Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry has a dream, grants a favor, and disproves an accusation; Harry and Hermione have a long talk and read a letter, he deals with a second accusation during Quidditch practice, Draco evaluates a potion, and the Dark Lord plots.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, and 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 58 - Accusations

The first rays of the morning sun pierced the thin gauzy curtains drawn across the large bedroom window. A long rectangular glow fell across the sleeping occupants. Before long the same rays managed to pierce the eyelids of a dark haired boy. He lay there - on the edge of manhood, but already a man.

He blinked once, twice, and again whilst shaking off the residue of well-earned sleep. He was intensely conscious of an arm stretched across his bare chest and, nestled against him, the head and shoulders of feminine owner of that arm. Weeks ago, her love had made him a man.

Her scent infiltrated his nostrils as he recalled their latest night together. But to him, this morning was almost as magical. Finally, they has been able to forget about the forced-march routine - getting dressed, and skulking about Hogwarts Castle just when his entire body begged just to curl up with her and hold her as they both fell asleep.

At last, they not only made love - but slept together as well - all night long.

Contentedly, he cuddled her closer. That must have woken her up because he heard her questioning whisper, "Harry?"

"Hermione, love, you can sleep a while longer."

"Harry, I know you're in there…."

"I know you're in here, too, Hermione," he muttered groggily in response.

"Harry, are you going mental…?"

"If I am, being mental isn't half bad," he sleepily pulled her towards him.

"Harry, if Hermione's in there, you'll be lucky to last the hour. I mean it. You'd best get her back where she belongs right fast. McGonagall's on the bloody warpath. She wants everyone downstairs in fifteen minutes…."

"What?!"

His delicious dream melted away faster than a chalk picture in a cloudburst - the gauzy, sunlight, the comfy bed, his sleeping companion … everything. Harry found himself, alone again, in his normal bed. Beyond the closed bed curtains, Ron was chortling.

Instead of his fiancée, Harry found himself cuddling his Knight-of-the-Realm chain mail robes from the night before.

Why would his robes remind him of Hermione?

Why, indeed. It came back to him in a rush. Hermione had been altogether too randy to wait for him to undress. Not that Harry complained. He just shoved all that chain mail (charmed feather-light) aside. Hermione had another of those little - incidents - she was prone to when extremely aroused. His robes were doused, and with that he had tossed them aside without bothering to Scourgify them. Otherwise occupied, he left his robes as is whilst sneaking back into Gryffindor tower, and into his bed….

"I'll be out shortly, Ron," Harry answered, still somewhat sluggish. "I need to change my trousers."

"I can wait," Ron responded. "I need to ask a favour."

Harry was not inclined to do Ron any favours. But soon enough he muttered, "Finite." Opening the bed curtains, he stared blankly at Ron, who almost immediately broke into a grin.

With an ostentatious sniff, Ron levelled a tongue-in-cheek accusation. "I know that odour anywhere, mate. You did have Hermione in there at some point…."

"Ron, you're jumping to…."

"No worries, mate," Ron continued. "I got some too. Bet you didn't know Cho had a little zipper … no, an unzipper … on that red bit of her costume. There's a broom closet…."

Harry clenched his teeth to avoid starting yet another argument. "Ron, I really don't need to hear about that…."

Ron continued on obliviously. "Well, I don't have the run of the Prefects' Bathroom like some…."

"Ron," Harry cut across. "Don't ask, don't smell." Then, he climbed out of bed and had a better look at his friend. "Er … what happened to you? Did some Red Caps have their way with your face?"

Harry noticed that Ron sported a striking shiner. His left eyelid was heavily bruised, with impressive streaks of yellow, purple, and indigo suffusing the black.

"Oh, that?" Ron grinned. Whispering conspiratorially he told Harry, "I mixed it up with Malfoy last night … on the dance floor. The berk was dancing with - with Ginny, can you believe it? He wouldn't stop, nor would she, so I shoved with my forearm. He took a poke at me, and then Cho hexed him. We had a right good donnybrook after that. Shak hit me with a week's detentions for it, but also tagged Malfoy - and Cho. Ginny got off, although in my opinion she really started it by not telling Malfoy to sod off. Too bad you weren't there…. But I guess all that bother gave you and Hermione cover, at least."

"Ron, I'd really rather not discuss what Hermione and I did last night," Harry warned.

"Oh, all right. Have it your way," Ron merrily agreed. "But it's rather obvious, you know." Then he lowered his voice again and produced a small phial that Harry immediately recognised. "Mate, I need your help. I really need you to hold this for me until I call for it. What are your plans for the Christmas hols?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be staying at Blackwalls," Harry answered. "The Dursleys would only try to wheedle me for money. And anyway, Dumbledore's been on me to `assert control,' as he puts it, over what I've inherited."

"So, you're not coming by the Burrow, then?" Ron looked disappointed.

"Wherever I go … umm … she'll be with me, Ron," Harry said awkwardly, realising he had yet to discuss plans with Hermione. "Why don't you set things right with her? I know what you said, by the way … and this `let's ignore each other' business is getting really old really fast."

"Hermione needs to apologise," Ron retorted, his ears going pink. "She did something to Cho - more than once - and it's bad enough Cho won't even tell me. She needs to apologise to Cho and accept us being together. Which gets me back to what I hope you'll do…."

"The Hell she does!" Harry confronted Ron. "You all but called her a slut to her face."

Ron winced. Harry was right - and stubborn - especially when right. Sighing, he gave in. "Point, that…. Should never have said that, even for whatever she did…. Yeah, I guess I owe her an apology, but just for that…. And still, she should apologise to Cho. She's gone after her twice now…."

Harry kept his expression carefully neutral. This was progress. Ron was not usually the apologising type. "You apologise to her, and we'll see about anything else…."

"Okay, then, but until she actually apologises, it's for your sake not hers…. And I'm sorry for bringing you into it. Harry, I'm sorry for everything I said about you. I … I was out of control. There, I've done it - really. Now, can I tell you why I need that favour?"

"All right, Ron," Harry muttered - hopeful, yet disappointed that again neither of his two best friends seemed inclined to reconcile their differences. He acquiesced in Ron's change of subject.

"Cho's invited me to her house over the hols," Ron revealed in an excited whisper. "For the Chinese New Year - she wants me to meet her parents, Harry! I think this might be the moment I've been hoping for. But that's the problem…."

"What's the problem?" Harry asked, suppressing a variety of unpleasant facial expressions. He struggled to take everything in - and to mesh the new information with what he had learnt about Cho.

"Remember Bill with Fleur's parents…?" Ron began.

Harry gulped. Bill had been engaged to Fleur.

"Don't you think you should slow down a bit?" Harry cautioned. "Get to know her better, maybe? I mean, what do you know about her other than … er … what's physical…?"

Ron did not seem to hear him.

"Nah," Ron continued on. "Bill was nervous as anything, what with us not having much money, and the different cultures. I'm the same way. Every time see myself talking to them about her, I feel like when I first played Quidditch for Gryffindor - worse even. That's why … when I get there … I want you to send me this…."

Once again, he held out the phial of Felix Felicis potion he had won not long before.

"Why not just take it with you?" Harry asked, wary of becoming an accomplice to something about which he had grave doubts.

"I don't want to be tempted to use it too soon," Ron told Harry. "I gotta have it when it really counts. Besides, my parents, or especially Ginny, might find it. Ginny knows about it and doesn't like Cho very much … bloody jealous, I'd say. Once she finds out about the invitation, she might turn over my room to stop me…."

For once, Harry was tempted to agree with Ginny.

"Ron, I'm really not sure … you're so young," Harry resisted - using nearly the same warning Hermione had given him.

"I'm older than you," Ron reminded Harry, "and look who's already declared for Hermione. Cho's a full year older than her. Don't tell me I'm too young. You don't have a corner on maturity…. I won an Order of Merlin, too. Now, will you do it? You're the only one I really trust, you know."

A pleading look on his face, Ron again held out the phial to Harry.

After a small sigh left his lips, Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't know, Ron, you can leave it here, but I need to think about it…."

Ron grimaced in disappointment. "You mean you want talk to Hermione…."

He regarded Ron stonily, not bothering to deny Ron's statement. "Look, Ron, you need to apologise to her." If Ron wanted him to do something, well he wanted Ron to do something as well. Perhaps Ron would get that message.

Those two barely made it to the common room before an incensed Professor McGonagall stalked in. Her steely eyes betrayed more anger than anybody in Gryffindor House could remember. She peremptorily asked the Prefects if everyone was downstairs and shooed them upstairs to roust any stragglers. When the entire House was uncomfortably assembled, she let them have it:

"I have never been so surprised and disappointed … no, frankly, shocked … in all my days on the Hogwarts staff. To have our students, including my Gryffindors, bring shame upon Hogwarts in the presence of guests from another magical institution is appalling … something I never thought I would see. In my entire career, until last night, I had never ended any school event early due to student misbehaviour. And then we discover that the punchbowl had been … contaminated … not only with the Weasley Twins' alcohol potion, but with - Merlin help me - Lust Powder as well…."

