Alastor know I’ll be needing his help tonight.”

He turned to Harry.

“When I’m back on my feet, you’ll have to come to dinner with me and Sirius. I know he’s been dying to tell you a few tales recently.”

Harry grinned.

“I’ll look in on you when I get back.”

Remus appeared hesitant about letting Harry seeing him in his wolfish state. But then he thought better of it, and nodded his head.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Remus left through the magical wall, leaving Dumbledore and Harry alone.

“So Harry, you want to know what everyone else does?”

Harry swung his legs over the side of the couch, and brought himself into a sitting position, and took the blanket off.

“It would be nice if I knew what memories people had seen, given that I can’t remember them anymore myself.”

“I’m sure it would be. Harry I’m going to ask you a difficult question, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Harry nodded.

“How much do you remember of the night your parent’s died?”

Of all the things to want to talk about…

Dumbledore waited patiently for Harry to begin.

“I remember my parent’s talking a little, and green light. But that’s it. I guess I was too young to remember anything else.”

Dumbledore sat down next to Harry.

“Sometimes Harry, we find we can remember something from early in life, when our memories are jogged by something, like a smell or song.”

Harry nodded; his stomach fell through the floor.

“The memories of that night are inside of you. They form a part of who and what you are, as much an arm or leg are a physical part of you. You need these to survive, just as you need your memories and your experiences to survive. Whether you are aware of it or not, they are inside of you, waiting for some trigger or sign that they are needed. The Memorillius curse is an artificial trigger. We have seen those memories that you have yet to recall.”

Harry winced.

“I thought as much.”

He looked down at the large mug of rapidly cooling hot chocolate in his hands.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

“The jury are deliberating the evidence. I think that we can easily guess the verdict.”

“So I won.”

Harry turned to look at Dumbledore.

“So why don’t I feel good about it?”

Dumbledore’s lips drew into a slight smile.

“Because winning isn’t everything. What your Uncle did… will remain with you the rest of your life, but for now I believe justice will be served; he will likely go to Azkaban for some years. You should take some comfort in that.”

“Azkaban?” Harry said with a shudder. So Vernon would be spending time with the Dementors. He certainly deserved such a fate. When would he awake in the middle of the night feeling the burning of skin where old pains lay? When would he flinch at the touch of a friend? When would he be afraid to be alone in small dark rooms, or to be scared to trust both friends and strangers?

But still it was Azkaban, the only people Harry had ever thought deserved cells in that place were overly fond of black cloaks and masks.

Dumbledore stood up.

“Well Harry, the jury may be some time yet, I think I will see to it that Remus gets home safely, wouldn’t want him rampaging down Diagon Alley eating small children or anything.”

Dumbledore reached forward one gnarled finger and tapped Harry’s mug three times. The hot chocolate steamed, and Harry felt the return of warmth to the liquid through the mug into his hands. His eyebrows shot up almost into the back of his hairline. He looked up at the old wizard open-mouthed.

“How did you…? Your wand’s downstairs isn’t it?”

Dumbledore’s smile reached his eyes.

“Later Harry…one step at a time. You should know that your Aunt has asked if she might speak with you. She’s outside, would you like me to send her in?”

Harry nodded.

“Of course.”

The magical wall shimmered slightly as Dumbledore walked through it, the image distorted like ripples of water.

Harry looked back at his hot chocolate like it might grow hands and feet and introduce itself as Norris in the next few minutes. When that didn’t happen he shrugged and took a deep mouthful, and when nothing untoward happened, he took another.

“Oh my goodness.” Aunt Petunia exclaimed as she entered the room, turning and watching what she had previously believed to be a solid wall ripple slightly on her passing through it.

“Aunt Petunia?”

Petunia clutched at her handbag nervously, and looked around the room with a small amount of suspicion. She moved to the leather armchair opposite the settee Harry sat on, she was about to sit down when she appeared to think better of it.

“Don’t worry it really is there.” He reassured her with a smile

Petunia gave a slightly disapproving look, and sat down with great elegance, arranging her skirt modestly as she did so. Both hands still lay on her handbag, on her knees, she seemed nervous.

“Well I’m just glad something is real around here.” She leaned forward and whispered.

“How do you cope with all this ‘what is real, and what isn’t?’. I’m finding it all very confusing.” She confided.

“You sort of get used to it after a while.”

She smiled and pulled back.

Harry waited politely for a few minutes for Petunia to say whatever it was she had come to say, when nothing was forthcoming he decided to start the conversation.

“Professor Dumbledore said you wanted to see me? Is everything… well of course everything isn’t alright, but is there something I can help you with?”

Petunia looked up at him, warmth shining through her assessing gaze. Her lips curled upwards slightly.

“Do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Harry asked confused.

“Ask other people if they’re alright before thinking of yourself first?”

Harry blushed.

Petunia cocked her head to one side.

“How could I have missed the young man you are becoming? How could I have ever allowed myself to hate such a good person?”

“We’re all allowed to make mistakes from time to time, it’s what makes us human.” He answered, without really thinking about it, just knowing it to be true.

“I suppose you’re right. You’re quite clever for your age aren’t you?”

“Ask me again after I’ve gotten my O.W.L results.”

His aunt chuckled a little. Then she appeared to compose herself.

“I’m sorry to ask, perhaps I shouldn’t, but I need to know. Do you know what will happen to your Uncle?”

Harry was taken aback briefly, hadn’t anybody told her?

“Well I suppose, he’ll go to Azkaban if he’s found guilty.”

“Of course he will be found guilty.” She replied sadly.

“Azkaban is some sort of wizards prison isn’t it?”

Harry nodded. Petunia winced.

“I’ve heard a little bit about it since I came here. Ms Figg has mentioned it in passing, your Godfather was sent there for a crime he didn’t commit wasn’t he?”

Harry nodded again.

