Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein, Hermione finally can't take it any longer, Harry and Eliza's date is cut short as Harry must deal with the dirty little (OK, not so little) secret of the Black fortune, Hermione finds the answer and winds up needing some answers herself, Harry finds his in the Room of Requirement, has dinner with the Headmaster, and has a long Floo conversation with Ron, who has been coming out of Harry's shadow in his own way, and Ginny, who is still uncertain whether she wants to do the same. Also mixed in: Dudley, a sand castle, some wine, Eliza's confessor, republican wizards, a goblin prince, lessons in Legilimency/telepathy, Dobby, and what really happened in Umbridge's office.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 15 - The Prince And The King

Harry slept fitfully, flashes of incinerating Death Eater corpses punctuating the disorderly fragments of his dreams. All too soon his alarm clock went off, signifying that he had only 45 minutes to prepare for Eliza's arrival.

"Urgh," he groaned, and shot a Silencing Charm at the clock. Like Mad-Eye Moody, he had taken to sleeping with his wand holstered. His spell, however, simply bounced off the clock and sizzled into the wall, leaving an ever-so-slight scorch mark. That was when Harry remembered having warded his clock only a few hours before. "Good move, Potter" he muttered to himself as he groggily pushed himself to his feet.

Looking about, Harry noticed that his room was, if not exactly a wreck, in considerably worse condition than at any point since Hermione had showed off her cleaning magic. In his haste to satisfy his craving for sleep, he had undressed none too neatly the minute Dumbledore had left. Almost everything he had worn to the Ashrak - his dress Knight of the Realm robes and assorted other clothes - were now sloppily strewn about on the floor.

To save time, Harry decided to use that Colix vestmentae charm to collect and organise his garments. But the moment he cast the spell, he promptly lost his balance as he felt himself involuntarily dumped on his bum on the floor - his now quite bare bum that is.

"Bloody Hell!" he growled, annoyed at having forgotten that he was still wearing the same boxers that had been enchanted the day before by the initial Imago Vestmentae. Once Colix Vestmentae was cast, those boxers had to come off, and they did.

Other than that minor detail, the magic had obviously worked, since his scattered clothing was now squared away. `At least it's some improvement,' Harry thought, as he absent-mindedly began collecting himself.

"Ouch!" he yelped as he trod on something hard whilst going to the wardrobe for a change of clothes. After a bit of one-footed hopping, he spotted the offending object. It was the silver angel that Dumbledore had given him as a souvenir the night before. Since he had once called Eliza an angel, impulsively he decided to give it to her.

After switching to a clean pair of pants, Harry headed for the loo. He had just started drawing water when the door creaked and his cousin Dudley entered. Quietly closing the door, Dudley looked askance at his cousin and asked in a loud whisper, "What in blazes did you do last night anyway? Go on the mother of all benders? Mum says that it was after three in the morning when that Dumble-whazits professor of yours brought you in. You were passed out cold - dead to the world. She says he floated you to your room, or whatever it is that you fr… folks do to move things through thin air."

"I've got to get ready for a date soon, so I really don't have time to talk much," Harry muttered in reply, "but I wasn't drunk, if that's what you mean. I'm not of age. I've never drunk anything stronger than Butterbeer in my life. I was knackered, both body and soul. I was at an important event last night. There was an … an attack, and I, I, I … killed someone, several people. Had to … actually. I'm not in trouble or anything - obvious self defence - but feel like shite about it. More than that, you don't want me to tell you, and I, I … I couldn't tell you if I wanted to."

Dudley left without even taking the mickey out of Harry for his new hairstyle. Forget "Butterbeer," whatever that was…. For one of the few times in his life, the Muggle boy was not certain how he should be feeling. He was a boxer and used to being the tough guy - but he had never killed anyone. He had never even come close in any of his scrapes, either inside the ring or out.

Yet here was that scrawny runt of a cousin, somebody that he had beaten, bashed, and generally brutalised for a decade, calmly confessing to him that he had just taken not one, but several, lives. Although Dudley did not even remotely understand Harry's circumstances, he reflected for a moment on the horrible, but horribly exciting, life that Harry must live as a wizard….

Harry finished washing up. When finished, he regarded himself carefully in the mirror. He had to admit that the protocol witch was right - as long as he was not afraid to show off his scar, he looked better, much more dashing, with his longer hair combed to both sides and parted up the middle. His hair had always seemed to have a mind of its own. But it was so much more controllable this way that it seemed to be telling him to celebrate rather than conceal his notorious scar.

He was going Muggle today, so Harry decided to leave his hair that way. He was interested in what Eliza would say, which in and of itself was unusual. He had never really given his personal appearance much thought. Looking more closely at the rest of his face, he noted that what had been peach fuzz on his chin was starting to turn the same color as his hair.

He hurriedly got dressed. Then he remembered how he wanted to prepare today's lunch himself, to impress upon Eliza that he did in fact know his way about a kitchen. On came the adrenaline again. He quickly Transfigured a paper bag into a hamper and raided the Dursleys' refrigerator. He thanked his lucky stars (such as they were) for the small favour that his aunt was out "hanging laundry" - her euphemism for trading gossip. Harry grabbed a couple of marinated steaks, the ingredients for rice pilaf, some fresh vegetables, and half a dozen Moroccan clementines. He piled these inside the hamper with his collapsible cauldron.

Having only recently finished a survival training lesson, he could have tried his hand at Transfiguring something that passed for food. Real food, however, was tastier and cooked more predictably. Also, the same lesson had taught him that Transfigured food was not really food. Real food could not be conjured. Rather, Transfigured "food" retained the nutritional content of whatever it had been made from, no matter how good it might look or taste. Harry did not particularly fancy eating the nutritional equivalent of wood or plastic - even though Transfiguration could rearrange it into something he could stomach.

Harry was back in his room gathering the last of the things - such as his swimming costume - when he heard a horn sound. Evidently Aunt Petunia was still chattering away out back, because only Dudley's overly large form was peaking through the front drapes when Harry entered the living room. "Nice car," his cousin commented.

And so it was. Eliza had hired a silver Lexus, which was now parked in the Dursleys' drive. Whilst Harry was lugging his hamper and other items to the door, Dudley let him know that Eliza had gotten out of the car. "Even nicer bird," Dudley commented, adding a leering whistle. "That doesn't look like Hermo … Hermino … er … the girl who was over here before, is she trans … trans-whatevered?"

Harry responded, "No, you're looking at Eliza, and she is nice. More than that I can't tell you. Neither of us wants this generally known."

Dudley grinned evilly back at his cousin. "Playing two birds at once, I see. I wouldn't have expected that from you. No offense, but you don't seem the type. Growing up fast, eh?"

Harry did not like where this discussion was headed, not even a little bit. Fortunately, Eliza rang the bell, so he took his leave without further conversation with Dudley.

Eliza was more than a trifle startled at Harry's appearance. He looked so much more handsome when not combing his hair unnaturally to try to hide his scar.

"Now that's a new look," she told him. "I like it. It's more rakish…. It becomes you."

As usual, personal compliments left Harry dumfounded. "Er.… Thanks. It's … it's an experiment … for Muggle places only."

"Well, I do like it," she repeated, giving him a shy smile. "And what's that?" She had just noticed the hamper Harry was carrying.

"Umm … since you hired the car, I thought I'd try to handle making lunch," Harry told her. "I've got everything I think we'll need in here."

"You? You can cook?" Eliza replied, doing nothing to conceal her surprise.

"Well … yes, actually," he answered, looking a little hurt at her evident lack of faith in his abilities. "I've been doing it for years here, as part of earning my keep…."

She looked at him and remembered what he had told her about how his Muggle relatives had treated him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, touching his arm gently with her hand.

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied quickly, because Dudley was still watching them. "After, all, it's the least I could do since you're going to be driving us all the way to Brighton and back."

"Oh, no … it's just…," Eliza started. But seeing the other boy and sensing Harry's reticence, she ended the conversation. "Anyway, shall we be off?"

It turned out that Eliza had hired the Lexus for two reasons (in addition to the obvious one of preening a bit for the Dursleys' benefit). First, it had an ample back seat where Harry could sleep during the drive. Second, it came with a top-drawer CD player, and she had brought along more classical music that she thought he would like to hear for the first time. Sleep, however, won out over the music. They were just entering the M25 when he nodded off in the back to the strains of Stravinsky's Firebird.

A little over an hour later, Eliza stopped at a lay-by and gently shook Harry awake. They had left the A23 arterial and were in Brighton proper. He climbed back into the front passenger seat. They cruised through the centre of Brighton listening to more classical music and getting the feel of the place. On a summer Sunday, the town was crowded with beachgoers and other tourists.

Shortly they reached the strand. After some doing - involving Harry Mobiliautoing a car that had rudely been occupying two spaces - they found a place to park. He gathered the hamper full of food and his bundle of personal effects. She popped the boot and removed a couple of beach chairs and a beach umbrella. Looking like any other day-trippers, the pair headed for a nearby bathhouse, and afterwards, to the water.

Mutual suntan lotion assistance - the caused of so much stress during their first date - was conducted with a minimum of fuss. True, Eliza's hands wandered just a little lower than necessary to ensure that Harry would not get burned about the top of his trunks. Granted, his hands lingered a little longer than required to ensure adequate coverage of her waist, as he continued to convince himself that those curves were real. Whilst the interest surely remained, the trepidation had largely passed.

The next several hours they spent with nary a care in the world. Harry and Eliza splashed in the waves and ran on the strand. Even though the waves were averaging less than a metre, Harry thought they were wonderful. He had never seen anything like it.

"Yeck," he spat after she had tripped him in thigh-high water. Harry had never tasted anything like seawater either.

They watched ships pass in the Channel. They fed the gulls, until a bobby told them it was prohibited. They found little cockles and other shells. Harry stepped on a flounder and then chased it about a bit, using the Aquavisio Charm he had just learnt in his training to give himself perfect underwater vision. They tossed a Frisbee back and forth along water's edge. His proclivity for impossible targeting remained - he simply substituted the circling seagulls for passing lorries as ricochet targets.

After tiring of the sea, Eliza encouraged Harry to build an elaborate sandcastle, partly modeled on Hogwarts and partly on some castle in Bavaria that she had visited as a child. The sandcastle ended up quite large - over a metre high - and, if truth be told, he cheated a bit to keep it stuck together properly. The working drawbridge he fashioned out of nothing more than sand, seaweed and a stray piece of plank (as well as a deftly concealed Mobilitablus Charm) especially impressed the a crowd of passing Muggle bathers who had been promenading along the strand. They offered many words of praise that Harry inarticulately acknowledged.

It started to cloud over by midday, so Eliza slipped on a top. This time she had been wearing an orange two-piece suit, still a bikini, but more substantial than the breath taking string bikini she had worn to Docklands. Harry only had his one bathing costume. He put on his constellation T-shirt. They found a nearby brazier, and he announced that he would begin preparing lunch. He started rummaging through the hamper he had brought and came across the silver angel. He held it out to Eliza.

"This is for you," Harry said. "I got it last night."