Harry had not been paying particularly close attention to Professor McGonagall's rant because he did not view it as particularly pertinent to him. He knew she upset about Ron's fight, but he had already heard about that from the instigator. She was probably also going on about the odd mass escape attempt from the chaperoned Great Hall. He had not participated in that either, although it gave him and Hermione a most serendipitous diversion.

But her mention of Lust Powder refocussed Harry's attention at a stroke.

That had to be it.

He had been bothered - more than he let on to anyone, even (especially) to Hermione - about Ginny's advances to him the night before. He mentally replayed those events, worried about unintentionally having somehow encouraged her. He wondered what could have prompted her to be so forward.

Now he understood. He had seen Ginny drink the punch with his own two eyes….

Lust Powder. Plainly, Ginny had not been responsible for her actions. Harry scanned the common room unsuccessfully. She was hidden amongst the subdued crowd of Gryffindors. Ginny must be so mortified, Harry surmised, that she did not even want him to see her.

And what about Hermione? She had been unbelievably randy last night….

Meanwhile, in her crisp Scot burr, Professor McGonagall was continuing to lay down the law.

"…I don't know how other Houses intend to deal with this irresponsible conduct, but I shall not tolerate it. I will not allow the name Gryffindor to be besmirched in this fashion. All Gryffindor students fourth year and above are hereby prohibited from participating in any extracurricular activities until further notice…."

That announcement jolted Harry out of his own little speculative world.

Before he could process what that meant, a hand had shot up with a question.

The answer came immediately.

"…Yes, Miss Granger, that includes the so-called Defence Association…. And so nobody need ask, all Quidditch practices are suspended as well."

Ron groaned audibly.

McGonagall rounded on him fiercely. "Mister Weasley…. Do not tempt me to break the rules myself. At this juncture, I find myself thinking that you might make a very good star-nosed mole."

Ron went pallid at the mere thought.

But the worst was yet to come.

"Potter, come with me," Professor McGonagall barked,

His head jerked up. His Head of House was glaring at him as if he were a Boggart or something equally loathsome.

Harry quickly surveyed the room. Hermione stood glued to the spot where she had asked her question, a horrified look on her face. He Legilimenced, `What's this about?'

`No clue,' she registered back to him. `Tell the truth if you have to….'

"Now, Potter," Professor McGonagall declared imperiously.

The Deputy Headmistress was already sweeping out of the room, forcing Harry to hurry to keep up with her. Practically running, he caught her on the stairway. Dodging the trick stair, he drew even with her and puffed, "What happened?"

"My office," came the terse reply. "Otherwise, I think you know."

Only one thing could have happened, Harry quickly deduced. Either Mad-Eye or Tonks must have been deeply affronted by his and Hermione's infraction of the rules last night. One, or both, of them must have informed the "proper authorities."

Harry silently trailed Professor McGonagall the rest of the way. He fervently hoped that both of them would escape with only lengthy detentions. Sadly, he contemplated a rather long dry spell in his budding physical relationship with his fiancée.

The door to Professor McGonagall's was ajar. It spontaneously opened all the way to admit the pair, and once they had entered it closed with a thud that symbolised finality.

Harry was surprised, and perturbed, to find that they were not alone. Seated along the walls - their presence obviously solicited in advance - were Professors Shacklebolt and Slughorn. Shak (although Harry would not now think of addressing him in that fashion) looked angry. Slughorn looked disappointed.

No chair was provided for Harry.

Professor McGonagall dropped into the seat behind her desk without any formalities. She shook her head in evident disgust. "All right, Potter," she addressed him, her north-country intonation drenched with resignation. "I doubt I will ever understand why you behaved in such a fashion. But perhaps you should explain yourself."

Harry remembered Hermione's last words. "Umm…. It was my fault … entirely. Hermione and I, well, we hadn't had significant time alone in too long. We - I - arranged something. I tried to be responsible … well, as much as that kind of thing ever could be…. I asked Mad-Eye, and he seemed okay. Once we got there, we also told…."

Harry's dropping the name of one of the most upstanding (purely figurative) Aurors alive set off Professor Shacklebolt. Livid, he interrupted Harry. "You mean to tell me that Alastor Moody approved of this? I hardly think that possible. You know, Mister Potter, we can have him here in very short order. I'm warning you; don't make this any worse than it already is."

"I swear it," Harry maintained, the tenor of his voice rising in anxiety. "He told me specifically, but he had to go. There was some sort of fight, he said. Then we were alone, and it looked like lots of people tried to get out…. It was a diversion…."

"So you pursued this as a diversion, Potter?" Professor McGonagall broke in, seething. At least temporarily, her need to get to the bottom of things overrode her wariness at prompting another of Harry's magical outbursts.

"Yes … er … no," Harry answered, confused. "Everybody went one way. We went another, and then…."

"I am not the least bit interested in where you went," Professor McGonagall again cut in. "I'm interested in why on earth you thought it worth disrupting an event attended by students from another school. We could have had an international incident."

"We … I … just…. What?" Harry was thunderstruck into incoherence. She had just disclaimed any interest in his tryst with Hermione.

For a moment he just stared, uncomprehending, at his Head of House.

She glared furiously back at him.

Shak broke the silence. "Mister Potter," he addressed the boy formally. "When the Deputy Headmistress asked you to explain yourself, what she wished was for you to explain this."

He drew his wand with a flourish, and pointed it at an inconspicuously wrapped package leaning against the wall. The wrapping unravelled itself. A bottle leapt upward and landed perfectly upright on the edge of Professor McGonagall's desk.

"What…? I…." Harry babbled as he reached for the object.

It zoomed towards the ceiling.

"Do not touch it again," Shak warned, as he kept his wand trained on the milky white bottle.

Harry instantly dropped his half outstretched arm.

"I assume you recognise this, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, her eyes narrowed. "Now, the truth, if you please. Need I tell you how profoundly appalled I am? You were just awarded the Order of Merlin…."

Harry's eyes widened. "You think I added this to the punch?" Magic started to crackle between his fingertips.

"Mister Potter, control yourself. That's an order," McGonagall demanded. "You can, and must, do so. The alternative is expulsion, because the day I allow any student to intimidate me is the day I will quit my position."

The scintillations vanished as Harry clamped down on his emotions. However wrong everyone in the room might be about everything else, they had a point…. He was not about to expel himself from Hogwarts.

Taking a deep breath, Shak revealed some of what he knew. "A combination of this alcogenic potion and Lust Powder almost touched off an orgy at the Castle last night. A number of our Beauxbatons guests were caught up in the … festivities, if you will. This was undoubtedly the most serious breach of decorum at Hogwarts in quite some time - exceeding, due to its international aspect - any of the pranks committed by your business partners…."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You think I got this from the Twins…?"

"Where else…?" Professor McGonagall coldly interjected.

"…Listen carefully," Shak instructed in his basso profondo voice. "I'm telling you that this incident was serious enough to demand a thorough investigation. That has occurred, so far discreetly. Some of my Auror colleagues arrived within the hour. This bottle was magically wiped clean, but just in case, we also employed Muggle means. It seems that an excellent set of fingerprints remained on this bottle. To be thorough, we ran them through both our records and the database at Scotland Yard. The Muggles found nothing, but we found a match - yours - from the records of your training over the summer…."

"But, I didn't…."

Shak brooked no excuses. "Let me finish, Mister Potter. We were startled, to say the least. So we continued our investigation with a couple of interviews to determine if you had any connexion to the producers of this potion. In short order, we became aware of a promise that you received as a gift from the proprietors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It seems that they have agreed to help you conduct pranks at the Castle…. Well, it appears that you decided to outdo them…."

Harry could hold his tongue no longer. "I did not put anything into the punch," he declared heatedly. "I swear it. You can give me Veritaserum if you think you have to."

"Precisely why I am here," Professor Slughorn spoke for the first time. He withdrew a small phial of the clear liquid from his ermine-lined green robes.

"So be it," Professor McGonagall declared. "Tell me your story, if you have one, Potter, and we'll see how it matches what you have to say under the potion."

"You don't believe me, do you?" Harry asked pointedly.

"I frankly do not know what, or whom, to believe at the moment," the Deputy Headmistress replied. "I am told that Muggle fingerprinting is quite accurate - and that quite a full print taken, whatever that means."

"I did touch that bottle," Harry freely admitted. "I'd been dancing, and I was hot, sweaty, and thirsty. My partner went to get us both some drinks, and somebody bumped me. I almost fell, and my foot slid under the table as I tried to keep my balance - the one that held the punchbowl, the table, that is…. My foot knocked something over, and it turned out to be that bottle. I was curious and picked it up. Once I saw what it was, I binned it. Then I left. I never even drank any of the punch…."

"I sincerely hope your story is true, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, not quite as harshly as before. Shak looked somewhat relieved but still extremely cautious.

Slughorn's face was unreadable as he measured out four drops - a very strong dose of the truth potion. Once Harry consumed it, Slughorn produced a talismanic crystal. He performed a spell, unknown to Harry, which caused the crystal to emit a bright white light. The colour confirmed that the potion had overcome Harry's ability to prevaricate.

Sure enough, Harry's story as it spilled forth under the influence of the truth potion matched his prior recounting of the previous night's events in all relevant respects.

Until the end of Professor McGonagall's questioning….

