Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Hogwarts wins the Quidditch final under the cloud of Harry's disappearance, Cho ponders her life, Dumbledore gives the Durlseys and Minister Fudge the bad news, Fudge tries to resign, Moody does, and McGonagall threatens to, the conspirators imprison Harry, Harry is woken up and fed, Tonks and Hermione perform an Auror tradition, Voldemort learns of the kidnapping, the Dursleys pack Harry's things, Snape is summoned, Hermione senses that Harry is still alive, the affinity is not severed, McGonagall learns the prophecy, the French declare war, Hermione goes to the Order's new headquarters, learns that Harry was being truthful, and reaches an agreement with Dumbledore, and the Twins move Harry's things to Hogwarts.

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 29 - Purgatory

It was supposed to be Ron's day. He was de facto captain of a Hogwarts team that had played its way into the final game of an international interscholastic Quidditch championship. Everyone was going to be there watching him (oh, and Ginny, too), including his dad - who was skiving off from some overseas diplomatic mission - Hermione, his brothers, and even Ludo Bagman, the Ministry's Head of Magical Sports and Games. More importantly, Harry was going to be there … watching him, cheering him on, rather than vice versa. It was about time. Ron's chest swelled with justifiable pride.

Just as thrilling, but in a different way, Ron knew he was about to be playing in front of a baker's dozen of professional Quidditch talent-spotters - representing real teams this time, not just the Italian (read, bush) League. Fred and George had even told him a couple of days ago that someone from the Chudley Cannons would be present. Maybe they were taking the mickey out of him, but maybe not. Ron was hopeful just the same.

It was not to be.

Ron's grand illusion vanished when he and Ginny went to the cafeteria before the match to greet what they expected would be a horde of well wishers. There was no horde, and what wishers there were appeared anything but well. Instead, they met their puffy-eyed mum, who looked like she had not slept in a week, and brother Charlie, who was unusually grim-faced. He was still in his dragon-rider leathers.

"Ginny…. Ron.… Oh, sweet Merlin, this is the hardest…." Molly could continue no further. She gathered her two youngest into a smothering hug, and shook with sobs.

From around his mother's heaving form, Ron saw Charlie manfully maintaining a stiff upper lip. "Charlie, what's happened?" Ron croaked out.

"You'd best sit down," Charlie directed. "It's not good news."

"That much, I've gathered," Ron muttered from within his mum's tight embrace. With difficulty the two of them prised their mum off Ron and made their way to the nearby tables and chairs. After everyone was seated, Charlie continued.

"Last night, there was some kind of huge attack, mostly on Muggle London…. Caused what they're saying was biggest fire in several hundred years. Death Eaters, we think, although nobody's quite sure…."

Although taken quite aback, Ron could not believe that any such attack - however large - could cause his mum to collapse like that. Molly was ordinarily a tower of strength, and after all, it was only Muggles. "All right, but it's Muggles…. After the Ministry, we knew the Death Eaters would try something big to get back.…"

"Ron! Just listen, will you?" Charlie snapped. "We think that was all a diversion.… They.… They attacked Harry.… Got him too.…"

"Harry?" Ron blinked. "What about.… What…? Harry?"

After an anguished sigh, Charlie tried again. "Harry's probably dead, Ron." That finally said, Charlie sank back into his chair, and allowed the tears to flow, exhausted with the effort.

Ginny gasped loudly, began wailing herself, and quickly buried her head in her mother's chest. Ron was floored - mouth-hanging-open speechless. Charlie sat there silently, shaking his head, trying to recover his own composure, and letting cold reality sink in.

"D-D-Dead?" Ron echoed incredulously. He had trouble believing his ears. Harry was, after all, indestructible! He couldn't die! For Merlin's sake, he was the right bloody Boy Who Lived!

Charlie was the only one who answered, as both Molly and Ginny were still sobbing in each other's arms.

"Yes, dead," Charlie repeated. "As in gone … forever. That's a long time, Ron."

"Oh … fuck.…" Ron choked out. WHAM!! He slammed his hand into the table, splintering the Formica covering. The sound reverberated throughout the large room.

The noise only made Ginny sob harder. Charlie had to restrain Ron from putting his fist through the first available wall.

In a firmer voice, Charlie gave his siblings, and other early-morning diners attracted by the commotion, what little information was publicly available. "Nobody knows much…. One of those Muggle aeroplanes, a big one, went down in the City. At almost the same time, Harry disappeared. I don't even know where he was…. It's all being kept hush, hush…."

"You mean … he might just be missing…?" Ron asked, with just the slightest hope creeping into his voice.

"Not bloody likely," Charlie grunted. "I'm told that the building he was in burnt to the ground … and Mundungus, who was watching him for … for our side, is also missing and presumed dead."

"That's a lot of missing persons," Ron began before Charlie cut him off.

"There was a lot of destruction," he replied. "Naturally, the Ministry is on full alert - and at the same time in fully as much chaos as you might expect. Dad's a victim of all the mayhem. He can't be spared at the moment, even to watch you and Gin play for a championship. The ruddy crisis has international as well as domestic repercussions. He's in France…."

"Isn't … Isn't anybody going to do anything … for Harry?" Ron understandably asked.

"I'm afraid there's not much that can be done for Harry," Charlie replied sadly. "The opponents of You-Know-Who," (another euphemism for the Order, given the onlookers) "are also mobilising, but you know how it is - a day late and a Galleon short, as usual. The Twins are part of that now…."

That meant that the Twins were also too busy to attend something as trivial as a Quidditch match. Ron groaned. "Are … are the rest of my mates okay?" he asked.

Molly finally spoke. "Neville's here. Talked to him on the way in.… I expect Luna's all right. She lives near us … away from London. Hermione … oh Merlin.… I just know she's supposedly … with friends. I have no idea where…."

Ron and Ginny looked at one another. They both knew that, wherever she was, Hermione would be in a right state. They had no idea how right they were.

After about five minutes, Molly and Charlie's meagre store of knowledge was exhausted. Charlie summed up with a brief "and that's all we know for now," and lapsed into morose silence.

Shoulders slumping after his initial hot rush of anger had burnt itself out, Ron beseeched nobody in particular, "What are we going to do now?"

"That's what you have to figure out," Charlie replied grimly. "I gather that you're team captain, so you better decide toot sweet what you're going to suggest."

"C'mon Gin, let's go," Ron directed.

By this time Ginny had cried herself out, and she wanted solace of her own. "But … I want to see Neville!" she protested.

"Neville will still be here after we decide what to do," Ron growled. "This is more important."

Ron was right. The match was why Neville was here - why everyone was here. Ginny nodded, and after taking a moment to repair her tear-streaked face, followed. The sibling teammates left for the dressing room not having eaten a bite.

The first thing Ron did after regathering his wits was to call the team together. He explained what had happened, and offered everyone the opportunity to forfeit the match and return to Britain and their families.

"So that's everything I know," Ron concluded. "We have to decide whether to play or to forfeit. My vote is to play, but I'm so overwhelmed right now, I could easily go the other way. The King will abide the wishes of the majority."

"I think we should go home," Cho volunteered. "I don't think my heart's in it … after what's happened."

"We should play," Ginny disagreed. "No matter what, Hogwarts Quidditch doesn't quit. That's what Harry would want. He never missed a game he was allowed to play in…."

"Actually, I agree with Weasley, much as I hate to admit it," Moose Montague chimed in. Everyone turned to look at him. He was a Slytherin. He rarely said much. And it was common knowledge that he, like most of those in his House, despised Harry Potter. "Yeah, I think he was just about the biggest git that's ever been born - Dumbledore's pet and all…. But I wouldn't wish that on anybody…. And damned if he did turn out to be right … much as I still can't believe it."

The other Slytherin Chaser, Adrian Pucey, also spoke in favor of playing. "I can't stand Potter, but he never quit, and that's one reason he's beat us so often. So I say play … no forfeits … and let's kick some Durmstrang arse!"

Whoops and hollers followed Pucey's declaration, and the decision to play passed by acclamation.

Ron slid onto a bench beside his girlfriend. "Cho … if you're not up to it…. It's no disgrace. I can move Ginny to Seeker…."

"No!" Cho protested loudly. "I can … play…. Ginny's our best Chaser, and we have to field our best team. If we play, we play to win!"

Thus, the team elected to play in order to show everyone that Hogwarts - Harry's school - was not going to surrender in the face of this disaster.

That decided, Ginny Transfigured athletic tape into black headbands emblazoned with golden lightning bolts for the entire team to wear. For herself, Ron, and Katie Bell, the Gryffindors on the team, she added a gold "7" - Harry's number - on a red background.

The team eschewed the usual practice of individual introductions. Instead, the entire Hogwarts team, starters and reserves, burst onto the Elsinore pitch together, holding hands. Cho conjured a magnificent image of a dragon to lead the team out. The Ravenclaws contributed a banner that read "For England, Harry, and St. George," which the Hufflepuffs had managed affix to the dragon's tail. The team circled the pitch in that fashion.

Once the whistle sounded, the Hogwarts team played like demons. Durmstrang never had a chance, and was inexorably handed the worst thrashing of the entire playoff series.

Ron was so heedless of his own safety that he became virtually unstoppable in ring. Early in the contest he accidentally - instinctively was more like it - invented a move that nobody, not even the pro talent spotters, had ever seen before. To change directions abruptly in response to a quick pass, he hooked the side of the left-hand ring with his elbow, spun around, and whipped through the ring mouth itself in the opposite direction. The abrupt change caused him to lose his balance.

