A/N - This is the fourth try I have had at posting this story, lets hope it works this time.
The story is my attempt at a 'Book Seven' fic. It is much longer than my normal one shots, so don't wait for it to be finished before leaving feedback!

Leave feedback here.

--------------- The Memory Chest --------------------------

Chapter One – Leaving Hogwarts

There was a long silence. The crowd had almost dispersed now, the stragglers giving the monumental figure of Grawp a wide berth as he cuddled Hagrid, whose howls of grief were still echoing across the water.
'We'll be there, Harry,' said Ron.
'What?'
At your Aunt and Uncle's house,' said Ron. 'And then we'll go with you, wherever you're going.'
'No -' said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone.
'You said to us once before,' said Hermione quietly, 'that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?'
'We're with you whatever happens,' said Ron. 'But, mate, you're going to have to come round my mum and dad's house before we do anything else, even Godric's Hollow.'
'Why?'
'Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?'

Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful.

“Yeah, we shouldn't miss that,” he said finally.
His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

But then reality crashed down on him.

“Ron,” he said, turning to his friend. “Ron, I broke up with Ginny.”

Harry heard Hermione gasp, but he kept his eyes on Ron, waiting to see how he took the news.

Ron looked confused, of course. “What? Why?”

“It’s safer for her this way. Voldemort will come after her if she is going out with me. She’ll be in even more danger than you guys, and we can’t let her come with us anyway,” he answered.

Harry saw the look of understanding in Ron’s eyes; he understood.

“But, Harry,” said Hermione. “Everybody already knows you are involved with her. Snape knew, Harry. Draco knew. It doesn’t make sense to break up with her now when everybody already knows!”

Harry laughed a short bitter laugh. “The way the rumour mill around here works, I bet everybody knows we have broken up before I even get back to the castle.”

Ron looked worried. “Maybe, mate,” he said dubiously, “but how is Ginny taking it? Should I be angry with you for breaking my little sister’s heart?”

Harry didn’t answer, but Hermione was ready to defend him anyway.

“Oh come on, Ron, you know Harry still likes her,” she said. “He is just trying to do his best to keep her safe, even if it is incredibly misguided.”

Harry turned away and started walking back towards the castle, his anger rising. It had been hard enough as it was without his friends trying to change his mind. Percy and the Ministry officials were some distance in front of them and Harry didn’t want to catch up, so he had to force himself to walk slower.

“She didn’t argue with me, and wasn’t crying if that’s what you are worried about,” he snapped. “She said she was expecting it.”

This must have stunned them because neither immediately said anything. They walked in silence for a minute before Ron spoke again.

“Harry,” he asked, a bit hesitantly. “Do you think you should have a big public break up with her? I mean, so everyone sees. Maybe in the common room with her yelling at you or something?”

“Ron!” said Hermione.

Harry’s mind involuntarily brought the scene up. Ginny screaming insults at him while he yelled back at her; it wasn’t something he wanted, or thought he could do.

“Nah, mate,” he answered. “I don’t think it would be good.”

“But then everybody would see it, and word would get out faster. You could even let her bat bogey you. Probably make her feel better! Hey I could even get into the act and slug you one, make up for not letting me deck Percy!” insisted Ron.

Harry laughed and even Hermione smiled a bit.

“Ron, I think that might not be such a bad idea, but I don’t reckon I could go through with it mate. I think they’ll figure it out fast enough when we are not sitting together on the train,” said Harry.

“Well, we got an hour or so before it goes, so you are going to have to avoid her until then,” said Ron.

The trio walked the rest of the way to the castle in silence, brooding on what lay ahead.

As they reached the front doors, Filch the caretaker grabbed Harry roughly by the back of his robes, bringing him up short.

“Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office,” Filch snarled.

Harry, in no mood to take Filch’s attitude, shrugged him off.

“What for?” he asked.

“How would I know?” snapped Filch. “Just get up to the headmaster’s office straight away.”

Harry, already not looking forward to entering the office again so soon, was in no hurry. He was even less happy when he noticed the Minister and Percy waiting outside the Gargoyle statue that hid the entrance with several other people.

Before he could turn and leave, however, the statue leapt aside and Professor McGonagall appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Please come in, everything is ready. Harry, you need to be here for this as well,” she said, sensing Harry’s hesitation.

At mention of his name both the Minister and Percy shot sharp looks at Harry, and Percy began to object.

“I hardly think it is appropriate for a schoolboy to-” he began, before Professor McGonagall cut him off.

“The Will specifically mentions Mr Potter and so he must attend,” she said, her voice taking on the stern schoolmistress tone that still made grown men feel like little boys.

Percy blanched and rushed passed her to join the Minister on the moving staircase that lead up to the office.

“Will?” Harry said, horrified.

“Yes, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall in a slightly less harsh manner. “I am sorry I did not let you know earlier, but Gringotts has only just released it.”

Harry’s mind was spinning. Dumbledore had mentioned Harry in his Will?

“I don’t want anything,” he said, staying outside.

Professor McGonagall looked down at him compassionately. “Mr Potter, would you prefer to allow the Ministry to take charge of informing you of Albus’s wishes?”

Harry shook his head resignedly and entered the stairwell behind the last person, who he didn’t recognise, determined to keep his composure in the face of yet another emotional situation.

*-*

The office should have been overcrowded with the number of people in it, but it seemed to have expanded to hold the dozen people now sitting in a variety of different chairs in front of the desk. Harry wondered if it happened automatically, a bit like the Room of Requirement.

A Goblin sat behind the desk reading aloud from a long scroll. A second Goblin stood behind him handing out parchments and items as the first read different parts of the Will.

So far, dozens of Dumbledore’s personal possessions had been distributed out according to his wishes. It appeared many of the people on his will were unable to be there, but quite a few people who were present in the office had received parchments describing their inheritance.

Harry had sat as close to the door as he could, and although the reading had been going on for almost half and hour, he had managed to avoid looking at the painting of the former headmaster. Last time he had been in here, immediately after his murder, the painting had been asleep.

Harry half hoped that it still was, but he also wanted desperately to talk to it. In the end, he decided to not look at it. If he didn’t know it was awake, he could avoid wanting to talk to it.

“My family home and the remaining contents of the family vault, I leave to my brother Aberforth Dumbledore.”

Harry saw a few people looking at the bartender from the Hogshead tavern sitting with his head bowed. He knew Dumbledore had a brother, and vaguely remembered Mad-eye Moody mentioning it was the bartender, but it had never really sunk in before.

“You have been a loyal brother and fine friend for all of my long life, and I hope that you are able to enjoy and care for the house and grounds, but should you decide to dispose of it, please be sure that it goes to somebody worthy of our father’s home.”

There had been much sobbing from various people through the reading, but Harry thought he had not heard anything as pitiful as the one croak that escaped Aberforth.

Before he knew it, tears that had been trying to force their way out the entire time he had been sitting, started to leak out of the corner of his eyes as he watched the old man fighting his grief for control.

Harry used the sleeve of his robe to wipe them away as the Goblin continued reading from the scroll that was nearing the end of the roll.

“All my other possessions, including the contents of vault seven hundred and thirteen, I leave to Minerva McGonagall, whom I hope the Board of Governors will see fit to instate as Headmistress of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She has my full support and I have no doubt that she will serve the children well.”

“Minerva, you have been more than a friend and colleague for almost my entire career as Headmaster, and I am honoured to have worked with you. Our time together moulding generations of children has been more fulfilling than if I had raised my own, and I trust you to continue to guide them through the fine traditions of Hogwarts.”

“Please feel free to redistribute anything I have left you to those you consider deserving, keep anything you yourself desire, and use the rest for to better our world and future of all children.”

Harry saw the normally stern countenance of Professor McGonagall almost crack as she dabbed at her eyes with a hanky and sniffed quietly. He had given up trying to stem the flow of tears from his own eyes and let them run freely down his face.

“The small trunk in my quarters with the golden Gryffindor Lion on the lid is to be given to Harry Potter.”

Harry looked at the Goblin in shock, and several heads turned to look at him. The Minister of Magic in particular was watching Harry closely.

“You are an extraordinary individual, Harry, and I have been proud to watch you grow into a fine young man. Never doubt you are worthy of praise and love, and be assured that you, and your friends, are equal to any task.”

“I leave you with this gift hoping that it, with your usual oath, will help you through anything that lies ahead.”

The Goblin looked up from the scroll and addressed the crowd.

“That concludes the last Will and Testament of Albus Brian Wulfric Dumbledore. Any disputes may be lodged with the London Gringotts branch within eight days of this reading.”

“Those who are to collect items from this office, please remain behind, the rest are free to leave.”

Harry rose from his chair and stood to one side to let the others out. Several people shook hands with Professor McGonagall and each other, and a few offered their condolences to Harry as they passed him.

Eventually only himself, Professor McGonagall, the Goblins, the Minister, and Percy remained behind. As Percy motioned for the Minister to leave, Scrimgeour shook his head, earning a confused look from his aide.

“Minister Scrimgeour,” said Professor McGonagall, “I was unaware there was anything that you were to collect from this office. If you wish to meet with me, I am afraid I will have to ask you to return once this business is over with.”

The Minister cleared his throat before answering.

“Yes, well, I believe, in the interest of national security, that I should be present to witness the contents of the trunk left to Mr. Potter,” he said.

Harry felt his anger rise quickly. He had no idea what was in the trunk, but the Minister obviously expected it to have something to do with the mission that had helped claim Dumbledore’s life.

In an instance of panic, Harry considered that he might be right.

“This is highly inappropriate, Minister!” objected Professor McGonagall. “The contents of the trunk could be personal and you have no right to demand to see it!”

The Minister had obviously been expecting her objections.

“Come on, Minerva,” he said. “You know the boy was the last one to see Dumbledore alive, and he is refusing to say where they had been off to or what they were doing. This could be important!”

An all-out verbal brawl ensued between Harry, Professor McGonagall and Minister Scrimgeour. Even Percy jumped in, accusing Harry of withholding information vital to the safety of the wizarding world.

Suddenly, the second Goblin placed a small trunk on to the desk with a loud bang, interrupting the argument.

It was about a quarter the size of Harry’s school trunk and was roughly the same squarish shape, but that was as far as the likenesses went.

Made of a rich, dark wood, with gold trimmings, this trunk had five keyholes on the front and looked new. Its most startling feature was a huge golden Griffin embossed on the lid. The carving had gemstones for eyes that glittered brightly.

Everybody stared at the trunk until the Goblin finally spoke.

“May I suggest we allow Mr. Potter to open the trunk and view its contents? Then he may decide to share it,” he said, holding out a large brass key to Harry.

Harry hesitated a moment, unwilling to open it in front of anybody, but he looked into the Goblins eyes and, for a brief second, thought he saw a glimmer of encouragement in their black depths.

He took the key and placed it into the first lock. As he turned it, he felt and heard a loud click, and the lock opened. Grasping the lid in both hands, he took a deep breath and opened it slightly to look inside.

It was empty.

Releasing his breath loudly, he told his audience. A slight smile appeared on Professor McGonagall’s lips, but Scrimgeour was quick to point out the remaining locks.

With a growing sense of confidence, Harry opened each lock in turn, and found an empty compartment every time.

“This isn’t over yet, Mr. Potter,” growled Percy, as he scurried out of the office following the silent Minister. “You might want to consider how helpful the Ministry can be!”

“Oh, I remember exactly how much help the Ministry has given me against Voldemort so far,” called Harry to the retreating figures, earning a glare from Percy.

“Mr. Potter,” said the Goblin who read the will, “I have here a copy of the portion of the will that relates to you.”

He handed a tightly rolled scroll to Harry, and then turned to Professor McGonagall.

“Madam,” he said bowing slightly to her before turning back to Harry. “Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded back and waited until the two Goblins had left the office before turning back to the trunk and Professor McGonagall.

“Can I go now?” he asked.

“Of course, Harry,” she answered. “Please remember that my door is always open to you, and if you need help, don’t hesitate to come to me or any other Member of the Order.”

“What’s happening to the Order?” he asked, picking up the small trunk and putting it under his arm.

“We will elect a new head at the next meeting, although headquarters can no longer be considered safe,” she said with a sigh. “With the loss of Albus it is impossible to give the location to any new members-”

“Snape can’t get in, can he?” asked Harry.

He hadn’t had time to think about the fact that Grimmauld place was open to the traitor.

“No. Mr. Moody removed Severus’s ability to enter the property immediately, and there is still some time before the Fidelus charm expires completely. The Order has moved to new headquarters, since there is too much of a risk that Severus may have been able to indicate where we had been meeting before Mr Moody was able to exclude him. The Fidelus is a powerful spell, but there are several ways around it if you know for certain the property exists or you have somebody who has access to it.”

“I have asked Arthur to arrange for somebody to recast the Fidelus as soon as possible to protect your property. There are not many people that have the skill and power necessary to perform that charm, so we are lucky to have an expert available.”

Harry thought about it. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not his favourite place, but he had to have somewhere to go once he left Privet drive, and the Burrow might not always be an option. If the Order of the Phoenix were still using it as a headquarters, Harry would have practically no privacy, and would be constantly be under their watchful eyes.

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry, as he was about to leave the office. “Thank you for everything.”

“Take care, Harry,” she said sitting down in the headmaster’s chair behind the desk. “Be safe.”

Harry nodded and headed off to his dorm to finish packing before the train arrived to take him away. He just hoped he would be able to avoid Ginny while they were waiting.

Back in the dorm, Harry told Ron and Hermione about the will reading and showed them the trunk. The rest of his dorm mates, and most of Gryffindor, were waiting in the common room. He had managed to avoid seeing Ginny. Hermione said she had not been seen outside her room.

Ron was at first excited at the trunk, but became a bit disappointed when they couldn’t find anything magical besides having five identical compartments.

“Would have been cool if it had a room like Moody’s one,” said Ron poking at the inside. “We could stay there rather than that little bedroom at your Aunt’s house! Wonder if you can get one that has a dozen rooms and a swimming pool in it?”

Harry laughed. “What, a bit like that tent your dad had at the world cup?”

“Yeah, but hopefully a trunk would be fireproof!”

“And smell a bit better too.”

“Harry,” said Hermione interrupting their joking. “Have you read what Dumbledore wrote to you?”

“I heard it Hermione, I don’t think I need to read it again.”

“It says ‘I leave you with this gift hoping that it, with your usual oath, will help you through anything that lies ahead’. Do you think he meant something?”

Harry hadn’t thought about the exact wording before, but now that Hermione pointed it out, it was too unusual to ignore.

Her eyes suddenly opened wide. “My usual oath? You don’t think it meant like the Marauders map?”

“Try it and see what happens, mate,” said Ron, excited again.

Harry closed the lid, locked the locks, and drew his wand.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he said tapping his wand on the lid of the trunk.

When he opened it again, the trunk was no longer empty; it was full of trays of small, clear bottles holding something that looked like thick silvery smoke.

“What are they?” asked Ron, taking one of the vials and holding it up to the light.

“Memories,” said Harry.

Chapter Two – Dumbledore’s Legacy

“Memories,” repeated Harry.

The vials were identical to the ones Dumbledore had used to hold the memories he had shown Harry in the Pensieve. Inside each of them the same thick silvery smoke swirled.

“Wow,” said Ron. “I wonder what they are of?”

Harry picked up a bottle and found a label on it. Written in tiny, elegant lettering was the name of a first year spell, ‘Wingardium Leviosa’.

“What do you reckon it is?” he asked.

“It might be a training tool,” suggested Hermione.

“It could be, but it’s no good without a Pensieve,” he said.

“Try the other compartments, Harry,” said Ron eagerly. “There might be one in there.”

All but one of the compartments contained trays of memories. The last compartment contained a small instruction manual on how to use the trunk.

“Load of good it is putting the instructions on the inside,” laughed Ron, and Harry agreed.

“Well I think it’s still wonderful,” said Hermione, after listening to Ron and Harry’s complaints for a few minutes. “You just need to find a Pensieve and then we will be able to keep learning. Dumbledore must have been making this for years to have so many. I bet each one is a lecture on the spell and demonstrations of how to perform it.”

“Right,” said Ron. “Harry, just nick over to Diagon alley and pick up a couple will you? There’s a good lad.”

“That’s not such a bad idea Ron. It would be useful to have one. Which shop do you think would sell them?”

Hermione and Ron both looked at Harry.

“What?” he asked, acutely aware that he must have asked something silly.

“Er, mate. They are not would you would call, common,” said Ron.

“They’re not?” he asked, cursing mentally his fundamental lack of the magical world outside of Hogwarts.

“No, Harry,” said Hermione. “There are a bit rare.”

“A bit rare, try extremely rare, and they would probably cost more than you have in your vault if you could find one,” said Ron.

“Oh” said Harry. While he was not as excited about the memories as Hermione, he definitely wanted to be able to view them. There might even have been some more information about Tom Riddle or the Horcruxes; it had to be more than just a training aid.

“Maybe Professor McGonagall would let you borrow hers?” suggested Hermione.

Harry wasn’t keen on letting anybody know about the memories. Dumbledore had hidden them for a reason, and until Harry knew why, he wasn’t happy to just go telling everybody about it. He said as much to his friends.

“Besides,’ he said, “we’ll be leaving here in a little while, you don’t think she would let me take it away do you? Just how many of these do you think I could watch in an hour?”

Hermione admitted it was unlikely, and that watching a few would be a pointless exercise.

“My best bet is to go to Diagon Alley and ask around. Somebody somewhere might be able to help me out,” he stated.

“Harry, it is far too dangerous for us to go to Diagon alley,” said Hermione. “And it wouldn’t take long for everybody to know what you are looking for. If you want to keep it secret, you are going to have to have a plan.”

Hermione’s statements started a train of thought in Harry. She was right, as usual, and he was going to have to start to be a bit smarter if he wanted to keep what they were up to secret, and not just with the Pensieve either.

As soon as they didn’t show up next term, everybody was going to be looking for them and trying to find out what they were doing; Voldemort and the Death Eaters in particular. They needed to be very careful and give away as few clues as possible about their actions.

“Maybe you could just Polyjuice yourself as Neville,” laughed Ron. “Pity it takes a month to brew.”

“Actually,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “I know who has some right now.”

“Slughorn,” said Harry, remembering the large cauldron he usually had brewing in the potions classroom.

“What are going to do? Nick down and pinch some? Besides, when are you going to go? The Order or the Ministry will notice if you are missing from your house for any length of time and will just follow you anyway. You definitely don’t want them knowing what we are doing, do you?” asked Ron.

“We still have to figure a way to get away from everybody when we go looking for the Horcruxes too,” added Hermione. “Polyjuice isn’t going to be any use over a long period of time, unless we carry around flasks like Crouch did, and we would have to be brewing it constantly.”

Harry was lost in thought and not paying attention to his friends as they argued about the best way to slip away and stay hidden.

“I got an idea,” he said after a few minutes, interrupting them. “Listen, I have plan, but it is going to be hard.”

*-*

Harry raced through the corridors towards the dungeons under his invisibility cloak. He had retrieved the cloak from the top of the tower where he had left it days before. Strangely, none of the investigating Aurors had found it.

Narrowly avoiding collisions with the odd student or teacher, he made it to the potions classroom undetected.

Slipping inside the open door, he found the room been virtually emptied. Professor Slughorn was busy piling potions and ingredients into several large carpetbags that seemed to never fill up.

The cauldron that had previously bubbled with Polyjuice potion was already gone, and Harry knew he couldn’t possibly search the room for it with Slughorn there. It had probably already been packed into one of the bags or trunks surrounding the portly professor.

Desperate, Harry decided there was only one thing left to do. He dashed back outside and removed the cloak before knocking on the door.

“Harry!” said Slughorn. “What can I do for you?”

“Professor,” began Harry, “I need a favour.”

Slughorn’s beady eyes narrowed and a calculating look came onto his face. “A favour eh? Well young Harry. What is it you would like?”

“Professor, I need some Polyjuice potion.” Harry held his breath, waiting for the reply.

Whatever Slughorn had been expecting, this had not been it.

“Polyjuice? What ever for? No, wait. Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter, and I am not sure I want to know anyway. Sorry Harry but I have none to spare.”

“But, Professor,” argued Harry, “You always have a lot of it brewing. Where has it all gone?”

“It is all bottled up for a client I have in London. Sorry, prior commitment,” said Slughorn, turning back to his packing.

“I’ll pay double!” blurted Harry.

Slughorn paused to look at Harry. “Double, you don’t even know what I charged! Sorry my boy, but unless you have something on hand considerably more valuable than just money, there is no way I could be convinced to part with it.”

Harry searched his memory for something he could offer. He didn’t own much and what he did he couldn’t afford to part with.

“I could give you a safe place to stay,” he offered.

Slughorn harrumphed and continued to pack. “I have made arrangements for this summer, and I doubt any place you reside in will stay safe for very long.”

Harry looked around the room for inspiration while Slughorn piled more jars of potion ingredients into his bags and trunks.

“What about some Basilisk skin?” he asked.

The aging professor suddenly stopped midway through jamming a large jar of slowly bubbling, purple goo into his bag, and gave Harry his complete attention. “Basilisk skin?” he asked. “Nobody has had much Basilisk skin for hundreds of years. The tiniest quantity is worth a hundred, no a thousand times its weight in gold. Where can you get Basilisk skin?”

“I know where there is some,” said Harry confidently. “I can get it before the Hogwarts express leaves today.”

Slughorn was deep in thought, the purple goo bubbling away – forgotten, for the moment. “Basilisk skin. I could make potions that have not been seen for decades.” He snapped out of his trance and looked at Harry, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“How much potion do you want to trade for, and how much skin are you willing to give for it?”

“All of your Polyjuice potion, for three square feet of skin.”

“THREE FEET!” yelled Slughorn, clutching the goo filled jar to his chest. “Merlin’s beard lad, you don’t even know how much potion I have!”

“If you have half of what was in the cauldron, I’ll be happy, but you can make up the difference in other potions if you like,” explained Harry, shifting nervously. Had he made a mistake? Was his offer going to go to waste because Slughorn was unlikely to believe he could get what he had promised?

Slughorn got a far off look in his eyes again and stroked the forgotten jar almost lovingly. “Three feet!” he murmured to himself, apparently lost in thought about how many potions this represented, and probably their value.

“Professor?” prompted Harry, starting to get impatient.

“What? Oh Yes, yes lad. I agree. Get your skin to me as quickly as possible and I’ll have your potions waiting for you,” he said, waving Harry away.

Harry ran from the classroom, pulling the invisibility cloak over him as soon as he could without been seen. He stopped momentarily back in his dorm to grab his broom and tell Ron what was going on.

“He’s going to give it to me, but I have to get him some Basilisk skin in exchange. Where’s Hermione?” he asked Ron, who had been waiting for him.

“Basilisk skin? Where are you… Oh, you’re back to the Chamber of Secrets aren’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Harry. “Get Neville and explain the plan to him. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Where’s Hermione?”

“She has gone to talk to Ginny. I’ll get Neville, but you are running out of time, and what if Neville doesn’t want to do it?”

“I know I am running out of time, Ron. Just get Neville and ask him. Tell him I’ll owe him a big one! Otherwise grab one of the Creevy brothers,” said Harry not waiting for a reply before running from the room.

Once out of the common room, he ducked into the first empty classroom he found and fixed his cloak around him as best as he could on with a few sticking charms.

Students walking the corridors felt a slight breeze as one of the best broom flyers to ever attend Hogwarts flew over their heads invisibly at speed on his way to the second floor bathroom.

Harry hissed at the tap, to open the pipe leading to the Chamber of Secrets, then jumped in without waiting for it to finish opening completely. As he slid down he managed to keep a firm grip on his broom with one hand and his cloak with the other, despite the treacherous twists and turns of the enormously long descent. Finally he flew from the end of the pipe and landed heavily on his behind.

Stuffing the cloak inside his shirt, he quickly climbed onto the broom again and lit the way with his wand. Within seconds he was hovering in front of the collapsed ceiling.

The hole Ron had dug was nowhere near large enough for him to get through, even though he hadn’t grown as much as Ron in the four years since they made it.

Harry couldn’t believe he had forgotten about this. There was precious little time for him to make the hole bigger by hand, but any explosive spell like Reducto could easily bring the roof down on his head.

Flying back down the tunnel a short way, he turned and stated removing rocks with his wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa,” he cast at one of the large rocks on the edge of the existing hole. The boulder floated up obediently, and he flicked it aside with a twitch of his wand.

When it landed there was a crunching noise instead of the thump Harry had been expecting. Shining his light to the spot, Harry suddenly realised what the rock had landed on; it was the shed skin of Slytherin’s beast he, Ron, and Lockhart had come across before Ron’s broken wand brought the roof down on them.

He didn’t need to go all the way to the Chamber and cut a section from the undoubtedly decaying corpse of the Basilisk; he could just take the shed skin and give that to Slughorn instead.

Harry jumped off his broom and quickly rolled up a few feet of the vivid green skin. Although there must have been at least twenty feet of it in total, most of it was buried under the rubble of the collapsed tunnel. There was more than enough sticking out for what Harry needed though.

Cutting the skin was hard work. It almost seemed to resist Harry’s spells and he had to cast it many times. It was far too strong to be torn by hand, and Harry doubted his small pocket-knife would have much luck cutting it. The going was agonisingly slow as he cast cutting spell after cutting spell to make a ragged cut.

Eventually he had a section of skin that was easily three square feet. He pocketed another small piece to keep for himself. If there were potions that needed Basilisk skin, Harry wanted to have some, just in case.

Mounting his broom he raced back to the pipe. This was going to be the hardest part of the trip. The pipe was not large enough for him to sit upright and fly through, and it twisted and turned in its long journey back to the castle.

Harry bent low over the shaft of his broom and held his wand against the front so that it acted like a spot light. He entered the pipe and started his ascend, slowly, but with increasing speed as his confidence, and the pressure of running out of time, grew.

A sudden sharp turn caused him to bash into the side almost dislodging him and throwing his broom in to opposite wall. He ricocheted from one wall to the next and painfully slammed his head into the top of the pipe, causing stars to appear in his vision. Slime coated his hands from where they made bruising contact with the walls, making his grip falter as the uncontrolled bouncing tossed him around. If he fell off, he was facing a slide back to the start, and an unacceptable loss of time.

But it was for a good reason that Harry was called the best seeker Hogwarts had seen in generations.

With skill born of determination and natural ability, Harry held onto the broom and forced it back under control. He ignored the pain as his instincts took over.

It’s just like chasing a snitch, he thought to himself as he ignored everything else and concentrated on the narrow beam of light that shone a few feet ahead, showing the twists and turns a mere second before they were upon him.

Twists and turns, steep climbs and shallows drops flew by in a blur of rusty pipes and slime covered corroded metal. Minutes dragged by as he forced himself to stay focussed on the path ahead.

With a final steep climb he rocketed out of the secret opening and nearly smashed into the roof of the girl’s toilet before heaving his broom to a vicious stop.

Breathing a sigh of relief at having made it out in one piece, he had paused long enough to close the opening, cast a few cleaning spells on himself, and stick his invisibility cloak back on.

“Oh, it’s just you again!” said a disappointed voice out of a previously empty space just behind his right ear. “I was hoping that other boy had come to visit, or did you finally MURDER HIM?”

“No, Myrtle,” Harry answered angrily. “But you might be happy to know he helped murder the Headmaster! I hope you enjoyed talking to him, because the only way you will ever see him again is if he becomes a ghost when they execute him,” he shouted, as he finished covering himself and shot out the door on his broom, heading for the dungeons.

Slughorn had evidently finished packing and was sitting at his desk, apparently waiting for Harry. He had another carpetbag sitting on the desk. Harry assumed it contained the Polyjuice.

Harry dropped the rolled up skin onto the desk at the same time as he dropped the invisibility cloak and jumped off his broom. The rotund professor got such a shock at Harry appearing mid air in front of him that he nearly fell off his chair.

“Good lord, lad! I think you just cost me several years of life!” Slughorn exclaimed, before his eyes fastened on the rolled up skin. “Basilisk skin!” he yelled excitedly. “I can’t believe it. Basilisk skin!”

He gently began unrolling the skin and examined it minutely with a huge magnifying glass.

“Exceptional quality too, I must say. Harry, you have me intrigued as to your source,” he said, looking up at Harry and raising one eyebrow hopefully.

Harry was in too much of a hurry to make up any elaborate excuses, and definitely did not what to tell the truth to the elderly Professor.

“Sorry sir, that is confidential information,” he said, grabbing the carpetbag and opening it up. Inside were dozens of potion vials. Most held the thick, dark mud Harry recognised as Polyjuice potion that did not have the final ingredient - a bit of the person you wanted to impersonate - but there were many other potions Harry did not immediately recognise.

“What are all these extras?” he asked, as he slipping one of the small vials of Polyjuice into a pocket.

“I have included at least two of every type of potion I had in stock. You will find several potent healing potions, some dreamless sleep, and even a strengthening solution or two. I really prefer to travel light, but did not want to leave them behind. Consider it a bonus to our agreement, which you appear to have fulfilled above and beyond expectations!”

“How much Polyjuice is there?” Harry asked, closing the bag.

“Enough to last a person at least one months constant use,” Slughorn said, smiling. “Just be certain to use it all within a year since the potency will start to drop off after that.”

“Is there any Felix Felicis?”

Slughorn’s smile stiffened slightly, but he reached into his robes and took out a small bottle he then placed on the table.

“This is my spare batch, another twelve hours worth. I do hope you don’t squander it!”

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry, already heading for the door. “Oh, and please don’t tell anybody about this.”

“Don’t mention it my boy,” said Slughorn, waving Harry away as he bent to examine the skin again.

Harry again mounted his broom and donned his cloak; he was in too much of a hurry to walk to the dorm and the terrible deed he still had to perform.

*-*

“YOU ARE A SELFISH GIT YOU KNOW THAT?” screamed a red faced Ron, at the top of his voice.

All around the common room people had stopped what they were doing to stare at the loud argument the three formerly best friends were having.

“I’M SELFISH? THE ONLY REASON YOU WANT ME TO GO OUT WITH HER IS SO THAT YOU CAN CASH IN,” yelled Harry back, his voice croaking slightly.

He had been yelling at Ron and Hermione in an ever increasingly loud argument for almost five minutes now, and the strain was starting to show in his voice. It had started in the dorm and continued right down into the middle of the common room where they now stood.

Hermione had actually given up yelling and was glaring angrily at Harry while apparently holding Ron back from physically attacking.

In a distant part of his mind, Harry wondered if Ron had inherited his ability to keep his voice at this level for an extended period of time from his mother. Ron had been doing more yelling than himself and Hermione combined, but was still going strong. Harry knew he had to leave soon or might loose his voice completely.

“CASH IN? IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? YOU THINK SHE WAS JUST GOING OUT WITH YOU FOR YOUR MONEY?”

Ron’s words hurt, they both knew it, but Harry had to ignore the pain and yell back or he would have lost his composure completely.

“I DON’T CARE WHY SHE WAS GOING OUT WITH ME; I JUST DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE. DON’T YOU GET IT?”

“SO YOU WERE JUST USING HER THEN? YOU DIDN’T EVER CARE ABOUT HER? YOU ARE PATHETIC!” screeched Ron, somehow managing to get even louder.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO RON? I AM NOT GOING TO KEEP GOING OUT WITH GINNY WHEN I DON’T WANT TO!”

Ron stopped shouting and dropped his voice to almost conversational level.

“Besides going and getting yourself killed by Death Eaters, I want you to get lost. Go away Harry, and never come anywhere near me, or my family again!”

“FINE,” yelled Harry. “NOT A PROBLEM!”

Harry turned to leave when a hand roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Without thinking Harry threw his fist and connected with Ron’s chin.

Ron fell to the ground as Hermione shrieked and leapt to Ron’s side.

Harry stood still, his fists still clenched, adrenaline pumping through him.

“Never touch me again, Ron,” he snarled viciously.

“JUST GO AWAY, HARRY!” yelled Hermione. “JUST LEAVE US ALL ALONE!”

Harry turned and stomped out of the common room, ignoring the whispers and stares.

As he was climbing out of the portrait hole, he turned and looked back at the room that was the centre of the first and only place he had ever felt at home. A wave of sadness filled his heart at having to leave it.

He took one last long look, committing to memory everything he could.

As his eyes roamed over the scene, he spotted Ginny standing on the stairs leading to the girl’s dorm. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were shiny with tears.

Harry felt his heart threaten to explode. It had already been beating wildly during the fight, but now it wanted to rip itself from his chest. He turned his back and stomped out of the portrait hole for what was most likely to be the last time.

Nobody tried to stop him or to talk to him as he ran through the corridors to the fourth floor.

Taking deep breaths to calm down, Harry checked nobody was watching, and then slipped into a passageway behind a mirror.

“How did it go?” asked a nervous and fidgeting Neville Longbottom.

“Good,” answered Harry. He was shaking slightly as the adrenaline in his body started to take its toll. “Well, not good, if you know what I mean. We made a real scene, right in the middle of the common room. Lots of yelling and screaming, I even clipped Ron on the chin just before I left.”

Neville was impressed. “Wow,” he said. “You guys really went all out didn’t you?”

“It had to be believable, Neville.”

“How’s Ginny going to feel when she hears about it?”

“She heard,” said Harry. Neville’s face fell in shock. “Hermione told her what was going to happen beforehand, and she was meant to stay in her room, but I saw her standing on the stairs when I left. I don’t know how long she was there, but it looked like a while. She probably saw the whole thing.”

“Um, er, I am real sorry to hear that Harry,” said Neville uncomfortably.

“It’s all right, Neville,” said Harry seriously. “I want you to know how much I appreciate this.”

“I know, Harry,” said the shy Gryffindor. “What ever you are doing is probably important, so I am glad I can help. It’s not like I am going to get into any trouble, or even be in any danger, right?”

“You are not likely to get into any trouble, or be in any danger, but I still want you to know I appreciate your help,” said Harry, taking the vial of Polyjuice from his pocket.

He conjured a cup and poured a decent measure into it, then plucked a few hairs from his head and dropped them in. The potion hissed loudly, like a boiling kettle, before it changed to a deep red colour.

“Drink it now, then head straight down to the train. It should be leaving not long after you get there. Everybody else will be heading down at the same time, but avoid talking to anybody, just act angry or grumpy or something and tell them to go away.”

Neville took the cup, but instead of drinking it immediately, he just stared into it, grimacing.

“Neville, are you listening to me?”

Neville looked up from the cup.

“I heard, Harry, but…” he stopped and stared at the contents of the cup again.

“Look, Neville, I know it looks bad, and I won’t lie to you, it tastes pretty awful too, but you’ll survive. Okay?”

“It’s not that, Harry. It’s just, well…”

“What, Neville?”

“Harry, did you put hair into it?”

“What?”

“The Polyjuice. Did you put some of your hair into it?”

“Yes, Neville. I put a couple of my hairs into it. It is the last ingredient and is what lets you take my form.”

“Oh,” said Neville, still looking rather despondent. “Did it have to be hair? I hate hair. It makes me feel sick thinking about it.”

Harry sighed. He was asking a huge favour from the timid boy and, even though he didn’t really have the time for this, he felt Neville deserved some sympathy.

“Sorry, Neville, I didn’t know it would be a problem for you, but what would you have preferred, toe nails?”

Neville blanched at the thought and appeared to consider what part of Harry he would find acceptable in a drink. After a few seconds he realised there was no satisfactory answer to that question.

“You’re probably right, but did you have to do it in front of me where I could see it was hair? Now all I can think about is that there is hair floating around in something I am about to drink.”

“Come on, Neville! Hair is the least obnoxious thing I could think of and definitely the easiest to get. It’s completely dissolved now anyway, look,” Harry said pointing at the potion. “Now, unless you want me to mix another batch using a piece of skin or some blood, drink up!”

Looking far from convinced, Neville braced himself and drank the potion in two huge gulps, nearly gagging on either the foul taste, or the hair.

Harry winced as Neville fell to the floor and started the painful and somewhat disturbing transformation.

He had seen somebody change back from Polyjuice, and had undergone the change himself, but as Neville’s hands shrank and his hair grew and changed, Harry thought it might actually be worse to watch than it was to do.

Once Neville had stopped retching, Harry helped him up and continued, only slightly put off by talking to an almost identical, although slightly sickly looking, replica of himself.

“There should be loads of empty compartments, so you’ll have no problems getting one to yourself, otherwise just go to one of the loos. Lock the door and wait for the potion to wear off, and then go join Ron and the others. Have you got my clothes with you?”

“Yeah, here in my school bag,” answered Neville, indicating a book bag.

“Good, get changed now and don’t forget to change back before the potion wears off,” said Harry

“Okay.”

“And, Neville, thanks. I really owe you one.”

Harry shook Neville’s hand before checking the Marauder’s map and sneaking out from behind the mirror.

Seconds later he was once again wrapped in his cloak and flying through the hallways on his way to the nearby Whomping Willow.

Harry had considered flying all the way to the Shrieking shack, or somewhere else out of sight of Hogwarts, but he was not sure what wards had been replaced on the castle since Dumbledore’s demise.

When the two of them had returned from their ill-fated trip to retrieve the fake Horcrux, the Headmaster had removed the wards before they had flown onto the school grounds. There was a good chance those same wards had now been replaced and flying through them could result in disaster.

Stopping only to levitate a branch to press the knob on the base of the tree to stop its limbs from flailing, Harry squeezed himself into the narrow tunnel under the Whomping Willow and ran to the Shrieking Shack.

He may have had several hours before the train arrived at platform nine and three quarters and his absence detected, but he had no idea how long it would take him to get to Diagon alley, let alone how long he might need once there.

Once inside the shack, Harry took his miniaturised trunk from his pocket and, confident the Ministry would not be monitoring for underage magic use on an abandoned house, expanded it. He quickly took out the robes they had prepared earlier and got changed. Without the school logo, and with the colour changed to a deep blue, it was no longer obvious that he was a Hogwarts student.

Now came the hardest part. Human transformations were something they had studied this year and Harry had managed to change the colour his eyebrows, (well one eyebrow anyway,) but now he was going to try a whole head of hair. He had hat as a fall back, but changing the colour and length would be much better.

Concentrating, Harry kept the image of what he wanted in his mind, waved his wand and spoke the words to the spell, exactly how Hermione had taught him.

Slowly, his hair started to lighten and grow longer. Excitement nearly cost him his concentration, but he managed to hold onto the spell until his hair was close to what he envisioned; light brown and long enough to no longer stick up all over the place and cover his scar.

Inordinately proud at his successful change, Harry quickly moved onto his glasses. With a flick and a swish, they transformed from his distinctive black Horn-rimmed spectacles to a very different, smaller wire framed pair. They felt a bit uncomfortable, but since he would only be keeping them this way for a few hours, he knew could survive.

Taking a small makeup kit from his trunk, Harry quickly dabbed the premixed concoction over his scar. No spell would hide the cursed mark for very long, but a mixture of magical and Muggle makeup that Lavender Brown used would hide it for a while.

Upon contact with his skin, the powder changed to match Harry’s complexion, completely covering his most distinctive feature.

He took a few moments to look in the mirror. It was a pretty basic disguise that would not stand up to a close inspection by somebody who knew him, but it was better than Polyjuice because it would last more than an hour without maintenance and did not run the risk of Harry being mistaken for somebody else.

He wished he could have made himself look older, and taller, and possibly changed his eye colour, but that level of magic was still beyond him.

“Stage two complete,” Harry said to his mirror self, feeling a bit like James Bond or one of those other Muggle super spies he had seen on TV. “Time for stage three, Ms. Moneypenny!”

Satisfied he had done as much as he could, Harry repacked his trunk and shrunk it back down to fit into a pocket, then snuck out of the shack, making sure there was nobody around to see him.

Standing on the road leading to Hogsmeade, Harry raised his wand into the air and waited for the Knight Bus.

He tensed up, expecting the huge, purple, triple-decker to appear out of mid air and try to run him down, but after a few seconds nothing had happened, so he tried again, then a third time.

The bus didn’t appear, and Harry started to panic. The plan was to take the bus to London, fully expecting the magically appearing and disappearing bus to travel much faster than the Hogwarts Express, which travelled like a normal Muggle train. Now it appeared the bus was not running, or was so far away that it couldn’t stop to pick him up.

Maybe it’s full, thought Harry, or maybe it just doesn’t come here.

Almost in full panic mode, Harry forced himself to slow down and think. In the distance he heard the whistle of the Hogwarts Express as it left Hogsmeade station. The sound signalling the departure of his normal ride nearly started him panicking again.

He had once flown to London in the dead of night on the back of a Thestral, but that did not seem like a viable option in the middle of the day. There was his broom, but the thought of such a long flight, and the amount of time it would take at broom speeds, meant that was out. He couldn’t even go back to the castle now without letting everybody know he had tried to sneak off, and he didn’t want to get Neville into trouble for helping him either.

The only other options were to go into Hogsmeade and use the Floo, or Apparate, and Apparating was dangerous as well as illegal.

Every inhabitant of Hogsmeade had seen him at one time or another, so there was a risk that somebody might recognise him, even with the disguise.

With Dumbledore’s funeral, the population of the small village had overflowed and, even though most people had probably left by now, there were still sure to be many others still there, waiting to avoid the crush. Some parents may even have decided to take their children directly home from school after the funeral. They would be the ones most likely to recognise him.

Harry didn’t see he had a choice. He did not trust his ability to Apparate, having only done it himself a couple of times, so he had to Floo. Trying to Apparate and getting himself splinched would be the height of disaster and an incredibly embarrassing, not to mention illegal, blunder. It was not worth the risk.

Having made up his mind, Harry ran to towards Hogsmeade.

Thinking of the best place to leave from as he ran, he suddenly changed his direction to head towards the Hogs Head tavern. The dank pub ran by Aberforth Dumbledore was most likely less crowded, and the normal type of crowd it attracted did not usually pay much attention to other patrons, so it was his best chance to leave unrecognised.

Skidding to a stop near the door, Harry dug a few coins out of his pocket, ready to drop them into the container next to the Floo powder to pay for his trip.

Keeping his head down, Harry entered the small pub and walked directly to the fireplace. He tossed the coins into the bucket put there for the purpose, then tossed a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantle into the fire.

“Diagon Alley,” he said clearly, while stepping into the green flames.

Once again he felt as if he was been sucked down a giant drain or whirled in a whirlpool. The sensation of cold hands slapping his face assaulted him as he held his elbows in and kept his eyes closed. Watching a blurred cascade of fireplaces and rooms rush passed him usually only increased his discomfort, so he tried to concentrate on keeping his stomach down and ignored the queasy feelings and dizziness.

After what seemed like an age of stomach churning motion, Harry crashed face-first onto a warm stone floor; a trademark Harry Potter Floo exit. Opening his eyes the familiar sight of the Leaky Cauldron greeted him.

And just like that, Harry was in London.

Chapter Three – Shopping Trip

Dusting himself off, Harry rushed to the courtyard behind the pub. Tom, the bar keeper of the Leaky cauldron, had not been behind the bar, and there were no patrons that Harry could see, so his passage through went unnoticed.

Opening the archway onto the winding cobbled street that was the main street of Diagon Alley, Harry felt his first real stab of doubt.

The once gaudy shop windows that had been covered with large Purple Ministry of Magic posters the last time Harry saw them, were looking decidedly worn. Many of the posters were showing distinct signs of neglect; tattered and falling down. Through the remains of the Ministry posters, Harry could see the shops beyond were abandoned. The streets were almost deserted, with only a few small groups of people hurrying here and there fearfully.

Stores that had once entranced Harry with they weird and wonderful window displays were boarded up and even the shabby stalls were now missing.

Realising he was very conspicuous and quite vulnerable on his own, Harry pulled on his invisibility cloak and stuffed the Sneakoscope Ron had given him for his birthday years before into a pocket.

Bill told Ron the Sneakoscope was rubbish because it seemed to be constantly and randomly going off, but that was before they had discovered the betrayer Peter Pettigrew was living with them in his rat Animagus form. The magic detector was meant to light up, spin, and make a noise whenever somebody untrustworthy was around, so it had barely stopped while in Ron’s possession.

Worried that it might make too much noise, Harry cast a silencing charm that would hold for several hours on it. Hopefully the spinning vibration would be enough to alert him. He cast another on his shoes, for good measure.

There were even less people out and about compared to the last time Harry had been here with the Weasley’s just before the start of school. Harry’s only fond memory of that visit was seeing the Weasley twins’ new joke shop, but his run in with Draco and Narcissa, Draco’s mother, and his subsequent following Draco to Borgin and Burkes, had pretty much ruined that day.

A surge of guilt and anger rose in response to thinking about the blonde Malfoy heir. If he had made more of an effort to investigate what Draco had been doing in Borgin and Burkes, they might have found out about the cabinets earlier, and everything would have turned out differently. Dumbledore would still be alive.

Harry mentally slapped himself.

Thoughts like that were not going to help him; he had learned that lesson after Sirius died. There is point in playing the ‘what-if’ game; he had to concentrate on what he could do now, and right now he was standing in front of the huge white building of Gringotts bank.

Instead of the normal single uniformed security guard standing besides the outer bronze door, two guards stood on either side, and two more appeared to be patrolling the building. All of them were heavily armed with swords and knives, worn metal helmets and chain mail vests, and they were watching the streets with a menacing air.

Dropping his cloak and suddenly appearing in front of the wary guards was not a wise thing to do, so he moved off to a side street and hid his cloak back inside his shirt.

Walking slowly, and with his hands in clear view, Harry entered the bronze doors of Gringotts under the watchful eyes of the Goblin guards, who did not bow as they had done the very first time he entered the bank as an eleven year old.

In front of the silver doors that were engraved with a warning rhyme, there were four more armed guards, although these ones did bow him through to the main foyer.

The vast marble hall that Harry had only seen twice before still looked exactly the same, except for the long line of wizards waiting to be served. There was still the long counter running almost the entire length of the hall, and hundreds of Goblins sitting at counters scribbling in ledgers and weighing coins.

Harry joined the end of the queue and waited his turn. The line appeared to be moving very slowly.

Despite the number of people, and Goblins, the hall was deathly quiet. The wizards and witches standing in line appeared to be too afraid to talk to anyone in anything more than a whisper.

As he stood waiting, Harry couldn’t help examining them. Nobody in the line would meet his eyes for more than a split second before they hurriedly turned away. Everybody appeared extremely nervous. At one point, a Goblin accidentally dropped a sack of coins and the whole crowd jumped two feet in the air from the sudden noise.

Everybody was scared, Harry realised. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had turned the once vibrant magical community into a fearful thing that was scared of its own shadow.

Out of all the people that jumped when the bag of money hit the floor, only Harry and two young witches had even started to draw their wands. Everybody else screamed, or ducked, or almost run away. Even the Goblins had reacted badly, although a lot better than the wizards and witches waiting in the queue.

Harry found he was watching a young mother with her infant son standing behind the two witches who had drawn their wands. The mother had the look of somebody who had been ‘running on empty’ for along time. Her face showed an immense tiredness and a profound sadness; the signs of prolonged strain. The baby was sleeping in her arms, but she held him so tightly that Harry wondered if there was any blood getting to her hands.

The war against the Voldemort and the Death eaters was obviously going badly. Despite Fudge and now Scrimgeour’s attempts to reassure the public that everything was under control, people were obviously terrified. The Ministry had completely failed the people, and they knew it. Nobody knew where to turn for guidance or reassurance, and now with the death of Albus Dumbledore, things were likely to get much worse.

Over an hour after Harry had entered the bank, he was getting close to the front of the queue. He had been lost in thought about what the Ministry of Magic should be doing and did not notice how close he was until a Goblin called him forward.

“Name?” asked the Goblin, in a less than friendly manner.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry quietly. He didn’t want anybody else to hear him, but the quiet of the bank meant he would almost have to whisper.

The Goblin looked up at Harry in apparent surprise.

“I am in disguise and would like for as few people as possible to know I am here, if possible, please?” asked Harry hurriedly. He had actually forgotten about his changed appearance, despite his longer hair’s annoying habit of falling into his eyes and having to be brushed aside constantly.

“Indeed,” said the Goblin. “Do you have your key?”

“Yes,” said Harry, quickly producing his key and giving to the Goblin.

The Goblin inspected the key for a moment, then consulted some paperwork in front of him, briefly writing some notes on a parchment.

“Please sign this,” it said, passing the parchment over to Harry, along with a black quill.

Harry involuntarily shuddered at the sight of the quill. He knew intimately what it was; a Blood quill. Anything he wrote with the quill would cut his hand and use his own blood as ink. Harry still had scars spelling the words “I will not tell lies” from his detentions with the detestable Delores Umbridge.

The Ministry toad forced onto them as last year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had tortured the school children with a quill exactly like the one the Goblin was now handing over to him, making them write lines in their own blood.

“What for?” asked Harry warily.

“This is a security procedure to ensure you are indeed who you say you are,” explained the Goblin almost politely. He must have recognised Harry’s discomfort and surprisingly was trying to be more affable. “The Blood Quill will draw blood from your hand almost painlessly and allow us to test your identity. Without this test you will be unable to access your vault. Please read the parchment closely and sign on the dotted line.”

Harry took the parchment and read it carefully, still unsure about using a blood quill, even if it was ‘almost painless’.

The parchment was very brief.

‘I Harry Potter hereby declare that I am in fact who I say I am.’

Then there was a dotted line with Harry’s name printed under it. The Goblin must have written in Harry’s name a few seconds ago as the ink still appeared wet.

“This is not any sort of magical contract or anything is it?” asked Harry.

The Goblin smiled in way that Harry felt was a tad vicious.

“Indeed Sir, it is. Should you not be who you claim to be, very nasty things will happen within seconds of you signing. Once that stops, whatever is left of you will be handed over to the authorities and charged with attempted impersonation. If you are who you say you are however, the contract will simply burn up and disappear.”

Harry gulped at the thought of how powerful the spells must be. Hermione would be fascinated to find out how the Goblins had achieved such potent enchantments, but Harry was just nervous thinking about what might happen if they got it wrong.

Realising he once again had no real choice, Harry picked up the blood quill and signed his name.

It hurt very little compared to Umbridge’s.

A few seconds later, the parchment disintegrated in a brief flash of flame and a puff of grey smoke.

The Goblin looked a bit disappointed at the lack of an excruciating death for Harry.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said, sweeping the ashes away with a small brush. "Do you wish to visit your vault or did you have a different purpose here today?"

“I need to withdraw money from my vault, and convert some to Muggle currency please,” answered Harry.

“Very well, I will have someone take you to your vault and they will be able to convert your money once you return here. There is a fee for converting money of course, based on a flat percentage of the amount converted.”

“That will be fine, thank you,” said Harry, wondering just how large a percentage he would get charged, before being led off to one of the uncountable doors set in the wall behind the counters.

Despite years of performing death defying stunts on his broom, having flown a Hippogriff and a Thestral, and being six years older, the ride to his vault was just as exciting as the first time he had taken it.

He didn’t recognise the Goblin escorting him, it could even have been the same one from six years ago, but it grinned in apparent delight as Harry whooped and laughed his appreciation during the trip. The journey took longer than he remembered, making Harry suspected the Goblin had somehow taken him on the ‘scenic route’ to prolong the ride.

Despite the speed of the cart, Harry did notice a number of armed guards patrolling different sections as they flashed by. There were also a few more dragons along the way, if the gouts of flame and distant roars were any indication.

Once at his vault Harry unlocked it and opened the doors, only to stop in shock at the amount of gold in there.

When Harry had first seen his vault, there had been a small fortune in gold galleons, silver sickles and bronze nuts. Now there appeared to be at least twice as much as when he had first opened it, and that was after six years of school fees, books and even some spending money.

At first, Harry couldn’t understand where all the money had come from, but then realisation hit him like a physical blow; Sirius.

Dumbledore had told Harry Sirius had left him a ‘reasonable’ amount of gold. Obviously, Dumbledore’s idea of reasonable was a bit different to Harry’s. Either that or he had been once again not giving Harry the full story.

Hot rage flooded through Harry. He would not have put it passed Dumbledore to not trust him with the knowledge that he was now quite wealthy. Possibly he didn’t want Harry to run off and start spending money like there was no tomorrow.

Or maybe he feared that if Harry didn’t really have to rush to earn his keep, he would not be inclined to study hard; as if years of purposely keeping his grades below Dudley’s to keep out of trouble had instilled a desire to excel academically in him!

Perhaps he was scared the Dursleys would try and force money out of Harry if they knew how much he had, but now the cat was out of the bag anyway – let out by Dumbledore himself while picking Harry up at the start of the school year. His relatives would be sure to try something when he got back this year.

There could have been any number of reasons, real or invalid, and with Dumbledore dead, Harry would never know.

The sudden memory of Dumbledore’s death, and that he had only a few short hours ago attended the funeral, took the heat out of Harry’s anger.

It didn’t matter what Dumbledore’s reasons were; he was gone, and Harry would gladly have given every bronze knut, silver sickle, and gold galleon in the vault, and a lot more besides, to have had him, or Sirius, back, but that wasn’t going to happen.

Harry took his trunk out of his pocket and enlarged it, then opened the last secret compartment of the smaller trunk Dumbledore had left him, and filled it, his money bag, and a second bag he had borrowed from Ron with galleons, then left one in the main trunk.

The larger trunk had already been charmed to be almost as light as when empty, but Harry cast the same spell on the smaller trunk and the money bags as well, before shrinking everything back down to fit in a large pocket.

It didn’t make sense that magical people lugged around huge, heavy trunks all the time when they could miniaturise them, but there were a lot of things wizards did that didn’t make sense to Harry.

Tucking his full money bag into an inside pocket of his robes, he left his vault, still slightly amazed at the amount of gold in there. He had been expecting to empty the vault this trip, instead he was leaving behind more than he had ever expected to own.

The trip back up did not take anywhere near as long as the one down, proving to Harry the goblin had extended the ride down.

Back in the main hall, Harry handed over almost a quarter of his normal money bag to be converted into Muggle pounds, and then discretely shrank the resulting wad in order to fit it into a different pocket. The goblins may not have cared about the Ministry under age magic laws, but Harry was not in a hurry to find out.

With his pockets full of cash, and the knowledge he still had a lot of money to fall back on, Harry headed into Diagon Alley.

“Time to go shopping!” he thought to himself, as he pulled the cloak over his head before walking out of the bronze doors and into the depressingly empty wizard shopping district.

*-*
Just before starting Harry’s third year of school at Hogwarts, he had spent an enjoyable two weeks living in the Leaky Cauldron tavern. During that time, he had become familiar with Diagon Alley and it various stores.

Many of those bright, glorious stores were closed now; boarded up reminders that the world had changed right before his eyes. People walk quickly and nervously in small groups, never stopping to enjoy anything except the most subdued of greetings for friends they came across.

Harry was currently seated in a small café sorting through his purchases of the last few hours while being served sandwiches by a bubbly young witch called Sally. Inside the café the atmosphere was much more relaxed, with people chatting loudly to each other; a marked difference to the way they acted outside. Several piles of apparently random items sat on the table in front of him, threatening to topple over and cover his food laden plate.

Searching from shop to shop for a Pensieve proved to be quite exhausting; especially when Harry had tired to keep his invisibility cloak on at all times that he wasn't inside a store. The lack of crowds made avoiding accidents easier, but the need to go into almost every shop to ask about Pensieves meant constantly taking the cloak off and putting it back on again, without being seen.

Almost every store keeper was reluctant to talk to him, unless he made a purchase. After filling up one small carry bag with miscellaneous items, Harry bought a backpack and paid for the inside to be magically expanded to hold everything.

Even though he did not spend a lot of time looking for things to buy, Harry had picked up an amazing array of items that he was now sorting. Amongst dozens of small items such as a pack of super exploding snap deck and Muggle style pens that could work at any angle, on any surface and under water, he had spent up big on a few items.

The tent was his major purchase. While the salesman had been disappointed that Harry steered away from the three storey ones that came with a moat, he had been please that Harry had loaded his much more modest two bedrooms, one bathroom (with hot and cold running water!), kitchen, lounge and dinning tent with accessories including camp beds, basic cookware, self lighting, and many charms. Harry felt he may have gone a bit overboard with the charms, but it was hard not to buy everything offered by the enthusiastic and persuasive salesman.

In the current climate of distrust, it appeared not a lot of people where opting to go camping in wilderness areas, making the salesman fear for his business. Harry's loading up made the man's day.

There were a lot of books in Harry's collection, on subjects as wide ranging as broom repair to magical carpentry. A very weird book called 'Protect your privacy - Control your mind' was the closest thing Harry could find to an Occlumency book without spending a week scouring the dusty shelves in the back rooms of various stores.

The only other shop that Harry spent more than a token amount of time browsing was 'Edward's Enchanters'. Crusty old Edward, who had a beard so long he had to carry it over one shoulder, made magical scrolls that had the same effects as casting a spell when read, but without needing a wand. Since scrolls and similar magics were not covered until seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry had been fascinated by them and bought almost all of Edward's stock.

“It's becoming a lost art,” Edward told him. “Nobody wants to take the time to make a scroll properly. Everybody just wants to wave their wand around in the air like monkeys with sticks and do the spell straight away. No thought for the future, just instant gratification, that's all kids want today! A waste I tell you, a darn waste.”

He had even sold Harry a book about the art of scroll creation, but one look told Harry it was well above his level of understanding.

A fancy new watch gleamed on Harry's wrist too. It was guaranteed to work at extreme temperatures that Harry himself would not survive, had hands that showed all the planets, phases of the moon, and how many days to the solstice, and had fourteen different alarms, although Harry did not know how he could possibly use that many.

So far, Ron had been right, and it was obvious he was not going to find a Pensieve at just any corner store. The day was getting away from him, so Harry decided he would have to stick to the more expensive stores that dealt with magical artefacts.

Conversations buzzed half heard around Harry as he sorted his new possessions and ate lunch. One involving two middle aged wizards caught his attention when a familiar name was almost shouted.

“Dumbledore!” exclaimed one man. “Who would have believed it? What’s going to happen now?”

“Reckon the Ministry will have to pull its socks up, that’s what I reckon,’ answered the man sitting with his back to Harry.

“The Ministry? You have got to be joking. Scrimgeour might have been a good Auror, but he is out of his depth when it comes to politics. He is still taking advice from that idiot Fudge!” ranted the first man.

“True he messed up royally, but Fudge does know his way around politics and politicians.”

“Who cares about politicians? I wish you-know-who did away with the lot of them tomorrow, and their bureaucratic donkeys. That way at least it would let the real workers get the job done!”

Harry snorted into his Butterbeer thinking it didn’t sound like that bad an idea when it was put that way, except he knew several good people who worked at the Ministry, including Arthur Weasley.

“Come on Bert! You don’t really think anybody is going to do anything visible and make themselves a target do you? Everybody is going to hide under their beds and hope it all goes away! Nobody has the guts to take a real stand and say where the problem is.”

“Nah, you’re probably right. Pity Lockhart got taken down before you-know-who came back. He would have sorted this mess out straight away, and probably wouldn’t have even messed his hair!”

Harry nearly chocked on a mouthful of sandwich hearing that people still considered the fraud Gilderoy Lockhart a hero. The true story of his false career must not have been spread around too much.

“What ever happened to him anyway? I heard his brain was fried while on a mission for the Dark Force Defence League.”

“Nah, I heard a Lethifold attacked him. He managed to kill it in his sleep, but never recovered properly. Old Roger Blake’s wife, Martha, says she’s seen him in St. Mungos last time she was there.”

“She still having trouble with her Lumbago then is she?”

“Nah, she accidentally swallowed a toad and had to have it removed.”

“Blimey! At least that’s not as bad as old Ginger and her house falling down on her. Right sticky mess she was…”

Harry tuned the rest of the conversation out as they continued to talk about various friends and the extraordinary accidents they had undergone.

It seemed almost everybody had lost faith in the Ministry and were scared for their lives. It was true the wizard government was mostly incompetent, but Harry couldn’t believe people were more willing to put their faith in a fraud like Gilderoy Lockhart than to take a stand themselves.

Voldemort might be an unstoppable nightmare, but his Death Eaters were just witches and wizards like the people sitting in the Café.

Well, not quite like the people in the café, Harry admitted, unless the elderly couple in the far corner were homicidal psychopaths bent on world domination.

But even Harry was virtually in hiding, fearful of getting attacked. He knew he was a target, but that didn't mean anything to the man on the street who only saw that the one person who had stood up Voldemort besides Dumbledore was not to be seen. Maybe Scrimgeour was right. Maybe Harry should be out in public, rallying people.

The problem with that idea was that he needed to search for the Horcruxes, and do it in secret. Even if he just gave modest support for the Ministry and their well meaning incompetence, he would still be unable to fulfil the task Dumbledore set for him.

Suddenly, Harry had an inspiration. There was a way he could help. He could be visible while at the same time secretly be searching for the Horcruxes. It even tied in with a way he could attend Bill's wedding in disguise.

He was going to join the Ministry as its Poster boy.

Chapter Four – The Ministry of Magic

“Ministry of Magic” he said stepping into the green flames of the Floo.

After another torment of spinning, he fell out of the Floo into a room he had never seen before. People were popping out of fireplaces along one wall, and joining queues leading to strange pairs of doorways on the other side of the room. It was quite crowded.

“Sorry,” he said as he crashed into the back of a portly wizard, nearly knocking the man’s hat off.

The man grumbled and moved along the line.

A dozen bored looking people in Auror robes were lounging around the room in various poses. Most were talking amongst themselves, not paying the crowd any attention. There was one stationed next to a free standing doorway that stood in front of the one regular type Harry thought lead out of the room.

People would walk through the first doorway, stop next to the Auror, who would then move his wand over them (as if cleaning dust of their clothes), ask a few questions, give them a badge, and then they would leave through the second door. Occasionally the Auror would stop somebody and ask a question, and in one case, a person was taken by two other Aurors through a different side door.

Just before Harry got to the first door, a witch in the line next to him stepped through the first door and suddenly became a very different looking person. Where she had been a youngish looking woman with long black hair, suddenly she was quite a bit older, fatter, and had dirty brown hair.

The Auror standing near her didn’t even blink, but waved his wand and continued with his routine. Harry strained trying to hear what the questions were, but suddenly the line moved and it was Harry’s turn.

He stepped through the first door, half expecting his disguise to disappear, but nothing happened, so he walked forward to stand next to the Auror as he had seen the other people do. The Auror waved his wand over him, front and back, suddenly stopping over the pocket that contained the Sneakoscope.

“Sneakoscope?” the bored Auror asked.

“Yes,” answered Harry, after briefly considering saying something very different, just to see if the man reacted.

The Auror grunted, and continued with what Harry recognised as a search.

“Name and purpose of visit?” he was asked in a clearly uninterested voice.

“Harry Potter, visiting Minister Scrimgeour.”

The Aurora took a badge from his pocket and handed it to Harry.

“All visitors are required to register their wand at the security desk,” he said, before motioning for Harry to step through the second door.

Harry, expecting some sort of recognition at his name, was a bit shocked to have been passed through without comment. He was now standing in the long, shiny wood panelled hall of the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, with its peacock blue roof flashing mysterious symbols, and golden gates at the far end. The fountain that had been damaged in Dumbledore’s fight with Voldemort had not been completely repaired; the statue-less waterfall splashed merrily as people stopped to toss a coin or two into it.

