Chapter 1. A Bit of Funny Reading    (August 30, 1997)

BANG!!

Nobody in the Burrow dining room really saw that coming. Yes, the awkward and contentious conversation was destined to end badly, but a blinding burst of light followed by immersion in near darkness was a more dramatic end to dessert than even the Weasleys were accustomed to.

Curtain-filtered moonlight gave everyone's eyes something to adjust to. Several people blinked their grimaces away, and gazed toward the back door. It was intact. Not shattered. Still hinged. The slam had, however, been too sharp for the bolt to engage, so the door was swaying lightly in the evening breeze. Someone was going to have to pull it closed before moths found their way in.

That someone would probably be Harry Potter. As the only person at the table actually standing; the only person not in some state of mild paralysis, he was the natural choice. He cleared his throat. "Err ...." he began eloquently.

Before he had a chance to expand on that, his thoughts were interrupted by two messages: someone he knew well was thinking into his mind, silently and with crystal clarity. One message was raw and primal: ARRRRRGGHH!! Harry jumped slightly at the accompanying flash of light and resounding snap that issued from somewhere in the meadow nearby. The second message then flowed in. It was measured and rational. She was going home. She would wait a couple minutes for him in case he felt a need to effect a civilized goodbye. Then she would leave.

Harry nodded to himself, then waved his hand to reassemble and re-light the three lamps that had blown out a few moments ago. As he did so, he instinctively scanned the room. There were fragments of glassware strewn around. Plates and desserts on the south side of the table were scattered. Ten small holes had burned themselves into the placemat where Ginny's fingers had pushed abruptly away from the table. Ron, Arthur and the twins were all sitting with identically stunned looks on their faces. Bill, left hand still raised in abrogated gesticulation, had gone quite pale. Molly was still flushed, but all traces of bluster had drained from her face; she was biting her lower lip in a grimace .... somewhere between mortification and intense regret.

"Ummm .... it's okay .... I mean, everything will be fine." Harry resumed awkwardly, before finding some momentum. "It was just about time for us to leave as it was .... seeing how much we have to do tomorrow." He paused and began to make his way toward the door. All eyes followed him, unblinkingly. "No hard feelings, please? We are all going through some strains and adjustments right now; I'm certain we can all sort things out." His eyes drifted to the barely touched serving of treacle tart at his place; he hoped his voice sincerely reflected the gratitude he still felt to this family, despite its idiosyncracies. "Molly, thank you ever so much for the lovely meal. We'll be back to visit again soon. Ginny and I will be free to come and go from the school at will; it may be hard to break away right at the start of term, but perhaps in a few weeks if you'd like?"

He stepped through the doorway, but paused again. "Bill, we appreciate your concerns. We're working out some arrangements with Dumbledore and would value your opinions. I'll send you an owl, maybe next week sometime."

"Harry....." Arthur had raised his hand to catch Harry's attention. "Thank you .... and Ginny .... for coming tonight. Congratulations again on your NEWTs, and good luck this year. We look forward to seeing you two again soon." He paused to collect his thoughts. "Despite any appearances to the contrary, please know that we too are all .... adjusting. I too would like to talk to you both again soon."

Harry nodded and smiled softly to the room. As soon as he had eased the door onto its latch, he turned and ran down the path to the edge of the wards where Ginny was waiting. In the twilight he was fairly certain he could see the air crackle with static around her. He coughed gently to let her know he was approaching. Best not to jangle any more nerves tonight!

"Thank you for waiting." he whispered to her.

"Family." she growled, and they disapparated to Magpie Lane.

Once again the spoons rattled the edges of the two gelatto bowls that Harry had placed on the kitchen table. He chuckled softly to himself. The silencing charms they had erected around the workout room were effective, but did not perfectly cancel low-grade earthquakes. The spoons clanked again, their loudest yet.

Scooping a bit into a third bowl, he placed it on the floor. Emerald untangled herself from his around his ankles and mewed appreciatively as she lapped at her frozen treat. Harry glanced at the clock, thinking, 'And she should be done right about .....'

"Gelatto!" exclaimed Ginny as she strode through the door, fiery smile on her lips.

Harry smiled, glancing past her shoulder at the smoldering wreckage of their workout room. "Maple pecan." he said, closing the door to keep the smoke out of the kitchen.

She downed most of the ice water he'd put out for her, took a seat at the table and carved out a spoonful of the confection from her bowl. "Mmmmmm....."

Harry stood behind her and his hands commenced their work at the base of her neck.

"Mmmmmmm......" she said, this time in deep exhalation.

"Burn off a little steam?" he asked.

"Mmmmmm......" She ducked her cheek down to brush the top of his hand, then glanced back at the door. "I'll clean up the mess in there before bed."

He kissed the top of her head and swung himself into the chair across from her, taking those hands of his with him as he did so.

"Mmm...??" she inquired, eyebrows turning up petulantly.

"Later!" he laughed holding up his hands. "I want to eat this before it melts. I didn't get to finish my dessert earlier."

"Ohhh." she sighed. "Sorry about that."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You held up admirably well all evening, considering .... well considering how little sleep we've had this past week. And as for your Mum, I think that ...."

POP .... POP

"Who ....?" Harry and Ginny asked each other. Harry tip-toed over to the bay window and peered through a gap in the curtains. He grinned and beckoned Ginny over to the front entrance. "Keep a straight face." He whispered. He counted to three while they both composed dignified faces, then he swung the door open.

"Oh wise and powerful ones, please forgive your humble servants!" The twins groveled from the front steps, heads down and arms raised in mock obeisance. "We beg of thee an audience!"

Ginny burst out laughing. So much for a straight face. "Get off the steps you nutters. Come in, we're having a late night gelatto."

Two heads rose, grinning as one.

"Our dearest, most discrete and tactful mother is quite contrite." said George as Harry served him a bowl.

"She said to tell you she's sorry." Fred clarified. "Mmmm!" he added, with a spoon handle sticking out of his mouth.

Ginny laughed lightly. "You can tell our dearest, most discrete and tactful mother that the apology is accepted. And please let her know that I'm sorry for .... flaring .... a little. And for leaving a bit abruptly." She paused. "And yes, like Harry told everyone, we'll try to get back in a few weeks to apologize in person."

Fred and George gaped at her. This was not the response they were anticipating. "My sweet sister," George began, placing a hand to Ginny's forehead, "are you feeling feverish?"

"I think she's feeling great." Harry told them, sweeping open the door to the workout room. Acrid fumes were still rising from the detritus. A clump of singed foam padding tumbled from the lintel. He grinned as the shock rolled over the twins' faces.

"Oh...." they intoned in stunned unison.

Closing the door, Harry took a seat, his expression growing serious. "We'd like you two to keep this quiet. This ...." he said, gesturing toward the workout room, "and the blowup at the Burrow."

Fred and George nodded mutely.

"A while ago, maybe around the time of the incident at the Malfoy place, Ginny's magic started .... changing, for lack of a more precise description. It's like there was something constraining it before. It's always been plenty strong enough, but something seems to have let loose and ...." he paused in thought. "Well, let's just say that Ginny was planning to return to Hogwarts for a graduate independent study program, and I think she now has a ready made research topic."

"Yes." said Ginny, "Me."

"Advanced Ginny studies?" Fred quipped. "As opposed to Weasleys 101?"

"Right." Harry agreed. "Her, or perhaps 'us'. I've been picking up on ways that I believe her magic is influencing mine. Maybe vice versa as well. Anyway, we really don't have a handle on why it started happening, how best to harness it, whether there are risks, etc."

"Risks? You mean, other than blowing up a room when someone says something stupid?" asked George. Ginny shot him a withering glare that sent him diving theatrically beneath the table.

"The message is that things are a little exciting." Ginny explained. "Or a little scary right now, depending on .... your .... perspective .....??" Ginny frowned distractedly as George's wide eyes crept up to table level and he sheepishly resumed his seat. George smiled and waved cheerfully for her to continue. "I think we need a little time to bring this all under control. I actually have a good feeling about the change, but we want to keep it quiet for now because I don't want all of the reactionaries in the Order to treat me like a powder keg. And we especially don't want Riddle finding out about the current instability and dreaming up some way to exploit it. If we can just find a bit of peace and quiet to assimilate, adapt and sculpt the changes, I have this feeling that it could all prove to be very .... useful?"

Harry nodded. "So not a single word about the magic flux, please. Friend or foe."

The twins shook their heads.

Ginny gazed toward the window. "If you hear any of the others speculating about what happened tonight at the table, you can tell them it was accidental magic. Say that my brain was a bit haywire from all the studying or something."

"But, it was accidental, was it not?" Fred surmised.

"Yes, .... a little embarrassing, really." Ginny admitted.

"I don't think so.'' Harry offered. "I mean, accidental yes, but I don't think it's embarrassing. If you imagine spending years getting to know your magic and then overnight it suddenly amplifies .... a lot .... well, all those checks and balances you set up for yourself get thrown off. It's not like a little child who doesn't know how to channel it. Ginny's spellwork has kept advancing through all this. That was abundantly obvious in the NEWT practicals. When she's focusing on a task, she has all the precision and control she ever had. When it comes to spells where you can just pore it on, things like reducto or some of the advanced shields, she's now got this this amazing power reserve to draw on. And when she shuts it down, it turns off just like you'd expect it to. It's just situations where she gets caught off guard."

Ginny nodded. "So, I'm trying my best to be careful about it, but when someone does or says something ...."

"Exceptionally asinine?" George suggested.

"Er, well .... your words, not mine. Anyway, I guess I still have to do a bit of recalibrating in order to keep the excess power from sparking out around the edges." Ginny finished.

"The exercise room is helping this .... recalibration." Harry added, with a smirk, as he scraped out the last shavings of dessert into everyone's bowls. His hands returned to Ginny's appreciative neck, moving his thumbs in circles on either side of her spine. Silence filled the air for a few moments, before Harry spoke again. "I think I know the answer to this, but I still have to ask. You said that Molly asked you two to convey apologies?"The twins nodded."So she figured you'd be seeing us. Does she or your dad know yet that you two train with us? More importantly, does she know you know anything about this place?" He twitched his head to indicate the house around them.

"No." George answered. "I think she asked because they've somehow guessed that we run into you a fair bit. Nonverbal clues maybe? Fred and I don't jump up and down barking like Ron and Bill whenever someone mentions your latest amazing exploit. Because we've already heard about it. Or because we've stopped being surprised to hear crazy things about you two."

Harry worked his way a little further down Ginny's back, lulling her eyes closed. "Thanks!" he told them. "I'm hoping to phase down some of the secrecy quite soon. I think we're going to be able to make an announcement pretty soon about expanding the defense training to an advanced adult class. Ginny and I brought it up with Dumbledore, and he was tentatively supportive. So I don't have any objection to moving that little detail out into the open a bit more .... within reason of course. But I would like to keep this place completely hushed. The Fidelius charm obviously won't let you tell anyone how to get here, but I'm hoping to keep its very existence under wraps for as long as possible. It always used to creep me out looking through the window at Grimmauld place and seeing death eaters standing in the street trying to catch a glimpse of us. Here we can stroll over to the park for fresh air without anyone batting an eye. The place is really growing on me — I would hate to have to abandon it."

Ginny nodded in agreement.

"We hear you, brother Harry." said Fred, reaching down to scratch Emerald behind the ears.

George snickered. "If you want to really cement our devout fidelity to your secrets, then maybe you could lend those hands of yours over here. My back has been full of knots ever since ...."

Ginny snarled, eyes opening to thin slits.

"Okay, forget that."

"So tell me Ginevra, most powerful, ...." mused Fred thoughtfully as he savored his final spoonful. This new magic of yours. Is that how you managed to scrape three NEWTs this week for courses you've never even taken?"

"I wish!" Ginny laughed. "No, there are no shortcuts. Harry and I had been putting in fifty to sixty hours every week all summer on practical, then when we got our revision list from Professor McGonagall we threw every waking moment into learning theory. Not one night since mid-August has either one of us gotten five hours of sleep." She she rubbed her temples. "I so do not recommend doing it this way."

"So you're trying to tell us, your dear devoted brothers, that you have all this wonderful new magical prowess and you didn't even cheat?" George pried.

"Not even a teeny little bit?" Fred added.

"Hey!" Ginny erupted, poking George in the chest, as Fred leapt back, ducking for cover. "Harry passed five NEWTs this week, so if you're going to accuse your dedicated, morally upright sister of cheating, then you'd better accuse him too!"

"Okay everyone." Harry began, raising his face with a weary but slightly dangerous smile. "All insinuations aside, worthy or not, you have a very tired sister and she cannot be held responsible for any regrettable accidents .... stinging hexes, bat bogeys, body parts suddenly transfigured into moldy turnips.... And I doubt I'm sharp enough to come up with useful counter spells. I think we need to call it a night."

"Ack!" squawked Fred, eyes-level with the table. "George, I so do not recommend provoking our kind hosts any further." He edged toward the front door, grinning wickedly.

"You passed five NEWTs this week, mate?" George asked with an uncharacteristically expressionless face as he began to make his way toward the door. "As a sixth year?"

Harry shrugged. "You know, it doesn't really matter much, does it? Ginny and I didn't take those tests because we want pretty pieces of parchment to hang on the wall. We took them to get them out of the way so we can focus on what's really important." He threw an arm over the shoulders of each of the twins as he walked them down the steps. "There's so much more that we all have to learn. For ourselves. For each other. All the NEWTs in the world aren't going to be worth a shred if we can't figure out how to defend what we believe in."

The three of them stood staring into the night sky for a minute. The twins turned and saluted soberly, then disapparated, leaving Harry to stand alone, lost in thought.

Ginny descended the steps. "George forgot his jumper." she said. She gazed westward for a moment, shrugged, and nestled herself under Harry's arm. They stood in the dim lamplight holding each other for a while, before she led him to bed.

Molly sat at the breakfast table with rings under her eyes and a large mug of coffee, still shaking her head at how badly yesterday evening had gone. She had been so eagerly awaiting a family celebration: her two youngest had suddenly grown up and, in a whirlwind few weeks of snap decisions and fiercely dedicated study, had suddenly become the two youngest graduates of Hogwarts in generations. Her two babies: Ginny and Harry.

She had long since stopped correcting herself. Yes, Harry was technically not her son, but he certainly didn't have anyone else he could look to as a mother. Besides, she was convinced that he would very likely be her son-in-law some day, and that would cause for much joy and celebration .... Unless, of course, it wasn't.

She had spent several days prior to yesterday's supper working herself into an excited lather. The Hogwarts letters for both of them had come to the Burrow and, in their absence, she had been unable to resist the maternal prerogative of opening them. The letters had been delayed by several weeks in light of extenuating circumstances regarding their changing status. It had been worth the wait, however. The letters confirmed a possibility that Ginny had hinted at on her birthday: that she and Harry might be able to graduate early. The letter contained not only their grades from last year, which had gone through the roof, but also grades for enough advance placement summer NEWT exams to qualify for early graduation: a full year early in Harry's case and two years early in Ginny's! What an honor to even be invited by Albus to attempt this, let alone to actually succeed! For all the scholastic accolades that had been heaped on Bill and Percy, this was a truly unique laurel. And furthermore, Harry was being welcomed aboard as a full time assistant professor, while Ginny was being invited to continue on with advanced research for the betterment of the wizarding world. Molly had been so proud of their dedication, so thrilled to see just how excited they both were over their prospects. That was more reason than one could have ever sought to justify a big festive Weasley supper!

But then another owl had come. A personal letter. One that had rather ruined her festive mood. It had arrived yesterday less than an hour before her guests of honor were due to arrive. Nerves had gotten the better of her and, in her distracted state, she had completely ruined what should have been such a proud occasion. Now Ginny and Harry were gone, and along with them went the opportunity for her to ease those anxieties, to gauge whether her worries were valid or completely foolish.

She fiddled with the heavy scroll of parchment on the table. Part of her wanted to just burn it and put it out of her head. She should march forward as an optimist. Make a big breakfast for Ron. Get him ready for tomorrow: his last ever trek on the September Hogwarts Express. Make a big speech to him about how proud he made his parents, how he should take care of himself and apply himself to his studies so that he could have a good future. Ask him to look out for Ginny and Harry, make sure that he let her know that they were doing allright, so she wouldn't have to worry about this letter in front of her containing, in excruciating detail, a testament to how worried Hermione Granger was.

She took a deep breath and unrolled it again.

Dear Mrs. Weasley,

I hope this letter finds you well! Are you looking forward to accompanying Ronald onto platform 9 3/4 for the last time? I will be there, eagerly watching for you!

I have determined from various inquiries that Ginny will not be on the train; that she may even already be at Hogwarts by the time this reaches you, to begin her graduate independent research studies? Is this true? If so, I am certain that this must be very thrilling for you!

The last thing in the world that I would ever want to do is to diminish the pride that you must take in her most surprising sudden graduation. But, I have to confess that I am quite concerned about Ginny. And Harry. I was hoping that I could share with you my concerns and that perhaps we could work together to determine whether or not the concern is valid and what best we might be able to do to help these two of my dearest friends.

When I received my letter and Head Girl badge several weeks ago, I was enthusiastically expecting that Harry would write to me announcing that he had been selected Head Boy. It would have stood to reason, considering how well he had been performing in his classes all last year. But, as has been the case all summer, there was no sign of Hedwig. Finally, I wrote to Hogwarts, explaining that I had been hoping to spend some time before classes interacting with the new Head Boy to plan and coordinate our duties, and I asked who had been selected. I was shocked to learn that Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff had been chosen. Finally, after sending several owls to the school, I was informed three days ago by Professor MacGonagall that Harry had not been chosen as Head Boy because he and one other student had already matriculated this summer and would no longer be Hogwarts students. From subsequent inquiry I learned yesterday that this second early graduate was Ginny.

This all seems so exciting, but I would ask if we could momentarily suspend our pride for their achievements and objectively ask ourselves whether this is all completely healthy? Or fully believable? After all, for five years, Harry was a consistently marginal student. Then suddenly last year in the grip of devastating grief over his dead godfather (the circumstances of which he has stubbornly refused to address or deal with) he defies all expectations, races to best-in-year test scores (yes, I happen to know that he scored higher than me, although admittedly he took fewer courses) then passes five NEWT exams in courses for which he should have required one more year to complete. And consider Ginny: she scored quite well in her second through fourth years, but not quite high enough to warrant nomination for prefecture. Then last year, she too scores best-in-year and, barely out of her OWLs, passes NEWT exams in courses she had not even started yet.

My sincerest congratulations to both of them, but I have kept trying to answer to my satisfaction how on Earth they might have managed to achieve all that so suddenly??

In my last week of school last spring I carried out an independent research project in the Hogwarts library. I profiled test scores, written evaluations and news items associated with scholastic achievements at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for the last two hundred years. In particular, I was interested in evidence of students who achieved a drastic improvent in both technical and theoretical performance or were widely proclaimed to have a preternatural gift for effortlessly mastering new magical skills. In 200 years through last year, there had only been three students in Europe who clearly met those exceptional criteria. Albus Dumbledore was one. The other two were Gellert Grindelwald and Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

I think perhaps you are now starting to appreciate my concern?

Last year, even before the most startling developments regarding Harry's scholastic transformation were becoming manifest, I had seen increasing cause for worry in his behavior. He had obviously constructed a shell personality: this confident, carefree, outgoing persona that I originally assumed was intended to mask his grief and insecurity. But then as time went on, he began to hide not only his feelings, but also 'himself'. He would spend endless time locked in his office or the Room of Requirement, but never share what it was that he found so all-encompassing. And to further complicate things, Ginny (bless her sweet but naive soul) must apparently have tried to take the initiative to draw him out of his unhealthy isolation, only to become ensnared in it herself. Thus there was soon not one but two students who would sneak away, lock themselves away for hours all alone, jealously guarding their secrets. Sure they would joke around, saying that they were snogging in a broom cupboard or whatnot. Rubbish! Obvious smoke screen! And now that all the test scores are out, now that Harry and Ginny have left all normal school protocol in the dust, now that the school has blessed the continuation of these mysterious extracurricular activities, now it is time to find out what is going on in that metaphorical broom cupboard.

Mrs. Weasley, I need your help. I don't know for certain that Harry has embarked on the terrifying path toward becoming the next horrific dark wizard, sweeping Ginny along in his wake. But if there is even a fraction of a chance it is true, then I know that the selfless, kind Harry Potter that I met six years ago would intervene. The old Harry Potter would want this new Harry Potter stopped. And the old Harry Potter would never risk the corruption of a gentle, caring person like Ginny.

If you believe me that there is some chance these fears may have basis, I can recommend a simple and painless first step that you could take. Please send the headmaster a letter revoking your earlier signed form permitting Ginny's independent studies program. The worst that could come of doing so is that Ginny might have to withdraw from school for a few months until we investigate whether Harry is on a deleterious path. If there is a more innocent explanation underlying all this secrecy and mysterious achievement, then I would be happy to accept responsibility for the action, and you can let Ginny resume her studies.

I have attached a template that you could, if you wish, use as a model for your revocation letter.

Thank you so much for permitting me to share my concerns. My kindest thoughts to you, Ronald, Ginny and all of the Weasleys!

Sincerely,

Hermione

Molly's initial instinct was to worry that Hermione might be on the verge of a paranoid nervous breakdown. As a high profile muggle-born student, surely Hermione was facing terrible strains ralted to her own safety and that of her family. Molly had also sensed that Ron, Ginny and Harry had been moving in different directions and the old support structure might be crumbling for poor Miss Granger at perhaps the worst possible time. Molly had been about to reply to Hermione to try to persuade her to rush right out to the Burrow, throw cares aside for a while, bring her family, celebrate with Ginny and Harry, go shopping together in Diagon Alley, pester Ron about his course preparation. But then she had let second thoughts take root.

Ginny's and Harry's academic transformation was rather unusual, wasn't it? Even beyond school, Harry certainly had proven himself to be a master or secrecy — his alternate identity rushing into battle against death eaters, then vanishing without a trace had thrown the Order into a bit of an uproar. And Ginny, always an independent spirit, seemed to trust and follow him, almost blindly. Disappearing with him to who knows where. Reappearing just as suddenly with a big smile and a completely new wardrobe. And then there was this whole thing about magical prowess. The order had only seen a little of Ginny in the dangerous settings that Harry now frequented, but it was starting to seem that her youngest child, her only daughter, was walking around with the sudden confidence of a mature, powerful witch. Bill had found her guarding the family of muggles in Kent; when Bill tried to evacuate her she had stupefied him rather than walk prematurely away from what she had seemed to view as her responsibilities. Then three or four Order members had been breathless spectators in Diagon Alley as Harry and Ginny (her babies!) had faced down He Who Must not be Named completely on their own for five whole minutes until Albus took over.

Molly shivered violently, sloshing coffee down her arm.

And finally there was Albus himself. He, the most powerful wizard of the past century, had completely failed in his odious attempt to use legilimency on her daughter. He'd been thrown across the room, for Merlin's sake! And when he'd picked himself up off the ground, what had been that look in his eyes? Confusion. Shock. Fear?

And moments later Harry had appear out of nowhere to whisk her daughter off to safety .... some place safe .... some mysterious place that Ginny had referred to as .... home?

Power. Secrets. Innocent children. How long can innocent children with lots of power and too many secrets remain innocent?

Cameron lifted the change box to the counter and checked its contents, making a note on the parchment. She was just beginning to review her inventory notes from last night when ....

"CAHH-mer-ohhhnnnn....."

Fred and George were standing behind her wearing grins that were, as always, far too bright for this hour of the morning.

"Pick a Weasley, please." said George, puffing his chest out.

Cameron rolled her eyes, drew her wand and commenced with the ritual. Alternately pointing her wand from one twin to the next and back again, she recited "To-day-is-Tues-day-Weas-leys-Wiz-ard-Wheez-es-spec-ial-of-the-day-is-For-mo-sa-Fire-Beans!" Her wand landed on Fred.

"Foiled by the beans!" George exclaimed. "That makes three in a row, you rank villain!"

"Luck of the draw old friend." Fred smirked. "You shall go coax our sweet mother from the doldrums. I'll stock the shelves."

"Ugh .... I'll be back by opening bell." George told Cameron grumpily, stepping out the front door and vanishing with a pop.

An instant later he was walking up the back path at the Burrow, trying to avoid getting too much morning dew on his polished blue shoes. He clattered the back door a little more loudly than necessary, to announce his presence and, if lucky, perhaps even jolt Ron out of bed.

Whistling his way into the kitchen he came upon the figure slouched in front of several coffee spills and a roll of parchment.

"Dearest mother, you look like vomit." George proclaimed, grinning broadly.

"Thank you dear." Molly look vaguely in his direction and glanced at the vacant spot to his left. "Where's Fred this morning?"

"You mean George?"

"Sorry Fred. Where's George this morning?" she tried.

"Mother, mother! Tut, tut! I ...." he said, gesturing to himself with both hands, "am George! Do you mean to suggest that after nineteen years you still haven't noticed how much taller and more dashing I am?"

"Whatever, dear."

George frowned. "I think our mother needs more coffee." Waving his wand, he filled her mug and conjured one for himself. He paused to blow on it and take a sip. "Beautiful morning!" he said cheerily.

"Yes dear."

"Thank you for supper last night."

"Yes dear."

"The chickens have hijacked father's lawn .... motor .... thing."

"Yes, whatever, dear."

"Ronald is dangling naked in the beech tree."

"If you say so."

"Gnomes have painted our back fence orange?"

"Whatever dear."

"Ginny accepts apologies; looks forward to seeing you soon."

"If you say so, d.... what??"

George beamed brightly, just a little too close to Molly's face -- she lurched back several inches. "What did you say?"

"Sweet Ginevra and Master Harry hosted us for a late dessert last night. She asked us to please let you know that she accepts your apologies, she regrets the brusk departure and any inadvertent pyrotechnics, and is looking forward to seeing you again soon once they've settled." George was smiling with uncharacteristic warmth as he took another sip of coffee. "I'm paraphrasing of course, but she was very relaxed about it; no sign of lingering pique."

Molly was stunned. She had expected this to take weeks to repair, and had been steeling herself for another long stint as a pariah. What could she say? She started to open her mouth, not certain what would come out, but George had already turned to her with a look of completely foreign sobriety, saying, "This doesn't mean that all of your children are going to let you off the hook quite so easily."

Molly winced, partly from the words and partly because when she had looked in George's eyes right then she had glimpsed, unbidden, a memory of her own father long ago giving the then-schoolgirl Molly much the same look. Her father had loved to laugh .... but he could also be very stern.

Finally she shrugged. "I'm sorry George. Maternal instincts are the hardest instincts to suppress. Someday you'll know what I mean."

George turned back to her, gave her a steely look for a moment and then let it dissolve in a twinkle. "Mother dear, I think you greatly overestimate my chances of acquiring maternal instincts. There are some basic biological limitations that are difficult to ...."

Molly burst into cathartic laughter.

George grinned for a moment and turned to look out the window, saying "But in all seriousness, when you next get Ginny back into the Burrow I think you will find her to be a gracious .... guest. If the rest of us behave with a modicum of decency, I believe we'll see much the same sweet sister we have all come to love. But if certain individuals push all the same wrong buttons as were repeatedly bludgeoned last night, I'm guessing that there will come a point where she will smile her sweet sisterly smile, grab her Harrykins, and fly the hell out of here again. So, whatever those maternal instincts may be trying to tell you, please think twice before speaking down to her and do not, under any circumstances ...." he turned back to face Molly with expressionless candor ".... order an increasingly mature adult to, as you most gracelessly phrased .... 'go to your room'."

And there it was, all the angst and tension crystallized into a single painful memory: Bill hammering away again about responsibility to the Order, Ginny's composure fraying as the barriers to her overt irritation crumbled, Harry starting rise from his seat, and ....

"I panicked!" Molly blurted out.

"Fair characterization." George agreed. "Doesn't make it any less stupid though."

"It was escalating. Bill doesn't listen to me when he gets that way. I needed to break the spiral. I thought ...."

"That you could order Ginny out of the room and keep the peace? When Ginny wasn't the one being an inflexible, pompous cad?" George's voice was controlled but serious. "I think perhaps we should just pretend, Mum, that you didn't .... think .... period. It's just easier that way."

"Okay." Molly paused for a long moment to gaze out toward nothing in particular, stuggling with her resolve. She found enough to muster her last point. "George, what you said a minute ago though.... Please don't delude yourself. Ginny is not a grown woman. I know I sound like somebody's mother, but she's still underage. She's sixteen years old, George. She doesn't have the experience to make all of these real world decisions yet."

"You haven't seen her in her element, Mum."

"Yes, I'm sure that's part of the problem." Molly grumbled.

"Well you'll be happy to know that this should be changing pretty soon. Earlier this summer Harry and Ginny started leading some defense training for adults. Dumbledore met with them a couple weeks before their NEWTs and apparently agreed to add an adult course to their Hogwarts responsibilities." George paused to take another swallow of coffee. "I don't know anything of the arrangements myself, but if Dumbledore is sanctioning the exercises, then you can assume that they have agreed to coordinate with the Order."

"Really?"

"I don't know. So don't bother telling anyone about this, because as far as you know right now this is just another half-cocked Fred-George speculation." He grinned. "But when word comes out, please remember who told you first!"

"Bill will be so relieved when he hears that!"

"Don't tell him yet, please? This news is either for Dumbledore or Harry to share. Or Ginny."

"I promise. Thank you for telling me though."

"S'no problem Mum." He glanced outside to gauge the sun's growing brightness. "I have to get back to the Alley. Going to be one last swarm of students today before the Express leaves. Business should be quite lively!"

Molly grabbed his hand. "I'm grateful that you stopped by this morning George! Thank you again! But can I ask just one more thing?"

"Certainly, Mater mea!"

"Could you please read .... uh .... this?" she pushed Hermione's letter toward him. "And promise me that you won't tell anyone? Especially not Ginny or Harry!"

George raised an eyebrow, but nodded and accepted the parchment. He turned toward the window again, coffee in one hand, unfurled letter in the other. He began to scan through it, snickered momentarily, then continued as Molly eyed him nervously. About half way through he blinked, shook his head a little and poured the last bit of coffee into his mouth. He had barely resumed reading, when ....

"Pfffffffffffft!!" He sprayed a fine mist of coffee droplets over two pots of begonias. He wiped his mouth and turned to Molly with a slightly delirious look in his eyes. "Sweet, naive, ever-loving soul of Merlin!" he wheezed, "Percy writes like a nursery school flunky compared to this chickadee!"

Wide-eyed, he bit down on his lip and turned back to the letter. Several moments later, he started twitching, breath ragged, emitting little noises that sounded like "eeepff!"

"George, are you allright?" asked Molly, rising from the table in growing alarm.

Still facing the window, still twitching, he put down his coffee cup and raised his empty hand, wheezing "Calming draught .... please!"

Molly had made a batch for herself just the previous night and there were still several doses left. She grabbed his coffee cup, darted to the counter, poured an ample serving and handed it to him. He downed it in a single gulp, took a deep breath and turned again to face her. With wild, stricken-looking eyes, he nodded vigorously, pointed at the letter, saying "This.... S'funny! ..... Really funny!"

Molly did not think she should be exactly terrified by this response, but she was also still struggling to grasp the angle by which this could be so amusing. She stared at George until the calming draught took hold.

He attempted two very deep breaths. Managing the second one without obvious choking, he wiped a grin off his face with his hand and said, "This is absolutely brilliant!" He gesticulating enthusiastically at the letter again before tossing it unceremoniously onto the table. "It's putrid gibberish! It's dangerous cantankerous filth, but it's the most exquisitely distilled farcical assininity I've ever seen!"

"George!" Molly scolded. "Hermione is our friend. I don't want to believe this any more than you do, but everyone knows that she's very smart and I find it difficult to argue beyond all shadow of doubt against the points she raises."

"Perhaps Hermione is our friend the same way that Percy is my brother." George sneered sardonically. "And the more I think of if, the more I say that the Ministry should just waive all entrance and tenure requirements, pluck this girl straight out of Hogwarts and appoint her Senior Undersecretary Responsible for the Insertion of Blunt Oblong Objects into ...."

"George!!"

The way George was grinning, it was clear that he didn't need to finished the sentence in order to enjoy it. He didn't laugh though. He had a serious mission to complete, and fortunately the calming draught was giving him just enough self control to focus on the prize. He again ran a hand over his face to reset his expression and fixed Molly with a face of sincere sobriety. "Listen Mum," he began, "I agree that Harry and Ginny have been secretive, but they've had good reason. You, dad, Fred, Ron, me, we all know that. And yes, they've changed. They have so changed! But it's good change. Not long ago they were nice kids. Now they're nice, strong, confident, caring adults. It's like they're the cool aunt and uncle that we can go to with problems that we might feel awkward talking to parents about. It's not just Fred and me. You should hear Katie, Angelina and Lee after training. And when Alicia died, Ginny and Harry were there with us for hours, listening, saying helpful little things that made us feel a little bettter; made us feel more like we had the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other; the strength to work together, stand up for ourselves and survive. The Order keeps telling us to keep out of the way and they'll protect us. Harry's idea .... and this is every bit as much Ginny's style now too .... is to teach us what we can do for ourselves whenever the almighty Order flubs a clue and we find ourselves face to face with death eaters."

He paused, but his gaze didn't waiver, his eye's didn't flicker or blink. "Miss Granger named three names right here." He jabbed his finger down about half way through the letter. "The one thing in common with those three names is control. They all eat, breathe, and live control. Control is power; power is control. Everything for them is control." He jabbed his finger down on the letter again emphatically. "For Harry and Ginny, everything is about helping people help themselves. They want people to survive, live happy lives, raise children who can live free and happily. Harry and Ginny don't give one crusty knut for control!"

Molly was nodding solemnly, staring down at her hands. The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Finally, she lifted a placemat with ten small fingertip-sized holes in it. "What about this?" she asked.

George laughed softly. "Control." He smiled. "Yes, okay, they would probably give a couple crusty knuts to get Ginny's magic a bit more under control. I'm not at liberty to speak of it right now, but the honest and official word is that it was an accident. Brain frazzled from too much studying. Unofficially, while I can vouch that my sister is displaying patience and reserve completely unbecoming of a Weasley, I would nonetheless suggest for the next little while we all make an effort to avoid acts of excessive provocation?"

Molly nodded. She vanished the placemat.

George thought for a moment. "You might want to vanish the letter too. Or burn it. There are a few people you would not want to have accidentally reading that."

Molly nodded, but before she could complete the characteristic wand movement George sprang between her and the letter. "Wait!" he cried. "I need to re-read a couple choice phrases again. Such artful bureaucratic filth can't just be burned and lost forever!" He fingered through it for a moment then pushed it aside, smiling gleefully. "I'm done. Burn it please."

"Where's breakfast?" Ron mumbled as he staggered in, rubbing his eyes. "What ....?"

With a flamboyant wave, George stepped neatly into the space between Ron and his mother. Appraising his younger but taller brother from head to foot with a critical eye, he shook his head disapprovingly. "The old Ronald Weasley would never risk besmirching his family's distinguished reputation by wearing such garish Chudley Cannons shorts!" he scolded, as Molly used the distraction to discretely incinerate the letter. "The selfless and kind Ronald Weasley I once knew would want this dark and dastardly new Ronald Weasley stopped!!" George's stern tone shattered into a childish giggle. "Oh no, I shouldn't have done that. Now I'm going to giggle uncontrollably and splinch myself across six counties!" His mirth moved toward the living room. "Mother most sweet and gentle, I need to borrow some floo powder to get back to the Alley."

"What ....??" Ron blinked, frowning toward the living room, from which came a howl of unrepressed laughter, followed by the whoosh of George's departure.

Ron scratched his head.

"It's okay dear." Molly reassured him. "George was just reading something funny, that's all."

Chapter 2. Eavesdropping in the Alley   (August 31, 1997)

George's howling laughter preceded him all the way through the floo network and into the foyer of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, where he (and his laugh) arrived face-to-face with a configuration of small freckles that he knew innately. Even if they were located on the face of a wavy tressed brunette.

"Ack!" shrieked the freckled brunette, recoiling in shocked surprise.

George's face lit up like a roman candle. "My sweetest, naive sister Ginevra!" George croaked before he doubled over with laughter.

Ginny's hand flew up to her mouth. "George, .... I'm ....." she stammered, holding up a lock of her brown haired disguise.

George's contorted body froze. His eyes edged upwards into the stunned silence to take a second look at the girl with the freckles. This person, who looked mostly but not completely unlike Ginny Weasley, stood fidgeting in front of him, one hand still in her hair. A youth with sandy-blond hair, who looked mostly but not completely unlike Harry Potter, was staring at the two of them from across the room. Cameron stood behind the counter with a curious frown on her face. Fred, eyes rolling skyward, was moving quickly toward his twin.

"Excuse me for a moment while I stupefy my dear brother." Fred said calmly as he escorted George toward the back office. For all his momentary shock, George could not quite suppress a few final titters as Fred led him away. They heard Fred mutter something, and everything fell silent. He re-emerged into the front room. "George has had a busy morning engaged in .... charitable activities .... on our collective behalf." he said cryptically. "Apparently these activities have provoked a bit of mirth."

Harry looked around and shared a crooked smile. "Well, seeing that you don't have any other customers in here yet, and as Cameron is already well aware of Mr. Weasley's instabilities and eccentricities ...." He gave Cameron a slightly exaggerated wink, prompting her to respond with an 'I won't even try to understand what just happened' smile. "Yes, in light of that, I think we can all safely conclude that everything is fine. Oh, and please," he said to Fred, "let George know we wish him a speedy recovery from his .... errm .... mirth. And please make sure he gets his jumper back." he added as he handed Fred the purple and white striped garment that Ginny had retrieved from Magpie Lane.

Fred thanked them again as he showed them to the door, promising Harry that he and George would owl him within the next two days regarding the latest business proposition. Fred smiled, shrugged his shoulders by way of sheepish apology, and closed the door.

"Prat." Ginny muttered as they stepped down into the street. "Just what part of of the word 'incognito' is so difficult to understand?"

Harry gave her a squeeze. "It's okay." he reassured her. "Almost nobody was around. Cameron was already figuring it out even before this little slipup, and I know she won't say anything."

"You know?"

"Passive legilimency." he said with a guilty shrug. "She's been working for the twins long enough to start figuring out that your family is playing a role in resisting the attacks. She knows that the twins are making stuff that is .... well .... completely un-prankish, and I think she's starting to figure out that I might be the reason why they're doing it. But she hasn't figured out who either of us are yet and is doing her best to try not to figure it out. Smart girl." Harry looked over at the frown on Ginny's face. "Sorry, I'm no fan of invading the privacy of a friend or well-intentioned acquaintance either. But when things get a little dicey, it's better than obliviating someone."

Ginny shivered. "I know you're justified." she said catching his eye. "Just promise me you'll try not to use it unless you really need to? Assuming my ridiculous brothers ever stop shouting my name in public, that is?"

"I promise." he assured her. As they walked along the street, his thoughts wandered briefly into idle speculation about just what philanthropic activities George had been up to and what could have been so humorous about them. He might inquire sometime, but decided not to waste much thought on it now. He then made a mental note that it was clearly time for them both to change their disguises. Too bad. Brunette Ginny could make his heart do back flips. Sure, it would never be the intense palpitations that the redhead gave him, but the look was certainly growing on him.

As he reflected on their disguises, his thoughts drifted to the more serious matters which forced them into such subterfuge; the reason Ginny went to such lengths to protect his and her identities: him. At least they didn't have to hide their comings and goings from the Order anymore now that he was officially of age, but that concern had been replaced by a worry that every place he went, everyone he was seen to associate with, might be targeted by Voldemort or death eaters. He despised the inconveniences and dangers that he inadvertently placed people in. He especially hated how he inconvenienced Ginny: she was a pure blood from one of the oldest wizarding families; without him she surely could have kept a low profile and avoided becoming a target. A combined wave of remorse and gratitude for her sacrifices swept through him. He gave her another squeeze, just a bit longer and tighter than the earlier one. It was enough to earn him a smile from beneath her wonderful little freckles. That, in turn, was enough to shift his thoughts to happier meadows.

"Now for the main order of business." he told her softly. "Happy belated birthday!"

It was not that he had overlooked her birthday. Rather it was time to fulfill a promise. He had, with the help of a special art quill from Weasley Wizard Wheezes, made her a fairly pretty card that described what he was going to give to her as soon as she and he were able to surface from all the exhaustive NEWT preparations. It would be a magical trunk, much like the one he had purchased himself a little over a year ago. It was intended as a practical gift: he knew that all of Ginny's possessions would still easily fit inside his expandable trunk, but wanted her to have the conveniences of a wonderful tool like that if she needed to go on an excursion without him or vice versa. He was worried that she would consider it impersonal, but fortunately she had been thrilled by the idea and, even in their mutual exhaustion at the end of a 15 hour study day, she had made him most blissfully pleased to have proposed it. The memory still brought a glowing smile to his face.

The expression of the wizard in the magical storage shop lit up just as brightly when Harry and Ginny walked in the door. The elderly gentleman recognized Harry instantly and quickly plied him for feedback on the last model he'd purchased. Harry had loved his, and had never really thought about what might be arranged differently, so he and the wizard both turned the question to Ginny.

"Well ...." Ginny mused, "Harry's trunk is dark and moody with only the lamplight; it makes me feel like I'm in a basement. If there was a sunlight charm, or garden view windows it would feel so much more welcoming."

The old wizard had started taking detailed notes.

"And I love stairs." Ginny added. Harry smiled, thinking what it must have been like to grow up in the Burrow with its endless, rickety verticals.

"Would it be possible to take dimensions similar to Harry's, but stack them up so that the kitchen and sitting room are on a ground level, stairs leading up to the main bedroom and bath on a higher floor, and a ladder climbing to an attic study with four small windows angled to the cardinal points?"

The wizard, so gruff a year ago, seemed very nearly ecstatic by the unconventional request. "My dear!" he said, grabbing her hand excitedly, "For you absolutely anything is possible!"

He ran a finger through his notes. "One moment please." he said as he skipped over to a shelf and pulled down a large picture book. "These are your environment options. Just new this year, these are!" He opened the book to an index and nodded to himself. "The main choice will be milieu. Your selections are still somewhat limited as this is such a new feature. If you were to choose one today to start with, I would be happy to present you with an expanded selection next year and would offer you an upgrade at no additional expense."

Ginny nodded. They both leaned over to examine the index.

"Current choices of milieu," continued the wizard, "are boreal, alpine, pastoral, Cornish seaside and Riviera. You will notice as you page over to each milieu that there are between eight and ten different landscapes. You asked to choose four that we can blend to provide different views from each of the different faces of your trunk. Please keep in mind that you will have a level of control over seasonal and daily light and weather variations, independent of milieu. So technically ...." he offered Ginny a wry smile, "you could make the Riviera as snowy as you like, or have seaside fogs roll over your alpine chateau."

Harry slid his arms around Ginny's waist and peered over her shoulder as she flipped through the pictures. She gravitated quickly toward the boreal option, selecting a lakefront, a small brook, and two forest glade panels for her cardinal points.

"Oh, I was hoping you would choose something like that!" the wizard exclaimed gleefully. "It will play so well with your vertical arrangement. Imagine a summer evening!" he sighed. "Dim filtered green in your sitting room, moody shimmering lake from the kitchen, a deep indigo sky looking east from your bedroom, and a fiery sunset visible only from your attic study. Ahhh...."

Ginny eagerly worked through the various interior options. Unlike Harry's deep hardwood interior and bold primary colored furnishings, Ginny chose a bright pine motif and variety of pastels for flooring and furnishings.

The wizard nodded and recorded each specification, made several final notes and ran his finger down the list. "This will take a bit of time. We have never done something quite so exciting as this, thus I must speak to Nigel about devising a suitable staircase, as well as making adjustments and verifications." He pressed a finger to his chin in thought for a moment. "Would the lady and gentleman be amenable to waiting perhaps .... forty minutes?"

Ginny frowned, remembering the long list of things that Harry needed to accomplish today. She looked inquiringly into Harry's face. Without hesitation however, he beamed at her, saying "We will be happy to wait. I'm sure that we can find something to keep us occupied!"

The wizard was grateful and relieved. He reached under the desk and pulled out two small pieces of parchment, handing one to each of them them. "Might I then be permitted to offer you these small tokens of our gratitude?" Each parchment read:

To the bearer please award two scoops of whatever the bearer's heart may desire, plus a beverage to sate the spirit and invigorate the soul.

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor

North Diagon Alley

"Thank you! I can't think of a better way to pass a bit of time!" Ginny said cheerfully. The proprietor returned her smile, escorted them graciously toward the door then hurried to his back room. Once they had stepped outside, however, Ginny paused in thought, adopting a more sombre expression. "Harry, if you needed to get to Hogwarts, I'm sure we could leave the chest for today and pick it up next week when things have settled down a little."

"Ginevra Weasley ...." Harry soothed. "Given how relentless our schedules have been over the past four weeks, do you really think I would pass up the chance to sit across from you for forty minutes with nothing better to do than gaze longingly into your eyes?"

She laughed and her blazing smile renewed. "Among sweet talkers, you are a prince!" she said, winking at him. "Sounds wonderful .... but it will never work."

"Why not?"

"Can you honestly believe that the world would ever give us even half an hour to sit together quietly in the center of Diagon Alley the day before school starts?"

"No, but I still intend to try!" He returned her wink.

The morning rush in Diagon Alley was beginning in earnest but, with the lingering morning chill, Fortescue's was still fairly quiet. There was one table occupied by a mother whose two small children waved as they went past. Harry waved back, making a silly face, earning giggles from the children and a smile from the mother. The only other customer was a student: a girl with long dark hair swept into a tight pony tail, immersed deeply in a book. She was more tanned and muscular than most witches. Without being able to see her face from their angle of approach, Ginny guessed that she was probably mid to late teens, which might make her a Hogwarts student. Something about her looked vaguely familiar, but without a direct view of her face Ginny couldn't quite pin her down. That was probably good, Ginny reflected, since she and Harry were still trying to remain incognito and were hoping to finish their business in the Alley well before afternoon when their various friends, plus Harry's students, would likely be out in full force. Ginny picked a table about 20 feet away from the student, well off the street and in a pleasant patch of warming sunlight.

Thanks to their disguises, they were left alone. Of course they did not spend forty minutes gazing into each other's eyes .... but they did hold hands across the table and take advantage of a rare opportunity to chat about fun frivolous stuff that wouldn't attract any attention if they happened to be overheard. In its simple way, it was an idyllic pleasure to put aside all of the very serious issues that they would soon have to confront again, savor their icecream and pretend to be ordinary teenagers. Every once in a while the words stopped and they did sink into each other's eyes for a timeless moment. They were just drifting into one of those blissful states when Ginny was distracted by a sudden motion at the her periphery of her vision.

Over Harry's shoulder, Ginny watched as two youths sauntered over to the table occupied by the student Ginny had noticed earlier. They looked like .... no, it couldn't be!

"Who is it?" Harry whispered, watching Ginny's look of fascination but not wanting to turn turn himself around lest they attract unwanted attention.

"Ryan and Nick ...." she whispered, with a curious expression on her face. "All grown up!" Indeed, both looked to have grown at least two inches over the summer, but the most striking changes were in their mature, chiseled faces, the way they carried themselves, their muscular arms extending from tight muggle tee shirts. Nick walked like a person who had spent much of the summer throwing heavy objects around, while Ryan moved with a sleek efficiency that reminded her of .... Harry?

Harry studied the reflections in Ginny's eyes, while Ginny watched the scene unfold behind him. The pair of boys playfully accosted the female student behind Harry; she startled but quickly leaped up to give Ryan a fierce hug, turned and planted a kiss right on Nick's cheek. "Mary-Jo Clark!" Ginny mouthed to Harry. The young woman sitting behind Harry with the pony tail and the nice muscles was a newly matured and confident version of another of Harry's favorite students from last year.

After affirming that everyone's families were allright and that Mary-Jo's mother had made a complete recovery from the brutal attack on the Clark residence in early July, the three students (two Slytherins and a Gryffindor) settled into a playful banter and gradually settled into seats at Mary-Jo's table. Nick was making some goofy comment about how hot Mary-Jo looked; she punched him in the shoulder then shook her hand, feigning injury. Ryan rolled his eyes, muttering how embarrassed he was by such childish behavior.

"But seriously ...." Mary-Jo insisted, "you two look really good!"

"And you, MJ ...." Nick countered, "don't exactly look like something scraped up off the sidewalk either."

She snarled so ferociously that Nick jumped. Then she giggled.

"Stop it both of you!" Ryan grimmaced. "Or else I'm going to find another table."

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't adore us Ryan. If you can't handle a little bit of innocent fun, then be thankful you don't have to sit with the two love birds over there." Mary-Jo tittered, gesturing discretely toward the table where Ginny and Harry were sitting.

Ginny stifled a laugh, not wanting to bring attention to her subterfuge. Harry, who was not in anyone's line of sight, smirked openly but was also careful to subdue any inadvertent laughter. Ginny met his smirk with twinkling eyes, but then her face reformed into a puzzled frown. How would Mary-Jo have even noticed them, let alone know that the two of them had been acting affectionately? According to Ginny's recollection, when she and Harry had taken their seats Mary-Jo had not so much as glanced up from her book. In the twenty minutes since then, Ginny could not recall the girl having looked in their direction at all. Ginny knew that Mary-Jo had recently learned some hard life lessons about the evils and perils of the world; perhaps she had picked up some subtle street smarts and important self-preservation skills. Harry's expression, now equally contemplative, suggested that he too was converging toward that realization.

Ginny continued to observe the students. Ryan had given a little glance in the direction Mary-Jo had gestured, but then turned his attention to something she set down onto their table. "So!" he said, refocusing on his housemate. "You been keeping up the training?"

"You bet!" she said. "Not as if we're going to take down the teacher, standing still are we?"

Nick laughed. "No, but it's futile anyway. You know that, don't you? Every step we take to try to catch up with Harry, I'm sure he'll race two steps further up the path."

For the second time, Ginny's hand flew up to her mouth to stifle a snicker.

Ryan laughed. "Don't you know it! I bet he hasn't shown us half of what he can do. Hey, were you aware that it was just about right here that the big scuffle went down?"

"What scuffle?" Mary-Jo wondered.

Ryan pointed vaguely up the street. "Just right up there near Wheezes. Harry and the Weasley girl from IHA went toe-to-toe with Voldemort about a month ago."

"No way!" Mary-Jo hissed.

"You were there?" Nick gasped with a look of astonishment on his face.

"No, Sarah Lindsey's brother saw it. She told me about it last week when I ran into her at Flourish and Blotts."

Despite her tan, Mary-Jo had gone a little pale. "What happened? Are they okay?"

A smirk crossed Ryan's face. "Walked away without a scratch. From what I heard, there were a couple dozen death eaters rampaging around, being chased by some of the Phoenix gang, and right in the middle of everything, there's Voldy standing in the middle of the street, all smug, twiddling his thumbs just like he was waiting for him."

"For who?" Nick scratched his head. "For Harry?"

Ryan nodded. "Uh huh. So after a few minutes of chaos, over comes Harry and .... ummm .... girlfriend .... her name's Ginny, right?"

Nick nodded.

"Harry and Ginny come strolling over, start pelting him with basic hexes and stuff; they conjure some distractions like animals and falling debris. Voldy stands there, laughing like he's swatting flies, then he turns and launches a barrage of strange crap at them — unforgivables and lots of other purple and orange stuff that Sarah had never heard of. H&G do the usual block and dodge we learned in HA. Vol starts to get winded and starts throwing taunts instead of hexes, and it's like Harry sees his opening .... he slings out this jet of bright white something that nobody's every seen before. V-Mo braces himself, puts all his power into his shield ...."

Mary-Jo and Nick were leaning in, gaping at Ryan. Mary-Jo flicked her hand impatiently, urging him to continue.

"It started to look like Vol's shield is going to break, then suddenly he sucks up some blast of power right out of the sky and pushes back Harry's jet. Then jet and shield both go poof and .... tah DAA! Dumbledore walks into the street .... says something .... Voldy looks around and notices that all the death eaters are tied up, he laughs at them like it's all some big joke and bang! He and his eaters all vanish."

Ginny stared blankly at Harry, every bit as stunned as Mary-Jo and Nick. In the heat of the moment; in the midst of an intense blur of colors, shapes and raw emotion, Ginny had never once stopped to consider how a standoff like that might appear to a bystander. Such a detailed account, even if somewhat embellished and apocryphal, was shocking to hear.

Both tables had gone completely silent.

Ryan shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of just how quiet everything was.

Ginny's eyes went wide in realization. "Chatter at me," she hissed to Harry from behind the hand masking her mouth.

Harry jumped. A quizzical expression flitted momentarily across his face, but then he nodded and smiled. "Oh right! Yeah, I wish we could get tickets to the next Harpies match!" he volleyed conversationally, loud enough to carry to the next table. "I heard that Gwenog caught all three Exmoor chasers lined up in a row and took them all out with a single bludger!"

"That's my gal!" Ginny enthused theatrically. "I just wish their seeker had a little more spark."

Conversation at the student table settled in again as Florean served their ice cream and they began to share updates on other aspects of their summer. As was obvious from their striking physiques, they had not frittered their vacations away in carefree sloth. Inspired by vague rumors of Harry's non-magical workouts, the super-seven students (Ryan, Nicholas, Mary-Jo, a pair of Hufflepuffs named Jack and Jennifer, plus two Ravenclaws named Quinn and Sarah) from Harry's BHA class had apparently researched and implemented a fairly advanced Muggle physical fitness program, and had met at least once over the summer at the Jenkins estate to chase each other through bracken and fen. They had been unable to practise magic because all were still under-age, but they had apparently improvised their dodging practice, sometimes by enlisting older sibling to throw hexes at them, or via some muggle game called paint-ball. Harry nodded when he heard the term; Ginny's imagination didn't need much prodding to visualize the concept.

Mary-Jo inquired into the status of Sarah, Jennifer, Jack and Quinn. Ryan, who had apparently taken it upon himself to keep in close contact with the whole gang all summer, confirmed that they were all fine. At least four of the seven, it seemed, had experienced run-ins with death eaters. Harry's portkeys had ultimately bailed them all out with minimal harm, except for Mary-Jo's mother. Mary-Jo related how the death eaters had apparated in numbers into their back yard at a time when everyone in the family, except Mrs. Clark, had been busy in the garden. Mary-Jo and her father had tried to break through the line of thugs to rescue Mrs. Clark from the kitchen, but had been forced back and had decided to portkey to Hogwarts for help. After tearing through the castle for some time, they had found Professor MacGonagall who summoned several others for a rescue party .... only to discover belatedly that Harry himself had evacuated Mrs. Clark to St. Mungo's, apparently just in the nick of time. Ryan briefly related Sarah Lindsey's close call: her harrowing experience that involved the family scrambling to get clear of anti-portkey wards: a mad dash through an orchard, lots of impromptu shield spells (both protego and contego), some athletic hex dodging, a couple well timed reducto spells and very a heroic family dog who just barely managed to reach the portkey in time. Harry already knew that the Lindsey family had escaped; he had stood outside their property and had verified that all had escaped to Hogwarts, but he still found himself exhaling deeply as Ryan's dramatic rendition drew to a happy close. He had guessed last spring that the coming summer might be a tense one for his students. He took pride in hearing the range of skills that the students had made use of in their close calls, but he also had to come to grips with how quickly the death eaters were adapting their tactics. He scowled and vowed to modify his lessons accordingly, and try to find some way to get one step ahead of them again.

Ginny directed his attention to the old clock down the street to remind him that the trunk should be nearly ready for pickup. As Ginny stood up, Harry flagged down Florean to give him their vouchers and a gratuity. As Florean approached, Harry beckoned him in conspiratorially. "Sir, could you do me a favor please?" he asked.

Florean nodded, looking at him with the inquisitive air of someone meeting a person who seemed vaguely but indeterminately familiar.

Harry handed him ten galleons. "In addition to a gratuity for yourself, I would like to anonymously cover the bill for that table of students. If they ask questions, could you perhaps say that dedicated students such as themselves are a credit to our society, and please wish them a fine year at school?"

Without a word, Florean gave them both a friendly wink and whisked away their dishes.

By the time Harry and Ginny had made it up the steps of the magical storage shop, Ginny glanced back to Fortescue's. The students were standing, preparing to leave. Mary-Jo had her change purse out and was speaking to Florean. She paused in confusion, glanced at the table Ginny and Harry had vacated, then scanned up and down the street .... then she caught Ginny's eye.

Busted!

Ginny couldn't help flashing a quick smile. She waved as she closed the store door behind herself. "We are really going to have to find new disguises, Harry!" she whispered.

"I'm nervous about this." Ginny said, gripping Harry's hand as they stepped into the Gringotts cart.

"I hear you!" Harry laughed. "Every time I get in one of these carts, I wonder if this time I'll lose my lunch. So far I've held everything in, but I promise to aim away from you if I feel green."

"No, silly!" she said, punching him gently on the arm. "I'm nervous about going into your vault."

Harry gave her a quizzical look. Griphook was studiously concentrating on getting them settled into the cart, but Ginny wondered if he too might be listening curiously to this little exchange.

"Harry ...." she wrestled to explain something that she wasn't certain she fully understood herself. "I latched onto you last year because I was convinced that it .... it was the right thing to do. I always saw how you were putting so much of yourself into trying to help others, but almost nobody was ever giving anything back to you. I thought I could do something about that."

He looked at her, transfixed, with a puzzled expression on his face, but she studiously avoided his gaze.

"So, I'm afraid that when I step into your vault and I see what's in there, it will cancel out what I really wanted to accomplish. I'll look like I'm only here for your money; suddenly I'll just be one more person who takes, takes, takes from Harry Potter. Even if I don't take anything, I'll ...." She breathed deeply and shook her head. "Oh, I can't explain it very well .... but when I tried to convince you last year that you could trust me and that I wanted to help, it never occurred to me that I might end up .... stepping into a Gringotts cart with one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain."

The cart was moving now, but Griphook seemed to be controlling the speed much more carefully than goblins usually did. Harry frowned, deep in thought, struggling to articulate a response.

Anticipating all the standard Harry Potter answers, Ginny raised her hand with fingers extended to enumerate all of the cliche responses. "Harry, I know that you don't care about money and that you have more than you'll ever use. I know that you like for your friends to have things that you know that they would enjoy. And I'm fully aware that I already let you spend way too much on that trunk for me .... I'm know I'm going to love the trunk, but I don't need stuff like that to love you, and I'm not sure I would have let you buy it if your eyes didn't always light up like little green Christmas lights when you give special gifts to people."

Ginny wrung her hands. "Harry, you've saved my life I don't know how many times. You take hours and days to teach me things whenever I ask you to. You listen to me when I go off on rants and wild tangents. You put up with my ridiculous family. And now you're giving me things no Weasley could ever afford. I'm afraid .... that I'm being selfish." She puffed a stray lock of hair from her face in annoyance, and stared pointedly at the dim rock wall sliding past. "I'm so confused!" she groaned.

The cart began moving leisurely through starkly vertiginous subterranean vistas, but Ginny barely noticed. Harry took her hand and tried to catch her eye, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. "Ginny," he began, "I know a lot of selfish people. And we all know that I've been self-absorbed and thoughtless at times. But you are .... not .... selfish!"

She continued to focus on the the wall; her hand lay softly in his, non-responsive to his grip. Harry pulled himself a little closer to her and lowered his voice. "Let's think objectively. Today, on this belated birthday of yours, why don't you think about everything I'm asking of you? Consider everything that you're giving me, maybe without even realizing. Let's see .... we haul ourselves out of bed way too early because I've got a crazy schedule. We put on disguises and go everywhere in secrecy because people are out to get me. I drag you to the Potter vault to pick out furnishings for our Hogwarts quarter because I don't have a clue about sensible decorating. To pick out books for the research you're doing for me."

"Us." Ginny said.

"Huh?"

"Us. We. Take all of those sentences of yours and replace every 'me' or 'I' with 'us' or 'we'."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, of course you're right. But even if you're getting something out of this, I'm still grateful .... and the fact that I'm so grateful means that you're not being selfish."

Ginny frowned thoughtfully but didn't say anything.

Harry squeezed her hand again. This time it squeezed back a little.

"And we still haven't considered the last thing that I needed to ask you." he added.

"What's that?" she asked. Out of curiosity, her eyes briefly met his before turning away again.

"Well, the thing is that there is money in the vault .... quite a bit. From what Griphook told me ...." Harry looked at the goblin operating their cart, who gave a slight nod in recognition. ".... it seems that there's more money coming in each year from holdings, investments, stuff that he's patiently tried to explain to me. The crazy thing is that there's a lot more new money coming in this year than I've spent on buying our home, paying for Hogwarts, shopping for new clothes, performance brooms, ice cream for friends, custom trunk for someone I love ...."

He paused as they approached a fork in the track. He vaguely recalled seeing this fork before, but it had been through horrified eyes, peering in terror through tensed fingers that seemed like woefully inadequate protection against a high speed crash. This time, however, he could actually make out black and white signs, lettered in intricate swirls of Gobbledygook. Griphook noted the sign and switched them smoothly onto the left-turning track.

Harry shook himself back to his train of thought. "So, what I'm saying, Ginny, is that if there's anyone who should be worried about being selfish, it's really me. And this is especially true now. Think of all of the death eater attacks this summer: houses destroyed, families torn apart, children orphaned .... then think about all the ridiculous wealth in this vault."

He bit his lip. A quick glance told him that Ginny was doing the same; empathizing with his discomfort. He took a deep breath and continued. "Winning this war is not just about killing Voldemort. It's not just about protecting innocent people from death eaters. It's about preserving our way of life. I would feel so much better if we could protect everyone; I know we're trying and we're going to keep trying, but even if Ministry digs its head out of the sand; even if all our friends become ten times stronger; even if you and I devote every waking moment to trying to protect innocent people .... there are still going to be victims. Some will be dead, but lots of the victims will be the ones who survive, but .... they're sad, scared, injured, poor, alone ...."

Another deep breath.

"So what if we .... you and I .... set aside a chunk of what's in the vault to try to help? Like, maybe establish a place of refuge for evacuated families. Suppose we renovated and reinforced one of the old Potter properties ....?" Harry began.

Ginny's eyes narrowed and she turned to face him. "Customized wards and personal protection charms. We can talk to the twins about bulk orders." she suggested.

"Home repair or reconstruction grants. Support programs for widows, widowers and orphans?" Harry offered.

Ginny's smile began to blaze. "Hogwarts tuition for needy children. Childcare for single parent households."

"Ginny, would you be willing to help? Could we set you up on a charitable trust? As far as Gringotts is concerned, you attained the age of financial majority over a year ago, so if you really wanted to run with some of these ideas I'd be thrilled to let you have at it."

Ginny nodded with an eager smile.

Harry turned to the goblin. "Griphook, do you think we could arrange to meet with you sometime in the next two weeks to discuss setting up a separate account for Miss Weasley?"

Griphook turned to face them. He had the hint of a smile on his normally inscrutable face. His eyes sparkled in a way that neither Harry or Ginny could recall ever having seen from a goblin before. "I would be most honored to help you with this, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley." he said softly, as he turned back to the controls.

"Thank you!" they intoned. Ginny's hand squeezed Harry's fiercely.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley?" Griphook inquired, as he fingered a red button.

"Yes?"

"For your own comfort and safety, could I ask you to please take a very firm hold of the cross-bars provided in this cart?"

Ginny's eyes went wide; she grappled for a secure handle. Harry unwrapped her hand, guided it to the nearest cross bar, and ducked into a prone position.

Harry spent the next three and a half minutes concentrating .... very hard .... on some pleasant recent memories.

"Ouch, you're going to break my back, woman." Nick moaned as Mary-Jo loaded another two thick books onto his stack. "What's with all the extra reading?"

"If you're going to ace your OWLs, you need to get more than just the classroom perspective." Mary-Jo explained. "Some of the required texts are pretty lame, and even the best ones are full of loose conjecture .... you must open your mind, young grasshopper!" she intoned in an affected voice of venerable wisdom. "Plus, I'd like for us to try out some new ideas in HA this year; Harry's a great teacher, but he gives his best when you push him a bit."

"Huh? Okay." Nick acceded agreeably. "Hey, do you really think that was the PotterProf at Fortescue's?"

"Hummmm.... I think so, but I'm not positive." Mary-Jo responded as she scanned the shelves. "If it was him, then it was a pretty good disguise. But let's think logically: .... A. It would make perfect sense for him to be going around in disguise considering how many people want to either kill him or capture him .... or snog him senseless. Girls, I mean." she clarified with a smirk.

"Girls want to kill Harry Potter?" Nick asked, with an expression of feigned confusion.

Mary-Jo scowled. "You Griffindors are impossible! Now, as I was thoughtfully explaining to you before I was so ridiculously interrupted .... A. It makes sense he's in disguise, .... B. It would such a Harry Potter move to pick up the cheque anonymously, and .... C. Nobody walks the way Harry Potter walks."

"Oh? And how exactly does Harry Adonis Potter walk?" Ryan asked with a devious glint in his eye, as he approached them, balancing a stack of heavy texts on one uplifted hand.

Mary-Jo turned from the shelves. "You're a boy Ryan, I wouldn't expect you ...." She paused as Ryan continued past them toward the cashier. Her jaw dropped. "Stop it right there, Jenkins!"

Ryan stopped, and spun fluidly back to face his fellow Slytherin, books still balanced in a display of ostentatious physicality. "Yes, m'love?" he crooned, eyebrows upturned in an expression of mock innocence.

"When .... how .... did you learn to walk like Harry Potter?" she demanded.

"Sorry, what's that you're asking?" Ryan asked, cupping an ear with the one hand that was not still expertly balancing twenty pounds of books. "Oh? You were wanting to know how Harry Potter learned to walk like Ryan Jenkins?"

Mary-Jo burst out laughing, opened her mouth to say something, but then abruptly stopped. With a frown, she glanced at something in her hand that looked like a compact make-up mirror. After a moment's scrutiny, she looked back up to Ryan and Nick and soundlessly mouthed to them, "Hermione Granger." She gestured toward an adjacent aisle with a subtly flick of her eyes. "Spying on us."

Hermione frowned. The chattering teenagers had fallen abruptly silent and were now all filing quietly up to the cashier to make their purchases. Oh well. It didn't really matter — it was not as if anything in their juvenile repartee had shed tangible new insight. She already knew about the Harry Potter personality cult that was spreading among the wizarding youth; she was aware that girls fawned over him and boys aspired to his heroic persona. Their discussion had not given Hermione any more real impression about just how dangerous Harry and all his influence might be. Besides, she had not made this special trip to Flourish and Blotts to eavesdrop on silly kids; she had come here to purchase books. Specifically, she had come to buy a number of semi-restricted volumes that the merchant had refused to distribute via owl order.

Find books and get out, she told herself. This special shopping trip was risky. These days a muggle born witch wandering around Diagon Alley all alone was inviting trouble, like wearing a big bulls eye on her back. Yet, one thing more risky than being a lone muggle born witch wandering around Diagon Alley would have been being a lone muggle born witch dragging two muggle parents around. So she had left her parents back in their hotel room in Hounslow and had taken the long tube ride in by herself. Yes, it would have been great to have a couple friends along to keep her company; to provide strength in numbers .... but friends were not exactly her strong suit right now.

She was sifting through a disorganized pile of old texts and cheap paperbacks scattered in the bargain books bin when she saw something that brought the ghost of an amused grin to her face: a scuffed, dusty, never-opened copy of "Magical Me" by Gilderoy Lockhart. Flickering memories crossed her mind: the pompous author dragging a bewildered little Harry into the middle of a circle of flashing cameras, beaming an insipid, plastic author's smile and spouting lots of big, meaningless words, choreographed with heroic poses. All the while clutching poor, miserable little Harry who had appeared to be desparately trying to dissolve into the carpet.

That was the Harry Potter that Hermione knew: poor .... little .... miserable .... Hermione's smile faltered. Yes, Harry had frequently been miserable .... but he had always been filled to the brim with good intentions, empathy, naive kindness and innocence. In those days, she, Hermione, had been his rock; his source of knowledge and wisdom; the mature, caring hand guiding him through the maze of life. Or at least trying to guide him anyway. It seemed that every year their lives had invariably seemed to slip out of the comfort zone, sliding to a precarious ledge from which it had taken all of her best efforts .... okay, all of their combined best efforts .... to escape and survive. She did not miss the sensation of life spiraling out of control, but she recalled fondly the thrill of resolution: the pride at having conquered yet another evil threat or injustice.

She missed that exhillaration .... but to be honest, it was more that she missed Harry — she missed every miserable little ounce of her one-time best friend. That Harry was gone. He was no longer poor or little, he was no longer her best friend, and he was doing everything in his power to try to convince the world that he was not miserable. Somewhere in all of these transformations, he had become .... unrecognizable .... unknowable.

Or had he? Was the old Harry still hidden in there somewhere? Hermione Granger had overcome some daunting challenges in the six years since she had arrived at Hogwarts. She might now have been reduced to working all alone, but she was still on the case. She was confident that she was somehow going to solve this riddle: the inexplicable metamorphosis of Harry Potter!

As with all things in life, a book would hold the answers. Perhaps this one would be the key: she fingered the store's only copy of "Mind Control: How to Detect and Defend Against Legilimency, Imperius and Seven Other Forms of Cerebral Violation" by Constanzia Parlaporte. From a very quick skim, she had decided that it would be adequate for a start, but she wished she could find more books on the subject; get a more balanced perspective on mind magic. It irritated her to accept the wisdom of a Harry Potter groupie, but she had to admit that the girl had been right: very few books on magic were truly rigorous; too many discussions tended to focus on the author's personal experience rather than a more complete sampling of outcomes from different witches and wizards. Once one progressed beyond basic spells, one found more and more examples of published techniques that would only work for some lucky people, and failed for everyone else.

She slowly walked the book up toward the cashier. Regardless of whether this book would tell her what she needed it know, it was worth a try because she had exhausted the Hogwarts library in her attempt to apprehend Harry's mysterious machinations. Even Professor Dumbledore had admitted to being at a loss for how to handle Harry. He had come to her in mid-July with a plan to try to capture Harry, to ensconce him in safety before he either got himself killed or permanently damaged the fragile plans of the Order of the Phoenix. In the ensuing discussion, she had been unnerved to discover that Dumbledore planned to use force. She had then become even more stunned by the headmaster's subsequent admission that he already had tried to forcibly detain Harry, and had finally been completely shocked to hear that the attempt had failed.

If the headmaster of Hogwarts was resorting to force to try to subdue Harry, then Hermione was starting to wonder if her own worst .... nearly unimaginable .... fears about her dear friend might actually be real: that it was not just that he was becoming powerful and charismatic — he was growing dangerous, unethical, and his burgeoning powers might prove threatening to the wizarding world. Hermione believed that Harry still intended to do good. But so had Gellert Grindelwald.

Hermione shuddered. If only Harry had come to her last year for the help she was trying so hard to give him, then surely it would have headed all of this off. Whatever he was planning, he could still have done it .... her way, responsibly, safely. And she would never have been driven to this untenable position: considering drastic measures to stop him .... in order to save him .... perhaps save the world .... from some irresponsible mission of his that she had still not been able to fathom.

If only Harry had not shut her out! If only he'd shown her some trust. Then he would have earned her trust. But now there was this wall of mistrust, and behind it he was definitely hiding .... something. Until the headmaster had arrived on her doorstep with his desperate plan, she had been prepared to believe that whatever Harry was hiding, it was probably something stupid and self-damaging, but likely not utterly perilous. Now, however, she had no idea what to believe. Every time she surfaced from her attempts to understand the strange and amazing things Harry had already accomplished, she would discover he'd effected a bunch of wild, new accomplishments.

She let out the long, seething sigh of frustration of someone who lives to know and understand. Professor Dumbledore had been no help whatsoever. If anyone was more frustratingly secretive than Harry, it was probably the headmaster: he evaded, dissembled, twinkled his blue eyes; he wanted her help, not her questions. Regrettably,.... she winced in annoyance at the recollection .... she had acceded, helped him unquestioningly. And all that selfless sacrifice was for naught.

Dumbledore he had erected dozens of elaborate charms around her parents house intended to immobilize Harry upon contact. At Dumbledore's request, she had triggered the HA portkey that Harry had entrusted to her in case she was ever in danger. Moments later .... for the first time in all the years that Hermione had known Harry .... she had looked out of her bedroom window and seen him standing in the street outside of her home.

Ice still filled the pit of her stomach at the thought of him standing there. Alone. Watching.

For all the mistrust that he had shown her over the past year .... she had called him and he had come. In a coerced but deliberate act of deception, she had sent him a message conveying that she was in grave peril .... and there he had stood, ready to engage in mortal combat to save her. From nothing.

As Hermione stood in the middle of Flourish and Blotts, every muscle in her body went tense with the knowledge that in one desperate act of obedience to an inscrutable headmaster, she had betrayed Harry. In one stroke she had .... justified .... all of Harry's mistrust in her.

And even then; even after she had thrown away her credibility as a friend, for reasons she still didn't understand, it had failed. Harry had been one step short of triggering the wards and confinement charms. But he never took that final step. Maybe he somehow sensed the trap; perhaps in the end his mistrust was greater than his trust? He stood stood there, called out for Dumbledore to show himself (at least Harry clearly blamed him too) and then, after a brief exchange that conveyed his contempt, he departed.

After that, the rest of the summer passed as if that whole thing had never happened. Harry didn't die. The Order of the Phoenix continued to plod along. Death eaters came and went here and there; if anything their activities seemed to slow as the summer progressed. And finally, to finally cap the whole sordid affair in ignominy, she had received a very short, dismissive owl from Dumbledore:

Dear Miss Granger,

Thank you most kindly for your assistance earlier this summer. You'll be happy to hear that I had a cordial discussion with Mr. Potter last week and we are now working toward a congenial and productive relationship. I don't think you need to worry about him any more, although you are always welcome to approach me with any concerns that might arise.

As I review test results from the past spring, I am happy to offer you hearty congratulations on another fine year of scholastic excellence. I am looking forward to your continued achievement in this, your final, year at Hogwarts!

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

"Excuse me?!!" she had shrieked across her bedroom. The poor owl who had delivered the note had nearly fallen off her window sill in alarm. It still amazed her at how completely thoughtless it seemed. Not the slightest little mention of .... 'Oh, and sorry if I permanently destroyed the last vestiges of your friendship with Harry' ....??

Hermione had torn the parchment to small bits, stomped on the tiny shreds and incincerated them in a blast that had produced a sizeable hole in her bedroom floor. And then she had cried for an hour in confusion and frustration.

How could the headmaster have exploited her loyalty so callously like that, and then just blandly told her to forget about it?

Finally, after taking time to cool down and examine the situation objectively, she had come to the conclusion that there were three possible explanations. The first scenario was that the headmaster was showing his age. Hermione had noticed that Hogwarts faculty, in particular Professor McGonagall, were growing less subtle in their exasperation with the headmaster's leadership. She had never detected anything like that in previous years. Perhaps Dumbledore had started to become prone to overreaction and misjudgments? The second possibility was more sinister: if it was true that Harry's magical prowess was so advanced, might it be possible that he had somehow managed to interfere with the headmaster's mind? If so, might he have similarly compromised other people? How many? Who? The third prospect, which Hermione found the most attractive but least likely, was that Harry had decided to come clean to Dumbledore regarding his plans, and he and the headmaster had negotiated a viable compromise. Between these three plausible explanations, she could not decide. But she was going to find out!

Having produced her wand as evidence that she had reached the age of maturity, and rolled up her sleeve to show that she did not sport the dark mark, Hermione purchased the book and opened the door back out into the bright daylight and bustle of Diagon Alley. After two steps forward, she froze: there were three people standing in wait for her.

"Miss Granger?" said a boy with dark hair as he stepped forward, his hand extended in collegial greeting. "I don't know if you recognize me, but my name is Ryan Jenkins. I also attend Hogwarts and recognized you from Professor Potter's defense training." Ryan continued to hold out his hand patiently, even though she had not yet offered her own in response.

Hermione looked from the boy to his two friends. She recognized Nick Jones — a Griffindor going into fifth year — her eyes widened to see how much he had .... filled out .... over the summer. Hermione had never gotten to know him well, but he had always seemed pleasant. She also recognized the girl from prefect meetings: Mary-Jo Clark, a Slytherin going into sixth year.

"Please pardon the intrusion, but my friends and I noticed that you're shopping alone." Ryan continued with a look of polite concern. "That of course is no business of ours, but given the current security situation, I have been advised that, whenever possible, students should stick together in small groups while out in public. The three of us have finished all of our shopping, and have a bit of free time before we need to head home. We were wondering if you might like some company on the rest of your errands .... just as a friendly precaution."

"Umm .... okay .... thanks." Hermione responded, and finally shook Ryan's hand timidly. "I'm actually done shopping too, but maybe we could walk over to the Leaky Cauldron together?"

Chapter 3. Fawkes Speaks    (August 31, 1997)

"Mrrrrrrowwwwwwww!!"

Apparition. To Ginny, the word meant freedom and instantaneity. To Emerald, you could stuff freedom and instantaneity — she wanted to go home … now!

The sudden silence of the birds along the tree-lined path outside of Hogsmeade was an expression of perverse solidarity. It probably meant, 'Could somebody please take that cat home?'

"Oh, Emmie-sweets... Ginny softly cooed, bravely pretending that her shoulder and neck hadn't just acquired ten small claw holes.

"... Owwwwrrrrr??!!" Emerald persisted as she debated climbing the side of Ginny's head.

This argument was not a new one. The general script went something like this: apparition was the fastest and easiest mode of transportation, and Ginny found it less physically uncomfortable than either portkey or floo travel. Brooms were more fun, but no sweet little pet of hers was going to fly three hundred feet above the ground at 85 miles per hour when there was a faster, safer way to travel. Emerald's counter-argument: flagellation, disorientation, soot and squeezing through narrow tubes might be permissible for cat food, but not for cats; brooms were strictly for sharpening claws, and she dearly loved the south window sill at Magpie Lane, from which she had been unceremoniously plucked several minutes ago.

And Magpie Lane smelled better.

An onslaught of subtle, strange animal odors drifting in from the Forbidden Forest now had Emerald's nose twitching in intense agitation. Fortunately Harry knew instinctively what to do. He closed his eyes and raised his face to fill Emerald's field of vision, lending her his familiar scent. He channeled his inner panther to produce a sound that both Ginny and Emerald would admit was at least functionally similar to purring.

Thankfully, it worked. Emerald immedately began rubbing Harry's nose and within seconds was vigorously marking his chin with the back of her neck. Ginny breathed audibly as the claws loosened, the purring intensified and Emerald re-established a measure of comfort in her arms.

"It's okay, sweets …We'll go get settled, you can have a tasty treat and then explore your nice new home,” Ginny assured soothingly. "And someday when you're older …" Ginny explained, "you'll realize how much better it is to travel this way and not have to stew for hours on that nasty train with all those strange noises and smells."

Noises and smells on the Hogwarts Express … Harry choked as a wisecrack leaped to the tip of his tongue, begging for release … only to be staunched by a withering glance from Ginny.

"Shush! If you scare the kitty, you catch the kitty,” she informed him sternly.

Good point. Harry took a quick look around at all the climbable trees, briefly considered how much trouble he would get into if he ever attempted Accio kitty … and wisely settled for a slightly twisted smile and a wink.

Emerald blinked. Ginny rolled her eyes. But secretly she smiled.

Luckily after only three minutes of quiet walk in the glorious late summer sun, all was forgiven and forgotten. The birds resumed their merry chatter. Emerald watched, listened and sniffed intently, and otherwise purred contentedly in the crook of Ginny's arm. Harry turned his face toward the sky with a sunny smile. Ginny's free hand went on a brief and successful expedition to capture his arm. She gave it a friendly squeeze before making her way further down to commune with his palm and fingers.

Quiet moment together, the makings of a treasured memory. Enjoy it now … while you can.

Tomorrow around this time, hundreds of students would be steaming northwards on the Express. Having successfully fought their battles with crowds and oversized trunks, having waged the requisite pecking-order skirmishes to determine who got to sit with whom in which compartment, most of them would have settled into situations that, on the comfort spectrum, would range up from somewhere a bit better than 'completely odious'. Having exhausted these prerequisite struggles, it would now be just about time for the standard program of pranks, inter-house tensions, and 'how was your summer' one-upmanship — all of the best values to be teaching our leading citizens of the future.

Some grand old traditions could use a bit of adjustment.

But not by Ginny and Harry. Today, they were taking a walk. There were no crises or silly family members to deal with. No disguises or subterfuge to effect. No crowds. Almost no trunks …

Savoring a breath of fresh air, Ginny reflexively tapped a small box inside a buttoned pocket on the lining of her robe. Good — it was still there. Next to apparition, this was her second most favorite feature of this traveling mode she had learned from Harry. The only drawback was that it would be a fair bit easier to lose a two ounce miniaturized box than a sixty pound trunk, so she found herself checking for it periodically. Considering that the box in question contained more than half of her life's possessions, she resolved that once she got it safely stowed in their quarters, she would put a reliable tracking charm on it. Harry had given her a rough sketch of what the ideal way to travel might look like; she would be happy to go the extra mile to perfect it.

Familiar sites reminded Ginny that travel mode was not the only thing that was now different in their lives. After a few minutes walk, the trees separated to reveal the imposing gothic spires of their destination: the wave of subconscious associations was both so familiar … and so changed. The stone halls of Hogwarts no longer demanded their toleration of classes, examinations, and arbitrary Snape derision. Now she and Harry would be true second-class citizens with the power of self determination, and the freedom from Professor Binns' soporific droning. A year with Mr. Potter could certainly be a life changing experience! Sure, there were those little niggling details like perpetual mortal peril, and shouldering the future of the wizarding world … but Ginny wouldn't trade this new existence for anything. All that mattered right now was who she was with (Harry), what they were doing (walking hand-in-hand) and what was bothering them (nothing … for the time being).

"Life is good!" she announced to the world.

A very important part of her world agreed. He swept her into a kiss, as passionate as he dared without upsetting the cat. The touch of their lips was an enlivening spark to compensate for a late night and early morning. The soft pressure of their mouths was a tonic of joy to dispell worries and pain. A gentle tickle, from whiskers of a curious cat, was a reminder that for all their responsibilities and dedication … there was still time for the occasional giggle

They didn't always remember it, but that Harry and Ginny were still young; they had every right to play, be carefree, and laugh. And right now they were in just the right mood for it. But somewhere in the giocoso melody of their tender exchange was a droning tanpura, rising up to remind them that they had a schedule to keep.

They pulled back an inch — just enough distance to permit their shining eyes to beam into each other's souls for one more long moment. The fingers of Harry's free hand traced a crescent along Ginny's cheek then drifted off. Harry's smile kissed Ginny's nose and they reluctantly separated and resumed the last hundred yards of the path, giving the birds one final opportunity to serenade them as the grand old castle filled their sight.

It was only when they reached the top of the front steps did they encountered the first real challenge to their good spirits. "Late,” grumbled Argus Filch, tapping at his non-existent wrist watch. He rose from a stool in the shadows, and hobbled out to impede their progress.

Harry had come prepared for precisely this. "We're sorry sir!" he said, pulling from his robe a small stick that he wandlessly restored to the size and shape of a handsomely carved cherry stave, topped with the curved silver horns of a mountain sheep. "Would you be willing to accept this as a small token of apology? It's from Twilfitt and Tatting's,” he added, as he handed it to Filch.

The old man examined it in frowning appraisal, and grunted something that sounded vaguely favorable. He let his old cane clatter to the cobbles and used the new stave to tap the discarded stick unceremoniously into a corner. "Follow me to your new quarters. Since you're so late, you'll have … ermmm … two minutes … to settle and freshen yourselves. You are then to proceed directly to the Headmaster's Office."

In spite of their supposed tardiness, their progress up to the guest corridor on sixth floor in the wake of the trudging Filch was decidedly slow and tedious. Harry reflected wryly that the man always seemed capable of much quicker locomotion when pursuing anything he deemed to be mischief.

Fast or slow; let him go.

Harry pondered the man in a light he had never before considered: pity. The days of Filch cat and mouse antagonism were officially over. Harry doubted that the caretaker would ever be a friend to either of them (to be honest, he doubted Filch was ever a friend to anyone … other than his wretched feline, Mrs. Norris) but the old man no longer had any authority over them. And without authority, there was no intimidation. Not that Harry had felt intimidated by anyone in the school for more than a year now; he and Ginny were in charge of their lives and their circumstances. They might be facing enormous challenges, but they were addressing them on their own terms. Banished were the manic years; the endless series of ridiculously inane diversions: detentions, house points, petty squabbles with Ron and Hermione, childish feuds with Draco Malfoy, anything to do with Dolores Umbridge. How could such minutiae have always conspired to push their lives toward some precarious brink year after year? No more stupid distractions — goodbye and good riddance!

But it was not all roses. For better or for worse, the stakes were now so much higher. Harry found himself anxiously awaiting, and perhaps even dreading, their scheduled meeting with the head-master. He and Ginny had been so absorbed in NEWT preparations all August that they had paid little attention to the world around them. Since the frenetic day of the Augusta Longbottom funeral, he had encountered no visions, and registered no distress signals from the charmed portkeys of his students and friends. A month of unbroken equanimity; a luxury both precious … and worrisome, for he knew too well that a quiet Voldemort was a deadly snake waiting to strike. So, going into a meeting with the one person best equipped to sense and anticipate Voldemort's conduct and schemes, Harry was on one hand worried that Dumbledore would have bad news: incidents and tragedies that he and Ginny had overlooked during their month of study. On the other hand, he was perhaps even more concerned that Dumbledore would know or tell them nothing; that the meeting would leave them as blind to possible impending perils as he believed they were now.

On the sixth floor, Filch stopped only long enough to indicate the doors to Harry's and Ginny's separate quarters, point vaguely toward male and female restroom and shower facilities down the hall and tell them the password to Dumbledore's office. Harry had spent very little time along this corridor before, but it was quite familiar to Ginny since her parents, Bill, Charlie and Percy had all stayed in rooms up here on various visits to the school. After Filch departed, Ginny ducked into her quarters to give Emerald a ninety second orientation (i.e., set out food and litter box and stroke her behind the ears) before re-emerging with a smile. On their way to the stairwell, she pointed out a small visitor common area to their right.

"I have some designs on that nook,” she said with a devious glint in her eye. "Remind me to talk about it later when we have time."

Harry nodded and smiled. He didn't really know what Ginny intended for the space, but his experience with Ginny Weasley ideas was that they were invariably good ones.

The two of them walked in silence up to the seventh floor, each lost in their own vague ponderings and trepidations. "Absessed molar,” Harry told the gargoyle, who promptly admitted them to the moving staircase to ascend to their meeting with headmaster.

Professor McGonagall had apparently preceded them into the office. Harry and Ginny were both glad for her presence — they trusted her implicitly as a responsible, moderating influence who had the strength of will to counteract some of the headmaster's less prudent inclinations. She was obviously not there only for their benefit though — she and Dumbledore were already embroiled in details regarding school security; the two senior faculty nodded pleasantly to their guests, but continued their two-way dialogue.

Ginny was making her way to a seat on the left of Professor McGonagall, when Harry caught her hand. He instead directed her toward Fawkes, who had observed their entry very intently. Harry reached his open hand toward Fawkes who bent his neck over to brush Harry's fingers in a felicitous manner similar to Emerald's affections. But even as Harry began to caress the bird's neck and shoulder feathers, Fawkes's eyes locked with Ginny's, and the bird emitted a soft, vibrant trill.

Ginny felt a momentary shiver, followed quickly by a revitalizing wave of warmth and compassion. Complicitly, but not entirely of her own volition, she approached the bird and extended the back of her fingers to stroke his handsome breast feathers. As she raised her hand to Fawkes, Harry lowered his. Fawkes leaned into her cupping fingers, holding her eyes, while his lilting voice filled the room … but spoke only to her. The dull background conversation in the office melted in her ears, blending with the soft undulation of her own pulse streaming through her auditory canals. Her visual focus softened until all she perceived was the red and gold of the bird's feathers; the deep sparkling grey of its eyes. She felt Harry's arms brace her gently around her waist as her legs teetered. In the security of his embrace, she cast loose the cable binding herself to the mundane, and set herself adrift.

Images, sensations, half-formed dreams and emotions flickered across her mindscape … a ray of hope … the touch of a gentle hand after a bad dream… memories … pain and fear … redemption and joy.

Eventually, Fawkes's song faded softly to silence; the bird held her gaze a moment longer, then slowly raised his head and turned to gaze out the window. Ginny lowered her hand, which Harry folded into his own like some delicate and mysterious treasure. He led her … she followed trancelike … to their seats in front of the headmaster.

Professor Dumbledore had continued to speak throughout the whole episode, and as Ginny gradually drifted back to the present, she began to register the conversation at hand.

"… I'm afraid we will have no choice, Minerva. Regardless of real motive, the board can argue that the summertime attacks constitute a state of emergency."

"But Albus, half of the aurors can't be relied upon for anything more than Ministry mandated spying and interference."

"Of course, of course. The Ministry is useless for anything serious like public security and threat detection, but they have exquisitely refined plans for subjugating hazardous creatures like students and teachers."

"Oh, please don't disguise your opinions on my account, Albus,” McGonagall said with a wry smile. "So what should we do? Can we specifically request known, trustworthy quantities such as Nymphadora and Kingsley?"

"Ms. Tonks perhaps. I can guarantee that Rufus will not lend us Kingsley, but we can argue, and perhaps appeal directly to Kingsley, that we deserve others among his more trustworthy staff."

"Yes, there would have to be some other aurors who are competent and honorable. But is the mandate imminent, Albus? Do we have more time to … to find the best ways to accommodate our less-than-welcome guests?"

"Yes." The headmaster smiled. "Our man in the middle is engaged in laudible stalling tactics. We may be able to hold off any firm action for a month or so. Ah, but let's leave this topic for now." Dumbledore turned to Harry and Ginny, smiling in a warm manner that Ginny found only moderately suspicious. "My sincere apologies for neglecting you. I will be happy to provide you with a confidential but deserved elaboration on the discussion that you have just walked into, but first let me welcome you both to Hogwarts now as scholars, as professionals, and as valued contributors to the well being of our wizarding nation." He held his hands out to them, palms outwards in a classical gesture of greeting. "Please also permit me to express my heartfelt congratulations, and my profound lack of surprise, for your exceptional performances on the recent NEWT examinations."

"Thank you sir."

"So, even for former students such as yourselves who know these hallowed halls very well … frighteningly well I dare say … a bit of reorientation must take place to reacquaint you with the institution from your new perspective as staff members. Over the years, a standard scroll has been prepared covering basic policies and procedures. I can't think of many people less qualified than myself to recite its contents as I have largely forgotten every salient policy over the years … but I nonetheless am offering copies of the scroll to both of you so that you may periodically remind me of the various protocols that I am violating." He handed to each of them a fairly thick scroll bound with a white ribbon. "You are encouraged to read them sometime between now and your eventual retirement. People have informed me that parts of the document are most amusing. If you would like to discuss any of the less amusing parts with a knowledgeable authority, then I'm certain that Minerva would be amenable."

Professor McGonagall nodded with a frown that suggested that 'amusing' was not the best term to describe her impression of this orientation session. Dumbledore's affable meander, however, continued unabated.

"As per standard school protocol, I would welcome you to consult with either Minerva or myself on any administrative or academic issue that you might encounter. You may …" he mused, "find me to be somewhat less accessible this year than has often been the case … sporadic travel … and various non-Hogwarts aggravations. So once again, the deputy headmistress may be your best choice for emergencies."

Harry and Ginny nodded their understanding. "Understood sir." Ginny agreed.

"Sir?" Dumbledore chuckled amicably. "An accomplished professional such as yourself is welcome to call me Albus. Ah, but that prompts my latent manners to wonder how I should refer to you, our newest researcher and youngest graduate of Hogwarts in three generations?" he asked, smiling at Ginny with a fondness that she found unsettling.

"Refer to me? Ummm, just Ginny please,” she said softly, with a slight blush.

"Wonderful, thank you Ginny! Too many of us toss about names and titles without due consent; frankly I do it all the time. Of course I would not attempt to try to remember the individual preferences of every student in this school, but you, Ginny, have certainly earned this consideration. I have no intention of negotiating any terms of reference with Harry though." He winked amicably. "He has spent so much time up in this office for one controversy or another that a first name basis was an obvious necessity ages ago. Standard rules and protocols intended for ordinary students have always seemed an unnecessary encumbrance to our creative and accomplished friend."

Harry was aware of the gentle derision. It didn't bother him, but his patience for endless unfocused preamble was beginning to wear thin. He nodded with a stiff politeness and said nothing.

Professor McGonagall, sensing Harry's impatience, turned sharply in her seat to face Harry and Ginny. "Both of you are perfectly welcome to call me Minerva,” she said crisply. "When you speak of me to students, I would ask for a more formal title, but Albus …" she inhaled, "I think we have many more pressing things to discuss in the limited time available."

Dumbledore looked momentarily surprised by the tone, but then collected himself again. "Ah yes, of course. A bit doddering, was I? Oh well. Now what were we discussing when our visitors arrived Minerva?"

"Security, Albus."

"Quite correct. So, as you are well aware, our world is in a state of tension of a different complexion from what we were experiencing twelve short months ago prior to last year's Start of Term Banquet. Similar, but different. Last year we waited with bated breath for Tom Riddle's coming out party. This year we face an uneasy quiet after a tempestuous summer. Perhaps we are in the eye of a storm. I am rather concerned that our adversary is planning some change of tactics, and I am ashamed to admit that I have not yet fully grasped the nature of this change."

"Sir, I will be very interested to hear your thoughts on tactics,” Harry interjected, "But before you do so, I was wondering if you could confirm that there have not been any major death eater attacks since the August 4th assault on Diagon Alley?"

Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully. "Please call me Albus, Harry. And yes, I can confirm that there really have not been any overt operations since then. Several amateurish incidents, but most likely only untrained copycats. None were able to inflict real damage."

He paused for a moment, perhaps inviting interjection or insight from the others. None was forthcoming, so he continued.

"The silence is illusory I assume. I am almost certain that he is preparing to implement some new strategy for destabilizing our society. Sources suggest that he has considered his first plan … the direct application of terror tactics … to have produced very disappointing results. I wonder if perhaps Riddle and his henchmen formulated their plans based on certain assumptions about the relative competence of the Ministry and the Order … and perhaps they were just as surprised as we ourselves were by the unexpected reinforcement that availed itself on our behalf." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and directed a meaningful glance at Harry.

Harry sat with a fixed expression, holding the headmaster's gaze.

"I have given a fair bit of thought to that last attack in Diagon Alley, in which you two participated with distinct credibility. Ill-advised participation perhaps …" Dumbledore ruffled his thick eyebrows at both Harry and Ginny, but did not quite frown. "But yes, also quite credible. Either way, I suspect that the incident may prove to be the last operation of this nature that we see for a while. I also have a suspicion that even before attempting the August 4th operation he had already made a decision to alter strategies: I believe that incident was not truly geared towards killing and spreading panic, but rather to assess some hypothesis … or hypotheses. It is quite possible, Harry, he really meant what he said: that he was looking for an opportunity to personally observe you in action …" Dumbledore trailed off and fell silent for a moment. "In that, he obviously succeeded … but I wonder if there was something else he wanted to learn there. Something about the whole incident leaves me me vaguely uneasy and I simply can't put a finger on it. Let us not dwell on that today, but … if either of you can recall anything unusual, or if you came away with any strange impressions about that incident … please do not hesitate to alert me."

"Yes, certainly sir,” Harry responded. There had indeed been some strange aspects of Voldemort's behavior and magic that day. He and Ginny had discussed and not been able to explain their observations (seemingly corroborated this morning by the students) that Riddle had seemed to be able to tap a secondary, extracorporeal source of power. However, Harry had other priorities right now. The headmaster had shown an unprecedented willingness today to volunteer useful information about the more general state of the war, and Harry hoped to milk a bit more of that while it lasted. So he locked the recollection of Diagon Alley into a secure compartment of his mind, and forged on. "So … Albus … can you share your latest thoughts on Voldemort's evolving tactics?"

"Thoughts and conjecture, yes. I warn you that intelligence gathering has become rather weak and facts are few and far between, but if you were willing to tolerate an old man's unsubstantiated guesswork, I could speculate for a while."

"Please do!" Ginny interjected.

"Certainly, Ginny." The old man paused to assemble his thoughts. "I am guessing that the attacks that we came to know and despise will resume at some point this fall … but they will likely no longer be the main focus of Riddle's thrust. Rather, I think that he will use them as tools of distraction or as weapons of emphasis to amplify the effect of other schemes. As to what sort of schemes we might anticipate, I have identified three possible tactics, either alone or in combination. These include destabilization of the Ministry, strategic kidnappings, and eventually a frontal assault on a significant center of power.

Ginny frowned. "It's no secret that death eaters are pushing parchment in the Ministry. My father knows a lot of them by name — he passes them every day in the hallways …" she shuddered.

"Yes, of course Arthur is one of our most valued sources of information about the Ministry. Along with Kingsley. What neither of them may yet have told you is that the situation is becoming quickly and concertedly worse. From their reports, we have come to suspect that an operation, or more likely a series of operations, is already progressing toward a quiet but functionally complete overthrow."

Ginny gasped.

"I stress again that this is all merely informed speculation, but Kingsley, Arthur and I agree that the current trajectory of subversion will further marginalize all remaining competent, dedicated public servants, who will then be systematically stripped of their last vestiges of authority. The final stage will be one of outright persecution: anyone who resists the power shift, anyone with a history of competent pursuit of just, balanced government, will be vacated from office and possibly shipped to Azkaban on fabricated charges."

Ginny nodded stiffly. Her sunny outlook had slipped away at the door, and was being increasingly supplanted by cold stoicism. Just this morning she had been so excited to start developing charitable support services for people suffering from the conflict. She had somehow failed to consider that her own family might soon join those ranks.

She felt Harry squeeze her hand. His grip was firm, warm and reassuring: a reminder of sustaining virtues such as compassion, commitment and cooperation. Weasleys were nothing if not consummate survivors … and they would not be left to suffer alone.

Dumbledore observed the pair thoughtfully. "You may rest assured, Ginny …" he said softly, "that if and when things fall apart in the Ministry, the Order will do everything that it can to safeguard people such as your father, as well as our dear friends like Kingsley and Ms. Tonks. We will, of course, attempt to assist your brother Percy as well, if he permits us to."

Ginny nodded, smiled appreciatively, and made a mental note to guard her thoughts more carefully around the headmaster.

Professor McGonagall, however, was frowning. "Can you clarify what you mean by safeguard, Albus? Arthur, Kingsley and Nymphadora still present themselves at work every morning like the dedicated employees that they are. If they arrive one morning and are summarily stupefied and shipped to Azkaban without trial, what will be the Order's response?"

The atmosphere of the room became very stiff. Dumbledore gazed toward a corner of the office, carefully marshalling a measured reply. "I don't know and am hoping to avoid that scenario through constant vigilance, as Moody always says. Ideally, Arthur and Kingsley can remain in place for a while longer to continue to report discreetly back to the Order. They are invaluable in helping us to forecast threats and identify those people whom we should count as adversaries, either through their own weaknesses or via the imperius curse. However, I will not force them to remain in their positions. At some point the best safeguard will be for them to leave the building at the end of the day, proceed to an Order safehouse and submit their resignations. We will help them to withdraw before the Ministry situation becomes untenable."

Harry stirred in his chair and leaned forward. "It's not just a matter of vigilance. Knowing when to get them out requires accurate guesses about this trajectory that you mentioned … what measures do you have to say how quickly things are degenerating? Given that the normal status of the Ministry is chaotic dysfunction, how can you sift through all of the usual mean spiritedness and incompetence to figure out what is truly deliberate and sinister? How do you know when the meddling has gone too far?"

"I've drawn a line in the sand,” Dumbledore responded blankly.

"Do tell?" Professor McGonagall inquired,

Dumbledore turned to face her. "The line is drawn at the point where we can no longer hope to interfere with Ministry function." He offered a wry smile. "When Riddle's subversion of the ministry is nearing completion, I expect that it will function with an efficiency many of us might have considered impossible. Dysfunction will be replaced by vindictive, criminal function, achieved by eliminating all checks and balances. To this end, many preliminary dominoes are beginning to fall. We don't have the luxury to sit today and list every recent change that may or may not be a sign of an impending takeover by Voldemort-sympathizing purist zealots, but to give you a very personal example, this morning Amelia Bones and I both received letters of expulsion from the Wizengamot. Also two other very dedicated, competent young witches, Gloria Selwyn and Katie Killick have been relieved of their seats."

Professor McGonagall winced slightly. Ginny nodded in sombre recognition at the names. Harry frowned. He knew better than to bother asking the grounds under which the expulsion orders had been issued. He knew that it would only cause his stomach to roil.

"This certainly put me on notice,” Dumbledore continued, "but it did not quite cross the line. In truth, the Wizengamot has been inutile for some time now. Since you last saw it in action two years ago, Harry, it has steadily shed all objectivity, and sadly, it has now regressed from feeble to obsolete. However, but we still have one firewall: the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Amelia retains influence there. Kingsley is still formidable. Rufus Scrimgeour is thick and frequently misguided, but he is not evil and will still abide by well articulated reason. With these three in place we still have the means to delay the worst miscarriages of government. But when they are compromised …" Dumbledore rose from his seat, "… we burn our bridges and run."

After a moment of silent pacing, he collapsed wearily back into his seat. "I wish I could foresee a scenario under which the Ministry will not fall, but at this point my imagination is failing me. The problem is rooted in the nature of the organization itself. Those people of honesty and integrity who would try to save the Ministry from evil and corruption via the prescribed channels and protocols always encounter so many bureaucratic obstacles; it has always been a tremendous handicap relative to those whose corruption empowers them to scorn and circumvent such barriers. And now, it is ironic that those barriers are all we seem to have left." He sighed. "Amelia, Kingsley and your father will likely all lose their positions sometime during this school year, Ginny. At which point, I suppose, our silver lining will be to gain for the Order the full time services of some of the most skilled, measured and insightful people in the country."

Ginny nodded. For the first time in weeks, she felt homesick. She wished she could gather her father into her arms, run a hand through his thinning hair, comfort him, let him know how profoundly she valued all his sacrifices, tell him she how loved him. She felt the pulse of Harry's hand clasping hers, coursing with empathy … as he bit down firmly on the inside of his cheek.

After a period of silence, Professor McGonagall spoke, saying simply, "Abductions, Albus?"

Dumbledore's glazed expression returned to focus. "Oh yes, thank you Minerva,” he said, turning back to Harry and Ginny, narrowing his eyes. "I am certain that it will come as a shock to you both …" the corners of his mouth twitched toward an ironic version of a smile, completely lacking in any real mirth. "that I consider you to be the two most attractive targets for death eater kidnapping attempts. Perhaps a more elaborate reprise of something like Malfoy's scheme from last June. Although I believe that Lucius paid dearly for his failure in that operation, it is my vague belief that Riddle considers the underlying concept to have been sound and probably would like it to be refined and reattempted. Given that Riddle, for better or for worse, equates Harry's summertime activities with the failure of the terror campaign, I suspect if anything there may now even be an increased premium placed on isolating and eliminating Mr. Potter." Dumbledore studied his folded hands for a long moment, carefully weighing his words. "And I dare say, Ginny, that your name is likely mentioned with increasing frequency around the darkened tables of masked criminals. It is anyone's guess at this point which of you will be targeted first." At this point, Dumbledore's speech slowed, and his voice took on a hardened edge. "While I would prefer not to antagonize anyone at this table, I must admit that I rather preferred it when Riddle only had only one reason for seeking your deaths. Now he has many. I hope very much in the long run that my instinctive reasons for trying to limit your involvement do not prove to be too … painfully apt."

Ginny glanced at Harry, who continued to sit with a dispassioned expression, meeting the headmaster's occasional piercing glances without reaction. She knew that her own temper was not going to be able to abide much more of this tripe. An upbringing with those idiot muggles may have taught Harry how to brush off misguided, blame the victim illogic of this sort, but it was not in Ginny's nature to tolerate it. After seething through the headmaster's final few sentences, she resolved that it would be best to just break the silence now before raw anger flared uncontrollably. Slowly, with measured breaths that forced her to not clench her teeth, she spoke.

"Let us not forget, Headmaster, that Harry's actions this summer saved dozens of lives. He has implemented enormously successful tactics for protecting people that neither the Ministry nor the Order of Phoenix would have conceived of on their own. Let's also remember that Riddle started targeting Harry long ago; long before Harry ever did anything to intentionally confront evil. Sir, did you blame the fifteen month old child that Tom Riddle leveled a killing curse at? Was baby Harry cooing in a particularly threatening way? Did he say "Mumum!" once too often? If anyone is trying to abduct Harry, it is Riddle's fault … I repeat, it is the fault of Tom Riddle … Period. And if they are now trying to kidnap me too, it is the fault of Tom Riddle. Is this repetition becoming sufficiently irritating yet? Because, with all due respect, sir … Albus … I am not going to stop until the point is abundantly clear."

Harry and Professor McGonagall stared at Ginny in open-mouthed astonishment. Ginny's eyes blazed with a controlled intensity that could have skewered a boar. Harry was proud to note, however, that she had held her magic in check. The only thing she might have incinerated was any plausible attempt at a counterargument.

Dumbledore's very wide blue eyes regarded her … not unkindly. He pondered for a moment before responding. "Granted … granted … and, yes … granted. Ginny, I capitulate fully and apologize for rendering an outmoded opinion with neither nuance or sensitivity." He bowed his head contritely for a moment, but then re-emerged with a slight glint of mischief. "But I sincerely hope you will not continue to call me 'Sir Albus'. It confers on me a dignity that I certainly cannot have earned." He allowed his mouth to spread into a smile.

Ginny frowned, replayed the speech in her mind … and then cracked a smile. Harry snickered, and the mirth spread infectiously, even to Professor McGonagall who stifled a snort, as the tension diffused.

After a minute of levity, Dumbledore continued. "In any case, I do think that we must be vigilant in recognizing that two lives remain in grave danger and that this threat may even be amplified relative to what we have, appallingly enough, grown quite accustomed to over these past years. We must further be aware that everyone within Harry's ever growing sphere of acquaintances and acolytes is in jeopardy. I commend Harry on his efforts to prepare people for the dangers we face, but I suspect it likely that Riddle will not hesitate to again use acquaintances to lure either or both of you into peril. It is possible that the only thing delaying another attempt along the lines of the one in June is that Riddle has still not figured out quite how the original attempt actually failed." Dumbledore glanced from Harry to Ginny and back again. "I have to admit my own continued puzzlement … happy puzzlement that is … in this respect."

He paused again. Both Harry and Ginny felt a brief, unpleasant sensation akin to someone furtively ruffling their hair. Then it ceased. If Dumbledore had observed their momentary discomfort, he did not betray it, but rather continued casually. "But we may leave that discussion for another day. I would also like to meet with you again soon to discuss your thoughts on how best to balance our desire for your security on one hand and your inalienable right to freedom on the other. I am gradually accepting that I cannot simply dictate such things, so perhaps we can come to some plausible compromise. Maybe it can be as simple as spending a bit more time in the company of friends like Remus and Ms. Tonks?" He gazed at each of them appraisingly. "But we need not decide anything today."

"Yes, we can certainly consider something like that,” Harry responded guardedly. "And so, your final concern was a larger scale attack?"

"Final concern? Oh yes,” Dumbledore recalled. "I think as threats go, it is the most distant: a full frontal attack …." his attitude became grave again. "On Hogwarts."

The room fell silent.

"Of course, theoretically it could be the Ministry or St. Mungo's, and Tom has expended energy against Diagon Alley several times now, but he has had a certain fascination with Hogwarts for all the time I have known him, and I think he may believe that a successful operation against the school would cripple what remaining morale there is within the British wizarding community. However, I do not believe that Riddle will attempt such an ambitious goal until his people have demonstrated significantly greater and more consistent success in minor operations than he has observed with his death eaters to date. Optimistically, it is possible that a Hogwarts attack might be successfully dissuaded indefinitely."

Looking at his watch, Harry was astounded to note that he had received much much more useful information in the past hour than the headmaster had provided him in the entire preceding seventeen years of his life. It was such an unprecedented trove of knowledge that Harry's natural inclination was to question the motive. Why all this? Why now? However, Harry took his cues from the deputy headmistress and she appeared neither surprised nor suspicious of the man's sudden forthrightness. If she was not surprised, then she must have been forewarned of likely disclosures. If she did not appear wary or dubious of the proceedings, then she must have known of a valid reason for the release. Maybe he could corner her later for a little more personal insight.

Much of the remaining hour was spent discussing what new assistance or accomodation Harry might require for his defense classes. The addition of adult-level instruction produced a number of questions, but Harry had little difficulty in convincing Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall that most adults taking the instruction would likely have skill-levels commensurate with his intermediate or advanced student courses, and that as long as adults had no objection to learning alongside students, there would be little need of any major changes in course planning. Dumbledore decided that their plans to extend HA sessions to address students at three distinct levels of achievement, plus the addition of research responsibilities, would leave Harry with fairly little free time to shoulder much additional core instruction. Professor Caldwell had cited Harry as being more qualified than himself to teach NEWT-level DADA courses, and Harry had already agreed to help in this respect, but that would be his only additional teaching activity. Harry was comfortable with the commitment: he had so recently taken the NEWT test himself that he felt a strong affinity and familiarity with the material and the manner in which it was evaluated. It also helped his confidence immensely to know that the 6th and 7th year NEWT preparations overlapped substantially with his existing beginner and intermediate HA instructional plans.

"Have you had the chance to consider my proposal to rigorously certify adults for their defense skills?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. I had hoped that Kingsley might serve as an external evaluator in this capacity, but he has volunteered Ms. Tonks instead. Are you comfortable with her as an adjudicator?"

"Absolutely!" Harry enthused, sharing a smile with Ginny. Tonks, after all, had already done precisely that sort of certification informally for Ginny this past summer.

"We will have to make your students aware that the certification has no binding value. However, I cannot imagine the Order declining the services of any well-intentioned individual who is of age and has achieved the qualification,” Dumbledore explained.

This left only one significant subject to discuss. Ginny.

"Ginny and I have had tentative discussions regarding possible research topics,” Harry began. "But we have had to put our most serious deliberations on hold for the past month while we focused on NEWTs."

"It made sense to delay making any firm decisions until after the exams," Ginny added, "because it seemed like having a better understanding of the NEWT material would probably inform how we formulated the projects."

"So, to be honest, I think we need …" Harry looked at Ginny for confirmation, "maybe a week or so before we're ready to make a firm proposal?" Ginny nodded her assent.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, given the importance of the decision, that would certainly be appropriate. In the meantime, I would like to offer you some general guidelines?"

They nodded.

"Minerva and I have been making the assumpion, Ginny, that you might be intending to work with Harry. Is this correct?"

Ginny nodded warily.

"In my discussions with the rest of the faculty, there is a basic level of support for this,” Dumbledore confirmed. "However several of my colleagues have emphasized that because Harry himself is so exceptionally youthful, you should both avail yourselves of the extensive experience in the school when pursuing your advanced research. Given the NEWT results, I might expect Ginny's natural research focus would be some project involving either transfiguration, charms or the defensive arts. In defense, Harry, I could be persuaded to argue that you are a leading authority within the school and could likely provide most of the guidance Ginny might require on her way to important groundbreaking studies, but I would nonetheless highly recommend periodic consultation with either Severus, Minerva or myself."

Harry nodded.

"If Ginny chooses studies in charms, then you could certainly not go wrong in coordinating closely with Filius, whom I know would be most delighted to have an opportunity to work with you both. For transfiguration, you must already be aware of Minerva's pre-eminence."

"Thank you Albus, although I doubt that I could ever hold a candle to some of your revolutionary studies,” Professor McGonagall demurred.

"Minerva is nothing if not modest,” Dumbledore said. Then he folded his hands, smiled knowingly and looked alternately at Harry and Ginny. "Now, my friends … I am wondering if either of you has ever thought to inquire why there has never been any instruction at Hogwarts in the area of soul and mind magic." This was a statement, rather than a question so, with fixed smile, he continued without awaiting response. "I don't exactly know myself. The precise reasons may be lost in time, however you are probably both aware that this topic and others related to it have long been the jealously guarded domain of the Department of Magical Mysteries. Ministry efforts in the area have been entrusted strictly to unmentionables and are shrouded in secrecy. However, I am not actually aware of any strict prohibition against independent research in the area …" His gaze drifted past Fawkes and out toward the open window. "So, if by some chance you were to propose a project falling within the subject boundaries, my intellectual instinct would be to permit and perhaps even encourage it."

Harry gazed at the headmaster with the practiced impassion of a skilled occlumens, carefully filing away his one overarching thought. Go ahead and say it old man — you want to know what's going on in our minds.

Dumbledore appeared oblivious to the evasion, and continued casually with the same slightly irritating facial expression. "If you were to lean toward such topics, I would place three stipulations: firstly that no discussion of your research be made with anyone outside of present company,” he gestured around to Professor McGonagall, himself, Harry and Ginny. "Secondly that a second very different research focus area be listed in Ginny's academic record so as to provide a suitable … smokescreen, if you will … to distract any unwanted external attention, and thirdly that any studies be coordinated in part with myself." His eyes scrutinized each face in the room in turn. "I like to fancy myself an expert in the area, and I believe that my experience would be more of a boon than a hindrance to such endeavors."

Silence hung across the room. With an air of distinct curiousity, Fawkes watched the four people as they processed the ultimatum. Harry met Ginny's eyes for a moment, then in a carefully measured tone he responded, "You have our word that the research project or projects we propose will abide by your stipulations."

Harry's eyes met Dumbledore's. Their gazes locked in a curious test of wills and intentions. Without dropping his gaze, Harry continued. "As we mentioned earlier, Ginny and I will aim to have a draft plan on your desk within a week. Could we plan to meet again around that time?"

Professor McGonagall watched the two men's eyes with a slightly nervous air. She coughed. Harry and Dumbledore broke their connection and turned to the deputy headmistress. "Please pardon the interruption, but it is time for me to break for a separate meeting,” she stated, rising from her chair. "May I trust you to behave yourselves in my absence?" she intoned, with inquiring glances at both Dumbledore and Harry.

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, we shall. Thank you for your time, Minerva."

Harry smiled graciously to the departing woman, who nodded courteously.

Dumbledore turned back to Harry. "Your plan sounds reasonable to me,” he agreed. "I cannot yet guarantee a place and time, but I will drop you a note on scheduling options once I have had a chance to review your research proposal."

"Thank you sir,” Ginny responded.

Harry and Ginny both rose. "Yes, we greatly appreciate your time, and especially value your thoughts on … current events,” Harry opined. "Unless you have anything else for us, I think we should leave you to your many other responsibilities?"

Dumbledore nodded, seemingly lost in thought as Ginny and Harry waited briefly for a response that was not forthcoming. Harry led Ginny over to Fawkes again to bid the bird farewell, and then proceeded toward the exit.

"Ginny? Harry?"

They turned in the doorway to face the headmaster.

"Thank you also for your time and thoughts. I also wanted to say that I am quite delighted with your suggestion for seating arrangements within the Great Hall." Dumbledore smiled glowingly. It took Ginny and Harry a moment to shift their train of thought away from their weighty recent discussions to matters more frivolous, but then recognition kicked in. Ginny nodded, smiling, as Dumbledore added "I would not be surprised to discover that our dear friend the Sorting Hat may even be moved to comment on the gesture. It blends rather nicely with a recent theme of his."

They smiled, left the office, and walked in silence down the seventh floor corridor.

Where to begin? Harry wondered to himself. There were so many facts, impressions, implications and speculations to sort through that they would not lack for conversational material for months now. It was almost overwhelming, so he decided to settle on his own favorite recollection. "Thank you for sticking up for me, Gin — that was brilliant oration!"

"Uh huh. 'S'okay Harry,” Ginny responded.

Harry looked over at her face and saw it set in a frown of deep concentration that he dared not disturb. He was deeply curious. What was she deliberating with such quiet fervour? He wondered whether it had anything to do with the one aspect of the meeting that she had not yet had a chance to share with him: Fawkes. What had produced the bird's intense interest in her? What had he communicated?

The contemplative silence lasted until they reached the landing half way down the marble staircase to the sixth floor. Without a word of explanation, Ginny reached for Harry's hand, pulled him to face her, seized his second hand with a powerful grip. Her eyes captured his, held them fixedly as she searched within his soul. Questioned. Evaluated. Her lips parted, poised to speak …

A long vibrato moment hung between them.

"We can prevail,” Ginny said, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry nodded slowly, breathlessly.

"I mean sooner. Not later. Not months and months of people dying and lives being torn apart. We ... can ... end it." She released a breath; her chest fell and rose again. "Maybe this year."

Harry nodded again as he studied her face, wondering what new pivotal insight she had happened upon. His own words came out, sounding so inadequate in his own ears after Ginny's quiet intensity. "Sooner,” he agreed. "Everything I've tried to do since … since Sirius first came to visit me that night at Privet Drive … has been about trying to end this sooner. Knowing the prophesy, understanding that I had the power to end it, that I have some power the dark lord knows not … I've always believed that it could be done."

Ginny nodded, her eyes continuing to bind his in deep inquiry. Harry wished she could articulate the query, but wondered if there were even words to express it.

From amidst his swirling thoughts of Voldemort and prophesy and the impending struggle, he had remembered something that he wanted to ask. He opened his mouth to speak … but suddenly the question was swept from his mind, and replaced by singular awareness of beauty: suddenly there were no questions or answers, there were only her piercing eyes; her purity of focus and deliberation; her mouth pursed in solemn contemplation, striving to the brink of transformative epiphany; her forehead still bearing a hint of frown, admirable yet endearing … her glistening lower lip trapped gently between her teeth. Harry was spellbound, immobile, bereft of any conscious thought other than a seering memory of how exquisite her face had looked as she had said …

"We can end it."

This time the voice was Harry's; a pale, unconscious imitation of Ginny's arresting statement as his brain began frantically rewiring some of his most deeply ingrained tenets and assumptions. We can end it. She and I will end it. Together. A power the dark lord knows not. We together are a power that …

"Do you know how?" she asked.

How to …? Harry blinked; his focus recovered to the issue at hand. Defeat Voldemort? Staring at the wall, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. "No … do you?" he asked, meeting her eyes again.

She opened her mouth, her lips formed the ghost of a word … then stopped. Her eyes flickered briefly … then she shook her head. "No,” she breathed, "but we will."

He nodded. She nodded and inhaled. They stood for another moment, then descended the remaining stairs together, hand in hand, lost in thought.

Ginny wandered about their new quarters, summoning various pieces of old but immaculately kept Potter furniture and artwork from her storage chest, trying her hand at interior decorating. The guest quarters they had been assigned to were quite spare, but their morning trip to the Gringotts vault had given her lots to work with, and she was determined to transform the space into something that they could comfortably call home for the next ten months. Except for Emerald, Ginny was, for the first time in quite a while, alone. After a quick but sumptuous late lunch down in the kitchens courtesy of Dobby and the other Hogwarts house elves, she and Harry had returned together to the sixth floor, but Harry hadn't stayed. He had stopped in only long enough to pick up his own trunk and give her a kiss before leaving for his office. Considering how busy he was, she was still thrilled to reflect how he had completely not rushed the kiss; it had been tender, sweet, and the electricity had lingered on her skin long after he had smiled and made his whistling way down the hall. And now he was off drafting a syllabus for the new advanced HA class, reviewing Professor Caldwell's lecture notes for the 6th and 7th year NEWT classes, and perhaps another half dozen entries on his list of chores. It sounded like a tall order, but he had seemed confident and had given her an open-ended invitation to drop by to get him for supper whenever she felt like it. Determined to give him some time to concentrate, but not quite ready to hit the books yet herself, she had decided to get creative.

So here she was, maneuvering armchairs, tables, cabinets, rugs and paintings to various corners and walls, trying to guess at traffic patterns, and occasionally stopping to comfort Emerald who was still in the process of getting acquainted with the place, and still found flying furniture to be a bit disconcerting.

It would be great if she actually achieved some semblance of comfort and decor, but in truth her main goal was to unwind and let her mind wander. There was a lot to assimilate, including some very real and disturbing new perspective on the world, as well as, courtesy of Fawkes, some surreal images, hints and impressions that … she still didn't quite know what to do with.

She pondered some of the real stuff, trying to prioritize questions to raise with Harry. Despite her earlier buoyancy, she had gone into Dumbledore's office expecting an ordeal. She had assumed that the man would laboriously hide useful facts from them while rigorously interrogating them about their own activities and plans. She guessed that Dumbledore would be more cautious about attempting penetrative legilimency with her again, but she knew that he had plenty of other manipulative tools at his disposal. In general, however, the meeting had taken on a much different and more ambiguous tenor. The headmaster was certainly still pulling some mind tricks on them, and at the very least was rendering his words and gestures with care, but he really had been unexpectedly candid, had shared interesting speculations, and had not pushed too strenuously into areas that she and Harry were uncomfortable discussing. As it was, Harry was so very correct in his assessment over lunch: she and he had a tremendous amount to think about.

As she reflected back to their pleasant lunch, his turn of phrase echoed in her mind. Not 'discuss' or 'talk about' but 'Think about.' That was a relief because she needed time. Thank you Harry. Ginny knew it could not have been easy to let it slide for the time being; she had seen his eyes after the meeting: wide, inquiring, almost beseeching her to speak … to explain … what was on her mind. It was immensely flattering: Harry had achieved so much by marching to his own drum; he had gained so little listening to others. And now he somehow sensed that she had answers. Probably because of that strange, semi-conscious pronouncement that had slipped from her lips.

The problem was that she didn't have answers. She didn't even have the right questions. All she had was a confused jumble of deep, inner convictions that proclaimed how some sort of critical perspective was out there, something that could change the balance of power, some insight that was almost in reach, almost ready for the taking. Almost. But not yet.

Thankfully Harry must have sensed that she could say no more. Over lunch they had both stepped back from the disconcertingly intense cogitation of the meeting, instead conversing casually about their schedules, brainstorming about fun school activities, about what to do with the sixth floor common area. Nothing serious. And he didn't ask her about Fawkes.

What had that bird done to her? Sitting on an ottoman that she had summoned a little while ago, scratching Em's neck, Ginny pondered the unusual relationships between humans and animals. She loved pets; they had to her always been a source of comfort, companionship and amusement. Until recently she had considered communication with animals to be a vaguely empathic experience; a sharing of vague emotions and desires rather than specific ideas or opinions. Of course she always assumed that owls were complex, calculating creatures, but her first real clues to the more complex personalities of animals had come from Sirius during that summer in Grimmauld Place. He had told her about his frequent communications with Hermione's part-kneazle Crookshanks, illuminating her about Crookshanks' wry, manipulative, but fundamentally good nature. He had told her (in strict confidence) how Crookshanks would deliberately provoke Ron, for no reason other than to get the feline equivalent of a good chuckle. He hinted how Crookshanks would also carefully gauge the moment just before a sitting person was about to stand up, and deliberately choose that moment to come rest upon them. Again, just to be contrary. But Sirius had also explained to her, in a more serious tone, how Hermione's pet was on constant vigilance for signs of malicious intent, or for undetected presences or curses within the perennially unpleasant Black residence. It enthralled her to realize all of the insight Sirius had been privileged to acquire by virtue of his animagus skills; that more than anything had given Ginny the dream of learning the skill herself.

Until today, Ginny had wondered when, or if, she might too begin to have more elaborate communcations with animals. She believed that her instinctive emphathy with animals might be somewhat enhanced in her lion form, but she it had been disappointing to her that she had never actually conversed with another animal before. Harry's ability to speak to owls had emerged fairly quickly after he has mastered his animagus transformation, but perhaps that was just a fortunate circumstance for him, arising from his specific ability to transform into an owl. But it had been he who had alerted her to the possibility of communicating with phoenixes.

Ginny wondered whether Harry had had a specific motive in mind earlier today when he had guided her over to the phoenix's perch. Perhaps it had become a special ritual for him, or maybe he wanted to give her the chance to thank Fawkes personally for having saved their lives last spring. In any case, whatever the reason, it had not been an empty gesture. Fawkes had seemingly been very eager to interact with her.

As she stroked her purring cat, Ginny was still trying to sort through the complex sensations that her mind had experienced when interacting with the phoenix. Harry had made his interactions with owls sound much like human dialogue, with the exception that it was all telepathic. He had been more vague about what it had felt like to communicate with Fawkes. Ginny now guessed that his vagueness was because the experience was incredibly difficult to describe. Now that she had had a couple hours to loosely ponder the exchange, she had decided that it was like Fawkes had led her on a selective tour of her own mind, arranging memories and emotions in such a way as to create something like a narrative. Unfortunately it was a narrative without explicit annotations or explanations. Even for the sequences that Fawkes had seemed most emphatic in presenting to her, she was still far from any clear interpretation.

She closed her eyes and allowed one particularly vivid sequence to replay again in her mind.

