Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Wormtail, Dobby and some goblins get banished; Voldemort receives a report; Harry and Hermione face repercussions; Harry shares a badge with Ron; Ginny has real Remedial Potions; Hermione signs up herself and Harry; Ron has a complaint; Harry gets bad news from one goblin and good news from another; Hermione muses, and then panics; a Basilisk is no more; the D.A. finds a new home; and Malfoy receives a letter.

Thanks to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, Mathiasgranger.

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 54 - Black, White, Silver & Gold

A quivering blob of black-clad flesh groveled before an angry Dark Lord. "Y-y-yes, master. I'll do it gladly," he mumbled abjectly.

"Good. At least you might competently replace a house-elf," Voldemort casually dismissed his loyal, if not very adequate, servant.

"I'll begin immediately," he slavishly rasped. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he fumbles an attempt at kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. The servility was genuine, but also an act - an act of pure desperation.

If for any reason - or no reason at all - Voldemort directed Legilimency at him, Wormtail knew he was as good as dead. He had withheld important information from the Dark Lord, not intentionally, but the result was the same. Intent and result were tantamount. Among Death Eaters, the penalty for such treason was agonising death.

"Then get out of my sight," snapped the Master. Wormtail scrambled to obey as fast as possible.

Lord Voldemort's attention turned elsewhere. "Bella, come with me," he ordered. "The rest of you are dismissed."

Leading the way down a shadowy and rather dreary hallway, the Dark Lord remarked over his shoulder, "I received your owl. Do I understand correctly that your task has been completed?"

"That is correct, my Lord," she replied.

They reached Lord Voldemort's private study. He ushered her in and bade her to sit. "Was your search successful?" he asked his most reliable follower.

"You were wise to order the search," Lestrange replied before directly answering the question. "Two of them are missing."

"Demonstrate what you did," Voldemort hissed. Bad news - even from a trusted subordinate like Bellatrix Lestrange - always brought out the worst in the Dark Lord.

"What do you mean, Master?" Bellatrix asked, unsure of what Lord Voldemort had demanded of her.

"I must be certain. I provided you with devices. I taught you spells. Now prove to me that you were able to use all of them properly," Voldemort demanded. "This is too important. To act upon your report, I must be certain that, unlike Lucius and the rest, you have not failed me through incompetence."

"Yes Master, but I need another Detection Cube," she requested. "I took only what I thought I would need."

"Very well." Voldemort nodded and twirled his wand. A shiny silver block, only a couple of centimetres square, popped out of a hiding place, zoomed across the room, and landed before Britain's most feared Dark witch. With the Dark Lord watching intently for any error, she performed the magic that activated it. Continuing, she went through the necessary sequence of spells. All were flawless.

"You have undoubtedly mastered the magic - unlike that pathetic piece of trash Wormtail," the Dark Lord concluded. "I will accept your report. What of the ring?"

"I have no idea," Bellatrix answered, "but I'm certain it's missing. I found the strongbox you described. It was in its proper hiding place - beneath the stile in the overgrown hedgerow opposite the ruined Gaunt house. But it was empty. Not only was the ring gone, but your protective wards were undetectable."

"None whatsoever?" Voldemort asked. He frowned, his pale, scaly brow furrowing.

"Not a trace," Lestrange confirmed. "I cast every one of your spells, but no magical signature remained. It was as if your wards never existed."

"That is indeed troubling," Voldemort responded. "This information, though unfortunate, is nevertheless valuable. We can assume that the existence of my Horcruxes has been discovered. Only one wizard in Britain is capable of defeating my wards so utterly. He must know, then, and it takes no particular intelligence to divine the likely source."

"Dumbledore, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked.

"Precisely," the Dark Lord confirmed, "but he is slipping. He may as well have left a calling card, with that residual evidence of his power. He should have restored my wards, despite that requiring use of Dark Arts. Now we know. I've suspected as much…."

"You have, my Lord?" Bellatrix questioned.

"Indeed," the evil wizard hissed. "I've entertained the possibility since learning of his luring old Slughorn from retirement. I should have made a point of killing that fat tub of goo when I had the chance. He knows too much. I was indeed prudent to order your search…."

Voldemort paused, thinking hard. He chose to move on. "The other one missing, which is it?"

The witch responded instantly. "The other Slytherin object - you told me I should find a locket. It had disappeared from the cave."

"And the wards?" Voldemort asked. He would never reveal it, but he worried he may have given Dumbledore too much of a head start.

"Intact and in place," Lestrange told him. "I found a note where the locket should have been. Here it is." The Dark witch handed a small piece of parchment to the Dark Lord. It read:

To the Dark Lord

I know that I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.

R.H.B.

"Interesting … so we had another traitor amongst us," Voldemort sneered. "I suspected as much. Fortunately, I found dear Mister Borgin out and killed him when I did. Whether he succeeded in his threat, I cannot say…. But he had very little time. He lived only about three weeks after I created that Horcrux."

"Do you mean Rindelaub Borgin, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked.

"The same," the Dark Lord replied. "His middle name was Helios. For unrelated reasons, I concluded he was untrustworthy and dispatched him. Now, it appears that his treason was more profound than I had believed…."

Again Voldemort paused, and then he cracked an evil smile, indeed. "I know…."

"Yes, Master…." Bellatrix interrupted. In most circumstances her impertinence would have earned her a Cruciatus, but the Dark Lord was too pleased with himself even to take notice.

"…I shall turn the situation to my best advantage," he said, ignoring her and talking to himself, "and I think this information can be quite advantageous indeed."

With that, the Dark Lord drew his wand, gave it a slight twist, and muttered a barely intelligible incantation. A pale yellow beam emerged from his wandtip, illuminating the treasonous note. Another half twist of the evil wizard's wand, and the light brightened and narrowed. Soon it was focused just on the "H" in the late Mr. Borgin's initials.

"A," Voldemort pronounced. With Bellatrix looking on, he watched with satisfaction as the ink in the "H" in "R.H.B." wriggled slightly and changed so the initials now read - "R.A.B."

"Excellent," the Dark Lord pronounced himself satisfied. "The note now appears written by a second traitor, Regulus Black, whose treason was unrelated to Borgin's. Now I can play with them…. At a time of my choosing, I can arrange to leak the location of the missing Horcrux and send Dumbledore and his followers on a wild Snidget chase…. Yes, it's brilliant."

"What brilliance have you wrought, Master?" Bellatrix asked.

"A ruse - a decoy to use to my best advantage," he told her. "I shall return to the cave and leave behind a false replacement. Whilst there, I shall augment the original wards, since I have become more skilled …. Whenever I so desire, Dumbledore's Order will learn of the supposed Horcrux. I can use it as a diversion. I can bait a trap, if need be…. Depending upon the circumstances, the information might even help unmask other spies in our midst."

Bellatrix said one word in response, "Snape."

"Perhaps, Bella," the Dark Lord replied. "Or perhaps not. Only time will tell. Now what of the remaining Horcruxes?"

"I inspected the remains of your first Horcrux, the diary," Bellatrix reported. "Lucius was correct. No live Horcrux remains. Because of the location, I could not investigate more closely - precisely as you anticipated…."

"Very well," Voldemort dismissed the obstacle. "I have other avenues of confirmation. The Gryffindor Horcrux, then?"

"It appears intact at the location you gave me," Bellatrix responded. "After verifying its being in no danger, I left it undisturbed, as you directed."

"And nothing further at that location?" the Dark Lord asked.

"No, nothing," Bellatrix confirmed, "and I conducted a most thorough search of the remnant structure and its surroundings - only the one positive magical signature was present."

"It is gone, then," Voldemort conceded. "Given what happened, I suppose that was to be expected. The Hufflepuff Horcrux, then," he continued, hungry for knowledge. "Are the Muggles still as clueless as usual?"

"So it appears," Bellatrix replied affirmatively, "even more, perhaps. The Hufflepuff cup remains on display in Glastonbury. Your Disorientation Charms continue operating flawlessly. The worthless fools think that it's some sort of relic, and keep it with others of its ilk. It remains hidden in plain sight."

"No traitor has exposed it?" Voldemort asked.

"No, and that's hardly likely now, because the Muggles are on the verge of doing our work for us," Lestrange revealed with a satisfied chuckle. "I acquired this whilst at the monastery performing the check." She handed a glossy colour brochure to her master.

"Oh, how … perfect," the Dark Lord commented when he finished reading. "The Muggles will have the cup quite out of even Dumbledore's reach for two years - on `ecumenical exchange' in Rome. Cached away by the Muggles…. You see, fortune smiles upon us…."

"But what if the Muggles detect something?" Bellatrix asked.

"Not those pathetic imbeciles," Voldemort responded confidently. "Those charms are amongst my more inspired creations, and they obviously remain in fine working order if the Muggles think it's an important relic. They will persist another two years…."

"But … Rome?" Bellatrix repeated. "The Church is one of the few Muggle institutions with a respectable degree of magical knowledge…."

"Precisely," Voldemort responded. "They'll be fooled by the enchantments and never will suspect a Horcrux - and the cup will be far away from anyone who might."

"And the Ravenclaw Horcrux I could not check because of its location," Bellatrix finished.

"I will have it confirmed in due course," Voldemort replied. "Now Bella, you have done well and deserve to be rewarded…."

She smiled in anticipation.

"…but at this moment, I need you to send in Lucius."

"Lucius, but why…?" Bellatrix went silent as he saw a stormy look come over her Lord's face.

"Because I happen to need his services, at the moment," Voldemort growled. "He knows something you don't - the spells to activate and deactivate a Horcrux. He misused them in my absence. This time, he will use that skill properly or he and his entire family will die."

