Black's War

BigHeadFics

Rating: R
Genres: Drama, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 27/04/2008
Last Updated: 22/05/2008
Status: in_progress

Harry now knows that is kill or be killed. Is he ready for it, or will he be ready for it?

Chapters

1. Surprises

2. Conversations

3. Owls and Threats

4. I Hate Parchment

1. Surprises

Black's War

Disclaimer: Don't own them, JK does, and boy, isn't that great?

Summary: Harry now knows that is kill or be killed. Is he ready for it, or will he be ready for it?

Timeline: Year six

Author Notes: I've started this before HBP was even launched, so it'll be an AU from start to end. And many thanks to a ton of people: Jeconais, Ruskbyte, Bobmin356, Abraxan, Ed Becerra and a few other for the inspiration, Vicki, Brian, CJ, CanadianSatan and Len for being my sounding boards and betas plus friends. Reviews are Welcome.

Chapter 1 - Surprises

The Great Hall did not look like anything he had seen before. The usually bright and cheerful place now looked like the interior of a dark, dank and foreboding cavern, the candles which brought light to it were nowhere to be seen, the only light in the environment came from a few torches placed at even distances on the pillars of the hall, plus the sick green glow coming from the ceiling, now enchanted to show the Dark Mark, instead of the sky outside.

The house tables were filled to capacity, but instead of the bright and cheerful students, in their place stood silent and serious-looking children, all dressed from head to toe in black Death Eater regalia, sans masks, faces obscured by hoods.

Worse of it all was the staff table. Instead of McGonagall, Flitwick, Hooch and the others, there were faces that Harry wanted to see either dead, or in jail.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Lucius Malfoy.

Antonin Dolohov.

Walden Macnair.

Rastaban Lestrange.

Rodolphus Lestrange.

Peter Pettigrew.

And worst of all, sitting on the chair that belonged to the Headmaster of Hogwarts was the leader of them all. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Lord Voldemort.

The place was silent, but it looked like the beginning of another year, even the Sorting Hat was on display in front of the staff table.

The main doors opened with a bang, but instead of the group of new students, the silence was broken by the magical song of a phoenix, which flown through the open door, followed by a huge black grim, the animagus form of Sirius Black.

The phoenix soared high through the ceiling, her song unfortunately falling on deaf ears. There was no hope in the room, only pain, fear and obedience.

The huge dog stopped right in front of Voldemort, and it transformed back into human, Fawkes calmly landing on his shoulder. Sirius pointed his finger in the direction of the Dark Lord.

`Power the Dark Lord knows not,' he said, in an eerie voice.

Voldemort stood, removing his wand from his robe's pocket.

`Avada Kedavra.'

*****

Harry woke up screaming from the nightmare, the greenish hue of the Unforgivable still very much present on his mind's eye. He managed to control himself, the scream dying and leaving a rough and dry throat behind. He looked around in panic for a second, one hand flying to his wand resting below his pillow the other for his glasses on the chair he had placed right beside the bed, until his mind recognized where he was.

Privet Drive. The Dursleys.

“Ah, bugger,” he cursed almost silently, which gained him the owl equivalent of a glare from Hedwig. “Sorry,” he said, finally calming down enough to lower his wand.

The door to his room was opened with a loud bang, the large form of his uncle clad in flannel pajamas filling up the opening. Harry pointed the wand to him more to scare him than anything else, he knew that he was coming as soon as he was cognitive enough.

“What happened, boy?” he asked in a rage, turning purple at the sight of the raised wand. “And lower that thing, you can't use magic outside of school.”

“Nothing,” he replied in a hard tone. “Just some bad dreams.”

Harry could almost hear the blood pressure rising on his uncle and the sound of the gears spinning on his brain. The man would pop a gasket any second now, but at the same time, the threats issued at the station a few days ago were still clear in his mind.

“Keep it down, there are people who work in this house,” he said finally, after a few moments. He closed the door almost gently, but with enough force to rattle a few walls, locking it behind him.

Harry sighed and lowered his wand, guarding it again behind his pillow.

“So much for sleep,” he muttered.

Standing up, he started walking from one side of the room to another, mind deep in thought.

That's how the sun found him the next morning, still pacing.

*****

The breakfast was another event all unto itself. Aunt Petunia hadn't ordered him to cook since he arrived, but she found him out at the kitchen, with all the meal ready and waiting at the dishes. Vernon hadn't complained, and Dudley had kept his mouth shut, shooting strange glances to him once in a while.

Harry himself had just eaten a toast covered with jam and took a few sips of tea, gaining enough courage to speak what he needed. In his mind, this was hilarious, he could face Voldemort without trembling, but the simple act of speaking with his relatives made him shiver slightly. Finally, after a few moments, he spoke.

“We need to talk.”

Vernon just folded his newspaper and looked at him, while Petunia and Dudley simply stopped the feeding motions. He took a deep breath and began.

“There's a war happening in the . . . my world,” he said, trying to avoid anything that had to do with the word `wizard'.

“What does it have to do with us, boy? We are not part of you freaks,” Vernon said, and as an afterthought, he continued. “Matter of fact, if all of you died, I wouldn't shed a tear of pity for any of you.”

Harry almost jumped on the table and onto his uncle's throat, but two things stopped him. One, if he let the anger took the best of him now he would lost any chance of asking anything, and two, he saw with the corner of his eyes that Dudley actually flinched when his father had spoken.

“That's the biggest problem,” he continued, forcing his voice to remain even. “The man who's waging this war is not fond of Mu… humans, as well. If he wins, probably next year, or the year after, you would all be living in something that makes Nazi Camps look like a walk in the park on a sunny day.”

Vernon snorted. “Do you think that the Crown would let this freak go anywhere? He would be captured or killed in a matter of days.”

Harry sighed. “Uncle Vernon, you know nothing about our world. If I didn't have restrictions placed on me, or if I didn't choose to follow them, I could level this entire home with a single spell, disappear in a mere moment, and kill the queen the next. So, it won't be as easy as you think. Voldemort is dangerous, and he has no mercy.” This was actually a bit far fetched, but not much so.

The reaction from the Dursleys was what he had expected, surprised looks and panic from both Petunia and Dudley, and hatred from Vernon.

“So, what does it have to do with us, boy?” he asked again, under gritted teeth.

“I'm . . . special, in this war. I have a sort of . . . connection with Voldemort, and he fears that, so I'm being hunted by him and his followers. I've fought them to a standstill a few days ago, and for now they must be laying low for a bit. A group of friends is planning and fighting him even as we speak, and I need to know what's going on, so I can prepare and help them, if needed.”

Vernon thought it over for a few seconds. “So, tell me why I just don't simply throw you out that door and leave you to be found by this Varicort fellow?”

Harry took a deep breath. Time to see if his thinking paid off or no.

“My mother left me a protection when she died, that's why I have to stay with my aunt for a time every year. This protection ensues that Voldemort doesn't find me or mine for the entire year. So, keeping me here will probably let you live for the entire year, even after I'm gone to my school.”

The burly man digested this for a moment. “And why are you telling us this?”

“I need a few . . . concessions. I need to send and receive owls, but I'll do it at night when they won't be seen by the neighbors. I need to receive a few friends, but they will arrive at the front door, we'll talk at my room, and they won't do any magic at the house. That's it.”

Vernon stood up from his chair after a few moments. “I have to leave for work. I'll give you an answer when I get back.”

Harry thanked the gods mentally, at least it wasn't a straight `no'.

*****

A few hours later, Harry was sitting on his bed, pouring his other ideas on a piece of parchment when a soft knock was heard at the door. That was another surprise, no one knocked on his door, they preferred to barge in unannounced.

“Come in,” he spoke, louder.

The door opened and Dudley walked in with unsure steps. “H-hi. Can I come in?” he asked. Harry almost gaped at the sight, but instead only nodded a small affirmative.

Dudley looked around the room nervously, trying to find something. Harry decided to help him.

“Why don't you sit down?” he said, pointing to the chair. Dudley did as told, pushing the chair nearer the bed.

“Now, Dudders, what do you want?” he asked, seriously.

The huge boy shuddered slightly, and after taking a deep breath, finally looked at him. “A-are we in danger?” he asked in a small, scared voice.

That made Harry gape. He would have expected this maybe from his aunt, never from his cousin, from what he knew was a younger version of Vernon. Shaking the weird feeling from his mind, he tried to focus on an answer that would make sense.

“Maybe. Right now, directly from Voldemort I wouldn't think so, otherwise he would have attacked us last year.”

“And t-those things that attacked u-us?” he asked, shivering from the memories.

“The dementors? They were sent by a madwoman from the Ministry of Magic just to discredit me, and that's what I fear the most now. But I do have a few `bodyguards' around now, and I guess they will do a better job than last year, or so I hope.”

“What's so different now?”

Harry looked to his cousin, this dialog really wasn't what he expected.

“Voldemort has finally reappeared to the public eye. Last year, only I and his followers had witnessed his resurrection, but a few days ago he had to appear to try to solve a mess that his followers had created.”

Then suddenly, the memory of Sirius falling through the veil returned with a vengeance, and he halted, going pasty white.

“Harry, what's wrong?”

The young wizard looked at the worried face of his cousin, and tried to shake off the memory, failing miserably. ”Bad memory,” he said with a strained voice.

“Care to speak about it? It helps,” Dudley said.

“Why do you care?” he said between gritted teeth, tears threatening to fall.

Dudley jumped backwards a bit, scared, but he had taken a decision before entering the room, and he would see to it.

“T-that's why I came here, Harry. To talk to you and to . . . to thank you.”

The phrase was so surprising that it had the effect of breaking through Harry's reaction, and he sobered almost instantly.

“What?” he asked in a small voice, really not believing what he had heard.

“Thank you. I really didn't thank you last year after you saved me from those things, whatever they were.”

Harry was so stunned that he remained mute, so Dudley continued.

“When I went back to Smeltings I was so scared of it that I couldn't sleep, couldn't study, couldn't do anything. I was scared of my own shadow. My so-called `friends' took the opportunity to reverse the tables on me, and instead of the bully, I became the bullied.”