"I thought you were at some hush-hush goblin ceremony last night," said Eliza, sounding surprised and not particularly happy, "not out vandalising the motorcars of the rich and famous."

"I'm not a hooligan," protested Harry. "I didn't muck up anything. Dumbledore gave it to me. If anybody was vandalising cars, he was. He took it off the bonnet of a Ministry car and said I could have it."

"He did, did he?" replied Eliza, sounding somewhat annoyed. "Well it's good to see how the Ministry is spending our taxes. Of course, Dumbledore can make this grow back, I suppose. Do you know what this is?"

Harry frowned. He wasn't sure what Eliza meant. "It's an angel of some sort. That's why I decided to give it to you. You're my angel."

That body of hers, however, kept inspiring anything but angelic thoughts in his mind.

"That's very sweet of you, Harry," Eliza said with a dazzling smile. "Actually it's not an angel, it's a winged victory. It's a bonnet ornament from a Rolls Royce automobile."

"Really?" Harry gawked, considering whether Eliza made as good a winged victory as she did an angel - but what he said was, "I've heard of those I think. That means something extra fancy, right?"

"Well, yes and no, Harry. A Rolls Royce is a specific type of car, like a Lexus or a Mercedes, but they're frightfully posh, so it also does mean fancy." `Just like him,' Eliza thought. `The first time he ever sees a Rolls, he's riding in it.'

It was time for lunch, and Harry certainly did demonstrate his culinary skills. Eliza seemed as impressed as he had hoped she would. He was not quite sure why or when impressing her had become important to him, but it had. He had two marinated steaks frying on the brazier, rice pilaf cooking in his cauldron, and was cutting up the fresh vegetables for a salad. Eliza walked away whilst Harry was too absorbed in his cookery to notice. She soon returned with a bottle of red wine.

Harry was not terribly at ease with wine. "Er ... you know, I've never had anything stronger than Butterbeer," he said warily when she produced it.

"Well, no time like the present to learn," she said whilst stripping the foil off and starting to pick at the cork. "In moderation, wine is relaxing. But you…. Especially since you're undoubtedly going to be … unh … attending events at which … unh … drinking is expected…. Oh, Harry," she gave up in exasperation, "you wouldn't happen to have a corkscrew in your hamper would you?"

"A what…?" Harry asked blankly.

"I suppose not," she sighed in frustration. "I need something to get the bloody cork of the bottle…."

Harry looked around. None of the nearby Muggles was paying them any mind. If they were paying any attention at all, it was to his sandcastle, which was a good twenty-five metres from the brazier. He slipped his wand from its holster and hissed, "Accio cork."

With a melodious "bloop," the cork flew into his hand.

"Thank you, Harry," Eliza said wryly. "As I was trying to say … before that … it behoves you to learn to drink, at least a little, in a low-pressure situation like this…."

Thinking back to the toasts at the pre-Ashrak diplomatic banquet, he thought that she was probably right.

Eliza was certainly right about the relaxing part. Before long he was lazing comfortably in a beach chair, whilst giving her a carefully edited version of his goblin encounter. Even though she did not take the Prophet at her Muggle flat, she had seen the earlier stories at work, and she was curious. Just before he was going to ask her for help in sorting out his feelings about his having had to kill those Death Eaters, his mobile rang.

Harry was surprised, almost shocked. Very few people knew his number. He had given it to his relatives. Of course, Bill, his guardian knew it - and (Harry assumed) some members of the Order who understood what a telephone was and how to use it. Eliza did too, but she was right in front of him. The caller turned out to be Dudley.

"Harry, is that you?" Dudley asked.

"Of course it's me," Harry rasped curtly. "Who were you expecting, Princess Diana?"

"That would be a damn sight better than chatting you up, now wouldn't it," Dudley replied with equal sarcasm. "Look, I didn't want to call you, but that other girlfriend of yours, that Hermione… She's rung up here three times already today - each time sounding more frantic than the last. A right drama queen, if you ask me… Mum's getting annoyed…."

"Wha - What did she want?" asked Harry, suddenly very attentive.

"She wouldn't tell me," spat Dudley. "Got very huffy, that one did. She said she had just `researched something important and I simply must to talk to him….'" He said the last part in an exaggerated falsetto that was a passingly adequate imitation of Hermione. "…It didn't sound like good news, I warn you."

"So where did you leave things?" asked Harry.

"She called the last time about five minutes ago. To get shot of her, I finally told her that you were at seaside all day and wouldn't be home before dark," replied Dudley. "Don't worry, I didn't tell her where you were - or more to the point, who you were with" (Harry could well imagine the leer that accompanied that comment). "I covered for you, but I expect you'll be having problems with her. You've never been a very good liar."

"Dammit Dudley," Harry complained. "It's not like that at all. We've discussed this before…." Harry would have been at a loss, however, to describe exactly what his relationship with Hermione was like. Fortunately, his cousin didn't ask. "Anything else?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, yeah," said Dudley, savouring the bomb he was about to drop. "She said that whatever it was couldn't wait, and she was having a hard time - what was that fancy phrase she used? - `reconciling herself' to something. When I told her you weren't going to be in, she said she would talk to that Professor Doubledoor of yours."

"That's Dumbledore," corrected Harry. "Oh blast, what am I going to do now?" he said, not expecting Dudley to answer. "Anyway, thanks Dudders. Maybe I can return this favour some day. Bye."

Harry was worried and uncertain. Eliza immediately sensed this. He explained to her that something - and he did not think it was their being on this date - had upset Hermione greatly. Whatever-it-was was sufficiently important that, after she failed to reach him, she had decided to go straight to Dumbledore. If this was becoming the Headmaster's problem, it was likely to appear on Harry's doorstep again before too long. He decided that he had better get in touch with Hermione, but how?

His first option was to contact today's Order escort. That was hardly difficult, since they were not exactly camouflaging themselves very effectively at the moment. These supposedly "undercover" chaperones were quite obviously the pair of oldsters who had stationed themselves about fifty metres or so down the strand.

They were hard to miss - both being clad in horizontally striped, single-piece bathing costumes of a type probably not seen in these parts since Edwardian times. Harry trotted over to the pair, who turned out to be Emmeline Vance and a new recruit named Orville Pemberton. Harry explained the situation, and they promised to contact the Headmaster promptly through Order channels.

Returning to Eliza, Harry tried to continue as if nothing had happened - but he soon concluded that was an impossible act for him to pull off. They finished eating and tried to amuse themselves tossing the Frisbee whilst splashing in the surf. He found himself staring about absently mindedly, wondering what could possibly have upset Hermione this badly.

After Harry got hit flush in the head with the Frisbee for the second time, Eliza called a halt to the game. She had planned to spend part of the afternoon walking the boardwalk, patronising amusement arcades, and window shopping, but Harry was loathe to change locations without word from Dumbledore.

Finally, he sighed and pulled out his mobile. Straining to remember, he punched out Hermione's telephone number. The phone rang twice, and a woman answered:

"Granger residence," a precise-sounding female voice answered.

It was plainly not Hermione, so Harry hesitated. "Er.… May I speak with Hermione please?"

There was a noticeable pause on the other end, then the woman spoke, "She's not in right now, may I ask who's ringing?"

"Umm… This is Harry Potter," he identified himself.

There was an even longer pause, and then the voice, with a strained air of familiarity, continued, "Why Mister Potter, how pleasant finally to be speaking to you. I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Ms. … er … Doctor Eva LaFayette-Granger, Hermione's mother."

"Pleased to meet you. Er…. Do you know where she is right now?" Harry asked urgently. "I gather that she's been trying to reach me, and that it's important."

"Frankly, I thought she would be with you by now," responded Dr. LaFayette-Granger more curtly. "She was very upset about something - she never tells me what anymore - and insisted on seeing that Dumbledore after she couldn't reach you. She might be at Hogwarts, I suppose. She left via the main fireplace about a quarter of an hour ago. Just a flash, and she was gone…. Fancy that."

"Thank you for the information, ma'am, and I'm sorry to bother you." Harry said in his most polite voice.

"Oh no, no bother at all. I am looking forward to meeting you in person this Friday," she said somewhat more warmly.

Harry had forgotten about the upcoming dinner. "Oh, yes … so am I. Well, I'll be seeing you then…."

"Mister Potter…. Harry?" Dr. LaFayette-Granger said tentatively. "Please look out for her. We don't know what is going on, and we are very frightened for her safety. You will keep her safe, won't you?"

Harry was unsure how to respond to this heartfelt but entirely unexpected plea. "Umm…. I will Doctor Granger, believe me…, I intend to…. There's … er … nothing I want more than her safety." Actually there was, but Hermione's mother was definitely NOT the person to discuss that with.

The conversation ended, and he knew that Eliza had been listening in. He tried, in his typical fumbling fashion, to explain to her what was happening. After hearing a couple of his rather inarticulate explanations, she simply said, "Well Harry, if it's that important to you, I think that you ought to try and find her. The purpose of this outing was to have fun, and you're not going to have any fun as distracted as you are right now."

Eliza was just the opposite of Cho. Rather than be offended at Hermione's inopportunely-timed interruption, she affirmatively sent him to her. He also knew she had done the right thing, even if to some extent she had been speaking rhetorically.

He turned in the direction of Mrs. Vance and Mr. Pendleton, and saw that they were already plodding through the sand in his direction. Mrs. Vance, who was obviously the witch-in-charge, addressed him as she approached.

"We reached Dumbledore, Potter, and he would very much like to see you as soon as you are willing to come." She said this with some hesitation, given Harry's circumstances.

"Umm … that can be right now," Harry indicated, "just let me get changed." Behind him Eliza nodded her assent.

Mrs. Vance replied with an approving nod of her own and said, "I thought so. Take this." She handed him a half-crumpled aluminium beer can. "It's set to go off ten minutes after you touched it, so say your good-byes. The Headmaster will be waiting for you."

Using Eliza's beach towel to cover himself, Harry quickly changed in the Lexus' back seat. He then muttered his fervent apologies to Eliza, who still saw fit to give him a short, intense kiss. He was not quite sure what to say after that, and was still mumbling about calling her "real soon" when the Portkey activated. Feeling the familiar tug at his navel, he disappeared.

Eliza stood staring at the spot where Harry had been for quite a long moment before picking things up and returning to her car. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts and emotions.

She was confused about Harry. Should she keep seeing him or not? Every meeting potentially put her career in jeopardy - a definite drawback. But he made her feel alive - an even more definite plus in her rather drab existence. He seemed to like her, and she was definitely starting to like him in ways that this Hermione woman either did not or would not reciprocate. The pre-prepared dinner for two in the refrigerator back at her flat was testament to that.

Eliza feared that some day soon Hermione Granger would come to her senses and comprehend how much Harry really cared for her. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, and nobody that clever could be that stupid, could she? When that day came, Eliza doubted her ability to do anything to compete with the hold Hermione so evidently had over Harry.

Eliza was also confused about herself. What exactly did she feel about Harry and why? He was so discrepant - so magically powerful, but so emotionally fragile… So naïve in some ways, yet so worldly in others…. So vulnerable, yet so … dangerous.