"…Mister Potter," she pressed. "Once you were aware that the punch was spiked, why weren't you responsible enough to report it to one of the staff?"

"I probably should have," Harry answered in his potion-induced monotone, "but I was distracted by my dance partner. After that, I forgot?"

"You forgot," Professor McGonagall repeated archly. "How could you just forget?"

"I think … she was affected … by the Lust Powder," Harry struggled to answer.

"You mean to tell me that you `arranged something,' as you described earlier, with Miss Granger despite her being under the influence of both Lust Powder and alcohol?" Professor McGonagall asked, in a rather shocked voice. "I am surprised and disappointed…."

Even under the deadening influence of Veritaserum, Harry started purpling at that accusation. "No!" Harry answered both truthfully and quite loudly.

The Deputy Headmistress was taken aback. Shak signalled her to desist, but she missed it. "Then what do you mean, Potter?"

Harry's face screwed up, but he was compelled to answer truthfully.

"I happened to be dancing with Ginny Weasley, not Hermione," Harry choked out. He looked furious. "Do you have to ask any more questions? I believe I've established my innocence."

"One more," Shak broke in. "Did you have anything to do with the presence of Lust Powder in the punch?"

"No, sir." Harry immediately spat out. "Now am I free to go?"

"You are, Potter," Professor McGonagall allowed. There was no basis to keep him any longer.

Harry immediately spun to the door and stomped off in a fury. He did not even wait to ascertain that the Veritaserum had worn off.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall added as Harry stormed out of sight.

"You bloody well should be."

* * * *

Harry was distracted all through N.E.W.T.-level Care of Magical Creatures. That might not seem like much of a problem, since the session consisted primarily of plowing under the remnants of Hagrid's garden so that the soil would fertilise during the winter. The plow in question, however, was harnessed to a pair of Re'em, with each student being given a go.

Driving Re'em whilst distracted is most ill-advised. Dwelling upon his anger at his erstwhile interlocutors, Harry lost his balance and was nearly trampled by the golden-fleeced beasts.

Only through Hagrid's physical intervention did Harry escape serious injury. Unfortunately, Hagrid caught one of their brass horns in the buttocks for his trouble. That brought about an early end to the class.

"Harry, do you want to tell me what's gotten into you?" Hermione asked as she fell in beside him on the long walk back up to the Castle.

"Not really," he grumbled as he trudged along, not even bothering to shrink his copy of Everything You Wanted to Know About Restricted Classification Beasts But Were Afraid to Ask.

"Let me correct that," she replied to Harry's brush off. "Are you willing to tell me what's eating at you? You know it's unhealthy to bottle things up…."

"Oh, all right," Harry allowed himself to be persuaded. "But you won't like it."

"As if I thought I would - seeing how whatever it is has you feeling," she went on. "Is it something that warrants, you know, a major talk?"

"You know what?" Harry answered. "I think so."

"Then we're headed in the wrong direction," Hermione declared as she took him by the arm and spun him around.

Within minutes they were at their special place on the far side of the lake. By then Harry had already recounted most of the events during his interrogation - even the bit about Ginny - and was finally getting to what really bothered him most.

"…and after that, I thought I'd proven that I hadn't had anything to do with it. But then McGonagall … McGonagall…," Harry's voice trailed off as it often did when he was particularly embarrassed or upset about something.

"What did Professor McGonagall do?" Hermione prompted. "You can tell me."

"She … that hag, accused me of drugging you not only with alcohol, but with Lust Powder when we went off together last night." Harry spoke very quickly to get it all out before he emotionally shut himself down again.

The rebuke on the tip of Hermione's tongue for his insult toward their Head of House was instantly forgotten. "Harry, that's awful! You would never…."

"You … you weren't, were you?" Harry asked tentatively.

"I … what…?"

"That was … really what you wanted last night, wasn't it?" he asked again, his voice even softer. "I don't know ummfff…."

Harry's words ceased as Hermione leaned into him, pulled his face to hers with both hands and kissed him, hard - hard enough to drive away his insecurities, at least for a while. At first he tensed, but she heard his Magical Creatures textbook hit the sand with a dull thud. Hermione persisted, steadfastly holding her lips to his until finally he relented, relaxed, and opened his mouth to let her in.

At that moment she uttered an indistinct sigh from somewhere deep inside whilst deepening their kiss.

She made it count. Then she came up for air.

"Lust Potion only lasts a couple of hours, tops. Don't you ever think that it's not you I want," Hermione whispered to Harry throatily. "And I want you right now."

Harry already knew that, since during their kiss, one of her hands had gone on a very targeted walkabout.

"Right here?" Harry gasped.

"Why not," Hermione replied, her eyes boring into his. "We've got two free periods and lunch ahead of us. And Dumbledore took away your pesky goblin entourage. All we need are Warming and Cushioning Charms."

"But what if someone finds us?" Harry fretted.

"And what if they don't? That's something we can take care of, don't you think?" she pointed out as she pulled him closer.

"I suppose we can," he had to agree. Without further ado he performed an Auror Location Charm that magnified the sound of every heartbeat in the vicinity.

Whilst Harry was confirming that they had only birds, squirrels, and the odd færie as witnesses, he heard her incant "Astranimbius." At once, they were surrounded by a barrier of the now familiar twinkling mist.

Some time later, Harry and Hermione were lying next to one another, thoroughly satiated, with his cloak thrown over them both.

"I wish I could just go to sleep, for once," he whispered to her, "rather than have to get up, get dressed, and carry on. I dreamt about that this morning…."

"That would be wonderful," Hermione murmured, a contented look on her face. "Just to wake up lazily in your arms the following morning…."

"Great. You'll come with me to Blackwalls over Christmas, then?" Harry sprung his little trap.

"Harry! You tricked me!" Hermione squealed. "I haven't given that any thought…."

"Now there's a first," Harry chortled.

"What? That I hadn't given something a thought?"

"No, that I managed to trick the clever one," Harry responded.

"Don't expect to make it a habit, Potter," Hermione replied in mock seriousness.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry told her. "So, will you come?"

"With lie-ins with you as the incentive, of course," she agreed. "Not that I relish playing at Lady Black."

"No more than I fancy being some lord," Harry matched her. "Especially since Malfoy's been managing the place for the last decade or so. Dumbledore's on me to assert control over the estate, now that it's mine, but I don't look forward to it. I sent Dobby ahead to deal with the elves, but I suppose I have to deal with the wizards there myself."

"Well, I'm sure they'll appreciate that you can sack anyone you like - or don't like," Hermione observed.

"Umm … that's one reason I want you along," Harry revealed, "for reinforcement. You're better at that, I've decided. I'd be more likely to curse someone, and then feel sorry about it…."

Hermione exhaled. "If that's why you really want me there, maybe I shouldn't, then. Harry, I really don't want to play your heavy…. Your Abominable No Woman…."

"No!" Harry stopped her. "I'll think of something else, then. The place is supposed to be huge…. Ron, maybe? Merlin knows, he's got enough brass…."

Hermione's expression went icy. "Harry, I don't think Ronald would want to be in the same place I am for anywhere near that long, given what's happened."

"He told me he was going to apologise to you," Harry indicated.

"In fact, he already did … partially, anyway," Hermione revealed. "He did it just as we were leaving the Great Hall after breakfast, whilst you were being entertained by Professor McGonagall. It seemed contrived…. Did you put him up to it?"

Harry was a little surprised that Ron had acted so quickly. "Umm … sort of," Harry confessed. "He knows he was wrong saying those things about you and me. Well, he also wanted something from me, and I pretty much told him I wouldn't do it unless he apoligised. I guess he must really want that favour…."

"What favour, Harry?" Hermione asked the obvious question.

"He wants me to keep the Felix Felicis potion he won. He's been invited to … umm, Cho's house … for the Chinese New Year, and he's afraid that either his parents or Ginny will take it from him…."

"He wants to use it while there, probably to convince Cho's parents to accept their relationship," Hermione guessed.

That was close enough for present purposes. "Merlin, you're good," Harry confirmed.

"As you'd best remember," Hermione retorted. "Well, what do you think? Are you going to tell him the truth about Cho?"

Harry pondered the point.

"He'll pound me for sure if I tell him his girlfriend's a whore without evidence, and if I show him the evidence, he might hate me even more. He thinks that Cho's the one thing he's got that I don't," Harry said glumly. "And what has she really done to hurt him…?"

"What has she done?" Hermione echoed him, but much more shrilly. "She's hiding something huge and horrible from him, that's what!"

"But think about it, Hermione," Harry went on. "Is that really our business? I mean, I don't like it, and it's against my better judgment, but it's just Ron's love life. It's not like me stupidly convincing you to come with me to the Ministry last June."

"It's not that different, Harry," Hermione persisted. "Who knows what might have been different had I been able to stop you? You said it yourself … against my better judgment. Maybe we ought to trust that judgment for once?"

"That was a matter of life and death, Hermione," Harry continued thinking out loud. "This is just boy-girl stuff…. Besides, I've been thinking, has Cho really done anything, I mean to Ron himself, to justify us digging into her private life like this? Are we really any more justified in what we're doing than Rita Skeeter was?"

"Harry, there's no comparison," Hermione insisted.