He ended up in the Starfish and Stick position for the first time in his career - and still made the block. The play caused a five-minute delay in play as the Durmstrang team screamed for a foul. There was nothing in the rulebook against it. There was no Flacking, since Ron was no longer in the ring mouth itself by the time of the block. Thus, the block stood.

That uncanny feat set the tone for the match that followed.

Ron was not the only one playing on instinct. It was showtime for Ginny as well. Her no-look passing from the Point Chaser's position was equally preternatural. She feinted and weaved across the pitch, drawing the opposing Chasers and Keeper towards her. Then, she would glance at Pucey or Montague, fake a pass in that direction, and in the same motion whip the Quaffle behind her back or over her head for a Reverse Pass to the other - for an easy shot against the now out-of-position Keeper. Zeb Bradley, a reserve Ravenclaw Chaser who grew up Muggle-born in America, gave Ginny the nickname "Magic" that day - and it stuck.

The game was over long before it ended, because the Snitch proved to be particularly elusive. The score was 320-20, before it ever made an appearance. The rout would have been worse, except Pucey and Montague (and later Bradley and Bell, inserted once the game was well in hand) had trouble anticipating and handling Ginny's seemingly impossible, but spot on, passes. They must have fumbled away another dozen easy scoring opportunities.

When Cho finally spotted the Snitch, so did the Durmstrang Beaters - the Durmstrang Seeker being at the opposite end of the pitch. Both of them launched Bludgers at Cho as she streaked for the Snitch. Tabitha Moon, a Hufflepuff Beater, deflected one of them by throwing her bat at it, but the other Hogwarts Beater was caught out of position by the Snitch's sudden appearance. Just as it seemed that Cho would have to swerve to avoid the oncoming object, Ginny flashed in from out of nowhere on her Firebolt and took the Bludger solidly in her ribs. She left no doubt in anyone's mind that she could have committed a Shitchnip if she had wanted to.

Cho caught the Snitch to end the almost four-hour game at 470-20.

When Ron led the rest of the subdued-but-celebratory team into the Elsinore infirmary, the Healer on duty had already been to work on Ginny's midsection, and her three broken ribs were well on the way to being healed. Thus, Ron walked in on his sister deep in conversation with Neville Longbottom.

"Hey Gin," Ron said, holding out small bits of paper. "Do you want this? I was talking with this talent spotter from the Tutshill Tornadoes, and he asked me to give you one of these, too.… And here's another one, from somebody with the Holyhead Harpies…."

The two of them turned around to face Ron. Neville's normally rather ruddy complexion was ashen-faced. Ginny had obviously told him what she knew about Harry's disappearance. But Ginny was red-faced enough for the both of them.

"Ron! I'm simply not interested in any of that right now!" Ginny barked at her older brother. "We've just had the mother of all disasters, and you're going on about Quidditch…."

"But that was sort of the idea behind playing…." Ron protested feebly.

The subject was soon forgotten altogether when the first question out of Neville's mouth was whether Ron was planning to do anything "about Harry." Ron could offer Neville neither solace nor direction, since the news was almost unrelievedly bad ("They say he's dead. I'm not sure there's much we could do about that."). Ron had been focussed on the game, and thought Harry's situation was over their heads in any event ("Dunno, mate, King's not had much time to think about that…. Grown up work, don't you think…?").

The only hopeful sign - if one could call it that - was the absence of a corpse. Neville stubbornly maintained that "until somebody shows me his body, I'm not going to believe it." Privately, Neville worried whether the cup of the prophecy would pass to him if Harry died. He knew bits … and one bit was profoundly disturbing to him. Neville shakily declared that he was going to try to contact Dumbledore, and if the Headmaster was too busy, Hermione.

"Well … I don't think we can merely leave it at that. There might be something that we can do … because we know him better than anyone else…. We just can't let him go." Neville declared. "I'm going to try to reach Dumbledore, and if I can't, I'm going to owl Hermione. If anyone knows what to do, she will…."

All the while looking Ron squarely in the eye - daring him to say anything - Ginny defiantly squeezed Neville's hand as the two boys spoke. "Where Neville goes, I'm going," she stated grimly. Ron made no comments, snide or otherwise. Instead, he acquiesced. Equally grimly, Ron asked Neville to let him know if he found out any way for them to be useful.

"Do that, Nev…. If anything comes of it, let me know, and I'll help…."

On this distinctly sombre note, the Hogwarts team bid each other adieu for the remainder of their holiday. They would see each other again at Hogwarts in little more than two weeks. Parting was particularly sweet sorrow for Ron and Cho. He would have preferred to continue spending his every free moment with her. But between Cho's travel plans and his need to hide the depth of their relationship from his parents, Ron had no choice but to submit to a period of enforced separation.

* * * *

Cho's thoughts as she left Denmark were filled with the most mixed emotions of all. Six years ago, when she first received her Hogwarts letter, her very traditional father had almost not let her go. Hogwarts was a Western place, and her father was very much old-school Confucian. Yan Fu finally resolved his doubts by inscribing upon her the ancestral charmed Xiao Jing (filial piety) family tattoo as a condition of her attendance.

Then nothing happened for some five years. Yan Fu never invoked the charm - even when she did things (like date Cedric) of which he disapproved. For some unfathomable reason that changed just after her relationship (if it could be called that) with Harry ended. Her double life in Amsterdam, under the pretext of taking extra training in "Chinese magic," began almost immediately. Her father had insisted, and filial piety meant that there was no disobeying him.

Although she had no evidence, from the timing she could not help but suspect that her dramatic twist of fate had something to do with Harry. Yan Fu had been as supportive of that dalliance as he had been disapproving of her deeper involvement with Cedric Diggory. He had expressed his disapproval of Cedric in racial terms, although Harry was just as much a da bidze gweilo (big nosed foreign devil) as Cedric.

To try to please her father, Cho had even written to Harry after the events at the Ministry. Although she felt that she had practically prostrated herself before her ex in that letter, Harry's return note had been infuriatingly noncommittal. That was the end of that.

With Yan Fu's somewhat surprising acquiescence, Cho conceded that Harry was beyond reach, and decided to make do with Harry's best friend. Happily, Ron had turned out to be a caring and excellent lover, even if he had a penchant for ill-chosen remarks that often infuriated her.

Whilst she resolutely stayed away from Harry after taking up with Ron, she did hedge her bets a bit, sending Harry a birthday present that contained a clue. Cho was uncertain where she fitted in her father's plans, and those plans increasingly frightened her. If things became too much for her to handle, she had still entertained the wild hope that Harry might figure out the clue and come for her. Now he was gone.

Cho was decidedly of two minds about her secret life (conducted, as was routine, under a pseudonym). She made a great deal of money, all of which Yan Fu allowed her to keep - but was afraid of ruining herself. As her star rose, her activities grew progressively less degrading, although she had learnt a wide variety of spells to deal with that. Her activities remained thoroughly scandalous. On the plus side, the physical release was exhilarating and she found a bizarre form of validation in being the object of such obvious and widespread desire.

From texts that her father had commanded that she learn, Cho was mastering various magical erotic techniques. These spells kept her anatomically intact, but had the odd effect of changing her eye colour during the act. Of equal significance, they enabled her to coax remarkable feats of sexual performance from her Muggle partners, although not without cost. Sometimes the techniques had debilitating effects on them. Three of her "male leads" suffered sustained ventricular fibrillation within a few hours of their sessions. Those incidents, combined with her unique skills, increased her notoriety - earning her the monikers "Yellow Widow," or "Lady Deathstrike" (when she magicked her fingernails) in the blatantly racist terms of the industry. This Muggle renown, of course, engendered additional commercial success.

She brought up the deaths with Yan Fu because she thought the magic was too strong for Muggles. He dismissed her concerns with a shrug, and told her not to worry. But she disobeyed. Her worries only increased. She sensed she was a pawn in some greater game she did not comprehend. Her father had always been mysterious - she had no idea what he did with the "export business" he ran - but now that mystery was thoroughly tinged with fear.

Cho wondered - hope and fear mixing together - if anything would change with Harry's disappearance.

* * * *

Back in England, the Order was slowly coming to grips with the magnitude of the disaster that had just happened. Fires continued to rage in London, although the Muggles finally managed to stem their spread by using explosives to create firebreaks - the first time since the Blitz. One engine from the stricken airliner had been discovered in the rubble of the building that Tonks had identified as the last known location of Harry Potter. Consequently, the Muggles were not granting access to that site to anyone.

Harry's personal fate remained a mystery. The Order had dispatched several post owls to him, but none had gotten through. Since post owls could deliver mail even when the recipient's address was unknown, their failure to reach Harry was not a good sign. Owls could deliver to almost anyone - except the dead.

Dumbledore himself led the sepulchral delegation that informed the Dursleys of Harry's apparent fate. Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin (who cut short yet another visit to the Orient) accompanied him. Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks provided additional security, but remained outside and out of sight, for once mindful of the Dursleys' sensibilities.

Uncle Vernon took the news with relative equanimity, but Aunt Petunia had a hard time holding back tears. This came as a surprise to McGonagall and Lupin, who both expected that she would barely contain her joy at the news. Aunt Petunia had thawed somewhat towards Harry over the past summer, as the extent of his ill fate had become more apparent. He had finally become a real person in her eyes, and now he was no more.

Harry's cousin, however, was the most affected. Instead of grief, Dudley began and ended the conversation in outright denial. To him Harry was "too damn lucky and too damn good" a wizard to get killed by "that nutter." When he learnt that Harry's body had not been recovered, Dudley was quietly convinced that Harry had staged another "great escape," and that he would eventually turn up - in all likelihood in the arms of another bird.