“All of the thing’s I’ve heard, they mentioned something called Dementors, and well they don’t sound very nice. And it’s not an easy place to reach if I want to see him.” She stuttered the last part out.

“See him?” Harry cried out a little loudly. How could she want to see him?

She looked as though she had expected the look on Harry’s face. He was hurt, and confused, and angry.

“I know that you don’t understand, but he’s my husband, and I love him.”

“How can you, after all he’s done? You left him.”

“I know, and I would leave him again. But when I look at him, I don’t see the monster that did all those things to you. I can still see the man I fell in love with, though that seems like it was a long time ago.

When you’re older some day, and you have loved someone too, then you might understand. I may have left him, but I can not forget that I loved… and still love him, I cannot give up on him, not yet.”

Her eyes watered with unshed tears. Harry had sometimes dreamt of exacting revenge on his Uncle for all the pain he had caused him, going to Azkaban was ore then Harry could have hoped for. But what was the price of that? For so long Harry had looked upon his family as ‘The Dursley’s’ and thought little more of them. How could he have forgotten that not being magically inclined didn’t make their problems any less real? It didn’t make the fact that they were human beings too, any less real. It didn’t mean that they weren’t capable of feeling pride, happiness and love any less real.

“I think I understand.”

His Aunt nodded nervously. She seemed hesitant about something else.

“Harry I was wondering… I had thought perhaps… do you want to stay… do you still want to come home during the summer?”

“Oh, erm… I didn’t think you’d really want me too.” He responded sheepishly.

“Well, I thought as Professor Dumbledore mentioned some kind of magic that you need to come back for at least once a year for that you would be coming anyway. But I… I wanted to ask if you really did want to. I know it’s not really a place of fond memories for you, but I had thought we might make a start on changing that. I’d… like to get to know you, I’d like Dudley to do the same? I can get time off work during the summer, their pretty understanding about that sort of thing…”

“Work? You’re working?” Harry interrupted, shocked. As far as he was aware, his Aunt had never worked a day in her life.

“Yes, I’m in catering.” She beamed proudly.

“It’s only part-time really, whilst Dudley’s at school, I bake cakes, Mrs Donnelly says I have a real talent for it. We’re lucky that the mortgage was paid off early and I only have to worry about the house bi…” she broke off.

“Oh I’m sorry Harry, I’m sure that’s of no interest to you whatsoever. It’s just I needed to pay the bills somehow, everything else… well Vernon took to pay his lawyer.”

“Aunt Petunia?”

“Mmm?”

“I’d be happy to stay with you.”

His Aunt’s face broke out into the largest and most genuine smile he’d ever seen. He was surprised at how pretty she was. Then again he knew his own other was considered very beautiful, and the two women did share genetics, if not an inclination to practice witchcraft.

They were recalled by the jury in what was one of the shortest deliberation times in the joint wizard-muggle court’s history.

Harry wished that Remus could have been there, but with Dumbledore and Fletcher sat either side of him. And with Hermione, Petunia, Ron and his parent’s there, he certainly didn’t feel alone.

Though the results were obvious some formalities still had to be observed.

Vernon was placed in the centre of the symbol on the floor, several security wizards stood around him showing the promise of great discomfort to his person if he made any trouble. Ravencast and Larry and Barry took their seats at the head of the court.

One member of the jury stood- an elderly woman with a cheery face who smelled faintly of mothballs and cough medicine, and Ravencast asked her directly if the jury had reached their verdict. She answered in affirmative, shooting a very nasty glare at Vernon.

“Would you please tell the court of the jury’s verdict?”

“Guilty on all counts.”

Ravencast nodded.

Harry heard little whoops of joy from his friends. Fletcher pounded a gnarled fist against their table in approval. Ravencast smiled darkly at Vernon, his lips stretched thin and tight in a calculated expression.

“Well then, it is the judgement of this court that there is no place in civilised society for the likes of you Vernon Dursley. You are to be given the maximum sentence for your crimes, with no chance for parole, and you most certainly won’t be getting out early for good behaviour. Vernon Dursley you are to be taken from this court hence with to Azkaban prison there to spend twenty years. Take him.”

The judge nodded to the security wizards that included Thomas Mistspellt, who promptly began manhandling Vernon towards the door. Everyone in the court seemed to stand and begin talking at once; strangers threw their congratulations to the young, dark-haired wizard who was currently dumbstruck in his seat at the prosecution table.

The enormity of such a sentencing struck Harry with a blow. Twenty years? What man could survive twenty years in Azkaban? Sirius had survived for thirteen because he knew in his heart he was innocent of his crimes, but Vernon did not have that luxury.

Vernon struggled against the wizards trying to get him out of the court.

“Dad!” Dudley’s muffled call came out from the crowd.

Wait… Harry thought.

“Wait.” He said with such force it startled Fletcher. The courtroom fell silent once again.

“What’s the matter Harry?” the old Scot’s man asked.

“Can’t we?… Does he have too…?” Harry nodded towards Vernon still struggling by the door.

Fletcher stared at Harry’s face for a moment, sighing as he realised what it was the young wizard wanted him to do.

“Your honour, my client invokes his privileges as lain down in wizard law.”

Ravencast appeared momentarily dumbstruck but recovered quickly, halting the security wizards moving Vernon with a wave of his hand.

“Go ahead.”

Harry was confused.

“What privileges?” he whispered as Fletcher propelled him forward to stand before the judge over the triquatra symbol.

“By wizard law, the victim has the right to ask for leniency in sentencing of their attackers.” He whispered quietly.

“You have something to request Mr Potter?” Ravencast did not look amused.

“Yes.” He said nervously. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the faces in the crowd that mattered most in that moment. Vernon, Dudley and Petunia. He took a deep breath.

“I’d like to request leniency on my Uncle in this case. Though I do not doubt that he may deserve time in Azkaban, I think that it will do more harm than good with regards to the rest of my family.”

“I see.”