Harry was not just Harry, but also the Boy Who Lived. He was involved in so many things Eliza could not begin to understand. She doubted that she wanted to understand, for fear of her own safety. As attracted as she was to his Muggle side, she was almost as frightened of his magical one.

She had more experience than she needed with how it felt not to have parents in ones life. She knew that feeling must be incalculably worse for Harry, who had never known his at all. He needed to have fun, and she wanted to have fun with him, and for him. Although at the moment he was unselfconsciously single and undeniably available, Eliza could not shake the feeling that, nevertheless, she was almost playing the "other woman" to that Hermione.

But from everything he said, Hermione seemed not to want him in that way.

Eliza, like Harry, desperately needed someone older and wiser to confide in. Her parents had divorced, and her Muggle mother had emigrated to Australia. Her mother had left because she wanted nothing further to do with the wizard world. Her father had quickly found a witch, remarried, and moved to Edinburgh. Since she had graduated from Hogwarts, her father had taken next to no interest in her. Their last conversation had been over a year ago.

The only shoulder available to Eliza to cry on was that of Lucinda Trucipp, the older former-court-reporter-now-general-office-factotum, who had been so helpful to her ever since she had started with the service. With an ironic smile and a soft snort, she recalled that, when Lucinda first learned that her friend had been assigned the Black-Malfoy-Potter litigation on a regular basis, she had jokingly suggested that Eliza should try to meet Harry Potter. What would Lucinda say when she found out that this had really happened? Perhaps she would be able to help sort out Eliza's complex and contradictory feelings….

* * * *

Harry arrived at Hogwarts Castle not sure what to expect. He was not happy at receiving a summons on what was supposed to be an "off day." He was also worried that he was about to receive still more bad news.

In his perfervid imagination, Harry even worried that Hermione was going to tell him that she was being withdrawn from Hogwarts again. He completely overlooked that her mother had just seemed to indicate that he was still welcome in their home. The reception he received upon arrival at Hogwarts did little to allay his fears.

He landed in the Great Hall, beneath the charmed ceiling reflecting a leaden sky. The hall was empty, save for a couple of house-elves who were making minor repairs to the furniture and who almost immediately vanished. Gathering his bearings in the eerie stillness of the empty hall, Harry revised his hairstyle back to its messy, scar concealing normalcy.

That done, Harry tired of dallying and decided to make for Dumbledore's office. He had moved less than a dozen metres toward the main doors when Dumbledore swept in, followed by Bill Weasley. Neither of them looked very chipper.

Dumbledore immediately addressed Harry. "My regrets for disrupting your … your outing. I am very pleased, Mister Potter, that you arrived so quickly. You showed good judgment in deciding to come on such short notice…."

"Where's Hermione and what's wrong with her?" interrupted Harry, cutting to the chase.

"Miss Granger awaits in my office," Dumbledore answered, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "She is physically well but rather distraught. It seems she has uncovered some disturbing information from Muggle sources … information that I, myself, was quite unaware of until just now. Unfortunately, this knowledge affects her attitude towards what the Order is trying to accomplish…. I am afraid to say that it also affects her attitude towards you. In light of this, it appears you were quite prescient indeed yesterday when you insisted upon the amendment…."

Harry broke in again, impatient with the Headmaster's circumlocutions. "Well, what is this information anyway?"

Dumbledore paused, "I think it would be best if Miss Granger told you directly," he finally said.

The rest of the way was spent in silent disquiet. "Peppermint humbug," Dumbledore intoned, and the gargoyle guarding the revolving staircase to the Headmaster's tower office sprung aside.

Harry heard muted shouting as they approached Dumbledore's office. Hermione was screaming at someone. Recognising her voice, Harry sprang in front, unholstered his wand, and flung the door open.

Her back was to him. "…DON'T FEED ME THOSE EXCUSES! SOME THINGS ARE JUST EVIL. IT'S NO WONDER EVERYBODY AT HOGWARTS DETESTED YOU WHEN YOU WERE…."

Hermione was in the midst of a blazing row with the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, the former Hogwarts Headmaster. She whirled around and stopped shouting abruptly when Harry, followed by the others, entered.

"Such impertinent pupils these days!" Nigellus huffed. "And to think you're considered a candidate for Head Girl. Not in my day!" With that the former Headmaster and great-great grandfather of Sirius Black departed, slamming some unseen door, and leaving an empty frame behind.

"H-H-Harry," she croaked. She said nothing further, as her face screwed up. She was using all her effort in an ultimately unsuccessful effort to prevent herself from losing her composure. The odd silver devices in Dumbledore's office softly clicked and whirred in the background. Giving up, she put her face in her hands. In between muffled sobs, Harry heard her trying to speak.

"Oh, blast it…," she mumbled. "Why now? I have to be strong…. Damn being brought up female…."

Harry stowed his suddenly useless wand.

It was quite out of character for Hermione to curse - less so, to cry. Harry closed the distance between them and tenderly clutched her shoulders. Tentatively he addressed her. "What's wrong Hermione? What have I done?" he asked gently.

The two adults in the room mutely glanced at one another.

Hermione pulled away from Harry's touch, and looked at him with angry eyes. "It's what you're all doing," she wailed. "Not just you - not even mostly you - it's all of them." She gestured wildly at Dumbledore and Bill. "They're trying to pollute you, Harry. Trying to turn you into something odious. It's all a bloody great game. They're using you to fight evil, but I'm afraid they will turn you evil to do it." She slumped into a chair.

Harry was stunned at the outburst, and too tongue-tied to form a coherent sentence. Dumbledore attempted to fill the awkward silence. "Miss Granger, its origin disgusts me equally, but the fortune exists. The present alternative is Voldemort, and that simply cannot be allowed."

"I know that damn well!" came Hermione's resentful reply. "But why does it always have to be Harry? And if it has to be Harry, why does he always have to make things so difficult and complicated for me?" she added without thinking.

Harry winced at those last words. He looked at Dumbledore. Addressing both, or neither - it hardly seemed to matter anymore - he practically begged for answers. "Will someone please tell me what is `always me' this time…? And what have I done that's so difficult? Hermione, I'd never deliberately do anything to hurt you. That's not my intent, you know that…. And whatever it is, I'm sorry."

She seemed to be looking right through Harry. "It's the blood money," she replied in a much softer voice. "The immorality of it all. And just when I have myself convinced to make a clean break of it, you … you … you have to go and do this…!"

She reached into her robes, pulled out the jade cylinder containing the goblin treaty and a rolled up bundle of paper. She tossed them in his direction, and the cylinder landed at Harry's feet and clattered away. "Dammit," she swore. "I can't decide whether to kill you or kiss you…."

"Umm," Harry paused, thinking. "Kiss me first; then at least I'll die happy."

Harry's attempt at humour fell worse than flat. Hermione's tears burst forth again. For so long she had longed for such an opening - and now he had to say that.

The cylinder had rolled out of sight under Dumbledore's desk, so Harry grabbed at the paper. It was a copy of the Sunday Prophet, which he never took because there was just too much in it to read. The banner headline took up practically the entire front page above the fold:

Potter Adds Equal Rights Manifesto To Goblin Treaty

Dumbledore Agrees On Behalf Of Ministry

The rest of the front page consisted of a long story about the contents of the just-initialled goblin treaty. Over half of the story discussed the implications of equal rights for other intelligent magical beings. Harry quickly leafed through the rest of the newspaper.

The inside pages carried related stories. There was an account of a protest mounted by the Sons of the Knights of the Goblin Rebellions (a pureblood group). The Prophet had included a point-counterpoint debate over the merits and demerits of equality among magical beings between Madeline Thackery (for equal rights) and Newt Scamander II (against).

The remarkable thing was that the point Harry had been trying to make was totally missed…. The various Prophet articles brought up goblins, giants, werewolves, merpeople, centaurs, and vampires. Nowhere was there any mention of house-elves. It was as if nobody in the wizard community could even conceive of elf equality.

Just as absent was any account of the Death Eater attack upon the Ashrak, which both the Ministry and the goblins were apparently conspiring to hush up.

Feeling a lump rising in his throat, Harry once again faced his overwrought friend. "I don't understand, Hermione…. I-I-I thought you would approve. I don't know what to think. They don't get it…. It was supposed to be about house-elves. In fact, I had you in mind when I decided to do this.… If you don't believe me, ask Bill. I talked it over with him beforehand…."

Bill cringed. Dumbledore shot him a look that clearly indicated his unhappiness at learning that Bill had a hand in Harry's obviously pre-arranged ambush of the Headmaster the previous afternoon.

Hermione never even looked at Bill. But if anything she appeared more troubled. A painful grimace distorted her face and she bit her lip painfully. After a few seconds she lifted her head and focused her brown eyes on Harry's green ones. The expression on her face was difficult to read, as it was an unholy mix of pain, adoration, and despair.

"You're right Harry," she began calmly. "You don't understand. What you did with the treaty was the noblest, most wonderful thing I could imagine. At a stroke you have done more for equal rights for house-elves, centaurs, werewolves … so many beings … than I could ever hope to accomplish myself in a lifetime of trying. You had no fear. You sought no favour. You just did it and damn the consequences...."

Her voice quavered, and she stopped to draw a deep breath. "Then you send the original document to me…. And now … you, you tell me that … that I inspired you to do this…." Her voice broke, and she choked back yet another sob. "It's all too much for me to take, Harry…. Your act shows you at your finest, and your motive prove that my friendship with you is worth whatever sorrow, pain, and worse that may come my way because of it."

Tears were flowing from her eyes. Bill looked like he wanted to say something, but Dumbledore silenced him with a frown.

"I-I-I still don't understand, Hermione," stumbled Harry in confusion. "Why on earth are you so unhappy?"

"Because you're.… No, not just you…." She paused and glared fiercely at Dumbledore and Bill. "THEY are forcing me to compromise my deepest moral values! After what I learned yesterday, I'd gathered enough courage of my convictions to decide not to have anything further to do with you if you were going to accept that horrid blood money … the, the inheritance from the Blacks. The Black family was awful, Harry…. Pure evil…." She shivered and blurted out. "I can't think of anything more evil than what they did."

"Tell me, Hermione," Harry pleaded, "what did they do?"

"What did they do?!?" she shrieked. "You're not that thick, nobody is. Why don't you guess, then? Think of the most evil possible way to make money - then think of something ten times worse!"

"Well, I once thought they might be pirates…," started Harry. Quailing under Hermione's fierce glare, he continued. "But they must have been worse than that - ten times worse."

Wide-eyed recognition began to dawn on his face. "I know! It's the house-elves, isn't it? They made their money buying and selling elves! Well, we can stop that Hermione! We'll figure out a way to free the…."

He stopped abruptly. Instead of the approval he expected to see on her face, Hermione looked like she was about to explode.

Then she did.