People streamed up and down the hallway, some of the queuing to use the open Floos lining one wall.

Harry felt a momentary flash of panic as the events that took place last time rushed back to overwhelm him. He had to fight to keep from falling over as his memory played out scenes his would rather forget in excruciating detail.

“Are you alright, love?” asked an elderly witch, who had just come out of the rooms behind him. “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically. The witch gave a knowing look and walked off towards the golden gates.

Harry took the badge, which had VISITOR in bright flashing letters at the top and Harry Potter – Visiting Minister of Magic, written in smaller print under it, and pinned it to his robes, as he walked to the gates. He felt his heart thumping in his chest as the made the long journey to the other end. Every step brought back more images of the night Sirius had died.

Here was where Dumbledore had cast the flame whip; there was where Voldemort cast an Avada Kedava - It was like walking through a nightmare.

Eventually he reached the security desk at the end of the hallway.

The same badly-shaven wizard in blue robes sat reading the paper, exactly as he had when Harry had first come through with Mr. Weasley on his way to the farce of a trial Cornelius Fudge had arranged.

“Step over here,” the man said, putting down his paper. Once again Harry was subjected to a scan made with a long golden rod, and once again the man grumbled “Wand” and held out his hand. Harry handed over his wand and watched it get dropped into the one-dish scales to be registered.

“Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use six years. That correct?”

“Yes,” answered Harry.

The guard tore off the narrow strip of parchment that came out of the machine, and handed Harry back his wand.

“Thank you,” said Harry, desperately hoping his name on the flashing badge would go unnoticed. “Could you direct me to Percy Weasley’s office, please?”

Luck was not with him however. After at first looking annoyed, the man finally read Harry’s name.

“Harry Potter!” the man almost shouted, causing a few people nearby to turn and look. “My word! I met you a few years back, do you remember? You were coming through with Arthur Weasley, right before that thing with You-Know-Who happened!”

He took Harry’s hand and started pumping it up and down vigorously.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr Potter. Come to sort out the Ministry have you? About time I say! You look different though?”

A small crowd began to form around Harry getting louder with every passing second. Cursing, Harry quickly and discretely cancelled his disguise, it was useless now anyway, and he couldn’t use it again if everybody saw him wearing it.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to extract his hand for the other man’s grip. “But could you please tell me how to get to Percy Weasley’s office.”

“I’ll take you!” piped up a voice from the crowd. A tall woman pushed her way through to stand next to him. “Hello, Harry.”

Harry’s mind raced as he tried to remember where he had seen this girl before. She looked familiar, but not quite right, almost as if he had known her when she was a bit younger, maybe at Hogwarts?

“Penelope!” he said, as the memory surfaced. “Penelope Clearwater. Good to see you. I didn’t know you worked in the Ministry,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a friendly shake, surprisingly causing her face to flush.

She had been a Ravenclaw prefect and Percy’s girlfriend during Harry’s second year at Hogwarts. He had not said a dozen words to her, but she was the closest thing to a known face he could hope for.

“Please get me out of here,” he whispered quietly, leaning in close so that only she could hear. “Quickly.”

“Right,” she said, her expression suddenly becoming business like. “Come on, move along,” she said to the crowd, “Mr. Potter has important business with the Ministry just like the rest of you. No time top stand around gossiping.”

She led Harry away from the crowd and deep into the Ministry offices, leaving a trail of whispering in their wake.

“Percy is not expecting you,” she said as they walked.

“No. Wait. How do you know that?”

She gave a small nervous laugh. “I am Percy’s personal assistant.”

“The Junior Assistant to the Minister has his own personal assistant?”

“Yes,” she said a bit stiffly. “He is doing very important work for the Minister.”

“I imagine so,” said Harry, thinking about Percy’s previous important task, giving Scrimgeour a reason to visit the Burrow while Harry was there for Christmas so that he could try and convince Harry to become a ‘poster boy’ for the Ministry and its ineffective policies.

“I can squeeze in an appointment for you, seeing as you are a family friend, but you will have to be quick,” she said.

“Actually, I am here to see the Minister. I figured the best way to see him without an appointment would be to ask Percy to arrange it.”

Penelope looked a bit shocked at Harry’s revelation.

“I am not sure I can …” she began.

“It’s fine, Penelope. Just get me in to see Percy. That will do.”

They soon arrived at a small reception desk fronting an office. Penelope stepped behind the desk and knocked quietly on the door.

Harry heard a muffled voice before Penelope opened the door and entered, closing it behind her. Harry could hear voices faintly through the closed door and for a second it sounded like an argument was going on.

A minute later she emerged from the office, looking slightly flushed, and Harry wondered if she had been arguing with Percy about seeing him.

“You can go right in,” she said, holding the door open for Harry.

Harry entered a room that wasn’t much bigger than a Hogwarts’ broom closet. Three of the walls were lined with shelves crammed with rows of paper filled files. Percy sat behind a small desk piled high with paper, looking rather annoyed.

“Hello, Mr Potter,” he said, not standing or shaking Harry’s hand. “Penelope tells me you would like to see the Minister. I must tell you that he is a very busy man and probably won’t have time to see you today. Can I make an appointment and get back to you?”

Harry was tempted to take the offer and leave immediately, but he knew if he did that, his next visit would be turned into a media circus, with the Ministry twisting the facts to make it appear he was there to offer support for the Minister.

Taking a deep breath he steeled himself and resisted the temptation of taking the easy way out. He was going to have to do this, even though he hated the very idea of it.

“Hello, Percy. How are you?” he asked.

His friendly greeting made no visible impression on the young man, except for a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Please tell the Minister I am here and would like to talk with him. I can not say when I will be available again, so if it is not convenient now I will have to get back to him another day when I am available.”

Percy looked ready to object, as expected, so Harry decided to drop the politeness and go onto the attack.

“Percy, do you really want to argue with me and then have to explain to the Minister why I left the building without talking to him? I imagine news of my visit will spread pretty quickly, especially once I leave without seeing him.”

Harry considered the shocked look on Percy’s face as he realised what Harry had just said was worth the trouble he had gone to so far.

Without another word, Percy stood up walked around the desk to open the door.

“Follow me,” he said, as he walked out.

Harry gave Penelope a smile as he passed her. She looked a bit worried, but brightened when she saw Harry’s grin and return a dazzling smile of her own.

Percy led Harry down another hallway to a much larger reception. A matronly witch dressed in dark, severe robes sat at another much larger reception desk.

“Mrs Branch, please ask the Minister if he is available for a meeting immediately,” said Percy to the lady.

She looked over her small wire framed spectacles at Percy, giving him a penetrating glare, then pointedly looked down at an overly large appointment book.

“Whom shall I say wants to meet with him?” she asked polite, but firmly disapproving.

“Harry Potter,” answered Percy.

As expected, her eyes flicked to Harry’s face, then immediately to the scar on his forehead. Surprisingly, her tone and manner did not change.

“Please take a seat,” she said, indicating several large lounge chairs to the side of her desk, before disappearing through a set of double doors on the other side of her desk.

Harry sat down nervously looking around the room. Percy sat staring at Harry.

“What?” Harry finally asked, getting tired of Percy’s glare.

“Why are you here, Harry? I know you don’t approve of the Ministry and won’t give it your support, so why are you here?”

Harry laughed.

“Percy, after what happened when you first started working here, along with what happened two years ago, are you really certain you know anything?”

Percy blanched, but remained silent. His failure to notice his first boss was under the imperious curse had been a massive personal failure. His support of Minister Fudge’s official declaration that Voldemort had not returned, another one. Harry had just reminded him of how incredibly wrong he had been at least twice in the last few years.

Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic limped out of the set of double doors and approached Harry. He was smiling, but Harry thought it looked rather forced.

“Harry,” he said, grasping Harry’s hand like a long lost friend.

“Come in, come in. Percy, you may go now.”

“Actually, Minister,” interrupted Harry. “Could Percy please be present for this meeting?”

Scrimgeour looked a bit startled, but quickly agreed.

A few minutes later the three of them were seated in soft lounge chairs around a large coffee table drinking tea. The friendly public face Scrimgeour had greeted him with was gone, but he was still less than hostile.

“So, what cane I do for you, Harry? Have you come to offer your assistance? I must say I am surprised, after our recent conversation I was certain you had made up your mind.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Minister, I still think the Ministry is making a mess of things-”

Percy gave a sharp intake of breath and the smile dropped from Scrimgeour’s face.

“But I have seen how the people are affected,” he continued. “They are scared and close to panicking.”

“I want to help, but I don’t like much of what the Ministry is doing, so here is what I suggest-”

Percy leapt to his feet.

“I knew it. You can’t come in here and dictate policy to the Minister of Magic. Just who do you think you are?”

Harry sat back in his chair and regarded Percy coldly.

“I am Harry Potter, Percy, and it is about time you took a really good look around you and saw what is going on. Nobody trusts the Ministry any more, because of all the blunders it has been making. You have half trained Aurors running around arresting people for littering while Death Eaters are rampaging throughout the country side.”

“Your guards at the entrance from the public Floo network are so observant that they didn’t even notice I was wearing a disguise, and then they didn’t even read my name.”

“The articles you are putting in the paper are either trying to deny that anything is wrong, playing down reports of attacks, or are inflaming the public with notices about rumours of infer.”

“Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard who has ever lived, was murdered in Hogwarts, supposedly the safest place in the world, and what does the Ministry do? It allows Delores Umbridge to attend his funeral.

“The Ministry is a joke, Percy, admit it.”

His calm delivery and scathing comments shock both men. Percy face had gone red in the best imitation of Vernon Dursley Harry had ever seen, and he looked ready to start shouting, but Scrimgeour cut him off.

“That may be the case Harry, although I personally don’t agree with you,” he said, much more calmly than Harry expected. “We have our best people working on it and this is what they have come up with. Hire more Aurors and get them out on the streets as fast as possible, reassure the public that everything is under control. There is nothing else to do.”

Harry took a long sip of his tea to calm his nerves.

“Minister, I don’t think you do have your best people working on it.”

Percy had taken his seat again as the Minister spoke, but looked ready to pounce on Harry. “Of course we do!” he snapped.

“No, Percy, I think you have a load of Fudge’s old cronies, and a bunch of pureblood racists that, in their hearts at least, support Voldemort.”

Harry was gratified to see both men flinch at his use of the name.

“I think most of your policies are repeats of the mistakes the Ministry made during the last war.”

“And I suppose you could do better?’ asked Percy, the sarcasm dripping from his words like venom from a basilisks fangs.

Harry shook his head.

“No, Percy. I don’t know if I could do any better, but I can tell you one thing, I doubt that I could do much worse.”

Scrimgeour looked slightly angry, but also had a thoughtful look on his face.

“So, what is it you want then, Harry?”

“Minister, while I am not willing to openly support you or your current policies, I could be persuaded to let you use my image.”

“Your image, you mean as in pictures and such?”

“No, I mean as in Polyjuice.”

A stunned silence greeted Harry’s words.

“In exchange for a couple of promises from you, and a few er, concessions, I would be willing to allow a person, Polyjuiced as me, to come into these offices twice a week and attend ‘secret’ meetings, thus giving the public the impression that you have my support or at least my assistance.”

“I will not allow this person to have any press conferences, or for you to say directly that you have my full confidences, but I he may be seen to regularly attend meetings with you and your staff.”

Percy was bristling again, but Scrimgeour was still thoughtful.

“What promises?”

Harry released the breath he had not realised he was holding. If Scrimgeour was willing to still listen to him, it meant he had a chance. His greatest fear was to have been tossed out of the office before now; that’s what Fudge would have done.

“You are going to have to promise me to release Stan Shunpike and any other people you have falsely arrested. From now on, I want you to promise that only people who have real evidence against them will be arrested, and that you will make sure each and everyone gets a timely and proper trial, with Veritaserum if possible.”

Scrimgeour nodded.

“What else?”

“You have to make an effort to clean up the Ministry. Everybody knows, or believes that it is full of Death Eaters. I know that idiot Fudge would have packed the ranks with cash lined pure bloods rather than people who could do their jobs.”

“That is outrageous!” protested Percy. “You are just holding a grudge.”

“You are right, Percy,” Harry snapped, “I am holding a grudge, and I want every person involved in covering up Voldemort’s return, and everybody who helped run Albus Dumbledore’s name into the mud, dismissed or suspended pending an enquiry into their actions. If they are found to have knowingly been involved in a conspiracy, they should be arrested and charged.”

“Now is definitely not the time to be disrupting the Ministry, the results will be chaos!” argued Percy.

“When are you going to do it, Percy?” asked Harry, his voice getting louder as his anger started to get the better of him. “After Voldemort is defeated? Guess what? We are loosing the war! Voldemort is getting stronger, mainly due to incompetence of the Ministry. If you don’t take the time to fix the problem now, you never will.”

Percy’s face had moved through the ‘Vernon spectrum’ and reached the purple that signal an imminent physical attack, but Scrimgeour was sitting quietly, apparently thinking. “Minster, you can’t seriously be listening to this lunatic!”

The Minister practically ignored him.

“Harry,” he said, after a moment. “You are not the first person to say this to me, and, until recently, I must admit I shared Percy’s opinion.”

“What happened?”

“Dumbledore died. Since then, I have been giving it a lot of thought. I couldn’t believe that you still refused to help us out; it didn’t match any of the various reports I had about you.”

Scrimgeour gave a rueful laugh. “Most of them said you were an attention seeking glory hound that would leap at the chance of more fame. I was told Dumbledore had a tight leash on you; that you would never say anything that he didn’t script, and I am ashamed to admit that I believed every word of it, until our conversation a few hours ago.”

Harry felt his face go red at these accusations, but he held his temper in check, unlike Percy who now seemed to be squirming, as if in embarrassment. Both of them knew who was responsible for those reports.

“So you must imagine how surprised I am to see you sitting here in front of me, saying out loud things that others have been whispering in dark corners.”

Scrimgeour leaned forward and stared into Harry’s face intently.

“Tell me one thing, Harry, and tell me the truth. Are you here at the bidding of anybody else, or have you come here on your own?”

Harry looked the formidable minister straight in the eye.

“Minister, I came here after standing in a line at Gringotts for an hour watching how scared people were. Everything I am saying is my own idea, or the ideas of my two closest friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Percy’s head jerk up sharply.

“Nobody has sent me, and nobody has me on a tight leash. I am still Dumbledore’s man, but you have to realise that Albus Dumbledore was the most noble and worthy wizard of his time.”

The Minister nodded again, weighing Harry’s words in his mind. Percy just sat, with an almost dumbfounded look on his face.

“You mentioned concessions?”

“There are things I need to do, possibly dangerous things. I have to be able to defend myself without worrying that somebody is going to show up and snap my wand. All of us need to, especially children.”

“You want an exemption from the underage magic law? Don’t you turn of age soon?”

“I want the law scrapped, at least temporarily. Everybody who can hold a wand has to be ready to defend themselves, not just me. They need to be able to practice, and not just when they are in school.”

Percy had to interrupt again.

“That’s highly dangerous. Children are not responsible enough to be allowed to do magic unsupervised, there will be untold accidents. It is not their job to defend themselves, it is the Ministry’s job.”

“And the Ministry is failing! Children need to be allowed to practice shield, stupefy and disillusionment charms. How can you be worried about accidents when Death Eaters are running amok killing them because they don’t know how to defend themselves? Half the people in this building can't do a decent shield spell,” Harry growled, finally allowing his rage to show.

“If they think they can fight they are much more likely to try and take on the Death Eaters themselves and get hurt. I am sure you of all people understand that,” snarled Percy.

Harry fumed at the insinuation that he and his friends had gone to the Ministry to rescue Sirius because they were overconfident.

“A group of us who knew a bit about fighting managed to aid in the capture of more Death Eaters in one night than the whole Ministry has caught in the year since then,” he said with a forced calm. “But the real problem is that nobody is standing up to these animals because they are all terrified. You have to put some confidence back into people, all people, not just the voting ones, and you have to do it with real action and advice, not by playing down the danger and telling them the Ministry is taking care of it. Think of the manpower you will free up from watching over the underage magic use wards-”

“YOU JUST WANT TO...” yelled Percy.

“ENOUGH!” shouted the Minister, banging his cup down on the table.

“Harry, I am considering your offer, but I am worried just how much value we are going to be able to get from you if you are unwilling to attend any press conferences or make any statements.”

“What do you suggest, Minister?”

“How would you feel about some press releases, that we both approve?”

“So long as they are about policies that I agree with, I am willing to allow that, although I may be a bit hard to find.”

“Two days a week is not enough, people could say you are just visiting. I want your doppelganger here at least five days a week and for more than just one hour or two. I’ll set him up in an office where he can work on something that nobody knows about. It will look like he is doing Department of Mysteries work.”

Harry nodded; he had been expecting this and had counted on it.

“No problem, but he is going to have to return to Privet Drive when he is not here, until my seventeenth birthday, which is in a couple of weeks, and must have an Auror guard with him at all times that he is not there.”

“The press is going to be stopping him outside everyday and asking questions, I want him to be allowed to occasionally give more than just a ‘no comment’,” said Scrimgeour.

Harry didn’t like this, but he wasn’t going to get it all his own way.

“Okay, but only if the person is reflecting my own feelings on the question. I am sure there will be many areas where we both agree.”

Scrimgeour nodded and went quite again considering the bargain they were making. So far, it had gone much better than Harry had hoped.

“You realise you are lying to the public,” Percy said. “You are intentionally misleading them, just like you accuse the Ministry of doing.”

Harry had already wrestled with this.

“No, Percy. I feel allowing somebody to take my place and voice my views is not lying to the public. I will be supporting the Ministry, if it is conducting business in a manner I agree with.”

“Semantics,” the red headed man shot back. “You are going to let them think that you are sitting in an office here everyday working to bring down You-Know-Who, when you will really be off hiding somewhere.”

The unexpected barb hurt Harry.

“I will not be hiding,” he said, earning an excited look from Scrimgeour. “But I will be out of sight.”

“Is that what you really want out of it?” the Minister asked. “A cover?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I really do want to help people, but it is, convenient.”

Percy made a derisive noise.

“So you want somebody else to stick their neck out and pretend to be you?”

Harry was really getting angry again, but he didn’t bother to respond. He just looked at the Minister.

“Do we have a deal?”

The Minister quietly sipped his tea and watched Harry over the brim of his cup.

“We do,” he said. “But let’s work out a few more details. Weasley, get a quill and take some notes, and cancel the rest of my appointments today.”

Two hours later, Harry felt like he had been put through the wringer. His back hurt, despite the comfort of the chairs, he was bloated from numerous cups of tea, and his head was pounding from the prolonged mental wrangling.

Scrimgeour may have once been an Auror, but he definitely had a politicians mind and thoroughly quizzed Harry about his ideas and how they were going to portray his support for the Minister. There had been a few items they could not see eye to eye on, but the Minister accepted that, and Harry was forced to do the same in return, agreeing to disagree.

Harry was actually quite pleased with the agreement they reached and was suitably proud of the way he had handled himself, although only time would tell if he was making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

“The last thing to discuss is who should know about this,” the Minister said. “Obviously, the fewer the better, but I imagine you will have few people you want to keep in the loop, and there is the matter of the person who will be taking your spot. I think we should keep it to a single person, probably an Auror.”

Harry nodded tiredly.

“I have an idea, but you may not like it. The person is not an Auror, but quite disciplined. He follows rules to the letter and can be countered on to follow orders unwaveringly.”

“He also has the advantage of already knowing about the deal.”

“Who?” asked the Minister curiously.

Harry looked directly at Percy.

Shocked surprise registered on Percy’s face, and then he gulped loudly in the quiet office as full realisation struck him.

Revenge can be sweet, thought Harry to himself.

*
Harry ran as fast as he could without loosing his invisibility cloak towards the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t know his way around London, and he was unsure how long it would take for a Muggle taxi to get him to the station, or even how to call for a taxi when it came down to it. He felt one hour should have been more than enough, but better safe than sorry!

Entering the almost empty pub, Harry suddenly had a thought. What if he could Floo to somewhere closer and walk the distance?

Slipping his cloak off, he moved over to the bar where Tom the barkeeper was performing his seemingly endless task of drying glasses with a cloth.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, careful to avoid looking Tom directly in the eyes in case his disguise failed him. “Could you please tell me if I can Floo to Kings Cross station? I am not from around here,” he added, hoping to sound convincing.

“Sure you can lad, there is a brand new connection just set up this year, for er, security reasons,” answered Tom cheerfully. “Just say ‘Kings Cross Station’ and you’ll pop out right on platform nine and three quarters.”

“Now,” he said, looking rather pointedly at Harry, “how about a drink?”

Harry bought a Butterbeer and took a seat in a far corner of the room, where he could watch people coming in and going out.

As the public portal into the wizarding world from Muggle London, and the main Floo connection point, the Leaky Cauldron still had quite a few people pass through it in an almost constant stream of traffic.

Once upon a time, barely two years ago, many would stop for a drink and a chat, but with the threat of Death Eater attacks hanging over everybody’s head, most people just passed through as quickly as they could.

Harry watched a man shrink a case of Butterbeer he had just bought, when another inspiration struck.

Racing back into Diagon Alley, Harry ran to a food market and started loading a trolley full of canned food he had noticed earlier. He didn’t pay too much attention to what he was buying and just loaded as many different tins as could, although the pickled Ostrich did make him do a double take.

When he had a full load, he almost ran to the counter, only pausing to grab some bags of fruit and a few loaves of bread, and then urged the sales clerk to get him through as quickly as she could.

“I am running very late!” he told her, while helping to bag his items.

“And very hungry too, by the looks of it,” she laughed, holding up the canned Ostrich.

She kindly shrank the loaded bags for him and he wasted no time getting back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Tom, can I have four cases of Butterbeer shrunk down and ready to go please?” he breathlessly asked the startled barman.

Tom happily obliged, and Harry forced the cases into his backpack.

“Careful lad,” warned Tom watching him trying to press the last case in. “If you tear the bag, the charm might break and everything will come flying out!”

Harry gave up on the last case and tossed it back to Tom. “Have one on me!” he laughed, racing for the Floo.

Seconds later, Harry fell face first onto the grey concrete floor of platform nine and three quarters.

“I really need to practice that,” he grumbled to himself, as he got to his feet.

In an empty public toilet he quickly removed the make-up from his scar and changed his hair back to its normal colour. Another quick flick of his wand and his glasses returned to their comfortable, if unstylish, size and weight.

He stripped his robes off and was about to enlarge his trunk to stuff them and his backpack in, when he heard the distinctive whistle of the Hogwarts express.

Pulling the invisibility cloak back over himself, Harry exited the toilet and made his way to a dark corner of the platform, taking care to avoid bumping into any of the nervous people waiting for the train.

Watching the familiar red steam engine grind to a stop and students start to pour out of the doors to greet their parents, Harry waited patiently for a chance to expand his trunk and join the crowd heading for the exit to Muggle London.

As he was about to drop his cloak, a hand suddenly fastened around his mouth, a wand pressed into his neck, and a rough, gravelling voice whispered into his ear.

“Who’s this I have here now? Looks a bit like Mr Potter, but Harry Potter should be getting off that train like all the other students and not be hiding away in a corner under an invisibility cloak waiting to join the crowd, shouldn’t he?”

The hand clamped firmly over his mouth muffled Harry’s reply.

Chapter Five – Home Again

“Now I am going to take my hand away from your mouth and you are going to do some pretty fast explaining, or you’ll be in a Ministry cell faster than you can say ‘Oh no, not the Dementors of Azkaban’!”

Harry forced himself to be calm as the hand came away from his mouth and gripped his arm in an almost painful, vice-like grasp instead. The wand stayed firmly digging into his throat.

“Professor Moody,” he said. “It’s really me, Harry Potter.”

“Prove it! Tell me why you shouldn’t keep your wand in the pocket of your jeans?”

“In case you blow a buttock off!”

“RIGHT! Now, ask me something only I would know.”

“Who did you tell me has had a buttock blown off?”

Alastor Moody gave a short sharp laugh. “Don’t believe I ever got around to telling you that now, Potter, did I? Now, what the blazes are you doing out here?”

Harry had considered several excuses, in case he was caught, but he had one in particular that he felt sure would satisfy the paranoid old ex-Auror.

“I didn’t want anybody to know where I was,” he said quickly. “You know, if they knew I was on the train, they might have set up a trap or an ambush for me.”

Harry held his breath waiting for Moody to say something. Suddenly the wand was removed from his throat and the hand holding his arm spun him around to face his captor.

Moody was grinning like a maniac; his magical false eye spinning wildly in its socket.

“Good thinking boy. Should have considered that myself. Care to tell me where you have been hiding while the train made its merry way home without you on board?”

“Er, No actually,” answered Harry nervously.

“EXCELLENT! Good to see you are taking this seriously. Now, walk next to me until we get near the exit, then drop the cloak. Not a second before, you hear me?”

“Actually, Professor, I think I should let people see me walking away from the train or they might suspect I wasn’t actually on it.”

“BRILLIANT!” bellowed the slightly mad ex-Auror. “You’ll make a fine Auror some day. Where’s your trunk?”

Harry took out his trunk and expanded it, then dropped his backpack and robes into it. The invisibility cloak was folded and stuffed back inside his shirt where he could easily get it, while Moody stood guard and blocked people’s view of Harry’s actions. They then joined the crowd moving slowly along the platform walking side by side to the exit.

Several of his school friends waved to Harry as they made their way out. A few were giving him strange looks and the babble of whispers that followed him everywhere seemed to be a bit louder than usual.

“Something happen you want to tell me about, Potter?” asked Moody, noticing the excessive whispering.

Harry sighed. “Ron, Hermione and I staged a fight before we left Hogwarts. They are probably just gossiping about that.”

He didn’t feel like going into details about his break up with Ginny.

“More misdirection eh? Good thinking. Confusion to the enemy, that’s the ticket! Now what’s going to happen when we get to where the Weasley clan is standing?”

Harry looked up and panicked. He knew Mrs Weasley would want to talk to him, but he had not really thought through what he would do or say.

Ron was gesturing wildly while he and Hermione talked with the plump matriarch. Ginny stood nearby looking forlorn and spoke only occasionally, apparently answering questions with single words. She was obviously avoiding looking at anyone, Harry in particular. Mrs Weasley alternated between looking enraged and confused as Ron and Hermione spoke. Charlie Weasley was there too, listening to Ron with a very stern, unreadable expression on his face. His arm was draped over Ginny in a half comforting, half protective manner.

Everything Harry been avoiding thinking about came crashing down on him at the sight if Ginny. With a pang of guilt, he realised the excitement of sneaking off to Diagon Alley and the fun shopping had made it easy to forget he had broken up with her earlier that morning.

He only realised he had stopped walking when Moody nudged him in the back.

“Move it, Potter. Just walk straight past and don’t give it a second thought. Everybody will be watching, so make it good, or it will all have been for nothing.”

Harry sucked in his breath and forced his face into a neutral expression, then strode purposely passed the red headed family he considered his own, without daring to look their way at all.

It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

As he passed by, he could feel Mrs. Weasley wanting to reach out to him, Ron and Hermione stopping her, and Ginny’s heart breaking; he felt exactly the same way.

Then he was out into the Muggle world where the family he hated would be waiting to drag him back to the house that had been as much a prison as a home for as long as he could remember.

*

The Dursleys, of course, failed to show up.

After waiting two hours, Mad-eye, Harry, and Tonks finally concluded that they had not just been delayed by traffic.

“It’s okay,’ said Harry. “I’ll just get the Knight Bus.”

“Can’t,” growled Moody. “Bloody thing doesn’t run any more. They couldn’t get anybody to be the conductor for longer than a day or two. Seems only that halfwit Shunpike could stand to be on it for any length of time without getting sick or having a nervous breakdown.”

“We’ll just have to Apparate then,” said Tonks.

The young, pink haired, tee shirt and jeans wearing witch had joined them as soon as they had exited platform nine and three quarters. Although there had been several official Auror guards around to make sure nothing happened, Moody and Tonks had volunteered to escort Harry as an extra precaution.

“Do we have to?” asked Harry. He hated the whole ‘getting squashed through a rubber tube’ feeling of Apparating even more than the spinning dizziness of the Floo or Portkey. “Can’t we just fly, or maybe take a Muggle taxi?”

“We’d have to wait too long for it to be dark enough to fly, and there is no way you are going to get me to sit in one of those metal death traps for hours. Come on lad, you’re old enough to Apparate without damage now; won’t hurt you a bit.”

“Have you ever Apparated yourself before?” asked Tonks.

Harry could clearly remember the night Dumbledore had died, just a few days ago.

“Yeah, once in class, and once when I brought Dumbledore back to the castle,” he said without thinking.

“Brought Dumbledore back to the castle?” asked Tonks.

Harry kicked himself for that slip of the tongue.

“Er, can’t say more. Sorry. The important bit is I managed to Apparate him and me back to Hogsmeade.”

“A side-along, eh? Can’t see you having any problems then,” said Moody.

“I don’t have a license,” said Harry weakly.

“Don’t care much about that lad. Just concentrate on landing in the back yard of your Aunt’s place. Shouldn’t be anybody around to see and the wards will let us land there.”

“Why can’t you just side-along Apparate me?” asked Harry.

“Because it is an extra burden that could leave either me or Tonks winded or disorientated. If we were attacked we wouldn’t be at full strength, would we? Now quit whining like a newborn dragon and get to it, and for Merlin’s sake, take your wand out of your back pocket before you find yourself missing something that lets you sit comfortably without a cushion!”

Tonks stifled a laugh as Harry dutifully took his wand out without mutilating a precious buttock.

“Can you at least shrink my trunk? I am not sure if I can drag it with me,” he asked.

Grumbling, the old ex-Auror made them walk down an alley way where they couldn’t be seen before shrinking the trunk.

“Shouldn’t keep things shrunk for too long lad,” he warned, after casting the spell. “They get used to it and want to stay that way. Now off you go then. We’ll follow right behind.”

Harry put the miniature box into a pocket of the jacket he had put on, then closed his eyes and concentrated on his destination.

“Destination – Determination - Deliberation” he thought to himself, remembering his instructor, Wilkie Twycross’s words.

Harry felt his way into the nothingness and then, moving with as much determination as he could, he stepped into the terrible feeling of compression, and towards his detestable Aunt’s hated back garden.

The echoes of three loud cracks faded as Harry, Moody and Tonks suddenly appeared at the rear of number 4, Privet Drive.

“All here then?” asked Tonks. “Haven’t left any bits behind, Harry?”

Harry completed an exaggerated pat down and smiled at Tonks. “I think so, Tonks, what do you reckon?”

“Not quite sure kiddo, we might need to have a closer inspection later to be sure you haven’t lost something important!”

Tonks ducked as Harry blushed and swung a playful punch at her.

“Quit joking around and scan the area you two,” snarled Moody, his artificial eye spinning madly in its socket. “There could be Death Eaters staking out the house just waiting for you to arrive.”

Tonks raised her eyebrows at Harry, but obediently drew her wand and stalked towards the back door of the house.

“Looks like your cousin, Aunt and Uncle are just sitting down to dinner boy,” Moody told him, the magical eye seeing through the walls of the house. “Got any way to verify it’s really them and not Death Eaters pretending?”

“How much food has my cousin got on his plate?”

Moody gave a grunt of suppressed laughter. “Enough to feed two Trolls, and your Uncle hasn’t got much less.”

“Yep, it’s them,” said Harry. “But just to be sure…”

Harry quietly opened the back door, using the spare key that was unimaginatively hidden under the mat, and the three walked into the dining room where the Durlseys were eating.

“Hello Aunty, Uncle, Dudley,” said Harry, grinning broadly.

The words where barely out of his mouth before Vernon Dursley was standing up, blue veins bulging in his purple temples, screaming obscenities, Dudley was trying to hide under a table that he was actually larger than, and Petunia looked like she was trying to drag Dudley out of his impractical hiding place while protectively cover him with her own insufficient body at the same time.

Harry laughed at the chaos and turned to Moody.

“Yep, it’s definitely them.”

Sometime later, after Moody had fired off a canon blast with his wand to regain order, the Dursleys admitted they had indeed received an owl with a letter informing them of the early end of term, but had decided not to trouble themselves with driving all the way to London on such short notice.

“After all,” Vernon told them, with a smug smile on his face. “We knew he would be able to find his own freaky way here, and he did, didn’t he?”

Tonks was beside herself with anger, but Harry didn’t care.

“Why is Dudley home? Did he finally get expelled?” he asked curiously.

Immediately another round of chaos ensured in which Harry discovered he had guessed correctly and the morbidly obese boy was no longer attending the exclusive school. Harry didn’t believe Petunia’s claims that Smeltings was simply unable to handle a boy of Dudley’s exuberant nature, or Vernon’s assertions that boarding school had obviously dropped its standards since his day and was now run by idiot, spineless professors.

Finally Moody had enough and once again cut them short. “Enough,” he yelled, raising his wand into the air. “Potter, let’s get you to your room and you can catch up with your family later.”

Harry led the way upstairs with Tonks following closely behind swearing under her breath, and Moody playing tail-end-Charlie as if they were a squad on patrol in hostile territory expecting a surprise attack at any moment.

The three entered Harry’s tiny room, but not before Tonks looked pointedly at the locks on the outside of his door and swore even more viciously under her breath.

Moody performed a sweep with his wand, carefully investigating every cupboard and draw, and even poking it into Harry’s secret hidey-hole under the loose floorboard, before admitting there were no Dark Wizards hiding anywhere.

Harry took out his miniaturised trunk and performed the expanding charm.

“Aren’t you afraid the Ministry is going to detect your underage magic use, Harry?” asked Tonks watching him.

“Professor Dumbledore told me the Ministry can only detect that magic was done inside a house, not who performed it, so with you two here I know I can get away with it.”

Seeing Tonks’s disbelieving expression, Harry turned to Moody who was peering out of Harry’s window into the night sky, possibly watching for approaching flyers.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Moody?”

“Told you too many secrets, Dumbledore did,” Moody grumbled. “Should never have let that one slip.”

“Is that true then?” asked Tonks.

“Close enough lass,” confirmed Moody. “They set up wards on every house listed as having an underage wizard in it to detect magic and if there are any adult wizards nearby, but they can’t tell who cast the spell. Only works in a small area too, usually just the house and a bit of the yard.”

“That can’t be right, Professor,” said Harry. “The Ministry detected my Patronus all the way over in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk.”

Moody looked very interested at this information.

“There ain’t no way the normal wards could detect magic all the way over there, boy. There’s something fishy going on with that for sure.”

Harry wasn’t surprised. Since the Dementors had been sent to kill him by a Ministry official, who was still in office, it wouldn’t shock him to find out that even the location he had been ambushed in was set up.

“It doesn’t matter. I am seventeen in another couple of months, and Ron and Hermione will be coming to visit soon, so it’s not like I will be very restricted.”

Tonks was still coming to grips with the knowledge that generations of children had been misled, but Moody was now looking intently at Harry, and appeared to be thinking very hard.

“What?” Harry asked Moody, feeling nervous at the older man’s intent gaze.

“It’s far too dangerous for you to put up with that nonsense any more. You should be ready to respond instantly to situations without thinking about if you are going to get in trouble for every little spell.”

“Not much I can do about it though, is there?” asked Harry.

“You might not be able to, but I can,” answered the ex-Auror mysteriously.

“What? How?”

Both Tonks and Harry were giving Moody their full attention now.

“I can change the detection wards to never register any magic use, or to report an adult in occupation at all times. Either way will let you use magic however much you want, but I expect you to be careful! The wards will automatically disappear when you turn seventeen anyway.”

“That would be great Professor,” said Harry. He had been willing to wait for Ron or Hermione to stay with him to use magic, but this would make things a lot easier. “Can you make it look like there are always at least two adults here with one child? That way anybody spying on me will think I am being guarded all the time.”

“Good thinking, Potter, and I told you to stop calling me professor. Moody or Mad-eye will do. Make me feel older than I am you do.”

Harry laughingly agreed and turned to talk to Tonks.

“What do you reckon Tonks, should I make it look like an ongoing party in here, or just go for the lonely, well behaved school boy who does no wrong?”

Moody cast a few silencing charms around and then walked to the other side of the room where he started casting spells. Thin wisps of light rose like a mist, expanding slowly before disappearing into the ceiling.

“Bit late for innocence, I think. Definitely go the whole hog,” laughed Tonks. “You want this place to look like party central to keep those nasty Death Eaters away - You know how they don’t like to mingle with us half bloods!”

They laughed for a few minutes and made some more jokes about Death Eaters in party hats, before quietening down and sitting on the small, rickety bed to watch Moody work at modifying the detection wards.

“So how are you really doing, Harry?” asked Tonks quietly.

Harry paused for a moment and considered his answer carefully. His first reaction was to answer “fine”, but he doubted that would get him through this time.

“Not so good, Tonks,” he answered truthfully. “It still seems unreal at times, even worse than it was with Sirius last year. I broke up with Ginny too.”

“So I heard.”

Harry twisted his head quickly to look at Tonks.

“What did you hear? Where did you hear it?”

“Every student and half the parents on the platform were talking about how you broke up with Ginny because you were bored with her, and then got into a fight with Ron in the middle of the common room for treating her like dirt. Don’t be surprised if it makes the Daily Prophet tomorrow.”

Harry groaned in disgust. Even with attacks occurring almost daily, Harry had no doubt the Daily Prophet would be more interested in his private life than reporting real news.

“Can I assume you broke up to keep her from being a target or something?”

The pain Harry felt in his chest just talking about it was almost as bad as when he had done it earlier that day, though it seemed like it a lifetime ago.

He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The light from the spells Moody was casting danced across the roof making interesting patterns on the normally bland ceiling.

“Yeah, something like that,” he answered. “You know they are going to be coming after me, right?”

“Yeah, I figured as much. Not sure why, but I think Moody has a fair idea. Do you know why?”

“It doesn’t really matter why,” said Harry, avoiding the question. “We all know Voldemort is going to keep coming for me until I am dead. You know he has even given orders to his followers that I am not to be killed by anybody else? He wants to do me in himself.”

He heard Tonks sharply draw in a breath, but thankfully she held her tongue and let him continue.

“So anybody who is close to me is going to become a target, and Ginny would just be too big a temptation to miss, if she was my girlfriend.”

“What about the rest of us Harry? What about Remus, or me? Going to run away to keep us all safe too?”

Harry closed his eyes and thought about what Tonks had just said. Was that what he was really trying to do?

“What are saying, Tonks?” he asked, without opening his eyes. Bright flashes from the magic penetrate his closed lids leaving lingering puzzles of shadows.

“You need your friends, Harry. You shouldn’t try and isolate yourself from everybody. That’s not living; that’s just existing.”

Neither can live while the other survives

The words of the prophecy rose into his thoughts unbidden, but he didn’t answer Tonks.

Suddenly, the sound and lights of Moody’s spell casting ceased, and Harry sat up.

“It’s done,” Moody said. “As far as anybody at the Ministry is concerned, there will be one magical child and two magical adults present in the house at any one time. The sexes of the adults will change each day. Might look a bit suspicious to anybody paying proper attention, but there isn’t much they can do about it without coming inside the house themselves.”

“Thanks Profes… ah, Mr Moody,”

“Just Moody, lad. Now, since we have delivered you home safe and sound, and made sure you will be adequately cared for while you are here, is there anything else before we go?”

“No thank you, Moody. I really appreciate your help, both of you.”

“So what are your plans now then, Harry?”

Harry thought about what he was going to tell them.

“Last year, Dumbledore asked the Dursley’s to allow me to return this summer to make sure my mothers blood protection lasted through the year. It’s the only reason I have come back to this hell hole.”

“So I am under the best protection possible if I stay here until my seventeenth birthday.”

He actually intended on leaving long before his birthday, but he wasn’t willing to let them know that, yet.

“In fact,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I was thinking about taking a bit of a holiday and going away somewhere. Maybe even go overseas for a week or two. It can’t be any more dangerous than staying in Brittain.”

Tonks looked suitably surprised at this revelation. Moody just glared suspiciously.

“You know, I have never even seen the ocean, except for once at night under less than ideal conditions?” he said, trying not to think about his ill fated excursion with Dumbledore.

“I can barely swim, since the only times I have ever been in anything larger than a bathtub, was when the old school took us for compulsory lessons. If I hadn’t used Gillyweed for the second Triwizard task, I doubt if I could have even stayed afloat for an hour.”

“I figured we might be able to sneak away, if Ron or Hermione wanted to come with me that is, and spend a bit of time just looking around. I might even do it as a Muggle. The chances of Death Eaters finding me are less than if I stick to places where everybody knows I have spent my entire life.”

Moody grunter his approval at the last comment, but didn’t say anything.

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Harry,” she said. “But, you are not, er, running away from everything are you? Not that anybody would blame you of course,” she added hastily.

Harry nearly laughed. He was actually planning on hunting down and destroying the pieces of Voldemort’s soul; hardly running away

“Nah,” he said smiling. “I just want to go see a few places outside of Hogwarts, London, and Privet bloody Drive!”

“Well that sounds like a great idea, but I think you should speak to Remus first, and maybe figure a way to keep in touch wherever you go. You might even be able to convince the old wolf to take a break with you!”

“Great idea. What about you, Tonks? You want to hang out with a bunch of teenagers on holiday and make sure we don’t get into too much trouble?”

Tonks grinned brightly and changed the colour of her hair to the luminescent pink it had been at the train Station.

“Think I’ll fit in?” she asked, with a mischievous grin lighting up her face.

Harry liked Tonks, and not just because she was much closer to his age compared to his other Order guards. She seemed to have a streak of fun in her that he found appealing, and she managed to take him more seriously than most of the other adults. It might have been fun to travel around with her and Remus, if he didn’t have to hunt down the Horcruxes and wasn’t destined to slay or be murdered by Voldemort.

“Am I going to have an Order guard following me every day again this year?” he asked them.

Moody grunted before moving off to look out the window again and Tonks looked a bit uncomfortable before answering.

“Sorry, Harry, but we are spread a bit thin this year. The general feeling is after you become an adult, you are going to have to take care of yourself a bit more.”

Harry laughed at her discomfit.

“Don’t feel guilty about it, Tonks. We all have important things to take care of.”

“Potter,” interrupted the grisly old ex-Auror who had been standing silent but alert nearby. “Unless you have anything else you want to talk to us about, your fat cousin is currently pressing his ear against your door so hard that I am worried the frame might give way under the weight.”

Harry walked over to the door and then opened it abruptly, sending Dudley sprawling in the room on his face.

“Yes Dudley?” asked Harry, looking down at him. “Did you want something?”

Dudley’s eyes shot around wildly until he saw Tonks and Moody, who were both pointing their wands at him, then he started babbling incoherently.

“Dudley, calm down,’ said Harry. “They won’t hex you, unless they have a reason to. Do they have a reason, Dudley?”

“No!” he squealed.

“So what were you doing trying to listen at my door?”

“I knocked,” he answered, without taking his eyes of the two wands, “but nobody answered. We couldn’t hear anything so Dad figured they must have left. He wants to see you downstairs.”

Harry knew if his Uncle had waited until Moody and Tonks had left before wanting to talk to Harry, it must be for a less than noble reason.

“You want us to come with you, Harry?” asked Tonks apparently thinking along the same lines as Harry.

Harry considered facing his Uncle on his own, but realised it would probably end pretty badly if he did, since he could now do magic.

“Yeah, Tonks,” he said. “That’d be great.”

“Not me,” said Moody. “I’m already late getting away. Tonks can stay and help you sort out this lot.”

“That’s fine, Moody. I really appreciate everything you have done for me already. Do you need to go outside to Apparate or have you changed the wards to let you through from here now?”

“You are turning into a right suspicious **** aren’t you, Harry?” laughed Moody, his magical eye spinning as wildly as ever. “Only you, me, Tonks, Remus and your two friends can do it, but yes, I can leave from this room. Remember – CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

Then he Disapparated with a loud crack.

Dudley screamed and leapt to his feet before practically falling down the steps and running off.

Harry and Tonks laughed as Harry offered her his arm, and then they followed at a much more sedate pace.

They found his Aunt and Uncle in the sitting room. Vernon had taken the chair closest to the fire, right where Dumbledore had sat when he came to collect Harry last year. Petunia was standing beside him, wringing her hands nervously. Dudley was nowhere to be seen.

Both looked to be in mild shock as Tonks and Harry walked in, arm in arm, and sat down on the sofa opposite them.

“What can I do for you, Uncle?” asked Harry, prompting his Uncle from his trance like staring. “Dudley said you wanted to talk to me.”

Vernon hesitated, and Harry guessed he was having second thoughts about confronting Harry in front of Tonks.

“It’s okay, Uncle,” he said encouragingly. “You can talk in front of Tonks.”

“After all,” he added, with a cheeky grin to the pink haired girl. “She is practically family.”

Then Harry boldly put his hand on Tonks’s leg in a rather suggestive manner.

After a split second of startled hesitation, Tonks, took her queue from Harry and placed one hand on top of his. She started running her other hand through the hair on the back of his head playfully, paying no attention to the shocked looks she was receiving from his relatives as she smiled sweetly at Harry.

Vernon was flabbergasted and Petunia looked like she was going to start shrieking any moment.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t really introduce you properly did I?” asked Harry innocently.

“Uncle Vernon, Aunty Petunia, this is Nymphaaarggh.”

Harry’s polite introduction of her first name was abruptly cut off as Tonks’s hand clutched the hair on the back of his head painfully.

“Tonks,” he recovered quickly. “This is Tonks. She is my godfather’s favourite cousin’s only daughter. Tonks, these are my only surviving relatives, Uncle Vernon and Aunty Petunia. The enormous white Flobberworm you saw rolling down the stairs earlier was my cousin, Dudley.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” purred Tonks seductively. Then she screwed up her face and changed the colour of her hair to bright blue.

Vernon and Petunia were gaping at Tonks. The multiple shocks to their system causing their mouths to open and close and making them resemble stranded fish.

“Now, Uncle, what did you want to see me about?” asked Harry again.

Vernon rallied and tried to make excuses about leaving it for another time since Harry had company, but Harry insisted.

“No, Uncle, you got me down here to discuss something important, so let’s get right to it shall we?”

“Right,” said Vernon, puffing his chest up to try and look more intimidating. “It’s about your Godfather actually.”

Harry felt Tonks’s hand stop moving in his hair and his own muscles tense involuntarily.

“What about him?” he asked, letting some irritation be heard in his voice.

“That fellow who came to get you last time. What was his name? Dumbdoor…”

“Dumbledore.”

“Yes, Dumbledore. He said that you had inherited some gold and a house.”

“What of it?” Harry tried very hard to keep his voice level, but he could see where this was heading.

“Well, we think that, since you have been living under our roof and we have provided all the necessities for you, that we should be compensated.”

The only thing stopping Harry from leaping to his feet and hexing both of them was Tonks’s hand on top of his. Although he knew she would be as angry as he was, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and surprisingly, it immediately calmed him down.

“Compensated? You want me to give you some of the money I got when Sirius was murdered?”

“We think it is only fair.”

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second before opening them and looking directly at his relatives.

“How much, do you think?” he asked.

“Well that depends on how much you got really…” started Vernon.

“No,” said Harry cutting him off. “How much is ten years rental on a cupboard under the stairs Uncle? How much are the poorest, second-hand, cast off clothes of Dudley’s and occasional inadequate meals worth? And how much are you going to pay me for all the work I’ve done for you? How many mornings did I have to make you breakfast? How many hours have I spent keeping your garden weeded?”

Vernon opened his mouth to protest as Petunia clasped her hands over her mouth, but Harry wasn’t done yet.

“How many bruises and sprains did Dudley and his gang give me over the years, Uncle Vernon? Do you think that constitutes entertainment for him? Shouldn’t I get something for living most of my life as a punching bag toy?”

“Exactly how much money did you think I would be willing to give you for these necessities?”

Petunia’s eyes widened in shock and Vernon’s face had been getting redder and redder as Harry spoke. He looked like he was ready to explode, or turn into a tomato, but Harry decided not to give him a chance.

“I’ll tell you what, Uncle. I’ll give you more money than you could ever have possibly spent on me.”

Harry dug his free hand into the pocket of his jeans and tossed a single Galleon to Vernon.

“There you go,” he said, as Vernon clumsily caught the large gold coin before it fell to the floor. “That’s what I inherited; Gold Galleons. Only problem is that you can’t spend it in your world. It is a wizarding coin and you can’t even get it changed into pounds, or melted down into pure gold. The only thing you can do is to go into the wizarding world and spend it.”

Harry stood up and Tonks rose with him, still holding his hand firmly, but no longer smiling vacantly.

“Now, Uncle, I am going to my room. I will be staying here for a few weeks and I expect you, and your family, to keep out of my way. I will occasionally be having visitors, and you will treat them with respect and courtesy or I will come back after I turn seventeen and curse you ten times for every time you insult or yell at them.”

Vernon was straining to explode, but Harry knew he would not, not while Harry was dominating him with his manner.

“You will never again mention money to me, or how grateful I should be to you for providing me with anything, or I will make it so that your whole house and everybody in it, is remembered in this and any other neighbourhood you move to. And, trust me on this one, the memory won’t be for anything nice.”

The threat was not an idle one, and Vernon seemed to realise it. He gripped the arms of his chair tightly, but did not say a word. Petunia whimpered slightly at Harry’s ranting but also kept quiet; possibly intimidated by Harry for the first time in her life.

“I will provide for myself and my visitors, so you don’t have to worry about spending any more of your precious money, but don’t think for one second that I appreciate the way you raised me.”

“Quite frankly, I wish I had been put into an orphanage, just like Aunt Marge said you should have done. At least then I would have had a fair chance at a normal childhood.”

“Now I suggest you keep that galleon in your pocket, and every time you feel the need to rant or rave about my freakishness, the abnormalities of my world, or how much I have cost you, take it out and think about how I could choose to repay your kindness.”

“Good night.”

Harry turned and left the room dragging Tonks by her hand behind him.

“’Night, nice to meet you!” she called back towards his Uncle and Aunty in a falsely sweet voice.

Once they were back in his room and the silenced door was closed again, Harry began to pace up and down angrily, fuming at the nerve of his relatives.

Tonks sat down on his bed and watched silently.

It was not as if he expected anything better from them, but he still felt betrayed somehow. He knew he was particularly angry at the thought of them trying to profit from Sirius’s death.

Harry threw a kick at door of the wardrobe that wouldn’t close properly. It bounced open, defying him. Before he knew it, he was kicking and punching the door to pieces and screaming at it in rage.

A hand grabbed him roughly and spun him around, away from the offending wardrobe.

Then, suddenly, he was crying on Tonks’s shoulder as they stood in the middle of the room. He was leaning heavily on her and weeping like he had never wept before, not even after Sirius had died. She gently stroked the back of his head and soothed him with calm, soft words.

Harry didn’t really understand what was happening to him. He didn’t know his reaction was quite a normal consequence of stress, but he couldn’t have stopped it even if he tried. The emotional roller coaster he had been on since watching Dumbledore’s murder had finally crashed, and luckily, he did not have to endure the resulting mess alone.

After what seemed like an eternity of suffering, Harry’s tears dried up and Tonks managed to calm him down enough for his sobbing to stop. His eyes felt like they were burning and he was sure he must have shed enough tears to drench her clothes.

“Sorry,’ he sniffed, pulling back and starting to feel embarrassed. Even in his distraught state, he couldn’t help notice that she had been crying as well.

“Don’t be silly, Harry; nothing to apologise to me for.”

“After all,” she added in a lighter tone, “you are almost family!”

Harry let out a weak laugh, and suddenly he felt much better.

“Now, do you want to go to the bathroom and wash your face while I repair the wardrobe and make a bed for myself?” she asked.

Harry wasn’t sure at what point Tonks had decided she was going to be spending the night there with him, but strangely he felt better knowing he would not be alone.

“Nah,” he answered, with a grin. “I got a better idea.”

A short while later they entered the small tent he had bought in Diagon Alley that day. It was vastly easier to magically erect it in his room, moving his old furniture out of the way and using sticking charms to set the ropes out against walls and the floor, compared to the non-magical effort he and Hermione had undertaken at the World Cup with the Weasleys.

There was barely standing room for two left in the original bedroom once it was up though.

Harry wondered what the Dursleys would think if one of them opened the door and looked in to see a tent set up in the middle of the room. A quick spell or two on the door and no Muggle was going to be able to open it in a hurry.

Hedwig hadn’t arrived yet, so Harry set out her cage and dishes on the old writing desk under the window. He had set her free before leaving Hogwarts and told her not to rush home, so she was probably still out hunting.

“Nice,” said Tonks, looking around the rooms inside the tent. “Very respectable, and convenient.”

Harry was retrieving his grocery bags from his backpack and unshrinking things before packing them away. The tins were getting piled haphazardly into the first kitchen cupboard he had opened. The more perishable items were going to have to be eaten soon, but the rest could stay in the kitchen indefinitely. The butterbeer could be cooled with a quick charm just before drinking, but he needed a fridge.

“You hungry?” he asked, realising that he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

”Sure, what you got?”

Harry glanced at the two tins he was holding.

“Roast chicken, or barbecued side of marinated Llama?”

“Hmm, Llama eh? Think I might go the chicken tonight please luv, got to watch my figure.”

“Coward,” he teased, putting the other tin into the cupboard.

Although he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from the tinned food, he was fairly confident he could cook up a couple of plates of meat and some tinned vegetables pretty easily, if he could find a tin of vegetables amongst the sometimes exotic wizarding meals he had hurriedly bought.

It was a complete shock when a whole, cooked, and steaming hot roast chicken fell out of the small tin and into the pot.

Tonks burst out laughing at the surprised expression on his face.

“Lucky you didn’t try the Llama,’ she said, through tears of mirth. “I don’t think your pot is large enough!”

Later, after they had cleaned up and Tonks had set up both camp beds in the main room, she transfigured strips of one of Dudley’s old tee-shirts into brightly coloured mattresses and bedding. The resulting bed was more comfortable than the lumpy mattress and worn spring one provided by the Dursleys.

Harry doused the light and lay down to sleep. It had been a very long and tiring day, and he was more than ready to collapse into a deep sleep, but he found himself lying on his back staring upwards.

“Tonks?” he said into the darkness.

“Hmm?” came the sleepy reply.

“Thank you,”

“Don’t mention it.”

Harry spent a restless night dreaming of searching Diagon Alley for the Philosopher’s Stone because it was a Horcrux, while Death Eaters, Ron, and Ginny, all cast hexes and curses at him every time he stepped out of a shop. Hagrid was endlessly carrying Dumbledore’s body in a procession through streets that were lined with people in black masks and white robes, all pointing their wands accusingly at Harry.


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Chapter Six - Privet Drive

The next day, Harry moved the camp beds into separate bedrooms and tried transfiguring them into something a bit more solid. It took him many attempts, but eventually he had two solid beds with thick, soft mattresses. He left the brightly coloured blankets how Tonks had made them, but transfigured some more cushions out of another of Dudley’s old shirts.

Thinking about all the items needed to make his temporary house comfortable, he decided to go searching for suitable items to transfigure. The cupboards and drawers in his old room revealed a few more sets of worn out Dudley cast-offs.

Considering how often Dudley was given new clothes, and how the unappreciative, spoilt brat cast them aside barely worn and usually outgrown, Harry wondered why Petunia only gave Harry the very worst of them, and donated the rest to charity.

He figured it had to be out of spite.

Donning his invisibility cloak he snuck quietly out of his room. A quick investigation revealed that none of the Dursleys were home, so he could relax for a while. He took a moment to place locking charms on all the doors, since he didn’t want to be surprised by one of them returning early.

There had to be some place Petunia stashed all of the things she didn’t want to see until it was time for the charity collection. The garage, normally unused since Vernon insisted on leaving his expensive company car on the driveway where the neighbours could marvel at it, was always as spotless as the house - the neighbours might see into it if the door was open after all - and the shed only contained the gardening tools Harry used to maintain the yard.

So he spent a while searching every corner of the house, revelling in his unrestricted access. Previously locked cupboards and drawers (the keys were on a ring Vernon carried with him everywhere) were a simple ‘Alohomora’ spell away from exposing their secrets to his curiosity. He found many things in those locked places, including some suspicious packages and a quantity of cash Dudley had in a locked box hidden under a blanket in the top of the enormous wardrobe in his bedroom, but there was nothing that really interested Harry.

Finally, he remembered the attic.

Never before had Harry had the opportunity to go up there. As a child living in a cupboard, he had often dreamt of the wonders that might be contained in that far away place. Dudley had teased him about his fascination, once trying to convince him a hobo lived up there and came out at night to steal things, but Harry knew Dudley had been too fat to fit through the narrow opening even back then, so had been making it up.

Petunia was the only Dursley who could fit; Vernon’s girth also having exceeded the width of the hole long ago.

Harry pointed his wand at the trap door and mumbled a spell. The door obediently opened and a thin ladder slid down to his waiting hand.

Once inside, Harry used his wand to light up the room until he found the cord of a light switch. The musty space was not huge, but was crammed with boxes. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust; Petunia obviously did not have the same standard of cleanliness here that she reserved for the rest of the house.

The closest boxes contained Dudley’s cast off clothes, just as Harry had suspected, but now he was curious to see what else was hidden away.

Harry carefully wound his way through the alleyway created by the boxes, occasionally stopping to open a random box here and there to see what was in it. Many contained papers, usually tax related (if Harry was reading them right), but more held what must have been every single scrap of work Dudley had ever produced in school. The total was considerably more than Harry had thought his lazy cousin capable of doing.

There were also boxes of photos that, Harry guessed, Petunia must have figured did not show her family in the best possible light. Considering the enormous number of photo albums she kept downstairs (ready to show any visitor), Harry wondered just how much money she must have spent at processing shops over Dudley’s lifetime. There was no doubt it had cost her more a lot more just for these discarded photos than she ever spent on Harry.

Deciding the boxes were unlikely to hold anything he would be interested in, Harry moved to a pile of broken toys.

Most of them used to live in Harry’s bedroom when it had been Dudley’s extra cupboard, but some of the older ones made Harry wonder why Petunia was keeping this junk. Maybe it was too embarrassing to put out for the kerb side collection, or maybe she was keeping them for the same reason she kept all of Dudley’s school work, Harry didn’t know, and didn’t really care. He picked up a bent and broken robot to stare at it for a moment.

Even after Dudley no longer wanted them, they had been denied to him. He believed Dudley had enjoyed the feeling of power it gave him to be able to keep them from Harry, but maybe it had been something more sinister inside of Petunia.

Once, a broken toy, like the robot in his hand, would have made Harry happy for months, possibly years. Even if it had been given to him in broken condition as a Christmas present or birthday gift, Harry knew he would have cherished it.

“Reparo,” he said, waving his wand briefly over the cracked plaything. It instantly righted itself, its limbs straightened, cracked plastic flowed back into perfect shapes and clarity, worn buttons and knobs filled out to their original sizes, and the toy returned to practically new, if dusty condition.

Harry smiled and dropped it back onto the pile. The best gift he had been given had not come from his Aunty or Uncle, or their spoilt son. The best gift came directly from his parents, and nobody could deny it to him.

He raised his wand up to the low ceiling in order to see further with its light, the electric globe not reaching far into the roof cavity.

In a corner, as far from the trapdoor as you could get, Harry found several piles of things that obviously did not belong to Dudley. His excitement rose for a few minutes as he started to investigate the older boxes, but quickly he realised it was just things that had belonged to Vernon, from before he had married Petunia.

One small box contained several dozen black and white photos of Vernon in his Smeltings’ uniform, complete with silly hat and whacking stick. Harry was surprised to notice that, back then, Vernon had been quite a well-built, handsome young man with only a slight weight problem.

Under the photos, Harry found a few cricketing trophies. Apparently Vernon had been the wicket keeper when Smeltings had taken out second place in some inter-school championships.

There were also a couple of boxes of things that looked like they might have belonged to Petunia, but while Harry wasn’t interested in looking through yet more school records, he wondered why there were no photos of her family.

With a sinking feeling, Harry recognised that he had been looking for something, anything, which might have connected him to his mum. Though there was absolutely no chance Petunia had kept anything that may have belonged to her, he had hoped to find something like old, pre-Hogwarts family photos.

Petunia detested magic, and her sister. Harry knew she would have burned everything belonging to his mum rather than have any of it under her roof, but he was astounded that her hatred had spread to include destroying anything to do with his grand parents.

Harry left, taking a large box of the newer clothes. There were so many there that he doubted Petunia would miss one, and he needed more things to transfigure as well as some better clothes to wear.

Just as he was closing the door to the attic, he heard somebody trying unsuccessfully to open the magically sealed front door.

The time had once again gotten away from him and he hadn’t noticed it was now approaching lunchtime.

Quickly checking to make sure he had not left any signs of his excursion, he leaned over the stair railing and cast the unlocking charms on all the doors, hoping the kitchen one would work, even though he couldn’t see it directly. If it didn’t, he figured Vernon would just think the door had gotten stuck.

Safely locked back in his room, Harry crawled back into his tent and began sorting out the prize from his venture.

Before long, he had separated the booty into several piles and began the mildly amusing task of magically modifying the better clothes to fit. Shrinking charms were only the start, as Harry decided to remove any logos or other identifying things. He even changed the colour of any items that Dudley might recognise, not because he was afraid of Dudley discovering Harry was wearing his old things, but because he didn’t want Petunia to have proof that he had been snooping in their attic.

He had also tried to cast all the spells soundlessly.

“Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!"

Snape’s words still burned in Harry’s memory. He had easily defeated Harry, not even bothering to strike back until Harry goaded him into attacking by calling him a coward. While learning Occlumency might require a teacher, silently casting spells just required practice, lots of it.

Concentration was the key. Hermione had completely mastered casting nonverbal spells. Her concentration was one of the things that made her the top student in almost every class she took. In Harry’s own experience, he had found his less than stellar concentration ability had always hampered him.

For most of his life before attending Hogwarts, Harry had learned to always keep one eye open for Dudley and his gang. No matter what Harry was doing, he had to be prepared to drop everything and run or duck at a moment’s notice. In retrospect, he wondered why he had not become as paranoid as Mad-eye Moody.

Looking at the jacket he had been working on, Harry realised he had just made one sleeve turn purple while the rest of the jacket was dark green; a perfect example of his inability to concentrate interfering with his spell casting.

“****!” he yelled, angry with himself for getting distracted.

“Clear your mind, Potter. Let go of all emotion…"

Snape's cold voice pierced his mind like a knife. The words had been Snape’s instructions during their Occlumency lesson two years ago. It helped even less now that it had then.

Frustrated at his own inability, Harry threw down the jacket and left his tent to look out of the window.

Outside, it was shaping up to be yet another hot day. The once immaculate lawns and gardens of Privet drive had not recovered from two successive years of drought, and it looked like they were in for a third.

Harry noted a few people had opted to replace the huge expanses of lawn with elegant flowerbeds and rockeries, but Vernon and Petunia had not succumbed, probably gossiping about their progressive neighbours and looking down their noses at them for ‘giving in to a fad’. Even the trees looked fairly dead, the normally lush foliage hanging sparse and limp.

If Harry had come out to take a rejuvenating break, he was sorely let down by the sorry sight of Privet Drive.