"How?"

"Well, for one thing, the tripe Rita wrote was absolutely false. This is true," Hermione pointed out.

"She claimed we were involved," Harry pointed out. "That might have been premature, but not really wrong. You've told me that by then you'd already fancied me, and Merlin knows, if I hadn't been stupid, I'd have been fancying you too."

That was not the answer Hermione wanted. "So what do you want to do? Just give it up?" she posed the stark alternative.

"I'd like to get things back on a more even keel with Ron, since he did apologise," Harry maintained. "He'll just get mad again if he thinks he apologised for nothing."

Hermione had to admit that Harry had a point. That was how Ron would think. "Well, I suppose we could wait," she conceded grudgingly. "And see what happens. The Chinese New Year isn't for some time yet. Perhaps we could … yes! Plan B!"

Hermione's excitement level all of a sudden increased by an order of magnitude. She had obviously thought of something.

"What's Plan B?" Harry asked the obvious question.

"We wait. We have Cho's address - it's in the D.A. computer. If, when the Chinese New Year rolls around, we still feel a need to stop it, well, we can leave it up to Cho's parents…."

"Cho's parents? What do you mean?" Harry asked. Hermione's thought processes were too far ahead of his.

"We don't go through Ron at all. We owl the incriminating evidence to Cho's parents before Ron goes there, and let them deal with it," Hermione proposed. "Surely, she hasn't told them about something like this…. They'll either be forced to tell Ron, cancel the visit, or both. And if by some off chance they do neither, well, then we know for sure that there's something seriously dodgy going on, and at that point, we'd be morally obligated to tell him."

Harry gawked at his fiancée.

"Well, what do you think?" Hermione asked, once the silence had dragged on for too long.

"It's brilliant," Harry answered, "and devious, too. To think that the Sorting Hat thought about putting me into Slytherin."

"That's settled, then," Hermione declared. "So Ron stays at the Burrow for now, but if things get better, maybe my presence won't scare him off. What about Ginny? Should we invite her?"

That question surprised him. "Ginny? After last night I'm surprised you'd even consider it. I don't think I really want to be in the same place as her for very long either."

Hermione answered warmly. "I trust you, Harry. You've already explained that last night was just Lust Powder. That's not her fault. We shouldn't punish her for that … not that much, anyway."

"Still, I just don't think it would be a good idea," Harry answered. He had never told Hermione about his own moment of weakness in respect of the redheaded girl, and that was one battle he knew he preferred to fight on his own. "No Weasleys then. But I still need…. I know! The heaviest heavy I've got. And I don't think he's doing anything else these days…."

"Who?" Hermione asked. "Hagrid…?"

"Nah," Harry sat up, screwed up his face, and growled, "Who'd ya think, Granger?"

"Mad-Eye!" she squealed. "And that was a spot-on imitation, Harry."

"Actually, it's making a virtue of necessity," he observed. "I doubt anybody can say `no' more convincingly than he can. And I don't suppose he'd let either of us go off by ourselves, anyway."

"You're right," Hermione conceded ruefully. "I suppose I ought to make arrangements with Tonks, then … But why not…? It's supposed to be such a big place. I can't see it seriously interfering with our privacy…."

Harry looked at his fiancée. "Hermione, you're on to something, I can tell. What is it?"

"Why don't we invite some other friends - those who, unlike Ron and Ginny, don't have anywhere else to go?" Hermione asked.

"Makes sense to me," Harry agreed with the girl who was (almost) always right. "Luna must be one of those; since I don't think she had anyplace she wanted to go even before yesterday's attacks."

"Neville, too, I'm afraid," Hermione ticked off another name. "You didn't get to see this morning's Prophet, what with McGonagall and all, but from the story about the attacks it sounds like their old castle was pretty well levelled. I don't think they have the wherewithal to rebuild it…."

"I do," Harry responded.

"Since when do you know about Longbottom family finances?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Haven't a clue," Harry reiterated, "but if they need money…, well, that I've got. Anyway, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it. If he's at loose ends, right now, I think inviting Neville would be excellent. The more of us, the less likely we'll face resistance from Malfoy's ex-minions."

"That's true," Hermione allowed. She shifted away. "Now we probably should at least be putting our clothes back on. I've brought that letter of yours, and that's probably not something to discuss whilst starkers like this."

"I don't know," Harry resisted. "I've got something else - something related - I need to ask you about, too."

"Harry…." As much as she loved him, she was not inclined to lie around with him for hours naked. At least not outdoors - on Hogwarts grounds - in early November, no less.

Harry knew there were times when it was best just to go along. "Yes, dear."

Whilst making himself presentable again, Harry brought up this other subject. "Hermione, the weekend after next, after the Slytherin Quidditch match - if they even let us play, that is - would you go with me to Gringotts to help me look over all the new stuff that's been put into my vault. It's not even the same number anymore. The goblins moved everything down to one of the single-digit vaults…."

"One of the really big ones," Hermione replied, buttoning up her blouse. "Or so I'd suspect. Of course, I'll go. But I've something I want you to do too."

Harry was thankful for small favours. He had feared Hermione would resist, and he really wanted her with him for that, since he had something special in mind. "Thanks," he said in a low voice. "It is a big one - guarded by its own specially dedicated dragon. Whilst the goblins gave me some idea what's in it the last time, Dumbledore says I should see for myself."

"Doing Dumbledore's bidding, now, are you?" Hermione asked sarcastically. Seeing the look on his face, she got serious again. "I really don't care all that much about what's in it, but I'll go with you, since that's what you want. Besides, if you ask them, I'd wager the goblins can find suitable accommodations so we're not in the open air like this."

Harry caught her drift immediately. "Hermione, are you suggesting…?"

"Nope, demanding is more like it," she replied whilst giving him one of those looks.

"You won't be disappointed, I promise," Harry told her. "Damn."

"What?" she asked. "You know I won't."

"No, just that's twice in a row I bollixed up this shoelace," he complained.

"There's a spell for that, you know," she mentioned.

"Actually, I don't know, but I'm not surprised you do," Harry replied.

She demonstrated, whilst cautioning him to be very precise with it, lest he tie his shoelaces together. They joked back and forth about her knowledge and his likely ability to perform the spell magically, until he asked her about what she wanted him to do.

"Well, I've been thinking…," she began.

"No surprise there," Harry interjected.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed as if insulted. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

"Never. I didn't mean it that way," he retreated. "I mean it's what you do, after all. There's nobody better…."

Hermione relented. "Well, now that you put it that way, I guess I won't hold it against you…."

"Just you, nothing else," Harry commented.

Hermione looked confused. "Just me what?"

"Just hold yourself against me. That's all I need," Harry provided the punch line, looking pleased with himself. Ron had once used that line, with much less success, with Madam Rosmerta.

"Enough, already," Hermione protested. "Or else I'll never be able to explain this." She did, however, move back within his reach.

"I'm sorry," Harry half apologised. "So what's this latest, greatest thought of yours?"

"I don't know about `greatest'," Hermione said modestly, "but it goes back to when I was working through the E = mc² equation. It was tough to get the hang of all that relativity business in just a few hours, so I…."

"You kept at it, didn't you?" Harry anticipated.

"I suppose that's no surprise to you," she confirmed, looking down.

"Oh, please, I know you that well, at least," Harry had to agree. He put his hand on her back and started stroking her hair. "And you know how I get wrapped up in all these things you decide to learn. So tell me about this latest idea of yours."

"Well, Einstein got involved in a great number of things, and I've discovered that something we'd thought about doing not too long ago is probably impossible…."

"What's that?" Harry had to ask. He had no idea where Hermione was going. "There's not too much that's impossible with magic, and I don't think we've talked about raising the dead."

"Or travelling faster than light," Hermione added. "But we did talk about freezing a helium balloon."

That comment came at Harry from very, very deep in the covers. "Okay, I'm not sure I'm following here," he said quite honestly.

"Helium doesn't freeze naturally," Hermione explained. "The same force that powers magic keeps it liquid even at absolute zero, absent extraordinary pressure. Anyway, Einstein looked into that type of phenomena at one point…."

"What type of what?" Harry was still having a hard time following.

"What happens when something gets really, really cold," Hermione told him. "Like that magic you showed the D.A. not too long ago. Anyway, there was a man named Bose…."

"…Who made my cousin Dudley's stereo…," Harry interjected.

Hermione scowled. "Harry, this is serious! I do have a point here…."

"Okay, I'll shut up and listen."

"It's about time," she snipped. "Anyway, those two collaborated, and discovered that when something, like the air you played around with, gets really cold, it somehow condenses into a different state of … well, being … in which everything falls into the same phase and nothing in it can lose any more energy."

"Now, hold that thought and recall what that happened when we trained together last summer. Remember when the Aurors shot Unforgiveables around under water? The Killing Curse produced a bunch of ice and lost most of its range. I wondered about that, but now I think that it must kill by taking out energy, and that's why the water froze. But what Einstein…."

"You're right, Hermione," Harry broke in, finally with something useful to add. "That came up at the enquiry into what happened at the Ministry. I don't remember how, but somebody got to talking about curses, and mentioned that the Killing Curse kills by removing energy that's essential to life. Scary stuff…. Unblockable by magic…."