Ginny as a small girl, playing with Ron and the twins by the pond … a shove, a stumble, her hands reaching out to break the fall … a jagged rock, blood on the jagged rock, blood on the ground, on her summer dress … her mother's gentle ministration, soothing salve, careful binding …

Her mother's gentle ministration … bandage unwrapped … mother scrubbing the hand … the soft, clear skin of a child, marked only by the faintest white trace …

The Chamber of Secrets … the diary Riddle shrieking and withering … Ginny's stricken eleven-year-old tear-stained face reflected in Harry's wide green eyes … green eyes glazing over in toxic stupor… Fawkes shedding tears onto Harry's arm … Fawkes singing … relief … joy …

Hogsmeade weekend … pretty new dress robes, wrapped, folded, hidden carefully from sight … gentle breeze, sunlight filtered through blazing red leaves … Harry, clowning on one knee, gazing sweetly up into her face … Ginny's beaming fifteen-year-old face reflected in Harry's wide green eyes … joy …

Harry's bare chest, burned and raw … Ginny's hands carefully applying salve and binding … Harry looking up at her gratefully, hopefully, donning his shirt and robes …

Harry's bare chest, still burned and raw … Ginny's hands carefully applying salve and binding … Harry looking up at her lovingly, sadly, donning his shirt and robes …

Harry transforming out of disguise, hair darkening, lengthening … scar rematerializing on his forehead …

Bill reading Ginny an old fairy tale … a wise moral … All that we seek is already inside us.

It was starting to get late. Harry and Ginny had spent a pleasant evening meal at the Three Broomsticks shared, impromptu, with Hagrid and Professor Sprout, both of whom seemed to be delighted with the new capacity under which their two former students would be continuing to participate in the Hogwarts community. Hagrid expressed regret that they had not earned their Care of Magical Creatures NEWTs, and resolved to look into ways that they might be able complete some of the final lessons and take the NEWT exam in June — a prospect that Harry and Ginny politely neither encouraged nor shunned. Hagrid reminisced fondly about the special relationship he perceived Harry to have formed with one of the griffins that they had studied last year, and suggested enthusiastically to Harry that he would be most welcome to continue to foster that relationship. Since Harry's last recollection of the griffin in question involved the beast telepathically conveying an interest in human mutilation, Harry had smiled politely and changed the subject. Fortunately neither Hagrid nor Sprout seemed too intent on prying deeply into Harry's and Ginny's summertime activities, instead being content to assume that they had dedicated most of the vacation to NEWT preparation. Harry enjoyed the temporary respite from serious conversation, but knew that time was nearly at an end. The rumor mill would likely start churning in force tomorrow when the critical mass of students was once again in place to advance,embellish, and invariably mutate the various Potter myths. The thought made Harry suddenly feel rather old and tired.

Ginny could see the fatigue in Harry's eyes, and empathized deeply, but nonetheless felt compelled to tug his hands up the stairs to sixth floor toward just one more important task. It had been a long, exhausting and amazingly productive day, but he couldn't be allowed to collapse onto their bed until he had seen and evaluated the work she had done on their quarters.

It had taken several hours of thought and experimentation, but ultimately she had settled on the plan of designating Harry's bedroom (somewhat more spacious than hers) as their shared sleeping space, while using his sitting room as a place for relaxation and entertaining. She thus had filled these two rooms with a mixture of ornate and comfortable furniture and a diverse assortment of bric-a-brac from among the eclectic pickings she had retrieved from the Potter vault. Her own two rooms she had different plans for: the bedroom she had strategically designated to look like … what else? A bedroom. This was actually for strategic appearances: they were not married, so she had schemed to short-circuit any uncomfortable probing by decorating a space with the sole intent of looking like a perfectly stereotypical Ginny Weasley bedroom: it was cluttered with loads of stuff from her old room in the Burrow: Holyhead Harpies posters, an assortment of her own drawings and paintings, plus accumulated years' of gifts and knick knacks that she had stashed in Harry's trunk on their last visit. Her own sitting room was also very strategically designated, but to a completely different and more serious end. It was to be their private study: it housed two desks squeezed face-to-face along one wall, while the rest of the room was occupied with three solid rows of bookshelves housing the impressive array of research and reference tomes of interest that she had spotted in fifteen very frenzied minutes of scanning the astounding Potter collection. It barely scratched the surface of what was in the vault, but Ginny could only imagine the look on Hermione's face should she happen to lay eyes on even this subset. Finally, in one far corner of the study, effectively hidden from any casual observer by the configuration of shelves, and further concealed by disillusionment, was a single very precious magical instrument: a pensieve.

When Ginny had stumbled across the pensieve in the Potter vault, she had initially mistaken it for just another curio: an unusually elaborate wash basin or plant stand. When she had pointed it out to Harry, however, he had responded with an astonished, excited exclamation. Pensieves were incredibly rare and useful: among all of the illustrious wizards and witches either of them had met, they had only ever known of one person owning such a tool: Albus Dumbledore. Most people they knew had never even heard of such a thing; those who did rarely spoke of them but still found them to be fascinating and tremendously useful. As a result, Professors Snape, McGonagall and Flitwick made fairly frequent, often clandestine, trips to Dumbledore's office to borrow his. As soon as Harry had realized what Ginny had uncovered, he immediately placed it in her trunk to accompany the two of them to Hogwarts. They could both, without letting their imaginations stray, see plenty of ways they could make use such a resource, and agreed that there might be situations where they might wish to access one without the knowledge or permission of their headmaster.

Given the presence of a pensieve in their study, plus a collection of books that almost certainly included volumes that, if available at all in the Hogwarts library, would be guarded closely within the restricted section, Ginny had decided that it would be best if the room received as few visitors as possible. She had set up some basic protective wards on the door as well as on the passage that connected her quarters with Harry's; she was hoping that he would test the security before the school suddenly became very busy. Which was to say, test it tonight in their final hours of relative peace.

As they made their way down the corridor to their quarters, Ginny gave Harry a quick overview on how she'd allocated the rooms, and arrived first at the door leading into her sitting room, asking him if he wished to go in. He stood at the door, thought for a moment, scratched his chin, and then began to make his way instead to his own quarters. He was brought up short by the sound of her laughter.

"What?" he asked wearily.

"Silly! I asked if you wanted to come into my sitting room!" she chided, grinning widely.

"Huh? Oh right …" He started to make his way back to her door then paused, and turned again to wander back to his own door. This time, however, he forced himself to stop and think. What was he doing? What was he supposed to be doing? After a moment, he wheeled around to face her, thrusting his finger into the air. "Confundus charm!"

"Right you are!" she laughed. "If someone gets directed to this door, say through the school registry, they'll barely give it a second glance and will continue on to yours instead."

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "So beyond that, there are basic magical locks, and a passphrase?"

She nodded. "Password is 'snitch wings'. I haven't added you to the ward yet, but will do it tomorrow morning. Do you want to try to break in?"

He shook his head. "I trust you,” he said and stepped aside for her to admit them.

He followed her into the study, nodding at the general layout. "Are these all of the books you brought?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Most, but not all,” she told him. "I've set up a couple cabinets in the den for basic references, fluffier subjects like history, geography and the arts. Oh, and there are lots of muggle books out there too. Fiction, science, muggle history. I had no idea your family valued books so much!"

Harry nodded his head at the incongruity of it all. He personally had never appreciated books before the last couple of years, and from the sounds of it, studies had not been at the top of his father's priority list until his last two years at Hogwarts. But books they had — in spades!

He gazed around the room. "Pensieve?" he asked.

Ginny took his hand and led him around a couple of high shelves to a small, apparently unadorned end table.

"Good,” he nodded, appreciating the disillusionment charm. "Thanks Gin!"

Ginny led him through her bedroom without comment. He smiled for no other reason than that everything about the room reminded him of her. She stepped into her closet and showed him the small panel that one must touch to find the adjoining passage. They then stepped down into the bare stone hallway, leading about twenty feet to a plain wooden door on the far side. There was nothing in the passage beyond Em's litter box. He quickly appraised the space. It could be a useful hiding place if things ever came to that.

At the far end of the tunnel, a wooden door opened outwards toward them, admitting them into the closet of their main bedroom. Ginny had apparently already hung up not only her own robes but all of his — one of the nearly endless series of small thoughtful gestures she extended to him on any given day. He squeezed her hand; she smiled back reflexively.

He liked the way she had arranged the bedroom: it had a nice array of dressers, and tables, while the paintings she had chosen for the walls (several contemplative landscapes) were peaceful, conducive to rest and placid contemplation. He noted happily that she had set aside a bit of open space on one wall as he had asked. She had removed the four poster bed that the school had provided (too narrow for their comfort) and replaced with with a larger, more modern piece that Harry guessed might have belonged to his parents. He whacked at the mattress and noted, with satisfaction, that dust did not billow out of it. He wondered if the goblins at Gringotts had put in a special effort to sustain imperturbability charms on pieces like that, because the decades under ground had apparently had inflicted no negative effect at all. He made a mental note to express his gratitide to Griphook when they next met. Goblins, it occurred to him, while much less friendly with humans than house elves, nonetheless shared their exceptional pride of workmanship and attention to detail. With a last gaze around the room, he followed Ginny into what she had referred to as their den.

Ginny considered the den to be her creative masterpiece. It was an experiment, pure and simple. There were so many formal, ornate pieces in the Potter collection that she had decided, in a spirit a bit contrary to her own Weasley upbringing, to arrange the room as a formal, perhaps almost opulent space, with the focal center being the generously proportioned fireplace. Unlike relatively bright, airy feel to both bedrooms, this room would feel impressive and dignified. It was distinctly un-Ginny in personality and she was pretty certain that grandeur was not Harry's style either, but she nonetheless had enjoyed the challenge of putting it together. She didn't know how Harry would react. If he hated it, she would be happy enough to just ask Colin Creevey to take a picture of the layout so that they could laugh at it later, then she would stuff it all back in her trunk and replace it with something more casual. She led Harry into the middle of the room and drifted behind him to afford him an unobscured view.

She paused for a moment, waiting for comment or questions.

Silence.

She began to move toward the bedroom, explaining, "I was just experimenting with some of the older, more formal pieces. Please tell me if you don't like it — I have another style or two that I could try instead."

She wandered into the bedroom, opened Harry's trunk and found her way down to his washroom. Why bother going all the way down the hall to use communal facilities when they had all they needed located much more conveniently right here? Having brushed her teeth and let her hair down, she pulled on a nightdress and returned to their bedroom, expecting to find Harry already in bed waiting for her. She was wrong — the bed was undisturbed and the door to the den was still open.

Crossing the threshold, she found him precisely where she had left him, standing in the center of the room, obliquely facing the fireplace with its high flanking shelves, a painting of some renaissance edifice, and a pair of crossed pikestaffs.

"Harry?" she called to him softly. No response.

She approached and crossed in front of him to see his face. His eyes looked diffuse and unfocused. His face was expressionless, but a single tear had tracked half way down one cheek.

"Harry??" she shook him anxiously, staring into his eyes for some sign of recognition.

He blinked and shook himself a little, meeting her gaze. "Oh, I'm sorry Ginny,” he murmured.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong …it's just that for a moment … I thought …" he mused, recovering himself. He was looking at her now with an expression of puzzled bemusement.

Baffled, her eyebrows rose as she awaited clarification.

He shook his head again slightly as he tried to explain something that seemed not to make any logical sense. "For a moment I thought I was at Godric's Hollow,” he said.

Chapter 4. Questions, Questions?    (September 1, 1997)

The next morning, as Harry and Ginny stepped out around dawn for their morning run, the magic-saturated halls of Hogwarts seemed to tingle in anticipation. This was the day on which the students would be returning. If one listened closely enough, one could hear the statues and suits whispering and buzzing. The portraits were awake early, with their occupants coming and going across the various frames; some of the more vain subjects were trying to freshen themselves and their surroundings for the returning masses of prying eyes, while the less self-conscious personalities simply kibitzed or gossipped. Somewhere in the castle, Harry supposed, Peeves would be swooping around, cackling in delight over a new batch of pranks and a new crop of unsuspecting victims.

The run around the grounds was misty and chill, in sad contrast to the spectacular weather that had greeted them the previous day. Harry hoped that things might clear up by evening so that the incoming students would be treated to spectacular glimpses of the luminous castle as the train wove its way through mountain and glen on approach to Hogsmeade Station. He had once considered such moments as some of the most thrilling and happy in his young magical life. Of course happiness had taken on an entirely new meaning in the past year .... the person who defined happiness for Harry Potter was just a few strides behind him along the mountain path.

Harry reflected that there were certainly some muggle girls who would leave Ginny (and also undoubtedly him) in their dust in fitness challenges, but he was willing to bet Ginny could outrun, outjump, and out-tough just about any witch in Britain right now. Given how his own endurance had continued to improve over the summer, and given the fact that Ginny had been able to close the fitness gap admirably, Harry now felt empowered to try new challenges with the workout. Rather than simply beat down the same old path along the lake and onto the quidditch grounds, he chose a less traveled trail that skirted the forbidden forest and made its way up the steep hillsides that flanked the north shore of the lake. He wasn't certain exactly where the path headed, but he would not have been surprised to find it lead all the way to one of the mountaintops. Of course they would not be quite so ambitious today, as there was still so much to do before the students arrived. Happily, unlike yesterday afternoon's labors, today's goals would involve a lot more of one-on-one time with Ginny.

Speaking of whom .... Harry stopped at the crest of a steep rise and estimated no more than five seconds before she would join him. His legs were burning, his breath ragged, and he had little doubt that she too must be feeling the strain of at least a mile of continuous uphill. The exertion clearly showed in her face, but she wasn't about to admit any complaint. He briefly wondered how much farther up the increasingly steep slope she would have been willing to tough it out before hexing him. Once in July he'd gotten a bit too far out in front and was suddenly blinded by his own droopy, four-inch thick eyebrows. When he had stopped to try to coax them back to size, he found that his shoes had become stuck to the ground. When Ginny had come sauntering along thirty seconds later, she'd professed no idea what he was yammering about .... because in fact his eyebrows were a perfectly normal configuration .... and his shoes weren't stuck to anything.

Her concernedly innocent Fred/George facial affectation had withstood a full minute of intense scrutiny before cracking. And then they had both discovered just how fast she really could run!

Despite Harry's heavy breathing, the memory elicited a heady grin. Ginny, having reached his landing, doubled over for a moment to catch her breath, but then raised her head to flash him a big collateral smile. She took several more deep breaths, straightened up again and closed the last few feet to where he stood. He took her hand and they gazed out over the valley. They had ascended above the heavy mist and were treated to the sight of high hills and rocky crags suspended on a rolling sea of white aetherial fluff. He scanned across the pale puffs and pointed out a single sharp spire: the top of the astronomy tower was just barely piecing the fog. After another moment to catch their breath, they both started to make their way back down again, for breakfast, to be followed by an entire morning of unstructured discovery. In the midst of the last frenzied month, the two of them had both learned so much; it was now time for them both to catch up with each other again and ponder .... how were they going to move forward together to meet all of these interesting new challenges in their life?

Ginny led Harry up from their light breakfast in the Great Hall to the Room of Requirement. This would normally be the time they would devote to mobility and combat related training, but they had both agreed that the pressure to begin mapping out Ginny's research activities was paramount, so she had devised a three hour brainstorming session, the details of which Harry would soon learn.

What greeted them inside the room was rather intriguing. Levitating in the middle of the room was a chalk board similar to the one Snape would use to display his potions instructions. Harry supposed that it would record their ideas automatically as the session progressed. Nothing else in the room looked even the slightest bit like a classroom, however. There were trees, hills, walls and streams with jumping stones. Everything was in a state of slow-motion flux: hills and walls would drift around, streams would change course, disappear, reappear somewhere else, trees would grow, disappear and grow anew. And, to complicate things, Ginny had set up training dummies that moved about randomly, vanishing and reappearing, and apparently set to ....

Pop!

.... fire soft but fairly hefty foam projectiles at them, one of which Harry just barely sidestepped as it bounced past, and found itself bobbing in a nearby stream.

Pop pop pop!

The second volley caught Harry in the chest with a foam ball. Ginny scooped up one of the recently unleashed projectiles and winged it, quaffle-like at the firing dummy, catching it on the head. The dummy gave a little shriek and vanished.

"Cute!" Harry smiled. "So I assumed we walk, talk, and .... deal with our little adversaries?"

"You catch on quickly, professor." Ginny winked at him. "But one more ground rule to start with. No answers, we just keep asking questions until we run out of things to ask."

"Why?"

"Exactly, you're off to a great start!" She smirked.

"No ...." he huffed at her. "I mean, why only ask questions?"

"Yes, Harry, you've really got the hang of this. You're doing much better than I am!"

Pop!

She jumped out of the path of another projectile, caught it in mid-air and winged it back at their assailant to knock it out of the action. "Why did that dummy deliberately target me?" Ginny asked, rhetorically. "Was it because I made a statement rather than a question? Should we assume that's the case?"

"Should we assume that you're a certified nut?" He asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

She glared at him. "Maybe this is some way to open our minds? What if we had to think before we spoke? What if we always questioned and never assumed? Would that help us brainstorm? Do you wonder if booksmart people like Hermione might limit their perspective by seeking only answers? Would it open new horizons if we just kept asking more and more questions? Would questions, questions, questions ever lead us to the one question that perfectly captures our interests and concerns?"

"Could that be the most brilliant suggestion I've heard in ages?" He beamed at her. "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

"Can you stop trying to make me blush and think of more important questions you've been dying to ask?" She countered, grinning as she climbed a short knoll and surveyed the room for roving attack dummies.

"Okay, how can death eaters set up anti-portkey wards and still portkey themselves out?"

Ginny turned to look at him as she pondered his question. She nodded, and gestured at the floating chalkboard, which dutifully transcribed his question. "How could death eaters portkey me out of Hogwarts last June with all the anti-portkey wards in place here?" she asked, gesturing for this question to also record on the board.

"When it happened, were you holding anything that felt like a portkey? Why have I been unable to summon any portkeys from death eaters since last spring?" Harry volleyed.

"Why did Lucius expect to capture you, not me?" Ginny wondered. "Was I holding anything of yours that day?"

"Why was Draco messing with us at lunch right before that? Harry asked with a note of suspicion in his voice.

"Hey, could it had made any difference that I drank your pumpkin juice that day?" Ginny recollected with a frown.

"So, maybe Draco put anything in my juice and you drank it? Can you drink a portkey?" Harry wondered.

"A potion maybe? Can a potion make you susceptible to ....?" Ginny trailed off.

"Can a portion maybe even turn you into a portkey? If so, would accio portkey recognize a person?"

"Should we deposit our memories from that lunch into the pensieve and revisit them?" Ginny suggested.

"Should be get corroboration? Who else was at the table who might have seen something? Neville? Ron?" Harry recalled.

"Can you get their memories too? Would they be willing?" Ginny suggested.

"I think so." Harry paused, as he sought to come up with an angle with which to approach them.

Pop pop!

Two dummies ambushed them to punish Harry for his non-question. One ball caught Harry on the leg, but Ginny grabbed the projectile as it ricocheted, then she winged it at the nearest dummy, causing it to squeak and vanish.

"So, we're thinking maybe portkeys?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded, so Ginny pointed her wand at the chalk board, saying "Creo transcript." The numerous questions written onto the board vanished, while a scroll with the full record materialized in Ginny's hand. She put it in her pocket.

"Hey, can you show me later how you set this all up?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded as she gestured to the board to restart dictation. She turned to Harry, asking, "Okay, more questions?"

"Yes, what was Fawkes so eager to discuss with you yesterday?"

"Are phoenixes always so bloody abstract?"

"Was it like talking to Maharashi Mahesh Yogi, with cotton stuffed in your ears?" Harry joked.

"Maha .... who? What?"

"Wasn't he some muggle who decided he knew all of life's secrets?"

"Are you trying to confuse me, or do you want me to answer the Fawkes question?"

"Yes please .... Ow! That hurt!" A dummy had ambushed Harry from behind a tree, catching him with a direct hit to a sensitive location. Ginny's quick reflexes once again nailed the assailant before more damage could be done.

"Okay, does any of this make sense? Do we have wounds? Scars?" Ginny asked.

Harry tapped his forehead. "Does this count?"

Ginny nodded. "Now, do I have a wound that has been healed? Or do you have a wound that is still raw?" Ginny posed.

"Is that what Fawkes was showing you? Wounds and scars?"

"Does he always talk using memories? When you communicate with Fawkes, does it feel as strange for you as it did for me? Is that what you meant by Ma .... ma .... whatever Yogi and cotton ears?" Ginny wondered.

"Any more details from Fawkes?" Harry pried.

"Why would Fawkes care that you always hide your scar when you're disguised? Hey, for that matter why would he care that you tried to hide your devil's fire wounds last year? Could this be about the hiding of wounds, rather than just the wounds themselves? Did you try to hide any wound after the Chamber of Secrets? Did I try to hide anything? Was I even hurt in the Chamber?" Ginny mused. "Does psychological damage count? Have I recovered? Did you heal me? Did I fail to heal you from something?"

"Wow, you're good!" Harry said. "I had no idea anybody could be so inquisitive!"

Pop pop pop pop!

Harry and Ginny were subjected to a barrage from a cluster of dummies who had surrounded them along flanking hillsides. Harry grabbed several foam balls and charged into the onslaught, knocking out a pair of dummies while Ginny held her ground and managed to bring down two more, earning them a respite.

"Why can't Voldemort bother my scar when I'm with you?" Harry asked. "Why can he still irritate it when you're not with me? Is that my raw wound? Are you somehow hiding my wound from Voldemort? How?"

"When did you start to notice my effect on your scar?"

"Was it after we escaped from Malfoy's?" Harry guessed.

"Wasn't that when you started hearing my thoughts when I got upset?" Ginny asked.

"Are there other effects tied in with this?" Harry suggested. "Hey — last night, how did you recreate my own memory of Godric's Hollow from when I was a baby? A memory I didn't even know I had?"

"Yes, how did I? Do I have some of your memories? Did something happen at Malfoy's to get our minds mixed up together?" Ginny mused.

"Do you feel mixed up too?" Harry wondered, pointing a finger at his head. "In wonder how part of me could get into you?"

"Honestly, Potter — this is supposed to be serious work!" Ginny said, turning to him with a wicked grin. "Is that all you boys ever think about?!"

"Erk! No no!" Harry stammered, gesturing frantically at his head. "I didn't mean .... ummm .... you see .... I was talking about our ...."

"Oh, not to worry, Harry dear." Ginny interrupted him, pressing his scandalized face between her two outstretched hands. "If you're really really nice, then some day we will consider it." She purred as her lips found his.

The Room of Requirement was just beginning to fade out of Harry's conscious mind when he flinched .... pop pop pop pop .... and they were pelted with another round of foam.

"Finite dummies." Ginny mumbled, and pulled him under the protective cover of a large and robust rhododendron.

On the bright side, it certainly was a lot easier to deliver one student to Platform 9 3/4 than five. And if you further subtract younger siblings, older siblings, friends, grouchy aurors, canine animagi .... Molly paused to look up the station clock. Yes, removing all of those logistical complications, it stood to reason that they find themselves standing in front of the train 25 minutes early.

For Molly, the more melancholy side of the equation was that, for the first time in the sixteen years that the Weasley family had been making its annual pilgrimage to Kings Cross, they composed a party of .... two. Not seven or eight, not fourteen. Just two: her and her lanky teenaged son Ron. Arthur was tied up in a nearly endless series of meetings as the ministry attempted to deal with a leadership crisis in the manner to which it was most accustomed: bureaucratic paralysis. Bill was tied up in meetings by a Gringotts leadership growing increasingly anxious over the issue of Ministry paralysis. The twins were busy researching some important new business opportunity. Charlie and Percy were, as usual, off being Charlie and Percy. And Ginny was already at Hogwarts, doubtlessly wrapped up right now in serious meetings of her own, hopefully working on some exciting new research.

Molly regarded her tallest, youngest son with wistful fondness. Ron deserved more. He deserved a festive send-off for his final year of schooling. He was a good young man, a prefect, a quidditch captain. If he had a weakness, it was aim and focus, or, more to the point, a deficiency thereof. He had been slower than the others to make his mark and carve his niche. Bill, Charlie and Percy: three absolute straight-arrows; she'd always known where they were headed. The twins: deep down she had long ago resigned herself to them striking out in a direction diametrically opposed to any recommendations she might ever offered, and she had always assumed that they would nonetheless succeed brilliantly .... if only just to get the last laugh. Ginny: she had always been a natural ally to the twins growing up, so Molly now realized that it was only natural that she too would find some unexpected, unconventional way to dazzle. And that left Ron. Standing on the platform looking endearingly clueless, as he so often did. What would become of him?

Ron scowled at the platform in all its unnatural quietude and lack of frenzy. He scowled to think of all those childhood years that he'd been trundled out to wish Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins off to school, and now here he was and they were nowhere to be seen. He scowled about his younger sister who'd snuck off and graduated a year ahead of him. He scowled to think of the extra twenty minutes of sleep he ought to have had, rather than being prodded and pushed into an artificial frenzy by his overly zealous mother. He scowled at the thought of his mother herself, if only because he had spent just a bit too much time cooped up her this past summer. It crossed his mind that maybe she too had grown a little tired of the company and might be happy enough to bid farewell twenty minutes early. He took the scowl off his face in order to emulate a mature, civilized human being for a minute or two.

"Mum, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I can get on the train easy enough now, go down to the prefects car and wait for the others."

"I understand dear!" she said, forcibly turning him to face her. She looked him up and down, checking his hair, collar and shirt before wrapping him in her powerful hug. "You don't have to wait by me if you don't want to, but I would still like to stay here until the train leaves."

He looked at her quizzically as he extricated himself from her grip. "Okay." he said. "Suit yourself. I'll wait with you."

They stood there, awkwardly for several minutes. Molly wanted to stay there because she knew that in her old age she would regret it if she turned her back on her son at this uncertain time in his life. She also wanted, however awkward it might prove, to be there to see Hermione off for the start of the last year of her illustrious Hogwarts career. She had decided that she would not discuss the letter, even if Hermione brought it up (which Molly hoped she wouldn't). George had convinced her that the letter was a mistake; convinced Molly of the validity of her own initial assumption that Hermione must be experiencing a tremendous amount of angst and pressure and might be lacking a solid confidante who could comfort her and gently persuade her of the more basic, innocent explanations. Maybe she, Molly, would start owling the girl on a regular basis, be a girlfriend for a while until Hermione adapted to the apparent fact that Harry and Ginny had both chosen to grow up so quickly and drift apart from her.

Molly recalled her own school days, her own very young marriage to Arthur, and remembered the abrasive responses from long-time friends that had come as a result. In this light, she could understand Hermione's rift with Harry and Ginny. What puzzled her was Ron. Why had he had not corresponded at all with Hermione over the entire summer? Hermione had owled Ron at least twice and Ron had just skimmed the letters and tossed them aside. Molly's instincts had told her for years that, despite a bit of an intellectual mismatch between the two, they nonetheless seemed destined for a long future together in some capacity of another. Molly could not quite bring herself to believe that she had been mistaken. Conversely, she also wanted to make certain that nobody thought she was interfering in anything sensitive. Which is why she had not specifically suggested to Ron that he try to patch things up with the brainy brunette. What she didn't realize, as she stood on the platform watching Ron, was that at least one other person had been having similar thoughts on the topic and had been a bit more unabashed in approaching it.

Standing on the platform next to his mother, boredom beginning to gnaw on Ron, so he pulled a letter out of his pocket. He had skimmed it last week and had actually decided that it deserved another glance and some thought before eventually getting filed into one of those drawers of his from which nothing ever seemed to re-emerge. He unrolled it and re-read.

August 26, 1997

Dear Ron,

I can't believe that the summer is nearly over and I haven't written to you yet. My most sincere apologies, mate! Please don't take it personally — it's been a bit of a whirlwind! I will tell you about it either when Ginny and I next visit the Burrow (we will likely do so in a few days) or when we're back at school.

Anyway, if you don't mind, I would like Hedwig to hang out with you for a few days to await some Hogwarts correspondence that will arrive at the Burrow for Ginny and myself. If you could hand them off to Hedwig when you get the chance, it would be greatly appreciated.

The content of the letters isn't private or sensitive as far as Ginny and I are concerned, and you may have already been tipped off by your parents, so here's the scoop: if all goes according to plan, the letters will say that Ginny and I have successfully completed the matriculation requirements for Hogwarts and are being appointed to graduate positions at the school. Yes, I know that sounds completely daft! Believe me after all of the long days and nights of NEWT studying this past month I have frequently questioned our sanity, but from the informal comments we got back from our examiners, it seems to have been worth it.

So, in the aftermath of all this craziness, I have had to take a little time to think about the implications on our lives, friendships and such. I just wanted to let you know that Ginny and I sincerely hope you can find some time to hang out with us and do some fun things together this year at school. Yes, we had a pressing need to move along a bit faster with our own schoolwork and get it over with, but please don't hold that against us. We were sincerely touched by the effort that you made this past summer to patch things up. We owe you for that, and will be happy to repay. And, though I hope I don't sound too much like Hermione, I know that Ginny and I would be more than happy to help you with NEWT revision. Well, everything except your Divination NEWT, because the external examiner is unlikely to accept "Harry Potter is going to die" as the answer to every question. Sorry, I'm certain to be of absolutely no help on that one, mate!

So, have you given much thought to what your final year at Hogwarts will be like? What it will be like to be the Mr. Big in Gryffindor Tower? Prefect, quidditch captain, older and more experienced than everyone else? A part of me feels like I'm really missing out on having that one year to strut around. Please consider doing me a favor? Strut around, enjoy it, and tell me all about it so that I can live vicariously. I think I too will be having some fun this year, especially in starting an advanced HA class, but from my vantage on the lowliest rung of the faculty pecking order, I suspect I will envy you.

Sincerely,

Harry

P.S. I was thinking about the old saying that 'old friends are best friends'. On Ginny's birthday it was great to kick back with you, just like old times. It got us thinking about Hermione, though, and how much we regret still being on the outs with Hermione. I think we might try to work things out with her when school starts and things settle down a bit, but I was wondering if you might be the one person she would respond to most readily? You never really said how you and she got off-track this spring, but I bet that if you tried to patch things up with her you might be pleasantly surprised. No teasing intended, but I think she still fancies you a little!

It was a strange letter to receive from Harry — a lot more touchy-feely than any of his old letters. Maybe having a girlfriend could make a bloke's head go a bit soft, or, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, maybe it came from having one too many brushes with death. But when Ron thought about it, regardless of what Harry's state of mind might have been to write stuff like that, the letter was actually .... well .... kind of nice. Yes, it was nice to be reminded that he, Ron Weasley, was about to be a big shot at the school: someone who had earned lots of respect because he'd put in the long years and had lived up to some big challenges. It was nice to be told that there was nothing wrong with taking that last year of his student life to enjoy it, and to not be ashamed that Harry and Ginny had (for whatever reasons) felt a need to rush past it prematurely. No, there was nothing wrong with being normal. And, Ron reflected, there was something nice about the suggestion that Hermione might need his help right now more than he needed hers. He wasn't certain that was really true, but he had decided that he was going to give the idea a little test drive to find out. And, regardless of that, he was also pretty certain that he was ready to .... strut.

Hermione pushed her cart through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 alone, except for a rather grumpy Crookshanks who was glaring at her from behind the bars of his cage. The way things are going, that might be the least of the dirty looks I get today, she thought bitterly.

Once onto the platform, she straightened up and examined the busy scene in front of her. Many new faces. The new arrivals seemed to look tinier every year, while the little students from years past now seemed to be filling out into real, recognizable human beings. Despite Hermione's generally sour mood, she managed a smile as a sampling from six years of memories drifted past.

Among those drifting past were Dean Thomas, the Patil twins, and Lavender Brown. The latter was guiding a miniature version of herself along by the hand: hair a bit longer than Lavender's, face looking much more excited than Hermione had ever remembered Lavender being, but otherwise very reminiscent of the visual recollection Hermione had of her dorm-mate on the occasion of their first encounter, six years ago to this day. Lavender bent down to speak to her sister over the din; as Lavender turned, her eyes met Hermione's. They exchanged polite smiles; from across the platform Lavender pointed Hermione out to her sister. Hermione effected a somewhat warmer greeting for the younger girl, who responded with a small, shy smile and looked away.

Hermione had begun to walk toward the nearest train car when she felt a warm but firm hand grasp her hand. As she turned, Molly Weasley swept her into a firm, motherly embrace.

"You look well!" Molly lied enthusiastically. In fact, Hermione was pale, and strain was showing beneath the glowing smile she was attempting to project for Molly's sake.

"Thank you!" Hermione said. She peered from side to side around Molly, with a look of puzzlement. "Where is everyone?" she wondered aloud.

"Ron should be back in a moment, dear." Molly told her. "He's gone to leave his things in the prefect car, but said he'd stop back here before the train leaves. The others ...." Molly shrugged regretfully, "were all too busy to make it .... I'm afraid it just doesn't feel quite the same without a unruly mob in tow."

Hermione laughed sympathetically.

"Are your parents here?" Molly inquired eagerly.

It was Hermione's turn to adopt a wistful expression. "No." she said. "I saw them off from Heathrow early this morning. They're going to spend the year abroad .... Professor Dumbledore's suggestion."

"Oh dear!" Molly said, tightening her grip on Hermione's arm. "Has it come to that? Yes, I suppose it has, hasn't it? Such a frightful summer with all of the attacks! I'm only relieved that there were so few .... tragedies."

"Yes." Hermione shivered. "We all have so much to thank the Order for!" Molly appeared to be on the verge of interjecting a comment but quickly stifled herself. Hermione gave a quick quizzical glance, but then changed tracks. "Are things okay at the Ministry?"

"No." Molly admitted. "Arthur is there to all hours these days, but he almost never talks about it. Except at Grimmauld Place when they ask him to report.... But dear, let's not dwell on such grim matters. Let's look at you with your Head Girl badge! Oh, congratulations!"

Hermione smiled awkwardly. "Thank you!" she said softly. Six years ago, it would have met one of Hermione's most treasured dreams to wear this badge. Several years on, it had become her presumptive eventual honor, but seemed a bit of a frivolous distraction in the face of the grave matters she, Harry and Ron always found themselves enmeshed in every year. Now, in a state of nearly open warfare, it seemed almost embarrassing to think of this shiny little badge as a meritorious distinction.

Molly was saying things. Hermione was offering practiced nods and exclamations, but her mind had completely wandered off into its own conversation.

Yes, after this past summer, the shiny little Head Girl badge actually seemed pretty lame. The summer had not been a kind one to Hermione. The first few weeks had been fine: the reading she had done last school year on wards had proven worthwhile, as she had invested a fair bit of effort safeguarding her parents' home. Once that project had been taken care of, however, things seemed to sag. Old friends didn't write. Real, believable news was thin. Her stockpile of unread books was running low. What she did read, frequently didn't make her feel better. She was stuck in a rut. And then there was that whole Dumbledore/Harry thing.

Finally, with just a few days left in the summer, Hermione realized what was at the core of her discontent: boredom. It had been more than a year since she had done anything big or exciting that had really made a difference. She had been safe for too long; she needed to be in there in the thick of things, helping to save and safeguard lives, helping to bring down Voldemort before things got much worse. But crouching oppressively over all of those desires was the overarching frustration of still being a student; knowing that to most adults this effectively disqualified her as a serious, meaningful contributor. Of course if Harry suddenly emerged to whisk her off again to some exciting adventure then .... No. She shook her head to clear that ridiculous thought. Things were just so messed up with Harry now — their days of great, perilous deeds together were over. The only good thing about all of that was that Harry had unwittingly inspired her onto her own important quest. Yes, she was finally going to act! Do what was right! She now had the nascent makings of a plan. For starters, she was going to ....

"Oi beautiful! Better get moving or you'll miss the train."

Hermione was jarred from her inner deliberations by a familiar, but unusually gruff voice beside her.

"Ron!" she exclaimed in surprise. Her eyes gradually made their way up to his face. "Won't you ever stop growing?"

Molly smiled at both of them. "I will let you two board." she said, a little relieved to call an end to the halting and slightly disconcerting conversation with Hermione. "Please do take good care of yourselves .... and please keep an eye on Ginny and Harry for me." Tears were starting to come; she pulled Hermione and Ron together into a fierce hug, but then quickly released them. "Go! All those little students need their role models!"

Hermione and Ron both gave Molly another smile, and turned together toward the train. Hands free, Ron took a page from Harry's conduct of the previous year and grabbed the handle of Hermione's trunk. Blimey, girls trunks are heavy! he thought to himself as he pulled it off the cart, but did his best to disguise the strain from his face as he lugged it toward the prefect's car.

Carrying Crookshanks' cage, Hermione allowed herself to be swept along in her friend's wake, albeit in a bit of a state of some confusion. Who was he to be butting back into her life so abruptly and presumptuously? Calling her 'beautiful' and carrying her trunk? Who was she to be just passively letting him do all that? A part of her felt that she should be patently annoyed by all of this, but for some reason she .... was not.

Conversation snippets on the way into the Great Hall were more disjointed than usual, even considering the usual level of excitement that preceded the Start of Term Feast. The incoherence of the two Slytherin third years was fairly innocuous:

".... and after we let Ainsley out of the basement, he comes running out and .... what the blazes?!"

"Eh, what blazes? What are you looking .... oh!"

While others, such as a rather attractive Hufflepuff fifth year (".... and then he rolls over onto his side, stares deep into my eyes and tells me that I am his .... sweet Merlin's armpit!!") were probably grateful how few people were actually paying attention to dialogue at that moment.

Seating arrangements for the feast had remained almost invariant for the last several centuries: four long house tables arranged parallel to the length of the hall, with the one elevated staff table situated perpendicularly at the far end. Not so on September 1, 1997. As many students entered the hall, they were treated to the site of another table being levitated into a position in front of the staff table. Early arrivals who had the misfortune of having claimed some of the best seats in front were uncomfortably finding themselves (along with their seats) spatially transfigured as the hall expanded and the four house tables moved and shrank a little to accommodate the new furniture.

As Ginny mingled with the new arrivals, she smiled as she overheard Ernie MacMillan confidently pronouncing that the new table seat house aurors whom he claimed would be stationed around the clock in the school this year. Good try, but no cigar, Head Boy! The smile remained on Ginny's face as she exchanged quick greetings and hugs with Stephanie and Nate as they made their way to the Gryffindor table. She was not yet about to sit, however. She had spied Neville standing near the end of the Hufflepuff table, apparently having wandered over to greet Hannah Abbott. Picking her way through the crowd, Ginny came up behind him and poked him in the ribs.

"Hey!" he growled, but upon discovering the source of the mischief, his face broke into a smile that spread quickly, infectiously to Hannah. "Hey." he said again, this time more softly and with affection. Ginny embraced him fiercely, wordlessly, for ten very meaningful seconds. Neville's face emitted the uniquely 'Nevillish' look of being both awkwardly happy and pleasantly embarrassed at the same time.

"Hi Ginny!" Hannah greeted her warmly from her seat at the end of the table. Several other Hufflepuffs nodded or waved.

"Hi all!" Ginny beamed, releasing Neville. "So nice to see everyone again!" before rolling her eyes at the sound of Millicent Bulstrode in the background barking about how the new table was going to be dedicated to the soon-to-be-reinstated Inquisitorial Squad. "Ugh .... so nice to see almost everyone, I mean." Ginny growled.

Neville laughed then asked, "So Ginny, do you know what the new table is all about?"

Ginny could suddenly feel a dozen or so eyes zoom in on her. "Mmmmm ... mmmmm!" she proclaimed, pointing to a tight-lipped smile as she shrugged her shoulders.

"She knows!" Hannah decided. "The only people not making ridiculous speculations are the people who know." she added with a self-satisfied smirk.

"You're going to leave us hanging?" Neville asked, in a playfully hurt tone.

"Mmmmm ... mmmmmm...??" Ginny whimpered to him, but then opened her mouth to smile and say, "Seats are filling up Neville, you better grab one before you're stuck with Nearly Headless Nick."

Neville scanned the Gryffindor table. "There are two seats over there, Ginny. Would you like to grab them?"

"Thanks but no thanks Neville, but let's get seats together later this week and catch up on things." she responded with a smile. "You too, Hannah!" Ginny added mysteriously. She started to walk away, but out of the corner of her eye she caught a pensive glance from Hannah as the girl began analyzing the last statement.

Ever the sharp one, Hannah was not particularly surprised when she saw Ginny make her way toward the mysterious and otherwise unoccupied fifth table. From their own respective seats, Neville, Hannah, Hermione, and indeed quite a few people, watched the small redhead's progress through the crowded hall with a bit of curiousity. Rumors had started circulating on the train earlier today about Hogwart's newest, and rather precocious, graduate.

These rumors had not yet circulated to Draco Malfoy by the time he entered the Great Hall. He had not been on the Express earlier today. He had had important things to do, and they had not involved sitting on a train full of gossipping juveniles. He had fully outgrown this unpleasant zoo and was not the least bit excited to be back at Hogwarts this year. He made had made his way self-importantly past much of the Great Hall before he noticed the change in landscape. What was with the new table? And why was that infuriatingly attractive little blood traitor taking her seat there, rather than with her usual batch of fur-ball Gryffindor ilk?

"Sitting with all your friends, Weaselette?" he sneered, glancing down the empty table.

"Not yet." she said, smiling sweetly. Without really intending to do so, her eyes casually, unblinkingly engaged his meanest glare. Though she carefully suppressed any overt reaction before it crossed her face, she was shocked at what she saw. Beneath the sneering Malfoy bravado, Draco looked very stressed, and his face was pasty with unhealthy splotches.

Draco scowled at this unexpectedly brazen scrutiny and quickly turned his attention to the east end of the Slytherin table, searching for a seat. Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were seated together near the middle of the table, hemmed in on all sides by a lively mixture of fourth, fifth and sixth year students. Draco came up behind them and cleared his thoat. "Somebody move!" he demanded.

Nothing happened. Pansy raised an eyebrow, but otherwise continued to hold court among the younger students, with Goyle making the occasional stupid laugh. Crabbe seemed to be nearly asleep, with no tangible interest in anything taking place around him.

Draco tapped his foot several times loudly. Still nothing. He reached out his boney fingers to pull a small fourth year girl out of her seat when a powerful hand flashed out from the side, seizing his wrist in a vice grip.

Draco whipped around, about to unleash a yell of pain and fury, but instead found himself gaping .... impaled by the smoldering eyes of Ryan Jenkins.

Ryan's other hand, the one not constricting all circulation in Malfoy's trembling forearm, gestured toward a cluster of empty seats at the end of the Slytherin table. Not exactly prime real estate, with the Bloody Baron brooding over a number of nervous and downtrodden second years.

Ryan flicked Draco's clammy wrist away. His eyes burned through Draco for another moment, then the dark haired boy resumed his casual conversation with Mary Jo Clark — telling her something about views from the top of Ben Nevis on a clear summer day.

Draco glared at the entire assembly, stamped furiously, seething specks of spittle over several of the nearest students .... then slouched over to sit under the brooding Baron.

Pansy had studiously tried to ignore the scene, but she stole a glance as Ryan rolled his eyes, and helpfully whisked his wand to remove traces of Draco venom from the backs and hair of several of their Slytherin colleagues. A strange expression crossed Pansy's face, as if there were several unspoken questions lurking just behind her lips.

Just as Professor MacGonagall began shepherding in the new crop of first years to stand before the sorting stool, Harry slipped into his new seat at the staff table, hoping not to bring attention to himself. It was unsuccessful: a buzz swept through the hall as people recognized Hogwarts' newest full time faculty member. Professor MacGonagall cleared her thoat to commandeer the audience's sole attention back to the old Sorting Hat who came to life and made several cursory nods to the audience and to the assembled first years, before commencing to croon in its customarily croaky voice.

Welcome all ye little ones
Eager to be Slytherins,
Gryffindors or Ravenclaws,
Hufflepuffs to great applause.

Have you not wonderered why we sort
You to these ancient houses four?
Especially if the houses fight
Just when dear Hogwarts must unite?

I wonder too, and so I say,
Regardless how I choose today,
That you consider table five,
A place where harmony will thrive,

A place for yearning to stand tall,
Together, proud that we are all,
Wizards, witches, good and hale,
Who will not let old Hogwarts fail!

Amidst a vibrant hum of comment and speculation, a recognition dawned and hundreds of eyes swept toward this mysterious new table five. As the sole occupant of this new and suddenly very prominent furnishing, Ginny willed herself to suppress or at least subdue a blush that threatened to overtake her cheeks.

Fortunately, she was saved by Professor MacGonagall who raised her wand, and expelled a flash and sharp crack to once again summon everyone's attention to the sorting ceremony.

Embarrassment forgotten, Ginny silently counted the little heads lined up before the sorting stool. She bit her lip: there were only twenty four new students — little more than half the number she had grown accustomed to seeing. She caught her breath as she recalled that two of the children who should be standing up there now in excited anticipation of their emerging magical education .... would never ever take a single class. They had been killed along with their families in the July attacks. At least two other new muggle-born students eligible to enroll had not done so; quite possibly the families had gone into hiding. She guessed that even some pureblood families and mixed families might have pulled out and moved abroad, intimidated by nine months of near-relentless attacks on the wizarding community. Britain was not a safe place to be magical these days, and Hogwarts was no exception.

But the fact of the matter was that if Britain fell to Riddle and the death eaters, the peril would almost certainly spread. No matter how dysfunctional wizarding institutions in this country always seemed, they had enjoyed nearly constant global preeminence since Merlin's day and if Britain's magical community could not resist the evil, what hope did other countries have?

Ginny's thoughts turned back to yesterday's stairwell conversation with Harry. It was imperative that they find a way to stop the horrors. While the Daily Prophet regularly emphasized that the death toll from terror campaign had been far lighter thus far than what the last wizarding war had produced, that seemed such a hollow consolation. Any deaths were still too many. And that did not even begin to account for the other costs. So many children were still alive, but scarred by grief, gripping nightmares and shattered dreams. Yes, she believed with all her heart in what she and Harry had concluded yesterday: they would end the suffering. Sooner rather than later. But how? That was really the critical question, wasn't it?

Harry watched the sorting with half an eye. The rest of his attention was turned somewhat guiltily on the new table where Ginny still sat alone. Not much longer now, Gin! The headmaster had made it clear to him that full time faculty members were expected to occupy seats at the head table during important ceremonies, and this was clearly one of them. That had produced an awkward situation for Ginny: she was not faculty, but was also no longer a student and thus would no longer be welcome to sit at a house table due to various arcane rules entrenched by staunch, immutable tradition. One wholly undesirable option would have been to eat at the Griffindor table as Ron's guest, but the last thing she wanted was to to be beholden to her brother and his schedule every time she needed a meal. Another marginal option was knowing that Dobby would be ecstatic for the opportunity to serve them private meals up in their quarters, but they had no desire to appear elitest at a time when they were trying to unite the school in opposition to the forces of darkness.

So what to do?

Play to one of Ginny's strengths, of course: her creativity! In this case, while the Hogwarts house charters had all the agility of an arthritic brachiosaur, she found a simple loophole: there was no proscription against setting up a new table that was independent of the houses. Furnishings in the Great Hall that did not belong to any of the houses could be changed with a simple signed approval from the headmaster. Knowing Dumbledore's growing impatience with house acrimony, all they had to do was phrase the idea as a gesture to foster cross-house friendship and cooperation. The idea had delighted the headmaster who had been more than happy to propose it in last week's faculty meeting and take credit for the innovation. Thus, much to the surprise of many of the arriving students, times had suddenly changed in the ancient hall, and Harry gazed fondly at his favorite enterprising redheaded instigator, reassuring himself that she would only have to sit alone for another little while.

Buoyed by her renewed optimism, Ginny found herself able to enjoy the sorting ceremony, beaming smiles toward each of the little faces whom she hoped she would get to know better as the school year went on. Lavender Brown's little sister Lilac was sorted into Ravenclaw (Ginny snickered -- guess who got the brains in that family?). The Greengrass twins, Edgar and Francesca, were excited to be joining their older sister Daphne in Slytherin. Then, right after Levis, Aurellio, had been sorted into Hufflepuff, Ginny finally saw the face of one particularly shy child whom she did not recognize until .... Lyon, Jonathon .... reluctantly raised his downcast head to accept the sorting hat.

Jonathon!

Ginny's heart collapsed into the pit of her stomach to watch the saddest, most vacant expression she had ever seen a child wear. She knew precisely why he was so sad. And it took every ounce of self-control she had not to rush over, embrace the poor little fellow and whisper to him, all over again, all of the things she had said this summer that she so dearly hoped he would come to understand. You are loved .... Your father has gone to a good place .... He is proud of you for being so brave .... He will always be with you.

As Jonathon took his seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, Hermione leaned across to Parvati and Neville, asking, "Does anybody know why that little boy is so sad?"

Parvati shook her head.

Neville said nothing; he knew the story, but it wasn't his to tell.

From the seat beside Hermione, Ron shrugged, saying, "Dunno, but the little blighter should be pretty chuffed. He's a Gryffindor!"

Immediately after Wright, Noel, had taken his seat at the Ravenclaw table, the headmaster raised his wand to capture the attention of the Hall. "Dear students!" he opened, "Once again I find myself standing in the way of the food and drink we are all eagerly awaiting. I promise now to be quite brief. Most of what I have to say can wait until you are all sated, happy, and in some cases ...." his eyes flickered briefly in the direction of Crabbe at the Slytherin table, "perhaps asleep. By that time, I should hope to remember most of what I have intended to say. But before then I must elaborate upon the suggestion of our dear friend the Sorting Hat." The hat nodded politely. "That is to say that while we continue to honor our four founders through the institutions that are our four Hogwarts houses, we are now also celebrating their original vision of collaboration. Dear students, please imagine collecting together a formidable corps blessed with the loyalty of Hufflepuff, the bravery of Gryffindor, the wisdom of Ravenclaw and the cunning of Slytherin! This new table we have placed before you is a garden of collaboration. Honor your house, but celebrate Hogwarts, through dedicated cooperation. Let us all work together to conquer the monumental challenges we face. As long as they come forward in a spirit of cooperation, anyone, be they faculty, visitor, guest or student of any house, is always welcome to sit at this new table. Beginning, right now!"

He waved his wand in the air and a shower of yellow, blue, red and green silk streamers shot forth, danced in the air in a maelstrom of color, then descended, assembling into a garlands that draped themselves over the table.

There was a brief moment of confused silence. Then several people stood up. Harry immediately began to make his way down from the staff table to Ginny's side. Blaise conferred with Daphne at the Slytherin table before proceeding over. Neville stopped briefly by the new Gryffindor first years to whisper congratulations to them before collecting Hannah and making their way together toward the front. Mary-Jo and Ryan could be seen quietly conferring; Ryan nodded and gave her a little fist bump. Ryan remained at the Slytherin table, but Mary-Jo rose, scanned over toward the Gryffindor tables to catch Nick Jones' eye before walking over. Luna collected Alex and followed suit, joined en route by Quinn Rasby. Numerous people watched the small migration take shape, wondering whether these daring pioneers were betraying their houses .... or honoring Hogwarts.

As Quinn took his seat, the food materialized in front of everyone's places and the feasting began all around the hall.

Harry looked not at his food, but around the table to the small assembly of faces, clustered around Ginny and himself. He shook his head with a shy smile on his face. "Wow — kudos to all of you for the willingness to stick your neck out in front of the whole Hall at a big feast. I'd thought maybe Dumbledore was going be more low-key and phase in the table tomorrow at breakfast, but apparently he likes the big splash. Anyway, I'm flattered that you're all here!"

"Don't be flattered, Potter." Zabini scolded as he began to serve himself some vegetables. "This is all about 'work together to conquer the monumental challenges blah blah blah', not about flattering some colossal Potter ego ...."

Mary-Jo chose that perfect moment to bump Zabini's elbow, sending a large spoonful of peas scattering over the table and into people's laps.

Ginny snorted as she scooped up a handful of green escapees and vanished them; she wasn't quite certain if the laugh was more over Zabini's ridiculous bluster or Mary-Jo's perfectly-timed prank, but what did that matter?

"I stand humbly and duly corrected." Harry dead-panned, "Now, could someone with better coordination than Blaise please pass the gravy?"

The small assembly of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Slytherins burst into raucous laughter, earning many curious glances from the larger tables nearby. As the merriment began to settle, Quinn Rasby raised a goblet of pumpkin juice. Everyone paused and raised their glasses to face him.

"Here's to some of those monumental challenges, Harry, ...." Quinn began, "and to your thoughts on how we face them?"

Chapter 5. Dummies, Dynamics and a Defense Dropout    (September 2-3, 1997)

Fresh from their morning run, another misty one up the mountainside north of the lake, Harry and Ginny came around the corner along the seventh past the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and were greeted with a striking site: seven stern youths standing in front of the site of the Room of Requirement. Arms crossed, dressed in identical tight-fitting muggle workout clothes, they barred the way with a rather formidable air.

"Ermmm .... Good morning?" Harry ventured.

"How are we supposed to ever beat you if you’re holed up here working out in secret half the day and we only get in here to train two hours a week?" Ryan demanded. Smiles flickered briefly across the face of several students as they listened to Ryan’s blunt, no-nonsense style, but they quickly restored their stoic visages.

"You’d like more time in there with the dummies?" Harry asked. They nodded seriously. Ginny watched Harry interestedly; they had not yet discussed how to handle it if some of their students wanted access to the room at times they’d previously set aside for private training. Nevertheless, she wasn’t too surprised to see Harry smile. "Absolutely!" he told them. "You all showed up ready for work, so let’s go make some dummies pay!"

Nick whooped and pumped his fist and the others began to chatter animatedly as Ginny opened the door to let them all in. As they passed the threshold, Harry asked them whether they wanted to do team exercises, one-on-one or some other configuration.

"Team." Mary-Jo told him as she slung a backpack over her shoulder. "If we could have half the room, we’re going to put up a barrier and train on the other side."

"Sure." Harry agreed. "But you won’t need a barrier because I can just put up wards to catch any stray spells."

"Ummm.... " Mary-Jo began, then paused.

"We’re putting up a barrier because we’re trying out some things and would like a little privacy.” Ryan clarified with a little smirk.

Harry laughed as he recalled having furtively heard Mary-Jo joking about ‘taking down the teacher’ a couple days ago in Diagon Alley. Sounded to him like a strategy session. “Okay,” he agreed, “just as long as you don’t do anything too dangerous. And shout if you need us.”

Quinn and Sarah erected a ten foot barrier running nearly the whole width of the room, as the other five disappeared around it and, by the sounds of it, began setting up what was probably a fairly elaborate set. Five minutes on, they were deeply engaged in some sort of team activity that involved lots of running, simple spell-fire, and Ryan, Mary-Jo and Quinn shouting lots of directional instructions.

Meanwhile Harry practiced his mobility workout, including a couple of ten minute stints under a blindfold as he sought to detect, distinguish, evade and hex three dummies with slightly distinct magical signatures. Ginny was engaged in a tough workout against four fairly skilled dummies. Her main goal for the morning was to get more comfortable with casting two spells simultaneously: primarily being able to sustain a shield with one hand while firing hexes with the other. Being the sort of activity that could implicitly only be done using wandless magic, Ginny didn’t even bother to try to fake it. Looking over, she noticed that Harry’s hands were similarly empty.

The two of them had discussed numerous things over the past week or so since finishing the NEWT exams. One of which was to thoroughly re-evaluate the issue of secrets. They had reluctantly concluded that disguises were still very important for any excursions outside of places that everyone already knew that they frequented (such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade and the Burrow) for the reason that they didn’t want to inadvertently risk the targeting of any friends or favorite establishments. The blinders were going to start coming down on other secrets though. In their classes, which were subject to magical nondisclosure contracts, they had decided to no longer actively hide special talents such as wandless magic, occlumency, skills in designing wards, and so forth. These were skills that probably belonged as actual instructional subjects in their advanced class, because it was quite possible that in the right hands such abilities could save lives.

After 50 minutes of hard training on both sides of the opaque barrier, Nick and Jennifer wandered over to the near side of the room intent upon asking Harry how much time they had left. Instead their jaws dropped. Ginny was holding off three dummies with a one-handed shield, while her other hand was mercilessly blasting the fourth straggler with pulsing everberos. Harry, under blindfold, had just mentally marked his three assailants, dropped his shield and swung his two arms in a fiery windmill of four stupefies that cleared the floor in a little over two seconds.

Sensing the proximity of the two students, Harry shouted “Finite dummies.” and the room went quiet. He took off his blindfold and turned to face Nick and Jennifer .... and Ryan and Mary-Jo who had now also come over to see what was up.

"Need something?" Harry asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the blindfold.

"Yeah." Nick said. "I need to know how the hell you were doing that!"

"Doing what?" Ginny asked. It was a fair question — just a moment ago there had been a lot of different and unconventional things going on.

"How were you getting spells off that fast?" Nick clarified. "And what was with the blindfold?"

"Where are your wands?" Jennifer asked with a frown on her face. By now all seven students had crossed over, wearing curious expressions.

Ginny flicked her wrist to summon her wand from the holster from which it had not previously budged that morning. She shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

"All good questions for your AHA lessons." Harry promised. "But no time to explain right now if you want to get breakfast before class."

"Did someone say breakfast?" Mary-Jo asked, opening her backpack to find a small wicker box. She tapped it with her wand to expand it to the size of a large picnic basket, which she placed on top of a sturdy table that the room had synthesized for the occasion. She placed a large vessel of water on the table and a bunch of cups. The students started passing around various fruit and healthy looking muffins.

"Come on, we won’t bite." she said, by way of invitation to Harry and Ginny.

As Harry approached, he saw Mary-Jo pull nine bowls and spoons from the basket and begin to serve something from a large tin upon which she had apparently placed a refrigeration charm. Harry looked more closely at the mystery substance. “Ice cream for breakfast?” Harry inquired with a puzzled look on his face.

Something had just struck Ginny as exceptionally funny; she sputtered as she tried to repress a burst of giggles.

Mary-Jo paid her no heed. “Since when is it ever not time for ice cream?” she asked. She held out bowls to Ginny and Harry. She smirked a little and looked Harry boldly in the eye, saying, “This time it’s on us!”

After cleaning up from the workout, Harry and Ginny went their separate ways: Harry to do a few final preparations for his sixth year DADA class, and Ginny back to their quarters to put a solid several hours of reading in before lunch. As she she stopped in the bedroom to drop off her workout clothes, she noticed that Harry had made his own modest contributions to the room decor. A grand total of three items, to be exact: on his patch of previously unadorned wall space he had hung the Padfoot drawing she had made him for his sixteenth birthday, and on his bedside table he had placed the snitch she had given him last Christmas, plus the small animated model of a Hungarian horntail that he had received prior to the start of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament several years ago. That was all. Every Weasley Ginny had ever met was an innate junk collector (even Percy, whose compilation of newspaper articles was quite scary). By contrast, Harry had always seemed a scant minimalist.

It sent a warm pulse running through her whole body to know that out of only three items he had seen fit to position in locations of daily reminder, two were gifts she had given him. Either Harry was incredibly sweet, or else he had a bit of a thing for her. Or both she thought to herself, with a silly smile.

The third item was a bit of a puzzle though. To most people, victory in the Triwzard Tournament could be the crowning achievement of a lifetime, but she knew Harry regarded everything about that experience with a pondersome ambiguity, or perhaps even loathing. He did so for a reason that was horribly and vividly understandable. The tournament was a reminder that, despite all the most steadfast resistance he had been capable of at the time, he had nonetheless been a key ingredient in the machinations that had restored corporeal existence to Voldemort.

She sat on the bed close to the miniature dragon, which reared on its hind quarters and breathed imitation fire and smoke at her. Studying it, she wondered if he kept it there precisely to remind himself of the evil treachery, perhaps motivate himself to focus on a goal that might someday soon ensure that such evils never befell anyone else.

Or maybe he put it there, she reflected, for no reason more profound that it is a beautiful work of craftsmanship and because dragons are such beautiful creatures. She picked it up and studied it closely. The small dragon circled menacingly and made noiseless snarling faces at her. As she looked at the dragon she knew that it had just given her a wonderful idea ....

Filing that idea in her mind, she resolved at some point today to take a little look at a children’s picture book of the world’s dragons that she had brought here from the Potter vault. Not yet, though. She had more important things to worry about first. Specifically, mind and soul.

Entering the study, she pick up from her desk a relatively small book that she had culled from the collection entitled “A Beautifully Simple but Inconceivably Controversial Book on the Fundamental Nature of Magic” by Salvatore and Tremelda Fugo. Turning two pages, she read:

Foreward to the 1922 Edition

Every year many thousands of our bright young wizarding troop off to the best schools of magic in the world not realizing that at no point in their educational careers will they ever learn that question most essential to their very core: what is magic? Nearly every one of our children is taught at length about how to use their magical abilities but will eventually proceed through their entire adult lives without being told, or even wondering, what gives them those abilities. When we posed the question to some of our most learned and renowned scholars and educators we received exquisitely Aristotelian answers such as “I am magic. Magic is who I am. There can be no other me.”

We the authors believe that this ridiculous self-imposed blindness is none other than a crass manifestation of the prejudices of our society: the belief that we are immutably special creatures possessed of unknowable gifts that completely distinguish us relative to the crass community of nonmagical human beings (ubiquitously termed so indelicately as ‘muggles’). This, the authors know, is pure, unadulterated nonsense. Several decades ago, when the pair of us experienced, a life-transforming, soul-altering experience that enabled unparalleled abilities to see and experience each other and the magical essence of those around us we began to grasp how much damage our community inflicts on itself and on others by clinging to irrational fallacies. While our misguided prejudice against non-magical beings is unfortunate, the authors believe that our self-inflicted blindness is even more damaging to ourselves. We believe that when we rigorously seek answers to the question of what magic is, we are delivered great insight into how magic can be summoned, shaped and cultivated with far greater ease and effect than what is produced by the inane “Do as I say.” approach to magical education that may forever fester in our schools.

Ginny laughed. She had read a number of muggle reference books and always found them to be so much more formal, dry and decorous than any of the magical texts she had been assigned at Hogwarts, but this little book had all the makings of something even yet more substantially attitudinal. Two minutes of reading and she was already beginning to like Mr. and Mrs. Fugo, and was very much hoping that they might be able to tell her a bit about herself .... and Harry.

She took out a soft-tipped charmed quill and began to inklessly underline passages from the text. The quill somehow communicated the underlined text to a companion quill that busied itself transcribing key segments onto a scroll for her future reference. It occurred to her just how useful such a tool would have been through her five years at school, but a thought then crossed her mind that it was probably one of the several hundred study aids whose use had been banned for the student body as a whole. She sighed. Just one more reason to keep their little study and activities therein shrouded for the time being.

Some of the passages she underlined included:

of our discoveries. Absolutely everything with a tangible physical form contains the same essence from which magic can spring: wizards, witches and muggles alike, kneazels and cats alike, insects, snails, trees, plants, rocks, mud, water, air all contain the same characteristic essence. The difference between a wizard and a muggle or between a kneazel and a cat is that the wizard and the kneazel can manipulate the essence; their essence is like an amorphous gel buffeted by counter-currents. The essence of a muggle, cat or rock is a rigid, fixed shape that only bends under exceptional circumstances of danger or stress. The essence of a modestly magical creature such as a manticore stretches, compresses, and twists depending on the mood and activity of the manticore. The essence of a very young wizard child acts like that of manticore, flexing around within the personal space of that child, but occasionally lashing out to interact with the magical essence of other objects, sometimes knocking them over, sometimes reaching out bluntly to crudely summon a desired toy or bottle. The essence of a well trained witch or wizard actually becomes a distinct, well defined tool: it is quite rigid (i.e., controlled) when not in use, but can be rapidly shaped to become a hand that summons, a hammer that pounds, a shield that protects, a forge that alters the essence of some objects in the case of transfiguration, or attracts and melds magical essence in our surroundings into tangible objects that we can conjure and use. If

followed by:

thus wands are able to channel the shape of our projected essence more precisely than most witches or wizards ever achieve by will of mind alone. This is not to say that the mind is inadequate to the task, it is merely to say that the use of a wand gives us a simple crutch that delivers desired results without the need for more thoughtful personal understanding and intuitive feel for the shape and manipulation of our essence. Does this impose an artificial

as well as:

reinterpret basic magical operations in terms of perturbing magical essence. An object that we might traditionally assume to be non-magical can be rendered actively magical if we perturb its static essence in a way to make it fluctuate in a way that can interact with our own magical essence. For example, brewing a magical potion involves taking non-magical (i.e., static essence) ingredients and blending them in a way that destabilizes their essence. Hence we justisfy the patently pedantic and peculiar potion-brewing steps with which potions masters always torture students: not just any manipulation or mixing protocol is able to perturb the essence of static ingredients in just the right way to achieve the correct magical outcome. The next time you see your potions master, be sure to compliment him on

And:

direct application to the stability and permanence of transfiguration. Imagine if in transfiguring an object, we project our magical essence out to give our target a gentle squeeze. In such a case, it is easy to imagine that the squeezed object will rapidly and plastically revert to its original form. On the other hand, if we craft more elaborate changes to add texture and crenellations to our transfiguration, the regressive process may be significantly hindered, thus providing us with a more stable and potentially permanent

Ginny was finding this to be quite a fascinating and compelling new way of thinking about the magic she had spent the past five years learning, and she was quite prepared to believe that the great leaps in magical prowess that Harry had achieved in the past year and so rapidly and effectively taught her could potentially be explained in terms of intuitively understanding how their active magical essence might be perturbing the essence of other things around them. Fascinating, but not quite the crux of the matter. So she decided to skip past practical aspects of potions, transfiguration, conjuring and hexes to a later chapter entitled “Soul Dynamics and Metamorphosis” where finally found the mother lode:

while far from universal, there is ample evidence for witches and wizards being able to cultivate a capacity for extrasensory detection of magical objects, animals and people. This is a minimal example of how our own dynamic magical essence, our ‘soul’ if one wishes to call it that, can be influenced by other magical entities.

Another more intrusive example of such an interaction is legilimency. Although the term suggests the passive act of reading the thoughts of another person, in fact the phenomenon is much more active: in searching for specific information within a person’s mind (which we have concluded to be a key portion of his or her magical essence), the legilimens frequently pushes aside and sometimes even damages extraneous information. Like transfiguration, these perturbations to a person’s essence do not immediately revert to their prior state. In this sense, the act of legilimency can produce lasting and sometimes even permanent damage to the dynamic essence.

The third mechanism is even more drastic: victims or perpetrators of severe acts of psychic trauma can experience actual ruptures of their magical essence or soul, thus producing a variety of potential outcomes. Empirically, we believe that in the brief period of time during which a person’s magical essence is in a state of rupture, there are several possible outcomes: i) the ruptured surface can fold back in on itself and reconstitute the unified essence again (albeit potentially in a somewhat damaged state), ii) if the ruptured surface of one person’s essence comes in contact with another ruptured essence, the two surfaces can merge, perhaps partially and reversibly (this is often the case when two strong, mature essences come in contact) or in rare instances producing complete and irreversible bonding (generally only recorded in cases of immature but resilient essences such as young children; more mature victims will typically rather experience either partial bonding or death), and finally iii) a soul fragment can be expelled from a person’s essence and become embedded in a nearby magical object or person.

Among these three mechanisms, the only one that ever can be said to produce a positive outcome is the second. The authors themselves constitute an exceptionally rare instance of near partial and irreversible bonding produced by the union of two severely traumatized children. In a reasonable fraction of such cases of partial or total essence bonding, the combined essence effective repairs much of the damage produced by the trauma, and sometimes even produces a combined essence that, mysteriously, is more powerful and resilient than the sum of the original two essences. By contrast, the best that can seemingly be hoped for with the first class of soul damage is recovery to approximate the original pre-damage state. The third form of damage is perhaps the most frightening: it produces an exquisitely horrible irony in which each distinct essence fragment is horribly deformed (this can have terrifying consequences for physical appearance and mental health) while simultaneously according a most revolting form of immortality: one of these soul fragments (typically that with the largest or strongest essence) will be unable to effect a normal transition to post-corporeal emancipation. Specifically, the soul fragment will remain tragically trapped within the physical world for as long as at least one other lesser fragment exists in some sort of coupling with a magical object or being. The precise reasons for this trapping are difficult to fathom, but it may be that there is a fundamental barrier to any soul simultaneously existing in both a physical and a post-corporeal framework.

Ginny closed the book and stared at the wall, motionless for at least ten minutes. Finally, she shook herself and noted the time. Harry would not be done with his morning classes for a little over an hour. But perhaps that was best: she needed a bit of time alone to let some of this sink in before she could imagine discussing it with anyone.

She picked up her transcribed scrolls, walked to her trunk and descended into her bright, sunny kitchen. She quickly made herself a large mug of tea, then ascended the steps and then the ladder into her loft. She sat silently by the window looking out over the simulated woodland lake, sipping her tea thoughtfully and watching a flock of simulated grebes feed and play in the shimmering waters below.

"Before I let you go," Harry told his class of sixth years, "I have a couple quick announcements that are being circulated. First of all, the HA information meeting will be tomorrow evening at 7:00 p.m. in the Great Hall. Second, the interhouse quidditch club will be meeting at 9:00 a.m. Saturday morning on the pitch; for that please see Ginny Weasley if you have any questions. Finally, there will a planning meeting at 4:00 p.m. Friday for ‘Safe Homes and People’, a volunteer organization aimed at providing protective services for your families back home, and building a relief network to help any families that may have experienced major disruptions or tragedies. That will take place in the new inter-house commons on sixth floor, just before the washrooms. Ginny is the contact for that too. .... Oh, and that reminds me: even if you’re not going to the meeting on Friday, come on up to the sixth floor commons room any time you feel like. Think of it as the same type of place as your house common room, except that it’s open for anyone from any house."

Harry was pleased at the buzz of discussion that the announcements created. Probably the most enjoyable part of battling this war was finding ways to build friendships and have fun. It would always feel satisfying to find ways to make people happier and more productive, but if Voldemort was out to destroy morale; anything that he and Ginny could do to thwart that would double the bonus.

As the class packed up bags, Harry scanned the room with his finger and began singling out people. “Quinn .... Sarah .... Jennifer .... Mary-Jo and .... Jack, could you stick around for a bit?” he asked. Once they had assembled near the front, Harry sat on a desk and commended them for taking the initiative to start training. “I know I’ve been hoarding the Room of Requirement a bit. I’ve always had my reasons, and I like to think that they were valid, but no reason I’ve had for monopolizing the space is any better than what you’re up to, so I was wondering if you would like to block off a regular time to meet amongst yourselves for training, strategizing, DADA practicals, and so forth? I could offer you 3:30 — 5:00 p.m. weekdays if you’d like. It’s also okay if you show up during our morning training like you did today, the room divider layout worked fine, but I figured you might like a block of your own time.”

"Absolutely!" Jack exclaimed. The room lit up into excited smiles.

"I have a couple stipulations." Harry continued, "First of all, it’s on my head if one of you gets badly hurt. I know you’re all responsible, but I would like some extra precautions. In particular, I would like several of you to put in a couple hours training on basic emergency healing and response that I will arrange with Madam Pomfrey. Do I have some tentative volunteers?"

All five hands went up.

"What, only 100% of you?" Harry laughed. "Let me keep you posted on that — it might make sense to make it part of the broader AHA curriculum. Okay, I also had a second stipulation: if I’m going to open up the room for seven and a half hours a week like this to you, then I can’t very well say no to other serious, motivated students who would like to do some self-paced exercises, so I would ask that you not be exclusive. On one hand, I don’t want to swamp your time slots with anyone who’s not going to be responsible and respectful of others, but I think a few of the old guard might benefit a lot from working with you if you’re willing, and I also would like you to be mentoring some of the younger set. Deal?"

They nodded. Harry sensed a little less enthusiasm for the idea of sharing their time and space with some of the old DA members from two years ago, but after having had success in breaking down cross-house prejudices, he was not going to just let them be replaced with another form of clique. Besides, although his new group could readily whip any subset of the old DA in competitions that required team coordination (and probably now physical fitness as well), he knew that members of the DA gang (plus Blaise and Daphne) could be very crafty and still had an advantage in spell repertoire.

"Thanks!" he said, smiling broadly. "Please pass the word along to Ryan and Nick!" he called to the departing students, as he began to sort out his notes for the next class. After a couple seconds he realized that he was not yet quite alone. He looked up to see Mary-Jo near the doorway, lingering uncertainly.

She noticed his gaze and met it. “Harry....?” she asked shyly.

"Yes, Mary-Jo, do you need something?"

"I don’t know if this is proper ...." she stammered, "but my Mum was grateful for what you did this summer. I mean I was so grateful too, but my Mum was .... well I guess she was sad that she never had a chance to thank you." She fidgeted nervously. "Anyway, I don’t think students usually give their teachers gifts, and I want you to know that I’m not trying to get any special favors from you ...."

"The sincere gratitude that you’re conveying is all the reward that I could even think of asking for Mary-Jo." Harry said gently. "You don’t have to give me anything else."

She laughed and broke the tension. “Of course you can say I don’t have to give you something .... but Mum will kill me if I put this off any longer!” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small two-handled silver cup and thrust it into his hands.

He examined the cup with wide eyes. It was clearly very old, but well polished. It’s engravings were faint but elaborate: there was an eagle perched on a windswept hawthorn tree, with a flowing script proclaiming ‘Sumus Amici Fideles’. “Wow, this is brilliant .... thank you!”

"You’re welcome ...." she said distractedly. She was frowning, her eyes were scanning Harry’s face. "You don’t seem to have any new scars." she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Oh sorry." she said, with a small, embarrassed smile on her face. "The nurse at St. Mungo’s said you looked terrible that day .... that there was blood streaming down your face. I owled everyone I could think of to try to find out if you were okay. Nobody knew anything, and nobody could tell me anything about how to contact you. I spent three days thinking .... oh no — I killed the teacher! Then, thank Merlin, Ryan owled me with a list of recent Harry-sitings."

Harry smiled, with a little regretful twist to his mouth. He took her hand. “Please try not to worry too much about me. I get myself into lots of trouble, but for some reason I always seem to come out okay. I’m glad you and the rest of your family escaped Mary-Jo! I’m also immensely relieved that your mother is recovering so well .... and as far as me and my scars are concerned: please come to the healing workshop when I get it scheduled. You never know when that will come in handy!”

She laughed and thanked him again before rushing off to get to her next class. Harry’s smile lasted for several minutes more as he thought about the cohesive, dedicated and caring group of students he had the privilege of teaching. This class was going to be fun! Not only did it have five out of the super seven group, but there were only three students in the whole class who had not been part of last year’s HA. He figured that the whole class might have fully conquered the whole NEWT curriculum before spring and that would leave them all free to tackle lots of more advanced topics that could supplement the HA training. The only problem with this class, in his opinion, is that it left Ryan and Nick out of the action. It seemed kind of silly to him — it was true that they were a year younger than the other five, but they were every bit as capable. Ryan especially could probably walk right into a DADA OWL exam today and score and E or an O. Nick might not be quite there, but he wouldn’t be too far behind. Then the obvious occurred to him: if Ryan and Nick were so advanced beyond the current fifth year class, why not ask Professor Caldwell to have them elevated to sixth year DADA? Harry knew he could cover any modest deficiencies in their OWL preparation with ease. They could then plan to sit the DADA examination in June along with the rest of their OWLs, but have simultaneously progressed one year along in NEWT studies.

Yes, that could work! He laid out his plan: he would corner Ryan and Nick at lunch to see if they were interested, then he would take the matter either to Dumbledore or McGonagall for their thoughts and, if all went well, he would talk to Caldwell tomorrow and have them in his class by Friday. Perfect!

Now if only he could only be so optimistic about his seventh year class.

His erstwhile peers were now filtering in, taking seats at desks facing him. Hermione and Ron arrived first, looking a little apprehensive. He realized with a guilty start that he had not yet had the chance to properly greet his old friends since school had started. Rising to stand by their desks, he admitted as much to them.

"Ron! Hermione! How are you two doing? I feel awful — I meant to come say hi to you at the feast, but I didn’t manage to break away from discussions at our table until after most of the rest of the hall had cleared out, and since then I’ve been tied up in lesson plans. Good to see you!"

"Don’t worry about it — good to see you too, Professor!” Ron grinned at him.

"No don’t feel badly, Harry." Hermione assuredly him, a little shyly. "We could plainly see how busy you’ve been."

"Still doesn’t quite excuse it." Harry smiled regretfully. "Too late to change it now, but getting back to the present .... are you two settling in and taking charge? Bossing all the little people around?" he asked with a wink as he began to make his way back to the front of the room.

He waved to Neville, Hannah and Ernie who were now taking seats near the front. The class began filling up in earnest with the veritable who’s who of his DA compatriots from two years ago, minus the minority portion of the group that had come from either younger or older years, but augmented by a number of Slytherins.

Harry was absolutely determined to maintain a sunny, felicitous attitude for the class, but buried beneath that were grounds for trepidation: firstly, he could imagine some challenges in holding the respect and discipline from a group of his peers, many of whom had plenty of memories of him as an erratic and undisciplined youth who had spent an inordinate amount of time in detention. They had generally responded well to his instruction in the DA and HA, but standing in front of a core NEWT class was a different story. They were being asked to entrust to him some responsibility for their long-term professional success. Secondly, what could be expect from those who not been part of that group? In particular a pair of Slytherins who had earned the right to be in this course, courtesy of receiving good marks from Professor Caldwell last year: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.

Pansy entered the classroom just behind Blaise and Daphne. She looked as though this was the last place in the building she wanted to be right now, but to her credit (or perhaps to the credit of Blaise and Daphne’s persuasion) she had shown up. Harry gave her a quick smile that was not returned, then he turned his attention to the attendance sheet in his hands, saying, “Now we are only waiting for ....” he frowned. His attendance sheet had changed since that morning and a familiar name (that should have lurked immediately between MacMillan, Ernest and Patil, Parvati) had vanished. His reaction surprised even himself. He could have been immensely relieved to discover that Draco Malfoy’s name had been removed from his class list, but he instead found himself annoyed and disappointed.

"Nobody." he said, finally finishing his own sentence with a slightly grouchy edge to his voice. "We are waiting for nobody, so let’s begin.”

He paced a few steps to shift gears and refresh in his mind some semi-rehearsed statements he had formulated for the occasion.

"You, this group of students, collectively represent the best Hogwarts has to offer the world this year in what has become an absolutely increasingly critical part of your education: Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’m surprised to have the honor to teach you, and to be perfectly honest I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you were to question my credentials for doing so." He paused to gaze around at everyone’s faces. Almost everyone met his eyes, awaiting his next words. Pansy, however, was studying the surface of her desk, while Zacharias Smith had chosen a spot on the wall somewhere to the right of Harry’s ear upon which to direct his dispassionate stare. Harry continued, "Let’s put aside those questions for the time being and instead put things in perspective."

He paused for emphasis.

"I give to you my honest vow that I will be a competent and dedicated instructor. I pledge that I will do my best to position you well for your NEWT exams. Finally, please note that at no point this year am I ever going to be in a position to give you a grade or an evaluation that will ever have any effect on your future life."

That got everyone’s attention. Even Pansy and Zacharias swiveled their eyes to stare at him.

"Think about it." Harry continued. "From this point onwards, your only mission is to knock the socks off your NEWT examiners. You never have to do anything to prove yourself to any Hogwarts DADA professor ever again. None of the .... what .... seven DADA instructors that you’ve had in your careers?" He smiled, earning a burst of laughter from class. It was true — not a single student sitting in this class had ever had the same DADA professor for as much as single repeat performance.

"So we all have something in common: you all want to put in that last push so that you can ace your NEWT and make all of the last six years worthwhile, and I want you all to ace your NEWT because you can bet that people are going to be keeping an eye on me to see if I can actually teach. So the good news is that I’ve done my DADA NEWT. I did well on it. Sure, I’m as green an instructor as you’ll find anywhere, but the good news is that I didn’t take the test in 1970 .... or 1870 .... or whatever ridiculously outdated time period you can think of. I took my exam last month, and I can assure you that it looked very similar to what you’re going to see in June. I know precisely how to do well on it. If you all work with me, I see no reason why any of you should get anything less than an E!"

"Woohoo!" cried Neville. His hand flew up to his mouth as the entire class turned in amazed disbelief at the usually quiet boy who produced the outburst. Laughter rang out for the second time in as many minutes. Neville smiled sheepishly.

"Now ...." Harry said, with a mischievous grin, "let’s kick off this wonderful new relationship off with .... a test."

The class all groaned in unison, except for Hermione, who looked suddenly quite pleased with herself.

"Wands out and quills away. This is not your usual test." Harry explained as he handed out parchments. "Each parchment lists 44 standard spells that comprise the main NEWT requirements. Beside each skill you will see three circles, labeled as ‘expert’, ‘needs practice’ or ‘not attempted’. You are asked to tap your wand against each of the 44 skill areas, and you’ll find that the parchment is charmed to determine from your wand how proficient you are in that area. There are no right or wrong answers; this is only to determine what level each of you are at. The goal is to try to make the most out of this final year that you have at Hogwarts by not asking any of you to sit through too much stuff that you already know. We will plan our instruction somewhere in the mid-skill level; some students may have to work with me to catch up on a few skills; others may have to repeat a few exercises, but I’d prefer to avoid a repeat of last year where a lot of you spent a lot of time sitting around in boredom. The last thing any of us want in these tense times is to waste time being bored when we could be learning critical defense skills."

Just as had happened in Harry’s sixth year class, the students were very intrigued by the novel mechanism for testing and rapidly forget their qualms being asked to take a snap test. The room quickly filled with excited discussion that Harry made no effort to suppress, instead just letting them enjoy discovering what their wands would say about their abilities. Harry smiled. Another great idea from his inspirational little redhead. It was effective, an amusing gimmick, and surprisingly easy to pull off magically. He couldn’t wait to tell her at lunch how it had gone over.

After 15 minutes of cheers, jeers and other sort of excited gesticulations, Harry began to collect the papers. As he approached Zabini, Harry found him leaning over Daphne’s test with a pronounced scowl on his face.

"You treacherous little stick!" Zabini swore at his wand as he compared his results with his fellow Slytherin’s. "Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do remedial work for this clown!" he grumbled, gesturing at Harry. Holding his paper out of Harry’s reach, Zabini reached across the aisle. "Daphne, give me your wand — this calls for drastic measures!"

Daphne giggled and backed away out of his reach. “Serves you right Blaise. All you did last year was sit in back all last year snickering and pranking MacMillan and Smith!” she scolded him. “Cute spells, but I don’t think anyone ever saved a life with the stinky stockings hex.”

Harry smirked. “Blaise, if you’re dreading one-on-one time with me that much then maybe .... if you behave yourself and ask nicely enough .... it might just be possible to arrange remedial sessions with Ms. Weasley instead.”

Zabini looked up, processed the offer, then grinned. He slapped his less-than-satisfactory test scroll emphatically into Harry’s outstretched hand with an expression of smug satisfaction. Daphne rolled her eyes.

Harry didn’t want to waste class time evaluating the tests, but also didn’t want to finalize his lesson plans until he’d had the chance to see where everyone stood, so he spent the remainder of the period talking about specific areas he knew they would need to cover, plus suggesting advanced, post-NEWT topics that they could explore given sufficient class interest. After he had made the standard announcements and released the class, he called one student back. “Ms. Parkinson, could I speak with you for a moment please?”

She hesitated and made her way back toward the front of the class, exuding uncertainty, but holding her head up, seemingly prepared to be defiant to the face of a longstanding adversary.

Harry smiled at her in an attempt to defuse the tension. She continued to regard him uneasily, so he broke the ice, saying, “I was very pleased to see you in class today. You’ve earned every right to be here, but nonetheless I wondered if it might not have been easy to come through that door.”

She still declined to respond, so Harry persevered. “So, anyway, I can imagine the prospect was even less thrilling for Draco. But regardless of where he and I have stood over the years, I know that he earned a solid E last year with Professor Caldwell, and I don’t want to put any artificial barriers in whatever path he chooses for his future. Do you have any idea whether be might be talked into reconsidering his enrollment?”

"Look Potter .... I’m mean, Professor Potter ....” she said as she sought to reconstruct a tone with indifferent civility. “With all due respect .... any decision that Draco Malfoy makes is his own business. I do not and will not have any influence on whether or not he takes this course.”

"But you’re ...." Harry began, but quickly caught himself. He had been about to insinuate, quite stupidly, that as Draco’s girlfriend she might have some influence over him, but he immediately kicked himself for that assumption. He was on the other side of the fence now. Faculty members were not supposed to care who was whose boyfriend or girlfriend. Besides, it was entirely possible that she and Draco had broken up recently. In his current position, he no longer had the constant distraction of student grapevines buzzing in his ears. And regardless, he was a grown-up now. If he needed to deal with Malfoy, he needed to do it himself. No matter how little he relished the thought of trying to convince the annoying little ferret to re-evaluate an important life decision, he would give it a try and there would be no proxies.

Harry met Pansy’s hesitant gaze with respect and understanding, changing his statement in midstream. “.... But you’re completely right of course. Please forgive my presumptuousness, and thank you for your time.”

With marginally softened expression, she nodded and turned to leave.

"Pansy?"

She halted, but didn’t turn to face him.

"Thank you for having an open mind and for showing up today. I want this class to be worth your while. If you ever encounter any difficulties, or have any questions or suggestions, please don’t hesitate to come to me. Okay?"

She turned and met his gaze for a moment. “Okay.” she said tentatively. “Ummm .... thanks Harry.”

Harry and Ginny nominally had lunch together, but both found themselves so busy catching up- with friends or trying to track down various people for different reasons, they barely managed to share much of their morning’s experiences. Fortunately, although they both decided to go their separate ways for an hour after lunch to plan activities, they were nonetheless able to meet around mid-afternoon for a heart-to-heart discussion of Ginny’s preliminary research findings, followed by a hard training session to blow off steam and angst as they both started to process just how complicated their lives were about to become. Some tentative conclusions that they were drawing from the combination of their own experiences and the compelling concepts outlined by the Fugos were tantalizing, frightening, and would certainly need to be discussed with Dumbledore, but both Harry and Ginny were having difficulty getting comfortable with any specific strategy for broaching their ideas with him.

After cathartically devastating many dummies, Ginny sat in their den, sitting on a hassock in front of the tall arched window looking westward out over the castle grounds. She took a drink from a mug of chilled butterbeer and placed it on the sunlit window ledge in front of her. Harry paced listlessly behind her, lost in thought.

We will not save the world this afternoon, Ginny thought to herself, so she decided to lighten the mood a little. “I can’t believe you told Zabini I might tutor him in defense.” she said, with a gentle laugh.

"Anything to keep him in line." Harry said, chuckling.

"But Professor Potter," she chided him, "history is rife with stories of teachers falling for their eager young students. Aren’t you concerned that you might be sowing seeds of the next great romance?"

"Blaise?" he scoffed. "Yeah right!"

"Oh, and what exactly do you think you have that Blaise doesn’t? Other than that monumental ego he insinuated last night?" Ginny teased, with a wicked grin.

"You!"

"Touché!" Her eyes had acquired a twinkle that was frightening reminiscent of the twins. "No, I want you to explain to me just what it is that is just so special about Harry James Potter that an attractive rogue like Blaise Zabini would not be able to match?"

Harry paused to think for a moment. “Well, I have unruly hair that he would never be able to match without investing a lot more time on charms than he has to date. I bet I have at least a dozen more scars than he does. I have this crooked toe that healed badly after .... hmmm, I can’t even remember what that was from ....”

"No, I’m talking about good traits. Okay, I’ll grant you the hair. That beats Zabini’s poofy coiffe any day. But apart from that, well, do you really expect to keep a devious, persistent rascal like that at bay just because you go around looking like you were trampled by a herd of abraxans?”

"Maybe they were especially attractive abraxans?" Harry quipped, as he approached Ginny and stood behind her.

"Don’t change the subject!" Ginny scolded, as she twisted her head around so that her sparkling eyes could meet his.

Harry looked down at her quizzically. “So let me get this right,” he began, “you’re asking me .... in a your current state of angst and doubt ....” He paused to study her for a moment. “Make that your current state of very impish angst and doubt .... that you need a good reason why you should stick with your haggard old boyfriend, rather than run off with someone more exciting like Zabini.”

Ginny shrugged, fighting to suppress a smirk. “Your words not mine, but as you put it that way ....”

"Will one reason do?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps. Maybe to start with ...." Ginny mused. "If it’s a good one."

"Okay." Harry said, locking his eyes with Ginny’s devious, curious and expectant gaze. In single motion, he slid his hands into the neck of the loose-fitting exercise shirt she was wearing (it was actually an old shirt of his from last year) and keyed immediately on the tense knots of muscles at the junction of her shoulders and clavicle. Her eyes flew open in momentary surprise, but nearly as quickly closed again as she subsided into his hands.

"That ...." she whispered, "is completely unfair."

"Hmm?" Harry inquired. "Would you like me to stop?"

"No, no, no .... don’t misunderstand." she said in a voice that was somewhere between a whimper and sigh. "Completely unfair .... to Zabini. Doesn’t stand a chance."

"If you keep flattering the monumental ego, I might have to take you somewhere where we can work on your feet and legs too."

"Ohh...." Ginny sighed. "brain fogged .... trying to think .... flattery ....?"

"That will do." Harry decided. Leaving one hand wrapped around her shoulder, he withdrew the other and wrapped it under her legs, hoisting her surprisingly limp form into his arms.

"Hmmm?" she mumbled.

He carried her through the doorway and laid her gently onto the bed and rolled her onto her front. She twitched and giggled a little as he removed her stockings, but otherwise lay passively for his ministrations as his hands worked methodically from toes to feet to calves and then up the full extent of her back, neck and scalp.

Gathering the soft piles of red hair away from her placid face, he stretch himself out and reclined next to her. Her breathing was deep and relaxed. Harry wasn’t sure whether she was awake or asleep. He was in the process of pondering what to do with the impending evening, when she stirred a little.

"Harry?" she murmurred languidly.

"Yes?"

"I was kidding about Zabini."

He reached over and ran his fingertips lightly over her back. “There was never any doubt about that.” he admonished softly.

"So you didn’t really need to do all this for me." she whispered.

He continued his caresses. “Of course I had to do something nice for you. That had nothing to do with Zabini.”

"Oh?" she asked, opening an eye. "Do tell?"

"That was for all the hard work you’ve put in the past while, all the dozens of great ideas and considerate gestures. All the stuff I haven’t had a chance to thank you for."

Ginny flicked one of her hands in a small beckoning gesture. Harry moved his hand to hold hers. She squeezed firmly, murmurring, “Remind me to keep doing that stuff. Seems to be worth it.”

She closed her eyes again. She held his hand firmly for a minute, rubbing her thumb over his, but then her grip softened and Harry sensed her breaths subsiding to the gently, slow rhythm of sleep. He lay beside her for a while, watching her and letting his mind drift over the many many things that were working in his subconscious. Then, sooner than he would have expected, he felt her give a little start and stiffen.

"Darn." she grumbled.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It’s supper time isn’t it?"

He looked at his watch. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She groaned. “I don’t think I can do all that chatty friendsy stuff right now. Have all the ambition of a lump of clay.”

Harry didn’t feel particularly sociable either. The last month had been so frenetic that he couldn’t recall the two of them spending so much as half an hour together in a relaxed way, without needing to break away for obligations, planning or studying. It seemed a shame to spoil the togetherness they were finally sharing now.

Fortunately there was a simple answer. “Dobby.” he suggested.

"Hmmm?"

"We can ask Dobby to pull something together for us to eat up here." he elaborated.

"Oh, that would be lovely!" she enthused, opening her eyes and sitting up. "Do you suppose he would mind?"

"Are you kidding?" Harry laughed. "For Harry Potter and his favorite Wheezey, we’ll have trouble holding him to anything less than four courses. I’ll go ask him right now." he said, getting up. "Be back in a few minutes."

"But Harry?" Ginny called before he had left the room.

"Yes?"

"What about table five?"

Harry smiled. “Good thought. But I bet there are several good people who will be happy to take charge of the table in our absence.”

Once Harry had managed to politely steer Dobby’s boundless enthusiasm toward a dinner request, Harry decided to take a quick detour through the Great Hall before heading back to quarters. Nodding and waving to a few friends as he walked through the room, Harry made his way to the inter-house table to see that everything was okay. The table was busy — a good dozen or more people were there including some of the usual suspects (Neville, Hanna, Luna, Daphne, and four of the super seven) plus several whom Harry had not previously met. He steered his way to one end and pulled up a seat with Nick, Jack, Ryan and Mary-Jo, who all greeting him amicably.

"Good news!" he said to Nick and Ryan. "You’re in!"

Both of the fifth years gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Mary-Jo, who apparently had heard about the plan, smiled and said “Thanks Harry!”

"What’s all this?" Jack asked.

Harry quickly explained about wanting to keep the gang on the same instructional footing and about his back room conversations to get Nick and Ryan elevated to the sixth year class.

"Wow, that’s really cool!" Jack exclaimed. "Thanks for doing that!"

Harry smiled broadly. Inwardly it was an absolute thrill for him to hear a Hufflepuff showing such enthusiasm about special favors being rendered to a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, who happened to be best friends.

Not wanting to keep Ginny waiting, Harry excused himself and pointedly asked his four friends to keep an eye on the table and to let him know tomorrow if anybody had any questions about HA or about the various inter-house programs.

Arriving back at their quarters, Harry made his way into the den to find their table stacked with silver vessels and two candles, and a beautiful woman waiting for him with a lovely smile on her face.

"You checked on the table." she stated, in her disarmingly astute manner.

"Yes." he admitted with a smile. "And everything is going just fine!"

They ate the sumptuous meal in silence, pausing every once in a while to exchange looks as their separate trains of thought seemed to wordlessly converge. Harry was about half way through dessert when he put down his fork and reached slowly across the table to find Ginny’s hand. Their eyes fixed on each other in silence for a moment.

"I think the two of us need to take a little trip to find your Mr. and Mrs. Fugo." he said.

Chapter 6. Puff the Magic Dragon    (September 4-5, 1997)

Harry Potter wanted to speak with Draco Malfoy. This was not the sort of thing that happened every day. In fact, it was unusual and noteworthy enough that a competent divination practitioner probably should have detected it. Unfortunately the somewhat blighted batch of tea leaves that Sybil Trelawney had foisted upon her unwitting fourth year students generally produced a rash of more plausible (but less accurate) predictions such as the impending death of a prominent professional quidditch player or an imminent attack of fire crabs. Professor Trelawney herself had decided that the peculiar planetary alignment on Sept. 4, 1997 was a strong harbinger of Ernie MacMillan coming into a large fortune via gobstones speculation.

Despite rapidly proving himself one of the most powerful wizards In Britain, Harry remained spectacularly inept at divination, and, being unable to see the future, he still had substantial misgivings about seeking out Draco. Part of him was screaming, Don’t do it. Nothing good will come of it. Let him ruin his own life in peace, but Harry had finally come down on the side of the newer, stronger, more confident part of him that was wearing a wry smile, telling him, That’s exactly what the old Harry Potter would have done. As far as Harry was concerned, the old Harry Potter had a track record comprised largely of unseemly procrastination and rash, belated compensatory flailing; a track record of poor preparation followed by foolish decisions, surviving the consequences only by the grace of a remarkable amount of luck.

So, after careful consideration, it did not seem completely stupid to Harry that he should be standing in the dungeons, waiting for seventh year double potions to be dismissed, so that he could ambush Draco Malfoy and drag him into the office of an unsuspecting Snape to deliver a short lecture on responsible life decisions. Reassuringly, this plan had not even sounded stupid to Ginny when he had discussed it with her. She had pondered the dilemma for quite a while: in the time it had taken to sip a butterbeer and receive a neck-rub, she had reached her verdict. She had kissed his cheek and told him that it was the right thing to do.

The school bell sounded, and the first one out of the class, apparently in a hurry to escape and avoid any post-lecture chit chat was Mr Malfoy himself. In his now-usual state of distraction, Draco wasn’t watching where he was going. Harry saw him coming, but chose not to step out of the way. Draco collided with Harry with a loud Oooff and stumbled to one knee. It was only as Harry was helping him up that Draco recoiled, realizing whom he had collided with.

Harry made his best effort to effect a smile that wouldn’t appear smug, amused or threatening. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t easy, but it must have been a reasonable facsimile since Draco’s initial look of shock was quickly replaced by confusion.

"Stick around a minute, please." Harry said, again trying to sound unthreatening. "You and I are going to have a short meeting with your head of house, and then you’ll be free to go." Draco looked from side to side nervously, but didn’t see any easy way to break free without embarrassment.

The other potions students filed past, most of them noticing Harry and Draco standing face to face by the wall. Hermione looked alarmed, but hurried past. Pansy, Blaise and Daphne stared curiously. Neville caught Harry’s eye, conveying an unspoken offer of assistance. Harry smiled appreciatively but declined with a subtle nod of his head.

After the last student had passed, Harry pointed back toward the potions classroom and Draco found himself reluctantly slumping his way back inside. Then, suddenly rethinking his own acquiescence, he turned to protest, shrilly hissing, “Listen Potter, I don’t know what you’re ….”

But Harry interrupted, speaking through Draco to the emerging Snape. “Professor Snape,” Harry spoke authoritatively, “I would like to ask for a moment of your time in your capacity as head of house.”

Caught off guard to see Draco and Harry blocking the doorway, Snape recovered quickly, bruskly blurting, “What is it Potter? I don’t have all day.”

Harry maneuvered Draco through the doorway, entered and closed the door. “I hope not to take up much of your time, but I wanted to speak to you about the fact that Draco has withdrawn from Defense Against the Dark Arts class.”

Snape looked from Harry to Draco and back again. Twice. “So what?” he asked.

Nonplussed by the inarticulate response, Harry launched directly into his prepared words. “Draco scored an E on his sixth year exam. Professor Caldwell’s notes reflect that he had outstanding performance on theoretical aspects of the subject, but was marginal in his practical capacities. While I would rather not sound too immodest, instruction in practical defense has become a specialty of mine. I am confident that if Draco were to complete this year’s class, he could achieve an O on his final NEWT.”

Snape’s face twisted in a way that Harry couldn’t recall having seen before. “Even for you, Potter, this joke seems to be in spectacularly poor taste.” he seethed through gritted teeth.

"This is not a joke, sir. And my taste, however poor or otherwise it may seem, is irrelevant to the discussion."

"Come off it Potter!" Draco whined, with strain readily apparent in his pinched face. "You’re not my teacher. You don’t have anything on me. You’re wasting my time and I’m leaving!"

"Stay Draco!" Snape commanded. He turned back to Harry. "You are stretching credulity, Potter, to suggest that you have Draco’s welfare in mind in whatever little charade you’re playing here. I’m going to give you thirty seconds to explain to Draco why he might consider suspending any of his justifiable skepticism regarding your intentions."

"Thank you sir." Harry said, turning to Draco. "What I explained to my seventh year students was that any past friendships or non-friendships are immaterial to what they can expect from the class. I reminded them that I will not be in any position to personally evaluate them for any of their achievements; that their only real performance benchmark this year would be the NEWT scores that will come from external evaluators, and that it is in my own best interest to see them all succeed. I should also remind you both that there are three Slytherins who remain enrolled in the class. I would invite you to seek the initial opinions of your house colleagues on the course materials and lesson plan before making a final decision on enrollment. It’s my understanding, Draco, that you have two weeks remaining during which to re-enroll."

"That was thirty nine seconds." Snape said blandly, without consulting any time keeping instrument.

"Sincerest apologies." Harry deadpanned.

Malfoy darted rapid glances from Snape to Harry and back again. “It’s a bloody trick. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to sir, but everything about this stinks. This is a bleeding Potter sneak trick!!”

Harry stared coldly toward Draco’s averted eyes. “This is not a trick. You both have my word. Mr. Malfoy, you have two weeks to make a final decision.”

Although it is difficult to meaningfully use ‘slink’ and ‘sprint’ to describe the same action, that was roughly the manner in which Draco vacated the room. This left Harry and Snape standing face to face.

Snape regarded Harry icily. “If this is a trick Potter, I will see to it that you are fired.”

Expressionlessly, Harry met Snape’s glare with dispassion. “My continued employment is the least of our concerns, sir. Each and every ounce of division and animosity left inside Hogwarts decreases our chances for working together, surviving and defeating our one true enemy.” Harry spun on his heel, saying, “Thank you for your time.”

Severus Snape was now all alone in the dungeon, idly fingering his wand. Several minutes ago he had clearly been in a tremendous hurry to rush off somewhere important…. the unstated reasons for that haste seemed quite forgotten.

Friday afternoon, Harry found himself hurrying up the many flights of stairs from the library to the sixth floor common room for the SHP meeting Ginny had called. As his legs made their long, purposeful strides, his mind was reflecting on a very encouraging past 24 hours. Thursday’s HA meeting had exceeded his expectations: over one hundred people had shown up and signed the updated contract, including the twins plus an additional fourteen adults who had heard about the training, likely from the twins’ grapevine. In truth, there were so many in the beginners class that he would definitely need some assistants on hand to reinforce the lessons he gave. Ginny had already volunteered, as had Neville, Daphne, Susan Bones and Anthony Goldstein. He reflected that he could use a few more, but wasn’t too worried — the current HA crop was very amenable to volunteerism.

The other happenstance that brought a smile to his face was that when he and Ginny entered the Room of Requirement for this morning’s training, he had found the room already divided in half, with the inner half occupied by ten students, including his usual super seven, plus Daphne, Terry Boot and a Ravenclaw fourth year whom Harry had not previously met. As he and Ginny were preparing to start their own workout, Quinn came over to tell them that they were doing a morning session instead of their usual 4:00 p.m. slot since most of them wanted to attend Ginny’s meeting that afternoon. Harry had regretted the inadvertent scheduling conflict that he had created, but was relieved to learn that it wouldn’t have a negative impact on Ginny’s plans.

Making the turn into the sixth floor common room, Harry stopped for a moment to admire the new decor: it was now no longer the spare alcove it had been several days ago, but rather a friendly, welcoming place with some basic furniture (most of it school property that Ginny had moved out of their quarters to make way for Potter pieces) and well stocked bookshelves (numerous school texts, references, plus an assortment of muggle fiction classics, old quidditch periodicals, etc.). Ginny had managed to find smaller version of all four house banners to hang above the mantle, and had set up a bulletin board with a full population of the most recent school notices. Further adding to the pleasant mood was a lively discussion already underway at the larger table among some the early arrivals: Ginny, Neville, Luna, Hannah, Susan, Michael Corner, Daphne, Ryan, Nick, Mary-Jo and Sarah Lindsey. Harry pulled up a seat next to Sarah and greeted the group quietly so as not to interrupt the conversation.

After Michael had finished a speech about the dire state of muggle-borns (and issue of which Harry was already painfully well versed) Ginny smiled at Harry. “We can give it another couple minutes for people to show?” she asked.

"Good idea." Harry responded. "A lot of people just got out of their final classes for the day; some might drop by dorms to offload books before heading over."

As it was, another ten people arrived over the next two minutes. Many had never been to this corridor before, so the lively conversation proved to be very helpful in directing people to the meeting.

In Dumbledore fashion, Ginny summoned a loud purple spark from her wand to get everyone’s attention and started in with a semi-rehearsed speech to welcome everyone and thank them for their interest. Then she launched into a rough outline of the proposed program.

"The program is intended," she began, "to address some of the most painful lessons we’ve learned from the past ten months of attacks. Many of you are in the HA and have learned a lot about protecting yourself physically and magically from direct magical assaults, but the worst damage rent on a majority of victims has been psychological. Many of us have family or friends who have either survived, or sometimes failed to survive, the attacks. Numerous people have lost homes. Many businesses in wizarding centers have shut down, putting parents, siblings and other relatives out of work. All of us, I’m sure, live in fear that we could hear bad news any day with direct, personal implications. As long as that fear is stronger than our hopes, the wrong side is winning."

She paused to survey the faces of more than twenty raptly attentive individuals. In the background she noticed Hermione arriving, with a somewhat reluctant Ron in tow.

"Look around at yourselves. Remember what all of us accomplished last year with the HA, and reflect on how well prepared we proved to be for a hellacious summer that saw our group deliberately targeted. With that in mind, ask yourself: what is the best resource at our disposal for winning the fight? Us! Our courage, our intelligence, our preparedness! Right here, we have all the will and resources to save lives of our family, friends and neighbors. I’m not saying that you need to go out to fight death eaters face to face in order to make a difference. I’m sure some of you probably will do that at some point, and doubtlessly some of you will become heroes as a result, but because the enemy’s worst weapon of attack is psychological, this should also be our best weapon of defense. You will be amazed at how much respect and adulation can be earned by people who might not feel ready for hands-on fighting but have the time, energy and creativity to give your family, friends and neighbors the tools they need to survive attacks and cope with their aftermath.”

Ginny started circulating copies of a parchment outlining the key support strategies that SHP would focus on at the outset. “The first goal,” she said, pointing toward the top of the document, “is to give people a safe refuge. We have acquired a large old property in a secret rural location that we plan to turn into a safe-house for families displaced by attacks or threats. I realize that Hogwarts was used for this purpose this summer, but that becomes less practical when there are hundreds of students here. Hogwarts staff will still try to accommodate in a very temporary way, but during the school year our new location should rise to become the primary option. To make it workable, we need volunteers who are willing to help clean and restore the place, as well as to help set up wards and possibly assist in staffing the place at the outset, although we plan to turn over most of the staffing to people in the broader community who have lost their jobs.”

"Secondly, we are planning to distribute automated protection services to anyone who is at risk of an attack. The worst damages inflicted on attacks were to families and properties that had no wards in place or inadequate protection, and we are aware that the Ministry and volunteer organizations such as the Order of Phoenix have not been able to come anywhere close to meeting the demand for providing protective measures. Fortunately, we have identified a firm that is willing to manufacture charmed devices that can automate the process of bodily and property warding. They are willing to make the devices for us at very reasonable costs, but would like some help in identifying and optimizing specific spells to include in the devices. Hence, we need your spellmanship and creativity."

"Thirdly, we would like to distribute emergency apothecary kits to the safe house and to at-risk families. Supplies for many of the substances we need to include in these kits are running very low in places like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley; we don’t know for certain, but we suspect that there is a criminal element who has cornered the market on many critical potions, draughts and salves. So this final key objective will be to enlist those of you with potions and herbology expertise to build in-house supplies. That’s the basic framework. Do any of you have questions?"

Michael Corner’s hand shot up. He pointed at his open hand. “How are you going to pay for all of this?”

"I’m not at liberty to divulge our benefactor." Ginny said. "But we have a very healthy operating budget."

"What sort of time frame are you aiming for to start getting some of these resources out?" Sarah asked.

"Very good question. Thanks Sarah!" Ginny responded. "We have a number of reasons for wanting to move as ambitiously as possible. It would be really, really great …." Ginny wrung her hands together anxiously, "if we could start distributing the kits and devices by the start of October. Same for the safe house — if we could have it operating in at least partial capacity by around then."

Ryan spoke up in a clear, level voice. “I assume you have very real and tangible reasons for that time frame …. and I assume that you might not be in a position to share specifics.”

Ginny and Harry both nodded gravely.

"I think we …." Ryan swept his gaze around the room, "can all accept both a sense of urgency and a need for discretion." Most of the room buzzed with assent, but Hermione wore a troubled frown and shifted uneasily.

"How are students supposed to get to and from the safe house? Hogwarts students aren’t permitted to travel except in cases of emergency." Quinn Rasby inquired.

"Special dispensation has been granted from the headmaster to apparate from just outside the castle grounds. Anyone under age will be accompanied by someone with an apparition license. There will be one group apparition each way on Saturday and Sunday of every week for the remainder of the school year as long as need warrants. Security for apparition and safe house activities will be ensured at all times by one or two aurors or trained individuals with auror-equivalent qualifications."

A hand went up near the door. Ginny was surprised to see Pansy Parkinson standing there.

"Yes, Pansy?" Ginny asked.

"The HA had a participation contract. Do you?"

"Yes." Ginny admitted. "Different contract. You will be free to discuss the existence of the SHP with anyone you choose. We absolutely do not want to keep the organization a secret, since we want people to know that they have some place they can turn if they need to. However the magical contract will specifically forbid any signee from identifying any other volunteer or staff member associated with the program or providing any specific details about the safehouse location, ward devices, apothecary kits, or any other resources that we might need to develop."

"So how do people contact you then, if nobody is allowed to know who’s involved?" Pansy inquired.

"Send an owl to SHP. Owls can deliver to a warded drop box. For emergencies, everyone who signs the magical contract will be permitted to borrow charmed bracelets similar to those distributed to HA families last year. These can be used to summon appropriate responders and acquire SHP assistance."

"This is bloody brilliant, Ginny!" Terry Boot exclaimed. The room erupted in enthusiastic applause.

"Thanks everyone!" Ginny called out, beaming, over the din. "Contract is on the small table by the fireplace — please line up to sign. In the boxes next to your signature, we would appreciate it if you could specify whether you would like to help out with initiatives one, two or three. Times are listed for the preliminary planning meetings for each of the three initiatives. We already have volunteers to help lead the wards and magical devices thrust, but would appreciate some people willing to take over some responsibilities for the safehouse and the apothecary kits."

As the line began forming, Ginny spoke up again. “Just one last thing to mention: the SHP has some limited financial resources available for families or orphans disadvantaged by the current conflict. Amounts will be decided on a case by case basis. People can owl SHP for more information.”

"That’s great!" said Nick. "Thanks Ginny!"

"Please thank our benefactor." Ginny said. "I know you don’t know who that is, but just know in your heart that there’s someone out there who’s willing to donate a lot of money to show gratitude for the fact that all of you are willing to help!"

Before Harry and Ginny had followed the others down to dinner, Ginny had collected the contract and gave Harry a big smile as she let him know that there were 26 names. Unless she was quite mistaken, no more than two or three people in attendance had walked away without committing. Pansy had been one — Ginny had seen her standing nervously in back as everyone lined up; she had take a couple tentative steps toward the line, but then withdrew quietly from the room. Hermione had been the other — she had stood in line with Ron as he had signed up, but her name was nowhere to be seen on the contract.

Nonetheless, the turnout had been a smashing success. Harry gave Ginny a tight hug as they started down the hall. “Thank you!” he said with a wide grin.

"But thank you!” she countered. “This was all your idea, remember?”

Harry laughed. “Are you kidding? All these plans and details? Special dispensation for apparition? Two deep auror supervision?” He paused to think a moment. “Emphasizing to people that this was something critical that they could do even if they didn’t plan to take up arms? That was an absolute stroke of genius. I wouldn’t have thought of all that.”

As Ginny smiled, she stole a glance at Harry and saw that there were wheels turning, so she left him to his thoughts for a while. At the bottom of the steps he grabbed her hand and steered her to a quiet corner. “Do you realize how important this could be?”

"Well obviously we …. they …. will be saving lives and safeguarding livelihoods …." Ginny began.

"Which is absolutely wonderful," Harry continued, "but remember what Dumbledore said: they will probably resume the attacks this fall, but will be counting on those attacks to distract everyone from more ambitious plans, or to amplify the effect of those other tactics."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully.

"So if you and SHP succeed in minimizing the effect of future attacks, maybe reduce the impact from abject terror down to inconvenient nuisance, do you think we might …. somehow disrupt the bigger plans?"

Ginny gripped his hands fiercely. “Oh, Harry, let’s hope …. let’s hope!”

Harry smiled at her for a moment, then tugged her hands. “You’d better hurry and get a bite to eat before your big date tonight!” He winked and led her into the Great Hall.

By the time Harry and Ginny had finally reached table five for supper, every seat was taken. The majority of those who had been at the meeting had continued their hallway discussions down into the Great Hall and proceeded to the one table where any Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin could sit and chat freely. They were augmented by mates, by a smattering of people whose cross-house friendships and romances had been facilitated by the presence of such a table, and by various other people who were simply curious to find out what all the excitement was about.

As politely as he could, Harry signalled to attract the table’s attention, and asked everyone to momentary lean back so that he could charm the table to accommodate another ten place settings (bringing total capacity to 50). Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall observed all of this silently from the nearby staff table, sharing a quiet, satisfied smile with each other. Snape was watching too, with a pensive and somewhat dour frown. He had recently sensed an unusual amount of discord within the Slytherin dungeon, and couldn’t help contrast that with this new table of spirited cross-house camaraderie. Beneath his furrowed brow lay a subtle swirl of curiosity and apprehension.

Hermione Granger was not a trained occlumens. Without the benefit of that skill, those same emotions, curiosity and apprehension, were more readily evident on her face as she sat with the Gryffindors, distractedly picking at her food.

"Why didn’t you sign the PHS thing?" Ron asked, with a bit of an edge to his voice. "You drag me up there — on a Friday of all times — and you don’t even sign up yourself?"

"It’s SHP, Ron." she responded. "I didn’t go there to volunteer; I was merely curious about their intentions. I’m sure they don’t want or need my help with whatever they’re really doing but, if it’s any consolation to you and those chess games I made you miss, I do appreciate that you signed up.”

"Huh, oh it’s okay." Ron shrugged. "House repair and stuff; might be a good a good change of pace from all these bloody books and classes."

"That’s what you signed up for?" Hermione turned to face him. "Good, that way you’ll know where their lair is."

"Lair? I thought they were calling it a safehouse?"

"Whatever."

While chopping her shepherd's pie into many small bites that were not finding their way to her mouth, Hermione looked up in time to see Harry as he gave Ginny a quick peck on the cheek and rose to leave much earlier than the others. She observed as a younger Ravenclaw girl wandered over to engage Ginny in conversation and soon decided to occupy Harry’s vacated seat for the remainder of the meal, apparently enjoying whatever discussion was underway there. Hermione was busily stirring her increasingly soggy dessert twenty minutes later when Ginny emerged from the table and walked straight toward her. For a moment, Hermione was gripped with an inexplicable panic that Ginny was coming over to speak to her, to confront her about …. well about one of the things that Ginny might want to confront her about. But although Ginny did briefly make eye contact and smiled, her objective was apparently a little further down the table. She gave a big smile to one of the first years and exchanged a quick word with him. The sad little boy. Hermione stretched her memory a moment. Jonathon was his name. Lyon. The sad little boy named Jonathon Lyon.

Sometime later Hermione was sitting by the fire in the common room, not thinking much about the arithmancy book that was sitting open on her lap. She was thinking about Harry and Ginny. She was thinking how, in the muggle world she had known as a child, initiatives such as the HA and this new SHP would have come across as organizational, philanthropic successes, and Harry and Ginny would be recognized for their inspirational, selfless dedication. No matter how she flipped that equation, Hermione had to admit that what she saw of Harry and Ginny as they threw themselves into those challenges did not resemble the trajectories of the various well-known witches and wizards who started out with honest intentions before succumbing to those temptations from which sprung slippery paths into darkness.

Hermione put aside the arithmancy book and pickup up a scroll with some miscellaneous notes on her extracurricular research project. At the top of the scroll were two names that had been scratched out: Thomas Riddle’s deletion was annotated ‘never demonstrated goodness’, while Albus Dumbledore was listed ‘resisted darkness’. Below those names were three lists of bullet points. Those lists were headed by the names Gellert Grindelwald, Grigori Rasputin and Queen Boadicea. Grindelwald, she reflected, had vigorously propounded the common good, but there was clear evidence even at a young age that his vanity revolved strongly around an overwhelming lust for power. Rasputin was proclaimed a mystic, a healer and a friend of the peasantry, but became increasingly consumed by rigid dogma. Boadicea was the most powerful British sorceress in history and likely would have rivaled Merlin in renown had she not succumbed a tragic end resulting from her hatred and the passion for revenge. No, Harry and Ginny did not fit any of the obvious moulds. They were clearly studious in their pursuits of magical prowess, but they tended to conceal rather than flaunt their powers. Many of their decisions appeared rooted in pragmatism rather than fierce dogma. Both consistently tended more toward mercy rather than vengeance. At the bottom of the scroll, she had nonetheless listed their names, citing that they were secretive and controlling. They were playing the high stake politics of persuasion with a flair and effectiveness largely unheard of for people so young. Finally, she had written the question: ‘Are they pursuing / implementing mind control = most subtle of the dark arts?’

A part of Hermione’s psyche was prepared to admit the possibility that her suspicion might spur from an element of petulant pique over the fact that these two people were demonstrating compelling successes without seeking her assistance. She was Hermione Granger. She was brave, dedicated, caring, industrious, creative and scholastically gifted. She was Head Girl. She had scored top grades in each of her years at Hogwarts except the last, and she was still prepared to emphasize, to anyone who might care, that Harry probably only outscored her because he had taken fewer classes. But that was peripheral to the main issue, which was that she had selflessly offered assistance to her friends in the manner she honestly believed they most needed and had been consistently spurned. She sincerely believed they still needed her help, but never in her driven and successful life had she ever felt so…. helpless.

She huffed angrily to herself: these unsettling and distracting thoughts had cost her an hour of prime study time and, she suddenly realized with a start, had apparently caused her to go several minutes without noticing the sweet, sad little boy who was standing at her side, trying shyly to attract her attention.

"Ms. Granger?" came the child’s voice again.

Hermione blinked and tore her gaze from the flames to see Jonathon looking at her with a look that, for once, appeared to be more curious than melancholy. “Oh!” she said, startling a little. “Hello Jonathon. Did you want something?”

Jonathon looked down at his shoes, and mumbled, “Ms. Granger, you told me that I could come to you if I needed help with anything?”

"Yes, absolutely!" Hermione reached her hand out to take his, but it hung limply in her grasp. "What can I do for you?"

Jonathon shifted nervously, still looking toward the floor. “Ms. Ginny Weasley, who runs the inter-house activities, asked me to come up to see her this evening in the sixth floor common room. I don’t know how to get there.” He lifted his gaze to momentarily catch Hermione’s eye. “Could you tell me how?”

"Oh." Hermione said a little too abruptly, searching his face with an expression that was not perfectly kind or felicitous. Jonathon quickly looked away. His hand flinched in Hermione’s grasp, and she let it fall. "What does Ms. Weasley want?” she asked tersely.

"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you." Jonathon stammered.

A wave of guilt swept Hermione. “No, no, Jonathon! I’ll be happy to help, I promise! I’m just curious to know what she wanted.”

"Nothing really." Jonathon said nervously. "She said she wanted to hear how my first week of classes went; she invited me to join her for hot chocolate and biscuits."

"I see." Hermione said, trying to not sound quite so suspicious or unpleasant.

A tall figure who had apparently overheard some of this exchange came over. “Hermione, can I have a word over there, please?” Neville asked. Gesturing toward a quiet corner of the common room.

Hermione was started to see an unusually stern looking Neville Longbottom standing over them. Hermione nervously rose to comply, while Neville’s face warmed as he turned to the small boy, saying, “Jonathon, we’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

Jonathon nodded.

Once in the corner, Neville turned to Hermione. “If you won’t help Jonathon, just excuse yourself, say you’re busy, and I’ll offer to take him.” Neville said expressionlessly.

"I’ll help him!" Hermione snapped. "I just want to know what Ginny wants with this poor little boy!"

Neville’s jaw clenched. “Hermione…. if you must know…. Ginny and Harry intervened to stop a death eater attack on Jonathon’s family a few weeks ago. They subdued the death eaters but not in time to save Jonathon’s father.” Neville voice was quivering perceptibly as he stared at the far wall. “Harry had to rush off to take a message to McGonagall and check on some other muggle-born families. It’s my understanding that Harry left Ginny to guard and comfort Jonathon’s family for 45 minutes while he was away.” He took a breath. “I think that Ginny has reasons for wanting to spend a little time trying to help Jonathon get settled.” He steadied himself and turned to Hermione. “Either you can help him find Ginny or I will.”

Hermione’s resistance melted. A couple minutes later she found herself leading Jonathon up the stairs to sixth floor. She continued to hold his limp hand as they walked. Her appearance was outwardly subdued, but she was filled with inner turmoil. Why hadn’t anyone told her? She was a responsible authority figure! She had sensitivity training! She knew how to help with these things! It was occurring to her that it was not just Harry and Ginny who kept secrets from her now. Obviously Neville. Who else? She started directing the questions inwardly. Is there sometime wrong with everyone? Is there something wrong with me?

Walking in silence, Hermione and Jonathon turned the corner into the pleasant commons where the SHP meeting had taken place a couple hours earlier. They stopped and quietly peered in.

The commons was quiet, with a pleasant low light and a fire in the hearth. A plate of biscuits and two mugs of cocoa were sitting untouched on a small table. Ginny had not noticed their approach. She was sitting cross-legged, facing the fire, with a large picture book lying open beside her. Holding her hands pressed together in front of her, she seemed to be in silent prayer. But then she tilted her head back a bit, began opening her hands, and out of them flew a small, aethereal dragon, roughly five inches long, smooth grey hide but with glowing patches of red, and fiery yellow eyes. Ginny watched it for a moment as it rose upwards and began flying gracefully through the room. Ginny turned the page of her book, stared at an illustration for a moment, and resumed her prayer position, this time summoning a green and gold dragon with spiky scales and jet black eyes. The first and second dragons spotted each other, the first turning with curiosity toward the second. The second hesitated for a moment, but then burst out toward the first and began to chase it merrily around the room. The two dragons swooped high above the hearth and dove rapidly down, almost directly toward Ginny’s head. With an amused little shriek and a big grin, Ginny tumbled onto her back to avoid the capering dragons. From where she had fallen, her gaze swept back toward the entrance and met Jonathon’s wide staring eyes.

"Jonathon!" she laughed softly. Struggling back to a sitting position, she held her arms out and the boy, while never taking his wondering eyes off the playful wraiths, came to her. Down on his knees, eyes still darting back and forth to catch the dragon antics, he instinctively put his arms around her. They watched the dragons together for a moment, then Ginny spotted Hermione still standing in the entranceway with a puzzled look on her face.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed with a warm smile. "Come and join our dragon party!" She gestured toward the table, "Have some dragon food: biscuits, hot chocolate? You can take my mug — Dobby will be by with more in a little while."

With his arms still around Ginny, Jonathon swiveled around to watch the two dragons turn a quick loop around Hermione. His eyes were ablaze with a child’s delight. The ghost of a grin was, for the first time in a long while, beginning to work itself onto his face.

Hermione smiled a little, first at the dragons and then at Ginny and Jonathon on the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry Ginny.” she said. “But I need to get back to my studies. Thank you for the offer.”

"Okay." Ginny responded with a trace of disappointment. "I’ll bring Jonathon back before curfew."

"Thanks." Hermione said softly, and retreated out into the hallway. She took a few slow paces, then turned briefly to look back into the commons. Ginny had turned the page of her book and was showing another dragon picture to the attentive boy. She had him sit on her lap as she concentrated, hands together, and produced a brown dragon with silver stripes and fiery red tongue. Hermione paused a moment to watch Jonathon’s rapt expression as the third dragon wheeled through the air and turned to give chase to the first two. Finally she resumed her departure in earnest, making her way quietly back to Gryffindor tower.

"Now you choose one." Ginny suggested to Jonathon as they flipped through the book together. "I’ve actually seen some of these. My older brother Charlie has seen many — he’s a dragon care specialist who works on a secret dragon preserve in Romania. Oh, you like the Welsh Green?" Ginny asked, as she gauged enthusiasm by the look on his face.

Jonathon nodded.

"Me too!" She enthused, and a moment later she had produced one of the long-winged beasts who eagerly joined the other three.

Jonathon watched the Welsh Green with a far-off look in his eyes. “Can you give him two horns, like a billy goat? And sillier eyes. And some straggly things coming out of the side of its face?”

Ginny pondered the request for a minute and then gave it her best attempt. Jonathon waited breathlessly for the dragon to emerge. When it did, he looked at it appraisingly before his face betrayed a flicker of disappointment. “Thank you.” he said softly with a half smile.

Ginny looked at him inquiringly. “Are you looking for something more specific? Can you describe him in more detail for me?”

Jonathon thought carefully. “Well, he should be …. oh, I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. Thank you so much though!” and he turned to watch as the four images flitted around, pouring forth little bursts of aethereal flame.

Ginny’s eyes lit up. “Do you have your wand, Jonathon?”

"Yes." he said with a note of embarrassment.

"Can you show me?"

He reached into the front of his robes, but then stopped. “I can’t.” he said.

"You can’t show me your wand?" Ginny asked.

"No, it’s just …. " he pulled out his wand and held it nervously. "I just …."

"It’s okay, Jonathon." Ginny said softly. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I could show you something if you like."

"Ms. Weasley …." he said chewing his lip. " …. all this week …. every class …. I haven’t been able to do anything. Nothing that I try works. I’m no good at magic. I don’t belong at this school. I want to go home!" he started sniffling.

"Oh Jonathon!" Ginny said, squeezing him hard and pressing her cheek against his. "Jonathon, it’s so hard at the beginning for anyone who didn’t grow up around magic. It’s so hard to concentrate when you’re away from home for the first time and everything…. It just takes time." She gave him another squeeze. "I can feel your magic Jonathon. You’re going to do fine!"

He sniffed, but turned his face partially toward her. “You can feel my magic?”