For some tense minutes, Ravencast conferred with the other Phoenix order wizards.

“Very well. Vernon Dursley, it is now the sentence of this court taking into account your nephew’s invocation of his rights, that you be taken to a smaller facility for criminals, where you will have the right to visitors…” he looked pointedly at Petunia and Dudley as he said this. “… there to spend fifteen years, no early leaving and no parole. Be thankful your nephew took mercy on you this day, for I would not have.”

Vernon appeared anything but grateful. In fact he was livid.

With a speed that surprised everyone, the huge man shot forward, using his bulk to push past Mistspellt and his fellow security guards, and ploughed straight towards Harry. His face so red, it was almost puce. A vein throbbed on his temple, there was no semblance of conscious thought to be seen within his eyes. Just sheer hatred. He’d almost reached Harry when the others began to gather themselves too, moving forward to protect Harry.

But it was clear they wouldn’t reach him before the first blow was struck.

Vernon’s right arm drew backwards. His hand became a fist.

Harry’s left arm moved upwards, at first sight it appeared to be instinctive protection, but in the blink of an eye something changed.

Vernon’s fist flew forward, a startling amount of power was in that punch, as Harry well knew.

But as the others looked on in shock, that balance of power between the two shifted.

Vernon’s punch never landed. His fist laid enclosed in Harry’s left hand. And Harry’s hand began to squeeze. Vernon let out a startled yelp, as his hand was being crushed in the vice-like grip. His short and roughly trimmed nails began to dig into the palm of his hand. They drew blood.

The bones in his hand came under increasing strain, as they reached near breaking point, he let out a gasp and fell to his knees. He tried to muffle the sounds of his pain, but Harry’s hand only seemed to grow tighter.

“Harry?”

Vernon heard the Granger girl whisper quietly as everyone else stared. Vernon looked up, and saw dead hollows where his nephew’s eyes were. There was no emotion written across his face, no anger, pain nor sadness. Just nothing. No it was not nothing… there was power. As he watched a fire seemed to grow in those eyes, and Vernon became deathly afraid, his hulking body trembled, and his breath was short and shallow, tears began to fall on his cheeks. But all Vernon could think of was the overwhelming pain in his right hand and the power in his nephews eyes.

Quiet slowly Harry leaned forward slightly. His voice was deeper and coarser than Vernon had heard in the young man before.

“You never get to lay a hand on me again. If you ever try, I assure you this time I will hurt you back. It wasn’t my fault I know that now. You lose. Do you understand?”

The grinding sensations of the small bones in Vernon’s hand became too much to bear. He let out a small sob.

“Yes I understand damn it, let go!”

Harry didn’t let go his grip tightened a little more; Vernon winced.

“Please… please let go.”

Satisfied, Harry finally let go. Vernon fell back and nursed his injured hand.

A hand gripped Harry’s upper arm in a light touch.

“Harry?”

He turned to Hermione’s worried face.

“It’ll be alright now Herm. It’s over, let’s get back to school.”

~o0o~

“That’s it? It’s over?” Sirius asked for the third time a few hours later. Harry nodded. Grin wide.

Sirius swept a hand through his hair.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes Sirius it’s over alright?” Harry’s grin widened.

Sirius strode across the wide space between them in a handful of steps of his long legs and enveloped his godson in a crushing hug. He felt Harry tense briefly under the embrace, but held on until his godson finally relaxed into his arms and returned the affection.

“Gods, Remus is gonna be pissed he missed this. I supposed we’ll have to throw a small party tomorrow.”

“Actually I don’t feel much like celebrating. I did just send my Aunt’s husband to jail for fifteen years. And I think the Gryffindor’s are planning something anyway. Hermione and Ron shot off the minute we got back. They were heading towards the entrance to the kitchens. I think that the house elves are gonna have their work cut out for them with those two on the case.”

Sirius grinned.

“I bet they will.”

He pulled out of their embrace.

“Whether you feel like celebrating or not, I’m sure Remus would like to see you. If you want to risk life and limb that is.”

“Why not. Risking limbs is an every day occurrence for me anyway.”

Sirius changed before him into his animagus form. Harry shivered at the sight, no matter how often his godfather did it; it was still a creepy sight.

His godfather bounded out of his private rooms on the teachers wing, and Harry supposed he was meant to follow.

As they had gone several floors down and exited the tower, Sirius led Harry towards the lower floors and Harry groaned. They would be keeping Lupin in the dungeons near Snape’s classroom and the Slytherin dorm rooms wouldn’t they?

Fortunately the dorm rooms were on the opposite side of the Hogwarts Dungeons, and Harry was a little disturbed to realise how extensive the network of little cells was. He began to realise that Hogwarts hadn’t always been a school, or if it had, it certainly hadn’t been as benevolent in its punishments.

This had the fortunate side effect of not being led anywhere near the Slytherin’s and thus not having to explain why Harry and the school mascot were down there after lesson hours. At some point they walked into a corridor and then walked through a fake wall, like the one to Ravencast’s office. Apparently there was also a sound-blocking spell across the fake wall, because the moment they passed through, Harry heard the low animal growls that could only come form an enraged werewolf.

Sirius changed back into his human form, and turned back to his godson.

“Are you sure you want to see him? When he’s like this… he doesn’t really recognise anything or anyone. He’s as likely to tear your hand off as shake it.”

Harry took a breath, and nodded.

They walked to the end of a long corridor. Harry hoped to Merlin that they didn’t have to find their way out or in again in a hurry. The network of dungeons was like a maze.

Sirius put one hand forward when they reached the last door from behind which they could hear an animal scream of rage. Sirius muttered something under his breath and the door opened.

“How did you…? You don’t have a wand.”

Sirius grinned.

“Maybe later. Dumbledore taught me a few things. It’s not hot chocolate but the principles the same.”