Why couldn’t he concentrate unless he was in a ‘do or die’ situation? Under pressure, he had cast a Patronus powerful enough to drive off a hundred Dementors, he had summoned his broom from almost a mile away, and had Apparated himself and another person, but sit him down in a quiet room and ask him to nonverbally transfigure something, and you were courting disaster.

Sighing loudly, Harry returned to this tent, determined to keep at it.

Several hours and the remains of the roast chicken later, Harry had himself a new set of clothes. His old rags were now in a pile waiting to be transfigured into something useful.

The day of practice had made him much better at nonverbal spells, but he was still a far cry from what he considered competent. His transfiguration skills had improved a bit too, not surprising since he had probably done more transfiguration in the last few hours than in his entire time at Hogwarts.

Exhausted from the continuous spell casting, Harry decided to grab a book and read, for a change of pace. He had piled all of his books into a corner of the main room while sorting his clothes out. ‘Protect your Privacy – Control your mind’ was sitting on top, so he took it and went to lay down in one of the rooms to read for a while.

The table of contents had some interesting chapter titles like ‘Be committed’, or ‘Building your Memory Mansion’, and even ‘Your Psychological state and You’, but the introduction left Harry unsure what the book was really about.

He flicked through a few pages and began reading at random, but before long he fell into a light doze.

The growling of his stomach finally woke him up. Looking at his watch he guessed he had been asleep for a couple of hours before his hunger had aroused him.

Entering the main room, Harry was surprised to find Tonks lying on a couch that had not been there earlier, reading one of his books.

“Wotcher, Harry,” she answered, sitting up. “I see you’ve been busy,” she said pointing at the pile of his new clothes.”

“Yeah. It’s great being able to use magic! Have you eaten yet?”

“Na, just swung over to check on you. Was a bit surprised to find you sleeping though. What happened to CONSTANT VIGILANCE?” she screamed, waving her wand in the air vigorously, causing them both to laugh.

“What you going to try tonight, Southern Fried Acromantula legs?”

Harry fished around in the cupboard and came out with a tin.

“How about Smoked deep sea Salmon in a Vinegarette sauce?”

“Ah, thank goodness for Mr. Magical Meals in a Tin. What would Harry do without you?”

“Hey, I can cook, thank you very much!” said Harry indignantly. “It’s just that these are all that I have to work with at the moment.”

As they ate the magnificent fish, Harry explained his concentration problem to Tonks, who was very sympathetic, having had similar problems herself.

“Don’t feel bad, Harry,” she said. “Most people have exactly the same problem, that’s why you usually hear people casting spells. That and the fact nobody can do a spell as well silently as they can when speaking.”

“Any suggestions?” he asked hopefully.

“Only that what you have already been doing is a great idea. Practice, practice, practice - there is no substitute for hard work, as my old instructor at the Auror academy always used to say. Mind you, he was usually talking about me walking without knocking something over.”

“That’s what I figured,” he answered, collecting their plates off the stone table Tonks had transfigured from a rock. “But I was kind of hoping there was a magical short cut.”

“Actually, you might find some magical bits and pieces that would help, like a Tiger’s Eye gem, or a lump of Marcasite, but what happens if you don’t have your aid on you when push comes to shove? You might even become dependant on it, like a crutch, and without it you are worse off.”

Harry waved his wand over the dishes, banishing the food and cleaning them in one hit, before wordlessly levitating them back into a cupboard. He hadn’t gotten around to charming one of the cupboards with preserving charms to take the place of a fridge, so the left over fish, which was a considerable amount, was banished away before it went off.

“What about a spell or something to change me though? Aren’t there some spells that can alter your mind or something? I remember Hermione telling me that there were spells to give yourself extra powers.”

Tonks shook her head as she rose from the chair and moved to the couch where she had been sitting on when Harry woke up.

“Most of them are fairly harmless, and only temporary, but you have to be very careful when you start down that path because before you know it, you are in Dark Magic territory.”

Harry shuddered involuntarily as he took a seat next to the young Auror, thinking about how Voldemort had cast so many spells on himself that he couldn’t really be considered Human any more.

“Hey, Tonks,” he said suddenly, wanting to change the subject. “Can you teach me some spells?”

“What did you have in mind, luv? Nothing too dangerous I hope; these walls are not made to take a hit from anything as hard as a stunner you know.”

Harry grinned and told her what he wanted to know.

A few hours later she called a halt to the lesson.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Tonks told him, after letting out a huge yawn. “You are casting the spells right, so you know what you have to do now, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” answered Harry unenthusiastically. “Practice, practice, practice.”

Tonks left soon after that, and Harry went to bed to dream all night of forever practising the same spell repeatedly, but never getting it right.

Once again left to his own devices, he spent his days silently transfiguring more clothes and furniture and using magic for every conceivable task.

'the locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

The mantra kept playing through his mind. Whenever he stopped working and started thinking, his thoughts returned to the impossible task in front of him. There was no way he was ready, not yet; the fight with Snape proved that.

'the locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

Again and again he found himself locked into a circle of thought. The need to get out and start looking warred with the knowledge of his limitations.

Occasionally he would open Dumbledore’s trunk and play with the bottles of memories. They had to be important. There was a reason Dumbledore had made them and left them in his will for Harry.

'the locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

He flipped through some of his books, trying to force himself to study, but he was definitely not in the mood and had never been particularly prone to self study anyway, so he spent a while practicing the charms Tonks had shown him.

After a few dozen tries, he felt pretty confident that he had mastered some, but the Disillusionment charm still cause him a few problems, sometimes only working on part of the object he was hiding, or, in one disastrous episode, turning the exact opposite of the colours behind it.

He finished exploring the Dursley’s house, briefly wondering where Petunia and Dudley were disappearing to, but then he realised he didn’t really care and was just pleased they were out of sight.

The house only revealed one new secret; the garage had been converted into a gymnasium for Dudley.

There were weights, and benches, and machines with mysterious purposes, although to Harry’s inexpert eyes they looked like they would be more at home in a medieval torture chamber. A worn punching bag hung from a special frame in the middle of the room, and, going by the thin layer of dust on everything else, was the only item that saw regular use.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he told the bag sympathetically.

Feeling rather mischievous, he considered pranking Dudley by casting a spell on the bag to make it swear abusively whenever it was hit, or maybe he could make it so hard that it broke Dudley’s hand next time he used it. The temptation passed when he thought about how he was much happier with the Dursleys completely avoiding him, and any such prank would surely end up in another confrontation.

As if summoned by the thought, the side door to the garage opened and Dudley wandered in.

Both of them were caught by surprise at the unexpected meeting, but Dudley recovered first.

“What are you doing in here freak?” he asked, after looking around to make sure they were alone. Dudley was much braver when it was just the two of them. “You are not allowed in here, this is my place!”

Harry sighed loudly. The day had not been going well.

“Fine,” he said, walking towards the door. “I’ll just be on my way then.”

Dudley must have had a lot of aggression to work off because, as Harry walked passed, he felt brave enough to bash his shoulder into the smaller boy, knocking Harry painfully into a rowing machine.

Harry saw the gleam of enjoyment in Dudley’s eyes that for some reason reminded him of Draco Malfoy, and something inside of him snapped. He pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed at Dudley, who paled but didn’t back down.

“You can’t do anything with that!” said the quivering Dudley. “You got into heaps of trouble last time, so I know you can’t do nothing to me.” His terrified eyes never left the wand as he spoke.

“Guess what Dudders? The rules have changed.”

Dudley only had a second to squeal as Harry flicked his wand, then he found himself flying through the air to stick to the roof.

“Put me down! HELP. MUM HELP!” he screamed before another flick of Harry’s wand silenced him. The panic as his shouting efforts produced no sound almost pushed the enormous boy into hysteria.

“If you think you are big and tough and can get through life by throwing your weight around,” Harry warned him, “think again.”

“The smallest eleven year old from my world could float you up and stick you to the roof like I have done, with barely any effort.”

“It’s time you re-evaluated your self Duds; time you GREW UP and started trying to do the right thing, rather than the easy thing.”

With those words, Harry turned and walked to the door. Just before opening it, he flicked his wand cancelling the spells holding Dudley silently to the groaning roof, and was rewarded with a shrill cry that was cut off by a loud thump as his cousin forcefully reacquainted himself with the ground.

It was in an unusual state of mind that Harry opened the door and found himself face to face with his Aunty; Petunia Dursley.

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Chapter Seven – Impractical Magic

The shock of almost walking into Petunia was instantly replaced by an automatic fear that he had been caught hexing his fat cousin, but just as quickly the fear and guilt were swept away by a wave of anger.

She stood perfectly still, shock and her usual disgust at even seeing Harry creasing her horse-like features into the perpetual sneer he knew so well.

Without saying a word, and not giving her a chance to say anything, Harry brushed passed and pulled on the invisibility cloak before heading out the side gate and down the street.

As he automatically marched his familiar route towards the park that had become his refuge after Sirius died, Harry realised he was not thinking properly, but he needed to get out for a bit, away from the house that he was sure now contained a sulking Dudley and an enraged Petunia.

It had only been a couple of days, and Harry had managed to avoid his relatives for the whole time after that initial nastiness, but he was already regretting returning at all. He knew was not going to be able to stay much longer.

Harry found himself thinking about what had just happened as his feet unconsciously moved him down the road. Much of it could be blamed on delayed frustration; he had been sure Draco was plotting something, and that Snape was not to be trusted, but everybody else had trusted Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would not consider that he might have been wrong about Snape.

They had all done what was easy, and had fallen back on habit.

Nobody believed Harry when he said Draco had taken the Dark Mark, and Dumbledore had refused to defend himself, instead wasting his last opportunity incapacitating Harry so that he couldn’t interfere and maybe get in harm’s way.

If he hadn’t been frozen, Harry could have stunned Draco before the other Death Eaters had arrived. He could have sealed the door leading to the tower and taken Dumbledore on the broom to the hospital wing, or maybe even joined the battle, attacking the invaders from the rear when they weren’t expecting it. Dumbledore himself could undoubtedly have handled Draco, even in his weakened state, if he had not cast the petrification spell on Harry.

Why had Dumbledore risked, and lost, so much? What could he possibly have been afraid of happening to Harry that he had put them both into an incredibly dangerous situation?

Viciously kicking a can along the ground, he once again keenly felt his inadequacy.

Obviously Dumbledore had believed Harry too incompetent to protect himself; and he had been right! Look at the fight with the Inferi. If Dumbledore had not woken up when he did, both of them would now be floating in a lake inside the hidden cave, silent guardians in Voldemort’s army.

With a start, Harry realised he was feeling both angry and guilty. He was angry at Dumbledore for being so careless with his own life, and guilty at the thought that Dumbledore had effectively given that life to keep Harry safe for only a few minutes. The instant he had been released from the body bind, Harry had blindly rushed himself into a battle he couldn't hope to win, and could easily have been killed - probably would have, if Buckbeak hadn’t attacked Snape and driven him off.

No matter how many times he thought about it though, Harry knew he would have done many of the same things again. He recognised that he had recklessly chased Snape in a futile attempt to capture him, but nothing would have stopped him from joining the fight anyway, not with his friends in danger.

His humiliating defeat at Snape’s hands still rankled though. What possible chance did he have against Voldemort if he couldn’t even beat Snape, a man his father had apparently bested often?

"Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one, what would you call him, I wonder?"

Again the memory of Snape’s hated voice burned in Harry’s memory.

Well, that wasn’t bad advice really. No matter how good Snape or Voldemort were, outnumbering them was one sure way to win. Nobody could win if the odds were stacked enough; that was how the Death Eaters worked. Like Dudley and his gang of bullies, they only ever attacked when they were sure to have superior numbers.

Harry was certain that Lucius Malfoy and his companions would have fled from the battle in the Department of Mysteries once the Order had shown up, if their mission had not been of such importance to Voldemort and Lucius had not already been on thin ice because he had lost the Diary Horcrux.

Voldemort himself had fled from the evenly matched Dumbledore, once other wizards had started arriving.

Of course, it would take quite a crowd to overpower the Dark Lord, and in the end the prophecy did say he could only die by Harry’s hand and the ‘Power he knows not’.

Makes two of us, thought Harry ruefully. I have even less of an idea about that.

No matter what Dumbledore had said, Harry didn’t see how his ability to love could be used to destroy a psychopathic murderer who had at least fifty years more experience and training in duelling.

Then Harry remembered the Pensieve memories he had inherited from Dumbledore. Maybe that was how Harry could catch up on Voldemort’s skill! Maybe Dumbledore had made those memories specifically for him to use as a short cut to training for years.

Harry felt his pace quicken in excitement and forced himself to slow down to a normal speed. Tripping over and suddenly becoming visible was a sure way of attracting attention.

It made sense. Dumbledore had made sure Harry would be able to receive all the training he could possibly need, and nobody would know. If a Pensieve had the ability to watch memories in less time than they actually recorded, it might be possible for him to learn at a much-accelerated rate.

He needed a Pensieve, and he needed one as soon as possible, but that was not likely to happen unless Harry approached Professor McGonagall and told her what he wanted one for. He was just going to have to write to her and hope she would be willing to help him out even if he wasn’t returning for a more traditional education.

One of Harry’s watch alarms, a Mermaid’s song, broke him out of his pondering. He had been trying to find some use for all the alarms, and this one was for lunch today.

Then Harry discovered he was lost.

Without realising it, he had completely missed the park that had been his original destination, and had walked into unknown territory. Looking around for something he could recognise to guide himself home, Harry saw a small shopping centre Petunia had taken him to a few times when he was younger.

Stepping into an alley at the rear of the shops, he hid the invisibility cloak back under his shirt and performed his hair and glasses transformation. With the well fitting clothes and different colour hair, Harry doubted that anybody would recognize him as the ‘mentally disturbed delinquent that spent summers at the Dursley home’, despite his scar.

The small supermarket had a good selection of fresh fruit and vegetables. Harry loaded up a full trolley with them, along with lots of other treats he had only occasionally enjoyed; Pizzas and ice creams mainly. He also loaded an impressive set of cookware, and a stylish, patterned twelve-place dinner setting that caught his eye.

Not that he needed any of it, since he could conjure or transfigure anything he wanted, but he thought it might be nice to have at least two plates that matched, since every item he made tended to be slightly different each time.

He was heading for the checkout, when a special display of children’s toys caught his attention.

On sale were large doll’s houses, complete with furniture and two six-inch action figure dolls; a man and a woman.

Dudley was never permitted to have anything as ‘girly’ as a doll’s house, so Harry had never seen one up this close before.

The detail fascinated him. Little cupboards had working wooden doors and drawers that opened and closed, there was a dinner table with six elegant chairs, and a large leather-look lounge suite that was of a style the Dursley’s would derisively call ‘too modern for a family home’. The bathroom and bedroom were fully appointed, something that Harry thought odd for a child’s toy, and the other rooms in the house were decked out as a study (complete with bookshelves), a guest room, and a spare bedroom. There was even a miniature fridge!

Despite considering how he, a teenage boy, might look buying a dollhouse, Harry decided he was getting it, and balanced it precariously on top of his groceries.

“It’s for my niece,” he explained self-consciously to the check out lady, as she rang it through the till. She smiled disinterestedly and gave him the total.

Once outside the store and back down the alley, Harry realised he still wasn’t sure how to get back to Privet drive. Checking nobody was watching, he shrunk everything down so that it fit in one bag, then braced himself and once again stepped into the unpleasantness of Apparition.

That night, Harry took everything out of the doll’s house he could use and magically altered it to ‘human’ size and strength. It was by far the hardest transfiguration he had ever done, but the results were easily better than the best he had ever achieved before.

His sleep was filled with pleasantly satisfying dreams of Hagrid turning Dudley into a pig.

The next day started out agonisingly slow for Harry, despite there still being a lot to do to make his temporary accommodation as comfortable as he intended.

He stayed inside the tent, only going to look out the window once, and sorted out his books. He had not realised just how many books he had accumulated, but between six years of school, presents from his friends, and the significant number he had bought during his brief shopping trip, he had enough to fill a large book case.

Sorting them would have gone a lot faster if he didn’t keep getting distracted by the books themselves. He still wasn’t in a studying mood, but he couldn’t help flicking through every book, which usually ended up with him reading several pages.

From the amusing notes he and Ron had written on Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests, to Hermione’s underlining of important events in his History of Magic book, Harry found himself unable to just pack them away without taking the time to look through them.

A loud crack announcing the arrival of a wizard broke Harry from his reading.

“Blimey,” said a familiar voice. “There's not much room in here. Hello, anybody home? Do we just knock or go in? How do you knock on a tent anyway?”

“Go in,” said Tonks. “He won’t be sleeping this late, unlike some people I know, who would still be in bed if they could be.”

“Leave me alone, I’m on holidays!” answered Ron defensively.

Harry laughed as Ron entered the tent, closely followed by Tonks who must have Apparated them over.

“Nice,” complimented Tonks, looking at the new furniture. “You must have been practicing pretty hard all day to have done this good a job, or did somebody stop in and help out?”

“Nope,” said Harry, leaning back in his very comfortable recliner lounge chair. “I cheated.”

Explaining about the unscheduled visit to the shop and using the dollhouse to make new furniture, Harry hoped Ron wouldn't get on his case about having money and the ability to do magic outside of school without being of age yet. Luckily the older boy took it all in his stride and immediately helped himself to some of the food and butterbeer.

“Looks great, mate,” he said, sinking into a squishy recliner. “Wonder why others don't do something like this?”

Tonks was a bit worried about him venturing out alone, but admitted the likelihood of Death Eaters hiding in the dairy fridge of the local Muggle supermarket was fairly low. She left them to go to work, promising to return to take Ron home later.

“What's with that?” Harry asked. “I thought you were going to stay a while.”

Ron huffed and tossed one of Harry's new books onto the ground.

“Mum's having kneazles about this wedding,” he complained. “I only got out today because I told her you would go mad if you didn't have company.”

“Close to the truth. What about Hermione?” asked Harry.

He had been nervous about owls coming and going, and so had avoided writing to either of them.

“She's doing like you said to; gone with her folks on an ocean voyage somewhere. I got a letter from her yesterday telling me all about it. It sounds dead boring to me. Fancy spending days and days on a boat, with nothing to look at but water.”

“I dunno,” said Harry wistfully. “I have never really seen the sea.”

“You're not missing much. It’s just a load of water bouncing you up and down trying to get your lunch back out of you - ‘bout as interesting as Hagrid teaching us about Flobberworms, and just as stomach settling.”

Ron let out a sigh and looked around the tent.

“So what’s there to do around here anyway?” he asked.

Harry smiled mischievously.

“Magic,” he said.

Ron looked confused for a second, then his eyes lit up with understanding.

“Wicked.”

While Ron was of age, and allowed to use magic legally, living with his rather strict mother had severely limited his ability to explore all of the wonderful ways that magic could be used in day to day activities.

Harry of course had never been allowed to use magic as much as he liked.

With a ‘house’ to themselves, and nobody to berate them for their laziness the boys quickly fell into a competition of seeing how much they could achieve with as little physical movement as possible.

It started when Harry levitated himself, chair and all, to get a butterbeer.

Ron just summoned one from the cupboard.

Harry levitated a bag of crisps and poured it into a bowl before flying it over to where he was still floating in his chair, a foot above the ground.

Ron levitated the crisps straight out of bag and into his mouth in an unbroken stream.

On and on they went, finding new ways to do everything with the least possible amount of physical activity. Each time Harry thought of something new to try, Ron topped him by going a step further, often reducing them both to incoherent balls of laughter at the ridiculous lengths they were going to be lazy.

It was easily the best time Harry had ever spent at Privet Drive, or while practicing transfiguration and levitation for that matter. Ron made the comment several times that if overstuffed lounge chairs had been allowed in every classroom he would never have had a problem with the Leviosa spell.

Harry encouraged Ron to change some of Dudley’s clothes for himself, since he didn’t have any Muggle clothing of his own and they would likely need it over the course of their travels. Luckily, although Ron found the designs and styles of the mostly designer wardrobe quite strange, he felt no compulsion to turn anything into the bright and vastly inappropriate colours most wizards seem to favour.

Discovering the Muggle clothes were quite a bit more comfortable than he had thought, Ron commented that Dudley’s cast offs were in much better condition than his own hand me downs, momentarily making Harry uncomfortable as he became aware Ron still had some money issues, despite not making a fuss over Harry’s large number of recent purchases.

“It’s not like they ever gave me the good stuff,” he told Ron, feeling a bit defensive. “Fat-head Dudley would have chucked a fit if I ever had something that didn’t have holes in it. This stuff was all heading for the poor box before I ‘liberated’ it.”

Ron looked disgusted.

“Mate, I know I don’t know a lot about Muggles, but surely they can’t be that mental. Why would you keep buying new things when the old stuff is still good? It’s just a waste.”

“Trust me, Ron,” said Harry, floating over a pair of practically brand new sneakers that were so large he could almost have fit both of his feet into one shoe. “I have absolutely no idea, but I do know the Dursleys are definitely a bit short in the brains department.”

Ron deftly caught the sneakers, then compared them to his own well worn footwear before shaking his head and casting a shrinking spell.

“Reducio!” he said, holding the wand above the shoes. Obediently they began to get smaller and smaller until they were down to regular human size.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Ron flicked his wand to perform a switching spell, swapping his old shoes for the new ones without having to bend over.

“Not bad, eh?” he asked, holding his smartly clad feet in the air proudly. “Bit stiff though. Stupid git must never have worn them.”

“They probably went out of fashion, so he dumped them,” explained Harry. It was the sort of thing he could see Dudley doing.

Taking the shoes off and frowning slightly, Ron’s face took on a look of intense concentration, and he cast a complex series of spells. The pair of shoes jumped off his lap and started running around in circles, as if an invisible person had put them on and was now jogging around inside the tent.

“What are you doing?” ask Harry, watching the shoes warily. He was a bit unsure of what Ron was up to and half expected the shoes to start kicking him or something.

Ron smiled smugly.

“Wearing them in.” he answered, causing Harry to erupt in gales of laughter, again.

*-*

Over lunch, Harry finished recounting his visit to Diagon Alley and the Ministry. Ron burst out laughing at finding out Percy was the one Harry insisted take his place.

“Did he faint?”

“Nah, but it was close. I reckon his eyes popped out of his head when I asked for my Apparition licence though,” Harry told him, while breaking off more of the Mr Magic meal they had taken out.

He wasn’t really sure what kind an animal it was they were eating, but it was bird shaped and delicious, even if it did have too many legs for him to be really comfortable with.

Ron stopped laughing abruptly.

“You what?”

“I told them it was too dangerous for me to come in on my birthday and get my licence, and I wanted to get an extraordinary one now.”

“Did they do it?”

“Yep. I had to go to the testing area, it was set up like a street and I just Apparated around a few times. Only took a couple of minutes.”

Ron sat back in his chair, looking at Harry with a betrayed expression and a furrowed brow.

“What?” Harry asked him innocently.

“Nothing,” said Ron, looking down at his plate and refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Ron, what’s the matter?”

“Forget it,” said Ron dejectedly.

“Ron, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I am going to hex you,” said Harry, letting a bit of anger slip into his voice.

“Well,” Ron started off quietly. “I was waiting for your birthday before going to take the test again, so we could go together.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I am sorry. I didn’t remember. Are you disappointed?”

Ron shook his head; an obvious lie.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll probably fail and have to go back again anyway.”

Harry sat quietly for a second, then waved his wand and summoned a formal looking parchment from his trunk.

“Does that mean you don’t want this?” he said holding, out the document.

Ron glanced at it, did a double take, and then grabbed it out of Harry’s hands.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, I told them I wanted one for you too. The examiner was the guy you had for your test, and he agreed that it really was just a small matter, leaving your eyebrow behind, and you should be fine with a bit more practice, so they gave it to me for you. I figured it was about time you got something back for having to put up with a famous git for a friend.”

Ron stared incredulously at the license, not saying a word for so long that Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable. What if Ron had wanted to pass the test on his own? Harry would never dare do this for Hermione, who would insist on taking the test herself, but Ron had never baulked at taking a short cut before. It was the first time that Harry had ever really used his fame to get something he didn’t have a valid claim to, what if it backfired?

“Ron? Is it okay? You’re not angry are you? Did I do good?” he asked.

Ron took his eyes off the parchment and stared at Harry.

“Brilliant, mate,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “You done ruddy brilliant!”

“Good,” said Harry, puffing out a breath he had been holding. “Because I would have looked like a right Flobberworm if I had to take it back, especially after the whining I did to get it in the first place.”

A large official looking owl chose that moment to fly into the tent and land on Harry. She had a letter tied to her leg that he quickly removed and read silently.

“Percy arrives the day after tomorrow,” he told Ron.

The rest of the day went even quicker after that.


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Chapter Eight – Swap over

In the early morning sun of what promised to be another scorching day on Privet Drive, a thin face poking its nose through a gap between the curtains of the very ordinary looking house at number four was the only person to be seen anywhere on the deserted street at that early hour.

While most of the occupants of the almost identical houses were spending the rapidly fading coolness of the morning staying in bed, Harry Potter was apprehensively awaiting his visitor.

Peeking through the daintily curtained window of his bedroom again, Harry tried to watch both ends of the street at the same time, waiting for Percy to arrive. The method of Percy’s arrival had been left out of the letter, possibly for security reasons, so Harry was also looking up into the sky as well, scanning everything in his field of view for any sign of magical transport.

So far, the only thing he had seen that was the slightest bit suspicious were the Dursley’s sprinklers turning on and running for much longer than the water bans dictated, although that could hardly be called unusual.

At the exact time indicated in the letter, a long, black car suddenly zoomed down the street and squealed to a halt in front of the house.

Rushing down the stairs as fast as he could without imitating a herd of rampaging Centaurs, Harry’s elbow collided with a tall stack of empty cardboard boxes on the landing at the bottom. Only his quick reflexes averted a disaster as he managed to grab the slowly toppling tower before it crashed to the floor, and then straightened it back up. The top box refused to cooperate however and tried to escape the second after Harry removed his hands. Running out of time and patience, Harry put the misbehaving box on the floor next to the others of its kind that lined the hallway. He managed to get the front door open just before Percy could ring the bell and wake the other occupants of the house.

“Hello, Harry,” said Percy stiffly.

“Hiya, Percy,” said Harry brightly.

A formidably large man wearing a dark, pin stripped suit and black sunglasses stood next to the car managing to convey a very alert appearance, as if waiting for something. One of his hands was tucked inside his immaculate jacket, probably holding a wand, Harry thought.

“Harry, what was the name of my pet rat?” Percy asked.

“What? Oh, I understand, Scabbers. You called your supposed rat Scabbers,” he answered.

“Your turn,” said Percy, ignoring Harry’s emphasising.

“Er, look, do we have to do this? Just get inside before people see. Nobody else would be expecting you to be here so I am satisfied it’s you, okay?”

Percy let out low harrumph and turned to give a brief nod at the man in the suit who was still standing perfectly still. Without a word, the man climbed back in and the car immediately zoomed off at high speed. Harry heard the echo of a loud bang that sounded like a peel of far way thunder.

Harry looked around to check nobody had been watching, then closed the door and hurried Percy up the stairs and into his room. He noticed cardboard boxes, similar to the ones that nearly caused a catastrophe earlier, were in every room of the house, but was more concerned with getting Percy into his room without running in to any of the Dursleys.

The tent was gone, packed away in Harry’s backpack along with the trunks and everything else Harry owned. Nothing remained in the room except the run-down furniture and shabby clothes supplied by the ever-generous Dursleys.

“Right,” said Harry to the ruffled Percy. “This is your room, you are not allowed in any other part of the house, except the bathroom, and even then only for a few minutes. You are going to have to spend most of the time that you are not at the Ministry here, so you had better get comfortable. Where is your stuff?”

Percy took several miniature trunks from his pockets.

“Okay, expand them now since once I leave you are not going to be allowed to use magic.”

“But I am of age!” protested Percy.

“Yes, but I am not, so when you are here alone, pretending to be me, you are not.”

Harry felt a bit guilty at the twinge of satisfaction he got when he saw the dismay on Percy’s face, but not much. He was not going to tell him about the modified wards - let him suffer without magic for a while.

“Now, how long do we have until the car comes back?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Good, plenty of time. What arrangements have been made for my mail?”

“All of your mail is being redirected to the Ministry, except for your own owl. Did you know there was already a Redirection charm on you?”

Harry didn’t.

“Yes, we found it when we were casting the new one. It appears that somebody arranged for all of your mail, except for anything from Hogwarts, the Ministry, and a few other people, to be returned undelivered if you were here or sent on to Hogwarts if you were at school. Presumedly Dumbledore set it up and maintained it.”

A hot bubble of anger rose in Harry’s chest threatening to explode in an angry tirade. He knew it had been Dumbledore without having to be told; it was exactly the sort of thing he would have done. There would of course have been some reasonable sounding justification. ‘Protecting Harry’ he would have called it, or ‘for his own good’, but it still amounted to a serious violation of his rights, especially after he had started at Hogwarts and had discovered the magical world.

“Anyway, all of your letters will be delivered to the Ministry where they will be checked, sorted, and forwarded here for you to collect,” Percy continued, either not recognising or ignoring Harry’s internal struggle to remain calm.

“Who is doing the checking and sorting?” Harry asked tersely. The idea of the Ministry getting into all of his mail was not something he had really wanted, but it solved a lot of issues for them both.

“That will be one of my tasks while I am taking your place,” answered Percy, not sounding too pleased at the prospect.

Harry nodded. That wasn’t so bad. Not ideal, but not unacceptable and it made sense since Percy was going to be playing the part of Harry anyway.

“You realise I take my privacy very seriously, right?” he asked.

Percy looked offended.

“And I take my job very seriously, Mr Potter,” he told Harry, in a firm voice. “I will never read your mail beyond what is necessary to determine its contents, and I will not divulge the contents to anyone that does not have a legal right to them.”

Harry was instantly suspicious about that specific exclusion, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He would have to make sure anything ‘important’ was addressed to either Ron or Hermione and not him.

“Of course, Percy, I am sorry to insinuate anything different,” said Harry, apologetically. He needed Percy’s cooperation, not his antagonism. “The news of the old mail redirection has just upset me a bit.”

Percy seemed mollified by his sincere apology.

“The Minister has asked me to inform you that the process is underway to temporarily remove some of the underage magic use restrictions, and that many of the other measures you discussed are also ‘in the pipe’. He does want to point out that these things take time however, since there is a fair amount of paperwork that needs to be completed to make sure everything is done properly.”

Harry snorted with laughter.

“You mean he can’t get anything done without a hundred bureaucrats arguing with him against any form of change for the better whatsoever.”

Percy was ready to defend his beloved Ministry of course.

“It is important to make sure the correct procedures are followed!” he insisted.

“Yeah, just like my farce of a trial and Umbridge’s decrees, eh, Percy? Did you ever wonder how Fudge managed to pass a few dozen laws without anybody stopping to ‘follow the correct procedures?” said Harry, unable to stop himself from have a dig at Percy’s blind faith.

“Those were only educational decrees designed to raise the professionalism and quality of teaching at Hogwarts. Making Hogwarts a better place to learn hardly needs a full independent review,” answered Percy dismissively.

“Make Hogwarts better? Are you kidding Percy?” said Harry, slowly loosing his fight to stay calm. “How can disbanding every club or organisation including the Quidditch teams, putting a lifetime playing ban on me and your two brothers, and confiscating our brooms have raised the professionalism? How can allowing Death Eater children to hit Professor McGonagall with four stunners when she objected to them attacking Hagrid in the middle of the night raise the quality, Percy? What about forbidding students, even N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. years, to practice D.A.D.A. magic? Do you think that helped them learn better, not being allowed to do a single spell when the exams are half practical?”

He held his hand up to show the scars.

“Tell me Percy, how can she have been allowed to torture every student she wanted to in detention by making them write lines in their own blood without a full independent review?”

Percy was staring at Harry’s hand, his mouth hanging open in a mixture of shock and surprise. Harry suddenly felt very weary. The anger slid away as he waited for impossible answers to impossible questions that he had asked himself a thousand times in the year since the toad woman was ousted.

“Is there anything else we need to cover now?” Harry asked, putting his hand back down and breaking the spell his rant had caused Percy to fall under.

“There is just the matter of you, er contribution to the Polyjuice potion,” said the redhead, clearing his throat.

Harry was a bit stumped. Did they want him to supply the Polyjuice? He certainly had enough, but how could know about it? Unless-

“Oh, right!” he said sheepishly. “Hair, skin, blood, toenails, what’s good for you?”

Percy crunched his face up in obvious distaste at Harry’s suggestions.

“Hair will be fine, Harry,” he said, taking a pair of scissors and a small box from one of the expanded trunks.

Harry took them from him, made a few shallow snips, and put the resulting hair into the box. Then it was time to go.

On the way down, Harry took more notice of the boxes. It looked like the Dursleys were going to be doing some painting, since they had been packing everything away, leaving the walls bare. The furniture had been moved out as well.

He was quite happy at the thought that he would not be asked to do it this time, although Percy might be in for a bit of a shock if Vernon got it into his head that Harry needed to earn his keep this summer, despite their little discussion when he first arrived back from Hogwarts.

So far, Vernon had completely ignored Harry, not even confronting him about his run-in with Dudley in the garage. He suspected Petunia and Dudley had not told the highly strung and easily provoked man about the incident, possibly fearful of provoking Harry and having more of his unnaturalness to be used against them.

“What’s going on here?” Percy asked, as they approached the front door. He must have also noted the boxes and disarray.

“Looks like they are repainting everything,” answered Harry.

Percy looked thoughtful.

“Dad would be beside himself to see how Muggles tackle a job like that,” he said.

It was the first time Harry had heard Percy mention his father, and it surprised him a bit since he thought Percy was still getting shunned by, and was still himself shunning, the whole Weasley family. For the stubborn and proud man to be mentioning his family while in Harry’s presence spoke volumes, although Harry wasn’t one who could read them easily.

So he didn’t say anything, in case it was still a sore point, but smiled in agreement while secretly considering warning that he might be forced to find out exactly how Muggles did the backbreaking task, by having to do the long and arduous work himself to pay for the squalid room, should Vernon get his courage up enough to insist.

They had only just stepped outside into the fresh morning air when the car arrived seemingly out of nowhere. The door flung open by itself and Harry and Percy hurried inside, barely getting it closed behind them before the vehicle shot off again.

The inside was enormous, much bigger than it could possibly have been without magic. Instead of normal car seats, they had six comfortable lounge chairs arranged in a circle, there was a mini bar in one corner, and the cabin was tall enough for Harry to stand upright without ducking. A small window provided a view of the driver. A second black suited man sat impassively in the passenger seat of the car, dark glasses betraying no sign that either man had even seen their two passengers.

“Is this how you are going to be coming and going each day?” Harry asked Percy, rather impressed with the transportation.

“No, this is the Minister’s private car he has lent to you for today. Tomorrow I will be in a more, um, fitting, car.”

“Oh,” said Harry. ”Might as well make the most of it then.” He opened the fridge and grabbed two butterbeers.

Percy looked set to object, but Harry reminded him that he had to start acting a bit more like Harry, and bit less like Percy, or the charade would be up very quickly.

Percy sullenly accepted the drink and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry, feeling the silence was getting a bit uncomfortable, tried to start up a conversation, and suggested it was unlikely many people would notice his fake presence in the Ministry anytime soon anyway.

“Don’t you get the Daily Prophet?” Percy asked, rather too smugly for Harry’s comfort.

When Harry shook his head, Percy reached into a compartment and brought out several days copies of the wizarding paper. He shuffled through them before extracting a particular issue and passing it to Harry.

The headlines, taking up half of the front page, were ‘Has the Chosen one joined Ministry of Magic?’ The rest of the page was completely taken up with a picture of Harry shaking hands with Penelope in the entrance hall of the Ministry.

Harry groaned and turned the page to read. Mostly it was just speculation and repeating his history, but one line caught his eye.

Ministry sources confirmed that Mr. Potter did indeed meet privately with the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and that as a result of the long meeting, Mr. Potter will be returning to the Ministry on a regular basis.

“Are you the Ministry source?” he asked Percy.

Percy frowned.

“No, we are not sure exactly how they came by that information.”

Harry closed the paper and tossed it back into the compartment it had come from.

“Looks like you have a few leaks you might want to try and plug Perc,” he said grinning. The newspaper articles had been expected, just not as soon, and not as big.

“The Minister is using the publicity to announce a raft of new measures to combat the terrorists, including more regular patrols of Aurors in Diagon Alley to keep the area safe,” Percy explained.

That made sense to Harry. The manipulated media were probably just blowing things out of proportion again, making his visit into a huge deal to get approval from the general public. The Minister had promised not to use Percy/Harry to overtly promote his policies, but since this had actually been Harry himself visiting the Ministry on his own initiative, Scrimgeour had possibly taken it as ‘fair game’ and made sure it was front page news.

“What did Penelope think about making the front page of the Prophet?” he asked.

A slightly pained expression crossed Percy’s face.

“She was very excited, at first,” Percy explained. “But she quickly tired of the constant attention and frequent comments.”

Harry laughed, knowing exactly how she felt. A sneaking suspicion entered his mind.

“What does she think about your ‘Secret Ministry work’ that is going to keep you so busy and out of site for the next few weeks?” he asked innocently.

Percy did not look happy.

“She has made it clear that she is less than pleased by the suddenness of the assignment, but is of course supporting me completely.”

Harry let the matter drop, not really that interested in Percy’s private life and realising he was the cause of what could be a very difficult situation for any relationship.

Unable to stifle a yawn, he decided to catch a nap on the way to the Ministry, since he and Ron had stayed up half the night playing with the pack of Super Exploding snap, only stopping when Tonks was woken from her impromptu sleep on the couch by an enormous explosion that has cost Ron one eyebrow (the one he had not lost in his first apparition test) and the game.

Some time later, he woke up with Percy shaking him.

“We are almost there,” Percy said, as Harry wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Are you sure you want to get out here and not at the Ministry? It would seem rather dangerous to just go walking around unescorted.”

“It will be harder to find me this way,” Harry said. “I’ll mix in with the Muggles and disappear for a while.”

Percy frowned. “The Minister would still like to know where you will be staying, Harry. He asked me to see if you could be persuaded to keep in closer contact, although I told him you were unlikely to change your mind. If you are recognised elsewhere while I am at the Ministry, it could undermine the whole operation, but I understand your commitment.”

Not answering, Harry changed his hair and glasses and pulled off the robes he had purposely been wearing when they left the house, revealing his Muggle clothes underneath.

“You do realise that is a rather poor disguise?” asked Percy, watching Harry cover his scar with the make-up.

“Don’t worry about me,” answered Harry. “You should be getting ready too.”

Percy nodded and took small box that held Harry’s hair and a bottle of Polyjuice potion from a pocket in his robes.

“On second thoughts, maybe you could wait until I have left,” said Harry quickly, realising what was about to happen.

Percy looked at him curiously then put the hair in the bottle and drank the concoction.

Harry stared fixedly out the window and tried to ignore the retching sounds Percy made as he transformed. Once the noises had finished, Harry turned back to be once again facing a replica of himself.

“What about your robes?” he asked the second Harry.

Percy shrugged and pulled his wand out.

“No, no,” said Harry, smiling and waggling his finger. “Underage Magic, remember?”

Percy looked slightly angry for a moment, and then defiantly and expertly shrank his clothes to fit anyway.

“Well you did say I had to start thinking and acting a bit more like you!” he said at Harry's questioning look, earning a laugh.

They slowed to a stop a few blocks from the Ministry and Harry slipped out. He was barely out of the door when the car sped off again headed towards the Ministry, and Harry joined the unobservant crowd of Muggles walking down the street too engrossed in their own existence to take any note of just another teenage boy in their midst.

He had scarcely gone ten metres when an older lady sidled up next to him and slipped her arm into his.

“Wotcher, Harry,” said Tonks.

“Hey, Tonks. Been waiting long?”

“Not too long,” she said. “I’ve been having fun watching the Muggles. Cracks me up the way they run around, head down and eyes not seeing anything, and some of the clothes they get about in are a right laugh. You ready to go?”

Harry shook his head.

“Nope, but I guess we have to anyway?”

Tonks laughed and led him off down a quiet side street.


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Chapter Nine – Return to Grimmauld Place

Returning to Grimmauld Place rated as about as highly on Harry’s list of ‘things I most want to do during my summer holiday’, as helping Hagrid hand groom a new pet the half-giant described as ‘bit nasty when you first meet him, but he’ll come around – just watch out for the spikes’.

Deep inside, he suspected the pain, that burned in his chest just thinking about going back to a place filled with memories of his lost Godfather, would never really fade until he had faced the demons of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

There were other motives behind his action too, of course.

Having a base to fall back to during his hunt for the Horcruxes was bound to be a good idea, especially since the house had been secure enough for the Order of the Phoenix to take it as its headquarters. It was probably the safest place he was likely to find any time soon, despite Snape’s betrayal.

“Are we going alone?” he asked Tonks, as her shape seemed to blur and she shifted back to her normal, pink haired form.

“What’s up? Not sure you want to venture into a possibly dangerous situation with just me along?” she teased.

“Nah,” he laughed. “Just wondered why I haven’t been the centre of attention lately.”

Instead of laughing with him, Tonks changed to a more serious mood.

“There has been a lot going on lately, Harry,” she said. “The Order is doing its best to recover, but Dumbledore’s loss has been a major blow. You-Know-Who supporters are gaining ground with more people joining everyday, especially rich pure-blood families. There are a few other factions getting very active lately too, and we know almost nothing about them.”

“Not one seems to be much of a threat on their own, and it looks like there have been a few fights between You-Know-Who’s guys and at least one new mob, but the Ministry is struggling to keep the peace; they very close to declaring martial law.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Harry.

Tonks shook her head sadly.

“It’s terrible. Nobody allowed out of their house after curfew, no gatherings of more than five people, all travel and trade heavily restricted, Aurors able to take people in for questioning for no reason, squads constantly patrolling the streets keeping people at home; It’ll be a nightmare.”

“That’s stupid,” said Harry. “How is that going to help stop Death Eaters? It’s not like they are going to stop getting together, or are going to go home early because the Ministry says they are not allowed to be out late!”

Tonks laughed bitterly.

“Right, but it does mean the Ministry might be able to stop people rioting. There was a panic at the news of Dumbledore’s death like you wouldn’t believe. International Floo connections were book solid for two days until the Ministry temporarily shut them down. Martial law is more about controlling the general population than anything else.”

She suddenly stopped to look around the narrow back street they had entered, apparently making sure they weren’t followed, then started walking again.

“Things have calmed down a bit now, but it was really ‘touch and go’ for a while there. So you see, although you are definitely important, it has not been easy convincing people that they should leave their own families to come and watch over you.”

Harry suddenly felt bad about his comment. He hadn’t really meant it to sound so self-centred. Tonks appeared to understand.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” she said. “I know what you meant. Two years ago, Dumbledore was more worried about the Ministry doing something to you, with good reason I might add. He got you out of that house pretty quickly last year didn’t he? That shows he was more willing to let you get out and about.”

“The Minister had his own reasons for helping out a bit too of course, but I’ve heard you set them straight about that!”

Harry felt his face flush in embarrassment and Tonks laughed.

“So this year you got, me, Lupin when he gets back, Mad-eye, and a couple of others to keep an eye on you. One of the others is going to meet us at the house, just to be safe, although Mad-Eye has gone over the place a dozen times already making sure Snape didn’t leave any nasty surprises behind.”

They had come to a dead end and Tonks once again checked around to make sure they were alone.

“I am bit surprised that slimy git didn’t burn the place to the ground when he had the chance before getting excluded from the Fidelus charm,” she added bitterly.

“He probably didn’t have much of a chance to, since Buckbeak scratched him up pretty good, and Moody change the charm as soon as he found out,” Harry told her, remembering the enormous beast flapping and screeching as she chased Snape. “Snape was lucky to get out alive as it was.”

“Get your wand out of your pocket,” she said, smiling. “We are going to Apparate. You can either side-along with me, or if you want to practice, you can go on your own power.”

“What if I splinch?” Harry asked.

“You’ll probably look pretty funny and I’ll have a great story to share with Remus,” she answered, not at all deterred by his concerns.

*-*

Harry’s first thought as he appeared in the Entrance hall of the Grimmauld Place, was that his Apparition crack had seemed particularly loud this time. It took him a second to realise he had heard Tonks’s Apparition and not his own, because she had left a split second after him.

It was not totally dark, as it had been the first time Harry had entered the building two years before, but he could smell the damp, sweetish rotting, exactly as it had been that first time. It again felt like a derelict building, despite having been occupied for the better part of year by Sirius, and the Order using it regularly for most of the last year.

As Harry took his first hesitant step further into the house, a loud crash startled him badly and Tonks began swearing loudly as he swung his wand around ready to curse their attacker.

“Who the HELL moved that umbrella stand? I bet it was Remus! I bet hit did it on purpose just to get me to trip over it - probably charmed it to follow me!”

Before she had finished, the tattered, moth eaten curtains covering the drooling, eye-rolling portrait of Mrs. Black flew open and she started her habitual screaming.

“Filth! Scum! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks! Begone from this place! How dare you return to the noble home of my fathers-”

Immediately other portraits awoke and began to yell, adding to the cacophony.

Harry felt the tension he had been experiencing at returning explode in a burst of anger.

“SHUT UP,” he screamed, but nothing changed. His anger suddenly changed gears and became a cold, almost murderous, rage.

“Reducto,” he said calmly, pointing his wand at the closest portraits It instantly exploded leaving only a scorch mark on the wall where it had hung for decades.

“Reducto,” he said again, pointing at the next portrait, with the same spectacular, air-rending results.

One by one, he moved down the line, reducing each picture to no more than kindling. Before he had finished, the remaining portraits were begging him not to destroy them. Harry ignored their pleas and continued until only the huge portrait of Mrs. Black remained. She was still screaming, but her words had become incoherent at some point during his rampage.

Harry paused for a second and looked at the painting. He recalled he had bought a tin of the strongest paint remover available for this, but he wasn’t going to stop now; his anger wouldn’t let him.

“REDUCTO!” he screamed with all of his might, his voice overpowering the insane screeching of the long dead woman.

There was a split second of silence, as if all sound in the room had been drawn into the tight ball of his spell, then it hit.

An enormous concussion ripped the canvas, the surrounding frame curtains and even part of the wall behind, to shreds. A huge rush of expanding air blew the debris outward, knocking Harry off his feet and littering pieces of the painting and its surrounds throughout the long hallway.

Harry sat up, his ears still ringing from the shock wave of the blast, and looked around. Tonks was lying across the Troll’s leg umbrella stand, apparently not having extracted herself from when she had first fallen over. Her face was a frozen mixture of shock and amusement.

“Oops,” said Harry, grinning sheepishly and trying to look apologetic.

“Well,” said a voice from the far end of the hall, “I suppose that was certainly one way to get rid of it. Well done I say, Harry.”

He looked up to see Arthur Weasley standing in the kitchen doorway, wand drawn and looking slightly bemused.

*

Harry was uncomfortable. The chair he was sitting on was fine, and the tea he was drinking tasted just great, it was the company that had him on edge.

Arthur had not been alone. Another wizard, who declined to be introduced as anything other than 'an unspeakable friend', had been with him. The anonymous wizard had not cast a new Fidelus charm for Harry, but left a scroll that would remove the old charm, activate the new one, and allow Harry to appoint a secret keeper.

It was all very confusing, since the wizard refused to explain anything and barely said a word. Harry understood he must have been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Arthur must have trusted him, but all these secrets made him nervous.

Tonks had exited the room a few seconds earlier, claiming she was going to do an extra sweep of the old house, just in case Mad-eye had missed something. Harry had tried to join her, but Arthur had stopped him, asking him to stay and ‘have a chat’ for a moment.

Harry liked Ron’s dad; they had always gotten on well. Unlike his often-overbearing wife, Molly, Arthur had always been happy to give Harry some say in his own life.

The problem was that Harry was feeling guilty about having dated Arthur’s daughter for a month before dumping her at a funeral, then had gotten into a very public fight with his youngest son, and finally, all but ignoring Molly at the station when she had obviously wanted to talk to him.

Harry had good reasons for what he had done, and the fight with Ron had been for misdirection purposes, as was the incident at the station, but Harry still felt an enormous load of guilt, and not just about the breaking up part of his relationship with Ginny.

Two minutes later Harry was staring silently into his tea, waiting for Arthur to say something. It was now very uncomfortable.

Finally, Arthur broke the silence.

“Harry, I understand you had a bit of a, er, thing with Ginny earlier this year?” asked Arthur.

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes on his tea as he took a sip.

“And I am told that you have recently broken up with her.”

Again Harry nodded, taking another sip.

“Yes, well. Er, Ron tells me that you are just trying to keep her safe. That you think she will be a target for You-Know-Who if you are involved with her.”

Another nod, another sip. He wasn’t going to get angry with Ron for trying to explain things to his family, not even if it was about something very personal to Harry.

“He also tells me the two of you and young Hermione are pretending to no longer be friends, for the same reason.”

“Yes,” said Harry, finally daring to say something. “That’s right.”

“Well um, Harry, I know it is not my place to tell you how to live your life, but I want to ask you something, and I want you to look me in the eyes when you answer. Can you honestly tell me that you think your feelings for Ginny are going to stop; that you can just walk away?”

This was it; this was the moment Harry had been dreading since two seconds after he had seen Arthur in the hallway. While he had been alone at Privet Drive, or with Tonks or Ron, he had managed to avoid thinking about what he was doing. He thought that if he concentrated on finding and destroying the Horcruxes, and then Voldemort himself, he would not have to face the reality of what he was doing with Ginny, or the effects it would have on his relationship with her family.

He tried, he steeled himself and tried to raise his eyes to meet Arthur’s, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to Arthur about it, and he knew he wouldn’t stop feeling what he felt for Ginny. Instead, he felt tears fill his eyes.

“I thought so,” said Arthur. “Harry, you have to stop thinking you are responsible for everything bad that happens. You can’t stop living because You-Know-Who seems to have taken a person interest in you. You can’t give in to them, Harry, and turning your back on those who love you, even if you think it is going to keep them safe, is giving in. We are all in danger anyway. You know how Malfoy and his, associates, feel about my Family. Having you as a friend, maybe as more than a friend, is not going to change that you know.”

“You’re wrong,” said Harry, hie voice croaking. “Voldemort hasn’t just taken a personal interest in me, Mr Weasley.”

“What do you mean?” asked Arthur.

Harry fought to hold back the tears. His hands were clutching his cup so tightly that he thought it might explode at any second, but he forced his voice to be calm.

“The prophecy; the one you almost died protecting a year ago. I heard it all, Mr Weasley.”

Harry ignored Arthur’s sharp intake of breath. Nobody except Ron and Hermione knew Harry had been told the whole prophecy. Everybody else thought it had been lost in the battle in the Department of Mysteries, where Sirius had been killed.

He had not intended to tell anybody else, but he felt he owed Mr Weasley an explanation. Harry had probably caused Ginny more pain than anything since Tom Riddle had tried to possess her, and Arthur deserved to know why.

He forced his eyes to meet the older man’s.

“It says he has to kill me, or I have to kill him, and we can’t, move on, until that happens.”

As expected, Mr Weasley’s eyes showed shock and disbelief.

“Are you sure? You haven’t misunderstood it or something?” Arthur asked.

“Dumbledore heard it too. He agreed with me; that’s what it says.”

“Dear Mercy!” said Arthur.

“And that’s not all of it either,” Harry said. “There are things I have to do, secret things that Dumbledore was working on before he was murdered.”

Harry dropped his eyes and took another sip of tea. He heard Arthur do the same thing, and for a second Harry was tempted to laugh out loud at the ridiculous idea of the two of them calmly sipping tea while discussing his fate and his relationship with Arthur’s only daughter.

As the seconds dragged on, Harry was trying to decide what to say next, when Arthur took the initiative.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, causing Harry to look up sharply.

“What?”

“I said, it doesn’t matter.”

Harry started at him; confused.

“Oh, I am not saying it doesn’t mean you aren’t right; that she isn’t going to be in more danger, all of us in fact. What I am saying is that you can’t deal with it like this. You can’t just turn your back on happiness hoping that you will someday get over it and be okay. It doesn’t work that way, Harry.”

“Mr Weasley, you are not making sense. How else can I keep her safe? What happens if I don’t win, what happens if he kills me or something? And how can I fight him if he gets to her? I don’t think I can concentrate or even think clearly if I am not sure she is safe!”

“Harry, none of us are safe. In another year Ginny will be of age, do you think she is going to stay out of the Order, despite what her mother says about it at the moment? And just how well is she going to take care of herself with a broken heart, eh? I know my daughter Harry, and I can tell you that she is not going get over you anytime soon. She has had a crush on you since before you met, and after you saved her from the Chamber of Secrets, she will never let anybody else in her heart.”

“Harry, I saw her when she came from school, and I could tell straight away that she was not just in mourning over Dumbledore, who, after all, was just her headmaster. She was trying to come to terms with a life without you, and she wasn’t doing a good job. Still isn’t in fact, although she has been keeping herself busy.”

“She’ll get over it,” mumbled Harry into his cup. “She said she understood, that was expecting it.”

Mr Weasley gave a short laugh.

“No Harry, I don’t think she will, at least not in the next decade or so, and I don’t think you will either. I don’t believe you give your heart away lightly, and from what I can see, I am pretty sure that you have given it to my baby girl.”

Harry stayed silent, so once again they returned to sipping tea silently. Harry didn’t want to admit Arthur was right. It had taken him days to get up the courage and determination to break up with Ginny. He had been infatuated with Cho Chang for a while, but Ginny made him feel whole in way he had never known he could feel.

He had told her that their time together had been like a page out of somebody else’s life, and he had meant it. He knew they could never return to such an idyllic time again, not while Voldemort was alive.

“You might not like to hear this, Harry, but I think you are far too young to be making such serious decisions. You can’t possibly understand your heart that well, yet.”

“Isn’t that the speech concerned parents give when they are trying to talk their children out of a relationship?” laughed Tonks, coming back into the room and earning a small chuckle from Arthur.

“Well, Molly says that I am usually holding my wand backwards, so you are probably right there, Tonks, but it is true never the less. Now don’t get me wrong, Harry, I am not telling you to rush off and get involved with my daughter in a, erm, inappropriate way, but I don’t think you should be cutting off your friends and family in some misguided attempt to keep us from harm.”

“Family?”

“Yes,” Arthur said in a determined tone. “Family. No matter what happens, I want you to consider us family. Molly already thinks of you as one of her sons you know, and I owe you not only my own life, but that of my two youngest children as well. I am as proud of you as if you were one of my own and only wish I could claim some credit for the manner you have conducted yourself in.”

“I... I’m not sure,” said Harry lamely. Tonks sat down and put her arm around him giving him a gentle squeeze.

He had never been in any situation like this before, and was a bit overwhelmed. He appreciated Tonks’s friendly support, even if it was adding to his confusion.

“Harry, I didn’t come here to put in an awkward position, well not much of one anyway,” Arthur said, smiling. “I just wanted to be sure somebody had given you another point of view to consider, and I wanted to give you your invitation to Bill’s wedding. I understand you are planing on making, arrangements, to come in secret, but Ron seems to think you might change your mind.”

“Come on, Harry,” said Tonks encouragingly. “You have to come. I’ll be there, as a special Auror guard the Ministry has assigned. It’ll be fun.”

Harry very much wanted to come, and had been planning on it ever since Ron mentioned it, but there was a real risk an attack might be made if he attended.

Not to mention he was terrified of seeing Ginny.

What surprised him was that Ron had thought about it, and he said as much.

“Well,” admitted Arthur. “I rather think it was more that Hermione thought you might be having second thoughts.”

Harry laughed. That made more sense.

“At any rate,” said Mr. Weasley, taking a large envelope out of a pocket in his robes. “Here is the invitation. There will be a place for you, even if you decide not to come, but I hope you do. We will miss you if you are not there.”

“Not to mention, I think there is a little French girl is hasn’t stopped talking about seeing you again,” added Tonks brightly.

Harry groaned. The last thing he needed was the bride’s infatuated little sister trying to monopolise him.

Both adults were enjoying his discomfort at Tonks’s word entirely too much.

“I’ll think about it, Mr. Weasley, okay?”

Arthur was about to answer when a sliver shape that Harry at first thought was a ghost flew into the room and sunk into Arthur’s head, making the smile drop from his face. A spit second later, another one flew in and hit Tonks. Both adults stood up quickly and looked at each other.

“What was that?” asked Harry, standing up and drawing his wand.

“A message, from the Order,” explained Tonks. “There is an emergency meeting and we have been called. We have to go, now.”

“Don’t leave for any reason. No matter what, you are not to leave here alone, okay?”

Harry nodded and turned to Arthur.

“Sorry to rush off Harry. Please think about what talked about. I hope to see you at Bill’s.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Weasley. Thank you.”

With a loud crack, both adults Disapparated, leaving Harry alone in the gloomy house.

Sighing loudly at the knowledge his curiosity would not be satisfied any time soon, Harry cleaned up the cups they had been using and decided to reacquaint himself with a house he had hope to never have to see again, but had known he would.

The place definitely needed another clean to be considered habitable, along with some major redecorating, but there was no way he was going to be doing it by hand, not this time. He took out his wand and went to work.

*

It had been very difficult at first. Every room brought back memories of Sirius that pained Harry. Even the good ones that brought a smile to his face were soon replaced with a frown when the pang of his loss returned.

Some parts of the house, like the kitchen where he had been sitting with Mr Weasley, had the added issue of also reminding Harry of Professor Dumbledore.

Pushing aside the ghostly memories, Harry set to work removing the dust and dirt with a vigour that would have made Mrs Weasley proud, until she realised he was trying to scrub away the thoughts and memories that were cutting into him.

Hours passed without notice as Harry threw himself into his self appointed task.

Much of the house was a great deal cleaner, thanks to the excessive use of nonverbal cleaning and banishing spells, and Harry was feeling the effect. After repairing the Black Family tree tapestry in the drawing room, he realised he would have preferred to have throw it out.

Fatigue, he thought, as he sat on the ground in front of it. Might be time for bed.

He was staring at the tapestry, not really focussing on anything. All he had meant to do was repair Sirius's name, but once he started he found himself repairing all of the ones that had been blasted off for disgracing the house of Black, and he had even undone the damage the Doxy's had done feeding on it for years.

His eyes searched for Sirius's name without conscious thought. It was back where it belonged, birth and death dates written in gold thread. Right next to it was Regulus Black, Sirius's murdered Death Eater brother.

Regulus Black.

R. B.

Harry sat up straight, no longer tired.

The second name he had repaired was Sirius's uncle, Alphard. Ron's middle name was taken from one of his uncles, what if Regulus's was too. Could Regulus be R.A.B?

He fit the profile, A reformed Death Eater had written the note left with the locket; no body else would refer to Voldemort in a personal note as the 'Dark Lord'. Regulus had been killed after finding out how far Voldemort was willing to go. Making Horcruxes could have been the 'straw that broke the camel's back' and caused Regulus to turn on his former master.

How could Harry find out? There was nobody to ask and the book on noble genealogy had been turfed along with the other rubbish. Could he ask Slughorn or McGonagall?

The answer appeared in his mind like a conjured rabbit out of stage magician’s hat.

Harry rushed from the room and ran into the bedroom he had previously stayed in.

Phineas Nigellus was asleep in his portrait.

“Excuse me, sir?” asked Harry.

When he got no response, he tried a bit louder.

“Excuse me? EXCUSE ME, SIR? Phineas, PHINEAS. Please wake up, sir.”

The bearded ex-headmaster cracked his eyes open and regarded Harry coldly.

“Yes? What do you want? I thought here at last I would be able to get some sleep without constant interruption.”

“Sorry sir, but I have a question only you can answer. It's about your great-great-grandson.”

“Sirius? What about him?”

“No, not Sirius, sir; Regulus. I need to know if he was named after his uncle, your great-grandson, Alphard?”

“Regulus! That's a surprise. He was murdered by that half-blood snake before you were born. Hmm, let me think,” said the clever faced wizard, scratching his beard idly.

“No, I don't think so,” he said.

Harry could feel his hopes fade.

“No. I am certain. He was named after his grandfather, not his disgraceful uncle, if I remember correctly. Strange boy Regulus; spent far too much time with that house-elf. That mangy creature was the last one to see him alive you know, besides You-Know-Who of course. It went quite mad after that and should have been put down straight away.”

Harry couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice. “So his name wasn't Regulus Alphard Black then?” he asked.

“Definitely not. Sorry lad, but he was named after his grandfather.”

“His name was Regulus Arcturus Black.”


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Chapter Ten - The Houselves

Harry trod his way down the squeaking and slightly rickety wooden stairs of Grimmauld place in a light-headed daze. He was automatically on his way to the kitchen to make a calming cup of tea, a habit he had not been aware of forming until now, as his thoughts wandered over the occurrences of the last few hours.

First he had finally left Privet Drive, almost certainly for good. At the time, he had felt no compulsion to have any sort of confrontation with the Dursleys as he made his final exit from the hated house where he had been raised since being thrust upon them at the age of one. The lack of a planned and suitable revenge had been on purpose, especially since Percy Weasley would be living there when he was not at the Ministry performing ‘secret’ work for the Minister.

Now however, after spending half a day confined in a house he had dreaded almost as much as his Aunt’s, but for entirely different reasons, he thought about how much he would have liked to have done something to them to once and for all truly deserve the hatred his relatives had held for him and demonstrated frequently. It would have felt good to bring justice to them, just for once.

Returning to Grimmauld Place had of course been a shock to his system, even though he had resigned himself to the task and had known what was coming. The pain of losing his godfather was brought back in full force within every room of the ill omened house, even though it had been over a year since his death. Dumbledore’s recent, tragic lose also made many frequent visits to Harry’s thoughts as he moved about the deathly silent mansion.

The emotional impact was worsened by the fact he had to deal with it on his own, Tonks having been called away to an urgent Order of the Phoenix meeting.

That an urgent meeting was being held for unknown reasons also played on Harry’s mind as he caught himself again and again speculating on the possible cause of such an event to occur. Realising endless speculation was useless, Harry had given up on trying to guess, and accepted he was just going to have to wait to find out what it was all about.

Just prior to being abandoned alone in the grim house, was the unexpected meeting with Arthur Weasley about his relationship with the man’s daughter - a relationship that Harry had ended rather badly. Far from being the ‘over protective father talking to the new boyfriend’ talk that every man dreads, Mr Weasley had done his level best to try to convince Harry to keep the relationship going, despite the additional danger it put the youngest Weasley and his whole family in.

Then had come the big one, the startling discovery that Sirius’s murdered, Death Eater brother may be the mysterious R.A.B. who had removed one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes from its deadly hiding place inside the secret cave that had almost cost Harry and Dumbledore their lives.

That the trip to recover the fake locket R.A.B. had left in place of the real Horcrux had ultimately contributed to Dumbledore’s demise raised bitter thoughts regarding the futility surrounding that fateful night, especially since the real Horcrux may have been sitting within their reach inside this very house the whole time.

Regulus still might not be R.A.B., but he was by far the best candidate yet; everything fit.