* * * *

It was entirely too early in the morning for Harry Potter to find himself seated - rather uncomfortably - in the Headmaster's office. This summons had been particularly unwelcome, given Harry's wish to savour for a little while longer his still-fresh memories of the night before.

Sometimes, however, the Headmaster cannot be denied, and today was such a time. Harry had still been asleep, for once not setting an alarm, when Ron tapped on his bed curtains, bearing the beribboned notice that Dumbledore requested his presence ASAP.

So here he was, seated in a less-comfortable-than-usual chair in the Headmaster's office wondering where Dumbledore was. He did not have long to wait. A door behind the Headmaster's desk soundlessly opened and the old man appeared - and appeared quite concerned.

"Mister Potter, I called you here urgently so we could discuss last night's events…."

Harry knew he was in for it now. Mentally he catalogued his offences. Out long after curfew…. Having sex with another student…. Causing another magical emission….

"If you'd just let me explain," he began, interrupting the Headmaster.

That was not a good idea.

"Mister Potter, I did not invite you here seeking your explanation," Dumbledore firmly silenced the boy. "I have already interrogated the source. Before you react, you must understand what I have been told…."

Feeling a certain numbness radiating from his bits, Harry entertained the possibility that his situation was even worse than he had feared. Had the Headmaster already brought Hermione in?

"Anything you do, I want you to do it to…."

"Again, for the moment I ask you to remain quiet - please," the Headmaster demanded brusquely. Harry went mum. Dumbledore, although outwardly calm, had to be furious to shut him up like this. Was he about to be expelled? A pity Snape was not still around to see it.

"I have already discussed this matter with the goblins involved," Dumbledore began again.

Goblins? Involved?

"…Whatever hearsay you might add could only confuse matters," the man went on. "I assume you are aware that a half dozen of your goblin guardians entered the Castle last night?"

Harry mutely nodded. Why the fixation on goblins?

"…Are you also aware that Miss Granger possesses a key to one of the visitor's flats from her time here whilst you were held by Death Eaters?"

Again Harry mutely nodded. Now Dumbledore was getting to the point.

"Well it seems that these goblins have been using that flat as some sort of makeshift armoury," the Headmaster revealed.

"What?" Harry tried manfully to maintain an even expression. He had not expected to hear that.

Dumbledore continued. "The unauthorised keeping of weaponry anywhere in the Castle without knowledge of the Hogwarts staff - particularly myself - is a serious infraction of the rules, and for good reason…."

"Yes sir," Harry reflexively agreed, for want of anything better. Now he was beyond confused.

"…Somehow one of these unknown goblin weapons discharged, striking another and setting off some sort of a chain reaction - at least so I have been told by Slamdor and his goblins," Dumbledore went on. "A window was completely defenestrated, and the Castle's wards disrupted, because they are not designed to protect against outgoing magical discharges…."

"A goblin weapon, yes sir," Harry dumbly repeated, as he struggled to fathom what he was hearing.

"…The house-elf, Dobby, who now answers to you rather than to me, was also present for some reason." Dumbledore put another card on the table. "Dobby evidently tried to clean up the mess and conceal the goblin presence. He apparently has access to some of Fred and George Weasley's new products."

"W-W-What happened?" Harry asked, somewhat relieved. The Headmaster's accusations, whilst serious, were nothing like he had been dreading. Where was his tryst with Hermione?

"Apparently, believing he was assisting you, Dobby endeavored to impede the staff's discovery and investigation of the events I just described. Consequently, Mister Filch was rendered a rather garish shade of fuchsia," Dumbledore explained. "He has since largely recovered, but still appears as if overexposed to Muggle motor car fumes. I simply cannot have this, Mister Potter."

"Umm…. Can't have what?" Harry wondered out loud.

"I cannot have - without the undermining of my authority - a cadre of persons in this Castle whose first loyalty is to you rather than to me," Dumbledore told him. "I cannot discipline goblins, no matter how flagrantly they violate Hogwarts' rules, because I have no power over them. I cannot punish Dobby either, since he no longer regards me as his master. I have no other choice. As Headmaster, I must ask them to leave."

Harry realised that, whilst Dumbledore apparently was unaware of his own nocturnal activities, there were other, at least equally serious, irons in the fire.

Harry sought to keep it that way. As useful as the goblins and Dobby could be, their importance paled by comparison to his relationship with Hermione. "Do … do you want me to tell them to go?" Harry offered.

"Precisely," Dumbledore answered. "I do not wish any goblins within the Castle save in a dire emergency. I believe that the staff, with the assistance of the Castle's own enchantments, is well-equipped to handle anything short of a full-scale Death Eater attack. Nor do I want them routinely visible on the grounds. Your goblin bodyguards are welcome to guard you personally, and anyone else you see fit, off premises. But they must remain beyond the wards, no closer than the Forbidden Forest, whilst in the vicinity of the Castle itself. They cannot approach closer, absent permission from me."

"Are you asking me to tell them that?" Harry inquired.

"Yes, since they will not accept such an order from me unless you concur," Dumbledore responded.

"I'll do it," Harry acceded, "but I have to ask for your permission, then … for a specific reason…."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Which is?" he asked.

"The goblins want to skin the Basilisk I killed and remove it from the Chamber," Harry told him. "I just found this out yesterday, and I hadn't the chance to tell you yet."

"What do they intend to do with it?" the Headmaster asked. Forging of armour was the only goblin use he knew for Basilisk hide.

"I asked them to make Hermione a goblin princess' costume for the ball," Harry revealed. "I didn't even know that involved Basilisk hide before I saw such an outfit in Hogsmeade. When they told me, I said I knew where to find a Basilisk carcass - and everything went from there. I didn't ask for anything more than that - but there's a lot more Basilisk hide in the Chamber than Hermione could ever possibly wear."

"I shall permit it, but I must have forewarning of their arrival," the Headmaster told Harry. "I cannot command the goblins, but in my opinion, a gift of Basilisk hide to them would be of considerable value in further cementing our alliance."

Harry decided to tell the Headmaster about his purchase and return of goblin artifacts taken as booty in the last Goblin War. Dumbledore was impressed at how Harry had handled the situation, and thereby acquired even greater standing in that community. He cautioned the boy to keep the matter to himself, however, as certain pureblood groups, such as the Sons of the Knights of the Goblin Rebellions, would object to the repatriation of material seized during what most wizards naturally considered a great victory.

Their conversation became less confrontational as Dumbledore ventured another topic. "Now, beyond the goblins, Dobby presents the same problem. I am afraid you must find him another home. He cannot stay here with his first loyalty now lying elsewhere."

"Where? Dobby would hate being banished to Grimmauld Place with nobody else around. My relatives would never tolerate him," Harry protested.

"Surely you can propose better ideas than those," Dumbledore remarked reproachfully.

"Not unless you want me to…." Harry stopped. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"Probably," the Headmaster responded. "You need to mould your thinking to your changed circumstances. You are the proprietor of Blackwalls now, and you would do well to assert your authority over it. Dobby's presence would be an excellent first step."

"All right, I'll designate him something like the new chief house-elf for the Château," Harry agreed. "That'll keep him busy, too."

"It will," Dumbledore agreed, "but eventually you need to lay claim to the authority you possess yourself, and to do that your own presence will be essential."

"You're right, but with school I'm not going there any time soon," Harry said grudgingly. "I'll tell him today."

"In that case, I see no reason to mete out any punishment to you, since this particular problem was created by your retainers acting of their own accord," the Headmaster decided. Harry noticed a twinkle in his eye - almost conspiratorial - for the first time during this meeting.

"But…."

Harry felt his throat tighten.

"…let this be a lesson, Mister Potter," the older man cautioned, "to listen before speaking. You may go now. I shall see you this evening for one of our special training sessions. However, I do believe Minerva wishes a word in her office about Gryffindor matters as soon as you are done here."

As the door to Dumbledore's office closed behind Harry, a release of tension he had ignored throughout their meeting left him feeling not only warm but also flabby in the knees. Instead of facing possible expulsion from the school for violating a laundry list of rules, he had escaped personally unscathed. Only Dobby and the goblins - who must have colluded on the concocted story he had just heard from Dumbledore - would be suffering adverse consequences.

He approached Professor McGonagall's office. The door was closed, and Harry was momentarily hesitant. In a trice, that uncertainty vanished as the door opened and a rather concerned-looking Hermione stepped out - so deep in thought that she nearly ran into Harry.

`Look out, Hermione,' he Legilimenced to her.

"Oh! Harry!" she squeaked as she noticed his presence - extremely close to her. She readily allowed his arms to slide around her….

Then he had to stop himself. Oh, how things had changed. He could no longer separate thoughts of being in love with her, from thoughts of her as his lover.

`Everything okay?' he Legilimenced again. `Dumbledore wants the goblins and Dobby out of the castle, but didn't do anything to me. I don't think he knows what really happened.'

`Don't be so sure,' Hermione warned silently. `McGonagall took the key away from me, although she blamed the goblins, too.'

`Did she do anything to you?' Harry replied worriedly.

`No,' she answered, and then switched to normal speech. "Why are you here?"

"When the Headmaster finished with me, he directed me to Professor McGonagall," Harry replied.

"That's odd," Hermione remarked. "Professor McGonagall has just sent me to see the Headmaster. You don't think…?"

"Potter, please enter - and close the door after you," a familiar voice demanded.

`Good cop, bad cop,' Harry Legilimenced. `I don't think they've got proof.' He stepped around his fiancée and prepared to face his Head of House.

`I'm not sure they're trying,' Hermione returned as she headed in the opposite direction.

Harry walked in and, responding to his Head of House's gesture, sat in the familiar small chair facing Professor McGonagall's cluttered desk.