Ginny nodded. “Yes, not many people can do that, but I’ve been learning from my friend Harry. You remember Harry right?” Jonathon nodded. “Well Harry’s better at it than I am, so he can tell you more, but I at least can tell you that your magical core has plenty of strength….” Ginny bent around so that she could look more directly into his face. He didn’t avert his gaze this time, as she put on a silly face and told him, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell you to work, work, work, study, study, study, try try again! Personally, I think maybe what your magic might need is for you to have a little bit of fun.” The silly smile faded from her face. “Could I ask you to try something for me, please?”

Jonathon nodded.

"I’m not sure if this will work, but I’d like to try." Ginny said. "Can you try holding your wand out in front of you while you close your eyes and think about the dragon that you wanted me to try to make."

Wand extended, Jonathon closed his eyes and began to concentrate. Ginny slipped her arms back around him and covered his wand hand with both of hers. She sensed the shape of his inner magical essence. She concentrated on her own magic as she had summoned it earlier to create the dragons. She started calling it forth, but instead willed it to pour through his essence and out through his wand. She peaked through her eyelids.

"Oh, Jonathon!" Ginny whispered excitedly.

He opened his eyes …. and gasped …. and smiled and burst out into joyous laughter. On the end of his wand was sitting a green dragon, batting his large mischievous eyes at them. He had billy goat horns and floppy, hair-like tendrils coming out of the side of his face. He unfolded one of his wings to reveal a hand along the leading edge of the filament. With shy smile, he waved coyly and then grinned broadly when Jonathon waved back with his non-wand hand.

"Puff!" Jonathon exclaimed.

Puff extended a long green reptilian thumb from one of hands and used it to point to other erroneously non-Puff dragon that Ginny had created earlier. He winked and put his hand over his toothy snout as if to stifle a giggle. Ginny, with no hands of her own free, was unable to hold back her own mirth, and soon Jonathon was caught up in laughter as well.

Puff jumped up into the air from Jonathon’s increasingly tremulous wand, gave another wink, leapt off to chase non-Puff, and caught him in mid swoop. Puff wrapped his claws around non-Puff’s shoulders and held on through dives and barrel rolls as the other bewildered dragon tried unsuccessfully to free himself from the pranking Puff. In frustration, non-Puff wheeled his head around, snarling fire at Puff who responded by kissing non-Puff full on the snout.

By this time, Jonathon had escaped Ginny’s arms and was rolling on the carpet roaring in wild release. Ginny sat with her arms on her knees and a wide grin on her face as she alternated her gaze between watching the silly dragon tease the others and the giggling child who had gone too long without much reason for mirth.

After a while, Ginny backed herself up against the leg of the table with the cocoa and biscuits. Jonathon, still wearing a soft smile and eyes still following the capering dragons, instinctively returned to Ginny and sat between her legs with his knees up facing the fire. Ginny reached over, handed Jonathon his mug, and put the plate of biscuits down on the floor beside them.

"Why did you name him Puff?" Ginny asked as she nibbled a biscuit.

"You don’t know Puff?" Jonathon asked. "Puff the magic dragon?"

"No." Ginny shook her head. "Could you tell me about him?"

Jonathon looked at her shyly. “Well, hmmm…. I guess I can sing about him.” he murmured.

"Could you do that for me?" Ginny asked softly. "It would mean so very much to me."

Jonathon’s voice began with a quiver,

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee,
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff,
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff.

but quickly grew with soft confidence as he came to the refrain and subsequent verses. By the second refrain, Ginny tentatively added her own harmony to Jonathon’s lead, but something caught in her throat when they came the verse

A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys.
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.

Jonathon looked curiously at Ginny as her eyes moistened and her voice faltered. He continued to sing, once again solo, through to the end of the last verse and refrain. Once he had finished, he touched her cheek with his finger and collected the single tear that had escaped. Examining the teardrop on his finger thoughtfully, he said, “My Mum also sometimes does that when I sing about Puff.”

Indeed Sally Lyon’s face did have tears streaming down it. Ginny sensed her presence, and glanced over toward the doorway to see three figures who had arrived silently, unannounced during the song. Jonathon’s mother was standing there, lost in wistful sentiment. Harry, with a soft vacant expression, was down on one knee, arms wrapped securely around Jonathon’s little sister, Clara.

Clara, for her part, was not crying. Upon first arrival she had felt most secure leaning back into Harry’s chest, but the sight of six mischievous little dragons chasing each other around the room posed an undeniable temptation. For the duration of the song she contained herself, but the delight grew in her sparkling eyes and finally, when Jonathon finished his song, she broke free of Harry’s arms, yanked his hand and pulled him headlong into the room to chase after the grey and red dragon who had been making particularly flirtatious gestures toward her. The sudden motion and eruption of girlish giggling startled Jonathon, who whirled around to see who had joined them. “Mum!” he cried out and ran to the doorway to embrace Sally. Ginny stood up and beamed a welcoming smile to the new arrivals as she dabbed the remaining moisture from her eyes.

Into this scene of laughter, tears and smiling faces, Dobby walked carrying a tray with more mugs and biscuits. He placed the tray on the table and surveyed the room with wide eyes, proclaiming reverently, “With Harry Potter and wonderful witch Wheezey there is always happy people.” He performed a deep but hasty bow in response to Harry’s expression of gratitude, but scurried off before Harry could make introductions.

Jonathon and Clara clustered around Harry as Clara flipped through the dragon book that Ginny had found and made several requests to Harry to augment the flying reptilian menagerie. Meanwhile Sally and Ginny found their way to a sofa together to sip their hot chocolates away from the most active dragon excitement.

Ginny found herself a little nervous. She did not consider herself an expert in comforting those who were grieving. She at least had figured out that no two people dealt with tragedy the same way. Her recent experiences with Harry and Neville had reaffirmed her belief in being a quiet, listening presence; someone who could listen for signs of need and respond accordingly. She reached for the plate and offered Sally a biscuit. Sally accepted, and sunk into the deep velvet folds of the old Potter chesterfield. She looked tired, a bit muted, but not especially unhappy. As Sally watched Clara’s joyous excitement, a small smile crept onto her mystified face and she shook her head. With surprising candor, she quietly told Ginny that Clara had not spoken for an entire week after the death eater attack. “Even this week, she still cried at bedtime, and she barely smiled, let alone laughed …. until earlier this evening. Harry has an amazing way with children.” she remarked.

"He does, doesn’t he?" Ginny nodded as she watched the happy back and forth. She had not really seen Harry much with young children. She had never had any real basis for assuming that Harry would enjoy this sort of company, but for some reason it did not surprise her at all. Speaking as much to herself as anyone, her mouth opened and words began to string together. "Harry never really had much of a childhood. And now so much of his time is spent being responsible, shouldering heavy burdens, finding ways to address things that are very…. worrisome. But if you look in his eyes when the Christmas decorations first come up every year, when he sees someone else who’s really happy, when he sees someone do something really kind or thoughtful…. those eyes just light up with this amazing expression of pure wonder. Maybe it’s because all those things were so rare for him when he was a child…. maybe that’s the reason he can still look at things with a child’s joy at his age." She took a sip of cocoa and smiled shyly at Sally. "Whatever it is, I find it completely irresistible."

Sally smiled affectionately. “You’re very good with little people too, Ginny!” she said. “Thank you so much for looking out for Jonathon. It was such a difficult decision to make, sending him away on his own so soon after such a trauma. It wrenched my heart to do it, but Minerva made the clear case that Hogwarts would be the safest place in the country for him right now. I really don’t have the money to pay his tuition and board, but we also don’t have enough to try to flee the country, so Minerva told me just to send him here and that she would try to find some way to cover at least part of the cost.” Sally paused, and gave Ginny a weak smile. “Well, I guess life itself is so much more important than money anyway. It’s such a relief to see him open up to you like he did. It means he’s starting to heal.” Sally sighed. “He was so stoic, that I was almost more worried for him than for Clara. But seeing him in your arms like that made me feel like he …. he’s finding the path back …. he will be able to live and play and be a child again.”

Ginny reached for Sally’s free hand and squeezed it. “Sally, I really do think that having him here will prove to be a great experience for him. And if it helps, I know a scholarship that will almost certainly cover him in full.” Ginny suggested. “I’ll speak to Professor McGonagall about it over the next few days and we’ll get it taken care of.”

Sally’s eyes went wide. “Really? Goodness, that would be wonderful! Please tell me what information you would need for the application, or anything else that I could do to help!”

Ginny smiled warmly. “Certainly. I’m not sure exactly how it will work, but it might be as simple as collecting a couple of references and signing a form or two.”

"You’re an absolute miracle! And Harry too — he was so patient with me earlier, explained so much, I don’t have any idea how I’ll be able to thank him!"

"What sort of things did you and Harry talk about?" Ginny asked, taking a sip from her mug.

"He told me a fair bit about the school and explained about the magical community. For a while when he had Clara busy working on a puzzle, he told me a bit about the conflict…." Sally trailed off for a minute. "What struck me then were some of the things he tended to shy away from talking about. Ginny…. Harry has suffered from this, hasn’t he?"

Ginny took a deep breath. “More than any of us can ever imagine; to begin with he’s lost every single blood relative, plus his godfather, and those are not the only wounds that have been inflicted on him. But one thing that Harry has worked very hard to convince me of is that it’s not the suffering that defines him; it’s the way he’s recovered from the suffering that makes him who he is. Sally, he is the most incredibly unjaded person in the world, and if you want him to always show you his best side that’s exactly the way you should treat him.”

Sally shook her head as she watched Clara clambering on him, trying to reach the dragon who was caught in his messy hair, while Jonathon rolled on the floor laughing. “Truly unbelievable.” she murmured.

"Yes it is." Ginny responded as she drifted through some happy memories.

"Anyway," Sally resumed, "Harry told me something very interesting. He said that Clara has magical powers like Jonathon, but he doesn’t think that the …. Ministry of Magic?" Sally looked to Ginny for verification. Ginny nodded. "Harry doesn’t think the Ministry released any information about families with magical children younger than 11, so he says he believes that Clara and I are not in immediate danger, however he said that because our family was already targeted once he would like to get us to go under cover. He offered us free, long-term residency at your SHP safehouse in exchange for basic caretaking help. I didn’t tell him yes yet, but I was wondering if it would be okay if Clara and I visited the place tomorrow afternoon? He said that you and some students would be out there starting to fix the place up. We would be happy to help, and it would give us a chance to think about the place.”

Ginny smiled. “Of course, Sally! We would be delighted to have some help, and we certainly wouldn’t expect you to make such a huge decision site unseen. A group of us will be leaving from the school tomorrow around two in the afternoon. Did you ask Harry about trying to arrange travel for you?”

"Yes, he already offered, thank you! I just wanted to make certain that it was okay with you."

"Of course, Sally!" Ginny assured her. "But thank you for asking!"

Ginny’s and Sally’s attention drifted toward the others. Ginny giggled. It appeared that Harry was treating the children to a brief a re-enactment of the first task of the Triwizarding tournament, as he had conjured a Hungarian Horntail and an extremely small, raven-tressed boy on a broomstick. He and the children were taking turns directing the boy and the dragon in crazy flying patterns, and the vocalized sound effects from the three were quite amusing. Especially Harry’s little falsetto shrieks every time the flying boy had a close call.

Upon closer inspection, Ginny realized that all historical accuracy had apparently been dispensed with: a miniature girl on a broomstick, with flaming red hair flowing in her wake, darted out from behind a chair and buzzed the horntail. It lumbered after her, giving the tiny boy the opening he needed to dive in and snatch the golden egg from one side of the biscuit plate. The children burst into applause; Clara pulled Harry and Jonathon into an off-balance hug that threatened to collapse them all into a tangled mess of limbs.

Sally touched Ginny’s hand. “I apologize for treating you and Harry with such hostility a few weeks ago.” she said quietly.

Ginny was taken aback. “Oh, you mustn’t worry about that!” Ginny had been trying to avoid detailed discussion of that frightful day, so it took her a moment to come up with a safe, suitable response. She finally settled for saying, “Our first priority was to try to protect you in any way we could. We weren’t there to judge, or to curry favor. And Harry had just put a big hole in your wall, so to be honest the thought in the back of my mind was, ‘This woman has every right to be irate with everyone in her house who’s not supposed to be here. If she’s angry about it, then that’s healthy. It means that ultimately she’s going to be all right.’”

Sally stared at Harry and her two children. Harry was now lying by the fireside, head on a large pillow, reading a children’s book aloud as Jonathon stretched out alongside and Clara lay with her head on his chest.

"This is such a fascinating, alluring, but frightening new world to be drawn into." Sally mused as she looked back toward Ginny. "The life that our family had only a month ago seemed so much under control. A little boring even what with all the usual routine like cooking, cleaning, taking Jonathon to football, Clara to her dance classes …. now I feel like a little child myself being asked to try to navigate a strange, scary world where good people and bad people can do all these amazing and frightening things that I can’t …." She trailed off.

Ginny turned to face her. “I know!” she said earnestly. “Well, in a sense I don’t know, because I’ve been in the magical world all my life. But I did have a wonderful professor who taught me about the life and cultures of nonmagical people and taught me to realize how strange we all might seem to people such as yourself.” She paused in thought. “Many magical people reflexively think that they’re superior to non-magical people, but I know full well that we’re not. There is good and bad in both communities. What most magical people don’t stop to consider is that a lot of the people in the non-magical world who achieve greatness and power, doing so by working hard, by being very intelligent or by finding ways to make other people value and respect their contributions.”

Ginny leaned over to put her empty mug on the coffee table, then resumed. “I believe that all the perspective you need in order to see the greatest flaws on the magical side is tied right up in the contrast been the magical and non-magical communities and the way those communities are led. Too many wizards and witches become dominant just because their magical powers are strong. It often has nothing to do with intelligence, caring, or being fit to lead. As a result, too much community leadership ends up in the hands of people whose only qualification is that they have strong magic or, even worse, were simply born into a family that used to have strong magic. It doesn’t seem to matter how stupid or criminal they are. It’s been that way for centuries, so there are too many good caring people who have just gotten accustomed to being lorded over by incompetent bullies. We need to be led by people who have power, intelligence and are just simply good.” Ginny had never really thought this through before, but having said it, everything seemed to make sense to her. “We need people like Harry.” she added softly.

"But we especially need people like Ginny." came the masculine voice in front of them. Harry and Jonathon had approached the chesterfield and were looming in front of them. Clara was on Harry’s back, head resting on his shoulder, face invisible, but a long cascade of light brown hair was flowing down Harry’s chest. "And while we’re placing orders, I wouldn’t mind several more Jonathons and Claras." he said with a happy but weary smile. "Mrs. Lyon, you have such wonderful little friends!"

Sally smiled. “That’s so sweet of you to say!” She looked at her watch. “But I’m guessing that it’s about time to break up our wonderful little date?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, unless you want Ginny and Jonathon to have to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower under an invisibility cloak, dodging our very grouchy caretaker.”

Jonathon’s eyes had been about to drift closed, but suddenly sprang open with a mischievous glint. Ginny laughed. “Don’t be giving Jonathon any ideas, Harry! I’m going to have a face a very decorous and vigilant Head Girl at the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. Woe befall poor little me if I bring Jonathon back a minute after curfew!”

Harry laughed. “We don’t want you to get the wrong impression, Jonathon.” he said. “Hermione is great. She’s one of the smartest and bravest people I know and if she’s your friend then she can bail you out of the worst situations. She can, however, be a ….”

"Pain in the neck." Ginny finished, with a devilish smile. "Yes, do try to keep on her good side. But if she gets overbearing about all the strictest interpretations of every silly rule, then come see Harry or me and we can list dozens of rules that she’s broken over the years that would make your toes curl."

"Yes, although for the time being we’ll overlook the fact that most of her rule-breaking was somehow involved in saving my neck." Harry admitted sheepishly.

"Anyway," Ginny proclaimed, "it really is time to break things up! I would love a big group hug!"

Harry leaned forward a bit so that Clara could open her arms around from the back of his neck to embrace the others. Everyone laughed for a moment at the silly awkwardness of it all and spent a couple minutes livening up the quiet corridors before bidding farewell on the grand staircase.

Hermione checked her watch as the last of her charges made his way through the portrait hole at five minutes to nine, arm in arm with Ginny. The common room, although not particularly quiet prior to their arrival, burst into life as the two of them entered. Ginny had not yet had much chance to socialize with the Gryffindors this week, but nobody seemed put out. Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Parvati and many of the younger years flocked immediately to the redhead and lively conversation broke out. Hermione watched as Ginny took Jonathon around to more than a dozen people, introducing everyone to the shy first year whom Ginny had clearly taken a liking to. Hermione wasn’t keying in on specific statements, but Ginny seemed to have a mildly amusing story to tell Jonathon about every person she introduced him to, and each of these victims seemed to have some equally irreverent warning to give the boy about the dangers of associating with Ginny.

It occurred to Hermione that a whirlwind introduction like that would probably be somewhat baffling or intimidating to even the most assured eleven-year-old, but that as long as Jonathon…. shy, sad little Jonathon…. was by Ginny’s side he was all smiles and seemed to thrive in the sudden attention.

After a little while, Ginny excused herself, claiming a very busy day to come. The room settled again, almost immediately. Surprisingly, Jonathon did not immediately wilt back to his previous taciturn demeanor. He remained talking pleasantly to Neville, Seamus, Parvati and Stephanie for at least ten minutes before making his way up the tower to bed. Hermione, too, put away her largely neglected book and wandered toward her dorm room still uncertain of what exactly to make of this incredibly dynamic personality; this larger-than-life character whom she had long known as Ginny Weasley.

By contrast, by the time Ginny herself was back in her quarters, she was feeling very content, but far from dynamic. At some point in this incredibly exciting life of hers she was going to have to slow down, sit by the side of a pond somewhere, throw pebbles into the water and have some nice day dreams. She changed for bed and slipped beneath the chilly covers, thinking about Puff, about childhood and what it meant to be young in these troubled times. She reminded herself, as she had to occasionally, that she was barely sixteen years old and was making decisions that would affect the lives and futures of people much older than she was. She reflected how Harry was barely a year older and was somehow responsible for the entire fate of the wizarding world.

When Harry defeats Tom Riddle once and for all …. not if, but when …. will we have a chance to run off somewhere to a quiet pond where we can laugh, throw pebbles, chase frogs and dragon flies …. Would that be an activity suitable for the presumptive savior of the wizarding world?

Until he took a seat on the bed beside her, Ginny did not even notice that the presumptive savior of the wizarding world had returned from apparating Sally and Clara back to Kent. She looked over and saw his green eyes shining down at her with a gaze of deepest affection.

Harry sighed. “Ginny, there have been so many times in the past year when I’ve looked at you and thought how incredible you are,” he said softly, “so many times time I’ve stopped to wonder at just how amazingly lucky I am to wake up beside you every day. And despite all that; despite having had you at my side through so much in the last year, none of that ever prepared me…. for the sight of you and a little boy conjuring dragons together by the fire.” He smiled vacantly, his gaze was diffuse, a hand reached out instinctively to find hers.

"Harry…." Ginny rasped in a whisper that was thick with emotion. She didn’t know how she could possibly do justice to his statement, so she settled for the most basic and honest declaration that occurred to her. "Harry, this bed feels so cold and empty without you in it."

Chapter 7. An Evil Within    (September 6, 1997)

Harry and Ginny knew each other. In the weeks since the escape from the Malfoy summer home, each had come to understand more about the other, empathize more deeply, develop more silent consensus, than most couples do in a lifetime. When they had rematerialized out of phoenix fire and had stood quivering in a state of disoriented relief in the house at Magpie Lane, they could only assume that they were the same people as before. And they were…. except they were missing something. It would take them time to suspect, let alone understand what it was that had changed. But by the time the summer was fading and the chill breezes had started to sweep down from the Grampian hillsides, they knew. It was a classic case of addition by subtraction: they were missing barriers.

Among the many things that Harry and Ginny had decided without any actual discussion was that they were in it together. At some point when the world was safe, their quest fulfilled, they would formalize their feelings to the rest of the world. They would tell friends and family, post a sentimental little note in the Daily Prophet, and get married. Around that time, they would probably do as all conventional couples do and fully, physically, consummate their relationship.

But they hadn’t yet. It was not that they were shy or prim. Rather, it was some powerful instinct holding them back. Fear perhaps. A fear that something strange or even dangerous might happen if they moved too quickly, acted before the time was right, succumbed to rash physical temptation before it was safe. They didn’t know what it was that they feared, and they weren’t certain they wanted to find out.

Fortunately, just as their unconventional relationship had barred that one door, it had opened other chambers of bliss. They had begun sleeping together months ago because of the amazing therapeutic effect it had on their sleep. Harry had not had a vision in months. Ginny’s nightmares were long gone. But since the barriers had come down they had discovered pleasures far-surpassing the comfort of a good night’s rest. On those rare nights when they were both able to make it to bed without collapsing from the exertions of their long productive days, their time together was almost indescribable. When their mouths and limbs entwined, so did their spirits, weaving together into states of utter scintillation. As one, they climbed heights of ecstacy, drifted in mindless euphoria, assuaged weeks of pain and uncertainty, cleansed away the grime of irritation and disappointment. At some point in this passion, the line between reality and dream states would blur and recede, and they would both awaken in each others arms hours later feeling beautifully content, never actually remembering, or caring, when it was that they had actually drifted off to sleep. And so, with the first early glimmers of light stirring in the sky, Ginny decoupled herself gently from her sleeping lover and lay beside him waiting for him to awaken. He would always do so within minutes of her awakening, so she held herself as still as possible, treasuring the brief opportunity to watch the final remnants of his peaceful slumber.

His eyelids fluttered and opened. He looked up at her sleepily. “I’m having the most wonderful dream….” he murmurred.

"Really?" Ginny smiled and winked. "You’re dreaming that some crazy girl is going to drag you out of bed so that we can run up and down a mountainside, haul you into a room where we will mercilessly torment training dummies, go fly around for a couple hours with reckless students, push you off for two hours of teaching, grab a bit of lunch and then go clean a dusty old house all afternoon?"

"Yes, well some people have strange dreams, I guess." he responded, smirking and stretching.

She kissed him mid-smirk, and his hands found their way into her hair, luxuriating in this final opportunity to savor its silkiness before it got bound away into a no-nonsense ponytail for the rest of the busy day.

When the two of them broke apart, Ginny watched as Harry engaged in a morning ritual. He sat on the side of the bed, retrieved a quill and small scroll from his bedside table, studied it for a moment, then made a mark. “Thirty three.” he said, with a small frown.

Unless the Daily Prophet told them otherwise, today would mark thirty three consecutive days without a confirmed death eater attack. Peace and quiet could be quite unnerving.

Despite the fact that is was the first clear morning since they’d arrived at Hogwarts, Harry suggested that they forego their their mountain route and instead follow the easier paths along the grounds and on the outskirts of the lake and forbidden forest. Today they would have lots of opportunity to tire themselves out physically; they didn’t need to use this predawn idyll for that. This would be a time for fresh air, invigoration…. and talk.

"How are the draft research plans coming?" Harry asked as they passed Hagrid’s cabin.

"Almost done. If I can give them to you by seven o’clock, can you get comments back to me before bed? I’d like to finish them in the morning and slide them under Dumbledore’s door a day early."

"Sure!" he replied. "So I imagine the drinkable portkey stuff wrote itself pretty easily, but how much detail did you give on mind and soul?"

"For now, I’m focusing on what he already knows. He knows that I help you sleep better, that I’m shielding you from your scar and that we can mind-speak long distance under duress, so I wrote about trying to characterize those interactions." Ginny explained.

"Specific experiments?"

"See if we can mind-speak without duress; maybe try doing it while holding hands, then progress toward different rooms, and from across the grounds." she listed, "Try to characterize emotions and physical sensations during communication…. oh, and…. we’ll need to try sleeping apart at some point…."

"Awwww…." Harry groaned.

Ginny laughed. “All in the interests of magical research.” she said apologetically.

Harry smiled, then shifted back toward more serious inquiry. “No soul fragments?”

Ginny shuddered. “No…. I just don’t want the scrutiny right now…. not for either of us!”

"Agreed." Harry agreed. "No essence perception or spell sharing?"

Ginny took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I think he may connect mind-speak and essence perception. In any case, no, I didn’t talk about it in the plan, but he may pick up on it regardless. Oh, and yes, no mention of spell sharing for now.”

Harry nodded. They came up over a crest and into the hollow where the whomping willow lurked. They gave it a wide berth and headed back up the hill toward the castle. Along the wide green about a hundred yards from the front entrance they slowed to a walk.

"You shared a spell last night with Jonathon." Harry stated, his face distantly pensive.

Ginny stopped and nodded.

"Have you ever shared a spell with anyone else…. besides Jonathon and me?" Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. “No. But I can’t say I’ve ever tried. Last night was a whim. He’s been having trouble calling on his magic and for some reason I just knew I could reach him. But I really have no idea how it actually worked.”

"I’ve never done it with anyone other than you." Harry pondered. "I’ve been in physical contact with lots of DA and HA students, guiding wand movements and such. I know what it feels like when magic connects between you and me. I’ve never felt even the slightest bit of tingle with anyone else."

"I suppose I should feel flattered!" Ginny said with a wink.

Harry smiled. “In all seriousness though, I think the connection needs a spark of some sort. It could be that…. we’re in loooovve!” he sang out in a fairly ridiculous impression of a tenor.

Ginny whacked him on the shoulder and he laughed. “What was I saying?” he asked himself. “Oh yes, in all seriousness, it could be our feeling for each other, it could be shared danger, it could be the legilimency….”

"Not the legilimency." Ginny said. "We started spell-sharing months before you tried legilimency. My instinct is shared danger…. or trauma. Jonathon clung to me for quite a while after the death eater attack. Maybe our magic blended a bit without either of us realizing. Either that or we feel a more basic emotional connection. But if it was a simple case of emotional connection then there should be lots of people walking around Hogwarts with the ability to spell share."

"I think you’re probably right about shared danger; that would agree with the Fugos’ theory, right?" Harry surmised. "But maybe we could come up with a control case: two people that we know who really connect with each other but have not faced shared danger."

"Neville and Hannah? They’ve already offered to help with the research." Ginny suggested.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “And an opposite control would be two people who have faced shared danger but probably don’t have a strong emotional connection.”

"Tough one." Ginny admitted.

"We’ll think about it…. and we’ll think about when, or if, we want to let Dumbledore know. Maybe once we have a better handle on things."

Ginny nodded. “I agree. I wonder why I don’t think he can be trusted with everything?”

"I don’t know, but I’m not sure why. For some reason I’m worried that…. that he’ll do something foolish."

Ginny frowned her agreement.

"Anyway, let’s go up to the Room of Requirement." Harry suggested. "I’d like to try something."

"Okay," Harry said from the middle of a circle of auror-level dummies. "my shield can hold at least a minute against six dummies. Let’s try eight."

Two more dummies joined the circle. Harry shouted “Dummies initialis!” and Ginny held her breath as a fierce volley of powerful stinging hexes pummelled Harry’s shield. He lowered himself to one knee to reduce his surface area. The strain on his face was evident, drops of sweat started running down his forehead. He attempted to shift his angle a bit to reduce his exposure to a greater barrage coming from his left side, but a hex broke through, catching him in the back. The room sounded a buzzer and the dummies fell silent.

Ginny came over to him and reversed the spell. “Fourty one seconds.” she said

"You and me together, partner?" Harry asked.

"Okay, how many do we try?"

"Twelve?" Harry suggested.

Ginny frowned. “But you’re already tired, and I haven’t been able to hold off more than four on my own.”

"Trust me." Harry said, winking.

"Okay, but you get to face old Louie!" Ginny smirked, pointing at one of the dummies whom she’d given a special nickname in honor or it’s particularly brutal demeanor.

Harry grinned. Ginny took his hand and they crouched together. Harry called out “Twelve! Dummies initialis!” and the barrage started.

Together they concentrated not on sustaining their own individual shields, but on working together to create a spherical barrier to encompass both of them. Ginny poured her magic into the strongest shield she could muster, but from beside her Harry calmly said, “Breathe Ginny. I’m not going to make you cover all twelve on your own.”

Ginny dialed back her strength, half bracing for the first sting to come flying through.” But nothing happened. On every side of them, flashes of red and yellow light pummeled their field of vision, but nothing penetrated.

"Dial back more, Gin, we’re holding fine."

She stole a glance at him. He looked calm, almost relaxed. Puzzled, she took a series of deep breaths and let her magic flow into the shield with about the same intensity she might call on for basic household chores. The shields still held.

"Hold that level. Don’t be alarmed, but in a minute I’m going to pour mine on a little more." Harry told her. "Twenty!" he called out to the room.

Eight more dummies joined the fray. Ginny felt a surge through her arm as Harry expended more magic. She could hear him breathing, but no more than he would half way up the mountainside on their morning run. Her adrenaline kicked in instinctively. She knew it might not be necessary, but she couldn’t let him do all the work. They were awash in spellfire, but nothing was harming them.

"Thirty!" Harry called out.

Ginny couldn’t even see the new dummies for all the light flashing around them, but she started to feel the buffeting force of spells battering their joint shields. She threw more energy into the effort and felt Harry do the same. Both of them were breathing raggedly now, but were still able to keep the stings at bay. “Hold…. ten more…. seconds” Harry grunted, “then push…. shield out…. as reducto….”

Though the hexes were still being held off, the exertion was burning Ginny’s skin and muscles, but she gritted her teeth and held…. just a little more….

“Reducto!” Harry yelled.

The sphere of spellfire pushed outwards. As their shield morphed from defensive to offensive tool, Ginny saw several hexes penetrate the weaker fringes at the boundary between her power and Harry’s. She was vaguely aware that one connected with her leg, another caught Harry on the shoulder while the others fizzled harmlessly past. The front of their reducto curse expanded outwards and she saw the dummies caught within its periphery. Spellfire dwindled and died as all thirty dummies cracked, crumbled, and tore backwards, swept into a wild cloud of debris pelting toward the walls. Ginny’s trembling legs gave way and her arms, in what seemed to her to be slow motion, swung down to cushion her fall. As she stumbled, her hand broke contact with Harry’s. She was looking into his face: his joyous exhilaration fading into concern for her well-being. She was willing her mouth into a reassuring smile to let him know that, yes, she had stumbled in momentary exhaustion, but was otherwise glorying in the thrill of the overwhelming power that had just flowed through and out of them. The magic flowing around them was like a brisk spring breeze to her, scented with virgin snowmelt and the blossoms of mountain meadows.

And then it wasn’t.

In the same instant that she saw Harry’s face twist into a sudden grimmace of pain and revulsion she herself sensed, almost smelled, an acrid putrid tendril of utmost malevolence seep into the air. Harry’s hand, the one she had just released, darted to his forehead as he collapsed into a fetal ball. Ginny gasped in sudden empty craving as she felt, for the first time in months, her magic decouple from Harry’s. In a flash, she felt like she was plunging into an icy vacuum. With one last burst of adrenaline, Ginny’s legs coiled under her, transforming her awkward sprawl into a desperate slingshot as her body and hands sprang forward to seize Harry’s arm. She squeezed it with a brutal strength that she never knew existed. Her magic, although dangerously depleted, still had enough residual substance to stream through her hands into Harry, where his reserve power quickly reciprocated. Warmth surged back into her body, into his body. Harry released his forehead and slumped onto his side to face Ginny. On the cold stone floor, their arms grappled for each other, pulling their bodies into a tight embrace. They breathed. Staring into each others wide eyes, their pounding hearts began to slow.

Harry touched a hand to her cheek. He opened his mouth, paused a moment to think, then looked deeply, hauntedly, into her eyes. “There’s something bad in this room.” He whispered. “We should get out of here.”

There was something evil in the Room of Requirement. It was hidden deeply, perhaps almost undetectable to any but the most sensitive magical perception, a sensitivity that Harry and Ginny apparently could only achieve if they pushed themselves close to magical exhaustion.

For the time being, they had made a firm decision to reduce their time in the room until they had some better idea of what it was that they were facing, and how it might be dealt with. Harry hastily penned a note to post near the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, explaining that the HA meeting later that morning would be moved to the quidditch grounds. It was a beautiful morning and it was going to be difficult to accommodate a joint beginner / intermediate / advanced session in the Room of Requirement, so he figured that nobody would question the decision.

Under the circumstances, there was no question of either Harry or Ginny using the Room of Requirement to shower, so they headed down to sixth floor, arm in arm, intent on using the facilities within their storage trunks. But having reached their quarters and opened their respective trunks, they had still not unclasped their joined, still-quivering hands. Harry’s eyes met Ginny’s. No words were exchanged. He smiled shyly and shrugged. She nodded. They stepped together into Harry’s trunk. Fifteen minutes later, with moist clean hair, very happy smiles, and fresh quidditch robes, they both stepped out of the trunk, still hand in hand, and rushed downstairs together to grab a quick bite of breakfast before heading to inter-house quidditch.

By the end of a brief but lively breakfast at table five, frequented by over twenty friends, Ginny released Harry’s hand. The slightest twitch of surprise crossed Harry’s face, but he turned to Ginny and shared her smile. They were whole again. However profound their emotional connection and whatever bond their magic had wrought, they were meant to be two separate people, and while a part of Harry could rather enjoy the thought of spending every minute of the day holding the hand of a beautiful woman, he was immensely relieved that they had so quickly healed from whatever disturbing and unexpected magical injury they had suffered earlier this morning.

Out on the quidditch grounds they reveled in pure frivolous release. For all Harry loved the liberating joy of flight, for all Ron obsessed over the idiosyncratic rules and strategies, any close observer had to sense that once a quaffle as in the air there was nobody in the world more thrilled than Ginny. Harry couldn’t bear the thought of the early graduation depriving Ginny of her eligibility to play, so he had suggested to her that they try to start an informal club to encourage people to come out for fun and recreation. The Hogwarts house quidditch system was so restrictive, the glorious stadium facilities so frequently unused, that it made perfect sense to try to broaden the participation. So, as seemed to happen for many of his promising ideas, Ginny had run with it, and here they found themselves within a cluster of twenty four people who had all hurried through Saturday breakfast to stand in the dewy morning grass with broomsticks. It was a good group to begin with: all houses were represented; most were good flyers; there were even a few players from house teams: Ron and Stephanie had come down from Gryffindor, as had Summerby from Hufflepuff, Bradley and Chambers from Ravenclaw, and Zabini from Slytherin. Harry was happy to see Luna waving at them, broomsick in hand and the large purple sunglasses on her blonde head making her look like some sort of rare and exotic moth. And there, toward the back of the crowd was Neville and…. who? Harry moved his head to peer around a couple of taller Ravenclaws to try to identify the short boy who had come down the hill with Neville. It was Jonathon! Harry grabbed Ginny’s hand and pointed. She cried out happily and waved.

The hour that Ginny had planned for opening the club was designed to get people out and playing with minimal fuss. She released four quaffles of four different colors with instructions that each person would be assigned to a different team (brown, purple, grey and white) according to whichever quaffle the person first touched. Unbeknownst to the everyone (except Ginny and Harry) the quaffles were charmed to select four teams with comparable skill levels and with diverse representation across houses. Thus, after about five minutes of free flying and quaffle passing, everyone had been assigned to a team. At that point Ginny blew the whistle.

"This is almost going to be real quidditch." Ginny began. "A few small deviations though. Since there are twenty four of us, that means only six players per team. So let's play without seekers and snitches today." Harry cheerfully agreed; he was here to have fun and make sure others had fun; he had no interest in trying to dazzle anyone.

"The other difference is…." In a deft move, Ginny, reached down, unstrapped a bludger and flung it at Ron’s head. With a look of terror on his face, Ron’s arms jerked up convulsively to block the projectile. The bludger bounced harmlessly off his elbow and into the hands of a surprised looking Neville. "soft bludgers!" Ginny explained. Ron’s head emerged from behind his arms, adorned with a deep blush and a silly grin.

"Interhouse quidditch is all about playing safe and having fun." Ginny explained. "If you’re here to risk your life then you might want to consider some other activity, like house quidditch, dragon-baiting or overnight camping in the forbidden forest." The crowd laughed. "But to make it interesting, the bludgers and quaffle are charmed: the bludgers don’t hurt, but if one hits you while you’re holding the quaffle, then you’ll find that quaffle is going to squirm like crazy for three seconds. If you can hold onto it while the quaffle is trying to escape, then more power to you, but my bet is on the quaffle. Beyond that, all standard rules apply. We don’t have referees, so please play clean." Grinning, she turned and pointed to the well coiffed Slytherin in the crowd. "That includes you Blaise!"

"Ach! You wound me, Weasley!"

"Not yet, Zabini – you’re on my team. However if you really insist, then I don’t mind injuring you after the game.” Ginny responded with a wink.

The remaining 45 minutes were devoted to loose scrimmages, with purple playing against grey in one half of the stadium while brown played white in the other half. Ginny played chaser for the greys, and ended up teaming up exceptionally well with Zabini and a Hufflepuff second year, racing out to a commanding 120-40 lead over the purple before Ginny slacked off and instead awed both teams with some stunt flying and crazy quaffle catches. On the west end, Harry and Ron had the challenge of facing off against each other as keepers for brown and white respectively. Their teams became enmeshed in a defensive battle in which white struggled to a 20-0 lead, but as the game went on, Luna and Summerby found their rhythm in the form of surprisingly effective passing game and the white team’s chasers barely touched the quaffle as brown pulled even in score. In the final minute, Luna and Summerby kept relentlessly feeding Jonathon the quaffle and the little Gryffindor poked the winning score past Ron for a 30-20 brown victory. Ron shrugged and smiled across the field to his opposing keeper as time ran out. Harry saluted back. Might Ron have let one in for the little fellow? Regardless, Ron was showing exceptionally good sportsmanship in defeat, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a burst of good will and gratitude toward his lanky friend.

Harry drifted his way over to the other side of the pitch where Ginny was still delighting the crowd with loops and barrel rolls, all the while snagging purposefully errant passes from Neville. Harry caught her eye and signalled her over.

Ginny blew a facetious kiss to the assembly who had started booing Harry for bringing the show to an end. As she pulled up beside him, Harry smiled at her and pointed over to a number of second and third year students who were chatting animatedly with Jonathon. “First time on a broomstick in his life.” Harry whispered. “And he scored the winning quaffle.”

"No way?!" Ginny exclaimed with wide eyes and a big grin.

"Do you suppose…. there might have been more than just dragons channeling through his wand last night?" Harry mused thoughtfully.

Hermione had started out with the intention of making it to the HA session a few minutes early, but the change of venue had thrown her a little and now, as she made her way across the grounds, she was hoping not to be late. She wasn’t too worried, because she could see perhaps two dozen other people also making their way across the grounds toward the quidditch pitch, at least some of whom she recognized from last year’s HA. What was a bit puzzling was that the pitch itself appeared to be empty. Oh well, it was a beautiful morning to be outside and something would work itself out eventually.

As Hermione revelled in the weather, and reflected on how poor it had been all week leading up to today, she stepped out onto the pitch and suddenly found herself with a tremendous throng of people, with dozens of lively conversations going all all around her.

"Where did all these people come from?"

Seamus, whom Hermione now realized was standing right beside her, laughed. “Confundus charm!” he explained. “Harry wanted to try to keep the meeting private, so how do you hide a hundred people in the middle of a quidditch pitch in sight of half of the castle, huh? Ginny put a confundus charm on the stadium so that people outside the stadium wouldn’t notice. It’s so simple, it’s brilliant!”

"She’s the queen of confundus!" Dean agreed. "This one had me fooled completely until I got here."

Hermione had to admit that it was a cute trick, and wondered how much time she, herself, might have wasted instead trying to craft a disillusionment spell strong and large enough to hide all of the activity while overlooking a simple solution like this. It also prompted her to wonder whether there was anything else that Harry and Ginny might be cleverly hiding in plain sight. That line of thought was interrupted, by Harry himself, who had stepped up to one of the lowest seating levels so that he could be seen by the whole crowd.

"Good morning, all!" he said. "As I mentioned on Thursday, these Saturday sessions have two main purposes: peer mentoring and guest demonstrations. Today we’ll be doing a bit of both. We’ll have a demonstration back here at eleven o’clock, but before then I would like you to divide into the groups for mentoring. I will be circulating through the crowd in case any mentors need a hand with any spells or concepts. If anyone does want my help and I’m not close enough to shout at, please just raise some sparks with your wand, like this." Harry demonstrated with a small fountain of orange sparks.

The crowd divided into groups that had been prearranged during the previous session on Thursday. The advanced class, composed mostly of Harry’s IHA class from last year, plus the super seven from his previous BHA, plus a handful of adults including Fred and George Weasley, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Angelina’s older brother Terry, Katie Bell, Cho Chang, Leanne King (a recent graduate out of Hufflepuff) and Eoin Diggory (Cedric Diggory’s older brother), was tasked with tutoring members of the intermediate class on topics from the previous year that they might still be having trouble with. This year’s intermediate class was made up mostly of last year’s BHA class, but had picked up a fair number of adults, plus a few upper level students with good defense skills who had not been part of the previous year’s HA. For Sunday mentoring, the advanced class was conscripted into full-time tutoring, while the beginners were encouraged to avail themselves of anyone around who might be able to help with defense-related spells, tactics or skills. The intermediate class was tasked with an interesting challenge: spend half the time learning from the advanced group and half the time mentoring beginners. To achieve this, the intermediates were divided into two groups: one would spend the first thirty minutes working with beginners and then switch off to learn from the advanced class; the second would do the regimen in reverse. It seemed to Harry to be a recipe for potential chaos, but he couldn’t think of a better way to handle a group of over one hundred students with such varying skill levels. In truth, it made for a very lively, informal gathering in which a lot of people learned things, some of the more senior students began to discover the rewards of spreading knowledge, and a lot of new friendships formed. He wandered the throng, helping, listening and chatting, all with a big smile on his face, occasionally bumping into Ginny as she did the same.

At eleven o’clock sharp, there was a loud bang and brilliant cascade of silver and golden rocket trails streamed over the crowd. That could only mean one thing: that the twins were about to take the stage. Harry got there first however.

"Our demonstration for today," he called out as the whisps of smoke cleared, "is from two successful entrepreneurs who have graciously volunteered to donate their time and efforts to our cause by developing tools designed to help you and your families defend yourselves. They are going to show you some exciting prototypes that they are working on, but more importantly, would like to get your ideas for new features and modifications that they can work on. I should remind you that the HA contract prevents you from speaking about what you see and hear during these meetings to non-HA participants, however our presenters today have volunteered to remain here after the meeting to show and discuss all kinds of other exciting products that you can talk about to your heart’s content." He paused for a moment to build suspense. "So, please let me introduce Messrs. George and Frederick Weasley!"

The twins took to the stage to another brief barrage of rocket fire. Having given them only a two weeks to prepare for the demonstration, Harry didn’t quite know what to expect, but he wasn’t disappointed. With a style that was similar to, but more refined than, what they had used in earlier years to attract customers to their prankster mechandise, they stole the attention of the large audience with effective demonstrations of their various protection products, with ample assistance from Lee and Angelina. Several older items including shield cloaks and decoy detonators were known now by reputation, but very few people in attendance had actually seen them in action. Some of the newer tools, Harry had already seen, such as the radial invisibility caps and automated spell-casters. Others had evolved more recently, based on discussions Harry and Ginny had had with the twins, including shield casters to protect victims who had become weakened or incapacitated, as well as a simplified alert system.

"This," said George, holding up something that appeared indistinguishable from a muggle yo-yo, "is an automated ward caster. It will set up a personal spherical detection ward, visual and magical disillusionment charms, silencing charm and confundus charms in seconds. Radius for all the charms is about 20 feet. Charms should last about 12 hours before needing to be renewed."

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "How to you cast?"

"Simple." Fred smiled, stepping back a bit. He let the yo-yo unravel to the end of a three foot string, and he whirled the caster around in a circle around his head. All those people fairly close to Fred vanished, but then momentarily reappeared as George could be seen waving his wand in a cancelling spell. "There, but for the fact that we cancelled the spells, Harry, Angie, my brother and I should have been all be protected should any of you have decided to vent your ennui. Somebody really determined could probably have found us and broken through, but from teh intelligence we have managed to scrounge from the Order, the vast majority of attacks this past summer were quick strike affairs. Any time the death eaters showed up to a seemingly empty house, they’d do a five minute search and ransack the place then go find somewhere else to hit."

"Okay," said George to change the topic. "How many of you gents have girlfriends? How many of you lovely ladies have boyfriends? Hands please!"

A smattering of hands went up.

"Come on friends!" Fred cajoled. "Professor Harrykins has assured me that all proceedings of this meeting will be held confidential, so please don’t be so shy about your relationships."

A few more hands went up.

George rolled his eyes. “Oh, you people are either very secretive or very dull.”

"We will, however, not penalize any of our good citizens for being secretive or dull." Fred scolded his brother. "Irrespective of your cooperation, we will invite each and every one one of you to walk away from this meeting with one of these little bundles of happiness and security." he added, holding up an innocuous corded bracelet. He slipped it on his wrist and held out a second one to Angelina, who slid hers on as well. She and Fred raised their wrists together, and proclaimed "Exaudi de longinquo!" Angelina then walked away from Fred.

"Now," continued George, "if devious death eater Lee…." Lee Jordan took a few steps toward Angelina "was to threaten our fair maiden, the all she had to do is say…."

“Audite me, Fred!” Angelina called.

"Then brother Frederick will feel a pulse in his bracelet that will alert him to the danger of sweet Angelina, and he can ride in on his white steed to save the day." George explained. "Faster and much easier than a patronus. Be not alone friends! Strength in numbers!"

"Successfully tested on brother Charles, all the way over in far flung Romania!" Fred proclaimed. "As he is not particularly maidenly, I cannot promise that we will ride in to save him…."

"But at least," George finished, "we will know the exact date and time at which he was eaten by one of his dragon friends."

"That is all we plan to present!" Fred announced. "We will take ten minutes of defense questions before the confundus charm on the stadium expires, and after that please stick to pranksterish prattle. Devious Lee over there will be happy to distribute our bracelets. Questions? You there…. young lass of Hufflepuff."

A fourth year student wearing a Hufflepuff jumper called out, “How many different people can your bracelets communicate with?”

"Do you have a very complicated love life, miss?" George asked.

She suddenly looked like she wanted to burrow deep into the grass, but Fred quickly came to the rescue. “Pray, please pardon my ignorant and rather unattractive brother. That was an excellent question, especially for families or close groups of friends. In current form, we would be concerned if you tried to link more than four bracelets to yours, but if you have unusual circumstances, please let us know and we will try to find a more robust spell.”

The informative banter continued for the remainder of the alotted time. Harry and Ginny, not having time to stay for the twins post-demonstration sales pitches, walked over to thank Fred and George for their hard work and say farewell. After they did so, George pulled them aside, saying,

"Dad had a free hour tomorrow and would like to see you. Can you do a late lunch at Three Broomsticks? Around one o’clock?"

Ginny looked at Harry, who nodded. “I think so.” Ginny said. “Do you know if he’s just planning a bit of family time…. or is there something more going on?”

"I don’t know." George told them. "I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you. I’m fairly certain he’d like to hear more about some of your recent work. There may be more…. he didn’t really say much."

"Either way, it would be great to see him." Harry enthused. "Can you let him know we’ll meet him?"

George nodded. “I should see him at the Burrow tonight. He usually manages to make it for Saturday supper.”

"Thanks!" Ginny said, with a grateful smile. "Please give our love to everyone at supper this evening. See you back here on Wednesday!"

Their busy day had closed exceptionally well. Sixteen students, plus Sally and Clara Lyon, had made the trip to an unplottable manor house in an undisclosed valley not far from Dolwyddelan. The house and two habitable outbuildings were dusty, but had clearly been protected from the elements by basic household wards because the walls and roofs were structurally sound. With three solid hours of cleaning, the place seemed ready to receive the basic requisite furnishings that Sally, Daphne Greengrass and Terry Boot had identified and owled off to Diagon Alley for purchase. Although Ron had never been one for housework (or any kind of work, really), Ginny was thrilled that he had chosen to volunteer, and had put in some hard work in the basement with Neville, magically reinforcing the foundation. Another afternoon or two of hard work would be required once the furniture and supplies arrived, but after that the house would be ready to start hosting. Sally and Clara were thrilled with the place and were planning to move in, perhaps as early as next weekend. And to top it all off, just when everyone was ready to collapse, Dobby had apparated in with a simple but hearty feast of meat pies, buttered mash and pots of fresh steamed peas and carrots. When some magnificent apple pies emerged at the end, Ron had emitted a big whoop of childlike joy.

Feeling immensely satisfied with the day, Ginny reclined by the fire, book in hand, her back resting against Harry as he scrolled through her project drafts. No heady intellectual pursuits for her at this hour: the book was a purely frivolous farce about an incompetent wizard, a silly witch and their pet hedgehog, who were forever getting into all sorts of ridiculous adventures. It made her giggle at odd moments; sometimes when she did so, she would steal a surreptitious glance back toward her partner. It always warmed her heart to see a little smile creep onto his face whenever her mirth unintentionally broke through his veneer of concentration.

Harry had already told her twice how well written the draft was and had made very few changes in his first two complete passes through the text, but here he was on a third read-through, now focusing not just so much on how the text read but rather on how it could be creatively intepreted…. or misinterpreted. Although she found it hard to completely stifle the instinct that Saturday evenings were times for kicking back with friends, she was grateful for his scrutiny. A well composed project description would earn them the institutional blessing to do some very important things, and the right strategic balance would also give them a bit of cover from unwanted scrutiny. Scrutiny from what, though? Based on the subject matter that they were gravitating toward, it was clear that they would end up reporting primarily to Dumbledore, and he most certainly would protect their work from unwanted attention from either the ministry or Voldemort, but both Ginny and Harry had independently expressed trepidations about giving even Dumbledore himself too clear an understanding of all of their plans. And neither of them had been able to clearly articulate why. But as Ginny put aside her novel and stared into the fire, listened to the gentle rhythm of Harry’s breathing, she started to understand something.

"He’s going to do something stupid." Ginny stated.

Harry lowered the parchments and stared into the fire.

"He wants this to end too, but he doesn’t know how." Ginny elaborated. "He’s pining for any new angle on how to hit Riddle. I have this sinking feeling that something we’re going to tell him or show him is going to set him off like a fire cracker; he’ll charge off on some half-cocked scheme and endanger us all."

Harry nodded slowly. “I think that’s it.” He frowned. “The wisest, most powerful wizard of our generation, and we’re both convinced that he’s going to do something foolish. I wonder why we think that?”

"Maybe Fawkes warned us and we didn’t consciously realize it?" Ginny suggested.

"Maybe…. yes, I suppose that could be." Harry mused thoughtfully. "But back to the matter at hand, I’ve read this through and it’s great Ginny! I think Dumbledore will recognize it as useful and interesting, but hopefully not so interesting that it will propel him off in some damaging direction. Maybe you can slide it under his door tomorrow and we can take the afternoon off. No training, no research, no magic. Maybe we can find some of the gang and just go for a walk together in the hills?"

Ginny reached her hand back to touch Harry’s chin and guide his face down for a kiss. When he pulled back a while later, she put down her book and changed position, to lie with her head on his lap. “Mademoiselle Cho has recruited a Diggory into the HA, I see!” Ginny mused.

Harry smiled. “I was surprised to see her back this year, and even more surprised to see her latched onto the arm of Cedric’s brother. A part of me is a little worried about the psychological implications of hooking up with…. well…. okay, I’ll have to be blunt…. with her deceased boyfriend’s brother. But on the other hand, I can see two real positives that might come out of this. First of all, it might really give her the chance she needs to move on. Secondly, the fact that Eoin was willing to come gives me just a little more confidence that the Diggories don’t hold me responsible for Cedric.”

"But you already knew that, Harry." Ginny said softly, kneeding the muscles of his forearm with her fingers.

"I did…." Harry murmurred. "But perhaps there was a small part of me, as well, that was still having my own little difficulty with moving on."

Neither spoke for several minutes. Then Harry softly said, “Thank you Ginny.”

She turned her head to peer into his eyes. “For what?”

"For lots of things, of course…." he began, "but right now mostly for being with me, helping me to think things through, to see another side of the equations. Dumbledore doesn’t have anyone he feels he can trust to help him make decisions and so he makes…. and he will make…. mistakes that could have been prevented. I’m sure that you and I are going to make mistakes too, but if the two of us always try to reason things through together I think there will be…." Harry swallowed. "…. there will be a fewer Cedric Diggories."

Ginny hugged his arm tightly to her body. Harry curved his torso sideways to share the warmth of her shoulders. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and they rested in their closeness for an indeterminate time.

Finally Ginny spoke. “I’m not completely certain, because they really don’t make it easy….” she began, “but I think I might know how to find the Fugos.”

Chapter 8. Visions and Machinations    (September 7, 1997)

Despite the rigors of the previous day, the morning run Harry and Ginny had taken was ambitious and grueling. This was intended, as Harry had suggested, to give them a strong sense of calm. Having a pair of cool heads seemed like a good idea because they knew that the most important task for the morning might prove to be a bit nerve-wracking. There was still some unknown evil presence in the Room of Requirement; Harry and Ginny were going to figure out what it was and, if possible, eliminate it.

For better or for worse, they hadn't told anybody of their suspicions and had decided that they were going to take the initiative on their own. Dumbledore might have been able to give helpful advice, but he had left the castle shortly after the Start of Term Banquet, and hadn't set foot in the premises since then. They had debated whether or not to first bring the matter to Professor MacGonagall, but were stumped at how they could effectively broach the matter. Hey Professor, for a few minutes yesterday morning we thought we felt an evil presence in the room — want to come search for it? Professor MacGonagall was a stalwart presence and a very powerful witch, but her world was not particularly abstract. Harry had adopted her tone when he had argued the devil's advocate stance. What were the chances of a pair of teenagers detecting an evil presence that had gone unnoticed by all the faculty for who knows how long? If there's anything untoward in there, then surely it can wait for Professor Dumbledore or a trained curse breaker. Harry did not want to wait for Dumbledore or a trained curse breaker to come give the all-clear — that room was far too important to his goals, and his goals were running on an urgent schedule. Then there was the whole matter of how and why he and Ginny alone might have been able to sense... whatever it was. This would raise a whole line of interrogation that did not particularly appeal to either of them. So they had agreed: they would tackle this on their own.

Of course, the first problem was how to find it. Although the run had successfully soothed their nerves by expending physical energy, they knew that their sensation yesterday morning had occurred because their magical, not their physical, energy had been depleted. Their best guess was that the depletion had lowered some natural defenses that might normally have blocked their ability to sense the presence. Since magic might prove to be critical to resisting whatever harmful effects it might have, they were not very eager to try to replicate the state of dangerous depletion. Fortunately they had come up with a plan.

"I need to find whatever is evil in this room." Harry muttered to himself as he walked three times back and forth along the stretch of corridor near the entrance. Sure enough the door appeared, so with a little trepidation, he and Ginny turned the door knob and entered.

After having been so accustomed to a large, well-ordered room specified according to their training needs, it was a shock to be confronted to shelves upon shelves stacked in most alarmingly haphazard fashion with, well,... stuff.

"This can't all be evil." Ginny complained. "A little nasty, maybe..." she said with a grimace as she examined a fur stole of an appalling yellowish green color.

Harry recoiled in revulsion when a greasy black discharge leaked from a case of rusted medieval surgery tools that he had accidentally bumped. "Maybe I was being ambiguous when I said 'evil', we might need to give a more precise definition," he suggested. "Do you want to close it up again, and try something more specific?"

They closed the door, and this time Ginny tried "I need to find the cursed dark magic presence we sensed here yesterday."

When they reopened the door, it contained the same sordid collection of refuse as before.

"Hmmmphh." Harry exclaimed with a frown.

Ginny began to pace. "Suppose..." she began pensively, "suppose that for however many centuries people have come to this place and instead of asking for a room to practice defensive magic they ask, say, for a place to hide things... broken objects, discards, contraband and so forth... do you think..."

"That it would look like this?" Harry finished. Ginny nodded. "And supposing they did it like you said..." Harry continued, "and asked to hide their junk... then the room is required to hide it."

"And so if the room was required to hide something, the room can't just present it to us on a silver platter." Ginny concluded. "But the room is also honor bound to give us access to it. We just have to accept that it's hidden."

Harry nodded. "And thus the room requires us to search for it."

"Scavenger hunt anyone?" Ginny suggested with a smile. "Seeking one... err... piece of junk with a curse on it." Despite her smile, it was without great enthusiasm that she began to browse the stacks of rubbish, uncertain of what she was searching for but more or less just hoping that something would stand out and resonate.

Harry held back, however, retreating into himself, trying sort through the conflicting signals from the diverse sources of magical essence that he could feel emanating from the room and its contents. Many of the items stored in the room had at least some residual magic, so the cumulative sensation was one of a cacophonous buzz, but Harry thought that somewhere within the noise he could sense something distinct. If the room as a whole was producing an overall sensation akin to a unstructured static, then buried within that buzz was one distinct subnote that seemed, in a relative sense, maybe like a hiss or the whine of a mosquito. The more he concentrated, the more he was sure that it was there and that he wasn't imagining it, but he couldn't quite pin down the specific direction. Eyes still closed, he was struck with an idea. He called out for Ginny.

"Yes?" Ginny responded. She looked back to see Harry still standing motionless near the doorway. She approached him cautiously and gently took his hand.

Harry's eyes popped open. "Bingo!" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" she asked with a quizzical expression.

"We came in here together, but then you started to walk off on your scavenger hunt. As you walked away, I started sensing a distinct, very low level disturbance. Then the instant you touched my hand, it completely vanished."

"Sounds like you're onto something," she said. "So what do we do?"

"Well..." Harry pondered. "This is tricky. I think I might be able to find the source if I was to wander around, follow it like a homing signal, trying to sense where it feels strongest. I guess I'll have to ask you to keep your distance, though, because your magic is shrouding me from it." He paused to think for a moment. "You know, I think we might be able to go one step further. If we suspect that your magic is trying to protect me from it..." He trailed off, lost in thought.

"Then perhaps I somehow need to pull back my magic from you?" Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. "Do you have any idea how to do it?"

"Yes." Ginny nodded. "The Fugos say that it is nearly impossible to completely withdraw except through dangerous depletion of magical power, but that somebody with good mental control can weaken the connection. They suggest that essence sharing is often powered by empathy, and that the sharing can ebb when the emotional connection is suppressed. So it's hard to sustain a connection with someone you hate. Similarly, it's hard for someone who's inherently self-centered to sustain any connection at all. I doubt I can do a great job of simulating either of those, but maybe I could try focusing on thoughts or memories that simultaneously paint you in a non-ideal light while making me feel vulnerable."

"Oh joy." Harry grunted.

"Even the saintliest couples have snits, Harry." she teased, "Besides — this will be a righteous snit! It's for our own good, because the only other option that I can think of is possibly for me to get out of here, leave the castle and, well, I'm not leaving you alone in this pig sty with... whatever it is."

Harry nodded, but couldn't quite hide a tinge of sullenness in his face.

Ginny gave him a puzzled look, saying, "Harry, I haven't started doing anything yet."

He blinked at the unexpected statement. "Oh... well, it's okay. I guess I'm ready whenever you are."

Ginny was about to say something, stopped, and then laughed.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, in increasing confusion.

"Harry, Harry, Harry! If only your lionizing public could see you wear your heart on your sleeve like that!" she said, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

This did nothing to alleviate Harry's confusion, but at least he smiled.

"Okay, you deserve an explanation." Ginny said as she stepped back again. "There's probably going to be a side effect to what I'm going to try to do. The Fugos warned that when one person attempts to deliberately decouple, both people in the empathetic pair are likely to experience a bit of melancholy. So there I was, trying to get in the right mindset, trying to sense my magic and where it was flowing, just about ready to try disengaging, then I looked over saw you with this long face, and I thought, what the...? I hadn't even started to decouple and you were already looking miserable? And then I finally realized the obvious: you weren't sad because you were sensing the magical disengagement, but simply because..."

"Because I find it depressing enough to even consider the possibility that my own personal fount of unremitting sunshine is about to turn negative." Harry finished for her, with a rueful smile creeping onto his face. "Sorry, I was being whimsical,... please excuse the inappropriate sentimentality." he added with a wink.

"You're making it so hard for me to villainize you!" Ginny scolded, cupping Harry's face with her hands and kissing him again. "But I have to try, and you have to work with me by being stoic and callous. It's a lot easier for me to formulate a good snit if I see you strutting around insensitively." She gave him one last grin, then purposely crafted it into a frown.

He rolled his eyes at her in a haughtily dismissively visage.

She suppressed a giggle. "Okay, that's not working. I'm not going to look at you, because it's probably easier for me to imagine you being a thoughtless oaf than it is for you to pretend to be one." She stepped away from him, and turned to stand rigidly facing the wall for several moments, mustering her thoughts. Abruptly she burst into laughter, shook her head, and refocused. This time she remained in control and retrieved a memory from last spring... of Harry hugging Cho Chang.

Harry instantly began to feel a chill and, even without closing his eyes, he began to sense the weak static hum he was looking for. He was amazed at the degree of control that Ginny had apparently managed to achieve over her emotions and her magical essence. She was managing to accomplish, without the debilitating power depletion, a fair replication of whatever had happened yesterday. Occlumency! He realized that the occlumency training that he'd given Ginny must have paid useful dividends in mental skills well beyond the basic goal of cognitive privacy.

Determined to remain impassive and analytical this time, Harry ignored the lonely ache that pervaded his soul, closed his eyes, focused on the weak projection of evil aura and tried walking walking in a tight circle to determine whether the signal seemed any more intense in any specific direction. After a one full turn, he sensed that he should move toward the stacks on the left. He walked slowly in that direction, occasionally opening his eyes to make sure that he wasn't about to stumble into anything hazardous. He continued moving in that direction until the signal ceased to strengthen, then he stopped, repeated the circling strategy, and then chose a new direction.

While Harry gradually honed in on the source, Ginny immersed herself in the sensation of her magical core. The memory of Harry and Cho was a minor irritant and had started a slow flow of essence back into Ginny's own core, but it was a small enough emotional distraction that she could still objectively monitor the nearly physical sensation of magical flow. Out of curiosity, she allowed her thoughts to follow the flow slowly upstream to its source, which she knew would lie inside or at the periphery of Harry's magical core. Soon she found herself sensing the boundaries of his mind. These, she realized, must be the boundaries he had constructed in his own occlumency preparations and probably maintained habitually now at a constant level. It struck her that, without ever having been told how to do it, she had suddenly taken rudimentary steps into legilimency. In fact, in order for this to be considered real legilimency, all she would have needed to do at this point would be to examine Harry's barriers for weak points and try to compromise them. It occurred to her to be quite astonished that she had gotten to this point, not by staring into his eyes as per normal legilimency, but rather by following the flow of her magic into him. So she was essentially performing legilimency on someone who was standing out of her line of site, well across a sizeable room. Perhaps this was somehow related to their instinctive ability to communicate with each other under duress — long distance consensual legilimency.

Continuing to follow the path traced by her own magical essence, she began to navigate the regions peripheral to Harry's boundaries, proceeding very gingerly, never so much as brushing the barriers since she didn't want to disturb his concentration which was doubtlessly engaged in the important search efforts. After some time she came to what appeared to be the terminus of her magical connection. In her imagination, it was a bit like a luminescent cloud, very gradually dissipating in size and opacity as she withdrew energy from it. It appeared to have one central patch with the most substantial magical density. The patch seemed to be inhomogeneous, with a number of raised regions... bumps, she surmised... that seemed to swell and contract gently over time as if her magic was in partial equilibrium with some other sort of force pushing outwards. One bump appeared to be swelling more rapidly than the others, as if some barrier imposed by her magical essence was threatening to fail as her magical influence was withdrawn.

Harry had moved about fifty feet down a jumbled corridor of old books, statues, broken broosticks, cracked parchments and many other objects that defied simple description. The buzz in his head had grown to a disconcerting mixture of sizzle and whine. His nerves tingled painfully with apprehension. Eyes closed, his hand edged forward to the edge of pile of old silk rags. He paused. "Ginny, I'm getting close!" he called out.

Ginny could perceive the distorted essence cloud throbbing menacingly, with one bulbous feature pulsing like a dysfunctional heart. Unconsciously, she began walking. She left her place by the wall and began to approach Harry. Simultaneously, she began to instinctively push her magic back upstream toward Harry, toward the impending breach. Harry's hand swept away the loose rags. Ginny gasped. Sensing the danger of imminent rupture, she tensed, muscles in her body began to spontaneously tremble, then she thrust every thread of her power back toward the cloud. Stop Harry, not yet! Something had frightened her, her mouth opened to call out to Harry, to beg him to wait, but her voice wasn't working and she had pulled too much of her essence away from their connection for her to signal him magically. Harry's hand brushed something metallic...

A deep black slash tore through the side of the cloud and venomous darkness began to seep out, bubbling against the flow of Ginny's magic. Paralyzing ice swept into Ginny's veins. In morbid fascination she examined the inky tear and felt herself being pulled inexorably inside. It was dark... dusty... but not pitch black: there was a horizontal line of weak, uneven light. She felt as though she was inside a box. But the line wasn't horizontal... she was lying on her side wasn't she? Looking at a vertical line? The line was expanding... opening... half light was spreading out onto a wedge of grimy floor showing bits of old junk. There was a grisled hand in the light, pulling open the... door. The hand was lengthening into a gnarled arm and Ginny wanted to scream because in an instant she was going to see the face attached to that arm and... and she did see the face, but she didn't scream because although the face was ugly, it was also rather... pathetic. She thought she knew that face, but what she didn't recognize was the expression... of concern on that face as the arm picked her up, turned her over, so that she was facing the rest of the junk... but it wasn't junk. In the flickering torchlight she could make out piles upon piles of gold and silver coins, elaborately painted vases, statuary, Roman busts, jewels, sparkling... sparkling water from a fountain in the atrium... marble fountain... marble floor. She was creeping along a marble floor, gaze shifting back and forth, her tongue was sniffing the air. She came to a vent along the old stone wall and slipped inside back into darkness, feeling her way along, down, turn, down again ... there was a dim light ahead growing slightly brighter, weak flickers from down below... vertical and horizontal lines of a... ventillation port. Staring through it, she peered down into a candlelit study, the deformed ridges of a man's head... the man was writing... dipped his quill into a dark substance, pulled it out and began to write on the parchment in deep red, blood red, scrawling letters... instructions... orders. The man stiffened. "Nagini?" he wheezed apprehensively. Ginny recoiled in horror at the voice and hastily reinforced her occlumency walls. "Harry?" the nasal voice rasped. "That's not Harry... who??"

A fierce jolt of bilious hatred flashed through Harry and his outstretched hand jerked back from the pile of silk rags to seize his throbbing scar. He staggered back and, almost instantaneously, the pain lessened. Eyes wide, he wheeled around and rapidly scanned his surroundings, to find the source of evil from within the expected mountains of junk. Facing forward again, he saw it: there it was, half uncovered from amoung the faded, threadbare silk wrappings; ornately wrought gold with small diamonds and a stunning mounted sapphire. It was beautiful, but it was leaking evil.

"It's here, Ginny." Harry rasped. "Can you come here, please?"

There was no answer.

"Ginny?" Harry yelled, with a rising tension in his voice. He sensed her presence, but only weakly. Dashing to the near end of the aisle, he cried out in dismay. She was lying face down on the floor, struggling to pull her arms and legs under her. In a panicked flash, Harry was kneeling beside her, grasping her hand.

"Ginny, can you hear me?" he asked, trying to force calm into his voice.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but she nodded.

"Can you feel your arms and legs?"

She nodded.

"Does your back hurt?"

She shook her head.

Harry to a moment to exhale deeply, braced himself, then in a single movement he swept her up into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest.

Shivering, she slid her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder.

"What happened?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"I saw... things." Ginny murmurred, her voice muffled against Harry's shirt.

"We'll talk later?" Harry asked. He was gripped by a jangling blend of anxiety and curiosity, but knew that further interrogation would be both unkind and unhelpful right now.

"Yes." Ginny said, her voice growing in strength. Harry held her in his arms for several wordless minutes, then she pulled her head back to meet his gaze. "I think I can stand now Harry." she said. "Then it's time that we finish what we came here to do, okay?" She gave him a brave smile that he returned with one of relief and deepest affection.

He pressed his lips firmly to her forehead for a long moment, then gently lowered her feet to the ground, holding her waist firmly until he was certain her legs could support her weight. She flexed her knees and rose up again to full height. He released her, watched for a moment as she continued to gingerly work her legs and arms, then he began walking back to his discovery. She followed apprehensively, then saw him begin to tensely levitate the bejeweled relic from out of its storage location.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I don't know. Crown? Tiara or something?" Harry mumbled. "Ginny..." Harry's eyes were glued to the hovering relic in front of him as he gradually edged it outwards toward the door. His mouth twitched into a tremulous but silly grin. "Sorry, this is daft... I sound like a little kid, but... could you hold my hand?"

Ginny laughed, an uplifting sound like a clear bell. As she reached for his hand she could sense every muscle in his body suddenly unclench. With the object continuing to levitate several feet in front of them, they walked confidently to the door. "So my brave child..." she inquired teasingly before quickly turning serious again, "what are we going to do with this thing?"

"Well..." Harry ruminated, "it's evil; this is what we came for — that much is obvious! But we don't know what it's supposed to do, what sort of curse it contains, how the curse can be broken. We found it in the castle and probably has been for quite a while; the castle is Dumbledore's responsibility... I think we have to bring it to Dumbledore." he reasoned. "Can you think of any alternative?"

"No." Ginny responded with a hint of reluctance. "I don't think we have any choice. Dumbledore was supposed to be back this morning so let's do it now."

Although it was still early and quiet in the castle, they thought it best to cast a simple disillusionment charm over themselves and the levitating relic so as to avoid any uncomfortable questions, then walked the relatively short distance to the stone gargoyle guarding the steps to the headmaster's office. Once there, Harry paused. "I don't think we should just march unannounced into his office with this thing. If I hold onto it here, could you run up the steps and ask if we can see him?"

Ginny nodded. "Absessed molar." she told the gargoyle and ran up the steps.

"Good morning, Ginny." came Dumbledore's voice as she reached for the door knob. "Please tell Harry to come on up as well."

Ginny waved down to Harry and entered the office.

"You have brought me something." the old man stated, with a puzzled look on his face.

"Yes. We found it in the Room of Requirement. We don't know what it is, but we believe it carries a powerful curse." Ginny explained.

"Have you touched it?" Dumbledore asked in a grave tone.

"My hand brushed it for an instant." Harry said, as he walked in the door, with the tiara still bobbing along in front of him. "I recoiled immediately; I'm not certain if it repelled me, or if my magic forced me back. I was quite jittery at the time, but I can't feel any lasting ill effects." He did not mention Ginny's reaction. He would not have stood in her way had she chosen to speak out, but wasn't at all surprised that she remained completely circumspect.

Dumbledore was staring at the levitating object in fascination. He had risen from his desk and picked up one of his silver instruments to examine it. He then retrieved a glass box, framed in tarnished silver. He swung open one panel of the box and raised the opening up to the object.

"May I?" Dumbledore asked Harry. Given Harry's approval, Dumbledore maneuvered the box to encompass the object then closed the panel. As soon as the panel closed, Harry's levitation charm immediately failed and the object clanked to the bottom of the box.

"Magical containment chamber." Dumbledore explained in response to Harry's puzzled expression. "It ensures complete insulation from magic; nothing gets in, nothing gets out." He placed the box on his desk in plain view to all of them. He resumed his seat behind the desk and faced obliquely away, gazing out the window in silence as he collected his thoughts.

Finally he turned to them. "You have found the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw." the headmaster told them.

Harry appeared nonplussed but Ginny gasped in recognition. Michael Corner had told her the legend of the Ravenclaw relic not long after she had started dating him late in her third year. It had been missing for many centuries, and was supposed to confer great wisdom on the wearer. Of the legend itself, Ginny had never expressed either credence or skepticism, but there was one thing she knew for certain: she was not about to place that thing on her head.

Dumbledore appeared to sense Ginny's conflicted thoughts. "It is the diadem, but it isn't." he said cryptically, but then proceeded to elaborate. "It once was an item of great magical virtue and beauty, however what you have brought to me here today has suffered a defilement of terrible magnitude and exceptional... subtlety." He looked probingly into their faces but, to their relief he did not attempt legilimency, but struck rather with more conventional modes of observation. Neither Harry nor Ginny flinched at his words, so he continued, asking, "Might I inquire how you found it... and how you arrived at the conclusion that it was cursed?" he asked.

"Under certain states of magical exhaustion..." Harry began, cautiously choosing his words, "my perception of magical influences seems to become sensitized. Yesterday, after some very intense training in the Room of Requirement I began to suspect an evil presence. This morning, after a good night's rest I returned to the room to investigate. I brought Ginny for backup in case something went wrong."

Ginny nodded to affirm the carefully crafted and somewhat misleading statement. Some of Harry's idiosyncratic magical sensitivities were known the the headmaster so it should seem entirely plausible to attribute the discovery fully to him. Ginny knew in her heart that it would be inevitable this year that the headmaster's scrutiny would fall heavily upon her as well, but she still suffered from a powerful, reflexive mistrust of the man and appreciated the fact that Harry seemed to instinctively seek angles to shield her from a head-to-head confrontation with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore examined both of the faces before him then put forward the most pondersome question. "You had a distinct suspicion that you would find something evil, and that it could threaten your well being. Should you not have alerted me before you went to investigate?"

Harry laughed. His tone was pleasant, self-deprecating, without neither any trace of scorn nor shame. Ginny watched him and listened attentively and curiously. "You're right, Albus." Harry said. "I hope you can pardon me, but I have this lifetime of conditioning that makes me assume that authority figures won't believe me if I claim there's a problem." He raised a hand to prevent Dumbledore from interjecting. "No, I don't fault you in that respect. I appreciate how many times over the years you've given me the benefit of the doubt. But in this case, I wasn't even sure I should give myself the benefit of the doubt." Harry smiled. "I had no idea what I was looking for and was by no means certain I would even find anything. Considering how busy you are, I thought it just a bit to presumptuous to ask you to accompany us on the barest of hunches."

Ginny nodded solemnly, but inwardly she was hastily having to erect occlumency shields around her secret laughter. The artfully woven half-truths, she decided, were more skilled than even the twins could come up with. But would the headmaster buy them?

Dumbledore regarded his two young staff appraisingly. "I can certainly see your point, Harry." he said thougtfully. "I had never stopped to consider the inhibiting toll that your life experiences might have had on you in this respect. It had not occurred to me that I might be more readily prepared to trust your perceptions that you yourself were." He smiled warmly. "I hope that we can both continue to work on these relationship issues of ours, but the fact of the matter is that no apparent harm has come of any of this, so I will not dwell on the issue. There are clearly more important things to worry about right now than the occasional miscommunication, but I would exhort you to pay close heed to your instincts. They are proving remarkably apt. And, I beg you, any time from this point onwards when even your barest instincts smell trouble, please trust me to respect them; don't hesitate to let me know if you have even remote suspicions of a problem."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"I will take care of the object you found and will do what I can to characterize the threat and try to defeat it. Is that acceptable?"

Harry and Ginny both nodded. "We would appreciate hearing what you find out," Harry requested.

"Certainly." Dumbledore responded, taking a seat behind his desk. "My friends, seeing as I have you here, I was wondering if we could dispense with some other business?"

They nodded.

"Ginny?" Dumbledore asked, turning to face her. "Am I correct in guessing that you have already completed the project draft that you both promised to deliver to me tomorrow?"

"Yes I have," Ginny affirmed.

"Dilligent as always!" he smiled. "Would you be so kind as to go find that for me? I will be happy to review it right here and now, since I am now planning to be out of the office again for several days and would not wish to delay your start unnecessarily."

Ginny regarded the headmaster with momentary confusion. Was he really done with discussion Ravenclaw's diadem after so little substantiative dialog? She was not quite ready to let the issue die just yet, but she felt compelled to do Dumbledore's bidding, considering that his request was intended as a favor to her. She nodded. "Okay, I'll be back with it in a few minutes."

As soon as Ginny's footsteps had receded in the background, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "The magical signature associated with the diadem is, as you may have already surmised, consistent with Tom Riddle. Perhaps that it why you were able to detect its presence when nobody else has done so for... I am guessing more than fourty years. That is the time that has elapsed since, if my guess is correct, Tom hid the diadem here in this school. I'll will let you know with greater certainty once I have ascertained more fully details of the magic that he used to corrupt the diadem, but I am guess that his heinous sense of humor might have led him to develop some sort of mind control spell that would subvert the original blessing of magical wisdom that would have been accorded the wearer. Naturally I am tremendously relieved that neither you nor Ginny chose to try to headware on for size." He paused and gazed directly at Harry. "I am uncertain, but I believe the spells may have been cast well after Riddle first made the diary. If so, their effects could be significantly more sophisticated and dangerous... I will leave it to your discretion as to whether or not you inform Ginny about this. Perhaps memory of the diary itself is still a enough issue for her."

Harry nodded, as he heard Ginny's footsteps making their way back up the stairs. Now he understood... perhaps... why the headmaster had lured her out of the office for a few minutes.

Ginny re-entered the office and handed Dumbledore the parchments she had produced.

Dumbledore thanked her, then called out, "Karypis!"

A house elf appeared and bowed so deeply that his nose touched the floor.

"Good morning Karypis. I seem to be keeping my two guests from their Sunday breakfast." the old professor remarked. "Would you so kindly fetch us some pastries, fruit and pumpkin juice so that we may complete our labors before I must leave the castle?"

The elf bowed again, and moments later appeared with a tray piled with sumptuous breakfast.

For the next forty five minutes, Dumbledore read through the parchments, nodding his head, and asking occasional questions. He approved without great comment or scrutiny the project concerned with Harry's and Ginny's mind connection, but did take a moment to reiterate that the project must be entirely shrouded from the Ministry. Harry asked whether it would be possible or practical to enlist control subjects to ensure meaningful comparison. Dumbledore asked if it might be possible for any control studies be somehow carried out in conjunction with HA training, so that they could use the HA's magical contract to ensure non-disclosure.

Harry looked to Ginny. "What do you think?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Well, the only control candidates we've thought of are HA people, so it works from that perspective. My concern is whether or not it would be ethical? Would this apply the contract to people under false pretences? They signed the contract assuming that they were doing so it in order to receive instruction, not that they would become test subjects."

Dumbledore folded his hands thoughtfully. "Assuming your connection is not completely unique..." he began. "an assumption that we have some historical basis for... then you could offer to your students the chance to discover whether or not they might have telepathic connections, and tie this possible condition into the HA mission by pointing out the mutual security benefits derived from having more than two eyes looking out for a person's well being."

They agreed that this changed the flavor of the original project proposal somewhat, but that it was reasonable, appropriate, and sufficiently ethical.

Dumbledore had several questions about the basis for assuming that death eaters had been employing a liquid portkey to circumvent anti-portkey wards and portkey summoning spells. They had to admit that their evidence was weak but they were nonetheless convinced that it was compelling: death eaters had found a unique way to get around numerous Order and Ministry anti-portkey defenses, Draco Malfoy had found a way to circumvent Hogwarts anti-portkey defense in order to kidnap Ginny, Malfoy had intended and expected to instead be capturing Harry, and according to Ginny's, Harry's, Neville's and Ron's recollections, the only possible item of Harry's that Ginny might have had on (or inside) her person that morning was pumpkin juice: when Harry had risen from the table at the end of the meal without having touched his juice, Ginny had scooped up the goblet and drained it.

It boggled Harry's mind to relate the incident. If that really had been the key to the whole kidnapping... a tiny twist that had seemed so innocuous at the time... then it was amazing to trace all of the consequences: Ginny's first real outpouring of powerful wandless magic, an impromptu and perhaps unprecedented escape via phoenix fire that may have unintentionally blended their magical cores, the apparent cleansing of Ginny's residual Riddle contamination, the beginning of a cohabitational relationship... all thanks to a Malfoy trick involving pumpkin juice?

Harry shook his head to rejoin the conversation that had continued through his reverie. Dumbledore was intrigued by the hypothesis and had come to the point of agreeing that it was hypothetically possible, but...

"While traditional portkeys are advanced charms of which Harry has imminent knowledge," Dumbledore was saying, "I strongly suspect that what you are hypothesizing is the product not of a traditional portkey charm, but rather of a very advanced potion. And while I credit you both with the perceptivity to see the possibility, I don't think I am being unfair in suggesting that neither of you has sufficient depth in potions to be able to recreate or counteract what I believe is a very sophisticated example of a very finicky branch of magic."

Harry and Ginny regarded the headmaster expressionlessly, but they were both struggling with an inner turmoil. Was he going to quash the project? This was the only major tactical advantage that the death eaters had forged over the Order; it was now costing the Order in nearly every death eater incident. Surely Dumbledore could see that?

Apparently he could. He studied them appraisingly for a long moment. "If I am skeptical that you two would be able to crack this nut on your own, let me say that I am equally puzzled as to how the death eaters themselves managed to acquire such a tool. Tom was a good student and truly exceptional in spells, but he never displayed a strong interest in potions for any reason other than to secure academic honors. And, if I may be so irreverent, I can't think of any of his acolytes who are smart enough to come up with something like this. In fact, I can only think of one... two... perhaps three people in Britain whom I would consider intelligent and dogged enough to develop or even reinvent something like this..."

Harry and Ginny waited for the headmaster to finish spinning his web of suspence.

"If you are to succeed with this... Ginny, Harry... I believe you will have to work with Professor Snape."

"But he'll refuse!" Ginny blurted.

"Or, if you order him to help, sir..." Harry said distracted, inadvertently falling back into formal titles, "he'll drag his heals and subvert the process. Remember the months of occlumency training I wasted with him!"

"Please try." Dumbledore requested. There were clearly calculations taking place in his head that neither Harry nor Ginny could fully fathom, but he did not elaborate. "If he does not prove helpful, then there are two other options... although both of those would likely pose their own obstacles."

Ginny nodded, eager to hear alternatives.

"The first is Professor Snape's predecessor at Hogwarts: Professor Horace Slughorn, a most genial, gifted and slippery individual. I suspect that fine young people such as yourselves might be able to secure his assistance, but in recent years I have attempted to approach him on several occasions with issues of grave importance only to be consistently rebuffed. He is, I am afraid, rather fond of... disengagement."

"The final option?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, focusing pointedly on Harry. "Miss Granger." he said.

"Hermione?" they asked, in surprise.

The old man nodded. "Hogwarts has not produced many exceptional potions talents in this latest generation." he mused. "Frankly, perhaps our school has not produced any exceptional potions talents in recent times, with the exception of the class that produced both Severus Snape and Lily Evans..." Dumbledore lost himself in a moment of sad reminiscences, but then refocused. "No, Hogwarts has not produced the exceptional potions talents of yesteryear, but of all the students in the last twenty years the one person whose persistence and attention to detail may successfully recapture some of the old glory would be Miss Granger. Perhaps she would be willing to assist you?"

Harry shrugged noncommitally, but neither he nor Ginny dismissed the prospect out of hand. The conversation wound down with some minor additional points and suggestions, but no clear commitment from Harry and Ginny on the issue of guidance other than that they would start by at least approaching Snape in good faith.

As Fawkes' lilting tones of farewell subsided and the sounds of departing footsteps outside his office gradually faded into the distance, Albus Dumbledore slumped into his chair and placed a hand on his forehead. His skills of diplomacy and persuasion had been tested many times against adversaries on the floor of the Wizengamot or in the Halls of the Ministry, but it had been quite a long time since he had felt the need to dance so nimbly around friends. He realized how rarely it was these days that his faculty or members of the Order actually questioned his judgment or were truly cultivating novel plans that he himself had not already at least partially formulated or anticipated. Of course, he frequently relied, more than he had realized, on passive legilimency which made many conversations artificially facile but that was a luxury that this pair denied him. As a whole, the resulting meeting had been unusually invigorating... and exhausting, somehat akin to a battle of wills in a friendly game of chess.

And then, distinct from the cerebral sparring, there was the interesting, and rather frightening discovery of the lost, and now apparently cursed, diadem. The fact that Harry had found it raised a very unpleasant concern in the headmaster's mind. Dumbledore had a suspicion that Voldemort had created a number of these acursed relics for reasons that he was now beginning to glimpse. That Harry and Ginny should have played an integral role in the detection of the only two such items to be identified thus far, the diary and the diadem, might have very troubling implications. Especially, he guessed, in the case of Harry. An unwelcome phrase drifted through the headmaster's mind: it takes one to know one.

As Ginny made her way out onto the grounds with Harry for some fresh air and a casual deconstruction of the morning's events, she succumbed to a spontaneous laugh.

"What is it?" Harry asked with a curious smile.

"What a pair of bleeding Slytherins you two are!" Ginny chided. "The two leaders of the light and the right, circling each other for two hours like a pair of knife fighters. All this for a simple project planning meeting!"

Harry laughed. "Yes, it did get a little tense at times. And so much of the meeting seemed somehow to revolve around what was not being said..." He paused for a moment to look out over the lake. "But on the bright side, the three of us were speaking and listening, working out some key details of mutual interest. And however evasive he was at times, so were we. Finally, I got the feeling that everyone in that room was there as an equal. That was a first for me."

"Well, after watching that all play out, I'm amazed..." Ginny mused with a twinkle in her eye, "that you can never beat Ron at chess."

"Well, I can't claim to have won any of this morning's matches." Harry said with a smiled. "I only hope he's half as tired out now from all that as I am. But now..." he continued, with his face growing more serious, "if you're ready, Ginny, I would like to know what really happened this morning in the Room of Requirement..."

Although it had been a misty morning, the sun made its first tremulous appearance as Harry and Ginny had been hiking up the mountainside. Now, as they had once again descended to the gently rolling hills that rambled between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, the day had actually grown quite pleasant. Harry always liked to keep an eye on the weather. He had heard that particularly dreary weather might be a sign of dementor breeding in the vicinity. Theoretically that should never be an issue, since all dementors were still supposed to be stationed on Azkaban under Ministry control, and neither the Ministry nor the Daily Prophet had ever issued any statement to the contrary, but he himself had come face to face with them in Diagon Alley a month ago, so whenever multiple days of inclement weather strung themselves together, he started to get nervous. He had noted empirically that last school year, in which his HA students had been producing an unparalled number of patronuses, the weather had been uncommonly pleasant. He wondered if perhaps dementors could sense the residual magic of a successul patronus and whether that might serve as a bit of a repellent. He wasn't certain, but he knew that his students enjoyed learning and performing the spell, so perhaps it would make sense to continue to grill them on it and perhaps even let them know about his ulterior motive.

Regardless, there were clearly no dementors anywhere near Hogsmeade as they approached it for their lunch date with Arthur. Both Harry and Ginny were very pensive, but that was a result of a long, frank and very interesting conversation that they had sustained for most of their hike. Harry was very intrigued by the stream-of-conscious experiences Ginny had related to him: visions that she had experienced in the frightening moment this morning when his hand had brushed the diadem. As far as what they had been able to piece together, Ginny had somehow, in her visions, come face to face with a house elf who looked quite similar to Kreacher, the decrepit old servant of the House of Black. Then she had described the inside of a place that sounded similar to, but distinct from, the Potter family vault in Gringotts. Then she had seemingly viewed the world briefly from the vantage of Nagini, just as he, Harry, had done two Christmases ago just prior to Arthur's near-fatal mauling outside the Department of Magical Mysteries. Finally, and most alarmingly, she had come to the cusp of wandering into Voldemort's mind; perhaps enough to trigger some confusion, but the absence of subsequent pain in Harry's scar suggested that it had apparently not provoked any major action or retaliation on Riddle's part. Ginny had indicated that there might have been one of more additional scenes within the sequence, but that she had not recognized anything sufficiently tangible as to be able to produce a description.

Neither Harry nor Ginny had been able to rationalize why Ginny should have been treated to mental imagery of this nature, nor could they explain what it might have to do with the accursed diadem. Harry's best speculation was that, as they had assumed, Ginny's magic was continuing to protect Harry from the visions he himself had experienced for years, and that something about the way they had allowed Ginny's magic to begin decoupling from him had inadvertently exposed her to something was meant for him. If so, it sounded very unlikely that it had been the product of Voldemort attempting to manufacture visions for him. Rather Ginny had made Riddle sound disoriented and possibly even apprehensive about the mental visitation. No, the whole thing remained quite mysterious.

Hopefully lunch would not be mysterious. Harry was definitely looking forward to seeing Arthur, although the thought of hearing unpleasant details of Ministry degeneration made him somewhat edgy. As they had made their way onto High Street, Ginny's mood had perked up noticeably. Hopefully she would get to enjoy a healthy bit of family bonding with the most affable Weasley.

As they stepped through the door of Three Broomsticks, they saw Arthur immediately. He had been perched on the edge of a bench in a booth partially occluded in a corner of the pub. He rose and made his way over to them, sporting a beaming, fatherly expression. Within moments, he had hugged Ginny, shaken Harry's arm to the point of near-numbness, helped them out of their jackets and was ushering them toward the booth. Ginny's smile glistened... until a second man emerged from corner booth. Ginny's knees locked and Arthur's grip on her hand was jolted by the suddenly arrested momentum.

"Bill." Ginny stated coldly.

"Gingersnap..." Bill began, with a surprisingly plaintive look on his face.

"First of all," Ginny informed him, "please take a page from the twins: Ginny or Ginevra; no cutesy diminutives. Secondly..." she took a breath to marshal her tone, "what are you doing here? I was expecting to have a nice lunch with Dad."

"Practicality and sentimentality, Ginny." Arthur interceded. "Last week, Albus requested that Order members start traveling in pairs as much as possible. Bill was free this afternoon... so given that practical aspect, and the fact that I think you'll find Bill very eager to see you and to patch things up... ummm... would you be okay with this?"

"Okay..." Ginny said emotionlessly. Nobody moved for a moment, so she gestured toward the booth. "Well let's take seats, shall we?"

Although Ginny's tone was decidedly businesslike, Arthur and Bill both took it as a positive sign. After all four had taken seats and Rosmerta had bustled over to take Harry's and Ginny's drink orders, Bill spoke up.

"This is Dad's meeting, so I don't want to monopolize it," he said, "but if you're all willing then I would like to say my piece so that there's no pall cast over the lunch." He looked briefly at Harry, but focused his attention primarily on his sister. "I am here to apologize, to compliment, to listen, and if possible, to help." His earnest intentions were obvious in his face; Ginny and Harry both listened without prejudice, and allowed him to continue. "I would sincerely like to apologize Ginny... and Harry... for failing to understand you, and your actions, and for failing to appreciate how important and well thought out your plans were." He dropped his gaze to the table and folded his hands. "Ginny, when we met this past July at the Muggle-born household in Kent, I did not cover myself in glory. I had my reasons for saying what I said, but paid little heed to real circumstances that maybe I should have understood but was trying to ignore. And furthermore since then I've grown to understand that if I had concerns at that time they have proven to be unfounded." He raised his face to reveal a small, sheepish smile. "And I'm not saying that just because Fred and George have been pranking me constantly ever since."

Ginny's serious face twitched a little. And then she grinned. And when she burst out laughing, the whole table broke into the joyous release of laughter. To Harry, this was the Weasley nature at its best; he regretted that Molly couldn't be there to join in, but this was unquestionably a very fine start.

Bill had a bit more to say though. He apologized first to Harry about questioning what intentions he had in welcoming Ginny into his home, admitting that the results clearly spoke for themselves. "I can't imagine Ginny would ever have the opportunity at the Burrow to focus as single-mindedly and achieve such an incredible amount as she did in the six weeks she spent with you. If you and she were up to anything dishonorable then I suppose we can spare you two those five minutes per day that you might have had time for it," he grinned, "and it's not really any of my business anyway." He then expressed remorse for his last diatribe at the Burrow, where he had complained about how irresponsible Harry and Ginny were in shirking their responsibility to the Order. With Arthur's corroboration, Bill explained that guilty conscience after the Kent incident had led him to push vigorously in an Order meeting for Harry and Ginny to be admitted as full members. "But when Dumbledore reported back in August that he had met with you both and that you had summarily declined the invitation, I continued to compound my errors by taking offense. I thought you two wanted to be treated like adults, so there it was on a golden platter: an opportunity to prove yourselves, and then you come out and no thanks? I was completely perplexed," he admitted. "But then on Friday when Dumbledore updated us on your defense training activities and on SHP, it just became to clear to me: these things you're doing: this is so different from what the Order does, and sounds so responsible and useful; of course you wouldn't want to be sitting through tedious, contentious Order meetings, hearing everybody whine and posture. So, Ginny... and Harry... maybe I will take a page from the twins and ask if there's something I can do to help you two out? I swear I am prepared to listen, give advice only if asked, help however I can. If you two want to lead, I'm ready to do a little following."

Arthur was sitting back, quietly beaming at his eldest son. Ginny's eyes were wide and perhaps ever so slightly misty. Harry expression, however, was appraising.

"Heh," Harry chucked softly. "Well I wish we'd had you with us this morning, but that's a story that is not going to be told at Three Broomsticks. Apart from that, your expertise could prove to be very interesting to our advanced HA students. We'd love to have you out soon for a Saturday morning talk some weekend soon, if you'd be willing to discuss the basics of detecting and quarantining cursed objects." he paused to consider his phrasing. "There may be some other, more complicated questions that we might like your opinions on down the road."

Bill regarded Harry thoughtfully, shifted his gaze to Ginny briefly, before responding to Harry. "I would love to talk to your class about curses. Give me a couple weeks to think about how best to present it, but I would be happy to help. As far as other, more complicated issues, do you have any specifics?"

"Again, nothing that we can talk about in the Three Broomsticks." Harry said plainly. Ginny nodded. Based on Harry's evasive allusion to cursed objects, she was beginning to suspect that the several minutes she had been absent from Dumbledore's office this morning had held some interesting discussions that she would have to ask Harry about.

For his part, Bill understood fully that there were very sensitive issues at stake, and nodded understandingly. "Of course, Harry," he said.

Rosmerta wandered over with mugs of butterbeer, and took lunch orders for the table. After she had returned to the kitchen, Bill looked at Arthur. "Dad, I should have thought of this sooner, but would you like a little privacy for the rest of this discussion?"

Arthur nodded. The pub was fairly quiet, but not empty. None of the other customers were readily recognizable as either friend or foe, but in these tense days it was best not to take many chances in public places with any discussion of the war... or the ministry. Bill set up some rudimentary privacy spells: nothing that would completely block out their voices since that in itself might be viewed with suspicion, but instead he used a variant of the muffliato spell that loosely obfuscated their accents, rendering the discussion opaque but innocuous to any outside party. Harry took note of the concept: it was a useful subtlety.

Arthur stretched back, rubbed his eyes and then leaned in again, drawing the others in as he did so. "I'll have to ask your indulgence if my attention span is a bit lacking at times. Things have been tense at the Ministry, and anybody with integrity is putting in long hours trying to keep the whole viable."

"You have our full sympathy, sir." Harry said. "So, do you think the Ministry can survive?"

"Well..." Arthur pondered. "It certainly won't survive indefinitely. Not if the death eater attacks resume, and I'm sure that they will soon enough. Every attack undermines the Ministry. Even when we drive them off it still produces bad news because in truth the effective resistance most often comes from either the Order or... well, collaborators like Harry. When the Daily Prophet reports the incident, the story is always something along the lines of 'Ministry incompetence was once again on display with their inability to anticipate or prevent these attacks. Apparently the only thing preventing a complete collapse of society is the intervention of lawless vigilantes.' I can't dispute that the Ministry is ineffectual, but that's not an excuse to just villify heroes and demoralize everyone else. If half of the wizarding population hadn't already been so convinced by defeatists that the war is already practically lost, we would have a much better chance of actually winning it. But the on the flip side of things, for all that Cornelius Fudge is an inept paralytic, he has in a sense actually served us well. Under him the ministry has gotten so tied in bureaucratic knots that it's difficult for even death eaters and their plants to accomplish things efficiently. At any other time I would say it's high time that Fudge be replaced, but right now I shudder to think of what might happen in a temporary power vacuum. I think it would be a disaster even if we could elect someone well-intentioned, which, given the current state of the Wizengamot, I very much doubt we can."

They paused to let Rosmerta serve them some hearty pub food. As she worked the table, Harry noticed that something was just a little off in her manner. He knew that Rosmerta was an exceptionally observant host and, unlike a casual observer, he guessed that she likely noticed the privacy spells. Fortunately Bill's charm was distance-dependent, so when she stood right at the table she was able to engage in fully lucid exchange with them. She adeptly wore her trained smile and had plenty of very conventional things to say to them, but Harry could not help but noticing some subtle lines of puzzlement about her eyes. Oh well, he reassured himself, she's a friend; she's not about to turn us in.

Once Rosmerta had departed, Ginny asked her father why he needed to put in such lengthy hours at the Ministry.

"We are literally running interference." Arthur explained. "There are many in the Ministry who have sensed that the time is right to push many of the most unpleasant agendas that were mostly shelved seventeen years ago. Those of us who have a bit of backbone and integrity are employing every bureaucratic tool at our disposal to slow down the impending social train wrecks. At every possible juncture, we've been filing all the paperwork required to request minimum waiting periods, public hearings, fact-finding commissions and so forth, and have been dragging out every meeting as much as possible. We can hardly hope to win many of these battles because the Wizengamot has been stacked against us and Fudge will eventually sign every decree that they pass, but at least we can slow them down and bring some of the worst abuses out into the public arena which still slants in the direction of common human decency."

"Dare we ask about some of these agendas?" Harry inquired nervously.

"You dare ask, I suppose, but I'm not sure that I would dare listen if I were you." Arthur said wryly. "But we can take your dear friend Dolores Umbridge as an example. She has consolidated power in her new role as head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in a very creative manner that is turning the department upside down to become a vehicle for persecution of muggle-borns."

"Huh?" Harry and Ginny gasped in tandem.

"She is commandeering the resources for accidental magic detection toward identification of families of likely muggle-borns. She has circulated a decree stating that the root cause of muggle-born magic is in itself a magical catastrophe, something that she asserts to often be deliberately engineered. Under her, the Muggle Liaison Office may transition from services involving misinformation, obfuscation and media management into an organization primarily tasked with tracking and potentially even incarcerating muggle-born families."

"She's twisting her mandate all around!" Ginny cried out, shuddering. "That's absolutely horrible!"

"Yes, but for the time being we're continuing to hold off the worst." Arthur sighed. "Nobody more than Amelia; she has lost her Wizengamot seat but still holds enough sway in Magical Law Enforcement to keep Umbridge's worst excesses in stalemate. Of course she is very much a marked woman. I would mention, Harry..." Arthur nodded toward Harry with the look of a proud father, "that Mrs. Bones was able to learn of your role in saving her life earlier this year. She was, I must admit, quite amused at the irony of being saved by the magical prowess of the same minor for whom she had preceded over an acquittal for underage sorcery." He smiled fondly. "She is a very stern person, but loves a good joke as much as anyone. That was the source of a very rare round of unbridled laughter in the halls of Magical Law Enforcement. I believe that some of the more sour individuals like Scrimgeour and Runcorn were about to declare us all insane." He paused as they shared Arthur's laughter at the reminiscence. "I barely need to mention, that Amelia was most grateful to you, Harry, as well as to Remus and Tonks for keeping your heads in a such tense situation. And speaking of Amelia, it was she who prompted my request for this conversation."

"Really?" Ginny asked. "How? Or why?"

"Well apparently her niece Susan owled her Friday evening in excitement over this SHP of yours. Susan explained in glowing terms the plans and posed the wistful question about why couldn't the Ministry ever do useful things like this. Susan indicated that she was contractually prevented from saying who was responsible, but asked her mother to spread the word among the increasing body of victims that these services existed and could be accessed by owling SHP. Well, in what is both a flattering and perhaps a bit worrisome testimony to reputations, Amelia marched straight to my office, closed my door, set up privacy wards, and told me without any preamble that I would know who was responsible for this." He looked from Ginny to Harry and back again.

Harry shrugged and smirked a little. "Umm, how about we give Ginny the credit, and I'll take the blame... " he paused and blinked ever so slightly as the result of some under the table happenstance.

Ginny gave him a momentary glance, the brief glimmer of a smile, then turned her attention to her father. "We're in it together. I hope this hasn't been causing you any trouble?"

"Well, I did figure that it had to be related to present company and that it was probably a collaboration." Arthur said with smile. "Mrs. Bones obviously came independently to the same general conclusion. Harry, you may not know Amelia as well as some of those around the table?"

"Probably not, sir." Harry agreed.

"In terms of integrity and no-nonsense efficiency, I think you could compare her with Minerva. And if you are a dedicated and determined miner, you will find a similar heart of gold buried deep beneath the stern landscape. Anyway, she requested that I convey her compliments and appreciation for this initiative. She said that she believed the scope and focus to be apt and constructive and that she would indeed spread word as she encountered needy individuals. She also said that she is, fortunately or unfortunately, in complete agreement with your decision to keep the leadership and staffing of the program secret." Arthur paused a moment to emphasize the point before continuing. "Of course, this is where her message becomes more serious and foreboding. She said that it was her distinct impression that nothing in the information sheet Susan sent her could in any current light be interpreted as illegal activity, but that you should be prepared for a Ministry that may seek to draft unhelpful laws, and may perhaps even attempt to intentionally contravene your work. That is expecially likely to happen if Umbridge is given any evidence to suggest that your organization is in any way shielding muggle-borns from her scrutiny... or her persecution if you prefer."

The mood at the table had grown very stiff. Despite the appetizing meals in front of each, no forks were moving. Ginny, Harry and Bill all wore frowns. Nobody needed to say it, but it was quite clear that this was one of the most important unstated goals of the initiative.

"You should know..." Arthur resumed, "that Amelia and I would both love to see SHP go forward roughly as planned. We do not want to interfere with your plans; instead we will do our best to interfere with any adversaries who try to deny you your right to pursue the very worthy goals you've mapped out. We will strive to support your work with the same urgency that we're applying in working against so many miscarriages of common decency that are being perpetrated by our misgoverning body. But in the meantime, I think you will make Amelia, and by extension me, most happy by maintaining a tight the web of secrecy. No more leaflets; I would recommend strictly operating by word of mouth: code phrases, innuendos, euphemisms and so forth to sustain an element of deniability. And whatever strategies for protection you might have implemented for your safe house, perhaps consider augmenting them. For example, I have this vague suspicion that one of you might be familiar with the Fidelius charm..."

Harry nodded, with a frown creasing his face. The property was unmappable, but he had hoped to avoid Fidelius on the property in Wales because he didn't want to prevent access to those who most needed it. But there had to be a compromise.

"Now for my final bit of sobering news... after which I do hope we will be able to recover our appetites and spirits. Just as tampering with the Wizengamot led to the expulsion of Albus, Amelia and two other witches of high moral fibre, there are efforts to undermine key people from within the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Working in our favor is the fact that Lucius Malfoy's recent disgraces have led to his removal from the board, but I would not put it past the machinations of others to alter, sway,... perhaps imperius... the board composition in some way that leads to some manufactured cause for removing Albus as Headmaster. If that was to happen, you might quickly find your lives becoming much more difficult." Arthur massaged his temples. "So, given all of these precarious possibilities, I would like some secure and instantaneous way to get ahold of you. There may be some scenario that takes place where even an hour's delay in contact may have dire consequences."

"Patronuses are fine as long as the sender is in a stable magical and emotional state." Harry suggested. "Ginny and I are quite proficient. We probably have nearly a dozen people in HA who can send speaking patronuses if they're not too upset or distracted."

"What can we arrange for backup?" Arthur asked.

"Fred and George's bracelets," Ginny suggested. "They're similar to what Harry arranged last summer for HA members, except that the bracelets communicate with each other rather than with a central map. They're a bit primitive though. In current form they can't send a detailed message; they can only let one person know that another wants to contact them."

"If you signaled me," Harry indicated to Arthur, "I could make it from anywhere in the castle to the Burrow in less than five minutes... provided I was able to make a clean break from whatever activity I was engaged in."

Realizing that Harry's estimate meant transforming to an owl to rapidly escape the castle's anti-apparation wards, Ginny took a moment to adjust the estimate to reflect a sprint across the grounds. "Less than ten minutes for me. But I'm not as likely to be stuck trying to make an awkward break from a class or meeting."

"Sirius's mirrors!" Harry exclaimed.

Arthur looked at Harry questioningly.

"Sirius and my dad had communicating mirrors that enabled direct, face to face conversation. It was soundless, but they could pass notes, read lips or whatever. Instant communication; no need for owls, floo patronuses or apparation."

"Where are they?" Arthur asked.

"One of them should still be in Grimmauld Place — we can ask Remus. The other..." Harry sighed, "... is broken... but if we had a week or two we might be able to figure out how to create a pair."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you Harry — I would find it much easier to sleep at night... well on those nights when I actually have a chance to lie down somewhere proper anyway. I've heard of mirrors like what you're describing. I think that unspeakables have been working on the technology and some high ranking ministry officials might have something comparable, but I've never actually seen any myself. I can ask around discretely to see if it's possible to get ahold of any, but I suspect that our best bet would be to make our own. And in that respect, your access to good technical books is better than mine."

The table went silent for several minutes. People began to pay due attention to their neglected meals. Harry toyed with his fork in one hand, while reaching over the table for the comfort of Ginny's hand. He looked back toward Arthur. "Sir?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Sir, I won't assume you can predict the future... but if you had to go with your instincts, how long do you think you, Mrs. Bones and the other good people can keep the Ministry in check?"

Arthur met Harry's curious gaze thoughtfully. His mind retreated for a while, then he opened his mouth, paused again, then began to identify contingencies. "Provided Fudge is not unexpectedly deposed... and believe me we're working to try to protect his otherwise worthless hide..." Arthur rolled his eyes balefully. "Also provided that Amelia, I, and another several key people manage to retain some influence. If that holds, then our time is measured by the various bureaucratic delays we're invoking on several very damaging measures..."

Arthur sat back, eyes aimed skyward as he ran through calculations. Ginny's thumb rubbed the back of Harry's hand absent-mindedly as her mind strayed to an image of a feckless white king, a harried but valiant queen and several other diligent white pieces surrounded by an ever encroaching horde of black. She shook her head. Chess was not her game.

Arthur lowered his eyes to table level. "I would guess perhaps between six weeks and two months." he said. "Sometime after that it will probably fall, regardless of anyone's efforts. It may fall hard; it may fall fast."

Harry nodded thoughtfully to Ginny; she nodded thoughtfully back; their hands remained clasped in an almost electric grip. Arthur and Bill watched the two teens in puzzled fascination. Without taking his eyes off Ginny, Harry spoke again. "Please try to hold on that long, sir. Please hold on."

Chapter 9. Quest for Water    (September 8, 1997)

That evening, Harry, Ginny, Neville and Hannah sat by the fire in the sixth floor commons, nursing butterbeers, deliberately trying to talk about nothing serious. The rest of the room was occupied by a small but lively group: Jonathon Lyon and Lilac Brown were sharing a table with Edgar and Francesca Greengrass, mostly complaining about first year potions homework, while Ryan, Nick and Mary-Jo were engaged in good-natured bickering about a transfiguration project that Mary-Jo was helping the two fifth-years with. Harry smiled as he listened surreptitiously to the two conversations, reminiscing back to his own school days in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione. Those days seemed so long ago.

As Harry's thoughts drifted, Neville was orating enthusiastically about his recent success in propagating the Paliurus focus that Harry had given him or Christmas. Ginny was facing Neville, smiling, nodding and making all of the right little comments to encourage her good friend, but in truth her attention was elsewhere: it lay beneath the fingertips of her right hand, which was gently stroking the forearm of a very pensive Harry Potter.

As far as pensive moods go, Ginny decided, this was a good pensive. She smiled as the corners of Harry's mouth twitched upwards at the sight of Emerald choosing the exact center of Lilac's parchment as her place to sit as she intently battled with Edgar's quill. It was heart-warming to know that Harry was still able to relax and feel comfortable within the confines of his own thoughts. Especially after such a busy week. Make that busy month. Busy year!

Neville's monologue had wound down, and he noticed Hannah smiling quizzically toward Harry. Ginny noticed it too, and laughed softly. "Sorry Neville, I think you may have to try explaining it all over again next weekend." she said, with a little nod at Harry, who was still daydreaming and had not yet noticed the change of topic. "I think I'm going to have to carry someone to bed soon."

Harry startled. "Huh? Oh, I'm sorry Neville! I just got caught up in... other things. Please do keep me posted on your Paliurus focus, though. I think it may really come in handy!"

Neville chuckled. "No problem Harry!" he said. "You're allowed to be tired. Just because you two haven't been talking about your week doesn't mean that it wasn't exhausting."

Harry shrugged and smiled. "Yes. It was an amazing week, and I have to admit that I'm a little wound down right now."

"And you are going across the hall for an early bed-time too." Ginny stated unequivocably.

"It sounds like I don't have any choice in the matter." Harry said, with a wink to his favorite redhead. "Neville, can you stick around for a little while longer and make sure that the others head back to their houses before curfew?"

Neville nodded. Harry rose from the chesterfield but found his path blocked by a serious looking Ryan Jenkins.

"Harry?" Ryan inquired.

"Hi Ryan." Harry answered. "Anything I can help with?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Ryan answered with a wry grin. "On Saturday you asked each of the AHA students to think about projects that they wanted to work on. I have a project, that I'd like to start on Wednesday."

"Oh good!" Harry enthused. "What kind of focus were you thinking of for the project?"

"I was thinking..." Ryan responded with a solemn, theatrical dignity, "... of focusing on 'take down the teacher', attempt number 3."

Harry burst out laughing; his weary eyes sparking to life. There was no way around it — he really liked this Slytherin. "You're on. The usual gang?" he asked. Ryan nodded and stood to the side to let Harry pass. Harry paused to think for a moment, then said, "You guys set the terrain. Be in class 15 minutes early to set up and we'll put on a show for the rest of the HA."

"You bet!" he said, nodding courteously to Harry, but with the hint of a sly smile, as he made his way back to his table with Mary-Jo and Nick.

Ginny was ready and in bed several minutes before Harry that evening and when he emerged from his trunk back into the bedroom, she was observing him carefully. The exchange with Ryan had given him a bit of a second wind; he had reacquired his earlier alertness. He was alert enough, in fact, to realize quite quickly that Ginny wanted to talk.

He joined her, sitting upright against their pillows. "What are you thinking, Gin'?" he asked.

She frowned slightly. "I keep replaying discussions from the meeting with Dumbledore this morning," she responded. "I still find parts of that meeting disquieting."

"To be honest," Harry mused, "I found the things your father said this afternoon to be more worrisome than the meeting with Dumbledore, but what in particular did you find disconcerting?"

Ginny pursed her lips and remained silent for some time. Then she answered, saying, "One of the things that I'd noticed was how differently Dumbledore was acting. Last week it seemed like he was telling us everything we asked and then some. I found this morning to be really disappointing by comparison. Now I keep wondering to myself, who is the real Dumbledore? I still haven't forgiven him for his behavior in July, and I'm sure he will never be completely forthright with us, but I was just starting to hope that maybe we were really starting to learn to work together." She paused and spun a loose lock of hair around her finger. "It's not the same as old days when he would withhold things from us out of arrogant disregard for our need to know and our ability to help. No, today it felt like he was nervous around us. In one sense he was very solicitous of you Harry, but every time it looked like we were about to ask him for useful information, he changed the subject."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"I think he finds you intimidating, Harry."

"Me? You're joking!" Harry exclaimed incredulously.

"No, think about it: last year you suddenly took control of your life and developed this great inspiring fount of confidence. Speaking as someone who has always kept a bit of an eye on you..." she smiled softly, but then continued, "it was pretty obvious that when people saw that confidence, they started really believing in you. It wasn't the little Harry Potter boy that would go off, do something stupid and come up smelling like roses. It was a man who knew what he was doing; who had a plan and all the abilities needed to make it work. I think that lots of students and even a fair number of adults started following you because you made them feel safe. Couple that with the high level of respect that some very senior people give you now: people like Remus, Amelia, McGonagall, Flitwick and so forth. You're starting to look and act like a real leader."

Harry shook his head reflexively, but didn't say anything.

Ginny continued, "Then there's this issue of trust. For better or for worse, you and I keep agreeing among ourselves to be very cautious about what things we'll share with Dumbledore. I'm not saying that we didn't have every right to be careful with him, considering what he tried to do to us, but if you think about it from his perspective, don't you think it's natural he might get a bit edgy around us? The whole field has shifted for him — you'll never again be an acolyte, Harry. I wonder if he's starting to look at you as a wary, calculating rival?"

Harry was momentarily stumped by the postulate. He couldn't dismiss the possibility out of hand, and he had to admit that Ginny was often better at reading people than he was. "What are you suggesting we do?" he finally asked.

"Harry, I know that he's done some very serious things to earn our mistrust. However, I think that maybe his exceptional candor last week might have been a sincere gesture... an olive branch aimed at trying to win back our faith in him. Maybe it's time for us to show a little faith in return? Be a bit more open with him too? Last night you really got me thinking when you told me that you thought his greatest weakness might be that he doesn't feel like there's anyone he can turn to in order to get meaningful feedback on his plans. Maybe he needs to be able to turn to you?"

"To us, you mean?" Harry responded with a smile.

Ginny smiled back with a slight hint of sadness. "Maybe, but I can't help thinking that no matter what I've accomplished in the last five years, whenever the headmaster looks at me, he still always sees the frightened little girl from the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry froze.

"Yes Harry," she murmured, "there are things that Dumbledore doesn't like to talk about around a supposedly fragile flower like myself."

A wave of remorse swept through Harry — he still hadn't told Ginny about that conversation. Dumbledore had maneuvered Ginny out of the room for it. Apparently either he had wanted to shelter her from any discussion of the Riddle diary or didn't trust her objectivity or something. It didn't seem terribly unusual to Harry because Molly and Arthur had tip-toed around the subject for years, but he, Harry, definitely should have known better. He couldn't keep a secret from her anymore and, given how important she had become in all his plans, it would be stupid to try. "Ginny..." he began.

"Yes Harry?"

"Dumbledore did start a short conversation the moment you left his office this morning... while you were retrieving the project plans."

"I know."

Harry's heart sunk a little further. "I was going to fill you in, but I had other things on my mind. I'm sorry I didn't get around to it sooner."

Ginny gazed at Harry's remorseful face. His eyes could easily have stopped her in her tracks, but she forced herself to soldier on. "I'm sure you would have gotten around to it eventually, Harry. That's not what I'd expect you to apologize about. What I need you to tell me is that if we're going to tackle these challenges together, you will not let anyone... not Dumbledore, not our friends, not even my parents... you will not let anybody deliberately hide important things from me. If there's something out there that affects me, then nobody should be trying to talk to you about it behind my back." Her expression was solemn; simultaneously both soft and firm.

Harry nodded in his contrition.

"Now you're going to tell me what I missed," she instructed.

"It was a simple message," Harry began. "It seemed that the quick magical profiling that Dumbledore did in front of us told him that the magical signature of the curse on the diadem was similar to... the Riddle diary. Perhaps more powerful, but he couldn't say much more until he'd run more thorough tests."

She nodded. "I guessed as much. Okay, well I guess there's not much more that I can contribute right now either, but next time Dumbledore tries something like that with us, please remember Christmas at Grimmauld place, okay?"

"Absolutely," Harry responded quietly. The message was clear: there was probably only one person alive on the planet who knew more about the magical effects of the Riddle diary than Ginny, and that person was not named Dumbledore. "Next time we meet with the headmaster, we can both remind him that your experiences with objects of this sort can be an asset rather than a liability."

Ginny nodded again. She took Harry's hand as a gesture of reconciliation, but continued to stare off into the distance for a while. Finally, she turned to face him, and said, "Thank you Harry."

He smiled shyly.

She reached forward and caressed the finer locks of hair above his ears. Binding him with her eyes, she traced her index finger down his cheek, to the ridge of his jaw, and forward to his chin. Pausing there for a moment in which the only sound in the world was the whisper of their comingled breath, her finger quivered slightly then edged upwards to his lower lip. Her eyes closed and her mouth hungrily sought its quarry.

As a faint grey light began to gradually suffuse the bedroom, Harry drifted into consciousness as he often did these days: marveling at this incredible journey known as life. Two years ago he would, with sincere gratitude, have traded his existence for someone else's. Practically anyone else's. One year ago, he had finally become comfortable with his responsibilities and burdens, but he couldn't let anybody else in the world really get to know who Harry Potter truly was. Anybody else, except perhaps for this one person who had made a somewhat foolhardy decision to be his friend: this delightful, sincere and thoughtful girl who asked little but knew much. Now, on this early morning twelve months later, that same girl... this beautiful young woman... was sprawled across him, breathing with the exquisite serenity of sleep. Her limbs were entangled with his; her moist lips were pressed against his neck; fingers woven through his hair.

Harry knew enough about the human body to realize that both of them should probably be incredibly sore and stiff from sleeping together in an intimate tangle like this. But for some wonderful, unknown reason he never experienced any discomfort at from their night-long embraces; whenever he spent a night like this, his body awoke feeling like it was drifting along a pleasant stream on a warm summer day. Ginny never complained of any discomfort either. Maybe this was, like other mysterious benefits of their relationship, just simply magic.

The way they slept mirrored the way they lived. A year ago he had begun to guess that Ginny would prove to be a true and special friend, but he never could have imagined how her whole life would become so enmeshed with his; how she would acquire his strengths, adopt and refine his goals, take on his burdens, share his peril. The part of him that had fiercely resisted exposing her to danger had been defeated. For better or worse, she was in this with him now, to the bitter or glorious end. And while he still did not know how exactly it would come about, every passing day brought him greater conviction that it would end in glory and not tragedy, and that it was their shared destiny to achieve something together that would not have been possible alone. The nature of that pending achievement was still beyond their grasp, but they would surely discover it in time. He was convinced that their cooperative shared strengths would make certain of that. Today, he believed, could be a big step along that journey: Ginny was going to take him somewhere important. He didn't know where that would be, but he trusted her. As a token of that trust, he reached his hand... the one hand that was free... to his mouth. He kissed two of his own fingers and pressed them gently to her cheek.

"Mmmmm..." she told him and tightened her grip.

Normally she would have already been awake by now, tugging him out of bed, ready and eager for their morning run. How she used to complain about these mornings! But somehow she had really taken them to heart, embraced the fullness of life and cherished every hour that could be spent learning, working and preparing together.

But this morning was a bit different. It was going to be a very busy day and she was clearly still worn from the intense week they'd just completed, so he decided to let her sleep for a while longer. They had both earned a bit of a lie-in. And even that was all relative of course: most of the students would not even be thinking of getting up for at least two hours. So there was no rush. They could rest here for a while longer, enjoy the quiet togetherness, and he could think over his plans for the week.

By the time he was part way through Wednesday's schedule, Ginny's eyes opened. She registered the amount of light in the room, and said, "You let me sleep in."

"Ten or fifteen minutes perhaps. I thought we could afford it."

"Okay." she said, raising her head to give him a quick kiss. "But it's important that we have a good run and workout this morning."

He looked at her quizzically.

"Here." she said, handing him a piece of parchment that had been sitting on her bedside table. "Read this while I get changed. We can talk about it on our run."

He unscrolled the parchment. It was a transcript of a short Evening Prophet capsule from the July 16, 1972 edition.

Twenty-five years ago today

Prague, Czechoslovak Republic, July 16, 1947. The 283rd Congress of the European Society for Magical and Mystical Research was brought to a close with what may have been the shortest keynote address in the history of the prestigious event. After a rambling introduction by society president Adalbert Waffling, the venerable if controversial authorities of magical theory, Salvatore and Tremelda Fugo, took to the podium to deliver a speech which organizers had requested to "not exceed 50 minutes". Speaking in unison and following a measured tempo, the pair spoke for twenty seven seconds, bowed their heads deferentially and disapparated without taking questions. Because of the brevity of their speech, which took the form of free verse, we are able to reproduce the text in its entirety:

   Goodbye compeers.
   Our farewell to
   fortissimi.

   We'll miss your love,
   but fragile leaves
   we must appease.

   Those in need who
   seek to find us,
   ponder softly:

   Stoney hills, love,
   and withered leaves
   that never die.

Noted defensive theory specialist, Wilbert Slinkhard, offered a comparably brief comment on the Fugos' speech. The Daily Prophet quoted him on his way out of the lecture hall as muttering,"Completely barmy."

Having committed the salient points of the article to memory, Harry quickly changed into his workout clothes, just in time to accept Ginny's hand and hurry out the door. Ginny looked alive with energy. When she had first started accompanying him on his early morning runs last spring, he had frequent opportunity to tease her about how cute she looked when she was grumpy. Not any more. She was frequently the one pulling him out of bed now, and looking absolutely radiant doing so. It was probably a testament to the effort she had put in this past week that she had been a bit slow to move this morning, but she wasn't letting that show now. They hurried down the various to the main entrance and out into the misty chill.

"So Ginny..." Harry began as they made their way toward the lake, "I'm afraid that poetry never really was my thing..."

She laughed. "Don't look to me for any help with poetry — the only poems I ever heard growing up were by Celestina Warbeck. And if any time I actually thought about the words in her songs I'd get a sudden urge to hit my head on the floor."

Harry had the urge to chuckle, but charging up a steep knoll limited him to a facial expression that looked vaguely like a smile. "Okay..." he said when the terrain flattened out again, "But I get the feeling you understand what the Fugos were trying to say. And I don't."

"Sure." Ginny responded. "Once you've read the book, then a lot of it is quite obvious. All the talk about leaves: the Fugos said that your magical core is like a tree. Spells are like branches that extend out from the tree, so that you can affect the cores of objects that you're not actually touching. Leaves are little tendrils of magic out fluttering in the wind. Leaves are what we use to make subtle, delicate magic, or to sense magic in the world around us."

"Okay, that's a nice analogy."

"So the Fugos..." Ginny continued, then paused to pick her way carefully along stepping stones across a small brook. "The Fugos seem to have developed extremely sensitive leaves; they seemed to have such a great conceptual grasp of what magical essence was like because they could sense it all with extraordinary clarity. People have suggested that the last few years of their public lives, especially when the Grindelwald war was going on, must have been torture because they could sense all the magic around and it was being used with such ferocious abandon that maybe it sounded like endless yelling, shouting, banging and such. In an interview in 1946, the Fugos referred to Grindelwald and Dumbledore as 'Shrieker' and 'Clank' respectively."

This time Harry did laugh. "They're real characters, aren't they? So, they needed to take a break from it? Get away from magic... or at least from magical people?"

Ginny nodded. "But they couldn't just leave everything behind. I'm guessing that they were torn because they had a great capacity to love people, or at least to love the magical essence that emanated from people who knew how to love... so they wanted to say goodbye in a public way that might tip off loving people as to how to find them if anyone needed their help."

Both Ginny and Harry paused their discussions as they faced a steep hundred foot climb up to the high widswept plateau where they paused on their longer runs. They reached it together, slowed to a walk, then hunched over for a breather, hands on their knees. Harry edged over to Ginny's side, putting his right hand on her left knee. She smiled and put her left hand on his right knee. For some reason their heart rates dropped dramatically whenever they did that, and their breath soon slowed enough for them to straighten up again... and kiss. Wet bracing wind streamed past them, carrying shreds of cloud, leaving tiny mist droplets in their hair, lashes and eyebrows. They turned their backs to the breeze, gazed toward where the castle would be if they could see it through the fog and shared a smile across their roseate faces. As they turned to make their nimble descent, Harry returned to the topic of the morning. "So, does the poem tell you where to find them? I didn't see enough specific information in there to suit me."

Ginny took a moment to formulate her response. "No, that's the beauty of it. They don't tell you where they are. But they do tell you how to find them."

"Oh?" Harry responded.

"Yes." she stated. "We apparate."

"Huh? But you don't know where to go?"

"Harry!" she growled, "You of all people should understand. You learned apparation on your own and taught me. You don't have the myopic view of it that you get from the Ministry certification course."

"What?" Harry responded. "You mean no desperation, delusion, discombobulation?"

Ginny giggled. Ron's hilarious accounts of the semi-farcical Wilkie Twycross ministry course flitted through her memory. "Precisely!" she agreed. "No devastation, delineation, demonization." She paused as Harry laughed, then resumed. "So the point is you don't need to know your physical destination. Magic doesn't care about the street address for Quality Quidditch Supplies; you just have to want to get a new broomstick. So presumably, to find the Fugos we need to want to be in a place with stoney hills, love and withered leaves that aren't dead."

"Real leaves or magical essence leaves?"

Ginny shrugged. "Let's try both? Muggles call that a double entendre?"

"Okay, and we have to be pretty quiet?"

Ginny shrugged again. "Be as calm as possible going into the apparation; shore up our occlumency shields before we leave, maybe? I think that if we make a good faith attempt to try to find them, are as considerate as possible in respect to their sensitivities, and they're in the mood to have visitors, then hopefully they'll take care of the rest."

"Uh huh." Harry said pensively as they descended back to the relative flat of the lakeshore. "So this is why we need lots of exercise this morning? Make sure that our magical cores are nice and calm this afternoon when we try?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes. Although just before kicking off we might also have to snog each other silly," she added with a wink. "Just to make the Fugos think we're in love."