Whatever their other reactions, all of the Dursleys were united in their apprehension over what Harry's disappearance and probable death meant for their own security. If Harry's magical protectors could not even keep him safe, what chance did the rest of them stand? Dumbledore was not about to reveal any of the still sketchy circumstances of the attack, but assured the Dursleys as best he could that those elements were "most unusual" and unlikely to be duplicated on Privet Drive. He promised the Dursleys that the security measures guarding them would be maintained for as long as necessary, given conditions in the magical world.

On behalf of his family, Uncle Vernon asked for "a little time" to come to grips with the new reality. Dumbledore agreed to send someone to collect Harry's things in a couple of days. They left with only Hedwig, who was promptly dispatched with a letter for Harry.

The snowy owl almost immediately returned with the letter undelivered - another very bad sign - one that elicited fear of the worst even from Dumbledore.

Finally, there was the grim necessity of informing the press. Something as calamitous as the disappearance and likely death of The Boy Who Lived could not be kept under wraps for long. For morale purposes, Dumbledore had acquiesced in the press turning Harry into an iconic figure. As in all things "the bigger they are, the harder they fall." Thus, the deflation from Harry's death would be every bit as vertiginous as his previous rise. Nevertheless, Dumbledore was not inclined to allow whoever had masterminded this outrage to control its announcement to the outside world. Early that evening he paid a grim personal visit to the Minister of Magic to inform him of the events.

"Minister," he began sombrely, "I am afraid I come as the bearer of bad news."

"Oh, really," Fudge blustered. "And how much worse could it get? One of these Muggle flying machines comes a cropper over Central London and all of a sudden everybody seems to be blaming magic…."

"It can get worse because the Muggles are probably correct," Dumbledore replied bluntly. "We have reason to believe that the aeroplane crash was a Death Eater diversion…."

"A diversion from what, man?" Fudge protested. "We've had no reports of Dark Mark observations or other indicators of Death Eater activity."

"A diversion to facilitate a successful attack on Harry Potter," Dumbledore answered quickly. "Mister Potter is missing and may well be deceased."

"What … Potter? Have you gone daft…?" spluttered Fudge, as he struggled to deny what he had just heard.

"I only wish that I had, Minister," Dumbledore continued. "I have Mister Potter's wand in my possession. A member of the Order who also happens to be an Auror found it. Mister Potter's last known whereabouts - where his wand was retrieved - were in a building struck by one of the engines that were magically separated from the aeroplane."

All the colour drained from Fudge's face. He leaned heavily on his desk for support. "Merlin's beard…. You're … you're telling the truth, aren't you?" he asked forlornly.

"To the best of what I know, yes. I find truth generally preferable to lies," Dumbledore replied tightly as he suppressed exasperation at the Minister's resistance. "I assure you, this is not a subject about which I would be anything less than totally candid with Your Excellency."

Minister Fudge stood up as straight as he could and wrung his hands. Sighing audibly, he glanced at the ceiling before eyeing Dumbledore. "It is finished, then…. I have no other alternative but to offer you my resignation…."

It was Dumbledore's turn to be surprised. "It was not my intent to ask you for that," he demurred. "Matters are pressing. There will be time to consider political issues later…."

"I-I … I have no wish to be sacked by the vote of no confidence that will surely follow this development," Fudge persisted. "You are an authorised representative of the Wizard Council. Therefore, protocol provides that I may tender my resignation to you."

"Really, Minister, there is no reason to be so hasty," Dumbledore counselled.

"Yes there is," Fudge droned. "I have consistently underestimated the threat posed by the Death Eaters. Their successful attack on Harry Potter indelibly brands my Ministry as a failure. It is … time for new blood."

To Dumbledore, Fudge appeared on the edge of tears - or worse. "Do not have it end that way, then," the Headmaster urged. "I beseech you not to add to the chaos of the present. At this moment, above all we need some semblance of stability in government."

"Oh, very well…," Fudge groaned. "But only as a temporary expedient. I am already the political equivalent of a ghost."

After Fudge's reluctant withdrawal of his resignation, the two men worked the Floo network and managed to cobble together a "National Unity" triumvirate. This consisted of Fudge, Arthur Weasley (tipped without his prior knowledge to represent the Dumbledore faction), and Rufus Scrimgeour (the very political Chief Auror who had the proxy of the conservative faction that previously was loosely aligned around Amelia Bones). The issue of new elections would be revisited when, in Dumbledore's words, "things calmed down."

The announcement was hurried. Less than a half an hour after Dumbledore first informed Fudge, he, Fudge, and Scrimgeour met whatever reporters could assemble on very short notice. The announcement of Harry's disappearance ironically took place in the same pressroom where Harry had so skillfully presided over his own press conference not all that long ago.

The two events could not have been more different. At the first conference, the press had had to be silenced. This time they practically silenced themselves with their shock. There was no shouting, no jostling, and almost no questions. The first time everyone had come to praise Harry - now they came to bury him.

Not everyone was in a burying mood, however. Whilst Fudge had been convinced (however reluctantly) to stay on, Mad-Eye Moody publicly resigned from his interim assignment with the Auror Office. Buttonholing a surprised (and slightly fearful) Daily Prophet reporter outside the office suite he had been occupying, he gruffly called out, "Hey you! Yer with that rag, aren't yeh?"

The reporter looked nervously about. When it became painfully apparent that the fearsome looking old Auror could only be referring to him, he answered, "Er … yes. I'm Westbrook Murrow, stringer for the Prophet…."

"Well, get yer arse over here, I've got some news for yeh," Moody demanded.

Murrow took one look at Moody's blazing eyes and nodded. Hesitantly approaching the battle-scarred Auror, he pulled out his Quick-Quotes Quill and began, "Well … all right, let's hear it…."

"After this latest disaster, I have come ta the conclusion that I'm serving no bloody purpose staying on as an Auror," Moody growled, his face screwing up in disgust. "I can be far more useful going ta work full-time for the Order. At least that way I'll be able ta concentrate on what's important, and that's locating Potter and taking the battle straight ta Voldemort…."

Murrow gasped. It was not just Moody's utterance of the Dark Lord's name (although that was certainly part of it). Rather, this was the first time anyone had publicly admitted belonging to the Order of the Phoenix since the end of the First War. Only Moody was so fearless - or paranoid about his chances - that he no longer cared who knew that he was a member of the foremost anti-Voldemort group in existence.

"…Thus, effective immediately, I'm resigning my position as head of the Death Eater Task Force," Moody declared. "I'm also done with chairing the commission looking inta the Ministry Incident…. That hardly matters now, anyway…."

* * * *

Whilst the Order was still trying to divine what had happened, those who knew were hard at work. Draco Malfoy had flown his overloaded - but still Invisibility Cloak-protected - Nimbus 2001 into a well-prepared and quite undetectable entrance of Malfoy Manor. There he was greeted by his two remaining co-conspirators, who floated Harry Potter's unconscious body deep into the bowels of the secret, well-warded catacombs that lay beneath the manor house. Lord Voldemort himself had spent several weeks there without being detected. Secreting Harry away should be quite simple by comparison.

Everything seemed to be going essentially according to plan. The Contact had returned the phylactery of command as promised. Malfoy Transfigured it into an amulet - the form he preferred - donned it promptly, and backed the two Dementors away to the other side of their magical cage. The three kidnappers slammed Potter's body roughly into the bars and clamped the charmed manacles into place. There were chains for each arm and leg, and for good measure a fifth fastening to fit around his neck.

This reception - weeks in the making - had evolved as Malfoy learnt more about the magical characteristics of the Manor's catacombs. He had heard bits of rumours, all unconfirmed, that Potter might actually possess something resembling the Fifth Element ability that the Malfoy lawyers (without any factual support) had attributed to him. Potter had certainly escaped the Dark Lord's clutches often enough. Reviewing information now available to him as master of the Manor, Malfoy had discovered that this cage, with its accompanying manacles, was probably the most powerful magical object on the entire grounds.

Lucius Malfoy had arranged the enchantment of this equipment for different purposes, when it appeared that the Dark Lord might make his personal headquarters at the Manor. The old Riddle House had lost its safe haven status after Potter had escaped on the night of Lord Voldemort's resurrection, so the Dark Lord had decamped to the Manor. But Lord Voldemort was always impatient with the restrictions needed to maintain the Malfoys' veneer of respectability. Within a few weeks he left for parts unknown.

Fortunately for Draco Malfoy, a number of magical improvements made to accommodate the Dark Lord's presence - such as cells strong enough to confine Dementors and shackles stout enough to restrain Potter - remained left in place, years after the Dark Lord's departure.

The first order of business was to let the Dark Lord know that Potter was their prisoner, and that they wanted to make a deal. This contact, of course, had to be made anonymously. Nott recommended the Muggle kidnapper technique of cutting off one of Potter's fingers. There was a jinx he knew….

Malfoy dismissed the idea, warning that they had best not "damage the merchandise." He then produced Potter's glasses - with their Auror-issue indestructible headband still attached. The glasses, and a shock of Potter's hair, should be quite enough evidence to establish their bona fides. Potter never went anywhere without his glasses, and the hair allowed confirmation of their claim through use of Polyjuice Potion, and probably by other more nefarious and sinister means unknown to him.

Nott had been assigned the difficult task of devising an anonymous means of contacting the Death Eaters. The plotters had plenty of useful equipment, such as several kinds of untraceable Portkeys. They were loath to use any of it because its Death Eater origin might give them away.

Nott decided to employ "Secret Admirer Missives" - a new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product. SAMs were charmed parchments marketed as aids for transmitting sensitive communications, such as love notes. Nott frowned as he recalled his second year, when that confounded dwarf had misdelivered his singing valentine to Millicent Bullstrode when it had been intended for Daphne Greengrass. SAMs were far more reliable, and one would do nicely as a ransom note.