“Serves you right,” Harry mumbled, not really caring with his cousin's reaction.

“It did,” came the surprisingly calm answer. Harry looked in awe at his cousin. “You see, after the first . . . rough housings, I became distant, from everyone. Then, I started thinking about you, and how would you feel when I did that to you. And that got me thinking. And those are the first `I'm sorry' I'm going to say today. I'm sorry I bullied you, I'm sorry I hit you. I know it might not sound much, but after I've said everything I want to say, I think you'll understand.”

Harry nodded, too surprised to say anything else.

“I was walking around corners all the time, until a girl approached me. Patricia Brooks. She isn't exactly beautiful, but she's cute, and she is very smart and friendly. She told me she found it `really unfair' what people were doing with me. Really unfair. Can you believe it?”

Harry was intrigued at this point. What had happened to the huge bully?

“I got her into an empty classroom, and I simply . . . crumbled. Yeah, that's the best word, crumbled. I told her everything, Harry.”

The wizard's eyes grew large, and Dudley noticed.

“No, not about magic. I'm not that stupid, and I don't want to spend the rest of my days in the hospice. But I told her about my life, what I did to you, how I treated you, and how you ended up saving me from a couple of really bad guys. Do you know what she did? She slapped me. She's like five foot six, must weight about seven stone wet, and she. Slapped. Me.”

Harry actually laughed with the silly expression on his cousin's face.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Anyway, instead of running away and telling the headmaster what I did, she just asked me `Why?'”

Dudley sighed, and put his ham-sized hands in Harry's knees, an action that garnered a flinch from the wizard and a small hand movement to the wand hidden at his back. The supposed ex-bully noticed, and removed the hands quickly and non-threateningly.

“Sorry for that, and another I'm sorry from my past. I'm sorry that I made you fear me, you are my cousin and one of the only relatives that I now can see that I like.”

“W-why are you telling me all this, Dudley?” Harry finally regained enough of his composure to ask.

“Lemme continue, and I guess you'll understand. When she asked me why, I couldn't form an answer. That was what my father did, and I thought I was doing the right thing by following his footsteps, that's what I knew then. I told her this, and she looked mightily sad, and pissed as well. She told me my father should be arrested, that what he was doing should be considered slavery, that she was going to call Child Protection Services onto him and a ton of other things. For a calm and contained girl, she swears like a sailor.”

Harry surprised them both by laughing slightly. Dudley smiled, and kept telling his tale.

“She does. I begged her to not do that, because . . . well, he is my father. So, she made me choose, either I would go and talk with the school's shrink about what happened, or she would go straight to the headmaster to tell what had happened.”

Dudley stood up, and began pacing the room, much like Harry did the previous night.

“I went, and at the beginning it was extremely awkward. I mean, can you imagine me, talking about myself and my bloody parents and you, without sounding like a complete lunatic? Then, the doctor told me that all that I said to her would be kept under strict confidentiality, and after a couple sessions, I opened up. I mean, I really opened up. And don't worry, I haven't said anything about magic to her as well. She made me see what a complete idiot I have been all this time, and that all my previous view on life was completely distorted. And that brings me to my last I'm sorry of this story, I don't know how you'll see all of this, but I'm sorry for being a right bastard to you, in all aspects. I know that a simple I'm sorry isn't enough, and I haven't finished my tale yet, but I want you to know that I will never, ever treat you like that, ever again.”

Dudley sat once again at the chair, looking to a dumbstruck Harry. The young wizard looked at him for a few moments, a series of different emotions playing on the green eyes. Finally, Harry huffed and lowered his head.

“Look,” he started, voice low. “I don't know what you want, Dudley. My forgiveness, I don't know if I can give you that yet, if ever. I can try, no guarantees. But I won't forget what you or your dad did to me, ever. That's not something that you can just pass a layer of paint on top and forget about, you know?” Harry raised his head, and looked him straight in the eyes.

Dudley lowered his head, looking defeated. “I know. And I'm sorry for my dad as well. I will try and speak to him, okay?”

“Don't do that, it will only make things worse. He'll think I made something to you. Let it go, I'll deal with him in my own time, okay?” Harry said.

“Just… don't kill him, okay? He's still my dad, with all his faults and shortcomings.”

“I won't. I've seen enough death for a lifetime. I hate him, but I'm not sure that I want to see him dead by my hand,” Harry said, and looked to his own hands. “Does aunt Petunia know? What you told me?”

“More or less. She knows that I went to see the shrink for some time, she even said that she would complain to the headmaster, but I ended up telling her that it was common to the sports team members to go, and she folded. But she doesn't know that I came to speak to you,” he said.

Harry thought it over for a moment, and extended his hand. “Hi, I'm Harry Potter.”

Dudley looked oddly to the hand for a second, until comprehension dawned and a large smile appeared on his face. “Hi, Dudley Dursley.”

“Don't think that this puts a rock in our past, but I'd like to know this new cousin of mine,” Harry said, with a slight smile.

“Don't worry, I understand. But for you to understand, I have to finish my story. So, I started to wait for our sessions together, where I could talk with her, and have no fear of being reprimanded, or judged. I started changing my outlook in life, and what I wanted of it. I started studying really hard, and Patricia helped me a lot. She brought another friend of hers, Julius, and soon we were the top three students of our respective classes. I've restarted boxing, but now more as a sport and a way of relieving tension than a way to learn how to hurt people. I think I'm gonna be champion again, but this time I haven't `trained' outside a ring. When I wasn't practicing or studying, I was hanging out with Julius and Patricia, and suddenly, something changed. I started having feelings for one of them, and somehow it was reciprocated.”

Harry looked at his cousin again and smiled slightly. “Is she happy?”

“I think she is, after all she covers for us most of the time,” Dudley said, reddening slightly.

It took less than a second for the revelation to be understood and replied in kind. “I could never imagine, Dudley. How?” It didn't have any hint of a critic, only honest curiosity.

“I sincerely don't know. We were talking once, about relationships and the like, you know, and when I realized, we were kissing. I thought about clobbering him for a second, but in the next, I was reciprocating, you know?”

“I don't,” Harry answered, seriously. “Not that I do or don't swing this way, but I've never been properly kissed before.”

Dudley's mouth fell, but he regained his composure a second later. “You should try it, with someone worthy, Harry. Not that I'm offering or anything, cause I might like you as cousin and probably as a friend, but I honestly don't like you like that.”

“Thank Merlin. But for what is worth, I'm . . . happy for you, Dudders.”

“Thank you. It means more than you know,” he said, standing up.

“Does uncle Vernon know?” Harry asked, before his cousin opened the door.

“No, no one outside the four of us do. Can you imagine what he would do to me if I said to him or my mum that I'm gay?”

“Yes, I can,” Harry replied, a lot of sadness and anger on his voice.

“That's why I came to talk to you, because after that I put myself in your position, and for the first time ever in my entire life I cried for you, Harry.”

Dudley walked out of the room, leaving the door semi-opened. Harry stood up after a few seconds of thinking, and ran to the door.

“Dudley . . . thank you,” he said to the large back moving slowly down the corridor.

Dudley looked back to him, and smiled a sad smile for a moment, before walking to his room.

Harry sat back down on his bed, looking to the surprised Hedwig.

“Can you believe that, girl?” he said, returning to his quill and parchment. He didn't write a single letter on it for a couple of hours.

*****

Night came, and with it came uncle Vernon and dinner. Harry ended up helping his aunt to do the chores, not because she demanded, but because the manual labor gave him time to think without interruptions, and it was almost relaxing in some weird way.

The family, plus Harry, was sitting at the table, finishing dinner, the wizard stealing looks once in a while to his cousin and uncle. After they finished dessert, Vernon placed his massive hands on the table and looked Harry straight in the eye.

“I will agree with your request, under a few conditions. One, you will still do you chores around the house, and two, if any of those freak friends of ours do an inch of magic inside the house, I'll kick you and them off, no second chances. Understood, boy?”

Harry almost made a `whoop' of joy, but instead he looked to his uncle and said a sedated “yes, uncle Vernon.”

He finished up cleaning the dishes and went to his room. Once arriving there, he smiled fully for a second, and then prepared the parchments that he had written during the day and sent it on their way, Hedwig with some strict orders on what to do.

Once the snowy owl had fled off the window, he hit the pillow and was asleep in seconds.

*****

Dudley was sitting on his computer the next day, playing a game, when he noticed Harry standing right at the door. He paused the game, and looked to his cousin.

“Weren't you outside?” he asked, looking at the badly dressed boy.

“Finished already. I was wondering, everything you said to me yesterday was true?” Harry asked, eyes checking him from above his glasses.

Dudley shook his head. “Yeah, it was. Why?”

“You really want to be my friend?”

“Of course I am. I won't back out on that,” he said, standing up.

“Then I would like to ask you something. Could you teach me how to use this?” Harry asked, pointing to the computer.

Dudley looked to Harry and to the computer and nodded. “Sure, but there are a lot of things to learn. Do you have anything in mind?”

Harry walked in. “I know that you can search for things and send messages over the Internet. Could you teach me that?”

“Sure,” he said, and they sat on the computer. Harry was a fast learner, and he picked up things pretty fast. A couple of hours later, he and Dudley were over one of the search engines on the net, Harry checking links after links on several subjects. Dudley was surprised on most of the topics that Harry searched.

“There truly is a war going on in your world, isn't it?”

A small flare of anger appeared on his face, but it was soon subsided.

“Yes, there is,” he answered, in a more normal voice.

“But why are you searching these subjects? Martial arts? Bombs? Guns? I suppose you guys used magic to fight.”

“We do, but…” Harry took a deep breath. Time to take a small leap of faith. “This connection that Voldemort and I have runs deeper than I told you guys about. He and I have a destiny together. In the final fight, I have to face him alone, and he has like fifty years of experience over me, so I have to have some advantage.”

Dudley was truly surprised with the revelation. “Okay, I can understand that. But don't you think that this guy will be ready for this?”