"Maybe not. That's where I'm going with this," Hermione revealed.

"What?"

"Hear me out, Harry," Hermione asked, whilst holding up a hand to quiet him. "This … really, really cold stuff … that they thought about. It's since been confirmed experimentally - it can't lose any more energy. Trying to remove energy only makes it bigger, by converting more ordinary atoms about the edges into that single-phase state. Given how the Killing Curse operates, I something in that extraordinarily cold state might even absorb the Curse, or at least deflect it."

"Blocking the Killing Curse?" Harry asked, at once interested and sceptical.

"Yes," Hermione emphasised. "And whilst you probably aren't powerful enough to overcome magic itself and freeze helium, from what you've already demonstrated, you might be powerful enough to cool down ordinary air…. You've already been playing at it. Maybe you can make things cold enough for this condensate stuff to show up. You'd probably have to isolate it magically."

Harry felt that she was still talking well over his head. He heard the words and all, but it still did not make a lot of sense. "How would I even know if I'd done it?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Hermione confessed. "I haven't even thought about what it might look like. The equations would make the one on my T-shirt look like child's play."

"Well, I'll just have to practise," Harry said. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"It could save your life, Harry," she replied softly.

"Okay, I'll see if I can work it in," Harry decided. "That's it, right?"

"That's all I know - or think I know - about that, anyway," Hermione confirmed.

It was time to change the subject before this Muggle physics stuff made his head swim away. "Now I have one. What's that mysterious letter all about?" Harry asked her.

"I don't know, since I haven't opened it," she responded, just a little annoyed. "It was addressed to you, not me." Whilst talking, she checked the pockets of her robe, until she found it. "Here it is, a bit worse for wear, but the seal's still intact."

Harry cracked the yellow wax seal and unwound the striped white and yellow ribbon until the envelope fell open. Inside were two pages of fancily watermarked Muggle paper bearing a handwritten letter addressed to "Sir Harry Potter, Proprietor of Château Blackwalls." Beneath the elaborately gilt seal of the "Praelaturæ Personalis Sanctæ Crucis et Operis Dei" (which alone filled most of the first page's top half), the letter set out a most unusual, and guarded, proposition - written in English:

It has come to our attention that you have succeeded to the Estate of the excommunicated heretic and blasphemer, Merak Black. As the first non-blood relative to exercise patrilineal primogeniture over said estate in nearly a millennium, an opening was thought appropriate. Therefore, on behalf of His Holiness, I hereby offer terms under which the reduplication of malediction shall cease, the perpetual excommunication and anathema of the Blacks shall lift, and the interdict pronounced upon all Black estates and fiefdoms shall terminate.

"What's all that mean?" Harry asked. Half of the words in the letter's first paragraph may as well have been written in Latin.

"I'm not sure, Harry," Hermione answered. "This isn't exactly my field of interest. But from the sound of it, somebody in the Church really threw the book at Merak Black, whoever he was. I'm not sure what more they could have done to him. Do you know when he lived?"

"No idea," Harry answered. "Do you remember him from the Black family tapestry at Grimmauld? Because I don't."

"No, but that chart only goes back a couple of centuries," Hermione recalled, "and Britain hasn't been Catholic for quite a bit longer than that."

"What's being Catholic have to do with it?" Harry asked.

"Are you daft?" Hermione blurted, before she could stop herself.

"Probably, but you love me anyway," Harry responded with a grin.

Hermione, however, was serious. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you're reading a letter concerning Catholic ecclesiastical punishments, written on Vatican-watermarked paper, sent by this Echevarría muckety-muck, on behalf of a Catholic Order powerful enough to presume to speak for the Pope himself, and you're wondering what being Catholic has to do with things? It just sort of boggles the mind."

"Sorry, but I don't know any of this stuff," Harry grumbled, feeling stupid. "It's not like either of us believe any of it anyway."

Hermione responded, "That doesn't mean we should just ignore everything we don't believe. Enough other people do believe, and that means these folks might be powerful enough to help us or hurt us. Don't forget, the Church has been around forever. They, or at least some of them, know about magic. The Church was busy trying to burn witches and wizards long before there ever was an International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."

"So what are they trying to get me to do?" Harry asked.

"That would be the next page," Hermione said absent-mindedly as she shuffled the pages.

As you are neither a member of the Communion, nor claim to be, His Holiness can be persuaded to dispense with the usual requirements of penitence, torment, satisfactio, and public reproof. All that need be resolved is the dispute's origin - the ancient records of Cypriot Templars, and in particular the sacrilegious "Gospel of Truth." None of this material could be of significant value to you, particularly compared to the cessation of such a prolonged breach. Moreover, should we be incorrect, please be aware that our terms in this respect are subject to negotiation.

We await your earliest reply. If by owl post, you may address it directly to me in Rome, or if you prefer ordinary post, to Mgsr. Morrith care of Dunreath in Glasgow (we believe it to be the most proximate centre) will suffice.

Again, only your extraordinary accession to the patrimony of the Ancient House of Black enables this offer to be made, after more than six hundred years of breach.

The letter concluded with a somewhat ironic "Yours in Christ" followed by a largely illegible signature beginning with the letter "X".

"Well, that was … unusual," Hermione said after some thought. "Whatever else might be in play, some very high-ranking people in the Church are very interested in something called the `Gospel of Truth,' and have been for centuries, it appears. They evidently believe that it's part of your inheritance…."

"All the more reason to visit my new vault," Harry pointed out.

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed. "But we need to learn about this Merak Black, who, I gather, lived at least six hundred years ago…."

"Well, the other alternative is just to bin this," Harry shrugged. "It all seems rather weird to me."

"That's always an option," Hermione averred. "But I don't think we should do that without a better handle on what this is all about. It might be in your vault, but it sounds more like a Muggle relic that the Blacks somehow acquired. After all, they pursued some pretty dodgy business."

"Yeah, that's probably right," Harry concurred. "The dodgy Muggle stuff wouldn't likely be at Gringotts - just the dodgy magical stuff."

Hermione had already embarked on her next train of thought. "I wouldn't be surprised if those old records are at Blackwalls - and if not there, maybe at Grimmauld Place…." Hermione and Harry both blanched at that last thought.

"Whilst we're at it, maybe we should find out who this Cypriot Templars is, too, since the records they're after were originally his," Harry suggested.

"I think that might be a `what' rather than a `who'," Hermione said with a thoughtful look. "Cypriot might refer to the island of Cyprus, and various organisations have called themselves Templars since at least the Crusades."

"Should we even bother?" Harry asked again. "There's already more than enough on our plates."

"I really can't say," Hermione told him. "But why don't you ask Dumbledore the next time you have one of your sit downs with him? Perhaps he knows something about all this - and why the Roman Catholic Church and Merak Black evidently hated each other so much."

* * * *

With most of his two free Friday morning periods consumed by his chat (and other more pleasurable activities) with Hermione, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room shortly before lunch to finish his Potions essay on Fire Protection and Repelling potions. It was not difficult, as both he and Hermione had encountered such potions - courtesy of ex-professor Snape - as far back as First Year.

Harry completed it, but only barely. He succeeded only because he put the Muffliato Charm on himself to get some peace and quiet. A horde of chattering second and third years had returned early, and would not shut up about some bizarre magical incident that evidently cancelled the morning's Herbology lessons.

Harry refused to answer a single question during the entire double-period Potions class that afternoon. He remained incensed by the morning's false accusations, and since Professor Slughorn participated in that debacle, the portly Potions Master was on his boycott list.

His silence counted for naught, as Ron and Hermione staged another of their little duels for academic superiority. Ron's contributions were powered by the Half-Blood Prince, as the infamous Potions book was open on the desk they shared throughout the two hours. Hermione, who had taken to sitting several rows away, was an insufferable know-it-all, as usual.

Hermione then had a double period with Madame Pomfrey. Harry took advantage of the free time to hide in an unused classroom on the Castle's second storey, where he practised both elemental magic and his Animagus transformations.

Neither session went particularly well. He remained stuck in the same rut on his Animagus abilities. For over two weeks he fizzled at the same point. He could change his body, but not his head. This time, however, he encountered an additional problem. For no reason he could fathom, Harry could only squeeze out one wing at a time. If the left one emerged, the right one did not, and vice versa. Since the wings each spanned a good ten metres, that made for one very unbalanced (and human-headed) Golden Griffin.

Elemental magic was little better. He had conjured helium balloons to work with, but they remained frustratingly gaseous throughout his workout. Whilst he produced frigid whitish, pinkish, and bluish chunks of ice with relative ease, he was nowhere near the degree of cold that Hermione had indicated was necessary to generate this Bose-Einstein whatever.

After about a half-hour of failure, Harry gave up in disgust and decided to exercise his other, flashier elemental powers. That, while noisy, was altogether more satisfying.

Harry's diversion kept him busy, and by the time he glanced at the wristwatch Ginny had gotten him (which brought out a pang of regret - Ginny must be mortified about the Lust Powder), he had missed the bell denoting the end of regular classes.

Since McGonagall had effectively grounded the all the upper years of the House, Harry had very little to look forward to that evening - especially if his housemates were blaming him. At lunch he had sensed an undercurrent of reproach.