As a further precaution, Nott decided to send the note to Gregg Goyle's father Murgatroyd - the least intelligent Death Eater anyone knew. Along with the glasses and hair, they enclosed a second SAM for receiving the Dark Lord's reply. The reply was to be left in a specified Muggle pillar box, painted a distinctive maroon colour, on the Bailiwick of Guernsey. Nott had already charmed the box to serve as a Portkey that activated only when touched by the SAM envelope. Fortunately, Nott knew as many spells as anyone in Slytherin house.

As a final security measure, the Portkey would only take the Dark Lord's reply to an open field a couple of miles from Malfoy Manor. Nott had bought and trained a Homing Zephyr to retrieve the letter from the field. The magic bird itself, regrettably, would not survive the security spells that protected the Manor, but the Dark Lord's reply would be delivered.

Until a deal was struck with the Dark Lord, the conspirators agreed that Potter should remain Stupefied most of the time. Every other day, Potter would be awakened so he could be fed, and so the Dementors could feed on his emotions for a few hours. Malfoy learnt from his father's Dark Arts library that the Dementors' ministrations would further ensure that Potter remained in a weakened state.

The honour of feeding Potter was delegated to Crabbe, whilst Nott and Malfoy stood guard with their wands at the ready. Nott was able to fashion a feeding device out of some old torture equipment that was left lying about when the Dark Lord departed. The resultant contraption could keep Potter's jaws open whether he wanted them that way or not. If Potter would not eat voluntarily, the device allowed him to be force-fed.

With his knowledge of potion ingredients, Malfoy added some power-robbing substances (Pogrebin fur, Glumbumble venom, stinging nettle, and grave wax) to the raw minced meat they intended to feed Potter. As an extra precaution, Malfoy employed the aspect of Nott's upbringing he had always despised the most - his familiarity with the Muggle world. At Draco's direction, Nott visited the mean streets of a nearby Muggle town and brought back a box of blues and two boxes of yellow jackets. Malfoy ground up the contents of the capsules and mixed it in the glop that passed for Potter's food.

Since Potter was dressed only in a rude cloak, he was left to relieve himself on the spot. They could Scourgify him as necessary to keep the odour from becoming too unpleasant.

Beyond all this, the conspirators had to wait - and take shifts showing themselves (one way or another) in wizard society so that they remained beyond suspicion. This was not the onerous task that it might have been, since practically all of the press and the Ministry were busy blaming (and looking for) Death Eaters.

* * * *

The morning after, as owls all over England (and beyond) were delivering newspapers with screaming headlines that announced Harry's likely demise, Hermione Granger was no longer screaming. Indeed, she was making no sound at all. Rather she was thinking - the same thoughts over and over again. Harry, the only boy about whom she had ever had "happily ever after" daydreams, was dead. She had felt it. Her life as she knew it … as she wanted to know it … was at an end.

Hermione was thoroughly convinced that Harry's death was the culmination of a long and dreary series of blunders and miscalculations on her part.

She had let her parents find out the truth about the danger that surrounded him.

Then, upon her return, she had assumed, logically but wrongly, that she was more or less entitled to his affections. Taking Harry for granted was probably her worst sin of all.

Thus, she had gotten careless and fumbled her moment with thoughtless words about "rich and famous."

She had overreacted both to Harry's fortune and further to her own parents' reaction to that fortune.

As a result, she had all but driven him into the arms of that woman in whose company he had been killed.

Finally, on the very day of his death she had overreacted one last time. Anger and hurt had filled the last words she would ever have the chance to speak to him - that she no longer wanted to see him.

She had not meant it. Not literally…. Not like this.… Not at all.…

Now he was dead.

Hermione's toxic thoughts mixed with equally gruesome images of death and destruction: collapsing buildings, roaring helicopters, screaming sirens - and above all fire. Everywhere her mind saw billowing, crackling, hellish fire. Under this onslaught her fragile psyche crumbled, leaving behind a despairing wreck. In that despair, dhe sealed herself away from the outside world.

She did not want to live in a world without Harry. She had been ready to accept her own death, even to embrace it. That she even remained alive had been contrary to her own will. Only by virtue of Tonks' brute force and some sort of Insensibility Potion had she been dragged away before she could make Harry's pyre her own. Hermione could not get over what had happened - what she had witnessed and what she had felt.

The girl was trapped in a mental prison of her own making, trying unsuccessfully to come to grips with what Harry's permanent absence from her life would entail. The sensations of Harry's death replayed endlessly, as if Sisyphus and his boulder were inside her brain. She could scarcely get her hands around the concept - let alone the reality.

They had been together for almost as long as her life had had meaning. Since they had both learnt they were magical, she and Harry had never been apart for more than the summer holidays. For years, he had simply been there, growing, sharing, and being.

That was over … forever.

He was gone … forever.

Contemplation of this dismal future went far beyond the loss of some childhood fantasies. Her own actions had ruined those. Hermione was not envisioning a lost lover - worse than that. She had to ponder the loss of the boy, almost a man, who had been her companion, friend, protector, and even confessor. He had saved her life against the troll, the Dementors, the Death Eaters, and the sabotage.

If not as profound, even more meaningful were the more mundane ways in which their routines had become enmeshed. Could she get through her days knowing that she would never have to nag him to study - or that he would never be there to nick a midnight snack for them from the kitchens? How could she stay up late studying, without him around to make her to go to bed? She would never have another chance to upbraid him for rule breaking, and he would never again entice her to break those same rules. He had been part of who she was, not to mention so much of what she had hoped to become. She felt like half of her was gone; the half that let her feel as though she were truly alive.

Together, all of these things, large and small, both unique and humdrum, had become more than the sum of their parts. Together, they constituted the most essential relationship she had ever known, excepting only her own parents, and they were leaving. She dreaded the thought of being back to Hogwarts without him. Almost everything here was soaked in his memory.

Since the moment Tonks had dragged her away from the site of Harry's immolation, Hermione had not spoken to anyone. The only conversation she desired was with Harry - whether in this world or the next - to apologise for everything she had done wrong. The only person who had spoken to her in the past several hours had been Madam Pomfrey, in whose Hospital Wing she now resided as the only patient.

Hermione was alone.

She had never felt so alone in her life.

Hermione continued to brood - reliving the horrid events for what seemed like the thousandth time - when she heard the door to the Hospital Wing slowly creak open. She lay still, with her eyes closed, feigning sleep. Hermione hoped that whoever it was, probably Madam Pomfrey, would just go away.

The visitor was not the Hogwarts charge nurse, and was not going away. Rather, this visitor was responsible for Hermione's presence in the Hospital Wing, and indeed upon the planet - for what was doomed to be a useless, barren existence.

When Tonks addressed her, the full measure of Hermione's terror returned in an instant. Eyes wide with fear, she scrambled to the far side of the bed, and pulled the duvet tightly around her shoulders.

"Hermione?" Tonks repeated. "I'm so sorry…, but I did what I had to do. I will never let you die if I can help it."

Expecting that the girl would not answer, Tonks continued. "I've come … because I have to give you something. If you'd rather not, I'll understand … but you're entitled."

A bit of the terror left Hermione's demeanour, but she remained mute and kept the bedclothes between herself and the young Auror.

"I…. I…. I know you've studied ahead in your training. I don't know how much, if anything, you've learnt about Auror traditions. I don't want to prejudge things…."

Tonks stopped. She took several deep breaths, trying to maintain her own composure. Hermione eyed her suspiciously.

"You see… When an Auror is … killed … killed in the line of duty, his or her partner customarily … receives the … dead … Auror's ring…. Oh Merlin!"

Tonks could not hold back her own tears and began sobbing. Hermione followed suit, and before the two of them knew it, they were crying in each other's arms. After a few minutes, Tonks realised that through mutual grief she had managed to reach Hermione, at least for the time being.

Pulling herself together, Tonks reached into a pocket in her maroon Auror's robe and produced a shining band of gold. "This is Harry's ring. I kept it last night when I gave his wand to Dumbledore. This rightfully belongs to you now, since you're the closest thing he ever had to a partner. It's yours if you want it. Do you…?"

For the longest time Hermione just stared at the ring that lay in the palm of Tonks' left hand. Finally, she cleared her throat with a couple of faint grunts, and barely audibly choked out, "Yes, I do…."

Without another word, Hermione clutched at Harry's ring. She rolled it around. It was hard and smooth between her fingers. She ran her forefinger around the inside of the band to feel the engraving of Harry's name. With a focus she could not have maintained only moments ago, Hermione took off her own ring, and laid it on the bedcovers, forgotten. Just as deliberately, she replaced it with Harry's ring. That ring glowed slightly and fitted itself perfectly to Hermione's finger.

Tonks flinched, hardly believing her eyes. Overcome with emotion, she mumbled an excuse and rushed from the Hospital Wing. She had to locate Mad-Eye Moody, her Auror mentor. He needed to hear what had just happened.

Her own limited experience with such ceremonies (Tonks was far too young to have served during the First War), as well as everything she had read, had taught her that what she had just witnessed should not have occurred. A deceased Auror's partner ring was inert - just as dead as the Auror who had worn it.

Harry's ring had not been.

Its reaction to Hermione's finger was a sign that Harry could be alive.…

She would not tell the girl - not yet. No use encouraging false hopes.

After Tonks left, an exhausted Hermione sought, and soon found, sleep - the horrid memories laid aside, at least for a while. As she dozed off she whispered to herself, "as long as I shall live … or both of us…."