Harry’s heart missed a couple of beats when they went inside. Remus’s werewolf form was far more terrifying close up than Harry had had the misfortune to see during his third year. Saliva dripped from three-inch long fangs. Remus’s moderately muscled frame became body-builder sculpted and dark brown, with downy fur covering all exposed skin. His snout stuck out, steam bursting from nostrils, as well as more unpleasant things. His arms and legs were shackled and chained to the floor in the centre of the circular room. Pointed dog-ears twitched, and yellow eyes flicked to the intruders who had just entered the room.

Sirius was right, there was no recognition in those eyes, only pure animal rage.

“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.” Moody’s voice said calmly from behind.

“He’s not eaten yet.”

Harry turned to see Moody leaning back on a chair with his feet up on a small table set just beside the door. He was in the process of finishing his dinner. Cutting an apple with a knife. He was eating the chunks and spitting out pips in Lupin’s direction.

The werewolf lunged forward with a challenging growl, Harry startled fell to the hard floor and winced as pain lanced up through his posterior.

The werewolf growled, further enraged when the chains prevented him form ripping his prey’s head off.

“Why haven’t you fed him yet?” Sirius asked in annoyance. He stalked to over to the table, and pulled out a slightly bloody bag from under it.

“I didn’t want to get put off my dinner by watching that thing eat.” Moody responded.

Sirius pulled out what appeared to be half a pig’s carcass and through it to the wolf, who immediately forgot their presence when food was in front of him, and began ripping it into a bloody mess. Bones crunched under a powerful jaw, all sense of dinner table manners that Remus possessed were totally forgotten.

Despite the rather horrific sight that had Harry’s stomach clenching with a sudden desire to be sick, he still felt the need to speak up for the werewolf.

“He’s not a thing. He’s my friend.”

Moody snorted.

“You’re wrong Mr Potter. He is a thing. When he’s like this, he would kill you without a second thought. You’d do as well to remember that, because you might have to kill him one day. When it comes down to it. It’s you or him. Look at him.”

Harry did, and once again fought back the urge to be sick. Remus, no the werewolf, had pulled the pigs head off, and bent his own down to lick the contents as they spilled to the floor.

“He’s not going to grant you a quick and painless death either.”

“For Merlin’s sake, leave him alone. It’s hard enough for any of us to see him like this without you going off on one.” Sirius said testily.

“That’s why he asked me to stay with him Sirius. He knew I wouldn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done if it came down to it.”

Harry’s head shot up.

“You mean kill him?”

Moody eyes cast downwards, and he didn’t meet Harry’s gaze when he answered.

“If that’s what’s needed.”

Somehow, Harry got the feeling that the old Auror wouldn’t find it as easy to kill the werewolf as he was saying.

Harry glanced back at Remus.

“I just wanted you to know… that we won… we won, Vernon’s going to jail… and that, well I couldn’t have got through this without you… or Sirius… I just wanted you to know.” He said softly.

~o0o~

Harry finally crawled to bed that night a little after two in the morning. The expected party to celebrate his ‘triumphant defeat’ of his Uncle was far more raucous than anything he’d seen before. Student’s seemed to be ecstatically happy on his behalf.

Muggle music blared out loudly over someone’s radio, the student’s ate and drank, and even danced until about midnight. When Professor McGonnagoll finally turned up and told them to keep the noise down. Their celebration had quietened down after that, and suddenly very weary, and aware of the upcoming exams, Harry had called it a night, he and Ron trudged upstairs, changed and bid each other a good nights sleep.

If only it could have been that simple.

~o0o~

The world was faded, muted blacks and pale greys. The barest idea of torchlight seemed far away. And the overwhelming sense of fear, and sensation of pain so far beyond anything Harry had ever experienced made his head sing loud with ache. He was huddled into himself on a cold floor, and yet it’s hard surface and icy temperature did nothing to relieve him of the sharp knife like pains of heat that lanced all over his body. Arms wrapped around his head, trying desperately to bring some sort of relief. His entire head echoed as thought it was being continuously pounded against a wall. In his pain, everything else faded. The walls, the floor, the presences that surrounded him were at the farthest reaches of consciousness. Laughter of those nearby caused ringing inside the pounding head. And Harry’s fear began to overwhelm him.

Until he realised that it was somebody else’s fear. The pain belonged to someone else.

The sensation changed.

Harry looked down at a bloodied, scalped figure huddled on the floor, rocking and crying in rasping breaths, screams intermittent. And he felt deep pleasure. The feeling of knowing he had caused this pain, that he had power over this being. It was stimulating to the point of being a sensual experience.

Harry gasped, and tried to wrench himself free of the dark horrors of Voldemorts twisted mind. The power he felt flowing through him was stifling, overawing in its depth, equal to his own in many ways. And yet it had been twisted to create this hell. To make the suffering that Harry saw before him.

And felt again, as he was drawn back into the pain filled mind of the man on the floor.

Two little words, brought a relived sigh from what remained of the tattered consciousness that Harry shared.

And then he was cast adrift on a sea of ebony dark. For there was no life raft, no buoy for him to cling to with every last breath. The light was gone; his hope had sunk long ago beneath the dark waves into the endless abyss, the colour of night without star or moon.

He feared that he was again condemned to drift on the waves of midnight dark, tormented by the screaming of a man in unfathomable pain. The man’s life was ending he felt it. He was trapped inside of a dying mind. One blinded to all else but the eminent dark stretched out before it.

Harry did something then that he had never thought to do before. He prayed. Prayed for the light to come again; prayed that Voldemorts victim would come too, so that Harry might be able to see where he was and save him.

But the man did not wake.

Harry could not save him.

All was dark, the consciousness fleeting. A great swell of emotions more powerful than any human could ever understand until the moment of their own ending washed over Harry’s mind for a brief moment. Emotion so strong that all Harry had ever felt in his short life was muted somehow, small, a flicker of candlelight, when the sun was outside.

The man died.

Harry awoke in the dorm room, screaming in rage and frustration.