She looked sternly at him and began, "Potter, recent events require me to reopen our earlier conversation. I assume you understand to what I refer."

Harry had a pretty good idea what McGonagall meant. "I told the truth the first time," he answered. "Her feelings for me are very much reciprocated - more than I can really express. I would…."

"I see I assumed incorrectly," Professor McGonagall overrode him, "although that confirmation is certainly gratifying. I am discussing the Gryffindor Quidditch captaincy, Potter."

"Oh."

To Harry, their chat about Quidditch seemed so long ago and far away. It had not exactly been as salient as…. Damn! He almost let things slip again. Was this what Dumbledore had tried to tell him - to try listening before speaking?

"Yes, the captaincy," McGonagall carried on, ignoring Harry's lack of response. "Unfortunately, Miss Bell's condition has not improved. While she is stable and resting comfortably, she has yet to regain consciousness. The Healers cannot offer a useful prognosis. That leaves the House team effectively without a captain. You are the obvious replacement."

She placed a red and gold lion-shaped Quidditch Captain's badge on the desk between them and pushed it towards Harry.

From the moment Professor McGonagall raised the subject, Harry knew what was coming. Foreknowledge did not make his response any easier.

"I'm honoured that you've asked me," Harry began, "but I can't…."

"You most certainly can," McGonagall disagreed. "Despite everything going on, your classroom performance has never been better. Almost everyone on staff would echo my sentiments. Miss Granger is a good influence."

"But with the D.A., Dumbledore's training, and now this Animagus business, I've even less time for anything new now than when I wrote you this summer," Harry protested. "I'd just cock everything up. Seeker's the worst choice for captain, since I mostly just freelance…. I still think Ron is the logical choice, and if you'd just get past his stupid mistake, you'd agree."

"Ronald Weasley turned his back upon a position of honour in this House," McGonagall replied stiffly. "I shall not provide an opportunity for a repeat performance."

"He was never good Prefect material," Harry correctly pointed out. "But you know and I know that he'd never do anything to let the House Quidditch team down. I talk to him about Quidditch a lot. It's what he'd most like to do after Hogwarts. Can't you just let it go…?"

Professor McGonagall sighed, shook her head, and looked distractedly around her office before once again settling her eyes on Harry. "You leave me no choice. I'll make you co-captains," she compromised. "If you turn that down, I'll just have to ask Miss Weasley…."

"You won't have to," Harry did the same. "That I'll live with, but I want you to know that Ron will really be running things."

"If Mister Weasley proves himself responsible, that shan't be a problem," Professor McGonagall stated. With a wave of her wand, the badge of captaincy shuddered and broke in half. Both halves writhed on the desktop until, where there had been one badge, now there were identical twins.

* * * *

She sat, alone, in the dreary dungeon that was the Potions classroom. Slughorn had brightened it up a bit, but a dungeon was still a dungeon.

Obeying the instructions in the note she had received, she had set up two cauldrons. That done, she waited - making a rather desultory show of revising her Potions notes.

"Revising" was a charitable description. Truthfully, the Potions notes served more as a catalyst for her grumbling than anything else.

`…If she'd just helped me like Harry promised she would, I wouldn't be wasting a perfectly good Sunday morning in this stupid hole, waiting for some stupid peer tutor, who's, of course, late….'

`…Not only did she blow me off, but when I complained to Harry, he took her side and said he'd been wrong….'

`…He always takes her side, but she's his girlfriend now, so I guess he's supposed to….'

`Sigh.'

Ginny was too busy feeling sorry for herself to notice that, behind her, company had stealthily slipped into the classroom. Said company crept towards her silently until … only two rows of tables behind….

BANG!

He dropped a fifth-year Potions book flat on the table.

The girl nearly hit the ceiling. "What the…!?" She had her wand trained upon the unwelcome visitor before even finishing turning around.

"Well, well Weaselette…." his familiar voice drawled.

"Malfoy, if you try something - anything - you'll be wishing it's only the Bat Bogey Curse I used on you," she hissed, a cold glint of hatred in her eyes.

"Shut it, Weaselette," Draco Malfoy sneered at the redheaded witch. "Don't flatter yourself."

Ginny clutched her wand even more tightly. Still, the tip trembled slightly. She was alone. She had told nobody where she was going - it was too embarrassing. Malfoy was a dangerous adversary, and almost certainly a Death Eater in training, if not in fact.

"What do you think you're doing here?" she demanded whilst keeping her wand pointed right between his eyes.

Malfoy only smirked. He made no move to draw a wand or otherwise defend himself. After what seemed like an eternity, he answered. "I suppose I'm here to teach you to become at least somewhat less worthless at brewing potions. Probably futile…."

"Stop having me on, I'm warning you," she shot back. "Why would you think that I'd have anything to do with you, of all people?"

"I just told you to stop flattering yourself," he repeated more emphatically. He picked the Potions book off the table so she could see he was serious. "When all the seventh-year tutors made their picks, you were the only pure-blood left. I have my standards, you know."

It was a lie, of course, but it could have been true, and the Weasley girl would have no way of knowing the difference.

"What makes you think that I'd want to be tutored by you in anything, Ferretface?" she threw the words back at him.

"Because you're afraid of the Howler you'll get from your mum when McGonagall the Miserable pulls that Prefect badge from your shirt after you flunk Potions," Malfoy said in an insufferably patronising voice. "And then there's…."

She decided to insult him right back, "Figjam."

"What?"

"That stands for `fuck I'm good, just ask me'," she recited with a snide smile of her own on her face.

"Well, I am," Draco retorted in his snarkiest voice. "I took the O-plus in Potions last term. Not even your precious Scarhead or his worthless swot of a Mudblood girlfriend beat me out. Now do you want tutoring, or do you just want to keep flunking Slughorn's class and being a disgrace to what's left of your pure-blood heritage?"

A pause.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

Half an hour later Ginny was, if not happy with Malfoy as her tutor, at least satisfied. He certainly knew his Potions. And whilst his teaching style was snide and sarcastic, well, she had survived several years of Snape. In fact, she had done better in Snape's classes than now, with that bloated excuse for a pig, Slughorn, teaching Potions.

Still, O.W.L.-standard Potions was hard work, and Ginny needed all the help she could get. She was stirring salamander blood into a Strengthening Solution when for some reason a bit of the mixture sloshed over the side of the cauldron. From there it spilt into the fire underneath, and the result was a plume of foul-smelling green smoke.

Tutor Malfoy had his wand out so fast; it was almost as though he anticipated something happening. He rolled his eyes at Ginny as he Vanished the mess.

"You simply must be steadier than that," he criticised. He shook his head a bit, and then his pale face softened as he had an idea. He turned to his elegant (if by now slightly worn) rucksack and produced a shiny mahogany box about the size of a large textbook. A whispered incantation and half-hidden wand movement undid the hasp and opened the lid. Inside was a complicated looking silver instrument surrounded by well over a dozen separate and equally shiny components.

"What's that?" Ginny asked at the sight of the intricate apparatus.

"Surely you've seen Programmeable Cauldron Stirrer before," Draco replied in the infuriatingly patronising tone he had mastered.

"Of course," Ginny spat back at him, "just none so elaborate as all that."

"Oh, I forgot," Draco sneered. "Before that two-faced Scrimgeour decided to genuflect in the Muggle-lovers' direction, this probably cost more than your family's entire hovel."

Ginny had had enough. "Screw you, Malfoy!" she shouted at him. "I don't need this! Fuck you and the broom you flew in on! I'd rather fail than endure one more minute of your foul mouth! But you can be damn sure McGonagall and Slughorn both will know exactly why I refuse to work with you any longer…!" With that she angrily started throwing her books and Potions kit in into her rucksack.

Draco was quite taken aback. He had stupidly overplayed his hand. "Weasley … stop it. They'll kick you off the Quidditch team too…. That was … too much, even for me. I don't want to make you leave…."

Ginny had finished zipping up her rucksack whilst Draco was blundering about. Hefting it to one shoulder, she stopped and looked at him strangely.

"Malfoy, what the Hell are you trying to do?" she asked. Still she kept her wand out and more or less trained on the blond boy.

"Trying is right, Weasley," he squirmed uncomfortably. He could not let her walk out the door just yet - not without ruining himself in the process. "I'm … I'm … sorry. I went over the line…."

He was not looking at her as he said this.

Ginny would not have been more surprised if Voldemort had appeared playing the ukulele and singing "Tiptoe Through The Tulips." "You … you just apologised," she blurted out.

"Yeah, so what?" Draco responded, deflated but still rather surly. "Just don't tell anyone, okay? I'm … I'm not the same - not after the bloody Ministry took almost everything my family owned. I really need … er … the 500 Galleons the school pays for peer tutors."

It was the best Draco could do on the spur of the moment - even if it gave the Weasley girl leverage over him, again, for the time being.

"So, you'll stop being so hateful?" she asked, not missing what had just happened.

"I'll try, anyway," Draco replied. "Look - here, let me show you how to use this thing," he said, gesturing towards the fancy cauldron stirrer. "I've got a spare that I'll lend you after you get the hang of this."

Whilst still on her guard, Ginny relented. She would rather learn Potions from a penitent Draco Malfoy than go crawling back to the "Great Hermione, God Almighty" (as she called her in private) for help.

For the next half-hour Draco proved as good as his word. He was tolerably courteous as he instructed her on how to unfold and set up the three-legged contraption and how to connect and use the various attachments. There was even a beater that could do passable double duty making lattes.

After learning the spells that made the thing work, Ginny had to admit Draco's equipment was quite elegant. Only the cubical centrepiece on the very top seemed at all unwieldy. Even that had its benefits, after Draco showed her how to use it as an impromptu handle to hold the entire apparatus in place.