Elsewhere, Neville was sending urgent owls to Ginny, Ron, and Luna. He told them that he had tried to owl Hermione, but the family owl had returned with his letter unopened - and carrying a second envelope with the Hogwarts crest. Inside had been a terse two-line note from Madam Pomfrey to the effect that Hermione was "indisposed."

The falsity of that statement had been palpable. Neville knew Hermione better than that, which was why he had written to her in the first place. Under the circumstances, Hermione would not be "indisposed." Unless incapacitated for some reason, she of all people would be frantically busy, trying to find Harry. Either way the remainder of "the six" should be with her.

* * * *

It was enough to make Fosdick Napier rue the day he had decided to take the Dark Mark. After Potter's Marauders struck, he had been forced to quit his mid-level post with Wizland Revenue to avoid being exposed by the Veritaserum-fueled witch- and wizard-hunts taking place throughout the Ministry. Each person caught seemed to expose two more, as the Ministry rolled up large parts of the Death Eaters' spy ring.

So Napier had fled, only a couple of steps ahead of the Aurors. The Dark Lord had assigned him the relatively harmless task of monitoring news events. Suddenly the biggest news story in years had landed squarely in his lap - and the story was all wrong.

It what had to be a first, the Muggle Times of London and the Daily Prophet carried the same page-one photo - the roaring London firestorm framed by the skeletal girders of the under construction London Eye. …Only the flames in the Prophet's photo still danced.

Unfortunately for Napier, the Dark Lord was in the habit of shooting - or at least Cruciating - the messenger. Napier had initially borne the brunt of his Master's towering rage at the thought of someone other than he and his Death Eaters successfully abducting or killing Harry Potter. That pleasure was to be his prerogative, and his alone.

Lord Voldemort had scarcely finished digesting this news when, only a few hours later, a dazed Murgatroyd Goyle more or less stumbled into his presence. Practically babbling, Goyle produced an anonymous note that he said had suddenly appeared amongst his things. It had been typed on joke shop paper using an old manual Muggle typewriter:

Murgatroyd Goyle is hereby commanded to deliver this message to His Excellency Lord Voldemort:

Master:

We have Potter. Enclosed are his glasses and some of his hair, which we invite you to test to verify the truth of our claim.

We wish to serve you by delivering Potter into your hands. All we ask is that you first ensure the freedom of your eleven faithful servants who were captured by the Ministry in June.

Upon word of their release, we shall deliver Potter.

We await your reply. Please advise us of your wishes using the provided envelope….

The remainder of the letter contained detailed mailing instructions. It was signed "The Potterless Conspiracy."

"No one engages Lord Voldemort in negotiations!" the Dark Lord thundered. "I do not negotiate. There will be no response to this letter." A flash of fire incinerated the offending letter and envelope.

Voldemort instantly made a decision. "No true Death Eater shall rest until Potter, and the upstarts who claim to have him, are found and brought before me. Then I shall make my `wishes' known." The Dark Lord seized Goyle's arm, touched his wand to Goyle's mark, and urgently summoned his Death Eaters.

Behind his bluster, Lord Voldemort pondered how wizards outside his control had not only done what his own Death Eaters had failed repeatedly to do - capture Harry Potter - but had accomplished the feat in so spectacular a manner. Those pretenders were indeed talented. Should they be suitably "domesticated," wizards possessing this level of skill and power might well make useful Death Eaters.

The Dark Lord vowed that, at all costs, he would find Harry Potter before the Ministry or the Order did.

* * * *

Totally oblivious to the Dark Lord's fury, the Dursleys were dispiritedly gathering up Harry's belongings and packing them into Harry's trunk - which seemed to have a remarkable storage capacity. Even Uncle Vernon participated for a short while, making sure that his belated birthday present to Harry was included.

"Crying shame he never got to use it much," Vernon grunted as he placed the laptop amongst Harry's textbooks and T-shirts.

"Don't be so sure he won't," Dudley responded. One-handedly, Harry's cousin dropped into the trunk all of the music CDs that he thought Harry had liked. He added the electric shaver he had gotten Harry for his birthday, as well as a pair of Harry-sized boxing gloves that he had bought after he heard the news. Dudley showed his rather shocked parents the loose floorboard under which Harry had stored additional possessions. Not much was there, apart from disgustingly stale food items, but Dudley did manage to fish out a couple of books of photographs.

Vernon and Dudley attempted without success to remove the odd empty picture frame from above Harry's old bed. Defying both their best efforts, it refused to budge. Finally the two of them decided to leave it for whoever would be collecting and removing Harry's personal effects.

Aunt Petunia finished packing after the menfolk left. This was probably her last contact with her dead sister's son. He was with her now. Petunia retrieved from its hiding place the only thing that she still had from Lily - a sheaf of letters written mostly during Lily's first five years at Hogwarts. These letters largely predated an estrangement that arose from a combination of Petunia's jealousy and Lily's obstinacy.

Emptying the contents of Harry's desk, Aunt Petunia could not avoid Harry's prominently placed, unmailed letter. She shook her head at its contents, muttering "that man." Even though it probably no longer meant anything, she took care to place it on top of Harry's trunk after the packing was complete. The only things not packed away in Harry's trunk were Hedwig's cage (the owl might return), the bizarre contraption that Aunt Petunia supposed was Harry's broom, and the even odder blinking device on Harry's desk that (like the picture frame) would not allow her to move it. In spite of herself, Aunt Petunia squeezed back tears as she gently drew the drapes and shut the door to Harry's room.

* * * *

"Headmaster, it is as I feared, I have been summoned. It is a strong summons, reflecting the Dark Lord's urgency."

Looking up from his desk, Dumbledore's eyes met the intense gaze and very pale countenance of his long-time Potions Master. "Very well. Let us step outside, shall we?"

Snape followed Dumbledore outside to the Headmaster's private balcony that overlooked most of the Hogwarts grounds. The bright sunlit grounds mocked both of their melancholy feelings. The balcony was used for only the most private of discussions - those too sensitive even for the ears of Hogwarts' prior headmasters. This was such a conversation.

"As you know, I may not be able to return," Snape began. "The Dark Lord may not care about my supposed spying against you any longer. If so, I will attempt to contact you, but in that event you must be prepared to use the backup plan, regardless of the political cost…."

"I am ready, Severus," interrupted Dumbledore. He placed his arm on the shoulder of the wizard he had rescued and spent years rehabilitating. "Are you?"

"We both know that I have no choice but to be ready. I have the necessary equipment," Snape responded. "The miniature Portkey I have developed is absolutely undetectable. It has been thoroughly tested. If I can possibly get it into Potter's hands, I will. It will instantaneously bring the boy here, directly to your office. Unfortunately, I have been unable to overcome its other drawbacks. The miniaturisation still prevents it from transporting more than one person…."

"Severus," Dumbledore sighed, "if there were any other way, I would not call upon you to do this. You have suffered enough.…"

"I do not fear death," Snape responded coolly. "That is a known consequence of the vow. It is an unavoidable risk in my line of work. Have you given any thought to my replacement?"

"I have, but that is not important," Dumbledore replied. "What is important is this. You have my solemn word, Severus, that regardless of the backup plan, the wizard world will one day know the truth about your sacrifice - if I have to bestow upon you my own Order of Merlin to prove it. You will not have lived, nor died, in vain."

Snape responded, in a voice as devoid of emotion as Dumbledore's had just been grandiloquent. "As you know, Headmaster, I view that as entirely unnecessary - although I appreciate it nonetheless. Now I cannot keep the Dark Lord waiting, or he might become suspicious. Good bye."

"I have more faith in you than that, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "Au revoir, my friend." Dumbledore embraced the clearly uncomfortable younger man.

He then took his leave. Shortly, the Headmaster was watching the sternly erect figure of Severus Snape descending the stairs at a fast clip, his robes billowing in his inimitable style. "And good luck," Dumbledore added, mostly to himself.

* * * *

"Wake up, you bastard," The Death Eater's obviously false, tinny voice growled as he cast the Enervating Spell on Potter.

Slowly, the manacled and spread-eagled boy started to stir. He was wearing only an old workrobe bought in a second-hand store, and a thick hood cut from another old robe. Even though Harry was heavily hooded, the three kidnappers wore Death Eater robes and masks to further conceal their identities.

"Wha…."

"Don't say anything, Potter. Just listen. You're here until the Dark Lord decides what to do with you. One false move and you'll regret it…. Crucio!"

Caught completely by surprise, Harry writhed in pain, his manacles clanking until they pulled taut. The Death Eater before him ended the curse after only a few seconds - before Harry could even think about resorting to countermeasures.

"As you see, I am fully capable of carrying out my threats," the masked figure continued. "You will be unconscious most of the time. It is better for us all that way. However, you must be fed. Be aware of the device in your mouth. Resistance is futile. If you don't eat voluntarily, we will force you."

Harry gave a soft grunt of assent. Black depression gripped his soul. He no longer really cared what happened to him. The latest person to love him, like all those before her, was dead because of it. Eliza's final screams still echoed through his mind….

The only one he could have turned to now … Hermione … was estranged…. That was all for the better, he supposed. At least he would not be bringing about her death too. Her last words to him - harsh ones - also coursed through his brain.

Harry's hood lifted slightly, and the largest of the Death Eaters fed him. Harry put up no fight. The feeding was without incident.

The hood was replaced, completely obscuring Harry's vision. He dimly heard one of the Death Eaters declare, "Now for the second feeding."

The screams and voices in Harry's head grew louder. Feeling a frosty coldness overcoming him, he did not need to see to know what was happening. Dementors were feeding on his thoughts and he was powerless to do anything about it…. He was done for.… Nobody could reach him here.… Nobody knew - or cared - where he was…. Just let Voldemort come for him quickly.…

* * * *

Hermione awoke depressed. No surprise there. She had gone to sleep depressed. Except for the forbidden realm of Necromancy, death was final, permanent, and immutable. Harry was dead, because of her….