It was not to be.

Harry had barely finished closing the Fat Lady's portrait when Ron grabbed him by the arm and began virtually dragging him. "Where in blazes have you been, Harry? You're going to be late for the extra practice … and you bloody well called it…."

Harry regarded Ron as if he had gone daft. "But blinking McGonagall cancelled everything…."

"Didn't you hear the announcement?" Ron blurted, looking at Harry the same way. "She took everything back. Even said she'd made a mistake and whatchamacallit … prejudged … things. Everything's back on…."

Suddenly, Harry felt so much lighter. Professor McGonagall almost never admitted being wrong about anything, and this time she had.

Finally in good spirits, Harry jogged to the pitch with Ron - the two supposed co-captains - both late for their own extra practice.

"So, have you decided yet?" Ron returned to the favour he sought.

"Actually, yes," Harry gave a fairly honest answer. "I've talked to Hermione. She told me you apologised. So I'll do it. After all, what are friends for?"

A happy, excited look spread over Ron's face - even lightening the bruised and puffy area around his eye. "Great!" he exclaimed. "Now let's have a kick-arse practice!"

Harry agreed wholeheartedly. He could really use a relatively peaceful period of intense physical exertion.

Things never seem to go as planned.

Instead of relaxation, Harry found himself flying into another buzz saw, in the person of one extremely aggravated Kashmiri third year.

He found Jazzy in one of her (bad) moods the moment he encountered her above the rest of their teammates on the pitch. Her performance in warm-up suicide drills was desultory. She finished several seconds behind Harry on the last leg to the opposite goal and back. But in practising dives she was just the opposite - flying every bit as recklessly as she had the first time Harry ever saw her.

Finally, he'd had enough.

"Jazzy, stop," he barked in his best captain's voice. "What in blazes has gotten into you?"

She stopped, but scowled at him. "I could ask you the same damn thing, Potter." She pulled out the Snitch he had given her, let it loose, and pelted after it.

"What…? Wait just a Mandrake-potting minute there…." He shot off after her. She was not really trying to stay away from him, so within moments he re-engaged. "What is going on?" he asked again.

"You know damn well what went on," she almost shouted at him. "I told you not to do it, and you did it anyway…."

"What's gotten into everybody today, anyway?" he raised his own voice. "Did I miss the announcement? Who declared this `Let's Accuse Harry Day'?"

"Beats me," she repeated dully. "Don't tell me you forgot already."

"How would I know if I forgot it?" Harry retorted peevishly.

"Not here, then," she replied, a little less malevolently. She pointed her broom skyward and drifted upwards. Harry followed. Soon they had to be scraping against the 200-metre ceiling of the Castle's wards.

She turned back to him. "I told you, with no ifs, ands, or buts, not to muck in my life. I can fight my own damn battles…. I always have. I don't need or want you as my `Great White Father' looking after me."

Harry still looked puzzled. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Don't tell me you don't know," she hissed. "It wasn't spontaneous generation that had those two Slytherin arsewipes to be sporting burkas of their very own…."

Harry gawked. She was right. He did bear some responsibility for that - only some, but enough.

"…Right after they insulted me, it happened," she went on. "Nobody else saw it, but me. Whatever hit them was hidden in the Mimbletonia."

Harry could not help it - he had to smile at that one.

Jazzy saw that, too. "See! I knew you did it … damn you!"

Harry started to explain, "Jazzy, I didn't do it. That's not my field…."

"Well I sure didn't," Jazzy cut him off. "Even Sprout let me off the hook. Far too advanced magic, she said. And it was; even Sprout couldn't finite it. If not you, then what? Put your girlfriend up to it? That must be it. `Advanced Magic' is practically her middle name!" Jazzy was shouting again.

"No…. No…. No…," Harry repeated. "I commissioned it, though. That harassment was affecting your marks. I was afraid McGonagall would sack you from the team if nothing changed. Fred and George … er … the owners of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, they owed me a favour, so I asked them to invent a retaliatory prank. Then I asked Neville to hide it in the greenhouse when he got a chance…."

Jazzy drew her broom very close to his and pinned him with her glare. "Look, Harry, I know you meant well, but stop interfering, okay? I can look after myself. I don't need anyone or anything. I never have."

"Nobody's an island," Harry told her gently, refusing to rise to her bait. "I've felt the same way myself at times. I didn't have any parents either. I was wrong…." A thoughtful look crossed his face.

"Well, I'm not you," she declared decisively. "Just … don't anymore, all right?"

"I can't promise that, but I'll consult you before I choose to do anything more," Harry refused to give in. "By the way, what are you doing over the Christmas holiday? I can't believe you're going back to those relatives of yours after how they've treated you - and they don't celebrate Christmas, anyway."

"Only Eid, but I wouldn't go back if they paid me," she snarled reflexively. "Not with their takfir business. They can screw themselves. I'm staying put here…. What's it to you?"

"Umm … if you want, you can come to Blackwalls with me and Hermione. We're sort of staging an invasion, and we can use all the reinforcements we can get."

Jazzy was pretty sharp. "You mean Blackwalls, as in Château Blackwalls - where the Potions ingredients come from?" she asked.

"Er … yeah," Harry confirmed. "I sort of … own it now, and I don't trust the staff, since they've worked for the Malfoys for years."

"So I heard…. I'll think about it," she left him hanging. "Now we really should go practise."

* * * *

For Harry, Friday night meant another D.A. meeting. But this one was different - or rather, different because it was the same way the D.A. used to be.

They were all together again. Dumbledore had finally given them permission to use the Chamber of Secrets - far and away the largest room in (or under) the Castle.

The Headmaster even graced the inaugural session with his august presence - sort of. He watched the group, now comprising almost all non-Slytherin upper year students - pass by on the downwardly rotating stairs. That probably involved password issues. The only easy access to the Chamber was down the same gargoyle-guarded stairs that led, in the opposite direction, to Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore had not foreseen that students would use the Chamber when he had the Hogwarts elves build the new passageway only two years before.

Unsurprisingly, Harry and Hermione led the procession. Not only were they the D.A.'s generally acknowledged leaders, but nobody else (save Ginny, who made herself scarce) had actually been in the Chamber before - and that had been thoroughly hushed up.

Seeing the Headmaster standing there, one of those vague, beatific smiles on his face, unsettled Harry. He was not at all sure how to act towards - or even feel about - the Headmaster. On the one hand, without at least Dumbledore's acquiescence, the investigation and the false accusation about his drugging Hermione to take advantage of her (nothing else was even remotely as insulting) could not have happened. On the other hand, Harry could not deny that the Headmaster allowed him quite a few liberties … use of the Chamber, for one.

Hermione felt Harry's hand tense in hers once he spotted Dumbledore. `Ignore him,' she Legilimenced. `That's over. Let it stay that way.'

Harry tried for a blank, unreadable expression. Hopefully, he would not have to speak to Dumbledore on this occasion. Things were still too raw.

It was not to be. As Harry passed by, Dumbledore told him in a half-whisper that "all had been secured," and that he need not worry about the Chamber's condition. At that comment, Hermione threw a questioning glance Harry's way. He had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face….

…That is, until his Harry's mouth went round in comprehension.

The Headmaster had just alluded to the hiding place of his parents' bodies. "Thanks," he muttered.

Hermione, not knowing what had passed, made a mental note to ask Harry about the exchange when they were alone together.

The Chamber of Secrets required a long descent. For almost two minutes, the spiral staircase augured into the rock that underlay the Castle, carrying the students, in single file, ever farther downward. Bringing up the rear were Ron and Cho - who was still doing everything in her power to avoid Hermione. Just in front of them was Luna, humming absent-mindedly and tapping her wand on each layer of stonework lining the walls.

At the entrance to the Chamber, the arriving D.A. members could not help gawking. Necks craning, they clumped near the entrance, blocking those behind.

"Oi, up there," Ron shouted from the rear. "Budge up, will you?" The crowd had backed up all the way to the stairs, forcing Ron and Cho to hop as descending steps disappeared underfoot. The only alternative would have placed Ron a lot closer to Luna than he wanted.

Eventually everyone filed in. Except for Harry and Hermione, the massive room was a new, overpowering, and somewhat unsettling experience. It was solid stone - hewn from solid rock - almost two hundred metres long and not quite half that across. Massive columns rose walls every dozen metres or so. They soared upwards, buttressing the walls, until disappearing into the unfathomable gloom that masked the ceiling. The magical lighting, although adequate, was set considerably lower than Harry's last visit to the Chamber with the goblin rendering crew.

Even though the Hogwarts house elves had removed centuries of dirt, grime, small animal bones, and other assorted detritus, the room still looked forbidding and half abandoned. On the walls, above the bottom five metres or so that the elves had cleaned, water streaks and nascent stalactites broke through layers of what looked like slimy black fungus. The entire place had a distinctly musty odour to it.

Nor was this the Room of Requirement. Anything the D.A. required had to be brought in. Hermione had had the foresight to coax some rudimentary furnishings from the house elves. Thus, a few tables and chairs, and a bookcase containing used copies of upper level DADA textbooks, stood in the middle of the massive space. The vastness of the Chamber made everything and everyone in it - save the colossal statute of Salazar Slytherin - look small.