“He thinks that muggles are weak, so I'm thinking that anything muggle-related he'll promptly discard as useless.”

“Then why don't you just pump him full of bullets and forget about it?”

“Because he's really powerful, Dudley, and he escaped death once. I have to think things pretty clearly before doing something stupid.”

Dudley nodded. “That's a good idea. Hey, look, do you want to have an e-mail so you could trade messages with your friends?”

“We use owls, Dud. Not much use in one of those.”

“But this Voldemort fellow can probably intercept an owl. Since you said that he thinks that muggles are useless, an e-mail will never enter his plans.”

Harry mused it for a few moments. It was a good idea, and perhaps Hermione had one of those things.

“That's probably a good idea. What do I have to do?”

“Lemme handle it,” Dudley said, and sat back down on the PC. After a few minutes, Harry was the proud owner of a brand new electronic mail address.

“And this way,” Dudley said, finalizing his explanations, “you can come here and check your e-mail with privacy. I don't know your password, so all that you receive will be for your eyes only. Now, all you have to do is to have the e-mail addresses of your friends.”

Harry smiled and stood up. “Thank you, Dudley. That means a lot to me.”

His cousin smiled back, and replied. “Don't worry. If what you said is halfway true, helping the good guys win a war is what any sane person would do.”

“True, my friend. Very true,” Harry said, finally looking to a surprised Dudley. “What?”

“Y-you… you called me your friend.”

Harry replayed the conversation on his mind, and smiled slightly. “I guess I did. But you are on probation.”

“I know,” Dudley said, smiling.

“I have to go. Thank you,” Harry said, and walked down and out to the back garden, to think things through.

*****

After a couple of hours, Harry heard the front door bell ringing, and someone went to open the door. After a few moments, Petunia appeared at the back garden, looking for him.

“There is a woman looking for you. Clean up and go talk with her. She doesn't look like one of those freak friends of yours, but remember what Vernon talked about with you,” she said, turned on her heels and walked back in, without even waiting for an answer.

Harry cleaned up quickly and walked back to the living room. Standing near the door was a tall woman, with blonde hair and dressed in classy muggle fashion, holding a small briefcase in one hand. She was around forty, and as soon as she noticed him, she smiled slightly. Aunt Petunia was at her side, scowling.

“Harry Potter? Imogen Cheatam,” she said, approaching him with her hand extended. Harry stretched his left hand, while his right approached the wand on his back. Imogen promptly stopped and removed the hand. “Look, I have something here that will prove in name of whom I came, and what I came to speak of, okay?”

Harry nodded, and Imogen picked her briefcase with both hands, opening it with expert movements, but slowly. Harry's hand didn't waver from his wand.

She removed a long gray feather from the briefcase, showing it to him from a distance.

Harry recognized the feather immediately. Buckbeak.

Sirius.

“Is there any place we can talk privately?”

-->

2. Conversations

Chapter 2 - Conversations

Even with the sudden introduction, Harry was slightly wary regarding the lady, and remembering the words of Barty Crouch Jr. as Alastor Moody, `constant vigilance', he kept his hand on his wand.

“The same man who sent me this, also told me to remind you that he never forgot what you and Hermione did to him using a time turner,“ Imogen said, guarding the feather back in her briefcase. Harry finally relaxed, and let go of the wand. Only the three of them, plus Dumbledore, knew what had happened to Sirius that night. He extended his hand, which the woman promptly shook.

“Hi, a pleasure. And I guess we can talk in my room, right, aunt Petunia?”

His aunt nodded simply, albeit reluctantly. “Remember, Harry, no funny things,” she said, with a sneer.

“I do, aunt. If you could follow me, Mrs. Cheatam.”

“It's Ms. Cheatam. And of course,” she said, with a smile.

They climbed the stairs and entered Harry's room, the woman noticing the locks on the outside. Once they were in, Harry closed the door, and Imogen opened the briefcase again, removing a wand from the interior. Harry's eyes buggered out and his wand was on his hand faster than she blinked.

“Calm down, this is for our privacy,” she said, and after a quick incantation, the door glowed for a second. “It is an adapted silencing charm, instead of blocking sound, it changes what we are speaking to something inconspicuous. So, I guess your aunt will be extremely frustrated with what she hears from now on,” she said, while guarding her wand back in her briefcase.

Harry grinned, and she fished a business card from her pocket. “Here's my card,” she said, giving the small piece of paper to Harry.

Dewey, Cheatam and Howe

Attorneys at Law

Imogen Prefecta Cheatam

Attorney

“Someone in your family had a sense of humor, Ms. Cheatam,” Harry said, pocketing the card. “Must be easy finding new clients. Sit down, please,” he said, pulling the chair to the front of the bed, while he sat on the bed itself.

“You truly are Sirius' godson. He used the exact same joke when he met me. And it is just a name, not how I deal with either my clients or my cases,” she said, but with a hint of a smile on her face.

“Sorry if I've offended you. Now, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“No offense, besides, I've heard several variations of the same joke. After a time, you know what to expect. And before we begin, I have something to give you before anything else,” she said, opening her briefcase once again. From it, she removed a sealed parchment, and gave it to Harry.

Harry picked it up and noticed two things, first his name on the front, written in Sirius scrawny writing, and the seal of the Blacks on the wax.

A letter from Sirius.

Harry promptly broke the seal, unfolded the parchment and started reading.

Dear Harry,

Congratulations, son. If you are reading this, it means that I'm dead. Terrible way to start a letter, don't you think?

Let me start again.

Harry began to cry.

Dear Harry,

First of all, don't cry. I know it is kind of impossible to ask that of you, but there it is. There is no need for tears. I died, and I died happy, even if I died in pain to protect you, and since we are at war, I probably did. But if I died so you could live, I repeat, I died happy.

And knowing you, you're probably blaming yourself for my untimely demise. Please don't. Voldemort is the one to blame for my death. For Cedric's death. For Lils, for James. NOT YOU.

So, stop being pig-headed about it, and start on living again. Death is a new journey, to a new place. And I'll probably meet Lily and James on the other side, and pull some pranks just to piss off an angel or two.

This letter should have been delivered by a good friend, Imogen. She's my solicitor, and she has a few things to give to you. Don't worry, she's trustworthy, and she agreed to become your lawyer after I'm gone. She answers to no one but you, and she's as smart as Hermione.

As you can possibly figure, you're the sole heir of the Black's family fortune. I know that you don't want money, you just want to be left alone. I'm all for that, and after you finish Hogwarts, if you want to buy a small island on the Pacific and live there naked for the rest of your life, please do so.

Honestly, I know this is probably the last thing you'll do, since Moldieshorts is after your blood. So, I'm asking another thing entirely different of you.

DON'T LET THE BASTARD WIN.

Blow him up, curse his sorry arse with the AK fifteen times, I don't know and honestly I don't care. There must have something that muggles have that he can't expect, right? Just don't get thrown in Azkaban. Food's terrible, and the pool is not heated every day.

One other thing, trust your true friends, there are very few of those in the world, and I've cherished every moment I've lived with Moony, Prongs and Lils. Even Peter, before he betrayed us.

So, I guess it is time for me to leave for good, but before that I have one last thing to say to you. I loved you like my own son, of my own blood. Don't ever forget that, and as long as you remember me, I'll be by your side.

I'm serious.

Oh yeah, I am. That's my name.

(I just had to use that one last time)

With all my love,

Sirius Black, Marauder Extraordinaire.

Harry almost couldn't finish the letter, with all the tears falling. Once he finished, he let the letter drop on the ground. Imogen sat on the bed next to him and hugged him, while he cried on her shoulder. He cried for a good fifteen minutes, before he gained a small measure of composure.

“I think I destroyed your jacket,” he said, pointing to the large tear stain on the shoulder.

“Nonsense, I'll deal with it in a moment. Are you all right for now?” she asked, sitting back on the chair and opening her briefcase once again.

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Good to know,” she said, and pointed her wand at the stain, murmuring a quick cleaning charm. In a mere moment, the jacket looked brand new. “Now, let me talk a bit about myself, so you can understand what I came to do here, okay?”

He nodded, and she continued.

“I'm a lawyer, as you know, and I had the good graces of being one in both worlds, the muggle one and the wizarding one. I've been the lawyer of Sirius for a long time now, since his fallings with his family, and we ended up being friends during the process. I even tried to motion for him to be judged when he was accused of being the murderer of those people, but the Ministry can put a lot of weight on the matter when it interests them. So, I was threatened with all sorts of things, from losing my license to physical violence, and unfortunately I had to let the matter go. When he escaped, and after seeking you out and making sure you were okay, he contacted me again and explained everything that had happened. He asked me to change his will to pass everything to you and Remus Lupin, and to purchase a few things in order to help you, and you alone, to win this damned war.”

Harry lifted a hand and spoke. “On the subject, what is your opinion on this war?”

“Well, I think that Voldemort should be hanged, shot, drawn and quartered, burned and everything else in between before he died, but that's just my personal opinion. And don't be so surprised that I don't flinch when I say his name. He's just a person. A powerful and scary person, but just a person.”

“Good to know. Go on, please,” Harry said, with a smile. Thankfully, another one who didn't fear Tom that much.

“So, I have another letter like the one you received to give to Mr. Lupin. And yes, I do know about the Marauders. I've met your parents once, and they seemed like a nice couple. But right now, I'm here to explain a few things and to give you a few other things, okay?”

“Sure.”

“First, are these three,” she said, removing three notebooks from her briefcase. “This is a diary that Sirius wrote while on the run and the time spent at his home. It is not really a recollection of his days, there are a few passages like that in there, but most of all is a collection of spells, jinxes, charms and everything else that he thought that would be useful for you in this war. He said to me that some of the things in here are for Hermione to research, since he didn't knew much about it, and other things are for Fred and George Weasley to create. And the first one is entirely dedicated on the process of becoming an animagus. It is better than any book I've ever read on the subject, by the way. If I had the time or the inclination, I would be sorely tempted to try it.”

