Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry has a Voldemort-induced nightmare in which he gives up magic, Remus and Bill snap Harry help Harry over it, Harry discusses Sirius with Remus, Harry has a workout with Lao Kung at Hogwarts, Dumbledore gets wanted and unwanted advice, Harry gets a letter from Ginny, Harry has a fly and then a man-to-man talk with Bill about Harry's relationships with certain women, Bill has an idea, Harry gets Eliza presents and has an impromptu date, Harry gets Sirius' Pensieve from Remus as a present, except it isn't empty, Harry experiences the night his parents died through Bill's eyes and solves the mystery of Voldemort's wand, Harry learns something he was not supposed to know, Harry confronts Dumbledore about it and draws back a nub, and Harry turns down a modest proposition.

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 19 -Dreams And Memories

How much time had passed, Harry had no idea. He did not care - not about the now-setting gibbous moon; not about his expensive dew soaked designer suit pants; not about anything but his own despondency. How long he forlornly lay curled in a fœtal position on Mrs. Figg's grassy back garden, he did not know. Alternately he cried, cursed the day he was born, and regretted ever being a wizard. The first thing he noticed beyond his own misery was a soft white glow behind him.

At first he ignored it - like he wanted to ignore everything else in the world. The glow grew brighter, however, and he felt a slight warmth. `Damn,' he thought, `another of Dumbledore's fancy appearances. Well, there's no escaping the Headmaster, so I'd best deal with it.'

Groaning, Harry rolled over to face the light. To his surprise, it was not Dumbledore at all. Instead, he saw the white, ghostly figure of an ancient wizard whose beard was even longer than his Headmaster's. The man's figure was surrounded by an ethereal glow. With no discernable steps, he, or it, slowly glided towards the prone young wizard.

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Who, Who, Who are you?" he stuttered.

The figure stopped a couple of metres away. "I am the ghost of Merlin," he replied in soft sepulchral tones, "keeper of magic. I roam the Earth to meet wizards like you who experience dark nights of the soul. You have been expressing a strong desire to be rid of the gift of magic. Is that indeed your wish?"

Fresh tears flowed down Harry's face as he pondered that question anew. Sadly, he nodded his head affirmatively. Reluctantly he had concluded that his magic was no longer worth the pain. The whole magical world was not worth his crushing responsibility to it….

…Magic had killed his parents. It had killed Sirius. A prophecy damned him to kill or be killed. The only one who might have made everything worth it had just been driven away. Taking stock of what little he had left, Harry decided that might as well turn up on Eliza's doorstep as a Muggle and try a new life.

"Are you certain?" the shimmering Merlin figure asked once again. "Once the gift of magic is revoked, that consequence is irreversible."

Harry thought long and hard. He decided that he was no longer (if he ever was) capable of being what Hermione had called the "indispensable man." In the end, what had magic ever done for him except kill, injure, or repulse everyone he had ever loved? "I, I am," he choked out.

"Very well, so be it," said Merlin. "Take your wand and thrust it tip-first into the earth. But do not let go. Continue to grasp the handle."

Harry complied.

The ghostly figure withdrew his own wand from a pocket in his robes. He pulsated and changed shape as he lowered himself to the ground. The figure started to undulate. It took on a less human and more serpentine form whilst approaching Harry's wand. Still, Merlin's ghost remained human enough to utter a lengthy Latin incantation that Harry did not understand. The incantation and the transformation concluded at the same time.

Now a snake, Merlin's ghost carried his wand in his mouth. He struck, and their wands touched. Harry was enveloped in soft yellow light. There was a hissing sound like air escaping from a pinhole in a balloon. The light gradually left his body, flowed through his arm, and into his wand. Finally, only his wand was glowing. Then, after a long moment, the wand went dark as well.

"You may let go now," the ghost commanded. "It has returned to the earth from whence it came."

Harry released his wand. Spontaneously, it burst into flame before crumbling into ashes. He could no longer feel any magic in him. A quick repetition of one of Lao Kung's wandless spells confirmed that he was no longer magical. The blob of light that was Merlin was transforming again. Feeling relieved, yet still intensely sorrowful, he turned and began to walk away - haltingly ready to begin his new, non-magical life.

The shadow Harry cast indicated that Merlin's glow was changing from white to red, but Harry no longer cared. He was free. The magical part of his life was over. The Dursleys would be pleased. He only hoped that Eliza would be as well….

"Where do you think you're going, Squib?" came a sharper voice from behind him. Merlin seemed angry.

Harry turned. Merlin was shimmering red now, but the red light was shifting - dividing in two swirling vortices. As the vortices shrank in size, their ruddy glow became more intense and their edges more solid. They looked like - like eyes. Harry's jaw dropped as he realised….

His scar suddenly exploded with pain. He slumped to his knees. A single word, "V-V-Voldemort," escaped Harry's anguished lips.

"The very same, you foolish Squib. I have taken your magic, now I am going to take everything else - slowly, but surely. Behold!" Voldemort began laughing maniacally. Harry looked past him. The scene illuminated by the moonlight was at once disgusting and astounding.

Hermione was there.

And she was lashed tightly to Mrs. Figg's picnic table. She struggled against dark bindings that held her fast.

Harry gasped as it dawned on him that she had been stripped naked. Forcibly. She was bruised and bleeding from the mouth. Two masked Death Eaters flanked her, laughing and making rude gestures at Harry. Some kind of design had been daubed on her midsection in what was probably blood….

Looking harder, he prayed it was only painted - one of the Death Eaters was holding what looked like a very sharp object.

Voldemort removed a Silencing Charm, and Hermione's screams echoed through the night, "No, Harry! Please, no! Please tell me that you didn't do it! No. No. No…."

`Where in Hell is the bloody Order?' Harry thought frantically. `This is Mrs. Figg's own damned garden….'

Voldemort was in his head, reading his mind. "No one will come," the Dark Lord hissed. "There's no more magic. You're worthless to them … a broken tool. They can't track you any more even if they wanted to - which they don't…."

Voldemort's voice trailed off into a mirthless laugh. After a pause, he commanded, "You want her, don't you? Well, go take her - with my compliments."

Harry was too stunned even to stand, let alone walk.

"NOW!" Voldemort bellowed.

An unseen force jerked Harry to his feet and began pushing him, marionette-like, towards where Hermione was pinioned. A ripping sound followed and Harry saw to his horror that his own clothes were being torn away.

"Resistance is futile," Voldemort hissed. "You're nothing but a pathetic Squib. You might as well enjoy yourself one last time before I kill you." His loud, cackling laughter filled the night.

Harry was being pushed closer and closer to her.

"…Haaaarrrrryyyyy! Noooooooo!"

With his approach, the design resolved into the Dark Mark - carved obscenely into the soft skin of her abdomen…. He could even hear its edges sizzling.…

"NO!" screamed Harry. With one final, great exercise of will, his legs gave out and the unseen force dumped him face first in the wet grass.

"Always the gentleman, I see," Voldemort said icily. "We'll just do it the hard way then." He lazily pointed his wand at Harry, "Imperio."

Harry's body snapped to attention, as all thought receded. His mind went strangely but comfortably numb. He had secretly hoped for this woman to be his first lover for more than a year, and now that was possible, courtesy of the Dark Lord. Was that not wonderful? The circumstances were not quite what he had fantasised, but still…. He moved closer to her. He could barely hear Hermione continuing to scream - scarcely more than background noise….

Then Eliza's face flashed before Harry's eyes. Was it not for her, rather than Hermione, that he had just surrendered his magic? Did he really want this any more? Maybe not. He lurched clumsily to a halt, his mind a fuzzy battleground of conflicting signals and colliding emotions.

Suddenly the haze lifted. "Very interesting, Potter. Very interesting indeed," Voldemort observed. "When someone under the Imperius Curse is told to perform something already desired, obeisance results almost as if the Curse isn't even there. Reluctance such as yours doesn't happen - especially from a Squib. Could it be that this Mudblood no longer interests you? Is there someone else? Who is she, Potter? Tell me now, and I might just let this one go."

"Nooooooo…!" howled Harry.

"Legilimens," roared Voldemort, jabbing his wand once again at Harry.

Voldemort's eyes bore into his. Harry's scar felt like a dagger plunged into his brain. Voldemort was twisting it, driving it ever deeper. Harry collapsed in agony. He was trying harder than ever in his life to protect his thoughts, but he was no longer magical. He retched as images were torn from his mind. The overheard argument at Hermione's.… The violin performance marking the swan song of their friendship…. His embarrassment at having red hair.… His brain felt like it was melting.…

"Eyaaah!" Harry recoiled from a harsh slap in the face. Guttural, animal sounds were all he could muster; 100,000 generations of evolution having departed en masse. He could barely breathe. His chest was constricted. He was thrashing about. Foul-smelling smoke choked his lungs - as if his own hair were on fire.

"Harry!" someone yelled. A bucketful of cold water splashed over his burning face, allowing wakefulness finally to prevail. His scar throbbed with scalding pain, whilst the side of his head was being ground into a sodden mattress. The noxious smoke mixed with steam from his scar, making him nauseous. Harry stopped thrashing as he felt hot panting breath on his neck. There was someone on top of him; someone struggling to hold him down.

"Thank Merlin," came the vaguely familiar voice of the person astride him. "I think he's coming out of it now. I've never seen anything like that, and I never want to again. I couldn't have held on much longer…."

The haze was lifting from Harry's mind. "Harry, can you hear me?" asked a very familiar voice from directly in front of him. "Can you feel me with you?" Harry noticed a hand on his shoulder, cracked open his eyes, and saw Bill's face. Lines of concern were etched deeply into it.

"B-B-B-Bill, what happened? Where am I?" Harry mumbled. The room seemed to be spinning.

"Remus, you can get off now," Bill instructed. "Harry, you're in your bedroom. You've obviously had a very serious nightmare. From the way your scar is bleeding, we think it was Voldemort."

The weight on top of Harry lightened and disappeared. There was a thump of feet hitting the floor, and Harry saw the exhausted and quite disheveled form of Remus Lupin towering above him.

Bill continued, "Harry, Dumbledore was afraid that something like this would happen tonight. He had us sit with you while you slept. As usual, he was right. You went feverish … then it broke. When we tried to remove your shirt to apply the poultice the Headmaster had given us, you started seizing up - giving off wave after wave of raw magic…. Dumbledore told us that there was an incident yesterday evening at Hermione's…."

"Bloody Hell!" Harry cursed as he sat bolt upright. "Voldemort! He's got Hermione! He was doing horrible things to her! He tried to make me to do horrible things to her! We've got to do something!"

Before anyone could react, he leapt out of bed and wandlessly summoned his Valkyrie from his closet. In one motion, he flicked out his wand and a Reductor Curse blew out the window.

Harry had barely thrown one leg over his broom when Remus grabbed him, and yanked him to the floor. Once again, he felt the unnatural physical strength inherent in the man's lycanthropic condition. Remus spoke forcefully. "Harry, that was a nightmare - sent by Voldemort. Hermione is safe and sound, if rather distraught. Her home is under 24-hour guard by the Order. It may be the most secure place in London at the moment. Calm down."

In a more soothing voice, Bill said, "Harry that was all a dream - a false dream - like Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries, remember? Whatever Voldemort showed you, it was a lie. He did it because he wants something else. We have to figure out what, and why."

Harry stared at his wand. But … had it not just been destroyed…? In his hand was an incontrovertible physical fact that confirmed his mental manipulation.

His legs suddenly going limp, Harry slumped to sit cross-legged on the floor, staring into space. He tried to recall what had happened after he fled Hermione's house. He had Apparated to Mrs. Figg's back garden as intended. Upon arrival, he had been in full-bore panic. He tried to run the moment he materialised, but probably because he was tipsy, had slipped on the wet grass and had not gotten up. The rest was a mystery - how he had gotten home, how he had ended up in his nightclothes, or why his nightshirt was now hanging in tatters. His alarm clock, fluorescing from all of the magic, now read twenty-five, or six, till four in the morning.

Harry noticed as well that he had a splitting headache. His bloody brain seemed to be fighting to get free of his skull. He felt irresponsible and stupid. For once since learning the process, he had allowed himself fall asleep without performing his nightly Occlumency ritual. He had left himself open to attack, and Voldemort had played that opening for all it was worth. Now he was paying for it - mentally and physically.

This kind of mistake was potentially fatal - and not just for him…. Not even primarily for him….

How much had Voldemort learned? The nightmare seared his consciousness. It was a powerful reminder that his responsibility to those he cared for could not be shirked, no matter what the circumstances. Come what may, he could not let his defenses lapse like that again. Voldemort had shown he was always out there … lurking … looking for any available avenue through which to strike.

A beeping noise made both Bill and Remus jump. Harry recognised it at once, got up and fished his mobile from an inside pocket of last night's rather damp suit jacket. Someone had casually tossed the jacket over the Communicator. That must have blocked the magic; by all rights, his mobile should have been fried.

"Harry, are you all right?"

It was Hermione. Harry could hardly believe how relieved he was just to hear her voice, methodically checking on his condition.

"Er … not exactly…. But I'm not in danger either," he told her in a muted voice. "Bill and Remus are here. Everything's okay…."

"Thank Merlin," she sighed heavily. "You can't believe the horrible set of emotions that just came through our affinity…. Well, maybe you can…. I thought you might be under attack."

"It was just Voldemort, up to his old tricks," Harry replied, more confidently than he felt. "He didn't fool me this time, though. Nothing I can't handle," he lied.