"NO, YOU IGNORANT WART!" she shouted. "THE BLACKS DIDN'T MAKE THEIR MONEY BUYING AND SELLING BLOODY ELVES! THEY MADE THEIR MONEY BUYING AND SELLING PEOPLE!!! HUMAN BEINGS, HARRY!!! THEY. WERE. SLAVERS! GODDAMNED, BLOODY SLAVERS! YOUR BLOODY INHERITANCE COMES STRAIGHT FROM THE WORST CRIME IN THE HISTORY OF HUMANITY!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS … MAYBE MILLIONS … OF LIVES THEY MUST HAVE DESTROYED TO LEAVE YOU A BILLION BLOODY POUNDS?!?"

Harry was staggered. This was beyond his comprehension. He could not have felt worse if ten Death Eaters had him under the Cruciatus Curse. Slave money was blood money, no two ways about it. He had never thought about it much, but human slavery was one of those things that was pure, unadulterated evil - the equivalent of Voldemort two hundred years ago or more.

There were just no excuses. There was no way out; no denying it. He was at a loss for words, so he only said, "Oh Merlin, Hermione. I'm sorrier than I can possibly say."

"You're not half as sorry as I am," mumbled Hermione. "I.… If my ideals meant anything to me, I should be running away from you screaming, b-but … but I can't. There's too much that's good and pure in you. The problem is that … that Dumbledore's right, dammit!"

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "You can't avoid taking this blood money because Voldemort's the only alternative. If it goes to Malfoy, then it goes to Voldemort. And Voldemort's present evil - something that must still be fought. As horrible as the Blacks were, their evil is … past. Nothing can ever restore freedom to the multitudes they must have sold into slavery."

"But still…. It's disgusting…. It's, it's hideous…. It makes my skin crawl. It's so horrible; I can't find words to describe it…. I feel like I'm betraying everything I believe in. But I can't abandon you, Harry. Not now…. Not after this.… I should … b-b-but I just can't…."

Feeling utterly drained, Hermione again slouched in her chair. Before he could think, Harry was beside her. He knelt and wrapped as much of her in his arms as he could gather. She did not resist, and he silently rocked her for quite some time, whilst she attempted without great success to compose herself. Then, looking up, he glared at the two other men in the room.

"Now what?" he growled.

Dumbledore had used the interlude wisely, to organise his thoughts in preparation for precisely this question. He spoke quietly, but firmly. "We continue, Mister Potter. I had no idea, because I'm not a worldly man in that way. I've never had much use for money, and less for its pedigree. But you heard what Miss Granger said, and she said it as well or better than I can. She has stronger moral compass than practically anyone I've ever met, but even she accepts the fruit of the poisonous tree as necessary to defeat Voldemort."

The Headmaster continued. "I only ask that you accept this as well. It all comes back to Voldemort. The sooner he is defeated, the sooner you can eliminate this … pollution … as she calls it. As I told Miss Granger earlier, Voldemort has already spirited away the Malfoy fortune, and we simply cannot afford for the Black inheritance to suffer the same fate. That fortune is indeed more cursed than I could have imagined, but only upon Voldemort's defeat can you safely seek to be rid of it."

Harry turned to Hermione and asked if she agreed with Dumbledore. She made no response for quite some time, but eventually nodded and then said in a small, defeated voice, "There's no other way, Harry. Not that I know of…."

"All right," Harry said grimly. "We will soldier on - but on one condition."

"And what is that?" inquired Dumbledore.

"You're in this as well. If Hermione had decided to run away just now, I have no idea what I would have done. The only thing that kept her, and therefore kept me, was the equality pledge that I put in the goblin treaty. I had to force that pledge down your throat, if you remember. If … when … we beat Voldemort, I want you on my side fighting that next fight for equality without reservation, until that's won as well." Harry paused for breath. "Deal…?"

Hermione had been gazing at Harry with wonder. She glanced uncertainly at Dumbledore.

For once, the powerful old man did not hesitate. "Indeed," he said. Harry held out his hand and Dumbledore solemnly shook it. There was a brief bluish glow. "Binding magical contract," the Headmaster affirmed.

Hermione threw her arms around Harry. Harry gently moved her aside so he could look straight at Dumbledore. "And for once, you're the one being obligated," Harry shot back, still angry.

The old man regarded his two remarkable pupils. Harry could almost sense the wheels turning in his head. The Headmaster's head nodded slightly, as if reaching some unspoken conclusion.

"I already was obligated," Dumbledore responded slowly. "Your comments were nothing compared with the protests I have already received from Cornelius and Rufus. Suffice it to say that the Ministry hierarchy is not pleased - but they are also in no position to act upon that displeasure, and for once they know it. But the Minister cannot act against either of us now without causing an open breach with the goblins - and the goblins do solve the Ministry's Azkaban problem."

Hermione sat up straight, trying to appreciate what had just happened - and her own role in it. She could barely believe what her distress had just wrought. She had moved Harry, he had moved Dumbledore, and that may have moved the wizarding world. On a more personal note, Harry also looked incredibly handsome … standing right beside her.

Behind the three of them, Bill Weasley beamed. His faith in the old man, and his belief that he, personally, had done the right thing in becoming Harry's guardian, were both vindicated that afternoon.

Harry summoned the treaty from wherever it had rolled and returned it to Hermione. "I … I really wanted you to have it, for your collection."

"Oh, Harry, I couldn't possibly take that," she said, trying to refuse the offer. "It's too valuable and too historic to be in anyone's private possession."

"But I really wanted you to have it," Harry persisted. "But for you, I wouldn't have decided to do it…."

"I really shouldn't…."

"Miss Granger, please," Dumbledore intervened. "Take it. I assure you, it is not the only copy. I have one of my own, and I intend to put it on display in the Hogwarts ceremonial library, alongside all the other documents of similar import…."

Reluctantly, Hermione accepted Harry's copy of the treaty.

After that, Hermione wanted to leave, chiefly because she was emotionally spent, but also because she felt guilty about leaving her parents so abruptly. Dumbledore prevailed upon her to remain for another couple of hours because he wanted his two prize soon-to-be Sixth Years to practice Occlumency and Legilimency together. After what the Headmaster had just done, she could hardly refuse him that.

For his part, Dumbledore was convinced that both of them should learn these arts. He thought that Harry, in particular, would receive more benefit from joint Legilimency training with her than by himself. He believed that, even with (and perhaps because of) today's revelations, they trusted each other in a way neither of them would ever be able to trust him again. Harry needed to be able to trust someone unreservedly- needed more than that, actually.

Both students were initially uncomfortable with the idea. They finally agreed after Dumbledore assured them that they would not be at any risk of seeing one another's deepest thoughts. Their training at this point would be only an overview - a skimming of the surface of the field.

They would enter into one another's minds only to the very limited extent needed to learn to communicate with one another telepathically. It was only one aspect of Legilimency, but Dumbledore did not anticipate any immediate need for them to know more. If and when they did, they would tell him - or hopefully he would have the prescience to recognise a deeper need.

Harry thought it would be "rather cool" to be able to talk without speaking. With that incentive, they both agreed.

The session went swimmingly, but after an hour and a half Hermione finally put her foot down, saying that she really had to get back to her parents.

Just before she left, Harry remembered the other question he was meaning to ask. It seemed so trite now, but it was a necessary detail. "Hermione, last night, in the … er … crowd…. Colin and Dennis Creevey were there. I couldn't talk with them, but they said I should talk to you about something. What were they on about…?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione excitedly replied. "It worked. I asked them, and they agreed to help you with all the fan mail you've accumulated. I think they're the perfect choices."

Harry was not so sure. "Why gives you that idea?" he inquired.

"Well, they both admire you greatly, but I wasn't sure either," Hermione answered. "After they responded positively to my first inquiry, I went to their house to be sure. They're Muggle-born and so am I. I got to know them a bit better, and their skills - along with their enthusiasm - convinced me that they'd be both loyal and a good fit…."

"But all Colin's ever wanted to do is take pictures of me," Harry reminded her. "Sometimes it seems, the more embarrassing, the better. Why would he have any skills, as you say?"

"Well, Harry, you're right," Hermione initially agreed. "Colin's a photography fanatic, that's true, but that's not all. It's what he's done with his photos. You wouldn't believe how excellently organised everything was. He showed me his collection. He had every photograph, not only catalogued by date, but also cross-indexed by subject matter. That's when I knew that we had gotten lucky…. He'll get everything done … and keep track of it too."

"Okay," Harry conceded. "But his younger brother, too? He's barely out of Second Year…."

"It's probably more than any one person could handle by himself, that's the problem," Hermione explained her reasoning. "Now, Dennis is not nearly as organised as Colin, but he impresses me as a really hard worker. Not only that, if anything he was even more enthusiastic about helping you any way he could, and Colin promised to keep an eye on him."

"But Dennis struck me as, I don't know…. A little weird, last year," Harry observed.

"In a way, but not in a bad way, I think," she replied thoughtfully. "It turns out that he's every bit the tinkerer with Muggle things as Arthur Weasley. He showed me a shed full of half-constructed Muggle junk - everything from can openers to computers…. I think with that talent, he might be able to make things that are useful for us. The Communicator that you use to talk to Dumbledore, that's a marriage of Muggle and magic, and it works pretty well, I think…."

"You're definitely right about that," Harry agreed.

"Anyway, they're a pair, because their parents make Colin watch Dennis over the holidays," Hermione added. "They've agreed to work on the fan mail project full time over the rest of the summer for 25 Galleons a month, each."

Harry was impressed both with Hermione's initiative and, after persuasion, with her selection. The Creeveys were unconditionally loyal, reasonably competent, and, according to her, they could really use the money. He agreed to engage them on whatever schedule she could negotiate.

At that point, Harry also would just as soon have left. There was a certain someone he had left alone on a beach not all that long ago. He needed to make his own peace with her - and he needed to make his own peace with himself concerning her.

Dumbledore, however, said that he and Bill needed to speak with Harry about relationships with the goblins under the treaty and specifically about the "implications" of the Ashrak. Dumbledore could be very persuasive when he tried hard enough, so Harry ultimately agreed to stay on. Rather than leave Hogwarts and then return for his scheduled Floo visit with Ron (and Ginny, he supposed), he accepted the Headmaster's invitation to dine at the castle.

Dumbledore and Bill brought him up to date with the aftermath of the Death Eater attack on the Ashrak. "The most likely explanation is that the Death Eaters gained access to the Ashrak chamber through use of Polyjuice Potion," the Headmaster explained gravely.

"The goblins told me this morning that they found flasks with traces of what turned out to be Polyjuice Potion in the area of the grandstand where the Death Eaters were first seen," Bill added.

"I didn't know Polyjuice Potion could work goblin transformations," Harry offered.

"Neither did anyone else," Dumbledore confirmed, "but I can tell you that this question is now being investigated urgently. The answer to that will be known within hours."

"But what about the brooms?" Harry asked. "How did they smuggle them in?"

"It is believed that the Death Eaters had most likely Transfigured their brooms into goblin weaponry," Bill replied. "That implies a greater degree of familiarity with goblin culture than one would expect from Death Eaters."

"Or some sort of assistance from one or more goblins," Harry added.

"True enough," Dumbledore confirmed. "That is probably the most disturbing news of all. For you see, the goblins themselves have concluded that such an attack could not have occurred without treason within their own ranks."