By the time Draco announced that it was time to clean up and move on, Ginny felt that she had made good progress - not to mention having taught Draco a lesson that she, anyway, would never forget.

He stayed behind to Scourgify the several cauldrons used during the lesson. As she was leaving, Draco turned to her and commented, "It's none of my business, but I'm surprised you settled. You never seemed like the type…."

Ginny regarded him with somewhat narrowed eyes as she demanded that he explain himself. "What do you mean, `settled'?" she asked warily.

"For Longbottom, that is," Draco replied slowly. "I just don't like the idea of any pure-blood coming off second best to that manky Mudblood…."

"You're right," Ginny cut him off coldly. "It is none of your business."

With that the flame-haired young lady left the platinum blond Slytherin alone.

As soon as she was out of his sight, Draco angrily banished the remaining cauldrons, not bothering to clean them at all. "What I'd give to be able to Cruciate that Muggle-loving bint until her brains seep out of her ears," he muttered to himself.

Not only was Draco miffed with his erstwhile pupil, but he was almost equally annoyed with himself. He had come very close to ruining everything. To salvage the situation he had been forced into abasement - to her. Even though largely self-inflicted, Malfoys were not among those who forgave slights easily.

Draco retreated into the walk-in ingredients closet. Closing the door, he sealed it with a Colloportus Charm. Then he pulled a penknife from his robes and flicked open the longest blade. He muttered an enchantment, and the blade briefly emitted yellowish-green phosphorescent light. He slipped the blade beneath the silver cube atop the cauldron stirrer.

With a soft but audible pop, the blade's protrusion broke the Sticking Charm that had affixed the cube. It fell off into Draco's waiting hand. He looked at the bottom and sighed deeply with relief.

There, in the centre of the cube's bottom side, was the persistent green dot his instructions had stated would indicate that he had succeeded in obtaining a usable reading. A reading of what, Draco did not know.

That was none of his business, either.

All that remained was to follow instructions. Those were to send an owl to Caractacus Burke using the codeword "Rosebud" to signify a successful result. Burke would send his purple heron to procure the device itself, suitably Transfigured. Then Draco might, or might not, receive further instructions.

Ginny also had a secret as she sped back towards Gryffindor Tower.

All the way back, she pondered Draco's last words. Had she really settled? Had she given up too easily?

It had not escaped her notice that Draco had seemed every bit as skilled at Potions as his braggadocio had proclaimed.

Squirreled away in Ginny's room was a purloined copy of some pages from Ron's book. Just what had possessed her to make those copies, she still could not say. But if the Half Blood Prince were to be believed….

Maybe she would not have to settle after all.

* * * *

Hermione waylaid Harry upon returning to Gryffindor Tower after her visit with the powers that be. She all but dragged him to her favourite swotting location - her out-of-the-way nook in the bowels of the Hogwarts Library. All the way there, she had gripped his hand, at times almost painfully hard.

When he arrived, Harry mused it would be an excellent place for a snog.

But not today.

Hermione was channeling her "worrywart in full worry" persona.

"Harry," she whispered urgently. "I think we need to be very careful. There's something going on, and I don't know what it is."

"I'll say," Harry unsurprisingly agreed. "But I think we skated on this one. I was so sure Dumbledore was going to bust us for last night. But no, he didn't seem to have a clue. I got away with leaving the goblin guard in the forest and sending Dobby to Blackwalls. What did he want from you?"

"Nothing, as far as I could tell," Hermione answered. It was a question worth pondering. "He just wanted to discuss what he called my `phoenix second nature.' Professor McGonagall, though, she made me give up that key to the flat…. Something about an accident involving the goblins. Dobby and Slamdor must have concocted some diversion. McGonagall mentioned some kind of fire."

"It's amazing, but they don't seem to suspect a thing," Harry commented.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hermione warned. "In fact, I'm not sure at all. Neither seemed the slightest bit interested in what we knew. I was so nervous, I was ready to confess all and throw myself on her mercy, but she didn't let me get a word in edgewise. It's almost like she didn't want to find out."

"Let's not look a gift Hippogriff in the beak, then" Harry replied. He turned and gave her a heart-melting smile. "And you know what? I can't wait to do it again. You were wonderful…."

He leaned in and started kissing her.

Hermione let him, of course - reluctantly at first, but soon responding with equal ardor. Before letting things go too far, she asked him a question. "What did McGonagall want with you?"

"Oh, that," Harry replied. He realised he had news he had forgotten to tell her. "She wants me to be temporary Gryffindor Quidditch Captain until Katie gets better…."

In the half-light, Harry did not notice Hermione's eyes light up.

"…But I told her I didn't want to. I'm pants at Quidditch strategy. I always ignored Oliver's squiggling arrows. I'm a loner. I told her to pick Ron instead…."

Harry likewise missed Hermione frown at his explanation.

"…But she insisted. So I finally agreed to be co-captain with Ron."

The light was back in Hermione's eyes. "That's wonderful, Harry. Do you know what that means?"

"More work," Harry complained, "but hopefully not too much more."

"It's better than that," Hermione told him. "Much better, I'd say." She gave him one of those immodest looks that she saved for him only.

Harry perked up. "I'm listening," he replied.

"That means you can use the Prefects' Bathroom," Hermione informed him. "Quidditch Captains have the same rights to it as Prefects. I don't know if McGonagall even thought about that, but it's ironic - less that an hour after taking the visitor's flat key away from me, she gave us an even better place…."

Looking confused, Harry did not seem to be following.

"…for having sex, Harry." She whispered in his ear.

That straightened him up. An expectant smile came to his lips, but after thinking about things, his bewildered look returned. "But I've got to believe that's against the rules," he remarked.

"Oh, it certainly is," Hermione quickly agreed. "First offence for being caught shagging in the Prefects' Bathroom is fifty House Points each. Second offense means you turn in your badge. But then … do you know how many infractions have been punished in the last 200 years?"

"No," Harry replied, "and I'll bet that's not in Hogwarts: A History either."

"Exactly zero," Hermione answered her own question and ignored the rest. "And you know why?"

"Of course I don't," Harry admitted. "I haven't been a Prefect."

"Because of the `System.' Every Prefect who wants can be in on it," Hermione revealed. "The Head Boy and Girl run it. Both parties have to have access rights, but once any Prefect is of age, all he or she has to do is ask one of the Heads for the Silver and Gold Charm…."

"But I'm not of age, yet," Harry pointed out.

"Fortunately, only one of us has to be," Hermione answered. "Not only that, the sign-up sheet has a hex on it. That's where my idea for the spell that nailed that sneak Edgecombe came from. Once we sign up, we're in. There's a diving board in there, you know. I wonder what kind of rhythms that could generate?" She eyed Harry with a very suggestive leer.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "I've seen it. Doing it on the diving board? That's about as … er … exposed as we could possibly get."

"That's the beauty of the Silver and Gold Charm," she told him. "The doorknob to the pool area in the Prefects' Bathroom is ordinarily silver. However, at any time between six and midnight, that charm can turn the doorknob gold. That signals everybody else that the Bathroom's … umm … in use by someone entitled to the Charm. In an emergency, any knock on the door gives whoever's inside five minutes to get decent."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Harry said. "Let's go find Carmichael and sign up."

"I'm willing," assured Hermione, placing a steadying hand on his arm. "But we have to be careful."

"Well, you've got your Potion, haven't you?" he murmured whilst nuzzling her neck. "And if there's anything I need do, just let me know."

"No, it's not that," Hermione fretted. "Last night, some things happened, and I don't know what they were. That bothers me…."

"…Yeah, I know you always want to know everything about everything," Harry interrupted. "But don't worry, I wasn't really close to drowning, and I'll pay more attention next time."

"Oh, silly you," Hermione chortled whilst giving his arm an affectionate punch. "Although I am interested in figuring that out, I think you know full well what I'm talking about."

"Umm-hmm," Harry agreed as he manœuvred to kiss her again. "Some impressive magic broke through both your Mirror Charm and the goblins' shield at the same time."

After coming up for air again, Hermione returned to her worry. "You know exactly when it happened - not before or after. That's why I think … the two of us together … I think we need to avoid that…."

"What!? Didn't you just say…?" Harry pulled back if he had been burnt. "It was great…. You were great…. We were great. I can't believe you don't want to do it again."

"I don't mean not doing it again," Hermione stood her ground. "I'm sorry it came out like that. I mean we … we just shouldn't peak at the same time. When it was just you, there was no problem … same when it was just me. It was only at the end we both simultaneously…."

Harry still looked at her rather mutinously. "Well, I guess that means ladies first, because you saw me. I … I think all of us blokes … when we're finished, we're pretty well … finished."

"Well … from personal observation, I'd certainly say you're over your little problem." The more-than-friendly squeeze she gave Harry's midsection, belied her mock air of clinical detachment. "If you want to do me first, well I'm not going to complain. But you're not going to get away with playing the martyr … not anymore."

"I know … it's just - well, weird," Harry mused. He seemed distracted by something philosophical. "It's … it's really like what Fleur said. Great power can be loosed by the act of love…."

When he looked back at Hermione, she was staring at him - open mouthed, wide-eyed, and pale. "Harry?" she asked slowly, "exactly why and when were you discussing sex with Fleur?"

Oops.

Fleur's abortive advance was in that accumulation of things that Harry had always meant to tell Hermione. But more important things kept taking precedence, and he had never gotten around to it. Until now, that is.

No more lies. Take a deep breath.