"Hmmm... A minute ago I was still having my doubts about this." Harry deadpanned, "But I think I'm starting to warm to the idea."

Before setting out on any unfathomable journeys, Harry still had to navigate a morning's worth of responsibilities. His sixth year defense class was every bit the joy that he had already come to expect from the group: more than half the class had read up on the lesson before he even started and instead of lecturing, he ended up spending most of the period answering questions about intricacies of the various spells, and trying of-the-cuff demonstrations of specific points. His seventh years were also a lively bunch, although less disciplined; they were clearly a smart group of students, but unfortunately they were also a bit smart-mouthed. Blaise, as usual found an opportunity or two to needle him, but he wasn't too disruptive so Harry laughed along and cut him some slack. Daphne found an opportunity or two to needle Blaise, but she wasn't too disruptive so Harry subconsciously egged her on. Hermione found a few chances to ask questions that seemed intended more to try to trip Harry up than to actually further the subject matter. Zacharias Smith frequently attempted to start conversations in the back of the room that had nothing whatsoever to do with defense against the dark arts; fortunately Smith rarely succeeded since nobody actually had any interest in what he had to say. The others were generally quite attentive, but the sum of the different distractions meant that while Harry's sixth years flew through challenging material, the seventh years seemed willing to learn the basics needed for the NEWTs but not make way for opportunities to tackle some of the most advanced and potentially valuable topics that Harry felt they might really enjoy. He challenged himself to figure out some way of getting through to them, and he would, but not today. Ginny's message to him was clear: don't get stressed today!

The one interesting thing that happened in Harry's seventh year class that day was that a seat in the back row of class was occupied, for the first time, by Draco Malfoy. Draco's name had not yet appeared on the class register, but if he wanted to sit in on a few sessions, Harry was more than happy to have him there. If Malfoy had happened to participate in any of the class discussion, Harry promised himself that he would as solicitous and respectful as he would to any of the other students. But Malfoy seemed content to sit back and observe the class dynamic with almost uncanny attentiveness. Every time Hermione smugly asked a pointed or peripheral question Draco walked her carefully, and every time she was stung by Harry's quick (and generally apt) responses, Malfoy's watchful eyes would flit from one to the other. Harry wondered if there was something in that behavior that warranted some closer attention. But not today. Don't get stressed today!

Meanwhile, Ginny was doing her best to live by her own rule. She had decided that today was not the day when she was going to approach Snape about some possible potions guidance. That was not a recipe for stress avoidance. Instead she had retreated up to her attic study inside her trunk, where the weather was far more attractive than what Hogwarts had to offer. Flocks of songbirds were making their virtual way south, and the first few hints of orange were starting to grace the sunkissed forest as she gazed northwards with a cup of tea and several thick potions texts. Despite the idyllic setting she was still a bit on edge. Because although Harry had signed off on this hairbrained scheme of hers, she still had some doubts herself. Who in their right mind ever tried to apparate without some clear destination in mind? Would the Fugos recognize their need and help to guide them over to wherever it was that they had so mysteriously cloistered themselves? Were the Fugos still even alive? After all, there had been no documented interactions with the Fugos in decades.

Ginny had grown accustomed to watching Harry make bold plans and seeing them unfold successfully, but she didn't yet have the basis for self confidence. Sure she had seen some preliminary success in research and in organizing SHP, but this seemed different: she was leading Harry into a mysterious journey that might unlock secrets that could help them defeat Riddle or... who knows... get them both killed? Was she ready to figure out whether or not she had the same wonderful combination of instinct and luck that had managed to keep Harry alive all these years? After a while she put down the potions texts and reviewed the Evening Prophet article yet again. No, she would not second guess. Harry Potter trusted her, and he didn't trust anyone in the world anymore without a very good reason, right? So, she would trust herself.

After another hour of potions reading she descended out of her attic, out of her trunk and down to Harry's office where he was putting away his books after class. They ate a quick lunch with Sarah, Quinn, Alex and Luna, none of whom seemed likely to engage in either prying or contentious conversation, and then headed back out onto the grounds which, if anything, were even more drizzly than they had been for the early morning run.

"Do we need to bring anything?" Harry asked.

Ginny paused to think. "Out of habit, I have my wand. A few apples on principle... but I can't think of anything else that we really need."

Once the two of them had walked past the extent of the Hogwarts grounds and anti-apparation wards they stopped. "We're going to apparate together, right?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded.

"You have a better mental image of how we're apparating, so I should probably side-on apparate. But would it help if I was focusing on something?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Ginny said with the slightest hint of shyness. "If you had any patronus memories that... umm... involved me..."

Harry laughed softly. "I only have a few patronus memories that don't involve you."

A subtle hint of colour suffused Ginny's cheeks. Her eyes sparkled. "I think it is time for you to kiss me." she said.

The fine mist came down around the pair; a water droplet that had been forming on Harry's bangs dripped down onto his cheek and rolled to their lips. Their ears were filled with the soft rhythm of water drops falling from the leaves and branches. And then painlessly, gently even, Harry felt as they were pulled away, somewhere dark. It was unlike any sensation of apparation that he had ever experienced: softer and slower. A lot slower. It rarely seemed to take as long as a second to apparate from one place to another, but this travel things seemed to drag... three, four... maybe five seconds. He could still feel Ginny's hands on his shoulders, her lips on his, his own hands pressed against her damp back. He could see nothing. He could hear the sound of a monotonous wind wooshing past his ears. He wondered if they were trapped somewhere in the place where things go when they've been vanished, and then... whomp!

Their feet impacted hard with uneven gravel, jolting their spines and straining their ankles, but holding onto each other they succeeded in staying upright. Brightness danced on their eyelids which fluttered open to what was, after the grey skies of Hogwarts, absolutely dazzling bright sunshine and fiercely hot blue skies.

Wherever it was that they had landed, they were not alone.

"Oh goody goody goody!" oozed a voice from behind them that made Harry's skin crawl. "Little baby Potter and his itty baby Squeezy!"

"Potty and Squeezy done their kissy kissy?" Bellatrix Lestrange sang, as she picked her way daintily among the cobbles, twirling her wand between two fingers, and staring at them with wide ogling eyes and a lurid grin. She brandished her hand at them, thumb and index finger waving like crab pincers. "Ready to be squishy squishied?" she taunted.

Flanking her were two masked death eaters, glaring at them, approaching at an oblique angle to prevent escape. Ginny darted a glance up the rocky hillside and saw three others fanned out above them, closing in, wands extended menacingly. She cursed violently and instinctively dropped to a defensive crouch.

Harry, however, remained standing. He blinked a couple of times, with a peculiar pensive look on his face. Ginny's eyes flashed to him in sudden panic, struck with the horrifying thought that he might somehow be stunned or confunded. Maybe the peculiar, long apparation? She grabbed for his hand to try to pull him down to cover, but at that moment he seemed to have come to some realization. He just gave her a quick reassuring wink and... chuckled?? He then raised his rain-spattered face to Bellatrix, smiled calmly and said, "Go away please."

Bellatrix stared at both of them, scowled and... disappeared. Ginny swung her head around wildly in time to see all of the other five death eaters vanishing.

"Wha...??" Ginny managed.

Harry grasped Ginny's hands and pulled her to a standing position. "I think..." he said, kissing her fingers lightly, "that you brought us to the right place."

Seeing the look of confusion on Ginny's face, Harry searched his thoughts for a moment, then asked, "Do you think there's any chance your friends the Fugos enjoy... practical jokes?"

"Pranks?" Ginny pondered, dumbfounded. "Lestrange and the thugs — that was all just a prank?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, whatever it is that we just saw is gone now, right? Gone without any fuss? Not the usual level of Bellatrix tenacity that one might expect. Anyway, you've already implied that the Fugos are reclusive. They probably don't like visitors; they aren't fans of flash and bang magic. They were famous enough in their day that surely some people would have tried to find them, but nobody has succeeded for ages. This could be part of their defenses — set up a few illusions to chase people away or test them. If we make it through their tests satisfactorily, somehow avoid using any magic that they would consider disruptive, then maybe they might open the door and let us in?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "That would make sense wouldn't it... but how did you know the attack wasn't real?"

"I know what Bellatrix's magic feels like." Harry replied. "It's every bit as foul as you can imagine. But here, well, there was no malevolence in the air. A whiff of mischief maybe..."

"Okay." mused Ginny. "So they tested us. I'm guessing we passed; I assume that if we had erupted in a burst of spellfire, then we would have blown the 'ponder softly' bit. But I wonder how they managed to create the illusion of Bellatrix... it was just so..."

"Vulgar? Appalling?" Harry suggested.

"I was going to say realistic, but I like your words better."

"If the Fugos are so sensitive to magic, it's possible that they make legilimency look like a parlour trick." Harry postulated. "They might be able to slide through our defenses like snakes through tall grasses."

"So, I guess we might have to be careful what we think for a while." Ginny concluded. "Which reminds me, thank you for thinking Harry — thank you for keeping your cool!" They exchanged pensive smiles, then Ginny continued her deliberation. "Clearly we've found their stoney hills." She gazed in a slow arc around the horizon. "Any idea where we are?"

"Not in Great Britain." Harry offered unhelpfully. Judging by the position of the sun, it was apparent that the hillside on which they stood overlooked a dusty plain that fell to their east, spanning perhaps ten miles or so before climbing to another set of hills. There were mountains far off to the north — craggy, and inhospitable but nothing more dauntingly precipitous than the Grampians that surrounded Hogwarts. The terrain in their immediate vicinity provided no great view of the south but the small fragments of horizon they could make out to the southeast looked golden brown; perhaps some sandy desert. Neither could locate any bodies of water that might provide some distinguishing geographical features. Not that the wizarding world paid much attention to geography. "How far can people apparate?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Not this far." Ginny said. "Charlie usually takes three hops to make it from Romania. What's the nearest desert from Hogwarts?"

"Spain." Harry suggested. "And Salvatore Fugo was Spanish, right? But this looks too harsh and desolate to be Spain. From a good lookout like this, we'd certainly at least see a road or something. Maybe we're in North Africa?"

Ginny agreed. "Northwest Africa would be closer to Hogwarts than Romania. And in order for us to make it in one hop... one very long, drawn-out hop it seemed... maybe we either got this far by pooling our powers, or else perhaps the Fugos helped pull us along. But speaking of them, where are they? I would have hoped to see them by now. What do we do next?"

"Look around I guess? See if we can find some clues?" Harry suggested.

"First things first, though." Ginny said, wiping from her brow moisture that was no longer just the residue from Howarts drizzle. "I'm hot. We're not exactly dressed for a desert afternoon."

Harry agreed. They transfigured their cloaks into light-colored, breathable fabrics and conjured fine white scarves to shade their heads. "Thirsty too." Harry said. He conjured a pair of mugs and proceeded with the aguamenti spell. Unfortunately the spell produced rather underwhelming results.

Ginny watched him with a puzzled frown as drops of water emerged from the air in front of his hand and dripped into one of the mug. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Harry was frowning too. "This is the lamest aguamenti I've ever seen anyone try."

"Are you exhausted from apparating?" she speculated.

He shook his head. "No, not at all, the apparation was uncannily easy despite the fact that we've come so far — something or somebody, perhaps the Fugos, must have helped us along. Anyway, I feel great, except for the fact that my water summoning is completely pathetic. Would you like to try?" he countered, handing her a mug.

Ginny tried the spell wandlessly and achieved comparably poor results. She summoned her wand from its holster and tried it, but the spell barely moistened the tip of the wand.

"Gamp's first law, I guess." Harry said. "You can't create sustenance from nothing."

Ginny nodded. "So aguamenti must just draw moisture from the nearby surroundings. No ocean,0 lakes or rivers; it must be too dry to get much out of the air or soil here."

"What soil?" Harry scoffed agreeably, kicking at the gravel. "But what does this tell us about the Fugos?" he asked.

Ginny thought for a moment. "They're human like us; they need water. There must be some place around here with enough water at least for a decent aguamenti spell."

"Exactly! So if we want to find the Fugos, we look for water." Harry suggested. "The question is how best to do that?"

"Well, I'd be tempted to ask you to transform into your owl animagus to get a better look at the place from a few hundred feet up," Ginny began, "but it's entirely possible that the water source we're looking for is subterranean, and furthermore the transformation involves a lot of essense manipulation-- the Fugos might consider it to be noisy magic."

A careful second scan of the plain amplified their initial impression that it was dry and inhospitable. There must have been a river running across it at some point in history, or else it would not have been a plain, but it clearly wasn't host to much moisture anymore. The sight of some far off dust devils did little to enhance their enthusiasm for the downward direction. The only prospect that they could think of was the one direction they could not see much of — up and over the hill to their west. At the very least, climbing the hill would give them a better vantage point for scanning the lands to the west and south. So they each drained a couple ounces of water that their aguamenti efforts had produced and started up the incline.

There appeared to be a path of some sort worn into the cobbled hillside so although the walking was not easy, Harry and Ginny both at least found it to be viable. They were bolstered by good footware — they rarely wore anything but sturdy exercise shoes with robust treads since athletic agility was a critical element of their style of magical defense. After a little over an hour of steady progress, they crested the ridge and scanned the wider horizons accessible to them. The south was indeed desert. Whereas to the east there were sporadic fringes of scraggly brush and stunted trees, the south was truly barren and far away on the horizon they could make out the golden ripples of dunes. The west held more hills and rough terrain. Ginny pointed to a depression below them, weaving around the contours of the hills. "It that a valley or a gulley?"

"In other words, is there water?" Harry extrapolated. "Possibly." he answered himself.

"Speaking of which, let's sit here for ten minutes and see if we can fill our mugs." Ginny suggested. Once again, each was able to extract a bit of liquid, but still only a couple ounces, which they again proceeded to drink.

"I'm sure we're losing more moisture every hour than we're drinking." Harry observed. "The apples will help a little, but I think it's critical to find a water source for our own sake, even if it doesn't lead us to the Fugos."

On that sobering note, they began to make their way down into the valley, following a westerly direction toward the possible ravine. For a while the going was fairly easy, but when the downward slope began to increase, the loose stones and gravel made for shaky footing and many steps required cautious experimentation before a commitment could be made. Nonetheless, with only a modest amount of skidding and minor scratches on their hands, they were eventually able to make their way down to a decision point. The trough of the valley lay about thirty feet below them, flanked by sides that, although not perilously steep, looked discouragingly crumbly and unstable. The alternative would be to continue northwards along their current contour line, in the hopes that they would find an easier descent a bit further along as the ravine bottom crept upwards in parallel with the surrounding topography. After a bit of discussion they opted to try the northward route, but after only five minutes they found their way complicated by a rock slide that had left a field of jagged, jumbled boulders. It was difficult to make out what they might face if they tried to tackle the bouldering, but their best guess was that the ravine walls were probably steeper than what they had seen earlier, and that they would have to choose between ascending a ridge or climbing a dangerously precipitous cliff wall.

Having not wasted too much time on the northerly spur, they decided to double back and attempt the crumbly incline. They stopped again to try for water and this time were mildly encouraged by the fact that in ten minutes they were both able to fill their mugs. Harry put a chilling charm on the mugs; the water tasted heavenly but didn't come nearly close enough to quenching their parched thoats.

Ginny cast a wary eye on the sun, whose descent toward the western hills was in the early stages. "Let's try to devote one more full hour to trying find the Fugos. If we're no closer by then, we'll eat our apples, replenish our water and then decide what to do next. At a certain point we may have to consider giving up and going home," she said with a hint of regret.

"That makes sense, but hopefully things will start to sort themselves out before then." Harry agreed. He turned and frowned at the inauspicious slope. "Could we just apparate down there and save ourselves some scrapes and bruises?"

Ginny gazed out over the lansdscape pensively. "I think..." she trailed off, but then came to a decision. "My instinct is telling me that we should probably go down on foot. I think apparation might one of those magical acts that the Fugos would consider loud. If they really did guide our earlier apparation, that might be why they landed us in the middle of nowhere and did so quite softly. Anyway, until we're ready to give up and pack it in I think we're stuck traveling on foot."

"Sure thing, fearless one!" Harry said with a wink. "Should I go first?"

Ginny laughed. "Yes, please! I'd rather I fell on you than vice versa."

Harry chuckled. "Be careful what you wish for." He went over the lip, warily testing rocks here and there for stability, but making reasonable progress. After a while he commented that although the footing was poor, there seemed to be enough solid footholds and handholds to make a go of it. Ginny studied his progress carefully to memorize which holds had worked and which had to be forsaken. After he had descended about ten feet, she lowered herself down and began to retrace his steps. About six feet down, she grasped an embedded rock firmly in her left hand while simultaneously committing her left foot to what Harry had found to be a stable boulder. She shifted her weight to the new points of support and... something happened.

In the instant she had available, her head wasn't angled to be able to see exactly what had gone wrong, but it was as if the boulder she had committed her foot to had just... vanished. Her foot plunged down into open air and then onto loose gravel that afforded no purchase. Her hand clenched around its rockhold, only to feel a sickening jolt as the rock gave way. A small avalanche composed of Ginny, pebbles, stones pelted down on Harry. Braced with one secure hand and foot, he cringed as first a rock and then a shoe pummelled the side of his head, but despite this he reached out with his one free arm to capture her midsection as she tumbled into him. For a moment everything held, leaving them locked in a precarious trembling embrace. The chaotic clatter of rocks and gravel died away. Harry took a deep breath and carefully shifted her onto his chest so that she was aligned with his center of gravity. "We're only fifteen feet up..." he whispered. "So if absolutely need be..."

Crack!

The rock holding his right foot (and most of their combined weight) splintered. Realizing that his one remaining handhold couldn't sustain them both, Harry relinquished the stone and wrapped his second arm around Ginny... and down they went. It was not a sheer drop. Harry had survived much worse, but it far from pleasant: not unlike trying to run a sled down a rocky surface. And Harry was the sled.

With all four of their feet bracing, attempting to dig into the cliff, they skidded to a halt in the trough of the ravine, Harry hunching forward over Ginny, absorbing with his back the brunt of several tumbling rocks. Once again the clamor subsided. Harry unclenched his cringing eyes to see Ginny staring breathlessly into his eyes. "Umm... are you okay?" he asked with a weak smile.

Gingerly she took a step back from him to test her own legs and quickly scanned her front and limbs. Everything seemed to be in working order, so she nodded and turned her gaze back to Harry. "How about you?" she asking, grimacing as her eyes flickered across the many visible scrapes and bruises.

Harry pushed up from the slanted rock face and tested his legs. They still moved; he felt a lot of superficial stinging and burns blurring together, but none of the sickening sensation that he knew should accompany a broken bone or torn connective tissue. "I'm okay." he pronounced.

Ginny's face was knotted in concern. "No you're not." she contradicted, staring at his left leg. His trousers had shredded badly and a steady stream of blood was coming down his calf into his sock and shoe. "Sit over there." she commanded, pointing to a boulder a few feet to his right.

He sat as directed while she knelt down and lifted his leg, studying the wound. "It doesn't feel bad." he assured her. "We'll just fix it up with episkey and keep moving."

She shook her head. "The wound isn't Harry Potter bad..." she said, trying to inject a bit of levity into the situation, "... but it's laced with dirt, gravel and..." she swallowed in empathetic discomfort. "Little shards of slate. We can't close the wound with all that in there."

Harry nodded. "Okay, let's give it a basic cleaning and then patch it up."

"Water, Harry." she said patiently. "We need water to clean with."

"Oh... right."

They fell silent for a few minutes. Ginny tried to summon water to cleanse the wound, but although she was now able to produce a small stream, the flow was too weak to dislodge the grit. Ginny then cut of the shreds of Harry's trousers from just above his knee, chose several of the larger swaths, scourgified them, and used them to loosely bind the wound. A blood stain spread through the makeshift bandage, but then stopped as the bound wound began to clot. She looked into his face and said, "Stay here for a little while. I'm going to go a little ways up the ravine looking for more water. Maybe I'll have a bit more luck a little further up there."

"Let me come with you."

"No, Harry. If you walk, you'll bleed more and the last thing we want is for you to lose more blood when we're already both dehydrated. I won't be long. If you want something really useful to do while I'm gone, then you could get us some more drinking water." Ginny said resolutely, handing him her mug and turned to make her way up the ravine.

"Yes ma'am!" Harry said, with an accommodating smile.

Ginny froze, and turned to face him, with a weak smile of her own. "Oh Harry..." she said, suddenly feeling uncertain and inarticulate. "Thank you."

"Thank me?" Harry responded quizzically. "Thank you, Ginny, for keeping your head, for thinking things through and taking charge. For getting us this far. We're nearly there — I can feel it!"

Ginny regarded him fondly for a moment, turned to take another several steps upward, but then stopped again, saying, "Harry... I'm sorry this is turning out to be such an ordeal... I've been so unprepared... but, well, thanks for being so patient with all this."

Harry had started filling the first of two mugs, but looked up from his efforts. "Don't worry about it, Gin'. This is a minor bump in the road — I still trust you completely. Now, good luck finding water. I'll be here when you get back."

Ginny smiled and made her way in earnest up the trough, turning every hundred feet or so to check whether or not she could still see Harry in case he... or she... needed help. After a while, the sight line was lost. Hopefully we'll still be able to hear each other... she thought as she forged onwards.

Ginny made her way further up the winding gulley for another while before she was brought to a halt by two factors. Most importantly, she was confronted by a bit of confusion as to how to proceed further. It appeared to her that she was coming up to a solid, stark, impassable wall where she had thought there should be at least some marginal continuation of the trough. She resolved to investigate that further, but was more immediately intrigued by a second observation: possible evidence of human presence. It wasn't much, but she had found an area of the ravine trough that was almost like an alcove or small courtyard: the channel width was greater than any she had seen thus far within the gulley, the space had a relatively flat stone floor, and on three sides the stone walls rose high and straight; almost giving the impression of arching inwards as they rose, although a patch of sky was still visible directly above.

Up against one wall of the alcove was a large boulder with a relatively smooth and flat top — almost like a crude table. On the floor around the table stone she saw a bit of detritus that looked a little like what she might expect from human activity. Kneeling down she noticed small, round white seeds that she thought might be edible indigenous grains. There also was leaf matter. She picked up a little on her fingertips and raised them toward her nose. She thought she detected a sweet aroma indicative of savory or medicinal herb. A little more scrutiny around the side of the flat rock brought the discovery of what were small fruit stones — possible date pits. Interesting! She leaned against the table stone and was about to test out the aguamenti spell to see if there might be enough water nearby to cleanse Harry's wound when she suddenly became aware of... encroaching darkness! Shooting a glance at the sky, she found to her shock that the color was deepening past sapphire and toward navy. Shadows stretching out toward the east had grown very long. She gasped. I thought I still had a couple hours — how did I lose track of so much time!

And then she spun around to see Harry making his way up the ravine toward her. He did not look pleased.

"Here you are!" he said with a scowl. "Having fun? Looks like you forgot about me."

"Harry... I... I..." Ginny was aghast. She had promised to return soon — how long had she been gone from him? "I'm sorry! I have no idea how I lost track of time!"

"Yes, well the day is pretty well shot now. Thanks for the great adventure, Ginny. Sure accomplished a lot!" his voice grated unpleasantly. "I'm going home."

"But Harry, we need to fix up your..." she looked down at his leg. It was clean, whole, no evidence of the large gouge. "Harry, how did... were you... able to get that cleaned out before you healed it? Please tell me..."

"Sure." he said. "No thanks to you. Blimey, you nag at me last night for not keeping you in the loop, and then you bloody well take off on your own and abandon me on a rock doing women's work! Listen, if you ever get tired of whatever it is that you find so engrossing here, then maybe come visit me sometime, but I've had enough. Goodbye Ginny."

"Harry, listen to me!" Ginny's voice was rising toward hysteria. "If you bloody leave me here I'll..."

POP!

He was gone. Disapparated.

hex you! What she had been about to say, never made it to her lips. Instead she collapsed to her knees, and leaned slowly forward until her head and forearm rested on the cool shaded stones. The dwindling air of her exhalation punctuated her unfinished sentence with single faint word.

"... cry."

The she sobbed, and precious moisture ran down her cheeks to the arid ground.

How could everything fall apart like this? How could I have come here so unprepared? No water, no healing herbs, no idea where we were going. Not keeping track of time. No wonder Harry gave up and walked out on me.

Harry is gone? He left me in the middle of some desert? How am I going to get back?

I got us here in the first place. I can find my own way home.

But it would be easier together. We could pool our magic for long distance apparation.

What if I run into real death eaters? What if Harry runs into death eaters?

We should be together! Harry knows that our combined magic is a lot stronger than what either one of us can manage alone — it was his bloody experiment where we discovered that!

We need each other. Harry must know that!

Of course Harry knows that. And Harry knew I was trying to help, and he knew that it had been his suggestion that we try to find the Fugos, and just a little while ago he'd been so patient, gracious and... grateful? Just a while ago? Or was it hours ago?

For more than a year, Harry's been the perfect friend and gentleman, and he seemed eager and enthusiastic to let me lead this quest. Despite the bruises, scrapes and bleeding leg, he had been all smiles when I left him sitting on a rock, dutifully filling water mugs...

There was no way she could reconcile that with the image of a blustering, irritated Harry, talking through her, not listening, then disapparating with an obnoxious POP...

"Harry doesn't go POP when he apparates." Ginny said aloud.

"Harry doesn't apparate at all right now." came the soft, familiar voice walking toward her. "Like you said, we don't want to frighten the Fugos. Are you okay Ginny?"

Ginny looked up in perplexity. Harry?! He was walking toward her, he had a bit of a limp, lots of scrapes and bruises, and blood seeping down his leg into his shoe again. He had a grimy face... tear tracks running from his eyes, staining his cheeks.

"Harry..." she gasped in confusion. "Harry, you're here... your leg is... you're crying?"

Harry looked puzzled as he knelt down and put his arm around her. "I'm crying because you're crying Ginny... I saw you sobbing on the ground and I... just felt so overwhelmingly sad all of a sudden." He gave her a gentle smile. "I guess I have this thing about you..."

Ginny stared deep into his eyes, uncomprehending. "But your leg..." she stammered.

"I'm sorry Ginny. I know you asked me to wait back down there so that I didn't agitate the wound, but a little while ago I got this panicked feeling that there was something wrong... so I couldn't just stay there. And then I heard your voice, it sounded hurt, or pained or something... so I started running... and that must have reopened the wound." Harry studied her with concern. "But forget about me — you've found water so we can get my scrapes patched in a jiffy now. What I really need to know now is if you're okay?"

Ginny looked around, still having difficulty processing the contradictions. The sky is not darkening. It's still midafternoon. Harry's leg is still hurt. Harry is still here! "I what? Water?" Ginny finally blurted out.

"You found water." he repeated, gesturing toward the fresh spring trickling out of the rocks nearby. A realization dawned on him "You're all scrambled, Ginny -- the Fugos must have tested you again!" he exclaimed then paused to reflect. "Listen, I don't know what you might have seen or thought, but... everything's okay, right? You're not hurt or anything, right?"

Ginny shook her head, more than anything to clear the confusion from her mind. "I'm fine." she assured him. "I just got a little confused." She wiped her eyes, stood up and helped Harry to his feet, beckoning him toward the spring. Still puzzled that she had not seen the water at all on her first approach, she examined it. The liquid was clear and clean, emerging from between cracks in the stone wall on the west side of the gorge, running down over smoothly weathered stones then disappearing back into gravel a short ways on. Around the smoothened stones there was one small flowing pool several inches deep — enough depth to immerse Harry's gouge. She helped him to a sitting position, removed his shoe and sock, and guided his bare leg into the shallow pool so that it would soak while she scourgified his footwear. "Soak for a while to loosen the dirt, then I'll clean it properly."

"We're very close now." Harry said as he sat on the flat stone floor. "There's magic practically pouring off all the stones here."

"Really?" she asked, handing him a passably clean shoe and sock.

"Definitely!" Harry confirmed. "I think now maybe we just wait here and await the final test from the Fugos."

"What final test?" Ginny asked.

Harry smiled. "Oh you know... it's in all the old stories. There's always three riddles, three tests of faith or courage." Then he laughed. "Well, sometimes seven... but Merlin knows if we'll survive another five tests. I'll settle for one."

Ginny laughed and began to kneel down to check his wound, but on the way down she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Tremelda..." croaked a kindly but ancient voice. "The little ones say they would like another test."

"Er..." said Harry, protesting ineffectually as he scanned the alcove. It was difficult to protest to someone you couldn't locate. He certainly couldn't see anyone, but normally he would expect to be able to sense a presence. There was nothing that felt remotely human. Yet another illusion?

"But..." Ginny offered, equally flummoxed.

"Ach! Demanding little darlings aren't they?" came another voice, raspy and heavily accented, muffled by distance or strange acoustics. "Just show your face, 'Tore. If they run off screeching, then they fail. If not, please invite them up for coffee."

"Si." said the first voice. The air around them seemed to hum for a moment and they became aware of a very old, bent man with delightfully mischievous eyes standing in a passageway cut into the western wall of the alcove. Behind him were steps leading a short way upwards. Above and around him were speckles of sunlight, dancing as if reflected from the surface of a shimmering pool. The man was dressed in a bright white robe; one of his hands was holding a silvery driftwood stave, the other raised slowly in greeting. "Hola, sweet children of magic. Salvatore Fugo, your humble servant. We, the Fugos, would be honored if you would join us for cup and colloquy?"

Ginny recovered her wits first. She sprang up and extended a hand to the old man. "We would be honored to accept, sir!" she said.

Salvatore accepted her hand with a strong if slightly quivery grip. His sparkling eyes examined her face. "My, my, you are a pretty one, no? You are as pretty in your face as your magic is beautiful." He studied her for a moment. "But it is very different... the beauty of your magic is too... well, it frightens a poor little man like me, whereas your face makes me calm, happy... sad... yes, it makes me wish that I was a hundred years younger." he mused, winking past Ginny to Harry.

Salvatore stepped aside to give Ginny space to get past him but then tapped his head, saying, "Ah, but I am remiss! You have many questions I am certain, but let me first begin with those you have already asked."

Ginny and Harry exchanged a nervous glance. What questions?

"La princesa has asked about this cenador ." Salvatore said, sweeping his gnarled arm around the alcove. "This, sweet lady, is our front door of course, but it is also where the Bedouins come every month on the waning half moon. They bring us grains, dates, meat and wool. Other special things sometime. We heal their sick. If they leave broken objects on the table over night, we mend them. We never show our faces, but sometimes if they are troubled then we enter their minds and share our modest knowledge.

Salvatore then pointed at Harry's leg. "As el caballero is now discovering, the waters here are charmed to cleansed and cure the body and spirit." Harry looked down at his leg and was startled to discover that the gouge had not only been cleansed but also immaculately healed. "That is often all the Bedouins require." Salvatore continued. "They leave us gifts and use our waters."

Salvatore winked at Harry again. "El caballero was a bit perplexed that he could not sense my presence when we first spoke. He is most proud of his magical sight, and well he should be since most of our kind never trouble themselves to see. But to el caballero, one magical rock looks much like any other rock. And I, young sir, can be a most delightful rock. Or puddle. Or whiff of desert vapor. El caballero and la princesa should consider such transfiguracions ... is very easy to do of course. But un poco tricky to change back." The old man closed his eyes and tittered softly for a moment.

"Amazing!" Harry marveled. "You can transform yourself to an inanimate object? Not just something that looks like an inanimate object, but something that is truly inanimate?"

Salvatore nodded with a serene smile oh his face.

"Of course it would be difficult to change back." Harry reflected. "How can you do that?"

The old man shook his head. "How do I do that? You credit me with powers I cannot claim. I can certainly not change myself back."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "Of course! You can transform yourself into a rock, but you need someone else to change you back."

"Si, mi princesa! But I would not try this game unless you have a partner who knows you very well; knows what you are like as a person and what you would be like as a rock." Salvatore nodded happily at the discussion, but then suddenly remembered his duties. "But come come! The lady awaits our precious guests!"

Ginny and Harry exchanged amused smiles and followed Salvatore up the steps. After climbing about eight feet up, they emerged within a larger space, a natural courtyard, that surrounded a sunlit pool of deep, jade green water. Around the pool were several cave entrances, and in the late afternoon sun on the north side of the courtyard sat various terra cotta planters containing herbs, peppers and small fruit trees. In the shade on the western fringe, an old lady dressed identically to Salvatore was bustling around a crude wooden table around which various hand-wrought wicker chairs were arranged. Her long silver hair hung nearly to her knees, and her piercingly bright blue eyes locked in on Harry's.

"Ach! Die heldenhaften kinder !" she exclaimed. "The sweet little ones who seek to save." She took one of Harry's hands and one of Ginny's, peering up first into one face then the other. "You both shine so brightly with your magnificent and ominous powers, yet you come to our humble haus with humility and grace." She smiled at them. " Wilkommen ! Please join us for our afternoon coffee. It is your tea time, ist es nicht ? We do not have your leaves, but we love our roasted bean."

"Our foods and drinks are all non-magical" Salvatore explained as he guided them to the table set with four large earthenware mugs. "But those that have been prepared with our special waters may prove to be... quite restorative. Your scrapes and bruises should all fade quite quickly. But your hunger is more fundamental. My graceful lady has also prepared some simple fare for your sustenance, as well as a rare treat: baklava. I do not know where the Bedouins found the honey, but we are most grateful for the luxury and especially for this precious chance to share."

"Thank you so kindly!" Harry exclaimed, eyeing the terra cotta plate containing grainy bread, cheese, smoked meats and pickled vegetables, but he especially keyed in on the generous dessert, suddenly realizing just how hungry he had become.

They sat down to the table. Harry attempted to eat in a dignified, restrained manner, but a sparkle in Tremelda's eye suggested that etiquette was not especially important to the old mystics. Ginny tried the coffee; it was bitter and ice cold, but strangely and unexpectedly refreshing.

"So how is young Grumble-roar?" Salvatore asked, once they they had begun to settle into the meal.

Ginny laughed. "Professor Dumbledore? I thought you knew him as 'Clank'?"

The Fugos both tittered softly. The sound reminded Ginny of an oscillating wind stirring the leaves. For the first time, Harry and Ginny heard the two speaking in their musical unison, saying, "Our nicknames change as the people themselves do. Albus does not jar us quite so terribly now that he grows into middle age. Perhaps time is gradually mellowing the brash impulsiveness of his youth."

Harry smiled to think that there were people alive who could think of Professor Dumbledore as a brash impulsive youth gradually maturing into refinement and dignity. "I was wondering if you could clarify for me..." Harry began, addressing both Fugos, "how you interact with the world? I assume that your sanctuary here is a powerful filter, that you don't entertain many visitors and... pardon my presumption, but you don't seem to be the type of people who leaf through the Evening Prophet?" Harry watched their eyes, which twinkled at him with patient amusement. "If that's the case, then how much do you know about what's going on out there?"

Again the Fugos spoke as one in their unique choral rendition of everyday speech. "You are quite perceptive. Of course you are perceptive or you would not be here. As you know, we have found our humble home in order to escape the paralyzing din of the world in which you live. But although we have space and magic to soften the noise, we cannot escape it entirely. Large events and personalities within the magical world we will always be witness to. We know that the Vile Scraping Filth arose more than twenty years ago and then fortunately went quiet again after the great detonation of..." The pair went silent for a moment.

"1981." said Tremelda.

"Thank you." said Salvatore. "Her memory for small details is far better than mine."

The pair then resynchronized, to continue the narrative. "It was pleasantly peaceful for quite some time again, with far fewer screams in the dark..." Both Fugos wore downcast expressions. "The scream in the dark is when a magical core is forcibly removed from its body..."

"Oh." Ginny intoned in sad recognition.

"The screams have returned, obviously. Then it became clear that the Foul Raucous Stench was slithering again, with his scraping, hissing, screeches. The eruptions and blasts and screams grew so loud over the summer that we... we seriously considered dissipating into the vapor to be swept forever off into the desert wind..."

As if summoned, a soft breeze blew ripples across the pool and tickled their hair.

"But through the past year, in between horrible assaults on our senses, there were little bursts of melody. Counterpoint melodies. At first they were so faint that we wondered if we were imagining them, desperately wishing for something in the world to believe in. But the music grew bit by bit. Last Christmas eve, we had been sitting near a crackling little fire, decorating a little cedar tree that the Bedouins somehow knew to bring for us. After so many passing suns, it is not easy to feel stirred by even the most special occasions anymore, but for some reason this evening offered... this inexplicable sensation of hope. After the coffee was gone and the fire was dying... our tree was twinkling with the stars and fairies, silvery clouds and little puffs of snow... we had nothing left to do for the night but gaze into each others eyes... and then in our quiet contemplation we realized that music had been playing for us all evening. And it was growing. The shy tinkling of the pianoforte had been joined by strings and woodwinds. The counterpoint was approaching resonance. Our eyes were wide as platillos ( untertassen , Tremelda corrected); we clenched each others hands, threw on our winter cloaks and raced as quickly as our old twigs would permit up to the crown..." Salvatore gestured to a stone stairway cut in the northern wall of the courtyard, leading to the top of the highest hill in their immediate surroundings. "We stood there in the starlight, without breath or even conscious thought, listening as cellos and oboes climbed toward crescendo and then..."

Ginny stared at the Fugos. Their eyes, shining beacons through much of the story, had suddenly clenched shut.

"... it all crashed," they moaned. "Our minds, so completely open and attentive to the melodies, were assaulted by terrible bangs and screams, and rasping, grating... we fell down onto the stone and held onto each other until we could stop shaking..."

A sob convulsed Ginny as she remembered the Yule Ball... but in almost the same instant, both of her hands found themselves enveloped in warm comfort. Her right hand absorbed the security and happiness that she always recognized from Harry's embrace. Her left hand discovered the completely foreign sensation of almost infinite compassion. She raised her eyes to see Salvatore's kind visage projecting pure empathy, like a beam of springtime sunshine.

"Over the coming weeks we heard no music. We were gripped with the horrible fear that it had been extinguished and might never again scale that glorious crescendo; that we would never hear the sweet denouement. Our despair was such that we wondered again if the time had come to forsake the world and evaporate ourselves into the cold desert night. But then the music started to return. Sweet and shy, gradually bolder and stronger and then one day it truly did grace us with the full exquisite arc. And again, and again. Every concert slightly different. One day, in the midst of one of the worst episode of cacophonous blasts and bangs, the music suddenly erupted. It did not begin as sweet music; it was powerful, inspiring, triumphant! It burned through us like hot tonic. It built, compounded and grew painfully strong... then suddenly it subsided into fragrant undulations, dulcet tones."

The Fugos regarded Harry and Ginny affectionately, knowingly. "Since that day the music has been lilting softly in the background nearly always. It changes from moment to moment, day to day, but it never leaves us. Sometimes it will give way to frightening percussion, sometimes it swells in power to full orchestral grandeur before gradually subsiding again to a single guenbri capturing the rhythm of two hearts."

All four fell silent. Tremelda took a sip of coffee and broke off a morsel of baklava. Salvatore duplicated her action with the precise synchronization that ancient couples sometimes acquire. Harry watched a rather striking bird alight on a stone near the edge of the pool and take a drink.

"Horned Lark," Salvatore said, anticipating Harry's questions as effortlessly as both he and Tremelda had read everything in his mind all afternoon. "They are quite common here; he is a pretty bird but his voice is not so special as your wood lark."

Tremelda began speaking, alone this time, saying, "Your music has given us hope through these times of darkness, just as your... loudness... has undoubtedly given hope to many others. Salvatore and I have been most intrigued by the two of you. We have lived so many years and sensed so many things about the world around us, but you kinder seem to be quite unique." She paused, and Salvatore joined her in speaking the rest. "We have suspected now for nearly a year that it is your fate to confront, and we pray also eliminate, the Clamorous Reeking Snake and thus you have held our empathy now for some time. But we could not know whether you would seek to defeat him with detonations or with music. We decided that if you were to grace our doorstep at some point, then perhaps it might be a sign that you would consider the softer power. We thought it unlikely, but not impossible, that you might be able to grasp this source of great strength that almost everyone ignores. We knew that your Grumble-roar has a tiny bit of melody in his soul; we wondered if he might perhaps guide you in this direction, or if perhaps you might discover it on your own. But it was hard to truly believe that you would follow the path that everyone else forsakes; much easier to assume that you would battle noise with noise."

There was a long pause. The horned lark, thirst sated, flew off into the deepening blue.

"When you arrived today..." their combined voice was so soft now that it blended with the wind. "we still needed some convincing. We tested you... we regret these silly, nasty tricks of course — truly rotten pranks to pull on such sweet children... but we had no other way of being certain of your resourcefulness and integrity. To be honest, we considered it a great personal risk to guide you here at all, but felt perhaps the greatest risk would have been to do nothing at all. Happily of course you passed; you exceeded our best hopes. You made for us a little bit of sweet music, and you exercised restraint... you did not blast away our fragile leaves."

Both Fugos gazed pleasantly at their guests for a moment and then pushed slowly away from the table. "Please take a few minutes to finish your desserts in leisure while we prepare ourselves to answer your other questions."

Tremelda made her way toward one of the caves with a lithe gait redolent of someone much younger. Salvatore hovered a short distance from the table for a while until his partner was out of sight. Harry and Ginny had clasped hands over the table affectionately, but then noticed their host and met his fond gaze.

"The last part of our discussion will be rather taxing." Salvatore said to them as they looked up. "Especially for Tremelda, perhaps even more so than for you. So, I was wondering..." he shifted his feet with the slightest hint of shyness. "I was wondering if I could ask of you a rather bold indulgence?"

"Certainly!" Ginny and Harry answered in perfect unison. Realizing that they suddenly sounded a bit like the chorally coordinated Fugos, they both laughed.

Salvatore responded with his aethereal titter. "Wonderful!" he said. "In several minutes, we shall be regaled with a beautiful desert sunset. Might I suggest that el caballero y la princesa ascend to the crown..." he gestured again to the stone staircase, "to enjoy the aesthetics? And if, once you are up there, in what solitude we can offer while Tremelda and I are in our cave taking taking a strengthening draught..." He paused. "Once you are up there, you would be most welcome to... make music for a little while." He smiled shyly. "I think that would grace Tremelda with more strength than anything our best potions can provide."

Ginny blushed but nodded. She finished her coffee, took Harry's hand and the two of them, both of whose smiles only partially masked a blend of curiosity and nervous anticipation, made their way around the edge of the pool and up the steps. After the last stone step, a well worn path wound its way up another fifty feet to a rounded knoll crowned with smooth white stone: a clear circle of twenty foot diameter ringed by rough cobbles, small boulders and the occasional weathered shrub. Standing side by side, they looked out over the expanse of craggy hillsides gleaming golden in the last rays of the sun. To the west, the brilliant sphere kissed the horizon and, almost instantaneously the surrounding aura dimmed to a deeper shade of orange that, as the eye traveled the full arc, transitioned in subtle, sensuous graduations to red, burgundy and deep royal blue.

Harry's eyes traveled from the sky to his companion and his breath caught. Ginny's white scarf had fallen to her shoulders, leaving her hair free to the graces of the dying light. It blazed like phoenix fire about her vibrant face. Her eyes glimmered arrestingly. Her lips gleamed a fierce deep red. All thoughts of the Fugos and any awkward promises dissolved from his mind as he surrendered completely to an impulse more powerful than he had ever imagined possible.

A silken breeze caressed them as they produced a euphonious sonata to the dying light.

On the south side of the pool, Ginny sat cross-legged facing Salvatore. Shivering, she cast a nervous glance across the water, shimmering in starlight, at Harry likewise facing Tremelda.

Salvatore took both of Ginny's hands and gently caressed them in his bony, but somehow still warm grasp. He conjured a thick woollen cloak around her shoulders and spoke softly to her. "You are most brave and steadfast mi princesa, and you will do many great deeds to protect your beloved caballero, but right now you must entrust him to the care of the old lady for a while." In the dim light, she could feel his eyes peering deeply and empathetically into hers. "It will only be for a short time. I too must leave the person with whom I always share myself; I think this is more difficult for me even than you straying from el caballero." His voice had a sad, almost dreamlike quality to it. "They must make a difficult journey together. Meanwhile, our great challenge, you and I, is to let them go..."

Ginny nodded.

"To make this easier, perhaps it is best that you accompany me and I accompany you... we will comfort each other," Salvatore suggested. "To pass the time, I have prepared some happy thoughts for us to share." he smiled and winked shyly. "These may seem frivolous, but our strength will be required later. Until then, we shall be casually distracted -- I do hope you enjoy it. Please close your eyes."

Ginny found herself immersed in a stream of vivid vignettes. She was standing on the floor of a opulent ballroom amidst the swirl of corseted ladies in long silk dresses and noble courtiers with gilded swords and frilly lace cuffs. She gazed upwards to stunning candlelit chandeliers comprised of thousands of crystal facets splashing out every color of the spectrum. The high arched ceiling was deep sanguine red, embossed with intricate flourishes: silver ferns, trees, stars, peacocks. After twirling around the dance floor on the meandering path of a classical waltz, several pirouettes, the chivalrous bows of young nobility, the orchestra swelled, and then faded away as the lights went down. The scene shifted to sunrise viewed from a vertiginous ledge of a high mountain peak, peering down on a world of precipitous ridges, glacial valleys and a snowstorm in progress far below. The icy wind braced her with all the thrill of a daring, high-speed broomstick dive. The scintillating sun dimmed to a cloud-swept moon: she was in a moonlit woodland glade gazing at seven unicorns: three spirited yearlings splashing an elderly male who had been sedately attempting to drink from a glimmering stream; a baleful look from his sparkling silver eyes; the nickering of three onlooking mares. Then Ginny gasped at the sensation of a cloud of light mist on her face and arms, as she stared up into the rainbow of a mighty towering waterfall cascading thunderously about her. In the background were moist, thick tropical woods and brilliantly plumed birds. Other scenes included stunning displays of Chinese acrobatics, towering waves crashing on a rocky cove, a gondola gliding silently through Venetian canals in the summer evening, wild horses thundering over the wild steppes, a family of dragons soaring through the air above a remote Scandinavian fjord, a towering pyramid rising out of the jungle, a total solar eclipse over the desert, a moonlit dance of pixies in a meadow, a massive iceberg spalling off a glacier. As the visions streamed through her enthralled conscious, she was vaguely aware of information: commentary, dates, locations, instructions and suggestions being filed into compartments of her mind.

For several long minutes, Tremelda peered intently into Harry's eyes, wearing a vague frown. Finally she spoke. "You have guessed, Herr Potter, that 'Tore and I do not perceive magic as most people do. Occlumency is nothing to us. In your occlumency shields, which I must say are strong and well formed, you bar the distinct and substantial hand of magic from penetrating places in your aura that are important to you. But the way I approach your aura it is not as a hand, but rather as a mist. You might say that it is like two stacks of playing cards: if you hold the two stacks together, end on, and agitate them the right way, you can induce the two stacks to blend together. It is called riffling, ya? Can you tell I have been to Monte Carlo?" she winked at him. "So, my cloud blends with your cloud, understands your cloud, and then dissipates back out of it with almost no force or interference. I do not crash or jab. The most sensitive people may feel a slight chill or a momentary warmth, depending on their mood, but there is no pain and often no awareness. It is a cute trick, ist es nicht ? I see all your thoughts and memories, and you barely suspect?"

Harry nodded.

"I do not know why others cannot do it. Perhaps they do not have the imagination; perhaps their essence is not flexible enough to riffle in resonance with someone else. It is a skill that you and Fraulein Weasley should likely learn some day. You both already do it sometimes without knowing, which means that you will eventually understand how to do it intentionally. But... I am not certain that I can teach you because it is so difficult to describe." Tremelda told him. "Furthermore, while you are curious about this skill because you love to learn things, it is not why you are here. You are here because there is a part of you that you do not understand and that I cannot see."

Harry looked at her quizzically.

"Never when I have sat with a person have I ever looked into an aura and identified a blind spot such as I perceive in you. I wondered for a while if Fraulein Weasley might be shielding you from us; that she might have some unique skill beyond that of any occlumens we have ever known... but I think when I persuade your friend to depart from your core, I will find something else." Tremelda speculated. "Are you ready, Herr Potter, to accompany me as I investigate your blind spot?"

Harry nodded again. When he took Tremelda's hands, the effect was subtle but nearly immediate. He could feel Ginny's magical essence subsiding from him: the sensation of fierce loyalty, passion and unconditional love was not something that he could surrender without notice. Tremelda was acting to fill the void, but her power felt different: she offered compassion, deep understanding, and almost a narcotic sedative quality. When his link with Ginny was at its strongest, Harry would always feel calm but vigorously alive. Tremelda, by contrast, made him feel reflective and introspective.

Follow me to see inside yourself, Herr Potter.

It was a most peculiar experience. Tremelda was conveying to him how his mind would appear to a legilimens. He sensed the powerful central core that he had walled off. Although Harry realized that it posed no barrier to her, Tremelda instead guided him along the periphery around which he perceived the last vestiges of Ginny's protective power fading away. What he then observed horrified him: there was a foreign bulbous entity attached to the boundary of his core. His imagination rendered the object as black, because unlike his dynamic core and the dynamic auras of Ginny and Tremelda, this thing was cold and static; it contained no love or passion. It reeked of malevolence. He guessed immediately that this thing, whatever it was, likely had been the source of the alarming visions that Ginny had experienced when he had accidentally brushed the cursed diadem last week.

Harry heard Tremelda from within himself. There is magic inside, but the container is dead... this black object is composed of... the scars of dead souls.

Harry physically shuddered at Tremelda's characterization of this thing... this cancer-like object... inside him. She sensed his horror and flooded him with comforting, soothing power. There was some uncertainty in the analysis that she conveyed, however. It is easy for me to investigate the living aura... but for anyone to manipulate a dead thing is dangerous. I cannot riffle against something that it not dynamic. Such agitation might tear it; something within may be disturbed.

Harry was left in quiet contemplation for a while as Tremelda pondered the entity. Eventually she resumed her monologue. I may have another way. It is more crude, somewhat intrusive, so there is still some danger, but I think it will work. Have you the courage to try?

Harry took a breath and nodded.

I cannot do it alone, Herr Potter. I will need your help... while I do not know how to look into it myself without the risk of damaging the structure, I believe that I can make is possible for someone else to see inside.

"Let's try." Harry agreed. "What do I need to do? How can I look into it?"

Feel my magic, Herr Potter, understand my essence in as great detail as you can... when you can recognize my essence, then I will become a part of the container, so similar to the container that whatever is inside should not perceive the difference... but if you truly understand my essence you should see how it differs from the container: you should find it dynamic and transparent, rather than static and black.

Harry nodded. "So if I can sense your magical signature and filter it out, then I should be able to see past it into the object?"

Yes. And once you are done, I will gently withdraw. As I do so, I will need someone to bathe the structure in stabilizing magical essence. I think this will minimize the chance that it ruptures. I could ask Fraulein Weasley since her magic has great experience in quarantining this thing... but it might be easier if you could do it yourself... the magical energy might become unstable if there is a third participant in this experiment.

"Okay, I'll try." Harry agreed. He felt both trepidation and opportunity. On one hand, this did seem like a risky maneuver and he was uncertain what the consequences might be if things went wrong. On the other hand, he sensed that if it was successful, it might be possible and potentially very useful for him to be able to replicate the operation. If this object had something to do with Voldemort and the connection that Harry shared with him, perhaps there could be great strategic value in being able to spy through it in a careful, controlled fashion that denied Voldemort any opportunity for reciprocal monitoring. But even if that was possible, there would still be the obvious drawback that it required the simultaneous focus of two people. He knew that he would not have regular access to Tremelda after tonight: the fight against Voldemort was almost certainly going to take place on British soil, and he was virtually certain that she would never again travel from her refuge, especially not to a place as magically chaotic as the British Isles. The other choice was Ginny, and for all that her mind magic was in some ways more powerful than his own, the fact of the matter was that an interaction with this thing in his mind had literally thrown her to the floor of the Room of Requirement.

There may be safe, controlled ways that Fraulein Weasley can help you. Tremelda indicated, having read his thoughts. Let us learn more. I am fusing with it now.

Harry sensed thin luminescent cracks forming and growing along the dark shell. Then the growth stopped, and Harry felt a shudder of revulsion... Tremelda's revulsion... race through him.

Herr Potter?

Harry felt a tremulous character to Tremelda's thoughts. "Yes?" he responded nervously.

Herr Potter, when you peer through the cracks... please focus only where there is some light! Do not regard the dark shell. It contains things that you don't want... don't need... to know.

Harry shivered.

Yes, look into... but not at... the object. The contents may be useful. But the shell is evil... utterly and irredeemably evil. There is no value to knowing anything that is so evil.

Harry's mind flashed back to the previous year when Voldemort-inspired visions had been ravaging his sleep. Different parts of his rational conscience had done battle over the implications of having such visions. Part of him had deemed it a necessary evil, to be tolerated in the interests of knowing Voldemort's aspirations, worries and plans. The counterargument was that the resulting insight was of poor, unreliable quality and was subject to manipulation at the source, and most fundamentally, the harrowing content was becoming increasingly debilitating. He was grateful to Tremelda that she had been willing to peer into an abyss so that he might hopefully not have to. He was Harry Potter; he was a leader and was accustomed to making difficult and painful choices... but if someone into whom he felt he could place his faith told him what to do... by Merlin, yes, he would do it. He would do it for Ginny, without question or hesitation. In the right circumstances, he would do it for Remus and Minerva. And strangely, he now realized that he would do it for... Tremelda. This immensely peculiar woman had spent the afternoon testing them, laying traps, trying to chase them away. But she was now inside his head, she probably knew him better than he knew himself. She understood his pain. He felt her pain. This pain had become the language of trust.

"Thank you Tremelda, I will try."

All his blindfolded training, his non-visual attempts to perceive and differentiate magical auras, would be put to a test. It would not be easy: his ability to distinguish variations in magical essence had greatly improved through practice and concentration, but in his experience it was still like looking through badly fogged glasses. "Concentrate!" he exhorted himself.

He felt Tremelda's magic amplify again, and the cracks began to broaden. He keyed his mind to them, apprehensively wondering what he might see. Intuitively he was almost certain that he was traveling to the source of Ginny's visions. Would his own experience corroborate her descriptions? Would corroboration be useful? Not in and of itself — he had no reason to doubt what Ginny had described. No, it was more likely that the exercise most demonstrate value if it helped them to understand what the visions meant, whether they could be beneficially exploited, and whether he could discern any important details that she might not have glimpsed in her own brief, unexpected and uncontrolled foray into this hideous thing.

He began his systematic evaluation by examining one small, seemingly shriveled feature on one side of the object. He attempted to focus on what might lie inside while attempting to avoid forcing his magical perception onto the dark static mass itself. Nothing — he could not sense anything dynamic in that region at all. With a sense of foreboding, he broadened his focus a little and...

... Darkness... no, a dimly lit room... a girl... eyes... glasses... her young face contorting in sheer terror... eyes rolling back grotesquely into her sockets...

Harry's heart quailed as he recognized his error: this was not what he had intended to examine — he had gotten too close to the vessel itself in his attempt to examine the insides, and he had been unable to avoid perceiving the scar... the perished soul. He tried to pull himself away, to not experience what Tremelda had told him was spurious, senseless horror, but powerful inertia pinned him in place for the tiny fraction of a cerebral second that it took to witness...

... legs collapsing... wet stone floor... tangle of robes and pale, thin limbs... a thin chain bracelet around one wrist; a tiny silver heart pendant... sound of scraping, rustling... of dripping water...

For some reason he was virtually certain that he had just witnessed the death of Moaning Myrtle. It had to be — the resemblance between this vision of a living... dying... girl and the Hogwarts ghost was too close to be coincidence. Those moist, wide, young eyes, bulbously magnified by the combined effect of stark, petrified panic and the strange optics of her thick glasses. Her hair in limp pigtails. That face — the face of a plain girl who had probably never kissed a boy in her tragically shortened life. That splotchy, tear-stained face; perhaps weeping over mundane, teenaged angst; suddenly confronting a nightmare for which no tears could ever be be adequate. Face to face with one of the most deadly beasts known to creation...

Harry's heart was plunged into ice water. He was forcibly reminded of his most fundamental weakness... or strength: his profound, innate empathy. Although he had untold power; he had found charisma, and had earned respect and even adulation; he had proven to the world the courage to face hordes of murderous foes; he had demonstrated the superior skills and presence of mind to survive such battles time and time again; he had the unwavering dedication and support of the most wonderful person in the world... but one thing still unhinged him. The suffering of innocents... even the suffering of the treacherous filth... remained to him an unmitigated torment.

"I don't know if I can do this... six more times." Harry whispered, shivering. "No, I do know that I can force myself to do it... but..." He could not articulate the despair that he felt. And then everything condensed into his greatest fear: he was afraid that... in fact he was almost certain that... if he looked through that horrible thing enough times he would see his own mother.

Tremelda swathed him in sympathy: it was tinged with melancholy and a weariness that accompanies a very long lifetime that had experienced too much human suffering. But her infusion of calming power was nonetheless a comfort. With the soothing emotion, she wove together words that reflected reason and articulated a sensible compromise.

This deduction you are coming to, Herr Potter. I believe it is correct. Although I can not both see inside the object and mimic the vessel at the same time, I do not think you will find much more that the Fraulein Weasley has not already described. She paused reflectively for a while. My instinct does tell me there is one vision or sensation therein that is distinct from all that she yet beheld and described. This vision is not buried deeply, nor hidden with subtlety. I believe that with caution you should be able to experience it without further... harrowing vision of soul murder. ... Yes... I will not force you, but I think it may prove useful... and it would complete, for the time being, the characterization this thing inside you. Herr Potter, are you willing to see?

"I am." Harry said.

Harry felt his vision guided to another surface of the object: it supported a larger, more bulbous appendage than what he had first examined. Tremelda's magical insinuations appeared to have produced a jagged opening through which the essence of dynamic internal aura was readily apparent, like peering through a crack between loosely fitted planks. He focused more closely and was surprised... stunned... to see a very familiar site: the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office! The crack afforded a limited vantage: there was a subdued atmosphere: the dim, mysterious ambience, as Harry recalled it having in the evening. Harry seemed to be looking toward the east end of the office, constrained as if he was peering out from within a cabinet... perhaps the one in which Professor Dumbledore kept his pensieve. He also felt as though he was inside a box... made of transparent glass whose sides all partially reflected other vantages within the room. Lamplight flickered on the box walls. Then suddenly there was a flurry of motion — robes, beard, old hands — an alarmed face thrust into his field of vision: the headmaster!

Harry lurched back. Sudden, momentary panic and guilt swept through him as if he had just been caught in the act of espionage. What was a vision of Dumbledore doing inside the horrible growth affixed to his soul?? What could the headmaster possibly have in common with Kreacher? Nagini? Voldemort?

Harry felt Tremelda's magic begin diffusing out of him. She was weakened, upset, shaken... but her mood somehow reflected a deep understanding of... something that she was not yet prepared to share with him.

"What is it?" Harry gasped as his eyes flew open. He could feel the urgent strength of Salvatore and Ginny flowing into both of them, trying to stem some perceived shock or agitation. But, what shock? What agitation?

"Horcruxes." the Fugos rasped in audible unison.

"Sorry, what are horcruxes? What do they have to do with the dark mass?" Harry inquired in anxious confusion. From across the pool he could feel Ginny's empathic embrace as she too waited with bated breath.

"Heinous magical perversions of incomparable evil." responded the Fugos, in evident turmoil. "The contents of the black object: your visions — what you have seen and described... are transmitted from soul fragments embedded within accursed objects. That is what a horcrux is: a container for a torn shard of magical essence."

With each step that Salvatore took toward them through dimly lit cavern, he was preceded by a tinkling sound like tiny bells. Harry and Ginny looked up from their place by the fire, propped by soft cushions and covered in a warm woolen blanket, to see the old man holding a tray on which the contents of three crystal goblets caught the reddish-gold flickers of the flames and spun out rich deep hues of crimson, sepia and mahogany. They each accepted a glass with quizzical expressions.

"Olorosa." the old man said, holding his own glass to his eye and peering through it toward the light of the hearth. "It seems but a blink of an old man's eyes, but your parents were still running around like tiny barefoot ruffians when the grapes in your glass last saw the sun sink into the rosy waves off Jerez." He smiled wistfully. "Please drink with me a little while. Give your minds a little time to wander back to those happier days when the grapes were young and you two were but pencil sketches in fate's imagination... but then return refreshed, prepared for a bit more knowledge." His voice continued to undulate in the mellow cadence of a hypnotist. Harry's mind wandered, but vague phrases washed over him. "... You are young as children and wise as the weather-worn prophets... You burn with the flame of youth, but tonight you are weary for all that you have come to know... You must leave here soon, but before then you must understand a little more..."

While Salvatore droned melodiously, Ginny wet the tip of her tongue with the dark liquid. A warmth suffused her palate: a sensory massage, like honey and mangoes without the sweet, like a summer evening and drying herbs, a single voice raised in soft lament on a distant hillside.

After a while, Salvatore's poetic tone turned prosaic again, focusing their attention. "Tremelda has found her evening's rest." he was saying. "My lady of the mountains was distressed, but I have granted her rest and comfort in revealing to her how she was mistaken."

Harry met his eyes curiously. Mistaken? Ginny continued to gaze into the fire, but her hearing sharpened to catch every nuance of the man's voice.

"It is not from us that el caballero y la princesa should seek knowledge of horcruxes. We know only of them because many long years ago we sat in a council of European elders who sought to gauge and anticipate the evil of the day whom history now calls Grindelwald. There were twelve of us. Learned wizards and witches in potions, tranfiguration, charms, hexes, soul and necromancy. We were asked what the evil power might do in his attempt to subjugate the world. We were asked how we could protect ourselves in each case. It was there that my lady and I learned of the ancient, wicked secret of Herpo the Foul: the instrument by which one may simultaneously wrench apart one's own soul and that of an innocent, to encapsulate a fragment of one's own soul; this mechanism by which one could guarantee the living perpetuation of one's earthly soul after corporeal death."

Harry and Ginny both gasped at the concept of vampirical soul depredation and self-mutilation. Salvatore shook his head gently. "Please take a sip of the fine Jerez each time you shiver. This liquid is among the best of what nature can provide; the purity of sun and earth and sea breezes can fortify us against such horrid, unnatural evils."

They did as requested, and again the smooth warmth settled through them reassuringly.

"Tremelda and I are not authorities on evil, so we knew nothing of Herpo's great folly before 1943, and have not made great studies of the topic since then." Salvatore continued. "Your Dumbledore will provide you with more salient advice; you may not trust him, but there are none alive today who know as well how to combat such filth as does he, so I believe you must confide in him all details he might need to know in order to destroy these abominations."

Harry and Ginny neither assented nor resisted the entreaty. It was too late on an exhausting day to make strategic decisions involving their unpredictable headmaster.

"When Tremelda first characterized the foreign presence in your essence, her immediate and horrific conclusion was that the only way to eliminate your foe, now that he has created horcruxes, was to destroy all horcruxes and then mercifully bring to an end his own terrible, scarred existence. Kill them all." Salvatore took a deeper draught from his glass and sat quietly for several moments. "The terrible thing is that the filthy serpent has embedded a fragment of his soul into el caballero! My dear old lady of the mountains was despairing to think that in order to cleanse the world of the festering malice, our pure and courageous caballero might need to be sacrificed."

Ginny bolted upright, nearly spilling her glass. "Kill Harry??!" she gasped.

"Si, mi princesa." Salvatore said solemnly. "But I... though neither learned nor qualified to opine... do not believe it necessary. Please take another sip and I will explain."

Ginny leaned back rigidly, and brought the trembling glass to her lips.

"El caballero y la princesa have great power and their hearts are full of good. And great goodness is a power unto itself." Salvatore spoke slowly, marshalling his arguments. "Together, I believe you can redeem... the irredeemable. Together, I believe you can back the serpent into a corner... then coerce, perhaps force, some last vestige of grace from the ashes of his tortured soul. This, I believe, will erode the vessels of abomination that are holding him in earthbound torture."

The flames had died down to red coals. All was silent. The glasses were empty.

"Gellert Grindelwald will die a repentant old man." Salvatore whispered. "Perhaps you can lead the little boy Thomas Riddle to rest quietly in a peaceful grave."

The old man tossed his empty crystal goblet into the coals, where it shattered and sparked up in a startling burst of golden sparks that rose up into the air and gradually flickered back into darkness. He then rose slowly from his seat on a flat stone by the hearth. "It is very late, sweet children. Let us welcome a friend of yours." Salvatore said as he bowed lower than his elderly frame should have permitted. "... short in stature; towering in devotion and dedication..."

Suddenly Dobby apparated in front of them with a sharp click. He looked around the dim cave, spotted Salvatore and bowed deeply to the old man, before turning to beam his adoring eyes at Harry and Ginny.

"Master elf, most noble in service, has has come to take you home." Salvatore said with a weary smile. "Good night mi suave caballero, mi dulce princesa. Our most sincere wishes for your strength, wisdom and grace."

Dobby's face was uncharacteristically grave as he stepped forward and grasped Harry and Ginny by the hand. "Harry Potter sir, and kindest witch Wheezey. With me, we is coming back now straight to Hogwarts. Eat you must and sleep. You must not be saving the world any more tonight."

Chapter 11. Magic Show    (September 9-10, 1997)

"I love you, Ginevra Molly Weasley." Harry whispered to the sleeping mass of red hair nestled between his arm and chest.

What an exhausting, inspiring, humbling little adventure it had been. Ginny's initiative had proven to be a true game-changer: for the first time in the fourteen months since Harry had steadfastly, but somewhat blindly, committed to confronting Voldemort, there was finally an emerging glimmer of a real plan. Details were still thin on the ground, and so much more needed first to be learned and understood, but there was the tantalizing hint of a possible way to overcome, to save lives, perhaps even to salvage some vestigial humanity within a little boy who had long ago turned dark.

If the Fugos were to believed, and Harry had received fairly absolute persuasion of that last night, it no longer made sense for him to try to do it all alone. Ginny's fate had become inextricably woven into his own and, in the Fugo's opinion, the fate of their struggle as well. Harry's instinctive response was deep remorse: at each step along the way, he had felt a twinge of anxiety in accepting her friendship, her assistance, involvement, and eventual love and partnership. At each step, he had worried that he was endangering her, but he had always somehow convinced himself that if things went wrong, he could still mercifully decouple, and still ensure that she had a chance to survive and become a beacon to the light in some sort of post-Harry world. He had continued to cling to that conviction at some level... until last night.

If there was one consolation to Harry, it was in now understanding that the threshold had truly been crossed quite some time ago, and that perhaps there were aspects to their convergence that almost seemed like destiny; like they were never really his to control. He was beginning to suspect that Ginny's fated involvement in the struggle against Voldemort might have already been predestined by her survival in the Chamber of Secrets. If not by that time, then certainly the die had irrevocably been cast by the time they had escaped together from Malfoy's summer residence last spring. Fundamental things had changed that day for both Ginny and himself. That was when Ginny's ability to shield his scar had become near total, and he was becoming increasingly convinced that this was when he had acquired the ability to telepathically sense her stronger emotions. Had Fawkes been trying to explain this to Ginny last week? Maybe Fawkes's intimate involvement, effecting their escape via phoenix fire, had led him to understand their growing interdependencies? Perhaps in evacuating them via magical fire, he himself had inadvertently caused the change; affected or amplified those interdependencies? Who knows? There wasn't exactly a huge body of literature on the effects of phoenix fire on the human magical essence. He found himself wondering what the Fugos might be able to explain, if he ever found another opportunity to speak with them again, about the role Fawkes may have played in all of this.

So, here was this beautiful woman sharing his bed, his life. Perhaps sharing his fate... sometimes even sharing his mind. Should he feel remorse for her loss of the simpler life of a student, of should he feel immense gratitude for her unwillingness to let him face fate alone? Perhaps he would forever feel a bit of both, but at least one thing was finally becoming clear: it was quite unlikely that feeling guilt at Ginny's inextricable involvement would help him do what he needed to do. Conversely, the experience with Fugos had convinced him that acting alone was not the recipe for the best, strongest, most benign resolution to the Tom Riddle threat. And if he could not act alone, then he was certain that there was nobody else in the world whose help he could ever trust the way he knew he could rely on Ginny.

"Ginny, I love you more that you can ever know." he breathed. "I need your strength and your wisdom. I need you more than anybody has ever had a right to ask."

"Mmmmm." she answered.

A dim light had crept into their room at some point, but it was getting no brighter since Dobby had affixed a thick woolen blanket to their window and, with only modest protests, had canceled the alarm charm that Harry had cast on his model Hungarian Horntail. On those rare mornings when neither Harry nor Ginny had awoken past the early glimmerings of dawn, the dragon would long since have started firing blasts of imaginary fire at their faces by now. But thanks to the elf's ministrations, the horntail emitted only sleepy little puffs of smoke from a head shrouded beneath a scaly wing.

Thank Merlin there were no classes or meetings on his Tuesday morning schedule, because Harry's brain felt like a dented ingot of lead. Salvatore's aged sherry may have had something to do with it, the exceptionally late bedtime would not have helped, but the primary culprit was almost certainly the rigorous cerebral exercise that Tremelda had paced him through. Like it or not, that is only just the beginning.

Speaking of beginnings... this whole Tuesday could not be spent in bed. Harry gently edged his way to the side, kissed Ginny's hand as he removed it from his chest. In the low light, it looked sweet and delicate. Could this be a hand tasked with helping to save the world? Harry was not going to bet against it. Either way, he kissed it again and laid it gently on the covers.

He made his way unsteadily to the window, and tugged on the blanket, but it held firm. "Finite incantatem." he murmured, and the blanket fell away from the wall to reveal a window through which now shone a hazy, mid-morning sun. Ginny stirred at the change in light but didn't open her eyes.

Harry opened the door to the den. Dobby had already cleared off the table that had been stacked last night with sandwiches and fruit for their very late supper. On the center of the table the elf had left a note telling them not to go breakfast in the Great Hall; saying that it was important for Harry Potter and Witch Wheezey to sleep, and that Dobby would deliver a meal to them when they were ready. Surprisingly, Harry realized that he was already hungry, despite having eaten so late at night. Ferocious hunger was often a symptom of magical exhaustion.

Harry very nearly succumbed to the temptation of immediate eggs and bacon, but decided that training would still come first, if only because it helped him to think. It was too late for his early morning run (even after a year's commitment to the regimen, he still didn't like to attract attention by publicly flaunting his workouts among a community that was still quite resistant to exercise), and he figured that it would be best to give his magic a rest, but that left a welcome prospect of some good strength and agility exercises in the Room of Requirement.

After feeding Emerald and quickly changing into with workout garb, he briefly debated waking Ginny, but decided to instead tag a little note on at the end of Dobby's and let her rest. He made his way quietly through the door and closed it behind himself with a tiny click.

Ginny's eyes snapped open. She registered an emptiness... in the bed, in their quarters... in her heart. "I love you too, Harry." she murmured, a little forlornly. Fortunately, her mood was quickly bolstered by Emerald bouncing onto the bed to greet her. Ginny lay there for a while, absentmindedly stroking the appreciative cat, while reflecting back at some of the more extraordinary happenings from the night before.

It was frankly a bit of a blur. The final discussions by the fire had been disorienting for her because she had been purposefully excluded from some of the most intense revelations of the night: some scary things that Harry and Tremelda had pursued. A brief wave of resentment swept through her: Harry was hers to protect and Salvatore had deliberately employed the most artful and imaginative distraction techniques to lure her away so that the love of her life could be isolated and subjected to harsh interrogation. But the wave subsided again just as quickly as it had swelled. No, it had not been a trick; Salvatore had warned her and explained the premise. She herself had agreed: there were critical aspects of Harry's condition that could not be fully understood as long as she was protecting him. Perhaps her vague sense of betrayal was a feeling that they had gone off and learned fundamental things about Harry's condition, but had not made the opportunity to explain things properly to her yet. Instead, she had been instructed to refortify her weakened lover, to hold his trembling body by the fire, and to listen to a final disorienting discussion about whether or not Harry needed... to die.

She still didn't understand truly what it was that had been found in Harry, and under what basis that implied that he might or might not need to be sacrificed. But she did understand that everyone had emerged with guarded optimism, and that she herself was supposed to be a key part of the solution. And she knew that Harry would certainly explain it all to her... because he needed her.

It was a shock for her to understand that Harry actually needed her now every bit as much as she needed him. Perhaps more, if that could ever be even remotely imaginable. This was now their shared quest. Together they would sort through the mysteries, they would plan, labor... and together they would prevail.

Ginny wondered why she felt so exhausted when it had been Harry who had undergone the ordeal. Then it occurred to her that she had been called upon to flood magical power back into him, to counteract his depletion. Perhaps without realizing it, she might have continued to nurse him back to health overnight. Oh well — magical exhaustion could be like physical exertion: if you did the right things to recover properly, you would end up stronger than you'd been beforehand. And in her experience, the two best things for recovering for magical exhaustion were invigorating physical exercise and lots of good food. On that thought, she gently disengaged herself from a now-sleeping cat, pulled herself out of bed, stumbled over to find Harry's note, and then swung into action.

"Where have you two been?" Neville asked, as Harry and Ginny sat down for lunch at the inter-house table.

With a slight wince, Harry realized that although neither of them had skipped any actual obligations, their very presence often attracted inadvertent attention, and missing two straight meals would surely be noticed. "We had to investigate a lead for our research." Harry offered evasively. "Why? Have people been asking about us?"

"Research? Oh, that's a likely story." Luna said cheerfully. "We told the people who asked that you were off celebrating the 475th anniversary of the first global circumnavigation."

"We told? What do you mean we?" Neville frowned, in slight consternation.

"Which people?" Harry asked.

"No, not witch people." Luna explained. "The sixteenth century Spanish navy was very misogynistic. Even having muggle females on board was believed to bring misfortune."

"Oh... ummm... sorry Luna, I meant which people asked about us?" Harry clarified.

"Yes." Luna confirmed, with a pleasant smile.

A look of weary bewilderment slowly crept down Harry's face.

"And some wizard people too, come to think of it." Luna added, as she served herself some fish and chips. "Hmmm... peculiar shape for abaia cutlet, don't you think?" she mused as she waved a fish stick in Neville's face.

"Ummm, I thought it was haddock." Neville said distractedly as he patted Hannah on the back. His girlfriend's head had just dropped onto the table, where it lay buried in her arms, twitching. Several people at the end of the Hufflepuff table nearest them were watching with concern; somebody asked what the word 'palsy' meant. Another person watched worriedly as Ginny turned abruptly away from Luna and began chewing part of her hand. Someone muttered something about 'contagious', and denizens at that end of the Hufflepuff table began to abandon their lunches, finding excuses to leave early.

"Haddock?" Luna tittered softly. "Oh, you're always so silly, Neville."

A loud snort emerged from Hannah's buried head, followed by a whimper. Ginny sputtered spasmodically, and small tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Luna smiled absently.

Harry breathed deeply and started anew. "So,... Neville,... was somebody asking about our absence?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Yes, several of your students: I think their names are Jennifer, Sarah and Jack. And after you missed supper last night, Hermione has started watching the table like a hawk." His eyes crept nervously toward the Gryffindor table, then quickly darted away again.

"Don't forget the poor little Slytherin boy." Luna added.

"Poor little... ??" Neville stumbled.

"Blond hair, prefect, always so miserable." Luna clarified.

"Draco?" Harry asked incredulously. "What would Draco Malfoy want with us... and you say he's... miserable?"

"Draco slithered over this morning to whine and snarl a bit." Neville recalled. "He made some unpleasant insinuations about your absence, but it wasn't clear if he really wanted anything."

"He's so miserable because nobody likes him and his daddy is scared of death eaters." Luna explained. "Oh, and Gringotts froze all of the family's assets."

Harry and Ginny both wheeled to face her.

"Mwah bib..." Ginny paused and removed the hand from her mouth. "Where did you learn all this, Luna?"

Luna frowned as she swished her fork at something around Neville's ear. "Classic Ravenclaw powers of observation." she said vaguely.

"Huhh." Harry and Ginny exclaimed as their querying gazes swiveled around to each other.

Harry opened his office door wide and left it that way. The light from his office window poured across the room and into the relative dim hallway. It was a clear signal: Professor Potter was present, accounted for, and available to the inquiring world. He had just lined up several books on his desk to begin his work, when the first of some unknown number of inevitable visitors and interruptions for the afternoon appeared.

This one was avian: a large tawny owl was perched on his window sill, tapping on the pane with its stout beak. Harry slid aside an adjacent pane to admit the bird and it hopped onto the tall seat back, with one leg extended. The note it bore was brief:

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am writing pursuant to your request for a meeting to be held at Gringotts for the specification and creation of a charitable trust under the joint signatory authority of yourself and Miss Ginevra Weasley.

As you are aware, we had originally agreed upon a meeting to commence at 10:00 A.M. on Thursday, Sept. 11. However, due to unforeseen circumstances arising on our end, I must humbly request a rescheduling of this meeting. I would like to offer you three possible options for rescheduling.

Options:

1. 10:00 A.M., Saturday, Sept. 13
2. 1:30 P.M., Monday, Sept. 15
3. 10:00 A.M., Tuesday, Sept. 16

Please request the scheduling option that would be most convenient for you, or request alternate preferences for times and dates after Sept. 16. Once you have made your selection or request, please return this form with the delivery owl provided.

Thank you most kindly for your understanding! I most solemnly promise you that every effort will be made to avoid any further inconveniences to your esteemed clientship.

Sincerely,

Griphook
Gringotts Junior Financial Fellow dccclvii

It was a polite and solicitous letter, but it struck Harry as odd, because he had heard from multiple people that Gringott's was cautious, deliberate and meticulously detail-oriented; messing up a set schedule did not seem to mesh with their normal business conduct. It occurred to him to worry a bit that there was something wrong and hoped that it would not complicate their plans to set up the trust; hopefully ministry interference wasn't already manifesting itself in some annoying way. But rather than idly speculate, he decided to reserve the Monday time slot, then he would send an owl to Remus, who had agreed to accompany them to the meeting in an advisorial capacity (the werewolf was very astute in legal and financial matters). Hopefully Remus would be able to accommodate the scheduling change. Finally Harry also resolved to owl Bill to see if he knew of any signs that Gringotts was feeling any unseemly pressure from the Ministry. He sighed, knowing that this would blow at least an hour of his busy day. Oh well.

He had barely put quill to parchment when he heard footsteps coming down the corridor in his direction and sensed a familiar, expected, and rather unpleasant magical signature. But... was Luna right? To Harry's increasingly sensitive perception, it almost seemed like a somewhat strained, frazzled power essence was emanating from Draco Malfoy.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the distinguished and venerated Professor Potter..." sneered the voice that Harry knew all too well. Draco was certainly capable of sustaining the same greasy, arrogant intonations for which he was famous. Harry looked up into the boy's face, recalling what Ginny had mentioned about Draco appearing almost ill at the Start of Term Banquet. What Harry's eyes saw, superficially, was a healthy, immaculately kempt visage... but... how strange... as his sight engaged for more then the normal cursory glance he suddenly found himself seeing right through... glamor charms!

Draco flinched. "What are you looking... what do you want Potter?!"

Harry shook himself and blinked. Must not stare Harry!

"Sorry Draco, my contact lenses clouded up for a second." Harry lied. He smiled the most disarmingly pleasant face he could come up with — the product of some time he'd spend in front of a mirror crafting his various disguises. "So how can I help the esteemed Mr. Malfoy today?"

Draco's smooth voice from a minute ago was in tatters. Harry had not intended to throw his former rival into a state of disarray, but clearly this conversation had already fallen off the intended track and Draco was not coping particularly well. "I came here to get... I mean, I've been giving things some thought and..."

Harry continued to smile pleasantly.

"Here!" Draco thrust a parchment onto his desk. "I might start taking Defense Against Dart Arks... Dars Artk... DADA! I might take DADA after all and I need this bloody form signed."

"Sure." Harry said. "You know that Professor Snape has the authority as head of house to approve this as long as you have the prerequisites. He could have saved you a trip."

"Yeah, but I wanted to... I mean... okay... right. I'll remember that for next time."

Harry ran his hands carefully up and down the parchment, trying to detect any untoward charms or deceit that a skilled trickster might have been able to engineer. He didn't have the exceptional skills of a Bill Weasley to rely upon, but to the best of his own scrutiny it seemed like a plain scroll of parchment, bearing the standard course adjustment form. Draco had not tried to lend him a quill or ink. However modestly surprising it might be to think that Draco might change his mind and actually register for a course instructed by Harry Potter, there did not appear to be anything out of the ordinary. Harry reread the letter to check for any unusual phrasing, but everything still checked out... so he reached for his quill, signed on the line marked "Instructor" and then, with his bare hand, added an invisible magical signature immediately below that... just in case.

"Here you go. Welcome to the class!" Harry said as he looked up and rolled the the parchment.

Draco jumped, whirling and away from where leaning over the sofa by the hearth. Harry swore he glimpsed a white blur as Draco thrust his right hand into his robes.

With a quizzical smile on his face, Harry extended the signed parchment out toward Draco.

Draco snatched the parchment out of Harry's hand in a manner that was either excessively brusk or very edgy. He gestured over toward the love seat. "Scruffy furniture, Potter." he said hurriedly. "Thought someone of your stature could do better."

Harry shrugged. "Standard Hogwarts issue. Thanks for the suggestion — maybe the faculty should propose an upgrade at some point, but I can certainly make do with old furnishings until the after the war is all sorted out. I can think of dozens of better ways to spend school money right now. Anyway, see you in class tomorrow morning?"

Draco sneered... or grimaced (it was difficult to tell them apart) and hurried out the door. When Harry heard the footsteps fading down the stairwell, he got up from his desk and went over to examine the sofa that had attracted Malfoy's attention. He went over it twice with his hand, but once again didn't detect anything suspicious. He frowned... then returned to his desk.

He was just starting letter two out of three when a second set of footsteps grew louder in their approach to his door, and he looked up to see... no surprise... Sarah, Jennifer, Quinn and Jack.

"Hi!" Harry said with a smile. "I heard you were looking for me — I guess now I won't have to track you down myself. What can I do for you?"

There was an awkward fraction of a second during which it was unclear which of the four of them would speak. Without Ryan, Mary-Jo or Nick around, the group didn't have a clear natural leader, but on the spur of the moment Jack rose to the occasion. "Professor Potter, we happened to notice your recent absence. Your posted schedule didn't show anything about where you were."

Harry didn't particularly like where this conversation was starting out, and had trepidations about where it might be headed, but he respected these kids and met their gazes earnestly. "Sorry mates! I was out of the castle yesterday for some important research, which ultimately proved quite successful. I had originally hoped to be back by supper time, but the way things went I didn't get back until very late... or, in fact fairly early today. But I'm back now — can I help you with anything?"

It was Sarah who stepped forward this time, frowning. "Professor Potter, did you have any way to alert anybody back here if anything had gone wrong while you were out of the castle?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Ouch! Okay, that's one way to pull the plaster off! He gazed from one set of earnest eyes to the next, recognizing quickly that although his instinct had been primed over the past year to take offense in a question like this, there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing this bunch. Besides, the situation was fraught with comedic irony. Funny enough to make him laugh. So he did. Quite heartily.

Eight eyes watched his mirth quizzically, wondering whether to feel hurt, angry, or relieved.

Harry's laugh subsided to a smile. "Okay, four against one is completely unfair. At the very least, please call me Harry instead of 'Professor Potter', and then please make yourselves comfortable..." he gestured at the sofa and a pair of chairs, "so you're not hovering over me so intimidatingly."

The several seconds that it took them to find seats gave him an opportunity to consider how he wanted to handle this. Just when he felt he had convinced the various authority figures in his life that they were better off giving him latitude, now he had students demanding accountability. Up until this very moment he felt implicitly accountable to Ginny, and under the right circumstances he would defer to Minerva and Remus... even Dumbledore, if the headmaster continued to be helpful. But this little scenario of being ambushed by students was not something he had prepared for. So he let his instincts take over. Let's hear them out.

When he spoke, he honed his voice to an even keel, trying neither to convey arrogance nor admit shame. "In regards to your question, no, I didn't have any way to alert someone here if things had gone wrong. I did have very capable backup with me while I was gone though."

Jennifer shook her head. "Not enough." she said.

Sarah nodded in response to her fellow student. "Harry, we know that you are a bit of a... maverick. We know that you have locked horns with authority. And we love you for it because everybody who takes one of your classes now knows the difference between ineffectual and effectual leadership." She leaned forward, drilling into him with her intense gaze. "But don't let your aversion to ineffectual leadership get in the way of acting responsibly."

"Listen, Harry." Quinn broke in, "You don't owe us anything. You don't need us to tell us what you have to do, but you have to understand that you do owe it to the world to not only protect the world, but also protect yourself."

"Strategy, Harry!" Sarah said, pounding her fist into her hand. "You had one single point of backup, right? How much harder is it to plan a surprise attack to take out two people as opposed to one? It might make it tougher for them, but not tough enough!"

With eyes blazing, Jennifer had joined the shark feeding frenzy. "Whatever important thing you did last night could have ended up with you lying out somewhere in the middle of nowhere, bleeding to death while your backup was incapacitated or worse, right? You need at least one more line of defense — someone at a neutral location, out of the line of fire, whom you can signal for help. Like Sarah said — strategy Harry!"

Harry sat back and let their waves of tension roll over him. His eyes were wide with rapt attention, but it was difficult to entirely cull the bemusement from his expression. Especially as Jennifer spoke: she was a small girl who could easily have passed for someone several years younger than her biological age of sixteen. When the red flush started to sweep over her otherwise pale complexion, though, Harry knew all too well not to step lightly around this passionate young witch.

Quinn spoke again in his earnest but conciliatory manner. "We debated it as a group at the end of one of our training sessions. The consensus was that if you look at the relative track records of successful auror missions versus failures, two pairs of feet on the ground is better than one, but the best scenario is when you have two field operatives who are able to reach a third party contact at a moment's notice. This is balance between optimizing safety and operational effectiveness on one hand versus too many points of contact clogging everything down on the other. Trust me, Harry, we don't want to interfere. We don't even need to know what you're doing, but we'll all be a lot happier if you at least have some simple way to signal for help in case something goes wrong. You put us on that tether this past summer, and thank you very sincerely for doing that because you saved lives, okay? But you're way too important to all of us. You have to put a little tether on yourself too."

Harry sat there, eyes scanning the four faces: Sarah and Jennifer (tense; expectant), Quinn (intense, but solicitous) and Jack (standing back; engaged but expressionless). He smiled. "I don't stand a chance in hell tomorrow morning, do I?"

"Huh??" Sarah exclaimed.

"Teamwork? Strategy?" Harry said. "Something tells me that some of you spent as much time this summer studying teamwork and strategy as you did in practical exercises. I'm thinking our little rumble scheduled for tomorrow morning in AHA might be a bit of an eye-opener?"

Jack grinned. "No comment!"

"Don't change the subject, Harry!" Jennifer was glaring daggers at him.

"Don't worry, Jennifer, you made your point." Harry assured her with a warm smile that brought her red coloration down several shades. "I can't poke any holes in your logic, and to be honest when things were at their most frenzied this summer I did have a couple of people... I think you may meet them tomorrow morning, actually... who in some ways did just about what you're proposing. But the fact of the matter is that I'm on the go a fair bit, and it's difficult to find a full-time Harry-sitter."

Jack chuckled. "We can post a notice on the castle bulletin boards. Wanted: full time Harry-Sitter. Must be accustomed to round the clock peril. Death eaters need not apply."

Sarah giggled. "Potter Junior would be sure to apply."

"Potter Junior?" Harry asked with a little trepidation.

"Ryan, of course!" Sarah explained. "Come on, don't tell me you haven't noticed how he idolizes you."

"Errr... I'm not sure idolize is the right word." Harry mused.

"What, you don't think Oedipus idolized his dad?" Quinn joked.

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn!" Sarah chided. "Ryan worships the ground Harry walks on; he just has to make it look like he's gunning for Harry, because Ryan's a devout Slythindor, and Harry's obvious a Gryfferin."

"Slythindor? Gryfferin?" Harry inquired. "What are you the rest of you, a bunch of Ravenpuffs?"

"No way." Sarah corrected. "I'm obviously a Slytherclaw, and Jennifer can be so agonizingly Gryffelpuff."

"They told me I was a thick-headed Huffledor." Jack inserted. "And I've unilaterally decided that, like all so-called men of Ravenclaw, Quinn is a pure jessie."

"See if I ever correct your potions essays again, Trowers." Quinn grumbled.

"Oh Merlin!" Harry moaned. "The founders must be rolling in their graves — what have we wrought upon ourselves?"

"Listen Harry, you're still evading the issue. We're not going to leave your office until you accede to our demands that you act in a strategically responsible manner." Jennifer interjected. She did not sound quite so intimidating as earlier, however. Clearly the silly conversation had taken some of the edge off her stridency.

"Okay ladies and gentlemen..." Harry leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. "That was where I was going with my earlier thread of conversation before we got a little... uh, sidetracked. When I was going out on dangerous excursions last summer, I really did have a couple of people watching out for me. I can't rely on them for every little jaunt I go on, but since you're so keen on the idea... if you thought it might be somehow worth your while to experiment with this operations control concept that you've come up with, then I might be convinced to work with you to put in into practice..."

The four students waited with bated breath.

"... if you either win or draw tomorrow morning."

The four students continued to stare. Silence hung for a long moment.

Finally Jack grinned again. "You're on! I can't wait to see Ryan's face when he hears the stakes." The other students laughed in agreement.

Harry smiled too as the group got ready to make their departure. Something occurred to him though. "Hey, that's a few times you've mentioned Ryan. What didn't the other three come along with you to gang up on me?"

"Well, Mary-Jo and Nick have a bunch of sessions scheduled for remedial OWL prep..." Jennifer began.

"I think that's a euphemism for snogging." Sarah snickered.

"And Ryan suggested that this particular discussion required the subtle art of diplomacy..." Jack concluded. "Which he admits is not his strong point."

Ginny did not want to go down those dank steps into the dungeons. She could think of twenty things that she would rather do with her afternoon — and that wasn't even counting all the things that she would be roping Harry into if he wasn't so busy. But she was the courageous, intrepid researcher... and she really did want to get to the bottom of this drinkable portkey business that death eaters were using to such advantage. And the one person in the castle who was most likely to have an idea how they were doing it was the person least likely to be willing to help a Weasley. And the sign on his office door said "Professor Severus Snape". She took a deep breath and knocked.

"Who is it?" came the invidious voice.

"Ginny Weasley, sir. I've come to ask for some assistance."

The entrance burst open like a cannon blast, revealing the potions master, looming menacingly in the spot where an instant before had been a solid oak door. "What?!" he boomed.

"Eep?" Ginny struggled to find her voice. "I'm sorry sir, did I catch you at a bad time?"

He glared at her, but shrank a few inches to become merely intimidating. "Any time is a bad time to be trifled by your nonsense, Miss Weasley..." his breath rattled disapprovingly, "but I presume there will be no dissuading you. You may come in but do not touch anything, and do not bother to sit down because I can assure you that you will not be staying long."

Ginny bit down firmly on her tongue. The initial shock having worn off, her redheaded temper and obstinacy were beginning to stir. Nonetheless, she did manage to say, "Thank you, sir." in a hypocritically neutral tone.

Snape strode to the far side of his desk. He also did not sit; rather he whirled to face her. "So, what is it?!" he seethed.

"Sir, I have been given permission to study an important and vexing problem that has arisen in recent death eater attacks." Ginny began. The gravity of her tone and the weighty subject matter seemed to throw the potions master off guard a bit and his sneering expression subsided further to mere abrasiveness.

"The problem is..." she continued, "that death eaters have developed or acquired a mechanism to effect transportation that behaves much like portkey transit, except that the technique functions in the presence of anti-portkey wards and the use of summoning charms on active or immobilized death eaters do not retrieve any portkeys."

Snape regarded her for a moment through narrow slits. "Portkeys are not my specialization." he said. "Go see Flitwick." He turned his back and began reaching for an unrelated book on one of his shelves.

"Professor Snape, we have strong reason to believe that this mysterious portkey behavior is governed by drinking something." Ginny interjected quickly. "A liquid portkey perhaps? Almost certainly a potion."

His hand paused in mid air, forgetting the book it sought.

"Sir, do you know of some advanced potion that could turn an entire human being into a portkey? One that would not be recognized by anti-portkey wards?"

Snape remained frozen, statuesque. Finally he lowered his hand and turned to face Ginny. "No." he said simply, with expressionless face.

Ginny peered at him quizzically, wondering what was meant by the sudden change in his demeanor. Both stood motionless for several moments. Finally Ginny spoke. "Okay, thank you for your time sir. I guess I will have to contact some person named Horace Slughorn." She turned and made her way toward the door.

"Wait." Snape said tonelessly.

Ginny stopped and turned. "Yes?"

The potions master stood, eyes boring into Ginny in a calculating manner. Instinctively she marshaled her occlumency shields, but no intrusion was forthcoming.

"I think I may have an idea..." he mused.

Ginny cocked her head curiously.

"It will not be easy... it may take time..." he said contemplatively.

"Sir, I'm more than prepared to invest my time heavily on this project; hopefully to the point where it wouldn't place too many demands on your schedule. If you had an idea how they might be doing this, and could point me in the right direction, that would be wonderful."

Snape stood frowning thoughtfully.

Ginny paused to await the potions master's response, but then remembered an important caveat that had escaped her in her earlier flustered state. "Sir, if I might add something?"

He raised his gaze and shifted it vaguely toward her left ear but said nothing.

She persisted. "I forgot to mention that the goal of the exercise is not to create such a capability for ourselves. That, of course, would be illegal. Rather, the goal is to understand what they're doing to a level adequate for figuring out how to disrupt it."

He nodded, then wandered over toward a stack of miscellaneous parchments and papers in the far corner of his office. He sorted through the stack, picking up the occasional document, briefly examining it then dropping it into a second pile. Ginny waited patiently.

Finally Snape picked up small stack of leaflets, browsed through them, and selected a single sheet. He read it carefully, then pulled out his wand and neatly sliced out a single photograph which he handed to her. It was a picture of a green plant.

"Phyllanthus niruri." he said. "It should be in bloom this week on the hillsides north of the lake. Go out there tomorrow right after lunch and harvest it some while the blossoms are at their peak. I'll meet you out there."

Ginny frowned as the studied the picture. It looked frustratingly similar to various different weeds that she could recall having pulled from her mother's garden. She carefully inserted it into her potions reference. Still caught somewhat by surprise at the sudden turnabout, she was more effusive in her thanks than her pride would normally have tolerated. "Thank you sir!" she said, "I appreciate your assistance, and if you could spare the time to help identify the plant tomorrow, I would be very grateful."

He said nothing, but pointed toward the open door. She nodded and quickly removed herself from his presence. When she was half way up the first flight of stairs up from the dungeons, she heard the loud boom as an office door slammed.

Recovering her equilibrium, she rolled her eyes. "Now that was surreal." she muttered to the empty stairwell.

"You really should come down to breakfast." Ginny said as she emerged from the shower after their agility workout.

Harry was stretching in a languid, contemplative manner. He too had showered, but he had changed straight from one set of workout garb (full of perspiration from the morning's exercise, plus a bit if mud from their early run) into another clean set. "I think I'm going to pass until after the AHA session. Could you do me a favor and grab me an apple when you're down there? I'll eat it on my way down to class." Harry responded.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, but restrained herself from any Molly Weasley platitudes about food, and about a great breakfast making great magic. She knew that Harry would likely soon be put through an intense workout that might not be very compatible with a full stomach. She also sensed, though she would never say it to his face, that her boyfriend actually had a little case of nerves.

Harry actually was vibrating a bit. Fortunately it was a good type of excitement: he was intensely curious to see what the students had dreamed up in their quest to subdue him in a seven-on-one battle.

Ginny gave him another once-over and smiled. "I didn't say you needed to eat anything, but I have officially decided, with full girlfriend's prerogative, that I shall request your presence as an escort downstairs. This will give me an opportunity to permit you to get your own apple." She winked.

Harry grinned, straightened up and offered his arm.

"Besides," Ginny added, "this will give your kids a chance to set up without you hovering over them."

Your kids... The term seemed natural and apt, despite the fact that four of them were older than Ginny, and the eldest of the seven, Sarah, was barely two months younger than Harry. But yes, these were Harry's kids and after this morning, a morning in which Harry was certain they would all show people just how grown up they were, they would still be his kids.

Table five attendance was definitely more sparse than usual that morning. Susan, Hannah and Neville were there, surrounded by a smattering of younger students, but none of the super seven were around, which automatically reduced the decibel level substantially. Ginny gave everyone a friendly wave, then steered Harry toward a quiet end of the table occupied only by Daphne, who was reading the Daily Prophet.

Daphne's eyes lit up as they took seats next to her. "G'morning!" she said brightly.

"Morning!" Harry said, smiling, but clearly a little bit distracted.

Daphne looked at him appraisingly. "No, it can't be... Harry, you're nervous?!"

Harry and Ginny both laughed at her candor. "Actually, I'd prefer if we said that I'm excited," Harry responded, "but, yeah, I think we're in for an interesting session!"

"Hey!" Ginny interjected, pointing to the back of Daphne's Prophet. "Gringotts Taking Unilateral Action on Supposed Dark Assets," she read aloud, "Ministry in Uproar."

"Oh yes," Daphne said thoughtfully, "Rumors started in the Slytherin common room last weekend that Lucius Malfoy's vault got locked up tight late this summer under suspicion that it contains dark objects. Another several vaults have been frozen."

"How strange," Harry pondered thoughtfully, "the goblins have always been so careful about maintaining neutrality."

"Well, I don't like to repeat speculation," Daphne said, "but Dad is under the impression that two of the Gringotts associates suffered serious curse damage in July, and an internal investigation traced the curse to an old artifact stored in Malfoy's vault. Turns out that the artifact was goblin-made, while the subsequent curses were added by a Malfoy ancestor. Professor Binns would know more about goblin policies regarding use of their handiwork, but it's my understanding that assigning a curse to one of their objects is... well, kind of sacrilegious I guess."

"That's pretty plausible and detailed for speculation — thank you Daphne!" Harry said. He noticed her quizzical expression and hastened to add, "It may answer some nagging questions of mine. We had an important appointment at Gringotts coming up and they wrote yesterday to reschedule. That had struck me as rather strange behavior for them, but perhaps a bit more understandable in light of them have to do all this sensitive... housecleaning. Oh, and it might shed a bit more light on the erratic recent behavior by our own resident Malfoy."

Daphne frowned thoughtfully as if this reminded her of something, but she didn't elaborate. Instead she nodded and sipped her tea quietly while Ginny finished her breakfast and Harry subsided into his own contemplations.

At twenty before nine, Harry and Ginny excused themselves to make their way up to the Room of Requirement and the morning's big event. The seventh floor corridor was already bustling. Since Harry had left the room unwarded after the earlier workout, the super seven had already let themselves in and had placed a colloportus on the door while they went about their preparations. In addition to this, already over a dozen other people had arrived earlier and were milling about the corridor. Many of them were adult members of the AHA who were taking time off work to attend. Fred and George Weasley waved them over eagerly to their little group that included Lee, Katie, and Angelina and Theo Johnson. Ginny went straight over to them with a big smile on her face; Harry signaled to them that he would be a minute as he had just felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Good morning Harry!" said Professor Flitwick, looking up at him.

"Good morning sir!" Harry smiled. "Have you come for the show?"

"That I have! That I have! I always heard such uproarious stories last year from Minerva but was unable to make your sessions because of my schedule. No such barriers with this early time slot."

"Wonderful, I'm glad you could make it, sir!"

"Harry, I won't keep you from all of your friends..." Professor Flitwick looked up to greet Remus and Tonks who had just arrived, "but I did want to pass along Minerva's regrets, but she has a class of second years to mind." The little professor adjusted his eyeglasses. "So I offered to pay special attention to the happenings and share the memory with her later via pensieve."

"That's very thoughtful of you, professor!" Harry said with a smile. He turned and grasped Lupin's hand firmly. "Great to see you, Remus!"

Lupin grinned but then averted his glance a little nervously as he watched Tonks sneaking up on Ginny — always a slightly dangerous proposition. Ginny gave a little shriek but recovered quickly and the two women shared an enthusiastic hug.

"Hey," Harry said, turning back to Lupin, "are we on for Monday?"

"Certainly, Harry," Lupin responded, "and, are we on again for Tuesday?"

"Tuesday... " Harry pondered, "Oh right!" Harry drew a little circle in the air to symbolize a full moon. "Sure, that shouldn't be a problem. Sorry I missed you in August!"

"I think you were a little busy." Lupin responded, with a grin. "Congratulations on your NEWTs and faculty appointment. You and Ginny never cease to amaze!"

Ginny, who was being dragged over by Tonks, lit up when she saw Remus. She gave him a big hug and began engaging him in conversation. Harry smiled and began to make his way over to talk to the twins, but had only gotten a few feet when Lupin signaled him.

"Harry, let's do Tuesday night at Grimmauld Place!" Lupin suggested. "Now that you can leave school at will, there's no need to go back to... to the old spot."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, "It will be after eight before we make it, but we'll be there."

Harry briefly acknowledged a cheery greeting from Cho Chang, then moved once again to join the Fred, George and their group. Fred threw an arm over Harry's shoulders and turned him to face their circle "So here we present to you... " Fred began dramatically, "Harry the harried!"

"Popular Potter!" added George.

Harry chuckled. "Great to see you all — thanks for taking time off work!"

"Tut tut. It's nothing," Fred responded, "We've worked hard enough the past couple weeks to spare a morning a week."

"Especially if we can use it to drum up more business." grinned George. "Hey, speaking of business, is Harried Popular still coming to the Burrow this weekend?"

"Yes, definitely." Harry was still chuckling over the latest nickname. Fortunately none of them seemed to last very long; the twins were too creative to overwork any of their jests.

"Good," Fred stated. "We will arrange a few demos out in Dad's shed. Some products are pretty close to the testing phase."

"Great! I can't wait to... " Harry's sentence trailed off. The Room of Requirement was open. Ryan stood tall in the doorway, and nodded to Harry. "Well everyone... let's go in!" Harry announced.

The Room of Requirement had never looked quite like this before. For starters, the ceiling was very high, to enable seating that afforded good views over four foot high boulders and even over to the far side of a pair of twelve foot high hillocks. As people filtered in, Harry gathered his seven adversaries together to briefly confirm the rules of engagement with Flitwick, who volunteered to referee the competition. Ginny, for her part chose the hill nearest the stands and climbed to the top, from which she surveyed the scene. At precisely nine o'clock she nonverbally cast the sonorus spell and said, loudly enough to carry out of the room and down hallway, "Attention everybody! In sixty seconds the door will be locked and people should be in their seats!"

At that notice, the seven students spread out equidistantly along the sidelines, Flitwick scurried up the hill to exchange a word with Ginny, and Harry began to walk deliberately around the set.

At 9:01, Ginny cast a briefly glance toward the door to check for stragglers and, seeing none, called out, "Colloportus!" As the door closed, she then turned to the rather sizable audience, which included the BHA, IHA and AHA classes, some additional members of Harry's NEWT classes which weren't in the HA, and the entirety of Professor Caldwell's third year DADA class who normally met at this time. She surveyed the group and then, with her magically amplified voice, began, "Welcome everyone! Before we begin, I would like to..."

"Woooo woooo!! Weasley's teaching us! I knew there was a reason to sign up for this class!"

Zabini recoiled from the sharp elbow he received from Daphne, but still managed to sustain a wide, roguish grin.

Ginny could not quite prevent either the blush or smirk that stole across her face. "Ummm... I'm sorry to disappoint anybody, but I am standing up here in a very temporary capacity to fill in for your normal instructor, a certain Professor Potter, who is currently over there..." she pointed toward the south end of the room, "doing reconnaissance."

Harry gave a cursory wave of his hand to acknowledge some cheers from the crowd, but otherwise continued his pensive stroll around the room.

"What I wanted to say," Ginny continued, "was that this exercise has been planned by the seven members of the AHA class whom you see spread out around the periphery." They too acknowledged cheers from the crowd. "While to all appearances this may seem to you to be a competition, it is foremost a learning exercise, and secondarily a research activity. If you watch Harry, then you should view his techniques and strategies in the context of someone who is seeking to defend himself in a situation where he is on the run and outnumbered. If your sympathies lie with the seven students, then you could regard them as a posse in pursuit of a fugitive. In either case, many of us would hope to never be thrust into either role, but we live in uncertain times and it never hurts to have in the back of our minds some idea of possible strategies in the event that we find ourselves in dire circumstances."

She paused for a moment to let everyone digest the context, then continued. "For safety's sake, the rules of engagement are simple: no contestants will cast any spell that incurs a substantial risk of putting anybody in the hospital wing. By 'anybody', I mean any contestant, official or audience member, which means that we're forbidding spells that can produce undesirable accidents. No incendio, reductor or comparable." Again she paused. "For the audience, we have put in place a second safeguard in the form of a room-length ward that should prevent all spells from harming you. When we tested it, we discovered that the ward partially blocks the effects of disillusionment charms. Harry decided that was a perfect little accidental bonus because if contestants disillusion, the audience will actually still be able to see them... although they will probably look a bit shimmery."

Ginny paused to consult her notes, then resumed, "The object will be to immobilize your opponents. For today's activity, once anyone has become immobilized, teammates are not permitted to revive that person. If the seven hunters immobilize Harry before the twenty minute clock expires, they will be considered victorious. For Harry to win, he must immobilize all hunters. Anything else can be considered a draw." She took a deep breath and began walking quickly toward the sideline. "Let the match begin!"

"Five two P!" yelled a female voice that Harry recognized immediately as Mary-Jo. Harry didn't know what 'five two P' meant, but whatever it signified he was pretty sure he'd better take cover — now — and dedicate a minute to trying to hone in on the seven magical essences on the playing field.

Unbeknownst to his seven adversaries, Harry had tested the invisible spectator protection ward running the length of the Room of Requirement and discovered that it also had the tangible unique benefit to him of masking the dozens of potentially distracting magical essences in the stands. That would enable him to focus more clearly on the seven that were most crucial to his task. He was pretty certain that the students would use disillusionment charms, but he would still be able to sense them.

Near the bottom of one the hills, he found a rock that provided him with 180 degrees of cover, and hastily put up a shield to protect the remaining portion of himself. He closed his eyes, visualized a map of the terrain in the playing field, and superimposed the seven magical auras onto that map. His situation began to become clear.

Although the playing field would appear to most spectators as a largely random jumble of rocks, with a couple of hills placed within the large central area, the students' had clearly invested a large amount of thought into the layout. The largest boulders, all six of them, were arranged along the periphery. Each of these six boulders provided excellent protection: someone crouching behind any of these stones were only vulnerable to attack from someone standing on a hill. Furthermore, given the angles of rock faces, each boulder provided protection from one of the hills, but only one, not both, of the hills.

He opened his eyes as it all came together. The peripheral boulders were excellent defensive positions, but anyone crouching behind one would be in a poor position for attack. The hills were excellent attack positions, but were difficult to defend. Between the peripheral boulders and the central hills were a number of smaller additional boulders, strategically situated to provide a bit of cover for anyone attempting to run from the periphery to one of the central hills. That was the plan! The students planned to man the periphery, and filter attackers to the hills to harass Harry! In his current position hunched behind a smaller boulder, he was largely sheltered from the students on the periphery, but would be a sitting duck to anyone on the nearest hill.

The very moment he made that realization, he suddenly figured out what Mary-Jo's "two" meant. There were 'two' students making a dash toward the hill right above him. It made perfect sense for them to send two people together: one to shield and one to fire. Harry had not yet figured out his best counter-strategy, but one thing was abundantly clear: he could not let two very determined and wily students perch on the hill right above him!

Sustaining his shield behind him, he threw caution to the wind and charged straight up the hill, dispensing a barrage of weak stupefies directly in his wake just in case he had misjudged the students' positions.

"Zero C2! Zero C2!" cried out an agitated Quinn. Harry had still not figured out the instruction code that they were shouting, but the tone of Quinn's voice told Harry that his decision to charge up the hill was exactly what the others did not want.

As Harry reached the crest, he sensed the two charging students slack off and retreat to positions behind smaller intermediate boulders. He also sensed the crackle of spell fire in the air around him, but it was poorly aimed; likely the consequence of poor site-lines from the peripheral boulders.

"M C2! M C2!" yelled Mary-Jo. In response to this command, Harry felt a sudden jolt as all seven students suddenly left their cover for barely a second then slipped immediately back into place. What the... ??

The implications of that command were immediate. The errant spellfire paused for only a moment, and then was replaced by a deadly accurate series of stupefies that rattled off Harry's shield. Feeling the reverberations through his arm, he ground to a halt just short of the hill summit, realizing that if he proceeded another twenty feet, he would be susceptible along a full 360 degrees, and even he had not yet managed to project a shield spanning much more than half a sphere. He had read once that Grindelwald had mastered a complete, spherical shield, but this skill had remained inaccessible to everyone else, since it would require the ability to emanate controlled, powerful magic in a completely non-directional manner.

"Two C2!" Mary-Jo shouted. C2 obviously was the hill that Harry had mostly climbed. By the feel of it, the two students who had begun charging the hill earlier were once again on the approach. If they took the hill summit, then Harry would be exposed surrounded. That's when the audience saw him grin in inspiration.

Holding his shield steady behind him, Harry charged forward and, on the fly, conjured a stone wall, four feet high by six feet in length, on the side of the summit immediately above the two approaching students. He dashed the final ten feet into the cover of the wall. Then, counting on the element of surprise, he let his rear shield drop for several seconds as he stood tall, leaned over the wall and fired two-fisted stupefies, taking down both Sarah and Nick who were only a few seconds sprint from the summit. Harry restored his shield and huddled at the base of his wall.

"Arrgghhh!!" bellowed Mary-Jo. Harry was pretty sure that this was a code phrase for something unprintable.

Things went quiet for a long moment. "M C2 update!" Quinn yelled. Harry once again felt all of the remaining students jump instantly out from their cover for a second or two then retreat back. The earlier tip-off was almost enough for Harry: in the instant that they left their cover, he whipped to one side and dashed off a couple rapid impedimenta spells toward one student (probably Jack) who was a little slow to resume cover. The second spell went just wide of his foot; Harry swore under his breath at the missed opportunity.

After thirty seconds, Mary-Jo shouted, "Five P." The command was calm. Nobody moved. After another brief interval, Mary-Jo again shouted "Five P." Again no one stirred. Shield facing forward, Harry edged upwards to test the water. No sooner had his head edged above the level of his wall, spellfire sizzled from behind him, and he fell back to the ground. Pretty sharp perception for people hidden behind boulders!

The audience buzzed. "How'd they do that? How do they see him?" Tonks whispered to Ginny. Ginny shrugged. There was clearly some dynamic at work here that almost nobody in the room could unravel.

Before anyone had too much time to ponder the mystery, Mary-Jo cried out, "Five action!" and all of a sudden the whole field was a blaze of frenzied motion: all five students dashing madly from cover to cover, each dash punctuated by a stream of stupefies, impedimentas, leg-locker curses and, oddly enough, even stinging hexes, aimed directly at Harry, whose shield was buffeted and rattled by the intense, sporadic and diverse barrage. The frenzy persisted: students dashing solo along the periphery in both clockwise and counter-clockwise, occasionally darting inwards to one of the intermediate boulders, before racing back out again.

"Sweet Merlin with flowers in his hair!" Tonks mumbled. Lupin nodded with a deep frown on his face.

Ginny was mesmerized, but her subconscious recorder was hard at work, because while she had no idea how this strategy, whatever it was, would play out, she knew that it was something that she and Harry should devote some solid pensieve time to. Eight rows above them, Hermione and Ron sat with very different demeanors. Ron's eyes were zipping back and forth, an expression of utter bafflement on his face. Hermione, however, was barely even watching; she had a scroll and self-inking quill and was hastily drawing diagrams, raising her eyes occasionally to try to detect more nuances.

Harry spent nearly a minute of concentrating on nothing but his shield, which had proven imperfect in addressing the diversity of spell type and direction, but fortunately only a couple of stinging hexes had slipped through before he managed to tune it to the full range of incoming magic. Temporarily safe, but pinned in place, he tried to spot a pattern to the motion in order to forecast any gambits, lures or directional thrusts that might emerge, but the strategy remained opaque. Finally, although he recognized that although it would be very risky for him to try to move right now, he spotted a way by which he could work things to his advantage, not by trying to anticipate any specific pattern, but rather by relying on his opponents' diversity of motion. Specifically, if he focused not on specific people, but rather on a specific region of the playing field, he should be able to catch students in the brief moments when they were exposed. Holding shield steady with one hand he focused his mind on one blank space hosting the intersection of several paths between boulders. He concentrated... concentrated... sensed an aura about to emerge from the boulder on the right, unleashed three stupefies in rapid succession... and down went Jack Trowers.

"Two two C2!" came Mary-Jo's frantic instruction. All four remaining students skidded to a halt and changed direction. Harry sensed them converging into two pairs, and then realized that both pairs were suddenly out in the open, charging directly at him from two oblique directions. He fired an intense volley of impedimenta spells at the nearer of the pairs but saw his spells deflect harmlessly, while a sporadic burst of hexes emerged from both pairs. Harry then realized two things: the first and obvious was that each pair was composed of one person holding a shield while the other cast spells, and the second: this was almost certainly a last-ditch effort to break the stalemate in the face of what was probably an expiring clock. He couldn't actually see the time because the clock was directly behind him, but he sensed that it was now or never: he needed to somehow penetrate those shields.

Harry knew that there were two different ways to defeat shields: bash through them with intense spellfire or get around them. Not wanting to throw too much energy into offense on one pair when he needed to simultaneously defend against the other, he chose the second option. Sensing that the spellfire on his left was a bit more erratic than that on his right, he sprinted directly toward the leftmost pair. When he had closed to within ten feet of them, he quickly veered hard left, while spinning to unleash a rapid stream of weak, but wide-angled petrificus totalus spells. Quinn and his shield both dropped to the ground, leaving Mary-Jo, standing alone, undefended in the midst of casting her offensive spells. Her disillusionment charm fell as she scrambled to muster a shield against Harry's onslaught, but he was too fast for her.

Jaws clenched, eyes blazing, she roared, "Oh sh... !!" and dropped to her knees, frozen.

Harry spun around as his shield nearly splintered. The last two students were charging straight toward him, no shields of their own, opting instead for a veritable fireworks of every legal hex or spell in the book. Crouched barely above the ground, shocked by the dazzling array of rapid fire spells, Harry flung every ounce of his power into his shield, took a deep breath to try to find a balanced shield power that would still permit him to unleash some offensive spells of his own when...

Chapter 12. All Slytherins Great and Small    (September 10, 1997)

... a loud whistle sounded.

Harry, Jennifer and Ryan ceased their spells. All three stood, out of breath, perspiring profusely, glaring at each other; Harry less than ten feet from the two students. The crowd was so silent, so utterly overwhelmed by the dramatic ending, that one could practically hear a single sweat droplet splatter onto the rocky set.

With a face still frozen from the intensity of the combat, Harry took a step toward Ryan. And then another. Ryan instinctively took a step backward, stumbling a bit as he did so... but escape proved futile: in an instant Harry had him in a bear hug, grinning wildly. After several vigorous, enthusiastic shakes, Harry released him and turned toward Jennifer. "Down boy!" she shouted, raising her hands defensively, shaking her head and grinning nervously. Harry laughed.

Fred and George hooted from the sidelines, and the crowd exploded into a raucous burst so loud that it interrupted Snape all the way down in the dungeons. Ryan and Jennifer, still looking a bit stunned, stood to acknowledge the applause for a couple minutes as Harry went around to revive the other students, directing everyone toward the hilltop where the battle had concluded. When he had collected the last of them, he raised a hand to request quiet. He looked down at Flitwick who instinctively sensed Harry's question. Flitwick nodded. Harry smiled. "Draw!" he shouted, and the crowd roared again.

After another few moments of cheering, Harry again signaled for attention.

"This may have looked like good entertainment to you," Harry said, "but first and foremost it was education. It's an opportunity for spectators and participants alike to learn, and I hope each of you has come away with some ideas of what it might be like to be a single fugitive being hunted down by a group, or to be part of a team whose role it is to subdue a lone fugitive."

Harry took a quick look at the clock. "For a variety of reasons, I'm going to have to declare that the public portion of the event is complete. I would ask that everyone who is registered for the AHA please join us on this hillside until the bell sounds. If anyone else has any questions about what you saw here today, or about the HA in general, please don't hesitate to drop by my office later."

Professor Caldwell assembled his class and began leading them out. The various other non-AHA attendees also left. Harry surveyed the group. "Remus, Tonks,... Professor Flitwick, you are all welcome to stay."

When the last of those departing had cleared past the door, Harry closed it again and did a quick survey of the remaining people to verify registration. Remus, Tonks and Flitwick briefly glowed red, but he waved his hand to convey that everything was fine. "Okay, a huge thanks to Sarah, Nick, Jennifer, Ryan, Quinn, Jack and Mary-Jo for working with Ginny to put this together. I think almost everyone in the room has questions about things that they observed but might not be able to explain. I would like to take instructor's prerogative and ask the first question. What in the world is the 'M' in 'M C2'?"

The students looked at each other a little nervously. Ryan and Mary-Jo exchanged glances. Ryan nodded, the Mary-Jo pulled the sleeve of her shirt up about an inch to reveal, not a wristwatch, but rather a watch-band on which was mounted a small mirror.

The twins eyes bugged out and they moved to get a closer look.

"This something that my uncle and I invented this summer." Mary-Jo explained. "It's a small magical mirror that we used in the exercise today for surveillance. If I angle the mirror in one direction and tap it..." she demonstrated by pointing it toward Harry's face and then walking around to show it to various of the others, "it continues to show the same directional view, regardless of where I go. We used it to observe Harry's location and action even when all of us were out of sight-line. By being able to lock onto his precise location, we could precisely target him with our spells and not risk exposing ourselves by moving out from cover. It works great until your target moves, at which point you have to briefly expose yourselves in order to reset. In order to minimize the chances of getting hit during our moments of exposure, we opted to try to confuse Harry by all dashing out at the exact same time."

Harry and Flitwick both grinned broadly at the concept. Fred and George were bouncing on their heels in their eagerness to corner the Slytherin girl about this impressive bit of charm work. Hermione chewed on the downy end of her quill, nodding thoughtfully.

Terry Boot raised his hand. "Errr, can the students please discuss in a little detail their rationalization for spell selection? Seemed a bit... strange, some of the hexes you used."

Quinn fielded this one. "Almost nobody's shields are effective against all different spells at the same time. We mixed it up from time to time to distract Harry. I think I'm right in guessing, Harry, that we snuck a few annoying but nondebilitating spells through your shields from time to time?"

Harry nodded. He raised the leg of his track suit to reveal a large patch than looked like sunburn.

Jennifer raised her hand then whispered something to Harry. He nodded gravely.

"Jennifer is willing to elaborate on this question," Harry told the group, "but she's going to say something that is very sensitive and potentially dangerous. I know that you are all contractually obliged to secrecy and would find it exceedingly difficult to repeat anything of our discussion to a non-HA member. You are not forbidden to discuss it with other HA members outside of our meetings, but for this and anything else of interest that you learn here, I strongly request that you use every precaution to ensure that you are not overheard. Please use double obfuscation, like a silencing charm on top of muffliato! Okay, go ahead, Jennifer."

"We stumbled across something strange in our training." Jennifer began. "We were working on an exercise to try to cast a barrage of spells as fast as possible. Toward the end of the session Ryan and Nick were clowning around and Ryan... well Ryan has always had the fastest spell casting rate... anyway, Ryan was hurling hexes at Nick's shield, then all of a sudden Ryan starts mixing stupid spells into the barrage — everything from wacky transfigurations to alohamora and wingardium leviosa. And Nick's shield collapses. Before Ryan realized what had happened, Nick is flat on his bum with an ear the shape of a pancake and long green toenails poking out his shoes."

"Nick has the strongest shield in the group." Mary-Jo interjected.

"Anyway, we kind of ran with the idea." Jennifer continued, "Ryan and I mostly, but all of us have tried it a bit. Within the group, either Ryan or I working alone can bring down anyone else's shield in less than two minutes. Working as a pair, we can bring down anyone's shield in fifteen to twenty seconds. Well, anyone we'd tried it on before today anyway."

"You nearly broke through mine." Harry admitted. "I had to throw every ounce of power into restabilizing it, and when the whistle blew I still couldn't generate any offense."

"Harry has the strongest shield at Hogwarts!" Ginny blurted. "Well, except maybe for Dumbledore."

Remus shook his head. "Dumbledore has hundreds of powerful spells the rest of us could never dream of attempting, but his shield is no stronger than Harry's."

"I agree." piped up Professor Flitwick. "The only shield I know of that was definitely stronger than Harry's was Gellert Grindelwald's. But that was completely different magic. And that spell remains a complete secret — Gellert is not talking magic with anyone these days, friend or foe. But, back to the case at hand, what we're suggesting is that a pair of sixth year students might be able to break almost any personal shield charm on the planet?" He shook his head in astonishment.

"Err, sixth and fifth year." Ryan clarified.

"Sixth year." Flitwick repeated with a conspiratorial wink. "Professor Potter is not the only faculty member with the foresight to consider academic acceleration."

"The important caveat," Jennifer resumed, "is that it doesn't work well against two superimposed shields... like someone under simultaneous protego and contego."

"Utterly fascinating!" Flitwick exclaimed, cradling chin in his hand.

"Utterly fascinating..." Ginny parroted unconsciously. Didn't the Fugos have some section about shield signatures and resonance?

Hermione had her hand up.

"Okay, next question." Harry acceded, "Hermione?"

"We weren't able to see the full disillusionment effect from the audience. Can I ask the seven students..." Hermione began, "or hunters if you prefer, to cast the disillusionment charm and walk around for a little while so that I can see how effective it is?"

The students nodded and, over the course of a few seconds they all vanished. Hermione scanned the area with a frown. The charms were well cast: if a student stood in one place for too long, the trained eye could make out a vague distortion. If they moved around on a rough surface, one might be able to track their motions by sound or by watching for small disturbances in gravel or grass, but in general the ground surface was simple, solid and wasn't affected by people walking around on it. The combined effect was that the students were very nearly untrackable to the average person. Hermione cast a hominem revelio spell which produced a shimmering effect around any student who stood still, but the effect dissipated as soon as they walked around.

Hermione frowned as the students began reappearing again. "Okay, Harry, spill!" she demanded. "How did you see them? Your spells were nearly as accurate as I'd expect from someone who could see the targets perfectly."

"I sense them." Harry admitted. "It's an ability I... well... it just started coming to me last year. I started to realize that I could sense magical signatures around me. Once I figured that out, I put in a lot of practice until the point, now, when it's basically a sixth sense, just as good as the first five."

Hermione was staring at him incredulously. "This is something that you discovered by accident and started practicing?"

"Yes, basically."

"What about your wand?" Hermione asked, not bothering to raise her hand, and ignoring several other students who had raised theirs. "I haven't seen old Holly and Phoenix all morning?"

It was an astute question. Given the intense action and an overwhelming number of details competing for sensory attention, many in the room had not even noticed that Harry had performed the whole competition wandlessly.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Yes, to be honest I do almost all of my magic wandlessly and nonverbally these days."

"Me too," Ginny interjected. "It's not so difficult once you get used to it."

A buzz ran through the crowd. Hermione stared from one to the other and back again as if there were slugs coming out of their ears.

"Another couple quick questions," Harry announced, "and then I have to get changed for class."

Harry's two core courses that morning went well. His sixth year class was entertaining as always, filled with thoughtful and unanticipated questions about the morning's exhibition. The discussion had given him a chance to re-emphasize some points he considered to be very important: the fact that it was much easier to perform simple low- to mid-power spells in rapid succession than high powered ones like everbero, reductor, or any of the unforgivables. He had also managed to twist an old cliché by saying that the best offense makes a passable defense: specifically, that if one is adept at rapid casting of wide-angled offensive spells, they can actually defensively deflect hostile spells that would have to compete for the same space in order to reach you.

The seventh year class was perfectly tolerable as well, and although their questions didn't always lead in the most creative directions, Harry filled the time by replaying for them some of the discussions that he'd just had with his sixth years. Fresh off the excitement of the exhibition, neither Zabini nor Smith had been at all disruptive and had even appeared to be taking notes. Hermione had not subjected him to an endless series of distracting peripheral questions as she had in a couple of prior lectures. The only thing that somewhat bothered him was a strange sensation he'd experienced just a while before the noon bell: like someone was furtively trying to mess up the hair on the back of his head. Recalling the strange sensation in the headmaster's office, he realized that since school had started, he had now been experienced a feeling like that twice. He supposed it could be a strange and harmless tic, and decided to forget about it.

One other thing that had puzzled Harry was that despite the strange fuss yesterday afternoon, Draco Malfoy had not shown up for class. Whatever... He had tried to help the boy; he had believed that Draco might be salvageable. But there were other far more important issues that required his attention; he would have to put it aside. Harry slid several scrolls and his books into his pack, took a quick glance around the vacated classroom to ensure that nobody had forgotten anything, then made his way out the door.