"I think that's right, too," Bill agreed. "From what I've seen of goblin security, there's just no way that Death Eaters could have passed powerful magical objects such as their wands through the level of security the was in effect on the night of the Ashrak. Someone who was familiar with the grandstand seating - a `someone' who had to be a goblin - must have spirited those wands into the cavern well before the Ashrak and hidden them where the disguised Death Eaters were going to sit. It couldn't have been anyone else. Nobody, not even Percy, had that kind of advance detail about the ceremony."

"For certain, the goblin investigation will continue," Dumbledore assured Harry. "But I do not expect to get much, if any, information about it. The goblins fully intend to take care of their own."

Harry winced at the thought. He rather doubted that goblin interrogation techniques were as refined as those he had recently observed in Cornwall.

"Rather, what you need concern yourself about is King Ragnok's unscripted addition to the Ashrak ritual," Dumbledore advised. "That was entirely unexpected, and due entirely to your outstanding performance during the attack. Without doubt, none of us would be sitting here today if you had not devised a way to deal with the Death Eaters after they retreated to the ceiling."

"Harry, do you have any idea what King Ragnok did?" Bill asked.

"Something about becoming a blood brother with his son," Harry answered as best he could. "If there's more than that, I have no idea…."

"You're family, now," Bill declared.

"Family? What do you mean?" Harry responded weakly.

"Let's try it this way…. When you become blood brother to a goblin, to them that means that you're really that bloke's brother," Bill began to explain. "When the blood brother just happens to be the goblin crown prince, well, as far as the goblins are concerned, you're now a goblin prince yourself."

"Oh Merlin, what now?" Harry exclaimed.

Bill continued, "What now? Your title is now Impratraxis Potter…."

The Headmaster broke in. "Mister Potter, perhaps the most significant aspect of this is that, by virtue of the king's actions, you are now second in the line of succession to the Goblin throne…."

"But…. But the princesses…?" Harry groped.

"Goblin society is strictly patrilineal, I am afraid," Dumbledore went on. "Thus, King Ragnok's two daughters have no standing. They are nonentities."

Once again Harry was stunned at how things always seemed to happen to him. "I don't need this. I really don't need this," he muttered darkly. "Why did he have to do that?"

"King Ragnok didn't have to do anything," Bill replied. "Certainly, you impressed him. You demonstrated great power holding back that gigantic boulder. But even more important, you had just saved his life and the lives of everyone else in that cavern, including mine. If you hadn't come up with the idea of setting those chains swinging, the Death Eaters would have brought the entire roof down for sure. That would have been the end of goblin society as currently structured. It was a very close thing even as it was."

"Why couldn't he just have given me some sort of medal, like the Ministry wants to do?" questioned Harry. "I'd much rather collect medals than titles. Medals are less bother."

"It's a goblin tradition," said Bill. "Creation of blood brother relationships is how goblins deal with life debts. But the royal title applies only to you - unless you marry a goblin woman that is, in which case your male descendents would also qualify."

"Eeuuw," replied Harry, shrinking from that thought. "So I guess that means that there are now two Prince Harrys in Britain, then. Some coincidence, that."

"Perhaps not," replied Dumbledore. "Since the other is really named Henry." Changing the subject, the Headmaster added, "Actually, you will acquire other titles through the Black line, should you inherit. As the Blacks have become progressively more anti-Muggle, their Muggle titles have fallen into disuse in recent times. However, technically you would become the Baron of Blackwalls as well as the hereditary Lord Mayor of Blackpool."

Harry rolled his eyes at Dumbledore after that latest eye-opener. "Right now I want no more to do with the Blacks and their accursed titles than absolutely necessary," he declared.

"Actually the barony long precedes the Black family's involvement in human bondage," countered Dumbledore. "In Plantagenet times there was Black blood in the royal line, and they were the hereditary Dukes of all Northumbria. However, the bloodlines diverged, and the ducal title was lost several centuries ago when Oliver Cromwell abolished all dukedoms in Britain. Only those in the direct royal line were later restored. The barony that you may inherit was created somewhat in the nature of titular compensation after the restoration. There is no requirement that you ever use it, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I thought you ought to know."

"If I might return to the matters at hand," chided Bill gently. "Harry, I would like to verify our suppositions as to your goblin status. Do you have the signet you received last night - or, rather, early this morning?"

"No," he answered. "It's at my relatives' house."

"Actually, I have my copy of the treaty that Harry signed," added Dumbledore helpfully.

"But that's not a Gobbledegook copy," responded Bill. "I need to examine the goblin runes on the cartouche Harry received."

"I might be able to try something," Harry offered. "Let me concentrate. I've never done this, but I've seen it done. Aparecium Chez Harry Signet ring."

Nothing happened - except the Dumbledore told Harry, "I will have to modify the wards for you first."

The Headmaster turned his back on both Harry and Bill and mumbled some sort of spell that included a broad motion with his wand. "Now, you may try again," he instructed.

Harry did, and within a few seconds, the signet magically appeared.

Both the Headmaster and Bill were impressed. "Excellent, Harry. That was quite advanced magic - particularly over the distance between Surrey and Hogwarts," congratulated Dumbledore. "Now, Bill, if you please?"

Harry's guardian pulled a jeweler's glass out of the folds of his robes. He took Harry's signet out of its case and examined it closely. "Indeed it is," he exclaimed. "Harry, you need never pay a Knut to Gringotts again."

"What are you on about," Harry replied with renewed surprise.

"Harry, as your guardian I receive your statements of account from Gringotts," Bill answered. "I also work there, and I know that Gringotts never debits the accounts of the goblin royal family for any reason. All you have to do is apply your signet to your statement each month and all debits to your account from whatever source will disappear."

To Bill's surprise, Harry was not pleased in the slightest. "Then how am I ever to be rid of the Black blood money?" he replied with evident disgust.

"Once again, Harry," Dumbledore broke in, "this is not something you have to use it. However, the privilege applies to all of your accounts, not just the Black fortune. You do need to keep that signet in a safe place - it is also a tangible symbol of your link to the goblin royal family."

Before dinner, Harry wanted to be alone for a while to digest all that had happened. With Dumbledore's permission he walked the virtually deserted halls of Hogwarts thinking of many things - such as how the Blacks could have been so … well, black.

Even more important to him was to appreciate the reasons for Hermione's obviously strong feelings. Harry was certainly disgusted at the slavery link, but his reaction paled in comparison to hers. Her vehemence on the subject surprised and worried him. According to her, he had almost lost her friendship over this, and he needed to know why, particularly since refusing the inheritance was not a viable option.

Eventually, Harry's meanderings took him to the seventh floor, where he idly examined the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. He turned around - and there it was - the door to the Room of Requirement had appeared, reflecting recognition of his urgent need. Having regularly used the room for the secret D.A. meetings last year, Harry knew it well.

His need for the Room then had been very concrete - a clandestine meeting place. His need now to come to grips with Hermione's reaction was a considerably more diffuse and metaphysical necessity. He wondered how Room could help with that. He haltingly opened the door….

He was almost bowled over by the stench - a toxic mixture of sweat, urine, feces, rancid seawater, and boiling vinegar. Permeating it all was the overwhelming smell of death. Harry could barely see in gloomy half light, and had to stoop even to do that. Suddenly, with a lurch, the walls of the Room creaked with the sound of wood rubbing against wood. Off balance, Harry was more or less thrown inside. The door abruptly shut behind him.

The only real light in the hellhole in which Harry found himself was from some glowing coals in a cast iron grate beneath a large copper kettle that also seemed to be the source of the vinegar smell. The floor was solid - but slowly undulating in a manner reminiscent of the mercury at the Ashrak. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Harry saw dark-skinned bodies all around him. They were nearly naked, tightly packed and manacled to one another, cheek and jowl, lying in each other's excrement, blood, and vomit.

Most were still alive, as revealed by hideous groans and wails in a dozen incomprehensible languages. As bizarre as it seemed, babies cried somewhere in the distance. Mixed amongst the living were the dead, with hollow eyes and still-fresh wounds inflicted by thrashings that put Uncle Vernon's worst to shame. The dead and the living were chained together, as far as Harry's eyes could see, in the shadows between decks. In the distance the darkness of skin and the darkness of the hold gradually merged into a single black miasma.

Harry could hardly move, for fear of stepping on the woeful, tightly packed captives. He could hardly breathe, not just from the ghastly odours, but from the humid, stale air and suffocating lack of ventilation. Besides Harry, the only other things free to move in this maze of iron chains and shackles were the vermin - rats, cockroaches, flies, and especially lice. Harry could feel the lice making for him, and rubbed himself repeatedly in an utterly unsuccessful attempt to hold these denizens at bay.

The captives all around Harry were had been scarred by hot iron brands and were restrained by cold iron bands. Some were literally crawling with insects. Others had developed sores where their chains had rubbed their skin. Wriggling maggots fed on their festering wounds.

It did not take long for Harry to decide that he had had all he could stand. But try as he might, he could not find the door. Whilst searching wildly for a way out of this prison, he heard a hatch bang somewhere in the distance. Heavy tromps announced the arrival of a hulking member of the crew.

"Hell's bells, one got loose," the short, broad-shouldered, bearded figure bellowed. The man came at Harry with a set of iron manacles in one hand, and a short stout whip fashioned from multiple knotted leather strips in the other.

Harry instinctively flicked his wrist. Nothing happened. Not only was he without his wand - his arm was just as dark-skinned as the bodies all around him. He tried to flee, but the limbs of all the captives and the extremely low ceiling impeded his progress. He turned as he heard the heavy footfalls getting closer - just in time for his face to explode in pain as nine lashes of salt-soaked, knotted rawhide slashed into his skin.

Harry screamed, staggered, and fell to his knees. As he felt the man roughly grab his arm and clank a manacle into place, the boy fainted….

* * * *

"Master Potter, sir, you must be getting up…. You is worrying poor Dobby."

Harry groaned, and opened his eyes. The Room of Requirement was back in deceptively good order. It now seemed no different than any ordinary Hogwarts class room.

Harry jumped to his feet, startling the fawning house-elf. Dobby squeaked and backed out of the way. "Is you all right Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby asked, his bulbous eyes protruding even further than usual.

Harry hurriedly checked himself…. Pale skin - very pale at the moment…. No chains…. No open cuts…. No lice either…. His wand was safely in its holster.

He turned to Dobby, who was eyeing him with undisguised concern. "Yeah…. I guess so…. Must have nodded off, I reckon."

He wondered how much of what he had just experienced had been the Room of Requirement, and how much had only been a particularly vivid dream. Regardless, it was relief beyond belief for him to be back in a friendly place talking to someone he knew and trusted.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you," Harry told Dobby.

"It's good indeed to see you too, Harry Potter sir," Dobby replied. "If you pleases, the Headmaster desires your presence for dinner."

Harry was still pale and shaken as Dobby led him back towards the Great Hall. Headmaster Dumbledore and Bill greeted him just outside the main doors. Dumbledore looked at him quizzically, but made no comment about his condition.

"How good of you to join us, Mister Potter," the Headmaster said instead. "I had originally planned for Mister Weasley and yourself to dine with the staff. That, unfortunately, will not be possible. Someone raised the quite valid objection that neither you nor Mister Weasley is, in fact, a member of the staff. Thus, it was pointed out that you should not be afforded what amount to staff privileges…."