"Aaaarrrrggggghhhh!!!" The sudden onset of pain was so intense it caused her to break her self-imposed silence. Just as suddenly, it stopped. Briefly, Hermione was befuddled. There was no reason for that kind of pain. Even in her present state, she was not resorting to self-mutilation. The pain was gone, but she still felt strange.…

Then, clever girl that Hermione was, she put two and two together.

"HARRY'S ALIVE!!!" she screeched. Hermione violently flung back the bedclothes and hit the floor running. "HE'S ALIVE!" she called out as she flew towards the Hospital Wing door.

It was locked. She was without her wand.

"MADAM POMFREY! YOU'VE GOT TO LET ME OUT!" Hermione yelled as she pounded on the door with her fists. "HE'S ALIVE! I'VE GOT TO SEE DUMBLEDORE!"

The woman Hermione was calling staggered sleepily out of her office. Madam Pomfrey had been up all night on the Floo connection consulting with magical London on treatments for victims of the calamity, and had finally taken a moment to nap. "Hermione, you're not going anywhere until I have you thoroughly.…"

"Poppy, he's alive!" Hermione squealed. "I have to tell Dumbledore."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Madam Pomfrey corrected. Then she smiled a gentle smile of hope that surprised Hermione, who rarely saw the matronly nurse step outside of her steadfastly professional demeanor. "I'll call the Headmaster down here straightaway. You go back to your bed. You're probably not strong enough after all you've been through. This is the best news we've had since this whole mess started."

Madam Pomfrey strode quickly to her still smouldering fireplace, brought the flames to full flower with a swish of her wand, tossed in some Floo powder from the container on the mantelpiece, and yelled, "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!"

"I am in an important meeting," the Headmaster's voice wheezed back.

"Whatever it is, this is more important," Madam Pomfrey shot back. "Miss Granger has something to tell you."

Seconds later the door to the Hospital Wing clicked open, and Headmaster Dumbledore walked in. A couple of minutes later he was followed by Professor McGonagall, and Tonks, who both looked out of breath.

Hermione saw him immediately. "Professor, it's my affinity. I've sensed Harry. He's alive. Not well, mind you, he feels as if he's in awful shape, actually. Probably the Cruciatus Curse. But he's not dead, he's alive. We've got to find him."

She said this all incredibly fast.

She felt passing strange - one of the strangest feelings she had ever experienced. It was as if she were going through both phases of a manic-depressive attack at the same time. She was exhilarated. She had never been so relieved in her life. On the other hand, from Harry she was receiving feelings of utter depression, leavened only by brief periods of horror. She struggled to maintain an even keel.

"That is indeed wonderful news, Miss Granger," Dumbledore responded. "It is also wonderful to have you back amongst us. I hate to request this of you so soon after all you've been through, but once Madam Pomfrey approves, I shall need for you to tell me everything you can about Mister Potter since the time you last saw him. You are the only one with any idea what happened."

Hermione looked at Madam Pomfrey with hope burning in her eyes. "When can we start?" she asked.

The Head Nurse intended to give Hermione a full physical, which was standard healing practice after such an ordeal. However, she had faith in the outcome. She could see it in her patient's eyes. They had been lifeless and leaden before. Now they sparkled with all their prior intellectual intensity - intensity that had prompted the formidable nurse to select the girl without hesitation for the new Ministry project, even though Hermione was only starting Sixth Year.

Hermione demanded that the physical begin at once, and Madam Pomfrey cheerfully complied. Even before the tests were complete, the girl started giving Dumbledore her recollections. Finally, she asked Dumbledore the question that had been percolating in her mind for the past several minutes. "What do you want me to do now? We have to find Harry."

Upon hearing that question, Dumbledore looked not at Hermione, but at Professor McGonagall. The Gryffindor Head of House shot him back a hard look. Dumbledore turned to Hermione, started to say something, stopped, and looked at McGonagall again. She stared back at him, eyes even narrower and lips even tighter than before.

Dumbledore sighed and turned back to Hermione. "Miss Granger, your foremost need at present is to look after your own recovery. There is only one thing I want you to do at this point, and that is to let me try to sever your affinity with Mister Potter, as you have requested several times over the past week."

Briefly the unmistakable look of terror returned to Hermione's eyes, but she did not retreat into her previous quasi-catatonic state. Far from it.

"I WILL NOT!!" she roared. "NO AND HELL NO!! I can't do that. It's the only way I know he's alive, and if he's alive, I'm alive. We need to do just the opposite! We have to use my affinity to find Harry. It's the only contact we've got!"

"Miss Granger, please listen to reason," Professor McGonagall cut in. "The Order … the Ministry … even the Muggles are doing everything possible to find Potter. As you know, he possesses very powerful but not altogether controlled, magical abilities."

"I don't care…. He won't hurt me!" Hermione insisted.

"But it's not just him - or even mostly him," McGonagall went on. "At any time, Voldemort could attack him. Wherever Potter is, he's under great stress. Either directly, or through the affinity, Voldemort could do something that may harm you. As your Head of House, I must consider the welfare of all of my students. Therefore, I must second Albus' recommendation that we try to sever the affinity."

"NO!" Hermione reiterated. "Now you listen to reason! You haven't the foggiest where Harry is or what may be happening to him. The only link that we have to him is right here." Hermione pointed to her own skull. "It's insane to throw away the only source of information that we have. Harry's too important not to do everything we can. I don't care about myself.… I accept whatever risk there might be."

Exasperated, Professor McGonagall threw up her hands and looked back at Dumbledore as if to say `I told you so.' The Headmaster shrugged and remarked, "She speaks the truth, Minerva. I cannot deny it."

"Then that's settled," Hermione pronounced. "Now is there any spell that we can use to let me communicate with Harry, or at least see what he does? He's told me that he's sometimes done that with … with Voldemort - seen what he sees, that is."

Dumbledore started to say something, but Professor McGonagall cut him off. "There is no such spell that we know of. Give us some credit, Miss Granger. I have consulted with everyone on the faculty and nobody is familiar with any such spell."

"Then may I use the library, please?" Hermione asked.

McGonagall huffed audibly. "Very well, Miss Granger, you may use the library. But first, you must return to your home. Your parents are very worried, and, frankly, until you called for Albus, I was uncertain what I could possibly tell them. They will be leaving the country soon, and it behoves you to say your good-byes."

Hermione started to say something, but stopped. As much as she would rather have denied it, the logic of her Head of House was ineluctable. She really had to agree with that.

Madam Pomfrey pronounced the girl to be in acceptable physical health. When her clothes and wand were returned to her, she asked for "thirty minutes" before Tonks took her home. Dumbledore agreed, and Hermione was off like a shot - but she turned in the opposite direction from the library.

"Where are you going, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall called out.

"To the Owlery," she called over her shoulder. "I'm going to need some reinforcements."

"We need to talk," Professor McGonagall said to Dumbledore with her hands firmly on her hips. "Please see me in my office when you're done here." She strode out the door.

Dumbledore chatted for several minutes with Madam Pomfrey, satisfying himself that Hermione was indeed as suddenly recovered as she appeared. She left for her laboratory to perform a couple more confirmatory tests, and the Headmaster exited through the door opposite to have what he knew would be a difficult chat with his deputy.

As he was about to shut the door to the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore noticed something small and shiny in the corner of the room. He Summoned it. It was Hermione's own Auror ring, which had been flung across the room when the girl had leapt from her bed upon sensing that Harry was alive. Dumbledore paused, dropped it in his pocket, and closed the door behind him.

"Minerva, you wished to see me?" the Headmaster announced himself as he entered her office.

"I most certainly do," she answered. "I feel the need to reiterate what we've discussed before. As Granger's Head of House, I am the one most directly responsible for her safety, and I do not want her doing anything that we will live to regret."

"Nor do I," Dumbledore agreed.

"Your agenda, as always, is more complicated," McGonagall replied accurately. "I think I can ensure that she doesn't find what she is looking for in our library, and I want to make sure that you won't let slip that…."

"And why would I do anything like that?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Don't play dumb with me," McGonagall warned. "You know full well that if Granger ever finds out that there is a way - even though it's a curse - she will not be satisfied until you perform it on her, regardless of the danger…. And the danger is extreme…."

"Are you certain of that?" Dumbledore asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Absolutely!" she replied emphatically.

"Why, then, would Miss Granger behave in such a self-destructive fashion?" Dumbledore asked - more rhetorically than anything else.

McGonagall responded with her own rhetorical question. "Albus, has it really been so long that you can no longer tell? Isn't it as obvious to you as it is to me that she is hopelessly in love with him?"

Dumbledore conjured an armchair and sat down heavily. Pausing, choosing carefully what to say, he finally answered. "It is indeed. I have pondered this … development … for some time. Please tell me what you know."

Professor McGonagall did. "As I was going to have Tonks tell you - before we were interrupted - Granger blames herself for what has happened. She had some sort of altercation with Potter shortly before, and…. Blast it…. Oh very well…. He was being intimate … with another woman when he was attacked."

"That is not good," Dumbledore muttered. "Not good at all … for either of them."

"Too right," McGonagall responded. "In any event, she refused to tell Tonks what the altercation entailed, but Granger believes that the Death Eaters killed this other woman, and, so she thought, Potter. Albus, I am convinced that she will do anything, to the point of risking her own life … and beyond … to find Potter."

"I cannot disagree," Dumbledore replied. "But this is a conversation that we can revisit later if there is a need. For the time being, I ask you to remember I am the Headmaster here. If I feel that it is necessary to inform Miss Granger of the spell…."