He was surprised to find Pansy Parkinson waiting patiently for him. "Are you going to lunch... Harry?" she asked.

"I'd like to drop this in my office first," Harry said, holding his pack up, "but then, yes, I'm going down for a quick bite."

"Can I walk with you?" she asked.

"Sure. Is there something I can help you with?" Harry responded.

Pansy walked beside him for a while without responding. She was not looking at him either, but rather seemed to be formulating a response. Finally she turned to him. "Harry, did you ever wonder why a lot of people here used to hate you?"

Harry's dedication to occlumency training saved him from stopping and gawking at her. He held off any response until he was certain that he could come up with something both measured and truthful. Finally he responded. "Well I actually never really gave it much thought. If you walk around with the name 'Harry Potter' on your name plate, you learn to expect that people will react strongly, good and bad, for reasons that might seem unfathomable."

The response caught Pansy off guard. She stared at Harry. His shields were a little porous; he inadvertently let her see a little bit of... sadness, weariness. Unexpectedly, she reacted. For the first time in her life, she may actually have betrayed a bit of sympathy for the boy who lived.

Harry opened his office door, dropped the pack onto a nearby chair, then locked up again. "Lunch." he said simply.

They walked down the corridor and came to a stairwell. Pansy stopped. Harry noticed her hesitation and paused as well.

"People hated you when you first arrived here, because it was so obvious to us that you had all of these blatant advantages. You were famous, you had power coming out your ears, you almost certainly had lots of money even if you seemed to keep it hidden, always wearing pathetic clothes and all. But none of that could ever compare with the disgusting site of all the teachers fawning over you."

Harry was baffled as to where this conversation could possibly be headed. He had no idea what the sensible response could be, but after gritting his teeth for a moment to dissipate a bit of irritation, he couldn't resist calmly saying, "Your head of house has never exactly fawned over me, has he?"

"You know, we absolutely loved it when Professor Snape would push you around, because to us it was, like, wow — at least there's one teacher who isn't afraid to stick it to the snotty little Harry Potter."

"You'll forgive me, Pansy, if I tell you that I saw a lot of things differently." Harry said tonelessly. He started down the stairs. Pansy followed.

"Of course you would, Harry." she said. "And you know, after a while, some of us started to realize that it was possible you weren't completely wrong. Daffy, Blasé, and some of the younger kids took a chance on you last year, and they all came back singing your praises... "

Harry stopped, half way down the flight, and gave her a quizzical expression. "Daffy? Blasé?"

Pansy smirked. "Daphne. Blaise. We have lots of nicknames. You should hear what people call you down in the dungeons."

"No I shouldn't!" Harry grinned. He clasped hands over his ears.

Pansy grabbed one of his wrists and jerked it away from his head. "Okay, I'll spare you, if you quit interrupting!" She recomposed herself. "Anyway, they kept singing your praises even if it meant really getting kicked around badly in Slytherin because of it. People pulled so many crass pranks on them the first few months that I started to feel bad. I was a prefect, you know. I was supposed to keep the peace, be someone that people could come to if they needed help. So, I cornered a few of them one day in the library and I practically begged them to drop HA. I said it didn't matter if they were learning good stuff and enjoying it, I didn't want decent people getting eaten alive in my house because they were too stubborn to ditch something so unpopular with the rest of Slytherin House. And you know what happens? Daff... Daphne sticks her finger in my face and says that since she joined HA, she walks tall and all the people from other Hogwarts houses finally respect her. She told me that the moment anyone else in the DA gives her flak about being a Slytherin, Harry Potter puts them in their place."

Harry and Pansy had made it down to the Entrance Hall, but instead of going in for lunch, Harry continued to walk out to the steps outside where he took a seat despite the light drizzle.

"I went to tease Daphne a little. I asked her if the boy who lived had the hots for her. She blushed and mumbled something, but then Blaise got huffy and told me that you stuck up for him too and that there was no way in hell that you had the hots for him. So I shook my head and walked away, giving them both up for lost causes. I tried working on some of the younger kids, but they weren't getting nearly as much guff from housemates, so they basically told me to stick it. And by Christmas, the only person in the dungeons who was still trying to persecute any Slytherin HA's was Draco. Er, well, not counting Crabbe and Goyle, but they're morons."

"I'm glad to hear that nobody had to put up with nonsense for too long." Harry told her. "I never wanted to create a schism in your house — I wanted to heal the divisions in Hogwarts."

"I know." Pansy said softly. "Part of me started to understand that some time ago, but it was countered by the other side of me that still thought of you as a manipulative pratt who was somehow going to ruin our lives."

Both of them sat silently, gazing off into the misty grounds.

"I made up my mind this morning. I knew you mentored people, treated them fairly, brought the best out in them and all, but I never... ever... thought I'd ever see Harry Potter hug a Slytherin kid. Especially not one who nearly whipped your tail."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I just had this sudden surge of pride and I sort of let emotion get the better of me. Kind of bad form for student-teacher objectivity."

Pansy grinned back. "Not if you're a Slytherin!"

They sat in silence for a while longer. Harry turned to her again. "So Pansy, you're not starving yourself out of lunch just because you wanted to tell me I'm not a complete arse, are you?"

"Actually no, I guess this was all really a prelude for what I really wanted to talk about." Pansy mused. "Harry, I come from a tough family. We're not death eaters... well, not that I know of anyway, but I don't hear a whole lot of tolerance around the dinner table for people like you and the so-called blood traitors. They can tolerate me being a student in your class because it's a core course and all. They don't like it, and I'm sure I'll be expected to tell Dad what an incompetent braggart you are when I go home, but they won't disown me. However; if I do something ridiculous like try to join HA, they will disown me. And somebody — not a family member, but perhaps one of our charming family friends — may well try to kill me."

Harry shook his head. "I know HA is a bit controversial, that's why I never actively recruit. It's one announcement at start of term, and then nothing but grapevine. If someone wants to join of their own accord for honest reasons, then I don't generally turn them away, but honestly Pansy, if joining the HA would endanger your life, then I would be honour bound to try my best to dissuade you from signing up," he protested. "The HA is supposed to be about keeping people safe, not about getting them disowned or killed."

"You actually believe that, don't you?"

"Err, well that was the stated goal of the HA. It's what I try to teach toward."

"Here's what I say." Pansy held up her hands demonstratively. "If someone polled HA members on the question, 'What is the main reason why you participate in the HA?', I'd say maybe 25-30%," she alternately waggled two or three fingers, "would agree with you that they're doing this to learn how to protect themselves. Another 40-45%," this time she waved four fingers, with a wavering thumb, "would say that they're doing it because they want to prepare to fight to defeat He-who-must-not-be-named, and most of the rest would say it's because they would follow Harry Potter to the ends of the Earth."

"I think that's a little cynical." Harry said, resting his chin in his hands.

"I think you're endearingly deluded." Pansy shot back.

Harry shrugged. "Well, we can agree to disagree. But there's one thing I'd like to know: why are we having this conversation?"

"I want to join the HA, stupid! You haven't figured that out yet?"

"You're nuts! You walk me down here, insult me six ways to Sunday, give perfectly logical reasons why you should stay out of the DA, then you tell me you want to join??"

"How very astute of you, Harry. This has to be the most idiotic idea I've had in all my time at Hogwarts."

"Why do you want to join?"

"I'm scared."

"Are you saying that you would jeopardize your life to join the HA so that you can learn how to protect yourself?" Harry asked with a twisted smile.

"You're the one who called me nuts!" Pansy grinned back at him. "No, it's not that simple. I'm scared of a world where little kids and mums and dads get tortured and killed just because they're... uh, different. Besides, I saw death eaters all the time when I was growing up — it took me a while to figure this out, but these are really not the sort of people I want to see ruling the world. If nobody stands up and stops them now, then for all we know that's precisely who's going to be calling the shots. And on top of all that I... well after this morning, I..." She swallowed hard and shook her head. "Umm, well, yeah I wouldn't mind learning to protect myself."

Harry gave her a puzzled glance, but then settled back into contemplation for a while. "Well maybe there might be some way to get you some special training, and give you an opportunity to make important contributions without exposing you to danger from home."

"Yes, I'd thought of that, but I'm not sure if I would just want to skulk around incognito while others are out there working together, sharing risks, building fellowship."

"Well put. I'm going to say one thing, and I don't want you to interpret it as coercion, just simple statement of fact." Harry turned to look her in the eye. "If you joined the HA, I fully realize that you might severely strain things with your family and some of your friends, but as compensation you would be gaining a big new family. It's a crazy family with lots of diverse opinions and styles, but it truly is a family and it would give you a network of friends who would stick up for you in the toughest spots imaginable."

"I know Harry. That was on obvious display this morning."

"Don't rush to a decision. Take time to think about it. Talk to Blaise, Daphne, Mary-Jo, Ryan. On second thought, maybe not Ryan — he can be just a touch overbearing at times." Harry said, winking at her.

Something about that wink. Pansy stared at Harry for a minute and then shuddered. "Damn it!" she muttered.

"Sorry, is there a problem?"

"Daffy warned us all last year... She's in the middle of a fierce debate in our common room and she says, 'listen girls, you can hate Harry all you want, but if you sit and talk to him for a while... and especially if he flashes those eyes — you will be stuck like a fly on honey.'" Pansy grumbled something inaudible, rose to her feet and started walking away. "I'd better let you go get lunch before some little redhead hexes me half way to hell."

"Err, Pansy... " Harry mumbled, standing up.

"Bring your HA contract to class on Friday." she said without looking back. "I'll sign and we'll work out details later." She disappeared into the Entrance Hall and down the steps toward the dungeons. Apparently she had lost her appetite.

So had Harry.

On one hand Harry was floored by, and in a sense quite appreciative of, the candor that his long-time adversary had just afforded him. On the other hand, the thought that Pansy Parkinson might be attracted to him... Was that what she had been implying? That thought was at the very least a little unsettling. He preferred not to think of it as repulsive, but it was undeniably unwelcome.

He started walking, not toward the Great Hall for lunch, but rather downwards across the grounds toward the front gates. As he walked, the confusion sorted itself out. He realized that he felt truly sorry for Pansy, who ultimately seemed to have a good heart beneath all the crass abrasiveness. He felt regret for all those years of low-grade hostility that he and his friends had waged with her. Part of him wondered if they could have reached out to her long ago? Would that have made any difference?

There was no point in exercising that line of speculation, he decided. For all he knew, as a friend of his, she might have already ended up in a coffin, and he still couldn't establish much comfort with the idea of her joining the HA. That was an issue for which he would greatly value his favorite sounding board. But that was not the only reason he really, really wanted to see Ginny right now.

For some reason that he could not fully understand, being on the receiving end of unwanted female attention made him pine for his girlfriend. Maybe it was because the easiest things for him to notice about any other female he ever encountered were the ways in which they were not like Ginny.

Fortunately, he had remembered that Ginny would not be at lunch: she was supposedly somewhere up in the hills north of the lake, with Snape of all people, looking for some kind of plant for the portkey project. She had told him she could handle this on her own and that she would drop by his office sometime in mid-afternoon. Yes, she could handle this on her own, and he supposed that things would go better with Snape if he, Harry, left her alone, but... oh why not... just a single hug, smile and pleasant word to get things back on track. He felt decidedly off-kilter; there was no point in letting himself remain at loose ends all afternoon when the cure was so simple.

He passed through the gate and paused in front of a large pillar that would block him from the site of any Hogwarts windows. He had just barely transformed into his owl animagus form when he received a welcome, friendly voice in his head.

"Owl Harry needs to find his Ginny?" said the voice.

"Hedwig!" Harry's thoughts cried out happily in response. "Yes, yes, would you like to come help me?"

"I have seen your Ginny a while ago. I am right above you, Owl Harry — look up!"

Harry pulled back on his primaries and swept upwards at a steep angle, quickly catching site of the snow white owl against the grey sky. Hedwig circled twice waiting for Harry and then set off at a fast pace straight over the lake. It would have taken Harry well over half an hour to walk the long way around over rough terrain, but in only a few minutes of flying, Harry could already make out Ginny's green jumper, standing out against the dark grey of the wet stones. She was alone... Snapeless.

Hedwig cried out her piercing mewl, "Eeiiiihhh! Eeiiiihhh!" Ginny, recognizing the sound instantly, stood up and began scanning the sky. When Hedwig called again, Ginny spotted the two of them and waved. Harry flew in to land on Ginny's outstretched and very damp arm, while Hedwig made a turn overhead, cried again in farewell and went off again to resume her hunt.

"Well, hello you!" Ginny said with a bright smile, made all the more beautiful by delicate sparkle of light mist on her eyebrows and lashes.

Harry gently nibbled her thumb with his beak, then beat his wings just enough to alight and transform back to human form. His eyes glowed with longing affection; his mouth formed a shy smile for a very brief moment before he swept her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. She felt her feet leave the ground as his embrace carried her firmly upwards. Moaning, her basket fell to the side as her hands clasped his neck.

After several minutes Harry lowered her gently and straightened up. Ginny pulled her head back enough to gaze, a little dazedly, up to his face. With wide eyes and a puzzled smile, she asked, "What's up Harry? Good news? Bad news? Did something happen?"

Harry beheld her affectionately for a moment then shook his head. "No, nothing much. Just an inexplicably urgent need to hug you."

Ginny laughed softly. A few water droplets shook from her hair and tracked down her cheeks. "Well thank you, mi encantador caballero!" she exclaimed, mimicking Salvatore. "But there's something else... I can clearly sense that there's something you want to talk to me about?"

"Ha! You know me too well!" Harry laughed. "Yes, but it's minor — we can talk about it this evening."

"Give me the quick rundown right now so I have something to think about while I utterly fail to find this stupid plant."

"Hey!" Harry interjected. "Snape was supposed to be out here helping you look. What happened to him?"

"Slimy git stood me up!" Ginny grumbled. She picked up her empty basket. "Royal waste of an hour this has been!"

"Don't worry about it." Harry responded, squeezing her hand. "At least it's good fresh air and a character building exercise. Do you want me to track down the sniveller when I go back?"

"Thanks but don't bother. I have other things to do, so I wasn't going to spend any more than another 20 minutes searching anyway."

"Would you like some company?"

"No Harry. You're going to tell me what's on your mind and then you're finally going to get yourself some lunch!"

"Err, how did you know I missed lunch?" Harry wondered.

"It's either that or you have an angry manticore in your stomach." Ginny smirked.

A sharp hunger pang chose that moment to stab through Harry's midsection, making him flinch. "Ouch, you're right!"

"I'll be fine here." Ginny told him. "So dish the news and then apparate back and find Dobby."

"Okay," Harry concurred. "So, the fifty word abstract is that Pansy Parkinson wants to join HA despite the fact that her family will disown her and death eaters may kill her to set an example. I need to decide whether or not to let her, and if I do, then do I establish special conditions to try to protect her?"

Ginny stared at him. "Why does she want to join?"

Harry scratched his chin, gazing out over the lake. "It wasn't completely clear. She's obviously been engaged in some introspection and is still trying to work out what she wants to do and who she wants to be, but it sounds like the terror attacks from the last year have shaken her and she's lost her faith in her family's friends."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. "And she sat down to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, suddenly realized that she was smitten by you, and that knocked you off balance badly enough that you had to rush out here and hug me?"

Harry gawked at her. "Errr... yes?"

Ginny laughed and gave him a half hug. "Don't worry Harry! The fact that you dropped everything to fly here on an empty stomach and bask in this beautiful drizzle is all the reassurance I need!" She held his face in both hands, kissed him firmly, then took a step back. "We do need to do something for Pansy. We need to think it through carefully, so we'll talk about it more tonight. Now, go, go, go! Eat! Eat! Eat!"

Harry shook his head, chuckling. "Yes Molly!"

She scowled at him, then grinned. He gave a smiling half-bow and apparated to the same pillar he'd flown away from earlier at the Hogwarts front gates. He strode quickly past the Entrance Hall, glancing briefly toward the Great Hall to confirm that it had indeed gone into it's post-meal quiet phase. Making his way quickly up several flights of stairs in the way to his office, he was suddenly startled by the sound of a bit of a commotion below him: rapid footsteps, the squeaks of trainers racing over the polished stone floor, frantic voices of two girls echoing up the stairwell. Harry stopped and strained to listen.

"That filthy swine, I can't believe he... " came the angrier of the two voices, but she was cut off by the other, more frantic voice.

"Bloody Merlin, I had nothing to do with this crap! Oh, what's he going to think?? I sat and distracted him for twenty... "

The indistinct voices trailed off, signifying to Harry that the girls had likely raced through the Entrance Hall and out into the grounds. Puzzled and faintly disturbed, Harry resumed the climb to his fifth floor office. Just as he was about to make the turn into the corridor he froze, registering the distinct... and distinctly agitated... aura of a person he was not in the mood to deal with right now. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and walked through the archway and came face to face with...

Ginny?

Not Ginny!

Not-Ginny spun to face him, brown eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, red hair flashing vibrantly in the dim light. "Finally!" shrieked Not-Ginny. "Where the bloody hell have you been, Potter?? We need to get out of here now! Now! Are you deaf?!"

"Why?" Harry asked in a tone as bland as he could muster. "Where do we need to get to in such a hurry?"

"Your house!" hissed Not-Ginny, with a tense, plaintive face that would have been extraordinarily pretty if it was not at the same time completely repugnant. "We need to get to your house now! I'll explain when we get there."

"My house, huh?" Harry mused wryly. This day had started off wonderfully, but everything seemed determined to go to hell in a handbasket. He shook his head and, with a voice whose calmly authoritative tone belied a stomach tied in confused knots, said, "Accio Draco's wand."

A residual smile had remained on the face of the real Ginny for nearly four minutes after Harry's surprise visit. Then the sky overhead rumbled menacingly and a half dozen cold, fat bullet-like droplets on her head signalled to her that the cheery September Highland drizzle was about to turn nasty.

A forceful puff from her lips failed to dislodge the lock of hair that was now plastered to her forehead. She rolled her eyes. "Sod this stupid Phyllanthus niruri!" she swore, kicking a cobble hard enough to really wish that she hadn't. She took a deep breath to compose herself, then apparated to the Hogwarts gates... where she nearly jolted two very edgy girls right off their feet.

"Merlin!" Pansy swore as she stumbled into the pillar.

"A common mistake." Ginny told her. "The name is actually Ginny Weasley. I'm shorter, beardless... my hair is redder."

Daphne stifled a snicker as she recovered her footing.

"Daffy, we don't know this is really Ginny!" Pansy hissed.

"If you believe I really am Merlin, then I have some fresh, high quality seventh century Phyllanthus niruri that you might like to purchase." Ginny said, waving her empty basket at Pansy.

"Shut up, you're confusing me!" Pansy snapped.

"Oh, I believe it's you, Ginny." Daphne said. "Is that really what Snape sent you out to look for? Phyllanthus niruri?"

"Daffy, you don't know Draco the way I do!" Pansy pleaded. "We need to make absolutely certain that she's real. What does Ginny do or know that nobody else does?"

"Yes." Ginny said. Both Slytherin girls paused, trying to sort out whom Ginny was responding to. Ginny recognized the confusion and turned to Daphne. "Yes, Daphne, he really sent me to look for Phyllanthus niruri... and then he stood me up. Why do you ask?"

Daphne stared at Ginny for a moment with a puzzled expression. "Phyllanthus niruri is strictly a tropical plant, Ginny. You won't find any within thousands of miles."

"Why that slimy pustule!!" Ginny seethed.

"Bat bogey hex!" Pansy exclaimed.

"Ooh! Good thinking Pansy!" Ginny enthused, her eyes sparking to life. But then she shook her head in disappointment. "No, I can't hex a teacher — I might get sacked."

"No, no," Pansy clarified, "bat bogey hex is the signature Ginny Weasley spell. Prove that you can do it!"

Ginny put her basket down so that she could raise both both hands to her sodden and increasingly aching head. "Will somebody please tell me what the hell Pansy Parkinson is talking about?!"

"Not until you prove you can do the spell!" Pansy snapped.

"Do the spell?" Ginny shook her head. "Pansy, in order for me to do the bat bogey hex, I need some bogey-ridden wretch that I happen to be really mad at." She swept her hand in a broad arc about the dreary scene. "Anybody fitting that description is apparently not stupid enough to be standing outside in the middle of a raging thunderstorm chatting about tropical plants and juvenile prank hexes."

"Just do it on me and get it over with!" Pansy remained insistent, but something told Ginny that she was beginning to deflate.

"I'm not mad at you, Pansy."

"Well, what if I told you I put the make on your boyfriend? There! Mad now??" Pansy gritted her teeth and braced herself.

"No, not really." Ginny shrugged.

Thunder crashed again, Pansy flinched, but nothing happened. "No?" She appeared confused. "Daffy, is this really Ginny?"

"Yes Parksy, but apparently she's not mad enough at either of us to do the hex."

Ginny sighed in exasperation. "Here," she held out a handkerchief to Pansy, "blow your nose and throw this on the ground."

Pansy's face registered deep confusion, but she unthinkingly raised the cloth to her nose, emitted a loud, wet honk, and let the handkerchief fall to the flagstone.

Ginny scowled at the discard with bitter loathing. "Slime-haired, Foul-mouthed, Fleebag of an INEPT, CORRUPT, ODIOUS AND SMELLY PROFESSOR!!" she spat, and the handkerchief erupted into a tormented writhing mass of pin-clawed, spine-winged balls of magically magnified mucus, shredding through the cloth and escaping malignantly into the rainy air.

Ginny took a deep cleansing breath. "Okay girls, you got what you wanted; I got what I wanted. Are we all happy now?"

Pansy stood transfixed in horror, unconsciously clutching her nose. "M'appy." she whimpered.

"Too cool!" Daphne gushed, taking a moment to admire the mucosal chaos. Then she shook herself and grabbed Ginny's arm. "Ginny, you're safe?! Draco polyjuiced you and we still don't know what he's scheming. C'mon, we've got to find Harry!"

Draco had made one flailing attempt to grapple for his wand as it zipped out of his pocket and glided smoothly into Harry's hand, but after that he had mostly just given up. He had turned to run, but Harry had calmly said "Stop!" and Draco had stopped. There really didn't seem to be much spirit left to the boy these days; Draco had limply permitted Harry to steer him into the office and sit him down onto the chesterfield. Harry had applied a leg locking spell, just in case, but there was no obvious sign that it was even necessary.

Harry was not happy. He was not enraged, he was not ranting, he was not threatening Draco or physically abusing him in any way, but he was very far from pleased. The most applicable term would have been 'sickened'. To see someone whose outward appearance was that of Ginny Weasley but whose interior housed the cowardly, whiny, inconsequential person of Draco Malfoy made Harry truly, physically want to vomit. But he'd now gone so long without eating that nothing would have come up anyway. So he tried to concentrate on the most pressing concern: was there any threat to Ginny in this ridiculously half-cocked scheme that Draco had seemingly initiated?

Amidst his angst, Harry chuckled at the ridiculous irony: the bizarre conversation with Pansy now seemed like a perfect blessing. It had driven him to make an impromptu trip out to see Ginny, which gave him the welcome reassurance that at the very least she had been perfectly fine a mere ten minutes ago. Hopefully she would be stopping by his office in another ten or fifteen minutes, at which time he could lay his mind at ease. Mostly at ease, anyway.

As he paced back and forth in front of the immobilized Malfoy, Harry was struck by a second irony. As of this morning, he was now obliged to honor his students request that he let them tether him down with a communicating amulet of some sort. It would have been extremely useful to have something like that wrapped around his wrist at this very moment: if he had the means to contact them instantly right now, he would happily have enlisted someone to guard Draco, which would leave him free to check on Ginny again. And for all he knew, maybe his students would have better luck extracting some useful information from Draco.

Information — that was another dilemma. Harry was certain that he could readily find out everything he needed from Draco right here and now. He didn't care what kind of occlumency training Bellatrix might have put the boy through, Harry knew that he could blast down Draco's barriers easily. However, for a professor to use legilimency on a student — even one who'd been caught red-handed pulling a polyjuice stunt — seemed morally unjustifiable. Never mind that both Snape and Dumbledore had pulled precisely that little immorality on him several times: Harry was not about to stoop to their level.

Harry stopped his pacing and leaned in toward Draco's face. "Did you do anything to hurt Ginny? Did any of your friends do anything to target Ginny?" Harry stared at Draco long enough to gauge whether there was anything to be read from his facial expression. Unfortunately, Draco was now beginning to transform back into himself and the resulting androgynous visage was patently revolting. If anything, it was even more disgusting to see him like this than when he still looked almost exactly like Ginny.

"Alpha beta gamma delta epsilon zeta eta..." Draco responded, droning on in an infinite loop. His voice was starting to lurch irregularly between Ginny's soothing alto and Draco's own nasal tenor — a jarring dissonance that was not helping Harry's mood.

"Okay, okay, be quiet please Alphabet-boy." Harry growled. "I'm going to turn you over to you head of house. You have a choice: either you can consent to a full body bind which would leave me free to go summon Snape myself, or else you can wait with me ten or fifteen minutes until Ginny or someone else comes along."

"We wait..." Draco responded. "Phi chi psi omega alpha..."

Of course he would choose that. Obviously Draco didn't really want other people to see him in a pathetic, half-polyjuiced state. But at that moment, fate intervened: Harry heard footsteps; lots of them, sets coming simultaneously from both ends of the corridor. He closed his eyes and sensed some rather indelicate emotions: sinking fear on one end, mixed with seething rage on the other. "Uh oh." Harry said to Draco with a grin. "I think we have company."

Three sets of dry shoes arrived near Harry's office door first, but stopped short of the threshold, while three squeaky sets of wet trainers confronted them. Harry heard a hissing intake of breath, followed by a voice he knew very well speaking in a tone he hoped to never hear directed toward himself.

"You... First..." came Ginny's low, steely seethe.

There was a moment's hesitation, then Severus Snape walked into the office looking a bit pale and disconcerted.

"After you, ladies." came Blaise's voice, sounding unusually serious and respectful.

A very soggy, but highly imperious, Ginny Weasley strode into the office, flanked by a stern looking Daphne Greengrass, and a slightly queasy Pansy Parkinson. Ginny approached to within five feet of Snape, who was standing nervously in the center of the office. She gestured toward the sofa where Draco was sitting in a state of utter bewilderment. "Over there!" she ordered, and Snape complied. Harry retreated behind his desk to make room for Blaise and Ryan as they too entered, wands still trained on their head of house.

Harry relaxed into his chair and surveyed the group. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I suppose you're all wondering why we're gathered here today..." he said with a wry smile. "I know I am. Would anyone care to enlighten us all as to what's going on?"

"This filthy..." began Ginny, hissing at Snape.

"That whiny ferret boy..." began Blaise at the same time, pointing at Draco. Blaise glanced at Ginny. "Okay, ladies first."

"No," interjected Harry. "Ginny, if you don't mind, let's first hear what Blaise has to say?"

Ginny nodded, but shot Snape a scathing look for good measure.

Blaise nodded. "Thanks Harry, Ginny. Let me back up a little. I had just raced through lunch because I needed to start a transfiguration essay for this afternoon's class... oh... heh heh... I guess that's shot now isn't it?" he shrugged and gave a sheepish smile.

"I'll talk to Professor McGonagall." Harry offered. "Please continue."

"Anyway," Blaise continued, "I was racing down the steps to the dungeon, when Ryan comes barreling up yelling..."

"Yelling that we need to find Harry and Ginny." Ryan interrupted. "I was coming out of the Slytherin common room when I spotted what I thought was Ginny coming out of the dungeon level men's loo. She... he... was acting strangely though, so I started to approach, asking if she... it... needed help, and this person looked at me, panicked, and dashed off down a dark corridor, dropping a book bag. I stopped quickly to look at the bag and it was labeled 'Property of Draco Malfoy'. That raised my suspicions, so I ran down the dark corridor, but found it completely empty. I'd heard rumors about there being a secret passageway down there, but I don't know how to locate it, so I figured the next best plan would be to raise the alarm. I was going to check table five to see if Harry and Ginny were there, or barring that, to see if I could grab some others to help me do a sweep of the castle."

"So I skidded Ryan to a halt," Blaise resumed, "and he said he just saw somebody suspicious in the dungeons who looked like Ginny. I said it couldn't be Ginny because I'd just spoken with Lucia Blevins — she's our fifth year prefect — who said that she'd seen Ginny at the front entrance at a quarter to twelve and Ginny had asked her if she could tell... Snape..." Blaise paused just long enough to emphasize that, present company notwithstanding, he was not going to waste any breath with the 'professor' title, then resumed, "that she had left to go lakeside a bit early and would see him out there. And Ryan says..."

"Just before seeing Draco, I'd walked past Snape's office and he was in there, shoes kicked off, feet by the fire in his office, enjoying a good book." Ryan explained. "No way he was headed anywhere."

Snape leered at them and opened his mouth, but a searing glance from Ginny silenced him.

"Anyway," Ryan continued, "while we were shouting about all that, Daphne had come over to join us and says..."

"Daphne says, 'Wow, something is really f... er, flobberwormed up here!'" Daphne cut in. "I'd just gone past the Entrance Hall a while before and noticed that Parksy seemed to have Harry glued to the front steps in intense, unParksylike conversation. My thought at the time had been — diversionary tactic??"

"I'm innocent, Harry, I swear!" Pansy pleaded. "It was a complete coincidence! I..."

"Yes, that seemed to have been a red herring," Blaise admitted, "but at the time it looked like another piece of a conspiracy. Anyway, we were a bit at loose ends, but credit Jenkins with yelling directions at us." Blaise nodded deferentially toward the younger student. "He went off to tackle Snape, he told Daphne to get answers out of Pansy and, if successful, go find Ginny. My job was to track you down, Harry, and meet at Snape's lab. I failed to find you, so I ended up at Snape's lab empty handed, where we eventually decided to escort him up here to camp out near your office." Blaise smiled at Daphne. "Meanwhile, it looks like our female contingent succeeded in their task."

"Admirable job of crisis management." Harry said enthusiastically. "Now I was wondering if we might hear a little from our less admirable, and somewhat subdued guests. Draco, you impersonated a Hogwarts employee and attempted to coerce a faculty member to leave school grounds under false pretenses. Those are fairly serious offenses. Professor Snape, you deliberately misled a school employee, and there are allegations that you did so in order to facilitate Draco's scheme. Do either of you have anything to say in your own defense?"

"Alpha beta gamma delta..."

"Be quiet Draco, you stupid pathetic child!" Snape snarled. "This is a ridiculous farce, Potter. I am here only to release Draco, and have no intention of answering any of these idiotic paranoid delusions."

Ryan stepped forward. "Professor Potter, you should know that in an undisclosed location in this castle I am storing a collection of six, and soon to be seven, scrolls that document unethical behavior on the part of our head of house. Affidavits swearing to twenty eight, soon to be twenty nine, allegations of misconduct have been signed, each by a minimum of three witnesses. There are a fair number of students in Slytherin House who are weary of Professor Snape's irresponsible, self-centered and damaging leadership. In the face of his arrogant and dismissive response to your question, I would like to seek your advice on how to pursue the termination of his house leadership position. Impeachment, if you will."

Snape shot up like a catapult. "You obnoxious little snot! I'll..."

"Shut up Snivellus!"

Everyone in the room, even the largely confined Draco, lurched to identify the source of the outburst: a tremulous Pansy Parkinson standing in back of the office, near the window.

Snape looked stung. "Excuse me Miss Parkinson, but what did you...?"

"I told you to shut up, you embarrassing excuse for an educator." Pansy said in a quavering voice. "If Ryan doesn't file a complaint to the headmaster, I will!"

"Miss Parkinson," Snape began, suddenly taken to a bit of shuddering of his own, "there are no valid grounds on which to base any complaint. I..."

"In the hall yesterday evening, I heard you say to Draco... and I quote, 'I'll have red out of the castle tomorrow at lunch; you take pots to the cleaners.'" Pansy interrupted. "At the time I didn't stop to question this very strange statement, but I suddenly find myself very morbidly curious. Would you care to explain?"

"I meant... ummm..."

"See?! This is all his idea!" Draco yelled, pointing a trembling hand at Snape. "He made me do it!"

"Six stinking years of this tripe!" Pansy shrieked. "I am so bloody sick of being on the wrong side of everything, you immoral piece of maggot-infested dung!" She ripped a porcelain lamp holder from the wall and whipped it at Snape. He sidestepped quickly and winced as it shattered in the fireplace. Snape was suddenly more sallow than Harry could ever recall having seen before; Draco looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

"Professor Snape," Harry said levelly, "you have indicated an unwillingness to answer our questions, so we no longer require your presence. If any of those here decide to pursue action against you, then you will be notified by the Headmaster. I strongly caution you not to retaliate against any student who may file a complaint against you. Any attempt to intimidate any witness or complainant is, by faculty code, grounds for probable dismissal. In the meantime, unless you have any apologies to offer, you are free to go."

"Draco's coming with me," Snape muttered.

"Draco," Harry said, turning his attention to the trembling blond boy, "you'll serve detention with Professor Sprout in Greenhouse Three on both Friday and Saturday evenings." Harry flicked his fingers to release the leg-locking spell. "You are free to leave either on your own or in the company of Professor Snape."

Snape scowled at Draco. Draco glowered at the floor, and the two disgraced Slytherins skulked out together.

The office went silent as everyone listened to the receding footsteps. Once the noises had turned the corner to the stairwell, Harry turned his attention to the group. "Thank you everyone for all that you did to rescue Ginny and me from... well, whatever it was that you saved us from. Regardless, everybody here took a stand in support of mature, responsible behavior and against the sort of petty vendettas that have been plaguing this place for years. Thanks!" Harry then focused his gaze on Ginny, with a contrite smile. "Ginny, I'm sorry that I cut you off earlier. I just had a hunch that you and I were the two people in the room least likely to make headway with Snape."

"You think so, Harry?" Ginny, said with a wink. "I might just hold my tongue next time too, if that's what it takes to see Snape wilt under a little Slytherin scorching."

The others laughed, although Harry's mirth was tempered by an unbidden sense of pity. Harry regarded Snape as a wizard of highly questionable morals, but simultaneously of extraordinary bravery. Harry knew full well that in walking the fine line of divided loyalties between death eaters and the Order of Phoenix, the potions master had almost certainly risked either death or a possible Azkaban sentence numerous times before but had somehow managed to soldier on toward whatever end he was driving at. And yet, when confronted by criticism from his Slytherin students, he had unraveled like a pathetic coward. Why? Was the approval of his students really so critical to his self-esteem? Did he think that all these years of blatant favoritism to Slytherins was really doing them a grand favor? That they should show undying gratitude? If so, Severus Snape was sadly misguided. Pitiable.

Harry and Ginny had both been increasingly convinced that the dungeons were awakening. All signs pointed increasingly to Slytherin students who were beginning to realize what sort of damage their deranged housemaster had inflicted on them. There was no greater evidence for this than one student standing nervously right before Harry's eyes. "Pansy?" he asked.

Pansy had been hovering on the edge of the conversation, looking like she wanted nothing more than to escape unnoticed. "Yes?" she responded quietly.

"Ginny and I briefly chatted about your interest in joining the HA, and about the dangers you especially might encounter if you joined."

Pansy nodded.

As he spoke, Harry's face held a soft smile, but it was edged with vague traces of regretful grimace. "Well, you kind of grabbed the quaffle on that one, didn't you?"

Pansy gave him a puzzled look.

"Well, you stormed around school trying to set things aright, then you told off Snape in front of Draco. Everyone who's still in the room right now is honour-bound to try to keep your actions a secret to protect you from retaliation, but the word's going to get out. If there's any chance you might get in trouble with your family or their friends, I'd say you could really use a strong, loyal support network. Instinct is telling me that, at this point you'll be in greater danger if you don't join the HA than if you do." Harry's expression brightened again. "At least in this group, you'll have lots of very dedicated, very competent people watching your back."

"You bet!" Ryan said, stepping toward Pansy with his hand extended. "Welcome aboard, Parks!" Pansy accepted his hand tentatively.

"We'll look out for you in the dungeon." Daphne cheered. "We're taking over Slytherin-- we're going to clean house and make it a righteous institution to be proud of! This time you're going to be on the right side, Parksy!"

"Lots of fine people in Slytherin House." Ginny pronounced. "Get rid of Snape, and the world may finally get to know some more of them."

"Lots of fine people in Slytherin," Harry echoed, "though I think the very finest might be right here in this room. Except for Mary-Jo, that is."

"Right!" Ginny exclaimed. "Not like her to miss a good party. Anybody seen Mary-Jo?"

"Right here?" came Mary-Jo's confused voice at the door. She gazed around at the unusual assembly. "Err, did I miss a notice of some sort? Somebody call a meeting of... uh... Slytherins?"

"It's a long story." Harry said.

"A three butterbeer epic at least." Daphne smirked.

"Ewww..." Mary-Jo said, making a face. "Please don't talk to me about butterbeers. Ginny, I just got done with a long, um... business lunch... at the Three Broomsticks with your nut-case brothers."

"Oh no! Fred and George!" Ginny burst out laughing. "I saw them leering at your wrist this morning. I've never before seen their eyes get so bugged out over that particular part of the female anatomy — I should have warned you!"

"Oh, that's okay. We had a long chat about the surveillance mirrors and they have some great ideas to expedite production and potentially improve them. I'll keep you updated on that. But I wanted to check with Harry on something?"

"Sure!" Harry said. "What's up?"

"Well, first things first, they seemed to think I needed to eat like a Weasley and kept ordering more food." Mary-Jo explained, holding up a cardboard box with three red broomsticks painted on the top. "Could I offer you an untouched order of Ploughman's Lunch, Harry? Your stomach started making plaintive comments as soon as I said the words 'Three Broomsticks'."

Harry chuckled, and accepted the proffered box without hesitation.

"Secondly," Mary-Jo began, "when Messrs. Weasley ambushed me in the Entrance Hall, they insisted we all go to Hogsmeade where we could speak privately. I told them that students aren't permitted to just leave school like that, and pointed out Filch who was skulking around the door. So one of them, George maybe, pulls out a parchment; he walks up to Filch, waves it in his face and says," Mary-Jo shifted her tone to a remarkable affectation of the pompous Percy-imitation that the twins often employed. "We have urgent need to escort Miss Clark to Hogsmeade. Special signed dispensation from Professor Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Special signed dispensation, Harry?" Mary-Jo inquired with raised eyebrow.

Harry shook his head, muttering, "Knowing them, they were probably flashing an inventory list at him. What did Filch do?"

"He just said, 'Whatever.' and waved us through." Mary-Jo confided.

"This is an outrage!" Blaise spouted. "Jenkins, are you getting all this down for your 'Harry Potter: corruption, abuse of privileges and other immoral crimes' case file?" he demanded, unsuccessfully trying to hide his grin.

"Er, no, sorry." Ryan deadpanned. "I seem to have forgotten my quill."

Chapter 13. Property of the...   (September 11-13, 1997)

Ginny wore a bright smile as she took a seat at the table in a quiet, out-of-the-way corner of the library. The smile was a bit of an artifice, but few people would have recognized it as anything other than the face of a cheery person greeting a good friend.

The lone occupant of the table jumped, and quickly piled a couple of spare parchments over the book she had been reading, as she looked up into the face of her one-time close friend. "Hi Ginny!" Hermione said nervously. "What brings you here?"

"Pestering you, of course!" Ginny said, with her eyes sparkling as she pulled up a chair. "So what's our favorite Head Girl reading this morning?"

Hermione frowned. "Me? I'm not reading. I... uh... was just looking things up in a... um... book."

"Oh okay." Ginny nodded, diplomatically accepting the questionable distinction. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a little while? Would this be a good time?"

"Err, Madam Pince... ?" Hermione wondered nervously.

Ginny waved her fingers. "Silencing charm. Will that work?"

Hermione's frown deepened. "Okay, well, what is it that you want?"

"I was hoping to feel you out on a project, Hermione. This is big; something operationally quite important and very secret, and I need help."

Hermione fidgeted, pushing her stack of books and papers a bit further down the table, but said nothing.

Ginny resumed, saying, "Dumbledore recommended three people who should be able, and may hopefully be willing, to help. You were on the list. Do you think you might be interested?"

"Who else did he suggest?" Hermione asked, her forehead now deeply creased.

"Snape was top of the list." Ginny muttered. Her smile vanished momentarily. "That didn't exactly work out. "

"Oh dear," Hermione winced, "maybe I might have heard a rumor about... about how that didn't exactly work out. Something about him pulling some trick on you, and now his house is rebelling and preparing an impeachment petition?"

Ginny laughed. "Oh, well I don't think his little prank on me had any bearing on the petition — I think that's a separate issue. But who knows, honestly? He's been working so diligently these days to disgrace himself that it's hard to keep track. Ouch!" She flinched and shook her hand. She had been unconsciously squeezing the leg of her chair a bit to dissipate excess energy and it had started to smoulder.

Hermione cast a wary glance downwards as Ginny repaired the damage.

"Anyway, yes, Professor Snape decided that it would be quite funny to make a tiny error... oh, to the tune of several thousand miles... in directing me toward a given potions ingredient, falsely promise to meet me there, and get Draco to polyjuice himself into me in my absence. Such a mature and decorous place to work, isn't it?''

Hermione goggled at her.

"Anyway," Ginny smiled warmly, "that's all neither here nor there. Back to the project — I'm looking for a responsible and competent research assistant. Any chance you might be interested in hearing technical details?"

"Who else did Dumbledore recommend?" Hermione persisted. "I don't mean to be pedantic, but I'm trying to figure out what skill set he was looking for."

"Someone by the name of Horace Slughorn; Snape's predecessor here at Hogwarts? Supposedly a friendly sort, but he's left no forwarding address."

"So you're definitely looking for someone with potions experience." Hermione surmised.

Ginny nodded. "Quite correct. So, would you like to hear more?"

Hermione sat silently with an expressionless face for some time. No answer, either favorable or negative appeared imminent, so Ginny gambled on offering some inducements. "I realize that this might be challenging and could take a bit of time.. I will also admit that there is some time pressure at stake: we would hope to see some results in a couple of weeks. If you were to consider it, then your professors would be notified and would be asked by Dumbledore to afford you special latitude in completing your assignments. There would also be perks, the biggest of which would be a possible special service commendation and award that would be added to your transcript. Oh, and in case you might need it, you would receive this." Ginny pulled a small scroll from her robes, which she unfurled to reveal the following note:

To Madam Pince and all other Hogwarts Faculty and Staff,

The bearer of this note, ________________, is hereby accorded full privileges to examine all books, articles and other material present with the main Hogwarts Library, including full access to the Restricted Section. This stated access is granted starting from September 7, 1997, and will extend for an indefinite period up until the point at which the headmaster presents a signed notice indicating that access is no longer required.

This access is granted to the bearer in accordance with fulfillment of special services for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Questions regarding the accorded privileges and the associated special services should be directed to the following responsible parties:

Ginevra Molly Weasley, project coordinator
Harry James Potter, faculty supervisor

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster

As she examined the permission form, Hermione's eyes went wide. After reading through and rereading it carefully, Hermione recomposed her face, put the parchment down, stared at the table for a moment then met Ginny's eyes. "Okay, what do you want?" she asked.

Ginny smiled. "In order for me to tell you, I'll need to get your signature on a magical non-disclosure contract. It's a simple contract and the spell only prevents the signer from discussing any details for the project. Nothing sneaky. It won't cause a major dermatitis breakout." She winked as she handed the contract to Hermione.

Hermione studied the words carefully, and then ran her wand up and down the parchment several times. Finally, she retrieved her own quill and ink from her bag, inked the quill and poised it immediately above the contract, fixing Ginny with a hard stare.

Ginny met Hermione's stare impassively. She didn't know for certain whether Hermione would sign, and she wasn't even positive she wanted Hermione to sign, but she knew that any attempt at trying to work with Snape would lead to somebody's bodily harm, and she suspected that recruiting Slughorn would incur worrisome delays, so it all came down to this. Harry had maintained an open mind with respect to Hermione, so she too would give the girl a chance.

The quill twitched uncertainly one last time, then Hermione signed.

Without looking to verify the signature, Ginny moved the parchment over to the side to dry and looked Hermione in the eye with grave seriousness. "Here's the deal. For lack of a better phrase, we're calling it a drinkable portkey," she said. "The death eaters have managed to develop some novel way of transporting themselves. This transport is not blocked by either anti-portkey or anti-apparation wards. The accio portkey command does nothing."

"So they can come and go at will, wherever they want?" Hermione asked.

"To the extent that we're aware, yes," Ginny admitted. "I suspect that some of the strongest wards still keep them out, but that's just a hunch. Either way, the capability has given them a significant tactical advantage and has already enabled dozens, perhaps more than a hundred, of them to escape capture over recent months. We need to figure out how they do it, so that we can find an effective countermeasure."

Hermione looked away and sat in thought for a couple minutes. "Why us?" she finally asked. "Why isn't the Order or the Ministry doing anything?"

"The Ministry is in complete turmoil. It's possible that unspeakables are aware of the problem, possibly are even trying to do something about it, but if they are I doubt that anyone higher up is sanctioning the work," Ginny stated. "And the Order is just not into research. Last year they stretched themselves to the limit fighting death eaters, got their back against the wall, barely even sustaining a reactionary capacity. They're too afraid of getting caught off guard again to try anything new. Besides, there's barely a dozen of them total, and they don't have anyone with a strong portions background other than Snape."

Hermione tapped the table distractedly. "Is any aspect of this research illegal?"

"As you well know," Ginny began, determinedly keeping her demeanor sweeter than usual, even at the risk of annoying Hermione (which she doubtlessly was), "It would be illegal to manufacture and distribute a portkey, but we're stringently avoiding that route. Our main goal will be development of a novel ward, and as long as a ward is geared toward non-debilitative defense, there are no existing Ministry restrictions barring such research. But, I have to warn you Hermione..." she looked Hermione in the eye, but the older girl turned away. Ginny gave a slight shrug and continued, "I have to warn you that according to my father, the Ministry is doing whatever it can to subvert all of our most fair and even-handed laws. All kinds of sensible things that are legal today may become illegal before the end of the calendar year. For example..." Ginny once again stared fixedly into Hermione's eyes, and captured them this time. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "If SHP tries to protect muggle-borns, which of course is a key unstated goal of ours, then all of a sudden people like Dolores Umbridge may see to it that we're branded something like a terrorist organization. For that matter, it may even become a crime to simply be a muggle-born."

Ginny's conscience reared up momentarily. She wondered if she had overplayed her hand; if she was being just a little too manipulative in phrasing it this way. She had watched the tension build in Hermione's face as her words had spun themselves into those last several sentences. But then a series of recollections flashed through Ginny's mind: flickering images of facial expressions and snatches of old conversations from the past year. What Ginny's own memories and impressions told her was was clear: Hermione was embittered, jaded, suspicious and somewhat fragile, but buried under all of that baggage were still all the basic ingredients of a courageous and immensely skilled soldier of good. Ginny suddenly suspected that even if Hermione had not been told that she herself was in danger of becoming part of a victimized demographic, the girl was still desperately looking for some way to find her way back to the exciting and virtuous adventures of old. I am manipulating Hermione into rediscovering Hermione, Ginny thought to herself. She smiled inadvertently.

Hermione glimpsed Ginny's smile out of the corner of her eye, and her mouth twitched reflexively. She cleared her throat. "Well," she said, as Ginny met her gaze, "it's not like you've given me a great deal to work from, but I will try to help."

Ginny beamed at her appreciatively. "Great!!" she exclaimed. Her planning thus far had all been geared toward getting to this point, so she needed a moment to shift gears and start thinking further ahead. "So where to work start?" she mused. "Good question. Since nobody seems to have a really solid hypothesis on the real nature of this magic yet, would it be fair to ask you to brainstorm?" She paused again. "I might be able to give you a bit more insight, but until the discussion starts in earnest I'm not sure what I can offer. Without any warning or explanation, I was personally subjected to this particular magic; I kind of had other things on my mind at the time so I can't rattle off a thousand word essay on what it felt like, but if you have specific questions then perhaps I can remember relevant details about the experience that might help. If it is a potion, then it would have to have tasted quite, well, innocuous. It was probably present in a spiked glass of pumpkin juice that I drank, and I never suspected a thing. I've spent enough of my life in the kitchen with Mum, so I'd like to think I'm not oblivious to contamination. Anyway, I also didn't feel anything unusual afterward until... whoosh! I was suddenly abducted by portkey. The portkey transit felt perfectly ordinary... you know, portkeyish. I can't think of what else to say right now, but perhaps if you come up with any questions that might help discriminate the potion I may be able to remember something helpful."

Ginny paused in her thoughts. Hermione stared blankly off toward a wall of books. A very familiar set of footsteps drew near.

"Good morning!" Harry said brightly as be approached the two girls. Ginny beamed her response sunnily. Hermione looked up, a bit startled.

"Sorry to interrupt," Harry continued. "I'm just running a quick message to Ginny. Dumbledore is in the castle today and would like to meet us this afternoon. Are you free at two o'clock?"

Ginny thought to herself. She didn't have anything else scheduled that afternoon at all; the only question was whether or not this would be enough time to prepare her thoughts on some of the things they would need to discuss. She shrugged. "Yes, I guess that would be fine."

"Great — I'll tell Karypis that he can schedule us." Harry responded. He chose not to elaborate to Hermione that Karypis was a Hogwarts house elf, but instead turned to the Head Girl with a sociable smile. "How's the term going Hermione? Are you enjoying your classes?"

Hermione was in the middle of a generic favorable response when she saw Harry suddenly stiffen and look around. "What is it, Harry?" she interrupted herself, with an air of concern in her voice.

"Sorry," Harry answered, "it's just that I suddenly realized that we have some unwanted company. Let's get back to this conversation some other time."

Hermione gave him a penetrating look. Harry noticed the glance, opened his mouth for a moment but then closed it again. He picked up Hermione's quill, borrowed a corner of a piece of scrap parchment that had been lying on the table. In his spidery script he wrote 'Someone disillusioned two stacks over. Can't hear us but can see. Near enough to read lips?'.

Hermione gave a quick glance at the parchment. Her mouth formed the shape of the letter 'O', while a long-absent glint appeared in her eyes. Adventure!

It was starting to feel almost like a ritual: Harry and Ginny ascended the final flight of steps to the seventh floor atrium, hand-in-hand in a state of contemplative, mild apprehension. What they now knew was so much more definitive, concrete and potentially explosive than the last time they had met the headmaster. And for better or for worse, they had decided last Sunday evening that they would no longer withhold from him anything relevant to defeating Voldemort. Their resolve in that respect had been anchored by Salvatore's confidence in Dumbledore. Despite their lingering doubts about the headmaster's integrity, it was clearly a ringing endorsement to have had an exceptionally insightful and learned person advise them that nobody alive in the world today would know better how to handle horcruxes.

Harry and Ginny had spent a solid hour after lunch reviewing what they had come to know or suspect about horcruxes and how they should plan to answer various questions about the issues that might be broached in discussions with Dumbledore. They were ready to tell him about their visit with the Fugos and discuss the various bits of insight that the ancient mystics had been able to provide. The piece of information that they were least enthusiastic in volunteering at this point was the conclusion that Harry himself was probably a horcrux, but they doubted that this particularly unpleasant issue could be hidden much longer. They had even agreed that Dumbledore might already have deduced this on his own: if he had devoted some solid analytical thought to the situation, there was plenty of evidence that Riddle had probably contaminated Harry's soul, with the key point being the history of telepathic exchange between the two adversaries.

The headmaster was perennially inscrutable, but Harry and Ginny had nonetheless tried to anticipate the sort of inferences that the crafty old wizard might make. What would he think if they told him that they had visited the Fugos? Such a visit should not directly imply an interest in horcruxes, since that was clearly not their expertise, but would much more likely imply questions about Harry's magical essence — a topic definitely more in line with the Fugos' expertise. What sort of question? Probably something relating to an anomaly. What sort of anomaly? The most likely questions would relate either to the interaction between Harry's and Ginny's magical essences (Dumbledore was aware that there was some sort of magical coupling going on between, but had only displayed modest interest in this so far) or to something more perilous... such as an embedded foreign soul fragment. It was all a bit of a stretch, but they had decided that if Dumbledore knew they had visited the Fugos, it would quite possibly lead him to assume that analysis of Harry's essence had produced the horcrux discovery. If that was to be the case, then they might as well be prepared to tell him outright.

The final question in their deliberations was to wonder what might Dumbledore do with the knowledge that Harry was probably a living, breathing Riddle horcrux? It worried them that Tremelda's very rudimentary knowledge of horcruxes had led her to the rote conclusion that destruction of a horcrux required destruction of the vessel... i.e., Harry. Hopefully Dumbledore, who was the foremost expert on this magic, would side with Salvatore's more nuanced belief that the horcrux could be cleansed from Harry by somehow exploiting Riddle's deeply nascent humanity. Or maybe he would have some entirely different and equally benign strategy? Maybe he would trust that Harry and Ginny themselves were starting to formulate the glimmering prospects of a plan on their own? They could only hope.

With all those thoughts swirling in his mind, Harry distractedly spoke the pass phrase, "Root canal" to the gargoyle.

When he and Ginny reached the top of the steps, the office door was already open and Dumbledore had risen to greet them. He looked tense and expectant. He completely skipped the normal pleasantries, and proceeded directly to what was on his mind, saying, "Harry, Ginny, thank you for coming," he said. "The last time you were here, you brought to me that very interesting and disturbing relic..." he pointed over toward the cabinet in which sat the magical containment box housing the Ravenclaw diadem. "I could not possibly assume that you would walk away from here and give no thought to what we have here. Have you learned anything about the nature of such cursed objects?"

Both Harry and Ginny walked over to greet Fawkes before taking a seat, but in deference to the headmaster's agitation, Harry answered the question without hesitation. "Sir, as you are probably well aware already, the object is almost certainly a horcrux. We have evidence that the diadem is only one of several horcruxes that Riddle created. We have evidence of a minimum of five, but perhaps as many as seven."

"Five to seven horcruxes?!" Dumbledore gasped, sinking into his chair. Fawkes appeared started for an instant by the sudden motion, but then trilled soothingly for both Harry as the bearer of this distressing news and Dumbledore as the shocked recipient.

"Yes." Harry confirmed as he and Ginny made their way toward the seats on front of the headmaster's desk. Harry was somewhat puzzled that the headmaster had not in any way questioned the veracity or basis of Harry's statement, or the basis for claiming the presence of multiple cursed items. He seemed to have accepted every shocking implication of this astonishing information without hesitation.

Dumbledore suddenly seemed very weary; his steepled hands covered much of his face while his index fingers massaged the dark cavities below his eyes. "What do you know about the identity and location of the objects housing the soul fragments?" he finally asked.

"From what we've been able to piece together," Harry responded, "one horcrux has already been destroyed?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, obviously. The Riddle diary." he stated baldly as Ginny took her seat next to Harry. In his state of stress, the headmaster had apparently discarded all the subtlety that he normally displayed around Ginny with respect to her first year ordeal. Fortunately, the news came as no surprise to her — at this point it was only final confirmation of what she had already grown to assume. She barely reacted: she stared at him with a firm, undaunted look in her eyes ready to prove to him that she was unfazed and didn't suffer old schoolgirl phobias. The headmaster, however, didn't even bother to look at her. His mind was clearly elsewhere.

Harry quietly and curiously observed the unspoken dynamic, but decided to continue. "The diadem is the second that we've counted. Riddle's snake Nagini is also almost certainly one."

Dumbledore gave a sharp intake of breath. "A living horcrux!" he exclaimed. "Intentional or not, I wonder?" he mused morbidly.

Harry had no basis to speculate, so he continued to answer the original question. "For some of the others, we aren't certain what the container is, but we know a little about their surroundings. One seems to be in a Gringotts vault: it must be held by one of the more wealthy families, since the horcrux is surrounded by opulent riches. Another seems to be in a small closet full of miscellaneous oddments and under guard by a very old house elf. The last one was perhaps in an old box with an ill-fitting lid."

"Nothing about an island... or a lake? Nothing about a basin filled with translucent fluid?"

Harry shook his head.

"Perhaps you are mistaken. Or I am mistaken..." The headmaster massaged his temples again in thought. Suddenly he sprang to life; his eyes locked onto Harry's. "A box, you said?" Dumbledore asked eagerly. "Where do I remember seeing a box? Can you provide any more details? How big was it"

Harry turned to Ginny, who frowned and closed her eyes for a moment. "The lighting was poor, and the only way I could see at all was because the lid was not tightly closed," she began, "but with that caveat I would estimate a box perhaps ten inches in length, and a bit smaller in both width and height."

"Tell me about the light," Dumbledore asked. "Lamplight, firelight or sunlight?"

"I would guess indirect, filtered light coming in from the outdoors. It may have had a greenish tinge to it, as if coming through leaves," Ginny offered. "Finally, I may be stretching quite a bit to say this, but I had the vague impression that that box was in an old dusty place."

"Fascinating... very fascinating! Dust, or soot?" Dumbledore asked.

"Dust or soot," Ginny agreed. "I wouldn't know which, but there seemed to be very fine flecks in the little crack of light breaking through beneath the lid of the box."

Dumbledore sprang to his feel, betraying an unusual level of agitation. "Ginny, Harry, thank you both very much for the information! I won't take up any more of your valuable time right now, but thank you again for your assistance!"

Harry blinked twice. "Er, we've come armed with more information than that. Is there anything else that we should be discussing with you about the horcruxes and...?"

"Yes, very much I'm sure!" Dumbledore interrupted, finally cracking a smile. "We will meet to discuss them soon, but right now I must shift my attention to some very pressing issues. Please rest assured that I am highly appreciative of your detailed information and I'm certain that it will help us immensely, but for the time being I may have to leave the castle again."

The headmaster burst to his feet, grabbed his traveling cloak and began to pull various items off shelves and put them into his pockets. Harry rose as well, scratching his head in mild disorientation as he thought of the many things he and Ginny had prepared to discuss with the headmaster. He had never imagined that they would find themselves getting chased out of the office after less than ten minutes.

After they had bid farewell to a Fawkes whose song almost seemed to share their surprise and confusion, Harry and Ginny silently descended the stairs and made their way to the main stairwell. As was their wont, they stopped on the landing half way down to sixth floor. Harry grasped Ginny's hands and pulled her close, peering soulfully into his girlfriend's puzzled eyes. He took a deep breath, in hopes that a bit of oxygen might help him better articulate his concerns. It failed; the most eloquent phrase that he was able to muster was, "Uh oh..."

Ginny nodded. The two teens quietly leaned their equally perplexed foreheads together.

Harry recognized a distinctly mischievous sparkle in Mary-Jo's eyes as his teaching assistant walked up to him after a very successful IHA session in which nearly half of his mid-skill students had managed to produce a corporeal patronus. She was flanked by her fellow teaching assistants Daphne, Jennifer and Jack, each of whom were trying to disguise smirks. Harry rolled his eyes, knowing full well what was coming next — oh well, the time had to happen sooner or later — at least it was going to happen when he was in a good mood.

"Professor Potter," Mary-Jo commenced with an air of artificial solemnity, "we are honored to present to you your very own... teacher tether." She pulled out a small cloth pouch and held it out to him. Jennifer giggled.

"Er, thanks," Harry responded and gave them an unconvincing smile. The students paused expectantly.

"Well open it, silly!" Daphne scolded.

"Oh, of course," Harry stammered. He didn't know what the big deal was, as they had agreed that Harry would wear the basic Weasley communications bracelet as a means for emergency communications back to the castle. Everyone in the HA knew what it looked like and how it worked... but, being a good sport, he nevertheless humored their request and pulled it out.

The students grinned at the surprised look on Harry's face. Someone had doctored the original design, rethreading the bracelet to mount a small version of Mary-Jo's surveillance mirror tool. "This is brilliant!" Harry exclaimed as he examined it closely. He pointed it toward Jennifer's grinning face and tested it out.

"You can thank Nick for that." Mary-Jo told him. "We decided that instead of rubbing your nose in a vat of inglorious failure, we would give you something that would emphasize to you what a privilege it is for you to lose to us."

"Well, thank you!" Harry beamed at them. "But, uh, would it be ungracious to remind you that I technically didn't lose to you?"

"Yes it would." Jennifer informed him with a glare that Harry couldn't quite take completely seriously.

"Okay, then I will mind my manners and instead just tell you how grateful I am for your thoughtfulness."

"That's better," Jennifer grinned.

"Anyway," Jack broke in, "we figured that however nice it would be to maintain a tactical advantage over our favorite sparring partner, it might be more important to give you that edge over our mutual enemies."

"Too true!" Harry agreed. "Hey, in your spare time do you think I could trouble you to make a second one of these? I'd be happy to pay for it."

Mary-Jo winked at him and pulled out a second identical pouch out of her pocket. She handed it to him, saying, "We thought you might ask for another. Don't worry about paying for it — you technically already have. The twins gave me a development budget which supposedly came out of money you'd already given them, so if you agree to test these bracelets, then in effect you're a sub-sub-contractor to yourself."

"Ah." Harry shrugged. "Okay, I'll take your word for it... but, I'd still like to thank you once again. Now, the most important question at this point is... what exactly happens when I activate the bracelet?"

The four students exchanged glances, and Mary-Jo shrugged and stepped forward, saying, "You're going to want to sit down and have this conversation with Ryan and Sarah because they're the masterminds on this, but I can unofficially tell you that there are four tether bracelets and four monitor bracelets. The tethers include the two you have, plus two others that are available to anyone else in the HA who might be going into a potentially compromising situation. As far as the monitors are concerned, Ryan and Sarah have volunteered to wear them at all times which is fine because they're both freaks of nature who barely need sleep." She paused to smile at Harry. "Some of us may get a little grumpy is we're hauled out of bed at an outrageous hour, but at least those two will have no problem running off without warning to bail you out the next time you fall off a cliff..."

"Hey! How did you...??" Harry stammered in astonishment.

Mary-Jo tut-tutted him and continued unabated. "The other two monitor bracelets will be circulated among the rest of our HPRT..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me that stands for 'Harry Potter Rescue Team'?"

Mary-Jo smirked. "Close. It's 'Harry Potter Response Team', to be exact. So, after Ryan and Sarah the rest of our HPRT consists of the four of us, plus Quinn, Nick, Blaise, Terry, Susan, Hannah, Neville and Luna. So we'll be trading off bracelets on a regular basis, but there will always be four people ready to respond if ever you, or someone else you or we deem important, gets into a sticky situation."

"Okay, we will do this you way..." Harry began. He paused to permit the students to form smug smiles. "But with certain stipulations." he added. The smiles dissipated.

"First, this is not about me — this is about a service that we're making available to anyone in the castle who might have a justifiable use for it. Thus, I would like to change the name to HART — Hogwarts Army Response Team. Is that okay?"

The students glanced at each other and shrugged. "I thought HPRT was cute," Jennifer began, "but we will accede to your deeper wisdom and experience, Professor Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes at the highly artificial gravitas in her tone, but continued in a more conciliatory manner. "Thank you, Jennifer. The only other stipulation that I can think of right now is that we all need to be very clear what 'respond' means," he stressed. "'Respond' means that when you get a signal, you go straight to Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, Flitwick or, as a last resort, Hagrid, and transfer a bracelet to them should they wish to portkey to the location of the signal. Is that understood?"

"We understand and promise to try to find one of them, Harry," Daphne responded. "In the event that we're unable to do so in a timely manner, we promise to act in a manner that is fully consistent with the examples of responsible initiative that you yourself have shown over the years."

"Oh great..." Harry groaned, suddenly far too aware what a loaded threat that was, and how little he could do about it. He made a mental note to think seriously about the preparations he might need to accelerate in their AHA training.

As the banter from Harry's ever-lively sixth year DADA class receded out into the hallways, he sat back and reflected how enthusiastically the class had responded to the topic of personal wards. It was not a particularly sexy subject and was barely covered in the NEWT exam, but the disturbing events of the past year had made everyone quite edgy, and the idea that a student could set up basic detection and occlusion protections for themselves, their family and their property was a revelation to many students. It was a sad testament to the poor state of magical defense education at Hogwarts that almost none of the students' parents had ever received training in wards. Although the spells that he was teaching them right now could be defeated by a skilled and determined dark wizard, the fact of the matter was that most death eaters had even weaker educational backgrounds than the average witch or wizard and would be easily thwarted by a lot of this magic. It distressed Harry to think about how many lives might have been saved if the school had started teaching the students basic material like this last year. He sighed deeply, and hoped for a brighter, safer future.

Shifting gears, he thought ahead to his seventh years. He wasn't thinking about disillusionment and revealing spells, the topic for the next three lectures. Instead he was contemplating the situations of two particular Slytherins who had both placed themselves in rather difficult positions: first there Pansy, who had blatantly defied her family and head of house in unexpected support of himself and Ginny; second there was Draco Malfoy who seemed determined to burn just about every bridge in his own personal universe. Harry wondered how they were holding up, and whether they would be in today's class?

The first to arrive were Neville, Hannah and Susan. Harry immediately beckoned them over. He didn't say anything, but instead lifted his right forearm to reveal Mary-Jo's communication bracelet. Susan laughed, and raised her own arm. "Yes, I'm on my first official Harry-duty," she said with a light giggle.

Harry smiled. "I don't know exactly how you got talked into participating, but I'm glad that you did. I was hoping that I could count on you three, plus Terry..." Terry Boot had just walked in and, seeing Harry glance at him, continued forward to join the conversation. "I was just saying, Terry," Harry continued, "that I was hoping the four of you could provide a sedate, measured balance to this whole response team thing. I'm thrilled by the others' enthusiasm level but you four were in the original DA and have seen... some consequences... of impetuous actions."

Neville nodded seriously.

"So... I have some well-formed opinions of my own, but I was wondering what you thought of the younger group?"

"Ryan and company?" Neville asked.

Harry nodded.

Neville paused for a moment. "They actually seem quite impressive, Harry. Imagine if you took the original DA but instead armed it with all the knowledge that you've been teaching us for the past year. I mean, you knew a lot as a fifth year, but almost everyone who took your courses last year now knows a lot more than you did when the first DA started. And it seems to me that Mary-Jo, Ryan, Quinn and Jennifer all seem to sponge up other defense knowledge. They certainly leave me in the dust, and we're a year ahead of all of them. Sarah, Nick and Jack aren't slouches either, and if you're asking for opinions on Daphne and Blaise, I'd say they've both grown up a tremendous amount in the last year."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I'd gathered a lot of that too. Here's the big issue though: when we started the DA we were serious and dedicated, but we did some pretty crazy things because we were naive. What do you think the chances are that these guys might mess up like that?"

Neville looked around at his three fellow seventh years for a moment. "Well," he began warily, "I think their bunch might have a bit more common sense than we did, and they think through their tactical strategies more carefully, but..."

"Yes?" Harry prompted.

"But I think if they spotted what they thought was a big opportunity to make a real difference, they'd be all over it in a flash. No matter the danger."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks guys."

As the rest of the class filed in, Harry observed as Pansy walked in a little stiffly, but with her head held high. Hermione still seemed a bit nervous in his presence, but she gave him a half-smile which was probably the warmest expression he'd seen from her in months. And last but not least, a distracted and uncomfortable Draco Malfoy did indeed make an appearance, albeit five minutes after the bell and it wasn't clear that he was really paying attention to Harry's lecture. Nonetheless, it was probably better than nothing.

Harry was accustomed, after most of his classes, to have a student or two approach his desk with questions or comments. The face that he found himself looking at as the clock tolled noon was a bit of a surprise though: Zabini. Blaise was holding his own in class, and was making very respectable progress in AHA, but he typically did not want to appear particularly studious to any of his fellow students. That was just not the image that he wanted to project, and standing in front of the teacher's desk after class was decidedly foreign territory for him. Perhaps it was for this reason that he expressed, quite clearly and audibly, exactly what he wanted to talk to Harry about. "Quidditch!" he proclaimed.

"Okay," Harry responded, "what about it?"

"Inter-house activity tomorrow morning," Blaise elaborated. "I was wondering if you might want to consider doing things a bit differently tomorrow?"

Harry regarded the Slytherin with puzzled eyes. "Well, to be honest, Ginny does the organizing for that, so maybe you should be having this conversation with her?"

"Er, well that's the thing," Blaise said. "Summerby and I were going to offer to take charge of organizing tomorrow so that Weasley could just focus on playing. There are supposed to be scouts from both Holyhead and Portree there tomorrow."

"Wha...??" Harry gaped.

"That's the rumor anyway. My cousin is in the marketing department for Falmouth Falcons and he tipped me off. He said that Falmouth would have sent someone too, by they're having a bit of upheaval right now with their scouts. Summerby has connections with the Portree club; I had a quiet little chat with him at supper to confirm the story. Anyway, I wanted to to talk to you first rather than her because I didn't want to get her all jangled and throw her off her game."

Harry was momentarily struck speechless — there hadn't been a professional scout at a Hogwarts game since Oliver Wood's last season, let alone two coming out for an inter-house scrimmage. "Wow!" he finally managed. "How did the word get out?"

Zabini shrugged. "Someone at last week's scrimmage must have known the right person to blab to. Red really put on a show during the game... and then especially after the match got out of reach. Anyway, the word from my cousin is that the scouts would be more interested in how she performs in realistic game-like conditions against competent players. They probably would have gotten a kick out of the stunt flying she did last weekend, but it would count more if she was facing some legitimate competition."

Harry frowned. "But that's not what these Saturday sessions are all about — these are supposed to be fun. And besides I doubt any more than five or six varsity-level players will show up anyway, now that house teams have been selected for the year. Most of the captains probably won't let their players participate — wouldn't want them to get hurt or potentially unveil their skills to the competition."

Blaise shook his head. "Don't underestimate the lure of scouts. If you give the go ahead, Summerby and I can easily arrange for thirteen varsity players to show up for an hour, regardless of what their captains say. If you count Weaslette, that would be two very solid teams who could put on a good show and give her some challenges."

"Umm..." Harry pondered nervously, "does everybody already know that there will be scouts in attendance?"

Zabini laughed. "Of course not, dummy! I've been hanging around you too much the past year and it's turned me into a paranoid psycho. As far as I know, there's nobody else at school who's been told except Dumbledore. He would have gotten owls from the clubs to clear the visit with him, but he's around so little these days that I doubt he's had the chance to tell anyone except maybe Hooch. But all told, if Summs and I were to buzz around the breakfast tables tomorrow morning, I'm sure we could get fill out two good teams in less than ten minutes. Most of them would drop everything at a moment's notice for a chance to get seen by the scouts, even if they knew that most of the attention would be on Weasley."

"Well, I appreciate the offer and am glad you've managed to keep it under wraps!" Harry told him. "I'll have to talk it over with Ginny first and then we can let you know. She and I have promised that there will be no more secrets if it's something that affects the other, so she's going to have to be tipped off, nerves or no. Anyway, I assume she'll want a little time to think it over — would it be okay if we give you an answer tomorrow morning before breakfast?"

Blaise nodded. "Sure. Summs and I will come out regardless, and maybe a few of the Gryffindorks. If you give the go-ahead, then we'll find some others."

As Ginny stirred in bed early the next morning, she found herself confronted with an overwhelming urge to kiss her sleeping boyfriend. Without him, she was certain that she would be a sleep-deprived wreck right now. Last night, after he had dutifully given her the life-jangling news about an impending visit today by professional quidditch scouts, she had become somewhat... agitated... as she sought to balance her idealistic notion that they needed to promote selfless fellowship among the students, versus the nagging thought that this might be her last, best chance to sustain a lifelong dream. Harry had spoken softly, telling her that he and all of their friends would respect her regardless of the decision, and that perhaps, with a little luck, it might be possible to pull off both: keep the students happily engaged and impress the scouts. That had helped a bit, but then of course he had cemented the deal with his gifted hands. Those fingers of his might be fearsome weapons, but they were also extraordinary tools of peace! After half an hour of those incredible hands wandering over her body, she had simply melted into relaxation and then sleep, enabling her to settle in and get the deep rest she needed in order to make the big decision. And so, as the early predawn glimmers touched their window, she had awoken with strength and resolution. She was not going to let the scouts' presence change their commitment to fun and fellowship; it was still much too important to bring all of the students together in inclusive camaraderie, and Ginny did not want that disrupted by turning the inter-house quidditch session into a personal talent showcase.

That was one big decision out of the way with! Now if she could only convince her lips to behave themselves long enough to let Harry have a little more sleep.

As fate would have it, the very moment when temptation grew too powerful to resist, Harry's eyes fluttered open. He grinned sleepily. "Something tells me I'm missing out on something fun!" he said, reaching out to find her hand and bring her close. As their mouths greeted each other, the Hungarian horntail figurine on the night stand lifted its head from underneath a wing, noted the activity underway in the bed, and dozed off again. Emerald, however, was not quite so easily diverted. She made her way purposefully into the room, hopped onto the bed and nosed her way into the middle of the affections until she had finally convinced somebody to feed her.

If Harry and Ginny might have felt a little short-changed in their morning affections, at least they couldn't fault Mother Nature. For the first time this school year, their run up to the high plateau above the castle was graced by perfect indigo predawn skies. Inspired by the glorious scenery, they trekked more than a mile further up the trail than their longest previous run and perfectly timed their climb to the top of a rocky outcrop to see a sparkling sunrise glistening over a distant branch of the Fiddich. Embracing each other tightly in the chilly morning breeze they stood transfixed, etching the panoramic masterpiece into their memories.

"We should be getting back now." Harry said softly as he stood behind Ginny, arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Not before we finish what we started earlier," Ginny told as she twisted around in his arms and raised her face to his. All thoughts of quidditch scouts, horcruxes and liquid portkeys drifted from her mind as her fingers crept up Harry's neck and into his exercise-moistened hair. However one odd notion did occur to her as the brisk Highland breeze braced her cheek. I wonder if anyone is hearing our music right now?

More than fifteen hundred miles to the south, two ancient lovers stood in the center of a high crown of white stone, watching the sun ascend above far peaks of the Middle Atlas range, listening, concentrating, projecting strength to their dear heldenhaften kinder of the north, willing them courage for the challenging days ahead.

A couple minutes into the opening quaffle-toss warmup, Harry had already figured out that the charmed quaffles were up to some mischief. When Ginny blew her whistle to signal that everyone was to descend and gather into their quaffle-selected teams, it had become immediately obvious that he was correct. All six of the current house team players had been sorted onto the brown team, while Ginny found herself on the white team surrounded by a one single third year player, three second-years, plus Jonathon. None of Ginny's teammates had even even attended house team tryouts, let alone been serious contenders. Purple and Grey, meanwhile, appeared to be comprised of evenly matched collections of mid-tier players.

There were five minutes allocated for the teams to get themselves organized, and Ginny wasted most of the first minute scratching her head, unsure of what to make of a team in which she was, for the first time in her life, the tallest player. By three inches! Then she buckled down, organized a huddle in which her pep talk prominently featured the phrases 'have fun' and 'nothing to lose', and closed by whispering strategic instructions to the sprogs.

As the teams met to shake hands, Blaise approached her with a quizzical look on his face. "Errrr, listen gorgeous, are you sure you don't want to make a manual adjustment or two to the lineups?" He took one last look up and down her lineup. "If you don't, then I have no idea what they're going to think," he said, pointing up into the stands at two small contingents of very professional looking people with scrolls, odd looking instruments and cameras.

"I honestly don't know what the quaffles were thinking," Ginny said in resignation. "They were charmed to evaluate talent and choose even matched teams. I'll have to study the spell later to see what might have gone wrong, but for the time being I don't want to interfere. Let's play for ten minutes and if you're completely thumping us and the kids are having a miserable time, then maybe we'll do a swap or two."

"Ha! Bloody Gryffindor! I knew you wouldn't cave to common sense," Blaise laughed as Ginny whistled them off. "Good luck, Red!"

Harry watched from the other end of the field and shrugged. Ginny would figure something out — he was sure of that. In the meantime, he was back in goal for the purple team; he owed them a decent effort and owed himself some fun recreation. Luna, playing on his team again, continued to impress him with her proficient quaffle handling and an erratic flying style that the opposing beaters found very distracting. She teamed up well, with Jack Trowers this time, and together the purple chasers were able to put fairly steady pressure on the grey keeper, translating to a handful of quick goals. Their aptitude was roughly compensated for by fairly poor purple beaters and after 25 minutes the score was knotted up at 40-40. That's when things started to fall apart. Both the grey chasers and the purple beaters seemed to lose focus at about the same time; after several dropped quaffles and a dangerous near collision, Harry called time-out.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?!" Harry demanded as he gathered both teams together. "We're fifty feet up in the air — if you don't start watching where you're going and thinking about what you're doing, someone could get seriously hurt!"

"Sir? Professor Potter, sir?" called one of the grey chasers — a third year Ravenclaw girl.

"Yes?"

"Umm... I love this chance to get out and play quidditch with everyone like this but... well... things look really nutty on the other side of the pitch and half of us are rubber-necking, trying to see what's going on. Do you suppose we could just call it a draw and go watch?"

Harry gave a brief glance toward the west end of the pitch where, indeed, lots of... strange activity... did indeed seem to be taking place. "Uh, okay. How many of you want to call a draw and go watch the white-brown game?"

Nearly every hand went up. Luna had been having a great time playing, but she shrugged.

The purples and greys flew over to the west stands and found seats within a middling crowd. Harry lagged back to survey the situation. After a couple minutes of observation, he began to fathom what Ginny was doing with her whites, and recognized how bizarre and effective it seemed to be. Armed with a little bit of perspective, he scanned the stands, looking for the scouting crews. Portree, he noted with disappointment, were nowhere to be seen — they had apparently already lost patience and packed it in. He did still see the contingent of Holyhead green, however, and he made his way over to join them.

Landing a few places over from the crew, one of the staffers, a woman in her late twenties taking notes via dicta-quill, spotted Harry and made her way over with the intention of politely asking him not to interfere with their work. "Sir, I'd like to ask you to..." she froze, her eyes suddenly locked onto Harry's scar.

"Yes?" Harry responded politely.

"Are you Mr. Harry Potter?" she asked breathlessly.

"Uh, yes," Harry admitted, unconsciously trying to sweep a bit of hair over his forehead.

"Mr. Potter, my name is Cerys Kendrick. We're with the Holyhead Harpies quidditch team."

Harry nodded.

"We received a tip last week about the quidditch skills of a young staff member here at Hogwarts named Ginevra Weasley," Cerys continued. "Our information suggests that... umm, well, is she your girlfriend?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh good! So, we're a bit, er, confused about what's going on here. Could you tell me a little about this quidditch club and what you and, er, they..." she gestured over toward the brown and white teams as they continued with their on-field capers, "are trying to accomplish?"

Harry laughed and began telling Cerys about the plan to hold an inter-house quidditch club to build fellowship and break down the high barriers to physical recreation that the Hogwarts house system had imposed. As Cerys urgently beckoned a couple of additional staff members over, Harry proceeded to discuss the way they had set up the game with soft bludgers and with team selections being made via charmed quaffles. He then briefly recounted last weekend's inaugural session in which Ginny had largely dominated the field and had been forced to dial back and goof around for the last half of the session in order to keep things fun. "I think," Harry concluded, "that the charmed quaffle must have decided that if Ginny could make such a mockery last week of supposedly well-balanced teams, the best recourse would be to team her with the youngest and most inexperienced players available and face them up against a team composed solely of varsity athletes."

"Aedd Howell," said a man with a camera, extending his non-camera hand to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I think I've figured out the strategy that the white team is using, but you know Miss Weasley better than I. Can you offer your interpretation?"

Harry gazed out over the pitch at the game in progress which, from Harry's muggle perspective, looked superficially like a football game in which one team was attempting to play a disciplined, position-oriented team style, while the others had devolved into toddler-like anarchy. This description, however, completely failed to justify the score: currently 130 in favor of the disciplined varsity browns to 100 for the anarchical little whites. Make that 110 — Jonathon Lyon had just snagged a deft pass from Ginny and poked another goal at point-blank range past a visibly flustered Ron.

Harry laughed again in spite of himself. "Well, I'm guessing that Ginny didn't see any plausible beaters... or a keeper... on the team she had to work with, so she opted..." Harry's smirk truly reflected admiration rather than denigration, "to play with six chasers." He raised his arm to point toward the pitch. "Those three..." Harry gestured toward Jonathon and two larger children, "are playing approximately according to conventional chaser configurations, while those two..." he pointed at the smaller second-years, "are flying under the action to track down quaffles that their teammates drop. Finally, Ginny herself is basically roving everywhere, wreaking havoc."

Everyone stopped to watch as Ginny intercepted a pass by Summerby intended for Stephanie, and dished it quickly to her third-year team-mate who bobbled it. The dropped quaffle fell past the outstretched hands of both of the small second-years, but somehow Ginny managed to plunge down through the scrum, grab the errant quaffle and fire it back up to Jonathon, who seemed to remain stubbornly glued almost to Ron's left elbow. He tucked it past the weary keeper, exasperated almost to tears, and made the score 130-120. Zabini, still playing with some fire, grabbed the quaffle and put on a burst of speed in an unsuccessful attempt to break through the swarm of little chasers who converged around him, blocking off all of his passing lanes. With no other options available to him, he pulled a nifty feint, dropping thirty feet in a stomach-wrenching maneuver, and earned himself an open line toward the undefended white goal. Racing down the field, he flipped the quaffle toward the nearest hoop... only to have a red blur on a Nimbus 2001 appear out of nowhere to deflect it away. Ginny plunged down to grab her own deflection and blasted back up the field in the hopes of creating one last opportunity to tie the score... but time expired.

Coming along behind her as she decelerated, Zabini extended his hand, ostensibly in a gesture of friendly sportsmanship. When she went to shake hands with him, however, he threw her into a playful headlock. That lasted all of two seconds before she shoved him back with an audible snarl. Madame Pomfrey, on her way down to find Harry, cast a momentarily wary glance toward the sky, but luckily Ginny was in a good mood. Her scowl vanished, she winked as she flew off. Blaise masked his relief by smirking and winking back. The healer rolled her eyes at the antics, but exhaled with slow deliberation, thankful that there wouldn't be any blood spilled on the pitch today.

Aedd had drifted down to the field to corner Ginny, while a couple other Holyhead staffers were busy scribbling notes and the remaining two engaged in close conversation. Harry spotted Madame Pomfrey coming down the hill and began gathering his gear together. He wandered over to Cerys. "I have to go prepare for a ten o'clock class," he told her. "If you plan to speak with Ginny take as long as you like. You can tell her it's fine if she needs to take the morning off."

As he picked up his broom and prepared to depart, Harry cast a rapid glance at the summary sheet Cerys had been working on. There were a lot of fine notations and numbers that he couldn't make out in the brief second available, but what he did see was:

NAME: Ginevra Molly Weasley
AGE: 16 yrs 1 mo (underage)
POSITION: chaser (seeker?)
FLYING: 5
SHOOTING: 3+?
PASSING: 5
FIELD AWARENESS: 5
QUID. ACUMEN: ???
LEADERSHIP: 4
SPORTSMANSHIP: 4+?

Hermione pushed back from her carrel and stared up toward the magnificent gothic window from which some fine early evening daylight was pouring down into the deep, book-lined recesses of the library. She blew strands of hair out of her eyes and let her head arch back. This was her life: Saturday; all alone; learning things.

It was a mixed bag.

She had suffered through this internal debate many times. Was it unhealthy to have such a thin social life? To not have any idea what to do with Saturday afternoons and evenings other than camp out in the library? Today was, after all, a beautiful day and, apart from her, there didn't appear to be a single soul in the place. But on the other hand, what else would she be doing? Some other year, she might have been off on some adventure with Harry and Ron, or else having a wonderfully cathartic conversation with the younger version of Ginny, whom she had mentored through some rough early years. But Harry, Ron and Ginny were all off, together, doing SHP stuff: supposedly cleaning, repairing and stocking their house of refuge. Hermione experienced a pang of regret; even dull-sounding labour like that might actually seem like a fun and healthy break from incessant schoolwork, especially if done cheerfully and with friends. It might especially have been a good excuse to spend more time with the person who was sort of her boyfriend. Yes, she and Ron had reconciled at King's Cross; they ate a fair number of meals together, and sometimes they snuggled in the common room late in the evening when she felt she had her lessons under control. And yes, they had worked closely together for two solid hours in the HA session this morning. Harry had scheduled a very interesting and useful course on magical emergency response and healing. Despite being a school employee with teaching accreditation to complement her healer certification, Madame Pomfrey very rarely spent time instructing student. She was actually quite good at it; the simple problem was that before Harry had approached, nobody had bothered to ask.

Hermione smiled. Yes, it had been fun to work together with Ron on the healer exercises. That was certainly one benefit to having a boyfriend; she knew it was immature of her, but it would have seemed a bit icky to play doctor with someone she didn't know. Unfortunately, although she was comfortable with Ron, the passion from last spring was still missing. He had changed a lot over the summer; he was no longer the clingy puppy she had known for so long — he was friendly enough when they were together, but he rarely actively sought her out. He didn't even try to copy her homework anymore. Maybe, if she honestly wanted to make this relationship work, she might have to start taking the initiative and seeking more opportunities where the two of them could get together, work together, play together. She had avidly hoped that Ron would become an active participant in SPEW, but for some reason he had never taken it seriously. She couldn't figure out what the relative attraction was with SHP? How could Ginny, his little sister, break through Ron's dense veneer of selfishness but she, his girlfriend could not? Maybe it was a convenient and fun way for him to make up for his asinine overprotectiveness of last year and at the same time spend quality time with his best friend. And maybe, just maybe, Hermione might have to join this SHP thing too.

On the other hand (so declared the Hermione voice of Hermione), this was the make-or-break year. If she got O's on all of her NEWTs, then surely she would be set for life. And furthermore, she thought as she ran her finger down the spines of a stack of advanced potions texts, a special service commendation from the headmaster would help too. Unfortunately, as she had been warned, this project was not proving to be an easy nut to crack. She had skimmed through dozens of references, and while potions conferred a tremendous variety of material transfigurations, there was no mention of material transport in any of them.

In a momentary flash of frustration, she shoved her pile of books, causing them to cascade over themselves onto the carrel table in a curious curved pattern of overlaid rectangles. Enough futility for today! Maybe these blasted drinkable portkeys would magically resolve themselves tomorrow after a good night's sleep.

Hermione checked her watch. At some point she should probably wander up to the common room to make sure that things remained under control up there on a Saturday evening. But then again... ahh yes! There were plenty of other things she could be doing with the remainder of her Saturday afternoon in the library. More to life than special service commendations! There was something know as deep compelling curiosity!

One thing that she could do is see what the library might have to say about wandless magic. She, personally, was so good at regular wanded magic that she had never considered going wandless — it had seemed of little more consequence than a parlour trick, but seeing how adept Harry had gotten with it had opened her eyes! There was something to be said for not having to fuss all the time over the whereabouts of a little stick, plus Harry seemed to be suggesting that his magic had gotten stronger and more intuitive without a wand. In a sense that insinuation was anathema to Hermione because it seemed to invalidate great chunks of her last six years of education, but what if there really was something to the idea?

She was about to get up and make her way to the wandlore section, when she vacillated yet again. She could learn about wandless stuff any time. The books on the subject were shunted away into a little-frequented corner, but there was nothing particular verboten about them. But here she was in absolute solitude, and she had absolute blanket access to the forbidden section. This was the perfect opportunity to do a little work on her other extracurricular project. A completely secret and completely unauthorized project. This was a project of which she felt fairly certain neither Harry nor Ginny would approve; indeed the subject matter was quite possibly illegal. But that didn't matter, because the stakes were high and she was doing it for their own good.

Hermione checked her pocket to ensure that the permission slip for the forbidden section was still there. It was charmed, she knew, to counteract the secrecy wards on forbidden books so that they wouldn't shriek at her when she opened them. Good. She then took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and listened very intently. All she heard was the sound of blood rushing past her auditory canals. She put her ear down onto her desk and listened for vibrations coming up from the floor. Again nothing. She stood up, cast a quick privacy ward on the carrel (since Harry had warned that someone be trying to spy on their activity) and then strode calmly up the aisle and made her way to forbidden section. Four rows into the section she stopped, turned slowly through 360 degrees, carefully scanning for any hint of disillusioned snoops, again listening with utmost caution. Nothing.

She took a deep breath and marched quickly down the fifth row and stopped after twelve feet. Yesterday, while things had been busier, she had nonchalantly reconnoitred the shelf while pretending to look for potions texts. These books directly in front of her now were definitely not about potions. She quickly grabbed three books, entitled 'Magical Possession: Invasion, Detection and Purging', 'Mind Control via Embedded Charms' and 'Advanced Legilimency and Suggestion'.

She had just pulled the third book from the shelf when her wand, constrained within one of her pockets, lurched and shuddered. The privacy ward! Someone had breached her privacy ward!

She shoved the books back onto the shelf, grabbed her wand and dashed out of the forbidden section, sprinting for her carrel. She heard a mad flurry of footsteps, pointed her wand in the direction of the noise, but before she could do anything to the disillusioned intruder she saw a yellow flash and felt her legs go dead beneath her. Her momentum carried her forward and down hard. At the last instant, she was able to arch her head back in time to avoid cracking it against the unforgiving hardwood floor, but the impact jarred her wand loose and it clattered across the floor.

The library door slammed. Rapid footsteps faded off into the distance.

Hermione cursed violently as she tried to get up, but her thrashing merely confirmed the presence of a leg-locking curse. That puzzled her. Her assailant had the advantage of invisibility and surprise and could easily have done something more debilitating than a leg-locker. But then again, the ease of the spell made it attractive in a tight situation — one barely needed any focus to unleash it, even under trying circumstances. Well, whatever the reason, she felt thankful that a simple spell of that sort did not fully incapacitate her; she still had the ability to undo the spell. That is, she would be able to do so if she could make it to her wand.

Ignoring what she assumed were going to be some very nasty bruises on her arms and shoulders, she stretched her hands out and attempted to drag herself across the floor. Unfortunately, her hands were sweaty from the frantic activity and didn't have enough purchase, so in order to make any headway she was forced to resort to painful, snakelike writhing. After five minutes and some rather foul language of the sort that was rarely heard in the library, she finally reached her wand and cancelled the spell on her legs. Gingerly, she stood up and took stock of her body. She felt as though an erumpent had rolled on her, but otherwise she was okay.

Limping, she made her way back to the carrel and scanned the scene. Everything was as she left it... except for the fact that someone had placed a single, additional book on the table.

It was a ratty, defaced, dog-eared old book. Beneath generations of scratches and spell-o-tape, she recognized a familiar pattern. With an inadvertent sneer, she realized that it was a very old copy of the Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion Making text for NEWT preparation students; an edition perhaps dating from the 1950's by the faded colours on the cover. She pointed her wand at it and ran through a series of charm and curse detection spells, but these came out clean so she gingerly picked up the book. A small note fell out. She picked it up and read:

I know how to make what you need. I know how it works.
Page 346 will get you started, but it's missing key steps.
Meet me here, same time next Saturday if you want to talk.
Come alone.

She pocketed the note and began flipping pages. She realized with horror that nearly every page was terribly defaced: notes, drawings and calculations filled the margins, and type-print had been ignorantly crossed out and presumptuously 'corrected'. The sight made her vaguely nauseous, but curiosity nonetheless propelled her to page 346, whose header read, 'Deliquesco Magia: functional retention in the dissolution of charmed objects'.

She attempted to process the instructions, but it made her head hurt to try to read around and beneath all of the disfiguring annotations, so she closed the book and went to put it in her bag. As she did so, she noticed peculiar printing on the bottom of the book's back cover, which read:

Property of the Half Blood Prince

That's stupid, she thought. There's no such thing as royalty in the wizarding community.

Chapter 14. Goblin Gratitude    (September 14-15, 1997)

Earlier today it had been another picture-perfect morning over the Grampians. Harry and Ginny had treated the super seven to an inspiring hike up to the high outcrop for a spectacular sunrise, and everyone had come away with that inspired feeling that one can only experience on a bright sparkling morning. With all that scintillating buildup, it came as a disappointment to have to leave it all behind and apparate into a dreary Sunday mist at the Burrow.

Or at least it was disappointing to Harry. Ginny's own internal sunshine seemed to be indomitable; while strolling down the sodden hillside from the orchard... she started singing.

"The sweetest spell... I ever fell...
under was full... of something something
la la la and something else...
my boyfriend's giving me... the strangest look...?"

Harry reached a hand up to massage away his smirk as he attempted to meet Ginny's continued off-key crooning and dangerously glinting eyes with a straight face.

"For starters," Harry began explaining, just loudly enough for her to hear over her own voice. She lowered her volume a little so that she could listen to him with half an ear, allowing him to continue in a conversational tone, "For starters, I've never before heard you sing around me, except maybe once or twice at Christmas. Secondly, you're the one who complains bitterly whenever your mother sings, or even plays, any Celestina Warbeck."

"I'm in a happy happy mood, bucko!" she said with a menacing smile. "Do you have a problem with that?"

He swept her into his arms and kissed her. That didn't properly answer her question, but her only complaint, which translated as "Mffft mff mmmmm," was decidedly half-hearted. After an indeterminate number of tiny raindrops, they languidly pulled themselves apart, gazed at each other in soggy oblivion, and looked down toward the back door, from which Molly was watching them. The Weasley matron was beaming. Harry wasn't sure how long Molly might have been standing out in the weather, but there was clearly some moisture tracking down her cheeks.

Molly beckoned enthusiastically. Harry and Ginny waved back with equal vigour. Ginny tugged Harry's hand and together they broke into a trot, slipping and skidding in the wet grass until they were within reach of the mandatory spine contorting embrace.

"Mother!" Ginny scolded playfully, pulling back from the hug and momentarily making an eerily convincing Percy affectation. Then she grinned widely. "Mum, it's great to see you!"

"Great to see you, Mum!" Harry chimed.

Molly sighed happily, then chided, "Come in, come in! Don't you silly kids know enough to come in out of the rain?"

"No, of course we don't," Ginny laughed, "and apparently neither do you."

Molly laughed and flung open the door for them. "Charlie arrived a little while ago — I don't think he noticed your arrival, but you can go surprise him in the living room," she told them. "Everyone else will be arriving over the next couple of hours. Except Ron and Percy, unfortunately. Anyway, there's tea and biscuits on the kitchen table — please take some with you and go relax. I'll come join you in a while after I get the roast on!"

They began to make their way toward the living room, but Ginny stopped. "Hey Mum," she began, "did the twins give you and Dad samples of their new communication bracelet?"

Molly paused on the way to the cupboard. "Oh dear yes, that's right — they did!" she exclaimed. "Fred dropped by early this morning and made both Arthur and me put one on." She held up her right wrist, which had a band on it identical to the ones that Harry and Ginny had, except that it was missing the surveillance mirror. "You two have bracelets too?"

"We do," Harry confirmed, raising his wrist. "When we met in Hogsmeade a while back, Arthur asked that we find some mechanism for instantaneous emergency communication. Patronus works okay, but these bracelets are faster and more subtle."

"Harry, do you suppose we can all synchronize the bands right now, while we're here?" Ginny asked.

"That's fine with me," Harry replied, "but doesn't the synchronization only last a day or so?"

"Hmmm..." Molly responded. "I wasn't at my most attentive when Fred was here, but he chattered a bit about how they worked, and I believe he said that the longer we hold our wrists together, the longer the synchronization lasts. He suggested that a minute-long synchronization might last for a week."

"Interesting!" Harry exclaimed. "I had no idea, and I'm not sure of the students know that trick. Anyway, maybe we could try it while the tea cools down a little?"

"Of course we can," Molly agreed. "And don't forget to do this with Arthur too when he returns."

"Exaudi something or other?" Ginny inquired.

Harry laughed. "Mary-Jo made the twins ditch the six syllable Latin drivel. All we need to do is bump them together and they'll synchronize."

The three held their right wrists together while Molly and Ginny talked about the weather and Harry kept an eye on his wristwatch. "Okay," Harry said after about ninety seconds, "hopefully that will hold until the next time we get together."

"Which will be soon, I hope?" Molly said with an inquiring smile.

Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully as Ginny disappeared into the hallway leading to the living room. "I'm afraid we haven't thought that far ahead, but I promise we won't leave you dangling too long!" He smiled to Molly and turned to follow his girlfriend.

"It's dragon boy!" Ginny proclaimed as she entered the living room. "How are things in Cupşeni?"

Charlie tossed aside his Daily Prophet and bounced up energetically. "Bogdan Vodă, you mean — I just moved last week."

Ginny hugged him. "Oh, you jet set conservationists — I can never keep up with your wild capers."

Charlie grinned. "Oh yeah? And how many hours is it going to take you to explain what you've been up to these past... what, two weeks?"

"That depends on how much detail you can handle, doesn't it?" Ginny smiled coyly as she stepped back to let Charlie shake Harry's hand.

"Well maybe you'd better start with something I might find interesting," Charlie suggested.

"Quidditch!" Harry proposed.

Charlie looked puzzled. "Quidditch? I thought you both lost your eligibility?"

"Not since we started our own club," Ginny explained. "The quidditch pitch is empty 95% of the time and only 28ish people out of the hundreds of Hogwarts students ever get to play on house teams in a given year, so we've started running weekly scrimmages."

"That's brilliant!" Charlie enthused. "How many centuries did it take for someone to come up with that idea?"

"It's really been great," Harry broke in. "The students love it, and I think we're starting to identify some talent — a lot of kids don't perform to their real talent levels in house team tryouts; a fair number of then just need a more casual atmosphere to get comfortable on a broom. Anyway, apart from Ron, the house captains are ignoring us, but I think they might thank us before much longer if we give them a good talent pool."

"I think so too!" Ginny enthused, but then mumbled, "Unfortunately Ron didn't look very thankful yesterday."

"Oh don't worry about it, Gin'," Harry reassured her. "He won't hold a grudge. He showed up for the SHP house cleanup after lunch in decent spirits, put in good day's work, and I thought he was going to melt on the spot when he saw what Dobby delivered for supper."

"Sorry, what happened to Ronnie?" Charlie asked.

"Er, well, we embarrassed him in front of professional scouts." Ginny said uneasily.

"Professional scouts at a novice scrimmage??"

"They were there to see Ginny." Harry explained.

"No way!" Charlie whistled. "I want to hear more about that, but first tell me what you did to poor little Ron?"

"He almost got beaten by Mr. Nobody." Ginny said.

"Mr. Nobody?" Charlie shook his head uncomprehendingly.

"We played the whole game without a keeper." Ginny explained.

"And no beaters either." Harry added. He explained briefly about how the teams were selected, and how the charmed quaffles ended up forming a team composed of Ginny plus five small novices with no keeper or beater experience.

"You and five pint-sized chasers fought six varsity players to a 130-120 score??" Charlie threw his head back and roared, collapsing back into his chair, rolling in hilarity. "In front of pro scouts?!" He finally recovered himself, wiping tears from his eyes. "So, what did the scouts say?"

"Portree thought it was a farce and they left way before things got interesting," Harry responded, "but tell them about Holyhead, Gin'."

"Yeah, yeah! Tell me sis!"

Ginny cocked her head in thought for a moment. "Well, they're interested."

"Go on!" Charlie insisted.

"No contract," Ginny explained, "but the dream is still alive."

"Details, details!" Charlie begged.

"Details, details, sister dearest!" Fred parroted, entering the room, followed by George and Molly. "And pray tell, what exactly are we detailing?"

"Quidditch," Ginny clarified, walking over to hug the twins before resuming. "League rules forbid signing a contract with anyone underage, so I was out of the running even before I got off the ground," she elaborated, "and with the strange way the scrimmage unfolded, the scouts told me that they weren't able to get a solid read on my fundamental quidditch instincts or my actual scoring skills..."

"Ginny spent most of the game setting up her team mates; she only took four shots herself, but she assisted on nine scores." Harry beamed enthusiastically. "And truth be told, she actually scored three times on her four shots, so I don't know what they were going on about."

"Yes, well I suppose I agree with the scouts that it wasn't enough of a sampling to make a confident assessment. Fortunately, they liked my flying, passing and situational awareness, and offered me a full scholarship to their junior recruit summer camp. Supposedly if I do well there, they might offer me a contract on my birthday."

"Bloody hell, that's brilliant!" George exclaimed. "Are you going to accept?"

From the doorway, Molly watched her daughter with trepidation. Ginny registered the expression out of the corner of her eye and sagely toned down her enthusiasm. "I have to think about it; I wanted to sit down and discuss the implications with Mum, Dad and Harry before jumping in head first. Aedd said that I could have until the end of October to make up my mind, but they can't hold the offer much longer because their camp slots fill up really early."

Molly breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Oh sweetheart, thank you for buying some time! I know you love the game and all, but the work you're doing right now is so very important! Nobody else is trying to help the poor and disadvantaged like you are; I think your contributions are more vital than anything else anyone in the family is doing right now except your father and maybe Bill!"

Ginny blinked in surprise at the candid and undiplomatic statement. Charlie and Fred both raised their eyebrows, but George smiled and shrugged. "Don't tell Percy that," he said. "He might start ignoring the fact that he's ignoring us."

Studiously ignoring the comment about ignoring, Molly moved purposefully into the room and grasped both of her daughter's hands. "Ginny, we're so proud of what you've accomplished in the last couple of months, and our family knows better than most what it means to help, and be helped, by other people. This war is not going to be won by duels and hexes, it's going to be won by good citizens like like you who do what is right."

Ginny smiled at her mother, but her eyes flickered nervously over to Harry who was standing in the corner, watching the mother-daughter interaction with a smile of quiet bemusement. Molly noticed the glance and quickly adjusted. "And Harry too, of course! The two of you are doing such wonderful things to strengthen the hearts and morale of all honest witches and wizards!"

"Thank you, Molly!" Harry responded with conviction, but chose his words very carefully. "This is going to be a very difficult autumn for many people, and no path to victory is going to be easy, but with the stolid commitment of students and friends, we hope to help as many people in the most meaningful ways possible, while minimizing the suffering. Your daughter's genius and dedication are absolutely critical to all that."

Molly beamed at Harry in gratitude and admiration. His easy smile masked an element of anxiety: Molly was exceptionally opinionated, but sometimes formed those opinions without the benefit of a full perspective. It was wonderful how much more accepting Molly had become of the activities that he and Ginny were pursuing, but it was unclear whether or not she really understood everything that they had committed to doing. Their lives had come a long way from the lone wolf vigilante activities that Harry had engaged in last school year, but it certainly still wasn't all charity and fellowship. For all the two of them were trying to wage a soft war of protection, support and public perceptions, he and Ginny still faced stark real-world perils.

Out of curiosity, Harry cast a surreptitious glance around the room to gauge other people's facial expressions. Not surprisingly, there was a fair bit of judicious skepticism. Charlie's assessment of the couple appeared to have softened a fair bit since their last meeting, but it was clear that he was not yet comfortable with Ginny's active involvement in even the more peaceable aspects of the conflict. Harry could tell that the twins were astutely not ruling all 'duels and hexes' out of Ginny's imminent future. He thought for a moment about whether or not he should make an effort to clarify the situation. Yes, he could dig beneath the subtleties, talk about some frightening scenarios, and risk the pleasant mood that might otherwise be destined to settle over the family gathering. Or, he could stand there and smile benignly. If he had any say in the matter, his preference today was for a pleasant, social family gathering. He knew full well that a time was soon approaching when they would all need to discuss hard facts and contingencies; to disabuse comforting misconceptions... but right now maybe they could all sit down together, drink tea, eat biscuits and mend fences.

For her part, Ginny was quite baffled by her family's fawning attention, especially from her mother. In a group with such prodigious personalities, nobody could ever grow accustomed to being the center of attention for very long and that was fine with Ginny — she would be more than happy to hand off the torch as soon as possible. Thus, it was with a bit of relief a moment later when she found herself greeting the grand arrival of Bill... and his new love interest.

Everyone in the room had previously encountered the phenomenon known as Fleur Delacour. Nobody, however, was even remotely prepared to see her walk into the Burrow wrapped around the arm of Bill Weasley!

Charlie and the twins gawked openly for a moment before partially recovering control of their jaw muscles. Harry blinked twice in rapid succession... then stepped quickly behind Ginny and put his arms around her waist. Ginny's brow furrowed a tiny bit, and she pressed herself back firmly against Harry in a way that made him blink yet again and catch his breath, temporarily rendered quite oblivious to the sudden presence of a veela at the door. He stood there transfixed as Ginny reached across herself, seized his elbows and manually tightened his embrace around her a couple notches. With all that accomplished, she was quite content to smile sweetly in greetings to the new arrivals.

Harry sensed there there were social norms and diplomatic responsibilities calling, but he decided they could wait for a minute. He smiled, closed his eyes, inhaled his girlfriend's fragrance, and cherished the feeling of her warm body pressed firmly into his. True, it wasn't exactly a novel experience for him, but he was certain he'd never get tired of it. Several unoccupied neurons idly pondered this Ginny Weasley person who belonged in his arms. He wondered how someone could be tough as nails one moment then suddenly turn softer than cashmere? More amazingly, he realized that right now she had become both at the same time.

"Allo allo, chèr Weasleys and gentil 'Arry. It ees so nice to see you all again!" said the million galleon smile, stirring Harry from his reverie and back to reality. He opened his eyes to see Molly exorcising the deep creases in her forehead, recovering her own startled wits to step forward and make polite greetings.

Noticing that Charlie and the twins were still effectively paralyzed and that Bill and Fleur were still standing rather awkwardly near the entrance, Harry shifted a little and took Ginny by the hand to approach the new couple. "Very pleased see you again too, Fleur!" Harry exclaimed, extending his free hand. "What brings you to this side of the channel?"

Fleur accepted his hand graciously and moved in for a kiss. Ginny smirked to see Harry turn at the last moment to offer his cheek. Fleur pulled back with a sly smile. "Monsieur Potter is off limits, non? Ah, 'ow you two look so sweet together, but my seester Gabrielle will be très attristé to hear about thees."

Still holding Harry with her left hand, Fleur took Ginny's hand in her right, and beamed a friendly smile toward both of them. "Ah well, if there was to be some lucky femme who could steal 'Arry's 'eart, it would surely be a Weasley — they are si charmants!" Fleur winked at Bill. "But you asked what breengs me to England? I have come to work at Gringotts! They offered me a position nearly a year ago, but I did not accept until just two weeks ago. And Monsieur Bill has been most 'elpful in learning me the meesterious ways of the English!"

George whispered something in the background, making Charlie snort and choke. Bill shot them a withering glance which elicited another round of snickers. Bill rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the more composed and mature portion of the audience, namely Harry, Ginny and Molly, telling them that, "Fleur delayed her decision because of all the violence here in Britain, but finally decided for better or for worse that things had gotten quiet enough to chance it."

"La Maison Magique 'ad a long story last month about a beeg raid by this evil 'Vol de Mort' person and how things then went très calme after. They supposed that per'aps 'Arry Potter 'ad chased 'eem back into 'iding?"

Molly scowled inadvertently at the assessment. Harry raised his eyebrows and chewed on his lip a moment before responding. "Fleur, things are still very dangerous here," he began. "If things have gone quiet, it was by Tom Riddle's choice — he has a penchant for cultivating a false sense of security. If you've settled in Diagon Alley, you could find yourself right in the middle of a big mess with very little warning."

Fleur shrugged. "I'm 'ere now and 'ere I stay. Que sera sera. Besides, I have a strong powerful boyfriend... and this boyfriend, he knows a certain triwizard champion, c'est vrai?" Fleur winked.

Bill sensed his mother quietly stewing beside him and changed the subject. "Harry, I'm sorry I never responded to your owl! I knew I'd see you here before your Gringotts visit tomorrow, and I wanted to find out everything I could before getting back to you."

"Oh thanks!" Harry enthused. "What have you learned?"

"Well it's notoriously difficult to get information out of goblins," Bill reminded them, "so things are still vague. The good news is that they assured me that the strange delay has nothing substantial to do with your planned trust account. Everything is set for them to create it and add Ginny to the account. Furthermore, there aren't any problems with any of your other accounts — I checked."

"Oh good!" Ginny said, expressing her relief.

"Okay, that's the good news," Harry mused. "Now what's the..."

"Bad news?" Bill interrupted. "Harry, I simply don't know. There may not be any bad news at all, but I'm under the strong impression that the goblins... really really want you in the building tomorrow afternoon. And I don't know why."

"Huh?" Harry stammered.

"When I was doing my inquiries, three different goblins got suspicious, and all three of them asked questions like, 'Can you confirm that Mr. Potter will be at the meeting as scheduled?', or 'Mr. Potter isn't thinking of backing out, is he?' Things like that."

"Cancel!" Molly blurted. "Don't go Harry! Postpone or find some other way, but just don't go. I don't trust those goblins!"

Bill shook his head solemnly. "These are my employers, Mum. I want Harry to be fully forewarned that there might be some unexpected happenstance tomorrow, but I personally have to keep faith that whatever they might be planning is not intended to harm any of us. Don't forget the personal risk the goblins have taken recently in doing some things very useful to us recently, like freezing death eater vaults."

"Goblins don't do anything that's not in the goblin's interest," Molly persisted. "I don't want Harry and Ginny and you, Bill,... and... and Fleur... I don't want any of you to get caught up in something bad that's none of your business." Fleur smiled at being unexpectedly embraced in Molly's concern.

"Forewarned is forearmed," Harry said. "Bill and Fleur will be there, as will Remus, so we have numbers if we need them. We also have backup from the castle," he added, holding up his right arm to display the students' bracelet. "Molly, maybe after dinner, Bill and I can see if Arthur is willing to ask Kingsley for possible auror standby too, just in case?"

Bill nodded. "We can tell him that we have unsubstantiated, non-specific information about a possible threat to Gringotts. You'd really hope that the aurors have been watching Gringotts ever since the account freezings. If there are no active auror operations that day, Kingsley might be willing to spare a few additional people to stand by. I think that's a good compromise — knowing the goblins, I think they would take it really poorly if we cancelled at the last minute, so my instinct is that we walk in as prepared as possible for... well, quite possibly for nothing, but who knows?"

With a concerned frown, Molly looked around at the faces. "We'll talk about it after supper," she decided.

When he awoke the next morning, Harry was alone in bed. Closing his eyes, he registered telltale sounds from their interchamber passageway: a spoon clattering against a dish, indicating that Ginny was up feeding the cat. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and withdrew his quill and scrap of parchment. "Forty two," he proclaimed.

It was chilly enough in their quarters that Harry's discipline momentarily failed him. He pulled his legs back onto the bed, and arranged the blankets around him in a half-sitting position.

"Is there going to be a forty three?" Ginny asked as she came to rejoin him, shivering and snuggling under his arm. Harry shrugged, but his head actually gave an unconscious back-and-forth shake as he did so. The gesture was out of Ginny's field of vision, but she knew.

Harry silently cast a warming spell, but remained in place, thinking. After supper last night at the Burrow, the eventual consensus had emerged that Harry and Ginny should not cancel or postpone their Gringotts appointment. Bill continued to maintain that there could be dozens of innocuous reasons (including no humanly fathomable reason at all) why the goblins might be acting strangely about the scheduled visit. Molly had stubbornly held onto her sense of foreboding, but ultimately Arthur had opined that in uncertain times people could not give into every momentary apprehension; doing so would bring society crumbling down faster than the death eaters themselves could ever possibly accomplish. They had agreed as a group on the various precautions that Bill and Harry had outlined earlier. Molly eventually left the room in a state of partial consolation. On one hand, Harry somehow felt a closer personal connection to Molly in all of this than he had ever experienced before, but on the other hand Arthur's stance was virtually identical to his own logical convictions. Life had to go on; they couldn't all just surrender to every passing worry and go into hiding.

Harry gently squeezed Ginny's shoulders as she lay with her head on his chest, distractedly tracing patterns on his shirt with her finger. "I hope your mum isn't too anxious today," he said.

She nodded.

"This morning let's run shorter, duel longer and get ourselves a good breakfast," he suggested.

She nodded again, and reluctantly rose to find her workout gear.

There was a minute remaining in Harry's sixth year class when Harry finished answering a question about disillusionment charms. The bell had not yet tolled, but he wandered to the front of his desk, calling out, "Class dismissed." He then turned toward the right side of the room. "Ryan and Sarah could I please speak with you a moment?"

The two students rose and stood silently in front of him as the others filed out. When the classroom had gone silent, Harry rolled back his sleeve and raised his right forearm to the students. The students raised their forearms and three clashed their bracelets together with Harry's, solemnly and deliberately.

"Who else is on HART this afternoon?" Harry asked.

"Terry and Hannah," Sarah replied.

"Good — thanks!" Harry responded. "Ginny and I are leaving the grounds around 12:45 today. There's a slight chance things might get dicey this afternoon while we're at Gringotts. We will have two Order of Phoenix members with us, and possible auror backup, but Order and auror communications are primitive, so HART may actually be the fastest way to sound the alarm if there's something serious afoot. Anyway, here are signed passes..." he handed small scrolls to each of the students. "If I signal a problem while you're still in class, then find the earliest safe stopping point in your classwork, give the pass to your teacher and proceed to the nearest faculty HART contact. If the nearest HART faculty happens to be your current teacher, then please just ask them to step into the hall before you let them know — we don't want students getting too rattled. Understood?"

The students nodded.

"Terry and Hannah have class here next," Harry added. "I'll fill them in."

The students nodded again and made their way out the door. With one step in the hallway, Ryan turned. "Good luck Harry," he said.

"Thanks!" Harry replied. "I hope we won't need it!"

Harry and Ginny could easily have passed for a pair of Swedes as they strolled through Diagon Alley together. They had both added a few inches to their height with charmed foot ware. His long sandy hair hung in waves about his face; he wore a thin, neatly trimmed beard and studious-looking spectacles for show (the lenses were fake; his real vision correction was accomplished by the colored contacts he was wearing). Ginny was dressed in a black mini-dress (a bit chilly for the brisk day, but a warming charm kept her comfortable), and had styled her hair in a short, platinum-blonde bob. Harry's untameable tousle was masked by the sheer length of his hair, making his disguise almost perfect. After 15 minutes, Ginny's freckles had intrepidly managed to defeat the glamour charm, but by most other extrinsic measures she was definitely not Ginny.

There was no fooling the goblin guards at the Gringotts entrance, however. Harry knew that standard witch and wizard glamor charms and most disillusionment spells were ineffective against them and could feel their sidelong glances. He sensed a slight motion by one of them, which Harry's suspicious instincts suggested might be a subtle trigger to signal the proprietors. Let the games begin.

At the main reception and service area, a line of more than a dozen witches and wizards had formed. In Harry's experience this was a much larger number than he would have expected on a quiet Monday afternoon, but a quick glance partially explained the situation: only one clerk was handling customers. Harry did a quick internal calculation and emerged disappointed; he had hoped that he and Ginny could make it for a quick trip down to the Potter vault to check again for useful books... and other things... before the 1:30 p.m. appointment. A twenty minute wait in line would almost certainly eliminate that prospect, so they would have to settle for being early to the meeting. However, when he and Ginny walked to the back of the line, a younger goblin rushed out from a back room and took a place beside the only other active clerk. "I will help the sir and lady in the back of the line." he chirped in a voice that sounded much higher in pitch than Harry was accustomed to with goblins.

Not properly registering the unexpected phrasing, neither Harry nor Ginny moved immediately, and an imperious witch at the front of the line immediately proceeded toward the younger goblin. The elder goblin, spotting the development, aggressively thrust his hand out to bar the witch's progress. "Go back in line!" he snarled. "We are arranging service for the gentleman and lady in the back of the line."

"Sir, Miss?" the younger goblin called to Harry and Ginny, beckoning with his long boney finger. "Would you please accompany me to office number 14?" He pointed toward a door a short way further into the large reception hall.

Surprised and a bit sheepish, Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and the two of them made their way past the imperious witch who was glaring at them. "Our apologies," he uttered to her on his way past, although that didn't appear to appease her at all. Harry shivered at the piercing sensation of her glare, mingled with unpleasant expressions from several other disgruntled people in line, boring into them as they followed the goblin into the private room.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley," the goblin said anxiously, closing the door. "You are thirty minutes early for your appointment."

"That's correct," Harry answered. "I apologize for causing a stir. Originally we had been hoping to take a quick visit to the Potter vault before the appointment, but I would prefer to not displace anyone in line, so we're willing to just sit and wait the half hour for our regular appointment."

The goblin looked up at a clock and thought for a moment. "If you are going to visit the vault, it is imperative that we do so now, and you must spend no more than twenty minutes in the vault. I hope that is acceptable."

"Oh no sir, I..."

"Hangpick, Mr. Potter. Please call me Hangpick"

"Thank you Hangpick, but I would hate to inconvenience any of your other..."

"No, please accompany me right now!" Hangpick insisted, bruskly stalking toward a door at the rear of the office. "This is a shortcut to the cart. We will go quickly, take you to your vault, and return in time for your meeting."

"But..." Harry protested, but Hangpick had already rushed through the rear door and secured a cart. Harry shrugged and looked to Ginny.

"You tried, Harry," Ginny said with her own shrug. "I guess we have to play by their rules."

When exiting the cart back up at the reception level of Gringotts after a brief yet successful trip to the vault, Harry and Ginny both lurched and wobbled at the same time and ended up in an awkward, impromptu embrace. Four legs seemed better suited than two for coping with the after-effects of a very jarring ride. Hangpick was obviously keeping them to a very strict schedule and the price of that extra minute that Ginny had taken to track down one last book on magical aura characterization was two queasy stomachs.

A fast march through the back corridor to Griphook's office helped clear their heads. Harry felt a certain leavening of the soul, because he had found what he wanted more than anything, more than any book, artifact or trinket: a small, but very ornate box that Sirius had told him to look for. It contained a treasure, something that he very much hoped to need and use as soon as Voldemort was defeated, something that he hoped to share with the person who shared his struggle, something that defined his future and would give him motivation in the dark hours to come. He had slipped it into his miniaturized storage trunk, just as Ginny had stashed the books in hers. Perhaps, more than anything, it was that box that had brought him here today. Now all they had to do was listen to some legal explanations, sign some documents and, with any luck, survive any surprises that might somehow emerge from... well... whatever unknown circumstances the goblins were so agitated about.

When Hangpick let them into Griphook's office, they found Remus and Bill already there and waiting. Both wizards were momentarily startled to see two seemingly Scandinavian strangers walk into the private meeting, but Bill quickly recognized a cherished constellation of freckles and chuckled as he rose to shake their hands. Remus tapped himself on the head in admonishment, smiled, and also rose to greet Harry and Ginny.

As soon as they had taken seats, Griphook proceeded straight to a rapid explanation of wizarding charitable tax law, and the various options for charitable trust accounts. He explained that a set sum could be set aside from Harry's main wealth each year to go into the trust. The trust funds were typically placed in low-risk investment accounts that made a modest variable earning each year, the proceeds of which went to cover service costs, and an net surplus was retained in the trust. Goblins the offered three levels of services: they would carry out all requested transactions in exchange for charging 1% of the transaction for each exchange. For clients willing to pay 2% of transaction costs, they would arrange each deal and maintain detailed records. Finally, for 2.5% of costs, they would perform the aforementioned services, plus deliver to the Ministry all paperwork required in order for the organization to demonstrate that it was complying with tax exempt charity status. Remus strongly recommended that Harry and Ginny choose the middle option, and he personally volunteered his own services to complete the required charity paperwork. Harry agreed; Remus had not said this specifically, but the unstated message was that they would want to retain absolute control of what information was reported to any organization as untrustworthy as the Ministry. Bill nodded his agreement. Griphook offered his vaguely disconcerting wry smile, summoned the requisite documents, and circulated quills to Harry and Ginny as primary signing authorities, and Remus as financial advisor.

As the final signature was registered, Griphook looked at a device on the wall that was both a standard human timepiece as well as serving some other complex function, which Harry surmised might be a system of Goblin timekeeping. The conventional time that Harry could read was 2:15 p.m.

Griphook smiled as charismatically as he could. "Do the gentlemen and lady have any questions that I might be able to help you with?"

Harry looked to the others. Ginny shrugged. Bill shook his head. Remus turned his gaze on Griphook, saying, "Thank you very much Mr. Griphook. I think we're done now."

Griphook's smile flickered briefly, but was quickly restored as he changed the subject. "On behalf of the senior associates of Gringotts, I would like you all to know how honoured we all are to be a party to Mr. Potter's custom, and we are especially pleased that he and Miss Weasley have chosen our services for their charitable endeavours. In light of the generous and enlightened nature of their activities, I am authorized to propose a waiver of normal Gringotts service charges. If you would like to avail yourselves of this offer, I could summon Hangpick and ask him to find the required form?"

Harry seemed to detach from the proceedings. He saw Ginny gazing thoughtfully at the Goblin... Remus was leaning forward with a question forming on his lips... Bill gave another brief glance at the clock... Then a stab of icy dread ripped through Harry's chest! With a gasp, Ginny jerked around to face him. Griphook turned his attention from Remus to Harry. "Mr. Potter, is something the matt...?"

BOOMMM!! The walls shook and the clock fell, shattering onto the floor.

"Griphook, what's going on?!" Harry demanded, gasping for breath as he rose to his feet. He hastily grabbed his cloak and motioned for the others to do the same.

"Hangpick!" Griphook shouted, clanging a bell that he had placed on his desk. The younger goblin's head quickly appeared in the office's back door. "Hangpick, please report on this disturbance!"

"Trouble in the vaults, sir!" Hangpick responded nervously. "Intruders in Lestrange vault!"

"Thank you Hangpick," Griphook said calmly, gesturing to his clients that they should remain. He turned to Harry. "Mr Potter," he began... Griphook's face looked almost as neutral as a goblin could manage, but Harry wondered if there was still a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. "I regret to inform you that we are experiencing a security incident. This is most unfortunate since as you know we are forbidden by wizarding law from bearing arms against wizards. In times past we have relied upon your Ministry to provide protection, however in recent months that protection has proven to be wholly adequate. While we at Gringotts do not wish to inconvenience you and your colleagues, I was wondering if you might be willing to provide some advice to our security goblins?"

"Bloody hell!" Harry swore, rolling his eyes. Bill's hand was covering his cringing face. Ginny and Remus stared at Harry, awaiting instruction. He paused for a few seconds to think, while Griphook watched him curiously. He raised his wrist to his mouth, speaking, "Audite me, HART!"

He looked around the office. "Bill, can you please gather all clients and non-security employees and floo out to..." he struggled for a minute to think of an innocuous, neutral site. Hogwarts? Too disruptive. Ministry? Hell no! Burrow? No unvetted people past Weasley wards. "St. Mungos!" he blurted out. "Send everyone to St. Mungos. Assign someone competent to ensure everyone gets home from there."

"Floo the clients out," Griphook countermanded, "but no goblins. All goblins must stay to protect Gringotts by any means possible."

"Okay, have it your way," Harry acceded, shaking his head in exasperation, "but do it now — there might be fewer than three minutes left to evacuate! Move them through the inner corridor; we don't want anybody captured and used as hostages."

Harry's eyes settled next on the trusty werewolf. "Remus, send Tonks a patronus asking for the promised auror support." He pointed to the young goblin quivering in the doorway. "Hangpick, how many intruders in the vaults?"

"Party of three overpowered goblin cart operator, sir."

"Are there any accomplices up here on main level?"

"Probably, sir."

"Probably?" Harry yelled. "Probably how many? Where?"

"Probably twelve to fifteen accomplices. They're in the reception hall."

"What??" Harry was aghast. "You let twelve to fifteen death eaters into the reception area?!"

"All Gringotts customers, sir. Anyone with account can enter reception. However they usually can't get past there without legitimate business."

Harry stifled a stream of expletives by biting his bottom lip. A dozen or more death eaters in the reception hall; three probably on their way back up from vaults in perhaps as little as two minutes if the unidentified blast marked the completion of whatever scheme the intruders had initiated down there. Likely the plan would be for the dozen to link up with the three and escort them out. Why did the Goblins want Harry here for this emergency? What should he do? He did not feel he necessarily owed the Goblins anything, but if this death eater attack was important to Voldemort, then it probably made sense to take an active interest in thwarting it.

Harry cornered the seated goblin. "Griphook, what's going on? If you knew you'd need help, why didn't you ask earlier so we could have prepared better?!"

Griphook was unfazed. "Not Griphook's decision to make. Senior goblins suspected there might be a problem when we try to freeze Lestrange vault, but didn't know for sure. If Mr. Potter thought there might be a problem, he might not have come. He might not be here to help goblins."

"Fine," Harry seethed, "Just tell me what you know about this 'problem'!"

"Goblin-made artifact in vault," Griphook explained. "Illegal dark curse on it, so we'd scheduled a 2:30 p.m. vault freezing. We suspected dark wizards might try to withdraw from vault before we locked the chamber."

"Horcrux!" Ginny gasped. Bill stared at her in appalled astonishment.

"Griphook supposes so, yes," the goblin replied.

"Damn!" Harry hissed. "No time left to strategize. Griphook, gather the security goblins and hide in locked offices. Listen for a loud owl cry — that will be the signal throw everything you have into anti-portkey wards. We're going to let the three vault intruders reach reception; if the aurors and Order are able to block the front entrance; we'll spring a trap. Remus, please resend the patronus. Re-emphasize to them: we need all possible auror strength at Gringotts main entrance!"