Harry's eyes goggled, and he opened the first one, reading a line or two of his godfather's writing. He closed it with a big smile on his face.

“He purchased quite a lot of books as well, and I've ordered a wizard specialized in library charms to create this for you,” she said, removing a thin dragon hide covered book from the briefcase. It had a phoenix stamped in gold in the cover “It is an index of all the books he purchased. Tap the name of the book you want to read with your wand, close the book, and open it again. It will now be the book. Close it again, and it will return to be the index. The books themselves are stored in one of the Black vaults in Gringotts.”

“And finally this,” she said, handling him a signet ring. “The ring of the Black family. You're the one eligible to have it. With it, comes another thing.”

Imogen passed him a parchment, with a lot of legal mumbo jumbo. “What is all that?” he asked, trying to decipher the legalese.

“This is a request to turn you into an emancipated adult. Since Sirius was your godfather, he asked me to prepare this in case of his death. You only have to sign it, and I'll put it through the system. In about a week, you'll be an adult in the eyes of the Wizarding world.”

“Sirius being an escaped convict wouldn't hamper this?” Harry asked, lifting the paper.

“Convict? Of what? He was never judged, for any crime. He was simply thrown in Azkaban, no trial, no nothing. And if someone so much as peep about it, I'll have a nice case on my hands, even if I can't prove his innocence,” she said, with a feral smile on her face. “This will not be the first time I'll win a case because the Ministry didn't think things through.”

Harry almost started crying once again, but kept the tears in check. He stood up, picked his quill and signed the parchment, giving it back to her.

“Thank you, I'll have this ready by next week,” she said, returning it to her briefcase. “This ends the gifts for now. I have to explain a few things, are you up for it?”

“Sure. Sorry I can't offer a cup of tea for you, but this isn't exactly my home, and my relatives aren't exactly easy to deal with,” Harry said, smirking.

“I noticed, and I can deal with this … aberration as well, Sirius explained the situation around here quite thoroughly. That's why I didn't announce either my title or the reason for my visit, and why I asked to talk privately with you. But let me explain what we'll have in front of us for the next few days. First and foremost, the reading of Sirius' will will be performed at Gringotts, at a time of your convenience. You and Remus should be present for the reading. It's more a formality, in it you will be given the Black's vault key, so I don't expect any troubles.”

“Should there be any?” Harry asked, curious.

“Not that I'm aware of. The Black's family lawyer might make some noise, but he doesn't have any legal grounds to stand on, so I don't believe he will even appear. Other thing is that I've been ordered to find an Occlumens teacher for you, the best money could buy. I did, and she put herself at your convenience. She is from America and sworn to secrecy. I don't know the reason for you to need one, nor do I want to.”

“Thank you, me and my actual `professor' had a bit of a disagreement,” Harry said. “Anything else?”

“The matter of you relatives. I can call Child Protection Services on them, from what I've seen so far and what Sirius told me, and believe me, I want to,” Imogen said, slightly angered.

“Don't do that. Not that I don't want to, I do, but the matter is more complicated than that.”

“Care to explain?”

And Harry did. He explained about his link to Voldemort, the blood protection, and how Dudley had opened up and made some peace with him. And the threats made by Moody on the platform, which were keeping Vernon under control for the time being.

“So, there isn't much that you can do about it, is there?”

“If you want to, I can have them arrested before nightfall, but I must admit that the complications are indeed harsh. But I can always threaten them a little bit more, so your uncle and aunt remain in check until the summer is through.”

“That would be nice. I guess that uncle Vernon will have a stroke before you finish, but if it will keep them in check, I'm all for it.”

“That's good. And that, Mr. Potter, ends my job as Sirius lawyer. From now on, if you want to, I'll be your lawyer.”

“I'd like to,” he said, extending his hand and smiling. She shook the offered hand, smiling as well. “But if you're going to stay as my lawyer, I have to warn you about a few things.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“First, I'm Harry. Just Harry. Nothing of this Mr. Potter stuff, okay?”

“Sure . . . Harry. And I'm Imogen. Sirius used to call me Immie, just to annoy me, but I've grown fond of the nickname.”

“Okay, Immie. Two, because of my connection with Voldemort, I'm a target, more than anyone else nowadays. Being at my side is a risky business, if I sneeze too strongly I will probably be assaulted by a ton of Death Eaters, sixteen Dementors and a crazy Ministry official. You up for it?”

She thought it over for a moment. “Sure. I failed a friend, I won't fail another. Besides, we are all targets on this war.”

“Three, there is the matter of security. Since I'm a target, and because of … other reasons, when I do get out, I usually have an escort with me all the time. I just want you to be aware of it.”

“No problem. I've dealt with important people before, and I know how a security detail works,” she said.

“Four, what do you think about Albus Dumbledore?” Harry asked, point blank, and Imogen stopped for a while.

“I think he's as manipulative as Fudge is, only his intentions are better focused. But he has his own agenda, as we all do,” she answered, frankly. “Why?”

“You're the first of a very large group of people that talks of him like that. Why?” he asked again.

“Once you are deeply entrenched in the wizarding world and in Ministry issues, you start paying attention to who the real powers are behind the curtains. Dumbledore is one of those powers, Fudge and his lackeys is another, and Malfoy and by extension Voldemort is the other. Biggest problem is that Fudge is as corrupt as they come, and Malfoy has pretty deep pockets.”

“Interesting. With things as they are, who do you think will win this war?” Harry asked. It was refreshing to talk with someone who didn't speak of the `greater good' or some similar nonsense. Wars were fought in many fronts, as he was learning.

“Right now, I guess that Voldemort has the biggest chance. He has a big foothold in the old pureblood families, and the old money speaks pretty loud in our world. Fudge is scared to do something that will lose his supporters and his chance at a reelection. And Lucius and the others are the ones who finance his campaign. And to a good part of the Ministry, the `purebloods must rule' rubbish that Voldemort speaks has a lot of strength, even if they will never say it out loud.”

“Funny you should say that, because Voldemort is a half-blood himself,” Harry said, to a slack-jawed Imogen.

“Are you sure?” she asked, surprised.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle. He rearranged the letters to form I Am Lord Voldemort. Check his background. His mother was a witch and his father was a muggle. He spent his childhood in an orphanage.”

“Who knows that information? Why it wasn't released to the public? Voldemort would lose almost all of his followers if they knew that.”

“I don't know who else knows, but I know that Dumbledore does,” Harry said, slightly angered.

“I'm noticing that you don't like Dumbledore that much as well,” Imogen said, noticing the reaction.

“We had a big fight before the term ended, and I'm not sure if I trust him that much nowadays. I know that his intentions are good, and we have the same enemy to face, but I've been lied to for my entire life, even by people that I though I trusted. It's not a good thing to know,” he said, sadly.

“I can only imagine, Harry. So, since you told me you will need to face Voldemort eventually, what do you want me to do?”

Harry smiled, and started laying his cards on the table.

*****

They talked for the best part of another couple of hours, after which Harry escorted Imogen downstairs, he sporting a huge grin in his face, and she a predatorial grin mostly found in jungle cats ready to strike at their prey. They ended up finding a sour-looking Petunia sitting on a chair, flipping over a magazine. She stood up as soon as she saw them.

“Why did it take so long?” she asked, point blank, right in the face of Imogen. Not a very smart thing to do.

“Since I'm Mr. Potter's lawyer, I can't speak of any of the matters discussed between me and my client. But I'll be returning later tonight to speak with you and your husband regarding some issues concerning my client. It would be better if the two of you should be present,” Imogen said in a clipped and controlled voice, extending another business card to Petunia. Turning back to Harry, she spoke in a much nicer voice. “Harry, I'll have some of the things you asked later tonight. Not all of them, but I guess you'll survive without them for another day or two. Is that okay?”

“Sure it is,” he said, opening the front door. He smirked, noticing the purple color of his aunt. “I'll see you later, Immie. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. I'll be back later. Ta,” she said, and walked out.

“What was . . . who was that?” aunt Petunia screamed after the door was locked.

“My lawyer,” Harry said, climbing the stairs. “She'll be back tonight to speak with you and uncle Vernon.”

Harry walked back to his room and waited. Ten seconds after he sat on his bed, his aunt entered the room like a tornado.

“I demand an explanation!” she screamed.

“You heard, she is my lawyer. She came here to discuss some legal issues concerning me. And that's it. The rest you will learn tonight,” he said, calmly.

“I want to know what you spoke with that woman,” she said, approaching menacingly. She was not a physical person, that was more the thing of uncle Vernon, but Harry guessed that if she was incensed enough, she would indeed get violent physically.

“I don't have to tell you squat,” Harry screamed the last word. “You and that imbecile you call a husband ignored me for all these years, you can hold for a few more hours. Then you will know,” he said, with a menacing look on his face.

Petunia huffed, still red as a tomato, but even she knew when a battle was lost. She turned on her heels and scampered downstairs. Harry grinned.

A few moments later, Dudley appeared on his doorstep.

“What was that?” he asked, to a laid-down Harry.

“Nothing that concerns you for now, Dud. I just had an interesting chat with my lawyer,” Harry said, smirking. Dudley went white.

“My parents are in trouble, aren't they?”

“Man shall reap that which he hast sown, Dudley. But don't worry, for now it is just a bit more security for me, and a guarantee that your folks will walk on the straight and narrow with me for the rest of my time here. And who knows, you might end up benefiting from it if you ever decide to tell them.”

The color returned to the huge young man's face. Harry noticed that even if he was still huge for a boy of his age, he was actually smaller than the last time he had seen him the previous year.

“Hey, you've lost weight, haven't you?” Harry asked, surprising his cousin. He entered the room, smiling.

“Yes, training. My coach told me that I could fare better if I traded fat for muscles, so I got on a diet,” Dudley said, sitting down on the chair.

They spent another hour talking normal things, trying to mend the huge gap which separated them for a lifetime.