Sounding skeptical, Hermione pressed for details. "What happened, Harry? You felt terrible … like everything was hopeless…."

His relief at simply hearing her voice quickly dissipated….

Feeling overwhelmed and inarticulate, Harry answered a couple more questions in monosyllables. He was frankly not really ready to talk to Hermione about anything serious … not even to accept her freely offered apologies. It was too soon. His wounds were too raw. She seemed to appreciate that. With relief, he hung up.

"Now that you've regained self control, Harry," Remus said softly, "I need to go heal myself. These burns are quite painful, even for a werewolf."

"D-d-did I do that?" Harry asked. In horror, he regarded the skin that was sloughing away from Remus' hands, and the huge blackened area on his bared chest. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

The object of his concern merely looked away, his eyes full of worry. His wand held charily with his fingertips, Remus removed the Sealing and Silencing Charms from Harry's door and slunk toward the Dursleys' bathroom.

Bill and Harry watched him leave. Harry felt a fresh wave of guilt, and, nearly in tears, turned back to his guardian. "D-did I, Bill?" Harry already knew the answer.

"Yes, you did, Harry," Bill answered, with a slight tremolo in his voice. "About half an hour ago you started thrashing about in your sleep. Our instructions were to do nothing unless you became a danger to yourself or others. The thrashing got worse, and then, about five minutes before you awoke, you began emitting an irregular glow. You started to spark. I had seen that before, so we tried to wake you. It was getting worse. Remus grabbed you and tried to shake you awake. That didn't work, so I slapped you as he was trying to wrestle you to the floor. You never got there. You did something to him that started frying his flesh wherever he was touching you."

Bill continued, "That's when I soaked you with a bucket of water that I had drawn for just such a possibility. I'm sorry, but I was afraid that you were about to go off again. The sparking reminded me of what how you looked the night you got back from your unauthorised trip to London. I don't know what might have happened, but I was afraid that you would destroy this house and everything and everyone in it."

"You … you did the right thing," Harry conceded as he hesitantly stood and then walked to his desk. He knew that he owed Dumbledore a full report of his dream. Remus reentered the room, his nasty looking wounds more or less healed. He looked as exhausted as Harry felt.

Bill and Remus eyed Harry questioningly. "I'm going to write to Dumbledore now before I forget anymore of the dream," Harry calmly replied to the unspoken question. "It's something I have to do. He wants a full report anytime something like this happens…."

Harry picked up the quill. Poised to start writing, he paused. He lay the quill down, took a deep breath, and addressed the two wizards again. "All right, how much do you think he already knows about last night?"

Receiving a crosswise glance from Remus, Bill gave Harry a sad-eyed look. "He knows enough, Harry. Enough that he sent us here to stay the night. You needn't get into it, unless it impacts the dream. Dumbledore was immediately informed of your abrupt departure and Disapparition. Mad Eye and I reported both your return here and that we had to magic you to bed after you passed out in Mrs. Figg's front garden. I also understand that he has received a relatively full rundown from Madam Lufkin on Hermione's version of events. Tonks stayed the night with Hermione for the same reasons we've stayed with you."

"How…? How is she holding up?" Harry asked weakly, needing the answer, even though it would certainly be bad.

"About the same as you," Remus conceded, "but without the added complication of Voldemort sending his greetings."

Harry had already let far too much time pass before writing out a full description of his nightmare. Details were becoming blurred. He started scribbling away furiously on his Communicator - describing how Voldemort had masqueraded as Merlin's ghost and persuaded him to surrender his magic. He struggled to put into words why he had been willing to do that. He depicted the Merlin-Voldemort transformation, Hermione's sudden appearance, and how Voldemort tried to force him to rape her in the dream.

Harry had a vague recollection that Eliza also figured into things, but he could no longer remember exactly how. He knew that she would skin him alive for bringing her to the attention of the Order without an extremely good reason. He did not want that to happen - particularly with the embers of last night's burning bridges still glowing - so with some misgivings, he elected not to mention her.

Harry finished the report to Dumbledore just as day was breaking. He mentioned his persistent headache to his minders, and they looked meaningfully at one another. Remus fished inside his scorched robes and tossed Bill a small red pouch tied with a golden thread. Bill nodded and left the room. Harry looked at Remus and, with a start, remembered….

"Professor Lupin, I haven't seen you since we were in Kings Cross," he said, brightening considerably. "How have you been?" Harry put out his hand.

Remus grasped it gingerly, his burns, albeit healed, still fairly sensitive, "Busy, like yourself," he replied, barely meeting his eyes. "I'm not a professor anymore - I'd really rather you call me Remus … if you could. I'm on Order business, mostly. I … er … follow the money. More than that, I can't really tell you."

"You, you … were in Hong Kong when … it … it happened," Harry struggled with the words. "Thank you very much for helping rescue her…." He rubbed his forehead with one hand, his lower jaw trembling. Maybe none of it mattered anymore. "Blast it," he grumbled. "I don't want you to see me like this…. Can you leave me alone for just a bit? I don't…."

"Go ahead, Harry, you can cry in front of me if you need to," Remus responded gently, moving cautiously toward Harry. "I know how it feels to … lose someone…."

"Oh, stop it. No you don't," Harry spat, ire rising involuntarily within him.

Somewhat testily, Remus responded, "Oh, I don't, now, do I? Perhaps, Harry, you've forgotten the last time I had to forcibly restrain you before just now.…"

"Oh, that was…." Harry trailed off. He realised that Remus was referring to Sirius' death.

"If I hadn't had to keep you from following him through the veil," the man said softly, "I probably would've gone through it myself … just what I prevented you from doing…. He was my last and greatest friend, Harry…. I'm the only Marauder left … effectively, anyway. So I'm alone. Not many want to have anything to do with werewolves…. It's not safe."

Remus' voice rose slightly, and a steely glare appeared in his eyes. "So don't go feeling sorry for yourself. At least she's not dead - and as long as she lives, there's always a chance to make things better."

Harry looked at the sad werewolf and he felt guilt at his reaction. In many ways things were worse for Remus than for him. He lowered his eyes, ready to wallow in the injustice of it all. He never got the chance.

Bill reentered the room carrying, a steaming container just as Remus had finished his little speech. He was singing softly, just loud enough for Harry to hear, "Naaaa na na na-na-na naaaa, na-na-na naaaa, hey Jude…."

"Stifle yourself, Bill," growled Harry, annoyed. "How'd you know about that, anyway?"

"It's been a long night, Harry," Bill replied. "I used your Walkman to help pass the time. Good choice, by the way…." Bill handed him the fuming beaker and told him to drink it.

"What's in this?" Harry asked.

"Powdered essence of Opuntia, mostly," Bill told him. "It's probably the best Anti-Hangover Potion there is…. Take it. You'll feel loads better. Whilst that champagne was charmed so you never felt very squiffy, it still packs as much punch, hangover-wise, as the uncharmed kind. You just didn't feel it. Didn't you read the label? It was 25 proof."

Harry's groan suggested that he had not, and it was soon apparent that he did not know what a "proof" was anyway. He gulped down the foaming contents of the glass, which tasted surprisingly sweet and not nearly as hot as it looked. Bill was right. The pounding in his skull began abating within seconds.

"I'm never going to do that again," Harry stated firmly.

"Do what?" both Bill and Remus asked simultaneously.

"Drink anything that could get me at all drunk," replied Harry. "I really made a royal mess of things last night. I can't help but think that if I'd been all there, I could have thought of something more appropriate than just running away. I wasn't a very good Gryffindor…."

"Harry, there are times when discretion is the better part of valour," Bill reassured the boy. "I don't think your staying would have helped anything…. Hexing them would only have made things worse…. I can't begin to tell you how much worse."

"But what if her father had hurt her?" Harry interrupted.

"That's silly," chastised Bill. "First, you don't have to save everyone every time. Second, do you really think that any Muggle could hurt Hermione? What exactly have the two of you been doing for the past several weeks?"

"True," conceded Harry. "But he has those guns in the house. I saw some of them."

"And we had at least a dozen Order members and Aurors hidden inside - all with appropriate authorisations, of course," replied Bill. "You really ought to ask Dumbledore to teach you some Legilimency techniques so you could detect wizards under Invisibility Cloaks."

"Now that things are under control, I think I'll be off then," Remus interjected. "I really need to get some sleep."

"Prof… Mister Lu… Remus!" Harry exclaimed. "Er…. Don't go. When will I see you again?"

Remus forced a little smile, "Don't worry, Harry. I'll be back tomorrow. I have something for you. You can call it an early birthday present, I suppose."

"Then why don't you come by on my birthday, too?" Harry invited. "I have the day off from training. Shak took pity on me, I guess. It's not like I'm going to be doing anything anyway. You can help me eat some cake. Er…. Somebody will send me one … probably…."

Come to think of it, Harry could not say who would. Molly Weasley was evidently furious with him. It was too early for him even to begin contemplating how Hermione now felt. No more parties at her house, that was for certain. Hagrid was off somewhere.…

"Sorry, Harry, I can't - that time of the month, you know," said Remus softly. "No party?" he asked.

"Why would I have one?" muttered Harry. "I've never had a birthday party in my life. You really think the Dursleys would ever do something like that for me…?" He brightened a bit, and added, "See you tomorrow then?"

"Certainly…." Remus replied. "But, Harry…?"

"What?"

Remus spoke slowly, as if trying to avoid setting Harry off again. "What I'm going to give you is something you asked for, but…. Well, when I retrieved it…. Things turned out to be rather more complicated than I had supposed…."

Harry grimaced. He threw up his hands. "Just forget it then," he sighed. "Whatever it is, I don't need any more complications. I've got too bloody many in my life right now as it is."

"No, Harry, I'm going to give it to you anyway, and let you make your own decision with all the details," replied Remus with that steely look back in his eyes. "If you still feel that way after you've seen it, then I'll take it back. Now if you'll excuse me, I really have to go."

Harry watched Remus sulk out the door. He knew he should apologise for his outburst but could not bring himself to take that step. Instead he put his head in his hands and exhaled greatly, the force of it expanding his cheeks.

Bill was eyeing him. "You need more sleep, and then a good fly to let off some steam, don't you think? Would you like to ride the GKN later today at Hogwarts?"

"Sorry, Bill," Harry said in a defeated voice. "I'm not really interested anymore. You like the motorbike. You ride it for a while…. And while you're at it, why don't you run off with the rest of Sirius's bloody fortune too. A right spot of good it's doing me! It's not even mine yet and already it's ruined my bloody life!"

"Harry," Bill said firmly. "We need to have a man-to-man talk, but not right now, because, frankly, you're right dead knackered. Aparecium chez William Dreamless Sleep Potion."

The requested phial appeared in Bill's hand. "Harry I want you to take this. I'm going to set your alarm for 9:00 a.m. Then we'll take your broom - you don't have to ride the motorbike if you don't want to - to Hogwarts. You can fly and we can talk about things."

"It will have to be later," said Harry. "I want to go to Dudley's gym this morning and have another Occlumency lesson. Meet me back here at half past noon."

That was progress. Bill readily agreed. Harry set the alarm for 8:30 a.m., and thankfully drank the potion.

* * * *

It felt passing strange to go to Dudley's gym alone, but Harry had really needed those few hours of real sleep after the events of the previous night. When he arrived, his cousin was hard at work in the central ring. Harry knew better than to try to interrupt him in the midst of a sparring match, so he went straight to Lao Kung.

"Come in, Hahli," beckoned the old wizard. "I would say that this was a pleasant surprise, except that I have been expecting you."

"So you've heard, too," Harry grunted. "Bad news travels fast, I guess."

"Hahli, I am quite old, but the most placid river remembers what it was like as a roaring stream," Lao Kung said cryptically.

"I want you to put me through the toughest workout you can devise," requested Harry. "I need to get this … this rage out of my system before I accidentally do something I'll regret."

"It cannot be here, then, for precisely that reason," replied the master.

"Where?" asked Harry.

"Hog-wa-tze, of course," managed Lao Kung, with the hint of a smile.

"Hogwarts?" Harry echoed in confusion. "Why there?"

"The answer awaits," Lao Kung replied enigmatically. "You need to gather whatever clothes and other equipment you need for a most strenuous session. Then do anything else that you feel you must … but meet me back here in five minutes."

When Harry returned, Lao Kung led him into his private living quarters, where there was a full fireplace.

Seconds later they were stepping out into a basement room at Hogwarts. The school appeared deserted as Lao Kung expertly threaded his way through a maze of stone passageways and out a side door Harry had never been through before. Fleetingly, he wished he had the Marauder's Map with him so he could learn what they had just done.

The door opened onto the path to the Quidditch pitch. Rising from the grass was a huge, pillow-shaped white blob. It looked rather like the indoor practice facilities of the more prosperous Muggle football teams that Harry had seen on the telly or in the papers - only this one was held up by magic rather than positive air pressure.

"Go inside and change," Lao Kung instructed. The Sefu unshrank a good-sized wrapped package, which he handed to Harry.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"Consider it your birthday present from me," the aged wizard answered.

Inside the facility there was a small dressing room. Harry changed and opened the gift. Lao Kung had gotten him a pair of bright green Basilisk skin boxing gloves. They fit perfectly, probably because they were charmed to conform to his anatomy.

Dressed only in his newly bought trainers, an old pair of Everlast boxing trunks Dudley had scraped up for him from who-knows-where in the gym, and a torn muscle T-shirt, Harry entered the main part of the structure. He was confronted with at least a dozen heavy punching bags, and an equal number of stand alone bags. There was a short note from Lao Kung that simply told him to start at one end and work his way down the line.