"It was whilst you were hurt, Hermione," he revealed. "It started with her pulling me out of class. Then she told me about the Order of Merlin ceremony. Somehow that led to her telling me how much she wanted to `help' me…. The next thing I know, she's asking me if I want to go to the ball with her…."

"You said `no,' of course," Hermione commented evenly.

"I said `no,' sure," Harry confirmed. "But it wasn't all that easy. I got Veelaed, big time…."

Hermione gasped and clutched his hand.

"…And before I realised what was going on, she was acting like she wanted to take me out for a test drive there and then…."

Hermione's grip on Harry's hand tightened.

"But … she's staff…. And where was `there'?" Hermione asked, trying witchfully to conceal her deep discomfort. She knew that, compared to Fleur, she was as plain as unflavoured oatmeal.

"Her little office near the Charms classroom," Harry recalled. "It might have been a storage room before - that is, if it was there at all…."

Hogwarts was like that. When another room was needed, it seemed to appear more or less by itself.

"…From class, she took me there, shut the door, and I don't know what might have happened if I hadn't figured out the Veela stuff just in time…."

"So, what did happen?" Hermione asked anxiously. Her grip on his hand remained just-this-side-of-painfully firm.

"I used Occlumency; she Veelaed even more; and I think I had one of my little accidents," Harry recounted. "The power kind," he added hastily. "She finally let go when I told her that you were all I wanted…."

Hermione's grip relaxed as she threw both arms around him. With heartfelt relief, she confessed, "Oh, Harry, I feel like kissing you right now!"

"Well, don't let me stop you," he replied. For several minutes, he was not allowed - nor inclined - to say anything more.

When they broke apart, a more confident Hermione returned to her original subject. "So what was it that Fleur said about sex, exactly?"

"I can't give you exactly, because I wasn't exactly taking notes," Harry prefaced. "But at some point, when she was trying to interest me, she mentioned something about it being possible for sex to generate really powerful magic."

"After last night, I'm inclined to think she's right," Hermione added. "For various reasons, I'm interested in finding out what Fleur knows."

"Fine," Harry agreed, "just come with me, will you? I don't relish talking about this with her alone."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Hermione told him absolutely truthfully.

* * * *

It was late. With early classes the next day, Harry and Hermione were saying good night to one another when Ron stomped into Gryffindor tower, looking and acting upset about something.

Harry and Hermione had been training - Harry learning to assert Animagus powers with McGonagall, and Hermione acquainting herself with her inner phoenix courtesy of Dumbledore. With everything else going on that evening, they had not seen Ron. Harry had yet to tell him the news.

As they approached, Ron waved off Hermione and indicated a need to speak with Harry alone. Hermione was knackered, so she shrugged and gave Harry a peck on the cheek before disappearing up the staircase to the girls' dormitory.

Not interested in a public conversation, Ron more or less dragged Harry to the boys' dormitory and closeted them in his four-poster. Harry noted that it was decorated with quite a few rather skimpily dressed wizard photographs of Cho. The girl's images dove out of sight when Harry entered.

"What's the big deal?" Harry asked. Ron was so insistent about whatever it was that Harry waited with his own news.

"It's Hermione," the redhead began. "I want you to tell…."

"Why didn't you tell Hermione yourself?" Harry cut in, annoyed.

"Because I didn't want another knock-down, drag-out row with her," Ron declared. "I know she doesn't like Cho very much…."

"What about Cho?" Harry demanded. He was suddenly very much on edge.

"I don't bloody well know, and that's part of the problem," Ron continued bluntly. "It took everything I had just to pry out of her that whatever's bothering her has something to do with Hermione."

"Why bring us into it?" Harry resisted. "Why can't Cho just deal with Hermione?" He did not want to be in the middle of another conflict between his best friend and his now more-than-best friend.

"Because she can't; that's all I know," Ron persisted, his voice rising. "I know Hermione's jealous - but that was way back in last term. She's blinking won that one, anyway. So why can't she just give it a rest?"

"Won what? Give what a rest?" Harry retorted; his own voice also rose.

"You, dammit," Ron almost yelled. "All I want is you to keep Hermione away from Cho. I don't want another confrontation. I mean, I still like Hermione - as a friend - but don't push me on this…. Cho's really upset. She doesn't want to be the next Marietta."

"All right, but I still think you should to talk to her about this yourself. You don't need me as your messenger," Harry stood his ground.

"What I don't need is any more of her ruddy lectures," Ron growled. "I don't need Hermione rubbing it in how she's all so superior…." Ron hissed the word. "…because she's got you and Cho doesn't. Cho's my bloody girlfriend, and Hermione's yours. But it's one Hell of a put down - of me - for her to be telling Cho that she wanted you first."

"Hermione never wanted you first," Harry spat back. "I thought you knew…."

"No, dammit, I meant that Cho wanted you first. You can let up yourself, thank you very much," Ron replied testily.

"Being an ingrate doesn't become you," Harry responded in kind.

"Oh really," Ron scowled. For a second Harry even thought Ron might even pull his wand, but nothing happened. Instead, Ron continued testily, "And just what should I be grateful about? It's not like you gave up Cho for my sake. You didn't really have a choice…."

"I had a choice, and I made it," Harry came down hard. "But you really ought to be grateful for this." He extracted from his pocket one of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain badges Professor McGonagall had given him and tossed it in Ron's general direction.

Ron's eyes went wide even before he caught it.

"What the Hell?" Ron spluttered. "How did you…?"

"McGonagall called me in today," Harry told him. "Katie's still in a bad way. Nobody knows exactly how she was cursed. The House needed a replacement captain, and she asked me to do it…."

"But then why are you giving this to me?" Ron uncomprehendingly answered. "She picked you - just like I knew she bloody well would. You can't just turn around and say I'm captain. It doesn't work that way."

"No it doesn't, Ron," Harry shot back. "And I don't either. I turned McGonagall down. I've got too damn many things to do, and a Seeker's not a good captain; you know that. I told her that you were the right choice."

"So she went along with you?" Ron said. "I'm impressed."

"No, she refused to make you captain," Harry told him flatly. "…Said you were a quitter, she did. I told her you'd never quit on Quidditch. Finally, she compromised and made us co-captains - temporary co-captains, that is." Harry produced the second badge from of his pocket. "But I told her you were going to be running the team…."

Ron's nasty mood vanished. "Well, don't that beat all!" he exclaimed. "Co-captains, the two of us. Share and share alike and all that. Finally, something just us can work on together."

"That's about the shape of it," Harry concurred.

"You know the captain has his own private room, don't you?" Ron half whispered as if revealing some great secret. Ron's improved attitude since being told he was co-captain was nothing short of amazing.

Harry considered Ron's point. "I never really paid it much mind, but Oliver and Angelina…. You're right. I never did see them around much before matches, until they were ready for their pep talks."

"Well, captains do have their own quarters," Ron continued. "Charlie told me about it once. I guess that means `tie on the old door handle,' eh mate?"

"What for," Harry reacted. "I mean, we've changed together loads of times. It's no big deal."

"Don't you get it? That's `Private Room,' with a capital `P'," Ron reiterated whilst shaking his head at his friend's fundamental cluelessness. "I'm talking about me and Cho, or you and Hermione. Just wrap your tie around the door handle, so you won't be disturbed, and I'll do the same."

"Ron!" Harry shook his head in exasperation. "Don't you think about anything but sex?"

It was the Potter calling the Weasley black.

"Not if I can help it," Ron responded. "But in honour of this…." He held up the captain's badge. "…I'll make sure to think about Quidditch."

* * * *

The Headmaster was late. Harry, who was becoming more punctual - now that Hermione had taken it upon herself to monitor his schedule - cooled his heels. Not surprisingly his thoughts turned to his amazing fiancée.

What amazed him most was how effortless everything had suddenly become with her. One night of shared physical passion seemed to have transformed everything. Before, he had endured a host of difficulties (and worse) that would have discouraged almost anyone - and had almost defeated him several times. Before, he had needed to analyse his every move. Now, it seemed he almost could do no wrong. Or when he did, it no longer mattered as much.

Now, Hermione could barely keep her hands off him - and the vice was definitely versa. Lovemaking, once an almost unattainable concept, had become something that, if still not a regular occurrence, was almost constantly being planned, discussed, or thought about. Harry knew he wanted it. Hermione was, if anything, even more enthusiastic. Tuesday night had been a revelation - it was revealed that she did indeed want him every bit as much as he wanted her.

But not everything was peaches and cream. Earlier today, Harry had waited for Hermione on tenterhooks after she finished teaching her split session D.A. meeting in the Room of Requirement. He knew he had to make up if he wanted to make out.

They had managed a bit of a spat. He had gotten quite cross with her earlier, at lunch, when she pooh-poohed the sight of what he nicknamed the Evil Heron (after Hermione identified the species) either bringing something to Malfoy in the Great Hall or taking something from him.

Harry suffered a disadvantage. Because he did not fancy another lecture about running off looking for trouble, he could not tell her what he knew about that bird - his bit of impromptu spying on Malfoy in Hogsmeade. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he had lost his temper.

Not a good thing.

He was in luck, however. She did not hold grudges - at least against him. Once Harry convinced himself to apologise, it was instantly accepted. It certainly helped that her session had gone well, and her overall mood was upbeat.

He even broke down and told her about his Hogsmeade adventure. Her resultant lecture was not nearly as severe as he had dreaded. Hermione wondered if Draco might somehow be in league with Cho. They both agreed to watch for contact between the two.

That was good.

The aftermath was even better - and a great testament to Hermione's efficient planning. Despite their tiff, she had still paid the necessary call upon Eddie Carmichael and obtained their after-hours access rights to the Prefects' Bathroom.