-->

3. Owls and Threats

Chapter 3 - Owls and Threats

It came as no surprise really. Harry was reading the first of Sirius' diary, the one which explained the animagus transformation. So far, it had explained how the magic worked, and what to expect from the transformation. Sirius being the writer, it was filled with comments and funny parts, even reminiscing of the time together with Harry's father and the rest of the Marauders.

That's when he heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs. He calmly laid the book down on the floor, on the side of the bed away from the door, and waited patiently. Not five seconds later, the brutish form of his uncle entered the room, not even having discarded the hat and coat he always used when going to work. He grabbed Harry by the lapels of his overtly big shirt and slammed him to the nearest wall.

“What did that woman…” he started, Harry noticing that he was an amazing shade of purple.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, uncle Vernon,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I've learned of a thing called Child Protection Services.”

That acted almost like a repellent. Vernon let Harry go, but kept clenching and un-clenching his fists, ready to hit anything.

“They won't protect a freak like you,” Vernon said, growing even more purple.

“To them I'm not a freak, uncle. I'm just a child who has been abused by his relatives. And that makes you the freak,” Harry replied, still in a calm voice.

Vernon lifted his fist, and readied it to knock Harry's smirk off his face once and for all.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Vernon Dursley,” another voice said, this time from the door. Vernon turned quickly, hand dropping in the process. “Unlike my client here, I have no restrictions on using this,” Imogen said, reddening with anger, wand pointed at Harry's uncle.

“You're one of them…” Vernon sputtered.

“Human beings? Oh yes, I am, and proudly so. Quite different from a bigot like you,” the lawyer said. “Now, if you can control your temper for the time being, I would like to go downstairs and talk with you and your wife, plus my client here. If you can't, I'll do one thing that I've never done before, and disrespect one of my client's wishes, and call both the police and the Social Services. Believe me, I'll make it as noisy and spectacular as I possibly can, perhaps even invite a few friends of mine from the press.”

Harry had never seen a person change colors so fast. Vernon went from heart attack purple to a pasty white in less than a second. Nothing troubled the man more than disturbing their false pretense of perfection.

“Y-you wouldn't…” he stammered.

“Try me, Mr. Dursley. Now, if we could please adjourn to the living room?” she said, and the man passed her, grinding his teeth and sputtering the entire way.

“Do you perchance have on hand the telephone number of an ambulance service?” Harry muttered, when he passed by her.

“Why?” she asked, in a low tone as well.

“I reckon that the stroke I mentioned before is closer than I at first believed,” he smirked, and continued downstairs.

“Good,” Imogen said, with a similar smirk.

After Vernon sat down in his favorite chair, with Petunia at his side, Imogen started to speak, still standing.

“My name is Imogen Cheatam, and I'm a lawyer, and I'm here defending the interests of my client, Harry James Potter. Mr. Potter here asked me, as his legal representative, to inform you, sir and madam, that some …changes will happen in this household. These changes are non-negotiable, and if any of them are broken, it will trigger an instant call to Child Protection Services, the police, and the prosecution of you to the fullest extent of the law, both in the muggle, or if you prefer, the non-magical and the magical world.”

“After all we…” Vernon started screaming, lifting himself from the chair.

“Silencio,” Imogen intoned, wand aimed perfectly. When Vernon realized that he had been muted, he sat down, turning purple once again. Petunia jumped in front of him, screaming like a banshee. Another silencing charm, and the couple was looking like mimes, trying to convey their hatred through their motions.

A second later, the front door exploded, and Harry had his wand in hand. A dual scream of “Stupefy” was heard, one coming in the direction of Imogen, the other coming from Harry. The one from the door missed by a hair, Harry's didn't. The stupefied form of Nymphadora Tonks fell on the front door carpet.

“Ah, bugger,” Harry said, shaking his head.

-oOo-

Harry sat Tonks on another chair, taking the wand of her hand, while the muted residents were part scared, part furious by the lack of a front door, and the visible display of magic. Imogen ennervate'd Tonks back to consciousness.

“Wotcher, Tonks,” Harry said, with a grin.

The young auror jumped as soon as her brain was cognitive enough, but when she noticed a smiling Harry, she backed down on the chair and groaned.

“Wotcher, Harry,” she murmured, her hair changing from a bright purple to a fiery red.

“A metamorphmagus, how curious,” Imogen said. Tonks looked at her and scowled, Harry noticed and tried to disarm the possible situation.

“Sorry. Tonks, meet Imogen Cheatam, my lawyer. Immie, meet Nymphadora Tonks. An auror and a good friend of mine.”

“You're Sirius cousin, aren't you? I remember him talking about you once. Nice to meet you,” Imogen said, extending a hand.

Tonks shook the hand slightly, and then something clicked in her brain. “I remember you. I met you a long time ago in Sirius' Pad. It was only once, but we traded a few words.”

“How did you look then?” Imogen asked.

“Like this,” Tonks said, changing to her base, unmorphed form. Harry's jaw dropped. She was gorgeous.

“Oh, yeah. I remember now. Why did you explode the door and try to knock me out?”

Tonks reddened, but to hide the blush she changed back to her usual appearance. “I saw the light from the curses and I thought Harry was being attacked. Sorry about that,” she said and turned to the Dursleys, “and sorry about the door. I'll fix it in no time,” she said, looking for her wand. Harry gave it back to her, smiling sheepishly.

“I guess your training is paying off. How are you?” the now blue-haired woman asked.

“I'll be okay now. Can we talk later? I have some things to say to you,” Harry said.

“Sure, I'll be outside, it's my night. See you in a bit,” she said. With a few incantations, she restored the door and put it back in place.

“Now…” Imogen said, after the door was locked behind Tonks, “as I was trying to say, I'm representing Mr. Potter here, and he asked for a few changes. They are not overtly big, nor will they disturb the peace of the household. I'm willing to remove the silencing charms, as long as we all remain calm and controlled as human beings we all are.”

With hasty nods of compliance from the couple, Imogen canceled the spell. Vernon tried to start again, but a quick flick of Imogen's wand cut him before he even started. He sat back down, fuming.

“Now, the changes: all the locks outside of Harry's door will be removed except the one originally from the door, which he will have the key of, he'll have full liberty of the house, he'll eat properly, and he'll have his own clothes. He'll have a cell phone, which is private and he'll pay the bill of such phone. He'll be allowed to study, to receive visitors respecting house hours and to send and receive owls. He'll clean and tidy his room, and he'll perform a few of the house chores, if they are not abusive. He already made a deal with you, Mr. Dursley, regarding a few of those issues, and he'll continue to respect this deal. One last thing, and this is paramount to the rest: he will be treated with respect and decency, he's a human being as you are, and he had no choice in the matter to be left here all these years. So, if you abuse him in any way, shape or form, I will go ahead and use all the tools at my disposal to make your life miserable. Are we clear, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley?”

Vernon fumed, but he had no choice. “Who will pay for all this extra expenses?” he asked. When he looked to Imogen, he noticed it was the wrong thing to ask.

“Don't worry, Mr. Potter here is perfectly willing to pay for all the extras I've named, but I don't guess it will be much of a strain, considering you've been receiving a monthly stipend to take good care of him?”

Harry's mouth fell down and Vernon and Petunia blanched. “What?” the young wizard asked.

“It is incredible what a few good questions in the right places can uncover in just a few hours, don't you think?” Imogen's feral smile was scary. “Apparently, your money paid for this house, your uncle's car and quite a few of Dudley's presents during those last fifteen years.”

“What?” Harry seethed, and turned to his relatives, wand at ready. He started cataloging curses to use, even a few Unforgivables, while they blanched more and more, but a calming hand on his arm made him stop for a moment.

“They are not worth it, Harry. It will only cause trouble for you. I can deal with this, legally. Don't worry,” Imogen said, her face reflecting both calmness and a steel resolution to solve the problem.

“Do you mean I was treated like garbage while they feasted on my parents' money?” Harry asked, tears of anger on his eyes.

`

“Yes,” she said simply.

Harry turned to his relatives, and suddenly, all of his outside reactions ended. He stopped trembling, and his eyes hardened. The room suddenly chilled, windows frosted, the breaths started giving away puffs of vapor, as if they were being attacked by a hundred dementors.

“You better start looking for another house, another car, another place to live far away from me, because next year, as soon as I'm of age, I'm going to blow this house, destroy the car and burn what's left. You may take your clothes and nothing else from here. If I see one speck of dust out of place next year, the consequences will be severe,” Harry intoned, in a tone even more chilling than the temperature of the room.

As soon as he said that, the room regained the normal temperature, but Harry's demeanor didn't.

“I won't be threatened in my house…” Vernon started, and as soon as he said that, he was being lifted from his chair and slammed against the wall by a young man less than half his weight.

“It is *my* house, you sorry excuse for a human being, paid with *my* money, left to me by *my* parents. I just won't kill you right now because I would lose everything I've gained these last few years,” Harry screamed, his magic allowing him to lift the huge man.

Vernon did the only thing he could, he pissed his pants.

Petunia in turn, fainted.

“I'll be back,” Harry said to Imogen, and stormed out of the room, going out.

-oOo-

Tonks noticed the commotion, but kept her distance. Better keep things private like that - private. The yelling, however, was pretty clear, even at this distance. She saw Harry storming out of the house and going down the street almost running. She followed at a distance, worried about his reactions. When she saw him sitting in the only functional swing at the park, she relaxed slightly, until she heard a soft `pop', signaling someone apparating nearby. Wand at ready, she waited hidden behind a tree, until the regal figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared.

“Ah, Nymphadora. May I inquire what happened?” he asked, checking Harry from a distance.

“Wotcher, Albus. And I've told you, it's Tonks. Harry and his relatives had a big fight, and he ran off to cool down a little. How did you know something happened?”

“The wards around the house warned me of the pulse of magic. I decided to come and check by myself. Is he all right?” the headmaster asked, worry clearly displayed in his face.

“Why don't you go ahead and ask him? I guess he would like to see you,” she continued, turning to check on the boy she was in charge of. She might be clumsy, but no one could say that she was a slacker at her service.