"Curse," Professor McGonagall corrected.

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore answered calmly. "If all else fails, there may come a time when I would have to ask her to do what you are telling me she probably would demand to do anyway, if she knew, because…."

"In which case, I shall resign, Albus," McGonagall shot back, her Scots burr deepening with her emotions. "It is not ethical. I have made a pledge to keep all of my students safe, not just Potter. Hermione Granger is the most accomplished witch I have encountered since I've been teaching…. More focussed than Lily Evans; better rounded than Abigail Rosen."

"I might well say the same of Mister Potter," Dumbledore said, "but that is not the point. You see, there is…."

"It is precisely the point, Albus," McGonagall argued. "We need her, as well as him to fight this war…."

"Please let me finish, Minerva," chided Dumbledore. "As I was going to say, Mister Potter is the war. As with everyone else, I have told you only so much about the prophecy as I thought that you needed to know. I am afraid that now you need to know everything about it…."

* * * *

Headmaster Dumbledore was just leaving the office of his rather shaken deputy when Dobby appeared, running full tilt. He careened around the corner and slid right into Dumbledore's feet.

"Master, sir," the freed house-elf squeaked, "you has asked me to find you right away if the gadget on your shelf near the window started clattering.… Well, it has!"

"Thank you, Dobby," the Headmaster said calmly.

"Minerva!" he called out. "You should come with me. I believe that there is word from Arthur."

When they reached the Headmaster's office the odd silver apparatus was still clattering away, its staccato drumbeat caused by a sharp point perforating a foil cylinder. Two completed cylinders lay on the floor. Dumbledore scooped them up and started reading the markings. "Remarkable," he said. Reading further, he continued, "excellent, far better than we had reason to expect."

"What is it, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

"The French wizard parliament, the Fifth Estate, met through the night," Dumbledore replied gravely. "They have just issued a formal declaration of war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Arthur says that news of what happened in London - the great fire and the attack on Mister Potter - was the catalyst for this action. We no longer stand alone."

"If we are indeed at war together, then we need to make plans right away," McGonagall added. "As allies we should liaise at all levels."

* * * *

"I'll answer it, Mum!" Hermione yelled whilst walking smartly to the front door. This was their last day together before Mum left for Australia. Daddy was already en route, although he had been forced to take the Eurostar to Paris because Heathrow remained shut down. Mum would follow by train and tramp steamer, riding herd over the furniture.

Soon Hermione would be meeting the buyer of the house. Her parents had told her that the new owner had graciously agreed to let her stay on until the beginning of the term (something she was not now planning to do). That meeting, however, was not scheduled for several hours. She wondered who could be calling.

Looking at the caller through the peephole, Hermione was flabbergasted.

"Who is it, dear?" her mother called from upstairs.

Hermione said nothing, and did nothing. The door opened with a soft click and Albus Dumbledore entered. But this was a Dumbledore she had never seen before. He was conservatively dressed in a brown Harris Tweed suit-coat with suede elbow cutouts, wine coloured corduroys, a tan turtleneck sweater, and black patent leather shoes. His considerably shortened beard and hair were neatly trimmed. He could have been an Oxford don, rather than Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"You.… You.… You can't come here…. Not today," Hermione stammered. "The new owners are expected. I don't want them to think I'm at all out of the ordinary. They've agreed to let me stay on."

Hermione's mum had come to the reconstructed marble balustrade overlooking the foyer. "You're early," she said. "You aren't expected until tea."

Hermione whirled around and gawked at her mum, dumbfounded. Then she whirled back around and gawked even more at the Headmaster. "You.… You're.…"

"Yes, Miss Granger, I am the new owner," Dumbledore answered. "That is what I wished to talk with you about before the others arrived."

There was no furniture left in the house, except in Hermione's room, so they chatted there. The first thing she learnt is that she did not have to leave home at all. Dumbledore informed her that she could keep her room permanently, or for as long as she liked, and invited her to return for any Hogwarts holiday. "As Order Headquarters, it will become the safest place in the British Isles," he assured her.

Dumbledore explained that the Order would start moving in the following day, after her mum left. A number of wizards Hermione did not know would be arriving to begin the process of installing protective wards. By the time they were finished, the house would become just as undetectable to Muggles as Grimmauld Place had been. Dumbledore invited Hermione to be present for his casting of the Fidelius Charm over the property, so she would have uninterrupted access to her home.

Grimmauld Place had become a security concern, so the Order had removed itself to Hogwarts. The school, however, had its own considerable drawbacks, not the least of which being the approaching return of the student body. The Order had been searching for a suitable headquarters in the London area, but none of the sites offered by the Ministry had been acceptable. When (shortly after trying to slug Harry) Hermione's father had expressed a desire to leave England after the first round of Death Eater attacks, Dumbledore had offered to purchase the house. Dr. Granger had set a stiff price - over three million pounds - but Dumbledore had eventually agreed on behalf of the Order.

"That has to be a drain on the Order's resources," Hermione commented. "You should have let me see if I could talk my father down. Are you certain that you can afford this extravagant place?"

"The Order does not want for financing, as we have a benefactor," Dumbledore said sincerely. "In fact, that brings me to the reason for my early arrival. I need to discuss our benefactor with you."

Hermione deduced the identity almost immediately. "H-H-Harry?" she asked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "Mister Potter provided the Order with the funds to purchase this house. I have no doubt that he will provide the Order with whatever it may require in the future…."

"Assuming we can get him back." Hermione added.

"Correct, as usual," Dumbledore sighed. "And that is where I need your help. Mister Potter was scheduled to testify thrice during the week preceding the students' return to Hogwarts: at Madam Umbridge's trial, at what will probably be the final hearing on the Black inheritance, and at the Death Eater trial. I would like very much for you to appear in his stead. In particular, I know how you view the Black inheritance, but we simply cannot allow it to fall into the hands of those who have taken Harry. Indeed, that may be why the Death Eaters struck when they did."

Upon finishing, Dumbledore looked expectantly at Hermione. The Headmaster had laid it on as thickly as he could, knowing full well the girl's oft-expressed disgust with the slave trading origins of the Black fortune. Now, he could only hope it would be enough. In this, Hermione could not be overawed, intimidated, bribed, or bamboozled. But she might be persuaded….

Hermione hesitated. "I'm already testifying against Umbridge," she observed. "I don't know how much I could add to the other two. I lost consciousness fairly early at the Ministry, and I don't know anything about Harry's inheritance."

"You are not the only one being asked to testify at the Death Eater trial," Dumbledore replied. "Mister Longbottom has already agreed, and we may now have to call some of the others. As for the inheritance, you met Sirius Black several times, and your testimony will corroborate both his innocence and Mister Potter's depth of feeling…."

"Love," Hermione broke in.

"…Yes, love, between Mister Potter and his godfather," Dumbledore continued. "We also need to reassure the Wizengamot about Mister Potter as a person. As Chief Justice, I cannot testify. Indeed, I am pushing my technical neutrality just by asking you. But frankly, I think you are ideally situated to do that."

"What about Ron?" Hermione protested.

Dumbledore responded, "Our opponents know about the incident with the intelligence unit…."

"The what?" Hermione asked archly.

"The brain in the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore elaborated. "It may well have affected Mister Weasley's perceptions. It has certainly affected his personality. All in all, it makes him a less than ideal witness. More than that, it would not be proper for me to tell you."

Hermione began thinking things over. Dumbledore waited expectantly, not sure what her response would be.

"You know what they will attack me with," Hermione muttered, her eyes downcast.

"I have no doubt that our opponents - and I include Madam Umbridge in that category - will attempt to defame both you and Mister Potter in any way possible," Dumbledore answered. "Since Mister Potter cannot defend himself at present, his good name rests largely in your hands."

Hermione stiffened. She was well aware of Draco Malfoy's utterly scandalous and utterly baseless testimony at the initial Umbridge inquiry. Dumbledore was right. If she testified at all, she would have to confront this sort of slander. After what had happened to Harry, her testimony was key. She was not one to allow herself to be scared into silence, especially now, with Harry being held somewhere, unable to defend himself. She thought carefully about what Malfoy had said about her - her and Harry.

Dumbledore continued to make his case. "You see, the case for Sirius Black's innocence was overwhelming. On the facts, we should win easily…."

"But the Wizengamot's not necessarily bound by what's true," Hermione half asked and half declared.

"Unfortunately, as with all institutions that wield power, that is the case," Dumbledore allowed. "Something more is needed. Specifically, it would be advisable to mollify the more conservative members of the Wizengamot. They need to be reassured that, despite Mister Potter's - and your - position on magical equality … that he is a responsible Wizard and is of high moral character…."

Hermione's ire rose. "Despite…?"

"That is how they think," Dumbledore plunged ahead. "That is what we are up against in Harry's case."

"And he's not around to convince them," Hermione observed.

"Quite," Dumbledore responded. "Thus, in Mister Potter's absence, the Wizengamot needs to hear from you - particularly since most of the rumours that have circulated about him also concern you." The Headmaster paused; he was almost at the end of his persuasive powers.

"I'll do it," Hermione blurted. "But there are two conditions."

Dumbledore stiffened. He thought he knew what her conditions would be. Minerva would skin him for this, but it was essential….

Hermione rattled off quite different terms. "I want full access to the Hogwarts library, to try to find out if there's some way to use my affinity to rescue Harry - and that includes the Restricted Section. I also want to bring several people to Hogwarts to help me, if they'll agree to come, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Luna, and the Creeveys."

Dumbledore allowed himself to breathe again. "I can certainly arrange that," he said. "Mister Longbottom already sent an owl to you inquiring along those lines. That was before you recovered."