Once the initial excitement of possibly discovering who R.A.B. was had passed, Harry’s first instinct had been to get to Ron or Hermione to tell them the news. Tonks’s warning not to leave the house had been fairly straight forward though, and if something big was going on that required the Order to call its members, running off to the Burrow would be quite a silly thing to do, especially when he didn’t know what it was that was happening.

For a second Harry’s temper flared again at the thought of not being told what was going on, but then he calmed down, realising that the two had probably not known anything except that they had been called to an emergency meeting.

He thought about Flooing or writing to Ron, expecting Hermione was too far away to get his letter quickly, but any note would have to be so broad and general to minimise any security risk that it would possibly drive his friend mad in its vagueness. Besides, he had sent Hedwig off just that morning with a letter to Hagrid and wasn’t expecting her back until tomorrow.

Suppressing his instincts, Harry had tried to question the portrait to find out everything he could, but quickly discovered there was not much more it could contribute. He had never spend much time actually talking to a painting before, and found it tended to wander off track very easily and spent much more time wanting to talk about itself, either recounting seemingly half forgotten details of its own past or endlessly repeating the same almost clichéd statements of it’s own belief. Harry gave up after his third time of getting lectured about his rudeness and lack of respect.

A quick search of the library, the study, and the room Harry thought most likely to have been Regulus’s didn't immediately uncover anything obvious, although the number of books involving enough Dark Arts to have warranted banishment to the restricted section of Hogwarts, far out weighed the volumes of the lighter side of magic.

He had even gathered enough courage to go into Sirius's bedroom – a place he had been actively avoiding. Somebody else had already cleaned the room up, probably Remus Lupin. It was still full of Sirius's things, but everything had been put away neatly, quite unlike how Sirius would have left it. Much of what he found there caused him painful memories, and more than once he had been reduced to tears, but the only thing he found relevant to his search was an old photo of Sirius and Regulus as young boys, possibly pre-Hogwarts.

Harry stopped with his hand resting on the door leading down stairs to the kitchen. There was noise coming from down there, and it didn’t sound like Tonks or one of the others.

Cursing for not having his invisibility cloak on him, Harry stepped back from the doorway and silently cast the Disillusionment charm, managing to cover himself completely this time. He didn’t even consider not going down to find out who or what was in the house – it was his house!

Slowly he entered the kitchen, wand out in front and alert for any movement. It appeared to be empty, but whatever was making the noise was definitely in there somewhere.

He could hear it a bit clearer now. It reminded him of the cats that sometimes fought outside his bedroom window at Privet Drive (before Vernon would yell “SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!” at them, waking the rest of the neighbourhood).

As he searched the kitchen, the noise changed to more of a sobbing sound, interspersed with incomprehensible words. A nasty suspicion began to form in Harry’s mind as he closed on a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. His hand closed hesitantly on the door knob as he slowly turned the handle, trying as hard as possible to be silent.

Gathering his focus, Harry wrenched the small door open and pointed his wand in, half expecting what to find.

Sure enough, curled up under the large boiler that filled up most of the room, and on top of a jumble of assorted disagreeable rags and smelly old blankets, Kreacher, the mad house-elf, lay clutching a piece of broken wood to his chest.

The noise Harry had been following was issuing from it, and it took only a moment to recognise it was sobbing over a portion of the shattered remains of Mrs. Black’s portrait from the entranceway of the house.

“Poor Mistress,” he was sobbing. “My poor, poor mistress. Kreacher should have been here to protect her. He has failed again he has.”

Harry bristled at the sight. The last time he had seen the nasty beast was at Hogwarts, where he instructed it to stay to work in the kitchens where the other house-elves would be able to keep an eye on it, ensuring Sirius’s betrayer would not slip off to visit Bellatrix or the Malfoys again.

Although Kreacher had not been very good at following his orders, mainly because it hated him at least as much as he hated it, to be here at Grimmauld Place when Harry had specifically told him to work at the kitchens at Hogwarts was an incredible violation of its orders.

“Kreacher,” he yelled. “What are you doing here?”

The sobbing stopped and Kreacher looked around for a second.

“Kreacher hears the Potter brat’s voice, but doesn’t see him he doesn’t. We will ignore it.”

Harry growled in frustration and wordlessly cancelled the Disillusionment charm.

“You will not ignore me, Kreacher, you will answer me. Why are you here and not at Hogwarts where I told you to stay?”

Kreacher wiped his slime-covered face with a disgustingly dirty hand and looked directly at Harry with loathing filling his eyes. “Filthy friend of Mudbloods doesn’t remember what he told Kreacher, but doesn’t matter since nothing he says should be listened to.”

“Kreacher,” said Harry warningly. “Answer me, why are you here instead of at Hogwarts?”

“Kreacher does what the stupid Master tells him. Master says for Kreacher to go and Kreacher does it. Now master tells Kreacher he has done wrong. Will probably punish Kreacher too, but Kreacher doesn’t care. Kreacher has failed his poor, poor mistress…”

Then he started sobbing almost hysterically again.

This was too much for Harry. He didn’t remember telling Kreacher to leave Hogwarts, and he didn’t really care if he had or not either, but he wasn’t going to put up with this pining over his insane mistress and longing to be set free to server Sirius’ murder, Bellatrix Lestrange.

“GET UP, KREACHER,” he yelled. “YOU WILL STOP CRYING AND YOU WILL NEVER MENTION THAT MAD OLD COW OR CRY OVER THAT DAMN PAINTING EVER AGAIN, AND THAT IS AN ORDER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Kreacher’s body jolted like he had been given an electric shock, but he didn’t get up or stop crying.

“I SAID GET UP, RIGHT NOW!” screamed Harry. His blood felt like it was burning as his rage once again boiled it.

Kreacher looked up from the ground, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You, the filthy murderer of mistress’s Dark Lord, you damaged the mistress didn’t you?”

“I TOLD YOU NEVER TO MENTION HER OR THAT DAMN PAINTING AGAIN,’ Harry screamed. “NOW FOR THE LAST TIME, GET UP.”

Kreacher rose unsteadily to his feet without taking his hate filled eyes off Harry.

“You damaged, mistress. You MURDERED her!” the house-elf screamed, his grating voice rising to a startling volume as spittle flew from his enraged mouth.

Before Harry could react, the insane elf launched himself at Harry. The small bundle of fury knocked Harry to the ground and made his wand go flying with the force of the surprise collision.

The initial shock at being attacked quickly disappeared as the out of control elf rained bruising blows on him. Despite the almost tiny stature of his attacker, the blows raining down on Harry fast and furiously were surprisingly powerful, and painful.

“Filthy, nasty, dirty, ungrateful…” the completely crazy elf yelled, as he stuck Harry again and again, each word punctuated with a vicious blow from filthy fists.

Harry instinctively used his arms to protect his head and couldn’t push Kreacher away. The elf had him pinned him, sitting on his chest.

Having been on the receiving end of enough beatings to know his current position was not doing anything to improve his situation, Harry gathered his strength before getting his legs under him and arching his back to unbalance his smaller opponent. Kreacher, not expecting any such manoeuvre, toppled forward, just as Harry struck out with his fist, solidly connecting with the side of the elf’s head and sending him flying.

Rolling onto his hands and knees, Harry had barely gotten his arms under himself when Kreacher leapt onto his unprotected back, wrapping its arms around his neck and trying to choke Harry and twist his head off at the same time.

Harry tried to grab Kreacher’s face without having his fingers bitten off, and managed to get a hold of its ear, which he then pulled viciously in an attempt to make it break its hold, but the maddened thing held onto him and twisted his neck even further as his hand failed to keep a hold due to the slippery slime and filth covering it.

Air was starting to become a problem.

Very close to panicking and starting to loose his vision, Harry looked around desperately for a weapon while trying to pull the small wiry, arm cutting off his air supply in a surprisingly strong grip. Managing to loosen the arm around his neck enough to grasp in a lungful of air, Harry caught a glimpse of his wand just out of reach, as Kreacher started screaming incoherently in triumph.

Harry threw himself face first and hand outstretched towards his wand. His fingers closed around the familiar wood as he landed heavily on his stomach, knocking the last bit of breath out of him. The moment he had a grip on it, he stabbed the wand backwards into Kreacher’s face hoping to hurt the elf enough to make it let go.

Suddenly, Harry felt a surge of magic through the wand and there was a loud bang. Kreacher shrieked and went flying as he was torn off Harry’s back. The shriek ended abruptly in an echoing and ominously hollow sounding thump. Harry rolled over onto his back, wand ready and lips pursed to curse the elf before he could renew his attack.

Kreacher lay where he had fallen after striking the boiler. He wasn’t moving.

Harry was breathing heavily though his half crushed windpipe and tasted blood in his mouth from a split lip. He felt a trickle of blood run from his nose causing him to sniff, and one eye felt hot - a sure sign it was bruised that he vividly recalled from Dudley’s ‘Harry Hunting’ days.

He stood up, keeping his wand pointed at the crumpled figure, and breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart down as the overload of adrenaline flooded his system.

In the dim light of the room it was difficult to see clearly, but hr could make out a dark patch slowly spreading out on the floor from under the elf’s head.

Blood, Harry realised, a cold sinking feeling coming over him.

For a second, he felt a moment of terror. He had killed him! Harry nearly dropped his wand to run over and check, but caught himself at the last second; it might be a trick.

“Kreacher,” he called. When he got no reaction he tried again, louder, “KREACHER! OBEY ME, GET UP!”

Again he received no response, but still didn’t dare to get within striking distance, just in case.

Harry waved his wand and silently raised the diminutive body into the air. Blood dripped making surprisingly loud splashes in the sudden quiet of the room. Kreacher himself didn’t make a sound or move a muscle.

If the blood is still running, it must mean he is still alive, thought Harry.

Careful not to get too close, he levitated Kreacher out of the room and placed him gently on the table in the kitchen.

After poking him with his wand and jumping back a few times, Harry accepted that Kreacher was unconscious and not faking it. He started to panic.

He hadn’t meant to hurt him; he had been defending himself. It was just like with Malfoy in the bathroom all over again, but this time nobody was going to come to help. What could he do? He couldn’t take him to St. Mungos on his own, not that anybody there would be likely to help an elf anyway.

He was just wondering if he could bandage Kreacher’s head without it being considered clothes, when the elf groaned and open his eyes.

“Kreacher, are you okay?” Harry asked.

Kreacher mumbled something. His eyes were rolling in his head and didn’t look focussed.

Harry conjured some bandages and a cushion to prop Kreacher’s head up. He grabbed a bowl, filled it with warm water from the tap, and gently wiped the insane elf’s head, looking for the wound.

Under what must have been years of dirt and grime, Kreacher’s wrinkled skin was a dull grey colour. Harry wondered how old the elf was.

As he worked, Kreacher continued to moan and say the occasional coherent word. Harry thought he caught a few scraps.

“Kreacher… hurt young master… make him to die… murderer… Kreacher murdered…”

Did the elf think he had killed Harry, or was he still accusing Harry of murdering his mistress because of the destroyed portrait?

Eventually Harry managed to put a bandage around Kreacher’s head that stopped the bleeding, but he was unsure what else to do. The only other elves he knew were Dobby and Winky, and they were at Hogwarts.

Harry had once before called Kreacher to him just by saying his name, but Dobby wasn’t Harry’s elf, he was a free elf. Would he come if Harry called? It couldn’t hurt to try.

“Dobby?” called Harry into the empty kitchen.

Almost immediately there was a loud crack, and another elf appeared. This one wore a shrunken orange jumper, odd socks, and several hats piled on top of one another, and was also much cleaner than the wounded elf lying on the table.

“Dobby is hearing Harry Potter sir calling and is coming right away. Dobby is been waiting for Harry Potter sir to call him, but really never expected great Harry to call on him, no!”

Harry smiled despite the gravity of the situation. Dobby always made him smile with his over enthusiasm.

“Hello, Dobby, it is nice to see you again. Thank you for coming, I appreciate it!”

"Dobby is honoured to be called by Harry Potter!"

“Dobby, I need your help please, it’s Kreacher…”

Dobby looked past Harry and saw the wounded elf lying on the table. His eye narrowed.

“What has nasty elf done now Harry Potter sir?”

“I hurt him Dobby, I didn’t really mean to, but my magic accidentally threw him off and he hit his head. I don’t know what to do, can you help?”

Dobby gave Harry a surprised look, but then looked closely at Harry’s face.

“Did nasty elf hit Harry Potter sir?” Harry realised Dobby had seen the blood on his own face and guessed what had happened. “DOBBY WILL KILL THE BAD ELF!” he screamed trying to leap over Harry to get at Kreacher, who was still mumbling to himself.

“NO!” yelled Harry, grabbing Dobby around the waist, holding him back. “STOP. DOBBY STOP. PLEASE!”

Dobby was still kicking and struggling to get past Harry.

“DOBBY WILL KILL ELF FOR ATTACKING HARRY POTTER!” he screamed.

“DOBBY STOP! I WANT YOU TO HELP HIM NOT KILL HIM!” Harry yelled, hoping he wouldn’t have to stun his friend.

Dobby suddenly stopped struggling, causing Harry to overbalance and nearly fall over.

“Harry Po-Potter,” he squeaked. “Harry Potter wants Dobby to help evil elf, even though he hurt Harry Potter?”

“Yes, Dobby,” sighed Harry, letting him go. “I want you to help him, if you can, please. He is insane, but he doesn’t deserve what has happened to him. It’s not his fault.”

Dobby looked at Harry for a second before bursting in loud sobs!

“Harry Potter is too great and noble,” he cried. “No wizard has ever treated house-elves like great, good, kind-”

“Stop, Dobby, please?” begged Harry. “Can you please just help him, or take him to somebody who can help him. Maybe the Hogwarts house-elves will be able to heal him?”

Dobby gave another sniff and walked over to the moaning Kreacher.

“Dobby will take the bad elf to Hogwarts sir, and be helping him get better, but other elves may refuse to help, or kill him if they hear what he has done.”

“Dobby, you tell them I asked them not to, please? Tell them it was because of his last masters, before Sirius. You remember what it is like to have bad masters Dobby, tell them it was not his fault.”

Harry had no idea why he was so bothered at the thought of the treacherous elf’s demise, but for some reason he didn’t want to be responsible for his death.

How can I possibly kill Voldemort if I can get so broken up about a lousy house-elf? Harry asked himself.

“Dobby will do as Harry Potter asks,” he said.

“Thank you Dobby, but there is something I need to ask him first. Can you help me?”

Dobby laid his hands on Kreacher's head and concentrated for a few moments. A slight glow seemed to cover the prone elf and immediately Kreacher began to stir. His eyes opened and he appeared to be able to see Harry and Dobby looking at him, but he did not speak.

“Kreacher? Kreacher I need to know what happened to Regulus. Can you tell me where Regulus went and what happened to him?”

Kreacher opened his mouth and appeared to be struggling to answer. Dobby brought a glass of water and tried to pour some into the old elf's mouth, but Kreacher battered him away.

“Kreacher knows, but Kreacher doesn't tell.”

Dobby nearly struck him. “KREACHER WILL TELL HIS MASTER EVERYTHING. MASTER HARRY WANTS TO HELP KREACHER!”

Kreacher turned his head and started muttering. Harry could barely make out his words.

“Kreacher keeps his promises to young Master Regulus he does. Young Master makes Kreacher promise on pain of death not to tell anybody about the bad cave. So Kreacher doesn't tell. Kreacher drinks the nasty drink, even though it makes him sick, he does. Kreacher is a good elf, he keeps Young Master's promises.”

Dobby leaped at Kreacher again and only Harry's quick reflexes stopped the enraged elf.

“Dobby STOP,” he yelled, struggling to keep Dobby back. “Listen to him, he is trying to tell me, but he has promised not to.”

Dobby stopped struggling, but looked sullen.

“Kreacher, did Regulus make you drink the green drink in the cave? Did he take the locket and leave a fake in its place?”

“Kreacher doesn't tell anybody about the locket.”

“Where is the locket? Where did Regulus put it?”

Suddenly the old elf burst in tears. Painful sobs ranked his body and Dobby had to grab him to keep him from falling off the table.

“Kreacher looses it he does. Blood traitors came, broke his mother's heart and threw it out he did. Blood traitors and Mudbloods killed the Mistress they did, and threw it out!”

“Kreacher's fault. Kreacher made Young master die by helping him. Kreacher murdered young master and broke the mistress's heart. Kreacher is good elf...”

The elf's voice faded away as he lapsed back into unconsciousness, but his appeared to be simply breathing, making Harry believe Dobby’s magic had already helped him.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Regulus had made Kreacher drink the potion hiding the locket, and the elf felt responsible for Regulus getting killed because he followed orders. No wonder he had gone mad. Between the potion, that was powerful enough to have severely weakened Dumbledore, the guilt at Regulus's murder, Mrs Black's subsequent insanity, and years of having to obey first her and then her portrait, it was nothing short of a miracle that Kreacher was still alive.

Unfortunately, even though he now knew for certain that Regulus had taken the Horcrux and was R.A.B., Harry was not much closer to finding out if it had been destroyed or was hidden somewhere; Kreacher would not be answering more questions anytime soon, if at all.

“Dobby can try to wake up nasty elf again, if Harry potter would like it,” offered Dobby, sounding a little too enthusiastic at the prospect for Harry to be entirely comfortable with it.

“No, let him sleep. See if you and the others can help him get better, Dobby, it's important.”

Dobby nodded, accepting Harry’s instructions.

“Dobby will always do what Harry Potter wants. He is honoured be helping!”

“Thank you Dobby,” said Harry, truly grateful for the elf’s help.

That Dobby was loyal to Harry to a fault was unquestionable. He may sometimes have been slightly misguided, but he would go to any lengths to help Harry. Thinking about this gave Harry an inspiration.

“Dobby, there is another thing you can do for me. It is very important, but I want you to tell me if you think it is not a good idea, all right?”

He briefly explained about the Fidelus charm and asked Dobby to be his Secret Keeper.

Dobby nearly burst with pride. It took minutes to calm him down enough to read the scroll and perform the spell.

Once it was done, Harry asked Dobby to write down the secret on several bits of paper so that Harry didn't need to call him everytime he wanted to let somebody in. That was when he discovered Dobby couldn't write.

“Dobby can read,” the house-elf said proudly. “Was necessary for doing things like shopping, but the bad masters never taught Dobby to write. He can make a few words, like on Christmas cards.”

Harry shook his head and laughed, but accepted that, for the moment, he was going to have call Dobby to give the secret to the few people he wanted to have access to his house. Harry wrote a list of people he wanted Dobby to visit to give the secret to, as soon as possible after taking care of Kreacher.

After he again thanked Dobby for his help, the elf stood pulling his ears, apparently wanting to ask Harry for something.

“What is it, Dobby?” he finally asked. “You can ask me anything, I wont get angry and will not have to punish yourself, not matter what it is.”

“Dobby is worried for Winky, Harry Potter sir. She be getting worse and doesn’t eat anymore. Dobby is having to use elf magic to keep her alive.”

Harry was shocked, but didn’t know what he could do. He had to ask Dobby for help with Kreacher, so what could he do for Winky?

“Winky is not liking being free, Harry Potter sir. Dobby has tried to show her, but she is so unhappy that she be dying. Dobby has failed. Everybody says no to a house-elf that has been given clothes and wants to die, so she has nowhere to go!”

He then burst into tears.

Harry tried calmed him down, even going as far as getting him a cup of tea to drink, but just the thought of a house-elf getting served was enough to send him off into hysterics again. Finally, Harry managed to get him to stop crying enough to say what it was he wanted.

“Dobby is asking Harry Potter sir if he would take Wink as his house-elf!” he said tearfully.

Somehow, Harry was surprised.

“Me? Why me?” he asked

“Harry Potter sir is having a large house and no elf because nasty elf is dying, and nasty elf is not good enough for Harry potter sir.”

Harry’s initial response was to say no. He could hear Hermione’s voice already, berating him for enslaving an elf, even if it meant saving her life.

The hopeful elf was shuffling from one foot to the other.

There was no way Harry could refuse.

“Dobby, I would be honoured to have Wink as my house-elf,” he sighed. “What do we have to do?”

Dobby squealed with delight and abruptly disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Harry stunned.

Another loud crack, and Dobby was back, but his time he was not alone. With one arm draped across his shoulders and obviously only standing up because Dobby was holding her, was a very skinny and ill looking Winky. She was still wearing the same little skirt and blouse with matching hat that Harry had last seen her in years before, but now it was so dirty and ragged that it was almost unrecognisable.

“Winky?” Harry asked.

Winky looked at Harry through glazed eyes. He guessed she was still into the butterbeer, which acted like a strong alcoholic drink for the elf.

“Winky!” he said loudly.

“Winky, Harry Potter is wanting to make you his elf!” said Dobby hopefully.

Winky raised her eyes, looking like she wanted to focus on Harry.

“Harry Potter – Harry Potter wants Winky to be his elf?” she asked in a slurred voice. “Why? Winky is a bad elf. Winky’s master is dead because Winky wasn’t there to care for him. Winky is a bad elf.”

It was time for more drastic action, decided Harry.

“Winky!” he snapped, making both elves jump. “Winky do you want to be my elf or not? I don’t have time to play with elves that don’t listen to me!”

Dobby looked fearfully at Harry and was about to say something. Harry gave a slight shake of his head and Dobby seemed to understand and, with a clearly visible effort, said nothing.

“Winky! For the last time, I need a house-elf and I want it to be you. Do you want to be a proper house-elf again and server a master in a large house?”

Winky’s eyes definitely gained focus as she stared at Harry.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Right then,” said Harry. “What do we have to do Dobby?”

“Nothing, Harry Potter sir. You are now Winky’s master.”

“Okay,” snapped Harry again, a bit surprised at the simple arrangement. “Winky, I am going to give you some orders now, and I expect you to start obeying them immediately, right?”

Winky nodded her head and tried to stand up on her own. She obviously wasn’t strong enough though and Dobby had to keep her upright.

“First things first then. You are to immediately stop drinking butterbeer or any other drink that incapacitates you, understand?”

Winky nodded again.

“Now, I will not have you staggering around here in your current condition, so you are to go with Dobby and you are to start eating properly and doing what Dobby tells you until you have regained your strength and can perform your duties like a proper house-elf, right?”

Winky’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded again.

“I want to be perfectly clear on this, Winky. You are not to return here until you have regained your health and strength. If you come back here before you are strong again, I will be very disappointed. You don’t want that, do you?”

Winky shook her head, eyes even wider.

“Once you are better, and not a second before, you are to return here and start to clean this house properly. I want every room to be clean, I don’t mind if there is a bit of dust here and there, after all, it is a big house, but I don’t want it to smell like a dump anymore, or for it to look like nobody lives here. Do you understand?”

Nod.

“Do you have any questions?”

Shake.

“Good. Now let Dobby take you back to Hogwarts, have a proper meal, get cleaned up, throw those disgusting clothes in the bin, and start taking care of yourself properly. You are my elf now.”

Winky nodded solemnly, and almost seemed to smile. Dobby looked like he was going to explode with joy.

There was a loud crack and the wizard was left alone.

Harry sat down and banged his head on the table.

“How am I going to tell Hermione?”

That night, after doing his best to heal his Kreacher inflicted injuries, he dreamed of searching Grimmauld Place for Horcruxes while being chased by a giant, mad house-elf who pelted him mercilessly with S.P.E.W badges.


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Chapter Eleven – The New Game

Harry was just turning back from releasing Hedwig out of a window with another letter, when there was loud crack, and Hermione unexpectedly appeared right in front of him.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop himself in time and collided with her, despite trying to change his direction at the last second.

“Eeeeeeiigh,’ said Hermione, as Harry bore down on her.

“Arrghhh,” said Harry, at the same time.

The armload of books she had been carrying went flying as she desperately grabbed onto him to stop herself from falling. Harry stumbled and threw his arms around her in reflex before his momentum and sudden twist spun them around as they fell over.

Hermione landed heavily on Harry, winding him with an elbow to the stomach. He gasped for air, but got a mouthful of the witch’s bushy hair for his trouble.

They lay there for a second, neither speaking in the stunned aftermath of the accident.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Harry brightly, once his breath returned and he had cleared the hair from his mouth.

“Hello, Harry,” said Hermione, ginning and propping herself up on his chest to look at him. “Is that what it is like for you when you use a Portkey or the Floo?”

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “I don’t usually have the luxury of landing on something as soft as my best friend.”

“Soft?” she said, trying to look serious but failing as her grin widened. “I think you should consider revising your definition if you consider your bony ribs as something soft!”

“Really? I suppose yours are better?” he asked.

Then he grabbed her and started tickling.

She squealed and tried to roll off him, causing them both to roll further along the floor, laughing as Harry relentlessly tortured her. Her feeble attempts to escape or retaliate were severely hindered by Harry’s superior strength and pre-emptive strike.

Eventually he relented and let her get up, but only after she had loudly admitted that his ribs were in fact of the appropriate softness, and that her own sharp angles were the cause of their shared pain as she had clumsily Apparated in on top of him.

Settling down, Harry quickly filled her in on finding out Regulus was R.A.B, but omitted any mention of Kreacher's attack and subsequent injuries. She became just as excited as Harry had been and insisted he take her up to see the tapestry, even though it offered no further help.

“You have done a really good job here, Harry,” she complimented, indicating the furniture inside the tent he had hastily erected in one of the many empty bed rooms of the manor.

Trying to sleep in the huge, memory filled house had proven difficult for Harry, so, after hours of waging a loosing battle for sleep, he had set up the tent and retreated to its much more comforting surrounds.

Over a butterbeer, he explained about wanting to practice nonverbal spells and demonstrated his increased proficiency. Hermione was impressed and even appeared to be a little proud of his progress.

She also gave his book collection a quick going over, snorting with laughter when he showed her some of rediscovered, long forgotten graffiti in the older school texts, before showing him the volumes she had brought with her.

“I am still on holidays with my parents,” she explained. “I have a few hours tonight while they are out for dinner, but I haven’t been able to do much. Of course it’s not night here yet. Anyway, I think Ron has been too busy helping with the wedding to do anything.”

Harry laughed, wondering what Ron could be doing except getting in the way.

“He is desperate to get out of the Burrow, but nobody will Apparate him over and he knows it is too dangerous to just come walking in.”

“Why doesn’t he just do it on his own?” Harry asked.

“He is too scared,” Hermione answered, shyly. “He is worried that, since he lost that eyebrow, he might not be able to do it at all. A lot of witches and wizards can’t Apparate you know. There is even a whole branch of research investigating if it is just psychological, or if it is something magical that stops them from being able to.”

Harry guessed that Hermione had been looking into it; her words had that sort of a ring to them. It would be just like Hermione to research Ron’s fear, like it was a fascinating school project rather than a slightly embarrassing personal problem.

He browsed through the books she brought. Most of them were about the Hogwarts Founders with a magical antique collector’s journal called ‘Ancient Artefacts’ and a book about day to day lives of a thousand years ago.

“I have found lots of possible things that he could have made his other Horcrux out of,” she told him, showing the page markers she had filled the books with. “But it is almost impossible to track any of them.”

Harry flipped through a few pages of drawings of various items ranging from belt buckles to quills. Although some where quite ornate, it would be easy to dismiss most of them as ordinary everyday objects.

“So I think the best thing to do is to continue along the same way the headmaster was. We should try and track where You-Know-Who has been. If we can find the hiding spots, we will find the Horcruxes, not matter what they are.”

“I agree,” he said. “I was just thinking the same thing last night.”

Harry then filled her in on his plan to attend the wedding, something that she admitted they had all been discussing and worrying about.

“It doesn’t really matter if you are seen there, Harry,” she tried to reassure him. “Eventually somebody is going to work out the three of us are together. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Sure, but the longer we can keep it a secret, the safer everybody will be,” he argued.

“Everybody except for you,” she said pointedly. “You will seem like an easier target if you are apparently alone.”

He hadn’t really considered that, and didn’t want to now, so he changed the subject to talk about Dumbledore’s legacy and his idea of putting the memories directly into his own head.

Hermione was horrified.

“It is way too big a risk,” she said. “Anything could go wrong, you could serious damage yourself, and you will probably destroy the memory.”

Harry was disappointed by her rejection of his idea, but agreed to not try anything until they had explored every avenue.

“I’ll write some letters of enquiry,” she said. “I’ll pretend we are looking for an expensive present for Bill and Fleur.”

“Meanwhile,” he added darkly, “there is always Knockturn Alley to try.”

He was a bit surprised when she didn’t immediately object.

“I am not sure of Borgin and Burkes are still open after the cabinet incident,” she said thoughtfully. “But I bet there are a few other stores, or people, that might be able to help you. We can always just go to Hogwarts and ask Professor McGonagall too, as a last resort.”

Hedwig flew into the room as the two teenagers sat talking, and landed on Harry, making sure he noticed her. He took the letter she carried and opened it up.

“It’s from Neville,” he told Hermione. “He’s in.”

*

Hermione Apparated to Ron's house and returned with him a while later.

The redheaded young man was extremely happy to be away from the wedding-mad house and accepted a butterbeer from Harry gratefully.

“Wish I had a place of me own,” he said, as they lounged around. “Be nice to have a bathroom to myself for a change.”

Hermione frowned at Ron, but didn’t say anything. Harry just laughed, although he was nervous that Ron might suffer another bout of jealousy over their wealth difference.

“Don’t know what you are complaining about, Ron,” he said. “At least you can leave and go outside. In some ways I was better off at the Dursley's - At least there I could go do some gardening.”

“Let's go visit that fat cousin of yours; I was looking forward to practicing some hexes on him,” suggested the redhead. “I got a couple of real special ones from Fred and George to try out on him.”

“Ron!” protested Hermione. “That’s Muggle baiting and illegal.”

“Don’t worry mate, I already got him pretty good,” Harry assured him.

Harry proceeded to tell them about his Dudley encounter. Ron laughed so hard he fell off the lounge and Hermione giggled despite trying hard not to.

“I would have paid to have seen that,” Ron said, gasping for breath.

“So how is the wedding going?” Harry asked, ignoring Hermione’s urgent signalling not to.

For the next twenty minutes he endured Ron’s ranting about mad women and the insanity that the word ‘marriage’ must provoke. Harry gathered that things had not been smooth sailing between Bill’s fiancé and Mrs. Weasley, despite the latter’s acceptance of the inevitability of the marriage.

The biggest bone of contention had been the location of the ceremony and subsequent celebration.

Mrs Weasley had tried to insist on having everything at the Burrow, but the Delacour family had an unbroken tradition dating back several hundred years of all being married in a particular magical grove in France, and since it was Fleur’s wedding, she decided that it was going to be held there.

“I thought that part was settled,” said Ron, “but then she goes and tells us the whole has to be done in the nude, and not just for the bridal party, but for all the guests as well!”

Harry sprayed his drink all over the room.

“Oh my,” was all that Hermione said.

Mrs Weasley had fainted at hearing that.

Finally Fleur had agreed to a less traditional ceremony, but only because Bill had asked her nicely and promised her something special for the honeymoon.

Due to the war, both had agreed to limit the number of people at the reception severely, but Harry and Hermione were invited due to being such close friends with Ron. The reception itself was to be held at an undisclosed castle that was being secretly prepared for the festivities with a lot of extra security. Guests would be taken by Portkey at a specific time, and return keys had been arranged.

They went over Harry’s plan to attend in fine detail and could find no major flaws with it. It wasn’t perfect, but it should work. He would be leaving from the Burrow with Ron, Hermione and the Weasleys that were not part of the bridal party, after first going to Neville's.

Ron and Hermione could get ready at Grimmauld Place and Apparate directly to Ron's house.

“It’s a bit dangerous, for Dobby I mean, isn’t it?” Hermione piped up suddenly changing the subject. “I mean, making him your secret keeper.”

“Yeah, mate,” said Ron. “He is not exactly the brightest star in the sky. Got his wand pointed backwards a bit that one.”

“Ron!”

“Oh, come on, Hermione. He is downright strange, or are you forgetting that he turned on his last masters in order to nearly kill Harry?”

“He was protecting Harry!”

“And doing a great job of it too I must say, what with the broken arm and all. He’ll probably go and tell the Ministry where Harry is, just so that they can protect him too.”

“I am sure he is perfectly trustworthy,” Hermione said, but her tone made Harry feel she actually thought Ron had made a good point. “What’s more important is that if anybody finds out he is Harry’s secret keeper, they might try and force the secret out of him. It is very dangerous, not to mention taking advantage of him when he hero worships you.”

“Trust me, Hermione,” Harry said to the worried looking young witch. “I don’t want anything to happen to Dobby, but he is pretty safe while he is working at Hogwarts, and nobody would suspect him, especially not Death Eaters. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah,” added Ron. “And you could always pay him to do it for you.”

“That’s a great idea, Ron,” agreed Hermione.

“It is?” he asked, taken aback that Hermione had taken his joking suggestion seriously.

“Yes. Harry, you could pay Dobby to be your secret keeper, that way he isn’t giving up any of his freedom at all.”

Harry groaned inwardly, imaging how well Dobby would take the news that Harry wanted to pay him for a job he had agreed to take on as a friend.

Maybe I’ll just hire him outright, thought Harry. That will keep them both happy.

The revelation of Harry finding out who R.A.B. was, got Ron very excited as they explored the possibilities presented by the knowledge. Ron agreed to try and find out more about Regulus from his parents without being obvious, while Hermione was already making plans to try and find out where he his body had been discovered after his murder. All three of them agreed it was highly unlikely that he had the Horcrux with him, or that Voldemort had found out Regulus had discovered his secret, since the fake locket had been left in the cave.

Soon it was time for Hermione to return to her parents. She offered to side-along Ron back to his house, but Harry convinced him to stay for a while longer and Floo back, considering the risk of the Floo network being watched to be fairly minimal.

“What's this rot with you not Apparating?” Harry asked, as soon as Hermione had left. “Have you told her you have your licence?”

Ron shook his head, his face turning the shade of red that signified he was embarrassed.

If Ron couldn't Apparate, they could be in real trouble. Not only would it be difficult to escape if they were to get into a fight, but some of the places they were likely to go might not have any other means of getting there, aside from Muggle ones. Moody's words about possibly becoming winded performing side-along Apparition were worrying enough to Harry to make him determined to push Ron into getting over whatever issue he had.

“I just, well, er, you know.”

“No, Ron, I don't. Explain it to me.”

“What if I splinch myself again?” Ron finally said in a rush.

“Then we'll have something funny to laugh about for weeks,” Harry laughed unsympathetically. “Now get up and Apparate to the kitchen or I'll hex you.”

“What? Wait-”

“Too late!” Harry cried, as he fired off a burst of water at Ron and then Apparated away.

He waited two minutes, then Apparated back and hit Ron again from the other side.

“Bloody hell!” yelled a very startled and slightly wet Ron. “I was just about to go, you could have killed me!”

“Do it now or get wet, Ron,” Harry said, hitting him with a burst of freezing cold water a third time before Apparating away again.

He was about to go back for another shot when there was a loud crack and Ron suddenly appeared in front of him.

“I did it!” Ron yelled excitedly.

“Well done,” Harry yelled back. Then hit him again and Apparated away laughing.

“That's it!” snarled Ron furiously, before Apparating out after him.

And thus was born the highly dangerous, but very exciting, game of Apparition tag.


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Chapter Twelve – Three’s Company

Hermione and Ron returned almost every day. Hermione only stayed a few hours at a time, but Ron spent the better part of each day and even some nights with Harry, possibly because he was still trying to avoid the ‘insanity of matrimony’ as he liked to refer to it when Hermione was not around.

Tonks and Lupin both stopped in regularly to check up on Harry, but seeing he was well accompanied, they were only too happy to disappear again, presumedly to spend more time alone together.

Ron was even more easily bored by the research than Harry, despite the many breaks they took, and Harry was increasingly more irritated by his inaction and lack of real progress. Although he itched to get out searching for the disconnected parts of Voldemort’s soul, he knew it would be harder than finding a Crup at a cat-show.

So they agreed to spend some more time practicing nonverbal spells by cleaning the house, despite Ron’s alleged allergy to housework, while searching for anything to do with Regulus. There was only a slight possibility he had left any clues behind, but they had to try, and at least it gave them something to do.

As usual, the work involved a fair bit of horseplay, and lots of Reparo spells, especially whenever they found an infestation of some pest or another that had to be dealt with using slightly more violent spells. There was a definite improvement in their nonverbal abilities, along with a noticeable increase in their casting proficiency of many of the domestic spells Hogwarts had only taught them in passing.

“Fat load of good it will do to be able to cast a really good Scourify silently,” joked Ron, “unless the Death Eater is mortally afraid of being clean!”

“Should work on Snape then, or his hair at least,” said Harry, sweeping a section of floor with a soft wind charm.

Ron was shocked to silence for a second at Harry’s flippant comment, but burst out laughing and added that half of the Slytherin house was probably in trouble now they had mastered a way of getting them clean involuntarily.

Harry did agree with Ron’s original point though, so they set aside some time to practice duelling in the largest bedroom, the one that Buckbeak had lived in during his stay.

As they practiced, Harry’s mind kept wandering back to the duel with Snape. He had been defeated so easily, and it really galled him. A stinging hex to the side of his head wrenched him painfully out of his memories as he dropped his wand in a reflex reaction to the curse.

“What happened to you?” Ron asked him, after performing the counter spell. “You weren’t even looking.”

Harry grumbled and explained how he had gotten distracted thinking about the solid thrashing Snape had given him.

“The git wasn’t even trying,” he complained. “He just stood there insulting me and brushing aside every spell I threw at him, sometimes before I could even finish casting it.”

Ron sat down next to Harry on the floor.

“Remember that time he tried to curse you and you threw him into the desk with your shield?” Ron asked, smiling at the memory. “He couldn’t stop that one.”

“Yeah, well, it must have been a fluke, because I didn’t even get close last time. He could tell exactly what I was going to cast, even when I didn’t say the words. It had to be Legilimency.”

“You been practicing Occlumency?” asked Ron.

Harry nodded, but he knew all his ‘clear your mind’ practice was not going to help him in a fight. None of the books he owned gave very much in the way of helpful advice, either being too vague to be understood or expecting the person reading them to already be versed in the discipline.

“Well the only thing to do then is get faster,” said Ron. “Throw enough at him fast enough and I doubt if he could stop it all, but you are going to have to make sure you don’t just drift off like you did a few minutes ago!”

They resumed practicing, Harry sacrificing the more complicated spells for the simple strategy of overloading Ron in the way he had suggested.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled, then dodged to one side to avoid Ron’s attack and almost instantly cast a silent Levicorpus. The second spell was on its way before the red light of the first spell had even reached Ron.

Ron batted away the Stupefy, but was caught out by the second nonverbal spell and found himself hoisted into the air. Unfortunately for Harry, that didn’t stop the upside down wizard from continuing to fight, although it did seriously disrupt his aim and ability to dodge.

Ron started firing wildly in Harry’s general direction, apparently hoping to catch him with a lucky shot. The pure randomness of the attack nearly payed off as Harry threw himself to one side only to nearly get hit by a spell that had been nowhere near the mark. The extra second he lost in recovering from the lucky shot cost him dearly as Ron managed to cast his own Levicorpus. For a stunned moment they stared at each other, both hanging upside on opposite sides of room, but then both immediately started casting furiously again, each trying to get the other first.

Just as Harry managed to land an Expelliarmus and disarm Ron, he himself collected a bludgeoning hex to the shoulder, causing his wand to drop from his hand as his whole arm went numb at the brutal blow.

“Any idea how long this spell lasts?” asked Ron, after watching Harry make yet another futile attempt to reach his wand.

“Nope, but I sure hope it finishes before Hermione gets here,” answered Harry trying to use his shirt like a fishing line to hook his wand.

When Hermione discovered they had been spending more time ‘playing’ than researching, she immediately drew up some training plans for them, causing Ron to moan. “And no more duelling when it is just the two of you here,” she insisted, although Harry suspected she knew exactly how futile that order was.

“It’s just like we were back at school!” Ron complained secretly to Harry. “Classes and schedules and homework and such. She had better not be planing on testing us.”

Harry tended to agree with him, but had to admit some of the exercises Hermione had copied from various defence books sounded interesting. He found he was particularly good at one where he had to stand perfectly still and use shields and counter spells only, while Ron got to randomly fire different spells at him. Harry discovered the momentary panic of having to decide whether to cast a shield or a counter was very exciting, especially since Ron never repeated the same pattern of spells twice.

Ron liked it too, although only because he got to curse Harry a lot more times than would normally happen in a duel between the two. He wasn’t so keen on taking the place of the target though, his shield being nowhere near as strong.

They even made a visit to Diagon alley, both wearing disguises, to stock up on Harry’s ‘Meals in a Tin’ collection and butterbeer supplies. Ron was openly shocked at the price of the food, but Harry was happy to pay for the convenience and intrigued by some of the choices, like the camel-hump pie and haggis.

Harry was glad to see more people out and about. Squads of Aurors casually walked the streets, stopping to have a friendly chat with random people as they went. The difference that small change made to people’s attitudes astounded him, although Ron found it a bit annoying when a group stopped them as they left the supermarket loaded with their supplies.

“Hello, boys,” the lead Auror said. “Bit young to be out and about alone aren’t you?”

“We’re of age,” answered Ron defensively.

“And we are meeting our parents a bit further down the road,” added Harry hastily. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention or have a confrontation. “We got stuck lugging the bags,” he explained, indicating the bags full of shrunken groceries.

The Aurors laughed, but cautioned them to not spend too much time alone in the streets. They offered to escort them back to their parents, but Harry waved them off with a story about wanting to secretly duck into Quality Quidditch Supplies, earning another good-natured laugh from the squad.

They did duck into the Quidditch store, and Harry bought a set of second hand Quidditch practice balls. They spent some time marvelling at the new brooms, and discussed if he should buy a couple of the best brooms for Ron and Hermione to ride, during their ‘quest’, as Ron had taken to calling it.

It surprised Harry that Ron was willing to let him spend such an amount without getting jealous or thinking Harry was buying him off, but didn’t comment about his friend’s new attitude for fear of stirring up a Thestral nest of trouble.

In the end, they couldn’t agree on which brooms to get. The newer, faster models were expensive enough to make Harry do a double take, and Ron made a persuasive argument against them.

“Great for playing Quidditch,” he said. “But we are not going to be playing Quidditch.”

“Speed and agility are probably going to be important, especially if we are dodging spells or Dementors or something, but how well do you think these brooms can take a hit? They are not made for it.”

“Look at what happened to your Nimbus 2000 when it met the Whomping Willow; toothpicks. And don’t forget how you fell off it.”

“We want something a bit more robust, even if it isn’t as flashy. The brooms they sell here are the best in world for Quidditch, but they are not made to take into a fight.”

Harry reluctantly agreed, trusting Ron’s superior knowledge of brooms. He still felt speed and agility would be the deciding factors in a fight, but Ron promised to show him some books about Auror brooms from around the world.

They also picked up a small radio, and a few other bits and pieces, including more books on defence, historical antiques, the Hogwarts Founders, and Quidditch, of course.

Meanwhile, Hermione’s dedication to research and study had reached new heights. She pushed herself relentlessly and tried to get Ron and Harry to do the same, with very limited success.

It took drastic measures to convince her to join in a game of Apparition tag.

She was at first appalled at their blatant disregard for safety, but after having Harry or Ron repeatedly appear nearby and hit her with various hexes and jinxes before Disapparating away again, she growled in frustration and joined in with a vengeance.

“Lucky shot!” claimed Ron, a short while later as he tried the counter to a jinx that had fused his legs together. He was hampered by another jinx that was making his arms shake violently, and by the green hair sprouting in long, curly ribbons from his nose down to where his knees should have been.

“That’s what I said too,” Harry said solemnly, whilst glued spreadeagled and upside down on a wall, six feet off the ground and with ferociously itchy, short blue hair covering his entire body.

Worried about possibly having to go to St Mungos for treatment if they kept it up, the three agreed to limit the game to stupefy spells and shields, but they both had to be cast silently or the rule breaker would suffer a jelly legs or itching curse as penalty.

Any hex or curse could be used when they were duelling in the largest bedroom though. Harry selected various new spells from his collections of books and the three of them practiced each day against each other. Hermione also insisted they learn a few more healing spells and a lot more about fixing splinches, since she was sure it was only a matter of time before one of them came apart, literally.

“What difference does it make if I can’t un-splinch as well as you, Hermione?” Ron asked, after one practice session. “Just so long as I can find whichever part of Harry he has left behind, you can always stick it back on later.”

Harry laughed as his best friends once again started bickering, then Apparated himself away to avoid having to listen to it anymore.

Hermione’s shriek at his sudden move was still fading away when he reappeared in the kitchen. She still hadn’t gotten used to Harry and Ron just popping around, and probably wouldn’t for a while.

Compared to the two boys, the twins had been practically restrained after they learned to Apparate.

Their use of other magic was rampant too. Continuing the tradition they had established in the tent on Privet Drive, they used spells for every conceivable situation, and, at Harry’s insistence, always tried silently first. Hermione never had to repeat a spell, but both Harry and Ron often took multiple tries to make things work, especially new spells they had not practiced often.

Books floated, following them around, pens wrote without a hand holding them, food and drink appeared regularly, sometimes without anyone remembering who it was that summoned it!

Harry grabbed a few butterbeers from the fridge and decided to walk back, just to keep Hermione on edge.

He entered the room, but stopped before saying anything. Ron and Hermione were sitting side by side on the same couch with their backs to him. He quietly started to sneak up to give them a scare, since they were probably waiting for him to Apparate back.

“Are you staying until the Wedding now?” Ron asked, sounding suspiciously hopeful.

Hermione gave him a thoughtful look before answering.

“Yes,” she said. “My parents are currently on a romantic cruise in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, so I can stay for a few days.”

“Can you stay here with us?” Ron asked, just a little too eagerly. He seemed to realise his enthusiasm had come through in his voice though, and quickly tried to play it down. “Er, I mean it just seems silly for you to stay at your house, alone, when you can stay here, with us.”

“Sure,” she said, almost shyly.

“Excellent,” said Ron, with a huge grin.

Harry thought the exchange was little unusual, but didn’t comment. They had been dancing around each other for at least half of the last year but didn’t seem to have progressed any further in their relationship.

“Butterbeers!” he called out loudly, from about a foot away of where they sat.

Hermione gave her loudest shriek yet, and jumped so high she lost her grip on the book she was holding. Ron fell completely off the couch.

Harry laughed and levitated them their drinks, knowing they would get him back eventually, probably when he was least expecting it.

Although Ron and Hermione bickered frequently, there was a real argument when she started talking about arranging for Ron to get his Apparition license at the same time as Harry, and they finally told her about already having them.

While she was happy that Harry had taken and passed his test, she was a bit upset at Ron for not doing it.

“Why, Hermione?” he asked. “You can clearly see that I can Apparate.”

To prove the point, he twirled on the spot and shifted a few feet away with a loud double crack. With their frequent practice, they had become proficient, but Harry was impressed at how smoothly Ron performed the short-haul jump; it was like watching their instructor at Hogwarts.

“That’s not the point, Ron,” she argued. “You should have taken the test, just to prove to yourself that you could do it.”

Ron clearly didn’t understand her logic, and frankly, neither did Harry.

“Do you want me to give it back and go do the test again?” he asked. “Would that make you happy?”

“No,” she snapped.” There is no point since you can obviously pass now.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Hermione huffed and tried a different explanation.

“Ron, what happens the next time you have to take a test or do something under pressure?” she asked. “If you have faced the stress of the test and passed, you would be better prepared for the next time.”

“Hermione,” Ron answered, rather patronisingly. “I am not planing on taking any more tests, but if I do, it is not going to make any difference since, I know I can Apparate without having to pass a stupid test!”

Harry decided they were getting far too serious, so deliberately broke the rules by squirting them both a magically conjured stream of water and then quickly Apparating away laughing.

It only took them three minutes to catch him, but they left him pinned to the wall where the house-elf heads used to be for at least three times that long.

“What about Egypt?” asked Harry, during one of their all too frequent research sessions. “Everybody knows that the pharaohs were mad keen on staying alive forever. It seems pretty reasonable to expect Riddle went there and had a look to see what they discovered.”

Hermione agreed it was a possibility, but Ron, surprisingly, thought it unlikely.

“I can tell you one thing for sure,” he said. “There was nothing like that in the bits we saw. Crazy beggars pulled their brains out of their noses with pointy sticks and pickled them, thinking they could use them again when they came back!”

Harry found the foreign country almost as interesting as Hermione did, although she was really only interested in the magic the ancients had used to protect their crypts. He soon lost himself in the stories and tales of a culture so unlike anything he had ever encountered before, that it was another world to him. The extent of his immersion only became evident when he noticed it was suddenly too dark to read, and looked up to find Ron had been slowly enclosing him inside a magically constructed pyramid of books.

He did uncover a few salient facts amongst the legends and folklore, including the information that mummies were actually the oldest form of Inferi. The bandages and steps taken to preserve the bodies had originally been to keep the un-dead creatures for falling apart too quickly once they had been reanimated.

“That’s a lovely thought,” said Ron. “Riddle probably went there to learn all about it then. I mean, who better to learn from than the guys who invented it?”

Without a more solid lead on where to look or what to look for, they agreed a trip was premature, but Ron promised to ask Bill about the country a bit more, since he had spent years working on unopened tombs, but not until the honeymoon was over.

Harry felt quite disappointed at not having a reason to go, but knew waiting until they had something more solid to look into was probably the right thing to do.

Still, he felt a certain pull, an unusual longing to visit the Land of the Pharaohs, and so decided that he would one day walk the ancient places and discover the secrets of the sands for himself. It was the first time he could ever recall making plans for the future that did not involve Hogwarts, Dark Wizards, Quidditch, or a fiery red haired witch.

As the day of the wedding quickly approached, Ron tried to convince Harry to go to Bill’s ‘Stag Party’, but Harry was definitely not in the mood.

To his horror, Hermione looked like she wanted to ‘talk’, but Harry saw Ron give her a warning glance when he thought Harry wasn’t looking, and the matter never came up.

Instead, she decided to go and keep Ginny company, since the younger girl would not be going to the ‘Hen’s Night’ with Fleur because she was still underage. It didn’t surprise Harry or Ron that Hermione was not at all interest in going to the party herself.

Although he was used to having the house to himself most nights, Harry felt strangely lonely. He was glad to have a few books on Egyptian magic and history to browse through, but it didn’t quite fill the void of his missing friends that night.

Going to bed early proved to be a mistake. Instead of drifting off into a peaceful slumber, he dreamed of finding Horcruxes in the cupboard under the stairs of Privet Drive. When he tried to take them out, either Petunia or Vernon would force him to put them back, while Dumbledore watched silently, shaking his head sadly at Harry’s failure.

Between the dream-come-nightmare, and the mixed feelings of dread and anticipation, he barely slept at all.


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Chapter Thirteen – A Welcome Reception

The day of the wedding finally dawned, and Ron and Harry were rudely awoken by Hermione dumping water onto them.

“Come on,” she shouted, “Hurry up. We have only four hours to get ready!”

“Four hours,” said Ron, not even bothering to get off his bed before waving his wand to get rid of the water. “Hermione, you have completely lost the plot? We don’t need four hours to get ready. Call us when we have twenty minutes okay?”

Ron had staggered in very late, or quite early, depending on how you looked at it.

“No, Ron, Harry has to go to Neville’s and get ready there, remember? He can’t just show up then disappear. That is just rude.”

“Besides, you have been sleeping all morning; I have been up for hours.”

Harry heard Ron grumbled about having nothing to do with Harry getting ready, and personally he agreed, but he figured he was probably better off, since Ron had gone to bed very late.

“Hey, Ron, why did you come to bed so late?”

“Good party,” he answered.

“Are you hung over?”

“Nah, Charlie gave me a potion, said it would fix me up. He was right too; I don’t feel bad at all.”

“Did you drink much?”

“Nope, just a few little glasses. Teeny, tiny, little glasses. Barely a mouthful.”

“How many little glasses did you drink?”

“Um, lots?” Ron answered, with a grin.

Harry laughed and conjured another bucket of water onto him before Apparating downstairs to make some breakfast.

The trio ate a large meal and went over the plan for the day.

“So, Hermione and I go to the Burrow and wait for you there. You are going to Apparate to Diagon alley, Floo to Neville’s, get ready, then Floo to the Burrow, right?” asked Ron.

“That’s it.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just get ready here and Apparate directly to the Burrow with us. I reckon you’ve been spending too much time with Mad-eye Moody.”

“Honestly, Ronald, sometimes I think you say these things on purpose, just to exasperate me,” declared Hermione.

“She’s on to you, mate,” said Harry seriously. “It’s time to change tactics.”

Hermione disappeared to start getting ready, while Ron and Harry finished breakfast and cleaned up. There was still plenty of time to play a few games of exploding snap while listening to the radio before they actually had to move.

“Right,” said Harry, as one of his watch alarms (a roster crowing) went off. He grabbed his backpack and stood up. “I’m off. Don’t get in her way and make sure you are ready on time, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” answered Ron dismissively. “You just make sure to be careful and we’ll catch you at the Burrow. Say howdy to Neville for us.”

Harry applied his disguise before Apparating into the alley way behind the Leaky Cauldron. Neville had told him the name to say when he stepped into the flames, but he wasn’t ready for what waited at the other end.

“Longbottom House,” he said, stepping into the flames and closing his eyes, as usual, but instead of a few seconds of spinning mayhem and the inevitable sudden stop that almost always threw him to the ground, the spinning stopped, but the roar of the flames kept going.

Harry opened his eyes and found he was standing in a fireplace, surrounded by green flames, but he couldn’t step forward into the room he could see dimly.

“Harry?” It was Neville’s voice.

“Neville!” called Harry feeling slightly panicky. “Help, I am stuck!”

Neville walked into view and stared closely at Harry.

“It’s the new security Gran had put on the Floo. You can’t get through until somebody here authorises it. You look different, Harry.”

“I am in disguise Nev. Now let me through, this is freaking me out.”

Neville seem to think about it for a moment.

“What was the thing of mine you saved from Malfoy in our first year? No, wait! Everybody knows that story. I know. What did you put in the last drink you gave me?”

“Hair! I put my hair in it!”

Neville smiled and tapped the mantelpiece of the fire with his wand. Instantly Harry was thrown forward and landed face first on a thick mat.

“Thanks,” he said, looking up at his friend.

“You’re welcome, Harry. Do you realise that disguise isn’t very good?”

“So I have been told,” said Harry.

Neville nodded seriously, glad Harry already knew about the failings of his current look.

“Gran wants to say hello.”

Harry hadn’t been expecting this, but since Neville was once again doing Harry a massive favour, he knew it was not a big thing to do in return.

He nodded, removed his disguise, and went to meet the esteemed Mrs Longbottom senior.

He had briefly met her once before, in St Mungos, when he had been visiting Ron’s dad. At that time she had come across to as a formidable woman and that impression was only reinforced after meeting her in her own home.

They shared some tea and she spoke with him about many things, especially the return of Voldemort and the ‘current troubles’, but also about Hogwarts and even Harry’s parents, who Mrs Longbottom had known through their association with Neville’s parents.

Harry mostly nodded and agreed, only occasionally venturing an opinion of his own when asked for it.

Neville sat quietly drinking his tea, and Harry got the impression he was used to being ‘seen but not heard from’. Harry slipped a compliment about Neville into the conversation, and was rewarded with a huge smile from the shy boy.

“He is certainly growing into the man his father was,” his Gran agreed.

Mrs Longbottom pointed to a paper on the table in front of her. It was the one Harry had seen in the car with Percy featuring him on the front page with Penelope.

“Tell me, Mr Potter,” she said. “Have you really thrown you lot in with the Ministry then?”

Harry was torn. He didn’t want to say anything that might compromise the charade Percy was undertaking, but he felt a strange need to impress Neville’s Gran.

“Mrs. Longbottom,” he started, feeling rather silly at trying to sound a bit formal. “I am sure you appreciate the need for some secrecy, especially in the current climate?”

“Of course,” she said, obviously intrigued at Harry’s answer.

“Then let me say just one thing – looks can be deceiving, and I know that you know better than to believe everything you read in the paper.”

Mrs Longbottom looked penetratingly at Harry for a few seconds, and then smiled.

“Indeed, Mr Potter. I think I understand.”

Harry’s watch went off again (appropriately, a wedding anthem), and he apologised for having to take his leave of her to get ready to go. Neville took him to his room where a set of excellent quality dress robes had been laid out.

“Neville, you know if there is ever anything I can do for you, you just have to ask,” he said honestly.

“Actually, Harry, there is one thing,” Neville said, suddenly looking very serious. “When you find Bellatrix Lestrange, don’t hesitate to kill her.”

To say Harry was shocked would be an understatement.

“Neville you can’t...”

“No, Harry. I know what I am asking. I intend on hunting her down myself, but the chances are you will come across her first, and you’ll have a better chance anyway.”

“I know you are going up against you-know-who, don’t ask me how, but I do. When you get close to him, you are going to find her. I want you to promise me, if you get the chance, you will kill her. She doesn’t deserve any mercy, and if you want to do something for me, do that.”

Harry was flabbergasted.

“Don’t think about it now, Harry,” he said, handing over a small pouch. “Do what you have to do, but remember what I asked. When the time comes, don’t feel guilty and don’t hesitate. I don’t want you to put yourself in any danger trying to get her, I just want you to take the opportunity if you get it, okay?”

Harry took the pouch; it contained a handful of hair.

“Yeah, okay, Neville,” he said, looking the once nervous and shy boy in the eye. “I owe her one too, but, I’ll help you track her down and we can both have a go at taking her out, okay?”

Neville smiled, and to Harry it appeared slightly feral.

“Even better,” he agreed.

Harry stripped and dropped a few hairs into the hip flask he had brought with him before swallowing a mouthful. Soon the agony of transformation was over and he lay on the ground panting.

“Damn, Harry, I think you were right; it is harder to watch,” said Neville.

“Not from where I am lying,” Harry answered dryly.

Quarter of an hour later, Harry, was dressed in Neville’s best dress robes, and looking rather handsome, for Neville that is.

“Hey, I scrub up not too bad!” laughed Neville, standing back to look at his duplicate.

“Nice robes, Nev. I have got to get myself a set of these.”

The shimmering material made every movement result in a flowing pattern of reflection across the robes.

They joked for a while longer until another alarm went off on Harry’s watch and it was time to leave. Neville took Harry back to the Floo, where Mrs. Longbottom was waiting.

She looked at Harry and smiled.

“Mr Potter, although I had my worries when Neville informed me of this plan, I must say that seeing you in those robes makes me want to force Neville to start frequenting something more formal than these frequent little rendezvous he keeps attending.”

She smiled brightly, ignoring both Harry and Neville’s involuntary blush at her compliment.

“Now, Mr Potter, I am sure you will conduct yourself in a manner that would make a Longbottom proud. After all, everything you do while wearing my Grandson’s image reflects on my family. Please keep that in mind and behave accordingly.”

“I will do my best, Mrs. Longbottom,” answered Harry nervously.

Thanking them both again, he tossed a pinch of Floo powder into fire and stepped through to the Burrow.

Somebody he didn’t know caught him as he fell out of the Floo at the other end.

“Whoa there big fella,” said the voice of his saviour.

Harry disentangled himself and looked at the wizard. He was about Bill’s age, and didn’t have red hair, so Harry guessed it was one of the groomsmen or a guest.

Ron had told Harry the male half of the bridal party would be leaving from the Burrow, but the idea of somebody other than a Weasley or somebody else he already knew being there hadn’t really sunk in.

“Now, what’s your name then?” the wizard asked, holding up a parchment and a quill.

“Har- ah,’ Harry coughed to cover his near blunder. “Neville, Neville Longbottom.”

“Right,” said the man, checking off Neville’s name from the list. “Head out that door and follow the noise until you get to where the crowd is. The rest of the people leaving by Portkey will be out there. Next one leaves in twenty minutes.”

Harry proceeded outside and joined a crowd of people that included Fred and George Weasley. He was greeted loudly by the twins and something in their manner suggested to Harry that they knew exactly who he was. Ron’s other brother, Charlie, appeared to be keeping his distance, making Harry even more suspicious about who knew he was there.

The twins took him on a whirlwind introduction tour, bombarding him with names of cousins, second cousins and their siblings, effectively preventing him from remembering even one. There was an odd smattering of red haired individuals that, in total, made an inordinate number of them in one place.

Harry was introduced by the duo as ‘Nev, a classmate of Ron’s and friend of the family’. The twins even managed to mention that Neville had fought in the Department of Mysteries as well as the battle where Bill was injured. This brought some unwanted attention that made Harry squirm, but had the twins smiling broadly as they sung his praises.

A quick search around revealed Ron and Hermione had not arrived yet. With only a few minutes to go for the Portkey, Harry was starting to get worried. He was about to split from the group and go looking for them when George pointed out a well-dressed couple walking arm in arm down the lane towards them.

“There you go Nev, nothing to worry about. They just took the scenic route,” he said.

It was then that Harry realised the handsome couple was Ron and Hermione. Their clothes and the casual way that they were walking, totally engrossed in conversation with each other, made them look so different that Harry hadn’t recognised his two best friends.

Hermione had her hair up again, the same, and yet somehow different, as the style she had used the only other time Harry had seen her dressed up. She was wearing a scintillating gown that looked like it had been wound around her body, starting from an ankle and ending above one shoulder. It was a Muggle style, but it definitely suited her, and matched Ron well.

The twins had followed Harry’s request and bought Ron new dress robes, but they must have spent a lot more than Harry had intended because the cut and fit turned his friend into a well built, muscular looking young man instead of the lanky teenager that Harry still thought him.

Of course, that could have been because of the easy air which he was walking with; like he had nothing more important on his mind than the pretty young woman on his arm.

Harry thought that might actually have been the case, and had to fight down a sudden unexpected surge of jealousy. He turned away, ashamed at feeling something so horrible about his friend’s happiness, knowing he should be happy for them, not left out.

By the time they joined the crowd, he had managed to regain his composure and sincerely compliment them both. Hermione blushed at Harry’s honest words of praise, but Ron looked ready to burst with pride, although Harry wasn’t sure if it was at his comments about Ron himself, or his comments about Hermione.

When time came to leave, they all gathered around and placed a hand on a large, elaborate water fountain that hadn’t been in the Weasley’s yard before. Harry looked on with trepidation; his experiences with Portkey crash landings were becoming legendary, and he was a bit worried about the other guests, who were all also well dressed. Falling over and causing some sort of a mass pile up of wedding guests would be horribly embarrassing.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Fred said, coming to stand next to him. “We’ve got you covered.”

“Yeah, Nev,” said George, taking the other side. “We’ll be your bumpers.”

Harry had just enough time to smile his gratitude before he felt the pull of the Portkey and was once again thrown into a twirl of colours and a rush of wind.

It went on for longer than his previous journeys, and Harry was glad that his hand was stuck to the fountain, because he was sure he would have let go long before the journey was over otherwise.

On either side of him, frequently banging into him as they twirled about, Harry could hear the twins whooping with delight.

Finally he felt solid ground appear beneath him. He staggered, but the firm hands of Fred and George kept him upright.

“Careful there, Nev,” Fred said. “Can’t have you falling over now, can we?”