Hannah came sprinting up the front steps and into the Entrance Hall toward three students clustered expectantly at the bottom of the stairwell. Her shoes skidded on the polished stone and she slammed into Terry Boot who, fortunately, was a large enough inertial object to simply catch her and help steady her back onto her feet. "Hagrid is in the forest — can't find him in time," she gasped.

Ryan nodded. "McGonagall has been notified; she sent patronuses to other Order members and with any luck they'll be assembling at Gringotts shortly. Terry?"

"Flitwick has portkeyed to Gringotts" Terry responded.

"Sarah?" Ryan asked.

"Dumbledore unaccounted for." Sarah answered.

"Two out of four faculty successfully contacted," Ryan mused, "Terry and I have both handed our bracelets off, but we still have two unused?"

Sarah and Hannah both raised their right, braceleted forearms.

Ryan contemplated their arms for a moment before speaking. "Harry would never signal unless it was bad. I don't trust a gaggle of old cranks to save his hide. We're going in!"

The others gawked at him. "Ryan, you'll get Harry in a stink-boat of trouble if we leave school grounds!" Hannah scolded.

"Better stunk than sunk!" Ryan retorted. "Five minutes, everybody! Gather a few good HA members then we'll ship out. Sarah and I will grab the rest of the super seven. Terry, Hannah — see if you can find some seventh years. I repeat: five minutes and we portkey with whoever we've got. Go!"

Hannah and Terry watched Sarah and Ryan sprint up the stairs toward the sixth-year transfiguration class from which they and McGonagall had made hasty exits from several minutes earlier. Hannah frowned, but Terry shrugged. "Okay, I'll see if I can grab Daphne from Divination," he suggested, "Can you get Longbottom and Zabini from Herbology? Meet back here in four minutes."

Hannah cursed as she watched the bulky Ravenclaw pound the steps up to the north tower. She turned and ran back out the front door, muttering, "I feel like such a blasted Harry Potter."

Remus, Harry and Ginny crouched in the office. It was nearly pitch black — they didn't want to betray their presence with residual light creeping out from under the doorway. Despite her agitated anticipation of perilous action, Ginny's thoughts were going out to Bill, hoping that he'd been able to evacuate all possible innocent bystanders in time. Then a sharp intake of breath brought her back to present company. Harry had tensed; she could feel a terrible mixture of revulsion and... hatred... pouring from him. She reached out her hand to find his in the darkness. He exhaled. "Cart approaching. Bellatrix!"

Ginny breathed deeply as she grasped the situation. In less than a minute, Bellatrix and two death eaters were going to step off their cart and, with the help of at least a dozen other criminals, they were going to try to maim, kill and blast their way out of Gringotts.

"I don't know if any aurors of Order members have shown up," Harry whispered, "so we don't know if anyone else can stop them from leaving. When I signal, we're going to burst out into the lobby and try to make it to the exterior wall. I have a plan to at least get myself to the front entrance — please try to create a bit of a distraction for me. A few well timed hexes would be great; maybe you'll take out a death eater or two while you're at it."

Ginny and Remus nodded.

"Once I'm in place in front, I'll rendezvous with any friends out there. If you can continue to harass the eaters from this side, hopefully we'll sew some confusion and be able to take them down." Harry took a deep breath. "If nobody else has shown up outside to help, then I'm going to make some hell on earth and try to blast a way back through to come get you."

Ginny shivered involuntarily, but signaled her understanding.

"Ginny, in five seconds, please cast a sonorus."

Ginny nodded again.

Harry transformed into his black owl animagus and shrieked out his best rendition of Hedwig's snowy owl mewl, "Eeiiiihhh! Eeiiiihhh!" Ginny's sonorus broadcast it throughout the entire top level of Gringotts, setting about a sudden frenzy of door and hinge rattling as the goblins mobilized.

Remus, leaped for the door and whipped it open. Crouching low, he and Ginny burst through the portal and ducked behind a service counter. Harry, still in owl form, flew straight through the open doorway and, counting on the element of surprise, made straight through the air toward the entrance. Remus nudged Ginny and the two of them sprang up and issued a volley of distracting spellfire, hoping to draw attention away from Harry's flight.

In the two seconds in which Ginny was standing, she mapped out the room. Fourteen caped death eaters were spread out through the reception area, scrambling to respond to her and Remus's blasts. Bellatrix and the two Lestrange brothers froze on their way from the cart track: Rastaban and Rodolphus swung around, falling for the ruse, but Ginny watched in horror as Bellatrix scanned the room less instinctively... more analytically... and keyed instead on the flight of the black owl. Ginny's heart froze; she watched in terrifying slow motion as the witch calculatingly leveled her wand. A burst of green light emerged. Ginny didn't even have time to scream, but something in her magical aura cried out across the room in terrified anguish. The owl's head swiveled, its wide binocular vision simultaneously catching Ginny's panicked expression and Bellatrix's incoming curse. In mid flight, Harry transformed back into human form, assembled his shield and dropped hard, but very much alive, on the red welcome carpet as the killing curse slammed into the archway above him, showering him with chunks of plaster.

I love you, Ginny! I owe you!

Ginny crumpled to the floor as she registered his telepathic emotion. He was alive! She had come within the barest split second of losing the most irreplaceable thing in her whole existence! She sobbed for a moment in the relief and deferred fright, then shook herself back to reality and forced herself to listen to the surrounding din.

Crashes and bangs on the other side of the counter suggested to her that the death eaters had likely now turned their attention almost exclusively to Harry and were probably testing his shield. She took a deep breath and wondered what she would be able to do to take the pressure off him if the aurors and Order had not shown up.

Remus placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ginny," he whispered, "We need to move. I think the goblins are preparing to ward off the service counters as soon as the Lestranges move down a little further. There's a desk over there," he gestured toward the north end of the reception hall. "I think we can hold out behind it for a while as we try to make it toward the entrance."

As Ginny and Remus bolted from the counter toward the north desk, she stole a glance back at Harry. She cringed to see his plight, fighting seventeen on one: his shield could probably hold out against them all for conventional curses, but the true disadvantage to the numbers came with the unforgivables that nearly half of them were now firing at sporadic intervals. Harry's dodging abilities were put to a frightening test and the need for constant reaction was hindering his ability to generate an offensive response. Fortunately, by dashing across the north end of the chamber, Ginny and Remus made for a perfectly-timed distraction. Skittish about a possible two-pronged attack, most of the death eaters lurched northwards, and Harry made the most of the several seconds of reprieve, firing a rapid barrage of stunners through his own shield, taking down three adversaries. As Ginny dived under the desk, she felt several spells rattle off her own shield and saw something sickly and purple sizzle through the air past her.

Remus had reached the desk a second or so before Ginny. When she had picked herself off the floor and back into a crouched position, Remus had raised himself up momentarily to fire off some spells and re-evaluate the situation. Ducking down again, his face was tense, but it held a small element of relief. "Flitwick and Tonks have arrived." he sighed, slumping to his heels.

"Thank Merlin!" Ginny swore. Having caught her breath, she raised her banded wrist above the desktop, pointed the surveillance mirror toward the main part of the room, tapped it quickly, then lowered her hands again just before two spells roared past, torching an old tapestry on the far wall.

"The greatest concentration of death eaters is over there to the right of the entrance, and over there near those reception tables," she said, gesturing at the mirror with her finger. "When I stand, I'll have a shield up that's big enough for both or us. I can sustain it and fire at the same time, so don't worry about yours. I'll aim at the ones near the door if you try for the ones by the tables. Sound good?"

Remus nodded.

Ginny sprang up, raising her torso about the desk, with Remus following her nearly instantaneously. Both issued a robust volley of hexes, shifting the combat pattern immediately: instead of all fourteen remaining death eaters focusing on the three people blocking the entrance, they struggled erratically in the sudden crossfire. Ginny was able to bring down another combatant. Remus's target was able to raise a shield just in time, but the ploy helped Harry and Tonks to both subdue one fighter each. All of a sudden the numbers were looking much healthier!

Harry pushed his shield out to a twelve foot radius. "Tonks! Filius! I'm covering you. If you stay at your current distance, you can use your magic to fire curses!"

Tonks nodded and began to issue a diverse array of immobilizing spells. Flitwick beamed a wide grin at his former student then did the same.

Harry spent the next thirty seconds focusing magic into his shield, while dedicating his mind to analyzing the battle dynamics. The remaining death eaters were competent duelers, but somewhat undisciplined. If he, Filius, Tonks, Remus and Ginny were able to mix up the ploys a bit, he was confident they could outlast them without suffering casualties. The Lestranges, however, were a different story. They had barely moved in minutes now. Rastaban and Rodolphus were apparently sustaining a powerful shield in deference to Bellatrix, who was examining the situation with analytical dispassion, occasionally casting a killing curse in Harry's direction, all of which he had successfully dodged. Harry sensed that her spirit was not in the battle per se, but primarily in looking for an opportunity to escape. That puzzled Harry for a moment — there were few things in life that Bellatrix Lestrange loved more than a good fight, and had never in his knowledge had she shown any fear of death or capture. Then the obvious conclusion occurred to him: Bellatrix had a vital mission to fulfill; that mission almost certainly involved getting herself out of Gringotts with an intact horcrux.

Harry re-examined the situation: he saw that just as he was shielding Flitwick and Tonks, Ginny had apparently convinced Remus to take cover under her shield, and both of them were now blasting away. None of them were focusing on the Lestranges since so few spells were coming from that direction, but rather it meant that four exceptionally skilled duelers were completely occupying the attention of the eight remaining, overmatched death eaters. Maintaining his shield, Harry began bombarding the Lestrange brothers with a bizarre selection of spells in the manner that Jennifer and Ryan had done to him. From across the room, he saw the brothers wince and grunt uncomfortably. Bellatrix yelled something at them, the precise nature of which Harry could not make out because of all the noise, but it was clear she was unhappy.

Things had started to slide slowly but inexorably in the right direction... when all of a sudden it was over! In a mad rush of bodies streaming in through the doorway, Harry suddenly found himself surrounded by Neville, Hannah, Blaise, Daphne and Terry, who joined with Flitwick and a very surprised Tonks to create a formidable phalanx of complementary shields and spellfire. Around them buzzed a swarm of dynamic bodies: the super-seven had burst onto the scene. Divided into two pairs and a threesome, they swept around the room and, within seconds had torn down the shields of all of the cowering death eaters spread throughout the chamber. Harry glanced sharply to his left and then to his right: Ryan and Jennifer were charging straight at the Lestranges from one side, while Ginny and Remus were doing the exact same thing on the other. Spotting a golden opportunity to clinch the deal, Harry abandoned the phalanx and charged straight at Bellatrix, blasting at her with pulsing everberos. Rodolphus and Rastaban toppled over; Bellatrix, surviving now strictly on her own tremulous shield, glared directly at Harry with hatred... and fear. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a shiny metal cup; she shrieked something that Harry couldn't make out; a sudden blinding blast of power from somewhere outside the building tore through the wall in thunder and smoke, surrounding her with a dazzling orange blaze.

"Accio cup!!" Harry yelled as he sprinted toward her. The cup shuddered in her grasp... poised on the edges of her fingertips, and she screamed as the orange glare swept her out southwards toward the hole in the wall. The cup broke free of her grasp and sailed toward Harry. Bellatrix vanished as a final anguished howl was ripped from her throat. Harry grabbed the cup and tumbled onto the ground, rolling several times before coming to a rest at the edge of the goblins' wards. Ginny, Remus, Ryan and Jennifer skidded out of control toward him, with Remus and Jennifer tripping over the stunned Rodolphus and Rastaban respectively. A few loose bricks tumbled from the gaping hole and clattered to a rest. A long overdue silence finally fell.

Gasping for breath, Harry placed the cup on the floor, stood up and looked around. Sixteen death eaters were strewn around in various states of incapacitation. Sixteen of his closest friends were standing (or sprawled, in the case of Jennifer and Remus) with a tremendous range of emotions frozen into their expressions. A cool sunny breeze swirled through the dusty, smoky reception chamber. Harry's face spread into a huge grin. "I love you all!" he shouted, "We did it! We're probably in a ton of trouble, but I love you!"

Ginny burst out laughing, more out of relief and exhilaration than anything else. She threw her arms around Harry, who joined her in the cathartic mirth that burst like wildfire across the room.

It was into this sea of laughter and cheering that two very stern people, Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt, strode with expressions caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. Spotting them, Harry gave Ginny a quick kiss and broke away. He walked over to his senior colleagues, fully prepared to take responsibility for unauthorized action, for students' absence from school without leave, for... well, for whatever else might have to be answered for.

"Minerva, Kingsley, if anyone is at fault for this it is..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" Kingsley overrode him. "On behalf of our entire auror corps, with the exception of..." his eyes swept the room, "with the exception of the ever diligent Dora Tonks who happened to be off duty today, I tender my sincerest apologies."

McGonagall shook her head in irritation. "Harry, I apologize as well. I was finally able to assembly five Order members to accompany Kingsley's three available aurors. They are all currently standing outside prepared for action." she gestured out the main door toward the street.

"Yes," Kinsley concurred wryly, "we have eight fine operatives ready to be put to work. Do you need any reports written? Traffic directed?"

"In any case," McGonagall concluded, "by my watch, it took us twenty minutes to mobilize. Estimating by a quick scan of this room..." she gave wry smiles to the various students, "I calculate that we need to refine our efficiency by approximately fifteen minutes."

Harry smirked. "Apologies accepted. If either the auror corps of the Order feels the need, I would be happy to arrange a meeting for you with our HA efficiency experts." He gestured toward the super seven who had gather in a cluster to compare notes.

Harry noticed Bill, Griphook and the Gringotts senior partner Ragnok approaching from out of the backrooms. Bill's face was especially tense as he glanced about distractedly, then he spotted Ginny and ran to embrace her. Ragnok stepped hastily forward to Shacklebolt, demanding a private meeting. Without a word in reply, Kingsley followed him in the direction of one of the back offices. Griphook, however, headed straight for Harry, beckoning him over to a reception table, from which he began to sweep dust and debris.

Harry took a seat opposite Griphook, and signaled to Remus, Ginny and Bill. Griphook withdrew several documents and a quill. "Mr. Potter?" the goblin asked.

"Yes?"

"I present this for your examination, comments and, if agreeable, your signature. This agreement has three independent stipulations that may be agreed upon." Griphook said, holding the documents out while meeting Harry's eye.

Harry accepted the documents and spread them out on the desk.

"This first states that the proprietors of Gringotts will not hold you responsible for any damages suffered today to this building," Griphook began. "This would be in exchange for your agreement to render truthful statements regarding events that you observed here today, in particular with respect to the timing with which Ministry of Magic aurors responded to their contractually required responsibility for safeguarding the Gringotts institution."

Harry nodded carefully. "With Remus's and Ginny's assent, I can probably be convinced to sign this, although if I'm guessing that this document might be laying a foundation to seek damages against the Ministry?" He gazed thoughtfully at Griphook whose expression neither affirmed nor denied the supposition. "If this is the case, then I strongly consider you also look toward those who initiated today's intrusion and thus truly caused the damage: Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rastaban Lestrange."

Remus nodded vigorously. "I agree completely. At the very least there is a shared responsibility that needs to be considered. Furthermore, you may find it easier to get compensation from the Lestrange vault than from the Ministry."

Griphook examined Harry's face for several long seconds and gave a furtive glance over to Bill as well. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a normal, slightly disconcerting goblin visage. "Yes, those would be very human ways of looking at this, wouldn't they?" he mused. "You may be right. Your suggestion has been noted, Mr. Harry Potter. I will mention this to Ragnok later; we may consider being lenient with your Ministry despite their breach of responsibilities." He smiled briefly and then continued, "The second is an agreement by which you will be permitted, if you wish, to take temporary custody of the item removed today from the Lestrange vault: the so-called Hufflepuff Cup..." Griphook's face twisted into a slight sneer.

"Which, for the purposes of the remaining discussion, we should perhaps refer to as a goblin-wrought artifact on which a dark curse has been inflicted?" Harry suggested intuitively. Bill grinned — Harry was obviously catching onto goblin diplomacy.

Griphook stared for a moment, then smiled. "Yes, Mr. Potter, that would be appropriate. The agreement states that in exchange for your being granted access to the artifact, you are required to care for it in an honourable manner. By 'honourable' the agreement states that you will not inflict any further damage upon it, other than any reasonable and non-excessive means by which you might be encouraged to cleanse the object of its current affliction."

Harry and Ginny nodded as Remus carefully examined the associated text. Bill moved forward to the desk to attract Griphook's attention. "I am prepared to assist Mr. Potter in the care and possible cleansing of the object, but I was wondering if you would permit me to use the Gringotts facility for Magical Containment and Curse Breaking on the Isle of Man to expedite the latter?"

"That would be fine, Mr. Weasley," Griphook nodded. He waved his hand and the document text rearranged itself. "The agreement has been modified to reflect this condition. If you plan to transport the cup to the Port-e-Vullen lab, could you please see Bormak about several other objects that need to be moved there?"

Bill nodded.

Griphook consulted his notes. "The final agreement for your consideration is as follows: if you agree to sign the first two aforementioned agreements, then we the proprietors of Gringotts will consent to fully waive all previously agreed upon service charges that had been scheduled to be applied to the charitable trust to be operated by Miss Weasley and yourself."

Harry and Ginny nodded.

"Do we have a deal, Mr. Potter?" Griphook asked.

"Do we have a deal, Remus? Bill? Ginny?" Harry asked.

Ginny looked at Bill, who nodded. Remus frowned for a moment. "Yes, I believe we have a deal." the werewolf declared.

Once the ink had dried, Griphook carefully furled the scrolls and placed them into a small box that he had brought along the the occasion. Closing the box, he raised his face and studied Harry curiously for a moment. "You are honourable for a human, Mr. Harry Potter," he said. "Some day, I think that you may be one of the rare wizards who truly understands what our race mean by the term 'goblin gratitude'."

Harry and Ginny made it back to the Great Hall for the last half hour of supper. By that time, after a long trying afternoon that made the Gringotts fight seem almost relaxing by comparison, both of them would have preferred a quiet private meal, but after so many people from the school had made a courageous effort to support them today, they felt a need to show their solidarity, to fraternize, socialize, and rally the students in simple symbolic ways like showing up for a shared meal.

The Evening Prophet had already made its rounds by the start of supper, and the entrance into the hall by two front page stars created an immediate buzz. Several people shouted comments, congratulations and questions as they entered, but when a handful of students got up out of their seats and attempted to strike up more obstructive conversations, Neville, Mary-Jo and Nick all burst up from their chairs made a bee-line for their mentors.

"Let them get a little supper in peace okay fellas?" Neville gently scolded a number of boys who had risen from the Hufflepuff table. Mary-Jo and Nick similarly dissuaded a flock of younger girls who were attempting to jump into the fray. Harry and Ginny gave conciliatory smiles and promised to chat tomorrow, but they gratefully let their three friends form a human shield that enabled them to make it the rest of the way to Table Five in relative peace.

While eating, Harry and Ginny were able to update Neville, Mary-Jo and Nick briefly on aftermath from the attack.

"I couldn't tell if you were joking in Gringotts earlier, Harry. Are you in any trouble? Are we in trouble?" Neville asked with a frown.

"We're fine." Harry said with a weary smile.

"Mostly," Ginny added.

"Mostly?" Neville's frown had deepened.

"Well, the good news is that we're not on the hook for any physical damage to the building. The goblins are going to go after the Ministry and the Lestranges for that — they've signed a statement exonerating us."

"Bloody well should be!" Ginny grumbled. "They basically lured us there to do unpaid security detail for them!"

Harry laughed. "Yes, clearly we should have listened to your Mum. I'm grateful that she was more relieved than angry." He paused to think for a moment. "It just occurred to me, though, that it's no longer strictly unpaid. For every hundred galleons you spend on SHP, the goblins are now donating two galleons of free service. So I say spend, spend, spend!" he proclaimed with a wink.

Ginny laughed and squeezed his hand. "I still wonder why the goblin's pulled the stunt though? There are professional protection services that would be a lot easier to book and schedule than Harry Potter Block & Dodge, Ltd."

Harry grinned for a moment before subsiding into contemplation. "I really don't know. Goblins evaluate people in ways that are much different from the criteria we use to judge each other; we can ask Bill tomorrow morning if he has any thoughts." He paused for a moment to carve up the last remaining banger on his plate. "As far as I know, maybe they were just impressed with the show that Ginny and I put on just a half block from Gringotts in the last Diagon Alley attack."

"So you're not in trouble with Gringotts," Mary-Jo summarized. "But what did Ginny mean by saying 'mostly'?"

"Well," Harry began, "I did speak to McGonagall regarding student absences. As faculty contact for HA, I took full responsibility. We talked it over and decided we had better owl all affected parents. We described the HA in objective terms as a Hogwarts-sanctioned training and preparedness club, and I apologized for the fact that an extension to HA activities ended up putting you in the line of fire."

The students opened their mouths to protest vigorously, but Harry raised his hand. "No, I'm afraid this really is the way it has to be. Dumbledore took responsibility for my actions several times when I might otherwise have really gotten in trouble; I'm faculty now, so it's my duty to do the same for you. The parents of any underage witch or wizard should be informed of what happened; if they have any problems with what happened, they're fully entitled to request an inquiry..."

"Underage, you say?" Nick interrupted. He and Mary-Jo stared at each other. Smiles spread across their faces and, in a sudden blur of limbs, they high-fived above the table.

Harry blinked in bleery confusion. "Er... I think I missed something..."

Nick chuckled. "Harry, you might think we all squandered our summers training, reading about defense tactics and joking about Ryan's manly purposeful gait, but a big part of our plan was a hard core parent-charm-offensive."

Mary-Jo also laughed. "Harry, if the only people you have to worry about are parents of us ickle under-agers, you're fine — even those whose lives you didn't save this summer think you're some magnificent reincarnation of Merlin! I can't vouch for parents of seventh years, especially the Zabinis and Greengrasses, but they're all of age now."

Harry smiled fondly at his enthusiastic friends. He didn't bother to mention that Blaise's or Daphne's parents were still technically entitled to lodge a complaint with the Board of Governors, but it would almost certainly fail since Blaise and Daphne were legally responsible for their actions and would probably admit to knowing that Harry had told students not to follow him to an emergency. Furthermore, even if somebody did complain, it would take months for an aptly termed BoG inquiry to worm its way through the system. Harry couldn't possibly worry about something months down the road; right now every eventuality that he was planning toward seemed better measured in days.

There was a very rational explanation for the fact that Ginny's butterbeer had not been touched in quite a while. It was resting on the floor about a foot from their sitting-room chesterfield, and she was resting face down on the chesterfield, torso sprawled over Harry's lap. The butterbeer quandary arose because there were aspects of the status quo that were so very nearly perfect that she wasn't about to do anything to disrupt them; Harry had spent the last fourteen minutes working knots out of her neck, shoulder and back and her most immediate fantasy was that he continue doing so for at least another sixteen. She nonetheless cast a furtive, appraising glance at the neglected mug. It was within reach; she was thirsty. But unfortunately in her current position there was no way to raise it to her lips without spilling the whole thing down into the cushions. If she sat up to take a drink, then perhaps he would discover that his hands were tired, and she would have to admit that he had earned a rest. Such a dreadful dilemma!

Harry saw her glance and chuckled softly. Barely breaking stride in his manual ministrations, he gestured at the mug and conjured something that looked, to Ginny, like one of those twirly peppermint wands from Honeydukes.

"Huh?" she exclaimed, inquisitively.

"It's a plastic straw." Harry explained.

"Straw?" she repeated in bewilderment. "Cows would never eat plastic, would they? Especially not red and white like that."

He burst out laughing and leaned over to kiss the back of her head. "It's state of the art muggle technology. You put one end in your mouth and pull the liquid into your mouth."

With a little trepidation she tried it and very cautiously sucked some liquid up the straw. When the butterbeer taste suddenly emerged in her mouth, she was so surprised and delighted that she giggled, and a fine spray blew out her nose. "Ouch, my nose!"

"Are you okay, Gin'?"

She groaned. "Yeah, it only hurts when I laugh."

Harry chuckled and kissed her again. "Merlin, it's been a long, confusing day!" he sighed, changing the subject.

Ginny finished a longer, more successful sip before attempting a response. "It really has been, hasn't it? It was a good day, but still so many question marks."

"Uh huh," Harry responded. "Like why did Bellatrix key on me as an owl?"

"I've been thinking that over Harry," Ginny remarked. "You know, I'm starting to pick up some glimmer of aura perception too now. The Fugos seem to think anybody who really tries to learn it should be able to do it. Maybe Bellatrix could sense that it was you?"

Harry nodded. "That would be scary but possible. And speaking of scary, what on Earth was that orange blast that pulled Madame Lestrange away?"

Ginny's shoulders shrugged under his hands. "Very very powerful blast of magic. No idea what it was. I don't think that the power had anything to do with trying to blow through the wall, but rather trying to jab a big hole in the goblin wards. Bill says that the goblin wards are incredibly strong, so that must have been an incredible concentration of magical energy."

"Riddle then," Harry mused. "Bellatrix doesn't have anywhere near that kind of power."

"Absolutely not," Ginny agreed.

"My third issue is an observation," Harry posed. "I caught the cup in my hand and held onto it for at least twenty seconds. Maybe I was numbed by all the excitement, but it seemed really weak — I barely felt any evil at all coming from it. Did you?"

"No, me neither," she agreed. "It did kind of give me the creeps when you were holding it, but more of a feeling of impotent and unpleasant... hunger? It wasn't a flaming hatred like the diadem. I wonder if it's really a horcrux after all?"

"The way the goblins dealt with it, and the way Bellatrix struggled to hold on, I'm inclined to think so, but it does seem strange after the horrible sensation of power from the diadem. Hopefully we'll find out for sure tomorrow with Bill at the Isle of Man facility."

"Ohhhhh!!" Ginny moaned suddenly. "Right there! Please more!"

"Right where?" Harry teased. "Are we talking Port-e-Vullen, or did you mean the twelfth dorsal vertebra?"

"Dorsal thingy... Ohhhh Harry, I love you!"

Harry chuckled as his hands honed in on the right spot. "The feeling is mutual, I..."

TAP TAP TAP!

"Oh, blast it," Ginny whimpered. "Tell them to get lost."

"After a day like today, we'd better see who it is," Harry decided reluctantly. "Don't worry, I won't stop what I'm doing unless it's an emergency... Come in please! Door is unlocked!"

Ron burst in, waving a newspaper. "Harry! I just... ewwww... sorry."

Harry looked over to see Ron shading his eyes with the paper, attempting to back out the door. Unfortunately he backed straight into Hermione. "Ouch, Ronald!! What did you do that for?!" She winced in obvious discomfort.

"Sorry sorry sorry, oh Merlin I'm sorry Hermione!"

"Would you get out of my bloody way before you hit it again?"

"Sorry sorry sorry..." Ron continued to moan, still holding the periodical over his eyes.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Ginny asked, lifting her head. "Ron, please grow up — Harry's only giving me a back rub. Come in you two! Grab seats. There's a half keg of butterbeer on the table; a couple more mugs over by the mantle."

Ron finally unshaded his eyes but still avoided looking at the chesterfield. "Hermione cracked her collar bone Saturday and didn't realize it was broken until this morning." Ron explained as he went to fill a couple mugs. "Pomfrey fixed it, but it's still pretty sore."

"Ouch, I'm sorry to hear that!" Harry exclaimed sympathetically as Hermione gingerly took a seat by the fire. "How did it happen?"

"I was working in the library and tripped." Hermione said curtly and not exactly untruthfully. She gave Ron a fairly unambiguous 'be quiet' glare and quickly changed the subject. "Ginny, I have a good lead on the potions project. I need lab space to try a few things."

"Oh great!" Ginny enthused, angling her supine head to make eye contact with Hermione while Harry continued his manipulations. "Lab four in the dungeons is for advanced projects. The middle table is reserved for us. If Snape gives you any trouble, tell him to bog off."

"Errr..." Hermione wavered uncomfortably.

"Let me rephrase that. If Snape gives you any trouble, then I will dearly relish the excuse to tell him to bog off!" Ginny grinned wickedly. "Anyway, I have a desk assignment confirmation from the headmaster if you need it."

"Do you know what ingredients you need?" Harry asked. "We have a good rudimentary collection in our study next door. When you're ready to leave this evening, I'll drop the wards and you can browse for a while. Grab whatever you can use. Anything else you need, please give us a list and we'll owl-order it."

"That would be wonderful!" Hermione smiled shyly. "Thank you."

"Harry..." Ron spoke from the corner, where he had been pacing. "We read about all the fun today at Gringotts... Why didn't you bring us with you? We would have been happy to help! Or at least I would have; maybe not Hermione because she's a cripp..."

"Ronald!!"

"Help with what, mate?" Harry asked. "We were there to set up a trust account; we had Remus and Bill there for financial and legal advice — I appreciate the offer, but I think we were pretty well covered for everything we had planned."

"But the Prophet said that twelve Hogwarts students arrived to help subdue the death eaters!" Ron protested, brandishing his newspaper.

"True," Harry admitted. "But the truth is that we didn't go to Gringotts to fight death eaters, and we didn't invite any students along. Some of the students bullied me in agreeing to wear one of Fred and George's signaling bracelets..."

"Which I personally think is so sweet!" Ginny interjected with a grin. "His students want him to be safe!"

"Er, well, maybe," Harry continued. "Anyway, my instructions were that if I signaled a problem, they were supposed to alert the Order. Period. It wasn't an invitation to join the fray."

"Harry, you have no right to expect your gaggle of Potter groupies to meekly stand-by!" Hermione snapped. "Look at the example you've set all these years — what did you expect them to do?!"

Hermione clasped a hand over her mouth, taken aback by her sudden explosion. She stared wide-eyed at Harry, waiting for a deafening retort. But instead Harry chuckled softly as his hands continued to knead Ginny's deltoids. "Oh, I know Hermione. They're a great bunch of kids and they'll listen to everything I say... up until the point where I tell them to stop and sit on their hands." He raised his head and looked Hermione straight on, in an earnest but non-intimidating way. "It's too late to change that now, just as it's too late for anyone to change me. But what I can try to do is to carefully hone their training and my instructions so that they have important, fulfilling and hopefully even exciting things to contribute but don't have to walk the knife's edge all the time like we used to. Ironically that's the same game as Dumbledore tried with me; parts of that strategy worked brilliantly but the rest could be blindly unrealistic. So I'm hoping maybe... just maybe... I might be able to duplicate some of the good things he achieved and avoid some of the worst mistakes."

Hermione held Harry's gaze for a moment then looked away with an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Yeah well," Ron grumbled, "why don't you get us a couple of those bracelets too, then? We can be just as good about not listening to you as those kids are."

Harry and Ginny both burst out laughing. "Okay, talk to Neville!" Harry suggested. "He'll get you on the HART rotation."

"Meet my brother," Ginny snickered. "Our latest Potter-sitter!"

After the merry chat had exhausted the butterbeer keg, Hermione got up and began pulling Ron toward the door. "Are the wards down for your study, Harry?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "They're charmed to reinstate as soon as you leave the study, though, so if you accidentally forget something in there, you'll have to come back here and get Ginny or me."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said as she followed Ron out into the hallway. As she placed her hand on the doorknob and began to close the door, she stole a final glance inside and watched for a moment as Harry and Ginny continued to cuddle, seemingly oblivious to her gaze. In her supervisorial responsibilities as Head Girl, Hermione had seen a surge this year in public displays of affection. This, she ascribed, to the strains and dangers of the times. But much of the affection she had seen among other people, the lascivious snogging and groping, seemed to have an aspect of desperation. Not so with Harry and Ginny; Hermione couldn't help but feel happy, wistful... but then also vaguely yet undeniably sad... as she watched the happy, considerate and amazingly natural interactions between the two. With heavy sigh, she finished pulling the door shut until the lock clicked and the wards hummed back into effect.

Chapter 15. A Weary Harry    (September 16-17, 1997)

For the first time ever, their eyelids fluttered open at the exact same time. They had both been sleeping on their sides, facing each other, buried under a mountain of blankets in the chilly room. Their waking eyes were perfectly aligned, opening a direct channel into each others’ early morning souls.

A little grin flickered across Harry's face. Softly, quietly, almost undetectably, he edged his hand from where it had been embracing Ginny’s lower back. The motion, gradually and sensuously progressing upwards, lit a spark of rapt curiosity in Ginny's face; her mouth parted in an open-mouthed half-smile, glimmering eyes acutely keying on her partner's face, hoping to read therein what on earth might be coming next, in the mysterious faint tendrils of predawn. His hand reached her upper arm — the one coupled to Harry’s side. Fingertips brushed her soft skin with the lightest, tickling touch, eliciting a tremulous thrill. Her inquisitive gaze angled down to see... but the wandering hand had already moved on, creeping out of her peripheral vision, hastening more boldly up past her shoulder and cheek to her forehead, where it located its quarry: a precious bit of stray silken hair. A smooth fingernail caressed her fine skin as the index finger edged sideways, gently trapping the lock against his thumb. In a single bold move, he whisked the hair behind her ear and let his digit wander down to an earlobe... where it made three delicate loops. Her breath caught; her pupils strained wonderingly to the side, enthralled, before being drawn back to the fore, summoned by intense pools of green sparkling in the dim light. Their eyes met, questioned silently, then drifted shut. Her face drew in. His mouth approached, softly colliding with the moist velvet of her lips. In tantalized rapture, she exhaled a softly drawn adagio…

Pounce!!

They burst into laughter as whiskers and a cold wet feline nose made it an instant trio. “Oh Emmie, darling…” Ginny groaned, “don’t you ever sleep in?”

Knowing that they had at best thirty seconds before nosing and tickling transitioned to insistent gnawing, Harry chanced one last peck on the lips, nose and forehead before rolling out of bed to feed the sweet, ever-loving (but never perfectly altruistic) feline.

"Your choice on the workout this morning, Gin'," Harry called from the passageway that veered inwards from the back wall of their closet.

Ginny angled her head a bit to peer our the window. The faint stirrings of color outside were of the deepest blue. "Outcrop!" she sang out.

Harry smiled to himself as he dressed. In spite of the affectio interrupta, their lips might still get some good exercise this morning after all.

Most mornings, the grand staircase was still deserted when Harry and Ginny climbed, rosy-cheeked from their run, up to Room of Requirement. This morning, however, Professor McGonagall was pacing the Entrance Hall, apparently waiting for them.

"Good morning!" Harry waved genially, masking any concern he might have had over why the acting-headmistress was seeking them so early. "Is everything all right?"

"No, I fear that things are not quite all right," she confided with strain tugging in lines about her eyes. "Oh, but don't worry, Harry, it's not about the HA students; all of the parents who responded to our owls have been most wonderfully supportive. The problem is that three times now in the last five days authorities from the Ministry of Magical Education have floo-called asking for the headmaster, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to simply claim that he left the school premises for important research and that we expect him back soon."

Harry nodded soberly.

"Filius and I are trying to determine whether we need to begin some sort of active search for him. Harry, Ginny, you were almost certainly the last people at Hogwarts to see him — are you sure that you don't have any more thoughts or speculation as to where he might have gone?"

Harry had already recapitulated their final conversation with Dumbledore a couple of times, so he shook his head and deferred to Ginny.

"It was Thursday afternoon," Ginny recounted. "We arrived at his office on time for a two o'clock meeting. He was pacing about his office, distractedly asking questions but only half-listening to the answers. We had an agenda, but he wasn't able to stick to it for more than one sentence at a time. We were discussing a number of relics that had been important to Tom Riddle. He paid passing attention to most of them, but seemed to key in on one in particular."

"And you do not know precisely what that relic was?" McGonagall inquired.

"That's correct," Ginny responded. She had been essentially parroting Harry's words from the same basic conversation two days ago, and doubted that it was much help to McGonagall but she persistently patiently just in case. "Nor do we know anything helpful about where it is. All that I can recall is that it was in a box, located in a room that seemed to have a fair bit of filtered daylight streaming in. The poor air quality suggested a lot of dust or soot."

McGonagall nodded in private frustration. "Blast that old man," she muttered under her breath. "Well thank you both. If anything at all occurs to you, please do let me know!"

They started up the stairwell, as McGonagall walked off in a westerly direction to do her pacing elsewhere. About half way to the landing, however, Ginny stopped mid-step. "Professor!" she called.

"Call me Minerva please, Ginny," McGonagall responded from the corridor.

"Minerva, has anyone thought to try to speak with Fawkes?" Ginny asked.

"Speak with... the phoenix?" McGonagall was rubbing her chin, trying to make sense of the suggestion.

"Fawkes is sentient, Minerva," Harry explained. "I believe he thinks and reasons in a very sophisticated way that most of us can't interpret. I've been able to interact with him a little, but I suspect that he and Ginny may be forming a deeper, more fundamental connection."

McGonagall stared at them for a moment, then hurried to the staircase and rushed up past them, beckoning as she went by. Harry and Ginny fell into step and the three of them proceeded briskly together, straight up to the headmaster's office.

Once in the room, Ginny and Harry both approached Fawkes. The bird watched their approach with offhand interest... but it was immediately obvious to Harry that his reactions were muted; his eyes lacked their characteristic sparkle. When they extended their hands to him, he responded with affection, nuzzling both of them gently for a minute, and then keyed on Ginny. Harry withdrew from the phoenix and slid behind Ginny to embrace her protectively as Fawkes met her gaze and locked in. Although the bird did sustain a connection for several minutes during which he whirred through some undulating musical notes, unlike their first real encounter at the beginning of the month this communion did not delve into deep memories or emotions. Ginny did not get drawn into a disorienting cerebral journey; her eyes briefly went diffuse, but then she returned to the present, to the office, and to the questioning scrutiny of Harry and McGonagall. Fawkes lifted his head and gazed impassively out the window. He trilled very softly then went silent. Perhaps there just wasn't quite all that much to say?

"Well?" Harry asked in a quiet voice.

"Professor Dumbledore has gone to meet a destiny that he can't restrain himself from any longer," Ginny murmured with an unexpected tinge of sadness in her voice. "Fawkes told me that one way or another, he will return. When the time comes, we will be asked to try to help him. He hopes that perhaps we might succeed."

McGonagall looked first to Ginny and then to Harry with an expression of bewilderment.

Table Five was very lively that morning, and Harry was relieved to discover that he would not be the primary celebrity. Nick and Jack were holding court at the north end of the table, finding artful ways to spin out their 45 seconds of wild combat experience into elaborate stories for an audience that included not only those seated at the table, but also a crowd of others who had brought their breakfast plates over and were eating (or frequently not eating) standing up. Ryan, Jennifer and Quinn were waiting in the wings for the occasional opportunity to insert clarifications to the more outrageous embellishments, but mostly remained content to listen to the wild fables. On the south end, Sarah and Mary-Jo sat with bemused but more subdued expressions, talking quietly with Neville, Hannah, Blaise and Daphne. The latter area actually had two chairs available; Harry and Ginny sat down as quietly as possible, hoping not to draw any of the limelight away from those who were enjoying it so much.

"Who's on HART today?" Harry asked the group.

"Luna and Ron this morning," Neville answered. "Slytherin connection takes over after lunch."

Daphne waved her braceleted arm cheerily at the mention, while her left hand grabbed Blaise's wrist and flopped it about. Zabini rolled his eyes as he attempted to avoid spilling his pumpkin juice.

"Wow!" Ginny exclaimed. "Ron's already on board?"

Neville laughed while Hannah looked away with a blush. "Hannah was originally scheduled for today," Neville explained. "but we ran into Ron on the way down to breakfast. He told us you'd suggested he see me about getting involved in HART. Poor bloke had barely gotten two sentences out of his mouth before Hannah slapped the bracelet on him. When he finished sputtering, I gave him the quick rundown and he walked off shaking his head."

"I'm really sorry, Harry, but I need to scale back my involvement," Hannah said regretfully. "Between SHP and HART, I think I'm getting really overextended. I'm afraid that I'm just not smart like you lot — these NEWT courses are driving me batty."

"Oh, it's okay Hannah," Ginny assured her. "We're in great shape right now for volunteers, and I know that HART wasn't part of the original plan. If you think you could still do SHP, then that would be wonderful. But if you have to dial that back too, we'd certainly understand." Harry nodded in full agreement.

"Oh, thank you for being so tolerant," Hannah responded gratefully. "I'd really like to stick with SHP, but I'm just not cut out for the hard stuff yet."

"Hard stuff?" Harry asked inquisitively.

Hannah bit her lip. "Harry, yesterday I got swept into things, not really knowing what to expect. Then we arrived at Diagon Alley, and we were running up the steps into Gringotts to join you when I suddenly realized that I had absolutely no idea what was going on beyond that door; I didn't know what all the banging and shouting was about... then we crossed the threshold and saw you..." Hannah started trembling; Ginny and Neville instinctively each grasped her hands, while Harry looked on with deep concern, trying to summon his own memories of that fleeting moment.

"We'd barely gotten inside when the Lestrange bitch shot a killing curse right at you!" Hannah blurted. "And you just casually stepped aside like it was a stray butterfly; you didn't even blink when the table behind you exploded into a million splinters." The shivering rendered her tone suddenly quite weak and tremulous. "Harry, I knew right then that you must live moments like that all the time, and here I was just experiencing it personally for the first time, wondering how I could possibly have lived such a sheltered life at the same time as so many of my family members were getting murdered by those... those people. There was a little part of me shouting out that this was finally my chance to get revenge for all of the horrible things that have been done to my family and friends, but at the same time this other part of me was stating that I didn't want to die and I didn't want to kill, and that killing people would make me just as bad as... those killers!"

Hannah's eyes took on a crazed glint for a moment then subsided into grief. Daphne offered her a look of deep sympathy and covered Hannah's and Ginny's clasped hands with one of her own.

Hannah shook herself back to coherence and resumed. "So I was all caught up in the middle of my own personal conflict, and completely useless for the real battle at hand. I just stood up there with Neville, shaking like a leaf, clutching his hand to keep myself from running screaming back out into the street."

"I understand, Hannah," Harry spoke softly. "You're a human being. The more human someone is, the harder it is to rationalize something completely inhuman like a battle. One thing that helps just a little bit... not much perhaps, but a little... is to know that even in a bitter, nasty fight like that, most people aren't trying to kill. It's true that there are a small number of insane, brutal psychopaths like the Lestranges for whom a human life, even one of their friends' lives, means nothing. But a lot of the death eaters in that room were just as scared as any of us, and a fair number of them didn't want to kill, just like we would feel terrible if we had to see any of them die. Maybe that's why not a single person lost a life in yesterday's fight?"

Despite the philosophic words, Harry had himself gone tense as his next sentence struggled to emerge. He gripped the edge of the table with whitened knuckles and took a deep breath. "But I'm afraid I can't kid myself and say that's the way it'll always be. Just because we didn't see any death yesterday doesn't mean we won't see any tomorrow, or next week. So some of us grit our teeth and carry on with a life where we never know what mayhem the next day might bring. Until then, the best we can do is try to live for all the humour, warmth and happiness we can find. If we succeed in that, most people around us will think that we look normal and human..." He sighed. "But people who live each day knowing that they might have to wake up in the middle of the night and go risk, see, or maybe even cause, death... we need to put aside part of our humanity at times. We have to. In the short term it's either that or drive ourselves crazy. But if anyone has to keep deferring humanity too often or for too long, it's going to become harder and harder, maybe even impossible, to reclaim it later."

Harry looked at Ginny, and then at his other friends. "For me, if I can come home to love, friendship... a bit of fun and silliness... I remember who I'm really supposed to be and what's truly important. But every time I walk away alive from a confrontation, I'm reminded that I can't push my luck forever. And I don't want any of you..." his eyes swept the small group of friends, "to have to push your luck forever. I sincerely hope that this will all be over soon, before any of us lose the sense of what good people we all really are..."

Harry trailed off for a while, gazed out the window, then pulled himself back to the group. "Wow, sorry mates — I didn't mean to get so deep with you! I guess all I really wanted to say, Hannah, was that we need you to be you," he resolved. "You're already a tremendous help to us in the ways you're comfortable with and we really appreciate it. As far as what you might call the 'hard stuff', I wouldn't ask that of anyone who has any moral qualms about it. But just so you know, I think you're probably selling yourself short. With luck, perhaps you'll never be placed in a difficult situation where you have no choice but to act... but if you ever do encounter a crisis like that, I know deep down that you'll find all the courage and certitude you need."

"I'm not so sure about that Harry, but thank you very much again for understanding... and for staying human," she said softly and turned away to her own reflections.

"Anyway," Harry said, shifting gears to matters of more immediate practicality, "it probably does make sense to have Ron on call this morning. I really don't expect to need any help, but just in case we do signal, please tell him to contact the Burrow. We're going with Bill to an unplottable goblin facility that I've never been to before. Knowing the goblins, I would not expect the portkey charm on the bracelets to work, but I'm sure Molly would know some way to track us down."

Neville nodded.

"Are you going out and doing anything this evening?" Blaise asked.

"Yes," Harry answered. "But again I think it should be quite innocuous. We're spending the night at the house I co-own with Professor Lupin. We periodically help him with, uh, a medical issue of his."

Blaise nodded. "Woof woof," he said quietly.

Harry stared for a moment, then frowned, recalling how Snape had outed Remus several years ago. "Yes, that's correct," Harry confirmed as he stifled his old anger. "Anyway, we have it very much under control now — I don't expect any problems. But on the approximately zero percent chance that I signal you..."

"We'll all rush out and save you!" Daphne proclaimed.

Harry blinked in surprised consternation.

"Rah, rah, brave-HARTs! We'll never let old Harry down!" she sang.

"Uh, listen Daphne, there's this school rule..." Harry began, looking around nervously.

"Grace under pressure! Courage under fire! Never surrender!"

Harry gaped at her, his jaw struggling to remember how to form syllables.

Daphne, Ginny Sarah and Mary-Jo exploded into uproarious giggles. Hannah and Neville stared incredulously. Blaise pushed his chair back and guffawed heartily. Nick's and Jack's storytelling came to an abrupt halt as their audience all turned questioningly toward the disruption. Still snickering, Ginny waved them away and, after several more puzzled glances, the stories at the other end of the table resumed.

"Don't worry Harry," Daphne said as she wiped a tear from her eye. "On the roughly zero chance that you signal, we'll report straight to McGonagall."

"Thanks!" Harry responded with a relieved smile.

"And then we'll all rush out to save you!"

BONK!

All necks at the north end suddenly swung southwards again to see Harry, face down on the table, groaning in exasperation.

"Move along folks — nothing here to see!" Daphne called down the table at the gawking gaggle. "We're just making sure that Harry stays human."

Shortly before 9:30 a.m., Harry and Ginny apparated back to the Burrow and hurried down the hill to see if Bill was waiting for them yet. He was not, but Molly was delighted to see them, and Harry was relieved to see from her face that she'd seemingly had a decent night's sleep, apparently recovering from the anxiety that had gripped her prior to and after their close call at Gringotts. He hated to make Ginny's mother worry, so it was comforting to know that Molly didn't appear concerned about today's upcoming activities. There would quite possibly be more sleepless nights for her before this was all over, but at least she would be afforded a bit of a respite.

"Arthur brought this for you last night, Harry," Molly said, handing him a scroll stamped by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Thank you." Harry said, although his tight smile did not appear too grateful.

Ginny squeezed his hand. "At least they don't know about the panther," she whispered.

One of several unpleasant outcomes from the Gringotts affair was that Harry had needed to publicly reveal his owl animagus form. As soon as Amelia Bones had been briefed about the incident by Kingsley, she had ordered that Harry be added to the animagus registry post haste in order to prevent anyone from charging him with non-compliance of Ministry regulations. He agreed with the necessity and was grateful that Amelia had pushed it through so quickly, but he hated to think that everybody, including any death eaters of at least modest intelligence, would soon learn every minute identifying detail of his black owl form. Figuratively speaking this had clipped the wings of what had been a very useful tactical tool. As a consolation, however, he and Ginny had analyzed the early moments of the battle many times in their pensieve, and each time had come to the same conclusion: unless he had taken that risk and flown straight to the main entrance, there would have been nothing to stop all of the death eaters from walking straight out into the street and portkeying away. It had been an inspired and very successful tactic; the only thing that would have done more to compensate for Harry's sacrifice would have been if they could have successfully sent Bellatrix back to Azkaban. But as it was, they would have to settle for sixteen death eaters and a horcrux.

"Will you take some tea, Harry dear?" Molly was asking him.

Harry jumped, startled out of his thoughts. He smiled. "Thanks, but no. Bill might be here any minute now — I wouldn't want to delay him."

Molly smiled and turned away to go back to the kitchen. Before she'd gone more than a step however, Harry, possessed of a spontaneous whim, grabbed her hand. She turned to look at him with a curious expression in her eyes; before she could say anything, though, he pulled her into a visceral hug. She uttered a tiny gasp, but then instinctively melted into him, shocked, thrilled, and a little overwhelmed to realize just what a solid, powerful and self-assured wizard her little black-haired waif had become.

Bill had flooed in; Harry, Ginny and Bill had all bid hurried goodbyes to her and portkeyed out before Molly realized that she was still standing all alone in her living room with a stunned look on her face... dreaming up wedding plans for her only daughter and son-in-law. Her future son-in-law, she mindfully corrected herself and finally made her way back to the kitchen.

"Is Mum okay?" Bill asked, his voice betraying a note of concern.

The three of them had landed on a high hillside overlooking the Irish Sea. The morning was mostly grey, but a few glimmers of gold had pierced through the mound of clouds to the southeast, making the choppy waters sparkle. Neither Ginny nor Harry had ever really gotten a good view of the ocean before, and what they had never realized they were missing had suddenly sprung forward and captivated them.

"Pretty isn't it?" Bill mused, before repeating, "Is Mum okay — she seemed a bit... out of sorts this morning."

"Huh?" Ginny asked, drawing her eyes away from the water for a moment. "Oh, Mum? It's all Harry's fault — I think he blew her mind."

"I what?" Harry inquired, becoming the last to discover that there was a conversation in progress.

Ginny laughed. "Fine lot of distractible dimwits you've got for yourself this morning, Bill! Don't despair, some of us will pull it together at some point."

Bill nodded with a wry smile on his face.

"Mum is fine — Harry just gave her sweet, innocent, spontaneous hug that will probably completely throw her off the cart all morning," Ginny summarized, "and Harry and I are just a couple of dreamy landlubbers who will probably recover once you throw us to the goblins."

"Where exactly are we?" Harry asked, scanning up and down the rugged shoreline.

"Maughold Brooghs," Bill responded. "The cluster of buildings you see to the west is the muggle community of Port-e-Vullen." He gazed around in an inland direction for a moment. "I can't narrow things down any more than that, because we're technically standing on unplottable ground. Anyway, can you please help me look for a path heading toward a little hollow?"

"Hey, is that it?" Ginny asked, pointing to a meandering line where the scurvygrass subsided to coarse gravel. Following it with her eye she noticed that it led up over a ridge upon which a subtle break in the heather could be seen.

"Brilliant — that must be it," Bill decided. "The entrance should be just over that ridge." They climbed for a couple of minutes and descended into a hollow. The path led to a small cairn, from which which Bill advised them to stand well back. He stepped forward, performed an incantation, and a ten foot radius of the green vegetation suddenly shivered and vanished, leaving a staircase descending into the dark island slate.

Stepping carefully down the damp steps, they reached a metal door, which swung inwards after Bill performed a second incantation. It revealed a clean but narrow, brightly-lit corridor with six red doors on each side. "Our reservation is for the second lab to the left," he said, leading them into a room, surprisingly large and bright, with a row of large windows. Although in non-magical space the windows should have faced directly into the underground stone of the descending hillside, the goblins had apparently magically projected a beautiful view of the Manx seascape into the room to create a bright, friendly workspace.

Bill slung his sack off his shoulder and pulled out a single magical containment box. It had white letters spelling out "Gringotts Curse Breaking Office (CBO)" on one side, but was otherwise identical to the one Dumbledore had used for the diadem. "Here's the cup," he said, placing the box on the table. "I have to get rid of some other junk first, and then I'll run the horcrux tests. You said you wanted to do some, er... mind experiments?"

Harry nodded.

"I guess you could use the couch over there," Bill suggested, pointing toward the magical windows. "Let me know if you need anything." He slung the sack over his shoulder again and walked back out into the corridor.

Harry and Ginny took seats at opposite ends of the couch. "Do we need to be further apart? I could get up and walk around." he suggested.

Ginny shrugged. "I think we can be trusted to sit on the same couch... but no touching!" she scolded with a wink. Harry laughed, and began to relax his mind, in preparation for the inevitable melancholy to come.

Ginny forced her thoughts down a vaguely unpleasant path... to a supper in the Great Hall, back in the spring of her second year. She was walking past the Gryffindor table... past Harry, Ron and Hermione. Hermione had given her a quick smile and wave; Ron had given her a scowl and thrown his arm protectively over some piece of parchment on the table, and Harry had... Harry had done nothing at all. He had stared blankly, fixedly toward a place on the far wall. Ginny had walked straight through his field of vision, no more than four feet away, and he had not so much as blinked.

Ginny felt a cold pulse of ancient insecurity and disappointment, and found her reservoir of shared magic beginning to flow antipathetically back from Harry toward her own core. Once she had mapped the path, she followed the flow upstream again, and found her perception stationed back in front of the bulbous foreign power near Harry's otherwise immaculate and impenetrable occlumency walls. Her thoughts remained there, stationary, waiting for her radiant power to evanesce and reveal the malignant mass buried within.

Within minutes, she began to see what she was looking for: her power had drained away enough to reveal the overall shape of the mass. She was intrigued and a bit startled: there had definitely been a marked change in the secondary growths. One of the appendages that she had recalled as looking a bit weaker than the others had become drastically shriveled like a very leaky balloon. If did not have the black, dessicated appearance of the lump she associated with the destroyed Riddle diary, but it nonetheless had a very sickly cast. She drew her mind closer to it in curiosity; she examined it carefully, trying to guess what might have weakened it so profoundly...

She gasped! Some inarticulable stab of dread pierced her: she rushed back downstream, reversed the magical flow back up toward Harry and hastily escaped to the safety of her own consciousness. In her unconscious panic, she had flung herself across the open space on the the couch and was clutching him protectively. Harry grappled for her, staring at her with wide, alarmed eyes. From across the lab, Bill glanced up in surprise from behind the cup which he had just removed from the box.

"That filthy thing is starved!" Ginny yelled blindly. "Don't touch it! Kill it!!"

"But Ginny..." Bill began.

"Kill it now!!" she shrieked.

Wide-eyed, Bill nodded. From a small toolbox, he withdrew a long silver needle mounted, awl-like on a porcelain bulb. He pulled a flask labelled "Basilisk Venom / Gringotts CBO" from his bag. In a study of professional composure, he rapidly inserted the needle into the clear yellowish liquid, withdrew it and, in a single fluid motion, stabbed the base of the cup.

"Eeehhhhhwwwwwww!!!" oozed a horrible pathetic sound: the aural equivalent to cold crank-case oil spattering over one's skin. Harry winced and spasmed as a spike of pain tore through his forehead... but then quickly subsided. A dingy, acrid grey mist seeped down from the table, spilled out over the floor for a moment, then mercifully evaporated.

Bill pulled the needle from the cup and laid it on a clean cloth. Other than a single clean, quarter-inch-deep jab in the base, the cup appeared normal, unscathed, and suddenly completely non-magical. He exhaled and looked searchingly at his two companions. "Okay, can someone please tell me what that was all about?!" he demanded anxiously.

Still clutching Harry, Ginny shook her head for a moment, trying to put abstract images into words. "It was nearly completely drained of power," she wheezed. "It's like it had just woken up... ravenous! That thing could have eaten us alive!"

"Horcrux drained of power... How...?" Bill pondered thoughtfully.

"The orange blast!" Harry and Ginny both exclaimed to each other.

"What? You mean the one that tore the hole in the wall at Gringotts yesterday?" Bill asked.

Harry nodded. "Do you suppose Riddle could somehow have merged his power with that of the horcrux to blast through the goblins' wards?"

"That's not what a horcrux is supposed to be used for..." Bill started to explain.

"But could he have done it?" Harry persisted.

The room fell silent as each of them lapsed into three distinct lines of thought. "Yes, possibly..." Bill finally spoke. "Possible, but it just seems conceptually appalling for a person to cannibalize his own horcrux."

"But that's no worse than the atrocity of creating one in the first place!" Ginny protested.

Bill nodded thoughtfully.

"Hey Gin'," Harry interjected, "do you remember the strange blast of power that Riddle summoned when he broke our attack during the August Diagon Alley fight?

Ginny nodded excitedly. "Of course! That was probably a test! He wanted to see if it was possible to draw magical power from a horcrux!"

"Yes, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if the August outburst of magic was also drawn from this same cup — this was probably the only horcrux anywhere near Diagon Alley on either occasion." Harry speculated. "If so, it's no wonder the cup was so hungry."

Ginny nodded. "That might even be why the goblins were so eager to let us take it off their hands; if Riddle drained a blast of power from it in August, the horcrux was probably leaching power off everything else around."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that would explain a lot. It's perfectly understandable that the goblins didn't want the Lestranges to walk away with it because the cup is a goblin creation and I'm sure they were hopping mad to discover how it had been defiled. But on the other hand they certainly couldn't abide having something that dangerous sitting in their main commercial site. Somehow they sensed that you, or perhaps we, would have some interest in eradicating the horcrux."

"I agree," Harry opined.

Bill frowned. "Listen very closely you two," he said sternly. "If you think there are other horcruxes out there, then we're going to need to start being a lot more careful in how we deal with them. I'm sure you have some ideas about how nasty they are, but I'm not certain you know all the risks."

Harry and Ginny stared at him intently, waiting for elaboration.

"For starters, you claim that this one was probably badly weakened. I completely believe you," Bill said, "because I didn't suffer any ill effects during the horcrux elimination. How about you two?

"Minor convulsions, I guess," Harry answered. "Uncomfortable, but nothing serious."

"Right," Bill exclaimed, "but it's not going to be so simple trying to kill another one that's at full strength; especially one created by someone as powerful as Voldemort. There isn't much literature on horcruxes, but what little I know is that these things can be expected to fight back, fight dirty, and fight hard!" His face took on a fierce sobriety. "I agree with Ginny that the main danger from this one was its state of hunger while it was alive, but for the other ones I'm guessing that you'll only really learn how threatening they can be when you try to kill them."

Harry nodded. "So, maybe we need to find a safe, hands-off way to destroy them?"

Bill cocked his head for a moment. "Yeah, that's a thought... I wonder what we could do...?"

"Time for a little more research, do you think?" Ginny asked.

Harry and Bill nodded, then Bill turned to face them again. "The other potentially big problem with these things is that if you try to destroy them, they may scream for their daddy. If Voldemort knows you're killing his horcruxes, that could be viewed as a dangerous, highly provocative act."

Harry gasped. "What do you mean scream? They might signal to Riddle?"

"Yes," Bill confirmed. "If he was able to coordinate his magic with a horcrux, then clearly he must be able to sense them. And how would he react if one of them sounded the alarm? Panic? Rage? I hate to speculate what the outcomes of either of those emotions might be right now."

Harry turned to Ginny with an aghast expression. "Damn! Panic or rage could drive him to attack before we're ready! Bill, do you think he knows that we just knocked off his cup?"

Bill wore an intense look on his face as he rationalized his way through a pile of diverse details. Finally his features relaxed. "I think we're okay," he said. "I think the containment fields around the facility are strong enough to have occluded any magical shock wave of that approximate scale."

"So, to translate that into English, you think that the containment wards kept him from perceiving the death of the horcrux?" Harry inquired.

"I hope so. The wards here are more specialized than anything the goblins erect around the Diagon Alley facility. These are specifically intended to mask magical signatures and disturbances. But the more general occlusion effect around our building in Diagon Alley is still nontrivial. If Voldemort was able to interact with the cup yesterday at Gringotts, it's clear evidence of an unusually strong sensitivity to them. So, I have conflicting thoughts on this. I'm guessing that if we tried to destroy a full strength horcrux here, he would probably be able to sense it... but I think the cup was weakened enough in advance that he won't have noticed."

"But he still knows that we have the cup," Harry stated worriedly.

"Perhaps not," Bill corrected him. "He's probably still trying to sort out whether you have it or the goblins do. If he tries to anticipate the most likely goblin behavior, I'm guessing he'll assume that the goblins would not have let you walk away with it. You have no claim to the cup, Harry — goblins almost always adjudicate strictly based on who has the rightful claim to a certain property or item of wealth. The agreement that they offered you yesterday to allow you to borrow the cup is really unusual. But for the fact that the cup was behaving so dangerously, I doubt the goblins would ever have let it leave their sight."

"So you think we're probably still okay... but we really need to watch our step?" Ginny concluded.

Bill nodded. "Yes. But now we come back to the question of the other stinkers. How many horcruxes do you know of, and how are we going to deal with them?"

"Well," Ginny began, "We're pretty sure that two of them have now been destroyed. We have a third in containment in a secure location..."

"And we think there are another three... er, well probably four... besides that," Harry finished.

"As far as how to deal with them?" Ginny posed speculatively. "I sure hope we don't have to do them all this way!"

At eight o'clock that evening, Ginny was waiting outside of the Room of Requirement while Harry finished a brief discussion with Blaise, Luna and Ryan, who had served as teaching assistants for the evening IHA session. She didn't eavesdrop on the conversation, but a small smirk crossed her lips as she heard the phrase 'Don't let Daffy get any wild ideas' decorate Harry's final sentence.

Blaise was grinning mischievously even before he stepped through the door and noticed Ginny leaning against the wall, struggling to keep her eyes open. Without comment or warning, he grasped her shoulders and planted a kiss full on her lips. Ginny gasped and sputtered; before she could retaliate, he had already scampered very efficiently down the hallway. Too startled for any more coherent retaliation, she scowled at his rapidly retreating form. "Weirdo!" she shouted ineffectually.

By that time, Luna had emerged through the doorway, explaining to Ryan something about 'cyclical wrackspurt infestations'. She looked up in astonishment. "Ginevra!" she cried excitedly, waving her hand four inches in front of Ginny's blinking eyes. "Hello! How are you? Please give my best to Professor Lupin tonight! Your lipstick is smudged — is that the latest style?"

Two minutes later, Harry emerged with a tired smile on his face. He warded the door and slumped against Ginny. She slumped into him.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied.

"Wolf?" he asked.

"Yup," she agreed.

They slumped along the corridor, down the steps and across the grounds.

"Merciful Merlin!" Remus exclaimed when he met them at the entrance to 12 Grimmauld Place and let them into the old house. "You two look completely knackered! Are you certain you don't want to just go back home and sleep?"

"No, we're fine thanks. And it's good to see you too, Remus!" Harry responded, recovering a little bit of cheeky spark.

"Yes, we're fine," Ginny added, "but we may need a bit of your natural effervescence to keep things lively."

Remus laughed. "You two have been spending too much time around those crazy students of yours — they've wild enough to wear anybody out." They laughed, but said nothing so Remus continued. "So, was there any major fallout from yesterday? These are very sensitive times and, conversely, I always expect most people in positions of authority to behave quite... insensitively."

"Well, we had an exhausting afternoon dealing with the goblins and ministry officials. A half dozen major things could have gone wrong," Harry admitted, "but it looks like we're coming through it mostly unscathed. The only person I'm concerned about is Kingsley: the goblins are crawling all over the auror department's inability to prevent or counter the intrusion."

Remus sighed. "It's one of the few Ministry bodies that's truly making an effort, but they're so undermanned right now..."

"Blood traitors... half bloods... filthy werewolves..." croaked a voice in the next room.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked.

Remus nodded. "Poor insufferable wretch," he groaned. "I've tried and tried to establish a rapport with him. I've tried kindness, mutual consideration, I've tried appealing to the memory of Sirius, but nothing's worked. I can't order him around because I'm not his master, but I was really hoping that we could at least coexist."

"You can't coexist?" Harry asked with concern.

"Not in a civil manner, I'm afraid. I have a room that I've thrown every ward I can think of just to keep him out. Otherwise things accidentally happen to my belongings, many of which I've found dumped into the rubbish bin every Tuesday morning. But that reminds me, Harry I know you're tired and I know that we'll all need to transform in about a half hour, but..."

"Transform!" Harry interrupted. "Is Kreacher in any danger when you transform?"

"No," Remus responded, "For some reason I've never threatened him as a werewolf... although he's no fan of it — he usually treats me with a special amount of disrespect and suspicion the day before and the day after full moon."

Harry nodded. "Well, I'm glad to hear he's at least not physically threatened. But sorry, I interrupted you?"

"Yes, I hate to ask Harry, but you're his rightful master and he should listen to you. I was wondering if you might be willing to speak with him? Extend an olive branch of some sort?"

"It's never worked before Remus."

"No, but I don't think you've ever spoken to him in your capacity as his master before. He might actually respond to you now."

"Mangy werewolves... scandalous blood traitors... filthy half bloods..." the voice in the kitchen croaked.

Harry rolled his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and sighed deeply. Nonetheless, he made his way toward the kitchen door.

"Treacherous fiends in my sweet mistress's home! Poor Kreacher can't even... Ackk!"

Remus and Ginny stared in wide-eyed surprise, first at each other and then toward Harry's back. He had walked several paces into a kitchen that had suddenly gone dead silent... except for a peculiar gurgling sound...

After a moment, noises emerged that sounded like fingernails scraping the wooden floor. Finally a low-pitched whine began, followed by a gasp, and a sepulchral moan. "Master! Kreacher's master! You are the voice in Master Regulus's locket!!"

"I'm the what?" Harry asked the gurgling, prostrate house elf. He got down on his knees to try to make sense of Kreacher's babbling.

"Master mustn't kneel to Kreacher! Mustn't mustn't mustn't! Get away!" Kreacher started thumping his head on the floor.

"Stop!" Harry ordered forcefully. "Do not hit your head, Kreacher! I need you to explain to me what you meant by me being the voice in 'Master Regulus's locket'?"

"Locket must be destroyed! Master Regulus said so! Master mustn't speak through the locket!"

Ginny and Remus edged toward the doorway to observe the scene. "It is him, Harry!" Ginny gasped. "Kreacher has a horcrux; one that interacts with the others!" She stared at the pitiful form on the floor writhing in unarticulated terror. "And, Harry, he can tell — he must somehow be able to sense your magic through the locket when we try to examine the connections."

Remus stared in complete confusion as Kreacher recoiled in horror at the sight and sound of Ginny. "Master's witch speaks to Kreacher from locket too!! Master's witch must not speak to Kreacher from Master Regulus's locket! Locket must be destroyed!" he wailed. "Kreacher promised Master Regulus he would destroy locket!"

"Harry, Ginny, I really have no idea what any of you are talking about, but at least I do know who he must mean by Regulus. He was Sirius's brother!" Remus told them. "He was a death-eater, and... he was killed by Voldemort."

"Ackk!" Kreacher croaked horribly. "Silence!! Master must silence filthy werewolf! Must not speak name of twisted evil snake locket-maker murderer fiend!!" he shrieked. Kreacher was, per Harry's demand, no longer pounding his head against the floor, but he had twisted his face to the side and was savagely abrading his cheek against the coarse wood.

"Kreacher!" Harry ordered. "Stop that! Stand up and please fetch this locket!" He turned to Remus and Ginny. "Oh Merlin! I'm sorry Remus, but it's almost time for you to transform isn't it? Do you suppose that the two of you could you maybe find a room somewhere and transform without me? I think I need to deal with this now. I'm going to floo-call Bill and see if he has a spare containment box and see if we can secure the thing... this locket... before either Kreacher or the locket drives me insane. I'll join you as soon as I can."

Ginny gave Harry an intensely scrutinizing look, then nodded. "You come and find us at the first sign of trouble, understood? And I want to know everything that you learn?"

"Absolutely!" Harry confirmed. He leaned over and hugged Ginny. "Thank you so much, Gin'!"

Remus nodded in confusion. He took a look at his wristwatch, then he and Ginny hurried upstairs.

It was well after midnight before Harry finally wrapped things up. Unlike the Hufflepuff cup, the locket that Kreacher had retrieved was immensely powerful. Harry developed a pulsing headache even being in the same room as the locket and couldn't physically bear coming within less than a foot of it, especially after Ginny had transformed. He surmised that maintaining her lioness animagus form, a magically demanding process, probably diminished her magical reservoir available for unconsciously shielding him. So Harry was reduced to examining it from a distance, manipulating it with a long spatula he'd found in a drawer. Harry noticed that Kreacher could touch it, but seemed to treat it with a peculiarly deferential yet squeamish loathing.

After a bit of dialogue back and forth with Molly in the hearth, Harry eventually tracked Bill down and had explained the situation via a floo-call. By around eleven o'clock, Bill had been able to obtain a containment box and bring it to Grimmauld place. When Bill had helped Harry levitate the object into the box and had shut the containment door, the throbbing pain in Harry's head subsided immediately. Thankfully, Kreacher had also promptly ceased his incessant yammering, lowered himself face down onto the floor and had fallen into a rigid slumber.

While Bill had been of immediate and invaluable help in neutralizing the immediate threat, Harry was surprised to see Ginny's brother seem quite rattled by the experience. His speech in the aftermath of the horcrux containment seemed agitated, and he seemed to exude a bit of a panicked inclination to act in haste. He offered to destroy the horcrux as he had done with the cup, but Harry declined, citing Bill's initial hunch that attempting to destroy it, even within the confines of a specialized facility such as the one at Port-e-Vullen, would risk alerting Voldemort. Harry thus decided to hold onto it for the time being, so he stashed the containment box inside his storage trunk. Bill had hastened to offer to assist with the basilisk venom injection when the time came, but Harry wasn't at all sure that the time would ever be right to precisely replicate that procedure. Harry reminded Bill of his own earlier warning that even a highly skilled professional might not be able to safely deal with them. Confronted again with his own logic, Bill was momentarily dumbfounded, but then apologized for his incoherence and flooed out shortly thereafter, blaming his poor judgment on the late hour.

Harry watched the green flames die in the hearth and wondered if perhaps some other dynamic might not be at work? Was the horcrux trying to play counter-intuitive self-preservation games with them?

Harry collapsed into a chair and pondered the next steps. He and Ginny would need to develop a very precise set of conditions to be met before taking the step of eliminating Riddle's abhorrent toys. It could only be attempted when they felt truly confident that they had a very good chance of being able to successfully confront his most terrible wrath. It was true that they could not wait much longer, but the time was not yet ripe. For starters they would need to track down at least two more horcruxes...

After a while, Harry pulled himself back to his feet and returned to the kitchen, where Kreacher was still lying face down on the floor. "Kreacher?" Harry inquired softly.

Kreacher's eyes flickered open... then suddenly they gaped broadly. He didn't move, but his face adopted a very puzzled expression; he sniffed the air and frowned. "Yes master?" he finally responded cautiously.

"Kreacher, can you come with me to the sitting room please? I would like to ask you several questions."

Kreacher rose to his feet and nodded. Before following Harry, however, he peered around the room anxiously, and sniffed the air again. Harry observed this curiously, but then turned and made his way out of the kitchen and over to one of the more comfortable chairs by the dying fire. The house elf followed.

"Kreacher, how did Regulus Black come to be interested in the locket?"

Kreacher regarded him suspiciously for a moment. "Where is locket, master?"

Harry tapped at his pocket. "It's in a magical containment box. The locket is a very dangerous and harmful dark object that could do terrible damage to me and to you Kreacher. I am storing it somewhere safe where it can't harm me or you."

Kreacher pondered this for a moment carefully, a sad expression seemed to creep down his features. "Master Regulus also knew it was bad. Kreacher was to destroy it. Bad Kreacher did not destroy it. Bad Kreacher tried and tried, but Kreacher is too weak."

"It is very very difficult to destroy the black magic in the locket. It is not Kreacher's fault," Harry reassured him. "But I would like to know how Master Regulus knew it was bad, and why did he want you to destroy it?"

Kreacher regarded Harry carefully for a minute, nodded softly to himself, then proceeded with a slow, rambling, but ultimately quite gripping story about how Regulus Black had become a death eater, only to eventually recant and withdraw his allegiance to Voldemort; about how Regulus had shown Kreacher great kindness and expressed genuine remorse and anger after Voldemort had abused the house elf; about how in Kreacher's presence Regulus had made his ultimate conversion and pledged to thwart the evil wizard.

Harry nodded in fascination. He gazed at the house elf who was standing silently, facing a dim corner like a misbehaving child. "Kreacher, how did Regulus obtain the locket?"

"Kreacher cannot tell master," the elf whined in a tone caught somewhere between desperation and remorse.

"Why not?"

"Kreacher promised never to tell anyone from House of Black... or any dark witch or wizard."

"But I'm neither!" Harry protested gently.

"Master is heir to House of Black," Kreacher persisted.

"I'm Sirius's heir," Harry corrected, "but I've never been related to anyone in the House of Black."

Kreacher remained still and silent.

"If you tell me, I will help you fulfill your promise to Regulus," Harry vowed.

Kreacher turned slowly and examined him with large eyes. "You will destroy it?"

"If you tell me how the locket came to be here, then I will make certain that it is destroyed. I must not do it tonight, but I will have it destroyed well before the end of this year."

Kreacher stared intently into Harry's eyes for a long moment. Harry did not blink. Kreacher nodded, and began to recount a second tale. Kreacher described about how he had taken Regulus to an island in the middle of a lake filled with inferi, and about how Regulus was only able to secure the horcrux by drinking a basin filled with some sort of horrific, treacherous draught. Harry was amazed at how closely the story correlated with Dumbledore's rambling questions from their last meeting — clearly the headmaster had somehow been privy to some of the same experiences that Kreacher was now recounting.

As Kreacher struggled through the story, Harry saw something in the old elf's spirit begin to lift. His rigid, croaking throat muscles loosened somewhat, and the voice took on a tone that was less jarring to the ear. The ends of his sentences began to lilt upwards, a bit like Dobby's did. His face looked intensely tired, but somehow just slightly less stressed. When he finished speaking, he did not turn to stand in the corner again, but rather remained facing Harry.

Harry was lost in thought and failed to notice that the ancient house elf was still standing by, awaiting his instructions.

"Is that all, master?" Kreacher asked.

Harry shook off his ponderings. "Oh yes, thank you Kreacher, that will be all."

Still working his way through a jumble of unsorted impressions and speculations, Harry sat silently, hearing a rustle as Kreacher bowed; vaguely registering the sound of bare feet padding down a short hallway past the panty. A creaky door opened then rattled closed again.

Harry frowned then sat bolt upright. How could everyone have been so blind all this time! The detestable Kreacher was not detestable! The longstanding close proximity to such an evil object, plus the horrible guilt of living with an unmet promise, must have been driving Kreacher effectively, but perhaps reversibly, insane? This sudden leavening of Kreacher's features, his unexpected willingness to talk about sensitive issues and perhaps even somewhat trust Harry — was this some early but fundamental evidence of a healing process already underway?

Harry got to his feet and followed in the direction toward which the footsteps had receded. He spied a door, slightly ajar. It was for one of the two cleaning closets off the kitchen. He knocked softly at the door frame and began to pull the door open again. There indeed was Kreacher, lying among a clump of filthy rags that had been retired from cleaning service and now served to keep the pitiful elf warm during the chilly Grimmauld Place nights. From within these destitute quarters, surrounded by broken teacups, bent spoons, several old faded, scratched and torn photographs and other unidentifiable bits of trash, Kreacher was blinking at him, struggling to his feet.

"Kreacher?" Harry said.

"Yes master?" the house elf croaked, from his hands and knees.

"Please don't get back up. Just lie as you were, Kreacher," Harry said softly. "I only wanted to tell you something."

"What is it master?"

"We... that is Ginny, Bill and I... do know how to deal with the horcrux. I promised that we would destroy it, and I promise you again that we will. You should go to sleep tonight knowing that you have done your duty to your Master Regulus in delivering the locket to us. I never knew Regulus, but I am grateful to him for having given his life to achieve a tremendously difficult task, and I am grateful to you for your very painful and thankless role in keeping his quest alive. You have done your part. It's now up to us to take care of the rest."

For the first time in many many long years, Kreacher looked into the face of a wizard without resentment or loathing. It was very subtle, and one would have needed very discerning perception to register it, but Kreacher somehow recalled from the depths of old memories how to arrange a few of the facial muscles in his cheeks and around the eyes to accomplish an exceptional rarity: an expression of appreciation.

With Kreacher finally resting, Harry walked to the bottom of the steps, and transformed into his panther form. He padded his way softly upstairs, sniffing for scent of a werewolf and a lioness. They apparently had gone all the way up to the attic; his nose eventually led him to the right room and he discovered to his relief that either Ginny or Remus had charmed the door so that it opened inwards without him having to wrestle with the knob. As an animagus, he would have had neither the thumb nor the specialized magic necessary to get through the door without transforming back into human form. Remus had a great deal of self-control as a werewolf, but Harry was still not quite comfortable with the thought of being human in close proximity to him.

Harry nosed his way inwards and saw Remus calmly pacing back and forth, at the far end, while Ginny stirred from the sleep near the door.

How did it go? Both Remus and Ginny had spoken the same question to him telepathically at almost the same time.

Very well! Harry responded. Remus, several hours ago you asked me to do something?

Yes, to try to reason with Kreacher?

Well, believe it or not, I may have actually succeeded.

Harry and Ginny apparated back to the Hogwarts main gate a little after seven o'clock the next morning. On a normal day they would already have completed their run by now and would be jumping around or battling dummies in the Room of Requirement. All those normal activities would have to be shelved today, however. After having been up until nearly four o'clock talking about horcruxes and house elves, the most immediate goal was to try to get through the morning.

After quick showers, they both felt somewhat human as they made their way down to breakfast, but the pepper-up draft wasn't working wonders for either of them. After a rather subdued meal in which they nodded their way through discussions (and through non-discussions as well), they rose to leave the Great Hall. Neville, Terry and Ron met them at the doorway.

"Could we trouble you for a minute?" Terry asked.

"Sure, no problem," Harry answered. "What's up?"

"Er, well, when we coaxed Ron into HART yesterday, we didn't really explain to him how the bracelets worked," Neville admitted.

"Can I borrow a wrist for a minute?" Terry asked.

"Sure," Ginny said, offering her still-banded right wrist.

"Okay," Terry explained to Ron, "If Ginny was going to leave the castle today, she'd check in with one of the four on-duty monitors like me. Ginny, let's synch to show Ron."

Ginny and Terry bumped wrists.

"Okay," Terry continued, "Ginny and I are connected. If she was really going somewhere today, then... er, you're not going anywhere today, right?"

Ginny and Harry both shook their heads. "Thankfully no!" Ginny said with emphasis.

"Okay, if Ginny actually was going somewhere, I would find the other three on-duty monitors and bump wrists the exact same way, and that would automatically synch them up with Ginny too. And Ginny could similarly get Harry connected."

Ron nodded. "So what happens if she or Harry signals?"

"The first thing you'll feel is a buzz on your wrist," Neville answered. "If Ginny's signaling from close by, say less than a mile, then the bracelet can act like a homing device — it will draw you toward her. If you don't feel any draw, which will usually be the case, then your bracelet can still be used as a portkey. All you need to do is twist this knot and you'll portkey in, usually somewhere within about a hundred feet of her."

"Cool!" said Ron.

"Now, as long as Ginny doesn't forget to signal us at the first sign of trouble," Terry raised his finger sternly to her as a reminder, "we should be able to get the word out faster than any just about anyone else."

"Faster than patronus?" Ron asked.

"I think so," Neville responded.

"I think you'll reach four people faster with this than most people could reach one person with a patronus," Terry expanded.

Ron nodded appreciatively. "Wow, thanks!"

"Yes, thanks!" Harry chimed in. "I'd never actually gotten the full orientation from the monitor perspective — that's useful to know!"

"Sure, no problem — thanks for your time!" Terry responded as he began walking away.

Neville and Ron turned the other way to continue into the Hall for breakfast. "See you two later!" Harry called.

Ginny smiled brightly and waved... and then slumped into her boyfriend.

Harry put his arm around her and gently rubbed her back. "Why don't you go back to bed and try to get a few more hours sleep," he suggested. "I'll make it through AHA and my two classes, then after lunch I'm going go back up for a long nap. Maybe we'll both be recovered after that."

"Oh Harry, you're really going to put in a full morning?" Ginny moaned. "You look terrible! Maybe you can at least cancel HA? You were exhausted even before getting less than three hours of sleep. If you don't start taking better care, you're going to end up in the Hospital Wing!"

"I'd hate to put the students behind, Gin'! Only a few more hours and then maybe my beautiful girlfriend can coax me to bed," Harry winked.

She hugged him. "Okay. But you take care of my Harry! Don't you drop him on his head, okay?"

Harry smiled. He kissed her and they went their separate ways.

The AHA training went well: he split the class up into two alternating sessions, one of which focused on shields, while the other focused on strengthening wards. On the shield side, he focused on applying the recent discoveries of how much stronger two overlapping shields could be as compared to a single shield, so he asked everyone to partner up and try to erect joint shields that could withstand concurrent assault by as many as ten other students. On the other side of the room, he emphasized the strategic use of physical shields. He explained how people could effectively use walls, rocks or trees as ready-made shields against attack, and how physical objects were they only way to block against unforgivables, but clarified that that this would only work until attackers broke the physical barrier down with a reductor hex or something comparable. To thwart that, he showed them how a decent wall complemented with a strong strengthening ward could withstand intense battery. It was the perfect fare for a tired instructor: both were entertaining exercises, and neither required complicated or subtle explanations.

Having remembered in advance that he rarely felt on top of the world the morning after a full moon, Harry had thought ahead to make his morning DADA classes less instructionally demanding than usual. Students from both his sixth and seventh year classes were to hand him short project plans and to present to the class brief discussions of their intended goals and solicit peer feedback. In other words, it would be the students doing the teaching this morning, and his only responsibilities would be to moderate and evaluate the discussions.

Many of the sixth-year projects were ones that came as little surprise to Harry. He had already persuaded the super seven to transition their various team-dueling strategy studies from AHA into the NEWT classes, so many of them spoke about various coordination exercises — good topics for capturing student imagination. Their more sensitive discoveries like shield-breaking, Harry had decided should remain within the umbrella of secrecy that the AHA could maintain, although Harry had agreed to let Mary-Jo fold some basic aspects of her surveillance device studies into the class, and have Nick talk about shield strength optimization. Among the other students, many of the projects were a dull blur to Harry, however one that stood out in terms of innovation was Colin Creevey's ideas for site forensics: using a variety of techniques for recording and analyzing attacks post facto. Photography obviously figured into his plans, but he had also done a lot of research into magical signature diagnostics of the sort that Harry himself was very interested in. The final discussion of the class was by Luna who spoke about the use of magical creatures as allies and adjuncts for defense. Harry was quite taken aback when she didn't actually speak about any creatures whose existence was still controversial. Attempting to be a good sport, Harry decided to ask whether she was going to consider more exotic creatures such as heliopaths or umgubular slashkilters.

"Harry, honestly??" Luna huffed. "Have you ever succeeded in taming a heliopath or an umgubular slashkilter?"

"Er, no," he admitted.

"Hmmph!" she declared. "Well there you have it, class! If Professor Potter can't tame heliopaths or umgubular slashkilters, then should we really consider using them as defense adjuncts?"

Harry's brief attempt at an apology was parried by a detailed impromptu lecture about responsible zoological practices and ministry beast classifications. Fortunately, the class was saved by the bell.

Despite having an identical assignment, the seventh year class, as always, took on a very different complexion. Hannah, Susan and Daphne all led lively discussions about various social impacts of conflict and some effective remediation strategies. Harry enjoyed hearing their thoughts — the three of them had thrown themselves vigorously into different aspects of SHP, to the point where Ginny's role had been reduced nearly to the basic level of fiscal and executive oversight. Terry spoke thoughtfully about tailoring wards to automatically discriminate among specific aura signatures. Blaise elaborated with surprising passion about aerial dueling strategies, which was a topic that Harry had given very little thought about, but which seemed potentially rather farsighted considering that most wizards and witches could take to the air. After that, the excitement level began to drop off. Pansy spoke about wand-lore, but it was clear that her depth was lacking behind those students who had had the benefit of an extra year's worth of HA training. Neville spoke about healing plants: very useful information but a bit of a dry topic. Ron introduced the interesting issue of how to cope strategically with multiple simultaneous death-eater attacks — a very compelling subject, but unfortunately he hadn't prepared adequately and was stumped by some very basic questions from the audience. Zacharias Smith admitted baldly that he hadn't worked on anything, and went straight back to reading Quidditch Weekly. Hermione gave a factual but rather uninspired laundry list of different types of spells and charms required for dark arts defense. Draco was absent. Several other students stood up, talked, and sat down again — topics blurred in Harry's increasingly diffuse mind.

Forcing his eyes straight so that he could accurately scan the class list, he breathed a little oath of relief to note that only one more student was left to present. If Ernie MacMillan finished on time, Harry had decided that he would let class out fifteen minutes early, and go convince Ginny to take a quiet lunch in their quarters. And then sleep...

Ernie was speaking about fiscal policies for countering dark societal threats. Harry would not have even considered permitting a topic like that in his DADA class, except for the recent happenings at Gringotts, which had painted some rather interesting new implications of finances in wizarding conflicts. So he was prepared to give the Head Boy the benefit of the doubt. Sadly, this soon proved to have been a mistake. Thirty seconds into the talk, MacMillan was already droning in a soporific monotone that made Harry think of brisk sunny days and quidditch.

Must concentrate Harry — just a little longer!

Maybe a funny distraction would liven things up? Harry cast a furtive glance at Blaise, hoping that the crafty Slytherin might have prepared a little surprise of some sort for Ernie. Blaise was a skilled enough prankster that Harry always shuddered when he was in the same room as the twins. Harry gazed inquisitively at him, looking for a telltale smirk that might augur an eye-opening surprise. Blaise was indeed grinning, but he rigorously persisted... in doing nothing. C'mon Blaise! You've pranked MacMillan every other day this year — why not today?!

Harry took a deep, oxygenating breath. Must look at speaker; must listen to speaker. However, the speaker wasn't helping matters at all: every time that Ernie repeated phrase 'premeditated fiduciary intervention' that annoying little tuft of hair on Ernie's head did a little bob that reminded Harry of Buckbeak's tail. Ugh — sounds like Binns, looks like Buckbeak! Hey wait — Luna talked about hippogriffs earlier — I wonder if she might be interested in collaborating with Blaise on aerial combat? Boy, wouldn't that be a partnership concocted in the twisted fiery depths of Hades?! Oh, but that topic would never fly because hippogriffs aren't pack animals — you probably wouldn't be able to get more than a few up in the air together without them trying to kill each other... For some reason, Harry couldn't shake the image of a friendly pair of hippogriffs flying high up in the sky on a brisk sunny day. He was riding one, and off in the distance there was — no, it couldn't be? Oh, he would know that mane of red hair anywhere — Ginny was riding the other hippogriff! She gave him that tantalizing little taunt of hers; an offhand smirk and cute flick of her shoulder. Come on Bucky, fly! She thinks we can't catch up — let's show her! Buckbeak threw his wings back and surged forward. Wind streaming through Harry's hair, he and Buckbeak pulled level with Ginny and the other hippogriff. With a big grin he waved. She flashed him a wide smile and waved back, saying...

"Harry...? Harrrr-eee...?? Oh my, doesn't he look sooo sweeeet?"

Harry frowned. He knew that voice — that's not Ginny! With a start, his eyes sprang open.

"Urk!" he exclaimed, finding himself face to face with a cooing Daphne Greengrass. That in itself was startling... but it was not nearly as disconcerting as seeing a very affronted Ernie MacMillan looming over him with his Buckbeak-tail quivering in indignation.

"Blimey! Sorry mates!" Harry stammered. "My apologies — I had a long late night last night." He struggled to sit upright. "Ummm... what say we skive off a little early, perhaps? Ernie, if you catch up with me after supper, I promise to give you better feedback on your project."

"Tsk tsk!" Daphne scolded him as she gently patted his hand. "If only you had let us rush out and save you last night, none of this would ever have happened!"

The class snickered a little, but handed in their project plans in an orderly manner and began filing out of the room. The moment Blaise's project plan landed in Harry's hand, the scroll transfigured itself into a big puffy down pillow. Harry cursed under his breath, but laughed anyway, and the scroll reverted to normal form.

As the last of the students left, Harry sorted the sixth-year and seventh-year scrolls into two separate, small boxes, which he set carefully on the desk. He turned and bent over to pick up his backpack, then...

CRASH!!

"What the...??"

He wheeled around to find that the two boxes he'd placed on the table had somehow both fallen to the floor, scattering the scrolls everywhere. He groaned and kneeled down to retrieve and sort them again. He reflected that Hermione would probably know a perfect spell to automatically sort and stack them, but whatever. Just box them up again and get out of here.

He was crawling under a desk to reach for what was finally the last scroll, when he felt a familiar presence seemingly waiting for him at the door. He smiled. Although this would be yet another delay in him finding his dearly-sought pillow, it was nonetheless always gratifying for a student to finally take enough interest in the course to wait around after class. "Just a minute..." he called out, "I just have to... Ughh!!"

His whole skull throbbed sickeningly; his brain itched... crawled... lurched. He clutched his head and gasped in alarm as his occlumency shields quivered sickeningly. Random memories flashed through his mind, but all quickly dissipated and were discarded. Suddenly his scar flared and a stab of pain tore into his forehead as he raced through a vortex of jumbled sensory perceptions: there he was, kneeling on the floor with the room reeling around him, Ginny was tearing frantically down a stairwell, Riddle was clutching at him in alarmed disorientation... and through all this, he felt the bizarre, inexplicable presence of...

Everything went black, and his head hit the floor with a resounding crack.

Chapter 16. All About Knowing    (September 17-18, 1997)

Ginny had rolled out of bed again a little after eleven o'clock, feeling much... much... better. Except for a little corner of her heart that remembered that Harry had managed so little sleep last night, and had missed the therapeutic morning nap she had been treated to. "Oh, Harry!" she groaned sympathetically. Her mood was in the process of drifting into melancholia, but when Emerald took this as an invitation to jump up to nuzzle her spiritedly Ginny laughed in spite of herself.

Forty minutes later she had showered, changed, and was doing stretching exercises as she started to ponder what needed to be accomplished. The horcrux search was progressing much more quickly and adventitiously than she could ever have expected; there was still one object out there that they hadn't identified, and they would need to figure out how to deal with the snake, but apart from that, two horcruxes had been destroyed, two more were in safe keeping, and... well, there was that one still in Harry's head.

Having assimilated a lot of thoughts from the Fugos, as well as some ideas from various books on soul magic, Ginny was increasingly convinced that, although frightening, the horcrux in Harry's head was not necessarily a deadly liability. It might also be an important key. If she and Harry could find the right way to break down Riddle's defenses, Harry's scar could prove useful as a direct channel for them to confront him. But how? The Fugos had said that they had hoped that Harry and she would use music to defeat Riddle. In what way? The Fugos seemed to use the term music to refer to how they perceived the harmony between souls, so were they suggesting trying to flood him with love and happiness? Surely Riddle's deep hatred and cynicism would be an impenetrable barrier against softer powers. "Music," Ginny mused softly to Emerald. The cat looked up momentarily, and went back to her contented purring.

Ginny straightened up and looked at her watch, wondering if it was too early to go park herself outside of the fifth floor classroom to rescue Harry from the seventh-years. She had just decided to summon Dobby and ask him to begin preparing a private lunch when...

A flash of ice raced through her veins!

"Harry!!" she shrieked and tore through the door. She slammed on the brakes in the hallway and, without considering the ramifications, pounded on her bracelet, shouting "Audite me, HART!" before sprinting down the corridor.

Terry Boot was on the grand staircase with Susan, Neville, and Hannah, all heading down for an early lunch, when he jerked to an abrupt halt. "Bloody hell!" he looked squarely at Neville. "It's Ginny! She's in the castle. Sixth floor," he blurted, jabbing with his left thumb toward his right wrist. "She just signaled!" The four students stared at each other for a moment, then bolted up the stairs, nearly knocking Pansy Parkinson over the railing in the process.

Pansy pushed herself back from the railing, stared for the briefest instant at the four students scrambling headlong up the stairs, and instinctively, unthinkingly bolted after them. She initially followed their course, but at the fifth floor landing, for reasons she couldn't fathom, she veered away and returned exactly the way they had all come — sprinting back to the fifth floor DADA classroom. She would later swear that she had no idea what she was doing or why she did it, she simply burst into the classroom, wand drawn, yelling "Stupefy!!" and saw Hermione Granger collapse in a heap beside the door. It was then that she turned and saw Harry lying on the floor, surrounded by a pile of loose scrolls, with a small puddle of blood spreading out from his forehead.

"Harry!" she screamed. She ran to him and turned him over, heedless of receiving large smears of blood across her arms. "Harry talk to me!" she hissed frantically. "Say something!"

"Something..." Harry mumbled, his eyes still squeezed shut.

She cradled Harry's head in the crook of her arm. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of the situation. She had just opened her mouth to see if Harry was capable of anything more insightful, when five people burst into the room. She barely blinked as she watched four wands whip out and point straight at her, but Pansy's heart nearly stopped permanently at the sight of Ginny Weasley's flaming face... and fist.

All eyes fixed in hypnotic terror on the blazing projectile... except Terry whose urgent voice yelled, "Ginny stop! Not Pansy!"

Ginny's fist, with enough raw magical power to take down a raging erumpent, lurched to the side at the last minute, missing Pansy and instead blasted a six foot hole in the classroom wall.

Ginny shook herself in anger and confusion. "What the blue blazes is going on?!" she bellowed.

Pansy had no answer; she gaped at Ginny for the barest second before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped to the ground in a dead faint with Harry's bloodied head lolling into her lap. Harry's face twitched, he blinked, and he struggled up to a kneeling position. He gazed up into Ginny's approaching face. "Hermione," he said dumbly.

"Over there!" Neville exclaimed, pointing to the sprawled limbs and brown hair lying a bit to the right of the classroom door.

"What? Hermione?? Who did...? Oh, what a ridiculous mess..." Ginny groaned. She held Harry's face in her hands, thrust away her confusion, and closed his cut with a quick episkey spell. "Can somebody please take care of Hermione and Pansy?" she called to the others gathered behind her. "I need to get Harry to the hospital wing. Merlin, I knew this was going to end up there, I just didn't think..." she trailed off.

"That somebody in the HA would put him there?" Hannah asked. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Ginny nodded. "Harry, can you come with me? Can you walk, or should we levitate you?"

"I can stand and walk," Harry responded, rubbing his head, "but I'm not going anywhere until we know that Hermione and Pansy are okay."

Ginny glared at him for a moment but the suddenly steady, calculating look in Harry's eyes made her relent. She stood up and helped him to his feet. He was still a bit wobbly and permitted Ginny to throw his arm over her shoulder, but he seemed to be rapidly regaining strength and confidence. In the meantime, Neville had successfully rennervated Hermione, who was looking around the room in an agitated state, babbling some stream of semi-coherent apologies that Ginny wasn't bothering to listen to. Susan had likewise gently roused Pansy.

"Ginny..." Pansy reached for Ginny's hand. "I didn't do it. I didn't hurt him. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him. You know that, right?"

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, I think I realize that now — thanks for looking out for him." She gave Pansy's hand a little squeeze.

A memory flashed across Pansy's mind. She flinched and unconsciously glancing warily at the hand she was holding. She exhaled. The hand looked so much smaller, friendlier, less terrifying than it had a couple of minutes earlier. Pansy shivered involuntarily, but then nodded and gave Ginny a weak smile.

"Object lesson!" Harry declared, as he started to take charge of the situation. "Susan and Neville: remember the first contact tests we learned last weekend from Madame Pomfrey for diagnosing concussions; please check Pansy and Hermione. Ginny, can you evaluate me, please? If any of us fail, we'll go to the Hospital Wing. Otherwise, I'd like to stick around here for a few minutes and sort out a little of this mess."

While Terry and Hannah set about repairing the wall, Ginny, Neville and Susan ran through the concussion checklist, testing for consciousness, mid-range memory, situational awareness, physical sensations and responses to sound and light. The battery of basic tests gave Hermione and Pansy a useful opportunity to calm themselves and regain their emotional bearing. Harry and both girls were successfully cleared of any concussion threat.

Harry looked around the room at the various faces. "Okay, please bear with me on some of this because I wasn't at my sharpest when things happened," he began, "but I'm guessing Pansy that you burst in here, stunned Hermione, and then came over to help me off the floor?"

Pansy nodded. She looked like she wanted to burst into a frantic explanation, but Harry held up his hand, and turned to Hermione. "Hermione," Harry continued, "do you have any major complaint with the fact that Pansy stunned you?'

Hermione opened and closed her mouth twice, before saying, "Harry, listen, there's something..."

"Just answer the question first please. You'll have plenty of opportunity to discuss other factors later, okay? Now, do you have any complaint with Pansy's action?"

Hermione looked pale and uncertain. "But I... well she... Okay, no," she admitted weakly.

"Thank you," Harry said, gamely forcing a smile onto his face. "Pansy, I'd like to thank you and all the others..." he nodded to Terry, Neville, Susan, and Hannah, "for helping me out yet again. I do hate to seem rude, but Ginny and I need to speak to Hermione alone for a few minutes. Susan and Hannah, it would probably help Pansy re-equilibrate if she could get up and walk a bit. Can you accompany her, take her for a very easy stroll around fifth floor? Please stay with her for at least a half hour to ensure there aren't any residual effects from passing out."

"Sure, Harry," Susan said, coming over and helping Pansy to her feet.

Pansy stared from Harry to Hermione to Ginny and back again. "Uh, let me make sure I understand this correctly. You're saying I'm not in trouble, right? You're not blaming me for hexing Granger?"

"You're fine Pansy," Harry assured her. "Sorry to chase you out, but it would be best for you to move around a bit and get your circulation stabilized."

Ginny nodded in solidarity. "Yes, I agree and, uh... I'm sorry if I almost... hurt you."

Pansy raised her eyebrows in momentary bemusement at the choice of words, but then she smiled and nodded.

"Listen," Neville asked warily, "are you sure that the three of you are going to be okay alone in here together?"

"Well," Harry pondered, "I hope we can all be trusted to keep out of trouble for a few minutes, right? We have a lot of important things that need to be discussed, but that's simply not going to happen right now. I have no intention of badgering Hermione, and frankly I'm probably tired enough right now to keel over and bang my head, even without any outside encouragement..." he managed a weary wink toward Hermione, who remained pale and stoney-faced. "So all I was hoping for was five minutes to touch on some of the most urgent issues and reach an agreement on when to meet next. Will that be okay with you two?" He looked to Hermione and Ginny.

Hermione nodded, albeit with a bit of uncertainty. Ginny frowned deeply, but when she saw Hermione agree, she too nodded her assent.

"Okay..." Neville decided. "I'm going to close this door and go twenty feet down the hall. But I'm not going any further until I see all three of you leave in one piece without any hexes flying."

Ginny smiled. "That's very considerate of you — thanks Neville!"

The door closed, and footsteps receded down the hallway. Harry took a seat, sideways in one of the student chairs. Ginny leaned against a desk. Hermione glanced nervously back and forth between them.

"Would you like to go first, Hermione?" Harry offered.

Hermione fidgeted and looked off toward the window. After a long pregnant pause, Harry began to speak again. "Well, I have to say, I was..."

"Harry, you're possessed!!" Hermione cried out, whipping to face him. "I saw it! I'd always worried that there was something wrong with you, but I always thought that, oh well, it's just that Harry's troubled or sad or angry or something, but now I've seen it! He's inside you, Harry! Vol... Voldemort is inside your head!" Her face had gone deathly pale; she bit her lower lip, and then doubled over in sobs.

Harry nodded at Ginny; she glanced at him and nodded to acknowledge the unspoken request. Ginny walked over to Hermione and put her arm around her; the older girl collapsed into her, the sobs mounted, crested, then slowly subsided.

"Hermione, I'm not possessed," Harry spoke softly from his seat. He made no attempt to get any closer, since he was uncertain what might or might not be interpreted as a threatening move. As calmly and evenly as possible, he continued. "I worried about that once myself. I was upset, almost frantic even, about those horrible visions in my head. But remember Christmas of fifth year at Grimmauld place when I decided I needed to run away so I didn't threaten any of you — Ginny talked me out of it, explained what possession was like and convinced me that while something was wrong, it wasn't possession. You should remember all that because you were there."

Hermione was still clutching Ginny, facing away from Harry, but her sobs had ceased completely and she was clearly listening.

"But you're not completely wrong, Hermione. I, personally, am not possessed. However my scar is... sort of."

Hermione stiffened.

"It's not perfectly accurate to say that my scar is possessed, because that implies a kind of invasion. Voldemort did not invade my scar — he owns it."

Hermione twisted around in Ginny's embrace to gape it him. "What??" she gasped.

"My scar is a physical manifestation of part of Voldemort's soul. From what we can best guess, a fragment of his magical essence must have somehow spalled off when he tried to kill me back in 1981. It embedded itself in my magical aura, and has been with me ever since."

"What?!" Hermione hissed again.

"For most of my life it was only a minor irritant that I could ignore, but when Voldemort reacquired a body a couple years ago, he began to realize that the fragment of his was in there, and discovered that he could communicate with me. It damn-near drove me insane, but then my occlumency training last year allowed me to arrange my thoughts and memories so that they were segregated away from the fragment. It was no longer embedded inside my soul because I moved everything important in my soul away from where the fragment was. But the fragment was still there: it could no longer steal information from me, but could still broadcast visions to me. Fortunately, apparently without either of us realizing it, Ginny began to pour some of her magic into me and she managed to encase the evil fragment, shielding me from him."

Hermione decoupled herself from Ginny's embrace and turned to face Harry with a bewildered look on her face.

"Last spring," Harry continued, "Ginny and I were subjected to some strange magic that erased many of the barriers to each other's magic. Before that we had been able to share spells a bit, but suddenly it became possible for us to magically interact with each other in lots of fascinating and powerful ways. We've tried to study the effects, and I think we have some understanding of them, but I also suspect that there are effects... benefits hopefully... that we haven't discovered yet. Anyway, the most obvious and wonderful thing was that Ginny's magic suddenly became capable of completely quarantining the fragment."

Harry paused for comments or questions, but none were forthcoming.

"It's almost one hundred percent effective, Hermione. With Ginny's help, Voldemort isn't able to access or use the fragment in any way. He can't deliberately drag me into horrible visions and I don't even inadvertently experience his strong emotions. I barely feel his influence through the scar at all anymore. Unless, of course, somebody like you bombards me with that crude, incredibly bizarre, unpleasant, and frankly rather impressive, blast of legilimency."

"Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry Harry, I didn't know! I..."

"It's okay Hermione," Harry interjected softly. "It's not as if I warned you."

Hermione stepped toward him and pulled him into a fierce hug. Her tears started to trail down Harry's back. Harry continued his gentle explanation. "So, whatever you did today... and I'm warning you now that I do want to hear a lot more about that sometime later... whatever you did today, upset the balance, and somewhere within this stupid head of mine, you, Ginny and I all collided with Voldemort."

Hermione pulled back in horror.

"It's okay — I don't think any damage was done," Harry reassured her. "It jolted us out of our gourds, but Ginny and I are fine now. Voldemort probably got nothing out of this little mess, other than perhaps some confusion and a bit of headache." Harry chuckled. "It think it's been shocking the snot out of him to have first me, then Ginny, and now you, invading his cerebral privacy like that."

Hermione choked, snorted and burst out into the first real laugh she'd experienced in a long long time. Harry took Ginny's hand and the two of them watched with weary but relieved smiles as Hermione worked her way through a few more laughs and tears, and finally hugged them both.

"Let's talk for a little while this evening, okay?" Harry suggested when Hermione broke away again. She nodded.

"Great," Ginny sighed. "Let's go relieve Neville of his guard duty, then Harry and I are going to disappear — absolutely no interruptions until at least supper time."

Harry had been asleep for hours: deep restful sleep, almost completely undisturbed, although he had tossed and turned a bit when Ginny had gone into the study to find a couple of books. Ginny's mood had oscillated through the afternoon. It had all started with her feeling very upbeat. In their brief discussion over late lunch, she had privately marveled over Harry's quick recovery, over the exceptional grace with which he had handled Hermione's grave indiscretion, over the fairness with which he had treated her and the surprising excitement with which he had responded to having had his occlumency skills tested and at least partially beaten. It reminded her of how energized he had been when Ryan and Jennifer had nearly beaten through his shields last week. It was a puzzling but somehow very admirable trait of Harry's to respond so well to defeat; it was like every setback was a glorious opportunity to learn, strive and improve.

Once Dobby's sandwiches were gone, the exhilaration had worn off and Harry's eyelids had drooped immediately. She had led him not to their castle bed, but rather to her second level bedroom in her storage trunk, to take advantage of a gentle autumn cross-breeze and the rippling filtered sunlight trickling through spectacular fall foliage of the sort that that the evergreen stands near Hogwarts didn't afford. She had arranged him comfortably on her bed, then conjured a bunch of pillows to allow her stack up a few books and recline cross-wise, with her knees arched protectively over him. He had smiled at her and was starting to say something very sweet, if somewhat silly. Exactly what it was that he had meant to say, she unfortunately would never know, because he'd drifted off in mid-sentence.

As the virtual sun drifted westward through the afternoon, the bliss had begun to wear off. Left to her own troubling thoughts, Ginny had begun to fret. It was September 17th. Time was ticking. As far as she know, the exhaustive labors that her father, Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt had been investing to keep the Ministry in check might be faltering. Her father had sounded uncharacteristically pessimistic last weekend. The Daily Prophet had pounded DMLE for its failure to protect Gringotts, and agent provocateurs with dubious motives were calling for blood. And then there were the problems here. Dumbledore was still missing: if anything happened to the erratic old headmaster, it would be anybody's guess what horrible mess would be imposed on Hogwarts by an increasingly hostile Board of Governors. Could they be stupid enough to send Umbridge back? Somebody worse?? The mere thought tied Ginny's stomach in knots. Not long ago, she and Harry had realistically hoped that they would have until mid-October to figure out how to deal with Riddle before he suddenly turned all of the wizarding world over onto their heads. Perhaps now they had better focus on October first?

With that as motivation, she had delved into the books at her side and tried to cram as many different opinions on soul magic into her head as possible. Harry was right: they had this direct line into Riddle's head, and surely that was what the Fugo's believed that they could use in order to attack him. But what would they attack him with? It was like they had the perfect secret entrance into a formidable fortress, but no weapon to exploit it with.

The Fugos had been adamantly opposed to the use of brute hostile force, and Ginny tended to agree. Since the last time they had come face to face with Riddle, she knew that their own defensive magic had strengthened remarkably, and the shield disrupting techniques that Ryan and Jennifer had pioneered might actually render Riddle's personal defenses vulnerable... but spectacular blasts like the orange thing at Gringotts still seemed to be at a wholly unique, inhuman level of magic. How could they realistically hope to defeat phenomenal outbursts like that?

Her thoughts cycled again back to the Fugos... and music. What could they possibly mean by defeating Riddle with music? She had replayed the conversations in her head multiple times, and finally it dawned on her as she watched over her sleeping Harry, that the Fugos had spoken about two different types of music: there was the music of love that they cherished, but what else had they said?

One day, in the midst of one of the worst episode of cacophonous blasts and bangs, the music suddenly erupted. It did not begin as sweet music; it was powerful, inspiring, triumphant! It burned through us like hot tonic. It built, compounded and grew painfully strong... then suddenly it subsided into fragrant undulations...

What was it that she and Harry had done to create that 'powerful, inspiring... hot tonic'? Ginny reasoned that it probably wasn't the clash with Riddle in Diagon Alley, for the simple reason that they had not had an opportunity to 'subside into fragrant undulations' after that — there had been Dumbledore's belated emergence into the fight, followed by a crush of people, concern over all the damage done, and so forth. It had not been a climactic zenith followed by graceful relief. She thought things through for a while longer and decided that it was much more likely that the Fugos had referred to the dramatic escape from the Malfoy summer property. After a blaze of spell fire, had come the phoenix's magic through which she and Harry had successfully escaped back to Magpie Lane. There they had melted into a blissful, peaceful, loving relief... and an exquisitely therapeutic sleep.

The thought of exquisitely therapeutic sleep reminded Ginny of the reason she was up here in her peaceful virtual bedroom. She put down the book that she had been ignoring and turned to watch her companion. He was sleeping like an infant; she couldn't resist carefully lifting her legs to the side so that she could lie parallel to him. Ever so gently she moved in for a quick kiss. He smiled and hummed lightly in his sleep, but didn't stir.

She lay beside him for a long time, letting her mind continue to wander. It eventually strayed, unbidden, from their current peace to the tumultuous events just before lunch that's she'd been hoping to stifle for a while longer. A lump of sickening dread settled into her stomach as she reflected on her brutal reaction to the sight of Harry's bloodied face, to seeing the look of outright terror on Pansy's face as she... Merlin, I have to stop thinking about that! Nobody got hurt — just a little hole in the wall!

She cursed softly at her failure to reign in her unpleasant insecurities. She finally surrendered and just let the thoughts flow. On one hand, she was all too aware how it was a tremendous blessing to have such powerful magic and to be able to call it up almost instantaneously without having to draw out a wand and try to focus power through it. On the other hand, immense power was incredibly dangerous, and on the tarnished underbelly of deliberate instantaneity was the spectre of irrational spontaneity. Must work work work to keep these new powers under control! After all, she wasn't a child — accidental magic like that wouldn't produce amusing parent-to-parent braggery, it would produce Wizengamot cases. Ginny steeled her jaw. She must always know what her magic was doing; know what it was about to do; know what the consequences might be if she slipped.

What if Terry hadn't shouted?!

Her attempt at measured internal dialogue finally broke down; she bit her lip, shuddered and sobbed.

Harry awoke instantly, his deeply compassionate eyes locked onto hers, his arms wound their way around her and pulled her close. He murmured tenderly to her, seeking to soothe away the convulsions wracking her chest. "Ginny, Ginny, Ginny... Sweet, loyal, beautiful Ginny... It wasn't your fault. It really wasn't." He kissed her forehead, willing away the grimace. "Ginny, we're both the same way — we both react so instinctively to Riddle, the reaction is so intense and powerful. It wasn't Pansy that you saw; you had just clashed with Riddle's mind moments before and suddenly you're seeing me sprawled out with blood on my face — it's not wonder you flared!

He pulled back to stroke her cheek. "It couldn't be helped," he whispered. "All we can do is try to ensure that nobody else can mess with my scar like that until we're ready to... to do what we need to do."

She nodded and threw herself rigidly onto his chest for a moment until the sobs subsided... then she relaxed in his strong, comforting embrace.

Hermione entered the den with a distinct stiffness that came with nerves. She couldn't believe how horribly things had fallen apart for her earlier; everything she'd read about the legilimency technique that she'd learned from an ancient book in the forbidden section had made it sound like a perfectly innocuous and generally undetectable spell. She had discretely tested it on Ron and Lavender, and neither of them had reacted in the slightest. It should have been a quick, painless way to finally get the answers she needed from Harry. With him distractedly scrabbling around on the floor picking up scrolls, she should have been able to probe him in twenty or thirty seconds without him suspecting the least intrusion. Instead all hell had broken loose: Harry had gone into a horrifying seizure, banged his head badly, and before she had even realized that anything had gone wrong, the room, nearly dead quiet at the time, had exploded into a hornet swarm of very agitated people. To cap it all off, from what she had been able to glean from a brutally honest but very disapproving Neville, her misadventure had come within inches of producing an inadvertent and potentially gruesome outcome for Pansy Parkinson.

But perhaps even more shocking than all that horrific bungling, was Harry's inexplicable reaction. Mr. Moodswing could easily have stripped her of the Head Girl badge, and might even have pushed for her expulsion from school. For all she knew, he might even have been within rights to press criminal charges. But no, by all appearances he seemed fully prepared to let it slide, with the sole proviso that she tell him what exactly it was that she had done to him. He had seemed not just interested in that, but perhaps even excited? And for all she seemed to be coming away from this debacle remarkably unscathed, there were still aspects about the affair that were making her extremely nervous. And there he was, the source of all her anxiety, sitting by the fire of his opulent and dignified den, brooding over a cup of tea and beckoning her in.

"Are you feeling okay, Hermione?" Harry asked, as he gestured her toward a plush arm chair. "No hangover from Pansy's stunner, I hope?"

"I'm fine," Hermione responded plainly.

Ginny placed a full teacup and saucer on the end table beside her. "Is gunpowder green okay?" she asked. "I like it at this time of the evening — it won't mess with your sleep."

Hermione gave her a tight-lipped smile. "That's fine, thanks."

Harry took a long sip and stared at the fire. "So as I said earlier," he began, "that was a very strange and impressive bit of magic today. You might know that Dumbledore can't touch my occlumency shields anymore, and Snape is completely outclassed. I don't think Ginny can break through unless I let her. I think you're probably the only person at Hogwarts who can do something like that."

Hermione sat still, holding her untouched tea, but otherwise doing and saying nothing.

Harry turned to look at her. "I'd be willing to bet that a mind intrusion spell that effective is considered to be illegal. Did you learn of it in the forbidden section?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

Harry shrugged. "We have ways to find out on our own, but what we're really lacking right now is time. Voldemort is tightening the screws on the Ministry, and will probably turn his attention to Hogwarts next. Things are getting urgent for those people who plan to stand against him."

Hermione nodded slightly, appreciative of the change in subject. "Where are you getting your information from?" she asked.

"Mostly from my dad," Ginny told her, "but a fair bit from Dumbledore as well. Both of them have confided timelines to us independently, and the two timelines tend to agree."

"Hmmph," Hermione grumbled. "Well nobody tells me anything."

"Nobody tells anyone this, Hermione," Harry said in a grave tone. "There are probably fewer than ten people anywhere who have anything approaching a general understanding of this timeline, and as of right now you're the one and only student privy to this information."

"What? You mean you haven't told anyone else in the HA?"

"No, not yet," Harry admitted. "There are plenty of diligent and dedicated HA people who have all the self-motivation necessary to race through important preparations without me lighting a raging fire on their heels. For now, we say that we're preparing people to be able to defend themselves and their families. Until we've identified the time and nature of a specific threat, I feel there's no point in distracting them."

"Why is it you're the one calling the shots, Harry? Who told you to move the pieces around on the chessboard?" Hermione flared. "You're not Minister of Magic! You're not headmaster! You don't lead the Order!"

Harry sat silently for the better part of a minute, drinking his tea thoughtfully. Ginny watched him carefully. She could tell that he wasn't angry; he wasn't about to explode with a bitter retort; he was just thinking; evaluating. Would he tell her? Did Harry want Hermione's cooperation badly enough to let her know the secrets that he wasn't telling anyone else?

Harry lifted his gaze from the swirling tea leaves, glanced at Ginny and nodded.

"Hermione, I'm not a natural leader," he said finally. "For years, all of these inexplicable things kept happening to me, and I kept being able to scrape by. But the stakes have kept scaling up, and although I still managed to keep surviving, people around me that I cared about started falling. Then I realized that would continue and keep getting worse unless I accepted my fate to lead. I had the choice of always getting battered about trying to respond to things two steps too late, or else I could take charge of my life, get two steps ahead, anticipate and influence the agenda. Now, after fifteen months of that, things are about to come to a head."

"But why you, Harry?!" Hermione persisted in exasperation. "Sure you're smart and powerful, and people listen to you, but you're seventeen pathetic years old!"

"Why me? Why am I calling the shots, strutting around pretending to be the leader I'm not?" Harry asked, with an edge threatening to take hold in his voice. He stopped himself before frustration took over. From across the room, Ginny looked at him with deeply empathetic eyes; mentally she accomplished the equivalent of running her fingers down his forearm, massaging the knuckle of his thumb. He glanced quickly in her direction, flashing her a furtive smile, before returning his attention to their guest. "Why me, Hermione? Because of fate, that's why," he said with a sigh. "I realize that you never learned the contents of the infamous prophesy. Well, don't feel left out — there are only three people alive who ever learned the whole thing." He smiled briefly, noting the look of surprise that flashed over Hermione's face.

"The two most important things that the prophesy says are that I am the person who has the power to defeat Voldemort, and that I have a power that he knows not."

Hermione's eyes whipped around to gape at him. "Defeat him?!"

Harry's gaze returned to the fire. "Yes, defeat him," he confirmed. "The prophesy is quite clear: either I will kill Voldemort or he will kill me. This perpetual vendetta of his is not an obsession with trying to finish what he started sixteen years ago; it's not because he wants to demoralize the wizarding community by finally eliminating the boy who lived. It's because deep down he truly fears me. I'm certain that he doesn't understand, in a practical sense, what he's really supposed to fear about me. He doesn't know what that mystery power is that I supposedly have that he doesn't grasp. Dumbledore has always thought that it's the capacity to love. That may be part of it, but the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it's not the whole story."

"So, do you know the whole story?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry shook his head slowly and took another sip of tea. Hermione suddenly remembered that she too had been holding a cup all this time, and sipped some as well.

Ginny got up to pour herself some more. "We have ideas, Hermione," she said. "We may be getting close." She sat down again and blew on the hot liquid. "Harry mentioned earlier that he and I experienced an incident that altered our magic essences. He told you that it enabled me to unconsciously erect a strong barrier to shield him from Voldemort's influence, but the subtle yet truly most fundamental changes were not about creating barriers, but removing them."

Harry nodded. "We certainly removed a lot of barriers to each other. We seem to experience a modest level of telepathy now, but the biggest change has been in how our magical essences interact with each other: we can work on spells together and achieve results in collaboration that are far more impressive than what either one of us could do alone."

"But beyond those barriers between each other," Ginny broke in, "I think we broke down barriers inside ourselves. I believe I had walled off a part of my essence to shield myself from the horrors of my first year, and..." she took a deep breath. "and shield myself from some residual influence of the Riddle diary."

"We defeated it together," Harry continued, turning his gaze back to the now-fascinated Hermione. "Neither one of us was aware that the influence existed, but for some reason the night after we both became aware of it we went to sleep together and woke up the next day having eradicated the residual malignancy. We did it without conscious intent, just by working together in our sleep."

"Almost immediately after that," Ginny elaborated, "I began noticing changes in my magical power."

"It was almost as if her power suddenly doubled!" Harry exclaimed. "We had gone into the summer with plans for an intense regimen of advanced magical training all summer, but after a while it became clear that we needed to slip some basic re-learning back into the regimen so that Ginny could recalibrate her power." He chuckled. "She obliterated a whole lot of training dummies before she had it all reined in. Anyway, my power changed a bit too. It was nothing quite so dramatic, but I came away from the experience with some real benefits too."

"Anyway, I think our whole essence structures are different now than they used to be," Ginny explained. "We've consciously built lots of valuable barriers with occlumency, but we've broken down the legacy barriers — preconceptions, badly taught lessons from school, emotional scar-tissue. We've healed old wounds, refocused our power to productive ends and gotten stronger."

"So," Harry said with a smile, "while this may all sound like a set of wonderful, self-improvement exercises, I'm starting to believe that this ability to carefully build and remove barriers might be the true fundamental difference between us and Voldemort that the prophesy alluded to."

"How?" Hermione asked. "How would you use this ability to defeat Vol...Voldemort?"

"We're still in the process of figuring that out," Ginny said with a smile.

"Yes, we'll let you know when things have progressed a little further," Harry offered. "But in the meantime, you've thrown an interesting curve into the plans. I believe I'd acquired a bit of... I don't know... arrogance? Complacency? I figured that my own occlumency barriers were fully optimized; impervious; that they could stand up to anyone, hopefully even Voldemort. Now, you've disabused me of that illusion, Hermione, and I would really like to know how."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I suppose so." She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a small fabric bag, bound at the top with a silken cord. She reached inside and pulled out two books:

"Mind Control: How to Detect and Defend Against Legilimency, Imperius and Seven Other Forms of Cerebral Violation" by Constanzia Parlaporte.

"Magical Frequency" by Evgeni Dmitrievich Tsigler

Hermione placed the books on the coffee table. Harry picked up 'Magical Frequency', and noted wryly that it had been stamped 'Forbidden Section' along the side. He began leafing through it. Ginny picked up Parlaporte's book and started scanning through the table of contents and index.

"In 'Mind Control'," Hermione began, "there was a short note in the legilimency section saying that some practitioners had found that occlumency shields could be overcome by trying to defocus the legilimens spell; to make it seem more like static than a solid burst of magical power. The analogy she uses was that if you throw a block of ice at a strong screen door, the block will bounce back or shatter, but if spray the door with droplets, the water will get through. I assumed right off that you'd be immune to the solid probe, so I taught myself the diffuse approach. It seemed to work well with some people, but..."

Harry looked up from skimming the other book with a raised eyebrow, saying, "It tickles, I'll have you know!"

Ginny burst out laughing as she remembered Harry complaining about the sensation, but stopped when she noticed Hermione hanging her head in mortification. "Oh, don't worry about it Hermione — we all make mistakes," Ginny soothed.

Hermione gulped and took a moment to recompose herself. "So, obviously that didn't work," she resumed. "I tried to get you agitated by throwing you off your train of thought, interrupting you in class..."

"You're such a delinquent, Hermione!" Ginny teased. "I don't think I'm going to show you the real ways to distract Harry."

"What did you learn from Tsigler?" Harry asked, in an attempt to redirect the somewhat erratic discussion.

Hermione looked up again, proceeding in a somewhat halting manner, uncertain of how best to explain the complex magical concept. "Well, a lot of people think of magic as discrete beams or pulses that carry the magical intent from the witch or wizard to the object or person that the witch or wizard intends to influence. Tsigler believes that the magic isn't discrete, but that instead it's oscillating with some frequency, and that this frequency is how you communicate intent."

She paused to see if Ginny or Harry appeared to follow the distinction. "Keep going," Harry requested.

"So in this sense, maybe magic is like noise; maybe we can take the same basic spell and change its behavior. Like perhaps with a low pitch we can warm an object up, with a higher pitch we can move it, and with an even higher pitch, we can shatter it." Hermione explained. "The way everyone teaches magic, they always focus on intent, rather than something abstract like frequency. But I've been trying to relearn some simple spells by focusing on the feel rather than the intent. It's completely counterintuitive — you have to completely discard the textbook spell recipe and start over. Anyway, I spent a lot of time Sunday and Monday working in it and was starting to get the feel for it on protego and levioso. Yesterday, I tried doing it in conjunction with Parlaporte's diffuse legilimens spell, boosting the frequency a fair bit higher. It seemed to work just as well as the original in my tests..."

"Tests? You already tested this spell on other people?" Harry asked, gazing off toward the mantle as he did so.

Hermione fidgeted. "Yes."

Ginny frowned; she looked like she was about to ask a following question, but at a glance from Harry, she opted to defer her curiosity.

"So anyway," Hermione continued nervously, "that was what I tried on you today. The effect, umm, was not at all what I was anticipating."

"Yes," Harry confirmed emotionlessly as he and Ginny handed the books back to Hermione. "I can assure you that it didn't tickle." He stood up reached out his hand to Hermione, saying, "Thank you very much for sharing your knowledge. This is very helpful."

"You're... you're welcome Harry," she responded tentatively. "Thank you very much for telling me so much about what's going on. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks," Harry replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected a firm and slightly ominous set to Ginny's jaw. He nodded in recognition and focused squarely on Hermione, crafting a stern visage. "Hermione, please also promise me that you will never use legilimency on any student in the school. I personally refuse to use it on students because that would be an abuse of authority. Given your position as Head Girl, I would highly recommend similar standards of conduct. People like Snape resort to tactics like this without considering the morality of their actions, and that's a big part of the reason that an impeachment petition with his name on it is currently sitting on Dumbledore's desk." He took a deep breath, before resuming. "You're a better person than Snape, right?"

Hermione nodded timidly. "You're right, Harry," she affirmed.

"And should you feel the sudden urge to try this little trick on me again..." Harry began, but then left a pregnant pause hanging in the air.

Hermione looked away and shuffled her feet sheepishly. Then, with sudden resolution, she raised her head to look Harry straight on, to render a responsible and credible apology, but she was startled to see a twinkle flash across Harry's eyes as he again opened his mouth. "If you feel the urge to it on me again Hermione... then be my guest," he teased. "I'll be very curious to see if you can catch me with something like that twice!"

As in the case of some of the more dramatic duels, the surrounding air the next morning was literally sparking with aggression.

"We own the barriers!" Harry shouted, glaring at Ginny.

Ginny glared right back at him. "Damn straight!" she snarled. "We make the rules! We say what Riddle sees and what Riddle shows!" The bumped their fists with a primal yell that echoed from the far walls of the Room of Requirement. They stepped back to the edge of a twelve foot circle.

After a morning already packed with reading and individual training, they had now set aside the last hour before lunch to batter at each other's occlumency shields, to push the limits, discover the most effective defenses and offenses and learn! It was no longer enough to be exceptionally good at these skills — it was time to become much better! They had deliberately tested each other's shields before; they had entered each other's minds by invitation, but they had never subjected each other to competitive mind control before. However, it was now past the time to be polite and gentle. Harry considered Ginny to be the best legilimens in the school, and he knew that he was the best occlumens: they were perfect foils for each other.