Somewhat confused, Harry spat on his hands, took a deep breath, and protected his fingers with the elastic wraps just like Dudley had shown him. Then he methodically laced up the new gloves. He wiggled his fingers. These felt much better than his cousin's old oversized gloves he had been using up until now. Those had been haphazardly stuffed with bits of stray foam and mashed up newspapers, because of his smaller hands.

Thud, thud, thud.

Harry set to work on the first heavy bag, hammering away. The sound from his exercise echoed through the air. All he could see was the bag and the surrounding whiteness of the featureless structure. He kept pounding. "Damn you, Doctor Granger," he thought, "I won't take your daughter - not that way. Not for YOU I won't."

Thud, thud, THUD, THUD, CRASH!

At the sound of the crash, one of Harry's Basilisk skin-covered hands tore through the bag and literally ripped the stuffing out of it. He did not care. A couple more blows and it tore clean in half, filling the air with whatever bits of old rubbish were used to fill that sort of thing.

On Harry went, pounding away; trying to get it all out of his system. "Not that she wants me anyway…."

THUD, SNA-SNAP … Plomp, plup, plup, plup.

With one vicious blow, he had broken both that bag's upper and lower supports at the same time. The bag had gone flying, landing in the grass and rolling crazily end over end until it came to a halt.

Harry shrugged, examined his gloves, and moved on to the next station. Lao Kung was a good teacher. He had anticipated exactly what was needed. Harry decided to show the karate master that he could also be a good student. He moved to a stand alone bag. Whirling, he gave it a stout kick.

THUD.

It went down almost to the turf and bounded back up. He visualised the dentist again. "You won't see a CENT of my money, Granger," Harry resolved. He whirled around again.

THUD.

"But I don't want the godforsaken money anyway."

Twirl, whip, THUD.

"I'd throw it all away in an instant to have Sirius back."

Twirl, whip, THUD; twirl, whip, THUD.

Harry decided to see how many consecutive times he could land that kick without stopping. After the fifth time, there was another crash as the stand alone broke free and skittered across the lawn.

Harry moved on - back to a heavy bag.

Thud, thud, THUD.

"To Hell with the MONEY…. To Hell with the FAME…! I just want things to be the way … they … WERE!"

When? At the end of Fifth Year, with Sirius just dead and Hermione and Ron were both in the hospital as a consequence of their frolic and detour at the Ministry?

Thud, thud, THUD.

In the middle of Fifth Year, when Umbridge was running wild and everybody thought he was nutters?

Thud, thud, THUD, THUD.

At the end of Fourth Year when Voldemort had just killed Cedric and used Harry's own blood to return to power?

Thud, thud, THUD, THUD. RIP. CRASH.

Another heavy bag disintegrated under Harry's furious blows.

Harry moved on. He jettisoned all of Fourth Year as well and decided that the last time he had been even moderately satisfied with things was at the end of Third Year, when he and Hermione had just rescued Sirius and Buckbeak from certain death. Even that was scant consolation, Harry remembered.

Thud, thud, THUD.

If Remus had only remembered to take his potion, then that cursed Wormtail would have been exposed. Sirius would have been cleared. Voldemort would never have been resurrected. And Harry would be living happily with his Godfather.

THUD, THUD, SMASH….

Another one bit the dust.

And so it went. For over an hour, Harry pounded away at mental images of virtually everyone who had ever hurt him. Bellatrix Lestrange - that bag did not last very long. Wormtail - ditto. Umbridge…. Malfoy, BOTH of them…. The Dursleys…. Skeeter…. Fudge…. Scrimgeour…. Dolohov…. Harry let out a primal scream of rage as one of his reverse karate kicks sent the top of another stand alone knifing through the air until it sliced an as yet unused heavy bag clean in half.

Harry was scintillating now, drawing energy to him and expending it. The air around him was hot and dry.

THUD, WHAM, POUND….

* * * *

High above Harry, from his balcony perched atop one of the highest towers of Hogwarts Castle, Dumbledore and two companions dispassionately looked down upon the scene. They could not see or hear the boy, but they knew he was there. From this angle, the white blob looked vaguely like a squashed marshmallow against the emerald green background of the summertime sod on the Quidditch pitch - if one could imagine a marshmallow that quivered constantly and glowed from within with unearthly brightness.

"There is not much question of it now, is there Severus?" the Headmaster remarked to the sallow-faced, black-haired wizard at his side.

"No, regrettably there is not. I only hope that he will show as yet unachieved levels of maturity before the Dark Lord comes for him," cautioned Shape. "As I have told you, there is increased Death Eater activity of late."

"My concerns have lessened," Shacklebolt replied, "from everything I've seen personally, and everything I hear through the Corps, Harry seems to be maturing at a phenomenal rate."

"I hardly mean physically … just look at him…. I mean emotionally," Snape corrected. "It has been my misfortune to have watched Potter for over five years now, and in my opinion he is more emotionally fragile now than when first admitted to Hogwarts. Albus, when you did your duty and thereby became head of the previous Order, you were already mature - a centurion. You had been married. You had had…."

Dumbledore frowned. "Please, Severus, there is no need to remind me of what once was."

"…How can we expect Potter to do what you did before he is even out of his teens? When he is still sorting out who he is and what he needs, after all that those Muggles did to him? I shudder to think of him as leader of…."

"I have seen enough." Shacklebolt pronounced. Satisfied that Harry was getting the kind of a workout he needed to avoid further unpleasantness in the Situation Room, Shacklebolt took his leave to get back to his job as Adjutant Chief of the Auror Corps.

"That is quite enough, Severus, is it not?" Dumbledore cautioned. "I assure you that I am every bit as concerned as you are. If I feel it necessary, I will not hesitate to take drastic, even unprecedented measures."

Snape's eyebrows arched. "Such as?"

"I shall cross that burning bridge when I arrive at it, Severus, and not one moment before," Dumbledore replied. "I was not in a position to act with Tom…. Now, if need be, I am…. Speaking of such matters, did you, yourself, ever take the step towards emotional maturation that I recommended to you so many months ago?"

"Indeed, I was doing as you directed," growled Snape, "but as always that Potter boy interfered, and I was forced to stop. It hardly matters much now, does it, since Sirius Black is dead."

"Nevertheless, Severus, I would like you to complete the process, since the likelihood of any more `interference,' as you call it, has also been eliminated. If nothing else, I believe it will be good for your soul."

"Very well, Headmaster," grumbled Snape. "But my soul will hardly be lightened when Potter blabs what he saw to the entire student body."

"I would give young Mister Potter, rather more credit than that," chided Dumbledore. "Other than from yourself, I have not heard a word about that incident from anyone. Have you?"

"Come to think of it, no," the Potions Master conceded - with notable lack of good grace.

"Innocent until proven guilty, then. Don't you think?" asked Dumbledore rhetorically.

The Headmaster sat heavily in his chair after Professor Snape left. He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hands. He would soon have to leave again. His sources had alerted him about a family named Gaunt….

"You really shouldn't regret what's happened," a crackling voice sounded. "It's for the best, you know."

"No, I do not know that at all, Phineas; nor do I believe it," Dumbledore replied wearily. "He needs her badly - you know that."

"He needs someone, that's clear enough," the Slytherin's portrait agreed. "But most certainly not her. She is too … foreign … too uncontrollable. Think about it. Think about the number of times she has incited him to defy you…. That statement of magical equality … dangerous poppycock…. Particularly in a time of war."

The Headmaster shook his head. "I doubt you understand, Phineas. I really do. You have not truly lived in over two-hundred years, after all…."

"Things haven't really changed all that much," Phineas Nigellus retorted. "Potter will soon hold not only his line, but the House of Black as well. With his upbringing, he needs a nice pureblood girl to ease him into proper society … to show him how to behave as his station warrants … to have his children, and perpetuate his inheritances…."

"That is just not the way it works anymore," Dumbledore countered. "Mister Potter would never accept an arranged marriage. The Granger girl … she is not only his friend; she is very powerful and surpassingly clever…. And I still believe they love each other."

"What does love have to do with anything? She is Muggle-born, Albus," Phineas said hotly. "And not just any Muggle-born; a dangerous, radical leveler…. All she will do is create complications that we don't need. You know that you don't have to `arrange' anything - not formally anyway. With the proper nudging he could be directed towards any number of nice, pureblood girls … Avalon Danvers, Susan Bones, even Daphne Greengrass of my own house would be interested…. Anyone but her."

"You have no idea what Mister Potter must do before he could even think about such things, Phineas," the Headmaster replied evenly. "He cannot be guided in that fashion. He must discover the power he needs through his own heart…."

"Mark my words, Albus," the portrait screeched. "You are making a serious error…."

"Well, what would you have me do, Phineas?" Dumbledore exasperatedly asked.

"Nothing, Albus. Nothing at all," came the reply.

"What?" replied the rather vexed Headmaster. "But I thought you…?"

"She is meddling in things that a Muggle-born cannot possibly understand," the portrait wheezed. "Just do nothing. Stop trying to protect her from her own mistakes and everything will take care of itself…. Let nature take its course."

* * * *

It took well over an hour, but Harry finally exhausted himself. After showering, he found a beaming Lao Kung waiting for him. He complimented his student on an impressive display of power. When he had finally called it quits, Harry had been too blinded by rage and exhaustion to pay much attention to anything around him. Now, he trudged to the curtain that separated the dressing area from the workout area. What he saw disturbed him. Bits and pieces of equipment were strewn all over the dried, desiccated, and occasionally blackened grass. Only two stand alone bags and one heavy bag remained functional. "I did that, didn't I?" Harry asked after what he already knew.

The Sefu bowed. "You see your power. Now do you understand why you need to match it with control?"

Harry nodded, and with that Lao Kung handed him a Portkey. They both returned to Gator's Gym. Once they were gone, Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the paraphernalia that had been erected for the boy's visit vanished. All that was left was a large brown square of dead turf. Even the Headmaster's magic could not resurrect what was dead. This would be a problem for Hagrid, who was due back any day.

Harry and Lao Kung had a productive session. As the Sefu had expected, physical exhaustion helped Harry clear his mind more effectively than he had ever done before. He showed that he had mastered simple wandless magic involving earth, air, fire, and water. Moving on to more complicated magic, Lao Kung started teaching him simple levitation. By the end of the session, he had been able to elevate himself several centimetres off the floor whilst he remained absolutely still, in the lotus position.

As Harry prepared to go, he remembered the promise he had made to Hermione in what seemed like a different lifetime, but which in reality had been uttered less than twenty-four hours before. He explained it, and Lao Kung replied that he was willing to discuss magical Hong Kong with Hermione, and even to suffer through looking at her travel pictures. Harry was feeling that he had gotten through the conversation unscathed when the aged wizard asked him, "Is she the one, Hahli?"

Lao Kung needed no verbal reply to have his question answered. The anguish apparent in Harry's face was quite sufficient. He got one anyway. "Not any more it seems," was the curt reply.

"I am truly sorry, Hahli," Lao Kung said, surveying Harry's shattered countenance.

"Not half as much as I am," replied Harry earnestly.

On that depressing note, Harry departed for home. He would not remain there for long. After last night's events, Dumbledore was not one to leave Harry alone to brood. He was keeping Harry's card full….

Next on the boy's surprisingly busy schedule was flying with Bill. Harry was not even sure he wanted to bother. Flying the GKN would remind him of the problems in his relationship with Eliza - how she had not wanted to be seen with him in the magical world.

Flying the Valkyrie would be even worse. That would remind him of Hermione - and an entirely different level of problems. How could she want anything to do with him after what happened?

The two owls Harry found waiting for him when he returned to Privet Drive did nothing to help his mood. Relieving both birds of their burdens, Harry opened the more official looking Ministry letter first. It was something called a "subpoena ad testificandum." From what Harry could derive from the legalistic jargon, he was being required to appear before the Wizengamot in thirty days to testify at the trial of Dolores Umbridge. He would have to talk to Blackie Howe about this.

The other letter was from Ginny.

Dear Harry:

I'm writing because I have to vent to someone, and I know you'll listen to me. Ron is not only one of the best Keepers I've ever played with - but now he's high on my all-time prat list. I can't stand it when he patronises me, and he knows it. Still he's always calling me "Princess" (he, of course, is the "King").

He's spending practically all his free time with Cho, now, and I'm beginning to think it's not healthy for him. I'm afraid they're doing things they really aren't ready for, like joining their magic. I'm sure it's mostly Cho's idea - not that Ron needed much persuading. But I'm worried. He's not even of age!

Finally, I need to warn you that Mum's really angry at you for some reason. What could you possibly have done? Mum's keeping me in the dark, but I think it involves Ron. He's not talking. No surprise there.

Since Mum's cancelled it, I feel I can tell you that Neville and Hermione had been planning a surprise birthday party for you at the Burrow. Hermione says you've never had one before. I'm very sorry.

Our first playoff game is tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Friendship and Quidditch

Ginny

Harry wanted to write Ginny back and thank her for the belated warning, but Bill would be arriving almost any minute. Harry had no intention of letting him see that letter.

The doorbell rang, and it was time for him to go. Shrugging, Harry made the last minute decision to take his broom with him after all. Bill may be right. A good fly would probably help him break out of this black mood he was under, and he had to confront the demon of his ruined relationship sometime. Because they would have to leave from Mrs. Figg's, Harry shrunk the Valkyrie and wrapped it in his Invisibility Cloak.