Voldemort had done it again.

Voldemort had killed.

~o0o~

Harry’s bare feet patted along the cold stone floors of the school corridors, his toes had gone numb long ago and the rest of his feet were starting to follow.

The castle was quiet in the small hours of the morning, as Harry padded towards Dumbledore’s office. He did not rush. What need was there? The poor man was dead. But Ron had convinced Harry to speak with Dumbledore now, even if there was nothing they could do, Harry needed to talk to someone, as he wouldn’t share the horror of what he’d just witnessed with his best friend.

He hadn’t even bothered to take his invisibility cloak with him. If Filch was wandering the castle before dawn, there wasn’t much he could do beyond sending Harry to the headmaster’s office, now that Snape was ‘indisposed’.

A nasty shiver crept up Harry’s spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

During the dream, and the last half hour he’d been awake, this was the first time that it had occurred to him that the man who’s death he’d felt could have been the surly potions professor.

The sudden thought that it could be old beak nose that they found in a ditch somewhere in a couple of weeks filled Harry with anger. A burning knot of acid made cramps in his stomach. He promptly fell to his knees and emptied the remains of the celebratory dinner all over the flagstone floor.

Still numb, but with a small feeling of shame for his inability to keep his food down, Harry used his wand to clean the mess up as best he could. Gingerly he stood up, a gentle hand placed to his sore stomach, he continued on his way to Dumbledore’s office.

He was exhausted by the time he reached the great Phoenix-shaped gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s rooms.

The gargoyles unseeing eyes appeared expectant.

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh just let me in.”

The gargoyle complied.

Somewhere in the back of his mind as he got onto the moving spiral staircase, it occurred to Harry that the gargoyle really shouldn’t have moved without a password.

The staircase deposited Harry in front of the door to Dumbledore’s office. The door was slightly ajar, and a narrow beam of candlelight flickered from inside onto the landing where Harry stood.

Unguarded voices talked inside.

“That’s all that you could find out Markus?” The headmasters voice asked in such weariness it startled Harry. Dumbledore suddenly sounded very old.

“I’m afraid so. Severus was our highest placed spy. The others are just runner-men in Voldemort’s army. They hear just enough to justify the risk of spying. But information on this one is tight. We know Voldemort was keeping Severus alive, holding him and possibly several others at his headquarters. But as of yet, none of our spies are far enough into the organisation to have been told were this supposed castle is.”

“I’d appreciate it if you kept me informed. It’s been a while since Severus was taken, but I don’t want to give up hope just yet.”

“He sort of grows on you doesn’t he? Like a fungus.”

“Somehow I don’t think that the Gryffindor student’s would agree.”

There was a pause in the conversation, which Harry used to knock on the door to announce his presence before entering.

“Mr Potter.” Ravencast greeted with mild surprise.

“What brings you to my office at this hour Harry, still celebrating?”

Dumbledore’s voice had taken back on the mask of strength and wisdom that Harry was accustomed too.

The smile on the headmasters face betrayed nothing of the grievousness of his conversation with the Judge. Harry almost couldn’t bear to see that smile slip from Dumbledore’s face, as he knew it would.

“No. There’s something I have to tell you.”

The smile did fall, and continued downward into a grimace for the next ten minutes as Harry tried to explain everything he’d seen and felt.

“You don’t remember anything more about the place that the man was being held in?” Ravencast asked quietly when Harry had finished.

Harry shook his head. Ravencast sat beside him, and Dumbledore in front. Dumbledore leaned forward and clasped crinkled worn hands over Harry’s own, which Harry noticed were trembling. Was he cold? He couldn’t tell.

Ravencast scratched at the goatee on his chin and turned to Dumbledore.

“So what now? Do I call off the search for Severus? Is there any hope for him?”

“I don’t know Markus. For once I truly don’t know.”

~o0o~

The answers to questions formed within his mind, and words flowed from mind to paper in such a way as to leave Harry barely aware of it. Much of what consumed his thoughts now was of being trapped within a stone cell, frightened and bleeding. Ron and Hermione had grown afraid for him again. In the past two days Harry had barely spoken a word. He went to each of his exams as they did.

One of the torments of his life was finally over. His Uncle was behind bars, his Aunt finally cared for him. He had a blood relative, something which he’d never really though of her as before.

As quickly as they had approached the exams were over. The week was gone. And all over Hogwarts, students of years five and seven walked around in a daze. Harry slowly pulled himself out of his reverie, and began with some delicacy the process of trying to enjoy life, as it was however briefly, quiet and enjoyable.

The Weasley twins had gone riot. The number of pranks increased three-fold. Hardly a student walked the halls that didn’t bear the mark of some joke. A large number of unsuspecting forth years were stuck breathing green fire from their nostrils for about an hour on the day of their final exams.

And over the course of another week, Harry found himself thinking less and less on the man who’s died. But he increasingly lost hope that it could have been anyone other than Professor Snape. Though he hated himself for wishing that some other poor soul had died.

The end of term drew closer still. Harry’s staff lessons began again, as he prepared to take it back to the Dursley household with him. A few days earlier the courts had informed him that Remus Lupin had been given legal guardianship of him, and that they did celebrate. At first Harry had thought that Sirius was slightly jealous, and his godfather had later admitted as much. But Remus had later invited his old friend to live with him again over the holidays. With the promise of seeing Harry when he came to visit, and that seemed to cheer him up.

All in all, Harry supposed he had a lot to be grateful for. Judge Ravencast in particular had received many thanks from Harry, for his willingness to give Vernon some leniency in sentencing, thus allowing Petunia and Dudley the chance to visit him at the nearby prison. Harry was quite certain that the Judge had also put in the few key words that had allowed Remus the chance to become Harry’s legal guardian.