Harry could guess who might have voiced that objection. "So I should be going after all, then?" he asked.

"Certainly not," Dumbledore countered. "Hogwarts' hospitality cannot be defeated by such technicalities. Instead, I have arranged for the two of you to dine with me in my office…."

When they arrived at the top of the Headmaster's tower, Harry saw that Dumbledore's office had been expanded and a table with settings for five had replaced the usual massive desk. Harry was about to ask who would be joining them when there was a knock on the office door.

In walked professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout.

The ensuing dinner was quite pleasant, especially compared to Harry's recent experience. He avoided any mention of what had happened in the Room of Requirement.

"Congratulations on your excellent O.W.L. results," Professor Flitwick said genially. "Good show, indeed."

Professor McGonagall lost no time, "You appreciate how well situated you now are for the pre-Auror course of study?" she asked a question that really did not brook of an answer other than….

"Yes," Harry replied dutifully as he fished through the pockets in his robe. He found a crumpled up piece of parchment that now looked rather worse for wear. Handing it to Professor McGonagall, he told her that "Shak … er … Mister Shacklebolt thought you would like to see this."

Although the condition of the parchment earned it a brief disdainful glance, the professor took it none the less.

She started to unfold it, muttered "Displia" under her breath, and then drew a bit of that breath back as she comprehended it. Professor McGonagall looked up at Harry sternly. "Potter," she clipped, "why have you been carrying this about like rubbish?"

"Er…." He tried to think of a dignified way of admitting that he had not known any better. "Well you see…."

She cut him off. "Because you should have this mounted and framed," Professor McGonagall declared, breaking into as broad a smile as she had worn when first announcing his O.W.L. results. "This result is outstanding, even better than Miss Granger's. We may have to.… Oh, there will be plenty of time for that later."

Harry missed the glance that Dumbledore threw at his deputy. Both professors seconded the Headmaster in encouraging Harry to continue with the D.A. They had reviewed their respective houses' O.W.L. scores and how they had been impressed with the proficiency that D.A. members had exhibited on the Defence examination.

Harry summarised his summer Auror training. After that, Professor Flitwick remarked, "In light of all this extra Defence training, and your evident aptitude, I think that it might be worthwhile if I stopped by one of your Defence Association meetings and had a duel with you myself. It could be instructive."

Harry looked uncertainly at the diminutive Flitwick. Despite an occasional rumour, how much of a dueller could someone that size be? "Er … that's really not necessary…. I'll see that everyone gets plenty of duelling in."

"Mister Potter," the Headmaster intervened before Harry said something he might regret. "You should appreciate how high a complement that truly is…. Filius was the All-England dueling champion - Gold Cup in 1925, `26 and `27. I think you'll find him quite a match."

"Umm … I guess I will," Harry said evenly. Now that he appreciated how fine a dueller the head of Ravenclaw House really was, the implicit challenge left him somewhat uneasy.

The only other point at which Harry felt uncomfortable was when McGonagall and Flitwick traded some not-so-gentle barbs over inter-house Quidditch. "My sources in Denmark have told me that, not only is Hogwarts dominating the other schools at the International Quidditch Camp, but the driving force behind that team is the Weasley show…. I rather think that you'll have your task set out for you, Filius, if you think that the Cup is leaving my office this coming year. Oh, and I understand they're both flying Firebolts, as well…."

Professor Flitwick reacted rather poorly to what he perceived as his colleague's rubbing salt in his Quidditch wounds from the previous year. "Perhaps you will, Minerva," he said with a forced evenness to his voice. "Perhaps you will. I'm just not as happy as you are with how Hogwarts Quidditch is degenerating into a Muggle-style arms race. It's really not appropriate for victory to go to a team just because it can afford the best brooms."

"I agree with Filius," Professor Sprout spoke up. "Victory should go to the house that has the most talented players, not to one that can buy better brooms than everyone else. You've got some talented players, Minerva. You don't need the help."

Somewhat surprisingly, Harry found himself agreeing more with Flitwick and Sprout than with McGonagall - even though he knew that his own funds had acquired the brooms that were the source of the other houses' ire.

Their table talk also touched upon politics, both Muggle and wizard. Harry was quite surprised to learn that both McGonagall and Sprout were Republicans. They both spoke of the Royals - particularly Prince Charles - in terms that varied between sarcasm and disdain. Although he laughed at the jokes they made at the Royals' expense, especially when Professor McGonagall threatened to Transfigure "Bonnie Prince Charlie" into a tampon (she was certainly capable of granting that wish), Harry sensed that his professors were nevertheless being guarded in his presence.

As far as Ministry intrigue went, Harry was interested to learn from Dumbledore that an investigation had confirmed the accuracy of Minister Fudge's protestations that he never used any of the Malfoy "contributions" for personal gain. Fudge not only claimed, but also had financial records to establish, that he had given almost all of the money he had received to charity. Nothing worse had been uncovered than a couple of "contributions" to the political campaigns of favoured candidates for the Wizengamot. Professor McGonagall remarked darkly that the same could not be said for most of the others who had taken money from Lucius Malfoy.

Harry's equal rights amendment to the goblin treaty was also discussed. He was relieved to learn that all of the professors stood four-square in favor of equality.

McGonagall explained that, after Fawkes had arrived bearing news of Harry's amendment, she had immediately owled Hagrid with a verified copy of the revised treaty text. Dumbledore hoped that this development would assist Hagrid's latest mission to the giants. There had been some thought of recalling Hagrid for a full briefing - only nobody wanted to see Grawp again. The Headmaster expressed his belief that the new commitment to equal rights could prove pivotal in a new attempt to woo the giants away from Voldemort.

Similar pitches were being made by Remus Lupin to the werewolf community and by Charlie Weasley to some vampires he had befriended in Romania.

All too soon dinner was over.

However, that also meant that the time for Harry's Floo talk with Ron and Ginny - something to which he had been looking forward all week - was fast approaching. Although his summer was turning out to be insanely busy, he did miss the companionship of his two red-haired friends.

He had not spoken to either of them, except through the post, since they had all left Hogwarts shortly after their memorable night at the Ministry. If the Weasleys' Quidditch exploits were any indication, they had both recovered nicely from their injuries suffered that night. Harry had been particularly worried about Ron, who had continued to act a little off. At least there was something he could remove from his overburdened conscience.

At 9:00 p.m. sharp, with Bill Weasley discreetly in the background to ensure security, Harry knelt on a towel (a precaution against aching knees) before the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room. He tossed in the Floo powder and said, in his clearest voice, "Elsinore, Hafnia, Library Hall."

The result made him blink a couple of times. He was staring into what looked like a large room lit by crystal chandeliers and paneled in dark wood and cut glass. Ron was seated on a chaise lounge directly in front of him - with a very contented Cho Chang curled halfway in Ron's lap. Cho was even prettier than Harry remembered her. Her rather short blue robes highlighted her figure much more dramatically than anything Harry could ever recall her wearing at Hogwarts. Ron's hands were … well … Ron's hands were not anywhere visible, but Harry was willing to bet that Cho knew exactly where they were.

Ginny was sitting on the floor in front of her two obviously in love teammates. She had let her trademark fiery orange-red Weasley hair grow. It now cascaded well down her back. Atop Muggle jeans, she wore a pale blue T-shirt reading "Quidditch Players Do It In The Air." Her shirt also featured a picture of Ginny on a broom. Harry tried unsuccessfully not to look as that image circled around and around her now quite ample bosom. Her still prominently freckled face carried an unreadable expression - until she saw Harry and broke into a broad grin.

"Ron, Ginny … er … Cho! It's me, Harry! What's…? What's going on?" Suddenly he realised that they were not alone - far from it. There were whispers galore and some scattered applause. Apparently Diagon Alley was not the only place that an appearance by Harry Potter could draw a crowd.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Ron, will you please tell me what all these people are doing here? This was supposed to be a private conversation."

"Righto, mate," Ron replied. Turning to face the crowd, only a few of whom Harry could see, he yelled, "All right people, that's quite enough. You've seen the truth with your own eyes. Now you are all dismissed. Be gone! So says the King." There was an immediate sound of scraping and shuffling as what sounded like several dozen people filed out of the hall.

Ron and Harry waited until the noise subsided and they heard the oaken doors of the hall thud shut for the last time. For Harry's benefit, Ginny was rolling her eyes at Ron, who could only see the back of her head.

"There," said Ron with a shrug, "private audience from now on. Sorry about that, but some blokes here questioned whether I really knew you. I said I could prove that I did, and word got out…. Anyway, those berks are all gone now. I really wish you were here! The Hogwarts team is just outstanding, but with you … er … we'd have even more fun."

Ron quickly tacked for safer waters. He had forgotten that Cho owed her place on the starting team - and maybe on the team at all - to Harry's absence. To remind him, Cho had elbowed Ron in the ribs.

There followed a lively conversation between Harry, Ron and Ginny (Cho hardly said a word) about Quidditch, winning the Order of Merlin whilst still in school, events in the wizarding world generally, and Harry's amendment to the goblin treaty. Ginny enthusiastically approved of what Harry had done.

She told him, "Harry, I think that's wonderful. We'll need all the help we can get with war now being inevitable, and you've taken the initiative to get that for us. And some of those centaurs…, well Constance and Demelza were saying…."

"I dunno, mate," Ron cut her off. "Maybe it'll do some good, but I'm not fighting Voldemort to win Ginny the right to marry a goblin…."

"Ron, if you don't shut up about my personal life and leave me alone," Ginny growled, "I'll show you the same jinx that flattened Malfoy."

"That reminds me…," Harry remembered. "You never told me just how you lot got the best of Malfoy and his mates last term after Hermione and I had left with old toadface Umbridge for the Forbidden Forest."

"Harry, it was just brilliant," Ron began. "After you two left, things got rather boring in Umbridge's office. That git Malfoy, well he seemed really insulted about being left behind. Thought he was better than that, I guess. He was sort of the leader of the group that was left. He couldn't keep still in his sulk, though, and started tossing his wand in the air one-handed. The git…."

"He was a git, all right," Ginny warmed to the story. "Couldn't catch his wand any better than the Snitch. He fumbled it, and it fell on the floor. That bint Beth Dunstan didn't have a very good hold on me, and when Malfoy turned his back to pick it up, I broke free and went for it…."

"Dunstan never had much of an attention span," Harry observed, "except for that pure-blood propaganda she was always reading…."

"Thank Merlin for that," Ginny chirped. "Because she didn't even slow me down. I flew at Malfoy and knocked him sprawling. I spotted your wand in his pocket, Harry. I grabbed it and put the nastiest Bat Bogey Hex you ever saw on that bugger before he could even turn around."

"Sounds gross," Harry commented.

"It was, because it was really a `Butt Bogey' Hex," Ron chortled.

"What's that…?" Harry asked before figuring it out for himself. "You mean…? That is gross."

"But dead useful, I'd say," Ginny said, laughing along with Ron. "Glad Malfoy got to be first."