“Then you guessed wrong, my dear Nymphadora. I'm probably the last person young Harry wants to see at this moment,” he said, a hint of sadness displayed clearly.

Tonks decided on not asking the reason for their breach, but Harry needed someone. “What about Remus? I guess he would like to see him,” she said. Albus simply pointed up, to the clear full moon above their heads. “Ah,” she exclaimed. “Then who?”

He looked to her over his half-moon glasses, eyes twinkling. “I'm not exactly a good friend of his, Albus. What should I do?” she asked, nervously.

“I believe you will learn, Nymphadora, that Harry has you in some higher regard than you think. I believe you will fare pretty well with him. Just don't pressure him. Meanwhile, I should see what happened at his home.”

“His house,” Tonks corrected him.

“I beg your pardon?” Albus asked, curiously.

“His house. That place isn't his home, from what I could gather. But go ahead, I'll try to talk with him.”

Albus nodded and left. Tonks took a deep breath and started walking in the direction of the Boy-Who-Lived.

-oOo-

Harry's mind was in such a great turmoil of emotions that he wasn't able to think on a single thing. Things changing from horrible to surprising, to less than horrible, to actually nice, and now they were back to horrible again. Right now, if a Death Eater appeared, Harry would ask for a moment of reprieve and point to number four, Privet Drive.

Damn, he wanted to do a Crucio spell, sans wand, on both Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

“Harry?” called a calm voice a few feet in front of him. He lifted his wand to strike but promptly let it fall.

“I almost knocked you out again, Tonks,” he said, in an empty voice. She shrugged, and came closer, tripping once. Harry didn't even blink with her clumsiness.

“You did right in there. I'm proud. Not really happy, but proud,” she said, smiling weakly. “Can I sit down?”

Harry shrugged again, and she interpreted it as a yes. She conjured a chair and sat on it.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“You heard?”

“I guess that Santa Claus heard it,” she attempted some slight humor. When he didn't show any hint of it, she apologized.

“No problem,” he said, not really caring. He remained silent for a few moments, and decided to open up a little. She wasn't any of his close friends, and she was probably unaware of a lot of the things that transpired between him and Dumbledore.

“Have you ever woke up feeling like a different person?” he asked, almost murmuring.

“You're asking me this?” she asked back, changing her hair color for effect.

“No, I mean inside. Have you ever woke up feeling . . . I don't know . . . not Tonks?”

She mused for a moment. “I don't think so. I mean, there are mornings I'm more in a Nymphadora mood, and there are the undercover jobs, of course, but no. I guess not. Why?”

“Because just some days, I would love to wake up not feeling like Harry Bloody Potter.”

“Okay, Rick,” she answered in a weird airhead voice.

“Rick?”

“Yeah, since you aren't Harry Potter, you can be Rick Kaplotnick, from London. Boring teenager full of zits and dreams of beautiful models and sports cars.”

That managed to get a curt laugh out of Harry. “You're nuts.”

“No, I'm not. My name is Tonks,” she replied in the same voice. “Nuts is my older sister.”

That got another laugh from him. But he soon got back the somber and pissed off look from before. “Can you believe the gall of those arseholes?” he screamed.

“Harry, I didn't get the entire story, but I guess that things were pretty bad in that house,” she replied, and in a bold move, grabbed both of his hands in hers. Harry made an initial move to remove them, but let them where they were. He sighed.

“I had a horrible childhood, Tonks, if you can call that childhood. I was treated worse than a house elf, and I lived in the cupboard under the stairs until the day I got my Hogwarts letter. Can you imagine that? It was my dream. I was going to learn magic,” he said, with some wonder on his voice. “Then I discovered that I was the bloody `Boy-Who-Lived', and that I was famous. And then, all the crap started, people had all sorts of preconceptions about me, ranging from a big pureblood git to a fame seeking celebrity. Then I find out that the monster who killed my parents isn't dead. Then I do the `good guy' crap and try to save a piece of rock, and in the process I almost end up bringing him back to life for the first time and killing my only friends. Then, I end up back in hell, living with them. I'm set up by a crazed house elf who wants to protect me by repeatedly putting me in trouble. I am thankfully kidnapped by my friends and end up knowing a right bastard by the name of Malfoy, which sets up another trap to bring his master back to life, almost killing the sister of my best friend. I had to face a huge basilisk, ended up being saved by Fawkes, made a full of hot air moron into an empty-headed moron and almost killed my friends in the process. And I end up back in hell. Hey, are you noticing a trend here somewhere?” he asked, humorlessly. Tonks remained silent, her own feelings held in check for the time being.

“Then,” he continued, “I go back to Hogwarts, and I discover that a crazy murderer is behind me, and he's the same guy who betrayed my parents to Voldemort.. I end up almost condemning an innocent man to a Kiss, transforming my friends into werewolves or worse, killing them. Bugger, it IS a trend. It was actually my best year at Hogwarts. And then I get back to hell. This time, my relatives were scared of your cousin, and I actually had a better than average summer, not counting a useless enforced diet.” Harry removed his hands delicately from Tonks, only to stand up and start pacing. “Then I go back to Hogwarts, almost die in a setup tournament, and end up seeing one of my friends dying and my enemy coming back to life. And I go back to hell. Then once again, I almost end up in Azkaban for defending myself, go back to Hogwarts, have to withstand a madwoman put there by the fucking Ministry with the objectives of discrediting me and putting all the troubles under the carpet, as if nothing had happened. Mind raping, blood quills and I finish my year in a trap, where my godfather is killed by a madwoman, and all of my friends are almost killed, again. And I discover that one of the people I trusted the most lied to me for almost fifteen years. And I end up back in hell.”

He stopped, and grimaced. “And suddenly, yesterday, I woke up from a nightmare and spent the night thinking. In the morning, for the first time in my life, I asked something from my uncle. Simple things, only to be more aware of the things that were happening in our world. He didn't say no, and I thought `huh?'. Then, I'm in my room, and my cousin, one of my main tormentors since I was old enough to walk, enters and starts talking to me, civilly. I end up finding some surprising things from him, and we try to bury the hatchet by trying to be friends. Then I meet Imogen, and I discover a lot of things that she can do for me, and how my life can be easier from now on. And later tonight, I end up discovering that I was indirectly financing the hell I live in. Can you imagine that?”

Tonks thought it over for a few seconds. “You want to know what I think?”

“Yes,” Harry said, actually curious with the answer.

“I think you need to shag someone for a full week.”

The answer was so absurd that Harry did the only thing possible.

He laughed.

And he kept on laughing for a good five minutes, until he managed to put himself back in control.

“I mean it,” Tonks continued, with a smile on her face. “After all, life has screwed you over so many times that it must be time for some payback. Better it be on the same coin.”

Harry laughed again, with the same enthusiasm of the first time, but for less time. His sides hurt too much to continue. “A-are you offering?” he asked, jokingly.

“Play your cards right and I might think about it,” she answered, with a straight face. Harry sobered instantly and looked open-mouthed to her.

“I must be dreaming,” he said, not believing her words.

“Come on, Harry, haven't you noticed?” the auror asked, standing up as well.

“Noticed what?” he asked dumbly.

“Harry, you're a gorgeous fellow, with a nice enough body, enough brains in said body to be worth talking to, with a great personality and a cool sense of humor. The girls and women fanning after you aren't exactly wrong, you know? And I'm not talking about the Boy-Who-Lived crap. Only problem I see right now is your age.”

“I'll be an emancipated adult in about a week,” his hormones answered for him. After he spoke that, he reddened worse than any Weasley ever had. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

This time, Tonks was the one who laughed. “No problem, lover boy. Come on, let's get back, you need to deal with those idiots.”

Harry held her shoulder. “Wait a moment, I have some things to ask you,” he said, seriously this time.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Why didn't I receive a letter from the Ministry? Fudge hates my guts so much nowadays that that simple stupefy would have sent me for a fifteen year stint in Azkaban, not to mention my little burst of magic of a few minutes ago.”

“Things are so crazy at the Ministry nowadays that your use of magic probably went unnoticed. They look like a bunch of headless chickens. Only the aurors have some semblance of focus and organization, otherwise all You-Know-Who would have to do was to get in and sit in Fudge's chair. And probably the reinforcements that the headmaster did on the wards blocked the sensing of the spell. As for the burst, they don't have the ability to sense wandless magic, so you're safe.”

“Good to know. Now, `Sirius' Pad'?” Harry asked, curiously.

Tonks grinned. “Sirius had an apartment in Diagon Alley after he left school and had to fend for himself. I guess he still owned it when he…. Anyway, I think it still is the same way as he left it, it was a `bachelor's wet dream', as he put it.”

“I'd like to go there sometime,” he said.

“I might escort you there. It is a nice place to deal with this lust of yours,” she said, eyeing him with a hungry look.

“T-Tonks, I . . . I… well, I…” he tried.

Tonks laughed. “Don't worry Harry, I'm mostly pulling your shorts. Mostly,” she said with a smile still planted on her face. “Come on, time for us to get back,” she said, pushing his arm slightly.

They started walking slowly back. “Tonks, thank you,” he said, in a clear voice. Before Tonks could answer, he stopped, watching a growing white speck in the sky. In a few moments, Hedwig was dropping his mail on his hands, while flying around him. “Thanks, Hedwig. Go catch some mice, I'll leave the window open,” he said, and the owl flew away.

“She's a nice bird. But no thanks are needed. Just a bout of wild monkey sex is enough”

Harry smiled more openly now, but still blushed. “I have two more questions. One, would you train me?”

“For sex? No training needed, just intuition. You're either good at it, or you're not,” she said. He blushed again, but shook his head.

“No, to fight. I'll need it, you know?”

“Sure, if I can find a good spot nearby,” she said.

“Perhaps Ms. Figg's living room, we could clean it up and expand it a little. It would be perfect,” Harry mused.

“That's okay, I'll talk with her. I'll even ask Moody to help as well, I guess he would be delighted in that gruff way of his.”

Harry gulped. If half the stories about Moody were true, he was in for a world of pain.