It was a measure of either the respect or the fear that Hermione engendered in the Head Boy that he had given them both access, without Harry having to do anything more than eventually stopping by and signing his name. The Head Boy knew, without having to be told, what - or more precisely, who - Hermione had in mind.

Harry had helped, albeit inadvertently. Carmichael knew Harry was entitled to Bathroom access because he had seen him wearing his badge, after more or less being coerced into it. Once Ron had his captain's badge, it stayed pinned to his chest. Nothing short of a fatal Severing Charm could have wrenched it away from his cold, dead fingers. Harry felt no similar urge, but once Professor McGonagall got wind - that took maybe half an hour - she all but forced Harry wear his. She would not permit anyone to think that Ron was sole captain.

It worked. Carmichael knew, and as a result Hermione had no trouble getting access, because Harry was entitled as well.

"Access" in this instance was thirty minutes of precious privacy. That ruled out the elaborate foreplay of their first time. But as they were both quite ready and quite randy, that was not a noticeable drawback. For good measure, Hermione had learnt a Topical Anæsthetic Charm from one of her Healer's manuals. She applied it to Harry, first, and then herself, to avoid the dreaded simultaneity. Neither fancied wrecking the Prefects' Bathroom in the same manner as the guest flat, and they were successful. No blinding pink flashes materialised….

Now if only he could end the cold war developing between his two best friends.

Hermione had somehow offended Cho. That, in turn, offended Ron. Hermione was offended, first that Ron enlisted Harry to keep her away from Cho - particularly that Ron lacked the stones to tell her himself. All the offence put Harry, once again, in the middle.

Harry never found out exactly what Hermione said to Cho. She told him vaguely it involved "girl stuff." She was not inclined to volunteer anything more, so he did not press. He, of course, he played the traditional "stand by your woman" role - that went without saying - but for once, Harry was not positive his fiancée was entirely in the right.

"Good evening, Mister Potter. I apologise for my unavoidable tardiness…." Dumbledore had returned, putting an end to Harry's meanderings. "I have learned additional information about Tom Riddle that I wish to share with you."

"Now?" Harry asked sceptically. He had been expecting to meet a crew of goblins intent upon rendering the remains of the Basilisk in the Chamber - not another of Dumbledore's private lessons.

"Not now, I am sorry, because our guests await," the Headmaster answered. "But I would like to schedule another of our sessions, perhaps for Monday night."

Harry agreed, but with reservations. Presently, his curiosity about Dumbledore's discovery could not match his interest in ensuring that Hermione obtained her chosen costume for the fast approaching masked ball. Soon Harry and the Headmaster were descending the moving spiral staircase leading to the Chamber of Secrets.

They halted at the gargoyle guarding the tower entrance. Slamdor was waiting. He led a contingent of a dozen goblins, most wielding boarding knives at least a metre long. Also present was Bladvak, looking somewhat misplaced in his formal civilian clothes. His presence was a complete surprise to Harry.

Bladvak was not happy. He was even more disgruntled than out of place.

Dumbledore had learnt a lesson about leaving Harry alone in Hogwarts with goblins who treated him as royalty. Thus, the Headmaster personally escorted the motley party to the Chamber of Secrets. When the stairs stopped moving, the goblins filed into the stairwell after the Headmaster and before Harry.

Immediately Bladvak fell back to talk to Harry in relative privacy.

In an undertone intended for Harry's ears only, the goblin mumbled, "Impratraxis, you I have failed, to say afraid am I…." Abruptly, Bladvak prostrated himself on the stairs. Fortunately they had yet to resume their downward movement.

Harry was caught by surprise. He stood stock still. Fortunately, the rest of the party following after Dumbledore had already disappeared from sight. He stammered, "Huh? Er … Anyor, please. What happened?"

Bladvak wearily climbed to his feet. A cast of defeat in his eye - the first time Harry had seen that look on a goblin face - he said, "Afraid that too long waited I."

With a small jerk, the stairs restarted. Bladvak eyed the moving stone, as if contemplating whether to throw himself at Harry's feet again.

"Don't, please," Harry intervened. "Just tell me exactly what's going on."

"Malfoy Manor, seize cannot we." The words were precise, but Bladvak's tone betrayed utter disgust. "The debt, satisfied has been it."

Shocking news, indeed.

Harry asked the obvious question. "But where would somebody like Draco Malfoy get that kind of money - it's well over a million Galleons…."

"Bizarre is it, but true," Bladvak muttered. "Came did it from … from the outside. Totally unexpected…."

"Who?"

"A wizard. By the name of Cassius Blake now goes he," Bladvak answered, as the two slowly passed the point where the surrounding stone suddenly lightened. "Galleons has he, many of them, from old Muggle oil concessions … from Calouste Gulbenkian. Yesterday, at Gringotts with some document appears did he. Recited did it that to half the concession Abraxas Malfoy was entitled. More than enough, was it."

"Who's Abraxas Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Father of Lucius," Bladvak responded. "Dead is he, of dragon pox believe I. This Cassius, half of his account to Malfoy to transfer wishes he. Summoned, am I because in Malfoy matters involved am I. For authenticity to check the document, offer I. Refuses, does he. No basis it to demand have I, so the transaction approve must I…."

It was all just too coincidental - that on the eve of being dispossessed, Draco all of a sudden came into a great sum of money. "Couldn't you demand that the document be tested?" Harry asked. "It all sounds dodgy to me."

"Cassius Blake, disadvantaged, the only one was he," Bladvak replied. "To test the document could require only he."

"So what happened, then?"

"Honour must Gringotts the transfer order," the goblin explained. "That was done. On the Malfoy account a lis pendens had we, upon being received the funds, activated was that order. Automatically satisfied, the debt of yours was. Richer are you…."

"As if I needed that," Harry spat.

"…but free and clear now the Malfoy Wiltshire estate is." Bladvak continued. "To Draco Malfoy, belongs now Malfoy Manor."

"What about Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"A non-person, is he, at least the Bank's perspective is that," Bladvak answered.

Harry persisted, "So all the orders against him…?"

"Mister Potter, please make your way to the Chamber at once," Dumbledore's magically amplified voice swept through the stairwell.

Bladvak's news - unsettling as it was - had little immediacy. Harry had all the evidence he needed to be convinced of Draco Malfoy's Death Eater ties. The attempt to dispossess the Slytherin had been more of a grudge than necessity - more because he hated Draco Malfoy than for any other reason. Harry needed neither Malfoy Manor nor yet more cash. But, as long as Malfoy stayed away from him … him and Hermione, that is….

It was a subject for brooding rather than for action.

Together in silence, Harry and Bladvak exited the stairwell together. They passed through the short passageway, into the Chamber of Secrets, and encountered a clot of goblins talking amongst themselves. Dumbledore, acting as little more than a glorified chaperone, stood to one side. He studied the various reptilian bas-reliefs emblazoning the Chamber's walls.

Only when Bladvak almost involuntarily choked out, "my word," did Harry realise that all was not routine.

Bladvak had stopped dead in his tracks and was regarding the Basilisk corpse with admiration bordering on awe. "Huge, was that Basilisk," he commented. "Many centuries old, must have been it."

With that Bladvak joined the goblins gathered around the massive, sickly green corpse. Holding blades taller than they were, the goblins chattered away in animated Gobbledygook, occasionally gesturing towards either the Basilisk or (respectfully) at Harry.

Presently, Bladvak brought another goblin to meet Harry. Evidently, he was introducing the commander of the rendering squad.

The unfamiliar goblin immediately threw himself at Harry's feet. Seeing their commander's action, the rest of the goblin rendering party followed suit.

Harry shook his head. This kind of behaviour got old in a hurry. "Anyor," Harry demanded brusquely. "Now what's the problem?"

The goblins scrambled to their feet, and their commander told Harry, "Much larger and longer dead than anticipated we is this Basilisk. Impratraxis, a question to ask may I?"

"Umm … sure," Harry replied. "As long as it's not anything personal."

"Never so impertinent would be any of us," the goblin averred. "It's just … youthful even now are you. When killed this Basilisk, how old were you?"

"Er … still twelve, yet," Harry answered. "At the end of my second year at Hogwarts, since my birthday's during the holidays."

The lead goblin looked shocked. After a moment's pause, he asked again. "Impratraxis, told have been I that by yourself this Basilisk you killed."

"Not exactly," Harry demurred, starting to feel embarrassed. "I was the only person fighting it, but I had help from Dumbledore's phoenix. It gave me Godric Gryffindor's sword, and I stabbed that thing in the head."

At that, the goblins could not help but whisper amongst themselves, even though that was considered impolite.

"Impratraxis, lest disrespectful seem we," the goblin commander replied, "please understand, rendering Basilisks for over sixty of your years have I. The largest ever seen, is this. More similar to our legends, is it. To slay it required would at least a dozen of us. But you … killed it did you - alone and with but a sword. Impatok Ragnok, a wise leader is he, you to have brought to us."

Harry hardly felt disrespected. Other than the one he had killed, he had never seen any other Basilisk, so he had nothing to compare it to.

The goblins were an underground magical people. Whilst Basilisk encounters were not commonplace, that beast was a known risk against which goblins regularly took precautions.

Mostly from self defence, the goblins had long ago killed off most really large, really old Basilisks in the British Isles. Hogwarts Castle, with its magical defences and (in this case) its secret chambers, was one of very few places where goblins had never been. Hogwarts was one of the few places in Britain where a Basilisk could survive for many centuries.

Dispatching that monster single-handed had always been a big deal, even to Harry. Only now did he understand how truly big a deal it truly was.

The rest of the goblins kept finalising their preparations. Unfamiliar goblin magic made their boarding knives glow red and lengthen by another quarter metre. When they went to work, their magical blades cleaved the highly resistant Basilisk hide only with great difficulty. Had Harry had been so inclined, he could have significantly expanded his vocabulary of goblin curse words.