The newspapers reported what they now supposed to be the truth about what had happened that night at Goderic’s Hollow. About how mad He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named must be, for everyone KNEW that magical staffs were only a myth. In time, Harry knew the truth about everything would probably come out. But for now he was grateful that some of the mystery surrounding ‘The Boy Who Lived’ was cleared up. With the credit for his survival going to the heroic actions of his parents. Harry felt a great deal of pride in them, and cared little if it now lessoned people’s curiosity in him. No one outside of the school knew the truth about the Staff-of-Gaia, and those within were bound by magic not to reveal its existence.

Life could almost be normal.

~o0o~

If there were one word that could describe Ginny Weasley right now, that word would be tense. Not that you would think she had need to be, for most people's birthday's would be considered a special occasion, one filled with joy and laughter- it was not to say that there wouldn't be some of this later- but right now, Ginny Weasley was tense.

The twins kept glancing over at her, she fidgeted, and they glanced again, identical evil smiles breaking over their faces when they looked away. They were up to something. Ginny just wish she knew what. The twins had a nasty habit of playing practical jokes on her birthday, and she felt that this wouldn't be an exception. They hadn't done anything last year; the result of the Triwizard tournament had been too painfully fresh in everyone's memory. So by Ginny's reckoning, the twins wanted to make up. The jovial spirit of Harry's court victory was still very much alive in the Gryffindor House, now that the truth was out about what the case had been about. The other houses, including those in Slytherin who weren't such a bad lot, had probably been feeling guilty about doubting Harry's word, so in an effort to make up, rivalry between the houses had broken down quite a bit recently, on a whole, the atmosphere at Hogwarts had never been so contented.

But Ginny was still nervous, wondering when the sweets she'd been given by her dorm mates were going to make her tongue grow 4 feet long and turn purple. Or turn her into a giant canary, or make her breathe green smoke for two hours. What was even more nerve racking, was the fact that half the Gryffindor table kept sneaking glances at her, Harry, Ron and Hermione included. How was she ever supposed to enjoy her birthday when she was looking over her shoulder for the entire day?

But still it was only breakfast at the moment, they did have the entire day to play their joke on her ... but why did they keep staring?

A few minutes later, Harry had glanced in Ginny's direction again, getting ready to move quickly if she started breathing green fire- the twins had improved that sweet recently- when Owl post arrived. At least for now, Ginny could relax and open a few well-wishing cards. Harry along with everyone else would just have to wait to see what the twins had cooked up for their little sister. The Weasley Owls, Pig, Errol and Hermes dropped off a heavy pile of cards and parcels in a joint effort. Another strange owl not known to Harry was also perched on the desk, waiting patiently to deliver its mail.

As Ginny tore into her letters and presents, eagerly watched by her dorm mates and brothers, Harry glanced up to the teacher's table. Dumbledore had a gleam in his eye he'd been lacking a little recently; Harry supposed that whatever the twins had in store for Ginny, she could at least be assured of a very fine birthday cake, courtesy of the Hogwart's House-elves.

Ginny's squeal of delight as she opened Charlie's present, a pair of genuine green Norwegian Ridgeback dragon hide earrings with a pendant to match, drove Harry's attention back to the excitable red-head. He smiled as one of Ginny's friends clipped the pendant around Ginny's neck.

"I wish someone would get me stuff like that." He heard Hermione sigh beside him.

Brain please note Hermione wants pretty stuff for her next birthday, not books.

Harry smiled again to himself; hell would freeze over before Hermione would out right ask someone she knew to get her jewellery for a birthday.

Ginny finished with her last parcel from the Weasley consignment, pumpkin pies and chocolate frogs from her parents, along with a pretty pale pink silk covered diary- assurances in her card that the diary was not in any way cursed. She added them to her neat little pile, and stroked an ailing Errol fondly, before he was lifted by the other two Weasley Owls, and flown to the Owlery in Hogwarts tower to recover. That left the unknown Owl. The darkly coloured Owl lifted its wing and Ginny removed a thick bright blue envelope. The Owl took off immediately. Harry wasn't sure why, but he felt a sense of relief when it had gone.

"Hey Ginny's got a Message-head." Said Seamus, suddenly; attracting the attention of most of the Great Hall -who'd been nosily watching Ginny open most of her presents anyway.

"A what?" Harry asked.

"A Message-head. It records the image of the person's head who's sending the message, and any other images they charm into it, while they read their message, you can also use them to post stuff in as well." Ron explained.

"It's from Bill." Ginny said happily as she turned the envelope over in her hand.

"Well open it then." Fred said, eager to see what his brother had to say.

Ginny complied.

Once she'd opened it, the envelope began hovering in mid-air, about a foot above the table. A small plume of grey smoke came out, and within moments, a life size version of Bill Weasley's head and neck was peering out of the rapidly clearing smoke. It wasn't exactly solid, it was somewhat ghost-like in transparency, but possessing Bill's normal colouring, not the grey shimmer you would associate with a ghost.

The Message-head Bill smiled broadly.

"Happy Birthday Ginny." He said. Ginny smiled back.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present." The Bill-head told her. Ginny held out her hands under the envelope, and then screamed.

A knotted mass of bloody red hair fell into her outstretched hands. Long red hair, in it's distinctive pony-tail, still attached to it's scalp, lay in her hands. She dropped it on the table with a startled and paralysing scream, falling out of her seat with a thud to the ground. Some people laughed. So this was the Weasley joke?

The Bill-head smiled. Only now it had changed into a grotesquely brutalised version of Bill Weasley's head.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

Bruises marred his face; one side bore deep animal-like scratches that dug deep into bone.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

His neck was slit open, and not just in a small thin line, but hacked open with something large and heavy, as if they had been trying to cut his head off, but had not gone deep enough. Ginny was still screaming on the floor, holding her blood-covered hands in front of her. People stopped laughing. Ron looked to his brothers. They were in shock. It wasn't a joke.

The Bill-head smiled.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

A plume of green smoke rose out of the card, and began to form a shape, three feet above Gryffindor table. The first thing that formed was the shape of a snake, it was moving wildly.