At Hogwarts, Harry rapidly concluded that his guardian's idea had been a good one. Bill flew the GKN and Harry flew his Valkyrie in loose formation all over the Hogwarts grounds. As the Valkyrie was much more nimble than the massive motorbike, Harry literally flew rings around it. Bill noticed the odd brown patch on the pitch (it was hard to miss), and Harry told him about his unanticipated morning visit with Lao Kung.

After quite some time, Bill signalled Harry to follow his descent. He guided them to a bare spot on the far side of the lake, and led the way to a large flat sandstone rock that extended into the water. Harry had never seen this place before. Several large trees shaded the area, and another tree had toppled over in such a way that its mossy trunk blocked the view of anyone looking across the lake from the Hogwarts side.

The sandstone rock split a small, smooth sandy beach. Dense thickets of large bushy plants sporting waxy, evergreen leaves and the brown remnants of large flowers separated the spot from the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Cattails lined the banks, and the water was dotted with water lilies bearing yellow and white blossoms.

Bill explained that a girlfriend of his had shown him the rock in his Sixth Year. He had felled the tree to increase their privacy.

It was a hot afternoon. Bill sat on the rock, took off his boots, raised his robes, and put his feet in the cool water. Harry followed suit.

Bill cleared his throat and addressed his ward. "Harry, I'm worried about you. I know you're seeing someone that you don't want to name. I respect that. I've also seen how you are around Hermione. Neither of you is as good at hiding such things as you fool yourselves into believing. There are feelings there, and you can't tell me there aren't. But then there was last night's disaster…."

Bill paused as if waiting for Harry to say something - anything - even a protest or a denial. The boy said nothing. This was the "impassive" Harry. Bill had met this one before.

"You're at an awkward age, and this is an awkward subject," Bill continued. "You don't have anyone you can talk to. I always had Dad, and sometimes my mum. He was always there to tell me that it wasn't the end of the world when I broke up with this or that girl. These emotions are difficult to deal with, even dangerous, and you're too important to be endangered, Harry."

That got Harry thinking, "Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?"

Bill sighed. Playing father figure to a moody teenager was difficult business in the best of times. With someone like Harry, under current circumstances, it was close to impossible. "Harry, you picked me to be your legal guardian, and I accepted that responsibility. Parts of that job are harder than patting you on the back after a good show or teaching you to ride a motorcycle. This is one of those. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that Dumbledore hasn't expressed his concerns - he has - but I'm trying to talk to you now, because I'd want someone to listen to me if I were in your shoes."

Silence.

"Look," Bill went on, hoping he was not just talking to himself, "I can't make you open up, but I think you want to talk, and I know you need to. Just let me ask you some questions for now. You can stop me anytime you like."

Bill held his breath, hoping for some sort of response. For what seemed like forever, Harry stared mopily out over the still water of the lake, half looking at the reflections of clouds in the water. "Go on," he finally said.

"I know there are two women, Hermione and this mystery lady. Do they know about each other?"

"That's for sure," responded Harry.

"Good," declared Bill. "At least you're being honest. The alternatives are all worse. One thing I can tell you straight off - because I've dated non-exclusively quite a bit - is that both of them are going to be extremely wary of the other. Especially Hermione, because she doesn't know what she's up against."

"You're talking about them as if they were rivals," protested Harry. "They're not."

"You may not want them to be, and they probably sense that and act otherwise, but I assure you Harry, they are rivals. That's the way of the world," explained Bill.

Harry grunted.

"Next question," continued Bill. "If you could have either one, which one would you choose?"

Harry tossed a pebble into the water and stared morosely at the widening ripples, saying nothing. Bill was afraid he would refuse to continue. He fixed his own piercing gaze on the boy. After what seemed like forever, Harry took a deep breath and answered. "I can't avoid it. There's only one answer to your question. If I could have Hermione with me, I don't think I'd ever look at another woman … ever."

"I feel the same way about Fleur," replied Bill. "Only I had to suffer through, oh what… maybe 40 or 50 failures before I got to that point. It just seems that you got there faster…."

"That's rich," groused Harry. "You're going to marry Fleur. I'm no-bloody-where. I'll be lucky if she ever…."

"Don't be daft," Bill interrupted. "I get information from Dumbledore as well as give it…. Do you want to know how she really is? She's devastated, Harry. I'm sure she'll be dying to talk to you. Her parents? Now that's another story…. But this isn't about her, it's about you…."

Bill looked at Harry. More silence.

The guardian sighed. "All right, I'm going to try to keep it simple. Tell me how you met this mystery woman."

Harry gave a thumbnail sketch of how he met Eliza, steering clear of any specifics that might identify her. He only told Bill only that they met when she offered him "some information" that he wanted. He surprised even himself with how much he was able to tell Bill truthfully.

"What's the one word that best describes what you like about his relationship with your mystery woman?" Bill asked.

Harry raised his eyebrows, but Bill just nodded back to him. The boy gave it some thought and answered, "Comfortable, I guess. She makes me feel relaxed…. It's not all that easy to explain, but it's probably that she isn't pushy about things. She doesn't really demand anything … doesn't try to make me do anything."

Bill continued, "What's the one word that describes your biggest problem with her?"

Harry sighed. "That's easier - frightened. She doesn't want anyone to know about us because she's terrified of you, Dumbledore, and everyone … that they'd immediately put her under the same sort of twenty-four-hour guard that I'm under."

After they chatted for a while, Bill summed up his analysis of Harry's mystery woman. "She's got a good but boring job and a good but boring life. She's single and out of school for several years. She probably hates the London singles scene. You're the most interesting person she's met for years, if not ever, so she took a chance. The chance paid off, and now she has no idea what to do next. If she doesn't love you already, she thinks she could - but she's petrified in the face of the likely consequences."

Harry looked at Bill with increased respect. He thought the redhead's analysis made a lot of sense. "Well, what do you think I ought do?"

Unfortunately, Bill's response was not terribly encouraging.

"I know this type well," Bill reminisced. "I'd meet them frequently when I was working in overseas for Gringotts. I was a curse-breaker, Harry. Not to brag, but it was an interesting and rather … well, how do I put this? It was a rather … sexy job. Needless to say, I was slightly heroic, I did some rather cool things, and they were, well, available."

Bill thought a moment, reflecting again on his own experiences, "Frankly, Harry, I think this is the same thing - a flash in the pan. She's attracted to the idea of you.…"

Seeing Harry glare, Bill explained himself.

"I don't mean she's after The Boy Who Lived. She's not one of those; you'd have seen through that yourself. I mean, like I was, you're someone incredibly interesting…. She's attracted to what you are, not as much as to who you are, do you see the difference?"

Harry's features relaxed, so Bill continued.

"Frankly, I do doubt it will last. That's not a bad thing, Harry, because she's probably in over her head. My advice is to have fun, be kind to her, and treat her well. Don't make too many of your own demands, and above keep your morals about the whole thing - don't you either use her or hurt her."

"Use…? Hurt…?" Harry spluttered. "Why I'd never…."

"Harry, I'm willing to bet you a hundred Galleons that you're still a virgin," replied Bill.

"You're welcome to my whole bloody inheritance if you like," grumbled a moody Harry. He waved his hand and wandlessly sent some sand swishing into the water. A multitude of tiny ripples obscured the reflections on the smooth water.

Finally, he muttered, "You'd win that bet."

"What I mean is, don't just use her to remedy that particular situation," Bill said gravely. "Be patient, Harry. If it happens, it happens, but don't be frantic about it."

"That's rich. I'm not frantic," Harry dissented. After a pause, "scared, more like it - or at least so bloody confused that I back away when I think something could happen."

"That's so?" Bill stated. "It's not a sign of immaturity to feel that way. Quite the opposite, really. I only wish now that I'd shown more restraint. Now, I wish that Fleur was my first… But she never will be that… It's a shame, I suppose."

"It's not a shame," Harry said softly. "At least you've got someone."

"True enough," Bill reflected. "But this is supposed to be about you, not me. Why do you think that you feel the way you do about … well, sex?"

"It's not that I don't want to…," Harry started. "I actually think about it quite a bit…. It's just something I know I'll remember all of my life, and I want it to be perfect…. Well perfect really isn't the goal…. I'd settle for not making a fool out of myself. I know there's charms and stuff, but I don't know them. I know where things are supposed to go, but not how to get them there…. It all seems like rather of a tangled mess…."

"Umm…," Bill replied slowly. "The charms and the tangled mess part … that's easy. There are plenty of books on the subject - good ones. I've still got the one that Dad gave me when I turned sixteen. A little late he was…. I'm going to give it to you as a birthday present. That will give you plenty of practical pointers, and it covers your standard contraceptive charms and potions. I can't emphasize that part of it enough, although you seem far more responsible than I ever was…."

Harry eyed Bill questioningly.

"No, there aren't any little bastard Weasleys running around, if that's what you're thinking," he hastened to clarify. "But in the beginning … I'm not particularly proud of myself … it was as much luck as anything. With Voldemort after you, I'm afraid you don't have the luxury of trusting to luck."

Harry responded with a sarcastic grunt.

"Actually, these kinds of technical things pretty much fall by the wayside when you're with the right person," Bill added helpfully. "That's infinitely more important than the right technique - something it took me forever to learn."

"But no matter what, it will be something I'll never forget, right?" Harry asked.

"Oh absolutely," Bill replied. "Supply room behind the Gryffindor Quidditch dressing room. Twenty three April, Fifth Year at about eleven o'clock at night. No more than fifteen minutes, and it was over and done with. I'm not naming any names, though."

"It's just…. I don't…. With me, I'm just hoping for a bit of a better memory. I could use more of those, I guess…. I do think about her that way. A lot. It embarrasses me how much. But when I actually try to figure out how to … er… get from here to there … er … in a practical sense, I always see something…. Something else I can never forget."

"Someone else, you mean?" Bill asked, pointedly

Harry shrugged, and a noise emerged from his throat that failed to sound passably human.

"Hermione Jane Granger?"

There was another pause, as the younger wizard fidgeted. "Yeah," he conceded, suddenly looking very interested in the small fish nibbling at the hairs on his ankles.

Bill stood up, legs dripping, and ran his hands through his long orange-red hair. He put his hand lightly on Harry's shoulder. "I think it's time we talk about her - about Hermione. Do you think you can?" asked Bill.

Harry fixed Bill with a look of utter defeat. Bill was afraid Harry would burst into tears, which would probably terminate the conversation. He was forcefully reminded of the way his own father had looked, little more than a year ago, when he gathered the family together at the Burrow to make the announcement that Voldemort was back.

Finally, Harry swallowed and nodded affirmatively.

"Same first question, then; what's the one word that best describes the best part of your relationship with Hermione, and then the word that describes your biggest problem?"

Harry thought. Most of the adjectives that flittered about the tip of his tongue concerning what he liked about her had nothing to do with sex, or even romance. Eventually Harry said, "indispensable … no that's not right either, more like dependency. I depend on her, and she depends on me … at least that's the way it was until recently. I know I can't be Harry Potter without her, and I'd like to think she's not Hermione Granger without me…. But I'm not sure any more…. It feels like something's been ripped out…. It hurts…."

"If it didn't, Harry, I don't think we'd be needing this conversation," Bill reminded. "Are you frightened of feeling this way? Worried about your individual identity?"

"I've been alone all my life," Harry replied softly. "I've never had anyone remotely like her. Before meeting her, I'd spent most of my life locked in a cupboard less than half the size of this rock. She cares, Bill…. She cares about me…. At least she did. I'm afraid I'm going to be all alone again … for the rest of my life."

"You're not even sixteen, Harry," Bill reminded. "The rest of your life is a long time…."

Harry looked at Bill skeptically. Bill knew what he had said, and anticipated some snide remark about Voldemort and Harry's short life expectancy. But Harry was contemplating a fate worse than death.

"You're forgetting about the second part of your two-part question," Harry reminded. "The biggest problem - remember that? Even assuming that I don't get killed by Voldemort, which I probably will, I'll never get away from all that money. I think it's Voldemort's ultimate revenge."

Bill gawked, "Surely you don't think that Hermione…."

"No, Bill, you don't get it," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just the opposite. She can't abide it, but even worse, she thinks she couldn't be her own person with her own achievements in the face of so damn much money…. And her parents are just the opposite. They're like everybody else in the world - everybody I haven't met yet - everybody I'm going to meet for the rest of my life. I can't trust new people not to have sterling signs in their eyes…. That's why I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. She was the only one I could trust not to care about the money."

"She told you this?" Bill asked, cocking an eyebrow. A year ago, at Grimmauld Place, he had seen Hermione fearlessly go toe to toe with his redoubtable mum about why Harry was being left with the Muggles. He doubted Hermione could be so easily intimidated by money, no matter how much.

"She's said enough," Harry grunted, kicking the sand. There was another awkward silence.

"But you need her," Bill continued. "You need her to make you feel whole…?"

Harry's frustration boiled over. What he felt went way beyond that kind of cliché. "No Bill it's not like that at all. I literally wouldn't be here without Hermione. I wouldn't be anywhere. She's clever. I'm not. She thinks things through. I don't. Without her, I'd be blundering about like Grawp in the Forbidden Forest…."

"What's Grawp?" Bill asked.

"Hagrid's…. Oh it doesn't matter, somebody incredibly strong but equally stupid. Anyway, I've never seen anybody who can think under pressure the way she can. I sure can't. Do you know how we got away from Umbridge?"