Harry started on the offensive. He had read through both the Parlaporte and Tsigler sections on legilimency and essence frequency and had quickly grasped the concept that Hermione had hit him with yesterday. He had a substantial advantage over Ginny because he had personally already experienced the discomfort of an attack of this nature and instinctively knew how to cope with the disorienting, sickening sensation. This would be Ginny's first exposure to it.

He quickly mapped out in his mind the smooth, symmetrical fortress she had constructed around her core thoughts and memories; once he had visualized that, he reframed his legilimens spell as a vibrating field, and experimented with variations in pitch and intensity. Ginny's face went taut, and perspiration began to trail down her face. After several minutes of stalemate, Harry found a particularly unpleasant combination of frequency and strength and felt Ginny's barriers begin to quaver. Thoughts flashed past: inane things like the taste of last night's green tea, the brief deliberation of which pair of stockings to pull out of the drawer for the morning's exercise, a little laugh over Emerald's early morning antics. Harry laughed, and the spell was broken. "Good one!" he called out with a grin. If you knew you couldn't hold on under a barrage, it was a sharp strategy to flood your opponent with inanities.

Ginny's face betrayed some strain, but she returned his grin. "Bloody nasty, that was!"

"I know — the spell is hard on the system. But now it's time for your revenge!" he replied with a wink.

With no more than two seconds warning, Ginny had wrapped his mind in a pulsing, throbbing, prickling pulse. Courtesy of a good night's sleep and a healthy dose of perspective, Harry was much sharper and more resilient than he had been yesterday morning when Hermione had caught him off guard, but Ginny was exceptionally skilled at controlling the spell. Whereas Hermione had hit him with the legilimens-equivalent of a high-pitched shriek, Ginny duplicated Harry's strategy of scanning through different conditions, searching for the optimal effect. Even without immediately hitting on the most effective combination, the experience was almost immediately disconcerting; like nails on a chalk board, except much more direct and personally targeted. The discomfort was a constant drag on his concentration; it was only a matter of time before she would wear him down.

Harry had held out for long enough that Ginny's own magical energy was beginning to wear thin, especially after having expended a lot of energy fighting off his earlier attack. But on the other hand, she knew she was closing in on her target. She could sense that Harry's shields were getting increasingly shimmery; their smooth definition seemed to be degrading. She inched up the pulse frequency and poured more energy into the effort. The barriers began to quiver unsustainably, she was breaking through, and then in a dizzying sequence she found herself... face to face with visions of... herself:

A quiet corner of the Gryffindor Common Room; a quidditch victory party; Ginny languidly resting in Harry's arms, wrapping her arms around his, looking back soulfully, playfully asking, “I ever tell you how much I love you?” [1]

In Harry's office for an occlumency lesson, all the room fading away except... Ginny. Harry sliding his hand down her jaw, softly stroking her cheek, lifting her face upwards... [2]

Ginny on the desert crown, white scarf draped loosely over her shoulders, her hair blazing in the coppery sunset, glimmering eyes, lips gleaming a deep red.

Ginny broke away, choking in laughter. "You did that on purpose, you cad!" she admonished, but her eyes expressed something very different as she crossed the circle and reached her hands up to Harry's strained, perspiring face. He flashed a smile and caught a quick breath the instant before her lips closed in. The tension in his arms melted away as they sought out their accustomed resting place around the small of her back. The stress of the brutal legilimency dissipated, replaced by feelings of joy and renewed exhilaration.

After a couple of minutes, they pulled a few inches apart and Ginny looked up to see a playful spark re-emerge in Harry's eyes. "Of course I did that on purpose," he told her. "Distraction is the final recourse for a failing shield."

She thought for a moment. "So you deliberately arranged those memories..."

"Those patronus memories..." he interjected, as he pecked her on the nose.

She grinned. "Okay, you arranged those patronus memories right at the periphery, so that those would be the first that I'd see?"

He nodded more seriously. "Yes, I'd like to think of this as my own personal trade secret, but it's quite possible we'll meet other adversaries who come up with similar tricks. And that person's idea of distracting images may not be quite so... pleasant."

Ginny frowned. "I see," she said pensively. "How would one best prepare for something like that?"

Harry's fingertips stroked her back unconsciously. "I think we would either need to hone an expert degree of control over emotional responses, or else we really hone our concentration."

"I think the latter is best for us, don't you?" Ginny surmised.

Harry nodded. "I think you're right. It might sound good to be coldly dispassionate, but I'd bet half of our power comes from emotional response."

Ginny thought for a moment. "Joy, excitement, anger... even grief and fear. All of those emotions can be empowering in one way or another."

"Yes, no matter what the old saying claims," Harry responded, "I don't fear 'fear itself'. As long as I can concentrate on the task before me, fear and grief can be overcome. The only emotion I truly abhor is despair."

Ginny hands clasped his shoulders and she stared deeply into his eyes. "As long as we're here for each other, we will never despair!"

Harry lost himself in her gaze, the warmth of her hands pulsed through him, his hands tingled where they rested against a patch of silken skin on her back and suddenly he knew! Love was indeed a great source of power, and many people used it to achieve great things, but it in itself was not the end of the conceptual path. Ginny's words suggested a fundamental promise that went well beyond; he and Ginny were grappling toward something truly transformative. There was still much learning and experimentation to be done, but he was certain it was within their grasp. If they succeeded, they would know a power truly distinct; something that the suspicious, insular, hateful Tom Riddle would never even remotely comprehend.

Hermione had conjured a small table in the meadow beyond the Hogwarts gates. On the table, sat two glasses of pumpkin juice, a flask of colourless liquid, two sponges and three sugar quills.

Beside the table stood Ginny, and she was struggling not to scowl. It was not that the table was in any way offensive. She was not particularly irked by any of the items on the table either. She was fairly fond of pumpkin juice, and made occasional use of sponges. The colourless fluid wasn't much more than a harmless, soluble collagen mixed in water. Ginny had no real interest in sugar quills one way or another; if some had attempted to press one upon her she would probably have politely accepted it and discretely wrapped it up to give to Ron. No, all of those objects were fine.

Indeed, the scowl that Ginny had now gamely suppressed had been inspired by Hermione. The number of reasons she could find to scowl at Hermione had just continued to grow and grow, and yesterday had not helped in the least. A blindside attack on Harry and the admission that she apparently conducted intrusive tests on Harry and some students (almost certainly including Ron) had just about brought Ginny to the brink of inflicting long-term damage to her friendship with Hermione. But Harry had remained cool and balanced, and had advocated for calm understanding and forgiveness. Ginny was not completely convinced that Harry's approach to the situation was the right one, but she was prepared to give it a little more time. Especially since, for all her erratic behavior on other fronts, Hermione had clearly invested a lot of effort into trying to make something of this liquid portkey challenge.

Hermione finished arranging her ingredients on the table and looked over at Ginny nervously. "Umm, well I think I've figured out most, but not all, of the mystery," she said.

"Go ahead — please show me," Ginny requested coolly.

"Okay, what you suggested to me is that a glass of pumpkin juice was somehow turned into a portkey, and somehow when you drank that pumpkin juice, it transferred the portkey behavior to you, a human being. Furthermore, you suggested that lots of other people have been using this technique intentionally."

Ginny nodded.

"Okay, you said that when you drank the pumpkin juice, you didn't notice anything unusual. That would mean it should have had about the same taste, smell and texture as pumpkin juice, right?"

Ginny nodded.

"That would rule out most common potions, because most of them have fairly nasty tastes. But, do you suppose you might had overlooked it if the pumpkin juice you tasted seemed just a bit sweeter than usual?"

"Perhaps," Ginny admitted. "The taste varies a lot depending on the weather and time of year. Some vendors mix a few spices in too."

"So, if someone dissolved part of a sugar quill in there, you might not have noticed?"

"Possibly not."

Hermione nodded. "Okay, I'm going to use the standard spell to turn each of these three sugar quills into a portkey. Or, if you prefer, you could do that yourself?"

"Hmmm..." Ginny pondered. "I'll do it." She had helped Harry make additional HA portkeys at the end of summer, so she was well versed with the spell. She cast it on each of the quills in turn.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "I'm going to modify your spells so that the quills will automatically portkey away to a place in the middle of the forbidden forest in five minutes." She tapped her wand to each of them.

"Now here's the trick: I'm going to leave one quill in solid form to serve as the control so that we can verify they all have received the proper portkey preparation. I'm going to dissolve the second quill in one glass of pumpkin juice and then soak a sponge with that juice. Finally I'm going to dissolve the third quill in the other glass of juice but before doing so, I'm going to add this tasteless, harmless potion called Deliquesco Magia. The portion is mostly a soluble binder that will simultaneously attract the water in the juice and the sugar from the quill. There are a few trace magical ingredients in there that preserve the magical attributes of the dissolved sugars, as long as the binder keeps them in loose association. Are you okay on this so far?"

Ginny closed one eye to think for a moment. "Deliquesco Magia," she repeated. I've heard of that somewhere.

"It's an optional NEWT level potions exercise," Hermione confessed. "It's in Borage's advanced text, but Snape never teaches it."

"Hmmmmm..." Ginny pondered a moment. "Wait — now I remember! Percy made it for advanced credit in his seventh year! How could I forget? The twins said it stunk up the dungeons for days! They stole a vial of it and doused all the Slytherin quidditch gear. Supposedly you could close your eyes and just smell their team coming at you from half way across the pitch!" She snickered at the thought.

"Er yes," Hermione admitted. "That's likely because the standard recipe contains extract of mouldering doxy eggs."

"Whoa, whoa, WHOA!" Ginny recoiled. "There's no way any death eater is going to be stupid enough to drink something containing extract of mouldering doxy eggs!"

"Yes, well, fortunately I discovered... I mean, I sort of found a workaround," Hermione said nervously. "Two drops of vanilla bean extract, plus a pinch of cinnamon, it seems, work even better than the eggs and it... well... smells and tastes a bit better."

"Hermione, you're a genius!"

"I, well, um... just let me do the demonstration," Hermione suggested awkwardly.

Her earlier scowl long forgotten, Ginny nodded eagerly and watched Hermione shake the pumpkin juice mixtures to dissolve two of the quills and then set them on the table.

"Now," Hermione continued, "you said that accio portkey had no effect on the death eaters' portkeys. Do you want to try on these?"

Ginny nodded. "Accio portkey," she called, and the dry quill raised up from the table and soared into Ginny's hand, but neither of the sponges budged. "Accio liquid portkey," she tried, but still nothing happened. She put the solid quill back onto the table.

"Last step: if things go as planned, in about one minute the intact quill and the sponge soaked in the Deliquesco Magia pumpkin juice should both portkey into the forest. The sponge soaked in regular pumpkin juice should stay here, however, since the portkey quill would have lost coherence when it dissolved." Hermione stood back confidently and folded her arms. And true enough, almost immediately thereafter, both the solid quill and the Deliquesco Magia pumpkin juice sponge blinked out of their presence.

Ginny nodded. Maybe the girl was worth their undying patience after all! "Well done, Hermione," Ginny congratulated her. "The only problem is that we're doing this experiment outside of castle grounds, which means outside of the anti-portkey wards..."

Hermione nodded, as she placed the various remaining ingredients into an impermeable bag to bring back to the castle. "Yes, that's the sticking point — neither of the two portkeys would have worked within the wards. I still haven't figured out that last bit, but I might have a lead."

"Can you elaborate?" Ginny asked, interestedly.

"I, er, would... rather not yet." Hermione stammered.

Ginny shrugged. "Okay well, this is a great start, Hermione. Thanks!"

Quinn, Jack, Sarah and Mary-Jo watched in amazement at the intensity with which Harry worked the BHA and IHA classes that evening. Although Ginny had often used the evening time slots to work on her personal research, this evening she spent the full two hours in class, helping to instruct and demonstrate, lending her ample energy to Harry's own fount of passion. And while his teaching assistants had grown accustomed to these sessions being reviews of the lessons that they themselves had been introduced to last year, they were surprised to find that Harry was driving the beginners and intermediate classes alike to learn what they, the AHA students themselves, had just been working just yesterday: shields and wards.

For the BHA class Harry worked exclusively on shields. Since relatively few of the students had much experience yet in any offensive spells, he asked the students to spread out across the room and pair up. After he had explained the basics of protego, he then assigned the teaching assistants to wander about the room, firing off stinging hexes at random while he and Ginny wandered around helping students with technique. After the first twenty minutes, in which more than half of the student had experienced the unpleasant sensations of at least one stinger, Harry conferred with Ginny briefly, then resumed their rounds. This time, however, rather than make simple verbal corrections to the students techniques, the two instructors identified the weakest (or often non-existent) shields and actually took the students by the hand while casting protego. The results ranged from mildly encouraging to impressive; in a few cases students emitted audible gasps as unexpectedly strong barriers sprang out of nothingness. By the end of the hour, the earlier grumbles and sudden yelps of pain, had been replaced by cheers, shouts of encouragement and an excited pervasive buzz.

For the IHA session, Harry separated the class into students who still had fairly weak shields, whom he handed over to Ginny for a session similar to what he had completed with the beginners. For those with competent shields, he blocked off half of the room for a very different exercise.

"Okay, hands please," he told his portion of the class, "I want everyone to be honest. How many of you can erect a shield with a three foot radius?"

Everyone's hands went up.

"How many can sustain a four foot shield? Five feet? Six?"

Hands continued to drop at each interval until the only one still raised at six feet was that of the fifth year Slytherin prefect Lucia Blevins.

"Okay Lucia," Harry continued, "How many people counting yourself can you protect with your six foot shield?"

Lucia froze for a moment, baffled by the question, then finally struggled to an answer. "It depends," she said.

"Brilliant answer!" Harry exclaimed. "Five points for Slytherin!"

Lucia smiled at the unexpected recognition, but an underlying expression of perplexity remained etched on her face.

"Who can tell me what it depends on?" Harry continued. "Two house points for every correct answer."

"On whether or not your attacker is moving!" suggested Dennis Creevey.

"Bingo — two points for Gryffindor!"

Other answers started coming in at a furious rate, stretching Harry's ability to track and assign points.

"On how many attackers — especially if they're attacking from different locations."

"Whether the person you're protecting is moving or not."

"Whether the people you're defending know where or how to move?"

"On whether you have something protecting your back?"

"Who said the last one?" Harry demanded. A small fourth year Hufflepuff girl stepped forward — the same student whom the twins had teased during the communications bracelet session a couple weeks previously. "Sorry, can you please remind me your name?" Harry asked. "It's Laura, isn't it?"

"Laura Madley, sir," she said shyly.

"You just earned ten points for Hufflepuff, Laura!" Harry proclaimed, causing the girl to beam proudly. "The message here is that shields are absolutely critical tools when you're on the move or out in the open, but they can be unwieldy and unreliable as soon as you're trying to cover for weaker, wounded or incapacitated people. As soon you have that responsibility, you need to look for cover. You need a wall. Or a tree or a big rock. You need to cut down the angles of vulnerability. Now who can tell me: what is the biggest problem with walls, trees and rocks?"

"They can be destroyed!" shouted Stewart Ackerley and Jimmy Peakes in unison.

Harry blinked in surprise at the synchronous answer. "Wow! In the muggle world we call that a photo finish, so five points each to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor! Okay, in tonight's exercise we're all going to try our best to prove Stewart and Jimmy wrong."

Partitioning everyone into groups of five, he conjured a number of small rooms, each with two doors and a window. Within each group of five, one student was tasked with casting strengthening wards on the walls, doors and window to protect against reductor, incendio and everbero spells, with the object being to hold out as long as possible. At the start of the session, the attackers were generally able to break through in a few minutes or less, but as the students cycled through several times and picked up more tips on how to craft strong wards, they kept the rooms intact for longer and longer. For the last ten minutes of the class, Lucia, Jimmy and Laura, who had constructed the strongest wards on the simple room, were tasked with working together to ward and maintain a larger complex with multiple rooms, windows and doors. Against the entire class, the three students were able to hold everything intact by carefully monitoring ward integrity and running around frantically to bolster spells as soon as anything began to collapse. And collapse is exactly what Lucia, Jimmy and Laura themselves did when the bell rang... but they did so with big smiles on their faces.

"Wow!" exclaimed Jack to Quinn as they helped to clear away the various sets and props after the sessions. "Those were a wild couple of workouts. Can you imagine where we'd all be now if the Potterprof started pushing us like that a year ago?"

"A whole year of this?" Quinn mused. "Half of the HA probably would have gone bonkers..." he said, with a thoughtful look on his face. He paused and watched Harry and Ginny poring over a parchment, making notes. "I think the real question is what does it mean? What are we all in for right now?"

"I think it's time to call that meeting we'd talked about," Sarah said as she and Mary-Jo joined the conversation.

"I think this is it — I'm almost positive," Mary-Jo affirmed. "Maybe we can meet tomorrow over lunch? I'll clear it with Ryan when I get back to the dungeons."

"Sounds good — that way we can do some hands-on followup in our regular four o'clock workout," Jack opined. "I'll alert Jennifer. MJ, can you tell Nick?"

Mary-Jo nodded. "Harry also asked us to expand the circle — I think it's about time we get serious about that, huh?"

The others nodded.

"Longbottom, Lovegood, Boot, Bones, Zabini and Greengrass," suggested Quinn.

Mary-Jo frowned. "Longbottom, Boot and Bones are play by the rules types — will they fit in?"

"Longbottom and Boot came along on Monday," Jack reminded her. "If they want in badly enough, they'll play by our rules."

Mary-Jo shrugged. "Okay, we'll give them a chance."

"Abbott or Weasley?" Sarah asked.

"Nah — too swamped with other stuff," Quinn replied.

"Lucia, Jimmy and Laura really smoked today," Mary-Jo observed.

"Good thinking!" Jack enthused. "The youth are couth!"

The others nodded again. All four bumped fists and strode purposefully through the darkened door.

Harry and Ginny were clearly planning and preparing... but they were definitely not the only ones.

After Harry had changed into his nightclothes, he walked into the den to find Ginny reading; reclining with her feet by the fire. He sat cross-legged on the floor, lifted her feet into his lap and began to work her metatarsals.

"Mmmmm hmmmmm," she proclaimed.

He looked up to read the cover of her book: "Anders & Hyperia and the Mystery of Hoia-Baciu: Book Four of The Auror and the Healer Trilogy"

From behind her book, Ginny groaned in bemused exasperation. "Oh no! Why couldn't they have quit while they were ahead?"

"Pretty lame?" Harry asked, as he shifted his attention from left foot to right.

"Well, at the end of the third book, Anders and Hyperia became soul bonded, and now each one knows exactly what the other is thinking — that takes all the spice out of a romance."

"So this is a bad thing, say, from a literary perspective?" Harry surmised as he applied firm pulsing pressure to her arches.

"Uh huh," she said, as she turned the page. "Definitely the literary kiss of death."

"But not necessarily bad from a real life perspective?" he asked as he threaded his fingers between her toes and gently pushed and pulled the phalanges.

Ginny remained ensconced behind the book, but Harry detected the hint of a hidden frown. "Oh, I don't know..." she mused. "Life would be boring without the unexpected. Everyone needs a little bit of mystery... don't you think?"

"I suppose..." Harry conceded. He finished his labours on her toes, and moved up to knead her calves. From a cushion on the far side of the hearth, Emerald briefly raised her head to check that her humans were behaving as they should be, then drifted back to sleep. Ginny turned another page. Harry was now gently agitating her tibialis muscles. The clock tolled nine o'clock.

FLUMP!!

"What the?? Harry! What did you do that for?!" Ginny was completely astonished to find herself sitting on the floor, wide-eyed, face to face with an impishly grinning Harry.

"Do what?" he asked innocently.

"You hauled me off the chesterfield, you... you...!"

"Dark and mysterious stranger?" Harry suggested, suppressing a chuckle.

"Mysteriously strange dork is more like it!" she snapped, but quickly relented at the sight of his puppy-dog dismay. "Okay Potter," she said, taking a breath and tweaking the end of his nose. "No more mystery for you then."

"No more mystery..." Harry repeated softly, leaning in close, "until we've dealt with Riddle."

She stared earnestly into his eyes. After a few moments, she signaled her comprehension.

"From now until then, we need to have the utmost trust in each other," he said solemnly as he ran his fingertips up her arm. "We need to anticipate each other, understand each other, recognize each other. We must know each other absolutely and implicitly."

She nodded again and reached her hand over to touch his cheek. "As long as we know we're there for each other, we will never despair," she whispered, amending her pronouncement from that morning.

Harry leaned his forehead in to touch hers. They held that pose for a long moment before he drew back. "And right now, my beautiful lady Ginevra, might we move our current activities into the bedroom?"

Ginny looked at him questioningly. Harry smiled shyly, adding, "You see, I'm worried that some mysteriously strange dork may have accidentally given you a sore spot on your... umm... posterior. If so, then I absolutely know a great way to fix that."

Her eyes glinted fiercely, she snarled... then she kissed him.

Chapter 17. Many Meetings    (September 19, 1997)

There was no better place for silent contemplation. Harry and Ginny stood once again on the rocky outcrop running across the ridge between the Black Lake and an unplottable upper glen of the Fiddich. This was the top of their world: a setting that could always inspire them, even on a morning such as this with pervasive cloud cover denying a glorious sunrise. Ground visibility was fair, the view evocative, and the precious time alone gave them an opportunity, after a long and sustaining embrace, to ponder where in the grand scheme they were, and what was yet to come.

"This place reminds me of you," Harry said softly.

Ginny gazed at his oblique, meditative face, awaiting elaboration.

"Like you," he continued, "the first thing one notices is beauty... but after a while one becomes aware of the incredible power."

Ginny smiled inwardly — her boyfriend could certainly lay it on thick... but on this particular morning, he did not seem to be spinning some amorous tribute. He continued to ponder the horizon, barely noticing as she ran her fingertips along the firm muscles of his shoulders.

"Don't you feel the amazing power coursing through us here?" he asked.

Ginny stared far off to the south as her eyes set in thought. "Yes, I really do." she replied. "It's almost as if the Earth speaks to us directly here... " She trailed off without knowing exactly what she was trying to say. After a while, however, she did identify a fundamental point of reference. "The Fugos have their crown," she stated. "We have our outcrop."

Harry nodded. Time stretched to accommodate their abstract thoughts, to grant them a rare opportunity to glory in the warmth of each others arms, and accede to the captivating power of the surrounding hills, valley and sky. Gradually, however, Harry's expression of rapt wonder subsided to a pensive frown.

"It seems sacrilegious to have such base thoughts in a place like this..." he sighed regretfully, "but right here, where we're standing: I think this is where we'll have to finish it."

Ginny stared at him for a moment then nodded.

"He's going to attack the castle," Harry said. The slightest glint of inner haunting flickered across his eyes before his jaw steeled. "We could stop him down there, but I don't think we could truly end it — the risk to others would be too great. Every fibre of my body is saying that it will have to be done here. We must force him to meet us, on our terms, right here on this outcrop."

"We will," Ginny agreed, moving her hand down to cover Harry's heart. "Merlin willing, we will," she said softly.

"Merlin willing," he agreed.

As Harry and Ginny bounded up the steps to the Entrance Hall, they saw once again that an old friend was waiting for them. Professor McGonagall looked weary; she gazed at them with a mixture of fondness, admiration and wistful reticence. It was such an injustice that young people, even masterful ones such as these two, should be required to bear such responsibilities. But options were running very thin at this point. The wizarding world had an amazing dearth of competent leadership and that deficiency had reared itself at a most perilous time.

"Good morning," she said with a thin smile.

"Good morning, Minerva!" Harry and Ginny chimed in response. "Can we help you?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid you very likely can," she responded. "Harry, would you be available for an important faculty meeting at two o'clock? And would both of you be able to accompany me to Grimmauld Place this evening at six thirty for an Order of the Phoenix gathering?"

"The faculty meeting will be fine," Harry responded, "but I'm curious what would be expected of us from the Order? We're not members."

"That is true, Harry," McGonagall admitted, "but did you not pledge to Albus that you would be open to collaborating with the Order when doing so would serve mutual interests?"

"Yes, if the Order needs us."

"Thank you Harry," McGonagall said, pausing to think for a moment. "I wish I could tell you in advance what you might expect from this evening's meeting, but I have to confess that nobody really knows quite what will unfold. Albus will not be there to subtly steer everyone toward his mysterious ends. We have never before had a full Order meeting that was not called for, attended by, and chaired by Albus. His unexplained absence has set us adrift and aimless, but after Monday's debacle it has become abundantly clear that we must begin to find our own way; we can no longer afford to sit idly and await his return."

"Have you or Kingsley discussed any interim leadership plans?" Harry asked.

"Not yet. We will do so tonight," McGonagall replied.

"You told us," Ginny interjected, "that there wasn't anything specific expected of us tonight. But you invited us nonetheless? Why?"

McGonagall smiled. "That is an astute question, Ginny. There is one superficial but key reason: communications. The Order desperately needs to explore new communications practices and clearly people in your HA are much more adept in this respect than anybody else in the wizarding community. Beyond that, I am proceeding on other instinctive reasons. I think a time has come when the Order will be most receptive and needful of formal, synergistic interaction with Harry and yourself. Last year the mysterious character Jim, whom you know as Harry in his disguise, was a very controversial topic in Order meetings. However all controversy ended at Gringotts: your conduct there was most inspiring, the goblins were exceptionally effusive in their praise for your actions, the Prophet responded in a most astonishing fashion by lionizing your performance, and the story has garnered very favorable press in other circles. The Ministry has tried its best to downplay the whole affair of course, but people pay little heed to Ministry opinions these days. Ultimately, I believe that most people in the Order believe now that some increased degree of association with Harry Potter would improve the public's perception of our efforts, while others are at the very least interested in hearing more about your resources, methods and tactics. Frankly, there are a fair number who believe that you are no longer merely a symbol, but rather may truly be the de facto leader of the fight against Voldemort."

"I sincerely hope not to be asked," Harry declared, "but if anyone happens to mention me in the context of an official leadership role, please be aware in advance that I have no interest in directing the Order. Dumbledore isn't dead, and even if he was, there are many more senior people in the order who would command more unqualified fealty than I could."

McGonagall studied Harry for a long moment. "The latter is your opinion Harry, and I have no intention of arguing with you on a purely hypothetical point. Fortunately, I frankly agree that you should not be singled out tonight for any offer of leadership — not while there is any chance of Albus returning in full capacity. However, I can foresee some possible redefinitions of relationship that may require a careful consideration on your part."

"Such as?" Harry inquired.

"Such as jointly planned operations," McGonagall replied with her trademark wry smile. "By this I am specifically not referring to the wearisome scenario where the Order plans an operation and you end up having to appear, uninvited, to save everyone's lives. I am thinking rather about some future objective that is conceived and planned with advance consideration of both your strengths and those of the Order."

Harry stood in silence without betraying any great enthusiasm.

McGonagall nodded to herself, appraising her former student. "It might be most fair to you," she suggested, "if we were to facilitate objectives that you yourself were already engaged in. If those objectives were judged by the Order to be of immense and broad interest — too important to be permitted to fail — might you consider an offer by the Order to assist you in achieving your goals?"

"I would have to think about it," Harry answered.

"Please do so, Harry," McGonagall said sincerely. "I suspect that over the next while, the interests of the Order may well converge increasingly with your own."

"And by this, I assume you're suggesting that the Order is starting to grasp that Harry is the only one who really knows how to win this war?" Ginny wondered.

McGonagall suppressed a grin. "Some people might phrase it like that, Ginny," she replied.

Ginny checked her watch as it ticked away the final few seconds until she was to enter the Room of Requirement. Harry was in there; he had ostensibly started a strength and agility workout two minutes ago. Ginny's challenge for the morning would be completely different than his: her task was to find him.

She opened the door, peered inside, and immediately burst out laughing. Four Harrys turned and smiled at her; another eleven gave her a passing glance in the midst of their activities, while the remaining thirteen were too busy with their workouts to acknowledge her entrance. A scene like that might inspire nightmares in some people, and fantasies in others. To her, however, it seemed quite simply hilarious.

After a minute, her laughter had subsided and she began to parse the situation for clues. Visual and aural: did any of these various Harrys look or sound distinct? After walking around, observing the exercising Harrys, she had concluded that all were of appropriate height and size, making noises commensurate with the various activities. All were dressed identically. Some had more perspiration or messier hair, but that could be explained by differences in workout activities. The most obvious means of discrimination didn't help.

That led to secondary criteria: their behavior. Did the mannerisms or workout patterns of any of the Harrys seem unusual? This required more careful observation, as well as tapping into her memory banks. On a basic level, there was nothing out of the ordinary: all of the Harrys were responding to the strains and exhilaration of their exercise in plausible ways; nothing looked or sounded particularly out of place. What about choice of activity? Harry was in many ways a creature of habit: he always preferred to arrange his daily schedule in a similar structure, beginning with a few silly rituals, moving on to a cardiovascular workout, some variant of strength, agility or magic, and then progressing to the intellectual challenges of the day. But within that fairly rigid framework, he embraced a lot of variation. He believed that throwing a diverse range of challenges at himself was a recipe for honing versatility and resilience. So, as Ginny examined the many Harrys before her, she noted with frustration that there was just about as much diversity in their various activities as she would normally expect from him.

Perhaps it would take a bit more involved investigation? These Harrys were interactive. They didn't always acknowledge her as she strolled around, but she was being unobtrusive and she knew that Harry was comfortable enough around her that he wouldn't necessarily stop what he was doing unless she signaled him, or unless he noticed that she might need help. Need help...

In a fairly central location where there was enough space between the Harrys for her to work, she made the room conjure some free weights, a pressing bench and a barbell. She placed the bar onto the rack, loaded fifty kilos onto it, and lay down on the bench. She raised her hands to the bar, knowing from experience that, without magic, she could lift the weighted bar off the rack and lower it to her chest without risk, but that she could not quite lift it all the way back up to the rack. Magic, of course, could bail her out of that tricky position easily, but the last time she had tried this weight, the incurable muggle in Harry had prompted him to come help. Specifically, he'd stopped his own exercise, walked over to her, and served as her spotter, lending her the few extra pounds of force necessary to complete the lift. He had explained that one partner would often help another in this way, as it was a good way to overcome barriers in strength training. So, she thought to herself, let's see who will be my Mr. Helpful today?

She gave a quick upward push to dislodge the bar from the rack and lowered it tremulously to her chest. She took a quick breath and pumped upwards... but it got no more than two inches up before sagging back downwards. She tried again and, lo and behold, a strong hand appeared between the two of hers and she felt her muscles, straining but empowered, lift the bar back to the rack. Smiling, her eyes followed the hand back to its body and upwards to the smiling helper. "Harry?" she guessed.

"No," came another Harry's voice. "That little opportunist weaseled in first." She angled her head to see three other Harrys clustered around her.

"Yeah, he was closer, and I was in the middle of a pull-up when I saw you," said another slightly chagrined Harry a bit further away.

"Face it, Gin'," said the third other Harry, "we would all step all over each other for the honour of helping you... but unfortunately there's only one of you."

"All right," she grumbled as she stood up. "Get back to work, you fawning layabouts!"

The four Harrys grinned and turned to walk away. As they did so, however, she was struck by inspiration. She rushed over and grabbed the hand of the nearest departing Harry. He turned in surprise. "Yes, Gin'?"

She held his hand in hers. It was warm and human-feeling, somewhat moist from exertion, but... it didn't make her heart jump. Experimentally, she pulled him closer, her face zeroing in on his. His eyes closed, just as Harry's would at exactly that juncture. She felt his soft breath, her nose registered a scent that was plausibly Harry. She closed her eyes and met his lips with hers... and pulled back immediately. His eyes flashed open with a hurt, questioning look. Everything about him was all perfectly Harry-like, except for... a complete lack of electricity.

"Okay," commented another Harry, grinning about ten feet away from her with hands on his hips, "are you going to try that with all of us?"

"You wish!" Ginny replied with a sultry smile. Yes, clearly she could survey the whole room full of Harrys, hold their hands or kiss them, and eventually find the real one with absolute accuracy. But was it practical? In the heat of a battle, could she afford to hold hands or kiss her boyfriend every time she needed to verify that it was truly Harry?

One of the nearby Harrys was watching her deliberation as he picked himself up off the ground after a set of situps. "If Harry was in a room full of Ginnys," he said, "he could select the one and only perfect Ginny immediately."

"Of course he could," Ginny replied thoughtfully. That was obviously what this mystery exercise was all about — could she recognize Harry's magical signature? That would be like looking at a room full of Harrys, and finding that one of them could light up like a firefly. Could she do that? In the past month, she had begun to sense vague magical presences; people could rarely sneak up on her anymore; if she walked up to a door, she didn't need to look inside to know whether there was someone in the room. There was only one Harry in this room who was a real human being — all of the others were extremely realistic imitations, but no magic on earth could duplicate something as complex as the magical essence of a living sentient being.

She gazed around the room. Did any area feel a little more Harry-like than the others? She couldn't tell — her regular vision was too distracting.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She let the sounds, the rustles, swishes, footsteps, grunts and occasional clanks blend into a background blur. She began to walk... walk in the direction of Harry. Occasionally she would stop to open her eyes, to confirm that she wasn't going to trip over anything, but it appeared that the room was willing to move obstacles out of her way, so she refocused her senses and just let herself drift. Every step seemed a little warmer, a little more Harry-like. At a certain point, the thrill grew, filling her heart and consciousness, until she took those final two steps and opened her eyes. Harry lowered himself down from the pullup bar and landed less than a foot from her. He clasped her around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss.

She gasped! Her knees trembled and she staggered into his embrace. She had tuned her senses with such utter sensitivity to Harry that intimately experiencing the real thing was practically overpowering. "Wow!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"Great job!" Harry enthused as he signaled the room to vanish the other twenty seven Harrys, before turning his attention back to her. "You're almost there," he said. "I have just one more exercise that I'd like you to try."

Ginny nodded eagerly.

"I'm going to continue my workout in here. I'll be doing it near the door, but for anyone entering I've instructed the room to open up either to show me, or to show an imitation of me. Unlike the imitations you saw earlier that had no real aura to them other than the room's background magic, these imitations that you will now see are going to have a signature like the ones that I give to the training dummies when I'm practicing blindfolded."

Ginny signaled her understanding.

"So obviously the goal is to figure out whether you're seeing me or an imitation. Ideally, you'll be able to decide in less than two seconds, and guess correctly at least four out of five times."

"Got it boss!" Ginny winked and walked out of the room.

From the previous exercise, Ginny had cultivated a very strong instinctive impression of Harry's magical signature. Trying the exercise with her eyes closed, she found it almost trivial now to immediately spot the fake Harry, so she repeated the exercise with eyes open. This still remained a little more difficult, since visual distractions slowed her processing somewhat, but after a somewhat shaky start, she was able to choose rapidly and accurately five consecutive times, thus acing the test.

"That's wonderful, Ginny — I'm amazed at how quickly you caught on!" Harry enthused, extending his hand to her.

"Well thank you, kind sir," she said in a playfully deferential tone. "It has been so nice to get to know you!"

For his sixth-year class, Harry had decided to toss aside his originally planned lecture and spend the hour talking about non-debilitating incapacitation. The topic would almost certainly not be on their NEWT exams because it entailed practical defense education rather than true DADA, but he had decided that this class was progressing so rapidly in their preparation for exams that were still twenty one months away, he could easily afford to divert a bit of time away from NEWT studies, and instead focus for a while on things that might make a more immediate impact in the quest... to stay alive. Not that he had any intention of phrasing it in those dire terms — he didn't think that students needed to spend every waking moment pondering life and death. Instead, he wanted to make it fun. He had walked into class without a planned lecture, instead bringing only some rough notes, loose ideas for demonstrations, and a conviction that he and the class would work together to steer the discussion in interesting and productive directions.

At the risk of releasing pure chaos, he had vanished the desks on one side of the classroom, and allowed students to practice conjuring slippery grease, sticky strings, massive quantities of ball bearings and other things that interfered with adversary motion. He then had challenged the students to compete with each other to see whose conjurations were most resistant to evanesco and other vanishing spells that enemies might counter with. Harry was surprised and pleased to discover that some students, in particular Luna and Sarah, seemed innately gifted with conjuring messes that were fiendishly difficult to clean up. Toward the end of class, as everyone helped to put the classroom back in order, he chatted briefly about some other havoc-wreaking tactics that, for obvious reasons, were difficult or inappropriate to cover in a classroom setting, including highly distracting spells such as rictumsempra, and various noise-making magic that was resistant to muffliato and silencing charms.

When the tolling bell signaled the end of class, Harry walked toward the back of the class feeling immensely satisfied. It had been fifty minutes of learning, laughter and peer-encouragement. Healthy discussion had reigned supreme throughout the whole session, and chatter about the same topics now diffused spiritedly out into the hallways as most, but not all, of the students left for their next lecture.

The eight students who did not walk away at the bell were facing him now... looking for healthy discussion of a different sort.

"Okay Harry," Ryan said, standing two steps forward of the line of students that included the super seven, plus Luna. "Let's have it. You're pushing defensive tactics like a madman. Last night's BHA and IHA sessions went way beyond what you were covering this time last year. Today's class skipped NEWT prep entirely to focus on HA issues. Don't think for a minute that we're complaining — what you're doing is inspired and we're having a blast — but to be honest this sudden increase in intensity... has not gone unnoticed."

Eight pairs of eyes watched as Harry took his seat and turned to face them all. "Yes," he admitted, "I've been juggling my lessons plans a bit to try to equip you all with the skills that I believe you need first, before cycling back to more esoteric magic," he explained.

"If there's a first," Jennifer reasoned, "that means there's a rank order. If there's a rank order, then there must be a ranking criterion..."

"And if there's a ranking criterion, there must be a threat," concluded Quinn.

"Well, I don't know of any imminent danger," Harry responded cautiously.

"You may not know, but you strongly suspect," Sarah insinuated.

"Harry, your recent interest in heliopaths and umgubular slashkilters has been most troubling," Luna observed in a vaguely accusatory tone. "And I don't believe we'll be able to counter such threats with sticky string, grease and small silvery thushborgle orbs."

Harry sighed. "Aren't you all nearly late for charms?"

The students shrugged. Ryan glanced at them and grinned. "You should feel honoured Harry — we're all prepared to brave the wrath of Flitwick just to get answers out of you."

"Yes," Mary-Jo smirked, "and we're also prepared to stand here and embarrass you in front of your next class if we don't get those answers soon."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay! If I tell you my unsubstantiated suspicions, do you promise to not breathe a word of this to anyone else?"

Seven of the students nodded seriously, but Luna shook her head. "Harry, I'm prepared to keep your secrets about the umgubular slashkilters, but it would be of the utmost irresponsibility to not report undocumented heliopaths to the appropriate authorities."

"Your objection has been noted. Thank you Luna," Harry replied. He took a deep cleansing breath. "My suspicion is as follows. I believe that if absolutely nothing is done to provoke him, Voldemort will likely take over the ministry and/or attack Hogwarts within the next month. There are, however, circumstances within our control by which we might choose to provoke him into attacking before then. If absolutely everything goes the way I'd like it to, I think I can provoke him into attacking me personally in a way that doesn't directly threaten either the Ministry or Hogwarts, and I believe that with the help of one other person, I may be able to defeat him." Harry paused and scanned the faces before him, seven of which were gripped with a tension commensurate with these revelations, while the eighth, Luna, was somewhat puzzled.

"If things do not go the way I hope, it is possible that circumstances beyond our control will lead Voldemort and his followers to attack Hogwarts sooner, at a time not of our choosing," Harry continued. "I still think that it would be possible to defeat him, but if he attacks this school, then it is quite possible that while I'm confronting him, our students and staff may be threatened by upwards of two hundred death eaters."

The room gave a sharp, collective intake of breath.

"So, I hope to avoid letting anyone endanger you, but I feel forced to hedge against more unpleasant contingencies by trying to make sure that you have the best possible preparation."

"Thank you for letting us know and for thinking ahead, Harry," Ryan responded. "What do you need from us?"

"From you, I need your continued dedication to these lessons," Harry replied. "I also need the courage to learn, adapt and improvise those skills in ways that can save lives. And it wouldn't hurt to be resourceful enough to instinctively find ways to compensate for anything I may have overlooked."

In a culture where young witches and wizards hear phrases such 'stay out of the way' or 'do what I tell you' far too frequently, the Harry's request had a very appealing ring. They nodded unanimously to their teacher, embracing the statement despite its ambiguity, and the nearly preposterous expectations it could entail. A simple, specific request might have been more reassuring, but they could sense that there was no certainty to anything right now, and as such, everyone's success might well hinge on flexibility and versatility.

"You ask; we deliver!" Nick responded without qualification or reservation.

"Just point us in a direction and we won't let you down, Harry!" Jennifer added.

Harry could help but grin at their bold, unquestioning enthusiasm.

As the students filed out of the room and on towards their next class, Harry heard Luna whispering loudly to Sarah, "I think we need to file an official report on Harry's untamed heliopaths."

"Hey Luna?" Harry called.

Luna clapped a hand to her mouth and stared in wide-eyed shock. Sarah smirked, shrugged and gave a friendly wave to her fellow Ravenclaw as she continued on her way out the door.

Luna composed herself instantly and expertly. "Yes Harry?" she answered in a voice that adorned her usual dreamy aura with a soft dusting of confectioners sugar. "Did you know that most gulping plimpies mate around this time of the year?"

"Er, yes," Harry lied, as he handed Luna a small scroll. "Sorry for the short notice, but I was wondering if you could stick around class for a while? This scroll is a permission slip that you can give to Flitwick, explaining that you've been detained for important school business." He gave her a conspiratorial wink. "What we're really going to do is..."

"Prepare the heliopath report!" she exclaimed. "Oh thank Merlin, you have finally come to your senses! Now, the first thing you should be made aware of, Harry, is that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will be completely useless in..."

Aghast, Luna stopped in mid-sentence as Neville and Ginny entered the room, levitating a large, lumpy... monstrosity. Upon closer inspection it resembled a row of textbooks mounted on a large kitchen serving tray. The books, however, appeared to slathered in something gooey, and were adorned by nearly twenty unlit flares projecting from their top faces. With neither comment nor explanation, Neville and Ginny expertly guided the monstrosity on a desk in the center of the room.

Most of the rest of the seventh year class entered quietly, followed by Hannah and Susan, who were carrying plates and cutlery.

With a flick of Harry's fingers, the flares ignited into vibrant, multi-coloured flames. Luna gasped. "Harry, you must extinguish those immediately! Luring heliopaths into the castle with this contraption is very very dangerous — they can be most fiendish when tricked. The only reason that they're not designated as quintuple-x threat-level creatures is because nobody has ever..."

"Ssshh!" Harry hissed, with the wide-eyed angst of someone whose potions cauldron is about to explode.

"You could be tried with first degree endangerment of..."

As a last resort, Harry rapidly cast a silencing charm around Luna, who continued her soundless excoriation for several futile seconds, huffed and went over to peer fretfully out the window.

At that moment, from down the hallway outside the classroom, came a thundering voice. "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!!!!"

"Er, hi Hermione," was the meek response.

"Ronald, where in Merlin's name did you get the idea that the library was giving away old edition textbooks?! Madame Pince said it's patently absurd to consider giving away valuable books in troubled times like these!" Hermione's frantic rant was gaining steam and volume as she drew nearer to the door. "She had no idea whatsoever where that rumour could possibly have come from! In the future, will you please learn to check your sources before sending me off on some kind of wild augurey chase? Don't you realize that you've made me late for..."

"SURPRISE!!!!!"

Hermione's book bag dropped to the floor, sending textbooks, quills, parchment and ink bottles clattering across the classroom floor. "Oh my..." she said very softly.

Luna swiveled around from the window in surprise, drawing her wand to try to cancel Harry's silencing charm, which in its hasty formulation was apparently blocking both her ability to make and hear noise. She watched in bewilderment as Ron stood on a chair and raised his arms to conduct the students in sort of song that she wasn't able to hear.

The noisy, off-key chorus went as follows:

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday Hermione!
Happy Birthday to you!

With tears sparkling in her eyes, Hermione's blurry gaze swept the room for the nearest huggable body. Ginny, who was only several feet away, braced herself with a nervous grin as Hermione leaped and threw her arms around her once and present friend. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..." she sniffled.

"Happy eighteenth, Hermione!" Ginny said softly. "Now you can drink muggle beer too, yeah?"

Hermione laughed amidst her sniffles, then pulled back to subdue Ron in an embrace so fervent that he wasn't certain whether she was expressing affection or exacting sweet revenge. Either way, he emerged with a goofy smile on his face.

By the time Luna had cancelled the silencing spell, Hannah and Susan had just begun serving the book-shaped pieces of cake to everyone in the class. Luna drifted back to Harry and planted a little kiss on his cheek. "That was so very sweet of you, Harry," she said.

Harry nodded happily.

"For future reference, though," Luna clarified, "my birthday is actually in April."

"And so it is resolved," acting headmistress McGonagall said, speaking through lips thinned with strain and lack of sleep, "that we do not pursue any changes in policy with respect to the headmaster's continued absence. In affirming my status, you assent to my continuing to make routine decisions regarding school operations. You agree that I will continue to respond to Ministry communications and, whenever authorities specifically request speak to Albus, I will continue to state that he is away performing important research, the specifics of which we have not been apprised."

Snape and Harry watched her impassively. The other faculty members stared uncomfortably at the scrolls on which three agenda items had been inscribed. Hagrid lifted his face and swept his gaze around the table. "Dumbledore'll be back!" he asserted, "We need t' 'old it together for 'im a bit longer."

"Yes Rubeus," McGonagall reaffirmed, "We will continue to cover for him. But the instant that the Ministry or the Board of Governors issues a call questioning his leadership, or asking for an investigation, we will have to revisit this decision. Immediately."

Everyone nodded quietly. Hagrid's eyes sought Harry; for some reason the half-giant seemed to be beseeching him to say something supportive. But Harry could think of nothing useful that might be added.

McGonagall took a deep breath. "While I firmly believe that many major decisions may be deferred for some time as we wait to see whether Albus will return, I have two petitions before me that both, by school regulations, must be acted upon according to a schedule dictated by the terms of our charter."

Snape's eyes darted in her direction. For an instant, Harry thought he saw pain in the potion master's brow, but the expression quickly went opaque. Snape looked away and his gaze diffused to an undefined spot on the wall.

"Severus," said the acting headmistress, "I must ask you to leave the room for the remaining agenda items. Thank you for making the effort to attend through this point."

Snape rose expressionlessly and strode out of the room. He shut the door silently, and his footsteps faded down the corridor.

"I am circulating to each of you a scroll which summarizes a fairly voluminous set of documents that was presented to the headmaster's desk one week ago yesterday," McGonagall said as she handed a box to Flitwick. "Please circulate the box to all attendees; each person please take one scroll. I would ask each of you to review the summary statement at the top for the purposes of today's discussion. You may keep the scroll for more detailed scrutiny later on, but you are required to maintain strict confidence on all details of the document."

Several moments were allotted for the faculty to read the summary and scan quickly through the more extensive documentation. Whispers, mutters and various rustling disturbed the otherwise silent room.

"Well," Flitwick spoke, breaking the ice, "it really doesn't appear that we have much choice, do we? The petitions surpass all minimum standards for impeachment, and the documentation is exemplary. Severus will have to be removed immediately as head of Slytherin house, pending his appeal to a body of representative students."

"It's na' fair t' Snape," Hagrid protested, "There's nobody 'ere to prop him up. Dumbledore wouldn't let this 'app'n."

"The timing may be unfortunate for Severus," McGonagall conceded, "but that is coincidental and immaterial. We are bound by regulations to make a decision within ten days. In other words, by Sunday. I prefer to avoid meetings on weekends, thus I would like for us to resolve the matter today, with the proviso that if Albus returns before Sunday midnight, he could ask us to revisit the issue."

"That's perfectly fair," Professor Sprout agreed. The others nodded.

Once again, Hagrid looked vaguely dismayed. "Bur wha' abaht the Slytherin students?" he asked. "We can't leave them wi' no 'ead."

"Yes, well that would bring us to the final item on the agenda," McGonagall replied. "I suppose it may be simplest to address both issues concurrently."

The faculty looked up and turned to her quizzically.

"It so happens," she continued, "that at the same time the impeachment petition was delivered, a second petition was presented to the headmaster's desk in which the students of Slytherin house nominated an existing faculty member as their chosen candidate to replace Severus as head of house."

Everyone stared in surprise at McGonagall. "Who is it?" Professor Burbage finally inquired.

McGonagall frowned slightly. "Professor Potter." she said quietly.

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, half standing up from his chair. "I can't... I mean, I... umm..." He sat down again and rubbed his jaw in consternation.

"'e can't doa it!" Hagrid protested. "'arry's onny a wee bairn."

"Professor Potter is not a wee bairn, Rubeus," McGonagall scolded. "He is a faculty member in good standing who has been nominated by a substantial number of signatory students to serve the position of head of Slytherin House. However, our school charter does stipulate that nobody can be head of house without having previously been a student resident of that house."

McGonagall paused to collect her thoughts.

"Harry does not meet this requirement, but no other Hogwarts faculty member does either. Interestingly, the school charter does not place this restriction on people serving as acting head of house. Since the students are entitled to full representation until we are able to find a Slytherin alumnus to join our faculty, I believe we should give the petition fair consideration. Thus, I believe that it is now our place as faculty to make two important decisions. First, do we follow standard protocol and impeach Professor Snape, which would mean that he will temporarily vacate his position as head of house pending his right to appeal. Secondly, do we also follow standard protocol and vote to confirm Professor Potter as acting head of house, pending the results of Professor Snape's appeal?"

The table devolved into contentious chatter, which Harry completely tuned out as he sat in silence and continued to ponder this unexpected, and not overwhelmingly attractive, development. The buzz continued to undulate for more than ten minutes during which Harry gradually worked through the implications and opportunities revolving around the matter. After it appeared that no useful consensus would emerge organically, Harry stood and slammed his open hand on the table.

The room went dead silent. All eyes hung on him expectantly.

"How many students currently reside in Slytherin House?" he asked, as he took his seat again.

"Well, there would be... sixty six, Harry," McGonagall replied.

"How many signed the petition seeking Professor Snape's ouster?"

McGonagall scanned the list of signatures. "Fifty one," she answered.

"How many signed the petition nominating me?" Harry continued.

"Forty seven."

"So," Harry reasoned, "there were nineteen Slytherin students who are not advocating for me as head of house?"

McGonagall nodded. "That's true, although most of those are abstentions. The standard petition form has a page reserved especially for those people who wish to sign in direct contravention to the body of the petition. Only five people signed that page. I will not share those names with you, but perhaps you would be able to guess their identities with fair accuracy."

"That's still nothing close to unanimous endorsement," Harry persisted.

"That's true Harry, but there is never unanimity in such matters," McGonagall qualified. "I'm certain you could find a few Gryffindors who wouldn't be the least bit unhappy if I resigned."

"Okay, here's how I see things," Harry began. His in-class tone surfaced — it was a moderate and authoritative voice that seemed to command the room. "Due to multiple factors, not the least of which is the headmaster's continued absence, the school is approaching a state of crisis. On one hand, I recognize that Slytherin house has the right to expect honest, vigorous and fair representation, but on the other hand I would like to avoid breeding animosity and mistrust." He paused.

"What do you propose, Harry?" Flitwick asked.

"What I propose is that until the headmaster returns and we can reconvene in his presence, we choose a balanced solution that ensures all Slytherin students have representation that they are comfortable with. To achieve this, I propose that Professor Snape and I serve as co-heads of house. Students who might require advocacy would be permitted seek out either of us as they deem suitable. Decisions that affect the house as a whole would be made jointly between the two of us. On any issue where he and I are unable to reach a consensus, we could ask you Minerva, as acting headmistress, to help us render a final decision."

The room had gone completely silent. Eyes shifted slowly from Harry to the acting headmistress, who sat motionless with her steepled fingers pressing her pursed lips. "Well, it is my understanding," McGonagall recalled, "that there were joint heads of Hufflepuff House in the 1928-1929 school year, so apparently there is a standing precedent. But Harry..." she leveled her gaze at the young professor, "are you really certain that you can work with Severus?"

Harry chuckled wryly. "Do I really have to answer that?" The room burst into laughter. McGonagall shook her head gently, with a slight hint of affection in her eyes.

"All I can say," Harry continued, "is that I'm willing to try. I'm hoping this might be the least damaging way out of a lose-lose proposition."

"Thank you Harry," McGonagall said, nodding to him respectfully. "In the interests of hopefully bringing these unpleasant and divisive issues to a quick and diplomatic close..." she raised her eyes and scanned the room, "I am willing to put forward for a vote Professor Potter's proposal of interim shared Slytherin House leadership. All those in favor?"

"Aye."

"Opposed?"

The room remained silent, as all eyes fixed upon Harry.

"Let the record state that the motion has carried," McGonagall stated. "The tally is eight votes in favor to zero opposed. Professor Potter has abstained from the voting. Professors Snape, Binns and Dumbledore are recorded as being in absentia." She looked around the room once more. "Unless there are any other urgent issues to address, I would like to move for adjournment."

A disparate variety of conversations sprang up as everyone rose from their seats and made their way out of the room. Everyone except McGonagall and Harry, that is. They both remained in their places, awaiting a bit of privacy. After Flitwick had cheerfully waved to them both and scurried away, McGonagall turned to Harry. "It would appear from your responses that you had no involvement, nor even any knowledge, of the second petition Harry?" she asked.

"That's correct. It came as a bit of a shock."

"Do you have any reservations in accepting the position as acting head of house?"

Harry stretched back in the chair and angled his head back for a moment. "Not really," he replied thoughtfully. "If it's somehow possible to do this without irrevocably alienating Professor Snape, then I think it could be a good experience."

"How much do you really know about Slytherin house, Harry? Do you think you can sustain a reasonable relationship with them?"

"Well, there are many Slytherin students whom I've never met at all," Harry admitted, "but on the other hand I wouldn't be surprised if I have more friendships with current Slytherin students than anyone else at Hogwarts outside of fellow dungeon denizens." He paused for a moment of contemplation. "You know, apart from yourself and Professors Flitwick and Sprout, I doubt there are any faculty members that the Slytherin student body would feel any degree of comfort with."

"Besides yourself?" McGonagall postulated.

"Yes," Harry responded. "I'm amazed that forty seven Slytherin students actually signed to nominate me. If I had to guess why they did so, I'd bet that they doubt whether anyone else could come even remotely close to understanding them. So perhaps the petition was their idea of a pre-emptive strike: select someone they feel the can work with — or work on, perhaps — rather than be assigned someone they end up hating even more than Professor Snape."

"That's as good a guess as any I might have," McGonagall agreed. "I have to say that it's rather unusual for any faculty member to earn the respect of all four houses. Even Albus is not particularly well regarded in the dungeon. I would have to compliment you sincerely on your ability to achieve this, especially considering that you are not considered to be an easy professor. You have the reputation of pushing students through a very ambitious curriculum while not seeking to curry or entertain favor."

"Thank you Minerva," Harry answered with a note of surprise in his voice. "It's never occurred to me to try to be popular — my only goal has been to teach the students as effectively and efficiently as possible."

"And perhaps, unlike our most recently impeached faculty member, you have found a real recipe for success," McGonagall surmised with a smile. "And successful it has been. Prior to this week, all feedback on your efforts was unanimously scintillating."

"Ah," Harry nodded thoughtfully, "but then this week...?" he inquired.

"But then this week, a certain Head Boy did tender a small complaint..." McGonagall smiled sympathetically.

Harry hung his head sheepishly, but McGonagall continued in a level tone. "As a consequence, your overall rating has plummeted precipitously all the way down to a mere exemplary," she said with a slight smirk. "In any case, I wouldn't trouble yourself about it too much, Harry, although if you would like some useful advice...?"

"Yes please," Harry responded earnestly.

McGonagall smiled. "I'm aware that you have activities, enacted in a spirit of responsibility and kindness, that may sometimes render you a little less... energetic the day after. I wouldn't try to prevent you from that choice, but I think there are better ways to keep students moving ahead even on days when you yourself are standing still." She paused to collect her thoughts. "Giving up the podium to students is a brave and worthy thing to do in upper level courses, but should be entertained with care. I have had the opportunity to correspond with a conscientious educator from abroad who advises that there are few times when a teacher must be more alert than when it is a student attempting to do the teaching. I suspect that Mr. MacMillan, bright as he may be, was not particularly effective in reaching the rest of the class. As presiding instructor, you likely needed to be better rested in order to anticipate his message and effectively steer him toward a more resonant presentation."

Harry nodded. "Agreed. A good lesson to have learned," he admitted contritely.

"Yes it is," she agreed. "But on the bright side, I have heard it whispered," McGonagall stated as her pursed lips struggling gamely to suppress a grin, "that some Slytherin students found the episode to be quite hysterical."

"This sounds like an exercise in pure masochism, Harry. Why did you agree to work with Snape?" Ginny asked as they made their way up to the headmaster's office after supper.

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "I figured that Dumbledore isn't around to talk any sense into him and Snape is a very weak link. Slytherin house is sick of him, but he truly can't seem to shake his own sentimental attachment to the house; if he was completely cut loose, there might be nothing left to stop him from bolting straight to Riddle and giving away every useful secret that he hasn't already ratted. I do believe Dumbledore that Snape has been very useful to the Order, and that he's taken many risks on our behalf, but nobody truly buys that Snape is unambiguously on our side. I can't shake the worry that if he's given one more reason to hate us, he'll turn dark permanently, and I think he could still do a scary amount of damage."

Ginny grasped Harry's hand and halted his progress up the stairs. She laughed softly; an expression somewhere between admiration and pity. "Blast Dumbledore and Snape and their bloody irresponsibility. I feel terrible that you of all people have to put up with this... but at least it's better you than me! With my reputation for saintly patience, Snape's nose would be breeding more bats by now than the Threave Reserve, and I'd be sitting back at the Burrow knitting jumpers."

Harry's eyes went diffuse for a moment. The corners of his mouth twitched. He sniffed, sputtered... and then just gave up. His laughter boomed all the way up and down the grand stairwell.

Ginny looked at him quizzically. "Harry, are you that easily amused? I would expect a polite little ha ha to humour me, but...?"

"Oh don't mind me!" Harry chortled. "All this idiocy has warped my brain."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Oh, please do tell?"

"Okay, Gin'," Harry replied as he brought his laughter under control. "I know what you've been through — I know you've spent practically this whole school year so far trying not to hex Snape..."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "I'm glad you're so sympathetic to my plight," she replied, "but how exactly is this funny? It's not as if he's made it easy... ahem... for me to sustain the decorum that he personally renounces."

"No, your patience has been admirable," Harry clarified. "But on the other hand, we don't want to have to bottle up aggravation too long, do we? Remember how McGonagall always exhorted us to leave our emotions at the door when we came to transfiguration class; how our feelings could contaminate our magic?"

"Yes... but this is still not sounding very funny to me," she stated.

"Yes, well I'm sincerely glad I'm not in your position. You know the disastrous transfiguration spells I used to produce when I was young and distractible? Whenever I think of Snape swooping around in his bat-like billowing black robes, I worry I might accidentally invent... the Snape bogey hex! Can you imagine some poor nose crawling with a swarm of tiny..."

"Ewwww! Don't say it!" Ginny's face twisted for a moment in revulsion, but the part of her mind that was related to Fred and George managed to giggle convulsively. The ensuing paroxysms forced her to grapple onto Harry in the middle of the staircase. "Stop it, you sick little puppy!" she wheezed, "Now you're warping me! No more of these horrible meetings for you — they seem to be driving you completely batty."

Harry gaped at the accidental double etendre, then doubled over in his own relapse of laughter as a group of nervous first years made a wide, wary circuit around them.

After recovering from their mirth they tackled the rest of the climb to the seventh floor with only sporadic titters. "One more meeting," Harry reminded her. "We did promise McGonagall. After that, let's vow to get back to serious work."

They made it to the headmaster's office with about ten minutes to spare. She smiled to see their faces, still lively and flushed from the laughter. "It's so heartening to see that all of these trying circumstances are not yet getting to you," she said.

"Well, hopefully not permanently," Harry said wryly. McGonagall met his eyes and nodded her understanding. Ginny squeezed his hand. He breathed deeply, smiled, and the three of them flooed to Grimmauld place.

Straight out of the fire, Harry was greeted by Lupin and by Kingsley, who shook his hand warmly and as Molly came over to hug Ginny.

"Harry and Minerva, I'd like a very quick word with you," Kingsley announced, leading them over to a corner of the room. "As of Monday, we plan to begin stationing aurors at Hogwarts on-and-off. Perhaps you'd heard a rumour that we'd be doing so?"

Both Harry and McGonagall nodded.

"We'd meant to start with this sooner because we're concerned that Hogwarts might be targeted by death eaters, but things have been quite, well, dysfunctional. But after what happened Monday, we've decided to blow off some of the bureaucratic hoops and just do it," Kingsley elaborated. "We can't afford a round-the-clock presence because we're too understaffed, but we'll have two operatives in every day with a varying schedule. Anyway. I wanted to make sure that both of you were aware of the plan because I would like you to be our on-site contacts to for operatives to interface with if there are any problems."

"We understand — thank you Kingsley," McGonagall responded.

"Sir," Harry said, steering Kingsley aside, "I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Monday. I very much hope that my willingness to confirm to the goblins certain details of the Gringotts raid didn't cause too much trouble for you."

Kingsley looked him hard in the eye for a moment, then smiled. "First of all, don't call me 'sir' until I've done something to earn it, Harry. Secondly, one of the things we're all fighting for is the right of any wizard to stand up and tell the truth. No apologies -- are we understood?"

Harry smiled gratefully. "Perfectly understood, thanks!"

"I am going to share one thing with you, just for personal information though," Kingsley said, dropping his voice and moving closer. "Fudge was ripping mad about Gringotts and about the bad press that he got. Amelia and I have been very blunt with him in explaining the situation... about how you were just a bystander who got caught up in it while attempting to do legitimate business there, about how if DMLE was better staffed, we would have responded sooner and not left everything resting on your shoulders, but to be honest he's still being a petulant arse about it. Please don't worry though — as long as Amelia's still running the show at DMLE, nobody in the ministry is going to try to fabricate any complaints or charges on you."

Harry frowned. "Thanks for standing up for me. Please also convey my deepest gratitude to Mrs. Bones."

"Call her Amelia, Harry," Kingsley said with a smile. "She always told me that she's 'Amelia' to anybody who's saved her life."

Harry smiled.

"Anyway, too much politics, not enough action," Kingsley sighed. "Listen Harry, if you, like me, came away from Gringotts with a pessimistic assessment of how the Order and auror corps responded to the crisis, then maybe you'll be willing to help me make some lemonade out of some of the lemons?"

"What did you have in mind?" Harry asked.

"That's what the meeting is for Harry," Kingsley answered. "I'm very glad you could make it! And speaking of the meeting, I should go in..." he gestured toward the kitchen, "and set a good example."

"I'll join you in just a couple of minutes," Harry assured him, then grabbed Lupin's arm. "Remus, can you spare a minute for Ginny and me?" He beckoned Ginny over.

"Certainly!" Lupin agreed. "What is it?"

"How has Kreacher been behaving since Tuesday?"

Lupin's eyes went wide. "Remarkable difference, Harry! To be honest, I'm still not convinced that he likes me very much, but he's stopped his endless tirades and he's made no further attempt to throw away any of my belongings. Separating him from that horrid locket has been the best thing to happen to him in decades!"

"Is he of any use to you here?" Harry asked.

Lupin shook his head. "Well, not really I guess — I don't ask him to do anything, and he certainly doesn't offer. I admit that he's started doing some rudimentary cleaning of his own accord over the past few days. That in itself is quite amazing, but after all of these years of neglect, I think he would need someone hovering over him giving him priorities and expectations, and I don't have time for that."

Harry looked to Ginny who shrugged.

"What exactly are you two thinking?" Lupin asked.

"Well, we've encountered an issue with our SHP safe house," Harry explained, "and we've been kicking around a dubious idea of mine that perhaps Kreacher might be able to help with."

"We made a bit of a miscalculation regarding the day-to-day upkeep," Ginny elaborated, "Our caretaker is a muggle; the parent of a muggle born. She's exceptionally competent and hard working, but since the property has been magical for centuries and is unplottable and all, it's impossible to do anything with electricity. The poor lady has been suffering through without complaint so far, but the students who go out periodically to help with the property have noticed how hard it is for her to keep up and we really need to do something to make it easier."

"Ah!" Lupin exclaimed. "No magic and no modern tools — could be very wearisome for the woman!"

"It could be worse of course," Ginny explained. "The students are great about going out and doing things without needing to be asked, and over the past week we've had out first guests out there — they've been more than willing to help out. But I can sense that Sally is frustrated because she feels more like a tenant than a caretaker. I don't blame her for feeling a bit out of place."

"So, would Kreacher be able to help out?" Lupin pondered. "Certainly a week ago, I would have scoffed, but the changes I've seen in him are prodigious. If Harry was to tell him to visit the house, help as needed, and refrain from insulting muggles, muggle-borns and blood traitors, then... hmmm..." he scratched his head as he started steering Harry and Ginny toward the kitchen. "You know Harry, I think he might actually respond well to a change of pace. Why not try it and find out?"

A lively, unstructured conversation was already underway in the kitchen. Most of the remaining Order members were already present at the elongated kitchen table, with the exception of Dumbledore, Snape, Mundungus Fletcher and Charlie Weasley.

"Wotcher, Harry, Ginny!" Tonks said, rising from her seat by the stove. Bill and Arthur also rose to greet the guests.

Kingsley asked all of the Order members to find their seats, but left Harry and Ginny standing for a moment as he made introductions. "I'd like to welcome Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley to our meeting tonight," he said, addressing the assembled wizards and witches. "As everyone may recall, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley were invited in early August to join the Order as full members but declined due to their emerging responsibilities at Hogwarts. I hope that they both consider it to have been a standing invitation, and that they may feel free to accept down the road as circumstances change. However, I don't think we should press the issue one way or another."

Kingsley conjured two seats near his end of the table and invited Harry and Ginny to sit before he began speaking again. "Since you've taken the trouble to join us tonight, I would like to extend you the courtesy of attending as much or as little of the meeting as you like. If you can't stay for the whole thing, we can arrange the discussion so that we discuss the topics specifically involving you first, and permit you to return to your other many responsibilities."

"The latter would be great if you don't mind," Harry responded. "So how can we help you?"

"Well, to get right down to business, you and I have already briefly discussed the issue of communication, and how poorly coordinated this is in both the Order and the auror departments. You, conversely, have demonstrated to great effect two rather different communication systems: one that Remus and Tonks were exposed to this summer and a new one that you demonstrated admirably this past Monday. I was wondering if there would be some way we might be able to learn how these systems are implemented so that we can avoid huge cock-ups like the Gringotts affair?"

"Sure," Harry replied. "The system I used this summer was basically an emergency response system intended to safeguard vulnerable students and families over the summer. Remus is already quite well versed with it; we'd discussed two possible spin-off strategies: one might be constructed to use our mapping system to track any death eaters whom you might manage to tag during your various operations, but perhaps the more realistic goal would be to use it to track auror operations."

Harry rose from his chair and conjured a chalkboard to scribble diagrams onto. "In my original summertime implementation, the main communication device was primarily a portkey that someone could use for safe transport when threatened. When activated, the device automatically signaled me that someone was in trouble and recorded the person's location at the time of signaling." Harry then drew a vertical line down the middle of the board and began annotating the blank half. "The new implementation that you saw on Monday was a scheme that several of my students assembled, based on a product by Fred and George Weasley. This second strategy seems to me to be applicable to Order-like or auror-like operation: if a field operative is in trouble and requires backup, the operative can trigger a beacon that signals headquarters. Using matched devices, headquarters can portkey backup operatives directly to the trouble spot."

"And even if your location is subject to anti-portkey wards," Ginny interjected, "the bracelets have a built-in homing capacity. We haven't tested that extensively, but at least we know it works fine if you're in the same building."

"Eh, well that sounds like it might be useful," Moody grumbled favorably.

"I agree completely," Kingsley enthused, "How would we get ahold of perhaps fifteen of those for the Order?"

"We should see the twins tomorrow morning," Harry responded. "We'll let them know of your need and I'd expect you'll have them in a few days. Bill will be in the castle tomorrow to teach our students a bit of curse breaking. If he has time after the session we can train him to use the bracelets — it should only take ten minutes or so. He can then train the rest of you."

Bill nodded.

"Perfect — thank you Harry, Ginny and Bill!" Kingsley replied. "Harry, to shift from the specific to the more general, I was wondering if you could tell everyone in your own words what you're currently up to? I don't want to put you on the spot or make you speak about anything you can't divulge, but your name comes up in conversation an awful lot and it seems that if you ask ten people what Harry Potter is doing, you'll get ten rather different answers."

Harry laughed. "Okay, but I'll try to keep it short, and turn it over to Ginny because she's running half the show."

Molly beamed first at Ginny and then at Harry.

"I don't expect this will sound very exciting to you, but really most of my time these days is spent on what I'm paid to do: teaching. My focus, as most of you are already well aware, is primarily defense against the dark arts, and secondarily involves more general defensive tools and tactics. I make the distinction between the two foci because while it's important for students and adults alike to be able to defend against dark arts, a lot of the dangers that we may encounter can have nothing to do with dark arts: a frightening amount of damage can arise from ordinary, non-dark magic, and even from completely non-magical weapons and tactics."

''That's what you're doing officially, Harry, and maybe you're spending most of your day doing it," Moody observed, "but none of us are prepared to believe that's all you're doing. Can you tell us more about what you're doing unofficially."

"Research," Harry replied, "most of which I'm either doing either directly with Ginny, or else she's doing it herself and reporting back to me."

"Care to elaborate?" Moody persisted.

"Only as far as I'm permitted," Harry answered. "Some of what we're working on is secret and I would only tell you about it if Albus was here to say that it was okay.

"Bloody secretive Dumbledore," Moody muttered. "Okay, tell us what you can."

"We've been working a lot on wandless and nonverbal magic, as well as magic essence perception."

"Oh, how perfectly corking!" Dedalus Diggle cried out enthusiastically. "Could you show us something?"

Without moving or speaking, Harry transfigured the stove into a purple hippogriff. Ginny raised her hand, and strains of La Marseillaise filled the room and the hippogriff began to dance. Dedalus broke out into giggles, while the others started to chatter appreciatively.

Harry then turned to face the unoccupied end of the room. He raised his hand and, without warning, blasted a four foot hole in the pantry wall. All noise abruptly ended.

After a brief refocusing silence, Ginny began to wandlessly repair the wall, while Harry resumed speaking. "These may look like parlour tricks, and people are entitled to wonder why we would bother to forgo the wand and incantation, but there are numerous basic advantages. Many a promising duel has fallen apart after a dropped wand. Trying to get the correct pronunciation of an incantation seems a bit ironic if you're under cover and trying to maintain complete silence. A final benefit is that in leaving our wands behind, both Ginny and I can simultaneously cast two simultaneous spells. For example, we can sustain a shield with our left hand while firing offensive spells with our right. In terms of strength and accuracy, I'd say we're both now as proficient or more without wand than we ever were with one."

Harry paused to capture everyone's attention. "In telling you this," he said, "I'm assuming that the Order maintains a strict secrecy policy on its meetings. Ginny and I aren't rigorously hiding our skills, but we have no intention of advertizing to our enemies either."

"Yes, we will certainly not discuss the matter outside of this room," Kingsley vowed.

"So, you can do two spells at once?" Arthur asked. "Harry, I believe you of course, but I was wondering if you could please humour this old man and demonstrate that too?"

Harry paused for a moment, then cast a large, pulsating, hemispherical shield with one hand, while transfiguring the purple hippogriff back into a stove with the other. Ginny smirked mischievously. To add excitement, she began to fire a barrage of stunners at Harry's shield, while levitating a suddenly rather nervous Bill three feet above his chair. Harry grinned at his girlfriend; the pair let their spells subside, and faced the astonished crowd.

"Perfess'r Dumbledore himself can't do all 'at!" Hagrid muttered from the far end of the room.

"Yes, it would seem to me that while nonverbal and wandless magic are not incredibly rare, two-handed casting is quite unique. Perhaps this is a case of successful research but questionable teaching," Harry resumed. "Having learned these skills myself, I did find it quite easy to teach Ginny, but as of yet we haven't been able to reach anybody else. Perhaps that's because we've been having to focus on more basic and urgent things."

"Anything else ye'd be willing to share, Harry?" Moody asked. "I'd hate to let you go without milking all that we can."

Harry smiled at the man's endearing tactlessness. "Yes, we have one other project on the go that we believe might crack a major frustration of yours. Ginny, can you update them on the drinkable portkeys?"

"Okay," Ginny agreed as she stood up to address the curious faces. "We have a solid theory and proof-of-principle demonstration regarding the way death eaters have been portkeying away from attack scenes without being hindered by anti-portkey wards or portkey summoning spells," she explained and immediately saw expressions of interest alight on everyone's faces.

"The breakthrough is really courtesy of Hermione Granger," Ginny continued. "After we beat around the bush for a while wondering how to make a liquid into a portkey, she discovered that what you need to do is make a very soluble portkey out of something like sugar and imbibe it. The key is that if you just dissolve a portkey, its magic signature becomes incoherent unless you have something that can stabilize the magical structure. Hermione found a way to specially modify a potion called Deliquesco Magia to do precisely that. If you dissolve a sugar portkey in a beverage spiked with her potion, anyone who drinks the beverage actually sort of becomes a portkey. The original portkey material is too diffusely spread through you to be subject to portkey summoning via accio, but the portkey transport still works. The only problem is that the dissolved portkey is still limited by anti-portkey wards just as a regular solid portkey is. Hermione claims to have a lead on the remaining problem, but she hasn't demonstrated a prototype yet."

"That's most interesting," McGonagall mused. "Too often the explanations are far simpler that we ever would have guessed. Perhaps your final resolution will also be surprisingly uncomplicated."

"I hope so too," Ginny responded. "I'm only glad that the goblin wards on Monday were too powerful to enable anyone other than Bellatrix to escape."

"A brilliant turn of fortune that was!" Emmeline Vance declared. "I can't believe that we managed to capture both Lestrange brothers and fourteen other death eaters. I only hope the Ministry doesn't let them go free..."

Kingsley shrugged. "At least they're tied up for a while," he said.

"Does anyone have any idea how Bellatrix got out?" Tonks asked. "I saw her go with my own eyes... well, I mean who could have missed it? But that wasn't any magic I've ever seen before."

"Well yes," Harry admitted, "we do have an idea where the power came from to break through the wards and apparate her away. But unfortunately this falls under the category of things that we can't share with you unless Albus clears it."

Moody grumbled again audibly but incoherently. The table fell gradually silent.

"The other major initiative we're working on," Ginny said, recovering control of the discussion, "is our Safe Homes and People program. These are a series of efforts being undertaken primarily by Hogwarts students, but also now including a growing number of adults, all aiming to provide refuge, shelter, emergency services and social support for families and people who have suffered from death eater attacks or any secondary hardships. Any time you encounter someone whom you think might benefit from services like that, we would be happy to help. As a precaution, we ask people not to identify anyone in the program by name, but victims can owl SHP and get a response within two days or less. In case of a real emergency, it's probably okay if someone in this room contacts me directly on the victim's behalf... again, as long as you don't let anybody outside of the Order know who's involved."

"Thank you so much for doing this, Ginny!" Lupin enthused. Once again, Molly could be seen quietly glowing.

"Well everyone," Harry broke in, pushing his chair to the table in front of where he was standing, "I think we've likely taken up more than enough of your time. If there are no other questions, we should probably let you..."

"Harry, what's going to happen?" Dedalus interrupted bluntly and without elaboration.

"Er, what's going to happen with the current struggle?" Harry asked.

Dedalus nodded vigorously.

"I don't know. I can't imagine my speculations are any better than yours," Harry said. "Voldemort may well try to take over the Ministry either through political intrigue or by force. And when he feels he has enough strength, he will probably attack Hogwarts... to get at me."

Hagrid went quite stoney-faced at the statement, but said nothing. McGonagall remained stoic and silent. A hushed buzz circulated across the table.

"You're not sitting idly by, waiting for all this," Dedalus stated.

"No," Harry admitted without clarification.

"But you're not going to say anything about it unless Professor Albus Tight-Cheeked Dumbledore ever deigns to grace our bloody presence again and says it's okay," proclaimed the reliably grouchy Alastor Moody.

Harry shrugged with an apologetic smile.

"Don't worry Harry," Kingsley replied reassuringly, "Dumbledore never tells us anything either, so if nothing else it's at least entertaining to have someone else standing in front of us not answering those sorts of questions." His smiled faded, and was replaced by an earnest expression. "If Dumbledore stays missing much longer, though, we are probably going to ask you to follow your own personal instincts on how much longer you feel you should honour his innate secrecy. We might be able to render a great service to you, but we're not going to be any help if we don't know what's going on."

"I understand," Harry responded. "Thank you for your patience; I will make that decision as soon as it appears that I must. In the meantime, I think we should all sincerely hope for Albus's safe return."

The table murmured its assent. Harry nodded his respectful farewell and walked out of the room with Ginny, closing the door on his way out. Several seconds later, however, the door opened and Molly emerged, followed by Arthur.

"Harry, you're still planning on fighting??" Molly stammered in a stricken tone.

Harry's face, somewhat strained from the meeting and from having to give so many non-answers, softened into deep sympathy. "I have to, Mum," he said quietly with downcast eyes. "I didn't choose this fight, but this fight chose me and the more I run from a confrontation, the more death and destruction will be visited on everyone else." He took her hand and gazed straight into the eyes that were so nearly identical to those that had captured his everlasting love. Like mother, like daughter, he sighed to himself. "I can't promise anyone that I will steer clear of the challenges that are coming our way. The best I can offer is my sincere promise that I will do everything in my power to minimize the risk to myself and everyone else. I can also tell you with conviction that I truly believe that we will win," he added, as Molly sank into his embrace. "Everything I've seen from the people who are struggling beside me gives me stronger and stronger reasons to believe that we will see this through. We will live to see many very happy days again in our shared future."

Arthur and Ginny came forward and added their arms to the embracing pair. Molly sobbed quietly as the four stood by the hearth; the comforting closeness of three of her most treasured people gradually assuaged some the aches and wounds of worry.

After a while, Arthur shifted uneasily, catalyzing a dissolution of the embrace. "I apologize, to you all," he said, "but I really must go back in."

Molly nodded her understanding.

"I need to brief the Order on a Ministry senior executive meeting taking place Monday morning," Arthur explained. "I can fill you two in sometime later," Arthur offered to Harry and Ginny with a smile, "although I'm guessing you may be getting a bit weary of meetings."

Chapter 18. New Friends; Old Friends    (Sept. 20, 1997)

Twenty two people arrived on the drizzly pitch on Saturday morning for interhouse quidditch, and the charmed quaffles were once again in a creative mood. Among the varsity players, only Blaise and Summerby had shown up. The others had likely either gotten disenchanted by last weekend's embarrassing outcome, or were feeling less generous with their time now that house quidditch practices were going full tilt. The final result was that the quaffles had decided to group Blaise, Summerby, Harry and Luna onto the grey team with a large Slytherin fourth year and a fifth year Hufflepuff girl with some goal keeping experience. They would square away against a small, short-handed purple team including Jonathon, Ginny and the two small second years who had played for her last weekend.

Ginny was scratching her head trying to make sense of the latest challenge when Blaise strolled up to her. He glanced at her purple-clad team-mates, raised an eyebrow, then laughed and turned to leave.

Ginny glared at him. "That's it, Zabini?" she shouted at him. "A single laugh and you walk away? No sly innuendos? No insightful colour commentary?"

"Okay," Blaise said. He turned slowly and reappraised his opponents. "Didn't your Mum ever tell you that purple clashes like hell with your hair?"

He smirked broadly, mounted his broom and headed back toward his end of the pitch to organize his own team. After a couple minutes of completely failing to summon his teammates' attention above a buzz of incessant snickering, he pulled out his pocket mirror (something no Zabini ever went without) to groan as he discovered his own vibrantly fluorescent green coiffure. A quick glance back down the pitch at his favourite adversary earned him a smug wink from those sparkly brown eyes. He briefly experimented with finite incantatem, but gave up and resigned himself to a hair colour that actually looked fairly hip next to his drab grey uniform.

Fashion sense made little difference to the match as Ginny and her three sprogs proved that even Harry Potter wasn't going to derail the Weasley machine. Ginny had her team playing formations similar to the previous week except that, being short-handed, they had dispensed with the two 'catchers', who had circled under the action during the previous game to grab dropped quaffles. Instead, Ginny herself flew lower than usual and was usually able to grab the many early bobbles and missed passes.

Harry played hard, but kept a close, discerning eye on his talented opponent. He noticed that whenever one of her teammates committed a miscue, Ginny would find the next reasonable opportunity to sidle up to the culprit, and offer a hug or quiet word of encouragement. He also noticed that the teammate's quality of play would almost invariably improve thereafter. He nodded sagely. It's not just morale that she's boosting, he speculated thoughtfully.

Regardless of what exactly she was accomplishing with her teammates, it was obviously working: after initially falling behind 60-10, the purples' relentless improvement helped them eventually pull into a tie at 110 points each. The momentum had continued, much to the delight of Fred, George and Bill in the stands, such that when time sounded, purple claimed victory by a score of 150-130.

Harry couldn't have cared less about the score. It had been fun to play keeper in the two earlier matches, but today's experience of racing around with mad abandon as a chaser had been a marvelous release. It was not quite the ecstasy of those wild pursuits of streaking snitches that he recalled from his days as a seeker — he did have teammates to consider after all — but it was wonderful nonetheless. When the final whistle sounded, he pulled his broom into a steep, nearly vertical climb, up over two hundred feet, swung through a bracingly tight hairpin loop, and then spiraled sharply down to give his girlfriend a congratulatory high five. Together, they wandered over to the stands to meet up with the rest of the red-headed contingent.

"All set for a morning of curse breaking?" Harry asked Bill.

"Sure thing Harry!" Bill responded. "I have six cursed relics that the goblins let me bring for demonstration purposes, plus some ideas for non-life-threatening hands-on exercises," he added with a grin.

"Brilliant!" Harry replied enthusiastically.

As they made their way back up the hill to the castle, trailing the students, the twins commandeered the conversation in their spirited, if somewhat irreverent, praise of their sisters' quidditch exploits.

"Blimey Potter!" Fred jested. "Old man Bill was getting a sickle from us for every time sister dearest made a jessie out you. All I can say is that it's a good thing we're getting this healthy research stipend out of some rich bloke's vault!"

"Rich he may be," George added, "but he's sure not Harpies material!"

Harry grinned. He was about to interject a comment about basic biology, when suddenly the sky before his eyes seemed to split open: a jagged bolt of of pain torn through his head. For the briefest instant he glimpsed two piercing, horrified blue eyes staring at him in anguish... and then nothing.

He was drowning in cold, sticky, squelching blackness. His chest felt crushed. Suffocation. Paralysis.

But from the inky depths he heard her call. He actually heard two distinct voices, but both belonged to Ginny. Her outer voice, the one everyone could hear, was gasping — nearly screaming — in fear, but somehow she was also speaking to him with another, deeper part of her soul. The voice was calm and kind. Come back, Harry, she gently beckoned. Her voice resonated; he oriented himself to her call, and followed it back up through the abyss as she continued to whisper comforting thoughts. After a moment he was able to hear, with his ears this time, the sound of Ginny's ragged breathing, mixed with Bill's concerned but measured voice.

"Pulse stabilizing, brain function returning..." Bill said matter-of-factly, as Harry opened his disoriented eyes to the fuzzy sight of Bill's wand tip hovering above his face.

After a moment, Harry's blurry vision sorted through out the strange sight of four eyes staring at him, focusing to reveal Ginny and Bill's distinct but equally anxious faces. Bill had a wand trained on his forehead.

"Are you there, Harry?" Bill asked hopefully. "Are you all right?"

"What did Dumbledore do?!" Harry gasped.

Bill blinked in alarm. "What did what??" he stammered.

Harry struggled to a crouching position, fighting off their restraining hands. He whipped around just in time to see Fawkes appear in a flash of fire on the grass in front of them.

Fred, George, Ryan and Nick had bolted down the hill to investigate. Ginny turned sharply and caught George's eye. "Cancel the morning AHA — we'll explain later!" She abruptly grabbed Bill's hand. "Bill, he needs you too!" she hissed.

Bill opened his mouth in astonishment, but got no further than "Wha...??" He, Harry, Ginny and Fawkes vanished in a sudden blaze, leaving the twins and two astonished students in their wake.

Fawkes did not take them far, but saved them two crucial minutes of running. The blaze fell away from their eyes to reveal the horrifying site of their headmaster gruesomely splayed across the stone floor of his office. Ginny lurched uncertainly as she landed, but Harry's arm held her back, and kept her from stumbling forward into the carnage.

Bill kicked furiously, scattering a handsome ruby-encrusted sword, a crude, gawdy golden ring, an old box, and bits of char across the room. "Situm conservandum!" he yelled, and deep blue glow descended like a wholesome mist into Dumbledore's body.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the situation. Frozen by Bill's spell, Dumbledore's body and face were locked into the contorted expressions of the agony and fear that Harry had sensed telepathically just moments before. Harry surmised that Bill's incantation had arrested the urgency of Dumbledore's peril, but now matters of secondary exigence need to be addressed. "Karypis!" he shouted.

Dumbledore's favorite house elf appeared with a crack, took one look at Harry's and Ginny's anxious faces then spun around to see his master's frozen body. Karypis fell to his knees, and began to emit an anguished, high pitched keening.

"Karypis," Harry said more gently. "Find McGonagall and Pomfrey and bring them here immediately."

The house elf straightened up instantly, nodded with wide eyes and vanished.

Wand still drawn from earlier, Bill dashed across the office to examine the box, ring and sword. Having quickly scanned the box and sword, he was crouching over the ring, running his wand along a hairline fracture that had split the smooth, brownish gemstone. "Dammit," he swore softly.

Ginny put her hand on Bill's shoulder. "What is it? Can you do anything?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly but said nothing.

Karypis, Pomfrey and McGonagall appeared with a resounding bang. McGonagall surveyed the shocking scene, while Pomfrey ran to the headmaster. "Is he...?" she began.

"Alive but frozen," Bill stated. "He's safe to touch."

Pomfrey's sharp intake of breath hissed as she ran her wand over Dumbledore's head, chest and shoulder. She muttered something inaudible, then turned to Bill. "Good save," she said in a quiet tone that conveyed a mixture of relief and acute concern.

"Can you do anything, Poppy?" Bill asked.

She shook her head sadly. "No, I don't think so. He's alive, thank Merlin," she said. "He will probably remain that way indefinitely — that was an excellent freezing spell, Mr. Weasley, but..." she paused for several moments to appraise the situation. "But unfortunately I would estimate that once we lift the conservandum to try to treat him, he would survive no more than fifteen seconds unless we find a healer with much greater skills than mine. You caught him in the absolute nick of time."

McGonagall regarded her headmaster with the utmost gravity. "Medically things are obviously dire," she assessed, "but within his suspended state might there be anything you can think of that could arrest the curse, and buy us a chance to save him?"

Madame Pomfrey shook her head.

Bill turned to face McGonagall. "Given the strength of the curse," he surmised, "it is probably still tied to the magic of its originator. If the originator was to die before we try to resuscitate Dumbledore, the curse may lift. That might give us a small window to save him if the physical damage to his body has not already been too severe."

McGonagall nodded solemnly. "Need I ask..." She paused for a deep breath, before continuing. "...who might have cast the curse?"

"Riddle," Ginny said quietly. Bill and Harry both nodded.

McGonagall pulled out a chair and sat down, attempting to stiffen her face in order to mask her very profound anxiety and fatigue.

Harry walked over to the corner of the office to which the box and ring had been kicked. He knelt down to examine them. "Ginny, is this the box... from the visions?" he asked.

Ginny had been eying it as well, she knelt beside him and examined carefully. She ran her hand along a line about an inch above the box, trying to detect any magic. "The box seems safe to touch, don't you think?" she asked Bill.

Bill nodded. "The box is safe and completely non-magical," he confirmed. He joined them, but instead of examining the box, he turned his attention back to the sword and the ring.

Ginny experimented with closing and reopening the box. She closed her eyes, trying to distill her visual memories. "I may need to visit the pensieve to be absolutely certain, Harry, but I'm pretty sure this is the same box."

"Which would make that..." Harry gestured at the ring that Bill was carefully scanning with his wand, "a horcrux."

Harry and Ginny were by their den window, seemingly holding each other up. The twins were both perched on corners of the dining table. Bill was pacing by the hearth. Everyone was silent, lost in thought.

Bill stopped pacing and faced toward the window. "So, apart from the fact that Dumbledore's life is hanging in the balance, what do you think the implications of all this are?"

Harry sighed. "Well, a horcrux has just been destroyed. As you suggested at Port-e-Vullen, we have to assume that Riddle probably sensed it just as I did. He has to know." Ginny buried her face a bit more deeply into his chest, and he tightened his grip.

Bill nodded with a very grim look on his face. George raised his head and met Harry's eye. "You said 'probably'. You're not sure," he observed.

"It used to be that I would have known quickly and absolutely if Riddle had experienced a loss like this," Harry answered., "but Ginny's magic seems to block his access to me. If that protection is as powerful as I believe, then I probably wouldn't know if he sensed the horcrux."

"What was it that clobbered you outside the castle then?" Fred asked.

"I assume that was basically the magical scream of the dying horcrux," Harry explained. "In the past year I've developed an exceptionally powerful sensitivity to magical essence. It can be tremendously useful, but the drawback is that it can overpower me at times. This blast was too close and too strong for Ginny to shield me from. It was powerful enough that I can't see how Riddle would not sense its destruction." He closed his eyes and groaned deeply. "Merlin, this is terrible timing! I wish we could have postponed a big bang announcement like that for a few more weeks. This'll set him off like a powder keg — there's so much we need to do before he goes on the offensive!"

"What do you think he's going to do? Do you figure he'll attack here?" George asked.

Harry shrugged. "Bill, do you have any idea if Riddle would be able to sense where the horcrux's dying scream came from?"

"Not directly," Bill answered. "But it's possible he would get flash images of things in the immediate vicinity of the horcrux. You and Ginny can do that, right?"

Harry nodded. "So we have to assume that he might have seen Dumbledore; he might have seen the headmaster's office."

"Or he might not have," Ginny interjected. "Riddle always acts confused when we bump into him via horcruxes. It's like he's not quite so good at seeing through his own toys as we are."

"So there's a chance he may just operate on guesswork," Harry speculated. "That would mean that he would probably suspect Dumbledore first, me second, and maybe the Ministry unspeakables third. No matter how you flip that coin, it would seem to me that Hogwarts is going to be very high on his target list."

The room fell silent. Ginny withdrew from Harry's embrace and began to pace. "How do you think Dumbledore destroyed the horcrux?" she asked nobody in particular. "He was holding the sword of Gryffindor at the time; is that what he would have used? If so, how would that have been able to destroy a horcrux?"

"I think," Bill responded, "that it must have been impregnated with basilisk venom."

"It would have been exposed to venom in the Chamber of Secrets when I jabbed the basilisk in the mouth, right? But that was over four years ago," Harry mused.

"That would be more than adequate, Harry," Bill interjected. "The sword of Gryffindor was goblin-wrought; many of their alloys naturally absorb and retain the magic of whatever they're exposed to."

"Excellent!" Ginny exclaimed. "When the time comes, we have a convenient tool to destroy the other two horcruxes in our possession."

"That's true," Harry agreed, "but I want to leave that as a backup option. I have another plan."

"Oh?" Bill and Ginny chimed simultaneously.

Harry walked over to the end-table and withdrew from beneath it a scroll, that he handed to the twins, saying, "In addition to fifteen communications bracelets for the Order, I would like you to make, say five, of these."

Fred unraveled the scroll and examined it for a minute, during which time, Ginny, Bill and George came around to peer over his shoulder. "Great idea!" Fred enthused.

"This will be easy!" George agreed.

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

"It's an automated horcrux killer," Harry answered. "There may be circumstances during which it might not be safe to trust anybody's fallible hand to destroy a something so perfidious. This device holds the horcrux rigidly within a trap. Inside the device there will be a venom-tipped awl loaded onto a powerful magical spring. The spring will be set to release either at a fixed time, maybe with a fixed command, or else if anybody but one of us attempts to either summon or touch the horcrux."

"Brilliant Harry!" Ginny grinned. After the morning's shock and an initial bout of pessimism, she was clearly beginning to recover her spirit.

"So," Fred continued, "should we rush off and start work on it? I assume you'd like this delivered post haste?"

"Yes, definitely as quickly as possible," Harry replied. "Money is absolutely no object."

"Oh, I don't even think it will be that expensive," George speculated. "Brother William, do you still have any basilisk venom that we might be able to borrow from you?"

"I do, and I can head straight to my office to pick it up," Bill answered, "as long as you don't need me any longer this morning, Harry?"

"Thank you Bill, but no — we'll have to reschedule your session for, er, sometime soon."

The three brothers bid their farewells and left Harry and Ginny alone. Ginny looked at her watch. "Should we start trying to salvage something of the morning?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "We have nearly a hour left of the original AHA session. Maybe we can assemble some fraction of the group and, well, talk."

"Let's try," Ginny agreed. "It's a shame we didn't given out amulets like to old DA galleons to everyone so that we could summon them on short notice."

"Yeah," Harry replied reticently. "Maybe we can head down to the Room of Requirement, signal on the bracelets and see if anyone shows up."

Ginny agreed. Still in their morning quidditch gear, they hurried up to the seventh floor, and were surprised to discover that the Room was already unlocked. "That's funny," Ginny said. "We have this reserved; I can't imagine anyone else trying to grab it on a Saturday morning.

Harry shrugged. He opened the door... and they suddenly found themselves surrounded by well over half of the AHA, as well as a sizable contingent of the intermediate and beginner groups.

"We came straight here to wait," Nick explained as he met them at the door. "We really did go around and tell everyone that there was an emergency and that the session was cancelled, but most people decided to stay here anyway, just in case we could help you when you returned."

"Yeah," Ryan added, "so we've been killing time with routine dueling exercises and agility stuff."

Harry nodded appreciatively and set about thinking what he was going to say. Seeing the serious look on Harry's face, the crowd parted into a semi-circle and waited for him to speak. He looked around at all of the tense, expectant faces; mostly students, but Angelina, Katie, Lee and several other adults had all remained as well. He knew that some people in attendance were already aware that something ominous had taken place. Even among those who had not witnessed the earlier disturbance in front of the castle, Harry assumed that the HA postponement would have caused a buzz. He dreaded any kind of uproar, since word of problems at Hogwarts would almost certainly escape quickly beyond school boundaries. If Riddle himself was to learn of an uproar here, he would very likely make the connection with the destroyed horcrux. If the Ministry became aware of Dumbledore's indefinite incapacitation, they would have grounds for immediate interference. Harry realized that no matter what he did or said now, there was very little real hope that Hogwarts would be able to cling to life as usual. About the only thing he could hope for is that the students he had been working with would respond positively, patiently and with an optimism that things could still be made to work out all right.

Harry cast sonorus. "Hello everyone," he said, "I would assume that rumors are beginning to circulate, so perhaps we should take the remaining time in our session to update you on the situation and answer questions as best as may be possible right now." He paused. "This morning, something very dangerous and potentially damaging occurred," he said, biting his lip reflexively as he looked around at the sombre but riveted group. He took a deep breath and continued. "Nobody has died, but our headmaster is in a frozen state, clinging to life. This was not directly inflicted by the enemy. There was no attack on our school. We aren't in a position to undeniably confirm this, but it appears that this was probably an unfortunate and preventable incident related to improper handling of a cursed object."

A sea of groans went through the audience. "Blimey Harry!" Lee Jordan exclaimed. "What say we reschedule that curse breaking training session for, say, yesterday?"

A ripple of grimly bemused muttering passed through the crowd. Harry acknowledged the irony with a tight-lipped shrug and then resumed. "As of right now, I'm uncertain what the implications will be for all of you. Class will undoubtedly proceed as scheduled. Professor McGonagall will likely continue to serve as acting headmistress for the time being, although it is possible that the Board of Governors, or perhaps the Ministry, will see fit to use this as an opportunity to impose their own opinions on how the school is run."

Another series of moans coursed through the room, this time with a decidedly weary tone to them. "Just let that reptile Umbridge set foot in here again!" shouted Angelina. A rowdy eruption of jeers followed.

"Well," Harry interjected, quelling the audience noise with his voice much more quickly than he might have expected, "we have all seen the damage, disruptiveness and animosity that can be caused when the school is abused. Umbridge opened many eyes, especially those of our own faculty. I can't guarantee that nobody will try to do anything that foolish again, but many of us will be watching with jaded and very wary eyes, ready to act with an appropriate level of aggressiveness at the first hint of trouble. If we find it necessary, then there may be times when students can make very helpful gestures of support, just as many of you did in the waning days of the Umbridge debacle."

"You can count on us!" Neville shouted. The room erupted in loud fervent cheers and a cacophony of excited chatter.

"Thank you!" Harry replied, touched, and momentarily taken aback by such an impassioned response so soon after a shocking near-tragedy. The conversations subsided as students keyed on him again. "I'm sure that many people around the school are going to be discussing what happened this morning and some discussions will involve wild, unfounded speculations," Harry continued. "As responsible members of the Hogwarts Army, I would ask that you try to avoid stirring up the rumour mill. You have been made privy to some informed speculation, but as far as what you say to other students, I would advise you to be boring but authoritative: the unexciting truth of the matter is that we do not know exactly what harmed the headmaster, and there's no evidence of any imminent threat to school function and security."

The room buzzed with a diverse array of assenting responses.

"So what about security?" Michael Corner asked. "A lot of people say that dark wizards don't bother Hogwarts out of fear of Dumbledore. What will happen with him out of commission?"

The room went completely silent and eyes riveted back to Harry. "Everything I am going to say from this point forwards will be bound by the HA nondisclosure contract," he began. "You are permitted to discuss this with other HA members only, and if you do so outside of a meeting, then please always assume that somebody or anybody could be trying very hard to eavesdrop. Please cast two different sound masking charms around your conversation, and please guard against lip readers by shielding your mouth with a hand. Is that understood?"

There were some muted comments as people grasped the elevated level of sensitivity in this request. Everyone nodded soberly.

"Thank you," Harry resumed. "So as far as I know, there is no immediate threat to Hogwarts, but problems may well arise — potentially quite soon. For that reason, I am going to shift HA training and my NEWT preparation classes away from the broader curriculum and toward those skills of greatest immediate value. That includes shields, strengthening wards, and detection wards, plus a review of basic stunning and immobilization spells. Furthermore, I would strongly suggest that you all try to spend at least twenty minutes of each day reviewing the basic emergency healing and response training you received last week."

"That's all defensive stuff, Harry!" Angelina called out. "It sounds great, but nobody ever won a war on defense alone."

"Perhaps, although, some historians might debate that," Harry replied, "but here's the underlying issue: if we get attacked, it will be the responsibility of everyone in this room to do things that will help you stay alive. It will not be the responsibility of everyone to confront death eaters face to face. When I accepted this position, the headmaster and I made a gentlemen's agreement that I would not involve students in active combat unless they first passed tests laid out by auror-equivalent operatives. I think some the people who have worked really hard over the past year might be able to pass these tests right now based on their current level of preparation. If so, and if those people want to be available for combat, I'll have to consider letting them take roles like that. For everyone else, let me please emphasize that there are a lot of extremely important roles to prepare for that mostly involve defensive magic."

"When are the tests, Harry?" Mary-Jo inquired.

"I was going to announce at the end of today's session that people can submit their names as candidates to be tested next Saturday morning. We were slated to have an auror and a skilled Order of the Phoenix operative here to begin running tests."

"It can't wait until next weekend!" Ryan protested. "What about this afternoon? Tomorrow?"

As Harry paused to think, the room erupted into excited whispers. "Okay," he said, recapturing attention, "I'll see what I can do. As soon as I know when our examiners can make it, I will place a notice out in the hallway near this room. This test will only be made available to AHA members, and will be provided on a first-come first-served basis. Any student who is not at least seventeen will need to present a signed letter of parental consent to take the test. A certificate will be awarded to anyone who passes the test."

Animated chatter again filled the room. Harry let it go unchecked for a little while to diffuse some of the audience adrenaline, but then he raised his hand to draw order again. "There are caveats of course. I can't sanction any combat role by underage students who pass the test, and I will be honour-bound to heed any parent who requests that their student not be exposed to danger. But when it comes down to it, I doubt it would be easy to prevent skilled underage students from participating, so as long as you do so in a way that doesn't endanger others and seeks to minimize the risks to yourself, then I will do what I can to help you. Finally, I really must re-emphasize that for those students who either don't take the test or don't pass it, you can still be considered for absolutely essential roles: everybody in the HA from the most senior AHA to the youngest BHA member can save lives through competent contego shields, wards and emergency healing."

Cheering erupted again. Harry nodded to the group, signaling that he was done, and he walked over toward the door.

Ginny stepped into the central space vacated by Harry. "One more quick announcement," she indicated, again bringing the room to silence. "There will be no SHP session at the safe house this afternoon. We've completed all of the major cleaning and maintenance work last weekend, and have secured the assistance of a house elf to take care of basic chores. Susan, Hannah and Daphne will still have a special travel dispensation to visit the property whenever they need to, but the blanket permissions for side-apparation of underage HA students is going to be allowed to expire as long as school is in session."

The three girls, all standing together at one end of the circle, nodded their understanding.

Ginny went over to stand by Harry as students began to file from the room. The two of them answered questions and provided reassurance as best they could, but most of the students appeared to have accepted the statements that Harry had already given and simply wandered past engaged in lively conversations among themselves.

"Sir, that was most utterly inspiring. You have a remarkable way with words," Daphne told Harry as she wandered over with Blaise in tow.

"Sir?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, thank you of course, but since when have you ever called me 'sir'?"

"I'm just showing due respect to my esteemed head of house, of course." Daphne proclaimed with a smile that appeared partially innocent.

"Oh Merlin, that's right!" Harry stammered. "Sorry, I haven't begun to process all of these crazy happenings yet." He sighed deeply. "Please don't get your expectations up, okay? I really can't guarantee, with everything else falling apart around us, that I'm going to be a very effective in the role."

"You'll be great!" she assured him. "And don't worry, most of us down in the dungeons are pragmatic enough to realize that Slytherin House doesn't own you. You belong to Hogwarts, to the world... and to Ginny of course!" she added, with a wink.

"Yes, well fawn, gush, blah blah blah," interjected Zabini as he rolled his eyes. "Can we bring this agonizingly crippled saccharine rhapsody limping back to the real world for a minute?"

"I have no idea what you're going on about, Blaise," Daphne sniffed haughtily. Then she spoiled the effect by trying to hide a giggle.

Zabini ignored her and focused on Harry. "I think you really should call a meeting down in the dungeon as soon as possible," he said. "Most of the house isn't in HA or your NEWT classes, so to them you're only an abstract concept. Some of them are rather skeptical about what use you'll be to them; they're going to want some frank and open dialogue with the boy who eschews combs."

"Er, yes, you're right Blaise — I'll check with Snape and see if we can..." Harry began

"With or without Snape," Zabini interrupted. "His schedule seldom accommodates anything he's not interested in."

"Oh, please don't bring Snivelly," Daphne simpered, "he'll only cramp your style. Oh, and Harry?" She cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and leaned in conspiratorially.

Harry's eyes flickered with trepidation, but against his better judgment he obligingly craned his head forward a couple of inches. "Personally I'm thrilled that you don't comb your hair," Daphne whispered to him... just before her lips latched onto his unwitting cheek.

"Oops!" she exclaimed, pulling back with twinkling eyes. "Bad girl! Not supposed to fraternize like that with the head of house, am I?" She grinned wickedly and walked away.

"One hundred percent certified nutella," Blaise grumbled as he stomped after her.

Harry frowned after them in bewildered consternation. "Are they a couple?" he asked Ginny.

"A couple what?" she glared at their departing forms. "A couple of maddening frenemy plonkers?"

Harry chuckled. "No, I meant are they dating each other? They seem to spend a lot of time together."

"I have no idea," Ginny answered. "Why do you ask? Morbid curiosity?"

"No," Harry responded with a sigh. "Just wishful thinking."

"Yup," Ginny nodded sagely. "Keep all your fruitcakes in the same cupboard, huh?"

Several patronuses later, Harry had confirmed that Lupin and Tonks would be able to visit Hogwarts for several hours on Sunday morning to examine the dueling skills of HA members. Harry had also tracked down Pansy and Lucia and asked them to spread the word that he would make himself available to meet in the Slytherin common room at four in the afternoon. Finally, an owl had also made a quick trip from Diagon Alley to inform him that the twins had already developed a successful horcrux trap prototype that was able to drive a silver awl a quarter inch into goblin wrought metal based on timing, proximity sensing or magical command.

Busy day! This was not at all how he had originally expected to be spending his Saturday, but from here on in he was fully prepared to expect the unexpected. Except, of course for those expectations that would inevitably still...

SLAM!!!

... go precisely as expected.

Harry's trip to Severus Snape's office had gotten off on exactly the foot he would have guessed: the wrong one. Always a maven of nonverbal communication, the potions master had invested a grand total of zero words in effectively conveying that he did not value any compromise the faculty had sought on his behalf, that he was not the least bit interested in sharing joint responsibility for Slytherin house, that he had no desire to make a joint appearance with Harry today to answer any questions that Slytherin students might have regarding the new arrangement, and that he loathed the person on his doorstep as vehemently as ever, in spite of any attempts at reconciliation.

Whatever Snape's faults, Harry had to admit that he certainly had mastered the subtle art of door slamming: this particular blast had actually knocked him back on his heels and ruffled his robes. Harry passed a tarnished mirror in the corridor and quickly examined the damage: his already untamed hair had been rendered, if possible, even more barbaric. He rolled his eyes and reflected grumpily that although he'd saved a couple minutes by not having to bother talking to Snape, he would probably have to invest that time conjuring a comb and trying to make a little sense of his appearance before meeting with the Slytherins. Either that, or find some place to stand that was suitably distant from Daphne Greengrass's roving hands.

As he walked through the dim flagstone hallway, illuminated only with greenish lamplight, he couldn't help but wonder if the sheer aesthetically mangled ambience of the dungeons might in itself predispose Slytherin students toward xenophobic misanthropy. It occurred to him that the most outgoing and friendly Slytherins he knew, including Mary-Jo, Ryan, Blaise, Daphne and Lucia, all had healthy, human-looking complexions, while the most morally appalling ones such as Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode and Snape were pasty or jaundiced in appearance. Maybe they just don't see enough daylight?

He came to an ugly, chunky, brownish green wall with two flickering torches set into brackets on either side of a rectangular door frame that appeared to contain not a door but rather a continuation of the same chunky brownish-green wall. He had been assured earlier by McGonagall that there really was a doorway there, and that it should recognize his status as acting head of house without a password. So, with a little uncertainty, he stepped within two feet of the wall, and sure enough, it vanished to reveal a dark passageway at the end of which was, as he recalled, the Slytherin common room. He strode along the moist flagstones, listening as he went to the bustling sound of chatter and debate underway at his destination. He reflected on what he expected to accomplish. Not much, basically. He was there to listen, and hopefully he would hear some useful things that would help to determine what he would might try to work on in his new responsibility.

At the end of the passage, he entered onto a small platform that stood several steps above the level of the common room floor. Having come quietly, he had a quiet moment in which to surreptitiously observe the unperturbed dynamic. Other than a dim greenish tint, the scene was really what one would expect of a normal, lively group of students engaged in casual socialization. That was a relief. The more ill-at-ease the students felt, the more uncomfortable he himself would be. So far so good.

It had been Harry's understanding that Pansy and Draco, as the two most senior prefects, would be responsible for introducing him and moderating any discussion. He cast his eyes around and quickly found half of his quarry — Pansy had been keeping half an eye on the door, and roused herself from an armchair as soon as she spotted him.

"All right you lot!" she shouted gruffly to the room. "Guest is here, so shut your traps!" She walked up onto the platform toward Harry.

"Hi Pansy," Harry said in a friendly tone. "No Draco?"

"Did you really expect him, Duckie?" Pansy snarled sarcastically.

Harry chuckled. This was the Pansy Parkinson that he was accustomed to!

Harry had seen a very different, unexpected side of the girl recently. Her admissions to him of confusion and compassion, her surprising candour, and her inexplicable (if also somewhat misguided) instinct to try to save his life had moved him: her authenticity had been enough to make him sincerely regret their long years of animosity. However the downside to all of this had been obvious signs of inner struggle. It had been truly disheartening to see her stooped with low self-esteem for days after, and Harry had privately worried that she might have had to face crushing family or peer pressure. But happily no: Harry was perversely comforted to see that down here in her own element, all her old coarse swagger was fully intact. There was nothing alluring or subtle about her attitude, but the brusk bravado did make a passable substitute for charisma. Most importantly to Harry, this was a clear demonstration of her strength and resilience: it meant that she had been able to come face to face with her own humanity, do some genuine good, and ultimately survive with her confidence intact. Perhaps as much as anything, for him to see Pansy strutting around with crass arrogance was confirmation that the world had not completely imploded.

However, while Harry seemed comfortable and even appreciative of both sides of the Slytherin prefect's demeanour, Pansy had a Harry problem. He, quite frankly, unnerved her.

Harry was on her turf; she was in control; she had just tossed a flippant, disrespectful remark at him, and how had he reacted? He had smiled at her with a calm, reflective face and he had... chuckled??

What the hell was that all about?

Whatever had caused that little bit of Harry Potter mirth, it certainly bore no resemblance to the snide Slytherin laughter that she had long since learned how to ignore. This little display, which obviously didn't play by Slytherin house rules, had the unsettling effect of, well, making her want to smile.

Of course, most smiles were stupid and frivolous, but Pansy was pretty sure that if she smiled at Harry Potter right now, it would be especially stupid and frivolous. She had never smiled much at Hogwarts. Smiling was not what had propelled her through six years of the most cut-throat environment in the school; smiling had not put her on top of the Slytherin food chain. While carefully crafted facial expressions were useful at the right times and she knew how to assemble all the physical components of a decent smile when it suited her purposes, the underlying emotions themselves were imminently dispensable. In the dungeon, displaying emotions was like having a nosebleed in a shark pool.

This Harry problem, she began to realize, was less about Harry and more about herself. Although she had some difficulty reading Harry, it was her own behavior that she found most bloody baffling. After years of knowing implicitly that Potter was an insufferable git, she'd suddenly lost her bearings and had turned into an erratic sop around him. And now she had to contend with fate's most brilliant prank: the one person around whom she could no longer trust her own composure was, lo and behold, suddenly her acting head of house!

Dammit!

She desperately needed time to think this through and adapt accordingly. On one hand she had found it very gratifying to have played a key role in deposing Snape — the filthy grease-bat had become a pathetic, divisive liability; the only paths that gave them any chance of restoring house pride would be those in which he was (at least mostly) out of the way. But, in her stupidity, she had not thought through all of the possible consequences. She obviously knew that a replacement would have had to be found, but it had never occurred to her that those crazy kids would successfully push through a Harry Potter coronation?!

Okay, realistically Pansy knew there were plenty of people who would be more disastrous for Slytherin than Harry. He was bristling with power, he was getting incredibly good press in the Daily Prophet and she knew that he had, with apparent sincerity, tossed aside his longstanding prejudice against her house some time ago. There were only two real problems with Harry taking over: he somehow had developed a non-magical power over her that turned her into a drippy, bleeding-heart schoolgirl, and... he had a ton of blackmail material over her.

So even now as she walked toward Harry with a well sculpted look of disdain glued onto her face, she was torn between innate resentment at him for bringing out the worst in her, and profound gratitude that he at least hadn't yet shown any inclination to use extortion.

Maybe he and she could work out some useful accommodation? Honesty was not a Slytherin instinct, but Harry seemed to value it. Maybe she could be upfront with him: explain in no uncertain terms that her authority in the house was totally contingent on everyone knowing that she was a heartless bitch and that everything that he, Harry, might believe to the contrary was best kept stuffed down a deep, airtight hole until it underwent complete suffocation. In return, her influence could definitely grease the gears and make it a lot easier for him to survive as head of house. Would he listen to that? If so, then maybe he was a Slytherin after all.

Wow — quick thinking Parksy-girl!

Pansy Parkinson had always prided herself for thinking on her feet. She still had a few more seconds of walking in which to resolve the more urgent problem: each step took her closer to the platform where she was supposed to stand by Harry Potter and introduce him to nearly the whole Slytherin House... and the closer she got, the more her idiotic lips really, really wanted to smile.

Damn you Potter and your goofy little grin! Not helping!!

Pansy had one last trick up her sleeve. She gritted her teeth until she was a reasonable distance from others then, with her back turned, she carefully checked her peripheral vision to be sure nobody else could see her face. Satisfied with the angle, she turned to directly face Harry and she let it happen. For two seconds, she let that daft set of disagreeable facial muscles do exactly what they wanted to: her features melted into a small, shy smile.

One... two...

With a sharp breath, she snapped back around, stoney-faced, to face her constituency. "Shut up!!!" she bellowed.

Nearly all of the lively chatter came to an immediate halt. She paused a moment to glare viciously at the final few offenders in the most distant corners of the room. They too all ceased their various distractions and let her proceed unchallenged.

"Okay," she said in a voice that boomed through the room. "Anyone whose head's not been shoved up the wrong end of a clabbert for six years knows that this bloke beside me is Harry Potter."

A few cheers and jeers erupted, but were quelled by another sharp glance from their taskmaster.

"Those of you who aren't deaf and illiterate know that he's been named head of Slytherin House in deference to the wishes of a majority of you bleeding sycophants," she continued, her eyes shooting daggers at Harry who was struggling not to laugh. "What you may not realize is that Potter brokered a deal with Hogwarts brass to let Snape down easy. Supposedly Potter interceded to prevent the sniveller from being formally impeached, even though all the paperwork was in place to do so."

The room had gone quite silent and persisted that way, even as Pansy paused for a moment. Many students appeared puzzled by the news, uncertain of motive, implication or both.

"Anyway, I talked to McGonagall about it and what she basically implied is that anybody who wants to continue snogging Snape's slippers is welcome to continue doing that for whatever pleasure it brings you. But for all practical purposes, Potter's going to be the person doing the work. Potter, do you want to say anything?"

Harry nodded. "Thank you Pansy," Harry began. He took a deep breath to clear his mind. "Sincere thanks to all of the rest of you for showing up on very short notice," he continued. "Before we move on to Slytherin-specific discussions, maybe I should first let you know that as far as the Dumbledore situation is concerned and the imminent fate of the school, I probably don't know much more than you do. All I know for certain is that Dumbledore accidentally mishandled a very dangerous cursed item and has been expertly placed in magical stasis for the time being. He is alive, and there are people who are actively seeking ways that he can be brought back out of stasis safely. In the meantime, Professor McGonagall is in emergency meetings with Ministry officials. A plan for school governance may emerge from these meetings; hopefully we'll hear something preliminary about that by supper time. That will likely be your best opportunity for getting reliable answers to your questions."

"I already shared that stuff with everyone," Pansy interjected. "I think our people mostly want to talk Slytherin leadership."

"Absolutely!" Harry agreed. "It won't come to any surprise to you to hear that I'm new to this game, but the fact that I'm learning as I go is not going to get in the way of me doing my best for all of you. I think you'll all find me very eager for your input into how things should be run, and maybe the best thing to do today is to talk about what you expect of me. Let's start by discussing the sorts of things that Professor Snape has been doing for you..."

"Oh that's a great basis for comparison!" Ted Nott shouted sarcastically. "So you're going to inflate our potions grades and try to fix quidditch matches?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Er, sorry Ted, but no! I doubt I'll be much help on either. Perhaps I should have clarified and said that we might discuss Professor Snape's official responsibilities."

"And what exactly are those?" Tracey Davis asked.

Harry blinked. Tracey was a seventh year who was quite studious — didn't she know by now what responsibilities a head of house was supposed to fulfill? Harry cleared his throat. "Well, all heads of houses are expected to ensure house harmony, to provide academic advice and to serve as a faculty advocate for all of you. Basically if you're encountering problems with other students or faculty, then I'm supposed to help negotiate on your behalf."

The room burst into laughter.

Harry scratched his head for a moment, trying to work out what exactly was so funny. Fortunately, Zabini quickly stepped forward to bail him out. "Basically," Blaise clarified loudly, "what Potter is describing is what a normal head of a normal house is responsible for. To put this in Slytherin context, Harry, why don't you just say that you're willing to offer to any student the sort of special service and consideration previously extended only to Draco Malfoy."

"Okay, so let's get this straight..." Nott queried with great skepticism, "You actually think Potter is being serious?! You really think that he'd put his nose on the line for me?" Nott turned from Blaise to Harry. "Do you expect me to believe, Potter, that you would intercede on my behalf if I had some problem with McGonagall, or with somebody like Ron Weasley or the Granger girl?"

"Absolutely!" Harry avowed. "Every student deserves fair and equal representation. And to be honest, I've already stood up for Slytherin students in my capacity as a faculty member."

"I'll vouch for that," Blaise agreed. Daphne chimed in affirmatively.

"Yes, it's true," Pansy confirmed begrudgingly.

"In those cases, I took sides with Slytherin students because the situation clearly warranted it," Harry clarified, "but if you come to me as your acting head of house and ask for my representation, I promise to argue as well as I can on your behalf even if I'm not fully convinced you're in the right. That's the way a healthy judicial system works out, and it's a model I believe in. Whenever there's a dispute, the best way to learn the real truth is if there are people willing to competently argue both sides."

Favourable murmuring circulated about the crowd.

"I really do intend to help you in all reasonable ways," Harry added, "but I also want to ask your patience for the next little while. We are entering a very tricky phase at Hogwarts, and I expect my attentions to be distracted by school wide issues. The one thing that I can promise you is that if you have concerns about recent and emerging changes at our school, you shouldn't hesitate to track me down. To be honest, I'd probably be more helpful in working through some of these challenges than I would be with my normal head of house duties."

"Yeah that's right — changes and challenges!" Nott agreed. "The school and the Ministry and who knows what else is all about to fall apart, wouldn't you say?"

"Things are very tenuous right now," Harry admitted. "We could be in for a rough stretch."

"Rough stretch? Cut out the cock and bull euphemisms, Potter," Nott persisted in a state of increasing agitation. "Let's talk real world! You know damned well that my father has the dark mark; he's an Azkaban fugitive; for all I know, he's probably even tried to kill you. If He-who-must-not-be-named orders an attack on this castle and my father's standing outside the gates, what exactly are you going to do for me, Theodore Nott Jr.?"

The room burst into a furor of exclamations and gesticulations.

"Shut up and listen, you bloody berks!!" Pansy thundered, slamming her hand down on a table.

Silence.

Harry took a moment to compose his answer. "I appreciate your candour, Ted," he said calmly to the chastened room. "Here's what I would do for you: I would protect your sacrosanct right to not be forced into battle on either side. I will do everything I can to protect you from prosecution, persecution or intimidation if you don't fight. If you feel you need sanctuary, then I have excellent resources to provide that. I'm faculty here and my job is to mentor and protect. You're a student and you're here to learn. As long as you're here in your intended capacity, I am honour bound to work for you. I don't need to know anything more about you or your family."

The room remained in the grips of absolute silence.

"I'm going to repeat and emphasize my earlier offer," Harry spoke, to break the paralyzed vacuum. "These are tense times. Each and every one of us has grounds to be concerned, worried and maybe even downright terrified about where things are headed. If you need to talk to a nonjudgmental person, then I'll listen, I'll keep the strictest confidence, and I'll advise as best I can. Are we set on all that?"

The stunned room made no response. After a couple of moments, Harry nodded to the assembly, to Pansy, and then turned to leave.

Okay, this was a passable first step: the students had asked a few tough but fair and imminently worthy questions. He had given what he felt were honest and competent answers that they could take away and think about. Maybe next time they would open up and engage a little more.

He had taken a few contemplative steps into the passageway when it happened: he heard a familiar girl's voice call out loudly,

"We love you, Harry!!"

Good old Daphne. Harry smiled to himself. Incurably daffy, willfully exasperating at times, but brave, unwaveringly loyal and genuinely kind-hearted.

He stopped, and turned to acknowledge her. As he did so, he was swept by a sudden gust of... applause?? Daphne, Blaise, Ryan, Mary-Jo and Lucia had all stepped to the fore and proudly began cheering. That in itself was a nice gesture, but they weren't the only ones: Pansy, Ted, Tracey and numerous others turned to face him and started clapping. A fair number of students were even smiling.

Harry wasn't suffering delusions; he knew that there still wasn't unanimous approval. His bitterest and darkest adversaries had not bothered to attend the gathering at all, and he could sense, without really looking, that around the edges of the crowd there were probably a few sneers and expressions of dismay. But for now his gaze focused on the optimism; he stood there smiling and nodding his acknowledgements, scanning across many faces whom he didn't know well, making eye contact with anyone who sought it, hoping that they understood that he really would try to get to know them all and represent their better interests. It was utterly genuine: he dearly wished that he would be granted a chance to get to know these students for the real human beings that they were. If they had been able to fight through their prejudices and trust him, then he would gladly return the favor.

Long live the Slytherin revolution!

As far as Ron Weasley was concerned, the sun had definitely wasted its time in limping it's pathetic way up over the hills this morning, because this was definitely turning out to be a day to forget. To begin with, fully three of his brothers (the same ones who would never be bothered to attend any of his varsity quidditch games) had shown up to see Ginny play a scrimmage and had not even paid him a visit. Neville had beaten him in two out of three chess games, the entire quidditch season had been put on hold, and now Hermione was being so utterly... Hermione.

"Oh, come on!" Ron chafed at her in exasperation. "It's Saturday afternoon, there's no class, no quidditch practice, no HA, no SHP — let's do something just the two of us for once! The rain stopped; maybe we can go for a walk or something?"

"Ron, the headmaster is lying in a coma or something and the whole school is about to fall apart! I'm sorry, but I can't just pretend life is normal and go for a walk," Hermione protested, albeit with an apologetic undertone that her boyfriend probably missed. "Besides, I have to go to the library."

"What?? Dumbledore nearly croaked, Hogwarts is going to hell, and you can't pretend life is normal, so you're going to the library??" Ron ranted. He stuck his flaming face into the middle of a table full of cowering, scandalized second-years, bellowing, "Can any of you midgets explain to our Head Girl what the word normal means?!"

Anyone in the Gryffindor common room who hadn't darted away to safety already was peering around in nervous search for a discrete escape route.

"You don't understand, Ron," Hermione said quietly. "I know we're all under a bit of stress right now; maybe we can talk about it later when you've calmed down a little, but right now I really really just... just need to go to the library," she said, making her way to the portrait hole.

"Wait — I'll come with you!"

Without looking back, she shook her head a little, walked through the hole and closed the portal behind her. A few steps along her way down the hall, she heard a loud and rather cacophonous sound of something large and clunky making contact with something very brittle and clattery. I guess he must fancy me after all, she thought with a mixture of regret and weariness.

It was eerie how quiet the halls were. Students had not been confined to their houses or anything — the unnamed incident had been described as a tragic accident rather than any kind of imminent broad-scale threat, but many people had indeed responded with a bit of a siege mentality, cloistering with their own kind, seeking solace among close friends, waiting anxiously to hear what McGonagall would announce at tonight's meal.

The silent halls were exactly what Hermione was hoping for in her fervent desire to finally crack the stubborn portkey project. Now all she needed was for the library to be as quiet as the halls were, and for her mystery contact to appear as promised. She pushed her way into the great temple of knowledge, let the door swing closed behind her, and listened carefully. Everything was silent. Good.

She made her way to her favorite carrel within close striking distance of the forbidden section. For all the recent use she had made of this location as a staging ground for forays into illicit knowledge, she wasn't tempted today. She, and her treasured friendships, had somehow managed to survive that misadventure, and she would be happy to keep things that way. This carrel nonetheless still seemed to be ideally situated for what she hoped to do today though: it was quiet and discrete — a fine place for a clandestine meeting.

She sat down and spread some books out in front of her, prepared if necessary to spend the rest of the afternoon working on an essay — that way if nothing happened with her contact, at least the time wouldn't have been wasted. She clung to the belief that her contact would show, but recent events had thrown everything into uncertainty. She sighed; time would tell.

Right at half past four, she felt something. She didn't know precisely what she felt, but something in the air seemed to stir around her. There was no sound or sight, so she was about to assume she had imagined the sensation when suddenly there it was: spiraling down in the air in front of her was a small note inscribed on very thin parchment. It swirled gently down and landed on her book. She picked it up and read it:

I'll tell you what you need to know, but first you have to apparate me to Potter's lair.

"What??" she hissed. "What lair?"

After a minute or so, a second note swirled down.

The place Potter hid all last summer.

"What??" she repeated helplessly. "As if I'd know where that was?! He never let more than a handful of people ever visit him, and he never tells anyone anything about the place. It's almost certainly under fidelius!"