Harry and Hermione stood together in front of a table that they intended to use as a platform, waiting for everyone to wander towards them.

"So how do you want to kick things off?" Hermione asked him.

"Did you finish disorientation spells in your section?" Harry answered with a question.

"Of course," she sniffed, assuming a faux haughty air. "If we followed the Aurors' order, I believe restraint spells would be next."

"I suppose," Harry reacted noncommittally. "That is, unless you fancy another go at me."

"Not on your life, Potter," his fiancée shot back. "From now on, my goes at you are strictly private. I don't fancy doing that ever again…. Nor am I inclined to risk you bringing this place down about everyone's ears."

"Restraint spells, it is then," Harry agreed as he leapt atop the table. Hermione followed.

Harry cleared his voice to address the D.A. Then his countenance turned perplexed. `Where's Ginny?' he asked Hermione telepathically.

`Good question,' she answered in the same manner. `You don't suppose she dropped out, do you? We may have been rather insensitive. You know what happened to her here….'

* * * *

At that moment, the answer to Harry's question lay an indeterminate number of metres above the assembled D.A.

Draco Malfoy hummed contentedly as he puttered about the Potions dungeon double-checking that every piece of the apparatus was properly connected and charmed. Despite a few close calls, things again were proceeding better than expected. He had absorbed the recent odd twist to his mission in stride. The Weasley girl's amenability to his suggestions continued … even if her methods left something to be desired….

"Malfoy," she complained as he turned to face her. "Why the hell did you schedule a session for this of all evenings…?"

Had he presumed too much?

"All the detentions didn't leave me much choice…. You'd rather me schedule a conflict with one of your Quidditch practices?" he drawled sarcastically. "I could, you know…. Peer tutor's privilege."

"Seven of one, the most magical number of the other. Either way, I'd be missed," she shot back. "People are going to start wondering, and you want this secret as much as I do."

Draco dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Let them wonder. Remember jealousy? Your troll of a brother couldn't restrain himself simply at the sight of us dancing at the ball." He reflexively rubbed his right shoulder. It had taken the brunt of Ron's first punch the night before.

"Well, your restraint wasn't much either," she told him coldly. "If you'd only laid off the magic, you wouldn't have all those detentions."

"Wasn't my damn doing," Draco continued, his lingering resentment stirring. "That damn Amazon of his started it. I only defended myself."

"Bloody damn bitch…."

Despite unabated curiosity over the unnamed item Ginny had promised to show to him, Draco now exhibited considerable restraint. He wanted more of a buy-in from the Weasley girl - that she raise the matter first. That way would be easier on all concerned.

So he had Ginny brew a succession of fourth and fifth year potions. None was particularly simple, but their complexity was from technique rather than number of ingredients or brewing time. She was finishing a Clearing Concoction that could turn any wet non-magical surface transparent, when she could stand it no longer.

"How much more time do we have?" she asked impatiently. "You do remember that I want to show you something."

Draco pursed his lips. "Yeah, come to think of it, I do recall you being cagy about something the other night," he fibbed. "We've got about twenty minutes left. Then you can go find your bleeding D.A. if you're still game."

"You'll have to tell me if that's enough," she hissed whilst removing what seemed to be a piece of Hogwarts silverware from a robe pocket. "A priori," she incanted and the spoon became three moderately sized pieces of parchment bearing both printing and handwriting.

"Well, you certainly don't need help in Transfiguration," Draco commented.

"I'm not stupid - like my brother," Ginny snipped.

"Agreed … on both counts," Draco concurred, not wanting another argument to delay things. "So what's this, anyway?"

"These notes claim it's a recipe for the best Love Potion ever brewed," Ginny revealed. "Supposedly, it's both personalised and undetectable…."

"Let me see that," Draco demanded. He was all business, now that a mystery potion had surfaced.

With a flourish, Ginny deposited the parchments in Draco's outstretched hand.

Before reading the first word, Draco already struggled to keep a straight face.

Before reading the first word, Draco already knew, whatever this potion was, it would perform exactly as described.

Draco did not need to read anything to know this.

He recognised the handwriting - that was enough.

Of the three pages, one looked to have been copied from a book, lacking the jagged edges a torn out page would have. The other two pages were completely handwritten, over an area exactly the same size as the first. They were probably copies of notes made on blank pages from the beginning or end of a book. He turned the printed page over.

"This is from The Joy of Potions," Draco could tell from a line at the very top of the page. "What are you doing with a sixth-year textbook…? Wait a minute…."

Draco examined the two printed pages carefully. "This is from your effing brother's book, isn't it? These notes…. That's how he's become a bloody Potions expert all of a sudden when before he couldn't spell `bezoar' if you spotted him the `be' and the `zo.' The bastard…."

"Wait!" Ginny cried. "You can't tell anyone. He could get expelled…."

"Charming thought," Draco savoured. "I can hardly wait."

This time Ginny positively screamed. "You can't!!" She aimed her wand at him just like that night the Gryffindors disarmed the Slytherins in Umbridge's office. "I'll Obliviate you if you don't promise to keep this secret!"

"Hah, like you know how," he sneered, before suddenly stopping himself. Her inexperience was not necessarily a good thing.

"Like that matters," she shouted back at him. "If I screw it up, so much the worse for you."

"Now, now, now…."

The unexpected sound of Mr. Filch's characteristically scratchy voice prompted them to whirl around. They looked guiltily at the caretaker's unkempt hair, his sunken eyes, and his scraggly two-day-old whiskers and yellowish teeth.

"So much yelling it could have raised the dead," Mr. Filch continued. "And just what's the problem? I ought turn you both in. Why Slytherin and Gryffindor in the…."

"I'm sorry, Mister Filch," Draco hastily recovered. "And I'm sure Miss Weasley is as well. She asked me for help with Potions. As you know, Professor Slughorn has made this room available for peer tutoring…."

"Don't know nothing about that…," the caretaker responded suspiciously, his eyes flicking around the room.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Draco point his wand, was hidden from the Squib's view, at a chalice of Bulbadox powder in solution. The chalice floated downward until reaching the. Then it noiselessly tipped over and spilt most of its contents.

"…We were brewing a cure for boils so I could watch her technique…."

Draco gave his wand a slight jerk, and the remaining solution splashed all over his left foot and leg. Then he gently set the chalice on its side.

"…I've probably got boils all over my foot and leg by now." Draco lifted the bottom of his robes, dripping with dark orange liquid, and showed them to Mr. Filch. He continued, sounding impressively apologetic. "Unfortunately, I got angry and said some things I shouldn't, and Miss Weasley, who isn't any squib - oops, sorry - in that department, did the same. We're almost done. I'll just go clean myself up, then and we'll finish. There'll be no more shouting, I promise."

Mr. Filch's lips formed a self-satisfied grin as Draco described his predicament. "Well, I suppose you'd best clean that off … thoroughly, you understand. I don't want anything left to trouble myself with, all right? And if that's a velvet or silk robe, you'd best be quick about it. If left to dry, it'll ruin them. Even house-elves won't be able to mend it." Mr. Filch turned to Ginny, and demanded, "And no more unpleasantness from you as well, is that clear?"

"Absolutely, Mister Filch," Ginny simpered.

Mr. Filch turned away, shut the door, and was gone.

"Arsewipe squib," Draco muttered, as Ginny made a very rude hand gesture in Mr. Filch's former direction.

Draco immediately Summoned a full cauldron of water. With Ginny's help he cleaned his dripping robes without risking any more of his body with the nasty boils that had erupted in the affected locations.

"Your bloody secret's safe with me," Draco grumbled as he set to Healing the boils one by one. Each boil made a soft hiss as it disappeared and emitted a puff of orange smoke. The process was evidently painful. "If I'd wanted to expose your tosser of a brother … ow … all I had to do was hand your little secret over to … ow … Filch right then. The git would be out …ow … of here tomorrow for academic … ow … misconduct. You owe me one … ow … Weasley, and so does your … ow … brother."

"Thank you, Draco," Ginny said genuinely. "If I can, I'll help you out some day."

"I'll keep that in … ow … mind," Draco said, looking glum. "And don't worry; this isn't where the big bad Slytherin comes on to the helpless Gryffindor damsel. I know bloody well you're saving yourself for…."

"Just so you don't get any ideas," Ginny replied, in a falsely light tone, "this Gryffindor girl isn't anybody's helpless damsel."

Draco looked up from his boil removing and saw Ginny pointing her wand right between his eyes.

"Point taken," he shrugged. "Although like I said, I've … ow … never been after that."

"So how is it, then?" she asked the Slytherin.

"Not that bad," Draco answered. "Just a few more to go. Ow. Hopefully none where I'd have to ask you to turn away…."

"I didn't mean that, I meant this potion," Ginny rolled her eyes.

Draco regathered the three sheets. When Mister Filch interrupted, he had dropped them to the floor even before turning around. This time he examined them closely. The rest of his boils had vanished by the time he had finished.

"This is very complicated," he observed as he looked through the instructions. "I thought it was impossible to manufacture love, but from the looks of this, I'd say one can get a damn sight closer than I thought possible. Some of the ingredients - the unicorn liver, and the dragon blood, are rather rare. His birthstone…. What's the git's birthday?"