Bill had never heard the tale, so Harry described how, despite the shock of being apprehended by the High Inquisitor, Hermione had kept her wits about her, and improvised a plan that ended with Umbridge lured into the Forbidden Forest and captured by centaurs. "I couldn't have thought of that in a hundred years," Harry declared once the tale was told. "Without her, we'd have all been expelled, or worse. So it's not dependency in any sort of abstract sense. I could give you a dozen other examples. It's real. It's so real it overwhelms me."

"I think it might be a little too real," Bill observed. To himself he mused about how he had drawn Harry out of his shell. All he needed now was a leather couch and a German accent, and he had a new career.

"That's my problem, not yours," Harry replied. "I just need her very badly simply to survive. I couldn't outwit Umbridge on my own…. Is there any reason to think I can beat Voldemort without Hermione there to figure out what I should do? I can't think of one."

"You'd involve her in that?" asked Bill.

"Hell, like I could stop her…. She'd involve herself whether I like it or not," Harry answered. "That's the way she is. She wouldn't let me go alone to the Ministry. Maybe it gets back to indispensability. I'd like to think she feels the same way, but after last night…." his voice trailed off.

Bill thought he had lost him.

Then, abruptly, Harry was back. "And now this damn money that Dumbledore keeps forcing on me is driving us apart. Can't you get him to find some other way to keep it away from Malfoy besides giving it to me? Anything else. Let the goblins have it. I don't want it."

"I wish I could," Bill sighed, "but the rules of wizard inheritance are unyielding. What exactly is the issue with the money?"

"Oh, nothing much," Harry spat acerbically. "Only that I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. You were there. You saw how revolted she was at it - and she's right. What could be worse than slave money?"

"Well, I've seen the seamier side of banking," replied Bill. "I can think of a few things."

"Not to Hermione, there's not, and she's all that matters right now." Harry was getting worked up. "Did you know that Viktor Krum asked her to marry him? She turned Mister World Cup MVP down flat…. She wanted her achievements to be her own, and Krum was just too rich and too famous. Well, if he's too rich and famous, what does that make me? I'm Krum bloody squared. Hermione's got peculiarly strict standards, and I'm afraid I just don't meet them."

"I can only hope you're wrong about that, Harry - for her sake even more than yours," Bill remarked.

"How so?" Harry asked curiously.

"If Harry Potter cannot meet Hermione Granger's standards," observed Bill, "then I'm afraid she's doomed to lead a very lonely life."

Harry shrugged off the backhanded compliment. "It's more like I'm overqualified, I'm afraid. And now it's even worse. Hermione's dad is one of the smarmiest gits I've ever met. He couldn't stand the sight of me until he found out that I'm either filthy rich or even filthier rich. Now he's trying to pressure her to go out with me - or more. Well nobody makes her to do anything she doesn't want to do. Since I'm in the odd position of wanting the same thing as Hermione's dad, guess who ends up left out in the cold…?"

Harry paused. He was running out of things to say. "I can't stand it… Just can't stand it. I don't know what to do. It's trouble if I stay, but if I give up … well, it looks so bleak."

"Hermione's just a lot more complicated than most women, I'm afraid…," started Bill, trying to say something constructive, but failing to complete the thought.

"Tell me about it," Harry growled. "Complicated should be her middle name."

Suddenly, Bill brightened. "Harry, I'm afraid I'm fresh out of ready answers, but I know someone who might have some. Fleur's in France right now, on holiday with her family. I'll be visiting in a week. With your permission, I'd like to ask her what you might be able to do. Fleur's half Veela and 100% French - perfectly qualified in my book to comment on romances! In fact, she makes a hobby of analyzing relationships. If anybody can square this circle, Fleur Delacour can."

Harry thought it through. Fleur was drop-dead gorgeous, so she probably knew all about things romantic. She was also undoubtedly clever - enough to be Triwizard champion of Beauxbatons, and Bill had reported that she respected Harry a great deal. He did not see any down side, as long as everything was kept in confidence.

"Can she keep a secret?" Harry asked.

"With the best of them," Bill answered readily.

"Okay, I guess," Harry agreed haltingly. "I can't see how it could hurt."

As he was getting ready to leave Hogwarts, Harry thanked Bill. His guardian had been right. Simply having someone to talk to - not having to deal with everything that was happening in his life alone - had made him feel much better.

Then Harry remembered…. He'd completely forgotten to call Eliza all weekend, even though he had promised her he would. He was mortified, but Bill was more relaxed. Whilst arranging for a suitable Apparition site, Bill suggested, "Just bring her flowers - or jewellery. It always worked for me."

So Harry did. Before leaving, he sprinted to the Hogwarts greenhouses. There, he found flowers in profusion. Since Professor Sprout was usually more interested in roots than in blooms, surely she would not miss a few - especially during the summer when she did not require classroom supplies.

Harry scratched his head, not sure what to choose. Eliza had liked the orchids, but that would be repetitious. He remembered vaguely that roses were supposed to be romantic. At least that's what Uncle Vernon bought for Aunt Petunia every Valentines Day.

`As good as anything,' he thought. `Not much variety, though. Too bad Sprout only has red ones.' Pulling out his Auror knife, Harry cut twelve of them in short order, and trimmed off the thorns.

By the time he was done, Bill had left and Mundungus Fletcher had taken his place as Harry's minder. Harry was pleased with this, since Dung was willing to give him a little more privacy than other members of the Order on guard duty - even after Harry's great escape (Dung had said he admired his technique). The guards made Eliza nervous, and Harry was feeling badly about not calling her. It was easy for him to convince Dung to keep his distance.

* * * *

Eliza was brooding. Harry had not called, and that was not like him. She was afraid that she might finally have scared him off. Telling him the truth about her physical attraction to him had not made for a very happy ending to their last date. First she had insulted him, and then she had more or less propositioned him. He had not reacted well to either - youth and insecurity, she thought.

She had her own insecurities. Was he just trying to be nice when he said he wanted to see her again? And he had said he was going to see Hermione Granger. Had the two finally worked things out? Still, he had never lied to her before. She had to have faith.

Her mobile rang, and Eliza's worries evaporated. It was Harry after all.

"Er…. Hi," he said. "Sorry I forgot to call. I got … er … distracted."

"Harry, don't worry," Eliza reassured him. "Everything's fine. Everything's fine. Do you want to get together?"

"Yeah, that would be great," replied Harry more enthusiastically.

"When?" asked Eliza.

"Well … now might be nice," suggested Harry.

Eliza was shocked, "Are you joking, Harry? Where are you?"

Harry tried hard to contain his glee, "Right outside your door, actually."

Eliza shrieked with surprise and ran to the door. Sure enough, Harry smiled at her through the peephole. When she opened the door she gasped. …He had brought her a dozen roses - red roses. Things were not so bad after all.

Eliza practically yanked Harry inside, even though she was dressed only in old jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, and her hair needed work. She opened a cabinet and took out a clear glass vase filled halfway with clear glass marbles. As she disappeared down the hall to get water for the roses, Harry benefitted from the same perspective he had when following Hermione around the night before. Some irony he could appreciate.

They spent a quiet several hours together in Eliza's flat. She talked about her promotion at work, about the new neighbors whom she thought horrid when they played their music too loud but who apologised when she complained, and about the progress of the Black/Malfoy litigation. She did not want to ruin the mood, but she had to tell him to expect a subpoena to testify. He would probably be the last witness, and she told him it was largely pro forma.

Harry talked a little about his training, and a little about Hogwarts. He became quite taciturn when she asked after Hermione. From the bits she was able to prize out of him, it was clear that the two of them had definitely NOT managed to work things out. Eliza could not help but feel pleased.

Harry had other amends to make for his previous hasty departure. "I've … I've got something else for you - besides the flowers, I mean. I-I-I stopped off before I came here. There was a jewellery store around the corner.… I wanted…."

He was getting progressively more tongue-tied. Disgusted at himself, he reached into his pocket and thrust a long, thin, blue box at her.

Eliza gasped. Links of London was just around the corner - and was rather dear, but if it was one thing she had learned about Harry, it was that he could hardly care less about money. Her hands trembling slightly, she opened the box.

Inside she found a silver, heart-shaped locket, encrusted with what were probably diamond chips, on a gold chain. She opened the locket - and saw a head shot of Harry, rather inexpertly clipped from some larger photograph. It was more or less shoved into one half of the locket. The other side was empty. She looked at him questioningly.

"Err…. I-I-I … don't have any pictures of you," he said.

Eliza took care of that. Jumping up, she got her Polaroid, showed Harry how to use it, and in less than five minutes Harry had taken half a dozen photos of her.

"You pick," she said.

Harry chose the picture with the biggest smile. Eliza retrieved a fine blade from her sewing kit, and she showed him that Muggle means of trimming pictures were better than using a wand and a Severing Charm.

After both photos were firmly and neatly installed in the locket, Harry cast both Homing and Indestructibility Charms on it. From now on, Eliza could neither lose nor damage it.

These activities took place between longer periods of cuddling and snogging. When he realised that Eliza was not wearing a bra, Harry reacted like he had received an electrical shock. She had to take his hand and physically place it on her breast (through her shirt, of course, she did not want him to faint clean away) before he understood that he was being permitted that liberty.

It felt so soft and smooth. Does the other one feel the same way? Soon he had his answer. He tried to keep Bill's admonition in mind. It was not easy, but he reckoned that he did. Still, Harry could not help thinking that his guardian's birthday present might just prove more timely the second go round.

From both of their perspectives, 9:00 p.m. came all too soon.

* * * *

Dudley was very excited when Harry returned to Privet Drive. "Guess what?" He pestered.

"I dunno, what?" Harry answered curtly.

"I've just found out that I'm to fight for the Greater London Junior Novice Marquess of Queensberry title on 6 August."

"That's excellent, Dudley, really," Harry said more attentively

"Do you want to come?" Dudley asked. "It's going to be at Miguel's Boxing Club in Brixton at 8 p.m."

"Yeah, I think I would," Harry agreed. It was a Muggle facility. Maybe Eliza would go with him.

When they were upstairs, Dudley tried to satisfy his curiosity about all the wizard comings and goings of late. Harry could not avoid telling him that his dinner with the Grangers had been a disaster. When Dudley also found out that Harry had just returned from a date with "the pretty one" he could not stop himself from offering unsolicited (and jejune) advice.

"All for the best, I say, Harry. Those clever girls mess with your mind too much. Tear you up inside. Dad tells me that pretty but dumb makes the best wife" (Aunt Petunia was neither, but that discrepancy did not seem to occur to Dudley). His cousin continued, "I could tell from the first time I saw her that the clever one wasn't worth the trouble.…"

Dudley's eyes went big as he found himself staring down the business end of the wizard's wand - tip glowing brightly - with a glowering wizard right behind it. "When I want your romantic advice," Harry hissed, "I … will … ask … for … it. Got it?"

Dudley seemed to shrink under his cousin's furious glare. "Got it," was all he said.

As Harry stalked off for bed, Dudley screwed up a little more courage and called after him. "Whatever she did to you, you can't tell me that you still don't fancy her."

Harry heard, but did not respond in any way. After all, Dudley was right. Even a blind pig could snuffle up a truffle every now and then.

* * * *

It was mid-morning the next day on Privet Drive when, as promised, Remus Lupin returned, carrying a hefty parcel. He was well enough dressed and sufficiently normal not to cause any problems with the relatives. Even so, Uncle Vernon suddenly remembered something that needed doing at the office. All of the Dursleys knew, from the number of visitors, that something was going on with Harry. Only Dudley knew what that something was and, after his last conversation with Harry on the subject, he kept mum.

Harry greeted Remus warily. When they got to Harry's room, he said, "I told you, I don't need anybody giving me anything that will make my life any more complicated."

The werewolf was not easily deterred. "First of all, Harry, this was a requested item. Second, this is something about which you need to make a personal decision, since it belongs to you in any event. You have to at some point, and since you asked, that point might as well be now."

Seeing that Remus was not going to be denied, Harry helped him clear a spot on his desk, which had steadily sunk back into disorder since Hermione's first visit several weeks ago. Remus set down the package on one of its flat sides and began cutting away the string and paper with a penknife.

"Don't want to risk magic damaging it," Remus explained.

"Looks pretty Muggle from the outside," Harry commented.

"Oh, it's magical enough inside, trust me," Remus replied mysteriously.

He removed the last of the fastenings, and pulled the box open. There was an elaborately carved round object inside. Remus carefully slid the now flattened box from underneath, and touched his wand to it, causing it to vanish.

What remained was a Pensieve, and Remus was right that Harry had requested one. Indeed, after last Friday's events, Harry was quite desperate to unload some of his thoughts. There was only one small problem - the Pensieve was not empty - not by a long shot.

"Well, I know what this is, and I did ask for it," Harry began. "I can also see what the complication is. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"You have me to blame for this, I suppose," Remus replied. "When I learnt that you wanted a Pensieve, I told Dumbledore that I would handle it. I knew just the thing - or at least I thought I did. This is Sirius' Pensieve."

"Oh," Harry said flatly. Here was another surprise in a summer that had produced far more than its share. "Then I suppose these are Sirius' thoughts?"

"Five points to Gryffindor," Remus answered. Then his expression turned serious. "Here is the deal. I didn't know that Sirius had been using the Pensieve, but he had. I had to find out the hard way what he had been doing. For once in his life he was actually obeying orders - Dumbledore's orders. He was trying to let bygones be bygones with Snape. Apparently he didn't know any other way, so he was emptying his mind of his worst memories involving Severus."

"So this … this is full of all of Sirius's unhappy memories involving Snape?" Harry asked, pretty much knowing what the answer would be.