"I'd also like to complete the Auror training to the maximum extent possible," Hermione added. More than the training, Hermione wanted to keep the Aural Pensieve and the Auror materials that came with it. She intended to search them thoroughly for information about affinities.

"You have stated more than two conditions," Dumbledore observed.

Hermione did not think her request unreasonable. "So sue me," she replied.

"Very well, I am agreed," Dumbledore answered. "Provided that I can persuade the Aurors to spare the personnel to continue."

By then Hermione was hardly listening to the Headmaster. She had gotten an idea. "And I'd like to talk to Hagrid," she added.

"That will be no problem at all," Dumbledore assured her. "May I ask what for…?"

"You're Chief Justice of the Wizengamot. I'd rather you not know, as it involves my testimony. I don't even know if it will work. I'd rather discuss it with Hagrid first," Hermione replied.

Dumbledore knew better than to pry further. He had gotten what he had come for. He would not jeopardise it with unnecessary further questions. Hagrid was congenitally unable to keep a secret anyway.

Hermione had one more subject of great concern. "What about my parents in Australia? I still don't think they fully comprehend how evil Voldemort is. I'm worried about them."

"They will be watched," Dumbledore affirmed. "From a distance, necessarily, but our influence extends to the Australian Ministry, thanks again to Mister Potter."

"What could Harry possibly have to do with Australia?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. "Until a few weeks ago, he had never even been across the Channel."

"Mister Potter does not even know it yet, but the scope of his own family trusts is quite extensive," Dumbledore answered. "There were Potters in Australia shortly after the First Fleet. Two Potters, Ian and Mary, endowed substantial trusts that persist to this day."

"Do you mean…?" gasped Hermione.

"Precisely," responded Dumbledore. "Whilst your parents think they are escaping from Mister Potter by moving to Australia, the Potter name probably wields more influence Down Under than in Britain itself. Thus, do not be overly concerned for your parents' safety."

They chatted a while longer about arrangements. Dumbledore asked for a tour of the house, which he had never seen from the inside. Hermione and her mother provided the inspection. Then the doorbell began ringing and the people who would be attending the closing started arriving. Hermione excused herself and went to her room.

The Order would begin warding the place tomorrow. Soon there would be enough magic permeating her house that her Muggle gadgets would no longer operate. That forced Hermione's hand. There would be no more opportunity to put it off, not if she desired the privacy of her own home, which she did. Before setting out to try to save Harry - and especially before succeeding (if she ever did) - she had to know…. Had he been telling the truth?

There was one way to find out. She had to do what Harry had done. She locked the door. After fortifying herself as if she were sitting for an important examination, Hermione booted up her computer. "Okay," she muttered, "now to learn exactly how badly I bollixed things up…." Uncertain as to what she would find, she tried several phonetic approximations of what she remembered Harry saying. Finally, she typed "L-I-K-O--M-E-E" into a search engine.

It was not long before Hermione had her answer. It devastated her, but made her all the more determined to find Harry. He had been telling the truth, and she had not believed him. She had slapped him for trying to tell the truth…. That… that… that scarlet woman had been Cho, all right. Hermione was almost 100% certain of that, only the blue eyes were out of place. She downloaded a few pictures to her photo editing program and cut away everything but the tattoos. `Luna is in Cho's House,' she thought. `Maybe she can identify these - just to make sure.'

Then it was over. Hermione turned off the computer, put her head in her hands, and wept. Harry … wonderful Harry … had not been lying to her or trying to corrupt her. He had been honest … and worried…. She had been so upset with everything that had been going on that she had refused to listen to him, turned on him, struck him, and said hateful things to him - things she would give anything in the world to take back. Harry had almost died as a result. He remained in mortal peril.

Hermione made up her mind then and there that she simply had to see Harry again to set things right. That meant that Harry had to be found. She would rescue Harry from wherever he was - or she would die trying.

And after she had, either way, she would never make the same mistake again.

* * * *

Fred and George had been there before, twice, but never under these circumstances. Harry's Muggle relatives were loathsome, but far better that he stay with them for the rest of his life than this….

Dressed most uncomfortably in Muggle clothes selected by their little sister, Fred and George were beginning to doubt the wisdom of their decision to undertake this assignment. They reminded each other, however, that Number Four Privet Drive was one place they could reliably count upon encountering wizards using Invisibility Cloaks and sophisticated concealment charms. The extreme Muggle sensibilities of Harry's relatives demanded no less.

The Twins could not pass up the prospect of being able to field test their first inventions since volunteering their services as "Armourers to the Order" in the wake of Harry's disappearance. As they approached the house they scattered small objects resembling mushrooms.

"Now, Fred, a small bit of magic, if you please," requested George.

"How about a Cheering Charm?" Fred asked.

"Perfect. I could certainly use one right about now," George replied.

"I didn't mean for you, I meant for me," Fred declared.

Fred performed a Cheering Charm on himself. The harmless magic nonetheless set off the detectors that ringed Harry's old house. The detail watching the area, alerted that the two young men were magicals, moved in from all sides.

Pfoosh. Pfoosh. Two of their number lit up in the gaudiest pink ever to grace the staid Dursley residence. A smaller pfoosh, resulting in a pink streak, signified that the Twins would also soon have a bone to pick with Mrs. Figg.

The successful field test of WWW's new "Shocking Pinks" detection devices was a low-key celebration for Fred and George. First, they had to do some explaining to their compatriots in the Order, who were not at all pleased at being made unknowing guinea pigs in the experiment. Nerves were on edge after the attack, and the Twins narrowly avoided being on the receiving end of some nasty spellwork. Second, their larger mission was not a happy one. They had come to collect Harry's things and to bring them to Hogwarts Castle.

"Weasley pick up and delivery," they announced in unison when Dudley opened the door. He recognised them at once, despite their Muggle garb. He gave them a wide berth, since they might not know he had become much less antagonistic towards Harry since the last time he had encountered the Twins.

The Twins conducted their business in a businesslike fashion. They disconnected the Communicator and magicked the Gryffindor portrait from the wall. Then they hefted everything down to the kerb, pulled out their wands, and hailed the Knight Bus. Once aboard, they purchased tickets to Hogsmeade and quickly changed into more normal clothing. They took due regard of Harry's unmailed letter.

"Bloody Hell! Look at this, will you," exclaimed Fred.

"I would be happy to, if you'd let me see it," replied George. Fred passed the letter over, and George perused it.

"Just as well it's nobody else from our family," George commented. "But I've got to believe Harry had gone daft when he decided to do this. The old man will be just as daft if he agrees."

"He's already daft," Fred replied.

"Good point," George agreed.

The Twins were not the only ones headed for Hogwarts. In response to Hermione's owls, five Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw were cutting their holiday short and making immediate arrangements to leave for Scotland.

* * * *

Author's notes: A talent spotter is what Americans call a scout

The Italian League is where US basketball players not good enough to play in the NBA wind up

Harking back to the Great Fire of 1666 is hyperbole, since the Blitz was at least as bad

This is the first, and perhaps, only use of "fuck" in the story. Only in this extreme circumstance (and being uttered by Ron) do I think it's appropriate

Harry's number is from the movie, not the books

The "England, Harry, and St. George" line is from Shakespeare's Henry V

Showtime, point chaser and Magic all evoke Magic Johnson

Neville knows enough about the prophecy to worry about, if not Harry, then who. The concept of a cup passing is biblical

Parting as sweet sorrow is from Romeo & Juliet

Filial piety is the Chinese concept of children being absolutely loyal to and sacrificing for their parents, and by extension, to ancestors generally

Ventricular fibrillation is the most serious and fatal form of heart arrhythmia

Lady Deathstrike is a cartoon character, Asian with long claw-like fingernails

Use of explosives to clear out empty space has been used for centuries to stop fires, perhaps most dramatically in San Francisco in 1906

Ron's and Fudge's reaction upon hearing that Harry may well be dead are quite similar

More Shakespeare - praising versus burying is from Julius Caesar

The reporter's name combines Westbrook Pegler and Edward R. Murrow, two famous news reporters

The amulet of command controls Dementors and repels lethifolds

Draco later will not think enough about the origins of these powerful enchantments

A pillar box is a British mailbox; this is the first one ever erected

Grave wax is real stuff

Blues and jellow jackets are British street slang for seconal and nembutal

In Greek myth, Sisyphus is condemned to push a boulder up a mountain over and over again, only to have it go rolling back down

Wizland Revenue is a take off on "Inland Revenue," the division of British Government that administers taxes

Uncle Vernon always has ulterior motives. Note that both a laptop and a shaver are included in Harry's effects

Resistance is futile is a Borg line

Dumbledore will utilize Hermione's ring to good effect

So, now McGonagall knows the prophecy. Hermione does not, although she would disagree

I made one of the unknown apparatus in Dumbledore's office a communication device

There were three "estates" in the old French Estates General: clergy, nobility, and commoners. The press is usually thought of as the Fourth Estate. So I made wizards the fifth

The Eurostar is the train through the Channel Tunnel to France

Harris Tweed is made on the island of Harris in the Outer Hebrides, a part of Scotland, pursuant to act of Parliament

The Order bought Hermione's house, with Harry's money. I sprinkled clues since Chapter 23, but none of my reviewers mentioned this possibility

Hermione's little talk with Hagrid will figure greatly in what follows - and I include Madam Umbridge in that category

The "First Fleet" brought the first British settlers to Australia. These Australian Potter trusts do exist

"Shocking Pinks" are similar to something F&G invented in another fanfic I read a while ago, I think it was Anima Summa (only they were yellow)

There are plenty of clues about what's in Harry's letter

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