Harry gravitated to Dumbledore. Soon, however, his superficial chat with the Headmaster about the Ministry's political situation was interrupted by the only female goblin of the group.

"For intruding, please me forgive Impratraxis," she spoke self-effacingly, "but the Sav… er … your … er … Hermione, where is she?"

"Studying," Harry answered. "Why?"

"Her measurements to take need I," the female goblin explained. "The mafaswele … er … princess' robes that are requested, she … er … Hermione…. Unusual, to us is her physique."

This goblin had a point. Humans and goblins were much differently shaped. Harry's request for a set of formal princess robes to fit a human was undoubtedly unprecedented.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts' anti-Apparition restrictions reached the Chamber of Secrets. Salazar had not included a Floo.

Harry tried his mirror three times, to Dumbledore's bemusement, and had only his own reflection to show for his efforts. His mirror connection evidently could not penetrate what must be one hundred metres of solid rock. Finally, he conceded, "I'll have to fetch her."

Harry turned to go, but Dumbledore put his good hand on the boy's shoulder. "That will not be necessary," Dumbledore declared. "I shall take care of it."

The aged mage made a circular motion with his good hand. A white cloud issued from it, materialised into a bird of some sort, shot off at high speed, and quickly disappeared.

"What…? What was that?" Harry asked, plainly impressed.

"My Patronus," Dumbledore advised. "Patronuses can be utilised for communication. Your Patronus is by all accounts excellent, so I can teach you how to do that."

"I thought your Patronus was a phoenix," Harry commented. He knew what a phoenix Patronus looked like because Hermione now had one. Whatever Dumbledore conjured, it was not a phoenix.

"No longer," Dumbledore sighed. "That was but a peacock. As I am no longer the possessor of a phoenix, I am no longer gifted with a phoenix Patronus."

* * * *

Hermione was ensconced in her favorite studying haunt deep in the mustiest part of the Hogwarts library. Harry had an appointment with some goblins. She begged off because studying was more appetising (not to mention productive) than watching dissection of a huge carcass - even the Basilisk Harry had killed.

She was finally regaining the upper hand over her studies. Nevertheless, she remained concerned about her "Institution of Excellence" project. She had tried every additional ingredient that she could think of, but the Wolfsbane Potion seemed to have insurmountable inherent limitations. Whilst it counteracted the mental symptoms of a werewolf transformation, it could not prevent the transformation itself.

She tried thinking more outside the crypt. The hidebound Wizard World rarely sought interdisciplinary solutions - but Hermione brought Muggle sensibilities into play. Maybe the answer lay in combining Wolfsbane with either a Charm or some sort of Transfiguration. On the fringes of her memory lurked some story (quite likely false) about something ex-Professor Lockhart had tried…. It was a lead. She planned to research it….

Damn.

Unbidden thoughts began infiltrating her brain and distracting her from the matters at hand. Unbidden thoughts about the last time she was with Harry….

Damn.

Her first seventeen years had passed without any great need to partake of matters carnal. But now, that seemed all she wanted to think about. Harry was corrupting her.

Correction. He had corrupted her - thoroughly.

Last Tuesday, she had gotten the necessary permissions from Carmichael. Fortunately, she had the Head Boy thoroughly whipped - courtesy of some bootleg Baruffio's Brain Elixir during the prior Term. He was not inclined to be overly nosy.

But then she and Harry had had their brief spat. In her opinion, he was altogether unhealthily fixated on Draco Malfoy.

Harry had no basis for being that upset - just because some oddly coloured heron had collected something from the Slytherin during the lunch break. Worse, Harry could not even articulate his reasons. She told him he needed to pay attention to more important things. He had not appreciated that, had raised his voice to her, and then stomped off.

But later he apologised - he always did. When he told her the truth, she even agreed with him. If Malfoy indeed had anything to do with Cho, well…. In no time they were again swapping ideas and theories.

And makeup sex was wonderful….

Except for the diving board incident, which was not amongst her better ideas. Even with Harry's Stabilising Charm, the diving board proved uncomfortably narrow. In its natural state, the board was even worse, its rhythm too slow and its movements too large to be suitably erotic. And it was unstable. For their troubles, they were thoroughly dunked when they (with Hermione on top) bounced themselves right off the board.

But whilst the diving board had been a (back) flop, the inflatable water lilo Harry conjured once they hit water was an unqualified success. As they left the Prefect's Bathroom with naught but forty-five seconds to spare, their needs had been satisfied, if not satiated.

Had they not been required to turn in their Time-turners, it could have been even better.

Hermione wrenched her mind back to the here and now and completed her Ancient Runes assignment. She was putting finishing touches on the last of several sketches of Viking-era runes when her mind started wandering - back to the forbidden topic.

How much longer would Harry be?

How wonderful it would be if he snuck in under his Invisibility Cloak, slipped beneath this large oaken table groaning with her books, and gave her a thorough tongue lashing right where she needed it?

Yes, that would be nice.

A streaking flash of white light interrupted her dreamy, randy thoughts. Before she knew it, the flash was upon her. Before she could react, it vanished within her.

She could hear - maybe feel - Dumbledore's voice telling her, "Miss Granger, I need you to come to the Chamber of Secrets as soon as you can."

When the voice in her head finished its message, Hermione realised that she knew exactly where she needed to go and how to get there. She even knew the password to get past the Headmaster's guardian gargoyle.

But she did not know why she was summoned.

She did know that Basilisks were dangerous. They had poisonous fangs and eyes that could kill at a glance.

"Harry!" she blurted to the silent shadowy shelves of books. "Oh, Merlin! He must be hurt somehow."

Leaving her disorganized swotting materials behind, she practically sprinted out of the library.

* * * *

Dissection of the Basilisk corpse was well underway when the head goblin in charge presented Harry with a very unusual find. Basilisk venom was a powerfully magical, not to mention deadly, substance. Still, it could be conjured.

This was different - altogether different.

"Impratraxis, properly belongs to you does this," the commander stated whilst proffering a transparent, hollowed out glass sphere containing a few grams of the precious substance. "Unassisted, with a blade shorter than ours, dispatched it did you."

To Harry it resembled a prophecy sphere, except for the pinch of chartreuse coloured salt it contained.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Pure, crystallised Basilisk venom," the goblin replied, displaying discomfort at being questioned.

"An extremely rare find, indeed," Dumbledore interceded, "and quite propitious."

The Headmaster then explained that crystallised Basilisk venom was to potions-making what meteorite iron was to Paleolithic man - a substance so vanishingly rare as to have almost incalculable value. Basilisk venom crystallised only in rare conditions. First, oxygen must be absent, or the venom deteriorated. Second, no physical disturbance must occur. Crystallisation was possible only if the venom was absolutely motionless for over a year (the longer, the better, as the crystals grew larger).

Even Dumbledore had overlooked this possibility. He knew Harry had been bitten and then had used a Basilisk fang to destroy the Riddle diary. Thus, the Headmaster assumed the all the monster's venom had been spent during its death throes.

Harry knew that only one fang struck anything - but not that the significance of that fact.

"…It is a powerful potion ingredient, but so extremely uncommon that almost no potions call for it. Horace is very interested in such items, which is fortunate because there is…."

Dumbledore paused. For several seconds, echoing footsteps had grown louder.

"Must be Hermione," Harry offered.

…Except these footsteps fell very much faster than usual. Harry had moved only a couple of steps towards the entrance when Hermione burst into view.

She sprinted full tilt, her long auburn hair streaming unkempt behind her. Her robes were flung open so she could run, exposing her Muggle clothing beneath. Her face was flushed and her breath came in great gasps.

Most significantly, she was almost wide-eyed with fear.

"Where's Harry?" she screeched the instant she reached the Chamber. But before anyone could answer, she spotted him. Squealing something unintelligible, she launched herself at him. "Thank Merlin! I thought something horrible must have happened."

Harry staggered under the weight of her embrace, but recovered to hold her almost as tightly as she did him. In his ear, Hermione whispered various phrases, all signifying relief. Everyone - especially the goblins - stood aside and gawked at the sight.

Dumbledore broke the onlookers' silence. "I am truly sorry," he said. "I failed to think my message through. As you can tell, Mister Potter is perfectly well."

Eventually, Hermione relaxed her grip and backed off a bit. Harry chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Hermione responded. "I thought you were … hurt."

"It's just … your shirt," Harry told her. Hermione was wearing a royal blue Muggle T-shirt bearing a slogan, in bright red letters, "I'm not bossy - I just know what you should be doing."

Hermione looked around. "So this is the Chamber of Secrets," she uttered, to nobody in particular. "It's huge. Much bigger than Reims - much bigger than anything I've ever seen, save when I was little…. My father took me to this building on one of his trips to America, in Florida. The Yanks built moon rockets in it."

And so it was. The Chamber of Secrets easily exceeded 200 metres on its primary axis. It was close to half that in both width and height. Even the powerful light-emitting crystals that the goblins used to illuminate their work left the Chamber's ceiling largely shrouded in shadow. The space was hewn entirely from greyish, almost black, basalt. Its vertical walls were smooth enough, but not polished, only plain rock. Nothing grew in the ordinarily pitch black Chamber, no moss, no lichens, no anything.

How the Basilisk had sustained itself for so long was a mystery.

At the near end, Salazar Slytherin's gigantic likeness soared into the overhanging gloom. Semi-detached pillars - almost internal flying buttresses - punctuated the walls at regular intervals. These pillars bore unique designs, all incorporating some herpetological element, but each pillar being different.