"But where'd you learn that one?" Harry asked. "It's certainly not taught in any of our classes."

"Fred and George taught it to me," Ginny revealed.

"On the occasion of her first ever boyfriend," Ron added dryly.

"Will you shut up about that!" Ginny demanded. "Anyway, Malfoy couldn't even begin to retrieve his own wand after that. I kicked him out of the way, rolled over and stunned Dunstan before she could even get a spell off…."

"Everything started happening at once after that," Ron broke in equally enthusiastically. "I slammed Wes Warrington right into the corner of Umbridge's desk. Must have gotten him right in the spine, too, because he went down and didn't get up very fast. Luna.… Well I couldn't believe it, but she kneed big old Moose Montague right in the crotch and he doubled over. That idiot Crabbe had been guarding Neville, and he tried to help the others, but somehow he got tangled up with Neville and fell flat on his face…."

"He did not get tangled up," Ginny corrected. "Neville deliberately tripped him. I tossed Neville somebody's wand and he stopped Montague for good with an excellent Impediment Jinx. Just for good measure I hit Crabbe with an Itching Jinx…."

"The funniest moment of the whole thing happened next," Ron took over. "I don't know where Luna learned how to fight, but she really can - in her own way…. She pulled one of Umbridge's kitten-design plates off the wall and brained Millicent Bullstrode with it. When she hit her, it sounded like someone had stepped on Crookshanks' tail, and bits of crockery went flying in all directions. By then Luna had also spotted Malfoy's wand. She grabbed it and stunned Crabbe whilst he was still scratching like crazy. That berk really got peppered…."

"Then I saw my own wand rolling on the floor," Ron added. "I dove for it and finished off both Warrington and Malfoy with Stunners. That was pretty much the end of the fight…."

"Yeah, the rest of them surrendered at that point…. I almost wished they hadn't," Ginny remembered. "I had so much anger and frustration built up over the year…. It felt good to release some of it. But anyway, I disarmed the rest of lot. Neville cast another textbook Impediment Jinx, on all of them this time. Then, just to make sure so there would be no escape attempt even if the Slytherins got free of the jinx, he conjured enough Devil's Snare to surround them all."

Ron sniggered. "To top it all off, Luna - that nasty girl - vanished all the Slytherins' clothes. You know … just in case. Ginny here put silencing and locking spells on Umbridge's office…."

"And as we were leaving the office," Ginny told Harry, "we encountered Peeves. I hadn't been sure what to do with all of the Slytherins' wands we had confiscated, so I gave them to him, and told him to do his worst. I assume he did…."

"Then we went looking for you," Ron finished.

Harry did not have any stories to tell that were as interesting, but he did tell his friends about the near-death encounters that both he and Hermione had experienced during Auror flight training. He rather breathlessly described the capabilities of his new Valkyrie broom, and Ron understood why Harry had been willing to make him a loan of his Firebolt.

Harry mentioned possibly using the Valkyrie for Quidditch, but at the prospect of a Gryffindor team sporting two Firebolts and a Valkyrie, not only Cho, but even Ron stiffened.

"I don't think that would be such a good move, mate," Ron cautioned. "That much broom power will definitely cause problems with the Hufflepuffs, who've already been complaining about brooms deciding the Cup rather than talent."

"It's not just Hufflepuff," Cho told them both. "I can tell you that most of my own teammates think the same thing - that Hogwarts Quidditch has become too dependent on who has the best and fastest brooms and thus on who has the money to buy them…."

"But it will be Hufflepuff that cracks first," Ron warned. "If you show up with that Valkyrie thingy, I wouldn't be surprised if they withdrew from Quidditch Cup participation altogether, and where would that leave us…? We have to have someone to play…."

"It wouldn't be just Hufflepuff, I'm afraid," Cho reiterated. "We'd probably follow. It's not right to have victory decided by who has the newest, most powerful brooms before any of us even flies onto the pitch. If you want there to be a Quidditch season, you better not do that, Harry."

Harry did not say anything, since he had no idea whether the Valkyrie was even appropriate for Quidditch. Mannock had told him otherwise, after all. But in light of remarks by Professors Flitwick and Sprout earlier in the evening, Harry was pretty sure that Cho's prediction would come to pass if he tried.

Moreover, even though he was now the proud possessor of the most wicked broom in creation, philosophically Harry supported the Hufflepuff position. Something needed to be done to level the playing field so that skill and training mattered.

Then he had a brilliant idea - a "Hermione moment," as he called it. It was a perfect way for him to give away large sums of money to a good cause that nobody could criticise.

"Hey, what about this…?" Harry offered. "I've found out that I stand to inherit more bloody money than I've ever wanted, let alone needed. Why don't I buy, say, forty of the latest model Firebolts, and give ten brooms for each house…."

Cho's jaw dropped. "Do you have any idea how many Galleons you're talking about, Harry?"

"I dunno exactly," Harry answered. "My last Firebolt was a gift, and I didn't buy the one I sent Ginny. I reckon if they cost five thousand Galleons each, that's two hundred thousand Galleons for the lot. From what I know, I could do that…."

"Er … Harry," Ron replied as he eyed his best friend warily. "They cost only about half that … trust me, I know…."

"Well, do you think it would work?" Harry asked. "It would solve the problem wouldn't it?"

"Well, you'd have to set it up in such that it looks like some sort of new Hogwarts perquisite," Cho told him. "That means it would have to be done through the school, on an on-going, four-house basis. Otherwise there could be problems. You'll have to present whatever broom fund you're thinking about in such a way not to make it look like charity. If it looks like a gift, rather than a right, you'll lose both Slytherin and Hufflepuff for sure. Those houses would never accept charity from another house…."

"All right," Harry acceded. "That will take some thinking that I'm not clever enough to do. I'll have to have my solicitor set up some sort of James Potter Memorial Hogwarts Quidditch Broom Fund.…"

"What?" both Cho and Ginny exclaimed.

"You, Harry Potter, have your own personal solicitor?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Er … yes," Harry admitted.

"Mate, we've been separated too bloody long," Ron laughed. "That's a lot of change…."

"You've changed a bit yourself, it looks," Harry replied, eyeing the way his friend had his hands all over Cho. Hermione for sure - and probably Eliza - would slap him silly if he did that, Harry thought.

The conversation about Quidditch had been slowly exhausting itself, even before Harry made that last remark. Ron responded by abruptly telling Ginny to leave because he had "private matters" to discuss with Harry. When she protested that Cho was staying, Ron cut her off, saying that these matters "involved" Cho, but not her. Cho looked rather embarrassed, but said nothing.

Finally Ginny stormed off, but not before extracting a promise from Harry that she would get her own chance for a private chat with him before the night was through. He expressed surprise at Ron's behavior towards his sister. Ron waved it off, saying, "Once a little sister, always a little sister."

Ron had a surprise for Harry. "Unlike you two, I didn't bring home any headline-quality O.W.L. marks," he commented with some shame and even more envy evident in his voice. "I got eight O.W.L.s … more than Fred and George, but not in your league…."

"Come on, Ron, eight O.W.L.s are nothing to sneer at," Harry cajoled. "That's hardly anything to be kicking yourself about…."

Ron was having none of it. "Well, King failed Divination, History of Magic, and Theoretical Potions … and I have to sit the Astronomy retake to have any chance of passing that."

"But you passed everything else, and I bet you did just fine in Defence, what with the D.A. and all," Harry countered.

"Yeah, I passed all right, but Defence was the only Outstanding I was able to score. Overall, I scored just under eighty."

"Well that's just fine, and I don't care about anything else," Harry protested.

"I'm just not Auror material, Harry. I have to admit it now. You and Hermione, well you can both pursue your dream careers together. Plain old average Ron has to figure out what to do next…. And as the King, I'm just bloody tired of working all that hard, anyway."

"Don't…. Don't get down on yourself, Ron," Harry encouraged him. "There's lots of stuff to do that's a whole lot better and safer than Auror work…. I'm seeing now that a lot of it isn't all that glamorous after all."

"Well, that's a choice you'll be able to make," Ron allowed. "That is if you even want to work…. I guess with this inheritance business you won't have to do anything you don't want…."

"What do you want, Ron?" Harry asked evenly. He knew about Ron's envy issue all too well. He had been its target before.

"What I'd really like to do?" Ron said. "Well if everything really works out, with this camp and all, is to try to play professional Quidditch. And you know what? The King just might be good enough. That's what I've been finding out this summer…. Failing that, I suppose I could work at the Ministry like Dad…." Ron made an unpleasant face as he mentioned that. "Or else, my brothers would probably hire me to work in their joke shop - and not as a product tester, either. They've made something out of their lives…."

Harry was thoughtful. "Well you could always…."

"No, Harry," Ron cut him off. "I'm not going to work for you. I just couldn't do that in good conscience. Not and still be the King…."

"Well, what are you planning to do, then - after this camp and all?" Harry asked bluntly. All this "King" business was starting to put him off.

"Not work as bloody much as before," Ron told him. "Frankly, I've admitted to myself that the King just can't keep up with you two…. I don't want to either. I'm just not interested in Hermione's bloody homework planners. I'm not willing to revise that hard in all these courses any longer. I'm just tired of trying. She makes it seem effortless, and you … you're so bloody talented. That, and you've got her…."

"Ron, you're really assuming too much, I think…," Harry protested, but Ron did not seem to hear.

"What the King wants to do is concentrate on two things - Quidditch and Cho." He gave his girlfriend an affectionate squeeze when he said that, and she responded by kissing him on the cheek and snuggling up even closer, if that were possible.

"So, I've signed up for the minimum number of courses next term that I can get away with. I'm aiming for the N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, of course, Herbology, and Magical Creatures. My electives, they're Quidditch Strategy and Wizard Government."

"Well, we'll be together in all our N.E.W.T. courses then," Harry said, struggling to find positive things to say.

"The other thing I've decided to do is give up the Prefect's badge," Ron said with artificial nonchalance.

This was not news to Cho, but Harry was in shock. "No you won't," he said. "It's…. It's just not done. It's not right to quit an honour like that."

"An honour like what?" Ron replied. "So I could play the fool compared to Hermione? Let's face it; I was a miserable excuse for a Prefect anyway. I let her handle all the hard bits, like trying to control Fred and George. Me? I spent my time bullying the First and Second Year midgets, taking points off Slytherin, and sleeping through prefect meetings. If Hermione hadn't done so much of my job for me, McGonagall probably would have sacked me last term."

"That's not true, Ron. You were a fine Prefect," Harry lied, knowing that for once Ron had fairly accurately assessed his own shortcomings. "You can't turn it down, Ron; it's part of who you are."

"Please call me King; all my friends here do," Ron instructed. Then Ron surprised Harry (and gave Cho quite a start) by shouting, "I'm king of ruddy Elsinore. Harry," Ron went on to explain, "You have no idea how good it feels to take that bloody Malfoy insult and stuff it back in all the effing Slytherins' faces."

"Er … I'll try," said Harry uncertainly. Returning to his previous argument, he pleaded, "You can't quit! Have you thought about what your parents will think about this?"