Within a mouth.

Within a Skull.

The Dark Mark, it shone like some terrible beacon above the Bill Weasley head. Ginny was still screaming, and began shaking.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

Most of the Gryffindor's had screamed and moved sharply away from their table, the rest of the Great Hall soon joined them. Ron tried to put his arms around his crying sister on the ground, but she still held her arms out away from her, blood running in trickles over her robes, and over her legs. She was rocking backwards and forwards, she could barely breathe through anguished cries.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

Ron didn't know what to do. What could he do? He couldn't touch his sisters' arms, he couldn't touch the blood, how could he touch it? He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and followed her rocking movements with his own. She was still screaming.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

A loud crashing sound, as the door to the side entrance of the Great Hall flew open, Snape shot out of it, bloodied and battered, gasping for breath he ran towards the teacher's table, Deatheater robes swirled around him.

"Dumbledore ... there's ... there's a letter ...a letter coming, you have ...have to ...stop."

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

Snape's head turned slowly, he knew then that he was too late.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

Whatever he had been through to get here, whoever he had angered enough to break his arm, and cut him so, whatever it had been, it was not fast enough.

Ginny's head moved into her brothers' chest. Hermione flew into Harry's arms, crying in anguished sobs. The twins held each other; they had been too shocked to move from their seats. The teachers, the teachers and Dumbledore were coming now. The Dark Mark still shone.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

~o0o~

There was no sound in the Great Hall but for the soft din of food being eaten. Gazes flitted frequently to the many empty seats at the Gryffindor table. Most thought it strange that Potter and Granger were still here, being as close to the Weasley’s as they were, but perhaps this truly was a time for the family.

Both of them sat very close together, half-picking at their plates, not bothering to eat, the state of shock many students had found themselves in when confronted with the torn and bloodied image of Bill Weasley’s head, followed by the dark mark was more pronounced in these two.

Snape had been rushed to Madam Pomfrey, having all but collapsed in exhaustion and pain. No one knew how he fared yet.

It was a time for sadness and a time for quiet, something that even the Slytherin students appeared to understand. Not since the death of Cedric Diggory had the Great Hall been subdued in this manner, and Harry didn’t like it.

He felt… numb. At times his mind raged with anger at the unfairness of it all, question upon question raised as to whether something could have been done to prevent it. But what? He had thought the dead man to be Severus Snape. Was this a way of punishing them twice? To kill one unexpectedly and leave those left behind with the certain knowledge that another may await such a fate?

This was Voldemort’s return party, and Harry knew it. The drak wizard would only cope for so long out of the limelight. A year he had been back, a year in which a handful of people had disappeared, and whom Harry knew to be dead. But now that everyone believed him, now that everyone knew He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, Voldemort was announcing his presence to the world.

At other times Harry could barely form a single thought, like his mind was wrapped up in cotton wool.

And sometimes that would have been a welcome sensation, for into his mind crept back the sight of the man Voldemort had killed. The man in the dark on a cold stone floor for who Harry now had a face and a voice to match the one that screamed in animal agony.

Hermione pushed her fork through the meticulously cut bite-size piece of pork on her plate. And then she swallowed thickly, the idea of eating meat did not sit well with her at that moment in time.

Bill Weasley was dead. He was… he had been twenty-three. Twenty-three? How could anything justify such a loss? And at any age?

Ron, Ginny and the twins had all been taken up to Dumbledore’s office that morning to meet their parents. Everyone else had nothing else to do but sit in the Great Hall, after all lessons had been cancelled. They all made their own entertainment, if they felt like it at all. Most read or played chess, some played with muggle playing cards. There was an unwritten rule at times like this in Hogwarts, no one played ‘exploding snap’ or used pranks like filibusters fireworks.

Arthur and Molly, along with Percy had arrived, no one had seen them come, but they had been told to stay away from Dumbledore’s office for the time being. In fact that entire floor of Hogwarts was avoided at all costs, but some who had walked past on their way to dorms spoke of the echoes of weeping coming down the corridors.

What way was this to end a year? Was the thought on the minds of many students.

“RON!”

A loud thumping noise broke the silence of the Great Hall, and every students head snapped up as Ronald Weasley flung one of the doors at the Hall’s entrance to the side with alarming strength. Teary eyed and red-faced Ron stormed into the Hall, with a sobbing Ginny running in a moment behind, it was she who had shouted.

The look on Ron’s face spoke of pure anguish, tears forming glistening trails upon both cheeks, he panted slightly, perhaps from exertion, more likely from hyperventilating under the strain.

He strode towards the Gryffindor table, and his friends rose quickly, readying to offer what little comfort they might.

Harry tried to think of something he could say; his mouth opened a little readying to speak.

It came as a shock when he found himself sprawled back on the floor, blood pouring from a split lip, his friends stood above him with fist raised.

A blurred moment of confusion left him disorientated as Ron’s face became merged with Vernon Dursley’s.

“Ron wait!” Ginny screamed catching up; she tried to pull her brother back. Hermione bent down to look at Harry’s swollen jaw, and wondered at how the blow might have loosened teeth. When she stared up at Ron in wonderment she could see in his eyes that Ron was filled with hatred. And she felt fear for her other friend who now cradled his jaw in his hands. He was trembling slightly, and she knew that he was in the grips of many bad memories.

“It’s because of you, it’s always because of you!” Ron shouted, still panting, face getting redder by the minute. Ginny began wailing; still trying to hold her brother back when the twins arrived and did it for her. But Ron didn’t need his fists to attack further.

“Anyone who makes friends with you is gonna die! Everything you touch withers away! How many people do you know are going to die? Do you know?”

“Ron, I…”

“Shut up! Well do you?”

Ron made his raving clearer.

“You’re the one with those dreams, you’re the one with all that power. You’re the one that gets inside Voldemorts head. How could you not know? How could you not know it was Bill?”