A stream of water maybe a metre across and of unknown depth emerged from a semicircular, grated passageway at the far left of Slytherin's likeness. It flowed through a stone culvert behind a row of snake-shaped idols until vanishing from sight through an identical exit at the far end.

Without the obstacle of numerous stylised snake statues, the Chamber's main floor could have easily accommodated a Muggle football pitch - including all-seater stands.

The Chamber's mighty vastness dwarfed even the remains of the huge Basilisk.

The goblins paused their gory hacking of the Basilisk to bits. Dumbledore stood aside, thoughtfully silent. Harry, too, said nothing, preferring to wait and watch his fiancée take everything in.

For her part, Hermione allowed her vital signs to revert to normal after her frantic dash through the Castle. Her brain - previously numb with worry that something terrible had happened to Harry - gradually kicked back into gear. At first she regarded the Chamber with the same blank awe of a little girl's first view of the Grand Canyon. Soon enough, her blankness gave way to a more practised assessment of an unfamiliar, but potentially useful, location.

"Harry," she said, ending her long pause, "we could teach the D.A. here - all of it at once."

One thing that had always fascinated Harry about Hermione, even before he had any more-than-friendly feelings, was the way her mind worked. He would stand there watching her think, not knowing what would emerge - only knowing it would be something good.

He had no idea how good.

The swelling ranks of the D.A. outstripping the Room of Requirement's capacity had been a sore spot for weeks. Lack of space kept him from doing more than demonstrating certain truly sophisticated duelling techniques. Beyond that, things had become downright dangerous. Harry had almost been brained by a two-stone cobble.

After Harry's accident, the D.A. had gone to split sessions. Whilst safer, the split doubled the time they spent teaching the D.A. That precious time could better be used studying (or snogging).

"That's bloody brilliant!" Harry enthused after a moment's consideration. He turned to the Headmaster. "Is there any reason we can't train down here … sir?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard with his good hand. "The stairwell presents a security issue," he began slowly, still pondering the question. "But, yes … with a few minor behavioral modifications to the guardian gargoyle, I think it could be arranged."

"Thank you very much, Headmaster," Hermione responded pertly. Harry just grinned. He felt he had just stumbled upon an extra night a week - the next best thing to a Time-Turner.

The goblins informed Hermione of the reason her presence had originally been requested. The female goblin took her measurements.

Harry stood off to one side discussing D.A. logistics with the Headmaster. He could see Hermione and the lady goblin having an increasingly animated conversation. From the looks of things, Hermione had many questions to ask.

When done, Hermione returned to Harry's side. She was still bubbling with ideas.

"You know, Harry, all this Basilisk hide is far more than could ever be necessary for my mafaswele - even if that weren't as … well, scanty…." She looked down demurely, not meeting Harry's (much less the Headmaster's) eyes.

Harry's attention was focused by her last word.

"Umm … what do you mean, Hermione?" he asked her.

"I just learnt from Meoli that the midriff section…. Well, it's detachable, and it's supposed to be worn that way - detached that is - in the presence of … you, actually. I'll tell you the details, later." Some things Hermione was loathe to discuss in Dumbledore's presence. "But that's not the point, actually."

"I I understand your main point quite well, Miss Granger," the Headmaster responded in a reassuring manner calculated to put her at ease. "The question remains what to do with the vast majority of this Basilisk's hide that will remain after your request is fulfilled."

"What do you have in mind?" Harry interjected. "I remember Moody saying something about preferring Basilisk-hide boots."

"Alastor would certainly agree," Dumbledore answered. "Basilisk hide is highly resistant to most magic - at least to our magic. Only the goblins seem to have perfected the techniques required to work it. They will undoubtedly demand their share as recompense. Well, perhaps not, as Mister Potter…."

"I expect they would give it to me if I asked," Harry cut in. "But it wouldn't be right just to take it all."

"Why not you find out, Harry?" Hermione prompted.

He did. "Estim marat porstu," Harry said in his phrasebook Gobbledygook. The commander of the goblin rendering party approached.

"Quas baram ses-tov?" Harry asked.

"Klambak, am I, Impratraxis," he replied. "Of service how can be I?"

"What are your plans for the rest of the Basilisk?" Harry asked.

"To outfit a skirmishing party hoping were we," Klambak told Harry. "Useful would be the armour when the Death Eaters fight we. But unsure am I. Done can more be. Than anticipated much larger is this beast."

"Would enough remain for a set of battle armour for Hermione?" Harry asked. Anything to keep her safe, he would do.

"Harry!" Hermione jumped in. "You know it's much more important that you protect yourself." She turned to the goblin, "Klambak, I want you to make the best possible suit for Harry before you even think of anything or anyone else. I don't need a mafaswele. I can go to that silly ball as something else…."

The goblin paused before answering. He was unsure how to handle this most assertive human girl - especially after seeing her and his prince's embrace when she initially burst into the Chamber. "Umm … Hermione, is it believe I…. Worry not need you. Efficient are we. So large is this beast that will yield…." Two of his clawed fingers scratched the side of his cheek as he estimated. "…Believe I six suits - human-sized - of armour, produce from this behemoth can I…."

"I don't want you to shortchange yourselves," Harry told him.

"Nor do I," Klambak agreed. "But a very large creature is this. By far the biggest in my time of doing this."

Harry turned to the Headmaster. "How many times can you do that Patronus thing? I'd really like to get Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna down here."

* * * *

The blond-haired boy stalked through the Slytherin common room ignoring its occupants. They were less than useless. They all abandoned him when wheel seemed to turn and leave him penniless in the wake of the Ministry debacle. He had no use for fair weather friends.

Draco Malfoy entered his bedchamber, slid inside, and drew the heavy dark green velour curtains about him. He cast his best Imperturbable Charm. Then he opened his latest post.

It was from Burke, but that glorified shopkeeper was merely an intermediary.

Draco already knew he had pleased the Dark Lord. The prompt restoration of Malfoy Manor to its rightful heir proved that - more than any direct compliment. An Imperius Curse here; a skillfully forged document there. Child's play for Lord Voldemort.

Whilst much of his Wiltshire home remained a blackened ruin, at least it remained his. Despite paying off the pathetic Scarhead, Draco still had more than enough Galleons to restore it to its prior glory - except for the wards and the catacombs. The Ministry had placed restrictions on the property.

Those restrictions would be history once the Dark Lord prevailed. Of that Draco was certain.

But enough gloating. He had new marching orders. His razor-sharp dagger slit the envelope open.

Draco had no clue what that minuscule cube he had sent to Burke might have contained. His orders had been simple. Once the cube was activated, it could be touched by Ginny Weasley and no other. He accomplished that task easily enough, with a Sticking Charm and the cauldron autostir.

"Hmmmm…." The results must have been positive. His first instruction was to continue "tutoring" that Weasley bint.

Apparently she was seen as a useful tool in whatever scheme the Dark Lord was concocting. His instructions allowed him to "use the girl" however he saw fit, provided no harm came to her.

But they included more - much more.

"So - Potter and the Mudblood," Draco muttered to himself. "I don't know what this is all about, but I don't bloody care. One thing is for certain. I'm going to enjoy myself doing this - in so many ways."

Another talisman was also provided - with instructions how and where to use it.

Finally, as instructed, he burnt the letter.

* * * *

Author's notes: The Detection Cubes detect only one thing

Fat tub of goo - an insult hurled at baseball's all time highest average hitter, Terry Forster, by David Letterman

Rindelaub was the name of a Philly bakery; the character Rindelaub Borgin was first mentioned in Ch. 43

I've always thought "R.A.B." was too simple; here it's complicated; generally, JKR's Voldemort is too much of a simpleton - using AK on Harry in the final duel, after it had already failed three straight times. I don't think Voldy would be such a one-trick pony

This fic has a true Gryffindor Horcrux

A cup kept by the Muggles as a relic at Glastonbury (a real place accurately described); some other loose ends start to weave together

So the cup goes to Rome; how might Harry retrieve it?

Dumbledore has to work hard to keep Harry from confessing something the headmaster would rather not know

A good school principal does not tolerate the threat to his authority that Harry was amassing

Filch encountered one of the Twins' "Shocking Pinks," first introduced in Ch. 29; carbon monoxide poisoning tends to turn the skin pink

Harry's eventual visits to Blackwalls will be very important

Harry just can't keep from confessing. McGonagall has to shut him up, too

The conversation Harry referred to took place in Ch. 41

The referenced Quidditch conversation occurred in Ch. 24

Hermione's refusal, at Harry's behest, provides Draco's opening

"Figjam" was introduced in Ch. 44

Draco's O+ in potions was mentioned in Ch. 43

The ingredients for Strengthening Solution are canon

Malfoy sloshed the potion with magic

Ginny uses a version of the American phrase, fuck you and the horse you rode in on

Image of Voldemort as Tiny Tim

Ginny's issues with Hermione go beyond Harry

Rosebud is a Citizen Kane reference

The bird described in Ch. 52 was a purple heron, which are known to visit Britain

Quidditch captains having rights to the Prefects' Bathroom is canon

Harry's incident with Fleur was in Ch. 40

The incident with Carmichael is canon

A boarding knife is a whaler's tool

The Blake-Gulbenkian relationship was mentioned in Ch. 47; Gulbenkian was Armenian; Vasag is an Armenian name meaning "treacherous"

The operation of lis pendens is accurately described

Lockhart used the Homorphus Charm - or claimed to

Sex on a diving board is difficult, for all the reasons mentioned

A "lilo" is British for a plastic float

The crystallized Basilisk venom will eventually come in handy

NASA's Vehicular Assembly building was once the largest enclosed space in the world

The Chamber of Secrets solves the D.A.'s space problem

59

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