“At least,” added George, “not until we get a few drinks into you!”

Harry smiled gratefully and looked at the other guests. None of them appeared to be too shook up over the long trip; Hermione even still had one arm linked in Ron’s.

They were standing on at the bottom of a low hill in a clearing. Surrounding them, immense trees towered into the sky, dark and forbidding. Harry was reminded of the Forbidden forest at Hogwarts, especially the way the shadows thickened so quickly that you could not see more than a few feet beyond the tree line, but these trees were much larger and looked to be of a different type.

A circle of standing stones, each larger than Hagrid in both height and width, crowned the small hill they were standing on. It resembled ancient druidic circles Harry had read about and seen pictures of in text books, but was in much better condition that the half ruined ones he had seen.

As Harry got closer, he noticed there was an altar in the exact centre of the circle, and a semi circle of chairs had been set up in front. A long red carpet ran from the altar down between the chairs to one of the stones.

Bill, two other men, and one young boy stood in front of the altar, looking rather nervous. They were wearing dark dress robes that reminded Harry of Ron’s unfortunate ones, frilly lace and all, but didn’t appear as outrageous or old fashioned as the ones Ron had endured.

Bill’s horribly scared face looked much better than when Harry had last seen him a few weeks ago. Although the marks were cruel and deep, they somehow lent ruggedness to the young man’s face that had not been there before.

Harry could make out Mr and Mrs Weasley, and a few other people Harry took to be Fleur’s family already sitting in the chairs, but they were still mostly empty.

Never having been to a Muggle wedding, let alone a wizarding one, he made sure to stick close to Ron and Hermione, determined to follow their lead.

The brightly dressed wedding guests were chatting loudly as they trudged up the hill and took their places on seats that had been set up in the gaps between the stones. Each group of chairs was only three rows deep, and a dozen people could sit side by side, but there was nothing to indicate if there was a particular place they should be sitting in.

Everywhere he looked he could see bouquets of pale flowers held together by ribbon. The chairs, the ropes surrounding each group of chairs, even the stones and altar were sporting tasteful settings.

“Bride or Groom?” a small wizard dressed in very severe robes asked Harry as he approached the chairs.

“Sorry?”

“Are you with the bride’s family, or the grooms?” the man asked with the air of somebody who was sick of repeating themselves.

“Er, groom.”

“Very well, over there then,” the man said pointing out a set of chairs.

Ron stopped and turned to Harry.

“Er. Sorry mate, I have to go sit with the family in the middle bit,” he said looking apologetic. “Do you mind taking Hermione for me?” and he held out the arm she was holding onto, making Hermione step forward slightly.

“Ron,” protested Hermione, but a smile curled her lip. “I do not need to be escorted to my chair.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Ron said smiling. “But a women as beautiful as you should never be left alone.”

Hermione gasped at Ron’s astonishing words, and Harry again felt a pull of jealousy that he immediately suppressed.

“I would be honoured,” he said, smiling as he held out his arm for her to take, which she did with only the slightest hesitation.

“My, my, boys,” she said teasingly moved to Harry’s side. “What has happened to you both; manners and eloquence? I think I should have played apparition tag much earlier if this is the result.”

Both Ron and Harry blushed, causing Hermione to grin even wider.

Ron walked into the circle and took a seat behind his parents while Harry and Hermione found second row seats in the group the small wizard had indicated. The rest of the seats filled up quickly and the noise level rose as people chatted. Hermione explained the left and right seating arrangements, and told him more about ancient stone circles than he ever wanted to know, but listening to her helped him to not think too much about what was coming.

Suddenly the crowd went very quiet and Harry saw an ancient looking wizard, with a long white bread that could have rivalled Dumbledore’s for length, and an equally ancient looking witch, who somehow still managed to look beautiful, standing in front of the altar next to Bill, facing the semi circle of chairs which were now fully occupied except for two chairs.

“Veela,” Hermione whispered to Harry, explaining the older woman’s unnatural beauty.

Harry nodded, having already guessed as much when he felt a strange twisting in his eyes every time he looked at some people in the crowd, and turned his attention back to the man who appeared to be waiting for something.

Soft, music filled the air. It sounded like pipes and birds singing in harmony, but had a grandeur to it that made Harry’s heart sing. Everybody stood up and Bill looked even more nervous.

Suddenly a bright light flashed in front of the stones. At first Harry thought it was one of the many cameras people had brought with them, but then he saw a beautiful, young girl dressed in a simple, but elegant white dress, had appeared in the flash. Her hair was held up in a high bun that was adorned in pale flowers, and she held a bouquet in both hands in front of her.

She started walking sedately down the carpet in time with the soft music. After she had gone a few steps, the light flashed again and a second woman appeared. This one was slightly older, and even more beautiful, despite being attired almost identically to the first girl. Her hair was firebrand red.

“Ginny,” Harry gasped, recognising her.

His chest hurt, his mouth suddenly went dry, and his breath caught in his lungs. For a moment he felt his head swim as a rush of feeling overwhelm him.

Something warm grasped his hand and brought him back to earth. He looked down to see Hermione had taken hold of it. She gave a knowing, sad, smile then squeezed his hand briefly. At that moment, Harry had never been more grateful to have such a good friend.

A third woman had joined Ginny and the young girl, who Harry now realised must be Gabriel, Fleur’s young sister, just as she reached the altar. Gabriel moved to the side of the old couple opposite from Bill and moved down so that she was standing as far away as the young boy on Bill’s side.

Ginny walked up and moved to stand next to her, just as another flash indicated the arrival of Fleur on the arm of her stately looking father.

Harry couldn’t help gasp at the sight of her.

She was dressed in almost the same style as the three other women, but her gown was made of a shimmering, translucent material so delicate and sheer that it clung to her like a thick mist. Harry had the undeniable impression she was actually walking naked up the isle, and she must have also turned on all of her Veela charm because he could not pull his eyes away.

Hermione suddenly dug her fingers into his hand painfully, grabbing his attention. He darted a questioning look at her, but she was watching the wedding as if nothing had happened; she had hurt him to break the Veela spell.

“Thanks,” he muttered, earning a slight nod and a smile.

Around him, Harry noted the vacant expressions of other men, and sometimes, dark looks from women. He took the opportunity to take a quick swig from his hip flask, grimacing at the taste of the Polyjuice. He hoped nobody noticed, but had prepared a story about it being a special medicine, in case anybody asked. The alarms on his watch had been set as reminders too.

When she reached the altar, the magnificent bride stopped and waited, facing the old man. Harry noted Bill was now grinning foolishly.

“Welcome!”' the old man called out in a deep musical voice, holding his arms wide in an inviting manner.

“Welcome!” replied the crowd, Harry quickly joining in. Hermione was perfectly on queue, obviously having expected it.

“Who brings a daughter to this place to be wed?” he asked.

“I do,” answered Fleur’s father, his own deep baritone voice ringing out loudly.

“And who asks for her hand?”

“I do,” said Bill strongly, despite still grinning like an idiot.

“Do you come here of your own free will to be joined with this man?” the old man asked looking at Fleur.

“I do,” she answered, and every man sighed at the beautiful sound of her voice.

“Then leave your father and take you place by his side.”

Instead of Fleur moving, Fleur’s father held her linked arm out and Bill stepped forward to take his place. Her father turned and walked back to sit with the others in the semicircle of chairs.

As he sat down, the people standing outside the circle of stones all sat down, and the rest of the Bridal party moved to take their places next to Bill and Fleur.

The old man raised his arms again.

“Great Spirit we ask for your Blessing on this, our scared ceremony…”

Harry found himself staring at the back of Ginny’s head. He tuned out the rhythmic chanting of the ceremony and kept thinking about her, about the short time they had been together, the years he has missed out before that, and Mr Weasley’s words of advice. Was he making a mistake? His thoughts started going around in circles as he once again tried to balance the danger of being with her against the pain of being apart.

Suddenly he became aware that the wedding party had turned sideways, with Bill and Fleur facing each other while the others stood behind them in a slight curve so that they could all see the proceedings.

Bill was holding one of Fleur’s hands in his own, and had the ring sitting on the edge of her finger, ready to put it on.

“Repeat after me,” intoned the old man in his deep resonant voice.

“By the light of the sun the, the moon, and the stars,”

Bill repeated the words in a strong clear voice.

“With the blessings of all the earth, north, south, east, and west,”

“In times of sickness, in times of health,”

“In good times and bad,”

“I pledge to you my protection, strength, and understanding,”

“And all the love I am able to give,”

“Until my soul leaves this world for the next,”

“This I swear.”

With the final words, Bill slid the ring onto her finger. Harry heard a few soft sobs from the people inside and out of the circle, and noticed Hermione dabbing her eyes with a hanky.

The old woman stepped forward and repeated almost exactly the same ceremony with Fleur, who spoke softly and with a few sobs of her own. Something didn’t look right when they spoke though. Their lips appeared to be moving differently to the sound he was hearing, as if he was watching a foreign television show at Mrs Figgs that had been dubbed into English. There was also a soft glow of magic surrounding the couple and the wedding party as they spoke.

The woman stepped back and the old man again held out his arms.

“Have you heard the vows?” he asked the audience.

“We have!” came the strong reply.

“Do you accept that they have made honest and true promises?”

“We do!” chorused the audience.

“They let the couple seal their promises with a kiss!”

Bill smiled as he lifted the thin veil from Fleur’s face, and stepped forward to deliver a solid kiss. She wrapped her hands around his neck and returned it in kind, and the crowd cheered.

When they finally broke apart, both were wearing huge smiles.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the old man called out. “I present to you, Mr and Mrs. William Weasley.”

The crowd cheered again and stood up as Bill and Fleur walked, hand in hand, down the red carpet. Ron and his brothers were vigorously throwing what Harry took to be rice over the pair, who were soon followed by the bridal party, each pairing off with their opposite to walk side by side down the carpet. As they reached the stone circle, each couple disappeared in a brief flash of light.

“Where have they gone?” Harry asked Hermione after watching Ginny walk arm in arm with the second groomsman through the portal.

Hermione was carefully wiping her eyes, trying to get the tears without smudging her make up.

“Usually there is a room nearby, sometimes it is even under the hill it’s self. In ancient times there was more ceremony to undertake, but now days they usually relax, take some photographs and give the guests a chance to get to the reception.”

People were jostling past them, getting out of the chairs and heading back down the hill, so they moved off to one side and were joined by Ron.

“Wow, that was great, wasn’t it?” he asked excitedly. “That was the best wedding ceremony ever!” he said, almost jumping up and down on the spot.

Harry laughed at his friend’s antics. He seemed to be on an emotional high.

“What’s wrong with you, Ron?”

“Nothing!” he answered exuberantly. “I just feel great! Don’t you?”

Then he grabbed Hermione in a hug, lifted her off the ground, and twirled her around in the air. Hermione shrieked with laughter.

“Put me down, Ron!” she said. “It’s the blessing - the part of the ceremony where magic was used to bless the wedding. It makes you feel good!”

“I don’t care,” he said, putting her down gently. “Let’s go party!”

Then he grabbed them by the hand and almost dragged them down to the crowded fountain Portkeys.

“Come on, come on,” he said, drumming both hands on the fountain in impatience. “Let’s go-go-go.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Harry found himself looking forward to the party.
“Everybody grab a hold,” said the same small man from before.

“You go in, three, two, one-”

Once again Harry was sent twirling uncontrollably to an unknown destination.


When the ground came up to meet him, he kept a firm grip on the fountain and was only driven to his knees instead flying loose out of control.

Ron laughed and bounced up and down. “This is great!”

Harry stood up and looked around, they were back in the garden at the Burrow, but it had been completely redecorated. So much so in fact, that if it hadn’t been for the house itself, Harry would have sworn they were someplace else.

Richly decorated circular tables and large dining chairs filled up a huge area in front of an even more dressed up long, square table. More of the same flowers that Harry had noted at the wedding were attached to everything, and larger versions, with lit candles sticking out the top, sat as centrepieces on the tables.

Strings of fairy lights hung from trees and covered the walls of the Burrow making it glow like a medieval castle at night. The fairy’s seemed to be quite happy as they sat or swung along the enchanted string, nibbling on the sugar it had been coated with.

Dozens of life sized ice sculptures depicting various magical animals surrounded the dining area, and a dance floor easily large enough to hold all the guests ran off in the distance to one side. Candles floated on unseen currents through the air, reminiscent of the ones in the Hogwarts main hall.

“Drink sir?” asked a squeaky voice from the vicinity of Harry’s elbow.

Harry looked down to find a House-elf holding a tray filled with various glasses of drinks.

“Ah, yes thanks, a butterbeer,” he asked. The elf passed a glass to Harry then turned to Hermione.

“Drink madam?”

Harry saw Hermione frown and open her mouth to speak, and he decided to step in.

“Hermione, please? Not tonight?” he asked, giving a pleading look. “For Bill and Fleur?”

She looked at him and narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t try and give me that puppy-dog look of yours mister - you are wearing the wrong face for it to work properly,” she said sternly, but then smiled brightly.

“A light wine please,” she told the elf, who handed her a drink and moved on.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked, just as Ron suddenly appeared, grabbing Hermione by the hand and starting to tug her along.

“You have got to come and look at this,” he said. “Excellent, drinks!” he added snatching a glass from the tray as he passed it.

Harry laughed and followed his friends. Hermione was forcing Ron to slow down, apparently fearing for her shoes, if her comments were anything to go by.

Ron took them to every corner of the yard and pointed out every feature, from the tiny old record player that was playing soft music that could be heard throughout the area, to the hedge maze that had been added for the few younger guests, and probably some adults, to play in.

Harry was astounded at how much had been done in the couple of hours they had been missing.

“It was all setup somewhere else,” Ron told him. “All they had to do was move the whole thing over and make room for it here.”

“Why is it here?” asked Hermione. “I thought it was going to be at some secret location in a castle?”

Ron laughed, pointing at the Burrow. “It is!”

“Mum insisted on having it here,” he told them. “She even cooked some of the food!”

“I couldn’t tell you both of course; had to be super secret. I only found out myself by accident when Bill was talking about changing the wards around the house to be more secure and to hide it all better from the Muggles. He asked some of his goblin workmates to help, and ended up with a dozen of them on a sort of loan.”

“Invited them all to the wedding of course, since he and Fleur both work with them, but they said those rituals are sacred to them and they didn’t think it would be fair to go to his when he couldn’t come to theirs. Bit nutty, if you ask me, but that’s goblins for you.”

For a moment, Harry had forgotten about the war, about the fact that there were probably people planning to disrupt the wedding simply because the Weasleys were a pure blood family that associated with Muggleborns. Immediately he found himself looking around the yard, trying to spot any changes that had been made for security reasons, but everything was so different it was impossible to be sure.

Ron introduced Hermione and Harry to dozens of people. Harry was sure he had met some of them before when the twins had done the honours, but they all shook hands and greeted each other politely, making him guess that they had probably forgotten who he was too. It made a nice change from the usual Boy-Who-Lived stares and whispers he could have expected if he had been wearing his own face.

While they mingled, Harry looked around, trying to spot Aurors. He noticed a couple of people who were dressed like wedding guests, unobtrusively moving around the perimeter and through the crowd. He thought he might have been mistaken, until he spotted a golden wand similar to the ones used at the Ministry to check incoming people.

It was tucked inside the sleeve of a wizard, and he would occasionally move his arm up or down somebody. It was done very discretely, as part of reaching for a drink or after having dropped something, but it happened often enough to confirm Harry’s guess; undercover Aurors were mixed in with the crowd.

He was worrying that they would detect his Polyjuiced state and jump to the wrong conclusion, and was about to say something to Hermione, when a familiar voice greeted him from behind.

“Wotcher, Nev,” said a young, blonde haired woman.

“Tonks?” he asked.

“Yep, told you I was going to be here on special duty!”

Harry relaxed. He had forgotten about Tonks. “Boy, I am really glad to meet you here, Tonks.”

“’Of course you are,” she smiled. “Promised to keep an eye on you, did I?”

Soon the trio, now a foursome with Tonks, had taken over a table not too from the front. They were sharing with the twins, who had elected not to bring dates.

“Does funny things to a girl’s brain, weddings do,” declared Fred, ignoring the glares Hermione shot him at that statement.

“Yep, makes them go all teary and get strange ideas,” agreed George.

“Weird thoughts of staying home at night,” added Fred.

“And having romantic dinners,”

“And starts them wanting to hear icky, sticky, lovey, dovey noises.”

“Enough to put a man off his soup it is.”

“Not to mention that it severely cramps your style when it comes to improving international ties. You know - better communication and such.”

“Indeed fair brother, and there is definitely some communicating desperately needed over there,” said George nodding his head towards some tables that contained several beautiful girls, probably relations or friends of Fleur.

Eventually the wedding party arrived and there were several rounds of speeches and formalities between scrumptious courses delivered by house-elves. The best man shared funny stories from Bill’s Hogwarts days (including one involving trying to break the wards on the teacher’s staff room) that made them all laugh, but Harry kept finding himself watching the bridal table.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take his eyes off Ginny. She seemed to be enjoying herself, talking and laughing with her partner and Fleur’s sister Gabriel. Once he thought he saw her looking at him, but it happened so quickly he passed it off as wishful thinking.

The Bride and Groom visited every table, making sure to spend time speaking each guest. When they came to Harry’s table, Fleur gave him a big hug and whispered into his ear.

“It is good you have come tonight ‘Arry,” she said. “Even if it is in anuzer’s body. Gabriel is very upset when we told her you were not coming.”

Bill shook Harry’s hand firmly.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Ron tells me you want to learn a bit about curse breaking. I’ll send an owl when we get back, okay?”

Harry agreed, caught by surprise at the generous offer, especially since he couldn’t remember saying any such thing to Ron!

While he had Bill to himself, he finally got a chance to give them his present without everyone witnessing it.

“Bill, I didn’t know what to get you both, so I hope you don’t mind…” he said, handing over a silver-green, Moke skin purse he had picked up during his trip to Diagon alley.

Bill got a curious expression on his face as he accepted the purse, before recognising it for what he was. A look of surprise suddenly sprung up as he weighed it in his hands.

“It’s just a little something to help you get started, you know,” said Harry feeling a bit awkward. “Hermione said it was acceptable to give money, when you don’t know what to get, and I was really stuck-“

“Har-er-Neville,” said Bill cutting him off. “It’s fine, more than fine in fact. I was just surprised at how much is in here!”

Seeing Harry’s confused expression he explained. “I work for a bank run by goblins, there are certain skills you have to learn. Skills like being able to tell how much is in a purse without counting it. Unless I am very much mistaken, there is quite a bit in here.”

Harry squirmed in embarrassment. Deciding how much to give the happy couple had been a very hard thing to do, especially since he hadn’t wanted to let Ron know, and so couldn’t ask for advice. He had even kept Hermione pretty much in the dark, just in case it slipped out. In the end, he decided to err on the side of generosity, and filled the purse until it couldn’t hold anymore. It had barely made a dent in the heap he had taken from his vault.

“What can I say? Thank you, thank you very much,” said Bill smiling, and his time he dragged Harry into a hug. “You have done so much for my family; don’t forget we are all here for you too.”

“You are welcome, and thanks again for inviting me,” Harry answered, relieved that he had not made a mistake with his decision to give money instead of a ‘real’ present.

The twins also made their rounds, sowing mayhem wherever they went. Bags of Canary-creams and Turkey-delights were spread near and far, with appreciative squawks and accompanying laughs, as whole tables would suddenly erupt in feathers within minutes of their visit.

Mrs Weasley didn’t seem at all upset with her troublesome boys, rather the opposite really, Harry thought. Time and time again he saw her laughing as guests, including Fleur’s rather severe looking parents, turned into various animals, or changed into interesting colours. She also seemed to be enjoying the prompt drink service of the house-elves and was positively tipsy when she finally managed to make her way over to Harry for a traditional back-breaking hug.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said, wiping a tear from her eyes. “You must come and visit for a while, once all the fuss has died down.”

Harry wasn’t totally sure if she was referring to the wedding or the war, but he appreciated her not making an issue out of his absence, at least, not tonight.

Mr Weasley also had been into the spirit of the occasion, so to say. It came as no surprise to overhear the balding man discussing everything Muggle with several other aging read-heads who Harry assumed to be related.

When the dancing started, Ron, who had calmed down significantly from his earlier overexcitement, surprised Harry and stunned Hermione when he stood up and asked her for a dance.

Harry watched his two friends happily for a few songs, before Tonks dragged him out too.

“Don’t you have to work or something?” he asked, trying to get out of it.

“This is working tonight, Neville,” she said, forcing him onto the dance floor and putting his arms and hands in the appropriate places.

“But I can’t dance,” he protested.

“Too late,” she said simply. “You already are.”

She directed him around the dance floor, helping him perform respectably, (which was surprising, since Harry had never considered Tonks to be particularly gifted when it came to balance and movement) until they came across Ron and Hermione.

“May I cut in?” she asked Hermione.

Hermione smiled and Ron looked a bit unsure.

“Of course you can!” Hermione answered, taking the decision away from Ron. Then Harry was dancing with her while Tonks whirled Ron away.

It was actually quite pleasant dancing with Hermione. He didn’t feel as nervous, and found that when he relaxed, he enjoyed it.

They talked and joked as they moved around, avoiding subjects that would upset the special moment, until Ron returned and cut in to take Hermione back.

Except he wasn’t dancing with Tonks anymore, he was dancing with Ginny.

Before Harry could protest, Ron and taken Hermione away, leaving Harry facing his former girlfriend unsupported. She looked just as uncomfortable as he felt.

Gathering his famed Gryffindor courage up, Harry stepped forward and smoothly took her into his arms. After a brief hesitation, she accepted him, and they began to dance silently.

“Ginny-” he started to say.

“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off. “Just dance, just hold me and dance, just for a little while.”

So he did, but not just for a little while. The song finished, and the next one, and the one after that, and still they danced. Slowly they grew comfortable, and began to really enjoy the silent, rhythmic movement.

Ginny sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

Harry just stayed silent and enjoyed her company. The flowery scent of her hair he had come to know so well just a few weeks before filled his thoughts and made his heart ache.

The night wore on, but they didn’t notice. Others watching from the sidelines commented on how surprisingly good a couple the pair made, but they never heard, immersed as they were in silent presence of each other.

“Do you have any idea how often I have dreamed of a moment like this?” Ginny asked, without raising her head off his shoulder.

Harry didn’t dare answer, he figured his voice would probably crack and make any answer sound stupid, even if he did know what to say.

“Since the first wedding I ever remember,” she said, “all I wanted was to grow up to marry the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Seems silly now, a childish little girls fantasy, but it’s true. I sat on the edge of the dance floor and watched people whirling each other around, and I dreamed that some day it would be me and you.”

“Of course, we were actually the bride and groom...” She gave a little snort of laughter, making Harry smile.

“I remember Bill, picking me up off the floor. He took me out and danced with me, and promised me that one day it would be my turn and I would look even better than that Bride.”

Harry didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Tell me something Har-Neville. Is it ever going to be me? Will my fantasy ever come true?”

He wanted to say he didn’t know, that he couldn’t make that promise, but he also wanted to do it; to promise her everything she had ever wanted.

“Don’t answer,” she said, lifting her head away to look at his face. “Just look me in the eyes; I’ll know.”

Harry looked deep into her eyes, and knew he couldn’t say no.

“I can see it’s you, you know?” she said. “Don’t ask me how, but when I look into those eyes, I can see you in there.”

“And I can see your answer.”

“I’ll come back, I promise,” Harry finally managed to croak out.

“No, Harry,” she said, a small smile curving the corners of her mouth. “You’ve never left.”

Then she leaned in, closed her eyes, and kissed him. He kissed her back, refusing to think about the fact she was actually kissing the face of Neville Longbottom. It went on for a long time and made him start to feel light headed with the force of the raw emotion and tenderness coursing through them both.

Suddenly the night sky lit up as Fred and George set off their best fireworks. All dancing stopped as everybody watched a truly impressive display that went on for many long minutes, but Harry and Ginny missed the first few, being more involved with each other at the particular point in time.

Finally breaking from their kiss, Harry stood next to Ginny, holding her hand. He occasionally stole glimpses of her smiling and laughing as giant fireworks knights battled gigantic dragons, and brightly lit pixies enacted a wedding scene that ended with the bride hitting the groom over the head and dragging him away.

After the final, ear-shattering climax turned night into day for seconds, a simple advert for Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs hung in the sky, and the crowd showed their appreciation of Fred and George’s products enthusiastically. The twins bowed theatrically and began handing out business cards to all and sundry.

Soon after that, all the guests made a long, double line starting at the dance floor and ending near the house. They held their wands above their heads and sprayed sparks over to the person standing opposite, forming an archway of sparkling light. Bill and Fleur ducked under and walked quickly through the magical tunnel to a winged horse drawn carriage that whisked them away into the night sky to the cheers of the revellers.

As the fabulous ride left the ground and made one circle of the reception, Fleur tossed her bouquet back into the crowd where a very surprised looking Tonks caught it.

Next thing Harry knew, the party was winding down and people were leaving.

“I had better go,” he told Ginny.

She nodded and silently walked with him to join the queue of people using the Floo to get home, holding his hand the whole way.

When it was his turn, he gave her a long hug.

“See you soon,” he whispered into her ear.

“Please,” she answered, and slipped a flower from her hair into his hand.

“Longbottom House,” he said walking into the flames, not daring to look back as he left behind the person he most wanted to be with in the whole world.

*

Neville was asleep in a lounge chair near the Floo. He had waited up to let Harry back in; a very thoughtful thing to do, Harry thought.

“I figured you might have had a bit to drink and wouldn’t be able to make it to your home,” he told Harry. “So I had the house-elf make up a spare bed for you.”

Harry thanked him, but said he was fine to head home. He did stay for a cup of tea while waiting for the Polyjuice to wear off, though. He spent the time telling his friend everything he could remember about the wedding, including once nearly forgetting to top up on the potion in time, despite the loud alarms of his watch.

“I can’t believe she was naked,” Neville exclaimed, seemingly for the tenth time.

“She wasn’t, well not technically. Apparently their tradition is for everybody to have been naked, but they compromised.”

Neville looked terrified. “If it had been, you know I wouldn’t have let you use my shape, don’t you?”

Harry laughed and told Neville it wouldn’t have been a problem, since Harry would not have gone.

“But, since it’s not your body, nobody would really have been seeing you naked, right?” asked Neville thoughtfully.

“Still would have felt that way though!” argued Harry.

They joked about some of the other possibilities presented by Polyjuice, and Neville told Harry stories about other weddings he had been to.

Harry was impressed at the scope and sheer number of the other boy’s experiences.

“It’s a bit of a pure blood thing,” he admitted. “Since there aren’t that many families left, you tend to get invited to all the weddings of even the most distant relatives.”

“Gran is always very strict about which ones she attends. She never goes to any that have Dark Families in attendance.”

“Wouldn’t think that left you many,” said Harry.

“You wouldn’t think so, but it seems like the lighter cross blood families tend to have more children, where as the dark pure blood ones only have one or two.”

“Maybe they will inbreed themselves to extinction then,” said Harry.

“Here’s to that,” toasted Neville, holding up his teacup.

Harry underwent the uncomfortable sensation of changing back to himself a short time later, much to Neville’s disgust as he failed to get away before the change started.

Before leaving Harry had one other thing to ask Neville. Something one of the twins had said made Harry think of it, although he couldn’t remember what it was.

“Neville, I think you should try to get a few people from the D.A. together to practice and train. I am probably not going to be around much, but if you can get Ginny and Luna and contact some others, you could find a place and practice. If we are going to go after Bellatrix, we are probably going to need some help, and everyone needs to learn how to defend themselves.”

Neville gave Harry the oddest of smiles, like he had a secret joke he wasn’t sharing.

“That’s a great idea Harry. I’ll write some letters tomorrow.”

*

Back at Grimmauld place, Harry lay in his bed twirling the flower in his hand. Sleep was a long time coming, but when it did, it was filled with pleasant dreams and flowery scents.


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Chapter Fourteen – A Time for Work and Play

Harry woke quite late the next day. He used the larger kitchen of Grimmauld place, deciding to start making better use of the house, and made himself a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and muffins.

Hedwig landed on his plate, obviously upset with him for neglecting her.

“Sorry girl,” he soothed, feeding the indignant owl a crispy rasion of bacon. “I promise I’ll try to have lots for you to do soon.”

Tonks arrived just as Hedwig appeared to decide Harry had paid enough attention to her and flew off into the recesses of the house.

“Wotcher, Harry,” she said, sitting down the table and stealing a muffin. “Ta, luv, I’m starved. I didn’t get out of the Burrow till five o’clock this morning - bloody stragglers.”

“Who’s a bloody straggler?” asked Ron, as he stumbled into the kitchen and helped himself to the other half of Harry’s muffin.

“Your brothers, Charlie and the twins, that’s who. Kept those old school girl friends of Fleur’s going until five o’clock this morning. Only reason they didn’t nick off to somewhere else was because they were too drunk to find the edge of the anti-apparition wards, or to clearly say the name of the nightclub they wanted to Floo to.

“Why did you have to stay?” Harry asked her.

“Had the nightshift and it was more fun than going home, especially when Fred and George finally figured out who I was, but didn’t tell Charlie.”

Hermione walked in as they were laughing about Charlie’s antics.

“Any spare eggs?” she asked, eyeing Harry’s breakfast.

“Here,” he said, pushing the plate he had not actually touched over to her. “I’ll get myself another one.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said, digging into the food without a second thought.

“Well while you are at it...” said Remus, walking in to join them.

Harry ended up cooking an enormous breakfast for the five of them. The previous nights celebrating had obviously taken its toll, and Lupin was still on a come back from the last full moon which had been a very rough one on the aging werewolf.

They swapped stories about the party and compared notes on the various events, people and clothes. Harry mentioned spotting three Aurors and described what they were wearing to Tonks when she quizzed him on them.

“That’s very good, Harry,” she said. “You only missed one, which is impressive because they weren’t new recruits, but seasoned undercover operatives.”

Hermione had seen all four, of course, and identified at least two people who had been Aurors, or their foreign equivalents, prior to retiring.

Ron hadn’t noticed much of anything, except Fleur’s dress, or lack of it, and the perfume that Hermione had been wearing.

“Because I gave it to her ages ago,” he said proudly.

“So what’s the plan for today, kids?” Lupin asked, after watching Harry levitate the plates to the sink to be magically scrubbed.

“Don’t know about you, but think I am going to just laze around and recover,” Ron told them.

“I second the motion,” said Tonks. “All in favour?”

Their resounding ‘ayes’ echoed through the room, and so it came to be that a day of rest and general mucking about was declared.

Harry still wanted to practice spell casting, but nobody else felt like duelling, and he definitely didn’t want to do more cleaning, so he grabbed the two dolls that came with the dollhouse and transfigured a table and some string into a miniature wrestling ring, just like the ones he had seen on Dudley’s favourite television show.

Explaining the rules, or lack of them, he and Ron set about animating the dolls and conducting them in brutal fighting rounds.

Points were awarded for each knock down, extra points for following up a knock down with some sort of attack of opportunity, and top points for dismembering the opponent, ejecting them from the ring, or both.

Ron was not happy about having the female doll, so he transfigured it into a man so heavily muscled that it hardly looked human and tended to fall over a lot.

Hermione called the sport barbaric, starting an argument with Ron about the merits of professional brutality, but then she transfigured an empty tin into a man of steel and proceeded to annihilate them both until they ganged up on her.

Tonks and Remus came to investigate the noise and ended up entering their own champions. Lupin turned an old duster into a furry man that tended to try to bite everyone and kept stopping to howl at the sky, and Tonks made an old shoe into a fighter that could bend over backwards and twist into anatomically impossible angles, making it very difficult to defeat.

The ensuing chaos as they played all on all and mixed team matches meant that not a lot of resting was undertaken at all that day, but nobody complained.

Tonks and Lupin returned a few times over the next few days to help the trio setup a shooting range and duelling area in the fourth bedroom where Ron and Harry had been practicing. The tale of Ron and Harry hanging upside down and unarmed had been just too good for the pair to keep to themselves, and Tonks suggested turning the room into a more appropriate practice area.

The room was greatly expanded, with the trio learning the spells as they were being cast, and various barriers and mats were transfigured.

Hermione created life sized busts that floated in the shooting gallery, modelling it on an advanced Muggle police academy she had once visited. Tonks was very impressed declaring that it was the equal of anything in the Auror training academy, except the ones there fired back. That of course made Hermione want to rush off to find the right spells to make that happen, but she managed to contain her competitiveness and accepted her work as acceptable.

Harry and Lupin worked on creating exercise machines similar to the ones in Dudley’s gym. They doubted the painful looking devices, would ever get much use, but having them on hand meant it was an option.

Tonks spent a lot of time reinforcing the roof, floor and walls with spells and wards. She showed them a few of the simpler ones and they helped finish protecting the much expanded room from stray magic or debris.

Hermione again threw herself back into researching Regulus and the Horcruxes. She was certain there would be spells that they could use to locate the Horcruxes, and clues about where they might be hiding.

As often as not, Harry and Ron would put the practice room through its paces, preferring to work up a sweat rather than a headache.

Everybody agreed it was a bad idea having Harry show up anywhere near the Daily Prophet, especially with Percy still making regular appearances at the Ministry, so Ron was forced to take numerous trips with Hermione to their offices, as well as museums and libraries, to hunt through dusty old issues from around the time Regulus was murdered. Unfortunately, that meant Harry was left alone at Grimmauld Place for long stretches to brood.

‘The locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

The mantra ran through his head again and again in a never ending cycle. He almost had the locket, he could feel it. It was so close, but he was missing something.

His original intention had been to wait until after the wedding before taking off on his journey to discover and destroy the remaining parts of Voldemort’s soul, but now that the time had come, he had to accept that he didn’t have any real idea of where to go that wasn’t based on anything more than an almost unfounded guess.

‘The locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

Despite his need for action, and the pressing urgency he felt at the knowledge that Voldemort was terrorising the world more and more every day, he forced himself to think before rushing off into danger with no clear purpose.

Working hard helped to distract him for his urge, physical work always helped him to not think about things too much, but eventually he had to go on with the painstaking research.

Never one to truly enjoy study, he often found himself almost drifting off to sleep instead of concentrating whenever he made an effort to tackle the veritable mountain of books and documents Hermione had collected.

‘The locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

Several times he opened Dumbledore’s trunk and looked through the bottled memories. The spell Hermione was looking for was probably sitting right in front of him, but he would never know it.

The targets in the shooting gallery suffered as Harry burnt off his frustration. Hermione taught him how to create them, so he didn’t bother repairing any; he just made more as the other ones became rubble. She had not yet found a way to make them much more lifelike, other than increasing their size and detail, but Harry knew it was yet another project the brilliant witch had on her list, and one that she would eventually complete.

‘The locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

The internal repetition of his creed provided him a rhythm to shoot his spells by, switching from target to target and spell to spell as he threw himself into his workouts, trying to find inspiration in the mindless, repetitive violence of his frustration.

‘The locket ... the cup ... the snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'

Spell after spell smashed into the targets, breaking off chunks as they expended their might in sometimes ear-splitting, bright flashes.

By the time a worn out Hermione and bored to tears Ron returned, Harry had usually made a virtual mountain of debris that needed to be cleaned up.

Harry wasn’t very good at banish things yet, so he swept the rubbish into large transfigured bags. When the pile of full of bags got too high, he started looking for a place to store them.

“Where did Sirius put the rubbish bags last time?” he asked Ron.

“In the shed out the back I think, but I only went outside once and didn’t go into the shed.”

“Out the back?” Strangely, Harry never been told that the house had a backyard, and had not even seen a door to get out there!

Ron laughed at his friend’s confused look. “Yeah, out the back. For some reason the door is hidden, like they didn’t want anybody to go out there. I’ll show you”

Harry raised the bags with his wand and started levitating them out of the room, when he noticed Hermione standing perfectly still, staring at them with a glazed look in her eyes.

“Hermione?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Rubbish,” she said, pointing at the bag.

“Yes,” agreed Harry, laughing. “It is.”

“Rubbish!” she repeated, more urgently this time.

Harry started to get a bit worried. Ron noticed what was going on and wandered over.

“That’s right, Hermione,” said Harry calmly. “It’s rubbish. I am just going to take it out the back. Okay?”

“Locket. Rubbish. Oh Harry!” she said, covering her mouth with both hands as if she had just seen something horrific.

“I think she’s broken,” Ron told him seriously.

“What are you talking about, Hermione?” asked Harry.

“The locket - the Horcrux - We put it in the rubbish!” she almost cried.

“What?” the two boys asked at the same time.

“When we were cleaning, with Sirius, in the drawing room, we found a locket we couldn’t open, remember?”

Harry forgot to concentrate on the bags he was levitating and they crashed to the floor, one bursting open with a loud bang and spilling its contents out.

Nobody noticed.

“It didn't have a big 'S' on it though, did it?” asked Ron, trying hard to remember.

“Regulus probably removed it so that it would not be recognised,” she explained.

“We threw it out,” said Harry numbly. “We put it into that big bag and along with the other things Sirius didn't want.”

“But Kreacher kept stealing things, maybe he took it,” suggested Ron, causing both Harry and Hermione to blink in surprise at the redheaded man’s astuteness.

Not wasting any time, they rushed to the space under the boiler where Kreacher had made his den. Amongst the rotting rags and mouldy food, there were a number of smashed picture frames held together by spellotape, and other personal objects Kreacher had salvaged from the cleanout two years before, but no locket.

“Accio locket,” shouted Harry, pointing his wand at the rags.

Nothing moved.

Again and again they all tried with any combination of locket and Horcrux they could think up, but to no avail.

Hermione rushed off to continue searching her spell books for a locating spell while Ron and Harry headed for the shed.

The door leading outside was disguised as a nondescript section of panelled wall. To open it, Ron tapped his wand in a particular spot, although it took him three goes to find it. Neither of them could come up with any reason for the rear exit to have been hidden, although Ron’s favourite theory was it had been a practical joke gone wrong, so Harry wrote off the ‘mystery of the hidden door’ as yet another eccentricity of the magical world.

While Harry had never set foot out back of the Black Manor, Ron had gone for a stroll with Sirius once. There was barely any yard to speak of, and the jungle of weeds looked decidedly dangerous, so the boys were careful to stay on the narrow path leading to the shed. Harry absently made himself a silent promise to one day return, suitably armed of course, and bring some order to the badly neglected garden. Even with his limited Herbology knowledge, he recognised several species of valuable, although dangerous, plants, and the job of taming the garden could make an interesting alternative to his target practice.

The 'shed' turned out to be a large garage, and sitting inside was an old, ornate, grey, horse-drawn carriage, covered in a heavy blanket of dust and thick spider webs.

“Looks right creepy that does,” commented Ron, eyeing the copious spider webs with more than a small amount of anxiety and suspicion.

Ignoring the carriage completely, Harry used his wand to light up the lanterns on the walls. They found the rubbish bags tucked behind the door. It looked like something had eaten its way in, and much of the rubbish had spilled out.

Harry tore them completely open and started rummaging through while Ron again tried the summoning spell with combinations of the words ‘locket’ and ‘Horcrux’.

It wasn’t there.

“Damn!” Harry screamed in frustration, and began kicking at the rubbish to vent his fury.

It had not been a good day.

“Ron, Harry!” called Hermione, running into the garage. “Come quickly.”

“Arthur just Floo called. There has been an attack, the twins are in hospital. Their shop has been destroyed!”

Definitely, it had not been a good day.

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Chapter Fifteen – Irrepressible

Ron and Hermione went as soon as the twins were allowed visitors. Harry had elected to stay behind because there was a good chance the twins were being watched while in the hospital, and his presence would be immediately noted, even if he was in disguise.

He spent more frustrating hours waiting for word of what happened and how the twins were.

Desperation made him send Hedwig to fetch a Daily Prophet paper, but the edition she brought back didn’t have any details other than there had been several attacks on Diagon Alley and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been completely destroyed, along with several other listed stores. The magical photographs in the paper showed nothing but burnt out wrecks of buildings that could have been any store, and wizards and witches wandering around looking lost.

The radio news gave unconfirmed reports that some Death Eaters had been captured, and over a dozen people had been confirmed dead. Scores more had been injured, mostly in stores that had suffered bad damaged.

From what Harry could make out from the scattered eye witness reports, up to seven different groups of Death Eaters had Apparated into different parts of Diagon Alley and started reeking havoc. The Aurors on guard patrolling the shopping district had been called away only moments before to attend a minor attack on an unnamed Ministry official, leaving the shopping district virtually undefended.

The whole raid had been well planned and coordinated. The only hitch came when the group attacking WWW met with fierce and apparently unexpected resistance. Most of that group had possibly been captured, although there were conflicting reports of how that had happened.

Harry was too worried to concentrate on blasting targets, so sat in the kitchen with the radio and listened to the same reports over and over again. By the time Ron and Hermione returned, Harry knew them all, word for word.

“How are they?” he immediately asked.

“They are going to be fine,” Ron answered, as he headed for the fridge.

“Fred lost his favourite pinkie finger when one of his fireworks went off while he was holding it, and George was struck on the head by a beam falling off the front of the shop,” Hermione added. “Luckily they found the finger and have been able to glue it back on, although Fred says it will never be the same and is considering making the other one his favourite; seems quite cut-up about it really.”

Ron returned with a plate full of left overs and a sandwich already in his mouth.

“Boaf got it wif loads o spells,” said Ron unintelligibly.

“Yes, both did get hit with loads of spells,” Hermione clarified. “Luckily none were very damaging and didn’t hit them with full force. The shields hats and gloves, and those Dragon-hide suits, probably saved their lives.”

“And the store?” asked Harry, immensely relieved at the unscathed escape of his friends, favourite finger notwithstanding.

“They didn’t seem too worried about it, but they have asked, that since they are going to be kept in hospital for a couple of days, could we go over and clean it up a bit for them. For some reason, they asked if you in particular could help Harry. Any idea why?”

Harry was stumped.

“Maybe they want you to keep Mundungus out, Harry. Apparently he is scared of you since you had a go at him in Hogsmeade,” said Ron, this time without a mouthful of food. “Remember, when he was selling Sirius’s stuff?”

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other, stunned.

“Mundungus-” said Harry.

“In Hogsmeade-” said Hermione.

“-Selling Sirius’s stolen property,” they both said together.

Hermione turned her head to look directly at Ron, who was once again stuffing his face, oblivious to their reaction to his words.

“Ron, you are brilliant,” she said.

Ron stopped chewing.

“Eh?”

“Yeah, Ron,” added Harry grinning. “I think that was probably the best bit of deduction you have ever performed.”

“Huh?”

Once they had filled Ron in on his accidental discovery, they started making their plans. Mundungus was, to the best of their knowledge, still in prison for impersonating an Inferi. Hermione would try to get permission for Harry to visit by using his agreement with the Minister, and the cover story of trying to recover the stolen Black property.

While she was doing that, Ron and Harry would visit the Diagon Alley store and see what repairs they could possibly make, and what stock they could salvage. According to Fred and George, most of it should be safe, although they didn’t explain why they thought this would be the case.

“Something about some precautions they took recently. Probably put extra wards on the store room or something,” said Ron.

Discussing their plans and the attack a bit more, Harry started to get the niggling feeling he was missing something again.

He grabbed a sheet of paper and drew a rough sketch of Diagon alley, then marked the first stores that had been attacked, according to the eye witnesses who had spoken on the radio or were reported in the paper.

There wasn’t a pattern, but the spread of the Death Eaters wasn’t evenly spaced.

“It looks like they were targeting specific places,” Harry said. “Look at the list of stores destroyed. Every one of them was right where a group appeared, and yet most of the stores nearby suffered only a bit of damage. They destroyed their target shop, but then just started shooting around randomly. The minute any organised resistance showed up, they took off.”

Hermione was impressed by Harry’s logic, but not convinced.

“It certainly looks that way from what you are saying, but what have those stores got in common?”

Harry sighed and admitted he had absolutely no idea, but he was certain there was a purpose behind the attack other than randomly sowing the seeds of terror.

“Maybe it had something to do with who owned them?” he suggested. “Probably all half-bloods, or blood traitors, or something lame like that.”

The Death Eaters that had been caught were almost all ones from the WWW attack. Instead of staying inside and hiding, like many of the doomed store owners had done, Fred, George and a couple of customers had fought back using products and items right off the shelves.

A portable swap, complete with alligators, had almost killed two attackers, while fireworks and several other semi-dangerous jokes had knocked out or incapacitated another four. Only one of their attackers had escaped, although he had somehow been forced to eat a Turkey-Delight and Apparated away while still in the shape of the giant bird.

“Do we know who it was that got caught?” asked Harry, hoping it was somebody he knew, like Draco Malfoy.

“Nope. Fred says Flint was the one that got away,” Ron told him. “Aurors took the rest away for questioning before either of them got a decent chance to question them, which is probably a good thing, cause you don’t want to be around the twins if they are angry at you, and they were pretty angry.”

“Well I certainly hope there is an investigation into how easily those stores were destroyed,” said Hermione. “Part of their rent goes to anti-fire wards and other protections. It took a lot longer and a lot more magic for the Twin’s store to be destroyed than any of the others, and from what you saw you heard in the eye-witness reports, it sounds like nothing even slowed down the other fires.”

Harry snorted with suppressed disgust, knowing that, in the end, the best they would find would be a corrupt or incompetent ministry official failing to make sure the warding was up to scratch.

*

Early the next day, Ron and Harry appeared behind the Leaky Cauldron and walked to the store. All through the alley they could see signs of the attack, but not in the way Harry had expected. Most of the debris had been cleared away, and instead of looking like a war zone, the atmosphere was one of a busy construction site rather than a former battle field.

Damaged stores were already undergoing repairs. Crews of workwizards were magically raising walls and windows into place while others attached them. There were even crowds of curious onlookers watching some of the larger works.

“Didn’t expect things to get started so soon,” commented Ron. “They must have had good insurance.”

Harry nodded and they kept walking. He noted the absence of any of the old faded ministry posters covering windows, that many store appeared to have recently been painted or cleaned up, and that there were fewer of the previously abandoned shops sitting empty.

WWW had completely collapsed, though. Walking over the rubble, Harry couldn’t make out a single thing.

Ron was devastated.

“They might was well just start again,” he said, throwing down the single piece of merchandise he had found, a Headless Hat from the window display. “It’s all just rubbish now.”

Harry couldn’t understand it. Everything was gone. What could the twins possibly expect him to do about it?

He kicked away some of the burnt timbers, and noticed the doorframe of the shop’s front door lying, unburnt, underneath. It stood out against the rest of the blackened remains like a gleaming light post.

“Ron, give me a hand here,” he called, clearing away more of the rubbish covering the door.

With Ron’s help they were soon standing over the virtually untouched front door of WWW.

“This doesn’t look right,” he said, bending down to examine the door closer. “How could this have survived?”

Through a spot he wiped clean on the glass of the door, Harry caught a glimpse of the old store, just like it used to look. He shook his head and looked again. It was still there. He pressed his face up against the glass and could clearly see the whole store, intact and untouched, behind the glass.

Ron was just as confused as he was.

They stood it up and could still see the shop behind. Ron tried to open the door, but it was locked. For no particular reason, Harry tried it, and it opened. He quickly slammed it shut.

“We don’t want anybody to see this,” he explained to Ron.

An hour later the whole burnt out, wreck of the shop was enclosed in magically transfigured walls, just like the other construction sites. Nobody could see in over the ten foot high walls.

Harry opened the door again and stepped through, wand out and ready, while Ron held it open and stood guard.

Inside, the store was a bit dirty and smoke damaged, but otherwise unhurt. Stock had been knocked off the shelves, probably in the panic to get out of the store when the attack started, but no major damage was visible. The large windows showed the underside of the debris covering them.

“Brilliant!” said Ron, when Harry showed him. “It’s like the door and windows are a portal and the store is someplace else. The door probably only opened to you because you are a part owner. That’s why the twins wanted you here, bloody show offs.”

With better knowledge of what needed to be done, Ron and Harry set about transfiguring a new store front. They were able to buy a lot of new material from the other construction sites who had brought in large quantities during the night. It was expensive, but Harry figured it was worth the cost to have the store open again as soon as possible.

The apartment the Twins had been staying in was a total loss though, and Harry agreed with Ron that it was low on their priority list.

Using the stronger beams for structural posts, they slowly built a frame to hold the window and door in place. From then it was almost a simple matter to fill in the gaps with a combination of transfigured and new materials. It only took a couple of hours to have a new, if slightly crooked, shop front ready to go.

Harry wiped the sweat from his magically altered long hair and commented that he could really do with a butterbeer.

“Call Winky and ask her to get you one,” suggested Ron.

Harry hadn’t heard from Winky, Dobby or Kreacher since they had gone to Hogwarts. He figured it was worth a try, but just not with Winky first.

“Dobby,” he called.

A second later a loud crack announced the arrival of the elf.

“How is Winky?” he asked, once the excitable elf had calmed down.

“Winky is being much better. She is using magic again and helping in the kitchens at Hogwarts. She is feeling happy to return to Harry Potter soon!”

“And Kreacher?”

Dobby’s smile quickly turned into a frown.

“Kreacher is bad elf. He is wanting to die rather than server Harry Potter. Dobby and other elves is keeping him alive, but we is not liking it.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about this, but he knew he wanted a butterbeer.

“Dobby, could I employ you for a day to help us out and get some butterbeers and food?”

“Dobby will be proud to work for Harry Potter sir. He is not taking all his days off and is saving them up.”

“Great Dobby, can you get us some beers and a sandwich please?” Ron asked, on hearing the elf’s declaration.

Dobby disappeared with a loud crack.

Harry smiled at Ron and they went back to building, confident the elf would be back soon. The shop still needed side and back walls and a roof, if it was ever going to maintain the illusion it had before.

Several minutes passed before another loud crack signalled the return of Dobby. Before Harry could turn to look, there were lots of loud cracks. He spun about in a panic, but all he saw were house-elves, a lot of house-elves.

“Dobby is sorry for taking so long, Mr Wheezy sir,” Dobby said, passing a beer and a plate piled with sandwiches to Ron. “But Mistress McGonagall asked Dobby what he is doing, and then insisted he takes other elves to help out.”

Harry was still staring at the bottle Dobby pressed into his hand when the elves rushed into the building remains and started clearing it away.

From then on the work got a lot easier for Ron and Harry. They were needed to direct the elves and to transfigure any materials or tools needed, but the elves moved and shifted and cleaned everything much better then the boys could have. They even managed to straighten the front of the store up so well that it was almost indistinguishable from the original shop.

For a fleeting moment, a legend from Harry’s past rose unbidden in his mind. Once, long ago when he still slept in the cupboard at Privet Drive, he had discovered the door was unlocked and snuck out early in the morning to secretly watch a television show. He had turned the sound almost totally off, so that nobody would be awoken, but managed to see just about the whole thing before hearing one of the Dursley’s stirring and quickly running back to his cot to pretend to still be asleep. In the show, a fat man in a furry red suit had hundreds of elves working for him, building all kinds of gifts and toys to give children.

The mass of elves flowing over the worksite, happily building and repairing as they went, reminded Harry of that TV show so much that he nearly burst out laughing at the thought. Trying to explain to Ron proved futile though, as Ron just couldn’t see the humour in it.

Ron and Harry both made sure to shake hands with and sincerely thank by name each and every soot-blackened elf before they left.

“Yous is welcome, young masters,” one old elf said. “We’s not working very hard when young masters are’s away, so today is a good day.”

This pronouncement was greeted with a round of affirmation by the elves.

Dobby stayed behind when the other elves left to help clean up the inside of the store, a task that didn’t take very long at all.

Thanking Dobby, and forcing the elf to take payment for his help, they were about to leave when the owners of WWW entered through the front door.

“Look what we have here then, my nine fingered brother,” said George, the bandages still enshrouding his head giving his identity away. “It would appear a couple of house-elves have gotten all big and strong and spend the day fixing our store.”

“Indeed,” replied Fred. “Merlin knows those that lay-about younger brother of ours and his attention seeking friend could not have managed to perform a tenth of the work we see before us.”

“Oi,” objected Ron, apparently forgetting that he and Harry had not even really done that much.

“Ah, perhaps we are mistaken-” said George.

“Yes, such eloquence can only come from the youngest male of our clan, despite the long hair and strange facial growth he seems to have acquired.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh and shook hands with two, being extra careful of Fred’s not quite healed pinkie.

“What are you too doing out of hospital so soon?” asked Ron.

“We had a bit of a disagreement-”

“More of a run in really-“

“With a particularly persistent ward matron-”

“Who, by the way, also possess a truly terrifying collection of Muggle needles-”

“And penchants to use them-”

“Unnatural that-”

”Definitely not healthy-”

“Not when my buttocks are involved, that’s for sure-”

“But back to the story-”

“Were we telling a story?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I like a good story.”

“So do I fair brother, so do I. Anyway, we left the hospital after a certain matron-”

“Who you may recall had lots of large needles and an even larger need to use them-”

“Felt the urge to practice strange Muggle therapies on us.”

“That and the fact we accidentally turned several of the bedpans into frogs.”

“Several? I though you said to make it all of them.”

“Did I? Well would certainly explain the acupuncturally obsessed Matron chasing us down the ward throwing amphibians.”

“I suppose so, but I choose to retain my belief that she just had thing for doing that sort of thing and does it frequently to relieve the pressure.”

“The frogs, or the chasing half-healed patients away?”

“Both, of course.”

By the time the boys had finally gotten the story from the twin terrors, Harry felt his side was going to burst open from laughing. It was apparently a very bad idea to try and confine them to bed, or even a single building for that matter, and their usual antics had driven the healers to allow them an early discharge.

“Encouraged us to go, actually,” said Fred. “Even though my pinkie is still in need of substantial care and attention, and George’s head has got a bit of hole in it.”

“Want to see?” Offered George, starting to remove the bandages before Ron or Harry could object.

Luckily, they convinced him to keep his head wrapped up, expressing no desire to see ‘shiny skull’ as he put it.

The twins were truly impressed at what Harry and Ron had achieved, even after they admitted to having a squadron of house-elves helping them.

They had asked Harry to check up on the shop, not expecting to be out of the hospital for a few days, and guessing he would figure out the door secret and be able to make sure everything was still ok, but had not expected the two boys to do much more than that. Their early escape from the hospital had been a bonus that allowed them to visit the store with an eye to finding out how soon they could be ready to trade again.

“We were planning on having a fire sale,” said Fred, earning another laugh.

Discovering the store almost completely repaired threatened to put George back into hospital when he had first arrived, thinking the blow to his head was a lot more serious than he had been led to believe.

Harry told the twins about his theory of the attack being targeted at specific stores, and the twins agreed with his idea, pointing out their own store was now the major supplier of protective clothing for the Ministry of Magic and so definitely a target. No other store had been targeted by their group of attackers, who concentrated so exclusively on making sure it was burnt to the ground that their own defences were compromised.

“Something to tell the Order that is,” agreed George. “We are having another meeting soon.” He then shot a questioning look at Fred, and received an answering nod to the unspoken question before continuing. “There has been some, interesting, developments of late, things that we feel you should be made aware of.”

“You-Know-Who has been having a bit of trouble lately,” continued Fred. “Seems somebody else has been working against him and his not-so-merry-men, and he is hurting a bit from some raids against his people.”

“Who?” asked Ron.

“Nobody is really sure, but the Order has been getting a fair few tip off lately. Locations of Death Eaters, warnings about attacks, that sort of thing,” answered George.

“Thing is, according to this source, old what-his-face has been taking a real beating since Dumbledore died,” said Fred looking intently at Harry. “And he has been loosing followers as quickly as he has been gaining them.”

“It’s not us,” said Harry quickly. “We have been keeping out of it, honest.”

George nodded. “We know that, young Harry, although it is amazing how often your name comes up when things like this happen. We just want you to know he may be looking to make another example, since he seems to have expected things to be going a bit more his way since he’s done away with his other main opponent.”

“Are you saying he is looking for Harry?” asked Ron. “Because we already know that…”

“It’s bit more serious than that, Ronald. More a case of there may be a lot of pressure for him to do the deed himself this time, instead of hiding away while a good-for-nothing scum bag like Snape does the dirty work. A few of his admirers were a bit put out by snaky not having the guts to take on the job himself, although we hear a certain ferret will never be the same again, not after a round of Crucios from the inner circle for mouthing something along those lines.”

Harry nodded, not at all concerned by anything that had happened to Draco, and accepting the warning for what it was; a sincere effort to let him know to be careful. Ron was rather pleased to hear his most hated school enemy had suffered for his deeds.

“Poetic justice,” said Ron. “I hope Snape has been given the same for doing the job in his place.”

Ron and Harry did some shopping in the repaired store while they were there, Ron arguing the twins owed him for a days work, and Harry because they had told him to take anything he wanted for free at any time.

“Don’t tell Hermione about the elves,” Ron said, before they left. “You know she won’t understand.”

*

She found out, of course, and she did understand, but was none too happy about it.

“Anyway,” said Harry, cutting into the elf rights lecture she was still giving an hour after Ron let slip about the help they had given. “Did you get an interview with Dung?”

“Yes,” she answered. “You go tomorrow.”

As the elves had said, it had been a good day.


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Chapter Sixteen – Visitor of Azkaban

The Ministry supplied Azkaban Portkey dropped Harry painfully on his behind on icy cold rocks inside a bare courtyard. The yard was big enough to hold hundreds of people, but the bewildering height of the surrounding walls made it somehow feel cramped and oppressive, as if you were about to be squeezed in a gigantic stone press.

His Auror guards helped him up and quickly marched towards a wall that looked no different to Harry than any of the others surrounding them. Staggeringly cold wind swirled down from the top of those walls and raced across the open space, plucking at his clothes as he walk like it was trying to find a way to penetrate his protection and steal away his warmth. He could only wonder at how much worse it could have been if the Dementors had still been present.

Reaching the nondescript section of wall, one of the guards rested his hand against a completely blank, featureless section. Nothing happened for a few seconds, making Harry start to wonder if the guard had a made a mistake, but then a silver light sprung from the rock right in front of where they stood, outlining a doorway. The door slowly swung open with the teeth-jarring grinding noise of heavy stone being dragged protestingly over more stone, making Harry wince, and setting his teeth on edge.

Inside, past a heavily barred reception area, Harry was subjected to a dozen different tests, several which required blood. He was forced to strip and change into plain grey robes under the watchful and unblinking eyes of two Aurors, who never lowered their wands the whole time they were in the same room, and looked like they meant business.

“Since the Dementors have gone, we have had to implement many stringent new security measures,” one of the original guards told him, by way of apology.

Harry nodded while thinking that none of this would stop Voldemort if he decided to free his incarcerated followers. Still, it was better than just leaving the prisoners walk out anytime they choose because somebody had slipped in some Polyjuice potion, like Barty Crouch had basically done.

The guards told him the above ground portion of the prison held those considered to be low risk prisoners. Mundungus was regarded as little more than a public nuisance and would not have been in the maximum security prison at all, if he had not been caught at a time when the Ministry was trying to demonstrate to the public it was taking harsh steps to combat Voldemort. He was due to be released soon, but hadn't been told, since his sentence had been recently reduced without his knowing.

Harry didn't understand the logic of the Ministry not informing Mundungus of his impending release, and considered it a bit cruel, but then took the knowledge with him intending to use it as a bargaining chip if he had to.

Marching down long, drab corridors lined with intimidating steel doors, he could almost feel the fear inducing presence of the departed Dementors, even though they had not been there for years. It was as if their very essence had sunk into the grey stone, imparting the rock itself with some of their foul nature. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine as he considered that the lower levels where they had lurked in greater numbers would be infinitely worse. Places like where Sirius had survived, barley sane, for a dozen years.

Three guards escorted with him through the labyrinth, one in front and two behind, all three with their wands drawn and eyes peeled. Their watchfulness made Harry even more nervous. The echo of their footsteps returned eerily, as if it had found something terrifying and ran back to them.

Occasionally a face or a hand could be seen either pressed against the small grid in the doors looking at them as they passed, or reaching out, as if begging for something. Voices called to them from inside the oppressive cells, demanding this or asking for that. The desperation in some of the weak pleas tore at Harry almost as badly as real Dementors. He couldn’t imagine surviving one day in here, let alone over a decade in conditions that could only have been a thousand times worse.

When they reached the right cell, the front guard unlocked the door with a large key and stepped inside. Harry followed, as did one of the rear guards. The third one closed the door and stayed outside in the corridor.

Mundungus, never a clean fellow before, looked positively dreadful. He was even more bedraggled and ragged, and at first didn't seem to recognise Harry. When he finally did, he retreated into the corner of the cell in fear, since the last time they had met Harry had nearly throttled him.

“Mundungus, I am looking for the things you took from Sirius,” Harry told him in as threatening a voice as he could muster. The sorry state of the man had shaken Harry’s resolve, but not broken it. He also knew every word would be reported back to the Minister, so he couldn't just come out and say what he was looking for, or appear friendly.

“It was rubbish,” Mundungus said in a quiet, shaky voice. “He had thrown it out. It was all in those big bags, honest. I didn’t take nothing.”

Harry felt his anger rise at the lie. Not everything he had seen in the spilled contents of Mundungus's suitcase had been thrown out by Sirius, some of it had come from the house as soon as his godfather had been murdered.

“Now I know that is not exactly true,” he said. “But I am willing to forgive you, if you help me get it back. Do you still have any of it?”

Mundungus shook his head.

“Who did you sell it to?” demanded Harry.

“I can't tell you that!”

“Yes you can, and you will, or I will press charges against you for stealing my property in the first place. Do you feel like extending your sentence here?”

He hated threatening the man, even if he had no intention in following through with it. Mundungus looked rightly terrified at maybe having to spend more time in jail, but a cunning gleam entered his eyes when he caught Harry shooting a nervous glance at the guards.

“I'll tell you, but you have to promise to put in a good word for me, all right?”

Harry had no intention of doing any such thing, so he just stood quietly, patiently waiting for the sorry man to give in. Mundungus took his prolonged silence as sign of agreement.

“You remember who I was talking to when you saw me?” he asked, showing a surprising amount of caution by not saying a name in front of the Aurors.

Harry nodded, remembering confronting him while he was talking to Aberforth, the proprietor of the Hog's Head tavern in Hogsmeade.

“He took the lot. Said he needed lots of silver for something, I dunno what though.”

Harry nodded his understanding. The next part was tricky.

“Do you remember any of it? There were some goblin wrought silver goblets, maybe some cutlery. Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” agreed Dung. “There was that.”

“Do you remember seeing any jewellery? A ring, a gold locket, a necklace, or a snuff box maybe?”

“I remember a locket and a ring. Nice bits they were. I couldn't open the locket though, and couldn’t get the crest off the ring. Don't remember a snuff box.”

Harry fought to keep his voice level. He needed to throw his minders off the scent.

“There was a music box. Do you remember the music box?”

Dung screwed his eyes closed in concentration, looking a bit too convincing for Harry to entirely believe he was really trying to remember something, rather than just acting the part.

“Come on, Dung. It’s important. It played a nice little tune that made people relax,” he prompted.