"31 July," Ginny told him. "And don't call him a git."

"Ouch," Draco replied. "That means we have to add powdered ruby, which can be extremely dear. A day later and it would have been much cheaper."

"I've got money from my reward for helping capture your father, among others," Ginny replied flatly.

"Don't worry about it - yet. Let me see what I can do," Draco replied, repressing everything that might start another shouting match and bring Filch back.

"Anything else?" Ginny asked.

"Didn't you read this yourself?" Draco retorted, still somewhat annoyed at her reference to his father.

"Only the notes on the first page," Ginny admitted. "The rest of it, well, I knew this was well beyond anything I could do." She sought to flatter him without seeming obvious.

Draco continued reading. "I'd have to get a stainless steel cauldron and a natural loadstone weighing at least half a kilo. This other stuff…. I don't even know what this `Oxytocin' is…. These notes suggest something Muggle. And, the Ashwinder eggs have to be diluted three times in ammonia solution so that they won't set the whole thing on fire, or so this says. Whoever put this together went to a great deal of trouble," he remarked, knowing exactly who the "whoever" was. "Oh, no…."

"What!" Ginny yelped. "What now!"

"Quiet," Draco hissed. "You don't want Filch to come back."

"Well, what is it?" Ginny whispered.

"The Ashwinder part of this potion can only be added to the rest during the first new moon after the winter solstice," Draco reported. He reached into his robes and pulled out a pocket lunar table. "That'll be 2 January, next year."

"So will it be ready then?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"Afraid not," Draco told her. "After that, you have to personalise it, with … umm … something intimate of yours and something intimate of his…. That's your job, Reds. I'm not touching that one with a ten metre wand…."

"I'll see what I can do," Ginny replied thoughtfully. "I don't know if he's coming to the Burrow this Christmas. Ron and Hermione have had something of a falling out, and Harry probably won't come as long as Ron's hostile…. How intimate is intimate?"

"Not sure. It doesn't say," Draco answered vaguely. "I'll leave it to you, but I suspect the more intimate, the better. Once that's done, then it has to steep for two weeks…."

"So we're talking about mid-January now?" Ginny persisted.

"That's the earliest it could possibly be used," Draco informed her. "After that, the longer you keep it close to you, the stronger it gets. The notes recommend a couple additional weeks if a rival's involved. Beyond that, effectiveness depends upon a number of considerations…."

"Such as her, isn't it," Ginny scowled at the thought.

"Not exactly," Draco cautioned. "One variable is how intimately it's kept - I assume I don't need to go into any details…."

"Nope," she waved that one off. "I've had boyfriends before. I know what boys want."

Draco shrugged. "All right, then. Also, given what else is going on, the potion must overcome whatever feelings he has for She Who Must Not Be Named. You tell me. How close do you think the two of them are?"

"Really close," Ginny groaned. "I suppose I'm looking at least a month wearing the damn stuff like a bloody - nope, not exactly the right word - sanitary towel."

Draco gave her a sly look. "No tampons yet, then?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," she hissed, pointing her wand at his "family jewels."

"Oh, spare me," Draco groaned. "You started it, not me."

"But you don't know when to stop," Ginny complained, lowering her wand. "I doubt you have any idea what I'm up against."

"Nor the slightest interest in finding out," Draco responded, back on message. Beneath his robes, he touched his wand to the talisman. "Is this what you want to do? It's fiendishly complex, but if you do it right, it should work like a charm. It lasts for days between doses. There's no real antidote, save a full confession. It's colourless and odourless. It's specific to the both of you, and affects nobody else. It works as a liquid, a dust, or a mist. You don't even have to be present when he gets what's coming to him."

"And the only real weakness is proximity, so as long as you stay close to him, you're golden."

Come on, work with me, now…. He saw the momentary flash.

"Yes, this is what I want to do."

* * * *

The pain and the pleasure…. They had long since merged and become one - a burning red fog that surrounded and infused the Dark witch's brain. She lay face down on the black satin sheets, her nude body covered with bloody streaks. It had just ended. Her blood oozed from every orifice, mixing with what he had left there.

All in all, she had never felt better in her life.

Even though there would be no more Cruciatus Curses that evening, Bellatrix Lestrange was, to the extent she could think at all, euphoric.

Her Master was back - all the way back.

And she could claim some credit for that. Probably a great deal, although he would never admit it.

"Yes, Bella, I believe I am ready," the Dark Lord hissed, his reptilian voice betraying an exultant tone. He spoke with the same nearly nonexistent lips and the same quite existent tongue that had only a short time before been used on her.

She felt the mattress spring upwards as he stood. She heard the soft clicking sound and felt restraints fall away from her wrists and ankles at the command of the Dark Lord's wandless magic. She almost laughed at the bad pun that flashed through her still thoroughly addled mind … about how good he was with his wand, too.

She would not kill Snape after all - not for a while, anyway. His potions had their uses.

"I shall be able now to consummate this relationship … carry out my chore," the Dark Lord carried on as he strutted about, still in the altogether, "and then I shall have the army that I need…. The army necessitated by our unfortunate failure on the Ides of July…."

"My Lord, I apoligise again for my more recent failure," she grunted. "I have been rightly and justly punished."

"Consider it over," Lord Voldemort dismissed her apology. He pointed his wand at himself, "Scourgify…. Whilst the premature discovery prevented us from learning everything we had hoped about the enemy's deployment schemes, we learnt enough. That, and information just received from our allies - and soon to be partners - has already proven valuable. I can now set the date for the ceremony…."

The dark witch could not conceal her distaste for what would happen at that ceremony.

"…Bella, I know that expression. Do not think of it that way," the Dark Lord hissed. For once, his words did not carry the intonation of a command.

"But that pathetic little wog bitch, she doesn't deserve you," Lestrange hissed. "She has no will of her own. She has to be driven…."

"It doesn't matter," the Dark Lord countered. "And you shall be rewarded as well - because the consequences of your failure shall serve the greater goal of our ultimate success!"

"A reward, Master, you are too kind to me," Lestrange murmured submissively as she began healing some of the cuts and bruises that were the souvenirs of their activities.

"They will all be watching the Mudblood now," the Dark Lord declared, "and him of course. Which only makes our task easier. While they guard the sine - and the cosine - we shall strike at the tangent…. And when it is over, you shall have him…, what's left."

Bella stared at her master in shock. "A second one, My Lord? You are too good to me."

"I know what I must do to seal the partnership. I know how that makes you feel," Voldemort responded. "Any woman would feel that way. Consider it your recompense."

* * * *

Author's notes: Harry will eventually live this dream

Ask/smell plays on the US military's "Don't ask, don't tell" policy

The timing of Cho's invitation becomes important

Hermione's we're too young line is from Chapter 46

Actually, Ginny might have been the last person to drink the punch and not encounter Lust Powder

A star nosed mole has to rank worse than a ferret

Harry was fingerprinted in Chapter 5

The Twins' promise occurred in Chapter 22

There's a Weasley Twin prank, but not what McGonagall thought it was

The same Veritaserum confirming spell was performed upon Hermione in Chapter 31

Harry tells what he believes is the truth, but in fact it's not true

Abominable No Woman is a play on Abominable Snowman

Hermione is altogether too charitable towards Ginny

Hold me against you is an old joke

The discussion of freezing helium is accurate

My big stereo has Bose speakers. The two Boses are not related

Bose-Einstein condensate exists, and has the attributes stated

The underwater training took place in Chapter 13, and the discussion of AK in Chapter 5

White and yellow are Vatican colors

The name of the Catholic organization is accurate, as are the names of the individuals and the locations in the letter (although possibly not as of 1996)

Merak is one of the Big Dipper ("Plough" to you Brits) pointer stars to the North Star (Polaris). It's the one farther away

The religious punishments are all real. They did throw the book at him

Templar religious orders go back many centuries.

Cyprus and the Templars go way back, and have a connection to Britain through Richard Lionheart

The Gospel of Truth will come into play later. It's mostly a Seventh Year issue

Suicide drills are a form of conditioning that involve running to one point, turning around and running back to the starting point, and then repeating the process with a number of points, each further from the start than the last. Quidditch players do the same thing on brooms

Spontaneous generation is an outmoded biological concept that "lower" forms of life appeared spontaneously from non-living material. This was most famously disproved by Pasteur

Eid is a Muslim holiday somewhat equivalent to Christmas, at least in terms of gift giving. In 1996-97 (1417, by the Islamic calendar), it occurred in February

Takfir is an Arabic term for accusing someone of apostasy

After Second Year, the Chamber of Secrets just sort of disappeared, until it reemerged (in surprisingly slapdash fashion) in Book 7. I always thought that something that impressive, after being discovered, would be used more

The bezoar joke about Ron, is normally told using "cat"

Bulbadox Powder is canon

Ruby is the birthstone for July. If Harry had been born a day later, his birthstone would have been peridot

A loadstone is a magnet; that will be important

Oxytocin is a human hormone. It brings on contractions in childbirth. It is also associated with lust, love, and monogamy in various experiments

Draco's tampon comment is a snarky reference to Ginny being a virgin

59

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