“And one last thing. That form you showed to Immie?” he asked, curious.

“That? That's me, Nymphadora Tonks. No morphing.”

“Tonks, you're gorgeous,” he said, and this time, she blushed.

“Thank you. I don't use it that much, almost no one knows me like that, so it is a mask for when I want to walk around unnoticed, and it is pretty comfortable to be, after all, it's me,” she said, smiling.

“I can understand. Too bad I can't be a metamorphmagus,” he said, sullen.

“I think I can help you a bit. We had a class in auror training about muggle disguise, in situations where we couldn't use glamour spells to disguise ourselves. I attended it so I could make more convincing morphings. Hide your scar, change your eye color using contact tenses . . .”

“Lenses. Contact lenses,” he corrected her.

“That one, change the way you dress and you could stand in front of Hermione for half an hour and she wouldn't think it is you.”

“That might be useful,” Harry said, mind alight with possibilities.

“It is,” the auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix stopped. “We're here. You want me to come in with you?”

“No, I have to deal with them myself,” he sighed, eyeing the house and finally noticing the car parked in front. “Could you do me a favor before I go in?” he asked, with an evil smile on his face.

She nodded, and he told her his idea.

-oOo-

Once he entered the house smiling, he noticed a sour-looking Imogen, and the equally sour-looking Dursley couple.

“They give you much trouble?” Harry asked, looking at the crystal blue eyes, which at the moment looked stormy gray.

“No, they were silent, but Vernon went up to clean his soiled pants. I just had a small meeting with an interfering old headmaster of ours,” she said, between gritted teeth.

Harry's smile disappeared as if it never were. “What did he want?”

“He was fishing for information. I told him it was none of his business, and he came with that `a student's welfare is my business' speech, and I cut him down a peg or two. He asked for a meeting later this week, and I agreed.”

“Why the meeting?” Harry asked, now suddenly guarded against her.

“To try and fish for more information, I believe, this time on his ground. But don't worry, I know how to deal with Mr. Order of Merlin First Class Albus Dumbledore. Been a while since I had a client as interesting as you, Harry,” she said with a smile.

He replied the smile, and then looked to his relatives. “You talked to them?” he asked Immie, but kept looking to them.

“No, I was waiting for your return,” she said.

“Okay, can I change the value of the stipend for them?”

“No, but what you can do is change the value distributed between the beneficiaries. Part of the money has always been yours, and it is automatically deposited in your vault at Gringotts, the rest goes to them. There is a clause in the contract which allows you to modify this value at will, but not over a certain stipulated value.”

“Okay, how much is it?”

“About two hundred galleons a month for them and eighty for you, you can change this to a hundred forty galleons to you and another hundred forty to them,” Imogen said.

“Can I cancel the contract?” Harry asked.

“If the person who set it up agrees to it, yes, you can,” Immie said, and grimaced.

“Who set it?” he asked her and looked to her face. “Let me guess, Dumbledore.”

“Yes,” she answered back, still grimacing.

“Do the change, then, I'll deal with the cancellation later,” Harry said. He turned to the Dursleys and said, in a calm voice. “I'm throwing the rules out the window you pair of bastards. Next week, I'll be a full wizard in the eyes of the law, and I'll do whatever I want inside this house. Don't worry, I won't blow it up, I still need a safe haven away from school during the summer. But if I hear a peep from either of you, I will start getting payment from fifteen years of abuse from your skins. You got me?”

“You can't threaten us,” Petunia said, eyes roving between Imogen and him.

“Ooh but I can, aunt. You made your own bed, and so did this aberration you call a husband. Now, have the decency of lying in it.”

“You won't kill them, will you?” Imogen asked slightly worried, which made Petunia and Vernon relax somewhat.

“No, I won't. But I can come close,” he said, to which the couple blanched.

“Good. I hate having to hide bodies,” Immie said, face hard.

To this, both Vernon and Petunia fainted.

-->

4. I Hate Parchment

Chapter 4 - I Hate Parchment

Hermione was sitting on the windowsill of her room, looking out at the beautiful summer night outside. There wasn't a single cloud in sight for miles, and the slight breeze kept things interestingly cool. She had her diary resting on her lap and a pen in the other hand, but so far she hadn't written a single sentence in it. It was an ordinary diary, with a light blue cover, bought in a muggle shop like four others exactly the same, now resting on one of her bookshelves. It was an absolute secret of hers, only her mother knew, and she was good enough to not go peeking.

In them, there were four years of Hermione Jane Granger, not the smartest witch in school, but of Hermione, teenager, friend of Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Her feelings, her shortcomings, her messes - yeah, she had them - and her thoughts about just about everything. She cherished the times during vacation where she took a moment to write her memories, and to remember the year that passed.

But right now, her only thoughts were directed to her best friend, a man whose destiny was intrinsically mixed with the worst dark wizard who ever lived.

Hermione stretched a bit, her muscles protesting with the remainder pain of the curse. She didn't even had a scar to show, but Madam Pomfrey had warned her that some muscles had been severely affected, and it would take some time till they healed properly. She walked away from the sill and deposited the diary back on her table, she was still too shook up to even try to write. Her homework was also waiting for her attention, a neat pile with the obligatory quill and ink pot waiting on top.

She huffed, and grabbed the folded piece of parchment that Hedwig had delivered the previous night. Parchment, it was so ridiculous. During her first year at Hogwarts, the witch thought it was incredible, it had such a novelty to write on it and using a quill to do so, but as time passed, the novelty ended, and nowadays she hated using the writing implements. If she wasn't such a stickler to rules, she would take a year's supply of notebooks and pens to Hogwarts, only to prove to the insular Wizarding World that the muggles did something way better than them.

She had already decorated what was written on it, but she re-read it anyway, trying to see if she could figure Harry's frame of mind when he wrote it.

Dear Hermione,

First, let me start this by saying I'm sorry. Sorry because I almost got you killed at the Ministry. I know it wasn't my fault, I had some time to think about it, and I know I couldn't hold any of you back if I tried. But anyway, I must say, I am sorry to have involved you.

“Harry, you silly prat,” Hermione said to the air, “I would have gone anyway. That's what friends are for, rules or no.”

Second, I need to tell you something, but it has to be in person, it is too dangerous to do so otherwise. I would like to meet you as soon as possible and since I can't leave here, I had a small chat with my relatives and they agreed that I could be visited by some friends, front door, no magic inside, so I would like it to be before we either go to either hideout.

Harry was smart, he was keeping important information out of the letter, like addresses or names.

So, if you could set something up, please answer me as soon as you possibly can. I'm sending Hedwig on a few errands, and she'll pick up any reply you might have when she gets back.

She had actually smiled, in two days time she would be visiting him, thanks to her parents.

One last thing, I need your unsurpassed research skills and the brain of the cleverest witch ever for a job:

“That's laying it on thick, Harry,” she laughed again, as she always did when reading the last part.

I need to know how to be an effective fighter in this war. I know you'll complain, I know you'll want me to leave this to the adults, I know you'll say it is too dangerous, and if it weren't for circumstances that I'll explain as soon as I see you, I would most definitely agree with you. Yet, I need to know how to fight, Hermione, and I need to know yesterday.

I know that you are away from Hogwarts, and I know that your research capabilities are severely limited while outside of the library, but if you could try, I'd be thankful. And if you could think on how to improve our chances using muggle ways, that would be brilliant, as well.

And that, Hermione thought, was the big crux of the matter. Basically what Harry wanted was to be an active participant in the war. It didn't matter if he didn't want trouble, trouble had a way of finding him, and dragging everyone around him together for the showdown, either willing or not. And now, he wanted to go out and look for trouble.

It didn't matter that this wasn't said anywhere in the letter, but what Hermione knew better than anyone else was how Harry thought. And the next part of the letter was more than enough proof of that.

I miss him, Mione. I keep on wondering if I paid more attention to you, if he would still be alive, if I had trained in Occlumency better, if he would still be alive. There are so many ifs, and all that I can think now is that he's dead, and that somehow I'm partially responsible.

I know what you'll say, that Bellatrix is the one responsible, that Tom is also responsible, and I agree with you, but somewhere along the line it is my fault as well. And I don't know how I'll keep on going, Hermione.

“With help, my friend. Mine, and others,” she answered with teary eyes.

Don't worry, I don't intend to do anything harsh, or stupid. I know what acting instead of thinking ended up doing for me, so I'll start thinking pretty thoroughly and planning before doing something even remotely like that again. But one brain is not enough, so I'm requiring the extra power of the biggest one that I know, meaning yours.

So, think about what I said, and send your reply with Hedwig.

With love from your friend,

H.P.

P.S.: Even if you are a stickler for rules, please don't tell anything I said to Dumbledore, I'll explain the why when we meet.

Hermione folded the parchment once again. Not telling Dumbledore anything was against what she believed at the moment, but another thing weighed on her mind, the way that Dumbledore had kept away from Harry almost the entire last year.

This was too confusing, even to her. She had to take a few decisions, and even with her prodigious brain, she was at a loss on what to do. So, she stood up and decided to talk with the only people she was positively sure were smarter than she was.

She walked to the living room, her bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor. The couple sitting on the sofa was watching the TV with the sound really low, as it was their habit.

“Mum, Dad?” she asked, and both heads turned to her, smiling. She smiled back, and stopped, looking awkwardly at them. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, Nee,” her father, Joel Granger, said, and it was followed by a nod from her mother. She sat on an armchair to their side, and Joel promptly muted the TV.

“You haven't called me Nee for a while, dad,” she said, sheepishly. Since the Hogwarts letter, to be honest, she thought.

“No? I must be getting old, then. You'll always be my Nee, darling,” he said, with a slight smile. Hermione blushed and looked down to her feet.

“You're embarrassing her, honey. What do you want to talk with us, Hermione?” her mother, Angela, asked.

“I have to tell you quite a lot of things so you can understand, but I need you to pay attention and ask questions when I'm finished. Okay?”