Dung’s eyes shot open as he apparently recalled the item in question. “It nearly put me to sleep when I opened it, I remember that!” he said excitedly.

Harry grinned triumphantly.

“And you sold it to Aberforth, the music box right?”

“Yeah. He took it, and the other stuff.”

Dung looked nervously at Harry before continuing, and Harry knew there was something else, something Mundungus didn’t want to reveal, so he again just waited patiently.

“But I kept the Order of Merlin, for me-self,” the thief finally admitted.

Harry almost laughed, despite the horrible feelings that had been crowding him since he set foot on the lonely island.

“You can have that. All I want is the music box,” he said, looking quickly at his guards, “and a few other things. Family heirlooms you see. Thank you for your help.”

“Don't forget to put in a good word for me!” Dung called out as Harry left the cell with his silent escort.

Plans forming in his head as he walked, Harry didn't hear the voice call his name until a guard stopped him.

From behind the dirty bars of one of the uncountable, identical cells, looked the platinum haired, grey eyed face of Lucius Malfoy. He was gaunt and even paler than usual, but still wore the same perpetual sneer that Harry had always hated.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” the vile man said smugly. “Come to visit the old stomping ground of your godfather have you?”

Harry nearly leapt at the bars in angry response, but managed to restrain himself and compose a reply.

“Why aren't you down stairs with the rest of your sorry friends Malfoy? Think you are too good for them now do you?”

“Dear boy,” Lucius drawled. “Of course I am too good for them. You don't expect me to be put into the kind of place you would keep a mangy dog, do you?”

“If you were a dog, I would have put you down long ago, Malfoy, you and your pathetic looser of a son.”

Lucius's smile stiffened at the mention of his son, and Harry pressed his point.

“I suppose you have heard all about how he failed, haven't you? Did they tell you that, through no skill or cunning of his own, he had Dumbledore at the end of his wand and was too gutless to go through with it? Did they mention he is now being actively hunted and will soon be joining you here? I hope the cell is big enough for two, Malfoy, because the only way you are ever going to see him again is when they drag his sorry behind in here to share your fine, new accommodations with you.”

“And you want to know the best part, Malfoy? The only reason he even tried to do a real man’s job was because he was scared the big, bad, nasty snake was angry with daddy and was going to hurt mummy, but probably right now they are both learning exactly how your master loves it when his slaves fail him. I hope you enjoy that image, Lucius, I know I do.”

Lucius's cool facade suddenly cracked and twisted into a mask of rage and hatred. He yelled incoherently and flung an arm out between the bars to grab at Harry. The Aurors jumped forward and threw the almost foaming at the mouth prisoner back into the recesses of his cell with a flick of their wands.

Harry immediately turned and walked towards the exit, making the guards run to catch up. He felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and shame at having goaded the imprisoned and helpless man into loosing his composure, but it served Malfoy right for trying to torment him in the first place; Turnabout is fair play, after all.

Leaving the depressing prison after another series of tests and searches, he was surprised to find the Portkey landing area of the Ministry was un-warded against apparition. It was supposed to be used for Aurors and Ministry officials only, but Harry had no qualms in Apparating directly to Hogsmeade and managed to avoid having to meet with the Minister of Magic.

Inside the small, dirty room that was the Hog's Head tavern, Harry quickly found the barman in his traditional position performing the seemingly endless task of cleaning the glassware with a rag that appeared to be at least as dirty as the glass in question.

“I am looking for some goods that I believe you were sold,” he told Aberforth, after ordering a butterbeer.

Now that he knew it, Harry could see the resemblance between the grumpy, grey haired and bearded proprietor, and Albus Dumbledore, but it didn't make him any more comfortable when the somewhat familiar piercing blue eyes stared at him.

“What exactly are you after?”

Harry swallowed nervously. Coming directly here without stopping to get Ron and Hermione, or to even put on his disguise, might have been a mistake. Seated all around the pub were the usual motley collections of cloaked and hooded people. Any one of them might have been a Death Eater, and any one of them might be very interested in knowing what he bought from the disreputable barman.

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” asked Harry quietly.

The barman nodded and led Harry to a back room that was stacked with boxes and bottles.

“I want everything Mundungus sold you from the Black House,” said Harry as soon as the door closed behind them.

Aberforth didn't look impressed.

“Don't know what came from where,” he answered. “You are going to have to be more specific.”

“I am looking for a music box that puts you to sleep when it plays, a golden ring, a snuff box, and a golden locket. The ring has the Black family crest on it, but the locket is blank. The snuff box tries to bite you. Oh, and there was some silverware with the crest on it too and some goblin wrought cups with the crest on them too.”

The old man once again looked penetratingly at Harry. Briefly Harry wondered if Aberforth shared the Legilimency skills of his brother, and hastily tried to empty his mind of emotions.

“I got the ring and the locket, but nothing else,” Aberforth answered.

Harry tried to look disappointed. “Do you have any idea where the music box would have gotten to?”

“Borgin and Burkes,” Aberforth answered simply.

“Can I see the ring and the locket, please?”

Aberforth grunted and left the room for a minute.

Harry sat, trying to calm his breathing and slow his heart down. He was potentially seconds away from obtaining the Horcrux that Dumbledore had so badly weakened himself trying to get.

They had virtually walked past it on their way to the cave that fateful night.

Aberforth returned and dropped a small leather bag on the table. Inside, Harry found the ring he had last seen Sirius dropping into the rubbish, and the locket he had only really examined closely in the Pensieve memories.

He had it. He had found a Horcrux.

*

Aberforth charge Harry an outrageous amount, especially when Harry only made a token effort at bargaining. He tried to pretend to be more interested in the missing music box, but he couldn't let the locket out of his hand once he had hold of it.

With a considerable emptier money bag, he left the Hog's Head through a back door and Apparated back to Grimmauld place where he immediately showed the locket to Ron and Hermione.

Ron was as ecstatic as Harry, and Hermione only slightly less so.

“It was dangerous to go on your own,” she scolded, “especially since you weren't even in disguise.”

“It all worked out okay, Hermione,” said Ron. “Give the man a break.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Ron suddenly grabbed her up in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor to whirl through the air before planting a solid kiss on her protesting lips.

Harry cheered loudly.

When they broke apart, Hermione looked rather flushed and Ron looked quite happy.

“Wish I had found that was a way of stopping you a bit earlier,” Ron said, earning a good natured slap from the blushing girl.

A strange foreboding swept over Harry as he watched his friends. With an unexplained growing sense of dread, he suddenly felt that finding the Horcrux had been the easy part.


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Chapter Seventeen – An Ill-fated Trip

The locket resisted every spell, charm and potion they could think to test.

Nothing had done more than scratch the surface or make the device glow. Speaking in Parsletongue did make the ‘S’ reappear, but nothing else happened, not even when Harry commanded it to open or wore it.

Hermione was once again buried in books and sleeping very little, while continuing to get grumpier and grumpier.

Harry was destroying so many targets that he had been forced to become much better at banishing the pulverised stone, or risk filling up the garage.

Ron had taken up using the exercise machines so often that he had worn out two of them and broken a third on general principles.

Their high spirits had crashed dramatically when they found the locket almost impossible to destroy. The only spell they had not tried was Avada Kedavra, and that was only because none of them felt they could cast it, and, more to the point, none of them had even wanted to try it, not even Harry.

He was even more frustrated than before he had recovered the locket. Now that they had it in their possession they didn’t know what to do with it. Who could have expected it to be so resistant to destruction?

“It doesn’t make sense,” Ron said. “Why go to all that trouble hiding it with traps and secrets when it can’t be busted anyway?”

Hermione pointed out that it might not have been Voldemort who made it that way. It had originally been owned by Salazar Slytherin after all.

Harry was currently searching the books left in the shelves of the Black library. They had been over them a dozen times already, but he kept hoping there would be something amongst the dark arts volumes that would help them.

The memories in the chest were haunting him too. Once again, he was sure knowledge they needed was in there, if only he could find a way to get it out.

Borrowing Professor McGonagall’s Pensieve was not an option, yet. She would be sure to want to know what he was looking for, and she might even object letting him learn any spell dangerous enough to damage the artefact. There had to be Pensieves somewhere, but the only place he hadn’t tried was Knockturn Alley.

Putting the books he was holding back onto the shelf, he decided to tell Ron and Hermione his plan. He had to go to the disreputable shopping area and make enquiries.

“It is going to be very dangerous,” Hermione said. “Even with three of us.”

“Too dangerous, that’s why I am going to go alone.”

Ron laughed. “Mate, even I can do the math there. One can’t be safer than three.”

“It is if I use the invisibility cloak.”

They argued for a while more until Hermione came up with a better plan that even Harry couldn’t object to, especially when Ron threatened to follow him anyway.

*

Harry’s exit from the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron was slightly smoother than normal; he only stumbled slightly before crashing into a table and attracting the attention of the few patrons currently in the tavern. Ron joined him without saying a word. They were both wearing disguises that made them look a lot older, and almost like brothers; Hermione’s spell work making a much better job of it than either Ron or Harry could have hoped.

Dark, but not black, hair was held back in a pony tail by a ribbon. Their skin was deeply tanned and they both wore Muggle sunglasses. Rough stubble coated both faces, making them appear to be in their early twenties, but one had a moustache, that he nervously stroked as they walked out into Diagon alley.

“Stop playing with it!” Harry snapped at Ron.

“I can’t help it, it itches. Well not exactly itches, just feels funny.”

“I told you it was a bad idea,” said a disembodied voice from nearby.

“But it looks great!” Ron protested, ignoring the muffled giggle from the invisible girl.

While the rest of Diagon Alley may have been suffering a drop in patrons since the war started, Knockturn Alley was almost abandoned. The dim and dingy narrow streets were filled with rubbish that nobody had bothered to clean away. The occasional hag or witch, it was difficult to tell the difference, stood in unlit doorways leering at them, and hooded figures wandered in and out of dark stores, sometimes pushing between the two boys on their way past even though the rest of the street was clear, but compared to the last time Harry had been there, it was empty.

Borgin and Burkes was still open however, so they went in, it being the most familiar shop to them.

The cabinet, that Harry had once hidden in and that Draco Malfoy had used to infiltrate Hogwarts, was gone, as was the proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man

The younger man they made their enquiries with was almost identical looking though, so they assumed he was a son.

“No Pensieves, or any of the other stuff you looking for in here,” he spat angrily. “What you see is what you get. Damn Aurors took everything else.”

They had a quick wander about the shop, pretending to look for something to buy. Remembering his last visit to Diagon Alley, Harry decided to buy the first thing he laid his hands on that didn’t look completely evil. Surprisingly, Ron found a few bags of Peruvian Darkness Dust from his brother’s joke shop. They were for sale at ten times the price though, but Harry didn’t want anybody else to have them, not after Draco has used it so successfully during the attack on Hogwarts.

Harry also found himself buying something that for an inexplicable reason had caught his attention; a glass eye. He had just wanted to look at it, but Borgin’s expression brightened up so much when he noticed Harry’s attention on the object that he felt compelled to buy it.

“A very interesting purchase there, young sir,” Borgin Jr. said with much more politeness. It was amazing how quickly his demeanour changed once Harry produced a money bag loaded with Galleons.

“With that eye you gain the ability to see through most walls, to spot magical energy, and to detect poison simply by looking at it. It will also provide you with three hundred and sixty degree vision, literally letting you see out of the back of you head.”

“Cool,” said Ron in rapt fascination. “How do you use it?”

“Why you simply remove the eye you want to replace, usually with a very sharp knife, since that is the easiest way, and put the new one in its place,” answered Borgin with a smile, as if it was the most sensible thing in the world. “No spells or rituals required, except the ones to stop bleeding to death of course. Nothing simpler.”

Ron turned pale and no longer looked as interested, and Harry nearly changed his mind.

“I heard a tale of an Auror who has something like this,” Harry said. “I have been told he has no control over where it looks. Is that the case with this one?”

Borgin stiffen slightly when Harry spoke, and for a second he wondered if he had made a mistake mentioning Mad-eye Moody.

“No young sir! This one is completely at your command,” Borgin answered stiffly.

“Excellent. No other er, side-effects I should be aware of then?” asked Harry, trying to give a penetrating and menacing stare.

Borgin shifted uncomfortably.

“There have been tales of the eye causing some weak minded people to act a bit oddly, on occasion.” he answered.

“Act odd? You mean go mad don’t you?” asked Ron.

Borgin’s continued hesitation answered them more clearly than his eventual words did.

“No sir, just a few simple folk of a lower calibre have become slightly, excentric,” he said.

Harry smiled grimly.

“Thank you. Now you wouldn’t happen to know where we might purchase a Pensieve, or any of the other items I mentioned, would you?”

Borgin, acting much friendlier after some gold changed hands, gave them directions on how to find a few stores that might indeed have what he was after.

Leaving the store, Harry was about to toss the eye away when Ron caught it.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t bin it! That cost you a lot you know, besides, it might come in handy.”

“Only if you want to end up like Mad-eye Moody,” said the voice out of thin air.

They tried the shops Borgin had pointed them to, and managed to buy what was reputed (by the store keeper) to be the most dangerous and powerful acid in existence, to try on the locket. Nobody knew of any Pensieves for sale.

On one street corner, a shabbily dressed witch offered to show Ron, or Harry, or both, a good time, and called out offering something to do with Polyjuice when they walked away.

“We are being followed,” Hermione told them suddenly. “Looks like four, maybe five people in hooded cloaks.”

Harry laughed. Everybody, including themselves, was in hooded cloaks.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

That was when they discovered the anti apparition ward. It felt like a solid wall stopping them from entering the compression of Apparition.

“Follow me,” Harry whispered, as he walked down a side alley in what he hoped was a casual manner. As soon as they turned the corner he took off running, Ron pounding along beside him and Hermione invisibly following.

They took several twists and turns, hoping to lose their trackers, before stepping into the doorway of a closed shop. Hermione had hung back at the last corner, keeping a look out for their pursuers.

“There are coming,” she called.

Ron was busy working on the door of the shop. When spells didn’t unlock it he pulled a thin metal rod from a pocket and expertly picked the lock, impressing Harry despite the urgency of their situation. Once inside, he called out to Hermione. She pushed past, the light touch of the invisibility cloak betraying her presence.

They sealed the door and retreated to hide behind a counter in the rear of the empty store. The hooded people hurried past, apparently thinking Ron and Harry had gone around the next corner.

“I heard one of them say they were tracking you,” Hermione whispered to Harry.

Sure enough, the hooded figures reappeared in front of their hiding place and one even pushed his face against the filthy window in an attempt to see inside.

Harry thought quickly.

“Right,” he said. “If they are tracking me, then I have to lead them away. Hermione give me the cloak. You and Ron stay here and I’ll lead them off.”

“Don’t be stupid mate,” said Ron. “We are in this together.”

“No time to argue, Ron,” said Harry, taking a guess at where Hermione was and reaching out to pull the cloak from her. “I am going to head for the edge of the anti-apparition ward. It can’t be covering the whole of Diagon Alley. You stay here until they follow me and then follow. If they catch me you will be able to jump them from behind.”

“If I get away I’ll Apparate around a bit then meet you back at Grimmauld place.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by the front door of the shop suddenly exploding inwards. Smoke and dust filled the air from the explosion as the trio ducked down behind the counter.

Before the dust cleared, Harry leaped up and blindly fired a blasting hex through the open doorway.

“Cover me!” he said, feeling like he was taking a line from a Muggle movie.

Hermione understood and started firing her own spells through the door as Harry crawled towards the door. Ron saw what she was doing and added his own spells to the fight. Answering spells started coming back in.

Harry rolled to take cover behind an empty shelf and looked for a way out. The door and window of the shop weren’t options, and the back door, if there was one, meant his attackers would come through the store to follow him, making Ron and Hermione targets.

Debris and dust flew up around him as more spells impacted on the floor, roof, and ceiling. Large pieces of the counter protecting Ron and Hermione splintered and broke off. A second later the remaining portion of the counter enlarged and turned to stone to provide better protection.

The whole front window abruptly exploded inwards showering glass over the trio and leaving several cuts in Harry’s face. Harry swept his wand in front of him and reversed the path of the glass making it fly back out into the street where it was greeted by several screams of pain.

He had to get out of the store, now!

“Reducto,” he shouted, putting everything he had into the spell and pointing at the wall in front of him.

A large hole appeared in the wall in another ear splitting explosion of dust and wood. At the same time a new barrage of spells hit the store and several small fires sprung up, only to be squashed as Ron or Hermione countered them.

Harry climbed to his feet, careful to keep the remaining bits of his crumbling shelter between him and his assailants.

Ron and Hermione were still furiously firing spells through the door and window, trying to keep their attackers at bay. Glimpses of hooded heads could be seen through the smoke, peering in from outside of the store. A stream of seemingly liquid fire hosed in through the window, bathing the shelves in flames and causing the temperature to immediately rise to furnace-like conditions and the air to be torn from Harry’s lungs.

Even as Harry conjured a stream of water from his wand, a counter spell flew from one of his friends, probably Hermione, and the flames flew back out as if a gust of wind had blown them out the way they had come. Cool air flooded over Harry letting him draw deep, soothing breaths into his scorched lungs while at least one figure outside caught fire in the counter attack and began screaming.

Taking a final deep breath, Harry ran and leaped at the hole with his arms out in front of him like he was diving in to a pool.

Luckily the hole was just large enough to fit his shoulders through, but he landed on his face in the next store, bruising his lip and thumping his right leg on the ground painfully hard.

Immediately there was a change in the sounds of the fight behind him.

However they were tracking him, they knew he had moved to one side of the store, but hadn’t yet realised he was no longer in the same room. Spells thudded into the wall behind him and one come through the hole to rupture the ceiling of his new hideout.

Harry poked his wand up to fire a spell through the hole, hoping to keep them ignorant for a bit longer.

Suddenly the room he had just left became totally black. Not a single glimmer of light could be seen inside the store where Ron and Hermione were! It was Peruvian Darkness Dust. Somebody had thrown a handful into the air and made it impossible for anybody to see in or out.

Several more spells thudded against the wall, letting Harry know his attackers were still tracking him despite the impenetrable darkness. He quickly checked his pockets and found several of the twin’s items he had forgotten about.

An amplified voice suddenly boomed into the room behind him.

“Come out, Potter, we know you are in there and you can’t get away. We aren’t interested in your friends, so if you give yourself up, we’ll let them go.”

Spells shot out of the store as all three of the defenders gave their answer. The return fire from the attackers rocked the walls and made the roof groan threateningly.

Harry pulled the cloak over himself and darted to the door, unlocking it with a spell as he ran. Immediately, shouts from the attackers showed they could tell he was on the move, but judging from the sounds of the impact of their spells, they still didn’t realise he was next door.

Judging by their shouts, they must have thought he was running for the front of the store and was going to charge out blindly to attack them. The unexpected move caught them off guard since there was a pause in the attack as somebody shouted confusing orders.

Barely slowing to yank the door open, Harry darted out and ran around the corner away from where the attackers were. He caught a glimpse of at least a half dozen hooded figures hiding behind whatever cover was available, hiding from the spells Ron and Hermione were still firing blindly from within the blackness.

Rounding the corner he dropped a portable swamp behind him and continued to run. Confused shouts grew louder as his pursuers finally figured out he was somehow no longer cornered in the store and gave chase.

“He must have Apparated,” one shouted.

“Don’t be stupid, Pike,” another yelled. “If he could Apparate he wouldn’t have appeared so close, he would be long gon-arrrrgghhh.”

The voice was cut off by a muffled splash.

It sounded like at least one of them had found the swap and Harry wished it had been a deluxe model with live alligators!

Smiling, he turned the next corner and discovered he had run into a dead end. The sounds of pursuit were getting closer. He rushed to a dark doorway on one side of the alley and tried the door. It was locked.

“Alohomora!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the door. It remained stubbornly closed.
“Down here,” someone called from near the mouth of the alley.

“****!” growled Harry, then he kick the door with all his might in frustration.

Surprisingly, it flew open.

Grunting in the sudden change of luck, Harry ran through door into the darkened room behind it before spinning around and sealing the entry.

“Colloportus,” he gasped.

With the door closed the room was pitch black. Harry stood panting, waiting for his eyes to adjust, when somebody started talking outside in the alleyway.

“He went down here. Where does it say he is now, McDuff?’

“Right in front of us,” came an excited reply. “There, inside that door.”

A loud ‘bang’ came from the door as somebody tried to force it open. Harry jumped backwards in reflex and collided with a desk, knocking his already injured leg.

Cursing under his breath, he pulled the cloak off and lit the room with his wand, looking for a way out. He was inside a store room of some kind. Dusty shelves loaded with boxes lined the walls. A rickety wooden stairway led to an upper level.

Grabbing the desk he pushed it against the door, hoping to gain some breathing space by slowing his pursuers down.

He was out of breath, sweating heavily, bleeding from several different places, and his leg hurt to put weight on it. Another loud bang on the door made him jump again as the desk moved forward slightly with the force of the blow.

Limping to the stairs he started to climb up, pulling himself forward painfully, using the hand rail.

This was a disaster, almost as bad as the night he had led a rescue party to the Ministry of Magic and gotten Sirius killed.

About half way up, the desk flew across the room and the door burst open before rebounding against the wall and partially closing again.

“IMPEDIMENTA!” he cried, jabbing his wand furiously at the doorway.

The door slammed shut with so much force that it was torn off its hinges and tossed out into the street in pieces.

Harry desperately hoped it had taken at least one of his pursuers with it.

Coloured flashes of spells came shooting through the now door-less entry, hitting the stairs at his feet and ripping them to pieces. The stairs gave a lurch and dropped in a stomach wrenching drop that stopped abruptly. A piece of the roof fell down hitting him painfully on the head and making lights burst in front of his eyes.

The sudden jerk pulled the railing from Harry’s hand as he lost his balance and started to fall backwards to what would surely be an extremely painful, if not fatal end.

In a panic, his closed his eyes and Apparated.

*

He came to lying on cold, damp stone. It took him a few moments to recognise the roof above him as rock. A dim glow of light was coming from somewhere behind him, as the smell of salt and sea water filled his nostrils. Memories slowly clawed their way to the surface of his mind. Going to Knockturn Alley, the chase, Apparating and falling with nothing on his mind except desperation; just like the second time he had Apparated.

“Oh no,” he groaned.

It was the cave Dumbledore had taken him to; the antechamber to the hiding place of the locket Horcrux. He had no idea how he had Apparated there, except for the fact he was desperate when he tried to get away, but at least he was in one piece, he hoped.

Sitting up slowly, he checked all the usual vital parts. Everything seemed ok, even his eyebrows had survived the trip. Blood was trickling down his face from a wound on his forehead and he ached from a dozen different injuries, but aside from an incredibly bad headache, he appeared to be all right.

Harry stood slowly and looked around.

Nothing had changed from the fateful night not long ago. He found himself walking to where he remembered Dumbledore cutting himself to spray the wall and open the door. The dark splash of dried blood ran across the stone to stop abruptly; probably where the doorway started.

Harry ran his hand over the rock, unconsciously repeating the very movements Dumbledore had made to find the hidden doorway. A blazing silver archway suddenly appeared making Harry jump backwards.

Was somebody coming out of the cave? He raised his wand ready to defend himself as the rock vanished leaving an entry into complete darkness beyond.

After a few moments nothing happened, and Harry realised what had occurred; the blood on his hands when he touched the wall had opened the doorway.

A sort of irresistible, horrid fascination caused Harry to light his wand and walk into the cave beyond the door. The vast black lake and high vaulted cavern looked exactly as he remembered it; just like in his nightmares. Worse even was the misty green light glowing from the middle of the lake, beckoning him with its fatal attraction.

Being here was stupid. There was nothing here and no reason to go further. Even if Harry could find the hidden boat, what purpose could be served by going back to the island?

Several loud apparition cracks echoed from the entrance chamber, making Harry’s heart almost stop. He doused his wand and limped to the side of the door to hide out of sight in a slight indentation in the wall.

“He is in there,” an excited voice called. It was one of the voices he had heard back in Knockturn Alley. Somehow they had followed him!

Harry almost tore the invisibility cloak in his haste to get it on. As he did so, the bag of darkness powder fell out of his pocket and burst open, plunging him into absolute darkness.

Just before he lost the ability to see anything at all, Harry caught a glimpse of several people rushing into the cave with their wands drawn. One, who had been looking at what appeared to be an old wooden compass, had just looked directly at Harry when the powder filled the air.

PETRIFICUS TOTALUS! IMPEDIMENTA! STUPEFY! REDUCTO, REDUCTO, REDUCTO! DIFFINDO! BOMBARDIA! EXPELIAMUS! SCOPPIORUMORA FORTA!

Harry started casting almost every offensive spell he knew, screaming it in his mind while not emitting a sound. The massive cannon blast spell sounded especially loud as it echoed through the chamber and reverberated endlessly, half deafening him, and hopefully his opponents.

Chaos reigned as his blinded attackers, realising they were under attack but not knowing where from, started throwing spells in every direction. Harry threw himself to the ground and crawled towards the exit, occasionally either casting a reflective shield between him and where he thought his attackers were, or another offensive spell to keep them on their toes.

All around him, as he painfully dragged his body over the rough rock towards where he was sure the exit was, he could hear them yelling instructions and questions to each other. The ringing in his ears made their voices sound dull and far away.

Sharp edges of stone cut through his robes and tore at his flesh as he pulled himself slowly onwards. He desperately wanted to get up and run, but there was just too much chance of getting hit by one of the many spells that were flying through the air.

It seemed like an eternity before the light he formerly found dim almost blinded him as his head cleared the magical darkness. He was back in the antechamber, several feet from the magical door.

None of the others had made it back out of the cave. They were still fighting each other, despite numerous calls for everyone to stop.

In a break between the yells and spell casting, Harry heard a single noise that put more fear into him than anything he had faced so far in this battle. Incredible though it was, the noise carried to where he lay, recognisable through the slowly fading ringing caused by his cannon blast spell; it was a splash.

Somebody had fallen into the lake.

The confusion generated noise of the battle was overwhelmed by a terrifying scream, and Harry knew what had happened. The Inferi had risen from the lake and grabbed the person who had fallen in; probably dragging him back down into water.

More screams filled the air as the Inferi found more victims. Panicked voices became frantic in their spell casting as the living desperately tried to fight off the unseen dead things that were attacking them.

Harry dragged himself forward, further away from the archway, until he reached the steps leading down into the water. He rolled around to face the blackness and prepared to fight anything that came out through the doorway, living or dead.

Fire was the only thing that had saved him last time. Dumbledore had created a ring of fire that surrounded them as they had made their way back to the boat. Calling up every fire and burning spell he knew, Harry lay still and waited.

People were dying. Just on the other side of the archway, inside the blackness, living, breathing wizards were being dragged by the horrific, zombie-like corpses of murdered people into a horrifying watery death, and Harry was letting it happen.

They were trying to capture you, a voice said inside of his head. Still the horror of what was happening made him want to call out, to try and save them.

They knew about the cave, it told him. Although coming here had been a mistake, letting anybody else know about it would be an absolute disaster, but he didn’t even know who they were. They might not have been Death Eaters, since they weren’t wearing the skull faced masks.

Like the local press would be firing spells meant to injure and incapacitate at you. But none had fired any of the unforgivables, or at least not that Harry had seen.

The screams and yells became fewer and fewer as Harry debated with himself. A final cry followed by a horrible gurgling signalled the end of the battle. No Inferi had ventured beyond the bounds of the inner chamber, and no living people had left the room besides Harry.

As if on queue, the magical darkness dissipated like smoke blowing away on a gentle breeze, and discovered the archway had disappeared. Grey unremarkable stone covered a place of horrors the likes of which Harry never wanted to face again.

Voldemort’s trap had claimed more victims.


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Chapter Eighteen – Desperate Times

Harry forced himself to stay awake and heal the worst of his injuries. He had to Apparate away before anybody else came, following whatever it was that had let them track him. He needed to go somewhere safe, but he couldn’t take the risk of been followed to Grimmauld place.

There was only one place he could go to that was as protected as there, even though he hated the idea.

Standing up and finding the strength of his newly healed leg adequate, Harry Apparated to the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive.

Appearing in the room as planned, he quickly found himself at the business end of a wand. A few swapped questions and a cancelled disguise later, Percy started angrily raging at Harry.

It took Harry a good five minutes to figure out what Percy was going on about.

“All I said was ‘good morning’ and ‘is there any milk?’, and the next thing I know they are yelling and screaming and calling me the most abusive of names,” yelled Percy. “What did you tell these people? Did you think it would be amusing to make them hate me? As if it is not bad enough having to follow the strict guidelines you left regarding my presence at the Ministry, you just couldn’t help but make my time here more difficult, could you? I should have you charged with Muggle baiting for whatever lies you have told your family about me!”

It sounded like Percy had finally met the Dursleys.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Harry snapped. “But I did tell you to keep to your room and not interact with them.”

“You set me up!” yelled Percy. “I know it. You are just like those brothers of mine. I bet you thought it would be a great joke to put locks on outside of the door and try to keep me locked in all night didn’t you? If I wasn’t doing this at the personal request of the Minister, I would have left long ago!”

Harry was fighting to keep his temper.

“Percy, maybe you have a problem hearing. I told you I didn’t get along with my relatives. Didn’t you listen to Ron when he told what it was like for me here? Did you think he and the twins were lying about the bars on the windows they had to pull off to rescue me when I was twelve?”

“You can’t expect me to take those fairy tales seriously!” Percy yelled. “Don’t be absurd.”

That was it. Harry grabbed Percy by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the door. Barely pausing to open the door with a quick flick of his wand, Harry almost carried him into the hallway, ignoring the older man’s startled protests.

Although Percy’s Polyjuiced form was identical to Harry’s and he was uninjured, Harry’s rage gave him extra muscle as he forced Percy down the stairs to stand outside the cupboard underneath that had served as his room for most of his childhood.

“See that door Percy? See those locks? Open it Percy. Open the door and the locks and look inside. That was my bedroom from when I can first remember up to the day my Hogwarts letter arrived. OPEN THE DAMN DOOR PERCY!”

He hurled Percy at the door.

Shocked, Percy just stood there looking dumbfounded. Harry knew he could see the locks; locks that had no purpose on a cupboard.

“WELL PERCY? DO YOU BELIEVE IT NOW?”

Percy couldn’t speak. He just stood, staring uncomprehendingly at the door.

Harry heard a gasp and whirled to find Petunia standing in the hallway. She took one look at Harry and his double, and then fainted.

“OH THAT’S JUST BLEEDING GREAT!” screamed Harry, looking at his Aunt’s crumpled form. “JUST – BLEEDING - GREAT.”

Harry levitated Petunia up to her bed and left her there. He noticed the whole house was still ready for painting, but none of the painting appeared to have been started yet. The old paint hadn’t even been removed.

Unless they were repainting it the same colours it was before, he thought.

Percy seemed to still be in shock. It took three tries to get him to answer when Harry asked if he knew anything about finding tracking charms.

Once he snapped out of it, Percy started giving Harry a lecture about Seventh year DADA classes, but Harry cut him off.

“Look I have just been chased and assaulted by a dozen wizards, probably Death Eaters, who could follow me even when I Apparated, so I don’t need you to lecture me, I just need to get rid off the blasted charm,” he snapped angrily.

For the first time Percy seemed to take in Harry’s appearance and immediately began casting several spells.

After the fifth spell, a glowing red patch appeared on Harry’s shoulder, where he remembered getting touched in his journey through the twists of Knockturn Alley. Somebody had recognised him and tagged him.

“That is a rather sophisticated tracking charm,” said Percy.

“Can they follow it here?”

“No. The protections around this house will prevent them from coming here, but they may know you are in this general area.”

“Can you get rid of it?” asked Harry, slumping down onto the lumpy bed that had been his own for six summers.

Although he had become used to sleeping in much more comfortable beds, there was something unsettlingly familiar about the lumpy mattress and bent springs that strangely helped to relax him.

“Yes, but I don’t think you should. I think you should let me transfer it to myself. That way the people who placed the tracking spell will think you have returned to the routine at the Ministry.”

Harry’s mind started to wander as exhaustion finally caught up with him. Percy seemed to be making some sense, but why would he take on the extra danger of not being able to easily escape if he was attacked?

He must have said something out loud because Percy answered him.

“I may not agree with you on many things, Harry,” he said. “But having the public think it is you at the Ministry has been well worth the effort. If this spell makes more of our enemies think you are at the Ministry, I am willing to carry it for you, despite the increased risk.”

Incredibly, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep.

“Go see your family, Percy,” he heard himself say, as if from far away. “You have been away too long if you think risking your life to make me look good is worthwhile. Go visit them, now. I’ll stay here until you get back. I promise…”

Then Harry knew nothing except a deep sleep filled with insane dreams of Percy climbing out of the window and Inferi knocking on his door to ask if he wanted his tea. The whole time Harry was trying to remember the words to a spell that he had forgotten the effects of, but knew he had to cast to make Professor McGonagall stop shaking him.

“Harry, wake up,” came Percy’s insistent voice, dragging Harry from his slumber.

Harry struggled to sit up. He was stiff and sore in places he hadn’t known he had.

“What time is it?” he asked. “And why do you look like you and not like me?”

Percy smiled.

“It is almost twelve hours since you appeared in this room and scared me half to death, and just over nine hours since you offered to stay here while I visited my parents; an offer I took you up on, eventually.”

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Harry sat up straighter, noticing how stiff he felt, and looked closely at the young, red headed man.

“How did it go?”

“Rather better than I feared, and worse than I hoped. There is, I am afraid, much that I must do to regain the trust of my family.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “But you know they’ll come around, right? So long as you don’t mess it up, like you did last Christmas, they’ll always take you back.”

Percy’s smile stiffened slightly, but he nodded. “Now, let’s get this tracking spell off you and you can be on your way.”

Harry suddenly remembered that Ron and Hermione didn’t know he was safe.

“Father gave Ron a Floo call when I told him you had unexpectedly taken my place here,” Percy told him when he mentioned it. “Ronald was rather upset, but seemed happy to find you were safe, if not wholly sound. It took quite a while to convince Mother not to come rushing over, though. Luckily Father agreed with me and convinced Mother you were safer if she stayed away, although she did insist on sending you dinner.” He indicated a large ceramic bowl sitting on the old writing desk.

Harry relaxed and allowed Percy to perform the spell to transfer the tracker.

There was so much magic that Harry didn’t know. Percy had said the tracking spell was seventh year Defence magic, but Harry suspected it would only be on the agenda if you were an over-achiever like Percy, or Hermione.

Defence had been Harry’s best and favourite subject, but time and time again he found himself completely lacking in knowledge and skill when it countered. Luck, and the talent of others had kept him alive more often than not.

It wasn’t enough.

He had to find a way to get better at magic, and quickly. Dumbledore’s memories had to be the shortcut he was after; there was no other use for them.

“It’s done,” Percy told him.

Harry hadn’t even noticed what spells Percy had used. He stood up to leave but Percy sat him down again, handing him a pile of letters.

“These are official and important letters that you need to address,” he was told.

One look at the first letter and Harry felt a new headache coming on. Browsing through the rest just made it worse.

“Why does the Ministry need me to fill in a form declaring that I become an adult on my birthday when they must already know because they are the ones who sent the form to me?” he asked in confusion.

“And why would Gringotts send me a ‘Request for New Vault’ form when I already have one?”

Percy began trying to explain, but Harry just felt his head start to hurt worse.

Thanking Percy for his help, Harry took the letters and the ceramic bowl of food, and then Apparated back to Grimmauld place, where he discovered Ron and Hermione, semi-clothed and in a very compromising position on one of the lounges.

They were so involved in each other that they hadn’t heard Harry’s apparition in the other room. His shock at witnessing his friends locked in a passionate embrace passed quickly, as his more mischievous side immediately wanted to conjure a bucket of water onto the pair.

At the last second, he stopped himself, and left the room quietly. Although it would have been fun to cause a scene and embarrass them, he had suddenly thought of Ginny and what he would have felt if their places had been reversed and it had been himself and his girlfriend on the lounge when somebody else walked in.

Ron and Hermione getting together had been a looming issue for at least the last year now. Harry was deathly afraid that something would go wrong between them, and he would loose either or both of his friends.

If things went bad while they were hunting Horcruxes, it could go very bad. Ron, never one of the most level-headed people to begin with, might seriously endanger them if he was more concerned about arguing with Hermione than doing the right thing.

Once again Harry found himself questioning his acceptance of their help on his quest. Surely they would see it was more important for them to be safe, to take care of each other, rather than following him into danger. It was not as if they couldn’t help him, he just needed to keep them out of harms way, just like Ginny.

Harry made his decision. He wouldn’t let them come with him if he was going somewhere dangerous. He could use their help, but when it came time to go after a Horcrux, he would do all that he could to keep them out of it, whether they wanted it that way or not.

Having made his choice, he went to his tent room and sat thinking about his lack of magical talent, while he consumed the magnificent shepherd’s pie Mrs Weasley had sent him.

He felt he had made a lot of progress in his abilities; once he sorted out that his main fault was a lack of concentration. Tonks’s suggestion about practicing had been invaluable and it had definitely improved his, and Ron’s, nonverbal skills dramatically, as well as their transfiguration ability, but it was nowhere near what it needed to be.

To be honest, Harry doubted if he was much more advanced than any other sixth year, or at least ones who had a decent teacher in the subject.

His thoughts returned once again to Dumbledore’s memories. Taking the trunk from where had left it, he opened it up at random and stared at the bottles of silver memories. What were they, just a teaching aid like Hermione suggested, or something more? Why had he given them to Harry, especially since he hadn’t given him the Pensieve?

“Because he didn’t expect to die yet,” Harry said, speaking out loud the thoughts that had plagued him but he had been too afraid to voice. “He hadn’t finished making bottles.”

As if recognising his thoughts, the next time he opened the lid it was full of empty bottles. Closing the lid again, Harry thought of an advanced spell and opened it. The bottle containing the spell was in the top tray.

He picked up the small crystal container and held it up to the light. Inside, the memory swirled like a thick smoke.

There had to be a way.

If he could learn enough he wouldn’t need Ron and Hermione as much. He needed to be able to dual Snape and Voldemort and have a chance of winning, without spending years learning what they already knew and had mastered. There had to be a way to jumpstart his education and finish this before Voldemort killed everybody.

Harry pulled the stopper from the bottle and poked the memory with his wand. It clung to the end and lifted part way out of the bottle. Twisting his wand made it loop around, like a thick string of spaghetti. Once the memory was completely wound around the stick Harry lifted it up and stared at it.

”This had better work,” he said, and then thrust the memory covered wand against his temple.

Pain laced through his head, as if somebody had stuck a hot iron into it, nearly causing him to drop his wand.

He could feel the memory sticking into his skull; it was resisting. Grinding his teeth together, he tried to force it inside, pulling his wand back and then pushing in again, like working a plunger, but in reverse.

The pain in his head intensified and he could feel the memory moving inside of his skull. It was excruciating, but not as bad as a Cruciatus. With one final push and an accompanying cry of pain, Harry forced the memory completely in, and promptly passed out.


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Chapter Nineteen – Coming of Age

When he woke, it was flat on his back in a comfortable bed, with a splitting headache threatening to crack his skull open if he moved or thought too hard. His sleep and pain blurred mind couldn’t seem to piece together where he was, or why he had a headache, but he automatically reached for his glasses that normally sat on his bedside table. His fumbling hands couldn’t find them, but they did find a rather bushy head.

“Harry,” said Hermione, sitting up. “You re awake, how do you feel? Are you okay? Can you remember your name? Ron, RON!”

Harry winced at the additional pain Hermione’s yell invoked, then winced again at the pain the wince caused. Finally he tried to speak, but found his mouth was dry and his lips parched. A quiet squeak was all that escaped his lips.

“Oh no!” cried Hermione. “He can’t speak!”

Harry tried again. “Wa-er,” he croaked.

Ron came bursting in to the room, visible to Harry only as a red-topped blur at the edge of his vision.

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione cried. “I think he can’t speak!”

Harry tried to lift his head up to look around, but the pain was so great all he got was a blurry image before having to stop trying. He couldn’t even make out the ceiling, let alone if there was any water or his glasses nearby. Letting his head drop back down the whole inch it had raised, he tried to signal his need again, this time carefully raising his hand to point to his mouth.

“Watr,” he croaked again.

There was a stunned silence then a rush of movement at the edge of his vision and a straw was pushed between his lips. Harry took a deep drink from the straw and immediately felt better.

“Headache,” he said quietly, hoping they would understand and be able to help him.

Hermione rushed away while Ron came to stand closer to Harry.

“You okay there mate? You gave us a bit of a fright. Hermione hasn’t been sensible because of the worry; she’s been sitting here reading every medical book she could find while waiting for you to wake up. I wanted to take you to St Mungos, but she knows how you feel about hospitals and said they couldn’t do anything until you woke up anyway.”

Hermione reappeared and pushed a potion bottle against Harry lips while lifting his head with her other hand.

“Drink this, Harry,” she said, not waiting for him to agree before pouring the potion into his mouth. “It will help with the pain.”

Harry nearly gagged on the horrible potion, but he knew the favour well; it was a headache cure and general pain reliever.

As soon as the potion slid down his throat he started to feel immensely better. His headache eased so that it only felt like a few Hippogriffs had been dancing a tango on his brain, rather than a whole flock performing a mating dance.

“Glasses?” he asked, stronger this time.

Ron leant over and placed his glasses on, bringing the room and his friends into focus. He was lying in a bed in one of the rooms inside his tent.

“What happened?” he croaked.

“What were you thinking, Harry?” demanded Hermione angrily. “I warned you trying to put another person’s memory into your head could be dangerous. Do you have any idea how worried we have been?”

Harry winced from her raised voice and took a closer look. Ron was looking very tired, but Hermione looked positively bedraggled. Her face was tear-streaked and her normally uncontrollable hair had risen to new heights of messiness. Ron reached out and put his arm around her and she turned and pressed her face to his chest sobbing quietly.

“How long?” he asked.

“Two days since we found you on the floor next to the chest,” answered Ron. “You really gave us a scare. We brought a healer to have a look at you. He said there was nothing he could do and we just had to wait to see.”

“Secret?” asked Harry, still not feeling up to full sentences. Every word was another lightning bolt of pain inside his skull.

Hermione took her face from Ron’s chest and wiped her red rimmed eyes.

“I side along Apparated him inside the tent. He had a few problems while he was here, like trying to remember which room you were in, but he could check you over easy enough without seeing anything outside of this room.”

“He told us not to take you through the Floo or to try and Apparate you, just in case.”

Harry felt himself start to sink back into unconsciousness, but he had enough energy to say one last thing.

“Sorry.”

Then blackness reclaimed him with open arms.

The next time he woke, his head felt much better. Another potion bottle of headache cure was on his side table, along with his glasses, but he was alone in the room. Harry sat up and downed the potion, feeling its positive affects immediately.

A small wave of dizziness overtook him as he made to stand up, causing him to sit on the edge of the bed for a few moments until everything stopped spinning. After that he was able to get changed and make his way to the main room where he found Ron sitting at the table reading.

Seeing Harry’s weakened state, Ron rushed over to help him.

“I’m fine,” Harry said trying to wave off the redheads help.

Ron snorted his disbelief.

“You have to come up with something better to say, you know? Nobody believes that one anymore. Now how about something to eat, it’s been three days since you last had anything besides potions.”

Harry readily agreed and was soon devouring a typical Ron breakfast; everything he could lay his hands on.

Ron sat silently for a while, watching him as he ate. There was obviously something on his mind, but Harry, somewhat ashamed at his actions, wasn’t in a mood to go prying for answers.

“Hermione thinks it’s her fault,” Ron said at last.

Harry kept eating and didn’t reply, even though Ron’s words shocked him. That was not what he expected to be bothering his friend.

“She seems to think you came home and saw us – er - together, and kind of freaked out.”

Harry watched his plate and chewed his food carefully. Was that what happened? It all seemed a bit blurry. He remembered what he had done, and his reasons, they still seemed solid, but what if he was wrong and Hermione right? It wouldn’t be the first time she knew him better than he knew himself. Had seeing them together freaked him out?

Worse yet, he had failed; the memory was not inside his head.

“She thinks you might be scared of getting left alone, that you might want us to call it off.”

Harry couldn’t let that one go without comment. “That’s just stupid,” he said, between mouthfuls.

“That’s what I said!” agreed Ron. “I told her you weren’t that mental. Well not before you tried to stick somebody else’s thoughts in your head anyway. Now I suppose it wouldn’t surprise me if you started talking a bit crazy, Nitwit, blubber and such.”

Harry laughed, choking on his food, and Ron smiled broadly.

“You really did freak her out, Harry. She didn’t sleep while you were out of it. She must have read every book on brain damage and mental healing ten times over, and ran the diagnostic spells she learned at least once every five minute,” said Ron. “It was lucky you picked up some decent healing books in your shopping trips or she probably would have gone and bought everything in the shop.

Harry felt incredibly guilty for making them worry so much.

“I had to try, Ron,” he said. “I had to. There must be a way to get to it.”

Ron leaned forward on the table, the smile replaced by a serious look. “Why Harry? It’s just a bunch of spells and stuff. Nothing in there could be that important or old Dumbledore would have left you a note or something.”

Harry shook his head. “He didn’t get time to. Snape killed him before he finished.”

“Then how do you know there is anything in there worth risking your mind for Harry?” came Hermione’s voice, as she entered the room.

She looked better. She was patting her wet hair with a large fluffy towel and was wearing a dressing gown covered in pictures of flying snitches, apparently having just come from the shower.

“It’s not just that,” said Harry. “I need to know more, I need to learn stuff quicker than I can with books.”

“Then practice more!” she said, standing with her hands on her hips. “You know you can learn anything. You are a great wizard - don’t snort! You are a great wizard, but you need to focus. I have seen you cast a spell not one in a million wizards could do. That Patronus was not a fluke! It shows exactly what you can do if you put your mind to it.”

“I tried when I was fighting Snape, all right, Hermione?” he said bitterly. “I put everything I had into it and he knocked me down like a bloody first year. I couldn’t lay a finger on him. Don’t you get it? I don’t have years to become a great dueller, and nobody, not even you, can learn fast enough. It’s not possible, and if I can’t even handle Snape or a bunch of thugs, how do you think I am going to go against Voldemort?”

Ron had been sitting quietly as the two snapped at each other, but he stood up and put his arms around Hermione, drawing her into his embrace to calm her down as tears welled in her eyes.

“You won t be alone,” Ron said to Harry, as he gently stroked the back of Hermione’s head. “That’s how you are going to do it. We are going to be there with you, all the way.”

Harry slammed his mouth shut and forced himself to calm. He stood up, walked slowly over, and gently took Hermione from Ron’s arms.

“I am sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I am so sorry for putting you through that, but it is probably going to get worse. We are all likely to get hurt somewhere along the line.”

“I thought you were going to die, or worse, be damaged,” she sobbed into his chest, making his own eyes water at the sound of her sadness. “And I thought it was because of me, because of you seeing Ron and me.”

Harry laughed and kissed the top of her head. He breathed in the sweet, fresh smell of her wet hair and hugged her tightly.

“Nothing could make me happier than the two of you together,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was going to take time.

He looked at Ron, and nodded his head. Ron hesitantly wrapped his long arms around the both of them and hugged.

It wouldn’t do any good to argue with them; they wouldn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to change his mind. Not again. When it came to the end, he was going to go on alone, like he had always planned.

*

Over breakfast they filled Harry in on the aftermath of his escape from Knockturn Alley. As he had suspected, their attackers had practically ignored Ron and Hermione and gone after him, leaving them to follow up the rear and pick off a couple of the stragglers, once they had left their magically darkened room. Ron had tossed the darkness powder at the store window, hoping to cover their attackers, but a stray spell had hit it before it was out of the room, trapping them in its effect.

They fought a brief battle in the dead end alley and overheard orders to ‘ignore the others and follow the boy’.

Not being able to follow him or his pursuers, the two of them Apparated back to Grimmauld place and waited anxiously. When Arthur’s Floo call came it had been an enormous relief, as they were both close panicking and calling in the Order, the Ministry, and anybody else who might be able to help.

Harry had to be coaxed into telling them about leading his chasers to their deaths. Reluctantly he told them the story, not omitting anything that he could remember, not even how he had almost decided to try and save them from the monsters in the lake.

“It was you or them,” Ron told him in his typical ‘anything but sympathetic’ manner, “and I personally am happy it was lousy Death Eaters and not you.”

“We don’t even know if they were Death Eaters,” protested Harry.

“Yes, we do,” Hermione said, taking a skull faced mask from a bag. “We found this in the portable swamp.”

Harry picked up the mask and turned it over in his hands. It felt hard, and dry - like bone.

“You can’t feel bad about it, Harry,” Ron tried to reassure him. “They sold their soul the minute they let old snake face burn his mark in their arm.”

Harry chuckled at Ron’s new way of referring to Voldemort. While it may not have been the same as saying his name outright, it was definite improvement over the ‘You-Know-Who’ business.

In truth, Harry didn’t actually feel that guilty; he felt numb.

He knew he should feel bad that people had died, but people were dieing everyday. It was not his responsibility for the Death Eaters to have been there either. They had been following him, intent on harm, and he had not purposely led them into a lethal trap, so it was hardly his fault that they had died.

And yet he felt he should have been feeling guilty. Was he becoming as hard as his enemies who often killed indiscriminately? Was he turning into a monster because he didn’t feel anything at the death of another human being?

“Come on, Harry,” Ron said, seeing the thoughtful look on Harry’s face. “These are probably the same animals that have been killing people left, right and centre. Just because you haven’t been reading the paper doesn’t mean it has stopped happening you know!”

“Ron!” Hermione admonished.

Harry stood up weakly.

“I am going back to bed,” he said.

Behind him he could hear Hermione and Ron arguing, but he didn’t listen to their words. For a long time he lay in bed reliving the battle and its aftermath.

Why should he feel guilty about the deaths of people who were trying to kill him? The mask proved that at least one of them was Voldemort’s henchman, so the rest were either Death Eaters too, or were following the orders of one. In the Department of Mysteries, Harry and his friends had not used lethal force to defend themselves, and the ability of their opponents to get up and return to battle had almost cost all of them their lives.

Would he have killed them if he had known it would have saved Sirius’s life?

That was a very hard question to answer, since he knew that believing it and actually doing it were two different things. Draco was a perfect example of that.

Despite Lucius’s brainwashing and a childhood trained in a lifestyle of hatred, Draco had been unable to complete his task and take Dumbledore’s life when he had him at his mercy. Even with the possible price of his failure heavily weighing the balance, Draco had chosen not to become a killer, so what chance did Harry have?

Harry despised the thought of cold blooded murder, but was there really any difference to that and killing in the heat of battle? If he had a chance to strike Voldemort down from behind, would he hesitate? Was he man enough to handle taking the responsibility of killing somebody in something other than self defence? Could he even do it then?

The fight in the toilet that had almost ended Draco’s life had shattered Harry. He had become frantic at the thought of having killed one of his most hated opponents, and while he didn’t feel anything like that remorse for the Death Eaters that had died in Voldemort’s cave, Harry himself had not been the one to strike them down.

He needed to toughen up, of that there was no doubt. In the grip of anger, he hadn’t been able to enjoy causing pain enough to make the Crucio work, so he doubted if he could ever master his hatred enough to make the killing curse do its job, but there were other ways though, other spells and attacks that could be just as fatal. A cutting hex or blasting curse were more than capable of ending a life, if it hit in the right place or at the right time. All it took was the willpower to follow through.

During the fight with the Death Eaters, he had not really been trying to kill them. The spells he used could have been lethal, but it had been Harry’s intent to hurt them, not actually kill. The next time somebody was trying to kill him, he was going to pull no punches; he had to do his utmost to kill or disable his opponents on purpose.

The pain in his head seemed to return in full force as his mind ran out of control. Harry sat up and gulped down another pain relieving potion. As the magic did its work, and his head felt like it was slowly returning to normal size, he lay back down, but his thoughts kept tumbling over themselves.

It was time to grow up, to put aside his misgivings and weaknesses and accept the consequences of his actions before they were thrust upon him. His world was at war; his friends and their families were in constant mortal danger; there was a madman who would stop at nothing after him; he couldn’t hold onto childhood innocence or ignorance any longer.

It went further than just accepting people were going to die. The attempt to put a memory from Dumbledore’s Chest into his head was another try to take a short cut; to find an easy way out. He needed to stop focussing on the easy path and put all his energy into the long haul. He knew his efforts to practice and learn had really only been half-hearted – that Hermione was more committed to success than he was – that had to change.

It was unrealistic to expect to change overnight, that accepting the seriousness of his situation and changing his habits was going to take time and effort, but until he really buckled down and applied himself, he was never going to be anything more than a mediocre wizard at best, and that wasn’t going to be good enough.

Sleep was long time coming, and when it did, it was filled with nightmares of Inferi armies following him everywhere he went, murdering everybody they found, and the whole time he knew he could stop them, if only he knew the right spell.



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Chapter Twenty – The Secret Library

The fact Harry’s birthday was only a few days away was sprung on Harry rather suddenly by Ron, when they were once again going through books in the Black Family Library.

Hermione was off visiting libraries, both Magic and Muggle, in her efforts to find artefacts of the Founders, discover the hiding places of the Horcruxes, and a dozen other projects she was working on.

Her latest efforts had Ron and Harry spending more time with their heads in books than ever before, and it was starting to get to them both again, despite Harry’s new-found determination. Ron appeared to find Harry’s dedication to be an annoying change that made the dark haired man far too serious, and seemed to be looking for a distraction to tempt him away from his ‘Hermione-like’ pursuits.

“What are we going to do for your birthday?” Ron asked him, rather unexpectedly, while balancing precariously on a chair to reach the higher parts of the bookshelf.

The question caught Harry by surprise, since he had not thought about it; had never thought about it in fact.

“Dunno,” admitted Harry. “Hadn’t thought about it; it’s never been an issue before.”

“We could have a party or something,” Ron suggested.

Harry laughed bitterly. “Ron, last year is the closest thing I have ever had to a party. It was great, but I am not going to miss something I have never had. Besides, I hardly think now would be a good time to organise a big get together of all my friends, what with Voldemort’s cronies keeping an eye out for me and all.”

“Well I reckon the three of us should do something at least,” said Ron reaching up to a pale green book. “I know, we can have a dinner party!” he proclaimed in a posh, put-on voice. “Here is just the book for it, ‘Muggle table Manners and Etiquette for Formal Occasions’ - seems a bit out of place in this library though.”

He grabbed at the dusty book but instead of coming out of the shelf, it only moved slightly, as if resisting him. With a grunt of surprise, Ron pulled the book harder. It moved more and gave out a loud ‘CLICK’.

The section of shelf next to Ron suddenly moved inwards and slid to the side, disappearing into the wall.

“Whoa,” said Ron, taking the words from Harry’s mouth.

Behind the now missing section was a small room containing a desk and several loaded bookshelves.

Harry dropped what he was reading and the two walked in to explore the room. Taking a book off the shelf, he felt his face flush bright red as he read the title. The subject matter was something he did not have a great deal of experience with, and wasn’t planning on gaining in the near future.

“Blimey!” Ron said, hastily putting a book back on the shelf like it had burned him. “Old man Black must have been a bit of a pervert I reckon!”

“I’ll go up and ask his portrait one day,” Harry laughed, picking out another book with pretty much the same results. “Er, maybe we shouldn’t go telling everybody about this.”

“No. I think that’s probably a good idea, especially not Hermione,” Ron agreed, continuing to take books and browse through them. Harry started browsing the spines, looking for anything that might be useful. While the every shelf was loaded with what Harry considered to be very inappropriate sounding titles, every now and then a title that sounded more useful came up; like the one called ‘Barely legal Dark Arts’.

“Harry, look at this!” Ron suddenly exclaimed.

Harry abandoned his search and reluctantly joined him, not really sure if he wanted to see what Ron had found. The volume Ron was holding looked positively ancient and the title on the cover was not one of the more lurid or descriptive ones that kept causing Harry to blush.

“’Enhancing you abilities through Blood Magic’, come on, Ron. You can’t be serious!” he laughed. “I don’t think you need to go to those sorts of extremes, mate.”

“No, you git,” Ron protested, clouting Harry on the arm. “There is section here about becoming an Occlumens.”

Harry began to read over Ron’s shoulder.

The Potion of Memory Enhancing, when combined with the Ritual of Concentration, will imbue the participant with the ability to develop protections from mind violating magic such as Legilimency and Veritaserum in a manner similar to the ability of a skilled Occlumens to occlude his mind.

“Wonder why it is in the hidden section?” asked Ron.

They flicked through a few more pages and found out why. Some of the ‘enhancements’ were of a very personal nature.

“This is excellent,” Ron said, wandering off to start searching the shelves again. “I wonder if there are others like it here.”

“Ron, did you read the ingredients for the potions in this book?” asked Harry, who was concentrating on the memory potion.

“Not closely. Why?”

“What do you reckon they mean by ‘Fifty drops of the purest Life’s Waters’?”

“Dunno. Sounds like they didn’t want to just come right out and say what the ingredient was and made up something to give you a hint. Some of those old buggers were a bit daft, like calling Flobberworm spit ‘Golden Ichor’ and stuff like that.”

Harry thought about it as he flicked through a few of the other potions and found the ingredient listed in many of them in varying quantities of up to about a cup, if he was reading the archaic measurements correctly.

Life’s Waters, he thought. Well the title of the book was ’Enhancing you abilities through Blood Magic’, so it was most likely blood of something.

Purest Life, he wondered. Was it unicorn blood? That would be bad, since drinking Unicorn blood had very dire consequences, not to mention being very Dark magic. Voldemort had been killing unicorns in the forest and drinking their blood to gain strength. It was not something Harry would contemplate.

He decided he would ask Hermione next time she visited. If anybody knew, it would be her, and she could be trusted to keep it to herself.

Then it hit him; Hermione - Purest Life. Can they be talking about a girl’s blood - A particular type of girl?

“Ron,” he said, looking for his friend who, unnoticed by Harry, had gone silent.

Ron, startled by Harry calling him, quickly shoved the book he had opened back onto the shelf, nearly dropping it in his haste.

“Yes? What? What have you found?” he stuttered, trying to cover up his interest in the book he had just jammed back onto the shelf, but blushing brightly.

Harry showed Ron the potions and voiced his suspicion. Ron blanched, but agreed it was a possibility, but they were still going to have to ask Hermione.

“Harry, this is Dark magic!” she protested, when he showed her the room and the book, over Ron’s objections that she would make them dispose of the secret library’s contents ‘with undue prejudice’.

“Why?” he asked her. “There is nothing evil in it; it doesn’t require any sort of sacrifice.”

“It requires blood. Blood from a virgin girl! Any magic that stoops to that sort of level is definitely not sitting in the light. There is always a cost for using that sort of magic, a cost that is nothing anybody would normally want to pay. It wouldn’t surprise me to find this book is on the Ministry banned list.”

Harry blushed as she spoke; he couldn’t help it, even though he had suspected that was what it meant when it referred to using blood.

“Hermione, if it helps me learn Occlumency, I’ll take the risk and pay the price. I can’t see anything wrong in the ritual. It’s not like Voldemort splitting his soul to become immortal!”

“And where do you think you are going to get the blood from?” she asked.

Harry just looked at her. “Well, I thought, maybe, you could, you know, help?”

“Oh no,” she said. “I will not help you perform a Dark ritual. That’s how it starts; this is probably how most Dark wizards started.”

“First, it’s a simple, ‘innocent’, little spell to help with your memory, then a small animal sacrifice to increase a power, next a bigger animal to get a bigger or different increased, and then before you know it, you are murdering your enemies to split your soul and become immortal. It’s addictive Harry, and it’s wrong!”

“Come on, Hermione,” said Ron. “You can’t honestly believe Harry is going to go dark on us.”

“He won’t mean to, Ron. Look around this house. Look at how the Blacks turned out. With the exception of Sirius, they all went bad. Do think it is a coincidence that they had a library full of dark magic and they all went bad?”

“How can you be sure they didn’t collect the books because they were Dark to begin with?” Harry challenged.

“Because the books have been here for generations,” she replied, picking one randomly from the shelf. “Look at the dates in them; they are mostly older than my great grandparents! What are you staring at?” she asked, seeing the expression on their faces.

Their eyes were fixated on the book she was waving around. Ron looked like he was going to choke, and Harry just felt very embarrassed.

Hermione turned the book over and read the title. Her face flushed.

“Oh my,” she said, seemingly unable to take her eyes off the cover.

Ron and Harry looked at each other, and in silent agreement Disapparated, leaving Hermione holding a book that would never have been allowed in Hogwarts, not even in the restricted section.

After that, Harry bugged Hermione about the ritual until she got angry and threatened to burn the book if he didn’t stop.

They had found a lot of volumes of interest in the library, most of them delving deeply into aspects of topics nobody would ever think to try and research at Hogwarts. Cataloguing and sorting the books turned into quite an education for Ron and Harry – Hermione having excused herself from the task for unspecified reasons.

Some of the spell books contained powerful magic that could be useful, although most of them were discussed in ways completely repulsive to somebody not conditioned to accept the Dark Arts as a normal everyday part of life.

“You don’t think that she, er, can’t help you, do you?” asked Ron, disgustedly tossing a volume about the use of house-elves in offensive spell development aside.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, pausing in his writing. He was using charmed Muggle ballpoint pens he had bought on his first shopping trip to copy spells into one of the notepads he had picked up, omitting the darker bits. Both items would probably have once caused Mr Weasley to arrest him, the pens never running out of ink and the notepad having many more pages than should have been able to fit in the slim volume, and automatically updating an index. “She has never failed at learning any spell or potion. Look at how she took to Apparition tag.”

“No, I mean can’t, with the blood, you know,” said Ron, struggling to make Harry understand what he was worried about. “Krum…“

“Oh,” said Harry. “OH!”

“No, definitely not. She’s too smart for that.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron, with a strange sigh of relief. “That’s what I thought.”

Harry thought Ron sounded just a little too certain, so he decided to bait him a bit.

“Of course, he was a famous international Quidditch mega-start, and an older man…”

Ron’s face darkened.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not a chance.”

“But there were other girls saying…”

“No,” repeated Ron, his tone final.

Harry left it at that, although he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

*

“I want to go to Godric’s Hollow soon,” he told them at dinner. “Remus replied to my letter and he is coming over to take me in a few days.”

The idea had been one in the back of his mind for a while. There was no logical reason for him to go but, every since Dumbledore’s funeral, he felt a need to visit the graves of his parents.

“We’re coming too,” said Ron, once again failing to swallow before taking part in a conversation, and once again getting scolded by Hermione for it.

“Really, Ronald, you have the table manners of an animal,” she snapped, not looking up from her book. “I’ll stay here and do more research.”

“No you won’t,” Ron told her, after making an exaggerated swallowing noise. “You need a break, so you are coming with us.”

“Don’t be silly, Ron. I have far more important things to do. Er I mean, ahh,” she stammered to a stop, looking at Harry. “I mean…”

Knowing he was playing on her emotions after the ill worded outburst, Harry gave her his puppy dog eyes. “Please? It would mean a lot to me.”

“Okay,” she said reluctantly, “but only because you asked nicely, not because you gave me that pathetic look.”