Don't mess with me Granger — if he told anybody, he would have told you!

She picked up the third note, glanced at it and threw it to the floor angrily. "Harry barely tells me anything these days — would you please clue in to that?!" she huffed.

No more notes came fluttering down. A silent stillness returned to the library. Hermione waited, trying to think of some way to break the impasse. "Listen," she tried hopefully, "I want to help you and you want to help me, but I don't know anything about Harry's mysterious residences. Can't you think of something else I can do for you?"

More silence. After a long while, Hermione's heart completed it's gradual descent into despondency. "Blast it," she muttered impotently and began to gather her books.

In a flash her wand ripped its way out of her cloak, and she found herself instantaneously lashed to the chair in thick magical cords. In a panic, she whipped her head to the left, to the right...

And she found herself staring at a wand pointed directly between her eyes. The wand was attached to the, now fully visible, hand of Draco Malfoy.

"I thought out of all Potter's dimwit friends, at least maybe you — Miss prissy-knickers Head Girl — might not be a completely cabbage," Draco snarled in a quavering voice. "How far are you ready to go to protect your precious little treacherous Potter scum?" he asked. "How far, huh? He doesn't give an ounce of snot for sweet little Granger now that he's got his Weaselette. Are you prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the pathetic little fraud? Go ahead — he won't care: just one less groupie for him to have to tolerate."

Hermione trembled, not because of Draco's inane ravings, but rather because she was starting to think he might be desperate and deranged enough to do something very very stupid. She wracked her brains, trying to think of something... anything... to get herself out of the bind.

"Okay!" she cried. "I'll do it."

"You'll do what?" Draco asked, his face devolving into confusion.

"I'll apparate you to Harry's lair!"

"You will?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes, but we'll need to get outside Hogwarts grounds to apparate," she said, improvising on the spot. Merlin, please let there be someone around to flag down!

She had a moment to think while Draco processed the offer. In ten minutes, people would start drifting down to the Great Hall for supper and to hear McGonagall's announcement. With so many people huddled away in their own houses today, she needed to massage the departure time — they had to leave the library and get out there in the open at a time when there would be people she could signal to on their way out of the castle!

Draco, unfortunately, was thinking along exactly the opposite lines. His pasty face, still tremulous and uncertain, nonetheless found its way into a sneer. "Okay, here's the deal, chipmunk-face," he whispered. "Seeing as how you love the library so much, why don't we just stick around here for an hour or so... say until everyone in the school is completely caught up in McGonagall's big announcement? At that point, we will exit the school very quietly and either find out how just wonderful it is to really help each other..." His quivering lips willed themselves into a crooked grin. He leaned in so close to Hermione to complete his statement that she could see his putrid, yellowing teeth...

But even as Draco's rancid breath and flecks of spittle grazed Hermione's left ear, her highly refined concentration skills paid off. Earning top grades in five of her six Hogwarts years to date was partly due to Hermione's scholastic dedication and her love of reading, but a key component in her success was the ability grasp very subtle nuances of a lecture, even when faced with lots of distractions. And now, despite Draco's ragged breathing, she was able to pick up the slightest rasp of a door, and then the faintest click... So intent was she on these faint but promising sounds that she barely heard the last of Draco's irrelevant sentence:

"or else you will die!"

Difficult to make a bigger arse of yourself Weasley, huh?

Ron was sitting in the middle of a large, comfortable sofa that could passably seat four people, but everyone else had chosen other places to sit. Given the number of people crammed into the common room that afternoon, some of the first years had been reduced to camping out on the floor rather than approach within flailing distance of their glowering prefect. Ron continued to stare disconsolately at the fire as the other students began to make their way down to supper, choosing routes that would generally veer at least ten feet from him. He did not receive any cheery invitations to accompany anyone on the walk down to the Great Hall. Fine. He would stay here and sulk.

No he wouldn't. Who was he kidding? Ron Weasley never missed any meal. About the only compromise he could arrange to accommodate his currently misanthropic mood might be to find a seat by himself so he wouldn't have anybody around to tell him what a preposterous prat he'd been today. He picked himself up and slouched his way toward the portrait hole.

Having little interest in crowds, he found himself traversing back-routes through the castle, objectively pondering what had set him off. Part of it was the all-pervasive tension in the castle — wild rumours were flying around, suggesting that a ministry takeover was imminent, that war measures might go into effect, that the currently suspended quidditch season would likely progress to outright cancellation since sporting matches were vulnerable terror targets...

Little wonder that he'd been so upset!

But he knew that it wasn't quidditch that had started him barking at Hermione. Part of the issue was that he was really looking for a little more in a relationship. Yes, he knew that she was probably still quite sore at him over their fight last spring and for his having gone incommunicado all summer. Furthermore, he realized that she would want to really throw herself into her schoolwork in this final year, so he'd decided he'd give her more space and find other things to keep himself busy. Quidditch should have been ideal for that — not only was he taking his captaincy much more seriously than last year, he was putting in lots of extra hours improving his keeping skills.

But quidditch was not exactly the most demure mistress either! It had been no barrel of laughs to have Ginny and the squirts poke twelve quaffles past him last weekend in front of professional scouts. Okay, so it wasn't as if Holyhead was going to recruit him, but it might have been nice to put on a passable show for Portree. Oh yes, he had put on a show, all right! Perhaps they could call it the Ronnie the Clown Show. And now, the school was talking about cancelling the season?? So this was Sweet Mistress Quidditch's one-two punch: spit in your face and then slam the door.

Having decided to scale down the importance of quidditch in his life, Ron might have considered turning his attention to schoolwork, career or HA, but his thoughts had drifted back to his friends and his girlfriend... and the unpleasant sensation that they all had important things going on in their lives that he was missing. Seeing Harry's and Ginny's pictures plastered over the front page of the Monday Evening Prophet was a clear reminder that there were adventures out there to be had, and that he was sitting idly on the sidelines. Furthermore, Ron was still a bit spooked by what he did not understand about that strange, inadequately explained, incident Hermione had experienced in the library last weekend. When he had returned to the common room that evening after working at the SHP safe house, Ron had found Hermione looking quite shaken. She was withdrawn and had little interest in engaging in any reassuring girlfriend-boyfriend type activities. After eventually realizing a couple days later that a fair bit of her discomfort was physical, he did exactly what she would have done to him — he demanded that Hermione either accompany him to the Hospital Wing, or else he would tell McGonagall about it.

If it had all ended there, it would have made for a funny story, but the trip to the Hospital Wing had been a fair bit more disturbing than he'd expected. He did his best to be subtle in his furtive glances while she'd been in her hospital gown, but he learned a fair bit. For starters, the 'just a bruised shoulder' complaint of hers had proven to be a broken bone, and the various 'Ouch, stop it Ron!' locations were actually a part of an extensive network of bruises and scrapes running much of the length of one side of her body. If that's what happened when one 'tripped in the library', then he was fairly certain that his six years' worth of rigorously avoiding the place had been a good idea.

Ron blinked.

He looked at the sign above the door that his feet, operating on some plane of consciousness independent of his brain, had delivered him to. While his brain had been distracted by all these deeply disturbing thoughts about life, love and quidditch, his feet had somehow carried him to the nexus of all evil: the Library.

As he stood there, staring that the door that had always conspired to separate him from his girlfriend, he found himself wondering what had happened on the other side of that door last weekend that she had refused to explain to him? And what was so important in there as to entrap her every unencumbered waking hour? What was she doing in there now? Would she yell and hit him if he barged in there bluntly demanding to know what in Merlin's name she was doing?

Yes.

Would she yell and hit him if he tiptoed in, gently apologized for his rude behaviour, and suggested she come to the Great Hall to get a good seat for McGonagall's announcement?

Maybe not?

Ron knew full well that if you were going to be in the library at the same time as Hermione Granger was, you had better be very quiet. So, he very carefully eased the door open, edged himself in and pulled it shut. One of the hinges needed a bit of lubricating, obviously, but surely she wouldn't blame him for the little rasp it made, right? Or the click as the un-oiled latch slid back into place? He could also not be blamed for his surprise in discovering that the only truly significant noise in the library at that moment, was the sound of Hermione's voice speaking quite a bit more loudly than she had ever tolerated from him any time he had spoken in the library.

"Sorry, I didn't hear what you said?" came her voice. Apart from the unusual volume, Ron thought she sounded a bit off — either nervous or angry.

He stopped and listened carefully. He didn't hear another voice in the conversation, per se, but more of a hissing whisper.

"Ewww, that's disgusting Draco — you're spitting all over my ear! Can't you please enunciate for once?!"

"I'll enunciate your bleeding chipmunk teeth straight down your throat if you don't shut up!!"

Ron's brain did what came naturally — it froze. However, Ron's feet, again without consulting any brain, sprang into action, bolting toward Hermione's usual carrel. He pivoted hard at the intersection but his trainers gripped the floor well and he swung around abruptly to face one of his very worst fears.

Draco Malfoy was gaping at him with a skeletal face of pure erratic, volatile panic. His wand tip was jammed hard into Hermione's cheek. Hermione was bound hand and foot to the chair, struggling to turn enough to make eye contact with the person whom she desperately hoped would be the person she thought it might be.

"W-weasley..." Draco stammered. "W-what are you doing here?"

Ron stood there without answering as his brain struggled to come up with a plan. Surely something into annals of wizarding chess covered a situation like this?

"L-look Weasley... if you put down your wand and turn around right now, I won't kill her."

Wand? Ron was amazed to discover that his wand had somehow made it into his own hand, which was extended straight out, pointing at Draco's head. When in Merlin's name had he managed to accomplish that? Apparently his hand had learned some very useful improvisation skills.

While Ron's brain was busy marveling at the astute actions of the rest of his anatomy, Draco was starting to unravel.

"Put it down!!" he shrieked. "Put it down now!!"

"No Malfoy," Ron's mouth said in a cool and controlled voice. "You put your wand down."

Wow, did I really just say that?

"What??" Draco sputtered. "W-why d-do you think...?"

"Because if you put it down now, we'll let you try to explain yourself," Ron's voice elaborated with barely a tremor or hesitation, and with patience unbecoming of a Weasley. "If you don't put it down, then you'll wake up with a terrible headache. In Azkaban."

Ron was momentarily appalled by what his mouth had just uttered. Stupid mouth — it should have asked his brain first, and his brain would have given it a hard thump for the mere suggestion of risking Hermione's life with dangerous trash talk like that. But suddenly a recollection came streaming back to him in all its vivid detail; one of Harry's rants in the HA:

A good wizard can fire off stunners twice as fast as a dark wizard can cast unforgiveables.
With lots of practice, the good wizard can do it five times faster.
Five times saves lives! So practice, practice practice!

Bloody tyrant! Er, I mean, thanks Harry!

Ron's brain had finally caught up with his mouth. He knew that compared to the average HA student, Draco stank at spell-casting. He knew that the fight was basically over: Draco was shaking like a leaf — a rather pasty, gelatinous leaf at that — dripping sweat down the side of Hermione's robe (ugh!), and all that he, Ron, needed to do was to stay cool, concentrate, and wait either for a fair and appropriate moment to stupefy Draco, or to wait for him to fold into wobbly incoherence on his own.

While the part of Ron that was busy commanding him in a masterful manner took responsibility for monitoring Draco and for finding the best opportunity to safely conclude the standoff, Ron's normal brain got reflective and mused that, for all the times his parents, teachers and Hermione had yelled at him for speaking without thinking, it was beautifully ironic that this time, with so much at stake, it had been his mouth that just happened to have the right idea. Funny! He inadvertently shrugged slightly at the poetic justice.

That single inadvertent flinch of Ron's shoulders was all it took. Draco gaped at the movement and hit the deck.

Ron's brain briefly considered pausing to shrug again at yet another beautiful irony, but was firmly overruled by his feet (which were too busy sprinting the final fifteen feet to his girlfriend), his mouth (temporarily occupied with shouting "Incarcerous!" at the supine, whimpering creature on the floor), and his wand-wielding hand (intent on performing, with expert precision, the scissoring motion necessary to ensure that Draco was suitably bound and restrained).

"Ron!" Hermione gasped as he released her bindings, "That was absolutely amazing!"

Ron's brain was in the process of wholeheartedly agreeing with his girlfriend (Yeah it was, wasn't it!), while a more practical part of him was expressing urgent, immediate concerns (Merlin Hermione, are you all right?!). Sadly, the two messages got tangled up in delivery. "Yeah Merlin, it wasn't you all right?" he mumbled with an earnest but slightly confused expression on his face.

Hermione gave Ron a quizzical look as she wondered whether there was anything vital or meaningful to be gleaned from his utterance. She shrugged — if it was really important maybe he would try again later. For now, she simply threw herself at her boyfriend and squeezed him even harder than she had on her birthday.

Chapter 19. Fired... up!   (September 20-21, 1997)

Ginny walked into the bustling Great Hall in a state of quiet agitation. She knew that a tremendous amount had happened this afternoon while she'd been tied up in various planning activities, and a lot of wild rumors had been flying around about what was going to happen to the school because of Dumbledore's incapacitation. She had no idea what to believe, but she and just about everyone else were about to find out.

She scanned the room. Each of the house tables seemed inordinately busy, with lots of animated debates and discussions. Table five was a bit more subdued, but about a dozen people were clustered around it, exchanging gossip from across the different houses. Behind the inter house table, the faculty were conferencing at the staff table. Snape was seated quietly by himself. Caldwell, Sprout, Hagrid and Burbage were huddled at one end. McGonagall and Flitwick were in close discussions with Harry in the center. A little pang went through Ginny's heart as she realized that Harry would likely be stuck with faculty for the meal; she had so wanted to hear from him how things had gone in the dungeons. It's not as if he had particularly wanted to be head of Slytherin House, but the two of them had briefly discussed it and had concluded that if things went well, it might be another good opportunity to strengthen school unity.

As if sensing Ginny's angst, Harry straightened up suddenly. He said something to McGonagall, who nodded her assent. Harry made his way around the head table, caught Ginny's eye and made his way straight to her.

"How are things shaping up for tomorrow?" Harry asked Ginny in front of the Hufflepuff table, grasping both of her hands and leaning in for a quick peck.

"Good," she said with a warm smile, overjoyed that they would have a few quick minutes to catch up before getting separated again. "I've scheduled Terry, Neville, Blaise, Daphne, Susan, Ryan, Mary-Jo, Nick, Jennifer, Sarah, Quinn, Jack and Luna for tests, starting at 8:30. We're looking at a bit of a change of plans though," Ginny cautioned Harry.

"Oh?" Harry inquired.

"Yes. There were so many students to be tested that Remus was concerned how long it would take for just him and Tonks to test them all. He suggested that you and I meet with the two of them at 8:00 for a quick orientation so that we can be examiners as well. Tonks will fill us in on evaluation criteria."

"That's fine with me," Harry agreed. "Anything else on the go?"

"Yes," Ginny confirmed. "Fred and George are dropping by at 11:00 to show us the traps they designed, then if Hermione has made any progress she'll stop in before noon."

"Brilliant! Thanks Gin'!" Harry enthused brightly, but then his face fell. "Er., you probably guessed, but I'm going to be stuck at the big kids table for supper..."

Ginny smirked at the term. "That's okay Harry — I knew this would happen from time to time. So, do you know anything about what McGonagall's going to announce?"

Harry had a strange look on his face. "Only a little..."

"Well, are you going to share?"

Harry seemed distracted for a moment; his eyes swept the Gryffindor table, searching for Ron and Hermione, but found them to be absent. He frowned momentarily, but then shifted his attention back to Ginny. "Yes, well, it does seem that the Ministry is going to mess with us a bit. Supposedly they have no major problem with McGonagall remaining as acting headmistress until Dumbledore's situation is resolved, but they decided that unless McGonagall stops teaching, they're going to appoint an administrator who can 'help her with day to day coordination' of the school. McGonagall seems to feel trapped — she can't imagine finding a suitable transfiguration teaching replacement on the time scale the Ministry is demanding, but on the other hand she assumes that 'help her with day to day coordination' is a euphemism for 'spy and interfere'."

"No doubt," Ginny agreed. "Any idea who the Ministry is going to send?"

"Yes, but unfortunately McGonagall said that the Ministry wants this kept under wraps until the actual announcement. That may mean that they're retaining the prerogative to change their minds. But if the current nominee does survive any second guessing, then you may find the choice a little... um, surprising..." He smiled a wry smile that Ginny couldn't quite interpret. "This person shouldn't be a complete catastrophe like Umbridge, but you may still want to do some deep cleansing breaths from now until announcement time."

"Harry, what happened to no secrets on anything important to us?" Ginny scolded. Fortunately her amused tone belied the affected irritation in her expression.

Harry laughed. "I'm afraid that I'm bound by professional secrecy for another few minutes. But in truth I'm hoping that this may turn out to be more amusing than truly 'important'."

"So after all this time, you're still a dark mysterious stranger, huh?" Ginny grumbled, but she kissed him again anyway. "Well, at least tell me how things went in the dungeons."

Harry held his right thumb up. "Better than expected! I... Oh, blast..." he looked over toward the head table where McGonagall was gesturing all staff to their seats. "I have to go — I'll tell you more later, okay?"

She nodded with an understanding smile, and wandered over to find a seat with Neville, Hannah and Susan. As she sat down, she noticed Ron and Hermione finally enter the room, hand in hand. Both looked unusually wrung out; especially Hermione as she slumped into a chair at the Gryffindor table. Ginny wondered whether there was a story in there somewhere; she pledged to check in on them after the meal.

Shortly thereafter, McGonagall stood up and signaled for silence. The final few stragglers quickly found any remaining seat and an expectant hush fell over the room.

"Dear Hogwarts students," she began, "at our noonday meal I alerted you regarding the unfortunate situation with our headmaster and I would like to inform you that there is no change in his status either for the better or for the worse. I assure you that any news in this respect will be conveyed as soon as it becomes available."

She paused to permit a quick buzz of acknowledgment to spread through the hall, before resuming. "Since the last time we spoke, I have been engaged in discussions with key Ministry officials, ranging all the way up to the Minister himself. I was not aware of this, but the prolonged absence of Professor Dumbledore prior to today had already prompted the Ministry to prepare a contingency plan for the administration of Hogwarts in the event that the headmaster proved unable to return to his post."

A frenzy of speculations and exclamations swept through the room, which McGonagall brought an end to by raising her wand and sending up a bright purple spark. "The ultimate decision by the Ministry," she continued, "has been to appoint a non-academic administrator to assume the coordinative and fiscal responsibilities normally associated with the headmaster's position."

Ginny stared at the acting headmistress. This position sounded a lot more powerful than Harry had initially suspected. Did the Ministry have the gall to assume that McGonagall's leadership, whose legitimacy was enshrined in the Hogwarts charter, was inept? Why else declare a new position of authority? Ginny could detect a slight frown on McGonagall's face, likely hidden to the less-discerning eyes of most students. A ghastly thought raced through her mind: Umbridge! But no — Harry had stated clearly that it wasn't someone that despicable... as long as the Ministry hadn't pulled a last minute swap, that is.

McGonagall had resumed speaking, saying, "There are still some details left unspecified on exactly how this new position, whose title will be referred to as the Hogwarts Executive Administrator, will interact with students, but I'm certain that those of you who have not previously made his acquaintance will be getting to know him over the coming weeks. So without further ado, dear students, let me introduce to you..."

A well-dressed young man emerged from the Entrance Hall and began striding stiffly between the tables.

Ginny's jaw dropped. "Bloody Hell!" she uttered under her breath.

"... Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Percy took his place at the head table, between McGonagall and Flitwick, and stood in front of what had been previously been the headmaster's chair, but had been transfigured down to a size equal to that of the other faculty seats. He wore a rigid plastic smile that he beamed around to the stunned student body. When no applause issued forth, he consulted a scroll drawn from his dress robes and began to immediately disingratiate himself with his audience.

"Dear children," he began, ignoring a rash of indignant grumbles that swept immediately across the audience. "It is with my great pleasure and with the Minister's own commendation that I stand before you, eager to enhance your educational experience and prepare you to grow up to become productive members of the wizarding community..."

Percy's words died in an eruption of Slytherin hysterics. He glared at their table just in time to catch the tortured finale of Zabini's utterly convincing vomiting pantomime.

Percy gritted his teeth and was just about to muster his most intimidating prefect's scowl when... the two deep, soulful blue eyes of Daphne Greengrass ensnared him. Holding a silver spoon up to her face, she winked playfully. The slender bowl of the spoon glided languidly down her cheek. Her eyelids drifted closed and she sighed breathily, parting her moist lips. The lips lingered in their delicate conformation for a tantalizing moment... then emitted an exquisitely sensuous crimson tongue, which commenced a mesmerizing bolero, transforming the spoon into an object of hitherto inconceivable rapture.

Percy's eyes popped, and a dark blush spread upwards from his neck. Gasping for air, he sought refuge behind his scroll, gamely trying to resume his prepared speech. "Prior, um, to me, er, coming here..." His throat muscles spasmed. Prurient fascination lured him out for one final furtive gaze at the illicit tongue. "Prior to coming, uh, the Minister lickened — LIKENED! Oh dear me..."

Decorum disintegrated.

Amidst a chorus of whistles and cat calls, Percy reflexively attempted, and failed, to clasp hands over his ears and mouth at the same time. McGonagall's face sank into a pair of weary looking hands. Daphne batted her eyes innocently and projected a demure smile back toward the staff table, attentively awaiting resumption of the speech. McGonagall's face bravely re-emerged to direct a thin, wry eyebrow toward the, by all current appearances, very sweet and conscientious Slytherin witch.

Percy swallowed deeply and fixed his eyes on a blank window at the north end of the hall. "The Minister li... er, described... the task as being lick, like, ARGH! SIMILAR!... The Minister said the task was SIMILAR to a master gardener restoring order..." He paused for several restorative breaths before continuing with a little more confidence. "... restoring order to a much loved copse grown coarse with neglect. Minister Fudge instructed me to restore academic excellence to a school that in recent years..."

Relieved at having somehow survived the initial onslaught, Percy proceeded to studiously disregard his increasingly restive audience. Reading directly from his scroll, he achieved a tedious rhythm and began to drone in a manner that challenged Umbridge's speech of two years ago for sheer poverty of inspiration. Ron stared at his untouched pumpkin juice, looking pale and nauseous. Ginny's shoulders were slumped, and her head was dangling down toward the table, shaking in disbelief. She raised her glance momentarily, trying to catch Harry's eye, but he was sitting with a stoic look on his face, completing obscuring any emotion.

"... but in order to achieve these lofty goals in times of fiscal challenge," Percy was saying, with voice now begrudgingly amplified above the ever-growing din of insults and side-conversations by McGonagall's sonorus charm, "it is critical that we establish greater efficiency and responsibility. In my short but illustrious career in the Ministry I have righted several ineffectual and organizationally deficient programs and am eager to apply my well-honed optimization skills to the operation of Hogwarts. As Executive Administrator, I have already decided in close consultation with my dear friend Minister Fudge to pursue some rational and painless steps to improve the school's sustainability without harming your scholastic experience."

Something in Percy's tone jolted Ginny. She sat bolt upright and keyed on her older brother's words, and on reactions from the staff table. A look of surprise and deep consternation flashed visibly across McGonagall face.

"Specifically, it was brought to our attention," Percy continued, "that the school has been hemorrhaging money in the form of needless staffing redundancies. This, my dear faculty and children, is of the utmost administrative irresponsibility, therefore Minister Fudge and I have decided that, effective two weeks from this evening, we will eliminate a number of superfluous teaching positions."

The mirth and willful irreverence so prevalent mere minutes ago had evaporated; the whole room had now gone utterly silent. Despite the ineffectual delivery, this speech was neither funny nor boring any more; it was merely unwelcome and unpleasant. Faces gaped openly at the staff table.

Percy blinked in surprise at the sudden quiet that had descended over the hall. "Er, I would like to ask everyone to join me in extending our thanks and appreciations to two faculty members who will thus be leaving us to seek other opportunities elsewhere." Still speaking to a distant wall, Percy continued. "In the case of divination, we have decided to eliminate the position occupied by Professor Firenze whose continued appointment is of no strategic value to the school."

A chorus of moans echoed around the room, especially from the more talented female divination acolytes who cherished the centaur's majestic and deeply mystical manner.

"Professor Firenze has apparently not bothered to grace us with his presence," Percy observed with a sniff. His absence was not unexpected; Firenze had actually made an appearance in the Hospital Wing earlier to visit Dumbledore, but normally the centaur never set foot in the castle for anything other than those few classes for which the weather was too poor for students to attend near the fringe of the Forbidden Forest. Percy nonetheless looked in disdain at the empty chair that was reserved for the non-human divination professor, and finished his statement, saying simply, "but we will bid him farewell in his absence. Professor Trelawney will now be expected to resume the teaching responsibilities she had met with delightful competence and integrity prior to the past two years."

A few groans circulated through the room, but otherwise the student body sat in silence. Trelawney's gaze darted about in nervous disorientation; for some reason she seemed to be seeking some inconspicuous moment to rush out of the room.

"The other area of replicated skills that we must pare down is in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Hannah gasped. She stared at Ginny in shock, moaning, "Oh dear! Poor Professor Caldwell!" Ginny didn't quite meet Hannah's apprehensive gaze. Instead her jaw steeled and she began to work on those breathing exercises that she had neglected through the session thus far.

"So, I would like you to join me in a warm round of applause to recognize the past contributions of our soon-to-be-former faculty member, Mr. Harry Potter..."

"WHAT?!!"

The shriek blasted the hall with such impact that the windows rattled and the torches flickered violently. Several students dove convulsively to the ground, then raised their heads nervously to identify the erupting volcano. It was not Ginny Weasley. It was Pansy Parkinson.

Percy Weasley, the only other person in the hall standing, removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. "Ahem... er... perhaps we have time to, um, take a question from the assembly?" He allowed his eyes to leave their refuge along the north windows and dart skittishly around the Slytherin table. "Perhaps we can begin with the young lady from Slytherin House. Oh dear, um, we've met before, haven't we? Why it's little Paisley Peterman, isn't it? Why, I used to..."

"You bloody well can't sack Potter!" she bellowed. "He's our bloody head of house!!" Her wand was drawn now and trembling dangerously. Most of her housemates, even those with nervous grins on their faces, were edging further and further back, to the point where some Slytherins were now effectively jammed up against their Ravenclaw neighbors to the south.

Percy dabbed his forehead again, took a breath and then puffed out his chest. "Little lady, I must assure you that the Minister and I most certainly can remove Mr. Potter. The ministry has incontrovertible evidence that for no purpose other than his own self-aggrandization he has been endangering innocent students, sending them into perilous circumstances that have directly interfered with critical auror operations. Furthermore, it is clear to us that he is woefully underqualified for the position. For goodness sake, he's younger than nearly half of the students in his core courses! And you need not concern yourself with any vacancy in your house leadership as Professor Snape has generously agreed to..."

BANG!!

Percy Weasley was dead — he knew it. All that was left for him was to fall over, and he sincerely hoped that he would do so in a dignified and perhaps even heroic manner. He bravely accepted his tragic and untimely martyrdom and briefly considered what kind of tribute the newspapers — indeed the Minister himself — would pay to his young but celebrated career. But when Percy opened his eyes, he discovered to his utter astonishment that he was actually still alive, breathing (albeit a bit shakily) and... strangely unharmed. A cloud of acrid smoke swirled above Pansy's wand, but it had been pointed directly upwards. The ceiling's previously pristine scene of moody evening sky was now scarred with a deep jagged black scorch that looked like an artistic impression of unfolding apocalypse.

With a fiery glare that also looked rather apocalyptic, Pansy began her march toward the head table like a portentous thunderhead. For the briefest instant, Harry's mask of immaculate stoicism faltered; a smirk flickered... but prudently vanished. Pansy didn't notice: her attention was lurching menacing back and forth between the increasingly panicked new Hogwarts Executive Administrator and a very apprehensive Professor Snape. She came to a halt at the easternmost seat of the Slytherin table, from which a jittery third-year scattered. After a brief glare in which her eyes raked Snape with all the tenderness of hippogriff talons, her burning gaze settled back onto Percy.

"Please understand this, you pasty pathetic carrot cake," she began in a voice much more measured and infinitely more dangerous than any she had previously employed, "our house has democratically chosen Harry Potter as head of house. Harry Potter is going to remain head of our house until either the Slytherin student body or Harry Potter decides that it's time for a change."

Pansy paused and drew herself up to full height which, although statistically quite average, was more than adequately intimidating. "If your esteemed little Minister had chosen to approach things a little differently, then maybe we might have been a little more open to accommodation, but you, as the Hogwarts Administrative Pimply Puff Pastry, had best listen to me very carefully..." she fixed Percy with deadly eyes. "As of this moment, if that chiropterous fecal discharge..." she flicked her wand toward Snape, making him flinch visibly, "dares to even set foot along the corridor leading to Slytherin quarters, it will take him ten years to even begin to regrow any of his greasy black fur... and for each and every minute of every day of those ten hairless years he will experience..." Pansy paused for a breath, and resumed with an exceptionally unpleasant smile, "what I will only refer to now as... major physical discomfort."

The Slytherin table burst into boisterous applause whose enthusiastic unanimity was only marred by Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode whose smug expressions at the initial firing announcement had been replaced with increasing apprehension.

Percy waved his hands frantically in the air, trying to make himself heard over the din. For some reason McGonagall's sonorus spell seemed to have completely failed, and in his fluster Percy was incapable of performing the charm for himself. Instead he resorted to undignified yelling. "Miss Paddington, if you and these children are not under control in the next thirty seconds..."

BOOM!!

The entire Slytherin table lay sideways on the floor.

It had been decades, perhaps centuries, since any of the tables in the Great Hall had been moved by non-magical means. On the palm of Pansy's non-wand hand, which still gripped the corner of the upended table, was now spreading a deep blue bruise. Cutlery and shattered dishes and glasses had been sprayed across a thirty foot radius. Her exceptionally unpleasant smile of a moment ago had transformed into a deeply disturbing grin.

"Control? What a brilliant suggestion, you sweet little boy," she sneered at a dumbfounded Percy. "I do believe you're right. I think that The Men and Women of Slytherin House should walk out the door right now and get ourselves under control, don't you?" She paused for the deep breath she needed to yell, "UNDER OUR CONTROL!!"

"HEYYY!!!" The Slytherin student body emitted a single deafening pulse chant.

"OUR WAY!!!" Pansy shrieked.

"HEYYY!!!!"

"THE SLYTHERIN WAY!!" Pansy's voice shredded with hoarse emotion.

The Slytherins exploded into screaming cheers. With the presence of mind to summon his most powerful sonorus, Blaise Zabini roared, "PARTY IN THE DUNGEONS!" and, like a wild beast unleashed, the entire house membership, minus the confused and stricken-looking Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle and the still-absent Malfoy, charged chaotically out of the Great Hall.

The astonished room listened for the better part of a minute as the pandemonium drifted down the stairwells toward the lower chambers. The remaining students peered around nervously at each other for a moment, then discovered that two more people had risen to stand. Percy buried his head in his hands at the sight, took several quick breaths, then emerged to face the next assault.

"I just wanted to say that I don't agree with the firings!" Neville Longbottom declared loudly as he pushed away from the inter house table. He thrust his chair back into its spot and, passing directly in front of Percy, made his exit. Hannah and Susan exchanged quick glances, then rose to follow him.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, Terry Boot, speaking with a deep voice that projected powerfully across the room, looked at the head table and said, "With all due respect to Professor Caldwell, I plan to take all of my defense instructions from Harry Potter."

A loud cheer went up from HA members across the other tables. As Terry began to make his way out of the room, others rose to follow up, including the entire Ravenclaw table.

The remaining inhabitants of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables looked at each other warily. Finally, Hermione, stressed and tired as she was, rose to her feet and aimed a meaningful glance at Ernie MacMillan who looked quite paralyzed. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Weasley suggested to us earlier," she began with a small tremble in her voice that vanished as she proceeded, "that in troubled times it is essential to have responsible school leadership. I agree with that... but it is not responsible to walk into the school making arbitrary changes without considering what's best for the students. Furthermore, it wouldn't be very responsible for me to sit here listening to any more polysyllabic rubbish when I could instead be writing angry letters to the Ministry and newspapers!" She picked up her book bag, slammed her chair into the table and began to stride purposefully from the room. Enthusiastic shouts rose from the Gryffindor table as her housemates took up positions behind her.

"I, er..." MacMillan stammered as he stood up. He twitched his thumb toward the doorway. "Um, let's go too," he said, and the Hufflepuffs followed on the heels of the Gryffindors. Percy slumped down into his chair, fixing his bewildered eyes on the door through which his immediate professional goals and opportunities, perhaps even his whole Ministry career, appeared to be in unanimous exodus.

Through all this Harry had sat quietly, sorting away the corrosive, acrid feeling of injustice into a chamber that would remain staunched until he was alone in the Room of Requirement with his combat dummies. He watched the last students filter excitedly away, filling his mind with the sounds of animated chatter dwindling into the background.

Was there any point in remaining in this dull, nearly empty hall?

He took a brief glance up and down the staff table: Trelawney looking miserably intoxicated, Sprout, Hagrid, Burbage and Caldwell sat in stunned silence, McGonagall had two clenched hands kneading her temples, and Flitwick's normally affable eyes seemed to be burning two holes into the side of Percy's head. The opportunities for productive conversation seemed quite thin.

Harry didn't scan all the way to the north end of the table where Snape sat alone with his inscrutable schemes and rancor. Harry wondered whether there would ever again be any point in trying to mend fences with the potions master? He sighed as his conscience told him he would probably still have to try at least once more, just in case it made any difference in how long it would take Snape to drift irrevocably to Riddle's camp now that Dumbledore was down. Dumbledore really always did have far too much misplaced faith in Snape, but on the other hand the headmaster did seem to have some tangible hold on his darkest faculty member and an ability to restrain Snape's bitterest misanthropy. Harry chanced the subtlest glance in his direction, and made his decision immediately: regardless of what the future might hold, he was not going to bother talking to the resentful and scarred Snape right now.

There was one quick courtesy call to make though. Harry stood up and walked the long way around the staff table. He was completely unimpressed by Percy's performance, and didn't plan to let him off the hook unscathed, but at the same time the man was a Weasley and that should earn him latitude and perhaps a path to redemption.

More immediately, however, it would also earn him some ribbing.

Harry clapped the shattered Hogwarts Executive Administrator sportily on the back. "Long time no see, Perce!" he said in a genial and slightly bemused tone. "Welcome aboard!"

Percy refused to acknowledge him other than to stiffen his jaw, but Harry continued unabated. "I see you made quite a first impression with everyone? Would it make sense to just move all of your stuff into the Hospital Wing now and save someone the effort later?"

Harry smiled sympathetically, but Percy continued to avoid his gaze, making a face that was either one of petulance or of resolve to not let Harry see him cry. Harry shrugged, patted his shoulder one last time, and continued his circuitous path around the staff table.

McGonagall lowered her hands as he passed. "Harry," she called, in full earshot of Percy. "You must realize that your professional record here is exemplary. This is surely nothing other than misdirected, childish retaliation for your triumph at Gringotts." She met his eyes with weary but sincere regret. "Rest assured that all of Hogwarts will fight this with every ounce of our energy."

Harry smiled appreciatively to her, and to Flitwick who had turned to express his avid assent. "Thank you for your kindness and support," Harry said, "but in all honesty our energy is required elsewhere right now." McGonagall and Flitwick nodded their understanding. Sprout turned and examined the three of them thoughtfully; she smiled sympathetically, but said nothing.

Harry made his way over to greet the last remaining non-faculty member in the room. "Hey Gin'," he said, his eyes twinkling as he took her hand. "I might have misheard, but isn't there a party in dungeons or something? Did you want to go check it out?"

McGonagall and Flitwick watched with appraising eyes as Harry and Ginny picked their way casually around the broken and scattered dinnerware, making their way out of the Great Hall.

"Students walked out of an official school function," Percy said weakly. "We can give out detentions for truancy."

McGonagall gazed coldly at him for a moment as she stood up and prepared to leave. "Mr. Weasley," she began, "a cruel streak in my soul wished very much to let you attempt to assign and supervise the detention of two hundred and fifty three angry students..." She pushed her chair briskly into place. "But responsible leadership dictates that I cannot abide any decision likely to lead to the death, dismemberment or psychological devastation of any Hogwarts staff member."

It was a party — a rather successful one! Before heading down to the dungeons, Harry had briefly checked with Dobby, to ensure that the house elves would deliver meals to common rooms instead of the Great Hall, and to asked him if he could make an emergency order to Madame Rosmerta for three large kegs of butterbeer. With those missions accomplished, it was now time to unwind.

On one hand Harry excoriated himself for permitting, actually encouraging, festivities on what had been a truly harrowing day. But whereas the three other houses had spent the day in sombre reflection of Dumbledore's dire situation, Harry now knew not to expect the same response from Slytherin. Students down here had barely mentioned the headmaster during their afternoon meeting, and the more he picked up from stray conversations now, the more he realized that Hogwarts leadership had never paid much attention to the dungeon. To people down here, the huge news gripping the rest of the castle was more like a passing rumour; like some foreign despot half a world away was ill — ho hum; hope he feels better soon... They were much more concerned with a factor that directly impacted their lives: their house leadership. For decades, endemic Slytherin House misgovernance had been tolerated by a school leadership comfortable with ignoring or even marginalizing the dungeon denizens. Until very recently, Slytherins didn't think anyone would listen if they complained... so they didn't. Not any more: the message had been conveyed at 110 decibels: Slytherins were not going to be ignored any more. They were not going to be marginalized just because they had unique ways of doing things.

Like parties.

Given the pure blood reputation, it was rather ironic that Slytherin parties turned out to be much like how Justin and Dean had described some of the fancier muggle parties: lots of crazy flashing lights and, most unusually for Hogwarts, loud and lively music.

Before tonight, Harry had met no Hogwarts students with obvious musical talents, but lo and behold the rather wild ambiance was being set by a group of fourth and fifth year Slytherin musicians who had set themselves up in a corner of the common room around an old piano that Horace Slughorn had bequeathed decades ago. They were cranking their way through very edgy renditions of popular wizarding music, including just now a jarringly percussive psychedelic version of the Celestina Warbeck holiday classic, "Love Charms in the Snow".

"He's not seriously going to sing that??" Harry gasped to Ginny as the long-haired, gravelly-voiced fifth year lead singer started shredding his way through the opening stanza.

Ginny could only nod, with wide eyes and an astonished open-mouthed smile, behind which she tried to picture how Molly might react to such a rendition of the Weasley matron's favorite.

As the song approached the sweet, sensitive refrain, Harry's chest started twitching.

"YOU TRANSFIGURRRRRED MY HEARRRRRRT...." The reverb and feedback charms on the stringed instruments were screeching full tilt, but could still not drown out the irrepressible singer, "INTO TINNNSELLLL AND STARRRRRS!!!"

Harry coughed a large mouthful of butterbeer over a delighted potted screechsnap. Ginny patted his back as he straightened himself up with a look of teary-eyed bemusement.

"Getting a bit emotional, mate?" Blaise asked with a smirk on his face as he, Daphne, Tracey and Ted approached the couple. Zabini and Nott were carrying glasses of something that Harry guessed was most likely on the list of Hogwarts banned substances. Interpreting Harry's glance correctly, Blaise grinned. "No, this isn't butterbeer," he said taking a drink. "Would you like a splash?"

Harry smiled. "No thanks — I need to keep my wits about me at all times for the next while," Harry replied. He knew that he technically should be confiscating whatever it was, but having just been informed of his imminent sacking tended to suppress any authoritarian instincts. Besides, Slytherin students had suffered more than enough angst today, and as long as Pansy was correct about the house remaining 'under control' then he was prepared to let them burn off a bit of steam.

"You fellows did little redecorating?" Harry wryly asked Blaise, pointing toward the formerly dour Slytherin House main entrance. When he had arrived here for the party he found that a substantial portion of the chunky brownish-green wall had been torn down and replaced by a sharp, obsidian facade. The hidden door had been completely removed, and a large lurid glowing sign had been erected that read 'Potter-Slytherin House'.

Blaise laughed. "The gang took a little artistic license with it, but the motive was mostly functional," he told them.

"Do tell?" Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yup," Zabini confirmed. "School administration always controlled access policy for the old door, so we blew it to bits!"

"Yes," Daphne smirked, "that and a lot of surrounding wall — it's a miracle the whole lake didn't pour in!"

"Never underestimate Slytherin engineering genius, Daffy!" Blaise kidded her.

"So, I understand you not wanting someone else to dictate who can and can't enter," Harry mused, scratching his head, "but is it wise to just leave it wide open for anyone to wander in?"

"Don't be a dope, Potter!" Zabini chided. "Did you already forget what you've been obsessing about in HA and class?"

"Wards!" Harry exclaimed, bursting into laughter. "You customized a bunch of wards for the entranceway?"

"Not me personally — Lucia took care of them. Seems you've turned her into a ward goddess!"

"Ha — that's brilliant! So that's why Ginny and I were able to walk straight in!" Harry enthused with a huge grin on his face. "Who else are you admitting?"

"Very simple rule set, Harry," Daphne responded. "You're welcome in any time, until we get tired of you. Beyond that, it's any Slytherin who stormed out of the Great Hall earlier when the Hogwarts Executive Droopy-knickers was talking down to us."

"Any Slytherin who..." Ginny said slowly, processing the words analytically. "Wait, that means no Bulstrode, Crabbe or Goyle?"

"You found yourself a smart chickadee, Harry," Daphne said with a wink to Ginny. "There's no Malfoy either — he went missing this afternoon and hasn't been seen since. Tough luck, ferret boy!"

Harry snorted. "What did you do with their stuff?"

Tracey burst into a fit of giggles. "Everyone's all cozy in Snape's office — four poster beds and all."

All six of them exploded into laughter that spread infectiously around neighboring conversations. After a couple minutes, however, the mirth subsided as Daphne broached a more serious topic. "Harry, I can't figure out how you're taking this all so well," she said with all traces of smile falling from her expression. "In spite of all the fuss we made, you're probably still going to get sacked, right? After the incredible effort you've put into building an inclusive culture and a valuable curriculum — how are you going to just let this all go?"

"Simple," Harry answered. "I'm not."

"You're going to refuse to be sacked...?" Blaise pondered with a confused look.

Harry shook his head. "No, I mean that I'm not going to let go of what's important. I won't pretend that it didn't sting to get kicked around like this, but my faculty position here is not what's important. Anything that's at the mercy of a petty, vengeful politician who's more obsessed with hiding evidence of his own incompetence than ensuring quality education is not worth my time." He sighed. "Yes, it's been great to have had the chance to teach, but it's hard to care so much about NEWTs, staff meetings and grading two foot scrolls when there are other responsibilities with real life-and-death implications. The big one is trying to give people here the right set of skills, strategies and attitude to ensure the safety of as many students as possible. I don't need a faculty position to do that as long as I have your confidence and cooperation."

"So you have two responsibilities," Ted guessed shrewdly. "First of all, you hope to keep us alive. Secondly, you want to kill my dad's boss."

Ginny tensed visibly, and squeezed Harry's hand with tremendously unfeminine force, but he merely shrugged. Everybody in the room knew who he was and knew his history, yet he was standing here, butterbeer in hand, talking to the son of a death-eater who was one of more than sixty Slytherins who had stormed out on Hogwarts leadership to express solidarity with him. Harry gazed at the circle of friends: at Blaise who was studying him closely, at Daphne whose face betrayed complex emotions of a rarity for the normally irreverent, light hearted girl, at Tracey who seemed vaguely saddened. Finally he turned to Ted, who stood waiting for a response.

"Yes, but I have to keep the two things separate," Harry explained. "I have to confront Voldemort face to face, somewhere where there won't be any innocent bystanders. When that happens, either I'll kill him or he'll kill me," he stated impassively, ignoring the momentary winces that flashed over Ted's and Tracey's faces. "There's no way around it. If I run from my fate, then far too many people will die. If I try to conscript you into my fight, then far too many people will die. I can see one and only one path that's just and fair, and I'm taking that path."

"I'm confused, Harry," Zabini said, scratching his chin. "Are you saying that you don't want us to fight for you?"

"That's correct Blaise. I don't want you fighting for me, because I need you to fight for yourselves," Harry said, throwing an arm around Zabini's shoulders. "Ted nailed it perfectly: I have two objectives and they're very distinct. I need to see that you have everything you need to stand up and protect the students here, and I need to prepare to walk away and face my fate against the man who's sworn to kill me. I think the best HA students are going to play critical roles in the first objective — stuff that there's no way I could accomplish alone. But to be perfectly frank, I don't want you around for the second."

"But 'protecting ourselves' is just a euphemism for fighting death eaters, isn't it?" Zabini persisted, as Ted scrutinized the dynamic with intense interest. "There's just one war, and there are only two sides."

"No," Harry declared with conviction. "I want you to stand up for your fellow students regardless of the threat. Death eaters aren't the only people in the wizarding community addicted to ignorant persecution — society is rife with xenophobes who mistrust anyone different then themselves. Anybody who mistrusts anyone is a potential threat, so I need every student in Hogwarts to trust every other student and watch their backs."

Harry paused for a moment and gazed at the four intent Slytherins facing him. "A lot of pure blood kids never meet a single muggle born until they come to Hogwarts, and most muggle borns know almost nothing about the wizarding community until their first Hogwarts letter comes in. But once we're all here together, struggling through classes together, seeing each other in the hallways, most of us become friends. There's a reason there are far more mixed-blood witches and wizards than there are pure bloods and muggle borns combined: it's because, by and large, whenever pure bloods and muggle borns are forced into the same space together they actually tend to like each other. If we like each other then we ought to stand up for each other, and I promise you this: if you Slytherins stand up for your classmates in other houses and they stand up for you, then it's far less likely that any students are going to be persecuted by any outsiders, be they Ministry cranks, death eaters or anyone else."

Harry smiled fondly at the four seventh year students as they carefully processed his words, then he cast his eyes more broadly around a somewhat larger circle who had gathered to listen. One of the students in back had even cast a weak silencing charm to cancel most of the background noise.

"Everyone in the room had stood up for me at least once. You couldn't believe how much that support means to me," Harry said with a tremor of emotion in his voice. "The only thing that would mean more is if everyone in the room and in all the other three common rooms were to show as much faith and bravery in support of Hogwarts. If we all do that, then I personally guarantee that some weeks down the road there will be a huge party. And everyone in this room will be a guest of honour."

He breathed deeply and let his eyes drift toward the ceiling at some of the more artful light-flashing charms. Ginny held his hand firmly and warmly, but was otherwise lost deep in her own thoughts. The students continued to gaze at him expectantly, knowing that his statement was not quite done. Harry returned his eyes to the attentive circle. "So it all comes down to this: if I tell you it's critical for all four houses to work together, can you and the rest of the school trust me? Can you all buy in to the premise that you all need to work together to stand tall? Can you do that, and conveniently overlook the fact, Ted, that I have to go out and fight with your dad's friend?"

Blaise, Tracey and Daphne all stood watching as Nott considered Harry, and looked him hard in the eye. "There's no way you'll ever sell that to Slytherin House, Harry," he said coldly.

Several students gasped. Ginny gaped for a moment at the blind, callous rejection, but then pushed it aside. Her beseeching eyes sought Harry... and she saw that he had not flinched or wavered in the slightest. She glanced around at some of the others: some looked confused or dismayed. But Daphne had a twinkle in her eyes.

"What??" Nott laughed. "Why does everyone looked so shocked? We all know that the four residents of Slytherin House are complete gits! Who cares about them if all sixty two people in Potter-Slytherin House are ready to give you a chance, right Harry?"

The group burst into relieved laughter. Harry grinned and extended a hand to Ted.

Nott extended his hand part way but then stopped, and his face became very serious. "But here's the deal, Potter," he stated. "We don't just blindly follow if we're going to catch flack for it. If you can make sure the Puffs, Claws and Dorks play nice and don't try to take advantage of our gesture, then we'll get behind you all the way. Is that a deal?"

"Deal!" Harry confirmed, and the two poised hands locked amidst a round of cheers. Ginny laughed happily; Tracey, Blaise and Daphne wore smiles of quiet satisfaction.

"Look!" Tracey said pointing at Harry's left sleeve. Harry jumped and gasped at the sight of greenery working its slow methodical way along his robe toward his half-filled glass of butterbeer. "Even the screechsnap agrees!" Tracey exclaimed with a broad grin.

"There you are, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed with relief as he and Ginny emerged through the passageway underneath the glowing 'Potter-Slytherin' sign. "McGonagall said you might be down here, and we tried to get in, but Draco..." she gestured at the bound blond-haired boy leaning wearily against the wall, "couldn't get through the doorway for some reason."

"What the hell did you do to the wall, Potter?!" Draco snarled.

"Gosh, I'm sorry Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, ignoring Malfoy. "I saw you and Ron come into the Great Hall earlier and was really meaning to go see if you were okay, but then things got a bit, uh, out of hand for a while."

"Yes, we noticed that it's been, well, a little tumultuous! Anyway, we're okay," Hermione responded.

"I demand to be brought to Professor Snape immediately!" Draco yelled.

"What did Frustrated Ferret here do?" Harry asked.

"He tried to kill Hermione!" Ron growled.

"Well, it's technically more accurate to say that he assaulted, bound and threatened me, but my brilliant and heroic boyfriend subdued him flawlessly before he could do anything too dangerous," Hermione clarified, managing to gloss over the apparently serious criminal conduct with a glowing smile. "Anyway, we figured that the four of us should get together to decide what to do with our detainee."

"Well," Harry mused. "You're Head Girl, so you obviously know that the standard protocol for serious misconduct would be to turn him over to Hogwarts leadership." He fixed Hermione with an inquiring gaze. "If you haven't already done so, then I would surmise you have extenuating reasons."

Hermione nodded.

"Can you elaborate?" Harry pried gently.

Hermione took a few moments to carefully weigh her words, before settling on a direct approach. "Well clearly if we went to McGonagall with the truth, Draco would probably be expelled, but the thing is... he's actually now provided me with some very useful information. I believe that he considers that to be a good faith gesture worthy of lenient consideration."

"I see. But first, why did Draco capture and threaten you? Were you able to find out?" Harry asked.

"Apparently he really wants to know your home address," Hermione answered.

"Really? I'm touched, Draco! I had no idea you cared so much," Harry jested. "You're more than welcome to visit me any time over the next couple weeks; for the most part I should be pretty easy to find as I'll still be here in the castle. After that, maybe we can owl each other and keep in touch that way?"

Draco scowled but said nothing.

"You're chasing rainbows, Draco," Ginny explained. "There's nothing important there — it's just a pleasant little house in suburbia: walking distance to park and schools; nice bright yard crying out for perennials and an herb garden. Not exactly a crux in the ongoing struggle for supremacy in the wizarding world, okay? Now who keeps putting you up to this nonsense?"

Draco continued to sulk in silence.

"Well, whoever they are, they're very misguided," Harry opined. "It might have been strategically useful information back when everyone on both sides was trying to capture me, but that time is past. Your interests would be far better served in just forgetting about it and trying to catch up with current events," Harry instructed, moving to place himself in Draco's evasive line of sight. "Things are going to get very tense in the castle soon, and the people who will come through this best are the people who work together for everyone's collective benefit. Given that Slytherin House has basically expelled you, your cronies, and Snape, I'd recommend that you seriously consider trying to make yourself useful before you find yourself completely friendless and abandoned."

Harry turned back to Hermione. "Do you think he deserves leniency?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"No," Ron decided simultaneously.

"So am I a tie-breaker on this decision?" Harry asked. "Ginny, do you have an opinion?"

Ginny shrugged. "Not enough data to decide," she admitted.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Which is why we're having this discussion."

"You had him pinned on serious misconduct a couple weeks ago and let him off the hook Harry," Ron scolded. "Look what leniency got us last time!"

"He did enough that time to earn two detentions," Harry clarified, "and that's what I gave him. Could I have prevented him from attacking Hermione? I have to apologize and admit that if I'd been really hard-nosed I might have, but that would have meant cracking into his thoughts with legilimency. If I'd done that, maybe I could have derailed his ridiculous obsession with my home. Might have saved us some trouble, but I guess I'm still struggling with moral nuances on that one."

Both Draco and Hermione were studying Harry. "A lot of trouble... yes, that's true Harry," Hermione mused, "but if you'd derailed him a couple weeks ago, I never would have cracked the portkey project."

"You solved it, Hermione?" Ginny asked, excitedly.

Hermione shook her head slightly. "I shouldn't have said that. I still need to test a couple things tomorrow before I can say for sure... but, thanks to Draco, I think we will finally nail it down."

"Brilliant!" Ginny exclaimed. "I'd vote that if the tests succeed, we consider letting Draco off with a warning."

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded slowly.

"Ron, I know you feel quite strongly about this," Harry reasoned, "and you're justified. You're also justified in blaming me for not being harder on him a couple of weeks ago, but under these extenuating circumstances I agree with Hermione and Ginny."

Ron frowned but reluctantly nodded.

"Who has Draco's wand?" Harry asked.

"I do," Ron answered. "He dropped it when he hit the deck. I've been holding it for safe keeping."

"Well, let's give it back to him, then shall we?" Harry asked, holding his hand out to Ron. Ron nodded glumly, reached into his robes, and produced the wand.

Harry unfastened Draco's restraints and handed him his wand. Draco snatched it greedily and stalked off petulantly toward the 'Potter-Slytherin' sign.

"Sorry Draco," Harry called after him. "I wasn't kidding earlier — the students who redid the wards really did kick you out. Along with Snape, Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode. You should supposedly find all of your stuff in Snape's office."

Malfoy went rigid. He huffed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling, then turned to stalk wearily the other way down the hall.

The two couples stood in silence for a moment within the pulsing glow of the new sign. Ron looked at Harry accusingly. "I can't believe you're going to let that git off again — if he sneaks up and hexes one of us, it'll be on your head!"

"I'm not imminently panicked mate," Harry confided with a grin. "When I handed him his wand, I accidentally snapped it."

Ron blinked uncomprehendingly.

"A simple nonverbal spell called fractura," Harry explained. "He won't notice until he actually tries to use it, but it now has a hairline diagonal split all the way through the wood. Sadly his family doesn't have any money on hand for a new one." Harry paused in thought for a moment. "I'll make amends sometime later, when things settle down a bit."

Ginny and Harry were lying together, face to face, in the dim candlelight of their bedroom. Ginny was caressing Harry's jawline, cheek and forehead, while Harry's hand worked its way gently through her hair, stroking it and massaging her scalp. They had been silent for the last ten minutes, but there were still a few things left to be said before calling an end to a very long and chaotic day.

"What are we going to do about my idiot brother, Harry?" Ginny asked, with a pained look on her face.

"Percy?" Harry mused. "Bat bogey hex? Lock him in a room with Pansy Parkinson for half an hour?"

Ginny giggled softly in spite of herself. "Might try Daphne instead," she mused. "She can do more permanent psychological damage."

Harry laughed. "But seriously, I'd say we let him stew in his own juices for a while and then pick up the pieces," Harry offered. "Percy's a victim, too. He's a victim of Fudge's callous manipulations, and of his own blind ambition. From what McGonagall told me, Fudge drafted this position to be a dead-end quagmire; Percy may be brilliant in many ways, but nobody else in the Ministry was dumb enough to accept this position. After what happened to Umbridge, I doubt even Percy could have been too enthusiastic, and I honestly feel sorry for the bloke."

"I don't!" Ginny declared with an edge to her voice.

"Yes you do," Harry contradicted softly. "I can tell that you do."

Ginny sighed sadly and pressed her forehead to Harry's. "I do, don't I?"

Harry nodded. They lay there for several quiet minutes, listening to the sounds of their breathing, mixed with Emerald's nearby purring. "Now we're going to have to save him too."

Ginny nodded. "In spite of himself," she added. She sighed again. "Harry, are you doing okay through all of this?"

Harry nodded and smiled at her. "Most people wouldn't have noticed, but earlier this evening I was every bit as upset as Pansy," he admitted. "Not anymore. It took time for me to realize it but this is exactly what I needed to have happen."

Ginny looked at him quizzically.

"Yesterday I was a teacher all caught up in mundane duties and regulations," Harry said. "Tomorrow I am a leader."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully, studying his face. "I see what you mean," she agreed, "but despite what you may think, I really doubt your teaching days are over quite yet, Professor Potter," Ginny whispered, as she extinguished the light and their lips met.

Beast and fowl alike scattered in terror from heath and hillside during the last dimly lit hour before dawn. They need not have feared, however, because in spite of the alarming site of a panther and lioness tearing over the Grampian landscape together, there was no real threat. These cats were seeking only one quarry: fun — a brief release from the tensions and strains that afflict humankind.

The streaks of tan and black ripped across the high plateau, bounding over the boulder fields, racing down into a ravine filled with tall heather, barely grazing the surface of pristine meres as they sought new routes into unexplored reaches of the upper Fiddich. Leaping up out of the ravine onto a jagged ridge, the lioness raised her nose to the sky, sniffed once, and then vaulted back upwards. The panther made a hairpin turn to follow, sprinting back up the mountainside toward the beckoning outcrop. Quick quick! The sun is coming!

Less than three minutes later, and more than a mile as a hiker might trudge, the lioness leaped up onto the highest granitic boulder. The panther sprang astride her; rearing up on hind legs their paws locked... and two humans raised themselves up out of their feline selves, bound in a rapturous embrace as a razor sharp spike of gold cut through the mist to announce a new day.

Love and strength! Thus spoke two faint, familiar subliminal voices from far away to their south.

"Love and strength," Ginny whispered to Harry, as she pulled him closer. The world moved slowly beneath them, admitting the glowing rays of hope to fully envelop their youthful faces.

By a quarter after ten, the first twelve combat proficiency candidates were feeling celebratory. Neville and Jack had scored A's, Blaise, Daphne, Susan, Nick, Jennifer, Sarah and Quinn had all achieved E's, and Terry, Ryan and Mary-Jo had all performed with near perfection and had been assessed as 'outstanding'.

The four evaluators, Lupin, Tonks, Ginny and Harry were all feeling tremendously satisfied: they could now say that they had at their disposal ten students whose skills were at or beyond where Ginny's had been at the middle of last summer when Lupin and Tonks had declared her fit for live action. Two other students were close behind. The evaluations were not quite done yet, however. Everyone still knew with a little trepidation that somebody still had to evaluate Luna Lovegood.

In each of the previous three half hours, each instructor had fielded one candidate each, which had permitted them to process the field in a timely manner. Now it was up to fate to decide which of the instructors would evaluate the last candidate. Harry and Tonks had both lost their opening round of 'wand-potion-charm' against Lupin and Ginny respectively, and Ginny was officiating the final playoff.

"One... two... three..." Ginny called out.

"Wand!" Harry yelled, pointing his hand out straight.

"Potion!" Tonks shouted at the same time, holding out her cupped fingers.

"Wand vanishes potion," Ginny decreed. "Tonks, you're it!"

"Fiddle faddle," muttered Tonks.

"Seriously?" Luna asked with a note of excitement in her voice. "Uncle Bortimer used to make broiled fiddle faddle every Boxing Day. He used rosemary and gillyweed. What's your recipe?"

The test was organized into four parts, covering range of spells, spell casting rate, shield strength and dueling. The first part was essentially a screening tool: students were tested for their proficiency in twelve key spell categories, including some fairly advanced transfiguration work, shield spells, expelliarmus, incendio, reducto, stupefy, incarcerous, accio, expecto patronum, banishing, disillusionment and apparation. Anybody not meeting the minimum requirements in at least ten out of twelve areas would not have been permitted to proceed any further, but the requirement hadn't given any of the students a problem thus far. Almost all of these spells had been well covered by last years IHA studies and they had retained the lessons well. The apparation requirement (enabled by a Room of Requirement feature that permitted short, in-room hops) nominally discriminated against underage candidates, but the slightly illegal fact that Sarah, Ryan and Mary-Jo all passed it with flying colors was willfully overlooked by the examiners (especially Harry and Ginny who had long been serial violators of the underage apparation ban).

Although she not attempt to illicitly apparate, Luna passed the first exercise with solid scores, but it was really the second and fourth areas that Harry had been most concerned about for her. In their spell work, Harry had noticed that artistic types like Luna, Dean Thomas and Michael Corner tended to go for elaborate flair which, while often producing high grades in Hogwarts classes, was very much the antithesis of speed, and made for duels of a rather disconcerting nature.

"Okay Lovegood," Tonks explained, "in the next test I'm going to read a long list of spells. I'll turn over this five minute timer..." she said as she gestured toward a simple hourglass on the table. "and you will have to try to complete as many spells as possible before the sand runs out. If you need an object to direct a spell toward, you can use one of those..." she gestured at an assortment of hay bales, stones, cups, balls, bits of levitating string, sticks and other oddments lying in one area of the room on the other side of the table. "Finally, you can get away with flubbing or skipping up to three spells without penalty. If you would like to skip a spell, just say 'skip' and we'll move onto the next. Capisce?"

"Skip," Luna answered.

"Huh?"

"I'm skipping capisce since I have never been instructed in the proper execution of that spell," Luna specified in a voice that partially disguised her impatience. "I also suspect that there may not really be any such spell, in which case I would be inclined to lodge a protest with Professor Potter."

Tonks coughed uncomfortably. "Er, sorry about that — my supervisor at work reads muggle law enforcement novels and has some spicy vocabulary," she clarified. "I meant, 'do you understand?'"

"Do I understand spicy vocabulary?"

Tonks tapped her finger on the table, silently counting. She smiled sweetly. "Do you understand the instructions for this test?"

"I understand all about doing many spells before the sand runs out, but I wasn't informed that there would be a fictional component to the examination."

Tonks cleared her throat loudly to ensure that the other examiners were paying attention. "We will defer all questions on spicy vocabulary and cop novels until next month," she declared with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "Those subjects will be covered in a special credit examination, to be conducted by our dear friend Professor Potter."

"Oh Harry!" Luna beamed at him. "Thank you for the opportunity — you won't be disappointed! Please don't forget to tell me what to revise!"

Harry cringed and watched helplessly as Ginny and Lupin chose that moment to hurry out of the room, apparently due to their sudden choking fits.

Tonks flipped the hourglass over and began to recite a long list of spells, with some of the more energy-consuming spells getting called multiple times to test not only speed but also endurance. "Epoximise... incendio... hot air charm... immobulus... everbero... featherlight... alarte ascendare... diminuendo... reducto... reparo..."

Earlier in the day, the other students had assisted in the examination process by verifying spell effect during this portion of the exam, but Harry had released the students since they all had ambitious training plans for the day. Thus he personally volunteered to monitor Luna's spells. As he had expected, she had an excellent repertoire and wasn't forced to skip any requests, but always seemed to take several additional seconds to think about a spell. She usually had slightly unusual wand flourishes, and did indeed produce results that often exceeded the intended requirement, either in strength or more often in unusual augmentations. Her incendio produced glittery purple flames; for some reason she did the wand motion for the featherlight spell twice (although Harry was only able to detect one affected rock); her inflatus jinx not only inflated a large grey stone but caused it to burst into a flock of chirtling rock doves. When Luna had finally reached a total of twenty five spells, Harry cast a nervous glance at the hourglass, worried that she would fall well short of the target of fifty spells expected for an A grade. He was surprised, however, to see that there was still a lot of sand left in the upper chamber. Luna might make it after all.

"impervius... muffliato... reducto... incendio..."

At the count of forty five, Harry glanced over and realized that Luna was home free. Lupin and Ginny returned to the room, looking puzzled. Ginny checked her watch, shrugged and sat down.

"periculum... everbero... wingardium leviosa..."

"Time's up!" Harry called. "Sixty eight spells, Luna; a little short of an E, but pretty good."

"Hey," Ginny asked, "did you decide to take a break in the middle of the test or something?"

"No," Tonks said with a slight frown creeping onto her forehead. "But that did seem to take a bit long, didn't it?"

Harry frowned as well. He wandered over to examine the hourglass, tipping it over and watching the sand. He tapped it with his hand and stared again for a moment as the grains gently fluttered down like snowflakes. His eyes lit up. "Luna, did you hit this with featherlight?"

"Oh yes," Luna exclaimed proudly. "I wasn't happy with the effect on the big rock — it just sat there looking the exact same at seven pounds as it did at seventy. I thought the spell would look much prettier on sand."

Tonks burst out laughing. "Well, I did say that the test lasted until the sand ran out... and we never told her not to charm the sand. What do you say, boss?"

"Points for creativity I guess," Harry decided with a grin.

Luna proved to have a very solid shield that was able to withstand a diverse range of spells and firing rates for a solid five minutes, so she had no difficulty passing that section, and entered the final test: a ten minute one-on-one duel. For this section, an O score could be earned if the student was to defeat the examiner, an E was awarded for fighting to a draw, and other scores were assessed according to how well the student fought and how long he or she lasted before succumbing.

Mary-Jo and Ryan had scored unambiguous outstandings based on having defeated Tonks and Lupin respectively, and Harry had argued for giving an O to Terry as well: the Ravenclaw had certainly not defeated Harry, but he had been the only student to hold on for the entire ten minutes against him (Harry restricted himself to one-handed fighting, but even so nobody else could sustain a shield against his spell casting). In addition to Terry's strong, durable shield, he had demonstrated an impressive ability to summon a broad range of offensive spells whenever he had a bit of cover to work from.

Apart from Terry, Harry had been nearly perfect in predicting how each student would fare against their selected examiner. Luna, however, was definitely shaping up to be a wild card. Harry had seen Luna hold her own in a gripping real-world fight in the Department of Magical Mysteries, and he had been in class many times when she had squared off against different opponents in practice duels. Luna very rarely won duels because her spell fire was too slow. But she also very rarely lost because, for some reason, her opponents almost never managed to hit her. Harry was ashamed to admit that he had not quite figured out why this was so. Since Tonks had exceptionally accurate aim, even for an auror, Harry was very curious to see how this match up would turn out.

There had been a tremendous variety of different tactics and styles emerge among the first twelve duels of the morning, depending a bit on how the two adversaries approached together, and on numerous other intangible factors. Ryan had exhausted Lupin with his footwork and constant motion; ironically Ryan had probably covered nearly three times as much ground, circling in and around the werewolf and feinting, but Ryan's conditioning was far superior and he wore Lupin down. At the seventh minute, Ryan pulled a feint so distracting that even Harry wasn't exactly sure what the student's body had actually done; Lupin was caught completely flat-footed as Ryan slipped around his shield with a stunner. Mary-Jo had successfully applied similar tactics with Tonks, but ultimately undid her by playing Ryan's trick of tearing her shield down with erratic spell selection. On the other end of the spectrum, Neville and Jack found themselves getting locked into slow moving, unsophisticated blasting battles with Tonks: the sorts of cacophonous affairs that the powerful auror never lost. The other students tended to fit somewhere in between.

And then came Luna Lovegood.

By the wan smile on her face, it was clear that Luna had no intention of playing any of the prescribed tactics. When the starting whistle sounded, she summoned her shield and drifted placidly around the floor. Tonks's accuracy — one of her greatest strengths — was passable against Luna, but much poorer than she was accustomed to. Harry found himself drifting into his sixth sense to try to figure out whether Luna was somehow producing a strange subliminal distraction. He scoured his aura perception like fox trying to resolve a weak scent: was there some sort of unusual hum or buzz in the magical essence surrounding the two fighters? Perhaps. There was a little feeling that triggered his suspicions, but not enough to absolutely advertize its existence.

Harry opened his eyes again. Luna's shield had held well against Tonk's various volleys, and on numerous occasions she had deflected one of the auror's hexes right back at her, twice nearly landing a surprise blow. Tonks had thus decided to change tactics; she was now circling cagily, firing off spells with less mind to scoring direct hits, and more intention of distracting the girl in the hopes of sneaking past her shield. For her part, Luna failed to fall for the ploy; ever reacting and no longer bothering to cast any spells of her own; she simply kept moving in an aggravatingly languid dance-like manner, always keeping a shield between herself and her opponent.

Five minutes later, it was all over. Tonks was still standing, lost in thought, on the same location where she had fired off a brutal final round of hexes in an unsuccessful last minute attempt to take down Luna's shield. With a hazy smile, Luna accepted the signed certificate of completion, adorned with a final grade of E. She drifted past Harry, one hand idly twirling her scroll, the other reaching over to casually ruffle his hair. "I'm looking forward to the literature and vocabulary test, Professor Potter," she said dreamily on her way out the door.

Chapter 20. The Other Side of the Door    (September 21-22, 1997)

After a happy Luna Lovegood left the Room of Requirement with her certificate, Fred and George arrived to demonstrate their horcrux trap to Harry, Ginny, Lupin and Tonks. For the most part, the device was very basic, simple and effective: an internal mechanism was in place that would stab an immobilized horcrux hard with a venom tipped awl. The surrounding magical containment box would prevent any outside party from interfering with the intended operation. The really intricate part of the construct was the trigger mechanism.

"The trigger switch is outside of the magical containment field," Fred explained. "So although you can't magically interact with anything on the other side of the containment door, there are ways to make the switch physically spring the trap... as long as you know exactly how to flip the switch."

"What we struggled with," George elaborated, "is the 'exactly how to flip' part of the equation. We figured that among many criteria, the single most important issue was being able to ensure that nobody else could prevent the trap from springing."

"Exactly!" Fred continued. "Suppose you needed to physically press the switch to activate it. What happens if someone took the box away from you before you could trigger it? Suppose you had to cast a triggering spell and someone put up a shield. Hard luck!"

"So after some thought, we figured that to make it foolproof we needed reverse impetus," George explained. "In other words, we had to make it so that the only way the trap won't snap is if you magically hold it open all the time." He laughed. "It's like a toy that's stuck in the on position unless you sit on the button and force it closed."

"Yes, normally the term used to describe a toy like that is 'broken'," Fred joked.

"So the only two people I can imagine being barmy enough to deliberately make a broken toy are standing before you right now," George said with a grin.

"And the only two customers barmy enough to buy it are sitting in front of us," Fred snickered.

Harry and Ginny turned from the prototype and gazed thoughtfully at each other. "So we need to commit a magical intent to keeping the trigger from springing," Harry mused. "It has to be wandless..."

Fred nodded. "Yes — if you commit your intent with a wand, the intent will fail as soon as you put your wand away or cast some other spell."

"I like it!" Harry enthused. "Most people wouldn't be able to sustain the intent, but I think I can train myself to do pretty easily. And it will be a cinch for Ginny."

"It will?" Ginny inquired with a frown.

"Of course," Harry replied. "I'm thinking of a magical intent you committed months ago, and you only ever slack off that commitment when you consciously decide to."

"Oh, of course!" Ginny exclaimed, although she didn't elaborate the answer to the room. Harry was obviously alluding to her magical quarantine around his scar.

"The more I think about it, the better it sounds," Harry expanded. "If someone tries to steal the box, we can just decide that we don't want to restrain the trigger any longer."

"Yes, it also takes the human element out of it," Ginny continued. "Horcruxes are nasty, manipulative little tykes, but I doubt that they'll be able to protect themselves from this. Also, the restraining spell will lapse if someone stupefies us, or if..." Ginny's excitement faded for a moment by a distracting thought that she decided not to verbalize.

"Er, yes, exactly." George said in a somewhat uneasy tone. "It's insurance in case something bad happens to you."

Pushing aside these unpleasant thoughts, Harry and Ginny both breathed deep sighs of relief. The devices were exactly what they needed, and solved a whole lot of problems in a quirky, innovative manner that Riddle would probably never unravel.

A knock sounded on the Room of Requirement door.

"Come in please!" Ginny called.

The door opened to reveal Hermione and Ron, who entered to a cheery round of greetings. The gathering devolved for a while into casual socialization for a while as everyone caught up with the latest news and goings on. Ron, however, cornered Harry near the periphery of the group.

"Hey Harry," Ron said, "I know I kind of limped through my Wednesday talk on multi-attack response coordination, but I've been doing a lot of homework that I'd like to update you on. Do you have time this evening?"

Harry looked at Ron quizzically. "Er, you do know I'll be out of a job here in two weeks, right? It would probably make more sense to talk to Professor Caldwell about course project plans, don't you think?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't care about the course right now. Caldwell's hardly going to be leading the fight against Voldemort is he? It sounds like things are getting dicey and you've been running ragged trying to plan defences. I was hoping that maybe I could help a bit?"

Harry took a moment to gauge Ron's seriousness. Ron was giving him an intensely earnest look of the sort Harry had not seen from his friend in well over a year. Finally he nodded. "Okay, but if your goal is to help our defence then I think you'll need to refocus a bit. Your topic would have been ideal if the death eaters were still planning cluster attacks like they did last year, but every bone in my body is telling me that they gearing up for one single knockout punch. I think it's coming soon, and I need people who can strategize, think on their feet, and perhaps lead and improvise in my absence."

Ron stared at him. "Your absence?" he asked dumbfoundedly.

"Yes," Harry answered, "If the battle shapes up like I expect, I think the only way we can win is if I can lure the top dog away from the pack and deal with him separately."

"Top dog? Who...?" Ron began, before the spark of comprehension flashed across his face. "Oh!" he exclaimed.

"So I'm envisioning a possible scenario where the only thing standing in the way of Voldemort conquering the castle is maybe a dozen students and a handful of Order operatives," Harry said grimly.

"Aurors, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, before turning on Tonks. "We need aurors here!"

"Well, Williamson and Proudfoot will be on site tomorrow," Tonks responded. "there will be two per day stationed at Hogwarts from here on in, but the Minister won't let us have any more than that."

"Two?!" Hermione asked incredulously. She scowled and muttered something indecipherable.

"Within the Order, the only two people with much experience in strategic planning are Remus and Moody, and only Remus really knows anything about the students' skills," Harry continued, "so we're placing a fair bit of reliance on home grown talent. Mary-Jo, Ryan and Quinn have been studying and designing battle tactics for eight months now, so they're our backbone," he elaborated. "but you have a different perspective on things than they do, and you've seen death eater operations up close too. If you'd be willing to work with them, it would be great."

"I, er, okay... yeah, I'll talk to them if you'd like Harry," Ron agreed. "But I'd prefer if you were there too. It's just that I've never really gotten to know any of these people."

"Sure — I'll do my best to make it," Harry agreed. "Don't worry, they're great kids — I'm sure you'll work brilliantly together.

Ron nodded with little conviction.

"So, is our favourite potioneer ready for show and tell?" Fred asked, sidling up to Hermione with a grin.

Hermione looked up from a long scroll on which she'd been making last-minute annotations. She smiled back. "I guess we'll soon be finding that out, now won't we?"

Last year, Hermione had experienced a bitter blow to her pride when Harry had explained to her how she was a poor teacher. He had couched the criticism diplomatically but accurately: because she grasped concepts so quickly and intuitively, it was hard for her to reverse-engineer the learning process to effectively instruct others. Fortunately, just because something is hard does not mean that it is impossible. She now realized that, with practice and bull-headed determination, she could learn how to do it. Today she was determined to prove it.

She held in her hands two small saucers, each holding a small pile of white powder. "Okay class, I need a taste tester. Do I have a volunteer?"

Harry, Ginny, Ron, Lupin, Tonks, Fred and George, all sitting in student desks that the Room of Requirement had conjured for them, regarded Hermione with amused skepticism. Nobody volunteered.

"Ahem. One of these substances..." she held up the saucer in her right hand, "is the primary ingredient in sugar quills. The other..." she held up the other sample, "tastes identical, is non-toxic and will not harm you in any way."

"I'll do it!" Ron volunteered.

Hermione smirked slightly. "Please first taste one and then the other, and tell me if you can detect any difference."

Ignoring any delicate sensitivities in the assembled group, Ron licked the first sample directly off the plate, paused the barest instant, and then licked off the other. Hermione cringed at Ron's table manners, but Ron didn't notice. "Oooh — tastes like honey!" he exclaimed. "Oh, and nope, they definitely taste the same... Hmm, I wonder what's for lunch?" he added, glancing at his watch.

"They look the same and taste the same," Hermione emphasized, "but they're not the same. To explain the difference, I need a second volunteer for another non-fatal, non-debilitating demonstration."

George stood up eagerly. "At your service! I hope my snack is larger than what you gave ickle Ronnie."

"Sorry, no more treats until you've successfully completed the lesson," Hermione said sternly. George effected a look of grave disappointment, and Fred somehow conjured a frightening stomach-like rumbling. "Fortunately George," Hermione steadfastly continued, "you will get to play with toys."

George beamed an excited face around the room.

"Before that, though, I'd like you to tell me if your two hands are the same shape." Hermione requested.

George held them up in puzzlement. "Umm, basically, yes. I have a scar on my left hand from... er, never mind."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but turned back to her notes and conjured a large square spongy block. "Okay, please spread out the fingers on your right hand and press your open hand about six inches into this block, then pull your hand out again."

George did as requested, producing a deep hand-shape depression in the block. The cavity remained, even after he'd withdrawn his hand.

"Now if your left hand is the same shape as your right, then you should be able to put your left hand into the hole exactly as you put your right one in, correct?"

George nodded. Lupin and Harry both shook their heads, furtively appraising the situation. George attempted to insert his left hand into the hole, stopped, tried to reinsert it with his wrist facing inwards, but that didn't work either. He took a step back and shook his head in a puzzled way.

"The same, but different, yes?" Hermione asked. "Can anyone tell me the difference?"

Ginny raised her hand. "His two hands are like mirror images, yeah?" she asked. Lupin and Harry both nodded vigorously.

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed. "And that's the exactly what was different about the two sugars that Ron, um inhaled, a little while ago. The shape of the little pieces making up one sugar sample are mirror images of the sugar molecules in the other sample. The two sugars are sometimes called called right-handed glucose and left-handed glucose."

Harry sat bolt upright as he thought of something. He opened his mouth for a moment, then decided to let Hermione finish the lesson.

"Okay George, these are the last two toys I'd like you to play with," Hermione said, conjuring two spin tops of the sort given to small children. She placed them onto the table. "Please get both of these tops spinning at the same time; use your left hand to spin the blue top, and your right hand to spin the red top."

George did so, and Hermione pointed to the two toys that were spinning rapidly on their axes, while tracing out larger meandering circles on the table. "Everyone notice this," she instructed. "The blue top is circling in a clockwise direction, while the red top is circling in a counterclockwise direction. That's because the strongest spinning motion we make with one hand goes in a direction opposite from that of the other hand."

"This is absolutely brilliant, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "There's absolutely nothing magical about beating the anti-portkey wards at all is there? It's just elementary muggle science!"

Hermione grinned. "Did anybody else in the room figure out what's going on yet?"

The Weasleys and Tonks all shook their heads, but Lupin nodded his head tentatively. "Is it..." he paused a moment to collect his thoughts. "It is because portkeys work by spinning us across space like some sort of counterclockwise corkscrew, and... and antiportkey wards block that motion...?"

"Exactly!" Hermione beamed. "If I make a portkey out of a normal right-handed sugar, then the normal portkey spell will project it across space by spinning it counterclockwise. If I make an identical portkey, except I use a left-handed sugar, the portkey spell will cause it to spin clockwise through space. A normal anti-portkey ward that would block the normal portkey counterclockwise motion, would actually speed up the opposite-handed portkey!"

"So, the death eaters discovered that if they used Deliquesco Magia to administer a left-handed sugar portkey, it would burst straight through normal anti-portkey wards?" Ginny inquired with obvious thrill in her voice.

Hermione nodded excitedly. "And here's the proof," she said, placing two lumps of sugar onto two plates on the table. "Ginny, can you please add portkey charms to both of these and set them to portkey to the forbidden forest in thirty seconds?"

Ginny stood up, quickly cast the portkey charms then stood back. Everyone waited for the allotted time, then suddenly one lump sparkled briefly and disappeared.

"Bloody hell!" Ron stammered. "You just portkeyed a lump of sugar out of Hogwarts!"

"That makes one happy little centaur..." Fred exclaimed as he gestured to the empty plate, then pointed at the unaffected sugar lump, "and one sad little centaur."

Hermione laughed and stood fidgeting energetically. "Furthermore," she elaborated happily, "even though the portkeys taste the same, our bodies digest the left-handed sugar much more slowly than the normal one, so the portkey magic will remain intact for hours rather than minutes. It's a perfectly brilliant little twist of charm design!"

"This is utterly superb, Hermione!" Harry declared. "So, to close the loop... how do we block the left-handed portkey?"

Hermione wore the most convincing Cheshire cat grin. "It's so very simple..." she said as slowly as possible to draw out the suspense, "You can make a left-hand anti-portkey ward exactly as you would a normal one, except that the spell..." she drew out a vanity hand-mirror, "has to be reflected through this!"

As Ginny brought Ron, Hermione, Tonks and the twins up to their den for a late, private lunch, Harry led Professor Lupin solemnly down to a private room in the Hospital Wing where the immobilized headmaster lay, waiting for some point in the future when he would be granted either life or death. Harry knew that Lupin very much wanted to pay his respects to Dumbledore — a man who had afforded the werewolf great kindness and inspiration through the years.

Remembering the state of pain in which the headmaster had been prior to the freezing spell, Harry dreaded seeing Dumbledore again, and certainly did not relish the anguish that it might bring to Lupin. However, when Madame Pomfrey admitted them to the room, Harry was shocked to see that the headmaster's body had somehow relaxed, and his face looked perfectly serene.

"Did something happen to the freezing spell?" Harry whispered to Madame Pomfrey at the doorway as Lupin entered in to sit by Dumbledore.

The healer shook her head slowly. Her face was unreadable. "I can only guess that the headmaster may have some sort of very deep powers that can function even within the exceptionally strong freezing field placed on him by Mr. Weasley," she said quietly.

"But if the headmaster was able to change his appearance under the freezing spell, does that also mean that the curse is continuing to slowly progress?" Harry asked as he steered her out of the room.

She shook her head. "Thankfully no. The curse is in exactly the same state as it was before. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore is somehow slightly stronger than the immobilization, but the curse is not."

"That's strange but fascinating — thank you, Poppy!" Harry said, grasping her hand. "There's still hope, isn't there?"

She smiled at Harry. "Yes, there's still a bit of hope. Now please go in there — I'm certain that he would very much like to see you."

Harry walked slowly back into the room, watching a ray of sun break through the noonday clouds and edge its way up Dumbledore's chest to his placid face.

"We will break the curse, Albus," Harry whispered to himself as a mist crept from his lower eyelids to partially blur his vision. "We have a plan. I promise you."

I trust you Harry... to succeed where I have failed...

Harry eyes flashed wide in surprise. He stared at Dumbledore convinced that the old man just just spoken to him... but he lay every bit as still and peaceful as before. Harry glanced around the room to see if anyone else had heard the headmaster's voice, but obviously not: Pomfrey was scratching out notes on a scroll, and Lupin was still grasping the old man's one remaining hand, gazing at his face in solemn contemplation. It was then that Harry spied Fawkes. The bird was staring intently at him from a table in a corner of the room, apparently unobserved by anyone else.

Fawkes's dark eyes conveyed compassion and a silent plea for help. Next to him was a jumbled array of get-well cards, flowers and candies left by friends, students and faculty in the hopes that the headmaster would return to enjoy them. Beside the pile, however, were two objects that were quite incongruous: the magical containment box from Dumbledore's office and the Sword of Gryffindor. Fawkes glanced at the box and sword, then stared very meaningfully at Harry.

Harry nodded. With one hand he gently stroked the phoenix's long, smooth neck feathers. With the other hand, he shrank the containment box and sword, summoned his storage trunk from his cloak pocket, and hovered the box and sword inside. Fawkes trilled very softly, but neither Lupin or Pomfrey noticed him, even as the bird gave one final whistle and vanished in a small flicker of flame.

Harry stared for a moment at the empty place on the table, then went to stand beside Lupin and gaze at the old man in his peaceful slumber.

Harry and Lupin walked back to the sixth floor in complete silence. Harry struggled with the age-old question of whether or not to talk to someone who was brooding. He knew that Lupin was almost certainly having some difficulty processing the headmaster's dire condition. On the other hand, he also knew that Lupin was a very private person who had spent much of his life in various levels of isolation and might not be comfortable discussing his feelings. Finally as they reached the top of the last flight of steps, Harry recalled the wise words of a girl he knew who had adeptly dealt with another similarly reticent individual.

"Remus," Harry said, "if ever you need someone to talk to about this, then you know where to find me, okay?"

Lupin smiled at him softly. "Thanks Harry," he said simply. "I appreciate it."

Harry opened the door into the den, which Ginny had magically expanded to accommodate a table with lunch settings for eight people. Indeed, the room had never been quite so lively — Ginny, Tonks, Fred, George, Ron and Hermione were already part way through lunch. Seeing the door open, Hermione broke off a conversation with Tonks and beckoned to Harry, who came over and took a seat next to her.

"Harry, things have been so unsettled, and there's been so much to do," Hermione began, "but now that we can actually sit down and be calm for a few minutes, I just wanted to tell you that I think that whoever made the decision to sack you is a daft, pompous prat!"

Fred whistled and grinned. "Wow — mighty harsh words for my illustrious older brother, don't you think Miss Granger?"

Hermione scowled, George burst out laughing, but Harry just angled his head thoughtfully. "You know, I think Hermione phrased it perfectly when she said, 'Whoever made the decision...'" Harry mused. "I know that nobody in this room has been particularly close to Percy in a long while, but I got the impression that even before all of the students walked out on him last night he was feeling uncomfortable. A lot of people are in tough spots right now, Percy not the least. I strongly suspect that decision was Percy's to implement, not his to make."

Fred studied Harry for a moment, then his mouth reshaped itself into the letter "O" and he nodded.

Tonks nodded knowingly but said nothing. Then she gazed around the table with a puzzled look on her face and then glanced back at the still-open doorway. "Wolfie!" Tonks called out over the bustle of conversations. "What are you waiting for? Grab a seat before Ron scoffs all the nosh. If you're expecting a formal invitation from this lot, then you've crashed the wrong party."

Lupin shook himself and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I was just admiring the decor," he said. "Say Harry, has anybody ever told you this room looks just like your dad's den at Godric's Hollow?"

When Harry opened the door to their den again after supper, the room was very much back to its normal, peaceful self. Ginny preceded him through the door, while he followed somewhat hesitantly. He looked around the room and marveled at how quickly and completely the place had come to feel like home in the three intense weeks since school had started. A small cloud of melancholy crept over him — this would not be home much longer.

It seemed to be a foolish, whimsical thing to be saddened by. He and Ginny (and unquestionably Emerald) loved the brighter, cheerier, more modern environment at Magpie Lane, and for that matter they could easily find another place if they wanted to. But there was something about his associations with a place where the two of them had learned so much about each other and the quest that they both shared. This would always be a place of intense memories for them.

Ginny had crossed nearly to the bedroom when she realized that Harry had fallen behind. She turned to check for him, and immediately recognized his heavy-hearted expression. She sighed sadly, understanding that beneath his superhuman drive to prepare, and his excitement at the rapid, critical progress being made on many fronts by his friends and students, he was nonetheless suffering from an innately human feeling of disappointment. She watched him for only a moment before crossing quickly back. She slid her hands under his arms and up his back to their accustomed spot between his shoulder blades. She peered into his eyes projecting sympathy and comfort.

He met her gaze for a moment, offered her a subdued smile, then leaned his forehead down against hers. He hugged her tightly and let his head subside to her shoulder. She tightened her hold on him and began to gently rock him back and forth. There they stood for several long minutes: a quiet, indulgence, before sparking back into action for a busy evening of planning.

After they reluctantly disengaged from each other, Ginny walked over to the table and picked up two tiny miniaturized parcels. "One for each of us," she said. "Emergency water, food, bindings, dittany, bezoar, various other healing ingredients, and spare clothes in case we're magically weakened."

"Brilliant, thanks!" Harry enthused as he picked up one parcel and placed it in his storage trunk. From the open trunk, he withdrew one of their two filled horcrux traps. "I think we need to split up these two little imps. I'll keep the diadem and you can have the locket?"

Ginny grimaced, but nonetheless accepted the object and placed it in her trunk. "So what's next?" she asked.

"I'm going to fill McGonagall and Flitwick in on our plans," Harry replied. "It may not exactly be classes as usual tomorrow, and they deserve to be forewarned."

"Are you sure you want me at the meeting?" Ginny asked.

"Absolutely!" Harry proclaimed. "This has nothing to do with my job, and everything about what you and I are doing together to completely disrupt the school." He smirked.

"Please don't joke about it, Harry," Ginny chided gently. "It's not your fault this place is imperiled. If, in the course of helping us to save hundreds of lives, a few of the brightest and bravest students miss a few classes, I don't want to hear any self-important quill-wankers squawking that you encouraged truancy. Besides HA students are learning so much more outside of class right now than they are behind their desks."

They made their way down to McGonagall's office on the ground floor. Harry knocked on the open door, they made their way in, and sat beside Flitwick, facing McGonagall.

"Thank you for asking to meet with us Harry," McGonagall said. "We're very interested to hear what you wanted to speak with us about."

"Thank you Minerva," Harry responded. "I'm assuming that you both have guessed that we have an emerging crisis that has nothing to do with my teaching appointment, the state of Slytherin House leadership, or Ministerial interference in the school?"

The two faculty members nodded.

"If you had asked my honest opinion a couple weeks ago," Harry continued, "I would have said that before the end of October Hogwarts would probably suffer a death eater attack more massive than anything seen in this wizarding war so far; perhaps the biggest battle since Grindelwald."

Flitwick hissed; numerous small lines around McGonagall's eyes contracted into a fine network of anxiety.

"Unfortunately," Harry began again, "everything in the past couple of weeks seems to have conspired to compress the time scale: the Gringotts account freezings, the thwarted heist attempt, and now, more than anything else, Professor Dumbledore's undisguised destruction of one of Riddle's horcruxes..."

"Is that what this is all about, Harry?" Flitwick gasped. "Voldemort created horcruxes? Albus's injury was sustained in disposing one of them?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Riddle created horcruxes and will act violently to protect them. He would have found a reason to attack Hogwarts eventually for the sake of his own agenda but it would be hard to imagine doing anything more effective to incite him to rash retaliation."

"Some degree of rashness might work in our favor," McGonagall surmised, "especially if he rushed into action unprepared and we're ready for him. The latter is most important: how much time do you believe we have to prepare?"

"I might be able to find that out quite accurately, but it risks getting him even more agitated," Harry replied, "so right now I'm resorting to guesswork..." he paused for a moment to weigh how to present his message. "Do you want my most honest speculation?"

McGonagall and Flitwick both nodded grimly.

Ginny's hand crept discretely onto Harry's and enveloped it in strength and confidence. Harry fixed his two senior colleagues with a look of profoundly sober intensity. A distant bell tower began to solemnly chime the hour.

"We will be attacked this week," Harry intoned. "Perhaps as early as tomorrow."

In the inter house common room that evening, five people had commandeered the larger table and had erected a variety of privacy wards. Three of those people: Ryan, Quinn and Laura Madley, were listening to closely to a fourth, Mary-Jo, who was providing an overview on the state of their current planning.

"Based on this afternoon's discussion with Harry," she reiterated, "the two main objectives are to secure the castle so that death eaters don't threaten any students and, in the event of a death eater attack, to immobilize and capture as many them as possible. Harry had asked Ryan to head up the defence planning."

Ryan nodded. "Over the past couple days I've lined up people with the skills we need. With help from Blevins and Peakes, Laura is training and leading a team to strengthen and specialize castle wards. MJ and Quinn will coordinate a dynamic response team that can take the fight to the enemy. Nick and Jennifer couldn't make it this evening, but I talked to Nick a little while ago: they've started recruiting people for passive defence skill training. We're hoping to have at least a hundred students with basic defensive training by tomorrow night, but there's a logistical problem: Nick and Jennifer are great at teaching, but I'd really prefer to have them present for dynamic team planning. Any recommendations?"

"Maybe we can shunt the basic defence training to Michael Corner," Quinn suggested. "He's never had a big HA role because his dueling instincts aren't great, but his spell work is top notch. Weasley, you've had six years of classes with him — what to you think?"

Ron was staring obliquely at the others, still trying to fathom the fact that he was meeting with a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff, and two Slytherins with the goal of mapping out a comprehensive set of plans for castle defence strategies.

A Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff...?

And two Slytherins??

After a moment, he jumped, realizing that they other four were now staring back at him, apparently wondering if and when he intended to start making some tangible contribution to the discussion. "Er, sorry, can you repeat the question please?" he asked, trying not to sound quite as foolish as he felt.

"Can Michael Corner teach basic defence?" Ryan asked.

Ron shrugged unhelpfully.

Ryan gazed at the ceiling for a second then locked back onto Quinn. "Quinn, why don't you ask Sarah's opinion on Corner?" he suggested. "If the two of you agree he'll be good, then that's fine as far as I'm concerned."

Ryan turned to Ron again. "So I know it's a little awkward Weasley, but Harry kind of tossed us into the room together and told us to brainstorm on how to protect the castle in case of a large scale death eater attack. He definitely wants your input, so let's make this work, all right? Maybe you can help us all by suggesting how you might fit into castle defence planning?"

"And feel free to comment on the plans we've been making for our own areas of responsibility," Quinn added.

Laura smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, Ron," she said. "It seemed overwhelming for me at first — a few days ago Harry barely knew my last name, and then suddenly he wants me to help coordinate a big activity. But the key is to realize that you don't need to do everything yourself. Thank goodness for Lucia and Jimmy — I'd be dead if I had to do all this ward stuff by myself. Anyway, just keep an open mind, do what you do best."

"Laura raises a good point," Ryan added. "The rest of us have been able to grow organically into the roles we're naturally best at — maybe we can try to play to your strengths too. What would you say those strengths would be, Weasley?"

"Er, quidditch? Chess? Yeah, definitely chess!"

The other four students took a moment to process the unconventional answer. Fortunately, Mary-Jo was always adept at nonlinear thinking. "So you're going to be a dynamic strategist as well, then?" she surmised.

Quinn frowned. "I see... The problem is that Ryan, MJ and I are all big on dynamic strategy, and it's taken a while to figure out how to share the responsibilities. At some point we're going to have too many hands stirring the potion. Laura's the only one doing static configuration — I would have hoped you could help her out somehow."

"Well, Harry wouldn't have suggested him if he wasn't going to bring something complementary to the table," Ryan interjected. "Quidditch is pure dynamics, but chess is a mixture of static planning and dynamic execution, so maybe the best fit is in there. Anyway, it doesn't look like Harry will make it tonight, so we have to somehow decipher his intent without him."

"Harry's not going to show up?" Ron asked, displaying a bit of dismay.

"He's with McGonagall and Flitwick," Mary-Jo answered. "Their meeting seems to have gone overtime; he might still pop by, but who knows? Anyway, maybe we can help you find your niche by giving more detail about what the rest of us do. Quinn and I work on team tactics; he's the theoretical mind, and I put theories into practice. Ryan is the master team builder."

"I suppose you could say that," Ryan replied. "I mostly try to figure out what Potter needs to have done, and find the right people to do it. I don't have any particular talents other than twisting arms."

"Yeah right," Mary-Jo scoffed.

"So, do you like to play with battle formations? Spell selection? Multi-team configurations? Communications protocols?" Quinn asked.

Ron darted nervous glances around the room. Laura smiled at him soothingly. "I'm, er, more of a, umm, big picture person," he improvised.

Ryan leaned forward and examined the lanky Gryffindor with an appraising eye. "So if I was to give you a bunch of chess pieces: say some for dynamic combat pieces, some for ward conformation, and some strictly defensive pieces, you could use them together strategically to optimize a specific response for a given threat?"

"Er, yeah, something like that," Ron agreed hesitantly.

"So, Mr. Chess Master, you've heard the outline of what we've been planning. Any comments? Do you need more rooks or bishops to work with? Do you need any of the existing pieces to work differently? Any tools or spells that we need to add to the mix?"

Ron thought back to his successful recent encounter with Draco. The brain that had been so useless through that episode was the same one who was now telling him that he needed to scramble out of his chair and race down the hallway as fast as possible. However appealing that sounded, the recipe for fun and success had been to ignore that brain. What really seemed to work was just opening his mouth and seeing what happened.

Ryan and Quinn leaned forward, expectantly, while Mary Jo and Laura were leaning back, trying to ease the pressure. Ron knew that it was now or never. He opened his mouth.

"We need two dynamic teams," Ron's mouth said. "If the enemy knows that we only have one single highly trained squad of seven, then they know exactly who to avoid. If you have more than one team, then we can keep them on their toes and pull more feints and lures."

"Aha!" Ryan's face displayed a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. "Good deal that Potter pushed through all those combat accreditations, huh?"

Mary-Jo nodded earnestly. "He told me that thirteen people passed. The question is whether the six new students are good enough to make a second team?"

"Perhaps," Ryan said, "but if we need to rely on both teams equally, we'd better spread the existing seven and new six across two new teams. MJ and Quinn: you're our the master tacticians, so why don't you each be a team lead and repartition the others under you so that both teams have a similar range of skills and experience levels? Does that sound good to you, Mister Chess?" Ryan queried.

"Er, fine!" Ron blurted out, surprised that his idea had carried weight. "That would be great!"

"That works for me too then," Quinn agreed. "Let's get everyone together in the last fifteen minutes of breakfast tomorrow so that we can divide into two teams. MJ and I can chat later about how best to balance the other eleven people. We'll decide, for example, who gets to have Lovegood?"

Mary-Jo grinned. "Come on Quinn," she scolded, "Luna is in your house and your year. I'd have thought we'd have long since caught you two snogging in AHA sessions by now."

"Er yes, well, we do have to keep up our professional appearances you know." Quinn deadpanned.

"Ahem!" Ryan's eyes smouldered with the ferocity of someone trying hard to hide his amusement. "Back on task please! We still need to hear the rest of Chess's recommendations before we can break off and you can all pursue your various recreational interests." He turned to Ron. "So Chess? Anything else?"

Ron's brain desperately wanted to quit while it was ahead and go talk quidditch scores with Seamus. Fortunately he again ignored that impulse and opened his mouth. "Did it ever occur to you," he began, "that the two objectives of developing an airtight castle defence and capturing death eaters kind of cancel each other out?"

The others stared at him with engaged, analytical frowns. "Please elaborate," Ryan requested.

You don't have a clue what you're talking about Weasley! Let's go see what's happening in the kitchens!

Ron smiled because it was getting increasingly fun to spite his meddlesome brain. "Well," he said confidently, "here you have a team that's going around strengthening Hogwarts' already strong wards, you have two skilled teams ready to knock off any death eater vanguards before they penetrate." Ron's hands were playing along with his mouth, drawing imaginary shapes on the table that the others stared at avidly. "So fine," he continued. "The students will be safe, but as soon as the death eaters figure out how good your defences are, they're going to go straight into siege mode: they'll rope us in, set up camp around the lake or the forest. They'll hold onto the outskirts where they're free of castle wards, and if they're smart, they'll set up their own wards to lock us in until we starve."

Quinn nodded. "Okay, are you just going to criticize us or are you going to propose something?"

"Well," Ron mouth forged on bravely, "if we had ten times as many duelers, maybe we could break them in a huge battle in an open field, but we don't... so the only other way is to give then some false hope of busting in here to capture us. Suppose we try to deliberately leave some sort of gap that we can lead them into — maybe some part of the castle where the wards are left weak and there are no visible means of active defence? We could try to set it up so that it looks to them like a real winner but is actually risk-free for us. What do you think?"

Laura, Quinn and Mary-Jo exchanged silent worried glances as they each, with their different backgrounds and perspectives, worked through various implications and considerations. Ryan, however, responded quickly and instinctively. "I think I understand what you're suggesting Chess — we set a trap by sabotaging some of our own wards. Here's the problem: Potter is a living breathing human conscience. Selling him on an intentional defence breach is going to be like flossing your teeth with a flobberworm."

Ron's brain did a few 'told-you-so' cartwheels and started looking forward to a big celebratory sandwich courtesy of the house elves. But another part of him shifted uneasily in his seat as his chastened heart sunk.

Ryan, however, continued heedlessly. "So here's the deal, Chess: we'll try to make a go of this, but you better damn well comb through your breach plan until you'd swear on Merlin's grave that it's absolutely foolproof. Next, MJ, Quinn and I are going to tear it to shreds at least twice. After all that, if we all agree that it should work, we'll take it to Potter for final approval."

Ron's eyes widened at the unexpected compromise.

"I hate to think how much work you've just bitten off," Mary Jo empathized, "but if you're up to it then this could be a great idea!"

Ron's brain was just in the process of complaining loudly about no longer having time to make that trip to the kitchens when fate — better known as Nick Jones — intervened. "Food!" the Gryffindor fifth year shouted as he entered the common room carrying a large tray full of meats, cheeses, bread and various spreads.

Ron's brain gaped for a minute, officially declared a truce, and ordered the mouth to dive in.

After taking nearly two hours longer than expected to thoroughly brief McGonagall and Flitwick on student preparations, Harry and Ginny had returned to their quarters, shuffled into their night clothes and collapsed. Ginny had fallen into a deep sleep almost immediately, but Harry and tossed and turned wearily for a while. Every time he drifted into sleep, he would imagine some major gap in the defence planning and find himself yanked back to consciousness by a myoclonic twitch.

He finally pulled himself out of bed, taking care not to disturb Ginny who was resting deeply and peacefully. Edging to the other side of the room in the near darkness, he found the door frame to lean against and began to work quietly through some slow stretching exercises to try to ease the tension from his mind and body. Within a couple minutes, however, his attention was drawn back to the bed he had temporarily forsaken: Ginny had begun stirring and murmuring in her sleep. After another minute she began thrashing and subsided into wracking sobs; he rushed back to the bed and wrapped her in an embrace.

"Ginny," he whispered urgently. "Ginny, it's okay! It's me, Harry! Everything is okay!"

She startled almost immediately and stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "Harry?" she said aloud. "You're back?"

"I'm back, Gin'! I'm here for you," Harry assured her, softly stroking her cheek. "Everything is all right. We're right here in our bed at Hogwarts. We're fine... we're safe."

"We're safe?" she whispered in her confusion. "You don't have to leave again?"

"I'm here for you now. If I have to leave, then we're leaving together, okay? You and I might have to leave in a couple weeks to go back to Magpie Lane, but if we do, then we'll go together."

"Magpie...?" she said, as her mind began a laborious journey back to reality. "Oh Harry!" she exclaimed. "I was dreaming! I had such a terrible, draining, demoralizing dream!"

Harry said nothing. One of his hands was stroked her shoulder, as she buried her head on his chest.

"You broke up with me..." she sniffled tremulously. "You said you needed to break up with me to protect me, but you went away for months and months, and the school completely fell apart... death eaters everywhere... students being..." Ginny paused for a long time, inhaling deeply to soften her ragged breathing while Harry continued to stroke her shoulder and back. After kissing the top of her head, he pressed his cheek to her forehead and held it there silently.

"You finally came back," she finally resumed in a voice that was steady but haunted. "You finally came back and there was a terrible battle... death everywhere... and Riddle called out to us and said that if any of the rest of us wanted to live, you had to go to him and..." She shuddered convulsively, unable to finish the sentence. "And you went to him." she cried softly, forlornly.

He continued to hold her for several minutes until he heard her breathing settle again. "I'm not going to him. You and I are setting the agenda — he's going to have to come to us," he whispered.

After a while she nodded. "We can't let him drive us apart, Harry," she said. "It was the worst possible impotence not knowing where you were or even if you were alive. Everybody was weak and divided; nobody had a plan..."

"We have a plan, Ginny," Harry spoke softly yet firmly. "We've planned together to succeed together. Maybe in some dream... maybe in some other world, under other twists of fate I would have felt I had to leave you behind, but this time, here and now, you're stuck with me."

She pulled slowly back from him to meet his eyes in the ghostly dimness of the deep night. "Together," she whispered. "We will prevail."

She held his eyes for a long moment, raised her hand to his jaw, then settled back under the covers, coaxing him gently back to bed.

Arms around each other, the two of them fell into sound, dreamless sleep until the Hungarian Horntail and Emerald both emerged to announce early dawn glimmers of the equinox.

Dreams and angst were forgotten when the beasts, real and simulated, issued their summons. Ginny giggled as Emerald hissed at the dutifully aggressive horntail. Harry rolled his eyes and pulled himself out of bed to serve some kibble and hopefully coax the cat away from an unwinnable confrontation. Neither of them needed to speak their exercise intentions today — it was all perfectly clear and unambiguous. Forty minutes later they stood on the outcrop.

Unlike their past visits to the spot, when the sun crested the eastward extension of the ridge, they were not embracing. Rather, they were right at arm's length, facing each other with fingertips just barely touching.

"Should we really be standing for this?" Ginny asked, recalling the disorientation that sometimes accompanied mind exercises.

Harry nodded. "We do. We need to be able to trust ourselves not to fall. We need to be able to trust each other to strengthen, not weaken, each other. If either of us senses any weakness in the other, we'll need to respond accordingly."

Ginny nodded in understanding. If one of them was to stumble, the other would break their fall, magically or physically — whatever was most practical. "You'll go first, I guess?" she inquired.

"I think so; I have a rough idea what we need to do — it's similar to the legilimency we tried last time in the Room of Requirement, but we need to be a lot more subtle going in. Once I've done it on you, I think you'll know how to do it on me."

"Thank Merlin for that," Ginny said with a smile. She closed her eyes and let her hands fall to her sides.

Harry shook his head. "Let's also see if we can do this with eyes open," he suggested. "If there are enemies around, we'll need some peripheral awareness."

Ginny nodded. She opened her eyes and stood impassively, with a diffuse gaze that vaguely registered everything, but focused on nothing.

Harry poured his consciousness inwards first, to rally his magical essence for a legilimency probe. He tuned it, transforming the aura from hard static to a soft humming cloud. He adjusted it until it had a weak intensity and a clear, precise pitch, a bit like the musical note of a clàrsach. He projected it outwards toward Ginny, and felt it envelope her occlumency walls. He studied her face: at the weak intensity, she displayed no sign either of discomfort or pleasure from the probing. He carefully tuned the pitch downwards, but still detected no response, so he reversed the tuning and scaled upwards to higher pitches. Suddenly he felt it: her previously rigid occlumency walls became soft and responsive; they started vibrating in tune with his spell; he saw a small curious frown dance around her eyes. He adjusted upwards a little further and suddenly he found himself blending almost seamlessly with her shield. Experimentally, he gravitated inwards and, without the slightest sensation of resistance, became aware of everything that was Ginny Weasley: all of her thoughts, her memories, her knowledge, was displayed before him. He discretely ignored this complete personal disclosure and withdrew the probe.

Her eyes locked in on his and she smiled in amazement. "That didn't hurt at all!"

He grinned at her. "Not when you do it right."

"I could tell that you were there, though," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Whereas the Fugos could get in without us even suspecting it."

"The Fugos had a century's worth of practice, though, didn't they?"

Ginny smiled. "You have to admit that this is a scary concept — if everyone learned how to do this, nobody would ever have any secrets at all."

"I don't know. Apart from the Fugo's, the only other person we've ever met who's accomplished anything even slightly similar to this is Hermione, and she had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I suspect that most people will never get anywhere near to achieving this."

"Hah, well thank you so much, Potter," Ginny grumbled playfully. "Nothing like offering encouraging words just before it's my turn to try it."

"Ginny Weasley," Harry said with a devious grin, "has never needed encouraging words! You've had the chance to feel what I did to probe — knowing you, you'll replicate it and take it two steps further. Just try to tune to a pleasant musical note, humming very softly, then vary your pitch until you find something that resonates."

Ginny had already spent some time practising precisely this in the days since Hermione's botched legilimency experiment, so she was indeed able to quickly produce a cloud probe. She had not attempted it on anyone else though, so she was a bit nervous. "Harry, please let me know if you feel any discomfort like last time, okay? It's one thing to smack your crown on a classroom floor, but something entirely else to fall headlong off a boulder."

Harry nodded passively; he had already relaxed his mind in preparation for the experiment. Within a few seconds his head and face felt distinctly warm. "Dial down the intensity a bit, Gin'."

She nodded, and the apparent temperature came down almost immediately. The sensation from that point was subtle but fascinating. The probe almost seemed physical — on one hand, there was the real sensation of a distinct, chilly morning breeze sweeping across the outcrop from the southwest, but the probe settled in like a separate sensation on top of that: it felt like a soft summer zephyr, except that it swept over him from all directions at the same time. Her pitch sampling was mostly undetectable, until suddenly she crossed over his resonant frequency giving him a noticeable buzz like a vague electric current. Within a couple of seconds, Ginny found the pitch target, overshot it briefly, and then doubled back to hone in. For Harry, it felt one moment like he had been sharing a pleasant, emotional connection with a friend, when suddenly he was almost a tour guide, showing her his own mind, casually answering any inadvertent questions she might have had. Ginny sensed the same feeling of complete disclosure and quickly departed.

The two of them stood in the brisk morning air, facing each other, holding hands.

"So," Harry said, to break the silence, "when the time comes, you know what to do?"

Ginny nodded. "How much more powerful do you think my probe will need to be?" she wondered.

"I don't know," Harry replied thoughtfully. "I think you'll know when the time comes. Your probe is incredibly efficient, so you'll have more than enough power to accomplish what you need to; I guess you should just keep increasing the intensity until the job is done."

Breakfast was already underway when Harry and Ginny climbed the front steps and onto the first flight of the marble staircase up from the Entrance Hall. Ginny cast a quick glance toward the Great Hall as they went past; there were certainly some students there, but it looked rather quiet for this time of morning.

After quick showers, they decided to head back down to catch the end of the morning meal before setting up shop in the Room of Requirement. Neither of them knew precisely how the day was likely to unfold, but they definitely knew that a good number of students were feverishly planning and training, and they wanted to make themselves available for questions, consultation and any impromptu training requests. And Harry actually did intend to show up for his two classes, on the offhand chance that anyone else attended.

When, they finally did arrive for the last twenty minutes of breakfast, the sight was definitely unusual. Attendance at all of the house tables was decidedly substandard, and there were only four Slytherins seated at the entire table. Table Five, however, was a hotbed of activities, apparently hosting at least two distinct breakfast meetings, as was evinced by people balancing parchment and quills above their meals while they conversed and ate at the same time. There was a leadership session underway at the north end of the table and Harry noticed that two empty seats had been set aside within a region that had been aurally veiled with privacy wards. He pointed out the seats to Ginny, and they claimed them.

Mary-Jo glanced at them with a smile, and tipped her wand at them to bring them into the privacy sphere. "G'morning!" she said brightly. "Welcome to Chaos Central!"

"Morning Harry," Ryan said, grinning wryly from within the circle of parchments that several other students were handing to him. "How many more weeks did you say we had for preparations?"

Harry grinned back and look at his watch. "Sorry, what was that Ryan? Did you ask how many hours you had left?"

Ryan stuffed the parchments under his plate for wont of any other place to put them, then turned to face Harry. "We've just formed two tactical teams: one with six students and the other with seven. We're heading off right after breakfast to start team exercises, so we won't be in class. Blevins, Madley and Peakes are each leading warding teams: they warded nearly two thirds of the castle exterior yesterday, and hope to finish this morning. Don't expect any of them in class either. Corner has booked the Room of Requirement under your name for the morning to teach protego, expelliarmus and stupefy to everyone who doesn't already know the spells. Also, Granger asked me to give you these..." Ryan handed a greatly miniaturized wooden crate.

Harry looked at inquiringly for a moment before catching on. "Specialized anti-portkey wards?"

Ryan nodded. "There's twelve in the box for personal use. She's made another forty eight for deployment in the castle."

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed excitedly. He handed the box to Ginny, who slipped it inside her miniaturized trunk.

"Oh," Ryan remembered, "I should also mention that Chess... I mean Ron Weasley, is going around with Madley's team, working on a some customized warding configurations. He said he'd be happy to fill you in if you want more details on what he's doing; all I know for sure is that if we sound the attack warning, we have to evacuate all students and staff from the Entrance Hall and Great Hall."

Harry gave Ryan an inquisitive look. "I'll track him down later and ask..." Harry paused, wearing a look of slight trepidation. "I hope that Voldy isn't rude enough to attack at meal time."

Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Percy Weasley gesticulating at him, with his mouth labouring in vain to produce any noise. Harry laughed — apparently the privacy wards were screening noise in both directions so that people outside of ward could neither hear nor be heard from within. Plate in hand, Harry stood up and stepped away from the table and out of ward-range. "Good morning Mr. Executive Administrator, sir," Harry said.

"What in Merlin's name is going on, Harry?" Percy demanded, looking completely flustered. His unfocused and sunken eyes suggested a bad night.

"Sorry, I need a little context please?" Harry asked. "Life's so busy — always something going on: between my hobbies and financial interests; school updates; domestic news; world affairs — a full account could take most of your day's busy schedule."

"I MEAN..." Percy thundered in his most intimidating voice of authority, "Why is everyone clustered into big groups, taking notes, talking to people outside of their houses and acting so...?!"

"Collaboratively?" Harry suggested.

"They're not supposed to be collaborating!" Percy groused "This is a school, for pity's sake!"

"I'm embarrassed to say I somehow missed that bit of ironclad logic," Harry responded with a bemused smile. Ginny had now also risen from the table; she waved enthusiastically and beamed a saccharine smile toward her brother.

Percy raised his eyebrow imperiously; a subtle nod of his head conveyed to his excessively cheerful younger sister that she too was being regarded with suspicion. "Mr. Potter, if you are found to be engaged in any activities that in any way contravene your faculty responsibilities, I'll see to it that..."

"That I'll be sacked, Percy?" Harry offered. "Sounds reasonable to me. What do you think, Gin'?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'd say he should do what makes him feel important, don't you Harry?"

"Yes, although I suppose we should exercise caution in letting him blindly follow instincts that might prove self-damaging." Harry debated, willfully overlooking the steam rising from Percy's collar.

"Harry Potter!" Ginny scolded sportively, "Percy is not a child anymore. He's old enough to learn how to make decisions on his own. Sometimes we just have to step back and let boys grasp the consequences of their actions. Such discoveries are all part of growing up!"

"Okay, you win!" Harry conceded. He turned back to Percy, "Okay Perce, I guess I'll just have to..."

Harry flinched; his bemusement vanished instantly. Ginny's face froze and she thrust her braceleted right arm forward. "Damn!" Harry gasped. "That's Arthur!"

"Oh no!!" Ginny cried out in realization. "Harry, he had that big meeting this morning at the Ministry! He wouldn't sound the alarm unless it was...??"

"An attack? Kidnapping? Who knows — we just go!" Harry blurted. "Give me a minute to tell Ryan!"

Harry thrust his head back into the leadership group at Table Five, shouting, "Emergency signal from Ginny's dad! I don't know where or what, but she and I have to check. All of you please stay here — absolutely critical to finish prepping the school! Got that?"

Ryan regarded him gravely. He raised his right wrist. "Understood, Harry — we stay. But synch wrists — just in case."

Harry looked at Ryan's arm for a moment then nodded. They knocked wrists together, then Harry cuffed his student on the shoulder. "Synch up the rest of the monitors. If I signal, please go straight to McGonagall, okay?" he requested earnestly. "Good luck Jenkins -- take care of this place!"

Ryan nodded grimly. "Come back alive, Potter."

Harry grinned, then whipped around to grab Ginny's hand. Forty seconds later, they had sprinted out the front gate and portkeyed away.

Back in the Great Hall, Percy stood in a state of paralysis, his wide eyes staring blankly. "Father...?" he called like a lost, lonely child as McGonagall approached him with a look of grave concern.

Harry and Ginny landed on a knoll in a well curated expanse of pine woods. Wherever this was, it was not the Ministry of Magic!

Harry walked a few feet to one side, and was able to spy through the trees a stately residence that he remembered far too vividly. His heart sunk. He and Ginny had escaped from here once before by the absolute barest of margins. The manner of their departure had left them both forever changed.

Ginny walked in trepidation over to where Harry stood. She had never seen the outside of this place before but every sensation she could feel emanating from her boyfriend told her that this was not a place with happy memories. "Dare I ask?"

Harry nodded. "You dare... but you're not going to like the answer."

"Malfoy summer home," she said stoically. "And Dad's inside."

"Yes," Harry answered. "I assume your dad and some other Ministry people have been kidnapped."

She looked down at the dignified building. Lucius Malfoy was certainly a horrid person, but this particular property seemed pleasant, if a bit sterile. She found it sad to think of all the horrible crimes that had likely been committed in this scenic area. Then she shook her head. Focus girl! "What do we do?" she asked. "How did you get inside there last spring?"

"I got in through owl post," he replied, gesturing to a gabled turret on the west end of the manor. "I don't know if any of Riddle's cronies have seen the animagus filing yet, but if not then I might still be able to get in that way as an owl. The problem is, how would you get through there?"

Ginny grinned at him. "Potter, you and all these tight squeezes — it's no accident you have a thing for petite girlfriends is it? If a bird nearly as large as a great horned owl can get through the portal, then I think I can too."

Harry regarded her with a skeptical eye, but within a moment his expression shifted to one of appraisal. "Okay," he said, "but how are you going to get up to the roost?"

"I packed a broom," she said. "I learned a few things from our little hike in the Atlas desert, yeah?"

He smiled. "Beautiful, petite, and brilliant! Any more exceptional attributes to reveal?"

"Many!" she exclaimed with a wink. "Let's go find my dad first... then I'll get back to introducing you to the endless wonders of Ginny Weasley."

Harry kissed her. "I love you!" he whispered in her ear, and they embraced quickly but passionately, before he separated to issue instructions. "Disillusion yourself and follow me up there," he requested. "Give me five seconds inside before trying to enter — if I sense another presence too close to the owlery, I'll fly straight back out again. Okay?"

She nodded.

Harry took a deep breath then announced, "Let's do it!" He transformed into his owl form and flew up to a bare branch, waiting as Ginny retrieved her broom and disillusioned herself. He took flight and covered the two hundred yards to the owl portal in less than ten seconds. Coming in through the open portal, he quickly found a perch, steadied himself and concentrated on essence perception. There were two owls already in the turret, but the closest human, he surmised, was one single person — at least a hundred feet away. He dropped to the floor, transformed back to human form and waited just to the side of the window. Several seconds later, he heard a soft clattering at the portal.

It occurred to him that although the portal would indeed be large enough for her to squeeze through, it might not be easy to dismount a broomstick into a narrow opening. Because of the disillusionment, Harry couldn't make out exactly what transpired, but fortunately another of the fine attributes of Ginny Weasley was exceptional broom-handling skills. In less than fifteen seconds, Ginny and broom both reappeared in front of him, with a smile. She shrank her broom and returned it to her trunk. "What now?" she asked

"I guess we both disillusion again, and make our way downwards and eastwards until we sense where everyone is," Harry suggested. "You'll be able to track me under disillusionment?"

Ginny nodded. The two vanished, and Harry made for the stairs leading downwards from the owlery.

Harry remembered from his last visit that there was only a single door between the owlery and the rest of the residence, so he descended toward it. As he approached, however, he grew more anxious. The single human presence, he gradually realized, was probably standing guard immediately outside that door.

Descending the final flight of steps, Harry and Ginny came to the ground floor of the tower: a small den that likely would have been part of semi-isolated guest suite, servicing a bedroom that they had passed on their way down. He looked suspiciously at the closed door, on the other side of which a lone sentry apparently stood. He then glanced around the room, hoping against hope that in his hasty previous visit he had overlooked some other way through to the rest of the building. He scrutinized the magic near the two ground floor windows in the room, but quickly determined that the detection wards outside the building came all the way back to encase the window panes, so it would be impossible to sneak out of one window and try to re-enter somewhere else on the ground floor.

Neither of them dared to speak; Ginny did not have the same sensitivity for other people that Harry did, but she could sense his consternation, had a vague impression of some other magical entity in the vicinity and quickly grasped the nature of his fruitless search. After several minutes, he edged over to where he was invisibly standing beside the hearth, at the point in the room furthest away from the locked door. "What do you think?" she whispered.

"I'm puzzled," he whispered back.

"How so?"

"I'm puzzled because it makes no sense to send a single person to guard that door," Harry answered, "Also, I don't know who's on the other side, but it's someone who seems... just a little bit familiar to me."

"A death eater you encountered in passing?" Ginny asked.

"Perhaps, but unlikely," he murmured. "Unlikely because the person seems... not particularly evil, and a bit... frightened?"

Ginny made a soft whirring noise in the back of her throat as she contemplated her way through the conundrum. Finally she whispered, "Single person. Slightly afraid. I'd say we bluff them."

Harry emitted a grin that Ginny couldn't see but could somehow feel. "Ever the twins' little sister, huh?" he whispered. He tiptoed silently to the door and put his ear up to it so that he thought he could hear the breathing sound of the person on the opposite side. He spoke in a voice slightly louder than he used for normal conversation, saying, "We have you surrounded by four disillusioned aurors! On the count of three, open the door and step through it with your hands on your head!"

Harry heard a sharp intake of breath. He started counting, "One... Two..."

"You're Harry Potter and you're lying!" came a woman's quavery yet defiant voice.

"You're all alone and outnumbered," Harry replied, undaunted. "Open the door and enter with your hands on your head! You don't want to find out the hard way what will happen if you fail to comply."

"Listen to me Harry Potter!" the woman responded sharply. "Absolutely nobody is going to touch that doorknob, do you understand? Not me, not you and not anybody you brought along. You walked yourself right into a trap, and I'm the only person who knows how to get you out of it!"

Aura perception can be a strange thing at times. Harry and Ginny were still nearly perfectly invisible, but that didn't prevent them from both staring directly into each other's eyes in bewildered consternation.

Harry inhaled deeply but quietly. "Okay," he began, "let's assume for a moment that you're telling the truth. What do you believe must happen next for us to deal with this supposed trap?"

The woman's quaver was gone now. She emitted a soft but slightly haughty laugh as a seasoned confidence began to assert itself. "So you're not as foolish and impetuous as some people claim," she mused. "I am going to tell you how to very carefully undo the wards on this door," she said. "Once that's done, you, and anyone with you, are all going to move over to the west wall. If you're disillusioned, then each of you will reveal yourselves. At that point, you and I are going to negotiate a deal." She paused for a long moment before cautioning, "If you foul up the ward spell or try anything stupid, please be aware that we will all likely die prolonged and unpleasant deaths."

Harry reached for Ginny's hand. "What do you think?" he whispered.

"I think either we have an unexpected ally... or else we bluffers just got bluffed," Ginny answered softly. "Either way, you have to admit that we're on the wrong side of that door. I don't think we have any choice."

Harry nodded and cleared his throat. "Okay," he said in a voice of forced calm. "We are prepared to doing as you requested... except that we will not reveal ourselves until after you have entered the room and we've scanned you for any signs of probable deceit."

Several long seconds passed in silence.

"That is agreeable," the woman finally affirmed. "Are you ready to cancel the wards?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Please face the door as close to the center as possible, remain there, and listen to me very carefully."

Harry moved into the requested position. "Ready," he said.

"Notice on the door how there are vertical and horizontal slats. I am going to assign numbers to each of junctions between horizontal and vertical slats. The junction closest to your head is point one; those closest to your left and right shoulders are points two and three respectively, and those nearest your left and right knees are points four and five. Understood so far?"

Harry examined the door. "Yes, that's fine."

"To lower the wards, you need to tap your wand on the following points in the correct order: four-four-three-five-two-five-one. If you get it wrong, we'll have twenty death eaters on our throats. Do you understand?"

"Four-four-three-five-two-five-one," Harry repeated.

"That's correct. Go ahead."

Harry took a moment to visualize the sequence spatially before attempting it. Once he was confident that he wouldn't waver or flub the sequence, he willed his way through the motions. After finishing the sequence with his slightly tremulous hand hovering in front of his face, he waited a breathless second... then heard a distinctive soft whir as the wards went down. He exhaled slowly in relief, then he and Ginny took their places against the far wall. A few seconds later, the door opened.

Through the open door, with nervous pride, strode the imperious witch whom Harry and Ginny recalled seeing in Gringotts! That in itself came as a surprise, but there was something else; some aspect of the current light, environment and circumstance that made Harry believe that he had encountered this woman somewhere else in the past. But where??

Harry drove the question from his mind, and evaluated her. She was clearly of noble stock, but projected a basic level of honesty, albeit of a predominantly self-serving nature. Harry pegged her as unpleasant, abrasive and potentially arrogant, but not inherently evil. She wore glamour charms that were obfuscating her appearance, but they were of fairly modest scope and Harry's aura detection assured him that they were not disguising a monster or anybody too dangerous. Her veneer of dispassion was clearly shrouding some rather complex emotions and motives, but it seemed unlikely that she intended them outright harm. Harry peered over the woman's shoulder to confirm one more time that there were no other people in close proximity, then he and Ginny revealed themselves.

She examined their faces carefully then nodded slightly to herself. "Good morning, Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley," she said. "My name is Narcissa Malfoy."

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Chapter 21: Two Are Not Alone

Author's Notes: Managing to get this one out on roughly the normal schedule (yay!). The last two chapters may lag a bit because they'll probably need a lot of careful editing and time has not been availing itself quite so reliably recently.



I've been trying to format these chapters in a manner that translates well across a range of browsers. If things are eye-unfriendly, please don't hesitate to drop me a quick note (would help to know what sort of browser you're using). Thanks in advance!