With both nods, Hermione started relating her years at Hogwarts, all of it, and not only her exceptional grades and the lighter troubles had she, Ron and Harry ended up with. She finished with the attack on the Department of Mysteries, her injury and a brief description of Harry's letter.

“So, let me see if I understand this correctly. The Wizarding World is at war, the bad guy has a vendetta for my daughter's best friend, and no one seems to be doing a thing to stop him. Is this right?” Joel asked, after she finished.

“More or less, dad. There are people fighting Voldemort in the background, but the ones who should be officially fighting in the front lines have their heads so stuck up in the sand that when they end up removing the sand from their ears the world will be a huge Death Eaters Convention,” she said, something akin to sarcasm present in her voice.

“And why does Harry want to fight?” her mother asked in a small voice, still white with fright.

“I don't think he wants to, mum, I think he needs to, but doesn't want to. Not really. Am I making sense?” she said, and received two negative shakes from her parents. “What Harry always wanted was to be normal mum, and only worry about normal things like homework, Quidditch results and who to kiss on his first date. Instead, he has to face Basilisks, dragons, crazy people who want him dead, crazy people who want to prove that he is crazy, and all sorts of things.”

“And how did you end up helping him? You could be killed, you know?” her father said, angered.

“Please, dad, don't do that. He's my best friend, I couldn't abandon him even if I tried. It would be like… like you abandoning mum if she was in danger,” Hermione said, teary-eyed. Joel jumped from his seat and grabbed her in a tight hug, apologizing as he did it, and she started crying on his shoulder. After a few minutes, she stopped, and sniffed. “Worse thing is, he doesn't have anyone to do that to him,” she said, while slowly separating from her father.

“What do you mean? You told us that his parents are dead, but surely his relatives . . . “ Angela started.

“Aren't worthy of being called people. Do you know what he does when I hug him, mum?” she asked, angered.

Angela shrugged. “He hugs back?”

“He stiffens, mum. I guess me and Mrs. Weasley were the first people to hug him, ever. He doesn't know what to do.”

Angela's look was one that Hermione wasn't accustomed to at all. She was lucky enough to have loving and understanding parents on both sides, who treated her with respect and love. But seeing her mother downright angry was a first to her.

“I'm coming with you when you'll go visit Harry, Hermione,” was all that she said.

“Mom . . .” she said, worried.

“Don't worry, I just want to . . . talk . . . with those relatives of his, alright?” and the question was made in a tone that bode no other answer than a whispered yes.

Angela's face relaxed a bit and her father started again. “I know you'll stand by his side, honey, and I didn't raise my daughter to be any different, I just worry as a father does his only child. But I need to know a few things, and I hope you'll answer me as best as you can.”

“Sure, dad. Always,” she smiled slightly.

“Okay, has anyone ever spoken to Harry about what happened to him during all this years?”

“We all did. Me, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, the professors, I guess we all did. At least all the ones who cared about him one way or the other,” Hermione answered.

“That's good, hon, but I guess I didn't make myself clear. Has anyone talked with him objectively about what has been happening?”

Hermione looked to her father. “I guess not. You mean professional help, don't you?”

“More or less. You see, sometimes, love and emotions do get in the way of such subjects. When someone has real parents who love them as we do you, we try to screen things from you, and explain what we can, until we know that you are ready to face them on your own. You were raised like that, Ron, I believe, was raised like that, and the rest are adults which have their own grasp and feelings on how to deal with situations. So, when you do speak to Harry, you do pass judgment, whether you want it or not. They all do, in a sense. It is normal to everyone else, but I believe that to Harry, this is exactly what he doesn't want. What he needs is someone to listen and to try to make him see with his own eyes if what he did, does, or will be doing is right or wrong. That's why I think he needs some professional help.”

“But Harry isn't crazy, dad!” Hermione said, standing up. Joel grabbed her shoulders and looked her daughter in the eyes.

“I never said he was, Hermione, and I don't think he is. But from what you've told us, he was in a bad place last year, and after what happened, I believe the situation is only getting worse. He might hide it from you, but deep inside he's probably falling into a deep depression, and that is never good. To someone with that much power, that's downright terrible.”

“You think he'll hurt someone?”

“He will, most probably himself. From what you've told us, he has honor like I've seen in very few people, and a protection streak a mile long, so whatever thing he might end up doing, it will be worse to him.”

“What do I do, then?”

“What we do, honey, is help him out,” Angela said, a slight twinkle in her eyes. Joel looked to his wife and asked “Alex?”

“Alex,” Angela confirmed.

Hermione looked between both of them. “What does uncle Alex has to do with anything?”

“Do you know what your uncle Alex does and did for a living?” her father asked.

Hermione had last seen the man on her tenth birthday, before she went to Hogwarts. He was a funny man, big and muscular, but his strangest characteristic was a white eye patch on his left eye, which gave him a mysterious air. And her aunt Helena was also a great person, they had married not long ago, she was a Native American from what she remembered, and they met on one of his travels around the world. But that was as far as she knew the man.

“No, I don't. I believe I heard mum once saying that he's a doctor working in London, right?”

“That's what he does nowadays, he's a psychologist specialized in PTSD, the one thing I think Harry is suffering from,” Joel said.

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Hermione said, her incredible brain correlating all the information she had on the subject.

“Exactly, and I don't think your Wizarding World has much experience on this one,” Joel continued.

“I don't believe they even have psychologists. One problem of being too insulated from the muggle world, they think all can be solved by a potion or a spell. But you said that this is what he does nowadays. What did he do before that?”

“He worked for the military,” Angela said.

“What your mother is trying to say is that my brother used to be a lieutenant in the SAS, Hermione. That's how he lost his eye and had to retire from active duty.”

Hermione, for one of the very few times in her life, was rendered speechless.

“That's how he specialized in PTSD, he saw it happening too many times, and when he was discharged, he decided to help his fellow companions to get back from the pit that this disorder causes. And I believe he'll be perfect to talk to Harry, he knows what he's going through.”

“But the magic. . .”

“He has known since you were eleven, Hermione. Who do you think helped us pay to send you to Hogwarts?” her mother asked.

“But I always thought that. . .”

“Nee, we are well off from our practice, but not that well off. And he, as your godfather, wanted the best for you, as we did,” her mom said.

“Why was I never told?” she asked, suddenly slightly angered.

“He asked us not to. He wasn't always there, but it was a way to help you to be as best as you could possibly be. And I believe that you did him extremely proud so far, and us as well.”

Hermione blushed slightly.

“And you know,” Angela continued,” I believe that your aunt Helena will be pretty useful as well,” she mused.

“Why?”

Angela grinned. “She's what we call an esoteric therapist. She has a lot of knowledge of what us . . . what is that term again? The non-magic humans?”

“Muggles,” Hermione said, paying even more attention to her mother.

“Right, muggles. What us humans think of as real magic. She's a Native American, as you know, right?”

“Yes.”

“What you don't know is that she's an Iroquois Healer, a medicine woman. She knows all about her people's heritage in healing, and she decided to expand and mix things, so she could deal with body, mind and soul. From what I know, she's actually quite known in the esoteric circles,” Angela said.

“So, what does she know?” Hermione asked, her curiosity peaked. Joel laughed, he knew what would get his daughter's attention.

“She's a yoga master, she knows Tai-Chi-Chuan, acupuncture and another thing called reiki. And a few other things that she told me she does for `fun'. Plus whatever is that she knows as a healer of her people,” Angela said. To Hermione surprised look, she answered the unasked question. “You do stay away most of the year, Hermione, and they are quite good friends to go out and talk. I believe your godfather would like very much to visit while you were at home, and I think they would be delighted in meeting a few wizards as well.”

“This would be great, might be the thing Harry needs, some balance in his life,” Hermione said, a huge smile on her face. “Thanks, mum. Thanks, dad,” she said, and bolted upstairs, to research how she could help Harry.

Downstairs, two people looked to one another, their smiles vanishing.

-oOo-

“Can you believe that?” Joel asked, sitting back down.

“Hermione never lied to us, Joel. She hid a lot of things, and I believe that she did because she would be scared of us not letting her back to Hogwarts.”

“I'm thinking about doing just that, Ang.”

“Let's not do that, honey.”

“Why not?” he asked, curious.

“Can you imagine what would happen if we took Hermione out of Hogwarts?”

“There should be other schools of magic around Europe, and with Hermione's scores, I think she could get a scholarship into any of them,” Joel said.

“That's not solving the problem, it's just postponing it. Do you think this war will stay only in England? If this Voldemort is as dangerous as Hermione says, the other schools are in even more danger than Hogwarts is.”

“But the other schools don't have the two main enemies of Voldemort, Dumbledore and Harry.”

“And that's why I want to keep her where she is, even if hurts me to do so. Did you pay any attention to what she said?”

“Yes, I did. Voldemort is a lunatic, and Harry has been facing him for five years in a row, putting everyone around them in danger,” Joel said, condensing the facts as only a parent would.

“And he's still alive, and because of him, our daughter is still alive as well. Hon, when she put herself at his side, she made a target of herself as big as possible. If we take her away from the people who can protect her, what chance will she have?”

Joel remained silent.

“And one other thing, did you notice how she talked about Harry?”

“As a good friend? I know that,” Joel said.

“It's more than that, Joel. They are best friends, and they have been through hell together. This forms a bond stronger than blood, and I believe one would die for the other with no second thoughts and no regrets. Besides, I think she's falling for him,” Angela said, smiling slightly.

Joel's mouth opened in a soundless `o'.

“I don't think that she even realized it, but the feeling is there. And even if it wasn't, splitting them would kill her, because she would never let him go without a fight.”

“So, what do we do?” Joel asked.

“We do what's right to everybody, even if it is against what we think is right to our daughter. We help her help Harry, and we offer all the help we can so that they can protect each other from that madman.”

Joel stood up, and started walking from one side of the room to the other. After a few minutes, he stopped and looked to his wife.

“I always knew from whom Hermione had inherited her genius. Who's going to call Alex?”

“I think it's better if it's you. Who better to explain to his own brother that he's about to heal and train magical teenagers to be warriors?”

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