"I wouldn't say `all' because Sirius needed to keep some memories - at least enough to remember who Severus was - but a large number, I'm sure. I sampled a few, so I know." Remus remarked waspishly.

"And what do you want me to do with them?" Harry asked.

"That's what you have to tell me. You don't have to do anything, but the memories that you see floating around are Sirius' only earthly remains. Since you're his primary heir, I didn't want to dispose of them without your approval."

Harry nodded, and got a sad, far-away look in his eye. Remus knew that he was thinking about Sirius falling through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Remus had probably replayed that scene in his mind every bit as often as Harry.

"Harry - I'm sorry to have to put you to this, but I feel I have to ask. It's your decision," Remus instructed, trying to bring the boy back to the present.

"I know," said Harry resignedly. "You're doing the right thing."

"Do you want to use the Pensieve?" Remus asked.

"You mean - to relive Sirius's memories?" Harry said, his eyes widening with comprehension.

"That's right. It's your call. I can remove them, but outside of the Pensieve they will evaporate - and once they're gone, they're gone."

Harry swallowed. Practically every day, often several times a day, he had wished fervently that he could see Sirius again - just once. He had even asked Dumbledore if he could commission a portrait of Sirius, only to learn that a portrait had to be painted during life for it to be properly magical. Now Remus was laying an opportunity squarely before him. As Harry already knew, encounters with Snape ordinarily did not show Sirius at his best, but beggars could not be choosers. Harry agreed. In the end, it was not that hard of a decision.

"Yes, I believe I do," Harry answered.

"I've been told that you know the drill," Remus said dryly, referring to Harry's previous encounters with Pensieves - neither of which had been with the subject's consent.

Harry nodded. At least this time he would get to finish whatever he started. Remus instructed him to sit at his desk squarely in front of the Pensieve and to grasp the seat of the chair with both hands. Whilst experiencing Sirius' memories, his body would be effectively paralyzed and his conscious thought would come to a halt. Remus would remain in the same room with Harry at all times - to rescue him if necessary, but more likely to pull him away when the particular memory had ended. Remus explained that the surface of the Pensieve glowed whilst a memory was being experienced and the glow ceased when the memory was over.

Harry readied himself. Nervously, he examined the roiling liquid fog in the in the intricately carved ivory bowl. Delicately, he prodded its surface with the tip of his wand. It started to swirl, and a black dot - like the pupil of an eye - formed in the middle. He took a deep breath and looked at Remus, who returned a crooked half-smile. Gripping the seat of the plain wooden chair in which he was sitting, Harry lowered his face towards the swirling mixture. Finally, his nose touched….

Everything went black. He felt the familiar falling sensation, but this was more than an ordinary fall. His stomach lurched as he did a complete front tuck and found himself peering over someone's shoulder into pitch darkness. A powerful wind whipped in his ears. He was moving - flying - at extremely high speed. Almost at the same instant he noticed a powerful vibration rumbling upward from his thighs and his seat.

Harry looked down and saw that he was riding pillion on Sirius' GKN. The source of this memory was hunched over the handlebars. He had the throttle jammed as far towards "accelerate" as it would go. He was not particularly well dressed for riding. Sirius was in full robes over which he had hastily zipped a well-worn Muggle leather jacket. Silver studs outlined the neck, wrists and seams of his jacket, glinting barely visibly in the dim light. Damp tendrils of Sirius' hair streamed out from under his black helmet.

The weather was awful. There was not a light in the sky. Mist and intermittent heavier rain were blowing all around Harry, battering his unprotected face. From what little Harry could glean from the dark, uncertain shapes passing below, Sirius was flying at only about fifty metres above the ground. Despite the night and fog, Sirius was riding with the headlight off. The GKN itself was roaring, and Sirius was making no attempt to conceal the noise.

Harry noticed that his Godfather was riding with his wand clenched tightly in his right hand. It was pointing at himself. From the arrangement, Harry deduced that Sirius was wearing a wrist holster like his. Every so often Sirius growled "Dessicatus" and cleared his visor of accumulated droplets and condensation. He did so without ever taking his hand off the throttle. Other than this periodically muttered spell, Harry heard nothing beyond random curse words and urgings for the already speeding motorcycle to go still faster.

When he swore, Sirius' wand emitted red sparks.

Suddenly several jagged stone pinnacles, rising abruptly from the forested hillside loomed in front of them. "Damn … the Four Fingers," Sirius growled as he slammed the motorcycle into a gut wrenching climb. For a brief horrible moment Harry thought they were going to crash, but the bike cleared the brushy tops of the vegetation that capped the pinnacles by no more than a few feet - scrubby tree branches reaching up as if to grab them. The land dropped off just as abruptly on the other side, and Sirius followed its contour into the hollow beyond. For the first time Harry saw light ahead - an indistinct yellowish-green glow. Sirius spotted it at the same instant and let out a long low guttural howl, more like an injured dog than anything human. The howl was followed by a string of expletives and death threats that would have made Mundungus cringe.

The source of the light grew ever larger. It appeared to be coming from the front of a house. There was a fire burning out of control - no firefighters in evidence. Harry had little more chance to look at it, but there was no need. He had this awful sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, as he caught the first whiff of the smoke. Even though he did not recognise the scene, he knew what it was … where it was. It was the stuff of a thousand nightmares. It still qualified as the worst day of his life.

The motorbike landed heavily on the drive, forcing Harry deep into the leather seat and kicking up gravel in all directions. Harry again feared a crash, but Sirius was an excellent driver. With the tyres tearing out great gouts of grass and mud, and the entire bike bucking wildly, Sirius braked and brought it skidding to a halt a couple dozen metres from the blazing building. He rammed down both kickstands, flung his helmet off, and jumped straight over the handlebars with his wand firmly clenched in his right hand. He was screaming.

"JAMES!! LILY!! Oh my God!"

Sirius' left foot caught on the handlebar, and he tumbled face first to the wet grass. The bike swayed but remained upright. Sirius was scrambling to his feet when, in the sickly illumination provided by the spreading magical flames, he noticed something lying on the ground barely a metre in front of him. He grabbed it. It was smoking at both ends.

"James' wand," Sirius gasped.

He pointed it at the fire and held it up to his eye. Harry could see that it was hollow - the core was completely burnt out. Sirius howled his unearthly howl again.

Something seemed to be howling back, indistinctly over the roar of the inferno that was the front of the Potter house in Godric's Hollow. Sirius looked and saw a massive, shadowy figure plodding slowly towards them from the as yet unburnt rear of the house. The figure seemed stooped over and distracted.

"Hagrid!" Sirius screamed out, "Please tell me it's not too late. Did anyone survive?"

Hagrid looked up and recognised Sirius. The large man was blubbering, and Harry had the feeling that Sirius was too, although he had the wrong angle to see.

"Only little `Arry `ere," the half-giant managed to reply. "Oh, Sirius, its `orrible! Lily's… Lily's bo … bod…. She's `round back. An' James, Sirius… James...! Tha's `is leg inna fire there…"

Hagrid pointed to something that - Harry shuddered - looked something like a leg in the doorway of the burning house. It was on fire. "I canna get to `im, Sirius, I tried, but I canna." Hagrid burst into tears again, and wailed almost as loudly as the injured and terrified baby that he cradled in his arms.

Sirius started to point his wand at the corpse, but stopped. What good would it do now?

Still, James deserved a decent burial. Wordlessly, he magicked his corpse from the flames, extinguished what was left of it, and moved it aside.

Then Sirius stopped. He was muttering to himself, speaking softly, still panting. Harry could tell from personal experience that Sirius was trying to regain control over himself.

"Let me have him, Hagrid," Sirius desperately requested, pointing to baby Harry. "I can get him out of here fast before anything worse happens."

Clutching the small bundle tighter, Hagrid refused. "Fraid I canna do tha' either, Sirius. Sorry, but them's me orders from Dumbledore. Keep `im m'self until we can sort out wha' `appened `n why. Sorry." Hagrid hung his head but remained firm.

Sirius' own shoulders slumped, and Harry knew why. This was something that in all likelihood Harry understood better than Sirius himself. In the chaos, nobody knew why the Fidelius Charm had failed, and everyone was under suspicion. Their suspicions would soon lead them to a wrong conclusion - a very horribly wrong conclusion.

But that was in the future. Sirius simply accepted Hagrid's orders. "Is it unsafe here, Hagrid?" he asked urgently. It was more of a statement than a question. "Listen, you have to take my bike. Take little Harry, and go - quickly. Please go, now! Get out!"

"T'wasn't jus' Death Eaters," Hagrid replied ominously. "You Know Who was `ere `imself an' done it, Sirius. You Know Who `imself!" Hagrid choked back more tears.

"Great gates of Hell!" Sirius swore. He knew what this meant. Voldemort had made his long awaited - and long feared - main strike against the Potters. Sirius had gotten there too late. Too late for his best friends in the world. Only baby Harry was left.

"Go! Take him to Dumbledore as fast as you can!" Sirius yelled. "There may still be Death Eaters about. If there are.… I'll kill them. I swear it."

Hagrid kept talking, rooted to the spot. "…But summat `appened. I got `ere jus' as there was a green flash. I'd know it anywhere. T'was a Killin' Curse, it t'was. Couldn' see nuffink. Jus' some shoutin'. Then the Death Eaters, they panicked. The `ole lot of `em jus' popped off."

"Still, there could be some around. Take my bike and go - NOW!" Sirius roared.

"Right," Hagrid said and meekly obeyed. "But `ow will you get…?"

"Does it matter anymore?" Sirius shot back, with an almost insane look in his eye. Hagrid mounted the bike, secured his baby bundle around his middle, under his massive coat, and roared off into the night.

Wand still out, Sirius trotted to the back of the blazing house. All of the windows and doors had been blown out, but only now were the first wispy curls of fire beginning to creep over the roof line. Not two metres from the back door lay Lily Potter's body. Or what remained of Lily - her body was broken and battered from a two-storey fall. Her eyes were vacant, and her hair - her beautiful, bonnie red hair, Sirius thought - was matted, twisted, and soaked with blood. Weeping openly, and moaning her name, Sirius knelt over her.

For the first time since that night Harry got the chance really to see his Mum. This was how she looked in the flesh - and not some sanitised, conjured up image like the Mirror of Erised. Even in death, Harry could tell she was beautiful. Now, however, her green eyes stared blankly out upon a scene of horror. Her perfectly formed jaw hung limply, her mouth half open. Harry was in tears himself, as he watched Sirius reach down and gently close her eyes, never to open again.

Sirius gathered Lily's limp corpse in his arms and staggered to his feet. He stepped awkwardly on the edge of his robe, stumbling backward a few steps. Steadying himself and stowing his wand, he moved Lily's body away from the fire. Harry could not catch all of his indistinct muttering, but could tell that his godfather was begging "forgiveness" for "failing you" in the "most important promise" he had ever made.

Lily had met her end in a loose-fitting pale green flannel robe. As Sirius struggled to move her, the robe was pulled tight over Lily's abdomen. Through his tears, Harry gasped. Lily's belly was not flat. She had been pregnant. A flash of anger cut through Harry's grief.

`Damn them all to Hell! Fifteen years and nobody ever told me. Why didn't I know?' he raged.

His rage did not last. Renewed grief poured over Harry, washing his anger away. Voldemort had not only the blood of his parents on his hands but the innocent blood of his unborn little brother or sister…. That also meant that when Lily had sacrificed herself to protect him, she had sacrificed more than just herself - she had sacrificed that sibling. Harry realised that his body count was not four, it was five. Harry's place in the prophecy had claimed a life before it had even started. Harry felt weak in the knees. He would have collapsed had he not merely been inhabiting Sirius' memory.

Harry groaned in grief and guilt and tottered backwards from the scene, where Sirius was gently laying his Mum's body out of harm's way. Sirius looked up abruptly. For a brief insane instant, Harry thought that Sirius had heard him.

Harry knew that was impossible. He had enough experience in other people's memories to know that he could not affect events in any way whatsoever.

But there was another groan. Harry heard it too, distinctly this time. At the edge of the trees was another body - this one alive - albeit just barely. It was a Death Eater, Harry was sure of that. Not only was it clad in black, but there was a white Death Eater mask lying next to the body.

In a movement familiar to Harry, Sirius flicked out his wand from his wrist holster and was instantly facing the source of the noise. "It looks like James didn't go quietly, though," Sirius growled to himself. "There's one of the bastards over there." Sirius approached the prone, black robed figure with his wand pointed menacingly at its chest. Harry followed behind. Instinctively, Harry tried to without success to draw his own wand.

Sirius stomped on the mask, which gave a crackling sound as it shattered. The Death Eater was badly injured. His left leg looked half torn off. His groans gave no indication that he was even aware of Sirius' presence.

Sirius took care of that. With a vicious kick, Sirius turned the Death Eater over so he could see the face of one of James' and Lily's killers. "Snape," he growled.

Harry blanched as he saw the pale and bleeding face of a much younger Severus Snape. Anger rose in him again. His Potions professor had been one of the Death Eaters accompanying Voldemort when the Dark wizard had murdered his parents - and unborn sibling.

Snape was glassy-eyed and semiconscious at best. He had obviously lost a great deal of blood. Still he was gasping - trying to form words. "Black, you traitor…. Didn't work…. You're too…. You're too late…. Gone…."