There was a gasp from students as Ron said Voldemorts name. The teachers in the Great Hall had begun making their way over, a flurry of movement at the door turned out to be the headmaster and the Weasley parents.

Ron struggled further against his brothers.

“Did you know it was my brother who died that night? My brother, shit! My bloody brother… my brother…” he continued gasping. Harry felt tears falling down his own cheeks, others cried too. There were too many tears, too many of them…

“They made him talk to my parents, left a message beside his body when they left it outside the house this morning. They got him to say he was a present for you!”

The twins could no longer control themselves, they wept, unconcerned as to whether their brother might pound Harry into a new flavour of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean, they let go of him, and clung to each other in their grief.

Ron walked slowly towards Harry his entire body shook. Harry got to his feet, brushing Hermione’s hand away.

Ron’s voice broke, rough from shouting, but still louder than it needed to be.

“My brother is dead. All we ever did was take you in, all we ever did was care about you.”

Blood dripped from Harry’s lip, onto his robe but he didn’t care. What Ron was saying began to make sense.

“Nobody can even know you without something happening to them. How many times is this going to happen? How many people are going to have to die before you do?

All we did was care about you. You were like a brother to me…”

Ron seemed to have realised what he had just said.

Exhausted and sobbing he fell to his knees, murmuring over and over again the words ‘a brother’.

Harry stood there, blood trickling down the front of his robe and over the Gryffindor badge, marring the yellow treading and turning it a muddy brown. It would leave a stain that would never wash out, no matter what magic the house elves would use.

Harry’s mind tried to come to grips with what he was hearing. The devastation he felt manifested as physical pain in his throat, he was desperate to say something, anything that might be comforting, yet his entire mind could dwell only on fault. Of whom the fault lay for Bill Weasleys death. It was his. It was Harry’s fault.

Harry imagined he could see the blame in the eyes of those in front of him. Imagined that he saw accusation in Hermione’s gaze when it was not there.

You-Know-Who had killed; he’d done it in Harry’s name. Ron was right. How many more would die? How many more would Voldemort kill in Harry’s name? How many of his friends and family would be killed before he died?

In that moment something suddenly became terrifyingly clear to Harry.

It wouldn’t end.

It would happen again.

And he was powerless to prevent it.

He took a step towards Ron, who was still sobbing on the floor.

“You’re right, I know… I… I’m dangerous for you… for all of you to be around. Voldemort will kill anyone that I’m friends wi… no he’ll kill anyway, but he’ll aim for my friends.”

Harry’s voice began to break, but he spoke rapidly and softly as though speaking thoughts as he had them.

“He’ll go after anyone I care about.” He glanced at Hermione’s face behind him.

“He’ll go after anyone who helps me, until the day I die.”

An answer to many problems came to Harry in an instant, and he seemed oddly calm about his conclusion.

Swiftly he bent down to Ron. He found Ron’s wand in the pocket of his school robes put in Ron’s right hand, and closed his friend’s fingers about it. Ron’s face grew more confused as Harry directed the tip of the wand at his chest and held Ron’s hand tight around it.

Ron’s heart hammered inside his chest, blood pounded furiously in his head making it difficult to hear anything, he didn’t understand what Harry was doing.

“End it now Ron. You can do it; you’re stronger than you think you are. You could do it.” Harry said hoarsely.

“Do what?” Ron whispered, suddenly terrified to hear the answer he knew in his heart would follow, but he needed Harry to say it out loud.

“Kill me.” Harry said simply.

“Harry.” Hermione gasped quietly from behind. Dumbledore walked a little closer, his wand dropped into his hand, and though he held it loosely, it was clear he was ready to use it.

Harry noticed this and grew more desperate.

“Ron I know you could do it. You could stop this all now. You can stop Voldemort killing anyone else for me. I don’t want to be inside another of my friend’s heads when they die. I don’t want to know about the kicks Voldemort gets when he kills someone.

Ron please, please I don’t want to be the reason why… I don’t want to be the reason anymore… please just end it.”

Ron stared in abject horror. Realising then that his anger had been terribly misdirected. He’d aimed it towards the one person he knew was vulnerable.

Hadn’t he, only a few moments ago, proclaimed he thought of Harry as a brother? Was not this brother asking him to help him die? How could he have let it come to this?

Slowly Ron pushed himself into a standing position, very much aware of Harry’s hands still wrapped tightly over his own, keeping the wand pointing at his chest.

“Ron please…” Harry tried one last time, but already realised the futility of it.

“I’m sorry.” Ron whispered.

Harry’s grip loosened.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again.

Harry let go, his hands shook and his chest heaved as he took deep breaths of air.

“I’m sorry.”

Ron pulled Harry into the hardest, most painfully reassuring hold he had ever given anyone. His mind barely registered when Harry’s arms finally wrapped around him too.

Hermione watched silently. She saw Dumbledore discreetly putting his wand back into the pocket of his robes. And wondered if the old wizard would have really used it.

Was this the worst of it? Was this just a glimpse of what was to come? What nightmares lay in store for them all?

Today she had lost a friend, she had witnessed the grief of a family in mourning, and she had looked upon one of the people in her life she cared about most as he’d asked to die. How could it get any worse?

But Harry had not died. Ron had come to his senses. Dumbledore had not harmed one student to save another.

Should she let her hope fade, or should it be renewed?

What end this would all come to, she could not yet predict; but whatever the end held in store she knew she would face beside the two young men in front of her. In her heart and mind her will was now set, she would hold onto hope, even when others could not. Whatever the end, she would fight for it.

To the end.

End of Year Five.

That’s it for this school year folks. Harry and co will be back next year, when the staff will be better explained, along with the strange woman in Harry’s dreams (ahem not Galadriel- I honestly didn’t realise she looked like that when I wrote her!) and Malfoy comes into his own after a horrifying summer.

Toodles!