"Well, duh. I'm not that stupid," Ron spat. "Oh, I know what they'll think. Mum will skin me alive, and Dad won't be chuffed either. I haven't even told Ginny - that's one of the reasons I wanted her out of here. But my decision is final, Harry. Don't even try to change it. I posted my resignation letter to McGonagall the other day. I'd rather present my folks with a done deal."

Harry began, "Ron, I really wish you'd reconsider…."

Ron cut him off decisively, "It's done. Anyway, Harry, I reckon that the Prefect's badge will fall to you now. You deserved it last year…. Everybody thought so even then - Hermione sure did. Almost a month with me, and she still expected … and wanted … it to be you…. But anyway, I was hoping that…. I mean…."

Ron seemed to be losing his train of thought. He nervously ran his hands through his hair and then started absent-mindedly tracing a circle around one of Cho's breasts with his finger. "Well, I was wondering if … maybe with all the other irons that you have in the fire … you might be less interested in the Gryffindor Quidditch captaincy than you used to be?"

Harry could hardly believe his ears. Ron was practically ceding him the Prefect position in hope that he, in turn, would back Ron for the title of Quidditch Captain.

Harry never wanted Ron to give up being Prefect, but since there was no stopping him, the more he mulled over his friend's idea, the more reasonable it sounded. Harry's love of Quidditch was rather selfish. He loved it for the flying, for the thrill of ending the game by catching the Snitch … and for the victory lap around the pitch afterwards.

As the Seeker, his role had never been much more than catching the Snitch - predominately a solitary task. Harry had never been required to think much about what his teammates did, except for his Beaters protecting him against Bludgers. As a result, he knew very little about Quidditch strategy. Ron, on the other hand, had been steeped in Quidditch strategy virtually from the cradle, because both of his parents, four of his brothers (all except Percy), and his sister had all played the game at one point or another.

To make a silk purse from a Skrewt's ear (if there was such a thing), Harry was inclined to agree to Ron's proposal. There was only one minor fly in the ointment - more like a Hippogriff, actually - he had absolutely no influence over the selection of who would be Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. The selection of the house captain was the closely held prerogative of Professor McGonagall as head of Gryffindor House. She had never breathed a word about her choice to him, and their most recent conversation had ended less than an hour before.

McGonagall was a stickler for protocol, and her previous choices for captain had all been based on seniority. If she held true to form, the captain would be seventh year Chaser Katie Bell, whose team seniority equaled his, and who was in her final year. Although he wanted to help his best mate, all Harry could promise very little.

"Er … I don't know what I can do, Ron … er … King," Harry said in response to Ron's proposition. "I think you'd make a great Quidditch Captain…. Much better than I would. All I can do is refuse if Professor McGonagall offers me the position. Beyond that, I have no idea what she's going to do…."

Ron wasn't exactly chuffed by that response. "Well, Harry, whatever you can do, I'm sure you'll do," he replied. "I mean you're the great Harry Potter and all…. Maybe when you're buying all those Firebolts that you talked about, you can put in a good word or two for the King…."

Harry found the final item on Ron's agenda - girls -even more disturbing due to his friend's rather presumptuous attitude.

"Harry, I want to make sure that you're not in any way bent out of shape about the King and Cho being together," Ron declared.

Harry winced. While it was entirely fitting for Ron to appropriate that originally sarcastic nickname for himself, the more he was exposed to Ron's newfound tendency to speak of himself in the third person, the more offputting it became.

"No!" he answered, a little more loudly than was necessary. "We were never a good fit, like you are - too much stress. All I want is for the both of you to be happy."

Ron and Cho cuddled together once again, and she started kissing and gently biting Ron's neck. Harry felt embarrassed at the public display of affection, and found himself diverting his gaze.

"All right, mate," Ron replied at last, "in return for no hard feelings over Cho, I'm willing to give you free reign to seek Hermione's affections. It's bloody obvious that she's the one for you, not me. You two both do amazing things. I don't - except in goal…."

Cho giggled, as if to remind Ron that she thought he did amazing things elsewhere.

Harry was going to mention chess, but Ron continued, "The King should have learned his lesson a year ago, when she turned me down effing flat…."

Harry did not like where this conversation was going, but Ron plunged ahead.

"Ironic, ain't it mate? Not six months ago the smart money would have been backwards - you with Cho and me with Hermione. Looks like we both ended up with the other's seconds…."

Cho scowled.

Harry's patience was exhausted as well. "Ron…," he said, with a dangerous coolness in his voice, "What you and Cho do is your own business … but Hermione is nobody's seconds. She was never with you, and even if she had been, that wouldn't give you rights over her. You can't `give' her to me. She was never yours to give, nor is she mine to take. She's her own person. You know that. She'd hex you into oblivion if she heard you talking about her like this…."

Again Ron seemed not to hear, or if he did, he failed to understand. "Er…. All right then," he replied. "Whether or not you get together with Hermione is your affair, mate. I just want you to know that if you do, there will be no hard feelings on this end, just like you have no problem with the King and Cho."

A little small talk followed, but Harry found himself without much more to say. Using the (not entirely false) excuse that his knees were killing him from kneeling in the Floo, he said he would have to be going soon, and asked for Ron to send in Ginny as had been promised. She arrived practically apoplectic at her older brother.

"I don't know what's gotten into him. I don't think he's…."

Harry shushed her. Something was not right. From his recent progress in Occlumency, he was sensing some sort of odd quasi-invasion of mental privacy. After a moment's hesitation, he produced his wand and muttered, in a voice so low that it was barely audible above the crackling fire, "Surveillius revelato." Underneath the chaise lounge, he saw something glow green. "Surveillius confundus," he said in a similarly low voice.

"What are you doing Harry?" Ginny asked nervously, since Harry's wand was pointed nearly at her.

"There's something under your chair. See what it is, won't you," he replied softly.

Ginny ducked down and looked under the chair. Harry saw her swipe at something with her arm. She reemerged with her fist tightly grasping a set of Extendable Ears. Ginny's face was rapidly turning redder than her fiery hair.

"Finite," Harry commanded - more loudly this time. Then he waited for the ignition of Ginny's formidable temper. He did not have long to wait.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, YOU ROYAL JERK! IF THESE EARS AREN'T GONE IN FIVE SECONDS, I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU THE `KING PINHEAD'!! YOU'RE GOING TO BE KNEE DEEP IN BUTT BOGEYS FOR A WEEK!!"

As soon as Ginny let go of the Extendable Ears they retracted with an audible zing.

"Jesus H. Merlin!" Ginny groaned. "I just don't know what's with him lately. Ron hasn't been right since he was hurt in the Ministry. I don't know why, though. He refuses to talk about what happened with anybody. In everything else, he's so arrogant now that he almost struts sitting down - and he's taken that horrid nickname to heart. He doesn't seem to care about anything anymore except Quidditch and Cho…. He's becoming almost as big a prat as Percy."

"I wouldn't judge him that harshly," advised Harry, who found himself uncomfortable that his promise prevented him from telling anyone, even Ron, what the Unspeakables had told him about Ron's brain incident. "Ron's finally found things that give him a lot of pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. He's needed both for a long time."

"Oh, I guess you're right," sighed Ginny, brushing her hair out of her face. "He has become a fantastic Keeper - far better than anyone else here. And Cho…. The pleasure he gets from her is obvious, I suppose. Neither of them makes the slightest attempt to hide what they're on about. They're positively reckless though. I'm surprised nobody's walked in on them yet. If that happened, they'd both probably be sent home…."

They spoke for another ten minutes about this and that. Harry told her about his recent encounter with Percy. Ginny asked after Neville, and Harry was embarrassed to say that he had no idea what Neville was doing - other than that the boy's performance in the Ministry had set well with his grandmother. Ginny seemed to know more about Neville than Harry did.

By this time a complaint of pain in the knees was no longer just an excuse. Even cushioned by the magicked towel, Harry's knees were protesting more vociferously than a cage full of Cornish pixies. He asked Ginny how she was getting along with Dean Thomas.

"Dean…?" Ginny replied, looking embarrassed. "There was even less between me and Dean, than between you and Cho. We had a date. He writes me every now and then…."

Ginny looked odd. She took a deep breath and continued. "But you know and I know that there's only one Harry Potter. Now, I know you're spoken for, and I accept it, but if you ever need a friend - or more - well, you know where I am…."

Impetuously, she poked her head into the magical fire and kissed Harry - not on the lips, but on the cheek. The kiss lingered just a bit longer than a purely friendly farewell would have. Not knowing what else to do, he stammered a good bye and pulled himself backwards out of the Hogwarts fireplace, ending the Floo connection.

It was a very confused Harry Potter whose head touched the Aural Pensive pillow on his bed at Number Four Privet Drive that evening.

* * * *

Author notes: Even Harry's silencing spells have a little sizzle to them

Note to self: Never use a disrobing spell whilst still wearing the affected clothing

Harry really doesn't enjoy killing. I think that's cannon, and I don't think that Voldemort can be dealt with by anything as simple as just killing him

Harry has a new look, at least for times when he's travelling in Muggle circles. But not everyone who seems to be a Muggle really is

Dudley can be an oaf, but he has a knack for calling them like he sees them

Off-camera, it's clear that Harry's told Eliza a little about the Dursleys

All road numbers are accurate. I consult a website with a detailed map of Britain

The Firebird is (in my opinion) Stravinsky's prettiest work

The Bavarian castle is Mad King Ludwig's Neuschwanstein Schloss

Here, I make the more oblique references in the prior chapter explicit - that the Ministry had used replicas of Rolls Royce limousines to take the treaty party to Gringotts

Lucinda Trucipp is loosely modeled on a figure from recent American political history

"Sons of the Knights of the Goblin Rebellions" is mostly a play on the Sons of the American Revolution and less so on the Knights of Columbus

Without fear or favor is an old quote from Adolph Ochs of the New York Times

The slavery link was strongly foreshadowed by all of the place names associated with Black assets mentioned in Chapter 10

Hermione's line "its all too much for me to take" figures prominently later on - and has already been foreshadowed

"Fruit of the poisonous tree" is a legal phrase involving suppression of evidence

Dumbledore's unspoken decision will become clear in due time. It will cause dissention amongst the Hogwarts staff

Denis Creevey's tinkering will figure in later

Dumbledore is a master of deflection by non-answer. "Perhaps not" is one of those

The business about the Plantagenets and Oliver Cromwell is entirely invented

The Room of Requirement responds to need, not necessarily conscious desire

The Room of Requirement scene was researched from websites concerning the Middle Passage, except for the reference to babies, which came from the O'Jays "Ship Ahoy"

The whip is the infamous cat 'o nine tails

The paper Harry fished from his robes was the Auror boiler test print out

Republicans on the staff - more of the little riff mentioned in prior notes

Ron is getting in touch with his inner jock. His behavior will get worse before it gets better (which it will)

The idea of Ron turning in his badge isn't new, but I haven't read anything about this sort of deal. Harry's acquiescence will come back to haunt him, big time

"Jesus H. Merlin" tracks the American epithet "Jesus H. Christ"

"struts sitting down" - another American insult

- 63 -

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