Snape's slurred comments sent Sirius into a towering, maniacal rage. "YOU SLIMY TURNCOAT BASTARD," he roared. "YOU'VE BETRAYED EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE JUST BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T HAVE HER. TOO BAD JAMES SAVED YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE. I'LL FIX THAT MISTAKE RIGHT NOW…"

Wide-eyed with fury, Sirius gave Snape another savage, rib-cracking kick. Then he cold-bloodedly pointed his wand squarely at the prone wizard's back. Sirius started to roar out what Harry knew would be a Killing Curse…. Harry tried to turn away.

Suddenly there was a disturbance. Another higher pitched voice shouted out in the darkness. "Avada Kedavra!"

Eerily Sirius' voice echoed, "AVADA KE…"

A jet of green light rocketed by, just over Sirius' shoulder. It slammed into one of the huge oak trees that lined the Potter property, splitting the tree in half and setting it afire. Sirius had begun whirling around towards the latest threat even before he finished his own Unforgivable. The green jet from Sirius' wand sizzled harmlessly into the wet grass.

Across the lawn, Harry could just make out the vague silhouette of another wizard, presumably the caster of that impressively powerful, if poorly aimed, Killing Curse. That wizard (he moved like a man) had stumbled and was now scrambling to his feet and trying to run away. Sirius instantly transformed into a huge black dog and sprinted towards the fleeing form. All of a sudden Harry felt his senses changing. He could see somewhat better and, most importantly, his sense of smell was incomparably better.

Harry smelt a rat….

Everything suddenly went black. Harry felt himself whirling, until he felt the hard wood chair in his room under his butt once again. Harry was panting loudly, his eyes wide open, his mouth dry. He felt mixed waves of magic and emotion flashing through his body. He felt hot, cold, and hot again. For several seconds he lay with his head uncomfortably on the hard edge of the Pensieve, unable to speak.

"Harry.… Harry.… Are you all right?" It was Remus.

"I-I-I … think so," mumbled Harry.

"What did you see?" Remus asked urgently, "from the looks of you, it must have been intense. You started jerking like you were having a fit."

"I … saw my father's body burning…. I saw my mother … dead…."

Remus' eyes went even wider. "Oh sweet Merlin! I had no idea THAT memory was in.…"

"…I saw Sirius almost kill … SNAPE! That bloody bastard was one of Voldemort's Death Eaters the night of my parents' murder. I WILL DESTROY HIM!!"

Enraged, Harry started to get up. He felt Remus' werewolf strength again - forcing him back into his chair. "No you won't," said the last Marauder calmly but forcefully. "You're going off half-cocked just like Sirius did … and look where that got him."

"Sirius was about to perform the Killing Curse on Snape…. Then somebody tried to kill him…. Pettigrew!"

"That would make sense," Remus sighed. "Peter probably thought he was helping out a fellow Death Eater. He was the only one whose whereabouts on that night were never known. Not until after Sirius' escape did anyone place him at the scene. Snape hadn't seen him, and the Death Eaters hadn't invited him, so we think he was there on his own - like an arsonist come to watch his own fire."

"It was Pettigrew all right," Harry confirmed. "He had fallen down, I think from the recoil of the spell. Sirius transformed and started chasing after him. He smelt…. I smelt … Pettigrew's rat like essence."

"He what?" Remus asked, as if he could not believe his ears.

Harry repeated, "Sirius smelt him.…"

Remus cut Harry off, "No, before that - you said Peter fell?"

"Yeah," replied Harry. "He was trying to get up when I first saw him. It was like he didn't know the strength of his own spell."

"Harry, you might have just solved a longstanding mystery," Remus said thoughtfully. "Sirius never mentioned that detail - probably because he was too enraged to notice." Remus closed his eyes for several moments and steadied his breath before speaking again. "That makes sense.…"

"What makes sense?" asked Harry. "Because nothing makes sense to me."

"After he disappeared, Voldemort's wand was never found," he informed the boy. "From what you just said, I'd put Galleons to Knuts that Peter retrieved it, and tried to use it to kill Sirius - but the wand was too powerful for that pathetic little git to handle. He obviously escaped from Sirius and either hid Voldemort's wand or gave it to someone. Even Snape has never been able to find out how Voldemort ultimately got it back."

The mention of that name refocused Harry. "What was Snape doing there in the first place?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"Because Snape was a spy for us," Remus spat. "Sirius didn't know that then, and neither did I. Nobody knew who the traitor amongst the Marauders was then…. Well, Wormtail knew, but he wasn't talking…. Once I became a member of the Order, I learnt that Snape had been warning us for several weeks that the Death Eaters had something planned that involved the Potters - that Voldemort had somehow figured out how to penetrate the Fidelius Charm. He was trying to give us warning, but…. Oh dammit!"

Remus sat heavily on Harry's bed and buried his face in his hands. He took several deep breaths. "This is hard, Harry…. I still hold myself responsible."

Harry gawked at his former professor.

"You see, Harry," Remus continued, "I made a mistake.… Sirius had been having second thoughts about Peter as the secret keeper almost from the moment he had agreed to it. He started trying to keep watch on Peter. I suspected Sirius as the traitor, and I told Peter to be careful - that he was being watched. According to what we later learnt from Snape, Voldemort somehow found out that his scheme to kill the Potters had been compromised."

"Snape told you this?" asked Harry.

"Some of it," Lupin replied. "There's ample corroboration. I saw Sirius' behavior myself, because I was also trying to keep watch, more discreetly, on the both of them. Anyway, Voldemort abruptly advanced the date of the operation - that is, the date that Peter was to tell him the Potters' location. The Order was caught unawares. Nobody knew anything was happening until suddenly memories returned, and we all remembered where James and Lily were living. It was the worst feeling in the world."

"I still remember exactly where I was when the charm collapsed. I was working as a Muggle carpenter because I couldn't get a magical job. I was on my knees using a nail gun to lay insulation…. I nearly put a nail through my own hand.… Because of my condition, I can't Apparate worth a damn. I begged off work and created an illegal Portkey as fast as I could." His voice trailed off, reduced to a choked whisper. "But I was too late, Harry…. Too bloody late to do anything except help remove their bodies."

"Snape came away even more convinced than ever that Sirius was the spy. He also blamed Sirius for forcing him to almost blow his own leg off with a Reductor Curse. From what Snape said, Voldemort thought there was a spy in his own ranks. Snape believed that the only way he could make his cover story convincing enough was to make it appear that James nearly killed him in the firefight. It took him years to recover full use of his leg. He was in a lot of pain, and may still be now, for all anyone knows. Snape doesn't talk about pain very much."

"S-S-Sirius screamed something about Snape wanting my mother," Harry stated in as unemotional a voice as he could muster.

Remus sighed, "I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you this, but it's the burden that falls to the last survivor, I suppose. He may well have. Snape tried to date your mother in their Sixth Year. He was more or less an outcast - terrible social skills - and she was one of the few girls at Hogwarts who treated him like a human being. How far they got, I guess Snape is the only living soul who knows that."

"Anyway, to make a very long story short, they had a nasty split over his unwillingness to allow their relationship to be public knowledge. She was prouder of him than he was of himself. It's just my guess, but Snape probably went Dark over it. Shortly after they broke it off, we started getting reports of him consorting with known Death Eaters."

"James was lucky. He almost always was…. James was in the right place at the right time, and had already begun cleaning up his own act. Lily was reluctant, but James courted her ardently."

"How do you know all this about my Mum?" Harry asked.

Lupin looked at Harry sadly, and sighed again. "I was one person both James and Lily trusted. I acted as something of a go-between for them, and I helped them over some rough spots when they were just starting out."

Harry sighed himself. "You were a good friend, Remus.… I wish I had a friend who would do that for me."

"You've got Ron," Remus chided. "He would march through the gates of Hell for you, you know that."

"I don't know, Remus … he's been acting strangely ever since he was hurt," Harry said. "Sometimes I don't think I know who he is anymore. I think he let his mum blame me for his decision to quit as Prefect."

"There's also Hermione," reminded Remus. "I've frankly never seen two people more symbiotic than the two of you - not even your parents."

"Impossible," Harry grimaced.

Remus regarded Harry with a puzzled expression. "I don't see why?" he said.

"BECAUSE SHE CAN'T BE A GO-BETWEEN WITH HER OWN BLOODY SELF!" Harry yelled.

For the first time all day, Remus had nothing affirmative to say. A lot of things were becoming clear to him. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"NO!" Harry said rather more loudly than necessary. He was tired of talking about that. "What I want to talk about is how come nobody ever told me that Voldemort not only killed my parents but also my unborn brother or sister."

Comprehension dawned on Remus' face. He smacked himself in the forehead and let himself drop heavily onto Harry's bed. "If you don't know, then I can't tell you. Like I said, I didn't even know Sirius had put this particular memory in there. There's got to be a good reason why you haven't been told, but I frankly don't know what it is. You'll have to ask Dumbledore."

Ask Dumbledore.

There was little more to say after that. Harry decided that he did not want any more close encounters with Sirius' memories about Snape. Remus explained how Sirius' memories would quickly dissipate once removed from the Pensieve. Because those memories, ephemeral as they might be, were the last physical remnant of Sirius the person, Harry told Lupin to keep the Pensieve. He was determined that there would be some sort of memorial service for Sirius - a public one if he were cleared, a private one otherwise.

It was with some trepidation that Remus left. He knew he had inadvertently made a big mistake. Accidentally, he had allowed Harry to cross one of Dumbledore's need-to-know barriers - one he had not even known to exist. Moreover, Harry still seemed agitated - and frankly Remus could not at all blame him.

Harry more or less stewed in the juices of his successive emotional traumas for the rest of the afternoon. He tried to distract himself by keeping busy. He called Blackie Howe about the subpoena. Howe said it sounded routine and that Harry could owl back the return receipt. Howe would get a duplicate copy from the Ministry to make sure.

Harry distractedly looked through the Creevey material Hermione had given him. Trying hard not to think of her, he edited the drafts of the form letters. Amongst them he saw a letter, addressed to him, which Hermione had not mentioned. It was written in a horrible shade of fuchsia ink and contained one of the most bizarre proposals Harry could imagine:

Wizard's Wireless Network "88.8 On Your MM Dial"

Department Of Special Promotions

Dear Mr. Potter:

On behalf of the entire WWN Network, I congratulate you upon your recent accomplishments, both martial and academic. You stand as a beacon to the wizarding world.

And so do we. Broadcasting at 100,000 Magiwatts, WWN is the music and talk beacon of Magical Britain. It only seems logical that Britain's number one young wizard and its number one radio station for young wizards should get together to throw the biggest party that Magical Britain has ever seen.

Thus we are delighted to solicit your appearance at our planned all-day "Happy Birthday Harry" street jamboree to take place in Diagon Alley, on the square in front of Gringotts Bank, from noon until midnight - the witching hour - on 31 July. Our top jock Waldorf "Weird Wally" Wilson will preside over the marvelous mayhem WWN has planned.

You will of course receive outstanding compensation for your appearance. As our birthday gift to you, we will give you 2000 Galleons and, and WWN will make a contribution of another 2000 Galleons to the wizard charity of your choice. In addition you will retain any and all birthday presents you receive during the course of the festivities.

We look forward to your response by o-mail, or you can floo over in person to WWN Central.

Sincerely Yours

Europa Sydenham

Vice-President for Special Events,

Harry was appalled that anyone - well, anyone other than Fred and George - would seek to cash in on his popularity in so flagrantly crass a manner. He scrawled an emphatic "NOT ON YOUR LIFE" over the letter with the widest point quill that he owned, and sent his rejection back with Hedwig posthaste.

Finally it was time for his Sunday evening Occlumency session with Dumbledore. `Would Hermione even be there?' he wondered. …And he had a bone or two to pick with the Headmaster himself…. The simmering stew that was Harry had reached a nice rolling boil by the time of his 7 p.m. appointment. He met Bill at Mrs. Figg's for the trip to Hogwarts.

Bill looked like a thundercloud himself. "I've talked to Mum," he told Harry. "About Ron. There was quite a confrontation. Ron didn't tell Mum about resigning as Prefect. Mum found out when she received an owl from Professor McGonagall accepting the resignation. She went nuts…. Harry, you know how she can be…."

"I'll say," Harry agreed.

"Well, she got on the Floo with him right away," Bill continued. "She threatened to bring Ron home from Quidditch camp, even though that meant he would miss the final tournament. She only relented when Ron had told her that you had been the one who had offered the swap - that the two of you had a Floo conversation and you found out that Ron would rather be Quidditch Captain than Prefect."

"That … That's a lie!" Harry spluttered. "Ron had already posted his bloody resignation letter before we ever spoke - he told me that!"

Bill thought for a moment, and then said, "So you can prove it, I guess. McGonagall will know when she received the letter. If she got it before you talked to Ron, then Ron's goose is well and truly cooked."

"Yes," said Harry. "Er … no." Harry thought some more. He shook his head. "No. Forget it Bill, it's not worth it. Not now."

"Please explain, Harry," prompted Bill.

Harry did. "Ron lied to his mum - your mum - because he couldn't face being removed from the Quidditch tournament. If we prove his lie to your mum, the same thing still happens, only much worse. She would pull the plug on Ickle Ronniekins' Quidditch camp faster than a London minute … and probably ground him too. And who would he blame? Me, that's who. I don't need any more ruined friendships right now. One is quite enough, thank you. I don't like it, but I think I just have to take this one sitting down."

Bill nodded. "Harry, we were talking about maturity yesterday. This is a very mature thing to do. A sacrifice for the greater good. Let's get you to Hogwarts. I have some other business I need to attend to - some family business."