“Works everytime that look, doesn’t it?” Ron asked him.

“Yep,” Harry laughed, “just about.”

That night, Harry had particularly vivid dreams of Dumbledore and Sirius both dying at the same time. Sirius fell through the veil while Dumbledore was stuck down by Snape’s green curse. It made no sense, but it hurt never the less. Some time after midnight, he gave up sleeping and went downstairs to make a hot drink, hoping it would help to relax his overwrought mind.

Noticing a light on in the library, he went in and found Hermione asleep at the desk. She was surrounded by books and was resting her head on an open one.

Harry gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

“No, Harry,” she mumbled, without waking. “I am not going to make that potion for you.”

Harry hadn’t mentioned the potion again after she had gotten angry at him about it, but it seemed to still be on her mind.

He leaned down and blew his breath gently in her ear. She stirred and rubbed her ear, sticking a finger alarmingly deep inside of it, but then went right back to sleep. Harry tried shaking her a bit harder. This time she sat up abruptly, and yelped in surprise.

“Harry!” she said. “I didn’t see you come in. Please don’t sneak up on me again; you gave me such a fright.”

“Hermione, you were asleep,” Harry said patiently.

“No I wasn’t. I was just looking up the Arthurian Hallows from mid-European folk legends”

“Hermione, you were asleep. I had to shake you twice.”

“Well,” she admitted. “I may have just dozed off for a second or two.”

Harry laughed and passed her the hot chocolate drink he had made.

“Drink this then go to bed,” he told her.

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again when she saw the determined look on his face. He smiled and made sure she finished the drink and left the library empty handed to go to bed. As he rose to get another drink, he noticed the book she had been sleeping on.

It was the one containing the Occlumency ritual.


Please leave feedback here.

A/N - not sure what happened with the last post, but it was meant to be a seperate chapter. Sorry if you have already read this.

Chapter Twenty One – The Percy Redemption

The days leading up to Harry’s majority birthday were nerve wracking. An unexplained expectation was building inside of him, as if he knew something big was going to happen, something bad, and his mood was affecting the others.

Hermione had tentatively suggested he might be feeling Voldemort’s emotions and, while he doubted it, the possibility did nothing to relieve his nerves.

Harry had sent a letter to Percy to tell him not to return to Privet Drive, but had not received a reply. Warnings to the Dursley’s were pointless and there was considerable doubt that Death Eaters would even be able to find where Harry had spent his childhood anyway. No previous attempt had ever been made on him while there, aside from the Ministry sent Dementors, although that may have been as a side effect of the Blood wards Dumbledore had erected, and there was no reason to think there would be an attack without him present.

Then again, Voldemort was insane.

Tonks had informed the Order of Harry’s concerns, so everybody was on alert for something to happen. According to the bright haired Auror, attacks were occurring so frequently that it was becoming almost impossible to hide the truth from the Muggles. Whole towns had been eradicated by Dementors, vampires had been spotted in places that had been free of them for centuries, giants moved through the countryside like a natural disaster, and wizard families had become even more solitary and reclusive, making it difficult to rally support to oppose the encroaching darkness.

When the Daily Prophet arrived with a front page declaring “Harry Potter killed in Ministry attack”, it was almost a relief.

‘According to witnesses, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and believed by some to be the Chosen One, was killed in an unexplained explosion inside the London headquarters of the Ministry of Magic early this morning.’

“I wonder how much truth there is to this report,” said Hermione, reading through the special edition. She also had several Muggle newspapers, but only one had mentioned a slight tremor in the city that officials were unable to explain, along with the many gas explosions and strange sleeping sickness infections that seem to be sweeping the country.

“Well there most likely was an explosion,” said Ron. “But I doubt if You-Know-Who is behind it. Probably somebody in the Department of Mysteries playing with a new spell and it got out of control. Dad says things like that happened all the time before Fudge cut their funding. There used to be rooms full of stuff people were investigating that were too dangerous to go into anymore or had been contaminated by some spell or another. Those ones we saw were about the only ones still getting any attention, before Fudge got the boot. Maybe they have gone back in again now and are trying to make better spells for the war.”

Harry sat silently pondering the situation. His scar had not done anything, and news of any major victory by Voldemort was likely to be brought to him by the Order, not the daily paper, so the headlines didn’t feel right.

Suddenly the fireplace flared to life, causing the three teens to grab their wands.

Tonks’s face appeared in the green flames.

“Good, you are all there,” she said, without waiting for them to reply. “There was an explosion at the Ministry this morning-”

“Yeah,” said Ron, holding up the front page of the Prophet for her to see. “Very accurate reporting, as usual.”

Tonks frowned. “We know it wasn’t Harry, Ron, it was Percy.”

The smile on Ron’s face froze. Hermione’s hands covered her mouth in shock. Harry stood up.

“He isn’t dead,” Tonks added quickly, seeing their reactions. “But he is badly injured.”

Harry felt the tightness that had enveloped his heart loosen slightly. “What happened?” he asked.

“Not now, Harry. Come through and we’ll talk then.”

Pausing at Hermione’s insistence that Harry put on his weak disguise, the trio Flooed to St Mungos where Tonks escorted them to Percy’s room. They encountered surprisingly few people on the walk through the sterile, white hallways. It was almost as if people were avoiding the wizarding hospital.

Reaching the ward that was their destination, Tonks pointed the way in, but remained outside of the room, on guard.

Percy had been placed in a high security ward normally reserved for Ministry officials, apparently at Scrimgeour’s request. The only immediate difference Harry could see was the presence of guards stationed along the corridor, and the room appeared much larger than the one Mr Weasley had occupied after being bitten by Voldemort’s giant snake, Nagini.

Arthur and his wife were sitting next to Percy’s bed when the trio entered. After her initial shock at seeing Harry’s altered look, Mrs Weasley hugged each of the three in turn, tearfully asking how they were to make sure they had been taking care of themselves and each other.

Heavily wrapped in bandages that covered every bit of him that Harry could see, Percy lay unconscious on the larger than normal hospital bed, looking more like an Egyptian mummy that a living man. Tonks told them he had been awake earlier and had asked for Harry, to everyone’s surprise.

“From what we can tell, it was Erumpent Exploding Fluid sent to him in the mail,” explained Arthur once their greetings were out of the way. “Nobody is sure how it managed to get inside the offices, since all incoming mail is screened before being taken in, but luckily Percy was following some rather extraordinary precautions with his mail and had placed the package inside some impressive wards before opening it. The explosion destroyed the desk and much of his office.”

Harry noticed Arthur was avoiding mentioning that Percy had been impersonating him, and suddenly wondered if Mrs Weasley had been told about the ruse. It occurred to him that he had started to lose track of who knew what secrets!

“Lucky,” said Ron, eyeing Harry darkly. “I wonder who would be sending Percy something like that?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He knew the bomb had been meant for him, and Percy had been injured protecting him. No matter what he did, it seemed the people closest to him got hurt.

“Ron-” started Hermione, but she was interrupted by Percy’s weak voice.

“Harry?”

Mrs Weasley rush over to start fussing, but Percy was determined.

“Harry. Must. Go. Harry. Ministry.”

“Shush now, Percy, calm down. Mummy is here, Percy. Everything will be okay,” soothed Mrs Weasley while keeping Percy from sitting up.

“No, Mum. Harry. Harry, must be seen, after attack,” his voice became quieter as he drifted back to sleep.

“That’s why we asked you to come in, Harry,” said Mr Weasley. “Everytime he has woken up he says the same thing.”

Harry’s confusion only lasted a minute as what Percy was asking of him sank in. The Ministry needed to show the world that Harry Potter was not dead, otherwise all of the good they thought they had been doing having Percy imitate Harry would be lost. They couldn’t just get somebody else to take the Polyjuice either, people would be on the lookout for it until the uproar died down.

He moved to stand closer to Percy’s head, hoping he would hear him.

“Okay, Percy. I’ll go to the Ministry, but then you won’t ever have to go back again, okay?”

Mrs Weasley gasped. “You can’t, Harry, it’s too dangerous.”

“He’ll be ok, Mum,” said Ron, putting an arm around his mother. “We’ll go with him.”

“No, Ron,” said Harry. “We can’t risk word that we are still friends getting back to Voldemort.”

“You can’t go alone, it not safe!” said Mrs Weasley.

Harry was about to object when Mr Weasley spoke up, interrupting them all. “I have to go back to work anyway,” he said. “So I can go at the same time without being with him. All right, Harry?”

Harry nodded, knowing it was the best deal he would get.

“No,” Percy interrupted. “Have to go back, Harry. Must keep up, appearances.’ He slumped back into his bed, his voice fading off as he fell asleep again. “Doing so much good, and safer, for you…”

Percy’s dedication made Harry feel uncomfortable. He knew the man was capable of blind loyalty, an attribute Harry had never found admirable, but he had never really thought about how dedicated Percy was in his own, if misguided, way. Despite almost losing his life, he was determined to go back into danger simply because he was convinced it was the right thing to do.

Or maybe he was trying to make up for his past failures.

“I’ll meet you back at headquarters tonight,” Harry told Ron and Hermione.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, but Ron wasn’t willing to let him go that easily and argued passionately to be allowed to go along, in disguise. Hermione eventually managed to talk him out of it, suggesting his presence would put Harry in more danger since it would be something new that could be noticed.

Before Harry left, Mrs Weasley gave him a hug that threatened to break his spine.

“Don’t stay away too long,” she told him. “We miss you, Harry. All of us.”

He left quickly after that, not wanting to break down in front of the women who had been more of a mother to him than any other he could remember. Ron and Hermione stayed behind to keep her company as she sat a vigil besides Percy’s bed.

Exiting the Floo in the Ministry, Harry managed to stay on his feet, but only by stumbling a few steps forward. He had come out of the employee exit in the atrium rather than the public Floo with its extra security, and had to pause for a moment to get his bearings.

The atrium was more packed than he had ever seen it before. People seemed to be running in every direction, hurrying along on unfathomable tasks with a look of urgency on their faces that at first made Harry think something was wrong.

Mr Weasley had coached Harry on where to go, but the mass of people threatened to confuse his sense of direction.

“Look, it’s Harry Potter!” a voice said, loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of noise that always existed in a crowded area.

Quickly the whisper spread as people turned to look, and in some cases, ran over, to see for themselves. Soon Harry was surrounded by a crowd, all asking him questions, or wanting to shake his hand. Somebody thrust a copy of the Daily Prophet with the headlines of his demise into his hands and the distinctive flash of a camera meant he would once again grace the cover of a special edition. He nodded and smiled, answered questions briefly, with a cover story of having gone out when the explosion happened, and shook what felt like a hundred hands while wondering how long of ‘being seen’ would be long enough.

Harry caught a glimpse of Mr Weasley nervously pushing his way through to the front of the crowd when a loud canon blast stunned everyone to silence.

“Will everyone please go about their business and leave Mr Potter get on with his?” a magically amplified voice called out.

Two men in Auror robes pushed through the crowd to stand either side of Harry. They did not look particularly friendly and the crowd parted before them like water. Both were tall and very solidly built. Their sheer size alone would have intimidated most people.

“This way if you will please, Mr Potter,” the dark haired of the pair said, guiding Harry by his arm.

With his escort, they quickly left the crowd behind and entered the labyrinth of offices that was the top floor of the Ministry of Magic. After a few seconds, Harry felt the first slight stirring of worry. The direction they were taking him did not seem to be the way Mr Weasley had told home to go. He couldn’t say anything though, just in case he had gotten the directions wrong, because not knowing where the office he was meant to have been going to almost daily for weeks would be a sure sign to anybody that it had not been him.

All doubt disappeared when they entered the elevator though. His office space had definitely been on the top floor, that much he was certain of.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked the guards.

At first he thought they were going to ignore him. Fear filled his stomach as he suddenly considered his position. Mr Weasley had seen him lead away by Aurors, so he would think Harry was in safe hands; he had no reason to check up on Harry now.

“A senior Minister has requested a meeting with you,” one of the guards said, just as Harry had been about to demand an answer.

The elevator door opened and his escort led him through to an intimidating set of doors.

“Who?” asked Harry as they reached the doors, realising he had no idea what was going on.

Instead of answering, the dark haired guard knocked on the door which immediately swung open.

“Hello again, Mr Potter,” said Dolores Umbridge from behind a massive, doily covered desk. “I am so glad to see you again.”

Harry tried to step back, but the guards grabbed him and thrust him forward into the room, closing the doors behind them. “What do you want?” Harry snarled, not bothering to hide his anger.

“Come now, Mr Potter,” the toad-like former DADA professor said in her falsely sweet and incredibly annoying voice. “I am sure you know exactly why you are here.”

Harry refused to say anything, but simply stood waiting for her to continue. In his mind he was already trying to find a way out. The guards had taken up positions in front of the doors, just behind where Harry was standing. Umbridge had her wand sitting within easy reach on her desk, and Harry’s was stuck in his back pocket, as usual.

“No?” the toad asked. “Well let me enlighten you. You recently managed to destroy a portion of some Ministry offices, undoubtedly in another one of your schemes to get on the front page of the Prophet.”

“What? You have to be joking?” Harry said, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You think I tried to blow myself up in order to get more press? You are insane.”

Umbridge’s eye flared at Harry, a definite sign his words had stung her.

“Don’t forget you place, boy,” she growled.

“My place? You lunatic imbecile. I am here at the Minister’s insistence. Who the hell are you to accuse me of anything?”

Umbridge’s breath started coming in faster and faster as Harry spoke. Her unsightly nostrils flared as she sucked in air. Whatever she had planned, Harry was determined to disrupt, and making her lose control while in the presence of two witnesses was as good an idea as anything else, in his opinion.

“WHO AM I?” she raged. “I WAS THE SENIOR UNDERSECRETARY TO THE MINISTER OF MAGIC BEFORE YOUR LITTLE ESCAPADE!”

“MY ESCAPADE?” yelled Harry. “DON’T YOU MEAN VOLDEMORT’S ESCAPADE? YOU REMEMBER, VOLDEMORT CAME INTO THE MINISTRY WHEN YOU CLAIMED HE DIDN’T EXIST!”

“ENOUGH!” shouted Umbridge, finally having apparently reached her limit.

Suddenly her wand was in her hand and, for the first time, Harry considered he may have gone too far in goading her.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she screamed.

Harry’s arms snapped down to his sides as his legs clamped together. He slowly started to topple over before the rough hands of the Aurors caught him and dragged him over to a chair in front of Umbridge’s hideously decorated desk.

Umbridge sat back in her chair, taking a moment to calm herself and adjust her hair. Harry, completely immobilised once again, had no choice but to stare at her bloated, frog-like face.

“Now, since you have proven that you will not be voluntarily assisting us in our enquiries, and you can now consider yourself under arrest for wilful destruction of Ministry property, I am perfectly within my rights to use this,” she said, holding up a small bottle of clear liquid.

Harry knew what it was; Veritaserum, the truth drug. A few drops and he would have no choice except to answer her questions. He struggled against the magic holding him in place, straining with all of his will, trying desperately to break the bonds holding him still.

“Let’s see, Mr Potter. What questions would I like you to answer?” she mused exaggeratedly, obviously enjoying tormenting Harry with her power over him. “Oh, I know.”

“Let’s start with the current location of Sirius Black.”

Harry, shocked at her words, stopped struggling. How could she possibly still be looking for Sirius? Even with the former Minister himself seeing Voldemort, could she still believe Harry had been lying about Pettigrew and Voldemort’s return?

“Yes,” she said, misinterpreting his astonishment at her words. “I can see from your eyes that question will yield all the evidence I need to lock you up in Azkaban for a number of years, then we can find out how you have been able to fool everybody into believing You-Know-Who is back. I have no doubt the real truth of how you murdered Dumbledore will come out, not that I am sorry he is gone, but we can’t let murderers loose on the streets with the public fawning all over them, can we?”

She licked her lips in anticipation, a sight that made Harry’s stomach churn. “Yes, Mr Potter, let’s finally find out the truth behind everything you have been doing, shall we?”

She stood up and slowly walked around the table as Harry renewed his struggle. Her eyes were alight with a fanatical gleam. She was enjoying prolonging his torment.

“Hold him,” she told the two Aurors.

Obediently, they grabbed Harry’s arms as she raised her wand to ready to remove the spell paralysing him; he couldn’t swallow the potion if he couldn’t move.

“Normally three drops will make even the strongest of men tell their secrets, but I think you might need five, or maybe even six, just to make sure, although I am told it might have some rather nasty side effects,” she grinned evilly.

Tensing himself to launch an attack the first second he could, Harry waited for exactly the right moment. His chances were slim, but there was no way he was going to give up without a fight.

“I told you not to tell lies, didn’t I, Mr Potter?”

Suddenly he heard the door to the room burst open, causing Umbridge to leap backwards and the two Aurors to swing their heads around. One even managed to raise his wand before Harry saw the tell-tale reflection of a red light flash and felt the Auror fall away as the stunner took hold.

“Hold it right there!” said the familiar voice of Tonks.

A wave of relief swept over Harry like the sun coming out from behind the darkest clouds. He had never been happier to hear the often exuberantly hair coloured Auror and wanted nothing more than to jump up and kiss her.

‘What do you think you are doing?” yelled Umbridge. “This is my office and I-”

“Have a lot of explaining to do,” said a voice Harry recognised as Minister Scrimgeour. He could hear the shuffled walk of the partially lame man as he entered the room.

“Stand down, Auror,” said the Minister. The second of his two assailants release Harry’s arms and took a step away from him.

“Minister,” began Umbridge. “I was just about to question Mr Potter about the explosion, which, as you know, I have been authorised to investigate-”

“Madam Umbridge, I will advise you to be quiet until you are asked a question,” said Scrimgeour, cutting her off for the second time.

“Alright, Harry?” asked Tonks. Then, not getting a response, she moved closer. “Arthur Weasley reported something strange was going on and I happened to pass the Minister who was already looking for you.”

She moved closer to look into Harry’s unmoving eyes. “Oh right, sorry,” she said, realising his predicament.

“Finite Incantatem.”

The spell holding Harry disappeared and he immediately jumped to his feet and drew his own wand pointing it at Umbridge.

“She’s insane,” he said. “She thinks I caused the explosion and still believes I am lying about Voldemort.” Harry barely noticed the flinch everybody in the room made at the mad man’s name. “She was about to give me Veritaserum and ask questions about Sirius Black.”

The Minister for Magic’s eyebrows rose at that statement, but Tonks’s pulled together in an angry frown.

“Is that true, Madam Umbridge?” Scrimgeour asked the toad.

“Of course not,” she replied, with feigned indignation. “I merely asked Mr Potter to meet with me to discuss the explosion, and he started yelling and causing a scene. He had to be restrained.”

Harry was about to really start yelling, but Tonks reached out and placed a hand on his arm, calming him with her touch, again.

“May I see what’s in your hand, Madam?” the young Auror asked.

Umbridge was unsuccessfully trying to hide the small bottle in her meaty fist. “This? Nothing, just some water,” she said dismissively. “Let’s concentrate on Mr Potter shall we?”

“Water? I guess you won’t mind taking a drink of it then?” asked Tonks.

“What? No thank you, Auror. I am not thirsty. Now, Minister, if we can just move back to the subject at hand-”

“The subject at hand is what you think you were giving Mr Potter,” insisted Tonks. “If it is just water, no problem, but if it is Veritaserum, you may have exceeded your authority, since you are no longer a senior undersecretary.”

Umbridge swelled up to retaliate when Scrimgeour again cut her off, this time before she even got started.

“Sit down, Dolores. Don’t bother denying it. You were about to give Mr Potter, a personal guest of mine, a strictly controlled substance without gaining the proper permissions. Now I am most anxious to find out why.”

“She doesn’t believe Voldemort is back,” repeated Harry.

Scrimgeour shook his head. “That may be true, but I think there is more to this than just that. She doesn’t have the brains or guts to have arranged this, Harry. As you may know, at your suggestion Percy recently took it upon himself to investigating some incidents that have occurred over the last few years. In particular, he was looking into the smear campaign the Ministry ran against you and Professor Dumbledore. His most recent report to me indicated he felt he was close to finding a pattern behind many of the Ministry’s policies, but then your office was attacked. Now I find you yourself practically abducted and about to be subjected to some rather improper and highly dangerous questioning. A bit much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Harry considered the Minister’s words. He still had his wand pointed at Umbridge, and she would occasionally open her mouth to protest, but then would glance at his unwavering aim and stay silent.

“Make her take it,” he said. “You have the authority, don’t you?”

Umbridge suddenly look terrified.

“Yes, I do, but I am loath to use it,” answered Scrimgeour. “It is not one hundred percent reliable and can be damaging or even fatal, in rare cases.”

“Answer all of our questions, and I won’t do that to you, Delores.”

Umbridge shook her head, her beady eyes opening wide in terror and panic. “I am telling the truth, I was just going to question him about the explosion.”

Harry felt his anger rising again, but Scrimgeour shook his head.

“I gave you a chance to come clean, Delores. Now you will take the Veritaserum. Auror Tonks, will you please administer three drops? Auror Cain, please assist her should Madam Umbridge choose to resist.”

“With pleasure,” snarled Tonks ferociously. The light haired Auror who had been standing quietly gulped, but obediently moved towards Umbridge.

Umbridge raised her wand, but Harry was quicker.

“Expelliarmus!”

The stubby wand flew from the toad’s fat fingers.

“Well done,” complimented Scrimgeour, as Harry neatly snatched the wand out of the air. “Now let’s find out just what has been going on.”

Three forced drops later, Umbridge sat in a trance-like state in her chair answering question after question for the Minister. It quickly became apparent that Umbridge had been receiving suggestions from an advisor outside of the Ministry. This advisor had been supplying her with gifts, supposedly in gratitude of her efforts to keep half breeds, non-humans, and other ‘undesirables’ under control.

Harry stood back and watched as the Minister expertly interrogated the former undersecretary, digging deeper into what had been going on. It had all began slowly enough, with a simple letter from an anonymous admirer complimenting her on the ‘firm stance’ she had taken in the werewolf rights issue several years ago. Subtle suggestions had been made which were eagerly adopted by the delusional woman as her own, suggestions that included her grand plan of taking over Hogwarts and even ways of dealing with Harry.

“The Dementors,” Harry said, thinking out loud to himself. At Scrimgeour’s inquiring gaze Harry elaborated. “She ordered a pair of Dementors to attack me at Privet drive when I was fifteen and had special wards setup to detect my underage magic,” he said. “Ask her, she’ll confirm it, along with torturing me and my school friends by making us write lines with a quill that cut our hands to use blood as ink, and even planed on using the Cruciatus curse on me to find out where Dumbledore was hiding.”

At Scrimgeour’s persistent questioning, Umbridge did indeed confirm all of her actions and more that Harry had not known about, including turning aside many convictions of pure blood family members and severely punishing half bloods or Muggle born offenders for the slightest offences.

Tonks was livid, her hair cycling uncontrollably through every colour in the rainbow, and some never seen in nature. Harry felt the same, and only managed to hold his anger in check because of Scrimgeour’s calm presence, though he was gripping his wand so hard his fingers had started to go numb.

Absently he noticed the fair haired Auror, Cain, standing near the door, and the dark haired one still unconscious and forgotten on the floor where he had fallen to Tonks’s stunner.

“Who was it Delores? Who was the one feeding you instructions?” asked the Minister, his excitement almost palpable.

“He never openly identified himself,” she replied, her words starting to slur as the potion began to wear off and she fought for control.

“You must have some idea,” insisted Scrimgeour.

“It was..,” said Umbridge, struggling to not to speak.

“Yes?” encouraged Scrimgeour.

“It was…” the toad stammered.

“Come on, Delores, just tell us.”

Harry, concentrating on Umbridge, caught only a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He instinctively swung his wand towards it, just as he heard the spell.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of blinding green light flashed past Harry as he threw himself backwards, colliding with Tonks. The accompanying rushing sound filled his ears as he lost his balance and toppled over, taking the female Auror with him.

“Stupefy!” he cried even as he fell, pointing his wand in the general direction of the attack before crashing to the ground in a tangle with Tonks, who grunted loudly as his weight knocked the wind out of her.

Rolling off as quickly as possible, Harry brought his wand to bear. Scrimgeour was crouching with his wand out, pointing it at the door where the fair haired Auror lay sprawled, unconscious from Harry’s lucky shot.

“Harry, are you alright?” asked Tonks, struggling to her feet with her own wand also pointed at the door.

Harry sat up. “I’m fine, you?”

“Just a bit bruised. Good shot, by the way.”

“I agree,” said the Minister, as he walked over to the fallen Auror and kicked the wand from his outstretched hand. It appeared Harry’s spell had caught the man as he was running out of the door. “An excellent shot, indeed.”

Harry looked around the room; his eyes coming to rest on the slumped figure of Madam Umbridge.

“But not soon enough,” he said, looking into her open, lifeless eyes.

Strangely, he suddenly felt sorry.

“BLAST!” cursed Scrimgeour, rushing over to make a fruitless check of the former undersecretary. “First Percy, now Umbridge. What could be so important to warrant this?”

“Maybe you can ask him,” said Harry, nodding to the fallen Auror.

“Probably find he was under the Imperius Curse,” said Tonks.

Harry walked over to the unconscious man and bent over to pull the sleeve of the orange Auror robes back. The man’s forearm was unmarked.

“Aparecium!” incanted Harry, touching the same place he had seen Snape’s dark mark with the tip of his wand.

The barest of outlines appeared; a faint, but easily recognisable shape of a skull and a snake; the mark of Voldemort’s followers.

“Then again, maybe we won’t,” corrected Tonks.

Scrimgeour, frowning darkly, walked to the first man Tonks had stunned, and performed the same spell as Harry, but no mark appeared.

“Looks like you might have a lot of work in front of you, Minister,” said Harry.

Scrimgeour nodded, deep in thought. “Yes, this could be the break we have been looking for, but with Percy out of action I am going to have to find somebody else to follow the paper trail. His, er, recent assignment has made a great impact on the young man you know? Amazing what a different point of view can do to a man’s perspective, eh?”

For a second Harry wondered what the Minister was talking about, then he realised he meant having to impersonate Harry, and that the Minister didn’t know Tonks already knew about the swap. That suited Harry fine, so he said nothing.

“Auror Tonks, could you please call a few more Aurors here to take care of these two? I think it would be wise to question Auror Andrews here as well, even though he is not marked.”

Tonks looked like she was going to object to leaving Harry alone with the Minister, but then nodded and quickly left the room.

“Harry, young Mr Weasley has had a bit of a rude awakening after being subjected to your mail for an extended period of time. A change for the better, I assure you,” said the Minister conspiratorially, then he grinned a fierce smile. “You could say the rod has been forcibly removed somewhat!”

Harry nodded again, still unsure of the Minister’s motives and a bit shaken up at being so close to a murder. His silence had the unexpected effect of causing the Minister to continue speaking, to fill in the awkward silence.

“Anyway, after finally accepting the depth of his errors, he has been working almost night and day to uncover how the Ministry could have become so corrupt as to allow You-Know-Who to operate for a whole year. You may have noticed during my questioning that I had a fair idea of what to ask Delores. I was simply confirming the information Percy has so far uncovered.”

Harry nodded silently again, although he hadn’t noticed anything of the kind.

“With Percy currently out of commission I need somebody else to take his place, somebody who I can trust to keep the search going, somebody with the determination to get through the many obstacles that have been raised to keep us from discovering the truth, somebody who won’t be scared of uncovering senior Ministry workers involvement in corrupt dealings.”

“Do you know where I might find somebody like that, Harry?”

It finally dawned on Harry what Scrimgeour was doing; he was trying to get Harry to work for the Ministry!

“Oh, no,” he said. “No way, not a chance.”

“But, Harry, think about it. You could have all the resources of the Ministry at your disposal, to help you in your, er, task - whatever that is.”

“Sorry, Minister, I am not interested. Look at how close I just came to being forced to take Veritaserum. Do you really think I can risk somebody like Umbridge finding out what I am doing?”

“Surely Dumbledore can’t have expected you finish whatever it was he was doing on your own!” argued the Minister. “Don’t be unreasonable, Harry. You need help, even if it is just to come running when you call. Look at what happened here, if Arthur Weasley had not reported seeing you being escorted away from your office, you would indeed have been compromised, and that probably only happened because of your recent falling out with his family.”

Harry shook his head and bit back a bitter reply, but the Minister’s words hit home pretty hard.

“I only came here because Percy asked me too, to squash the rumours of my death,” he said instead. “I would have preferred to have left the world thinking I was gone, that way less people may have been hunting for me.”

The Minister’s shoulders slumped in apparent defeat, just as Tonks and three other orange clad wizards entered the room.

“Very well,” he said, straightening up at the sight of witnesses. “Auror Tonks, will you please escort Mr Potter to the remains of his office to collect his mail and then to the Dignitary’s Apparition point? I am sure he would rather avoid the circus that undoubtedly awaits him in the Atrium.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Tonks, before turning to Harry and indicating he should lead the way out of the room. At the door Harry paused.

“Thank you, Minister,” he said, then nodded in the direction of the now levitating form of the Death Eater formerly known as Auror Andrews. “Good luck.”

Scrimgeour appeared surprised at Harry’s well wishes, but silently nodded his thanks.

*-*

The office looked like somebody had let an angry dragon loose inside of it, and then poked the irritable beast in a very tender spot with a sharp stick.

Every wall of the moderately sized office, and most of the roof, was black with burn marks. Harry swore he could have drawn Percy’s shadow’s outline on the wall where it was slightly less burnt because Percy himself had absorbed the flames.

“Wow,” he said.

Tonks nodded, looking quite green at the amount of damage. The desk and other furniture were totally obliterated, but five blackened chests lying where they had been thrown by the blast appeared intact, indicating they had some fairly serious protection spells on them.

“Ministry secure mail chests,” explained Tonks. “Multiple, layered spells to keep them safe against anything short of an angry troll sitting on them, and it would have to be a very large troll and very angry at that.”

There had been labels on the lids of the chests, but they were all but unreadable, so Harry just opened the first one. As he expected, it was full of letters. Picking one up he skimmed through it. It was from a little girl from London asking Harry to come and protect her and her family from the ‘bad men’ who wanted to hurt them.

Placing it back in the chest, Harry grabbed another one. It was similar, although this one was from a boy wanting Harry to rescue his uncle who had gone missing.

Seeing the look on his face, Tonks took the letter and read it while Harry browsed a few more. They were all the same; requests for Harry to help them in some impossible way.

In the second chest Harry found various letters, from older writers, judging by the language in them, all threatening in some manner. A few insisted Harry hurry up and ‘do his job’ before You-Know-Who killed more people, but others were defending Voldemort and calling Harry all sorts of nasty things for opposing him. Harry’s blood boiled in anger just from reading a few lines of some random samples. He resisted the impulse to incinerate the contents of the chest, figuring Percy must have had a reason for keeping them.

The third chest had been seriously enlarged and was filled with boxes and packages, some large enough to hold a broom. Tonks, still sniffing after reading the letter from the first chest, read one of the notes and explained this appeared to be the gifts people had sent him, some seeking endorsements and others favours.

“Bribes,” she said, seeing his look of incomprehension

The fourth chest contained all of the marriage proposals, and other suggestions, some quite improper. Harry didn’t bother to look at even one of the photographs included in any of the envelopes, although Tonks picked several and either laughed or retched at them, sometimes poking her fingers into her mouth dramatically to indicate her thoughts on the model in question.

The fifth and last chest held what appeared to be official letters. Harry knew it the second he opened it because of the envelope sitting on the very top.

It was his Hogwarts letter.


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Chapter Twenty Two – Godric’s Hollow

The Golden Trio sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place silently. Three large envelopes were sitting unopened on the table, one in front of each person.

Upon returning to Grimmauld Place after leaving from the ‘back door’, as Tonks called the special Apparition exit from the Ministry, Harry had found both his friends watching their recently delivered letters silently.

The story of the death of Umbridge and his capture of an Auror Death Eater had been briefly covered, then surprisingly was quickly pushed aside as the issue of the Hogwarts letters unreasonably kept raising itself in their thoughts.

“Do we open them?” Ron asked, voicing the question they had all been thinking.

Harry didn’t really want to. He knew that to do so was just to increase the torment of having to face the fact they were not going back. His mind had been made up weeks ago, but it had not become a reality, yet. Opening the letter seem to mean having to totally accept that that part of his life was over.

“There’s no harm in it, I suppose,” he said.

Hermione nodded, then quickly tore her envelope open. A gleaming silver badge fell out onto the table. It had HG embossed on it, but it was not her initials; it was the Head Girl badge.

“Oh,” said Hermione, picking up the badge.

“No surprise there then,” laughed Ron. “Congratulations, Hermione.”

She smiled sadly and rolled the badge over in her fingers.

Harry opened his letter and stopped in shock when another badge fell out, because it was not the Quidditch captain’s badge he had been expecting; it was the Head Boy’s badge.

He quickly snatched it up and looked at Ron, hoping he had not seen it, but the expression in his friend’s face clearly showed he had.

A look of mingled anger, jealousy and confusion ran across Ron’s features. As prefect, it was taken for granted that he would have been head boy if anybody from Gryffindor was chosen. That Harry had been chosen without being a prefect smacked of favouritism.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Ron said, after taking a second to compose himself. “I guess it makes sense, since I wasn’t really much chop as a prefect, was I?”

“Besides,” he added holding up another badge, one that Harry was familiar with. “I think I prefer to have this one!”

It was the Quidditch captain’s badge.

They sat quietly, contemplating the badges and letters. Hermione read her letter fastest and started talking before Harry had gotten half way through his.

“So they are not going to open for a full year, but only half a year to help with preparations for O.W.L and N.E.W.T.S,” she explained. “Starting on the fifth of January. That is going to make things very difficult for the students. They are going to have almost no time to prepare-”

“What!” exclaimed Ron. “There aren’t going to be house teams! That’s outrageous. How can you play a proper season of Quidditch when you have a game every week made up of people from each house? That’s just ludicrous that is.”

“Ronald, I hardly think Quidditch is going to be big on anybody’s agenda. With only half a year to prepare, I am surprised there are going to be any games at all. More important is that students are going to be very limited in what subjects they can study.”

Their discussion that followed, about how vital a good game of Quidditch was to the health and well being of the students, did not involve Harry. He was still reading and re-reading his letter.

Aside from the standard letter and explanation of the short school year and changes to Quidditch, he had an additional, personal note.

Mr. Potter,
Although my sources tell me that you are intent on another course of action, I feel you should return to Hogwarts to complete your education.

As stated in the main letter, many additional protections have been, or are in the process of being, installed into the school with the help of the Ministry of Magic and with the approval of the board of Governors. I am confident in expressing my belief that Hogwarts still remains just as safe as ever for you.

Should you wish to contact me to answer any questions you may have, please do not hesitate to owl me. Letters addressed to the Headmistress care of Hogwarts will find me.

Yours truly,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

PS
Former Headmaster Dumbledore’s portrait has awoken, but is unable to convey details of the events leading to his demise, or for many years prior. You may not be aware that magical paintings are only a facsimile of a person and do not contain all of the knowledge or wisdom of the original, however former Headmaster Dumbledore’s portrait appears to have even less true knowledge and memories than a normal one, leading me to believe it is defective in some manner.

The letter certainly raised some questions, but not ones she was likely or capable of answering. What sources had told her he was not returning? Nobody except Ron and Hermione knew he hadn’t planned on going back, and how could a portrait be defective? Mrs Black’s had gone mad, or maybe the old bat had been mad beforehand?

“Hey!” he called, interrupting the escalating argument between his friends. “Listen to this.”

After he read out the letter there was a stunned silence.

“I don’t get it, is she telling you to stay away?” Ron asked.

Harry blinked in confusion. “How in the world did you come up with that?” he asked.

“Well that last bit, about the portrait. The only reason she would write that in a letter would be to tell you there was nothing there for you, otherwise she would be using it as a hook to get you back. You know ‘come on back and get answers from old uncle Albus’ and all that.”

“Ronald, I don’t think that was her intention,” said Hermione. “I think she was just making an effort to tell Harry so that any hopes or expectations he may have had were not built up.”

“Yeah, but she is the Head now, and the rest of the portraits heard everything that went on in that office, so do you reckon she doesn’t already know everything?”

It was Harry’s turn to be stunned. He had never considered that all of his meetings with Dumbledore had been witnessed. Every conversation they had, including the one just before leaving to retrieve the Horcrux, had been overheard by multiple paintings. The portraits may already have told her everything.

Ron hadn’t finished yet. “Then there is that line about the Ministry installing extra security and Harry being as safe as ever. I would hardly call Harry as ever being safe at Hogwarts.”

It was true. Everything Ron said was true. The Ministry of Magic was still full of Death Eaters and Fudge’s cronies, the board of Governors had been used by Lucius Malfoy once, and Umbridge another time, so they were no better, and nobody could ever claim Harry had been safe while at Hogwarts, although it was often his own choices that put his life in danger while there.

Ron was right; she was warning him away.

Judging by Hermione’s surprising lack of protest, she agreed, or at least could not find fault with his logic.

“How could anybody know I was not going back?” he asked. “I never told anybody, except you two.”

“Ginny knew,” Hermione suggested. “And I can tell you a lot of people probably guessed, especially after we staged our little falling out before leaving. Taken with the amount of time you are apparently spending in the Ministry, and I’d say it was a fairly logical conclusion.”

“So why is McGonagall writing this then?” Ron asked.

“To mislead anybody who might be reading these letters,” Harry said.

It was starting to make more sense now. Even the line about the portrait being defective was probably a lie, designed to throw off anybody who read the letter. He wondered why she could not have sent him the message via Lupin, since they had most likely been in contact through the Order of the Phoenix. Harry could ask Lupin when he came to visit.

Suddenly Hermione’s hand started shaking and she dropped the badge on the table. With a great wrenching, sob she leaped up and ran from the room crying. After only a moment’s pause and a shared look with Harry, Ron went after her, leaving Harry sitting his own badge, feeling miserable.

They were giving up so much for him. Hermione’s fondest wish to become Head Girl had come true, but she was throwing it away to follow him into danger on an insane quest.

Ron had looked into the Mirror of Esried and seen himself as Head boy and Quidditch captain. While never one for strictly adhering to rules, Quidditch was his most favourite thing in the world, and captain was something none of his brothers had ever been, so it would have given him his hearts desire – to stand out above his brothers, best amongst them all. He too was turning his back on the opportunity in order to help Harry in his insane mission.

Harry knew he didn’t deserve such good friends, and vowed to somehow make it up to them.

Tossing the badge on the table, he went see how Hermione was doing.

-

It took a while for her to become calm enough to talk to them, and when she did, it was not what Harry expected.

They were in the bedroom she had taken as her own. Ron was lying at the head of the bed, propped up on cushions with Hermione sitting between his legs leaning back on him. It was probably a very familiar position for the two, since they appeared quite comfortable.

Crookshanks was curled in his usual position at the foot of the bed purring loudly. He rarely made appearances elsewhere in the house, but Hermione had told Harry the mouse and rat population was taking a beating from the stealthy presence of the large feline. Ron loudly hoped one day the huge cat would bring her a rat that had a silver paw.

“I am sorry, Harry,” she said, “but it just became a bit too much.”

“I understand,” he said.

“No, I don’t think you do,” she said. “I can’t do it. I can’t find all the answers. There is way too much to read and analyse; far too many leads for the three of us to follow. It could take years just to retrace where Dumbledore already went, and he took four years just to find two.”

“Well he was alone when he was doing it,” said Ron.

“We three together are not equal to one of him, Ron,” she said, not unkindly.

“What are you saying, Hermione? That it is impossible? Because if that is what you think, I have to tell you that I don’t agree, and I am not going to give up even if it takes a hundred years,” Harry told her, feeling defensive for some reason.

“No, Harry. I am saying we need some help. We need people to read books and reports, and take notes, and then compare those notes. We need to have people to gather and collate and all the other hundreds of little steps that together make a thorough investigation.”

“Who could we possibly trust, Hermione? Scrimgeour offered to lend me the resources of the Ministry of Magic while one of his police lay at my feet with the Dark Mark on his arm after having murdered another Ministry worker.”

“The D.A.” she answered.

Harry harrumphed his disbelief.

Out of all of the members of Dumbledore’s Army, only Neville and Luna had responded when called before Dumbledore’s Death, and that was just because they missed the classes.

However, Harry thought to himself, he had suggested to Neville to try and get a few of the D.A. to train together, so maybe he had managed to round up a few people. If Ginny had helped it was almost a certainty that some would have joined them.

“We can’t tell anybody,” Harry said. “If too many people know, word will get back to Voldemort. Once that happens, it might as well all be over. He will just create more Horcruxes and we’ll never find them.”

“Maybe we can come up with a cover story, one that sounds true and gets us results, but without letting on to what we are really doing, like with Mundungus,” Ron said.

“Ronald, that is, once again, brilliant,” said Hermione, smiling proudly at him and in turn causing a huge smile to appear on his face.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said. “Although I don’t actually have any idea for the cover story…”

“We can say we are trying to find his base,” Harry suggested. “We can make up a story about how we think he is hiding somewhere that he used to hang out, and we want to find where, in order to help out the good guys.”

“What about finding what things he made into a Horcrux though?” Ron asked.

“If we find the place, we find the object,” Harry answered. “But if other people are helping take the load off, we can still be doing our own looking.”

They discussed the plan for a while longer and Hermione drafted a letter for Ron to send Ginny asking if Neville had been in touch about the D.A. Once they received her reply they would know what step to take next.

Hedwig was happy to once again have something to do and nipped Harry on his hand to show her annoyance at his inattention. They had taken up changing her colour before sending her out and this sometimes upset her almost as much as not going out at all. Ron, in an unexpected bout of kindness and thoughtfulness, had left Pig at the Burrow to help out old Errol, the decrepit family owl.

“Sorry girl,” he said, making the magnificent white feathers a dirty brown. “It’s for your own safety.”

The number of times Harry had suffered for that same reason was beyond counting, but it didn’t make him feel any better telling it to the disgruntled owl.

*-*

Lupin and Tonks arrived together after lunch the next day to take them to visit his parent’s graves.

Once Harry had assured Lupin he was all right, and they had gone over some of the information Scrimgeour had managed to get from the captured Death Eater as well as Umbridge before her demise, he showed them the letter from Hogwarts and asked their opinion.

“Recently Minerva has come under close scrutiny from several different parties,” Lupin told them. “She has temporarily rescinded her membership in the Order of the Phoenix until the current situation passes.”

They quizzed him, but he said he couldn’t say more because it could possibly endanger her. He did confirm their suspicions about the contents of the letter, although he wasn’t too sure of the details. Soon enough they decides it was time to leave.

The trip to Godric’s Hollow was made by Apparition.

Ron and Harry went side-along with Remus, while Tonks took Hermione. They appeared in front of a forest on the side of a steep, snow capped mountain. Below them, a lush green valley followed the meandering course of a river as it wound its way along, surrounded on all sides by more white topped mountains. It looked like a scene on a postcard.

Harry had noticed the apparition was particularly uncomfortable and long compared to when they played apparition tag, and asked Lupin about it.

“It’s the distance,” Lupin told him, easily slipping into his ‘professor mode’. “The further you go, the longer you are in transit. That’s one of the reasons why Portkeys or International Floo is better when travelling overseas. If you loose concentration due to lack of air on the way over, you might only half arrive at your destination.”

Harry gulped and shot Ron a look. He looked pale at the news. Nobody had given them that titbit of information before, or if they had, the two had not paid attention, and they had been talking about Apparating to various places around the world!

Lupin led them around the hill towards a small town nestled near the river curling its way along the valley floor.

“That’s Godric’s Hollow,” said Remus, pointing out the small town. “There are quite a few squib and magical families living here – have been for centuries. The Muggles mostly live further down toward the valley floor. Your parent’s house is near the edge of the town, further up the slope than the others.”

They walked the scenic path, down through the soft, rolling, meadows in silence, partly because they were admiring the scenery, and partly because of the apprehension they all felt at approaching a place of such personal tragedy and historical significance.

Harry’s mind raced as he tried to remember the places around him. Had he ran along this path with his parents? Did he ever watch his dad playing Quidditch over that field? Was that tree a place his mother may have sat under on a chequered picnic blanket feeding him in the warm summer’s sun? Everything seemed familiar, but that was probably because he was trying so hard to make it so.

Staring into the distance, he tried to pick the way to his old house before Lupin told him, but he kept getting it wrong. Finally they rounded a corner, and he didn’t need anybody to point out where his parents had lived, and fallen.

The house was a complete ruin.

Whatever Harry hoped to gain, whatever he had thought to find, what hopes for enlightenment or revelation he was expecting, it was not present in the collapsed wreck of his parent’s final home.

Standing on a path running through what had once been a small garden but was now a jungle of weeds, they could see no way to enter the tumbled over, fallen down building. The roof had collapsed, dragging three of walls inwards, crushing the upper floor completely, and sealing off the doorway with debris. There was no way to make out even a general layout; it had all crumbled so badly.

“I don’t understand,” said Hermione, looking at the pile of rubble “The house couldn’t have been in this condition before, otherwise Hagrid would never have found you.”

“It wasn’t,” said Lupin, coming to stand next to Harry.

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“Time,” the werewolf answered simply.

Harry stayed silent. There was possibly a wealth of family memories buried just a few feet from where he was standing, a virtual treasure chest of his parent’s artefacts, but he could not bring himself to even think of digging through it; it was just too depressing.

Instead, he plucked a few flowers from the badly overgrown garden.

“Let’s go,” he said sadly.

Ron turned away, refusing to add anything to the pain Harry was suffering by speaking. Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something, but a quick glare from Ron silenced her as effectively as any spell.

Lupin nodded in understanding and led the way to the graveyard with Tonks following alertly behind them.

On the edge of the wood, innumerable headstones marked the resting places of generations of Godric’s Hollow’s inhabitants, both magical and Muggle. Many were ornate statues or large, elaborate pillars set by grieving relatives for unique individuals long since forgotten, but most were simple marble slabs with the name, birth, and death dates of the entombed carved with elegant simplicity into the face of the stone markers.

Harry’s parents’ graves were of the latter kind.

“James always said he wanted a simple grave,” Remus told them, after stopping some distance from the actual graves. “He said people should show respect while you are still alive and not worship a rock on the ground after it was too late.”

Harry walked on, as the others hung back to give him some privacy.

Approaching the graves of his parents alone, Harry didn’t know what to feel. In a sense, he did not know the people lying forever beneath the grassed earth at the foot of those stone markers, but at another level, he keenly felt the pang of their loss.

Emotions warred inside of him as he stood there, flowers picked from the sparse remains of the garden at the house cradled in his slightly shaking hands.

Finally he knelt down and placed half of the impromptu bouquet into each of the receptacles on the sides of headstones and then filled the vases with water from his wand. He spent a few minutes just looking at the simple graves, but it meant nothing to him; it was just a place for people he didn’t know.

For some unexpected reason, he felt hot tears begin to run down his cheeks.

It hit him then; he was kneeling next to the graves of his parents. They were people who had loved him so much they had given their lives for him without a moment’s hesitation, people whom he loved, although he didn’t have a single happy memory to explain his attachment.

“Hello, Mum. Hello, Dad,” he choked out quietly. “I miss you. I’ll always miss you.”

It was all he could say - there was nothing else inside of him to give.

With a shaking hand he reached out to gently trace the name of his mother and father, striving to reach them somehow, to feel more than an empty sorrow, but all he felt was the hard stone lettering worn smooth by wind and weather of an uncaring world.

A cold breeze blew, rustling the trees and making Harry shiver. He wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve and noticed just how cold it was – too cold.

Goosebumps run up Harry’s arms as another cold seeped into his veins, the cold of fear.

A dozen towering, hooded figures moved out of the nearby trees, gliding above the ground, moving like shadows that had come to life.

Dementors, Harry thought. How could they have gotten so close to him without giving away their presence? It had to be a trap. The trees weren’t thick enough to have hidden them from view for so long. Somebody had concealed them at the edge of the wood until Harry had come to his parent’s graves, and then released them when he was at his closest.

He grabbed his wand and tried to scream a warning to his friends as he struggled to his feet, but the unnatural fear washing over him, like storm driven waves on a rocky shore, robbed him of his voice.

Leaning on his father’s tombstone, he managed to stagger upright, but when he tried to let go he found his hand stuck to the rock as if it had been glued.

“Harry!” screeched Hermione from behind him somewhere. She had evidently seen the danger.

They were further away than him and so were less affected, and Harry had always being much more susceptible to the happiness destroying aura of the vile beasts anyway.

He raised his wand and tried to cast the spell that would drive the horrid creatures away, but the involuntary memory of his dead mother’s voice pleading with Voldemort filled his head, stopping him from summoning a happy memory to work the charm with its intensity.

“Expecto patronum!” he gasped desperately, but not even a mist erupted from his shaking wand.

The breeze stirred slightly, bathing him in the putrid smell of the Dementors, and something almost worse. Moving between the shadowy outlines of the Dementors, human figures shambled unsteadily towards him.

Harry knew that stumbling walk, he had seen it before in a dim cavern lit by the nightmare green glow of a potion filled basin; Inferi.

A hand grabbed Harry’s shoulder almost making him fall. He swung his wand around to confront his attacker only to recognise Lupin’s face.

“Expecto patronum!” the werewolf yelled.

A glowing silver shape erupted from the older man’s wand and charged the Dementors, forcing them away a short distance.

Instantly Harry felt the fear that had been paralysing him withdraw, and the ghostly voice of his mother faded to almost nothing.

With his mind clearer, Harry noticed more silver shapes driving his attackers back. The Dementors fled as each of the Patronuses challenged them, but the Inferi continued on, ignoring the phantasms as if they didn’t exist.

“Expecto patronum!” he called, adding his own impressive stag Patronus to the attack.

Lupin grabbed Harry’s arm and tried dragging him back towards the others. “We have to get out of here,” Lupin said urgently.

“My hand, it’s stuck!” he said, tugging ineffectually at the rock.

Lupin looked confused for a moment, then tapped the top of Harry’s unmoving hand with his wand. When nothing happened he tried again, this time voicing the incantation aloud.

“Finite Incantatem!” he said, again tapping Harry’s trapped hand, but to no avail.

Nearby Hermione and Tonks were casting their Patronuses again while Ron rapidly fired various spells at the Inferi, dropping them where they stood.

Harry’s stuck hand stubbornly resisted Lupin’s attempts to free it. Uncontrollable anger filled the void the fear had left behind in him.

'Flagrate maximale!' he yelled, flicking his wand across the line of approaching Inferi.

Bright flames cut across the animated corpses, burning rotting flesh and the tattered remains of clothing alike. Acrid smoke billowed from the open mouths of the horrors as they silently screamed their torment at the incandescent fire consuming them. The whole line dropped to the forest floor, never to rise again, and even the Dementors seemed momentarily put-off by the intensity of the flames bathing their fallen allies.

“Sorry James,” Lupin mumbled, raising his wand again. “Reducto!”

The marble Harry was attached to disappear in a dulled explosion, jarring his hand badly, but setting it free.

“Let’s go” yelled Lupin, grabbing Harry by the arm before he could object.

With a sickening wrench, Harry was pulled into the blackness of Apparition and away from their attackers.


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Chapter Twenty Three – An Unexpected Party

Back at Grimmauld place that night, it was not a pleasant scene.

Lupin and Tonks left to investigate the trap after making sure the teenagers were all right. In trying to comfort Harry over the near disastrous trip, Ron let slip that Winky now worked for Harry, immediately causing a confrontation with Hermione, who was probably just venting her emotions in the aftermath of the battle.

No matter what 'spin' (as Ron called it when they discussed it earlier) Harry tried to put on the Kreacher incident, it was always going to upset Hermione, so he just told her story exactly as it happened.

To say she was not pleased was an understatement, although not for the reasons Harry expected.

“Have you been to see him?” she yelled. “Have you done anything to help him recover?”

“Come on, Hermione,” said Ron. “He attacked Harry, not the other way around, the place is better off without him anyway.”

This was of course completely the wrong thing to say and, after a lengthy and at times quite lively discussion, Hermione refused to talk to either of them until they apologised to Kreacher.

“I am not saying sorry to that thing,” Ron told Harry, once Hermione had retreated upstairs. “I don't care what she says - I don't owe it an apology for calling it the nasty piece of work that it is.”

Harry tended to agree with Ron, but did feel bad never the less.

”At least she understood about Winky,” said Harry.

Surprisingly, before stomping out of the room, she had accepted that taking Winky on had saved the deteriorating elf’s life, so she stopped yelling at Harry for enslaving a free House-elf and started berating him for his callous treatment of them, simply because he had not gone to see or help either elf.

“Dobby!” called Harry, soon after Hermione had made her dramatic exit from their presence.

Almost instantly, a loud crack rent the air of the room and the humble elf stood grinning from ear to ear in front of him.

Trying valiantly to explain Hermione's concerns to the confused elf, Harry finally gave in and asked Dobby if it was possible to get into Hogwarts to see the two elves.

“Oh no, Harry Potter sir,” Dobby said sadly. “It is not good for you to be seeing nasty elf. He is still saying he killed his young master, and Dobby is afraid seeing Harry Potter alive and well will make him attack again.”

“But Winky can be coming! She is doing much better without drinking and is ready to start working. Harry Potter just has to call her!”

When Winky appeared, Harry was amazed at how much better she looked. Gone were the layers of dirt and vacant expression, and in their place she looked almost as good as the first time he had ever seen her. She was wearing a plain blue pillowcase that had been tailored to fit, in much the same fashion as the Hogwarts elves coverings, and had obviously been eating well.

“How are you Winky?” he asked.

“Winky is ready to start work, master Harry,” she said. “But I is not as strong as I used to be and might be taking longer to do things. Winky is sorry.”

“Dobby is helping Winky here sir, until she is better!” chirped the excitable elf nearly losing one of the many hats still perched on his head.

Winky protested that she was able to do her own work and Dobby was a bad elf for suggesting otherwise, but it sounded weak to Harry.

“About that Dobby,” he said. “If you are going to help Winky, I insist you let me pay you.”

Dobby jumped up and down on the spot with excitement, but Winky suddenly looked scandalised, and quite sad.

“What is the matter, Winky?” Harry asked, realising he must have done something wrong.

“Master is thinking Winky is not being good enough elf to do all the work, Winky understands. Winky is sorry for looking sad master.”

Despite his prior experiences with house-elves, Harry couldn't believe it. He could see the worry lines that had disappeared from her face start to reappear, as if she was already sinking into the pit of depression he had dragged her out of.

“Winky there is heaps of work!” he said quickly. “It's not just this house you have to take care of. There is my house in Godric's hollow, which is a complete ruin and will need to be rebuilt from scratch.”

“Yeah,” added Ron. “And you could always pop over to mum's place and give her a hand. I bet without us lot living there she could use a hand every now and then, de-gnoming the garden and such.”

“And then there is the Shrieking Shack. Lupin might not live there, but I bet he would be happy to have it cleaned up.”

It took a while longer before she was convinced there was enough work to keep both elves busy for a long time, but eventually she accepted Harry's claims and agreed to visit Mrs Weasley at least once a week to help out.

“Now there is just one more thing I need you to do please,” said Harry.

An hour later Hermione re-entered the room where Ron and Harry were playing a game of chess. Trying to play really, since neither was concentrating. Harry was worried that Hermione was going to stay angry, but Ron already seemed to be angry and was silently fuming, although Harry wasn't sure why.

“I suppose you think you have done the right thing now and everything is better?” she asked Harry, completely ignoring Ron.

“Hermione, you were right,” he said standing up to face her. “I was treating both Winky and Kreacher badly by ignoring them, and I am sorry for getting angry with you. I am not sorry for taking Winky as my elf, and I won't excuse Kreacher for the things he has done, but I will try to treat them both better. Okay?”

She looked sullenly at him, and he knew he had won, without having to resort to his puppy dog eyes. Dobby and Winky must have successfully done what he asked and made sure she understood their happiness at the arrangements they had with him.

“All right, Harry,” she said. “I accept you weren't trying to do anything wrong this time, but you had better try a bit harder.”

“Or what, Hermione?” snapped Ron, rather aggressively. “Are you going to turn your back on him because of some bleeding house-elves? How does that ugly little git get to mean more to you than Harry?”

Harry was shocked at Ron, who was outright provoking a serious argument with Hermione, and not a quarrel like they often had. Her face reddened at Ron's words, but he didn’t give her a chance to say anything in reply.

“You know we would never treat anybody the way Malfoy treated Dobby, so why are you always so quick to get on our case. Eh? Personally I think you are right out of line and acting like a spoilt brat. Just because you want house-elves treated a certain way, IT DOESN'T MEAN YOU ARE RIGHT AND EVERYBODY ELSE IS WRONG YOU KNOW!” Ron shouted, standing up.

Harry didn't know what was going on in Ron's head, but this was going too far.

“No, Harry, you stay out of it,” Ron snapped, as Harry opened his mouth to say something. Hermione was staring at Ron, speechless.

“I am sick and tired of you and Spew. I never want to hear about bleeding house-elf rights again. You want Harry to apologise to Kreacher for hurting him, well I want Kreacher to cut his own bloody head off and stick it on the wall – how’s that for you? I can't believe you can even think about not talking to us because of that - that thing.”

Hermione's eyes were teary, but held a dangerous glint in them.

“If you are sick and tired of me, Ronald, why don't you just keep away?” she asked in a level voice.

With that she turned and marched out of the room, leaving a still fuming Ron and a very confused Harry.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked Ron.

Ron slumped back in his chair before answering. “It's about time she grew up,” he said, not enlightening Harry at all.

Harry searched the house and found her in the drawing room. She was standing quietly looking at the Black Family Tapestry. Tear tracks were visible on her face and a crumpled hanky was crushed in one hand.

He knocked on the open door without entering. “Can I come in?” he asked her.

She hastily wiped her face and blew her nose before nodding. Harry walked in and stood besides her.

“Why did you fix it up?” she asked him.

For a second, Harry was stumped at her meaning, then he realised she meant the family tree tapestry.

“I hadn’t been able to get it off the wall,” he answered, “and it, well, actually I don't really know.”

She sniffed.

“Listen, Hermione-”

“Don't, Harry. Don't say anything.”

They stood quietly, and Harry decided to leave. He was not doing any good, and may have been making her feel worse. This was what he was scared of; his two best friends breaking up and leaving him in the middle. He wanted to hug her or something, but those sorts of things didn't come naturally for him, and he was worried about somehow doing it wrong and making things even worse.

“Harry,” she said, as he turned to leave. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?” he asked.

“I'm sorry for doing what we promised not to. I'm sorry for jumping on you about Kreacher. I'm sorry I didn't trust you.”

Harry shook his head.

“I don't accept your apology, because it is not needed,” he said, as he left the room.

*-*

Ron had calmed down a bit by the time Harry got back down to him.

“How is she?” the redhead asked.

“Do you really want to know?” Harry shot back. “Because if you care, you need to go up there and apologise to her.”

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Are you going to tell me what's going on between the two of you, or more to the point, what your problem is?” Harry asked.

Ron shifted again and refused to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I just - I just, I dunno,” he said, shrugging dejectedly. “I just want to stop being scared of arguing all the time. I just want to know she is not going to go off in a huff every time I make a stupid mistake or say something daft, which is probably going to be fairly often. The way she started in on you about that stupid elf really got up my nose, you know?”

“It’s like she thinks we are children, and she is an adult or something. I am sick of it.”

Harry was even more confused and had no idea what Ron was going on about, but Ron seemed to be really trying, so he nodded in agreement. “Well, I think,” he said. “I think you need to go up there and apologise for yelling, sit down and try to talk about what ever is your problem without getting angry. I think you owe her that, at least.”

Ron nodded, but didn't move for a minute.

“Go on, Ron. Just go up there and talk to her, without shooting your mouth off,” Harry prompted.

Ron nodded again, and finally stood up.

“She's in the drawing room,” Harry told him.

Left alone, Harry shook his head and gave a rueful laugh. It was definitely going to be difficult with the two of them together, but it would be impossible with them apart.

This wasn’t shaping up to be a great birthday, and knowing his luck, it was probably going to get a lot worse.

*-*

Harry’s premonition about the upcoming anniversary of his birth was soon borne out in horrific detail. The feeling of impending trouble returned in full force as he had gone to bed, making it difficult to sleep. As the clock moved steadily forward, Harry cast his mind back to a time many years before, when he had watch his sleeping fat cousin’s watch mark off the minutes until the most monumental birthday he had ever had – his eleventh.

At exactly midnight, in the very second his birthday was considered to start, Voldemort attacked Harry through his scar.

The waves of pain were excruciating, his scar feeling like it had been torn apart to expose his skull to red hot pokers and vials of acid. Vaguely, Harry was aware of Ron and Hermione desperately trying to help him, eventually putting him into a body bind to stop him from tearing at the flesh of his forehead with his hands, and somehow forcing vial after vial of potions down his throat.

He thought he saw Lupin and Tonks both there at some point too, although the pain was making Harry delirious. He knew they were talking to him, but he could not make out a single word.

In a far corner of his mind, Harry wondered why he had not gone mad. People exposed to the Cruciatus curse for too long went insane, Neville’s parents were proof of that, but Harry saw himself as if he was watching from far away as his body bent and twisted and his voice cried out in agony for what appeared to be hours.

It felt as if a massive battering ram was pounding on the doors of his mind. He resisted with a futile attempt to clear his mind and push Voldemort out, but the pressure continued unabated. He continued to fight though, forcing himself to stand the pain and not to give in. Over and over again he was taken to the edge of defeat, to a point where he was sure he was going to crack and his head was going to burst open, but each time he managed to hang on, to push it aside just enough to last another second, and the wave of agony would recede a bit before returning again.

He tried remembering things, calling up vision of himself flying and feeling of love and joy he had when with his friends. He tried concentrating on a single happy memory, like he needed to do to conjure a Patronus. He even desperately tried to summon the feelings for Sirius he had used to break Voldemort’s possession in the Ministry of Magic. Nothing was completely successful, although everything helped.

Finally, after a seemingly endless torment of agony, the pain disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Just before it stopped, in a spilt second, Harry had a vision of a dark stone room, something like a Hogwarts dungeon. Glowing patterns and symbols covered the floor and walls, patterns drawn in what Harry later realised were blood. Strangely glowing and smoking candles cast their eerie flickering light over everything, making the markings to look like they were moving. His line of sight seemed to be too low, as if he was lying on the ground, and Harry realised he was seeing through Voldemort’s pain blurred eyes, and the creature had collapsed onto the floor. An overwhelming sense of defeat flooded his mind as the vision faded and Harry felt himself and Voldemort both give in to unconsciousness.

When he awoke, it was with a headache that felt as if a dragon was rampaging in his temples. A thick cloth was strapped to his forehead with several layers of bandages; easing the pain he could still feel in his scar with a magically induced coolness. On the bedside table he could dimly make out a glass of water and several bottles of pain relieving potion. He resisted immediately gulping down another bottle of the less than tasty fluid and settled for water to ease his sore throat until he knew what he could drink.

“Easy there, lad,” said a gruff voice as he shakily raised the glass to his lips. A rough, weather beaten hand grasped his weak one in a firm hold and gently helped him pour some welcome relief into his mouth.