Dumbledore was not there to greet Harry when he and Bill Portkeyed to the Castle. Instead, Dobby was there with instructions that the Headmaster awaited him in his office. The elf gave him the password ("Fizzing Whizbees"), and Harry ascended the rotating staircase to Dumbledore's tower with growing unease. He knocked and was promptly granted admission.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking inscrutable. As soon as Harry was seated, he knew that something was amiss. "Where's Hermione," he asked quietly.

Dumbledore explained. "In light of recent events, Miss Granger expressed hesitancy about our Legilimency sessions, at least for the moment. I therefore suggested that she need not come."

Harry slumped in his chair. After a pregnant pause, he said in a barely audible tone, "She hates me now, doesn't she?"

That quiet comment prompted a far greater reaction from the Headmaster than had Harry's previous physical destruction of his office. Dumbledore responded as if he had been slapped. "No, Mister Potter, she does not. Of that, I am positive. I did not wish to speak to her directly before talking to you, but I am being kept informed of her situation by two independent sources. Things are delicate, to be sure. She is worried about what her parents, particularly her father, might do. But I do not believe that your friendship has suffered more than superficial damage. It is imperative that you understand that."

"I ran away," Harry said.

"You did the right thing under the circumstances. Any aggressive action by you, especially towards her parents, would have been disastrous."

"I was a coward," Harry muttered.

"You are most certainly not a coward," replied Dumbledore. "You are far more likely to get yourself in trouble through excessive bravery than by any show of cowardice."

"I-I-I had another vision.… A horrible dream," Harry said.

"It was Voldemort's doing," wheezed Dumbledore, "and I thank you for reporting it promptly."

"I, I, I had given up on magic," Harry continued. "I was a powerless Squib. Could that really happen?"

"The spell you described in your report is real," Dumbledore explained gently. "However, the circumstances are not. There is no ghost of Merlin. Merlin was too strong a person ever to consider becoming a ghost. What happened after that illustrates only a tiny fraction of the dangerous consequences that could befall you - and all the rest of us - should you ever actually make such a foolish decision. I hope you appreciate that, whatever your reasons, such a course of action is never justified. Your path will never be easy, but you are a Gryffindor in every sense of the word. You cannot deviate."

"Why not?" groaned Harry.

"Because Voldemort would triumph; the wizarding world as we know it would cease to exist; and the Muggle world would follow in time." Dumbledore said frankly. "The Order of the Phoenix, and the earlier Orders that preceded it, have not been defeated by an emergent Dark Lord for almost four hundred years. The last time we suffered defeat, the resultant conflict devastated much of Europe and lasted for over thirty years. The time before that, there was war for over a hundred years."

Harry looked horrified. Dumbledore nodded.

"That is correct. Under the influence of Dark Magic, Muggles fought for ten decades over various meaningless dynastic disputes. There is a reason why we teach History of Magic, Harry - to learn from past catastrophes how to prevent their recurrence."

"Oh," Harry replied, with a tinge of sarcasm, "so no pressure, then. Right?"

"Ultimately, pressure is what you put on yourself," Dumbledore replied.

Harry fidgeted in his chair, then he gulped and asked, "Can I ask you something else about the dream?"

"Most certainly," Dumbledore responded. "Indeed, I have some questions of my own about such matters."

"In the dream…. Voldemort…. He used an Unforgivable Curse to try to force me to … to … to do something unspeakable…."

"Mister Potter, he was trying to destroy your dignity - your sense of self worth - to ruin you without killing you," Dumbledore interrupted.

"He stopped, though…. I don't remember why, but he did," Harry continued. "But what if he hadn't? I'm frightened…. What if I can't throw off his Imperius Curse the next time? What if he uses the Cruciatus Curse to force me? I can't even begin to fight that. If I ever actually did anything like … like in the dream … I wouldn't want to live. Hermione…. Oh, Merlin…. It's something I've seen on Muggle television…. Can, can you give me a suicide pill that I could hold in reserve for such a situation?"

Dumbledore had not expected that turn in the conversation. He rose from his seat briskly. "Absolutely not!" he thundered as he pounded his fist on his desk, making the various apparatus jump. "That would only be giving Voldemort one more way to kill you - an absurdly easy way. The only solutions are to avoid such situations in the first place or to learn better ways of fighting. No matter what you are facing, suicide is never an option. Never! You must understand that. There are always better alternatives. I implore you to never think that way again!"

Harry had never seen Dumbledore so upset at him. In truth, Dumbledore was to some degree acting. He had to banish that thought from Harry's mind immediately and permanently, because the creation of a suicide pill was well within the capability of almost anyone, even (especially) Harry, who could muster an Outstanding on the Potions O.W.L. Magic was not even necessary. The Headmaster now appreciated the full malice of the latest vision that Voldemort had sent the young man's way.

Dumbledore sat back down and turned off the anger. "Mister Potter, as I said, there are always other ways. I want to help you with this - more than that, I need to. Let me see what I can do. All right?"

Harry nodded.

"Now may I ask a question?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded.

"Remus has reported to me that you accessed some of Sirius' memories through a Pensieve, is that right?"

"Yes!" said Harry, almost shouting, "And I DO have some more questions for you!"

"I thought as much," replied Dumbledore, "and I am telling you right now, you will probably be disappointed in some of my answers. But for the moment it is my turn. So tell me, Mister Potter, what did you see?"

Harry recited the mad flight with Sirius. He described Sirius's actions after arriving too late, meeting Hagrid, and with considerably more difficulty seeing his mother's corpse and learning that she was pregnant. He also recounted how Sirius had almost killed Snape, since that was the reason that this memory had found its way into Sirius' Pensieve in the first place.

Dumbledore added some depth to Sirius's somewhat narrow perspective. He explained that Sirius had found James' wand, its core completely burnt out, and left it in his flat before departing to have his revenge upon the traitor Peter Pettigrew. Some Death Eaters had staged a diversion, and Hagrid had been with Dumbledore when the Fidelius Charm had collapsed. Dumbledore had to deal with the diversion (since it involved the envoy from the American Ministry) but had sent Hagrid to Godric's Hollow as soon as he could create the necessary Portkey - Hagrid had never learnt Apparition. The rest of the Order had wasted precious time seeking instructions from Dumbledore, which accounted for their tragically delayed response.

When the Order finally arrived in force, Snape was taken to the hospital wing at Hogwarts for treatment and safekeeping. There was no love lost between Snape and either the Ministry or the Death Eater remnants. Only when Snape was revived, did the Order learn from him, the only available eyewitness, how Voldemort's Killing Curse had backfired somehow, and the Dark Lord had disintegrated. Numerous signs of disarray amongst the Death Eaters were already pointing towards some sort of calamity involving their leader, but it was Snape who provided the actual confirmation.

Dumbledore was very interested to learn the new information about Pettigrew's powerful but stumbling curse, and its probable link to the mystery of Voldemort's wand.

This was all very interesting, but Dumbledore did not touch upon Harry's most burning question. Eventually, Harry became impatient and interrupted.

"My mum was pregnant. I saw that with my own eyes. Why has nobody ever told me that I lost a brother or sister that night?"

"That is a very good question," Dumbledore responded. "I am afraid that I cannot give you as good an answer as you deserve. That is something Voldemort does not know, and given his nature, it is information he would find quite valuable…."

"Why don't you tell me?" Harry repeated with rapidly growing annoyance.

Dumbledore sighed. "Why do you think we are here, Mister Potter? Like it or not, you and Voldemort are linked. You penetrate each other's minds. I am very distressed that you have learned this information at all, and I would use a Memory Charm were I not afraid of interfering with your magical maturation. In light of this knowledge, it is critical - absolutely critical - that you continue mastering Occlumency, and that you perform it every night without fail."

"All right, then. At least you've told me that you can't tell me," Harry grumbled. "Can I ask you a different question?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "and I hope I can give you a different answer."

"It's more of a statement anyway," continued Harry. "I'd like to place flowers on my mum's grave - my dad's too, if there is one - but I don't know where it…."

"I cannot tell you anything about that," Dumbledore curtly replied.

Harry was shocked. "What? All I want is…."

Dumbledore spoke with finality. "I repeat, I cannot help you, and regrettably, I cannot even tell you why."

"But…."

"Please change the subject Harry, or I will be forced to end this conversation." Dumbledore said with finality. The old man sat back in his seat and crossed his hands over his chest. There was no twinkle in his troubled eyes.

As perplexed as he was, Harry had no choice but to move on. In desultory fashion they discussed Harry's growing disenchantment with his prospective inheritances and how this was causing Harry relationship problems. No solution was reached.

Dumbledore and Harry then had an Occlumency/Legilimency session. Overall, Dumbledore was extremely pleased with the progress being made, particularly given the extremely adverse mental circumstances.

Dumbledore's little motivational speech seemed to have struck a nerve. Harry tried like never before. The Headmaster learned firsthand what had been reported to him so many times by the staff: Harry could be an excellent, indeed outstanding, student when he applied himself.

A little too good, perhaps. When Dumbledore had Harry practice Legilimency on him, the Headmaster found him digging just a little too deeply. It hardly took a genius to figure out what Harry was after. Dumbledore responded with an Incandens Curse of his own, which burnt away Harry's eyebrows, singed his hair, and partially melted his glasses. "Harry, I am serious about what I said," Dumbledore warned. "Stay away from that subject."

The smell of burning hair reminded Harry of something. He told the Headmaster how he had severely burnt Remus during the struggle at the end the recent Voldemort-induced nightmare. Once again Harry found he had reached a limit, although this time of a different sort.

"Harry, I can truthfully say that I do not know the answer to that question. I had you read some chapters on electricity because I believe that there are parallels between how electricity and magic works. But with you, I'm afraid that the relationship is even greater - and incomparably stronger - than with the rest of us, even me. How much and in what ways, I do not know."

"One explanation that I am investigating is that whether there is anything to the theory you have already encountered that you are an elemental of the Fifth Element. Beyond that, things remain so indistinct that anything I say would likely mislead you. What I do know is that you need to be careful - very careful. You are prone to magical eruptions of considerable power. They could be extremely dangerous in an inappropriate location. Think, for example, what would happen if for some reason you unleashed that Greek Fire Curse of yours during the Sorting Ceremony."

A few more exercises followed, but they were more of an orderly cooling off period than anything strenuous in their own right. Dumbledore walked Harry back to the fireplace from which Harry would Floo home. Putting his hand on his shoulder, the old wizard said, "I hope you understand that everything we have discussed here tonight - what you saw in the Pensieve, and my speculation about your nature - is extremely confidential, and should not be shared with anyone."

"Not even Hermione?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Especially not Miss Granger," the Headmaster emphasized. "You cannot comprehend how valuable this information would be to Voldemort. If he ever even suspected that it was available, he would seek out Miss Granger first. I think you know why."

"I can guess," replied Harry flatly. He Flooed home.

Dumbledore muttered as he shuffled back to his office, "That is precisely why Harry will tell her, something will happen, and we shall be fighting this war on even more fronts. Oh, Sirius, why was this the one time you decided to follow my instructions?"

* * * *

Author notes: Gibbous moon - all lunar phase descriptions are accurate as checked on a phases of the moon website

Comfortably numb - a song by Pink Floyd that is quite apt to Imperio

Swan song, from the myth that swans sing beautifully before their death

100,000 generations of evolution is about 2,000,000 years

Harry can you hear me? Harry as Tommy, perhaps

"Incontrovertible physical fact" is a legal doctrine concerning facts that at trial allow no contradiction

25 or 6 to 4 is an old Chicago song. There are other references in the same paragraph

The flesh frying magic resembles what happened to Quirrell in Book One

Na na na - that's one of the songs from the prior chapters

Barbary fig is reputed to have anti-hangover powers

The blob is patterned after a large plastic practice facility that the Eagles (of course, in this context, "football" means something different) used a number of years ago. They do utilize positive air pressure

Everlast is a real brand name for this sort of thing

Frolic and detour is another legal phrase - used sarcastically here

Not in a position to act with Tom - here is more foreshadowing, although it will take a while for others to get into a position to be acted upon

I use the actual technical name for a subpoena requiring testimony

The spot by the lake is a combined description of two places in Acadia National Park - the Featherbed on Cadillac Mountain and Paradise Pool (Sargeant Mtn. Pond)

Leather couch and German accent - Bill contemplates a career as a psychiatrist

Bill's reference to the seamier side of banking, some foreshadowing

With a dozen red roses, Harry stumbles into rather more than he bargained for

Links of London is a major jewelry store, with a branch in Canary Wharf

A Marquess of Queensberry is credited with creating the first universally accepted rules of pugilism

The Brixton gym is a real place

Blind pigs and truffles - truffles emit odors mimicking porcine sexual scents, which is why sows have been used to hunt them. It's purely sense of smell

Night and fog - nacht und nebel - the nickname of the infamous WWII decree, and an appropriate setting for what follows

Typically Snape and Sirius talked past one another. Snape was talking about Voldemort being gone, Sirius thought he was talking about the Potters

My stab at the mystery of what happened to Voldemort's wand after he disappeared

A split over keeping a relationship a secret, parallelism here

Faster than a London minute - it's usually "New York" that goes in here, but being as how the setting is England

Dumbledore's reaction to Harry belief that Hermione blames him involves the same bridge that the Headmaster previously discussed with Snape and Shak

Dumbledore's foray into history of Magic references first the 30 Years War, and then the Hundred Years War

Fought for ten decades - from "Sympathy for the Devil." The Stones added "for the Gods they made," but the Hundred Years war was dynastic, not religious

- 82 -

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