“Moody,” he said, once the glass was removed from his grip. “What happened?”

“Was sort of hoping you could tell us that,” the old Auror said, sounding like his ever suspicious self.

Harry dug deep into his memory and the facts of what had happened came flooding back, causing the headache to ignite in a new blaze of fury.

“Voldemort!” Harry said, struggling to sit up. “He tried to do something. I saw him in a room covered in runes. He collapsed from the effort, but I don’t know what he was trying. Merlin my head hurts.”

“Did he try to take over your mind?” Moody asked.

“No,” answered Harry, closing his eyes against the pain. “It was different. I think he was trying to do something to the scar link itself, but not me directly.

Moody grunted.

“Why would you think that? Can you tell what he is up to can you?”

“No,” he admitted, tiredness starting to overwhelm him again. “Just a feeling. It was different to when he possessed me at the Ministry – I could feel him in my mind. This was outside of me – I can’t explain it.”

The door to the room opened as another person entered.

“Harry, you’re awake!” cried Hermione, rushing over to the bed and wrapping her arms around him. “Thank goodness. We were all so worried.”

Harry winced involuntarily in pain at the movement. Seeing his discomfort she creased her brows in confusion and looked at the potion vials.

“Why haven’t you taken your potion?” she asked, but then before he had a chance to answer turned on Moody. “Didn’t you give it to him immediately like Remus told us to?”

“Relax lass, I was just making sure he was himself, if you take my meaning. No harm’s done getting some answers straight away without giving him a chance to recover. Better safe than sorry,” answered Moody, causing Hermione to puff in annoyance before she grabbed a vial and offered it to Harry while mumbling something about torture, under her breath.

As the foul tasting liquid filled his mouth, Harry wondered just how much they could have left from the bag Slughorn had given him. It couldn’t have been a lot, not at the rate he was going through it.

Suddenly the door opened and a flood of people entered the room. Harry nearly spat potion out at the unexpected invasion and, for the first time in his memory, he actually understood and appreciated why Madam Pomfrey always insisted on only a few visitors at a time in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

The noise alone as everybody tried to speak at once nearly sent him back into unconsciousness.

Eventually the pain potion took effect, taking more than just the edge off his headache, and everybody calmed down. Surprisingly, it was only four people in addition to Moody and Hermione. Lupin, Ron, Tonks and Arthur Weasley had all come bustling into the room, having heard Hermione. His overly sensitive ears and lack of glasses had, for a second, made it seem like twice that many people.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“You have been in and out of it for half the day, mate,” Ron told him. “It’s after lunch.”

“When Ron and I heard you last night and couldn’t wake you up, we called Remus and Mr Weasley straight away,” added Hermione

“Hermione figured it was you-know-who, and Arthur got in contact with Madam Pomfrey, but that elf of yours refused to tell anybody else the secret,” Remus said.

“Good elf that one, Potter,” said Moody. “I thought you were insane for making him your secret keeper, but he refused to bend and disappeared without a trace when I tried to pressure him. Smart, if a bit inconvenient at the time.”

“She told us not to move you and to just keep feeding you pain and strengthening potions,” said Hermione, almost crying at the memory. “Oh, Harry it was horrible. It looked like he was using the Cruciatus on you.”

“Trust me, Hermione, it felt like it. Strange thing is that he was getting it just as bad.”

The confused babble that comment evoked didn’t hurt Harry’s head much, but it did nothing to make him feel better either, and neither did Ron’s next statement.

“Oh, by the way, Happy Birthday, Harry.”

*-*

Harry slept for a few hours more, but was soon wide awake and eager to get out of bed, despite his protesting muscles. Ron and Hermione had not planned to have a party for him, honouring his wishes to keep it quiet, but Mr Weasley returned from a quick visit home with several presents, a banquet and a massive birthday cake Mrs Weasley had made for him, and Harry found himself the centre of an impromptu party.

The twins had sent him a massive box of their latest fireworks, including a magical rocket they labelled ‘Do not use where anybody might know it was you’, and a full range of their protective clothing items.

Hagrid had sent, via Mrs Weasley, a box of his inedible scones and a short letter wishing Harry the best and telling him, in badly worded and quite obvious code, about his latest thankfully unsuccessful efforts to find Grawp a lady-friend.

Ginny had sent him a new photo album, one that contained photos of his time at Hogwarts. Harry recognised a few of the photos as Colin Creevey’s work, but was surprised and a little worried at just how many the boy had managed to take without his knowledge. There were happily smiling pictures of virtually every person at Hogwarts, including many of Headmaster Dumbledore and the other staff, excluding Snape of course. Harry’s favourites were several he would probably have murdered Colin for taking, if he had known at the time. They were of the brief period he had spent with Ginny as his girlfriend and showed the two of them in various poses around the castle and its grounds, looking very happy and comfortable. Inside a small home made card she had simply written ’Yours forever, Love Ginny’. It gave Harry a very special feeling inside his stomach that had nothing to do with the excellent cake.

Ron and Hermione gave him a new updated copy of Quidditch through the Ages, since his old one was falling apart due to the number of times he had read it, and another pair of very comfortable looking boots that had all sorts of charms on them.

Remus and Tonks combined their gifts, somehow managing to get the knife Sirius had given him and he had melted in the Department of Mysteries fixed, and also finding some photos for his album. One was of a pre-Azkaban Sirius astride his famous motorcycle and another was of the destroyed Godric’s Hollow house when it was in its prime.

Mad-eye looked at the cake suspiciously before casting several elaborate detection charms on it, much to the amusement of the others present, especially Tonks who accused the surly ex-Auror of counting its calories. Once he was satisfied it was not poisoned or cursed, and did not contain any hidden Death Eaters, he dug in with gusto, stating that Mrs Weasley’s cooking was the only food he had not seen prepared that he would consider worth the risk of eating. In place of a gift he gave Harry the news that over twenty real Death Eaters had been recently killed or captured and sent to Azkaban with only five Aurors killed doing it. He seemed to think Harry would like that better than anything bought in a shop.

The short lived party did wonders for Harry’s moral, which had taken a battering from Voldemort’s attack, despite Moody’s morbid present. He was physically a wreck, but when he slid off to sleep on a lounge surrounded by his chatting friends, he almost felt contented.



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Chapter Twenty Four – Harry’s Heroes

Harry was munching on a hearty breakfast of what was probably the best mixed fruit and cereal he had ever had, contemplating Ginny’s reply to Ron’s letter. Pig sat on the table near him feeding out of a small plate loaded with bird seed.

The letter looked like it had been delivered rolled up inside a copy of the Quibbler (‘Man bites werewolf’ claimed the bold headlines, complete with accompanying picture of a slightly feral looking and ferociously grinning wizard, ‘and cures him!’), possibly to hide its existence.

“More cereal, Master Harry?” Winky asked.

“No thank you, Winky,” Harry answered.

The elf had appeared as soon as Harry had woken that morning, claiming she was sufficiently healed to start her duties, and although Harry had been startled at first, he was quick to appreciate her service.

Hermione was going to be in for a shock, but Harry hoped she would accept it without causing another scene. As if responding to his thoughts, the bushy haired witch entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mistress” greeted Winky. “What be Mistress wanting for breakfast?”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks and looked at Winky, then Harry.

“The cereal is really good,” offered Harry, hoping to forestall an argument. “Best I have ever had.”

Winky seemed to swell with pride, but was watching Hermione aprehensively.

Hermione turned her gaze from Harry to look back at the elf.

“I would love to try the cereal thank you, Winky,” she said, smiling. “But please don’t call me Mistress. Just Hermione will do.”

Harry smiled and relaxed as Hermione took her seat and the elf hurried off to make her a bowl. He had spent the better part of an hour with Winky already, going over minute details such as her duties, where she was to sleep, and how she was to treat his friends, and the only point that she had refused to budge on was referring to Harry to as Master. He relented, not wanting to cause her stress while she might not be completely recovered, but he had convinced her to be tolerant of Hermione’s expected attitude in return.

“I see you have read Ginny’s reply,” Hermione said looking at the letter. “It came in quite early this morning. What do you think?”

“It is a bit strange,” he said. “What’s with the directions?”

The letter had answered Ron’s subtly worded enquiries about if Ginny had seen anybody from the D.A., with a rather strange series of stories about where Ginny had spent her days shopping. Each story had included some rather precise directions and descriptions of streets and shops, and most of them were in Muggle London.

“I think she wants us to follow them, but I don’t know where she is leading us.”

“I agree,” said Hermione, after taking a huge bowl of cereal from Winky and thanking the elf. “It looks like Ginny has been doing a bit more than just sitting around pinning for her lost love.”

Harry didn’t know if he should take objection to that statement, but was thankfully interrupted by Ron who blundered into the room with his eyes half closed.

“Cereal?” he said, seeing what they were eating. “What, are we on a diet now or something?”

Over the meal they discussed their plans. It was agreed they would follow the instructions and see where it led them, but they would wear their disguises and make sure to have stocked up on some of the twin’s more useful products.

“Not that Muggle clothes have that many places to put things,” said Ron, “especially not the women’s clothes in summer!”

Harry had rarely seen either Ron or Hermione in Muggle attire before and combined with their disguises, he suddenly realised just how different the three of them must look.

“Hope she doesn’t Bat-bogey us before recognising me,” said Ron.

Harry was already nervous about seeing her again, so Ron’s statement did nothing to alleviate his tension.

For the next hour and a half after leaving Grimmauld Place, they followed the somewhat cryptic directions through Muggle London. Ron was having a great time watching all the Muggles around him and barely paid attention, while Harry kept a nervous eye out for any signs of followers. Hermione, being the one most familiar with London and all things Muggle, led them through the maze until they finally arrived at a small warehouse in a quiet industrial area.

Entering the building through an unlocked side door, all they found was an empty room with a single, plain, round plastic table surrounded by three chairs, sitting in a far corner.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Ron. “Is this some kind of a joke? Wait till I get back to the Burrow, I’ll give her a walloping for wasting our time like this.”

“I think we need to all sit down,” said Hermione. “Her last line before she starts talking about a dress shop in Diagon alley is about how she was glad to have been able to sit down for a break, so I think she means we need to sit down in the chairs.”

Ron grunted and plonked himself down, glad to be off his feet for a while. Hermione took a chair next to him, but Harry hesitated.

“Come on Harry,” said Ron leaning back and putting his feet onto the table. “Take a load off.”

Harry took out his wand and cast a detection spell Tonks had taught him on his chair; it glowed green briefly indicating that it was ‘clean’, or not under the influence of magic in any way.

“Constant vigilance eh?” Ron laughed, but Hermione looked thoughtful.

“I should have thought of that,” she said. “We really can’t be too careful.”

Ron grunted and Harry lowered himself into the seat.

“What, did you expect Ginny to suddenly be able to create Portkeys or something? She is just playing games with us for not taking her along. Just wait, I am going to get her back good,” said Ron.

Harry leaned forward to tell Ron he thought there must be more to it, but as soon as his elbows touched the table, a horribly familiar pulling sensation grabbed him behind the navel.

“POOOORRRRTKEEEEYYYYY!” he screamed, unnecessarily, as the trio spun out of control. He could see Ron and Hermione screaming as they clung to the cheap table and chairs.

“CRRRRUUUUUUDDDDDD!!!!” yeled Ron as he tried to take his feet off the table and grab it with his hands instead, but the magic of the Portkey held his feet as securely as manacles.

“WWWWWAAAAANNNNNDDD!!!” cried Hermione at Harry, making him realise he still had his wand in his hand.

He understood. When they landed there would be a few seconds that they would be helpless. Since Harry had his wand out already, he had to take instant action if it turned out to be a trap.

Just as he was about to reply, there came a jarring thump and he went flying backwards out of his chair as it crashed to the ground and smashed into pieces.

Fortunately, the tumble flung him backwards into a somersault that he continued over and up onto his feet again without actually meaning to. He found himself standing, wand out in front defensively, before he even realised he had stopped moving.

“Wow, Harry,” said Neville Longbottom, raising his hands in the air in mock surrender. “That was really impressive.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Cho Chang, looking admiringly at Harry.

“You think that’s good?” added Fred Weasley, as he helped Hermione to her feet, “you should see how he comes out of the Floo!”

“Welcome to the head quarters of Harry’s Heroes,” said a voice behind Harry.

He spun around to face the owner of the voice and suddenly found his arms full of a petite redhead.

“About time you got here,” said Ginny Weasley, as she grabbed his unprotesting head and pulled it down into a fierce kiss.

Distantly, Harry thought he heard cheering.

-

“Harry’s Heroes,” explained Ginny, as she took them on the ‘Grand Tour’ as Fred called it, “was the name we decided to call ourselves in the Quibbler.”

Harry groaned and shook his head. So far Ginny had shown them an extensive maze of rooms and halls that had to be navigated in order to enter the main building, an impressive training room about three times the size of the room they had used for Dumbledore’s Army, shooting ranges that, much to Hermione’s chagrin, had human-like targets that not only fought back but ducked behind cover and performed amazing feats of acrobatic dexterity, and two other levels of underground offices, libraries and even potions laboratories. The facilities were amazing, but all of his and Ron’s questions about their origins were pushed aside with vague promises of answers at the end of the tour.

“Most of us are employed by the Quibbler as roving reporters and columnists, under pseudonyms of course, so when some of our activities started to get noticed, we figured we should report on ourselves and make up all sorts of stories in order to keep better hidden.”

It sounded illogical to Harry, but he was still a bit shell shocked by everything. Ginny linking her arm in his for the whole walk didn’t help him to clear his mind either.

“What activities?” Hermione asked.

Aside from a few questions about various spells and magic she had seen, Hermione had been curiously quite, but the answer to her question now interested Harry greatly.

“Oh ,this and that,” answered Cho vaugely, following behind them with Neville and Fred. “Mainly we kept getting blamed for rescuing people from places that were getting attacked by Death Eaters.”

“Were you?” asked Harry.

Cho shrugged. “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but usually it was one of our members saving themselves and their own family, but not wanting the newspapers to report what they had done.”

“That’s nuts,” said Ron, who, like Harry, had clearly been overwhelmed by what they were being shown. “Why wouldn’t you want to tell everyone if you had saved your family?”

“Sometimes the methods they used were questionable, or even illegal,” Cho explained.

“Portkeys?” Hermione asked.

Cho nodded. “Usually. Before the Ministry started handing them out, we were producing dozens without authority, now that’s slowed down a bit.”

Hermione looked like she was about to say something but Ginny cut her off.

“Here we are,” she said, stopping at a door that looked exactly the same as several others they had passed in the hall way, “the main store room and the end of the tour.”

She opened the door and led them into a warehouse sized room crammed full of thousands of items ranging from furniture to horse drawn carriages.

At first Harry felt as if he had once again walked into the Room of Requirement where generations of Hogwarts residents had hidden things. There was even a stuffed troll similar to the one he had seen while hiding the Prince’s potions book.

Racks of weapons, rows of statues, piles of jewellery and hundreds upon hundreds of other things lined the isles and shelves of the room. Overhead flocks of lanterns floated in an imitation of the Hogwarts main hall candles.

“Cor,” said Ron, looking at the warehouse. “Were did you get all of this?”

“Well we didn’t exactly buy it, little brother,” answered Fred. “You could say it was donated.”

“You could say that,” Neville giggled, “or you could say we nicked it from filthy Death Eater houses.”

“WHAT?” all three of the trio asked at the same time.

Ginny sighed and motioned for them to take a seat at a gold trimmed dining table that had ornate, wing backed chairs so large that Harry had to use two hands to move it.

“We started out just wanting to get together to train, like the original D.A.,” Ginny explained. “With Hogwarts probably not opening up again, and the war picking up and all, we figured it wasn’t a bad idea to get together every now and then to learn.”

“After Harry telling us about the way the Ministry detects underage magic, we figured we could find a place to practice without getting caught, so we looked around for a place and made a few enquiries. Eventually we were offered this warehouse.”

“Who offered it to you?” asked Harry.

“Daddy,” said a voice from one of the isles. Luna Lovegood emerged carrying a turquoise blue box in her arms. “He built it to keep the records and things he didn’t want the Ministry to be able to find if they raided the offices, but he had hidden it so well that he could never find it again. Hello Ronald, Harry, Hermione. I am afraid to that it appears you have been attacked by a wild flock of Hrare Chiblas and your hair colouring has been eaten, Hermione, but don’t worry, you look nice as a blonde and it will grow back eventually.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Fred cut her off.

“I agree,” he said cheekily, “Very nice. Are you sure you have teamed up with the right Weasley brother there, Hermione? Nice looking lady like you deserves better than the youngest and hungriest of us normally red headed men.”

“Oi!” said Ron, his face going red. “Quit it!”

“How do you know about that?” asked Hermione, unexpectedly looking thoughtful rather than outraged.

“Perhaps we had better start at the beginning,” Cho said, looking to Ginny.

The story was a long and complicated one, and Harry had no doubt that he was only hearing a fraction of what had really gone on, but it was almost more than he could believe. While he had been hiding out and practically achieving nothing, Ginny and Neville had done more to combat Voldemort than he thought possible.

Even before getting off the train from Hogwarts, Ginny had cornered several former members of the D.A. about possibly getting together and training. Immediately on returning to the Burrow, she had written letters to people who had already left Hogwarts, like Cho, and explained her idea. Basically it had started as a way to practice and train Defence Against the Dark Arts, but quickly became much more as more and more former members heard the tale of their involvement in the battle that had taken Dumbledore’s life. They even had several non-D.A. adults who wanted to help but were not willing to take a front-line stance. They had been invited to join after a complex verification process conducted by existing members.

With a wide spread network of contacts willing to come together to do something in the war, they started keeping an eye on known Death Eater sympathisers. Before long, the ‘defence club’ had become a fully fledged spy network providing valuable information to the Order of the Phoenix, mainly through Fred and George, and even giving the Ministry some much needed, though anonymous help.

The biggest breakthrough had come when they found out how to get into a wealthy Death Eater’s home. While this particular Death Eaters was only a minor cog in Voldemort’s organisation, the chance to directly strike back had been too big a temptation.

With the cooperation of some badly abused house-elves, several of the older former D.A. members, including Fred and George of course, had raided the house while it was empty of inhabitants, and stripped it bare.

That first raid provided the funding for them from then on. With money and other valuables, they had been able to expand their operations and raid several other sympathiser homes, once even catching a wanted criminal, although that had been by accident, and nearly ended as a disaster.

The Order had somehow confirmed the raids were having an effect on Voldemort’s support base, without knowing who was responsible. The loss of resources and the fear the raids caused in his followers had already started to cause dissent. Thanks to the planting of some inspired false evidence, several families had suspected it was Voldemort himself ordering the thefts and turned from supporters to neutral or even openly hostile to the Dark Lord.

But by far their biggest break had come with the raid on Malfoy Manor.

“Malfoy?” shouted Harry surging to his feet, only to be shushed by the others.

While there was no doubt the Malfoy’s had many other houses, and Draco had not been found in the main house, the group had managed to find several Gringotts vault keys. Taking a massive risk (in Harry’s opinion), they had taken the keys and asked to be let into the vault, claiming to be on an errand for the absent Malfoy heir.

Although the Goblins had clearly not been fooled, they allowed access to any underage witch or wizard with the right key.

“Who would have thought the Goblins liked kids!” Neville chortled.

So much gold and other valuables had been taken that the Quibbler, which was already working as a front for the organisation, suddenly became a much larger publication almost overnight.

Mr Lovegood had not noticed the expansion, he was far to busy chasing reports of strange beast sightings all over the world, and had left several slightly corrupt employees to run things. Luna and Ginny, with the aid of the new D.A., were quickly able to convince them to leave and put trusted Hogwarts graduates in their place.

The Quibbler now employed over a hundred staff, although only a dozen ever appeared to be in the building at once, and had almost as big a distribution as the Daily Prophet, albeit on weekly basis only.

Farcical stories and extraordinary animal sightings were still present, but much of the magazine was taken up with accurate and in-depth investigative reporting, useful defence articles, and hard hitting editorials, all published under pseudonyms to protect the authors.

Maintaining their secrecy had been a big challenge, and one that was almost taken to extremes. Hermione nearly had a fit when they explained the random Veritaserum interrogations and subsequent Obliviating of that interrogation.

Ginny was unrepentant.

“It is the best way we have to keep us secret,” she insisted. “Charms that make your face break out in the word ‘sneak’ are all well and good, but it didn’t stop the D.A. from getting discovered last time did it? This time our charms do more than cause embarrassment, they will take your voice away and put you into a coma for a week, but even with that precaution, it is better to discover any potential traitors before they can cause problems.”

Harry, while shocked at Ginny’s ruthlessness, had to agree. Had the Order of the Phoenix shown as much foresight, Snape may have been discovered much earlier, and even Peter Pettigrew may never have been given the chance to cause the damage he had done.

“Have you caught any yet?” asked Ron, who, for the most part, had found the actions of his siblings to be very exciting.

“Six,” Cho told him, shocking the trio. “We obliviated everything important and keep them on, working in the, er, more creative side of the business.”

“You mean Luna’s Loonies,” said Luna proudly. “That’s a special department I created to investigate Harry sightings.”

“WHAT?” Harry asked, again unable to contain himself.

“Oh yes, many people refuse to believe that it is you appearing at the Ministry, so we are busy searching for you all over the world. Last report was that you had been seen wrestling a Bunyip in the Australian outback after riding a whirlwind across the Great Sandy Desert, but that was just silly since everybody knows Bunyips are just stories created to cover up the existence of-”

“Ok, Luna,” Ginny interrupted gently. “We don’t want to spoil the next edition by telling everyone about it now, do we?”

It seemed to Harry, that Luna was enjoying herself at his expense entirely too much.

Many dark objects had been found and destroyed by the raiders, but they avoided battles at all costs. If any mansion was too well guarded, the Order or the Ministry were given the information anonymously. While only a few of these cases had resulted in the capture of Death Eaters, the Manors where often left practically unguarded immediately after that, and made easy pickings for the raiders who returned to extract more than a little bit of revenge for the losses caused by Voldemort’s forces.

A large portion of the confiscated fortunes went into a ‘victims of war’ fund to help those who had been directly affected. While money could not bring back lost loved ones, it had certainly eased the lives of families left with no home or income after brutal attacks. Most of the rebuilding of Diagon Alley had been paid for by the fund.

“Poetic justice that,” said Fred, and Harry agreed.

By the time the trio had been given the whole story, or at least as much of it as they were going to get, Ron was eager to investigate the ‘treasure room’ as he had taken to calling it, Hermione wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or disturbed, and Harry was angry.

Ginny and the others sat back, waiting for the trio to comment. It was a truly extraordinary story and a bit too much to take in quickly. Hermione finally broke the silence.

“I have a question,” she said, looking intently at Ginny. “Where did you get the Time-Turner?”

The shocked look on Ginny’s face told Harry Hermione had correctly figured out something he had completely missed.

Neville laughed and held out his hand to Cho, who, grudgingly, handed him a galleon. “Told you,” he said as Fred clapped his appreciation of Hermione's intellect and deductive reasoning.

Ron was gob-smacked. “You have a Time-Turner?”

Ginny sighed, but Luna answered.

“It was Mummy’s,” she said. “I could never figure out how to use it properly, but Ginny helped me work it out.”

“How did you know?” Cho asked Hermione. “We have been extremely careful with it. Only the four of us and George even know about it.”

“You have done too much in too short a period,” said Hermione. “That and a few other clues, things I read in the Prophet and the Quibbler overlapping with news Remus gave us. Everything seemed to happen too quickly, like Diagon Alley getting attacked and then was getting repaired the next day. How long has it really been for you guys?”

“About five months in total,” the petite red head admitted. “Probably about the same for the others. We don’t seem to age properly when we use it, and we don’t have to eat, or sleep, but you feel funny, like you’re not quite all there, or are a bit insubstantial.”

“Like you’re a ghost,” whispered Neville with a shudder. “At least until you get passed the point that you left that is. It's horrible.”

Harry looked closely at his former girlfriend. Five months? No wonder she had been able to handle him so easily, she had months to have planned what to do, where as he was still reeling over their break-up!

“Five months? That’s extraordinary, but what do you mean you don’t age properly?” Hermione asked, fascinated by the magic. “I definitely felt the extra weeks I lived through, and had to eat and sleep extra.”

Ron had a glazed look in his eyes and he was mumbling quietly to himself. “A Time-Turner, wicked.”

“How far back can it take you?” Harry asked, ideas popping into his mind so quickly he had trouble following even one through to a conclusion.

“Usually only a few hours,” answered Luna, “but it is a bit flaky sometimes, and once sent me back a whole week when I was ten. I think Mummy broke it when she was experimenting with it.”

The revelations in her statement caught the trio by surprise, forestalling Harry’s disappointment at not been able to go back a significant amount.

“You have been using a time-turner since you were ten?” asked Hermione, her shock showing clearly.

“Oh, yes, although I never really knew how I was doing it until we went to the department of Mysteries and that horrible thing happened with the man getting the baby’s head. When Neville told me about it, I figured it out, but still didn’t know how to control it, it just seemed to happen randomly.”

“So far she is the only one who can control it at all,” said Fred. “The rest of us have had no luck, except Neville, who managed to send his underclothes two minutes into the past and several yards to the right.”

Neville blushed. “You didn’t have to tell her that,” he said.

“Yeah I did,” said Fred looking relieved. “Seriously, I did. It has to be one of the funniest things I have ever seen and I've not been able to share it with hardly anyone. It’s been killing me.”

Harry shook his head to get his focus back. The multiple shocks and overload of information were confusing him.

“Can I speak with you, alone?” he asked Ginny, much more calmly than he thought he was going to be able to do.

She nodded and took him to another small room that was setup as a meeting room, with a round table and several chairs.

“What do you think you are doing?” he snarled at her, as soon as the door was closed.

A flicker of confusion, then annoyance ran across Ginny’s face at his words.

“I didn’t break up with you just to so that you could run off and put yourself in danger by joining a gang of thieves using a dangerously unstable Time-Turner!” he explained.

Ginny looked stunned for a moment, then took a deep breath and proceeded to explain to Harry, with an excellent display of Mrs Weasley-like yelling, what she thought of that statement. Within minutes she managed to strip his anger away and reduce him to feeling like a naughty child. She spared no words, or volume, making sure he understood exactly what she thought of his plan for her safety, and then analysed in great detail his own dismal failure to own up to the idea that breaking up with her had more to do with his fear than her safety.

Finally, she verbally rubbed his face in the fact that, far from joining a gang of thieves, she had virtually created said gang and was working effectively to protect or help out others who were targeted for crimes much more mundane than dating the Boy-Who-Lived - crimes like have the audacity to having being born to Muggle parents, no less.

When she completed her tirade, which had clearly demonstrated just how much of her mother’s daughter she was, it was with the most shocking of statements.

“I don’t want to marry you if you think that’s the kind of wife you want, Harry,” she screamed. “If you want a slave, best you ask Dobby instead and put me out of my misery right now!”

Then she burst into tears and collapsed sobbing into one of the chairs, with her face buried in her arms on the table.

Harry was completely unprepared and inexperienced in handling a woman fully in the throws of an emotional outburst of such magnitude, and somehow found himself in the same position as generations of shell-shocked men before him did when thrust into the exact same situation; helplessly cradling her in his arms begging her to forgive him and determined to do anything to make up for his mistakes.

It was quite a while before they emerged from the room, but as Harry, still in shock at what had just transpired, exited the door, something Ginny said came back to him.

“How do you know Dobby?” he asked.

Ginny was spared answering by Ron running down the corridor towards them carrying something large and apparently heavy in his arms.

“Harry, Harry!” he yelled excitedly. “I think I found one. Look!”

In his arms was a stone basin that Harry took a moment to recognise.

It was a Pensieve.

Please Leave feedback here.

Chapter Twenty Five – Holiday Plans

The ageing wizard was standing in the front of an empty classroom. No students sat in the rows of seats, but he addressed the vacant room as if it was packed with eager children hanging on his every word.

Harry stood to the side and watched as a much younger and healthier looking Albus Dumbledore conducted a lecture on the twelfth use of Dragon Blood.

With a sigh of resignation, Harry closed his eyes and exited the memory.

“It’s no good,’ he told the others sadly. “Just like all the rest; just Dumbledore teaching an empty class.”

“Worthless!” he spat slumping down into a chair.

For the last hour the trio and Ginny had been sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, going through memory after memory from the chest, trying to find something of value to help them in the fight against Voldemort.

Harry had been more than a little reluctant to allow Ginny along, but even more reluctant to face her wrath yet again. Her decision to only permit him to take the Pensieve if she was allowed to see what he was using it for had been the decider.

“I would hardly call them worthless, Harry!” protested Hermione. “They are incredibly valuable as a teaching resource. There has never been anything like this before; it’s a masterpiece.”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Great if you want to pass O.W.L.s, not so hot if you have an insane Dark Lord hunting you down.”

Harry scooped the memory out of the Pensieve and put it carefully back into its bottle - careful despite his statements declaring the memory’s value.

“Come on, mate,” said Ron, watching Harry store the bottle back into the chest. “There is bound to be a lot of things in there that will help. There are hundreds and hundreds of spells and you have barely started looking. You can’t write it off completely yet.”

Hermione agreed. “I am sure we can find some really good duelling spells in there somewhere, Harry. We just need more time-”

“It’s no good, Hermione,” interrupted Harry. “Even with this, there is no way I can learn enough before Voldemort takes over the whole world.”

“****!” he swore, slapping his hand down on the table. He had been so sure the chest was the answer to his magical ability problem.

“Harry,” said Ginny hesitantly, speaking for the first time in several memories. She had appeared deep in thought, or possibly tired, but Harry had been too caught up in his own frantic searching to pay her any attention. “You might not find this that useful, but do you have any idea how much this would help the Heroes?”

“What?” he asked.

“The D.A. We don’t just get together to ‘rob the rich to make Riddle poor’, we train, and learn new spells too, but we are pretty limited to spells the older members have picked up, and not everyone is as good an instructor as you. We could really use these to boost what we can learn, even if they are just recordings that can’t give us individual help.”

“Why not?” Harry asked bitterly shoving the chest towards her. “It’s not like it is going to do me any good.”

“Harry!” admonished Hermione.

“Come on, Hermione, you know I am right. It’s just a bloody training tool, like you guessed it was all along. I could have asked McGonagall to let me use her Pensieve and have been done with this weeks ago, instead of beating myself up trying to find out what the big secret was. A complete waste of time, that’s what it was.”

Harry stormed from the kitchen and headed to the shooting range to pummel some targets into sand. He was angry, and frustrated. Weeks of thinking he was sitting on the answer only to find he had once again fooled himself, struck his confidence a deep blow.

“Not again,” he said, silently casting a spell and demolishing a block almost as big as a troll with a single angry blast from his wand.

“No more looking for an easy way out,” he growled, setting fire to the next target, despite its usually inflammable nature.

“No more holding back,” he yelled, cutting a target with vicious, whip-like strikes of his wand. It fell in six different directions.

He was sweating and panting from exertion, but his anger only grew. Pure rage boiled in his blood as the next target appeared and slowly started moving around the range. He imagined it was Voldemort, and his anger rose to dangerous new heights.

“No more,” he whispered, rasing his shaking wand - his grip threatening to snap it.

Pain, anger, and frustration all came together as his mind overlaid the featureless grey stone with the snake-like visage of his enemy. His emotions ran together like the feeder streams of a river, and the resulting flood was called hate. His wand suddenly steadied and his anger blurred vision cleared.

“AVADA KE-”

“NO!” screamed Ginny, crashing into his back, knocking them both to the floor.

He lay there panting; the pain of his fall forgotten as Ginny recovered first and straddled him. She knocked away his feeble effort to free himself and grabbed his face between her hands when he tried to look away.

“You can’t let that happen, Harry,” she said. “You can’t try to beat him by becoming him.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny cut him off.

“LISTEN TO ME!” she yelled. “That’s not you. That abomination of a spell is EVIL.”

“It’s all I have,” he whispered, his rage somehow having fled in the face of Ginny’s torment.

“No it’s not, Harry,” she said, lowering her voice. “There is so much you have, if only you would look. You are kind, and loyal, and brave, and despite everything you have been through, you can still love, Harry. You can still love.”

Her fierce grip softened as she cradled his cheek in a hand.

“If you give in to hate, you will loose a part of yourself. Hate is what makes Riddle do what he does. Dumbledore himself told you your greatest strength was love-”

“Fat load of good that did him,” he snapped, allowing some bitterness into his voice. “He’s dead because of that wishy, washy, love claptrap!”

“But you can’t believe for a second he would have wanted you to use that spell, Harry. Do you? Do you honestly think he could have wanted that?” she asked, her eyes boring relentlessly into Harry’s.

“I don’t know what he wanted me to do, that’s the damn problem,” he answered. “If he had left me something besides a useless box of old memories I might have had a chance, but unless I can use that spell, there is no way I can kill Voldemort.”

“But why do you have to kill him, Harry? Why does it have to be you and you alone?”

“Because he killed my parents. He killed them, and Sirius, and Dumbledore, and he is coming to kill me because of some stupid prophecy that he believes.”

Harry saw the tears in Ginny’s eyes as she heard the truth in his words. There was no avoiding it; he would face Voldemort again, and eventually, if Harry didn’t kill him, he would kill Harry.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, stroking his cheek softly. “There has to be another way; something else besides that spell.”

“I just don’t know, Ginny,” Harry said, the last vestige of his rage slowly slipping away. “I keep wishing there was, hoping for another answer, but I don’t have a hope with anything else.”

He looked into her eyes, and it was as if he was seeing directly into her soul. He could see the fear, and the hope, and other things he had never seen in anybody’s eyes before. He felt his thoughts drift as he locked his sight into those incredibly deep pools of her emotion.

On instinct, he reached his hands up to her shoulders and drew her down until their faces were a mere inch away before hesitating. She didn’t protest, as he had briefly feared, but moved willingly into the embrace, her lips touching his with tenderness and passion born from a love and despair so great, so consuming, it could never rightly be put into words.

The desperate yet gentle kiss felt like it went on for a long time; a very long and pleasant time indeed, but in the back of his mind, Harry knew he had to find a way to beat Voldemort.

*-*

The memories caused a lot of excitement back at the D.A. base, as Harry referred to it, refusing to call the group Harry’s Heroes despite Luna’s constant corrections.

The new D.A. ‘founders’, consisting of Ginny, Cho, Fred, George, Neville, and Luna, all thought the chest was an incredible asset to have access to and immediately started making plans to use the three Pensieves they had found in their treasure room to start training groups of people in the more difficult magic, and themselves in the much more powerful spells that were not taught in any class at Hogwarts.

Harry was still very cautious about allowing anybody to know what was in the chest, despite it seeming to be nothing more than an elaborate training tool.

Hermione obviously agreed with the others, but seemed to be placing a lot of weight behind what Harry was saying. He wondered if she was trying to make up for not believing him about Malfoy and Snape.

Ron backed Harry unquestionably.

“Dumbledore left it to Harry, not McGonagall,” he said, making a very persuasive argument. “If he had wanted it to be used in a school, he would have left it to the school, but he left it to Harry, and put some effort into making sure nobody but Harry could find out what it was.”

After a few hours they reached an agreement. Harry would leave the chest with them to use, but only the trio and the six D.A. members would be allowed to know about it or use it. They could learn the spells and pass the knowledge onto the others without telling them where they were getting instructions from, although they could truthfully claim Dumbledore had taught them.

In exchange, the D.A. were going to use their extensive resources to try to find all of the places Voldemort had been known to have visited or spent time at, as well as giving the trio any other help they could, including access to confiscated artefacts like the Pensieve.

“Wicked,” Ron said, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of getting to explore the treasure room more.

Even Hermione looked excited to Harry, probably because of the extensive and somewhat illegal library that had been accumulated from the Death Eater houses.

Harry still wanted to remain based at Grimmauld Place, mainly to reduce the chances of anybody searching for him discovering the D.A. headquarters, but also because he needed the privacy to research and discuss the Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione.

This disappointed Ginny, who was hoping to be able to spend a lot more time with him, especially with access to the slightly unreliable Time-Turner.

“You really shouldn’t be using it that much,” Hermione told them. “Professor McGonagall warned me about using it too often in third year and said it can have horrible long term side effects if over used.”

“We haven’t had any problems,” declared Cho. “Except for not aging or having to eat until we have ‘caught up’, there have been no side effects at all.”

Just then, Luna walked past them with what appeared to be a small live Ostrich on her head.

“Ah, Luna?” called Hermione. “Do you know you appear to have a small live Ostrich on your head?”

“Don’t be silly, Hermione,” said Luna, her large eyes seeming to be having a problem staying in one place. “It’s an Emu.”

Harry managed to stifle a laugh as the blonde girl walked away humming to herself while the Emu clucked impatiently. Hermione looked pointedly at Cho and the older witch suddenly looked quite uncomfortable.

“We’ll just cut back a bit then, I suppose,” Cho said, Ginny nodding vigorously in wide eyed agreement.

From then on, the trio spent at lot of time at the secret underground base. Not only were there many more interesting things to do and better facilities, but they enjoyed the company of the others. Harry was careful to keep disguised or hidden away from anybody except the core members though, because he still worried about endangering his friends by his presence and didn’t want there to be any slip ups.

During one of their regular visits to Grimmauld Place, Lupin and Tonks asked Harry about joining the Order of the Phoenix, but Harry declined, saying he still wanted to lie low and go travelling, even though he hadn’t made any concrete plans. He wasn’t sure if they believed him, but they accepted he was following his own course and was staying safe, for now. In truth, he considered the D.A. more effective and preferred to be helping them.

Percy was not fully recovered but was still insisting he be allowed to occasionally play Harry at the Ministry, despite the near fatal attack. The determined man wouldn’t give out any details about it, but indicated that Scrimgeour had made huge strides in cleaning up the senior levels of the government, although nobody except Percy was particularly confident about that.

Ron and Harry had even joined the D.A. on one of their raids, stripping a dark and dingy Knockturn Alley shop that had been found to have close ties to a known Death Eater. The need for action, that Harry found burning inside of him more and more lately, had been particularly satisfied with that adventure, despite the lack of surprises in the clockwork-like operation. Wearing balaclavas and using codenames meant he had only known Fred and Ron out of the six other raiders, and the others hadn’t known it was him joining them. He was fairly certain he recognised Susan’s Bone’s voice, but the over aggressive actions and attitude of the person he thought was her did not match his recollections of the Hufflepuff girl he knew from school. There was little doubt the camera wielding raider was none other than Colin Creevey though.

Harry watched some of the training sessions too, from under the invisibility cloak. The change he saw in Neville Longbottom was astounding. Once in front of a room full of people, many who Harry recognised from the original D.A., the shy young man became a different person. He was confident and commanding as he walked the class through various exercises and drills, explaining and tutoring the whole time with an air of competence that was completely at odds with Harry’s memories of his friend.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Harry asked him afterwards. “You were great.”

Neville looked at him as if he wasn’t sure if Harry was making fun of him or not before answering. “You taught me, Harry, you and Hermione, in the Room of Requirement - and Ginny here of course.”

Harry also managed to spend a lot of time with Ginny, their burgeoning relationship becoming deeper every day, despite his desire to keep his distance. The persistent redhead simply refused to let Harry pull away from her, and even though they had many often energetic arguments on the matter, she was getting her way.

That was until they had a breakthrough in the search for Voldemort’s base.

While the trio had been secretly trying to find a way to destroy the locket, the D.A. had been spending a considerable amount of effort looking into the history of one Tom M. Riddle.

The breakthrough came when one of the D.A. on assignment in Albania following up the leads there, discovered Riddle’s name in an old visitor’s book of a wizarding hotel.

According to the register that had been dug up out of archives, he had stayed there on two occasions, several months apart. This information alone wasn’t that significant, but a few years prior to his visit there had been an uproar over a powerful vampire who had long ago taken over a section of the country and resisted every attempt to dislodge him with unspeakable acts of violence. Details were sketchy, but it seemed that nothing was actually done after the initial attempts, except for a few news articles and a bit of public outrage.

“Probably got covered up,” suggested Ron, and Harry agreed.

It was just too strange to have the wizarding population screaming for blood one moment, and then totally ignoring the situation the next, unless Harry was involved of course.

“One thing is for sure,” said Hermione. “There has been no news about this vampire after that. Cho says they can’t even get into the area through normal wizarding channels, and the local wizards won’t talk to anybody outside of their own families.”

The trio were once again seated in the kitchen of Grimmauld place, going over the information the D.A. had supplied. A surprising amount of data regarding the young Riddle had been found in the most obscure of places, but his apparent long stay in Albania, along with the fact he was known to have retreated there after his first fall, was the best lead they had yet, by far.

“We need to get in contact with some vampires,” Harry said.

“Not blooming likely,” said Ron. “They’re just a bunch of mindless beasts out looking for a feed, like Dementors, only not quite as scary during the day.”

“Not all of them,” said Hermione. “The older they get the more intelligent they become.”

“Even worse,” said Ron. “That means they have been successfully sucking the life out of people for long enough to know exactly what they are doing!”

Harry thought back to his only encounter with a vampire. It had been at the Christmas party Slughorn had arranged at Hogwarts. A guest had brought a vampire, although it had seemed to be a rather tame one. That had been the night he had finally gotten proof that Malfoy was up to something, and that Snape was trying to help him.

Inspiration struck at the memory of the party.

“Hey,” he said. “I have an idea on where we get some up-to-date information about vampires without going to see one.”

“Let’s go see an author about my autobiography!”

*

The visit to Eldred Worple, author of ' Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires', and friend of Hogwarts potions professor, Horace Slughorn, was quickly and easily arranged via owl. Harry didn’t even have to give an excuse for requesting the meeting, but simply asked if they could meet at his offices and let the man make his own conclusions.

The interview itself went very well. A blonde haired Hermione charmed Worple with her thorough knowledge of his book and fake fan-like adoration, although her out of character acting annoyed Harry, especially the almost random giggling. For a moment he felt like he had a tipsy Lavender Brown with him.

Harry made no promises, but did give the indication he was seriously thinking of having his autobiography written, once he had done more travelling. The subject of Albania and its vampires came up quite naturally, but Worple warned them to keep as far away as possible.

“There are clans there,” he said, “that even other vampires will not go near. Ancient clans that still see men as nothing better than a delicacy, and it gets worse.”

“Some of those clans employ men, Muggles and wizards alike, to hunt for them, like trained dogs. These people will lure strangers into the vampire's dens, or just outright kidnap them to take to their masters. They call themselves Hunters.”

“Isn’t that what we call vampire killers, Professional Vampire Hunters?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, yes. That’s the irony of the name. The vampires have turned our own kind against us and given them the name we used for those who killed Vampires!” explained the author excitedly.

“Have you ever heard that You-Know-Who was once living in Albania?” Harry asked, earning a surprised grunt from Worple.

“Yes, indeed I have. Even more reason to keep away from there.”

“Did you ever hear of any vampire clan You-Know-Who may have stayed with, about forty years ago,” said Harry trying to draw more relevant information.

Worple’s eyes widened in fear as the realisation of what Harry was asking him sunk in. He quickly stood up and ran to the door and for a second Harry thought he was going to leave, but he just opened it and looked out, presumedly to make sure nobody was in the next room. Locking that door, he then ran to the windows and closed all the shutters, before sitting back down in his chair nervously.

“I have done a lot of study on you, young Harry, for background material you understand, and I know that you are indeed the 'Chosen one',” he said, pausing to see if either Harry or Hermione reacted to his statement. When neither flinched, he continued undeterred. “I understand you might be looking to find out how your enemy has supposedly made himself immortal, so I will tell you this, but never let anybody know where you got this information.”

“There is a clan, deep in the Albanian wilderness that is ruled by a monstrous and ancient lord, that you may want to find out more about. He calls himself Lord Rhokoth, though I am sure that he has much older, long forgotten names.”

“Are you certain that you know that You-Know-Who had dealings with this Vampire?” asked Hermione.

Worple shook his head.

“Not for certain, I was only able to find the smallest bit of information about Rhokoth from some other vampires who warned me away from him. The thing is-”

Worple suddenly looked around nervously again before continuing in whisper.

“The thing is, you see, he has strict control over all of his clan, and some say his human servants too. They are all bound to him and even share some of their power with him, through a magical bond.”

“What kind of bond? How does he do it?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know the details, but it is said that you can always identify a follower of Rhokoth by the tattoo of a winged serpent they all carry. He marks his followers…”

“Just like Voldemort,” said Harry, completing the thought.

Worple insisted they change the subject after that, and Harry and Hermione soon took their leave, promising to return when Harry wanted his life’s story written.

“In about a hundred years or so,” Harry said in whisper to Hermione as they left, making her giggle for real this time.

He knew what they had to do next, and although he felt fear and anxiety already starting to mount, there was also a sense of anticipation; an expectation of the excitement involved in doing something new.

Harry was finally going on holiday - to Albania.

Chapter Twenty Six - Ventures with Vampires

Harry stood alone at the reception desk of the latest hotel and waited for they key. Ron and Hermione were scouting the village, pretending to be tourists looking for sights to see and interesting places to visit. Hermione had donned a male disguise that was still holding - three males backpacking through the countryside attracting less comment from the often old fashioned locals than two teenage boys and a lone girl would.

This was the fifth town they had been in, and so far they hadn’t found any signs of vampires, aside from laughable Muggle stories. Harry had wanted to stay in their tent, but Hermione pointed out that staying in hotels occasionally, instead of always caravan parks and camping sites, gave them a better cross section of people to talk to.

On leaving England, Ron and Hermione had first gone to visit the Dragon reserves where Charlie worked, spending a few days there while Harry used Muggle methods to get to Albania. Once the couple joined him, the trio had been careful to look and act like clueless backpacking Muggles following a guidebook of mysterious and scary places that Hermione had borrowed from some arcane library.

Ron had laughed himself silly at the photos they had used in the fake Muggle passports, not only because Hermione insisted that the photos had to make them look slightly stupid (as all passport photos invariably did), but also because Muggles needed to have permission to travel from one country to another.

“But you can just walk across the border at any point, can’t you?” he asked, trying to fathom the whole system. “They don’t have a dirty great wall that you can’t climb over surrounding the whole country, do they?”

Harry didn’t have an answer to that, and Hermione’s answers weren’t particularly enlightening. Eventually they made their way passed the heavily populated areas and into the extensive forests where towns were few and far between.

Finding magical communities in Albania had proven difficult. Hermione had several conflicting sources about the native Gypsies, or Roma as most books called them, but none of them helped much in actually finding the real deal.

The Roma live all over the country, but the biggest concentrations were in and around Tirana, the capital, and a few other towns like Fier, Gjirokaster, Berat and Korce. When the trio finally got in contact and started asking questions about vampires and Dark wizards, they quickly found themselves shunned.

“Here you go sir,” said the girl behind the counter, startling Harry out of his thoughts. “One room for three people with private bathroom, as you requested.”

“Thanks,” said Harry taking the key. “I don’t suppose you have heard of any places around here that have a history of, erm, well vampires or evil wizards? My friends and I are on a sort of history trek and we are interested in places local people think are cursed or evil or anything like that.”

She looked at him as if he had grown another head.

“You don’t want to go looking for places like that around here,” she warned.

Harry perked up. Usually he was pointed towards tourist traps or just laughed at.

“Why not?” he asked.

“You really don’t want to find out,” she said and walked away, ignoring the questions Harry called after her.

As they ate at a local bar later that night, Ron and Hermione, reported they too had found people unwilling to talk to them, seemingly taking them more seriously than any other town.

Hermione traced their progress on the map. Worple had told them the heavily infested Vampire areas were unplottable and extremely hard to find. So far he had been right.

“We should just start flying in a straight line,” suggested Ron. “Unplottable or secret or whatever, so long as they don’t have a Fidelus on the whole forest, we have to come across something that way.”

“It will take a long time doing it that way, Ron,” said Hermione.

That set the two of them off arguing the merits of searching blindly or following dead end leads.

Harry tuned them out, and concentrated on what he knew. The clan Worple told them about that marked their members with a tattoo, supposedly lived in a hidden valley and had done so for centuries. That meant that there had to be a village, or more likely several villages, there, to supply the vampires with food.

So they were looking for a sizable valley that sustained enough enslaved people to keep a large clan of vampires well fed.

Voldemort may not have made his home nearby, but it was likely that he had learned how to make the Dark mark from this clan, and that meant his trail might still be there.

Looking at the map, Harry started searching for valleys the seemed to fit the bill.

“If it doesn’t appear on a map, what is the point of going to places on the map?” asked Ron loudly.

Harry thought it was a good question. Apparently, so did Hermione, because she didn’t answer but was staring off into space.

Ron gave Harry a questioning look. Harry shrugged in reply, then waved his hand in front of Hermione’s eyes.

She blinked rapidly and snapped back to the present.

“Sorry, I have an idea,” she said digging into her backpack and pulling out an ancient looking map that lacked any reasonable amount of detail aside from major landmarks like rivers and mountains. Harry recognised it as one she had purchased from a second hand store just the other day.

Without a word, she laid the old map over the newer one and, making sure nobody was watching, silently cast a spell. The two maps seemed to twist and bend before merging into one, though both were visible simultaneously. There were whole sections missing from the newer one.

“I think we know where to start looking,” she said, with a smile.

*-*

They made camp the near a small stream deep in the forest. Harry carefully made his way through the dense scrub to the quietly bubbling stream and sat on the rocky bank. He could still hear Ron singing loudly and badly out of tune while trying to toast marshmallows impaled on bent sticks over the small fire they had built, while Hermione, now undisguised and happy about it, laughed and corrected the words of his flawed renditions.

Ron insisted that it was a tradition, but having never been camping before, Harry could legitimately state it wasn’t his tradition. Hermione had stayed, and was now paying for her decision, although Harry suspected she was having far too much fun to seriously complain about Ron’s merciless mauling of various tunes.

The babbling of the brook as it tumbled over the rocks and raced away nearly, but not quite, drowned out Ron’s wailing and Hermione’s laughter. He was obviously hamming it up for her, something Harry had come to expect recently.

Although it was nice to be in such a picturesque place with good friends, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit melancholy. He missed Ginny, still, again, always.

The stars were appearing alarmingly fast as the sun set behind the trees and mountains, and Harry leaned back into the long grass covering the top part of the bank and let his thoughts drift.

They were in vampire country now. He imagined he could feel the nervousness in the villages, and see hostile glares from the locals.

He couldn’t understand how people could live in a place like this. Hermione told him they were virtually enslaved and trying to leave would result in a painful and public death, but Harry thought he would never have been able to survive long under such an oppressive regime.

Wizards were completely suppressed, most never even finding out that could do magic, and the others usually becoming food. They lived alongside the Muggles at the whim of the vampire clan ruling the area, who often seem to consider them as little more than trained, obedient, livestock.

Some clans were better than others, allowing the populations of their kingdoms a bit of freedom and respect. Others, like the ones ruling this particular stretch of country, never interacted directly with the villages unless it was to feed, or sometimes kill, if they felt like it.

Having met with a decidedly less than rousing welcome in the last village, the trio chose to camp hidden among the trees a fair distance from either village or the vampire castle overlooking the valley, and wait until it was safer to proceed.

Spying on a vampire den in the middle of the night, while possibly very exciting, was not a suggestion anybody had taken seriously, although they needed to find out as much as they could.

The hostility the locals had to outsiders was a defensive mechanism, either because they wanted to scare them off before they became food for the vampires, or because they were worried the newcomers might upset their vampire overlords who would then take revenge on the innocent farmers for any problems.

Unbelievably, they discovered some of the locals had taken the same mark the vampire lord put on the members of his clan. The tattoo advertised them as willing servants and they were given protection and privileges almost equal to that of a vampire. It was also said to provide a link to their vampire masters that could be used to summon, reward or even punish them.

They were the daytime servants of the night creatures. When victims were needed to replace ones that could no longer be fed on, the Hunters, as they were called, were sent to get replacements.

The tattoo was so similar to the Dark Mark, that Harry felt sure Voldemort had learned how to do it here, and if Voldemort had been here, they might be able to find clues to where he had made his home and probably hidden a Horcrux.

A scream from the camp cut through Harry’s thoughts like an axe through butter. He drew his wand even as he leapt to his feet and started running, thankful his magical boots were making no noise as they pounded the leaf strewn ground.

There was a short, rough looking man wearing a trench coat and holding a club standing over Ron’s unconscious form. A second man had Hermione on the ground and was wrestling with her while the first one looked on and laughed.

Harry silently fired a stunner at the man standing over Ron. He slumped to the ground without having seen his attacker. The second man rolled off Hermione and jumped to his feet grabbing a large cross bow off the ground.

“Where are you?” the man called out into the night, as if expecting Harry to respond.

Harry was about to fire a stunner at him, when he watched the man’s arms clamp to his sides and his legs snap together. He toppled slowly to the ground, like a tree that had just been cut off at the base. The thud he made as his face met the ground made Harry wince involuntarily.

Hermione was sitting up holding her tattered top together with one hand while pointing her wand at the fallen figure with the other.

*-*

Minutes later Harry looked down at the unconscious body of the Muggle. The tattoo on his cheek looked like a pretzel rather than the winged snake it was meant to be.

“I have an idea,” he said looking at Ron.

“Great,” said Ron, rubbing the lump on his head and not sounding at all happy.

*-*

The two Hunters drove their cart towards the foreboding house perched on the side of the hill. In the cage in the back, the two young prisoners lay, apparently unconscious. The Hunters didn’t talk. Their fearful eyes constantly scanning the trees as the rickety cart rattled up the hill.

When they came to the gates of an imposing wall surrounding the house, another man, marked with the same tattoo on his cheek as the hunters, stepped out of a hidden doorway and pointed an improbably large crossbow at them.

“Everything go all right?” the sentry asked.

“No, one got away,” complained the driver of the cart.

“Which one?”

“The girl.”

“****. You are going to be in big trouble for that one. What happened?”

The first man shrugged.

“She was too smart.”

“Yeah,” added the second man intelligently.

The man at the gate frowned.

“Where do you want these two put?” the driver asked, forestalling any further questions the sentry may have been about to ask.

“Like normal. Take them straight in and lock them up.”

The second man on the cart gulped and nodded nervously. They started the cart rolling again and headed inside.

As soon as they had gone a short distance, a voice whispered, seemingly out of the empty air behind the two men, “This is insane. I can’t believe we are doing this. We are going to get caught.”

“Shush, Hermione,” whispered the driver. “I thought you said vampires had exception hearing? Keep it down.”

“What difference is it going to make? We are going to be caught anyway. Besides, he wasn’t a vampire.”

“How could you tell?” asked Ron, who had insisted on carrying the enormous cross bow while Harry drove.

“Ron, when you see a vampire, you will know it.”

“We are not going to get caught. We are going to have a quick look around and then get out, all right?”

“This is insane,” the voice repeated, but stayed silent as the cart approached a set of large doors leading into the house.

Harry had just climbed down off the cart, when suddenly a thin, pale faced man wearing expensive looking clothes was standing next to him. There had been no crack of apparition; the man was just there, almost as if he had stepped out of a shadow.

There was a feeling of magical force around the man; a chilling, silent thing; a deadness that made Harry involuntarily think of long unopened tombs.

“You are back, Madensky. Where is the girl?”

His voice was a rasping whisper that, to Harry’s imagination, sounded like it came directly from the grave; out of the mouth of a corpse.

Harry fought down panic. He saw Ron grip the crossbow hard and gulp, and felt the sweat that suddenly appeared on his own forehead sting in the cool night air.

“She got away,” he said, through a suddenly dry throat.

He had hoped to have avoided meeting any vampires, but the plan was already going sideways. The vampire stood unmoving, as if judging Harry’s words. Its absolute stillness unnerved Harry as he realised it was not breathing.

“Bring them into the main hall, and be thankful you are not taking the place of the missing one,” it said, stepping aside in a graceful glide.

Ron looked at Harry and made a small motion with the crossbow towards the vampire. Harry shook his head. They might still be able to follow the plan and get away unnoticed, but if they attacked now it would probably be all over.

The larger man climbed down off the cart and moved to help Harry as he opened the cage and picked up one of the polyjuiced bodies. After a brief struggle with the awkward load Harry managed to drape it over his shoulder. Ron also struggled to do the same with his doppelganger without putting the crossbow down, and ended up solidly banging the Hunters head against the side of the cage.

The Hunters they had swapped places with were large and more muscular than Harry or Ron, but had a multitude of injuries scaring their bodies and negating a lot of the extra strength they should have had. One of Ron’s hands was unable to make a fist and Harry walked with a limp, making their burdens difficult to manage.

Harry’s feelings of dread and misgiving increased with every step as they followed the silently gliding form of the vampire into the house. He hoped Hermione was staying close.

Inside the doors, there was a magnificent entrance. A massive white marble double staircase, with gold trimmed hand rails, wound its way up to at least three floors that Harry could see before the light failed. Majestic statues and ornaments lined the walls and the polished dark stone floor reflected the light from huge chandeliers as if it was perfectly still water.

The vampire led them to one side and opened another pair of double doors. They followed silently into what may have once been an opulent ballroom. Golden chandeliers still lit the room, and mirrors lined the walls, but an enormous chair had been set onto a raised dais at the far end, like a throne, and on it sat a creature that the mere sight of sent uncontrollable shivers of fear down Harry’s spine.

A vampire, a very old vampire, sat talking to another vampire standing next to it. Harry could feel the power of the ancient, richly dressed, blonde haired figure. It radiated a cold heat that touched his skin with a burning ice-like sensation.

Around the feet of the throne, richly dressed vampires lounged on cushions, talking and laughing amongst themselves. There were at least two dozen of them spread through the room.

Harry saw the tattoo on all of them. Some had it on their faces, others on the foreheads or naked arms. They were all wearing the same mark, except for the one on the throne.

The figure turned its eyes to peer at the newcomers, and Harry felt like something had pierced his mind. This had to be the leader, Rhokoth.

“Well, it looks like we have guests,” said the vampire. The talking and laughing that had been a quiet murmur stopped completely as every vampire in the room turned to look at Harry and Ron. Harry heard Ron gulp beside him, and felt a lump in his own throat.

“I am Lord Rhokoth,” said the Vampire. “And who might you be?”

Harry swallowed and fought to keep his voice steady. “I was asked to bring these prisoners to you, my lord,” he said weakly.

“Really? I think not.”

Harry opened his mouth to object, but was suddenly unable to move. A force that felt like steel bands enclosed him from the neck down. There were several quite laughs from the onlookers and a few excited whispers. The real Hunter he was carrying lifted from his arms and floated away out of sight.

“I asked,” said Rhokoth, standing up and taking a few steps towards Harry. “Who are you?”

His gaze again fixed on Harry’s eyes and Harry felt an incessant force beating into his thoughts.

Just answer, tell him who you are, a voice seemed to say inside of his head. A distant corner of Harry’s mind rebelled. Memories of Voldemort and Barty Crouch casting the Imperius curse on him came back in flashes

“No!” he said, and just as quickly as it had come, the feeling was gone.

He was still immobile, but his mind was free. The whispers that had started again cut out and absolute silence fell. Harry could hear his breath panting in the quiet, and thought he could hear Ron struggling to free himself.

“Impressive,” said Rhokoth. “Let us see what you really look like.”

A gnarled hand, with skin that looked like dry parchment, waved casually, and Harry felt his face and body melting. If he hadn’t been held up by magic, he would have been writhing on the floor in pain as his body was forcibly changed back to its normal form. The larger man’s clothes he was wearing hung loosely on Harry’s smaller frame.

Whispers again spread through the onlookers and Harry wondered if they recognised him, or they were just surprised at the transformation.

“And don’t let us forget your friend hiding in the corner,” Rhokoth said, again waving his ancient, withered hand.

Harry heard a startled shriek and saw Hermione out of the corner of his eye as she flew through the air and landed in a heap at Rhokoth’s feet, the invisibility cloak having been left behind.

“Yes,” the vampire continued. “I believe I heard of you and your friends a little while ago.”

He walked back to his throne and sat down again. Harry struggled against the magic holding him. It had spread to cover his head so he was unable to speak.

Hermione wasn’t moving, but she didn’t seem to be unconscious. Ron was still standing next to him, struggling to free himself as well. It looked bad, very bad.

“So the question arises, why have such deliciously young wizards entered my domain?”

Rhokoth lazily reached out a crooked arm to take a golden cup from a side table, and brought it to his lips for a long, slow drink.

Harry’s heart nearly stopped at the sight as he recognised the small goblet; it was Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. The vampire was drinking out of the cup that held a part of Voldemort’s soul!

Despite his hopeless predicament, Harry felt his excitement rise. They had hoped to find just a clue to the location of a Horcrux, and here was the actual item not ten feet away.

His eye’s must have betrayed him, because Rhokoth stopped drinking and looked at the cup.

“This?” he said, holding up the cup. “You have given your life to obtain a trinket?” He laughed and a few of the court joined in with him.

“How wonderfully naïve of you. Did you dream that you are such powerful wizards that you could march with impudence into my home, slay me and take my belongings?”

He laughed again. It was not a pleasant sound.

“Of course, you probably know of the legend of the Hallows and their significance, but did you know that it was a wizard gave me this?” he said, holding up the cup and earning interested sounds from the other vampires.

Harry wanted to scream in frustration. There were vials of holy water in the pockets of their clothes, but they might as well have been still in England for all the good it had done them.

“Yes, a wizard. Now he was powerful. He came to ask for an alliance, and offered me unlimited meat to feed my people! He came seeking knowledge, a way to be as immortal as I, but he did not want to become one of my flock!”

There were several disbelieving murmurs from the crowd. Harry couldn’t help thinking that most of the other vampires in the room were barely more than trained animals, performing for the pleasure of their master.

“It’s true! Of course, I chose not to reveal many of our secrets, but I did trade with him, even though he intended to betray us all. He did after all have the same weaknesses of all mortals.”

Another laugh from the court reinforced Harry’s opinion about their general role in life, or death for that matter.

“I could tell he did not like us, but he was powerful, so I let him leave, but once he was gone, I searched the dark place he had taken for his own, and found this prize. He thought himself to be cleverer than all others, especially us, ‘animals’; he was so sure his mind was secure. I found it entertaining to obtain that which he had taken such trouble to hide.”

Appreciative murmurs filled the room as Harry searched for meaning behind the vampire’s words. Voldemort had hidden the Horcrux in a land filled with vampires.

He must have learned a lot of dark magic here and felt a deep connection with the place, just like they had theorised, but instead of being safely hidden away in whatever lair Voldemort had made, the cup had been retrieved and had become a trophy!

“Later I heard he fell to the power of a mortal child! How fitting that a wizard so powerful and confident in his own godhood was bested by a baby!”

More laughing and giggling followed the story’s conclusion.

“But, back to our guests,” said Rhokoth, returning his attention to Harry. “It has been a long time since I have tasted one as young as you. We do not feed on the village’s children; it encourages them to behave - a reward for them, if you will.”

Without seeming to move, the vampire was suddenly standing next to him, a dry skeletal hand resting on Harry’s head, pushing it over to expose his naked throat.

“But tonight I think I will have my fill,” said Rhokoth, lowering his mouth to Harry’s unprotected neck.

As Harry felt the fangs sink in, he screamed silently inside of his mind.


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